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whumpster-fire · 3 years

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His Dark Materials Thoughts: Daemons and Disability / Neurodivergence

More stupid His Dark Materials thoughts and headcanons because I still can’t get over this series.

I’m really curious how various disabilities would interact with having a daemon. I’d guess that for a lot of conditions the daemon could basically fill the role of a service animal, especially if the person had the condition from childhood so they could settle in a form that was capable of helping - e.g. daemons assuming forms with strong senses of smell to check for allergens. And this would probably be true for some neurological conditions where there’s something physically messed up in your brain.

However, I think for neurodivergency, it’s different: if the human is neurodivergent their daemon is neurodivergent as well. And while a human and daemon are “one being,” daemons still have their own personalities and emotional needs.

Using autism as an example because I’m autistic and can speculate based on my own experiences:

Autistic people are usually very close to their daemons, even by the standards of the setting, because while anyone’s daemon inherently understands them better than other people do, the gap is much, much wider for ND people. Real talk, I think I was drawn to this series and the concept of daemons so strongly because the idea of a companion I could fully trust and interact with without the constant fear of breaking some unknown and unspoken rule and who fully empathized with me was something I wanted soooo badly.

A lot more sensory information is “transmitted” between human and daemon than most people notice because the brain tends to filter it out. Autistic people’s brains aren’t as good at filtering out “junk” sensory info though, and this includes what comes through over the bond between them. You can’t actually see through your daemon’s eyes but autistic people tend to feel shared sensations more intensely and pick up on things like smells and textures that a neurotypical brain would tune out (and this works in both directions). This makes autistic people more vulnerable to sensory overload than in our world.

Sometimes only one of the pair is verbal, or at least verbal with others / much more comfortable talking to others. If it’s the human, people tend to not notice because “daemons should be seen and not heard” is kind of the norm in the setting but if the daemon is speaking for the pair most of the time it’s seen as weird. Some autistic people may also be more comfortable talking to other people’s daemons than to the humans, which isn’t technically part of the taboo but it’s pretty frowned upon.

For both tactile-seeking and tactile-defensive people, the daemon’s settled form is often determined by the need for physical affection - either because as they grow into teenagers it becomes less socially acceptable to touch other people as much as they need to, or because the only touch that feels safe for the pair is with each other. A settled form doesn’t always follow the human’s preference, but is always a form the daemon is comfortable with and likes. Daemons settling in forms their human actively hates is rare, and usually means there was already serious conflict between them with the human refusing to accept their nature - i.e. sailors’ daemons usually take seabird forms or mammals like otters or minks that can stray away from the water, settling in a dolphin form was noteworthy for a reason because it’s such a drastic act, and IMO that was probably caused by the human trying to abandon the sea entirely and fighting with his own daemon about it until she was like “Let’s see you take us away from the sea now!”

But anyway: daemons don’t just settle in forms based on symbolism or social convention if it’s going to make both them and their humans miserable and/or mess up their relationship IMO, and usually they show a preference for forms similar to their settled one in the years leading up to settling (e.g. Pantalaimon clearly liked his stoat/ferret and wildcat forms and mostly took other ones for reasons of practicality and convenience, and I said this in another post but I think he became a pine marten because it was the closest he could get to combining the two). If a pre-adolescent human and daemon are super cuddly with each other and that touch is really important to them, the daemon will probably settle in a form that’s compatible with that. It’s rare for autistic daemons to settle as something as small as a mouse where they could only be carefully pet with one or two fingers, for example, and they usually take mammalian or sometimes avian forms.

Brushing a daemon’s fur, and other techniques such as joint compression that are hard for a person to perform on their own body, can help both of the pair calm down and cope with sensory issues.

Unfortunately, given how fucked up the culture in Lyra’s world is, I shudder to imagine how they treat neurodivergent people. I can totally imagine people treating this closeness as the cause of autism and not a symptom, and treating it as a child “being socially impaired because they only interact with their daemon / let their daemon do too much for them and never learn to socialize with other people.” Aside from attempting to cure autism with Intercision, there are probably a bunch of horrible, abusive treatments passed off as “therapy,” like forcing children to do therapy sessions with their daemon trapped on the other side of an opaque, soundproof wall (doesn’t interfere with their bond if it’s within the separation limit, but keeps them from seeing / hearing / touching each other), caging the daemon, muzzling them to keep them from speaking for their human, or even not letting them sleep in the same room.

Another common problem is parents / educators treating an autistic person’s daemon like a service animal and offloading their responsibilities on them. Just expecting them to handle something like a meltdown or panic attack by themselves because “You’re part of them, you understand them!” and ignoring that the daemon also has fears and anxieties and sensory issues.

Expectation: Your autistic child’s daemon understands them better than you ever could and will be able to quickly and discretely calm them down from a meltdown / sensory overload without you needing to get involved and actually do your job as a parent.

Reality: You have two autistic children who share a soul and feel each other’s emotions and pain, and one of them likely has at least one sense that’s way more sensitive than a human’s. They can certainly be a source of comfort and support to each other, and can pick up on each other’s warning signs and remind each other to use coping strategies / get out of stressful situations and not try to “push through,” but this is a skill that takes time and maturity to learn, and it only works before the pair are completely overwhelmed. As stated above autistic people feel sensations and emotions from their daemon extra-intensely, and vice versa. A full-on meltdown or panic attack is such an overpowering flood of negative emotions that, combined with the stress of whatever caused the meltdown in the first place, usually just overwhelms both partners, especially in children. The best you can hope for is whichever one holds it together a bit longer is able to help their partner into a safe place and ask someone for help. Even if the daemon (or human) doesn’t have a meltdown their emotional battery will still be absolutely drained for probably the rest of the day.

#His Dark Materials fandom #daemons #silly headcanons #autism #not whump

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klavierpanda · 3 years

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Sometimes I find it really hard to feel like I'm part of the lgbtq+ community. I always feel queer, it's just sometimes very hard to see myself in the lgbtq+. And a quick disclaimer, please don't tell that I do belong, that won't make these feelings go away. All I want is for at least someone to understand.

There's 2 main reasons: the fact I'm aromantic and the fact I'm autistic.

If you have ever been in aromantic spaces then you've probably heard our issues with the community mantra "love is love" so the fact that it makes myself (and others) feel quite isolated is probably not a new revelation. The people who say "but we don't just mean romantic love" actually make me feel worse because they just say it to cover their backsides. They don't actually understand the complexity and variety of aro's relationships to love and relationships and trying to fit that under "love is love" is very reductionist. The way I experience relationships and attraction feels very alien compared to that experienced by a lot of what is in the forefront of the community's eyes. My desire for qprs and polyamory, and practice of relationship anarchy feels radical even by the standards of the queer community and that feels incredibly isolating sometimes.

As for why being autistic makes me feel isolated community, I think it comes down to three main things that again I don't think are unique to my experience.

The first being my sensory issues mean it's very hard to access a lot of queer social events. This has become more prevalent now that I'm at university and my college queer soc are going to organising things like bar crawls. I've never been to a pride parade because of a certain microbe and now that there might be some hope of pride parades happening next year (at least in the UK), I've actually thought about going and I feel like I might get easily overwhelmed but all the sensory inputs. I'm not at all saying these events should happen, all I want is over events that could be more accessible to disabled people.

The second is I find it incredibly hard to talk to most neurotypical people, including queer neurotypicals (heck even allistic neurodivergent people can be tough sometimes). This is mostly because (and this shouldn't be new information to anyone) the way I, as an autistic person, engage in social situations is very different from that of allistic people and this is exacerbated when the other party is unaware of this.

The third is I find a lot of what's popular in queer spaces beyond accessible. For example, I understand and appreciate the importance of drag to the community but it doesn't interest me in the slightest other than ":O they look amazing". This isn't just the case just within queer spaces, I feel this way about most mainstream things. And this is again a common autistic experience.

Tl;dr: I can feel quite isolated from the lgbtq+ community due to being autistic and aromantic as I feel it's very hard to relate and access a lot of what's seen as the "Queer Experience"™

Reblogs are welcomed by please don't add anything unless it's your personal experience with similar issues. Don't be a clown please.

#panda's post #aro #aromantic #aro thoughts #autism #autistic #actually autistic #actually aromantic #rant #long post #I've been meaning to write this down for a long time but I hadn't found the right words until now #queer

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luna-tiel · 4 years

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What Entrapdak Means to Me

On the eve of Entrapdak Positivity Month, I thought it was as good a time as any to share my rambling thoughts on a ship that’s affected me in a way I didn’t think was possible.

Entrapdak is the first ship I have ever been invested in. It’s such a new experience for me that it’s taken me the last few months to wrap my head around the whole thing. I may relate to the characters in a show, but when they form romantic attachments I view it with a degree of passive distance. I don’t understand what it’s like to have those sorts of feelings for someone (I am aromantic and ace as a brick), and, well, I’m honestly not curious enough to give the subject a thorough study. My mind tends to fixate on other things.

What does this have to do with Entrapdak, you ask? Long story short for people who don’t want to read my meandering essay -- I relate a lot to these characters, and the way they bonded together struck a deep chord in me that I can’t ignore.

Let’s start with the characters. I knew going in that Entrapta was neurodivergent-coded, but I took it with a grain of salt. When I actually watched the show, however, I found myself relating to her so deeply it shocked me. Never have I felt such a kinship with a fictional character! We don’t share every trait, but it was still like seeing my brain put to life on screen. I related to her enthusiasm over her special interests, her struggles to fit in, her desire to make friends who accept and understand her for who she is.

The fact Entrapta is completely herself is something I love about her. Over the years of growing up undiagnosed, I developed a lot of masking strategies. Human psychology is one of my special interests, and even with all that accumulated knowledge, masking isn’t easy. It’s extremely mentally taxing. Masking can certainly look easy -- I can, when I have the drive and energy, “pass” as neurotypical, and only people who know me extremely well can tell I’m dying inside. All that effort is taken for granted by a lot of NTs because that’s how people are “supposed to” act, and surely I can “do the bare minimum.” The accumulated stress of near constant masking has led me to the darkest moments I’ve had in my life.

Entrapta’s struggle with leaving Beast Island hit me hard. It threw me back to a time when my feelings of isolation and worthlessness got so bad that I lost the energy to do anything, even the creative pursuits that were the obsession of my life. I retreated so deeply into my inner world that I hardly interacted with anyone. That total apathy shocked my family into getting me professional help, which gave me my autism diagnosis, the coping skills to move forward, and a good start on the road to self-acceptance. It also opened a channel between my family and I, allowing me to feel heard and understood. (An important side note on mental health: if you or someone you love needs professional help, please seek it! Sometimes you have to try out several therapists -- it took me three to find a good fit -- but you are worth it!)

It took me longer to realize, but I also relate to Hordak in some ways. Mercifully I was not raised in an extremist cult environment. However, I know what it’s like to feel defective next to a sibling that seems perfect. I was constantly being compared to my younger brother, and in all areas but art, he was superior. He was smart, athletic, and above all, he fit in with everyone. I didn’t hate him for this -- I hated myself. Trying to measure up to his standard is what caused me to develop such strong masking strategies. Underneath it all, I felt the despair of knowing my peers would reject me as soon as the mask cracked. I also live with chronic joint pain, starting at around age seven. The jury is still out on what’s causing that (the worst of it was due to a previously unknown food allergy, but the pain still comes and goes, even though it’s a lot more manageable than it used to be). This cocktail of pain, stress, and sensory issues I had to deal with gave me a very short fuse at times.

As an aside, just because I sympathize with Hordak does not mean I am excusing his actions. He is still going to have to face the consequences of his choices, and work to adjust to life post-Prime. The series end gave him a new beginning, the opportunity to be redeemed, and I prefer this to a rushed redemption arc.

What I love most about Hordak and Entrapta’s relationship is how they accept each other as they are. Hordak gives Entrapta near free reign of his sanctum, he listens to her when she talks, and he respects her opinions. Even when he pushes her away, he still considers the logic of what she tells him, and sometimes ends up doing things her way despite his initial instincts. This is something I do in my own life; I am easily overwhelmed by new information, so my initial response to an idea/activity is almost always a firm (and sometimes rude) “no,” until I have time to properly process and think about it. Hordak is the first person in Entrapta’s life that truly listens to her. He still has things he needs to work on, but it’s a lot better than how most of the princesses are with Entrapta. The Alliance treats her as someone to be managed -- she is useful, but unreliable. Hordak, in contrast, trusts her to get things done in her own way.

On the other side, Entrapta is the first person in Hordak’s life to accept him without judgment. Hordak spends so much of his energy putting up a front of strength and intimidation, and Entrapta cuts right through that. She’s not frightened by his appearance, and even his outbursts have little effect on her until the two of them start to bond. Entrapta doesn’t come into their interactions with any preconceived ideas of what Hordak is like, or more importantly, what he should be like. This lack of expectation leaves her completely open to accepting whatever Hordak does and says, and it also relieves Hordak of the burden of needing to put on a front around her. When Entrapta sees him at his most vulnerable, she reaches out to him with compassion, something he has never felt before. Entrapta also does this in a way that doesn’t belittle Hordak. His imperfections are not something to pity, they are a valuable part of who he is.

I loved watching their friendship develop. Entrapta and Hordak’s shared time together evolved slowly into a bond that gave each of them a sense of belonging they had never experienced before with anyone else. It gave me the hope that, despite what an oddball mess I am, perhaps I could find someone who understands me too.

When a romance subplot inserts itself into a story, I tend to gloss over and ignore it (if I pick up on it at all). I’m even less interested in sex. Way back when I was first getting into fandom I was so excited to go online and meet fellow fans of the books and shows I liked, only to discover the spaces being dominated by arguments over character pairings. I was baffled. This is what people are most interested in? Oh well… back to the hermit cave I go!

I was late to the party with SPoP. I’d watched a few episodes, but the show didn’t really hook me. This was partially because all I ever heard people talk about online was Catradora, and if that was the main appeal of the show, I wasn’t sure I would enjoy it (sorry Catradora shippers, romance is not going to entice me to watch a show, even if it’s rep). Quarantine was the ultimate cause for me embracing my curiosity and diving headfirst into SPoP, binging the entire thing a few months before the release of season 5.

I vaguely knew about Entrapdak as a ship going into the show, and I admit, had I not been primed for it, I probably would have missed the romantic potential entirely. In no way did I expect to become invested. I was immediately intrigued by their dynamic, and as they got closer, I found myself thinking “oh, I see why people ship these two.” I didn’t understand this realization until months later. I was relating to the characters, and for the first time in my life, I was relating to their relationship.

I headcanon Entrapta and Hordak as an asexual couple. I’ll elaborate on this at a later time (asexuality is a spectrum with a lot of nuance, and this post is plenty long already), but at the core of it, I find joy in imagining these characters in a loving platonic relationship, something I hope to find myself one day. I hope this love comes across in my artwork and in my fanfictions <3

To those of you that read this far, wow, you must be patient! Have an imaginary cookie! I hope this ramble has provided a decent picture for why I, as an aro ace on the autism spectrum, have come to cherish Hordak and Entrapta’s relationship. It’s my first and only OTP… I’m still in shock thinking about that… I guess we’ll see where things go from here!

Take care of yourselves out there!

#entrapdak #entrapta/hordak #entrapta #hordak #autistic entrapta #autistic experiences #relatable characters #fandom ramblings #spop #spop headcanons #asexual headcanon

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maybedefinitely404 · 4 years

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Not Your Typical

Genre: college AU, hurt/comfort (kind of?)

Pairings: romantic Demus, Logicality, and Prinxiety

Content: some language, autistic character, sensory overload, mentions of losing friends in the past, anxiety, unintentional self harm, Roman is kind of a jerk but he regrets it, food mentions, unable to eat certain consistencies, beach/water/swimming, Janus being a disaster gay, ASL, selective mutism.

Word count: 6k

Comments: Like always, I don’t intend for these to be so long. Holy cow.

Janus is written based mostly on my experiences as someone with autism, and how it’s affected my childhood/relationships/daily life. No one’s experience is the same.

Janus was always alone. Alone, not lonely.

Most of the time, that is.

His whole childhood was an endless cycle of make a friend, weird them out, be alone. Find another friend, weird them out, be alone. And sometimes it hurt, yeah, but he got used to it. At home, he spent the entire day in his room, assembling structures out of legos before tearing them down and starting over. Sometimes he’d build something really cool, and that would stay up for a long time. He didn’t have any siblings, and his parents didn’t give a whoop as long as the floor was generally clear, so no one ever bothered the space ships or towers or just really long lines that stretched from one wall to the other. He liked those.

