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Hello fellow archen enjoyers nice to see u all here. be sure to vote for this Beast over on @bird-pokemon-showdown when they're in the running again
#a vote for archen is a vote for autistic ppl everywhere#source: im autistic and i said so#archen#op#my art
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raymond holt is an autistic icon
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autistic father and ptsd daughter
#polar#polar 2019#camille#duncan vizla#duncan is not a step-father#he's the father that stepped up#duncan vizla is autistic bc i said so#im a credible source bc im also autistic#mads mikkelsen
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irrational pet peeve of mine is when ppl make a list of autistic character's in media and when talking about tina they say "heavily implied" but when it's a character who was confirmed off-screen by a writer like 10 years after the finale episode its "canon" LIKE. tina was directly stated to be autistic within the show. they SAY she's autistic and she's written to be autistic. its ridiculous to say its anything other than canon imo especially with characters who were only confirmed after the fact
#and like dan mintz has said he thinks tina is autistic too so if you need canon confirmation from an outside source FOR SOME REASON#there you go!!!!#Like. to what end. does tina have to stare directly into the camera in an episode and say “I am autistic” for you to believe her??#also sidenote but it is kinda hilarious tina only said “yeah im autistic :(” AFTER gene and louise said she was autistic. why did you need#your siblings to remind you of that girl 😭#txt#bob's burgers
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okay okay so. turns out that cotton, wool, and linen are naturally hydrophilic!! but polyester, acrylic, and modacrylic are hydrophobic. so if there's any fabrics that'll give dion a bad time it'll be those
the family thought dion was just autistic for the longest time. they were right, but that wasnt the cause of these particular sensory issues like they thought
#the aquatos are all autistic change my mind (oh wait you cant)#source: i said so#body of water au#research anon if this is you im this close to giving you a tag im quite fond of you#sorry i get attached easily#anyway yea
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omg hi hi! i adore your writing so much :3! if its alright with you, could i get headcanons for how crocodile, law, kid, and ace would be with an autistic s/o who loves to infodump, but is nervous to do so. theres always this odd bit of shame that accompanies infodumping for me because i get so excited i cant properly articulate myself *lays down* its just a mess of stimming, stuttering, and laughing at my own jokes. i feel embarrassed after, even if its totally an illogical response. im unsure if you write for autistic y/n so feel free to ignore this if you dont. thank you so much <33
☆Crocodile, Law, Kid & Ace with an autistic s/o who loves to info dump
Hello, dear anon! I'm not used to write autistic y/n, because I don't know enough about this and I wouldn't like to be harmful. However, the situation you're describing is something close to ADHD, which I know well. So I've made some additional researches to be sure and come up with something, I hope you will like it. Thank you for your request, it was a sweet one ♡
CW : g/n reader, slight curses for Kid, fluff
WC : Around 1,500 words
Crocodile
Crocodile doesn't talk much, he's always serious and quiet. It's just that he's often thinking about his business and plans. But he's a good observer and would immediately notice if you want to say something but are too nervous to do it. He knows you perfectly, so he would recognize the way you're fidgeting.
He's a man with good manners, so his first reflex would be to lock the door and make sure no one can enter and destabilize you. When it's done, he will point his chair towards you.
"Sit. I'm listening, y/n."
Actually, he likes hearing you speak during hours. He knows it's a way to express your love and feelings. He's flattered that you want to share your world with him. Go ahead and speak, he will listen. Even if he's just nodding or commenting short sentences in response, he has a good memory and will remember everything you said to him.
If you're talking too fast and start to get really flustered, he will let you know that you're speaking too fast, like 'y/n, what did you just say?'
Your hyper-focus and info-dumping are appreciated by Crocodile because he enjoys learning new things and you're a source of knowledge. Maybe he's impassive and struggles to express his feelings, but sometimes you will hear him talk about what he learned with you, so clearly he listened to every single word.
"Don't be ashamed, it was interesting. Can we talk more about this specific point?"
If you say something that he is really curious about, he has no shame asking for more. It's a way for him to express his genuine care for you. For him, it's a way to prove to you that even though he's always quiet, he cares.
Law
Law is similar to Crocodile in his lack of emotional expression and limited speech. He is always busy, struggling with his parasitic thoughts and taking care of his patients. Finding some private time with you is a challenge for him.
If you run into Law with excitement about your passion or new hyper-focus, he may feel embarrassed because it's not the perfect time for him. Autism is something he knows about, and he is an intelligent and educated man. And, he wants to make you feel safe and comfortable.
"I'll be yours in a moment, y/n-ya."
He has a complete understanding of you and is an excellent observer. The way you're already blushing, fidgeting, and swallowing nervously. He can even hear your heart racing. So first thing first, he will tell you to take a deep breath. After all, he’s a doctor.
"What do you wanna talk about?"
As Crocodile, he's a great listener. When you're full of passion and excitement, he thinks you're cute. He likes the sound of your voice. He loves when you want to find him and talk about your passion, because you're offering him a break from his work. If you weren't there, he would be stuck either in work or in his own head. When he's with you, he can forget about his dream of avenging. You're his safe place, truly.
He doesn't speak a lot. But he is listening.M and asks questions from time to time.
"Yn-ya, there's been no urge. Take your time." And if you're stuttering a lot, he would just say nothing because it's pointless to make a remark, as long as he can understand what you're saying, he will never say something about your elocution.
"That's interesting, where did you learn that much?"
Law is a curious and intelligent man, so he likes to learn more about almost everything. If it can help him with his plans or maybe his patients, it might even be beneficial for him.
During your bedtime together, he would ask you to talk about your passions. The way you talk and laugh is like his own lullaby. When you speak, he can find inner peace because it shuts down all the voices in his head. He might fall asleep sometimes when he feels tired. It's just that you're providing him with some relief. When he wakes up, he would be deeply sorry. "So, yesterday, you stopped at this precise point… what were you trying to say after?"
Kid
Kid is so goddamn loud. And really passionate. He's focused on his goal of becoming the next PK and has loved mechanics and robotics since childhood. He would be aggressively sweet, like frowning when he notices how stressed and nervous you act towards him. "Hey, Y/N, why are you so fucking nervous? Just speak"
He thinks you're cute with your cheeks all red. On the flip side, he's a bit confused. Why are you nervous? Is it his fault? He knows he's loud, hard to love and rough, but he cares about people he likes. Have you seen how he acts with Killer and his crew? He loves his people.
And, as a punk, Kid is marginalized. He knows a lot about being different, and if you feel ashamed about it, he can understand. "Come on y/n, let's find a private place"
Grab your wrist in an aggressive yet sweet way and lead you to his workshop or bedroom. He sits you on the bed with his arms crossed and eyebrows raised. "Now we're alone."
So, you start talking nervously. It doesn't matter if the topic is interesting to him or not, he will listen. Because as I said, Kid is a passionate. Everything can be made interesting by passionate people. So, yeah, talk about birds, cakes, plushies, or anything stuck in your head. He will like it. And he enjoys the sound of your voice. He’s even flattered to be your special someone, the one you’re looking for when you need to talk. It fuels his ego and pride.
He will deal with your stuttering as he deals with Killer's laugh. He'll shut up and smash all the people making fun of you if there's something you hate about yourself. You're his s/o, no one can laugh at you and continue to live without facing his rage.
"Goddamn, slow down" yes, not the best with kindness, but at least he's paying attention.
He wouldn't help but think you're really cute, with your eyes shining as you finally manage to relax and express how passionate you are. He understands your excitement because when he talks about robots, music, punk or weapons, he's exactly the same.
Kid is not the most culturally advanced, it depends on the topic. He enjoys learning new things thanks to you or Killer, it's important for him to be credible, and he hates looking inferior in front of others.
"See, there was no reason to be that nervous" When you finished speaking.
Just poke your cheek, grin and leave a mark of lipstick on your front-head before returning to his activities and yelling proudly to everyone he knows everything about the subject you just info-dump about.
