Mono

I do take requests, so here are the fandoms I will be doing so far:

Marvel/MCU || Bg3 || Spiderverse || The Glass Scientists (TGS) || ACOTAR || Harry Potter || Marauders || PJO || KOTLC || Witch Boy(yes the comic series) || Hazbin Hotel || Helluva Boss || TOH || Just Add Magic || Good Omens || Jackson’s Diary || DreamWorks Trolls(all three movies , not the show) || Octonauts || Encanto || Generation Loss || The Renegades -Marissa Meyer || The Vampire Librarian (it’s on webtoon go read it and support the author they deserve all the support y’all) || Suitor Armor || UnOrdianry || Big Hero Six || Empires SMP || Literally anything with Oscar Isaac. I am a simple woman || Yuurivoice || A Spell For A Smith || Hamilton || Merfolk || Gator Boys || Obsidian Lantern || GoodBoyAudios || Nomads Tales & Audios || Escaped Audios || Mage Bunkshelf || Redacted Audio || Date Everything ||

Masterlist

Have a good day everyone! Stay safe!

The sun was slowly setting as you made your way into your new place of work at the Museum of Natural History, climbing the steps quickly so as not to be late. You didn’t really want to get fired on your first day.

You signed in, met the other security guard, got handed a manual and a flashlight with a uniform and got all sorted out. You sat at the front desk, assuming that you’d just be walking around an empty, quiet museum all night. Your head snapped one way, then another. You sighed, tongue clicking. 

This shift was far from what you were expecting. 

Your first thought: ‘Holy shit it’s alive’

Your second thought: ‘Holy shit why is it alive?’

So as it turns out, the whole museum is alive. 

Apparently, the last security night guard that worked at the museum had become some big shot product salesman, leaving you with the job.

To say it was overwhelming was an understatement. You were swamped. And to make it worse, your tics were only getting worse as the night went on, receiving strange looks from the–now technically living–wax statues of historical figures. You curled your hands into fists, your fingernails sinking into your palms in an effort to ground yourself from the ensuing panic in your chest. 

Why was Theodore Roosevelt talking to you? 

Was that a monkey? 

HOLY FUCK A LION

Oh look little guys! :D 

THEY ARE NOT FRIENDLY D:

You were exhausted. It wasn’t even half-past two am yet. 

The miniatures had decided to launch fire at you. You supposed they didn’t like you. One of them called you ‘Ebay Gigantor’. You didn’t know whether to be impressed at their creativity or offended at the given nickname. 

Your leg was shaking and you were trying to stop it. The Theodore Roosevelt wax figure–Teddy, as he preferred to be called–gave you some tips and tricks. Plus, the old manual gifted by the previous security guard had been a great help. You learned names quick, and resentment even quicker. 

You learned why they didn’t like you very much after a few nights. You were the replacement for the previous security guard, the one they really liked and who was a true friend to them. To the museum, you were some cheap knockoff that couldn’t be anything close to the old guy, Larry Daley, his name was. 

Your tics weren’t much better, hands shaking while you were trying to talk to Sacagawea. She was empathetic and kind. She hung around Teddy a lot. Apparently they were dating. You didn’t want to even know how that worked or how it even happened. 

You asked if the twitching bothered them. 

“Not at all!” Teddy exclaimed, a broad smile on his face. “Many of the brightest men I’d ever met had their own quirks! It doesn’t bother me.”

“It isn’t noticeable,” Sacagawea told you, her voice steady and dogmatic. “But I wouldn’t be too concerned about it. What people think is what they have to deal with. They may not be courteous, but that is not your issue.”

You supposed you would try to take the advice the pair gave you and ignore the concerned and obviously pointed looks at your twitching and lip popping. 

It wasn’t much longer that you met a literal dead guy. Well, a mummy. His name was Ahkmenrah, and apparently he used to be a pharaoh who died pretty young. Yikes. 

He was nice enough. He wasn’t cold nor warm. He treated you much better than the other museum residents did though, so it was both refreshing and an improvement.

Your interaction was going rather well, that was, until you blurted out a, “F-fuck your mum!” An unfortunate tic you’d been used to in your own time, but saying it in front of someone else, your cheeks heated and turned a vibrantly bright red as you gave hurried apologies.

Ahkmenrah luckily didn’t take offense. You supposed that was for the best, considering his statue’d defenders who you definitely believed could crush you in a heartbeat and a command. 

