Vent under da cut or smth
Every now and again I get so brutally reminded of the fact that whatever I do I will never feel "autistic" enough. And it's like whatever sure I have autism I'll always have it and it's not like I hate myself for having autism or anything it's just. Somehow I managed to absorb so many neurotypical habits that make it so much more difficult to communicate with ANYONE. I'm too. Fucking. Off-putting for neurotypical people and I'm too. Complicated for autistic ppl.
Like the whole thing ab ragging on "neurotypicals not saying what they mean" -- those rules make Sense to me! The social customs of like. Not saying when you're mad but wanting the other person to pick up on it bc you don't rlly wanna talk about the issue it's like. I get it. Mostly from the perspective of like "if I say I'm mad people will either get mad at me For that or want to Talk about it and I want neither of those" and. Like. It's so often that these rules are called stupid but like. They Make Sense to me. Sure maybe that's masking but like. At this point it's so much more to "unmask"
Also somehow some way I manage to talk ab my special interests in a way that either annoys, bores, or like. Disturbs people. And it's like. I don't know what im doing. Wrong. Ppl in my friend group seem to get it right. I mean I've gotten the "you always wanna talk about that why are you so self centered" from neurotypicals but I've also gotten a lot of "oh of course it's that when isn't it that" from autistic friends.
Idk. I just feel like I'm doing so much wrong and that I'm not. Idk. "Good" enough. I'm tired
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vincible
vincible | mark grayson x gn!reader (fluff)
alright since you all asked so kindly here's the fluff from my last hc 🫶🏾 :
cw: slightly suggestive but nothing nsfw. that's all :D
"why's it looking at me like that?"
the two of you are in bed and with his weight pinning you down, you find it hard to concentrate on what he means.
your head's all fuzzy with the way he's been drowning you in kisses. he kisses you like it might be his last chance to do so: sweet, languid until they melt into something more feral. the way his costume hugs his body doesn't exactly help your concentration, either.
your body's warm as it soaks up his body heat - he's like a fucking furnace - and it yearns. . no. . demands for his attention. you ignore him, making a soft, impatient sound that sounds more like a whine as you try to guide his lips back onto yours.
however, he keeps his head turned to your right, staring at a spot on your bed and says, "what're you lookin' at, huh?"
you pull back, confused, then follow his line of vision.
finally, you see what he sees: a stuffed animal perched against your pillow.
you watch as mark squints at the toy, then, tilts his head and scoffs in indignation as if it's just hurled an insult his way.
"what'd you say?" mark sits up and away from you, puffing out his chest.
the plushie stares at mark with big, black, empty eyes.
you stare up at mark, confused, as he carries on his one sided beef with your plushie.
"they cuddle you while im not here?"
mark crawls over to your plushie and grabs it by its soft neck, his fingers wrapping around the entirety. he pulls it close, putting his nose right up against the toy's. "you wanna say that again, tough guy? don't you know who i am?"
"mark, what're you doing -" you giggle, leaning back on your elbows to watch the ridiculous display before he shushes you.
"hey, you stay out of this. i'll deal with you later." he snaps before turning his attention back to the toy. "oh, you don't care? well, let's see if you care about this -"
mark suddenly shoves the toy into his face.
he flops down atop your bed, wildly flailing with one hand while the other mushes the plushie against his face. he's comically good at it, too, looking like he's being mauled by some feral cat.
he's only emboldened by your uncontrollable laughter: grunting with effort as he rolls over the stuffy and delivers a few blows. even making his own sound effects before he rolls onto his back, your toy gaining the upper hand once again.
this time, he sits the toy atop his face and flails like he's being suffocated. eventually, his body falls limp. the hand that isn't holding the toy upright falling limply at the side of your bed.
your plushie's fought dirty and won.
"i dunno, mark," you manage to say between hiccuping laughs, "you seem pretty vincible to me."
"very funny." comes his muffled voice from beneath the toy. he sits up, stuffy still in hand as he fixes you with an accusatory glare. "laugh. yeah, laugh, while your boyfriend's being mercilessly beaten."
he crawls closer and he thrusts the toy in your direction, waving it side to side by the back of the neck, holding it at arm's length like he's afraid it'll attack him. "i guess you want him now, don't you?"
you raise a brow. "don't misgender my plushies, grayson."
mark retracts the plushie and flips it upside down, looking at its bottom. "oh, right."
you let out a chortle of laughter and he's on you in seconds: pinning you down and smushing the plushie against your face, making kissy sounds while you breathlessly beg him to stop.
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