Things changed when he got to middle school. Life started getting real, people became more than just recess friends, and that unsettled him. He made a couple close friends, friends that he really opened up to only for them to leave him when he became too much. He just couldn’t help it though; he couldn’t help the way he bounced when he got so excited he couldn’t breathe, or how he couldn’t use words when he got overwhelmed by the touch and the noise, or how he couldn’t stop talking about his favorite shows or books. He was labeled as childish. It was like a label had been stuck to his chest that read “avoid at all costs”, and people did.

So he relearned how to be alone. He put a lava lamp next to his bed for when he needed something constant to look at, he got a collection of chewy necklaces and stim toys that never left his room. After a lot of research, he convinced his parents to buy him a weighted blanket for when every touch was too light, too agonizingly light, and he needed something firm to ground him. At school, or really around anyone, he learned to control his more obvious stimming and touch sensitivity by staying in oversized sweaters and jeans. He taught himself basic sign language for when he couldn’t talk, even though he knew his parents wouldn’t understand him. They took forever to learn basic signs, for ‘water’ or ‘quiet’ or ‘no’, and both eventually got frustrated and gave up. As if their frustration was anything compared to his.

It was going great, not perfect but better than before, until he graduated high school. Suddenly he realized he was about to move halfway across the country, to a new environment with new triggers and new people who didn’t understand that he wasn’t frowning because he was pissed, but because smiling when you didn’t understand the reasoning was exhausting. Why do people smile and greet you when they enter the room? Why couldn’t that be more of an… understood thing? I’m here, you’re here now, we both know that, so why bring so much attention to it? For once his parents were kind enough to help him out, taking him to the campus during the summer to get acquainted with the surroundings and learn the map by heart. He talked to the admission’s counselor, explaining his disability and why that meant he couldn’t be on the side of campus near the highway, because the constant noise and common sirens would make him explode. They were eventually able to move him to one of the other buildings, one with apartments instead of dorms, even though that was generally only for third and fourth years. It took a load off his shoulders; less noise, less people. The one thing he couldn’t do was meet his roommates before the year started.

The school got them into contact, and since he was the last to be assigned to the six person pod, they added him into their pre-established group chat. The other five already had nicknames, ranging from ‘Dad’ to ‘Rat Bastard’, and he immediately felt like an outsider. Not like that was new to him, though. Except, he didn’t stay like that. When one of the group, ‘Nerdy Mcnerd’ on the chat (he’d long forgotten their actual names), asked him what he liked and he immediately sent a list of special interests and hyperfixations, the top being snakes, it was like a door had been opened. Nerdy Mcnerd was a fan of space as well, and the two stayed up until all hours of night on their own chat discussing space and their place in the universe. Rat Bastard had an affinity for what people would categorize as “creepy animals”; octopi and squid, spiders, star-nosed moles, and most importantly, snakes. Their conversations mostly involved dopey pictures of snakes and unintelligible key smashes and emojis. Emo Disaster shared his love of darker themed TV shows, and they started a couple new ones at the same time, constantly updating each other with theories. When he mentioned his major was psychology, Dad was immediately overjoyed to be sharing the major with someone, and offered to help him study for the harder classes. He didn’t hit it off quite so well with Princey, who was put off by Janus’ so called “moodiness” and didn’t trust him.

When they finally met, it was supposed to be great. Janus knew the environment, somewhat knew his roommates, and was surprisingly excited for the new year. His joy was suddenly vanquished, however, as meeting these people face to face took a turn for the worse. Dad, Patton, immediately tried to go for the hug when he walked into the apartment for the first time, and was slightly taken aback when Janus reared back so hard he hit his head on the wall. The glee disappeared and he apologized profusely, and that’s when Nerdy Mcnerd, Logan walked in, explaining that Patton was very physical. They were over it rather quickly, but Janus shuddered as soon as the other two turned to each other. They had already claimed one of the three rooms for themselves, so Janus chose the one furthest into the apartment. He dropped his suitcases next to one of the two beds with a deep sigh. The thought of a hug… no. It unsettled him greatly, made his skin crawl. Maybe one day, but not now.

Emo Disaster and Princey, Virgil and Roman, arrived later in the day, hand in hand, bickering animatedly when they walked into the apartment. They were greeted with a huge hug from Patton and a side hug from Logan, and that’s when Janus recalled that they had all been roommates the year prior and again, felt a small tinge of pain. He was still the odd one out. Virgil gave a two finger salute to where Janus was sitting curled up on one of the bar stools, knees pulled to his chest and for the first time, Janus didn’t feel compelled to give a forced smile in greeting. It was a relief. The small nod was all that was needed. Roman however, was a different story. When they happened to make eye contact for the first time, the taller man still standing in the doorway, Janus flinched. Hard. The man’s eyes burned through him, as if scouring through his brain, eyes so full of passion that Janus had to look away. Eye contact was only an issue for him sometimes, but with Roman, it physically hurt. Which only made the theatre major more suspicious of him. As he passed him on the way to get a glass of water, the taller man blurted out, “You’re a first year, why are you in a third year building?”, earning him a gentle smack from Virgil. He answered with a lame shrug and rushed back to his room, conceding to just go to sleep, regretting leaving his drink on the counter.

No one besides Janus was surprised when the door burst open at three am and a loud voice screamed, “I’M BACK, FUCKERS!” He was frozen in place, woken with such an adrenaline rush that he couldn’t move. Outside, the other four exited their rooms with varying levels of annoyance and delight, greeting the final member of the group. Remus, as Janus heard them proclaim, was his roommate, the only two dwellers not in a relationship. The gremlin burst into the room, a deranged smile on his face, and Janus wanted to cry. Why did he have to be stuck in a room with the loud one? But Remus saw the mismatched eyes poking out from under the blanket and with no hesitation, sunk to the floor next to the bed, still smiling but a million decimals softer.

“Hey, Snakey. Sorry to scare ya. I’m Remus, but you can still call me Rat Bastard if you want. Call me whatever, I don’t really get offended. You go back to sleep, I’m gonna get settled in. We can talk in the morning.”

Janus wasn’t planning to fall asleep, not with this new person in his room, but Remus was shockingly silent as he unloaded his things (he packed a bunch of garbage bags, not even a suitcase or box), and he couldn’t help the way his eyes slipped shut.

First semester came to a close, and he was equally delighted and horrified that everyone was staying on campus for break. It had become harder and harder for him to avoid movie nights, or family dinners (as Patton called them), or days they all went into town together. In the beginning, he put it off to being tired. Then, studying for exams. Now with school halted for nearly a month, he was out of excuses. It was getting to the point where he could feel the frustration from his roommates, and he wanted to admit how much he wanted to spend time with them, until his drawer full of secret stim toys and chewy necklaces called him back. At times, he let himself spend time with them. Baked something with Patton, talked about the stars with Logan, sat with Virgil as they studied, and it was good. He never was able to escape Roman’s cynical glares that made him absolutely shudder, but he got on much better with his twin.

Remus never minded if Janus only greeted him with a raised eyebrow, and he was okay to have more one sided conversations while Janus drew, or after a few weeks, stared unapologetically. Because god, there was so much about Remus that Janus couldn’t help but watch, even if a normal person would get uncomfortable by his wide and unblinking eyes. Luckily, Remus was no ordinary person. But the younger still kept the drawer to himself, only allowing himself to nom on the plastic or squeeze the orbeez filled squishy snake with intense fascination when he was alone. So every time he was with the others and felt the need to stim or infodump or was about to have a stress induced meltdown, he would excuse himself and leave without so much of a goodbye. He couldn’t, not in front of them. Every time he left, he could hear Roman’s quiet remarks about him that stung more than he wanted to admit.

He’d had so many people leave, people he allowed himself to get close to, only for them to see the side of himself he tried to hide. In his heart, he knew that part of him wasn’t bad. It was just him. Other people didn’t understand that, though. No matter how much he tried to convince himself that no one would judge him, or laugh at him because they weren’t like that, he was scared. The effort was wearing him thin, and it came to the point where he realized he had to tell them. He had to, or he would burst, and that would be way worse.

It was just three little words: I. Am. Autistic. And he’d explain everything, tell them about his stims and limits and how he needed space sometimes and hugs others, and spill everything about himself, and they’d accept him. They’d have to, right? Only, the night he was planning to blurt out the truth, something stopped him.

They were eating dinner, one of the only ones he’d attended in a while. Patton kept glancing at him from across the table as he picked half heartedly at his lasagna, distracted from the lively conversation between the twins and Virgil. The whole thing was speckled with bite sized pieces of mushrooms and zucchini, two of the foods that he couldn’t eat to save his life. The texture made him want to recoil into himself and scream and yank at his hair, and he’d learned early in life that that wasn’t a normal response to food. He wanted to explain to Patton that it wasn’t the meal itself he was avoiding, that it wasn’t Patton’s cooking that he didn’t like, it was just the texture of those two things.

Well, maybe that was a good gateway into his big announcement, if you could even call it that. It felt almost as scary as his coming out to his parents had been. If they didn’t take this well, he might be exiled from the group. If they tried to put up with them, they’d get irritated so quickly and slowly freeze him out. He really didn’t want that. It needed to happen though, he realized. How much worse would it be if one of them walked in on him having a meltdown, holding a pillow over his mouth to block his screams, biting almost animalistically on a necklace? How unsettled would they be if they saw him hitting his blanket pile out of repulsion of the feeling of his textbook pages? Better to warn them ahead of time. It was only luck that had gotten him this far.

Just as he opened his mouth to speak, Logan hit the table with the heel of his hand and let out an almost guttural scream before storming into his and Patton’s room, slamming the door behind him. Janus nearly fell backwards off his chair, matching Virgil’s surprised expression. Roman went silent, wincing slightly.

“What…” It was the first word he’d said the entire meal. Patton whipped his head towards him as if he’d forgotten he was there, a sudden sympathetic look on his face. He gave a weak smile.

“Sorry about that, kiddo. Logan has autism, sometimes he can’t handle the stimulus around him. Or maybe he just had a rougher day than I thought. I’ll check on him after dinner, give him some alone time.”

Logan has autism.

Oh my god.

It was like everything clicked into place. His passionate talk about topics he was interested in that could rival Janus’ (if he would ever let himself infodump like he wanted). His mannerisms, his occasional emotional outbursts, his rigorous unbreakable schedule, it all made sense. For a brief second, Janus was elated. Someone like him, someone who understood! And if they accepted Logan, maybe they would be able to understand him, even if they presented different areas of the spectrum.

But… how would that look? Janus had hidden away his neurodivergent traits for so long, repressed them until he felt like he would literally explode… what if they thought he was faking it? It’s not like they knew him well, not with the amount of time he avoided being around them. They might think he was lying to get attention, didn’t want to be left out. Wanted to be special.

Patton seemed to be waiting for a response, he noted. He gave a curt nod, hoping it displayed that he was unbothered by Logan’s disability, before giving a stupid excuse about some reading to finish over break and darting back to his room. Remus joined him later, saying nothing about the fact that Janus was huddled under his weighted blanket, no book in sight. He sat down in front of the bed, a common habit of his now, and began to quietly talk about some new dark fantasy story he was designing, his lilting voice soothing Janus to sleep.

Time passed, winter came and went, and the end of second semester was drawing near. Janus was still careful with the way he presented to the others. They had picked up that he didn’t like physical contact, and though they never said a word about it, Patton’s lasagna recipe shifted, kept changing, until it no longer included mushrooms and zucchini. Janus refused to believe it was for his sake, though. He tried to join them for a couple movie nights, but the constant fear of stimming made his anxiety spike, therefore finding the need to stim more compelling, until he had to leave. It was getting harder, however, now that it was that pleasant in-between time where he understood how his new profs worked but it wasn’t exam season yet. His excuses were dwindling. Like always, Roman made his stupid quips that hurt him more than was probably intended, and he’d finally had enough.

Maybe that’s why he was staring out at the open lake in front of him, hands playing absentmindedly with the hem of his shirt as Patton and Remus squealed, sprinting into the water without a second thought. One of their shirts had landed on Janus’ sandaled foot, and he quickly kicked it off as the light touch began to irritate him. Logan stood to his side, watching his boyfriend with an almost imperceivable smile.

“You guys could have helped carry stuff if you were just going to stand there!” Roman’s indignant voice carried over the lawn, muffled slightly by the pile of towels he was carrying. Virgil snorted, whether in agreement or at Princey’s expense, Janus didn’t know. Either way, he dumped his handful of lawn chairs unceremoniously onto the lawn at their feet.

“You two set these up then. I’m hot, I’m going swimming.”

“Damn right, you are,” Roman grinned. Virgil raised an eyebrow.

“Damn right I’m hot, or I’m going swimming?”

“Yes.” He didn’t give any of them a second to retort, scooping up a shrieking Virgil before sprinting them both into the water.

“They didn’t even take their shirts off,” Logan commented, picking up a chair from the pile and unfolding it. Janus quickly joined in, helping him set the four chairs into a line and placing the towels down in front of them. “Did you want to go swimming?”

Admittedly, Janus hadn’t actually gone swimming, much less to the beach, since he was a kid. He was lucky to have even found a swimsuit amongst his other barely worn clothing; how it had snuck into his suitcase, he didn’t know. The water looked inviting and it was hot, but right now he was exhausted from the long ride over in Remus’ truck, having to refrain from plugging his ear when it got too loud or maintain his breathing carefully when a leg touched his.

“Maybe in a bit. I’m kind of tired.”

Logan turned to look at him, dare he say scrutinizingly? He washed the expression away quickly, asking, “Would you like me to stay with you?”

“No, it’s okay,” Janus mumbled, “You go have fun. I’ll be fine, I like the quiet.” As if to punctuate his point, a child screamed from the playground, making them both flinch.

“Are you positive?”

“Yes. Go enjoy yourself, Logan.”

He nodded curtly, pulling his shirt over his head in one fluent motion and walking towards the waves professionally, as if he were walking towards a lecture. Patton cheered from the water.

Janus didn’t concern himself with the time as it passed, instead letting his mind wander while he focused on a line of ants that were crawling up a tree next to him. It wasn’t until a fast approaching form caught his attention did he tear his eyes away, hearing him give a shout of “Be right back!”.

Remus plopped himself onto the towel next to him, still panting from the run, but grinning from ear to ear. As he ripped open a water bottle and drank greedily, Janus couldn’t help but stare. Water glistened on his skin like jewels in the afternoon sun, plastering his hair down over his jaw and eyes. His eyelashes were barely fluttering against his cheekbones as he guzzled nearly half of the bottle, his adam’s apple bobbing with each swallow. The jut of his shoulder, almost touching his throat, taking his weight as he leaned back on his arm… the whole thing was fascinating. People interested Janus as a whole; the way they functioned, how they seamlessly picked up on little cues from others that Janus was still in the process of figuring out, even down to intricate biology of cells was incredibly captivating. But Remus was so much more than that. His voice when he spoke him to sleep, never mentioning it the next day, the way his dark eyes glimmered with hope when Janus agreed to eat with them, the twitch of his moustache as he covered a laugh at Patton’s corny jokes.

He was art, plain and simple.

Janus didn’t know if what he felt was romantic attraction. It sure felt like it, except it had never felt quite like this before. It wasn’t that he was asexual or anything, he was actually decently far from it. It was just how uncomfortable most physical contact made him that gave him the idea he might never have a partner in the way that he wanted. He wanted to hold hands, to cuddle, to kiss… but at the same time, he didn’t. That is, he didn’t know how he’d handle it. Sure, he’d had crushes in the past, cute boys from his classes or celebrities in the shows he hyperfixated on, and still the feeling of uncertainty had stayed. With Remus, something was different though. Never before had a crush ever felt so breath stealing, chest clenching, awe inspiring-

“Like what you see?”

Janus flinched, realizing Remus had finished drinking and was beaming at him with that stupid gorgeous gleam in his eyes. He looked at his lap immediately, feeling his face heat up.

“Sorry.”

“Not a problem,” Remus smirked, having the audacity to wink at him before standing up. “I’m going back in. Coming?” He reached out his hand, hopeful. Janus took a breath, acknowledging that this was his first time initiating contact since he’d arrived, and grabbed Remus’ hand. The surprise on the other’s face was almost enough to make him laugh. He pulled the younger to his feet, keeping a firm hold in Janus’ hand. And… that was okay.

Until it wasn’t.

The second his feet touched the sand, it was like alarm bells exploded behind his eyes. He couldn’t describe it, but it felt wrong. It gave in too much, light sprinkles of sand covered the top of his feet and instantly every nerve was on high alert. He ripped his hand from Remus’, stumbling backwards onto the grass again. The elder spun to him with concern.

“Snakey? What happened?”

