#instead so people can just focus on him being autistic or depressed and ignore that he cares deeply and intensely for

[abimee]

wrote up a huge sappy post about tock and my time playing xiv so far and endwalker but then i fell asleep after eating bad fast food and now im embarassed to post all of that so just know i think endwalker was the greatest video game story ive ever played and hermes and meteion are going to stick in my head forever and tock is my most important oc. thats the basics

[lunarlegend]

some hurt/comfort musings

i’ve been reading a lot of MT!Prompto fics lately. this is mostly because hurt!Prompto fics are the only thing i can stomach anymore, but. well, there’s some logic behind it.

most obvious is that hurt!Ignis or hurt!Gladio content is 100% out of the question for me; i can barely handle imagining either of them even getting so much as a papercut, never mind anything worse. the whole point of h/c for me is that it soothes my anxiety, not causes it, so either of them in the role of “hurt” is an automatic no.

i used to be able to read hurt!Noctis fics, but i had to stop for a couple of reasons. one, i get genuinely depressed over Noct’s death in canon & all the suffering he had to go through, so reading about more of it doesn’t feel nice at all. and two, i learned the hard way that people like to ship him with his canon older brother/parental figure (aka Ignis), which obviously grosses me out to no end, and too many hurt!Noct fics turn shippy, often without warning. so, big no.

that leaves Prompto, who wins because he is not Ignis or Gladio, and also because Promnis (while i don’t actually ship it at all) doesn’t make me want to puke, so if it turns shippy, i can easily ignore it or just deal with it.

i’ve stumbled across a very pleasant (for me) theme though, which is that a lot of hurt!Prompto fics (especially ones that bring those MT elements into it) put a ton of focus on what Prompto would have dealt with had he actually been raised in Niflheim...in other words, a lot of childhood trauma, which is what i also have, which is why he’s so wonderful to project onto as the “hurt” one in a hurt/comfort scenario.

but what i love even more is how Ignis is often portrayed as the caretaker in these sorts of fics, because he tends to go full parent mode and it’s amazing.

i read one recently that's stuck with me (in a good way), because the way Ignis reacts to (former MT) Prompto as he discovers the world is exactly how i wish someone would’ve reacted to me at various points in my life.

Ignis, in this fic, has a way of acknowledging Prompto’s apprehensions & fears without being dismissive or patronizing, and he’ll follow this by immediately guiding Prompto in a different direction and getting him focused on something that’s easier for him to handle. it’s a very practical “you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to; let’s try this instead. here, i’ll help you,” approach, which is not only a wonderful display of patience and understanding in general, but also an ideal way (in my opinion) to recognize another person’s struggles without acting superior to them or harming their dignity.

i love and appreciate such characterizations of Ignis, because i feel they fit him in terms of the fact that he literally is a caretaker. Ignis spent most of his life looking after, and helping to raise, Noctis; a large part of his job requires him not only to maintain patience and empathy for his charge, but also the ability to strategize and to remain level-headed in times of crisis, emotional or otherwise.

i believe that Ignis, upon noticing someone becoming triggered or overwhelmed, would react exactly as he does in this fic--by strategizing a way around the situation to the benefit of the person who is having a difficult time, without causing them to feel inferior for something they can’t help. which, tbh, is not only a great way to support someone who is dealing with trauma, but is also a great way to support an autistic person who is having a meltdown/shutdown (and gods, would i have given anything to have had an Ignis, on so many different occasions).

anyway, hurt/comfort fanfiction is literally how i discovered FFXV to begin with, and almost 2 years later, it’s still one of the most significant ways these characters help me and allow me to self-soothe. caretaker!Ignis especially, because gosh, what a perfect mama bird to imprint on.

i’m sorry i like it when you’re hurt, Prompto, but it’s only so i can read about Ignis taking care of you!

[spencers-renaissance]

A Chronicle of Loss

Summary: 5 people Spencer Reid lost and 1 person he gained. A look at the traumas Spencer faces over the series, and giving him the happy ending he deserves.

Tags: grief, loss, abandonment issues, insecurity, depression, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, getting together, ‘didn’t know they were dating’, protective derek, autistic spencer

TW: self-harm, drug addiction, grief

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Spencer Reid

Word Count: 3.6k

Masterlist // Read on AO3

The Inescapable Unravelling (<)

1. William

Spencer’s only ten years old when he watches his father pack his bags in his parents’ bedroom, watches as he smiles sadly at the sorry sight of him and his mother begging him not to leave, only to ignore their pleas and walk out the door. He remembers the anxiety written on his mother’s face, the shame in her eyes at being left in such a cruel way, the uncertainty as to whether they’d cope without William like it’s branded onto his skin, an egregious mark he can’t ignore. 

Just like that, he became the man of the house. He became the voice of reason, the sensible one, the person dealing with Diana’s episodes, all while balancing his school work in a desperate attempt to live a different life to the one he existed in as a child. 

He knows it wasn’t solely Diana, or Riley Jenkins, or any average marital issue that caused him to leave, he knows it was partly that William simply didn’t know how to handle an autistic child prodigy. He had a genius son who struggled with communication, had no friends, and refused to engage in any of the bonding activities he came up with. In the end, Spencer being different only compounded his desire to leave and, eventually, he stopped suppressing it and gave in.

He’d never blame his mother, but her confusion in her episodes often sent him flying down half a flight of steps or clutching a stinging cheek or banging his head on a door frame. She called him clumsy and he didn’t correct her. She called him ‘crash’ and he accepted the nickname. Without William there, he was completely and utterly alone, left to deal with the grief of losing a father and a schizophrenic mother who struggled to look after herself, let alone him. 

He still thinks about it all these years later. He thinks about what his father said to Diana when he left: “you refuse to take care of yourself.” He reflects on the fact that he was well aware Diana wouldn’t be able to take care of him, that he would be left to fend for himself, that a 10 year old can’t provide adequate mental health support no matter how hard he tries, and he still left. He thinks about what that meant, how little his father actually cared for him. 

He still thinks about it, and he still cries. His first encounter with grief, and he was only 10 years old. 

2. Innocence

Spencer had joined the BAU at 22: three PhDs under his belt and a lifetime of expectation on his shoulders, but somehow he’d managed to remain the most innocent member of the team throughout the first few years of his job. Until Tobias Hankel had taken it and completely obliterated any shreds of naivete he had left. 

Of course, he knew evil. He’d even experienced it first-hand, he’d been viciously bullied growing up and he’d encountered his fair share of violent, deranged serial killers, but Tobias -- or, more accurately, Charles and Raphael -- introduced him to evil on a completely new scale. The pain and fear that had tormented him in that cabin lived in a secluded, festering part of his psyche, reproducing at a terrifying rate in his memory, never resting, never quieting, unless dilaudid was streaming through his veins. 

His innocence was gone; there was only darkness, loneliness, corruption, and he was grieving for something he’d never get back. His life was now separated into two distinctly different eras, marked only by his kidnapping, by the cruel torture he’d been subjected to. 

