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swanslieutenant · 4 years

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a place in time - chapter xiii

Summary: Emma’s an agent working to reunite missing people with their families when the biggest missing persons case of all time appears in front of her in a flash of bright, white light. Thousands of missing people from throughout history, including one particular pirate, appear on the shore of a lake in the middle of winter: none have aged a day since their disappearance and, with no memory of their missing time, must venture into a strange and uncertain future. Loosely based on the TV show “the 4400.”

Rating and Warnings: Teen. For now.

Catch up: ch1, ch2, ch3, ch4, ch5, ch6, ch7, ch8, ch9, ch10, ch11, ch12

Read on AO3

Note: *shows up nearly 2 years late with a Tim Hortons hot chocolate* - apologies for the length it took for me to get this updated. It has been a hard/chaotic two years for me and this fic is a hard one to write, but things are settling a bit, so I will try not to leave it for that long again.

thanks to all the folks over at the @captainswanmoviemarathon discord channel for welcoming me in and helping me get this finished with the many many writing sprints it took!

___________________________________________________________

Neither Killian or Emma speak as they march back to her office, their steps quick and staccato against the polished floors. The world seems to be on a tilt, like Emma is walking through a funhouse with slanted floors, with the glass doors of the offices lining the hallway like the twisted and bendy mirrors of the carnival house, warping and distorting reality all around her.

Emma supposes she should be used to this feeling by now. After all, her entire world has been on a tilt since that night down at the lake, with the sudden appearance of thousands of people.

But this time it feels different. Like her normal life, or what has been her new normal at this point, has been shattered once again. What she thought to be true, who she thought she could trust and rely on – broken, once again.

I know him from my time.

When they reach her office, after unlocking the door, she gestures Killian ahead of her. He hasn’t said a word yet, and his face is solemn, the utter shock now an icy grit. His jaw is set, his eyes steel, the cold-hearted pirate that lurks beneath his charming veneer returned full force.

“This is his doing.” His voice is shaking with rage, the words more a growl than a sentence.

“This is crazy,” Emma says, swallowing the growing bile rising in her throat as she shuts the office door behind herself. She grips the side of her desk, her knuckles turning white, as she falls heavily into her desk chair. “How – are you sure that it’s the same guy?”

“Absolutely.”

He is still sanding by the door, hands curled into fists at his side, almost vibrating with fury. There is clearly some history here, and Emma remembers the vile that Gold spoke of Killian with when the returnees first arrived, how he had demanded for him to be locked up and kept away from the others.

“Who is he, Killian? How do you know him?”

“He’s a monster.” He spits the words, and then lifts his left hand, shaking his sleeve up his arm and rubbing at the scar that encircles his wrist, ragged and rough. “See this scar, Swan? He did it to me.”

She has wondered about the scar ever since she first saw it weeks ago, and now the shadow that had darkened his expression when she mentioned it then makes sense. She is truly sick now, her stomach twisting at the thought of her boss, the man she has sat across from in meetings and who controls this entire goddamn situation, literally attacking someone to the point of leaving such a horrific scar.

“He – dear god, Killian. That looks like he tried to cut your hand off!”

“It was no mere attempt,” Killian replies hollowly, eyes darkening. “He did cut it off.”

Emma blinks at him, and then stares at his hand, clearly attached to his arm. Now fair enough, she doesn’t know a lot about surgery or how re-attaching a limb would work, but Emma sure as hell knows there is no way Killian would have had his hand re-attached or be able to use it with 1700s medicine.

“He – what? I don’t understand. But your – your hand? How was it … fixed?”

“Magic.”

Emma’s heart stutters at the word. She leans back in her chair, stunned as if she’s been slapped.

“What?”

“A witch,” Killian continues, oblivious to Emma’s reaction, and he waves his right hand airily. “Or a fairy or some other manner of creature. I suppose I never actually asked her. My crew and I had come across her once before ever meeting Gold, and we retreated to her after his attack. She was a bit prickly, but she re-attached it for me after my crew begged her to. She had only a little magic left after running into trouble of her own, and she was no expert, hence the scar, but she did her best.”

Magic, witches, fairies. Her superpower remains silent, indicating Killian is telling the truth as he sees it, but Emma can’t believe it. Abruptly, Emma feels on the edge of tears. A hand re-attached by magic?

What?

Killian seems to finally notice her thunderstruck expression. “To you, Swan, magic is a myth. In my time, it was as common as your light switches. And clearly,” he adds, holding up his hand and flexing his fingers, “it worked.”

Seriously, what the hell is her life these days? Magic? Fine, she has no explanation for why Killian is standing in front of her, two and a half centuries after he should have died. But magic? No way. Aliens or scientific advancements in time travel make more sense than magic. But then she thinks of the video Anna had shown her of her sister controlling snowflakes as naturally as could be, and well, hell, magic at this point may make as much sense as anything else.

“I don’t understand,” Emma manages finally, wrenching her mind away from the literal concept of magic to the problem in front of her. Gold, Killian, time travel, his hand. “How – why did Gold cut your hand off?”

“I stole something from him.”

… Of course he did.

Her mind starting to burst at the seams, she can only gape back at Killian as he explains his history with Gold, utterly lost for words. In Killian’s time, Gold had been a powerful landowner in England, who ventured to the New World after making a bad deal and losing his fortune. He didn’t know how long Gold had been in America before Killian heard of him, but he did know was already successful and rich in his new surroundings, a dangerous businessman who no one dared cross.

Except Killian.

“As you may remember, Swan, at that time I was a wanted man by the English Crown, having stolen and burned many of their ships. They had done their own damage to me, and it was my utmost desire at the time to ruin them in any other way I could. So, when I heard rumours of an enchanted object that Gold had brought over from England, the last of his previous fortune and a gift from the king and royal family themselves, naturally, I wanted it. Besides, my crew and I hadn’t had a good heist in months. It was a hard, cold winter, and the stormy weather had kept many ships trapped in European harbours, and my men were itching for some action.”

Even amidst her shock at this whole situation, Emma has to resist the urge to roll her eyes – pirates.

“My crew and I were moored in a town called Newport, near where his new estate was. We were restocking the Jolly Roger when I heard he’d left the town for business and would not be back for a fortnight, leaving his mansion unprotected.”

“So, you of course just waltzed in and stole it. What even was it?”

He flashes her a devious grin, a glimmer of his charming, mischievous self breaking through his dark demeanour. “I’m a hell of a pirate, love, even on land. It was only too easy to sneak into his manor. We took everything we could get our hands on, and then I found this object, the king’s gift.” Killian cups his hands, as if he was holding several apples in his palms. “It was roughly this size. I couldn’t tell you what it was called, for I’ve never come across anything like it before. I thought perhaps a music box or a small chest at first. It was circular, with the sides plated in pure gold leaf. The top of it was beautiful, no doubt painted by the finest artist to represent a dark indigo sky with white stars emblazoned upon it. I wondered if it was only the case for the true treasure within, but I could never get the damn thing to open. My crew and I tried everything we could think of – prying it, smashing it, hammering it. Nothing. It seemed empty inside, too, for when you’d knock on it, it was hollow. After all the efforts for seemingly nothing, I thought about simply selling it. But, then I heard Gold was desperate to have it returned, that he had ripped his manor apart looking for it, so I knew it was something valuable indeed.”

Emma is trying to picture the object Killian describes, and she has no idea what it could be either. Sounds to her like a little box, like something you’d find in an old antique or knick-knack store. “Okay, so what did you do with it then?”

“I buried it, somewhere safe where I knew Gold couldn’t find it.”

The entire tale is the most Killian has spoken about his past as a pirate since appearing in this time, and Emma supposes she shouldn’t be surprised it ends with a tale of buried treasure. Typical.

“Besides that,” Killian continues slowly, and he rubs one of his upper arms absently, as if recalling a past chill. “My crew didn’t like it. Once we realized we couldn’t do anything with it or allow Gold to have it again, we needed it off the ship as soon as we could.”

“Didn’t like it?” Emma echoes, her skin rippling with goosebumps. “What do you mean?”

Killian frowns, and he rubs at his chin thoughtfully. “I know you don’t believe in magic, Swan, but if you saw this, you would. Even though we couldn’t get it open, the damned thing seemed to suck the energy of the area around it. People were grumpier near it, more prone to anger, and more likely to need hours upon hours of sleep after being around it for a long time. As if it pulled their energy into itself and made them weaker, less honourable versions of themselves.”

He’s right, she doesn’t believe in magic. The thought of a strangle little box, gifted to her boss in the 1700s that caused hardened pirates to want it out of their sight, is something out of a movie. But … after all Emma has seen and all she’s heard, even just in the last few minutes, perhaps she better start believing.

“In any regard, we buried it and forgot about it for a few months until we returned one day to Newport. Gold knew my ship – hell, everyone knew my ship, then – and he was watching for it. He surprised us and thought to kill me and my crew, but realized rather quickly if we were all dead, he’d have no way to find out where the object was hidden. So instead … he thought to teach me a lesson.” He holds his left hand up again. “Hence, this.”

Emma leans back into her desk chair, sinking into the old cushion and letting out a deep breath. She’s starting to get a tight, fluttery feeling in her chest she gets when she’s becoming overwhelmed, the feeling that usually spurs her to run, run as fast as she can.

But there’s no running from this. This, this twisted world with time travel and now apparently magic, is her reality.

Killian falls silent, finally taking a seat opposite her instead of standing, fuming, by the door. But Emma doesn’t know what to say back to him, so they sit in silence for several long minutes. After all, what do you say back to someone who is telling you about their adversarial meetings in the 1740s with your boss, who was the one to cut off his hand that was then re-attached with magic?

Emma has always been a logical person; she’s had to be. There was no room for whimsy or belief in the unknown during her childhood, not when she was burned too early by a world that only showed her its dark and cruel side. Her mind is so overwhelmed, she’s not even sure how to begin processing all this. If Killian wasn’t between her and the door, she may have started running.

“So, you buried this object,” she begins, forcing herself to focus on the tangible parts of Killian’s story, though it’s not enough to not notice the irony of discussing ancient buried treasure with a pirate. “Probably in a place built over by a parking lot, or so deep underground that its lost to history, or found by a random person and sitting on someone’s grandma’s shelf –”

“That seems unlikely,” Killian muses. “I would hazard a guess it has never been found. After all, that must be why I’m here, in your time. He’s after the object again. He couldn’t get it from me then, and for whatever reason, he’s brought me here to find it.”

Emma has come to the same conclusion herself now, but she shakes her head in dismay. “I just don’t understand. If he wants this thing back so bad, why not get it from you back then, not invent time travel and wait nearly three hundred years for it?”

He shrugs, but his eyes flash. “Only the devil himself knows what madness lurks in that monster’s mind.”

Emma sighs and rubs at her eyes. If ridiculous was a line crossed back when Killian first said he knew Gold from his time, this situation is so far gone, Emma’s not even sure what to make of it anymore.

“So where is it buried? The object?”

Killian doesn’t answer, idly tracing the scar around his wrist. She watches him, wondering if he’s simply trying to remember, but when the silence stretches on, she realizes he has no intention of answering her, and for whatever reason, that hurts.

“Killian … you know you can trust me.”

“I do trust you, Swan,” he says, and his voice softens as he meets her eyes. “It’s Gold I don’t. This object, whatever its value to him, has been safe for nearly three centuries. Its secret is safest with just one person.” He pauses briefly. “For now.”

Though still stung, Emma nods. “Okay. For now.” She lets out a deep breath, and runs a hand through her hair, combing out the tangles. “Well, if this object is really what Gold is after and you’re the only person alive who knows where it is, it makes sense why Gold wanted you arrested at first.”

“He what?” Killian’s voice is sharp, his eyes flashing with anger again, and Emma winces. She supposes she hadn’t told Killian that part yet.

As his expression darkens, Emma explains how Gold had first wanted Killian detained more formally than all the other returnees due to his reaction down at the lake where he first fought and argued with the Storybrooke agents, along with his past as a pirate and wanted criminal. How, now that she knows this history, it was most likely just a ruse for Gold to be able to keep a closer eye on Killian than the others.

“That slimy bastard.”

Silently, Emma agrees. She doesn’t know what Gold is planning, but she already knows whatever it is, it isn’t good. At her last meeting with him, when he’d asked her about ‘anything odd’ with the returnees, she’d left the conversation with a pit in her stomach, the root of doubt and suspicion that has now blossomed into fully fledged mistrust and, frankly, fear.

“We have to get you out of here. Out of Storybrooke, away from Gold. It’s not safe for you here anymore.”

“I concur.”

But then Emma frowns. Regina is away today, attending meetings offsite in regards to the returnees’ release, and Emma knows there is no way she is going to get Killian discharged from here without her permission. Any other returnee, maybe, but not Killian the media magnet.

She could attempt to sneak him out, but if they are caught … well, it was bad enough that Emma was seen by the media near him during his previous escape attempt. If they are caught again when she’s aiding him in an escape attempt … she’d be re-assigned to another returnee at the very least or fired at the very worst, and Killian will be kept here, in Gold’s clutches, for even longer.

“I can’t get you out of here tonight,” she says, swallowing down the anxiety that comes with the thought. “We have to wait until Regina is here, and do it all by the books or … well, I don’t know what will happen. She’ll be back tomorrow.” Emma sighs, and rises to her feet. “Come on. I’ll walk you back to the barracks. I think you may be safer there with the guards all around.”

They leave her office, walking carefully around the corner leading to the foyer where the media conference had been. But it’s over now, all the chairs and the podium cleaned up.

The walk to the barracks is mostly in silence, both of them lost in thought. When they reach the lobby, Emma grips Killian’s arm, pausing him in his tracks.

“Don’t get into any trouble,” she warns, her voice a whisper. “I’ll be back first thing tomorrow to talk to Regina about your release.”

“When have I ever gotten into trouble?” he replies teasingly, and he rests his hand over hers briefly before moving towards the staircase. “Goodbye, Emma.”

