#the neurodivergent fic writer experience:

[sodascribbles]

im sorry to all the wips ill never finish. like y'all deserve better

[olderthannetfic]

Maybe it's because I'm neurodivergent, but something I don't get is when people bring up that it used to be that nobody got comments, we use to post in formats where no one could comment, it used to be that people posted fic and you didn't even know how many hits you got, etc. and seem to be proud of how much they don't care about comments and hits.

And I get it. It's unhealthy to like comments or hits. But I don't know if that means it's inherently more healthy to not like them. I certainly don't think it's healthy to see people say, "I wish someone commented on my stuff" and go, "back in MY day we weren't PARASOCIAL LOSERS who used fandom as SOCIAL MEDIA! We understood that fandom was about TRUE ART and TRUE ART doesn't involve others!" because... it just feels like, to me, it shouldn't bother people? If you're really, truly happy with your fandom experience that didn't involve talking to others, why would you then talk to others, even to tell them they're wrong? If silence is golden, why would you ruin it?

And before anyone goes "typical stupid Gen Z kid, wanting fandom to be social media": I quit writing three years ago, I'm not parasocially attempting to use fandom to talk to people.

--

Is this something people in general say, or is it something that one True Art anon with serious emotional issues says?

There's nothing parasocial about commenting on people's fanfic. The only way that would be true is if you're so influencer-poisoned that you think popular fic writers are internet celebrities totally separate from their audiences. In fact, fanfic writers and readers, popular and unpopular, are peers. The people who try to give themselves airs suck and are best avoided.

In oldschool spaces, we most certainly talked to people whose fic we liked so that we could make friends with them. Actual friends. Not some weird cult around a youtuber.

It's also not at all unhealthy to like comments and hits: It's unhealthy to obsess over them.

People who've been in fandom for decades will confirm that the ratio of hits or zine sales or whatever to good feedback was always terrible and so fixating on stats like that will just depress you. Trying to "fix" it is futile. That doesn't mean you shouldn't have an emotional reaction. An emotional reaction is inevitable. It's just that realistic context will make the situation feel less personal.

--

Anon... true fandom olds bitch about modern social media bullshit because it represents a loss of community.

Actual community is the opposite of parasocial.

You need to hang out with better people if this weird shit is what you're seeing.

[ladamedusoif]

able

(Joel Miller x disabled F!Reader)

Pairing: Joel Miller x Disabled F!Reader

Summary: "I just don't think she'll be able for patrol". But then it's just you, Joel, and your trusty walking stick in the middle of nowhere...

Content/warnings: Reader is disabled (she has rheumatoid disease/arthritis in addition to panic attacks, she uses a walking stick as necessary); Reader had a sister; Reader is an art teacher; strong violence; blood; description of panic attack; references to impact of chronic illness and disability; references to medication; references to disease and death; non-canon compliant; Jackson!Joel; strong language; ableist language and abusive language

Rating: Mature; 18+ MDNI

Word Count: ~3.7k

A/N: After making a plea earlier in the week for people to actually write disabled Reader fic, as opposed to forcing writers to feel they have to tag literally everything in an able-bodied Reader story, I knew I had to put my money where my mouth was as a disabled, neurodivergent writer with various mental health things going on here and there. And this one-shot is the result.

This one is a little personal. I was diagnosed with rheumatoid disease about ten years ago, and Reader’s experiences are informed by my own (though, thankfully, I haven’t had to contend with an apocalypse that meant I couldn’t access the medication that has kept me going). She’s also inspired by @agentjackdaniels, who acted as consultant extraordinaire on walking sticks and panic attacks, and suggested the Joel picture for the moodboard. Thank you, Luce, for this, for fighting the good fight for representation in fic - and for beta-ing the story. 

(A note on terminology: rheumatoid disease/arthritis are sometimes used interchangeably. ‘Arthritis’ often sounds like it’s ‘just’ osteoarthritis to people who don’t know the difference. Rheumatoid, unlike osteoarthritis (which is shitty in its own ways), is a systemic, lifelong, chronic illness and an auto-immune disorder that affects the entire body, not just bones and/or joints. So personally I use ‘rheumatoid disease’ as it conveys more of the impact of the condition. It's also often seen as an 'old person' disease but this simply isn't true - not that this stops mobility aids being modelled by people in their 80s all the time...)

Please follow my writing blog @ladameecrit and turn on notifications to stay up to date with my work.

Dividers by @saradika - moodboard by me

You weren’t supposed to make it.

Twenty-odd years in the apocalypse with your fucked-up joints and no steady supply of the meds that kept you going, pushing through the cycles of fatigue, and fighting off your own goddamned immune system as much as you were fighting clickers and raiders. 

You really weren’t supposed to make it. But you had Annie.

You were sharing an apartment when the outbreak happened, a quirk of shitty personal circumstances - she’d just broken up with her long-term boyfriend - that probably helped save your life. Annie was the all-action sister - the kind of person who thinks there’s nothing weird about spending your weekends doing triathlons and “Tough Mudder” challenges, who had a perfect bill of health your entire lives, who bounced out of bed in the mornings while you cracked and creaked and stiffly manoeuvered yourself into being. 

The good days generally outweighed the bad in the years between your diagnosis with rheumatoid disease and the initial outbreak - or maybe you had just gotten used to the aches and pains and the occasional flare-ups of fatigue. You invested in a walking stick to help on those days when mobility was particularly bad: solid, heavy, and carved in a pale yellow wood. It felt like a comfort in your hand, more a sign of strength, to you, than of weakness. 

Annie helped you through the panic attack that consumed you on outbreak day, working with you to regulate your breathing and relax your tense muscles until you could finally say what was on your mind.

“My meds. What am I going to do without my meds?”

Nothing a quick smash and grab at the local pharmacy couldn’t fix. It was the first of many, stockpiling the little yellow tablets you relied on and taking as many packs of over-the-counter painkillers as you could carry. Useful currency in the apocalypse, as it turned out.

All-Action Annie was never going to cope with life in a QZ. She got the two of you out after months of planning, nights of whispered talk about a town out west that was normal - or something close to it, anyway. She hadn’t entertained your protestations about you slowing her down, holding her back.

“You think I’m leaving behind a girl who’s so handy with a weapon?” she’d teased, pointing to your walking stick. “Be real. We’re busting out together.”

The infection took hold in her about three days from Jackson. Fuckin’ barbed wire, tearing a jagged line through Annie’s hand and leaving behind an old-fashioned kind of threat to life, the kind penicillin had mostly dealt with. But that was then. This was now. 

She died in an abandoned farmhouse in the middle of nowhere, you holding her hand until the end, talking to her about your childhoods and trying to keep smiling until she closed her beautiful eyes. 

It took all your strength to dig her grave. And then, somehow, you found more.

You weren’t supposed to make it. But you did. 

Jackson stands before you. 

He sees you for the first time in the community dining hall, talking animatedly to Maria as you hungrily devour the food set in front of you. Eyes wide, face grubby, clothes ragged. Half-wild, he thinks, like most of the new arrivals. Like him and Ellie, once upon a time. He returns to his bowl of soup and his own thoughts - at least, until he’s interrupted by Maria.

“Joel? Want to introduce a new member of the community, just arrived.”

He doesn’t quite know why he’s surprised when he realises you’re leaning on a sturdy hand-carved walking stick in a solid, light yellow wood. Maybe it’s because he knows how physically hard it is to get here. Maybe he just assumed folks who needed a stick wouldn’t have been able to manage the journey. 

For a second he can hear Sarah’s voice in his head, chiding him for focusing on what a disabled person can’t do instead of what they can. 

“Joel?”

He snaps out of his reverie and looks from Maria to you. “Uh, hi. Sorry, just…sorry. Forgot my manners.”

“I was just saying how glad we are to have someone who can offer some art education in the town, isn’t that right, Joel?”

Your eyes are warm and mischievous as you meet his gaze, silently conveying your amusement at Maria’s rather brusque manner. It’s all Joel can do not to laugh.

“Sure is. You’re an artist, then?”

You shake your head. “Not a real one. I was an art teacher, before. Long time since I created anything, though, so I hope I remember how.”

He smiles softly, his gruff exterior receding a little. “Bet it’s just like riding a bike,” he says, before his face falls as he looks at your walking stick. “Oh, shit. Sorry. I didn’t mean… Shit. Hope I didn’t offend.”

“As it happens, I can ride a bike, Joel. The apocalypse just doesn’t give me much cause to.”

You leave him with a smile and a wink as Maria ushers you to meet other townsfolk. He watches you as you walk away, the tap-tap-tapping of your stick beating out a new rhythm in the heart of Jackson.

You think of Annie every morning when you wake up in the little house you’d been assigned. Sometimes, as you potter around the kitchen, still revelling in the novelty of making yourself morning coffee for the first time in two decades, you even talk to her. You tell her about the town, the townsfolk, your work in the community vegetable garden, your art classes. 

“Honestly, An, you wouldn’t believe how popular they are,” you tell the Annie who, in an alternate universe, is sitting at the kitchen table with her own mug of coffee. “I’m setting up extra sessions to cater for demand.”

There’s something uplifting in how hungry the people of Jackson are to make art, no matter their experience or existing skill level. They’ll draw stuff from memory, they’ll dutifully work on a still life, they’ll even traipse outside with you, wooden sketching boards in hand, and make rapid-fire sketches of the goings-on on Main Street. 

Joel doesn’t join a class - but the teenage girl Maria refers to as “Joel’s kid” does, all potty-mouthed and enthusiastic and pretty damned talented, to boot. Ellie tells you how she’s pinned up the drawings she’s proudest of in their home, “like our own fuckin’ art gallery or some shit.” 

You pull up a tall stool and sit beside her, resting your stick over your thighs. “Joel’s got his guitar and those dumbass model figures he paints,” she continues, leaning around her easel and squinting at the woman who’d volunteered to act as a life model for this week’s classes. “But this shit? This is real art.” She adds a little highlight to the woman’s sweater and leans back to assess the work.

“You probably got exempt from patrols, I’m guessing. On account of the stick, an’ all.”

“Maria asked, and I signed up happily. I got all the way here, didn’t I? I’m sure I can manage patrols. And it’s the least I can do - they’ve even found me some of the medications I need.”

Ellie nods, somewhat convinced, and returns to sketching out the contours around the model’s jaw.

The day of your first patrol arrives. You bundle up and set out early for the stables, allowing extra time to get there on account of the flare-up you’d been experiencing the day before. 

You arrive early - just in time, in fact, to overhear a heated conversation between Joel and Maria.

“She’s doing enough, ain’t she? I just don’t think she’ll be able for patrol.”

“You’ve seen her out and about, Joel. She’s mobile. She’s competent. She’s good with the horses. She got all the way here, the last stretch on her own. What more proof do you need?”

“You’re seriously gonna send a woman with a walking stick out on patrol?”

“I seriously am. Sent you and your bad back out, didn’t we?”

“That ain’t the same and you know it.”

“Just saddle the horses, Joel. And, in case you’re wondering - yes, I paired you together deliberately, just until she gets settled.” You hear her footsteps recede as she leaves him.

You had misjudged how much your already-limited grip would be further impeded by the gloves you’re wearing. The stick clatters to the ground.

“Who’s there?”

You emerge from the shadows. “Me. Sorry.”

Joel rolls his eyes and gruffly points out the tack and supplies.

The first patrol passes in silence. You wonder what happened to the softer man you’d caught a glimpse of the first day you arrived.

On the second patrol, you ask him questions about himself. On the third patrol, he asks (fewer) questions about you. By the fourth, you’re having something approximating normal conversation. 

“Sarah loved to make all kinds of stuff,” he ventures, leading the way on his chestnut horse. “Those beaded bracelets, that girly Lego in the pink and purple, all of that. My girl had enough Magic Markers to supply a whole elementary school. Maybe two.”

You can hear him smile, even without seeing his face. His shoulders relax a little as he recalls the memory.

“So she was a creative kid?”

“Creative, sporty… she could do anything. Made the school soccer team, she was so proud. Just a…” He pauses. “A great kid.”

There’s a few beats of silence, punctuated only by the sound of the horses snickering and the steady rhythm of their hooves on the ground. 

“What about your sister, was she arty like you?”