Along with his innocence, he’d lost his relationships, he’d lost the family he’d found and loved so dearly. Nobody tried to help him escape the clutches of his PTSD or addiction, he felt like he was drowning right in front of his friends while they talked and laughed among themselves, muffling his desperate cries for help, and the frustration and abandonment joined the pain and fear in their festering corner of his mind. 

He eventually gets clean, he eventually recovers. But he’s never the same. He’s forever tainted by the actions of one man -- a man he struggled to blame -- and he can’t help but mourn the life he had before Tobias, the optimistic, brightly coloured world-view he used to hold before it was ripped up, stamped on, and burned to ashes right before his eyes. 

3. Gideon

Gideon leaves. Gideon leaves and the blow is almost as crushing as it was when he was ten. His mentor, his father figure, his friend abandons him with no warning, no goodbye. It hurts that he didn’t think Spencer worthy of anything more than a useless fucking letter that he left for him in a cabin because he knew that Spencer loved him enough to drive out there and find it; he knew that Gideon was much more special to Spencer than he ever was to him.

This pain feels almost worse because he’s surrounded by people feeling the same way, if to a less extreme extent. He finds himself comparing himself to Hotch, Derek, the whole team: it makes him feel as though he’s overreacting when even Penelope, arguably the most emotive member of the BAU, seems back on her feet within a few days and Spencer still feels as though he’s been hollowed out and all his insides replaced with the smouldering ashes of grief filling him up, weighing heavy in his stomach, climbing up his throat and choking him. 

He drags his feet, he doesn’t sleep, he drinks coffee, he runs on auto-pilot. Others notice, of course they do, but there’s nothing any of them can say to make it better, not even Hotch when he’s pulled into his office and sternly told that he needs to open up. Spencer just looks at him with empty, exhausted eyes and shrugs. Weeks ago, he would’ve cried but there aren’t anymore tears to cry, he’s reached a truce with himself. He isn’t happy but he isn’t crushingly depressed anymore: he feels nothing, an abyss of grey matter circling around inside him as he struggles to perform basic functions. 

“It’ll get better, kid,” Derek says seriously one day when he sits down at his desk, dullness settled deep in his eyes and numbness deep in his veins. It doesn’t feel like it. 

Rossi joins the team and he’s nothing but cold towards Spencer and the rejection only adds insult to injury, and nobody seems to care. His stomach hurts all the time and he’s losing weight again, he knows, but he can’t seem to put any effort into anything at all, least of all trying to be happy, trying to look after himself. 

He’s lost his protector and he’s replaced by another person who sees him as an intentional but irritating robot to be used and discarded, not thought of again until another geographical profile is required, or an obscure fact would help the investigation. The agony of existence for almost a year after Gideon’s disappearance feels almost too much to bear, even if Rossi does warm up to him, even if he does eventually begin to heal and forgive. It’s the first time grief almost kills him, and he isn’t even mourning the dead. 

4. Emily

Emily’s death tears him apart. For the first time since the year after Hankel, he considers many things. He buys dilaudid and fiddles with the bottle every evening, torn between the sweet relief he knows would be guaranteed the second it’s flooding his bloodstream and the torment of knowing it was Emily who helped him get clean the first time, how disappointed she’d be if she knew he was throwing away all those hours she put in, disregarding the belief she had in him. 

He holds a razor over the top of his thighs and slashes as deep as he can bear, daydreams about burying the blade deep enough to slice open his femoral artery and give up, embrace the darkness that’s been living inside him for years anyway. But he can’t stand the grief it would bring JJ, losing another sibling to suicide, even if he isn’t blood related. He doesn’t want to hurt anyone but himself, but it’s so cripplingly tempting and the frustration at not being able to give in to any of his darker fantasies has him tearing his heart out. 

Instead he cries, sobs, weeps, over the death of his best friend, shouts in anger at the unfairness of Emily’s life being taken by a dirty criminal while he gets to live as she’s six feet under, dark and cold in the ground. Images of her beautiful face he loved so much rotting away, turning into something grotesque and mangled roam around in his brain and he berates himself relentlessly for not appreciating her wide grin and teasing eyes more, hates himself for not appreciating every single moment with her that he could. 

And when she miraculously rises from the dead, he can’t even appreciate it because he feels as though he’s lost another friend. JJ, the one person he tried every day to live for, pictured in his mind every time he considered ending everything, had deceived him, had held him while he cried, held a cool washcloth to his forehead after he threw up from the force of his crying and the extremity of his grief, had watched him writhe in agony, all while having the power to stop it and doing nothing. 

The betrayal dizzies him: he doesn’t know who he can trust and the shock of Emily’s return leaves him reeling. He’s cold to the people he loves, and he can’t rejoice in Emily’s return, can’t sit down with her and chat like they used to, or hug her again, or joke with her, or prank Derek together. Again, he’s drowning and this time everyone’s focus is on him but he’s refusing their hands reaching out to help, stubbornly accepting his fate, too scared to take an outstretched arm in case it lets him go again. Surely the cold darkness of the cruel waters is kinder than another rejection or deception?

Finally, finally, he decides to trust one hand and he’s pulled above the waters again, not quite out of the ocean but at least he can breathe. Eventually, he finds the strength to walk to shore and he’s wrapped up in Emily’s strong arms, burying his face in her hair and swearing he’ll never let go again. 

5. Alex

He never, not for a moment, blames Alex for her decision to let go. If anything he admires her for it, he’s proud she made the right decision for her and her family, and at least he saw this one coming. He’s lost enough people by this point that the loss doesn’t ache and burn and fester in the way it used to, and they stay in contact; they have a bi-weekly FaceTime call and she texts him memes that he doesn’t understand and book recommendations regularly. 

But that’s not to say that losing his maternal figure on the team, the woman who he’d connected with the fastest out of any BAU member, who had understood him in a way no-one else could, who loved and cared for him like a son, doesn’t stab him in the gut. 

He’d take a bullet for absolutely everyone on the team, but he hadn’t taken a bullet for Alex out of some misguided loyalty to a coworker or because she was a member of the BAU, he’d taken a bullet for her because she was the best person he knew, and - plain and simple - some inner, more primal instinct within him wanted to save her life. And she’d stayed with him at the hospital, a little due to her guilt, a little due to her seeing Ethan in him, but mostly because she loved him. 

And he loved her. So seeing her walk down those stairs and knowing she wouldn’t walk into the bullpen the next morning - no matter how much he knew that this was the right thing for her to do - left him feeling hollow again, a little broken, a lot sore. He missed her deeply, both because she was an amazing asset to the team, but also because she’s a beautiful person who brought sunshine to his gloomy world. She had an indescribable talent for making him happy, and he felt her absence in his every-day life bitterly.

Although she’s still around, she still finds ways to brighten his day, still has some creepy telepathic ability to know when he’s down and exactly how to make him feel better, it’s another loss to add to the many he’s somehow managed to have collected over the years. And he can’t seem to tell the grief in his heart any different. 

