#but i do my best to sit with him daily & have sensory time

[psychiatricwarfare]

one of our fav clients hasnt been acting like himself all week & everyone's super worried about him. the nurse checked him out n found nothing & he shook his head 'no' when we asked if he felt sick but he's been sleeping all throughout program which he's never done before. we hope everything's okay with him & he gets better soon, we miss my daily sensory sessions with him.

[improbable-outset]

📄 𝐈𝐧 𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐡

Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Reader

𝐀𝐎𝟑 | 𝐌𝐲 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬 | 𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐒𝐜𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐇𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 3.8k (help???)

𝐓𝐖 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐖: Married couple, Wife!Reader, burnout, overstimulation (not sexually), arguing, angst followed by fluff, kiss and make up, virginal fingering, kisses galore, EVENTUAL SMUT, pregnancy sex, bit of body worship (he loves your pregnant body) cowgirl position, sensory deprivation sex.

𝐀/𝐍: I poured my heart into this one, not that I don’t always do but this one in particular just hits closer to home. And yes it’s a vent fic so very very self indulgent.

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You’re tired. He’s tired. There’s only so much stress you can withstand before you reach your tipping point. Luckily your husband is here to keep you grounded

It started off with a throbbing in your head and as irritating as it was, it wasn’t bad enough to disrupt your daily routine. But as the week rolled on, the throbbing sensation began to get worse.

You were becoming easily irritated and it didn’t help with the workload you had to tackle. Even Miguel noticed a change in your mood but whenever he would bring it up and ask you about it, you would deflect his questions and tell him you were fine.

You couldn’t bear the thought of burdening him when your struggles especially when he had his own responsibilities and duties to fulfill.

You knew that if you admitted the stress you were feeling, he would insist that you rest, which was the last thing you needed, especially with how much you needed to get done this week.

You tried your best to ignore the nerves that were stretching to their limits now, but it was proven more difficult with each passing day. You would feel a sense of dread as soon as you got out of bed, mentally bracing yourself for the overwhelming day you had to face.

Your mind was preoccupied now as you reached over the high shelf for the spice jar. Your stomach was jutted out with the new life brewing inside of you, making it harder for you to manoeuvre around.

Just as your fingers brushed against the jar you were after, a sudden voice tore through the room, snapping you out of your trance.

“¿Qué dije sobre pedirme ayuda?” Miguel called out before he went over and stood behind you to take the spice jar you were reaching for. “What if something fell on you?”

“I don’t need help,” you insisted, reaching over to reclaim the jar back from him.

Miguel arched his brow in mild amusement. “You’re struggling to reach the spices, and you’re saying you don’t need help?”

“I’m fine, I’m trying to make dinner,”

“I know I know. But I’m here now so you don’t need to do that tonight,” You knew he was trying to emphasise the fact that he willingly took the time out of his day just to be with you.

Normally, you would be beyond appreciative towards his gesture. With his duties back at Spider Society HQ breathing down his neck all the time, it was a rarity that you both had an evening together like this.

He would either be saving the city or in another dimension, and although you would still be able to contact him through your watch, it would never be the same as having his physical warmth with you.

But right now, you were driven by your stress and too wrapped up in getting the job done to be in the right state of mind and properly enjoy the night.

“Why not? I can still cook you know,” you resorted, pouring some of the spice in the pot before stirring the content.

“And yet, I don’t want you to.” He said firmly before he turned you around to face him and rested his hands on your growing belly, silently conveying his concern for your wellbeing. “Now go sit,”

As the food continued to bubble on the stove, you retreated from his touch defensively. His face twisted in confusion as you questioned, “Why the hell are you doing that?”

His face fell further at your change in tone, “Doing what? Touching you?”

“No, treating me like I’m a basket case,”

“I’m treating you like the mother of my child. You’re pregnant and over exerting yourself,” he tried to reason with you. You attempted to conceal how much your senses were firing right now.

You couldn’t tell if it was the aroma of the cooking that was making you slightly nauseous but you were starting to feel agitated.

“I’m pregnant, not paralysed Miguel. I’m fully capable of doing this myself,” you could see the frown forming on his face and he definitely picked up the hostility of your tone.

“I never said you weren’t capable but I don't want you doing too much,” he argued back, his voice growing more insistent, mirroring your frustration. He wasn’t going to let your stubbornness sway him, even if it did irk you.

You could feel the heat of your vexation rising in your guts. You hated being interrupted in the kitchen especially when you were making dinner. Even if you were tired, you were still going to stand your ground and continue until you were done.

Throughout the last few days there had been a build up of tension that you have been bottling up and you refused to talk about it with him, even if he did ask you about it.

You had no safe outlet for your emotions and now you can feel it taking a toll on your daily tasks. It was almost palpable and you couldn’t control the sudden outbursts you were throwing at your husband right now.

A small part of you knew that he didn’t deserve this harsh treatment you were giving him. But that meek feeling of self awareness was quickly overshadowed by your clouded mind that was skewing your thoughts, unbeknownst to you.

Out of bitterness, you twisted the knob to switch off the stove before you turned to look at him. His annoyed expression didn’t falter, rather you could see his brows furrowed more. “Why did you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Turn off the stove?”

“You wanted me to stop, didn’t you?” Now it was your turn to be confused, though you could still feel the lingering coldness.

He was so adamant on you not cooking so why is he still not satisfied when you turn the stove off? What was his problem?

“What are you trying to prove here?” He asked.

The question hit a nerve, the fact that he was insinuating that you had an ulterior motive just by a simple action. It was almost insulting. Was he trying to sound condescending just to throw you off?

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb,”

Ouch.

“Oh please, enlighten me,” There was an obvious edge to your tone and he glowered at that. You could tell he was really starting to get annoyed when you saw his fangs started to emerge from his canines, something that was only stimulated in the height of rage or arousal.

“Cut the sarcasm. You’re purposely getting on my nerves and it’s working. Now, are you going to answer my question?” His voice demanded clarity from you and you weren’t sure if anything you said would satisfy him.

“Like I said, I’m doing as I’m told. Why are you getting mad?” You snapped back. You didn’t want to admit that what he said made the shadow of sympathy you felt early crawl back again.

He wasn’t aware of the emotions you were keeping inside of you and probably thought you were purposely reacting this way just to pull his leg.

“You know damn well that’s not how I meant with my words,” he was practically growling now and you could see the crimson in his eyes flicker like a flame.

With a weary sigh you pinched the bridge of your nose— a habit that you both seemed to share. You didn’t have the energy to deal with this argument now, it was clear that it wasn’t going anywhere.

The throbbing in your head was back, but now it felt like a pounding sensation reverberating in your skull. Without another word, you turned to leave the kitchen leaving the half-cooked food behind on the stove.

“Where are you going?” You heard him call out from the kitchen before he took a few steps in your direction.

“To the room, I lost my appetite,” You headed your way up to the bedroom. You didn’t hear his footsteps following after you as you closed the door behind you.

You climbed into bed with the blanket over you and made yourself as small as your pregnant belly will allow you. There was a sense of bleakness that was shrouding you now— the underlying stress you’ve been feeling was still there but it wasn’t as overbearing.

With the silence in the room, you’d think you’d be able to calm yourself down a little from the heated interaction you just had, but instead your mind was still racing. You couldn’t stop yourself from straining your muscles no matter how hard you tried.

You tightened your grip on the blanket and buried yourself deeper into the sheets, trying to block out as much of the lighting from the room as you could. You didn’t notice Miguel entering the room until you felt an additional weight on the bed beside you.

For a long moment, all you could hear was his steady breathing and the occasional bed creaking before he spoke out of nowhere. “Well, at least the silent treatment is an improvement from earlier,”

The sarcasm was uncalled for especially now. It made your blood boil. To make matters worse, he kept going. His voice, that you always loved hearing, now sounded like an irritating ring in your ear. “Are you just going to hide under the blanket until I forget about everything?”

“Stop talking….please stop talking!” you pleaded, your voice was quivering and on the verge of tears. You felt like you were at a tipping point, standing on the edge of something already breaking.

The sensory overload from the argument along with the tension was still present, and you desperately needed silence.

There was a long pause and your pulse was thudding in your ears. Even if you couldn’t see his face, you could tell he regretted his words just from his silence.

“Do you want me to turn off the lights and go?” His tone quickly switched, a soft caress. You poked your head out of the blanket to look at him.

You felt guilt tugging on your heart after everything that had just happened moments ago. Your husband didn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of all of this. The least you could do now was end the night on a civil note.

“Turn off the lights but don’t leave me,” you requested. Without wasting a beat, Miguel got out of bed to turn off the lights before he climbed back in to embrace you.

The room was dark but you could still see his silhouette against the Nueva York city skyline from the bedroom window.

“Could you hold me? Please?”

“Of course,” his voice was a soothing balm against your firing nerves. Swallowing thickly, you pushed the blanket away and moved onto his waiting arms as he leaned against the headboard.

You settled onto his lap and you felt his broad arms wrap around you. Your eyes started to leak with your heated tears and before you could stop yourself, you broke into a sob.

“Just breathe, I’m not going anywhere. Take your time,” He muttered against the crown of your head. You rested your head against his chest with his heart thumping softly near your ear.

The throbbing was starting to ease and the relief that followed after came in waves. All that weeks worth of pent up tensity was released in one night through your tears.

With the absence of the lighting along with the silence, it was easier to reach the mellow state that your body was screaming for.

“I’m sorry…I’m so sorry,” you rambled, a sense of remorse crashing down on you like a storm.

“It’s okay…I feel like we should talk about some things though,”

“Like what?”

“How we should handle potential fights in our marriage. I don’t really like the way we argue and get at each other's throats so quickly,”

You let his words sink in. The mere thought made your heart ache. The situation would’ve never escalated this far if you hadn't talked to Miguel earlier. Instead you let things boil over.

“It’s my fault…”

“Why do you say that?”

“I kept brushing you off when you wanted to be there for me,” you admitted, a bitter irony taunting your confession.

In retrospect, you’ve witnessed Miguel struggle to open up about his feelings while you were still in the early stages of the relationship.

Even during your marriage, it was a huge step for him to finally be completely emotionally open with you. You’ve noticed how much your relationship has flourished since then and how closer you felt with him.

But now the tables have turned tonight, with you leaving Miguel oblivious to the series of weary emotions you were experiencing. You knew it wasn’t healthy for you or the baby growing inside you to carry such stress alone.

“I noticed the way you were struggling the past few days. I just wish you were more vulnerable with me and not feel like you have to put on a brave face just for my sake,” Miguel explained.

“I dont…I don’t really know where to start,” You tried to rack your brain and coordinate how to express the tension you’ve been feeling the past few days. It was difficult to pinpoint on one thing and string the words together.

“Everything just feels so overwhelming and too much for my brain to handle…even the clock ticking makes me want to rip my head off,” you clutched onto his shirt, a feeble attempt to hold onto your crumbling composure. “I don’t know if it’s the hormones from the pregnancy or a burn out. Or maybe both,”

“I’m leaning towards burn out since you’re showing all the signs, you’re easily irritated and I can see you’re overstimulated from the smell of the cooking to the lighting in the room,”

“Maybe you’re right,” you agreed softly. A lot of issues could be contained just by not saying anything. You seemed to be acutely aware of your own hesitation when it came to voicing your emotions.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to share your feelings with Miguel; rather you didn’t know how to and feared the unknown reaction that may follow. You weren’t used to being this vulnerable.

You knew that you would rather hear Miguel share his emotions, even crying on your shoulder, than have him be silent. It was only fair that you took your own advice. Here you were advocating for openness, while grasping onto your own reticence.

“Could you do me a favour?” You asked in the midst of the silence that was shared between you.

“Of course,”

“I understand that you don’t want me to lift a finger especially while I’m pregnant but could you not try to intervene when I’m in the kitchen. I don’t like sitting around and I want to keep myself busy,”

You could sense the hesitance from him as he drew in a shaky breath before he spoke. “…yeah I can do that”

“You already have a lot on your plate,”

“I do, but promise me that you won’t leave me in the dark when you need something from me,”

“I promise.” You lifted your head from his chest to look at him. “I’m glad we’re on the same page Spiderman,”

Even if your view of him was obscured by the darkness in the room, you could still see his lips twitching up from your comment. “Mhmm that’s not an excuse for me to be a neglectful husband to you. So don’t act coy with me,”

“Oh I know. I’m just finding an excuse to be a smartass,” you teased him further by kissing along his jaw. Feeling his body tense from your touch, even if it was subtle, was a huge ego booster.

“Was that supposed to throw me off or something,” you could hear the groan he was trying to hide at the back of his throat as he spoke and it made your stomach flutter.

“Maybe,”

“Uh huh, you definitely did that on purpose,”

“I’ll do it again,”

“And I’ll kiss you right back,”

“Alright bet,” Before he could retaliate, you were bold enough to lap over his lower lip with your tongue. A low moan could be heard from him in response.

It was rare for you to initiate such a confident move like this but there was an undeniable spark and you didn’t want it to go just yet. The bleak mood from earlier was now forgotten and was replaced with arousal.

You pulled away to reposition yourself so you were fully facing him on your lap, your legs on either side of his hips.

His grip on your waist tightened in response drawing you closer to him until your bump was pressing against his torso. “You have no idea what you got yourself into,”

Finally with a longing that built in your stomach, you leaned in until your lips met in a fervent kiss. The weight of your doubts and anxiety was now completely diminished as you felt a magnitude that pulled you into bliss.

You felt him run his tongue over your lips and you parted them slightly in response. He took this opportunity to deepen the kiss, completely taking over your mouth with a low groan.

As you pulled away, breathless with desire, you couldn’t help but tease, “Too much or not enough?”

To which he responded, “Not even close to enough,”

“Good, then I’ll keep going. You’re not getting the upper hand here,” you were beaming at your own words.

But your confidence was cut short when you noticed his hand reach over and slipped under your pants and past your panties until his fingers were grazing against your folds.

Feeling the air that brushed against your slickness was enough to humble you. You didn’t realise how soaked you were until you felt yourself suction around him greedily as he pushed both his middle and ring finger in.

“You’re saying that now, just wait until I’m inside you,” he was taunting you, completely throwing you off but you would happily let his fingers do all the talking now, even if it was at the expense of your pride.

Your hand immediately reached to grapple onto his biceps to keep yourself steady. If it wasn’t for your restricted mobility from your bump, you would’ve started rolling your hips to ride on his fingers.

But instead you allowed him to do all the work. Your head rested on his shoulder and you moaned into his neck as the pad of his thumb rubbed against the sensitive nerves of your clitoris.

He dragged his fingers out, now wet from your arousal, and slowly ran it over your folds. The first thing you felt after he pulled his hands away from your cunt was his hard on, pressed against you.

You would’ve started grinding against him with how needy you were if he didn’t hold you still. He held you by the side and moved you off his lap so he could remove his pants and boxers before lying down flat on his back.

You didn’t need the light to know that his dick was standing on its end with beads of precum leaking from the tip. You removed your own clothes and felt the cold air slap on your cunt.

“Ven acá amor,” his voice was inviting and you’d be a fool to deny him.

You let him guide you, given his enhanced vision that allowed him to see in the dark. Both hands were on your rear, spreading your cheeks before you felt the tip nudge into your folds.

“Oh God-” you whimpered. You felt yourself stretch to accommodate him, sinking yourself lower until you were balls deep. Your hips flushed against him with your stiff clit pressed against the top of his groin,

“No divinity. Just your husband’s dick inside you,” A wide grin spread across his face. His hands were all over your growing belly, feeling the warmth of you and the occasional kick of the baby.

“Que bonita,” he said in awe. A sense of pride washed over him knowing he was the one who knocked you up, the woman he loved and the mother of his future child. “Muy linda tu barriga,”

You seemed to be more sensitive to his praises especially given the fact that you were getting cock drunk now.

Ever since your bump was starting to show, Miguel never missed the opportunity to praise you. He wanted you to feel proud of your physique and not be hesitant on your changing body.

His hands reached over to hold your waist before he piston his hips up and took control of the pace. You could tell he was holding back from going rough, handling you with extra care.

The feel of him thrusting inside was enough to knock the senses out of you until you were high from bliss. He was making sure you felt every sensation in full capacity, feeling every crevice of his dick being caressed by your silky walls.

His hands reached over to the back of your neck to pull you in until your lips met again. The kiss was disoriented and breathy as he was still trying to maintain his pace.

Each brush of his lips on yours was feeding into your ecstasy. You pulled away and nestled into his neck, taking in his dick so well.

“That’s it, let me make you feel good. Let me make you forget about your problems, amor,” he whispered lovingly in your ear.

“Miguel…” you couldn’t form a proper response, your moans of pleasure drowning out your voice.

He was so good at making feel this way, reaching optimal pleasure from his touches. With the absence of the lighting you allowed yourself to just physically feel everything he was giving you.

His broad head nudging into your cervix.

His soft whispers fanning against your ear.

His hands all over and worshiping you everywhere he could reach.

“God, you’re so easy to please,” You could tell he was reaching his peak. With one final buck from his hip, he dragged his dick to reach the depth of your cunt before he reached his climax.

You felt the contraction of your walls around him as he drenched his balls inside of you. His grip on you loosened and his dick slipped free from your grasp before deflating onto his thighs.

You whined from the sudden withdrawal and the muscles of your walls relaxed. There were still remnants of his cum that was sticking between your thighs but you would deal with that later.

Miguel kissed the top of your forehead before letting out a deep sigh. You both lay together in each other’s embraces, basking in the afterglow with your breaths merging together.

Amidst the tranquil intimacy, your stomach let out an unexpected growl, reminding you that you skipped dinner.

Miguel chuckled softly, “So, have you still lost your appetite?”

You huffed. “Well it’s suddenly back now that I’ve worked it up in other ways,”

Hot take: cooking together in the kitchen is NOT romantic 🙅🏻‍♀️🗣️ move out of my fucking way and let me work

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Also reminder that I will be interacting and reblogging fic from my second account @lmaoyouwhore

[froggibus]

Hay, I recently found your stuff on here. I really like your writing. I'm not really sure how the request works? I hope i'm doing it right:)

Can you do DC characters/Batboys finding readers self-harm scar's/marks and how they react

(I've struggled with self-harm off and on for a long time, and at least for me, I've kind of like thinking about how my favorite characters would react/try and support)

Also, if you do, can you do some about Mark some on the thighs. it's hard to find stuff about other then on the arms

Im dyslexic, so I'm sorry if this doesn't make sense.

Leaping Into The Light - Batboys + Wally West

Pairing: Dick Grayson x reader, Jason Todd x reader, Tim Drake x reader, Wally West x reader

Genre: hurt/comfort

Word Count: 1.4k (Dick), 1.3k (Tim), 1.5k (Jason) and 1.2k (Wally)

Summary: their reaction when they see your old self-harm marks/scars

CW: mentions of self-harm (past), self-harm scars (thighs mostly), awkward conversations, embarrassment, mental health, allusions to depression and suicidal thoughts, injury & blood (not from SH), insomnia, nightmares, Wally walks in on you changing, maybe some corny dialogue, mentions of sensory problems, recovery and healing this is at least the second fic ive wrote where Jason brings you chinese food--no clue why.

hi lovely, hope you're doing alright :) so sorry its taken me so long to get to this, january was a bitch for me. i also struggled on and off with self-harm before starting this blog, so writing this was incredibly personal to me <3 thank you for requesting, and i want you to know that my inbox is always open if you ever need to vent i really wanted to go for a more recovery-based fic where you're healing. i wanted to show that there is a light at the end of the tunnel, it does get better, we do recover. you will be okay.

Dick:

It’s a rare, sunny morning in Bludhaven when you wake up and stretch your limbs. The sunlight filtering through the window catches on the bare length of your arms, casting brilliant patterns across your skin.

A newfound warmth filters through your apartment as you pad across the wooden floors and make your way to the kitchen. The sunlight seems to follow you, dancing across walls, door handles and cupboards as if saying hello.

The sight of Dick Grayson hunched over a laptop greets you at the kitchen island, his black hair almost brown in the morning light. 

He offers you a sleepy smile, “I made coffee.”

Your eyes move from his pyjama clad figure to the fresh pot of coffee sitting on the counter, tufts of steam still flowing from its spout. A smile breaks across your face, your eyes falling shut as you inhale the scent of fresh coffee.

Yeah, it’s going to be a good day.

Dick watches you from over the rim of his ‘World’s Best Detective’ coffee mug, blue eyes tracing your figure as you shuffle around the kitchen.

Dick watches as you cut open one of the croissants you’d picked up from the bakery yesterday and slather it in a generous coating of butter. He watches as you open the cupboard above the coffee machine, the one where you guys keep your dishes, and stretch up on your tippy toes to reach your favorite mug. 