You’d told him about Annie on the last patrol. This was the first time he’d asked about her explicitly.

“She was the sporty one. I think that’s why I survived so long, truth be told. She was so strong and fast and tough as fuck.”

He chuckles, the burr of his voice resonating in the cold air. “Sounds like a good balance, though.”

“It is - it was. Was.” Your voice grows quieter as you repeat the word to yourself, chest starting to tighten. The horse slows, responding to the tension of your body, as Joel continues to trot on, not realising you’ve come to a halt behind him. 

And then the tell-tale snapping of a twig, the sound of footsteps, and the realisation there’s someone else there, emerging out of the woods. Two someones. 

Raiders. 

The panic attack that has been building inside you gives way. An innate fight or flight response kicks in as you roar his name. 

Joel turns and charges back towards you, just in time to see you take out one raider with a crack shot from your pistol. He slows the horse and readies his rifle, staring at the other man who is now trying to haul you off your mount.

“Get the fuck off me, motherfucker!” You flail against him, desperately shifting your weight to the other side of the saddle to try to shake him off. 

Joel takes aim. 

You think you’ve kicked the raider off. And that’s when you hit the ground.

He can’t take the shot now, not with her half-hidden from his view and audibly fighting off the man who’s dragged her to the ground. Joel is still a little distance away, slightly too far to see exactly what’s happening. 

Why didn’t he hear her slowing? Why didn’t he realise she was further behind than she ought to be? Why did she slow in the fuckin’ first place?

Joel quickly dismounts, rifle in hand, moving closer so he can get a clearer shot at the guy who’s now standing over her. The horse’s elegant neck obscures the raider’s hands from Joel’s vision - he has no idea if he’s pointing a gun at her or not. 

He thinks he has a clear sight on the guy’s head, provided he stays in the same position. He readies the rifle. 

Suddenly, the raider disappears, letting out a primal roar before he hits the ground. 

“You fucking cunt!”

Joel can see she’s standing now, the man prone before her. As he rounds the horse he sees her lift her cane, hands securely gripping the pointed end of the stick. 

She brings the solid, weighty handle down on the raider’s leg with a sickening crunch. Even Joel recoils a little at the sight and the sound.

“F-f-fucking…c-c-cunt!”

Thwack. The other leg. 

Fuck. She knows exactly what she’s doing.

”Keep calling me that, and I’ll keep the blows coming.”

Holy fuck. Who is she?

”C-c-c-cripple.”

”Excuse me?”

The raider props himself up on his arms. “I said, cripple. Fucking crippled cunt.”

“You shut your fuckin’ mouth.” Joel cocks his rifle. 

The stranger sneers at Joel. “Awww, he’s actin’ the big man now. Weren’t too quick gettin’ back down here to save your cripple woman, were ya?”

Before Joel can react, she swings her stick over her head and brings it down on the man’s skull with a furious scream that seems to come from the very depths of her being. 

She screams and screams as she hits him, over and over, eyes wild in her blood-spattered face. Joel recognises this: in himself; hell, in Ellie. It’s the moment when the floodgates open and all those years of pain blend together and zone in on this convenient target, an avatar for everyone and everything who had forced loss and trauma upon you. 

He roars at her to stop, but knows she can’t hear him. It’s just her and the raider, now: her rage and fear and grief finding their expression through a walking stick turned cudgel.

A single shot ends it. She turns sharply, as if snapped out of a trance, and sees the smoke leaving Joel’s pistol. 

“Hey. Hey. You alright?” His broad hands grip your biceps as he looks into your eyes.

Yes, you tell him, yes. You’re fine. But Joel keeps asking. 

“Talk to me. Are you okay? I’m worried about you. Please, just talk to me.”

You are moving your mouth, but no sound is coming out. The familiar vice is tightening around your chest. You look down at your blood-stained hands and you struggle to breathe. 

“‘M dying, Joel. Can’t breathe. All the blood. So much. Why can’t I breathe?”

Oh, he realises with a pang. She gets these things too. And I know how to help.

“You’re okay, you hear?” He’s rubbing your arms gently, keeping his gaze on you. “You’re alright. Breathe along with me, okay?”

It’s difficult to find the rhythm, at first. Joel’s hands find yours and squeeze them in time with his breath.

”In through your nose, that’s it. Slow and steady. Now out through your mouth.”

He can see your muscles starting to visibly relax. A wave of relief courses over him.

”Yeah, that’s it - you got this. You got this, good girl, you’re just fine. Gonna be alright.”

When he’s confident your breathing has settled and the panic attack receded somewhat, he gently guides you away from the body of the dead raider, one hand holding your horse’s bridle and the other holding yours. 

“Why don’t you have a seat for a minute, huh?” Joel gestures to a long, low tree trunk lying near the forest’s edge and opens his saddlebags, rummaging until he finds a cloth, a battered hip flask and a bag of dried apple slices.

”Here.” He wipes the blood as best he can from your hands and proffers the flask, settling his substantial frame beside you on the log. “Have a sip or two, just to relax you a little bit more. Got a snack, here, too.”

You flinch at the taste of the liquor, but take a second sip regardless. The apple slices barely taste of anything in the afterburn of the moonshine. Joel nibbles on some jerky and stares into the middle distance. 

You take a break from patrol, agreed with Maria, and a few days off your art classes. It was tempting to keep going, to return to the light and airy studio and to your students. But you feared a relapse.

And your body needed to recover physically, too. You ached from head to toe, fingers and toes puffy and swollen and movement seriously restricted. You ration out the supply of medication you’ve secured since getting here, and use hot water bottles and plenty of rest to try to ride out the flare in your arthritis.

Three days after the incident, there’s a knock on the door. You hobble to answer it, leaning on your trusty stick for support.

”Came by to see how you were doing. Got you some things if you needed ‘em.”

Joel is standing on your front porch, holding a jute grocery bag. He pauses, as if waiting for you to give him permission to say more.

”That’s so very kind of you, Joel. Come in, won’t you? I was able to set a fire so it’s nice and cosy.”

He watches as you lead the way into the living room, noting how much slower you were today. Guilt laps at his conscience. He said she shouldn’t go on patrol. He knew.

”You want me to bring these into the kitchen for you?”

“That would be a great help. Thank you.” He’s glad to see you smile, after the trauma of the patrol. “If you want a drink, I’ve got some tea and coffee in the cupboard just to the left of the sink.”

He pops his head back into the living room. “What would you like?” 

“A tea would be perfect. Mugs are in the cupboard to the right.”

You wrap yourself back up in your blankets on the couch, making room for Joel when he returns with the drinks and a couple of cookies, sent over by Ellie as part of his care package for you. The mug feels like a comfort in your aching hands, its heat assuaging the inflammation ravaging your joints.

He sips his coffee and you sit in silence for a little bit, watching the flames dance over the firewood. 

“Have you, uh - you been okay, doing okay, since…”

Joel stares into his coffee cup and then looks at you, a little awkward. You smile, hoping to reassure him.

”I’ve been okay. Just the physical pain and exhaustion, mostly. And - well, you saw it. The panic. It can leave you drained.”

He nods and takes another swig of his drink. “I know. I - I’ve had times like that, too. Real fuckin’ scary, when you’ve never gone through it before.”

You study his face for a moment or two, noting the little scar on his temple, the lines on his face, the stern expression completely undermined by the warmth of his deep brown eyes. For an instant, he seems so vulnerable, this strong, tough man sitting on your little couch. 

“I haven’t had an attack like that in a while. But then, I hadn’t done anything like that in a while.”

This time Joel turns to look at you properly. “Not your first rodeo, huh?”

You giggle at the turn of phrase. “Not quite. Let’s just say my stick did a lot of work over the last twenty years. He wasn’t the first to feel the brunt of it.”

Joel nods, and you feel strangely relieved that he doesn’t seem surprised. “Doesn’t get easier, though, does it?”

“It does not. Which is why it’s better to avoid having to do it.”

”I agree. Gotta say, though, I - I was worried you wouldn’t be able for patrol, y’know?”

You arch an eyebrow at him. “I know. I overheard you, remember?”

He blushes. “Aw, shit. Yeah. I’m sorry about that. I just didn’t want anything happening to you, what with your - condition, and all.”

You sigh softly, not really noticing the affection in his voice. “Most of the time, I’m fine. Y’know? I’m slower, but I do okay. I get tired more easily, but I manage. I didn’t come here to be a drain on the community.”

”You aren’t.”

”I know, but I want to keep it that way. I want to pull my weight. I’m able, Joel.”

He huffs in agreement. “Not like I’m a perfect specimen these days, either. Knees, fuckin’ back, deaf in one ear…” 

You chuckle. “And you thought I wouldn’t manage patrol? Anyway, you’re not doing so bad, are you?”

He gives you a little smile, but that constant sadness still haunts his eyes. He stares at his coffee for a moment.

“You knew what you were doing, though.”

”I did. But I didn’t feel like I could stop.” You sip your tea, swallowing hard. “And I’m scared that makes me some kinda monster. You know?”

Oh, he knows. He knows it too well.

”You aren’t a monster.” Joel resists the urge to put an arm around you. “You just… something snapped, I guess. All that - well, all that hell you’ve gone through. It… it changes you. But it doesn’t make you a monster.”

He realises you’re crying before you do, spotting the fat tears that roll down your cheeks. He finds a clean handkerchief in his jeans and offers it to you. 

Fuck it. 

“Can I - can I put an arm round you? Just for some support?”

Your eyes light up, tears or no tears, and you nod enthusiastically. Joel is warm and comforting, his broad chest and strong arms a kind of anchor in the emotional storm. You nuzzle against him, and he gives you a little squeeze on the arm.

”You’re a really brave woman, you know that?”

His voice is quieter, more intentional. You look at him quizzically from under your lashes, unused to praise of this kind. For an instant you think about asking him what he means. But the safety you’ve found in the broad arm draped around you is all you need right now. 

You nuzzle a little against his chest, and watch the fire dancing for the rest of the night. 

[bluedalahorse]

A highly incomplete introduction to AuDHD for YR fans who want to write more Sara Eriksson

Greetings, friends! In my time in the Young Royals fandom, I’ve seen a few people mention they were interested writing Sara but they didn’t know how to approach her neurodivergence, or that they find it intimidating. I figured it might be worth compiling a post where I share both ADHD and autism resources I’ve found helpful, as well as elements of my personal experience I draw on when writing Sara.

This post is by no means exhaustive, and I could probably say a lot more. But I figured I’d get it out there in case it was helpful to anyone else.

Part One: Resources and Such

Yo Samdy Sam is an AuDHD vlogger who talks about her experiences, and I find her video about how autism and ADHD show up together pretty informative. Since Sara is both it’s good to have a grasp on these nuances! Yo Samdy Sam’s other videos are also ones I’d recommend.

I’m autistic, now what? is also a good channel to check out for someone talking about their day to day experiences of autism. Her videos are a little longer, but she focuses often on how things have changed from her childhood to her adulthood, which can be helpful if you’re thinking about Sara at different ages/writing flashbacks/working on fic set in the future/etc.

Chloe Hayden, who stars in another teen drama called Heartbreak High, is both autistic and ADHD, and very fun and positive. She presents quite differently than Sara does—lots more talking and energy—but I think she’s a good example of every neurodivergent person presenting differently. Also, people should watch Heartbreak High and write me some fic where Sara and Quinni meet because I want it.

How to ADHD is mostly geared toward practical life skills when you’ve got ADHD, but it doesn’t neglect the way those interact with emotional well-being. Sara might try some of these strategies while working on her school work and chores, either because an adult recommended she do so or because it’s part of a system she worked out for herself. Also, the videos are perfectly designed for ADHD brains, and i have acquired many ways to self-accommodate by watching them.

Jessie Gender is autistic and does commentary about lots of nerdy things and trans rights. I really liked her video on The Queen’s Gambit where she talks about autistic girls and sex. If you’re planning to write spicer fic about Sara (which people should write more of imo) then Jessie might be a good resource!

Marieke Nijkamp is a multiply disabled author, and one of her disabilities is autism. I still have to get around to reading her novel length books but her short story “Better For All the World” made me cry and is one of my formative sargust mentor texts. I really recommend it if you can get a hold of the anthology The Radical Element. (Although, heads up, the story deals with the Buck v Bell case of 1927, which is difficult subject matter.)