At least this time it can be temporarily alleviated by a text message. It’s more than he could have asked for, really. 

The Gradual Intertwining (>)

+1 Derek

He falls in love with Derek like the kind of slow and steady drizzle that’s almost indistinguishable from heavy mist; so easily confused for the ordinary, familiar platonic feelings he’s harboured for years. It’s because of this that he doesn’t put up an umbrella, he continues walking as he’s gradually soaked in deep, entrenched yearning, until one day, he finally realises it’s raining. 

It’s on the morning of Rossi’s 60th birthday party that it finally clicks and, suddenly, it’s obvious. He let Derek carry him to bed last night after he fell asleep watching a movie, for God’s sake: he’d even woken up on the way but faked it just so he wouldn’t put him down. He’s known for years that a 187 IQ doesn’t mean his emotional intelligence is excellent, too, but this feels ridiculous even for him. He’s practically been in a relationship for years and he had no idea. This must be why he always got that strange feeling in his stomach when Derek talked about literally anybody else.

This is not an ideal realisation to come to when Derek is currently cuddled around him, about to wake up any minute. Spencer tries very hard not to think about the fact that he won’t blink an eye at their entwined limbs and what that means, but he’s not exactly in control of his thoughts right now. 

He feels like he sleepwalks through the morning, trying to pay attention to what Derek talks to him about as he cooks him breakfast, but his mind has sort of short-circuited, not knowing how to adapt to this new information. His brain is not equipped to process being in love, and zoning out is as good a coping mechanism as any for now. It’s not until they head back to the bedroom to get dressed and ready for the day that he snaps out of it.

“Hey, pretty boy,” Derek says loudly, clicking his fingers in front of Spencer’s face to get his attention. 

“Hm?” Spencer hums, feeling the world fade back into focus despite the haze of confusion still dizzying him somewhat. 

“Alright, you’ve been spacy with me all morning,” Derek says, shifting his weight slightly as he levels Spencer with an inquisitive gaze. He can’t help but feel a cool kind of dread pour down his spine at the idea of that look figuring him out. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing, sorry,” Spencer says, forcing himself to snap back into action as he attempts to compartmentalise. “Just… didn’t sleep well, I guess.”

Derek looks doubtful but takes him at his word. “Okay,” he acquiesces. “Better get dressed, though. We’ve got a lot to get through today.”

“We do?” Spencer asks, ignoring the fact that he’s still stood in his ratty, oversized shirt and underwear in front of the man he’s deeply in love with, maybe for the sake of his sanity, maybe because he finds it hard to be embarrassed in front of Derek Morgan, not after all these years. 

“Yeah,” Derek says, like it’s obvious, “we gotta run to the grocery store and pick up a present for Rossi - probably some food for this barebones apartment of yours, too - pick up my clothes from the dry cleaners, and swing round Penelope’s to give her the blender I borrowed back. And I know for a fact you have some work to do on your latest paper, as well.”

Spencer, with his new perspective on the situation, considers the fact that Derek has included him in errands that are pretty exclusive to his own life. He also considers the fact that he never would have stopped to think this odd if he didn’t have the knowledge he has now. Unfortunately, simply considering does not shed much light on the situation. 

Because of this, Spencer does what he’s always done. He nods and gets ready for his day of driving around with Derek doing very mundane chores and wonders why he feels so excited. 

(While they’re out and about, it strikes Spencer why the realisation that he’s in love with Derek feels so paralysing: almost everyone he’s ever loved has left. He’s 34 and he’s never had a loving, committed relationship, and that’s for a reason: there’s only so much grief one heart can take. How could he ever give himself over to someone, hand them the key to his heart, open the door into his life, knowing that they could leave? Forever simply doesn’t exist, not for Spencer anyway. And truly, he doesn’t think he’d survive the loss of Derek, he can’t think of anything in the world that would be more painful.)

Despite the emotional exertion of the day, Rossi’s party is actually fairly enjoyable, probably aided by the glass of wine Spencer had accepted immediately upon entering the garden, he bloody well deserved it after the day he’s had. He gets chatting with JJ and Hotch and he barely even notices the absence of Derek by his side, having been roped into a conversation with Rossi and one of his famous poker friends that Spencer wouldn’t be able to place with a gun to his head. 

It’s not long before they reconvene though, programmed with some kind of homing instinct that always leads them back to one another, and Derek’s leaning a bit too close. Spencer finds it a little hard to breathe with his body pressed so close to his own, Derek’s warm, wine flavoured breath on his ear making his insides flip and setting butterflies free to roam his stomach. 

They spend the rest of the party like that, pressed away together in a corner, tucked inside one another’s pockets, and Spencer knows that he’s responsible for at least half of the instigation: he’s pressing back against Derek’s side with just as much pressure, leaning in closer, laughing a little louder, not bothering to hide the adoration that must be plainly written across his face. 

“Wanna come back to mine for a drink?” Derek asks as the night draws to a close, and how can Spencer refuse? They spend more nights together than apart at this point, and the last thing he wants is to feel lonely tonight, not after today.

“Please,” is all he says.

No-one says anything when they leave together, Derek’s hand loosely placed on his lower back. 

Derek’s apartment is warm and tidy, the opposite of Spencer’s, but it feels just as much like home as his own when he steps over the threshold. He’s about to tell him just that, but as he turns around to face him, Derek’s looking at him in a way he’s never seen before and his breath catches.

“Spencer?”

“Yeah?” 

Derek steps a little closer, crowding into his space even more. “Can I kiss you?” he murmurs.

Spencer doesn’t bother answering, instead closing the gap on his own and pressing his lips to Derek’s. His hands go to Derek’s side on instinct but as he kisses back, Spencer feels one hand tangling itself gently in his hair, and another cupping his jaw and he gives way, melting into the touch. The whole thing goes right to his stomach, feeling it bottom out as the intensity of the moment threatens to overwhelm him before a small sound escapes Derek’s lips and he’s reminded who’s kissing him, whose hands are on him, who’s making him feel these things. All of a sudden, it’s easier to let go.

Their lips mould together as they collapse into one another, the final piece of the gradual intertwining of their lives and bodies over the last twelve years. A fire lights under Spencer and he feels his world tilt on its axis, except unlike previous life-altering experiences, this time it feels like its tilting into place, as though he’s been off-kilter this whole time, finally returned to his natural state. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve dreamed of this,” Derek whispers as they pull away.

“Why didn’t you kiss me sooner, then?” Spencer asks. 

“Today is the first day you knew you wanted it,” Derek replies, before he’s kissing him again. 

(Later that night, when they’re tucked into Derek’s bed, Spencer lies with his head on his chest, comforted by the steady, reassuring heartbeat as Derek whispers promises of forever into his hair. Spencer knows that nobody can ever really promise anything, but for the first time in his life, he decides it doesn’t matter. They’ll have to part some day, in one way or another - maybe Spencer will be the one to go first this time - but he realises that he’d rather have known Derek like this, to have known how it feels to love and be loved back, only to have him leave, than to have him stay and never know it at all.)

