#ignoring all the times i stim by myself in my room but not around other people to not be “annoying”

[lyracreek]

was having a bit of a meltdown tonight with my mom and i was trying to stim i guess by opening and closing some pill bottles and i kept saying "I'm sorry, I'm making noise" putting them down and then having my hands get so restless i had to pick them up again. The masking runs deep oof

[nerves-nebula]

Idk about your intentions, and feel free to ignore me if I’m wrong, but Mikey sounds like a maladaptive daydreamer lol.

Just some background, maladaptive daydreamers use these huge fictional worlds called paracosms to escape reality. Some people do it because of anxiety or stress, but some do it as like a coping mechanism (which is how I’d see Mikey doing it based on your dissociation post) People with maladaptive daydreaming can stim while doing it, like rocking back and forth, pacing, etc, but some can master the art of being able to sit still and just daydream whenever. There’s almost an addictive aspect to it, and a lot of daydreamers have to take adhd or anxiety meds to shake it

Would Mikey stim at first but learn to stay still after Splinter lectured him too many times? Would his paracosm be the book that he’s writing about killing splinter? Idk feel free to look at this like I’m crazy but this subject is very close to my heart as I’m a daydreamer myself.

OK SO like. I don't know. and I don't know if Mikey has maladaptive daydreaming for a specific reason.

That being that I'm basing him on myself. I spent a lot (AND I DO MEAN A LOT) of my time in my head as a kid. I don't really know what a paracosm is so I'm not sure if I was exploring within them. but there are huge chunks of my childhood i really only remember via the emotional exploration I was doing inside these fictional worlds. Like most of puberty for me was just imagining gay fictional gods and forbidden love and abuse and violence and at all that. and it's hard for me to tell if that was a bad thing because it's linked to a very integral part of my personality- that being the desire to tell and experience stories.

I was always dragging around paper and pencils to draw these imagined worlds. But i was also often just sitting with my eyes closed (or sometimes opened, but closed if I wanted to really focus)

if I was painfully bored, or very anxious (which happened often, basically any time i was outside the house or not watching tv or playing a game) I would do this. If I was stuck in a car or a room while my siblings were fighting violently, I would force myself to try to only think about my characters. If the talk radio host was getting on my nerves I would try to drown him out by thinking about my characters going through their worlds and getting in fights and having sex and all that stuff.

this got even better (or worse, considering how you think of it) once I got earbuds/headphones and access to my cousins old ipod. I was finally able to fully block out the world and only, ONLY ever think of my stories. just how I'd always wanted.

and sure, I was always kind of spacey, but even when I wasn't thinking of stories and art I was bad at paying attention the way adults liked. I think adults liked me more when I was just sitting there thinking anyway, instead of being hyper and then having an emotional breakdown when i realize they thought I was annoying.

There was a particularly vibrant time for daydreaming around puberty where i had dozens if not around a hundred different intricate stories that I started to overlap, just because. And I'd go through them over and over, adding or changing little things, making up reasons that the characters would all end up living in the same bunker or fighting the same enemy. making up reasons for the god of war and his little lamb prince to be torn apart. making up reasons for them to attack each other. then forcing them back together through all the trauma.

and recalling these spaces makes me kind of shiver because they're almost like real memories to me. I remember thinking of these scenarios more than I remember my real life around 11-12 years old. And i think that's largely because after I got my blackbelt at around 11 years old, my parents let me quit karate, and didn't force me to do any more sports or anything. So for the most part I legit never left the house. My entire life was in these stories and in my art.

I really only stopped doing this once I got sent off to high school at around 13-14 and was basically FORCED to participate in the real world more.

but I did that all on purpose. i was bored, and i hated other kids because they never clicked with me. and it never seemed to interrupt my life in a way that my parents noticed or cared about. in fact it was the only thing that kept me from being actively suicidal for a while there!

so like. i don't know man. i don't know.

[reckless-blossoms]

One day I'll write something real and coherent about my complex relationship with Humanity. But for now just a rant. I am a human but I am not. I'm inhuman only because I'm treated that way.

...And people don't normally treat me like I'm human.

I am a pet dog at my boyfriends side. People turn to him and ask about me. If I sit in the middle of a group, they lean forward and talk through me. I am an obstacle in the way. People bump their carts into my station at work because they didn't process my presence. They take items off my cart and walk away, seeing me as an NPC dispersing items and no more.

Unless I'm dressed up in an animal costume, surrounded by other costumed people. That is the only time I am truly treated like an equal.

People don't see me. I don't know why. It's like I'm at 50% opacity. I'm easy to miss, to ignore, to gloss over.

I am subtly dehumanized during a majority of my time, basically. And I've never had many friends. I ate lunch alone at a table, then hid in the school bathrooms so no one saw me being so alone. I had no one. I have very few. Only now, years after graduating high school and dropping out of college, am I slowly started to gather some IRL friends who understand me. It feels so different from my online friends. Who are valuable and loved, but... I do not think it helps my disconnect from humanity, to not see a human in front of me when I chat with my online friends.

I feel no connection to humans.

And yet... I still am one. I just... Am human. I've always loved animals, seen myself in them, but I could never find any one animal I connect to completely. Aside from cats. I heavily relate to cats because I have cat-type autism.

Maybe this is why I feel such a draw to humanoid feline characters. Such as my Manticore characters, humans genetically altered to have cat traits.

This is my ideal form. I imagine my pointed ears that can swivel or how my tail would sway as I walk, how it would curl and thrash as I stim, how it could wrap around me. How my short fur would bristle on my shoulders.

Hm... Yeah... I relate deeply to the Ideal of cats. Solitary creatures that show affection by sitting in the same room as you, that's hanging out and havin' fun! You can pet me but I get overstimulated easily and I'll bite you if you can't read my specific alien body language! I walk around so gently and quietly I seem to vanish and re-appear at random.

But I am not a cat. I'm a human who connects to and relates to cats a lot.

I do not know if I identify as an otherkin or therian in any way. Like, maybe I identify with cats, but I do not know if it's spiritual for me at all.

I am a human. No one wishes to see me as such, but I am.

I'm a human in the animal way. Humans are animals. I am a human animal. I do not fit in this strange society of yours. I'm... Different. I'm wild. I'm a stray cat forced into a house because you had to keep me safe but now my familiar streets are gone I can't taste my prey or interact with my colony. (Outside cats bad tho but, for the metaphor....)

I'm a human that wants to be the animal that I am and exist in my world outside of buzzing lights, stagnant air, concrete under my feet, lifeless grass.

I'm a human that does not deny the animal that I am.

[err0r-of-lif3]

Okay here's the entry for today :)

《 》

I think sitting with him and just listening to music by a pond was the most peaceful I've felt in ages. I love his company and how he seems to need to be touching me with something or other at every point (even if it means putting his stinky shoes on me).

He let me try his headphones on and jesus christ I need them the bass was so goodm I love music. The sound made me stim and he pulled up a fuxking family guy meme 🧍 he makes fun of me in such an endearing way it's pure happiness to be honest.

I was kind of sad that he didn't want to hang out for the rest of the day but he was tired and went to school when he didn't need to be at school so he just wanted to go home, which is fair enough. So I decided to go jetty jumping.

I haven't been jetty jumping in years...not since j lived with mum...and that was ages ago. I think the beach I went to is the one we said goodbye to Sunnee at. I remember watching the balloons sail into the sky like a giant yellow and pink cloud. Big fuck you to global warming I guess.

I love taking public transport, it's peaceful and I get to people watch. I like imagining what lives they're living and whether or not they're doing the same thing to other people. I like being by myself. I am my own best company, I like not having to worry about other people's opinions.

When I got to the jetty I picked one of the levels that you couldn't access just by the ramp, you had to climb down a ladder or two to reach it. This meant noone else was there, or would be there for a while. Just how I liked it. I stripped down to my underwear. Not even my bathers. Just my cotton underwear and old lace bra. And I didn't care. I put all my stuff into a pile under the ladder and mustered up the courage to jump.

Freezing.

My feet easily touch the sand floor and I pushed myself back to the surface of the water. Minnows dash around me. The water is crystal clear. I can see the bottom from every angle. The blue-green tinge making my heart jump. It's beautiful. I'm also fucking freezing.

I swam to the ladder, climbing up. I gasped as the wind bit at me. Laughing at how exhilarating it is. I dry my hands and update my friends :)

I jump more and more.

Ignoring the looks I get from people on the higher level. I am unstoppable. I am having fun. Today is my day. I checked my phone again in time to watch it go fucking flat 😓

I dried myself with my flanno and put my stupid fucking jorts on (I fucking hate jorts and I hate that I own them I'm gonna sob). I gathered my things and went to the bus stop to check when the next bus back to Freo is. Not for another 20 minutes. Fuck.

I went to the beach Cafe and asked to charge my phone but they were closing, so I walked across the road to the beach hotel. As soon as I walk in I feel underdressed but the barstaff greeted me with the biggest smiles.

They agreed to charge my phone and took my charger with them behind the bar. I sat down at a small table and waited.

My eyes searched the building. One room was a farmers shop, with home made jams with beeswax toppers instead of lids. Another room had paintings, small price tags printed to the bottom corner. Through a doorway I could see the dining room to the resteraunt.

It was beautiful.

Golden lighting, candlelit tables, a giant tree with branches stretching across the roof. The cherry on top? The open kitchen wall, where even though I was on the other side of the building, I could see the goings-on of the staff. I watch one chop vegetables and another shake a pan that goes up in flames and goes out again in a split second. I'm gazing around in wonder as a bartender walks up to me and asks if I want a water.

These staff are dressed in elegance reimagined. Their hair is gelled back. Their posture impeccable. I am wearing a muscle tank, jorts and my Connie's.

I say yes.

He comes back with a tall glass, water, ice and lime slice all floating within. It tastes fucking amazing. I feel like I'm in a movie.

I finish the water and asked for my phone, he thanks me for coming and I walk back out into reality. Still reeling. This day can't get any better.

I took the bus back to freo and walked the main street until I came to my favourite book store. I know what kind of book I want. A romance, preferably whirlwind. But the way I choose books is whatever jumps out at me. The book I buy actually falls on me.

I am actively trying to romanticise my day now, thinking about how good of a tumblr post each activity will be. And then I hunger for fresh fruit.

I spend half an hour looking for a grocer to no avail. I get gelato instead. I sit and eat it at a picnic bench listening to the music of the shop I bought it from. The sun kissing the back of my neck. I am elated.

I finally decide to go to therapy, I'm 10 minutes early so I sit and begin reading my book. It's interesting. It gives me the idea to use a clothes peg as a hair clip. I like it. My therapist finally opens the door for me to come in and we exchange pleasantries before I tell her about my day.

We spend the session talking about [ redacted ]

Anyway.

I finish with my therapist and catch the last of the afternoon sunlight as I walk back to the trainstation to go home. I love it. I am content.

Romanticising my life is my favourite.

ANYWAY please find attached photos I took today! The ohotos of the resteraunt I grabbed off of google but look! It's so pretty :(

[autisticsuperpower]

My Thoughts on ABA and an Inside Look at My Experience with Applied Behavioral Analysis.

ABA.

Applied Behavioral Analysis.

A common practice that has been seen in the Autism Community in many many years since the 1960s.

And in recent years, a practice up for debate.

ABA Therapy has been discussed by many in the Autism Community as abusive and traumatizing.

Examples include extreme punishment, such as electric shocks, trying to cure Autistic kids normal, such as eliminating swimming, and focusing on behavioral problems than focusing on life skills.

Now necessary changes have been made over the past 60 years, but some still see it as too harsh.

That was not the case for me growing up.

I was never abused by ABA.

I was never traumatized by ABA.

And I was most definitely not trying to be cured. At all.

My parents would not allow any of that in the slightest.

The doctors that diagnosed me said that I was never going to live a successful independent life.

My parents’ response: You just watch and see what happens.

Back when I was first diagnosed, Autism Providers weren’t really around. 

It was more of a “at home” experience for those like myself that were getting therapies.

When the world shut down due to Covid, and I quarantined in the Bay Area, my mother had let me look at a binder, full of papers and reports.

An entire encyclopedia sized binder of ABA reports scaling 4 months when I was only 4.

As I looked through, section by section, page by page, I was blown out of my seat.

I had mastered a lot of items already in that span of 4 months, and I was beginning to work on improving or mastering more items in that course of time.

A lot of notes were made, but looking through that binder of ABA notes, it moved me.

So many different therapists were coming through my home to try to help me be the best successful human being I could be.

Some of whom I am still close with to this day.

I wasn’t being cured, I wasn’t being reprimanded. I was being set up for life.

But as much as my experience with ABA was very positive and eye-opening, that is not the case for everyone out there.

Every Autistic person is different, and with that comes different experiences.

And it’s not for everyone.

I’ve recently done a lot of public speaking in recent months, and I have more public speaking gigs on the way.

A lot of people have been asking about the direction that ABA should be in and what rooms of improvement should happen.

Well, here are my thoughts:

- Allow Autistic people to feel their instincts.

Sometimes, learning so many things at once can be too much for an Autistic children. And making someone on the spectrum ignore their instincts can be harmful. 

In fact, a study has shown that Autistic people who engaged in ABA therapy are 86% more likely to meet the diagnostic criteria for PTSD or post traumatic stress disorder.

Now that’s never happened to me, but each Autistic person is different.

If they need a break, let them have a break.

If they need to stim, don’t stop them from stimming.

- Focus on each Autistic person’s needs and goals in a positive light.

Some needs and goals are similar while other needs and goals are different.

Make it a positive experience for the Autistic client.

