#fun fact whenever he stims

[blackrocks-king]

So, er, you have wings, right? Can you fly? Or are they too small? Hope this isn't a personal question, just super curious!

They look very well kept though! And very soft and warm, hehe!

Yes I do have wings . . ! I usually lower them down so they fit under my cape… They’re quite big but due to aging, they’re not usable anymore…. hahaha… It is not much of an issue though. I usually preen them myself, or have someone else assist me. Either a good friend or another assistant . .

I take a bit of pride in them . . I quite enjoy having them out free . . maybe I should have them out more often . .

They’re quite soft , so I wrap myself with it when I go to sleep . . heheha ..

[savventeen]

you say the stupidest (sweetest) things

pairing: seungkwan x gn!reader rating: 16+ (for swearing) wc: 4.5k prompt: seungkwan + "things you said at 1am" summary: you say stupid shit on the best of days, so when seungkwan comes over when you're having a bad bout of insomnia, the last thing he expects to hear from you is an accidental love confession warnings: insomnia, mental health issues, dissociation mention tags: fluff, friends to lovers, first kiss, reader is a little unhinged but who isn't tbh, they're also highkey allergic to genuine expressions of love/affection but they're working on it, banter, stimming, wrestling like children to try and work through emotions, reader is some flavor of lgbt+ (they make an "i've never done anything straight in my life" joke), reader's pov is dramatic bc they're dramatic oops a/n: this is for @dokyeomin as a part of my emergency commissions (check out the post here) and this was only supposed to be 1k but it 100% got away from me... i hope you still enjoy the fluff and all of the attached nonsense <3

From: Y/n 🔪 [11:47pm]

yo kwannie if i impulsively decide to go to the 24h convenience store how harshly do u think they'll jusdge me for buying every flavor of gummy candy available *judge i wanna see if i can melt them down into one Ultimate Gummy u know for Science

Seungkwan pauses brushing his teeth and stares down at your messages.

To be fair, it's probably not the strangest thing you've ever texted him. He's known you since your second year of college, after all, so he has about half a decade of experience with all of your various y/n-isms under his belt now.

Which is how he knows to trust his gut when it tells him that this probably isn't your usual brand of nonsense.

He spits the toothpaste into the sink and dials your number. You answer on the second ring.

“Before you say anything,” you start, “I was only half-serious about the gummies thing. Like, it's a fun idea, you know? In theory. But in actuality? I do not want to deal with the mess that it would create. Or the smells. Well, the smells might actually be pretty good depending on—“

“Uh-huh,” he interrupts dryly. “Y/n, when's the last time you slept?”

The beat of silence that follows is enough to confirm his suspicions, and the hesitant “Um” that follows is just the icing on the cake, really.

He sighs. “The fact that you have to think about it says enough.”

“I don’t need to think about it,” you argue petulantly. “I just… don’t wanna tell you.”

“Y/n...” he groans, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Look, I know, I'm sorry.” And you do sound a little bit sorry, at least. “I'm just. Having an episode. Don't worry about it.”

His shoulders droop as the words sink in. “Episodes” are what you've taken to calling your intermittent bouts of serious insomnia.

Generally speaking, you sleep about as well as the average twenty-something with a caffeine addiction. But every few months or so, it's like your brain completely forgets how to shut off and you end up staying awake for 40+ hours straight.

“Well,” he says, putting his toothbrush away and going back to his bedroom. “You know that ship has sailed, right? You know I'm gonna worry about it.”

Your deep sigh crackles over the line. “Yeah, I know.”

“So. Where're we at this time?”

He mentally braces himself. The two of you have done this enough times now that he knows that you know there's no point in trying to lie or beat around the bush.

“Uhhhhhhh, I'll be hitting the 46-hour mark in about 20 minutes.”

“Aish.”

The fact that you can say that so casually makes his heart hurt. He knows that whenever he doesn't get enough sleep, he makes sure everyone knows it and thus babies him accordingly. But you've always been so intent on hiding anything and everything you struggle with. It's taken years for him to bully himself past the walls you keep hidden behind shit-eating grins and an over-willingness to help.

“Okay,” he says, moving to the dresser to grab an extra set of clothes. “I'll be over in an hour.”

“Wait. What?”

“You heard me.” He tosses the clothes onto his bed before going to grab one of his duffle bags, firmly asserting, “You've got an hour to mentally prepare yourself for my arrival.”

“Honey, you've got a big storm comin',” you quote at him without hesitating.

“You sure do,” he assures with a snort. “Better get ready to feel the wrath of my friendship.”

“Why do you have to love so aggressively?”

He rolls his eyes while he throws his clothes into the duffle bag with one hand. “Because it's the only way you'll accept it, idiot.”

“No, it isn't.”

Your pout is so audible through the phone that Seungkwan has to stop and glance at the screen in disbelief.

“Y/n. Y/n L/n. Do not stand there and lie to my face like that.”

“I'm not lying!”

“Not—” He gesticulates wildly with one hand like he's going Can you believe this shit? to an invisible TV audience. “Okay, tell me this: what did you do the last time I sincerely monologued at you about how much you mean to me as a friend, hmm? No bits, no bullshit, just me telling you how much I love you and how amazing you are.”

A beat. “I'll hang up on you, Kwannie, don't test me.”

He barely resists the urge to shove his face into the bedspread and scream. “You're literally proving my point right now!”

“Kwannieeee,” you whine, because you know he's right.

“Also, because I'm never letting you live it down, I will remind you exactly what you did."

You say his name again, but it's muffled, and he assumes it's because you're hiding your face in shame.

“I gave you a sincere, heartfelt speech about how much your friendship has changed my life for the better and made me become a better person—” he ignores your wordless pterodactyl screech, “—and how do you respond? By staring at me like a deer caught in the headlights, slowly raising your arms to give me double finger guns, winking, and then slowly backing out of the room like an awkward mannequin!”

“...”

“Well?” He puts his free hand on his hip. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

“… I’ve changed a lot since then.”

Seungkwan rolls his eyes before moving to continue packing his overnight bag. “It was literally three months ago.”

“Yeah, and? Doesn't change the fact that I've changed,” you assert.

“Into even more of a nuisance? Yes, you're absolutely right.” He smiles when he hears you scoff playfully.

“Listen here, Boo Seungkwan. You know that well-rested Y/n is ready to throw down with you at a moment's notice. What do you think sleep-deprived, zero-impulse-control Y/n is going to do the second you get to their front door?”

“Stop referring to themself in the third person, hopefully,” he mutters, finally zipping up his bag and heading to the door. “And then after that, they're going to let me bully them into resting.”

“Hmm. The council has heard your proposal, briefly pondered it, and deemed it “unnecessary” on the basis of: they're a bad bitch that can't be stopped by neither time nor physics nor any god of your choosing.”

Seungkwan scoffs as he puts the call on speaker and sits to put on his sneakers. “Well, “the council” can go fuck right off.”

“What if the council would like to fuck right on?”

Pausing in the middle of tying his laces, he blinks down at his phone. “I'm— what?”

“Okay, real talk, what do you think it would mean in this case? Like, would this be like a 'hop on' versus 'hop off' situation? Or more like an 'I'm down for this' versus 'I'm up for this' kinda situation? Because it would have very different outcomes depending.”

Seungkwan decides that this is a debate better left for another time. “I think it means that I'm going to be at your house soon and that if you're not in your pajamas with hot Sleepy Time tea and the series Planet Earth ready to go, there will be consequences.”

“Booooooo, you whore.”

He finishes tying his laces and jabs his finger at the phone. “Consequences, Y/n.”

“Ugh, fine.”

“See you soon, love you, bye.” He hangs up before you can get another word in, but doesn't move from his seated position in the entryway.

Slowly, he takes a deep breath in and lets it out, taking a moment to lean back on his hands while he stares at the back of his front door. Specifically, at the large collage of sticky notes and pictures and doodles that have taken up residence there.

A few of the notes are ones he's gotten from other members of your shared friend group over the years (the one from Chan that reads "if u eat my rice i'll eat ur kneecaps xoxo" hangs proudly in the center, right next to a picture of him sleeping that Seungkwan managed to capture from an extremely unflattering angle). But most of them are from you.

Dumb puns, meme references, bullshit animal facts you made up just to get him to laugh… almost all of them are stupid in that extremely charming way that only you somehow manage to pull off.

But the one he's staring at now is almost completely hidden by other notes and pictures that have been added to the collage. It's a pale blue, the ink starting to fade a bit with time — the first note you ever gave him, back when you two were just people who happened to sit next to each other in an astronomy class.

Even though most of it is hidden, he doesn't need to be able to see all the tiny words you crammed into the small space to already know exactly what it says.

how do u make a space party? u planet :P u looked sad today, hope this makes u feel a little better also if this is 2 forward feel free 2 pretend i don't exist. or punt me in2 the sun idk u'd be doing me a favor tbh

He'd almost skipped class that day because of how bad he'd been feeling, but he'd decided to try and push through. And before that day, neither of you had interacted with more than a polite greeting and the occasional question about the homework.

But then you'd passed him that note, and he'd passed one back that said “that's dumb. but thank you” with a smiley face, and you'd passed another one back that said “do u think lizard people have ever been to space?” and the rest, they say, is history.

Seungkwan shakes his head with a sigh before standing up and grabbing his bag and his keys, striding determinedly out the door. He's got a best friend to take care of.

Seungkwan should be at your place soon, and you're not quite sure what to do in the meantime.

You have your laptop hooked up to the monitor in the living room with Planet Earth queued up, you have the kettle filled with water and ready to go on the stove, and you have mugs and teabags ready on the counter next to it.

The Required Tasks™️ have been completed as much as possible without the arrival of your best friend, and now all that's left to do is wait.

Which, normally, you're not the worst at. You're excellent at entertaining yourself, actually, mostly because there's always something to think about. Whether it be about cute dogs that you've seen over the past week (I wonder if the pomeranian down the street will let me pet him next time), potential plot twists for the new fantasy drama you're a little bit obsessed with (what if Gregothy was cursed the whole time???), or generic ponderings of the human existence as a whole (do souls have the metaphysical equivalent of a fingerprint?), you're pretty much always thinking about something.

Which is totally fine and dandy and cool or whatever when you have the ability to, you know, shut it off. For example, when you need to do something simple and necessary like, oh I don't know, go the fuck to sleep.

You also hate when that manic mental energy somehow translates into kinetic energy as well. It makes you feel like a hamster in a cage, watching yourself running and running and running on that stupid wheel until you exhaust yourself.

Tonight's metaphorical wheel: stimming like wild in the kitchen. Flapping, rocking, (gently) slapping, making weird and fun mouth sounds, the whole shebang.

And again, normally stimming is fun. Stimming is great. But stimming because you feel like if you don't stop moving you're going to literally vibrate out of your skin is, to put it lightly, Not It.

It takes you about ten minutes to work out all of the energy until you no longer feel like your blood was replaced with pop rocks.

With a groan, you lower yourself to the kitchen floor and lay down face first. Because despite how exhausted you feel in every possible way, there's still something like an itch in your conscious, a fucking pea underneath the miles of mattresses that refuse to let you just. Fucking. Sleep.

Your pity party must've lasted longer than you realized (or, more likely, you dissociated for a hot second there) because suddenly someone's knocking at your door at the same time you get a text from Seungkwan.

And you know it's a text from Seungkwan specifically because you got Vernon to help you change your notification settings so that whenever Seungkwan texts you, the "i love you.. bitch" sound clip plays instead of a normal text tone.

For a fraction of a second, you contemplate slowly inching your way to the door like an uncoordinated caterpillar, but you swat the thought aside like you’re swatting a gnat and you awkwardly roll to your feet and make your way to your front door.

Without hesitating, you unlock the door, swinging it open with a flourish and sticking a finger right in Seungkwan's face before he can utter a single syllable, forcing him to cross his eyes.

You open your mouth wide like you're going to say something, pause for a moment, then tap your pointed finger to his nose with a quiet "boop."

He blinks, expression turning deadpan, and sighs. "I should have expected this, honestly."

“Yep!”

You let him into your apartment, and he makes himself right at home, mildly bitching at you as he goes to get the tea ready, and something within you shifts.

The inside of your head is still a bit of a dumpster fire, unfortunately, but inside your chest... something clicks into place that you're not sure that you're ready to name. Whatever it is, though, it's soft and warm and kinda feels like your heart is being hugged.

Smiling to yourself, you follow him into the kitchen.

💤 💤 💤 💤 💤

It was pretty much straight to “business” after that, and it only takes Seungkwan one cup of tea and two episodes listening to David Attenborough's dulcet narrations for him to knock right out, leaning heavily against your shoulder on the couch.

Which means it's now the perfect time to sit there and Admire Your Bro™️.

It's rare to see him so still, you think. He's an active guy, in pretty much every sense of the word, and you always feel a little honored when you get to be witness to his quiet, vulnerable moments like this one.

