Your name is Dirk Strider, and you made a promise when you were three years old to share everything with your brother Dave.
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Someone please get this book for me.
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» Brainbent: >Get dressed. Put on ALL the clothes!
You put on your FAVORITE OUTFIT. Black pants with baggy legs, a tee shirt with your sign on it (you don’t actually believe in any of that horoscope stuff, but you love that you are a LION) and of course your EXCELLENT TRENCHCOAT. The tail goes last because you have to fumble around to stick it…
Aw, jeez. I just want to hug Nepeta forever.
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FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFfffff-damn it. : (
I hate doing people-things. This week is rush week with my frat. (How does one manage being autistic and a frat boy at the same time, you ask? Pact with the devil. Actually it has a lot to do with my frat not being anything at all like what you’d imagine a frat to be. But that is a story for another time.)
Tonight was a game night, which was in a smaller room than the previous game nights with a significantly larger number of people. I found a way to extricate myself from the group of ducklings who had all imprinted on me with the same “LET ME IN” desperation, chilled in the hall for a few minutes with my fingers in my ears (which also hurt because of my stupid blood pulsing through my veins. stupid heartbeat), came back and hung with some of my peeps outside the room.
I must have been making faces, because my peeps asked what was wrong, to which I replied “Oh, I’m autistic. When things get chaotic, I get kind of…” Cue jazz hands, because I was not up for a proper explanation. Cue the two people standing beside me taking giant steps back like I’m a ticking bomb. : ( And I don’t really know why, but it still made me sad. These peeps are kind of my friends.
Now there’s a baby duckling who wants me to be her big and is also in my Chem class. I (attempt) to present as one gender in my Chem class and another with my frat. I do not like this scenario. I also do not like how my first instinct is to want to tell her “I’m a freak, you really don’t want to be my little.” That just reeks of low self-esteem.
I want to take someone as little this semester, but every time I talk to one an evil little voice in the back of my head goes “they’ll just be disappointed to get you. they want someone normal. you will invariably fuck this up. don’t even try.” And then I’m all “bitch, plz. I gots this. Also, you’re a poop-face.” But the the evil little voice grows eyebrows and waggles them at me and I get all intimidated.
Is somebody packin’ heat? ‘Cause I’m thinkin’ maybe I aughta deep six this cheap hoe.
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Hussie has struck again. That teasing bastard. Raise of hands, who remembers way back when a certain Strider was going to ask out a certain pacific islander?
Also, there are so many things in that latest AR/Roxy log that I’d been planning on writing about in that old Dirk/Jake story I was doing. I don’t know whether I should be happy I interpreted so many things correctly or sad that I didn’t finish that story before this.
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i don’t think i’ve spent nearly enough time thinking about dead girlfriends and mind control lately so here is a pretty picture of aradia megido kicking the bucket
Oh jeez wow. That message. FFFF, and the imprint on the wall. This is too much. Hair in the blood. It is going to be hard to forget this. In a terrible and awesome way.
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- carcinoGeneticist [CG] began trolling turntechGodhead [TG] -
Your name is Daviad Stadyr, and you are the best moirail on Alternia or any other planet. You’re so perfectly pale for that nubby-horned wreck Vantas, you make other moirails look like sickle-bugs murderhumping their unfortunate partners. You take such incredibly good care of him that you have to be careful not to overflow the diamond box and fill up his other quadrants with awesome.
Wait. Shit. What if that’s what happened?
No, hang on, that’s stupid.
