#i’m autisming too hard today

[pinkfey]

i don’t think i’m built to work with teachers in the school district 😔

[sherbetyy]

do you ever realize after masking intentionally and unintentionally so much in your life, you completely forget who you are.. and how it feels like every time you mimic someone you lose a part of yourself and personality. and fear you’ll never figure out who you are or who you were once.

yeah.

anyway pictures of moth !!!

[baycitystygian]

I know I generally embrace being autistic but today the hardest parts of it were really in the foreground for the entire fucking exhausting day… having auditory issues on a VERY important phone call that I needed to make and fighting for my life to understand what the poor sweet insurance lady was saying because the audio was so distorted… having a way-too-long discussion with my sister where I (1) promised to “castrate [her baby daddy] like a hog” for ghosting her and genuinely meant it (thinking about stuffing his nards as a wall trophy tbh, if he doesn’t wanna be a dad so badly then surely it’s no loss to him!) and (2) argued with her about laws that are stupid and shouldn’t apply to her situation (that’s a long story)… which probably did not make her feel any bit better and honestly I think both of us are much more stressed out afterwards. like some situations get me so outrageously mad that I literally cannot handle it and I need to remove myself from the conversation because the other person isn’t budging because it’s something they have zero influence over and they are just trying to explain the damn thing but it’s Wrong in my eyes so I feel the need to argue my case and how the fuck does anyone put up with me

like I know I don’t go into much detail about personal issues on here (or much of anything re: IRL me) but uh. that’s a huge thing I struggle with and I have no clue how to change it. It’s like, does no one else have common sense? Why can’t anyone else see this? and it feels like screaming into the void and it makes me feel terrible and it only stresses out the other person who is Not Getting Paid Enough (well, at ALL) to deal with Whatever This Is

[badolmen]

oh my god this pillow….

Edit: “it can’t be that bad” behold my horrors boy

Ancient pillow as fragile as mummified linen

[peapod20001]

In my...✨ depression bed ✨ phase <3

[alarrylarrie]

.

[scottpilgrim4everr]

My younger sister got a whole gaming laptop, a whole bunch of new and expensive clothes and jewelry. All I got was a bottle of Tito’s and a hairdryer.

[luveline]

helloooo, how are you? i’ve been rewatching criminal minds and i finally got to the post-prison part, so i’m really missing shy!r and post prison spencer <33 if you’re felling up to writing something for them again, i would love to see it!! maybe when they kiss for the first time or something else (completely up to you, i would love anything that you write hahah) but if you’re not really feeling it at the moment, please don’t worry about it, it’s so understandable 🩷 have the best day!!

ty for your request I love first kisses <3

Spencer takes you for a walk and explains a couple of courting rituals. shy fem!reader, 1.5k

Profiling is still very hard, but seven months into your new job at the BAU, you’ve become proficient in Spencer Reid. You can tell when he’s eager to work, when he’s down about something, when he’s feeling good. He holds himself differently on his good days, he takes care to coil his hair and wears a clean pair of shoes. 

In the bullpen, he’s sitting at his desk beside yours, craned over a desk covered in loose papers, books, and files. You attempt to hide your approach, lest he startle. 

“Good morning,” he says. 

“Good morning.” Can’t hide anything. He’s been an agent for ninety percent of his adult life. “What are you doing?” 

“Just reading.” 

You sit at your desk, clearing a space for your bag among your own mess of files and books. Your monitor turns on with a nudge of the mouse. Your screen is filled swiftly by notifications and Outlook, then the FBI messaging system, and then the ‘filing cabinet’ Garcia built to help you understand the insanity that is the BAU online system. It submerges you every morning regardless. 

“What are you reading about?” you ask. Your emails can’t wait, but you don’t want to read them, so you won’t for another ten minutes. 

He stumbles over a breath. 

“Spencer?” 

“It’s courtship rituals.” 

You regret asking. Whenever you and Spencer talk about feelings, or love, or romance, you end up hot as a kettle on a stovetop, steam billowing from your ears. You choked on a mouthful of lukewarm tea a few days ago when he’d mentioned America's developing hook-up culture. 

He doesn’t tell you any more, which is unlike him. Spencer Reid loves to talk, or loves to share what he’s learned. You looked it up —it’s called info-dumping, and it’s usually because the person telling you is so deeply fascinated by the topic they’re investigating that they can’t contain it. It’s a common symptom of ADHD, or autism, or both. Spencer’s done it since the day you met, which is nice. You feel like he trusts you. 

And so you’re wondering now if you’ve done something to make him think he can’t do it today. Or maybe he’s not feeling well. 

You prop your face in his hand and watch him. 

He doesn’t look upset, only focused. 

You hate quiet. You love not talking, but gaps of silence have you overthinking things. Maybe he’s mad. Maybe you’ve finally pissed him off. 

It’s scary because he’s amazingly kind. Overwhelmingly nice. He’s lovely and good looking but it’s his heart that shocks you every time, how he’s looked after you, defended you.