He looks so serene, face smoothed out and painted in soft twirling shades of blue from the screen of the monitor, though you can't see too much of it from this angle. Mostly you just see his cheeks and stupidly adorable button nose.

And you've seen the same thing a million times before — in all kinds of states and expressions — and despite how much you've tried to ignore it, each and every time you've caught yourself noticing just how cute Seungkwan is, it's caused that thing in your heart to scrunch up, full of the L-word feeling that you've kept unnamed for what feels like forever now.

Except, maybe that thing in your heart is tired of scrunching up. Maybe it's decided that it's tired of forever.

Maybe that thing has finally decided to burrow itself out of the walls you've built up because you find yourself finally allowing yourself to think, Holy shit, I think I'm in love with you.

You don't realize that Seungkwan has completely stilled against you, but you certainly notice when he suddenly throws himself forward so he can turn around and stare at you incredulously. Only he overshoots a little bit and ends up falling off the couch with a squawk and a dramatic flail.

"Oh my god, Kwannie are you okay?!"

He stares at you from where he fell, wide-eyed like you've grown a second head or like the time you'd tried to convince him that birds weren't real and actually just a government conspiracy.

"Am— am I okay? No??"

Now it's your turn to move off of the couch, coming down to his level to see if maybe he hurt himself when he fell. "Fuck, okay, did you hit something? Do you need an icepack?"

Seungkwan being Not Okay is maybe one of the worst things that could ever happen in the entire universe and you're trying not to panic as you reach out to check for injuries.

"No, no, stop—" he bats away at your hands and you stop in your motions, now kneeling in front of him. "I'm not hurt!"

Your brain does the cartoonish screech thing as it comes to a halt, and you furrow your brows. "But.. you just said you're not okay?"

"I'm not!" His eyes are still wide in shock, but he also looks confused and maybe a little bit like he's about to cry?

Oh no. If he cries and it's somehow your fault (because it has to somehow be your fault) you think the world might actually end.

"Okay, uh. I am— confused,” you start, sure you must look as lost as you feel. “But, um, what can I do to help?"

He swallows, and a part of you realizes that he's looking at you with an expression you've never seen before. "Did you mean it?"

Knowing that it's significant but not yet knowing why, you maintain eye contact. "Mean what?"

"What you just said."

You blink. "...that I'm confused?"

He shakes his head. "No, before that."

You have a hard time remembering what you just said when you're not sleep-deprived and worried you've just somehow accidentally caused irreparable emotional damage to your best friend. "Uh... when I asked if you were okay?"

"No, fuck," and it's a shock for some reason, hearing him cuss right now. You hear him say much worse things all the time, but you think it might be the way he said it — with a kind of desperate vulnerability that you're not sure you've ever heard from him before.

That thing in your chest twinges and you think maybe you're the one who's gonna start crying.

He says your name like a plea, and then he's on his knees right in front of where you're kneeling on the floor, reaching forward to cup your face in his palms. "You said— Y/n, you said "holy shit I think I'm in love with you.””

Oh.

You're pretty sure your heart falls right out of your ass and bounces across the rug, judging from the way it comes to a dead stop. You blink at him. Full of new and sinking kind of dread, you whisper, "...I said that out loud?"

He laughs, but it's tinged with incredulity and sounds a little too close to a sob for comfort. "Yes! You did!"

And wait, no, your heart is still stuck in your chest, because you can feel it start pounding against your ribcage in double, triple, quadruple time. He must see the fear in your expression, because suddenly his eyes are narrowed in a determined scowl and he growls, "Oh no you don't."

Then you find yourself going down with a yelp as Seungkwan octopuses himself around you, trapping you within the confines of his surprisingly strong arms and legs as he basically tackles you to the floor.

You try and wiggle away even as you know it's useless, and he grits, "Y/n dammit, answer my question."

"Why were you even awake?” You deflect, getting an arm free and trying to give him a wedgie. “You were supposed to be asleep!"

"I was supposed to be asleep?!” He screeches, easily evading your reach and poking your ribs to get you to reflexively pull back your arm. “You're the one who hasn't slept in literal days! And stop avoiding my question!"

"No!" He has you trapped once again, and you resort to licking his arm.

"Oh my god!"

He muffles his scream into your shoulder, long and frustrated, and then he just... goes limp. He loosens his hold and just lets his full body weight kinda crush the parts of you he's ended up lying on and just... lays there.

This is your chance, you know — to wiggle free and escape and run away from your feelings just like you always have.

But, for some reason, you don't — that scrunched-up thing in your chest holds you back. You stay there, lying beneath Seungkwan on the floor of your living room at one-something in the morning, and the two of you just breathe.

"It's okay, you know," he murmurs after a moment, so quiet you barely hear him over David Attenborough still narrating softly in the background. "If you didn't mean it. It's okay."

Holy shit, I think I'm in love with you.

And you realize how easy it would be to play it off, to blame it on the sleep deprivation, the way you blurted it out like that — to say (to lie) you meant it completely platonically, like the way you propose to Mingyu at least once a month when he cooks you all dinner.

And you also realize, quite shockingly, that despite how a part of you still desperately wants to run away, the larger part of you wants to stay. Doesn't want to run. Doesn't want to lie anymore.

You swallow heavily, briefly close your eyes, and take in a deep breath. "And if I did? Mean it?"

This time, you do notice when Seungkwan goes still. Slowly, he lifts his head so he can look you in the eyes.

When he doesn't say anything, just continues to look at you with an unreadable expression, you try to continue.

"Would you— would that— would it be okay? If I meant it? When I— when I said that I'm in love with you? Is— because um, like you said, it's okay if it's not, and uh—"

Your nervous rambling comes to a stop when he once again cups your face, but it's gentler than before, closer to a caress. The whole time you'd been talking he'd been slowly sitting up, and now he's on his knees next to where you're still lying down on the floor, looking down at you like all the hope in the world is somewhere to be found in your expression.

"Y/n." he says your name like it's something precious, and you feel the absurd urge to burst into tears. "It would be very okay." His thumbs make gentle arcs across your cheeks. "And just to be clear: you mean it in a non-platonic sense, right?” He chews on his lip. “Hopefully, in a very much romantic sense?"

Staring at him staring at you, eyes bright with hope and a little bit of wonder... you can only imagine you must be looking at him the same way. Your chest feels like it's full of helium but also like something warm and gooey is sloshing around in there. And all that hope and wonder and holy shit is this actually happening? is causing your tongue to stick to the roof of your mouth, and all you're able to get past your lips is a breathless, "Hopefully?"

"Oh my god," he groans in frustration, but it's light and airy and makes you think of amusement park rides and fairy lights and how you want to annoy the shit out of this man for the rest of his life, if he'll let you. He's shaking his head, smiling, beaming, and he asks, "Why can you never give me any kind of a straight answer, huh?"

"Because it's my life's purpose to be the bane of your existence until the day we die," you say, reaching up to hold his face too. "Also because I've never done anything straight ever in my life."

And then your body is moving before your brain can think it though, dragging him down until you can press your lips to his and finally, finally know what it's like to kiss Boo Seungkwan.

He makes a little noise of surprise, one that you can feel buzz against your lips before he melts into you. And oh, any thoughts you might have had are forcefully ejected from your brain because all you can focus on are his lips pressed to yours, the way they move slowly, gently, turning this chaste kiss into the most scorching experience of your life. His nose bumps against yours and the heat of his warm breath sends tingles throughout your body, and his hands, fuck, his hands are still holding you gently but also with a firmness that feels like he doesn't want to let you go.

And then he's pulling away, and you whine at him because this may be the cruelest thing he's ever done to you ever in your entire life. "Noooooo, why'd you stop?"

"Because, as much as I'd love to continue to make out with you on your floor while an old British man narrates about life on the Serengeti—” he mercifully ignores the way you choke on your spit at the way he talks about making out with you so nonchalantly "—it's past someone's bedtime."

Your mouth drops open in offended shock. Was he actually going to put you to bed like a child? Like you both hadn't just declared your romantic love for each other? "Are you fucking serious?"

He just stands up and crosses his arms, looking down at you with a single raised eyebrow. You take the part of you that finds it annoyingly attractive and promptly smother it, crossing your own arms from your position on the floor.

"I'm not a baby," you definitely don't pout.

"Hmmm...” And then the bastard fucking pouts at you. “But you're my baby."

You blink at him.

"Welp, that was nice while it lasted,” you grunt, rolling to your feet, “but I suddenly need to relocate to Antarctica and become a penguin herder.”

He pulls you into his arms with a laugh, and you let him, burying your face in the crook of his shoulder.

“You know,” he starts after he's held you for a few moments. “This isn't how I ever imagined how us confessing to each other would go.”

You snort.

“But also,” he continues, “it feels very 'us' doesn't it?”

"Yeah,” you murmur, not bothering to lift your head from his shoulder.

“Mmm, is someone finally sleepy?” he teases, starting to waddle you both towards your bedroom. “Did all the emotions finally wear you out?”

Instead of nodding, you lightly kick him in the shin and the sappy part of your brain that is currently in charge of everything thinks that his indignant squawk is one of your most favorite sounds.

The sappy part of your brain is right, of course, and when you wake up in your bed 15 hours later and accidentally smack him in the face, the urge to run is a little bit smaller than it was before. And the way he flushes bright red after you sleepily kiss him on the cheek is an image you're going to cherish until the day you die.

[stoutguts]

Autistic/neurodivergent 👻 (💀🧼 too bc why not/it's my comfort ship and I love them)

(chock full my own personal HCs and ideas, also mental health stuff/issues/problems heyo)

CW: brief mentions of s*icide/s*icidal ideation

I have a lot more to say about this freak, than pretty boy, ADHD brain rotted Johnny, so let’s get into it‼️‼️

Ghost is socially awkward as all hell with actual negative rizz, whether platonically or romantically. Most people write him off as weird, creepy, or scary, though that's also part of his charm and mystique for some reason.

Autistic, (and it's painfully obvious lmao). Special interests include Skyrim, DND, Bloodborne, Dark Souls, Elden Ring, The Witcher, etc. An absolute sweat, so it’s absurdly good at the games too. Also owns a ridiculous amount of merch pertaining to these games, from t-shirts to fucking coffee mugs. Their eyes will positively light up whenever they get the chance to geek out, and will talk your ear off about it. Soap always listening to it's nerdy rants, as he just loves to hear Simon talk no matter what it’s about. But, also because he’s always so eager to learn about what his partner likes or is interested in. Every now and then it'll get Johnny to join them for a round of DND or watch him play Skyrim or some other game, or even other members of the 1-4-1. And even though Soap and the others aren't nearly as experienced and well-versed in these games as Ghost is, they still both/all have a lot of fun. Outside of video games, they’re also obsessed with marine life and sea creatures. They're especially fond of sharks, he has a large collection of stuffed sharks/shark plushies in fact. Each with their own individual names that he loves dearly. Can't sleep without at least one plushie or shark, and sleeps with a different one each night, cycling through them. They also love to visit aquariums and the beach, and it has encyclopedic knowledge when it comes to most underwater creatures or marine mammals you can think of. He loves to show this off via party trick, or of course, just for the sake of rambling about it. It owns entire books on just sharks or marine life, and is obssessed with watching nature doctumentaries, whether it's on sea or land creatures.

Speaking of his fascination with marine life...He even keeps a few Ranchu goldfish as pets that it bought online from a breeder, (as Ranchu goldfish are one of it’s favorite fish/favorite breeds of goldfish). It thinks of them as it’s own children, and does it’s due diligence and research to provide them with the best care possible, (plus a beautifully decorated tank). Their names are Wotsit, Tangy, and Oswald. Wotsit and Oswald are males, Wotsit is red and black, and Oswald is a "calico" Ranchu. While, Tangy is female, and is orange and white.

At first, Johnny can't for the life of him understand what makes a goldfish, (fish being some of the most boring pets in the world in his humble opinion), so appealing as a pet. But he sees how happy the fish make Simon, so he doesn't really question it, just leaving it at "if they’re happy, than I guess that's all that really matters". Though the more Ghost talks about them with so much excitement and affection for it’s little fishy friends, the more Soap begins to appreciate them and kind of grow attached to them in his own way.

Simon stims by bouncing his legs, pacing, flapping their hands, or grinding his teeth (had to get braces and later a retainer to fix their teeth because of this). It used to mainly stim by rocking back and forth as a child, and he still does it from time to time to help calm himself, or for comfort when they need it. It also likes to walk on their tiptoes,—(he has exceptionally strong legs and calfs because of this habit),—especially when walking up or down stairs.

This detail is more just a general personality trait of his but whatever—

They are very expressive, (Johnny finds it absolutely adorable). Which is something not a lot of people know about him, as when the situation calls for it or when they need to get it together, he has excellent control over his emotions. A sensitive crybaby, and is a very emotional person. Quite literally can’t help it.

