#sandpaper stim

[redcomet-stims]

Can you do Loid Forger from Spy x Family?

Yea ^w^

🔎📗✒️ Loid Forger (Spy x Family) stimboard for @johnlocsin-johnyakuza :3

Thank you for the request! :3 I tried my best on this one, and I hope this suits him ^^ OhmygodIlovehimsomuchrahhhhh....anyway, hope you like this! This was fun to do :D

Sources:

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[onetwistedmiracle]

i buzzed off my hair and it feels like a combination of velvet and sandpaper. it is So Much Fun to rub

[airic-fenn]

Hot tip: If you, like me, find that the majority of fidget/stim products are either too soft or too smooth and need something rough, I highly recommend going out to buy a roll of grip tape. Like the stuff you put down on metal stairs or ladders or your skateboard to keep from slipping.

Yeah there are those calm strips or whatever but a lot of those are kinda overpriced imo, and not even all of them have the right texture anyway (for me at least). Whereas grip tape you get a whole roll so its gonna last way longer, and its still sticky so you can put it on whatever.

Literally the best thing I ever did was buy some, cut it to shape and stick it all over my old fidget cube. It went from being virtually useless to being the thing I carry with me all the time.

[talos-stims]

tf2 stimboards: the engineer

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[frillyheathen]

Phantom Thieves Ranked By How Likely They are to say "Ruh Roh", "Zoinks", "Jeepers", and "Jinkies"

A Portrait of the Artist Wasting Time

Ruh Roh:

10. Akechi

Akechi would rather relive his third year of high school than ever say this.

9. Makoto

Similar vein to Akechi.

8. Haru

She would absolutely say it once if others were saying it, but I don't think it would come up naturally.

7. Yusuke

Similar vein to Haru.

6. Sumi

She drops a stray "ruh roh" under her breath on a tough day but nothing more.

5. Ann

She drops a stray "ruh roh" at a normal volume on a tough day and she does not apologize.

4. Akira/Ren

He says it completely deadpan but with a small smile that can't help but work its way across his face.

3. Morgana

Mona hits a solid "RUH ROH" when bumping into strong shadows in his van form.

2. Futaba

Futaba says this so frequently that it's probably become some sort of verbal stim for her.

Ryuji

This bitch drops a "ruh roh" at any mild inconvenience.

Zoinks:

10. Akechi

Akechi would have to contort his mouth in an unnatural way for this sound to ever naturally escape it.

9. Haru

She is far more likely to let a curse word slip than a "zoinks" in a stressful situation.

8. Yusuke

He says "zoinks" but in a contemplative tone like, "Zoinks? I don't think I do."

7. Makoto

She has genuinely said it exactly once and has never lived it down.

6. Akira/Ren

Once again a deadpan delivery, usually in response to Futaba explaining the new Featherman episode to him.

5. Ann

She'll let one occasionally slip when shocked.

4. Sumi

Same as Ann but moreso.

3. Futaba

Similar to Joker, I think it's a very deadpan delivery from her when she says it. It's her favorite way to subtly roast whoever she's talking to.

2. Ryuji

Ryuji pulls out a "zoinks" when he's run out of "for real" for the month.

Morgana

This is just a normal Morgana emote.

Jeepers:

10. Akira/Ren

It's not an intentional thing he avoids; he has just never said this.

9. Akechi

Akechi says it once while in Detective Prince mode and that moment is in the top ten reasons why he hates himself.

8. Yusuke

Yusuke doesn't know what this means, assumes it's a type of fish, and no one has corrected him on his usage yet so he carries on.

7. Ryuji

Ryuji will say it, but it's on the lower end of his favorite catchphrases.

6. Sumi

She will say this occasionally.

5. Futaba

She says this any time she comes across someone being especially vitriolic. She basically uses it as a replacement word for "geez".

4. Morgana

He used to say this more initially, but he cut down his usage to try and appear more tough in front of Ann (don't ask me how).

3. Haru

It is a common occurrence to hear a soft-spoken "jeepers" coming from Haru's direction when sharing tough news.

2. Makoto

This is the one phrase where Makoto will let herself be a little silly, so the other Phantom Thieves make sure to never tease her for it.

Ann

Ann absolutely loves hitting a "jeepers" after she comes across an unsettling situation.

Jinkies:

10. Akechi

We're back to our typical scheduled program with Akechi in dead last.

9. Ryuji

He has an extensive list of catchphrases, but this one almost never comes up.

8. Yusuke

He said "jinkies" approximately one time because Futaba asked him to while she recorded a video of it.

7. Futaba

She says "jinkies" so drily you would think the word is sandpaper.

6. Makoto

Makoto is such a "jeepers" girl that she has little need for the inferior "jinkies"

5. Akira/Ren

He only says this as a result of long-form exposure to Sumi and Haru.

4. Morgana

Similar to "jeepers", Mona has cut down his "jinkies" usage in recent time.

3. Ann

Moderate "jinkies" user.

2. Sumi

This is where she really shines, letting out an appropriately timed "jinkies" when a Shadow jumps out at them.

Haru

It's insane how much Haru says "jinkies". It's like a beloved friend to her, always there in her time of need.

Anyway I'm going to go to sleep now.

[melissa-titanium]

for character headcanons tome ^_^

I CANNOT FND THE POST YOU ARE REFERRING TO FOR THE ABSOLUTE LOVE OF ME BUT I SWEAR I KNOW WHAT UR TALKING ABOUT. TREMBLES. if i get this wron g i wil ;. cr.y

i like to imagine tome as a relatively tall person. like maybe a few inches shorter than me... 5'7 ? shes very lanky. i think she had a little bit of a growth spurt once she hit like. lets say 12 or 13 and just shot the fuck up. then stopped. shes still tall just not crazy tall.

i LOVE masc presenting nonbinary tome but i feel like. idont know i feel like shes more. androgynous leaning does that make sense. her gender is weird girl but not a "girl" do you get me. she likes 2 wear skirts & jewelry & goes by ms over mx or mr . her pronouns r weird as hell too shes got the motherfucking zleep/zlorp it/its zhe/her all the neos all the xenogenders you get me ?

also. lesbian. duh. but also . i want to talk about it because it very much interests me. i def think shes ace because i hit every character i like with the ace beam but iiii. dont see her as aro? as much as i love aroace hcs i feel like it doesn't fit tome . at most i could see her on the aro spectrum..... i could totally see greyromantic tho maybe. but also specifically i dont think i could see her using orientation-specific labels, only gender labels. like she would call herself gnc/andro & specify her pronouns & list her most prominent xenogenders but when you ask about her orientation shes like. Girls 👍

ok now that gender is out of the way. smiles

i lik 2 explore her dynamic with takenaka & i think alot of people do honestly LOL. initially of course takenaka feels like a little bit of bitterness towards her because he understands she'd probably see him as nothing more than a guinea pig for her obsessions. but post telepathy arc i think they get along more cause he understands her way of thinking and fears & she understands that he (and others) actually DO care. i like to think they hang out & he manages to read her really well after a while without even needing telepathy.

i think she plays mhfu. i think this because i'm autistic leave me alone. tri ultimate makes more sense considering it was the most recent game to come out at that time but also it's got the smallest monster roster of any of the games, so mhfu it is. i think she'd main insect glaive (having essentially a telepathic communication with a little insect friend is such a cool idea to her) and her favorite monster would be yama tsukami. yama is literally perfect. it's outlandish, has a completely unique skeleton from any other monster in the games (save for yama kurai who was technically not a canon monster because it only existed in frontier) and it is quite literally an UNIDENTIFIED FLYING OBJECT. she would think that's rad as hell, and be very sad that it's not a popular monster (only solidifying her concept of isolation/alienation from her peers, liking things that are unusual to enjoy)

a weird hc i always had for her. i think she plucks out her eyebrow hairs so they r a little patchy almost? i knew someone who used 2 do that when i was younger and i think its something she would have done . speaking of hair she definitely cuts her own hair. SOMETHING TELLS ME SHE HAS PROBABLY TRIED TO DYE IT BEFORE. it didnt go well. her hair has never been the same

i think she's a big fan of new sensory experiences. that is a stim toy bitch if i ever saw one. i think she likes the textures most people find uncomfortable, like sandpaper or scratchy textures . not a picky eater but has a general preference for crunchy/hard stuff over things that melt in her mouth does that make sense ... i think her least favorite food is cotton candy. idk what her fave food is because my food knowledge is limited to bangladeshi cuisine and white people food (save me) but if i think of anything ill edit this. i actually implemented this into my design for her but she has alien earrings and they r kinda squishy. i think she messes with them when shes bored

shes dexterous as fuck with her hands. she could totally learn to shuffle a deck of cards fast as hell or play the shell game (cup shuffle) if she had interest in physical games. i think once she started working at s&s and really getting along with the rest of the Gang she would start playing card games & they always ask her to shuffle. not even reigen does it as well. years of gaming has trained tomes hands to levels not even reigen could dream of reaching