“Spencer, are you okay?” you ask. 

He blinks to attention. “What?” 

“You’re not talking.” 

He grins. “I’m thinking.” 

His smile when he looks like he’s about to laugh is everything. 

“Don’t think too much,” you say as you play with a button on your coat. “Isn’t that what you always tell me?” 

“Don’t think too much because you think about things you don’t need to,” he amends. “You worry about everything.” 

“Well, so do you.” 

“Exactly. I’ll worry enough for you, too.” Spencer gives you a smile you don’t understand. “Will you come to the archive with me? I want to talk to you about something.” 

“Spencer…” He just acknowledged that you worry about everything. 

“Sorry,” he laughs. “Something with no pressure. I’ll explain it as we walk.” 

You shed your coat and walk together out of the BAU offices down a long hallway. You take the elevator down to the ground level, spring air in the hallways, early morning sunshine lapping at your shoes where it’s settled golden against the marble floor. Spencer professes that it’s nothing to worry about again, but he doesn’t elaborate, and your heart begins to pulse too quickly. 

You can’t look at him. 

“I’ve been reading about these courtship rituals and… looking at which ones are the best. There are thousands of them, but contemporary courting isn’t easy. It confuses me. With my last, my only girlfriend, we wrote each other letters. But I wanted this time to be different, because– because love is different?” He grimaces. 

“Love is different,” you agree. You’re not sure who he means, your chest panging in two different beats. Is he… talking about you? “It’s different every time.” 

“I was looking for the more subtle rituals. I kept thinking I’d find the right one, and that I’d know it when I saw it, but I can’t find anything suitable and I might need your help. Um, if you even want to help me.” 

“Of course I do.” 

Spencer slows just outside of the archive’s door. “Everything I read about feels like it would just embarrass you. I picture buying you flowers and I feel like you’d just– just explode.” He says it with affection and apology alike. “I wrote you a poem. Emily told me not to give it to you, though.” 

“You wrote me a poem?” 

“I made you a love spoon, too, but I can’t whittle, and it looks terrible. I even cut my hand, and if you rejected me you’d have to give the spoon back and I think that would make it worse.” 

You turn completely still. The last thing you expected that morning was for Spencer to confess. And he is confessing, a small smile on his face, patience, nervousness, close enough to feel the heat of him beside you. You short circuit in an attempt to compute the magnitude of it; Spencer wants to court you, and you can’t handle it. 

Your exhale shudders out of you. Goosebumps attack your arms. 

“Sorry,” he says quietly, “are you okay?” 

“Spencer, I don’t think you could ever find a way to tell me that wouldn’t make me feel like this.” 

“How do you feel?” 

“How am I supposed to feel?” 

Spencer’s smile fades a touch. “I don’t know. You can feel how you want to feel, it isn’t up to me. But I have feelings for you. I thought you knew.” 

It’s like knowing that the lottery numbers were chosen specifically to match your ticket. The thing he’s talking about doesn’t make sense. 

“Are you kidding around?” you ask. 

“What? No.” He holds your wrist gently. “Of course not.” 

You swallow a lump and try not to overreact, though you’re already doing that. This is a good thing, it is, but he’s him and you’re you and every time he touches you it’s like fireworks are bursting warm and tingly over your skin. You smile at his chest, cheeks dimpling from how wide it stretches. 

“You don’t have to court me, um. Not in any way like that. I’m just like every other girl, you know? I like flowers. I,” —your cheek lists down toward your shoulder bashfully— “probably would feel a little embarrassed, but I like flowers. I can get you flowers.” 

Spencer really laughs. “You want to get me flowers?” 

“Maybe?” 

He laughs again. His eyes lock onto you and his open hand closes on the opposite arm, putting you face to face. “It was my idea,” he says, playfully argumentative. 

“Okay.” 

“You want to hear the poem?” he asks, quietening again. 

You nod slowly. “N’I wanna see the spoon.” 

“Can I please kiss you?” He takes a breath, like he’s been running. “I know this isn’t the right place, but I didn’t expect to want it this badly.” 

“I don’t think there’s a wrong place…” 

“So I can?” he asks, lifting a hand to your cheek, to hold you with care. 

You nod into his approach, find yourself kissed and held tightly in a split-second of warmth and warm smells. His nose touches yours in a kiss of their own, his lips part lightly before pressing in again. Two kisses lend to a third, but then he pulls away to look at you. As quickly as it started, it’s over. 

“You're overheating already,” he says, thumb rubbing a sweet path under your cheek. 

You don’t know what to say. He ducks his head just that little bit to make sure you’re okay. Understanding flows between you both. His hand falls behind your back to pull you in for a hug. 

“I’ve never been the confident one in any of my relationships,” he admits. 

“I usually am.” 

Your deadpan lights him up. His hug turns strong armed, and he walks you back, giggling, arms a comforting vice around you. “You can be the shy one this time,” he says, seemingly unaware of how his using the word ‘relationship’ has thrown you for another loop. 