Will they respond happily to the process and get closer to the desired outcome? 

Are they learning skills that are going to be valuable to them at some point in their lives?

That depends on how much ABA focus of the needs and goals.

ABA has changed over 6 decades, and quite frankly, it’s gonna continue to change over the next few decades.

But the mission is the most important of all:

Help Autistic people live independent and be successful on their own terms.

The next levels of life approaches fast. Autistic people can grow and be successful, if given support in the right manner. 🧩💚

[anoldstoryteller]

43 BBY The Pirates of Landor part two

As I finished I turned my attention back to the Kel Dor and shouted before opening fire. I noticed Helen drop to her knees and started to pick off targets. Alephi squat behind me and deployed all of her drones and quickly started to assign targets. The pirates quickly started firing at us in response and honestly if it wasn't for Iso pumping me with bacta and stims I probably would've dropped from the pain. We exchanged fire for so long that honestly I'm not certain how much time passed until I heard someone shout to cease fire and the pirates slowly stopped shooting us. We stopped in response. The human female I noticed earlier stood up and I noticed she was holding her arm. I saw her look around the courtyard and I followed her gaze. Of the original forty I could only see fifteen. She returned her gaze back to me, "Clearly the stories I heard of Mandalorians doesn't do you credit. As second in command of the Brotherhood of Shadows I submit to you. We are at your mercy." She threw her rifle down off the balcony and the others slowly started to follow suit. I heard Alephi sigh behind me as I helped Helen up. I took a moment to look over them. Considering I acted as a human shield, Alephi didn't have any injuries. Helen however had several blaster burns. I had Iso treat her as I turned back to the pirates. The woman had made her way into the courtyard. "My name is Volta. May I ask what you plan on doing with us?" I wasn't certain. I wasn't expecting to take prisoners. Iso had finished treating Helen and made her way back in my armor. I could feel her conscious brush against mine. "Take them as followers, Master." I wasn't certain if it was all the stims that she had pumped into me or what but it didn't sound like a bad idea. I straightened up and put on my best boss voice, "Volta right? I will be taking over as leader of your brotherhood and disbanding and reorganizing it. Anyone who has a problem with that can leave now." I made sure I said it loud enough for everyone to hear. To my pleasant surprise I didn't see anyone leaving. Volta bowed, "Of course. What may we call you?" I quickly thought it over and passed a few ideas between Iso before settling on Alor'ad, or captain. Iso expressed her disappointment in something so simple but I ignored her. As for what they were to be called, I decided on Torka's Fist. Volta seemed pleased and insisted she lead me to the war room. I felt extremely on edge, like all my senses were heightened. Iso ensured me that it was only a side effect from the stims she gave me to help me endure the fire fight. But that didn't help the fact that everything seemed to have been slowed to a snail's pace. And the footsteps were so loud I had to enhance my sound dampeners in my helmet to stop it from causing me to vomit. I made a point to tell Iso to not use so much ever again and to just let me die. She didn't take too kindly to that though. After what seemed like an hour we finally reached the war room. It had a large holotable in the center that seemed to be live streaming of the system. I walked over and Volta asked me to have my ship stand down, seeing as we are all on the same side now. I opened comms and instructed Scabbard to cease hostilities and await further instructions. Volta then showed me around, explaining what resources and contacts they had. She then led me to the treasury. She called it that but in reality it was more a warehouse than a treasure vault. I found the cargo that Iuliu had asked us to return and told Volta I was taking it. If she didn't approve she didn't show it. I started to feel myself get uneasy. Iso insisted that I was alright but I knew something was wrong. I instructed Helen to finish in my place and made my way to Akaata. Alephi followed me and I'm glad she did. As I exited the compound I would have fell if not for Alephi catching me. I barely remember what happened afterwards. Only that Alephi was arguing with Iso as she helped me into Akaata. And that was it.

[sapphosvioletts]

i have an idea- you don’t have to write it right now or at all and it could be a blurb if you want it doesn’t matter

but reader telling mama nat they think they’re autistic and natasha validating their feelings and saying they’ll help them get the diagnosis they need (if this is bad ignore but when i went to my mom about getting a diagnosis she completely dismissed it)

i'm sorry your mom did that, i hope this brings you some comfort you deserve <3

.oOo.

I'm snuggled up to my mom, in her bed watching tv. Her bed is so much more comfortable, so I tend to hang out in her room when I can (even though we have the exact same bed, but I mean, other people's are always more comfortable).

I find myself stimming with the blankets, and the second I notice, I force myself to stop before my mom noticed. I bite my lip anxiously, thinking. I guess now would be a good time to tell my mom. I mean, she's not busy right now, she's not stressed. She seems very relaxed, smiling at the tv while running her hand up and down my arm.

I decide to just go for it before I lose the confidence and bravery I had just gained out of seemingly nowhere.

"Mom?" I ask nervously, she hums and looks down at me, a look of slight concern in her eyes, but a gentle smile. "Uhm... I have something to tell you... I've known for a while." She sits up a bit more, but still holds me in her arms. I keep my gaze down, refusing to make anything even close to eye contact.

"What's that, hun?" She can tell I'm nervous and rubs my arm soothingly. "I'm scared you'll see me differently." I mumble quietly, but Natasha of course picks it up still. "Hm.. Well I don't know what it is, but I don't think that could ever happen. At least, not in a bad way." I nod.

"I think I'm autistic. I've been looking into it, and I'm pretty confident in saying that fits. It really just all makes sense. And I don't know if maybe you think I'm wrong, or it's dumb but-" She cut me off with a tight hug and a kiss to the top of my head.

"That's not dumb at all, sweetie. Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me. I'm very happy you were able to make sense of things and find a fitting reason. I know sometimes not having a reason for things, especially feelings and mental things, can be very frustrating." I nod along, leaning against her in relief, wearing a small smile.

"Thank you." I wrap my arms around her waist tightly, and she rubs my back. "You have nothing to thank me for, bug." I don't say anything, not knowing what to say.

"Do you think.. I could maybe get a professional diagnosis? It's okay if not, I don't want to waste your time and-" She shook her head, cutting me off, wearing a smile. "Nope, none of that. Of course you can, and I'll be right here by your side the entire time. You are absolutely not a waste of time, you hear me?" I nod, though not entirely convinced, but Natasha is working on convincing me slowly.

"I love you, no matter what happens with the doctors, no matter how many we have to go through, no matter how much time it takes. And most importantly, I love you, for you." My mom tells me, squeezing me tightly.

[t-o-u-r-e-t-t-i-c]

Hi! The content on your blog is super helpful. I just had a small question, if it's no problem. I have recently become friends with a few people with Tourette's, and as someone with a provisional tic disorder, I've struggled with picking up tics and triggering their tics. It's become pretty hard to hang out without it being an exhausting experience. I was wondering if you knew any tips of how to lessen this effect or any advice for handling friendship with other people with tics? Thanks in advance.

Of course, no problem!

You said you've only recently become friends with them?

From personal experience, I find that I cannot be around new people with tics at all without it being a massively exausting and triggering experience for myself (and most parties involved). However, if I spend long enough around that person/those people we become accustomed to each other's tics and therefore it doesn't bother us so much.

I must add that 'long enough' seems to depend on the frequency and severity of the other person's tics for me. I've found that whistle and yelling tics will still nearly always trigger mine. But, after months of being friends, a person's motor tics and simple vocal ones no longer bother me to any relevant degree.

(I also don't know what 'recent' means for you, so this may all be redundant. Bear in mind that my personal experiences are not necessarily representative of everyone with tics).

You might find that you all get used to each other's tics and everything calms down a bit, or it may be that nothing changes. In that case, it could be helpful to 'schedule' hanging out a bit more. I'll give you some examples of what this might look like:

Meeting up for shorter lengths of time

Taking breaks when tics get too much (eg people going into another room to calm down or to interrupt a repetitive tic that you're all stuck in)

Communicate clearly beforehand about what kind of 'tic day' it is for you. Are they mild? Are you already struggling? That way you can make any accommodations a little bit in advance. If any of you have tic attacks, also make a plan for this in advance.

Speaking of accommodations - use any aids you need including noise cancelling heaphones, stim/fidget toys etc to reduce your own tics.

Have a 'no questions asked' sort of agreement for accommodations. If, for example, one of your friends is having a repetitive motor tic that is setting you off, turn yourself away from them/walk in front of them etc. That way you can still have a conversation without triggering a tic, and without anyone asking why you've moved away from them. (I used to put a hand up to shield my peripheral vision if my friend was triggering me and they never commented on it)

I think the solutions are largely going to depend on all of you as individuals. The first step is definitely to have a conversation about all of your struggles. Find out which people are happy with you poking fun/laughing at interactions between your tics. Which people would rather you ignored any interactions and carried on as normal etc.

Find out whether hanging out as a big group is a good idea or not etc. For example, it might turn out that hanging out with only one other person at a time is manageable, but the whole group is too much.

You can usually make it work for all of you. It just might take some time to settle down and figure out what works (and what doesn't...)

I do hope this was helpful in some way. All the best to you and your friends!

[an-anxious-gay-mess]

Here's my headcanons of what neurodivergencies the lab rats (and leo) would have if I had been allowed to write this show

Adam: 

-ADHD and Dyslexia  

-"What do you mean the letters aren't supposed to move around?"

 "Uh" 

"Are you telling me most people don't have to read the same paragraph six times???" 

"Uh-"

 - After he got diagnosed he actually became a bit more interested in learning! It helps that most people are actually working with him now instead of just reassuring him that he's dumb -Chase especially feels really bad for teasing him so much without realizing how hard Adam had to try and researches ways to help people like him study 

-Adam still doesn't go out of his way to do well though, he's fine as long as he's passing his classes 

- is almost never standing still. He loves swivel chairs and will spend hours just spinning back and forth completely zoned out before he realizes he should probably eat something that day  

-the only time you'll see him completely still is when he's sleeping or super upset about something. He gets RSD pretty bad sometimes and will just shut down completely when upset

Chase 

-Autism, baby!! 

-Gets really bad sensory overload and has a lot of meltdowns if he gets too overwhelmed 

-he gets frustrated with himself a lot when he gets sensory overload and will try to ignore it, which usually makes it worse 

-He has a lot of stims but he typically will only do the more visual ones when he feels safe (mostly when he's alone or with his family if he knows they won't make fun of him) 

-Just. Constant info dumping. If you're going to start a conversation with him make sure you have at least 15 spare minutes to learn about the history of needle work (or whatever he's been researching that week)

-hates eye contact but will force himself for the sake of being Professional, to the point where he makes himself do more destructive stims (like pulling at his hair) or even having a meltdown

-(his family yells at him for doing this A Lot "Chase please just put on the goddamn headphones why do you do this to yourself-") 

-he was kind of embarrassed about being autistic at first and still tries to hide it most of the time to prevent people from bullying him about it, but after a while he learns to accept that it's not his fault people want to be dicks, and that autism isn't something to be ashamed of

Bree:

-dyslexia and anxiety 

-She's the one I have the least amount of headcanons for whoops-

-i think unlike Adam she's really embarrassed about being dyslexic and goes out of her way to avoid talking about it

-this is partially because of her anxiety too: she doesn't want to bother her teachers or anyone so she never mentions anything about getting accommodations 

-because of this she struggles a lot in some of her classes, but she spends a lot of time worrying about them and studying too

-she's had a lot of panic attacks at 3 am over trigonometry 

-after a while of her grades getting worse the school guidance counselor probably pulls her aside and is like "you know we can give you extra time to do tests right?" And basically gets her all the accommodations she needs 

-Bree is like "wow glad I spent 2 years building that 5 minute conversation up in my head and making myself worry so much I threw up multiple times" 

-she generally tries to not let anxiety control her too much, and once she gets some help from her teachers she gets way fewer panic attacks over school work

-she even tries to over compensate by trying to appear like nothing worries her even though Everything does

-she hates when her brother's occasionally go on missions without her (like if she's sick or injured), and her anxiety will scream at her the whole time they're gone

-they're always willing to reassure her that they're okay, though, and will even update her over headsets when they can 

-she also worried a lot that people around her are secretly mad at her or don't like her. Her family is usually willing to reassure her that they love her, but it does tend to put a strain on relationships she forms outside of them 

-also I think part of the reason she latches onto texting so much (besides the stereotypical Teenage Girl thing) is because spell check is a godsend 

Leo

-OCD and autism 

-tasha: uh hey buddy what are you doing?

6 year old leo: idk stacking these blocks 

Tasha: oh, okay, why don't we work together to make a big tower?

Leo: no. There must be Exactly Six blocks in each tower 

Tasha: okay buddy that's great :)

-the lab rats are initially very confused by some of his rituals 

-for example: when he turned the lights in a room on or off, he had to flick the switch 5 times. Or at night, he had to check to make sure the door was locked three times 

-they asked him if that was something that most people did in the outside world, and he explained to them what OCD was, and eventually told them about a bunch of other neurodivergences

-"wait so you said you have something called autism too?"

"Yeah, it's what makes me do that thing where I flap my hands sometimes. A lot of people with autism will know a lot of stuff about a few specific topics and will hate eye contact and other people touching them, but everyone is different"

Chase: "tell me more right now."

-that's how they end up getting diagnosed too!

-Leo tells them about different disorders (including ones they don't have) and they immediately launch onto the feeling of Are You Telling Me Other People Do This?

-they go to Big D about it and he's pretty accepting right away 

-they debate a lot at first whether they want to get professionally diagnosed, but then they decide that it would be a lot easier to get accommodations at school with a doctor backing them up

-where was I going with this I'm completely spiraling

[thegingeralien]

Thought I might share my “doing homework with adhd” tips in case the might help even just one person (because that would make me feel happy).

