#prompt: sensory overload

[whumpster-dumpster]

Telepathic Whumpee who's full of so much stress and sensory overload and so many other people's thoughts that they start to lose track of whose is whose. Do they even know which thoughts are their own anymore?

[hufflepuffwritingstuff2]

Whump prompt- A mermaid that gets turned human and gets overstimulated by all the sensations above water. The sun is bright and hot, the waves lapping and breeze are so loud, the sand is too grainy, and they can't even go underwater for long to escape it because they're human now and they can't breathe down there! They couldn't even walk away to somewhere quiet- they don't know how!

[whumpbug]

i hope you don't mind another prompt from me!!

i just have a thought in my head of Simon having to do emergency first aid on Archie while in a crowd. running it well, telling specific people to grab this kit, do this, all while keeping Archie calm while he's in pain and afraid.

(plus I feel like Archie would find Simon being so smoothly in control very soothing. Simon is here. he'll be okay because Simon is here.)

- @whump-kia

i will never mind a prompt from you kia you have the best ideas on how to torture these boys (≧▽≦)

this one is admittedly not my best work BUT it was still so fun to write and broke my heart seeing archie so overwhelmed BUT HIS HUSBAND BEST FRIEND CAME IN CLUTCH

also really quick, i just want to say that i decided on archie's alias during this fic. basically, since he never had a formal name, people just started calling him "the vigilante", and then just shortened it to "vigil" so his alias that the crimelords and civilians know him by is just simply. Vigil.

OK onto the fic!

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

Apparently, Archie had died and woken up in a universe where no one knew what the hell personal space was.

He had been downed in the street. His first mistake was even pursuing a chase so openly in the middle of the afternoon with civilians everywhere, but he was just so close. One of the major names in the drug ring was right there, and he almost had him.

Until the guy pulled out a gun and fired practically point blank into his side.

Archie was lying on his back, gasping for air that would not come. There were hands on him, cold hands, rough hands, calloused hands, sweaty hands, and he wanted them all off.

He let out a low whine as he tried to jerk his body away, but he only succeeded inducing an intense jolt of pain, which caused him to curl up reflexively while the hands held him in place.

“It’s going to be okay dear, we’ll call an ambulance,” A woman cooed, gently patting his chest. Get off.

“Should we sit him up to get him some air?” A deeper voice said, hand grasping his shoulder. Don’t touch me.

“No way! Is that Vigil?! I heard my parents talking about him!” A smaller voice shouted, right next to Archie’s ear. Shut. Up.

Archie knew this wasn’t like him. He always strived to be the kind, empathetic, forgiving symbol of hope everyone expected him to be, but right now, he just wanted out.

His side hurt, his head hurt, everything hurt and every tiny movement sent him biting his tongue to avoid crying out. To make things worse, he could feel the blood leaving his body through the open wound, and it was.. not a pleasant feeling. Sticky blood was pooling below his lower back and his skin began feeling clammy and cold, and he knew he was losing precious seconds and where was Simon.

A familiar buzz on his wrist brought him slightly back to the present. It was his emergency signaling bracelet. It meant that Simon was on en route, if he recalled correctly.

Thank god.

Simon had probably been alerted to Archie’s vitals dropping to dangerous levels out of nowhere, and dropped everything to get to him.

He couldn't help the weak sigh of relief that escaped him. He was content to resigning himself to the torture of these civilians manhandling him, because he knew Simon would be there soon to make it better. All he had to do was wait as patiently as he could.

Until he felt fingertips grip the edge of his domino mask.

Archie’s identity was the one thing he had to himself. He went to great lengths to ensure that no one revealed it because it was the only way he was able to live a life as a civilian where people weren’t walking on eggshells around him. And it was about to be stripped away from him.

A strangled cry tore from his throat.

Suddenly, he was thrashing desperately, despite the seething pain, trying to get everyone off of him. Everything was too loud and too bright and he was so dizzy and people were touching his mask.

His bloodied hands flew up to his face, holding his mask down and batting away the offending fingers. He needed space, he needed air, he couldn’t breathe—

“Everyone stop crowding and back up. I’m a medical intern, and Vigil is clearly in distress. Give. Him. Space.”

Archie knew that voice. He could have sobbed. 

