#especially when it’s paired with executive dysfunction

[n0ts0surel0ck]

Some autistic Sherlock headcanons!!

Based on my own autism

Sherlock hates getting his hair cut. He can’t wear ear defenders and he despises the small talk and how loud the clippers and blow dryers are. So, he generally wears his hair long and/or cuts it himself. Mariana eventually starts cutting it for him, since it equally bothers him when his hair touches his ears or neck. She’s just… not very good at it.

John finds a salon for Sherlock that does sensory appointments. It’s a silent appointment, so he doesn’t have to talk, and John gets him some earplugs to help with the noise. They’re not as good as his ear defenders but they do for the short time it takes to get his hair done. He mostly gets a dry scissor cut so he doesn’t have to be wet and so the clippers don’t touch him. He doesn’t like the vibration. He finds that he actually enjoys the sensation of a blow dryer when the sound isn’t overwhelming him. The heat and the air pressure are soothing.

Sherlock is very particular about fabrics. He despises polyester and other scratchy, synthetic fabrics. Everything he wears has to be 100% cotton. If he got his way, he’d wear an old pair of holey, decade old pajama pants and a jumper everywhere, but he doesn’t. He understands that he has to be presentable. He likes linen, the material doesn’t touch him as much, doesn’t stick to sweat, and allows for plenty of airflow. During spring and summer, and often stretching into fall and winter, he wears a pair of grey linen trousers. When it finally gets too cold, he switches to a pair of cotton ones that have an elastic waist band. He hates when there’s a lot of pressure below his diaphragm, so he keeps it loose. Shirts are mostly tees in the summer, a bit too big so they don’t touch him much. In the winter, he wears big sweatshirts, a half-peacoat, and a green scarf.

He’s been buying men’s high-top converse since he was in middle school and refuses to wear any other shoe. They’re comfortable, allow him to move without being heard, and don’t add to his height. He hates breaking in new ones, and so holds on to the ones he’s wearing for dear life. John has seen him wrap duct tape all the way around his shoe to keep the sole from falling out before.

His bedroom is kept perfectly organized by absolutely agonizing effort. He is particular about that space, since it’s where he rests. He doesn’t work in there. His chemistry equipment is in the living room and he never goes into the room on cases unless John forces him to change clothes. His room is a sensory heaven that he works tirelessly to keep so. Cleaning is difficult for him, but he resets the space every time he leaves it, even when he’s in a rush.

The rest of the apartment is a bust. His executive dysfunction takes over as soon as he crosses the threshold into the hallway. He leaves toothpaste uncapped, cups and plates everywhere, clothes wherever they fall. It drives John insane and he tries to clean up after himself, but it feels like an insurmountable task.

His hyper fixations overtake conversation constantly. Sometimes he and John will engage in conversation that is just… incomprehensible to those around them. John’s talking about the weather and Sherlock’s talking about Pendolino trains. Neither is acknowledging the other’s topic of conversation, but they’re responding to each other in turn and seemingly having a lovely time.

He likes to stim “with” John when something exciting happens. He grabs both of John’s hands so they’re facing each other and has John pull him back and forth quickly. He likes it when John and Mariana mimic a stim back to him, especially vocal ones. When the three of them are in the office together, it’s just an echo chamber of mouth pops and buzzes.

Sherlock respects the fuck out of routine. His in unconventional, but he follows it almost religiously. This means he respects other’s routines just as aggressively. He never moves John’s items, and if he borrows anything, he puts it back exactly where it was, position and all. He noticed John folding laundry in a certain way and now, if he steals one of John’s shirts and washes it after, he folds it in that certain way.

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Needy

A 5 + 1 fic where it’s 5 times the other sides suspect Roman is touch-starved, and 1 time they do something about it. – monkeythefander

Thomas is having a really bad executive dysfunction/burnout day, and it's affecting Logan & Roman the most as his executive function Sides. Everyone ends up in a giant cuddle pile to rest with each other as Thomas learns some self-care. Maybe some gentle bullying into said resting by Janus. Some Remus-classic hug attack & him comforting Roman bc brotherly love. They're all too tired and foggy to care about what they're supposed to be doing (sans Logan & Roman, bc. self-worth issues). Maybe a kinda loopy/tired Janus or Virgil gets possessive over Thomathy like a Mama Hen. No pressure to write this! (/gen) Remember to take care of yourself & rest when ya need to <3 – anon

Hey so if you're doing request and would like to, I was wondering if you'd be willing to write something with aro Roman who still wants a 'romantic' relationship? Maybe with him struggling with internalised arophobia about it and one of the other sides helping him overcome that maybe? Showing that he's still able to have relationships like he wants without feeling romantic attraction and stuff? This might be worded really badly and for that I apologize -w- Even if you don't do this (which is completely fine feel free to ignore me) you should know your writing is absolutely amazing - never fails to make me smile <3 - Princey

Read on Ao3

Warnings: touch starved, internalized arophobia

Pairings: none

Word Count: 5377

Logan will be honest: it is not something he has given extensive thought to, nor did he deem it something worth paying attention to in the grand scheme of things. Simply because, well, he didn't believe it was possible. Roman, touch starved? The prince was more likely to sweep any of them into a ballroom dance at a moment's notice than to deprive himself of something so simple as touch. The very idea was counterintuitive to Logan's fundamental understanding of Roman to begin with. But after this morning… Or, five times the Sides thought Roman could be touch-starved, and the one time they did something about it

 

Logan will be honest: it is not something he has given extensive thought to, nor did he deem it something worth paying attention to in the grand scheme of things. Simply because, well, he didn't believe it was possible. Roman, touch starved? The prince was more likely to sweep any of them into a ballroom dance at a moment's notice than to deprive himself of something so simple as touch. The very idea was counterintuitive to Logan's fundamental understanding of Roman to begin with.

But after this morning…

It had not been a good morning, admittedly. Thomas had little to no executive function, leaving both him and Roman metaphorically drowning in their own issues. He'd gone over every single notebook he could find, trying to locate some guide to dealing with this, surely this could not be the first time such a thing had occurred, and therefore he must have made some note about what was happening and how to fix it. But tearing his room apart—figuratively speaking—hadn't yielded anything more than a ball of frustration in his chest that refused to unwind and a torn notebook cover. Then, of course, Janus and Virgil happened upon him as he struggled to refill his water bottle and the rest, as they say, is history.

Never let it be said that the two of them aren't determined, he'd thought as he was unceremoniously sunk into the living room to be surrounded by pillows and blankets. A slightly loopy Patton had beamed at him, holding his arms out for cuddles and Janus had none-too-gently hinted that he'd be forced into relaxing whether he liked it or not. And yes, he could admit it felt nice to be held, especially when the others had so quickly joined them on the couch to watch mindless animal documentaries and game show episodes.

But then…well, then he'd noticed that Roman was missing.

Struggling upwards through the fog in his brain, he'd managed to mumble something along the lines of where's Creativity, for Remus was missing too, and Janus had quickly stood up to go look. Logan had tried to get up as well, only for Virgil and Patton to flop on top of him and render him quite motionless. Then Virgil had begun to card his hand through his hair and he lost all ability to focus on anything other than the gentle scratching sensation. He'd only managed to rouse himself from his daze when three more bodies appeared.

"Hey, it's okay, Roro, just come lie down."

"But I have to—we can't just stop, I can't—something's wrong with me—"

The genuine hurt and panic in Roman's voice had cut through the worst of Logan's brain fog and he'd sat up, looking over to see Remus barely restraining Roman with a sheet wrapped around him. Janus was on his other side, trying to reach out too, only for Roman to jerk and whimper every time his hands made contact with the sheet.

"Sweetie, it's okay," he murmurs instead, "one day off isn't going to make or break anything. You need to rest, pushing yourself more now won't help anything. No one's going to be angry at you for taking some time to rest."

Roman's gaze had darted around frantically, finally landing on Logan in the midst of being swaddled by Patton and Virgil. Something had undone itself then, his shoulders sagging as Remus finally coaxed him down to lean against the base of the couch. He'd bent close to mutter something, his hand reaching up to brush Roman's cheek, and Roman had flinched.

It hadn't been large enough for Janus to notice, nor did Remus seem to be surprised by it, but it was there. And for the life of him, Logan hadn't been able to figure out why. Not until he'd noticed that after that, Remus was careful to only touch him through the sheet, and that he never ventured close enough for anyone else to lay a hand on him.

That afternoon, when the worst of the fog began to lift, he'd thought about it again. He'd reached a conclusion that surprised him, so much so that he began to doubt it almost immediately.

Roman couldn't be touch starved, could he?

 

Virgil won't ever claim that he's the nicest to Roman, but he doesn't always go out of his way to be a jerk to him. Case in point: when he notices Roman starts getting scared every time one of them except for Remus gets close enough to accidentally bump into him, he doesn't start trying to get close to Princey on purpose.

He's concerned as hell, though, don't get him wrong. Roman's not exactly what you'd call a shy person, nor is he immune to the general theater kid-ism of getting swept up in dramatic monologues to the point where he's willing to drag people along with him. And most of the time if he's going to touch one of them, he's the one initiating it. Hugs, slaps on the back or the shoulder, high-fives, all of it. It's not like Princey's suddenly gone and declared a no-touchy zone around himself.

But Virgil knows what he's feeling.

He knows the stab of something icy cold in his gut when Patton runs at Roman to give him a hug. He knows the prickle of his skin when Janus leans close to whisper in Roman's ear. He knows the momentary lurch when Logan sits close enough that their arms brush. He knows the tensing of shoulders and the drop in his chest when he goes to ruffle Princey's hair. He knows the shudder when Remus knocks against him. Roman is scared, and what's worse is that Virgil has no idea what he's scared of.

Roman isn't the type of person to just take something lying down, not when it's actually, truly scaring him. Sure, he doesn't speak up all the time when one of them hurts his feelings, and he's long since stopped pretending he can tell when Roman's being honest about whether he wants to do something or Thomas wants to do something—honestly, he's not sure J can tell anymore either—but if something's really, honestly scaring him? Virgil's been sat down and told he can't hide in certain caves in the Imagination because it makes Roman freak out that he might've been gotten by something, or that he can't jump off the cliffs by the ocean anymore because the depth isn't always constant and it gives Roman a heart attack. Not in that way where it's like he's being scolded by a parent—no offense, Pop Star—but in that genuine way of hey, please don't do this, you're scaring me, and he'd said yes every single time.

Which is why this is so confusing. It's not like it's just one person, it's all of them. It's not like Roman's handling it well—well, he might be, if none of the others have noticed what's going on—and it's especially not like he's getting any better. The only thing he can think of is that Roman's suddenly developed this aversion to being touched, but that can't be it either.

Why would Roman have problems with being touched?

 

Patton's been feeling cold lately.

Not himself, not in the way where he needs to go put on his fluffiest sweater and huddle under the blankets with a cup of hot chocolate, but there's a part of his chest that's never really warm anymore. It's beginning to worry him, because that's the part that feels when one of his kiddos is upset.

But who would be cold? Janus is the obvious guess, but he's always wearing at least three layers, gloves, and spends most of his time alone under his heat lamp being a happy little snake puddle. He's also been seen scolding the others for not wearing enough outside or for letting themselves forget to do things like move and ask for help if they need it. So it's probably not Janus.

Logan, then, because for as much as he claims to be sensible, he has a terrible habit of believing himself impervious to some of the things in the Mindscape. Object impermanence, he says, when he's about to walk into a freezing Imagination without a coat. Roman helped scold him out of the worst of that, though, especially when Logan got hurt that one time he tried to look for Roman during a brutal rainstorm.

Virgil? Not likely either. He's never seen without that big hoodie and he's always scrunching himself into little corners and huddling under blankets and making a show of how warm he is. That could be a cover for how cold he actually is, but they've come such a long way from those days. He can still remember what it feels like when Virgil's not comfortable around them, and it's not the same.