Ghost often has a hard time understanding other people or what they're feeling due to his autism. They're not heartless by any means, and it tries it's best to understand, but most times they unintentionally come off as insensitive or mean. He’s also brutally honest with people and never lies.

Simon needs constant reassurance due to their often low self-esteem, and Johnny is more than happy to provide that for him. Always praising them and telling them that he’s handsome, that he’s enough, that he’s perfect, and that he’s such a good boy.

(Speaking of Soap praising him, Ghost has a praise kink, to which Johnny is also more than happy to indulge. Though will occasionally use it’s kink against it, such as openly giving it praise during missions. Which Simon is always embarrassed, and seemingly hates it, but in actuality it’s the hottest thing ever).

That he loves them more than anything in the whole wide world, and would not trade him for anything. That he’d never lie, or cheat on him, (and he’s proven time and time again that he’s a man of his word). That it is his “forever” and nothing can change that.

The fact that Johnny is always so considerate of it’s needs touches Simon so deeply, as none of it’s past partners had ever been so respectful. Warming their heart, and it only continues to deepen the love he has for his partner. 💖

Ghost has a rescue German Shepherd named Riley. They love the dog to death, brings him everywhere with them. Simon especially likes to always take Riley with him when they go out jogging or for a run, or whenever they just feel like walking around the neighborhood to clear their head. The two are joined at the hip, not only because they’re incredibly attached to each other...But because Riley is trained as an emotional support animal for PTSD and anxiety-related reasons, and is also a medical alert service dog. Regarding not only some pretty nasty asthma, but he’s got some hereditary cardiovascular/heart issues that could prove to be a real problem.

Simon can't really live without him.

Riley is formerly both a fighting and military dog, they took him as their personal pooch, after no other handlers would work with him due to aggression issues. He has stunning green eyes and a beautiful black and tan coat. Though he's a bit mangy. With Ghost having handmade a leather spiked collar and a chain leash to match his overall ruggedness, though Riley's personality couldn't be farther from his tough exterior. Simon has re-trained and re-socialized him very well, and has helped him to unlearn his past temperament/behavior. Good with kids and other dogs and animals, loves people and attention. Though still has just enough bite left in him to be protective and to act as a guard dog for him and Johnny, always at the ready in case something happens. Which in Ghost's eyes is highly important and appreciated in a dog.

Riley's past history really tugged on Simon's heartstrings, so he has dedicated himself to pampering his dog. Getting him the best dog food money can buy, always looking out for a new toy for him when he goes to the store, etc. Riley often will sleep in between Ghost and Soap or at the foot of their bed.

Ghost struggles with PTSD and generalized anxiety disorder (GAD). His PTSD stems from his traumatic childhood. While his anxiety is mostly a by-product of his PTSD and trauma, as well as something born from the stress of being in the military, and learning to always be on the alert, never at ease. Though both seem to be somewhat tied to his autism as well.

They have panic attacks regularly, (which can be very dangerous because of his asthma, having to carry an inhaler on him at all times). (Plus, his heart condition is heavily affected by stress, which he’s treated/medicated for, but can still pose a risk). Flashbacks occur more often than not, (their flashbacks mostly happen in their sleep, as nightmares and night terrors).

Johnny is really the only one who knows of their past and mental health. (On all government mandated material, it’s intentionally left vague. The most it recognizes is that Ghost was born in Manchester, that his father's got a lengthy criminal record, and his capture and extensive torture by Roba).

As they don’t really talk about themselves that much, half because they’d rather not bring up such painful memories, and half for the fact he doesn’t really want other people knowing his business. Either that, or it's just that either no one ever really cared to know, or people weren't stubborn (or stupid) enough to press on it further, (apart from Johnny of course).

Soap is incredibly understanding and patient, therefore, it was very easy to open up to him. (Simon still finds that Johnny's the only person he's super comfortable opening up to, but also it opens up to and overshares with Roach every now and then). Johnny has a strange sort of calming effect on Ghost. Soap being an expert on how to get Simon to relax. Even when Ghost has a whole-ass service dog, (who also happens to be registered as an emotional support animal too), for this exact reason and purpose—But, Johnny frankly doesn't give a fuck. He wants it to know that he’s there for them, and that he cares deeply for him. Simon appreciating his fawning over him, and him taking care of them greatly.

Simon also has major depressive disorder (MDD), having struggled with such since childhood, and battles with suicidal ideation/thoughts on the daily.

They have actually even attempted quite a few times in the past. (Fun fact, the closest he’d ever come to successfully killing himself, was when Soap had gone into a months long coma after having been nearly killed by Makarov).

He’ll have depressive episodes that can last from days, to weeks, to months, sometimes being borderline debilitating and/or incapacitating. Soap tries to always be there for it during hard times, and this is no exception. He tries to provide him with what they may need, whether it’s a bit of humor to get it’s mind off things, or consolation after a long day, or maybe a hug, or one of their favorite snacks from the grocery store.—All Ghost has to do is ask, but usually Johnny always knows what he needs without a word being said between them.

Ghost goes to therapy regularly, and it does help a lot, (as they’ve got a fantastic therapist, having provided them with tools that have helped to save their skin on more than a few occasions). Though unfortunately despite this,—he’ll never be completely happy or stable. But that’s fine and is something it can live with, as long as he has Soap by their side and other people to support him. 💖

And last but not least…All members of the 1-4-1 having highly specific phobias? Yes please!

As for Ghost…

He is deathly afraid of thunderstorms/has major Astraphobia, as it triggers flashbacks regarding his father’s physical abuse. Simon is about the most vulnerable you’ll ever see him during a thunderstorm, they can’t do anything but curl up into a ball and sob and shake. He’s even pissed himself from fear on a few occasions after a particularly loud clap of thunder. Soap always tries to make sure he’s by their side when bad weather is soon to come, even planning his schedule around it (if he can), or rushes home to it in the event of a storm. If they end up having an accident he’ll help to clean them up. Cuddling with him, holding them and having Ghost clinging to him while they cry into his shoulder, attempting to soothe him with lovely words and a gentle touch.

They are also afraid of bugs/have major entomophobia, their entire squad teases and makes fun of them for it, (including Johnny lmao). Though it’s all in good fun, and if Simon ever encounters a single solitary insect…It’s got comfort in knowing their buddies and Soap are there for them, and will protect them. :3 (Idk, I just think it would be hilarious that this grim reaper looking ahh mf, 6’0 or taller brick shithouse of a man, is afraid of a fly getting too close to him).

I really need to gather up my hcs for Gaz and Price and write them down, I love those two as much as Ghost and Soap…I also wanna write shit about NikPrice, bc that’s like my favorite COD ship next to GhostSoap…hrmmm

[gears-twisting-and-turning]

For the stex requests, could we get CB (more specifically the pre-2018 Bochum version, if that’s okay) with a flirty reader who doesn’t care about his crimes.

Like he’d tell them about a crash he caused and they’d just be like „That’s nice, hun, anyways *Insert pick up line*“

Love your writing btw!

Thank you so much for liking my writing! Here's your request, I hope you like it :]

CW - talking about crashes, dying and slight self harm? (Better be safe than sorry)

---

This man… would be confused

Don’t get him wrong, you will never ever see that he is confused as he would mask it with his wide grin like he always does.

But you see, most people have some kind of a reaction to his crashing. Usually it’s concern, fear, disgust, you name it. Sometimes it’s things like Greaseball and Electra who use it to their advantage and are surprisingly okay with it because it benefits them.

For you to go: “That’s nice, anyways are you free tonight?” …. what

He’s never had someone NOT react to his favorite pastime like that. So in his mind you’re either too naive to realize he practically kills people for fun, or you’re very mentally ill. He. Loves it.

Yet he’s horrible with emotions so would he ever admit that he likes the fact that you’re so flirty with him? And that he loves how you just don’t care about his crashing people and still want to be with him? Hahaha no

If anything he would dig that deep down into his body and then die :) because crashing and dying is better than confronting feelings, am I right?

That does not stop you from flirting with him and the more you do, the more frantic he feels and the more frantic he acts. He hates that he is falling for you so easily and how you make him feel these warm things that makes him want to rip out his own wiring

Again he isn’t good with feelings, but when you finally break through his frantic behavior and take him on a date. You now have a ride or die boyfriend, good luck getting rid of him

He’s genuinely so smitten with the fact that he can ramble on about the crashes he caused in your arms while you’re just pampering him with affection. To the people outside of your relationship it’s ehhhh… concerning, but to him it’s perfect. 

Also gets excited in his own special way whenever you flirt with him, it’s practically him stimming whenever you do since he doesn’t know what to do with the lovey dovey warm feelings he has in his heart for you

[coffins-and-marbles]

House MD Gift Exchange!!!

this is my gift for @househrt from @housemdanniversary 's gift exchange for the 20th anniversary, happy twenty years everybody!!!

THE UNSUBTLE ART OF CHANGING WHO YOU ARE : (Hilson, 5 times Wilson was shamed for stimming and one time House showed him that it was okay.)

ONE:

James Wilson is four years old when he learns that there’s something wrong with him.

Neither of them has words for it yet but Wilson is sitting across from a boy whose name will end up blending in with the mass of others who have noticed that something isn’t quite right, only he doesn’t know this yet so as he builds his block tower or sorts his shapes and does whatever it is that four-year-olds enjoy, he doesn’t think about much else.

This turns out to be his fatal flaw.

Because the other boy, maybe a Jack, looks up from his end of the table and says,

“You’re doing this,” and he sways his body back and forth.

It isn’t outright malicious, not in the way people will be as he grows older, at least, but something like shame creeps up his throat and swallows any response he might have tried to give.

Wilson only stacks another three blocks in the next hour because all he can think about is maybe-Jack rocking himself back and forth.

Had he really been doing that?

In his mind he’d been sitting stock still like everybody else and to find that all this time he had been moving so unnaturally…

He finds out that embarrassment feels hot all over and he suddenly envies the toy bear that he saw somebody else stuff underneath the bean bags earlier (it was hidden, safe).

The other kids didn’t see him sway, he knows this because everybody else was spelling their names with plastic letters or playing outside in the treehouse, but they still notice something; something other, that they all understand is bad which is why they call him names and walk away whenever he wants to play, but he isn’t sure what it is yet that’s making them go away so he can’t even try and fix it.

Instead, he imagines the array of animals painted along one of the long, long classroom walls coming to life, and when they climb out in pairs from the thick, brick walls, they don’t like the other kids, but they do like him, so really, he has hundreds of friends and he’s fine.

Everything’s fine.

Later he’ll wonder where the adults had been all this time, and why nobody ever seemed to notice him walking up and down the length of that wall what must have been a hundred times a day, running his hands along the paint, memorising every single bump and dent, imagining running alongside his friends, or if they did notice then why hadn’t they spoken to him? Or asked whether or not he was okay?

Sometimes he made the animals talk to one another, in his head where nobody could’ve imagined that such a rich and colourful world was developing.

As he travelled back and forth, totally immersed in his wonderful little world, Wilson would flap his free hand up and down and up and down in time to whatever weird and wonderful story he’d been thinking up that day.

He wasn’t aware of this either. It was second nature, only normal. Just another way that his body moved, and he’d never been asked to stop before, he was still a little kid after all. Except, that boy had scared him, and now he was a little too aware.

Should he stop?

He tried, briefly, to get his limbs under control.

It was possible…

Wilson would practice sitting very still, with his hands by his sides and his legs crossed so it was less tempting to bounce them up and down. This was a start, only the tip of the iceberg in fact (he hadn’t started learning to smile properly in the mirror yet).

But it wasn’t fun. It was uncomfortable, like not being able to scratch an itch or having to hold your breath underwater. The easier thing to do was pretend that he didn’t want to play with anybody at all and walk along his wall instead.

There’d only been one other time he could remember trying to play with the other kids.

What was probably the same year, he had walked confidently up to a group of boys messing around by the quiet corner, they were playing knights and Wilson really liked knights, because they were always helping people and everybody loved them for it. He wanted to be needed like that too.

A blonde boy sat on a throne three beanbags tall, from here he knighted the other boys with his plastic sword from the dress up box; it was him that Wilson walked up to with his courage balled up tightly in the same fist that clung to a plush tiger he’d found in the toy bin (they weren’t allowed to bring teddies in from home anymore, they were too old now).

“What knight am I?”

All around him the other knights giggled as if he’d told a joke and only they had understood the punchline, but Wilson hadn’t been joking and he felt a sticky, unpleasant warmth rising up through his body from the very tips of his toes all the way up to the hairs on his head.

This didn’t stop him from waiting eagerly for his new name, bouncing excitedly on the tips of his toes -another mistake, as he would later learn.

He was surrounded by knights with names that practically cried out for those around them to ask after what were undoubtedly many stories of valiance, and he wanted to feel powerful like they did.