i think she'd be some kind of translator/ambassador... a high standing position based on middle-man communication. a linguist maybe? i think her obsession with the supernatural would eventually leave her down the path of like, culture study, to learn more about different regions mythical creatures. i also really like the post-canon ideas where she works with mezato as an investigator, WHICH ACTUALLY ACTS AS A SEGUE INTO MY NEXT HC

i think her and mezato would get along so well. its such a shame we never get a proper interaction between them. obviously their only canon interactions are accompanied by shigeo in which both of them r trying to grab his attention in some way and theres a little bit of conflict in that (tome realizing shige is a little uncomfortable with mezato pestering him about the cult & swooping in to give him an out) but i think if they genuinely decided 2 meet up and hang out they'd be a force to behold . girls who are wildly enthusiastic about their particular craft who seem to be somewhat outcasted even from their peers who hold similar interests. mezato being the most interested member of the journaling club & tome being the only person in the telepathy club who actually gives a fuck about telepathy!!!!! the thing about mezato though is that i dont think she is self conscious in the way that tome is. tome's like. worried about taking up others' time with her own interests that she clearly is the only one interested in. she thinks she should be grateful that they're even listening to her (atleast thats what i gathered from takenaka's reading of her thoughts during telepathy arc) and that no one but her truly gives a shit about the things she's into. and i dont have a firm grasp on mezato's character, but i think shes something of an inverse of tome in that sense. mezato's more confident about her interests, as well as being more confident in parading it around maybe. so i think they'd get along by being inverses of eachother. im not confident in describing mezato so i hope you kind of get what im saying

ok wow i got off track. i think she's one of those kids who had like a crazy amount of allergies when they were younger but eventually they faded as they got older. shes totally allergic to cats.

she . in the best way that i could possibly muster. feels like a middle child. she feels like someone who has a shit ton of siblings/lives with a big family does this make sense. i think she'd have like two older brothers and a little brother. am i insane can anyone else sense this.

okay i ran out of shit to say theres probably more but . coughs and dies. tome i love you

[my-autism-adhd-blog]

my mom HATES it when i stim. she thinks it's weird and inappropriate. recently i injured my knee and i have to wear this awful itchy ace bandage around it. it's like i can feel every fiber of the bandage and it feels like sandpaper on my skin. all i want to do is rip it off my body but i know that my knee will just keep hurting and i don't want that to happen. with all that going on i tend to stim instead of actively trying to crawl out of my own skin. my mom is going absolutely FERAL because of it. help?

Hi there,

Have you talked to your mom about getting a new bandage that could be more comfortable? There’s a lot of brand out there, so you could look into trying some and see what works for you. Perhaps my followers can advise too?

Sorry if this didn’t answer your question. But I appreciate the inbox and I hope you have a wonderful day/night. ♥️

[nikolai-alexi]

Jegulus Mini Fic #3

WC: 6035 words, average read time ~40mins

CW: symptoms of GAD that are commonly associated with EDs, mild description of vomiting, brief mention of a self-destructive stims, detailed descriptions of overstimulation, mentioned use/overuse of magical stimulant and negative side effects, sensory overload + issues, descriptions of violence to a briefly mentioned character, ftm trans character, mentions of top surgery and hysterectomy.

There are days when James rolls out of bed that he really, really wishes he could just stay curled under the duvet and pretend the day didn’t exist. And from the second he opened his eyes this morning, it was going to be one of those days.

Days like this, where his skin feels too tight over his bones, and everything around him feels way too sharp but so dull at the same time, he has a hard time looking at himself in the mirror. He doesn’t like to see the haunted look behind his own eyes. He feels like an imposter.

It’s not like he’s sad, okay? He’s just…not happy today. It’s 7th year, NEWTs are breathing down all of their necks, the war is brewing quicker every day, and he’s just under a lot of pressure. That’s all. It’s not like he has any real excuse to be bothered. It’s fine. It’s just a day, he’ll get through classes, sneak in a few cigarettes and cheering charms to keep his friends from worrying, and then see Reg tonight and it’ll be fine.

He finally forces himself to look up into the mirror and nods firmly to himself. It’ll be fine. He practices his smile in the reflection before dragging himself into a shower before the other lads wake for the morning scramble before breakfast. He’s never more thankful for being an early riser than he is on days like this; well, actually, that might be a lie, he’s also very thankful for his early rising the mornings after a party, when he gets to be the one to wake all his hungover friends with a cool glass of water, exceptionally greasy food, and a hangover potion. They never fail to bitch and whinge about it, but he knows they’d be hopeless without him. The thought makes a small, but genuine smile flutter across his lips for a brief moment. That’s good, he thinks, maybe there’s hope for the day after all.

There is not, in fact, hope for the day.

By the time he and the lads get down to the Great Hall for breakfast, James has already had to hit himself with three separate cheering charms to keep appearances up and he’s starting to feel the effects of it. There’s sweat pooling around his shirt collar and it feels like sandpaper rubbing against his skin. His right eye is twitching every few minutes. His tie feels like it’s choking him and his hands are violently shaking every time he pulls them out of his trouser pockets. The noise in the hall is overwhelming and ricocheting inside his skull like a fucked up mockery of the muggles’ pinball arcade game. He can’t focus on anything other than the way his skin feels like it’s buzzing and the nauseating feeling of eyes on him. Merlin, how he hates this. He wants to rip his hair out by the roots, if for nothing else, to have something else to focus on.

Eating, is a hurdle of an entirely different kind.

His stomach feels like it’s lodged in his throat, but simultaneously also feels as though it’s being weighed down with lead. The smell of all the food around him makes him viciously nauseous, but he knows he needs to eat something. His friends are used to him working up quite the appetite from his sunrise Quidditch drills, so he needs to have some sort of excuse ready for when they inevitably ask him about his apparent lack thereof.

It’s Peter who starts the line of questioning. James isn’t surprised, Pete’s got a sharp eye for everything. Nothing gets past him.

“Y’alright, mate?” He asks, when James makes no move to add anything other than a piece of toast to his plate.

James shoots him a bright grin that feels entirely false on his face, “‘Course, Wormy!” he says, “Why’ja ask?”

Peter grins back at him and gestures to his plate, “You don’t seem to have much of an appetite this morning, just wanted to make sure, yeah?”

James’ false grin slips into a crooked little smile. Selfishly, he really liked when his friends showed they were concerned for him. He liked the warm feeling it gave him when they let him know he could tell them if something was wrong. He wouldn’t, of course, tell them. He refused to burden them with something so trivial as a bad day, but he liked to know the option was there. If he wanted it, which he did, even if he wouldn’t take them up on it.

“Nah, no reason to fret, I snagged a miniature feast from the kitchens before coming back to the tower this morning. Ran more drills than usual and I didn’t want to wait for you lazy sods to get out of bed while I was hungry,”

The lie tastes like ash on his tongue, but it comes easily enough. Peter is chuckling and shaking his head at his theatrics, Remus is rolling his eyes, and Sirius balls up a serviette to throw at his head. They’re always easily distracted when presented with an opportunity to tease him about something.

“Merlin damns the day that lazy sods like us keep a hangry James from his breakfast, eh Moony?” Sirius barks out. James retaliates with a serviette of his own, and lands it right in the middle of Sirius’ porridge. The offended glare he gets in return makes a smug little grin appear.

“Right you are, Pads, think I heard once that Circe herself once condemned a man fool enough to try and delay our dearest Prongs from brekkie after Quidditch,”

“Oi!” He protests in mock offence, “I’m not that bad, you rotten bastards,”

That makes all three of them nearly snort with laughter. He is absolutely that bad and they all know it, but he’ll proclaim innocence on the matter every time anyways. And he pretends not to know that they carry snacks with them everywhere they go, just like he carries chocolate for Moony, just in case he gets a bit hangry every now and again.

Thankfully, the lads are sufficiently reassured and redirected after that, moving on to whinge at the dreadfully long essay for DADA that only Remus and James had started, but were nowhere close to finishing and the upcoming Hogsmeade trip.

He manages to choke down his singular piece of toast and gulp down a glass of water, but he already knows it won’t be staying down. His stomach is cramping ruthlessly and he wants to slam his forehead into the wooden table. Classes haven’t even started for the day and he already isn’t sure if he can do this. It’ll be fine, he thinks, it’ll have to be fine. He can spin his mates a lie they’ll believe, but apparently, he’s proper shit at lying to himself.

When they finish breakfast and head to their first class of the day, History of Magic, thank Merlin, James is able to nip off to the lav with minimal fuss and an assurance of meeting the lads in the classroom when he’s finished. As soon as their backs are turned, he’s booking it for the nearest loo before his singular piece of toast makes its re-emergence from his stomach right there in corridor. He’s already kneeling in front of the toilet, a hasty locking charm thrown over his shoulder, when his body rebels against him.

He’s not paying attention to anything other than his own misery while his body shakes and retches, so when a pair of hands settle gently on his back, he flinches against them.

“Easy, Darling, it’s just me,” And he’d know that soft baritone voice just about anywhere, no matter what was happening. It’s easy for him to relax into Regulus, his side pressing against Reg’s front with his knees pulled tightly into his chest, still shaking with the aftershocks of his stomach turning inside out.