Who am I to be giving you advice? Good point! I am still terrible at studying and I’m 26 and at University for the millionth time. But I have studied A LOT in my 22 years of schooling with varying degrees of success.

I see a lot of people, especially teenagers or first year university/college students, with ADHD asking for tips on how to study. But if you do a google search most of the websites and advice that comes up can be extremely ableist. So I hope I can help someone!

TIPS TO HELP YOU STUDY WHEN YOU HAVE AN ADHD GREMLIN BRAIN!:

1. Chewing gum!

- This might come across as a weird one, but it has actually really helped me. I use it as a form of stimming to help keep me focused and concentrating. Other forms of stimming can potentially end up being more of a distraction when you actually need to be reading or writing - but they can help if you just need to be listening. Try not to get a bubble gum or fun flavoured one though - as they can end up making your mouth feel dry, lose flavour quickly, and just give your brain way too many sensory things to become distracted with.

2. Buying colour coded stationary!

- New stationary can make me really excited to start studying, but that excitement never lasts long and the act of buying stationary can sometimes become it’s own hobby. That’s not what we are going for here. I really recommend, especially if you are a visual learner like me, to buy colour coded stationary. This means removable page markers, different coloured post it notes, highlighters, sometimes even pens. This way if your mind jumps from one topic to the other, it doesn’t matter. Go with the flow. Forcing your ADHD gremlin brain to focus can be extremely counter intuitive. So pick a colour for each topic, and stick to that system to find organisation among your own chaos!

3. Buy a really cheap, boring year diary with hardly any writing inside.

- Not sure if your school/university has their own diary but they can be perfect for what I am on about. Generally you can find them for really cheap, soft cover, no writing or designs within the dates. Just dates, days, weeks and lines where you can write your homework. This helped me a lot in High School. I wish I had kept doing it in University, but I am good with giving advice, and not so much with taking it. I used to decorate the outside of it however I wanted. Some years I would redecorate the same diary every semester. In the public holidays or holiday days I would colour those lines in with different highlighters to make it look like a rainbow. But every assignment due date, homework, draft, rewrite, form I had to bring back, library book due date, school activity days, ANYTHING to do with school I would write in there with reminds and check lists. Important due dates would be highlighted, general homework and daily to do lists t(o help me not leave my assignments to the last minute) would have a tick box beside them (because ticking tick boxes is free dopamine). Try to not put birthdays or fun things in it. This is a small way to stay on track so it helps you actually stay on track with the big things when you’re home.

4. Big whiteboards stuck on the wall where you can’t avoid it.

- This is not something I had in school, but I so wish I did. I have been using this recently to keep on top of house work (as maintaining your own house is tiring) and my small business or other things I really can’t avoid. If I physically write it down (not just in my phone) it psychologically does help you commit it to memory. Again, physically putting a line through a task you just completed is a hecking great rush of dopamine. But the biggest reason I love my white board, I can’t ignore it. It is stuck to the wall and is never out of sight, out of mind. I can’t put my phone or diary down and then refuse to look at it until I’m past the due date. Again, I’m not a perfect person, there are days where I don’t do anything I have written on the white board. But the great thing is, I don’t have to continuously feel like I failure, as I can wipe it all off the next morning or week and start fresh. I also put important things I have to remember that I’m doing during the week so I don’t forget them.

5. Icky Medication.

- I know not everyone wants to be on medication, and I understand. I am not forcing you to. No matter what your opinions are, you lovely gremlin who is still reading this post, regarding medication, you are valid and I respect you. My personal experience with medication has not been the best. I have been misdiagnosed for a severe chunk of my academic life which has seen me trying to focus and maintain school work under some even worse states then I am unmedicated! However, since receiving my diagnosis and finding the right ADHD medication for me, I have the ability to get so much work done without having to unnecessarily struggle. It’s unfortunately not magic, it will not turn me into a robot that makes me do work and turn out incredible, noble peace prize winning assignments (as much as I wish that were possible). I still have the ability to be a lump, doom scrolling through tumblr, forgetting to eat, and ignoring responsibilities. But it really helps me when I sit down and start that thing that isn’t fun. Yesterday it helped me hyperfocus on cleaning my office which was a terrifying room to be in. So it’s pretty close to magic in my opinion!

6. Accessing Disability Support at your place of learning.

- Not all of you taking the time to read this will have either a) an offical diagnosis or b) a good disability support available to you wherever you are completing your studies. And that is okay. This dot point just won’t be for you right now. But keep it in mind for a time when it might apply to you, as it’s something I never thought I would need, but will never take for granted ever again.

- If you have an offical diagnosis and Disability Support, make an appointment with the disability support adviser. DO IT NOW! Get your psychiatrist to write a diagnosis letter outlining that you have <enter superpower that makes you hilarious here> and that you are receiving <enter x,y,z treatment here> and that you would benefit from receiving <enter what you have always wished you had on the days you can’t make your ADHD gremlin brain do the thing here>. Now these benefits can be, but not limit to: automatic extensions on ALL assignments, extra time on exams, extra breaks to walk around while taking exams, special consideration when marking assignments, my university allows me to take exams in a separate room with only the other students in my subject who also have disability support (occasionally I have taken an exam alone with only a tutor present) so I don’t get distracted, permission to take fidget items into class or exam (I have the option to wear headphones, as long as I can display that they are not connected to anything). Maybe you can come up with some great ones for you with your disability advisor or your psychiatrist.

- The disability advisor will often go through your course outline with you at the start of each semester or year. This is annoying and a great time for disassociating, but can be useful in hindsight because you are made aware of everything that will come up during your class so you are not surprised. Because lets be honest, it is unlikely you are going to look at the course calendar too often.

- Side Note: I make an appointment every semester with my disability support officer for my area of study to make sure I have my special considerations for the year. Now I may go through the whole year without ever using my considerations. However, the fact that I know they are there takes an insane amount of pressure off of myself. If I’m having an insanely screwy loony tune mental health moment, I can email my coordinator my disability plan and say I need an extension due to personal reasons, and WHOOP, there it izzzzz.

7. Dedicated one thing or a few things that have nothing to do with food/alcohol/other substances to reward yourself with for doing the thing!

- This may not work for everyone. It doesn’t always work for me. I used to reward myself with food, but that only reinforced my stimming with overeating and my already bad relationship with food. And I feel as though that would be the same with any other substance that can be linked with addiction. (Addiction is a tough word, cause what aren’t I addicted to, I have ADHD, but hopefully you get what I mean!).

-Now, boring try and not choose this aside, lets think of somethings that work really well as rewards!

- My partner likes to come give me a kiss and a hug when ever they have written and reread a paragraph, you might buy a book when you get a really good mark, you might want to go make a cup of tea and watch an episode of your hyperfixation after studying for <enter a good period of time here>, you might allow yourself to partake in an activity you usually do while procrastinating (but at least this time you know you aren’t putting something off), talk to someone who you know will tell you they are proud of you as they understand the mental struggle you go through to concentrate (if you can’t think of anyone, it is 110% okay if that person are the amazing people on tumblr or the adhd tumblr chats. We will freaking pop a bottle of champagne for you cause we get it!).

- Try and make what ever you choose be something in a different room or away from your working space. Getting out can really calm you down.

8. Don’t be afraid to ask for assistance.

- This is true for anything, but I don’t mean just asking your teacher to give you extra help understanding the task and marking rubric. Many people online, tutors, librarians at your school, past or present students offer assistance rereading and making small edits (they won’t make it magical unfortunately) to your assignments. If you are like me and once you have written or completed the dreaded thing, you can not imagine or force your gremlin brain reread or edit the thing. So it can help to just delegate this to someone else, who hasn’t read it before, so they won’t disassociate or skim read it. They will often notice things you never would have even if you were neurotypical as that is just what happens when you have been working on something for so long.

9. Repetitive music.

- It generally helps if this has no lyrics. Lo-fi is amazing. Classical is alright too if it works for you, but both my partner and I agree that it can really assist you to keep up pace and focus when the beat is a high and repetitive (almost meditative) tempo.

10. Limit your screen space.

- This is a tip completely from my partner @dr-adhd who also has ADHD, is an avid PC gamer and is consistently in a battle with their gremlin brain to focus on completing their PhD. They have discovered that it really helps them to limit their screen space - simply put, work on one screen only. They have done more work more easily when they have their one screen on their laptop to focus on. Whereas their office has multiple screens so they could be playing runescape, watching YouTube, listening to lo-fi and doing work - which never worked (shocking right hahaha).

11. At the risk of sounding like a Mum... Put your phone and other electronics other than the assignment necessary one, away.

- I am a Mum, but to a fluffy puppy dog, so I hate to sound like my Mum when I was in high school, but she was right. Mobiles are the single easiest and biggest distraction in ADHD history. I often, even at coffee shops, have to turn my phone over so that I am not consistently looking at it every time the screen lights up to say the pizza place has sent me a coupon, or a carpet place that has been having a sale since I was born is... still having a sale, or a friend from school wants you to watch this TikTok. Even though you might not want to ignore your friends, because people pleasing, difficulting making/keeping friends and RSD are hecking real things, but they can all wait. Trust me, none of them are urgent. That TikTok will still be funny in an hour or two. And I’m probably completely right when I say that whomever just messaged you, never replies as quickly as you want them too. So I doubt they are going to think twice if you are MIA to finish your thing.

My partner or I might add to this later, but at the moment I already know that I probably wouldn’t read this wall of words if I was the one reading it, so if you are still with me, THANK YOU and I really hope I might have helped you. Sorry for the mound of words, but maybe you can reblog, screen shot, or save this and read a dot point at a time or refer to it when you need. Don’t be afraid to ask questions, I promise what ever it is, I’ve asked the same thing once in my life or something MUCH stupider.

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Stuck

Prompts: Uhh hi. Wanted to know if you could write something with Logan brin hurt (emotionally, mentally, physically, doesn't matter as long as he's hurt) and Patton, Virgil, and Roman aren't there for him for whatever reason so Remus and Janus take care of Logan and there's a lot of Logan being pulled into and set on laps and just Janus and Roman being Protective? I'm a sucker for hurt logan and Protective Janus and Remus. Okay thanks, have a good time. - anon

 hey there! i absolutely love your fanfics! if possible (and feel free to ignore this), could you write some roloceit angst and hurt/comfort? perhaps with roman being the comforter and logan or janus being the hurt one? again, feel free to ignore this if you don’t want to write this, no pressure - anon

 Can I request some Janus and Virgil or Logan cuddles? - anon

 The answer to all of the above is yes and we switch RIGHT back into projecting-onto-Logan mode!

Read on Ao3

Pairings: roloceit, background platonic lamp, dlamp, dlampr

Warnings: stimming, getting caught in a stim loop

Word Count:  4558

Occasionally, Logan will get stuck.

 Not in a logic loop, no, he’s quite adept at getting out of those, but in certain patterns of behavior. He’ll find himself absentmindedly swinging his arm back and forth and the moment he notices it, he will be unable to stop. It will simply swing there, back and forth, completely unconsciously, and only by someone else walking past and asking him what he’s doing, or tapping him, will he be able to stop.

For the most part, it’s just an annoying inconvenience. It takes him longer to do tasks than it should. It prevents him from engaging in serious conversations when necessary. Occasionally, Roman will also get stuck in a similar fashion and the two of them will shake their heads until they can unstick themselves.

 Other times…

 “Damnit, no, that’s not what I meant.”

 “Well, what did you mean? Because it kind of sounds like you don’t want me to be in your space at all, except your space is the entire Mindscape!”

 “Kiddos, just—calm down—“

 “We can’t, Padre, you know we can’t.”

 “Listen, this whole thing started because—“

 How did this whole thing start?

 Logan curls his fingers around his water bottle and leans back against the couch, closing his eyes as the others continue bickering.

 Thomas had gotten into a small argument earlier today. Nothing too significant, nothing that would drastically impede their friendship, nor chance a cut-off of communication. But enough to make Virgil shoot up protectively the second Thomas got back.

 Roman hadn’t wanted to do anything except immediately apologize. Patton had wanted to talk through everything with Thomas to make sure they understood it. Virgil hadn’t wanted to do anything because Thomas was already stressed.

 Logan—

 Well, Logan’s not sure what to do.

 He doesn’t want to—

 Well. He doesn’t want to do anything.

 Thomas should give his friend time to relax and get a clear head, giving himself time to do the same. They had both reacted emotionally due to the differences in the way they associate emotions with the things that they care about. Thus, in order to reach a conclusion that would satisfy both parties, they needed to determine the best way to explain their differences and work together. The problem arose when figuring out how to communicate something that innate.

 “If we try and say that this is just how we think,” Virgil says firmly, “we’re gonna come off as patronizing or condescending.”

 “But if we don’t say it at all,” Patton points out, “then we’re just going to hurt them again!”

 “So it would be best if we just went away?” Roman throws his hands up. “The first thing we have to do is apologize. We hurt them.”

 “But we’re not responsible for their emotions. We have to talk to them before we can do anything like apologize.”

 “But then it just sounds like we’re preaching at them!”

 “Think of it this way: if you knew that someone was specifically holding their emotions back so that you could feel better, how would you feel?”

 “That was not the right thing to say, Patton,” Virgil mutters under his breath.

 Logan taps his fingers against his water bottle. Tap, tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap.

 “What do you think I’ve been doing?”