She watches him head upstairs to his room, until he’s gone through a door and out of sight. Emma should go back to her office and get some semblance of work done, but she pauses instead. The cafeteria is just ahead of her, buzzing with the hum of conversation. It’s lunch now, and the returnees are free to move about as the media are gone. An idea has occurred to her, and instead of heading back to her office, she walks into the busy cafeteria.

Near one of the wide windows at the opposite end, Emma spots David and Mary Margaret. As she’s walking over, Mary Margaret notices her first, brightening with a wide smile and shining eyes.

“Hi Emma!”

Their enthusiasm still makes her a bit uncomfortable, but she tries to smile genuinely as she takes a seat opposite them. They are smiling widely at her, clearly thinking she’s here for a friendly chat or at least a step in the right direction for their relationship, and suddenly Emma wishes that was all she was here for. A pleasant, light conversation with the parents she lost for 28 years, returned to her miraculously by (as it’s truly appearing to be) magic.

And yet here she is instead, a dark cloud of fear and suspicion hanging over her. She glances around before speaking, not really sure who she should be on the lookout for, but in any case, the other returnees and agents are pre-occupied with their own meal or conversation. And, besides, she supposes she has an excuse to be sat here talking with David and Mary Margaret – they are, after all, her parents.

“We’ve been wanting to tell you,” Mary Margaret starts brightly, before Emma can get up the nerve to speak. “Graham told us that once the first group of returnees start to be released, he thinks David and I will be allowed out for more visits. We were hoping, well …” she trails off suddenly, uncertain, and David grasps her hand tightly, squeezing it for support. Mary Margaret smiles at him, and continues, her voice much stronger now, “Maybe we could meet you and Henry somewhere for a meal one day?”

“Oh,” Emma says, taken aback. “Um, yeah, that that would be great.”

They smile in delight, and Emma finds she does truly mean that. If they had said something like this even a few days ago, she probably would’ve scowled and made up some excuse as to why it couldn’t happen, but instead, she is already imagining them at Henry’s favourite restaurant, with him showing them his favourite dishes and desserts. “Um, Henry will be so excited to hear about that. And I want to hear more about it too, but first – I came here to ask you for a favour.”

They nod, exchanging a glance with each other, plainly thrilled that whatever this is about, Emma has decided to ask for their help. Their willingness makes Emma’s heart twinge; they’re so happy to have anything from her, even if it’s an indication of a grain of trust, that it lights up their whole expressions as if she just agreed to start calling them mom and dad.

She gives herself a quick mental shake, and focuses again. She leans forward slightly, lowering her voice so they can only just hear her. “There’s something … weird going on around here, I’m still trying to figure it all out, but I need your help in the meantime.”

David and Mary Margaret trade worried glances at her tone. “Of course,” David says firmly. “What’s going on? What is it about?”

Emma hesitates. She wants to tell them what Killian told her, but it’s not her story to share. Besides, the less people who know about Gold, the better. Instead, she says, “Can you keep an eye on Killian Jones for me for the rest of the day? Make sure he’s doing okay and keeping himself out of trouble?”

David frowns, and crosses his arms across his chest. “The pirate?” he demands, and Mary Margaret glares at him.

“It’s important,” Emma continues, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. “I – can’t really say much else, but it’s important.”

“Of course, Emma,” Mary Margaret says, and she elbows David, who, reluctantly, nods. “That’s no problem at all. We’ll ask him to have dinner with us tonight.”

“Thanks, I really appreciate it.” She then gets to her feet, and disappointment flashes across their faces. She winces. “Sorry, I have to get back to work. But, I – uh, well I’m looking forward to that dinner one day soon.”

The disappointment fades a bit, and they say their goodbyes. Emma returns to her office for the rest of the afternoon, trying to get through her stack of endless paperwork, but it’s pointless. She gets nothing done, her mind on Gold and buried treasure and even when she gets home, she’s a nervous wreck all night, unable to focus on anything at all.

Henry is his usual chatty self, but Emma can’t keep focused on what he’s saying. She has no patience for cooking tonight either, so instead orders in pizza, much to her son’s delight. As he’s munching on his fourth piece of deep-dish pepperoni, Henry pauses mid-bite, glancing at Emma’s untouched first slice.

“Mom? Are you ok?”

“Sorry, kid,” she replies, and she forces herself to smile reassuringly. “Just distracted by work. Want to play a game tonight?”

He is satisfied with that answer, and playing Clue with Henry does help to pass the time, but her heart isn’t in it and she is soundly beaten in each of the three rounds they play. When it’s finally her son’s bedtime and he’s sound asleep, peaceful and warm in his bed, Emma herself gets ready for bed.

Sleep, however, has never seemed so far away. Her mind roils with the revelations of the day, her stomach turning with nausea and anxiety. With no wink of sleep in sight, Emma sits up in bed instead. She leans against the solid wood of her headboard, and hugs her knees into her chest, watching the tree outside her window sway with the cold wind.

It’s so simple, to watch the trees, illuminated by the street lights below. They are just as they were yesterday, unchanged by the revelation of magic such as controlling snow or re-attaching hands or transporting hundreds of people through time.

She watches the trees for a while, and at one point, Emma finally drifts off, her dreams a jumble of pirate ships and bright white light.

Those dreams, however, are abruptly broken by a shrill ring of her cellphone.

Emma jolts awake, and grabs the phone from the nightstand, answering it without reading the caller ID.

“Hello?”

“Emma, it’s Anna!” Her colleague’s voice is frantic and harried, and Emma sits up, her heartbeat accelerating.

“Anna?”

“You need to get back here to Storybrooke right away. It’s – it’s about Killian Jones. One of the returnees was found dead and –”

Emma swings her legs out from under the covers, the floor cold beneath her bare feet, as icy as the shot of pure panic running through her. “What? Is – is Killian –”

“No, no, he’s fine,” Anna says hurriedly, as if just realizing the implication of her words. Emma’s heart stutters again, her emotions of fear and relief in whiplash. “Well, I mean he’s not hurt, he’s not quite okay as you would say, but –”

“Anna, what the hell is going on?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean – okay, like I was saying, I was staying here tonight with Elsa, and then – well, there was a commotion maybe an hour ago and when I went to see what had happened … well, one of the returnees is dead. It’s pretty clear they were attacked … like, with a sword.”

Emma’s heart sinks though she’s sure she already knows. If he’s not the one dead, and the victim was attacked with a sword …

“And what does this have to do with Killian?”

“He’s been arrested for the murder.”

_______________________________________________________

The drive back to Storybrooke is a blur. She’d woken up her neighbour across the hall and half-dragged her over to watch Henry and get him off to school in the morning, only telling her there was an emergency and she had to leave right now.

When she makes it onto Storybrooke’s grounds, she careens into an empty parking spot, half out of the vehicle before she’s stopped the engine. The main returnee barracks building is bright and illuminated, and Emma marches towards it, her heart pounding heavily with each step she takes.

On the steps leading to the building, outside the main doors, stands a group of several individual Emma recognizes as police and FBI officers from their emblazoned jackets. As she approaches, one holds her hand up to block Emma’s path.

“Hold up! No one is allowed entry right now. A federal investigation is underway.”

Emma’s hands curl into fists at her side, and she digs out her identification badge from her jacket pocket. She has no time to argue. “You don’t understand, I need to get in there.”

The officers’ frown at her badge, and she opens her mouth to furiously continue, when a voice calls her name from within the main doors.

“Emma?” The guards move aside, revealing Kristoff Reinsdyr, one of the guards at Storybrooke, looking pale and frazzled. “Thank goodness you’re here.”

One of the FBI officers scowls, and looks Emma up and down. “We have orders to not let anyone else in until Commander Hua says –”

“Emma needs to come in. She’s Jones’ agent in charge of his case here.”

Kristoff gestures her forward, and Emma doesn’t wait to see if the officers complain again, though they do move out of her way finally. She and Kristoff hurry inside, where the brightness of the fluorescently lit building makes her eyes sting as he leads her towards the back staircase.

“Glad you’re here, Emma. Anna told me she called you,” Kristoff says, as they take the steps two at a time up to the fourth floor to the isolation and interview area. Emma is reminded sharply of the first time she had come up here, when she’d met Killian the first night, when he’d been belligerent and thrown in here to cool down.

The thought sets her teeth on edge. “Kristoff, what the hell is this about? Anna said there had been a murder?”

He hesitates. “Yes, it seems like it. There was some commotion around midnight in the residences. We thought perhaps it was a fight, but when we got there to see what had happened …” He trails off, and shakes his head once. “It was awful, Emma. Truly horrific.”

He doesn’t elaborate, and Emma decides she doesn’t want to know. “And – they think Killian did it? Where is he now?”

“In one of the interview rooms upstairs. He was with a few of the other guards for a bit, until the FBI got here about an hour ago. Now he’s in with their commander.”

They reach the top floor, and Kristoff leads her down a cold, empty hallway to the cluster of interview rooms at the end of the corridor. Kristoff opens a small side door, into a small observation room that faces the larger interview room through one-way glass. Three FBI officers are in the room already and they frown at her, but she simply flashes her identification badge in their direction before looking through the one-way glass at the scene ahead.

Killian is seated in a similar room to the one she first met him in, his face smooth and impassive, as cold as she’s ever seen it. His wrists are bound with handcuffs, chained to the table in the centre of the room. Mulan Hua, the commander of the Boston FBI who Emma recognizes from the lake, is seated across from him, watching him with a careful, quiet gaze.

��Let’s go over this again,” she is saying, her voice strained with patience. Emma isn’t sure how long Killian has been talking to her, but by his sour expression, she knows they’ve already been over this conversation several times. “Tell me exactly what happened this evening.”

“As I have told you a thousand times since I was dragged from my bed by your deranged guards,” he snaps, drawing the words out so they are each peppered with a near growl. “I have no idea what happened. I was in my room all evening, save for dinner. All I know is what you’ve told me: a man has been found dead, and you suspect I had something to do with it.”

“Murdered,” Mulan corrects, her face solemn. “He’s not only dead, he was murdered.”

Killian rattles the handcuffs pointedly. “Not by my hand. If I’d done it, I’d bloody well confess. I may be a pirate, but I’m no coward. I’ve committed my fair share of atrocities, but I will not confess to something I did not do.”

“How do you explain the fact that your sword was found discarded nearby, stained with blood?”

It could be a damning statement, but Killian laughs, rumbling and low. “You think me fool enough to leave a murder weapon lying about where any bumbling twit can come across it? Not to mention that I haven’t had my sword since I arrived in this bloody time when your guards confiscated it, so how, pray tell, do you think I managed to get my sword back?”

Mulan sighs, irritation flitting across her features. “Well, we know how you did it. We have evidence. Video evidence of you removing the sword from the Collection Room.”

Emma’s eyes widen, and she feels abruptly like she’s been punched in the gut. They have what?

Killian, however, isn’t fazed by this bombshell; after all, he probably has no idea what a video is. “I don’t care what evidence you say you have. It’s all false, I didn’t do it and I haven’t had my sword in weeks. So, either arrest me and throw me in a dungeon, or let me go for I have nothing more to say to you.”

And at that, he falls silent. Mulan tries to get him to speak again, but to no avail. Eventually, she sighs and gets to her feet, the chair scraping loudly against the floor and making Emma flinch. “Okay. You think about things, and I’ll be back with something for you to eat and drink.”

As she heads for the door, Emma sees her chance to speak with her. She darts past Kristoff and the other FBI officers in the observation room, out into the hallway, catching Mulan just as she’s shutting the door behind her.

“Commander,” Emma calls. “What the hell is going on?”

“Oh, Agent Swan, I’m glad you’re here.” Mulan breathes out heavily. Now that she’s out of the interview room, she appears tired, her face pale, her eyebrows pinched together with stress. “I’ve been wanting to talk with you. Do you have any idea why Jones would want to kill Henry Jekyll?”

“No!” Emma replies vehemently. “Killian wouldn’t kill – who the hell even is that?”

“He is another returnee. Or rather, was. He was one of Jones’s roommates when he was released from isolation. He was found dead earlier by his current roommate. He’d been stabbed several times.”

Emma stares back at her, lost for words, as Kristoff peers out of the other room, as if making sure everything is okay.

Mulan nods at him. “Officer, can you get me a sandwich and water bottle for Jones?”

He agrees, and disappears back down the hall the way he had come with Emma. Mulan turns back to Emma, and at her expression, lets out another deep sigh.

“Emma,” she says gently, almost understandingly. “I know you must have gotten close to Jones while he’s been here –” Emma inhales sharply, but Mulan doesn’t seem to notice “– since you’re his agent and all. Obviously, you don’t want to believe he could have done something like this. But you have to remember that he’s a criminal. He was an outlaw and a pirate, wanted by the British Navy at the time for treason and murder. And that’s just the recorded crimes. We really don’t know anything about him, or what he’s capable of. I’m not surprised something like this has come up, honestly.”

“I am,” Emma replies bluntly. “There is no way Killian killed someone, not when tomorrow – I mean, we are trying to get all the returnees out of here not keep them locked up longer!”

Mulan pinches the bridge of her nose, and gestures for Emma to follow her. “Come with me, take a look at what we found.”

Emma follows her into a second interview room, empty save for a steel table with a laptop on it. Mulan opens the laptop, entering her credentials to log in. It seems to take an exorbitant amount of time, Emma’s nerves fraying further with each passing second. The screen opens to a generic Federal Bureau of Investigation backdrop, and Mulan clicks on a video saved to the desktop, labelled simply ‘surveillance footage.’

“This is from back in early February,” Mulan explains, as the video loads up to reveal a room Emma recognizes as the Collection Room in the basement, where she visited once before to collect Mary Margaret, David and Killian’s belonging, with its shelves upon shelves of boxes and plastic containers.

“Security pulled it for us once we identified the sword. Watch.”

