So a little while ago my girlfriend and I went to Village Inn with her mom. My girlfriend and I were being annoyingly cute and holding hands in our side of the booth. Our waitress saw us holding hands and had a huge smile on her face. She was an awesome waitress, she helped the other table with a hangover, was really kind, and just made tons of jokes. At the end we got the receipt and then I noticed something was written on the back of it.
She told us that her niece recently came out and just wanted us to know to not be ashamed because no one should ever feel like that.
I think the main reason growing up autistic and raising autistic kids is so hard is because society doesn’t accept us yet. I hear a lot of autism parents rant about how difficult autism is and how some parents just cannot cope. It made me think of the nearsighted analogy I see floating around so I’m gonna expand on it.
I’m nearsighted, which is technically a disability, but I’m easily able to get glasses, to get them repaired when I need to, and nobody thinks twice about it. I got teased a little bit when I first got them, but people wearing glasses is basically considered normal and kids will tease you for anything.
But imagine if nearsighted people kept failing classes because they couldn’t see the chalkboard and glasses were too expensive or you had to jump through hoops to get them. Imagine if instead of wearing glasses, they had to go to expensive and ineffective therapies to train their eyes to see normally.
Of course, these methods would lead to physical and mental exhaustion and really painful eye strain as well as feelings of guilt and shame for something that’s beyond the individual’s control, so nearsighted people would protest that they are ineffective. But what do they know? They’re nearsighted.
Imagine if you were told you were stupid for holding the book close to your face to read, or not being able to read a billboard. Imagine if you were trained not to squint because squinting made the people around you uncomfortable. Imagine if people told you that if you would just go outside more or try harder, your vision would go back to normal.
Imagine finally getting glasses, only to find out that they don’t actually help because they’re one-size-fits-all. They just make everything blurry in a different way and give you a killer headache on top of that.
Imagine growing up with access to glasses that do help a little bit, then becoming an adult and realizing that you can’t get help if your glasses break or your vision changes because the only nearsightedness programs around are for children and you’ve aged out of them.
Imagine people assuming you were stupid, slow, lazy, and irresponsible just because you have a physical difference in your eyes that could easily be fixed with glasses, but for some reason nobody thinks to accommodate you.
Imagine seeing your mom cry because she hates that her nearsighted child will never experience the world the way someone with 20/20 vision does. Imagine hearing her tell her friends that she’s afraid to send you to school because of the way the other kids treat you, and because the school doesn’t do anything to help. Imagine hearing her say that sometimes she wishes she aborted you because the stress is too much.
Imagine seeing on the news that a mother killed her nearsighted son because she “couldn’t cope with the stress” and not being charged with murder because the court sees it as a valid reason to kill someone.
If we as a society put more effort into accommodating neurodivergent people, parents wouldn’t be fighting against the world to provide for their kids. Autism would be just another way kids can be different from each other.
Sorry to say this Susie, but I don't think you've actually... met Kris. Or I guess you have since you're classmates, but that entire thing in the dark world? Wasn't them. But Kris!! Is still super cool! And tired all the time! And I think really does want to be your friend too even if they act like they don't care!!! But the soul thing is probs really unhealthy yeah.
Summary: Y/N has always felt like a failure. So maybe she can finally prove she isn’t and save her family.
Warnings: Attempted Suicide, Season 12 spoilers, ANGST, Fatherly Cas cuz WHY NOT??
Dean and Sam had been missing for weeks. No one had seen them, no one had heard from them.
Until a few hours ago. Now they faced Billie, and one Winchester had to go.
Y/N was all that was left. A skinny, Y/H/C girl with fierce Y/E/C eyes. She was their half-sister, the result of some fling their father had after the death of Mary. She had watched her whole family die and was basically living on the streets homeless until John found her and raised her.
She was just “the accident”.
That was what John called her. What he reminded her. She was an accident, so she should be grateful he cared enough to take her in.