This is his favorite part of any day—watching you. The soft domesticity of the morning blankets him, soothes him. It’s his daily reminder that there’s still good in the world around him.

His eyes stay on you as your fingers brush the handle of your mug, tugging it towards you little by little. He watches as it slides to the edge, your fingers just barely grasping it and—shit. He watches as the mug falls from the cupboard, shattering on the edge of the counter into a dozen pieces, the largest of which embeds itself in your leg. 

Everything happens so fast, you barely have any time to react. The ceramic shard slices through the leg of your pyjama pants and you keel over, clenching the skin of your thigh. The pain is searing and carries an unfortunate familiarity that has tears bubbling up in your eyes.

Dick’s at your side within seconds, an arm wrapping beneath your shoulders to keep you steady. “Are you okay?”

“I think so.” You suck in a breath and risk glancing down at your leg, noting the splotch of red starting to soak through the fabric of your pants.

A sigh slips from your lips. So much for today being a good day.

Dick’s hand wraps around your own, positioning your fingers on either side of the wound. “Here,” he says calmly, “try and apply as much pressure as you can.”

Dick guides you to the bathroom with a steady confidence that only someone who’d trained under Bruce could have. He helps you onto the bathroom counter, your legs splayed out in front of him.

“Keep applying pressure,” he commands. 

You watch as he ducks beneath you, rummaging through the cupboard to pull out the first aid kit you’ve seen him use countless times. A weak laugh bubbles up inside of you—usually it’s the other way around. 

Dick holds up the kit triumphantly, dark strands of hair bouncing as he stands. He fixes you with a grin that doesn’t quite meet his eyes, the familiar blue filled with concern.

You force a smile despite the aching skin of your thigh. “It’s not as bad as it looks,” you assure him. “It's just a flesh wound.”

It’s not the physical pain that has tears pricking your eyes and thoughts racing around your head. No, it’s the reminder that comes with it. The flashbacks of nights spent entirely alone, of nights where the world was too quiet and your thoughts were too loud. 

Dick exhales in what seems to be a laugh, the tension in his shoulders falling. “Alright then,” he rubs his thumb along the seam of your pants, “let’s get these off before they get stained even more.”

You’re quick to agree, if only to not make him worry even more. You scoot to the edge of the counter and let Dick hook his thumbs into your waistband. The action is so casual but so intimate, and it has heat rushing through you.

The warm air of the apartment meets the bare skin of your thighs and Dick’s hands still. Realization flashes through you and by instinct alone, you grip the fabric of your pants and try to force it back up your legs. Dick catches your hands in his, gripping them just tightly enough to keep you from moving.

The pain of your wound is forgotten, replaced by a sudden surge of embarrassment. Your gaze lingers on your thighs, on the scarred skin that reminds you of the hardest time in your life.

Your mouth is impossibly dry as you force yourself to look at Dick. You expect disappointment, that annoying older brother look you’ve seen him use a thousand times. You’re wholly unprepared for the softness in his gaze, the kindness and warmth that radiates off him.

“Dick,” you say softly, ready to explain yourself. “It’s not…I’m not—”

You’re thankful when he cuts you off.

“You don’t have to explain yourself.”

You scrunch your nose. “But—”

He brushes a thumb across the faded marks, his touch delicate and firm. “It’s alright. I know what these mean.” A new intensity flickers through his eyes, but as soon as you see it, it’s gone. “Let’s get you patched up.”

Dick kneels down and gets to work soaking up the blood while you stare at his working hands in confusion. You’d told him before about the hard times you went through, the mental state you were in.

That was part of the reason you moved in together—so Dick could help you and keep a better eye on you. But you’d never told him about the self-harm or the scars that speckled your skin.

Yet, his reaction is so normal it has your head spinning.

He finishes wiping up the blood and gets to work disinfecting it. The rubbing alcohol stings but the burn is quickly snuffed out by polysporin.

“It’s been a while.” The words tumble out before you can stop them. “Sometimes I still think about it, miss it, even. That probably sounds strange but…it’s hard sometimes.”

Dick glances up at you but says nothing. 

“I-I have bad nights sometimes, and it’s all I can think about. But it helps. Living here with you, I mean. It helps.”

Dick secures a thick piece of gauze over the wound, patting it gently to ensure it stays in place. “You don’t have to hide it, you know.”

“I know, but—” You sigh, letting your eyes flutter shut. “You already have so much on your shoulders, with work and your family and…other things. The last thing I want to do is weigh you down even more.”

He rests his hands on your thighs and levels you with a serious look. “That’s ridiculous. The only thing that would hold me down is knowing that you’re hurting alone. You’re so incredibly important to me, how could you ever think you’d be a burden to me?”

“I don’t know, I just—”

“I want to take care of you, I want to help you.” He traces circles across your skin with his thumb, “I don’t want you dying in the dark, y/n.”

Tears prick your eyes once more, a heavy warmth settling into your chest. “Dick…”

“C’mere.”

He pulls you into his chest, settling between your legs at the counter. One of his hands wraps around your neck, petting the back of your head slowly. 

“Just promise me this,” his voice is soft. “If it gets bad and you need help, promise you’ll reach out. Call me, come to me—whatever. We don’t even have to talk about it, just let me help you. Please.”

You nod quickly, burying your face further into his chest. Don’t want you dying in the dark, his words echo inside your head. 

Within the warmth of his arms, you can’t help but feel that this is a step forward, and with Dick by your side, you’ll be leaping into the light in no time.

Jason:

It’s midnight when Jason Todd comes banging on your door, takeout bags in hand. Despite the late hour, he still sports his day clothes—grey cargo pants and a black compression shirt over a pair of combat boots.

Setting your book down on the couch, you stumble to the door as quickly as you can, if only to keep his incessant banging from waking your neighbours. You swing the door open and raise an eyebrow, silently demanding an explanation.

“Hey.” He holds out the takeout bags for you to take, “have you eaten yet?”

“At midnight on a Saturday? Yes.”

In spite of yourself, you reach out and take the bags from his hands. You shuffle back into your home, gesturing to him to follow after you.

Jason shuts your door behind him and locks it in one, smooth motion that has you wondering if he’s been here one too many times. You try not to dwell on it, just like you try not to think about how easily he finds a spot on your shoe rack—the same one he always uses—and seats himself on a stool at your counter.

Jason watches while you unpack the takeout, cardboard contains billowing with steam lining your counters. The scent of fresh Chinese food fills the room, a heavy sort of comfort settling over it.

“So,” you say, propping yourself on your tiptoes to reach the last container in the bag, “what brings you over?”

He shrugs, his broad shoulders falling heavily. “Haven’t seen you in a while. Just thought I’d check in.”

A frown flashes over your face but you quickly mask it with a tight lipped smile and a nod. It has been a while, and any hope that Jason wouldn’t notice is immediately snuffed out. 

“I’ve had a lot on my plate.”

It’s a half-truth at best but you’re not quite sure what else to say, how else to explain what you’ve gone through lately. 

Jason squints, examining you. If it was anyone else, they might not have noticed something was wrong. They probably wouldn’t notice the shadows beneath your eyes, or the slight shake to your hands as you bring out plates and cutlery. If it was anyone else, they’d probably believe you.

But Jason doesn’t.

You get to work dishing up a plate, sucking in a breath when Jason sidles up next to you to dish himself up. The sudden proximity has the breath leaving your body and heat climbing the back of your neck. God—how long has it been since you touched another person? Since you’ve seen another person?

You force the feelings down and finish grabbing your food, making your way to the couch you’ve been rotting on for days. A small stack of books and a few empty glasses scatter the side table—clear evidence of your struggle.

Jason sits at the opposite end of the couch, balancing his plate on his lap. You don’t miss the way his eyes skim over the room, taking everything in. He takes a bite of his fried rice but his blue eyes remain on you.

He clears his throat. “That’s a good one,” he points with his fork at a romance book near the bottom of your pile. “A little racy for my tastes, but the worldbuilding was insane.”

“Something’s a little too racy for you?”

“Hey,” he rolls his eyes, “believe it or not, I do have standards.”

Joy swells in your chest and threatens to bring tears to your eyes. You’ve shut yourself away for so long, you’d almost forgotten what normalcy feels like. But this? You and Jason, eating takeout and talking about books on your couch? That’s the most normal thing in the world to you. 

You snort. “Sure you do.”

“I do!” He protests. “I loved the first four books, but that one? My god. Half the book was just them going at it.”

You laugh, your chest aching with longing. You missed this, god, you missed this, One minute you’re laughing over Jason’s review and the next you’re sobbing, fat tears rolling down your cheeks. Your voice cracks, a horribly cry ripping free of your throat.

“Woah, woah.”

Jason’s voice is soft, a beacon of light in the sudden storm of emotions that’s gripped you. He sets his plate on the coffee table, scooching down the length of the couch to your side.

“I don’t, I can’t—” 

“Hey,” he says calmly, taking your half eaten plate from your hands and setting it on your side table. “It’s alright. Shh, it’s alright.”

You let yourself slump into the couch, your feelings eating away at your physical strength. Jason throws an arm around you, pulling you into his side. The warmth of his body floods you.

You sob and Jason speaks, though you don’t quite catch what he’s saying. The world around you fades to a mosaic of tears and sorrow and guilt. Your heart is so heavy in your chest you worry it might fall out and drag you down with it.

“Talk to me,” Jason says softly. “Please.”

A calloused hand lifts to your cheek, wiping away wet tears. You want to give in to his touch so bad, give into what he’s saying. But how can you take his comfort when you’ve avoided him for weeks? When you’ve pushed yourself so far away that it feels like there’s no hope of coming back?

You tear yourself away from his grip, forcing yourself to your feet. Your hands shake as you turn to face him. When your eyes meet, his are filled with something entirely new to you—concern.

“I-I can’t.”

He sets his jaw. “Why not? You’ve been away from me for so long, you’ve been avoiding me,” he forces himself to keep his voice level. “I just want to know why. I just want to help you.”

His sudden pleading tone has you freezing in your tracks. You look at him seriously, “swear?”

“Swear.”

You sigh and slip your fingers into the waistband of your sweatpants. For a second, you clench your fists, trying to ground yourself. The world around you seems to still as you tug your pants down, shimmying out of them until they lay in a pool around your ankles.

Jason watches silently, his head cocked to the side in visible confusion. It’s only when you self-consciously rub a hand over the skin of your left thigh does he notice.

The breath leaves his body, his lungs squeezing so tight he’s afraid they might burst. He’s no stranger to scars—he has at least a few dozen himself—but these are entirely different. 

The scars scatter the surface of both thighs, long and thin. Most are completely healed, some just barely finishing the process. The size, the shape, the distance…intentional is the only word that comes to mind.

Jason feels his heart break in his chest but he can’t bring himself to look away. You’re hurt—you’re hurting, and he can’t do a damn thing to help. “Y/n,” he says softly.

You shrink beneath his gaze. You can’t think of a single time he’s looked at you like this—scared and worried and broken. It has the guilt rising in your throat once more, threatening to suffocate you.

“I’m better,” you try to assure him, your voice hoarse from crying. “I’m getting better. It was bad but—I’m getting better now. I-I’m okay. I swear.”

You wait for him to say something, anything. You wait for the anger, for a lecture about how stupid and dangerous this can be. You wait for him to scoff at your problems. 

You’re utterly shocked when Jason falls to his knees in front of you, head tilting up to look at you with an expression you’ve never seen before.

“Jason…”

“This is why you’ve been avoiding me?”

You nod slowly, as if moving slower will keep the ice from breaking.

“Fuck, y/n, why didn’t you—god, you should know that I of all people would understand.” He traces a finger across a particularly fresh scar, “this isn’t something you needed to hide from me. This isn’t something you ever have to hide from me.”

“I—”

“I’m not finished.”

You’re taken aback, the words ripped straight from your mouth. 

“Let me help you. Come to me and let me help you. Don’t shut yourself away in the dark and suffer all by yourself.” He runs his fingers through his hair, cracking the ghost of a smile, “god, who are you, me?”

A half-laugh, half-sob leaves you. “I just don’t like bothering people.”

“You think you could annoy me? You overestimate yourself, y/n. The only people who annoy me are Waynes and Wayne-adjacent.”

He rises to his feet in front of you and tugs you into his chest before you can react. His grip on you is tighter than usual, the warmth of his arms threatening to consume you. 

“You’ll come to me next time you feel this way, yeah?” He says, and he feels you nod against his chest. “Swear?”

“Swear.”

Tim:

Your chest burns as you sit up in bed, lungs heaving as they try to force some air into your body. Your ribs ache from the way your heart hammers against them.

Rubbing your aching eyes, you force yourself to swing your legs over the side of your bed and reach for your lamp. The light comes on with a click, illuminating the walls of your room. Finally, you manage to take a deep breath, the cold air soothing your burning chest.

It was just a dream. You’re safe here. But the words taste bitter and empty, the images you’d seen while you were asleep still spinning around your head. You rub at the exposed skin of your thighs where the seam of your shorts come to an end. The friction barely manages to warm you among the cold night air.

Before you can even think, your feet are meeting the ground and you’re padding across the room. You hesitate for just a second when your hand meets the door handle, but the hesitation melts into need and you continue on your way.

Your steps are quiet through the hallway, unimposing. When you find yourself facing the closed door, identical to yours, you knock softly. Once, twice, and then the door is swinging open.

Tim stands on the other side, bleary eyed and messy haired from sleep. He yawns, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. “Hey,” his voice is raspy, “everything alright?”

“I can’t sleep.”

It’s all you have to say before he’s opening the door as wide as it goes, gesturing you to the disheveled navy covers of his bed spread. The sleepiness fades from his body as he watches you closely, examining your every movement.

Your eyes are red-rimmed and sweat beads along your temples. Despite wearing pyjamas—patterned shorts and a t-shirt that looks suspiciously like one of his—they don’t look wrinkled with sleep like they should be. 

Tim frowns. Something’s wrong, and it’s more than not being able to sleep.

He shuffles in after you, closing the door and clicking the lock behind him. His examination continues as he reaches the bed and crawls in next to you. You fit together so easily, so perfectly, it’s hard to believe this is the first time you’ve ever sought him out.

In all the time you’ve known each other, never once have you ever gone to Tim when you can’t sleep. He’s known about your sleep problems for a while, from even before you’d told him. Yet, never once have you asked for his help.

Until tonight.

Tim’s arms fall easily around you, one gently across your waist, the other falling on the side of your thigh. You’re so tired, so shaken from your dream, your head falls easily into his pillows and your eyes flutter shut. 

It’s not so much sleep that hits you as much as it is contentment. Tim’s hand trails up and down the side of your thigh, fingers exploring the soft skin while he tries to soothe you to sleep.

His hand shuffles sideways, just a tiny bit more, and then pauses. His fingertips graze something rough, something raised slightly, and the breath leaves his body. His hand trails further and he’s met with another, almost perfectly parallel to the first.

No, it can’t be.

Trying not to startle you, he moves the arm around your waist as slowly as he can. His fingertips make their way up his own body, finding their way to the scar on his abdomen from when he lost his spleen. He swipes his thumb over the area, feeling the rough patch of raised skin.

His other hand trails over your thigh again, feeling the rows of similar skin. For a moment, he swears the world stops turning.

The feeling is unmistakable, and even though it’s dark and he hasn’t laid eyes on them, he knows exactly what they are.

He wraps his arm around your waist once more and pulls you closer. “Y/n,” he whispers.

You whimper, the exhaustion weighing heavily on you. Tim’s hand rubs over the scars on your thigh once more, and suddenly your weariness is replaced with an icy feeling in your veins.

You sit up abruptly, forcing your body away from his. 

“Y/n.”

You gasp, looking up at him through teary lashes. You draw your knees into your chest, the pressure helping soothe the sudden cold in your chest. You bury your face between your knees.

The longer Tim stays silent, the worse your anxiety gets. You wait for the familiar cold logic, for the warmth to fall away and the sarcastic, callous detective to show up. You expect it any second.

But Tim does something that surprises you even more.

He wraps an arm around you, letting your head lean on your shoulder, and murmurs, “how long has it been?”

It takes a few seconds for you to gather your bearings and realize what he’s asking. You blink a few times, slowly unfurling your body. Though you know it’s too dark for him to see the scars, you see his eyes fall on your bare thighs anyway.

“A while,” you admit. “It comes and goes.”

He rubs his hand up and down your arm. “Is that why you came to me?”

You swallow, remembering the horrid dream you’d had earlier. “Partially.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” 

The pet name takes you by surprise, washing away the cold shame that threatened to drown you. You relax further into Tim’s side, relishing in the heat of his body.

“It’s not as bad as it seems,” you say quietly. “I know it’s bad, that I shouldn’t do it. And I try not to. I’ve been really good about that lately. It’s just…”

Tim stays silent as you trail off, trying to find the right words to explain yourself. He keeps rubbing the skin of your arm, as if reminding you that he’s still there.

“Things get hard sometimes. I don’t like asking for help, because I don’t want anyone to think less of me, or think I have problems and—”

“Why would anyone ever think less of you?”

His words stun you out of your speech, every thought you had falling away. You take a few deep breaths, letting them echo around your head.

“God, this is so hypocritical of me but,” he sighs, “there’s nothing wrong with needing support or asking for help. You’re not any worse off because you needed a little comfort on a bad day, you’re not a burden just because you’re hurting.”

“I just—”

“You came to me tonight because you needed comfort, right?” He gestures around the room, “did anything bad happen because of that?”

You shake your head.

“Did I question you at all, or make you feel like it was a problem?”

Realization dawns on you. “No.”

“That’s because it’s not a problem, you’re not a problem. It’s okay to feel what you’re feeling, but the first step to feeling better is helping yourself.” He offers you a sleepy smile, “and that’s what you did tonight. You helped yourself by asking for help.”

“Tim…”

“I’m really proud of you for coming to me tonight, y/n. Whether it was consciously or not.”

A stray tear rolls down your cheek, his kind words washing over you in waves. 

“Keep coming to me when you need it. Let me shoulder your problems with you. Please.”

The sudden plea catches you off guard and suddenly more tears are falling down your face. You wrap your arms around Tim and let your head fall into his shoulder, burying your face into the side of his neck.

He holds you tighter, letting you cry it all out.

Wally:

The sound of rain on your window seems to taunt you as you struggle out of your soaking wet jeans. The fabric sticks to your skin, chafing as you try to force it away from the chilled skin of your legs. 

As if the sudden torrential downpour that had ruined any hopes of a morning breakfast run wasn’t bad enough, now you seemed to be forever trapped in your sensory nightmare—wet denim. A groan of frustration leaves your lips as you abandon your jeans and instead tug away the sopping fabric of your t-shirt.

Goosebumps rise across your damp skin the minute the air touches it. You shiver slightly and wrap your arms around yourself, stumbling across the room to find a sweatshirt.

You settle on one you’d stolen from Wally months ago that you’re partially convinced he’d stolen from Dick. Still, the worn cotton warms your skin as you make the trek across your room and to the full-body mirror resting against a wall. 

You use the guidance of your reflection to peel away your jeans, shimmying awkwardly until finally the heavy fabric gives way. They land in a wet plop on the floor, splattering water that you can’t be bothered to clean up.

Just as you turn away from the mirror, one of the shiny scars on your thigh catches the light and draws your attention back to it. You frown, pulling the marked skin of your leg tight, examining the scars in the mirror. 

Most are small and thin, luckily not bad enough to leave more than a faded, dark mark on the skin. You cringe at the ones that are worse—raised and puffy and shiny in the centre. They’re still healing, you remind yourself.

“Hey, no way you’re still changing in here—” the door clicks open and Wally’s voice trails off.

You whip your head to him, watching as he stumbles into the room. A flush falls across his face. His eyes trail over you, tracing your figure, falling onto your underwear and the uncovered skin around it.

Wally freezes, green eyes glued to the scars you’d just been examining. His brows scrunch together, his lips twisting into a frown.

Oh, goddamn. 

Any other time, Wally would feel mortified—and somewhat blessed—to walk in on you changing. He’d cover his eyes and stumble around awkwardly, mumbling out some goofy apology laced in innuendos. 

It’s clear now from the frown on his face and the hard set solemnity in his eyes that that Wally is gone. 

He’s at your side before you can react, falling to his knees in front of you. “Are you alright? Are you hurt? Did someone—”

His words trail off, his face falling as realization dawns across his features. He traces a thumb across the biggest of the scars and you swear you see tears prick at his eyes.

“Wally, it’s not—”

“It’s not what?” He looks up at you seriously. 

And you pause, reconsidering your words. Wally’s always been the kind one, the goofy one, the comedic relief. It’s rare that you see him serious, rare that he wavers like this.

You lower yourself to the ground beside him, cringing at the unpleasant cold meeting the bare backs of your legs. Wally keeps his focus on your thighs, fingers tracing over every scar, every mark, like he could somehow erase them.