The recording is of the deserted collection room for several moments, blurry and shrouded in shadows, the time blinking in the corner of the video as 3:30 a.m. Then, grainy white light floods the room, the main door swinging open to let in the hallway light.

Through the pixelated footage, Emma recognizes Killian as he strides into the room, confident as ever. He walks to the back of the room without hesitation, to a small area behind a chain link fence which reaches to the ceiling. He disappears off camera as he steps into the fenced-in area, but he’s only hidden for a few moments before he steps back into view.

In his hands, is a sheathed sword, its handle black and simple, apparent even in the poor footage. He removes it from the sheath, and holds it up to his eye level, admiring the blade. He then re-sheathes it and slips out of the room, the light fading from the room as the door swings shut behind him.

The video stops, and Emma stares at it, dumbfounded. There it is, plain as day. Evidence of Killian retrieving the sword.

But she shakes her head as she remembers her own visit to the Collection Room more clearly. “No, no, that’s not possible. Listen, I know he couldn’t have gotten the sword. It was checked out, I remember because I went and got his other stuff and saw it on the list.”

“The list?” Mulan frowns. “What list?”

“There was a list in the Collection Room, a list of each person’s items which weren’t allowed to be checked out, but his sword had a note that it was taken out. So he couldn’t have done it, because you needed special permission to get those restricted items out. I remember because I was –”

Emma trails off, because Mulan is watching her with a skeptical frown. She clearly doesn’t believe Emma, and after all, why would she? There’s video proof of Killian getting the sword himself.

Kristoff knocks on the door to the interview room then, opening it to show the water bottle and wrapped sandwich in his hand. “Here you are, Commander.”

“Perfect,” Mulan says, closing the laptop and striding towards him. “Thank you, officer.”

She’s already back in the hallway, food in hand, marching down to the Killian’s interview room, before Emma, still stunned by the video, springs into action.

She hurries out into the hallway and, before Mulan can open the door to re-join Killian, blocks her path. Killian may be her … well, Emma’s not sure if she could even call him a friend, but whatever he is, he’s her responsibility. Returnees are always given legal counsel if they require it for any reason, including an active criminal investigation whether they are defendant or plaintiff.

“Does he have a lawyer on their way?”

“No, he declined one.”

Mulan says it calmly, but something about it is the last straw for Emma. The last twenty-four hours have nearly broken her – the video of Elsa, the knowledge that Gold is from the 1700s too, that magic is the most probable reason why all these people have shown up here, and now this: her … returnee arrested for murder and being questioned without legal counsel.

“He’s from the 1700s!” Emma shouts, and Mulan flinches in surprise. Even Killian glances over to the door, as if he heard her too. “Of course he declined one, I don’t know if they had lawyers back then. He has no idea about our laws or processes or anything. Killian doesn’t know what he’s getting himself into, he needs a lawyer!”

Mulan regards Emma quietly, and she shrugs. “Well, I’ll speak to him about it again, but I doubt he’ll change his mind.”

She opens the door with the food, and as she does, Emma leans slightly around her, to peer into the room. Killian is watching Mulan enter, stony-faced, but for a moment, a single moment before the door slams shut behind Mulan, he catches Emma’s eye.

If only magic was real; maybe she could send him a telepathic message to ask for a lawyer. But, Emma’s no magician, and the door swings shut, the breeze catching her in the face and rustling her hair.

“Here,” Mulan says, her voice muffled by the door, and Emma hurries back to the other room, to the one-way glass so she can hear better. The other agents are glaring at her now with open hostility, but Emma ignores them, moving past them so she is standing directly in front of the one-way glass.

Mulan has resumed her seat, the water bottle and sandwich on the table between them, but Killian doesn’t move to reach for them.

“Listen,” she says, casting a pointed look to the one-way glass. “Before we talk anymore about this, I’m going to remind you one more time that you are allowed to have legal representation before speaking with me.”

Killian remains silent.

Mulan huffs a sigh. “Alright. Okay, so let’s go over this again, shall we?”

Killian leans forward, the handcuff chains jangling loudly against the steel table. “Commander,” he says, intently staring now at her across the table. His tone has changed, the defensive snarls replaced with a charming lilt, soothing and persuasive. “You are a smart woman, smarter than those oafs who were in here before you. You know I didn’t do this. Even if I was so idiotic to kill a man I had met only a handful of times on the eve of being released from this prison, you know as well as I that any criminal worth their salt wouldn’t leave a bloody murder weapon tied to them and them alone near a massacred body should they hope to get away with the crime. Whoever did this wanted you to find that sword, to know that it was mine so you would come to me right away and keep me locked up here.”

Mulan narrows her eyes, and she asks, only half-jokingly, “So what? Someone is setting you up?”

Killian’s gaze flicks over to the door, to where he had seen Emma, before he shrugs, as if the suggestion is ludicrous. But it’s enough to clue Emma in.

Of course. He’s right, he has no motive to kill Jekyll. But someone else does. Someone else, who has something to lose if Killian is released from Storybrooke with the rest of the returnees.

Gold.

He must’ve seen them at the news conference, must know Killian would’ve told Emma everything about their history together. Know that, of course, Emma would try everything in her power to get Killian out of here before Gold could do anything like lock him up like he had always wanted to. So he moved faster, found a way to keep him here, in his grasp where he hopes to get the location of the mysterious object out of Killian, once and for all.

“Emma?” Kristoff asks, reaching out a hand to her in concern, and Emma realizes he and the FBI officers are staring at her.

She waves them away, realization and horror roaring in her ears as loud as thunder. She is still trying to process this, when in the interview room, Killian leans back in his chair, his expression dark and cold.

“Perhaps it is time I speak with an attorney.”

#cs ff #cs mc ff #captain swan #ouat #cs fic #a place in time #hope people like this one!#it's been a long time so i'm grateful for anyone still reading

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mononoavvare · 4 years

Note

We miss you, come back from the war

@mita-rashi

It takes him five months to get to and back from the far end of the Land of Islands on his mission as a guard for a small caravan of goods and their merchants. The journey would usually take him about four, but he’s waylaid in the Land of Water of all places, just after he crossed over the last ocean straight between the two countries.

He meets this monk, you see.

Sai happens upon the old man on accident, which is how the vast majority of his socializing seems to start-- the Land of Islands is a series of, get this, Islands, just a little too large to be considered an archipelago but still a series of many dots of land separated by slips of ocean and connected by long stretches of bridges. It’s very flat, very quaint, and very fucking boring. He thinks maybe it’s been days since he’s seen a tree, and he finds he actually misses those more than he misses the company of man, because trees make travel faster, easier, and more subtle, and for now he’s just kind of stuck trotting along alone on the caked-brown dirt of the roads and over their deep strips of ocean via their ugly, rickety bridges.

It’s over one of those ugly, rickety bridges that he hears The Commotion. There’s no cursing, just thrashing in the water below-- and when he peers over the edge of the bridge, he spots a man waist-deep in the shallows, shirtless, hopelessly tangled in some kind of net and thrashing with his head stuck under water. So of course, Sai does whatever any self-respecting samaritan would do, and he considers continuing on his way. But no, the man looks pretty stuck, and he definitely hasn’t taken a breath in the ten seconds he’s been watching, so he hops down there and stands on the surface of the water, reaches down with a kunai and cuts the net and then hauls the man out of the water by his bicep and kind of just holds him in midair, his toes just barely hanging in the water.

It’s shockingly easy. The skinny, shirtless little man weighs almost nothing. Sai’s pretty sure if he tossed him he would easily make it the hundred yards to shore. The man coughs and splutters and hacks out water for a moment, thrashing in Sai’s grip before he realizes he is no longer drowning but he is certainly still trapped, and he gives Sai and his crop top and his tanto and his hitai-ate a suspicious look for a moment, still breathing raggedly.

“Hello,” Sai says pleasantly.

“You cut the net,” says the funny old man, his voice nasally and a little shrill.

“Would you rather I let you drown?” The question is butter-mild, and he carefully holds the old man aloft by his arm and carries him to the bank of the creek, before depositing him on solid ground. The old man falls on his ass, and struggles out of the remains of the net wrapped around his shoulders and his neck. It is only now that Sai realizes he isn’t just shirtless, he’s quite naked. He watches him struggle with the rope for a few moments more, limbs flopping quite pathetically, before leaning down and stilling him with a touch and cutting the rest of the net from him. He stares down at the man, and the man looks up at him curiously.

“Thank you, shinobi-san,” he seems almost reluctant to say it.

Sai gives him the same plastic smile he reserves for all social situations where he really doesn’t know what to do, and he replies, “you’re welcome, naked stranger,” and does not give the man is name.

He does, however, give the man his traveling cloak and walk beside him on the shoreline where the man had just nearly drowned. The man offers no name of his own and no explanation for his little escapade in the water, and Sai doesn’t ask, because he hardly thinks it’s his business what a man gets up to in his free time. Instead the man asks him about any news he’s heard from the world at large, and Sai replies as best he can, having been on the road a while. The old man leads him all the way to a squat house hidden deep in a little inlet, takes him inside, and makes him a cup of dandelion root and kelp tea. He gets dressed as their drinks steep, muttering to himself the whole while.

He sits across from Sai at the tiny wooden table and up at him, seeming troubled. “You’re a strange one,” is all he can seem to come up with when he finally comments.

“Am I?” Sai responds absently, lifting the tea to his face and sniffing it, then taking a careful sip. It’s hot and more than a little bitter, but it was made for him and so he will drink it. “I cannot call you naked-stranger any longer, can I?”

The man shakes his head with a weary sigh and mutters something else under his breath, and then replies, “You may call me monk, if I must call you shinobi. It can be our little charade.”

Sai smiles beatifically at Monk and says only: “Okay.”

Somehow the monk gets him to agree to accompanying him to a temple in the low and ragged cliffs in the north of the Land of Water-- technically still on the way back home, but not exactly the swiftest path. He doesn’t think it takes a lot of convincing on the monk’s end. Sai is bored as hell, and at least the old man provides a little life to the dull days of travel.

The man jabs him in the side once with his fingers, not hard enough to hurt but Sai still flinches from it anyway, and the monk laughs at him when he sees Sai had instinctively pulled a kunai out from the sudden movement, but he doesn’t comment on it. The ink that’s sunken into his skin shifts restlessly, peeking out of the collar of his shirt and that passes without comment as well.

The Land of Islands turns into a series of larger chunks of stone and sand settled into the sea, higher crests, with stubborn plant life in the salty, hot breeze and some jagged columns of rock. The temple that the monk leads him to is-- well, he thinks it might qualify as a shrine, if they were in Konoha. It’s quite small, with low doorways and made completely of stone. Also, covered in cobwebs. It looks like no one has been here for years.

“Monk-san,” he begins evenly. “Is this your temple?”

The old man grunts, wrestling the doors at the other end of the little temple open to let in a cross-breeze. “As much as anything can be mine,” he responds, and at Sai’s questioning look he elaborates, “I don’t own anything, shinobi-san. Do you?”

There’s a long pause, because Sai is not sure how to answer that question. Does he? He owns his clothing and his weapons, he supposes. His books. Though technically everything he owns is dedicated to serving the village, so perhaps he owns nothing at all? Watching the monk watch him offers him no answers on this front. Is it better to own things or to not own them? Perhaps he is simply a thing to be owned? Is that right? He can’t remember, his head hurts, so he cocks his head to the side and asks, “was the home you took the clothes from not yours?”

The man simply says, “not really,” and Sai thinks: well, fair enough.

So he takes his sandals off and ducks inside, touching his fingers to the smooth stone walls and the writing inscribed in them, fascinated by the vague artwork of some forgotten man, carved into the temple and faded from age. He thinks it’s a story of some sort. When he looks back to the monk, the monk is watching him, brows furrowed.

“Do you know where you come from, shinobi-san?”

Sai tilts his head, considers, and he says, “Not really.” He was shaped in and he serves Konoha, but beyond that he hasn’t a clue-- this has never bothered him before and it doesn’t start now, he simply watches the old man back, blankly.

A grunt, and then, “Well alright then. Would you like to hear a story?”

Contemplating this question with as much gravity as the last one, Sai finally decides: sure, why not? He sits when the old man gestures for him to do so, and listens as a tale is told. For a monk, he is a very entertaining storyteller, if not one that makes a lot of sense-- it begins with a spirit, wise but not too wise, kind but not too kind, building a shelter from the storm. No, he thinks he has it confused, maybe. Perhaps it was the storm that came first, an angry god striking out, plucking souls from the ground and the sea with the help of his pack of hunting hounds. And then the not-too-wise and not-too-kind spirit comes in, because he doesn’t want any more souls to be stolen, and he builds the people a shelter. Just the one? Sai had asked, and the monk had shushed him. He wishes he could have understood the tale better, because it seems like one Kakashi may have liked. You know, because of the dogs.

The monk pauses, and Sai asks him, “is that it?”

An exasperated look. “This is the shelter, this temple.”

“Oh,” he says. And then: “Well, it’s nice of you to look after it, monk-san. Do you need any help cleaning it up? It seems like it’s just been sheltering spiders for a while.”

The monk gives him a strange look but acquiesces, getting to his feet and groaning as his bones creak. Sai hauls water from the sea and scrubs the dirt out of the corners with the strange little monk, until the musty smell is replaced with salt and the cool breeze. He stays the night in the shelter and listens to the thunder of a sea-storm rumble in the distance, and the roar of waves crashing against the shore somewhere below, and he thinks he understands, a little, where the myth came from.

The monk is not in the temple when he wakes in the morning, and Sai spends a few minutes sitting and peering at the carved, ancient art on the walls, before reaching into his pouch and pulling out a couple of rounded pieces of sea glass, a feather from a gull, and a couple of crushed prunus flowers and leaving them in a neat pile in the center of the floor.

He closes the doors behind him when he leaves.

#mita-rashi #this is a very long drabble where nothing actually happens but #sai is very cute and also he is deliberately misunderstanding a spirit trying to tell him something because he's a fucking idiot #// drabbles

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chiajasmine · 4 years

Text

Autistic Reclaimed Characters Masterlist

I’m getting back into making reclaimed characters/OCs by reclaiming autistic characters from media.