He’s vaguely aware that he’s crying, but he can’t spare the thought to be concerned about it when Reg’s cold hands feel like salvation against his overheated skin. He would very much like to simply bury himself in those hands, thank you. Regulus seems to know exactly what he wants, because he sweeps a hand from James’ cheek to the back of his neck and brings their faces together until they’re resting their foreheads against each other. James can feel Reg’s breath tickle his nose, and unconsciously begins to settle his own hiccuping, gasping breathing to match.

It’s an indiscernible amount of time before James is able to pry his gritty eyes open to meet Regulus’. There’s so much worry, anxiety, and endless amounts of love reflected in those eyes that James feels like he may be sick again from it. He has to squeeze his eyes closed again, feeling more tears leak out the corners, and he begins rocking back and forth. How could he put this on Reg? How selfish was he? Regulus had so much more on his plate than James would ever have; abusive parents, being forced into taking the mark and becoming a spy, trying to mend his relationship with his brother, hiding his relationship with his brother’s best mate, trying to keep himself, Evan, and Barty alive despite every contrary effort by the latter two, keeping his grades afloat, and captaining the Slytherin Quidditch team. There was no way James could add more hippogriff shit to Reg’s already overflowing plate. He refused to. He’s not really aware of his arm coming up and bringing his palm to the side of his head repeatedly, but he does feel it when Regulus catches his wrist and brings his hand to rest at the base of Reg’s neck and bury his fingers in the curls that rest there. He doesn’t even think about not winding the hair around his finger repeatedly, until the weight on his chest lets up a little bit. It’s only then he opens his eyes again. He searches intently for any signs of anger or annoyance he thinks should be in those ice blue eyes, but all he finds is love and concern. He wants to close his eyes again, but he knows he won’t.

“There you are,” Regulus breathes, relief coating his words. He twists to his school bag, pulling out a few vials of potions from within it.

“For your nausea,” he says softly, uncorking the vial and gently tilting it into James’ mouth.

He wants to feel slightly embarrassed about it, but his hands are still trembling as bad as Sirius’ or Regulus’ do after a conversation with their mother, so he’s under no illusions that he would most certainly drop any potions vial he was handed. And honestly? He welcomes the relief of an anti-nausea potion. He feels miserable.

Regulus grabs the next vial, an aquamarine blue potion that James would know in his sleep with the amount he’s taken them in the last few years. He’s still grateful when Regulus mumbles, “Calming Draught,” before he pours it into James’ mouth.

Next is a dark green potion that would have James scowling petulantly if he had the energy for such a thing. He detests Nutrient Potions. Regulus rolls his eyes like he knows exactly what James is thinking, which, let’s be real, he probably does, and says, “Only half of this, I promise. You just need something in your stomach,”

He lets out a pathetic little whinge, but doesn’t try to fight it when Reg holds it up to his mouth. He does, however, make a nasty face at it. Reg huffs a little laugh before directing a soft Aguamenti charm into his mouth to wash away the aftertaste. Merlin, James thinks, he’s the best secret boyfriend anyone could ever hope to have.

The last vial Regulus has is another green potion, but this one is a bright, almost neon, green and James understands why the Nutrient Potion was necessary. Headache Remedies are nasty business taken on an empty stomach, he knows that from firsthand experience and he’d like to never repeat that particular hell ever again.

“See?” Reg teases, a wry grin on his face, “I don’t always torture you for no reason,”

James huffs a little bit, more on principle than anything else, but Reg seems to understand exactly what he means without needing him to come up with the words to say it.

“Last one, yeah? Then we’re getting off the lav floor,” James nods, not really wanting to move, but knowing he probably should.

The Headache Remedy goes down much easier than the Nutrient Potion did, and he starts to feel the results of the potions almost immediately. The pounding pressure against his temples recedes, his stomach feels like it’s back in its anatomically correct spot, his hands are still shaking a bit but they’re better than they were, and his bloody eye has finally stopped twitching. He breathes a sigh of relief, he truly hadn’t realised just how awful he was feeling until now. It’s a rather sad thing to realise that he feels the best he’s felt all day after having a complete breakdown on a lav floor.

Regulus hauls them both up, casting heavy cleaning charms at both their clothes, scooping both their bags off the floor, and steering them to the sinks. It takes a bit of manoeuvring, but he somehow manages to get James sat up on one of the sinks. James’ glasses are snagged off his face with a deftness only a Seeker could have and tucked gently into the pocket of Reg’s robes. He conjures a soft terrycloth rag and wets it in the faucet, bringing it to James’ face, not wiping, but pressing the cold cloth to the undersides of his eyes.

“It’ll get rid of the puffiness,” he explains. He quirks a sardonic smile at James, pulling the rag away from his face, wringing it out, and refreshing the chilled water on it again, “The only good thing about masquerading about as a woman for a decade and change is knowing all the secrets to having a breakdown and coming out the other side looking better than you did before,”

That punches a pathetic little laugh from James’ chapped lips, but the spark that lights up in Regulus’ eyes at the noise makes him feel like he’s just been wrapped in a blanket with how the warmth encases him.

Regulus takes his time, pressing the cloth to the swollen undersides of James’ eyes, wiping the gritty tear tracks from his cheeks, and sliding the rag around his neck and the accessible parts of his collarbone to rid the sweat that had adhered itself to his skin. He regaled James with soft murmurs of castle gossip, student dating drama, something interesting he’d found in a new potions journal he read over the weekend, the latest disaster Evan and Barty had gotten themselves into, anything and everything he could think of. James would occasionally hum an acknowledgment or huff with a bit of laughter or indignation, but for the most part, he simply sat there on the sink with his head leaned back onto the mirror and his eyes closed. He looks exhausted. Regulus wishes, not for the first time, that he could take away everything and anything that ever made James feel like this.

He knows James is coming out of this episode when his eyes slowly open and he blinks rapidly, as if coming out of a daze. He lifts his head from the mirror and looks around owlishly until Regulus perches his glasses back on his face. When his eyes focus back in, James makes a peculiar face. His nose scrunches up and his lip curls in a poor imitation of a sneer, before he gracelessly folds in on himself and plops his head onto Regulus’ shoulder.

“Ugh.” He groans. Regulus chuckles, but doesn’t respond. Just threads his fingers into James’ wild hair and holds him.

When they part, James avoids his gaze, and his dark skin is flushed. He’s embarrassed. Regulus really isn’t sure why he’d be embarrassed, because James has been in the exact opposite position for some of Regulus’ own historical blubbering breakdowns, and he is not a pretty crier.

“Are you alright?” Regulus asks quietly. James just shrugs, still refusing to meet his gaze. Regulus takes ahold of James’ chin with a barely-there grip and brings his face where he has to at least look at his face, rather than the wall.

“James,” he says, a little firmer, “Are you okay? Did something happen?”

He can’t help but worry about James’ parents, Effie and Monty, despite him never having actually met them. He cares about them regardless because Sirius and James care about them so much. With the war rising quickly on the horizon, he’s put a lot of effort into setting up discrete information pipelines on the elder Potters. He hopes it’s going to be enough to stop anything that will inevitably turn its eyes toward them.

“No,” James rasps, his voice hoarse, “Nothing happened. Just a shit day.”

Regulus regards him for a moment. James can’t lie to him for shit, not when he’s looking at him anyways, so he nods.

“Pink!” He calls out and a house elf apparates into the loo. She’s his favourite Hogwarts elf, her pinkish-purple eyes and colour charmed tea-towel dress had caught his eye in first year and she was the first to ever use his real name. He adored her. Today, her tea towel was yellow. It felt fitting somehow.

“What can Pink be doing for her favourite Master Regulus?” Pink was about as subtle as a hippogriff with her blatant favouritism towards him. He wouldn’t lie and say he didn’t love it.

“Could you bring us some lavender chamomile tea please? One with two sugars and milk and the other black? If you’ve the time?”

Pink looked around the lav, judgement clear on her face, “Pink would be happy to get Master Regulus and Mr Potter tea, but she shan’t be giving it in the lavatory. No, no, no,”

The elf snapped her fingers and suddenly they were sitting in an empty classroom, their belongings at their feet and a table with a tea service between them. James had a bewildered expression on his face that Regulus couldn’t help but laugh at. They each made up a cuppa before looking back at Pink who hadn’t left. She nodded firmly at them.

“Much better. Young masters will call Pink if they need anything,” she says before popping away.

“Merlin, I love that elf,” Regulus chuckles. If he makes it through the war he’s going to find a way to force Dumbledore to part with her. Kreacher would throw a fit about it, but he’d come around soon enough.

It was slow work getting James speaking again over tea. At first he’d respond with a few words but mostly stayed quiet, but gradually two cups of tea later, he was responding with a sentence or two. There was a long, comfortable silence between them where Regulus took his chance and pressed the issue at hand.