Disability in Kidlit has some great resources on writing autistic characters from a craft perspective. If you’re going to write specifically from Sara’s point of view, or even if you’re not, it’s worth reading this article about the autistic voice in fiction and this article about humanizing autistic characters. Other articles on the site are also great!

I’m going to talk more about my personal experiences under the cut below…

Part 2: My personal experiences & takeaways

Sooooo if you’ve met one AuDHD person, you’ve met one AuDHD person. I can’t really claim to speak for all AuDHD people, and I’ve only recently gotten my diagnosis anyway. That said, a lot of my own personal experience colors how I write Sara. So in the interest of transparency, I’ve gone ahead and listed some of the things I’ve thought about when I write her.

An important note before I get started—this is not, actually, meta or analysis of the show. I’m not trying to tell you want I “really” think is going on with Sara Eriksson, or what the writers intended, or what the show is saying. You may read her differently, and I’m sure your interpretation is just as informed by your own experiences as mine. So please don’t take this as a criticism if your interpretation is different.

What I am explaining here instead are the ways that my personal experiences as an AuDHD person have influenced my perception of Sara, which in turn translates to how I’ve made sense of her storyline and written her in fanfic. None of these are “excuses,” but they are explorations. You can look at it as me examining my own thinking and writing process. I’m also opening up about some of my experiences and being a little bit vulnerable. If you have questions about any of these things below, or you want to know more for your own fic, you are always welcome to message me. I may not be able to get back to you right away but I can help however I am able. There are also some things I might feel more comfortable discussing in depth one-on-one, so direct messages might be better in that case, too.

Anyway, let’s begin…

Polarized strengths and weaknesses: In my own experience as an AuDHD person there are some pretty dramatic contrasts between what I’m good at and what I suck at. I’m in the 99% percentile in some skills and the 2% percentile in others. This adds up to stuff like, I read the Sherlock Holmes stories for the first time when I was eight and Les Misérables when I was eleven, but I cannot drive a car or learn a choreographed dance no matter how hard I try. This is inexplicable to some people because they’re like, omg but you know all these advanced words! Surely if you can’t drive a car, it’s just because you aren’t trying hard enough! Likewise I think it makes sense to write Sara with a spiky profile of her own, and have characters react to that accordingly.

Perceptions of maturity: AuDHD adults aren’t children. AuDHD teenagers aren’t children either. And yet part of ableism is the infantilization of AuDHD people. I don’t have a lot of huge narrative squicks, but this is one of them, and it’s rooted in frustrations I’ve had over people treating me like I’m still a child. I always write Sara as the age she’s intended to be in the fic. If I see fanfic scenes or headcanon scenarios where someone is treating Sara like she’s five, and that’s spun as positive or never questioned, it can make me really upset and it’s an immediate back button. This is something I would recommend writers be on the lookout for if they’re incorporating Sara into a scene. Maybe this one bullet point is spinning a little far into criticism of other folks, but I think if I could communicate one thing to other people writing Sara, this would be it.

Special interests/hyperfixations: The thing about special interests is that autistic people often turn to them to replenish their energy and get their nervous systems back to a state of equilibrium. (For instance, me writing this post right now about my blorbo Sara Eriksson is me engaging with a special interest to put my nervous system in a state of equilibrium and put energy back in my body.) Sara’s time spent with Rousseau isn’t just wonderful because she loves horses, it’s also something that’s probably helping her recharge after a complicated day of navigating social situations at Hillerska. This is why she panics at the thought of losing Rousseau. Now, there’s still issues here in that Rousseau isn’t actually Sara’s horse. And I do think many teenage and adult autistics with low support needs, like Sara, understand that they can’t engage with their special interests all the time. But in order to write and understand Sara, I have to understand that she’s counting on Rousseau and horses more generally as something that helps her self-regulate and stay grounded. (In Heart and Homeland I also added art as one of her hyperfixations, so she often draws to recharge and make sense of things.)

Alexithymia: Alexithymia is essentially a trait people can have where they struggle to read their own emotions. It’s pretty common in autistic people and other neurodivergent folk; I have a mild version of it. For me, tuning into my emotions is a bit like trying to figure out what song is playing on a staticy radio. I might have to wait and “mess with the dial” a bit before I can fully understand what I’m feeling in a given situation. The question “how are you?” is a bit of a nightmare for me sometimes. Because my alexithymia is mild, I usually can figure out what I’m feeling in time, but I still often need extra effort to discern the nuances. I tend to apply this trait to Sara when I write her, mostly because she seems to need to sit with her feelings to understand how they’re affecting her. This is most evident when she’s trying to figure out if she like-likes August, though it comes out in other ways, too. Sara might just need a lot of time to process her emotions. Even when she’s showing her emotions and in them, they might take a lot of time to leave her system, and she might not catch on to how they’re affecting her right away. In Heart and Homeland, part of the reason Sara keeps a diary in the first place is so she can sort through what she’s feeling.

Heightened empathy: There’s an old stereotype that autistic people don’t have any empathy. This is not true, and some autistics even have an excess of empathy. I would argue that Sara (at least the way I interpret and write her) is one of them. This may seem counterintutive to some, as I have seen people argue that she is insufficiently empathetic to Simon and/or Linda. I see it differently, however. In my own experience, having an excess of empathy doesn’t always mean that I come across as loving and sweet to the people in my life. Sometimes it can make it so you’re so full of feelings toward others that you can’t act. I often function clumsily in conflicts, and feel like I’m caught between different parties, especially if it’s a situation where everyone appears to be hurting. It’s enough to make me shut down and not do anything, or even side with the person who to everyone else is obviously wrong. Especially when I was a teenager, the answer about “who to side with” in a conflict wasn’t always clear to me. For instance, in college, I dated a girl who constantly belittled me and many of my friends, and I let her get away with it because I was sensitive to the ways she was genuinely hurting about life. I am not proud of it now, and I did break up with her eventually and made efforts to patch things up with my friends when I could, but it also took me two and a half years to get there. Thanks to life experience and therapy, I am now better at recognizing red flags and overriding my excess empathy to call people out on their shit when they need it. It took me time, though, and I can’t help reading a lot of that into Sara. In a way, I tend to think her hope that August will own up to his actions is born out of heightened empathy for both August and Simon. She pins her hopes on this solution because, in her mind, it meets Simon’s needs because the person who harmed him has come forward and is willing to be held accountable for his actions and it meets August’s needs because he can find relief in owning up to his shit and stop drowning in regret. Now, yes, Sara is absolutely misleading herself and ignoring crucial details of the situation because she’s in love, and she does misread what Simon actually needs in the situation. This is very typically teenage. At the same time, when I write her in fic, I see this as tied to an excess of empathy, and not a lack of it.

Inertia/Executive Functioning Struggles: Building on what was said above… some AuDHD people (like myself) can really struggle with making a plan and getting started on tasks, and the bigger the task, the bigger the struggle. “Tasks” is a word we usually apply to things like doing laundry, so we tend to think of executive functioning as an unemotional thing, but it can also apply to emotional stuff like, say, having a big conversation that needs to be had or breaking up with someone you know you need to. (Like I said above. Two and a half years with that shitty person in college!) In fact, I would say inertia can even make things harder with social/emotional stuff, because math homework is at least consistently math homework, but social/emotional situations can shift and become more complicated over time. At Hillerska, we see Sara get involved in ever-shifting social politics, and it takes things escalating to the field scene for her to take action at the end of S2. (In a more minor example, Sara taking a while to get ready in the parents’ weekend episode, and Linda rushing her out the door, is a great example of Sara being affected by inertia.)

Menstrual ick: Increasing numbers of studies show that people with uteruses who have ADHD, autism, or both are way more likely to have painful periods and PMDD. This is true for me—one of the biggest signs that my period is coming is that I am absolutely convinced everyone hates me. I don’t know how to apply this to Sara directly, but periods are part of life and if you happen to write about her dealing with menstrual nonsense, this might be something to keep in mind.

Sensory issues: A lot of people are aware of sensory issues for neurodivergents, and every neurodivergent experiences sensory issues differently, and not always in ways that are immediately apparent to neurotypicals. For me, I hate vacuums and car horns and bananas, but for my roommate, she hates any lights on after 7 PM and finds chocolate overwhelming. Sara doesn’t mention any particular sensory issues, but presumably she has some and masks her reactions, so uh… make up the ones that make sense to you, I guess. Or, don’t make them up, but maybe read about a bunch of different people’s experiences of sensory issues and work from there. External stuff like being tired, sick, or being on one’s period can heighten sensory issues, so think about vulnerability factors that might increase them for Sara.

Rejection sensitivity: Many people with ADHD feel rejection or criticism from others with a high level of intensity, even as physical pain. (Fun fact: PMS makes my rejection sensitivity even worse!) I don’t know if we see Sara feeling rejection sensitivity onscreen much in YR, but I can’t help but imagine she’s dealt with it in the past, based on the way she says she sometimes feels like the worst person in the world, when she’s talking to August in 2.3. If Sara’s had therapy (which I assume she’s had in some form because she knows breathing exercises) then maybe this is something she’s worked on coping strategies.

Accommodations in school: I don’t actually know how this works in Sweden specifically or at a school like Hillerska, but I’d love to hear how it works! Someone else should weigh in if they know things. But I would not be surprised if Sara has the legal right to certain accommodations in school such as extended time on tests, guided notes, etc. (Not being Swedish myself, I’m not sure what the equivalent to the Americans With Disabilities Act would be in Sweden.) One thing to note here is that Sara would get to decide herself whether she actually uses her accommodations or not. I would say, based on my observations of teenagers, is that some neurodivergent teenagers tend not to use their accommodations so they can avoid sticking out among their peers. This seems like it might be the case for Sara, since she wants to make friends at Hillerska and not stand out. The other thing she might encounter at Hillerska specifically is teachers who don’t want to meet those accommodations because they’re “old school” and, frankly, ableist. Accommodations are something one should take into account when writing Sara’s academic life, though.

Double empathy problem: This is something that the psych community is talking about more lately, and essentially the idea here is that neurotypicals communicate best with other neurotypicals whereas neurodivergents communicate best with other neurodivergents. That doesn’t mean both groups can’t communicate with one another (and even reducing it to two groups is kind of oversimplifying things, because obviously culture and other things impact communication too) but there are different patterns of communication at work here. In my own life, I vibe well with people whose neurotypes are similar to mine—this is exactly why @coruscantrhapsody and I are such iconic roommates. The Double Empathy Problen is theorized to have played a role in stereotypes about autistic people not having any empathy. (PS: I don’t actually think August has undiagnosed ADHD in canon, at least not according to the writers. Still, I think it would be pretty interesting to write him in fanfiction as someone who has a missed childhood diagnosis given the way he struggles with rejection sensitivity, impulsivity, and emotion regulation, and the way that the adderall addiction could be a form of self-medication that has gone awry. For that reason I think it’d be interesting to see a fic where the sargust relationship is viewed through the lens of the double empathy problem. Obviously not in a way where the ADHD excuses August’s harmful behaviors, but you know. An added layer of delicious nuance. Alternately, I know some folks like to headcanon Wille as autistic. Sara really clicking with autistic!Wille when they finally get a chance to talk is something I’d like to see!)

Neurodivergent community: As far as I can tell, Sara doesn’t really have neurodivergent community. This makes me sad, as someone who strongly benefits from friendships with other neurodivergent people. I would like her to have some in someone’s fic, please! Let me know if you write it.

That’s all for now… maybe I’ll add more in a future post.

For any other AuDHDers, do you have any elements of your personal experience that you incorporate into how you interpret or write Sara’s character? Feel free to reblog and add on, if you feel so inclined. (But also, no pressure.) Like I said, every ND person experiences this stuff differently, so someone else may have completely different experiences than me.

[campbyler]

HELLO I just finished catching up, started around Christmas time. The summer vibes were just what I needed to fight the January blues, omg. So descriptive it feels like I’m actually there in the sunshine when I read it, fr. It’s also healing part of my inner child that never got to go to summer camp and have that experience. But now idk what to do with myself now I’ve caught up haha, guess I just gotta doom scroll this whole blog now while I wait for 9.2 🤭

((I admit I was very sceptical of this fic at first, cause I couldn’t imagine byler working so well if they were anything but attached at the hip and bffs since the start, and while I still somewhat think this, it just *chefs kiss* works so well for this au. Btw I felt this way about stranger things itself, I’m not in to horror and everyone and their mom was losing their minds over s4 of the Netflix monster show, so I wasn’t interested. But one day I just got curious, and now here we are 😂 my most favourite shows/movies/stories I got in to this way, now I think about it….))

