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jacobsneed · 2 years

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For Cricket, Rizpah, and Skunk! 🖤

I just want to know them better okay 👉🏻👈🏻

My clipboard saved things odd and if they're in a wacky order apologies!

What lie do they most frequently remember telling? Does it haunt them?

How do they cope with confusion (seek clarification, pretend they understand, etc)?

How hard is it for them to shake a sense of guilt?

What memory do they revisit the most often?

○ ○ ○

A) Why are you excited about this character?

C) Did you have trouble figuring out where they fit in their own story?

E) Are they someone you would get along with? Would they get along with you?

G) What trait of theirs bothers you the most?

H) What trait do you admire most?

aaaaaa I am screeching and flapping autistically :D No need to apologize :))

okay putting this under a read more since I'll be gushing about all these gremlins :)

Uncommon Questions for OCs and their creators

Cricket Rook

What lie do they most frequently remember telling? Does it haunt them?

I imagine Cricket would lie to their dad, claiming they were cutting down on their smoking near daily before he died. Boy do they feel haunted by that

How do they cope with confusion (seek clarification, pretend they understand, etc)?

Will probably ponder in their head for a bit before politely asking for clarification

How hard is it for them to shake a sense of guilt?

Oh very, Cricket is the type of person to lay awake at night haunted by something cringe they may have done as a child. They hold on to their guilt a lot :(

What memory do they revisit the most often?

Going to church with their family growing up. They loved getting together with everyone, and it was the one time they would wear a dress their Grandmother gifted them

A) Why are you excited about this character?

I was in an awful depression/ptsd spiral before I started playing and after I got into it and started creating Cricket in my head I just went full hyperfixation mode and really helped pull me out of the nasty brains :'))) so I have a big ole soft spot in my heart for Cricks

C) Did you have trouble figuring out where they fit in their own story?

A little bit, it took me a few weeks to figure out what exactly their deal was, I'm still working on plotting out the lore of the Rook family at the moment :D

E) Are they someone you would get along with? Would they get along with you?

I would absolutely love to have Cricks as a bible study buddy or have them take me out shooting. I just know they would badger me to quit smoking though as they should

G) What trait of theirs bothers you the most?

Ugh, Cricket is just too damn forgiving. They should also try being more aggressive in their assertion once in a while

H) What trait do you admire most?

How even when it seems like everything is shit, and all the cards are stacked against them, Cricket still manages to maintain their faith

Rizpah Mags

What lie do they most frequently remember telling? Does it haunt them?

Oh lord, I see Maggie as the type to lie without even realizing it, it's just something that is so common to her. Unfortunately doesn't feel bad about it when she catches herself lying

How do they cope with confusion (seek clarification, pretend they understand, etc)?

Will very bluntly and sternly just ask for clarification

How hard is it for them to shake a sense of guilt?

Not that hard at all, just confesses her sins and believes herself to be absolved of any perceived wrong doings

What memory do they revisit the most often?

Her first time in the bliss, or alternatively the first proper meeting between her and Cricket

A) Why are you excited about this character?

I originally made her as a joke because I wanted to make a cultist oc, but also thought it'd be funny to make an oc specifically to annoy Cricket. She kinda snowballed from that into an 'actual' character, and I'm just jazzed to write out her full lore :D

C) Did you have trouble figuring out where they fit in their own story?

A bit, I took a couple artistic liberties making her little world. Mainly about inner cult workings and whatnot. I'm still doing so much work with her sdfghjkl trying so hard to not spoil anything in her story >_<

E) Are they someone you would get along with? Would they get along with you?

Hm, I probably wouldn't. I don't quite know why, but I just feel like we would be nowhere near the same wavelengths. I'm also not a fan of her because she's kinda mean and I'm sensitive, she would totally lightly bully me lmao

G) What trait of theirs bothers you the most?

How easily she just shrugs off any guilt and tries to justify every morally questionable thing she does

H) What trait do you admire most?

If anything, she's incredible tenacious and self assured

Matthew "Skunk" Dennis

What lie do they most frequently remember telling? Does it haunt them?

He's the type of dad that tells his daughter harmless lies all the time (the tooth fairy, easter bunny, you know the drill) he doesn't find himself haunted by these lies much at all

How do they cope with confusion (seek clarification, pretend they understand, etc)?

He's an utter idiot and will just kinda act like he knows what's up or what to until someone asks him just what the hell he's doing and helps him out LMAO

How hard is it for them to shake a sense of guilt?

I see him as being the type to hold on to guilt when he screws up, usually trying to smoke it away at first before coming to the realization that it's better to try to make amends and just going above and beyond to make it up to anyone he feels he's wronged

What memory do they revisit the most often?

Arriving in Hope and the feeling of love he felt being accepted into the community, knowing that he found a place to set roots

A) Why are you excited about this character?

Another character started as a joke, based off a black&white mullet I had once, lmao. He's also got me super jazzed because he's kinda like an autism creature my sister and I made after binging trailer park boys a few times in a row, which was a lovely bonding experience lol

C) Did you have trouble figuring out where they fit in their own story?

Not really, I figured since there is "oregano" throughout the map, someone had to have been growing, right? In my universe, he just kinda vibes in the trailer park with his daughter

E) Are they someone you would get along with? Would they get along with you?

He's definitely in my dream blunt rotation, I'll say that. I feel like out of all my fc5 characters, he's the one I would get along with the most, but I know he'd clown on me for my inability to roll a joint but would love my idiotic jokes

G) What trait of theirs bothers you the most?

His utter recklessness, like sir please make a plan before doing something stupid. This man needs to learn to think first then act

H) What trait do you admire most?

His dedication to being a single dad and his ability to improvise

#WOOOO BIG POST :D #thank you sm for sending in this monster ask friend! this was a blast!!#david's ocs #oc: cricket #oc: rizpah #oc: matthew #asks

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tinydooms · 2 years

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Today at the fabric shop a young autistic girl came in to get the supplies for her Halloween costume. This is the costume:

She found the right fabric right away and brought it to me at the cut counter, where I asked what pattern she was using and her face fell.

"We're still working on that," said Grandma.

"We've got a lot of patterns," I said. "Why don't I show you some that could wrok for this?"

So I pulled a few patterns that would suit a pre-teen girl making this costume, and she fell absolutely in love with one of them, doing this excited curl-up-and-pterodactyl screech thing and bobbing around. The only problem was, it had the wrong neckline. Grandma and I assured her that this is a very easy thing to fix, and Girl very solemnly opened up the tin of Altoids she was holding and gave me a peppermint.

"Thank you!" I said. "I love peppermints. That was kind of you."

"Was it generous?" she asked her grandma. (Apparently this is something they're working on.)

"Very," said Grandma, smiling.

So then I measured her for yardage. I enjoy this part, because it's like paying modiste to a delighted client, and she was very serious while being measured, though once I had everything she did the pterodactyle screech-dance again. She was so excited! I talked through the dress with her and told her about fit and structure and what she could expect from a dress like this, and everything that I could think of to make a child on the autism spectrum prepared for a dress that she's never worn before.

"Remember that with costuming, you can adapt the outfit to you. Your comfort is the most important thing."

"IT"S GOING TO BE SO BEAUTIFUL!" she cried, and I agreed with her.

"Now make sure you come back and show us the final product," I said after I'd wrung them up. "And then you can see our Halloween costumes, too."

Because she had asked both me and my colleague what we were planning to dress as--this despite the fact that we were very clearly both 30-something women. (I'm going to be a witch, Colleague is going to be Super Wario. We are Grown Ups.)

Girl took her fabric and pattern, gave one last screech, and then turned and walked out without a backward glance: business completed. But Grandma paused and turned back.

"Thank you for being so kind to her," she said. "People ignore her a lot."

I told her that working on this kind of project with people is my favorite thing to do, especially when it's an excited child. My colleagues tease me about it (kindly) but I don't mind. It means I got to enjoy myself and create a little magic for someone else.

#personal #work #sewing #fashion

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melanielocke · 3 years

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Lost in the Shadows - Chapter 20

AO3

Taglist: @nott-the-best @foxglove-airmid @alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1 @justanormaldemon @styxdrawings @ipromiseiwillwrite @a-dream-dirty-and-bruised

Previous Chapter: Chapter 19

Next Chapter: to be posted

After a long consideration, Lucie decided to wear her fit flops into the woods. Perhaps not the best choice of shoe, but she still had blisters on both feet and any other shoe would make it worse. She regretted that decision when her feet started to get cold, but if she’d chosen different shoes she would probably regret them being painful just the same. She began to understand why middle aged men insisted on wearing socks with sandals, no matter how awful it looked.

‘Are you seriously wearing flip flops?’ Alastair asked when he noticed.

‘They’re fit flops,’ Lucie protested.

‘Which are not flip flops?’

‘These are structured and very good for the feet. Also I have blisters everywhere. This is how I can still walk.’

No one had additional questions. Alastair checked the pictures on his phone every once in a while and compared with their surroundings. The pictures he and Thomas had taken off the ruins had become pictures of this world instead of the one in between, and Alastair was trying to pinpoint the location of the ruins. None of them felt it was a good idea to spend an extended time in the land in between, considering the danger of being sucked all the way into the realm of the thief of souls. It was possible Lucie could portal them back from there as well, but even entering that realm could also kill them all. Lucie wasn’t willing to take chances.

‘I think these plants match the pictures,’ Alastair said.

Lucie tried to look over his shoulder at his phone, and got a glimpse of the same shrubs that were in front of her. It wasn’t conclusive, this could have been anywhere, but Alastair scrolled through his pictures and made more comparisons. Not to mention he’d been to the ruins before so he at least knew what path he’d taken to get there.

‘Alright, I’ll open a portal,’ Lucie said. ‘Darkness, create a gateway to the land in between only open to myself, Cordelia Carstairs, Alastair Carstairs and Thomas Lightwood, a gateway that remains open until all four of us make our way back through the same gateway.’

The gateway of shadows was subtle as always, but soon the four of them disappeared through it. Lucie tripped over something as soon as she was through, falling over and falling onto her knee.

She scrambled upright and inspected the parts of her body that were hurting. Her knees were bleeding, but the wounds were superficial and she could walk just fine. She’d probably have to clean and disinfect it when they got back.

Of course, the floor of the ruins was higher than the path in the wood, so stepping through the portal meant she had to step upwards while not seeing the floor. Honestly, it was a miracle she was the only one who’d tripped.

‘Are you alright?’ Cordelia asked.

‘Just a little clumsy,’ Lucie said. ‘Next time we go here I’ll open the gateway before the ruins and not in the middle of them.’

Lucie sat down on an a block of stone and looked around. Her knees did hurt. As a child she’d been rather uncoordinated and had had bleeding knees all the time, but she thought she’d grown over that. Nowadays Thomas, who wasn’t quite used to his size, was the clumsy one.

The ruins looked the same as she remembered from seeing them in Alastair’s memory. It had been a weird experience, to look through his eyes. Looking in Alastair’s memory let her experience the memory as he had sensory wise. Somehow his senses were even more overwhelming than her own. It made her wonder if Alastair was autistic too. She wasn’t the only who experienced his memories that way, according to Cordelia it was much easier for her to revisit her own memories than his, since his memories tended to be so overwhelming even when they were very neutral memories. Alastair believed Cordelia’s memories were duller and less detailed because they belonged to someone else and he was just visiting, but Lucie wasn’t so sure.

He definitely struggled socially and had specific and sometimes odd interests, it wouldn’t surprise her if he were autistic, or at least not neurotypical somehow. Although she guessed considering he had PTSD that already made him not neurotypical. She was never quite sure what did or did not fall under the neurodivergent umbrella.

‘Is this the trap door you couldn’t get open?’ Cordelia asked.

‘Right here,’ Alastair said.

Thomas knelt down and started pulling on the handle. ‘I still can’t get it to open.’

‘Let me,’ Cordelia said, and she firmly grabbed her sword and swung it at the trap door, shattering the wood until there was an opening and a ladder leading down somewhere.

‘Who wants to go first?’ Alastair asked, studying his nails.

‘I’ll go,’ Cordelia said.

Alastair didn’t listen to her and instead descended the ladder himself, disappearing into the darkness. Cordelia groaned.

‘I’m the one with the magic sword!’ she shouted into the opening. ‘What part of “I’ll go” do you not understand?’

Alastair called something back, but Lucie was too far away to make out what either of them were saying. She stood up from her rock, which was hurting her butt, and walked over to Cordelia and Thomas.

‘Anything down there, Alastair?’ she called into the opening.

‘It’s dark,’ he yelled back. ‘I’m turning on my flashlight.’

Lucie didn’t realize he’d brought a flashlight. Then it occurred to her he probably had one on his phone. She could see a shimmer of light coming from down the trap door. Whatever it was down there, it was deep.

A howl pierced the air, not unlike the sounds the werewolf Cordelia had killed had produced. It came from downstairs.

‘Alastair, get back up here!’ Thomas yelled down.

Alastair did not respond. There was another howl. A growling sound. Something Lucie interpreted as a struggle.

‘Alastair!’ Cordelia yelled.

A deafening silence. None of them dared to breathe.

‘I’m alright!’ Alastair called back.

The creature growled again, the sound of nails screeching against the floor. Lucie didn’t recognize everything that was happening down there.

A moment later Alastair emerged from the trap door, some dust on him which he carefully petted off, but otherwise he seemed unharmed.

‘Did you kill it?’ Lucie asked, eyes wide.

‘Not yet,’ Alastair said. ‘It’s another werewolf, and last time I used this dagger on it, it didn’t work. We need cortana.’

‘How come you’re not dead?’ Cordelia asked, smacking him over the head. ‘You bloody fool, why did you go down there without me?’

‘Because otherwise you would have,’ Alastair said. ‘There’s a werewolf down there, but it’s bound by a chain. It tried to attack me, but it wasn’t nearly close enough to reach me. There were two doors behind it, it’s protecting something. Meaning we’re in the right place.’

‘If it’s not the skin then it must be something else important,’ Cordelia said. ‘So, I kill the wolf and then we open the doors.’

‘Careful, it’s starved and very aggressive,’ Alastair said.

‘I killed a werewolf before.’

‘One that had its eyes on me and Thomas. You could surprise it from behind, that is not possible right now… Unless I distract it first.’

Cordelia frowned. ‘I’m not sure…’

‘I know now where I’m safe. I’ll try to provoke it into attacking me while remaining someplace it cannot reach me. You follow me down, quietly, and then attack from behind.’

Alastair went back down. Cordelia looked nervous and Lucie squeezed her hand for a moment. ‘You can do this. Come back when you’re safe.’

Lucie was nervous too, but she had faith in Cordelia. She’d killed a werewolf before, she could do it again. And this one was chained, she could always run and make her way back to a location it couldn’t reach.

Waiting seemed like forever. She heard the werewolf, she heard it howl and screech and make sounds Lucie interpreted as an attempt to attack. She didn’t hear any screams, no sign Alastair or Cordelia were in danger. Then the werewolf made a pained sound. Silence.

‘It’s dead!’ Cordelia yelled. ‘You can come down.’

Lucie went first, carefully gripping the ladder and going down. It creaked under her feet and she held her breath as she descended slowly. The ladder had held both Alastair and Cordelia, she reminded herself. She might have gained weight the last few months, but she suspected she was still lighter than Cordelia and it had held her.

Lucie took in a deep breath when she was all the way down. She turned around and took a good look, taking out her phone and putting on the flashlight. In front of her, its ankle chained to the wall, was a dead woman. Lucie shrieked. She was beheaded, and an arm was lying a little farther away from the rest of the body.

‘That’s the werewolf,’ Cordelia said.

‘It’s horrifying how they return to human when they’re dead,’ Lucie said.

‘It is. No ghosts here?’

Lucie shone her flashlight in all directions, but didn’t recognize anyone beyond Cordelia and Alastair. ‘No, no one. And there are two doors. Which one do you think we should take?’

‘One is locked, one is not,’ Alastair said. ‘I imagine the interesting things are behind the locked door.’

Cordelia hacked at the locked door with her sword, but when the door was out of the way something else was stopping her. Lucie walked over to take a look, shining her flashlight into the room. It was a big room with a table, on top of which lay something that resembled maybe a blanket? Lucie tried to get a closer look, but an invisible barrier stopped her.

‘I think that’s it,’ Cordelia said. ‘That’s Grace’ skin.’

Lucie realized it was indeed a skin of sorts, not a blanket.

‘Cortana cannot breach magical barriers,’ Alastair said. ‘So how are we going to get through? Lucie, can you dispel it?’

‘I have no idea how,’ Lucie said, ‘but I can try. Darkness, please lift the barrier that keeps us from entering this room.’

What remained of the door disappeared, but when Lucie stepped forward the invisible barrier was still there. ‘That’s odd. I couldn’t open or close any doors at home, much less make anything disappear.’

It was one of the things she’d tried, but nothing had worked.

‘Perhaps your power is different in this realm,’ Alastair mused. ‘Perhaps this is where it comes from.’

Lucie wondered why that would be. The land in between was something layered over their own, tied to the thief of souls who waited on the other side. Lucie suspected the souls that were taken were similar to ghosts as she knew them in her world, so that was one connection. Her magic seemed to be tied to darkness, at least it was according to Grace, and the land in between was certainly darker than the normal world. But what was the connection between her and the thief of souls? Was there one? Lucie wasn’t sure she was ready to find out.

‘Perhaps,’ Lucie said. ‘I might have disappeared the door, but the magical barrier is still there. What is behind the other door?’

Thomas opened it and bent down to fit through. Lucie wasn’t sure when or where these ruins were built, but the people who lived in it were not accustomed to tall people. The doorways were wide enough, but not very high.

Thomas returned, hitting his head against the doorframe this time.

‘Careful,’ Lucie said.

Thomas rubbed his head, wincing in pain. ‘Why are the door openings so low?’

‘Probably because tall people hadn’t been invented yet when this was built,’ Alastair said. ‘Anything interesting there?’

‘Corridors, doors, vines… it’s a bit of a mess down there, and there’s a part that’s underwater. I think it’s a maze. Which probably means it hides something interesting.’

Alastair frowned. ‘Would Tatiana have reason to go there and hide anything beyond the skin? I’m assuming the barrier lets her through.’