“What’s wrong, Sunshine?” He asks, voice gentle and quiet. James presses his eyes closed for a moment. Regulus knew pulling the “sunshine” card was unfair, but he was a Slytherin. James knew better than to expect him to ever play fair, “Are you okay?”

James huffs an irritated sounding breath, “Ehhh?” He says, “I’m not…not okay,”

Regulus cocks his head, “Well…that’s something I suppose. What happened?”

James shrugs his shoulders, running a frustrated hand through his hair, “I don’t know! I just- really, it’s just a bad day. I don’t know. Nothing happened. I just woke up and everything was so much and it felt like I was drowning in my head. And it’s so stupid! There’s absolutely no reason I should feel like this!”

The amount of anger in James’ voice is unexpected, but Regulus can understand it. He get into proper strops over his own emotions constantly, but for the opposite reasons. James feels everything at 110% all of the time. Regulus feels things at maybe 10% on a good day. He doesn’t know what it’s like to feel things as the level James does, but he can imagine how overwhelming it could be. He’s still trying to form a response when James whispers, “It’s fine. I promise, I’m fine,”

And Regulus feels his heart break a little bit for James. He’d mentioned little things about his fits of anxiety and issues with certain sensory input here and there, but Regulus had never been privy to the actual moments before.

“Can I- Do you-“ Regulus couldn’t quite figure out the words he was trying to push past his mouth, “Is there something that Sirius or the others do to help when you feel like this? Something I can do?”

He felt a bit of a flush creeping up his neck, but he refused to think about it. He was trying to get better at communicating with his boyfriend. Trying to become someone worthy of having someone like James Potter in his life. These are the kind of questions that James would ask him if their positions were reversed, he’s sure of that, so he’s going to put his emotionally repressed brain to the side and be here for James, no matter how hard it is.

James looks at him a bit quizzically, like he’s genuinely confused as to why Regulus is asking that. He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, “They…uh…they don’t actually know about all of…” he gestures vaguely to himself and it takes nearly all the pureblood etiquette training he received his entire life to not let his eyes bug out in surprise. Merlin’s tits, this self-sacrificing idiot is going to be the death of me.

He’s seen just about every person from Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff lean on James for something at some point in time. He’s seen James sit with girls while they cry over their boyfriend breaking up with them. He’s seen him sit with homesick first years, do quidditch coaching for second years, transfiguration tutoring for just about every year. He stops and talks to nearly everyone on the way to class because he knows a little bit about everyone and prides himself in being available for everyone anytime.

Hell, he beat up and hexed the shit out of some upper year Slytherins when he wandered by at the wrong time and saw them jump Evan. He hadn’t remotely questioned it. James had seen Evan, someone he’d frequently exchanged hexes with and barely knew outside of what Regulus had told him, bleeding and unconscious on the ground, and jumped head first with no hesitation into the fray to help.

James had managed to heal a fair bit of the damage done, and had Evan to the hospital wing in record time. While Madame Pomfrey worked over Evan, James had tracked down Barty, Regulus, Dorcas, and Pandora, despite being openly hostile with or barely aquatinted with Regulus’ friends, and he’d gone to Slughorn to file a formal complaint against the students responsible. James denies all accusations of string pulling with his father, but three out of five of the boys responsible for Evan’s attack had their wands snapped and had been expelled from the school before Evan ever stepped foot out of the hospital wing. Barty has never raised his wand against James since, Evan occasionally stopped to chat with him in the halls, Dorcas ran quidditch drills with him after practices, and Pandora has a standing invitation to pretty much any Gryffindor festivities.

James does so much for everyone around him, it simply doesn’t make sense to him as to how no one has noticed how badly James is struggling.

Regulus vanishes the tea service, shrinks their belongings, throws his outer robes on before hauling James up and doing the same to him, “Come,” he says, extending out a hand for James to take.

“What? Where are we going?” James doesn’t hesitate to take his hand though, and he hauls him through the now-empty corridors without answering him. They head straight out the front entrance hall doors, but Regulus doesn’t slow his pace until they get to the Black Lake. Together, they amble hand in hand around the waterbody.

“Are you not worried someone will see us?” James asks, a few minutes into their walk.

“No,” Regulus replies, “And if they do, that’s something I’m not unwilling to face,”

James turns a baffled look onto him, “But you said-“

Regulus holds up a hand to stop him, “I know. And when I said it, I thought hiding it would keep us both safe. But there’s a war on the horizon, Darling, and no one is safe. We’re in no more danger being together in public now than we will be once the war begins. If that’s something you want, if you want to be in public with me, I’m happy to give it to you,”

James thinks his heart might explode right there in his chest. He’s wanted nothing more than to scream his love for Regulus Black for almost two years now. Well, he wouldn’t scream it from the rafters, Reg would hate that, but he’s wanted nothing more than to be able to be with Reg outside of closed doors and late night astronomy tower visits. Now he has the opportunity.

“What happens when the war comes?” He asks, terrified of the answer, but hopeful all the same.

Regulus shrugs, “We can make a big scene, fake a breakup because we’re choosing different sides or somesuch rot, or we can grab the people we love and get the fuck out of this thrice forsaken country. Away from Voldemort and away from Dumbledore. Make them fight their own war, I suppose. Travel, if we want. Find somewhere we love and stay for however long we want. I don’t know, James, the war is coming regardless of what we do. I’d like to believe we have the power to choose our fates. Just this once I’d like to pretend that we have control over our lives,”

Regulus pauses for a moment before laughing to himself, “Just this once, I’d like to pretend that the biggest danger to us being together is dealing with Sirius when he finds out,”

James chokes out a laugh at that, fully able to envision his best friend’s face when he finds out. When. Not if. Despite the sharp ring of terror that James feels about that idea, the thought that he could find out and that he and Reg weren’t doomed to fail made him smile a bit like a fool.

“Merlin,” James breathes, “I’m not sure if he’d want to kill me or want to kill you more,”

They chuckle about it, squabbling like they do about everything with smiles on their faces, even if they are discussing more and more outlandish plots that Sirius would come up with for their demises.

James snorts when Reg describes a truly macabre murder plot Sirius could use to murder them both for daring to date each other, “Genuinely, I think we’re going to be in more danger when Pads finds out than we’ll ever be in with the Death Eaters,”

“Too right you are, Potter,”

Both he and Reg whip around and come face to face with one very, very pissed off Sirius Black. He can see Reg’s lips quirk up into a smirk and he knows this isn’t going to be pretty. He shoots a “help me” look over to Remus and Peter who are hovering behind Sirius, both of them shrug their shoulders as if to say “sorry pal, you’re on your own”. Lovely.

“Pads, look mate, I can explain,”

Sirius’ flinty eyes snap over to him and glare darkly, “If you’re about to tell me it’s not what it looks like, I will drown you in the lake,” he threatens. James laughs.

“No, it’s exactly what it looks like. And sounds like, I’m assuming, if you’ve been following us for a while.”

He looks at Sirius for a long moment, and Sirius looks back at him without wavering. They’ve long since mastered their communication without speech, but that isn’t what this is. It’s a bit of a battle of wills, but also a test. And James never shies from a challenge. When Sirius flicks his eyes heavenward, James knows he’s won.

“Sirius Orion Black the III, I’m hopelessly, helplessly, and doubtlessly in love with your brother. I have been for the last two years. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but I’m not remotely sorry I fell in love with him. If it’s any consolation, I don’t love him enough to let Slytherin win on the pitch?”

Sirius snorts, a little bit unwillingly, but seems to take that answer.

“Janamejaya Fleamont Potter,” Sirius starts, a nasty little grin stretched across his lips.

James groans at his full name, dropping his head into his hands, “Merlin, I fucking hate you Padfoot. Two years. I went two years without him finding that bit out. You’re a rotten bastard, Black,” Sirius just cackles at the gleeful little smirk Regulus has on his face. Regulus won’t ever let this go. Serves the traitorous brotherfucker right.

He continues without paying James, who’s glaring death at him, any mind, “I really cannot fathom why you, of all people, would fall for my horrid little brother, of all people, but here we are. I will absolutely never forgive you for this, but I suppose I’m going to have to live with it, even if I really don’t like it, aren’t I?”

Both James and Regulus respond immediately with a resounding, “Yes,”

Sirius huffs a long suffering sigh, “If I ever, and I mean, ever, see shit between the two of you that isn’t fit for the public view, I will castrate the both of you,”

Regulus snorts in a very un-Blacklike way, “Shall I inform you of all the safe sex measures we currently employ, brother dear?” He asks, faux sweetness dripping from his works. Sirius goes pale, then briefly green, then a horrible puce colour.

Regulus is doubled over laughing at his brother’s misery. Remus’ lips are twitching in an effort not to laugh, and Peter’s somehow managed to get to the kitchens and back with popcorn and is watching the verbal duel with rapt attention.

Sirius has launched into a, frankly, well-informed lecture, whilst still shouting and still looking vaguely nauseous, and Regulus hasn’t stopped laughing yet. James knows exactly what Regulus is doing, and he can’t help the fond, but exasperated look he has on his face as he watches two of the most important people in his life attempt to verbally incinerate each other. They haven’t actually tried to murder each other yet, though, so he’s counting it as a win.