@criminalmindsvibez @strippersenseii

[theoi-crow]

hello! I was wondering if you could provide examples of how you weave the deities into your daily life aside from food offerings, I come from a strict Christian household and mixing that with being autistic, it's hard for me to figure out what that entails when posts say that! I really would like to show my gods more love, but it's hard lacking energy from chronic pain & depression, so if this is too personal that's okay I was just looking for some inspiration!!! thank you so much either way 💖

Hi! 

I avoid following a schedule with the gods because I also have a lack of energy from chronic pain and depression that flares up from time to time.

Do not follow a schedule when you have these problems, instead go with the flow. 

Feel out what you feel drawn to and ignore things that say "Fridays are sacred to Aphrodite so do something for her on those days" because when Friday rolls by, you might be feeling drawn to Apollo or another god instead. 

Also look at your normal schedule and what you naturally do in those instances and weave the gods into them. Bring the gods into your life instead of trying to make your life about the gods. As amazing as they are, the gods want you to live a life you enjoy without always feeling guilty for ignoring some arbitrary rule someone listed on tumblr. 

Having said that: this is what my life looks like. 

Morning: 

-Wake up and say good morning to the gods. 

-Brush teeth/shower and talk to Aphrodite and Apollo because Aphrodite does self-care and grooming and Apollo focuses on health and hygiene. 

-pick out outfit and do makeup and talk to Aphrodite about my day or put on music I know either Aphrodite or the gods will enjoy. Music that makes me think of and feel the gods. No point in adding the song Eros and Apollo by the Studio Killers if you don't like the song. 

-i go to college and on my way I offer a joke to Hermes. I also envision myself covered in Ares energy so anyone on the street sees my street face (aka don't you dare talk to me). Before Ares, I was always getting sexually harassed by creeps on my way to school, now I put my music on blast and think "murder" while I charge my way to school. I had a guy approaching me, but because my music was too loud, I could feel Ares go "Tell that ******* your busy and keep walking." My life has seriously improved 1000%!!! 

-when I enter the school, I say hi to Athena who is the patron goddess of my particular school (she's technically the school mascot, but I don't like calling her that.) 

-when I do anything school related, I envision Apollo (god of knowledge) helping me absorb new information. I ask Athena to help me strategically study with Apollo. (I will be writing a post about why I work with Apollo when dealing with aquiring new information versus Athena because while wisdom is important, knowledge is also important for gathering new information) 

Afternoon: 

-listen to music on my way home and mentally talk to the gods about what I learned and what I should post on Tumblr or anything personal happening in my life at the time. I especially talk to Hermes and Aphrodite because I'm traveling and cleansing my emotions. I also talk to Ares, again because my street face keeps people from harassing me. 

-then I either do my homework or answer asks, but either way I talk to Apollo about them and imagine what he'd be saying about these items. 

Evening: 

-i relax and talk about my day with the gods as a way of doing a personal review. 

-I unwind by going on Tumblr and seeing posts about the gods and feeling them looking over my shoulder and making comments about their cute followers and how much they love them. 

-At night, my they/them wife and I have a tradition of making up stories every night for the last 10 years. We're both story tellers, they want to write books and I always have so many story ideas I never know what to do with them. But now, we tell the stories to the gods and we can feel them huddle up and make comments like,

Hermes: "But have they discovered his identity?"

Athena: "No, they think they figured it out but Aela said they weren't sure."

Aphrodite: "I ship the detective and the masked vigilante, it's like he wants to know his identity but he is also addicted to the chase!"

Ares: "and then when he was about to expose him, he decked him right on the goddamn face!!!" 

Apollo: "I predict the vigilante is the cop the detective has a crush on. You know, the one he works with? I think he's messing with the evidence.

-after the story ends we go to sleep and wish the gods a good night. 

This is just one of the different kinds of days in my life but it's not every day, just an example. Some days I get so distracted by my own personal affairs that I forget to talk to the gods. Some days I don't feel the gods at all. Some days I focus on one god more than the others, etc. 

 A very important note: in my post I kept saying "talking to the gods" and some people may imagine me having a two way conversation where the gods would talk to me as clear as if I were talking to another person. This isn't the case. It does happen on occasion but MOST of the time, I'm mentally telling the gods about things that remind me of them, or things that are on my mind. Sometimes the gods don't respond or I don't feel the gods around at all. 

This is okay. Even when the gods are not present at the time, they always get the message. Kind of like when you email or text someone instead of a direct conversation. The person will still get it but it might be later. 

As far as you being autistic, the gods adjust their energy and communication method to best connect with you. This is the number one reason why I don't like people speaking on behalf of the gods, because everyone is different and the gods communicate in a way that will be the most effective and clearest to the specific devotee. Everyone is different so the gods adjust themselves accordingly.

And as far as growing up Christian goes (something else we both have in common) please understand that your subconscious mind is still adjusting itself to your new life and still has Christian guilt that will make you second guess your current religion.

You will also be tempted to do Christian things with your new religion like see myths as biblical truth and think the gods are mad at you for not doing something a specific way or wonder if you are actually doing things you are supposed to be doing and trying to find "the truest form" of the religion.

That doesn't work here because Christianity came from Catholicism which was created with a very set formula by the Roman empire, different Christian religions changed the formula to match their new laws regarding that religion but they still have a rigid formula. 

The ancient Greek religion is so personalized and changes depending on the region and a lot of religious documents that we now have have mostly come from Athens, one of MANY different regions and they all worshipped the gods differently. 

Please understand that the only thing that counts is what works for you. The gods love that you are working with them but they want you to live your life in the truest way that feels right to you. 

Here's a masterpost that will help: (LINK)

I hope this helps! 

May the gods connect and communicate with such clarity that their messages become as clear as the songs birds sing in the spring. 

[pokeblader3]

Some thoughts about anger and coping and being able to thrive as a member of a marginalized group

To preface this I am an 18 year old who is autistic, chronically ill, and physically disabled

Something I think I'm starting to identify big in Tumblr communities for marginalized groups(particularly in my circles of membership) is the inability to let go of anger and try to find peace and a happy future, and to accept people not in your marginalized-group as being flawed and possibly holding bad opinions, but capable of being close friends to you and growing, encapsulated in a trend I notice to divide people as marginalized-like-me(us) and not(them).

Now I'm going to need a lot of nuance to weave through this: it's absolutely true oppressive societal systems and the people who design them are evil, and the peopl who enforce them and choose to ignore the impacts of what they enforce and gaslight victims instead are doing evil things, and there most definitely are problems widespread enough or inherent within entire groups, like men, able bodied/neurotypical people, or white people - and it can be frustrating to deal with members of those groups, and that those privileged groups by nature oppress marginalized groups as inequality is baked into every facet of our society. And I support cutting conservatives, and people who will not learn to accommodate or ever educate themselves and will combat you over everything constantly, out of your life, and I especially support building social circles of only progressive people who will listen to you. And I also completely understand and am sympathetic to members of marginalized groups being angry and venting and sometimes lashing out their emotions, especially in the wake of a serious injustice transpiring.

