#the way she sucks at social cues and often takes over conversations by talking about herself? theres no way shes neurotypical

[lanawinterscigarettes]

Me, only four episodes into the vampire diaries: yeah caroline is def autistic for sure

#there is no way you can look at me and tell me she isnt #the way she sucks at social cues and often takes over conversations by talking about herself? theres no way shes neurotypical #as an autistic person i refuse to take criticism bc im correct #the vampire diaries #tvd #caroline forbes #tvd caroline #autistic #autism #tvd headcanon #mosses random thoughts

[queerfox-tales]

Now that my brain has some juice flowing again, I can finally try to write this out and maybe get some inputs.

Misunderstanding social cues vs disrespect

About a month back, I saw a back and forth conversation on social media that got me thinking. It started with person 1 asking a question and person 2 simply sharing their view. Person 1 was interested in exchanging different views so they continued the conversation. At some point, person 1 starts telling person 2 to stop. To stop asking about x (a personal question only somewhat relevant to the topic) and to stop responding with arguments. They were simply done with the conversation and letting the person know. Person 1 expresses both things a few times but person 2 doesn't stop. They keep adding arguments to the exchange. So person 1 becomes frustrated and makes that clear. Person 2 then claims that they were confused because they struggle with social cues.

I also had a similar interaction with someone who continued pushing a topic after being told to stop and claimed to have struggles with social interaction clues.

So I'm wondering: if clues aren't being relied on and the person literally tells another in a direct, clear manner to stop, on multiple occassions in different ways in case the previous time wasn't clear, can the 2nd person truly still claim being confused by social cues? At what point is it plain disrespect?

I myself have struggled with social cues precisely because people would not tell me what was okay and not. I've heard similar from many others including the exact person who refused to stop telling about x after I had directly asked them to stop multiple times. They saw the comment. They responded to it and still continued to push the topic.

So that was my 1st branch of thinking. My 2nd relates to the conversation that did not involve me where person 2 says that even though they saw person 1 saying to stop, they assumed that person 1's non-short response was a sign to continue.

My initial response was "but they said stop so you stop" but then I started thinking, in general social contexts (forget serious sexist/racist/etc. issues right now), do we take direct statements over social cues or do social cues wins? I thought of several scenarios (most of which I forgot by now sadly but I'll try to recall some) and it seems that it's almost 50:50. Whichever is negative is the one we're told to follow.

Ex 1: we hang out with someone we view as a friend. They don't text us often and don't talk much even in person but they've told us directly something like "I like you. We're friends". Society says we need to follow the social cues indicating that we are not actually friends rather than their statement. This is emphasized in the dating scene especially with men and women. If the woman is quiet but tells him she's interested, she's lying. You can say it's believed simply due to the crappy men out there but then why would society tell us the same applies to other relations?

Not let's look at the opposite. Someone hangs out with us a lot, calls a lot, talks to us a lot. They also tell us more or less "you suck. Why do I spend time with you? I don't even like you". And they truly mean it. This isn't in the friends being mean way. So we're told that their statement is what is true.

It makes no sense. There's no clear rule except "whichever hurts you is true". I feel like most to all of us subconsciously know this but don't truly realise it. It's a shame I can't recall my other examples cuz it got interesting. No wonder so many of us think everyone secretly hates us. We're literally indirectly told by society that any negative clue is the winner. That that's the real truth no matter how many positive signs there may be. No matter what the person may say. Like OMG. Except society won't admit it and they say it's low self-esteem or simply anxiety or this and that. That's not to say those aren't involved as well but I'm doubting they're the root of this negative thinking.

Anyway, so ya. To anyone who manages to read this, I'd love input if you have any.

#neurodiversity #neurodivergent #disrespectful #society #bullshit #thoughts #questions #random rant #small rant #negative thinking #social cues #social games #respect #misunderstanding

[maybeacrowdedmind]

My Headcanoned Autistic Characters Part 1:

After seeing that people enjoyed my post on autistic characters both canon and headcaoned by yours truly, I decided to go into a little more detail about the characters I see as being autistic and why. So let part 1 commence!

Parker - Leverage:

I first started watching Leverage when I was about 11 or 12 years old. Prior to seeing Parker, I had never seen a book or tv show/movie character who was like me and not being made the butt of every joke. Parker is an extremely literal character in both her speech and her mannerisms. She is also very blunt and doesn't speak in metaphors; she simply says what she means. She also gets very excited over things that the other characters don't seem to get (like her love of Christmas and Santa Claus) and she is frustrated when things don't go how they are supposed too. Furthermore, Parker is shown to freak out when the plan goes wrong, and she is also often shown to say something socially "off" and have the other characters explain to her that just because it's true, doesn't always mean you should say it. However, despite having so many autistic traits that autistic people and characters are often shamed for, the rest of the team is accepting of her, and while they tease her, they do it in the same way with everyone. I still remember how happy I felt to finally see a character onscreen who was so similar to me, who was allowed to have agency and wasn't there to be the laughingstock of the Leverage team. Now, I can't remember which episode it was season and episode wise, but one of my favorites was the one where Parker has to wear the heavy shoes to match the mark's gait so she doesn't trip off the sensors, and when practicing, she starts freaking out because it doesn't feel right. As a person with extreme sensory issues, scenes like that mean a lot to me, because rather than have Hardison get upset with her or tell her to suck it up, he helps keep her calm and helps her to manage it comfortably.

Anya Jenkins - Buffy the Vampire Slayer:

Anya is another character whose way of speaking is very similar to mine. She is also very blunt, and speaks unabashedly and in a brutally honest manner. Anya also doesn't understand how the human world works because she is/was a vengeance demon. Now, I'm not a vengeance demon turned human (or am I?), but I am an autistic person living in a neurotypical world that I don't really get. Anya also does not understand social cues or what having a filter means as evidenced by the fact that she often talks about stuff that is not "socially acceptable" to talk about, which I can definitely relate to (throwback to when I brought up that being a Communist would be way better than being a N**i at prom, effectively bringing the conversation to a screeching halt. It's a long story). As such, I see her as autistic, because again, I see myself in several of her mannerisms.

Mabel Pines - Gravity Falls:

I know for a fact that I'm not the only person who sees the mystery twins as autistic. I mean, to me, it's obvious, especially with Mabel. Mabel is an enthusiastic girl, whose special interests range from Sev'ral Timez to golf to arts and crafts. When she goes after something, she does so wholeheartedly and doesn't care if other people try to dissuade her. Mabel is also shown to have a great love for things staying the same, like her and Dipper going trick or treating and both of them staying together after the summer, and she gets both upset and sad when things change. Mabel is unafraid to be herself, but still takes hurtful comments to heart. A good example of this is when Pacifica tells Mabel that she is too silly and will never be taken seriously, leading Mabel to try to act different than her natural self for the remainder of the episode until the end. This is very similar to autistic people being told that the way they exist is incorrect due to not being NT and leading them to mask when around other people. Lastly, Mabel shows self-stimulatory behavior and comfort stims by going to sweater town.

Dipper Pines - Gravity Falls:

Like his twin, Dipper has a special interests, primarily mysteries and conspiracy theories. He spends a lot of time compiling information on these topics and is extremely knowledgeable of them. Dipper doesn't want to be seen as different from others, like Wendy and her friends, and tries to hide things like trick or treating from them. This is relatable to me because it is very similar to masking. Dipper tries to seem mature and cool to fit in with his friends, which reminds me a lot of myself when I was younger and would mask in order to be accepted by my friends (I'm currently trying to unlearn masking tendencies because my way of naturally existing is not an inconvenience and neither is the natural existence of anybody reading this). Dipper also stims, by chewing on his pens and shirt, and when something is important to him (like hacking the code on the computer) he very quickly becomes fixated on it, which is another thing I do all the time.

That's all for now; I'll post part 2 soon, either later today or tomorrow so keep an eye out. If you have any characters you've headcanoned as autistic, let me know in the replies. I'd love to see other characters people relate to. Also, if you could please check out the post I made in regards to my sister and the fundraising she's doing for a service dog and reblog it, that would be greatly appreciated.

#actually autistic #autistic character headcanon #autistic headcanon #autistic rep is important #leverage #parker #buffy the vampire slayer #btvs #anya jenkins #gravity falls #mabel pines #dipper pines #mystery twins #part one of two

[halinski]

Red Light, Green Light

I lost the original ask when I tried to post the other day but thankfully I had this saved! Thank you to the anon who sent this!! It was a great challenge and obviously it took me a long while (so I hope you’re still around!) but I’m actually quite happy with it :D I might finally be gaining some confidence with writing hehe lots of thanks to @kcfriedchicken​ for always putting up with me and cheering me on, and also to @livinginfictions​ for the thorough beta!! <3

[Read on AO3]

Derek blinked lazily at the clock on Stiles' desk, wishing he could close his eyes and keep dozing, pretend he hadn't seen how late it was getting because that meant putting an end to this. But...an alpha missing out or being late to his own pack meeting would not do. Especially if he popped up around the same time as Stiles, both of them smelling distinctly of each other.

No. This...whatever it was—well, relationship, yes, in a way—it was just theirs for now. Stiles’ and his. They hadn't put a name to it, mostly because Derek feared to bestow a cursed title upon Stiles. Connections like this generally ended badly. But this was something that was just theirs, safe and secure behind four walls, or car doors. For now.

Another minute ticked by, striking Derek's ears, drawing attention to the impatient little black hands, swinging further on and on, tempting Derek to dig his claws into the plastic and tear it apart, as if that would eradicate the concept of time so that he could continue to lie here with Stiles on his shoulder. If that was all his life consisted of from this day forward, Derek wouldn't mind. He'd always seen himself bleeding to death at the hands of an enemy, enduring inexplicable pain but now... 

He could spend eternity here in Stiles' room, on his tiny bed, and not be bothered at all, or alternatively, and more realistically, die happy on the spot in a good way.

He was half tempted to go public with their...relationship but it also made the fear of vulnerability stir inside his chest. It was one thing to have Stiles see his cracks and edges: to let him soothe them like balm in privacy, but revealing this thing with Stiles would mean letting the rest of the world know about his weakness. He knew the pack didn't mean him any harm, and yet...

Derek was working on giving the softness inside him space. It was a work in progress.

He sighed, another tick and tock of a minute having gone by, the planned event creeping closer. Stiles snuffled against Derek's shoulder at the sound, rubbing his scent into the worn grey shirt. His arm re-adjusted around Derek's torso.

"If you keep up with that all my shirts are gonna be shoulder free - but only on the right side," Derek said, amused and hell, proud even, at how quickly so many wolf-like behaviors had grown on Stiles; faster than anyone else in the pack, when he wasn't even a wolf. It spoke volumes of Stiles' understanding. Sure, he had been tactile from the start, searching for contact, and Derek had seen the hugs and shoulder pats he shared with his dad but this...it just felt right.

Derek was glad the human's eyes were closed because the smirk he was wearing may have been closer to a smile, and he didn't dare encourage Stiles’ ideas further. If he gave his cheesy thoughts too much room he would ruin their balanced give and take. They both found a necessary challenge in the other. Derek couldn't just surrender.

"You can buy new ones," Stiles mumbled, not caring to lift his head even the slightest bit. "Shit, it's not like you're poor. Don't be stingy. Let a guy enjoy himself."

Derek let out a light snort. "You've enjoyed yourself plenty. It's time we get ready."

Stiles just whined, slightly high pitched and grating, but a wordless communication Derek appreciated, if only for the fact that Stiles didn't necessarily need his words around him anymore. When he didn't want to, which...wasn't very often.

"Come on, let's go," Derek said, giving Stiles' a vigorous little back rub to try and get his system going, after which he managed to pull him up into a sitting position with him.

"This sucks. I'm going to excommunicate from the pack. Both you and me so we never have to deal with any responsibilities ever again," Stiles said, blinking unhappily into the room.

Derek swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood, stretching his back. "And then I'll whisk you away and we'll live in a cave like real wolf-men for the rest of our lives," he quipped.

"Exactly!" Stiles exclaimed, a grin splitting his face. "This is why I'm dating you."

"Yeah, yeah. I get it. You only want me because I'm a werewolf." Derek let out a put upon sigh after slipping on his shoes and grabbing his jacket. Stiles joined him then, taking hold of Derek by wrapping his fist in the hem of his shirt.

"Come here, hot wolf-man," Stiles mock-growled, pulling him in. Derek went along easily, lips finding Stiles' blindly and letting himself sink into the warmth. Stiles' hand stroked over his cheek with the tenderness of a sunlit daisy.

God, Derek was a goner.

Derek gently nudged Stiles back, righting his head. Stiles followed his movement with a subtle lick across his lips, pupils all wide and open, as if he had a whole world in there for Derek alone to make his home in. But he couldn't let himself get distracted by Stiles again. 

"I'll race you," he blurted out to shake himself out of this delirious high. A challenge: one of the strongest motivators for Stiles. On cue, Derek watched the spark ignite in his eyes.

"I'm listening." Stiles smiled at him defiantly.

"I bet I can make it home, shower and be ready before you are."

"On foot? No way! I'm so going to win this."

"Oh yeah?"

"You're a goner, Hale."  Stiles was right about that on one count.

Derek met his gaze with equal glee. He held the moment just for a second longer, fingertips brushing against Stiles' nape. Stiles' pulse jumped beneath his thumb and Derek couldn't put the feelings in his chest into words, nor actions. The most he was capable of was resting his forehead against Stiles', just breathing him in.

Resisting the tangible temptation to give in to Stiles once more, Derek merely parted his lips to whisper, "Go!"

He ripped himself from the human and fled, holding fast to his next objective.

"Hey!" Stiles objected after a heartbeat, but Derek was already out the window.

--------

Stiles screeched into the parking lot, foot on the break and hands pulling the steering wheel for a sharp left. He skidded to a halt next to the familiar figures at the entrance to Derek’s building - he still couldn’t believe his boyfriend had bought a whole building just to maintain his social isolation. Then again, having to listen to your neighbors do literally everything couldn’t be great. It would drive anyone insane. Stiles yanked the emergency break as he parked and left the car running, jumping out in one smooth move.

Isaac could shut it, he was totally smooth.

“You asshole!” Stiles ranted, pointing at Derek in frustration. “You cheated.” 

Derek did nothing but smile smugly, eyebrows openly laughing at Stiles.

“I don’t cheat,” he declared, arms crossing over his chest, now wearing a nice bright blue shirt. There was a light, earthy cologne crawling up Stiles' nose as he stood in front of this man of brawn. Stiles knew intimately how solid and strong Derek was beneath that sturdy dark blue top but instead of indulging said train of thought he had to expel it. The pack was probably used to his hormonal responses to Derek but he was supposed to be growing out of that phase.

Thank goodness for strong deodorant, Stiles thought,watching Derek's nostrils flare. He breathed in relief at the small nod that deemed him clean enough. Any lingering scents of each other scrubbed away,  and  a change of clothes. Dating a werewolf on the down low among other werewolves was a pain in the ass. Especially when assholes like Jackson would sneer and complain about the "ghastly stink" of artificial scents only when it came to Stiles. Naturally, he didn’t dare talk smack about Derek in his presence. 

"There's no way. You absolutely cheated," Stiles insisted and jabbed at those abs, just under Derek's elbow, where he knew he was ticklish. Then he bit his tongue lest he let anything incriminating slip and whirled around, grinning to himself at the quiet wheeze behind him.

"You done?” Lydia asked with an audible eye roll. How was it that all of Stiles’ favorite people had perfected that movement? 

“Yup!” Stiles declared, making a beeline for Erica to hook his arm into hers. Erica was bound to try to interrogate him about what kind of cheating Derek had done but Stiles was a sheriff’s son, and he had all his evasive techniques down. Of course, Erica had her own theories about him and the alpha, which may or may not have resulted in him confessing to her about his crush. Despite not being able to tell her about any of the developments, he found comfort in the fact that he could be sure she was rooting for them. “C’mon, bestie. Let’s go!”

Stiles didn’t miss the grin Erica sent Derek’s way before they turned and headed up into the loft, making a pit stop at the still running Jeep. The rest of the pack slowly shuffled after them. 

--------

Somehow... no matter how organized Derek tried to be before a pack meeting or how sternly he glared and attempted to keep the pack in line, pack meetings always resulted in chaos and headaches. Right now, there was a discussion going on about cats and full moons that weren’t based on any scientific (or supernatural) evidence and Derek couldn't even recall when the conversation shifted.

Even Stiles was getting tired at this point, rubbing his forehead vigorously as he hung over the laptop. Derek hadn't heard him typing for the past 15 minutes and it hadn’t been long after that Stiles had stopped sending sullen looks his way and started stubbornly picking at the permanent stain on the table.

"Okay, let's wrap this up and get something to eat before I start tearing out throats," Derek sighed.

Stiles' laptop snapped shut before Derek finished the sentence.

Boyd smirked. "We haven't heard that one in a while," he commented.

"So, we're done, right?" Lydia declared, already packing up her things and slipping her shoes back on.

"We're done when I say I'm done," Derek said. "Any other questions left?"

Erica raised her arm from her lounged position. 

"Yes."

"Are we done?" she asked, without as much a hint of amusement, and Derek was. Derek was 100 percent done trying to deal with these teenagers. 

He gave her a long blank stare. Just to prove how much he meant it, before he turned from where he had been pacing and pointed at Stiles.

"Patty's. You're driving."

Then he marched upstairs to his private bathroom, just to buy himself some alone time, hanging out the tiny window and staring out at the tree tops. 

He loved his pack, he did. Sometimes it was all a bit much and he needed to breathe, though. He'd been the same even as a kid.

He waited until everyone had made their way into the stairwell before taking a deep breath and following. A small part of him was hoping Stiles would linger behind so they could have a moment but he quickly buried that thought with logic. They would be heard and how could he even already miss Stiles when they had just spent hours together?

Grabbing his jacket, wallet in the pocket, he pulled the door shut and ambled down the stairs. He didn't bother locking it. There was nothing to protect, and Derek made sure to chase off any stupid teens who wanted to screw around and vandalize the place. Any supernaturals wouldn't be bothered by a lock anyway.

The only exception was, of course, when Stiles was around.

Of course, the kids weren't even close to figuring out a seating order by the time he joined them. What did Derek even expect?

But upon approaching the Jeep, he found one seat occupied. The passenger seat. Derek stopped short. 

"Erica." Because of course. 

Her curls bounced as the young women turned to look and flash a grin at him. 

"Derek, hi! Would you look at that, we're matching," she said, shimmying in her own leather jacket, just as black as his, but newer and shinier. Derek wouldn't really say they matched, because Erica was a fashion statement in herself, a force of her own, and Derek was just…wearing a memento because it was comfortable. Whatever.

Derek crossed his arms.

Stiles came over to his side, leaning on him and in toward Erica. Stiles let his fingers tap lightly against Derek's pec. Thank God Stiles had always been reckless with physical contact and there was no sudden change in intimacy that could cause suspicion. Derek just had to make sure he didn't preen too much.

"Eyebrows basically mirrored, matching, with only a slight degree of tilt, I would say maybe like a good… 19%. And then we have a non-flared nose but alert ears and oh, dare I say… that freshly trimmed stubble really drives the point home,which is…Erica, I think you better move," Stiles warned, voice lifting from dramatic broadcaster to a cartoonist sing-song tune.

Derek chose not to acknowledge Stiles, because encouragement would surely only escalate this situation. Either in the manner of Stiles' antics, or instead with the fondness trying to bloom in Derek's chest.

Erica only proceeded to lean further into her seat, eyes flickering between the two of them with a certain glint.

"And why's that?" she challenged.

"Because I say so," Derek muttered.

"And he's the alpha," Stiles finished for him, straightening with pride. 

Erica gazed back between the two of them, lips pursuing with evident consideration of pushing further. Then she sighed.

"You know it's really not fair when you gang up on me," she said, but a smile still snuck its way onto her face. She turned towards the middle console and hiked herself up to clamber into the back. Halfway there, she stuck her hands out and called for Boyd's assistance, who gave a small shake of his head but quickly came to his girlfriend's aid. 

Derek bit back a comment while Stiles laughed at his side, and then detached himself from him. Before Stiles left to go grab his own seat, he left a gentle pat on Derek's back.

--------

Two and a half hours, 12 burgers, 7 large fries (4 regular and 3 curly), 2 cartons of onion rings, some chicken, multiple stacks of pancakes, 4 waffles, 8 milkshakes, and a juicy mixed berry pie  later, they were back in the cars, making the 20 minute drive to Beacon Hills. Sure, there were plenty of places to eat in town but after discovering Patty’s diner one early morning while dealing with some kind of manticore-like creature nearby, they had deemed this the best reasonably close diner. Now, it was a regular thing.

Jackson led the way in his Porsche, of course, with Lydia right at his side and Scott and Allison in the back, while Jeep tailed them with Stiles at the wheel. Erica was splayed out in the backseat with her head resting in Boyd’s lap, quietly humming along to the radio. Isaac was smooshed over on the other side and yet still somehow found a way to rest his head on Boyd's shoulder and close his eyes. 

Hungers sated, stress digested and drama enacted all through dinner, everything was starting to slowly settle. Even Derek's restless soul found sanctuary in the familiar scents of his pack and the rhythm of Stiles' fingers against the wheel as they corresponded with his heartbeat. Derek allowed himself to find comfort, sinking further into the seat and stretching his arm casually out to rest on the back of Stiles' seat. 

He watched Stiles' eyes flicker his way but halt and return to take in the sight in the rear view mirror. A small smile tugged at his lips and Stiles hummed along with Erica as if the swell of affection radiating from him was not at all related to Derek's action.

Derek followed his gaze back out to the street in front before he could get lost in retracing the slope of Stiles' nose and the starry path of moles down his cheek. The Porsche was growing ever smaller, occasionally disappearing from view entirely.

"You're going to lose them," Derek remarked. Not that it really mattered; everything still felt safe enough. As safe as it could, that was.

"If Jackson wants to flash his bougie car as some sort of compensation even  though he didn't even buy it himself, he can be my guest. I'm not pushing my darling today," Stiles said, making a show of stroking the wheel. He smirked. "Unless you want to pay for a full on “Pimp My Car” session?"

Derek snorted. "In your dreams."

"One day. Just you wait. You'll see."

"Upgrading anything about this—this—" Derek reconsidered calling Roscoe a piece of crap whenStiles threw him a warning glare, "—hunk of metal…would cost more than buying a brand new SUV, including A/C and all the good stuff."

"You know, if you give me that in cash, I could totally start saving up for that upgrade." Stiles gave him an impish little smile.

"Absolutely not."

"C'mon, Hale. Fork over the cash," Stiles sang, holding up a hand and rubbing his fingers together. "Otherwise I might have to start charging by the mile, along with a service fee."

Which Derek had absolutely offered Stiles before. Well, not payment by the mile but he had happily suggested taking care of all charges for the usage and maintenance of the Jeep. He had repeatedly insisted and it was Stiles who, more often than not, refused. 

"I think we might have to switch over to transport by taxi. That'll be cheaper as well as a smoother ride,"  Derek countered.

"What are you, 50? Have you ever heard of Uber? It's what all the—"

"Eyes on the road, Stiles."

"I am paying attention. Jeez, relax."

"And both hands on the wheel."

"Stop acting like my dad—"

"Oh my God, Stiles. I am not that old. Stop comparing me to your dad, of all people."

"Then stop acting like it. You're out here lecturing me like I don't always get you right where you need to be. With special bodyguard services, if I may add, which you will never get from any carpooling service." 