‘But perhaps there’s something else down there someone else hid,’ Lucie said. ‘Or there’s a key that can get us through the room. Perhaps we were supposed to find the key there instead of shatter the door. Like in a legend of Zelda dungeon.’

‘I don’t know what that means,’ Alastair said.

‘It’s a video game,’ Thomas offered. ‘Well, a series of video games. It is common for the key to a locked door with something important behind it to be hidden someplace else.’

‘But this isn’t a video game,’ Alastair said. ‘If I wanted to defend something at all costs, there would be no puzzle solution to getting it, and the only way to shatter that magical barrier would be by casting magic on it of such force it would be unable to withstand it. If there was a key, I would take it with me, not hide it in a maze this close by.’

‘But the text did say something about every puzzle having a solution. Perhaps that’s against the rules. Since we can’t cast enough magic to dispel the barrier, it’s worth taking a look there,’ Lucie said, entering the next room.

It did look like something out of a legend of Zelda dungeon, although perhaps a bit more decayed and creepy. There was a lower level beside where she was walking, which was flooded. Lucie didn’t think it was safe to go in the water. Flooded areas could be treacherous, and filled with bacteria. She placed her steps carefully, there was nothing keeping her from falling into the water. There was a bridge farther ahead, leading to a series of doors, most of which had locks on them. There were vines growing along the walls, but none of the doors appeared blocked so far. The atmosphere was dark and gloomy, but bright enough to see even if she couldn’t identify a source of light. She wondered how the vines grew here without sunlight.

Cordelia followed her, sword still ready, but when Thomas tried go through the door something stopped him.

‘There’s a barrier here too,’ Thomas called.

Lucie immediately turned back, worried she’d locked herself in. She put her hand out to feel for the barrier, only to feel… nothing. She moved back into the first room.

‘Oh, it’s gone,’ Thomas said, moving into the second room again, carefully bending down to protect his head.

When Lucie tried to follow him, she felt what Thomas had noticed, a barrier just like the one keeping them from Grace’ skin. Which was odd, because just moments ago she’d been able to go through both ways. Alastair tried as well, but it didn’t let him through. Not until Cordelia returned and he suddenly stumbled through as if he’d been leaning on the invisible barrier and now he’d fallen, catching himself by taking a few steps until he’d found balance.

‘Maybe it will only let two of us through,’ Thomas speculated. ‘It doesn’t seem particular on who enters, but when there are two of us on the other side the barrier closes for the ones left behind.’

‘That’s an odd mechanic,’ Alastair said. ‘Why not keep everyone out if you’re so keen to place a barrier?’

‘The inscription said something about every puzzle having a solution and every lock having a key,’ Lucie said. ‘What if it means that there must always be a way, and you cannot guard a treasure in such a way it’s impossible to reach? You can only make it so long and complicated that people would give up or get lost in there, but there has to be a solution. So this is like a dungeon, and maybe Tatiana created it not to make it impossible to get the skin, but make it hard enough most people won’t succeed. There had to be a key to the skin and it has to be somewhere here.’

Lucie figured this land played by its own rules, and she hoped she was right and getting past the magical barrier was possible if they solved whatever was here.

‘But if we stay too long, we’ll end up trapped in the realm of the thief of souls,’ Alastair said. ‘Is it worth the risk?’

‘Perhaps there is a way to keep track of this realm changing into the other one,’ Thomas said. ‘Just before I followed you down, something changed into the ruin structure. Small, but some bricks were added to a wall. Lucie, would you be able to reverse the changes, and freeze the realm in this state, so to say? To give us more time?’

Lucie guessed that meant she had to stay here. So much for exploring the dungeon. At the same time, her knees still hurt and getting to sit in the ruins and cast magic might be better than stumbling through dark caverns. Not to mention her chances of catching an infection from whatever was in that water was far greater.

‘I could give it a try,’ Lucie said. ‘I think it should be possible, but I won’t keep up forever.’

‘Only two can go in, so one person should stay with Lucie whereas the other two go explore,’ Cordelia said.

Part of Lucie hoped Cordelia would stay with her, but she suspected there might be more dangers lurking inside, more beasts chained up blocking exits, and it made sense for Cordelia to go.

Cordelia had the same idea. ‘I’ll go, I’ll have my sword to protect myself.’

‘You’ll get lost in there,’ Alastair said. ‘I’ll have to join you since I can always trace our way back.’

Lucie imagined with his memory he’d never get lost as long as he made sure to take in his surroundings and look for landmarks. She’d never considered that use of his ability.

‘I’ll stay with Lucie,’ Thomas said. ‘If we can’t hold on anymore, if we’re attacked, what do we do?’

Alastair grimaced. ‘You run. You take the gateway back. Do not wait for us. The gateway should remain open in case we do make it back. Depending on how deep this complex is, one of us will return every once in a while to check how you are doing. Just make sure you stick close enough to the entrance that you’ll hear us yell. If there’s no response, we will leave immediately.’

Lucie wasn’t comfortable running and leaving Alastair and Cordelia behind, but she agreed that they had little other choice. The gateway would remain open for them either way, they’d have a way back.

‘If we have to leave without you, I will stay around and check every once in a while,’ Lucie said. ‘However, if I leave and then enter again, does that not reset the time before it has been too long?’

‘If we stay too long we might get trapped with the thief,’ Alastair said. ‘Leaving and entering might reset the count until that happens, we should try that before delving in. But I do not want to end up buried alive.’

Alastair had a point, if she opened a gateway here they might be very well end up somewhere under the ground. All four of them ascended the ladder, and made their way to the still open gateway, a ray of light, stepping through. The difference was subtle and yet their world felt so much safer, warmer, kinder. The greatest difference was the ruins disappearing. When all of them were back, the gateway closed.

Lucie checked the time on her phone. One in the afternoon. It didn’t feel that long, but she was used to that by now. Time ran differently in the land in between.

Lucie opened another, using the same conditions. When they entered again, the ruins did look different than they had upon leaving, but only slightly.

‘That wall was much higher,’ Alastair said, pointing his finger. Lucie was impressed by his attention to detail. ‘Now it is crumbling. I think this is a complete castle in the realm of the thief of souls.’

‘Yes,’ Lucie said. ‘So we must make sure the castle doesn’t get built.’

Lucie hugged Cordelia before she left. ‘Don’t die, alright?’

‘I’ll do the best I can, and we’ll be careful. We won’t take any unnecessary risks.’

Lucie found a comfortable stone to sit on close to the trap door, while Alastair and Cordelia descended the ladder once more, disappearing into the darkness.

‘Darkness, freeze this place in time so that we will not be transported to the realm of the thief of souls,’ Lucie commanded.

She wasn’t sure if anything was happening, but she would keep her eyes open to see if anything changed. She might not have Alastair’s memory to keep track off the difference but Lucie had always had an eye for detail.

Thomas was pacing restlessly, head down, posture slumped, walking everywhere across the ruins. It was getting on Lucie’s nerves, but she tried to ignore it and let him do whatever he needed to.

‘Everything alright up there?’

It was Cordelia. Some time had passed and she was checking up for the first time.

‘Nothing has changed yet,’ Lucie called back into the opening. ‘Any progress?’

‘We checked which doors open and which don’t,’ Cordelia said. ‘There’s a mechanism here that we think will drain the flood water, but Alastair’s still trying to figure out how to operate it. And most of the locked doors only give us more keys to open new locked doors, so that’s not exactly helpful.’

‘Alright, good luck! If you need anything, just let us know!’

Cordelia went back inside and Lucie was starting to get very irritated with Thomas’ pacing. She knew it was irrational, but it was too much sensory wise.

‘Will you sit down for a moment?’ she snapped.

Thomas’ eyes went wide in shock and he immediately came to sit down next to her. ‘Sorry,’ he said.

‘It’s nothing to apologize for, it’s just getting on my nerves,’ Lucie said, remembering Thomas’ tendency to apologize for everything, always worried he was taking up too much space.

‘I’m nervous too,’ Thomas admitted.

‘Cordelia was here not long ago,’ Lucie said. ‘They’re alright.’

‘I have faith in them,’ Thomas said. ‘But that doesn’t mean I like waiting up there. I hate not being able to do anything. Alastair and Cordelia are trying to figure out how to get Grace’ skin, you are keeping us from falling into the realm of the thief of souls with no way back, and I am useless.’

‘You’re not useless,’ Lucie said. ‘You can help me. I need to be very focused on these ruins, so I need you to keep me safe.’

Thomas nodded, clutching a dagger in his hand. Another one of Alastair’s collection. Cordelia always claimed he was very possessive of his daggers, but now he seemed alright with sharing them. She knew there was a bad story behind the one he’d given her though, she knew this dagger had once been a gift from his ex lover, someone who had apparently been rich enough to buy this for him. She wondered how Alastair had felt upon receiving such a gift. Lucie guessed she’d feel uncomfortable receiving an expensive gift from a lover. But perhaps he’d felt indebted to his former lover too, had felt like no one else would love him like this person.

‘How are you and Alastair?’ Lucie asked. ‘Was it nice, sleeping over?’

‘Uhm, yes, it was nice. Well, I did accidently trigger a flashback and I’m terrified it’ll happen again. I don’t want to hurt him.’

‘Did you say anything weird?’ Lucie asked. ‘What happened?’

‘I think getting intimate with him brought up memories of his ex,’ Thomas admitted. ‘He said it wasn’t my fault, but maybe I did push him too much, or did not consider…’

Lucie wasn’t sure how to respond. She didn’t think it was Thomas’ fault, especially if Alastair said so. She knew he had a tendency to get angry when he was hurt, although she hadn’t witnessed many outbursts lately. According to Cordelia, his anger had calmed a bit since going to therapy. Lucie wasn’t sure if the way he always seemed tired, the fight drained from him was much better, and Cordelia agreed that sometimes it seemed worse.

‘What did you do after that?’ Lucie asked.

‘I took him outside to look at the stars,’ Thomas said. ‘It was a little cold, but it was nice. And Alastair did want to touch me again, so I’m guessing that’s a good sign.’

‘I really don’t think he blames you, or he would have gotten angry,’ Lucie said. ‘He tends to lash out when he’s hurt.’

‘He used to,’ Thomas said. ‘I don’t think he does that anymore. Not against others anyway.’

‘Do you like being with him?’ Lucie asked.

‘It’s amazing,’ Thomas said. ‘I mean, it’s difficult sometimes because I hate seeing him in pain, and I don’t always know how to help, but we also have fun together. He liked watching the stars with me, or going swimming.’

‘You can’t take all his pain away by yourself,’ Lucie said. ‘I know in novels it’s always love will fix everything, but unfortunately in real life that’s not how it works.’

‘I know,’ Thomas said. ‘But that doesn’t make it easier, watching him suffer in silence. If anything, it’s worse knowing that I can’t make it go away. The best I can do is support him and help him through it. How is it going with you and Cordelia?’

‘Not great,’ Lucie admitted. ‘I haven’t figured out how to tell her I like her.’

‘Blurting out feelings after nearly being mauled by a werewolf worked out for me,’ Thomas said. ‘Maybe you could tell her after today’s mission if we’re all still alive.’

‘Maybe,’ Lucie said.

She noticed a change in the wall, the same wall Alastair had pointed out earlier. It had grown, some bricks added to it until the wall seemed complete, no longer crumbled.

‘Darkness, reverse the progression to another realm and take us back to the land in between we entered.’

It worked, the bricks disappeared and the wall was crumbled again. Lucie felt as if she’d lifted all the bricks by herself. She wasn’t sure how many more times she’d be able to do this. Lucie tried to even out her breath, and lay back on the stone. It wasn’t exactly comfortable, but she didn’t think she could find something better around here.

‘As Nico di Angelo once said, with great power comes the need to take a nap,’ Lucie said. ‘Can you keep in touch with Alastair and Cordelia for me? And alert me if anything else changes.’

Lucie closed her eyes and tried to find a comfortable position. Next time she’d bring a pillow. And a blanket.

#Alastair Carstairs #Lucie Herondale #Thomas Lightwood #Cordelia Carstairs #james herondale #alastair carstairs #fanfiction #the last hours #tlh

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maybedefinitely404 · 4 years

Text

Day 7: Roman x unknown (Creativitwins focus)

@tsshipmonth2020

Day 7: There is a string tied around your pinky that only you can see, the end of it leads to your soulmate.

Content warnings: food mentions, mention of losing soulmate, autistic character (not explicitly stated, but heavily implied).

Word count: 2.5k

Little Roman was barely six years old when he first felt the gentle tug on his pinky finger, looking down from his coloring book to inspect the digit. A gap-toothed smile spread across his face when he saw the thin red string, tied in a neat little bow, the end trailing off for about as long as he was tall before fading. He’d been expecting his soulmark since his mom had told him about the concept just a little while ago, and now it was here! The Disney prince lover that he was, he was already ready to meet his true love. Six years had been too long a wait.

His mom turned from the late dinner she was preparing when he hobbled down the stairs, overstuffed and oversized backpack dragging behind him and Mrs. Fluffybottom stuffed into the front of his shirt. She tried her hardest to keep a straight face as he gripped the railing for balance, tongue poking out between his teeth in a valiant attempt to not faceplant.

“Where are you going with Virgil’s backpack, sweetheart?”

“I’m on a quest!” He announced as he stumbled off the final step, puffing out his little chest like a kitten trying to look intimidating. The rabbit stuffy that flopped in front of his face greatly diminished his threat.

“Is that so? And what is the purpose of this quest, my prince?”

“To find my soulmate!”

She put down the wooden spoon she was stirring with a wide grin, their family resemblance shining through with the action. “Your string appeared? That’s amazing!”

Roman couldn’t help but nod excitedly all the while shifting the uncomfortably heavy backpack on his already sore shoulders. “I’m going to find whoever it is and live happily ever after!”

“I’m sure you will, Roman. But how about some dinner before you embark on this journey? Don’t want to get hungry.”

He thought it over carefully, nose scrunching, deep in thought. He wanted to find his soulmate as soon as possible, but the food also smelled super good, and he’d already waited six years. What was one more meal time? His stomach gurgled in affirmation and he took his place at the table, dropping the bag and Mrs. Fluffybottom onto the floor next to him.

“Valiant choice. Boys, come get dinner!” She hollered in the stair’s general direction, being met almost immediately by thundering footsteps echoing through the upstairs hallway. Moments later, Remus slid down the handrail with a shout. His feet screeched loudly against the bannister in an attempt to slow him down, but it failed (as it did every time) and he ended up plummeting off the bottom, landing on his back with an “oof!”. He didn’t seem bothered, though when did he ever, as he scrambled back to his feet and plopped down in his spot, diagonal of Roman. Such arrangements had to be made a while back, when the twins proved incapable of sitting within hitting or kicking distance of each other for meals.

“Ah, and the Duke joins us. Did you see Virgil on the way down, hunny?”

She watched as he knocked the table with his fist lightly, his ‘deep in thought’ face identical to Roman’s, before he shook his head with a low hum.

“That’s okay. Do you want your spaghetti sauce on your noodles or beside it?”

Remus patted both open palms on the table, looking at her with wide eyes.

“Two separate bowls?”

He nodded.

“Sounds good. And Roman- Oh, there he is! The Prince, the Duke, and the King!”

Both boys turned to the stairs as their older brother stepped into the landing, his headphones wrapped around his neck. He looked like he’d just woken up from a nap, eyes drooping and stifling a yawn.

“King? More like court jester!” Roman stage whispered to Remus, incredibly proud of himself for the dig. Remus gave out a delighted giggle, wiggling in his spot. His mom tried to look disappointed, but her smirk was as difficult to hide as Virgil’s eye roll. She placed down Remus’ two bowls before going back to the stove to fill the rest of the plates.

“Cute. Why do you have my backpack?”

“I’m going on an adventure!”

“Okay, well, use your own backpack.”

“It ripped.”

“Then use Remus’.”

Remus let out an indignant grunt, narrowing his eyes in a way that definitely indicated anyone who touched his backpack would be met with his rage. He didn’t like people touching his things.

“I need it for school, dude.”

“And I need to meet my soulmate!”

The kitchen went silent except for Remus slurping marinara off his spoon, interchanging between bites of chopped up noodles and spaghetti sauce, oblivious to the sudden energy shift in the room.

“You got a soulmark?” He asked lowly, less as a question and more of an accusation. Roman puffed his chest up again, refusing to let his older brother bring down the joy of this momentous occasion. What was his problem, anyways?

“Yup! And I’m going on an adventure to unite-”

“Don’t even bother. Soulmates are bullshit anyways.”

“Virgil, language!”

His mother set down the remaining plates, casting Virgil The Look. Roman stuck his tongue out at Virgil before digging into his own plate, concentrating on swirling the pasta around the fork properly. His mother always offered to cut it into pieces like she did for Remus (and how Virgil did for himself) but no, he wanted to be a big boy and eat it like she did. She didn’t complain, because even if it meant twice as much clean up for her, his focus on the task provided a much more peaceful meal time.

“I’m not hungry. I’m just gonna go do homework.”

“Virgil, please eat dinner with us.”

“I said I’m not hungry.”

“You say that now, but I’m the one cleaning reheated pasta off the microwave tomorrow morning because of your little ‘midnight snack’.”

“I’ll clean the microwave,” he grumbled, feeling his chance at victory slipping through his fingers.

“You know that’s not the point. Not that I’m going to prevent you from doing so.”

She softened her smile, gesturing to his plate as she took her spot next to Remus. Virgil took a shuddering breath, hating that he loved his mom this much, and dropped into his seat numbly. He gave Roman a glare out of the side of his eye but the younger didn’t notice, spinning his fork with both hands, before he took his knife and cut his own noodles into bite sized chunks. Something about looking less like an idiot when he ate it.

Dinner went by in a flash, Remus lifting his bowl to lick the inside only to have it plucked from his hands by mom, who stacked his bowls on top of her plate and carried them to the dishwasher. Roman was scraping the last remnants onto his fork when Virgil stood up and stormed from the room.

“Mom, Virgil didn’t clean his dishes!”

“Don’t tattle, Roman. I see it,” She chastised before clearing the plate. Roman hopped off his chair and dutifully brought his own plate over, loading it into the dishwasher. The light in his eyes suddenly exploded to life and he bounded over to his chair, lugging Virgil’s backpack back onto his shoulders.