But I think that people internalize, and focus their lives around, their anger, which when you focus your life around that anger and battles against injustice(an overwhelming battle that has been ongoing for a long time, and will not be won soon) those battles and anger may overtake your life, overwhelming your hobbies, passions, and things that bring you joy. Activism and social justice are not happy or enjoyable things, they are heavy, and hearing about every death and tragedy each day fills you with anger and sadness. Activism and social justice are a long war against an insurmountable legion of injustices. And in some of these cases, your relationship with activism isn't a healthy outlet, a small part of your otherwise good life - anger and sadness are your life.

I am physically disabled and chronically ill, and have spent 2 years bedridden and 2 more housebound(last 4 years of my life, yay) due to chronic fatigue, fibromyalgia, and a complex of other issues, which my sister and mother also have, except with issues of their own. I had an abusive and neglectful father, who nearly killed my mother several times by refusing to get her medical treatment, and denying our issues and gaslighting us that we had any(the medical industry helped him, given over 5 years they misdiagnosed us or told us nothing was wrong, over and over again). I won't go into the full extent of my trauma or issues, but my life is torn apart and I am too fatigued and in constant pain to go to school or even have a normal life of things I enjoy like most people. I've experienced, without a doubt, violence and oppression.

I was so angry at what had happened to me and others, and obsessing over being a part of the fight against those injustices, that that struggle became the most important part of my life, not things that brought me joy or passion. I ultimately became only a more angry and unhappy version of myself, even though I was finally around people who were like me. And I began to realize, all the people who were making posts about "the ableds" or "the neurotypicals" and treating them as a separate and "other" group to me weren't exactly being constructive in doing so. Most of my friends I have now aren't disabled or neurodivergent and didn't know anyone who was before meeting me, but we bonded over the things we did like, and they cared enough to try and support me once they learned about my issues. And there are trans and queer, people of color, and disabled people in the group who felt the same, that it was ok to forgive people for being imperfect and different than you but want to be better and get along with you. How I was before wasn't sustainable - I was unhappy with my life, and wouldn't last for a few years longer, much less the decades of my life I'll be pushing for progress in.

My friends all care about social issues even if they aren't educated on all of them, and they stepped on my toes a bunch of times, and contested and took being talked to several times for some to stop doing harmful things, but that's ok, since they're humans and humans are flawed and messy like that, and they're good people who are willing to listen, across the various boundaries that exist in the group.

I've noticed a trend in many blogs run by young adults focusing on social issues where the people running them are self admittedly depressed, hate their life and feel like they have nothing to live for or want to die, with many of them mentioning self harm or suicidality.

I feel that if you focus on just the injustice in the world, it will seem like an awfully bleak and dark place, and not using activism as an outlet in your life while you try to thrive in the rest of your life can lead to anger seeming like the most important emotion in your life, not happiness. And part of that is learning when to let go of some of the defensiveness caused by experiencing pain from others, people are only human, and you can find plenty of good ones who would fit your life perfectly if you're willing to look past the walls you put up as a defence against injustice, and see them as individuals with pasts and flaws, instead of just a member of a privileged group you have grievances with.

[ra-lek]

Hi! I know you’ve touched on the topic briefly before, but if you don’t mind I’d love to hear any more in-depth thoughts you have on autistic Elliot. It’s one of my favorite headcanons and it’s always fascinating to see other people’s thoughts on it! (Also I just wanted to say that you have a really interesting way of analyzing the show and you seem like a such a genuinely chill, kind person, thank you for being awesome)

heya, i don’t mind at all!! this headcanon is great and there’s a lot of material to work with and analyze so i’m absolutely on board with elaborating more; 

but first i gotta establish a few things:

i am not a professional and can’t talk about autism the same way i’ve talked about body language or dissociative identity disorder. mainly because i’ve done essays on the latter and am more educated on the subject, unlike with this specific disorder.

but yo that doesn’t mean i don’t know anything cause psychology is my sHit- i just felt it was necessary for you to know that i’m not as confident in my analysis as i usually am; so feel free to correct me!!

next, in canon, elliot is diagnosed with clinical depression and social anxiety disorder. with a couple of ’delusional’ mentions thrown here and there. however, we most certainly know he suffers from DID as well- and the fact it’s his MAJOR problem and hasn’t been properly acknowledged by the show leaves us with room to speculate.

and finally- i’ve been diagnosed with and am being treated for clinical depression and anxiety disorder. so i will point things out from my perspective here as well, since people with anxiety have similar symptoms to people on the spectrum and/or people with ADHD/ADD. (sometimes even OCD)

alright now that that’s all clear we can finally start looking at his behavior!!

first and foremost, autism & ad(h)d are developmental disorders because the symptoms for them can generally be noticed in early childhood; as opposed to anxiety which is a mental illness. so it’s entirely possible to have a cocktail of disorders in your head.

i’m bringing ADD up a lot because i’ve been speculated to have it & am supposed to take some tests- but am not officially diagnosed yet. now that we’ve got my entire family history, blood type & credit card number laid out, we’re ready to go.

anyway, these are the symptoms:

1. difficulty with communication & interaction with others

this is probably where anxiety, add and autism collide the most. though in very different ways- and they’re not exclusive to people with one of these diagnosis only. 

for example, eye contact. i’m terrible at it. people with autism & anxiety are also pretty darn bad at it, and elliot might seem that way at times; he hides a lot- but not as often as he tends to hold an intense eye contact, instead? which can also be seen as an ‘odd’ thing to do in social communication. as in, not noticing if someone’s uncomfortable under such gaze, let’s say.

that brings me to the next topic which is uh, coincidentally, communication.

he is quite blunt when it comes to it, has a distinctive ‘flat’ #elliotvoice tone. @mototwinkclub pointed out a few instances last time this topic was brought up, such as saying “i’m okay with it being awkward between us” to matpat ollie or “not at all, actually.” with gideon- and he doesn’t do it to be rude. doesn’t really realize it’s ‘bad’ to say it like that, either.

i mean i know he said he’s trying to work on his social anxiety but that’s not quite how you’d go about it? i firmly believe he suffers from generalized anxiety. obviously, that includes social anxiety as well; but this way you could explain why he’s way more concerned with…everything else. and is pretty straightforward in conversation.

since i referenced the pilot, one of the first lines he says about himself is “i don’t know how to talk to people. the only person person i could talk to was my dad- but he died.” which brings us back to the developmental aspect of this disorder. since he’s indicating he didn’t know how to talk to people even when he was a kid. which is true, in every flashback we see he either doesn’t talk at all or talks very little.