You stay entirely still next to him, letting him calm himself with your touch. “It’s not really something I do anymore,” you say quietly.

His hand stills, the warmth of his clammy palm resting on your upper thigh. In any other situation, it would feel intimate. But right now, all it feels like is a slap to the face. 

“I still have bad days, but I manage. This,” you gesture to your skin,“was a last resort. I know it looks bad, really bad, and that it probably seems so—so stupid compared to what you face and—”

His voice is barely a whisper. “It’s not stupid.”

You scrunch your nose. The normal, goofy Wally you’d just gotten caught in a rainstorm with is gone, and you’d give anything to bring him back right now. 

“You don’t have to be a superhero to be hurt, y/n.” He clasps your hand tightly. “I know I joke a lot but I am capable of being serious. Especially when the people I love are concerned.”

He looks at you so intensely when he says the word love that it sends shivers down your spine. You can’t bear to meet his gaze. His hands find your waist, tugging you to sit between his legs. It scares you how easily you settle into him, how well you fit together.

You sit in silence for a moment, letting the beat of his racing heart thump against your back.

“I can’t stand to see you hurt, or know that you were hurt. Emotionally, physically, whatever.”

“I’m doing okay now,” you offer him a weak smile. “It’s rough sometimes, but I’m okay now.”

His shoulders slump slightly, but his jaw remains clenched in an un-Wally way. You can’t help but wish in this moment that you could have his powers, if only so you could run to the past and stop this from happening.

“You could’ve told me. I might have made a few stupid jokes but you could’ve told me. God, I want you to tell me. I want you to want to tell me.”

“Wally.”

“I want to help you, y/n. Always. Please,” he sighs, “please, want my help. Let me make you want my help.”

And for a moment, you see a glimpse of an awkward teenager. You see a yellow costume and a scared kid just trying his best to help people. To save people. You see sleepless nights and the burden of a power that makes him both the fastest man alive, but never fast enough to save the people who matter most to him. To save you.

“I just don’t know where to start,” you admit quietly.

He wraps his arms tighter around you, crushing your body against his. “You start here. You start today. You start with me.”

You cross your arms over his in what you hope is a gesture of affection. 

“Say the word,” he leans in so his mouth is only inches from your ear, his voice dropping an octave, “and I’ll be there for you as soon as you need me. Ask for my help and I’ll be there in, well, a flash.”

You can’t help but laugh at his pun. It’s dumb and silly and so unserious for such an uncomfortable, serious moment. But it’s Wally and it’s you and his joke has you thinking that maybe, maybe things really can be okay.

“I care about you so much. All I want is for you to be happy. Got it?”

“Got it,” you echo.

He plants a soft kiss on the top of your head before loosening his grip on you, rising to his feet. He offers you a hand, helping you stand up.

“Now,” he grins, “let’s say we forget the pants, and order in some breakfast, hm?”

thanks so much for reading! ^^

masterlist | dc masterlist

[velvetydream]

꒰ : 🍃 [ Gloomy Days - ナツ ] ”♡ᵎ꒱ˀˀ ↷ ⋯

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Pairing : Natsu Dragneel x fem! Reader

Summary : After the passing of a close friend, you help Natsu back to be himself, but what if the happiness that follows slips through his grasp yet again?

Word count : 4.1K Words

Genre/Warning : Fluff, Angst, Character Death (Lisanna, Reader) but not rly -> Part 2 will explain

Part 1 -> Part 2..

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Growing up at Fairy Tail was one of the best and worst experiences one can have. The friendly brawls, the good food and a master that cared for everyone. Friends as close as family.

"Are you writing in that notebook again?" Erza sits down beside you, her red hair swaying softly behind her as she takes a look at the notebook before you. "It helps me keep my thoughts organized, especially when it all gets too much." With the use of sound and vibrations for magic also came the over-sensory of loud places. Which Fairy Tail almost daily was one of. "It can get really chaotic, so no wonder one needs a book to stay focused." Lisanna smiles at you as she sits down; you and her were quite close, not as close as Erza and you thought.

Erza was your best friend almost immediately when you met her, helping her get accustomed to the guild and the rowdy boys that Natsu and Gray were. Her being was just so strong yet soft-hearted, showing in the right moments. And, of course, her love for strawberry cake. Lisanna was still a close friend of yours, being a sweetheart and growing up together, rooting for her little crush on Natsu for a long time, though it seemed the boy didn't really understand any of that, maybe because he was raised by a dragon and then a rowdy guild? Speaking of the devil, Natsu barges into the guild, straight at Gray, shouting some incoherent words. Happy is close behind him but taking a turn when he sees you.

"Y/n! You're back from your mission!" Opening your arms wide for Happy, you softly bang the blue cat's head. "I was just gone for a few days, what would you do if I go to a longer one.." Shaking your head, Happy protests at you going away for any longer than right now, arguing how this was already too long despite it being barely four days since you left for a short mission. "Happy's right, you should just take us with you next time." Leaning your head back now at the backrest, you see Natsu standing behind you with crossed arms and a pout evident on his face. "And let you destroy another city and not be able to afford any food and live of bread and butter? No, thank you. I take the pouting and arguing after a few days and a full payment." Smirking up at the pink-haired boy, he rolls his eyes as he plops down beside you, arms still crossed in front of his chest, while Happy rests on your lap.

"Stop pouting. I told you I wouldn't be gone for too long, and it was barely four days." Softly pinching the cheek of the dragon slayer, he playfully scowls at you as he pushes your hand away. "Still. Happy and I can very well behave and not destroy anything.." Looking at him with a raised eyebrow before snorting slightly, making the boy even more offended. "Sorry Natsu, but.. she's right, somehow we always destroy something.." Happy now says, making you laugh even though even Happy agreed to you. "Thanks, Happy.." Natsu growls, annoyed, making Erza and Lisanna laugh now, too.

It was so calm, you best friends all together at a table, the blue cat happily resting on your lap. Hoping it would stay like this forever.

"Stop the sulking Natsu.. Just because they didn't take you on an S-Class mission." Shaking your head, notebook resting on your lap, pen tapping against it thinking of the next words to write down. "But they took Lisanna! How is that fair!" The dragon slayer lay on his back, huffing and puffing, annoyed at how they took his friend but not him along, despite Lisanna being their sister. "Natsu.. Lisanna is their sister; of course, they would take her; maybe next time, they'll take you." Looking over to the boy, he started into the sky with a pout now, making you wonder how such a dork became your best friend along with Erza in this guild. "I want to be an S-Class wizard too already.. even Erza is one.. she even took you on a mission, too!" Sitting up, he stares at you now as if offended at the realization. "It was not that big of a deal, Natsu; she took me along because she knew it was okay and because my magic was of help, especially for that mission. You will soon be able to do those missions, too." Looking down at your notebook again, this just seemed to agitate the dragon slayer even more.

Next, you knew the notebook was snatched from your lap and in the raised hand of the boy in front of you. "Natsu give that back!" Standing up now, you try to reach for the book, but he is just too tall; stupid boy hormones are making him taller than you. "No, you don't even pay attention to me! What even do you write in this?" Looking at the notebook in his hand now, he carefully flips it open on a random page, making you panic; you wrote everything down in that book, from how annoying Gray could be to how tasty the cake Erza bought to Lisannas crush on Natsu. "Do you seriously just write nonimportant stuff down like the taste of a cake? How boring, and for that, you don't pay attention to me?" Pouting again, Natsu always pulls the book just out of reach from your hand.

"Natsu, I'm serious. Give it back!" Jumping the tall pink-haired boy now, his eyes widen as he stumbles down over a vine of the big tree. "You're so stubborn.." He groans from under you after having the book snatched from his hands, rubbing the back of his head with a slight frown. "Says the one just taking my book and not giving it back!" Crossing your arms now, notebook pressed firmly against your chest, as the dragon slayer slowly sits up from the fall, mustering how you sit between his legs, back slightly turned to him, probably a bit angry. A sigh leaves his lips as he rests his forehead against your shoulder, pink hair tickling your neck. "Sorry.. I'm just so frustrated that everyone seems to go to such missions, and I'm just stuck here.." Not being able to stay mad at Natsu for long you let out a sigh. "I know.. I'm not mad.. But your time will come, Natsu; I'm also not allowed on those missions alone; I once went with Erza to one that could barely be deemed an S-Class mission." Letting him rest against you, eyes looking down at your notebook.

Maybe you overreacted a bit, but this book held too many thoughts, secrets, and emotions for anyone to read, not even Erza nor Natsu.

"How about we go eat something mh? I can cook something." At that, he nods, standing up before helping you up; the sun is already setting, some stars already visible in the red and pink sky, and some clouds have the same color as Natsu's hair. Arriving at his little house, you get to cook: some fish for Happy and some meat with vegetables for you and Natsu. It was common for you to just visit and cook for the three of you, knowing very well those two were barely able to cook for themself before setting the kitchen or even the whole house on fire. "Wondering if Lisanna and the others get back early tomorrow already." Natsu was perched on the windowsill beside you, looking up into the night sky. "Probably, maybe they're on their way home now already." Smiling as you set the table now, calling for the both of them to sit down and eat, it was a calm evening, ending with you sleeping in Natsu's bed with Happy and him taking the couch.

What none of you knew was that deep in the forest, the close friend both of your cherished would not be returning from this mission with her siblings.

Arriving at the guild the next morning, the atmosphere seemed pressed, looking around confused, your eyes meet those of Erza, moving over with Natsu to her. "Hey, what happened? Why is everyone so gloomy?" Whispering to her, not knowing what had happened in the few hours you weren't at the guild. Ezra just shook her head; not everyone seemed to know what was wrong, and a lot of the members were just as confused as you. "Everyone.. I have sad news to announce." Makarov speaks up now, the master visibly exhausted from what he had to talk about. "Last night, Lisanna went on a mission with Mirajane and Elfman. A disaster has happened, resulting in the passing of our dear comrade, friend, and sister, Lisanna. I, Mirajane and Elfman only felt right to tell the whole guild." Your ears were ringing, the guild was quiet but the sounds in your ears louder than you have ever heard. Lisanna was.. dead? Sitting down beside Ezra now, eyes cast downward. How could this happen? Weren't they supposed to be back all together this morning like always? Happy and healthy? You weren't even able to hear anything Makarov was telling anymore, eyes looking up to the only sound you could hear being Natsu leaving the guild trailed by Happy, fists clenched together.

For you, everything felt numb, no voices reaching you as you stared down at your hands, not even having a thought of running after Natsu. He and Lisanna were closer than most, having raised Happy when he was still in his egg. Everyone loved her.

The days following were a blur: Natsu did not show up at the guild, Erza was really quiet, and Gray didn't even pick a fight with anyone. Then came the funeral, of course, almost everyone attended, the worst being there wasn't even a body being able to be buried; what happened on that mission? Laying down a while lily on her grave before returning back to your spot beside Erza and Gray, Natsu didn't even show up. Tears were running down your cheeks, trying to wipe them away, when an arm wrapped around your shoulders, a hand pressing you against a shoulder. "It's okay to cry, don't try to push it away." Gray mumbles against your hair as he leans his on yours, his own eye glistening with tears. Your tears wet his shirt now, as Erza rubs your back softly, her head leaning against your shoulder. It was a gloomy day for Fairy Tail.

Walking behind Gray and Erza back to the guild, it had been a few days since Lisannas death; the funeral had taken a few days to prepare, and no one had seen Natsu or Happy since then. Feet comes to a halt as Gray and Erza look at you confused. "I think I'll just head home.. I'll see you tomorrow.." Turning around, your feet start to carry you to your destination. "But-" Gray wanted to intervene, saying how your place wasn't in that direction, but Erza stopped him with a shake of her head. "She's going to Natsu; those two were the closest to Lisanna, especially Natsu; he needs her." Turning around, Erza continues walking, followed by Gray who watched you for just a second longer.

The dress you were wearing flowed along as your feet carried you to Natsu's front door, knowing softly before announcing you would enter. The place was a mess, Happy was sitting on the couch, eyes lighting up when he saw you, immediately flying into your arms. "Natsu is barely himself. But he declined to get you. Please do something." Happy was now crying, the little guy also having lost a dear friend. "I'll try my best.." Patting his head softly as you move back to the couch, sitting the cat down again before moving over to Natsus' bed, pink hair barely peeking out from the blanket.

"Natsu.. Hey.." Taking a seat on the edge of the bed you once forced him to get if he wants you to continue cooking food for them and stay over. A sigh leaves your lips when he doesn't move at all, his back turned to you. Pushing the blanket slightly down more, your hand reaches out to card through his unruly locks. Finally a little motion from the dragon slayer before you. "You need to get up, I know it's hard, but we're here for you." Taking hold of his shoulder, you slowly turn him onto his back, empty eyes staring at the ceiling before moving to yours, tears slowly gathering in his dark eyes. "I know.." Helping him sit up now, your arms move to wrap around his shoulders, pulling him into a tight hug, his hands immediately grasping at the black dress you're wearing as sobs escape his lips. His grip was tight on you, face laying against your shoulder as he let all his emotions out.

It was heartbreaking to see him so broken, not being himself. Staying seated like this with him for a while, till his sobs subsided. "Let's get you into the shower; I'll cook something afterward." Standing up from the bed, softly taking his hand and slowly guiding him along to the bathroom, where you turn on the water making sure that water is nice and warm. Helping him out of his vest and pants, before sitting him down on the little stool, wetting his hair. "Close your eyes please." And he listens, relaxing when he feels you massage shampoo into his pink hair, keeping his eyes closed and head tilted back.

Washing the foam out soon, helping him wash his back before letting him finish the rest himself, saying you'd start making some food. Even though there was barely any food due to him not leaving his house for multiple days, you were able to throw together a somewhat good stew. "Thank you.." Arms hug you from behind, face nuzzling into your neck. "Of course, you should've let me come earlier." Patting his damp her slightly, he probably was out of energy to dry it with his magic. Finishing the stew while Natsu keeps clinging onto you like a koala, you set the table for the three of you.

Happy immediately devours his plate, hungry for some proper food, while Natsu just stares at his, pushing it around with his spoon. "You have to eat, she wouldn't want you to starve yourself." Eyes snap up to yours at the mention of Lisanna, his eyes glazing over again, before nodding and starting to eat. It would take a while for him to return to normal again, but you were determined to be there for him.

Cleaning up, you hum to yourself as Natsu takes a seat on the window sill again, watching the dark clouds that have been pouring the whole day; since Lisannas death, it has been raining nonstop. Drying the dishes now, Natsu was quiet the whole time unusual for him.

"Do you want to sleep?" Leaning your head against his shoulder softly, as your eyes watch the raindrops cascade down the window. Feeling Natsu shake his head. "I get nightmares every time I fall asleep, barely slept at all.." Just now you notice the dark circles under his eyes, deep and set. "Let's sleep, I'll stay here." Grabbing his arm, you pull him to the bed, laying down first before opening your arms for him to crawl in, which he did. His head comes to rest against your chest, letting out a quiet breath. "Thank you.." His eyes close while listening to your slow heartbeat. "Of course.." Happy now laying down on your other side, also cuddling close, while your hand rubs over Natsus back, soon lulling him to sleep.

Just like that, Natsu finally slept quietly and without a nightmare since days, cuddled against his best friend.

Sunrays tickle your face, blinding your opening eyes as you look around, feeling a heavy weight on your chest. Looking down Natsu was sleeping soundly in your arms, the happenings of the prior day flooding your brain. Staring up at the ceiling now as a breath leaves your lips.

"Morning.." Natsus's groggy voice pulls you from your mind, looking down at the dragon slayer waking up and slowly rubbing his eyes. "Morning.. How did you sleep?" Sitting up with him now, your hands reach ofter to pat down his bedhair. "No nightmare.. thank you.." His head comes to rest against your shoulder, a shaky breath leaving him. Sitting in silence for a while, before beginning to prepare some breakfast.

"Do you want to maybe go out a bit today? The weather looks nice?" Looking over to Natsu who was eating his pancakes with Happy, as he looks over to you cleaning the pan, before moving to look out the window. "Maybe a little walk, we haven't been outside since." He murmurs making you nod, cleaning up quickly before looking at your dress. "Maybe we can stop by at my place so I can at least change.." You had this dress on now for way to long.

So the first stop was your place to get changed and grab a few clothes to take along to Natu's place, having promised them both to stay for as long as they needed you to.

"Y/n?" A female voice calls you, turning around and seeing Erza, who looks from you to Natsu who looks to the side guilty. "Hey, sorry for not dropping by the guild yet. I went to Natsus and stayed the night. How is everyone?" Looking at Erza concerned now, she slightly shakes her head. "Don't worry, neither of you, everyone is pretty much dealing with it on their own.." Looking at Natsu now, Erza sends him a sympathetic look, patting his shoulder softly before leaving for probably Fairy Hills. "See? No one is mad at you. We all have different ways of coping." Grabbing his arm now, you pull him along to the market, planning to at least get some fresh groceries to cook at his place.

And so the time goes on, you basically moved in with Natsu for quite a while, it's probably been around a few weeks now, he slowly became himself again. A few months later, the guild started to become itself again too, with a few changes. Mirajane changed completely, not even fighting with Erza anymore and starting to be a very sweet girl.

"Natsu hurry up! The festival is about to start!" Shouting from outside the house now, Happy held in your arms. Seriously, why did he always take so long? "I'm ready, I'm ready stop shouting!" Rushing out of the door he joins you and Happy on the way to the festival place. It was held under Magnolia sakura blossom trees for the blossom-viewing festival, finally being able to see the rainbow sakuras glow again.

"Y/n! Natsu! Happy! We're here!" Levy calls out to you three, joining the girl on a blanket, Erza and Gray also sitting there. "Sorry, we're a bit late!" The blue-haired girl shakes her head, saying how you were just in time for the bingo to take place. Happy is sitting on your lap as all of you get handed a bingo card for the game, ending with Happy and Mirajane winning the prizes.

"I can't wait to see the Sakura blossoms glow again, it feels like ages since we saw them.." She is leaning against Erza a bit now as she happily munches on her strawberry cake. "It's only been a year you know, the bloom every year." Gray answers, making you roll your eyes at his answer. "I know, Gray, still, they're so beautiful I wish I could see them every day." Smiling softly upon the memory of watching them the past years, a sad smile growing when you had to think of Lisanna again. Shrieking together a bit when a warm finger touches your cheek, connected to a concerned-looking dragon slayer. "You're crying a bit.. are you okay?" He watches you carefully now as you nod and sit up from leaning against Erza. "Yeah.. I just had to think of it. you know.." As if understanding without having to say the words, everyone nods as Natsu reaches out to softly hold your hand. "Yeah, I know."

The sun was slowly going down as everyone gathered together under the big sakura tree, waiting for the petals to start glowing. And then it finally happened: slowly but surely, the petals began to glow in every possible color, coloring everyone in soft, colorful light.

"Woah.." Admiring the glowing petals amazed, Natsu beside you watches some even more beautiful and amazing to him. "Yeah.. woah.." Looking over at him now, his eyes weren't watching the petals but you, a blush creeping up your neck slowly. "Y-You aren't even watching the petals..!" At that a small smirk plays on his lips, nodding at your words. "Sorry for this.." He murmurs, and you want to question what he means, but before you can even ask, his hand rests on your cheek, pulling you in to plant a soft kiss on your lips, his eyes closed. With a little gasp, you close your eyes, too, slightly kissing him back as the petals around you fall and the world quiets down. Not noticing a certain wizard capturing this exact moment on a picture forever.

"W-What was that for..?" Voice trembling after Natsu pulled back, head still resting on your cheek. "It felt right.. You looked so adorable.. I just had to.." His eyes were overflowing with adoration while looking into your own. So this might be the start of something new.

If just a few months later, the disaster wouldn't take place.

"Natsu!" Shouting over the loud crowd of the guild, you slowly approach the dragon slayer sitting at a table with Happy. "Found you!" Leaning over him a bit your arms wrap around his neck. "Wanted to say goodbye before I and Erza leave; you'll also leave today, right? I heard of those rumors about a Salamander? Igneel?" Natsu looks at you. Happily, you remember,, before nodding. "Yeah, I'll check it out! Maybe it's Igneel! Also.. be careful on the mission, please." His head now rests against your stomach as he leans back. Of course, he was worried; you and he were rather close since you took care of him.. really close. "Of course.. Don't forget we promised Master to always come back!" Planting a kiss on his forehead now, as Erza already calls for you. "I'll see you in a few days.. I'll have something I really need to tell you then..!" And with that, Natsu watches your figure leave the guild; he just didn't know it would be the last time you would leave the guild hall.

The mission seemed fairly easy: defeat some dark wizards, nothing big, but.. Erza got careless. Something she never was.

