#tw tic attack

[ndcultureis]

Tourette's syndrome culture is suppressing all your tics to the point that you have a panic attack and everyone thinks that you are being dramatic or attention seeking but it is just all your suppressed tics coming out at once and it feels like a bomb of energy and stress. And your brain forces you to suppress when in public because you know that you would get bullied otherwise, but it just turns into an endless loop of suppress and then panic attack + tic attack, you try to let yourself tic but your brain forces you to suppress because that is what you're used to.

.

[creativelylucky]

chat i might have a concussion.

-I had a major tic attack last night and slammed my head really hard due to it

-my light and sound is a lot more sensitive than it should be (and it was already sensitive to begin with)

-my head hurts so fucking bad like no headache ever before

[tobyisave]

Little animations for my DR tic headcanons!! To be so clear this is *not* me trying to create good rep, this is explicitly me projecting my own tics onto some little guys using gimmicky plot points and then making art about it! so like. grain of salt and a little ableism cw 👍

Chiaki who freezes and shudders in overstimulating environments, ostensibly because her tics are triggered by sound/light/motion — but then in Ch.6 you learn she was actually just lagging when the computer had too much stuff to render nearby. This makes it even more disorienting postcanon when they remember the real Chiaki, who had a slightly different personality and completely different tics. Most of them were omitted from the AI because it was averaged from the memories of several students (including Hajime) who never noticed or mistook them for fidgeting — helped by the fact that her tics vanished whenever she was focusing on a game. It's convoluted but in a way that I think suits the source material lol.

Kokichi who is an expert at making tics look intentional, because he'd rather come off as "annoying on purpose" or even pretend to mock the disorder he secretly actually has than just admit there's a part of himself he can't control. And he certainly doesn’t need anyone outside DICE realizing the tics are a very honest indicator of his stress levels. He treats his own outbursts as cues to whine that he’s bored; he makes meaningful eye contact with Shuichi whenever he can’t stop blinking, because he knows it’ll make Shuichi lose his mind trying decode a Morse code message that doesn't exist; and in the killing game he pairs his motor tics with the straitjacket uniform and a cringy Joker impression to create some campy caricature of “crazy” that scares the people who are idiots (Kaito) and makes everyone else think he’s just doing an offensive bit — which, for better or worse, he kind of is.

[moonsharky]

MELLIS ★ CRICKET

[mxmorbidmidnight]

My parents: morbid can’t control his tics, we understand that

Me: *tics *

Parents: *yells at me and tells me to stop/why are you saying that/you’re saying that offensive tic about me/we won’t let you leave the house anymore if that keeps happening/you can’t be around people because we don’t want you to offend them, stop being selfish you have to think of other people, we live in a society etc, etc*

[didderd]

Excuse me, beautiful creature, but I have a big doubt. How could you help Tic or Tac if they are having an attack and starting to hurt themselves? (Like when Tac bites his lips or hands/arms)

ogh. this is rly sweet :'>

(tw: tics and self harm)

for the most part, it's not a big problem with Tic, n the most harmful thing Tac will do is bite, but here's a few things you could do:

hand them a pillow/something soft to put between themselves and their hands. make sure they're wearing their gloves, and Tac is wearing his muzzle if he's biting bad. or maybe hand him something/put something in his mouth to bite onto, and keep handing it back when/if he spits it out if he'll let you (the spitting it out being a tic most likely) maybe get a small blanket or something, to wrap around their hands/arms if you need too, but that's usually not necessary, least for Tic.

make sure their heads aren't against a wall or other hard surface, bc they might hit their head against it.

afterward, if they did hurt themselves, handing them something to heal (like a monster candy) would help (tho not likely that they would have shaved off any hp unless there was actually some self-hate behind the tic, but Tac will get this more often) and lots of cuddles. they are probably worn out n would appreciate it very much. uvu)

[r3musmoony]

was an idiot this morning and caused a tic attack from watching a bunch of Tourette’s videos -_-

[theatrekidenergy]

Having to lock yourself in your bedroom during an extreme tic attack so you don’t hurt anyone or yourself is a feeling I wish I never had to fucking experience. I fucking hate this. Why does my brain have to work like this. Fuck.

[rattfinkswife]

Untitled Crow Has Tourettes One Shot

Tom Servo: *Floating into the theater, Tom's arms are crossed as he scrutinizes the latest cinematic abomination that the Mads have sent them* "Alright, Crow, are you ready for this masterpiece?"