Character’s name (full name, if given): Christopher John Francis Boone

Apparent age: 15

Gender: Cis boy

Source material (and why it’s bad, this part is optional): The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time (which is a best-selling mystery novel and a drama/mystery play) and it's bad because it is ableist (the author did little research about autism and autistic people), normalizes the abuse of autistic people, and the book has a stereotypical depiction of autism. Mark Haddon portrayed the protagonist Christopher as elitist, intolerant, dismissive, unconcerned for others, unsympathetic, remorselessly violent, and not noticing or responding to insults and abuse. He is ableist towards other disabled kids at his school and looks down on them while also looking down on non-disabled people. Christopher is mistreated (abused, neglected, abandoned, deceived, gaslit, and insulted), often by authority figures like his parents and most other characters either overlook or actively attempt to justify this. His father Ed lied about his mother Judy being dead to him for two years. Ed also killed his ex-girlfriend's dog Wellington with a garden fork and receives no consequences for doing so except for causing a rupture in Christopher's relationship with him, and he tries to pressure Christopher to repair it by focusing exclusively on how much he is hurt by Christopher. Haddon also portrayed Christopher's parents in a sympathetic light even though the novel is from Christopher's point of view and despite Ed and Judy being abusive and neglectful to Christopher. Siobhan (Christopher's mentor and teacher) is only present in the early parts of the book and absent from the rest of the book without an explanation; the author could have used her to show that Christopher does not deserve to be abused and neglected, but he did not. The novel presents the autistic protagonist as responsible for his parent's divorce and being mistreated by others while showing that he is unaffected by this mistreatment, and portrays abuse, abandonment, and gaslighting as normal and justified.

Pictures of character:

Birthday: August 11

Sexuality: Mspec graysexual neuroromantic/echoromantic/arovague (queer acespec arospec for convenience)

Personality: Christopher is intelligent, sensitive, perceptive, naive, arrogant, and tends to come off as aloof. He has a very self-centered point of view, values logic, tends to be literal-minded, and is sometimes clueless when it comes to social norms. He takes pride in his intelligence and views himself as rational and logical though he can be insensitive, cold, reckless, irritable, irrational, and illogical at times. He tends to have emotional outbursts, lash out, bottle up his emotions, and split due to trauma, but he is working on expressing his emotions in healthier ways. Christopher used to be violent, break into people's houses and vehicles, steal, vandalize property, and have an ableist and elitist attitude before he got the proper help he needed. He cares about the people he is close to, treating them with kindness and is protective of them. His samefood is strawberry milkshakes. He prefers to use a stress ball or something similar to stim. Christopher is a trauma, physical/verbal/emotional abuse, and emotional neglect survivor. He is autistic and has PTSD/possible C-PTSD, NPD, conduct disorder, BPD, depression, chronic boredom, low empathy, abandonment issues, and violent intrusive thoughts and impulses.

Likes: His special interests are math, prime numbers, countries, capitals, detective fiction, mystery novels and movies, thriller films, autism/disability rights, astronauts, and Steven Universe (he especially enjoys Steven Universe: The Movie and Steven Universe Future). He also likes Jojo's Bizarre Adventures, his pet rat, his service dog, Siobhan, strawberry milkshakes, puzzles, computer games, Tetris, and everything being in order.

Dislikes: The colors yellow (when not kin shifting to Peridot) and brown, yellow things (when not kin shifting to Peridot), brown things, dirt, gravy, wood, blood (squick), being lied to/deceived, his birth parents (his birth dad, in particular), authority figures who are ableist and invalidate him, crowded places, noisy places, being made fun of, his chronic boredom, saying he can't feel or doesn’t have emotions, romanticization/glorification of cheating/affairs/infidelity, being called "a handful", everything not being in order, and being touched during a meltdown, shutdown, or flashback.

Fears or triggers: Animal death (especially dogs, trigger), garden forks (trigger), his birth dad (fear/trigger), him or autistic people being blamed for divorce (trigger), being threatened to be or saying he should be institutionalized (trigger), being abandoned (fear/trigger), loud sudden noises (fear/sensory trigger), angry yelling (trigger), being threatened with physical violence (trigger), and being called a "specimen" or other dehumanizing things (trigger).

Relationship status: Taken (Aki--QPP/zucchini and chosen person, and Clover--girlfriend and favorite person)

Friends: Other autistic reclaimed characters

Extras: He is demipansensual, panalterous, panqueerplatonic, cupio-aplatonicflux/neuroplatonic/aplatonicvague (aplspec for short/convenience), demipanaesthetic, and demipan- in other attractions. He is Peridot kin (SU), Spinel kin/IDs with Spinel (SU), Steven synpath (SU), and Jotaro Kujo hearted (JJBA). His favorite persons are Briony and Clover, and his chosen person is Aki.

——————–

Character’s name (full name, if given): Caitlin Ann Smith

Apparent age: 10 (going on to 11)

Gender: Cis girl

Source material (and why it’s bad, this part is optional): Mockingbird (which is a young adult novel and a theatre play) and it's bad because there were multiple moments when the main character Caitlin's behavior is too textbook, the author's writing clearly leaned to a clinical view of autism spectrum disorder, and it was written particularly for a neurotypical audience. Kathryn Erskine preferred the clinical research over the thoughts, feelings, and writings of autistic people. Caitlin's epiphany is problematic because it did not feel like her own, it was inspiration porn due to her having to "learn" empathy, and it feels like the epiphany that ableist organizations like Autism Speaks and neurotypicals who fail to understand autistic people want autistic people to have. While the book was written with good intentions, Erskine regurgitated the "no empathy" myth, people around the autistic character are constantly trying to "fix" her and this is shown to be a good thing, and the book ended up being inspiration porn for neurotypicals.

Pictures of character:

Birthday: In the book, her birthday is unknown so I'll make it November 20

Sexuality: Questioning

Personality: Caitlin is intelligent, cheerful, socially awkward, pedantic, often blunt, and comes off as arrogant without meaning to. She tends to get excited and passionate about things she enjoys. As a result, she tends to infodump. She has black-and-white thinking, hypermorality, and fluctuating empathy. Caitlin can come off as tactless at times due to being brutally honest, but does not mean to hurt people's feelings and will try to clear things up if there are any resulting problems. She also does not always understand social cues and expectations, but she tries her best. Caitlin is more caring than she appears to be. She is autistic and is recovering from depression that is caused by the death of her mother who died of cancer and PTSD that is caused by the death of her brother Devon who died in a school shooting and being bullied in school.

Likes: Her special interests are drawing, dictionaries, and To Kill a Mockingbird. She also likes art, making charcoal drawings, pastel colors, the colors black and white, black and white TV shows and movies, cartoons (especially Disney), Bambi, her friends (especially her best friend Michael), small spaces (they bring her comfort), hiding under a dresser (her "hidey-hole") and bed, and stuffing her head under couch cushions.

Dislikes: Bright colors (neon colors especially), saturated colors, bright lights, noisy places, maintaining direct eye contact, dirt, bugs, wool clothing, fuzzy clothing, live-action TV shows and movies that are not black and white, saying that she does not have or needs to learn empathy, people not communicating with her, bullying, school shootings, and school shooters.

Fears or triggers: Really loud noises (sensory trigger), lights buzzing (sensory trigger), wool clothing (sensory trigger), fuzzy clothing (sensory trigger), gunshots (trigger), and being called "weirdo" or "freak" (trigger). No fears, but she gets uncomfortable when talking about school shootings and school shooters.

Relationship status: Single

Friends: Other autistic reclaimed characters, Michael Schneider (best friend), Josh

Extras: She is Scout kin/IDs as Scout (To Kill a Mockingbird), Bambi kin (Bambi), and her comfort characters are Jem (To Kill a Mockingbird) and Atticus (To Kill a Mockingbird).

——————–

Character’s name (full name, if given): Rose Howard

Apparent age: 11 (going on to 12)

Gender: Cis girl

Source material (and why it’s bad, this part is optional): Rain Reign (which is a children's novel) and it's bad because the author Ann M. Martin wrote it in Autism Voice, the narrative is stereotypical, and Rose is explicitly framed as other due to being portrayed as overly literal and the book's constant focus on her obsession with homonyms, numbers, prime numbers, weather patterns, and rules. It also stereotypes autistic people as not experiencing emotions, unfeeling, uncaring, unable to be hurt, and overly rational. In general, Martin denied Rose emotional agency and wrote a story about an autistic character for a neurotypical audience.

Pictures of character:

(Rose with Rain)

(Another picture of Rose and Rain)

Birthday: In the book, her birthday is unknown so I'll make it September 20

Sexuality: Questioning

Personality: Rose is intelligent, level-headed, brave, determined, polite, socially awkward, and a rule-follower. She loves homonyms and tends to blurt out when she hears one. Rose is caring, patient, and undertakes the role of peacekeeper. She is autistic, has OCD, panic attacks, and hypermorality, and is recovering from depression that is caused by her mother leaving her and her father (she is dealing with her feelings of guilt over it) and PTSD that is caused by her father's past alcoholism.

Likes: Her special interests are weather patterns, homonyms, and numbers (especially prime numbers). She also likes her dog Rain, her uncle Weldon, wordplay/puns, meteorology, the weather channel, Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends, The Incredibles movies, The Secret of NIMH, and being on her routine.

Dislikes: People not explaining things to her, people not listening to why she is upset, being made fun of, being invalidated, and being off her routine.

Fears or triggers: Alcohol (trigger), hurricanes (fear), and being shaken (fear/trigger).

Relationship status: Single

Friends: Other autistic reclaimed characters, Rain

Extras: Her comfort characters are Madame Foster (Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends), Helen Parr (The Incredibles), and Mrs. Brisby (The Secret of NIMH).

——————–

Character’s name (full name, if given): Willem Edward Smith

Apparent age: 12

Gender: Cis boy

Source material (and why it’s bad, this part is optional): How to Fly with Broken Wings (which is a children's fiction book) and it's bad because the author Jane Elson wrote Willem as stereotypically autistic without naming him as such. Willem seems to check off all of the diagnostic boxes of autism without having much of a personality beyond this. Willem isn’t always treated with respect or dignity, particularly when he’s reduced to facts about airplanes and telling people that he can fly. In the middle of the book, Willem suddenly becomes a magical autistic detective by pulling out several pieces of physical evidence and lines of argument to prove that one person wasn’t involved in gang riots, although these abilities are never previously mentioned. Elson doesn't fully address him being mistreated at school. Sasha describes him in her first chapter as “one of life’s special people” and regularly refers to him as her special friend as their relationship develops. Willem is relentlessly bullied at school and in danger at home, although no other characters do anything about this. Other kids make him jump off of objects or buildings and there are rival gangs in the area who are also interested in manipulating him. In class, his teacher frequently singles him out by requiring him to make two friends instead of completing equations for homework like his peers. The teacher tries to mix up students to get kids to interact with Willem and pulls each aside to say that she wants them to show him friendship, though she recognizes that forcing him to make friends in class encouraged him to interact with his bullies and put him in numerous dangerous situations, and she apologizes by the end of the book. The assignment led to Willem being deceived or put in dangerous situations more than once, and the author offers no clear condemnation of this. Willem’s main bully apologizes for his actions a few times but immediately returns to hurting Willem, and when he eventually befriends him it’s in order to gain favor with the girl he likes. Many adults apologize to Willem-- including his teacher, who recognizes that forcing him to make friends put his life in danger; not that her treatment of him was emotionally manipulative. Also, there is no further discussion of any emotional repercussions.

Pictures of character:

(Willem with a dog and holding hands with Sarah)

(Willem)

Birthday: In the book, his birthday is unknown so I’ll make it June 21

Sexuality: Questioning

Personality: Willem is shy and timid yet friendly and easygoing. He doesn’t believe that true friendships can be made by assigning people to be friends. He infodumps regularly and has trouble distinguishing when the other person has heard enough or when the conversation is over. Willem relates to people by using the colors of the traffic lights. He tends to take things more literally and struggles with understanding facial expressions. Willem gets very anxious in stressful situations. Willem gets very anxious in stressful situations. He stims by counting, rambling about anything, shaking his hands, and flapping his arms and hands. Willem is a trauma and physical/verbal/emotional abuse survivor. He is autistic, has anxiety, and is recovering from PTSD that is caused by being bullied at school by other kids, being emotionally manipulated by his teacher, and the trauma from the gang riots.

Likes: His special interests are airplanes (especially Spitfire planes), model airplanes, pilots during World War II, and flying. He also likes his dog Buster, Magic Man Archie, tea, digestive biscuits, cookies, his grandmother Gracie, Sasha, Peter Pan, Arthur (his favorite character is Carl Gould), and traffic lights.

Dislikes: Bullies, gangs, riots, being made fun of, being excluded/left out, people who are too close to him, Finn Maison and his gang the Beckham Estate Boyz, being assigned friends, being forced into a "buddy system", being manipulated or deceived, shouting, being kissed, and his food touching.

Fears or triggers: Bullying (fear/trigger), gangs (fear/trigger), riots (fear/trigger), Finn Maison and his gang (fear), falling (fear), death threats (trigger), being assigned friends (trigger), being forced into a "buddy system" (trigger), shouting (sensory trigger), being kissed (sensory trigger), and his food touching (sensory trigger).

Relationship status: Single

Friends: Other autistic reclaimed characters, Sasha Barton, Magic Man Archie, Buster

Extras: His comfort character is Carl Gould (Arthur).