Remus, then, but that doesn't feel right either. True, he doesn't have as good a handle on Remus's feelings as he does some of the others, but there's something achingly familiar about this cold. Something that makes it feel like he should know it, or at the very least, know what to do about it.

Which leaves Roman.

As soon as he puts name to it, the cold pulses. He puts a hand to his chest and closes his eyes, feeling the dull pain of swallowing an ice cube make itself at home in his ribs. He lies back on his bed, pulling the blankets over himself, trying to figure out why Roman feels so, so cold. Is he upset about something? Did a project not go the way he wanted it to? But Roman wasn't the type to be silent about things going wrong with his work, not like this. And it wasn't like him to be quietly cold either—he can still vividly picture the look on Janus's face when Roman came and flopped down next to him under the sun on the Imagination's rock plateau, or snuggling up under the blankets during the winter. Sure, he was a bit of a furnace himself, but that didn't mean he didn't get cold too. But this wasn't that type of cold, this one was deeper, in his bones, in his soul. As though he could be snuggled up under every kind of blanket, in the hottest desert in the world, and still, he might shiver. The kind where being inside a bonfire wouldn't help at all.

Why was Roman so cold?

 

Janus is concerned about Roman. That sentence has run the full circle of 'being concerned that Roman will mess up his plans' to 'something is wrong with the Mindscape's dear little prince and that's concerning.' Right now, however, he's a little too preoccupied to consider the irony.

Is he proud of the fact that he's snooped in on Roman while he's working on his own projects? No. Is he willing to admit that he's done so to someone like, say, Remus, who's already threatened him half a dozen times against doing that very thing? Not likely. Would he risk it anyway because what he's found out is making him worried?

Yes. Yes, he is.

He's not stupid enough to go intrude while Roman's actively in the Imagination, but he is willing to use the trick Remus taught him to investigate further. For the double doors leading into the Imagination, there's a little button on the underside of one of the handles that takes you to wherever the last person went. So, it's a simple matter of waiting for Roman to come back—through his own door, which is difficult enough to recognize—and then going to see where he went last.

He opens the door into a quiet forest. Fireflies twinkle in the dark green leaves, a deep blue sky opening up just above the treetops. A little ways down a dirt path, he sees a simple wooden cabin with a porch swing out front. He walks towards it slowly, footsteps crunching along the path. Just as he gets to the base of the steps, the door opens and a young man looks out.

"Evening," he says, "you're an awfully long way from the village, stranger."

"My apologies for intruding. I only saw a friend come this way and wondered where he'd gotten off to."

"Friend? Ah, you must be a friend of the prince's. Yes, you've just missed him, sorry to say, he's gone off that way."

"I see." Janus looks him up and down. A perfectly ordinary man, bearded chin turning up as he smiles. "I'm sure you can understand my unwillingness to just take your word for it."

"No, I understand. I can assure you I mean your friend no harm." He closes the door and comes down the steps, taking a seat and motioning for Janus to do the same. "He's been coming here for, oh, I'm not sure I can remember. Quite a while now."

"And what is it you do?"

"Talk, mostly. He helps me tend to the garden around the back—I told him it wasn't my place to accept the help of a prince and he told me not to think of him as the prince, then." He huffs a laugh. "He's a very thoughtful man, your friend."

"He is."

The man looks up at the stars for a moment, before he turns to Janus. "Forgive my questioning, but as his friend, I must confess, I am worried about him."

Janus sits up. "Oh?"

"I offered him payment, of course, or some form of compensation for helping me, but he refused all except for one thing." Here he shifts. "Tell me, if it's not too much, has the prince always been…cold?"

"Cold? How do you mean?"

"The only thing he would accept or request from me is touch. An embrace, or something so small as a hand on his shoulder. I have offered him a seat at my table for a warm meal and he treats it as though it is the finest of offerings from a neighboring kingdom." The man's expression grows more worried still. "In the winters, when I can hardly send him off into the night, he knows he has a place in my bed, but he—"

"Oh, he does, does he?"

The man gives him an almost scolding look. "Not like that. My dwelling is humble but the bed is warm and we are not creatures to deny the warmth of another. But he reacts as though I had given him riches when they are but simple touches."

Janus is quiet for a long moment. Roman sneaks in here to…what, to cuddle? To be touched? To enjoy companionship so simple and pure it belongs in some fairy tale? And then to have to be coaxed into it, reassured that it is freely offered, even if under the guise of huddling together for warmth.

"I didn't know it was like this," he says eventually, "and I thank you for being able to provide him some comfort. Stubborn man often refuses to take it."

"That I know. Would you permit me, if it is not too rude, to ask if you could see that his needs are better met?" He gestures around them. "There is only so much I can do."

"I will do my best."

"Thank you, stranger," the man says and rests his hand on Janus's shoulder.

And Janus wants to weep. Because this isn't touch. The man's hand feels scarcely more substantial than a piece of tissue paper resting atop his cloak. There's no warmth, no solidity, hardly anything more than a whisper of a promise that comes from seeing the hand there and knowing there must be some form of sensation to go with it.

If all Roman is subsisting on are touches like this, what must an actual touch feel like to him?

 

Remus knows his brother is touch starved. He's furious about it.

Because there's only so much he can do by himself, only so many times he can tackle his brother to the bed and smother him with cuddles, and Roman doesn't let him do it where anyone else could see. Why? Because Roman's terrified of being needy, that's why, and apparently letting himself be comforted in the way he needs to be comforted is a bad thing all of a sudden. Doesn't matter that Virgil needs to be squished back into his own body sometimes, doesn't matter that Logan keeps reminding them that they're social animals who need to spend time together, nope, none of that matters. What matters is that Roman is scared of letting them know he actually wants something and that means Remus has to bully his brother into letting him cuddle him because hey, guess what, he loves his brother and that means he's gonna take care of him.

He's not actually mad at Roman. No, it's not Roro's fault he's scared. It's not his fault that far too much of the meetings and Thomas working through things has come off as Roman not being allowed to want things just for the sake of wanting them. Ro's too good for that. He's too good at being quiet about stuff he actually needs, never mind the fact that if Roman actually told them what it was he really wanted, they'd never believe him. Because come on, a hug? A cuddle? Just the ability to say I need a hug and get one without any sort of teasing or mocking? Since when did Roman dream so small?

It wasn't small. That was the problem. To Roman, it's everything.

He didn't end up following through on his promise when Janus confessed what he'd done, only in part because he already looked so distraught that anything else wouldn't have done anything. No, Janus telling him about the cabin with the sweet man who just wanted to make sure Ro was okay made Remus cry out of sheer frustration. Because he's all too familiar with how insubstantial Imagination creations can be, especially when it's to supplement something like actual physical contact. And Roman, his sweet, stupid, sappy brother, was never going to be able to get by with Imagination touch alone.

Not to discount the man in the cabin. Remus has met him a few times, he's really a sweet guy. But that's partly because the Imagination knows Ro, the same way it knows Remus, and so it tries to give him the things he needs in between giving him all the things he wants too.

And apparently, what Roman needs is someone kind, patient, sweet, and caring enough to give him the physical affection he won't dare tell anyone else he's starved for.

So yeah. Remus is pissed.

+1.

It's the most humiliating thing in the world, to want to be special.

To want to have someone look at you out of everyone in the room and say that one, you, yes, I want you. To be the exception. To just be something a little bit different from everything else. To be the one for whom they have a soft spot.

A single room. A bed or a chair or a rug on the floor. A window or no window at all. A fireplace, lit or unlit. A door in the back, open or closed. Quiet footsteps or loud footsteps crossing the room, a blanket or a coat draped over shoulders as another body lowers itself. There you are or you look cold or a soft hum or nothing at all. Arms wrapping gently about shoulders or waists or just brushing against each other. Gentle kisses to the crown of the head or the temple or the cheek, or no kisses at all. Murmurings or soft worried questions or knowing silences. Warmth, always warmth. Warmth and solidity and endless unspoken affection.

Cuddled in a too-big bed with gentle whispers and firm touches. Surprised by a hug from behind, a teasing kiss pressed to a shoulder. Spotted across the room and a smile, arms opening, the come here spoken or unspoken and no less clear in either.

Yes, a humiliating thing indeed.

How can you ask to want to be special? How can you look someone in the face and tell them you care not for the work it takes to grow so close? How can you ask them to give you a place in their hearts when you don't want to give them one in yours, not in the same way? How can you want something that you could never fully appreciate, because you could never see yourself giving the same to someone else?

Give me this, you say, I want it. I want to know what it feels like.

Will you give it back to me, they say, if I give it to you?

You can't. You don't know how. You aren't capable of it. That's for other people, people who do know how to do it. It's better for them to be that for each other, after all, and not for you. You don't get that. You won't ever get it. How could you ever hope to be that kind of special? How could you ever hope for someone to choose you? What do you have that they couldn't get, a thousand times over, in someone else?

You can be liked. You can even be loved. But you will never be chosen.

It is easier, then, a voice whispers in the back of your head, to not have at all. Why would you chase crumbs when you could eat by yourself? You needn't hide under their tables. You could eat on your own. You could have your own food.

And so you do. You make your own and you smell the aromas wafting from their tables and you bite down on your own bland creations. You like them, you do, but sometimes you get a glimpse of what sorts of things they eat and your mouth waters but your stomach never grows any hungrier. You fill your mind with the thought of how good it must taste, what you imagine it to taste like. You wrap your arms around yourself and imagine a full, content stomach. You imagine someone noticing when you get a little hungry and bringing you something they think you might like to eat. But you will never be someone's first choice of dinner companion.

You watch the hugs and touches and kisses and you imagine what it might be like to be a vessel for such affection. You do not position yourself close enough to catch the runoff from the fountain because that will only make it clear how empty you are. You sit bone dry on a nearby shelf and take comfort in the shade for it reminds you of how cool the water must feel. And when it is dark and the fountain has shut off for the night, you think of how it would feel to have someone pour in the cool, gentle water until it laps against the lip at the top. Perfectly filled, just for you. It won't be, it won't ever be, but in the cool of the dark you imagine it could.

You will only be special to the things that you make to treat you as special. They give you some relief, the flat words on pieces of paper describing how badly you wish to be cherished or nourished. The phantoms you conjure in your own imagination whose only purpose is to love you, absent of the realities of touch and only there to give you the idea of it. You tell yourself a thousand stories of being loved, being cared for, being chosen and that never makes it any more real.

You take the humiliation of wanting to be special and bundle it into a cloak, wrapping it about your fragile chest as though the shame of it would deign to warm you.

***

"Is this really how you feel, Ro?"

Roman doesn't look up, the choked voice coming out of Remus enough to let him know how his brother is feeling. He shrugs, wrapping his arms tighter around himself as Remus sniffles. "I just…yeah."

"You're allowed to want stuff, Ro, especially if it's how you want to be cared for."

"But it's not—it's not fair. I can't—I can't do that, so I can't—how can I ask someone to give me something when they're not gonna get anything out of it?"

"Because it's not like they wouldn't get anything out of it." Roman turns away, face burning with shame, humiliation, a cocktail of the two, and the paper rustles as Remus puts it down. "Okay, okay, think of it this way: I ask you to do stuff for me to help ground me and pull me out of spirals, right?"

"Yeah?"

"I don't do that for you."

"Yes, you do."

"Right, but I don't do the same thing. I love you and support you in the way that you need it."

"But I can't—how can I ask someone to get into a relationship with me when I'm never gonna feel like that for them? That's what most people talk about! They feel unloved and it makes them sad and they—and then they break up and I can't hurt someone like that, Re, I can't—"

"Shh, shh, hey, hey, Roro." Remus is up and out of the chair and Roman's shrinking back before he even touches him. "I'm not—okay, I won't touch you."