 “Roman—“

 “Putting that aside,” Virgil says quickly, “we have to talk about how—“

 They’ve been at this for—how long? Logan can’t remember. They’re feeding off of each other at this point, caught in a feedback loop. Roman will say something, Virgil will point out how that doesn’t make sense to him so how could it make sense to someone else, Patton will try and bring the conversation back to feelings, and on and on they spin. Logan has no emotional stake in this—not that he has much of an emotional stake in anything—and thus he tried to stay quiet, to let them speak.

 He’s already been asked to let them do so many times.

 So he sits quietly, tapping his fingers against his water bottle. Tap, tap, tap.

 “Do you just want me to leave? Should I get some paper plates for myself?”

 “No, kiddo, that’s not what we want—“

 “That would make me feel worse because then it feels like you aren’t comfortable down here.”

 “Well, I’m not! I’m already at max capacity, trying to figure out what you all need from this and all we’re doing is adding more rules for how I’m supposed to behave!”

 “Virgil,” Roman says, “what do you think the rules are? What are we missing about how Thomas is acting?”

 “I just told you all of them!”

 Tap, tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap.

 “But we don’t know what those rules are, if you were to just tell us—“

 “But you’ve told me them so many times, hell, I helped create some of them!”

 Tap, tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap.

 “But there may be rules that you see as rules that we don’t care about, so—“

 “Because it’s not your job to care about them, Princey.”

 “So help me understand! I don’t want to make this harder on you!”

 “You’re not responsible for my emotions.”

 “But I can’t think like that, Virgil. If I tell you to do something or—even if I just say something or bring it up then you’ll get mad at me and I hate it when you’re mad at me.”

 “But you’re not responsible for that.”

 “You’re still going to be mad at me!”

 “Damnit, no, that’s—no, Princey, that’s not true.”

 Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.

 Their voices keep getting louder. His tapping grows frantic. They ring in his ears, even with his eyes closed he can see their faces. He can see Virgil’s eyeshadow getting deeper, he can see Roman’s expressions getting more defined, he can see Patton getting slowly more frustrated. He can hear the tension in the room about to snap.

 They’re all about to start yelling at each other and he can’t do anything to stop it.

 All he can do is tap, tap, tap, on his water bottle.

 “What’re you all shouting about?”

 “Go away, Remus.”

 “Oh, but I just love showing up where I’m not invited.”

 Something heavy lands on the couch next to Logan. He does not look up from his water bottle, he does not open his eyes, his fingers do not stop tap, tap, tapping.

 “Remus, don’t do that, you almost landed right on…”

 Virgil’s voice trails off.

 “…Logan?”

 Tap, tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap.

 “Logan, are you okay?”

 Tap, tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap.

 “Fuck, guys, shut up.”

 “Virgil!”

 “Language, kiddo.”

 “No, really, guys, Logan’s not okay, be quiet.”

 Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.

 “But I think it’s interesting how—“

 “No, guys, really,” Virgil says again, his tempest tongue coming out a little, “shut up.”

 “Lolo?”

 Ah, that must be Remus. A soft voice beside him, blocking out the others into a distant murmur, a warm hand on his shoulder.

 “Lolo, can you hear me?”

 Tap, tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap.

 Remus curses. “I’m taking this.”

 “Rem—!”

 Logan doesn’t hear the rest of Patton’s cry as Remus grabs him by the shoulder and sinks out, into another living room, perhaps, judging by the fact that they land on a very similar couch.

 “It’s okay, Lolo,” Remus murmurs, rubbing gentle circles into his shoulder, “you’re okay, this won’t last forever. I already called for Jan-Jan.”

 Tap, tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap.

 “You’re doing great, just keep breathing, okay?”

 The water bottle cap smushes uncomfortably against Logan’s mouth, how long has he had it here?

 “You’re okay, Lolo, this won’t last forever, just stay with me.”

 The others aren’t here. No one is yelling. There will be no emotional spillover, everything will be okay. Everything is okay.

 Logan’s tapping grows less frantic, settling back into a smooth rhythm on the bottle.

 Tap, tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap.

 Remus’s hand never leaves his shoulder, still rubbing warm, patient circles.

 “They should’ve known better,” he mutters, mostly to himself, “fucking morons.”

 Something about Remus’s tone worms its way into Logan’s hands, gentling his fingers to a stop. He cups the smooth, cool metal of the water bottle and takes a deep breath. Remus stills.

 “…Lolo?”

 He blinks his eyes open.

 Well, he was correct. They are in the Dark Sides’s living room. He turns to look at Remus.

 “Be honest,” he says in a surprisingly even voice, “how red is my face right now?”

 Remus blinks. “Not one bit, actually.”

 “Well, that’s good.”

 “Yeah.” Remus looks down and gently tugs on the water bottle. “Can I have this?”

 “No, thank you.”

 “Okay. Can I hug you?”

 “Yes, why—oof!”

 To be honest, he probably should have expected to be all but tackled into the couch, considering that is the primary way Remus shows affection to Roman. Still, his back hits the sofa with a surprised gasp as Remus’s weight comes to rest on top of him.

 “A little warning next time would’ve been appreciated.”

 “Sorry.” Remus props himself up on his elbows. “Am I hurting you?”

 “I can’t imagine lying on top of a water bottle is very comfortable.”

 Remus lets him move it off his chest before flopping back down and snuggling closer.

 “You okay?”

 “I’m perfectly adequate.”

 “Not what I asked, Brainiac. You were stuck. And upset.”

 Logan quiets. Remus must be able to tell that he’s thinking; after a second, he turns and goes to pull away. The sudden absence of warm pressure above him hurts.

 “No—“ he catches onto Remus’s back— “stay?”

 “…Lolo,” Remus says quietly after a moment, “Lolo, move your arm a little.”

 “What? Why?”

 “Don’t want to hurt you when I lie back down, shift a bit.”

 Logan shifts, letting Remus settle back down on top of him and lift his arm over his shoulder. He rumbles, low in his chest, pressing Logan firmly against the couch.

 “Can we just…stay like this? For a bit?”

 “Sure, Lolo.”

 Remus is warm and solid, somehow radiating the energy that if anyone so much as tries to get near them right now he’ll gnaw their arm off. That’s not an empty threat. One of his hands flops off the couch, keeping his fingers just brushing the carpet. Logan takes a deep breath, feeling Remus move.

 Oh.

 Oh, dear.

 “What?”

 Did he say that out loud?

 “Yeah, you did.”

 “Hmm,” Logan mumbles, “well, that’s not ideal.”

 “Yeah, I gathered. But that’s kinda my thing so, spit it out, Lolo.”

 “I have come to the realization that I entered the stimming cycle while in my operative mode, which means that I cannot fully disengage from it until I know the problem is resolved.” Logan sighs. “Which I can’t do until I reestablish an emotional balance.”

 “Can you put that in layman’s terms?”

 He winces. “I don’t know if I can. My vocabulary tends to increase exponentially as my level of exhaustion climbs.”

 “Yeesh.” Remus sits up, sliding onto the floor and prompting an involuntary noise from Logan wondering where he’s going. “C’mere.”

 Remus hauls him into his lap. Logan’s a little too tall to fit his head under Remus’s chin, but Remus plants his face square in Logan’s collarbones and hangs on tight.

 “You’re gonna be fine, Lolo,” Remus says softly, “just…try and take a minute, yeah? Maybe you’ll be a little less exhausted.”

 “But I can’t, Remus,” he whispers, “I can’t—I can’t start calming down until the problem’s solved and I can’t solve the problem unless I—I—“

 “Ah, shh, shh,” Remus hushes, leaning back to place a finger against Logan’s mouth, “first off, you already explained it better than you did a moment ago, and second, the three of them actually are capable of solving their own problems.”

 He chuckles, clearly seeing the doubt expressed on Logan’s face.

 “I know it sounds impossible, but they have done it.”

 “Who has done what?”

 Logan whirls around to see Janus striding out of the shadows, nonchalantly tugging his gloves into place. Remus, of course, does not bother to keep them balanced and simply topples over, right on top of Logan.

 Janus raises an eyebrow at the display. “My, Remus, how graceful you’re getting to be.”

 “Thank you!”

 “That’s not—mm.” Janus rolls his eyes and looks at Logan. “Well, I must say, I certainly expected to see you here.”

 Logan’s fingers close absentmindedly around the water bottle. Janus’s gaze holds him tight.

 Tap, tap, tap.

 What—what’s happening? Janus won’t hurt him, Janus isn’t going to be angry at him—is he? Janus won’t have to go clean up his mess…right?

 “Remus, off.”

 “Hey, Lolo, it’s okay, you’re good, remember?”

 Logan blinks. Janus is crouched now, concern written plainly on his features. Remus’s hand is on his shoulder again, gently rubbing circles. His own hands tap gently on the surface of the water bottle.

 “My apologies.”

 “You’re good,” Remus says as Janus murmurs: “there’s no need for that, sweetie.”

 Logan sighs, stilling his hands and sitting up, letting Remus hook one leg around his back to pull him into his embrace. He leans his head into the middle of Logan’s back and hums.

 “Remus…rescued me,” he says eventually, “from the conversation going on with the others.”

 Janus makes a small ‘ah’ sound.

 “There were..heavy emotional investments coming from all sides,” Logan continues, “including making Virgil feel a little cornered.”

 “I’m sure that went well.”

 “It didn’t.” Logan shuts his eyes. “And now I am…I got stuck.”

 “With the water bottle?”

 He nods. “And I am currently unable to get…unstuck.”

 “Because your system still registers it as an incomplete task,” Janus murmurs, “and thus it won’t let you begin to decompress.”

 Logan nods.

 “Look at me, sweetie.”

 Janus smiles when he catches Logan’s gaze again. He holds out a hand. “Come here, let me help.”

 Logan goes to stand, only to be thwarted by Remus’s arms, still tightly around his waist.

 “No,” Remus mutters, muffled a little with his head in Logan’s back still, “my brain cell.”

 Janus frowns. “Remus…”

 “You wait your turn!”

 A giggle bubbles out of Logan’s throat. Janus narrows his eyes and his arms stretch, each curving around Logan’s sides to poke Remus.

 “Give. Me. My. Logan,” Janus says, punctuating each word with a poke. “My. Logan.”

 Remus squeaks, clutching Logan tightly, only making the giggles worse.

 “Give me my Logan,” Janus calls, still prodding Remus, “give him to me.”

 “Fine!”

 “There,” Janus coos, immediately taking advantage of the fact that all his arms are here and Logan is no longer being held to reel the logical Side in close, “that wasn’t so hard now was it?”

 The residual giggles don’t quite trail off as Janus pushes Logan’s glasses back up his nose and smiles.

 “Hi, sweetie.” His eyes widen when Logan can’t stop giggling. “I didn’t poke you now, little one, why’re you so giggly?”

 He shoots a mock scolding look over Logan’s shoulder.

 “You didn’t accidentally kidnap Patton, and not my Logan, did you?”

 “Nope, that’s the brainiac.”

 “Mm.”

 Why can’t he stop laughing? What’s happening? Why is—why is he stuck again?

 “Oh, oh, sweetie,” Janus’s voice comes from somewhere far away, “oh, little Logan, it’s alright, shh, shh, sweetie…”

 Why is Janus shushing him? He’s fine. Something swipes against his cheek.

 “Shh, shh, you come here, just come here for me, Logan, I’ve got you, you’re safe now…”

 Is he still laughing? His chest is still hitching and he can feel his diaphragm, so why does Janus sound so concerned?

 “It’s okay to cry, sweetie, it’s normal, from what it sounds like, you’ve been having a bit of a rough time.” Something against his cheek again. “Shh, shh, just come here…”

 Oh.

 Oh, he’s crying.

 Of course, as soon as he realizes that, he all but collapses into Janus’s chest and starts sobbing in earnest.

 “There, there, sweetie,” Janus coos instantly, cradling his limp form, “I’ve got you, you’re safe, little one, shh, shh, it’s alright.”

 Logan clutches as hard as he can to Janus’s cloak, fingers sliding off clumsily. Janus makes a noise and two hands come up to grip his, squeezing.

 “There you go, just focus on this for me, okay? Stay with me, Logan.”

 “What’s—what—wha’s happening?”

 “You’re crying, sweetie,” Janus says gently, “you’re overwhelmed and exhausted. Your system is trying to reset itself.”

 “But—but—it—but it hurts.”

 “Try not to fight it,” comes Remus’s voice from behind him, “let Janny hang onto you.”

 “That’s right.” Janus clutches him tighter. “You just stay right here, little Logan, in my arms, in my lap, let me look after you.”

 “‘M not little.”

 “You’re all little to me, sweetie.”

 Remus snorts. “Just because you’re a giant to everyone else aside from when Virgil gets tall doesn’t mean you have to be so snobby about it.”

 “On the contrary, it means I have the right to look down on you all.”

 Despite himself, Logan snorts. An interesting experience when combined with a sob, to be sure, but it happens. Janus chuckles, still hugging him tightly.

 “That’s it, sweetie, it’s alright. It seems like you’re coming to the end of it now, just a little longer, you’re doing wonderfully…”

 Logan takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly…slowly…there.

 “Sweetie?” A hand ruffles through his hair. “Sweetie, are you with me?”

 “Yes,” Logan mumbles, “yes, I’m—I’m here.”

 “Good.” Janus presses a kiss to his cheek. “That seemed like a lot, sweetie, are you alright?”

 “…hurts.”

 “What hurts, Logan, what can I do?”

 “Just…” he leans a little further into Janus’s embrace. “Stay?”

 Janus chuckles. “Of course, sweetie. Do you want to talk about it?”

 Logan shakes his head. “Ask—ask Remus.”

 “Remus?”