——————–

Character’s name (full name, if given): Colin Fischer

Apparent age: 14

Gender: Cis boy

Source material (and why it’s bad, this part is optional): Colin Fischer (which is a young adult novel) and it’s bad because despite being written by an autistic author--Zack Sentz--and Colin being likable, the book distances the readers from the perspective of him by othering him and casting him as incomprehensible and weird. Colin is rarely seen as anything but intrigued, confused, or panicked, and that reinforces the damaging, ableist notion of autistic people not having emotions. He is also depicted by Sentz and Ashley Edward Miller to be a super special autistic with “mysterious skills”. Colin’s brother Danny loathing him and their parents is portrayed with no nuance and no emotions from Colin’s end. In the book, Asperger’s syndrome is mentioned as being “related to” autism rather than being part of the autism spectrum. His school is said to be supportive and accommodating, but there is not much proof to support this as the narrative appears to condone the ableist treatment of the protagonist. For example, when Colin is purposefully taunted in class and ends up barking from stress, the principal accepts that it wasn’t his fault, but she also threatens Colin with punishment if he “acts out” again. Another example is his gym teacher Mr. Turrentine ignoring a note from his therapy team that he can skip gym. He also aligns with the popular image of “high-functioning” autistic people as being a socially awkward, math/logic/train-obsessed, straight, white, middle-class teenage boy. His symptoms become less extreme at the end of the book, which is seen as a positive development; this portrays autistic traits as undesirable and negative.

Pictures of character:

Birthday: In the book, his birthday is unknown so I’ll make it September 22

Sexuality: Disordinebisexual biromantic, leans towards females

Personality: Colin is curious, inquisitive, and friendly. He enjoys being organized and tends to have meltdowns when not being organized. Colin has slow reflexes and activities like basketball, soccer, playing catch, monkey bars, riding a bicycle, and gym class are difficult for him while activities like jumping and bouncing are easier for him. He speaks in a monotone voice, but talks fast when excited. Colin is often very literal and has trouble detecting sarcasm. He stims by barking when stressed or overwhelmed, jumping especially when happy or excited, and making repeated clicking sounds. He usually has a hard time telling when people are upset because facial expressions don't come naturally to him, and does not always understand social cues and expectations. Colin pet regresses to cope with stress and being autistic, disabled, and otherwise neurodivergent. He is autistic, nearsighted, a dog regressor, and has gross motor dyspraxia and hypotonia.

Likes: His special interests are science, aliens, trampolines, SHAED (his favorite song is Trampoline), asparagus, Sherlock Holmes, and Star Trek. He also likes math, trains, jumping, bouncy balls, dogs, his notebook, repeated clicking sounds like pens, stacking things, and patterns (especially finding them).

Dislikes: The color blue, blue things, being touched if he does not initiate it or if he is unprepared for it, being touched when stressed, direct eye contact (he finds it uncomfortable), phones ringing loudly, the sound of the school bell, mushy foods, high-pitched voices, dolls, gym class, sports, perfume counters at store entrances, being made fun of or taunted, bullying, ableist people, having his infodumps be interrupted, his room and belongings being tampered with, Rudy Moore, and biphobes/bimisics.

Fears or triggers: Sudden loud noises (sensory trigger), phones ringing loudly (sensory trigger), the sound of the school bell (sensory trigger), perfume counters at store entrances (sensory trigger), high-pitched voices (sensory trigger), mushy foods (sensory trigger), and dolls (fear).

Relationship status: Single

Friends: Other autistic reclaimed characters, Melissa Greer (best friend), Wayne Connolly

Extras: He is alienkin and dogkin, and his comfort characters are Sherlock Holmes (BBC Sherlock) and Spock (Star Trek). He has reading glasses to help with his nearsightedness.

@luigiskids, @connerskids, @mikus-oc-blog, @asherschildren, @kirby-hates-pedos, @vela-hates-creeps, @ashisintheskies any thoughts?

#reclaimed oc #reclaimed ocs #reclaimed character #reclaimed characters #actuallyautistic #actually autistic #ableism tw #ableism mention #abuse tw #abuse mention #neglect tw #neglect mention #my oc #my ocs #long post #chiajasmine #chiajasmine's favorites

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afraidof-thedark · 5 years

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“Journeying westward and about a half mile from Dunning, we see over the policy wall on a rising ground among the trees, a monument of a kind not to be met with at every town.”Perthshire Advertiser for 20th September 1855

The monument in question is a fascinating sight indeed, and the source of much debate through the years. Constructed of stone and reaching twenty feet high, the structure is topped with a cross, whilst across the front for all to see is inscribed the intriguing declaration: “Maggie Wall burnt here 1657 as a witch.” Popular legend has several explanations for the identity of Maggie. Some say she was a parlourmaid, accused of witchcraft due to an ill-advised tryst with the son of a local laird. There is also speculation that Maggie had an affair with the lord himself, Lord Rollo, and that the monument was erected either by himself or his wife in pity and remorse after her execution. Others believe her to have been a local healer, persecuted for her work, or one of several women who protested against the treatment of a local minister and punished for her outspokenness. The Saracen's Head pub in Glasgow proudly displays what is purported to be the witch's skull, though how it came to rest there is a matter for speculation in itself. The skull of Maggie Wall Enduring as local ideas may be, looking closer at the stories surrounding Maggie Wall reveals that matters are not as they seem. Often cited as the last witch to be burnt in Scotland, (a dubious honour that actually belongs to Janet Horne in 1722) there is actually no surviving record of a Maggie Wall, or Walls as she is sometimes known, in any of the documents relating to witchcraft accusations or trials in the period. What then is this monument supposedly erected in her name, and did Maggie in fact ever exist at all? The monument was clearly in evidence from at least 1855 as described in the Perthshire Advertiser, and is visible on the ordnance survey map for 1866. The wooded area that used to surround the monument had the name Maggie's Walls in 1829, but there is no mention or evidence of the monument before the middle of the 19th century. Perthsire historian Kenny Laing has put forward the theory that Lord Rollo ordered the monument to be erected after the witch was burnt on his land. He points out that as the local landowner he would have signed the papers sentencing her to death; one legend states that he had the monument erected when his wife was absent in order to repent of the shame he felt for sending Maggie to her fiery fate. The Dundee Courier for 8th March 1878 references a local minister, Dr. Wilson, who was certain that the whole story of Maggie Wall and her tragic end was a complete fabrication, though for what end is not stated. The reporter however is quick to point out that he at least would argue in favour of Maggie's name simply having been left out of the records, rather than countenance that an entire village had deluded themselves into believing the story to the point of erecting a monument to a person who never existed. Geoff Holder believes the monument is actually an 18th century folly, and also that the name is an invention. He points to the existence of a nearby field known as Maggie's or Muggie's Walls, suggesting this is the origin of the name painted on the monument. He also maintains that the monument could not have been built earlier than the 18th century. Holder reveals that a local schoolmaster, David Balmain, was a tenant of Maggie's Walls – Holder speculates that he may have built the monument in memory of two family members that were accused of witchcraft but escaped being charged in 1662, or that the idea of "Maggie" may have been used as a figurehead to stand for the many accused of witchcraft during the 17th century in Scotland. Dr. Louise Yeoman also believes that the story was nothing but myth. She points out that not only does the memorial not fit with any others from the 17th century, but that there were also no other memorials to witches, executed or otherwise. She and archaeologist David Connolly believe that the structure actually originated as a clearance cairn – i.e. a pile of stones that have been removed from a field to enable greater ease when ploughing or using other tools in pasture or arable land – and was then topped with a cross from a later date. They likewise date the monument to no earlier than the late 18th century. A Clearance Cairn The question must also be asked why a monument was erected to Maggie and not one of the other women and men executed for witchcraft during the 17th century. In 1662, six Dunning witches were arrested and tried by the local gentry, that including Lord Rollo and his brother. Three of these were executed, strangled and the burned in nearby Kincladie wood. Yeoman suggests that by the 19th Century, the Rollo family, feeling somewhat shamed by the part their family played in the witch trials, may have been attempting to re-write history by putting up the monument. The 1650s were a time on general unrest in Dunning. Riots broke out in the defence of the Reverend Muschet, and the officials arriving to hold a synod with the intention of disciplining the minister were driven off by a mob of angry women. Some have speculated that Maggie Wall may have been involved in this dramatic event and made to pay the price for her part in the disturbance. Archie McKerracher in Perthshire in History and Legend wonders if the events that led to her execution were so shameful that local officials and clergy determined to forget it, hence the lack of mention in records. This is unlikely however due to the plentiful records elsewhere. He also posts that perhaps Maggie fell victim to “unofficial” justice by her neighbours, a more plausible explanation for the absence of Maggie's name in the documents. Writing in 1988 he remarks that the words are given a fresh coat of paint every year and that a wreath appears on the monument, with the words “In Memory of Maggie Wall, Burnt by the Church in the Name of Christianity.” Perhaps Maggie existed and indeed met the fate legend has ascribed to her, the Perthshire monument the only evidence left with official records long since lost. It may also be that the legend grew up instead from the name of the local field and woodland, stories created and shared until they became established fact. It would not have taken much for someone to paint the words on one day, confirming what had already passed into local legend and serving to keep the story alive into the following generations. Whatever the case, one thing is for certain - Maggie Wall is a prominent and enduring part of Perthshire history, inviting speculation, no doubt, for many years to come.

#maggie wall #witch #legend #legends #witchcraft #history #historical

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arcticdementor · 5 years

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Yeah I read Vance's story last year and it pissed me off tbh. I'm from the rust belt as well and a lot of it sounded familiar. I was annoyed because even in my lowest moments I'd never put my own people on blast like that. I'll be the first to criticize the dumb bullshit that keeps people stuck in that sinking ship but even a modest amount of reflection reveals that a lot of these people never had a chance to start, and their "choice" is only a choice if you look at people as entities without history or context. For example, I know a person who goes from shitty abusive boyfriend to shitty abusive boyfriend. I suppose on some abstract sense she "chooses" these men but it can hardly be called a choice given that a) 90% of the men she meets there are abusive in one way or another so it's slim pickings and b) the cycle of abuse runs deep in her family, literally reaching back at least 3 generations. There has been so much psychology, sociology etc research done one the cycle of abuse and the overwhelming majority of it says that people often learn their dating patterns as children and teenagers and have an extremely difficult time breaking those patterns as adults, and it usually takes a dedicated therapist and solid home environment to do so. She has neither, can't afford either. So what's one to say to her? She's not going to change, this issue runs so deep in her psychology that she doesn't really see it as a problem 🤷‍♂️ and even if she could change, change to what? She'll still be futureless, just now with less sex and nothing to focus her drama on. Her "choice" is a false choice because the "choice" actually happened about 5 years ago when she dropped out of school for the first time. Most "choices" for her now are about minimizing pain, she's never going to learn to code and move to Silicon Valley or whatever myth coastal people like to peddle when they try to pander to us. With Vance I don't see that reflection. He doesn't want to contextualize any of it. At the risk of sounding cynical, I think his personal choice narrative is convenient for him as a way of side-stepping survivor's guilt; he needs to articulate why he gets to write for a big media outfit and live a good life while his childhood friends and family overdose on fent. If it's just luck then does he really deserve it? But if they're just choosing to throw their lives away well, what's to be done? Nothing but let nature take its course. Hey, they chose that life right? As if any rational actor would choose the path that finishes with a needle in their arm and paramedics kicking down the door. But we blue collars are expected to know the future and are expected to be able to predict the outcome of all of our actions, including those made as youths and those imposed on us in childhood. Very frustrating book, I could feel my blood boiling as I went through it. Nobody from where I'm from ever gets anywhere, really; we're under-represented in the professional class, invisible politically (until election season rolls around, then suddenly it's all about jobs that never materialize) and totally absent from the media class and "influencers" that tell us what's what. Of my childhood friends, I know one that went on to be a successful programmer, and this kid was an absolute wizard, working in java and hacking websites in middle school. Everybody else now works in some dead end job, either back home or as part of the great unwashed in one regional city or another. Who speaks for us? Not Vance, Vance's "choice" once given the mic was to condemn his own people as unilaterally lazy sponges. To see somebody who claims to speak from the rust belt not only sell us up river, but actively punch down, stings. It stings because on some level I agree with him; if people from those places took more responsibility for their shit they would be better off. But fuck, we're supposed to be on the same team; you're not supposed to say that to the milquetoast armchair coastal sociologists that read the New Yorker, that's another tribe, that's an outgroup. Don't air your dirty laundry, something everybody who grew up like that was told at some point or another. If I'm being charitable, Vance dropped his blue collar values somewhere along the way and forgot that. If I'm being cynical, Vance saw a chance to secure his spot in the coastal media class by ripping into his own and he took it. Either way it's fucked up because the net gain of this book, as I remember when it dropped, is it's one more round in the chamber for the people who have an active interest in that part of the country shutting up. After Clinton lost there was a bi-partisan wave of blue checkmarks touting Vance's book as an "explanation" of what's happening in Trump country. To that I say, thank you Vance, thank you for helping the blue checkmark world eject all responsibility for what's happening in North America so that they can put the blame where it really belongs: irresponsible rednecks and their insatiable desire to kill themselves and destroy their families. I hope the champagne and caviar is worth it

“Same Post But Backwards” in reply to a summary/review of Hillbilly Elegy.

#quote #reddit #slate star codex #hillbilly elegy

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theolddarkmachine · 6 years

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Kingdom- Chapter Nine

Gajeel has had the dream about dying for the blue haired girl for as long as he can remember. Which is weird, since he’s never met anyone with blue hair in his life.

Levy has always loved myths and legends. So much so, in fact, that she was currently getting her master’s in mythological studies.

What neither of them realized was that they were living a legend all their own.

AKA the one with a knight, a princess, and a curse that keeps bringing them together just to pull them apart.

PREVIOUS CHAPTERS

AO3

WOW IT HAS BEEN A REALLY LONG TIME HUH! Thank you guys for waiting so long for the update on this. I def had bitten off more than I could chew when I thought I could do the 12 Days prompts, Secret Santa and still do consistent updates, so y’all the true MVPs for putting up with me when I cut back on the multichaps lol I’ll be the first to admit that this was a bit harder to get back into than I thought, but it didn’t help that this chapter is introducing a whole other character. So not only was I dealing with coming back after like a month and a half, but I was writing a character that wasn’t even someone that I’ve been dealing with in that time off. RIP. Anyway, hang in there with me, this seems like a lot, but without any real payoff. It’s there. I swear.

