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@bellsn-whistles

small creature living in a cave and collecting cool shit i find

I love Deanna Troi because she’s representative of an autistic experience you don’t see on TV a lot which is “I learned all about human interaction the same way that one might learn about cool bugs so I know what makes people tick and in THEORY I know the right things to say in social situations but socializing like that is not the least bit natural to me and I don’t know what to do if the situation doesn’t match up with what I studied.” Except for her instead of having JUST learned about human interaction she is also psychic and so she partially relies on that too.

The episode where she loses her powers and suddenly cannot read people at all, not even to the level humans usually can, totally screws up trying to give therapy, and becomes so distraught she tries to resign from her job as a therapist, is so real. Like listen if she wasn’t autistic that wouldn’t have been such a big deal. Deanna Troi is an empath with low empathy, she’s using her psychic powers to compensate for her symptoms.

Also the episode where she hears some annoying music and completely loses her mind about it and screams and sobs and must be put into a medically induced coma because she’s so upset by the music and the alien that made her hear the annoying music seems genuinely confused about why it bothered her so much (meaning that like, that wasn’t the intended or normal effect of his annoying music ability).

Even outside those episodes where it’s so obvious though, everything she says to people tends to read as extremely scripted, like she knows it’s what she ought to say but it isn’t what she would say if she was just being herself. Queen of masking. What is the real you like, if you even still have one? She’s just like me for real

there is a demon in your house named CARBON MONOXIDE. he enchants your mind with confusion and your body with exhaustion. you need to call a powerful exorcist named HVAC TECHNICIAN

My longhouse is perfectly constructed. Every morning when I wake up in bed at the far end of my longhouse, I say my syllable. Then I spend all day sitting in bed. By sunset my syllable has traveled to the other end of my longhouse and back, and as it smacks me in the head, I fall asleep. My longhouse is perfectly constructed.