Ace
The sweetest. Ace's personality is both compassionate and protective. He grew up with Luffy, so passionate and talkative people are something he knows a lot about. As he's proud of his brother, he's proud of you and can listen to everything you say for hours.
"Y/N, is there something wrong?"
Yeah, he would immediately notice that you're starting to get nervous. His first reflex is to find a more private place, if that's not already the case. He wants to do everything to make you feel safe and loved. If it's winter or just cold, he would even use his DF to warm the room. As soon as you're all comfortable, he'll run his fingers through your hair. "You know I will always listen."
Ace doesn't speak a lot about what's on his mind. He's way too stubborn and always struggles with guilt due to the blood running through his veins. So he enjoys having someone like you. Your voice is soothing him, and he loves how passionate and honest you are always.
For him, it's even amazing and unreal to have someone talk to him. You're treating him like a normal human and not a failure, because he feels like it often: unloved, unwanted and unworthy.
"Sweetie, you don't have to rush, we have the time, I'll always listen" if you start to speak too fast.
Would entwine his fingers with yours when you're stuttering and laugh heartily at your jokes. You remind him of his dear little brother. He feels lucky to have you by his side.
"I could listen for hours." And he's totally honest.
If someone makes fun of you, he's truly mad. You are as significant to him as his brother or Whitebeard. And if someone makes fun of his loved-one, Ace is merciless and really impulsive.
"Please, say more about this specific point!", "Oh, really, that's so funny?" He wants to make you talk even more. Until you're finally relaxed and able to speak without stuttering, blushing, or anything else. He doesn't mind it, even if it lasts for hours. Once you're done, he has his usual sweet smile on his face. "That was so interesting, why are you so embarrassed?"
So you explain to him that you feel embarrassed about your info dump because you're afraid to annoy people or talk too fast etc." It's alright, you won't bother me."
You're his sunshine. He feels loved with you. He feels more than just the son of someone; he's just Ace, and that's the most beautiful thing in the world for him.
Such a sweet boy. ♡
#one piece headcanons#eustass kid x reader#one piece x reader#eustass kid headcanons#eustass kid x y/n#eustass kid x you#eustass kid imagine#one piece x you#op x reader#trafalgar law headcanons#trafalgar law x reader#trafalgar d law x reader#trafalgar d water law#crocodile x reader#crocodile one piece#sir crocodile#trafalgar law x you#trafalgar law#ace x reader#portgas d ace#ace x y/n#ace x you#crocodile x y/n#crocodile x you#portgas d ace x reader#portgas d ace x you#law x reader#one piece requests#one piece x y/n
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In a universe where Memes are the main source of media and power over obstacles. This man has no chance with his mindset xD
I love Mr.Puzzles, i love how he was introduced slowly and the more the SMG4 crew succeeded the closer he got to them, I love how utterly pathetic he is when hes not manipulating the stage.
Man is a stage manipulator. Not a fighter lol. Look at his twink ass, he was made for acting.
I love how he has that autism in him. He looks at the Meme Factory and only hyper fixates on the Comedy Zone, he doesnt find Memes funny and rather disgusting actually even when he can see right in front of him this whole building dedicated to SMG4's source of power in 'The Funny'
I love how. He can feel bad for others but only if they're on his side. He doesnt understand how his words can hurt people and while he is actually trying to be on their good side he ends up failing miserably bc he doesnt understand
'what did i say wrong? I just said whats true'
Its so autistic of him. But when he gets a friend: hes been secluded and alone for his whole life, bro doesn't know how to handle the positivity and constantly denies it. Until he sees his friend visibility in pain and he can register it- bc emotionally he doesn't know how to communicate with her. But seeing her getting beat up: he gets angry and defends her with all his strength
He doesnt wanna be softened up- he wants to be a TV show star and have power!
But bro doesnt understand Memes are what drives the power... And bro doesnt realize he actually wants a friend
I love him for that
Let him be evil but also keep him the awkward mess he is. If he gets some kind of redemption arc its gotta be a slow one and he GOTTA keep that theatric goofy ass to him or im leaving.
Becoming a nice person wont mean hes better at communicating with others and will suddenly understand how to think about how They Feel when he says something. But he can try, find his people who understand he isnt perfect and isnt TRYING to make you feel bad but he has a harder time thinking about others or in some cases can't think of others and how they feel bc to him, what he said makes perfect sense and is true! Isn't lying bad? . And id be ok with that bc that'd be a good arc, i just dont want it to be bad like a lot of redemption arcs ive seen
#rambles#mr puzzles#smg4#smg4 fanart#smg4 puzzlevision#traditional drawing#tv head#hot twink#actually autistic#creature#memes#fanart#alela rambles
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i know we're trying to get the aspec tags trending by valentines day so im gonna name some characters thatre aspec bc im aspec and i said so!
sherlock holmes (sherlock, bbc) - asexual, demiromantic.
he literally only has sex with one person ever and its for a case.
ppl come onto him and he doesnt even know???
he literally doesnt understand the difference between a date and hanging out with your friends. the difference being that a date might end in sex. he never thinks about sex so he doesnt see the correlation
morpheus (the sandman) - demisexual, biromantic
in canon hes only ever had kids/had sex with people he had to go through actual emotional turmoil to get to
also like aro-spec probs demiromantic bc it takes him several centuries to realise he likes hob (centennial husbands is cannon idc)
man is obviously a hopeless romantic which is why the existence of any of his exes plummets him into misery, which means hed see sex as an act of romance not lust. demisexual. bc i said so.
johnny c (johnny the homicidal maniac) - asexual, greyromantic
this man feels vague romantic attraction once in his whole source material and is so befuddled he tries to murder the bitch, ruining any chance he had with her because he made her agoraphobic
he HATES bodily fluids. sex repulsed. he doesnt wanna see ur jizz.
bro has no time for sex. bros gotta feed a wall.
five hargreeves (the umbrella academy) - asexual, aromantic
blud dated a mannequin. he does not understand relationships. because he doesnt want one!
dolores was simply a projection of the fact that romance is supposed to make you feel whole or whatever and he went crazy while living alone in the apocalypse
and hes so fucking autistic so he got really attached to the object bc that what the tism does to a man
thats all for now. goodnight tumblr.
#aspec#asexual#aromantic#demiromantic#demisexual#greysexual#bbc sherlock#sherlock bbc#from the sandman#the sandman#morpheus#dream the endless#johnny the homicidal maniac#jthm nny#jthm#jthm johnny#jthm devi#johnny c#five hargreeves#the umbrella academy#asexual people are cooler than you!
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Im currently writing this at like 12am so bare with me for a moment. This is gonna be a vent post so if you don't wish to see it then by all means ignore this and move on!!!!!! I'm just gonna vent about my Callie rambles and analyses and what I think about them. This is not anything too serious don't worry.
I wanna ask, do you guys find me annoying? I wanna know. Like. Are my rambles just too much? Because, I've been thinking to myself, "are my Callie rambles bullshit? Is my analysis of the character just wrong? Am I wrong about the Hypnoshades and callie was just brainwashed? Am I just trying so hard to say she was hypnotised because I dont wanna accept that a comfort character of mine was in significant mental pain and I wanna soften the blow by saying she had some form of agency?"
Everywhere I turn I'm told that I'm wrong in some way. Either via official sources and other people. I feel like I'm not making any resemblance of a difference in the community. I still see the same stuff being said. I still feel like the odd man out.
I know that inkipedia has a discord server and that I could chat in there and show my many callie analyses to make some change but like... I'm too much of a pussy to do that you know? I don't wanna get put down by THE people who run the splatoon wiki. That would devastate me. Absolutely ruin me. Destroyed by the experts of Splatoon. I can't. I genuinely would not be able to cope with their criticisms and I might just stop being a Splatoon fan after that point honestly. If you wanna send them my analyses and rambles then feel free to, idc. If they change the wording to brainwashing to hypnosis I think i could die a happy man lmao. But I'm too fucking scared.