“Well, I’m off now! Thanks for dinner, mom, but I have a soulmate to find!”

Just as he strode towards the door, trying to decide between his his mickey mouse sneakers or his red velcro ones, Remus let out a wail and dove from the table, eyes bright with tears.

“What is it, Rem? I have to go!”

Another sob broke from his chest as he latched his arms around Roman, effectively smearing the sauce from his chin on his prince costume. He was mumbling something into the fabric, more gibberish than actual words, though Roman heard the word ‘no’ distinctly more than once.

“Aw, now I have to go change!” He pulled back, earning another whine. “I’ll be back, Rem! I don’t know when, but-”

“Roman?”

He turned to his mom, who was standing in the doorway with a gentle smile, watching the scene before her.

“I don’t think Remus wants you to go just yet, sweetheart. And it’s getting dark. Maybe you should stay here for tonight.”

As if to affirm the statement, Remus wrapped himself tighter around Roman’s ribs, shaking his head vigorously against his shoulder. He glanced out the window and sighed; it was getting dark, and despite being an incredibly brave adventurer, he had a strong dislike of the dark. For practical reasons, of course!

“I guess I can stay tonight.”

Remus barely gave him room to breathe as they stumbled up the stairs in an uncoordinated mess, their mom chuckling as she followed a step behind. Luckily she broke them apart long enough to allow them to get into their pajamas and brush their teeth, an affair that went without its usual amount of bickering and petty toothpaste shenanigans. For once, Roman didn’t have the heart to bother his twin, not when the other kept looking at him with teary eyes every time he moved, as if he needed to watch him, lest Roman run away from him again.

When he rinsed out his mouth and walked back into their room, his mom was sitting on his bed, thumbing through his backpack- well, Virgil’s, technically- and neatly refolding the clothes he’d haphazardly thrown in.

“Mom, I’m gonna have to repack those tomorrow!” As much as it bore a hole into his chest, he ignored Remus’ whine and climbed under the blankets. His twin looked torn for a moment, watching him wiggle past his mom’s form, before dejectedly crawling into his own bed, eyes never leaving Roman.

“Ro, what did I tell you about soulmates?”

“That they’re your true love? And the string leads you to them.” Roman shifted so he was lying on his back, smiling wistfully.

“I think I phrased it differently, but yes. Anything else?”

Cue nose scrunching, his trademark thinking face. “I don’t remember.”

“Sweetheart, the string connects you too, but you can’t follow it to them until it’s time for you to meet.”

Roman’s face fell, “You mean I can’t go find my soulmate?”

“You’ll find them on your own time, naturally. If you rush it, or try to force it, it won’t work.”

“Well… what if I try really hard?”

Mom laughed lightly, running a hand through his hair. “That won’t make a difference, sweetheart. You can’t make the process go any faster than it’s supposed to.”

“So I can’t follow the string?”

“I’m sorry, Roman. I know how excited you are for your soulmate.”

Roman couldn’t deny the heaviness weighing in his chest at the news. He had to wait longer? This is getting ridiculous. But if the risk of trying to find the person might delay it even more… well, he’d just have to let it run its course. As much as it sucked.

“Okay,�� He sighed, closing his eyes as she leaned forward and kissed his forehead. Picking up the now empty backpack from the floor, she stepped up to Remus’ bed.

“Hug and kiss?”

He stared at her for a second as if heavily debating his options, before nodding. She seemed pleased with the response, though Roman knew she’d be okay with whichever he chose, and pulled him into her arms, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

“I’m just going to take this back to Virgil,” She waved the backpack towards Roman impishly, “Maybe ask before you take his stuff next time.”

“Wait, mom!” Roman yelped as she went to close the door and she poked her head back in, eyebrow raised. He took a deep breath, not understanding his sudden nervousness. “Why was Virgil so upset? After I told him about my string.” It was mom’s turn to sigh, heavily, before she pushed the door open more and leaned against the frame.

“Virgil doesn’t have a soulmark, sweetheart. It’s very difficult for him to talk about.”

“...Oh. He never got one?” His heart sank, immediately feeling guilty.

“He… he used to have one. And then one day it…” She did a poofing motion with her hands, “Just disappeared. We don’t know why, and Virgil was very sad when it happened.”

Roman could understand… to have this little bond taken as quickly as it was given; he’d be distraught. “Well, maybe he can get it back!”

His mom smiled sadly, slowly reaching for the door handle, “Maybe. Don’t try to talk to Virgil about it, okay? It’s a sore topic.”

“Okay…” Roman pulled the covers up to his chin, his mind filled with newbound anxieties. “I love you.”

Her expression morphed into one of fondness, her eyes glittering with joy. “I love you, too, my Prince. And you, my Duke. Sweet dreams, okay?”

“Night, mom,” Roman called as she closed the door, going back to watching the glow in the dark stars on their ceiling. He couldn’t stop thinking about Virgil’s lost soulmark. What if that happened to him? How old had Virgil been when it happened? Was his soulmate still out there, or were they... gone?

All questions he’d have to talk to his mom about tomorrow, since she’d told him not to talk to Virgil about it. Maybe he’d just give Virgil an extra tight hug tomorrow, to make him feel better. Hugs always made Roman feel better, so it was probably the same for his big brother, too.

He was pulled out of his thoughts by a small sniffle from Remus’ bed, turning his attention from the galaxy on their ceiling to his brother. In the dim glow of their respective red and green nightlights, Remus’ brown eyes shone with bright tears, watching Roman intensely and choking back small sobs. He still thought he was going to leave.

With not a moment’s hesitation, Roman scooted back until he was against the wall and lifted the corner of the blanket in a silent invitation. Remus didn’t need more than that, scrambling out of his own covers with lightning speed, almost tripping over the fabric, and launching himself into his twin’s bed. Like an octopus, he wrapped his limbs around Roman in a tight squeeze, digging his face into his chest. He got the message. Please don’t leave.

“I’m not going anywhere, Rem. I promise. I’ll stay.”

That seemed to be enough to satiate him, because his eyes immediately drooped, though his grip didn’t falter.

“If you kick me, I’m pushing you onto the floor.”

Remus hummed gruffly from the back of his throat, like an unspoken way of saying shut up. Roman didn’t fight his hug, didn’t try to escape, because even if his twin was the bane of his existence, he still loved him more than anything. Except maybe his mom… and reluctantly, Virgil. They all tied for first place. But for sure, if anyone talked bad about Remus (and peers had, in the past), he would be the first to deck them and sit on them until they apologized (he’d done that, too).

“Love you, Rem,” He grumbled like it was a reluctant admission. His brother didn’t answer, and he realized he’d fallen asleep, curled against Roman like a koala. That was fine. They hadn’t shared a bed in years, and he’d kind of missed it.

He got comfortable, as much as he could with his human attachment, and let his eyes drift shut, visions of his possible soulmate filling his dreams.

#if you tag this as remrom i will personally steal your kneecaps #lywrites #tsshipmonth2020 #creativitwins #roman sanders #remus sanders #virgil sanders #ts soulmate au #soulmateseptember #soulmate september #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #sanderssides

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thechildoflightning · 5 years

Text

Advent

Title: Advent

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Pairings: none

part of the jksf series

~~~

Prompt:

Heyyy. For your oneshot thing, could you give us some Logan angst please??? Love you babey ~@justgr8

Summary:

Tradition has always been vitally important to Logan. Routine keeps him balanced and feeling safe. But tradition can change. When treated carefully, and with communication, change to tradition can be navigated. It’s too bad that Logan’s family isn’t willing to put in that effort.

Or: Logan’s autistic. His family likes to ignore this fact.

Warnings: Ableism, Internalized Ableism, Meltdown, Breaking Traditions

[ao3 link]

~~~

Advent

It was Logan’s freshman year of high school when he realized that this was going to be the last time his family did advent box. It hit him hard, a striking dull pain in the middle of his stomach.

When he thought of Christmas, Logan didn’t just think of Christmas. No, Logan thought of each of the little traditions that followed the season. They had always been of importance to Logan. His family did them every year. It was tradition, it was routine, and Logan couldn’t break that. Or he couldn’t break it without having a meltdown, usually more than one.

But as he and his sister had gotten older, most of the traditions had faded or bled away without much care and no one has seemed bothered by it. Accept Logan.

Advent box is one of the few things they had kept.

Every day, in the evening, they opened the box. It contained a chocolate or a small toy or something of equal value. It was silly and somewhat pointless and Logan didn’t quite get why he cared. But he did. He cared so much.

Which is why this year had to be perfect.

Veera was going off to college next year. Logan and her have always traded off days opening the box. Maybe they could continue when she was gone, with just Logan opening until she got back from break and then they could open them together?

Logan had thought about solutions and work-arounds and how to continue forward, but he doubted his parents would see it the same. So he tested his theory.

Off hand he mentioned something about advent box next year and then he watched for the signs.

His mom wouldn’t look at him. Odd, because she was always trying to get him to meet her eyes. She chuckled and gave him a non answer. Also odd because it was a simple remark that Logan had made. His father had patted him on the shoulder (which Logan didn’t like but was normal behavior from him) and then he had said “we’ll see,” which also didn’t make sense considering Logan hadn’t actually asked a question, just made a comment. It didn’t line up and Logan knew they were lying.

Or not lying exactly, but he gathered that it was very likely they would not be doing advent box next year. Hence the stabbing feeling in his stomach and also why this year had to be perfect.

Not all the boxes were opened on the right days. Logan thought that this would have bothered him if it wasn’t also routine for his family to forget or get busy on some nights. But three days leading up to Christmas (the last day on the box) and they had six days to make up for. Which was a lot.

They decided to do it now, right now, as Logan was preparing himself breakfast in the morning. They usually did it in the evening and if he thought about that too much his hands start itching. Logan’s parents- who were also in the kitchen- insisted that he called down Veera. Logan gulped but nodded. It needed to be perfect and sure it was morning which wasn’t Right, but it was also Logan’s first weekday off from school and routine was already thrown to hell so what was one more thing?

Plus if they didn’t do it now they’d probably forget and they wouldn't do it tonight and then they’d fall more behind and wouldn’t get it done by Christmas. And true, why they had fallen behind before they had never actually failed to complete it. The burning sense of that Wrongness beat out the Wrongness of doing it in the morning, so Logan rushed over to the foot of the stairs.

“Veera!” he called up towards her, “Veera! Advent box!”

She didn’t respond. He frowned and tried again. Still no response.

He turned back to face the kitchen.

“Is Veera here?” he asked his parents.

“Yeah, and Caleb too,” his dad replied.

Logan frowned and called again. They’re was once more no response, though he could see the cracked door so if they were there they should be able to hear him. He looked over at the front door and checked the shoes. Caleb’s converse were there. (He had bigger feet than Logan and Veera and Logan’s parents didn’t wear converse so they were easy to distinguish).

He was about to shout once more when Caleb exited the room.

“Hey Logan,” he greeted, making eye-contact with Logan.

Logan looked down immediately and nodded.

“Hey,” Logan replied, “Veera coming?”

“Yeah, she’s trying to do this thing with her hair.”

“Okay,” Logan left the foot of the stairs and returned to the kitchen, leaving his sister’s boyfriend. Once he had entered the kitchen, he made his way to the advent box. It was an odd number day. That meant it was his turn today.

He was vaguely aware of Caleb and his parents moving to join him around the box as he counted out everyday and tried to remember what had been in each box previous.

When he finished he turned to face them. Still no Veera.

“It’s your day Logan,” his mother said, “Why don’t you open it?”

“I know it’s my day, it’s an odd day,” Logan said, “And I’m waiting for Veera, we can’t start without her.”

Everyone had to be there for advent box. It was a rule.

“Logan why don’t you just-”

Logan’s mother was cut off by his sister appearing in the kitchen and sliding over to join them.

“I’m opening it,” he announced, to make sure he had everyone’s attention. He opened it to reveal a paper. The paper had a brand name on it, which meant that it was a toy, but had been too big to fit in the box. He held up the paper expectantly towards his mom, but didn’t turn to face her.

“There’s a paper.”

He saw her nod out of peripheral vision and she turned to get whatever the toy was. She handed the bag over to Logan first. That was also tradition. Logan was the one who had opened the door so he got first pick. Whoever opened the door got to choose first. It was a rule.

Logan peered inside to see sticky hands. He wondered briefly how they had not fit, considering they were quite small. They should have been able to fit in the box. He picked at one and realized it was due to the packaging. It was unnecessarily large, and his mom probably hadn’t wanted to unpack them for fear of losing their stickiness.

“What is it Logan?” his sister asked, and Logan recognized the impatience at her voice.

Still considering the packaging dilemma, Logan held one up to show her.

“Oh cool,” she said.

Logan thought that was funny. Usually she’d make fun of childish stuff like this. But advent box always had this sort of stuff and it was also tradition to not care how silly it was. It was sort of backwards but it also meant that his family wouldn’t be mean to him about liking childish things, so Logan was okay with it.

He laughed a bit though, because it was funny.

His sister scowled at him and snatched the bag from him. He let her. It didn’t matter anymore. He had his sticky hand. She passed the bag around as he slowly unwrapped his own. It plopped into his hand and it felt horrible. Logan immediately dropped it.

“Logan, don’t let it fall on the floor, it’ll get dirt on it,” his mother chided.

Logan struggled to process her words for a minute. His hands still felt gross. He wanted to move them, to get the feeling off. He wasn’t supposed to flap them though. But maybe just once? It wasn’t like he was flapping them for a bad reason, he just wanted to get the sticky feeling off of it.

He flapped the hand that it had touched and then slid the hand against his pants, hoping his parents wouldn’t notice. He thought his mom was maybe watching him, so he put his hand in his pocket. With his other he was forced to pick up the sticky hand again. His mom had told him to, and she wouldn’t take nicely to Logan ignoring or refusing her.

So he picked it up, holding it as lightly as he could with the least amount of his skin touching it. He tried not to wince. His mom turned away and unwrapped her own sticky hand.

In response, Veera shot her sticky hand towards her mom. Mom threw hers at Veera in return and then chaos broke loose. The four other members in the house started darting around the kitchen trying to hit each other with the sticky hands. Logan watched them and rocked forward on his feet.

Even Caleb- who was still hesitant to join in a lot of the family interactions- was participating. A moment later they died down a bit and came back over to the advent box, still flinging their hands gently at one another.

Then Veera flung hers at Logan.

It hit his clothes thankfully. Logan didn’t know what he’d do if it hit his skin. Probably scream, and he didn’t think his family would like that very much. He grinned a bit, because Veera seemed to be playful and it wasn’t all that common that she was nice to him. In fact, usually she was quite mean, snapping at him and making rude comments. His parents said that it was college stress and Logan was over exaggerating. Sometimes they even said it was Logan’s fault.

But she seemed happy now. Logan, not wanting to miss out on the rare opportunity, flung his sticky hand back.

It hit Veera’s hair.

She immediately screeched and wrenched away.

“Logan!” she said, “You’re going to mess up my hair! Don’t do that!”

Logan shrugged and turned to hit Caleb instead. Caleb was looking at him and didn’t react to the sticky hand. Logan frowned and looked back over to his sister. She was glaring at him and desperately messing with her hair.

“Oh, I’m really sorry Veera,” he said, “I didn’t mean to mess up your hair. I won’t do it again.”

She continued to glare and Logan realized his parents were too. He couldn’t help but feel he did something very wrong. He set the hand down. He didn’t think his mom would complain if he chose not to participate andymore.

Caleb kissed Veera’s cheek and whispered in her ear. She sighed and continued to scowl, but stopped messing with her hair. She seemed okay now. Logan thought so at least.

“It’s your turn to open advent box,” he said.

“Logan you can’t just hit people in the face.”

Logan knew that. Of course he knew that. It’s not like he had been trying to. Plus he had hit her hair anyway. He got that that wasn’t okay, but he hadn’t meant to.

“Everyone was throwing the hands around,” Logan said in an attempt to explain. Everyone was throwing them around. They weren’t very accurate. One was bound to hit someone in the face eventually. It just happened to Veera by Logan’s hand. It wasn’t on purpose and Logan knew it wasn’t okay. He had apologized. “It’s your turn to open up advent box.”

Veera scowled and pushed forward, opening the box. It was chocolate in it. Logan quietly took one from her when she offered them forward. He unwrapped it and ate it and watched the others around him do so as well.

Logan still hadn’t eaten breakfast. He was in the middle of making his when they started. His skin itched.

It was Logan’s turn. He opened it. It was also chocolates. He pocketed his this time and passed the rest out. As he was doing so, another mini fight with the sticky hands broke out.

“It’s your turn Veera,” he mentioned.

She sighed, stopped her fighting, and pushed forward. She opened the box and then moved back without glancing inside. Caleb whacked her with his sticky hand. She laughed and tried to whack him back but hit dad instead. Seconds later and they were racing around the kitchen once more, having fun.

Logan smiled at them and didn’t join in. They seemed to be having fun. He’d probably ruin it.

He looked in the open box and pulled out a couple of pull back race cars. They were tiny and cheap and they were in advent box every year. Logan sat them down.

Since it was Veera’s turn, she got to choose first. But she was playing and having fun and his whole family seemed to be enjoying themselves, so Logan let her be. She could choose the one she wanted in a minute, that was fine. Logan could wait.

“Hey Lo,” Veera called, “Go ahead and open the next box!”

Logan froze.

He couldn’t do that. Veera hadn’t chosen which car she wanted yet. She had to choose first before moving on to the next box.

“You need to pick which car you want first,” Logan called back.

“I will in a minute, just open the new box,” Veera said.

“I don’t want to be rude,” Logn replied. Because he didn’t. That’s why the rule was in place. It let the person who opened it choose first, which was polite. Logan sometimes struggled to know what was polite and what wasn’t, and his family often got upset with him about that. But this was an established rule that Logan knew was polite. He could at least follow that.

Being rude was mean and Logan didn’t want to be mean. So he’d wait for Veera.

“Just open the stupid box,” Veera said, coming back over to the advent box.

“Choose a car first.”

“Just take one Logan,” she huffed.

“You’re supposed to choose first,” Logan said, because that was a rule.