Regulus lets Sirius go on his tangent for about ten minutes before he finally pulls himself together and stops antagonising his poor brother, who’s about thirty seconds away from a heart attack if the brilliant scarlet colour his face is sporting is any indication.

“Sirius,” he says softly. Sirius doesn’t stop his ranting for even a second, Regulus can’t help but roll his eyes.

“Sirius,” he says a little firmer. Still, Sirius barely pauses long enough to take a breath.

“Siri,”

And of course, that’s what shuts him up. It seems he’s on a roll with pulling out unfairly emotional nicknames for people today. Regulus hasn’t called his brother that silly little nickname in over ten years. It makes a sad little smile slant across his lips. He lifts his untucked white shirt up over his lower stomach, where a long scar stretches across his abdomen.

“I got all of it removed when I had top surgery. Stop panicking, you idiot, I’m fucking with you,”

That’s the top of Sirius’ threshold apparently, because he launches himself at Regulus, tackling him to the ground and a pathetically short wrestling match ensues between the two of them. Regulus has Sirius pinned in no time at all, and James resolutely looks away from his boyfriend, only to meet the very smug gaze of Remus, who is surely going to rub this in both of their faces for all of eternity.

“Alright, alright! Regulus, let your brother up so he can lick his wounds in peace, yeah? Sirius stop whinging, Regulus is of age and can do as he pleases. Pack it in,” Of course the only person in the world that can get both Black brothers to listen to them is Remus bloody Lupin.

The lot of them continue walking around the lake as one group, and it’s a seamless transition. James and Regulus have their arms around each other, just like Sirius and Remus do. Peter is jumping between scurrying ahead or onto shoulders as Wormtail and popping back into the conversation as Peter. They tease each other relentlessly and poke fun the entire way around the lake. Remus and Pete argue about who figured out James and Regulus were together first, to which James and Regulus argue about when they actually got together to begin with.

As they near the castle, Reg slows his pace down and puts a bit of distance between the rest of the group and he and James, “Feeling any better, love?”

James seems a little bit startled by the question but nods, “Yeah, I do, actually. Loads better. Why?”

Reg laughs softly and has that mean little smirk that means he’s about to tease James relentlessly about something, “Apparently I needed to take my golden retriever of a boyfriend for a walk,”

James wants to feel offended about that, he really does, but the fact that he’s been equated to a golden retriever in three separate friend groups, when Sirius is supposed to be the dog out of all of them, will never not be funny to him.

Ahead, he can hear Moony’s laughter and hears Reg grumble something about “bloody werewolf senses”. Moony trips in surprise and nearly topples Sirius and Pete in order to keep his footing.

As they go to split off for their respective common rooms, James pretends that he doesn’t hear Moony talking to Regulus for a moment before they separate.

“I don’t know what you did, how you did it, and I really don’t know if I want to, but I just wanted to thank you for finding a way to be there for him on a day like this. He doesn’t let us in, Merlin knows we’ve tried, but he refuses to accept that he needs help sometimes. Reckon it’s some sort of misplaced guilt, but…” Remus trails off for a moment, running a hand through his hair with a vaguely frustrated noise.

“It’s gotten scary in the past, Reg. We rotate following him around when he disappears like that. Make sure he doesn’t get into anything stupid. Normally he goes up to the roof and chainsmokes until he’s out of fags or it’s too dark to see. When he disappeared off the map, don’t look at me like that I know he’s shown it to you, we all panicked. I don’t know where you found him or how you did it, but Merlin, I’m thankful you did. Maybe you can teach him what we keep failing to. He needs someone like you,”

Regulus has a soft look on his face, “Trust me, Lupin. I need someone like him too,”

Remus grins, it’s sharp and the points of his canines are clearly visible, “Good, because if either of you hurts the other, I’ll kill you both myself, got it?”

James and Regulus both exchange a moderately panicked look, but nod vigorously in response. That’s the unofficial cue for their group to disband to their common rooms, but before Regulus disappears down the corridor for the Dungeons, he glances over his shoulder at the backs of the four Gryffindors and asks himself,

“Did I just get bullied by a werewolf wearing a knit jumper? What is my life turning into?”

Only Remus turns around and smirks at him, “A comedy, Black. Best be ready for it. It only gets worse from here,”

Regulus shakes his head with a snort. Yeah, okay. A comedy is definitely a fitting title for his life. At least it isn’t a tragedy.

[captainderyn]

Dear mentor my cp2077 cravings are way beyond my compression and I need v being completely Injured/hurt and relying on judy / or judy humming pyramid song to v till she sleeps

Or if you wish for oc content it would be

> magic studying together or symbolism with flowers :D

_ no forcing here o7 If you don't wanna write em you can do as you wish

> GLITTER ANON

Glitter Anon!! You bring me so much joy every time you appear in my inbox <3 Always happy to provide some angsty V with Judy saving the day. Hope you enjoy!

TW for canon typical injury and canon typical swearing

--

Dakota had been out of her goddamn mind sending V that gig and listing it as solo. Or maybe she'd misplaced her confidence in V as a merc, and V was just losing her edge.

Not that it mattered now, the data was sent to Dakota and the eddies were transferring into her account as far as V could tell from the static spiking across her vision and each beat of her heart sending shooting pain into her head.

Stupid netrunners with their stupid hidey-holes that were better than her netrunner hidey-holes. Despite throwing every hack she knew, straining her cyberdeck to the max while she dealt with the swarm of Raffen that had poured from the dark crevices of the 'abandoned' building like ants, she still hadn't managed to drop the 'runner before being hit by two or three hacks powerful enough to down a cyberpsycho.

Johnny's voice was ragged and tinny, like he was coming from a transmission with bad connection, as he pulled himself from whatever recess of his mind he hung out in.

"V, pull over."

She grunted as she hit another pothole, pain shooting through her entire body. It radiated enough that she couldn't even pinpoint where it was coming from anymore. She pulled one hand to clutch at her side as a jolt went through her.

"Gotta get back to Night City." She insisted.

Her emergency bag with stims was drained dry, her mind swimming from what was probably a higher than recommended dose of MaxDocs.

The gig had been too far to make it to the Aldacados' camp without needing to stop at one of the dodgy, gang ridden gas stations on the way. Too far out in the middle of nowhere to make it to Dakota's shop but just too shy of the borders of the city to make it easy for her.

Only option was the push through til she made it home and patched herself up. Anything else was too risky. Who knew who would sell her their help just to turn around and screw her over.

"V just pull over for a sec!" Johnny pushed again and she was about to snap at him again, turning her head like he'd be riding on a motorcycle alongside her, when she hit another bump.

Whatever injuries were hiding beneath raged in unison and her vision went dark around the edges, her body rebelling against consciousness and desperately trying to give into the innate urge to curl around itself.

Her already tenuous grip on her bike's handlebars faltered and within seconds the pavement was becoming acquainted with her body as she hit it hard, skidding to a stop as her bike charged into the barely-standing bus stop shelter at the edge of road.

V choked out a cough, spitting out red-tinged spit as she waited for the world to stop spinning and shaking.

"Get outta the road." Johnny snapped, scuffed black leather of his shoes stomping in front of her face as he materialized into a crouch, glaring at her from behind his aviators. "Gonna get turned to roadkill."

Pulling each breath in felt like hauling sandpaper down her throat into her lungs as V tried to catch the air that had been knocked out of her lungs. But she rolled over onto her side, then pushed herself into a seated position.

That alone felt like an accomplishment, especially with Johnny's nagging kick at the bottom of her boots until she'd shimmied all the way off the road. When her ass hit gravel she stopped, wrapping her arms around her knees and glaring at Johnny as heat that she really hoped was sweat slid down her face.

"Christ on a stick, you're pitiful." Johnny drawled, standing at her feet with his arms crossed over his chest, "Call your slam piece to come haul your sorry ass of the side of the road."

V scowled, fixing her eyes on her bike, smoking alongside the twisted metal that had been the rusted shelter. She hadn't been going that fast...had she? Everything was blurry.

"Even if you got that bike started, you won't make it a hundred feet." Johnny intercepted her plan, snapping his fingers. "What is her name, the one you make the hopeless puppy eyes at? I'm sure she'd take you in like the lost stray you are."

Feeling her glare on him, he tilted his aviators down to meet her look with raised brows. "You do it or I do it. I'm not dying again because the bitch-ass merc that I was unlucky enough to get stuck with let Raffen and pride kill her out in the Badlands."

Without breaking her glaring eye contact, V rang Judy. As the comm-line rang she stuck her tongue out at Johnny. He rolled his eyes and flipped her off. He flickered out of existence in front of her, just to re materialize leaning against the guardrail next to her.

"Someone has to look out for you." He groused. "You sure as shit won't."

Judy picked up on the third ring, her visual popping up in the corner of V's UI. Or what she could make out of it from the way her UI was glitching out.

"Hey V I was just thinking 'bout..." Judy's voice faltered, "V? The hell are you, what happened?"