"Erza!!" Her name was shouted as two hands pushed her out of the line of the enemy attack, taking the blow yourself, hitting the flow hard; your back hurt, and so did your stomach. "No!" Erza shouts, making a quick process with those wizards before cradling your body carefully. "Stay with me! We'll get you to Polyushka..!" Tears stream down the strong woman's face as she clutches tightly onto the last shred of magic keeping your body alive. "Erza.. Tell Natsu and Happy.. how much I love them okay..? How ironic.. After this mission, I finally wanted to confess to him.." Ezra couldn't do anything as your body started glowing, slowly rising into the air as it dissolved into tiny gold specks. "It's not your fault Erza.. don't forget that.." Those muttered last words before your body shattered into gold particles made her scream in agony.

The way back to the guild was a heavily burdened one, the guilt of not saving her best friend heavy on her shoulders.

With a deep breath she enters the guildhall, all eyes on her as she slowly approaches Makarov with empty eyes, the master of Fairy Tail sensing something being wrong already. "Erza! Where's y/n? I want her to meet Lucy!" Natsus's bright voice made her flinch as, her head turned to him, the color draining from his face as she looked at him. "Master.. Y/n has died the same way Lisanna had two years ago.." As she spoke those words, tears sprang to her eyes, and before she knew it, two hot hands grabbed her collar. "You're joking, right? YOU'RE FUCKING JOKING RIGHT ERZA?!" Natsus's voice was filled with rage, as the red-haired woman looked at him, one look, and he let go, shaking his head in disbelief. In just two years, he had lost his two best friends, one of which he felt more for than friendship."I'm sorry.. I couldn't do anything.. she disappeared in front of my eyes.."

Another gloomy time has arrived for Fairy Tail with yet another death of a dear friend and comrade.

[nyxxistence]

🕷 Peter Parker - Spider bite Headcanon ✮⋆˙

Araneus Oscorpeus is the result of an American House spider infused with radioactive isotopes, along with the DNA of Brazilian wandering spiders and brilliant jumping spiders.

☆ I love it when Spider-Man is Spider-Man, so let me be self indulgent here.

☆ Generally, Spider moulting periods take a few hours, and spiderlings moult 5 or 6 times before reaching maturity.

☆ So I like the hc that the changes that occur after the bite happen in stages over the course of a few days.

☆ Of course we start with Peter Rodrigo not only willingly entering the spinning room of spiders, but touching it????

☆ Anyway, our nerd gets bitten and let's pretend the train scene doesn't happen yet.

☆ Brazilian wandering spiders generally spend large amounts of time in vegetation in the early stages of life, so our boy Peter is SLEEPY.

☆ Literally frog-blinking on the subway home.

☆ I mean he gets home, stumbling into his room as he wishes a good night to Ben and May, and passes out halfway through eating his burger.

☆ A burger he picked up on the way back from the station because he got a weird craving for something meaty - the Phidippus genus is largely carnivorous.

☆ Maybe he steals some of May's leftover Meatloaf from the fridge too.

☆ Because who doesn't love May's meatloaf??

☆ And then Peter Parker is dead to the world for a whole 17 hours.

☆ Minimum.

☆ It's like waking up from one of those naps that turned into a borderline coma- hair everywhere, mouth dry as fuck, clothes backwards, covered in sweat (you know what I'm on about).

☆ He's trying to sit up, the remains of the burger and meatloaf on the floor, but he's somehow ended up in a cocoon of bedsheets tucked right against the wall.

☆ Phidippus Audax hide in small spaces at night and make a silk retreat, just thought it was cute.

☆ Other than that, the first thing Peter notices is the absolute banging headache - those ones that have got you squinting and hearing smells.

☆ But my man is shy with a low social battery- he is no stranger to sensory overloads- so he just pops some painkillers and does his best to get on with the day.

☆ That was that really, but there are small changes over the next week (give or take), that he brushes off or chalks to something else.

☆ The excessive sleep? Between school and the Daily Bugle he was probably just pushing himself a little too much lately, right?"

☆ The carnivorous urges? Probably just like that time he ate nothing but instant noodles for a couple of weeks solid? Gotta love a safe food.

☆ Achy legs? Man, he must have pulled a muscle while skating or something?

☆ Well now suddenly his pants don't fit? huh. Can you hit growth spurts in your late teens?

☆ He was pretty lanky before hand, so now it just seemed cruel.

☆ The headaches and sensory overloads also become more frequent and he's constantly on edge, so he takes to going on a few late night walks here and there.

☆ Long leg spans, defensive posture and wandering at night are all noted traits of the Phoneutria genus.

☆ Ben and May notice the subtle and not-so-subtle changes in their nephew's behaviour too.

☆ It worried them, seeing how almost so suddenly he was becoming more withdrawn, setting himself up in the most cramped corners in an almost cat like way (if he fits, he sits), and his room seemed to be more dimly lit than usual.

☆ Ben still maintained that the most concerning symptom was the fact that Peter would absolutely demolish May's meatloaf without hesitation.

☆ So they gave him the mental health talk.

☆ "We care Peter, you can tell us if something is going on. You know that don't you?"

☆ But despite all the weird stuff, he felt... Great.

☆ Kind of.

☆ It comes to a bit of a head when he's sat at his desk, making some edits for the school paper.

☆ As all glasses wearers know, sometimes you gotta take them off and give your eyes a break- especially if you've been sat in front of a screen for god knows how long.

☆ Peter is doing just that- glasses rested in his hair as he rubs at his tired eyes.

☆ Except when he blinks, he can see better than before?

☆ He goes back and for a few times, comparing his sight with and without glasses- like comparing lenses at an eye test.

☆ Maybe his brain was just fried?

☆ So he goes to the bathroom, splashes some water on his face, and...

☆...were his irises always that big? (Big eyes on jumping spiders are just cute, sue me)

☆ Now our boy is stressing the fuck out.

☆ You bet he is sat in front of that computer looking up his symptoms, cross referencing and checking co-morbidity rates- just getting himself into a spiral of panic and concern.

☆ Maybe he talks himself down, seeking comfort in some well deserved music-full-blast-drown-out-the-world time and that gets him to sleep.

☆ Or maybe he passes out- who knows?

☆ Either way, he's back on his way to Oscorp the next day to look into those freaky ass spiders because Google is saying its terminal and how is he supposed to skate and listen to the Ramones if he's taken out like that?

☆ Now this is where I see the subway scene happening.

☆ That little nap on the subway home after trying and failing to sneak into the labs triggers the last 'moult'- taking it from weird-am-I-dying? to weird-am-I-high?

☆ Queue Spidey-Sense and super powers! Yippee!

☆ And you can bet Peter is too busy freaking the fuck out to even fully register that fight on the train- Because why is his whole body tingling like his brain is going to fly, and why was his gut reaction to bite this guy squaring up to him???

☆ A lot of non-lethal spiders do bite humans if they feel threatened or are being manhandled.

☆ The venoms of the three types of spider used to create the Araneus Oscorpeus vary in toxicity, but a dry bite is produced 8/10ths of the time.

☆ Though it can be noted that the Brazilian wandering spider bite can be known to develop moderate to severe systematic reactions in humans- so maybe Peter could develop a venomous bite if he further mutates or evolves?

☆ I don't think it would be to the point of lethality- that's just not how Peter does things (mostly), but the American House spider does paralyse its prey utilising a neurotoxic venom.

☆ All that aside, I love the emphasis on the Spider in Spider-Man, and it's a fun concept to play with the Spider-to-Human ratio in Peter Parker's behaviours depending on the situation and how his abilities develop.

A/n: This is the first time I've posted writing in a fat minute, so feedback is always welcome, hope you enjoyed :) ✮⋆˙

[katboykirby]

As someone with autism, Satan with an autistic MC would be so wholesome and perfect...

Satan who makes sure a MC always has a jacket and a spare pair of plastic gloves handy to help them with their sensory issues.

Satan who takes over some of autistic MC’s chores, cleaning the dirty dishes and dealing with leftovers so that MC doesn’t freak out when they have to touch it.

Satan who never leaves MC’s side at large gatherings lest they get overstimulated and run off again. The last time that happened it took everyone so long to find them. Luckily, MC was alright. They were tucked away in a small room in the castle to hide.

Satan who is perfectly alright with sitting silently in your room while the two of you work on your own things. Maayyybeee he wouldn’t mind it if you wanted to scoot closer to him.

DOESN’T LET DIFFERENT FOODS TOUCH ON YOUR PLATE!! WILL START A RIOT IF HE FINDS THAT ANYONE HAS LET FOODS TOUCH ON YOUR PLATE!!

…ahem

Satan who doesn’t find MC’s tendency to disappear without a trace frustrating. He knows they like to go ‘exploring’ alone, wandering off for a short while before returning to his side per usual. Maybe when you grow close enough you’ll take him on a little journey.

Satan who admires you and your love for certain things. No matter how trivial they may seem, he knows that those are the things that make up the world for you. He’ll gladly listen to you talk about your interests for hours.

Satan who takes your relationship as slow as you may need. Sexual intimacy doesn’t equal love to him. He’s okay with you touching him and not the other way around if that’s what you feel comfortable with.

Satan who seems to be the only one who understands MC’s reluctance to physical touch. He avoids touching MC whenever possible. He shows his affection for MC in other ways.

Taking them to a quiet cat café.

Taking them to a new pop up event for their favorite anime.

Hell, he even downloaded Mononoke Land so that when they went on walks together he could catch spirits alongside them. (He’s their only added friend on the game so he makes sure to send them gifts daily.)

When MC shyly hugs him for the first time he thinks he might combust on the spot— it’s such a special occasion for him!

You think you’re a burden and nuisance because you’re so different, yet to Satan, that’s what makes you so perfect. It’s what makes him love you so much.

(p.s,,, if it wouldn’t bother you I could be 💚anon or bitchass autistic anon! I don’t know if you label your anons or not. :) )

((also don’t feel pressured to respond or look at this ask! I just thought you might like it.))

This is so, so lovely and I really enjoyed reading all of your thoughts. And nobody has asked to be a tagged Anon before! Of course you can be 💚 Anon!

I feel like I don't have very much to say in response, because you've already put everything into words so wonderfully. I'm not autistic myself, but I know that there's some overlap with ADHD (my own diagnosis) when it comes to certain habits or behaviours, and I do some of the things that you've described so I feel like I can relate to a certain extent.

I do think that all of the OM boys would be supportive of an autistic partner (or any of the personal struggles that their partner might have, be they mental or physical) but I do also believe that Satan would be one of the best at intuitively knowing exactly what his partner wants and needs without having to ask for anything to be explained or spelled out for him.

Whether you HC Satan as autistic or not, he does have a lot of his own habits and behaviours that are somewhat similar, and he's good at figuring things out on his own even from very small or subtle hints.

If he sees you carefully separating the different foods on your plate (something many of his brothers would be too loud or rowdy during mealtimes to notice right away) he would make sure to keep your food clearly separated the next time it was his turn to make dinner, and would make sure to separate your food every time in the future as well.

If he notices the way you gently (or not-so-gently) pull away from physical contact, he will always be sure to refrain from touching you without your explicit permission; something that his other brothers (like Mammon, Asmo, or Beel, for example) might take longer to figure out, since they're just so used to hugging you or putting an arm around you without even thinking about it. Satan isn't the biggest fan of all the touchy-feely stuff either (we often see him yelling at his brothers not to touch him in the games) so he knows how you feel, and he doesn't want to intrude on your personal space.

He loves that you always listen to him whenever he has something to say, especially when he starts gushing at length about the current book he's reading or about the cat he saw on his way from from RAD that day. Nobody else really bothers to pay him any attention when he starts rambling like that - Levi is really the only one who can relate, but Levi also has trouble keeping himself from interrupting and going into his own long spiels. And Satan loves listening to you when you tell him all about your own hyperfixations in turn. It doesn't matter what you're rambling about, Satan is hanging on to every word.

Satan is a very meticulous person who would take his time to deeply and carefully consider all of the best ways he could support you and make you feel comfortable, without making you feel patronised or condescend to. He'd never want to make you feel like a child he was taking care of, because you are both perfectly equal in his eyes. He knows what it feels like to be seen as less than, thanks to many years of hinself only ever being seen as his rage. He never wants you to feel like just a diagnosis or just a disability. Like his Wrath, your autism is a part of you, but it is not all of you. It is not your entire identity or all that you are.

He loves you so, so much ♡

[donovankinard]

whumptober masterlist ✮

one month, 96 prompts, 51953 words, 9 pairings, several hundred tags, 31 fics, the 911verse and a whole lot of late nights have built up my completed whumptober. daily fics, spanning the month of october and containing physical and emotional pain for 911/ls characters, that have turned into a collection of some of my best works.

all 31 works for @whumptober 2024 are listed, linked and summarised under the cut ! includes a number of fics for @jeddieweek x

you're on the other side, as the skyline splits in two 1 - race against the clock: search party, panic attack, "if only we could hold on" mcd, la + tx, hen wilson & eddie diaz, 2.8k

Eddie’s good at his job, generally; he keeps a level head with his patients, he doesn’t take risks beyond what’s necessary, and he carries more compassion than the average person, he likes to think. And his friends are good at their jobs, too. He knows that. But when things get personal, when it’s Chris or Tommy or someone from the 118 on the line, he loses sight of it all. He loses the balance, the level head, the medical training and the firefighter training, it all goes down the drain. Marjan grabs his shoulder, dragging him out of the helicopter and further down the hillside, and all the way he feels like he can’t breathe; it’s not just the smoke that’s choking him out. Or the one where Hen’s gone missing, Eddie’s trying like hell to keep his head, and desperate times create panicked firefighters.

i'm home alone, and you're god knows where 2 - trust issues: amusement park, role reversal, "you got away with crime while the knife's in my back"no warnings, tx, carlos reyes/tk strand, 1k

A small mumble, something incoherent, comes from over by the table; Carlos rounds the couch, flicking on a lamp and sighing lowly as warm light floods the room. The scene before him isn’t a regular one, but it isn’t something he’s not seen, either. Only once before, right after TK first officially moved in with him. That was one of the only times, really, that Carlos sincerely believed TK would relapse; between the closed-off air and the tinge of crushing emotion, he truly thought that that would be it. Not least because he wasn’t even sure what was wrong; he’d merely come home to find TK sitting on the floor in front of the couch, eyes bloodshot and phone sitting open in front of him. His phone, sitting open to Carlos’ texts. Or the one where TK’s past always feels like his future, and Carlos tries to undo the harm Alex did.

lay on the horn, to prove that it haunts me 3 - set up for failure: fingerprints, wrongfully arrested, "i warned you" no warnings, la, evan buckley & athena grant, 1.4k

Starting a fire, a flickering flame that eats away at not only someone’s possessions, but their past? Their home, their security, their memories? He’s spent more than half his adult life trying to save even fragments of people’s lives from the chaos of the flames, and anyone who would do the opposite, who would actively destroy them, doesn’t deserve even an ounce of his respect or kindness. So to be accused of such is not only a terrifying experience, but a personal offence, to him. Or the one where Evan Buckley is charged with arson, and he works out who his real family are.

forest that once was green, colored black by killing machines 4 - hallucinations: hypnosis, sensory deprivation, "you're still alive in my head"ptsd/discussions of dead characters, la, evan buckley & eddie diaz, 1.5k

But when Eddie turned up, when they first became close, it woke Buck up a little. He educated himself; on the troops in Afghanistan, on the tumultuous violence and the horrific sights, on the experiences of incomparable emotional and physical agony. There was more than one night, after that first shift with Eddie, where Buck would spend hours twisted in his bedsheets thinking over the pages and pages of military history and soldier accounts and articles from Texan newspapers about Eddie’s medal. He was determined, really, to understand what the man had been through; that was the only way he knew how to help, was to understand, was to learn. Or the one where Eddie’s past won’t leave him be, Buck doesn’t know how to help, and the military took more than anyone’s inclined to admit.

i'm still trying everything to keep you looking at me 5 - sunburn: healing salve, heatstroke, "if my pain will stretch that far" no warnings, la, evan & maddie buckley, 1.2k

“Evan, you cannot keep doing this.” “Get off my back.” Evan seethes, pulling out of Maddie’s touch. Her hands are cold, as is the cream she’s applying; but her touch is pressing on his back, and the ointment stings on the burns, leaving Evan gritting his teeth. “I just forgot, okay?” “It’s not okay.” Maddie insists, grabbing his wrist and holding his arm still as she spreads the white cream down his shoulder, fingers careful but firm. “D’you know what these kinds of burns can do? Melanoma, DNA damage, abnormal cell development. Photoaging. Cancer.” Or the one where Maddie’s leaving, Buck’s pissed, and the burns on the outside aren’t the ones that hurt the worst.

i keep telling myself that it's them and not me 6 - not realising they're injured: unhealthy coping mechanisms, healed wrong, "it's not my blood" blood/injury, tx, tarlos, carlos reyes & mateo chavez, 1.9k

Carlos’ knuckles are rough and tender where they meet the fabric of Mateo’s shirt, and his eyes are bleary with tears, stinging and bloodshot from the dust blowing around them. Wind whips around his ears, almost taunting him with howls that feel like agony. The pouring rain does nothing to dampen the brown grit flying through the air around them, the smack of water on the road echoing through the street, accented by screams and the distant intonation of sirens. Or the one where Carlos has to get Mateo to safety, but his own pain falls by the wayside in the process.

are you with me, are you drifting through your doubt? 7 - only for emergencies; unconventional weapon, magic with cost, "it's us or them" injury/mental illness, la, christopher diaz & evan buckley, 3.5k

These thoughts, these ideas of who he is and where he fits in, seem to sit on him a lot now. They weigh on his mind, and they’re heavy now, looking at these photographs, until Buck gives a small whisper of some choice words that Eddie would not be happy to know he’s using in front of Chris. “What?” Christopher asks, looking over to Buck until a shrill yell comes from outside his rolled-down window, and he turns to see what’s happening; most people are still in their cars, but two cars ahead a man’s climbed on the windshield of a silver Ford, face twisted in panic and shirt stained in several places. Or the one where Christopher has a lot to learn, Buck can’t be the one to teach him, and the people society shuns are the ones they end up fearing.

all of your falling, does it get exhausting, have you gotten sleep? 8 - sleep deprivation: isolation chamber, forced to stay awake, "leave the lights on" mental illness, la, evan buckley/tommy kinard, 2k

But when he swings open the loft door, he knows immediately that this is not Evan at his best; the lights are all on, which is rare, because Evan usually packs it all in for the night before Tommy gets home. The house is cold and the heatings off, the curtains are all drawn but there’s a thick wooden cutting board abandoned on the kitchen counter, two knives set on it with capsicum, carrot and zucchini. Or the one where Evan cracks under the weight of his own thoughts, Tommy witnesses his worst times for the first time, and sometimes all you can do is be there.

i'll always be looking for you in the distance, wherever i am 9 - obsession: broken window, bruises, "frame me up on the wall, just to keep me out of trouble" post mcd, tx, carlos reyes & gabriel reyes, 1.2k

Carlos knows that this investigation is beyond just him; he isn’t just out of his depth, he’s going out of his mind. Every time he thinks he understands something, there’s a fresh piece of information that changes things, a fresh perspective he hasn’t taken, a fresh alibi that wrecks his theory. If anything, having so many clues and leads should be satisfying; instead, it’s pushing him in circles of suspects and innocence, every hour spent on the case feeling the same as the one before. A waste. Or the one where Carlos is investigating his father’s case, every street leads back to the beginning, and a window takes the brunt of his frustration.

when i scream, you're my echo, will you cry if i let go? 10 - blow to the head; slurred words, passing out from the pain, "i can't think straight" + A7: no-holds-barred beatdown blood/injury, la, evan buckley & eddie diaz, 1.5k

Of course, when everything happened with the illegal boxing ring years ago, Buck was angry. At Eddie for getting mixed up in it, at Lena for her involvement, at himself, for not knowing what was going on. Eddie was putting Christopher’s last remaining parent in danger, but he was also putting Buck at the risk of losing one of the most important people in his life, and the latter didn’t know whether he was even allowed to be mad at him for that part of it all. It was frustrating, and it was overwhelming, and it was the kind of anger that sat inside Buck, like rust growing over every part of his life until all of his loved ones were red with his pain. Or the one where Christopher’s gone, Eddie returns to fighting to cope with his frustration, and the anger in Buck’s chest changes form, but doesn’t ever quite leave him.

you're not even here, but you're doing my head in 11 - seeing double; convenience store, loneliness, "leave no trace behind, like you don't even exist" no warnings, la, christopher diaz & eddie diaz, 1.5k