Strong Sam stood up to whisper something in the Kings ear as Wilsons stomach shifted and squirmed uncomfortably beneath the surface of his skin.

“You can be a knight, James.” Said the King, smirking, which Wilson took for a smile (he’d even smiled back, stupid).

Strong Sam had sat back down with the others now and although they clamoured to find out what he’d told the King, Sam would only giggle in response. They’d all find out soon enough.

The King had now lifted his sword and Wilson eagerly got down on one knee as he’d seen the other boys do from across the classroom,

“You can be the knight…” He tapped the sword on one shoulder, and then the other,

“Jerk James!”

Suddenly all of the boys erupted in fits of laughter, rolling around and clutching their sides but Wilson was hardly hearing them at all. If he had been asked to describe it, he might have said it felt a little bit like the floor had given out underneath him, and that the awful ‘hot-all-over’ feeling from before was back along with the churning in his stomach.

“You’d be a Jerk knight because you’re just a jerk!”

He somehow makes it back up but Wilson really, really, really doesn’t want to be in school anymore and he goes slowly back to his wall, cheeks still flushed pink with shame.

Pretending that the other boys aren’t still laughing and shouting behind him, he places his left hand against a zebra’s stripes and resumes the march up and down and up and down.

TWO:

This time Wilson’s just turned thirteen.

They’re all in the kitchen, eating breakfast before school and Wilson’s got the latest DC comic in his hands, mirroring his father from across the table where he fences himself off from his family using the morning paper.

It’s been a long time since he’s learnt that he doesn’t have what everybody else knows it takes to be a human. He’s decided to learn instead.

He spends far too much time poring over sociology textbooks and learning about the human body, he tells his parents it’s because he wants to become a Doctor since that sounds better than admitting that their son is really just broken and trying desperately to fix himself.

“Stop doing that.”

That was his father, predictably.

Some people would call him a Mummy’s Boy, but Wilson preferred to think she just understood him better, maybe she’d been a little bit broken too? He was always too scared to ask.

“What?” He instantly replied, strike one. That was too blunt. Rude (Wilson got called that a lot).

He focuses on making the correct amount of eye contact as he looks up, not enough and people would turn around wondering what was interesting about the wall they were stood against, too much and they looked at you funny, or asked if everything was quite alright -it never felt like it was.

“Acting like there’s something wrong with you. It’s like you’re ret-”

“I always thought it was creative,” His mum chimes in, smiling and glaring at his father, warning him not to cuss, Danny was in the room after all.

“It’s not fu-…” He let a breath out through his teeth, already reaching for a smoke, “Just stop it. Don’t need people saying anything, okay?”

He’s gone before Wilson can even reply, digging around in his pocket for a lighter as he walks out the door.

“What?”

His mum won’t get angry if he’s blunt.

“Oh, you know…” She flattens down a crease in her skirt, looking anywhere but at him as if it’s too humiliating to say out loud.

But his blank stare inclines her to try again, “That thing you do…You know, I personally never had any trouble with it. You know your grandma said it meant you were going to be creative! It’s…It’s just your father, he wants us to look good, don’t you?”

Only that’s only made him more confused, what was that ‘thing he always did’?

Luckily his mother rambled on, skirting very neatly around the point as she tended to do, “I guess it’s just because you’re older now and you know it’s just because he cares.”

It’s always his fault. His father’s blameless.

It’s easier to just nod this time, you weren’t allowed to ask for clarification more than twice because if you still didn’t understand by then it meant that you were stupid, his teacher from last year had taught him this when he failed to agree that he had understood the topic, and since he’d apparently given him attitude alongside his ineptitude, Wilson had been made to hold his arms upright in the air for ten minutes.

This didn’t seem like much, but until you’ve had to hold your hands in the air for ten minutes, then it never will.

There were dozens of lessons just like this one to learn as you grew, and Wilson could never seem learn them fast enough, always falling behind in one way or another.

At least not having friends left him time to catchup (he’d had a few ‘friends’ in looser terms, but eventually it became embarrassing to be seen with him, and then even they slowly stepped away, everybody wanted to be like after all).

People still saw that he wasn’t quite complete not matter what he did.

For now, he had gone back to reading his comic, which he thought was brilliant. The superheroes amazed him, always saving somebody. This always undoubtedly led to many thanks from everybody else in the city, maybe even kisses from the girls who were particularly thankful.

Jealously followed shame closely in terms of emotions that seemed inherent to his existence. Only envy felt easier to fix, remember, he could become a Doctor. They saved people too.

Everything was fine.

“You’re doing it again.” Danny this time.

“No.” But he was only saying that to disagree with his brother, because he still hadn’t the faintest clue where he’d gone wrong in the first place.

“James just stop it alright; your father has a big meeting at work today and you don’t need to upset him anymore.”

“I’m not doing anything.” He insists, naturally. He really isn’t.

“You are too!” Danny reaches over to snatch the comic, “You’re reading it all weird like this.”

To Wilsons horror his brother begins to crease the pages between his fingers and move the book left and right, then up and down. He even lightly flaps the paper away from and towards himself again.

Wilson grabs it back, practically slamming it back down on the table, his cheeks turning shades of splotchy red as he glares down at his breakfast.

“Boys! Behave yourselves!” She warns, but she’s already clearing their plates away with her next breath, so she doesn’t notice Danny shaking his spoon and making his eyes roll round in a cruel imitation of James and his alleged weirdness.

“Stop that.”

“Don’t wind your brother up, go brush your teeth. Both of you.”

Where Danny sprints off, Wilson stands up slowly, staring at his arms in case they get away from him again and walks carefully upstairs, clutching his comic book firmly in his fist.

There has to be something very wrong with him if he can’t hide these ugly, broken parts of himself even now he’s older.

He should have learnt by now, only he hasn’t because he’s stupid and he never learns so he can’t get anything right.

He reckons that dad was right in trying to stop him. Nobody wants an embarrassment like him in the family.

Eventually he’s upstairs and as he scrubs his teeth, wincing around the violently minty flavour exploding throughout his mouth, Wilson tries to imagine what will happen at breakfast tomorrow in his head.

Obviously, a repeat of the comic book situation is off the table, the shame creeping up along his neck clings to him often enough at school, he doesn’t need it following him home as well.

No, tomorrow he will place his comic down flat on the table, one he’s read before so he can focus on where his arms and legs are instead, and he’ll be able to ignore the kettle boiling or their neighbours dog barking because if it doesn’t bother anybody else then it isn’t allowed upset him either.

Then, as his father reads the morning paper and his mother frets over how presentable his brother looks, he will sit still and eat his breakfast like a normal kid. Maybe it’ll get easier, maybe one day he can stop pretending.

THREE:

The cafeteria at his university made Wilson want to throw up from the first moment he set foot inside.

Fluorescent lights glared down, cutlery crashed against table-tops, chairs scraped the faux-wood floor as people stood and everything in the room seemed to be singing a song to a different tune.

The endless clatter and chatter were overlayed with the vile stench of people’s food mingling in the air and this unfortunately forced something uniquely disgusting up into Wilson’s nostrils.

For all of the rules he had learnt and written into the scripts he relied on to function as a real person, (which he was getting better at, he had a boyfriend now, not that his parents would ever know) there was still one thing he still always chose to avoid rather than overcome.

Rooms like this one.

This included coffee shops, restaurants, house parties, parties in general, particularly crowded lecture halls and anywhere else where the lights were too bright, or the sounds overlapped so badly that he could hardly make out what anybody was saying.

Unfortunately, a lot of places met this criterion, and since his attempt to be something other than a widely disliked social recluse -and more broadly to become a new man- he had accepted many invites to places he knew would make his teeth itch.

Almost worse, it had worked.

So what if he broke down every other night alone in his room? Being liked was more important, he had been taught this in a hundred and one way over the years, and some were a lot less pleasant than others.

On this particular weekday, during the precious gap between lectures, his boyfriend (whom everybody loved) had taken them both (along with three of his other friends) into the main cafeteria.

The cafeteria was a largely alien place to Wilson who wouldn’t have gone in there voluntarily if a million pounds was up for grabs (okay maybe only then); for all his practiced nonchalance meant that he had managed to sit down with the others and participate in their conversation somewhat normally, it had been fifteen minutes now and little things were slipping between the cracks.

Whilst he still hadn’t flapped another book (comic or not), nor had he rocked back and forth or fallen for a smirk as easily as he had in his younger and more vulnerable years, something inherent to his being continued to push people away.

Despite many hours practicing a perfect smile (not too many teeth, relaxed, or as close as he could get to relaxed anyways, had become his formula) today it had slipped, and he’d stared blankly back at a friend whose name he’d forgotten a month ago now but was too scared of to speak to, let alone ask.

That had been his first mistake.

It was relatively minor, excusable and swept quickly and efficiently under the rug using a joke to bring attention to him in a new self-deprecating way that hopefully overrode the previous moment in everybody’s memories.

Unfortunately, the second stumble ended in far worse a fall.

Years spent mastering stillness had led Wilson to feel in full control of himself, and usually he was.

But the assault of sounds, lights and noises pressing on him had been pulling him deeper into his subconscious, where it was safer in a way.

“Need to piss or something?” Asks Ethan, typically blunt but it’s funny, because it’s Ethan.

Only clearly Wilsons blank look (strike, always pretend that you understood) doesn’t satisfy his need of for response.

“You’re squirmin’ all over the place babe,” He adds, giving everybody else in the group a look that makes them laugh and Wilson feels four years old again.

What had it been this time? Bouncing his legs, tapping his fingers, flapping his hands? Perhaps swaying or rocking or nodding his head?

“Haha yeah, totally desperate!” He blurted, trying to ward of the fiery shame that was already threatening to paint his face pink and red.

Wrong answer.

You’re out.

Everybody stares back and he recognises the look to be distaste, disgust, disapproval.

He’s seen it on enough people to be familiar with it by now but that doesn’t make it hurt any less and he’s embarrassed all over again, feeling more and more like he might throw up his lunch by the minute because this time the stakes are higher.

An angry blush is coating his face before he’s even able to try and stop it (sometimes if he pinches himself hard enough, it’s almost possible).

Impressing a few boys before any of them had even learnt to count to twenty seemed so inconsequential now that he wanted to laugh at himself for caring so much at the time. Back then he hadn’t needed friends in the way he understood you did now.

That had been his last shot, if Ethan didn’t like him nobody else in his classes would, that boy was essentially in charge of the hierarchy he’d hoped so badly would be left behind following high school.

 Wilson had always hated that made up social food chain, mainly because he’d always been stuck helplessly at the very bottom.

He’d finally climbed up a few steps, practically fighting his way to the top, and now he was tumbling back down, ashamed of himself and jealous of everybody that this came easily to, as per usual.

They were still staring, and he understood this to mean he should leave now, so Wilson mumbled something about actually going to take a leak and walked stiffly away, keenly aware of their eyes burning into his back.

He walked funny.

Ethan had told him, because he always looked out for him like that.

As he walks or waddles or does whatever it is he’s doing wrong this time, laughter echoes in his ears and distantly he realises that one of them is imitating him, much to the joy of his other ‘friends’. He pretends that it isn’t Ethan.

Everything’s fine.

His fingers tap rhythmically against his trouser leg, and he tries to stop himself but his ears ache on the inside and he’s so, so tired that he suddenly finds he can hardly hold himself upright and he wishes he was hidden safely under his clean, white, hotel-room duvet that muffles the entirety of the outside world when he’s underneath it.

The moment he turns the corner he breaks into a sprint and Wilson runs so hard his calves ache by the time he’s back in his bedroom, where he sits against the door so it feels even more like nobody else can come in -with the blinds shut although it’s only midday- and cries silently until the knot stopping air from getting to his lungs loosens enough for him to get into bed and enjoy sleep until he has to deal with yet another day.

FOUR:

He’s back from work on time today, really, really trying to made Julie happy.

Nothing he does ever seems to make her happy anymore, and because things like this are always his fault, he assumes that whatever’s making her distant this time is on him too. Luckily, this means that he can fix it.

Wilson likes to think he’s gotten a lot better at acting like a person over the years.

He has a well-paying job, helping people and being needed just like he always wanted.

Maybe he still isn’t doing brilliantly on the ‘friend’s’ front, in terms of what’s expected for a man of his age anyway, but at least he has House, which will always be enough for him.

Julie is his first wife and every day he marvels at how such an amazing woman could choose a man like him (somebody so broken).

He’d never felt that flirting was his strong suit but somebody in a bar pointed it out to him once that knowing how-to could get a guy long way, and Wilson instantly became obsessed with learning everything about it.

That was a big part of upping his social game enough to start getting anything other than judgemental looks at job interviews – apart from avoiding shame, wanting to earn a living wage was a big incentive when it came to picking up social skills.