The group of bystanders murmured, before shuffling out of the way and making room for Simon.

Simon’s scent whooshed past Archie and then settled as the bystanders gave the two a wide berth. He kneeled beside Archie, and immediately took off his sweater, balling it up and pressing it into his wound.

“Eyes on me Archie.”

Archie’s breath hitched. The world was spinning around him, whether from his hyperventilating or his blood loss or the pain, he didn’t know, but all that mattered was that Simon was here. He reached a clumsy hand towards Simon, whimpering softly. "Hurts.."

“I know, I know.. it’s okay.. I’m going to help you,” He hummed. He lifted the fabric lightly to get a look at the wound and winced. “Just.. stay awake for me, okay?”

Archie hummed noncommittally. 

“You,” Simon pointed to the man from before. “I need you to go into that shop over there and check for a first-aid kit under the front counter. The ambulance won’t get here in time.”

The man nodded and disappeared behind the door.

“And you,” Simon motioned towards the woman. “Come here and hold pressure on this.”

The woman blanched slightly, but with Simon’s guidance, she was quickly situated with her hands pushing firmly on Archie abdomen.

The man came loping back with a small box in hand.

“I got it!” He shouted, tossing it to Simon.

The next moments went by in a blur. Archie saw Simon swiftly unwrap packets of gauze, and felt the strange sensation of them being shoved into his wound, but he was too focused on forcing his eyes open to give the pain much attention. It was kind of nice honestly. Not the pain, of course but seeing Simon handle everything so efficiently. Usually, Archie felt the need to be the one always in charge, always figuring something out to help everybody else.

It felt good to have Simon fill that roll too.

He was blinking in and out of consciousness now, but every time he’d look up, he’d see Simon’s face right there, steadfast as ever, and he felt just a little safer.

Eventually, he felt himself being lifted from the ground and held close to a warm body. He hadn’t realized how cold he was until he felt Simon against him. He heard Simon barking more orders at the bystanders, presumably telling them to get out of the way, and soon, he was nestled in the backseat of his car. It was finally, blissfully, quiet.

“Just stay awake a little longer Archie.. we’re almost there,”

“Hnnng..” was all Archie could manage.

He blinked, and the next thing he knew, he was being carried up the stairs and settled into Simon’s soft couch. The couch smelled of him, and he inhaled deeply.

Simon pulled up a stool beside Archie, pulling gloves over his already bloodied hands. “Just hold still for a bit, okay? I'll make this quick.”

Again, Archie was in and out of consciousness while Simon worked to clean, suture, and dress the wound in his side. It hadn't been too bad, just bled a lot. Luckily the bullet hadn't gotten stuck in it, and it missed anything super vital. Simon had numbed the area with gel before beginning (no needles, of course), so the pain was slightly more bearable (though not by much). Once it was over, Simon saw that Archie was flagging. He decided to take pity on him.

“Wait here.”

Archie’s head lolled to the side. This was getting ridiculous. How much longer was he going to have to stay up?! For as much emphasis that Simon put on getting rest, he sure wasn’t making it easy for him.

Suddenly, a straw was being shoved between Archie’s lips.

“Drink. It’s apple juice. Once you down the cup, you can go to sleep.”

He downed the cup, feeling exasperated and spent. His eyelids were already drooping by the time he got down to the last sip. He stopped fighting it, letting them flutter close.

The last thing he remembered before drifting off was a soft blanket being pulled up to his chin, and a hand slipping into his.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

[promptsforyourwhumpfic]

Whump Prompt #1000

Give me the messy rescues. Not necessarily plot-wise but in the sense that the whumpee doesn’t pass out, there’s no quiet moments or vigils, and there’s no serenity of the whumpee finally sleeping. It’s loud, it’s exhausting and it’s messy. The whumpee is coughing up blood, sweating, bleeding over everything, and rambling and feverish and trying everything they can to help. There’s rubble everywhere, burnt clothes coming off in tatters and bloodied bandages unravelled and sticking to everything. This only echoes the chaos of the crew around them. 

The caretakers keep them awake instead of trying to stifle it, because at least the whumpee is awake and semi-lucid. At least the whumpee is breathing; even if it’s laboured and wheezy and haggard. At least the whumpee is talking; even if its nonsensical and bordering on hysterical. 