And Eddie thought, when Shannon left and he created this strength, this solidity, that nothing would break it. That no loss, no pain, could ever cause cracks in the foundation that was steadily built on his fatherhood. It wasn’t inherent, that strength; it was something he worked for, something he learned, and something he’d begun not to even notice. It wasn’t going anywhere, he’d thought. But then Chris left. And the strength did, too. Or the one where Christopher’s still in Texas, Eddie’s still in the convenience store, and the space between them feels infinite.

when will it stop being cool, to be quietly misunderstood? 12 - starvation: underground caverns, cannabalism, "just a little more" ednos, la, evan buckley & his parents, 1k

This idea, this thing that grew itself in his brain, started out as a tactic. A plan. A way to make his father catch his eye, make his mother look at him; not just look at him even, not look at his face, but see him, really see him. See the parts of him that aren’t all that pretty, the pieces that he hates to see in the mirror, and want it. Evan’s only ever wanted his parents to want him the way other people do, the way Maddie does, and this was supposed to help him do that. Or the one where Evan Buckley would do everything right if it would make his parents care, but he’s had to come up with other tactics.

i'm so sorry, i'm so confused, just tell me, am i out of time? 13 - team as a family: familial curse, multiple whumpees, "death will do us part" blood/injury/mcd, la, bobby nash & 118 firehouse crew, 1.2k

“I’m telling you, my name is Henrietta Wilson and I’m with the Los Angeles Fire Department. I need to speak to Bobby Nash, he’s here, he’s the technical advisor, it’s urgent, please, I need to talk to him.” “You have to go through security–” “Hen?” Bobby practically shoots out of his chair, waving away the crew and ignoring the scoff of the director on the far side of the room. “Hey, she’s a friend.” Or the one where mistakes have been made, it could cost someone’s life, and Bobby just wishes he had been there.

and i still talk to you, when i'm screaming at the sky 14 - left for dead: hunting gear, blackmail, "because i want you to know what it feels like to be haunted" post mcd/grief, tx, carlos reyes & owen strand, 1.7k

Carlos isn’t sure how he got to that point, that moment; he thought he’d done it right. He thought that he’d figured it out, he’d found the bad guy, he could take the punishment into his own hands and dish out the consequences, and it wouldn’t matter. It wouldn’t affect TK, it wouldn’t affect their yet-to-be marriage, it wouldn’t hurt him. They’ve always been separate, in his mind; his work, his family, and his Tyler. They’ve been three separate things, three separate lives that he leads, and that was how he wanted it. He’s gotten too used to one not affecting another, he realises sharply, his second whiskey pouring down his throat. Or the one where Carlos nearly makes a grave mistake, Owen tries to help him with his grief, and a man being dead doesn’t make him innocent.

wishing these memories would fade, they never do 15 - childhood trauma: painful hug, moment of clarity, "i did good, right? post cd, la, evan buckley & bobby nash, 1.6k

Given the complexities of his childhood, Buck should, in all self-honesty, be more adjusted to this idea by now. He spent his fair share of time in the emergency room or the backs of ambulances – as well as one or two cop cars, but that’s mostly irrelevant – and thus has plenty of experience watching teenagers doing the same things he did, getting hurt the same way he did. It’s been eight years since he joined the 118, and he’s had thousands of familiar-feeling calls in that time – and far more than one motorcycle crash. Or the one where the civvies are like mirrors to Buck, childhood is better remembered, and Bobby seems to know just what to say.

this is the last damn thing that i hold close to me 16 - necrosis: swamp, wound cleaning, "no, i can't feel anything' injury/infection, tx, carlos reyes/tk strand, 1.5k

It didn’t take Sherlock Holmes to work out what an effort Carlos has been making since TK voiced his concerns of them drifting apart, and the improvement has been both significant and obvious; not just in their relationship, but in Carlos’ mood, in his demeanour. Getting through sex without falling asleep has definitely gotten easier, because they just went for two rounds for the first time since their honeymoon, and Carlos is still pressing languid kisses to TK’s neck. Or the one where Carlos is insatiable, TK’s paramedic instincts kick in, and they’re as strong as ever for all their flaws.

but tonight your apartment had so much appeal 17 - nowhere else to go: ruined map, shipwrecked, "we had a good run" + A2: communication barrier addiction (ref.), tx, tk strand & nancy gillian

She was hoping that would bring a smile out, but TK’s face remains fairly stony, the quirk at the corner of his mouth coming far more from a place of politeness than genuine amusement. Nancy gestures to the sofa, and TK sits while she grabs two sodas from the fridge, passing one to him and flopping onto her beanbag in the corner with the other. Or the one where TK and Carlos broke up, Nancy doesn’t know how to help, and sometimes the only place you can go is the best place you could be.

we're too young to drown, deep in dirty waters 18 - revenge: unreliable narrator, loss of identity, "i see what's mine and i take it" + A3: finding old messages post mcd/grief, tx, carlos reyes/tk strand & gabriel reyes, 2.1k

The photographs on the walls feature a Gabriel that never existed; a man who had no flaws, a man remembered by everyone as the smartest, the strongest. A family man, apparently. It all makes Carlos scoff mentally, but then the guilt overtakes him, and he returns a few days later to assist his mother with her latest panicked dilemma. Or the one where Gabriel left certain things behind, and Carlos isn’t sure how to feel about it all.

i don't know who i would be, if you ever leave 19 - blood trail: abandoned cabin, one way out, "is there anybody alive out there?" blood/injury, tx, carlos reyes/tk strand, 1.7k

TK tries not to involve himself in Carlos’ work with the Rangers; it’s complicated, and often confidential, and rarely as life-threatening as his own work. So he tries to stay two steps back, waiting for his husband to open up, to speak his mind, to share whatever case or suspect or civilian is the owner of the weight he’s bearing at the time. It doesn’t often happen, and when it does it’s usually very little, but if he has to go away for work he always makes sure TK knows exactly where he’s going, when he should be finished, and which Rangers or police officers should be with him. Or the one where Rangers Reyes and Campbell disappear during a work trip out to the hill country, and TK takes matters into his own hands to find them.

we ain't angry at you love, you're the greatest thing we've lost 20 - emotional angst: shoulder to cry on, giving permission to die, "it's not your fault" mcd, la, evan buckley/eddie diaz, 1.4k

Which shouldn’t be such a terrifying prospect, because Buck is known also for being one to go against the odds, to fight chance, and to win. But this time, Eddie’s not so sure. Eddie’s not so sure that Buck can come back from it, this time; regardless of his pure resilience, his determination, his stubbornness, Eddie just… doesn’t see it happening, not realistically. Not knowing what he does, about Buck’s injuries and about lightning and about loss and about death. Or the one where Buck was struck by lightning, Eddie knows that he needs to let go, and sometimes it’s a disservice to keep someone’s heart beating for our own sake.

i'm a falling star, a glimmer lighting up these cotton streets 21 - body horror: tattoo gun, spirit possession, "let the bedsheet soak up the tears" + jeddie week day one: LOVE MAKES A FAMILY no warnings, la, josh russo/eddie diaz, 1.5k

“We knew he wouldn’t be all-in, straight away, though. Like, we knew that, we were prepared for that.” Eddie insists, waving at the space around him. And they did – when Christopher announced he was returning from Texas, Josh sat him down and opened the conversation of what this would mean for them. The answer was… Eddie didn’t know; but it would take Christopher at least a couple weeks to warm up to the idea, he’d guessed. “I mean, when Buck first started going out with Tommy, it took two months for Christopher to be okay with even speaking to him.” Or the one where Josh endures an awkward dinner, the jury’s still out on the Diaz-Russo family, and Eddie’s love is the best reassurance.

it's like a mountain that's been weighing on my conscience 22 - bleeding through bandages: tourniquet, reopening wounds, "oh thats not good" + jeddie week day two: TRICKS + TREATS blood/injury, la, josh russo/eddie diaz & christopher diaz, 2.1k

But this is Christopher’s first Halloween back in Los Angeles; he came home not long after Christmas, and in the months since January has returned completely to comfort in Eddie’s presence. The rift between them faded so much in the time back together that, despite Eddie insisting Christopher could go with his friends if he wanted, the teenager asked if he could go with Eddie, Josh, Buck and Tommy instead. Or the one where Christopher and his dad are finally back on balanced ground, but Eddie can’t help feeling like he’s about to wreck it all over again.

we were closer, now it's over, but it doesn't mean it's closure 23 - forced choice: public display, broken pedestal, "i'm doing this for you" post mcd/grief, la, evan buckley & eddie diaz, 2.1k

It’s no small feat, what Eddie did; the crowd filming outside caught every single moment of it all. Him running back into the building, the IC hollering through the radio for him to stop as dust billowed around the ground floor; the echo of cracking concrete grinding against itself, and the woman stumbling down the steps as it all gives way, an agonizing yell bursting out between the huge crash of rebar and aggregate before silence as the dust settled. Or the one where Eddie loses his life in the line of duty, and Buck realizes the realities of the loss.

every single thing to come has turned into ashes 24 - radiation poisoning: collapsed building, equipment failure, "i never knew daylight could be so violent" + jeddie week day four: MISSING YOU post mcd/grief, la, eddie diaz/josh russo & bobby nash, 2.1k

Buck’s voice keeps Josh up at night; the splintering, cracking of his tone and the pain when he says Eddie’s name. The howling agony that seemed to rip from his chest, his grief like a creature clawing its way out, tearing flesh in it’s desperation. And then there were the faces, from every direction; pity, and fear, and the rough impress of grief on Maddie’s expression, because this isn’t just another man down, it isn’t just another mayday. It’s Eddie. Or the one where Eddie’s been gone for a month, now, Bobby wants to offer his help, and Josh can’t work out how he’s supposed to feel.

don't tell me about your problems if you're not tryna solve them 25 - surgery: stitches, being monitored, "it's for your own good" + jeddie week day five: PET PEEVES post injury/recovery, la, eddie diaz/josh russo, 1.4k

“Eddie, I love you. And as much as it scares the shit out of me, I want you to go back to work, I know how much your job means to you, and I know that you’re really helping people by being there. But if you go back in this state, then you might not be able to do that. Or worse, you might not make it home from your shift. So cut it out, this is for your own good.” Josh hates how sharp his voice sounds when he speaks, how every line is delivered with some sort of twisted fear, but not a single word of it is a lie. Eddie’s body needs time to heal, to recuperate. Or the one where Eddie’s cabin fever is getting to him, Josh is offering the best that he can, and the best medics make the worst doctors.

and the words i most regret are the ones i never meant to leave 26 - nightmares: breakfast table, parting words of regret, "i'm haunted by the lies that i have lvoed, the actions i have hated" post mcd/grief, la, eddie diaz & carla price & evan buckley, 1.2k

Eddie hasn’t heard anything from Chimney, or Maddie, or Buck, for that matter, since he left the firehouse; the last one seems somewhat irrelevant, seeing as the last they spoke Eddie essentially told him to fuck off in the middle of a supermarket, but the chill down Eddie’s spine echoes the disturbance in Carla’s voice. And if his gut is right, if the panic creeping like sweat across his skin is warranted, then something very, very wrong has happened. Or the one where Buck loses his life right in the middle of the lawsuit, and Eddie regrets all the last words he spoke.

at the end of every road, you were good to me 27 - voiceless: laboratory, muzzled, "i have no mouth and i must scream" post mcd/grief, la, christopher diaz & firehouse 118 crew, 2k

When Buck spoke at the funeral, it became really obvious to the fifteen-year-old – and to everyone else in the room – that he was not going to be the kind of person to sit down and allow everyone to talk over Eddie’s shortcomings. He’d been pointed and harsh about the video, and he’d tried to eradicate the weird sort of savior image that’s been painted in Eddie’s memory. And it worked, mostly – people stopped acting like Eddie was some hero who died saving someone, and started really treating his death like that of a fellow human. Painful and tragic, rather than heroic and brilliant. Or the one where Christopher is feeling the loss of his father, Buck is trying his best to help, and sometimes you just don’t know what to say.

if he ain't ever coming back, i'ma need some whiskey glasses 28 - denial: cctv, exposure, "they caught me red-handed" + A9: secrets revealed substance abuse, la, josh russo/eddie diaz, 1.1k

Eddie realises exactly two things, when the pounding his head echoes back into realisation and his awareness brings itself high enough: one, he is in a bed - and two, it is not his own. The sheets against his skin are soft, an airy, light blue shade lit by the cloudy glare coming in from the window. The walls on every side are bare, painted a cool grey shade, and the furniture is all white timber. The bed creaks quietly when he sits up, and the room comes into somewhat of a focus. Or the one where Eddie got a little too out of it in a bar, Josh brought him home for the night, and it’s hard to feel valuable when you’re nobody’s first pick.

trying hard not to be, i'm better when you're next to me 29 - fatigue: labyrinth, burnout, "who said you could rest?" no warnings, la, josh russo/eddie diaz, 1.4k

And there’s something in it all, something tender and warm and caring, that Eddie loves; but it still sparks defensiveness in his chest and panic in his stomach and an independent sort of fight in every muscle in his body, pushing and pushing outwards and pressing against his brain so much it makes him dizzy, until it all spills over and bursts into too–harsh words and useless insults. Or the one where Eddie’s overworking himself just to avoid Josh, and the rift between them is more than physical.

made it out alive, but i think i lost it 30 - recovery: hospital bed, holding back tears, "what have i done?" + A11: Survivors Guilt mcd/grief, la, evan buckley & christopher diaz, 1.3k

The makeshift-hospital sheets are pooled around his hips, and the lights are a cool, sterile white, dim in the late evening; his lungs heave with his breaths, and he’s dizzy with the way everything rushes back, clarity and confusion hurtling toward him in one twisted package of a sudden flood of thought. He’s only slept for a few hours, but he feels like it’s been years – and yet he’s entirely unrested, all at once. Or the one where Christopher didn’t make it out of the tsunami, even Eddie can’t seem to blame Buck, and sometimes you just need to feel hated.

fights turn into making up, and making up turns into love 31 - asking for help: therapy, making amends, "i'm alive, i'm just not well" substance abuse (ref.), la, josh russo/eddie diaz, 1.8k

Neither of them miss the curious glance that Maddie gives them when they walk off, nor do they pay mind to it; Josh links his hand in Eddie’s and pulls him onto the floor, skin sparking like fireworks up both of their arms and the warm light of the bar bathing them in a golden glow. The bassline thumps beneath their feet, aching through Eddie’s bones and blending into the swarm of light and sound and their people around them, Buck and Chimney hollering every word of the song blaring from the speakers while Josh and Eddie jump around. Or the one where Eddie gets out of his head, Josh gets into his heart, and there’s truly never been a better dance partner.

my ao3 whumptober series my whumptober playlist

[rainbowcarousels]

Alright, listen, Daniel has been a little rough around the edges for me lately for a variety of reasons but @monstersinthecosmos is out here schooling me again. Like a few people know that the very first fic I read when i came back to VC came from @hekateinhell, it was part of vamptember but I didn't know that at the time (and this makes this my returnaversary) so I just talked to @birdblacksocialclub who basically said have you read @monstersinthecosmos yet and I devoured it over a few months.

It's hardly a surprise the same person reawakened by joy. I think it's easy to see Daniel as outside the story or adjacent to it because I think he's happy to be so, he's not trying to yank a spotlight to himself and I don't think he has had the desire to do so really so much as his relationship with fame is more nuanced but these little daily nuggets of joy just give snapshots into Daniel as his own person, as someone with a history and a future and a story - he doesn't need to intrude on someone elses, he has his own.

Everything is so sensory. I feel like he and Armand and Louis are twins in this, they are both descriptive and engaged by sensory experience - actually, I think it's more accurate to say he's closer to Armand in that I think they both experience it as mortals moreso than anyone else. I can feel the atmosphere. I can smell the smoke, feel the stickiness - it's visceral in all of the best ways.

Then there's Daniel's inability not to throw his all ussy into his stories, crossing lines and boundaries from the very beginning. This sits so perfectly with how I've seen him that I could scream. I'm willing to bet he explored those scars with fascination and tried to understand the difference in the sensory experience, an interesting mirror of his Armand experiences years later.

And the phone call is brutal but so well written, a one-sided conversation that tells you so much about Daniel - that he comes from a family that is well off enough that they're not fussed about blowing the money to see him, that Daniel is supposed to be at school but he's not, the disconnect between the life that he was supposed to have and the person he is and the distance being the chasm his relationship with his family falls into. He can visualise them, he clearly feels something but it falls away before it connects in the way it's supposed to from experience, from isolation, from being who he is. It's a quiet sort of disconnect yet also there's a tinge of desperation, bitterness.

This is so fucking powerful and I am eating it up.

September 1, 1973

Daniel’s phone rings at six in the morning. It only half wakes him; he hears it in his dream first.

What fully wakes him is the girl in his bed, and the humid, sticky fusion of their skin where she’s lying against him, her breasts pressing to his ribs and breath warm on his shoulder. She mumbles a noise that reverberates against his collar bone, and the pain sets in when his eyes open.

The headache, but that’s normal for Saturday mornings. His arm, though, bent out of place, because he was too drunk to notice when he fell asleep. The girl’s head pinning his bicep to the mattress. His fingertips tingle.

“...phone,” she mumbles against him.

He rubs his eyes with his free hand. Pale light outside glowing through the blinds. The window is cracked open so that fresh air flows in. Too cold, but it smells like sex and cigarettes in here. He considers closing the window before he considers getting up for the phone. Can’t reach it from here. 

The ringing stops. He shifts, frees his arm. Curls onto his side, away from his guest, and falls back asleep.

~~

Then at nine. 

It wakes him instantly this time, but the sun is in his face. He groans and turns away from the window in time to see the girl blinking awake.

The memory comes on slowly. He looks past her, to the table by the door, and sees his bag of tapes. Her name is Darla. She’s got burn scars on her forearms, and spent hours last night telling him about her life and how she survived a bowling alley fire. 

“Your phone is ringing,” she says. More awake than Daniel. She stares for a moment, in the quiet space between rings, then seems to remember where she is. She looks around for the edge of the bed sheet and pulls it over herself. Looks away.

“I bet it’s a wrong number,” Daniel says. “No one calls me this early.”

He sits up, stretches. Looks around the edge of the bed for his pants, his underwear, anything, but doesn’t see them. The phone is so loud he loses all sense of dignity, unable to listen anymore, unworried about getting out of bed and exposing his ass to her.

Too late, though, when he finally picks up. Just a dial tone. 

He shrugs, drops the receiver back onto the cradle, and goes back to bed.

~~

And at 10:15, but this time the girl is gone. The sheets beside him are still warm and he hears the water running in the bathroom.

Something could be wrong, maybe. At home. Maybe it’s his parents.

The last phone call with them didn’t go so well, though.

He reaches for his cigarettes on the nightstand, watching the phone as he lights one. Waiting. Whoever is calling keeps hanging up before his answering machine even comes on, so it must not be that important.

The machine beeps, this time, and the tape clicks, the red light comes on. “This is Molloy, leave a message,” his voice says from the recording.

There’s a pause. A man’s voice mumbling in the background. The sound of a door closing, and he can just imagine it, the way his mother would stretch the phone cord all the way out and close herself into the pantry for privacy. 

“Daniel,” she says. Just Daniel, and his stomach hurts. She sighs a moment later. “I forgot about the time difference, I’m sorry. Please pick up the phone, you’re going to kill me with the long distance charges.”

Her voice is garbled between the connection and the speaker. Full of static. He wonders if it’s why she sounds so exhausted.

“Okay, I don’t know, maybe you don’t come home on the weekends, I don’t know. I don’t know what you’re doing anymore.”

Darla opens the bathroom door and Daniel glances at her over his shoulder. She leans in the doorway, listening along.

“Well look, I need to know if you’re coming home for Thanksgiving. Your father and I were really hoping you enrolled in classes again this semester, so if you keep the visit short that’s okay. We can pay for the flights. We just–”

His father is yelling something from the other room, and his mother shushes him.

“Please call me back, I haven’t heard from you in months. Your father misses you.”

Then it’s over.

Daniel scratches his belly. He reaches for his cigarettes to offer one to Darla.

She takes one, and lets Daniel light it, but then steps away. Nervous now that it’s daylight, fidgeting and twisting a strand of her hair.

“I guess I’ll head out,” she says. She takes a step back, grabs her bag from the dresser. Daniel takes a drag of his cigarette and stares at the answering machine. “I had fun.”

“Yeah,” he says.

~~

He’s listening to Darla’s tapes and taking notes when she tries again.

It’s 1:13pm, which means it’s 4:13 in Connecticut. He can picture it again, sees her in the kitchen. She’ll be starting dinner now, twisting back and forth across the kitchen with the phone cord as she works.

His stomach hurts again. He hits pause on Darla’s tapes. Reaches for the phone with one hand and his cigarettes with the other.

“Hello?” he mumbles around an unlit cigarette. 

“Daniel! Hi!” surprised that he answered. And not even angry, which hurts worse. Excited to speak to him. 