Derek shook his head at the smug smile on his mate's face. There was time for sweet praises to be whispered into burning ears from within warm embraces in bed later. For now, he just preened at the familiarity of the interaction. Nothing like some good old bickering to help digest a feast.

"It's red." Derek pointed out to the street light ahead.

"I have eyes," Stiles said, easing down on the brake a little harder. The Jeep eventually rolled to a stop before the empty intersection, the hanging mist seeping from the tall dark trees radiating a gleaming red.

Derek loved it when the world made it seem like time stood still.

Stiles turned to him.

"Red light," Stiles proclaimed, voice suddenly open and unguarded. It was like the silvery shine to full moon nights when they encased Derek in protection. He reacted to the words on instinct, habit pulling him forward. Derek leaned in without hesitation.

Letting his lips meet Stiles' didn't require any guidance. He'd probably find his way home to Stiles' soft touch blindfolded from the opposite side of the world. Kissing Stiles was sweet like honey and warm like a fireplace in the dead of a Siberian winter.

It wasn't a peck, definitely a longer interaction, but it was still soft and sweet. They were encapsulated in their own little world until they finally parted. Derek found those beautiful amber eyes and smiled.

"Green light," he said softly, having registered the quiet click and the now lightened fog outside.

Stiles breathed out between parted lips, a corner of them hiking up. He was just about to shift the car into motion when—

"What the ever loving fuck was that?!" Erica burst between them with a shout, nails digging into their sleeves. "What? I mean, this! You kissed!"

Stiles brought his foot down on the brake again hard, but he forgot the clutch and killed the engine instantly. He'd let out his own shout that fell quiet as the car came to a rocking stop.

Derek winced at the volume before he could register what was going on and then… froze. 

"Erica! What the hell," Stiles breathed out, throwing his hands up to his hair. His discomfort couldn't solely be attributed to the surprise from the backseat, Derek figured, chancing a look over to see the blush climbing up Stiles' face. Derek knew all too well how it started; with the pink gleam budding just beneath his collarbone before it expanded like smattering star dust all the way up his neck that found its heart in his cheeks. Right where Derek found the source of his happiness when they tugged up and bunched around Stiles' smile.

"No." Erica shook her head. "Not me. What is going on right here?" She tugged at their arms. "When did this start? How long has it been going on?"

"And how in hell did you manage to keep this a secret, Stilinski?" Isaac threw in, his head popping up beside the bouncy curls.

Stiles looked over at Derek cautiously. His heart was clearly doing double time and well, so was Derek's. They had always avoided discussing the possibility of an involuntary reveal so, honestly, it served them right. Derek should've known the universe would have a trick up its sleeve as soon as he relaxed.

But…this wasn't necessarily something bad. He was pretty sure that the pack wouldn't mind about this development. Chances were, it would bring them all closer together. Somehow.

Still, doubts remained. Fear crept through him on spindly legs, ready to strike with its black widow fangs at any moment. There was so much that could go wrong. So much-

There was a deep intake of breath from beside him. 

"It's not what you think," Stiles said then.

"Oh, so Derek wasn't just shoving his tongue down your throat?" Erica hummed, and she leaned forward to place her chin on Stiles' shoulder.

"There was no tongue involved!" Stiles exclaimed, throwing up an arm.

"There was a kiss though," Boyd intercepted.

Stiles glared at him through the rear view mirror. "You too? Betrayal."

"I am pretty curious about this," he replied, gazing over at Derek as best as he could past Erica's and Isaac's heads.

"Oh my god," Stiles breathed. "It was just…a game! It was—it was just a game."

"A game?" Erica had nearly perfected the signature Hale eyebrow lift. 

Stiles was not fully successful at covering up his jealousy. 

Nor the shame and upset at having to play the incident off. Derek wasn't having it.

"Yes, a game. The red light game. You spend hours on your phone. How have you not—" Stiles started.

"No," Derek interrupted. There was a quiet hitched breath as all heads turned to stare at the Alpha. He tried to remain calm, and turned to look at his mate.

"It's not just a game. It is our game but we're also dating." Derek swallowed, keeping his breath and words steady. "He's my boyfriend."

Erica's squeal almost drowned out Stiles' beaming joy, but all Derek could see was Stiles; and the unfiltered, sunshine-bright love shining off his exhilarated face. There was surprise there, and some hesitance, but it was overrun by excitement.

"I fucking knew it!" Erica laughed loudly, smacking a kiss to Stiles' cheek and quickly infecting him with her laughter.

It wasn't long before most of the car had joined in, searching for touch all around. Derek felt both pats on his shoulders as well as a grip near his neck, grounding him to pack amidst all the congratulations. It seemed funny now, worrying about the reception of this news. Derek ducked his head to hide his burning eyes.

Relief, happiness—he wasn't even sure what to feel first, but he almost felt like he didn't need to name it. All he had to do was let himself feel it for now. Stiles put his hand over his, squeezing it lightly. Derek took it.

"Wait, so this is why we found you two cooking together that one time!" 

Derek smiled, looking up to the road ahead with a lighter soul.

#eternalsterek #sterek #eternal sterek #sterek fanfiction #fanfic #derek hale #stiles stilinski #secret relationship #prompt fic #anon #ask #red light green light #i wrote this

[catharsis-in-a-bottle]

A very long post about romantic attraction, social situations, sexual orientation, etc.

In short, a slightly organized brain dump involving some of my personal experiences and hopefully some takeaways. 

There are many things I’ve learned, both in general and about myself, simply by investigating online resources about the acespec and arospec communities.

Some of these were things that I think I already knew internally, but that I had never voiced before because I didn’t have the words or the terms to describe them. 

I’ve learned about different types of attraction, and I’ve realized that I can categorize them internally. For example, I’ve definitely mistaken platonic attraction with romantic attraction in the past. The term ‘squish’ - basically a sort of friend crush - can be applied to several of my experiences, and honestly, it really explains my conscious disconnect towards romance. I’ve realized that wanting to get to know someone better does not equate wanting to date them.

I’ve learned about other arospec identities, like greyromantic and demiromantic, and how they might apply to me. I’ve realized that my romantic attraction has essentially been limited to one person, and that otherwise my desires have been platonic - again, wanting to get to know someone better because I find them interesting, or else having a deep admiration/respect for them. None of these things are romantic attraction, and it’s been very relieving to discover this. It makes sense. 

I think I’ve always had a weird feeling towards all the societal cues and expectations associated with romance. Why are certain things associated with wanting to form a romantic relationship? As a child, I thought I was a girl and I knew, just from the social code of school life, that becoming friends with boys would be seen as some romantic advance (despite the fact that we were all literally elementary schoolers.) In first grade, everyone thought I had a crush on this kid I was friends with, and I always laughed at them. I was just looking for friends. Friends isn’t a freaking gender-specific term. I think I’ve always kind of tried to “play it cool” with the boys, especially in middle school, simply because I didn’t really want anyone to think “haha, so-and-so is dating so-and-so” just because I had a conversation with another person. And what sucked is that when I thought I might be bi, I kind of consciously did the same thing around girls as well - I tried to be socially adept and “cool” and not too overly open, just because of all of these social codes that indicate romantic intent. 

One of these strange codes that confused me was this: “if so-and-so has a crush on you, you should totally date them!” What if I didn’t like so-and-so back? Why the hell would I date them? But something that I witnessed happening quite often in middle school was kids finding out someone ‘liked’ them and then wanting to ‘like’ that person back, despite not having formed attraction in the first place. It felt like a puzzle. It was something that I observed and maybe sort of over-analyzed, because dissecting social situations and laying out pieces of the puzzles on the floor is something I just do. I reckon that kids were not only beginning to experience romantic/sexual attraction individually, but that they were also recognizing the social standards that were beginning to form. The first batch of kids wanted to form relationships (if not long-lasting ones), and so they did; other kids who were experiencing attraction subsequently felt a little bit of pressure to get with someone fast. The complaints of “I’m so sad I don’t have a boyfriend” and similar phrases rang free throughout the hallways. In short, allo- and heteronormativity seems to have influenced a lot of people. Which is fine for many, but also restricting for those in the lgbtq+ community (but of course, the jungle of school life does not intend to cater to the minorities) It was simply a thing that happened, and a thing I’m seeing a bit more clearly now. 

[Also, the concept of using the word ‘like’ to describe adolescent romantic interest in another person always confused me. I never got why ‘like’ had romantic intent - I liked people that I’d formed friendships with. No one ever outright said “I have a crush on this person.” They just said like.]

There’s only one occasion on which I’ve known how to react emotionally to someone telling me that he had romantic interest in me, and that’s only because I personally ‘liked’ them back. I had already imagined that situation, and I welcomed it. [Amusingly enough, we both kind of ignored our confessions for a while, but eventually we formed an actual relationship. Ah, the joys of social situations.] But in terms of other people admitting their interest, which hasn’t happened all that much but has still happened, I’ve had very mixed reactions. One time a couple of years ago, it was my friend whom I cared very deeply about. I didn’t really know how she knew that I didn’t have interest in dating her, but somehow she did, and she told me so. This made my reaction less clouded and more simple, and it wasn’t really an uncomfortable situation; I confirmed easily enough that I didn’t have any interest in dating her and the situation resolved nicely. Basically, although it wasn’t an ideal occurrence, it didn’t affect our friendship in any way.

But there have been other times where it’s been extremely uncomfortable. Once, I joined an after-school club in which I barely knew anyone. During one of our meetings, we took a walk to a local coffee shop to just sort of hang out. And this girl - I’ll call her ‘C’ for online purposes - sat down and started talking to me. This was fine - why not have a bit of conversation? She talked about K-pop a lot (which eventually got very annoying lol) and just seemed like she wanted to be my friend, and internally I told myself well, I don’t really know her and she doesn’t seem like the kind of person I want to hang out with but we’re at a coffee shop and I’m bored. At the end of our coffee shop trip, C asked for my phone number. I didn’t take this to mean anything beyond the fact that she wanted to talk to me more, and though I felt inclined to decline her offer, I really didn’t want to hurt her feelings (again, the joys of social situations.) So now she had my phone number. Here’s where things got weird. For one thing, she sent me a bunch of random pictures of K-pop singers, saying things such as “omg he’s so hot” which was already uncomfortable in itself. Me, being a bit of an idiot, didn’t stand up for myself, or even block her number. Then, she came out to me as pansexual and told me she had a crush on me. When she told me this, she did not imply in any way that she didn’t have an intent of dating me or something, so I was very, very uncomfortable for several reasons. Firstly, I didn’t know her that well - I didn’t really even consider her a friend. Secondly, I definitely did not want to date her because I didn’t really know her. And thirdly, I didn’t know how to react. I think I said something along the lines of “Oh, well, um, okay, I don’t have a crush on you” and left it at that. For the final puncher, she started finding me in the hallways after school as she left for the bus and giving me hugs. I am typically not a physically affectionate person, so this was just weird as hell for me. Again, like an idiot, I didn’t stand up for myself, and so I just kind of stood there... all of this took place right before my school shut down because of the pandemic, so I was literally saved by everyone getting kicked out of school. Thankfully, I did not see her anymore, and finally I blocked her number as I should have done much, much earlier. [I didn’t intend to make that story so long, but there it is anyway.]

The point is, I found it extremely strange that someone I barely knew had a crush on me. This feeling was amplified when, a couple months ago, something else happened: someone on Instagram, who I didn’t know at all, expressed interest in dating me. I was extremely confused. Apparently they sort of knew me because we were in the same school system, but I’d still never met them.

I simply mean to say that romantic attraction drives people to lengths that I personally find strange and inconceivable. Looking into the aromantic community has taught me that essentially all of what we deem ‘romance’ is socially constructed. The rules, the implications, the things you’re supposed to do. You’re supposed to flirt with the person you ‘like’. You’re supposed to get all nervous around them. You’re supposed to only form a relationship with one person or else you’re considered weird and even perverted. Flirting seems like a ritual, nervousness seems like a prison - why can we not do away with the expectations and simply do what feels comfortable to us individually? I have learned about the term relationship anarchy, which means doing away with and rebelling against all of these expectations. The expectation of monogamy, of ritualistic performances, of a certain type of romance, of what actions are deemed romantic or sexual, of having to have a romantic and/or sexual relationship, etc. I find that relationship anarchy is a very appealing concept. People should have whatever relationships or lack thereof that they wish. Queerplatonic relationships should be normalized. Loveless aromanticism should be understood and not demonized. Polyamorous people should not be alienated. In short, these societal expectations that we’ve established have no purpose beyond defining what a “real relationship” is, and by ensuring that romantically loving one other person is what “makes us human” and deems us “normal” in society. Platonic and familial love should not be put below romantic love, yet we’ve created a hierarchy. Me platonically loving my true friends should not be “less than” me romantically loving my boyfriend. And people who just don’t want any sort of relationships or attachments to other people should be respected, because they are not negatively affecting anyone in any way. Except by hurting the feelings of bigots, and I’d pay anyone to do that any day if I had the money. 

Though I love my friends and my boyfriend in different ways, I realize that I have extremely similar criteria for a friend versus a partner. Beyond my general confusion regarding romance as a concept, this is another thing that has led me to believe I am arospec. It’s always been very difficult for me to imagine romantically loving someone who I couldn’t consider a friend - how, then, would my relationship even work? One thing about society’s ideas of romance that I do resonate with is the fact that your partner should be your best friend. [For me personally. I’m not just making a general claim.]  It’s hard to see myself dating someone who I hadn’t known before, who I hadn’t befriended, who I hadn’t considered a best friend because we knew each other and had come to form an actual bond. I would be happy spending my life with someone who I considered both a best friend and a romantic partner. I don’t think this is something that is of absolute necessity to me - I could see myself without a romantic partner, which is another major reason I’m beginning to consider myself arospec [maybe greyromantic or demiromantic.] And of course, I have conflated romantic and platonic attraction in the past; upon reflection, I think I’ve only experienced genuine romantic attraction once, which of course also prompts me towards arospec. 

Many resources - tumblr accounts dedicated to aspec experiences and questions, online stories, even just bare definitions of terms I didn’t know - have been extremely helpful in not only my understanding of myself, but also of the variety of experiences that lie with others. There is a beautiful array of diversity out there in the ways people think and feel, and it feels as if I have discovered a gold mine. [Hehe - do we place value on gold in the same way we place value on romance?] Simply learning about the multitudes of people out there with so many different experiences has been wonderful.

Upon reflection, I’ve also begun to wonder if I am acespec. Society is at it again - placing inherent value in certain concepts, associating expectations between categories. Specifically, the categories of romance and sexual attraction. In most movies with romantic subplots - which is a shit ton - sex seems to always be attached to the development of a romantic relationship. Here’s the thing - most people don’t think about the Split Attraction Model (SAM), which separates romantic and sexual attraction. It’s either you’re attracted to someone, or you aren’t. But for those who do use the SAM for whatever reason, romantic and sexual attraction are separate terms [though they can of course be intertwined.] I find it strange that romance sort of necessarily leads to sex - why? You don’t need sex to have a healthy relationship - but of course, many people want it and so it happens. And because sexual attraction is often tied to peoples’ romantic partners, sex is just associated with romance. [And also apparently sexual attraction can happen towards random people, which I didn’t know lmao.] The SAM is useful for many [not necessarily all] aspecs, as it creates this differentiation between wanting to date someone and wanting to, well, do the do with them. Through investigating common terms used by aspec people, I also find the terms aesthetic and sensual attraction useful, because I believe I have conflated aesthetic and sensual attraction with sexual attraction. [Also, in the past, for some reason I didn’t really know that sexual orientation referred to people that you literally wanted to have sex with. I thought it was just the people that you ‘liked’.] These specific terms have been quite useful to me personally, as I’ve realized that I really can tell the difference between the types of attraction that I experience. The issue is, I’m just not sure about my sexual attraction - have I actually experienced it, and if so, in what ways? It does get frustrating to question so much, but it’s an interesting exploration all the same. 

Am I actually acespec? Maybe not. But even if I’m not, I’ve still learned a lot about acespec people, and again it’s wonderful to read about how many different experiences exist in this world. Looking back on my past has been interesting. Thinking about my present and my future is intriguing. Wondering what I am and where I’ll go is a mixed bag of emotions, but it’s here and I’m stuck with it. I think I’m probably arospec, and that discovery is honestly relieving. It feels like a weight lifted. It clicks into place. I’m just going to keep living and figuring out what the hell my sexual orientation is, and I’ll vibe with it, I guess. The general, whole, main point is: learning about these communities is an enlightening experience, and it has perhaps reshaped part of my view of society. And also, I write too much. 

If you read this whole thing, I commend you for making it through my massive overshare. I hope you gained something from it, whether that be entertainment or knowledge or simple resonance with an idea. 

#whewwwww that took a while #but it feels good to empty out the brain you know? #aspec #acespec #arospec #asexual #aromantic #demisexual #demiromantic #greysexual #greyromantic #ace community #aro community #long post #personal #random #thoughts #brain dump #lgbtq+ #relationship anarchy #hell yeah #queerplatonic #relationships #so many words damn ouch my brain hurts

[thistangledbrain]

Day 19 & 20!

Day 19 - “I hate it when...”

As you’ve gleaned from prior posts, I hate it when you forget autism is a developmental disorder and not an intellectual one. We are so. Fucking. Tired. Of being treated as lesser, or like we don’t understand what you’re saying to us.

Outside of the reactions to others’ behavior, though, I have some personal “I hate it when”...I’ve let you into my mind and told you what I appreciate about how my brain works, but there are things I don’t like, for sure.

I hate that personal stressor things trigger a toddler-like need to SHUT DOWN. Like writing this blog, for example...the vulnerability I feel usually leads to a need to go to sleep for a long time, once I’m finished. Or after a long day socializing. I don’t want to talk to anyone, I don’t want to engage my brain anymore, I just need to shut all systems down and sleep. Especially if there’s been a meltdown (meltdown—->shutdown)...and oh boy do I hate meltdowns. They’re really rare, thank dog.

I hate that my executive function is an absolute bag of ass. This is probably the biggest thing I would change. It got infinitely worse when my disability got bad (EDS), for some reason. And it drives me up the damn wall.

I hate my low function days/moments. It’s like my brain just won’t kick into gear, or the gears and wheels are rusty and grinding, & it’s rather anxiety inducing. I usually “hide” on my low days, sometimes in my darkened bedroom, and watch favorite shows or movies, or get lost in a good book - if I can. On low days I find myself re-reading crap constantly because it’s not making any sense, so I’ll even avoid complicated recipes...I have no idea why these days/moments happen, but boy do they piss me off/make me anxious (that’s kind of the same thing for me. My anxiety nearly always manifests as anger). On my low days, you’ll see (if you were a fly on the wall, because I suppress this even around my own family), me walking in tight, anxious figure 8’s and flapping my hands in a distressed way, as I anxiously try to mentally kick my brain into gear. (It doesn’t work, but it IS a little soothing. And my dogs are SO sweet...they gather around me tightly and just seem to know I need them.)

🤷🏻‍♀️ There’s probably more I could expound on that I don’t like, but writing this one has been pretty distasteful. I try not to dwell on things I hate anymore, so I’ve put this entry down multiple times and come back to it when I’m in a decent frame of mind. I think I’m tired of talking about it now, so I’m gonna just stop talking.....

Which is a good segue into Day 20 -

————————————-

“Communication”

Ahh communication. This entry will be long, because I have a lot to communicate LOL....

Personally, I write far more coherently and eloquently than I speak. My brain goes too fast...I often trip over words; my brain’s three steps ahead of what’s coming out of my mouth and I get scrambled sometimes. I can also take the time to think about what I want to say/HOW I want to say it. Like many autistics, I’m a blurter. LOL...I am constantly trying to remind myself, just because I think it, doesn’t mean I have to say it. This gets a LOT of us in trouble...one of my most memorable examples is, I *loudly* blurted “that’s BULLSHIT!!” in a church one time. (I was speaking on how my devout Methodist grandmother, who regularly takes communion at her church, was not permitted to receive communion in a Catholic church, merely because she isn’t Catholic, despite the fact that this woman is all about some Jesus & a devoted churchgoer - not just on Easter and Christmas.) In my defense, it WAS (IS) bullshit. I just didn’t need to practically yell that in church. As you can imagine, it was like a needle scratching across a record & everyone turned to stare. (My poor husband rescued me.) 🤦🏻‍♀️ Sigh. It’s a good idea to keep me out of most church services.

I am rather famous (infamous?) for calling bullshit straight to someone’s face, BLUNTLY. It’s out of my mouth before my brain’s “tact gatekeeper” I’ve spent over a decade trying to train is even half awake at his post (it’s a him because my husband is the one who taught me how to use tact in the first place. And it’s a him because said “gatekeeper” is lazy and falls asleep on the job all the time 😆). Have you ever just blurted your honest thoughts and heard shocked gasps or someone just busts out laughing? Yeah. That happens to me regularly. Or uncomfortable chuckles and someone will blink a few times and say, “oohhhkay, well, you could said that a different way.” (My old response to that was, I’m not responsible for what your reaction is to what I say...you’re in charge of your own feelings. I *understand* now how irresponsible and unfeeling that is, and I try to keep that in the front of my mind, even when I’m frustrated and nearly burning up with the desire to speak my thoughts in their raw form, but this is routinely an area I struggle to adapt to...and I am very sorry when I hurt someone I care about.)

On the other side of this same coin though, this is a trait my friends respect deeply, because I’m not cruel hearted or anything. You always know where you stand with me, and I’m the last person to try and lie to you. I SUUUUUCK at lying. And on the rare times when I do, I usually end up eventually telling on myself (this drove my older stepsister NUTS when we were kids, because she liked to do lots of sneaky things, and I don’t have an inherently sneaky nature LOL...so “DO NOT tell momma” was a *serious* risk for her, if she let me tag along 😂). Lying to someone just feels disgusting. Oily. Shameful. I hate lying. Plus, my short term memory is a grabasstic bag of CRAP, so there’s a good chance I won’t remember the lie and get caught anyway. 🤷🏻‍♀️ My boys also suck at lying or hiding stuff, and generally prefer not to...but I also give them a safe forum to be honest. (I’m sure there’s LOTS of crap I don’t know, but you’d be surprised how much they DO tell me.)