He relaxes a tiny bit.

"You care about people," Remus continues, "you care a lot about people. And you're really good at making them feel cared about. You know how many times one of the others comes up to me because they can't find you to tell you how much they appreciate you? 'Cause it's a lot, Ro-bro, it's a whole hell of a lot."

Roman peeks out at Remus. He's on his knees near Roman's chair. "Really?"

"Yeah, really. They care so much about you, Roro. They want to care about you. So badly. Do you have any idea how much we've—god, no, you don't. You don't know."

"Know what?"

Remus sighs heavily. "Janus followed you to the cabin a few weeks ago."

Roman freezes.

Then he panics and because he panics, Virgil shows up. And because he can't tell Virgil the truth, Janus shows up. And because the two of them just disappeared out of nowhere, Patton and Logan show up to see what's going on. And now all of them are here and his soul is scrawled out on a piece of paper right there and Remus is reaching up to try and touch him and—

Everything stutters to a stop when warm, solid, real hands cup his face.

"Ro," comes Remus's voice, past the muffled everything of the world, "it's okay. I'm telling you it's okay. We're all worried, Roro, that's all this is. See? Everyone's just worried."

He blinks through the panicked fog to see concern written plainly across each of their faces. But the warmth won't let him think and soon he's squeezing his eyes shut again, a mortifying noise leaving his throat.

"Come let us help you," Remus is saying, "come get cuddles and kisses and everything, okay? It's okay, Roro, it's okay."

And because Roman is weak and stupid and already humiliated, he nods.

"Thank fuck," he hears distantly before there are strong, solid arms around him, hefting him up out of the chair like he weighs nothing, "hey, Princey, shh-shh-shh, it's just me, it's just Virgil."

Virgil carries him over to something soft, something else warm opening its arms to meet them. He's lowered against something else warm and solid and smelling faintly of sunflowers and there's a real kiss against his cheek.

"Sweet prince," he hears, and his mind belatedly supplies Janus, "sweet, dear prince, oh, you poor thing…you're so cold, sweetie."

"Come here, come get him under the blankets." Patton, his fading brain gives him as the faint smell of fresh cookies surrounds him with warmth, "hey, baby, it's okay. We're gonna look after you now, okay?"

Everything is too much. Everything is too much and too warm and too real and too good and Roman can't have this, he can't have this, he's being selfish, he's being awful, he's going to end up hurting someone, especially himself, and then something cool and dark falls across his face and another kiss brushes the spot just behind his ear.

"Breathe," Logan's deep voice instructs, a hand running up and down his back, "breathe, Roman."

His breath comes in great, whooping gasps, but he's breathing. A hand slips down to rest over his stomach and he near sobs with the relief of it.

"Hush, it's alright, we won't go anywhere until you're feeling much better. Just focus on us, alright? Can you do that, my dear?"

Roman will do anything if Logan keeps speaking to him so tenderly. He does his best to block out the thoughts swirling around and around, instead trying to feel the puff of Logan's breath against his cheek, the warmth of his hand on his stomach, the weight of Patton adjusting the blanket, the way Virgil's hand cards through his hair, one of his hands held in several of Janus's. He takes one deep breath in, then another, then another, and the sobs leave him with a foreign softness.

"You're doing so well, sweetheart," Patton murmurs, "so well."

"It's bad," Virgil says, more to the others than to him, "he's really out of it. He's gonna need a lot of support going forward."

"Oh, no," Janus teases, "whatever shall we do? Cuddle our sweet prince until he feels better? Tell him how much we care for him? I couldn't imagine a worse fate."

"Shush," Logan scolds, far too fond to be a true indictment before he kisses Roman's forehead, "now's not the time for jokes. Roman needs our help still."

"He's overwhelmed." Remus shuffles up close to him, pressing his side against Roman's. "Let him go to sleep about it."

"Do you need to sleep, little one? That's alright, shh, yes, that's it, close your eyes, now…sleep, my dear, we'll be here when you wake up."

Deep in the Imagination, a bird carries a letter to a little wooden cabin. A man opens the door and takes the letter, smiling as he reads what's written upon it.

He will be taken care of. Thank you.

"It is my pleasure, as always," he says, and he knows somehow the prince will hear it, "and you are always welcome to come back."

General Taglist: @frxgprince@potereregina@gattonero17@iamhereforthegayshit@thefingergunsgirl@awkwardandanxiousfander@creative-lampd-liberties@djpurple3@winterswrandomness@sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes@iminyourfandom@bullet-tothefeels@full-of-roman-angst-trash  @ask-elsalvador @ramdomthingsfrommymind@demoniccheese83@pattonsandershugs @el-does-photography @princeanxious@firefinch-ember@fandomssaremysoul@im-an-anxious-wreck@crazy-multifandomfangirl @punk-academian-witch@enby-ralsei@unicornssunflowersandstuff@wildhorsewolf @thetruthaboutthesun @stubbornness-and-spite @princedarkandstormv  @your-local-fookin-deadmeme @angels-and-dreams@averykedavra @a-ghostlight-for-roman @treasurechestininterweb @cricketanne @queerly-fluid-fan @compactdiscdraws@cecil-but-gayer@i-am-overly-complicated@annytheseal@alias290@tranquil-space-ninja @arxticandy @mychemically-imbalanced-romance@whyiask@crows-ace @emilythezeldafan@frida0043 @ieatspinalcords @snowyfires@cyanide-violence@oonagh2@xxpanic-at-the-everywherexx@rabbitsartcorner @percy-07734@triflingassailantofmyemotions @virgil-sanders-the-gay-emo@cerulean-watermelon@puffed-up-bees@meltheromanstan@joyrose-fandomer@insanitori@mavenmush@justablah65@10paradox10@uhhh-hi-there-i-am-nervous@cutebisexualmess@bella-bugatti-frogetti-baguetti@ultrageekygirl

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for not letting an autistic kid join my group?

Okaayy this requires a LOT of backstory so bear with me on this.

I am 16F and the kid in question is 16M. I shall call him Tyler. I've known Tyler for like 3 years, never really been friends with him but he has been in my classes many times. Tyler is very blatantly autistic, which means it's very easy for people to pick on him. Other kids will be dicks to him and rile him up because they think it's funny. I am also nd but am quite good at masking so I don't get picked on but I am still a loner. Y'know the stereotypical quiet kid. Last detail to note about Tyler, he never does any of the classwork. Every time I have been in class with him he has just watched youtube on his laptop and will not do the work unless a teacher forces him to. This is important to note for my first major encounter with Tyler when I was 13.

There was a group project and everyone had to pick a partner to do a presentation, standard school stuff you get the gist. Me and Tyler ended up being the last ones left so we got paired together. The problem was that he did not pull his own weight. I had to sit with him and slowly walk him through the stuff we had to do for the project. Then I told him I would do X part of the project and he would do Y part of the project. He agreed and I went to work on it. The next day I asked if he had done anything, he hadn't. I sympathized with this because I also have executive dysfunction and very much struggle with completing things so I told him it was fine, he just had to work on it today and to send it to me once he was done. So I got home and waited for him to send me his part of the project but of course, it never came. So I ended up having to do literally EVERYTHING myself at the last minute. I went to the computer room to finish it at break time and lo and behold who do I see but Tyler in the computer room watching youtube. I gave him a firm telling off because I was hella pissed that while I was stressing out trying to do a group project by myself he was doing fuck all. He obviously felt bad but I was still rather pissed. So on the day of the presentation I did something admittedly very petty in that I forced him to do his part in the presentation despite him never seeing the presentation before. So he obviously struggled a lot. But that was that and I was quite certain I didn't want to work with him again. Flash forwards a bit, he tries to sit with me. I don't want to be an ass so I let him. The thing is that he was completely clueless about all the work so I ended up having to be like a surrogate teacher, walking him through everything. Again. The thing is, I couldn't get my own work done if I was stuck being Tyler's tutor. I was like "Fuck this. I'm not his teacher! I'm not even getting paid for this!!" So I started actively avoiding sitting with him so I could actually get shit done and he seemed to get the hint.

Now, to the present. He happens to be in the same class as me and asked if he could be in my group and I ignored him. I felt bad about it but I did not want to be handholding this kid. He seems to be actively trying to get my attention and trying to interact with me but I am just not interested. Especially since he seems to think that doing things like flicking water at me or slamming doors in my face is a good way to get my attention. I've tried to make it very clear I don't like this behaviour but he keeps doing it. In the most recent incident he randomly poked my back when I was crouching down to pick something up. I really hate being touched so I snapped at him but I feel guilty about it now. I feel like I could've handled it better because he clearly doesn't pick up emotional cues very well. And clearly he's just lonely, which I get but I feel he burnt this bridge a while ago and is just blasting the remains with a flamethrower.

So tumblr, AITA?

What are these acronyms?

[where-the-water-flows]

character asks—hit me up with your hottest jiao liqiao takes

JIAO LIQIAO my best beloved nightmare failgirlboss. she cannot malewife for very long but by god can she manipulate and murder.

favorite thing about them honestly I love that she has a goal and she fucking goes for it, zero hesitation. is it a good, reasonable goal? well no. she would have been better finding someone to fixate on who was not somewhere on the utterly asexual to entirely homosexual spectrum, but y'know, can't win them all. A+ dedication, F- execution.

least favorite thing about them the laugh the laugh I know it is like, the most standard trope signifier thing but the high pitched ahHAHEHEHA laugh is always so jarring in a 'pulls me right out of the narrative' kind of way, I know it is petty but also oh my god please. please you sound like a second rate cartoon villain. please. On a more character less shallow note, bestie babygirl please stop playing with your food. it literally never works out for you, for the love of god. please learn your lesson after the eighth time it bites you in the ass. (also like on the one hand, I would love for her to not have a plot centered around how she is deeply unhinged for/about a man. but on the otherhand, like, idk, I think she's fun. terrible awful etc, but also, she's putting the fun in extremely dysfunctional <3)

favorite line look I love so much every unhinged word out of her mouth, especially the argument she has with snow master when he's like 'girl that man is gay/ace the magic incense amnesia did not make him suddenly not gay/ace he is Manipulating You' and she is like 'lalalala not listening he loves me also we both know that man can't/won't lie to save his life, also also if he is lying I'll mutilate him and keep him like a purse pet <3 but he's not lying. because he loves me.' I recognise that is not a line but like. you know what I mean.

brOTP uhhh I don't really know that she... has... bros. like I guess granny blood (rip), who is basically always full 'yes girl get your man he will def love you this time' in the manner of someone who knows that her friend is lusting after a guy who is 1)not ever going to be interested even if he wasn't 2)very gay/ace and is 3)probably mid at best in bed no matter how much her friend is like SEX GOD. like the most 'yeah girl go get your man!!!! (why that man though have you considered any other man literally there are so many other men) oh no, def the red lipstick, he'll love you in that (but why him for the love of god just buy a vibrator)' that said, I do think the wildly divergent au where li xiangyi ends up 1)aware of nanyin bloodline like. Early On 2) jinyuan alliance aligned, he and his cousin jiao liqiao would be a hilarious pair of nightmares. absolutely ends in disaster for everyone, including them and definitely including di feisheng, I have an entire stupid au vaguely plotted out about this, it is purely nonsense. compels me though.