Yeah. Three cheers for neurodivergent Mike, too!!! 🥳 Can I ask - are any of the writers using their own experiences? For adhd, asthma, anxiety etc? Just curious, but you don’t have to answer this part.

AHHH i'm glad that the feeling of Summer is palpable and that your inner child is healing 💛☀️ and hopefully you survived the wait for 9.2 as well!!

that's a super fair skepticism tee bee atch! we honestly had them a lot more hostile towards each other in our original draft and ended up altering it to be this quasi-rivalry bc it didn't feel like Them otherwise. we are definitely happy with how everything turned out and we're glad you are too!! also i am a fellow s4-bandwagoner who was skeptical of the show itself for a very long time so i'm right there with you 🫡

[stardusthuntress]

What Does Real Love Look Like?

Tech x female!reader 

(Now featuring a Part 2!)

Word Count: ~3.6K

Edit: I messed up, this totally calls the reader "woman" several times, I changed the description so it's clear it's a female reader! Sorry!

Summary: Reader likes Tech and struggles when they discover inadvertently that Tech and Phee are together. Ends happy though, I promise! Tech always pulls out his best for those he cares about, especially if they mean the world to him. Depicts an angsty but healthy budding relationship (between Tech and reader). Angsty fluff, sfw (will probably get a NSFW part 2 soon!)

TW: jealousy (reader jealous of Phee); no smut; reader learning to handle emotions in a healthy way with a supportive partner; reader is really struggling, emotionally, so very angsty, ends happy tho! Reader is noted to have had prior bad experiences with relationships - details not mentioned, just the feelings that come after a willing relationship that you realize after the face was, in fact NOT so great. Read the author's note for more info, please! I wrote this from my POV, and I totally did refer to the reader as a woman several times, sorry! I also mentioned the existence of a prior male lover for the reader! 

Heavily inspired by @originalcollectionartistry’s 2-part fic Guess I Waited Too Long (1 and 2) which I highly recommend, because they had a good idea to process emotions about the Tech-Phee thing by writing them out! So, thanks for the inspo, friend! 

Author's Note: I’ve been struggling since Tech and Phee became a canonical thing. I have always felt drawn to Tech, so it hurt to see another man that I liked stolen away by a woman that I felt did not deserve him (her introduction, the way she sat there throwing insults at each of the men and Omega - it is NEVER okay for an adult to insult a kid, in my book - and focusing on a trait that Tech rightly pointed out was not uniquely his, really bothered me). Don’t get me wrong, so far the writers have done a good job at depicting a healthy relationship budding between Tech and Phee, but I still don’t think they would be compatible. I might be biased though. I also realize it is not healthy to look at the situation from an “I liked him and I wanted him” POV. And Phee is turning out to be a much better person than she lets on at first. She just has to get used to someone and warm up to them to let them see her good side. I realize my dislike of her is probably somewhat unfounded. I tend to have very strong emotional responses to things - I need to be tested for a few types of neurodivergency, I am learning that frequent, strong, emotional responses are not a normal response to things. So, I wrote a thing to help me process it! It’s very self-centered. I have had some bad relationships in the past and I thought perhaps the best way to process them without forcing my next real-world partner to deal with them is to deal with them in a fic like this. FYI, this fic is also full of jealousy. Again, reader has strong emotional responses. I wish I didn’t get jealous, but I do, so I need to learn when and where it is okay to let that emotion out and when I need to turn it into something else. Also wanted to write something where Tech’s POV is written out in the way I imagine he thinks, similar to how I think. I have never been good at understanding emotions, I tend to stay quiet and just watch so people don’t scoff at my emotional responses to things, and I like to think that is similar to how he would process it. It’s from both reader and Tech’s POV, just for funsies! This is my first fic on here. I’ve been meaning to pack up the courage and just post something for a while now, and this one needed to be shared, my way of admitting my problems to more than just myself, so thank you if you bother to read this! It also hasn't really been edited well. I wrote and posted it all in one night, and now it's super late and I should get some sleep, but I needed to post it so I stopped bottling up my emotions. So without further ado, the story begins below!

You were in Cid’s parlor when the message came in. She shuffled out of her office already in a bad mood, complaining about how it had been more than 20 rotations since she had heard anything from her operatives and now she finds out they ditched her for Phee, finishing it with a frustrated “and you could even hear Goggles in the background calling her ‘darling’! It’s repulsive! And frustrating, the way they are taking to a life so different than the soldier-ing they were made for! They were my top team!” 

You sat there in shock. Tech… calling Phee ‘darling’? Your heart which had been so heavy with worry about him and his brothers now lay on a million pieces right there in the middle of Cid’s cantina. The world around you was drowned out by the loudness of your own mind. Until a bottle was slammed down on the counter in front of you. 

“What’s your problem?” It was Cid. “I just asked if you wanted to become my top specialist, and you still look like you’re at a funeral.” 

You ignored her and stared into the empty glass in front of you, mind still reeling, barely able to process the words coming out of her mouth. 

“I warned you kid. He didn’t like you like you thought he did, now did he?” 

“Guess not” you muttered more to your glass than anyone else. 

“So what’ll it be, another glass to celebrate being a free woman again? But if you’re going to mope, don’t do it here. I don’t need someone to bring down my customers. So either order another drink or go home, kid” 

Without another word you got up, tossing a few credits on the counter, and left. 

Back home, you cried yourself to sleep, promising yourself a vacation in the morning. You had enough credits for some time off, and you were going to use them. 

After a few weeks of searching (they had once again changed their comms), you finally located the batch on Pabu, and went to ask Hunter if he could tell Tech goodbye for you. He begrudgingly agreed, but then (probably rightfully) double crossed you, and sent Tech onto your ship to talk to you. Hunter was right, it wasn’t fair of you to ask him to play middle man, you needed to face your problems head on. 

Tech found you in your ship’s small living quarters that functioned like a one-room home for you, and you both stood in shock and silence, staring at each other for a few moments before Tech addressed the bantha in the room. 

“Hunter says that you wanted to say goodbye?”

“Yes.” Your answer was short and curt. Tech recognized it as anger, though it was not an emotion he was used to hearing from you, especially not directed at him. You were holding back from him. 

“Why have you become so distant from me? We are friends, are we not?” Tech asked. 

“We were.” You answered. 

“Why has that changed? Have I done something to insult you? If I have, please trust that that was not my intention.” 

“I know.” 

Tech raised his eyebrows and held still, waiting for you to continue. You still hadn’t really answered his question, and he knew you were aware of that. But he was also aware that you seemed to be struggling to find the words. So he remained quiet, giving you time to answer. 

“Tech… why are you doing this? Phee is out there. Why aren’t you out there too?” 

“I… am no longer with her.” 

You just stared at him in an apprehensive silence, now it was your turn to wait for him to continue. It wasn’t like Tech to be anything but long winded. His short answer stunned you. 

He looked at the floor. He could no longer make eye contact with you. Words failed him. 

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to, Tech. But can I ask you a question?” 

“Yes.” He still couldn’t raise his eyes to meet yours, though he did turn towards you. His eyes still trained on the floor, but stealing glances at your hands, which were nervously fidgeting. 

“What do you mean, you’re ‘no longer with her’? I just want to be clear on it. As previous experience has taught me I’m not as good at reading you as I thought I was.” You looked away. 

Tech’s eye’s shot up to you in shock. “I do not recall an instance when you could not read me.” It was almost whispered. 

You shook your head, still refusing to look at him. You couldn’t tell him your feelings for him, not now. 

“So Wrecker and Hunter were not toying with my emotions when they told me that you like me?” 

You turned your head towards your shoulder, still looking down, and gave a curt nod. Some part of you screamed that Tech had practically admitted he liked you, but your insides were too torn apart to process it properly right now. So instead you looked away again. Focusing instead back on the floor in front of you. 

“Phee has good moments, but her endless determination to warp the truth in her favor and downplay the important contributions of others, including that of Omega, is not something I find acceptable. So I left.” 

You finally looked at him. Stepping forward, you reached out a hand to touch him, but quickly pulled it back. It still didn’t feel right for things to go back to the way they had been with him. 

“Please don’t pull back” he was watching your hands. “I want things to go back to the way they were before. I don’t want to lose you. I did not realize that much was at stake or I would have acted differently.” 

“I’m not sure things can go back, Tech.” 

Tech would not take no for an answer. He accepted you might be right, that things could not go back to the way they were, but that did not mean they could not improve. He racked his brain for an alternative answer. 

Touch. You, Hunter, and Phee all had one thing in common: when people were upset you would reassure them with physical contact. Actually it went beyond simple reassurance, touch was quite a common occurrence with you. So he decided to try it now. He reached out and put a hand on your shoulder, albeit a little awkwardly. But your reaction was not one he was expecting. 

You gasped and flinched away. 

He retracted his hand. Watching in shock as you again turned away, this time out of his reach. You gripped your sides tightly. Your sides heaved. You were trying not to cry. 

“Did Phee teach you that?” You asked, and the pain in your eyes made him unable to look away. 

“I noticed that you, Hunter, and Phee all…” he stopped. When you heard her name your hand moved from your waist to cover your mouth and nose. You did not want him to witness your crying. But you could not hide your breathing patterns. 

A hug. He knew that would help. And he needed to finally feel you close to him. So he began to shed his armor and stack it neatly to the side. 

You heard him stacking it and thought he had gone back to work. Simply to ignore you like every guy you had ever been with had done in the past. You turned to leave, but we’re stopped by a pair of arms appearing slowly on either side of you, hovering a few inches away from you.

“May I touch you?” His voice was so small and timid, it was all you could do to keep your emotions inside. “Please?” 

You nodded. His strong arms wrapped tightly around you. And his nose found refuge in the crook of your neck. 

This was new, but as comforting as it was, a part of you hated that this had to start with her name attached to it. You didn’t want to hate her, she seemed nice when she let people in. But you weren’t sure you could ever really forgive her. Even if Tech hadn’t been yours, and the decision was up to both her and him, but not you. There was no holding back the tears now. Your head hung, your shoulders slumped, and the tears flowed. Tech, hung on tight. He didn’t know what else to do. Eventually your tears subsided, leaving behind shaky breaths in its place. 

His nose left your neck, as he tucked his chin into it instead. “Mesh’la” he whispered. 

You scoffed, “don’t you start with that. People only ever use that to get something they want from someone, it never actually means you think I’m pretty. I’ll calm down in a few minutes. You can leave if it bothers you so much.” 

There was silence, but he refused to let go. He was struggling to process it all too. He only ever said things if he meant them, and you knew that. He knew you knew that. But he also knew how blinding emotions could get. It happened to him on occasion too. 

“I don’t need your pity, Tech. Pity, or sympathy, or whatever you choose to call it, it’s the same thing. I never helps people grow, it only ever puts people beneath you. Do NOT call me that out of pity. Only ever say that if you really mean it. To me or anyone else. It is not a comfort word. Okay?” 

“You know I would never say something unless I mean it.” His words were only ever gentle and kind. He rarely ever even raised his voice when he was mad. Another thing you adored about the man. 

You bit your lip. Angry at yourself for your outburst. 

“I’m sorry,” you muttered. “Truly.” 

“I accept your apology. Though I am slightly concerned about your previous partners if your statement is a reflection of your past experiences?” You were quiet. “But that is a discussion for another time, if you are okay with that. For now, back to the matter at hand, why can we not pick up where we left off? I wish to be more than just friends with you this time too.” 

“Again, we can’t, it’s not the same anymore. I don’t have much to contribute to a relationship.”

“Yet, you had prior experience with relationships, I did not. Now I do. I do not see how that is a bad thing. Is it not a good thing that we are on more even footing now?” 

“Not all experience is good experience, Tech.” 

Tech’s heart broke. He had no idea that your prior experiences were not to your liking. His blood boiled at the idea that your last partner had not been aware of what he had. But he did his best to contain the anger, you clearly needed his comfort, not his anger right now. 