I dont know why I feel this way about this character. I wish I never discovered this franchise because it has impacted my mental health. It's gotten better but still not great. I wish my brain would just not obsess over her and just follow what others say and say she was brainwashed and move on. But no, I can't. I just can't accept it. I'm too stubborn lmao.
I don't feel the same when it comes to someone like Marina and Agent 3, characters I've known for years and they go under a simliar "affliction" yet I don't get chest pain, I don't feel sad. I feel nothing. Why is it Callie? Why her... why can't I just be normal?... I feel like I'm actually insane and spurring out nonsense to people.
I know that I have received a lot of support and that people are 99% positive as to what I have to say about Callie. I truly TRULY appreciate that. But when a single person or two says that I'm wrong? That shit stings. Maybe it's because I'm autistic or I'm just really sensitive but, idk. I might regret this post in the morning idk.
#splatoon#vent post#vent#sorry for venting#rant post#callie cuttlefish#callie splatoon#hypno callie#octo callie
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holy shit i just realised im autistic
i know this seems like a shitpost, and tbf i am laughing at myself pretty hard rn. it's dawning on me at 6 AM after being awake all night, but (if you care, and if you don't feel free to ignore too, have a nice day!) hear me out, cause this genuinely feels meaningful and insightful for me with how my life has gone so far. I spent an hour writing this post in hopes someone might find it helpful too :3c
If you don't wanna read my post pls enjoy this picture of our famous friend autism baby stackin those cans before you go~♪
(source: wikipedia)
l
like i already /knew/ I was before this moment, but i was thinkin about what i used to do as a kid and wow i am so autistic how the fuck did i not realise sooner. It straight up wasn't until I was already well into my 20's that I started to meet other autistic people online and learned about their experiences and difficulties from talking with them that I realised a lot of things they described matched for me too.
I live in assfuck nowhere so most of my life the only few times that I had met autistic people were like, folks who were nonverbal or whatever, just generally needing direct assistive care, and I never bothered to look things up on my own because I was already inundated with the pressures of growing up, school, mental health, etc. I remember one of the first times I had built up the courage to ask anyone about it, I was in the hospital because of mental health issues. This was in my second year uni, and when one of the doctors assessing me was asking me questions, I said I thought maybe I was autistic. He promptly and with a fair amount of snark told me that if I was autistic I wouldn't have gotten into university.
Thinking back, he was probably just an exhausted, fresh outta school resident with no special interest in psychiatric care (and also just seemed to suck in general), but it was enough that I shelved the idea for another 5 years.
Lo and behold, now I am lying here in bed, just absolutely gobsmacked by the VERY REAL idea that im autistic and like holy shit I feel so vindicated.
I've been on tumblr for just a bit, but I see a lot of folks talking in various neurodivergent circles about their experiences and that's been so wonderful for me. I also have a few good friend groups w/ a lot of neurodivergent folks, and that's been really exciting too.
Like, I'm still processing this cognitively as I'm writing, so please pardon this ill patterned post, but this feels like such a beneficial thing for me. Over time I've adapted a few strategies here and there to help myself accomplish various tasks, but now I feel so empowered to, like... actually figure stuff out.
Even after feeling confident I was autistic, it was this nebulous, floating concept in my head for so long of, "oh yeah im autistic or something idk," that I never really dedicated much effort to finding healthier ways to do things that didn't irk me or whatever. I don't feel like the label /itself/ is what is important to me here, but rather the awareness around why I do so many things in the ways that I do and that it's /okay/ that I do.
I don't want this post to go on too much longer, but I feel it's worth noting that I've fought for years with my family because they didn't understand why I was going about things the way I did. Again, remember, they all grew up in this cloistered hellhole too. But, surprise surprise, the times in my life that I have been doing better than any other are when I felt confident enough to ignore what everyone was trying to get me to go along with and instead just fashioned my own best methods (which also sometimes included informing said overbearing individual(s) to go fuck themselves cause I'm busy doing shit. It's hard for them to argue with me telling them as much when I would be completing X objective well, which is what they wanted in the first place).
I don't want to make this sound like I'm trying to be overconfident, but I mention as much instead as a sign of support for other neurodivergent folks to feel similarly empowered to drum to their own beat. Thinking back, I went from almost failing high school and ultimately retaking a grade to excelling in all my classes. Every single one. I know that's a relative assessment, you got variable difficulty levels, etc., and the grade score isn't important in and of itself, least of all because the school systems here (Canada) are a mess it seems, but just that alone as an idea, within the parameters of a particular system, I went from initial abject failure to thorough and lauded success.
Just think of what so many people could do if they weren't being pigeonholed into formats that absolutely aren't working for them.
I already have a boatload of (genuinely helpful by way of enabling access to proper education and treatment) diagnoses from my history of working with my (very wonderful and genuinely caring and helpful) psychiatrist that match with what I know about the neurodivergence term umbrella like ADHD, OCD, and bipolar, so it seems |autism| will feel quite at home in the group ^w^. I'll ask her about it at my next appointment to see if an official diagnosis has any value versus me just continuing to figure things out on my own.
Either way, I am thrilled right now thinking about the next time I get to shout
"FUCK YOU IM DOING AUTISTIC SHIT"
while an electric guitar squeals and lightning strikes all around me and I make cool stuff happen :3c.
#autism#autistic adult#autistic artist#autistic things#autistic community#autism spectrum disorder#neurodiversity#neurodivergence#neurodiverse#ADHD#attention deficit hyperactivity disorder#bipolar disorder#bipolar#OCD#obsessive compulsive disorder#neurodivergent#neurotypical#;w;#im tired#also cant be fucked to fix the order kf these tags#long post#optimism#mental health#mental health support#mental health awareness#help#helping#idk what im doin witj thesentags goodnluck gamers
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dwj, personality, autism, research. there’s a very Loaded dwj quote in here about autism, pls note.
i think dwj is one of the best and most talented writers ever, and certainly one of my favorites. this is, i think i unfortunately have to say, utterly unrelated to the many things that i feel about her as a person.
(it’s not unrelated. i mean, it is. but also it’s not. you know.)
she’s such a can of worms. i remember my dad asking me if i was sad i hadn’t gotten to meet or communicate with her before she died, and i said i wasnt. (i think i made a real groaner of a death of the author joke here, too.) she seemed so prickly and testing, and i can handle that sort of person but it takes Massive amounts of energy. she’s exactly someone id Absolutely Love to watch from a safe distance with excellent binoculars.
i bring this up because i saw someone tagging cat as a canon autistic character on ao3, which was a surprise, as that’s not in the text. (obviously cat is autistic. please. you’ve met him. go out on a limb.) i just now searched for the word of god (lol i made this reference before even seeing this—check out the first entry in literature) about it and saw this fascinating publishers weekly interview on the occasion of house of many ways’ publication (note to self: write down your HoMW thoughts some time, because whew, charmaine):
Interviewer: I’ve read that you’ve said Cat Chant [a recurring central character in the Chrestomanci books] is slightly autistic. Can you talk a little about that?
Diana Wynne Jones: Well, you know he has very great difficulty telling people things. It’s a mild form of autism. He’s not completely turned in on himself, but he is rather. This is how autism seems to be. I mean the worst cases. The child is almost unapproachable by other people. But in the case of Cat, he is [mildly autistic]. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be so much under the thumb of his elder sister. I mean, it does make you victim material, very much, to be sort of semi-autistic. Always, when I’m thinking and writing about Cat, I know that he’s not going to tell people anything properly…. It’s a sort of social activity that’s beyond him. Such people can learn of course, and do. But when you’re a child it’s an extreme difficulty.
… ough. there’s. so much to unpack there. “unapproachable” sure puts the onus on the approacher, wouldn’t you think? and “victim material”—whew! and also, gestures at dwj’s childhood. which:
then i saw someone say that dwj herself had said she’d identified with being autistic. they did not cite their source so i won’t cite them. this does not surprise me in the least.
id like to see everything she’s said about cat being autistic and about her own relationship with autism. i may already have some of these sources in my archival notes and copies, but autism isn’t a topic i was deeply interested in while doing my research. im sure theres some academic work about this. if there isn’t i will be genuinely surprised. doing a thorough search tomorrow*.