“I- hmm, no. I can’t. Nope. No no no. Wrong. It… hmmmm. Can’t.” The last word dragged out as his brain seemed to disconnect from his mouth. His mind didn’t work, so focused on how every blade of grass was swiping along his soles too softly, too gentle, too much. His hands had curled into fists and he was fighting against everything inside him to scream bloody murder, because oh god the wind was brushing the hair onto the back of his neck and it tickled and make it stop make it stop!

Janus could vaguely hear someone shout, and the loudness floored him. Get away, get away, it’s too much it’s too much. The feeling of the grass was gone, and he was sitting on his beach towel, but the wind was still brushing his hair too much, so he grabbed at it uselessly, begging it to stop, stop, stop.

“What’s happening?” Roman.

“Is he okay?” Patton.

“Does he look okay?” Virgil.

“Janus, breathe. You’re safe.” Logan.

Yeah, he knew that. He knew, objectively, that the wind isn’t out to get him and grass doesn’t hurt and sand isn’t supposed to fry your nerves. That didn’t change the fact that it did for him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, it connected that they were seeing him have a meltdown, finally. But he couldn’t focus on that, not when someone was touching his arm why are they touching my arm LET GO!

He screamed now, he couldn’t hold it back anymore. His breaths were ragged and gaspy, hands ripping at his hair to try and stop the fluttering strands. Then there was a new sound, an engine, a boat, and with it came the deep bass of some terrible music and there were people shouting and his head was hurting, why was it hurting so bad?! New hands grabbed his wrists and he writhed, pulling back from the grip that was pulling his fists away from where they’d been hitting his skull, over and over, trying to just get his stupid brain to work. Come back to the present, ground yourself, do SOMETHING!

And then something was in his hands.

His eyes peeled open (when had he shut them?) and he saw the dark blue stress ball, almost crushed between his fingers. The hands were gone from his wrist, and he took a deep breath, relaxing his hand and watching the slime filled toy slowly return to its natural shape. It was just like one from his drawer, the first stim toy he’d ever gotten. Familiarity. He kneaded it under his fingers, enjoying the comforting texture, the color soothing to his sensitive eyes. Bit by bit he felt himself relax, still holding the toy inches from his face between stiff hands, letting his legs unfurl. Without thinking, he raised a shaking hand to his chin and did the sign for ‘water’, and immediately regretted it. It was just such a habit around his parents, the only other people who had seen him break down to this extent, how could he be so-

He flinched as a water bottle was pressed into his raised hand, the lid already taken off. The water was so good, settling his senses and grounding him, like he’d been in hyperfocus before and it was dulled now. He gave the stress ball another squeeze, captivated by the way the slime moved, not even flinching as someone snapped in front of him.

Looking up for the first time, his first instinct was to crawl into a hole and die. Logan was sitting in front of him, slowly putting the cap back on his water bottle before handing it back to Patton, who was standing just behind him. Roman and Virgil had begun packing the chairs and bags agonizingly slowly and quietly. Impressive; they were almost done and he hadn’t noticed until now. He turned to his left and his heart completely shattered. Remus was sitting statue still, a few feet away, with a look of pure fear in his eyes. He sat on the edge of his knees, like he wanted to pounce forward and hug him but was holding himself back. He appreciated that.

Logan snapped again and Janus turned back.

‘Better?’ He signed slowly.

‘You know sign?’ Janus responded weakly, confused.

‘Patton too. I go nonverbal as well. Are you okay?’

The younger nodded, returning his hands to the stim toy on his lap. ‘Yours?’

‘Yes.’

“Is he okay?” Remus whispered suddenly, drawing their attention. He looked so scared, like anything could break Janus and he was scared he would cause it. Oh. Did he think he caused this?

‘Not his fault.’

Logan looked between the two, a look of confusion settling in his face. “What?”

‘Not. His. Fault.’ He signed sharply, a frustrated hum emitting from the back of his throat. ‘Not his fault!’

“Remus, he’s saying it’s not your fault. What does that mean?”

“I- I took his hand, and then this happened…” Remus started, leaning back onto his feet ashamedly, “If that wasn’t the cause, what was?”

‘Sand.’

Logan’s eyes filled with understanding, and he responded, ‘Sand?’ as if to double check that he got the right sign. Janus nodded again, slightly thankful for the mute state he was in. He wouldn’t be able to explain this as well as Logan would.

“If I’m understanding right, then my first assumptions were correct. Janus, did you just experience a sensory overload?”

Janus could only nod, meeting his eyes shakily. This is the moment. Now is his segway. If Logan wasn’t already suspicious, he surely was now. And he’d rather not have to explain, or come up with some half assed excuse if he was confronted later on why sinking his foot into sand had made him break.

‘I’m autistic.’ He fingerspelled it, not knowing what the sign was, or if there even was one. There was a beat of silence, the twins and Virgil exchanging puzzled looks, and Janus couldn’t even bear to look at the two people who would have understood. All his fears came rushing back. Would they think he was lying, or seeking attention, or or or-

“Oh, sweetie,” Patton crooned, sitting cross legged beside Logan, “We thought maybe… well, the possibility came up in conversation before. Lo was the one who brought it up.”

“Yes. Though our experiences differ, you seemed to exhibit symptoms that are common to the ASD spectrum. I thought it feasible, but did not wish to offend or frighten you by mentioning it.”

“We thought that if you were autistic, it would be yours to tell us,” Patton smiled softly.

“Wait,” Remus interrupted, “Janus, you have autism?”

Janus’ nervous glance up must have been enough to clue the rest of the group in, because Roman sighed and ducked his head into Virgil’s shoulder while Logan messily signed something which roughly translated to ‘how dense can someone be’. Jan couldn’t tell if it was a joke or not, but he cracked a smile anyways.

“Shit. Dude, I’m so sorry,” Roman murmured into Virgil’s shirt, “All the times I made fun of you for not joining us or anything, that was way out of line. I truly apologize.”

The youngest gave him the worldwide gesture for ‘it’s okay’; not exactly ASL, but it got his point across. Everything was packed up now, and Janus realized the implications.

‘Home?’ He asked Logan, eyebrows scrunched together.

‘Yes. You need to rest.’ He was right, he was exhausted. Getting to his feet along with Patton and Logan, he reached down to grab his towel, only for it to be promptly swooped up by Roman.

“I… I got it. Don’t worry about it. Okay?”

As soon as Roman turned his back, Janus couldn’t help his heavy sigh. This was another reason he had refrained from telling anyone. He didn’t want to be seen as a burden, or worse, a child. He didn’t need help with menial tasks like grabbing a towel. Virgil and him lifted all the belongings again, with less complaining this time, and began the short trek to the truck.

‘He’s not babying you,’ Logan signed, as if reading his mind, ‘He’s just guilty. If you want my advice, get as much out of it as you can.’

“Logan!” Patton chastised, failing miserably at hiding a smirk.

“Guys?” Remus’ uncharacteristically timid voice prompted them to turn back, “Could I talk to Janus for a sec?”

“You understand he is unable to speak at the moment, correct?” Logan raised an eyebrow, probably coming off more harsh than he meant to.

“I know. Just… please?”

The other two shared a knowing look that Janus didn’t understand, before Logan turned to Janus. “Is that okay?”

The youngest nodded, watching over his shoulder as the lovebirds joined hands, leaving him and Remus alone. When he met his eyes again, he was standing much closer, eyes searching nervously.

“Maybe this will actually be easier since you can’t talk,” he laughed, before his face fell dramatically, “Fuck, that’s not what I meant. I’m such an idiot, I didn’t mean-”

Janus held up a hand quickly, as if to say ‘it’s fine, settle down’, holding back a snicker. He’d understand if someone was upset by the comment, but he’d learn to take Remus’ jokes lightly. He never meant to actually offend, sometimes he just… blurted without intending to. He rolled his finger in a ‘keep going’ motion.

“Shit. Okay,” He’d never seen Remus blush, or stumble over his words before. Not like this, at least, “Now, don’t feel obligated to say you feel the same or anything, okay? This is just, my feelings, and mine alone,” A deep breath, “I like you, Snakey. I like you a lot. More than… more than a friend.”

Oh.

Janus was ninety percent sure he died right then and there. But Remus kept going, tripping over his words in a way that was so unlike him, and yet so perfect.

“I have for a while. I never said anything because I thought, maybe you disliked me? After today though, I think… well, maybe I was misinterpreting those signals. Like I misinterpreted today. That you didn’t want to be around me, no matter how hard I tried.”

Okay, Janus took it back. He wanted to be able to talk now, but his voice came out as another low hum, and he slapped his hand over his mouth, embarrassed. Remus pressed on, unfazed.

“Snakey, I swear to you, that you having autism doesn’t change those feelings at all. It’s not a bad thing, or a flaw, it’s just you. And everything about you is amazing, and perfect, and this is just another thing I get to learn about you. Any fears you had around telling us, telling me, you don’t need to have them.”

He’d never felt this kind of feeling before. In that second, he knew for a fact that this wasn’t a crush that he had on Remus. That wasn’t possible, because a crush had never made him want to break his social barriers like this. A crush had never made him want to make an exception, to stand on his tip toes and kiss him, even if the thought of a new touch usually caused goosebumps to rise on his arms. Because he felt so safe, so blissfully numb, so comfortable with Remus, that he’d be willing to give it a try.

This wasn’t a crush. This was-

“I love you,” Remus whispered, his statement accompanied by a large shaky breath.

He couldn’t say it back, not right now. Later, he would. For sure. Maybe a hundred times. So he did what he’d never thought possible and took that step forward, breaking his bubble that he’d always thought to be unbreakable.

It’s okay. You’re okay. This is okay.

For once, he actually believed it.

Janus reached a hand up, slowly, and rested it on Remus’ face. It wasn’t light, he couldn’t do half touches. It was solid, warm, real. Not a tickling touch that made him twitch, or a brush by that stole the very breath from his lungs. The positive response affirmed his will power, and he leaned up onto his tip toes. Remus looked absolutely stunned, but he didn’t pull away, he couldn’t if he tried. His breath caught in his throat as the elder glanced down, an unmistakable look to his lips.

Had Remus always had those green flecks in his eyes?

And he kissed him. Janus surged forward, pressing their lips together harsher than he’s intended, pulling a small gasp out of Remus. There was a whoop from the vague direction of where they’d parked, followed by a loud smack, and Janus couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips.

Remus’ hands were clasped at his chest, unmoving, probably afraid that if he touched Janus wrong, this would all be over. He’d have to explain half touches later. For now, he took one of his hands in his free one and guided it around, pushing it into the small of his back until Remus got the message to keep that pressure. He let out a small sigh through his nose, an action that sent a new round of butterflies exploding in the younger’s stomach.

This is okay.

This is all going to be okay.

#lywrites #sanderssides #sanderssidesfanfiction #demus #prinxiety #logicality #autistic janus #sanders sides college au

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painted-crow · 4 years

Text

Secondary Toast Revolving Door, Part 1

I guess I should start with a little about me, since that’s easier than making you pick through previous asks for information and some of you guys are new here. This one’s going to be heavily personal, so you can skip it if you want.

I’m a double Bird. My Bird primary system is heavily Badger influenced, and I also use Lion to support it by telling me when I should investigate something more closely. If we can dip into primary territory for a moment, I guess you can say I understand the world through systems that model things around me. But not all of those systems are things I’ve consciously examined, or fully investigated.

My understanding of how historical people dressed is pretty limited, for example, because I haven’t studied it in depth to get all the information—but I consciously understand what I do know about it. You could say this system piece is tiny but clear; I could expand it if I chose to find out more.

My understanding of how someone I’m not close to thinks might have more data to work with, but I haven’t consciously processed it; that’s the kind of thing where my Lion primary model will tell me to look closer if that person starts acting weird. This system piece might be described as huge but fuzzy; I could clarify it if I sat down and thought about it. I probably have more of these than I realize, but Lion basically takes care of monitoring those. I don’t have to investigate everything.

But some of my systems are both large and fairly clear, because I’ve taken the time both to gather data on them and to examine it. My understanding of myself is… well, I won’t say it’s terribly clear, because I’m in my early twenties and I’m still constantly getting new information, plus someone keeps changing the environment and mucking with my data (that would be me). But I have to examine it, because my brain is like a notoriously buggy piece of software and I’m the poor schmuck saddled with tech support duties.

Basically, the reason I’m good at playing therapist with other people is that I’m constantly doing exactly that thing with myself. (This probably makes me a very annoying patient for actual therapists.)

About that buggy brain, then.

I have major depression. That was professionally diagnosed when I was a teenager and it’s probably genetic. I take medication for it, when I remember to. It especially flares up in the winter or when I’m under stress. I probably have some kind of anxiety disorder too.

I’m almost certainly autistic, which I’ve never brought up with a professional—the first person to figure it out was the system I’m now best friends with, because they’re autistic and they knew I was within two weeks of talking to me. It took me two years to catch up with them and figure it out myself.

In my defense, I thought executive dysfunction, sensory overwhelm, dissociation, and hyperempathy were like… secret menu items for depression, because those only really bug me during depressive episodes. My current theory is that they’re related to autistic burnout instead.

I mask a lot, subconsciously—it’s actually really hard to turn that off normally—and I just can’t do that as much when depressed. If I do, my tolerance for everything else goes way down and I’ll go into overwhelm and start having shutdowns and dissociating. I recover pretty quickly (hours, not days), but if you’ve never spent 15 minutes standing in a Walmart aisle trying to decide whether you want a jar of peanut butter, but you can’t make decisions because you can’t access your emotions and you don’t really feel like you’re “here” but you kind of just want to go home… well, be glad I guess.

Of course, I have other autistic traits that show up when I’m not under stress, but they’re seldom associated with autism because most people don’t know what autis are like when we’re actually happy. Like, hyperlexia? That’s not even an “official” word, the auti community just uses it because “official” literature hasn’t caught up. I taught myself to read at age three (according to my mom; she says I was reading news headlines and stuff, not just books I’d memorized) and wrote a 35k word novella when I was ten, with no external prompting. My audio processing used to be terrible, but I routinely tested at college age reading levels as a kid.

I also might have ADHD? If so, it’s also mostly just noticeable if I’m under stress, and then it’s hard to tell if that’s the issue or if it’s just autism/depression again.

You might be getting a clearer picture of how my secondary and its model end up burnt so often!

(Resisting a very strong urge to cut stuff from this post.)

In short, I was a Gifted Kid. I spent a lot of my teen years biting off more than I could chew, honestly. I felt that I should be able to do more, and I wanted to be taken seriously, but I had basically no idea how to take care of myself because my needs are different from everyone else’s. I’m still figuring those out.

I’m kind of like an orchid plant: incredibly picky about conditions, wants a different “soil” and watering schedule, gets stressed if stuff changes too quickly, but when everything is just right and it does bloom, it goes all out.

I’m not kidding when I say that I have odd needs. One of them is the need for creative work, which seems to be hardwired into me. When I say that art or writing keeps me sane, I often hear back “oh yeah! I’ve heard that can be very therapeutic,” which is an innocuous reply, but it’s always bugged me, and I think I’ve figured out why.

First, because that’s not the reason I make things… I just… have to. Second, I can’t “make up” not doing creative work with some other kind of therapy. Third and most importantly, I’d much rather think of “artist” as my ground state, and depression as a condition that happens when my needs aren’t being met, rather than thinking of depression as the default that I’m just using art to escape from. That seems to me a healthier way of thinking, and probably a more accurate one, but I’m probably the only one who can see that distinction.

If life gets in the way and I can’t make space for creative work, it will actively make my depression worse. I know this because, multiple times, I’ve been unable to pinpoint why I’m feeling shitty, and then I go back to my easel or my writing or (ukulele, cooking, even just taking care of houseplants) and realize I haven’t done anything creative in like a month and thaaaat’s the problem.

I crack open a bottle of gesso to prep some canvases and it smells like… well, I don’t think you can get high off gesso? But it’s not like when you’re out of it on painkillers or cold medicine or whatever. It’s incredibly grounding, like the world snaps back into focus but it’s also oddly euphoric. Or I write ten thousand words in a couple days and it just… I don’t know what that does. I’ve never run across a word for it.

The writer of Smile at Strangers (a really good memoir centered around women, anxiety, and karate) describes a similar feeling in relation to her martial arts practice.

It’s also a bit like when all the snow melts after winter and you step outside and there’s the smell of wet soil under sunlight and I’m not sure if this fully translates for people who don’t have seasonal depression. Sorry.

Dammit, I want to paint… I haven’t had space to set up for like eight months. I’ve been nose-deep in writing projects since last summer for a reason, but right now my friggin Ravenclaw secondary is off angsting about something because of Life Stress Bullshit, and I don’t have the focus to work on any of my writing projects. Apart from this one. But it’s not really what I want in terms of creative work.

