Chapter Text
There wasn’t a word for it on the Discworld. Rincewind had never had an explanation for who he was. As a student he had been ‘useless’, ‘inattentive’, 'must do better’, never 'Autistic’. He never got the help he needed.
But for all the insults, all the struggles, he had never been denied his humanity. No one had Lit It Up Blue and told him his existence was a pity.
Random inspiration particles sleet between universes constantly without a source or anchor. You could believe, just perhaps, that his red robes and hat were a sign of pride in something other than wizardry.