OTP no<3 that said, like, obviously I do not want the boys to be mmmmm torture mutilated noncon wifed as the otp of my heart, but also, I think jiao liqiao deserves a harem of moderately to severely brainwashed/mutilated/etc malewives! as a treat! god forbid women do anything. I contain multitudes, the dirty joke here is left as an exercise for the reader.

nOTP shan gudao. I just. I think it would be a mess, and not even a fun one. like as an actual relationship I mean, not proxy fighting spy vs spy manipulation But With Sex kinda bullshit, that's fine and fun, but they are not romantically compatible except as a triad where the third part of it is the idea of the man they are individually personally psycho/sexually obsessed with. which I guess makes it like. a weird poly U, with two theoretical ends. weird poly u with them mostly egging each other on in their dysfunction, 100% fine, any sort of Actual Healthy Relationship, no. also, therapy. I think therapy would only make her worse, but on the off chance it did not, I don't want that for her. she's a nightmare! again, god forbid a woman do anything.

random headcanon she was literally never expected to take the throne, nor expected to be the primary way that her particular fork of the nanyin royal line passed down. which means she likely has at least one sister and probably a brother. I don't know if this is backed up or contradicted by canon, but also, she was raised knowing she was nanyin royalty (??) but also was allowed to just fuck off into the jianghu at age [mlc timeline is nonsensical]. like if that is your single heir of the bloodline you have been carefully keeping alive and aware of how they were The True Imperial Family, you are not letting said heir go out and get their ass killed playing with swords. therefore. youngest child jiao liqiao. no further questions, you know in your heart I'm right. less world logistics based, I think she absolutely can't fucking cook, but, crucially, feels that she is fucking aces at it. does she cook? irrelevant, also no obviously not, she is a lady of rank, we have servants for that. but, crucially, she feels in her heart that she is a great cook. not that she cares about it. but again, she is great at it. this is never challenged because 1)di feisheng, the one person I can see her lowering herself to actually cook for, does not pay attention to the taste of food unless he has amnesia, and thus he's certainly not going to be like 'you suck at cooking, ew'. 2) if you are not di feisheng are you going to challenge fucking saintess on her bad cooking? no! she will stab you in the eyeball with a chopstick.

unpopular opinion honestly I don't know that I have that many unpopular opinions on her. other than that she's fun. a nightmare and like, deeply uncomfortable as a character with how incredibly rapey she is, obviously. but fun! she is a problematic queen. terrible woman who really sort of stands out as one of the few of the main cast who uh...doesn't really seem to have any reason behind the terribad decisions she makes other than there is something Wrong With Her, but again, god forbid, etc.

song i associate with them Girlfriend, by Avril Lavigne; the early 2000s angry brat pop is just. so on brand. see also, so much for my happy ending. (also, this has given me the image of idea of early 2000s scene kids jinyuan alliance, which is the funniest fucking thing in the world to me. I don't know what sigu sect would be, but it's just so fucking funny.)

favorite picture of them quick and nasty screencap bc this response has already taken me two days, but like. the whole turn on li lianhua when he's in chains and she's like 'oh you're dangerous to talk to', I just. I feel so abnormal about it. she is so hot and scary.

[solarsleepless]

hello all

welcome back the kristy thomas autism analysis, where i'm rewatching the show and writing down her autistic traits as i see em (as well as noting any neurodiverse traits in the other girls). here's part one if you haven't seen it.

this ep is not narrated by kristy, so she is not the 'main character' in this episode, which basically means there's going to be a LOT shorter than before

without further ado, let's jump right in!

Episode 2

"did he ask you to the dance or not?!" autistic people often don't pick up on things when they're indirectly stated, and much prefer a direct way of speaking because we tend to not pick up on the double meaning, which is clearly showcased with how much value kristy gives on the exact phrasing here

"subtlety is not among her many talents" more examples of kristy's bluntness—she doesn't feel the need to sugarcoat anything she's saying, she's just stating what's true

kristy is extremely and visibly confused by the notion that him saying he'd "see her there" is him asking her out. again, more emphasis on how she needs directness

oh also good time to note: comfort clothes!!! autistic people tend to gravitate towards clothes that feel nice. from this point onwards we see kristy wearing a lot of hats, which can feel good pressure-wise or even texture-wise.

oh also also, kristy is pretty queercoded!!! research right now indicates that autistic people are much more likely to identify under the lgbtqia(+) umbrella

something i didn't have enough space to note last time is that kristy generally wears much more comfortable clothes than the rest of the bsc. not that they actively wear uncomfortable clothes, but she's the only one who really dresses plain, with sweatpants, jeans, and soft shirts.

stimming: fidgeting slightly with the twizzlers :)

even More issues with bluntness: she doesn't understand how rude it is to say that her friend's dad is crazy and so forth because of his being obssessive over aforementioned friend.

not much to say on her response to mary anne's "and what would you know about having a normal dad?!" (ouch, mary anne), it's perfectly understandable. the way she just ups and runs without saying anything can be read as autistic.

additional notes

as this episode is claudia centric, we get a much bigger view into what she's like at school and whatnot. almost straight away, she tells us that above everything, she's good at art—which isn't in and of itself a sign, but with everything else, it can be! people with adhd can like art for a variety of reasons: the ability to just sit back and focus your mind on just one thing you want to create, the fact that you can create as well is important, the textures you can use and feel, the way you just sort of disconnect your mind from everything else. she remarks that she also likes it because there's no homework or tests, things adhders are notoriously bad at keeping track of due to their executive dysfunction.

this episode showcases most of all how she struggles with school. especially if claudia is dyslexic/dyscalculiac as she's slightly implied to be, pair that with adhd, and she's not living the vida loca.

as well as showing the same traits listed in part 1, janine also mentions she has noise-canceling headphones, which are common party of autistic culture as sound generally affects us the most. adhd and autism are also often hereditary, so if janine is autistic, it's likely that claudia is similarly nd.

claudia is shown to not understand how the math works, even when stacey explains in depth. she asks "and how do you do that?" and dyscalculia impairs how easy is it to understand mathematics, even if they're regarded as "simple" to others. there's also a pretty high comorbidity rate between dyscalculia and adhd with 11% having dyscalculia. generally, it's common to see adhd paired with another learning disorder, with 45% of ppl with adhd also having a learning disorder

stimming: tapping her hands on the table and swaying her leg

mary anne sits cross-legged in her chair: autistic people tend to have a heightened proprioceptive sensory input, which is basically why we sit funky, and why it is physically uncomfortable to sit "normally", with both feet on the ground.

anxiety is very common in autism, which both mary anne and especially her dad display. her dad's very autistic coded as well, but we can get into that in later episodes.

[dorianbrightmusic]

While playing Persona 2, I’ve flagged Maya Amano as some sort of neurodivergent, but it’s taken me a while to figure out which. Maybe the messiness of her room is meant to be highlighting how, in being very work-focussed and excitable, she’s going against traditional Japanese Yamato Nadeshiko-style standards of femininity, but I can’t help but read it as evidence of some measure of executive dysfunction. Supplementary materials would also indicate a degree of time blindness. Moreover, she’s a horrific, horrific driver, which could imply issues with either spatial sense or fine motor skills – in either case, these, paired with executive symptoms, could possibly indicate dyspraxia?

Basically, I’m not inclined to think she has any other major neurodevelopmental disorder, nor am I seeing any kind of mental health evidence (barring her canon pyrophobia in IS), but I think it makes sense to read her as dyspraxic: Coordination issues can make household tasks take substantially longer than they would otherwise; as such, an aversion to cooking and cleaning is quite reasonable when cooking and cleaning can take hours, especially once time blindness and executive issues start to kick in. Moreover, while not all dyspraxics struggle to drive, if you don’t have an internal spatial sense, then trying to work out how far the car is going to rotate with the wheel, or even gauging how far away a certain point is, is far more difficult. Again, I’m aware that many aspects of Maya’s character could be read as a commentary on femininity and culture, and I’m not meaning to detract from that. However, I can’t help but wonder what kinds of fun ways a dyspraxic reading of Maya could be used to explore her character.

[trying2cope]

I fell madly, deeply in love.

He did too. We talked everyday. We sexted. One day he seriously considered randomly driving to my house after work, even though we live 3 hours apart. I talked him down, explaining the sensible reasons why he shouldn't leave so suddenly-- I wish I'd let him now.

I realized though why waiting for marriage for sex was a good idea for me though. I didn't regret it exactly-- he was a far superior lover than my exes and I longed to please him and be his forever. But therein lay the problem. "I love him like a husband," I confessed to my friend. "It would destroy me to lose him." Giving myself so fully had left me with no ability to keep him out of my heart and soul.e

My kids liked him. I did cringe a little when I heard my kids mention that Mommy had had a friend over and they mentioned Master's name and I knew my ex would read between the lines and know I was dating. Not that I cared about his opinion, especially when he had dated while we were still married(!) but I didn't want him to cause any trouble or drama as he was prone to do.

I had not yet gotten to meet his daughter because he and his ex had made an agreement that no one they were dating would meet her before they introduced the new partner to each other. I was annoyed momentarily when he first mentioned this because I didn't want to be paraded in front of his ex for her to judge. But I very quickly calmed down and realized this was a long term thinking thing. There was no rule or custody agreement saying this must be done and he *could* have just introduced me to his daughter-- but doing so would have upset the ex and if I was someday to be his wife and his daughter's stepmom it behooved everyone that we do this properly and respectfully. He was pleased when I said that I understood and said that back to him.

Not that actually he could bring his toddler down yet. One of the big embarrassments of my life is how messy I can get. I had been severely depressed and struggling before meeting him and the house had suffered. When he had first suggested meeting, just the next upcoming weekend, I had panicked and almost said no. I knew I couldn't get it clean in time. But I also knew this was an ongoing struggle in my life. I get the house clean only to get sick or depressed or just very, very busy and the next thing you knew it was far too messy once again. I have ADHD with bad executive dysfunction that had only been diagnosed two years earlier and at that point my depression had made me afraid to contact the doctor to get my medicine. It made cleaning a near impossible task.

That can be really hard for neurotypicals to understand but to give a quick example it seems like NTs can say "I'm going to clean the bedroom" and it's one task, and they do it. To me, it's like 25: picking up trash, making sure I have a garbage bag, picking up clothes, making sure I have a laundry basket to put the clothes in, clearing off the end table, putting each individual item that belongs somewhere in the house away is an individual task item for each one, stripping the sheets, taking off the pillow cases, figuring out where I put the clean linens-- doing laundry if I didn't have clean linens. Putting the sheets on the bed, putting each pillow case on, deciding if the blanket is clean enough to go back on or needs to be washed and if it does, bringing it to the laundry room and finding a new blanket for that night. Picking up shoes and making sure they have pairs and are put on the shoe rack. Picking up my kid's toys which shouldn't be in my room but definitely would be and finding a bin to put them in and remembering to take the bin to their room. And more and more and more. This doesn't even get to things like sweeping, mopping, dusting or cleaning windows which felt like luxuries that I never even got to because I would get far too exhausted by the mental load of trying to do the rest of it I was nearing a panic attack before I got remotely close to be ready for that. Because while doing all those endless, thankless, soul sucking tasks I only have the working memory to keep maybe three or four things in my head. And that's only if I'm left to myself-- but I am a single mom so I never was. I *would* be interrupted with "Mommy this" and "Mommy that" every 3 minutes or so, making all my hard one mental efforts drop like being startled with giant armload of various items and dropping them all on the floor and once the kids go back to their play I'd have to pick them back up again only to drop them again in 3 minutes. It seemed like a fruitless, impossible task. And that was just one room of my 3 bedroom house.

So when my potential Master came in and looked around at my mess and nodded and said "we can work on this" with absolutely no judgement at all in his face, my heart nearly exploded with joy. This was the man I'd always needed. My ex husband had always been verbally abusive and critical, making everything much worse. Indeed the reason I would get anxious to the point of almost having panic attacks after 20 minutes or so of cleaning up was partially because I would hear him in the back of my head and I'd have to stop and take deep breathes so I wouldn't hyperventilate. My body associated cleaning with danger now. But Master's response had been so gentle, so not a big deal, that I knew with him I'd be able to find healing and the praise I so desperately needed to function, something that when I had pleaded with my ex to give me would only bring hateful scorn. "You want praise for doing the bare minimum?!" he had sneered. But praise would short circuit the anxiety and give me motivation when it was lagging. I *needed* it to function and he never understood. But this man would.