You explained what Tourette’s Syndrome was and that you had it. Ahkmenrah was definitely confused, but understanding and patient as you rambled. Ahkmenrah noticed your twitching and while he’d taken note, he didn’t bring attention to it, as he considered it rude to do so. He explained to you, in your mini-panicking and explaining state, that he’d seen a similar thing in his time as a pharaoh with an advisor whose head constantly flicked back and forth. 

That somehow oddly reassured you. 

It seemed you had gained an odd sort of ally. 

You supposed you were making some progress with the miniatures. Well, some of them. You had to keep the Mayans locked up in their exhibit because they kept chucking sharp objects and spears at you. 

The Cowboys and the Romans were, at first, a little hostile. The apparent leader of the Cowboys kept calling you ‘Gigantor’ and you were trying to not let it hurt your feelings. 

The head of the Cowboys–Jedidiah–and the head of the Romans–Octavius–seemed close, and seemed to despise being apart although from separate exhibits. You gave them what they wanted, free reign to roam so long as they got along and they were allowed to stay together during the night. 

Besides some snide comments, you believed that they no longer despised or really resented you. Progress!

Your tics weren’t as bad that night, just some head flicks and rapid concurrent blinks. You didn’t think it was too noticeable, however, one of the miniatures was decidedly blunt. 

“What’s with all this twitching, Gigantor?” Jedidiah asked pertinently, perched atop a bench edge. Octavius, who sat perched beside him, turned his head away from watching his soldiers in a vague interest to what Jedidiah had asked. 

You froze in response, eyes full of brief panic. You took a breath. 

“It was a tic. I have Tourette's Syndrome,” you began to explain. 

The pause was pregnant and awkward. 

“What exactly is that?” Jedidiah asked, rather bluntly. You remembered, he probably wouldn’t have the same name or idea of it as you do in the modern world. 

“I twitch, my head flicks, I say random words or phrases that I can’t control. All of these are things I can’t control, that’s where the twitching comes from. I can’t exactly just stop doing it,” you continued. The ‘even if I really want to’ goes unsaid. 

“Like Cyprian,” Octavius chimed in. Both your head and Jedidiah’s head turned to face him. Octavius paused, seemingly put on the spot, before he continued, practically unbothered. “He is a centurion in our ranks, a good man. He shakes like you do. Twitches too, with random fits of laughter. He tells good jokes, and he is a good centurion. He leads well, and while he has his moments, he is a good man,” Octavius explained very matter-of-factly. 

Jedidiah turned back to you. “Look newbie gigantor, I may not be all fancy all-word-like, but what I can say is that it ain’t that weird of you to do that. While I don’t really understand it, it’s not really an issue. It’s not hurtin’ anyone or anythin’ here, so as far as I’m concerned, it’s no big sort of deal.”

A smile creeped at your face as you turned to look at the both of them. “Thank you, both of you. I appreciate it.” 

Jedidiah tipped his hat. “‘ts nothin’.” His face turned a slightly warm shade of pink in embarrassment. Clearly, he wasn’t used to being thanked. 

Octavius gave a huff with a warm smile on his face, arm wrapped around Jedidiah’s back and his hand on Jedidiah’s hip. “No issue whatsoever, glad I could be of service.” 

You supposed you would eventually become more used to this place and the residents who inhabited it one day. But for now, things were going pretty well, you supposed. 

You smiled warmly, quickly walking up the steps to clock in for your next night shift of the week. 

End notes: Very open into making this into a series of: NatM character learning you(night guard) have *insert disorder here* and going from there

It was a normal class day, as normal as you could get with a class of middle schoolers as a middle school science teacher, and Ryland Grace was handing out packets for the newest unit of the year when his ear caught a conversation. 

“–I’m just saying, if Miss Lestarge gives us another test this week I will go insane,” one student whined. 

“I know right! She’s insane! I can’t do any more of those ‘is this shape equivalent to this?’ questions. I might just go crazy–will you stop doing that!” another student snapped after responding to their friend. “That clicking is so annoying!”

You sat in your seat, practically drowning in their stares. You wanted to sink into your desk and never come back out again. Why? Because it kept happening. They kept noticing you, but only to scorn you for something out of your control. 

“I can’t,” you responded, your tongue clicking shortly after. Your hands were trembling at this point, up to your ears in anxiety. “I can’t control it, it’s not something I can just stop–” you tried to explain. 