V picked at the gravel in her palms, jammed between her skin and implants, wincing.

"Shit went sideways, wrecked my bike." She muttered, lifting her eyes to Johnny who gave an exaggerated 'yes and' gesture. She lowered her brows and he proceeded to make an even more exaggerated gesture.

He was impossible.

She cleared her throat, mouth like cotton, "Can you uh...actually, nevermind."

"Uh-huh, nevermind, what's your location I'm already on my way." There was a jangling like car keys.

But it was getting dark, and who knew what started to crawl around these parts when it was dark. She'd gotten herself into this mess and she could get herself out of it.

A force like a booted foot slammed into her side and V buckled, the sound that slipped from her choking out between a shriek and a sob. She heard Judy trying to ask her what was wrong, but her ears were ringing and the words were stuck in her mouth.

"Rancho Coronado, exit to the Badlands." Johnny supplied to V, standing over her with his arms crossed. Arrogant bastard. "Still think you can drag yourself back to H10?"

"Hnng, fuck, Rancho Coronado, by the old bus stop in the canyon." V choked out.

The minutes dragged as V hunched over herself, the world fading in and out around her. She was aware of Judy staying on the line with her, catching very little of the intense volley of what she could only imagine were heated curse words and the road noise of the van.

Then there it was, Judy's beat up blue van bouncing up the road in a cloud of dust. It groaned in protest as Judy threw it into park and was out before it had rocked backwards to a stop.

"V?" Judy's hands were blissfully warm against the chill that the temperate drop had leeched into V's skin. Judy tilted V's chin up and she forced her eyes open, "You still with me?"

God, she'd never been so happy to see someone, even if the thought of dragging Judy into her shit made her want to scream.

"Still here." V confirmed with a groan, a shudder wracking her, "Unfortunately."

Judy brushed her thumbs across V's cheekbones, lips pursing together, before she moved to slip an arm under V's arms.

"Let's get you to the van."

Moving felt like a monumental task, far too much of an undertaking. But if she didn't even try, then Judy would have to bear the brunt of her cyberware-heightened weight. And she'd already made Judy haul her dead weight from beneath the waters of the dam.

So V forced her legs beneath her and helped to stand with Judy's help, letting out a breath in a hoarse wheeze. Whatever edge the MaxDocs had taken off was wearing away, leaving sharp, ragged edges of pain spiking from various places on her body to mix with the general ache that was her existence right now.

Slopping into the passenger seat of Judy's car was a mercy on her body and she slouched, leaning her head back against the headrest with a whimper.

God, she was so tired of hurting. Hurting today, hurting whenever the Relic flared; her world had been one whole incessant hurt since taking that stupid heist with Jackie.

Then Judy was in the drivers seat, the van rumbling to life beneath them, and her hand was a gentle press on V's thigh.

"Do you need me to find a ripper?" And there was such matter-of-fact concern in Judy's voice, such a simplicity in the question, that V had to squeeze her eyes closed against the burn of tears and shake her head to work around the lump in her throat.

When was the last time she'd had someone care, somewhere there to haul her ass off the floor when shit hit the fan?

"Don't need a ripper." V rasped, "Nothing that can't be patched up at home."

Maybe she should get her cyberdeck checked out after the other netrunners' hits, but the static was starting to fade from her head to be replaced by bone deep exhaustion and hurt. If more issues popped up, she'd go bother Vik tomorrow.

If only to avoid landing on his doorstep in a pitiful state.

Again.

Judy put the van in drive, doing her best to avoid the potholes, her hand staying on V's leg. It was nice, comforting.

She couldn't remember the last time she'd had that either.

V leaned her head back against the headrest, eyes drifting closed, and let the ride pass by in a blur.

--

By the time V made it up the stairs to Judy's apartment, even with her help, she was spent. The floor looked like a fantastic space to just let herself collapse and sleep off all of today.

But that would mean bleeding all over Judy's floor and Judy's grip on her was unwavering.

Instead she found herself in the dim light of the bathroom, gingerly peeling herself out of her clothes. Her jacket and pants rained gravel down in a pitter-patter on the tile and her tank top clung to her skin with a sticky solution of blood and wound.

Judy helped her peel that off too, giving a soft curse at the angry welts and road rash across her torso, back, and sides.

"At least you were wearing leather." Judy said with a shake of her head, "Otherwise I'd be scraping you off the road back there."

There was enough admonishment in her tone that V snorted out a laugh, then winced as her body punished her for it. Already a massive bruise mottled her skin from hip up her rib cage from where one of the netrunner's attacks had hit her hard enough that she fell from what she'd thought had been a hidden vantage point.

Which had led to her fighting her way out of the swarm.

She explained it all the Judy to fill the silence aside from the hiss of the shower, to keep herself from cussing and wincing as between the two of them they cleaned the gravel and blood from her skin.

V let herself drift in the feeling of safety, let herself disengage from the high alert she always seemed to be on. Judy's hands were gentle as she helped V smear a sharp-scented ointment on her road burn and bruises and helped wrap gauze around the worst of it.

Sitting on Judy's couch in a t-shirt two sizes too small and sweatpants that were a couple inches too short, V let her head drop down onto Judy's shoulder. Judy carded her fingers through V's hair without enough tenderness that V could've cried.

"Thank you for saving my ass back there." she murmured, the emotion she'd walled back seeping through a crack in her voice.

Judy leaned back on the couch, tugging V with her so that she was laying half on top of Judy. V relaxed into it, angling herself so that she wasn't laying on her worst side, and nestled her head into the crook between Judy's neck and shoulder.

This was far better than crawling back to her own apartment, nursing her wounds alone, and passing out in the bed cubby with the help of whatever would numb the pain enough to help her sleep. Judy's hand continuing to card through her hair was like a siren's song for sleep.

"I'm always going to come get you mi calabacita." Judy whispered against her hair, "You're not facing Night City on your own anymore."

[that-darn-clown]

so. had an interesting thought about tghh!Cassidy and his autism. and by "interesting," i mean fucking hilarious.

so like. some context:

as i've mentioned before, Cass is semiverbal. the way this ends up manifesting for him is...similar to selective mutism, but different enough that it's clearly Not That. like, at his best, he's able to talk using short sentences and phrases without too much difficulty, but still stays pretty quiet most of the time. the different tiers of this are:

Most Comfortable (at home with family, or with the Emily's): see above. this is where you'd probably hear him talk the most, and with the least difficulty.

Out In Public/Surrounded By People (ex. Daycare, Pre-K, Freddy's, Fredbear's, school if he'd managed to live to that point): can still talk, but heavily prefers not to. responds with single word answers or short phrases, but speech sounds more forced or "odd." again, had he lived, he probably would've learned sign language and used it to communicate where possible.

Straight Up In Distress/Having A Meltdown (see Fnaf 4 minigames, or most of the time during the period between Andrew's Death and The Bite of '83): can hardly speak, but can make sounds. any speech he does make is usually extremely forced, and it sounds like he's effectively choking the words out. mostly communicates in one word answers/short phrases relating to whatever he's in distress over, or about getting it to stop (i'd say to see the only actual dialogue we get from him during Fnaf 4, where he's begging Mike to let him out of the Back Room in Fredbear's, and where he's begging Mike and his friends to not put him in Fredbear's mouth. that sort of thing)

he stims in a lot of ways! flapping his hands (especially with long sleeves...totally not projecting, not at all), rocking a bit while sitting down, bopping his head to music, chewing his thumb or sleeves (depending on if he's around family or loved ones who won't judge him, or if he's in public), doing the Pop Cat Thing (i do this myself. you probably know what i'm talking about), humming various lil tunes to himself, and i think he'd have a vocal stim of just saying things like "boop" to himself. or while booping the noses on his plushies. that kind of stuff.

horrific! sensory! issues!! doesn't like bright lights and loud sounds. there's several foods he doesn't like because the Texture Fucking Sucks. if his clothes aren't soft/they feel like sandpaper? won't wear them. he doesn't like the feeling of chalk on his fingers but still plays with it anyway because he finds it fun. it's a similar situation with dirt (basically he doesn't like the feeling of dry stuff sticking to his fingers...but he's got no problem with wet or even slimy stuff-)

special interests! plushies, sewing, stuff along those lines. also would've gotten into baking when he got older and i take no criticism on that. also would've gotten into a lot of morbid shit too had he lived. just reads these old mystery novels, short stories that are. really interesting for an Elementary School Student to be reading (think stuff like The Most Dangerous Game by Richard Connell and The Landlady by Roald Dahl), and is just very fascinated with how stuff like anatomy works. the kid also likes horror movies. so just let that all sink in.

carries around his plushies (or A plushie) as comfort items. if he went to school, i can see the teachers just letting him keep them with him because They Aren't Dealing With His Dad. Fuck No. (even in a timeline where no murders happen, William probably still scares people. he's not only Really protective over his kids and takes their side in almost everything, but he's also a REALLY tall guy. he also just has the constant wide-eyed, unhinged hare-esque look. it definitely doesn't help).

so, with all that out of the way. here's the funny thing i thought of:

in the good timeline, where everyone lived and Cassidy got to go to school, i like to think that eventually his teacher (and just. most of the staff, let's be real) started to suspect this kid had something up with him (specifically autism) and decided to have "That Discussion That Teachers Apparently Have With Parents When They Strongly Suspect Your Kid's Neurodivergent" with William.

so they pull Cassidy into the principal's office to have a meeting with him, William, and the teacher. they basically tell William "hey, we think your son's autistic. maybe get that checked out? either way, we're willing to help how we can." they then have to tell him "no, this isn't a bad thing and we aren't insulting your child. please sir calm down" because he thinks them calling Cassidy autistic was like. saying it was a Bad Thing (remember, this is. the 80s, unfortunately. so you can see why he'd be worried).