You’re hot as a furnace all morning. Spencer makes excuses for you, but Emily’s amazing at her job. 

“Jesus, Spence, you didn’t read her the poem? I told you it was too much.” 

[vanessagillings]

I’m posting the ever-so-rare photo of myself alongside one of my characters based on my childhood because today is World Autism Acceptance Day, and I wanted to show my little corner of the internet who this particular autistic person is:  

I was officially diagnosed in February, at age 38 (I’m now 39). A lot of people thought I couldn’t be autistic.  Some people who know me in real life still don’t.  And until around 10 years ago, I didn’t think I could be either, because I was nothing like the stereotype media portrays. I was told that autistics lacked empathy (untrue), and never played make-believe (also often untrue) and only enjoyed STEM.  I was — and am — an empathetic artist -- and make believe?  I can spend days sketching finely bedecked bears brewing tea or carefully choosing the right words to weave tapestries of fiction — though perhaps my hyper focus was a bit of a red flag.  Even so, how could autism describe me?  I was a good student.  I got straight A's. I didn’t act out in class.  I can make eye contact…if I must.  And lots of girls hate having their hair brushed with an unholy passion, right?  Clearly I swim in sarcasm like a fish, so autism couldn't be why I was so anxious all the time, could it?

If someone had told me when I was younger what autism ACTUALLY is — instead of the nonsense I’d seen on screens — I would have seen myself in it.  I didn’t hear that autistics have sensory issues until I was in my mid-twenties, which is when I first began to really research autism symptoms, and I had almost all of them:  sensitivity to light, smells, fabrics, temperatures, textures, and certain touches, all of which make me feel anxious, I fidget (stim), I never know what the hell to do with my hands or where to look, I talk too little or too much, I have special interests, I have entire animated movies memorized shot-by-shot and can remember the first time and place I saw every movie I've ever seen but I often forget what I'm trying to say mid-sentence, I echo movies and tv shows (my husband and I have a whole repertoire of shared echolalias, making up about 20% of our conversations), I was in speech therapy as a kid, I have issues with dysnomia and verbal fluency, I toe-walk, I can't multitask to save my life, I like things just-so, I’m deeply introverted but not shy, I need to recover from all social interaction — even social interaction I enjoy — and I find stupid, every day things like grocery shopping, driving and making appointments overwhelming and intensely stressful, sometimes to the point where I struggle to speak.  It turns out, I am definitely autistic. My results weren't borderline. Not even close. And while these aren’t all of my challenges, and not everyone with these symptoms is autistic, it’s definitely something to look into if you present with all of these things at once. 

So why did it take me so long to get diagnosed? The same bias that exists in media threads through the medical community as well, and because I'm a woman who can discuss the weather while smiling on cue, few people thought I was worth looking into. Even after I was fairly certain I was autistic, receiving an official diagnosis in the US is unnecessarily difficult and expensive, and in my case, completely uncovered by my insurance.  It cost me over $4000, and I could only afford it because my husband makes more money than I do as a freelance illustrator — a job I fell into largely because it didn’t require in-person work; like many autists, I have been chronically underemployed and underpaid, in part due to physical illness in my twenties, which is a topic for another day.  But it shouldn’t be like this.  It shouldn’t be so hard for adults to receive diagnoses and it shouldn’t be so hard for people to see themselves in this condition to begin with due to misinformation and stereotypes. Like many issues in America, these barriers are even higher for marginalized groups with multiple intersectionalities. 

It’s commonly said that if you’ve met one autistic person, you’ve met one autistic person.  This is why it’s called a spectrum, not because there’s a linear progression of severity (someone who appears to have low support needs like myself might need more than it seems, and vice versa), but because every autistic person has their own strengths and weaknesses, challenges and experiences, opinions and needs.  No two people on the spectrum present in the same way.  And that’s a good thing!  No way of being autistic is inherently any better than any other, and even if someone on the spectrum struggles with things I don’t — or can do things I can’t — doesn’t make them more or less deserving of respect and human dignity.

But speaking solely for myself, the more I learn about autism, the happier I am to be autistic.  I struggle to find words and exert fine motor control, but my deep passion and fixation has made me good at art and storytelling anyway.  I find more joy watching dogs and studying leaf shapes on my walks than most people do in an entire day.  More often than not, the barriers I’ve faced weren’t due to my autism directly, but due to society being overly rigid about what it considers a valid way of existing.  My hope in writing this today is that maybe one person will realize that autism isn’t what they thought — and that being different is not the same as being less than. My hope with my fiction is to give autistic children mirrors with which to see themselves, and everyone else windows through which to see us as we actually are.