*barring another Horrible bout of food poisoning, infant shenanigans, irl happenings, internal kenshō events, etc.
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Stargazing
Sky and star!! Scott and John!!! Stargazing, honest talks on rooftops, some tears, and many hugs.
The tags copied from ao3 because Im pretty much too tired to see straight but I just finished this and Ive been working on it for a while now and here it is!!! Im very proud of it :)--Hurt/Comfort Angst Fluff its got all of them Stargazing which you just may have guessed given the title Hugs Crying Panic Attacks Self-Esteem Issues Scott's having a bit of a time of it and so is John but they've got each other there is much hugging and hot chocolate too and definitely some ADHD Scott and autistic John
Comes in at a scraping under 6000 words, so a nice long one!!
@idontknowreallywhy Thank you for all of your encouragement along the way. I doubt this would be what it is without you. Hugs :)
A headcanon in it, which you shall see, I believe originated from a fic by @edutainer2022 Sometime in 2023. The depths of tumblr. (cites sources)
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A thump followed by multilingual cussing out of the very concept of gravity were not uncommon sounds when John was earth side. Scott still looked up from his paper work in concern.
John was juggling a telescope, a blanket over his shoulder and his satchel while attempting to pick up several books. Massive, heavy astronomy books splayed out on the floor around his feet.
He swayed, nearly losing his balance and dropping the telescope at the same time. Scott leapt up to help. He crossed the comms room from dad’s desk to where John was in quick strides to get to his brother, worry blooming.
John straightened up when Scott reached his side, his brows pinched and face pale.
“Johnny, are you okay?” Scott questioned. He needed to know whether this was just a momentary thing or he needed to call Grandma and/or Virgil. He’d rather not have John fainting on him.
“I’m fine, just a bit dizzy.” John said, “Probably my blood pressure from leaning down too fast.“
Scott let out a relieved breath. John’s space-related health issues weren’t uncommon to be dealing with but Scott hated to see any of his brothers potentially sick or hurting. At least without a mission in the way, Scott could trust John was being truthful and not pushing past his limits.
“And don’t call me Johnny,” John added in disgust.
So John was just fine, with that level of vitriol. Just as it should be.
“Good to hear.” Scott put on a shit eating grin. “Johnny.”
It was his big brotherly duty to be infuriating, at least now his concerns had been allayed.
“Fuck you,” John said good naturedly.
Scott gathered the books up. John paused, hesitated, then stepped back to let him.
With both hands still full, John leant against the wall for support, eyes half closed and head tipped back.
On the biggest book, ‘ Dr J. G. Tracy’ was written across the planet pictured on the purple cover, followed by the extensive list of letters standing in for qualifications after John’s name. Scott smiled proudly to himself.
When he had them all, and they were heavy, how had John managed them with everything else, Scott reached out to take the blanket too, which was slowly but surely sliding from John’s grip.
“Thanks Scott. I thought I had it but—“ John gave floor where the former pile had been a glare.
“Gravity?” Scott smiled.
John rolled his eyes. “Yeah.”
Scott shifted the books up in his arms. “Now where do you want this all?”
Since he was carrying them already, he may as well help John the rest of the way. It was easier, honestly, he wasn’t just being a smotherhen.
“Uh. I was planning to go to the roof,” John admitted sheepishly.
Scott nudged him gently. “I should’ve guessed.”
Long ago, Scott had gotten used to how John took every possible opportunity to see the stars. He’d thought the constant fixtures of their childhood would disappear when John made his dream of living in space, but they’d stayed. The telescopes from John’s bedroom window, the expeditions to every nearby and not so nearby observatory, lying outside on picnic blankets waiting for meteor showers.
Turns out stargazing, even on earth, was just a part of who John was. The stars were constant in his universe and Scott loved how his brother loved them so much.
At night, out on the roof was always the first place Scott looked for John. In the day, so many times Scott had found John in his room, staring at the plastic glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to the ceiling. Scott had helped him put up the first set, way back in Kansas when John was shorter than him because he hadn't been to space yet, and couldn’t reach even standing on a chair. When they moved to the island, the first thing John decorated his room with were more stars here too. Sometimes, when John was up on Five for long stretches, Scott would go sit beneath them, surrounded by John’s shelves of paper books and looking upwards.
They made their way out now, Scott matching John’s cautious footsteps, slow and unsteady. The balance issues from constantly being in space were worse when John was fresh down for orbit, though they never truly went away. It worried Scott, when he thought too much about it, but Thunderbird Five was never something he could take from John without breaking his heart. So Scott was always happy to slow down, to let John take his time to feel his way along, whenever he needed to. For his brother, Scott could take it slow.
The door to the roof and the wide, flat expanse were both very deliberate in their design. Having their own observatory wasn't going to stop one space brother or two from sitting up there.
Passing from the warmly lit villa into the night was sudden and jarring. Scott realised he hadn’t been outside of a building or a cockpit for too long. He took a breath, filling his lungs with cool ocean air. The clear view and barely there breeze would make landing a dream if he was flying.
Stars covered the sky, spread horizon to horizon. John stared up at them with open delight. He placed his telescope and bag down on the roof, then stretched out his arms as if to touch the inky purple expanse above them. When John glanced back at him, Scott repeated the gesture because this was something he understood. On a perfect blue day, as the sun shone, burning away the last whisps of white clouds, the skies pulled him in with the urge to be amongst it all. That was why he flew and John launched into space.
Scott spread the blanket out next to where the roof slanted sharply upwards, so they’d have shelter and were far away from the edge. He put the books down on a corner, preoccupying himself with neatly stacking them. John dropped to sit cross legged, immediately beginning to set up his telescope.
Scott lingered watching him as he attached it to its stand, screwing it securely in place. Long minutes passed while John fiddled with various knobs and dials. Scott knew he had a million other things he should be doing, the paperwork lurking at his desk to name one example, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave.
John wouldn’t want him here. He’d enjoy his evening far more without his older brother breathing down his neck. Scott should go. He made an awkward gesture at the door back off the roof, but made no movement towards it. He was probably driving John crazy just by being here, distracting him from his stars with his indecisiveness.
Shuffling the books around had already been a thin excuse once and messing with them more would be pushing it too far, no matter how the volume second from the bottom was botheringly skewed. He clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms to resist straightening it. He was already pushing it too far.
Scott forced himself up, made it halfway to his feet when John pulled himself away from his telescope. His breath caught when John opened his mouth to speak.
Scott knew he was overly clingy.
The times people had called him suffocating stung. They still stung, even when he knew they were words hurled in anger and not truly meant. He couldn’t stand to hear more, because surely that’s what John was going to say. Maybe more diplomatically, more politely, but he braced himself anyway.
“Do you want to look at the stars with me?” John asked.
Scott’s mouth was glued shut. He just stared at John.
“It’s fine if you don’t.” John glanced down at his hands, now in his lap instead of on the telescope, fidgeting with his sleeves. “I just… We haven’t spent time together for ages.”
“What— what about last week?” Scott managed. John had been down last week, they’d seen each other last week.
“That was with everyone,” John said softly. “I meant just us.”
Oh. So John wanted— John wanted him to stay?
Scott tentatively settled to sit on the blanket, next to John. He couldn’t not. If there was the slightest chance John wanted him here, he couldn’t not take and take and take. But he had to believe John, in John’s words and soft, unsure tone of voice. That John knew what he was asking for and was saying it because he wanted this too.
After so many rescues and times in his life where John’s voice was his anchor at the end of a comm line, it was second nature to believe John. Maybe the waver in his voice was because he had trouble asking for this too.
Their knees bumped and John gave him a small smile.
Slowly, Scott unwound, letting out a breath and relaxing every muscle he’d tensed up. He leant back, bracing his hands behind him to look once more to the sky. The stars and moon seemed brighter now. What John was searching for up there, Scott didn't know, but he’d be here as he did, with John’s calm presence by his side.