“But why not? You don’t have to click your tongue like that! It’s annoying!” a girl pointed out, an expression of disgust on her face. “Plus the finger tapping and that weird head flick you do! I suppose you can’t control those either?” she asked, mockingly. A few students around her giggled and chuckled, as if you were a circus spectacle to observe.

“I can’t, and I–” your voice shook, your throat feeling as if it was closing in on itself. “I’ve tried, believe me I’ve tried. It doesn’t work like that! I’m trying–” your tongue clicked involuntarily. “I’m trying my best, okay!” you tried, knowing that it was all for naught. They would just continue to mock you despite all your best efforts. 

“That’s enough,” a voice called from behind you. You felt the creeping anxiety in your heart stop almost abruptly as you looked behind you to see your teacher, Mr. Grace, with a stern and scornful expression on his face. Oddly enough from what you could see, it didn’t seem to be directed at you. 

“But Mr. Grace!” one of the classmates–a boy with short, choppy blonde hair, whined. “They won’t stop that weird clicking!”

Ryland Grace looked into the eyes of the student who seemed to look so small in their seat, their hands shaking. His glasses fell from the bridge to the tip of his nose. He didn’t know how to explain what Tourette’s was to an entire class of seventh graders. But he remembered how you’d come to him

He was a new teacher at the time and he was not so used to teaching seventh graders rather than giving lectures in giant lecture halls, but there goes the life of Ryland Grace. 

The bell had rung a few minutes prior, most students shuffling out of the classroom in small groups, gleefully talking to their friends and making plans for the weekend and after school. 

“Mr. Grace,” you began, wringing your fingers. 

You’d stayed behind after class, although it was the lunch bell, you wouldn’t mind being a few minutes late. The lunch line would be long regardless. 

“Ah!” he exclaimed, surprised by your presence still in the classroom. “Is there something you forgot?” he asked, raising an eyebrow in confusion. 

“I needed to talk to you,” you responded, trying to hold your voice stable. Your head cocked lightly to the left, eyes downcast. “I uhm–” 

The words caught in your throat. 

“Something wrong?” Dr. Grace asked, concern pressing his eyebrows down. He was still very new to this environment–and he hadn’t been in middle school in an awful long time, although it wasn’t the most positive of experiences for him. His mind went to the worst scenarios, bullying, harassment, not understanding anything Grace himself had explained during the period, etcetera. He had no idea how to handle bullying.

“Since you’re new, I have to tell you this in the middle of the school year,” you began, as if having given this same speech a thousand times, because in some way, you had. “I usually tell all my teachers at the beginning of the year and make sure they have all my accommodations and know them,” you rambled on, hoping silently that you weren’t making the conversation as awkward as you thought it was. “I have Tourette’s Syndrome, including both physical and vocal tics. They aren’t too noticeable, a few clicks or a neck jerk here or there I guess–but I’ll try to keep it down during class as much as I can, although I can’t make any promises Mr. Grace–”

Grace internally breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn’t bullying or harassment or this student not understanding anything he had said whatsoever, but a neurodevelopmental disorder; although that wasn’t Grace’s usual forte, he did know a little on the subject. 

“Scared me there for a second,” he chuckled, leaning against his desk, glasses on the tip of his nose. “I feared that the lesson might have been intelligible, so thanks for not confirming my worst fears,” he attempted to joke, trying to lighten both the mood and your anxiety. 

The anxiety in your throat abruptly stopped, raising your head to meet Dr. Grace’s eyes. They weren’t scary, but kind, and somehow understanding–or at least, making an effort to do so. 

“I don’t know much about Tourette’s,” he shifted the mood back to the topic, adjusting his glasses. “-but I do promise that I will do my best to accommodate you and what you need. Sound okay?” he asked, his voice warm and holding touches of gentle empathy. 

“Ye–yes!” you yelped, your voice cracking slightly while surprise and astonishment bled out of it. You never expected him to be so okay with it. Your other teachers scoffed at the disorder’s existence, denying it or ignoring it and your accommodations–but Dr. Grace was trying to make a genuine effort to help you. “I,” your voice caught in your throat. “-thank you Dr. Grace, that means a lot to me,” you settled on. 

Dr. Grace merely smiled warmly. “Happy to help–and I’m here if you ever need to talk about it or anything,” he tried, cringing slightly at what he’d said. He didn’t know if it was the right thing to say, but if those teaching books held any truth to them then he thought what he said would be the right thing. 