Unfortunately, sometimes he still isn’t able to give people what they want; over the past few months Julie has slowly become one of them. Insatiable. Unsatisfied. Disappointed.

This means that they argue now. A lot.

“Honey, I’m home!” He shouts but his voice only echoes back at him, she’s busy (again).

That’s okay, he deserves to be ignored a bit, put in his place.

His father was always keen to remind him and without that not so gentle chiding, Wilson might still be creasing his comics or bringing shame upon himself in a dozen other ways.

Everything’s fine.

He sets about cooking dinner pretty much as soon as his shoes are off, feeling more useful already and smiling to himself as he imagines Julie thanking him and falling instantaneously back in love at nothing more than the sight of this beautiful homecooked meal.

It’s something new, a recipe that he saw on a flyer somewhere and instantly imagined sharing with somebody -he decided that Julie was the correct choice, as his wife, although House probably would have liked it more, but that’s a bad thought, something he ought to be punished for later.

As he putters about their kitchen, the one place in their apartment where he feels truly relaxed, Wilson likes to flap whatever he grabs next, shaking potatoes up and down or making a teaspoon sway.

This little habit grew out of the world’s insistence that he stop flapping his hands.

After he’d been reprimanded and humiliated one too many times Wilson had thrown himself headfirst into reshaping himself.

Everything about him had to be different. The way he worked, moved, walked, lived and breathed.

None of it was good enough and after torturing himself into stillness at last, his unfaithful, wretched body only found other ways to move without his knowing. This started with flapping objects, as if it was less obvious or safer in some way.

Now he had to be careful of that too, minding anything he picked up very, very closely (God forbid he shook a tool mid-surgery or made a fool of himself in the office by flapping some paperwork during a shift).

However, for all his care and concern, sometimes it slipped out, catching him unawares every time he got a little bit too comfortable in his own skin.

Wilson had just grabbed a knife to dice up a few potatoes, feeling himself unwind after a long day, and without even realising it he was holding the handle looser than he normally would, flapping the end lightly up and down as he turned back to the counter with the cutting board on.

“The fuck are you doing?”

“Wha-”

“Are you trying to fucking kill us both?”

His mouth felt dry and although Wilson scrambled to find something to say the words felt thick and heavy on his tongue, too sharp and awkward to pull up out of his throat.

It immediately clicked that he’d been moving wrong, acting badly.

His eyes narrowed down to the knife in his hand.

Oh god how close had Julie been…

“Sorr-”

“I’ve had a really long day, James, and I thought you were cooking dinner, not playing fucking Patrick Bateman in my kitchen! But no-o here you are waving a fucking knife around like you’re five fucking years old!”

“I didn’t mean-”

“Oh I’m sure you’re chock-full of pretty little excuses, but I think it’s House, rubbing off his-…His fucking craziness on you! Yeah, like a gas leak or a groomer or something…God…Look I’m gonna eat out yeah?” She’s already halfway to the door, did she have her shoes on this whole time?

“Bye.”

With that unceremonious goodbye Julie’s officially gone for the night, it won’t be long until he finds out where, and that will somehow hurt less.

She hadn’t even been close enough to-

And Wilson never would’ve-

But that’s not the point.

The point is he’s still broken after so many years of trying to cover it up and he’s hardly any better at pretending to be normal. Look where that got him.

He’s exhausting Julie, in the same way he upset his mother and father, or before that, it was whatever he had done to the other kids at school that made them so loathe to go near him.

Wilson feels tears prick at his eyes and his hands immediately begin to flap in short, stilted bursts, but this merely adds to the anger burning in his chest, threatening to make his heart explode, and instead he forces himself to grip the counter’s edge until his knuckles turn white and he sees spots start to dance in his vision.

Afterwards, he pretends to himself that he is normal.

He finishes dinner, eats a tiny bit (his stomach is now churning with guilt, and shame has almost wholly swallowed his appetite) and puts the rest in Tupperware boxes for the freezer.

It all feels like something out of a movie about a lonely bachelor, when really, he feels more like a single loser who can’t get anything right for shit.

FIVE:

It’s been well over thirty years since his first taste of shame at four years old and Wilson still carries its bitter aftertaste in his mouth wherever he goes, the nauseating envy following not far behind.

If he’s learnt anything in that time, it’s that nobody ever wants him as he is, and that tampering himself down is safer.

This rule is followed most ardently when he’s at the Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital.

Why?

Because it’s a professional setting, a place of work, and it’s taken years for him to decipher the intricate, but by society valued, differences between what’s expected of him at his family home versus with his wife versus in a place of work but he’s finally bleeding done it and now he clings to his rules like a lifeline (in a way that’s what they are).

So he moment he sets foot in that building Wilson puts on his best ‘I’m-a-real-boy’ impression, gritting his teeth against the urge to rock, flap or spin, and pushing everything about him that’s ever been judged or shamed as far down as it can possibly go.

This keeps him safe, makes people respect him and if he tries extra hard, they even grow to like or admire him (especially if he speaks to a nurse in just the right way, because knowing how to flirt really can get a guy a long way).

Hence why it’s even more distressing when the mask slips.

Today Wilson woke up late and essentially rolled right out of bed and into his car which is simply something that he does not do, so things are already off to a bad start -and he will later try to blame his unprofessionalism on this.

It doesn’t help that he’s rushing around for the entire first half of his shift, because it means that in addition to his idiotic blunder there’s now rather unflattering sweat patches accompanying his already fairly unkempt self (hopefully his lab coat camouflages them well enough).

He’s just handing some files over the counter for a frankly gorgeous young nurse to put away when he slips up.

“You alright there?” She asks him, half-teasingly.

“Huh?”

“Oh nothin’…You’re just kinda movin’ weird, ya know like ya might fall over or somethin’…”

His cheeks are almost certainly tinted red by the time he manages to throw together a response, which in that moment feels a little bit like trying to stick together hardened clay with nothing but your strength of will.

“Oh...”

Pathetic.

She sort of looks at him funny for a moment longer, as if she wants to ask whether he might be slightly soft, but quickly cuts the interaction short (normally she likes to stand against the counter at least an extra five minutes for a friendly flirt).

“I’ll just put these away now.” And she turns around a full hundred and eighty degrees to emphasise quite how much she doesn’t want to speak to him anymore.

Under any other circumstance, Wilson might have been the tiniest bit pleased that he had recognised what her body language was trying to tell him so quickly, but this time shame outweighed any smugness he might have otherwise felt.

He’d probably been bopping his head or swaying his body back and forth, perhaps rocking lightly on his heels. None of those options seemed more appealing than another.

“See you around…” He mumbled, although it was half-hearted, and he knew she wasn’t listening anyway.

It just felt more finished that way. You always had to say goodbye to people, not doing so was rude, his father had told him (he would never admit that it angered him slightly that what the old man had said to his teenage self still had so much power over him, it felt embarrassing in a whole new way to do so).

Wilson walked away with practiced ease; hands crammed deep into his pockets to hide that the fact that he was shaking, however slightly.

He spent the next twenty minutes washing his face with cold water and waiting until it felt like he’d scrubbed away at least the tiniest fragment of shame. Then he went back to work.

It had been such a small mistake, after all, people bounced their legs or clicked their pens all the time, this was just the way that Wilson moved.

Unnatural. Alien. Weird.

Words he had become so accustomed to associating with himself that it was second nature, they hardly had another meaning anymore. This is why he knew that she’d had a right to look at him that way. People have been doing it his whole life.

But it’s always worse when he fucks up somewhere that matters. It also seems that every time something does go wrong, he manages to do it somewhere that the stakes are high.

Another flaw in his nature, he supposes.

“Everything okay?”

Everything’s fine, he thinks, just brilliant thanks for asking. I acted like a great big freak in front of somebody who I’d convinced was normal, but yeah other than that I’m doing really fucking great.

Really, he just turns around with confusion written clearly across his face.

Suddenly, -now that he’s been surprised into stillness- Wilson realises that his hand had been patting away at his side (another one of the many ways that his body had tried to rebel against his new rules).

“Yeah, of course.” And just to be safe he quickly adds in, “How are you?” Because if you get people talking about themselves, they’ll quite often leave whatever they wanted from you alone, maybe even forget about it entirely, if you’re lucky.

The subtle art of deflecting. With everything he’s learnt he might as well write a book.

The nurse’s (a different one this time, but he’s pretty sure it’s a friend of the one from before) smirk as she tells him, “Good to hear.” Tells him enough.

The nurse from the reception probably told half the staff about his antics.

‘Hey everybody, our oncologists a massive freak!’, and he can’t stop himself from imagining everybody agreeing. ‘Yeah, total weirdo.’ And saying things like, ‘I knew there was something off about that guy.’

As his paranoia grows, so do the sticky patches under his arms and this only exacerbates the tingly shame that’s now spread across the entire surface of his skin.

To mess up twice in a day where he’s been so incredibly disciplined for years, is so jarring that he wants to cry and hit himself and scream at anybody who tries to come near. Oh right, he can’t do that anymore either (his father never approved).

“I’m doing good too.” She quite obviously holds back laughter here as Wilson continues to frantically attempt to regain control of his carefully crafted façade, before throwing a goodbye his way and walking down the corridor, saving him the stress of offering an actual response.

He swallows hard but his mouth is so dry that the feeling’s more akin to licking sandpaper.

With his face bright pink and his hands once again hidden deep in his pockets, Wilson spends the next hour on his lunch break, reminding himself how to act like a person in the safety of a bathroom cubicle (which almost upsets him even more because if there’s any surefire way to remind him of his worst experiences from high school, then locking him in a bathroom stall definitely tops the list).

Luckily, he manages to clean up almost well enough to feel almost good enough again, and by then there’s only a few hours of his shift left and he hides in his office for most of them, choosing guilt over further embarrassment as per usual.

PLUS ONE:

Everything in Wilson’s life has been one huge enigma.

From learning how to speak to people properly to being taught how to tie his shoelaces (which, embarrassingly, took him until he was twelve years old).

Nothing ever made sense and whatever came easily to his peers wouldn’t stick in his mind no matter how hard he tried to learn.

Apart from one thing.

House.

Meeting him had been like having whatever wacky brainwave he’d been functioning on finally find a match after so many years (his high school bullies might have preferred to compare it to Wilson finally finding another member of his ‘species’, but he felt that apart from being nicer, his metaphor was more apt).

This instant connection made all three of his marriages and consequently any relationship that House managed to hold onto long enough for it to matter, absolutely torturous.

For a long time, Wilson wished that House had been born a woman, so that he could have done his usual routine and wooed him easily into his bedroom. But for all he liked to think it would have been simpler, the two of them were never destined to have it easy, this intricate dance had been necessary to drive them even closer together than they would ever have imagined possible.

Their first drunken fling was years ago now and every day Wilson was fortunate enough to wake up beside the man whom he could unflinchingly say that he loved the most in the world, which made him want to jump and spin and squeal with joy.

He settled for softly kissing his collarbone, his neck, his cheek and then finally his lips.

No word could singlehandedly encapsulate just how lucky Wilson felt.

Sometimes, Wilson saw everything he’d hidden away about himself being expressed so freely in House that something disgusting like anger clouded his vision, he decided not to think about it too much.

House on the other hand, was obsessed with uncovering every carefully concealed part of the man he was proud to call his own.

As it often did, tonight it started with both of them watching an appallingly bad telenovela on the couch (their couch this time) and sipping ice-cool beers.

Or rather, House was sipping an ice-cool beer and Wilson pretended to be angry that he was stuck with a lukewarm pint that House had ‘forgotten’ to return to the fridge after setting it on the side a few hours ago (but he really didn’t mind, he would’ve drunk House’s bathwater).

It all felt so domestic and comfortable that, without realising it -because he never did, damn it- he was slowly slipping into a state so tranquil and relaxed that he began forgetting himself. Only, House would never have told him this, why? Because he loved it.

Seeing Wilson so blissful, dressed in something other than a shirt and tie that he knew bothered him (too itchy, or too tight), not to mention that god-awful over-starched lab coat, made House melt inside and if he wasn’t careful, he might even start giggling like a teenage girl.

As they got further into the episode, (something House had seen a hundred times before, so he didn’t need to watch the screen too closely) his gaze drifted over to none other than Wilson, as it always did.

He looked beautiful.

Tired eyes, sweater all bunched up around his waist with his legs sprawled out in front of him and the empty beer can half crushed in his laps.

The empty beer-can simply won’t do, so House pokes his ribs with a foot,

“Jimmy, grab another pint for a poor cripple, won’t you?”

He only sighs in response but House knows there’s a smile written across his features as he turns around, and sure enough he’s back with another for both of them.

This time he sits on the edge of the couch after throwing House his share, and his beautiful, gorgeous face is hidden from him. Outrageous.