[colection-of-chaos]

@flashfictionfridayofficial prompt 256: Muted Colors

365 words

CW: description of experience with sensory overload, in a way that is closed to my experience and has no claim to a general experience with such.

Too Bright & Loude

It's sitting in a room with sunglasses when it's already dark. And the feeling that just having your own Skin is too much. When there are ants running over your skin making you feel itchy, because just the air is overwhelming.

It's freeing in a hoodie under a blanket in the summer heat, and every thing that is more than a whisper is both too intense to endure and too dull for you to understand.

It's the day that you sit in a room, avoiding every light. When it is hard to make sense of anything that is more than the shadowy space that you're sitting in, Bundled up in comfort clothes.

The times you're bored, but everything is too much.

The times when you need to lock everything out because It's just too much.

When Finding comfort is the softest piece of fabric you can find and a room with only the most persistent specks of light, is the only thing you can do.

It's when you can't read because the light of your bedside table lamp is just too much.

It's the hours you try to not be angry about that visit to that museum you wanted to see or that trip to the library on the way to which you were stuck in the rush hour bus or just the time spent in your lectures that took your ability to function in what is. Try not to be angry about your inability to do what others can so easily.

That the sheer volume of everything seems to only take this much out of you, while others are still out in the brightness of colours, noise, and touch. So much that just leasing that little nest silent colours and bundled up like it is winter when the Thermostat tells, that it is certainly not.

That are the days when muted colours are something you cherish. Something you earned with effort and fight for the things of comfort. That you're archived with patience for your own mind and body.

Because muted colours become your price, your escape of being in the dark or feeling like everything around you is something impossible to bear.

[mossymandibles]

I would enjoy some asks if people had any questions about characters or something?

I’m kind of bored and wanna take my mind off the absolute dread I feel for the work week.

[platonic-prompts]

Whump Prompt

A is in the middle of sensory overload, and they don't want anyone to touch them.

B is watching and begging their kid to tell them what's wrong, all the while watching blood fall down A's skin.

[irondadmadlads]

Irondad Prompt #23:

Peter calls Tony, thinking something’s wrong with his powers. Everything is too bright, or too loud, or too scratchy.

He’s experiencing his first sensory overload since the bite.

[wrathkitty]

Short Debts Make Long Friends - Snippet from Chapter Eleven

He is only slightly less frantic than he was when Grogu was kidnapped. Why, then, is he fighting that same compulsion to lay waste to everyone in his path as he searches for you? You are an adult and can talk and are probably not a high-value target of the Empire, at least as far as he knows. 

But unlike when Grogu was kidnapped, when he had a team and a plan and a known destination, his only form of backup now is a mouthy droid that he can’t understand and is fairly sure blames him for your disappearance – logic that he can’t argue with, because none of this would have happened if he had listened to his own instincts and taken your hand the moment the transport docked. 

What was it you had told him last night? You’re overthinking this.

He had more than overthought it, he had been fucking paralyzed. He addressed his confusion by doing nothing, and now you are gone, and with every passing minute, the truth becomes harder and harder to ignore: 

Loving Grogu had taught him that being a loner and being lonely were not two sides of the same coin, and he is too old to fool himself into thinking that he isn’t attracted to you. 

Short Debts Make Long Friends - Stories of Mando and Reader. Or, an overeducated, underpaid millennial finally gets to go on her first adventure.

@last-of-cheese @mandindjarin @littlemisspascal @caffiend-queen @nildespirandum @teehee-47 @leithatnight @eddiedjarin @mildlyhopeless @reileth @mareebird @coffeebeforewater @mariwinns16 @lunawants @dontletyourchildrenwatchthis @ezrasleftarm @jbarness @phishyie @essence-stealer @quicksilvermad @cecilyjmorgenstern @ineedtogetoutofhere @minky77 @bludella

[camille-lachenille]

Day 5 of All of Arda is Autistic 2023

Prompt: First snow / over stimulation

Rating: Gen

Featuring a tiny Frodo and the Blanket mentioned by Bilbo two days ago

There was something falling from the sky, like rain but colder and it covered everything in white. Mama had called it snow and said that Frodo had to wear many warm clothes to go out. But, Oapa had said they had to wait for the snow to stop falling before going out of the Smial.