If you’re interested in learning more about autism or think you might be autistic, too, I recommend the Autism Self Advocacy Network  autisticadvocacy.org and the following books:

What I Mean When I Say I’m Autistic by Annie Kotowicz

We're Not Broken by Eric Garcia

Knowing Why edited by Elizabeth Bartmess

Unmasking Autism by Devon Price, PhD

Loud Hands edited by Julia Bascom

Neurotribes by Steve Silberman

(trigger warning: the last two contain quite a lot of upsetting material involving institutionalized child abuse, but I think it’s important for people to know how often autistic children were — and are — abused simply for being neurodivergent).

Thanks for reading 💛

[frail-and-freakish]

today, april 11th, is the anniversary of Mel Baggs' death. Mel Baggs was one of the early founders of the neurodiversity movement and believed that no one was too disabled for human rights, something that modern nd movements fail to understand to this day. sie was so instrumental to my understanding of literally everything. sie died from medical ableism and neglect during the beginning of the pandemic. we would be nowhere fucking near where we are now without hir. i've decided to make a masterlist of some of my favorite posts of hirs, organized into different categories.

(some of these are listed in more than one category because they overlap so much)

here are some of the "essentials" (what you might have already read by hir/should read first):

hir memorial site hosted by ASAN:

In My Language

the oak manifesto

There is ableism at the heart of your oppression, no matter what your oppression might be

Getting The Truth Out (many pages, parody of bad autism awareness campaign called "getting the word out")

the meaning of self-advocacy

what makes institutions bad

aspie supremacy can kill

here are some of hir beautiful writings on perceiving/communicating with hir environment as an autistic person, and on communication in general:

up in the clouds and down in the valley: my richness and yours

distance underthought

the naked mechanisms of echolalia

empty mirrors and redwoods

the fireworks are interesting

hir tumblr tag #sensing (@withasmoothroundstone)

on personhood and who has the authority to take it away:

being an unperson

what it means to be real

empty mirrors and redwoods

on institutions and the I/DD service system:

caregiver abuse takes many forms

"i don't know that person's program"

what my home means to me

dd service system tag

god help the critic of the dawn: glamour and its fallout

what makes institutions bad

post on the JRC

outposts in our heads

on online social justice communities/their inaccessibility:

Your politics have a problem when they contradict the real-life experiences of the people they're supposed to be about.

politics, ethics and mental widgets

hir tumblr tags #outside the wall and #little packages (@withasmoothroundstone)

misc:

The Bones My Family Gave Me

Please violate only one stereotype at a time

My sort of people, just as real as theirs.

Reviving the concept of cousins

gender tag

this is hir poems and creative works:

this is hir writing on autistics.org:

may hir memory be a blessing/revolution.

[sizzlingsandwichperfection-blog]

NO NEED TO REPLY but my mom joined the awesome socks club because of your advertisement where you were too tired to get up (she could relate).

Now I have an extremely hard time with socks because of my autism based sensory issues around my feet. I’ve worn the same kind out of the same 8-pack from Target for years. But I wanted to try these on because I’m a Green Superfan and…. they’re working for me???? Like they’re not itchy or too hot or too tight? I was expecting to slide them on, take a picture, and peel them off immediately but I think they’re safe to keep on for at least my adventures today.

Anyway I just wanted you to know that these awesome socks are indeed awesome, from someone who very much is opposed to socks.

ohmightyfirefox, thank you for the kind message. I also have some sensory issues with textiles, and I have also found awesome socks to be shockingly unproblematic on that front, even though I don't fully understand why.

(The toe seam is basically nonexistent, which is part of it, but also they just feel--to me anyway--weirdly and consistently comfortable.)

So please thank your mom for me, and thanks for sharing this perspective. We are leaving the awesome socks club open for new subscribers for a while longer; anyone interested can learn more at awesomesocks.club.

[illdowhatiwantthanks]

Your Brother's Wedding

Casey Novak x autistic!fem!reader Warnings: established relationship, literally BRIMMING with fluff, Autism Struggles™, meltdown Word Count: 2.1k

Summary: Your brother's getting married today, and you're the best man. But one big, day-long party? With lots of socialization? Just because the day will be good doesn't mean it will be easy. It's a good thing your girlfriend, Casey, is there to help you through it.

“You gonna be okay?” Casey asked as you got dressed that morning, carefully zipping your suit into a garment bag. 

You shrugged. “I kinda have to be.”

She stared at you, brows furrowed, from the edge of the guest bed you shared when you visited your parents’ house. Her hair was in a messy bun, an oversized t-shirt draped over her body. Morning Casey was your favorite Casey. So messy, so lovely. What you'd really like to do is stay in bed.

But your brother, Chase, was getting married today, and you were the best man. You loved your brother, but weddings were just one big, long party. And parties were very, very difficult for you.

“Come here,” Casey said, patting the spot next to her on the bed.

You sighed, but you were relieved to have her there. It warmed your heart when Casey worried about you. You’d never really had anyone who worried about you like Casey did, someone who took care of you and protected you. Usually you were the one taking care of everyone else.

You sunk into the bed next to her and leaned your head on her shoulder as she wrapped an arm around you.  