Another thing with me personally is that I go mute sometimes. I’m not being deliberately obstinate. I’m not REFUSING to speak in those moments...sometimes I literally can’t, and the effort of doing so will make me gag, or even projectile vomit. Sounds very dramatic, doesn’t it? It is. (And it annoys the SHIT out of me.) There’s not a fucking thing i can do about it. The movement of my tongue in my mouth will literally begin to trigger my gag reflex, and if I try to power through it, I’m rewarded with my lunch returning to the surface anyway, regardless of my desires, and sometimes rather unexpectedly & violently. USUALLY this happens when I’m uber stressed, but sometimes it seems kind of out of the blue & catches even me off guard. If this happens but I still have something to say, I start texting instead, and explain. Most people - especially my hubby - are very kind when this happens. (I don’t want your pity, I just want you to switch to written communication for a minute until I can figuratively kick the fuck out of the engine in my “speaking center” and get it to work again.) Other times, I will literally get tired of talking. Like my mouth and tongue - and somehow, the “word forming” part of my brain feels physically exhausted (weird, I know, but I also spend the vast majority of my life silent - I am home alone all day, hate talking on the phone, and simply don’t speak much, by choice. So maybe it is actual “mouth fatigue” 😂😂😂 - I’ve stopped eating before because I just got tired of chewing, too, even though I’m still somewhat hungry. 🙄) I am usually *perfectly* happy to keep listening! And I’ll stay engaged in the conversation usually. I am just...done audibly talking. I’ll literally say “my mouth is tired of making the sounds now, but please keep going”...but I think my husband is the only one who doesn’t find this unusual, and rolls with it. It usually happens after a long, animated conversation...instead of winding down, though, it just..stops. If I try to keep going, cue the gagging. I can stay engaged in the conversation if you let me start writing/typing instead of speaking, for my responses. So that’s a “fun” little trait of mine that many neurotypicals find unsettling. Please don’t take it personally. My mouth just doesn’t want to make the words anymore - and I’m probably mostly done adding what I needed to add to the conversation anyway. I’m a great listener when this happens, though. 😆

Communication is a really interesting thing with all of us, because it’s a struggle on one level or another. I will tell you, it’s a frequent topic in my groups. “WHY CAN’T NEUROTYPICALS JUST SAY WHAT THE FUCK THEY MEAN?!?! 😩😩😩” I’m dead serious - you might think, because we’re sensitive (generally), we can’t “handle” it? You’d be so very wrong. What we can’t handle is when you dance around a subject or we have to try and translate what you just said to us (which most of us are not that good at). Just fucking say it! Nine times out of ten, you’ll just get a look of dawning realization and a “oh, shit, okay” response. We can handle it. Just. Say. It. We’ll respect you a lot more in the morning, LOL 😆

I think every autistic has some sort of beef with neurotypicals when it comes to communication (as I’m sure you have yours with us, obviously).

You guys operate under some weird ass rules that we simply don’t understand - especially if you don’t tell us those rules & just expect us to know. Like, if my husband hadn’t patiently taken years to show/teach me how the way I said certain things were hurtful, I would still be in the “yeah she’s cool but she’s kind of an asshole” territory. (I still struggle to grasp this, or at least it still frustrates me....truth is truth, whether it’s an ironclad general fact or your own personal truth - and yes sometimes the truth hurts, but like...I don’t pin any responsibly for that on the truth teller, if that makes sense?)

Working in rescue also helped hone my ability to speak “neurotypically” to others - I work with a LOT of women, and boy do a lot of them NOT appreciate when you bluntly tell them what you think. Men on the other hand....

I know *lots* of autistic women who prefer friendships with men, largely centering around this communication thing. We hurt men’s feelings a little less regularly than other women’s. I know I was like that, until I got a little more used to how I have to modify my communication with most women (but that annoys me, I’m gonna be honest - it annoys my Autie friends, too). The only time I am as starkly blunt as I used to be, is when speaking to my female Autie friends (because they can handle it), or most of the dudes I’m friends with. But if my message is getting “lost in the sauce” and you’re not getting my point, I usually give a frustrated sigh, WARN you that I’m about to tell you flatly what I need to say, because we aren’t getting anywhere, and just say it.

Yes I am the friend who, when you gush on and on about your new back yard bred puppy, talking all about how you’re gonna breed him when he grows up, is gonna flatly say “he’s not breeding quality”, if they’re not. Then I’m gonna ask you why you want to do such a thing, given that you’re aware of the massive load of rescue dogs (PARTICULARLY Great Danes and Cane Corsos) - and probably beat your argument down every step of the way. That doesn’t always go badly though - one of my closest friends was considering breeding their dog, and while it was a beautiful dog, it was not one that should reproduce (from an “improve the breed” perspective). We barely knew each other, but I gained a reputation for being kind but starkly honest...and I knew what I was talking about...and now I have this person’s deep respect, and they have mine (because they listened and did the research I asked them to - and did not add to the breed population). So it’s not *always* a trainwreck, because the people who end up respecting how I communicate, usually end up VERY close friends. AND I WANT THAT IN RETURN, which is refreshing for a LOT of people. I want your dead honesty in return - PLEASE. It’s so much easier for me to process and accept. For example, my house is almost constantly in some sort of disarray. I have one friend who will come in and go, “girl. I almost can’t breathe in here - this clutter is too much”(and then she offers to help me tackle it!!).

Or, fairly recently, “oh my god those curtains are so horrible, I hope you’re getting rid of those when you redo this room.”

“But I MADE those curtains! I love that print!”

“Ugh. No. They’re terrible. Get rid of them.”

My feelings were not hurt in the LEAST (I of course had a flash of “you bitch, I was so excited to find that print and I MADE THOSE, ya jerk” 😂). At first I said, “well you’re just gonna have to suck it up and deal with my shitty curtains, because I like them” 😂, but then as I was redoing the room, I took them down...and it DID look a lot better, so I left them down 😂😂😂....

So I guess my point with all this is: every autie I know deeply wishes you’d just fucking spit it out. We WILL often miss or misinterpret the point if you “fluff” it too much (around my neck of the woods, we call it putting too much gild on the lily, though I’ve never understood that one. Idk if a “gilded lily” is/was ever a thing, why anyone would gild a lily in the first place...LOTS of us struggle with colloquialisms that don’t make literal sense. 😆 Recently a friend was baffled over “shit in one hand and wish in the other and see which fills up faster”, and fully half of the respondents to her post were people baffled by why anyone would shit in their hand - I and a couple others had to explain, and it just ended with them going “well that’s a fucking stupid saying anyway, and wishes aren’t things you can put in your hands, either” 😂😂😂...but I’m from the south, and these things are just part of our vocab. MOST of them are easy to grasp for me, like “nervous as a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs”, because I immediately picture it and can grasp the meaning. But others I don’t get - the gilded lily is one LOL)...

We are LITERAL AS FUCK. It’s why we ruin lots of jokes, too. My poor husband is the dad joke king - and I ruin fully 1/3 or more of his jokes by being too literal (which he also finds amusing, so that’s good). Sometimes we realize we’re ruining the joke but we don’t care, because it’s dumb, or we just .... can’t....HELP IT. 😩😂

Jeez, I could almost write all day about autistics and communication LOL!!

But to summarize (and not succinctly, sorry), I guess, for me and many many others...we are often blunt, direct, almost painfully honest, and very, very literal. Your unspoken rules of communication absolutely go over our heads, unless you - yannow - *communicate* and explain them. We’ll probably tell you those rules are stupid and exhausting, but we will TRY and stick to it as best we can. But see, we literally have to think about every single word that comes out of our mouths, because we communicate far more directly than you weird fuckers do. And it is literally actually exhausting. It’s not an easily natural thing for us to adapt to, your weird way of saying things but not saying what you really mean. You’re wasting a LOT of words there, sir, and we are now getting obsessively confused over why you would do such a thing. 😂 It’s also why I keep getting banned from Facebook. My recent one was because I said - in one of my Autie “safe” groups, where I should be able to just say what I mean - that I tend to punch or want to punch people who deliberately startle the shit out of me. We were talking about how stupid April Fool’s Day was, and how we hate pranks. Three of us got banned for 30 days for just...well. Facebook called it “incitement of violence”. 🙄🥺🖕🏼🖕🏼🖕🏼🖕🏼🖕🏼🖕🏼🖕🏼🖕🏼

But I haven’t met - yet, maybe? - an autistic person who is cruel natured - not one of us gets any joy from being a bully type. WE feel everything on a higher level, so we kind of assume you do, too...you might think, “then why are you such an asshole?!”, but it’s simply that we - or every Autie I know, anyway - struggle to grasp how directly communicating your feelings is so fuckin hard or hurtful for y’all. I think anyone struggles to grasp something they themselves don’t experience. All you have to do is explain, though, and keep guiding us towards communicating in ways that we both find acceptable. I mean we’re champs at accepting all manner of different human - regardless of race, sexuality, and so on - but the communication is one area that frustrates the ever loving SHIT out of most of us, because it makes so little logical sense why anyone would say a bunch of useless words that muddy up their intent.

My closing advice? Help Your Pet Autie ™️ (this is absolutely a tongue in cheek term btw) understand how you’d like to be communicated with, and guide us. BE SPECIFIC for fucks sake - we suck at guessing what you might want, and it’s so frustrating that we’ll often just stop communicating at all. Instead of saying “it hurts me when you say this”, try saying “the WAY you said this hurt my feelings because of ____. Maybe you could put it like this instead” (or, “you know, you should really just keep shit like that to yourself”) and *give examples*. Don’t expect us to come up with different ways of saying shit, because we don’t understand what it is specifically you want, and it’s not very logical, therefore it’s not “natural” for us. Plus, everyone is different. I can’t talk to one of my sons the same way I can talk to the other, without certain negative reactions. Give us a chance to know your needs - we DO CARE!!! - but be CLEAR. I know in your world, tact is a big deal, but MOST of us will miss the fucking point if you’re too tactful (and when we misinterpret, we always err on the side of worst case scenario, and make the issue wayyyyy bigger than it should be. Being clear is soooo important).

And hey. Maybe it’ll help clear up some communication in other areas of your life. Being clear isn’t a license to be a fucking asshole; nobody’s giving you a license to unleash on everyone about how much you can’t stand humans...if WE hafta be quiet about that, so do you lmao...fair’s fair. 😆 But quit hedging and hinting and hoping we will pick up on the whatever your grievance is - because we won’t. We’ll just know you’re unhappy, and start panicking over guessing what we did wrong, and just shut down, because we have no idea.

Just. Fucking. Say it. 😘

#asd #autism #autistic #acceptance #awareness #actuallyautistic

[cynicalrainbows]

Hey! I’ve got a fix request if that’s ok! After a long day at the theatre everyone’s tired but during the megasix Anne goes into sensory overload?

So I should preface this with the fact that I don’t actually know what a sensory overload feels like. So it’s more ‘Anne gets overwhelmed with all the noise etc’ which is something I can write about.

Anyway, enjoy!

**

It’s been a long week, one of those weeks where everything seems determined to go wrong in as many ways as possible, often at the most inopportune moments.

Because of this, everyone is more on edge than usual, everyone is irritable: Catalina snaps and Kitty sulks. Jane puts things down with more force than is strictly necessary and Cathy holds her book up in front of her eyes to discourage attempts at communication and flicks pages obnoxiously loudly.

 Even Anna, far and away the calmest and least rufflable of them all, has started to feel the strain and by Thursday is far gone enough that she actually snaps at Kitty for taking her clothes without asking and then at Jane for taking Kitty’s side. The difference of course is that Anna at least has an excuse because that same evening, she comes down with what is officially called A Cold but that feels (she assures Anne) rather an awful lot like the pneumonic Plague.

 Anne is glad for Anna’s sake when she finally agrees to take a couple of days off to recover properly but she also can't help but feel a bit abandoned too. The dressing room isn’t the same without Anna to diffuse the tension and while she normally enjoys Catalina’s company, it scarcely counts as company when all the two do is snap at one another. Anna is like a balm- she smooths out rough edges, she can diffuse almost anything with a joke or a comment. Without her, everything feels ever so slightly off balance.

 As bad as the snapping is though, the silence in the dressing room once Anna finally gives in and goes home to bed is worse. Anne knows Catalina isn’t angry with her specifically, that the woman is just not really in the mood to talk and is staying quiet to avoid starting off yet another disagreement, but it still makes things uncomfortably tense.

 Even when Saturday rolls around, it isn’t much comfort to think about the fact that Sunday is just around the corner because Saturday is always the hardest day of the week- the biggest workload, just when everyone is least prepared for it, the rowdiest audiences just when everyone is at their lowest ebb, the most hours spent waiting around at the theatre when really all anyone wants is to go home and take a nap.

 Sometimes the exhaustion works in their favour, on the days that the tiredness makes everything somehow seem that bit funnier. Tired-drunk, Cathay calls it, when one or other of the queens finds themselves giggling half hysterically over something that in the cold light of a Monday morning would really seem not that amusing at all. At least they get some good social media videos out of it.

 Mostly though, being tired just makes everyone shorter and snappier and more prone to storming out of the dressing room to sulk- or cry or walk around angrily slamming doors or lurk in corridors muttering darkly about how much better things will be when they got their book deal and cam write full time.

 Nobody is sleeping well, nobody can be bothered to eat proper meals, let alone actually cook them, and they all feel like they haven’t seen the sun in months.

  In short, they are in dire need of a day off.

 By Saturday’s second show, Anne is almost counting the seconds til she can go home.

She feels like her shoes are made of lead, her head is pounding, her costume is sticking to her uncomfortably and she is bitterly regretting the energy drink she’d downed in lieu of lunch on Cathy's perhaps slightly misguided advice. Not that she can blame Cathy- it’s her own fault for taking advice from a woman who not only occasionally substitutes coffee for milk on her cereal but actually professes to prefer it.

 The discomfort distracts her and makes her come rather too close- unpleasantly close, dangerously close- to missing a couple of cues during Ex Wives. It’s nothing the audience will have noticed, even if they have seen the show before, and perhaps even the other queens won't pick up on it, but she knows and the thought gives her a horrible flustered feeling, like she’s falling behind and needs to catch up to something.

 Except there is no chance to catch up. Sometimes the lack of interval doesn’t bother her at all-  they’re all rather glad of it at times because it does away with having to worry about recapturing the audience's attention and goodwill after twenty minutes of all 200 of them getting irritated over overpriced wine and tiny-tubbed ice cream- but now she would kill for five minutes to sit down for a moment and collect herself.

 Even the show gets harder as it continues- she's unsettled by having someone who isn't Anna in Anna's place, the songs get longer, the dialogues get more heated and shouty, and Haus of Holbein...well, Haus of Holbein just exists.

She has never been less prepared for the flashing lights and pounding bass, and even when it’s over, she can feel the tension building up inside herself, the feeling of her last threads of control beginning to dry out, stretch thin and snap.

 Finally, finally, they strike their ending poses, fists thrust in the air. Anne can feel her arm trembling slightly and hopes that no one else will notice. She doesn’t feel like fielding questions off stage.

 Although she’s been hoping for a moment to collect herself, the split second of reprieve granted before the music starts again and the Megasix begins, if anything, make her feel more overwhelmed rather than less, as if her body, having tasted peace and quiet for a moment, is protesting bitterly by making everything that much louder.

 The dancing- not even really being able to rely on muscle memory because it’s apparently important that they keep an informality to the Megasix that can only be achieved by insisting that everybody dance freestyle- begins to feel like a rather unusual and exquisite form of torture.

 And then the confetti starts and it’s in her face and under her feet and god someone's going to break their neck one of these days and the front row fans are screaming particularly loudly- not just screaming but screaming words too, and as much as she knows they are most likely positive things, the words are lapping over one another like waves coming too quickly on the beach, sucking away her control, and the effort of keeping a smile on her face as she tries to focus on different parts of the audience so that everyone, even those people in further back seats feel included, are making her face hurt and her costume is prickling with sweat and god she just wants to rip it off and someone must have decided now was a good time to give themselves a quick douse of perfume in the front few rows because now it’s tickling her nose, it’s far too strong, and it’s all too loud, too bright, too much, too much for her to deal with all in one go, and in the midst of it all, she feels herself left as small and pink and vulnerable as an oyster, pried open and squirted with lemon juice, cringing in the remains of its broken shell.

 When the last note sounds and the stage goes mercifully dark and the curtain comes down, she can't move from her final pose. At last, at last, at last she can breathe for a second- but Kitty is already pulling on her arm and telling her to hurry up, come on, get changed so we can get to the pub- and maybe it’s Kitty shrieking in her ear, and maybe it’s the very sensation of being pulled and maybe it’s the thought of having to endure yet another noisy, bright, crowded space after everything, but to her mild surprise, Anne finds that rather than just pushing Kitty away like she would have had no problem doing normally, she’s wrenching herself away with such force that Kitty lets out a squeak of surprise and then she’s curling up right there on the confetti-strewn stage with her hands clasped so tightly over her ears it hurts and her eyes screwed shut so that she can almost see stars, folded up tightly to protect the very very tiny fragile hold on reality that she still has left.

 ‘Anne?’

 ‘Anne are you alright?’

 The others crowd round her immediately. 

 ‘What��s the matter, are you hurt?’

 She can't find the words to ask them to be quiet- but when Cathy’s concerned hand presses the scratchy material of her costume harder against her shoulder, she squirms and whines unhappily, cringing away. She’d be embarrassed, she thinks distantly, if she had any space in her head for anything other than panic.

 ‘…..can’t stay here.’

 ‘You can’t be thinking of moving her.’

 ‘It’s horrible to move her if she doesn't want to-’

 ‘Look she won’t want to stay here either, she’ll calm down quicker if she’s somewhere quiet-’

 After a minute or two of bickering, Catalina effectively ends the argument by scooping Anne into her arms and bearing her off to the dressing room.

 The added contact, the spikiness of Catalina’s costume, the noise the other queens are making makes her wriggle unhappily in Catalina’s arms but she doesn’t fight too hard, not really.

 She isn’t sure what she’d do if Catalina DID put her down. Curl back up into a ball until things got quieter, probably.

 In the dressing room, Catalina sets her gently on the carpet- or starts too. When Anne cringes away at the scratchy nylon, Jane spreads Kitty’s hoody and her own coat on the floor.

 ‘There, that’s better-’

 ‘What should we do…?’

 ‘I don't think we should all stay-’

 ‘Should we leave her alone?’

 Their voices are piling up again and it hurts, they hurt, muddling her already overburdened mind, and she’s just beginning to feel a scream tickling the back of her throat when Catalina holds up a hand.

 ‘Can't we have this conversation in the corridor?’

 Cathy nods; Kitty opens the door, casting worried looks back at Anne even as Jane tugs her outside.

 And then they are all out into the corridor. 

 Cathy makes a brief return to flick off the lights….and then she too withdraws, and Anne is left in peace.

 She curls up on her side in the welcome darkness. Her hands are still over her ears but slightly less tightly now. 

 Breath. Breathe. Breathe.

 She's still shaking, shaking even harder than before. Her teeth are chattering.

 Sweat dries on her skin.

 The tremors make her arms and legs ache but the pain is almost soothing- something else to focus on, at least.

 Slowly, slowly, she begins to relax her tensed-tight muscles, one by one.

 At least now it’s quiet.

 *

 They leave her alone for as long as they can- although really she can’t say how much time has passed- and then the door opens. Light spills in from the corridor.

 ‘Anne?’

 It’s Catalina.

 ‘Mija, it’s time to go home.’

 She curls up tighter and Catalina comes properly into the room, holding the door open with her foot.

 ‘Anne, it’s getting late. You’ll be more comfortable at home where you can rest.’

 She’s afraid that if she moves, all the light and noise of the theatre will engulf her again, flood her and suck her down; she’s feeling better now, she doesn't want to take the risk of moving.

 But Catalina doesn’t move. Her face is anguished- she looks pained, unhappy. She doesn't want to be the one having to make Anne move, and it gives her no pleasure when Anne eventually gets shakily to her feet.

 On the way to the car, she keeps her distance, gives her breathing room. She asks quietly if Anne would like help when she stumbles and when she shakes her head, she can see how that bothers Catalina too.

She’s not used to not being able to give comfort, she’s used to having to almost peel Cathy off, she’s used to Jane trailing around after her like a shadow. She’s used to being able to help.

 But she doesn’t press it and Anne is grateful.

 *

 When they get home, the others are awake and clustered in the living room but the hum of conversation falls silent when the front door opens and closes.

 Jane pops into the hall to say that she's welcome to join them if she’d like but that they completely understand if Anne would rather have some time on her own.

 She nods but when she goes upstairs it's not her own door she stops at but Anna's.

 She knocks, quietly, in case Anna is asleep- and then very gently nudges open the door. She's still shaking slightly.

 Anna’s room is half lit from the open laptop on the floor by the bed. The laptop is silent, the darkness is soft and welcoming. All is quiet and calm. She takes her first proper breath in what feels like hours.

  Anna herself is dozing- but opens her eyes just as Anne is making up her mind to resigning herself to going back to her own room.

 ‘Anne?’

 She gives a shaky half smile.

 ‘What time is it?’

 She nudges Anna's digital clock to face her: the lighted dial shows nearly 11pm.

  She isn’t sure if the others have filled Anna in, if she knows anything at all. (She decides not to ask, she’d rather not know.)

 ‘Oh’. Anna rolls onto her back and takes some tissues to blow her nose. ‘Are you ok?’

 She hesitates, trying to strip away the layers of meaning- she isn't sure whether to say yes or no, so after a minute she just shrugs.

 Anna sits up a bit and pats the bed next to her, flipping back the duvet.

 ‘Want to come keep me company in my bed of sickness?’

 She can't be sure but she feels like Anna is deliberately talking more softly than usual.

 Suddenly she wants nothing more than to take refuge here, in the peaceful semi darkness, where she has Anna next to her to do her talking for her until she feels up to talking for herself.

 She nods.

 ‘Come on then.’

  She crosses the room and gets under the covers in the sweats and tshirt Catalina helped her change into before going to the car. 

 Under the duvet, she burrows into Anna's side: it's warm and dark, it feels like a good place to recover.

 Anna lies down next to her, fitting her body around Anne's and wrapping an arm around her.

  It feels heavy, in the best way. Grounding.

 There's no way she’ll be able to float off into her own head with Anna here.

 ‘I missed you.’

 It’s quieter than a whisper, almost a breath, but Anna hears because she always does.

 ‘Missed you too, babes.’

  Anna’s arm tightens around her; her breath tickles Anne’s neck but it doesn’t bother her as much as it would have done an hour or two earlier. It’s a nice reminder that she isn’t alone.

 She closes her eyes, counts her breaths- in and out, like she’s learned to do at times like this- and waits to readjust to the world outside.

#six #six the musical #six the musical fanfiction #six fanfiction

[rock-speaks]

OKAY OKAY RANDOM HEADCANON TIME!!!

Louie

- autistic with ADHD overlap

- Inattentive

- the longest he’s slept for was 25 hours

- Deep as hell sleeper takes him at least and hour or two to come to full control

- Has 0 filter will literally say whatever comes to his mind regardless of how mean it may be or how crazy it might sound

- Talks to himself a crazy amount

- Louie has a banging TikTok where he just flexes and makes fun of Scrooge

- Louie has a huge social media presence in general he keeps it on the down low nobody knows about it and Louie would like to keep it that way

- Louie is a picky eater but eats all the time constantly snacking if the pantry is empty it was probably Louies doing

- He probably watches shitty movies and claims it’s too make fun of them but he really just likes them

- Probably really good at impressions his favorite person too make fun of is Huey

- Definitely needs therapy

- Secretly a big sap for romance those cliche movies where lovers embrace in the rain? Louies weakness

- Him and Lena are definitely super close not as close as Lena is too Webby but they’re still besties

- Prank king

- Sometimes just too “see what will happen” he tells people fake facts they almost always believe him (except for Huey) because why would they not? He has no idea why he does this but he hasn’t shown any signs of stopping

- Whenever he’s alone with Scrooge he says oddly cryptic and strange things no body knows why, sometimes not even Louie

- I imagine all the nephews have really curly hair Louies the only one who doesn’t straighten his hair

- Excellent judge of character

- Wise ass

Huey

- autistic!!!