 As Remus explains what happened, Logan closes his eyes and does his very best to relax, more than sagging unconsciously into Janus’s arms. Everything is so…fuzzy, almost pixelated, as though he’s struggling to keep his focus here and now. He feels as though he’s fading in between…layers? Is that the right word? Layers of being stuck and unstuck, drifting without ever really making his home in one or the other. If he lets himself slip too much, he’ll get stuck in a loop of nothingness, unable to move or do anything. If he winds himself up too much or tries to focus too hard, he’ll get stuck in another stim cycle.

 Janus makes a soft noise and a hand scratches lightly through his hair.

 “I’m sorry, sweetie,” comes the voice in his ear, “that sounds awful.”

 “It’s not their fault.”

 “No, I know that, but still.” Janus kisses his forehead. “That doesn’t make it easier for you.”

 “And they should know better,” Remus growls, sending another jolt of warmth through Logan’s chest.

 “We can’t just forbid them from hurting Logan ever again.”

 “Why not?”

 “Because it’s terribly impractical, Remus, you know this.”

 Remus’s theatrical sigh almost makes him seem like Roman. The arms that attach themselves like limpets around his waist a moment later, though, are definitely Remus.

 “This okay?”

 “Mhmm.”

 “Good.” Remus’s head finds a home in between Logan’s shoulder blades. “We’re all just gonna sit here for a moment, okay?”

 “Okay.”

 Janus ruffles Remus’s hair and bends down to murmur in Logan’s ear.

 “Do you want to fall asleep here, sweetie?”

 That’s enough to rouse him. “No. If I do that, it will be…not good.”

 Janus nods. “Then let’s have you stay here for a little longer, then get you to your room for a shower and something to eat, hmm?”

 “Yes, please, thank you.”

 “Of course, sweetie.”

 Sure enough, a few minutes later, when Janus gently prompts him up, Logan wraps his arms around Remus in a tight hug with a whispered thank-you before Janus sinks him out to his room. He passes Logan a granola bar and watches as he eats, chases it down with a glass of water.

 “Would you like to be left alone for this?”

 Logan nods.

 “Alright.” Janus cups the back of his neck to bring their foreheads together, kissing his cheek one last time. “Take care of yourself, alright, sweetie?”

 “I will.”

 “Good.”

 Janus sinks out and Logan goes to take a shower. It’s only muscle memory that gets him out of his clothes, into the shower, out of the shower, and into something softer. His mind is still fuzzy, unsure of whether it’s going to stick or not, accompanied by a slowly growing grayness in his chest. It spikes the instant he shuts off the water, making him much, much colder than he expects, threatening a whine in the back of his throat. It disappears a moment later but it leaves him shaken.

 It’s only when he opens his bathroom door and Roman turns around that he realizes what must’ve happened.

 Roman smiles softly, his hand coming up to reach for him. Logan comes, letting him take his hand and pull him close.

 “Hey, there, Specs,” Roman murmurs, “you’re all clean now, hmm?”

 “Yes, I—you—why—how—“

 “Janus came to have a talk with me,” Roman says, cutting off the rest of his babbling, “even though most of it I already knew. I’m sorry I didn’t realize you getting stuck earlier, I know that can’t’ve been easy.”

 “…it wasn’t.”

 “I’m glad our snake took care of you.”

 “Remus helped too.”

 “And Remus,” Roman amends, still smiling as he tugs Logan closer, “but you’re still…?”

 Logan’s face falls; he can tell by the way Roman makes a soft noise and raises a hand to tuck his hair back.

 “Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs, “may I take care of you?”

 “You don’t have to.”

 “I know, I know I don’t have to, but I want to.” Roman draws back a little to fix him with a look. “Because aside from your brain not knowing whether it’s going to get stuck again, I know two things are going on in there.”

 He softens a little.

 “Let me guess: part of you is trying to convince itself that either you are useless when it comes to emotions and thus we don’t need you, or that you don’t have emotions and therefore you shouldn’t be feeling like this.”

 Logan’s mouth drops open.

 “Am I right?”

 “You—how—“

 “Because I know you, my dearest darling nerd,” Roman murmurs, smiling, “and I know that you know both of those aren’t true, but perhaps you need a little reminder sometimes, hmm?”

 He steps a little closer.

 “Janus is very good at pulling you out of your head,” he continues, still trailing his fingers through Logan’s hair in a way that makes it very hard for Logan to disagree with him, “but he’s not very good at keeping you there, is he?”

 “He’s good to us,” Logan mumbles, because Janus is, and he’s not sure what he would’ve done if he hadn’t shown up.

 But at the same time…

 “Janus is always a good person to go to first,” Roman says, as if he can hear what’s going on in Logan’s head—which, can he? Because he was spot on a moment ago— “isn’t he?”

 Logan nods.

 “He’s better at the first part than me, you know I can’t stop myself from spoiling you.”

 Roman chuckles as Logan’s cheeks flush bright red.

 “But maybe you need to get spoiled right now,” he continues, getting close enough to brush his nose against Logan’s cheek, “hmm? Let me take care of you?”

 “R-Roman—“

 “I’m right here, sweetheart,” Roman soothes as Logan reaches for him, “I’m right here…”

 Roman lies them down, pulling the covers down to let Logan crawl into the bed first and tucking them both back in. He reaches up to carefully take hold of Logan’s glasses.

 “May I?”

 Logan nods. Roman slides them off carefully and folds them up, placing them on the table. Now everything really is fuzzy, Roman’s face staying out of focus until he leans back in, close enough to be clear.

 “Give me a second.” Logan blinks and Roman’s also wearing a soft T-shirt and pants, smiling down at him. “There. Now I can cuddle you and I won’t hurt you.”

 “You wouldn’t hurt me,” Logan mutters as Roman props himself up on his elbow, running his hand through Logan’s hair.

 “It’s never my intention, no.” He leans down to press a kiss to Logan’s forehead.

 “Roman…”

 “Yes, sweetheart, what is it?”

 Logan shakes his head. “Nothing, just…just…”

 “Just what?”

 “…saying your name.”

 Roman’s breath leaves him in a rush. “Oh, sweetheart, let me be soft with you, please, let me look after you…”

 “Yes.”

 Roman lies down, swinging his leg up and over one of Logan’s. He’s warm, so warm, as his weight settles firmly in place. Unlike Remus, who stayed still, just holding Logan there, Roman moves almost constantly. Trailing kisses across his forehead, his cheeks, down to the curve of his chin, hands reaching down to clasps his and draw them up, next to his head, murmuring gently about how much he loves getting to protect Logan like this, how lucky he is to have Logan here, how sweet and soft Logan is for him right now.

 “Oh, sweetheart,” he whispers as he comes back to Logan’s cheek, brushing away a stray tear, “it’s okay, Specs, you’ve been so strong today.”

 “But I didn’t do anything,” he argues, “I—I wasn’t helpful at all.”

 Roman leans up a little to look at him. “You made us stop and realize how stupid we were being. We got it sorted out in about five minutes after Remus took you.”

 “But that wasn’t me.”

 Roman smiles, leaning to rub their noses together. “You said it yourself, even when you’re not physically present, you’re still a part of the conversation.”

 Oh.

  Oh.

 “You did so good today, Logan,” Roman promises, kissing his cheek again, “now relax and let me spoil you.”

 “Roman…”

 “Mm,” comes the mumble from somewhere near his ear.

 “Roman…”

 He can almost feel the quirk of Roman’s mouth. “Just saying my name, sweetheart?”

 “Mhm.”

 “Well then,” Roman murmurs, “just lie there and fall asleep to me, okay? I’ve got you.”

 Logan shuts his eyes and lets Roman cuddle him, feeling the warmth reach into his chest and gentle the stickiness away. Although…

 If this is what getting stuck will get him sometimes, maybe it’s not always an annoying inconvenience.

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[zinzinina]

part ii (reward)

Pairing - Boba Fett x Reader Rating - Explicit 18+ Word Count - 5.5k A/N -  I initially thought this would just be a single installation but I found myself wondering what would happen next with these two and I guess you guys felt the same way! I really hope you enjoy this second part. And who knows, my brain may not be able to leave this one alone for long.

main masterlist // series masterlist

The credits clink in your bag as you stride up to the hazy guild dive. In the space of a few weeks, you’ve made more than you have in the entire rest of your hunting career. Still not enough for a ship with a decent hyperdrive but it’s a good start. You can put a chunk of this aside to upgrade your weapons, maybe finally get your hands on a dart rifle you can customise with some range on it. Everything has turned out even better than you expected. Which is why it’s so fucking annoying that you feel completely wretched.

You can’t stop thinking about that night on the floor of his ship. The way his hair slipped between your fingers, the feel of his tongue between your thighs. Or, more painfully, how broken his voice sounded when he called you beautiful. His insistence on you keeping your eyes on him. And the tentative way he pulled you against him in the dark, both spent and exhausted from your injuries and the botched hunt. And as badly as you want to replay these memories over and over, it’s impossible to escape the ones that come next; the following morning when you woke alone, stiff with dried sweat.

You’d gathered up your discarded clothing and crept around while the buzz of a macro welder drifted distantly through the ship, until you’d climbed into the cockpit only to find him fully armoured and helmeted again. Your heart had sunk. Surely in his own ship, he wouldn’t normally bother with what you assumed would be such a restrictive and uncomfortable piece of equipment over his head? And after what had happened, you'd imagine a certain... relaxation between you. So the fact he was wearing it again seemed to send a pretty clear message; nothing had changed. You were working together; that's it.

And so you'd matched his air of casual civility the entire rest of the job, exchanging words about weapons and drop locations only. You ate your meals alone, unwilling to reveal that you were dying to see his face again. You polished your blaster, replenished your stim canisters and spent your time alone in the hold running through stretches and the simple agility exercises you need to stand a chance against any larger opponent. All the while excruciatingly aware of his presence on the ship. When he'd stepped down to check a display panel or climb into the engine room to adjust the deflector generator, you had made a concerted effort to appear thoroughly occupied. Ignoring the fact you could see him pausing in the doorway, watching you for just a moment longer than necessary.

When you’d finally landed back in Coruscant, it wasn’t just the desire for nonrecycled air that had you bursting out of the ship -  which is good because the Lower Levels weren’t exactly known for their freshness. Just like that, the job was done. You’d split the bounties, and true to his word he gave you more than half, handing over the complete sum on the jobs he’d barely had to work on, still leaving you both with a very sweet profit. Now, pausing in the seedy glow of the alley’s fluorescent lights, you’re exhausted. And ready for a drink.

-

“Hey. Hey! Stim girl.”

You scowl into your spotchka. It would’ve been smarter to just find a cheap inn to slink into, you think mournfully as the Weequay claps a hand on your shoulder.

“Heard you and Fett were the ones who cleaned out all the pucks. Couldn’t leave any for the rest of us, sweetheart? I’m surprised you lasted so long! Fett doesn’t play nice with others. Just ask poor old Aurra, Maker rest her soul! He must like you. And who could blame him, eh?” He’s far too loud, guffaw setting your teeth on edge as you dreamily contemplate shooting him in the face. Shit, maybe Fett's rubbed off on you more than you realised.

“What do you want?” your voice an inflectionless deadpan. Leave me alone, leave me alone, leave me alone.

He leans in even closer, clearly not picking up on your mood through his slurred enthusiasm.

“I could use your help. I had… well, let’s call it an unfortunate disagreement with my crew. I’m looking for another pair of hands, and I can offer you a ride to wherever you need to go if you just help me get my ship back.”

You're absently inspecting your nails as he talks, brain empty except for thoughts of Fett’s thighs under your hands. You hear yourself hum noncommittally, and he ploughs ahead.

“I knew you’d understand! Brains in that pretty head, who would've thought! All we gotta do is, uh, well all you gotta do is clean ‘em out. Backstabbers! They don’t deserve the protection of The Code! Which is why you need to make it look good… A terrible accident, something unavoidable. Like a... a gas leak, or whatever. However it is you do your thing. If they find out we’re going after members, they’ll mount our heads on the wall.”

You choke on your drink.

“Wait, what the fuck?!”

He’s unperturbed. “We could start a real gas leak… poke a hole in the hyperfuel line… be expensive to fix, though.”

You whip your head around the bar in alarm. You knew he was a moron but he must be totally wasted to be discussing this so loudly. If anyone hears you, you’ll be thrown out of the Guild for even having this conversation.

“I’m not interested in working with anyone. And while it's just a great offer, I’ll pass.”

He smacks a hand to his chest in mock heartbreak.

“Sweetheart. Baby! You won’t help a poor man in his hour of need? Whatever special treatment Fett was giving you, I’ll double it!”

Unbidden, that image pops into your head and you shudder. He snickers in an insinuating way you don’t like at all. And that's it; you really don’t feel like listening to this anymore. You swing yourself off the stool, tossing a few chits on the bar and heading for the exit. The drunk idiot follows you, wheedling and stumbling to keep up with your lengthened stride as you pass through the grubby streets of the Lower Levels. You skip down a few more darkened rows and turn into an alleyway, head throbbing as you try to remember the last time you ate. Surely you didn’t just pour that spotchka into an empty stomach? Ugh. You’re realising now that this far down, you probably aren’t going to find anywhere to stay and you’re about to turn back when the Weequay swings around in front of you, temper flaring.

“Alright girl, listen. You think you’re too hot for me now you’ve worked with a bigshot like Fett, huh? Walking around flaunting more credits than you need? Too bad. I can’t have you telling anyone about this. And maybe that cash you got jangling in your bag’ll buy me someone a bit more helpful.”

You frown at him. He’s gone a little blurry around the edges. You wonder if that’s something his species does when they’re angry. Then you realise the walls of the alley are tilting sideways.