“You can take a minute today,” she told you, rubbing small circles into your back. “If you need to.”

“It’s Chase’s wedding day.”

“Yeah, but it’s your body and your brain. If you get overstimulated and you need a break, you’re allowed to take it.”

You rocked slowly backward and forward, not overwhelmed yet, but preparing for it. Casey ran a gentle hand up and down, up and down your spine.

“If you want,” she continued, holding you close, “you can text me, and I’ll call you. That way it’s my fault. You can tell Chase I needed to talk to you or something.”

You exhaled deeply and wrapped your arms around Casey’s middle. “Big squeeze?” It was less of a question and more of a secret language.

Your youngest brother, Eli, who had autism too, often needed “big squeezes” with lots of deep pressure to regulate. When Casey learned that they helped you, too, they’d become a part of your every day.

She pressed her body into yours and squeezed as hard as she could, and you fell limp in her arms.

“I’ll see you tonight?” you asked, reluctantly pulling away.

She nodded. “Yeah. I’m gonna come with your mom and your siblings.”

You exhaled deeply. “Okay. We’re gonna be fine. It’s one day.”

This one day was long and hard and hot, but buzzing with excitement. You helped Chase and the groomsmen set up the chairs and tables in the spring heat. You’d been a little worried when Chase had asked you to be his best man. Of course, you’d been grateful; you did not want to wear a dress as part of the bridal party. But you’d been worried that the other groomsmen or his fiancé’s family wouldn’t like a girl being the best man.

But you’d known the groomsmen since you were all children, and it was just like old times. And as for Bailey’s family, they were thrilled to have someone to act as a go-between for the bridal party and the groomsmen.

By that evening, when it was just about time for the wedding to start, you were sweaty and sticky in your suit and bow tie. And you were tired of people already. But Chase hummed with excitement, tears already forming in the corners of his eyes. And you knew it was going to be a beautiful night.

Casey and your mom brought the twins, Eli and Winnie, a few minutes before the wedding was set to start, to say hello to you and Chase. Your breath caught in your throat when you saw her. She was always beautiful. But today she was stunning. Red hair gleaming in the afternoon light, curled slightly at the ends. An A-line dress in a deep emerald green, that plunged down her neckline in a way that made you feel lightheaded.

“Wow,” you said, breathless. “You look…” You couldn’t think of a word big enough or beautiful enough to describe her, so you just shook your head.

She giggled at your gobsmacked expression and pulled you into her for another big squeeze.

“I love you, but it’s too hot for big squeezes,” you mumbled into her chest.

She brushed a sweaty strand of hair from your forehead and looked you over, smiling softly.

“Do I look okay?” you asked, fiddling with your bow tie and shrugging your shoulders. It was a rented suit. And you were five feet tall and had boobs. It wasn’t a great fit. You’d begged Chase to let you buy a custom suit, but they’d wanted you to match the other groomsmen. You were afraid you looked like a tiny Tony Soprano.

She kissed you on the cheek and squeezed your arm. “You look beautiful, sweetheart.”

“Where are you sitting?” you asked. “So I can look for you.”

“Second row. With your grandparents.”

“Oh, god. Don’t let them say anything homophobic to you.”

Casey laughed and squeezed your hand one last time for good measure as Eli and Winnie pulled her toward the ceremony seating. “I can handle old white people,” she called back.

You smiled as you watched her go, then turned your attention to Chase, who stood next to your mom, tears already leaking down his cheeks.

“Oh, buddy.” You pulled out a pack of tissues and handed him one. “Do you have a pack?”

“What?” he said, sniffling.

“Jeez. Here, take these.” You stuffed your tissues into his suit pocket.

“What if you need them?”

“I won’t,” you assured him. “No offense or anything. I’m just not a crier.”

Chase sobbed like a baby during his vows, and when he turned to you for the ring, his face red and streaked with tears, you couldn't help but shed a few of your own.

But by the time the ceremony was over and pictures had started, you were starting to feel the pressure of the day. You slumped into Casey as you waited for the bride’s side of the family to finish their photos.

“You all right?” she asked, massaging the back of your neck. “I saw you tear up. It was very sweet.”

“My feet are killing me.”

“Why don’t you put on your Birks?”

“I can’t wear Birks with a suit!”

“Who’s gonna care!?”

You hesitated for a moment, then conceded. “Alright. After the pictures.”

Your heart soared when your family beckoned Casey into the family photos. Despite the fact that you and Casey weren’t married–it just wasn’t a priority for either of you–your family had still embraced her as one of their own.

You’d never been in love before. Never dated before. Never loved anyone in your life the way that you loved Casey. And your family could see it. She was once in a lifetime for you, and they knew it, and they treated her like it. If anything, they were even nicer to Casey because if they scared Casey off, there wouldn’t be anyone after her. Not for you.

Casey knew it, too, and she loved you desperately for it. Loved that she was truly your one and only. And she meant to honor that for the rest of her life. You loved her deeply and selflessly and, to Casey, you deserved all of that and more in return. And she was more than willing to give it.