“Gosh,” she huffed, “See this is why I hate doing things with you. This is why nobody likes you Logan. You’re making this into such a big thing it doesn’t even matter.”

“I’m j-”

“Here, whatever, I’’l take the blue one you can have the green. Let’s move on now, come on. Open the new box, god Logan.”

Everything was going to fast. Logan stood, blinking for a moment as he tried to process her words.

Logan’s parents stepped forward, recognizing the increasing tension in the room.

“What’s going on here?” his dad asked.

“Logan’s making a big deal out of nothing,” Veera said, rolling her eyes. She stepped towards Dad, “Logan wouldn’t open the new one until I had chosen which car I wanted. Which is just-” she huffed, “So I chose one but he’s still not opening the box.”

His parent frowned.

His mother spoke, “Logan why don’t-”

“I wasn’t trying to not open the box!” Logan protested, finally finding his words. Veera was making him the enemy again and maybe if he could just explain… Because he wasn’t being bad, he wasn’t! But they were frowning at him like he had been but really he was just trying to be polite like they wanted him to be.

“Logan-”

“Veera opened the box with the cars. And if you open the box you pick first. That’s the rule. It’s polite. We do it so we’re not mean. And I’ll open the box now in just a minute- I just wanted to clarify what I was doing. I wasn’t trying to make it a big deal, I-”

“God Logan,” Veera huffed.

“Logan why don’t you just open the box. You’re making this more difficult for everyone involved.”

How was this Logan’s fault? Everything was moving too fast. He didn’t know how to keep up.

Logan’s eyes felt strange and his whole body itched and he could still feel the sticky residue on his hand. He wanted to flap his hands and get it off. He wanted to cry. He wanted to scream.

His parents wouldn’t be happy if he did those things.

He looked at the advent box. He wanted this to be perfect. It was the last year.

(That felt so Wrong).

Logan felt worse. He frowned, looked down at his feet, and with the little energy he had left, he exited the room.

(Better to leave now with his family just a little upset than to have a meltdown in front of them, causing them to be extremely angry with him).

He could vaguely hear Veera’s complaints behind him.

When he got to his room he threw the stupid pullback car that was still in his hand at the wall. Once he had done that- and kicked his desk for good measure- he immediately got into his bed and cuddled the blankets around him. They were the thickest ones he had. Then, he opened his mouth and shoved a pillow in it.

He began to scream as loudly as he dared, muffled by the pillow. He cried too. He cried a lot.

His brain waged war with him, outlining everything that was Wrong and it all felt off and Logan was falling to pieces and nothing felt right and Logan didn’t know how to fix it.

He wondered if this was his fault.

He had probably done something wrong again, broken another rule.

But he was too tired to think about that and his brain didn’t like him right now so he screamed and cried and bashed his hands against the wall.

(He made sure to stay quiet enough that the rest of his family wouldn’t hear him, even though that made his body itch unpleasantly).

Eventually, he tired himself out and stopped crying. He was exhausted. His brain had trouble thinking and connecting and his eyes grew heavy even as he kept crying, pitiful whimpers interrupting the tears every so often. He felt himself starting to nod off.

The last thing Logan heard before he fell asleep was his family laughing the other room, presumably playing with the sticky hands once more. Enjoying themselves. Without Logan.

That was also a tradition, his family only enjoying Family Time without him. And he hated how that felt Right.

Taglist Below

-message me to be added or removed-

@mewithanie @eddies-spaghetti @lemonyellowlogic @savioursailor @goldteethandacurseforthistown @you-betcha-weirdo

#ts logan #sanders sides #ts sides #autistic logan #angst #actuallyautistic #actually autistic #ao3 #fan fiction #fanfiction #mywriting #my writing #jksf #colupdate

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prorevenge · 5 years

Text

Buddy, You Picked the Wrong Person to Harass

The year was 2014 (or maybe 2013? who gives a shit?), and I was a freshman in high school. On a general basis it sucked. I mean, it was an American public high school with literally thousands of kids, it's a given that it's gonna blow some major balls. One thing in particular that made it extra sucky though was gym class. Specifically, this one guy in gym class.

This dude's name was Jack A. McGee, the 'A' of course being short for 'Ass'. As the name would imply, he was a jackass.

At first, it was pretty standard "high school guy in gym class"-level of obnoxious prick. You know the type: overly loud, unreasonably aggressive during games, bossy, tossing the collective brain cell back and forth between his two equally ape-like buddies. The usual.

I don't know when, exactly, it happened, but he developed a sort of... eye for me, after the first couple of weeks or so. He started asking me bizarre questions that I now believe may have been some sort of innuendo, sitting uncomfortably close to me, resting his hand on my gym shoe- general creepy behavior.

He once blocked a doorway with his body (this dude was massive), forcing me to literally squeeze my way through and crawl over him. He then tried to grab me and pin me to him once I was almost through, but I'm very good at dodging physical contact whenever possible, and dipped on him before his giant gorilla arm could catch me. I still shudder thinking about it. I cannot emphasize enough how terrible this dude smelled.

But the true breaking point came during the peak cruelty of this school mandated sadism: gym swim.

Before anyone asks, let it be known that yes, I did try to tell someone about this. I told my gym teacher first semester, really early on, that Jack was making me incredibly uncomfortable. The gym teacher waved it off, saying he was "just playing around" and that "it's probably because he likes you". His suggestion was basically to just put up with it and wait it out, because he was sure Jack would lose interest soon anyways.

Spoiler alert: he didn't

Second semester rolls around, and the four week period of gym swim descends upon us like the bloated carcass of a catapulted whale, crushing us beneath its wet, foul smelling body. 40 some odd adolescents forced into a cold, overly chlorinated pool for 50+ minutes, adorned in swimsuits determined to crawl up into our assholes like Antman himself.

It was hell on earth, basically.

As I've mentioned in a previous post, I am autistic, so the echoing sounds, reflected fluorescent lights, pungent odors, slimy floors, and assorted BS made the situation even worse for me. I wasn't officially diagnosed yet, so my complaints were written off as me being whiny, and I was told to shut up and deal with it. So I did. I think I had more meltdowns in that four week span than I've had in the past two years combined, but whatever.

On top of the sensory overload, there was Jack.

I think something about being allowed to go shirtless and stare at the nearly bare asses of girls for an entire period emboldened him, because Jack promptly lost whatever semblance of restrain he'd had until then.

He made frequent attempts to grab me, trying to hold me against his bare skin, which was disgusting, and I spent most of the class trying to evade him. The swimsuit I was forced to wear fit a little awkwardly around my chest, which he delighted in pointing out to his buddies, staring unabashedly at my breasts. He managed to sneak up behind me and snap the strap of my swimsuit, even trying to pull it down off my shoulder, but I jerked away fast enough to prevent that. I was furious at this point, but I'm like, 5'2", maybe, whereas he was easily over 6'5", probably 300+ pounds, and I'm not stupid.

While all of this was happening, my new gym teacher, (they switched every semester), was busy trying to keep a couple of the other guys from drowning each other. She was one adult forced to watch over 40 rowdy ass kids in a swimming pool; she was a bit preoccupied.

The final straw came one Wednesday afternoon, the event that finally pushed me off the edge of the rationality I'd been clinging to and sent me plummeting into full on bloodthirst.

There I was, paddling around, minding my own business, when Jack and his two goons manage to corner me. I'm immediately suspicious, hackles raised, as they ask me fairly banal questions about how the pool is today and the like, sniggering the whole time. I give short, terse answers, trying to see if I could maybe slip past them. I spot an opening and bolt for it, but Jack was apparently expecting this.

As I swim through the narrow gap between him and one of his friends, he stretches his arm out, and actually manages to slip his hand under my suit to grab my breast. I froze for a moment, the delighted giggling of him and his friends echoing in my ears as if from a thousand miles away.

The next thing I knew, I was out of the pool, being held back by the gym teacher, and Jack had a bloody nose. He was shouting angrily at me, calling me a "crazy bitch!!" as his nose gushed blood into the water. There was mass confusion among the class. I was told to change quickly and sit in the hallway.

Apparently, the gym teacher had heard me screech like a banshee, followed by a number of shouts, and had looked over to see me wrestle out of Jack's grip, jump on his back, and throw him off balance enough to smash his face into the edge of the pool wall. I remembered none of this, but I did find a few chunks of greasy brown hair clenched in my fist that I'd evidently ripped from his scalp when the teacher pulled me off. I washed my hands thoroughly.

It was decided that I'd go in early to school tomorrow to have a little talk with the Dean. They would've just sent me there straight away, but gym was my last class of the day, and the Dean had already left by then for whatever reason, so it had to be postponed a little while. It was pretty heavily implied that I was going to be suspended, quite possibly even expelled, for what had happened.

I was furious. Not only had Jack made my life a living hell, but his horse shit was now going to be the cause of my expulsion?!? I wasn't about to go down without a fight, but I realized that I'd have to play this pretty smart if I wanted to weasel out of it.

The next morning, I did two things: I put on mascara, and I made a superficial, but rather painful incision on my right thigh, high enough so as to be covered by my shorts.

Normally, I hate wearing makeup, because I don't like the way it feels, but I'd worn mascara before and noticed the interesting effect it had on my appearance. Specifically, I already have pretty long, pretty dark eyelashes, so adding mascara draws a lot of attention to my eyes and makes them look huge. Like, total Bambi eyes- wide, innocent, naive, harmless.

I sat down in front of the Dean at 6:40 a.m. I didn't need to fake the fear in my expression, but I made sure to throw in something that could be interpreted as guilt, too, bowing my head and twisting my face in dismay.

Needless to say, the Dean was pretty pissed.

"Do you know why you're here, young lady?" he said

"Yes," I said softly.

"And you know that what you did is very serious?"

"Yes," I said again, making my voice tremble.

"Care to explain yourself, then?"

"I..." I began, my voice shaking. "I just wanted him to stop..."

"Stop what?" The Dean prompted, his eyebrows furrowed.

"I just wanted him to stop touching me!" I blurted. As I said this, I reached my hand under the table where he couldn't see it and dug my finger into the cut on my leg, causing me to lurch forward as if in a sob, my other hand covering my face as my eyes watered from the pain.

"Touching you?" The Dean asked, his brows now on a collision course for Mars.

I spent the next several minutes divulging all the shit that had happened to me that year, digging into my injury for some tears whenever necessary, and by the end of it the Dean looked horrified. He reaffirmed that no, I shouldn't have attacked Jack like that, but that they'd have to investigate the matter further.

I basically got off with a slap on the wrist, and after multiple testimonies from other girls, Jack got suspended for two weeks. I wasn't satisfied. They hadn't been able to expel him due to "lack of hard evidence", but I was out for blood.

He returned to school two weeks later, and I was ready.

One of his friends had a little brother in my bio class, a fairly chill dude named Owen, who I had worked out a deal with. See, Jack had been very vocal about his displeasure with me to his friends, which made its way to Owen, who, for the low low price of bailing his dumb ass out in biology, was more than willing to share that information with me. I had a direct pipeline.

Anything Jack shared with his friends made its way directly to me via Owen, and, as it turns out, this dude didn't keep a whole lot to himself.

There was a lot of shit I was tempted to nail him for. For instance, I found out he was selling drugs (mostly adderal and some occasional weed) from his locker, and had been cheating his way through most of his classes. However, I knew how suspicious it would look for me to report something like that so soon. It'd probably just look like I had a grudge, (which I did), and was trying to get even, (which I was).

He slipped up really, really bad about a week after his return, and that was when I struck.

See, he hadn't been subtle about his displeasure with my retaliation, and spent most of gym class sending really ugly looks my way. The gym teacher kept us as far away from each other as possible, but he managed to track me down in a passing period one day and rant at me about how I had screwed him over and that I was a lying little bitch, yada yada yada, and that he'd make me regret it. Funny, stole the words right out of my mouth.

I found out from Owen later that Jack had been bragging to his friends last night about the switchblade he'd stolen from one of those hunting stores downtown, and promised he'd show it off to them later that day.

I seized the opportunity.

I took a few seconds in the bathroom mirror, scratching at the scab on my leg until my eyes were teary enough to really sell the "terrified victim" look, then bolted down to the Dean's office, stuttering and shaking, crying out for help. The front desk lady was understandably startled by the sight of a seemingly panicked freshman girl bolting into the office, and called the Dean out right away. His face grew serious when he saw me.

"M-Mr. Dean, please help! He's gonna kill me!" I cried.

"Now, slow down," he said. "What happened?"

"Jack!" I said, resisting the urge to grin maniacally at the hardness that appeared in the Dean's eyes. "He, he cornered me in the hall! He called me a bitch and said he was gonna make me regret telling on him! H-he's got a knife!!"

"He what?!" The Dean barked.

Everything moved very quickly after that. The security guards were told to search the kids locker, while a couple other security officers were called down to get Jack out of his classroom and take him to the office. I was told by the front desk lady, who had heard the whole exchange, to hide with her in the copier room so Jack wouldn't see me.

They found the (stolen) knife in his backpack, and the drugs in his locker. That, combined with his previous charges, was enough to get him not only expelled, but arrested. I never saw him again, which is probably a good thing because I'm still mad and would probably try to kill him if given the opportunity.

TL;DR: Guy sexually harasses me in gym class, I give him a bloody nose, a two week suspension, an expulsion, and a criminal record, all in that order.

(source) story by (/u/FeralTaxEvader)

#prorevenge #by /u/FeralTaxEvader #pro revenge #revenge stories #pro revenge stories #pro #revenge #last10

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disabled-queen-hc-blog · 5 years

Note

can i req an autistic joger fic where one accidentally harms the other while having a meltdown and tries super hard to make it up to the other? kinda reflecting here, sorry

There’s fire everywhere and I can’t breathe and I can’t feel but I feel everything and it all hurts and everything hurts. It hurts it hurt it hurt it hurts.

There’s blurs of lights and crashes of thunder and there’s so much pain in the air I can smell it and there’s a sea on my face and it stings.

I can’t breathe! I can’t breathe! I can’t breathe!

Red. So much red! Like fire. Fire on my arms.

There’s so much of everything and nothing at all! My throat is frozen and nobody is helping me!

Nobody at all.

♚

John took in a shaky breath, closing his eyes as he steeled his nerves. He let go of the puff of air, eye’s opening even though he wanted them to stay shut.

Before him was a volcano. He first took in the screams that fell like ash around him. Deep guttural screams that were dark and clung to his skin, making it crawl.

Next was the lava, slowly pooling onto the ground. Strands of blond littered the floor, burning into the carpet of their bed room, making an ever growing puddle around the volcano himself in the middle of it all.

Roger sputtered and shook, paced and thrashed. He squealed and howled as he threw the bedside lamp onto the floor, the glass shattering making John jump.

A fist pounded onto his chest, his red, tear streaked face letting out another wail. Before his mouth could close, it latched onto his scarred forearm, teeth sinking into the flesh with a chilling squelch.

John had no idea what had happened. He didn’t know what triggered this. He’d went out to get some groceries, buying Roger his favorite brand of crisps and when he came back, all he heard was ear curdling chaos from upstairs.

He thought he might have stepped on those crisps when he dropped everything to run to their room.

It was a sight he rarely ever saw.

Of the two, John was more prone to melt downs. Roger for some reason was able to handle most things with nothing more than a smile. It was something John admired. It wasn’t something either of them were able to control, but John thought it must be nice to never lose control.

Losing control every blue moon meant things built up, though. Roger’s meltdowns were intense and most of all, dangerous.

There was blood smudged around Roger’s mouth, his arm trickling with some more. He didn’t notice.

He had hair fibers all over him and a bald patch to show it.

John bet that once this was all over and he was in the bath, he’d find bruises on his battered lover.

But how to make it end was the question John had to deal with now. It wasn’t like he dealt with this often enough to consider himself an expert. Everyone’s meltdowns were different. The off switch was like a snowflake.

Roger screeched, fists flying to his black and blue forehead, smacking against them.

John had to act quickly. There was absolutely no letting this run it’s course. Roger was in pain. The thought made his stomach shrink.

“S-Sweetheart. Roger. Do you hear me?” John said, taking cautious steps closer to Roger. He didn’t want to startle him. He knew when he had a meltdown, every movement terrified him. He wondered if Roger was the same.

♚

Brain’s on fire. Burning. Burning. Smoke everywhere.

I’m drowning. I can’t think I can’t see I can’t do anything.

I hurt so bad. Everything is pain.

I can’t stop myself.

I’m not myself. I’m not myself.

Make it stop make it stop make it stop make it stop make it stop make it stop

♚

Roger didn’t notice John’s approach, yelling as he tore off the bedsheets and crumpled them to the floor.

John swallowed hard. He’d never done this alone. He hoped he was strong enough. Physically and mentally.

“Roger, please. Y-You need to calm down. I can help. We can go somewhere else. To the bathroom. You like the echoes, remember?” he said, skirting even closer to Roger.

John knew during meltdowns, most people couldn’t process speech. And he wasn’t sure if sound was the reason for Roger’s meltdown. But what else could he do? He could only try to diffuse this. Before Roger would need stitches.

Roger hunched over, arms wrapped around himself in a hug, sobbing so hard he gagged. John took this as the only opportunity he’d get to overpower Roger.

He closed in, hands hooking around Roger’s waist. Maybe if he could drag him into another room, change the scenery, the environment, he’d start to settle down. Maybe.

But Roger was much stronger than John, Much stronger.

His skin cringed before he ripped John’s arms away from him. The only thing John remembered was how Roger’s blue eyes looked so scared. So lost and confused. Like a little kid who’s just lost their parents in a store.

He didn’t even notice Roger’s mouth latching onto his hand, ripping into the flesh of his palm until his brain caught up to what was happening. With a small gasp, he yanked his hand away, Roger’s saliva making the wound immediately start to sting.

John stared down at his hand as Roger stalked off to continue going through possibly his worst meltdown.

To be honest, John wasn’t a fan of pain.

To be honest, John didn’t know how to handle pain.

If we’re being honest, John panicked.

He walked stiffly into the master bathroom and locked himself inside.

It was clear he didn’t know what to do. If anything, he agitated Roger more. He felt miserable for leaving Roger alone when he needed his help the most, but his brain froze.