what’s interesting though- although he’s bad at reading 'conversation’- he’s extremely good at reading people. and the fact he 'looks for the worst in them’ contradicts the usual aspect that’s brought up when it comes to an autistic thought process, which is made out to be like “if i wouldn’t do this, then why would anyone else?” and it’s not the way he thinks at all.

instead, he feels empathy on a moral level if that makes sense? people on the spectrum are said to either be too empathic or not at all. and it’s hard to pinpoint elliot? because, clearly, he cares for people as much as he doesn’t trust them. use an example the reason he leaked ray’s information. he literally said “but then i keep thinking about those people.” but we haven’t seen him empathize with, for instance, vera- even when he gave a pretty tragic backstory. he can tell who the bad guy is. 

when it comes to spacing out, he does it all the time. people on the spectrum do it all the time, i certainly do it all the time. but we have to focus on what he is thinking about when he does it- because that is our indicator. 

we usually see his thoughts filled with paranoia, over-thinking, analyzing, etc,.. which i associate with anxiety disorder mostly? but, we have to take into account something he suffers from the most and it’s dissociative identity disorder. so not only does he space out, but he tends to dissociate, as well. perfect example for this is when he mutes the world around him. or just doesn’t listen.

once again, from the pilot, when angela tells him “stop thinking about something else while i’m talking to you!!” he isn’t actually daydreaming or spacing out in the usual sense- he’s recalling the night (mostly for the viewer than for himself let’s be honest) she’s talking about and we see that he was too anxious to go in. he doesn’t tell her that.

now let’s talk about his no-touch policy for a second. that’s something a lot of people on the spectrum have in common. i think it’s, once again, one of those cases where one could be either completely touch-starved or aversive. though we can’t ignore the fact he’d been abused when he was young. 

as i was going through the pilot for most of my evidence here (as you can notice) there’s a very small detail at the beginning when ron leans in to ask “are you blackmailing me!?” and we can see elliot flinch in genuine fear. this is not the only instance where he seems afraid to get hit. breaKs my goddamn heart.

but he’s also the one to initiate contact sometimes- and he often misunderstands the situation. shayla told him not to ask, he kissed darlene, tried kissing angela on the train that time when she denied him- he does it cause that’s what he thinks he should do. 

2. restrictive or repetitve behaviors

he’s absolutely all about those routines- he doesn’t want anything destructing his ’perfectly constructed loop’ anytime he has one. (season 1 starbucks, season 2 jailtime, season 3 ecorp) but it’s important to point out that in all of these scenarios, he’s been to one to break the loop himself. by realizing they weren’t making anything better.

there are a couple of nervous ticks he has, general fidgeting with his hands/hair/hoodie- all of these apply to every disorder we’ve mentioned here.

comfort item/food is a very good one!! since we’ve only ever seen him eat fries, he has a “crying corner” in his room, he’s constantly 'hiding’ under the hoodie. probably the main comfort item.

he’s also insanely hyperfocused on technology and numbers and hacking, obviously- he has a clear routine every time. burn the disc, delete the folder, write a song over one of the cds, shove them under the table. same goes for when he thinks he’s fucked up- throw stuff in the microwave, destroy it, you get the image.

speaking of those cds though, if he can remember exactly which song he wrote for each person he’s got data on; that could be a damn good indicator of it!!

all of this could be a combination of whys and becauses which is super fun if you ask me. elliot is complex and, although i share 2.5 disorders with him, i can’t relate to his actions/coping/thoughs completely all the time.

it just tells you how different everyone’s brains are, you can’t restrict a disorder to a specific pattern and only consider that when diagnosing somebody.

so, in conclusion, elliot could very possibly be autistic!!

[daisyishedwig]

Gonna bitch for a sec and then go back to my normal, nice, I love everyone at the state they're in and support everyone's emotional journey through self hatred to self love, kinda personality.

There's this girl in my friend group that I don't necessarily want to call a friend, because she aggravates me to no end. Her life is hard, she's an autistic transwoman from a devoutly religious upbringing and as usual that brings its fair amount if shit with it.

But she is do negative about /everything/ I swear to god, nothing makes her happy, and nothing can ever just be a positive experience, she has to find the bad in everything.

And like, I'm all for feeling your feelings, but that includes feeling to positive feelings when they come and not just pushing them down so you can remain a depressed bitch because "my life is so horrible".

And what's almost worse, is that she doesn't seem to think that because we're laughing and smiling, that we're also broken inside. Last night I just wanted to lay in bed and cry, but then Kendall (different friend) wanted to hang out so I pushed that aside and let my depression go ignored for a bit to focus instead on the joy of having friends and watching movies and playing games with them.

Kendall and I decided to watch Colette before this other girl even showed up, because it was just the two of us and I fucking love that movie. A third of the way through she shows up amd finishes thr movie with us, then some other people show up, we play some jackbox games, we have some beer, and it's all very fun and she leaves earlier than everyone else which is typical because overstimulation for her is a real bitch.

Like 30 minutes after she leaves she posts in the group chat, "That movie was really heavy and I didn't like that, it hit close to home"

Noone responds but i'm just like super annoyed by it, because you didn't say anything while we were watching it, and do you think Kendall and I don't understand the emotional gravity of that movie? Yeah, I'm laughing and joking about Willy being such a dick, but that movie is honestly a perfect representation of my year in 2018, I feel so deeply connected to Colette because I /understand/ her because that movie came out a month after I escaped (read: was discarded by) my own personal Willy.

I see her confront Willy for cheating on her and vent her frustration that when she's trying to initiate sex at night and he's to tired it's because he's sleeping with someone else, and clearly he doesn't "have to do that to fulfill his masculine urges" if she wants to have sex but he doesn't (not that he would have a right to cheat if she didn't want to have sex, it just nulls the typical argument because she does) and /I get it/ because my fucking ex did the exact same thing and constantly made me wonder what was wrong with me because he stopped being able to get it up for me, but he could get it up for other people.

I see her start the relationship with the American woman, and the I see Willy go to see the same woman behind Colette's back and I say "It's because he can't let her have anything he can't have, because he's selfish and wants to own anything that makes Colette happy that he didn't initially give to her" and I fucking know this because it was a breakthrough I had in therapy a few weeks ago when I was like, "why the fuck did Brian have to date T? She was mine and she was only ever supposed to be mine, I never intended for them to get to know each other or for him to be interested in her" but he was interested because she made me happy, and it wasn't allowed for me to be selfish and keep someone who made me happy all to myself. If I kept her to myself, how ever would he use her to manipulate me or keep her from helping me realize what a piece of shit he was. It's all about the fucking control.

The way he begs and begs her to write for him and then ridicules the work she'd done to make him happy, he'd ask for the world and she'd give it to him only for him to give it back and say "to polluted, I don't like it"

This movie hits so fucking close to home for me because it is my life, the first time I watched it I sobbed through most of it because it was so relatable.