He listened to the brushing of the breeze through the trees and the rushing whisper of sea against the shores, interspersed with the fluttering of paper as John turned the pages of his books.
John didn't need to reference his books to point his telescope at the right bit of sky, but he always brought them anyway. It was part of the routine, the ritual, a familiar comfort too weighty to bring to space. Flicking through pages of calculations, hands on the well worn covers, opening them where they fell, because they’d been read so many times before. It was another night, like this one but a long while ago, shared together when John had told him that was why he had them, connected all the way back to memories of John as a kid with mum’s astronomy textbooks, reading them by torchlight. For Scott, there was something reassuring about John surrounded by his books and his stars, his brother as he always was and was meant to be. It wasn't silly, he’d told John, that he brought old fashioned print books instead of even just a tablet, when they made John happy.
Tonight, without the usual jets coming and going, and people hustling to emergency alarms, the island was quiet. Calm, even.
Alan and Gordon were up on Thunderbird Five. Alan because he needed more training before he was prepared to run the station solo, and Gordon, who’d good naturedly volunteered to partner up, given John had long exceed his space hours this month. How it was going was anyone’s guess, particularly for Gordon’s mood, when Alan was likely using his temporary commanding status to full extent in bossing around his big brother. Scott snorted.
John turned to him at the sound. “What’s up? What is it?”
“Thinking of how Allie and Gordo are doing,” Scott replied. He relayed his thoughts about their younger brothers.
The corners of John’s lips turned up. “Eos is likely more trouble, even with the talking to I gave her.”
John’s code baby slash evil AI was thankfully now into causing the inconvenient type of mischief instead of the life threatening. She could be almost sweet when she’d gotten over the murderous tendencies and Scott got to know her better. He could definitely see the John in her.
“They’ll be just fine. Might even learn a few things.” Scott had faith in his brothers’ abilities, and in the restorative properties of the celery crunch bars he’d put in the care package for Gordon.
The conversation lulled for a moment as John refocused on his telescope, before John chipped in, “Do you reckon Virgil’s figured out his masterpiece yet?”
A paint covered Virgil had been briefly coaxed out of his studio earlier in the evening with the promise of dinner. He’d made distracted conversation with Scott and John, mind clearly still elsewhere, before shovelling the last mouthfuls of food in his mouth and running off.
Virgil hadn’t noticed the streak of violet across his forehead, emphasised by the expression he made, all raised eyebrows and gleeful realisation, when the new idea struck. To be fair, neither Scott nor John had chosen to point it out to him. He’d either see it eventually or he wouldn’t, and time would tell how many other colours joined it.
But a Virgil in his art zone, with music coming from beneath his door, was a happy one. Reassuring for Scott too, after the weeks and months and rescues they’d all had.
“He’s all good,” Scott said fondly.
John echoed it with a wider smile, both of their minds on their artsy brother in the house below.
“So, what are you searching for tonight?” Scott gestured to the sky and the telescope in a sweeping movement.
John startled. He paused to consider then asked, “Does that mean you actually want the whole version or just the five second summary?”
“Hit me with all of it,” Scott said. He was rewarded by John’s face lighting up.
John’s excitement as he explained his star stuff was contagious. Scott found himself grinning. The way John flickered his hands through the air, sketching out astronomical diagrams, was mesmerising, and the way he pulled facts and figures off the top of his head was astounding.
When he showed Scott the contents of his books, Scott barely knew where to start with the calculations, because this was John’s area, not his own field of mathematics. Half the concepts went over his head until John explained them, bit by bit.
Scott asked questions, because it had been a while since he’d looked to the stars and he was rusty on most of the finer points other than those used for emergency navigation. John was more than happy to answer them.
They bounced questions and answers back and forth; John got to talk about his stars and Scott got to listen to his brother’s joyous excitement which he hadn’t heard for far too long. He reminded himself to call John up more often, even if it was just on the holo, to listen to him ramble about his latest research.
“You wanna see?” John asked. “The telescope is set up and tonight’s has the best conditions there will be.”
Handling any of John’s telescopes was usually a privilege reserved for a very careful Alan. Several childhood instances of toppled stands leading to cracked lenses had instituted the rule of no brothers allowed anywhere near touching range. Or, Scott cringed to think about, amateur soccer range.
When Scott agreed, John flashed a rare grin, delighted to share the stars with him.
The stars weren’t Scott’s domain the way they were for John. Both of them loved the sky but the difference was the distance. Scott much preferred to remain within the atmosphere, outside of it wasn't for him. But the sky was for them both. Him and John, who were the first ones to love it, before any of the others came along.
Scott looked through telescope to see what John sees.
It was… he could only describe it as beautiful. Bright pinpricks of light forming their constellations against navy sky. The planets and the stars seen from their own tiny planet in the galaxy. All brought closer by the telescope than he could see with his eyes, brought closer by sharing this moment with John.
When Scott pulled himself away from the telescope, John was watching him in nervous anticipation, twisting his hands in his lap.
“So, what did you think?”
“They’re amazing John, thank you for showing me.” Scott poured all his honest wonder into the words.
John looked up. “They really are.”
“I missed you,” Scott blurted out.
Immediately, he wanted to take the words back. What made him admit it, even on the solitary rooftop where no one could overhear them? Not because they weren’t true, it was always going to be true that he missed John when he was away. But usually that was something he kept close to his chest, an ache curled around his heart. His family spent plenty of time with him, even John, they just… hadn’t lately, that was all. He was being needy, asking for too much and wanting more, more, more after people already gave.
He swallowed back the lump in his throat. The stars were blurry as he looked away.
Scott flinched when John gently took his hands in his own.
John squeezed his hands, slender fingers wrapping around Scott’s as he automatically squeezed back.
Gripping John’s hands, holding onto him, was a lifeline built up over years and years. So deeply ingrained in who they were that it could pierce through Scott’s racing, sharp edged thoughts.
Looking back, him and John holding hands had started when they were kids. The first time he remembered was on a trip to an aeronautical museum, with Mum telling them they had to stick together, to hold hands and not let go. Because as a kid, John would wander off out of curiosity and get left behind when he slowed down to read all of the informational signs. It had happened many times before. In hindsight, Mum was probably trying to keep Scott from running around and climbing everything too, by recruiting him for big brother duty.
Later the gesture was an anchor for John, to lead him out of overwhelming situations, where Scott could see him shrinking in on himself at every sound that made him want to press his hands over his ears but he couldn't for appearances sake.
For Scott, when he’s falling apart too. For John to pull him aside with a polite excuse, then away from old guard board members at Tracy Industries meetings, and out of the surveillance of crowds and reporters alike at the awful high society galas PR made it necessary to attend. Away from where people wanted, no expected, Jeff Tracy and all they got was his son, and the cordial smiles of how much he resembled his father tore Scott as deeply as the thinly veiled whispers of how much he didn’t, and he couldn't keep it up any longer.
And right now, he was falling apart, in a different place for different reasons but the chunks of his careful facade of fine fine fine are breaking off and clattering to the ground. John bears witness to it, within touching distance, within the blast radius, instead of a million miles away.
Scott could blame his emotionalness on exhaustion. On too many caffeine fuelled late nights bleeding into early mornings this week. On hard rescues in poor conditions. Anything instead of this boiling hurt that builds and builds.
He blinked quickly, his tears stuck to his eyelashes, hot and stinging as they welled up. He tipped his head back in hopes he could keep them from running down his face.
If he let go of John’s hands, he could wipe them away, and he and John could both pretend they were never there. But he couldn’t let go of John.
There was no way to hide his tears from John.
Scott hunched his shoulders. He closed his eyes. He still didn’t want to know what John really thought of him.
John’s hands gripping his own were the only point of reference he had. Scott was failure after failure, drowning in them, and John was too clever not to realise it soon enough.
“I missed you too.” John entwined his fingers with Scott’s before he could pull away.