He lights the cigarette. “Hi, Mom.”

“Did you get my message?”

“Yeah, sorry,” he tries to think of a lie, an excuse. It takes too long, the silence gets awkward.

“I’d really like you to come home.”

“I know.”

“If this is about your father–”

“It’s not.”

“--he does want to see you. You know he was just… frustrated.”

“I think he used the words fucking ashamed.”

“Daniel…”

“What do you get out of this, anyway? Going to bat for him all the time. Aren’t you sick of it?”

Something clacks in the background. He imagines her setting her wooden spoon on the counter. Imagines the way she wiggles her fingers when she’s upset, how she sets her jaw, how she chews the inside of her cheek. 

“We would like you to come home for Thanksgiving. And I hope you enrolled in classes, but if you didn’t, we can talk about that later. If you can come a couple weeks earlier you can make it to your cousin’s wedding. She sent you the invite?”

“Yeah. It’s… somewhere.”

“You should really send the RSVP back, even if you’re family. It’s rude not to.”

“Sorry.”

“Are you enrolled?”

He sucks at his cigarette. Looks down at his typewriter. 

She sighs. He can feel it, through the phone, from three thousand miles away, the way she caves. He can see it on her face, even from here.

“Please come home.”

“Okay.”

~~~~

(JUST A QUICK NOTE but I'm basing my Vamptembers this year on what Daniel was up to in September 1973 and using @cup-of-lixx's Devil's Minion timeline for reference, some of which is canon and some is armandblr hivemind headcanon. For example it wasn't canon that it took place in September but I thought it would be really fun to do this so now it's decided !!!!!!!! K enjoy. Don't hold me to this I have ADHD I might be very excited for 48 hours and never touch it again, peace!)

[letarasstuff]

Too itchy, too loud, too bright

(A/N): This was not requested but I had to get this one off my chest, it started to bug me in my sleep (like Hamilton did to LMM).

Summary: How fast is Spencer able to connect the dots when his daughter complaints about the feeling, loudness and brightness of everything?

Warnings: Descriptions of sensory overload (I described like I feel when I get them and what the internet gave me)

Wordcounts: 1.1k

✨Masterlist✨ ________________________________

When Spencer starts his day, he never expects it to have this outcome. He wakes up his daughter, like every time he does when he is at home and not away on a case. Breakfast, brushing her teeth and doing her hair goes also uneventful. The young doctor likes to get her ready in the bathroom before dressing the girl in order to avoid toothpaste stains. The first mishap happens when the father wants to dress her.

“No Daddy”, (Y/N) screams and throws the shirt he put on her away.

“But Baby”, he tries to console her, “You need to wear a shirt. Or something else. What about the fluffy hoodie with the TARDIS on it?” Spencer hopes she agrees to that, because if not his options are running out.

Luckily for him she nods and lets him change her into the aforementioned clothing article. This is until she begins to whine again. “Daddy, it ITCHY!”

Patiently he asks: “Where does it itch? Is it the sweater or is there something inside that itches.” (Y/N) points to where the label inside the hoodie is. Spender sighs in relief. Finally he is getting somewhere, he thinks while cutting the label off. The father makes a mental note to do the same with all of her shirts.

Because of the whole clothing debacle the small family is running late, which results in them power walking to the train station. “Daddy, loud!” The girl stops and looks up to him. Given their small time window Reid just picks her up and starts walking faster. “Sweetheart, I know the streets are loud, but they are every morning. It will be quieter on the train.”

It seems like anything he does just upsets her further. “NO DADDY! YOU NOT UNDERSTAND” After her outburst, (Y/N) puts her head into her father’s shoulder and her hands over her ears. Only now Spencer connects the dots. The sudden realization makes him mad at himself, he deals with the human psyche on a daily level, but can’t see the symptoms in his own daughter?

“Oh Baby, I think I do now. Let’s get home, where it’s quiet, alright?” While screwing her eyes shut and clamping her little hands over her ears, she nods. As they find their way back with him carrying (Y/N), Reid shoots a quick text to Hotch saying he can’t come in today, because his child isn’t feeling well.

After he shuts the door quietly, he sees an answer from the Unit Chief telling him he hopes that she gets better soon. Spencer nods to himself at that, sure that Hotch thinks something different is wrong than what the case is.

“Ok Sweetheart, what about I shut the blinds on your window and change you out of your hoodie and leggings? Then I’ll wrap you into a little burrito with the soft blanket you got from Auntie Emily and I can read to you while you try to take a nap. You can even wear Daddy’s eye mask, if you want.” Worn down by even the short amount of time she was awake the little girl nods tiredly. “Yes please”, she says in a small voice.

Just like he said, Spencer dims all the light sources in her room, undresses her except for her underwear to reduce any kind of irritating material and swaddles her with the rather heavy blanket in order to make her feel warm and secure.

While reading a cute book named “Rumple Buttercup” by a guy that looks oddly familiar to him (gifted by Garcia for exact that reason), (Y/N) dozes off fairly quickly to Spencer’s relief. He takes a hamper he left next to her closet and takes all of her clothes out laying them in it.

While cutting off all the labels in them as he watches old reruns of Doctor Who on a low volume, a phone ringing startles him. “Dr. Spencer Reid”, the young agent answers it without looking at the caller ID.

“Woah, since when are we this formal? Do you want me to introduce myself with Supervisory Special Agent Derek Morgan or is Derek fine with Mr Three-PhDs?” Though Spencer knows his friend is just joking, it kind of ticks him off.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know it was you, but next time I’ll make sure to take your call with ‘Yo, what’s up man’.” “Wait, what got your panties in a twist, Reid? I just wanted to check up on you. Hotch said (Y/N) doesn’t feel good and I wanted to know if I can swing by on my lunch break?”

Spencer now feels bad for snapping at him. “Morgan I’m sorry. It’s just- yeah. When you get here, can you get milkshakes? I’ll prepare lunch, if you are fine with dinosaur shaped nuggets and french fries.” With a laugh the older one takes the order and confirms the menu.

Not long after this Reid opens the door, he texted Derek to tell him when he gets there to avoid ringing the bell.

“Uncle DEREK!” An excited toddler greets him by the door, a blanket around her neck like a cape. “Woah, hey there my little hero”, he picks her up while getting into the apartment, “You feeling better?”

With a solemn face she nods. “I felt really overwhelmed, everything suddenly got really itchy and was loud and sunny. But Daddy helped me, he read to me and let me wear his cute eyes mask. I looked like an alpaca. Oh, Daddy said you got a surprise?”

After a sweet lunch with a very energetic (Y/N), who is afterwards sent to play in her room, Morgan sits with Spencer down. “You do know, what happened, do you?”

“I-I do. (Y/N) got a sensory overload and I tried to guide her through to the best of my abilities. I think it was mainly sparked by the reasons that she slept bad for a few nights in a row and my mom is not doing good right now and (Y/N) always kind of feels it when something is off. I also assume that the labels on her clothes ends the whole ordeal off. But I know how to prevent them and what to do when she has one. You don’t need to worry”, the father rambles.

After making sure that both of them are fine, Derek plays for a bit with his favorite (and only as of right now) niece before going back to the BAU. The rest of the day for the Reid family is filled with watching several Disney movies, reading books together and color some in. In other words: A day off in the Reid household.

Taglist: 

All works:

@agentshortstacc

Criminal Minds:

@averyhotchner @mggsprettygirl

Spencer Reid:

@calm-and-doctor

x child!reader:

@ilovetaquitosmmmm

[neurodiverse-clones]

Im wondering if you could do some Autistic Echo headcanons

And some ADHD Fives headcanons (bc I have always liked the idea of Fives having ADHD)

Please? I would really appreciate it

YELL HEAH OMG

Okay, so I haven’t been super active in the fandom for a while and I don’t really remember what headcanons I’ve talked about before. I saw that you’ve liked a couple of my posts and hypothetically I could double check those but where’s the fun in that? /j

Autistic Echo

One thing I love to think about in autistic characters is how they stim. I think Echo has a general energy-release stim of tapping his toe in his boot. I also think he stims verbally by reciting the regs.

Echo definitely experiences echolalia! I’ve actually written a fic on it, but I misrepresented echolalia in that fic so I’m not going to link it here. It’s a cute little nod to his name, of course, but also I like thinking about the different ways echolalia and palilalia present and I think Echo does it when he’s stressed (I’m projecting lol)!

He likes the weight and compression of his armour! It’s soothing.

He clearly has a hard time getting along with and communicating with other people. This isn’t really a headcanon so much as evidence to the overall autistic!Echo headcanon. I also like that he and his brothers ALL learn to communicate better with each other and get along, that the onus isn’t on the autistic-coded character.

I think he has a special interest in the regs! I think there aren’t a lot of things to have a special interest in when you’re a clone, and of the few options I think the reg doubles as a good way to feel a sense of order and organization, which a lot of us crave.

Another fic I have is about how he gets overwhelmed sometimes in the battlefield and experiences sensory overload! I don’t think it’s an all-the-time thing, or he just wouldn’t survive that environment, but I do think it’s something he experiences on occasion and his brothers do his best to protect him when it happens.

ADHD Fives

Oddly this is harder even though I also have ADHD and totally vibe with it! (Also ADHD Hardcase for SURE.) But I have a few!

I think he’s primarily hyperactive!

He TOTALLY self-medicates with caffeine. He drinks as much caf as he can get without getting in trouble or making himself anxious.

In some ways I think he’s actually found a lot of healthy coping mechanisms. Like, exercise is really good for the ADHD brain and easily accessed for a soldier, likely part of his daily regimen.

External routine is also awesome for ADHD! Although I headcanon him as ADHD-PH, I know that all ADHD is on a spectrum much like autism and he likely still experiences inattentive symptoms, and routine helps. I think that he actually THRIVES in the military, especially on Kamino where routine is strictly regimented.

I think Echo taught him to stim by tapping his toe in his boot! Get out that excess energy when standing at attention or parade rest for long periods of time.

He sits on the floor a lot! Floor-sitting and other forms of active rest are awesome for ADHD, and he finds it super comfortable.

Thank you so much for this ask! It’s giving me ideas for a modern AU (my favorite kind of AU lately lol). Hope you enjoy!

[imjeralee]

Not the same anon but I really liked your adhd hcs! Could you the same but with Diluc, Kaeya and Xiao please? (could you also add the fact s/o absolutely can't focus for shit on anything more than 5s before zoning out and they tend to be overstimulated very easily by their environment lol)

hi anon!! thank you so much! I’m glad you enjoyed it :) Not a problem, I guess this can be a part 2 ehe. I hope you like this one too. Please see below - 

Diluc

You’re actually one of the best workers he has in Dawn Winery, because you’re efficient and smart and bustling around like ♪~ ᕕ(ᐛ)ᕗ

But you do tend to zone out a lot and sometimes you end up working so late into night and you don’t realise it but you had forgotten to eat dinner so you go to the kitchen and it’s like 3am and Diluc is there because he works late too and he’s also just finally getting the chance to eat so you are always having food together whilst everyone else is asleep :3

At work though, if you had forgotten to do something such as paying the bills, no worries, Diluc has a backup plan - the maids usually help with this 

You usually ramble away to Diluc about anything you think of, even when he’s working at his desk. He’ll just be sitting silently and occasionally throwing you glances every now and then as you pace the study up and down and gesture with your hands. You know he’s listening. 

You may be messy, but the maids help clean up after you 

If you can’t focus, Diluc will help organise your day because he is organised himself and has lots of deadlines and also he has trustworthy employees like Adelinde and Connor who can help come up with a schedule for you on a daily basis but Diluc keeps you close by his side which also means you most likely do a lot of things together and you work/stay very closely with him

In order to help you stay focused and on task, he wants you to accomplish one thing at a time and often Diluc will do this with you personally 

If he was in the middle of doing something else, he will pause to head over to assist you. If he’s not able to, he’ll get Connor or Adelinde to help

When you’re overstimulated because there’s too many people visiting the Winery or feeling really uncomfortable in general and your thoughts are darting all over the place, Diluc will take your hand and lead you away and to your special, quiet place where you can just focus on him and look at his face which helps you gradually relax and calm down

You might zone out a bit when he starts talking but then you notice the intricate details on the buttons of his shirt and the buckle on his belt and you’re like ‘cool’…. And start pressing your fingers over them and he’s like “…….”

He still loff you a lot though 

Kaeya

Somehow everything you lose always end up in his possession??? Like you might go up to him and go ‘Kaeya! I lost my sword! I don’t know what happened to it! Its just disappeared!!” And he will just whip it out from behind his back and be like “You mean.... this sword?” And you’ll be like “YESSSS gimme.”

“Nuh-uh, not yet.”

“Whaaaat?”

“You have to give me a kiss first.”

“Okay.”

It’s actually pretty cool and reassuring because you have no idea how he does it

And this is the kind of relationship you have with him so you’re never bored around him because of how unpredictable he is 

You tend to zone out a lot so he likes making up little puzzles and brain teasers for you whenever you’re with him and keeping you guessing all the time

If you ask a question he’ll answer your question with a question. Can be either infuriating or very stimulating. Hmm.

Also enjoys telling you ghost stories 

I suspect you and Kaeya may actually be a pretty messy duo because you’re both busy with knightly duties and shit and your house will be utter chaos. Kaeya has arranged for a knight to come around twice a week to clean up tho

He loves to act as your own personal assistant and remind you of things so you don’t forget, usually by coming up behind you and leaning down to whisper in your ear 

If you zone out again, he’ll feed you some candy or hold your hand so you can play with his long fingers and the studs on his gloves or he’ll make little ice crystals with unique patterns and make them float around in the air for you 

He’ll also allow you to play with his ponytail

He’s quiet on his own so he’ll be a good listener

When you are experiencing sensory overload, Kaeya will usually sort it out for you one way or another. You’re in good hands. Then you will go and take a nap together.

Xiao

Xiao is your mentor. He speaks so fluently and to the point and also expects you to be clear and concise when dealing with him and so unceremoniously end up helping you organise your own thoughts 

Otherwise, you might zone out often and very easily because there’s too many things going on in Wangshu Inn and it’s too much to handle but then the smell of almond tofu being cooked in the kitchen helps kick you back to reality and you’ll realise Xiao was standing there by your side the entire time 

Ok ok so we know from Ganyu that Xiao is punctual and hates tardiness so he’s good at reminding you about appointments/deadline if needed.

I mean he will drill this into your brain with an iron fist. Defy him if you dare

It also means he will inevitably come up with some practises and teach you how to be mindful, how to increase your awareness and also various breathing exercises

Aside from that, he will notice you lose things a lot esp when he finds random stuff littering the Wangshu Inn ranging from cheese and vials of whopperflower nectar so he will keep an eye on you from now on.

Or if he’s not around, he will ask Verr Goldet to take note of what you lost so she can easily and quickly replace it thanks to Wangshu Inn’s connections

Xiao observes what you do on a regular basis from the shadows and then returns to the inn and also ask Verr Goldet to check up on you every now and then and remind you when it’s time to eat because he noticed you often forget to eat

One day you might return to your room and discover that he’s actually left some food for you and there this note on it with the word “EAT” scribbled on it 

Your impulsiveness and the hectic and chaos that surrounds you works well with him because it’s not like he has a schedule either, I mean he often turns up in your room at 4am after fighting so many demons after 3 days straight and he’s in agony from all that bad karma but there’s you and you’re awake because obv you forgot to do something and went back to it hours later but now that he’s here and in your presence and you want to talk to him about your day and he’ll be listening to everything

And listening to your voice and the way you speak is actually really soothing/comforting to him and even makes his pain goes away

Then you’ll remember what you were doing and rush off and he’ll be back up and running and go off to destroy more demons so the world can sleep better at night 

or if he’s free, you drag him outside to go on an adventure and explore the area around the inn and beat up some hilichurls 

If you have some trivial task to do and need his help, he’ll just offer his assistance at no cost, quite simple as that

During his free time, he’ll try to find out more about stim toys to help you. 

Xiao will learn what triggers your overstimulation and purposefully help you avoid it or get rid of the problem before it actually happens.

[delimeful]

taking the fall (3)

warnings: imprisonment, interrogation, injury, mild blood, panic and sensory overload, dehumanizing language, ambiguous motives, morally neutral/antagonistic janus, snakes mention

-

His guest wasn’t eating.

Janus cast an irritated glance over to the terrarium, where the only “life” that could be seen was a clump of thick foliage in one corner.

He’d left the old fake plants in there as a taunt, but as soon as the tiny creature had ascertained that there were no snakes in the grass, they’d immediately bundled every bit of shiny plastic greenery into a makeshift nest and hid within it. He supposed he should have expected it, from one as industrious as these tiny folk all seemed to be.

Regardless of his guest’s reticence, he’d been setting small dishes of food in there whenever he himself took his meals, giving them some time to adjust to the reality of their situation. It had been a couple of days, however, and every miniature entree looked entirely untouched.

His prisoner seemed to be on a hunger strike.

It added more evidence to his theory that he was being misled in regards to his guest’s identity. If they were actually a victim in all this, why bother keeping quiet and refusing to give the answers Janus needed? Why go so far as to not even eat, for people who allegedly wouldn’t care if he lived or died?

No, things made much more sense if this was a gambit on the tiny people’s part, one of them volunteering to stay and play sacrificial lamb, distracting him for as long as the others needed. Their terror, their injury, their tiny bitter laugh, it could all be part of a ploy for pity on his end. Get him too invested in a puzzling prisoner while the others escaped.

The thought made his stomach drop unpleasantly. His opponents were exceedingly small, and he was one of the few who knew they existed. If they got away, he’d never see them again.

He couldn’t afford that.

Pushing his chair back, he approached the terrarium, casting an assessing eye over the food set out in it. Some of it could sit out, and had been there overnight, the best time for his guest to eat without risking even seeing Janus. But no. Not a single crumb out of place to indicate that anything had been eaten.

“Still alive?” he asked dryly, rapping a knuckle on the glass once.

There was a long pause, and then one of the leafy stems sticking out from the nest twitched twice. This daily question and response was the only communication he’d had with his guest since that first afternoon, and even this small, silent answer had originally been prompted by a threat of Janus reaching in there and checking himself.

“I notice that you’ve been refusing any sustenance,” he continued idly, and got nothing for his efforts. “Planning to die before you can give up any secrets?”

No response. Janus sighed as though put upon, and slid the terrarium lid halfway off. There were still no meaningful movements from the nest, though it seemed to be subtly trembling. It was impressive that despite the dark clothing that his guest wore, he still couldn’t make out exactly where they were even this close.

With narrowed eyes, he reached in and grabbed a few of the plastic leaves, tugging to pull the construction apart bit by bit.

He only caught the faintest flicker of movement before there was a sudden sharp pain in his index finger, and he yanked his hand back on reflex.

A weight came up with it, putting even more pressure on his wound, and it dropped as soon as his hand was just above the terrarium lid.

Seeing the dark shape attempting to scramble away, his other hand smacked down on top of it automatically, pressing it into the mesh with a small, muffled cry.

He glanced at his hand. There was a plastic thorn hooked in his thumb, the broad end chewed off and the point of it sharpened. His guest had attacked and used him as a makeshift lift in their escape attempt.

“Oh,” he intoned, voice dark. “Seems like you have plenty of energy after all, hm?”

---

Virgil took in short, gasping breaths, barely able to hear whatever threatening thing the human was muttering as pain radiated through his leg.

It let up just slightly as the pressure of the hand on top of him eased, his face no longer pressed into the cold wire netting of the cage’s top. Before he could try and string two thoughts together, the fingers were curling around him like a hawk’s talons, lifting him up and sending another jolt of mind-numbing pain through him. He might have whimpered.

So much for that escape attempt. He’d known it was a long shot, but his options had been limited after realizing that he literally couldn’t stand on the injured leg any more. They’d dwindled further with every day he couldn’t bring himself to crawl over to any food or water. Living outside, he’d survived on very little before, but it was a gamble every time.

He was flipped to face the light, the human’s head in silhouette above him. He couldn't make out it’s words. Everything felt overwhelming, made incomprehensible by the pain and the dark spots in his vision. His face felt hot. Was he bleeding?

Things went blissfully quiet above him, and then he was being moved. He wondered if the human was about to kill him, and the thought sent a much weaker pulse of panic down his spine than usual. He hoped it killed borrowers before feeding them to it’s snakes.

Something soft and dark dropped over him, and he thrashed for a moment before his leg reminded him how awful an idea that was. So he laid still instead, letting his terror shake through him in waves, until he wasn’t completely lost to it anymore.

Slowly, he lifted a hand, feeling at what was draped over him. Cloth, soft in texture and tightly-knit enough that not much light got through. Below him… a warm, living surface.

“Awake?” the human said, voice both closer and quieter than he’d ever heard it.

Another shudder worked through him, and he reached up to press his hands over his face, wishing none of this was real. His eye pigment had run, drying in tracks down his cheeks.