For Yule, Brandy Hall was full of visitors and very loud so, Frodo had crawled in the little space between the wardrobe and the wall in the room he slept in with Mama and Papa and he curled up there with his Blanket and the pretty pictures book grandpa Gorbadoc hag given him for Yule. It was about talking trees and gentle giants, Mama had read him the story before and he liked it a lot. “Frodo my boy, where are you hiding?” Mama called from the door of the room. Frodo giggled and made himself smaller in his hiding spot as mama and papa searched the room.

“I found you, little badger!” Papa exclaimed as his head popped over Frodo. The faunt let out a squeal of surprise and launched himself in Papa’s waiting arms. “It stopped snowing and we can go out. Do you want to play in the snow?” Papa asked, opening the curtains of the room to show Frodo the garden outside. He gasped at the white, shining sight and nodded and clapped his hands enthusiastically, wanting to touch this pretty snow. But first, he had to dress up warmly, and he didn’t like it very much. Mama made sure all his clothes were as soft as possible, but the scarf around his neck was itchy and the thick socks on his feet felt very strange. Still, Frodo really wanted to touch the snow so he only cried a little when Papa put his gloves on and tried to be very brave to be able to go out.

Finally, after way too long, Frodo took his first steps in the snow! He squeaked when he sunk in the soft layer but quickly Mama was there, pulling him out of the snow. “For Frodo’s first snow, we must make a snowman! What do you say, Drogo dear?” she said with a big smile. And even if he didn’t know what a snowman was, Frodo smiled at Mama because it sounded like a fun thing.

“This is a marvellous idea, love! I’ll start on the body and the little badger and you can look for branches and rocks to make the face.” Mama put Frodo back in the snow, showing him how to put his feet where she had already walked so he wouldn’t sink and, together, they started searching for rocks and twigs and anything that could make the snowman better. And when they were done, Papa sait it was the best snowman ever, and it was true because it was taller than Frodo! The faunt started jumping around the snowman, laughing and clapping his hands (the gloves were all soggy with the snow, it felt yucky), until he stumbled and fell backwards. There was snow everywhere; in his socks, in his gloves, under the scarf and even inside the thick jumper. It was very cold and it hurt like the time Frodo had prickled his finger on grandma Mirabella’s pincushion but all over. Frodo started crying, pulling at his cold, soggy clothes and pushing at the snow. It was bad, very bad!

And then, he was in Papa’s arms, crying and trying to claw the nasty feelings off his skin. They were inside and Mama was gently removing his frozen layers, speaking soothingly. But it was too much and Frodo pressed his hands to his ears and kicked when Papa tried to towel him dry. “I know, my boy, it’s very uncomfortable for you. But you can’g stay wet,” Mama said gently. “Once you are dry you can put your sleep clothes on and stay in bed with your blanket, alright? But now papa really must dry you.”

The towel was itchy and nasty but Frodo sniffled and nodded; he really wanted Blanket and to burrow under the pillows. At long last, he was warm and dry again, and wearing his sleep clothes. Mama put Frodo in the middle of the big bed and put a lot of pillows around him, and he curled up there with Blanket clutched against his chest. The burrow was good. It was soft and warm not itchy at all. Mama left the room while Papa sat in the armchair in front of the fireplace with his big book without images. Frodo fell asleep quickly, exhausted by the snow. When he woke up and peeked over the nest of pillows, Papa was still there, reading.“You feel better, little badger?” He asked with his kind voice that felt just like Blanket, and Frodo emerged from the pillows just enough to nod. “Good. Mama will bring you dinner here so you don’t have to be with all the crowd in the dining room. But did you like the snow, before you fell?” Frodo thought about it, frowning, before slowly shaking his head. Snow was pretty to look at from inside the Smial, but not nice to play with.

Papa smiled in understanding. “You were very brave today, little badger, to go on an adventure in the snow. And you don’t have to do it ever again if you don’t like it.” Frodo smiled at Papa and burrowed back into the pillows. He wished that the snow was as soft and warm as Blanket.

[citrineleaf]

*offers you some more fandom/Whumptober angst*

Summary:

Player is different from his teammates.