At least in the bath, he could still hear Roger. Make sure he was safe. That was all he could do and he felt horrible.

It was an hour before things quieted down. John heard very soft crying and whimpering, and panting that eventually slowed.

John opened the door just a crack and then all the way.

The pillows were torn at the seams, feathers coating the floor and bed. The bed was pushed off the bed frame. There was a hole in the wall by the door. And amongst it all was Roger curled up into a ball, face pressed into the carpet.

John crossed the room, making his presence known to the other as to not spook him.

With his hand throbbing, he knelt by the pile that was his boyfriend and said,

“Roger, honey. You’ve done so well. You’ve gotten yourself out of that so well. You’re safe. Nothing is going to hurt you. I’ve got you, okay? I’ve got you now,”

Roger shakily looked up, wet lashes and glassy eyes breaking John’s heart. John wiped away a tear and kissed his forehead gently.

♚

John poured a cup of warm water over Roger’s tender head as the blond sat in the tub, knees hugged to his chest. John hummed softly, massaging away the dried blood, kissing each bruise and washing every cut. It was all he could do. He kept thinking that.

“You can sleep after this, Rog. I’ll make you some dinner for when you wake up. Bought you your favorite crisps. You deserve them,” John said, making small talk as he scrubbed Roger’s back of all the sweat. The tub water was soapy and pink.

He used his other hand to lean against the tub and it skidded over some soap. The open wound on his palm stung when it touched soap, causing John to pull back and hiss. He inspected it for a moment, knowing he’d have to go to the hospital eventually, but hid his hand, not wanting Roger to see it. It wasn’t his fault. He didn’t have to know.

But Roger was sharp. Even in this state. He snatched John’s hand into his own, pulling it close to himself. His words were still jumbled and coming back, but he was able to squeak, “Me?!”

John pulled his hand back, shaking his head. “No. Not at all,” he said, eyes falling towards the floor. He was a bad liar. Roger knew that. And he didn’t believe him. He hugged his knees closer to his chest, bruised forehead resting on his knees. He couldn’t hide the little cry that escaped his lips.

♚

“Does it hurt?” Roger asked as he held John’s hand, calloused fingers soothing down the wrinkled bandages.

John shook his head, scooting closer to Roger on their bed. The sheets smelled like detergent.

“Nope. The doctor cleaned it up, gave me a shot and bandaged it. Can barely feel it,” John said, his eyes crinkling into a smile.

That was another lie. When John hurt, that’s all he could think about. But what good did it do to tell Roger? As long as he himself didn’t have a meltdown over this, it could be his little secret.

It’d been a day since the incident. Roger was still recovering, barely able to leave the bed, so John joined him whenever he could.

“How are you feeling?” John asked, freeing his hand so he could brush some locks out of Roger’s face.

Roger bit his lip, staying quiet for a moment. His mind raced with answers but he only said, “It doesn’t matter,” before resting his head against the new pillow, pulling the covers over his chin.

John sighed. Roger wouldn’t let this go. He’d been apologizing all night and all day for the bite. He couldn’t get over what he’d done.

And although John didn’t hold an ounce of contempt for what happened, Roger kept beating himself up. He couldn’t be consoled.

John slunk down so he was face to face with Roger.

“I always hurt people during my meltdowns. And I feel bad, but, I know I didn’t mean it. I..have to be kind to myself,” John said, reflecting on how sometimes he’d lunge at people unknowingly when he was in that state.

“Yeah, but you’ve never left a mark. You slap like a girl,” Roger said, the last part a slip of the tongue.

John would ignore the insult and continued.

“And? I’ve hurt the people I love. Whether it scars, it’s all the same, isn’t it? And they forgive me. You forgive me. Every single time. You say you’re not even mad. And that makes me feel so much better. So good. Like sunshine in my tummy. Why won’t you let me do that for you?” John said, a finger from his wounded hand stroking Roger’s still reddened cheek.

Roger’s eyes fluttered shut, leaning into the touch.

“I don’t deserve it. You,” he said, leaning more and more into John’s hand.

“You do,” John said, Roger’s warm breath tickling his nose.

“I forgive you. Forever. For always. I love you, Rog,” John added, closing the gap between them with a soft kiss to the lips.

Roger resisted at first but eventually melded against John’s plush unbruised lips.

“I love you, Deacy,”

“I love you, Rog. And I don’t slap like a girl,”

“Shh, shh, we’re kissing,”

#this came out a lot longer than i anticipated #tw meltdown #tw blood #tw blood mention #autism #joger #dealor #john #roger #autistic!john #autistic!roger #queen fanficition #Anonymous #longpost #long post

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sanderssidesfanfiction · 5 years

Text

We’ll Carry On - Chapter Thirty Nine

We’ll Carry On Tag

General Content Warnings: Sympathetic Deceit Sanders, Substance Abuse, Abandonment, Minor Character Death, Transphobia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Dissociation, Bullying, Homophobia

August 4th, 2019

Dee was terrified, and he couldn’t say a thing. He had gotten out of bed to ask Dad or Ami if he could have a glass of water, because he couldn’t sleep, but when he got to the master bedroom’s door, he heard hissed arguments.

He shouldn’t have stayed to listen. It was impolite to eavesdrop. But Dee was curious, so he stood to the side of the door and strained his ears to catch the words.

“I don’t care what she says, Remy, I’m not letting her see Dee again!”

“Emile, I know you’re mad, but we finally found her, and even if we press charges, shouldn’t Dee have a proper goodbye?”

“No! She had that opportunity and she abused it! I’m not letting Dee see his mother one last time before she gets arrested!”

Dee’s eyes widened and he nearly dropped Fangs. He scurried back to his room, curling up on his bed. What...? Dad and Ami had found Mama? And they didn’t tell him? Did they not trust him to not run back to her? Or were they just worried about what she might say to him?

...If they didn’t tell him this, what else didn’t they tell him?

December 10th, 2019

Dee signed to Lucy, who was watching him from the monkey bars. She laughed and dropped to the ground when she lost her grip from laughing too hard at one of Dee’s jokes. He grinned, and she walked over to him, pouting. “Come on, Dee, I was about to get all the way across!”

Shrugging, he continued to grin. “It was a funny joke! I didn’t want to forget it!” he signed in his defense.

Lucy shook her head with a grin. “Whatever, I can always try again,” she said.

As she made her way back to the ladder that lead up to the monkey bars, James shoved her. “Outta my way!” he snapped. He ran up to Dee and jumped to a stop in front of him, causing Dee to flinch. “I know you can hear, freak, so why don’t you talk?”

Dee crossed his arms and glared at James. He had been picking on Dee at recess whenever he could since the beginning of the year. But Dee didn’t intend on even giving him the time of day. James was a jerk, and Dee hated jerks. Instead, he walked around James and over to Lucy, signing, “Are you okay?”

She brushed woodchips off her hands and jeans and nodded. “I’m fine, just a little startled.”

Dee nodded. James stalked over and shoved him. “Hey, freak, I asked you a question!”

“He’s not a freak!” Lucy exclaimed. “He’s selectively mute!”

“What would you know?” James sneered.

“More than you!” Lucy growled. “Dee’s my best friend! Of course I know more about him than you!”

“Whatever,” James sneered. “I don’t wanna talk to anyone who’s friends with the freak!”

Dee glared and signed, “I don’t wanna talk to you either.”

James frowned, and Dee grinned. James didn’t know sign language, he couldn’t understand what Dee was saying. “What did he say?”

Lucy smiled sweetly. “I thought you didn’t want to talk to me or Dee?”

“Tell me what he said!” James demanded.

“No!” Lucy said, crossing her arms.

James balled his hands into fists and brought one back behind his head. Dee’s eyes widened and he pushed Lucy out of the way before she could get hit, and he got punched instead. His lip throbbed, and he spat out one of his teeth into the palm of his hand. “I’ve been waiting for that one to go for a while,” he muttered. “Lucy, look!”

Lucy stared at him in shock. “Dee, he knocked your teeth out!”

Dee shrugged, sticking the tooth in his coat pocket and zipping the pocket up. “Yeah, but it was loose anyway,” he signed.

Lucy stood up, staring at him, which Dee was sure must have been a sight, blood dribbling down his chin and one of his front teeth missing. Then, she turned, cheeks bright red, to James. She cussed him out, before taking a swing herself. Dee’s eyes widened and he wrapped his arms around her waist, trying to pull her away from James. Unfortunately, some of James’ friends saw the commotion, and came over. It was three against two, and Dee was looking around for a teacher, but all he saw were kids rushing over, chanting “Fight! Fight! Fight!” like a war cry.

Dee tried to hold Lucy back, but she broke free and lunged at James again, only to have one of his friends kick her and shove her to the ground. Dee turned red and screeched his displeasure, rushing over and taking a swing at the boy. He kept his thumb over his bottom knuckles like Logan taught him, and the boy’s head snapped to the side upon impact. He toppled to the ground. Dee turned to James’ other friend, who quickly backed away into the crowd of kids.

When he turned to James, he was kicked in the shins. Dee hissed like a snake, baring his teeth, and James backed up in surprise. “Break it up!” one of the teachers yelled, running over. She grabbed Dee by the shoulder and put a hand on James’ chest. “That’s enough! All four of you, to the principal’s office! Now!”

Dee huffed, helping Lucy to her feet and letting the teacher lead him to the principal’s office, head held high. James glared at him from the other side of the teacher, and his friend tried to lunge for Dee in revenge, only to have the teacher grab him and say, “Really, Troy?”

“He hit me first!” James exclaimed.

“No I didn’t!” Dee signed. “He tried to hit Lucy!”

“I don’t care who hit who first,” the teacher growled. “All of you will be talking to the principal.”

“James knocked one of Dee’s teeth out!” Lucy exclaimed. “Are you gonna let him get away with that?!”

The teacher sighed and wrangled all four of them into the office, before knocking on the principal’s door. James used the distraction to suckerpunch Dee in the stomach. The air left his mouth in a whoosh and he couldn’t get it back. He gaped like a fish out of water, gasping for breath.

“James!” the teacher admonished, offering Dee a hand as she also pushed James away from Dee. “That’s enough!”

Dee climbed to his feet by himself and tried to breathe again, forcing air through his nose and out his mouth. He felt like retching, but he wouldn’t give James the satisfaction. When the principal opened the door and took a look at all of them, he sighed. “Of course,” he said, like they got called into the office all the time. “Come in, you four. Thank you, Misses Smith.”

The teacher left and the four kids walked into the principal’s office. “Your brother was in here near the end of last year in a similar situation, Deagan,” Mister Gardener said. “I suppose you’re going to say that the fight which clearly occurred wasn’t your fault?”

“It wasn’t his fault!” Lucy exclaimed. “James called him a freak! James took the first swing! Dee did nothing wrong!”

“Miss Blye, let Deagan speak for himself,” Mister Gardener said.

“It wasn’t my fault,” Dee insisted. “And don’t call me Deagan, please.”

“Deagan, use your words, not your hands,” the principal said, with that infuriatingly patronizing voice setting Dee’s teeth on edge.

“He hit me first!” James exclaimed. “Lucy’s lying, and Deagan has problems with his anger all the time!”

Dee rolled his eyes and scoffed. “I’m not an idiot,” he signed at James. “Not like you, at any rate.”

“James, that’s enough. Deagan, use your words. We all want to know what you have to say.”

Dee gave him a withering glare and crossed his arms, but Mister Gardener would not be moved. “I’m autistic, not a moron,” he informed Mister Gardener, trying to put venom in his voice. “James doesn’t agree with me. He calls me a freak and makes fun of me for signing. I was signing to Lucy, and to him, and Lucy refused to translate for him, because he was being mean to both of us. So he tried to hit her. I pushed her out of the way, he knocked out one of my teeth,” Dee pulled down his lower lip to point at the gap between his teeth, “And I punched him back. Sure, I shouldn’t have done that, but he started it by calling me a freak.”

Mister Gardener pinched the bridge of his nose. “And Troy?”

“Kicked Lucy in the stomach. So I slugged him,” Dee said with a shrug and a shameless grin. “You seem surprised, Mister Gardener. I don’t know why you are. You’re the one who tried to insist I go to the school for the ‘emotionally disturbed’ kids because there I could get ‘accommodations’ and you wouldn’t have to deal with me.”

Lucy blinked. “You speak really well, Dee.”

“I really don’t,” Dee said, turning to her. “I don’t know tone, and I can’t use it right. My vocabulary’s good, but nothing else is.”

Lucy shrugged. “I hope they don’t take away your translator,” she said simply. “Sorry for dragging you into this.”

Dee shrugged. “I’m just glad you didn’t get hit as much,” he signed sincerely.

“I will be informing your parents of your behavior, of course,” Mister Gardener said, picking up the phone. “I don’t doubt what you said is true, because Deagan is certainly not able to lie that well,” oh, if only he knew the irony of that statement, “But you’re all in trouble for fighting, instead of using your words.”

Lucy held her head high and James and Troy protested, but Dee’s blood ran cold. What were Dad and Ami going to think of him now? Would they think he was a bad person? After all, he didn’t hit back in self-defence, he hit because he was angry. Would they want to get rid of him, like Mama did? Would they send him back to Mama? He didn’t know. And that terrified him.

Slowly, everyone’s parents came to pick their kids up, and everyone was given two days suspension for their actions. Dee’s translator came in once recess would have been over, and she talked with Lucy’s parents to help Mister Gardener. But Dad and Ami didn’t show up for a while.

When Troy had just been picked up, Dee was waiting with his stuff in the office and Dad rushed in. “Dee?! I’m so sorry, I was with a patient and I couldn’t leave, and Ami got tied up at the coffee shop. Are you okay?”

Dee nodded, pulling his tooth out of his pocket. “I lost a tooth,” he said.

Dad frowned, confused. “Okay? Why did the principal call?”

“Probably because James is the one who punched me hard enough to knock it out,” Dee said with a shrug. “I’m suspended for two days for hitting him and Troy back.”

Dad shook his head. “You hit back?” he asked.

“James was aiming for Lucy. I got in the way,” Dee said. “Do you think the tooth fairy will still take a tooth if it’s bloody?”

“I don’t think she’ll be picky,” Dad said with a laugh. “Do I need to talk to the principal?”

Dee nodded. “And then can we go home?”

“Yeah.” Dad squeezed Dee’s shoulder. “I’m proud of you for sticking up for your best friend.”

Dee let Dad go into the principal’s office, and when he came back out, he led Dee to the van. Dee played with the zipper on his jacket. “Dad, you’re not gonna send me away, right?” he signed.

“Of course not. Why would you ask?” Dad responded without missing a beat.

“I was a bad person,” Dee signed. “I know that you found Mama. I know you didn’t let me see her because you thought she was a bad person. I thought you just...didn’t want bad people in your life.”

Dad stared at him, before crouching down to his level. “Dee, I didn’t let you see your mom when we found her because I was worried she would hurt you more. Not because she was a bad person. I didn’t want you to see her once, and then never again, and be retraumatized. You’re not a bad person for defending your friend, either. You were trying to make sure that the bullies didn’t come after you again. I’m proud of you for that.”

Dee took a breath. “The principal forced me to talk,” he signed. “I hated it.”

Dad winced. “I’m really sorry, Dee. You know we’d never do that to you, though, right? We’d never force you to do anything you’re not comfortable with, and we wouldn’t kick you out over anything.”

Dee stared. “Why?” he asked.

“Because you’re family, Dee,” Emile said. “No matter whether or not you ‘fit in,’ you’re part of our family, and we take care of our own, no matter what.”

Dee blinked. He knew that Dad and Ami loved him, on some abstract level, but he didn’t realize that he was part of the family, no matter if he fit in with the others or not. He saw the family as Dad, Ami, his brothers, and then him, like an afterthought. But he wasn’t an afterthought. Not to Dad, not to Ami. He smiled. He was family. And that meant he fit in well enough, just being himself.

Dad smiled back. “Ready to go home?”

Dee nodded. Home. With family. He didn’t realize how much he wanted that until he realized that he had it all along.

#we'll carry on #sanders sides fanfiction #deceit sanders #emile picani #our creations #danger gays

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angelofthequeers · 6 years

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Supernatural 14.01 thoughts

Hoo boy, I have A Lot to say about this, because this was the flattest season premiere I’ve seen in my 3 years of watching. Surprisingly, I found a fair few positives!

• Jensen was surprisingly amazing with Michael. The way he sounded like Dean but not quite like Dean? My heart still belongs to Misha and his different characters but Jensen really nailed the nuance of Michael.

• The chemistry between Jensen and Danneel SIZZLED. Like wow, Anael and Michael weren’t romantic but you could feel the atmosphere between Jensen and Danneel. Bringing Danneel to the show was one of the best things they could’ve done.

• Sam with a beard. Yum.

• Cas being all dominating and threatening. Double yum, even if it was only for two seconds. Seems they’ve already forgotten about their promise of making him more like S4 Cas.

• Sam taking charge and terrifying demons out of their meat suits? Triple yum. Too bad he’s got the Peen of Death and I’m ace lmao.

• Ayyyy a Destiel joke that was pretty much explicitly textual. My shipper heart died and now I have to write filthy, smug smut.

• As much as I’m over Pellegrino, Nick IS admittedly rousing my curiosity as a character that the fandom largely forgot about. I’m totally calling it though, Nick is gonna be used to bring Lucifer back somehow because the writers have a boner for Pellegrino/Lucifer.

• Bobby and Jack bonding worked surprisingly well tbh. And the Cas and Jack stuff at the end was real sweet.

• They finally put the King of Hell stuff to rest. That died with Crowley.

• Mary wasn’t infuriating so there’s a plus.

• Jack was in this ep. That’s literally just a positive by itself lmao.

Aaaaand now for the negatives!

• That. Fucking. Demon. I’ve forgotten his name already but you know what I haven’t forgotten? The fucking queer-coding. It was OOZING out of him from the very second his shoes appeared on-screen. The way he WALKED, how he TALKED, the stuff he SAID (calling Sam his fiancé and darling????). Just when I think this show is making progress, they go and do THAT. The queerbaiting is bad enough, but outright coding a villain with the most flamboyant gay stereotypes made me so sick that it turned me off the whole episode. It even made that Destiel joke about being joined at the crotches feel slimy to me because a gay sex joke coming from a queer-coded villain? Ick. Good job, Supernatural. Doesn’t mean I’m still not gonna cackle as I write delicious smut though.