Dean was always distant from her. Sam came first, no matter what. If Dean was home alone with the two hungry kids and there was only one sandwich left, Sam got it. If there was only room for one more person on a hunt, Sam was going. Sam, Sam, Sam.
Sam, however, wasn’t distanced or cruel, but just awkward. He tried to be kind the her and show her he would be her big brother, but she always pushed him away.
However, once they got older and Sam left, Y/N left too. She went to a small state college and made friends.
But Dean and Sam showed up at her door one evening and whisked her away back into her world of fear, pain, and failure.
Castiel was probably the most positive influence on her. He was her father figure, in a way. When her self esteem was down, he told her she was beautiful and had a beautiful heart. If she felt useless, he had her help with research. If someone died, she assured her they were in a better place. He helped Y/N get through the multiple deaths her brothers faced.
When Mary was brought back to life, things were… tense. After all, here was this stranger who looked like John and was the offspring of some slutty one-night-stand. For the most part the two avoided each other, not in malice but for the sake of their sanities.
But now here they stood. One of the four Winchesters had to die. They all looked at each other. But Y/N noticed, none of their eyes shifted to her. They shifted between Mary, Dean, and Sam.
She was the failure.
“Guys.” Y/N spoke quietly, causing the three to look at her. Her hand tightened on her gun and she smiled at them, trying not to cry. “You Three… you belong together. She’s your mom. I’m just your half-sister from some whore. You guys have saved the world numerous times and I was just there. It’s for the best… it’s for the best if none of you decide who dies.”
“Y/N…” Sam trailed off, he eyes pleading.
Y/N let out a sob. “Thank you for letting me be your half-sister. For once… I won’t be a failure…”
She raised the gun to her temple, squeezing her eyes shut as tears trailed down her cheeks. She could hear Dean and Sam running, begging for her to stop. Her finger rested on the trigger. Maybe Chuck would let her into heaven? She took and deep breath-
Y/N heard a sharp gasp and shortly the gun was smacked out of her hands and a pair of strong arms wrapped around her body. Y/N opened her eyes. She saw Billie dead on the ground and Castiel hugging her as her brothers were crying with relief that their sister was alive.
“Cas…?” Y/N gasped, the man not meeting her gaze.
“What the hell were you thinking.” The gruff voice stated.
Request from @carmineofmidgard: Hey !!i was wondering if you could write something with artist!reader x jughead fluff ? These are some Van Gogh quotes that I like, you could use them as like prompts: Art is to console those who are broken by life.
A/N: This my first oneshot ever written! I hope this fulfills your request!
“Art is to console those who are broken by life.” -Vincent Van Gogh
Saying you’ve had a tough life was an understatement. Your father had left the family when you were very little to be with his secretary leaving you and your mom alone. Your mom, while you adored her, kept pushing for you to become a doctor. She wanted you to have a successful and self-sustaining career; one that she never got to have. You on the other hand wanted to be an artist. Ever since your dad left, you loved to draw pictures of fantasy. Castles, dragons, princesses, and princes. Anything that could draw your mind away from your mom crying at night and less frequent phone calls from your happy father was a plus. Eventually, your drawings evolved into portraits. Well, secret portraits. You drew almost everyone in the school, but no one more than Jughead Jones III. Jughead fascinated you, and truth be told, you had a crush on him. How you could crush on someone that you knew nothing about and who didn’t even know your name was anyone’s best guess. As far as you could tell, the only thing you and Jughead had in common was the fact that you were both loners. That’s it.
You and Jughead had off fifth period and you both spent that time in the library, but not sitting next to each other or even near each other. Unfortunately, Reggie and his group also hung out in the library. It was an average Friday and you had just sat down in your chair in the library when Jughead came in, sitting in a chair across the room from you. Just as you pulled your sketchbook to draw, he pulled out his laptop to write. What he was writing, you had no idea. You began to draw the simple outlines of his face, gently moving your pen along the paper. You bit your lip and furrowed your eyebrows and you attempted to capture his facial structure and his emotions. You were so immersed with your drawing that you didn’t notice Reggie peering of your shoulder wearing a wolfish grin. He waited for the librarian to leave the room to copy some papers before he stood up and made his way over to you. Within the span of a second, Reggie quickly pulled the sketchbook from your hands, loudly proclaiming,
“Well, what do we have here, Y/N?”