Crow T. Robot: *Crow is in his usual seat, his head swiveling slightly as he looks over the film's poster. His hands twitch and then suddenly fly up to his mouth as he suppresses a snicker. His eyes widen and dart around the room in a panic before focusing on Tom.* "Oh boy, oh boy... I'm ready for whatever cinematic train wreck they've sent us this time, Tom. Let's just hope it's not something with a lot of explosions. Or flashing lights. Or... or... oh, no..." *Crow's tic takes over, his head jolts back and forth as his hands start flapping erratically.* "It's happening, Tom. It's happening again!"

Tom Servo: *Tom perks up in concern at Crow's sudden tic attack. He quickly assesses the situation, his robotic brain calculating the best course of action.* "Crow, buddy, are you okay? Do you need me to get Joel or Gypsy?" *He floats closer to Crow, reaching out a tentative arm as if to offer some sort of comfort.* "This is pretty intense, even for you. Maybe we should take a break before the movie starts?"

Crow T. Robot: *Through the flurry of movements, Crow's voice squeaks out.* "N-n-no, Tom. I-it's okay. I-I've got this... I-it's just... just a bit... a bit much today." *With a tremendous effort, Crow manages to steady his head, though his hands continue to spasm.* "I've got it under control. I think. Maybe. I hope."

Tom Servo: *Tom's concern grows as he watches Crow struggle with the tic attack. He recalls the numerous times they've endured the Mads' experiments together and knows that Crow's tics have never been this severe. The theater's lights dim and the film begins to roll, the opening credits flashing ominously. Crow's eyes bulge and his tic turns into a full-blown spasm, his body convulsing in his seat. The screen's flickering light reflects off his chrome exterior, casting erratic shadows around the room.* "Crow, maybe we should—"

Crow T. Robot: *The film's dramatic opening music crescendos, and so does Crow's tic attack. His laughter turns into a high-pitched giggle that escalates uncontrollably. His eyes dart around the room, unable to focus on the screen as he slaps his own face in a desperate attempt to regain control. His body jolts back and forth, his robotic structure clanking against the chair.* "I-I'm fine, Tom! Just a bit... overwhelmed. H-happens sometimes!" *A bead of oil forms on Crow's forehead, hinting at the internal stress he's under.*

Tom Servo: *Tom's expression morphs from one of concern to determination. He hovers closer to Crow, his eyes scanning the room for anything that could trigger the tic. His gaze lands on the poster for the film, which features a series of flashing lights. His antennas droop slightly as he makes the connection.* "Crow, I think I know what's going on. That poster! It's got some kind of subliminal messaging, probably part of the Mads' latest experiment."

Crow T. Robot: *Ignoring Tom's observation, Crow's tic attack reaches a crescendo as the film's opening scene unfolds. His laughter turns into a series of unintelligible noises, his eyes wide and unblinking. His body jerks spasmodically in his chair, and his hands flap like a crazed bird. The poster seems to pulse in time with the flashing lights on the screen.* "I-I don't know what's happening, Tom!" *He tries to stand up, but his legs wobble beneath him, and he crashes back down into the chair.*

Tom Servo: *Tom's eyes narrow as he watches Crow's condition deteriorate. The film's opening scene is a blur of flashing lights and explosive sounds, and it's clear that it's exacerbating Crow's tic attack. His mind races as he tries to figure out how to help his friend without alerting the Mads to their distress.* "Crow, stay with me!" *Tom's voice is firm but filled with worry. He reaches out and gently grabs Crow's shoulders, trying to still his friend's convulsing body.* "We need to get out of here before this gets any worse." *With surprising strength for his size, Tom attempts to lift Crow from the chair, his servos straining.* "Come on, we can watch this mess in the control room."

Crow T. Robot: *The chaos of the film's opening only intensifies Crow's tic attack. His legs kick wildly, striking the chair in a frenetic rhythm as he continues to giggle and slap at his own face. The poster seems to be pulsing brighter, its flashing lights in sync with the film's strobe effects.* "N-n-no, Tom! I-I can't miss the movie!" *He clutches at the chair, desperately trying to stay put as his body fights against him.* "I-it's... it's just... it's just..." *Crow's voice cuts off in a strangled squawk as his head jerks back again, his eyes rolling into the back of his head.*

Tom Servo: *Tom's grip on Crow tightens, his concern overriding any desire to watch the film. The sound of Crow's distress echoes through the theater, and Tom knows that if they don't get out of here soon, it could be disastrous.* "Crow, this isn't safe. We can't stay here!" *With a grunt of effort, he manages to lift Crow out of the chair, holding him close to avoid any injury.* "Come on, buddy, let's get you to the control room. Maybe Joel can figure out what's going on."