Cassidy, during all of this, is sitting there and doing his Pop Cat stim while he (impatiently) waits for this meeting to be over. the kid just wants to go back to lunch and eat his turkey and cheese sandwich in peace >:/ (< also has issues with his routines being interrupted. this kid hates Fire Drills for multiple obvious reasons)

then, in the middle of all of this, William drops a bombshell of:

"Well, why would his behavior be odd to me? I used to be like that when I was his age. I'm even still like that now, for God's sake."

so now Cassidy's 4th grade teacher and the principal have to deal with the "should we tell him/who's gonna tell him" moment of "Oh Dear Fuck, There's A Possibility That Mr. Afton, THE Mr. Afton, Is Autistic."

and then that unravels into the realizations of, in this order:

Oh Fuck, Michael And Elizabeth Are Probably ALSO Autistic. Which Explains A Lot

Wait...Michael And The Emily Twins Seemed To Act Kind Of Similar. Like, They Got Each Other In A Lot Of Ways That No One Else Seemed To. Oh Jesus-

Wait. (Remembers What Henry Himself Was Like During Parent-Teacher Conferences...And Meetings In General) OH FOR FUCK'S SAKE-

and that's how Cass's 4th grade teacher and the Elementary School Principal discovered that the entire Afton and Emily Families were autistic. This Explains A Lot. Including Freddy's And Fredbear's.

This means so much to me you have no idea

[skips-is-asleep]

Everyone shut up this is trolls with autism part 2: fav stims/textures

These were getting really long so I may make a part 3 about comfort foods in a separate post

Aradia: obviously, her hair, she loves playing with it, braiding it adding things to it etc, but I bet when she was younger she was a Hair/shirt chewer and idk why but I feel like she'd also just like breaking things. Not smashing, but snapping pasta noodles, brittle bones, or sticks, that sort of thing. She has a chewy necklace, but it's not a tough grade one like Terezi needs. If she doesn't have something MEANT to be chewed, her shirts get holes in them. Also toe walker. Least favorite texture: when your hands have been wet for a really long time and your nails are all dried out

Tavros: he has jewelry that's for stimming, like bracelets with little spinny parts or that you take off and play with, but before that, it was rubber bracelets or hair ties that he'd never even use as intended. He has a fidget spinner and a pop socket too and you could pry them from his cold dead hands. Tavros is also very very good at shuffling cards because he just really likes the noise it makes when they all flutter together. Least favorite texture: course grade sandpaper

Sollux: pen clicking, leg bouncing, he fucks with his piercings even though he knows he's not supposed to. Often he doesn't even realize he's doing it until someone loses their mind at him for it and tells him to stop. Sometimes, if he can, he'll pull up a whole new word document/notepad and just start typing nonsense bc the act of typing on a keyboard or tapping on a screen just feels good. If anyone opened up one of these notepads, they'd just be random descriptions of what's around him or complete gibberish. Also see the link for other Sollux stim headcanons. Least favorite texture: every and all slimes

Karkat: Skin picking, absolutely, especially around his fingers. He copes by painting his nails and picking that off and it's saved his skin forever. But he also loves silicon toys, the little brush ones I mean, and anything meant to be taken apart and put back together, bonus points if it's those ones that make the little pop and click noises when you do so. Karkat also likes pop-its, yeah I said it, someone has to like them. Another link for more karkat (and more Sollux) headcanons Least favorite texture: metal + teeth

Nepeta: she's also a chewer, but she likes very hard things, nothing squishy. It's all bones, wood, plastic that kinda thing, her favorite is straws. She's also a big fan of messy crafts, like finger painting, getting her hands in the mud/shaving cream that kind of thing, she just likes being messy, making a mess but doesn't like cleaning it. Yeah and toe walking. Least favorite texture: tin foil

Kanaya: she doesn't sew AS a stim, but she does sew a really long running stitch, intentionally neglect to tie it off just so she can pull the thread out, insanely soothing to her. Also anything that's meant to be gently tapped against her face, like a makeup sponge or very soft rag is A++ Anything that jingles when she walks (jewelery but also heavily beaded fabrics) are perfect. She also loves running her nails over things, specifically tapping with them. Least favorite texture: burlap

Terezi: we've got another intense chewer. She sits right between aradia and Nepeta. They like hard things, but obviously hard as in crunchy. We knew they eat chalk but also ice, stale bread, that kind of thing, things meant to be eaten and crunchy. She's also the type to just draw all over herself with markers, the wet + cool sensation of markers going over skin is everything. least favorite texture: braille

Vriska: Hair, like moving it around/out of her hair constantly and dice. She plays with them, rolls them when theres no reason to, sometimes chews them but it's pretty rare and the oral fixation is only with dice. Idk what they're called, but the little game with the dice under the plastic dome and you push it and it pops the dice everywhere? Yeah. She also likes ripping/cutting paper a lot and will steal magazines to rip/cut them up. Least favorite texture: cotton balls

Equius: Equius is also a hair stimmer, softly brushing it. I think he *used* to hit himself in stressful situation but because he's so strong, that's obvi not an option anymore (that's why he has the battle bots) but he also just likes breaking things as in destroying them. In humanstuck, I think he regularly visits those places where you're put in a room with a bat just to smash old TV's and shit. Least favorite texture: rusty metal

Gamzee: definitely noise based stimming, his horns, little bells and squeaky toys, but also he loves just...watching wheels spin. Will sit for hours with his unicycle upside down watching the wheel go. Also beaded curtains. I think growing up on the beach, he'd also really like the texture of wet sand, touching it, walking barefoot on it, making imprints of it, that sort of thing. Least favorite texture: bugs with legs

Eridan: Spiny rings spiny rings spiny rings. At least half of his rings spin/click/or make some kind of noise, also just the sound of rings clinking on things is itself a stim. I think he likes those silicon brushes too, but he likes plucking them. Some of his books in his library aren't even meant to be read, he just will sit and turn the pages until he feels better. Idk if this counts a stim but I also think he copes by swimming to the deepest water he can stand and just laying there like a massive weighted blanket. Least favorite texture: wet paper

Feferi: hair, but also she has so many different fabrics in her outfit, they probably all have different textures that she likes touching. Feferi's a fan of squishy stuff, she likes slime, wet foods like puddings and jello. I'm sure they'd have slime that can be submerged in salt water, but above water she loves the very transparent jiggly slime. She also loves fucking with jelly fish and I bet she smacks the bulb on beluga whales for fun. Also assigned toe walker. Least favorite texture: concrete + bare feet

[mayhamster]

is there a word for the opposite of stimming because if so that is what the noise styrofoam makes does to me. I hear that noise and all my organs curl up in my mouth and turn into sandpaper.

[bobblestheninja]

I don't understand TERFs because it's as if they're asking me to be complicit in my own imprisonment and thinking I should be happy about it.

Before any TERFs comment thinking I'm just upset because I'm a trans woman, I have a uterus, I was born with it, and I bleed out of it every month.

No, the imprisonment comes from you and your policing of "women's" spaces

Many of you say you "always know" that someone is trans, based on arbitrary features, and those often boil down to how one dresses, acts, or looks. If someone doesn't pass your vibe check they get harassed and chased out of the bathroom.

First of all, I'm autistic, and I have sensory issues. A ton of things are extremely uncomfortable for me, and now that I'm almost 28 I'm too old to be forcing myself to be uncomfortable.

I've always had small breasts, and actually bras are uncomfortable, I can get away with sports bras, and have worn them exclusively for over a decade. I don't do padding, it makes me uncomfortable and gets in the way, so between that and a large tee-shirt it can look like I've got nothing.

Then there's the fact that I have some wierd form of dysmorphia, due to some joint issues, which means that I have to wear long pants... but because of coordination issues long skirts are a great way for me to end up eating shit on the pavement.

Then there's the fact that those joint issues mean I literally can't wear heels or I will actively subluxate my knees and ankles. These days even women's sneakers have a slight heel, enough to mess up my joints, so I'm stuck with exclusively combat boots.

Then there's the inability to wear make-up, because it is sensory hell and is the equivalent of trying to wear a layer of sandpaper on my face.

I don't do purses because I have memory issues, so I use backpacks, because they're much harder to forget and I can use them to carry around medical supplies, backup items, and multiple books...