*velociraptor screech*

Oh, yeah. I guess I could mention this is why my nickname is Paint. Not sure if that was obvious before. The header image (which is more visible in the app for some reason) is one of my paintings. It’s a tiny one and it’s not one of my favorites, but I had the photo on my phone and the colors work well enough for what I needed.

(restrains self from negging my own painting ability)

This is starting to get into spoiler territory for what burned Ravenclaw secondary looks like, huh? It’s peaced out for a couple weeks at this point. I’m trying to write about what made it take off, but my ability to think of words and form a coherent sentence kinda flew out the window when I approached it directly.

Let’s just say that around the start of the month, someone I was talking to online (if you’re reading this, it’s definitely not you) kindaaaa hit a nasty depression trigger of mine. Not their fault—it’s very specific to me, and I struggle to explain why I can’t really talk about it. Basically, I spent years studying programming and web design, and due to several different but related issues during that experience, it’s now a trigger for me. I very much want it not to be, but trying to train that out of myself has induced more than one panic attack and I’m stuck between giving up on it or figuring out a way to go back to it that doesn’t totally shut my brain down.

That paragraph took forever to write, by the way.

I think I have to end this here. I… am going to go take out the trash, and water my plants, and make my bed, and file some paperwork, and maybe I’ll even mix up some bread dough or do some laundry. Spoiler alert for what it looks like when my Hufflepuff model takes over, I guess.

Oh. And I should maybe probably eat something. I almost forgot about that... again.

#sortinghatchats #time to overshare on the internet i guess #secondary toast revolving door #mental health #burned ravenclaw secondary #hufflepuff secondary model #ravenclaw primary #paint speaks

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thechangeling · 4 years

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Lost and Found:

Happy birthday Alex! @catadorass I hope this is everything you wanted, or at least sort of what you wanted lol. I wrote this from Ty's pov because it's really importance to showcase his side of the story.

Nothing about us without us Cassie.

"Hey can we talk" Ty heard Kit ask from behind him.

It was late. Very late, most likely past 12 by this point and they had all just finished doing another late night round of frustrating and pointless research. They being, Ty, Kit, Dru, Jaime, Janessa a wayward Vampire who traveled all over with her band, but was originally from LA, Thais a Brazilian Shadowhunter who was dating Janessa, and Ash, the son of Sebastian Morgenstern and The Seelie Queen who had betrayed Janus, who had tasked Ash with infiltrating the Los Angeles institute and killing Kit. However, Ash and Kit had ended up bonding immensely. This had caused Ash to essentially switch sides and work towards protecting Kit from Janus trying to kill him. There was also The Seelie Queen trying to abduct him in order to obtain control of his powers, and generally anyone else who wanted to get their hands on the first heir.

At first Ty was a little worried that Ash was in love with Kit, but the pair seemed to be very platonic, just heavily invested in one another like Kit and Janessa. And of course Ty had no business being jealous either way. He and Kit had both been engaged in various- well relationships wasn't the right word, but various flings of sorts over the past few months, but he still couldn't help but think of Kit as his.

Which didn't make any sense because Kit had left.

What made even less sense was that Ty still loved him.

Ty braced himself and then turned to face Kit. It was clear how exhausted he was from the events of the past few weeks. They were up against The Seelie Queen, Janus, The Cohort, also several supernatural disturbances that didn't make a lot of sense. Anush, his friend at the scholomance was researching the problem there. It was quite possible that it had to do with Livvy's presence.

Ty really didn't want to think about that.

He also really missed Alyssa, a new friend of his that he had met while she was studying at the scholomance. But she had left to rejoin her werewolf pack in New York. They had bonded over both being autistic, and in moments where Ty was anxious or overwhelmed he wished he could summon her to his side.

Moments like this one.

Livvy was hovering nearby, giving him a look over Kit's shoulder. Ty ignored it.

Ty nodded at Kit without fully meeting his eyes. "Fine. We can talk. Liv can you leave us alone for a moment?" He asked. Livvy scowled slightly, but did as she was told. Looking back at Kit he couldn't help but still be slightly comforted by his presence. And even though Kit was visibly worn out and stressed, he was still the most beautiful thing Ty had ever seen.

Ty did his best to remain as cold as possible. "What do you want Kit?" He asked harshly. Kit flinched slightly in response, and Ty was caught in between feeling victorious and feeling like he had just been stabbed. Kit shook his head slightly.

"Come on Ty aren't you sick of this? Don't you miss me? The way things used to be?" Kit inquired angrily. "I'm sorry I left. But I forgave you. Isn't it time you forgave me?"

Ty honestly had no words. He just continued to glare at Kit. Did Kit honestly not have a single idea what Ty was feeling?

But wasn't it obvious? How hurt he was? How utterly broken he was?

Ty took a long deep breath to keep himself calm. His fingers were aggressively flicking at his sides. Kit took his silence as a sign to keep talking.

"Look. I talked to Dru."

Seriously. Now we're involving my sister in this? As if Livvy wasn't already bad enough?

"She sort of helped me realize some things, you know" Kit continued. "She pointed out to me that I should ask you how you feel, instead of just assuming that I already know." Kit was nervously shifting back and forth on the spot.

"Wow" Ty muttered sarcastically under his breath. He looked Kit dead in the eye and spoke. "What a revolutionary concept. That I should be allowed to speak for myself for once, and not have you, Drusilla or anyone else do it for me."

Kit sighed, his eyes softening. It was in that moment that Ty was close to forgiving him.

He desperately wanted to be able to run to Kit and throw his arms around him. To hold him, and kiss him and tell him how much Ty had missed him and that he was so brave and beautiful and sweet, and that Ty belonged to him.

But Ty couldn't cave now. Not until he made Kit understand.

"I'm sorry ok?" Kit pleaded. "I get why you're pissed but-"

Ty couldn't help it. He laughed. Even though nothing about this situation was in any way humorous. "No Kit." He shook his head. "You really don't."

Kit looked a little angry at that. Fine. Ty thought. If you hurt me then I'll just hurt you back.

"Fine." Kit breathed, his voice sounding surprisingly gentle. "Then tell me."

Ty was instantly brought back to the roof of the London institute. Tell me. Tell me what you need. He willed himself not to cry.

Ty took a deep breath, glaring at Kit. "Alright. Here's the thing. I am angry. I'm so angry that I can hardly breathe and no one notices." Ty snapped.

Kit opened his mouth to interject but Ty shook his head, eyes blazing with fury and tears. "No!" He shouted. "You said your piece already. Now let me say mine."

Kit stayed silent.

"I am quite literally always dealing with everything coming at me all at once, and Kit I know this is a very horrible situation for you, but I am just as stressed as you are, because despite what you might believe, I don't want you to fucking die!" Ty screamed.

Kit looked absolutely horrified. Ty was pretty sure he had never heard him swear before.

"I'm dealing with new people, new dangers, and I might lose Livvy again. I have all of this stress, all of this sensory information bombarding me 24/7. We barely sleep! We're all constantly together when we're awake! There's no time for me to stim, no time to breathe because we are all working to rescue you from your own fate!" He shouted. "And I'll do it too! Because of course I will! "It doesn't matter if I'm angry, or stressed, or tired, or scared! It doesn't matter that you broke my heart when you left me because for some unknown reason, you thought I could handle it!" Ty cried.

Kit was shaking his head. But he didn't look angry, just devastated. "Ty" he whispered, but Ty cut him off.

"Everybody always seems to think I'm either unbreakable or far too fragile and I need to be coddled and I'm sick of it. "I'm furious with you for promising that you wouldn't leave, and then telling me that you wished you had never met me when I thought I was never going to get Livvy back" Ty sobbed.

Kit gasped. Ty noticed that his eyes were filled with tears. Kit shook his head aggressively. "Sweetheart no" he breathed. "I didn't mean that. I swear."

Ty heard himself make an unrecognizable sound. His fingers were now aggressively fluttering at his sides. He clenched them into fists to stop them from moving. Kit began to step forward then stopped himself.

"Sweetheart" Ty whispered under his breath in awe. Alyssa had once told him that what he was doing now was called sub-vocalizing. He could hear her voice in his head. When our brains get stuck on a word or a phrase because it was so shocking or we can't stop thinking about it, or it brought out a huge emotional reaction in us, then we mouth it or we say it out loud over and over again.

"Sweetheart" he mouthed, warmth overflowing his body.

"I'm- I'm sorry" Kit stammered. "I didn't mean to upset you." Ty recovered himself quickly, shaking his head.

"No it's fine" he said firmly. "You just surprised me." Kit looked down at the ground. He looked embarrassed, defeated. He looked exactly the way he looked on the beach three years ago.

No. No don't go there. He doesn't really love you.

Ty continued on. "And at least I got Livvy back in a sense, but you still left me and I didn't survive that." There were fresh tears running down his face. Exhaustion was definitely catching up with him. Ty partly just wanted to let it go and go to sleep, but he needed Kit to understand.

"You cannot under any circumstances ever tell an autistic person that you're never leaving and then go back on your word Kit!" Ty exclaimed. "This is why we all have trust issues! Because we're naive, so we let our guards down because we just want someone to choose us. Not out of pity but out of genuine love. And it wasn't like this had never happened to me before but you were supposed to be different." Ty said defeated. He looked over at Kit and waited for Kit's eyes to meet his.

Ty had always hated eye contact. Mostly because it physically hurt and made him feel really awkward, but also because it felt too open. Too vunrable. As though someone could see into his soul and know all of his secrets just by looking.

Well he had never felt that way with Kit. Or maybe he just had never cared about letting Kit really see him. All of him. And they didn't have any secrets from each other. At least not anymore. Kit looked back at him and Ty could see it all. Hurt, exhaustion, longing, and love.

Love? Ty shook his head, physically willing himself not to be sucked in.

But there was no point.

"And that's why I fell in love with you" Ty admitted.

Kit's eyes widened almost comically. He inhaled sharply staring at Ty with an expression Ty was having trouble placing. Up until tonight, Ty hadn't actually looked at Kit. He had been avoiding it for some time now. Most likely because he was afraid of what he might see. Would he recognize the person that Kit had become?

But all Ty could see now was what he had actually been avoiding from Kit all those years ago. It was that look of complete awe and adoration. Like Ty had all of the answers to the secrets of the universe.

And Ty really really really didn't.

It was painful, because as much as he was angry with Kit, he also didn't want to hurt him or let him down again.

Ty fought to keep his voice steady as he spoke. "The worst part is, in the end I know i'll probably forgive you eventually. I will do what I always do. Take the high road. Be the bigger person and let it go because I have to. Because I'm never allowed to be angry Kit, and I'm not allowed to hold grudges because everyone is always convinced that I'm overreacting." Ty said bitterly.

"So it doesn't matter that you hurt me. It doesn't matter how many nights I spent crying myself to sleep at the scholomance or how many bad decisions I made during some futile attempt to feel something other then pain, and it doesn't matter that you might hurt me again" Ty lamented. He was fully aware that he was crying, but that didn't matter anymore.

Kit was staring at him dumbfounded like Ty was speaking another language, but the pain in his eyes was clear.

Ty shrugged slightly. "I'll still love you Kit, no matter what, because that's just how I am."

Kit took a deep breath, wiping away at his tears. "Ty- I'm so sorry. I- I didn't know" he stammered. Kit slowly began to approach Ty, carefully as if he were a wounded animal. "I'm sorry I didn't think about it like that. When I told you I loved you and you didn't say anything back, I just assumed you didn't want me, that you didn't care." He was standing directly in front of Ty now, and Ty couldn't help but stare into his eyes.

Suddenly, Ty was overwhelmed with the powerful urge to touch him. To reach out and comfort him. For Ty it was almost as instinctive as breathing. Instead he just shook his head.

"That's not true, it never was" Ty said adamently. "I was torn apart. Everything with Livvy was just too overwhelming and I just couldn't lose her Kit!" He protested forcefully. "But I always cared about you. I honestly just thought you knew."

Kit paused for a moment, then slowly reached for Ty's hand. Ty didn't fight him, only watched as Kit traced the lines on his hand. After a pause, Kit looked back up at him. " You're right. I shouldn't have assumed. I should have just asked you how you felt" Kit admitted. "I'm so sorry Ty." His voice broke. "I'm so sorry for leaving, for making you feel like I didn't care." Kit lifted his other hand, the one that wasn't holding onto Ty, and placed his palm softly on the side of Ty's cheek. He shook his head, almost in disbelief.

Ty fought the urge to close his eyes and lean into it.

Kit continued. "Honestly the truth is Ty, I fucking adore you. I love you so much." Ty heard himself inhale sharply. Kit was so close now, only centameters apart. It wouldn't take much just to lean over and kiss him.

Wait.

No. Not yet.

We're not done.

Ty scoffed slightly. "Yeah you say that Kit, but at the end of the day those are just words. Pretty, empty words." Ty almost regreted it as soon as he saw the look on Kit's face. Up close he could see the heartbreak in his eyes. Ty could also see the dark circles under his eyes which were a little red. He could see the dried tears smeared across Kit's cheeks.

Ty couldn't help but look at the broken boy in front of him and hate himself a little for the damage he had clearly caused.

Look at what you did to him, a cruel voice inside him whispered.

This is what you do. You hurt people, break their hearts and make them regret ever knowing you. This is all that you are. Selfish, cold and cruel.

Ty shook it off. It wasn't true. He loved Kit, just as he loved his family and his friends. It didn't matter that there were some people who refused to see that, refused to see that just because he felt differently, didn't mean that he was unable to feel. Some days, the sheer strength of what he felt for Kit threatened to break him in half it was so powerful. It was almost too much to bare. So Ty squashed it down and pushed it to the side, molded it so that it was more manageable and less scary.

Kit let out a soft breath of air and closed his eyes, he let go off Ty and dropped his head forward so that it was resting against Ty's shoulder. Kit was slightly shorter then Ty which Ty had always found amusing. Kit, less so, but secretly one of the things Ty had always loved about their height difference was that he could tuck Kit into the nape of his neck. Ty loved the feeling of Kit's curls against his skin.

"This isn't empty Ty" he murmured, nuzzling the side of Ty's neck. "This is everything."

Kit's voice was so quiet that Ty almost didn't hear him.

Kit pulled back slightly and tilted his head up to look at Ty. They were so close that their noses were slightly touching. Kit was staring up at him through half-lidded eyes. His hands were trailing up Ty's arms, pulling slightly at the fabric of his sleeves. His lips were parted slightly, staring up at Ty with so much love in his eyes.

"Beautiful" Ty whispered under his breath.

Kit looked utterly beautiful, and before Kit had the chance to answer him Ty was pressing his mouth to Kit's in a deep passionate kiss. The moment their lips touched, Ty almost let out a sigh of relief, sliding his hands up to Kit's face to cup his cheeks. Kit made a sound that was somewhere between a gasp and a moan, opening his mouth to deepen the kiss. Ty could feel Kit's hands all over him, rubbing across his back and then finally settling on Ty's waist. Ty pulled back slightly, noticing that Kit was straining himself to reach Ty's height, pulling himself up on his tip toes.

Ty couldn't help but laugh. "You really are quite short aren't you?" He teased. Kit looked like he was about to cry so Ty kissed him again, attempting to pour all of the love he had for Kit into the kiss. He slowly moved his hands down Kit's body, then bent down slightly to lift him up. Kit wrapped his legs around Ty's waist and threw his arms around Ty's shoulders kissing him sensually. Ty clung to Kit even tighter, afraid of what would happen if they let each other go.

He remembered way back when he and Kit had first been getting to know each other and Kit had told him that he was pretty sure Ty was autistic. He had given him a bunch of articles and official clinical descriptions and terms that made Ty feel distant and afraid. But then he had recommended Ty check out posts on social media sites made by autistic people and Ty had been completely swept into it. There was an entire tag on tumblr dedicated to autism, and Ty had spent hours scrolling through the posts feeling overwhelmed in the best way possible by a sense of community and belonging.

He had come across this one blog dedicated purely to autistic love and lust and how it manifests differently. Ty remembered reading one quote in particular that had made him feel hot and shivery all over, and painfully aware of Kit's presence next to him. It had stayed with him all this time.

I want to ink myself underneath your skin.

Ty gently put him down for a moment and leaned his forehead against Kit's. They were both breathing heavily.

"I missed you" Ty whispered. Kit smiled at him beautifully.

"I missed you too sweetheart."

Edit: This is old but I'm tagging @ti-bae-rius in this because I honestly just want your opinion lol.

#kit x ty #tda #twp #tsc #kaitlin'swriting

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turnabout4what · 4 years

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You used to be diagnosed with ADHD, but then got diagnosed with autism, right? Aside from needing a lot of time to recharge after social stuff, can I ask what kinds of things tipped you off as to the difference? My psychiatrist is looking at an ASD diagnosis for me after years of being labeled ADHD... and I don’t really know what to think. If this is too personal feel free to ignore it!