**********************

The deep amethyst of her aunt’s eyes had Levy frozen in place as she looked up at the tall woman, confusion and something a bit more ominous buzzing under her skin. It wasn’t that she didn’t like her aunt, per se. In fact, the woman was the only family she had left, as Levy was the only family still left to her. That kind of circumstance comes with obligatory appreciation. No matter how contrived it may have been, it was still there, even if they were nothing more to the other than the occasional birthday and Christmas cards.

“Are you going to let me in?” She asked, her voice husky and smooth like sweet smoke. Darkness was curling around the edges of her words, as if there was a joke that Levy wasn’t aware of.

More specifically, that she wasn’t invited to be aware of.

Shaking her head free of of her thoughts, Levy stepped aside to open the door further.

“Yeah, sorry, come in.”

With a curt nod, her aunt crossed the threshold of her apartment, heels clicking loudly on the tile of her foyer before she reached the carpet.

“Did I catch you at a bad time, dear?” Kearia asked, not seeming particularly worried on if she had, in fact, come at a bad time. Sitting lightly on her large, plush couch, her aunt looked out of place amongst the tattered gray fabric. She had an almost regal air about her as she crossed her legs, her straight back better suited for a throne rather than the couch that was almost as old as Levy was.

“Not at all, just wasn’t expecting any company is all,” she offered quickly, brushing off the strange tug of a familiar ache in the pit of her stomach. The swirling nexus of what felt a lot like fear was tugging at her insides, turning her blood cold as she went to join her guest on the opposite end of the couch.

A small voice in the back of her mind beat itself against her skull as it tried to get her to recall a memory so distant, she wasn’t even entirely sure it was her own. It danced away from her mind’s grasp in a taunting manner, nothing but blacks and reds and frozen air.

“My apologies, Levy, I should have called first. But I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop by to see my favorite niece,” her aunt offered her explanation before Levy could even ask for it, as if she could feel it pressing itself onto the tip of her tongue.

“I’m your only niece,” Levy tried to laugh, instead managing nothing more than a hollowed, brittle sound as her head pulsated with the distant memory and her incessant headache. The corner of Kearia’s mouth twitched upwards as she looked at her, purple gaze hardened into sharp amethysts that cut into her skin.

“Which only proves that it’s the truth,” she purred. Levy couldn’t help but draw comparison’s between herself and a predator’s dinner as she stared down her aunt’s smile. A frozen drop of panic rolled down her spine.

Run.

The single word was a hushed whisper against the back of her neck, raising the hair along her arms and her nape. This wasn’t the first time she had felt the bubbling fear coursing through her in her aunt’s presence. Ever since she was younger, she would swear she could feel something sinister looming under the surface of Kearia’s composed exterior. Something that made her body reel against the rest of her senses as it fought to get as far away as possible.

As time passed and she grew, Levy learned to swallow down the dread, chocking up her anxieties to her wild imagination. Too many stories and not enough reins tethering her thoughts to reality made it easy to lose herself to a made up world where her mostly absent aunt had a much darker purpose. The reasoning had helped her ignore the small voice that would warn her away from the sharp smile, and she hadn’t felt the electric sting of adrenaline caused by Kearia’s presence in quite some time.

But now, it was cascading over her with all the force of a waterfall, drowning her in an overflowing crest of expansive fear. It stole her breath, leaving a burning sensation in its place as her lungs fought for air.

“Tell me, Levy, how have you been?” She asked, eyeing her as if she could see straight through the muscle and bone to the organs beneath them. Then, it was gone. All the stinging pressure dissipated almost as quickly as it had appeared, cool air filling her as she sucked it in past the burnt inside of her lungs.

“I’ve been,” she started, rubbing at her sternum as her brows knit together before continuing, her voice flat as she spoke. “I’ve been okay.”

“Just okay?” Kearia dug, leaning forward to rest her elbow on her knee, propping her chin on her palm as she studied Levy closely. The purple of her eyes darkened into a stormy sky. “Levy, have you been holing yourself up again?”

Her interest was strange, mingling in the grey area between maternal and nosy.

Why do you care? The voice bit back, erring towards bitter before Levy pushed it further back.

“Aunt Kearia, you know I’m busy with my thesis,” she was a little more successful in her laugh this time as she waved a hand, brushing aside the question. “Didn’t you know grad school requires you to not have a life?”

“Mmhm,” Kearia hummed, her perfectly manicured black eyebrow shooting up towards her hairline. “So no young men in your life?”

Air stuck to the inside of her throat as she was hit with the vivid image of the knight from her dream bleeding out in her arms, tears dotting his cheeks from where they’d fallen from her own eyes.

“No,” she breathed, standing abruptly, the sudden motion startling her aunt as her eyes widened and she pushed back. “I forgot to ask if you’d like anything to drink.”

Tripping over her words, Levy made her way towards her kitchen before Kearia could respond. Heated pinpricks bore holes between her shoulder blades

“Is water okay?” She asked, not bothering to look back as she stumbled into the kitchen, hands grasping at the countertop to steady herself against the vertigo that had pitched the world forward. Tears pricked at the corner of her eyes as she heard the distant cries again, her own voice screaming out to Gajeel in a vain attempt to keep him tethered to Earth. But it was too late.

I had been too late.

He died.

No, she refused to believe that the dream was real.

But it had to be.

Levy’s knuckles turned white as she clutched the counter’s edge, working to breathe through the vision as she recalled the dream.

“Yes, dear, water is fine,” Kearia answered, her voice sounding much further than just her living room. All of Levy’s instincts fought against her as she tried to pick apart the tangled visions and thoughts. Everything told her it was real. She had felt the warm liquid spilling over her hands. Had felt the stinging tears as they’d burnt tracks down her cheeks.

She’d watched as death had dulled Gajeel’s eyes.

Yet she could not believe it. Even though she had built her life around believing that the stories she’d dedicated herself to were founded in reality, she rebelled against the possibility. It was one thing to believe the stories were real.

It was another entirely to be a part of one.

Bending at the waist to lower her head between her arms, Levy drank in large gulps of air. Each cooled gasp pushed itself through the burning confusion as she pushed down the vision of Gajeel’s dusky eyes. Several moments passed as she counted her breaths, in for two counts and out for two until her heart rate slowed and it no longer hurt to breathe.

Straightening herself up, she reached for two glasses from her cabinet, ignoring the way her hands trembled as they held the cups in their grasp.

Get it together, she admonished herself as as her hand slipped slightly, sending rivulets of water rolling down the side of a glass and pooling onto the counter. You’re just very hungover.

Those words became her mantra as she repeated the lie over and over, their mental cadence carrying her back into the living room.

“I thought I would have to go in there and rescue you,” her aunt laughed as she took her offered glass, fingertips brushing over the back of Levy’s hand and sending a shot of electricity burning up the nerves of her arm. Biting down on a hiss, she pulled away and made her way back to the other side of the couch.

“I just spilled a bit of water and had to clean it up,” she said before taking a sip of the liquid, it’s cool edge smoothing over the bitter taste at the back of her throat.

Run.

A small sound almost like a purr lifted itself from Kearia’s chest as her mauve gaze held her in place on the couch. Out of the corner of her eye, Levy could see her long nailed clutch tighten on her glass. For just a moment, the woman beside her didn’t even look like her aunt as her face contorted into a misshapen, rage filled mask. Lips pulling back over her teeth in a snarl and eyebrows pulling together, she looked like a monster as she leant forward.

Levy’s head snapped towards Kearia, eye widening as she saw her aunt still sitting there gracefully, taking a small sip from her water.

It’s okay, Levy, she thought as her heart hammered against the back of her sternum. You’re just very hungover.

“So tell me about your thesis. What’s it about?” Another polite question that hid poisoned barbs.

It’s okay.

Run.

Grinding her teeth against the warring emotions that pumped adrenaline through her, making her muscles twitch with anticipation, she chewed on her answer.

“I’m exploring the possibility of myths and stories being grounded in reality,” her words shook as she held Kearia’s hard gaze as if they were forced. Though, with the bitter taste of fear coating her tongue, she supposed they were.

“The one I’m working with a story about a dragon that befriends a prince, who later becomes a king. My argument though, is that the iron dragon may have actually been a real person, and that that was just a nickname.”

A spark of something almost like recognition flashed through the distant purple of her aunt’s eyes as she listened to her speak, only further burying the burning lump of fear in her gut. The way she was looking at her was almost like she knew something that Levy didn’t. Her lips twitched, their corners pulling up into a near smug smile as Levy continued to tell the story of the dragon and her theories.

“It sounds like you’ve done a lot of research, dear,” Kearia finally interjected, carefully setting her glass on the coffee table. “And it sounds like a very interesting story.”

Only, the way she said it made it sound like it wasn’t very interesting at all.

“I’m afraid though, that I need to cut this visit short,” she continued, standing abruptly from where she sat. Towering over Levy, she looked down at her over the bridge of her nose. The effect was a sharp pointed thing that looked and felt a lot like a glare.

“I suddenly don’t feel all too well. But we do so need to catch up, Levy dear.”

Following suit, Levy stood, putting her now empty glass next to her aunt’s as the woman opened her arms out to her for a hug.

Run.

Walking forward into the halo of her arms, Levy found herself pressed into her aunt in a warm embrace, her crown just barely meeting Kearia’s chin.

“Do try and get out a little more,” she said into Levy’s hair, voice twisting into almost overdone concern. “You deserve a break from time-to-time.”

Her nails pricked into the skin of Levy’s arms as she clutched at her biceps, using her hold to push her back so she could look down at her. A predatory smile cracked her red painted lips.

“I’m so proud of you.”

And then she was gone. Before Levy was even able to pick her way through the wreckage of the swirling vortex in her mind, Kearia had shown herself out, the door slamming shut behind her. The harsh snap of the door faded into the now empty room as she stood alone. Spikes of dulled pain rolled through the base of her skull as she attempted to make sense of what had just happened.

The static hum of panic was still tickling the inside of her skin as she rubbed a hand over the back of her neck in a vain attempt at easing the tension there.

Images from the dream began to roll through her mind, no longer held back by the distraction of her aunt as she caught flashes of what she refused to believed was a dream. The severity of it sent her world pitching forward again, catching her off balance and causing her stomach to roil within her. Bile rose quickly in her throat as her body finally succumbed to the continuous pitching between her emotions and the dread fueled adrenaline.

Clasping a hand over her mouth, she found herself running towards the bathroom for the second time that day.

As she made her way passed her desk, she didn’t notice that the book was gone.

********************

#gajevy #Gajeel Redfox #Levy McGarden #fairy tail #fairy tail fanfiction #kingdom #WOWZA I HAD ORIGINALLY PLANNED ON THIS TAKING ME TWO DAYS SO THERE'S THAT #lol anyway now that im getting back into the swing of these it shouldn't take as long to crank out #but i may still work a little longer than weekly until im fully back in the headspace #anyway everyone side eye levy's aunt with me #this probably reads like a weird stream of conscience #that's kinda the point #levy is confused af therefore everyone else should be too #except me cuz i know what's happening lol

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rayonfrozenwings · 6 years

Text

The Archeron Sisters as The Fates (Moirai) - Part 1

Hi, I’m Renee, and you may remember me from my posts Erilea and Starfall and the Wild hunt.

Ok First - Housekeeping.

Part one - has been in my head for a while, just didn’t bother writing it up, part two I rambled my way to a conclusion as I wrote it.

In my post on Starfall and the Wild hunt I mentioned that I thought Prythian was a “greek myth” based world (I’m going to say theologically as we know other stories/fairytales/folk lore is present in ACOTAR). So the next two parts have that in mind.

I’m tagging @propshophannah and @sparkleywonderful @paperbacktrash because I think that they have been trying to put their finger on something for a while and I wanted to throw my thoughts into the ring. Also Becca, thanks for working this one out with me.

Some theories of theirs that are relevant to this post and I have read on Tumblr (ones I could find)

Sparkleywonderful’s theories:

ACOMAF Demi Fae

The moment you realise - Archeron sisters as Demi-fae

Propshophannah’s theories:

Ok But Listen -

I Just want to say - I feel like you were so so so close on this one.

There are probably more theories but I can’t find them on Tumblr - either not tagged or not there. Do people post theories on AO3 or just Fanfic? I don’t go there so I don’t know.

Part 1: The Three Archeron Sisters as the 3 Fates.

WIKI source for further reading if you are interested. The article where lots of my quotes are from is called - Moirai

Intro to the FATES... Lachesis sings the things that were, Clotho the things that are, and Atropos the things that are to be. In Greek mythology, the Moirai or Moerae /ˈmɪrˌiː/ or /ˈmiːˌriː/ (Ancient Greek: Μοῖραι, "apportioners"), often known in English as the Fates(Latin: Fatae), were the white-robed incarnations of destiny; their Roman equivalent was the Parcae (euphemistically the "sparing ones"). Their number became fixed at three: Clotho (spinner), Lachesis(allotter) and Atropos (literally 'unturnable' but metaphorically 'inflexible' or 'inevitable' - i.e. death).

The three Moirai are daughters of the primeval goddess Nyx (Night), and sisters of Keres (black Fates), Thanatos (Death) and Nemesis (retribution).

Lachesis as Nesta, Clotho as Feyre, and Atropos as Elain

propshophannah’s post “I just want to say” said “Feyre is the the glowing one pouring the cauldron to create Prythian. (So maybe she is Rebirth, Elain (that sweet grower of flowers) is Life, and Nesta is Death. But I guess Feyre fits this whole line herself… Life and death and rebirth. Rot and bloom and decay. Sun and moon and dark.”

So I like it but...have a different take… what if instead - it is ...

Life - Feyre, Death - Nesta, Rebirth - Elain.