My proportions are slightly off due to a genetic disorder I have, and I've been told I look like my father's daughter. As a kid I was even called little *father's name*ette occasionally, because it was obvious I was his kid.

The one thing I have that looks "feminine" is my hair, because I keep it long for stimming, but I don't dye it or do anything fancy with it, because again, autism.

So I've got enough *off* about me that I may not pass a vibe check, and I have to worry about some TERF trying to defend the bathroom from me.

Bathrooms no longer feel safe, because we've now got the risk of bathroom police deciding to harass women who are disabled, who can't/don't wear make-up, who have small breasts (or have had a double mastectomy due to cancer), who are autistic, who don't dress feminine enough... basically anyone who doesn't pass the vibe check.

I feel uncomfortable going into a washroom with other women. Not because there might be a trans woman in there trying to pee and get out, but because someone might decide I don't look "woman" enough, and then call the police on me.

What is one even supposed to do in that situation? When a woman has convinced herself that you're a man and therefore a danger? Should I rip off my pants and underwear to show you my vulva? Or should there be a scanner on the bathroom door that I have to show my genitals to be allowed in, and maybe to submit a blood sample to? Do I need to get my DNA sequenced and have the results on hand at all times?

What do I need to do to be safe in the woman's restroom? Not from trans women, but from TERFs.

[sheerwillpower]

i need a stim kit with sandpaper in it today

[darkmatters-ghost]

I don't know why I feel the need to share this, maybe it's because it's been on my mind and it's 2:41 am and it's currently the "time is sludge... Again" part of the insomniac experience, but I want to talk about this. (This talks about my experience with happy stimming under the cut)

It was several years ago when I saw this comic of someone's happy stimming. She, like, waves her arms around and builds up this lovely yellow hue, and it's sparkly and then she expels all of it as at once and- it's truly a wonderful comic. I don't know where it is now. But it really captures the right feeling. And it was so cool... But I was kind of... I feel bad using strong words like "mortified" but that's the best way to say it.

Because Stimming was one of the many, MANY things I have in common with our lovely autistic community. And we're entering a world where people are starting to be able to be who we are and act how we feel, and I knew from the moment I saw it, that something was wrong. I didn't have a happy stim.

Most people who stim are forced to stop because humans are so bad at appreciating the abnormal, and that never happened to me. I'm lucky! But I didn't have a happy stim. And I knew I was supposed to. I immediately knew that. Knew it about me, me as a person. I knew it. There was a hole in me that was taken and I didn't know why! And it was terrifying.

And I kept thinking, And and I kept digging.

I knew about physical stims. With your hands and your feet and your hair. Most of my stims were those. I'd bounce my leg under a table, I tap the pads of my fingers together with my thumb if I was a specific kind of anxious, I move the bones in my wrists back to where they're supposed to be to try and fix things instinctually.

All of those were to get less anxious though. And my mother was always so open to things like that. So willing to learn about every diagnosis and piece of information that needed researching.

I knew about vocal stims. While most people were forced to stop for more crummy society reasons, that wasn't the case for me. I just... Didn't have any? I enjoy talking, I enjoy singing but they weren't... That comic. They didn't have the yellow feel-good-ness. They didn't have The thing.

I like swinging on swingsets. The momentum is nice. I think that counts as a stim but I usually did it to help, wouldn't-cha know it, anxiety. Help me sleep at night. It wasn't the thing.

In my house, you didn't listen to songs on repeat. My mother would lose it. You didn't loop songs in the car, it'd drive her batty. She'd probably have a panic attack. So I never thought of it as a thing? It didn't occur to me. When I got my own pair of headphones, I wouldn't drive her crazy by listening to anything on loop, I could go forever if I wanted. But I didn't. It wasn't a thing and I was apprehensive about it, that's not a thing we do. Don't to it. Even when my mind got loud about playing things on loop, I tried not to let it overcome me. That's not a thing. People don't do that. And I'd long since settled with the dismal answer of never knowing what the stim was. I hadn't even thought of checking because sounds like asmr hurt like sandpaper on my brain.

But recently, I don't know, something changed? I reeeally needed to hear this song again. So I went to the instrumental. And it was great there. I went to the vocal only, it was just the goodest sound. I went to covers and back and eventually I just let it play. I really let it smoosh into my head and memorized the instruments and felt them. It was like following a groove in a table by tracing your finger across it. It was just. The thing. I actually lost sleep because I was enjoying myself so much. I was so happy!

I talked with my mother about it. "I dunno, I really really wanted to hear that song over and over? it has a BAGPIPE in the second verse! Who wouldn't want to hear that!?"

"yeah, I could never do that. I guess my misophonia is too strong for that."

It was so eye opening. Misophonia. It was her misophonia, she'd never used that word before. And it hit me like a ton of bricks. Listening to this song on loop isn't bad, it's just a me thing.

And that's when I realized that I'd found the thing. I'd finally found my happy stim. I've decided to not cry about it, but this was such wonderful news. It's needlessly specific, and I don't know why my kid mind had labed "no looping" as Gospel? I mean there's a button for it and everything. But it's my thing.

I may never have some visible stim that people will see but I have my thing and I'm so beyond society possibly judging me.

I am on ADD meds, have overstimulation issues, anxiety, truly frightening physical disabilities I fight all beneath the surface. And I play the songs that have the thing about them on loop for five hours at a time. And I think I love me for it.

Whoever you are, you're you. You're more you than anyone else. That is something beautiful. You like Fanfic, go for it! You like art? Go for it! You like flapping your hands? Go for it! You like judging Disney for its questionable decisions as of late? Try not to kill them too much. They only mostly deserve it.

Being you is a gift that you should cherish, and reward yourself by being you. Not someone else.

For those that read this whole thing, the song in question is I've Had Enough of You from Billie Bust Up, a video game musical that's currently in development. Listen to all the stuff that's out so far, every song I've heard knocks it out of the park. Listen to it on loop if you want! I think we've established that listening to songs on loop does not, in fact, summon Satan.

Happy Stimming! (why does that sound like a holiday now?)

[critical-insanity]

Adrian’s Travel Log #144

It’s day 1 of roaming the wasteland following that catastrophe out at Badwater. Octoburary 30th, 2167. Prior to that incident, we had been on the road for 143 days straight.

Insanity and exhaustion are starting to set in. My back feels like gritty sandpaper, and my legs are killing me. This is the only moment of solitude we’re going to get for a while, so I might as well take this time to write down our descriptions.

My name is Adrian Handforth. I used to be a Soldier for Mann Co. before the… well, event. I’m the leader of this minuscule group of people traveling this hell of a planet, and the only man here, it seems. My life has been utter hell since the bombs dropped. I don’t see any outcome where this shit gets better.

There’s this lanky zoned out looking fella who I can only guess used to be a Scout. Seemed upset when I called them a he, and looked at me stern when I called them a she, they seem to prefer neutral pronouns. Weird. They seem to enjoy being with other people, and they’re a damn good shooter with a sniper rifle. Kid’s got this robotic visor over their mouth that they say makes them “feel comfortable”, whatever the hell they mean by that. Won’t tell me their name, but they seem to go by “Roadie”. We used to beat people up for saying that when I was a kid. And honestly, I wish I still was…. wait, what was I writing about?

There’s this bumbling maniac in a gas mask who acts childish and seems to have a liking for the lanky kid. She gave me a note recently, and the only text written was the name “Beth”, so I’ll assume that’s her name. Based on her appearance, I can only assume she was a Pyro before. She’s a goddamn nut case, maybe even more so than Roadie…. maybe that’s where she got it from? Seems like she can’t read, which is unfortunate but common in this day and age. She always has a double barreled shotgun on her, which makes interactions with other people very hard. Honestly, sometimes I wish that she would either leave, or die. She makes our expeditions hard as shit, and she’s an overall pain in my ass. Sure hope she doesn’t learn how to read.

Lastly, there’s this secluded former Scout who hides her face and never speaks to anyone, not even the other Scout here. She said her name was Rose, if I recall correctly. Despite having a masculine appearance and voice, she, unfortunately? identifies as a woman. I think they called those people “transgenders”? Whatever she is, she’s goddamn terrifying. She uses a sword that I’m sure has a higher kill count than the bombs caused… I think the reason that she likes to be alone is because she has a mental illness. She shakes her hands around randomly, Roadie calls it “stimming”… She also seems to hyperfixate her attention to minuscule or strange things, maybe she has autism? Whatever the case, she’s likely the only other sane person here besides me. I really hope so.

There were many other folks who traveled with me before, but they’ve all either gone their own ways, or have been killed by the wasteland’s unforgiving atmosphere. These three nutjobs are the only ones who have survived longer than a few months, they’ve been with me for about 9 months now.

Anyways, that concludes this travel log, even if it wasn’t about traveling. This log, like the others, will be attached to all future logs in the event of my untimely death, so that any future travelers may identify me and my crew and what we did.

Some advice for you travelers, don’t look the wanderers straight in th-

*The rest of the paper from here on is ripped off. None of the other logs mentioned were found with this one.*