It was the little moments of the wedding that would stick with you afterward. Chase tearing up during your best man speech. A crowd cheering on Winnie as she did the Cupid Shuffle. Eli resting his head on your shoulder as you danced. The way Casey watched you dance with Eli, the softest of smiles playing on her lips.

You’d asked her to dance after that, to Chris Stapleton’s “Tennessee Whiskey,” placing a gentle hand on her waist as she wrapped her arm around your neck. And as you swayed back and forth under the fairy lights, bugs singing from the trees and your family and friends dancing around you, you didn’t think you’d ever been happier.

Casey pressed her forehead into yours, staring into your eyes with so much love it overwhelmed you.

“You’re so sweet with your brother, Y/N,” she said. “It’s one of my favorite things about you.”

There was so much happiness inside you, it was bound to come out. You pinched your eyes together and stimmed, shaking your head and shrugging your shoulders. “Sorry,” you mumbled, more as a reflex than anything.

“Honey, you know I love your stims. You’re perfect.”

You smiled and tried to look in her eyes, but couldn’t, so settled for wrapping your arm around her back and pressing into her. Casey understood. She always did.

She rested her chin on top of your head and sighed. “You think we should do this?” she asked.

Your stomach flipped. “Get married!?”

“Not the wedding,” she continued. “Just at the courthouse or something. A honeymoon at the beach. Quiet, you know? Just us.”

You were stunned into silence, swaying mechanically as Casey’s words tumbled through your mind. She wanted to marry you. She wanted to marry you!

You were quiet for so long that Casey started to lose confidence. “I mean, it’s alright if you don’t want to. Things are great the way they are.”

You looked up at her face–so beautiful, your favorite face in the world–and cupped her cheek. There was fear in her eyes, and for neither the first time nor the last, you were completely dumbfounded that she cared about you this much. That she’d given enough of her heart and soul to you that she was scared you’d reject her. As if you ever would.

“Casey, I would love to marry you."

And then, so fast it took you by surprise, she pressed her lips into yours, both hands on the side of your face, thumbs tracing back and forth along your cheekbones. And, for once, you weren’t embarrassed. Even though you were in Tennessee. Even though your family could see. She kissed you in front of everyone, and you let her. She kissed you, and you kissed her back.

“Oooooh!” Winnie squealed from behind you, pointing. “Casey and Y/N sitting in a tree!”

You pulled away, face blazing, and Casey placed another smiling kiss on your cheek.

“Shut up, Winnie!” you called, as your sister continued to laugh and point.

It was a beautiful night, a beautiful send-off for your brother and his new wife, made even more beautiful by the thought that you’d have a wife soon, too. But as soon as Chase and Bailey drove off in their car and the remaining guests started chatting, you hit your wall. You’d worked so hard all day, so hard to keep it together, to make small talk, to be nice, to smile, to act normal. But you’d reached your limit.

You stood next to Casey, rocking slightly,  as she talked with some of the wedding guests. You tapped the palm of her hand twice with two of your fingers–your signal that you were getting dangerously overstimulated.

Casey ended the conversation, much nicer and more naturally than you would have, then took you aside and held you close.

“You did so good, sweetheart.”

“Casey,” your voice was soft and choppy, and you felt like you did when you were about to have a panic attack. In fact, it was often hard to tell the difference between overstimulation and panic. “I need to go home.”

“Okay, honey,” she said, nodding and squeezing your hand. “You get your stuff and go to the car. I’ll grab Winnie and then we’ll go. Are you okay to be alone?”

You nodded and walked quickly toward the parking lot, trusting that Casey wouldn’t make you wait long.

Back at your parents’ house, Casey was your savior. She had you take a shower while she put Winnie to bed, and by the time you’d curled into a ball in the guest bed, Winnie was asleep.

Your body shook, and your heart beat wildly. Casey crawled into bed next to you and gathered you into her.

“Sorry, love,” you mumbled, shivering. “Not exactly a romantic end to the night…”

“Sweetheart, you did so good,” she said, peppering your face with kisses. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Honey, I don’t think I’m gonna be able to sleep,“ you worried out loud. “I’m so damn keyed up.”

“Shh.” Casey hushed you, running a hand rhythmically through your hair. “We can stay up as long as you need. Just let go, okay? I’ve got you.”

And she did. Casey held you close as you shook and stimmed and hyperventilated. She massaged the stress from your hands. She squeezed you tight for deep pressure. She hummed distractedly into your ear, the vibrations of her voice deep and comforting.

When your body had finally started to regulate itself, you sank into her, wrapping an arm around her waist and throwing your leg over hers.

“I can’t wait to be your wife,” you whispered as you drifted to ssleep.

You heard Casey inhale sharply, then she kissed the side of your head, holding you just a little tighter than before.