- Will bring up the fact that he’s the oldest sibling in conversations that have nothing to do with it

- He’s probably a big saver and is definitely a person who has a penny collection

- Big collector!!! I swear he probably uses one of Scrooge’s unused rooms too keep foliage and rocks that he found

- He’s definitely got great posture

- Huey will randomly bring up a random memory if it somehow resurfaces to his mind no one knows how he remembers half this stuff and sometimes he brings up stuff they’d wish he’d forgotten

- Has definitely never said anything he didn’t mean

- Never says “I promise” if he knows he can’t do it

- Huey really just wants to be good at everything he tries so when he isn’t he just kinda gives up on it

- So obviously Huey isn��t a “practice makes perfect” kind of kid he’s more the “if it’s not right the first time scrap it and never try again”

- Huey probably holds himself to such a high standard and puts so much stress on himself to always be perfect

- Loyalty to the fuckin end

- Him and Lena get into “fights” all the time Lena is constantly trying to fuck with Huey and he’s just not here for it (yet another reason why her and Louie make such an insufferable team)

- Bad at video games

- Definitely takes the most after Donald in the sense that he’s so fucking rage full and I mean full Donald rage like fists flying in the air shouting with a red face type angry

- Needs fucking therapy and definitely has anxiety

- Has a bad sense of humor and laughs at everything part of the reason Dewey and Louie think they’re so funny

- Only has his one iPad and really only uses it for planning and other nerd stuff

- All fruits are Hueys favorite fruits but his favorites are blue berries

- Has a celebrity crush on Gizmoduck

Dewey

- This was pretty much confirmed murder on killmotor hill but he’s bisexual

- Long Huey shows up in his nightmares

- Always the first to start a pillow fight

- Has abandonment issues needs therapy

- Secretly listens to punk music and only Donald knows and he couldn’t be more proud (I wrote this before Louies eleven came out!! Lmao canon!!!)

- Loves to draw even though he probably sucks at it

- Dewey is totally the kid that will literally do anything for validation jump off the roof too seem cool? He’d do it in a heart beat

- Pretends not too care but he totally does

- Dewey is ADHD personalized never stops moving never stops talking something is seriously wrong when he’s quiet

- This is technically canon but he’s so petty

- Dewey is the type of guy who would NEVER ask for directions no matter how lost

- Speaking of he was probably the triplet to get lost the most

- Dewey loves robots like loves loves LOVES robots his dream is to learn to code and learn mechanics and build one him and Huey and him used to do those little “build your own robot kits” when they were younger

- Dewey has like 50 different dream jobs

- Launchpad has turned him into a hardcore darkwing duck fan

- THEATER KID

- Sort of forces himself to be an extrovert

Webby

- Webby loves to draw

- Has definitely cosplayed

- Knows about Louies secret social media accounts but he doesn’t need to know that

- You’re trying to keep something from Webby? What a joke

- Webby knows pretty much every ancient language

- Webby doesn’t know what a joke is and takes everything literally

- Definitely writes fan fictions

- Autistic

- Stims with her whole body excited jumping and screaming constantly

- Probably orally fixated out everything in her mouth

- Sometimes forgets things she literally just did or said often she asks “wait what did I just say?”

- Favorite movie? Men in black for sure

- Has always secretly wanted to be in a play

- If Scrooge says anything nice to her she thinks about it weeks after even if it’s something as small as “thank you”

- Feels really bad for glomgold and just really wants him to be happy

- Webby is cuddle central doesn’t matter when or where or who

- It kind of bothers her that Lena seems to always take Louies side

- HATES CONFRONTATION will console a friend in a heart beat but never NEVER EVER wants to fight

- Bad with social cues due to her ASD luckily she has the triplets and Lena and Violet to help her out in bad situations

- If no one stops her will talk about one thing for hours Lena always lets her

- Probably knows how to play like a shit ton of instruments

- Really likes cooking but she sucks at it Scrooge ate her cooking once to make her happy but promptly through it up when she left

- Was definitely a lego kid

Lena

- If any elderly woman tries to touch her she flips due to magicas abuse good thing she’s got two gay dads now

- Loves Violet so much and thanks her every night before bed

- After extensive therapy that was suggested by Violet had the rest of her friends she’s able to look at her own shadow again even if sometimes it really freaks her out

- Lena is a lesbian 100% open about it

- Wishes she were a vampire and definitely reads those dumb vampire/werewolf stories

- Really likes that she’s taller than all her friends uses that against her Huey fucking hates her for it

- Her favorite crime is arson

- Because she’s a rebellious teen her and officer M’ma have had a few run ins

- Shes probably never actually been to Paris but rather said that to impress Webby

- Lenas the type of emo to cover her face in every picture of her

- Has always cut her hair herself and when her friends talk about wanting to cut their hair she does it for them trying to convince them to let her dye it the whole time

- Lenas is responsible for most of the graffiti in duckburg

- Loves Launchpad she thinks it’s really fun to tell him stuff that isn’t true and he’s cool when she tells him she was just joking

- Has always secretly wanted to be a florist

- Loves licorice

- Magica probably didn’t intend for her to have a personality or a life at all really so Lena definitely picked the name herself

- Magicas not really controlling her nightmares anymore but she’s still very much in them they’ve gotten better but they still happen every so often

- Sometimes if she’s sitting on the couch and someone’s sitting right in front of her she kicks them in the head not hard but enough to bother them

- Probably can’t read

- She probably doesn’t have an official birthday so she doesn’t really understand the celebration of one one day Webby the triplets and Violet surprised her with a birthday

Violet

- in my head Duckula and Von goosewing will always be her parents

- Violets favorite thing to research is definitely trees

- Weak ass immune system probably gets sick all the time

- Definitely dresses however see feels on her off days she throws people off when she shows up ripped jeans and leather jackets

- Her biggest pet peeve is when anyone does anything loud

- Violet has been teaching things that Lena wasn’t taught since she never got a traditional education

- Violet is still a hard core skeptic despite having a sister made of shadows and a father who is a vampire

- Her hair is always a frizzy mess so she chooses never to do anything with it and just keeps it in a bun

- Really doesn’t get any memes ever

- Violet is probably a very low key germaphobe

- Pokemon is her favorite game and she knows all the originals and is a pro at all the games

-Huey and her do that thing we’re neither of you are fighting but rather both talking loudly that makes people think “oh it’s getting pretty heated over there”

#ducktales #headcanon #ducktales headcanons #dt headcanon #autistic headcanon #autistic characters #adhd headcanon #adhd character #dt 17 #ducktales 17 #drabble #add more if you want #i love headcanons!!

[beca-mitchell]

never grow up (winter wonderland) (1/1)

Summary: A series of snippets—Beca and Chloe spend their holidays in Seattle. A rare heavy snowfall makes for baby Emma’s first white Christmas.

Please see @asimplefavors’ winter photoset here. the captions/headings match up with her captions on the social media AU. An impromptu collab!

Also yes, please listen to Taylor Swift’s “Never Grow Up” in the background.

Word count: 3521

Read below or on AO3.

chloebeale: pretending that it’s not 20° outside #hellowashington

Beca is stunned as the plane lands and Emma continues to sleep contentedly in Chloe’s arms. 

“What?” Chloe asks, a light laugh escaping her when she takes in Beca’s bewildered expression.

“She’s perfect,” Beca says, a hint of awe creeping into her voice.

“You’re such a nerd,” Chloe teases.

“That’s my line,” Beca parries back, but she is sufficiently distracted when Emma blinks awake, almost on cue. “Hi,” she says softly. “Hi, we’re in Seattle now. Can you say Seattle?”

Emma’s fist shoots out—shockingly agile for a baby—and she attempts to immediately grab onto Chloe’s hair.

“She’s already nervous,” Beca comments.

Chloe snorts. “Are you sure that’s not just you talking?”

Beca ignores her, reaching out to hold Emma in her arms. “Can you say Washington?” Emma makes a sound that sounds happy enough. “Good job,” Beca praises. “You’re so talented.”

“Your mom’s going to love her,” Chloe says softly. “She loves you and she’s going to love Emma.”

— — — — —

chloebeale: mama refused to wear the matching socks

“Please,” Chloe tries again. She barely resists from laughing because Beca looks legitimately afraid of the animal socks.

“Chloe, you know fuzzy socks make me feel weird. Like the sound styrofoam makes. But for my feet. I hate it.”

At that, Chloe frowns in sympathy because she does know that. The socks admittedly are fuzzy, but not horrendously so and Chloe hadn’t really thought about it when she bought the matching set for their family. Emma kicks her feet out, clearly delighted by the cartoon animal on her feet. 

Emma babbles happily then looks up at Chloe, leaning all the way back into her stomach from where she sits, perched between Chloe’s outstretched legs. “Yes,” Chloe replies cheerfully. “A penguin!”

Beca falters as she watches her wife and daughter interact. Chloe is talking animatedly to Emma—Emma who is trying to grab at her own feet, clearly invested in the socks decorating her feet.

All at once, Beca is amazed at how fast Emma has grown—it was definitely only just yesterday when a small, squirming bundle was handed to her and Beca hadn’t realized she was crying until a small tear had landed on the wrap surrounding her baby.

Her baby.

Hers and Chloe’s. 

“Where are you going?” Chloe asks, from where she is still sitting in the middle of Beca’s mother’s living room. Beca rolls her eyes goodnaturedly, still unable to keep the smile off her face.

“Going to get the socks so we can match.”

Chloe gasps excitedly and Emma, clearly not wanting to be left out begins to giggle, though it comes out more as a gurgle.

“Mama’s going to match!” Chloe is telling Emma happily.

The things Beca does for this family.

— — — — —

chloebeale: YOU’RE KIDDING ME!!!!

Chloe swears she turns around for two seconds.

Beca is contentedly playing with Emma in the snow, making full use of Emma’s new—and very expensive—snow suit on the porch of Beca’s mother’s home. 

“Chloe!” Beca yelps suddenly, making Chloe drop her mittens when she whirls around.

“What?” Chloe demands, eyes immediately searching Emma’s rosy cheeks and her face for any sign of injury. She is so concerned that for three seconds she doesn’t notice that Emma is making delighted cooing sounds and flailing her arms around. Then she notices that Emma’s face is smeared with snow that has already started to melt off her cheeks and nose.

“She just put her whole face into the snowman we were building,” Beca explains in awe.  “Like just. Put her whole face. Into the snow.”

Chloe squeals when Emma grabs a handful of snow and crushes it in her gloved hands. “She’s so cute!” Chloe almost reaches out for her, but then holds herself back. “Wait, we should see what else she does,” she explains in a whisper to Beca. 

“I hope she eats the snow,” Beca says helpfully.

 — — — — —

chloebeale: it’s a lot less romantic when I tell you that we used the timer setting

All Beca can see is white. Sheets and sheets of snow, freshly fallen from the sky. She nurses the mug currently in her hands, allowing the heat to warm her chilled fingers—chilled from where they had been pressed against the window when she had gotten out of bed and dragged her hands along the cold windowpane with a child-like glee. 

Being back in Seattle, being able to see all the wonders Washington has to offer again, Beca wonders why she finds herself staying away so often. She sits, swaddled among fluffy sheets while Chloe continues to snooze behind her.

The memory of the previous night sends a pleasant shiver down her spine without any help from the cold beyond the glass.

(Chloe’s lips, hard and bruising against her lips. Beca gasps for breath, but barely has a chance to do much else than whimper against Chloe’s mouth when Chloe’s hands pick her up, gripping tight under her thighs and carrying her to the bed. 

Chloe’s lips, so soft and delicate as she kisses and licks between her legs, desperation and lust blending into one. Beca’s eyes fixated on the ceiling while Chloe gently licks and sucks at wet flesh—almost embarrassingly wet—while taking small pauses to whisper words of love into Beca’s thighs; to smile against warm, wet skin.

The ceiling is so white—bare, like the fresh snow outside. So much snow—more than Beca's used to, even for Seattle standards—but it is incredibly beautiful. 

Beca gasps out a chorus of Chloe’s name before blinding white consumes her.) 

A strong arm slides around her waist. “What an unnecessarily gigantic window,” Chloe mumbles. A hand comes up to tangle in Beca’s hair, gently sweeping the unruly strands away from her neck.

“Look at the view,” Beca teases.

Soft lips gently touch her neck. Beca shivers.

“I am,” Chloe finally says in a tone that clearly indicates that she is in fact not looking at the view. Her lips continue to tease the increasingly-warm skin at the base of Beca’s neck before trailing just under her jaw. “I’m enjoying the view.” Her hands join at Beca’s belly. “So much.” Chloe begins to rub teasing circles into Beca’s midsection, slowly drifting lower as she goes.

Beca loses herself to the sensation. She loves the feeling of Chloe’s hands on her body—the striking familiarity and sure, confident touch—as a reminder that she is still so, so desired and Chloe’s love for her knows no bounds. The feeling is entirely mutual. Beca somehow feels like an emotional mess and a teenager again, with how quickly her body is reacting to Chloe’s touch. “That feels nice, baby,” Beca rasps, reaching up with her free hand to lazily grip at Chloe’s hair.

“Mm…we should take a photo.”

Beca is distracted, primarily by the feeling of Chloe’s ministrations on her body. She is barely cognizant of the mug of tea in her hands and quickly places it on the closest coffee table.

Then, suddenly, Chloe’s warmth is leaving her. “Wait, where are you going? You weren’t serious were you?” Chloe giggles from behind her. Beca twists to follow the sound, highly alarmed. “We are nude!”

— — — — —

chloebeale: we got drunk then cried over missing our baby too much #momlife

Chloe trails the tips of her fingers up and around Beca’s neck and shoulders, enjoying the comforting weight of Beca leaning against her heavily. Full from dinner and exhausted from socializing with Beca’s family, they sit quietly in their room, watching Emma babble happily while crawling around their bed. They had gone out the previous night, just the two of them as a last impromptu date night while Beca’s mother looked after Emma. It ended up being just the two of them looking through photos on Chloe’s phone and deciding which ones to send to their friends.

The night had ended early and Chloe had been all too eager to cuddle with her wife and baby the moment they got home.

Now, sitting in their temporary room in Beca’s mother’s home, this feels like the first moment of quiet since landing in Seattle, just the three of them.

Chloe zones out momentarily, thinking about how much of her life had been so incredibly magical over the past decade. She thinks, silently pondering over every last moment, every last second, with Beca Mitchell in her life. Loving Beca and loving Emma are the easiest things Chloe has ever done and she is never giving that up.

“Hey,” Beca murmurs. Chloe can tell she’s tired, based on the sleepy way she tilts her head up to nuzzle into Chloe’s neck. “What are you thinking about over there?”

“Thinking about how much I love you,” Chloe whispers. Emma is lying still now, looking fairly tired, but her face is turned towards them and she blinks, as if she is fascinated by their conversation. 

“Me?” Beca seems to perk up with the knowledge. “What about me has you so distant?” she questions, skimming her fingers along Chloe’s hip.

“I’m just so happy to be married to one of the best people in the world,” Chloe says honestly. She loves how flustered Beca gets whenever she talks about her love. “And how this person is also the mother of my child. And my best friend.” Chloe sighs. “I lucked out.”

“God,” Beca complains. “She sounds lame. Sounds like she’s the lucky one honestly.”

“Is that so?”

“Definitely.” Chloe can’t help the grin that overtakes her face when Beca gets out of bed to gently lift Emma and tuck her into the little cot they brought along. “What are you staring at, weirdo?” Beca asks when she turns around and catches Chloe’s full-blown grin and soft eyes.

“A hot mom,” Chloe responds instantly.

“Is that so?” Beca echoes, before climbing over Chloe’s lap and straddling her thighs.”Are you just going to stare, or…?”

Chloe runs her hands up Beca’s back, smoothing the wrinkles in the light sleep shirt she’s wearing. “I could,” she murmurs. She tilts her head up obligingly for a kiss. Beca sighs happily, immediately tilting her head to deepen the kiss briefly while her fingers reach up to scratch at the back of Chloe’s neck. 

The kiss is familiar, as are most of their kisses. With time, Chloe has mastered the art of interpreting Beca’s kisses, knowing when her wife craves more than just affection. This is one of those moments where Beca simply craves closeness, but chooses to not express that in so many words. Chloe moves her hands to Beca’s hips, holding her steady while allowing Beca to guide their kiss at whatever pace she chooses. Again and again, their lips meet, eventually slowing into gentle, languid presses of lips against lips.

Beca smiles into the kiss, leaning back in Chloe’s lap.

“Better?” Chloe asks, voice a little hoarser than usual.

Beca nods, leaning in to brush her nose against Chloe’s, an unexpected giggle escaping her when Chloe immediately pulls her close for a tight hug and rolls them around on the bed until they’re lying in a messy, tangled heap amongst their pillows and sheets. “Thank you,” Beca murmurs when her breathlessness dissipates.

“For what?”

Beca hesitates. “For picking me. For this family.”

That response is so unexpected and so quick, but spoken with such reverence and tenderness that Chloe is instantly overwhelmed. Though Chloe never doubts Beca’s love for her and Beca’s love for their family, small, tender moments like these never fail to make every last emotion well up in Chloe and spill out of her in a fit of passion. She immediately can’t help herself and cups Beca’s cheek, pulling her in for one last, lingering kiss.

After a moment, Chloe pulls back, heart pounding at the sight of Beca’s eyes staring back at her intently. Just for a moment, however, because then, Beca’s eyes flutter closed.

Both of them finally exhausted, Chloe can’t help but gather all the strength she can from this holiday; from her wife; from their baby snoozing in her own cot—all to murmur one last sentiment before Beca drifts off completely.

”I’ll always pick you, Beca.”

— — — — —

 chloebeale: never grow up..

When Beca wakes, Chloe is nowhere to be found. She inhales steadily for a few more moments, intently considering whether she ought to return to sleep, but the distinct lack of her wife snoring next to her as well as the distinct lack of any sounds from Emma’s cot ensure that her body automatically begins to fully awaken so she can search for her missing family.

Yawning, Beca quickly scrubs her face and brushes her teeth as the last vestiges of sleep fade away from her. Padding through her mother’s home, Beca feels both familiarity and distance. She has long considered L.A. to be her home, even more so now that she and Chloe have a relatively new addition to their lives, but Beca still feels every bit like a moody teenager creeping around creaky floorboards and tiptoeing down the stairs based on instinct.

Her mother is cooking already, pleasant smells and sounds coming from the kitchen. Beca can tell that breakfast will be a good spread and her stomach twists in reaction to both the memory of her mother’s food and literal smells she picks up.

For a moment, Beca forgets the past decade and a half of her life. It feels like a weekend; a surprisingly white Christmas in Seattle; another morning alone because Beca opted not to go to her father’s again and Beca’s mother is smiling at her from across the kitchen table. “It’s just us,” she says, eyes bright with both happiness and sadness as she gazes at Beca. “Never grow up,” she continues.

Beca hadn’t understood anything about that then. Just that she was tired and needed some food or she’d be grumpy for the rest of the day.

But now, still stuck in the memory, Beca freezes in the doorway. She wonders how time somehow slipped through her grasp so quickly. Her mother, all grey hairs and slumped shoulders, continues to cook, but everything has changed.

“Beca,” her mother greets happily. “Good morning. You're up early.”

And all at once, it is like sound crashes around them and Beca’s cousin is pushing past her into the kitchen, tiny bodies immediately following him with high, excited voices chiming in whenever they deem necessary.

“Can you go fetch Chloe? She stepped out with Emma for just a few minutes into the back.”

Beca nods, still a little dumbstruck. She finds Chloe immediately. Chloe, who looks everything like a snow princess: cozy white sweater and white jeans with cascading red hair flowing out from under a warm hat. In her arms, Chloe holds Emma in her arms. Emma, who is wrapped in a makeshift swaddle, is gazing up at Chloe with all her attention.

Chloe appears to be singing to her, which becomes clearer as Beca opens the sliding glass door and steps outside in a pair of stolen boots.

It’s an old Taylor Swift song, Beca thinks, but she can’t quite place the name. She’s sure Chloe will remind her of it soon enough. The melody is both beautiful and haunting, but Chloe’s voice is so light and airy that Beca can’t interpret it as anything but totally loving and happy.

By the time Chloe finishes, Beca has made her way over completely and stands close by Chloe’s side.

“Good morning sleepyhead,” Chloe greets.

“Was that to me or the baby?” 

Chloe giggles. “Both. What’s got you up and about?”

“Just thinking,” Beca murmurs. She tucks her cold hands around Chloe’s waist and hooks her chin over her wife’s shoulder. 

“Not too hard, I hope,” Chloe replies, continuing to gently rock Emma back and forth. Emma coos, tilting her head to gaze at Beca contentedly before resting her head against Chloe’s chest. The fluffy hat brushes Beca’s nose, but she makes no move to shift away.

“Just...I never want her to grow up,” Beca admits. Her throat feels tight. “I just want it to be like this forever. Is that selfish?”

Chloe’s stance seems to soften even more. "No, absolutely not," she promises. Chloe adjusts her hold on Emma’s bundled body and uses her now-free arm to wrap around Beca’s shoulder to pull her into more of a side hug. “Is everything okay?”

Beca smiles, leaning in to kiss the corner of Chloe’s mouth. “Everything’s perfect.”

— — — — —

 chloebeale: we feed her, I swear

“We need to socialize her more,” Beca says, holding Emma in her arms while her cousin carries his own daughter across the field. “I don’t think she’s ever seen another baby before.”

“She’s fine,” Chloe insists. She twists to greet Chris and his daughter Nicole. “Hi you,” she greets, kissing Nicole on her cheeks. “You’ve grown so much!”

“Hi Chloe, always nice to see you again,” Chris greets with a laugh. “Beca, still as short as ever I see.” 

Beca scowls from behind Emma’s hat. “Shut up. Where’s your better half?”

“She’s inside with our other kids,” Chris says. “This one,” he says, lifting Nicole slightly. Nicole, who is staring at Emma with interest and curiosity. “Loves the snow.”

“Emma,” Chloe says, reaching to pull Emma into her arms. “Do you want to play?”

“My kid’s cuter than yours,” Beca says once Emma leaves her arms. 

“Beca!” Chloe exclaims. “Behave.” She turns to face Nicole again and kisses her on the cheek once more, this time with Emma in her arms. “She didn’t mean that,” she whispers conspiratorially, evidently not noticing Emma’s suddenly wide eyes.

When they set both of them on the ground, both children looking adorable and extremely huggable, Emma immediately takes a few short toddler steps towards the other baby and immediately reaches out to—

“Emma!” Chloe yelps while Beca laughs hysterically. Emma is licking a line up Nicole’s face—poor Nicole is frozen, but not entirely displeased—in order to lick up bits of snow and ice.

“She didn’t learn that from me,” Beca calls from behind Chloe.

 — — — — —

chloebeale: Beca told her that Santa wasn’t real

Chloe loves hearing Beca converse with Emma. Beca hasn’t quite mastered the art of baby talk and she believes—correctly, Chloe thinks—that babies ought to be spoken to like a regular person

Beca is pretending to use Emma’s stuffed bunny to talk to her, which is exceptionally amusing considering Beca is telling Emma about where snow comes from. Chloe is filming as discreetly as possible on her phone because she is constantly in awe at how incredibly awesome her family is at any given moment.

“Ice crystals,” Beca explains patiently. “It’s kind of cool. Each snowflake is different.” She adjusts the hat on their daughter’s head, grinning at the way the pompoms wobble with how large they are.

Emma stares, transfixed, at the stuffed animal in Beca’s hands, like it holds all the secrets to the universe. It was a gift from Beca’s uncle and Chloe has yet to see it leave Emma’s zone of perception. In fact, Chloe notes, Emma looks a little wary that Beca is manhandling the bunny at all. If babies somehow are able to master a look of distrust and suspicion, Chloe thinks Emma is verging pretty close.