I’m still diagnosed with ADD, but I’m strongly suspected of having autism. I haven’t been able to pursue a diagnosis because of COVID, but I’ve been in therapy for both. Before I answer your question, I’m going to go over the overlap between ASD and ADD, because you can work on these things regardless of the diagnosis. It’s very stressful to not have a clear idea of what you’re “supposed” to be experiencing!

1. RSD, or Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria. Do you feel physical pain whenever a stranger on the internet implies you’re a bad person? You may have this common symptom of ASD and ADD.

2. Difficulties with executive functioning. Lots of people have trouble motivating themselves to do things, but ADD and ASD make it even harder!

3. Emotional regulation. You may become angry or anxious very easily, and you may be oversensitive. This often comes with impulsivity, especially in ADD.

4. Hyperfocusing. Do you ever start cleaning your room and then find yourself unable to stop? This frequently is accompanied by forgetting to eat. Generally, this happens with things that you enjoy doing, but when I’m stressed, it often involves cleaning.

5. Being prone to addiction. This can be drugs, or it can be video games or any number of things that give you a boost of dopamine. Additionally, you may get short-term obsessions. Watching a TV show may be incredibly stressful unless you can binge the entire thing in one weekend.

6. Not being able to make and keep friends in elementary school. I was great at making friends, but I could never keep them. Combined with RSD, this was devastating.

7. A lack of focus on work and school. Notably, if you also have anxiety, you may still be able to pull off good grades by using your anxiety to rein in your focus. I was once told by a psychiatrist who sat down with me for only ten minutes that kids with executive dysfunction couldn’t have a 4.0 GPA and that he didn’t believe I had trouble focusing. Two appointments later, he apologized and officially diagosed me with ADD. There’s a reason I don’t totally trust his diagnosis. I do find it interesting and relieving that your psychiatrist is looking at an ASD diagnosis; a lot of psychiatrists don’t consider that a possibility if you weren’t diagnosed in early childhood.

8. Forgetting deadlines, leaving things you needed at home, and generally being an organizational disaster by neurotypical standards. My third grade teacher gave me the “tornado award” in front of the entire class to publicly shame me for how messy my desk was.

Now, to answer your question, here are the things that stood out as being indicators of me having ASD:

1. ASD runs in my family. My dad didn’t speak until the age of 6, and my younger brother was diagnosed as autistic when he was about two years old.

2. I have a sensory disorder that frequently interferes with my everyday life. I’m the type who can’t be inside of a candle store for more than 10 minutes because the smells are too overwhelming. At homecoming and prom, I could be found as far away from the speakers as possible, wishing the evening would end and we could all go home. Interestingly, my issue isn’t with volume, but with how unfamiliar a sound is—I went to a TOP concert with intense earplugs in. For the opening band, I got so sick that I went to the bathroom and curled up in a ball with my hands over my ears. But when TOP started playing, I was able to take my earplugs out and I felt perfectly fine. Notably, I know every lyric to every TOP song on Spotify, and I’d never heard the opening band before.

3. People who are AFAB and high intelligence frequently don’t show the standard signs of ASD due to how we’re socialized as infants. If you’ve ever stood in a mirror and practiced making facial expressions and hand gestures, it’s a sign you intellectually learned how to act neurotypical. Most people pick up on that intuitively.

4. I only recently discovered that when someone asks, “How are you?” you’re supposed to ask them that question back. I always hated when people asked me that, since I was expected to say that I was doing well, so I never returned it. I didn’t realize that was rude. I still occasionally find things that are considered basic communication that I never realized.

5. My dad was physically abused as a child whenever he showed symptoms of ASD, and unfortunately that meant my younger brother and I were verbally abused any time we stimmed, talked about our special interests, or reacted strongly to sensory stimuli. Because of this, I didn’t indulge my childhood special interest until I was well into college: insects. As soon as I started taking classes about insects, I occasionally scared classmates and even professors! I’m normally a soft and smiley person, but when I’m hyperfocused on something that really interests me, I fall into a certain state that my friends have described as “intense.”

6. Stimulant ADD medications like Adderall and Vyvanse did not work for me. They made me more anxious and didn’t improve my focus well. You know what did work? Wellbutrin. My doctor actually just upped my Wellbutrin dose and I feel incredible

This was extremely long, but hopefully helpful! Note that all of the problems I’ve had with my ASD or ADD came from surrounding myself with people who never tried to understand me. Now I have friends who plan events with my sensory sensitivities in mind, who point out my mistakes without making me feel rejected, and who are excited to see me even when I’m 15 minutes late… again. Neither diagnosis means there’s something wrong with you. It just means people have to put in a little extra work to understand you, and I promise you’ll find people who know you’re worth that extra work.

Best wishes, anon!

#long post #add #asd

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yanderedbh-moved · 5 years

Text

The Yanderes + Smut Scenarios

Fun with the DBH character + fun tropes! Requests are open, though, if you want me to expand on, or write more from any of these ideas. Obviously NSFW below the cut so read at your own digression.

Connor

Surprisingly gentle when he is In the Mood. No more aggressive, just a bit more physically close is all. Rubbing his body up against yours, loving touches, a kiss on the cheek. The sort of things most people would brush off, but from Connor, you know he must want something here.

The more an more headed he becomes, the more possessive, like more than either of you would’ve expected. It’s hard for him not to get extra handsy here and feel an exquisite sense of power holding you in his bed.

But when he isn’t buried in the mood, Connor can’t help but feel a little nervous here. Sex isn’t exactly part of his programmed directions, so he worries he might mess up here. Just urge him forward and say he’s doing so well, and this is an issue easily forgotten.

Markus

Sensory deprivation, all the way. He wants to leave you as overstimulated and under his control as possible. Usually, he’ll just use a blindfold on you, and it’ll work just fine for him.

Even though he loves to punish you for being naughty, or for distracting him from his work, physical pain isn’t really a line he crosses all that often. Usually, his preferred method to get you to feel sorry is orgasm denial, or as mentioned before, pain overstimulation. He doesn’t necessarily want to see you in pain, you’re begging is more than enough for him.

Oh no, someone saw/heard the two of you fucking? What a shame... Seriously though, he’s absolutely the one to get extra loud if he thinks others are close by.

Kara

Not really something she likes to admit to, but Kara loves to push you down during sex. Like not really as far as stepping on you, but forcing you into the mattress or the pillows is probably about the furthest amount of pain she’s willing to give during sex.

Kara seems like the kind of girl who would really surprise her partner with how much stamina she had during sex. You already knew how strong she was outside the bedroom, but here, you never imagined Kara had such vigor.

Another place Kara likes to get lewd would definitely be the tub. Usually, here she would take an innocent activity like washing your hair or cleaning you up and turn it into something much more intimate and risque.

Hank

Lowkey might have one of the dirtiest minds out of everyone. It’s probably because he’s been around the longest, and is easily the most experienced, but seriously don’t think he won’t get incredibly graphic just because he’s older.

While personally, Hank would only ever want to get really dirty if it were just the two of you, that just makes the moments of intimacy all the raunchier. If he knows he can trust you, Hank will growl the most shameless, depraved things you’ve ever heard as he slips a leg between your thighs.

Hank may like to be the controlled dom in the bedroom, he’s also the type of partner to get extra sloppy the closer he gets to his orgasm. He really loves to curl his first in your hair as he finds himself overwhelmed by his own pleasure.

Luther

Even though he’s pretty quiet during sex, all things considered, he’s definitely the kind of guy who would get extra loud the closer he gets to come. Usually in the form of low grunts and growls.

Literally, Luther is such a teddybear! He is very understanding of anything you would feel outright uncomfortable with, and if there was anything you wanted to try with him, but didn’t understand, Luther would very carefully and without judgment guide you through the motions.

When he is really in the mood to be the more dominant partner, Luther actually likes to keep the atmosphere between the two of you somewhat playful. He’s far more into teasing than he is into pain.

North

If you keep trying to tease her and play with her in public, she will absolutely respond by shoving you up against the wall and making out with you in that very spot. If anyone sees this and thinks she’s acting desperate? That sounds like their problem...

Needs a lot of reassurance that you love her, that she’s doing well, and all that jazz. But make no mistake, she will absolutely return the favor and deliver you the same kindness.

Once she does find her stride though, she might actually warm-up and be pretty team Harsh Dom TM. (Ma’am? Please raw me?)

Simon

Unpredictable to a fault. You may think you know him well, but it’s not exactly his style to just deliver what’s expected of him. More likely, he likes to leave you as flustered and confused as possible until you’re basically weeping for him to give you release.

He would absolutely wreck you if you allowed him to. As in, Simon would love to just tease you and wind you up for hours without giving you a break, and until your unable to do anything but follow his command.

While you might expect someone like him to lean more on the side of subbing or something like that, you might actually be surprised at how naturally he takes to the role of a dom. Something about the stress of the leaders of Jericho breathing down his neck all the time leaves the man with a need to feel in control every now and then.

Josh

Josh always does his best to be gentle around you, and to keep your safety and comfort of utmost importance, the longer this guy goes without a good lay, he harder it gets for him to hold back. And he can’t help but get a little feral if he’s really been missing out on his “quality time” with you.

As a pretty quiet guy during sex, he has a major soft spot for partners who make him ask for what he wants during sex. He’s certainly not above begging every now and then.

Might lowkey brag to the other members of Jericho about this when he’s done. It’s not because he wants you to be embarrassed here or anything, it’s just that he really enjoyed himself, and he wants others to know how great you are!

Kamski

He’s been known to leave bruises on your hips from grabbing them too harshly as he forces you to grind up against his leg.

An absolute bastard. One of Elijah's biggest turn-ons includes controlled orgasms and denial. It’s hard to say whether he enjoys the control or the begging more, but the bottom line is, if you aren’t begging him shamelessly by the end of the night, you won’t be getting any kind of gratification from him.

He’s always been very talented with his hands/his fingers, and this absolutely extends to sex as well. It’s something both you and him are well aware of, so much so that just the mere sight of you in a dress or a skirt is enough to get him feeling more than a little tempted.

Chloe

To your surprise, Chloe is actually rather shy during sex for someone so usually extraverted and social. And to be honest, during your first couple of times, she might come off as a bit of a pillow princess...

Chloe is far from loud when it comes to sex, however, if you’re on top, Chloe loves to praise, and if you can really get her going, it’s hard for her to keep calm or lower her volume.

Likely the type of partner who’s like, “This is so dirty, what would others think if they saw us like this... Keep going!”

Gavin

If he has dirty dreams about you in his sleep, Gavin will likely unconsciously start grinding up against you in the middle of the night, muttering suggestive nothings to himself in his own little dreamland.

Loves to give you some additional suggestive dirty talk when the two of you are in public, or even better, out with other people. He won’t be loud enough for other people to hear, but just enough to get you a little tensed up.

What really gets him excited, though is whenever you let him break out the gun during sex. He’s pretty into power play and holding the gun to your chin, or naked chest gives everything an effective dose of thrill and excitement.

Zlatko

The man loves to spend so much time covering your neck and shoulders in love bites. It might hurt, but it’s kind of a compliment from him, it’s his way of providing you with a more fitting, more permanent collar.

His personal favorite way to torment you when he can tell you’re really close to reaching your end is with painfully slow thrusts. There’s very little in life which he finds more pleasurable than the way he feels your body writhing below his own.

The other biggest turn on for him would likely be fear. The reasons here being a mix of both the feelings of adrenaline and control it gives him. Whether you’re just a little afraid or completely fucking terrified, it’s all the same to him, really.

Ralph

Mr. No experience. He’s also far from an intuitive lover, and unfortunately, it’s not unheard of for him to accidentally hurt you during sex. Because of this, it’s vital for both of you to very clearly guide him through things.

Just hearing the way your own pleasure causes your voice to tremble and crack is enough to seriously turn him on. But to listen to this between his legs is undoubtedly a very lovely plus...

Being as physically close to you as possible during sex is a must for him. Ralph wants to hold you if he can, and if he can’t, then he will struggle to do so. Usually, it’s better to just lean into his touch here, so he’s not too distracted and doesn’t get too desperate.

(Additionally, this guy probably makes the weirdest noises during sex. Like boy might straight up start hissing or some shit, and you just gotta roll with it.)

Daniel

Genuinely thinks it’s a compliment to show you how hard he is, or how much you’re turning him on, even during the most indecent of times.

Daniel is far more comfortable as a sub than any other position. Even during sex Daniel is gravely worried over the idea of disappointing you, and in this position, it’s the easiest for him not to worry about that.

Somehow the best at dirty talk? Like he will growl the nastiest shit you’ve ever heard during sex, and it’s the best.

Nines

Love to catch you off guard. Not necessarily with anything too startling, but with some gentle caresses and contact which leaves you flustered and taken by the advance. Furthermore, Nines isn’t the type to just jump right into sex without any kind of foreplay. He’s really more of a “slow burn” kind of guy.

One of the quietest during sex. You really won’t hear much out of his mouth, especially if it’s occupied.

Essential to know Nines possesses an excellent memory. He’s the one to remember all the positions which leave you the most desperate and needy, and he absolutely will use that against you.

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jazz-n-spitz · 4 years

Text

So here is my original loose timeline for my story that I will probably never write. 😂 I'm wanting to completely change it, but figured I'd show you this.

Sodalite had belonged to Blue Diamond, but due to being off color in era 1, she was going to be shattered. Instead, pink took her into her court and when Pink was given the Earth, Sodalite was one of the first of her gem kind to work on the monuments. During the war, Blue Diamond had the Sodalites repurposed for creating gem powered artifacts. Sodalite didn't agree with this and fled. She had heard of the Crystal Gems helping runaways, but knew they were the enemy force and feared getting caught in the fight. She instead did her best to avoid them. Sodalite came across a small human village where the humans were surprisingly accepting and the children enjoyed her art as well as her companionship and stories. She decided to stay after warding a few Homeworld gems away from a group of children, in the process meeting Rosie and they became friends, both living in the human village for many years. Sodalite eventually fell in love with a human and had Jazz.

Rosie was assigned to the human zoo alongside many other Rose Quartz soldiers. She took a more active role in the humans' lives, helping care for the children, due to her small stature and less intimidating size. When the other rose Quartzes were bubbled, she was looked over. Rosie found out and escaped to Earth, as she had heard that there were gems there that could help her. Rosie was part of the Crystal Gems for a while, but after hearing that Rose's rebellion was responsible for the rest of the Quartzes getting bubbled, she got mad and left. She eventually came across Sodalite and joined her in the human village.

Jazz was born four years before the corruption attack. Rose came across Jazz and Rose and invited them to join the Crystal Gems, being quite curious about Jazz. Rosie refused, and told Rose that she had left for a reason and would not be coming back. (Well what about her? Does she not deserve to know her own kind?" "Sodalite wanted nothing to do with you, so leave us alone.) Rose said that she accepted this, but that the offer would always be there.

Jazz spent the first few years after corruption living alongside Rosie, and was practically feral.

Jazz was captured by curious humans who tried to teach her with limited success. One man decided to take her home and raise her alongside his own two kids. He was more accepting of her oddities and Jazz slowly opened up to him and allowed him to teach her.

Eventually Rosie found her way back to Jazz and was accepted into the family and treated somewhat like a family pet.

Jazz grows up knowing she is different, but unsure of what she actually is.

Jazz outlives her adopted family, but is still involved with future generations. Eventually the family line dies out and Jazz stays to keep up the home. She hunts her own food and scavenges from what other people leave behind. Jazz starts taking care of various animals to keep her company. Jazz is a magnet for corrupted gems, but they are never hostile towards her. Jazz thinks that the corrupted gems are odd, but feeds them just like any other stray animal she comes across. She just kinda shrugs at the ones who don't eat, figuring that they must be getting food elsewhere. Over time Jazz notices that many of her regular visitors have started disappearing, but she doesn't think much of it, as she is used to outliving other creatures and assumes that they are passing away.

Eventually the corrupted gems stop coming around entirely and Jazz is sad that she doesn't get to interact with these strange, yet somewhat friendly animals.

As time goes on, Jazz grows bored and lonely, so she decides to integrate into modern society. She has a bit of a hard time adjusting to modern technology, but slowly gets the hang of it. She goes through high school, still appearing quite young. She starts working odd jobs and earning some money. She learns what she can about technology and eventually gets a phone and laptop.

After getting a job at a pet store, she sees Beach City on the news, detailing Spinel's attack as well as other disasters in the past (the diamonds, the redeye, corrupted gems) Jazz decides to take a trip and has a friend care for her cats while she is away.

