#socks au

It’s here, it’s really queer, it’s really fucking long...

The Bortz special episode is finally out! 

It’s been three months since the last chapter of My Novelty Socks are Never Clean, and a month since the Sock Fuzz I wrote. If anyone is anxiously waiting for the return of the Socks AU, you’re probably wondering: 

What the hell are they doing?

I’m not big on talking about my actual life (beyond what you can read through the subtext of my stories and the occasional author’s corner note), but it’s been nailing me and I don’t think I could explain myself without going into it a little bit. 

I’ve been writing fanfiction for six years. It’s always been a way for me to process everything that was going wrong around me. When I was young, I turned to fanfiction after my brother fell into terrible mental health issues and I had no one else to turn to as a kid with no friends and parents too exhausted to care. Writing fiction and poetry has been my way of reclaiming all of my pain. Under a different name, I worked on a very long and very intense Steven Universe fanfiction, and the trauma that has given me PTSD that lasts to this day happened halfway through its making. I hail that story as the truest documentation of my descent into madness. My Novelty Socks came from a mostly positive place, but also from a desperation to be seen in the Houseki no Kuni fanfiction community where many didn’t respect the gems’ identities in their stories. I put my dysphoria, my doubt, and the hilarity of my Trans Experience on the pages, along with parodying my favorite characters. Despite the clear inspiration of pain in all of my tales, my mental health is my biggest weakness in writing. It’s the one reason why it’s a hobby and not a career. In the old days of fanfiction.net, reviewers often complained about how long they had to wait for chapters. It’s common for me to go through periods of writer’s block, or debilitating self-loathing of my work. I have a lot of ideas in my head, but no energy to release them. I spend a lot of time worrying that people have forgotten about me, or that I have lost interest completely in the work I love so much. 

This June, I was hit with devastating news. My father had lost his job, and thus my main source of income was threatened. As a result, at the end of the summer, I would have to move with my family to another state, away from my friends, my love, and the place I’d learned to call home. I resigned to spend the whole summer with the people I cared about most: my found family. I also worked to tie up loose ends with people from my past, all while holding down a job of my own in customer service. It’s still hard to process this whole thing. I have a tendency to be a lot like Sapphire, from Steven Universe. I take comfort in planning things, in knowing exactly what will happen, and when. I like having plan Bs for when things go wrong. Everything was beginning to fall into place when my father knocked me off the track of fate. Now, I have no idea what my future looks like. It’s terrifying. 

My family is a scary kind of homophobic, particularly my mother and brother. My PTSD revolves around it. Years of emotional abuse, based off a small part of my identity and how I choose to express it. I had the option to run away. I always have. However, I’ve had to come to terms with realizing that I simply don’t have it in me to do that. I don’t have the courage to come out or fight back, or run away and be on the streets or with a friend. In a year I will be able to move out and make a life for myself, by myself. I can finally sever ties and start to heal. This coming year is uncertain and dangerous. Even in the past few weeks, the abuse has stepped its pussy up, and I’m scared shitless, admittedly. I’m absolutely petrified. My PTSD is back with a vengeance, and my mental health is extremely low. Stripped of my support system and any familiarity, it’s hard to get out of survival mode enough to write. 

*clears throat* I always hate to whip the sob story out, ugh. Excuses, excuses. 

I’ve spent the past few months trying to get better without even letting myself be sick. Because in a way, that’s what I am, sick. I’m down with a huge ass cold. My mental health has always been something I’ve been amazing at coping with, but I get flareups too. I love My Novelty Socks are Never Clean. I think it’s my best work, and it’s so much fun to make, and because of that, I refuse to make it like work or a chore. I’m not gonna go for a run with a broken leg. I’m going to rest. I’m going to get better. I’m going to take care of myself. And when I come back, it’ll be better than ever, baby. 

This at first is deemed hilarious/adorable, but during a Big Hero Mission (cause they so still are Big Hero 6 just with Tadashi) There is a very very close call where they almost lose Hiro. His feet get absolutely cut the hell up though. When Tadashi's done bandaging Hiro up and is all yelled out, Fred just walks up, puts a roll of (clean)socks in Hiro's lap, and that's that. Now everyone tentatively keeps a pair of spare socks on them at all times. (2/2)

Wow, just like for them this started out super cute and then got super heartbreaking. Way to go anon

But oh man, what if after the team realizes how serious Hiro is about this socks=safety thing, they decide to start buying all the socks ever. Like, Honey Lemon gets cute patterned ones at the boutiques in the mall, Wasabi goes to health stores to get socks that wick away sweat and prevent odors and infections, Fred orders a bunch of geeky socks from online, and GoGo gets everyone basic white. They then get together after missions and have sock-exchange parties.

Because if this helps Hiro feel better, and it’s not hurting anyone, then by god they’re gonna do this thing.