Elain has a natural connection to spring and new growth and rebirth. Feyre lives in the moment and rarely thinks past it. Nesta seems to already have lived a very harsh life and seen the worst it has to offer, she can see “truth/through glamours” - like a type of hindsight. This would mean that Feyre is rot, Elain Bloom and Nesta Decay. Princess of Carrion is one of Feyre’s names also and carrion is associated with rot, also I suppose growing old and living would be associated with decline/rot also as is happens while you are alive. Decay happens to things that are already dead, bones decay, teeth decay not people. Sun Moon and Dark; Elain as the Sun, Nesta as the Dark and Feyre as the Moon. Feyre wears a crown of stars with a moon motif in the middle in ACOWAR. Elain as the sun could suggest a link to the Day court (aka mate) or it could again be a connection to life, sun rising, new day. Darkness is Death. With these examples we can also Say Feyre is Clotho - Life, Atropos as Elain - birth, and Lachesis as Nesta - Death.

The Moirai were usually described as cold, remorseless and unfeeling,

Nesta is described this way - pretty sure all those words have been used for my misunderstood Archeron sister Nesta. Feyre fails to see what is really going on she doesn’t really understand how others are feeling, i’m going to use the “Mor as bi/gay” as an example because she just seems oblivious - and that can make the reader oblivious too. And although Elain is tending her garden etc I feel like she can come across as fake and not really involved with people but just works around people to get what she wants. Like with the Ball for Feyre in ACOTAR, She just floated about getting things ready - setting plans in motion. Elain is also looked after by Nesta and Feyre, even though Feyre is the youngest.

Nesta is most definitely associated with death already, it's not too hard to believe she is Lachesis. The bone carver mentions it, Amren mentions it. Nesta’s eyes go cloudy/stormy before she is made High Fae when she encounters the children of the blessed in ACOTAR so I think this association with death and otherness has been there from the start - she just has something else added from the Cauldron since becoming High Fae.

Glamours do not work on Nesta - is that because she is the embodiment of the end of the thread - the cutting of the thread of fate. So she sees things as they are/were. She has a type of hindsight when looking at everything. As if she already knows, and has seen, and has judged. She has this hindsight for everything but herself and her sisters. And I think that is because as the three fates they are separate from everyone else - their threads are not a part of the loom metaphorically speaking.

If we view the sisters as separate from everything else. Then that would explain why the Suriel cannot read Feyre’s emotions - mentioned in propshophannah’s post “ok but listen” as a side note. Or perhaps its because Feyre is not playing the game (acting as the thread tells her to), acting as a “fate” should. Maybe none of the sisters at that point are being good “fates” and are stepping over lines they would not normally cross. Like Nesta screaming out to Cassian and averting his death, and Elain killing the king of Hybern in ACOWAR to save them both. If these were already fated then these girls are breaking the rules. *tsk tsk*

They could also be breaking the rules because Elain (rebirth) can now see the future as a seer.

Hesiod introduces a moral purpose which is absent in the Homeric poems. The Moirai represent a power to which even the gods have to conform. They give men at birth both evil and good moments, and they punish not only men but also gods for their sins.[2]

Is this how Elain was able to kill the King of Hybern - She was able to punish him for his sins?

They controlled the mother thread of life of every mortal from birth to death. They were independent, at the helm of necessity, directed fate, and watched that the fate assigned to every being by eternal laws might take its course without obstruction. The gods and men had to submit to them, although Zeus's relationship with them is a matter of debate: some sources say he is the only one who can command them (the Zeus Moiragetes), yet others suggest he was also bound to the Moirai's dictates.

The fates are “independent at the helm of necessity and watched the fate assigned to every being by eternal laws might take it's course without obstruction”. Does this explain why Nesta did nothing in ACOTAR to better their situation - she knows what she is, she sees all, and perhaps she did nothing to help the Archeron’s situation in their hovel in ACOTAR because she viewed it as happening no matter what she did, it was inevitable. It was already decided/fated and she could not take action. Only when Feyre was taken away did Nesta take fate into her own hands. Elain doesn’t look for deeper meaning or explanations because she is only concerned with the start/beginning/birth/starting of things like her garden - and by being turned into a seer in ACOWAR has she opened her eyes to seeing things and seeing herself as able to make a change? She is able to act now that she can see more than the start of the thread. Feyre is concerned with feeding the family, hunting and looking after them in the present because she is the embodiment of the present. She feels hunger, she feels cold. She is living; feeling everything. She is present in the moment and so she takes action to fix it. When she is first in the spring court she tells Tamlin how she has never thought of the future, of what she can do beyond her hunger and cold and pain - all feelings felt the present.

When the three sisters decide to step out of their assigned roles, they become able to circumvent necessity/fate/the loom.

and one more thing...

In Roman mythology the three Moirai are the Parcae or Fata, plural of "fatum" meaning prophetic declaration, oracle, or destiny. The English words fate(native wyrd) and fairy (magic, enchantment), are both derived from "fata", "fatum" .[64]

Feyre - said as Fey-ruh - said like like fae-ruh - like faerie - like fate. And WYRD?? means FATE too!!

Part Two --> here

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dustydreamsanddirtyscars · 7 years

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Alright so...

…this is probably going to be a bit wanky, I suppose. But just when I was about to go to bed, I looked at Twitter one last time and saw Dabb’s “ominous” tweet and it just made me angry tbh, because the essence of this quote or however you want to call it could have been a compelling theme throughout the season if I had the faith in Dabb and Co. that this was actually a conscious decision and not just a product of lackluster writing.

But yeah,

“Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live.”

while I guess this is going to be connected to Mary, in the end to me this line just speaks volumes about Dean this season, because alongside the myth of Mary Winchester dying, we essentially saw Dean dying and withering away emotionally and internally, because the narrative rendered him and much of his opinions and emotions “ignored and unimportant” by the people closest to him and who he values most.

And the thing is… if I trusted Dabb that this was meant to be the takeaway and that he built this up consciously to have it pay off, I’d say alright, gotta give him some credit… Because if that is indeed the big story, Dean’s inner demise then I guess it would be an explanation for why this season lacks so much in emotion and depth. Well, to exaggerate a little bit, but how can you have that if the character that commonly is the emotional focal point and moral center of the show is “absent”? If that was the intention? Well done. Because then Dean’s inner death, Dean as the emotional narrator of the story, stretching across the season is also captured in the lack of emotion and disconnect felt in the show.

But I don’t think that’s the reason this season feels off to me. I don’t think there will be any resolution to how Dean was treated by the narrative, so yeah… I remain disappointed and indeed at this point a pretty sad and bitter Dean!Girl/SPN viewer.

#Wank for ts #Unpopular opinion #Posts via phone

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christfocused · 7 years

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Jesus Never Stops Caring for You - Episode 28

We are on a journey of discovery. Our goal is to understand the Glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ.

In the first leg of our journey, we are visiting the seven signs performed by Christ that are recorded in the Gospel of John. These signs reveal the Glory of Jesus.

Our first was when Jesus turned the water into wine. This sign revealed Jesus’ love and mercy toward people. It demonstrated a truth about God – that God blesses both the righteous and the unrighteous. And it also revealed His power over the physical universe.

The second sign we studied was the healing of the nobleman’s son. Again Jesus demonstrated His love and mercy for mankind. It also revealed that God the Son is not hindered by distance, nor is he hindered by a lack of faith.

Purpose

Today, in this episode, we go the Pool of Bethesda where Jesus heals a paralyzed man. Open your Bible to John chapter 5. In a minute we will read verses 1-6. But before we do that I want you to look at verses 16-23.

In verses 16-23 we discover the primary reason Jesus heals this man. Of course, Jesus heals the man because he is merciful and because He loves people and because He has pity on this man. But the ultimate reason Jesus heals this man is to declare His deity.

Please read John 5:16-18

We need to understand this fact. Jesus healed the man at the Pool of Bethesda for this moment. He healed the man to force this debate. This debate gave Jesus the opportunity to declare His deity.

Healing

Now read John 5:1-6

Jesus goes to Jerusalem because of the Feast Holiday, probably Passover. He makes His way over to the Sheep Gate Pool, called Bethesda. This pool had become a place of healing. John writes that there was a great multitude of sick at the pool hoping to get healed.

The end of verse 3 and all of verse 4 tell a story of the waters and how an angel brought healing. The Scripture relays this story but does not comment on it. In other words, is this the reality or does it represent the myth of the pool? Regardless, if you look at verse 7 you will see that the man expected to be healed if he could only get there first. So the man believed this story.

Now back to verses 5 and 6. Jesus looks across the multitude and picks one man. How did Jesus choose? Here are some choices. You can pick only one.

The man had been there the longest.

The man was nicer than everyone else.

Jesus loved this man more than the others.

We do not know how Jesus chose.

The fourth answer is the correct answer. We do not know how Jesus chose.

There are two distinct forms of God’s will.

God’s moral will – Which is recorded in full in God’s Bible.

God’s sovereign will – Which in large part is unknown to us.

How He chose we can only guess. But we know this, Jesus was exercising His sovereign will. God has a plan and He does not often share His plan with us. We only understand His will after the fact.

From a human point of view, the choice Jesus makes might seem random or worse yet, unfair. But remember, Jesus is God. And He is Lord and God over all of the creation. As God, He will make choices that seem to go against our idea of fairness. When I say, “God is Sovereign”, what does that mean?

Christianity.com has an answer. The answer contains 6 bullet statements. I suggest you click the link listed below and read the entire article. Here is the one bullet statement from that article.

“God can do all things and accomplish all things. Nothing is too difficult for Him, and He orchestrates and determines everything that is going to happen in your life, in my life, in America, and throughout the world. Whatever He wants to do in the universe, He does, for nothing is impossible with Him (Jeremiah 32:17).”

God the Son looks at the hundreds, maybe thousands at the pool. All needed healing. And Jesus picks just one man.

God Speaks

And that man is healed. Jesus heals this man with His word. Jesus says in verse 8, "Rise, take up thy bed, and walk."

Take a moment and read Psalm 33:6-9.

As you read, note how God speaks and things happen. Jesus spoke and the man was healed. You see when God speaks stuff happens. And when God speaks to men, men need to obey. In Psalm 33:9 it says, “He commanded, and it stood fast.” When God speaks we need to obey. The man in our story does just that. He picks up his bed and walks.

All miracles are unexplainable events. And this healing is just that – without explanation. If you were paralyzed for 38 years and I gave you a shot that cured the paralysis, it would take weeks and weeks of therapy before you could walk. Why? Because your unused legs would be weak and because you would’ve forgotten the basics of walking. But not this man. This man is up and walking instantly. What a miracle! What a sign that reveals the Glory of Christ!

Jesus is God

Take a minute and read John 5:9-13. As you read, notice that the healed man did not know who Jesus was. Remember this - God is not hindered by your lack of faith or your unbelief. God is all powerful, He is sovereign. God will do what God is going to do.

In verse 15 the man pointed out Jesus as the healer. This got Jesus in trouble with the Jews because Jesus had healed on the Sabbath. And now we come to the primary reason Jesus healed this man. Jesus loves the man. Jesus had pity and mercy on the man. But the primary reason Jesus healed the man was to declare His deity. Jesus healed this man to declare that He is God.

Read again John 5:15-18

In verse 17, when Jesus stated, “My Father has been working until now, and I have been working.” He declared His deity. He does it in two ways.

1. Jesus says, like the Father, He, Jesus is Lord over the Sabbath.

God in Genesis sets the pattern. God works for six days and then rests from His work. But God does not truly stop working – ever! The sun rises and sets on the Sabbath. The planets orbit on the Sabbath. Wildlife is fed, the weather is directed, people are saved, and sadly people are condemned; all on the Sabbath. God the Father does not stop working, nor does God the Son.

2. Jesus calls the heavenly Father “My Father.” To declare God the Father as His Father, Jesus has made himself equal to God.

And of course as we read in verse 18, this declaration enraged the Jews and they sought all the more to kill Jesus.

We will stop here. Next week we will pick up with John 5:19. Verses 19 through the end of the chapter is a long important monolog. So we want to give it its own lesson. Today, we saw Jesus make a decisive sovereign act. Jesus looked across the multitude and selected one man to heal. He healed this man to declare His deity.

Think about this. Although there seem to be times when God is asleep or disengaged, the truth is God never stops working. God is always at work. And to personalize this idea, God never stops caring for you. In your darkest moments, God is there at work. In your greatest triumphs, God is there at work. When you sense His presence, God is there and when you can’t sense His presence, God is there. God is never absent; God is never asleep; God is always there.

Closing Thoughts

For the believer, God is there because He has a personal relationship with you. He is answering your prayers, He is receiving your worship, He is enjoying you. But for the unbeliever, I think God is there as well. But God is not there because He has a personal relationship with you. God is there because He wants a personal relationship with you. God is not necessarily answering your prayers, He is not receiving your worship, and I do not think that God is enjoying you because much of your life is centered around your sin.

You can change this. You can have that personal relationship with God. Turn from your sinful ways and turn to Jesus Christ. Admit that you are a sinner. Believe the Jesus died for your sin. And call on Him to save you.

Thank you for listening to Faith in the Valley. If you live in or near Carroll County Maryland, come by this Sunday and worship with us. If you already have a church home, then we want you to faithfully worship and serve there. But if you do not, then please consider making Wakefield your church family. You can find out more about Wakefield Valley Bible Church at wakefieldbible.org.

Thanks again for listening. Don’t forget to subscribe to the podcast and rate and review wherever you listen.

Remember to review, like and share the podcast. This helps spread the good news of Jesus around the world.

Sign up for our show notes. When you sign up, you receive an email notification and a copy of the show notes whenever a new episode is released. Just CLICK HERE and sign up today!

The best way to listen is to subscribe on Apple Podcasts, Google Play, Stitcher Radio, TuneIn, iHeartRadio, or just about any podcast app.

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Finally, feel free to contact us with any question. You can contact us by clicking HERE or going to www.wakefieldbible.org/contact-us/. I would especially love to hear from you if you have believed on Jesus.