Jazz first comes across Sadie while she is visiting during one of the Suspects' tours. Sadie tries to introduce Jazz and Rosie to Steven, but Rosie refuses to go anywhere near the temple. Jazz tells Sadie that they can try again tomorrow. The next day, Jazz and Sadie meet up again and Jazz gets introduced to Steven. Steven shows Jazz around Beach City and Little Homeworld.

Steven decides to take Jazz to visit Homeworld to show her how different it is now. While visiting the Diamonds, Jazz meets Spinel. Jazz is entertained by Spinel's antics and gets to to talking to her. Spinel and Jazz hit it off and Steven invites Spinel to come visit to hang out. Jazz agrees and manages to convince Spinel.

Spinel sometimes does activities with Jazz at Little Homeschool.

Jasper shows up and attacks Jazz and Spinel. Spinel gets mad and fights back. Spinel gets poofed and Jazz freaks out. For the first time, she summons something from her gem. A small stick. Jazz doesn't care and just starts whaling on Jasper. Jasper is not impressed. The gems show up and chase Jasper away. Steven gets concerned about why Jazz is so upset and Jazz tells him what happened. Pearl is deeply confused as to how Jazz knows nothing about poofing, but Steven is happy to explain. Steven explains that when a gem gets hurt, they sometimes retreat into their gem in order to sort of heal themselves. He then says that Jazz must be pretty tough to never have had to reform. Spinel reforms and Jazz hugs her. Spinel is surprized and not entirely sure how to react.

Jazz mentions that she actually managed to pull something from her gem, saying she wasn't aware she could do that. Pearl points out that it is a very common ability and that Jazz must have stored something in her gem to begin with in order for her to have pulled ot out. Jazz agrees. (Oh yeah! I used to store things I thought looked cool in there all the time when I was younger! But….I kinda stopped doing it once I realized I could never get it back) Steven suggests trying to heal Jazz. (Maybe some of the Corruption stuck? Like more than the other gems?) Pearl isn't quite sure, but Garnet shrugs and says it's worth a shot.

Jazz gets healed and starts lessons in little homeschool. Pearl teaches her about gem history and Amethyst tries to teach her gem powers. Jazz is not very successful with her powers and tends to do things accidentally and not reliably. Pearl suggests having Peridot take a look at Jazz's gem.

Peridot tells Jazz that her gem is much smaller than the average Sodalite and that could explain her lack of ability. She tells her that she must have been injected too close to the surface, causing her to emerge early. Peridot asks what kindergarten Jazz comes from. Jazz is confused. (But I never went to Kindergarten?" "No, no. Where did you emerge?" "I don't remember emerging from anywhere") Peridot and Pearl are deeply confused about Jazz's complete lack of knowledge of gems. Pearl asks Garnet and she shrugs, saying Jazz is a mystery to even her. Amethyst is pretty chill about the whole thing. (Well I popped out not knowing what I was or what I was supposed to do! I didn't even know I was an Amethyst until I met you guys. Maybe she's just like me and got mixed up with humans. *shrugs* "But Sodalites aren't from Earth. Most are from the Narsuque colony. She would have emerged alongside Blue Diamond's Pyrites and Lazurites. There's no way she just happened to find herself on Earth!" "Well I don't know! Can you come up with a better explanation?") Garnet speaks up and says that while Jazz is very strange, she is very kind. It shouldn't matter who she is or where she came from, what's important is that she's here now and deserves a chance to learn about her culture.

Steven talks with Connie about Jazz's strangeness.

Eventually Rosie gets healed and explains Jazz's history.

Spinel doesn't quite understand her feelings at first, so she goes and talks to Steven. He gets excited and eagerly encourages her. He later regrets this, as he then becomes her goto for advice. It wouldn't be an issue, except she will just show up at random whenever she thinks of a question. This is often in the middle of the night. Steven eventually gets tired of this. (Go ask Garnet!) And eventually Spinel figures out that Garnet is her better bet once night comes around.

Spinel finds out Jazz can play piano and wants to learn an instrument to try and impress her. She asks steven. (Can you teach me to play that small stringy instrument?" *steven shows her his ukulele* "You mean ukulele?) Jazz is not nearly as impressed as Spinel had hoped, but she appreciates the effort.

Spinel and Jazz end up fusing, but it didn't last long, as sensory overwhelm was too much for Spinel to handle. Jazz tells her that it's okay and tries to calm her down. She explains that she sometimes can get overwhelmed by sounds and smells and if Spinel doesn't think she can handle it, they don't have to fuse again, even though it was fun for a little bit.

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crushedbyhyperbole · 5 years

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Feeling’s Mutual

Summary: When Bucky Barnes agreed to join The Avengers he didn’t know what to expect. There was kindness and support, more than he could have hoped for, and understanding. There was also misunderstanding. Dr Veronica Edwards is a hurdle Bucky can’t seem to get past. Why she doesn’t like him, he has no clue but it’s obvious to him that she really doesn’t. When routine testing on the new prosthetic arm puts him in Dr Edwards med-suite he finds himself angry at the lengths his new team will go to in order to keep him on a leash. After that, Bucky decides that maybe he doesn’t like her much either.

Word Count: 4284

Warnings: Self-loathing and a smattering of PTSD with some mild language thrown in.

A/N: This is part one of my Muscle memory series..POV Bucky Barnes, first person. Set between CA:CW and A:IW, with some of the later story mixed in. I do what I want, okaaayyyy.

“Good morning, Sergeant Barnes.”

Dr Veronica Edwards’ smooth voice surprised me. She was standing in for Dr Harvey while he was off sick with a stomach virus. I wasn’t expecting to see any of the ladies here this morning, so I hadn’t bothered with anything more vigorous than a quick wash and a cursory brush of my teeth. You know how you regret not doing something just when it’s too late? Yeah, this was one of those.

Being dapper had been part of my persona, from back before Hydra, before trigger codes and before the war; a man should always make an effort when ladies are present. I supposed that was all out the window now my reputation had changed and I wasn’t James Buchannan Barnes, ladies man, any more. I was Bucky Barnes, Winter Soldier.

I winced as the shadow of a memory flickered in my minds eye like a film reel running too fast, showing snippets of the film in between its skips and jumps on the projector; a murder here, a massacre there, they all flowed together in a tapestry that was as blurry as it was busy. The reel skipped off completely and I refocused on her face.

Dr Edwards smiled warmly, moist-looking nude lips curling upward gently making the peachy complexion of her cheeks seem radiant and her green eyes sparkle with kindness. I knew that was just her bed-side manner, so to speak, to be kind and considerate to all of the people she assisted, but honestly it made me feel a little uneasy. In my extensive experience, niceness was either a weakness, a grave miscalculation or a form of manipulation, and I trusted none of it. But I was trying to change that with the help of Steve and the folks here at Avengers Central.

Striding further into the room, looking thoroughly classy in my black jersey sweatpants and crumpled white t-shirt, I squared my shoulders and tried to push the uneasy feeling aside. I regretted wearing the two-day-old clothes, but the Doc didn’t seem to care how scruffy I was.

Dr Edwards was always pleasant, courteous and respectful. She was also confident and empowered, and it made me feel pretty vulnerable. She knew who she was, and what she wanted. That kind of strength was rare and it made me feel, uhhh, inadequate.

“Shirt off please.” She held eye contact for a moment longer than was comfortable. “Take a seat when you’re ready.” She gestured to the blue, leather-cushioned examination table to her right.

Hopping up, as instructed, I stripped my shirt off to reveal musculature that I was proud of (super-soldier serum aside - I’d worked hard to stay in shape), and the scarred juncture where my flesh ended and the arm began. I bunched the shirt up at my side and shook out both arms, getting ready for the exam.

Dr Edwards, had conducted my monthly exam only three times in the past. Each time she had neither been impressed nor distracted by my semi-naked glory. Perhaps that’s part of the reason why she made me uneasy. In the past, women had always thrown themselves at my feet, without my asking them, they’d been there flirting and giggling and vying for attention.

Not Veronica, she was in her own category, she didn’t even bite at the little flirtatious jibes I sometimes made towards the ladies on the team. With the exception of Nat, Wanda, and Pepper, all of the female SHIELD agents and Stark Industries staff were either terrified of or swooned after me. Well, me, Steve and Thor. It was hard to compete with the two big blonde guys but Nat said I still had it. Whatever it was.

Shame my sex drive wasn’t the same as it had been before, well, before hydra.

“How are you finding the latest modification?” Dr Edwards said, holding her hand out casually asking for permission to examine the arm.

I lifted the tech arm, laying the wrist into her palm lightly. I could feel so much more through the articulated metal casing than I could before, it almost felt like she was really touching my skin. Her hands were cool, smooth and soft, and her fingers were delicate as she deftly turned the metal hand over in hers until our palms were touching.

“It’s fine.” I said gruffly, the feel of her skin on the metal was distracting and oddly intimate.

“It’s taking you a while to get used to the enhanced tactile responses I take it?”

I’d worn a leather glove over the metal hand since Shuri had come up with this new upgrade. It was like sensory overload, overwhelming me with intense feeling that my brain could hardly cope with.

I simply nodded, for want of a better response. She was so intuitive. I’d hardly spoken with her but it was like she could see right inside me and pick out the parts that she needed to know. How could anyone defend against that? Maybe she had a telepathic power. Steve would know. I decided I’d ask him later when we both hit the gym.

“It’s ok to be overwhelmed. I can turn the sensitivity down for you today if you’d prefer, or you can continue wearing the glove and just ease yourself in slowly?”

In truth, I didn’t really like to be tinkered with. And I only went along with this monthly exam because Steve had made it mandatory in order to make everyone feel safer, and for my own good, apparently. That’s what he’d said anyway. I couldn’t argue with his reasoning really. I had a past that was impossible to escape and a reputation for murder and brutality that went with it.

“I’ll just do it myself.” I’d succeeded on my own for so long, so I should be able to overcome a few issues with feeling things.

“No problem.” Veronica said, plugging a ribbon cable into the port just inside my metal armpit. “Right then, show me your range of motion. Start with fingers, then wrist, elbow, and shoulder. I’m looking for improved flexibility in the rotator cuff from last time when we fixed the pinching at the shoulder.”

I wiggled all the parts she asked me to with no discomfort at all. The tech felt the smoothest it had ever been, almost like it was a real arm but I would always see it as foreign, never think of it as mine. It was something I wore, like shoes, necessary and functional. I knew I’d feel off-balance without it, and fighting would be difficult.

With the arm Bucky Barnes was a fully functioning member of The Avengers. Without it he was a pity case, or at least that’s how it felt.

“Step up to the testing machine, please Sergeant Barnes.” She didn’t look up from her tablet, but she stepped confidently to the control panel with the ease of someone who had memorised the space and knew exactly what was where.

I had never seen that machine before. It looked a little like a mini hydraulic crusher. Eying it suspiciously, I slid off the exam bench and approached, shirt forgotten on the table. The diagnostic cable was still plugged in under the arm and although I couldn’t feel the physical connection, I could feel the flow of power as data passed from the arm to the tablet in Dr Edwards’ hands.

“This is new.” I licked my lips, slightly nervous.

New things made me uneasy. New things were variables, variables were risks, risks were dangerous.

“It’s a custom-made tensile strength machine, made just for you.” She smiled brightly as if I should be flattered that they’d come up with a new way to scrutinize me. “Only instead of testing the strength of the metal your arm is made from, it measures the crushing ability and the strength of your arm in a way we can compare easily with other things for example the tensile strength of structural steel is around five hundred mega pascals. Human skin is around twenty mega pascals. Vibranium, well, vibranium is significantly higher at fifty giga pascals but that doesn’t reflect the force you can apply with your arm, if you know what I mean.”

I didn’t. Not really, but I wasn’t about to ask her to elaborate. She was smarter than most of the techs working at Stark Industries, I’d heard the iron-skin-suit call her brilliant but until now I’d never seen her as anything more than a junior tech.

“You made it?” I asked with a frown.

“Helped design it yes.” She held my gaze almost as if she sensed my disapproval.

Trust a woman to come up with new ways to test and torture me. As if I hadn’t had enough of that my whole super-soldier life.

“What do I have to do?”

Veronica ran through the protocols and procedures, and I got the feeling she dumbed it down a little when she described it as ‘weight training for your enhanced limb’.

Slotting the arm into the device, I patiently waited for her to check and double-check the alignment and safety measures. The commands of pull and squeeze seemed simple enough to follow.

“Are you ready to start the test, Sergeant Barnes?”

I nodded with another frown. She was going to start thinking I hated her, and probably start calling me ‘him’ instead of just my military title. It wasn’t lost on me that Veronica was one of very few people who never called me by my preferred name ‘Bucky’, she was always so formal.

“Ok, and pull for me.”

I compressed the arm in a bicep curl, feeling the machine’s tension counteracting my efforts. It was like pulling an oar through water to begin with.

“And again.” She commanded. “Keep repeating until you meet maximum resistance.”

“How will I know when that is?” I curled again, feeling the weight against the arm increase.

“You and the machine will reach an impasse. You won’t be able to pull any more.”

I mumbled a nondescript acknowledgement and continue to work the arm. At first it was easy, I curled quickly but after a few minutes I found it much tougher. The machine ramped up the difficulty quickly after my initial efforts and then I was grunting, sweating, and straining against the mechanism.

“Good. Good!” She praised and I felt a little hotter in the face with either a blush or sweat, it was hard to tell right then. “Keep going, you’re doing great.”

After a few more curls the machine locked up and I couldn’t move it any further. I strained and yanked at it, grinding the mechanism until the arm was locked up too. I glanced at Veronica, panting and flustered from my exertion. She disengaged the machine and, with a hiss, the hydraulics powered down. She took notes quickly before setting up the next task.

With the arm still fixed in the device, I couldn’t move anywhere. It was like that time that Steve caught me in some factory machinery and forced me to remember who I was. I was eternally grateful to him for never giving up on me but the feeling of helplessness wasn’t something I enjoyed a replay of.

Sweating, and with regret, I wished I could reach my shirt to blot my face. I hadn’t realised the exam was going to be so physical, and goddamn if I hadn’t been clenching just about every muscle in my whole body whilst fighting against the damn thing. Even my crack felt sweaty.

“Is there anything I can get you before we start the next stage?” Her voice was soft with concern. It was unnerving how well she read me. “Do you need to rest?”

“I’m good.” I said, pride making a fool of me.

“Ok, well let me dry you off a bit. The port is still connected and should be dry when open.”

I blushed hard at that. She was telling me that I was too sweaty. Gross. I frowned, embarrassed, and shied away from her touch when she brought a wad of paper towels to my brow. It had been the very thing I had wanted but not from her.

Her hands were still quite cool but she felt colder against my heated skin. Too close, she leant over me to smooth the moisture from my body. Swiping the tissues over my face, neck, shoulders and chest, Dr Edwards watched me curiously. She had to know she was tormenting me. How could she not notice my flared nostrils and ragged breathing? This kind of physical contact wasn’t something I felt comfortable with.

Tense and scowling, I held my breath, tolerating the contact as much as I could. She continued with her ministrations until she was satisfied with the dryness of my skin. It had been too personal in contrast to the formality of her pervious interactions with me. Never more than polite yet professional conversation, zero contact outside of the examination room or combat training, limited off-duty interaction. It made me feel confused and uneasy. There was something about her that put me on edge, made me listless.

“The second part of the test is to gage the pressure you can generate with your hand.” She said, creating space between us that I welcomed. “I’ll do come calibrations after that if needed and we can have a chat about your needs.”

“My needs?”

My heart thudded once, twice, three times before I got it under control. Why did I have to talk about myself with her? Dr Harvey was unassuming and easy to ignore. I didn’t mind talking to him because… Why? Because I didn’t feel… Feel what? Because he wasn’t… Wasn’t what? Because she made me feel… Oh for Christ sakes, WHAT?

She made me feel threatened, made me feel nervous. Veronica made me feel like she didn’t really like me all that much. The coldness she gave me when she was friendly with everyone else, first names, laughing, joking, and the ease of casual contact.

“Come again?” I sought clarification.

Oh, Buck, why did you have to make it sound like that. Like what? Like that?

The way she eyed me then, I didn’t know if it was hatred or something more predatory.

“I don’t follow.”

“Some people prefer to have prostheses that do what they tell them. Unless you have a penchant for crushing instead of caressing.”

I’m sure my mouth was flapping in the non-existent breeze. Agape and floundering, I had nothing to say. Stuck in the idea that flirting and bitterness were one and the same thing to her, or maybe it was too subtle a difference for me to separate the two, I blushed crimson. Then it struck me that maybe she was goading me about my past. It was no secret that The Winter Soldier had crushed more than a few windpipes in his time.

“Fine.” I said, swallowing dryly. “I’m ready to carry on.”