He wouldn’t be able to reapply it. The locket he stored it in was left behind with the rest of his stuff, tucked away into his oversized pack and left at the opening into the human’s home. It had probably already been torn through and picked apart by Mari and the other insiders.

The thought stung, somehow more personal than the nightmare of the situation he was already in.

“I believe I see now why you haven’t eaten,” the human continued with a surprising lack of snark. It must have seen his leg. He felt a little sick just thinking about it.

What had felt like a low-grade fracture through the adrenaline had ended up growing worse and worse without treatment, until the injury was a solid lump of swollen flesh and ugly bruising that twanged with agony at even the slightest shifts. He wondered if the human was going to use it against him. It would make torture exceedingly easy on its part.

“Continue with the silent treatment, and you won’t get any actual treatment,” it said, now sounding exasperated.

After another stretch of silence, the hand beneath him moved and tilted, sliding him off onto a flat surface. Suddenly desperate to know what was going on, Virgil yanked at the cloth, dragging handfuls of it down until he reached an edge and could pull it clear of his eyes.

The light in this room was dimmer, but it still took him a moment to adjust. He wasn’t in a snake tank, but on top of a low table in what looked like a sitting room, if he remembered the human terms right. The human was seated on the couch nearby, looking down at him.

“There you are.”

---

The tiny person shot him a furious glare, rendered mostly ineffective by the dark tear streaks that were still smudged along their face.

Janus wished his earlier reflexes had been a little gentler. He’d had a quite embarrassing moment of panic where he’d thought the grotesque worsening of their leg injury had been caused by his grasp, rather than simple neglect and lack of treatment.

Despite his patience, they didn’t reply, continuing to just stare at him. He stood, ignoring the way it instantly made them begin trembling again.

“I’ll be back in a moment. Feel free to move around and make your injury worse,” he instructed dryly, before turning and going to grab the first aid kit from the bathroom.

His thumb was still sensitive, the injury messily scabbed over with dried blood. He’d pried the thorn out with his teeth easily enough, but with his other hand occupied by a prone tiny person and their hyperventilation fit, he couldn’t properly treat it.

Upon his return, he saw his guest had abandoned his handkerchief and was halfway to the edge of the table. He rolled his eyes, and set the kit down before grabbing them by the shoulders and sliding them back over to the handkerchief.

“I was being sarcastic, you know,” he told them, and opened the kit to start cleaning his undersized injury. “I’ll be very unhappy if my only source of information dies a completely avoidable death for no reason.”

“Yeah, because I sure wouldn’t want to make you unhappy,” his guest bit out, and then looked as though they were deeply and immediately regretting opening their mouth. Janus didn’t know why; he personally took much better to sass than being stabbed.

“So you do know how sarcasm works. Color me impressed.”

The tiny person actually hissed at him, like the world’s most emo kitten.

“Yes, yes, I feel very threatened,” Janus retaliated by prodding them with the edge of an open tube of arnica gel. “Here. For the bruising.”

After another long glare, his guest spoke. “What do you want for it?”

Janus raised an eyebrow. “Couldn’t it be argued that I owe it to you, for allowing the injury to fester while you’re in my care?”

“Your care--!” his guest cut themself off, taking in a deep breath through gritted teeth. “Terrible hosting etiquette aside, you weren’t the one who gave me the injury. Not your concern. So, what do you want?”

Janus wondered absently how tiny people qualified their hosts’ manners. He had certainly already failed by human standards, immediately imprisoning his guest and all, so perhaps it didn’t really matter either way. He wasn’t above taking advantage of a tiny person’s bartering honor system. “Answer three questions.”

“I get to pass on questions I don’t want to answer,” his guest countered quickly, apparently having expected this.

“You get five passes,” Janus allowed. Seeing what they refused to answer would be informative in itself.

“... Fine.” With another glance at their injury, they grabbed the tube sharply enough that they almost overbalanced. “Ask.”

“Where are the others living?” Janus asked, just to set the stakes high.

“Pass,” his guest answered, not even looking up from their task. Janus rolled his eyes.

“Why are you defending them?” he tried.

“I’m not defending them,” they shot back, vitriol thick in their voice. “I just don’t want you to get what you want. That’s one question.”

“Ouch. I’m hurt, really.” Janus tapped his nails along the table idly. “What’s your name and pronouns?”

This did prompt them to look up, face pinching up in confusion. After a moment, they returned to their baseline expression of scowl and retorted, “That’s two questions.”

“It’s one sentence, it counts as one question,” Janus lied smugly. They still looked close to passing, so he gave them a nudge. “Unless you want me to make something up? I’m very creative, I assure you.”

“I use he,” he finally grit out, “and you can call me V.”

“For Vendetta?” Janus mused, and received an utterly baffled look for his wit. “I suppose your movie repertoire isn’t that expansive.”

“Two questions,” V said flatly. “One left.”

“Yes, I can count.” Janus glanced at V’s gel-covered leg. “You have to rub that in for it to work.”

V’s expression flickered to one of despair, but he bit his lip and started to slowly massage the gel in. Janus wondered at how easily he’d believed him.

“What do you call yourselves?”

“Pass.”

“Where did you live?”

“Pass.”

“How do I bait the others out?”

“Pass.”

“Why do you hate me more than the ones who allegedly put you here?”

V’s hand slipped, and he winced and paused for a moment. “... Pass.”

There was certainly a grudge there. Too bad Janus had no idea what it could be about. Oh well.

He set a hand on the table, leaning over V. “When do the others plan to leave? As specific as you can get, please.”

“Pa--,” V cut himself off, and Janus could see the moment he realized he had used up all his get-out-of-questioning-free cards. He patiently waited out the tiny person’s fit of frustration.

“... I don’t know.” Janus’s smug grin dropped, but V continued after a speculative pause. “I don’t think they’ll leave before the season's turning. The spring thaw has been slow this year, and they’re-- not suited for it.”

Janus felt some of the tension drop from his shoulders. The start of summer. He had time, and the advantage of a weather forecast app. That was good news, even if he’d had to wrangle it out of his guest. He had time.

“How interesting,” he said lightly, and capped the gel to put it back in the box. V’s hands were clutching the edge of his coat tightly, as though guilty or angry. Or perhaps just stressed. “Let’s get some food in actual range of you, then, shall we?”

[spencers-dria]

Can you maybe write something where the reader meets spencer in prison and when they get out, they meet up and they have really rough and kinky sex like you can literally go as dirty and kinky as you want

Four Feet Apart

🎉150 follower celebration! Day 6

Spencer x fem reader

Content/Trigger Warnings: 18+ Smut, oral female receiving, anal play, blindfold/sensory play, and handcuff/restraint use, protected penetrative sex, mentions of murder, prison

The beginning is a little angst, little fluff, plenty of smut!

“Alright inmates, listen up! There’s been some budget cuts. For the time being, the old west wing building will be taken by overflow from the women’s prison.”

The guard’s voice was overtaken by wolf whistles and hollers.

“That’s enough! Now you will not share a building with them. You will not see them during meals. However the courtyards do share a fence. If you are caught harassing them in any way, you will be punished accordingly!”

The announcement had caught the attention of just about every inmate, except one. Spencer Reid had bigger problems to worry about than women. He didn’t get them outside of prison, so why should he worry about them on the inside. He needed to worry about how to stay safe, stay alive until his name was cleared. That is, until he met you.

_______________________________________

I sat on the bleachers, popping some bubble gum as I searched for some worthwhile eye candy. The sun was a bit hot so I shrugged my button down off my shoulders, opting to tie it around my waist, leaving me in a white tank. This of course leads to many wondering eyes and a few whistles from the men’s side of the fence. I’m not even sure what i’m looking for, but none of the men giving me the time of day have it. I finally notice a slender man sitting on the men’s bleachers, just a few feet away from the fence on his side. I scoot up , slipping my fingers through the women’s chain-link side. Of course I could never touch any of them, with each side having about four feet between their respective fences. But there were no rules against looking or talking even.

“Hey. Think too hard and you’re gonna mess up that pretty face of yours.”

He looks up a bit startled, but his posture changes once his gaze lands on me. He almost looks shy, which seems in direct contrast to his rugged look. But once I look in his eyes, I see depth and warmth and kindness that belongs far away from this place, and it hurts me for a moment, to think of what will happen to him here.

“I don’t bite. The name is Y/L/N. Got in for killing my ex husband. How about you?”

He blinked, speechless at first.

“Doc- I’m uh, Spencer Reid. They think I killed someone too…”

“Well, didn’t you?”

He shook his head. Based on the look in his eyes, I want to believe him I really do.

“Did you know that incarceration of women has been growing at twice the rate of men’s incarceration?”

“Now how in the world would you know that?”

He simply shrugged.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. Just looked like you could use some company is all.”

He looked like he wanted to respond, he really did. But before he got the chance, the women were called back inside.

I give a quick salute. “Nice meetin ya Spencer Reid. See ya when I see ya.”

___________________________________________

The next time I saw him he looked different. Scared, fragile, and a bit bloodied up.

“Hey- what uh- I mean, are you okay?”

He refused to look up or give much of an answer. But he was sitting in the same spot, close enough for us to have another conversation so I have to believe he wanted to talk again.

“I’m guessing you’re relatively new. It happened to me too ya know. Especially when I wouldn’t just go along with everything they asked.”

That drew his attention, and I could see tears in his eyes.

“You can’t let them see they get to you, that you’re scared. I learned that long before I got here though. That’s why I killed him ya know- he hurt me and I couldn’t just take it anymore. Police wouldn’t listen. I just wanted it to stop.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“I shrugged it off. I’m paying my time but I’m safer in here than I ever felt with him.”

“Can you keep a secret?”

Now he has my attention. I nod, trying not to seem too excited to be sharing schoolyard secrets with the handsome stranger.

“I uh, was in the FBI. I was framed by a, well you can almost call her an arch nemesis of sorts.” He laughed to himself. It was a warm sort of laugh that filled me with butterflies. “I was just trying to get medicine for my mom. She has Alzheimer’s and schizophrenia. She was getting worse and I-“ his words are quickly cut off by the sounds of sniffles.

“Why are you telling me this?” I don’t mean it to be rude, but I had to know.

“I guess you could say I’m good at reading people and- you’re not a bad person. I trust you.”

In that moment, our eyes met again, but something new was there. Desire? Lust? Caring? Who knows. But that was the start of something. Of daily meetings, and quiet longing.

Day after day we would sit by our fences, sharing stories of our lives before prison. I learned that he was kind, hard-working, and actually quite funny. Spencer Reid was the best company I’d had in years, and not just within the prison walls.

He also told me about the rough time of it he was having on his own side. I gave him pointers where I could. How to get in with the right people, how to avoid the wrong ones, and how to get himself safe when necessary.

At one point, the politics on his side did endanger his life, and that’s when we came up with the plan together. A plan that would help take down the very man targeting him while getting Spencer somewhere safe for now. This meant I wouldn’t see him while he was in solitary, but we both knew it was necessary.

We never spoke about exactly what it was we wanted but- it was there. We devoured one another with our eyes. Biting and licking lips, drawn out breaths, and lingering gazes. We knew.

I watched him change overtime. His hair and beard grew yes, but so did this darkness in his eyes. The soft, Bambi-eyed boy was seemingly gone, replaced by a man who needed to hurt someone, anyone. And oh was I ready to let him hurt me.

I waited by the fence each day for his return, but it never came. I finally decided to ask around until I heard something that thrilled me but also left a huge gaping hole in me.

“He left.”

I couldn’t be happier for him. Had they cleared his name? From the sound of it, federal agents, friends of his had come to retrieve him. I could only hope that he was safe and happy.

Then one day I received a letter.

Dear Y/N,

I miss you. Just you. You made my time there worthwhile, worth missing. There’s so much more I wanted to say to you, and a letter just won’t do it justice. I have a feeling you’ll be out on parole sooner than you think. Come find me when you can. I’ll be in D.C..

Counting the days,

Spencer

____________________________________________

Parole? I had at least another year before that could even be a consideration. But I started counting too, which didn’t last long. Imagine my surprise when I got out on parole only two weeks after receiving the letter.

Did he- no he couldn’t, could he? Spencer had been gone for months. Clearly he had cleared his name, thank goodness. I knew I needed to see him as soon as possible.

I couldn’t leave the state, but luckily I didn’t need to. With what little I had, I made my way to D.C.. I figured I’d start out at the return address on the envelope, the one I clung to like my life depended on it.

With a bag slung over my shoulder, I raised my hand with the letter to hesitantly knock on the door, completely unsure of what to expect on the other side.

My mouth fell open at the sight before me. Spencer Reid in a cardigan, a tie? I had never seen him outside the prison. He looked so put together. And all I could think about was how much I wanted to tear him apart. I did my best to suppress my lust in hopes of a civil and normal greeting.

I don’t know what I expected. Tears, hugs maybe? We stood there staring at each other for who knows how long before I finally spoke. I’d had a well rehearsed speech in my head. One I’d had two whole weeks to work on since he sent the letter. But that all went out the window the second I saw his face again.

“Hi.”

“Hey.”

Who was I kidding? We could see it in eachother’s eyes, the same desire from before, but stronger somehow. Maybe because it was quite literally within reach. Months of daydreaming about what it would feel like to touch him, kiss him, get absolutely railed by him.

The man I had met initially was so gentle, timid. I watched him change in that prison. I had initially imagined ruining him, breaking him for my own pleasure. By the time he left I wanted something completely different. I wanted him to do the breaking. I wanted him to use me for his own personal pleasure. And he knew it.

He grabbed my face to pull me in for an all consuming kiss that quite literally took my breath away. I had to pull back, gasping for air before I could get any words out.

“Missed you too.” I smiled.

“Can we take this to my bedroom?” The words came out rushed, as though he might die if he couldn’t have me in that very moment.

I give an enthusiastic nod. A small squeal and uncharacteristic giggle leaves my lips as he scoops me up in his arms, whisking me away to his bedroom.

“I’ve been waiting so long for this,” he pants, frantically removing his clothes. “Can you get undressed and lay down on your stomach for me?”

I follow his orders without question. He leans down by my ear and asks one question. “Safe word?”

“Cherry blossom.”

“Anything off limits?”

I don’t even have to think. “No, I trust you.”

Next thing I know I feel soft silk over my eyes as he ties a blindfold in place. This allows me to focus on the sounds of whatever else he is preparing. I hear a distinctly familiar jingle of metal, which is confirmed as it touches the skin of my wrists. Handcuffs. I wiggle my hips in delight, which earns me a playful spank.

“Like what you see?”

“I definitely can’t complain.” I can almost hear his smirk.

His fingers dig into my hips before pulling them up in the air. I feel cold air hit my core immediately.

“Fucking beautiful.”

Without any warning I feel a finger coated in cool lubricant coating my other opening.

“Try and relax for me, beautiful.” His fingers run through some of my hair, dragging across the skin of my back and I feel my muscles immediately follow his command. I attempt to mentally and physically prepare for whatever could be coming next.

I feel him work in what feels to be a decent sized anal plug. I’ve tried them before but only by myself. I’m already enjoying the added stimulation. My hips jolt when he suddenly brings his head down to lick up through my slit and I can’t help but yell.

“Fuck!”

“Mmm you like that, dirty girl? You’re quite literally dripping for me.”

He says it so calmly, I can hardly wrap my head around how smooth he’s being.

“Yes sir, please!” I beg.

“Please what, hmmm? What do you need?”

“Need you to eat my pussy please sir!”

Damn I sound absolutely pathetic. To think I ever considered myself a feminist. So much for my leg up on domineering men. Here I am willingly let one take me, have me anyway he wants. And that’s just the way I want it too. For Spencer Reid, I would be anything he needed.

“Good girl.” The two words have me writhing in pleasure with the combined sensation of his tongue back on the place I need it most. He sucks and laps at me like I'm his favorite dessert . He reads my body like a book, every movement and moan. He knows just what I need, when to let up, when to push harder. It’s unfair just how talented his mouth is.

And then, I’m coming undone on that beautiful mouth of his. Too bad I can’t see it. But oh it’s all I can imagine as waves of pleasure wreck my body and he’s running his fingers down my back, squeezing my ass as he gets in his final victory licks.

There’s a distinct sound of a condom wrapper, and I appreciate the consideration. I feel him sit on the bed next to me, against the headboard perhaps?

“Come sit on my lap.” His voice is dark and commanding, and my body is already responding with a fresh dose of arousal.

“But I can’t see sir.”

“No excuses. Come sit on my lap or you won’t get to come again.”

Not only can I not see, but my hands are still handcuffed behind my back. Not to mention my knees are weak from my most recent orgasm. This oughta be interesting. I try to scoot on my knees towards where I had heard his voice, only to lose my balance once I bump into his legs. I fall face first into his lap. Not the worst position to be in. I hear a soft, dark chuckle above me.

“Poor pathetic thing, are you already too weak? Can you handle another one?”

I swear, I never knew I was into degradation and humiliation. I don’t even know if I truly am, it's just something about him, about Spencer, that turns me on with everything he does.

“Yes sir, please! Please I can handle it! Let me try!”

I feel his fingers grasp my jaw, pulling my face up till I’m sitting on my knees again. I can feel his breath on my face and I wish I could just lean in and feel his lips on mine. My wish is granted for just a second. I feel his plush lips brush against mine, but they’re gone just as quick.

“Pretty thing. Let me help you, hmm.”

His long fingers wrap around my hips and guide me till I’m sitting in his lap, one leg on either side.

“Do you think you can ride me without your hands for balance?

“Yes sir!” I nod with an embarrassing eagerness.

“Show me, baby.”

I raise up and with his guidance again, lower myself until he’s making sure my other hole is filled as well.

Each bounce against his lap is adding pressure against the plug, combined with the bump of his cock against my cervix. With no sight, I’m so in tune with every sensation, especially the way his fingers feel roaming every inch of my body. He’s pinch my nipples, grabbing my ass, tugging at my hair. I may have been the one begging but he was clearly just as desperate.

When he decided he needs more, Spencer grabs my hips and starts thrusting up into me at a completely

ridiculous pace.

“You look so pretty bouncing on my cock. See for yourself, little girl.”

Before I have time to realize what he means, his beautiful fingers are ripping the silk away from my eyes, only to be met with absolutely heavenly eyes. They’re golden, warm, filled with lust but also something kinder. They devour my body like I’m his goddess. I absolutely love watching him enjoy the view. He licks his lips hungrily as he watches my breasts bounce and the way he looks sliding in and out of me.

Spencer pulls me in so he can leave a trail of kisses along my shoulders and neck. I love the way my face feels buried in his soft curls, he smells of lavender shampoo and it’s intoxicating. When he pulls back he’s got a knowing smirk on his face.

“What?”

In seemingly one move, I’m off his lap, on my back, with my hands pinned over my head.

“But the hand cuffs? How did you-“

Instead of answering he silenced me with an all consuming kiss. We’re biting, sucking, moaning, on one another like animals in heat. I can’t help but feel sorry for his poor neighbors.

He keeps my hands pinned above my head while realigning himself ready to pick back up where he left off. Before I can even register what’s happening he’s pounding into me like it’s his fucking job.

“You feel that? You feel how perfectly I fill you up? So pretty with my cock in you. Fuck- you take it so well!”

Words are gone from my mind. I’m left with moans, tears, and one name. Spencer.

“Spencer!”

He lets go of my arms and they instinctively wrap around his neck as I use my legs around his hips bringing him close.

“I’ve got you pretty girl. I’m here. Be a good little thing and come for me. Come on.”

I’m wrecked, shaking and moaning, unsure if I’ll ever be able to stop. He’s right there with me, filling me up in the best way. The pleasure is intensified by the extra pressure from the plug. I cling to him for dear life as I ride off my high, enjoying the way he looks above me. He’s angelic with the light sheen of sweat causing his skin to glisten in the low lighting, the natural sparkle of his eyes, the way his curls fall in his face, the pretty pink lips softly parted as he pants.

He’s dominant but also so soft and kind with me. It's clear tonight he cared about my pleasure just as much as his own. Maybe I don’t ever have to let him go. Maybe we can just stay here, twisted up in one another, blissfully unaware of all our troubles and the world around us.

I’m embarrassed at how much I whine as he gets off of me and slips away into the bathroom. I don’t know why I was surprised when he returns with a warm washcloth and lotion. He’s cleaning me up, tending to my wrists and any other spots sore from friction, and removing the plug. All the while he’s littering my skin with gentle kisses, all along my back and shoulders, my hips, my chest, my face. I’ve never been so pampered.

“Are you okay?” His voice is sweet and smooth like honey, leaving me tingling in the wake of its sweetness.

“Never better.” I leave kisses across his knuckles and he gives me that look again, like I’m the most beautiful thing he’s ever laid eyes on.

After some convincing, I get up to use the bathroom, returning to a very sweet looking boy waiting for me under the covers, looking up with puppy dog eyes. I see the man I first met in the courtyard months ago. The one that stole my heart. I slip into the spot next to him, and we tangle back together, skin against skin. It’s so warm, soft, inviting and I think I’ll stay forever.