“I wanted to share the gaining of experience together. With you and only you Tech. Now that’s not an option. Now every time I look at you, I see only what she… what you experienced with her.” 

“You are jealous.” It was a statement, not a question. But there was no judgment in his tone. Merely an attempt to understand why you were upset. 

“I thought that, with you, I could maybe find a way to make my past experiences something I didn’t hate anymore. I wanted a chance to share the little that I do know with you, because then I would have something to share with you. But now it’s safe to say you definitely know more than I do. I really struggle to learn while dealing with such strong emotions. And my experience is a less than adequate match for what you have no doubt learned from her. I thought perhaps we could gain more experience together. It would have made me feel better if you were learning beside me. Now you have experience… and I… I am left behind… again. I felt like my last relationship left me with less of an understanding about what makes a guy tick than I started with. I know it is unfair to have ever held you to that, though. I’m sorry.” 

Tech still wasn’t good at feelings. He knew that. But he needed to make sure you knew that he was still the same man you fell in love with. And he hated watching the tears run down your face. “I will never leave you behind.” 

“And that’s the problem, Tech. I wanted to learn together. I don’t want a partner to have to teach me everything. I’ve been the partner that has to teach the other person, not sexually, but otherwise, and it’s really draining. I can’t ask you to do that for me.” 

“We can still do this without it becoming ‘draining’, as you say. Every person has different necessities in a relationship. There is nothing wrong with having needs, everyone has needs and limits. We can still learn each other side by side. This relationship does not have to be like your last, we can actively choose to make it different.” 

You were quiet. You couldn’t protest that. 

Tech's signature half smile graced his lips. You were his equal in mind, and that was one of the many reasons he loved you. But there were still moments where he could outsmart you, because that’s life. 

“I’m still me. I’m still new to this too. I still want to learn with you. If you’ll have me?” He asked, one hand sliding around the arms curled at your waist, until it found your hand. Fingers slowly and gently threading themselves between yours. 

You smiled and nodded. 

“Would it be easier for you if I did not use the knowledge I learned while with… Phee?” He wasn’t sure if he should even mention her name. The last thing he wanted was to upset you more. 

“No!” 

Tech flinched at your abruptness, but looked at you with curiosity. 

“Don’t make yourself into something you’re not for me. I love that you’ve learned more about relationships, it just hurts that it wasn’t with me like I had hoped. I just need your patience….. a lot of patience, while I process that… among other things. I know that’s a lot to ask—” 

“—No.” It was his turn to be abrupt and firm. “And I am more than discontent that your prior relationships left you feeling so inadequate. I just want you to feel comfortable being yourself around me. I’m still not very good at emotions either. Again, there is nothing wrong with having needs, so long as those needs are communicated. Everyone has boundaries and experiences they’d rather not repeat. Can we agree that communicating to the best of our ability is paramount, no matter how difficult it may be?” He pulled back and stepped in front of you, putting both hands on your shoulders as he spoke. 

“That sounds like a good idea to me. I can’t guarantee that I will always be able to put words to what I am feeling, nor will I entirely understand it myself. And it may take me a long time to get used to the idea that you were with someone while I still loved you.”

“We are both only human.” He stated. “You know I will also be in the same boat in terms of emotional processing, but you needed to hear me say it, didn’t you?” He stepped towards the chair and sat down. 

You nodded. “Like you said, clear communication from the start, yeah?” 

“Yes.” He replied. He opened his arms to you, offering a hug. 

You gave a watery smile, and stepped towards him, pressing your nose into the collar of his shirt. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you to the bed and then into his lap. Holding you tight in an attempt to comfort you and show you how much you meant to him. He couldn’t bear to see you in pain. 

“Can I ask you a question? You have no obligation to answer if you do not wish to do so, nor do you need to respond today if you do choose to answer it.” He asked, mirroring your question from the beginning of the conversation. 

You sniffled “yes.” 

“Would I be correct in assuming your last relationship left you feeling inadequate sexually, and/or beyond the bedroom?” 

You held your breath and gripped him tighter, curling into his chest even more than you already had. Trying to make yourself smaller. You didn’t know how to answer, or even if you could find your voice if you wanted to try to reply. It was all you could do to focus on breathing steadily, though each breath had gotten decidedly shaky. But he didn’t need you to say anything. Your body language was communication enough in that moment, as was your behavior leading up to this moment. The answer to both questions was yes. He gripped you tighter in return. 

“I am so sorry that happened to you. I will not bring it up again, unless you wish to talk about it. Though I must say I am rather angry at your last partner for leaving you like this. I want you to know it is not your fault, and I will do everything I can to support you through this. I cannot solve it for you, but I do not think you need me to do so, you are a very strong, brilliant woman already. I merely wish to be by your side to see you succeed.” 

“And here I promised myself I would not start a relationship in tears. I have a tendency to let my emotions get in the way, I’m sorry.” 

“There is no need to apologize. I merely wanted to gauge how I should proceed. Do not worry, I will not treat you like a delicate ornament, I am well aware you are strong and capable. Everyone has moments where they need to take some time to themselves and let emotions out. I am glad you feel comfortable around me again, enough to let me see your emotional side. I love this side of you just as much as I love the rest of you, because it is as much a part of you as all the other pieces. Please do not let my presence stop you from letting it out if that is what you need to do right now.” 

Your grip on his shirt loosened slightly. “Thank you” you mumbled into his chest, sniffling again. 

“Now, we’ve both done a lot of emotional sharing tonight. What do you say we get some rest and take this as slow as we need to?” 

You nodded. 

“Please let me take care of you tonight, Mesh’la. I wish to show you my love through my actions as well as my words.” 

“Okay.” The gleam was returning to your eye, and it made him happy to see you regaining some of that spark that he loved so dearly. 

He placed you down on the bed and began gathering all the pillows and blankets he could find and bringing them to the bed. 

“I realize you didn’t want to start a relationship like this. However, I have heard that it is beneficial to be best friends before a relationship begins?” He posed it as a question rather than a statement. It was his way of asking whether this train of thought was one you were willing to pursue with him. 

“I’ve heard that too.” Permission granted. 

He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding as he handed you a pillow to hug. 

“Will you let me comfort you like a best friend would? And then perhaps we can get a second chance at starting a relationship in a more positive manner in the morning?” He returned with one last pillow and sat down beside you. You turned to him and opened your arms, asking for a hug. He obliged with a happy smirk. 

“Thank you, Tech. That means a lot to me.” Your grip on him tightened, and he came to realize this was not a scared grip, but a grateful one. 

“Will you stay with me, tonight?” You whispered into his shoulder. 

“In the same bed, by your side?” He inquired, gently. Clear communication. Your heart soared. So that’s what understanding looked like. So many times before you had been promised clear communication only for you to come out the other side realizing that partner didn't really know what that really meant, or to feel like they had been making fun of your need to communicate everything instead of asking politely as Tech had just demonstrated. 

Tech could feel you smile into his shoulder. 

“Yes.” 

“I shall.” 

He lifts the covers and gets you both tucked you in, noting your insecurity and struggle with letting him care for you. You're not used to being treated like this. He doesn’t like that. You have always done so many small, caring things for him. He feels like this is the least he can do for you. One last tear trickled down your cheek, and he kissed it away. Perhaps that was not what a best friend would do, but he loved you more than that anyways and you knew that now. Besides, it made you smile, that was what mattered. 

Things would be different this time. Things would be better this time. Tech was not like your previous lovers. He was observant and communicative, and you loved that part of him dearly. There was still lots to talk about, but it didn't all need to be processed in one sitting.

Please don't steal my work! I pour my heart into these so if you like it please reblog to share instead of reposting it!

[yonpote]

I'm relatively new to the phandom and have recently starting reading fanfics and it's so incredibly fascinating. Like, in my opinion more than anything else it's a reflection of the phandom itself at any given moment of time.

What were the popular tropes? How did people write them as individuals and their dynamic? What did people know? What didn't they know? What did the writers rightly or wrongly assume? How "ooc" do dnp feel from today's perspective? Which people are picked as "villains" or friends? (funfact about that: the first time I came across a "charlie" mention was very recently after that gamingmas collab with pj and charlie so i assumed they were referring to charlieissocoollike and was so offended on her behalf. took me a while until it clicked)

I've noticed that to be able really understand the fics and not get utterly confused, it's almost always vital to check the date the fics were uploaded and kind of put it into historical context, literary analysis style.

yeah i think fanfic in general will always end up reflecting more on the mindset of the person writing than of the people/characters it's based on. i think whats interesting is that in recent years, now that we have a bit more context with what's going on and perhaps fics being written by grown adults with new life experiences lol, the way people have written dnp has very much changed! i know im the bottomphil rant guy but actually in fic you see a lot more variety wrt positions as well as D/s roles in smut. (shout out to dombottom flatmates!phil) or for a less horny example, you'll see people write dnp in both modern au's and "canon compliant" fics as like, struggling students or living in shit apartments with shit jobs, with mental health problems that ARENT fixed with the power of true love lmao as well as just generally exploring neurodivergence and their dynamic beyond friendship and beyond romance.

honestly whenever i talk abt the tropey stereotypes of days past its not like its something that JUST happened with phan, the Aggressive Masc and the Soft UWU Femme goes as far back as people have been writing about romance. so i think all the relatively recent changes is like, fic writers growing up and having new experiences as well as generally improving at writing, general fandom culture changing as well as Phandom culture specifically changing, dnp changing quite a bit and opening up to their audience, prob other stuff im forgetting but YEAH its all really interesting stuff!

[ruthlesslistener]

This is gonna sound weird but ur like the only writer that seems to have their shit together re Hollow Knight, but how would you characterize the Hollow Knight? Fandom consensus is something akin to "overgrown innocent child must protect" but yk fandom and hunter's journal mentions they're fully grown? ik hollow knight is just piecemeal so its all up to interpretation but still. confusion!

Ahshs I'm not sure if I'm the *only* competent writer in the fandom- there are lots of other people out there who are just as passionate and into the lore of Hollow Knight as I am, but have different interpretations that fit well within the canon story and are just as acceptable as my own. Unless you're just talking about my writing period, in which I regretfully must inform you that Until Dawn Shall Break is the only fic I have ever written that I actually did an outline for and is the only longform fic that I see myself finishing. I'm not exactly the most competent writer either, I'm just figuring shit out as I go.

But yeah you kind of hit a personal pet peeve of mine, which is the depiction of the Hollow Knight. I do not mean to insult or belittle anyone with trauma that involves age regression and/or a retreat to a more childish state of mind to reconnect with a past they were denied or found comfort in, or belittle anyone who needs high levels of outside care, but the fandom consensus of treating Hollow like an overgrown, innocent baby who was done wrong and needs to be protected and/or cared for is...bad. It's really fucking bad. Maybe this is my personal experience as an autistic adult speaking, but infantilizing someone is essentially the exact same deal as treating them like an empty, unthinking corpse like they were in canon, simply with a level of sugarcoating on it to make it more bearable to the fandom. Infantilization is an abuse tactic. It's a means of enacting control over someone by dismissing their own ability to make choices for themselves and replacing it with what you think is best for them- essentially controlling their life for what you believe is 'their own good'. It isn't helping someone, its seizing total control over their own life because you do not deem them 'mature' enough to make their own choices. It's a major problem with neurodivergent/disabled people and it is ESPECIALLY prevalent among mute/silent individuals because for some reason, language and articulation is associated with maturity and intelligence. It's a lack of respect and a statement of power, and it's alarming as hell to see it placed upon the vessels, given that they are shown to not only capable of taking care of themselves, but are also robbed of their autonomy by virtue of being voidborn. They cannot voice their suffering. They were believed to be animated corpses. And treating the Pure Vessel itself- a vessel reared to full adulthood and a god in their own right who spent an uncountless number of years in an agonizing battle of will against a genocidal god thousands of years their senior, who knew the stakes of failure and likely bears that weight on their ruined shoulders- as an innocent child? Inexcusable. Their lack of a voice does not mean that they should be treated with a lack of respect.

(This is also a major issue with animalkeeping and pet training, which is another thing I am very passionate about, but since comparing animals and people has somehow wound up being a bad thing, I'll leave this tangent here. Just know that this is a universal problem among any living being, not just people specifically.)