• That archangel blade stuff was the most convenient asspull plot point ever. It makes sense that the characters wouldn’t have ever thought that an archangel blade wouldn’t kill the vessel, but to shove it in AFTER Dean is possessed? From a writing standpoint, that’s the biggest asspull ever. Even before watching the episode, I immediately called it as a bigger deus ex machina than the literal deus ex machina God/Chuck. And it literally makes no sense because it was established as far back as S1 - ONE - that the vessel didn’t die due to the magic weapon, but rather due to not being able to heal the damage done to their vessel once the possessing force was gone. You know, like a hunk of metal straight to the heart to kill the archangel possessing you. Hello, Meg 1.0, fell out of a building and caused Sam and Dean a buttload of mangst. So like...not only is it an asspull, it doesn’t even make SENSE. Nick is still healing from the wound, so obviously the blade hurt him, so why isn’t he deader than a doornail from impaling??? I miss the days when this show had plot points that actually made sense. Also poor Nick, dragged right out of Heaven to play meat suit for Lucifer again.

• I swear if those assholes try and push Jack/Maggie because Jack isn’t even two goddamn years old. Let me have an aroace character pls I need it.

• Um no bad Bobby sunshine is Dean’s nickname for Cas don’t take our gay for your forced hetero crap it’s all we have.

• Once again Cas was the useless hostage plot fodder. I’m honestly so angry with this that I can’t even properly rant about it.

• And speaking of Cas, where??? Was the??? Grieving??? I know he’s not outwardly emotional but he could’ve still had a meltdown like Dean did when grieving him. I mean, I’m autistic and can struggle with emotions and even I have my meltdowns when it reaches breaking point, and if that’s not breaking point then I don’t know what is. He could’ve just had a meltdown in private??? It just felt like he was a robot on autopilot and I want to Have Words with the writers about him being closer to human than angel, because they’re sure happy to give him the human powerlessness but not emotions 😒

• Casual racism with the g*psy thing. Great job, not the first bit of casual racism this show’s rolled with.

• It was just...boring. If I hadn’t known beforehand, I would’ve thought it was a Buckleming episode. The S12 and 13 premieres had me screeching and rolling around. This? Only made me get up to go up or downstairs when my family asked. The writing and plot were...flat.

The Michifer ‘end of the world as we know it as established in S5’ wire fight has foretold it, it can only go downhill from here.

Pls prove me wrong though I really do love this show.

#supernatural #14.01 #season 14 #my thoughts #why writers why #i thought the wire fight was as low as we sunk #sam winchester #castiel #mary winchester #bobby singer #jack kline #michael #spn spoilers #destiel

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free-shavacadoo · 7 years

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Why does my mother treat me more delicately when I have a tiny fucking pinprick in my arm from safely donating plasma than when I'm on the edge of a major fucking meltdown.

I swear to fucking god I could just scream until everyone's eardrums bleed.

I wish I could make her understand.

Why is she so fucking stupid, like fucking hell! THINK, WOMAN.

And how the FUCK have you been alive Sixty-Four Fucking Years and not realized that if you use the fucking windshield wipers and do the squirty thing to clean them IT SPLASHES PEOPLE NEARBY, INCLUDING THE PERSON LOADING THE DOGS INTO THE BACK SEAT.

Like I was already in a fucking bad mood because:

I got woke up by cramps

bled on the sheets I JUST washed and was covered with blood the morning after I had just fucking showered

forgot about my therapy appointment and therefore fucking missed it because I'm a dumb fucking fuck

My mom kept saying and doing dumb fucking shit at the vet's office like asking the tech questions she wants him to ask the vet even though he had JUST fucking told her the vet would be in to talk to her in a moment

The tech trying to pressure and scare us into getting heartgard there instead of getting a written Rx to take somewhere else to get it cheaper bc WE'RE TOO FUCKING POOR which we explained and he was a dick about

My shared custody dog (half mine half my mom's) hacking her fucking lungs out because she has a collapsing trachea and won't CALM THE FUCK DOWN FOR TWO FUCKING SECONDS (the noise is sensory HELL)

My mom making me do fucking everything* while she sits on her ass not helping (*wrangling the dogs, talking to the doctor, checking Rx prices, MAKING A PHONE CALL[I'M HEARING IMPAIRED!!!], trying to keep the dog calm, etc) all while she fucking knows I'm on the edge of a meltdown

Getting Pearl-clutchingly, "how-dare-you" offended when I called her by her first name instead of "mom" (listen the alternative was autistic rage screeching, so I'm gonna fucking blow off small bits of steam by calling you Deborah, DEBORAH)

(I MEAN FFS SHE TOLD ME WHERE THE FUCKING LEASHES WERE OK LIKE 1) I PUT THEM THERE, I FUCKING KNOW. 2) I DIDNT FUCKING ASK, AND 3) THE ROOM IS 3'X4' I THINK I WOULD HAVE FUCKING FOUND THEM ON MY OWN DEBORAH)

Just constant dumb as fuck annoying shit like that

Interrupting me fucking constantly

Deadnaming and misgendering me a lot

She left the room when I asked her to take the hacking dog to the lobby bc I was gonna fucking murder someone if I had to stay trapped in that room with that Sensory Hell throat-honking and Dumb Bitch, but she apparently ran into the vet in the hallway and finished our appointment there without fucking telling me and just left me to wait cluelessly in a bright fluorescently lit room the size of a fucking cubicle

the tech had basically forced us to buy a small sample of this dental treat or whatever and since I was on the edge of a MELTDOWN I just said whatever and agreed but once we got it I wanted to give her one there bc if she didn't chew it and choked I wanted vets nearby. After I gave her one I realized "oh shit she has food allergies" and said so and asked what was in these, and the receptionist showed me the ingredients and of course she's allergic to like the first FIVE, and we're like "well shit she can't have these she's allergic, that's in the chart. respectfully: wtf" and THESE FUCKING WOMEN IN THE WAITING ROOM PIPE UP "which dog?" And I wanted to scream "THE ONE THAT JUST ATE THE FUCKING TREAT YOU DUMB CUNT WHY THE FUCK DO YOU THINK WE'RE FUCKING UPSET? ALSO FUCK OFF I AM CLEARLY BUSY AND DISTRESSED WHY WOULD YOU INTERRUPT MY CONVERSATION TO ASK SHIT, WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU??"

And, of course, the windshield wiper thing

Vet visit for suture removal and liver enzyme recheck: $70

Being royally pissed to the point of using all my self control to not screech and throw things: priceless

#fuck me right #autism #rage #meltdown #overload

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soldierforgotarchive-blog · 7 years

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Sentence Starters Ft. Me & My Best Friends Pt 2

“AMERICA”

“AMERICA??”

“That’s gay you fucker.”

“I want a wax seal.”

“__ is the ultimate comfort food.”

“I’ve decided no longer to sleep, it doesn’t react well to me.”

“I’M DOWNLOADING GEOMETRY DASH MELTDOWN. __ SCREECHED WHEN I SAID I WAS AND I JUST CACKLED”

“I had a bad dream, are you okay??”

“Did you fall back asleep and have another bad dream?”

“PIZZA PETE MY H E R O.”

“IT’S SEVEN AM AND I’M SPOOK.”

“SWEET DESTRUCTION”

“I’M A LOUD CLOUD OF WORRY”

“If you want less murder, try not to suck death’s dick as much.”

“IT MAY AS WELL HAVE SET FIRE TO MY ENTIRE THROAT”

“life has many doors ed boy”

“how long my erection lasts.”

“erection’s running out.”

“Old fashioned porn hub.”

“Just got done being a prostitute.”

“Subtle porno tape.”

“Deluxe porno tape.”

“Lookin fly and ready to die.”

“Psychic barber offers free glasses with every reading.”

“DID YOU HIT YOUR HEAD ON THE TABLE”

“It looks so good on you!”

“The spooky nails will have to go.”

“Goodbye, spoop soldiers.”

“Eat more.”

“let me chug this vodka and i will.”

“I await ___’s arrival.”

“I await Captain Dangus von Ballington’s arrival.”

“Okay it’s happening the alcohol is creeping up. Save me.”

“At least I can buy a happy peen.”

“Can I yell about __?”

“Mid-painting, ‘FUCK MY B A C K’. They take the picture anyway.”

“I want noodles now. I don’t want to put forth the effort though.”

“I forgot what __ is.”

“I forgot what carbonara is.”

“I GOT A FEDORA.”

“IM GOING TO MAKE CHEESE STICKS. FUCK YOUR FEDORA”

“Let me be the parental unit for your friends too.”

“Fuck it, why not.”

“No.”

“THIS IS HALLOWEEN”

“Do I do my nails or cook my cheese sticks first.”

“Don’t die.”

“Turns out you can drink a shot to Hamilton’s ‘my shot’. Like every time he says the word ‘shot’ or anyone else. You just have to be quick.”

“Hello darkness my old friend, I’ve come to talk with you again.”

“Consume manflesh.”

“what”

“Flesh of the MAN.”

“WHY.”

“It’s a lord of the rings reference!”

“I DON’T REMEMBER LORD OF THE RINGS”

“eat the flesh of anyone who upsets you”

“What have you done.”

“AM I WRONG”

“It looks like a mask on a serial killer!”

“He/she/they needs/need so much help.”

“’I got a thing for my laptop computer’. Isn’t that basically porn?”

“Go make hot chocolate. The biggest cup you can.”

“How was being a seafolk?”

“I WAS GONNA GIVE YOU AFFECTION, THAT WAS UNCALLED FOR”

“The second the friend hit zero and he started chugging, I was just grinning and went off saying ‘thanks for the free drink, babe’.”

“HE/SHE/THEY IS/ARE YELLING AT ME BECAUSE HE/SHE/THEY SAID ‘FUCK BOTH OF YOU’ AND I IMMEDIATELY SAID ‘NOT INTO THAT’.”

“WHY IS A FISH IN THE SKY. WHAT THE FUCK. THANKS OBAMA.”

“My head hurts.”

“I found out the hard way __ has no concept of bite strength. He/she/they proper bit down on my thumb and there is blood.”

“Deep breaths.”

“I hate everything.”

“-PTERODACTYL SCREECH-”

“You reminded me that I, too, have mozerella sticks in the freezer. The world is a good place.”

“I bought two packs of hot chocolate.”

“Mega hot chocolate.”

“Oh god I have to go say hi to my aunt/uncle/relative.”

“HE/SHE/THEY SMELLED LIKE DUST FOR SOME REASON TO ME AND I ALMOST COUGHED.”

“Plant cat holds my heart.”

“I want a hundred and thirty-two pancakes.”

“HELLO __ LOVE OF MY LIFE.”

“If you show me I’ll show you mine.”

“I WAS ARTING I DIDN’T ASK FOR A HEART ATTACK”

“NOW I’M SPOOP. SHIT.”

“DO I LOOK LIKE JESUS TO YOU”

“SKELETON ON A DATE.”

“The baker of baked.”

“A guardian of the galaxy and captain of the skies.”

“THREATEN TO SET HIM ON FIRE”

“I gotta screech for all eternity.”

“Is that the girl from Bioshock in the background.”

“Dipper’s book from Gravity Falls is under the couch.”

“Remember when you called me an asshole once?”

“Yeah. And I felt bad. I DON’T ANYMORE. FUCK YOU ASSHOLE. okay that was a lie i still feel bad.”

“I want __ to play the autistic guitar now so this can happen.”

“NO NOT AUTISTIC”

“the what guitar.”

“PLAY THE AUTISTIC GUITAR BOY”

“I AM AN ETERNAL FLAME, BABY”

“I do not chill.”

“Are you prepared for the pain.”

“YOU GIVE LOOOVE A BAD NAAAME”

“That pizza deserved better.”

“IT’S NOT GAY IF IT’S ON THE MOON.”

#Memes #[ Useless Lesbian Psychic ] (Out Of Character)

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anonyoungmom-blog · 7 years

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July 16, 2017

Ever read something over and get completely embarrassed about it? That just happened when I read over my previous entry. I did think about deleting the post, but I realized I wrote all those words true from my heart while in the middle of a breakdown. Why hide it?.

Today was a much better day. I picked myself up and took my son shopping with me to grab some cleaning supplies. (Side note- I think Dollar General is my new favorite store!) Once we got home I let my son and our puppy play on the porch while I got into some heavy duty mopping.

My laziness and depressive states have made me neglect the house for the past couple of days. The cats liter box was due for a change and resulted in the cat peeing on the floor of our extra bathroom.

It’s crazy how a mood can just make you forget about basic cleanliness.

But I can’t stay knocked down for long, and I have to force myself to get up. As much as cleaning is an annoyance (1 toddler, 1 puppy, 2 cats), it feels great to sit down and just know you’re in a clean home.

Tomorrow my son will go back to his therapy for two hours (5days a week) and I’m excited for that. We took a break from it last week because we went away for vacation, but had to cut it short because his sleep patterns were being too affected. I’ve noticed that his screeching has gotten worse over the past few days, and I believe it to be because he hasn’t had his therapy in his routine for this past week.

I’d just like to talk about his therapy for a moment since I got a couple of PMs asking about it. I was actually shocked to learn here on Tumblr that ABA treatment is frowned upon by most people. I had never heard about ABA until my son was diagnosed. But what I can say from my own personal experience is that my son absolutely loves going to his therapy.

We call it “school” because it’s basically like a daycare for autistic children. It’s only young kids, and they’re given a therapist to work and play with them during there time there. My son is amazingly smart with his ABCs and 123s. He can identify any letter as well as identify and count to 20, then by 10’s to 100. And he’s only 2! But while he’s at “school” they will do puzzles with him (something else he absolutely loves doing) and get him to try new words while playing.

They allow you to observe any time you want, and every time I’ve gone all I could see was my son having a blast, all while learning to communicate.

Today was a much more positive day, and I’m sad that tomorrow it’s supposed to storm here because I was thinking about bringing him to a local lake to swim. Oh well. My husband has the day off so we will see what the day brings us!~

#blog #motherhood #toddler #autism

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iamthestrangerinmoscow · 7 years

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My assignment for @autisticfanworkexchange - a fanfic for @kyrfiore

I’m sorry that I couldn’t write anything more specific, but we were matched by mods and I’m only familiar with Harry Potter. However I tried my best and I hope you will still appreciate it. Also sorry for my weird punctuation - twelve years of learning English, still can’t punctuate dialogues the English way.

“We’re Scully and Mulder”

fandom: Harry Potter

rating: PG-13/T

AU (alternative to “Nighteen Years Later”), Luna/Hermione, detective, mystery, fluff, autistic!Luna, autistic!Hermione; ~5500 words long

content warnings for: death/murder (but there’s nothing too nasty or graphic)

“They got together; wave and stone,

Verse and prose, ice and flame…”

Alexander Pushkin, ‘Eugene Onegin’

Today Hermione came back home even later than usual. Her fumbling with the door keys woke up the neighbors’ yappy dog, and she quietly cursed under her breath, as she continued to look for the keyhole in the darkness of the alleyway. The door seemed adamant about not wanting to be opened. Glancing over her shoulder to check for strangers, Hermione took out her wand and whispered ‘lumos’. A beam of white light shone from the wand, and finally she could locate the keyhole. She couldn’t just use ‘alahomora’ on this one – it was protected from unwanted entrance.

The door clicked, hissed and screeched – as if tiny gears were spinning and turning inside it. When, in the end, it opened, it revealed a small room lit by a soft, orange light. If someone was to enter it without a special key, all they would find in the house was dust and empty halls. But the muggles believed the house was abandoned years ago, so they rarely bothered to even pass by. Sometimes kids would come to explore the place, out of curiosity or for a dare, but they didn’t stay for long. For them, it wasn’t entertaining enough, simply because they never saw the truth.

Hermione closed the door behind her, and tiptoed her way into the living room. It was quiet and dark, so she assumed Luna was already asleep. She wasn’t surprised – it was already past midnight when she left the Ministry. It must have been very late now. Or very early, depending on your point of view. She dropped her heavy bag on the couch, took off her coat and boots, and headed for the kitchen. There a big plate covered by a metal lid was waiting for her on the table. Hermione smiled, took of the lid and breathed in the smell of food. One time she asked Luna what kind of magic she used for cooking. To that she replied with one word: ‘spices’.

She heated up the cold chicken curry with a silent movement of her wand and sat in the kitchen eating. All around her on the walls were paintings, paintings of rare (and sometimes imaginary) creatures, beautiful landscapes, and friendly faces. Luna’s life centered on her art, it was everywhere you looked. In the morning, right after sunrise, she was already in their garden, painting another masterpiece. Often she would draw the same picture over and over again, perfecting the technique, focusing on every tiny detail that seemed important to her. Hermione was pretty sure that, by now, their every friend had at least a few of Luna’s paintings in their house. And still, there was never a shortage. She didn’t seem to ever run out of inspiration.

After finishing her late night dinner, Hermione put the dish in the sink and tiptoed up the stairs to the bedroom. As she has guessed, Luna was in the bed, wrapped in three heavy blankets and asleep. Not bothering to change into pajamas, Hermione took off everything apart from her underwear and quietly slipped under the blankets. Luna’s sleep remained undisturbed. With a sign of relief, Hermione turned on her side and pressed her face into the soft, cool pillow. She was so tired that sleep kidnapped her mind before her thoughts came back to today’s events, and luckily so. At least the disturbing images stayed out of her dreams.

***

She woke up because something heavy was sitting on her chest. Hermione rubbed her eyes and squinted. It was Vincent – their fluffy, slightly overfed cat. She stretched, making Vincent jump from her chest and walk away on his short legs, evidently not very pleased.

As she got up and started picking a new set of clothes, Luna entered the room.

-Good morning, buttercup. – She murmured, fiddling with a lock of her hair. – Breakfast is ready.

And immediately after she turned round to leave.

-You’re not gonna ask me about yesterday? – Hermione asked.

Luna shrugged. – I’m not gonna interrogate you before your first cup of coffee. Besides, I have flowers to water. – She pointed at the shirts that Hermione held in her hands. – That one. – She said. – It is softer, and looks much better on you. Now, gotta check on those tulips.