He isn't used to gallivanting across the globe or having little to no downtime or being stuck with people who are (endearingly) loud.

But he's fine!

... Right?

(Made for Whumptober Swap-out Prompt; Sensory Overload (in place of Day 3))

[arianaofimladris]

Another whumptober fill.

Fandom: The Witcher

Prompts used:

- NO.2 NOWHERE TO RUN

- Alt. prompt 2 - whimpering

- Alt. prompt 6 - sensory overload

[whumpbug]

Hello, Bug! I hope you are doing okay!

I’m here for the emoji game :)

Could you please combine ⚡️(scared of thunderstorms) and 🤒 (needs to be looked after)?

- anon with whumperflies :)

anon, it always makes me so happy to see you in my inbox! i hope this is what you were looking for!

since my last fic was kind of angsty and ambiguous, i decided to make this one pure fluff with these two boys as their relationship slowly becomes something more than a friendship......

•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

“Archie? Archie, come on.. where are you? I know you’re in my apartment,” Simon called out, swinging open his bathroom door to check behind it. 

The window had been cracked open when he came back from work. Unless he was being robbed, which, unfortunately wasn’t too far-fetched, the only other person that would be in his apartment was Archie.

It was.. strange. Archie didn’t usually hide from Simon when he stopped by. When he dropped in, it was usually for a reason, and that reason tended to be rather urgent.

This was utterly unlike Archie. 

Simon padded into his bedroom, scanning for any sign of his friend when a loud crack of thunder sounded through the room.

He didn’t think anything of it, until he heard a high-pitched whimper coming from inside his closet.

“Archie?”

Simon tilted his head and paused. He made his way to the door and carefully slid it open and-- oh.

Archie was curled into a tight ball, pressed as far into the corner as he could possibly be. His hands were clasped around his ears and he was visibly trembling. 

Simon sighed.

“Hey, Archie? Can you look at me?” He ducked into the closet and knelt in front of him.

Archie lifted his head and stared at him, wide-eyed, and slowly brought his hands down from his ears.

“Simon,” He whispered breathlessly. He immediately burst into tears, throwing himself into Simon’s chest and clinging tightly to him. “It’s so.. so loud..”

Without missing a beat, he wrapped his arms around Archie and pulled him close. He frowned.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.. I’m right here..” He murmured, rubbing gentle circles into Archie’s back. Archie let out a pathetic whimper.

Simon never knew that Archie was afraid of the thunder but.. well, it checked out. He did have enhanced hearing after all. But Simon had seen Archie patrol through all kinds of weather, storms included, and he never seemed too bothered by it. Archie was too good at hiding his discomfort sometimes. It was.. concerning.

He supposed today it had been all too much.

Suddenly, more thunder cracked in the sky and Archie yelped as if he had been struck. His hands flew up to his ears and he buried his face into the crook of Simon’s shoulder. Simon cupped a protective hand around the back of Archie's head and shushed soothingly.

“Shhh.. it's okay.. I’m right here..” He hummed. 

Archie sobbed.

Simon didn’t have super hearing, but he was no stranger to overstimulation. He knew all too well the tear-inducing overwhelm that Archie was going through, and, to be fair, it was probably worse than Simon was imagining.

“I know.. I’m sorry..” He whispered, bringing his own hands to gently cover Archie’s over his ears. He tilted his head up.

Archie sniffled. “Simon.. I can’t.. It’s.. it’s so loud.. It hurts..”

Simon thumbed a tear away from Archie’s cheek and leaned over to press a kiss to the crown of his head. Archie immediately melted under the touch, letting his eyes flutter close and his head fall into Simon’s shoulder once again.

More than anything, Simon knew Archie needed someone there. Someone to remind him that he was safe, and that it would pass. 

Considering all the other things Simon did for Archie, that wouldn’t be a problem at all.

“I know I know.. how about we get you a warm bath and then we can go from there?” Simon suggested, steadily patting Archie’s trembling back.

Archie feebly nodded, and soon the two were standing and making their way to the small bathroom.

The thunder had begun to die down a bit, but Archie was still shaken. Simon saw the tension in his body, the way his shoulders were hunched and his eyebrows were pinched together. 