((Hell, I even see it as a problem with human juveniles specifically, because the whole reason why we protect, care for, and impose strict regulations on children is because they are new to the world and require proper guidance and role modeling. It should be phased out more and more the older a child gets, as soon as it becomes apparent that they do not need as much guidance on a task as they did before. Offering aid should be done from a position of respect and consideration, not one of dismissal.))

And we *know* that the Hollow Knight is an adult, because as you said, it is outright stated in canon that they have been raised to their prime form, aka their adult moult. Which, if we're getting biotechnical here, means that their body-which is very different from Little Ghost's- has physically matured as well as mentally, given that insects reach sexual maturation on their final adult moult. The body and hormones are just as important to development as time is, which is why despite being from the same clutch, the Hollow Knight and Little Ghost are an adult and child respectively. While both have been around the same amount of time, the Hollow Knight has physically and mentally aged, while Little Ghost is still physically (and likely mentally) a child. Stunting is, of course, likely due to access to resources over time- real insects become developmentally stunted if they lack enough nutrients irl, and Ghost led a very different life than the Hollow Knight- but the point still stands that the Hollow Knight is an adult, and should be treated as one. Even if they lack life experience and require extensive care post-Radiance, they are still physically and mentally an adult, and that means they should be treated as one. If you want to write them as returning to childish urges that they never were allowed to indulge in- that's great! Do that. If you want to write or depict them as being intensely animalistic in some regards- again, that's great! They're not human and they sure as fuck aren't a bug, no reason they won't act like that, esp. in the grips of agony. But remember that they are an adult, they have seen far more shit than you have, and that they deserve to be treated with the same level of respect that you'd give any war veteran. Needing more care =/= stripping them of respect. And honestly, given what we've seen of them in game, I don't think they're an overgrown innocent child at all. 

But anyways, now that that tangent is over, it's time to get to what you were actually asking for- how I characterize the Hollow Knight. And it's complicated, but I'll try to sum it up as best as I can:

Autistic young adult who was a gifted child growing up but now suffers from severe burnout and suicidal depression, magnified by an abusively strict childhood and an emotionally unavailable family. Specific autism flavor is hyperempathy and sociability paired with extreme masking. Extremely mature in some areas (such as certain areas of problem solving and self-discipline), but extremely deficient in some areas because of aformentioned family issues. Genderless, but gives off the vibes of a transfem egg who is the family's favorite 'son'. Also they're a hyperpredator with the body of a xenomorph, power over nothingness itself, and have both the will, skill and resolve to kill god. Their passivity is the only thing saving you. 

That summary was a lot longer than I anticipated. 

But yeah, I basically see Hollow as someone who is extremely quiet, reserved, and 'mature' by nature, which is what allowed them to pass as the Pure Vessel where Little Ghost wouldn't (it's not just their anxiety- they're really just that quiet). They've got an innate protective streak a mile wide, which was partially what inspired them to become and stay the Pure Vessel, though their desire to end the suffering of both their siblings and the Radiance was admittedly overshadowed by their childish desire to be loved by their father, which is a guilt that haunts them to this day. They're also stubborn as hell, which is why they resisted the Radiance so long, and they have hyperempathy, which motivated them to try to stay pure to save the people of Hallownest & understand their father's motives and regrets, giving him far more sympathy and understanding than he deserved. They're a sensitive soul, one that adores children and loves to watch the lives of people from afar, but that protective instinct will lead them to rend others apart and kill without mercy if they have been given leave to do so (or feel that it is necessary to achieve their goal). They are hyperintelligent and excellent at reading body language, but a mix of synthesia, void logic, and their childhood has left them terrible at understanding their own emotions. They have an old soul and a cutting mind that allowed them to learn reading and complex mathematics on their own, but have the anxiety and insecurity of any young adult who's been sheltered for far too long to help themselves. Their patience is outstanding and their temper is long-burning, but once it's been worn thin, there's no going back, and they *will* hold a grudge unless actions are done to mollify them. While young compared to the others, they are an extremely powerful fully-ascended god with an oft-overlooked aspect that has all the territoriality and possessiveness to make deadly use of it. They also inherited their father's depression and complete lack of care for their physical form as long as it keeps their loved ones safe, which means that they are terrifying on the battlefield. They are also aware of how terrifying they are to others, and while they do not enjoy it, they will exploit it if necessary. In terms of hobbies, they have an extreme soft spot for romance novels/plays (despite being aroace), music, burrowing/nesting, caring for their family and people, playfighting, hunting, and meditating, which is often how they align with their aspect and passed the time in the White Palace. Speechwise, they are one of few words, and prefer not to sign, gesture, or write at all if they have to, simply working off of the void and their own body language to engage (if they even do so). Silent, vibrating vocalizations such as rumbling, purring, sigh/huffing, and clacking their mandibles is common. 

Once healed, their body throws them into voracious heat cycles (courtesy of their mom and love for children), but they are terrified of becoming a parent or having children of their own, which makes it a stressful occurrence that they dread, but don't know how to fully get rid of. Post-Radiance, they are prone to having days where they lapse into total inactivity both mentally and physically, requiring external care before they return from the dissociative state they fell into. Chronic pain days are also often a major issue, and while they can technically induce a moult to heal their carapace and regrow their arm, the trauma-pain paired with the feeling that they don't deserve it is what prevents them from doing so. Their relationship with their father is a unique place of hurt, guilt, loss, and love, and should not be touched on. They barely saw the White Lady as a child, and while they long for their mother's approval, they also get the impression that she cannot stand them (due to either grief, hatred, or guilt, and so stays away). They are a god of broken people, and while they are comfortable in this position and accept their prayers, they never, *ever* want to be king. They love both their little sister Hornet and Ghost dearly, and have an absurd amount of guilt over abandoning Ghost in the Abyss, but they still retain the Cain instinct and will bite them if they cause problems, and would give Hornet very disappointed stares or purposeful pokes if she was being rude or unfair. They have a very courtly air and an expectation of mannerly behavior, even if they themselves never got to be called prince.

But that's all my personal interpretations of them, not canon. 

[azrielgreen]

I know you get a lot of questions about writing and how to write fast and how to produce as much content as you. My question is sort of related. How do you stay motivated to continue fics when it’s been a while since updating? I have multiple WIPs and want to finish them all but I feel like a different person now than I was when I started them and don’t feel the same energy for the ideas either. I know it’s an option to abandon them but I hate the idea of that. I know passion is one corner of your triangle for the Az method, but how do you keep it alive and not burn yourself out by writing so much? Do you ever force yourself to finish stuff? Idk if my question makes sense. I hope it does. Thank you!

Ahh, this is an amazingly important question and you sent it AGES ago and I couldn't reply until now because I was SNOWED UNDER WITH MULTIPLE WIPS and didn't have a clear answer for you, beyond "hang in there babe😭" until now!

My advice is:

a) anyone reading this, don't write more than 2 things at the same time. If you have two and you're thinking of a third, don't do it. Trust me. Finish the others first.

b) if you find yourself in the ✨WIP SEA✨ you need to choose ONE island to swim to and one only. Get to your biggest project and set up shop there. Forget the others, immerse yourself again in the vibe, the story, the magic. Make a playlist, plan a themed tattoo, make a mood board, but get back into why you fell in love with the story in the first place and STAY THERE. You have to finish the biggest project first. The others will fall like dominos after that.

c) keeping passion alive is REALLY fucking hard sometimes and it takes very little to snuff it out, so my advice there is to remove yourself from what can dampen your spirits. Take a social media break (always radiant advice), make a new desk area, hype yourself up for THAT SCENE you have in mind, and if nothing else is working for the story, do something drastic. Write a dialogue only chapter. Do a POV switch.

d) Change your font to one of these: Comic Sans, More Sugar Thin, Jessica Antique or Beryllium Ink. These fuckers work MIRACLES for the neurodivergent brain. Switch the font, just start writing SOMETHING and watch the magic happen.

e) Know when to cut bait. I have never abandoned a fic in my life, but I have abandoned stories before I published them, including professional publishing ones and I have deleted MASSIVE amounts of text because it just wasn't working for me and I can confidently tell when to move on, start fresh and shift gears. If these are fics that are published and WIP, then the pressure to complete them definitely is higher, I know from experience. My advice is to either work on the biggest one and complete that first OR find one that would take very little to complete and smash it out.

f) Don't lose your momentum. This is CRITICAL and I want to talk more about this because creative momentum is powerful and important. The more you write, the more you can WRITE. Write every day, keep it doing. When you complete something, use that boost of pride and joy to fuel yourself. There will be days where you don't physically write of course but writing is a cyclical process and the more you map it to your energy (especially if you have a moon cycle VS sun cycle) the more you'll realise there are specific weeks where you'll have high, clear energy and other weeks with lower energy, so you can adjust your output to prevent burn out.

g) Don't let it get you down. The longest gap between update and completion I ever had was 6 years for my Twilight fic. 6 fucking years and in the end I had to end it with them writing letters to each other, back and forth because I was a completely different writer to who I was before and everything would have been different, so I took a risk and wrote it differently and it paid off.

h) Know that you CAN do it, you just have to decide to. "I just decided to..." is one of the most powerful sentences we can ever say aloud. Just look at yourself in the mirror and DECIDE to do it. That's it. Maybe it won't be great to start off with but that's why we edit. Just get the ball rolling again. The first push after a long period being stationary is ALWAYS hard but keep it going and it'll get easier with every passing word.

I hope this was helpful, apologies again for the delay.

P.S- Finishing Touched changed EVERYTHING for me. I really do recommend ticking off the biggest one first. 💜💜💜

[leather-blr]

Headcanon dump when

you’ve made a grave mistake. media analysis is one of my special interests and i’m also a lifelong writer so this will definitely start to get incomprehensibly ranty (warning i literally gave like an essay length explanation of how i would rewrite heinz’ story in mml s2 and this whole thing devolves away from the question very quickly)

1. my funniest one and most out of pocket one i like to bring up is that i think doofenshmirtz is such a whore imo. an absolute harlot. i think he gets around. not like people are attracted to him or find him charming (he is NOT) but he will have been with everyone in the room, like, at least once. particularly the love muffin scientists, especially rodney, and he and monogram DEFINITELY were together at some point

2. on the monogram thing, i figured monogram “experimented” at one point before doof was an owca threat and dated heinz for a short period of time and that’s why they call eachother by their first names and are so familiar with eachother (heinz probably turned him from bi-curious to homophobic very quickly). i just think the idea is hilarious

3. obviously, heinz is transgender and so is perry, that’s a given. and as mentioned one of my previous posts, 2d doof is a karen archetype and your conservative aunt at thanksgiving dinner (you decide if he’s actually cishet or if he’s like blaire white)

4. less of a headcanon and more of an “i wish this happened”, i think monty and vanessa should have stayed together and i don’t like ferbnessa much but that’s also a pretty popular take. i like the perryshmirtz parallels what can i say. also this pairs very funnily with my first and second headcanons

5. buford and bajeet are qpps (they don’t know what that is but they are). ginger is supportive

6. another obvious one, i think pretty much everyone is neurodivergent because of course they are. to get specific on the ones i feel strongest about, heinz has audhd, perry is low-empathy autistic, the rest of the flynn-fletcher family besides linda are autistic, milo is autistic, cavendish is autistic, and dakota has adhd. thank you for listening to my ted talk. i’m actually.. 👉👈 writing my first ever fic, focused around how heinz and perry communicate with their contrasting neurodivergence that will be up on this account once i finally post it to ao3, and that goes a lot more in depth

7. this is actually something i feel differs a bit from most headcanons i see. my take is that norm initially (throughout most of pnf) does not see perry as a father figure at all and only tries to get that from doof, and is also jealous that perry gets all his attention, so kind of actively dislikes him. he also hasn’t made the connection that anyone other than heinz could fulfill that role for him, because in his robot brain, he will take father in the most literal definition, like they have to be directly responsible for creating you. and not something more complex and nuanced like it actually is because he’s a robot and he’s not gonna get that right away. but i feel like over time, he’d begin to realize those nuances, and start to accept perry as family, and get much more out of him as a father figure than heinz. especially since (unless it’s a human au) they would have similarly complicated relationships with not being human but also being fully sentient.