“Huh,” you murmur to yourself, fascinated.

Your fuzzy head registers a flash of light in his hand, and you twist just in time to dodge the vibroblade aimed at your abdomen, your arm shooting out to grasp his forearm. Using his forward momentum to pull him off balance, you twist yourself lithely underneath his arm as he tumbles to the ground. A manoeuvre you’ve pulled hundreds of times, it takes you a second to realise that you’re falling with him.

Your dulled reflexes slow your limbs like you’re trapped in wroshyr sap, and you kick out with your legs as he rolls your bodies until you’re underneath him, his gnarled face twisted into a snarl as you grapple wildly for the stims in your belt, finding only his legs straddling yours and blocking your access. Instead, you smash your fist upwards, connecting with the ridge of hornlike growths along his jaw and even through the fog of alcohol the pain forces the breath out of your lungs. He takes his chance to headbutt you, and your head snaps back against the garbage-strewn alley floor.

You’re desperately trying to bring your knees up between his legs, but your boots scuff on the filthy ground, unable to gain purchase. Your head is ringing, your limbs useless, the hard angles of your bag digging into the base of your spine where you’re laying on it. He’s scrabbling at the ground around you, searching for the knife, when his entire body is ripped off yours and you gasp at the release of weight from your chest, sucking in clear air.

There’s a horrible noise, and you force your spinning gaze back into focus just in time to see the armoured figure holding the Weequay’s body up in front of his own, both men facing you as Boba Fett’s arm wraps underneath the struggling bounty hunter’s arm and up to his throat from behind. Fett’s build is stocky and solid, and despite the fact that he’s a good head shorter than the Weequay, he shows no signs of exertion as his grip tightens on the other hunter’s neck, letting him gurgle brokenly for air for a few seconds. You’re catching your breath, and you see the helmet tilt down to consider you as you scramble up into a sitting position.

“You’re drunk,” his modulated voice gravels out.

You can’t think of a single intelligent thing to say, so instead you say something stupid:

“How d’you know?”

The helmet watches you impassively for another moment, while the Weequay writhes and claws uselessly at the beskar-covered arm holding him. Fett’s movements seem almost an afterthought as he drops the other man bodily to the ground, letting him crumple into a heap.

“Because a piece of shit like this wouldn’t be able to knock you off your feet if you weren’t.”

The Weequay is retching, grasping at Boba’s foot.

“Fett! I wasn’t going to hurt her - she attacked me! The bitch is crazy!”

If he hadn’t just tried to kill you, you’d almost feel sorry for him. Boba raises a boot and kicks down, hard. You hear the clean, loud snap of his knee breaking before he starts screaming. You clear your throat, voice loud enough over the noise for Boba to hear.

“I was actually fine.”

He makes a gruff noise under the helmet. You continue, tongue garbling the words as they pour out.

“Why do - you even... following me for? Aren’t you busy? Like... ignoring me?”

He shakes his head once, an irritated gesture. The Weequay’s still wailing at the top of his lungs, and Boba unlatches the carbine rifle from across his back. You panic for a second.

“Wait, don’t kill him! You might get away with flouting the Code whenever you want, but some of us still need to follow rules. Everyone saw him leaving with me.”

His voice is barely above a growl.

“He lost any protection the Code had to offer when he tried to kill you. If you’re worried about getting in trouble, I’ll just make sure there aren’t any pieces left big enough to find.”

You aren’t sure why you feel the need to stop him, but you do. You’re not squeamish about the violence of the act itself. You know he’s right; the Weequay was only going to kill you and then the rest of his crew. Maybe it’s because you don’t want to owe him any more of a debt than you already do. He’s aiming the blaster down when you blurt -

“Boba. Please. Don’t.”

He jerks his head up, and you wish you could see his expression under there. Instead, he brings the butt of the rifle down and smashes it across the side of the writhing hunter’s head, cutting off the noise and knocking him out cold.

You breathe through your nose a few times, trying to slow the way everything’s spinning with dots of light. You’re not sure if it’s the spotchka or the blow to your head, but you’re feeling queasy as you ease yourself up into a lopsided lean against the wall of the alley. A wild, involuntary gasp of hysteria bursts out of your lips as you look at him standing motionless.

“Do you have any idea how embarrassing this is? I was gonna… I don’t know, do something impressive the next time I saw you. Something really tough. Strut in with a rancor on a leash.”

He still hasn’t moved. At least, you don’t think he has. You don’t trust your eyes anymore. Everything appears to be wobbling around as though you’re underwater.

He sighs, finally stepping toward you.

“I don’t know, this is pretty impressive. You can barely stand and you still disarmed the guy.”

You groan, wrapping an arm around your middle as you bend to pick up the Weequay’s fallen vibroblade, your heavy bag swinging around your body.

“You’re laughing at me.”

He chuckles shortly through the modulator, reaching an arm out to stop you from losing your balance as you straighten up.

“Never.”

And the sound of his gravelly voice is enough to cut through your haze and burn pleasurably into the base of your stomach. The buzzing in your limbs now feels like a warm effervescence, and you suddenly decide the absolute best thing you could do in this moment is press yourself against the entire length of his body. His hand is still on your shoulder, keeping you steady as you blink up at the helmet, head tilted back as you lean against him. He exhales in a huff.

“Yeah, you’re coming back to the ship.”

Heat explodes beneath your skin, and he speaks again.

“To sleep.”

He turns to lead you out the way you came, your heart sinking as you step over the motionless lump at your feet. The rejection smacks you with humiliation, and you vacantly recall how you ended up here in the first place: drinking, confused and lonely. You concentrate on placing one foot in front of the other, thoughts boiling around in your head. He’s silent beside you, the only sound his spurs ringing lightly over the distant sounds of music and speeders drifting down from the next level.

You wonder what he was actually doing down here. Surely not the same as you; he’s never been seen to socialise. You’re normally not one to indulge in fantasies, but you let yourself pretend he came to apologize. Maybe he’d been thinking about you just as you’d been thinking about him. The two of you are passing back up through the same levels as earlier now; the smoggy streets brighter and louder with activity.

As you pass outside a lewd-looking establishment, a Twi’lek woman stands bored while a group of rough-looking men argue among themselves. One catches sight of you and your companion and falls silent, watching nervously. The others look around to see what he’s staring at and blanch, shuffling quickly out of the way to clear your path. Boba seems to barely register the scramble his appearance produces, ignoring the men completely as you both step up to the next level and approach Slave I’s temporary landing pad. And it’s so fucking hot, you think, dimly aware of the unfairness of it, how unbothered he seems, how untouchable. If you'd been alone, you're positive those men would've had something boorish to say. And he doesn't even notice the effect he has on what's happening around him.

A flick at his vambrace brings the ramp of the ship down, and he turns to face you.

“You should rest. Wouldn’t want you getting into any more fights.”

There’s a faint tone of humour underneath the growl of his voice and you open and close your mouth before speaking.

“Where are you going?”

“Someone to see. Won’t take long. Unless there was somewhere else you want to go?”

You frown. You could still try to find a cheap inn, there’s plenty of them around here. But if you’re being honest, it’s a waste of credits. And the bunk on the ship is way more comfortable than anything you’re prepared to pay for.

“How do you know I’m not just going to steal your ship and disappear?”

He just shakes his head, stalking up the steps leading to the next level.

-

You sleep badly, your head pounding and knuckles beginning to swell, throbbing where you connected with the exposed bone of the Weequay’s face. You know how easy it would be to dull the pain with a shot from one of your canisters, but you’ve long held an aversion to using them unless the situation is absolutely dire, acutely conscious of the addictive properties. So instead you toss uneasily in the bunk, uncomfortable in your loose-fitting shirt and underwear, flinching awake every time you hear a creak in the ship’s hull in case it’s Boba returning.

After several long hours of this, you decide you’ve had enough and drag yourself to the fresher. Gulping mouthfuls of stale-tasting recycled water, you splash your face and consider your reflection. You feel disgustingly, spikily sober, and you’re furious about last night. You’ve held your own against much bigger and smarter enemies than that drunken sleemo, and you know you would never have been taken down so easily if you weren’t distracted. You decide right there that you’re not letting this kind of fuckup happen again. It's beneath you. And whatever Fett’s deal is with following you and letting you pass out in his ship, you’re not getting sucked in by it. No way.

Filled with fresh resolve, you spin to exit the tiny chamber, the door retracting up into the ceiling track - and freeze, inches from the man leaning against the doorframe, helmet under his arm.

You were woefully unprepared for the visceral reaction to seeing his bare face again, the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw, dark brow furrowed into that familiar, piercing glare as he considers your state of undress.

“How’s the head?”

You forcibly tear your gaze from the movement of his lips as you respond.

“Fine. Like I said, it was under control. What were you doing down there?”

He doesn’t even pause before answering.

“Looking for you.” As though nothing happened. As though it doesn't mean a thing.

Your mouth drops open. How dare he? To treat you with such professional, polite civility after making you beg him to to fuck you on the floor of his ship. To dish out your share of the bounty and let you walk off, only to come swooping in when you fuck up and find yourself unable to defend yourself - and when it was all his fault you were so preoccupied in the first place. You’re spitting the words at him before you consider what you’re doing.

“No. You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to walk around like nothing happened, when all it's all I can fucking think about. You don’t get to, to - feel nothing, you fucking ass-“

His helmet hits the ground between your bodies with a low clunk, his mouth hard against yours as he forces you back through the doorway. Your back hits the wall of the tiny chamber, his tongue sliding into your mouth as a gloved hand roughly yanks your hair back to allow him better access, the cold hardness of his armour crushing as he presses you back. The sharpness of the contrasting sensations; the heat of his kiss and the thrill of pain from the tightness of his grip cause an immediate and insistent throb of need between your thighs. You moan involuntarily into his mouth, trying to press your legs together to relieve the spike of pressure. He breaks from your lips, his body hard against yours as he hisses at you, practised hands ripping plates of armour off piece by piece.

“We had a fucking job to do. Do you know how hard it is to focus when you’re in here? Stretching your legs, bending over like that? Walking around my ship, looking at me like that? And doing it on purpose. You know what you do to me, you...”

You feel like your entire body is aflame, pinned in place and watching as he lets a pauldron drop somewhere behind him. You can feel how hard he already is through his pants, the length pressing into your hip.

You bite back a whimper as you twist your body against his, trying to manoeuvre yourself into a better position so you can feel him against your cunt. The heat between your legs is unbearable, you’re desperate for his touch, his tongue, his cock, anything. He rips off a glove with his teeth, his bare hand cupping your chin and forcing your head up as his glower devours you.

It’s like he’s been starving to death for those interminable weeks just the same as you, as he takes in the shape of your body, the frantic rise and fall of your chest, the way your legs are pressed together against the weight of him. His hands are hard, running down your back to grab at the curve of your ass and you gasp as he lifts you bodily against him, holding your weight between himself and the wall. He’s pressing himself hard into the apex of your thighs, the tented material doing nothing to conceal his arousal as you wrap your legs around his waist, squeezing yourself as close as possible to the hard outline of his cock, lining it up perfectly with your aching clit. Even the dulled sensation through the layers of your clothing is enough to elicit a gasp from you.

“Fu- fuck, fu-“, your breaths are broken, hitching in your chest as you shamelessly roll your hips, twitching in his grasp, dragging yourself against him. He’s watching you, eyes impossibly dark as his voice is a barely audible growl.

“You’re gonna get me killed.”

He turns, supporting your weight easily as he lifts you to sit on the edge of the cold durasteel cabinet on the opposite side of the enclosed space, drawing your underwear off as he slides his hands out from underneath you and down to your knees, forcing them apart. Your mind goes completely blank, purely driven by animalistic sensation as he slides his fingers down between your legs and parts your lips, groaning low in his chest when he feels how wet you already are. He drops to a kneel, and his grip on your thighs feels bruising as he leans in to taste you. You can’t stop yourself raking your fingers through his thick hair, remembering how soft it felt, having missed the sensation of it. You only have a second to enjoy the feeling before he closes his lips around your clit, and you shudder, your toes pointing and back arching as you involuntarily press your hips toward his face.

His mouth on your cunt is like a furnace, and you’re exquisitely aware of the exact pressure of his hands, holding your legs open, his thumbs pressed into the sensitive underside of each knee. You imagine his fingerprints branding you, his touch marking you permanently as he drags his tongue firmly but slowly up the side of your clit - and you feel the moment he registers that spot, up and slightly to the side that causes you to jolt in his grasp. He focuses his attention there as you feel your limbs melting in his grip, the helpless undoing coalescing in the soaked thrum of agonising bliss between your legs.

You feel as though you could die right now: you could be thrown out of the airlock in hyperspace, shot to pieces, torn limb from limb, you don’t give a single fuck, because this - this is the most uncontrolled pleasure you’ve ever felt. Just as you feel the lower half of your body begin to seize up, he turns his head to the side, withdrawing his mouth from your cunt, his absence a shock of cold lack, instead biting gently into the inside of your thigh. You exhale in a huff, your climax lost.

He doesn’t let you move before he patiently begins again from the very start, lips a breath away from your clit as he slowly licks a hot line up your pussy. He’s still moving achingly slowly, and you’re unintentionally making whimpering complaints of frustration - how the fuck is he moving so slowly? His hands on your thighs are hard, his brow furrowed above his closed eyes as he works you into a sweating, writhing mess - then he pulls back again, your building orgasm dropping out into nothing.