Resources

What Does the Phrase "God is Sovereign" Really Mean?

Check out this episode!

#glory #glory of Christ

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chiajasmine · 4 years

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Autistic Reclaimed Characters Masterlist

I’m getting back into making reclaimed characters/OCs by reclaiming autistic characters from media.

Character’s name (full name, if given): Christopher John Francis Boone

Apparent age: 15

Gender: Cis boy

Source material (and why it’s bad, this part is optional): The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time (which is a best-selling mystery novel and a drama/mystery play) and it’s bad because it is ableist (the author did little research about autism and autistic people), normalizes the abuse of autistic people, and the book has a stereotypical depiction of autism. Mark Haddon portrayed the protagonist Christopher as elitist, intolerant, dismissive, unconcerned for others, unsympathetic, remorselessly violent, and not noticing or responding to insults and abuse. He is ableist towards other disabled kids at his school and looks down on them while also looking down on non-disabled people. Christopher is mistreated (abused, neglected, abandoned, deceived, gaslit, and insulted), often by authority figures like his parents and most other characters either overlook or actively attempt to justify this. His father Ed lied about his mother Judy being dead to him for two years. Ed also killed his ex-girlfriend’s dog Wellington with a garden fork and receives no consequences for doing so except for causing a rupture in Christopher’s relationship with him, and he tries to pressure Christopher to repair it by focusing exclusively on how much he is hurt by Christopher. Haddon also portrayed Christopher’s parents in a sympathetic light even though the novel is from Christopher’s point of view and despite Ed and Judy being abusive and neglectful to Christopher. Siobhan (Christopher’s mentor and teacher) is only present in the early parts of the book and absent from the rest of the book without an explanation; the author could have used her to show that Christopher does not deserve to be abused and neglected, but he did not. The novel presents the autistic protagonist as responsible for his parent’s divorce and being mistreated by others while showing that he is unaffected by this mistreatment, and portrays abuse, abandonment, and gaslighting as normal and justified.

Pictures of character:

Birthday: August 11

Sexuality: Mspec graysexual neuroromantic/echoromantic/arovague (queer acespec arospec for convenience)

Personality: Christopher is intelligent, sensitive, perceptive, naive, arrogant, and tends to come off as aloof. He has a very self-centered point of view, values logic, tends to be literal-minded, and is sometimes clueless when it comes to social norms. He takes pride in his intelligence and views himself as rational and logical though he can be insensitive, cold, reckless, irritable, irrational, and illogical at times. He tends to have emotional outbursts, lash out, bottle up his emotions, and split due to trauma, but he is working on expressing his emotions in healthier ways. Christopher used to be violent, break into people’s houses and vehicles, steal, vandalize property, and have an ableist and elitist attitude before he got the proper help he needed. He cares about the people he is close to, treating them with kindness and is protective of them. His samefood is strawberry milkshakes. He prefers to use a stress ball or something similar to stim. Christopher is a trauma, physical/verbal/emotional abuse, and emotional neglect survivor. He is autistic and has PTSD/possible C-PTSD, NPD, conduct disorder, BPD, depression, chronic boredom, low empathy, abandonment issues, and violent intrusive thoughts and impulses.

Likes: His special interests are math, prime numbers, countries, capitals, detective fiction, mystery novels and movies, thriller films, autism/disability rights, astronauts, and Steven Universe (he especially enjoys Steven Universe: The Movie and Steven Universe Future). He also likes Jojo’s Bizarre Adventures, his pet rat, his service dog, Siobhan, strawberry milkshakes, puzzles, computer games, Tetris, and everything being in order.

Dislikes: The colors yellow (when not kin shifting to Peridot) and brown, yellow things (when not kin shifting to Peridot), brown things, dirt, gravy, wood, blood (squick), being lied to/deceived, his birth parents (his birth dad, in particular), authority figures who are ableist and invalidate him, crowded places, noisy places, being made fun of, his chronic boredom, saying he can’t feel or doesn’t have emotions, romanticization/glorification of cheating/affairs/infidelity, being called “a handful”, everything not being in order, and being touched during a meltdown, shutdown, or flashback.

Relationship status: Taken (Aki–QPP/zucchini and chosen person, and Clover–girlfriend and favorite person)

Friends: Other autistic reclaimed characters

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Character’s name (full name, if given): Caitlin Ann Smith

Apparent age: 10 (going on to 11)

Gender: Cis girl

Source material (and why it’s bad, this part is optional): Mockingbird (which is a young adult novel and a theatre play) and it’s bad because there were multiple moments when the main character Caitlin’s behavior is too textbook, the author’s writing clearly leaned to a clinical view of autism spectrum disorder, and it was written particularly for a neurotypical audience. Kathryn Erskine preferred the clinical research over the thoughts, feelings, and writings of autistic people. Caitlin’s epiphany is problematic because it did not feel like her own, it was inspiration porn due to her having to “learn” empathy, and it feels like the epiphany that ableist organizations like Autism Speaks and neurotypicals who fail to understand autistic people want autistic people to have. While the book was written with good intentions, Erskine regurgitated the “no empathy” myth, people around the autistic character are constantly trying to “fix” her and this is shown to be a good thing, and the book ended up being inspiration porn for neurotypicals.

Pictures of character:

Birthday: In the book, her birthday is unknown so I’ll make it November 20

Sexuality: Questioning

Personality: Caitlin is intelligent, cheerful, socially awkward, pedantic, often blunt, and comes off as arrogant without meaning to. She tends to get excited and passionate about things she enjoys. As a result, she tends to infodump. She has black-and-white thinking, hypermorality, and fluctuating empathy. Caitlin can come off as tactless at times due to being brutally honest, but does not mean to hurt people’s feelings and will try to clear things up if there are any resulting problems. She also does not always understand social cues and expectations, but she tries her best. Caitlin is more caring than she appears to be. She is autistic and is recovering from depression that is caused by the death of her mother who died of cancer and PTSD that is caused by the death of her brother Devon who died in a school shooting and being bullied in school.

Likes: Her special interests are drawing, dictionaries, and To Kill a Mockingbird. She also likes art, making charcoal drawings, pastel colors, the colors black and white, black and white TV shows and movies, cartoons (especially Disney), Bambi, her friends (especially her best friend Michael), small spaces (they bring her comfort), hiding under a dresser (her “hidey-hole”) and bed, and stuffing her head under couch cushions.

Fears or triggers: Really loud noises (sensory trigger), lights buzzing (sensory trigger), wool clothing (sensory trigger), fuzzy clothing (sensory trigger), gunshots (trigger), and being called “weirdo” or “freak” (trigger). No fears, but she gets uncomfortable when talking about school shootings and school shooters.

Relationship status: Single

Friends: Other autistic reclaimed characters, Michael Schneider (best friend), Josh

Extras: She is Scout kin/IDs as Scout (To Kill a Mockingbird), Bambi kin (Bambi), and her comfort characters are Jem (To Kill a Mockingbird) and Atticus (To Kill a Mockingbird).

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Character’s name (full name, if given): Rose Howard

Apparent age: 11 (going on to 12)

Gender: Cis girl

Source material (and why it’s bad, this part is optional): Rain Reign (which is a children’s novel) and it’s bad because the author Ann M. Martin wrote it in Autism Voice, the narrative is stereotypical, and Rose is explicitly framed as other due to being portrayed as overly literal and the book’s constant focus on her obsession with homonyms, numbers, prime numbers, weather patterns, and rules. It also stereotypes autistic people as not experiencing emotions, unfeeling, uncaring, unable to be hurt, and overly rational. In general, Martin denied Rose emotional agency and wrote a story about an autistic character for a neurotypical audience.

Pictures of character:

(Rose with Rain)

(Another picture of Rose and Rain)

Birthday: In the book, her birthday is unknown so I’ll make it September 20

Sexuality: Questioning

Likes: Her special interests are weather patterns, homonyms, and numbers (especially prime numbers). She also likes her dog Rain, her uncle Weldon, wordplay/puns, meteorology, the weather channel, Foster’s Home for Imaginary Friends, The Incredibles movies, The Secret of NIMH, and being on her routine.

Dislikes: People not explaining things to her, people not listening to why she is upset, being made fun of, being invalidated, and being off her routine.

Fears or triggers: Alcohol (trigger), hurricanes (fear), and being shaken (fear/trigger).

Relationship status: Single

Friends: Other autistic reclaimed characters, Rain

Extras: Her comfort characters are Madame Foster (Foster’s Home for Imaginary Friends), Helen Parr (The Incredibles), and Mrs. Brisby (The Secret of NIMH).

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Character’s name (full name, if given): Willem Edward Smith

Apparent age: 12

Gender: Cis boy

Source material (and why it’s bad, this part is optional): How to Fly with Broken Wings (which is a children’s fiction book) and it’s bad because the author Jane Elson wrote Willem as stereotypically autistic without naming him as such. Willem seems to check off all of the diagnostic boxes of autism without having much of a personality beyond this. Willem isn’t always treated with respect or dignity, particularly when he’s reduced to facts about airplanes and telling people that he can fly. In the middle of the book, Willem suddenly becomes a magical autistic detective by pulling out several pieces of physical evidence and lines of argument to prove that one person wasn’t involved in gang riots, although these abilities are never previously mentioned. Elson doesn’t fully address him being mistreated at school. Sasha describes him in her first chapter as “one of life’s special people” and regularly refers to him as her special friend as their relationship develops. Willem is relentlessly bullied at school and in danger at home, although no other characters do anything about this. Other kids make him jump off of objects or buildings and there are rival gangs in the area who are also interested in manipulating him. In class, his teacher frequently singles him out by requiring him to make two friends instead of completing equations for homework like his peers. The teacher tries to mix up students to get kids to interact with Willem and pulls each aside to say that she wants them to show him friendship, though she recognizes that forcing him to make friends in class encouraged him to interact with his bullies and put him in numerous dangerous situations, and she apologizes by the end of the book. The assignment led to Willem being deceived or put in dangerous situations more than once, and the author offers no clear condemnation of this. Willem’s main bully apologizes for his actions a few times but immediately returns to hurting Willem, and when he eventually befriends him it’s in order to gain favor with the girl he likes. Many adults apologize to Willem– including his teacher, who recognizes that forcing him to make friends put his life in danger; not that her treatment of him was emotionally manipulative. Also, there is no further discussion of any emotional repercussions.

Pictures of character:

(Willem with a dog and holding hands with Sarah)

(Willem)

Birthday: In the book, his birthday is unknown so I’ll make it June 21

Sexuality: Questioning

Dislikes: Bullies, gangs, riots, being made fun of, being excluded/left out, people who are too close to him, Finn Maison and his gang the Beckham Estate Boyz, being assigned friends, being forced into a “buddy system”, being manipulated or deceived, shouting, being kissed, and his food touching.

Fears or triggers: Bullying (fear/trigger), gangs (fear/trigger), riots (fear/trigger), Finn Maison and his gang (fear), falling (fear), death threats (trigger), being assigned friends (trigger), being forced into a “buddy system” (trigger), shouting (sensory trigger), being kissed (sensory trigger), and his food touching (sensory trigger).

Relationship status: Single

Friends: Other autistic reclaimed characters, Sasha Barton, Magic Man Archie, Buster

Extras: His comfort character is Carl Gould (Arthur).

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Character’s name (full name, if given): Colin Fischer

Apparent age: 14

Gender: Cis boy

Source material (and why it’s bad, this part is optional): Colin Fischer (which is a young adult novel) and it’s bad because despite being written by an autistic author–Zack Sentz–and Colin being likable, the book distances the readers from the perspective of him by othering him and casting him as incomprehensible and weird. Colin is rarely seen as anything but intrigued, confused, or panicked, and that reinforces the damaging, ableist notion of autistic people not having emotions. He is also depicted by Sentz and Ashley Edward Miller to be a super special autistic with “mysterious skills”. Colin’s brother Danny loathing him and their parents is portrayed with no nuance and no emotions from Colin’s end. In the book, Asperger’s syndrome is mentioned as being “related to” autism rather than being part of the autism spectrum. His school is said to be supportive and accommodating, but there is not much proof to support this as the narrative appears to condone the ableist treatment of the protagonist. For example, when Colin is purposefully taunted in class and ends up barking from stress, the principal accepts that it wasn’t his fault, but she also threatens Colin with punishment if he “acts out” again. Another example is his gym teacher Mr. Turrentine ignoring a note from his therapy team that he can skip gym. He also aligns with the popular image of “high-functioning” autistic people as being a socially awkward, math/logic/train-obsessed, straight, white, middle-class teenage boy. His symptoms become less extreme at the end of the book, which is seen as a positive development; this portrays autistic traits as undesirable and negative.

Pictures of character:

Birthday: In the book, his birthday is unknown so I’ll make it September 22

Sexuality: Disordinebisexual biromantic, leans towards females

Personality: Colin is curious, inquisitive, and friendly. He enjoys being organized and tends to have meltdowns when not being organized. Colin has slow reflexes and activities like basketball, soccer, playing catch, monkey bars, riding a bicycle, and gym class are difficult for him while activities like jumping and bouncing are easier for him. He speaks in a monotone voice, but talks fast when excited. Colin is often very literal and has trouble detecting sarcasm. He stims by barking when stressed or overwhelmed, jumping especially when happy or excited, and making repeated clicking sounds. He usually has a hard time telling when people are upset because facial expressions don’t come naturally to him, and does not always understand social cues and expectations. Colin pet regresses to cope with stress and being autistic, disabled, and otherwise neurodivergent. He is autistic, nearsighted, a dog regressor, and has gross motor dyspraxia and hypotonia.

Relationship status: Single

Friends: Other autistic reclaimed characters, Melissa Greer (best friend), Wayne Connolly

Extras: He is alienkin and dogkin, and his comfort characters are Sherlock Holmes (BBC Sherlock) and Spock (Star Trek). He has reading glasses to help with his nearsightedness.

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