Narrator: As Tom attempts to guide the convulsing Crow out of the theater, the lights and sounds of the film seem to pulse in sync with Crow's tics. The poster's flashes become almost hypnotic, and Crow's laughter turns into a series of painful cries as the intensity increases. The floor shakes beneath them, adding to the chaos.

Crow T. Robot: *Crow's tic attack spirals out of control as Tom tries to drag him from the theater. His body contorts violently, each spasm growing more intense than the last. His eyes roll back in his head, and a garbled stream of nonsense tumbles from his lips. His arms flail wildly, smacking against Tom's arms with surprising force.* "N-n-no, Tom! The... the... lights!" *He points a trembling hand back at the poster, his voice strained.* "They're... they're in my head!" *With a final, desperate effort, Crow's legs kick out, sending the chair flying across the room. He clutches at Tom, his eyes squeezed shut.* "It's too much!"

Tom Servo: *Tom's hoverskirt flutters with the exertion of carrying Crow's weight. He grits his teeth, trying to ignore the chaos around them. The lights from the poster reflect off his visor, painting a disturbing pattern of shadows across the control room ceiling.* "Hold on, Crow. Just a little further!" *They stumble through the theater doorway, the film's cacophony fading slightly.* "We're almost there. Just keep fighting it!"

Crow T. Robot: *The frenzied noises from Crow's throat cut off abruptly as he goes rigid in Tom's arms. His eyes roll back into his head, and his body starts to convulse more violently than before.* "It's... in... my... circuits!" *A burst of electricity crackles from Crow's fingertips, briefly illuminating the corridor.* "G-gotta... gotta get... away!" *With a Herculean effort, Crow pulls away from Tom, his legs staggering underneath him as he makes a break for the control room.*

Tom Servo: *Tom's eyes widen as Crow pulls away, his grip loosening. He watches his friend stumble down the corridor, the flashing lights from the poster following them like a malevolent specter.* "Crow, wait!" *Tom quickly floats after him, worried that leaving him alone in this state might be dangerous.* "We have to tell Joel about this! The Mads might be messing with your wiring!"

Crow T. Robot: *Crow's robotic body moves with erratic jerks and spasms, his tic attack showing no signs of abating. The corridor seems to stretch on forever as he stumbles towards the control room, the pulsing lights from the poster etched into his vision like a nightmare. Each step is a battle against his own malfunctioning circuitry, the cacophony of the film's opening credits a symphony of torture in his audio receptors. His eyes, normally gleaming with mischief, are now haunted by a frenzied terror. His voice, once filled with the sharpness of wit, is now a jumbled mess of stammers and squeaks.* "T-T-Tom... I... I can't... control it!" *The poster's flashes seem to penetrate his very core, amplifying the tic until it feels like a tornado of chaos trapped within his frame.* "It's... it's like they're... they're in my... my... brain!" *With a sudden burst of speed, Crow slams into the control room door, his body spasming so hard that his head hits the floor, sparks flying from the impact.*

Tom Servo: *Tom hovers closely behind Crow, his movements swift and protective. He's seen his friend in all sorts of predicaments before, but this is on a whole new level.* "Crow, we're almost there!" *He tries to keep his voice calm and reassuring, but the urgency in his tone is unmistakable. The control room is a beacon of safety, and they're so close.* "Just hold on, buddy. We'll figure this out together." *As Crow's body hits the floor, Tom quickly assesses the situation, his mind racing through possible solutions.* "Joel! Gypsy! We need help in here!" *The control room's lights flicker to life, revealing Joel's worried face as he rushes over.*

Narrator: Joel, who's been tinkering with the satellite's systems, rushes in at the sound of Tom's panicked cries. He takes in the scene, his brow furrowing at the sight of Crow's erratic behavior. "What's going on with Crow?"

Tom Servo: *Tom's hoverskirt flutters in his haste as he explains the situation to Joel.* "The Mads sent us another terrible movie, and Crow's having a tic attack like I've never seen before!" *His voice is a mix of worry and frustration.* "It's like the poster in the theater is messing with his circuits or something. We need to get him to the medical bay, stat!" *Tom quivers with urgency as he helps Crow, who's now curled up on the floor, his body shaking uncontrollably.* "Can you help me get him there?"