And then it hits you. He’s doing this on purpose. The fucking asshole is doing this on purpose, lifting you towards your release then drawing back, letting you crack apart with madness. And like any disciplined hunter, he’s completely calm about the way he’s torturing you, a sign of his absolute control, his focus. You scoff breathlessly in disbelief, and you feel his lips quirk into a smirk against the inside of your thigh, where he presses a kiss. Even as your fury blazes, a tiny cylinder firing in the back of your brain mourns that you don't get to see that upturn of his lips.

You dimly register that your grip in his hair is savage; you must be tugging hard enough to cause pain but if anything his hums against your cunt sound as though he’s sinking into his own unravelling, and he withdraws his hold on one of your legs to palm his erection. You wonder how rare it is for him to feel someone else’s fingers in his hair, how good it must feel, how sensitive. You watch, blood pounding in your face at the sight of his head buried between your thighs, as he frees his swollen cock from the waistband of his pants and roughly squeezes the length.

The way he touches himself is harsh - fist tight as the flushed head leaks precum and the sight couples with the way your inner thighs are trembling to bring a sharp throb of arousal deep in your belly. You’re once again starting to climb the cresting waves of pleasure from his unrelenting attention, bringing you to a state of total destruction. You can hear your own whimpering moans, and you drag one of your hands free from his hair to press to your mouth, biting the back of your own hand to still the sounds. His tongue presses harder, more urgently, and your hips buck spasmodically but he doesn’t break his rhythm for a moment and your eyes roll back in your head, your head falling back against the wall as you tumble toward your peak with an intensity that forces the air from your lungs.

You feel it before it hits; and it's like watching an enormous wave cresting before dragging you off your feet. Your cunt is clenching down on nothing, again and again, as your release both loosens and tightens every muscle in your body. He doesn’t let up on his attention, tongue still dragging your orgasm from you, time suspending as you keep cumming and cumming around his mouth, impossibly endless, your brain absolutely liquefied, abdomen straining hard as a gush of wetness floods the inside of your thighs, and he hisses something low, sounding triumphantly arrogant.

Your legs are shaking so hard you can’t do anything to resist when he yanks your ankles, dragging you forward to the edge of the bench until your feet hit the ground. You don’t even have time to rest your weight there before he’s flipping you, bending you double over the bench, the corner hard against your hipbones. The cold metal bites at your sensitive nipples through your thin shirt and you shiver at the sensation, conscious of the way he’s staring down at your exposed ass, your legs stretched out for your toes to barely reach the floor, and he hisses a drawn out curse as he presses and curls two fingers tight and deep into your drenched cunt, gathering the wetness of your orgasm to stroke his own throbbing cock once and again. Heat thrumming in your face, you can only grip the edges of the counter to brace yourself and bite your lip as he splits you open in one long, smooth motion. Your cunt is gripping him like a vice, the stretch unbelievable with your legs pressed closed together between his, and you both shudder as he bottoms out.

“How - fuck, how are you so fucking tight - fuck,” he chokes.

He withdraws completely, the loss of the fullness enough to make you want to sob, before driving his cock back in as he presses a large, rough hand down on the small of your back, holding you pinned against the counter as he begins to work in and out. And you can’t move a millimetre, all you can do is squeeze your thighs, trying to encourage his movements, desperate for him to hold you tighter, fuck you deeper, your legs useless, the air forced from your lungs. He quickly sets a punishing rhythm, and your ragged breaths fall into synchrony with one another. His firm hips slap against your ass with each thrust, a sheen of sweat covering you both, and you can feel how ridiculously hard he is, how overwrought he must be, how tight it must feel, the heat and wetness loud enough as to be downright gratuitous. The angle is torturous; you can feel him in your fucking guts, deeper than you’ve ever imagined possible, the thickness cutting your shallow breaths into short gasps as he slides deliciously against that spot at the front of your cunt, making you clench down hard. And it makes him groan, his arm sliding around your waist and up between your breasts to crush your body to him, leaning you back against the length of his chest - which is when two things happen at once.

The abrupt change of angle is suddenly, blindingly powerful against that sensitive spot, throwing you over the edge of another orgasm; but the climax is delayed for a moment, and you hang suspended as something in your melted brain tumbles into place. When it finally connects, the realization slams into you like a speeder; this is the same position you saw him in last night, when he crushed the other bounty hunter with one arm against his own body while you watched. And the parallels between that and now, the brutality and tenderness, the thought of his savagery coupled with the devastating way he’s fucking you rips you over the edge and you cum, viciously hard, and you can’t hold back a wail that cracks your voice on the way out as your entire body explodes in a wave of unbearable pleasure. Every muscle in your body tightens around him, losing all feeling in your fingers and toes. You hear the moment he loses control too, and his lips press down on your shoulder, teeth biting down as if he’s desperately trying to anchor himself, and you feel the thickness of his cock pulsing as he releases himself in long bursts. The moment stretches, the throbs slowing before finally he withdraws from you.

You’re distantly aware of Boba dragging himself up behind you and tossing off his shirt and pants as you feel a trickle of cum run down the inside of your thigh and you collapse shakily onto your knees, curled on the floor. You slip out of time, no idea how long you’re there before he’s scooping you up and lifting you into the tiny fresher stall where you’re both silent under the warmth of the water. This part; the part afterwards, feels somehow as though you’re far more exposed, more intimate than during what came before. You’re hesitant to touch him, and so you quietly soak in the warmth, leaning your weight on the wall, your legs still loose and boneless. But then you catch him looking at you, eyes considering, and as though he doesn’t even mean to do it, he’s scooped your wet hair gently from where it’s plastered to your face, drawing the strands carefully from where they catch around your eyes and mouth.

You start, and he doesn’t withdraw his hand. His permanently severe expression is back, mouth a hard line under furrowed brows, but his hand is soft against the side of your head. And it feels oddly reckless, but you lift your own hand to hold him there, turning your head to press a kiss to his palm. You’re rewarded with... it’s not a smile. It’s not even the beginning of a smirk. But it’s there: the faintest, tiniest lift at the side of his lips. And for now, that’s enough.

-

You’re dry, clean and clothed when you hear him step behind you while digging through your bag. Without turning, you speak lowly, your gaze fixed determinedly on nothing.

“Thank you. I owe you a favour, not just for stopping that guy from skinning me, but letting me crash here last night. I really should go, though. I need to get to Zolan, pick up some gear and book a ride before I claim any more pucks. And you’ve probably got shit to do, you don’t want to hang around here...”, you trail off as his step sounds closer, and force yourself to glance over your shoulder.

Armoured but helmetless, his arms are crossed over his chest. There’s a pause before he speaks.

“I can give you a lift to Zolan. And I wanted to ask you... there’s work on Sriluur. Might be a two person job. If you’re interested.”

His normally monosyllabic speech sounds more disjointed than usual, as though he's exerting an inordinate amount of effort on the simple words. You feel the smallest lightening in your chest, and you feel your mouth twitch on one side.

“Yeah. I’m interested.”

He nods stiffly, and leaves you standing there with half a smile as he turns to head to the cockpit.

[campeyourdiems]

Greetings and salutations, hope I don’t bother you to much. May I please have a romantic matchup for camp camp? I notice you guys haven’t had one in awhile so just ignore and delete of you don’t feel like doing it, no pressure. 👍

I use they/it pronouns and I’m pansexual. My Myers Briggs type is INFJ and Enneagram type is 4. My star sign is Taurus, moon sign is Gemini.

Im about 4’11..not to happy about it. I’m rather introverted, and can be considered not a people person. I find life a little nihilistic. I’m into dressing in all black and taking a liking to gruesome and morbid things like slashers, analog horror, death games, true crime documentaries, poetry, necromancy and anatomy. I typically consider myself a “Gorehound”. I also like to visit abandoned hospitals and houses just for fun, along with playing quite a few escape rooms. I just have a genuine comfort in the uncomfortable.

I get a lot of monikers from friends and family like "discount vomitboyx", "doomer boy", and "Remake of Daria" before. I’ve come to the conclusion I just scare people off. In reality, I’m intimidated by everyone around me and find it hard to start conversing, which may or may not come off as rude to people.

When I finally become comfortable with someone I start to become really sarcastic and joke around with them with witty banter. Most of my humor comes off really insulting, but I’ll apologize and say it’s a joke if it becomes a problem. Even though I do have a hard time understanding physical social cues.

Lots of people don’t like me or stay away from me because of my rude behavior. I’m not good with overly sensitive or overly annoying people at all because of that, and I can’t stand kids. Idiocy can get on my nerves too sometimes. I’m a huge animal person though. I have my moments where I can get really feisty, or very quiet and closed off. I’ve been told I’m also a laidback person.

I’m the type of person that has lots of opinions on things but I keep them to myself and bottle them up. If pushed far enough I’ll become unforgiving, and aggressive. Especially with the types mentioned above.

I find the most comfort in just being in my room drawing, reading and or listening to music ( Motionless in White, Deftones, System of a Down, Slipknot, Rob Zombie,,, sometimes Will Wood, The Front Bottoms, Jazmin Bean or Mother Mother, etc. ), or even occasionally playing video games or reading and talking about Greek mythology or some random documentary I read. I also do acting in my spare time, which I find really fun. My interests tend to be very restricted, and I shut down easily getting into new things.

I’m a plushie maniac and when I fall asleep you can always see me cuddled up to one of them. I find it because I’m really touch starved. I’m guilty of being very submissive and maybe even masochistic- and a bit of a pyromaniac. I dissociate or daydream a lot, so you can often catch me starring.

I suffer from a handful off mental and physical syndromes like autism, GERD, arthritis, asthma, depression and anxiety. These have all been diagnosed professionally, and I’m definitely not trying to make myself "quirky". I have stims where I bite the inside of my cheek, pull my hair, crack or pop my bones, pick at scabs, fidget with my fingers or toy and bounce my leg. I even hiss or squeal when I’m upset. I’ve also been developing a eating disorder. You don’t need to rocmantasize this stuff ofc, but I think it’s good to know so the person can tolerate me.

you do get to this, thanks for your time.

howdy, :3 i'm really sorry it's taken so long to answer this, we had a lot of mental + physical health issues that came up on top of other things. hopefully by the time i'm answering this you're still at least a little into Camp Camp aha- (has no idea how long it's been)

anyway, onto the matchup. now, this may not be a surprise to you, but I think you'd work pretty well with Daniel.

he'd find your "gorehound" tendencies and "comfort in the discomfort" to be rather interesting, most people he meets tend to be the exact opposite. he'd be happy to accompany you on your visits to abandoned buildings, curious if anything interesting was to be found there or not. i also think he'd be interested in analog horrors and true crime, possibly a few games and slasher movies as well. though he feels like the type to be super critical of horror movies if they're even slightly inaccurate so if that tends to bother you, you might not want to watch movies with him.

unsurprisingly he likely doesn't find you very intimidating, he honestly just finds your whole deal fascinating. if you find yourself intimidated by him, he might try to back off a bit though but we all know how he is about personal space an all that. /lh he doesn't mind that you're not great at starting conversations, he loves to talk when he has the chance.

he'd enjoy the sarcasm and make it known if you've offended him at all, though i feel like that'd be rather hard to do but also...surprisingly easy at times? as a serial killer he's probably been called pretty much everything in the book, but i feel like there may be a few things that are sore spots such as his religion or blonde jokes. he's likely to be more understanding with you though, especially about the social cues- he's no good with those either.

i wouldn't say he's a very sensitive person and we all know how he is with kids, himself. he has times where he's a little less than smart about things, but overall i don't think it should be bad enough to bother you. i like to think he's rather neutral on animals though, but he might prefer cats to other things. your tendency to bottle up your opinions may bother him a bit though, so he may press for you to share them at times. -cough- i do believe he'd find it rather attractive if you're aggressive around him, so do with that information what you will. -cough-

he'd be pretty interested in seeing your drawings if you'd ever want to show him, he's never really had time to hone the skill himself so he finds other people's ability in it pretty neat. i don't think he'd know who any of the artists you listen to are, but he'd be willing to listen. (i really like a lot of them myself and i think he'd like Will Wood, Jazmine Bean, and Mother Mother as well as a few songs from the others. =w=) this man's never touched a video game in his life, but he'd be happy to watch you play or learn how to do so himself. i do think he'd enjoy reading at times when he allows himself the time, and i believe he'd enjoy listening to you talk about whatever you decide to talk about.

i believe he'd find your interest in plushies rather cute, tbh. he understands being touch starved, though he'd never say anything about it, so he wouldn't judge you for it. i don't think he'd care very much about you being a bit of a pyro, as long as you don't do it too close to anything he deems important. he doesn't mind the disassociation and staring at all since he tends to do the same himself.

[skipped over the mentions of being submissive and masochistic cuz idk how old you are =w=; sorry]

i think he's got a lot going on himself, so he can at least somewhat handle being around your illnesses. (personally think he's got autism and anxiety, perhaps some repressed depression) obviously, he's got a thing about popping his own joints but i think he also has a tendency to bite apart his cheeks and pull at his hair in times of stress so he understands it a lot, though he might try to stop you if you're hurting yourself with it. as for the hissing and squealing, it may throw him off a bit at first but it wouldn't be something he's too put off by and he'd get used to it pretty quickly.

sorry if i forgot to go over anything, but i hope you're happy with your result!

[petitelepus]

Greetings and salutations, hope I don’t bother you to much. May I please have a romantic yandere matchup for dbd? Preferably killers, but whoever works tbh. Please ignore if you don’t do them.

I use they/it pronouns and I’m pansexual. My Myers Briggs type is INFJ and Enneagram type is 4. My star sign is Taurus, moon sign is Gemini.