When he left after that first meeting I had been energized and had done some cleaning. But then a few weeks later I'd had a few busy days in a row. Whenever we were busy with tasks outside the home the house got messier because we tended to discard clothes and dishes and whatever on our way to rush out or to bed when we got back, too distracted or tired to clean up.

It had been three days in a row of busy days when I heard the doorbell ring one morning. I was upstairs and scantily clad so I threw some clothes on as I headed downstairs. I was expecting FedEx and assumed it was a package. I opened the door and a woman stood there with a clipboard.

"FedEx?" I asked.

"No," she replied. "I'm from Child Protective Services."

[bubblegum-blackwood]

🤲what do YOU get out of writing?

Ah good question. I feel like that's a complicated one that's not so straightforward to answer.

TL;DR - idk I like it :] and I like people

I've been writing fiction since I was nine years old. My teacher had us do some creative writing in class, and I fell head over fucking heels for the concept! It's crazy to see how much I've grown since then 😂 but I kid you not, I've known I wanted to write for a living since I was nine years old. I did it once and was like yeah . . . I like this. Funnily enough, I started out writing fanfiction, although at the time I hadn't heard of that word or that concept. My sibling and I had a game we called "Kid Wars" - essentially, we RPed being Star Wars OCs. My character was a female clone of Jango Fett (how did I come up with that as a small child and then The Bad Batch happened????????? will never get over that) who secretly joined the Jedi Order and fell in love with Obi-Wan 😂😂😂 ah, children. This origin story is never not funny to me. Anyway, over the years since then, it's slowly evolved into something nearly indistinguishable from Star Wars (I've mostly just kept something that vaguely looks like the Force and some OC names and arcs, but the worldbuilding is entirely original, and I had so much fun with it!)

But I digress.

It's ironic to me because even though my writing days largely started with terrible self-insert fanfiction I since then only wrote original works and even railed almost as vehemently against fanfiction as Anne Rice herself! 😂 But I spent some time on Tumblr and I caved and read Burden of my Days by @hekateinhell and have never been the same since. And now I have 36 fics and counting!

What originally drew me to writing as a kid is just the whole idea of making shit up. I've been making up silly lil stories in my head to keep my insomniac ass busy at night since I was in kindergarten, and when I realised I could write them down? When I realised I could get paid money for that shit??? Hell yeah! I can make a career out of doing something I genuinely love doing, and I'm so grateful that it's even an option for me because I have no clue what I would have told people I wanted to be when I grew up otherwise. As I've gotten older, I've understood more about what exactly I enjoy about writing (which allows me to take inspiration from the books and shows I like without copy-pasting every minute detail that I don't actually need) - it's people. I like people, I like knowing what makes them tick, I like watching them fuck up and I like watching them interact with others. It's part of what draws me to psychology and sociology, too. I just genuinely enjoy stories. I could eat a well-done character arc for breakfast, honestly. And that's what gets me about the writing. My books don't need big grand plots, the conflicts largely are not centered around big bads with large armies, it's all about people and the relationships they have with others within the narrative. (Don't get me wrong, though, I have fantastical elements - vampires and ghosts, especially, are quite abundant in my stories).

Plus, there's something about the actual process of writing that just gets me in a good mood. Sometimes the executive dysfunction or general life fatigue makes it hard for me to get myself to pick up the pencil, but when I feel motivated, DAMN, the juices be flowing! Sometimes I get in the zone and I just know what happens next and the words just come to me and it feels good, honestly good. I can agonize over it for hours sometimes, but crafting artful sentences to paint a picture with words is such a powerful feeling. I just can't imagine how my life would have turned out had I not discovered how fun it is to write.

And with fanfiction? To me, it's all about connection. To look deeper at the text, to identify what you like about events or characters or pairings and make it your own, to really know the book you love so much. But not only that, then also you get to connect with other fans! You get to get excited together, be proud together, maybe even make friends through it! You get to talk to people!!! And I think the value of that can never be understated enough.

Anyway. I've rambled plently now 😂 thanks for the ask!

[monstersdownthepath]

Monster Spotlight: Bushyasta

CR 6

Neutral Evil Medium Outsider

The Complete Book of the Damned, pg. 248

Fiends of laziness and sloth who loathe to see mortals complete any work, myself and many other creators in the world would absolutely love to be able to punch these horrible things in the face for what they represent. These creatures are not Demons or Devils or even Daemons, but an esoteric category of fiend called a Div, a species of malevolent corrupters and despoilers of mortal creations we’ve just barely touched on, all lead by Ahriman, the Shadow Across Creation. They are petty and spiteful beings and can be considered something of an antithesis to the very ACT of creation as a whole; no matter what a mortal makes, there is a Div that exists to destroy it, regardless of whether it’s a physical item, an intangible idea, or even an entire faith. 

The Bushyasta, however, go above and beyond this call for ruin and focus on destroying things before they’re made. They exist to slow down construction of any sort, using their Bluff (+15) or Knowledge (Local) (+12) and 100ft of telepathy to act as the voices in the heads of anyone attempting to work to convince them that their efforts are better put elsewhere. Think of them like an external Executive Dysfunction Demon, lurking somewhere in a darkened corner, clinging to the ceiling (via permanent Spider Climb) so it cannot be seen as it spreads out malicious whispers of complacency and advocating for sloth. Given its ability to speak fluent Celestial, it’s even be to masquerade as a benevolent force attempting to warn someone away from a catastrophe, when in fact it’s simply trying to keep them from their goals. Why do today what you can do tomorrow?

Ironically, Bushyasta do not go out of their way to kill people to keep things from being done, despite that being the most efficient way to stop progress. Not only is that counterproductive to their message of sloth, but they revel in being able to see mortals succumb to frustration and even despair as their deadlines come and go while their projects sit unfinished on their desk. It’s not enough that no progress is made on any work, someone must suffer mental or even physical consequences for the fiend’s meddling. To this end, the fiends can use Touch of Fatigue at-will to sap their ability to do anything for extended periods, Deep Slumber 3/day to knock a target unconscious so it physically CANNOT do any work, and Suggestion 1/day to “gently” suggest they do something, anything else, even at the cost of their current project. Though they do not have a natural means to disguise or otherwise hide their hideous forms, they DO have a +15 to Use Magic Device in order to make use of any scrolls or wands of Disguise Self or Invisibility they find.

If it manages to secure an especially attractive (in one way or another) disguise, one that gets the attention of a whole crowd of mortals at once, or if the fiend finds itself in combat, it can release a pulse of Withering Effort once per day to blast all creatures within 30ft of itself with negative energy, fatiguing each one that fails a DC 18 Fortitude save. If a creature is already fatigued (such as if it’s affected by Touch of Fatigue), it becomes exhausted instead, further reducing both its ability to work and its capacity to harm the Div of laziness. The combination of Withering Effort and Touch of Fatigue is especially potent, as the latter has a duration of 6 only rounds, but if bolstered by the withering wave, the exhaustion becomes permanent until the victim takes 10 minutes of literally doing nothing. Not one single non-free action at all for 10 minutes, or the conditions simply cannot be removed without magic.

While their melee prowess isn’t exactly stellar--their CCB dealing 1d6+3 and 1d8+3, respective--and they have no other spells that could directly cause harm (aside from their potent ability to summon a pair of Aghash to their side if they succeed a coin flip), they further embody the obnoxiously slow and grinding pace yet again with their power to rob a party of its ability to make full-attacks. Not only do they have their withering pulse to exhaust anyone trying to charge them, but their Staggering Touch adds +1d6 nonlethal damage and a staggering effect to their claws. The stagger can be resisted with a DC 18 Fortitude save, but it must be made every single time a victim is hit by their claw attack, and the duration (1 round) stacks up with every failure. If that doesn’t work, their 1/day Slow to slam the whole party at once with a stagger just might.

With a party’s martial fighters robbed of their full-attacks and the party’s casters struggling to find a way through their resistances (Fire immunity, 10 Acid and Electricity resistance, and Spell Resistance 17), the fiends can afford to just very, very slowly cut an aggressive party apart. If they haven’t used any of their other spell-likes for the day, they’re all the more dangerous, able to just knock a few of the party out with Deep Slumber, keep one out of the fight with Suggestion, and rip apart the weaklings that are left over.

Just before I forget anything and put off this article even more, there’s a few amusing things that should be covered. The first is that they have Light Sensitivity, imposing a -1 penalty on all their attack rolls while in bright light, but while they’re in bright light they’re also partially invisible, prompting them to expose their horrible true shapes to the sunlight just for the extra defenses (a 20% concealment bonus). Secondly, all Div have unique and unusual quirks within their very souls that drives them to specific, obsessive behaviors. In the case of the Bushyasta, they HATE the smell of perfume and any especially aromatic flowers, treating fragrant flowers and powerful perfumes as though they were impassable barriers. They tend to save their 3/day Gust of Wind precisely for scattering such smells out of their way, as it takes an enormous amount of their willpower--more than the lazy fiends enjoy mustering--to overcome their loathing.

I think it’s really funny that a party hoping to overcome these hideous creatures and best their own laziness can vastly increase their chances of success by letting the foppish dandy of the party douse them all in their perfume collection.

You can read more about them here.

[thessalian]

Thess vs The Yearly Dilemma

Actually, to be fair, The Yearly Dilemma is a little different this year. Because, of course, it is now December and the holidays will be upon us sooner than we probably care to think about. So as always, the question is: what do I get for the parentals?

Now, see, the parentals know damn well what the economic situation in this country is. Now, they might feel a little better about my getting them much of anything because of the sheer amount of overtime I've put in the last few months, but still, their whole thing is "DO NOT SPEND TOO MUCH MONEY ON US". So that puts some limiters on the whole thing. Still, if you're remotely creative (and I like to think I am), that still leaves a lot of options.

Now, my mother's more or less handled this year, though I need to consider something for her birthday. I was talking to my stepdad one of the times he was over and happened to point out my Foozies - big warm chunky alpaca-fleece slipper-socks. My stepdad didn't want a pair, as apparently he is one of those lucky sods whose extremities do not get cold, but he thought my mother might like a pair. I wanted a spare pair for myself anyway so when I went to order, I ordered two - one for me and one for her. They'll probably keep her feet warmer than her little ballerina slipper-looking things.

Now, for the last couple of years, the whole thing about "Do not make food for your stepdad; we generally have enough food around this time of year already" has gone effectively out the window. This is mostly because they know that's the least expensive way I have of gifting my stepdad with something he'd actually want (I mean, he's shit at even dropping hints anyway) ... but I think part of it is that, especially after the tidbits of my baking that have come his way this year, and last year's peanut butter fudge triumph, my stepdad is in no way going to turn away my cooking.

The question is ... what do I make the man?

I mean, it's probably going to be a selection anyway, because at least some of it is going to be a shared gift for him and my mother. But some of it has to be just for him. He's fond of peanut butter where my mother isn't, so there could be peanut butter bread. Also he really enjoyed my Admiral's Gingerbread, and showed keen interest when I mentioned making gingrebread cookies, so ginger's another flavour note I guess he likes. But honestly, he is not a picky person so just as long as it tastes good, it doesn't really matter. Which in a way is a pity because that really fuels the fires of my raging executive dysfunction.

As for me? Well, I've had Christmas and birthday gifts from the parentals this year already, and I have the autographs in my Tal'Dorei Campaign Setting guide to prove it. If they ask about smallish things this year ... I dunno. Depends on what they consider 'smallish', I suppose. Honestly, even just an extra set of measuring cups and measuring spoons would be nice. Seriously, my wants this year are relatively few, and a lot of them involve kitchen stuff. Well, that and just about anything off my Steam wish list - the bit I am going to miss this year is spending Steam gift cards in the Christmas sales.