“When you grow up, we’re going to have to explain Santa,” Beca continues. “That’ll be harder, but if you want to continue believing in him, you bet we’ll go along with you.” She smiles at Emma while Chloe tries not to laugh. Suddenly, Emma begins to cry and Beca’s smile drops right off her face. “Wait, no!” Beca turns to face Chloe in panic. “I didn’t mean that. Do you think she understood me?”

Beca’s genuine fear paired with their baby’s increasingly loud shrieking causes Chloe to finally put down her phone and stand so she can comfort her poor, distressed family. “Yes Beca,” Chloe says, taking the bunny from Beca’s hands and putting it back next to Emma. It’s cute how they’re pretty much the same size. Emma’s crying ceases nearly instantaneously. “I’m sure she understood every word.”

 — — — — —

chloebeale: wifey <3

“Beca, swings are for children,” Chloe teases.

“And we have a child,” Beca points out. “C’mere,” she says to Emma, holding her arms out to take her from Chloe’s arms. Chloe laughs when Emma immediately moves to grab Beca’s hair. “She’s so obsessed with my hair.” She smiles slyly at Chloe. “Another thing she gets from you.” 

Chloe blushes, pink from embarrassment and the cold. “Shut up.” She squeals suddenly. “Wait, you two are so cute!” She fumbles with her bag to pull out her phone. “My two puffy babies.” Emma is delighted by the strands of Beca’s hair tangled in her tiny fingers.

“Puffy?” Beca looks down at her Michelin Man-esque coat. “Oh, I see. Haha, very funny.”

Chloe leans in to steal a kiss. “Okay, now go get on the swings you big baby.” She pulls Emma back. “I’m giving you five minutes.”

“That’s all the time in the world as long as you’re here.”

#bechloe #fanfiction #pitch perfect #mine #asimplefavors #my fanfic

[pokemaniac1]

To Grant a Wish - Part 1

Written for @tilltheendwilliwrite​‘s 7.7k Celebration (Covid Sucks) Challenge. This got waaaay away from me and ended up being almost three times longer than I thought it was going to be. It was originally going to be a oneshot but i’m going to have to post the second half in a few days due to the flu. :( 

Check it out on Ao3 Here

My prompt was this image:

Summary: After trying and failing to set an appointment to meet with Iron Man, Make-A-Wish Foundation worker, Eliza Elliot, has no idea how she's going to help her kids fulfil their wish to 'Meet a real life superhero'.  

However, thanks to an online video, some determination, and a pair of chaotic interns, Eliza manages to pull it off.

Warnings: Childhood illnesses, references to terminal illnesses, hospitals, possible inaccuracies in the job description tbh, cat calling, getting cornered by drunk guys, threatened assault, car crash, (almost)getting run over by a car,

------

Saturday evening had Eliza rubbing her eyes tiredly and glaring at the phone in her hand. The number to the Stark Industries' head office flashed briefly on her phone’s screen before going black.

She had been trying to get in touch with the events' coordinator of the company, or someone who could help her, for the past 3 months, but she'd been shunted off from one person to the next with seemingly no end in sight.

She noted the time, seeing 8:26pm, and sighed. Closing her notepad, she was about to place it back in her bag and head off for the night when her phone buzzed on the counter. She looked at the number and, seeing one of the numbers she had spent over an hour on hold with today, she scrambled to pick it up. She almost lost her mug - empty but for a few left over coffee grinds laying at the bottom - off the side of her desk in her haste but managed to catch it just as she pressed the 'Accept Call' button. She placed it back on the teetering pile of papers that sat on the edge of her desk, its weight balancing out the whole pile and preventing an avalanche that was one day inevitable.

"Hello! This is Eliza Elliot." She said to the phone, her best Customer Service Voice(TM) in place. She hoped briefly that she didn't sound too frantic.

"Ah, Miss Elliott. This is Michael Walters, I'm the deputy events manager at Stark Industries." Came the clipped voice from the other end. "I'm calling to follow up with you regarding your calls over the last few months." "It's great to hear from you Mr. Walters." Again, Eliza did her best to sound calm, hope rising in her chest. Three months and finally a response. "I was told you were one of the best people to speak to in regards to setting up an appointment with Iron Man." Him and like 20 others. "That's correct, I'm one of those in charge of approving Mr. Stark's events." he said, sounding like he had his nose pointed to the ceiling.

The haughtiness in his tone was hard to miss and Eliza felt her own nose wrinkle in distaste. Just get through this conversation Eliza. You've waited 3 months for this opportunity. She took a deep breath and jumped right into it.

"Great! As you're most likely aware from my previous calls, I'm calling on behalf of the Make-A-Wish foundation. I'm looking to set up a meet and greet with Mr. Stark and some of the children who would love to meet their hero." Her rehearsed line came out in a single breath and quickly enough it almost sounded like a single word. Thankfully, it was understandable, but it was a close thing. Pinching herself slightly, she forced herself to take a deep breath. Here next words came out a tad more controlled. "What would be involved....."

"Miss Elliott." Came the abrupt reply, cutting off her off. "I'm calling to inform you that, unfortunately, we can't approve of an event held at your location." Eliza's breath caught in her throat.

"Oh, well thank you for getting back to me and letting me know. Is it because of security for Mr. Stark?" She asked once she could breathe again, figuring that that would be a valid concern considering everything that the Avengers deal with on an almost weekly basis. It's not like a small (government funded) hospital in the middle of New Jersey would have the kind of security needed to prevent those risks. "We're happy to book an approved venue if that's what it takes."

"Ah wonderful, we can put you on the waiting list then." Walters said. The snobbish tone was still present and it rubbed Eliza up the wrong way. Do it for the kids, Eliza. Jeremy and Zeki have been waiting for this. She heard papers shuffle in the background. "It appears our next available booking is in 18 months at the..."

Her heart plummeted, a heavy rock forming in the pit of her stomach not even hearing where the venue was. She found her voice after a moment and was quite proud of the fact that there was no waver to it.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Walker. I know this may be a lot to ask, but is there any chance we can get an earlier time slot?" She asked. A pause on the other end had her palms sweating. She rushed to fill the silence. "It's just that, we have a couple of kids who have been waiting a really long time already and we're working on fast-tracking a few select wishes due to the nature of their illnesses." Fuck. Did I just violate HIPAA by saying that? Shit fuck. Too late now. "They're really looking forward to seeing their heroes."

"Miss Elliott," He started, a harsh edge to his voice. "I certainly cannot rush you up the queue. If we let anyone just push ahead, especially those looking for handouts, then we wouldn't be the industry leaders we are. Your organisation will wait your turn regardless of whatever sob story you have lined up."

Eliza was stunned silent momentarily, not quite sure how to respond.

She wasn't the best with social cues, but she was pretty sure that the man's response was entirely uncalled for. Even if she was trying to get a foot in the door to meeting her superhero for personal reasons, surely they had enough resources to do a background check on everyone who was trying to get a meeting? Wouldn't that be enough to see that she was who she said she was?

He clearly knew she was with the Make-A-Wish Foundation though. He mentioned looking for handouts, was this because they were a charity? Why would they have a problem with that though? Tony Stark and Stark Industries was famous for having one of the most influential charities in the country in the Maria Stark Foundation. Surely they'd be understanding in helping another charity? This sort of thing is what they did, right?

Mr. Walker had continued talking throughout her minor existential crisis.

"It's also come to my attention that you have made over a dozen calls to our office just in the past month." He said in his imperious tone.

She didn't need to look at her notes to know that, yes, she had indeed called them over a dozen times this month. Twenty-six times to be exact. Though, to be fair, most of those were to the Maria Stark Foundation rather than Stark Industries itself and all of those were because they couldn't seem to decide who was in charge of organising a meeting with Iron Man.

"I have booked you in for the next available appointment in 18 months. Our event team will be in touch with the details in the next 48 hours. From now on, please refrain from excessive phone calls, otherwise we will be forced to pursue legal action on the grounds of harrassment. I hope you have a lovely evening Miss Elliott."

At the sudden beep signalling the end of the call, Eliza could only stare at the phone, the number again flashing on the screen before going dark. After what felt like an eternity, she placed the phone down on the counter and collapsed her head onto her arms.

What the fuck was that?

--------------------

Two days later on Monday morning, Eliza walked into the children's wing of the hospital, the laughs and chatter that greeted upon her entry making her smile. Despite everything that they were going through, the kids always managed to have smiles on their faces.

Her job as a Wish Granter with the Make-a-Wish Foundation had her scheduled to come in to socialise with her assigned children at least three days a week. She adored seeing her honorary children whenever she was scheduled; it was a  part of her job description that was a bonus she was very happy to take advantage of.

They were so often such a joy to speak with as the distinctive resilience of children was plain as day in almost all of the kids in the hospital. Whether they're hospitalised because of cancer, a birth defect, or even a degenerative disease, the vast majority of the time they're playing and laughing as much as they were able just like any regular kids.

Her job could be really difficult though. Sometimes, it was heart wrenching to look at all the tiny faces in the children's wing of the hospital and know that for some of them, their stay in the hospital would be ongoing for the remainder of their lives.

There were also days where certain children had a particularly painful day. It could be a flair up, a seizure, or a day after a surgery. The days that she had to watch the almost lifeless forms of usually energetic children weighed heavily on her heart.

Thankfully, that day seemed to be one of the good days.

When we she walked through the door to the ward one of her children were assigned to, she was almost bowled over by a bright blur at waist height. She only just managed to stay standing by reaching out and snagging the doorframe with one of her hands, steadying both herself and the little barnacle that was now attached to her legs.

She looked down and her face brightened in happiness at seeing the excited face of one of the kids looking up at her. Her concerns of the previous night's talk were put on pause and sent to the back of her mind as she went to chat the tiny ray of sunshine.

"Carly!" She exclaimed, taking in the little 6 year old dressed in her favourite summer dress, even though it could be considered sweater temperature in the air conditioned room. "It's good to see you, sweetie! I see you're up and moving about like a little tornado."

That got a giggle from the little girl and another squeeze before she let go and stepped back from Eliza.

"I'm super fast today!" Carly giggled. "I totally surprised you just then, didn't I?"

"You sure did." Eliza laughed, taking a step back into the room and making space in the doorway for a mum coming in. "What have you been up to today with all this energy?" The question seemed to remind the girl of something and she quickly grabbed hold of Eliza's hand again, tugging her towards a bed at the back of the ward and chattering so fast Eliza couldn't keep up with what she was saying.

As she was dragged walking past, several parents who were sitting beside beds – some carefully trying to avoid any wires or IV cords their young children had - looked up and smiled in greeting at her. They were doing remarkably well at managing the kids considering most of them seemed to have caught whatever spurt of energy Carly was displaying. She'd be worried if it weren't such a refreshing sight to see.

The children in this ward ranged in ages from five to ten years old and while most of those in the children's wing stayed maybe a couple of nights at a time, this ward and the ones either side of it were where those with some of the more serious conditions were staying. These were the kids who tended to come in more frequently for operations or observations and for longer periods.

For example, Carly, who wasn't one of the children whose Wish she was organising but was hard to ignore even on one of her bad days, was there that day on observation after a scare that her leukemia was returning. She'd recently had her third chemotherapy treatment so she was still in the early stages of treatment. Despite this, she rarely stayed still for very long, and was on her feet as often as she was physically able to be, much to her parents' distress.  

It hurt sometimes to know that such young children were going through such terrible experiences, but they always maintained such positive outlooks on their lives, it was difficult to remain too upset around them.

Eliza noted, with no small amount of amusement, that the bed she was being led to was almost completely covered with pillows. It was an impressive stack to say the least. It had been covered from the very top to the very end in pillows of varying sizes and was roughly five layers high all the way across, even six layers in some places. If Eliza had to guess, she'd say there was easily fifty pillows just on that one bed alone. Beside her, Carly was chatting away happily, informing Eliza that they had plans for today and that they needed her help with a very important task.

"Mummy said we weren't allowed to start until you got here, so now that you're here you, me and Zeki can play princes and princesses! Buuut...." the drawn out word was punctuated with another fierce little tug to her arm. "we need a castle!"

Eliza huffed out a laugh and traded an amused glance with Carly's mother who was watching everything from a chair by the window.

Zeki, a young boy with polymicrogyria and a smile with an intensity set to outshine his hardships, was standing beside a tower to the pillow gods, practically vibrating with excitement. He was one of the two children whose wish Eliza was organising and he happened to be one of Carly's best friends in the ward. The two of them were practically inseparable when they were staying in the hospital at the same time.

Due to his condition, his brain hadn't developed correctly in the womb and led to Zeki being born deaf, having a lot of trouble with coordination, and often experiencing seizures. It was a severe condition that was progressively getting worse. This condition, paired with an underdeveloped heart, had led to far too many close calls for comfort and a great deal of uncertainty of his survival with each seizure (hence Eliza's urgency to get in touch with Iron Man).

Kids being kids though, that didn't stop either of them from playing their hardest. With an excited wave at Eliza when he saw her, he pointed at the pillows and started signing even more wildly. She didn't know much sign language but it looked like a pillow fort construction was in the near future. She was proven correct a moment later.

"He says we're going to be building a Pillow Castle Fort, 'liza!" Carly almost shouted her Big Reveal as they came up to him. "Ooohh! That sounds fun!" Eliza said with enthusiasm. "That's a lot of pillows you have there. Where did you get them all?" "His mummy brought most of them and my mummy brought some of the others! We needed at least a hundred pillows for the castle!" She said with a serious nod to her head. "Let's go!"

"I'd love to help, Carly. But, aren't you supposed to be resting today?" Eliza asked, pausing by the bed and giving the girl what she hoped was a disapproving face. She apparently needed to work on her disapproving looks because Carly just grinned, ignored her, and started helping Zeki move the pillows from the bed to the floor. Eliza sighed. "Fine, but once we finish, you're going to bed, little miss."

And with that, the three of them got to work. With a chuckle and an amused glance at the two troublemakers Eliza focused on following the appointed princess' directions.

She wasn't surprised when, after only a minute and in a moment of frustration and mischief, as they were taking the main pile off the bed, Carly decided that the easiest way to bring them down was via the avalanche method; i.e. Grab a couple from the bottom of the pile and rip them out to bring the rest of the pillows down on top of them. Zeki let out a squeal of surprise and then a loud giggle as the pillows tumbled down around them.

Once that excitement was over, the castle was started by using the bed as a foundation with the pillows propped up against the legs and built around it. Carly obviously had a vision as to how her castle needed to be designed because she took over directions almost immediately and was very fastidious about the placement of each pillow.

She wasn't sure exactly what she was signing to Zeki, but her playful comments to Eliza along the lines of "'Liza, make sure that pillow is exactly this far away from the one next to it! No, no, no! This far!", or the very serious "No, 'Liza. We can't just make it two floors high! It has to be three floors! The princess and the prince are going to have the best room we can make." while Zeki giggled and wiggled at their side made her think they were talking smack about her in their secret language. The cheeky little things.

It was an hour later and the pillow castle was well on its way to completion when Eliza's other charge came to greet her.

Jeremy was a little boy for his 10 years of age and he came almost crashing into the ward through the door and bounding, not quickly but still energetically, over to her when he saw her. He had a massive smile on his face as his momentum, and lack of coordination, brought him crashing into her where she was crouching on the floor. Luckily for the castle, they fell to the side and away from the pillows, however, it wasn't so lucky for Eliza's elbow, which caught the tiled floor as she turned to catch the small bundle of energy flying into her. She chuckled as she sat up, ignoring the slight flare of a soon-to-be bruise, and picked up the squirming child from her lap.

"Hi Jeremy. How are you going today, kiddo?" She asked with a grin.

The garbled noises she got in return, paired with an excited wave of an Iron Man toy she had just noticed in his hand made her smile widen further, though a ball of sadness curled low in her belly.

Jeremy had an enzyme deficiency (the name of which was more a rearrangement of the alphabet to Eliza than an actual word) which caused a variety of issues for him. Besides being unable to communicate verbally, he also had various bone malformations, and had to have enzyme replacements each week. These appointments meant he was hooked up to a bunch of machinery for 8 hours every Monday, and while not a cure for his condition, did a lot to slow down its progression.

Having just arrived for his appointment, he was in high spirits and was excited to see all of his friends again. It was also apparent, he was keen to show off his new toy.

"Oh wow! That's an awesome Iron Man toy!" She told him excitedly. "Is he new?"

He nodded frantically in return and pulled out his mobile phone. He pulled up his communication app and started typing.

She waited patiently for him as she fixed the base of the castle fort and once he was done she read what he showed her. Carly and Zeki were excitedly starting to crawl through the castle and test its integrity so Eliza knew she had a moment to chat with her second charge. Carly was gingerly pulling herself up to the bed level while Zeki was exploring the base level, the one securely on the ground and the one with the most 'rooms' able to be huddled together.

'We were buying a present for my friend's birthday and mum got it for me!' He'd typed.

"Ooh! That's awesome!" She exclaimed. Grinning, she looked down at his shirt with a big screen print of the Ironman armour on it and his light up Ironman glow shoes. "Iron Man's your favourite superhero too isn't he?" She knew the answer but he always got excited when he spoke about Ironman.

As she expected, he started writing frantically on his app, telling her all about the trip to the store and the fact that he got to play in the park after it, and even meeting one of his school friends there!

'It even comes with 2 extra armour sets!' He went on to type. 'When I get home, I'm going to be putting on one of them! It's like a puzzle!'

She grinned. "Woah Iron Man puzzles!?" She started nodding her head thoughtfully while smiling. "They are the best kind of puzzles."

As Jeremy started typing on his phone once again, and Carly and Zeki started playing princes and princesses among the pillows, her thoughts drifted to the disastrous conversation with Mr. Walters on the phone the day prior. She hadn't yet received the confirmation email he said she'd receive but she still had roughly a day or so before she had to follow up.

Iron Man was Eliza's first choice of hero to contact for Jeremy and Zeki's shared wish of 'meeting a superhero' because of Jeremy's absolute adoration for the hero as well as the hero's very public identity. Zeki hadn't really shown a preference for any hero in particular as he reacted with the same vigorous energy to all the heroes when she'd asked and when they came on tv. So as long as they were in their suits, he'd be happy.

Getting in touch with the heroes was the biggest hurdle that Eliza had to face, made only slightly easier by the fact that Stark Industries had made a public method of setting up fundraising or social events. She'd seen pictures of Mr. Stark in his Iron Man suit taking publicity shots with people, both adults and kids, at other hospitals around the country, sometimes even the world, and she figured it would have been easy to get through to the self proclaimed Philanthropist. Unfortunately, that wasn't the case. Steve Rogers, Captain America, was also contactable through Stark Industries according to their website, but she didn't hold out much hope for reaching him if she couldn't get past the first stage of reaching Iron Man.

How was she even supposed to get in touch with another hero? It's not like all the heroes essentially had a hotline to contact them for meet and greets.

A tug on her shirt pulled her out of her thoughts and she looked down again at Jeremy, only to have his phone jammed in her face in his excitement.

'Spiderman was with Iron Man Yesterday in New York! There were super cool pictures and videos on Youtube of them fighting the big robot! Iron Man got really close and Spider Man even ran right past! They're so cool!'

Eliza raised her eyebrows in surprise, "When did this happen? I didn't hear about any fights that the Avengers were called to over the weekend." Though, I was working for half of it trying to get in touch with said hero and then staring despondently at Netflix for the rest of it when I couldn't.

After a few moments of typing, he replied. 'Saturday!! I can show you the video'

At Eliza's nod, he started searching YouTube for it. She took a moment to glance again at Zeki and Carly who were still playing Princes and Princesses. They'd moved from playing hide-and-seek through the castle to a royal tea party in the main room on the 'second floor' (i.e. on the bed rather than the floor).  

It didn't take long before Jeremy had found his video and her attention was brought back to him.

It was a very shaky shot at first, all blurred and out of focus. It was equally likely that the cameraman was either in a rush to get away from the danger, or in a hurry to catch some of the action (self preservation more often than not came after taking the chance to catch the action for the chance of a viral video of the heroes). After a few seconds of the of the blurred sidewalk, the camera's view shifted to a smoky version of the New York skyline, with Stark Tower reaching towards the sky and the Empire State Building in the distance. Rubble from nearby buildings littered the roads and people took shelter in various shops, nooks, and crannies around the street for what seemed to be an almost monthly occurrence at this point.

For a moment, the only sounds that could be made out were voices calling out to take cover or directions for the closest shelter, but then a low whine could be heard getting louder. The camera turned towards the sound and a dark spot in the sky could be seen getting larger, presumably as whatever it was got closer and closer coming from the direction of Stark Tower.

Suddenly, a loud crack and groan drew the cameraman's attention to the right, causing the camera to jostle and then move in that direction. The crack had been from the impact of a large body being thrown into a mess of steel frames outlining a construction site, which, by itself, was disturbing enough despite it having reptilian features and being almost twice the size of a human. Anything described as reptilian while being the size that it was had no business being in this century, let alone taking down construction sites.

As soon as the figure was there, it was gone. A brief shout from the cameraman and a pan to the left showed it had been yanked away and stuck to a wall across the street by what appeared to be a spider's web. A blue and red clad figure swung through the air in the direction of the disturbing lizard-man.

The camera was able to get a surprisingly good view of the swinging form as it passed. For the briefest of moments, it captured the black webbed pattern through the red and blue, and even managed to pick up a few fuzzy tears in the fabric wear blood seeped through. Again, almost as soon as the figure was there, it was gone, swinging up to meet the bad guy of the day head on.

Right behind him, a reddish-gold blur followed, streaking through the air and leaving a trail of smoke behind it. It went by too fast to get a good look at it, but as it got closer to Spider Man and the lizard-man on the side of the structure, it slowed down enough to make out the shape of a very humanoid robot.

The video ended on a frame of Spider Man swinging through the air just as the lizard-man broke free and launched himself up and into the air, Iron Man close behind the newer hero and ready to lend a hand.

It was still quite grainy but a really picturesque screenshot nonetheless and Eliza figured it would be used as a lock screen by many of the superheroes' fans around the world.

Ironman’s assistance brought up a question that she had actually been meaning to find out.

"Does this mean that Spider Man's an Avenger?" She asked the little fan.

After some frantic typing, Jeremy answered, 'No, he just stays in New York. Iron Man offered but he said no :('. At this, Eliza just hummed.

Then, an idea.

New York was Spider Man's base of operations? Perfect.

She'd just found her next contact.

------------------

Her Friday morning found her on a bus to New York City.

The trip to New York was a long and tedious one.

The bus routes from New Jersey to Manhattan were all painfully convoluted and each had their fair share of congestion issues so the total trip took 3 bus changes and roughly five and a half hours.

She'd planned on arriving at the city midmorning so that she'd have a greater chance to walk around and spot the vigilante throughout the day, but she ended up arriving after lunch thanks to a particularly nasty pile up on the freeway just outside the city.

Tumbling out of the bus, she thanked whatever god was around that day that the ride was finished.

She had just spent four and a half hours, shoved right next to a guy who looked like he had spent a night out on the town and smelt of piss, vomit and other bodily fluid she really didn't want to think about. To make it worse, the woman in front of her turned out to be a very loud Karen who had decided that this was to be the bus trip where it would be most beneficial to inform everyone in her general vicinity of the conspiracy theories she had heard of recently. God forbid anyone try to correct her though. Oh no, that would send her on a rant lasting another one of the four hours they were all stuck together and Eliza prayed fervently that no one made that mistake again.

Then, she started to declare that she was being discriminated against because the elderly woman in one of the front rows didn't give Karen the seat and the lady 'had a walker with her so surely she could sit on that!'.