that was a long one and i still don’t feel like i covered all of it but maybe i’ll do a fic about that one too one day 💔

8. i don’t know, as i am writing this sentence, how explosive i will get with my details on this one, but my favorite proposed future for heinz is both a mix between doof 101 and act your age. so an open secret between my friends and i is that although i love both seasons of milo murphy’s law, i really. really. dislike the whole professor time thing. don’t get me wrong, i would keep the whole reveal and not change anything about the season 1 finale.

but, if i, alister r. zamir, were personally hired by dan povenmire and swampy marsh to write the continuation of said finale, i would make everyone including the audience think he’s professor time but have that be a RED HERRING and not ACTUALLY have him be professor time because i think that’s REALLY BAD!! (maybe make it sara or cavendish or even phineas and ferb since they already did that)

the reason why i, the new writer of milo murphy’s law season 2, think this sucks, is because heinz has spent his whole life trying to live up to the expectations of others, and in the shadow of others and is always striving for unreachable goals to substantiate his self worth. it’s like his whole character, it’s his whole thing, this is his canon ass story, so to just throoooww in that whole professor time thing VALIDATES this behavior and encourages him to keep holding himself at an unnecessarily high standard, PLUS the fate of the world is kind of in his hands now, so that’s FINE. AND IM FINE ABOUT IT AND IM NOT MAD. YOU ARE.

so coming back to doof 101 and act your age, particularly act your age (which i also don’t like as an episode but that’s another story), as somebody who suffers from The Serious Illnesses of the Mental Variety, heinz being able to move on, adjust his expectations, and not be doing great or amazing or rule the tristate whatever and just be fine with doing alright, is super meaningful and relatable to me

so i think they should have just stuck with that. i like the phineas and ferb characters included in mml and like i said id keep a lot of it, but i’d save all the heinz arc stuff for phineas and ferb exclusively cause i love the perry funding professor time thing and that whole deal is cute but also i hate it. because it’s so rushed. and everything with his development feels so out of place. and wrong. and it makes me throw a tantrum.

not to mention, but i WILL, how heinz is completely justified about being upset and falling into depression because of this whole ordeal, and they sorttt of treat it like he’s justified? but they also make him unbearably annoying and we as an audience are justifiably unsympathetic to that and it seems like you want me to feel bad for him sometimes but also hate his guts, which could have been an interesting conundrum ig, but even though i love milo murphy’s law, it’s character writing is farrr from strong enough to get any kind of interesting story or arc out of that

so like, in conclusion, dwampy, hire me, i will work for pennies

alright that’s not all of them but i’ve been writing for 20 minutes and my fingers hurt thank you very much for asking me i needed to get these out of my system

[kusafujifae]

❀ hello and welcome !! ❀

nectar ❀ eighteen ❀ they/she/fae

dougla ❀ sfw nanbaka acc ❀ writer + occasional artist

sapphic ❀ isfp-t ❀ neurodivergent

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( last edited 4/16/2024 )

[yrrtyrrtwhenihrrthrrt]

1, 2, 7, 15, 18 from this ask game

1. What was the first fandom and/or pairing that you wrote fic for?

Like, ever??? When I was in 6th grade I wrote (and published on the ancient ff.net) Warrior Cats fanfiction 😭 in Year of our Lord 2011. It has since been erased. When I got back into writing as an adult, Nimona/Goldenheart was the first fandom and ship I published for. I'd been writing disconnected drabbles for various fandoms before that, though.

2.Do you participate in any writing events or challenges throughout the year? If so, what do you like about them?

I am participating in the Nimona Big Bang and I participated in Nimona Week! I may also be participating in Goldenheart Week once I check out the prompts!

What I really liked about Nimona Week was seeing different people's take on the prompts. For a lot of them I really assumed everyone would have the same idea but they really didn't! It was great to see so many interpretations and to see stories/art made that otherwise probably wouldn't have been :)

7. What do you struggle with when writing?

I have a really hard time writing action sequences. I think they usually come out okay, I just find them boring to write. This even happens with smut sometimes, if the characters are just DOING and not TALKING or ruminating, I get bored lmfao. I also find it hard for characters to communicate emotions to one another without using "therapy speak" which I see writers get made fun of for a lot but like, I'm neurodivergent. So are most people I love. I'm used to explaining how I feel and having others do the same, everything else is foreign to me. I don't quite understand how to write characters unintentionally miscommunicating their own emotions because like, I don't even know how to do that irl lmfao.

15. A Hollywood producer tells you that they want to film just one of your fics. Which fic would you want it to be?

This one is hard bc it means it would have to be both good, adaptable to film, and capable of standing without the source material. I think Ballister Has Brain Trauma and Ambrosius Wants to Beat the Ever-Loving Shit out of Todd Sureblade would be the best to adapt into that medium because it's more of a Things Happen than a People Talk fic like most of my others. As a sidenote what the fuck was July Yrrt thinking with that title? Lmao

18. What is a line/scene you’re really proud of? Give us the DVD commentary for that scene.

It's super hard to say, because I can't remember half of what I write 😭 I think I really like the scene from What Still is Yours where Ballister looks at the portrait of Ambrosius hanging in the Champion's Mansion.

"The person in the portrait was beautiful, as Ambrosius was, but he did not have the mischievous lilt in his smile that was somehow always there, even when his intentions were completely genuine. He didn't have the same eager softness in his blue eyes that bored into your soul and screamed "Here I am, love me, love me, love me." His teeth were perfectly straight and didn't have the little gap from sucking his thumb too much as a child that years of orthodontics hadn't been able to fix."

I just thought it was super sad and sweet and spoke to how well Ballister still knew Ambrosius and how much he still loved him even after all that had happened. One of the main things I notice about loving someone is their face becomes sort of etched into your mind, I experience face blindness so someone has to be pretty close to me for a long time before they become recognizable, and I thought this was a nice contrast between the Institution's image of Ambrosius versus how Ballister saw him / how he really was.

Ty for the ask!!! Please feel free to keep asking 💕

Questions Post

[olderthannetfic]

I've had a few commenters on my fics be surprised that I do plot outlines, make a timeline of events, and make Word docs going over everything that's canon for the character that's relevant to the story (particularly useful for comics' canons where there's multiple continuities and you need to get the details of a specific version straight). Personally, I have a lot of issues with remembering things later on while writing, so this combats my ADHD. I don't think most people would find my level of planning enjoyable. But surely most people do some planning? It just makes things easier to go, "okay, here's my beginning, my middle, and my end" as a plan than to sit there going, "I hope I come up with an ending eventually". Or at least, it's easier for me. Is that a universal experience, a neurodivergent one, or a "your mileage may vary regardless of neurodivergence/lack thereof"?

--

*cackling*

Guys...

"Planner" vs. "Pantser" is like the most basic division of writing styles ever and is covered constantly on every writing blog and in every writing how-to book and...

From what I have seen, your average prolific writer of genre fiction who also writes articles on craft tends to be a planner, though not always at the extreme end of that spectrum, but there are plenty of famous authors who are extreme pantsers. I remember some Isabelle Allende quote about "Write one good page a day and at the end of a year, you have a book".

I don't think it's as simple as writers of plot-forward genres vs. genres about the human condition, but in terms of people producing writing advice, it does often break down that way. (Also, it's a lot easier to write how-to guides for plotters than pantsers in some ways, so that probably skews the numbers.)

The big difference between fic writers and pros who are pantsers, from what I can tell, is that the pros 1. have a lot more experience with needing to finish big projects by a deadline and successfully doing so and 2. don't usually post serially, so revision of the full work is possible after they've written the first draft and discovered what the story is about.

(There are pros who do post serially to great success, but my impression is that many of them are planners.)

[desceros]

not a request, just a genuine query - would you ever write something for an autistic/ADHD reader? just thinking about Symphony (as always) and how Vi is very much neurotypical. i don't know if any of your other reader characters in your other fics are ✨️ neurospicy ✨️ as the millennials like to say (i hate that term with a fiery passion)

in a way, all of my reader characters are always going to have Some elements of neurodivergency since i myself am several different flavors of it, meaning it's really hard for me to write from the perspective of a truly neurotypical character. i try my best, in the same way someone tries their best to capture the pov of someone from a different gender, race, nationality, etc. it's possible to write a convincing character after sufficient research, but there will inevitably be errors because of the inherent bias in the writer. that's just the truth of writing a human experience.

viola-chan is the first character where i've really gone out of my way to code her as neurotypical, since i find it an interesting contrast with donnie, whose autism (and its interaction with viola-chan's neurotypical communication style) are a huge part of the plot of the fic. since i code him as autistic and leonardo as having adhd, it kind of... scratches the itch for me for including those traits? so i tend not to put them explicitly on the reader character, since i find contrasts interesting. would it be possible to have a fic where an insert-chan has different manifestations of neurodivergence, thus giving that contrast? absolutely! i just don't have anything on the docket for it.

sidebar, not to be a millennial on main, but i really don't have any issue with the term "neurospicy" hahaha. i don't use it myself since it's not really something i'm interested in putting into my vernacular, but i don't have an issue with anyone who does. to me it kind of... normalizes the concept of being neurodivergent in a way that i didn't experience coming through my school years, so if someone wants to be more casual with claiming the label, i'm all for it. the more mainstream acceptance is of claiming the label, the easier it will be for someone to be open about being neurodivergent, which means you can be more open about accommodations you need, reduce the social stigma of the label, etc.

i've seen arguments that it "trivializes the struggle of having neurodivergence" or "makes it too easy for people to claim a label that isn't theirs" but tbh, it's none of my business How Neurodivergent someone is? and i personally love laughing at adhd jokes and autism jokes and stuff. i have to deal with the shitty parts of it, so i'm going to make it fun where i can. i make jokes about my "dumb bitch disease" and it's no one's business but mine when i make those jokes at my own expense. i'm sure other people feel the same way, and if their idea of doing that is through a cutesy little word, more power to them.

i also see the argument that it's "just annoying" which. hm. maybe so, if you don't like cutesy words like that. i personally see it as infantalizing, a bit. but i don't really think it's my place to gatekeep how someone expresses their experiences with their neurodivergency, and i'm a little suspicious of people who say to a neurodivergent person "hey the way you're expressing x is cringe, stop doing that" because that's a slippery slope to things like "the way you stim is annoying, the way you stare at me is annoying, the way you ____ is annoying" in a way that quickly becomes ableist.

[thatredheadwriter]

Phthalo Blue

frankie morales x neurodivergent!reader

Frankie comes home to find you overstimulated and he knows just how to help.

This was supposed to be a drabble, but it’s just over 2.3k words. I’m in my feels and very overstimulated and would like it very much if a big strong sexy man wanted to come and take care of me for just a little bit. A lot of this is written around my own experience as a neurodivergent person, so obviously everyone won’t relate, and I also express a lot of the reader’s frustration at getting overstimulated, as that’s something I personally deal with. I’m also marking this as female!reader because of the singular gendered spanish noun and the fact that I wrote this with female!reader in mind, but it’s fairly gender neutral overall.

This is a SFW oneshot for neurodivergent!female!reader with Frankie Morales of Triple Frontier. This work does not contain smut, however, it may contain mature language or themes, and as a rule, my blog is only for those over the age of 18. As a writer, I will attempt to make accurate warnings for each of my fics, however, I cannot guarantee that I will identify each and every sensitive topic. My works regularly contain swearing, allusions to/mentions of sex, and canon-level violence.

Content Includes (but is not limited to):

Neurodivergent reader

Female reader

Domestic Frankie

Mentions of Frankie's daughter from another relationship (but she's not in this one)

They have a meet-cute, I might write more about these two

Swearing

Vivid descriptions of feeling overstimulated

Reader has hair, no specific description

Possible allusion to Frankie’s own mental health issues (very mild)

Reader feels guilty for needing to make accommodations

I want to insert a little disclaimer here: not all neurodivergent people experience overstimulation the same way. Also, Frankie is super helpful and supportive in this fic, because this is the kind of fic I need to read right now. A lot of neurodivergent folk prefer to be alone when overstimulated and (most importantly) we do no need anyone to fix us. If you are neurodivergent, you should not feel bad or shameful or guilty about stimming/using fidgets/making accommodations for yourself. I’m bringing up some of those feelings here, and while I feel it’s addressed in the fic, I want to explicitly reinforce that these are not bad things.