(Still totally worth it.)

The kitchen stuff ... well ... I have an entire Amazon wish list specifically for the kitchen stuff I want. I've been chipping away at it a few items at a time, but there's always something else. Still, I can take these things slowly. At some point this week I'll be making gołąbki (it's pronounced go-WUMP-ki or go-LUMP-ki and it's basically Polish cabbage rolls), and that's mostly going to need the Le Creuset baking dish that I still love so very, very much. That and pierogi, which is mostly pots and my good skillet if I want to brown them after steaming. And I get a whole big chunk of overtime pay just in time for the after-Christmas sales, so I can probably whittle that list down a fair bit.

Oh, yeah, on the subject of cooking experiments, I made chicken katsu today. It actually came out really well, and I had real chicken katsu curry for the first time in aaaaaaaaaaaages. Go, me!

[elithilanor]

I’m having terrible writers block/the mammalian instinct to hibernate in winter and am struggling to long form write so here’s a headcannon instead:

Haldir and his/their (however you see em and the multitudes available) partner (especially the Haldir/OFC wife pairing) have a Thing for non sexual, platonic kneeling. It’s like Neurodivergent floor time* but with each other. Life is too stressful/too many people died/you need some comfort but hugs ain’t doing it, you don’t want sex, and you just need to let go and surrender with everything quiet for a little while? Go kneel in between/against their partner’s legs, lay their head down on their thighs, wrap your arms around their waist, and close your eyes. Take a nap! Watch them sew! Maybe listen to them read!

Just really soft, domestic, loving vibes. Love and trust is their vibe.

*the Neurodivergent Floor Time (as described by a Neurodivergent who NEEDS floor time) is like. Hm. Sometimes when you just sit or kneel or lay on the floor, it’s just easier? To life? And everything? I can focus better, do tasks, relax more, hyperfixate without guilt, start tasks, deal with less executive dysfunction etc. And this is pretty well documented that it helps a LOT of people with NDs. Not sure why. And it’s not about other people or bdsm it’s just, by yourself, the floor makes life easier and easier to focus on life. Do taxes on the floor. It helps!

Question for the group chat this raises: is all kneeling inherently bdsm? Because I don’t see it between Haldir and his partner (generally) with a dynamic and it doesn’t (generally) lead to sex or genital warming but is just the act of kneeling and surrendering with nothing else considered bdsm? I personally say no, but I suppose it’s up for interpretation. Especially because aforementioned Floor Time isn’t bdsm or sexual and it’s related in my mind. But I also have an interesting brain so. Thoughts?

[luckyladylily]

I want to try to build a daily writing habit again but executive dysfunction is a bitch. But you know what helps with that? Prompts! They activate the part of my brain that says "someone is asking you to do something directly, you should do it" and thus executive dysfunction is defeated. So if you could, I would appreciate writing prompts!

Specifically I'm looking to write kinky erotica, probably fanfic. Especially looking for what kinks/fetishes people would like to read about, what characters you might want to see, or what pairings/threesome/orgy participants you would like to see. If you have a full idea, that's great! If you just want to see x character with y kink and don't care how we get there, that would be good to hear as well.

Also if you have sent me a prompt before way back when I was taking them, feel free to send it again as a reminder. I've got most of them written down somewhere but as I said a lot of this is about helping my motivation so repeats do help and are appreciated.

I can't guarantee I'll work on any single prompt, but I am going to try to work on one of them at least.

As for the prompts themselves, I will be more likely to fill BDSM (con or non con) related kinks, and if the prompt has at least one feminine character in any sex scene (feminine men, such as crossdressers, work for this.)

I'm planning on trying to post a daily or every other day update on what I write, even if it's just a few words, to help motivate me.

[the-problem-child-vents]

you ever just feel like dissociating? cus, uh, yeah

[insomniacaesthetic]

Hello! Would you be able to write Severus with an autistic reader?

YES! I’m so glad somebody asked me for this.

Disclaimer: although I am not formally diagnosed, my therapist and I both believe I am somewhere on the spectrum so I hope I can do this prompt justice. But it will mostly be based on my experience. Feel free to tag me in or reblog with your own headcanons with this prompt too pls.

Headcanons of Severus Snape with an autistic partner.

Gender neutral

Enjoy this gif of Snape stimming

Severus would do really well with an autistic partner. Especially since I headcanon that he’s neurodivergent as well.

He loves to hear you talk about your special interest. Whatever it may be, he’ll listen to you discuss it for hours. He’ll even do his own research so he can bring it up with you.

Feeling overstimulated? He’ll wrap you up in his cloak and hold you. His cloak has the most soothing texture that calms you instantly. Severus also naturally smells good without the use overwhelming colognes or fragrances so his hugs are always welcome.

If you take medication, he’d be the one to remind you especially if you had the tendency to forget. He’d do this with water and food. Not in a controlling or overbearing way. He just wants to make sure you’re okay.

Severus is no stranger to fidgeting or stimming so there’s no need to worry about him asking you “what are you doing?” In fact, he quite enjoys when you mess with the buttons on his frock coat.

You got a safety food? Best believe he’s stocking up on that. Perfect for those times you show up in the great hall and there’s nothing there that makes you want to eat. Or those days when the executive dysfunction is high and you can’t see yourself leaving bed for a meal.

If you had small little preferences or had a strict routine in place, he would be sure to memorize these. Prefer a small spoon or smooth fork? Can only drink out of particular cups? He’ll be sure to have those ready for you. If something was apart of your morning routine, he’d help make sure nothing threw it off. If he was buying you clothes, he’d make sure it was a fabric you liked and would cut out any tags if there was any. Considering I HC his love language as acts of service, I think he’d quite enjoy doing these things for you.

“Is this okay?” “is that too loud?” He’d ask in most situations. Knowing that sometimes it’s hard to voice those opinions. If you both were somewhere and someone was making unneeded noise he’d immediately ask them to quiet it down.

If your social battery dies or you can feel a meltdown coming, it only takes one look and Severus will be there at your side to get you out of a situation and help you feel safe.

If you aren’t a fan of physical touch, that’s fine. He’s happy to be there for when you need him.

He would always be very specific about what he meant when speaking so there’s no confusion or misinterpretation of his words/feelings. Expect reassurance from him too that he understood what you were trying to convey and there’s no need to repeat or reword it.

No need to force eye contact, he would tell you it’s not necessary if you’re not comfortable with it.

In terms of less wizarding world stuff, here’s things that bring me comfort to think about / imagine. This part is hella self indulgent I’m sorry

Sev becoming obsessed with your fidget toys and even getting a few of his own. He loves a good tangle and the small dimple pops. They stop him from picking at his nails.

You wearing your noise cancelling headphones around him for the first time and being hella nervous about it and you’re like “is this ok?” And he’s like “why wouldn’t it be?” 😩

Him loving said headphones and getting himself a pair. You catch him wearing them while he’s in his office, working on some potions or grading papers.

Feeling comfortable enough to unmask in front of him.

When doing your vocal stims he doesn’t look at you weird.

Snuggling with him under a weighted blanket

Finally, just him being there for you on those days where you have a breakdown and keep asking “what’s wrong with me?” after a particularly bad meltdown bc of overstimulation or a disruption to your routine or something else, and he’s just there whispering how there’s nothing wrong with you, and you’re perfect just the way you are.

[moonbaby26]

Title: Epiphany

Pairing: Peter Maximoff x Reader

Summary: Continuation from previous chapter. Finally back in the U.S., you and Peter get a mini shopping trip with the others, where you get a special gift for him. Followed by your ride back alone together to his house near D.C. and an abrupt introduction to his family.

Warnings: Mostly just more fluff. Bit of a dysfunctional family implied. Not proofread too well as I didn’t have much free time left and wanted to get this posted.

Chapters: Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Taglist: @drikawinchester , @n0obmaster69 , @alexloveskili , @what-a-silver-lining , @bluesprings18 , @weakmoony-stuff , @slytherinsi-mp , @wintwrsoldiwr , @tommy-braccoli , @amourtentiaa , @cringingmemeries , @bi-panicatthe-disco , @himbos-are-my-lifeblood , @simp4mcuwomen , @ikkleroniekins , @cowboyenorgy , @the-chaotic-cow

Peter Maximoff x Reader Masterlist

—————————

You were groggy, legs stiff as you’d finally made it out of that plane. Honestly, when this was all said and done you’d be happy to not travel again for a very long time.

But the important thing was that you were home. Well, sort of. You were getting a lot closer anyway. McGuire air force base in New Jersey was bustling with activity as you’d all been shuffled around after landing.

Moira had said goodbye, staying here to work some more as it seemed this had become a temporary east coast operations point for more than just the air force. But she’d arranged it so you all could take a van off base together to find the nearest rental car lot.

Which that was when you really started feeling this was your last chance to inwardly practice whatever your speech was going to be to Xavier. You were going to volunteer to drive Peter home, splitting off from the others when they’d no doubt be heading north for New York.

The van hadn’t been the most comfortable thing in the world either as you’d all piled into it with Hank driving. Moira had told the Professor to just leave it after you all got something else rented, and that someone from the base would come and get it later.

Besides a little shared complaining from the group about being continually shoved into one thing after another lately, helicopters, to jets, to aircraft carriers, and now this, there wasn’t really too much said though. That silence likely somewhat due to jet lag as well. But when Xavier had signaled to Hank to stop after seeing a bank you were about to pass, that’s when Peter seemed to perk back up.

And by the time this older van had clunked its way into the parking lot and come to a stop, Peter was on the verge of fully laughing.

“What?” Ororo finally asked, Peter sitting between her and you both here in the back of the van.

“Nothing.” Peter respond just as quickly, though still seeming far too entertained as Raven had helped Xavier out of the van and back into his wheelchair before the two of them had gone inside the bank together.

You and Ororo just exchanged an odd glance, before Jean revealed the answer all too easily. “Peter thinks we’d make a terrible cast for a heist movie. He’s thinking about robbing the bank and imagining a poorly executed role for all of us.”

“Hey!” Peter complained. “You really don’t play fair. I think about a lot of things without actually do-”

“Seriously?” Scott asked, looking back at you all.

“Oh, come on. One eye beam and the vault would crack like an egg.” Peter retorted, “Do you guys not ever daydream?”

“About crime?” You questioned.

“I did give the kid his markers back didn’t I?” Peter asked.

“What kid?” Hank looked back as well.

“Oh, except this one.” Peter pulled out the dark blue marker that’d still been stashed in his pocket. “The kid still had a light blue one anyway. He’ll live. You guys need to sign my cast!”

—————————

The Professor had apparently recognized that bank as one he had some accounts with, and you’d assumed he had gone in to withdraw some spending money for the remainder of the trip.

But when Hank drove you all to a nearby department store next instead of continuing on straight to the rental car lot that had been the supposed goal the entire time, you were surprised. Even more so when the Professor had called for you, Jean, Kurt, and Ororo specifically.

“I know this isn’t much,” Charles explained, before passing each of the four of you a small amount of cash. “But the staff staying with the displaced students at the motel did already take them shopping for at least some bare necessities. You deserve the same until we can provide better.”

It was still entirely generous and unexpected though as you’d all exited the van, then fully understanding the point of this additional pit stop. With the destruction of the mansion, and with Ororo not even being from here, the four of you now had not a single possession to your names except the Air Force issued clothing you’d left the aircraft carrier with.

Scott and Peter were a little bit different story, Scott was expected to go back home with his parents for a while and no doubt everything he still had there, and Peter having lost nothing really except the one outfit that had burnt up in the jet’s crash in Egypt.