Frick that lady.

Anyway, thankfully that ride from hell was over.

Standing in the middle of the bustling New York sidewalk, however, she realised that she forgot to think of a very important detail.

She had no idea how exactly she was going to go about contacting Spiderman.

Theoretically, she knew that he stayed around the queens area, but that only narrowed it down to about a hundred square miles of the city.

Thankfully her last bus had taken her right into the centre of Queens so she decided to wander around for a bit at least. She hadn't been to New York city before so she figured she'd do a bit of sight seeing and hope to see Spidey at some stage.

This method proved to be enjoyable for a time, and she had great fun taking pictures of 'Queens: Home of the Amazing Spiderman'. However, after three hours of seeing the sights but not seeing any signs of Spider Man, she was starting to get a bit antsy.

She had realised before she'd even set out that she most likely wouldn't see him on the first day, after all it was barely four o'clock in the afternoon and she was pretty certain he had a day job that took up his daylight hours. She'd hyped herself up for the encounter for most of the day though, and it was still a bit of a disappointment regardless of the logic.

Six hours of wandering later she admitted defeat. Friday was a bust, but she had high hopes for the weekend.

Sadly, Saturday turned out similarly to the previous day; some lovely sightseeing and tourist opportunities she hadn't had time for the previous day and no Spidey sighting. She had tried asking people around the area if they knew how or where she could find Spiderman but they'd mostly given her a brief, very judgy, once-over and a very generalised 'He sticks to Queens mostly.', or 'he's usually out around this time.', or the most useful one of all; 'if you need him, he'll find you.'

She couldn't say she blamed them for being hesitant to explain. She was a somewhat short, gangly, woman, who looked more like a teenager with her scruffy backpack and wide rimmed glasses than her actual 22 years, and very obviously not from New York. Hell, the locals probably got fangirls that looked similar to her looking for Spiderman on a weekly basis.

Honestly, she admired their loyalty to their local vigilante, it just made it a bit more difficult to do what she came there for. She hadn't lasted 3 months, over 20 phone calls, an eternity on the bus ride from hell, and two days of wandering around, just to be stumped by some city searching though, so she marched on.

It was late Sunday afternoon and many glances down suspicious alleyways later that Eliza had a breakthrough in her search for the local vigilante. It came in the form of a group of drunk guys and an ignored catcall (which the aforementioned drunk guys apparently took as a challenge).

She hadn't thought much of just ignoring the tottering group as she'd passed them, it was after all an unfortunately common experience and not the first time that day, let alone weekend. What wasn't a common experience, however, was the sound of uneven foot steps and increasingly boisterous attempts at getting her attention as she moved down the street.

It wasn't quite dark yet but it didn't take away from the rising sense of panic that sped up both her heartrate and her steps. Interestingly enough, her increased speed didn't deter the group, if anything it seemed to encourage them. She cursed her lack of knowledge of the area, avoiding looking at Google maps in order to keep her eyes on her environment.

After a few blocks of power walking, an ill-timed red light and road work stopped her in her tracks and allowed the group to catch up with her.

"Heey girl!" One drawled.  "Come on, we just wanna say hi."

His friend stumbled along beside him slurring "Yeah, why ya gotta be so ru-ude? Juss' tryna give a compl'm-nt!" He hiccoughed and slumped just a bit more on another in the group.

She kept her eyes trained forward, directed to the traffic light but just out of focus enough to observe the drunken antics on her peripheral. She knew New York city was famous for its creeps but this was getting out of hand. Just the situation she was hoping to avoid; Alone at night with a group of men following her.

Sure, Spider Man patrolled this area, but she'd seen neither hide nor hair – nor web �� of the guy in the days she'd been here and she wasn't too thrilled about putting her safety on the line to just have a slim chance of seeing him.

Her silence seemed to just egg the guys on, encouraging them to get closer and more obnoxious. What had previously been at a distance was now up close and within reach. Her hands tightened on her bag straps and her breath stuttered as she noticed their movements tilting towards her, stopping just short of actually touching.

Everything was just slightly out of focus as the sun was almost completely gone by now, leaving only the glow of the street lights and the pin-pricked lights of the passing cars to provide an eerie illumination of her entourage. It put her on edge more than it would have in the daylight, even if there were just as many people lining the street. No one had come to her aid, and most likely wouldn't have in the daylight either, so she resigned herself to tensely waiting for the change of traffic signal. The feeling of hyperawareness was a feeling that would linger and probably leave her too agitated to sleep that night.

"C'mon girl!" A third guy crooned patronisingly, propping his drooping friend up from a stumble. "Just give us a smile!"

Just to spite him, she scowled.

"Awww! Look! She can hear us!" Another hollered. "Smile! C'mon, smile! You'd look soooo much prettier! At leeast say hellloooo!"

The beeping of the crosswalk signal was her saviour in that moment and as soon as she heard it, she was off, practically jogging across the road. Unfortunately, that just happened to be the moment that someone decided that they were above the road rules for driving and that they needed to run a red light. Directly towards the crosswalk she was running across.

She was two steps off the sidewalk and mid-step when she heard a scream behind her and caught a brief glimpse of headlights to her left before she realised her mistake. Years of listening to her mother drill into her to look both directions before crossing the road flashed in her mind.

Everything seemed to fall into slow motion as she turned her head towards the light, the dark shadow behind the lights loomed closer and closer. She felt her eyes widen and her foot move through the air as if through molasses for split second and she had only a moment before a thought flashed through her mind.

Well...damn.  

A sudden weight crashing into her diaphragm punched the air from her lungs and caused her head to snap forward and her legs to trail in her wake as she flew through the air. She instinctively shut her eyes and tensed at the impact, the pain from the car taking a moment to register to her shocked mind, though the wind at her back as she flew through the air was mildly soothing. She was pretty sure that when she crashed into the ground, the pain would come through and be even worse.

A few seconds passed and, when she didn't feel the jagged impact on the ground and the wind continued to whistle past her ears and whip up her hair into what was going to be a definite birds nest, she realised  that the impact she had felt wasn't the front bumper of a car but instead an arm. It was an arm that had apparently swung out of nowhere and was still wrapped securely around her torso as it, or rather they, swung through the air and away from the middle of the street she was nearly flattened in.

She looked down at the arm and saw a sliver of red and blue...just before her eyes noted the fact that they were approximately four to five storeys above the ground and going faster than the cars below them. She would have screamed but her breath caught in her throat as they started dropping and getting closer and closer to the pavement below so she contented herself with clutching at the only lifeline she had. She briefly hoped that she hadn't left finger shaped bruises on her saviour's arm in her panic (as she was sure that would be poor rescue etiquette) but she realised later that, considering he dealt with troublemakers such as the Rhino and Electro, bruises would most likely be fine, if not non-existent.  

As they swung, she could faintly hear a consistent stream of chatter coming from behind her. The voice sounded young, excited and carefree.

"It's ok ma'am, I got you. Just hold on and we'll be on the ground before you know it." He whooped when they crested another swing - contrasting her own urge to either puke or scream - and continued the stream of babble as the wind rushed past her ears. She thought she heard a few questions, but she didn't answer on account of the mild terror thrumming through her veins.

They touched down in front of a well lit strip mall surprisingly lightly considering they were going over 30 miles an hour less than a minute beforehand. Eliza was glad for the iron grip maintaining its hold on her after their landing as she knew she would be a shaky puddle on the floor had she been placed down and let go of immediately. She locked her knees to prevent them from crumpling and took a moment to breathe and mentally kiss the ground beneath her.

The arm around her slowly pulled away when she stayed standing so she slowly turned around to make eye contact with her rescuer. Well... Eye-to-mask eye contact. Her heart practically beat out of her chest from nerves and whether it was because of the drunk guys, the near death experience, or from simply meeting one of the famous heroes, she wasn't sure. Truth be told, the combination of all three would probably give her a heart attack if she took the time to think about it.

She had barely turned around before she was being spoken to by the figure in the famous red and blue costume, his hands coming up to steady her as she stumbled back slightly from being closer then she'd thought.

"Oh my gosh! That was a close one! That car came out of nowhere, are you ok?" She nodded, tongue still stuck on the roof of her mouth, not that it seemed to matter to the superhero. He seemed pretty content to talk a million miles an hour even without her input. "You look alright. I mean, the swinging can be a bit terrifying the first time you do it, but better that than being hit by the car." The eyes on his mask narrowed a bit and he tilted his head slightly to the side. "Actually, you look a bit pale and Karen says yo-I mean, I think you might be going into shock. Here sit down for a bit."

She was gently nudged to a set of stairs and she sat down gratefully.

"Thanks Spider Man." She sighed and relaxed as much as she could onto the cold concrete.

"No problem!" He replied. She couldn't really tell because of his mask, but it sounded like he was grinning.

"Bloody hell." Eliza sighed again, dropping her head into her hands and resting her elbows on her knees. "That's the last time I cross the road without looking, even if I do need to get away from creeps."

"Yeah, checking the road is always a good idea." Spider Man agreed. "As for the creeps, you could try carrying around some pepper spray?" She snorted.

"Yeah, like looking down and rummaging through my bag is a good idea when surrounded. Aren't you supposed to suggest I keep my eyes and ears alert, avoid badly lit locations, and always walk with a friend?"

Now it was his turn to splutter. "W-well yeah... I guess that would kinda defeat the purpose of keeping your eyes on your surroundings." He scratched his head almost sheepishly before continuing, his tone turning fervent. "It is useful if you happen to be able to get it though! I once saw this lady spray this guy in the face and he was still rolling on the ground after I came back to check on him after I walked the lady home! I didn't realise how useful the pepper sprays were until that day!"  

Eliza could only grin at his earnestness. She could already feel the erratic beat of her heart calm into a more sedate pace and her breathing even out as they spoke. It was great to see someone trying their best to help and give advice on staying safe, all hints of superiority absent in his tone.

"If you're feeling better, would you like me to walk you home?" He asked suddenly. The offer made Eliza release some extra tension she didn't realised she still had.

She nodded. "That would be great actually. I'm staying in a hotel somewhere around here."

"Cool, I can definitely take you back!" He was already standing and excitedly bouncing. Geez, he had a lot of energy. "What hotel are you staying in?" When she told him, he nodded again. "Ok, that's not far from here. Do you feel alright enough to start walking?"

"Sure. I could do with a really hot bath right about now." Eliza said, taking Spider Man's hand he offered as she spoke. She idly ran her hand through her tangled hair. "And a brush by the feels of it."

Spider Man laughed and they started walking down the street.

"So where are you from?" He asked.  

"I'm visiting from New Jersey." She paused, realising suddenly that this is her chance. She took a deep breath. "I, uh, actually came to New York to find out if you could help me with something." Spider Man turned to her and with his face covered she couldn’t tell if he wanted her to continue or not. So she too another breath and continued anyway. "You see, I've been trying to get in touch with a superhero, any superhero, for a few months now and I haven't had any luck. I've met you though today so... yay!" Jazz hands added for good measure. "I could have done without the almost-getting-run-over part, but hey, if it means I get to finally ask you about seeing the kids then I'll take it I suppose."

She really could have done without the 'almost getting assaulted and then flattened' part of the evening but considering he hadn't outright declined immediately, she was counting it as a win.

He continued to stare at her, making Eliza desperate for a verbal response as she could not read his reactions with his bloody mask on. "Well, it'll depend what it is. If you want my help to take over the world, I'm sorry, but you'll have to find someone else." He said playfully. Eliza laughed, almost in relief.

"No nothing like that." She said waving her hand. "Just want some help making a couple of kids' remaining years enjoyable."  At this, Spider Man seemed to take more of a keen interest so she elaborated. "I work with the Make-A-Wish Foundation and I have a couple of kids who would love to meet a superhero." Her tone had turned soft as it usually did when she was talking about the kids.

He seemed to perk up even more, if that was even possible. "Oh really? That's so cool! I mean, it's really cool that you thought of me! I'd love to meet the kids! I'd have to run it by Mr. Sta- I mean, Tony, but it should be fine!" He was almost shaking now and she could practically see the excitement rolling off him in waves. When his words registered though, she couldn't help but sag a little in relief.

"Awesome. It's been a long few days." she said with a chuckle, rubbing her temples while trying to keep her eyes on him just in case he disappeared. "You're really hard to find."

Spiderman tilted his head to the side as they walked, "Really? I thought there was, like, an Instagram or Facebook page following me?" He said, making it sound more like a question than a statement. Eliza stared at him for a moment and he rubbed his head. "I can't remember if there's a twitter page, but I know for certain that there's an Instagram page that likes to keep up with me and they do a surprisingly good job of it too." Eliza mentally facepalmed. Of course social media would have the answers. Spidey fans have some of the best content and the most up-to-date info on their hero (second only to Tony Stark and that's only because Mr. Stark's been around longer and is a literal billionaire) since the Friendly Neighbourhood Spiderman is so directly active in his community.

"Oh. Right. I completely forgot about that." Came her tired sigh. "Geez, I feel like such a failure of a millenial. I mean, what kind of millennial forgets about bloody Twitter and Instagram?"  

Spider Man laughed quietly, "It's fine. I know a few people at sc-work... who aren't on social media. Not many, but a few." After a moment, he asked, "So what are the kids like? Is Spider Man their favourite Superhero? I know I'm only kind of an Avenger, so it's cool they want to meet me!"

She snorted, "Are you kidding? Only 'kind of an Avenger'? Your battle last week with the lizard guy was on Youtube and you were working so well with Iron Man! One of the kids was practically vibrating out of his seat in excitement when he was showing me."

"Oh, you mean the one with both Mr. Stark and me going past? Yeah, that was a pretty good shot of us, we looked so cool at the end, it even stopped on a cool pose!"

As he continued enthusiastically, Eliza giggled. He almost reminded her of some of the kids. Energetic, easy to entertain and constantly bouncing between topics. Idly, she wondered how old Spider Man was. He didn't sound much older than her, and his energy....

"You know, Mr. Stark might be interested in meeting them too. I know he goes to a lot of charity functions." Eliza thought she heard him mumble, "He sure complains about them often enough." But she wasn't sure.

The comment made her crash back into the present. She felt her shoulders slump.

"Yeah. I tried getting in touch with him through the Maria Stark Foundation, but it didn't work out."

Spider Man seemed to frown at her tone, made obvious only by the slight narrowing of his eye lens things. "Really? How come?"

Sighing, she recounted her long and overly complicated phone journey through the bureaucratic chain of the Maria Stark Foundation and Stark Industries, followed by her brief but greatly disappointing interaction with Mr. Michael Walters. She was pretty positive this was going well and she could see her hotel across the street now so she let herself relax a bit. Suddenly feeling drained and really tired, she had to stop herself from stumbling the last of the distance to the building.

"I mean, it's understandable I suppose, the security that is. I get that Mr. Stark has a lot of enemies and I want what's best for the kids, so the safer the better." As she finished, she realised she probably sounded a bit whiny to one of the superheros that the safety protocols directly affected. At this point of the night however, she didn't have it in her to care all that much, not to mention, Spider Man was nodding encouragingly beside her. "At the same time though, I'm on a...bit of a time limit, you could say."

"What do you mean?"

"It's just, one of the kids I'm organising the meeting for has a progressive illness and, to be honest..." She paused, sadness filling her as she fiddled with the frayed end of her jacket's sleeve.

They'd come up to the main entrance to her hotel by now and she momentarily contemplated if it was really a good idea to bring it up, but she was fast running out of fucks to give and desperately wanted something good to come out of this hell-trip, "it's just...not very likely he'd make it the 18 months Mr. Walters said we had to wait. If anything, we're not sure if he'll make it to the end of this month."

Silence.

She looked at him and she saw him staring at her, lenses wide and standing eerily still beside her, his head cocked to the side.

After a moment, all he said was, "You know what? I'll talk to Mr. Stark. I'll see what we can do." And he swung away. Staring at the empty space beside her, it took a second for her to realise she was suddenly alone again. She hadn't even given him her number.

Still in shock and with fatigue starting to sit heavily on her bones, she shook herself and made her way toward the door, numbly figuring she was going to have to think of a different way to meet another superhero.

Eliza only had to wait two days before her life-risking journey paid off.

#tpromptsachallenge #my writing #To Grant a Wish #part 1

[readerficsbyhyaku]

Intoxicated (Apollo Justice x Reader)

summary

You celebrate your tenth won trial with Apollo, and nobody else shows up to the party. The cheap booze lowers your inhibitions and you make bold claims that seem to spur things into action.

author’s note

Hello ! Haven't written in a long time, sorry if there are a lot of repetitions, poor vocabulary or OOC-ness. Any advice is welcome ;w; I wanted to write about a character that seems pure but can actually be lewd c:

You had joined the Wright Anything Agency a few months ago, as a rookie attorney. As you were more preoccupied by finding out the truth rather than blindly winning trials, it was an obvious choice, and they accepted you ! It had been a bit weird at first, as you were almost fangirling over everybody – they were kinda famous after all. Phoenix Wright was, as always, just slightly unprepared enough to yield awkward situations in court, but he also had the guts to guide him when needed – that and his Psyche Locks. Apollo was a very straightforward, bright and rigorous member of the team, yet hiding some insecurities and doubts under his booming “I’m fine !”. Athena quickly became your best friend, her energetic personality and open mind making her a partner of choice for investigations, trials and gossip talk. Trucy wasn’t there all the time, but she was sweet and kind, even though she knew way too well how to wrap Phoenix around her finger. Daughters are scary.

Your first trial was uneventful, as you were against one of the Payne brothers. You wondered how these guys managed to still have a job in court when they lost every single one of their trials. Or maybe it really was a different brother each time, and their family tree was a nightmare. The next prosecutor brought you back to the hard reality though, as it was Simon Blackquill. The guy looked almost loony if it wasn’t for his sharp mind and observations.

Truth is, being harassed by a bird while being almost physically threatened didn’t bring out the best lawyer out of you, but you had guts. You felt when things didn’t sit right, and when people tried to hide something. If you didn’t, what were you doing as an attorney in the first place ? Call it instincts or something else, but you could physically feel something off, with the hair on the back of your neck standing up, or your gut sinking, or feeling like somebody threw a bucket of cold water on you. It’s not like you could outright point out lies, but when somebody was covering something by overdetailing, overjustificating… you felt it. The worst was when the sensation was like being out of your own body. Those times were rare, but it happened, and you were glad there was somebody next to you in the courtroom. The first time it occurred, Athena slapped you back to reality and it was very painful. You did not recommend.

Your guts worked well with the Mood Matrix, as it helped you pinpoint exactly what was wrong with the testimony, but it worked about the same with Apollo’s bracelet. You hadn’t had the opportunity to defend with Phoenix, but you doubted you’d be of any help. He was the mentor after all, and had more than enough guts for everybody in the office. His power was less timing sensitive than the others’, so your intuition wouldn’t help pry some answers out. And to be fair, you were a bit scared of messing up with him. You were still a rookie, and he had won over a lot of different prosecutors, renowned ones too. He had the experience, hell, he even had a daughter !

That being said, your first months there went by without any hitch, except the usual ones – police not giving you clues, a detective preventing you from looking at crime scenes, people lying… Since Wright was so busy, you often paired with either Apollo or Athena, and your bonds grew stronger with both of them. Athena was your bestie, you could talk about anything with her and her enthusiasm helped a lot during investigations. Apollo was great too, he was focused, determined, and really fun to tease. To be fair, you had the slightest crush on him, he made you laugh and you knew you could trust him, there was no mischief in him. Maybe more than a slight crush, since you also found him insanely attractive in his red pants and waistcoat. You had a thing for waistcoats, and the way it hugged his form revealed his square shoulders and overall manliness, even though he was short. Okay, maybe you had thought about ridding him of the waistcoat or about his large hands roaming on your body, but it never exceeded that, thoughts. There was a pureness about him that prevented you from any advance or flirting you might’ve wanted to initiate, plus it’s kinda hard to flirt when on murder cases. Though that didn’t prevent certain witnesses to openly do it with the prosecution…

You had just won your tenth trial, a pretty hard one to be honest, with Apollo’s help. Everything you had thought about the truth had been turned upside-down and shaken around in about three days’ time. Even if it wasn’t how you expected it, your client was not guilty and the true culprit was arrested.

You and Apollo decided on a small party to celebrate the hard to crack case, bringing snacks and booze at the office after hours. Sadly enough, Athena was busy on a case with Phoenix and they were investigating out of town, and Trucy practiced her magic show. So the both of you binged on the snacks all evening and got wasted on cheap beers and homemade cocktails. The conversation was cheerful at first, talking about how well you performed during the trials and generally throwing flowers at each other, then, as the words became slurred, you just complained about how no one was there to celebrate with you. It was nearing midnight when you shifted from your sitting position on the couch, feeling dizzy, head buzzing from the intoxication. Apollo was in no better state than you were, arms thrown back on the couch and head tilted towards the ceiling. In the spur of the moment, you decided to rest your head on the man’s thighs, and drunk you found them to be very comfortable. As he looked down to see what you were doing, you looked up and your gaze got caught in his hazelnut eyes.

“Your eyes are beautiful” you blurted out without even thinking about it, the drinks you had removing a few of your social filters.

The room had been pretty silent before you even decided to talk, so you thought nothing of the calm that followed your bold statement. Still feeling dizzy, you closed your eyes in an attempt to sober up a bit. You didn’t think – maybe you didn’t think at all – that you could walk all the way to your apartment in that state. A shadow danced over your eyelids, you felt warm air somewhere on your face, you weren’t really sure where, and felt something hot and soft pressing on your lips. Your eyes flashed open, and you managed to muster enough brainpower to comprehend the situation. Apollo was kissing you. Somewhere in the back of your drunk brain, a voice squealed about how you liked him, but you never thought he would like you back or something like that. It faded in the distance as Apollo moved slightly and you tasted a bit of bourbon, mixed in with sweetness and softness. You felt him rise again, and sucked lightly on his bottom lip, making you part with an audible pop.

When you opened your eyes again, he was staring at you, a soft pink hue on his cheeks, though you couldn’t tell if it was because of the booze or the kiss you just shared. You sat back up again, staring at him as you didn’t really make sense of what was happening. He had kissed you, but your drunken mind thought that something was off. Did you have to say something ? You didn’t know, but you knew you wanted to kiss him again. Your brain was completely taken over by the pleasure you had felt moments ago, and only wanted you to reiterate it.

“Apollo” you slurred while rising to your feet, taking a tentative step to get closer to him, but you didn’t expect to land on one of the discarded bottles, making you lose your already faltering balance. In a haze, you felt you were going backwards until your fall was abruptly stopped by… Apollo ?

He had rose to his feet and caught you in a tight embrace, preventing you from collapsing on the ground. You stared at his face and he seemed sober enough, at least he had control over his body. But his eyes were lidded and his stare heavy, as if he was intoxicated by something entirely different.

“Apollo ?”

You then realized that your faces were only a very few centimeters apart, and as your gaze lowered to his lips, he closed the gap and pressed his lips against yours again. Your brain screamed in pleasure at the sensation, his mouth hot and your lips melting onto his, his embrace surrounding you and you couldn’t get enough of him. You wrapped your hands around his neck, trying to regain a semblance of balance and you felt him nudge you gently backwards. It took a few steps interrupted by scalding kisses until you felt like he wasn’t supporting all of your weight with his arms around your waist. Thinking about his potential strength made your gut flip and flop, flashing images of what he could do with his strong arms appearing in front of your eyes. You had to break the kiss to catch your breath, cheeks red, disheveled and panting a bit. It felt so good, why did it feel so good ? You took a look at Apollo and he was also blushing, his eyes lost gazing at you, his lips slightly parted. His perfectly combed hair was tousled and strands fell around his face; and you thought he was so sexy.