[nightcolorz]

Hello i am contributing to the Armand playlist 100 Years by Florence and the Machine. That song is funny bc 9 out of 10 times i hear it im like whatever, 6/10, skip. But then that one time im like oh my goddddd she really fucking gets it and so it stays on the playlist. Can you guess which one im experiencing today.

"And then it's just too much, the streets, they still run with blood / A hundred arms, a hundred years, you can always find me here / And Lord, don't let it break this, let me hold it lightly / Give me arms to pray with instead of ones that hold too tightly"

Honorary mention to Free also by florence and the machine for containing the line "there is nothing else that i know how to do / but to open up my arms and give it all to you" but not the rest of the song bc armand has possibly never felt free in his life rip. But we can still hope!!!!

AHHHH YESS!!!! Florence + the machine is my second favorite artist next to Mitski and all their music is sooo Armand vibed u get it. These r literally perfect omg so Armand. Right now florence wise I have rabbit heart, girl with one eye, howl, Cassandra, seven devils, king, hunger, and dog day are over on my armand playlist and I am def adding these rn, I’m so excited lol y’all r feeding my autism so hard

[twistedsocials]

i've been sending in so many asks I apologize I just have many thoughts. i'm going to talk about Sebek because I love him.

First of all, everybody says he's annoying. When asked why they think he's annoying they'll start describing his traits that are linked to autism. Shut the fuck up. He's a passionate individual who is extremely loyal and is a hard worker.

Secondly, a lot of the people who do like him sexualize him, and must I remind you that he's 16? So am I, and I wouldn't want people to draw me the way they draw him.

Thirdly, he does have an odd hero worship thing going on with Malleus but can you blame him? He's been raised his entire life to protect Malleus and his entire life has been made to be about Malleus. He also is one of the few people who likes Malleus as he is. If I remember correctly, he's said before that he doesn't just like Malleus as his prince and as a powerful mage, but also for who he is as a person and his traits. He just shows his care in a way that y'all deem as "annoying."

HE'S A LITTLE CUTIE PATOOTIE NERD STOP THIS SLANDER HE'S SO CHARMING !!! How can you look at that boy and not smile.

My only complaint is how he gels his hair within an inch of its life. He's going to experience male pattern balding at like 23 oh my god. It looks good down please stop gelling it back so much Draco Malfoy.

No literally I have my gripes with every Sebek hater out there.

Y’all demonize him for his autistic traits sm. And don’t give me that “but he isn’t confirmed autistic” bullshit, I’m literally diagnosed. I can identify his clear autistic traits. I’m not saying it’s canon, just saying that these characteristics line up with common behaviors displayed in autistic people and seeing them get demonized and hated on feels lowkey ableist.

The thing about people sexualizing Sebek, it’s so gross and grody. He’s 16. I’m his age too. It’s so uncomfortable to see like just today I was in public looking for images of him and got flashed with literal porn?? Like hello???

Also yes his admiration on Malleus is a little overwhelming but one, it’s equivalent to a hyperfixation (yes it’s possible to hyperfixate on real people) and two, as you said, he’s been raised to protect Malleus and that’s what his whole life revolves around and he genuinely likes him. He just has a way of showing how much he cares for him. (This is not shipping Sebemal btw! I hate Sebemal.)

He’s just my son guys leave him alone 🙁🙁

[bleue-flora]

Okay hi i have also been insane about Sapnap and Dream

You talking abt sapnap's limbo needing to be something very emotional and sad from dream's got me thinking more about themmm

Do u have any more detailed thoughts about how the finale could look if it was sapnap instead of tommy?

Mmm want to go off anon but im shy...

[context]

Ah yea sorry been a hell of a week and this got lost in drafts per usual oops. Well I was thinking about scenes that would be interesting that night:

Punz and Dream talking about the staged finale, him asking if putting the fish on the wall is too much. Maybe asking Punz if he thinks Sapnap will go along with it all or cause problems. Like try to defend him.

A scene where Quackity is torturing him and he screams for Sapnap because it would hit the feels, and Quackity going on about how Sapnap gave him this idea or something. “Aww are you gonna cry for Sapnap? He doesn’t care about you. He told be to bring this today, maybe it’ll make up for how you hurt him. Should we see if he’s right?”

Maybe a scene of Dream going to Kinoko with TNT in hand ready to fulfill his threat for his armor, but instead of doing so much as threaten, he crumples down and sits there on the roof watching Sapnap help Tina plant carrots, feeling tears form in the corners of his eyes. Maybe he tries to write Sapnap a letter and keeps scribbling it out until he gives up…

Maybe even witnessing the full context of the spirit speech like the black mail and stuff and then his outburst.

Maybe Dream doing something wholesome. Bonus points if after prison. Something that falls inline with “my Dream.”