[chiafett-moved]

I know you have written stuff about meltdowns/shutdowns in the past with the bad batch (which by the way THANK YOU) I’m just wondering how do they teach omega to cope with it, like both seeing it and having it happen to her? I know mine weren’t like. Fun to watch lol. Anyway thank you for ur content I love it

Hi anon! I'm glad you've enjoyed my autistic star wars content lmfao.

I think Hunter probably has the hardest time watching her have meltdowns. Even though he has them, too, it's a different experience when you're watching someone else go through it, and he's very protective of her. Even though he knows that what she needs is to be allowed to get the energy out and that the best approach is hands-off, he wants to be able to do something because his kiddo is suffering. Usually, he ends up going for a walk and coming back when it's over.

Echo and Wrecker are hands-down the best at dealing with it. Echo is a very level-headed person, and he's good at providing enough support and safety without overwhelming her. Wrecker gets anxious, but he' very good at being a comforting, safe presence and giving deep pressure hugs.

Tech and Crosshair are both a bit emotionally distant and have a tough time connecting with the rest of the team, let alone a child, so they try and leave Omega alone with Echo and Wrecker when meltdowns happen. They're more helpful than they think, though, and Omega will often seek them out after the fact and give them hugs (which definitely doesn't help because Crosshair would never get anxious when some random kid is having a hard time, Crosshair definitely does not worry about Omega at all, Hunter, stop laughing).

Though Hunter isn't the best at helping during meltdowns, he's definitely the one to teach Omega how best to cope with autistic life in general. He spends a lot of time talking to her about being unapologetic about how her brain works and being calm in the face of strong emotions. He knows how easy it is to get scared by a meltdown, and he reminds her to hang on and that everything bad will pass with time.

Hunter also does a lot of breathing exercises and meditation of the non-Jedi sort, which helps him sort through his emotions and gives him a foundation of good techniques to use when he gets overwhelmed. He teaches this to Omega, and they have a daily meditating session dedicated to just breathing and relaxing and sitting with yourself (results may vary, children aren't big on sitting still and concentrating).

At some point, Tech has the idea to make a whole sensory room, like a little closet filled with Good Stuff that Omega can go in to decompress. It's got weighted blankets and soft walls and nice lighting and all sorts of stimmy stuff. Omega fucking loves it.

[maybedefinitely404]

Day 4: Anxceit

@tsshipmonth2020

Day 4: There is a trail of color only you can see that marks out where your soulmate has been.

Content warning: parental death from heart attack (none of the sides), homophobia, religious themes regarding said homophobia, concert, minor sensory overload (Virgil is technically autistic but it’s not explicit).

Word count: 3.3k

The last thing Janus Natter had ever wanted to do was return to his hometown. 

It only held bad memories that stemmed from living in a small town, of homophobia and school bullies and dirty looks from neighbours. Granted, he’d never actually been kicked out of his home after coming out, but word spread like a wildfire and the people in his neighborhood weren’t the most open minded. His mom didn’t talk to him; she blamed herself, and there were all too many nights he walked past her room and heard her praying and crying for the repentance of her baby boy.

So the moment he turned eighteen, he was out of there. Waved goodbye to the woman who stiffened every time he tried to hug her and moved halfway across the country, starting a new life for himself in a rundown apartment and a minimum wage intern job and not regretting it for a second. Everything seemed better for a while. A promotion followed a couple years after, and his apartment was upgraded to one that actually had a separate kitchen and dining room so he wasn’t eating on the counter anymore. Until he got a call from one of his aunts at three am, four days after Christmas.

Obviously, he cried when his mom died. He broke down as soon as he hung up the phone, sitting on the edge of his bed and letting the news slowly integrate into his system. Sure, they hadn’t had the best relationship, but she’d been a great mom up until he admitted the truth that drove a wedge between them. And he’d never really blamed her, knowing his own internal homophobia would only be heightened in her. But it still hurt that she hadn’t reached out whatsoever when she was put into the hospital after the first heart attack. Maybe he would have been there when the second one hit and been able to save her. Or at least say goodbye.

The funeral was rough. None of his family bothered to talk to him, and the one little cousin that ran up to give him a hug was swiftly pulled away. Not like he was expecting much else, but c’mon. It’s not infectious. At least no one commented on him crying again. 

He was on the first flight back out, and after a couple days off work to recenter himself, things seemed to back to normal. It wasn’t as if any part of his daily routine was disturbed. He wasn’t missing any motherly catch up calls, no little packages, no life advice, that he’d never gotten before, so it was almost easy to pretend that nothing had changed. Until he got another call. 

This time it was his uncle, calling in the middle of his work day, to tell him that he needed to come back home and clear out his mom’s house. He was reluctant at first. Why couldn’t someone else do it? What was so important that he had to do it? But the family seemed determined to distance themselves from the house as much as possible, and when his uncle insisted that “we’re all still in mourning, Janus,” as if to imply he wasn’t upset at the death of his own mother, he hung up the phone with a curt agreement to come back as soon as possible. He later got a text that stated the house was going to be put on the market in the coming week, so he needed to get there soon. 

That’s what led to him exiting a cab three days later in front of his childhood home, suitcase in hand, with a disgruntled expression. The house was much less threatening than it had always seemed when he lived there, unassuming and indistinguishable from the other houses on the block, but the memories of lonely nights of crying himself to sleep and craving a hug from his mother were at the forefront of his mind. You’re never going to get another hug from her. He quickly snapped out of it before the tears could rise, thanking the cab driver and walking up to the front door. 

His mother had taken his key when he left, claiming it was to give to a neighbour to water her flowers when she went on a cruise or something equally far fetched, but Janus figured she just wouldn’t want to be surprised by him visiting. This was, afterall, the first time she’d been free from his disappointing presence in years. Luckily, they’d always kept a spare under the plant by the door, now wilted and crusty and dropping leaves when he leaned it over, hand slapping the concrete underneath.

Nothing.

He picked it up off the ground entirely, sweeping the ground directly under it and then scanning the surrounding area with growing irritation. Had someone taken it after the funeral? How the hell did they expect him to get into the house? Oh yeah, come clean the house but we’re gonna take the key! Fuckers. 

A loud crash from behind the door startled him enough to drop the plant, the ceramic pot smashing on the stairs. Whoops. Another sound from inside, something that sounded like a chair scraping on the tiled kitchen floor, and Janus realized with mounting horror that the front door was open a crack. His family had all claimed to not be able to even come near the place, so… Fantastic. Someone had broken into a death house and he was going to have to deal with it. 

The wise choice would have been to call the police. 

So Janus pushed the door open and walked in, ignoring the sudden flurry of memories in favor of following the source of the noise. 

“Hello?” Yeah, smart, Janus, that always works in the horror movies!

Another scrape in the steadily approaching kitchen, accompanied by muffled swearing. As an almost last thought, Janus picked up the first small object he could feel on the entry table, acknowledging its heft and hoping it would be a suitable weapon without taking his eyes from the hall. Here goes nothing.

Then, in a move to top all stupidity, he turned into the room in a whirl, hoisting the weapon above his head, ready to beat down on whoever was rifling through his dead mother’s drawers. Only to freeze.

“Remus?”

“Janus, what the fuck!” The statement was said with a surprising amount of glee. Remus was the only person he knew who could turn swears into something joyful. 

Janus turned his gaze to the floor and the chair Remus was standing on, surrounded by a pile of glass shards. It looked to be the remnants of the entire glass collection, if the amount was anything to go by. Remus gave another shuffle of his chair, the loud shriek sounding again, as he tried to scooch closer without stepping on the shards in his bare feet.

“Why are you holding a banana?” 

It took him a solid second to process Remus’ question before he looked down at his own hand, his fingers curled around the metal banana from the decorative fruit bowl in the entry. 

“No reason. Why are you in my house, destroying my dinnerware?”

“Help me not step in glass and I’ll tell you.”

Finding a broom was easy; it was still in the same place it always had been before he left. Cleaning the glass took longer, what with Remus’ flurry of questions and Janus’ focus between answering him, sweeping, and not whacking Remus on the head with the broom handle. Apparently it didn’t take long for him to become annoying again.

Still, the grinning man had been the one and only reason he’d had trouble saying goodbye to the town, the only person who still gladly befriended him after coming out. He hated to admit how much he’d missed him.   

When the floor was clear, Remus hesitantly stepped down off the chair, wiggling his toes on the ground.

“Why did you take your shoes off when you came in? It’s not like anyone’s gonna be pissed if you track mud in anymore.”

“I didn’t wear any.”

“Of course you didn’t.”

Remus shared a softer look with him, the manic smile drooping, “Hey, I’m sorry about your mom. That’s rough.”

“Yeah,” Was Janus’ incredibly eloquent response. He shook his head, and Remus accepted the subject change with no questions, “So why are you here?”

“Well, I heard you were coming to clear the place out eventually, so I thought I’d get here early and start. Help you out.”

“And…”

“... And snoop around a little bit.”

“There it is.”

“Not like, bad stuff! Just… I don’t know. Deep, dark, family secrets.”

Janus sighed, taking in the kitchen for the first time since entering. “The biggest secret this family tries to hide is me.”

“Dark.”

“Mmhm.” He gasped as two arms suddenly wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him into the most physical contact he’d had in… years.

“Welcome back, Natter.”

“Yeah, well,” He cleared his throat of voice cracks before continuing, “I only got two days off work. So I’m not staying long. I somehow need to completely clear this place out in 48 hours,” He ran a hand down his face, pulling away from the hug reluctantly, “You wouldn’t actually be interested in helping, would you?”

It was more of a statement than a question, but Remus ignored it completely. “You’re only here two days? Inconceivable!”

“You’ve been watching Princess Bride again.”

“We gotta hang out!” The pleading expression on Remus’ face was almost enough to sell him on the idea.

“Weren’t you listening? I literally don’t have the time.”

“I’m going to a concert tonight in Brookton. Come with me!” Remus continued as if he hadn’t spoken, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Just one night, Jan. Pleeeease? I’ll even come here and help you the rest of the time.”

With an affectionate snort, he shook his head, “As fun as that sounds, I’m broke.”

“I can get you in.”

“You’re not paying for me.”

“Who said anything about paying?”

Janus raised an eyebrow, though it was more like how a parent would scold a child than surprise. They’d always gotten into trouble together as kids, and this was just… a level up, in a way. Not that he condoned it.

“I know one of the security guards. He’s one of my hookups, and he happens to owe me a favor or two.”

  Wait. “You’re gay?”

“Shit, I didn’t tell you?!” Remus shrieked, grabbing Janus’ hand and dragging him to the front door, key waving in his face, “I’ll tell you all about it on the way. C’mon, it’s an hour drive.”

Well, looks like he didn’t have a say in it. And he’d be lying if he claimed he hadn’t missed hanging out with his old best friend… or just a friend at all, really.

“Fine, but you’re stopping by your place to grab shoes!”

-----------------------------------------------------

It wasn’t a small venue by any means. It wasn’t Beyonce big, but enough to know that if he lost track of Remus, he’d be fucked. In his rush out the door so soon after a morning of traveling, he’d forgotten his charger and his phone was conveniently dead. Janus kept a careful eye on Remus, following the bob of his neon green and black jacket through the crowd and only distantly wondering what band they were actually about to see. The gremlin kept pushing through, ignoring the annoyed shouts of people he shoved, leaving Janus to hastily apologize each time as he followed in his wake.

When Remus slowed just for a moment, stretching on his tiptoes to find a good spot over the sea of heads, Janus lunged forward and grabbed his sleeve. The taller man raised an eyebrow.

“As fun as it would be to get lost, I’m not in the mood.”

“Ah,” Remus’ eyes settled on a spot near the stage, one that Janus couldn’t see being a head shorter than him, “Good timing. Hang on tight.”

And hang on he did, because Remus fully embodied the physicality of a snow plow and plunged back into the crowd with new ferocity. Janus just closed his eyes and blindly let himself be led, letting the bubbling breathiness of a laugh escape his mouth. It had been too long since he’d just been able to have fun like this, without the threat of work and bills in his peripheral. The chatter was deafening in the best way possible, drowning out his worried thoughts, and the flashing lights that were still visible through his closed eyelids was invigorating. The promise for more elated him. 

When Remus finally stopped, Janus didn’t get the memo on time and ran into his back full force. He grunted and opened his eyes, focused on his throbbing nose, before realizing how close to the stage they really were. The taller man was staring down at him, grinning maniacally, seemingly impressed with their placement as well. 

Then a flash to the side caught his attention, and his throat went dry.

“Remus, look me in the eye and tell me you see that.”

His eyebrows scrunched in confusion before he followed Janus’ line of sight, seeing nothing but the dense crowd. “See what?”

“The light, the light trail…” Janus inhaled sharply through his nose, grip on the other’s sleeve tightening, “It’s my soulmate. He’s here somewhere.”

“Your soulmate? Seriously?”

“Yeah, I…”

“Well, fuck! You’re welcome, eh, Natter? I told you you should have come!” He gave Janus’ arm a light punch, smile widening. “Go find him!”

Janus seemed hesitant, eyes flickering between Remus and the deep purple light trail, weaving between the people and heading towards the back of the venue. “How will I find you again after?”

“That’s a problem for future you. Go, you idiot!”

“Okay, okay! I’m going! Just don’t leave without me!”

He was off before he could hear Remus’ answer, ducking under raised arms and trying his hardest to follow the quickly dissolving trail. Now that he had his eye on it, it had decided that it was time to disappear, and he was quickly losing sight of it. 

No, scratch that, it was definitely getting brighter now. And more concrete around the edges, instead of fading out. Was he close? He weaved past another small group of people, eyes following the purple line until-

There.

Holy shit.

He was stunning, that was the first thing Janus noticed. The purple trail stopped at him, covering him with a faint lilac aura before fading completely, content with it’s work. At first he thought the slight tint to the other’s hair was left over from the soulmark, before the lights switched and he realized, no, his hair was dyed purple. The most eye catching thing, though, besides his makeup, was the bulky pair of… were those headphones on his ears? At a concert? Granted, it hadn’t started yet, but still.

Apparently he was standing in one place for too long amongst the constantly moving hoard of people, and his stillness got the attention of the boy in front of him. He gasped sharply when they made eye contact, shocked from what Janus assumed to be the soulmark that probably surrounded him. And then he started hyperventilating. Bad.

“Shit! Okay, hey, calm down, okay? It’s fine-”

He was cut off by a loud riff of an electric guitar, almost immediately drowned out by the screaming fans that surged forward like a tidal wave. The boy in front of him curled in on himself, hands pressing into the headphones around his ears in an attempt to drown out the noise. Despite his more cautionary side, Janus reached forward and took his arm, guiding him gently towards the door.

“Let’s go outside and talk, alright?”

Maybe following a stranger outside alone wasn’t the smartest idea but… Virgil had seen the soul mark, a gentle yellow glow around this man that quickly dissipated, leaving behind a man sharing an equally shocked look on his face. So that had to mean he wasn’t totally bad, right? Either he was his soulmate or some kind of guardian angel, and neither of those were necessarily bad options. 

As soon as they stepped outside the main arena, it was as if the tight band around Virgil’s chest loosened. Not gone completely, but enough that he could catch his breath. He reached up and pulled his ear defenders off his head, relieved that the quiet was enough that he didn’t need them anymore. They were definitely a life saver, but sometimes the way they muffled noise was indescribably uncomfortable as well.

The man noticed his immediate relief, letting go of his guiding arm and slowing his pace so Virgil could walk beside him. 

“I’m Janus.” 

“Virgil.”

In a blur, they ended up outside the venue, sitting on the curb directly outside the main doors. Virgil was fiddling with his ear muffs, eyes trained on the inky darkness surrounding them. Besides the dull resounding of the bass echoing from inside and steady stream of traffic just out of their view, it was reasonably quiet.

“So, you live in Brookton?” Janus finally broke the comfortable silence, leaning back on his hands.

“Yeah. Not for long, though.”

“Oh?”

“Planning to get out soon. Don’t know where, don’t know how. But I’m not much of a ‘small town’ guy.”

“Brookton counts as a small town?”

Virgil hummed, finally placing the head gear down beside him and closing his eyes, breathing in the smell of fast food from the variety of food trucks around the area. It was a strange cacophony of oil and salt, oddly enticing even if just the scent was enough for his skin to break out. 

“What about you? From around here?”

“Sort of?” He explained his story in as few words as possible, flying over his mom’s general unacceptance and her death, and the fact that he had to clean out her house in two days. “Less than that now, I guess. One and a half. It’s gonna be hell.” His head fell into his hands, fingers rubbing at the temples as if to soothe the headache he was expecting.

Virgil was a good listener, nodding along to the right parts and avoiding those stupid sympathetic looks he was so tired of. It was a nice relief to actually feel listened to, not pitied. 

“My parents are kind of similar. It doesn’t feel like I have much to complain about, though, because… I mean, they didn’t kick me out. Don’t openly hate on me. But it still sucks. They don’t even acknowledge me half the time.”

“Exactly! And then you see people who have it worse, and it makes you feel like a piece of shit for feeling upset!”

“Good match, universe.” Virgil flopped onto his back, purple hair splayed out on the concrete. “It’s the subtle homophobia for me.”

“Ah, you’re a ‘meme person’.”

“Sucks for you, you’re stuck with me now.”

“I’ll manage,” Janus joined him on the ground, suddenly disgusted that he was still in the same outfit that he’d flown in today. He hated the smell of plane, and he must reek of it. But Virgil didn’t seem to mind his general disheveled appearance as he made an abstract comment about the moon being full today, and how that generally meant bad things. Janus made the mistake of asking him what he meant, which turned into a full blown lecture on mythology and cryptids, one that Virgil didn’t have the capability to control. It made him smile though, seeing the emo so utterly delighted to explain it, and he realized with a start that he was going to get to enjoy this man for the rest of his life. Two people who could talk, matched with a person who loved to listen equally as much. Virgil had been right. Good match, universe.

[teenage-mutant-ninja-freak]

If the turtles’ S/O is autistic and is experiencing a meltdown? I suggest research on it

I did a fair amount of research on this and talked to a few people with autism and even my brother in law who works with autistic children and experiences their meltdowns on a daily basis. However, I’m no expert in this, I just looked up a few things so again, if this is offensive, if you feel like this infantalizes people on the spectrum or if something about it just doesn’t sit right with you please, please, please tell me and I will issue and apology and take this down immediately. This blog is supposed to be a distraction and it’s just for fun so I would never want to cause anyone any offence. I’m trying my best and that’s all I can offer.

Leo

Leo is so confused when you meltdown in front of him

it was supposed to be a fun day out at an amusement park

but all the sounds and smells and visuals got you and you started experiencing sensory overload

he doesn’t really know what to do at first so he asks

you tell him you just need to leave so he takes you away from everything immediately 

once you’ve calmed down you both have a very frank discussion about what happened and how to avoid it in the future

you explain sensory overload to him and he kind of gets it, everything can just be too overwhelming for you sometimes

he understand perfectly and makes sure to take your needs into account in the future

Raph

I can see have as having mild anxiety so he gets sensory overload all too well

He makes sure to ask what you need and get you away from what’s triggering you

he wants to know how to avoid stressing you out so much in the future so even though he isn’t good with words, you have a conversation about what can cause it for you

he gets it

the world is too big and loud and full of stuff sometimes

he makes sure to take you to a dark part of the lair that’s quiet and sits which you while you cal down further

he’ll hold you but only if you’re ok with that

Mikey

Mikey doesn;t understand a lot so it can be difficult communicating with him

but feeling like you’re not communicating properly can cause a meltdown in you

Mikey absolutely hates seeing you in distress so distractions are always the way to go for him

he has a lot of sensory toys on him at all times which he brings out and lets you handle

so things like playdough and slinky toys to distract you

once you’ve calmed down he has a talk with you about what just happened and you explain everything to him

he doesn’t fully understand but tries his best and does whatever he can to avoid causing that again in the future

Donnie

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, Donnie is on the spectrum

when you’re having a meltdown he makes sure to ask you clearly and precisely what you need in that moment

he does whatever you ask whether that be taking you somewhere dimly lit and quiet to calm down or taking your focus away from the trigger

He makes sure to note down what and when it happened to see if there’s a trend over time or places as to what causes the meltdowns

he really makes sure to listen fully to what you’re saying so you know that your communication isn’t lost on him

he just wants to make sure you feel safe and stress free so you don;t have to go through that again.