Everyone in the library looked up from what they were doing, including Jughead. In a flash, you were on your feet, attempting to get your sketchbook back from Reggie.
“Give it back, Reggie!”
Reggie chortled as he looked through your sketches. He had struck gold.
“Everyone, look! Y/N’s got a thing for Norman Bates over here!”
Reggie held up your sketches for everyone to see. Panic and embarrassment flooded your senses and tears began to well up in your eyes as everyone began to laugh at you. Everywhere you looked you could see people laughing. Then you made eye contact with Jughead. He wasn’t laughing. He wasn’t even smiling. He was looking at you intensely, but he wasn’t glaring. There was a look of concern there as well. It was too much for you to bear and you quickly ran out of the library, down the hallway, and out of the school. Knowing you couldn’t go home without your mother knowing you were skipping class, you began the trek to Pop’s.
Pop knew you were upset the moment you walked into the diner. You were always so exuberant, always saying hello and asking him about his family first chance you got. But now? You were silent. Pop looked over at you and smiled softly.
“You want the usual?”
You nodded and sat in one of the booths, your back facing the door. Pop came over with a chocolate milkshake.
“It’s on me.” Pop said and winked.
You smiled gratefully at him and slowly sipped the milkshake, the familiar taste bringing you some relief. Then you remembered you left your backpack in the library. Your sketchbook. Reggie probably still had it. He was probably running copies of your sketches of Jughead to put up all over the school to humiliate you as much as he could. You felt the hot sting of tears coming back as you remembered the laughs and Jughead’s stare and quickly wiped them away. You didn’t know how long you were sitting there, just thinking about the day’s events before a jingle sounded out around the diner as the front door opened. You didn’t pay much attention to it, swirling your straw around the almost empty glass before you heard something being placed down on the floor beside you. You looked to your side and saw your backpack along with a figure standing right next to you. You knew those black pants and shoes. You froze as you realized who it was and slowly looked up, making eye contact for the second time that day with Jughead Jones III who had your sketchbook in his hand.
“I believe this is yours,” he said as he handed it to you.
You swallowed the lump in your throat as you shakily took the sketchbook back.
Your quiet voice was raw from crying and Jughead took notice. He gestured to the seat in front of you.
“Can I sit?”
You nodded, not trusting your own voice. With a quiet “thanks,” he took a seat and the two of you were silent for a moment. You swallowed again. You had to say something.
“How did you know where I was?”
You mentally smacked yourself. Really, out of everything you could’ve said, that’s what your brain came up with? Jughead raised his eyebrows at you.
“I didn’t actually. I came here because I was gonna grab a bite to eat before dropping your stuff off at your house.”
Your cheeks became bright red as you imagined Jughead in your house. Not that you’ve fantasized about that way too many times.
“Well, um, thank you. For giving me back my sketchbook and backpack and all,” you said. “How did you get them back?”
You remembered Reggie’s mean laugh as he held the sketchbook above your head and flinched at the memory. Jughead chuckled at your question.
“It wasn’t easy, let’s just say that.”
You smiled for the first time since the morning and looked down.
“They’re really good,” Jughead said.
You looked up at him inquisitively.
“Your sketches I mean.”
Your heart plunged to your stomach again as you remembered his stare across the room. You looked down again.
“I’m sorry,” you said. “It probably looks like I’m some weird stalker or something.”
You were silent as you waited for his response.
“Aw, that’s a shame,” Jughead said and you looked up at him again, confused by his nonchalant response. “I was kinda hoping you were. Would’ve made a great storyline for my novel.”
He smirked at you and you, realizing he was joking, smiled along with him. Jughead pointed at your empty glass.
“Can I buy you another milkshake?”
“I’d like that.”
A/N: I hope that was okay! Let me know what you thought!