Maybe Dream after their confrontation sitting alone and sad that even after 11 months every one (especially Sapnap) still hates him…

I’m pretty sure I had more thoughts at the time I wrote this and then was interrupted and they are since gone, sorry. I always held out hope that Sapnap and him would work things out, and I think that’s partly why that scene right after prison break destroys me, because I can just feel whatever Dream’s hopes for his future outside of the vault being crushed as I too realize that reconciliation isn’t in the cards after all. (This idea cemented when he makes a deal with XD)

As a random though, I wonder if Sapnap would try to get Dream and Punz to stop like Tommy mentions towards the end… or would he just join sides, given his more ambiguous morality and less sense of being the hero. I don’t know, hard to say, he doesn’t make perfect sense to me (something I talk about in the autism essay). So trying to predict what he would do feels like roulette, but I do feel like there is an alternate timeline where it’s Sapnap instead of Tommy in that scene…

[feraliminal]

Just wondering, how do you think Skibidi Toilet will affect tech-head (camera, speakers and TV) character designs afterwards?

Would skibidi toilet popularity cause such character designs to be immediately reminding people of skibidi toilet? Mind you, I actually like skibidi toilet series. But the latest news about Michael Bay adapting it means it'll probably get a lot bigger in public consciousness, and I don't want to be seen as a rip-off.

Oh, that’s a super interesting question, and one of the first I’ve had! (Note to people in general, I have the “must be invited” vampire autism, so I’m not great at being outgoing, but I am friendly really, so feel free to ask stuff or say hi!) My first thought from a fandom anthropology perspective would be to check out if there’s any precedents and how that’s played out. Unfortunately nothing comes to mind about how to find that out.

So I think what I’d say is that some people who aren’t really familiar with object heads might assume that tech head characters are from Skibidi Toilet, but people who are actually interested in the character concepts won’t. And that spontaneously (or even not spontaneously) having the same ideas as other people is totally normal, and worrying about that is also totally normal, but you shouldn’t let it hold you back from sharing your creativity. You know that what you’re doing is yours, people who are genuinely interested in your character/s will love them, and people who are unfairly judging them at face value aren’t worth worrying about.

I expect that it might happen a little bit, because people do confuse similar-looking genres - like some people believe that all Western animation is Disney or all anime is naughty tentacles. But on the bright side, the Alliance factions do have a specific look - types of camera/speaker/TV, clothing styles, colour schemes, post-apocalyptic setting, etc. I’d expect that would probably continue into a film, and it would function similar to other genres of character - everyone knows about Dracula, but vampire characters aren’t considered rip-offs of Dracula unless they’ve got the cape, the widow’s peak, etc. And even if they are derivative, eg. Alucard from Hellsing, they can still be really original and fascinating characters in their own right.

Also, there’s the question of whether even it matters if something appears accidentally derivative. I’d very much like to say it absolutely shouldn’t. If you’ve had the idea, and you know it came from you, then it’s your idea, and it’s just one of those pranks that the universe plays if someone else had the same idea. Another point of view could be that there’s no original ideas - there’s a theory called “cultural universals” that says the same symbols keep showing up in different cultures because they mean something about how we understand the world.

“Human-shaped things with non-human heads”, for example, are a trope as old as human culture. Animal-headed people are the oldest. I’m including a pic of the Dancing Sorcerer, because I love them and have used their concept a ton in my non-fandom life even if they might not actually be that authentic an example of cave art (and actually a story about someone interpreting a smudgy sketch as a deer-person, and then as a sorcerer, is also interesting). The lion man is authentic. A pretty direct ancestor of today’s object heads could be Japanese tsukumogami from the 12th century or earlier. We obviously personify animals as being like us because we can see they behave a bit like us, but in the case of personified objects, the connection is that humans personify everything because we’re so good at spotting emotion - it’s so important for maintaining relationships with other humans to know that, for example, a person we treat badly will be upset that we also worry that a tool we mistreated won’t work because it’s upset too. That’s useful in itself because then we take better care of our stuff.

However, in reality, it’s hard to get over worrying about being derivative. I’m autistic and returning to fandom after a five-something year absence, so I’m still not comfortable with the unspoken social norms. Looking like I’ve swiped someone else’s idea is one of the (many haha) things that scares me, and I’ve abandoned unfinshed fic because someone else has written/drawn something that’s… kind of maybe the same if you peer between your legs and look at it upside down.

It actually annoys me how many ideas I’ve abandoned or haven’t been able to finish because I’m worried about people’s reactions - but no one’s actually reacted really badly at all. I wouldn’t want anyone else to have the same experience. And if I was advising someone else in the same situation as me, I’d say that it doesn’t matter if something is kind of similar at first, it’s how originally it’s used that matters. Anyone accusing someone of swiping an idea or being derivative or somesuch just because they happened to have the same idea at the same time (and aren’t actually, like, copy-and-pasting bits of someone’s fic or something) is just being a massive wanker. Even in the world of making media for money, people have the same ideas all the time - like schools where children learn magic, an impulsive character with a red colour theme and, probably one of the oldest themes, a hero maturing by going on a journey and facing a challenge. Check out the TV Tropes wiki for endless examples, because some of these themes really are older than dirt.