“Apollo…”

Almost on cue, you felt his hands slip under your untucked dress shirt and slowly rise to your waist, maybe a little higher, near your ribs. The shirt rode up and exposed some skin to the cooler air of the room, a sharp contrast to Apollo’s very warm hands. You shuddered, but it wasn’t from the cold, as your breath hitched in your throat when you felt a rough thumb rubbing small circles on your ribcage. It had always been one of your sweet spots for some reason, and he had pinpointed it first try. You cupped his face with your hands and brought him back to your lips, like a thirsty man being handed a cup of fresh water. Your lips collided with his and the embrace felt even more fiery than before, one of his hands moving to your back to press him even more into you, one of his knees parting your thighs and making you sigh in surprise. Your bodies were glued together and you couldn’t get enough of being pressed against the hard planes of his torso, his heat radiating through your clothes and lighting your body ablaze. You melted into his embrace, into his soft lips that nibbled and sucked at you tentatively, an inherent passion and gentleness in every move.

It was intoxicating… If you weren’t dizzy enough because of the drinks, you were now definitely high on Apollo’s lascivious kisses. It was unbelievable how you thought him to be so pure and childish, as he revealed the lewder, hungrier part of himself, claiming you as his own and engulfing you in his scorching hold.

You didn’t mind.

#apollo justice #apollo #x reader #ace attorney #intoxicated #dual destinies #reader #fanfiction #self insert #kissing #booze #athena cykes #one shot #romance

[flyingblackhawk]

Too Late

Buckynat/Clintasha fic

2,014 words

-

Bucky isn’t used to any of this. He’s technically still on the run these days, but there seems to be an understanding that while he lives under Steve’s roof, he’s protected. So there’s not much for him to worry about, and with his mind unfettered by escape plans and tactics, he finds he is starting to remember things. Just small details here and there, mostly when he’s on his own in Brooklyn. He’ll happen upon a street corner and remember a deli that used to stand on the corner, or he’ll pass an alley and picture a skinny blond boy being beaten to a pulp behind the dustbins. Little things are enough, and every recollection makes Steve smile, and Bucky likes it when he does that.

Spending time with the others is harder. Bucky’s rational brain knows that these are Steve’s friends, and while some of them are wary of him - understandable, he’s tried to kill at least half of them - they trust Steve enough to relax around him, and by extension, around Bucky. It’s still strange to be handed a drink and included in conversations.

“What do you know about Natasha?” he asks Steve one night, after he’s hosted his friends in his apartment. Everyone is long gone, but Bucky is troubled.

“Not a whole lot,” Steve says. “Even with the SHIELD file leak, there was a lot I couldn’t read. Digital decryption is still kinda beyond me.”

“It’s just…” What is it just? Bucky can’t quite pin it down. Natasha hasn’t paid him much attention, and yet there’s something about her that feels… familiar.

“Bucky?” Steve prompts.

“I think I remember her,” Bucky says.

“You did try to kill her a couple of times,” Steve offers.

“No, it’s… it’s not from that.”

Bucky shakes his head, and turns in for the night. He mulls it over as he lies awake, unable to sleep. During the evening, every time he looked at Natasha, there was some spark of recognition in him that was beyond the times they’d met on the field. He knows her. He just doesn’t know how.

It’s another week before he’s in the same room as her. Steve and Bucky are invited to drinks again, at Sam’s place this time, and when they’re a few rounds deep he finds himself sitting across the room from Natasha, who is in Clint’s lap. Clint plays with her hair, and has one arm draped around her in a comfortable embrace. Very occasionally, his lips stray to her jaw to press a sneaky kiss there, or her ear to whisper something. Natasha shifts back into Clint’s chest and suddenly Bucky remembers sitting like that, with his arms around - no, surely not Natasha. He doesn’t know her, he’s never met her, but somehow he remembers sitting with her, kissing her, his arms around her.

He stands up and leaves the room. It’s abrupt enough that Sam comes after him to the hallway - Steve is getting a drink and hasn’t noticed.

“You okay, Barnes?”

Bucky nods. “Yeah, yeah, I… think so.”

“Memories?”

God, Sam’s impeccable empathy and observation can be fucking annoying. Steve often says that Sam knows better how to deal with trauma, but it’s like having someone inside his head, and Bucky’s had enough of that for several lifetimes.

“It’s about Natasha,” he finally admits. “I think I remember her. But… from before all of this.”

Sam, to his credit, doesn’t immediately dismiss him, and Bucky is grateful for that.

“Okay, so you know her?” he repeats. “That could make sense, you were both trained in Russia, and you could have been around in the… what, the eighties? She was born in ’84, right?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky admits. “I just remember her face, and… being around her.”

Sam looks over his shoulder. Natasha and Clint are being unusually affectionate tonight. “Ah.”

“Do me a favour-”

“Barnes,” Sam interrupts, “I won’t tell her. If you want, I can look into the records and see if there’s any correlation.” When Bucky looks surprised, Sam waves a hand. “Don’t worry about it.”

They return to the party, and Bucky tries to put it out of his mind.

It’s a few days before Sam sends him a message. He wants to meet up and talk in person. For some reason, that makes Bucky’s stomach sink.

“Going for a walk,” he calls to Steve, who waves him off.

He meets Sam at a cafe, where they order coffee and Sam hands him a slim file.

“You were right,” he says. “You did know each other.”

That brings Bucky an overwhelming sense of relief. He’s not crazy, or projecting. He’s actually remembering.

“There aren’t records of any relationship,” Sam adds. “But I guess there wouldn’t be. Everything was pretty tightly sealed.

Bucky takes the file and flips through the first few pages. There’s the name, Natalia, and details of her admission into the Red Room. There is a picture of the burned wreckage of a house, and then, on the next page, a picture of a very young Natasha, possibly nineteen or twenty, and Bucky has to set down the file and breathe deeply for a moment. Sam just waits, patient as ever.

“I remember,” Bucky says. “I trained her, I think. I wasn’t supposed to get attached, but I…” His face hardens. “They found out. We were both punished. I went back in the ice.”

���I’m sorry,” Sam says. He doesn’t have to, but it’s nice to hear it.

“Thank you for this,” Bucky says, clasping the file to him and standing up. He walks away, leaving his coffee untouched.

Back at Steve’s apartment, in the safety of his room, Bucky spreads the file out on his bed. He reads every detail, saving things he can’t place in his own head, and memorising details. As he reads, more of it comes back, mostly just in montages of feelings, or images of her hair, her face, her voice. They spoke in Russian, he recalls. He loved her. That’s the worst thing to remember, how she was the one point of light in the dark stretch of years where he didn’t even know himself. He wanted to save her, and he failed. But, he reminds himself, it turns out she saved herself. SHIELD found her, through their instrument Clint Barton, and she joined up and never looked back. Bucky wonders if she ever thinks about him, or if perhaps she doesn’t remember either. That would be better, he thinks. Better for her not to remember. It wouldn’t make looking at her with Clint so very painful.

Once again, Bucky finds himself at a social gathering of heroes. Everyone is chattering, drinking, and he is grateful for Sam’s friendly clap on the shoulder. Sam never looks at him with anything like sympathy in his eyes, which is one of Steve’s great weaknesses. The super soldier can’t quite stop the pity leaching in sometimes, and as much as Bucky loves him, that drives him insane.

Natasha and Clint aren’t quite as entwined as last time, and Bucky tries not to think of that as a blessing. She’s not his, he knows that. She’s happy with Clint, and that’s all that matters. There’s no salvaging anything they had two decades ago, and Bucky isn’t sure that’s even what he wants. All he needs is to know that she doesn’t remember him. She can’t. She would have tried to talk to him, to make some connection. They are each the only fragment of each other’s past that has any good attached.

So, even though he knows he shouldn’t, he goes out to the balcony when he sees her go out for some fresh air. He leans on the rail, and sees her look at him, always assessing threats even when she doesn’t mean to. He understands. He’s tried to kill her at least three times.

“How are you?” she asks. Measured. Unbiased. He remembers that tone so well now.

“Good,” he nods. “Yeah. Good.”

“Steve said you’re enjoying going to the movies,” she prompts. God, she’s talking to him like he’s an idiot, or a child. Someone to be congratulated for tiny milestones. He reminds himself that a few months ago he couldn’t leave the house for the noise and bustle of the streets outside.

“Yeah,” he says. “They’ve really improved since the forties. CGI blows my mind.”

She laughs. “They can do amazing things, that’s for sure.”

He is silent, and she takes it as a cue to leave. He doesn’t know what to do, what to say, how to ask her if she knows him as anything more than one of the countless people who have made attempts on her life. A name comes to him, not something remembered from a file, but something that’s been in his head for years, just hidden.

“маленький паук,” he says, quietly. She stops.

“That’s what I called you, right?” he murmurs. “Little spider?”

She turns around and walks the three paces back to him. The look on her face cuts him down, devastates him. She knows exactly who he is. She has known all this time, while he’s been struggling, and searching, and remembering. She has known, and she hasn’t come to him.

“James…”

Ah, there it is. The pain he has forgotten. The last time he felt this, he was being dragged away from her, and she had been screaming his name, and he had seen her being struck, and he had known this was all his own doing.

Her hand cups his cheek. His right cheek, so his real hand can cover hers. A movement made so many times under the cover of darkness.

“I know it doesn’t matter now,” he says. “And… I’m sorry, for what that’s worth. It’s just memories, but… I loved you. I want you to know that.”

“I loved you too.”

He realises his eyes are closed, and he opens them to find pity in her face. It’s worse than anger. He has remembered far too little, far too late.

“Don’t worry,” he says, and drops his hand from hers. “I’ll keep it under wraps. Sam helped me find the documents so… I guess you might want to talk to him.”

“James-”

“My friends call me Bucky,” he tells her. He tries to smile, in a friendly way, like friends do. It doesn’t work, but she nods. She leaves, and he ducks his head for a moment, sucking cold air into his lungs like it will soothe the burning in his chest, and in his throat. For a horrifying moment, he thinks he’s going to cry.

He doesn’t. The past doesn’t bury itself, he thinks, and he goes inside to get another drink. He goes to sit by Steve, and delights him by recounting partially remembered war stories that his best friend can fill in, tales of the Howling Commandos at their prime, the best of Bucky Barnes before HYDRA, before the Soviets, before Natasha. It feels good to remember things other than pain, and Bucky is grateful that his memories aren’t just trauma. Sam devours the stories, and for a while Bucky is able to forget that his heart, newly rediscovered, is broken.

She loved him. She knew him. She knows him. These thoughts return again and again as he fails to sleep that night. He wonders what is next. He’s moved on from worse, surely. It doesn’t feel like it, but in the numbers game that is his life, statistically he has to have endured something more awful.

He gets up to make tea. That’s a luxury he loves. He can have a hot drink in his hand pretty much whenever he wants, and he can make it as disgustingly sweet as he wants. It is past midnight, so he’s surprised to find Steve in the kitchen, already on tea duty, two mugs in front of him. He hands Bucky his sugary mess without a word. Bucky sits in the warmth of the kitchen, and gives silent thanks for the one good thing he has left.

#AC19 #day 12 #this one got away from me #fic #buckynatfic #avengersfic #bucky barnes #steve rogers #sam wilson #buckynat #winterwidow #avengersangst #long

[1800-seungshine]

ludic.

member: park woojin. genre(s): high school!au, hoobae!woojin summary: ludic. (adj) - full of fun and high spirits. in which park woojin finds himself entangled in the antics of the school’s troublemaker sunbae. (requested - bullet point format) word count: 1.6k

note: the very first request ever on this blog! thank you so much to the anon that sent this ;; i was going to format it in paragraphs but somehow i ended up going bullet-point format and and i don’t know i feel nervous presenting this bc i fear that it won’t reach your expectations but i hope that you’ll like it anon!  btw, thank you so much for all the reblogs, likes and follows that i’ve received throughout the week. it means a lot to me heheh! i’ll try to continue working hard ;; i really, seriously, truthfully, completely, thank you all! < 3333

you were known around the school as the school’s lucky trouble maker 

notorious for pulling light-hearted pranks, sleeping through classes or completely skipping it, and occasionally picking fights (which fyi is often bc of something you find injustice and for students can’t stand up for themselves so you just butt in and use your fists as a representative) 

and for majority of the trouble you cause, you usually escape the consequences and get out of it with light warnings and punishment 

hence the ‘lucky’ bit in your title

basically you’re the definition of the ‘c package’ 

authornim what in the world is a ‘c package’ - well obvs you wouldn’t know cos i made it up duh. 

cute, charming and cool. (it’s as lame as me i know but i’m proud) 

everyone just loves you okay

well,,, not really everyone bc there are a few students (mainly the ones you picked fights with) who hate your guts and a few teachers who don’t know what fun means 

but somewhere within the school, there’s one person who doesn’t really get the memo and is confused on why everyone’s whipped for you

introducing park woojin everybody

the first time he heard about you was from a conversation one lunch break when his friends were fanboying talking about you. “who are you talking about?” 

inserts daehwi’s dramatic gasp “oH mY gOd YoU dON’T knOW?!?! lol bye you’re deleted. idk who you are.”

he earned a lot of insults from his friends in one sitting that day

“have you been living under a rock” - park jihoon 

“how dumb are you to not know who y/n sunbae is, you’ve been here for as long as she has.” - bae jinyoung 

“hyung, are you sure you’re not the foreign student, like wth even i know who y/n is.” - lai guanlin

he felt so attacked, “well i didn’t know it was requirement to know who this person is to be socially accepted here.” 

but dw his ass was forgiven after he got forced to listen to the four of them educating him about you, “don’t you feel enlightened now?” cue woojin’s eyes going 360 into the galaxy bc he done w/ their crap

aNYWAYS BACK TO THE STORY

woojin just hears numerous stories about you like how you once won this verbal fight against this rude popular senior and her clique who were bullying a tenth grade student, or the time you pulled a prank on this serious teacher that no one saw laugh until you placed a whoopee cushion on his seat (you still got detention for that though smh), or when you were the matchmaker for pdhpe teachers, mr. park and ms. kang who are now the school’s couple goals and just other great things about you

so apart from that one time when he was zoning out in maths class and out of the window he saw you climbing over the school’s fence to skip class (he finally understood why some students refer to you as the cute fence girl)

woojin has never really encountered you before

which is really strange bc he’s developing a slight crush on you after hearing what other people say and also seeing you from afar during lunch breaks

like the sound of your personality is like making his heart go ‘!!!!’ and he can’t even explain what he’s feeling 

but he’s blaming his friends for it

and so this all changed when a classmate of yours pranked you by pouring a bucket of water at you one lunch break and in return you started a water fight in the cafeteria 

the principal heard about the chaos and started to quickly head that way 

so he witnessed you pull the fire alarm and he calls your name with pure rage that you were damn sure he was gonna hulk smash you

“HEY MR. KIM. BYE MR. KIM.”

you made a run for it

mEANWHILE woojin just left the library and was walking towards the school canteen 

from afar he sees this girl coming closer and closer, running as if her life depended on it (cos it lowkey actually did) and he had this feeling that it was you

so as soon as you came close enough that his eyes could make clear of your appearance, he was proven right 

but further along the distance, he also sees the teachers who suck up to the principal and the principal himself trying to catch up to you

and being the smart kid he is, woojin moves to the side so he doesn’t block your way

however, you weren’t exactly the brightest during that moment and thought that he’d have to snitch on where you were gonna go and get you in more trouble

hence why you grabbed his hand and woojin’s now running with you.

rip woojin

you two manage to pass the school gates, cross the traffic light and hide into an alleyway seconds before the teachers reach up the gates

so you’re both heavily panting, he’s sh00k and awkward bc wth he didn’t even sign up for this crap but he immediately forgives you once he hears you break into laughter, causing him to do the same 

“sorry for dragging you.” you say sheepishly as you send an apologetic smile, “in my head, i was thinking you could have snitched and you could put me in more trouble but now that i realise, you wouldn’t have known where i was going in the first place.” 

“and now i got you into trouble too.” you mumbled to yourself sadly before your bottom lip juts into a pout

legit his heart started to parkour in his chest when he saw you pout bc he didn’t know you could be this cute??? like he expected it but he didn’t really expect it yknow

“ah, no..uhm...” he replies with a shy smile, “it’s..uh...it’s okay. i don’t mind.” 

what a shy awkward bean omg omg dONT YOU JUST LOVE HIM 

you let out a chuckle as you look at him, casually going on your toes to pat his head, “you’re pretty cute, park woojin.” 

woojin was sure he was gonna melt into a puddle after that like he doesn’t even know if he’s breathing or nah but whatever- he’s standing next to his crush who just called him cute. hE GOT CALLED CUTE. BY HIS CRUSH. 

w a i t 

“uh...h-how did you know my name?” he says in a confused manner bc he doesn’t seem to remember telling you-

you point at the right side of his chest, “well the name tag says park woojin and i’m assuming that you’re the park woojin that the younger students are talking about.” 

“o-oh.” 

w a i t  p t  2

“what?” he says after recalling the second bit of your words. 

“you don’t know?” you say to him before you clear your throat and begin to imitate one of the ninth grade girls you tend to overhear, “park woojin - cute snaggletooth oppa. the most adorable awkward bean with reversal charms; he’s super shy but really sexy when he dances. ah, he’s so dreamy.” 

you end your acting as you clasp your hands together and you start to laugh as you notice the dark shade of red on his cheeks, paired with his red ears. 

“i didn’t know i was seen in that kind of light.” he shyly mutters to himself causing you to grin even more bc damn this boi is kinda really cute. 

“well, i can kinda see why they think of you that way.” you reply back with another grin as you notice his cheeks becoming red once again, “you just don’t know about it since the younger grades are good about keeping it lowkey from the seniors.” 

you look out of the alley, knowing that the teachers would have given up looking for you and you turn back around to him with another breathtaking smile. 

“well, you’re not really going to get any punishment apart from a detention since i’ll take all the blame for today, so mr. reversal charms how about i make up for causing you trouble by spending the rest of the school hours, skipping classes with me?”   

woojin remains in silence, almost as if he’s deciding your offer

but lmao he’s just freaking out internally bc you’re making his heart beat even faster than usual and it’s unhealthy for his kokoro plus how will he act cool around you?!?!? 

however you considered his silence as a yes and you take his hand into yours, gently dragging him causing his heart to flip. “i won’t take no for an answer, park woojin and even if it’s my first time to use it to be authoritative, you should say yes to your sunbae.” 

“o-okay, sunbaenim.” “good.” 

so now you’re just both walking wherever your feet may lead you like what you usually do when you skip classes

but his eyes are fixed on both of your hands and you look at where he’s looking before you flash a grin at him, “let’s just say that your hand looked heavy so i’m here to help you with that.” 

“wow she’s pretty cheesy. more emphasis on the pretty bit though.”

he hears you burst into laughter and he instantly covers his mouth with his free hand, realising that he didn’t just think it but he said it too. 

“d-did i say that out loud? god, i didn’t mean to. i swear- i’m so sorry ahh...this is so embarrassing.” 

but you’re just there laughing and quite close to tears which makes him lowkey satisfied bc even if he embarrassed himself in front of you, he’s making you smile (ong my goodness this is so pure and cheesy idek) 

after you calm yourself down, you shake your head in amusement.  “don’t be sorry, if anything, i’m kinda glad that my dumb ass dragged you, park woojin.”  

and so for the rest of the day, woojin finds himself falling for you harder than he had imagined. 

maybe getting into trouble will be worth it after all. 

#park woojin #woojin #produce 101 #produce 101 season 2 #wanna one imagines #wanna one scenarios #wanna one #woojin imagines #woojin scenarios #im wheezing #woojin getting me bent #im so whipped for wanna one #i told myself that ong would be the ongly one #hahah get it #anyways im being unloyal but im proud

[adhdbuzz]

(Quick note - I have copied this over from my main blog - this is my content...)

ADHD, Neurodivergence, Identity…

I want to start blogging about some of my experiences with mental illness and neurodivergence. Two words, that before this year, I would never of used in relation to myself.

One of the most fascinating and somewhat crippling aspects of learning you are neurodivergent, is becoming so hyperaware of your thoughts, actions, personality, wondering what’s you and what’s your diagnosis, (or what you are imagining/projecting because of your diagnosis). I likely drive my friends mad talking or joking about it, but it’s hard to articulate the complete upheaval that learning this about yourself creates. Suddenly your entire history and personhood is re-defined. You have to change your narrative. I spent most of my teenagehood and childhood feeling removed/estranged from the people and world around me. More than feeling an ‘outcast,’ I felt myself an alien. I believed (and felt that others believed), that I was incredibly lazy and did not have the drive to puruse my passions and potential. This left such a hole in my heart and self-confidence. Imagine that you have this great love for something - or many things, but can’t even motivate yourself to take one single step toward it. You lose interest in every hobby you’ve ever taken up and you don’t understand why you can’t just do the thing. It seems easy for everyone else? What am I missing? So you compensate. Suddenly (and very briefly), you are really into note-taking and study blogs and watching countless hours of videos on how to get organised and ‘change your life’ and you imagine what kind of person you could become.  Or you start every new year or semester with the goal to just stay on top of things, just remember, just write it down - everyone else does it? Why can’t you? Inevitably, that falls away.

What happens when you can’t maintain this? When suddenly those three assignments are due, you’ve dropped out of your class/hobby, you’ve missed another opportunity, avoided another goal and heard another person tell you, ‘you just need to get organised…’ ‘ you’ve got so much potential, you just need to apply yourself!’ “I don’t understand how you forgot/didn’t do the thing/didn’t write it down!”

I don’t think I can ever effectively describe the impact that this has had on me. There is something so devastating in not understanding there is something different about your brain during the really sensitive, formative years of your life. Because you end up spending so much time trying to work out why you are not like everyone else, why you struggle with things that most people find easy, why it is a constant battle to stay afloat, to have people angry with you/criticising you for something that you both feel should be in your control, but neurologically isn’t.  

ADHD is so severly misunderstood. It’s invisible and it is crippling. The image of the little boy in class who can’t sit still or stop talking is such a prevalent and damaging stereotype. Before I got my diagnosis and before I even had looked into ADHD, I spent hours researching what could be wrong with me and doing online ‘tests’. These ranged from anxiety, to depression, Bipolar, PMDD and Personality Disorders, (strangely enough, ADHD often exists alongside other mental illnesses and I was diagnosed with co-morbidities…) But I think this gives a degree of context to what undiagnosed ADHD feels like, because it’s not someone who wont shut up, or sit still. To me it feels like everyone else got a manual on how to be a person and I didn’t. Often times, it’s the depressed, anxious, struggling teenager or young adult, who feels so inadequate, who feels like an alien, who can’t even trust their own passions or interests. Who is in a constant battle to meet the expectations of themselves and those around them. Who’s socially awkward or uncomfortable, who’s disocciated, who can’t follow a conversation, or instructions, who suffers in loud spaces, who struggles with small talk, strangers, shopping centres, keeping themselves and their space clean, uni work, school work, chores, family, friendships, relationships, their identity, their passions, there interests, their personality, regualating their emotions

ADHD is so exhausting, because it’s a constant battle to just meet the base line. Every thing you do from the moment you get up, til the moment you are asleep (and even then) is impacted by it.