But you knew a little better of how he felt about that, not missing the way Peter was already eyeing things as the two of you had split off from the rest of the group once entering the department store.

Your only real goal was at least getting a comfortable pair of tennis shoes to replace the awful boots they’d given you and a couple pairs of jeans, some t-shirts, socks, and underwear. Just the very minimum, that was fine for you.

You tried to be quick, knowing it was still a little unfair to make Peter just watch you shop when he could take nothing for himself. Albeit, you doubted much here was really his style anyway.

You did half expect him to give you a harder time as well on your own choices, but found him quite distracted as you’d walked back and forth looking at one rack then another of clothes.

Finally you realized why, catching him still lingering at a glass display case you’d already passed more than once as you then circled back to him with a bit of clothing in your arms.

As you came up to stand beside him, you looked down to see the multiple men’s watches all glinting up in the light from beneath the glass.

You smiled, putting two and two together easily enough as you glanced back to him and that clearly longing expression on his face. “Which one do you like?”

He blinked, just seeming to realize your attention was back on him then as he tried to look nonchalant. “Nah, it’s okay. I’m not going to steal it if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“That wasn’t what I was thinking.”

“It’s what Mr. Smiley over there, the store detective was thinking.” Peter commented a little more quietly, just motioning his eyes to a man standing off to the side.

The man didn’t look “smiley” at all of course, appearing to consider the same display of pants over and over as he’d pick one size up and then put it back down as if he wasn’t watching you both.

You chose to ignore the stranger, just reiterating back to Peter instead. “Come on, which one do you want?”

You could see by the tags that they weren’t exactly cheap, but certainly weren’t Rolex’s either. This was doable.

But Peter only met eyes with you again. “Seriously, I can get one later. I’ll live.”

His old watch had been destroyed. And you hadn’t forgotten what importance it had to him. “That wasn’t the point.” Already deciding you were sure about this, you dug back into your pocket, pulling out money and putting it on the glass in front him.

“I’m going to go put some of these clothes back, get somebody’s attention to come open the case for you.”

He stared, trying to turn around to stop you, but you were already out of his reach as you smiled, just disappearing back behind some nearby clothing racks.

You intentionally took longer than necessary as well as you did put back enough of the clothes to make up for the money you’d given him. You wanted to make sure he really did follow through with having them get one of the watches out before you’d come anywhere near again.

It took a while, but he must have finally relented, unable to resist the temptation, and reinforcing your thought that he really had seen one he especially wanted as you’d finally wandered over once more just as the saleswoman had been handing it over to him.

She rang it up then and there at the counter as he’d immediately put it on that empty spot on his left wrist.

Curious, you’d tried to get a better look at which one he’d picked, moving closer before he suddenly swung his right arm out, catching you around the shoulders and pulling you even closer even with the awkwardness of his crutch still under that arm.

You felt a warm kiss planted just as fast on your cheek before you could respond. The saleswoman giving you both an odd look as Peter only grinned to you. “Thanks, babe. I’ll make it up to you at some point. Promise.”

You moved slightly, not really caring about the money or the stares of any of the store staff as you still tried to get a look at the watch, grabbing his hand. “Well which one did you get?”

He let you take his hand easily, grasping his fingers around your own in return as he tilted his wrist to let you get a good view. “Check it out, digital face, but it counts seconds and hundredths of a second. And you can change it to stopwatch mode too. Also water resistant to 100 meters...though not quite sure when I’d need that.”

“Jean said the motel the others were staying at has a pool,” You commented lightly, though still looking at the bright, silver colored metal watch band and face. “Quicksilver.” You added absently, reading the model name also etched there.

He paused, “What did you say?”

“Oh, the pool? Jean said the Professor mentioned that, though he still is looking for some place less rundown-”

“No, what you said after.”

“Huh?” You glanced back up.

“Quick what?”

“Oh.” You realized, turning your hand which was still holding his so the etching would better face him as well. “That must be the model.”

He must have not even noticed until that point, also reading it then. But he pulled you in even a little closer then as he leaned his head against yours, seeming to contemplate something.

“What?” You asked.

“I think I just had a...hell, what do you call them? Epitaph?”

Your eyebrows raised, looking at him in real confusion then. “Um...like on a gravestone?”

“No, no.” He was still trying to find the word. “Dammit, when the light bulb goes off you know...like something hits you and it’s awesome!”

“Epiphany?” You questioned after another moment, though still highly unsure of where this was going.

“Yes! Totally!” He let go of your hand then, before giving an awkward high five as you hadn’t been expecting it.

But you were still thoroughly confused, even as the saleswoman had now excused herself, gladly wandering off to assist other customers. And even the store detective just coughed somewhere in the distance, finding you both no longer a theft threat as much as just just two more weird young people he was not going to ever understand.

——————————

If anyone noticed that the amount of things you rang up were visibly less than what Jean, Ororo, and Kurt had gotten, no one said anything.

Soon enough you were all back in the van again, but Peter kept admiring the watch still. The odd beep and chime going off on it every now and then as he played with its functions.

It was evident enough, that even the Professor finally looked back at him. Which Peter noticed as well just grinning. “I didn’t steal it.” He proclaimed proudly.

“I know you didn’t,” Xavier answered, but then giving you an odd look next.

You tried to smile back, but weren’t sure if this might now be the time to bring up your plan or not with the Professor’s attention on you. Yet before you could think to say anything more, Peter just added happily. “Oh, and Prof., if you do reboot the X-Men, I’m Quicksilver. So I call dibs on that, the rest of you will have to think of your own stuff. Though I’m pretty creative, I can help for maybe a small fee if you need inspiration.”

“Seriously?” You answered, just turning your head to look at Peter then.

But you were even more surprised when Xavier actually looked impressed for a moment. “Quicksilver? Hmm. An old nickname for liquid mercury. Which of course in the Roman pantheon, Mercury was also the god of trickery, thieves, and often depicted with wings on his feet as the fastest of the gods. He-”

“Uh.” Peter interrupted. “I was more thinking that my hair is silver and I’m quick. Also this badass watch (Y/N) bought me says that on it. But that god stuff is cool too I guess.”

You heard Raven about snort laughing as the Professor’s thoughtful expression quickly faded. “Fair enough.”

—————————

By the time you did reach the rental car lot, you tried to get Xavier’s attention before he could go inside the rental office with Raven. You almost jogged up to him actually, that worried about missing your chance.

Yet as you reached him, you saw him wave Raven off, telling her he would be just a moment. She only shrugged, walking ahead inside.

Before you could even open your mouth though, he just gave you another curious look. “You know, for all your worrying about this, it’s the ride home that I’m more concerned about. You realize from Washington D.C. back to New York, that’s going to be about a five hour drive all on your own.”

You don’t know why you felt any surprise. Honestly it was more of a relief though that you didn’t have to explain everything from scratch. Having a psychic as a father figure had its benefits at times, if otherwise you felt you would have difficulty communicating something.

“I promise I’ll call as soon as I get to Peter’s and again when I leave?” You offered with hope.

“I’d really feel better if you had one of the others to ride back with...” He countered, but giving a sympathetic look. “You know, of all my students, I just...you really are one of the last I’d expect to befriend him this way. And I say that with me actually being quite fond of him. Though admittedly I did think him just a pain in the arse when I first met him. I didn’t have my powers then though to see any deeper. So it wasn’t the best first impression to be honest.”

You both glanced over at Peter who now seemed preoccupied with playing with those stolen sunglasses as he just chatted with the others. He’d agreed to let you plea the case to Xavier on your own, thinking you could probably be the more sincere and convincing of the two of you.

“I think he’d really like to come to the school once everything’s rebuilt,” You added, looking back to the Professor.

“Yes, I know.” Xavier agreed. “He’s really hit it off with you all. He’s enjoyed this despite everything else. It’s nice to see, really. Though...I do still worry about the inevitably of his father returning. There will still be a lot to unpack there. And Erik may not want him at the school as much as Erik’s always disagreed with some of my worldviews.”

You frowned a little, having not thought about Magneto in quite a while now. “If he cares about Peter at all though, you’d think he’d realize it’d be better for him to be somewhere he had friends. Where he’s happy...”

“One would hope.” Xavier answered, but then looking to you once more. “You’re sure about this aren’t you? Determined to make the drive back alone?”

“I mean, if anyone tried to give me trouble, I could always use my powers.” Yet you still smirked, parroting his teaching you’d heard for years. “But still as discreetly as possible of course.”

He took a breath, that concern still not leaving his expression even as he relented. “You have come a long way since that little child I met all those years ago.”

“I wasn’t that little.” You smiled, knowing full well which day he was remembering. When you’d been sitting, feeling abandoned in that airport as your real father had been explaining again this place you were being sent to in New York. Saying he’d call you all the time once you got there, all the while you knew he never would.

That’d been the first day you’d ever met Charles. When your own family was too afraid of you, when they were far happier to have you move across the country. But Xavier had flown all the way there just to share the plane ride back to New York, with your stubborn, silent self.

Abruptly you leaned down, putting your arms around the Professor’s shoulders as you hugged him. “I’m really glad you’re okay,” You said, knowing full well how close you all had come to losing him only a few days ago.

He laughed lightly, but returned the gesture even though he was a little surprised. “Or you’re just happy to get your way. Do be careful alright? Both of you.”

“I promise. Thank you.” You smiled, really meaning it before you let go of him to stand back up.

As you did so, you could see Peter looking your way. He gave a questioning expression, then turning his thumb down then up as if to ask the results.

You smirked, nodding as him thumb went up to confirm the Professor had agreed with your plan.

“Sweet!” You heard Peter exclaim from all the way over there.

————————

Xavier had given you the phone number to the motel in New York that the others were driving to. They’d gotten another van, though thankfully a little newer than the beaten up government one they were now leaving behind.

A car had been rented for you and Peter. A blazing red thing you now leaned against as you waited for him. You’d already said your goodbyes, which were pretty brief as you expected to see the others again soon.

You were still close enough to overhear as Peter got to Scott however. It caught your attention as you’d heard Peter’s tone change.

“Hey, man...I wanted to say I’m sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t get your brother out.”

It was the first time you’d heard Peter talk about that specifically with Scott. But when would have been the right time?

Yet Peter kept on pretty quickly, the awkwardness obviously still there even with that hint of guilt. “If um, if I lived closer you know, or I wasn’t in this damn thing-” He’d motioned to his cast. “I’d run up there and go to the service too. I mean, I know how important siblings are...”

Scott seemed a little taken aback himself, but shook his head. “Don’t be sorry. None of it would have happened if it wasn’t for that psycho god, whatever we want to call him. And he got his. It’s all we can do.”

You could hear the little bit of waver in Scott’s voice though, and you knew the sad reality would likely be that it still wouldn’t fully hit him that Alex was truly gone until Scott was back home with his parents, and his brother was glaringly absent.

But Peter just patted him on the shoulder before walking back to you on his crutches.

His eyes were still a bit sad, but he smiled at you as he neared you. “Well, ready for a roadtrip, babe?”

“They gave us a road atlas, so I think so.” You answered, already walking to open the passenger door for him.

“Ah, maps are for suckers.” He answered, handing you his crutches so he could sit down in the seat. “Sure, it’ll look way different going so slow, but I have an excellent sense of direction.”

“Uh huh,” You responded with a healthy bit of skepticism. “We’ll see.”

—————————

“So...we’re finally alone.” Peter said, still snacking on whatever brightly colored candy that actually was that you’d grabbed from the gas station for him.

“Sure, and going seventy miles an hour on the interstate, while I need to keep my hands on the wheel and eyes on the road to not kill us, yes.” You answered.

“It’s practically a straight line, it about drives itself.” He responded, but while just fiddling with the radio for the umpteenth time.