Hermione smiled. Luna and she couldn’t have been more different. Luna was quiet and gentle, moving like a flower petal on the wind, carefully avoiding every obstacle in her way. She spoke rarely, and even when she did, her words were sometimes puzzling, sometimes outright nonsensical, but Hermione could always understand her. And Hermione spoke a lot, maybe even too much – even when exhausted beyond the point of no return, she would still create long, sophisticated monologues filled with meaning. But she always envied Luna, her creative talents, the grace in her movements… Hermione couldn’t walk across her own house without bumping into something.

The differences didn’t stop there. Hermione was order, and Luna was chaos. Hermione took the same route on her way home, every day, for the last seven years. She read the same books she had as a child, and kept her interests and obsessions for decades. Luna collected obsessions like stamps – every few months, there was something new. She loved re-decorating the house, moving the furniture around in ever so subtle ways, which sometimes pissed Hermione off. Luna resided in randomness; it seemed her world was bigger than just the objects around her. There was a universe in her mind that she didn’t share with anyone.

The golden rays of the sun were crawling slowly up the walls, highlighting every scratch and dusty surface. The air was thick and smelled of syrop and coffee beans. Hermione held her cup firmly in her hands, sipping the hot liquid. She loved her mornings: sitting near the window, eating breakfast and watching her beloved girlfriend take care of the flowers. Her house was a safe place. It was calm, quiet, and familiar – pleasantly devoid of surprises. Well, except for Luna’s eccentric decorating projects.

-Did you enjoy the waffles?

Hermione didn’t catch the moment Luna came back to the house. She was standing in front of the table, her blond hair messy and tangled, dirt under her fingernails.

-I did. – Hermione nodded, mixing her coffee absent-mindedly.

-What is bothering you? – Luna asked, and took a seat opposite her.

Once again, Hermione was surprised by Luna’s abilities to read her state of mind. Five years of living together, and she still relied on taking sneak-peaks at Luna’s mood stone. Despite sounding like a cheap fake, that trinket of her actually worked.

-The usual. – Hermione replied. – Rather nasty case in the ministry.

Hermione loved working in the Magical Law Enforcement, she truly did. But every time they sent her to be an expert on a ‘special case’, the memories would haunt her for weeks.

-Murder?

-Suspected. And nobody has any idea what might have killed him.

-Who was the victim?

-A man, Sebastian Abbey. He lived alone, no family, no friends, recently released from Azkaban after two years of service for various small crimes – not exactly a celebrated member of society. That’s probably why he was found a week after he died. No one checked on him. They aren’t sure if it has any connection with magic, they called us because he was a wizard.

-What do you think has happened? – Luna was twirling a ribbon in her hands, wrapping it around her index finger, then unwrapping, then doing it again.

-I have no idea. Couldn’t have been murder, or suicide, or natural cause. But it sure is creepy.

They climbed down the wobbly staircase, and it felt like it could break under their feet at any minute. The cellar was dark, and the smell of rotting and decay was overwhelming. The wooden floor was covered by dirt, dry leafs and old, yellow scrolls. And there, in the middle of the room, was the reason they were here – a body of a young man.

Avior, Hermione’s trainee, stood in the corner, eyes fixated on one spot. He was easily frightened and didn’t deal very well with stress, but it didn’t stop him from choosing his current job. Hermione wanted to encourage him, but she didn’t feel well herself. She almost had to force her own hand to move and direct the source of light to the victim. The dead man laid on his back on the muddy floor, his eyes closed, his skin grey and slightly wrinkled. There were no signs of trauma or struggle. In fact, he looked as if he fell asleep and passed away for no reason at all. Hermione has seen things much worse, during the war and at her work. Nevertheless, the sight was bothering her immensely.

-This place looks deserted. Like no one has lived here for years. – Avior said, cautiously taking a step forward.

-He returned from prison a month ago. – Hermione explained. – His name is, was, Sebastian.

-Did the previous team come up with any explanations?

-They haven’t got a clue. – She was waving her wand over the body, checking for any used spell. – That’s why they called us.

-Doesn’t look like a human could have done it. Could it be an animal, or a magical creature? Like a dementor.

-Dementors don’t kill. – Hermione replied. – They are only interested in the soul.

-Maybe it was an accident. I saw a cauldron in the living room. Many potions prepared improperly can kill. – He forced an awkward smile. – I was good at potions at school.

-I’m very happy for you. – She told him, only then realizing how sarcastic her tone was. – I’m sorry, Ave. I like this no more than you do.

The other workers soon arrived to take the body to a facility. They had specialists who could identify tiny traces of any substance, or any spell. Yet they discovered nothing. When they came back to the ministry, Hermione turned to the best source of comfort and knowledge she knew – a library. Her own collection was so extensive, finding the right volume was already a challenge. She spent the rest of her day with her books. She was so absorbed by the confusing, contradicting statements that her perception of time just turned off. By the time she got up from her chair, it was already late evening.

What was the mysterious force that killed a man right there, in his house, leaving no traces and no clues? She didn’t know, and it was making her feel uneasy and rather anxious.

-When lost, look for someone who is lost too. – Luna said, then got up and started picking up the dirty dishes. She hummed a tune under her breath as she guided the plates into the sink with an upward motion of her wand. – Nevil will love the asters. They are about to bloom.

Immediately, Hermione understood what Luna meant.

-You’re right. – She said. – I’ll ask Harry about it.

-Say hi to thestrals from me. – Luna added, kissing Hermione on the cheek.

And a minute later she was gone from the room.

***

The Floo network between the ministry and Hogwarts was due for a renewal decades ago, but the wizards and witches in charge of budget kept postponing it. ‘We already have the Hogwarts Express to pay for!’ they said. Hermione wondered what they would say if they had to use the system, at least once in a while. She cursed under her breath, then sneezed, and a small puff of Floo powder erupted from her nose. Trying desperately to brush it off her robe, she climbed out of the fireplace and stretched.

The Defense against the dark arts professor’s office was empty and looked rather lonely. Hermione has heard that Harry didn’t use it very often, and preferred to spend his free time in the Gryffindor common room. It made the students increasingly uncomfortable, but no one wanted to talk to him about it. Twenty years later, Harry still couldn’t take a hint.

She found him in one of the classrooms, cleaning up after some sort of magical accident. There were tiny pieces of shredded paper everywhere: some of them smoking, some already burning. Harry was leaping from one pile of paper shreds to another, distinguishing the fire with swift motions of his wand, completely absorbed by the task. Hermione giggled, but he didn’t notice. She took her own want out of her pocket, raised her arm in the air and said:

-Scourgify.

And the mess disappeared. Harry turned on the spot and looked at Hermione as if she just did something absolutely inexcusable.

-Thanks a lot. – He said, and sighed. – Now I’ll have to set it up again for the next class.

-You mean this was done on purpose?

-Of course! I am simulating a snow storm.

-You do know there is a spell that creates snow, right? – She pointed her wand upwards, and snowflakes started falling from the ceiling.

-Oh. – Harry scratched his head, rather embarrassed. – Well, paper still looks nicer.

They sat near a window and drank tea while a bunch of first year students had their broomstick flying class outside. Hermione smiled as she remembered her first try, and Harry’s ultimate triumph on that day.

-Oliver Wood comes to give a masterclass or two every year. – Harry informed her. – I go to Hogsmeade when it happens. He always makes me do a demonstration, and I hate that.

-Sure, because you can’t stand being in the center of attention, the chosen one.

-I’d love it, if I could fly as well as I used to. – He replied. – No, I’d rather stick to my own subject.

Once they have discussed all the recent news and rumors, Hermione was going to get to the purpose of her visit, but was interrupted by a girl in Ravenclaw robes sneaking into the classroom without knocking.

-Professor Potter? – She called, her hands clasped awkwardly behind her back.

-What is it, Jamie? – Harry asked.

-There are pixies in the corridor near the Clock Tower.

-No there aren’t. I checked. Twice.

-But sir, Lin and I, we saw them!

-If there were any pixies there, I would have found them. – Harry insisted. – I have been an auror, you know.

The girl giggled. – For six months.

-Have you been an auror for six months, Jamie? – He asked, a kind expression on his face.

-No. – The girl replied. – But I might be, when I grow up.

-You shouldn’t miss your classes then. Don’t you have Herbology right now?

She nodded, and turned to leave.

-Kind of tired of those pixie rumors. – Harry told Hermione when the girl closed the door behind her. – To be honest, I did hear some noise in that corridor. Hope they won’t actually find any. That would be embarrassing.

Hermione laughed. – You know, I am still a little bit shocked by the fact McGonnagal even allowed you to teach, with no experience and no recommendation letter.

-They don’t exactly have people lining up for this position. – He shrugged. – Besides, at least I do my job better than, say, a man with Voldemort on his head, or worse – Umbridge.

-Can’t argue with that. – Hermione smiled.

-So, might I ask you why you are here? – He asked. – Apart from insulting my teaching abilities.

-Oh, you should be pleased. –She replied. – I am here for your wisdom and expertise.

He listened to her speak, and not a muscle moved on his face. Harry wasn’t easily disturbed. Maybe he developed an immunity, or maybe he just learned not to show it. Once she had nothing more to say, he shook his head.

-I’m sorry, but I have no idea. My only original guess was Basilisk, or something of the kind. There is magic that leaves no trace, but I am not familiar enough with that. I can list a dozen or so of potential spells, but I don’t think it will help you.

-Right. – Hermione frowned. – I guess we’ll have to postpone the case, until more evidence resurfaces. It’s a shame though. Maybe he wasn’t a very nice guy, but he deserves justice too.

Suddenly someone burst through the door.

-Professor Potter! – It was a tall, skinny boy with a Slytherin scarf around his neck. – Pixies! Near the Clock Tower!

-How many times…

-No, they caught them now. They really did!

Harry rubbed his eyes, thinking.

-Do I have to deal with it?

-It was your son who set them free though, sir. Headmistress wants to see you.

-I’ll be there in a minute. Now go, Augustus, go.

The boy nodded and left the room.

Hermione got up. – I guess I’ll be going. James is in trouble, probably.

-Three weeks at Hogwarts, already two detentions.

-You aren’t proud?

-He caused them all by accident.

Hermione smiled, but covered her mouth. – Like father, like son.

Harry didn’t react.

-Okay then, I’m gonna go see Neville. Luna gave me some aster seeds for him.

***

There were many things Hermione disliked: cruelty, hypocrisy, itchy sweaters, lukewarm tea… the list went on. However one thing never failed to ruin her emotional stability – uncertainty. Ambiguity. Mystery. When asked a question, she would spend her every waking moment thinking about it, until the answer was clear to her. People thought of her as an obnoxious know-it-all, but the truth was, absence of knowledge simply made her incredibly uncomfortable, so she strived to fill that vacuum. The problem began when a question existed, but nobody knew the answer. That’s when her need for certainty would get on her nerves.

She was biting her nails again, curled up in an armchair, and Luna noticed how tense and uncomfortable she looked. A minute later she was there with a warm blanket and a tin of sweets.

-Take one. – She said, opening the tin.

-My parents would be furious if they knew you are feeding their beloved daughter pure sugar.

-But they aren’t here. – Luna replied, and took one to demonstrate. – They taste like mint and lemon.

Hesitating for a second, Hermione took a sweet as well. Maybe it’s not very good for her teeth, but at least she isn’t biting her nails anymore. She wrapped herself in the blanket that Luna brought and made room for her in the big armchair.

-You look stormy. – Luna said. – Like a cloud when it’s about to rain. What’s on your mind?

-Oh, you know. The case. It’s bothering me so much! I just need to know what it was.

-Maybe it was tacita interfectorem. – She suggested. – It’s a wild spirit, lives under the ground, hides in there at night: in mole tunnels and in between the roots of trees. It doesn’t usually attack people, but when it does, they die instantly, and there is no trace. Blink of an eye, and that’s it.

-I appreciate your effort, but I doubt it was an imaginary creature.

-They are as imaginary as nargles. – Luna told her, slightly offended.

-Exactly my point. – Hermione nodded.

For a moment, they were silent.

-I wonder if the flavor of the quarks is a nice flavor or not. – Luna said, suddenly changing the subject. – I think their colors are pretty.

-What are you talking about? – Hermione asked.

-The quarks. The tiny things that electrons and protons and photons are made of.

One of the muggle sciences, quantum physics, was Luna’s latest obsession. She would go on for hours about the properties of Higg’s bosons and particle-wave duality of light, and to Hermione it sounded indistinguishable from her usual tales and fantasies. She found it hard to believe that those unfamiliar with magic could take these peculiar ideas and call them science, but then she saw Luna write a rather complex equation right on the living room table, and it changed her mind. She wasn’t surprised that out of all people Luna took interest in the area, and managed to make sense of it. She was a true Ravenclaw after all.

-Quarks have a spin, a color, a flavor and strangeness. And some other properties, too. I’ve told you about it a week ago, when we were outside in the garden.

-Yes, I remember. – Hermione told her. – And I still don’t understand it.

-Want to know a secret? – She asked, then leaned closer and whispered in her ear: - Nobody does. And if they say they do, they are lying.

Then Luna laughed, and her laughter was clear and melodic, like tiny bells ringing. It made Hermione feel warm and fuzzy.

-What did Harry say? Did he help you? – Luna asked, returning back to point.

-Not really. But I’m glad I talked to him. And being at Hogwarts was nice. Things are really changing there, in terms of equality. He said that back in April Slytherin students had to stay in other dorms because there was a stink problem at the dungeons again, and barely anyone protested.

-Was it Peeves that ruined their dorms?

-I think it’s just a natural thing. Maybe one day they will have to rebuild the whole building. Wouldn’t be a bad idea. The sewers definitely need a renewal – there’s a skeleton of a huge deadly snake somewhere in there.

-Are you gonna keep investigating?

Hermione sighed. – I don’t know. I think we will have to leave it unsolved.

-Okay. – Luna said. – Do you want to listen to the radio?

-With pleasure.

They sat in the armchair together, wrapped in one blanket, with Vincent on Luna’s lap, and listened to Lee Jordan go on about the crisis in the broomstick industry – and in that moment, no evil existed in the world, or at least not in their home.

***

Sometimes Luna’s mind would play tricks on her. Sometimes her wild imagination kept her awake at night. She had a tendency to be haunted by the ghosts of the pasts. She found it hard to let go of old fears and heartbreaks. To this day every time she saw someone laughing, her first thought would be ‘they are laughing at me’. Hermione couldn’t relate. For her anxieties of the future were more common, and much more bothersome. But she always tried to support her the best way she could.

Luna woke up mere minutes before the first rays of sunrise touched the windows. She tossed and turned trying to fall asleep again, but it only made her feel worse. With a sigh she gently poked Hermione’s arm, and she immediately woke up, and looked at her, her eyebrows frowned.

-What is it? – Hermione asked.

Luna made a high-pitched, distressed noise. Words were difficult for her to process when she was worried.

-Dreams. Bad dreams. – Luna said, finally.

Hermione rubbed her eyes and glanced at the clocks. Six fifty three in the morning. There was no point in going back to sleep now.

-Dreams about what?

-Things that never was, never have been. – Luna told her, squeezing Hermione’s hand. – Parallel universes.

-Parallel universes?

-Yes. Other worlds, worlds that don’t look like ours. Foreign, and cursed. Not all of them, just the ones I saw.

-How can parallel worlds exist?

Luna blinked, gathering her thoughts. – They keep separating, with every decision that we make. Sometimes they are kind, and beautiful. Sometimes they are wrong. I saw a world where we never met, where you, and Ron, and Harry, and Neville haven’t been my friends. It was lonely. I don’t like lonely.

-Well, you aren’t alone now. – Hermione assured her, and they embraced.

-We’re Scully and Mulder, and we need each other. – Luna said.

Hermione smiled. – Sure, if you want to believe.

And together they watched the world drown in pallid pink shades of the young dawn.

***

Hermione looked to her right, then to her left, then to her right again. On one side of the table laid an enormous stack of parchment, her neat handwriting all over it. On the other was a second, even bigger stack, of blank parchment. It didn’t seem to diminish no matter how much time she spent working on it. And it was nearly lunch break.

Suddenly her decision to help everyone in the department seemed not very wise. She was trying to be nice, get people to like her, but now she just had a headache from all the paperwork. Perhaps she should turn people down, tell them to do their part themselves, but then they would dislike her even more. She stretched, and got up from the table. She will feel better after a break.

Before she had time to return to her self-appointed duties, there was a knock on the door. ‘Weird’, Hermione thought. Usually she didn’t have any visitors in the middle of the day, unless something bad has happened. And she definitely didn’t need any more bad in her life right now. Cautiously, she opened the door leading to her office.

Behind it was a short woman, casually dressed, with very long hair and dark circles under her eyes. She hid her hands in her pockets and coughed.

-Excuse me? – Hermione wasn’t sure about what to say. – Are you looking for something, or someone?

-Mmmm, yes. – The woman replied. – Can I come in?

Hermione shrugged. – I guess.

-Thank you. – She stepped over the threshold and closed the door behind her. – I’m Ruby, Ruby Whittaker. I’m here to collect the personal possessions of Sebastian Abbey.

-Oh. – Suddenly Hermione felt weak and pale, as if she alone was responsible for the man’s murder. – Are you his family member?

-Friend, or at least we used to be friends. We weren’t that close. – She quickly added.

-I’m sorry for your loss. – Hermione told her, as the only socially acceptable thing she knew for this situation. – Want a cup of tea?

-Sure. – Ruby said, taking a free seat near Hermione’s table.

‘Drinking tea is such a British thing’, Hermione thought to herself, mixing the brown liquid in her cup. ‘In case of emergency, put the kettle on’. She liked it though. There was something calming about the whole ritual, from boiling the water to adding milk and sugar. It brought confidence.

-I do not have the possessions here. – Hermione said. – We’ll have to descend two levels down for that. But I can talk to you about… it, answer any questions you might have.

Ruby was rather occupied by the photos on Hermione’s table: one with Ron and Parvati, one with Neville and Hannah, and the one where Harry and Ginny stood with all three of their kids, waving at the camera together.

-Are you Hermione Granger? – She asked, scratching her nose.

-Yes, yes I am. – She nodded.