He seemed exhausted. He seemed fully at his limit.

Once Simon started the tap for the bath and tested the water, he rubbed a gentle hand over Archie’s shoulder blades and shut the door behind him.

In the meantime, Simon shut all the windows and doors to help muffle the sound of the rain falling. He idly began making a pot of hot chocolate while waiting for Archie to finish up and get dressed. 

It was interesting. Simon had taken care of Archie in far more perilous situations with far more dire consequences, yet it seemed the mundane problems incapacitated Archie the most.

In other words, Archie could walk off a bullet wound, but loud sounds had him down for the count.

Simon supposed he understood. Still, he made Archie a promise when they first met. That he would do anything in his power to keep Vigil up and running. Sometimes that meant making hot cocoa and putting Empire Strikes Back on the TV at half volume.

Archie emerged about thirty minutes later with his hair damp and some of Simon’s clothes thrown on. They were about a size too big, and the plaid pajama pants were bunched at his ankles. Simon found it terribly endearing.

“The bath help at all?” Simon asked, placing the steaming mugs on the coffee table and settling into the couch.

Archie only offered a nod before beelining his way to the couch. He practically leapt into Simon’s lap, immediately wrapping every limb around him.

He let out a small, muffled whine and pressed his face into the crook of Simon’s shoulder. 

Simon huffed a small laugh and reciprocated the hug, tucking Archie’s head beneath his chin and tracing wide circled across his back. Archie was already melting under the touch; the tension in his shoulders drained away like being wrung out of a sponge.

The solution, it seemed, was cuddles. Simon couldn’t say he was surprised, but he definitely didn’t think Archie would feel comfortable being so affectionate. Still, he had no complaints. None at all.

Simon continued rhythmically rubbing his back and shoulders, feeling a little more stiffness dissipate with every pass.

Soon enough, Archie's breathing began to even out and his head slipped a little bit into Simon’s chest. Simon gathered him up in his arms once again and pulled the blanket over them both. He smiled softly and pressed a kiss to Archie’s temple.

It was then that he knew. Archie didn’t need to be bleeding or broken for Simon to want to take care of him. He was content just being by his side, through thick and thin.

The movie played on, and the two slept.

•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

[promptsforyourwhumpfic]

Whump Prompt #963

After long days of missions/social interactions, your tired, aching whumpee finds solace in the privacy of the shower. Here, no one can bother them and they have the comforting warm water to wash away days of tension and overloaded senses.

[fletcherwilbury]

@whumptober Day 10: Alt Prompt 6: Sensory Overload

Warning for physical violence, physical abuse, meltdown, verbal abuse, headache, and victim blaming.

[sobri-k-eyt]

Body Swap AU (Azrael and Zurian)

She blinked. Her wings opened and closed, and it took her a moment far too long to realize that she had too many of them. Now, as a creature whose form was fluid, she could of course have more wings if she pleased. But she didn’t please for this, nor was she in a fluid shape. She was very, painfully, solid, and much heavier than her normal form felt. Her hair was short and her body ached with unfamiliar weights and movements and sensations. She flexed her fingers, pushing at them to lengthen, only they didn’t at all. They were also not her fingers. Azrael looked up and saw herself staring- only that the eyes in her body were an all too familiar red. “What-” she spoke quickly, but clapped golden clawed hands to the mouth the spoke, because that was surely not her voice. No, it was male and familiar again. “Zurian, what’s going on?” she hissed, speaking in his voice. Her own eyes blinked back at her, confused and wary. “I’m not sure, ‘Rael. I can’t change forms. Nor sense anything else. It’s not a matter of forms- it’s yours. Not mine.” She flinched. The second set of wings along with them, and the dual tails bobbed up and down. That alone nearly made her try and claw them off. This wasn’t her body. This wasn’t her, and she was feeling this she’d never felt before, not just with fake sinews and leaves beneath the skin, but echoes of blooming grass and rustling animals. She fell to her- his knees. She covered her feathered ears and whimpered slightly. Everything she was used to was gone. And her body was heavy and moving in ways that wasn’t her own. It was heavy and not hers. It wasn’t. She felt a delicate push on her shoulder, familiar fingers gracing her shoulder. She flinched, the touch cold and icy and far too much for her sense to handle.