The urge to tug his hands back, to take them away from John, whether in shock, or surprise or disbelief because the voice inside his head screamed he’s lying, he’s lying. Or so John couldn't pull away first, because he would, it was only a matter of time. It was always just a matter of time until everyone found out how messed up he was. Then—
Scott didn’t know anymore. He shuddered, curling in on himself, making himself smaller, making himself less of, of everything that he was.
But John was still there. Gently holding his hands. Not letting go.
Even as Scott felt tears dripping from his chin, the tracks burning down his face. Even as he shook, heart pounding, breaths catching loud and raspy, shattering the quiet of the night.
But why, but why but why would John miss him? The thoughts whirled, as cutting as blizzard ice, through his head. And mumbled aloud, falling unbidden from his lips, they were just as awful, the same slicing edges, now out where they could harm.
John’s voice washed over him, quiet, soft words he couldn't make out. They were buried beneath the howling thoughts.
But why?
There was no reason.
No reason at all.
Nothing was left in the dark, but Scott’s worst fears, tearing him apart with no up or down or direction, his own avalanche eating him alive.
Then something broke through. Reached out into the dark to rescue him. John squeezed his hands, pulling him out of the snow, never letting him go.
And John’s voice was gentle, filtering back in like a lost radio connection.
“Because there are as many reasons we all love you as there are stars in the sky.”
“As many reasons as stars I have yet to discover.”
“More reasons than all the stars, in all the universe, that ever were or ever will be.”
John paused for a moment, taking in a breath. “Because you’re Scott.”
Slowly, Scott opened his eyes. John was close, a blur of pale face and red hair that swam into focus as he blinked. Wide, earnest turquoise eyes that saw right through him.
Heartbroken was far too easy an expression to recognise on John, not when you knew him. But so was love. His expression was a mixture of both Scott wasn’t sure what to do with.
He stared until something jagged lodged in his chest and he forced himself to look away.
To the stars. Then down at their interlocked hands, where his own still trembled.
He watched as John’s fingers tightened briefly. His vision blurred.
“You back with me?” John asked. The same tone he’d heard him use over comms on scared rescuees and brothers alike, but now without the static.
Scott nodded slowly. He wasn’t sure he could make his voice work.
Somehow, John understood. Somehow John understood him and that hadn’t sent him running.
“You want to take a few deeps breaths, and then we can talk?”
He nodded again, listening for John’s count. He pushed his thoughts towards the back of his mind as hard as he could.
He tried, to time his inhales and exhales to John’s voice, he really did.
But his chest hitched, sobs tearing from his throat on every breath.
He couldn’t do it, he couldn’t do it.
He couldn't even breathe calmly, not even with John counting for him, John was wasting his time.
Except John said, “Scott, Scotty. Listen to me. However long it takes, it’s okay. I’m here.”
Scott was still crying, and this wasn't how the evening was supposed to go. John was meant to be watching his stars, not having to hold Scott’s broken mess together.
Scott probably wasn't meant to be here at all. He was meant to be doing mission reports, he should have stayed doing mission reports. Reliving awful memories of wrenching metal and screams to put lives saved and lost into official sounding sentences, at least would’ve only hurt him.
It took far too long for his sobs to lose their edge.
Too long to get his breathing back to shaky hiccups instead of hyperventilating.
For him to be left exhausted, with tears still flowing that nothing he could do would stop.
Over and over, John repeated, “You’re okay, we’re okay,” and, “I’m here.”
Because he was still here, with Scott, and he wasn't leaving.
And maybe that meant something.
Scott couldn’t hide his tears from John, but maybe he didn't have to. Not when John was so close, not when he cared. Because John still had his hands in his own. Because John showed him the stars that were his entire world. Everything said he cared about Scott, no matter what he did.
“Would you like a hug?” John asked.
The contact would be nice. But whether John wanted a hug, when he so often kept himself far apart. Scott shook his head then nodded. He didn’t know. He could barely think in the come down from his emotions.
But he didn’t have to figure it out as John pulled him close.
Their hands were pinned awkwardly between them because Scott still couldn’t let go, but he leant into John, tucking his face into John’s neck, hidden from sight.
John was wearing a navy blue hoodie which had gone through several brothers and might once have been Scott’s own, given the peeling aeroplane decal, but it was difficult to tell beneath the paint stains.
The soft fabric soaked up his tears. Eventually he let one hand go, carefully, bit by bit and John wrapped his arm securely around him.
Okay, he was okay. John was here. He just had to keep telling himself that.
John didn’t pull away to ask, “Do you want to tell me what happened there?” He just spoke quietly, chin still resting on top of Scott’s head where he was curled around him.
Scott swallowed. “Not particularly.”
“Is that because you actually don’t want to or because you think you’re fine.”
Scott shook his head. Even he had enough awareness to know he wasn’t entirely fine right now. Not with tear tracks barely dry on his cheeks. Or clutching John like his world would fall apart otherwise because something inside him told him it would.
“It’s I don’t know what you’ll think of me,” he mumbled into John’s hoodie.
John’s arm tightened around him. He whispered, “Oh, Scott.”
Scott tensed up.
“I’m not going to be upset with you, no matter what you’re feeling,” John added, quickly, tripping over his words to reassure Scott.
“Promise?” Scott asked, stupidly, childishly, because he couldn't help it even though it wasn't something John could promise.
“I promise,” John said solemnly.
The words, their words, went all the way back to their childhood, of Scott gripping John’s hands, making him promise not to tell mum and dad where Scott’s super secret fort was built in the backyard. John had never broken one of their promises. Not even as they got older and it was a teenaged Scott crying his heart out in the far too tiny tree house, because he didn't want dad to see him getting upset over little things like trying hold their family together and looking after his siblings.
Their exchange soldified something between them. Their bond that had always been there and maybe he could believe always would be there. It let Scott lower his walls inch by inch, until he found the courage to speak, even if it was barely audible and he still wasn't looking at John.
“It’s fine. It’s just… You never seem to want to spend time with me anymore,” he admitted.
“Of course I want to spent time with you,” John stated gently, “Why would I not?”
Scott choked on bitter laughter. “Why would you want to?”
He felt the moment John’s breath caught. How John hugged him close, pressing Scott to his chest.
“Scotty,” John asked apprehensively, the childhood nickname coming out for the second time tonight, “Is this really how you think of yourself?”
Scott shrugged against John. “What does it matter.”
John’s voice was thick, “It matters because somehow you’ve got it in your head that there’s no reason I’d miss you, and that’s not true and never will be true. It’s so, so not true.”
“When you’re earthside, you still spend all your time with the others,” he muttered in ugly, hurt words.
The sharp intake of breath from John was another regret.
Scott was torn between running where he’d never hurt John again and holding him closer.
As he pulled away, John’s hand still in his own brought him back. John always brought him back. So he clung on to John too, and starlight glinted from both their tears.
He held on, and they were both shaking now.
John’s “I’m sorry—I’msorrysosorry—’msosorryScotty,” was distressed and near silent.
“But why?” Butwhybutwhybutwhy?
“I thought you wouldn't want to star gaze with me!” John burst out.
It was Scott’s turn to squeeze John’s hand. To have John’s trembling fingers gripping back.
Scott swallowed hard. This was on him. He’d upset John. His own fresh tears cooled on his face, the sea breeze picking up to give them freezing bite. Scott had failed. Like he always did. But this was at the one thing that mattered above all others, of keeping his brothers safe and happy.
Guilt laced John’s voice, heavy and suffocating. “Alan loves space nearly as much as I do, so I try to take him out whenever I can. Virgil will draw anything whether or not it sits still for long enough and he wanted to try painting the sky with watercolours.”
Scott almost didn't want to ask, “What what about Gordon?” Because why was it just not him?
He heard John sniffle. “We usually sit near the beach. Gordy watches the waves and I watch the stars. Then he wanted to know about the stars because apparently they look kinda like the constellations of bioluminescence in the deep sea.” John’s words got stuck and he choked out, “I’m so sorry Scott.”