-I have read that book about you all. I didn’t believe most of it, but I must say – your contribution to winning the war will never be forgotten.

Hermione felt awkward. It has been a lot of time since it happened, and less and less people would bring it up. This has been the first time in months.

-I was a second year student when it happened. I wanted to stay and fight but we were all evacuated. Sat it out safely while so many people died. It is sad. I just want you to know that people remember and people are grateful.

-Thank you. – Hermione finally made herself say something. She sipped her tea, hoping that part of the conversation was now over. – So, do you have any questions about the investigation?

-Not really. – Ruby replied. – I don’t have illusions about Seb. He was never a lawful citizen. It’s a shame though. He was a great student, brilliant at transfiguration. But he used his talents in the wrong way. He would sell transfigured stuff at the Diagon Alley for a lot of money, and as soon as the “happy customer” would come back home, the trinkets would turn back into a piece of rusty metal or something like that. He made a fortune on that. Too bad they took it all away when he went to Azkaban.

-Not all people have enough good in them. – Hermione said. – Doesn’t mean they deserve to die.

-Oh no, I’m not saying he deserved death. But I am not surprised he ended up like that. I really tried to help him, but he didn’t want my help. He just wanted more gold. – Ruby sighed. – I missed being his friend. I remember our time in the Hufflepuff dorm rooms, sharing secrets, exchanging chocolate frog cards. Good times.

Ruby looked up and saw a big Hogwarts banned hanging on the wall.

-I see you are nostalgic too. – She smiled.

-A little bit. – Hermione agreed.

-Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandes. – Ruby read. – Funny thing, I still don’t know what that means.

-It means ‘don’t tickle a sleeping dragon’. – Hermione explained. – It’s Latin.

-Latin?

-Yes, like ‘veni vidi vici’, or ‘homo homini lupus est’, or… - Suddenly she felt as though a light bulb lit up in her mind. – Or ‘tacita interfectorem’. – She murmured.

-What does that mean?

-Silent killer. It means silent killer. – Hermione got up. – Sorry, I need to go now. Knock on someone else’s door, they can lead you to the right place.

And without a reply, she stormed off. As she ran across the corridors, thoughts swarmed once again in her head, pieces of a puzzle assembling into one picture. Everything made sense now: the pale grey skin, the horrible smell, even Luna’s comment. She practically forced her way into Avior’s office, and he nearly chocked on a slice of pie.

-Lunch is over. – She told him. – We’re going to the crime scene.

Apparition didn’t go that well for Avior – a patch of his hair was removed in the process. Now, while Hermione examined every corner of the building, he stood in front of a dirty mirror and scratched the back of his head.

-You’re okay? – Hermione asked, passing by with a wand in her hand.

-Sure. – He didn’t sound very convincing. – I wanted to get a haircut anyway.

-I think we need to go down there again.

He nodded, wrapping himself in his coat for comfort. ‘Should have taken that job in an ice cream shop’ he said to himself as they climbed down the same wobbly staircase.

-It should be here somewhere. – Hermione seemed to be sniffing the air in the room, very focused on her task.

-What?

-Silent killer! Ugh, I should have known from the beginning. It’s obvious!

-Not to me.

She turned around and looked him in the eyes. – H2S, hydrogen sulfide. It’s a colorless, poisonous gas. It can kill in a minute, and it leaves no trace. Except for the smell.

-The smell?

-The smell of rotting eggs. It must be somewhere in here, that’s where we found him. – One more minute of searching, and finaly success. – Aha! – She exclaimed. – Here. – And she beckoned Avior with her finger.

He came closer and cautiously sniffed the air, then immediately made a step back.

-It’s disgusting.

-We better move away. – Hermione added, stepping back as well.

-How can you breathe that in for a whole minute?!

-Your nervous cell start to die – after ten seconds, you don’t even smell it anymore.

-Huh. – He scratched his head, which reminded him of the bold patch. – So he must ‘ave been trying to fix something in there, breathed in too much, and died.

-This thing leads straight to a container filled to the brim with garbage. Perfect conditions for the gas to be produced.

-So there is no murdered then?

-No. It was an accident.

They paused. The whole event still seemed rather tragic.

-It’s not pointless. – Avior said, when they were back upstairs. – This house was already bought. If you didn’t solve this mystery, the next owners could have died as well, or people who came to clean that thing. You saved their lives.

-Thanks. – Hermione replied. – But it wasn’t me who solved it.

-No?

-It was my girlfriend.

***

The evening was pitch black and unusually warm. Outside dozens of moths flew in circles around a lamp, pushing and fighting for a better spot, looking for god knows what. The kitchen smelled of cinnamon and ginger – Luna was making an apple pie. She hummed a tune under her nose, hoping from one spot to another. Hermione sat opposite her, knitting a hat, or maybe a sock. She wasn’t sure yet. It didn’t really matter anyway, she just liked the sensation of having the soft material in her hands, and the motion of the fingers.

-I wanna go feed squirrels tomorrow. – Luna said, adding some last pinches of spices into the dough.

-No problem. – Hermione told her.

-If we feed them tomorrow, October will be sunny and not too dull.

-What about the birds?

-The birds can feed themselves. They are wizards and witches too.

-Really? – Hermione couldn’t help but smile.

-Not all of them. Robins are, and so are magpies and crows. But not sparrows. No, that’s silly.

The pie was in the oven, and Luna joined Hermione in her seat. Every now and then they would share a kiss, or laugh at a silly joke, or simply look at each other, and see sparks in each other’s eyes. Hermione was never good at feelings, but she knew one thing – this is where she belonged. With another person, in her own house, where it was safe to be who she is.

-What kind of baby names do you like? – Luna asked, completely out of the blue.

-You want kids?

-One day. I like flowery names, like Lilly. Could we name our kid Lilly?

-That’s what Harry’s daughter is called.

-Right. – Luna frowned. – Okay then, what about Poppy?

-That’s our old school nurse, Madam Pomfrey.

-Hmmm. – Luna paused, then smiled. – I know! Rose.

-Rose?

-Yeah, Rose. It’s a lovely name, isn’t it?

-Sure it is. – Hermione agreed. – We will call our daughter Rose then.

-Uh-hu. – Luna confirmed. – We can come up with more names later.

Hermione nodded, and continued to knit.

The world could be a nasty place sometimes, but it had nice things too, and it was hers – or, rather, theirs. And their world was bright, complicated, exciting and absolutely, mind-blowingly beautiful.

#long post #mattie on tumblr

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in-paradox-space · 5 years

Text

That dream keeps coming back to me.

Everything I do, I think of it.

I was in an evening class that I’m taking this year. I was late at usual, I always miss education. I don’t show up half the time. So I had to write down and retain every single thing that was being said.

I have to catch up from what is implied in the context. I also have to work to compensate for what I’ll miss in my next absent lesson.

Quickly jotting down and scribbling. In pencil. It’s messy. Watching the teachers movements, she didn’t want us to write at that point but I had to retain it.

This girl next to me, she was crying. I must’ve known for a while but it’s all hazy.

Fat girl, same age, wearing a white shirt. Kind of like a school shirt.

I didn’t even process the fact that she was fat in the dream. Maybe the subconscious of my subconscious picked it up but I wasn’t acknowledging it for a second.

I knew I had just 5 minutes to quickly write everything I had to and more until the lesson began properly. Comprehending it and shortening to keywords, underlining the pieces that I’d need to learn later.

I knew she was crying. She was at my right side, next to me. She was on the end of the long extension of 2 person table/desks. Typical white classroom, those curved, hard plastic chairs. It’s like a white, hard, wooden/plastic table with that little pebble-dashed pale grey pattern on it. The window was to the right, behind her. It lead onto a kind of road, in my dream the room for the classroom was in an industrial area but that’s just how it goes.

That’s just how it goes.

So, I knew I needed to do my work. I also knew it was my duty to try to make sure she’s alright.

I ignored her for about a minute, tried to prioritize what I wrote. I was thinking, I’ll speak to her afterwards.

The classroom kept going on, I felt guilty, sort of conscious that other people may notice that I’m just ignoring this girl who is in tears, in tatters.

I glanced at her to assess the situation.

White shirt collar, open kind of wide in a comfortable, unrestricted manner. She had some bits of pink fleece and grey kind of high school jumper material, mixed together in dream fog. I don’t know if I saw her with a white shirt on because it’s an association from high school or if that’s just what her style is like.

She had lightish brown hair, the kind that looks like a matte, disheveled grey. It’s not technically grey, it’s brown. Not like old grey. I would tell everyone that their hair is grey - when I was younger - because to me it only looks like grey. If you put them next to someone with brown hair they look different. They didn’t like it when I said their hair looks grey. They said it’s brown; that baffled me. I didn’t understand why nobody acknowledged it

but yeah, in that sunlight it looked grey; a little greasy and sort of held back in a bobble.

She was absolutely balling her eyes out. Folder and papers on a desk, her face is slipping in and out of her hand, bottom lip opening and closing in the air to make way for the sound of her incessant crying.

I knew I couldn’t ignore it, but I went back to writing it down. My undereyes kept tensing, it was maybe painful. Knowing that I’m actively ignoring her while I hear her cries meshing in to the humdrum of the classroom.

I dropped my pen onto the desk; I couldn’t ignore it. I asked her what’s up? She kept on crying. Normally I wouldn’t do this but it was a dream, I put my arm around her, let her know she’s not alone through human contact. I asked “what’s wrong? Are you okay?” (something like that) my arm resting into the light squishiness of her back, hand growing warmer on her shoulder. She couldn’t really get the words out, ‘its just’, still sobbing and hiding her face. I was telling her its ok, trying to comfort her. My chair was touching hers, I was embracing her from my side.

So she told me something like: ‘your writing. It’s so perfect. The grammar. There’s not a single problem with your grammar, how is it so flawless. You know just what to write, you’re so smart’. My handwriting was a total mess. It was like a bomb hit the page. Like I was writing it on a bus. Just some keywords, messy underlinings and a couple of quick half-sentences. There was hardly any grammar there. I think she was referring to the Korean writing though (it’s a Korean class I go to at uni once a week). I’m a fresh beginner. I had a tiny bit of practice from home, like 2 months of here and there home studying before the course. It’s a little more familiar to me than most of the others and I’ve picked up on that.

I don’t exactly know what she was implying, but I was embracing her to the point where it was basically 1/3 of a hug. I do think, however, she was implying she’s absolutely terrible at it and that was the reason she was crying. She must have had very low self esteem and felt more insecure and hopeless that she wasn’t picking it up that easily. Now that I think of it, she reminds a little of, my older sister, just a bit, a girl called Catherine I used to go to college with, who liked Minecraft lets plays, FNAF and was quite autistic. She struggled with studies and had super low self esteem. She could work untold wonders with a passion and uniquely shaped mind like hers though.

well, I was taken aback by that. I wasn’t sure what to say, ‘uh no it isn’t.’ ‘yours is a lot better’, I know nothing about her so I cant say that. I didnt know how to ask if thats the problem, I was thinking what to say. I couldnt use icebreaker questions and small talk because it was an awful time for it. She was devastated, I was slightly wondering if she went through something awful recently. It seems like her perception was telling her she had no use in the world.

I was looking at my book, at my desk, attention divided towards her, wondering what my next move would be. I was trying to comfort her, but failing. She was going into panic mode, gasping on her tears, she pulled out some herbal supplements from her bag. I recognized the bottle as Nature’s Best, I thought they was 5-htp which I bought. People use them for depression and anxiety because they turn into serotonin. It was something else, the tablet was a see-through grey like cod liver oil pods but not orange. She drank it or put it into some cereal looking travel mug container idek its a blur whatever. It was a response to her attack, it seemed, anyway.

I thought great, that’s something we can bond on in order to get talking. I was like hey, I use supplements from them too. Natures Best, right? She got her red bag and said I’m sorry, wiping away her tears, she swiftly walked out of the door behind us, down the classroom. Then left, with her pinkish smoky coloured fleecy top. Walking and jogging slowly into the empty road, grey skies, damp from previous rainfall, in the industrial zone. The ones where there’s still houses and buildings to rent but the view is just of grey spiky fences and overgrown abandoned lots.

I was going to chase her, I looked at the teacher, asked if I could go. She looked frustrated said no. dont go. I decided teacher knows best and it’d be foolish not to listen to her.

looking back, I think the girl was a metaphor for my sister, or all the girls I’ve hurt. Hurt with my ignorance, with, idk just how I am. Maybe because I try so hard to look good and impress people, so I dont feel embarrassed or ashamed of myself or whatever, it works. Maybe they believe I’m actually as amazing as i try to seem and that makes them inferior. Maybe I don’t notice because im just trying to make sure I dont come off as sleazy, maybe i dont notice how they actually feel bc im just thinking of myself. I’ve also been fairly abusive to my sister as well. She was on the chubby side, kind of looked like that in school, cried a lot. I mean, I had my reasons for being that way, she was hard to live with but, if we actually need to blame anyone which we dont, my mother should have resolved the issues we all had with each other. Now, they’ve lived on into adulthood and we have to assume how to fix them ourselves.

or, when I’m asleep at that time, my baby nephew, one and a half, is always crying and crying AND SCREAMING AND SOBBING AND EXCLAIMING A CRYING SCREAM OF DREAD, ANGUISH, PAIN AND SUFFERING. It’s Hellish. I was at a friends house, sleeping in a comfy, cozy, quiet bed away from any noise. There was no babies crying but, every single morning without dread, I hear him screaming and howling like a jackal. So when I’m in that deep sleep state of mind, the pathways of my brain must now be wired to accommodate for the tormented squealing of his tire-screeching wails.

So, idk, there was crying, in my subcionscious and it was associated with my sister. Associated with idk, chubby girls with brown hair, who i probably see as struggling with mental tasks such as academia. Whether they lack the knowledge and capabalities or not, they certainly lack the mindset, the self belief and perseverance to keep trying... which in turn yields the same result as being incapable, if not to them then to their perception of self and world. . So, she was crying, and I think it’s a metaphor for both what my negative impact is on my baby nephew and thus, his mother, my sister. She walked out the door, she left our moment together because she idk, she didn’t want to experience any of that. She was hyperventilating crying and just wanted out of the situation; maybe to cry and be sad. Or to do something she realized she had to do, for herself or whatever.

I basically saw that as her quitting the course and giving up for good instead of trying. Then, I knew I had to chase her. I was fully ready to go run out that door, go through a very emotional chat and get to the bottom of everything. Inspirational speech, help her with whatever troubles. Assure her that she’s great, reflect her good side to her. Calm down her breathing rate, crack a quick joke to remind her what laughter feels like and walk her back into class.

Yet, the teacher was cross, sternly shook her head and briefly instructed me not to before continuing her lecturing. She knew I’d missed enough already and wasn’t going to just tell me to miss more because one student has disrupted the workflow. Rightly so, I understood and respected her judgement, yet my heart still felt for her. I kept peering out of my window, into the light glowed up in the poofiness of the lighter clouds, covering all trace of blue on the horizon.

So in conclusion, the crying girl was a metaphor for my family, all of those I need to look out for, compromise with and help move forward. The teacher instructing me to use mind over mood, discipline myself and focus on work is my ambition. My desire for a better life, the knowing that I need to sacrifice my desires, my relationships and even often my conscience for the greater good of my future. Of my ambitions, of my businesses, of my legacy, of what I’ll leave behind, for my self. Otherwise... I’ll be stuck crying with them, gawking at the more admirable traits that others have as opposed to myself.

If I was to chase her, I’d be walking away in the same direction with her. All you can really do is hope she straightens up herself, otherwise, the other option would be doing nothing.

So, that’s what I think that is. I had that dream when I drifted back to sleep after 1pm, monday, 21st Oct 2019. It’s all I could think about all day that day. A fat girl crying. I was jaded all day. Contemplative, even when I got home, I lay in bed, i felt ill after being around pets the whole weekend, eating literally uncountable masses of junk food. I kept sighing mentally, thinking back to the girl who kept sobbing to my right, I didn’t notice she was chubby until after when I reflected. I felt responsible. Then the day after (today) I was thinking of it.

Then, this evening, just today. I was in the classroom, late as usual. I creeped in, teacher talking about many points. Straight away my pad and pen was out, scribbling. I noticed after a while, a kinda chubby girl, brown hair (actually vibrant in colour though), colorful fleece, was to my right. She was on the corner part of the table, no more chairs to the right. She seemed completely emotionally intact, however.

I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Every note I made I felt bad. I felt guilty. I felt scared, that maybe I’d upset her. I didn’t want to dominate her subliminally. I did know a little extra stuff like conjugations that hadn’t been taught yet and I was writing those down, wondering if she’s noticed. I couldn’t handle it, I looked at her pad, I had to compliment her. It must have been a sign, a vision, that came in a dream. I even considered asking her what she was doing at that time, when the dream occurred, I considered telling her about the dream. All sorts of forward things to strike a conversation with.

In the end, at breaktime, I asked her name. Straight away told her “your writing is so neat. Oh my God. How is your handwriting so neat? That’s unbelievable, wow!”. It was actually incredibly neat by the way I’ll proclaim that right now. Especially the hangul characters, they’re unfamiliar for us pretty much. They was small, spaciously together, in correct proportions, no lines bending the wrong way. When I write them wow, one is too big, a middle vowel will take up the bottom then i sort of squash the last really big consonant underneath, overlapping to the below line. It’s all disproportionate, just a mess... and thats just the English writing.

So yeah, I didn’t tell her any of that dream stuff or whatever. We got talking. She’s doing third year maths at the uni. Took the course to bump her credits up which improves her overall grade. So she’s been taking it very seriously, she said she went over every single word in the textbook last night. She wants to pass. She’s clearly strong willed, intellectual, all the admirable treats. Very admirable indeed. Her favorite number is 7, mainly because she’s born on a 7th day. She enjoys graph theory in maths, dropped mechanics but did pure and statistics, then told me a bunch of stuff about maths i didnt understand but im the one who inquired so it’s kind of what I get. she also knows her runescape fairly well, but we both grew ambitions in the real world which took over, it seems.

we certainly broke the ice a little bit. I probably wouldn’t have even chatted to her without that dream. I’ll get to know her more again next time.

#personal #text post #lucid #dreams #z #dream

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