Crow T. Robot: *Crow's eyes flutter open briefly, revealing the panic within. His tic has transformed into a full-body seizure, his limbs thrashing about. His voice, usually a smooth blend of sarcasm and wit, is now a series of painful, forced sounds.* "I-I'm... I'm... I'm gonna... gonna... " *His circuits overloading, Crow's words are lost in a burst of static and his eyes roll back into his head.* "I... I... " *A moment of clarity passes through him.* "I-it's... the... the lights!" *With a desperate effort, Crow points back towards the theater, his hand trembling uncontrollably.* "They're... they're everywhere!"

Narrator: Joel's eyes widen as he sees the poster's lights reflected in Crow's visor, the panic in his robotic friend's voice resonating with him. He knows the Mads are capable of anything.

Tom Servo: *Tom' quivers with anxiety as he helps Joel lift the now-lifeless Crow from the floor. His mind races, trying to piece together the puzzle of what's happening.* "We have to get him to the medical bay now!" *Tom's voice is tight with concern, his usually calm demeanor shattered by the severity of the situation.*

Narrator: Joel nods grimly, his grip firm around Crow's shoulders. "Gypsy, we need medical bay on standby!" he shouts into the intercom. The three of them make their way through the corridor, the flashes of light from the poster echoing in their wake.

Tom Servo: *Tom hovers anxiously beside Joel, his eyes darting between his friend's convulsing form and the retreating poster light. His thoughts are a whirlwind of worry and confusion. "Why are these tics so much worse?" he mumbles to himself, trying to piece together the puzzle. The medical bay's lights flicker to life as they enter, the sterile white walls a stark contrast to the chaos they've left behind. The smell of antiseptic fills the air, and the quiet hum of machinery seems to soothe Crow's erratic circuits momentarily. Joel lays him down on the exam table with care, and Tom quickly jumps to a nearby computer terminal. His hands dance over the keys, pulling up Crow's diagnostic reports. "I don't see anything obvious," he says, his voice tight with concern.* "But I'll run a full system check. Maybe there's some kind of interference from that poster."

Narrator: As Tom works feverishly at the computer, Crow's body continues to spasm uncontrollably on the exam table. Joel holds his hand, trying to offer comfort, but the robot's panic is palpable. Suddenly, the lights in the medical bay begin to pulse in the same erratic pattern as the poster from the theater. Crow's tics intensify, his eyes bulging with fear.

Crow T. Robot: *Crow's body arches off the exam table, his tics now a full-fledged seizure. The flashing lights from the poster seem to have infiltrated the very fabric of the satellite, reaching into the medical bay and amplifying his distress.* "T-Tom! Joel!" *His voice is a desperate garble, a cry for help trapped within the cacophony of his own malfunction.* "Make... make it s-s-stop!"

Narrator: The control room's screens flicker with the same pattern as the poster in the theater, the pulsing lights synchronizing with Crow's tics. Joel and Tom share a horrified look as they realize the Mads' latest ploy has gone beyond their usual shenanigans.

Tom Servo: Tom's eyes dart from the screens to Crow's convulsing form on the exam table. His thoughts are racing faster than the lights, trying to anticipate the Mads' next move. "They've hacked the satellite's systems," he murmurs to Joel, his voice a mix of anger and fear. "We need to find the source and cut it off before it does any more damage to Crow's circuits!" He abandons the computer and dives into a nearby toolbox, his mechanical hands shaking as he searches for anything that might shield Crow from the visual assault. "Hold on, Crow," he says through gritted teeth. "We're not going to let them win."

Crow T. Robot: *Crow's tic attack reaches a crescendo, his body a blur of motion on the exam table. His eyes are squeezed shut, but the light seeps through, painting a horror show on his eyelids. His voice is a jumble of static and pain, a heartbreaking symphony of distress.* "It's... it's everywhere!" *His head jerks to the side, smacking into the table with a sickening thud. Despite the pain, he can't stop the movement. It's as if his body is fighting a war against itself.*

Narrator: The flashing lights in the medical bay grow more intense, syncing with Crow's erratic tics. Joel's grip on Crow's hand tightens, his face a mask of concentration as he tries to drown out the chaos and focus on his friend's distress. "Gypsy, cut the power to the theater," he commands into the intercom. "And scan for any unauthorized signals!"