House settles for observing Wilson from behind. He’s not going to pull him into his arms like some totally smitten weirdo…Yet. Who knows, he might do something interesting and it’s no secret that he loves a puzzle.

He gives up fairly quickly, it’s a Friday night after all, and turns his attention back to the screen within ten or so minutes, but then he notices something. From where he’s sat on the other side of the sofa, Wilson is swaying, rocking even, ever so gently back and forth.

It’s impossible not to stare. The movement seems like second nature to him, in fact, Wilson doesn’t even seem totally aware that he’s doing anything at all.

Then he stops.

Wilson always knows when House is watching him, but because there’s never been anything malicious in his eyes, there’s never been any reason to worry, so he lets him do as he pleases, even becoming blind to it after a while. They were dating, if they wanted to stare at one another, they were allowed.

This evening, he doesn’t even notice until House asks for the beer, and he tries to imagine what the other man was seeing. Probably laughing at his atrocious eye bags or getting ready to pounce on him and noting down anywhere sensitive that was exposed enough for him to do so.

That’s all fine, normal, actually. So he goes back to tuning him out pretty much the moment he sits down.

But suddenly, something feels different…

It’s no longer a harmless watching. This time the all too familiar feeling of eyes burning holes in his back is radiating from across the sofa and instinctively, Wilson tenses.

His mind starts working at a hundred miles a minute. What had he done wrong this time? Swaying, tapping, rocking, flapping? He mentally locates the muscles inside all of his limbs and tries to make them stand still.

He’s been doing so well. He always does in the beginning; the pattern can be seen in all of his marriages.

Wilson puts every last ounce of energy towards making himself a perfect partner, and then it dwindles, and dwindles, slowly but surely until he has nothing left to give and they see him for who he really is, then, they leave.

He pretends that it doesn’t hurt as much as it really does.

“Sorry.”

It’s autonomic. Instinctive. The answer he knows he has to give.

“Huh?”

House also pretends, only he’s putting on a show, faking confusion to show Wilson how stupid his response was.

“Nothing.”

Maybe he can stop this conversation before he ruins everything. Maybe it still isn’t too late, and they can enjoy a few more wonderful years before he really fucks up and ruins everything all over again.

“Well given that you said ‘sorry’ means that it’s actually definitely not nothing.”

“Wait why’s Sofias sister crying?” Deflecting.

“Wilson I’m trying to have a conversation here,” He replies, raising the pitch of his voice to imitate a nagging housewife, or rather one of Wilsons ex-wives.

He tries to ignore him this time, which is a hopeless tactic when dealing with House, but he’s too tired to think of something new and no other options come to mind.

House is not having that.

“Why’d you stop.”

Not only did he stop, but Wilson seems tenser than a bow string at its full extension and House sits up, turning off the tv entirely, then he turns to stare at him.

“Oh I see, very mature. You don’t like something, and now no more TV time for me?” Wilson douses the words with sarcasm, as they both tend to.

But this time, when House speaks, he’s nothing but genuine, and Wilson knows this, because it’s House and the one thing that he can be sure of is that he knows House.

“It doesn’t bother me.”

And as he lies back down, he wraps both arms around Wilsons torso so that he can drag him down too.

Perfect, now Wilson’s head rests just above his heart, and after House puts the show back on he starts to gently run his fingers through his hair, carefully undoing an hour’s worth of styling and products from this morning.

Wilson doesn’t say anything, and he doesn’t think that he could even if he tried.

Of course House, king of cynicism and snide remarks turned to him and softened his gaze, only to deliver the four most meaningful and devastating words he thinks he’s ever heard. This feels like an ‘I love you’ and it leaves Wilson reeling in the aftermath.

The feeling’s both pleasant and frightening but most noticeably devoid of shame. There isn’t any jealously either and that’s what makes him want to weep.

His whole miserable little life the feelings he’s been a prisoner too are finally, for one blissful moment, gone.

And it’s because of House.

Before he can even stop himself, he’s crying. It isn’t quiet this time and he doesn’t try to stop either.

The shows off again instantly because House wants to comfort him, and he knows if there’s too many sounds playing in the background Wilson finds it hard to concentrate, which only makes him cry harder because he doesn’t think he’s ever felt seen like this before.

In between his great, heaving sobs -ones that cover Houses t-shirt rather gratuitously with snot and tears, but he’s nice enough not to make a fuss about that either- Wilson manages to force out “P…Pr-omise?”

Houses heart grows three sizes or does whatever it is that the story books say.

All he knows is that the pure amount of pain in that one word is so tremendous that it pulls at his heartstrings, and it hurts him too, realising how much Wilson has been forced to hide himself, and how much it hurt him in return.

“I promise.”

And he means it, with every last inch of his being.

Although he never really stopped, Wilson somehow bursts into tears all over again, and it feels like being reborn, because House is seeing the ugliest parts of him and still fucking loving him like it’s breathing.

He cries for hours, sobbing and gasping and howling until his head aches so much it might just split in two, and House’s shirt is soaked through across the entire front panel.

Then he cries some more.

It’s not just tears, this is years of not being understood, years of being humiliated and taught to hate an intrinsic part of himself, years of staying so painfully still.

His hands pat and flap of their own accord and although somewhere in the background his brain is trying to stop him because he’s so used to getting told it’s wrong, he ignores it as best he can because House is still holding him and telling him that it’s okay.

Everything is not fine.

He’s weeping all over his boyfriend’s chest because he got told to stop being weird a few times, only it’s not that simple and they both know it.

They lie like that until Wilson’s too tired to take another breath, but the exhaustion runs deeper than the dark half-moons etched underneath his eyes, and he finds that he can barely stand up by himself.

In the end he leans heavily on House and somehow, they both stumble into their bedroom and fall down together onto the bed, rustling around under the covers so that Wilson falls asleep with his head just below Houses bare collar bone (he’d tossed the damp tee onto the floor somewhere along the way), feeling a relief so immense that it’s almost palpable.

That would only be the start.

Houses new obsession very quickly became separating shame from all of the weird and wonderful ways that Wilson liked to move.

It starts small, with showing him that there’s nothing wrong with rocking back and forth when they’re watching TV together, alone.

From there it only grows. House gets the absolute pleasure of buying Wilson a dozen fidget toys, as well as the pure joy of watching his lover grow more and more comfortable inhabiting his own skin.

Wilson loves it too, as it gets easier.

He finds that it’s like they’re slowly unravelling a knot that for Wilsons whole life has placed an unbelievable pressure on his chest.

He can finally breathe again.

It doesn’t fix everything immediately of course, undoing forty years of shame is no easy task but for now, when Wilson’s at home he feels free to flap his hands and spin in circles to his hearts content, and for now, that’s enough.

[mythica0]

Fop: a new wish Tword headcanons!

Because, once again, hyperfixation lol. In this is Dev, Hazel, Cosmo +Wanda, and Peri, in that order. (long post)

Dev (I love this silly lil guy)

-he is def a lee, although he likes twording ppl as well.

-he didn’t know until after he got really introduced to it(he always knew what it was and kinda what it felt like, but never really experienced it that much.) but he really likes being tworded. [don’t worry man, same 🙏]

-his death spot (and coincidentally, his favorite spot to be tworded) is his tummy!

-his laugh is the happiest sounding giggle you’ve ever heard. This laugh is so bouncy and bubbly and sweet. It’s the kind of laugh that you just know whoever’s producing it is having the time of their life.

-Whenever he’s tworded he stims, usually with flappi by his hands or little kicks. However, he never seems to try and get away.

-very easily flustered, both by the fact that he’s ticklish and that he likes it. however he can say the tword with ease(unlike me)

-would try to hold off his laugh but fail miserably

-he is weak to raspberries and tword games, but as much as he likes to deny it he loves them.

-after being introduced to twords, he gets lee moods, and the first one he ever got he did not understand. ‘Why do I feel all buzzy? Why do I want to be tickled?!’ Peri was happy to explain and assist (probs gonna write a fic of this one)

-Now, when it comes to being the ler, Dev is an absolute little shit.

-he likes to tword others, both because it’s fun for him and because he likes seeing others laugh. (He will tell you it’s just the first one. That it’s fun for him to make other ppl powerless)

-He’s pretty new to the whole thing, so he’s not super good at it yet, but he’s trying, and getting better!

Hazel

-She is a ler leaning switch!

-she loves to start tword fights and absolutely loves it as a bonding experience.

-Her laugh is very wheezy, but don’t worry she’s fine.

-her worst spot is her ribs

-She doesn’t actually squirm all too much, kinda just goes limp.

-she is immune to visual teases after the twords start, because as soon as she starts getting tworded she shuts her eyes.

-Hazel loves to use twords as a way to cheer up her friends. (Although she tends to leave Jazz out of it since she’s afraid of being tworded)

-she is not shy about her love of twords at all. She’s very open about it.

-I didn’t come up with this one,(that award goes to my mootie @randommusicalfluff) but after finding out Dev is twordish, she absolutely gets him any time he’s being pretentious or pushing people away.

-she uses baby talk. And lots of it. A fave of hers is definitely to just repeat the tword over and over again in a teasy voice.

Cosmo + Wanda

-putting them together cause they’re basically a package deal.

-both of them are even switches.

-they love to team up, but also love to get into tword fights with eachother.

-sometimes after a tword fight they’ll have a cuddle sesh and watch a movie

-Cosmo’s worst spot is his wings, and his laugh is very funny, and kinda high pitched.

-Wanda’s worst spot is her armpits, and her laugh is kinda rough but very sweet sounding.

-they will use their magic to their advantage in a tword fight, or when lering as a whole.

Peri (my fav boi!!)

-he’s a ler but he likes being tworded too.

-his worst spot his also his tummy (him and his godkid have something in common that way.)

-when he’s tworded he squirms but mostly just curls into a ball. Most of his movements are in his wings, which usually flutter around rapidly.

-his laugh is very smooth, but also very frantic sounding. And it can get very loud.

-Now, as you’ve probably gathered, Peri loves to tword Dev. Especially to cheer him up. He just loves to see his godkid happy.

-he has a ridiculously good sense of when someone is in a lee mood. He just knows

-he loves to make a game out of it, and is overall a very silly ler

-the more he can make someone laugh the better he feels.

-hasn’t thought about using his magic before, until he sees his parents do it.

And that’s all I have today! Hope you enjoyed reading these and expect more fics of these guys in the near future!!

[yrrtyrrtwhenihrrthrrt]

More headcanons about my comic fanchild Gregor Blackheart! (Mostly about the C! Goldenhearts as parents)

I want to draw him again, esp as a kiddo/baby, but drawing kiddos and babies is hard. Their proportions ain't right

- When Gregor was born, Ambrosius literally did not want to allow anyone else (besides sometimes Ballister) to hold him ever. Having his own baby brought up so many feelings of childhood trauma that he went into full protector-mode, and felt panicky if the baby was anywhere but his arms. Ballister had to put his foot down to not allow Ambrosius to co-sleep for safety reasons, their compromise was to have the crib right next to the bed

- Ballister derived immense enjoyment by planning cute kid-friendly science experiments and doing them together, and watching his son get so excited by the baking soda volcanoes and stuff

- Ambrosius likes to hide little toys in the garden while he's gardening, so as a kid Gregor would spend time with him in the garden looking for "buried treasure"

-Gregor loves science but he's not good at math, so he doesn't plan to become a scientist like his dad or auntie Meredith

- Meredith and Nimona have a friendly argument over who named Gregor. "I gave Ballister the idea in the first place" vs "I called Ballister Gregor which made him realize what a good name it was." Ballister always interrupts the arguments with "My partner and I are the ones that named him. I don't see your signatures on the birth certificate."

-Gregor was a colicky baby and would have long crying fits regularly which stressed his parents out a lot. Ballister was low-key very worried because of Ambrosius's tendency to lose control of his actions when he was under extreme emotional duress that he might accidentally shake Gregor. So whenever Gregor was colicky and Ballister noticed Ambrosius start crying or rocking back and forth or stimming, he'd swoop in to take over and send Ambrosius to go lie down. He never told Ambrosius about his concerns for fear he'd interpret it as Ballister calling him a bad parent. He was unaware that Ambrosius was also, and in fact much more terrified of the exact same thing happening

-As a little kid Gregor loved riding around in Ambrosius's wheelchair on his lap, he thought of it as like a fun ride (Ambrosius started using his wheelchair more on long public outings because it was easier for him to carry his baby than when he was using a cane or crutch)

- Ballister read every baby book. Every. Single. One. He did a library's worth of research before his child arrived and all of it flew right out of his brain the second Gregor was placed in his arms.

-Gregor had much lighter features as a baby than when he got older. His eyes went from blue-green to hazel in his first weeks of life, and his hair went from dirty-blond to dark brown when he was a young child (cue Ballister "who's goddamn white baby is that" /j )

-Gregor was also a chonky baby (I hc Ballister was as well) aside from his coloring and his nose, newborn Gregor was the chubby, bald, spitting image of baby Ballister.