Im about 4’11..not to happy about it. I’m rather introverted, and can be considered not a people person. I find life a little nihilistic. I’m into dressing in all black and taking a liking to gruesome and morbid things like slashers, Tim Burton, death games, true crime documentaries, poetry, necromancy and anatomy. I typically consider myself a Gorehound. I also like to visit abandoned hospitals and houses just for fun, along with playing quite a few escape rooms. I just have a genuine comfort in the uncomfortable.

I get a lot of monikers from friends and family like "discount vomitboyx", "doomer boy kinnie", and "Remake of Daria" before. I’ve come to the conclusion I just scare people off. In reality, I’m intimidated by everyone around me and find it hard to start conversing, which may or may not come off as rude to people.

When I finally become comfortable with someone I start to become really sarcastic and joke around with them with witty banter. Most of my humor comes off really insulting, but I’ll apologize and say it’s a joke if it becomes a problem. Even though I do have a hard time understanding physical social cues.

Lots of people don’t like me or stay away from me because of my rude behavior. I’m not good with overly sensitive or overly annoying people at all because of that, and I can’t stand kids. Idiocy can get on my nerves too sometimes. I’m a huge animal person though. I have my moments where I can get really feisty, or very quiet and closed off. I’ve been told I’m also a laidback person.

I’m the type of person that has lots of opinions on things but I keep them to myself and bottle them up. If pushed far enough I’ll become unforgiving, and aggressive. Especially with the types mentioned above.

I find the most comfort in just being in my room drawing, reading and or listening to music ( Motionless in White, Deftones, System of a Down, Slipknot, Rob Zombie,,, sometimes Will Wood, The Front Bottoms, Jazmin Bean or Mother Mother, etc. ), or even occasionally playing video games or reading and talking about Greek mythology or some random documentary I read. My interests tend to be very restricted, and I shut down easily getting into new things.

I’m a plushie maniac and when I fall asleep you can always see me cuddled up to one of them. I find it because I’m really touch starved. I’m guilty of being very submissive and maybe even masochistic- and a bit of a pyromaniac. I dissociate or daydream a lot, so you can often catch me starring.

I suffer from autism, GERD, arthritis, depression and anxiety. I have stims where I bite the inside of my cheek, pull my hair, punch walls or pillows, crack or pop my bones, pick at scabs, fidget with my fingers or toy and bounce my leg. I even hiss or squeal when I’m upset. I’ve also been developing a eating disorder.

If you do get to this, thanks for your time. - zaire

Sally Smithson and Herman Carter, aka Nurse and Doctor are Yandere for you!

You may appear scary at first and you are stubborn as an ox, but inside you are also genuine and dependable. Your jokes can be a little cruel, but you don't necessarily mean anything bad with them.

Your darkness and attraction towards grotesque things others avoid with their lives are things for Herman and Sally to love more in you. The two of them make a team so scary that it had been a common horror story told around the campfire.

You had laughed at the idea of them teaming since it wasn't possible to have two Killers in one match, but this didn't stop the good Doctor from killing your teammates and sending an electric shock that immobilized you through your body.

Once on the ground and twitching in pain, Herman hoisted you over his shoulder as he ventured into the Fog where Sally was waiting for the two of you.

Did you use to like abandoned houses and hospitals? How marvelous, you're going to love your new home in Léry's Memorial Institute. Herman has a very own room prepared for you where you are locked in if both Killers are out on a Trial or if you have been misbehaving.

You are so small, Sally and Herman love how easy it is to handle you. You stand no chance against the Doctor and thanks to that, your chances of ever escaping are almost nonexistent. But why would you try to leave? Doesn't he and Sally take such good care of you?

Aww, you're hissing at them? You remind them of a little pissed-off kitten.

Sally is good with her hands, always has been, so she will make you your very own little plushie to hug when she and Herman aren't there to pay you attention. She swears, she will return to you as soonest as possible. She just has to go and kill your friends really quickly.

Autistic, depressed, anxious, and more? Herman is the master of minds and Sally has more than enough training to treat physical pains. They can get their hands on many things and medicine is one of those.

Herman doesn't mind medicating you, but if you start getting byproducts from medications he put you on, then he sees if there is a better way to treat you. Perhaps you would like some shock therapy? He has seen and knows how effective that can be.

An eating disorder? Not on their watch. Sally and Herman aren't afraid to force-feed you if you refuse your meals. If you try to vomit what you have eaten then they will scold you and put you in tubes and you do not want to be in tubes.

Why are you crying? Don't you see? They do this because they love and care about you!

Once you learn to behave, you turn much more mellow and submissive to them. Herman and Sally loved your feisty fights back at them, but they also love how submissive you can be.

For example, you don't fight against Sally when she lowers your head to rest on her thighs and plays with your hair so you can daydream peacefully.

If you have been good for Sally then Herman will go out his way to get you some sort of gaming console with some games.

The console is small with a huge screen and there are bloody fingerprints on it, but after spending a good time in the Fog without any games, it's the best thing you have ever gotten. Besides the good Nurse's and Doctor's undying love.

[toaverse]

Hi! Encanto to me is special, like really *really* *REALLY* motherfucking special. For me, it took me back to when I was 14 and I know this will be a long winded story, but hear me out. I was 13, 14 and getting really badly bullied at school, to the point where both my twin and I ended up moving schools for a bit but then moved back as the teachers were shit. What got me through the constant harassment, the name calling, the teasing, the purposeful ignoring because I didn't understand social cues and would react and go into meltdown which just added fuel to their fire? Glee. That's right, Glee. It was the right show at the right time and gave me something to look forward to, something to live for. I didn't care if it wasn't a good episode or the songs were off, it gave me hope and happiness at a time where it wasn't around. And just like Glee, Encanto has done the exact same thing. Given the circumstances when I saw it for the first time, it gave me hope and happiness. My relationship at the time with my mum was almost irreparable to the point I wasn't sure if going over for Christmas was a good idea and me being out of the picture that year would be easier. And then I saw it and whilst it didn't fix everything, I had hope and I felt seen. The arguments between Isa and Mirabel, putting too much pressure on myself like Luisa, repressing my true self for the sake of the family like Isa and trying so hard and over compensating the fuck ups like Mirabel. And what got me was not "Dos Origuitas" (though an amazing song nonetheless) but "All of You". "We see how bright you burn, we see how brave you've been. Now see yourself in turn, you're the real gift kid, let us in. Open your eyes. Abres los ojos. What do you see? I see me. All of me." That. Fucking. Scene. Boom, instant waterworks, Mirabel finally seeing for herself her whole self and her family acknowledging her and validating her. As someone who is always after validation (thank you adhd, autism and burnt out gifted kid syndrome) this part got to me. Ever since, it's become my hyperfixation and also my favourite modern Disney film (favourite classic is Hunchback of Notre Dame) and I have so much merch as well, I have a sticker book, a colouring book, a picture book, the junior novel, the art of Encanto, I have it on Bluray, the two book lego sets of Antonio and Isabela's room, a Julieta funko pop, the doll set of Luisa, Antonio, Mirabel and Isa and I went to Wales Comic Con back in April and met Jessica Darrow who I can confirm is the sweetest person ever! She is so nice and genuine and a literal cinnamon roll, she was super patient with me (I was a stimming and partially verbal wreck, it was beautiful) and I wanted to say "Hi, I'm a huge fan, thank you for being Luisa and also I love your new song make it clean!" Instead what came out - "Song!" "Love!" "Keeping clean!" and she understood! I love her, she is incredible and taking a good but sneaky look, I can confirm her butt is fantastic

That’s wonderful to hear!

While I myself really don’t like the film, I’m glad to read that others do, and see their struggles within the characters.😊

Don’t let anyone stop you from that :D

[that-tall-queer-bassist]

My personal Pros and Cons of my ADHD

Pros

-noticing all the little details and appreciating them in the fullest

-Emotional Dysregulation, because when I get a new plant, or find that one oddly shaped metal marble I lost a while ago, I am so excited it’s pathetic, but I love that feeling of pure joy.

-hyperfixation of the week/day/hour (i know some people describe it differently, let me be pls) . I usually switch between art mediums, and/or a few video games/social media sites. for example, I’ve been on tumblr for 3 hours as i write this, after not touching it for, i think a month?

-nuerodivergent friends. They’re just better.

-the ability to completely drown myself in information to ignore reality. Is it healthy? no. But i simply cannot handle another existiential crissi rn, so i will instead play minecraft while listening to alt rock playlists on youtube because getting spotify sounds like a lot of work.

-my ability to retain absolutely useless information, from either my, or my other nuerodivergent friends hyperfixations/special interests. I can explain to you in terrible formatting if it’s out loud, the evolution, history, training, anatomy and roles of the horse in our world, and how ao3 works, and what makes or breaks a fanfiction.

-Object Impermanence. When i literally hide myself a treat or surprise and forget about it, then get so excited when i do find/discover it again. I hide google questions, and/or song lyrics in my tabs :) its so fun. Also, hiding away stressors. Again, healthy? no, but i don’t feel like having anxiety all day, so whatever.

-Emotional Dysregulation, again. I can switch from sad or angry to happy and excited/content in a few seconds. It’s also great for getting my siblings out of their funk. ex., my sister is mad at me. I make a silly voice repeating what she said or cross my eyes at her. she laughs, then we can talk and have constructive conversation about why she shouldn’t get that upset about me “cutting off her reading time” when we share a room and I want to sleep, and know that she will be very tired tomorrow if she doesn’t also go to sleep. (We have this conversation almost every single night, i’m not even joking)

Cons

-Emotional Dysregulation. When i get upset, I’m Upset. Like, big time, ruining friendships and familial ties if i let it get out of hand, Upset. Yeah.

-Time Blindness. Constantly late, or early, or under or over estimating the amount of time it takes to do a thing, not eating til 4 because you forgot but you also should just wait til dinner, but now its 9 and I still haven’t eaten-

-Executive Dysfunction. I can’t do the things needed to function. Don’t have the mental energy to explain this one, so google it i guess? There’s a whole checklist of things you need to be able to do to function, and i can do like, three on a good day.

-Sleeping Trouble. People with adhd have trouble falling asleep, staying asleep, and waking up. So, sleeping trouble. So I’m constantly tired.

-Internal Clock is SLIGHTLY OFF. Nuerotypicals have that normal sleep schedule. Adhd ers have it shifted forward by, i think, 2, 3 hours. So we go to sleep later, and wake up later, and that’s the only way to get a healthy amount of sleep. My entire family also eats dinner super late, which might be because we’re weird, but I suspect the inner clock thing cuz we all got adhd.

-Object Impermanance. I hid my math homework one time. I failed that class. 

-Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria. Never trying, or starting cuz I’m so terrified to get a bad reaction. Constantly masking around certain people to appeal to the few of my Nuerotypical friends. Or, y’know, majority of my extended family. They’re ableist. and homophobic. And transphobic. And racist. and sexist. The list goes on, but, yeah. Never coming out to them! :D

-Masking. It’s exhausting and I can only handle so much of it.

-Not Masking around nuerotypicals. The shoot down after finally revealing my true thoughts, urges, feelings, stims, etc. just sucks. Super disheartening. 

-Squirrel or shiny jokes when they’re made by people without adhd. Yes, I do get distracted by squirrels, and shiny things, and dice. Stop pointing it out, and/or putting me into yet another box of your labeling. 

-saying that I’m lazy, worthless, or a disaster when really it’s not helping. I already have that internal monologue, you adding to it and giving it some truth/extra ammunition is not. helping.

-Emotional Dysregulation. Again, because mood swings. like, I’m trying to be rightfully angry with you. Stop making me laugh with you’re silly faces or pointing out of a weird face someone made in a picture you took. 

-the stigma about the hyperactive subtype. I’m inattentive. I have No Energy. Ever. Sometimes i have restlessness, but there is still no energy. Stop portraying me as bouncing off the walls, especially with caffeine. Caffeine just catches my body speed up to my brain speed, settling me down a bit, at least mentally. 

-people not getting when i say I’m overstimulated, or need some time alone to process or re-energize, and following me, or continuing to do the overstimulating thing. I will literally. lose. my. mind.

-when people shut me down after I share something that is really important to me, or make fun of me for liking something an “abnormal” amount. Flashbacks to overnight camp, when whenever I said anything about horses, they said I had to do five squats, and when i got really excited about discussing the differences in riding styles/types with another person who really liked horses, but rode english, they said that it was obnoxious, when i was just.. excited to finally find someone to talk to and who felt the same way after, basically, years and years of no one getting it or wanting to listen or talking with me about the thing. To this day I don’t discuss horses with anyone, cuz it hurts so much remembering that, and the fear of it happening again is still there. 

-seeing other people be ashamed about their adhd and hesitant to mention until i talk, like, super openly about having it, in like, the first 5 minutes of knowing each other. It just.. hurts.

-I’m super empathetic, not in a way that’s helpful though. Like, wincing, or limping myself because I saw you drop something on your foot, and am imagining it so vividly that it feels like it happened to me. Reading a fic about abuse or depression, and it hitting too hard and hurting me almost physically, and on a personal level because I simply cannot handle it. Feeling someone else’s pain so vividly that i can’t comfort or help them in any way, because I am so preoccupied with  feeling their pain. 

-never being able to finish things without starting something else. All the WIPs in my google docs, istg, i will be driven insane by it. 

(y’know, this was kinda fun. As a rant, but also as a way for me to identify things about myself and my adhd that i like. Like, I know its so much shorter, but I have a hard time with positive self affirmation, so it was kinda nice. I might do it again, but just the pros part cuz the cons are kinda depressing ngl.)

(OH, Y’all should reblog with your own personal pros added on! You can add cons if you’d like to :) I’m just interested in seeing how your experiences/feeling differ from mine :) )