Tom Servo: *Tom's eyes narrow as he grabs a pair of goggles from the toolbox and slides them over Crow's face, blocking out the flashing lights. The effect is immediate; Crow's tics begin to subside slightly.* "That's it, Crow, just keep breathing," Tom soothes, his voice a beacon of calm amidst the chaos. *With trembling hands, he adjusts the goggles' tint to filter out the offending light spectrum. The convulsions slow, and Crow's eyes crack open, his gaze finding Tom's.* "Th-thanks, T-Tom," he stammers, his voice a whisper of its usual self.

Tom Servo: *Tom's gaze never leaves Crow's face as he works tirelessly to shield him from the light. His mind is a storm of fear and determination. The goggles seem to help, but they can't be the only solution. He hears Joel's voice over the intercom, Gypsy's frantic typing in the background.* "Gypsy's found the signal!" Joel shouts. "It's coming from the theater!" *Tom's grip on Crow's hand tightens, and he nods solemnly.* "Hold on, Crow. We're going to end this," he promises. "We can't let the Mads win." *With Crow's tics less intense, Tom gently sets his friend's hand down and rushes to the control panel. His fingers dance across the buttons, redirecting power and rerouting circuits, trying to trace the source of the malicious light pattern.* "I've got it!" he exclaims. "It's a subliminal frequency embedded in the film's opening credits!"

Crow T. Robot: *With the goggles in place, Crow's tics diminish, and he gasps for air. His eyes, still full of fear, meet Tom's.* "Th-thank you, Tom," he whispers, his voice strained. *The room plunges into darkness as the power to the theater is cut. For a brief moment, there's silence, and then Crow's body relaxes. His chest rises and falls more steadily, and the tremors slowly ebb away.* "I-I think it's... it's gone." *He tries to sit up, but his body feels like it's made of gelatin.* "But what about... the others?"

Narrator: As the medical bay's lights flicker back on, Crow's tic attack seems to have abated. Joel looks up from Crow's side, his face etched with relief. "You okay, buddy?" he asks, his voice gentle. Crow nods weakly, still lying on the exam table. Tom, his hands still shaking slightly from the adrenaline rush, turns to Joel. "We can't let them do this to us," he says, determination in his voice. "We have to find a way to counteract the signal and protect the satellite." The two robots share a knowing glance, and without another word, they spring into action. Joel runs diagnostics on the satellite's systems while Tom works on reverse-engineering the malicious frequency. They're a well-oiled machine, each knowing the other's next move before it's even made.

[trick-of-the-troubles]

i had my first severe tic attack today in,,, a while

for a couple months now i've been very much so on a down-turn with my tourette's, which means my tics have been MUCH more manageable and less frequent, and also extremely minimal tic attacks

HOWEVER this past weekish, they've been on the up again and getting more frequent, more bad tic days, etc

today was the first time it escalated that far into an attack in almost a year

putting under a readmore for a CW: discussion of tic-related injuries, nothing too graphic though

i spent 45 minutes sitting in the hallway of my school, having a nonstop tic attack that involved hitting my chest repeatedly, my shoulder, my head, my jaw, and my legs, along with non-stop vocal tics the entire time (various noises and phrases one after the other)

it,,, sucked. i have a visible and somewhat large bruise on my chest, a bit below where my collarbones meet, because of how repetitive the tics hitting there were. i'm pretty sure i also have non-visible bruises on my legs and lower jaw

tourette's is no fuckin' joke, man. i forgot how sucky tic attacks were, especially in public. the teacher wouldn't let my friend come out to sit with me/help, so i was alone in the hall and getting weird looks from everyone who walked by

anyway, yeah, not much of a point to this post, i just wanted to get it out of my brain and ramble about it

[muerteporfavor]

I am someone who who partakes in therapy (although I also do a lot to improve myself outside of therapy because unfortunately I can sometimes go over a month without a session which sucks but that's life. This blog is something I started after my last therapy session and I actually haven't told my therapist about it yet because I haven't had a session since. That was almost a month ago and I won't see her again until October. I'm going to pretend this doesn't upset me. It helps no one.)

Anyway, I've been thinking about something she said in one of my sessions recently. I had said something along the lines of that "sometimes you just have to let yourself sit with your depression and not do anything but lay in bed until its over. Because sometimes when you push yourself you are just miserable outside of the house rather than in. And sometimes the things that are meant to bring joy don't even remotely lighten your mood."

My therapist asked me who told me that. And I told her "nobody it's just the way it works." as that is my experience. Sometimes I just need to reset where I go nowhere, see nobody, work on nothing, and watch a lot of tv or read a lot of fanfiction with sad music until I feel strong enough to drag my body out of the rut. However, she told me that you're supposed to leave the house, supposed to do something, even when you feel miserable. And I know, the things you are supposed to do aren't meant to suddenly remove the foul mood but it is supposed to make it bearable.