So for her to say "it was too heavy, i didn't like it" like it was somehow our fault for watching an emotionally charged movie, and like I couldn't possibly understand what she was feeling while watching this movie is just so bullshit and infuriating. She's just so goddamn self centered all the time and I cannot handle that level of negativity, i'm an empath and being around her just fills me with so much of a desire to fix it, but I fucking can't because she doesn't want to be helped, she just wants to wallow in self pity for the rest of her life and I'm so fucking done with it.

[mandrakebrew]

Ayy I actually wrote something. I honestly gave up editing this one, so please keep that in mind. Alice is 18 years old. Also she is autistic, so if I wrote something that is offensive please let me know! 

Words: 2,909 Rating: T (Swearing, alchohol) Relationship: Mephisto x OC

You hate the hospital, you don't even like visiting people in the hospital much less staying in one yourself. After suffering a collapsed lung, shattered ribs, and a broke arm, you didn't have much choice in the matter. You're glad when you finally reach your home, taken there by taxi. You glance at the dead olive branch you hung above your door, meant to keep away negative people. Seeing it reminds you that you will need to strengthen the wards around your house soon. Though that won't be fun with just one functioning arm.

You unlock your front door, and you expect to be greeted by your familiars, your undead dog, max, and several goblins. However, you find your friend Mephisto standing there. He's not in his usual attire, but in brown tux, black shirt and pink polka dot tie.

"Welcome home~" Mephisto greets you with a wink. You look down and notice the box in his hand. Your familiars are all watching from the couch, with the exception of Max, who runs up to you and sits, bone tail wagging away. Your rub his head, feeling the dead skin under your fingers.

You hesitate before speaking to your guest. "Hi," You almost ask how he got inside your house, but then you remember who it is you're speaking to. "What's the box for?" You ask.

"Oh this?" He gestures by lifting it slightly in one hand. He then extends it towards you. "It's a gift, I figured you'd enjoy it after being stuck in the hospital for so long."

You take the box, and stare down at it for a moment. You find yourself far more interested in information than whatever's inside the box.

"What happened to Amaimon?" You ask, your eyes move to meet his. However, you quickly move your gaze to his nose, a trick your mother taught you since you hate eye contact.

"Eh? He must have run off somewhere." Mephisto shrugged as he spoke.

You know he's lying. You've had plenty of time to sit and think about the events that occurred before you went to the hospital. you tried to talk to Amaimon, you wanted things to end peacefully. When that failed, you fought him. You knew another demon king wouldn't get a mile close to you without Mephisto allowing it.

"You know where he is. You sent him after us. You sent him so Rin would reveal himself-" You voice raises to a yell."They cut his legs off! They could have killed him! Why would you do that!?" You throw the box across the room, it hit the wall and slide down to the floor. The noise caused your goblin familiars to jump, and some of the smaller ones went and hid under your couch.

Mephisto stares at you silently, eye's wide. He smile shrinks but doesn't leave. "You believe what the demon told you?"

"Stop talking to me like I'm stupid Samael. We're friends. Or at least I thought we were. Tell me the truth or get out." You motion your head slightly towards the front door.

The use of his real name makes his eyes go ever wider than before. His smile also widens as he lets out a laugh. "You've known what I am this entire time?"

"Yes." Your reply is blunt, and you give no explanation as to how.

"Very well," He snaps his fingers and the front door shuts behind you, "I will tell you. You are correct about me sending Amaimon to fight Rin. However he was under orders not to kill any of you. Though," His eyes scan your body, and his voice dropped in tone, "He nearly broke that rule."

"I noticed," You speak quietly, glancing down at the sling holding your arm. You also have skin freshly grafted onto your unbroken arm, and the bald spot on the top of your head where they preformed surgery to correct the depressed skull fracture you suffered.

You're amazed that you have no brain damage, and that you're alive at all, really.

"But worry not," Mephisto spoke up, "He will be dealt with." A smirk remained on his face, eye lids low.

"No."

"Eh, what?"

"No. You sent him. This is all your fault. Do not harm him for this." You do your best to keep your eyes on his face.

"That isn't up to you, now is it?" He says.

Your eyes glance down and away, before returning to Mephisto. Your voice is small when you speak again, "Please don't?"

"Hmmmmm, very well then, no harm will come to him," he waves his hand in front of him as if shooing away the idea. "And about Rin, do you really think I'd let him die?"

You reach for and take the chew-able necklace around your neck and put the black mushroom pendant in your mouth, and think. "I'm not sure. Every account I've read about you, says you're a trickster. So I don't know what you might do."

He laughs at you, "You believe every story about me?"

"No, but every myth has a seed of truth to it." You tilt your head slightly, grinding your teeth on you necklace. "If you want me to know, tell me."

Again, he laughs, "What fun would that be?"

You laugh in response too, "Wow okay, asshole."

The unease in the room dissipated because of your shared laughter. Mephisto snapped his fingers, and the box you threw earlier appeared back in his hand. He extended his hand and offered it to you once again. You hesitate for a moment, before taking the box again. Curiosity takes you, and you take it over to the coffee table, and pull the lid off.

Inside was a book, about four inches thick.The outside is hard, the designs on the cover is black, curls going in directions with little reason to the design. You open it to the first page, to see it's written in Gehennian.

"A Collection of Fairy Tales, Myths, and Legends", Read the first page. You freeze for a moment in surprise.

"This is a book from Gehenna," You speak just barely above a whisper.

"I was planning to tell you who I was, after you opened your gift you know."

You let out a loud squeal, jump in place, and begin flapping the hand that isn't in a sling.

"Thank you!"

Mephisto doesn't respond but snaps his fingers, and another book appears in his hand. Much less gory looking than the book you have. It's white with eloquent writing on it. "This is book I wrote. Filled with spells dealing with time and space."

You gasp and reach for the book, but her pulls it away from you.

"Wait a moment~" You smiles at you, "You can have this one, but you must do something first."

You backed up, confused. You ask, "what is it?"

"I've made reservations at a restaurant in the city for ten tonight. All you need to do is join me." He glances at the clock on your wall, "Which will be in an hour."

Having parents that put emphasis on public appearance, what they taught you kicked in. You looked terrible and didn't have much time, and with a cast you would need to bathe instead of shower.

"Oh, okay. Just give me time to get ready, okay?" You rush upstairs before he can even respond.

It wasn't until you were drying yourself off after you bath did you realize that your best friend, and principal had asked you on a date.

You're not opposed, though you would have appreciated it if he didn't bribe you into it.

You finish getting ready, you wear you black dress shirt, black slacks and black mary janes. You also put your yellow cat-eye lenses in, you would have also put your fangs in, but those don't go well with solid food you found out.

"Well, I look alright, Max?" You turn and ask you ever-loyal undead-dog. He barks in approval. You pat him on the head, and make your way back downstairs. You find Mephisto reclining on one of your sofas, reading one of your mangas.

He looks up from it, "Ah, there you are. Are we ready to go?" He stands and the book vanishes. You hope it's gone back to it's proper place on the shelf.