That's all I got rn teehee

[dysfunctional-doodle]

What is your favorite and least favorite version of all the turtles?

I feel like it’s fairly obvious who I favour the most if you read my chat fic, Too Many Turtles (I have a lot of bias, oops) but I shall break it down.

Ok so favourites:

1987: Michelangelo (come on, he’s a surfer dude and actual angel)

90’s: Donnie (the snark he has with Casey makes my day, though Mikey is still second because he genuinely has the best relationship with Donnie I love watching those two interact)

2003: Mikey, duh. Just look at my blog and my fanfics. I love this chaotic gremlin.

2007: Mikey (again! Especially after hearing about the cancelled sequel of him joining the foot, his brothers demutating, etc. I will say I am looking forward to finally getting to the 2007 plot line in my chat fic, it’s gonna be great >:) )

2012: Raph (I haven’t watched much 2012 at all, I just can’t. I don’t know why people think it’s good in all honestly aside from a few episodes, but from what I’ve seen and mostly read about Raph gets way too much abuse dude, someone give this turtle a hug)

Bayverse: Donnie, followed closely by Mikey. (Idk why but the “younger sibling energy” they give these two is actually great. And Donnie’s little stims and the fact that he licks the icing off pop tarts and puts them back in the box just about pushes him above Mikey.)

2019: Mikey (again. Come on. Have you seen him in that movie?)

Rise: Donnie, followed closely by Mikey. (For me they are both pretty much even in different ways. I love Donnie’s chaotic neutral status and Mikey got boosted quite a bit after the movie, and the rage I feel whenever I hear about hall the episodes he was the star of but then they cancelled almost all of them.)

Mutant Mayhem: Mikey (Something about seeing him sadly look through a sewer grate at the humans with that music in the background made me want to protect him forever. Also I love his effort to try and be a comedian but his jokes are…um yeah. As a second I would actually say Leo - I know, strange for me - but idk, he’s just an anxious mess.)

And now least favourites, strap in boys:

1987: uuuh Leo I suppose. Kind of a fun sponge

90’s: again, Leo (though this doesn’t mean I dislike him; I really liked how happy he got when Raph woke up and the way he guarded him before then. He’s just the least favourite.)

2003: Leo (again, the same reasoning i iterated with 90’s. I really like this Leo but compared to the other brothers…he falls a little shorter.)

2007: Leo (Patronising Asshole)

2012: OK, this one is weird. I dislike Donnie the most by far only when he is simping for April. When they let him not have this as his only character trait he’s actually fun to watch but DEAR GOD I hate him when he kept being a creep to her.

Bayverse: Leo (He insulted Mikey, he must die /jk)

2019: Um I guess Raph? I like all of them pretty much equally, don’t really have a least favourite at all.

Rise: Leo (yeah I don’t like him. Don’t get why the fandom does. Still an ass)

Mutant Mayhem: Donnie (idk why, I like everyone else much more. Don’t get me wrong, I still like him though)

[dayfaresthenight]

Alex's Bio

Name: Alex Davis Alt Names: "Trollmaster". (LEL Get pwned xDDD)

Special Titles: Puppet, Old Friend. (for being a puppet he is pretty off-handed honestly, kinda weird but I don't mind haha)

Username: Trollmasterlol351

Nicknames: Troll, Alexy.

Chronological Age: 17

Age: 17 (juuust one more year!)

Pronouns: He/him

Sexuality: Bisexual

Gender: Cis Male

Species: Human, "Vessel" (i don't know what a vessel is LOL)

Disorders: Conduct Disorder, Chronic Nightmares. (what??? nightmares? i don't get nightmares!!! xD)

Physical Disabilities: Weakness in Left leg (Recovering!!!)

Religion: None. (I consider myself open-minded, though!) Grade: 12th

Lives in: [REDACTED] (I don't give out my location to strangers on the net xD), Also Daisys House! Languages: English, LEET SPEAK, Various Ciphers. (Marble Hornets taught me well!!!)

Height: 5'12 (I AM 6'0 I AM 6'0) Race: Paleish in Vessel, Cacussian in Real form (NOOO STOP LEAKING MY PERSONAL INFO WHOEVER YOU ARE DX) Ethnicity: English-American Accent: Rather Light and Chipper, although deepens when angry.

Powers: Exceptionally Emotionally Resilient, Respawning (In-Vessel Form, or When in Daisy's house in general), Memory Connections (Considering I'm always with the guy in armor when in here, I can see basically whatever he sees!) Weaknesses: Short Temper when Provoked, His Guilt, Killing his Puppeter. (...haha these people really are weird LOL)

Weapons: The nearest chair he can huck at someone, Linked Swords. (1v1 me on Sword fights on the heights i'd win 100% xD)

Alignment: Chaotic Good (I... Really do try my best, despite everything.)

Text Color: This!!!

Main Hobbies: Gaming, Collecting (pokemon cards!!!)

Favorite Food: PIZZA!!!!!! Favorite Flower: Daisys xD (daisys are pretty cool but in all seriousness I like sunflowers a lot too!!!)

Scent: Blueberry Bodyspray. (Gotta dress to impress!!!)

Handedness: Right-handed

Blood Color: Red

Awareness: VERY Aware [Effect: Positive] (...)

Birthday: January 23rd (THE BIG 18 IS COMING UP!!!!)

Theme:

Playlist:

Fun Facts: I am totally an elite haxer who was taught by 1x1x1x1x1x1x1x11 himself!!!!! Used an exploiting script once and thinks hes a hacker now. Actually pretty good at games, even if he overestimates himself 99% of the time.

Special Interests: Pokemon, Mario, Retro Games, Retro Internet. (RETRO IS THE BEST)

Stims: Fast Talking, Jumping Around.

Stimboard: WIP Moodboard: WIP Fashion Board: WIP Comfort Objects: His Old Gameboy Advance.

Family: Claire Davis (Mom!) Gregory Davis (Dad!)

Friends: DAISY! (Best friend), Courtney, (Close Friend), Jose (Friend), Everyone else in the Friend group (Friends!), Lancia (Friend)

Romance: N/A!!

Enemies: Zandeeee (Maybe? Idk, she doesn't seem to really like me), The NPCs (Most of them are just not really nice to her...), The Cultivator (That mushroom can rot in hell for what he did to my friend.)

Patrons: Ozymandias (He is the one who brought me here. I don't think he has good intentions, but I'm still grateful to him and stuff!)

Pets: Claire (my cat!!! I named it after my mom because she is cool xD)

Brief Personality: Alex is on the surface a very kind person. Energetic, and always pulling various pranks in an attempt to entertain and cheer up his friends. Whenever there's a chance to pull someone's leg, he'll be the first one doing it. Despite that though, Alex never tends to take his pranks too far- and is extremely supportive of his friends when they need it. He struggles a lot with his own emotions, and in general, isn't really good at conveying how he feels.

Alex is fiercely protective of those he cares about, and he will immediately throw himself into the line of fire just to protect them. He is very rebellious, and this often leads him into situations that are severely out of his weight class.

Brief Backstory: Alex is a relatively regular person, at least compared to most in this place. He was born in 1999 to his parents and grew up in a relatively middle-class lifestyle. Although his family had some hard times, he generally grew up well taken care of.

He discovered the internet and Roblox at a young age and immediately fell in love with it. He finally had a group of like-minded people who could tolerate his shenanigans, which made him quite happy. He never really had many friends growing up, so he deeply cherished this friend group.

One person, though, he latched onto more than the others, and that was Daisy. Daisy was always there to come on and play with him and was one of the few people Alex would settle down with and talk about stuff with. Someone, he didn't feel the need to impress or entertain.

Despite that though, he was rather oblivious to Daisy's own troubles, something that eats him up to this day. Maybe if he had just noticed sooner, maybe if he had just told his mom he was worried about her, maybe...

...But the past is the past. Everyone's gone their own ways, and Alex is starting to feel that loneliness that he thought he had escaped start to creep back in. The memories are coming back, and it's starting to haunt him.

Why can't he just forget? Why can't-

Knock knock.

...He opened up the front door...

"Would you like me to bring you to your friend?"

...

Maybe it's never too late to make amends, to... make things right.

[lucilleandherrobots]

Oh, good. I wasn't sure which is why I gave that little heads up in the tags.

Just for clarification, I'm also autistic, so I know what you mean by projecting onto characters you see yourself in from experience. It's kind of why I felt comfortable talking about replacements for texture stims cause not being able to do that can be pretty frustrating.

Nick Valentine is autistic send post

srsly though. Autistic nick who constantly fidgets with his hands as a form of stim, who could talk for ages about the mysterious stranger, who makes small noises sometimes

He makes a whirring noise as a form of stim and people always thinks hes overheating

[literallylyn27-02-96]

hc on autistic n? Like habbits or helping mechanisms?

Sure!! :D

So I hc that his speech impediment of talking too fast is one of his habits! And one most people unfortunately don't tend to like. (Cough cough Ghetsis.)

He doesn't do well in crowds. Mainly due to growing up in the castle and not being used to them, but also due to autism ofc. Because of this, he tends to avoid big, bustling cities when he can.

That's also part of why Ferris wheels are his favourite amusement park ride. He doesn't have to worry about his senses getting thrown out of wack like they would on the other rides. (Yes this happens to me-)

Whenever he feels overstimulated, he tends to just shut down and go non-vebral, which unfortunately leads to people not noticing.

This isn't shocking at all, but he really isn't good with social ques. (His interaction with Arven in Masters pretty much proves this.) And he really prefers it when people are just upfront with him rather than giving him hints to guess from.

He has pretty high empathy too, which leads to him also having a bad habit of object personification, and is also why he feels so strongly toward Pokémon.

He finds a lot of better ways to cope when he makes more friends and listens to Alder's advice, who also becomes his main comfort person post-story.

Also, having lots of random things to fidget with is something that helps him. Like the cube-toy thing he wears is actually a comfort item for him.

He stims a lot when he's happy! And he has a lot of vocal ones. Though he also has more negative ones when he's upset, and a lot of which involve tugging and pulling on his hair.

He can be quite a sociable person, and he likes making friends, he's just kind of bad at doing so. Though he also enjoys the fact that the friends he does have stick around him, despite him coming off as "weird" at times.

Thanks for the ask anon! Always fun to talk about N with autism hcs✨️✨️

[rosetintedchainsaw]

Name: Courtney Hazel Dellian

Username: courtneydarkangel6 (the L is an i on Roblox, I made an acc with an L but I forgot the pswrd because my brain turned to mush)

Nicknames/Aliases: Court, Witch-hazel, Rosalyn

Age: 21

Birthday: October 31st, 1995

Pronouns: She/Her

Sexuality: Pansexual (“As long as they know how to hop a fence, I’ll keep them around.”)

Gender: Female

Species: Human

Addictions: (“Whenever something stops working, I try something else…”)

Religion: Atheist (“He never saved me when I needed him.”)

Lives in: Seems to never stay in one place for too long. (“Nowhere’s safe enough…”)

Occupation: (“Whatever I can find.”)

Weapons: Keeps a taser, gun, and various axes hidden in her van. (“I have to.”)

Alignment: True Neutral

Text Color: Orange

Main Hobbies: Painting, Playing her guitar, Joyriding, Taking care of her cat Daze, Blasting shitty divorced-dad rock on her MP3, Stargazing near the ocean (“Only on good days.”)

Favorite Food: Jimmy John’s (“When I can afford it.”)

Favorite Flower: (“...”)

Scent: Avril Lavigne's Black Star perfume (“I’ve made it last.”)

Handedness: Ambidextrous (“As long as they both work.”)

Blood Color: Red (How could I forget?)

Themes:

Playlist:

Fun Fact: “I’ve been banned from every single bar in Wisconsin all in one night... And no, I don't remember why.”

Special Interests: Creepypasta, Medieval Torture, Biblical and Pagan Imagery, Cryptids, etc. (“I’d list more, but these were all from so long ago… I haven't had time to get into anything new.”)

Stims: Pacing, Fidgeting with whatever object she can get her hands on.

Stimboard: WIP

Moodboard: WIP

Fashion Board: WIP

Comfort Objects: Her guitar, The few CD’s she has left, her MP3 player, her weighted blanket, a giant caterpillar stuffie she won at a carnival ages ago, and her daisy chain bracelet. (I can't stand to look at it, but it's always there on my wrist. It feels like I’m punishing myself forever.)

Family: Sandra Dellian (“Mom, but not really.”), Leonard Copeland (“Pig bastard who left us to rot.”), Lindsay Dellian (“...I miss you.”)

Friends: Daisy Daisy Bell (...I'm sorry I failed you.), Alex Davis (“I don't know why you still try.”), José (“I learned a few basic words for him. He was nice.”)

Romance: (“I’d rather not talk about any of them.”)