“Very well.” And just like that, her stone-faced stoicism was back, with polite professionalism draped over the top. “Please let your hand relax and fall open. Good.”

A device with five finger shaped recesses arranged around a silvery ball lowered and rested in the palm the metal hand. I could feel the metal on metal contact creating a strange thrumming vibration through the arm. It felt like when I had handled Steve’s shield; a tell-tale sign that vibranium had been used to make this device.

“I’m going to ask you to hold an object, and I would like you to use your muscle memory to create the pressure with your prosthesis. The machine will respond, mimic the item and measure the results. It sounds harder than it is. Ready?”

I nodded, just wanting to get this over and done with. The sooner this was over, the sooner we could have our ‘chat’ about my needs, and the sooner I could hit the gym with Steve. The punching bag was definitely going to get ruined today.

“An apple.”

The device in the not-my hand seemed to have the same resistance against my grip as would a firm green apple. I held it, turning it in the not-my fingers.

“Good. See, you got it.”

Dr Edwards’s praise was both frustrating and pleasant. I didn’t like the feeling of wanting to please her, but at the same time it was nice to hear her soften towards me, even slightly.

“An egg.”

The machine adjusted slightly and I could feel the fragility of it against the prosthetic fingers.

“A feather.”

I pinched my thumb and forefinger, holding the imaginary feather in between.

“The hand of a loved one.”

Well, shit, if that didn’t throw me for six. The way the machine moved around my hand gave me chills. It slid between my fingers, and almost felt real for a second before I managed to distinguish the materials from real skin. I hardly touched skin with the prosthetic anymore, except my own.

“A mouse.”

The machine wriggled against my palm. I held it loosely in the cage of my fingers, just firm enough that it couldn’t escape.

“Excellent.”

The test carried on like that for several more minutes before Dr Edwards removed the mimicking device and switched to something that looked like a hand dynamometer.

“Ok Sergeant, I’m going to ask you to squeeze as hard as you can. This will create a maximum pressure output for me to work with. What I’m going to do afterwards is set some values into the prosthesis’ programming that will allow you to quickly achieve an exact pressure to accomplish a task.”

“Like what? Break a bone?” I scoffed, and before I even looked at her face I knew that was exactly what she had meant.

“Not just that. But also how not to break a bone.” She had the sense to look a little abashed.

Dr Edwards had read my file, of course she had, they all had. She knew when she agreed to run these tests that she were going to be programming instant kills into me or programming me to stop just short. My money was on the latter.

“And you couldn’t just tell me that this was what it was all about? Nerfing me so I don’t lash out and kill someone.” Irritation seethed up my spine and settled as heat in my face. “I get it, I really do. But I’m a person, not a tool. Would it kill ya to include me in decisions about, well, me?”

“James…”

“Don’t.” I shut her down. “Get the test finished. I’m done after that.”

When she said my name, my heart almost stopped. Gone was her formal, guarded façade. In its place was concern and a look of such sadness that I just didn’t know what to do with myself. How do you deal with a switch like that? And fuck me if I wasn’t simultaneously happy as a school boy on the first day of the summer holidays and irritated enough to rip that damn machine apart and storm out of the med wing. Steve was gonna get a tongue lashing from me before the day was done.

Her face was pale and remorseful as she started the machine off on its cycle. I squeezed that damn thing as if I was squeezing the life out of the sonofabitch who turned me into a killing machine, squeezed like I was crushing all of the hatred I felt for myself, squeezed like my life depended on it. Who knew, maybe one day it would.

Dr Edwards sent the data to my prosthesis and closed me up. She was silent but continued to search my face for something, hope maybe, I dunno. She wasn’t going to find anything. I was about ready to shut down and stay the fuck away from everyone and everything until I got a chance to have things out with Steve.

I got up to leave, scooping my crumpled white tee off the exam table as I went.

“Good day, Sergeant.”

I closed my eyes as her coldness returned. Stood in the doorway shirtless and feeling used, I paused, not looking back.

“Dr Edwards.” I nodded curtly, showing my face in profile only, before striding off in search of something to beat on. She didn’t need to receive my frustration, she wasn’t the only person, or even the main person, to oversee everything ‘Bucky’. Rogers and Stark, each had equal hands in this.

“We didn’t think about it that way, Buck, I’m sorry.” Steve said.

He held the Everlast bag still for me as I slogged into it.

“That’s the thing about being a weapon most of your life.” I said smacking the bag hard enough to make the stuffing start to crumble out of the seams. “Everyone sees you as inhuman, even yourself.”

“That’s not how I see you, man. You’re my best friend. I want what’s best for you.”

“And what’s best for me, Steve? Programming? A kill-switch? Cyanide implant? You’re acting just like HYDRA.”

“Whoa! No-one said kill switch or cyanide.”

I pummelled the bag until the seam split completely and the broken filling plumed out onto the floor. Stepping back, I saw Steve was genuinely upset.

“Sorry punk. I didn’t really mean that.” I held my hand out. “I’m just pissed off.”

He tagged me and smiled dryly. All was forgiven.

“I’ll get them to lay off on the hardcore controls. To be honest I didn’t even see that mandate in the requisition forms so I’ll look at that again. Just please tell me you didn’t terrorise Vee. She’s one of the best we have and she’s cool.”

“Dr Edwards?”

“Yeah Veronica. You didn’t scare her, did you?”

“Nah, I was angry but not that angry.” Had I scared her though? “I doubt she’d take much notice of anything I said anyway, she doesn’t like me…”

“Whatever, dude.” He said dismissively.

“…And she’s not the sort to rely on the opinions of others to fashion her idea of her own self-worth.”

“Wow.” Steve half laughed, blinking his shock away. “You know her well.”

“We hardly speak. She’s always so formal. With you it’s Steve this and Steve that, or Cap, yeah she calls you Cap. And you’re like ‘oh Vee you have to see this movie’ or ‘Vee can you come explain this report to me’.” I nattered like a bitchy college girl slating her BFF. “With me it’s Sergeant Barnes, or just Sergeant.”

Steve laughed. “Are you jealous, Buck? Have you found a woman who you can’t charm?”

“Haven’t tried. You know when you can tell that someone hates your guts? Besides, my charming days are over.” I waggled the metal arm.

“Some people are gonna find that hot.” A sultry voice interrupted. “Can you make it vibrate?”

Natasha flashed a flirtatiously shocked ‘oooh sir!’ face which had me busting out laughing and Steve groaning.

“Don’t worry Barnes. You’ve still got it.” She licked her finger and touched her chest, making a ‘tsssss’ sound before she mouthed the word ‘hot’ and sauntered away to the locker room.

“She really knows how to play on my insecurities.” I said deadpan, making Steve crack up.

By the time we both stopped laughing, I actually felt better. The kind of camaraderie we shared was one of the things that kept me going, through all of this. Nat was one of my closest friends and even though she loved to mess with me she also knew when not to push. That stunt she had pulled, maybe an hour earlier, might not have gone down so well. Her timing was impeccable, unlike mine.

After cleaning up and winding down I met Steve back in the kitchen where he was making a protein smoothie.

“Want one?”

I nodded, sitting at the counter. I wasn’t gonna turn down a free smoothie. Life was full of little gifts, like food you didn’t have to make yourself and, apparently, people who wouldn’t drop a damn topic.

“Seriously though, you need to get over this thing where you automatically assume people don’t like you, man. Maybe try to open up a little. Have a little fun.”

“Yeah, ok, Marilyn Hickey. Sure, a little bit of good old Christian fun sounds like just the ticket.” I slapped my thigh and winked.

“Fuck off, Buck!” He blitzed the smoothie maker, trying to drown out my retort, no doubt.

“Ooooh! You kiss your mother with that mouth?” I said, chuckling. “I miss Nick, where is he when you need him, huh?”

“Stop deflecting.”

“I dunno what you’re talking about, buddy.”

“Not what, who.” He slid the smoothie-filled glass over to me. “Talk to her.”

“Drop it, Steve. I don’t care if she doesn’t like me. I’m getting along just fine without an extra person up in my business.”

I downed the thick pinkish goop in the glass, it didn’t taste half bad but it wasn’t a steak.

“And to be honest, all this extra stuff with the arm and the testing just makes it easier for me not to like her right back.”

The noise of a door closing loudly made me jump. Steve was out of his seat and rushing out of the kitchen only to return a few minutes later with a grim look on his face.

“You’re an asshat.” He said picking up his glass and walking away.

It didn’t take much to put two and two together and figure out that Dr Edwards had overheard me talking about her, but did it really make a difference? So what if we both didn’t like each other.

It is what it is.

#Bucky Barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes series #bucky barnes x OFC #bucky barnes recovering #muscle memory #frenemies to lovers #slow burn #mcu fic #bucky barnes fic #bucky is bae #denial of feelings #bucky fanfic #bucky fic #bucky pov #my writing #cloudy's writing

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inside-aut-blog · 5 years

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On functioning labels

We’ve all heard them. Most everyone uses them—doctors, therapists, people on TV, people on the street, maybe even your auntie whose son is autistic....

We’ve all heard them, and most everyone uses them—everyone, that is, except a very large number of actually autistic people, myself included.

Why?

Well—a number of reasons, but it’s easiest explained like this: let me tell you a story.

We’ve got two autistics—and stop me if you’ve heard this one before, I’m not the first to tell it—but we’ve got two autistics. One’s called Allie, and the other’s Fred.

Let’s start with Allie.

Allie can carry a conversation. She went to a good university and got good grades. She transitioned from student housing to her own apartment, and held down a part-time job all through school. She now has an internship in a special-interest-related field, works freelance on the side, and is independently paying off her student loans. She can control her stimming in public settings and she can navigate public transportation. She has fairly few sensory issues, and is rarely overwhelmed by them; when she is, she is able to calm herself. She accepts and gives hugs regularly. She’s a bit quiet, but she can carry on a conversation, and while she occasionally struggles to pick up on jokes, she’s got the hang of sarcasm. Her speech is a bit stilted sometimes, sure, but her vocabulary’s expansive, and she can write very eloquently. She tends to be pretty literal, but she’s also extremely intelligent and analytical, and those traits—along with her autistic eye for detail— help her understand subtlety very well. She sets flexible routines for herself to counteract the difficulty she faces doing things spontaneously. She is often trusted to look after and manage others. She’s highly empathetic. She can pass for neurotypical.

So that’s Allie.

Now let’s talk about Fred.

Fred often struggles to speak. He also went to university and had his own apartment, but had a lot of trouble keeping on top of academics, and even more trouble with basic life skills. He often forgot to do laundry, wash himself, brush his teeth, comb his hair, buy groceries, cook meals, and eat. He has since moved back home. He stims almost constantly, even in public settings, and grows very anxious on public transportation. He can’t drive, either, because it overwhelms him. His sensory issues cause daily trouble—he jumps violently at sudden sounds, cannot eat several common foods, and hates to be touched. When he gets overwhelmed, he screams and hurts himself. He struggles to understand sarcasm. He often gets stuck on particular lines of conversation, communicates largely through echolalia and pre-scripted speech, and very frequently forgets words mid-sentence. Sometimes—especially with new people—he cannot speak at all. He instinctively sees everything in black-and-white and struggles to internalize nuance. He thrives on routine and grows very anxious and very angry when his routines are broken unexpectedly. When he absolutely must do something new, he often needs someone to go with him. He has low empathy. He is frequently very visibly autistic.

So there’s Fred.

So you’ve got both of them now, two neat little life stories, Allie and Fred, Fred and Allie.

So.

Which of them is high-functioning? Which of them is low-functioning?

Allie and Fred respectively, right?

Wrong.

They’re the same person.

And they’re not hypothetical. They’re both me.

I’m Allie, and I’m Fred.

And here’s the kicker—something that sometimes gets missed out but is pretty important, a little bit crucial, kind-of-sort-of absolutely vital—I’m always both of them.

Sure, sometimes it depends on the day, whether I look more like Allie or more like Tim, and sure, circumstances and support levels and energy levels can all make a world of difference—but most often I am both of them at the exact same time, under the exact same circumstances.

I can hold down a completely average back-and-forth conversation, but still be unable to initiate that conversation, and still struggle to remember basic words in the middle of it, and still struggle to bring it to a natural close.

I can succeed in school and still struggle to complete my assignments, get them turned in at the very last minute or even late.

I can make myself three meals a day according to the strict series of alarms I’ve set myself, using my autistic love of routine to counterract my autistic insensitivity to hunger, but still forget to eat them afterward.

I can remember to shower, but forget to brush my teeth, and vice versa. I can remember to wash my hair, but forget to comb it. I can wash my clothes without issue, but forget to move them into the dryer afterward. I can dry my clothes but forget to put them away.

I can navigate public transportation without error and also be extremely anxious the whole time.

I can control my stimming in public and still stim furiously when I get home. (I can also be perfectly able to control my stimming in public, but choose not to do so—as is often the case, because stimming is a very helpful coping mechanism, and also just fun, and I don’t care if strangers think it’s weird because I know it doesn’t hurt them.)

I can have few sensory issues and still struggle noticeably with those few.

I can hate to be touched and still grin and bear it. (I can also hate receiving hugs and not mind giving them.)

I can calm myself when I get overwhelmed using coping skills and also struggle to do so. (I can calm myself when overwhelmed without much effort using coping skills that alarm other people—like body stimming, screaming, or self-harm.)

I can use sarcasm but still have trouble understanding when others use it. I can speak very eloquently while still relying heavily on echolalia and scripts. I can write beautifully when I am not able to speak a single word.

I can struggle heavily with the black-and-white thinking that comes so much more naturally to me and still force myself to use my critical thinking skills to spot nuance. (I can still struggle to internalize this nuance once I have spotted it.)

I can cope with spontaneity and still have immediate, instinctive emotional reactions to breaks in routine. (I can have a meltdown and force myself to cope afterwards.) I can cope with new situations and still need someone shadowing me. (Having someone shadow you is a way to cope in itself.)

I can have high empathy for objects or fictional characters and little to none for real, actual people. I can care very much about people’s feelings and still not understand what those feelings are. I can analyze the reasons behind someone’s feelings and still not recognize them on their face or in their voice. I can recognize feelings on someone’s face or in their voice and still not know what to do about them. I can want to comfort people and not know how.

I can have the ability to pass as neurotypical at one given moment but not another. I can have the ability to pass as neurotypical in a given moment and simply choose not to. I can choose to pass as neurotypical, and succeed in passing as neurotypical to some of the people I interact with, and not succeed with others.

I can do all of this at the same time, within the same day, the same hour. Even the same moment, if I’m feeling extra spicy autistic.

I routinely do.

Because all of these experiences—these strengths, weaknesses, traits—are part of my life. None of them cancel each other out, because they can’t—they’re all equally inherent to who I am as a person. So they coexist, even if they seem contradictory.

Because I’m contradictory. Because I’m a person, and I’m multifaceted, and nuanced—people are like that, or so I hear.

Autistics are no exception.

You can’t split us so easily into high- or low-functioning, because to do so is to ignore other vital aspects of our experiences.

To do so, put simply, is both dehumanizing and inaccurate.

And, as well—to do so is to box us into one rigid experience or another: one in which people focus only on the things we can do and ignore those we can’t, or one in which people focus only on the things we cannot do and ignore all of the things we can.

Because the labels come with stereotypes—as the common thinking goes, “high-functioning” autistics never really struggle and can do anything they want without any help, while “low-functioning” autistics do nothing but struggle, have very little, if any, potential, and are to be pitied.

That is, of course, nonsense.

So in both experiences the true scope of our abilities is overlooked. (People hearing the labels have no clue what we’re capable of, but they think they do, and they generally act accordingly.)

And, as well, in both experiences we are spoken over by others—by those who think they should be allowed to decide what we are like, and what our futures will be like, and categorize us and compare us to each other and pit us against each other, elevating some autistics above others, as a means of determining our ability to “function” in society. (Which is to say, of course, our worth to society, how much we inconvenience society—because functioning labels don’t express how we experience our autism; rather, they express how others experience our autism.)

So, all told, why don’t autistics like functioning labels?

Because they are not only dehumanizing, inaccurate, and unnecessarily rigid—they’re also not even helpful (to anyone—us or others).

There’s no good reason to use them. We’d like it to stop.

And, personally, if any neurotypical tries to ascribe either label to me—or to any autistics around me, for that matter—I’m going to make a hell of a fuss.

Because we’re autistic, and we’re here, and we can can hear you.

#actuallyautistic

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wilmakins · 6 years

Photo

Steve had always hated the cold.

People tended to go quiet when he said that, or drop their eyes, obviously assuming it had something to do with the ice. But Steve hating the cold had nothing to do with being frozen – actually, Steve didn’t associate the crash with being cold. He’d been knocked out by the initial impact, blissfully unaware of the ice as it was putting him to sleep. He remembered the cockpit of the plane, and the bed in Fury’s little soundstage, and nothing in between.