Say you have an assignment, and a couple of chores to do on one day. Not a big deal right? Ok so you set an alarm for 8am, except your brain didn’t turn off until 4am the night before, so you get up at mid day, you go to put the washing in, but you forgot to turn on yesterdays load, so you do that first, you go to make a morning coffee, you check the time, it’s 12.30 - where did half an hour go? I just got up?! (Time-blindness). You make your coffee and drink it while checking social media, which sucks you in, because your dopamine depleted brain craves stimuli! You check the time, its 1pm, you tell yourself you’ll scroll for ten more minutes, and that ten minute excuse repeats a few times. It’s 1.30 and now your angry, because why didn’t you have the self control! (Hint: you have a disordered executive function). You put your mug on the sink, promising you’ll come back to it later. You go back to the laundry, you realise you forgot to turn the dryer on. You go to do your assignment, you clear your desk, open laptop, but now you don’t know where to start - you can’t naturally prioritise tasks, or break down the individual steps that need to be done in order to complete an assignment, you must do this with the ‘skills’ you have actively had to learn from a coach, internet etc. It’s like trying to bake a cake with no measuring cups, or recipe! So now you are looking at the assessment outline, and what you’ve worked on already, and trying to close last nights 200 tabs of hyperfixation. You read the outline 5 times without actually reading it, on the 6th you try really hard, you’re fidgeting in your chair, it’s an almost physical pain having to sit there and read it. Your eyes feel glazy, there’s too many words and they look like a big smudge on the page. You quickly check messages (dopamine hit), you come back to the outline. Its been half an hour, you still haven’t started. It’s about 2pm, you havent had lunch or breakfast. You go make a tea and come back. Maybe you need backround music? You spend another 20 minutes finding the right playlist, except its not right because it’s either too stimulating or not stimulating enough. You find another playlist, or you go down the rabbit whole of some movie soundtrack you’ve been meaning to look at. It’s 2.45. The washing! You go back and finally get yesterdays load in the dryer and start the load you meant to do today. Might as well make another tea now that I’m up. Might as well check Facebook now I’ve been interrupted. I’ll start at 3.30. 3.30 rolls around, your sibling gets home from school. Noise, talking, lunchbox rattling, bags being unpacked. Distraction. The noise is painful, your executive function (the impaired part of the ADHD brain) is also responsible for emotional regulation. Suddenly you are so fiercly angry at the noise being made in the rest of the house. It’s so over stimulating it feels like sandpaper on your brain and ears, you feel sick to your stomach with rage, you are crying, sobbing. All because people in the other room are talking. You lay on your bed trying to calm the overwhelm and increasing stress at not having done your assignment. It’s 4pm. Mum asks why you left your mug out, or didn’t do the dishes (you were too busy thinking about doing the washing!) She notes the machine still going and tells you that you wont have time to put it in the dryer tonight, you’ll have to do it tomorrow. But you need those clothes for tomorrow, you’re having breakfast with a friend. You’ll have to reschedule. You message your friend, and repeat the standard script “god I am so sorry, I’m such a mess, can we do later in the morning? I’ve got to do chores…” they can’t reschedule, you cancel. You sit back down with the assignment. You fidget. It feels like a physical pain to have to sit there and force yourself to do it. You’ll do it tomorrow. You pack up, and get ready for bed, removing the pile on your bed back to your desk. Your sheets are unmade, it’s uncomfortable and you feel agitated. You’ve forgotten to brush your teeth, or clean your face. You scroll online, or hyperfocus on a new hobby, project, idea, that wont interest you tomorrow, until 3am. You set your alarm for 8am…

This is just one small example and snapshot of ADHD and the impact of Executive Dysfunction. Here are a couple of examples/descriptions of how it feels from the ADHD subreddit.

“Schrodinger’s ADHD: Everything is interesting and boring at the same time. Every subject, every hobby.”

‘The Two ADHD Moods: I can’t do it / I can’t stop doing it. The two types of ADHD time: Now  /  Not Now The two ADHD memory modes: I literally can not recall the words that just                                                         came out of my mouth  /                                                                                       I can recite the opening paragraph of                                                                 every single magic tree house book.’

I also want to talk Neurodivergence, as this is another misconception when it comes to ADHD. In the way that Autism, Tourettes, Dyscalculia, Dysgraphia are all forms of neurodivergence, so is ADHD. ADHD is not a behavoural issue, but a neurobiological developmental disorder. ADHD also has many overlapping traits with Autism, (not to be confused as the same, ADHD is not on the spectrum). These include, sensory overwhelm/sensitivity, memory issues, hyperfocus/hyperfixation, interrupting conversation/trouble waiting in turn, issues reading/recognising social cues, stimming, perseveration, (getting ‘stuck’ on or repeating a thought, topic or idea, even if the conversation has moved on), and avoidance/trouble with eye contact.

To be clear, ADHD is not on the spectrum, a distinguishing feature between these neurotypes is the cause of the symptom. For example someone with ADHD may not recognise social cues due to inattention/overwhelm/impulsivity, where as someone with autism may struggle to interpret these social cues.

It is important for ADHD to be recognised as a neurotype, and not a behavoural issue.  When discussing ADHD traits with a neurotypical person, the response is often along the lines of ‘well everyone is a little distracted/unmotivated/lazy/forgetful/late sometimes.’ My response to that  ‘Would you say that everyone is a bit ‘socially awkward/shy’ sometimes to an autistic person? Or ‘everyone has trouble reading sometimes’ to a dyslexic person?’ I imagine the answer would be no, as it is understood that these traits are a consistent, uncontrollable and debilitating.

The more I have learnt and read about ADHD in the context of neurodivergence, the more I have tried to recognise the ways I hide or detract from my symptoms, by ‘masking’. This has included, taking on certain personas or feeding someone elses assumption about me as ‘the messy one,’ ‘the disorganised one,’ ‘the chaotic one.’ In the past I have almost embraced these stereotypes about myself, as it gave me a sense of identity, a framework with which to see and understand myself. Frustration and anger masked over-stimulation/overwhelm, I was not able to recognise the root of these feelings and I also learnt to fidget/stim in the ‘right’ way. When engaging in small talk with someone I am unfamiliar with, I often resort to mimicing or imitating how I have seen other people interact, speak etc and I am conscious of eye contact, (too much, too little?). I catch myself looking at people/staring too much and am constantly trying to gauge what the right amount is, where else to look, etc. I struggle a lot with taking turns in convesation, as I don’t always know where to interject, or I worry I will forget the thought, this has led me to just stay silent instead in conversations and present myself as serious, or elusive.

That’s really all I have to say for today. I think overall ADHD is far more complex and challenging than it is perceived to be, and these stereotypes are so harmful to people who have it and are trying to navigate not only their symptoms, but a world that is not understanding nor knowledgeable of the limitations and struggles of ADHD or neurodivergence.

I have a lot more to say on all this and will try and write more about this going forward. DM/comment etc if you have any thoughts or criticism of anything I have said. Disclaimer, I am still learning and may make mistakes regarding information, or discussing other neurotypes !

Here are some links you might want to check out if you have/think you have ADHD or you have a friend or family member with ADHD. I also highly, highly recommend the ADHD subreddit!

ADHD explained simply:

https://www.additudemag.com/what-is-adhd-symptoms-causes-treatments/

“ADHD is a developmental impairment of the brain’s executive functions. People with ADHD have trouble with impulse-control, focusing, and organization.

“’Attention deficit’ is, some experts assert, a misleading name. “Attention deregulation” might be a more accurate description since most people with ADHD have more than enough attention — they just can’t harness it in the right direction at the right time with any consistency.”

Comorbidities https://adhd-institute.com/burden-of-adhd/epidemiology/comorbidities/ “The majority of adults with ADHD have a diagnosed or undiagnosed comorbid psychiatric disorder, which can complicate diagnosis and treatment of ADHD.1-3“ ADHD and Autism https://www.spectrumnews.org/features/deep-dive/decoding-overlap-autism-adhd/ “A growing number of genetic studies support the notion of at least some shared causation between autism and ADHD. But imaging studies comparing brain structures and connectivity have yielded a confusing mix of similarities and differences. And some behavioral research has highlighted the possibility that outwardly similar features mask distinct underlying mechanisms. Inattention in a person with autism, for example, might result from sensory overload, and apparent social problems in someone with ADHD may reflect impulsivity. Perseveration https://www.understood.org/en/friends-feelings/common-challenges/self-control/perseveration-adhd-and-learning-differences

“(Kids) who perseverate often say the same thing or behave in the same way over and over again. And they do it past the point where it makes sense or will change anything. It’s like they’re stuck in a loop that they can’t get out of.”

ADHD and social skills https://chadd.org/for-adults/relationships-social-skills/#:~:text=Social%20Skills%20in%20Adults%20with,their%20inattention%2C%20impulsivity%20and%20hyperactivity.

“Social skills are generally acquired through incidental learning: watching people, copying the behavior of others, practicing, and getting feedback. Most people start this process during early childhood. Social skills are practiced and honed by “playing grown-up” and through other childhood activities. The finer points of social interactions are sharpened by observation and peer feedback.

Children with ADHD often miss these details. They may pick up bits and pieces of what is appropriate but lack an overall view of social expectations. Unfortunately, as adults, they often realize “something” is missing but are never quite sure what that “something” may be.”

ADHD and stimming https://www.betterhelp.com/advice/adhd/repetitive-behaviors-in-children-with-adhd-stimming-fidgeting-and-what-these-actions-may-mean/

“Many believe that stimming and fidgeting is reserved for those on the autism spectrum. However, it is now known that children with ADHD are just as likely to use repetitive body movements to self-stimulate. In fact, autistic stimming and non-autistic stimming are different. The main difference is that those with ADHD typically only use stimming for a short period of time while they are trying to concentrate. For example, someone with ADHD may stim for under an hour while those with autism will stim for several hours at a time. While stimming and fidgeting are typically seen as tapping or rocking, there are many other things that children with ADHD do to self-stimulate. There are actually five different variations of stimming, which include olfactory, vestibular, visual, tactile, and auditory.”

#adhd #neurodivergent #neurodiversity

[askghostcrawler]

“I know gaming industry is mostly nerds for the nerds, one of the more negative aspects of the geek culture is stuff like social anxiety, communication issues, and self destructive behavior, do you think those thinks impact game industry at all?”

Overall, I think they do. Now let me backup a bit and caveat that we shouldn’t stereotype all nerds as having social anxiety or communication issues. (I am, and I don’t, for example.)

But I have worked with a lot of people in this industry who do struggle to varying degrees to communicate, and it can be a tough challenge for them to overcome. It can hold them back in their careers. It can make their projects less awesome for players. 

Sometimes these are among the most brilliant and insightful folks on the team, so it is tempting to come up with scenarios where they spent their stat points on some attributes and not others in an RPG sense. (I’m not serious about that obviously.)

Comms are important, yo 

This is a business where communication is critical. You need to convince your peers why your idea will work, you need to talk to your team about how to implement something, you probably will need to manage upwards to some extent, and you may even need to talk to players. So I don’t think it’s okay, in this business (though likely many others), to just accept that you are a poor communicator.

I will try to offer a little advice here for dealing with communication challenges. I am not an expert in this sort of thing. I am just talking from my own experience.

In general, I witness two different issues here. One is a general shyness, or anxiety about speaking to a group (potentially even a small group). The other is difficulty empathizing or “reading” with others.

Being nervous about speaking up

Shyness can be crippling for some folks. They have good ideas but they have difficulty speaking up or interjecting themselves into the conversation. One tactic here is just to realize that different people communicate in different ways. I am a pretty off-the-chart extrovert who gets energy from other people and likes to talk through my ideation process. The first time I worked with a designer who needed time to process her thoughts before she could articulate a design, I really struggled with how to engage her in a meeting. I eventually learned that I didn’t need to. She would come back with a solution, often a great one, once she could mull over the problem over outside of the meeting. Now sometimes you don’t have the luxury of time and you need an answer NOW. But that’s only sometimes.

The other thing you can do to help is to have a supportive work environment. The first time someone feels dismissed, belittled or shot down, they’re going to hesitate to speak up again. If you don’t like their idea, try and express your concerns about the idea, not the person. This is a great time to try the “Yes, and...” tactic and avoid “no,”  “but” and especially “actually.” I’m not advocating coddling people here. I’m advocating giving them a safe environment in which to brainstorm or even to come up with a totally unworkable idea... but one that inspires someone else to come up with a great idea. And when the shy person has a good idea, celebrate it. Above all, make sure that you aren’t only listening to the loud people in the room. (Sorry, I shifted my point of view from the person who has trouble speaking up to the person trying to make sure others can speak up, but that’s the side I know better.)

In terms of addressing a group, the only thing I know to do there is just practice. Practice presenting something to 3-4 people before you get on stage to try and talk to the company. Again, knowing that your audience has your back can make you feel more comfortable when you stumble in word or step. This is one of those deals where if you can fake confidence, your audience won’t really know the difference. I don’t find memorizing what you want to say to be particularly effective, because then you risk being nervous and robotic. But use a few note cards or something on your phone (or speaker’s notes on a presentation) if you are worried about blanking. 

Just don’t forget to make eye contact... which leads me to the second topic.

Reading social cues

I have worked, and honestly continue to work with, some developers who have trouble reading or interpreting social cues. A designer will make a pitch and then assume everyone agrees with him because he failed to notice the number of people in the room with crossed arms, askew glances, pouting, or any of a number of other non-verbal expressions that they are trying to use to say “I don’t really agree with you, but I don’t want to be rude (or I’m shy).” 

My advice here is to stop and look around. Try and understand if they are nodding because they feel awkward or if they are really agreeing with you. If you aren’t certain, ask them (now or later). It can help to have an ally in the room who is good at reading people, and you can ask him or her later “Did that go okay? Nobody said anything. Were they really on board?” Try to look people in the eyes, at least every now and then. It can feel really awkward, but it’s often the most telling way to gather if they are really with you or not. A lot of these cues are subtle - their mouth is smiling, but their eyes are not - and take some practice to read. You also might try following up in email (or a similar digital medium) later, because knowing that there are no cues to rely on, they will have to be more explicit about their concerns if they want you to get them (and again, going back to the first point, they may be introverted and/or shy). I have friends where it can totally seem like they are stopping to access the sub-routine in their brain (pause for 5 seconds, look around room, continue) but that’s the trick they learned to make sure they are receiving the communication.

I’m a really sarcastic person, and that can sometimes be tricky to read (especially for folks for whom English is their second language). Likewise, Earthlings have annoying habits like saying “Yeah, sure,” when what we really mean is “That sucks and I am disengaged.” When someone responds to you and you aren’t sure if what they said was what they meant, it may again help to ask a friend, or just follow up. “I know you said you were okay, but I’m not sure I believe you.” Just don’t harangue them until they agree.

You can get better at stuff like this, especially the social anxiety part. It’s harder to get better at non-verbal or reading-through-the-line communication, so in those cases, you may have to develop a tool box to compensate for it. Think of it like needing to wear glasses to correct your vision. We generally don’t judge people who have poor vision like it’s some kind of personal failing. The same can be true of someone who struggles to communicate.

Sorry, that was kind of long. My struggles to communicate can take on a different form. :)

11/6/2017

[reidmemymo]

Not A Date (Part 2)

Perdóname but this is lowkey long, hope ju liek et :) Part 3 is written and ready, out of fear that it’d be too long already I made the smut happen in part 4 so buckle up, stay tuned, take off your shoes and stay a while fam

—

Upon arrival to y/n’s apartment, she didn’t know what to do as her mind swarmed over the thought of her going out with Spencer tonight. She naturally did what she always did when she couldn’t think straight, she cleaned.

Mid-dish washing she had gotten a call from Spencer and they agreed on a time to meet and where to meet. Under pressure on the two hours she had to get ready, she cleaned some more, took a quick shower, struggled to pick an outfit then headed out once it was time. Now as she exited the cab that stopped in front of the theater, she hoped her outfit wasn’t too casual nor too fancy. Against her own wishes after all, this was not a date.

Her worries subsided as she heard the cab drive off behind her, her eyes landed on Spencer standing by the entrance. Of course, charmingly leaned on the wall and looking down while he read one of his books.

“Spence!” She called and the boy wonder’s head snapped up from the pages of a handwriting profiling book. His face lit up at the sight of her and hers did as well when she noticed the scarf around his neck since she too wore an orange scarf for the occasion.

“Hey, y/n, haven’t seen you in a while,” he joked with a soft chuckle as she wrapped her arms around his neck lovingly, making him cautiously snake his around her waist. He smile dropped once he felt her lips touch his cheek and his brows instinctively shot up as she pulled back.

“Looks like we’ve got about twenty minutes to kill until the movie starts! You got the tickets?” He nodded and retrieved the strip of tickets and handed her hers after tearing it off of his.

“Thank you, sir. Nice scarf, by the way.” He smiled at her comment.

“You look great, you pulled it off better than I could. Did you… want to go in now or-”

“How about we take a walk? Walk and talk then run back when it’s time, yeah?” He looked down at her face, the smile she wore and the excitement in her voice compelled him to say yes. Yet he knew in his mind that they’d be stuck with front row seats when they got back, his mind also raised in alert and even more nervousness flooded him at the thought of walking with her to talk. Spencer was never prominent in the area of conversation, so what in the world would they talk about?? But how could he say no…

“Yeah, let’s walk, y/n.” He said with a charming smile that made hers grow bigger, and so they laughed while they turned away from the theater to walk down the moonlit pavement. After three minutes of comfortable silence as they walked and shared a few small comments about their surroundings, y/n asked him the question she wondered about since they were at work.

“Hey, how come you weren’t going to come after Penelope flaked? You didn’t consider going alone?” She asked him, then she noticed his mouth do its quirk again and she knew this would be a sensitive subject. He sighed and prepared for a more sad turn in conversation.

“I did, of course, I love Halloween. I’d love to do that but I do everything alone. It’s particularly difficult to enjoy the film when I’m sitting there alone with no one to turn to if I want to comment about the movie or share a snack with or laugh with like everyone else in there. It’s typical for people to go to the movies in a pair or with a group but I’d just… be there.” He confessed while his his eyes remained parallel to the sidewalk, glued to the alternating steps of his Oxford shoes. Her face softened and she swore her heart broke a little.

“Well… what about when the whole team goes out? You aren’t alone then, are you?” She inquired gently, watching his gaze stubbornly lock to the ground instead of looking back.

“Y/n, have you taken a look at me lately? Yes, the team goes out in a group and we have some fun but more often than I’d like, the locations we go to are clubs or bars. For a person like me, that is not my scene. Especially not when Morgan and Penelope team up in hopes of either getting me drunk or getting me to talk to some girl I know nothing about.” He argued, his brows coming together in the frustration that built up with every word. She felt sorry for him, yet she shrugged the feeling off knowing that isn’t what he needed. What he needs is encouragement, a confidence builder.

“Yeah, they’re both trouble, I’m sorry. Do you ever offer the others to hang out?”

“Yes well, I try to. They either pass or take a rain check and I never hear about it again.” He spoke as his voice diminished almost to a whisper.

“You know it’s not because they don’t love you or don’t like you as a person, right?” He stayed quiet, but the profiler in her could see through his micro expressions that told her that’s exactly what he thinks.

“You’re interests just don’t correlate with theirs. I’m almost sure if you offered to do something they are more likely to enjoy or know about, they’d agree to it. I know how they treat you, I’ve seen it all in my four months on this team. Trust me when I say that they love you and they think you’re amazing. Just your type of amazing isn’t something people see everyday, it scares them.” She felt relieved a bit when he looked back, listening to her words. A small smile turning his lips.

“Emily once told me you offered her to go see Solaris, Reid, which is five hours of sitting. Of course since it’s in your interest, you are willing to sit through it. For anyone else, they see it as five hours of sitting and being lost. Don’t ever think that they don’t like you because they won’t hang out with you.” He nodded slowly, intently noting what she said which he found to make a lot of sense.

“Thanks, y/n… for saying that.” He said to her. She smiled weakly.

“Tell you what, if there’s something you want to do, ask me. I might or might not decline depending on what it is or for other reasons. If it’s something you seriously want to go to, I’ll come with you.” She told him sweetly, smiling back at him. He couldn’t stop from flashing a smile too.

“Are you sure?”

“Of course! Why wouldn’t anyone want to hang out with an intelligent, multitalented, handsome man like you?” He paused once he heard the ‘handsome’ comment, yet his mind quickly answered her question.

“Cause I’m weird.”

“Okay, how?” She asked with skepticism.

“I can’t engage in normal or deep conversations, I lack knowledge of social cues and norms, Im awkward, and I spew facts as if my life depends on it. I ramble as well; therefore, I am weird.” He spoke rapidly, eager to prove his point that she didn’t seem to grasp for some reason.

“Reid, no. That’s just who you are and there’s nothing wrong with it. Plus if anyone here is weird, it’s me.”

“Not true.”

“Is to, ask my mom or my best friend or my brother. They will all tell you the same thing; I’m a know-it-all.”

“You? A know-it-all?” He asked, cocking a brow with a small smile.

“The worst! And I know, I don’t compare to fantastic Dr. Reid but it annoys the crap out of my family. Plus weirdly enough, I like memorizing lists. You know I’ve memorized the whole list of neurological disorders?” Spencer’s mouth hung open, his brows raised.

“Y/n, that’s a list from A to W with one to multiple disorders within each letter… and you don’t have an eidetic memory either.”

“A to Z actually, as of last year, but yes. No eidetic memory. Isn’t that weird?”

“No it isn’t, that’s amazing.” He complimented, their eyes locking on each other. She looked back at his hazel eyes she loved so much and made a decision on how to build some of his confidence.

“Reid, I’m going to tell you something that I don’t want to tell you and I’m upset about it but I feel like you’d need to hear it.” She watched him turn confused and cautiously they came to a stop.

“Okay…” She heard him trail off as she sucked in a deep breath and released it.

“I’ve had a big crush building up for you since my first day.” Silence followed her words, Spencer’s brows wiggled as they rose then came together. A crush? No way, he thought. Yet thought it over some more, it made sense. They’re both profilers. Of course they both sensed at times that they had a bond different from the others. Spencer recalled the way she would look at him when he’d be revealing a fact to the team on a case, it made a lot of sense. Also she would always be subtly defensive of him whenever others shut him down from sharing statistics or when they would pick on him. In the mornings she would routinely yet genuinely ask him about his day or his morning or his weekend. Could this be true?

"So you asked me out while you supposedly have a uh… c-crush on me? You made this a date… that’s against Hotch’s demands.”

“No, no, not a date. Just a very anticipated outing with a coworker of mine.”

“Who you happen to like?” He asked, a smirk forming on his face.

“Correction, who I happen to like a whole lot. And listen, if I can manage to become attracted to you even with your so called ‘weird’ qualities, what does that tell you?” She asked him and he thought hard until he met her eyes again.

“It tells me you’re very weird.” He answered, the both of them breaking into joyous laughter. After a moment they recovered, left smiling at one another. Until Spencer looked down at his watch.

“We should head back now, y/n.” He said in a low voice, not wanting their walk to end. She nodded with a grin.

“Let’s go, pretty boy.” Spencer laughed and made not one hesitant move as she linked an arm with his. Her body close to his as they made their silent pursuit back to the theater.

#Spencer Reid #Spencer Reid imagine #criminal minds #criminalminds #spencerreid #criminal minds imagine #cm #mgg #Matthew gray gubler #my imagine #Reidmemymo imagine #Spence is daddy™ #Spencer Reid x reader #reader insert