“It’s— it’s fine,” Scott said, effect ruined by the break in his voice. By how he couldn’t let go of John’s hand, even as he felt more tears trickling down his cheeks. “You don’t need to worry, just spend your time with the others, I know you don’t get much.”
He wouldn't want to hang out with himself if he had a choice about it.
John pulled his face away from where it was tucked in the crook of Scott’s neck. He still didn't look at Scott.
“I know you don’t want to spend time with me,” John said in a small, wet voice, “I’m boring. All I can talk about is astronomy and most normal people don’t care about it. I’m just weird and wobbly and awkward.”
“John—” Scott tried.
“When I’m not in space, I only slow you down,” John continued.
“Johnny!”
That got John’s attention. “What,” he snapped.
“I do want to spent time with you,” Scott said, “Of course I do, I always do.”
“But I didn’t really know. Most people don’t like me,” John stated, far too matter of fact.
That hit Scott like a punch to the gut. “You’re just like me,” he whispered.
Something he didn't want for any of his brothers.
“You feel like this too,” John whispered back, low so not even the stars could hear them.
Like they were both back in that tree house, amongst their old promises. Tangled together because that was the only way they would both fit now they weren’t children anymore. All lanky limbs, knees and elbows and sharp edges digging into each other.
At the same time, in the same motion, he and John hugged each other tighter. They were still the same jagged edges that fitted as closely as puzzle pieces, if they lined it up right.
“It’s why— why I thought you wouldn’t want to spent time with me,” Scott said, unsure now. “Because why would you.”
Scott took a deep breath and quoted, “Scott’s too clingy. Too needy. Too much, going too fast.” He kept his voice soft, pouring out old hurts, recent hurts, for only John to hear.
“And here I was trying not to drag you down when I could’ve held you close instead,” John murmured.
“Yeah,” Scott said thickly, “I could’ve been there for you.”
“For you too.” John’s voice gained an edge, “That you can’t think of a single reason I’d miss you means I must be doing something wrong.”
“It’s not your fault.” If there was something Scott was adamant about, it was this.
John raised his head to look Scott in the eyes, brief, burning turquoise. “Then it can’t be yours either.”
“But for everything…” Scott trailed off.
“I’m not going to love you less. None of us are. Not for being you.”
“I failed.” He had to say it, had to make sure John knew.
“No,” John said vehemently, “You were hurting too.”
Scott could feel John’s thundering heart pressed against his chest.
“Neither of us knew and we’re both trying, that matters,” John continued, “There’s also what we do now.”
John was Thunderbird Five, but he was also John Tracy. He knew. He knew Scott. Scott had to trust him.
“We make each other stronger. And we hold each other up,” Scott said quietly. Because of who they were, not just in spite of it.
For John, with John, maybe it was just one day possible.
They stayed like that, fused together in a hug, surrounded by John’s stars and Scott’s sky, for a long time. Scott couldn't remember when he’d last hugged John like this. To keep each other close, like they’d promised they would. He needed to do it more often.
When they finally moved, because sitting in one place on a rooftop for so long wasn't exactly comfortable, neither of them went far.
John dragged his satchel nearer and pulled out a thermos flask.
“I’ve got hot chocolate,” he smiled, opening it to take a sip then holding it out for Scott.
Scott took it, wrapping his hands around the warm thermos before raising it to his lips.
Closing his eyes, he savoured it. No one made hot chocolate like John. No one except mum did.
He pressed his shoulder against John’s in silent appreciation.
They passed the thermos back and forth, no words needed.
When it was empty and they were both full of hot chocolate, the night was late, the stars turning overhead. They perhaps should have gone in, would’ve on another evening without all the everything that had occurred tonight, but Scott had worked up the courage to ask John to stay, just for a little while longer, and John wanted to.
John returned to his telescope and Scott settled close, with John happily leaning back on his chest, Scott’s arms wrapped around John’s middle and chin on his shoulder. John could still look at his stars and Scott got to hug him so it was a win for them both.
The ocean breeze was picking up, becoming chilly in shirtsleeves when Scott hadn't brought a jumper because he didn't think he’d get to be out here so long. But John was warm and his hoodie soft, plus Scott could stick his hands in the front pocket, partially to annoy John ever so slightly, but also because his fingers were cold.
He got a close up of that characteristic irritated but fond expression, caught in a John half smile, when John tipped his head to look at Scott. Scott couldn't help but smile back.
Then John also stuck his absolutely freezing hands in the hoodie pocket with Scott’s finally warm fingers, vibrating with laughter because he did that on purpose.
They both settled back, hanging onto each others hands again, staring upwards at their sky and stars.
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Your desperate lovers series has greatly impacted me as a person. Im thinking about getting a tattoo based off of it. Are there any visual symbols or motifs that come to your mind when you think about writing them?
I really cannot emphasize how much those works mean to me. I don't think I would be as far in my journey of self acceptance and artistic expression. I have friends who have felt more comfortable to explore the macabre and taboo because of me. They ask me how i found the confidence to be such a freak and i always point back to your fics.
Thank you for writing and thank you for sharing. Its really impacted some people.
-nipplelick
Oh god oh man. That's like. So incredibly honoring. PLEASE please feel free to DM if you want to talk about it more. (I actually have a relevant tattoo I'd like to show you if you do. I don't post identifiable photos here.)
I can't even put into words what this message means as an author.
Something you need to know is that Desperate Lovers is a song by King 810 which HEAVILY inspired me.
"I needed something from you, that shit you're ashamed of that's sick and disgusting. [...] I need your blood and guts. Give me your blood, motherfucker. I want you, all of you, like we're two desperate lovers."
The imagery I think of most is definitely Mikey's knife. Which is ironic because I don't think I've ever actually described it in detail, but I've always imagined him with a wood-handled folding buck knife. Something like this:
(source)
I also think about hands and mouths covered in blood a lot. Mikey's blood soaked hands gripping Gerard's cheeks. Mikey licking up the blood running down his wrist or biting hard enough to break skin. His fingers digging into the wound on Cat's (Kat's?) neck, ripping it open wider. Both of them gripping each other, after, Gerard's bloody hands shaking and slipping and Mikey's holding him steady. Mikey's hands disappearing in the viscera of the human abdominal cavity.
(source)
That brings up a good point actually, I've always found disembowelment to be the most sexual way of killing someone, splitting them from ribcage to pelvis and flaying them open so everything they try so hard to keep in spills out of them. The Y cut of the autopsy. The way every time Mikey thinks about killing Gerard it's by cutting him open so he can see his insides, so he can grab his brothers beating heart in his own two hands until it stops beating because of him. So he can wrap Gerard's guts around his cock and rub his cum into his meat and his bones so it will always always always be a part of him.
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A few of my favorite lines from Healed--specifically ones I've thought about getting tattooed myself--are:
"I don't think god would let me get away with the things I've done.
"You're going to look so pretty covered in blood."
and ”I killed a man tonight, and you’re reading a magazine.”
So uh, yeah! I'm not sure if this made any sense or was helpful, but like I said please please DM if you have any questions (or if you just want to talk abt DL. I love these boys, life just keeps getting in the way of Making Things. (Or if you want to talk about other bandom things. (I'm very friendly just autistic.)))