Please read at your own discretion and consume your fanfiction responsibly.

Frankie could read you like a book. It’d always been that way, as much as you used to despise it. After years of hiding irritation and overstimulation, masking your frustration with a too bright, too loud, too coarse world, it was unsettling. For once in your life, you were seen, and it made you feel like a bug under a microscope.

But as you got to know Frankie, you realized he wasn’t looking at you like some science experiment or a stressed-out shelter animal. He cared, and noticing was his way of showing that he cared. At first, it was little things at the shop, always making sure you had earplugs or headphones available, being careful to never sneak up on you. You absolutely adored the way he would lean up against the front desk and talk to you, facing the front door so there was no obligation of eye contact.

Frankie Morales wasn’t doing all those things just so he could ask you out, but when he did there was no way you'd turn him down. Especially when he'd asked you to meet him at your favorite café on Sunday morning.

Since that first date, the two of you have learned a lot about each other. Frankie learned that you love his little touches, so long as his presence is announced and he doesn’t come up on you from behind. You learned that Frankie has a tendency to shut doors with a little too much force, despite his best efforts. He hates fireworks and being on any plane that he’s not flying. You despise fluorescent lights and would rather die than touch dirty dishes that have been soaking in the sink.

When the door from the garage slams, announcing Frankie’s arrival home, you sigh. Tonight you’re supposed to meet Santi and the Millers out at some restaurant and even though you love the boys, you’d rather die. It’s been a lousy day, first waking up with a headache, then being stuck in a zoom call all morning with a guy who could not figure out how to mute himself, then spending nearly six hours hunched over one project that you were due to present tomorrow and it just wasn’t quite right.

“There you are,” Frankie finds you halfway contorted in your desk chair, face mere inches from the screen as you try to figure out why that one element of the logo doesn’t look like it should. He can tell from the eight different cups on your desk and the noise machine playing ocean sounds in the corner that you were in a mood. Rain was for work, thunderstorms for relaxing and reading, and ocean sounds for when you were really worked up.

“Hey,” you mumbled halfheartedly, eyes tracing the cursor across the screen, It wasn’t untl Frankie moved into your line of sight, patiently taking a seat in the armchair by your desk, that you really acknowledged him. “Sorry, I’ll be finished in just a minute.” You shot him an apologetic glance, knowing he’d had a long day too.

“It’s alright,” he soothes, knowing you feel guilty anytime you feel like you're distracted from him. “I’ll be right here when you’re finished.”

He’s patient. Thirty minutes later you finally double check that the project saved and close the tab, leaning back in your char with a groan.

“That bad?”

You narrow your eyes at him, “How do you know I’ve had a bad day?”

He laughs, “Your knee hasn’t stopped bouncing since I got here, you have four different fidgets out on your desk, there are eight cups in here, your hair looks like you’ve stuck your finger in a socket, and you’re playing the ocean sounds. I can tell.” The last words he follows with a soft smile.

You just stare at him, in awe of the way this man knows you. The feeling slightly eases the hot prickle at the back of your mind and for the first time all day, it’s like you can take a deep breath again.

“What time do we need to leave?” you ask, stretching your arms above your head in a way that makes you feel like an overgrown housecat. You’re still not looking forward to going out, but it no longer seems like an unbearable task. As long as Frankie’s with you.

“I already texted the guys and told them we’re a rain check for tonight,” he held up his phone like you're going to ask for the evidence.

“When’d you do that?”

“While you were finishing your thing. I know you’re wound up and the last thing you need is to go to the grand opening of yet another business Pope has invested in.”

At a loss for words, you find yourself scrambling into his lap, his musky scent grounding you further as you try o show him how much you appreciate his understanding. But your eyes snap up to his when the chair creaks under the two of you.

“Let’s get some dinner, okay?”

You leave Frankie upstairs to get changed. In the kitchen, you find he’s already loaded the dishwasher, a chore you’d been hoping to do at lunch but didn’t, and took out the trash. At a loss for what to fix, you pad into the living room and turn on the TV, wincing when the volume is slightly too loud.

Nothing seems to scratch the itch in your brain. You want to watch something, but you’re not sure what. Everything just feels wrong. Just like dinner, you can’t decide and you can feel that prickly sensation growing again now that you’re away from Frankie and his overwhelming amount of common sense. He was great at pointing out things that should be obvious, and yet he never made you feel like an idiot for missing them.

Just as you’re beginning to sink into despair over trying to pick a fucking tv show, Frankie appears, and he can see the frustration written all over your face.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he pulls you into a hug, and you let him, nuzzling into his old t-shirt and breathing him in.

“It’s just a lot right now,” you mumble.

“I know. Come help me fix dinner and then we can find something.”

“ ‘kay”

You’re not so much helping in the kitchen as you are observing, but neither of you minds much. Frankie is a whiz in the kitchen, and it soothes you a little to watch him in his element. As he works, gathering ingredients and chopping things, he tells you about his day. Joseph took left the garage for four different phone calls from his girlfriend, the new receptionist has terrible breath, but at least she knows how to answer the phone unlike the guy Grant hired after you left. Something about a new timeclock system makes you giggle, Frankie’s an old soul and he’s never been a big fan of computers or anything considered remotely new technology.

Eventually he has you in stitches, halfway laid across the kitchen island as you try to catch your breath as your chest heaves with laughter.

“I’m not fucking kidding, the new parts system is evil,” he points the wooden spoon in his hand at you and even though his words are serious there’s a grin tugging the corners of his mouth.

It’s not long before he’s plating up a dish, something with rice and vegetables and chicken that smells so damn good and tastes even better, a fact you make known to him.

“Always happy to cook for you, querida.”

Once you’ve had your fill, he sets your plate in the sink “for tomorrow” he mumbles into the top of your head as he steers you into the living room.

“Do you have anything in mind?” he asks, nodding to the TV, but you’ve already picked up your tablet and opened it to a magazine article you’d been reading.

“Your team is playing, Frankie,” you settle into his side and adjust the screen brightness. “Watch your game. I already made you stay home tonight.”

He’s quick to correct you, “You didn’t make me do anything. We stayed in tonight and I for one, am loving it.”

You just roll your eyes at him and pull your favorite blanket over your lap.

Your eyes flit to the TV for the second time in ten minutes. Eleven minutes left to go in the fourth quarter and the other team had just called a timeout.

In retrospect, you knew this would happen. Something about live sports was always a little too much, even if you weren’t really watching. Usually it was something you could bear, you’d distract yourself with work or a book or noise-canceling headphones. But after the day you’ve had, your ability to regulate is shot.

You got all the way to the first half before you moved to the other end of the couch. Everything was touching you, Frankie, his clothes, your clothes, the blanket, your hair; it was all too much. You needed some relief. Now you were cold, and alone, but slightly less irate.

By the end of the third quarter you’re hyperaware of the tightness in your jaw and the fact that you’ve had to reread the same page seven times and you still haven’t understood a single word of it. Everytime a commercial comes on it’s an internal battle not to flinch, the volume seeming so much louder than the game itself. The TV is too bright and so are the lamps and god your head hurts. But Frankie’s been so sweet and accommodating all evening. You feel like the least you can do is let him watch one damn game.

“You okay, pup?” Frankie squeezes your ankle and draws you out of your spiraling thoughts. His eyes are full of concern and you notice you’ve been rocking your knee for who knows how long.

“I’m fine,” you shake your head and smile unconvincingly, the prickly feeling taking over your whole body now, “I’m going to go get ready for bed. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Frankie isn’t convinced, you can tell by the way is brow stays tightly knit and you can practically hear the protest on his lips, but before he can say anything you’re up and pecking him on the lips before bounding up the stairs.

For a moment you debate just showering, before deciding that bombarding yourself with water is probably not the best idea. Instead you splash some water on your face, brush your teeth with your favorite toothpaste–designated as such for its mild flavor–and slip on a sleep shirt instead of your yoga pants and tank top.

As you walk back down the stairs you brace yourself for the sound of football, but it doesn’t come. Rather, as you round the corner, you hear a familiar voice and a faint tapping sound.

You nearly start crying when you realize Frankie has flipped it over to Bob Ross, a soft smirk on his face.

“Did you think I didn’t notice?” he almost whispered, eyebrow quirking.

“I was hoping you hadn’t,” you murmured honestly, stumbling towards the couch and collapsing into him. For as long as you could remember, Bob Ross was better than any sedative at calming your mind and bringing down the noise of life. You’d shared that fact with Frankie when he caught you watching it in your car one day during your lunch break after a particularly stressful interaction with an rude customer.

“Did you think I would get mad or something?” you can hear the hurt in his voice and it makes your chest ache.

“No, Fish,” you settle into his side, “I just feel like you accommodate me all the time. And you should be able to watch a football game in your own home.”

He rumbles in understanding, “But it’s your home too, pup. Hell, you're the one who painted Sofia's room. And our room. And you put together the furniture, and-”

“I know, I know," you cut him off before he can start a proper list.

"I don't want you to hide stuff from me."

He's right, but you're tired. “Let’s just watch some Bob Ross and we can talk about it tomorrow, okay?"

"Tomorrow."

You nod into his belly and sigh into the darkness, noticing he’s turned off the lamps too. And that’s how you stay for a while, for at least two Bob Rosses, until the tension has melted from your body and you’re contentedly limp against Frankie.

As the credits roll for the second episode, you sit up with a yawn and find yourself stifling a laugh. Frankie has fallen asleep with his mouth open, and it’s a sight that melts your heart. A year and a half ago if someone told you that you’d be living with the cute, scruffy mechanic from work and forcing yourself to wake him up for the sake of his lower back, you would have called them crazy.

But you kiss him awake, something even a grumpy Frankie enjoys, and pull him off the couch and up the stairs. The day is over and now you get to spend the next eight hours with the person who knows you best, and you know that no matter what life throws at you, Frankie’ll be there at the end of the day to turn on Bob Ross and remind you that home is never far away.

[imagining-in-the-margins]

Disabled!Reader CM Fic Recs

Hey friends! I’ve wanted to make a collection of headcanons and fics involving a Physically Disabled Reader for future reference. Everything is Spencer Reid unless marked otherwise.

If you're interested in Neurodivergent!Readers, be sure to check out my lists for Autistic!Reader and ADHD!Reader!

If you write/already have a fic involving an Physically Disabled!Reader, please let me know and I’ll add it here ❤️

GN!Reader

Diamonds by me: [Pain, unspecified] Spencer comforts Reader when they have a bad pain day.

Invisible by @spookydrreid: [Pain, Unspecified] Spencer wakes to reader on the bathroom floor as they experience a pain flare.

Breathe Easy by @foxy-eva: [Asthma] Whenever life takes your breath away, Spencer makes sure you find it again.

Lavender by me: [Migraines] Spencer is no stranger to headaches, and he tries to help however he can.

Fragile by me: [Arm Crutches] Spencer has to stay behind on a case and gets to know the new technical analyst.

Lost in the Moment by @writer-in-theory: [Hearing Aid] Spencer finally works up the courage to ask you out, but what he doesn’t realize is you’ve taken your hearing aids out after getting overstimulated.

Fem!Reader

Sick Day by @spookydrreid: [Pain, Unspecified] Reader has a bad pain day.

Brain Pain, Not Brain Power by @rupurts-morgue03: [Migraines] Spencer cares for reader when she gets a migraine on the jet.

Flare Ups Can Fuck Off by @dontshootmespence: [Crohn's] Spencer hates to see you in pain, so he helps as much as he can.

Secret Staff by @dontshootmespence: [Von Willebrand] Spencer notices Reader's medic alert bracelet.

In the Spotlight by @pretty-boys-book-club: [Blind!Reader] Reader finally works up the nerve to introduce herself to her professor.

Chronic Pain Series by @natashxromanovf: [Wheelchair User!Reader] A series of oneshots featuring a disabled Reader.

Other Characters

Going in Blind by @reidgraygubler: [Luke, Blind!Reader] Penelope sets Luke up on a blind date with one of her friends… What could possibly go wrong…?

Domestic Headcanons (One) (Two) by @wheelsup30: [Hotch, Chronic Pain/Fatigue]: Headcanons of Hotch helping a disabled Reader with daily tasks.

Happy reading!