You almost started beaming on the spot, tapping your foot with joy. “Thank you again, Dr. Grace, for *click* your understanding.”

“Never a problem, never,” Dr. Grace reassured. 

He thinks he’s grown since then, at least a little bit. And truly, he despised bullying. 

For you, you truly felt the eyes on you now, as if you hadn’t before. It felt like the entire class was watching to see what you would do next. Whether you would crack under the pressure. Your head lowered ever so slightly as you attempted to stop your bottom lip from quivering. You refused to cry today. 

But Dr. Grace smoothed over his expression, beginning to speak. “Did you know that no two brains are the same? They’re impacted by the environmental factors and genetic factors” he explained calmly. “Can anyone tell me where genetic factors come from?”

A girl raised her hand and Dr. Grace pointed to her. “From our parents?”

“Correct!” Dr. Grace replied, walking up to his desk, adjusting his glasses as he did so. 

Grace really, really hoped he remembered genetic genealogy from years far past. 

“We inherit genes from our parents, who in turn have inherited genes from their own parents. Many of these genes can be passed down family trees, like eye or hair color,” Dr. Grace continued, spinning a hanging planet model with his fingers. The paper mache planet spun right in a circle while he spoke. “We can also inherit conditions and disorders genetically. However, many family members who carry a gene or may be genetically susceptible can express it differently. For example, a grandparent who has ADHD can pass down the genes that carry it, but it could skip a generation and go to their grandchildren instead of their children.” He drew a small diagram on a chalkboard, outlining through punnett squares how genes work. 

“Disorders, such as ADHD, can also be affected environmentally by outside factors, such as prenatal issues, stress, and early development as a child. We all go through unique experiences that shape how we see and feel about the world around us,” he explained, stopping the spinning planet abruptly. “And it’s not the only disorder or condition that is inherited genetically or is hereditary–meaning the passing of genes from parent to child–and people of all ages, heights, races, religions, can inherit these disorders, and they won’t be the exact same for any single one of them, although there will be many similarities.” 

A student raised their hand, and Grace relented and pointed to them, curious as to what their question was. 

“What does this have to do with today’s lesson?” the student asked. 

“It doesn’t,” Dr. Grace answered rather bluntly, much to your surprise. “But I think it’s important for you–plus, it’ll be important when you get to biology and have to learn about how genes are passed from parent to child.”

The student seemed satisfied with that answer, although many others weren’t and still didn’t understand why their science teacher had randomly brought up a subject they weren’t learning. 

“There are disorders that have those who have the disorder be unable to control actions or words, although they want to do so,” Dr. Grace re-began, trying so hard as to not make an example of the student he was trying to help–he hated when teachers would do that when he was his students’ age. “And people who have these conditions often use accommodations to help them in their day-to-day life, maybe by doodling, maybe by flapping their hands or even blinking a substantial amount.” 

Dr. Grace picked back up the packets that he had placed down and continued to pass them out, passing by the desks of the students who had been mocking you just a few minutes prior. He lowered his voice to a little higher than a whisper. “And I don’t want to hear any sort of teasing or taunting from here on out, clear?” he asked, although the question he asked wasn’t exactly a question, but more of a statement. 

The group of students nodded slowly, shame burning into the cheeks of some while others didn’t meet Dr. Grace’s gaze. 

“Now, the textbooks are in the cabinet in your lab desks. Pages two-forty-seven to two-fifty-three for today’s pre-lesson. This is homework if you don’t finish it, unfortunately, as it’s a set assignment by the county.” He gave a dramatic thumbs down as he finished passing out the packets while walking back to his desk at the front of the room. 

Everyone began grabbing the textbooks for the new unit, some grumbling as they did so while others muttered about Dr. Grace’s new tangent. 

But that didn’t phase you. What you were really focused on was how Dr. Grace spoke. He didn’t put you on the spot or make an example out of you. No–he explained calmly, concisely, how disorders like Tourette's works without even mentioning it, without making it so very obvious that his pre-assignment speech was because of you. 

And for that, you were grateful. You looked up to Dr. Grace’s desk. His eyes met yours and he nodded. 

He smiled warmly and winked, as if to say ‘I got you, don’t worry’. And somehow, you really believed it. 

Sorry this took three days!