i showed it to a friend and she asked me to make a buster version

(for @yerinh0p and the other people who asked me about it, here’s the Beta kids version of that one autistic positive Alpha kids post. I hope it brings a little positivity to your dash on this disastrous day)

Jade Harley is autistic, and her Grampa always taught her to be absolutely unapologetic about it. The Squiddles were one of her biggest special interests as a kid, and now despite being embarassed by it she still thinks fondly about them. She’s hyper-empathic and is easily overwhelmed by strong emotions, both positive and negative. She loves the pressure and safety that comes from hugging and being hugged by people she loves, but being touched by strangers freaks her out like nothing else.
Her garden is her safe place, her little heaven. Nothing gets her head away from bad places like being surrounded by plants, she usually teleports there the moment she is in fhe immediate need to get away (because of sensory overloads, meltdowns or similar).
Hair and animal fur alike feel wonderful to her. She likes to touch, twirl and smell her own hair, and her friends often allow her to play with their hair and/or braid them. If she’s particularly distressed she may also and up chewing her hair, but she usually avoids doing it in other situations because she hates how “wrong” it feels afterwards.
As for other forms of stimming, she visual stims a lot, and that’s also one of the reason she loves being around Davepeta: the way they flash with colours is an absolute delight and she could spend all of her day just enjoying the lights.
She feels a strong affinity to dogs because she feels like she understands them better than humans, they’re full of love and loyal just like her!

John Egbert is autistic, and he can’t stand the texture of the cakes his dad makes him. He’s always been a really picky eater, with the exception of the fruit gushers he loves so much, because they’re fun to chew and the taste doesn’t overwhelm him. He knows his movie tastes aren’t so great, but getting to share Ghost Busters and his Nic Cage movies with the rest of his family makes him feel a lot less self conscious about them.
He likes to rock on his heels while he’s standing up and rock back and forth when he sits down, most of the time he doesn’t even notice he’s doing it until he loses his balance and risks falling on his ass.
When he needs to be alone because being with people becomes too much, he will start floating and let the wind carry him somewhere else, weightless and free.
He can’t read the mood or fully understand situations sometimes, but it’s ok, people around him are always ready to help when he appears confused and/or disoriented.
He always keeps tangles and various toys his dad bought for him in his pockets, and when he starts playing with them he gets a happy, if nostalgic, smile on his face.

Dave Strider is autistic, and it took him quite a while to accept it. After he meets with his friends and gets to know the trolls, he finally starts to celebrate it. He wears glasses for both light sensitivity issues and avoiding showing the fact that he can’t, in any way, make eye contact with others, no matter how familiar he is with them. His voice is monotone and doesn’t really show any emotion, and he loves the sound of it. He likes to talk to himself, whether its rapping or just saying words over and over and over again because he finds the vibration of his own voice incredibly soothing. He also adores auditory stimming, which mixes extremely well with his special interest for making music.
He loves birds, and especially corvids, and he keeps small treats for his plumed friends inside a small bad he keeps with him. There’s nothing as delightful as a bunch of feathered assholes crying in delight whenever he makes an appearence.
He doesn’t really “get” people. He’s incapable of knowing if they’re doing bad or not unless they tell him directly, and similiarly he doesn’t understand lying or read emotions on others very well.
After years away from Bro he finally stops feeling guilty over his own interests (photography, archeology etc.) and/or feeling like he needs to cover up how much he actually loves them, and discovers the joy of sharing what is most important to him with others.

Rose Lalonde is autistic, but she always tried to repress her traits because of the bullism that came from other kids, growing up before the Game. She taught herself to mantain eye contact and avoid stimming in public, no matter how bad it made her feel, and she learned to use sarcasm. One of the reasons she ended up becoming interested in psychoanalisis is because she felt the need to have a better understanding about how other people “worked”. Together with Dave she begins to unlearn the self-hatred Earth made her feel and tries to be kinder, more comprehensive to herself
Rose distances herself from her special interest on occult after she goes Grimdark, because it becomes too stressful and a reminder of horrible memories. Instead, she dedicates herself fully to Alternian history and culture. She always has her needles with her, even in non harmful situations, because their weight in her hands and fidgeting with them is comforting and reassuring.
She likes to write things down, and not only stories: lists, ideas, schemes, plans. The sound of pen scratching paper is pleasant, and so is the sensation of putting informations in order. She also stims with her hair (twirling and chewing), but only in private because she doesn’t like people seeing her doing it.
While she still doesn’t feel very comfortable stimming in public or keeping toys, she like to keep jewelry on her. She has a bracelet with plastic beads her Mom gave her when she was little to fidget with, and a necklace Jade gave her with a vial full of lavender attached to it.

Battle Plans

Long Way Down

Oliver jerked awake, jackknifing upright, the knife he kept under the pillow in his hand and slashing at empty air as his heart raced and his eyes caught up with the dawning light pressing through the thin, teal blue curtains across the room.

Setting the tactical blade down on the bedstand with a clatter, he sighed and scrubbed his hands over his face and into his hair. Settling his nerves to a lower thrum, he tossed back the navy sheet—probably the most somber-colored linens in the entire house—and rolled out of the too-soft bed to his feet. He retrieved a set of clothes from the duffel bag stowed under the foot of the bed, but his toiletries were already in the bathroom down the hall.

There just didn’t seem a point in taking them with him every couple days. It was easier to leave them here.

Almost two months since Felicity had vanished, and Oliver rarely slept more than three consecutive nights at his own apartment now. The nagging fear that she would come back here first and he would miss her, or miss some sign of her, some signal for help because he wasn’t there

That fear dragged him back every few nights, and he had all but claimed her guest bedroom for his own. He found himself sometimes just wandering the rooms, drawing the scraps of her life and presence around him like a comfort. He’d long since given up hope of locating some new clue in her bedroom or the rest of the townhouse as to what had happened.

The police had all but given up on Felicity Smoak entirely.

Remembering that terse conversation in Captain Lance’s office clenched Oliver’s jaw with frustration and low-burning, futile anger. Quentin wasn’t a miracle worker, he couldn’t pull Felicity out of his sleeve or hat, couldn’t do anything more than he was already doing. But knowing these perfectly logical reasons did nothing to calm Oliver’s desperation for progress. For answers.

The not knowing was horrible, but it wasn’t the worst of it. Or it was, if only because as long as Oliver knew nothing for certain about Felicity’s fate, every outcome he could imagine was real simultaneously.

And Oliver had the kind of experience his imagination could use to fill in every horrific, terrible detail.

Keep reading