"Yes, but-"

"'But?' Can I do anything nice without you disapproving?"

You frown, "I'm not disapproving. I'm just saying you could have asked me out without the bribe."

"Oh, so you do not want the grimoire then?"

"Oh spirits, yes, I do want the book!"

He laughs at you again. --- Inside his hot pink limo, you sit next to him, perpendicular. You eye the mini bar. Drinking would help calm your nerves, though you might drink to much and risk looking like a fool. Your parents would hear if you embarrassed yourself in public.

"Help yourself," Mephisto interrupted your thoughts.

"No, I better not."

"Very well. I'll get you drunk when I take you home then." He winks at you as soon as you turn your head to look at him.

Your face goes hot and you attempt to cover your smile with your hand. "You fucking creep."

He smiles at you and laughs. You only just now realize how much you love the sound of his laugh.

You finally get to the restaurant. It's inside a large skyscraper. You still haven't gotten used to the size of them yet, despite living in LA and then Tokyo for several years.

You both enter, and ride up the elevator the floor the restaurant is in. People look over at you, and some stare. Of course they do. You do your best to ignore them, and keep your focus on your friend.

Your friend. Your best friend. Your boyfriend?

You run the thought though your mind as you walk, following the waiter to your table. He takes you to a booth, with a light hanging above it. The whole place how low lighting you notice. You sit down and order your drinks. You're still too nervous to drink anything so you order a soda. Mephisto orders something called a ginger berry smash. Once the waiter leaves, you adjust the earplugs in your ears to pick up a little more sound.

You look through the menu, Mephisto is making comments and talking to you, but you're not good at talking while doing something else.

You decide on some sushi rolls since you're not too adventurous when it comes to food, You put your menu down and turn your attention to Mephisto.

"So, how long?" You ask, making sure to keep your voice down.

"Hm?" He tilts his head at you, eyebrows high.

"How long have you been wanting to ask me out like this?"

"Not too long after you went into the hospital," He answered. He opened his mouth  again, but stopped before actually saying anything.

"What?"

"I suppose the idea of losing you," He pauses, "Made me realize what you are to me."

Your cheeks grow warm, and you respond. "But isn't this illegal? Couldn't you get into a lot of trouble?"

He flashed a wicked smile at you, "No need for you worry about that my dear student. Now, my turn to ask you a question."

You swallow, "Alright."

He begins speaking in a language you don't actually have a name for, but you understand perfectly none the less, "Where did you learn to speak the language of Gehenna?"

You eyes drop from his face and you stare at your menu. He's asking about a part of your life you'd rather not mention.

"I have my ways," You answer, speaking in Mephisto's mother tongue.

He chuckles at you, "Now that's not very fair, I answered your questions."

"Well I did technically answer yours," You've both switched back to using English.

"Alright, then let me ask you this; how did you know who I am?"

That you can answer, "One of my special interests is demons. Any legend or clue of their whereabouts is probably somewhere on my computer. Plus I'm a deviation witch. I can use magic to find things out."

"'Special interests?'" Mephisto asked.

"Yeah. I have autism if you haven't figured that out yet. My other special interests are magic and fashion."

"You're into fashion and you wore that?"

"I was rushed. Also you're no one to talk since you're wearing that tie with that suit." You quip back.

He laughs lightly at your comment, then asks, "Why is it you've never mentioned any of this before?"

"You never asked." You shrug, "You just talked about what you liked but that was fine. I like learning about you. I guess that makes you another one of my special interests- Wait, is that weird?" You stop and quickly ask.

His smile widens and he shakes his head, "I find it flattering!"

"Oh good. I sometimes come off as creepy. That's what-" You pause, "Some people have told me. Then again, you do too."

"Oh? Who said that?" He asked, it doesn't seem offended, but curious.

"Rin."

The waiter returned with your drinks and took your order. You and Mephisto spent the rest of the dinner discussing many things, the conversation often leaving and returning to topics at random.

You were laughing together when you returned to Mephisto's limo. Feeling more relaxed, you reach for the mini bar once your inside the limo.

"Oh? Now you're getting into my mini bar." He points out, he voice holding a teasing tone.

"Yup." You reply flatly.

"Well get me a glass while you're at it, my dear."

You pause when you hear what he called you, but you make no comment and get a couple champagne glasses, and reach for a small bottle of chardonnay, before you realize your right arm is still broken. You huff and hand him both glasses and then go back for the bottle.

But before you can reach it, it vanishes in a puff of pink smoke. You turn and look at Mephisto who now has the bottle in his hand.

"Oh fuck you," You say, sitting back up and sliding back over to him.

"But Ms. Cross, this is only our first date!" He only laughs a bit and hands you one of the glasses. You choose to not react to his little tease. He pours some chardonnay into both of them, and asks, "Well, what shall we toast to?"

You squint your eyes at him, the question seeming very stupid to you. "To us, obviously."

He lets out a laugh, and gently clinks his glass against yours.

"I like your laugh," You comment. You turn to take a drink from your glass. When your eyes return to Mephisto, he's staring at you. "What?"

"My laugh?" He asks, one eyebrow raised.

"Yeah, it sounds nice." You explain. You return to your drink, but you jump slightly when you feel a hand wrap around your waist. You quickly realize it's Mephisto as he pulls you closer to him. Close enough that your thighs are now touching. His hand remains on your waist as you look from your thighs to his face which is now a pleased grin. You look away, and you can feel a blush on your cheeks.

You're both tipsy from the alcohol by the time you get back to your house. You climb out of the limo, fallowed by Mephisto. You begin to unlock the door, when you feel yourself being taken by the shoulder and turned around. Mephisto places a hand on your chin, staring at you. You frozen, sure he was about to kiss you.

However he lowers his hand, and instead takes your hand and places a kiss to the back of it, like you've read in a dozen corny romance novels.

He stands back up, smile still ever present on his face. "Well, I suppose I should be on my way, it's irresponsible for a student to be up so late, don't you think?"

You squint your eyes, "But, you're the one who took me out."

He laughs at you. You guess it's a joke you missed.

"Good night my dear, it's been a treat." He says, giving you a small bow.

You return the bow, "Good night, Mephy."

He lets out another laugh, but before you can ask what he's laughing at, he's back in his limo, and soon gone down the road. You turn and unlock the door, and head in.

You're greeted by your dog Max, and your goblins. A voice calls out from the kitchen, "Hello deary, did you have a nice time?"

It's the ghost that resides here. She was here before you even moved in. "Yes I did, Granny." You look over at where you left the book of fairy tales, and see the grimiore Mephisto promised you is sitting right next to it. You walk over to it, eager to learn it's secrets. You decide the other book will be good reading when you're in class and have nothing else to do.

You open the book, and to your surprise, you find a note folded just under the cover. You open the note, it reads;

"Try not to stay up too late studying sweetheart, you wouldn't want to ruin your sleep schedule. - Mephisto ~<3"

You suppress the urge to laugh. There's no way you can sleep with brand new spells to memorize!