No, Steve had hated the cold since long before that. Since he’d watched his mother slowly die of TB in a draughty little house in Brooklyn. It had been Steve’s job to shelter his mom, to make that house safe and warm for her now that his father was gone. But he couldn’t. He was just a skinny little kid in the middle of the depression, no different from all the others crying out for help. He’d watched his mother cough and wheeze, sure he could have made her better if he could have just made her warm.

And then she died.

So yeah, Steve hated the cold. Cold nights like this made him feel vulnerable, they reminded him that he wasn’t really any different to the kid that failed in the 1930s, that death was always standing at his shoulder. Cold nights made him introspective and sad.

And it wasn’t like he needed any help with that, these days.

It had been three months since Siberia. Three months since he destroyed the only home he had. Three months since he left Tony on the floor of that bunker…

He sighed heavily, his breath fogging the air around him like smoke. It was five below zero in Copenhagen, and their little safe house had no heating but many cracks in the wall. It was barely warmer inside than outside. He could make out the shape of Wanda, Natasha and Sam, lying on the floor with blankets wrapped tightly around their shoulders. Steve wondered if any of them were actually asleep. He wondered if they were kept up all night by regrets and what if’s like he was.

Up until now, Steve had spent most of his nights thinking about the things he wished hadn’t happened. All the things he wished he’d never done, never said. It was a hot, irritable thought process, and always deeply unsatisfying. These things did happen, didn’t they? Working out what might have happened was of no use to anyone. But he just kept doing it. Like he kept having that same nightmare and kept trying to change the end, as though it would matter. As though if he didn’t bring that shield down into Tony’s chest in a dream, he might be rewarded by waking up somewhere else.

But tonight was different. Tonight his thoughts were slower, and more substantial. Like a glacier. Tonight was hopeless, rather than desperate. Tonight was just sad. And, tonight, Steve found himself thinking about all the things he wished he had said. Not just the obvious. Not just at the end.

And, wow, there was quite a list, wasn’t there?

Thinking about it now, Steve realised, it had always been about the things he hadn’t said. That if he’d just gotten around to one of the things on that list, everything might have been better. Going back and saying a few words to Tony would have had more impact than anything he could have unsaid.

In fact… five things. By the end of the night, Steve had whittled the list down to five simple sentences that could have changed everything.

Which didn’t make him feel better, at all.

“You don’t have to let people hand you things”

Steve had been living in Avengers Tower, and the 21st century, for about four months. Both were still pretty overwhelming.

From the moment he opened his eyes in the morning, he was assaulted by things he didn’t understand. Technology beyond his wildest dreams, offering to help with tasks that hadn’t even existed in the forties. News coming in, instantly and wirelessly, from places Steve had never heard of, about issues he couldn’t comprehend. Food he didn’t know how to prepare, words he didn’t know how to pronounce, questions he couldn’t even think of asking.

But, more confusing than that – all the rules were different.

The shift in social assumptions had floored him more than anything. Mainly, like all people, he hadn’t known he had social assumptions, before. At least the new technology and strangely shaped fruit warned him they were alien, gave him some cue to ask about or avoid them. But social norms are different. They’re the things you say, do or expect without thinking. The things you don’t realise you’ve misunderstood until you’ve already messed it up. Things that no one else thinks to explain, because they’ve taken them for granted too.

Steve had been trying to pick it all up, but it was slow going. A lot of the time, he felt like he was play acting, copying things without really understanding the significance of them. He knew that he wasn’t allowed to talk about smoking, ever, but it was still okay to talk publicly about getting drunk. He knew that women’s clothing was now a very political issue, and it absolutely wasn’t his place to comment on it.

He knew Tony Stark didn’t like having things handed to him. So, he didn’t.

By now, Steve had worked out that this was a particular quirk of Tony’s, rather than a part of 21st Century etiquette. He’d heard the others tease him for it; he’d even joined in, gently, when he was quite sure that Tony was being ridiculous. But still, he put things on the table in front of Tony, never in his hands. It was just a habit, one of many meaningless gestures he’d hardwired in.

Until tonight.

Tonight, Steve was tired. Days in the 21st century were just longer – full of information and noise, extending into the wee hours under artificial lighting. Steve had adopted the futuristic habit of staying up late; he just couldn’t get out of the habit of getting up early. It left him with hours of frantic, incomprehensible activity that he had to work twice as hard as everyone else to keep up with. He was exhausted at the end of every day. And, today, there had been an incident in Central Park. Nothing major. A bunch of kids playing with something they’d found in the aftermath of the Chitauri attack, who’d only really managed to scare themselves. To anyone else, a perfectly routine mission. It was only Steve who was scanning everything, unable to understand the teenagers speedy slang, unsure how much damage had been done and how much had looked like that anyway… All he wanted to do now was to get Tony to sign his damn incident report, so that he could go to bed.

When he got to Tony’s door Steve was immediately greeted with a wall of sound. A violent noise that he knew was heavy metal, but still couldn’t recognise as music. Everywhere he looked there were screens, all moving with numbers and graphs and camera feeds. In the middle of all this chaos, surrounded by scrap metal, Tony was repairing his suit. The bright flash of the blowtorch, the shower of sparks, the hissing sound of tortured metal. Tony was the physical embodiment of everything that frightened and frustrated Steve about the future – bright and loud and fast and dangerous and still wide awake at midnight. Steve’s head throbbed. If he could have turned around and left, he would have.

Instead, he forced himself to march across the workshop. Tony turned the blowtorch off when he saw Steve, and silenced the music with a wave of his hand. There was a physical relief, like Steve had put down a heavy weight. And he was just so tired, so exhausted by the constant sensory input, so overwhelmed by the sudden reprieve, that he just handed Tony the papers.

He didn’t even realise what he’d done until he felt Tony take them, until he recognised that Tony’s response was wrong.

“Sorry” Steve muttered.

“Hm?” Tony didn’t even look up from signing the paperwork. He really hadn’t noticed what Steve had just done. Steve felt a little prickle of irritation at that. He couldn’t help wondering why Tony made a fuss about it, if he didn’t really care. Steve felt like a bit of an idiot for making the effort – he even wondered if that was the point. If Tony only did this to see if he could, to see if people like Steve would indulge him…

He remembered, not long after the battle of New York, a SHIELD agent had come to the Tower with a raft of papers for Tony. She’d held them out expectantly, as any reasonable person might, but Tony had told her he didn’t like to be handed things and gestured to the table. And the agent smiled and said “No way, that’s so strange – I don’t like picking things up off of the floor” And then she’d let the papers fall, scattering on the floor between them, and smiled at him “and then people look at you like you’re weird.” Steve had to try so hard not to laugh at the time. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Tony. He’d found plenty to like about Tony, after the rough start was behind them. But he had quite enjoyed seeing Tony put in his place. Seeing Tony nudge the papers with his foot, and then have to kneel down to gather them up, had seemed exactly what Tony deserved – just in general. Steve found himself thinking back to that incident with a bitter sort of glee, now.

And then he realised that Tony was looking at him, questioning. Steve realised his face was probably as angry as his head, and that he still hadn’t answered Tony. So, even though he couldn’t really be bothered with it, he felt obliged to explain.

“I thought you didn’t like to be handed things?” Steve sighed, trying not to sound antagonistic. But Tony’s face just melted into a smile.

“Well, I trust you” He explained with a laugh. That tone people used when they found one of Steve’s misunderstandings endearing. Steve just frowned.

What has that got to do with anything?

“I think I can take as a given that Captain America isn’t handing me a bomb” Tony clarified, when Steve didn’t say anything. The pounding in Steve’s head actually stalled for a second, he was so distracted by the realisation – that’s why he does it?

“Why would anyone be trying you a bomb?” Steve asked, his voice not quite as hard edged.

“Oh, people have their reasons.” Tony joked, and then he shrugged “What can I say, I’m paranoid. But just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they aren’t out to get you.”

“But you’ve been doing this since before you were Iron Man” Steve thought out loud.

“I wrote my first anti-kidnapping plan when I was six” Tony informed him, proudly.

“Why?”

“Because I was kidnapped when I was five.” Tony answered, as though it was nothing.

It hit Steve then. What they were really talking about, what it really meant. The thought of a little kid, a little Tony, being snatched away and held for ransom… He thought about it hypothetically, first. How awful the very idea was. And then he realised, it really had happened. To Tony.

That’s why he does it.

“You were kidnapped when you were five?” Steve repeated.

“I’ve been kidnapped twice” Tony pretended to brag, handing Steve his papers back. “Oh, no, wait, three times – Afghanistan.” And he seemed to laugh at himself, for forgetting it counted.

But then, Steve had forgotten it counted, too. Steve had been right in the middle of being shocked that Tony had been ever been kidnapped, only to realise that he had already known that. He just hadn’t thought of it that way. He hadn’t really thought of it much, at all…

He thought about it now. He thought about Tony, held in a cave in Afghanistan, with a car battery wired into his chest. He thought of Tony at five years old, tied to a chair or drugged or locked in the boot of a car. He thought of Tony, always being nervous about what horrible thing might be about to happen to him, always feeling responsible for keeping himself safe from the world. Not wanting people to hand him things, because the world he knew was full of horrible people who would do him harm…

He thought of that agent again, making Tony pick his papers up on the floor. He remembered the way Tony had kicked through them first…checking… Steve hated himself, then. He thought of this nervous tick Tony had developed after years of trauma… and Steve had laughed at it. He’d let other people tease Tony for it. He’d watched Tony kneel down and pick those papers up. He wished so much he hadn’t, now. He wished so much he’d intervened, told Tony ‘you don’t have to let people hand you things, if you don’t want’, that he’d picked those papers up for him.

He thought about saying it, now. Saying sorry… But he didn’t know how to do it. Men were so different, now, so much more open is some ways, so insecure and aggressive in others. Was this Tony making light of his past, because that’s what Tony did, or was this how the world saw kidnapping now? Was it rude to comment? Would Steve offend him? It would have been hard enough to work that out with anyone, but that was Tony. Bright, fast, loud Tony, who’d never been one to let Steve get away with putting his foot in it… His head started pounding again, right on cue.

In the end, he decided it was better to say nothing than the wrong thing. He just took his papers, and went to bed.

This work continues on AO3

#stony fic #stony manip #stony fanfiction #super husbands manip #super husbands fic

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cordiibus · 6 years

Text

HEADCANONS. Damien’s Autism

Again , I wanted to make a mass post regarding Damien’s Autism and how it does affect his life and how he handles from being overwhelmed. His Autism shows differently than Akar’s since its such a huge spectrum and I wanted to show that with Damien. Again, his autism isn’t all his character is, however still a vital part of him ! Though this list is not complete, I created some and hopefully as I keep educating myself and learning more will come or changes will be made. If theres anything I’m missing or you feel like I should include or fix please feel free to tell me ! I want to make sure Im writing him the best way I am !

Damien was diagnose with Autism much later than most children. Due to parents both being deployed into the Army ( as well as cultural stigmas ) , signs of autism were simply mistaken for Damien being more shy or simply learning to speak slower than other children/also thinking he could possibly be becoming deaf at a young age since deafness runs within his father’s family.

He began speech therapy and learning different ways of communicating. One of the ways is Sign Language because it uses his hands and was quicker for him to do as he was learning to speak as well. It was only after he began speech therapy that there were hints of him being autistic, however he was never properly diagnosed until around the age of 10 ( again cultural stigmas ).

As he began to learn how to speak, he also began immediately having an interest in language. Enough to begin grasping new ones as he began growing up. This was the first sign that his sensory traits will involve sounds, this one being more positive than it would be overwhelming.

Damien is attracted to all kinds of sounds, the louder the better. He dislikes silence and dislikes when no sound can be heard/found. However, it becomes overwhelming when theres too many sounds coming from one specific enclosed area. Which is why you will always find him wearing headphones ( though it was a tip he learn from his cousin Oliver ), he uses his headphones and blast his own music to counter other sounds ( which at first was negative because of how loud he blasted his own music, however he was taught what proper volume should be used ). It also should be known that since he uses music -- that his genre of music is very loud. Screamo, Punk, Rock, Loud Jazz -- anything with loud sounds or vocals, strong vocals, are his favorite kind of music.

Damien also picked up on learning instruments that include: the Trumpet, the Saxophone, the Piano, and the Drums. ( he knows enough in each to be good but hes not particularly amazing in each of them. this was also just a special interest when he was younger that he grew out of having and then developed into something else ).

With addition to his liking of sounds, it also can be seen in other areas like specific sounds making him happy ( crunch noises like leaves/snow ), it also moved to being a stim of his to make noises be it clicking/popping his tongue or cracking his knuckles.

Another one of his stims is chewing as well. Growing up he would always chew on his shirts, sleeves, hoodie strings ( still does ) and found some comfort in chewing. With this he has an actual chew necklaces, as well as always carries around candy/gum. Its also why he paints/does his nails so he could stop biting on his nails.

Another stim Damien does when hes happy is also clapping and the flapping of his hands !

Another positive sensory he has is towards colors -- especially very bright colors. Though too much can be overwhelming and especially if he stares for too long. Bright colors are another thing that gathers his attention. Its why he also dresses in rather bright colors as well. Just really really likes bright colors. His art definitely portrays that as well. He also has synesthesia, which plays its part in this as well.

However, with positive come negatives. One negative sensory that he has is actually also through taste as well. There are certain textures in food that feel wrong in his mouth. Foods that are soggy and are non-solids, are the ones that fit in that categories. Damien will refuse to eat anything that fall into that category. Also chewy foods that aren’t gum ( fruit gummies ) also have the same problem. Also -- dietary restrictions are also a thing. Gluten is just out of the question for him to be eating. On top of that, certain smells are often avoided by him. More floral scents, are the ones that he often avoids which includes some perfumes and well as hygienic materials ( shampoos / soaps ). He does like scents that are more metallic -- sharpies, paint, spray paint, metal -- fit into that.

Though Damien is excellent in language, sound, and now speaking -- reading always proved to be challenging. Mix with being a auditory and visual learning, but add in his autism -- reading on his own with nothing else proved to be challenging when in school. If there was a book that needed to be read, he would spend hours looking for an auditory book or have his friend/parents read the pages to him. And when neither were available, it was trouble for Damien to completely understand what was going on in the book. Though he could read it out loud -- that was often looked down at and became annoying to others. So he found these courses to be more challenging.

Damien has trouble with empathy. Not that he doesn’t feel any, but he feels too much at times aka he experiences hyper-empathy. Depending on the situation, he can be overwhelmed by another person’s feelings and start feeding that into his own. If he sees someone crying, even if he doesn’t know them, he will most likely sit and cry with them solely because of how he picked up on the emotion. He is very good at telling people’s emotions, though sometimes does falter over how much they are feeling it.

Damien also experiences meltdowns very often, however has gotten really good at learning when theyre coming and will excuse himself with “i have a migraine” so he can properly take care of it without it going any further. Usually this means finding somewhere completely quiet and listening to his own music and just let himself sit in a ball. Before he had learned how to tell, his meltdowns were immediate shut downs of himself. Just no response from him.

Damien is often not seen as someone on the spectrum because of the way he behaves.Which is something he learned he really hated, so if anyone says that to him, they will immediately be met with a different Damien.

He hates being told what to do. Period. He always had a hard time taking instructions from someone, or being guided in a different way. Damien will fully refuse to do what someone wants him to do, which is something his parents learned as he grew up. There is obviously ways around this, which is just to ask him differently. Depending what it is just say “Damien, can you do something for me please ?” And already then his empathy wants to already help this person. but say it like “Do it this way” then hes deadass not going to do it.

Damien can drive !! He is very much able to drive, however under certain conditions that he realized himself. He cannot drive during night, because of all the bright lights -- nor can he drive in bad weather. Also he will always have his windows up and his music playing. He will never give up his AUX cord to anyone else, so don’t ask or even try. If you also tell him his music sucks, then he will have no issue kicking you out of his car too. He also has a white mini cooper because his dad wouldnt let him get the pink one.

Damien does his nails, yes already explained, another thing is that the collects nail polish, vinyls, and spray paint. All these things are very well organized in his room, just shelves, bins, and everything. Also hes very disorganized in every thing else.

His autism helped him in theatre in high school !! Being able to understand another person’s emotion and then reflect them back, really made him super good at acting when he was in Theatre. Some say it has to do with being a “chameleon” in being able to copy the traits of others. Though actually was more able to put himself in their own situation and feel what they were feeling because of his hyper-empathy. He really still loves the theatre too.

#( damien headcanons. )#( sldkjf i think im missing things tbh but #if anyone has any questions just def ask !! )#( queue. )

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