@nipplelick
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as someone with OCD if i see another one of those “im so OCD i clean my room once a week! here’s my best friend organizing my colored pencils being so quirky OCD!” or generalizing OCD as neat freak cleanliness im going to flip my shit and here’s why (under the cut)
yes OCD can manifest in obsessive compulsive cleaning behavior but OCD DOES NOT MEAN NEAT FREAK. OCD manifests in so many different ways, and everyone’s experience is different especially if you have co-occurring conditions like depression or anxiety or if you’re autistic or have ADHD. people think OCD is just cleaning and being neat and clean but they don’t understand the thought processes behind OCD so let me explain it to you. OCD is a condition where someone experiences unwanted obsessive thoughts, and in an effort to ease these thoughts engages in a compulsion. obsessive thoughts are often based in fear and trauma, and the compulsions try to ease the fear, but it’s often short term and doesn’t work for more than a few seconds.
here’s an example. green equals obsessive thought, red equals compulsion.
im scared that something will happen to my pet when im not near her/in the same room as her, so i’ll check on her twice every hour and will pet her five times each time i check on her
(this is actually close to one of my own compulsions btw)
as you can see this is an irrational response to a fear that is irrational if your pet is perfectly healthy and safe. many times OCD fears and compulsions are extremely irrational. it can even be something like “if i don’t tap my door handle three times after leaving this room my family will die in a fire”. it’s not fun, it’s scary, and we’re (usually) aware of how irrational our fears are but the fear is still very real and the compulsions are irresistible. symptoms of OCD also include checking. for me one of my obsessions and compulsions in relation to checking is i’ll get the thought of “what if i accidentally said something offensive/cussed/said something bad abt my teacher in my college paper” and even though i know I didn’t do any of that i’ll have to check my paper 3 times or more just to make sure I didn’t. another example of this is checking to make sure you turned the stove off like 5 times before you leave the house.
OCD can also lead to rumination and thought tunnels. this is prominent in all forms of OCD but is extremely prominent in relationship or friendship OCD. an example of rumination in OCD would be:
“what if my response to that text message sounded stupid?”
“if i sounded stupid what if they think im stupid”
“if they think im stupid they’ll leave me”
“if they leave me I won’t have anyone to talk to”
and so it goes on and on and on . and not just for a second or two, it can last for hours.
BUT i’d like to circle back and say that im not invalidating people with OCD in relation to cleaning. it DOES exist and it IS valid, and cleaning and organization in general can be a big big comfort and regulator for people with OCD. im talking to the people who think it’s quirky or fun or on purpose to have cleaning related OCD. compulsions aren’t cute, they aren’t quirky, they’re scary, and OCD is a disorder. it’s not fun. I grew up with a mother with very extreme OCD in relation to cleaning/sanitization and it has taken a huge toll on both of us. I watch her get upset and panicked and burned out because of her organization and sanitation OCD. and i watch myself get into the same cycles because of my OCD, even if our obsessions and compulsions are completely different. it’s not something enjoyable.
if you’d like to read more about OCD , or the related condition that is OCPD, here are some sources to do that. PLEASE educate yourselves on disorders before posting about them, especially tiktoks that are meant to be comedic. to that one girl on tiktok: it’s not funny that you moved all your OCD friend’s shit around her room and left her deodorant and toothpaste open in the bathroom! get a life!
anyway. some sources:
Cleveland Clinic’s Explanation of OCD
Friendship and Relationship OCD Explained by Mashable
Co-Occurrence OCD and Autism
#ocd#tw: ocd#mental health#obsessive compulsive disorder#if you have ocd pls add to this if i missed something
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do u have more details on your mourning veil(s)?? i am not in mourning but i have been wanting to wear veils in everyday life (probably not in black) and i also plan to dress in some kind of modified mourning when i next experience a death in my circles. im curious about whether u wear it over your face ever (im autistic and thats pretty much why ive been wanting to start wearing veils, apart from the aesthetics of it ofc lol), and also curious about the logistics, like what shapes they are & how opaque they are?
Mine is a 1930s (?) French veil; it's a large (34 x 60") rectangle of sheer material that seems to be black silk crepe. A short stretch of fabric in the center of one of the long ends (5") has two threads drawn through it to gather it together, producing a sort of half-circle of negative space where the veil may be attached to a bonnet; when worn, this causes the two corners of the rectangle nearest the head to fall down somewhat lower than the shoulders, while the two corners further away fall over the back and down to the knees: here's a link to a French mourning veil that looks similar.
1930s French veil laid out over a table; close-up on the ruching.
A bunch of writing from the 19th and early 20th centuries decries the expectation for widows to wear veils over their faces, claiming that the veils were heavy, stifling, and difficult to see and breathe through. I haven't found that to be the case with this one—even with my muscle disorder (like, my neck can only briefly and painfully support the weight of my head), the weight of the veil alone is negligible. It's very sheer and not too difficult to see and breathe through.
That being said, I wouldn't recommend wearing an antique veil (on the rare chance you find one—mourning clothes are harder than most antique clothing to come by, since the dye doesn't tend to wear very well, and crepe in particular had a tendency to shed and break down) over your face! You don't know for sure what kinds of dye or fixatives were used on it, and some of the more popular ones are things that you should not be breathing in.
Re-creation mourning veils intended for re-enactors can be purchased online—you may also have some luck looking into things marketed as Goth wedding veils. The only veil I occasionally wear over my face is a modern recreation. However, I found it difficult to come across one that didn't include satin trim or lace (both prohibited in English deep mourning). If you have some basic sewing skills, it shouldn't be hard to get a rectangle of sheer fabric (silk gauze or cotton voile might work; I have some 100gsm black linen on hand so I can tell you that it's a bit difficult to see through) and hem it on all sides.
You will need a hatpin or something similar to attach your veil to a bonnet or other headwear, or else it will blow right off. Headwear with a brim has the advantage of keeping the veil a few inches away from your face. The veil can be worn covering the entire bonnet and falling down over your face, or you can throw it back (so that it's folded over the back half of the bonnet, still held in place by the pin) to reveal your face. If you place the pin or pins about halfway back, you can make this adjustment on the fly. You could probably also just sew the veil to the bonnet if you're never going to wear them separately.
Short, modern veil worn over an 1860s-style bonnet to cover the face; the same veil worn over a bonnet to partly cover the face.
This veil makes everything look a bit darker and more grainy and gives a slight halo to light sources. It's not too noticable and I wouldn't say it impedes vision for the sake of any everyday task you would need to do.
When I'm forgoing the bonnet, I put my hair up into a bun, leaving some hair off to the side to make a braid; I pin the veil into my hair by putting bobby pins through my hair and then around the edge of, not through the fabric of, the veil (so that one half of the pin is between the veil and my head, and the other half is on top of the veil); then I take the braid and pull it over the area where the veil meets my hair, securing it with the halves of the bobby pins that are on top of the veil, and using another few pins to secure the bottom of the braid (the part closer to my forehead than the back of my head). There's no historical precedent for this, but it keeps the veil secure without damaging it, and keeps me from needing to wear a hat inside.
You can get a lot of variation in style by doing this:
1930s French veil worn directly in the hair with one large braid covering the join;
Ditto, with one large braid covering the join and one small decorative one across the head;
Ditto, with two twists of different sizes in stead of the braids;
Ditto, with the hair drawn into two buns at the side of the head under the veil, in stead of into one bun at the back;
Ditto, with one bun and one braid covering the join, with additional hair pinned into decorative swirling shapes on top of the head.
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just got results for a neuropsych eval I sought out to get an autism diagnosis.
the results just came back saying GAD and mild depression, with a running theme throughout this entire 12-page report that I was “fixated on autism-like symptoms” and trying to run a narrative to get a desired diagnosis. 12 entire pages writing about how I meet much of the autism criteria but essentially could not be trusted to be knowledgeable on my own condition due to anxious behavior (stimming).
im honestly so distraught and have been trying not to gaslight myself since getting my results yesterday. should I just give up on getting a second opinion? im having trouble seeing this as worth it and might just have to figure out how to accommodate for myself if im gonna put my entire life out for a “professional” just to be written off as not autistic but anxious and “moody.”
Yeah, experiences like yours are exceedingly common, and just one of the many reasons that I emphasize over and over again that we get to determine what our community is -- a psychiatry that only understands us as broken should have no right to define who we are.
Whether to try again depends on what you hope to get out of having a diagnosis. A decision tree:
and for the uninitiated:
All that said, if you determine for yourself that a diagnosis is worth pursuing, I'd be sure to grill your next assessor before forking over any more money to them. Ask them what their experience is in working with Autistic adults, and their understanding of masking. If they are defensive or give you bad answers to those questions, do not pay them. They work for you. Don't hire someone who is just going to lord their authority over you and then waste your money and time.
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