Enemies: (sighhhhhhhhhhh “Well I have one constantly on my trail. All the time. No matter where I go. So that's something.”)

Pets: (“I had two cats, but my baby Alexander’s gone now. Now all I have is Daze. I don't say her name out loud often. I just snap my fingers and she comes up to me.”)

Brief Personality: Courtney may seem like a jaded, exhausted, and terminally troubled person. And that assumption would be correct. Nowadays, she barely speaks unless it's to Daze or one of her few old friends online. She goes through life in a dreadfully slow and dazed stumble, and sometimes doesn't seem all the way there. When she isn't in a depressive and almost bitterly-mournful state, she’s usually caught up in some sort of trouble, usually her previous ex, who has been stalking her and sending her threats for quite some time. She tends to move around often, mostly to escape him, but he somehow always manages to track her down. There’s also the underlying feeling she may be subconsciously searching for something.

Backstory: Courtney and Lindsay Dellian were both born on October 31st 1995, their parents being Sandra Dellian and Leonard Copeland. Early on the family had been stricken with turbulence. Sandra had been smoking and using drugs during her pregnancy, which therefore caused complications that endangered both her and her unborn children’s health greatly. Her husband, Leonard, had also been battling a long line of addiction for most of his life, but had been twelve months sober before the twin’s birth. The two had been in deep financial debt, and were both dreading having to take care of their children once they were brought home. They knew they couldn't.

It soon became clear with the twins that Courtney was the brash and defiant problem child, while Lindsay had been born mute. She never spoke or played with any other children, while Courtney lashed out at the other kids, and regularly mouthed off at her teachers and parents. Despite their differences, Courtney was wildly protective of Lindsay, and would keep her out of any trouble she herself caused.

Both children were severely neglected by their parents, mainly left to fend for themselves as they grew up. Eventually, Courtney’s parents had started taking her to various child psychologists, after her behavioral issues had become “too much” for them to handle. When Courtney had turned eleven years old in 2006, Sandra and Leonard filed for divorce, and Leonard took Lindsay with him. Leonard simply couldn't deal with Courtney’s attitude, and had started regularly snapping at both his wife and children. His addiction had finally returned as well, causing him to spiral. Courtney suffered a horrible nervous breakdown after being separated from her twin sister, and soon her mother admitted her into the Morning Star Youth Correctional Facility.

There, she became acquainted with a strange and quiet girl named Jessica Pierce. Their friendship did not last long, however. And soon Courtney became paranoid, and convinced that Jessica was secretly a demonic entity posing as a human child. She tried to express her concern to various staff members, but was soon put under sedation, and was forced to take various psychological tests for her sudden "delusion". After a string of mysterious deaths and incidents at the correctional facility, Jessica eventually ran away, never to be seen again.

After being released for “good behavior”, Courtney spent the rest of her adolescence causing more problems, and overall growing more and more reckless and defiant. Around that time, her mother had started dating a new boyfriend, who quickly became abusive to both Courtney and her mother. After attempting to run away from home multiple times, Courtney soon became involved with various friend groups as she went through middle school and eventually transitioned into high school. For her, sneaking out with them late at night to the skatepark was her only escape. It was around that time when one of her friends introduced her to online websites, one of them being Roblox.

Courtney mainly saw the sites as fun and stupid distractions, but soon her attitude changed when she met a user named Daisy Bell. They almost reminded her of Lindsay in a way. Her and Daisy soon grew close, and Courtney developed an almost “older-sister” attitude towards Daisy, fending off anyone that messed with her. She started growing more and more addicted to the Internet, using it as a form of escapism as her home life fell apart rapidly. Eventually, Sandra and her boyfriend got into a violent altercation, and Courtney herself had to physically restrain her mother’s boyfriend from attacking them. Courtney soon mentally spiraled, and her drug addiction, which had already been bad before, soon became out of control, to the point of nearly overdosing in her room numerous times.

Daisy Bell eventually stopped coming online, and Courtney grew desperate, putting up posters around town and making posts on forums asking anyone if they knew anything about her online friend, but no information came about. Courtney soon suffered a complete mental breakdown, and started ripping out her own hair before her mother’s boyfriend called the police, claiming she had physically attacked him. Courtney spent a few months in a juvenile center, before being released. A few years had passed, and Courtney eventually graduated high school.

Courtney kept in touch with a few of Daisy’s old friends, but eventually disappeared off the web for a while after her mother’s boyfriend threatened to shoot her and her mother, which caused Courtney to finally snap and run away from home. She began couch surfing with a few of her skating friends, before moving in with Toby Bayers, a friend of hers who she soon began dating. She and Toby began experimenting with drugs, before she eventually became pregnant with his child. She unwillingly kept the child, but soon left Toby after he became physically violent towards her. She arranged one of her closest friends from school to look after the child, and help her possibly file a restraining order against Toby. She continued to couch surf with many of her friends, before eventually stealing all of her mother’s money and fleeing to Italy under the pseudo-name Rosalyn to remain safe after Toby relentlessly stalked her after their breakup.

Around 2015, Courtney eventually sent a message to Daisy’s inactive account. Even after five years, Daisy remained a deep and dark subject in her mind, that tirelessly haunted her every waking moment. If only she had kept in touch. If only she had done something. She knew Camilla was responsible. Either partly or fully. The thought that something horrible happened to Daisy ate away at her, and continued to chip away at her psyche. Courtney soon moved out of Italy after one of Toby’s friends who lived over there had located her. She moved back to America, and has spent pretty much then up until now moving from motel to motel, and sometimes even opts to sleep inside of her stolen van, which has pretty much become her safe haven. She had been taking care of two cats she had adopted in Italy, one of which she named Daze, after her old friend, and Alexander, after the stuffed dog toy her sister Lindsay used to always carry around with her.

Courtney spends most of her time nowadays either doing various odd-jobs to keep herself from starving, or keeping herself on the move from Toby, who still attempts to contact her to this day. Despite her life being one long string of misfortune after misfortune, she feels she cannot give up, no matter how much the option tugs at her each day. She still regularly keeps in contact with Alex Davis, and Toby can't chase after her forever. One day, everything will get better.

It couldn't get any worse, right?

[selenophilc]

– Lear, trans and gay. Cheren, bisexual. (I'm also bisexual, teehee)

– In a conversation, either in person or via a phone call, there would be times where Lear talks the most, and others when Cheren talks the most. But, it's usually the former. Lear rambles and yaps about many things, Cheren just sits and listens, occasionally voicing a comment or inquiry here and there.

– They can talk for long amounts of time, but they can also sit in a comfortable silence, if one or neither of them feel like talking much. Branching off this, if Lear were to have a bad day, Cheren would sit down with him and hold his hand, caressing it with his thumb until Lear opens up to him. If Cheren were to have a bad day, Lear would do anything in his power to make it a good one. Dinner, a walk, anything to take Cheren's mind off what's causing him stress.

– Cheren's presence relaxes Lear immensely. Just having him near, or when he's right by his very side, puts him at ease. Because he's there.

– While Cheren is away in Unova, if he's ever on a phone call with Lear and he's up late, Lear will always urge him to sleep, yet Cheren says he's not tired. And yet, the sound of Lear's voice puts him at peace so often, that he once fell asleep, but not before he let Lear knew that first.

– Hand holding. They hold hands a lot. Mostly because Lear is the first to grab Cheren's wrist, then Cheren allows their fingers to intertwine.

– The beach that Lear frequents is their place. Either to watch the waves, or to go on a stroll along the shore. They've even watched the sunrise once.

– Lear is incredibly grateful to Cheren for everything that happened during the PML. He holds much pride for what Cheren has done for both him and everything else, and hopes to do something for Cheren in return, so that they'd be even.

– Cheren adores seeing Lear's eyes. When Cheren kisses Lear's face, he starts with his cheeks before moving to his forehead and his eyelids. He's said that Lear's eyes are like starlight. In fact, Cheren might be the only one with permission to remove his sunglasses off his face.

– As for Lear, he is more akin to hand kisses. He loves how nice Cheren's hands feel.

– Lear knows how to play the violin, and a little piano. He's exceptionally good with the violin, absolutely perfect After his mother's passing, though, he stopped playing and hid his violin in its case away, collecting dust somewhere in his room.

– Cheren knows how to play the piano, he learned when he was younger, way before he was old enough to embark on his journey in Unova.

– Stargazing dates. Lear knows a lot about the stars and constellations. He's always pointing to multiple stars in the sky, rattling on about many different facts he knows, while Cheren listens carefully as he holds his hand. There were stars in the sky like the ones in Lear's eyes whenever Cheren looked at him.

– Cuddling positions! Both alternate between big and little spoon.

– A stim of Cheren's is adjusting his tie, something he does when he's nervous, flustered or getting serious about something. He also bounces his leg when he's sitting, maybe while he's focusing on something like a book.

– Battles between them always come with a little playful banter. Because I feel we didn't get enough of them being "enemies" in the PML arc. Or maybe I just like the idea of Cheren getting under Lear's skin a little. It's all in good fun.

– Stolen glances, in every room they're in. Even if they're separated, Lear will always find Cheren in a crowded room. (Wow, that's so So High School by Taylor Swift coded). But when Cheren would hold his gaze from across the room, and smiles at him so fondly, Lear's poor heart turns to mush.

– Speaking of crowded places, once Cheren is at his side, Lear is inclined for them to hold hands. Yet, he gets nervous about doing so in public, so the most they could do is holding pinkies. Imagine the yearning and pining this can be born from this, especially if their relationship hadn't been established yet.

– When Lear gets worked up over something that's been causing him turmoil, or when he feels too overwhelmed by something and/or everything, there are times where he'll break down in Cheren's arms. No one's ever seen him cry, perhaps even Rachel and Sawyer, too. But he allows Cheren to hold him so so gently as he speaks to him in such a soft tone of voice, drying his tears and kissing his face and assuring him that everything is alright.

– Once, Cheren looked through old photos of his with Lear, back when he went on his journey in Unova. Cheren is slightly flustered, considering Lear is literally looking at his fourteen year old self, but he enjoys sharing his stories with him - someone he loves very much.

– Lear had seen Cheren with his glasses on before while he stayed over at the villa. He was reading with his hair tied up. Lear was flustered at the very sight and asked about his glasses. He curtly complimented how he looked with them on, yet when Cheren asked him to repeat himself, Lear refused to answer and pretended he didn't hear him.

– Affirmations. Plenty of affirmations and praise to share between them. Cheren usually gives some very sweet words to Lear when he's in low spirits, it's to cheer him up! Maybe give him a kiss or two, because that always perks Lear back up. Sweet nothings while they cuddle...

– Lear's not immensely partial to nicknames, but he once called Cheren, "Cheri" and it stuck ever since. He uses it sometimes. Cheren calls Lear by his name, or a petname of sorts, his go-to is "my prince." And, occasionally, "Your Highness", just to tease him.

– Lear is a star, and Cheren is his moon.

[sillygay]

Meet my Big Nate OC

His name is Finnie or Finn for short

He has autism

Stimming is something he does a lot

He also has sensory issues along with a eating disorder called arfid which is caused by his autism

He’s a trans boy and he’s gay

He’s also a artist

He loves possums and huskies

Fun fact he’s Alaskan

His special interests are shopkins,mlp,monster high gen 1 and Ruby gloom

He also has a chewable necklace and a sensory toy he brings with him everywhere.

And lastly he has daddy issues. His dad hurt him when he was younger and then his dad died. And that gave him PTSD.

Oh and he has a bit of a crush on Nate

Anyways. Feel free to draw my oc whenever you like to make sure to tag me

[takami-takami]

Shoutout to Keigo for having the name ever, honestly. I mean that in every way. Yes, it’s a very sexy name and it suits him, very much so, but it’s also just fun to say.

I’ve been stimming with it for the past half hour. Just “Keiiiiiii-go.” on repeat. Very enjoyable (oddly soothing?) to hum softly. He really is a neurodivergent icon.

I do have to wonder what he’d think about his name being a stim, though.

- magpie anon ✦

YEAH YOU'RE SO RIGHT Keigo's name is soooo pretty, it's gorgeous.

Interesting facts about his name from the wiki!

I was actually talking to someone I know recently about Hawks and they're convinced he's ND too, like every time I tell people about Hawks they say the same thing!

I think Keigo would adore that! His head would perk up whenever you say it at first because oh? Hello? Name? But after you explain, he understands. Sometimes repeats it himself under his breath a little, too. He's the type of guy to catch stims, for sure.

Keigo stims a lot in canon. Wiggles when he's made to stay still, taps things when he's thinking. He fidgets, moves a lot in general. Does things with his hands. All that!

And of course, this:

[chaoticbuggybitchboy]

Fun fact whenever Kobra vocal tics “whore,” it’s always “whore!!! :D” because he picked it up from party stimming not from someone harassing em