Every time a station went to commercial, it was clear he couldn’t handle the wait for the music to come back, only trying to find something else to listen to right away.

You finally laughed a little as he’d accidentally found some other talk show yet again.

“What?”

“I’m waiting for that dial to fall off in your hand.”

“Man, you think one of these gas stations has some cassettes or something?”

“I have no idea.”

“Hey, are you hungry yet?”

You shrugged. “I could probably eat.” The bit of food on the plane had been pretty awful. You hadn’t even finished it.

“I need to pee anyway.”

“Again?” You glanced at him. “That’s gotta be the Mountain Dew.”

“Oh yeah, that’s all gone.” He shook his empty cup, just the sound of ice jostling around in it. “I’m thinking Dr. Pepper now...and a cheeseburger. Maybe McDonalds?”

“Sure.” It really didn’t matter to you. All those fast food places were all about the same. “Golden Arches it is then...let me know if you see an exit with one and I’ll-”

“There was one.” He pointed as it went right by.

“Um...one with a little more notice please.”

“Got it. I’m on watch, captain.” He gave a little mocking salute, before pulling his sunglasses back down as if that would somehow help his focus as he stared out to all the upcoming exit signs ahead.

——————————

He was adamant about going inside to eat instead of just going through the drive thru once you did find the next McDonalds. You wondered if he was trying to stretch out your time together a little more.

Which you would have no complaints if so, now laughing as you sat at a table inside. You’d seen the odd looks an older couple had given you as they’d come in, and Peter was fairly certain it was due to his silver hair.

“I mean I could always try a mohawk, full on punk if they think this is too weird,” He commented, pulling some of the silver bangs back in front his face as he chewed on some fries. “I still think Ororo’s is badass, but I don’t know if I have the right head shape for it. What do you think?”

“What head shape is a person supposed to have?” You asked, seriously not knowing, but still smiling.

“Of course even the best hair gel doesn’t hold up too well when I run. It probably wouldn’t stay up long.”

“Uh huh.”

“Hey, are you even listening to me or just admiring the view?” He grinned in what you were sure was supposed to be his attempt at a dashing look, albeit with a little bit of ketchup still at the corner of his mouth.

“Can’t I do both?” You answered wryly, just taking another sip of your drink.

“You gonna stay for a little bit after we get to my house?” He asked abruptly then.

“Well I wasn’t planning on just throwing you in the yard and driving away. But it is a decent drive back to New York.”

“You could spend the night.”

You quieted, that warmth rising back in your chest. But you didn’t think he meant it that way. You chose to believe that anyway.

“Well it’s not like we haven’t slept together before.” He continued.

“Slept in the same bed.” You quickly corrected. “In the same bed. With clothes on.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Semantics. And it was nice, right?”

“It was.” You admitted. But that didn’t mean the chance was going to come again anytime soon. “And semantics? Really? After trying to remember the difference between epitaph and epiphany?”

“Hey! I shine every now and then. It’s not always a swing and a miss.” He gave a pretend pouting look. “Fancy private schooler picking on a poor high school dropout, come on.”

“Well, it’s not like I’ll have much reason to study anytime soon.” You admitted. “This was a really dramatic way to get out of my organic chemistry final.”

And he really did look pleased at that. “So you’ll have plenty of time to hang out with the bad influence that is Pietro once I get this cast off. You said that place had a pool right? Sounds like a party.”

—————————

Traffic hadn’t been too terrible the rest of the way. And you’d only gotten turned around a couple times, despite his self proclaimed excellent sense of direction.

Even though you knew it’d been hours, it didn’t feel that way at all. You both mostly just talking about whatever, or even when it was quiet, just listening to the music he chose.

It wasn’t all even rock music to your surprise. He seemed to like just about everything. But when you recognized a song as a favorite of your own, you did notice how his excitement grew a little. You wondered how often if at all he’d really gotten to share that love of music with anyone else.

By the time you’d gotten off the interstate again and the roads started to get smaller and smaller, you knew you must be getting close even before you started to see houses here and there.

“Hey, woah up for a second,” He said raising his hand abruptly.

You did so, but only gently pulling to a stop on the side of the street to not block any other traffic as you looked over at him.

Not that there were any other cars. You thought maybe you saw someone walking their dogs in the distance.

But he didn’t say anything for a moment, just taking his sunglasses off again as he turned his head to meet your gaze.

“What?” You asked as another song started on the radio. It was slow, but you thought you’d heard it somewhere before.

“It’s just around the corner.” He looked almost sad for a moment though, before suddenly smiling again. “My house I mean. You’re going to come inside, right?”

“Well...yeah, as long as that’s okay with your Mom anyway.” But even as you answered, a new bit of nervousness found you. What if she blamed you when she saw he’d been hurt though? Would she think you or your friends were dangerous? You’d never thought of that until this moment actually.

You blinked when you felt his hand touch your face, drawn back out of your thoughts as that song continued on in the background.

“Can I kiss you?” He asked then.

But you just tilted your head slightly in question. It’s not like he’d ever truly asked before. Though you could never really tease someone for wanting continued permission.

And was he nervous too? Knowing he was about to be home again and that this would be over, at least for the time being?

You unbuckled your seatbelt easily enough, leaning across the center console as he did the same.

The kiss was soft though as you closed your eyes. His hand moved gently behind your neck as he held you in close. It felt just as good as the times before.

But you knew there wasn’t much more either of you could do now. You both had to go home.

He was the one that finally pulled back, just looking at you contentedly for a moment before he shifted fully back into his seat.

“You know, my Mom’s going to think I’m full of shit if I say I made any friends...and more than a friend too.”

“You can call me whatever you want, whatever you’re comfortable with,” you said honestly. It’d just be easier, because you didn’t know what was right or wrong either.

Whatever happened, you were just grateful for what you’d already had. How could you not be?

—————————

The black mailbox with Maximoff lettered on the side came up soon enough as you pulled carefully into the driveway, before throwing the transmission into park and killing the ignition.

It was a neat little house, with hedges on the side of the property line and some white patio furniture you could just see up a small incline with decorative stones leading up to it.

The house was also directly across from a public green space with jogging or walking paths weaving between several trees it looked like. Which was a little amusing as you wondered if Peter ever used them.

After you’d gotten out, you rounded around the back of the car, pulling Peter’s crutches from the backseat. He’d already opened the passenger door and stood up as well, before you realized the front door of the house was also opening.

“Peter!” You heard a woman call, and you looked up to see a little bit older woman with dark blond hair now rushing down the steps.

Her arms flung around him as soon as she got close enough, holding him like that for only a moment before she pulled back away. “They wouldn’t tell me anything! Those assholes in the suits, whoever they were! They wouldn’t even tell me where you were-” She looked down, “God, your leg, are you hurt anywhere else?” But then just as quickly her eyes were on his face again, critically, “He did it, didn’t he? I told you! I told you he would hurt you and you don’t listen, this whole time I haven’t slept, do you know that!?”

“Mom!” Peter finally exclaimed, trying to get a word in, as he grabbed her shoulders. “They were CIA, I just told them to tell you I was okay. It hasn’t exactly been a breeze getting back home, this was the best I could do. And it wasn’t Dad, he didn’t-”

“Like hell! Did you see San Francisco? Did you see New York City!? Buildings ripped apart, Peter! Who else could do that!? It’s all the news can talk about, he-”

“It wasn’t just him! Would you just listen for-”

“You could have been killed!” She yelled, her voice almost echoing now off the side of the house as you just stood there still holding his crutches.

You felt entirely invisible to be honest as the two of them just continued, only focused on one another in their arguing.

It was so loud actually that you didn’t even hear someone else then walking up behind you from the park across the street. You didn’t know they were there at all before their voice was almost right beside you.

“Who are you?”

You startled at the question, turning your head to see a young woman now standing there. Her eyes were dark and guarded, the very first thing you noticed honestly as you reflexively took a step back closer to the car.

“Wanda! You’re here!” You heard Peter’s voice rise again though. “A little help here please!”

But Peter’s mother only kept on. “You leave your sister out of this! She’s not the one that ran off after a sociopath and disappeared for days!”

“He’s our father!” He yelled back.

Yet the girl with the long auburn hair kept her attention on you for another moment. “Well whoever you are, you’re probably going to regret coming here.”

You could only remain silent though after that as she just walked on to her mother and brother.

She hugged Peter abruptly, working her way between the two even in their fighting. “I knew you were alright. I could still feel you, even though Mom didn’t believe me. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t an idiot.”

Peter seemed to calm some at Wanda’s touch though, just responding. “You have no idea. I punched a god in the face. It’s a long story.”

——————————

(Continued in next chapter here.)

[your-fav-is-an-ib-kid]

idk if you want/can answer questions like this but um do you have any advice for people going into the IB program ?

hi! Good luck on the getting into IB! I would absolutely love to give some advice. As much as this blog jokes and complains about it the program can be a really cool thing that teaches you a lot of skills and the content can be super engaging if you have good teachers. Every school is different naturally but here are some general tips! (And this blog is certainly followed by plenty of current or former IB kids so if any followers have advice please feel free to add to this post!)

1. First and foremost: You’ll be fine. So again, this whole blog is full of people complaining and joking but the IB program is nowhere near as bad as the worst you’ll hear. Don’t let the culture around it trick you; if you do the work you will be okay. Staying all night every night, needing caffeine to survive, having no social life etc are not actually things that should be part of your normal life and if you’re that overwhelmed there’s likely problem you may need to work on. Find what works best for you, keep up with the work, and keep an eye of your mental health. It might be harder than what you’re used to at first and there may be an adjustment period but you can do it promise. 

2. Actually do the work and prep work. It is 1000% easier when you take the time to do the work. Could you not read the material and BS- class discussions and exams? Maybe. But it will be way harder than actually taking the time to read the book. And hey some of it may actually be pretty interesting.

3. Try your absolute hardest not to procrastinate. Especially on the big stuff. Pretty basic tip but boy does it help. Sometimes procrastination feds from an anxiety about doing it right. Know that just starting gets you on that path. Sometimes it’s executive dysfunction. Find your best personal fix for that: setting timers for stating and breaks, setting specific times, pairing a task with another easier chore or pair it with going out somewhere else, having a designated study zone/time, break the task down etc. Personally I also like writing down assignments as due much earlier than it’s actually due to trick my brain. Whatever works!

4. Learn to study. A lot of IB kids are ex-gifted kids who never learned to study but in IB you actually need to. Even if you aren’t it’s good to learn to be good at studying. Learn what’s best with you. Do you need a designated study area? Alone or with classmates? Test questions or reading over notes? Try to avoid cramming though-study in blocks. You’ll especially need to learn how to memorize memorize memorize

5. Make friends with your fellow IB kids. You’re all in this together and it’s much more fun to be stuck with friends. And to have peers to work with. Make study groups, make group chats, have hang-outs. This can help you succeed in class and keep your mental health intact. Reach out to teachers too when you’re struggling ideally, they should be there to help you

I believe they changed some of the exams and things after I graduated so some specifics may not be relevant. Any recent grads/current students please feel free to correct me. But here’s some quick specific tips:

1. get started early (start logging CAS activities ASAP, brainstorm ideas and prepare sources for essays and projects (especially the EE!) long before you need it, read the literature and memorize quotes, prepare your arguments and evidence and understand both.

2. Anything can count for CAS if you make it count

3. Know your literary features

4. make sure to prepare for the specific format of the exams and projects. IB is very strict about their guidelines. Ideally your teachers should prepare you by teaching these guidelines and giving practice papers. Most of them are essays and many of them you have to come with evidence memorized

5. Take classes that interest you. there’s not a whole lot to choice in IB but if your school gives you options absolutely take them.

Overall good luck! Don’t stress! You’ll get what you put into it. And then you can come back and laugh with the rest of us.