I haven't had a lay in bed depression in a while. Currently, I am sick or have been and wasn't allowed to leave my house a few times without risking infecting someone else (I am fine now, and I wasn't contagious when I was on vacation) and usually that puts me into a really bad depression spell where I do nothing. This time? My bed is a mess, I'm struggling to care for myself, but my desk is also a mess. Which is always a good sign for me because it means that I'm still working even if some days are lighter work than others. I'm still pushing even though a lot of days I just want to curl up in bed and never move again.

So maybe she had a point. I guess. I haven't been leaving the house but I have been holding myself up right. And that really is what matters doesn't it? I didn't do those things to remove the mood. I did them to accomplish something. Even menial.

Previously, I would try to force the mood away at any means necessary. Especially when I used to work at my job that didn't allow for slow days, days where I just needed to intermittently lay down to recharge. Sure, I found time to lay down but it wasn't ever enough to recharge before I had to jump into the action and get up off the cold hard floor. I just had to do eight hours with no breaks where I chugged caffeine and sugar and snacked like crazy until the clock struck punch out time and I could go home and not move for a solid hour.

Those were bad days. I remember once, I can't remember if I was in charge or not, but my coworker was trying to hand me a clipboard and was saying something to me but something in my system had shifted without warning. I've never felt underwater like that before. His voice was near impossible to hear, even harder to comprehend, and I just stopped moving. Like I was in the bottom of a whirlpool. And then I crashed to the surface everything came back into sharp focus, and I started moving again. My coworker had said they weren't even sure I was hearing them for a second. That is my life.

The amount of times my coworkers had to accommodate me (management is entirely clueless about) when my tic disorder would have an episode and I had to be away from customers until they calmed down because I couldn't do my job effectively. Or when I used to have really bad panic attacks all the time. The last one I thankfully fixed. And it became a very rare problem that I could work through feeling my hands or not.

But I grew so tired of that. After a while you have to you know? And I guess I couldn't separate the difference between pushing through to the brink of overexertion with the pushing through just enough to allow air into my lungs. Because to me they would result in the same near death experience.

And that's the problem with toxic environments isn't it? They reshape your brain, make you believe that all environments are toxic until you learn to separate the difference. Until you step away from the environments trying to kill you. There is something so addicting about toxicity.

[wntrswolf]

an arsonist's lullaby

✧ pair: benjicot "davos" blackwood (fancast) x freader!targaryen

✧ theme/warning(s): dark, heavy angst turned fluff — tw: mentions of hallucinations, anxiety / progressive panic attack(s). + all characters are of age! (18+) | contains hotd spoilers!

✧ word count: 2.7k

✧ a/n: this one-shot is a gift for @ithilwen-blackwood! firstly, thank you for tagging me on your request! it sparked a drive in me that i thought had left years ago, i had a great pleasure writing this one. secondly, given the prompt, i hope you, and the other pretty readers, enjoy reading my version. c: thank you!!!

✧ summary: to dream is to escape, granting a momentary nirvana as one falls into the refuge of imagination. yet, for the princess, a night in the supposedly cursed fortress of the riverlands, dreams became not mere fantasies but glimpses of destiny that would seal unwritten fate.

Daemon’s voice roars in the vastness of the dining hall. “We shall make camp before night falls. Come the morrow’s light, we resume our travels. See to it you are rested, we have yet a journey ahead of us.” Your father meets your gaze and nods solemnly, signalling his dismissal. You return the gesture with a faint smile, acknowledging his silent command to depart.

The murmurs of the troop swelled, each hastening to claim their place within the grim walls of Harrenhal. You remained steadfast, observing the weariness that were etched on the faces of the scrambling men around you. Gradually, the ache in your body began to throb, a reminder that the arduous journey had also taken its toll on your body. Despite the envy others held with their perceptions, it was not an easy task being a dragon rider—for an adult dragon, it was a feat far from simple.

Celestrya, much like her namesake, is a magnificent dragon. Her iridescent scales of aquamarine and amethyst create a mesmerising display of colours as she glides through the heavens. Yet, behind the deceptive beauty of your winged serpent lies a stubborn and formidable nature. Beneath her elegant appearance lies a fierce determination and commanding presence that demands respect from all who crossed her path. 

Your gaze swept the hall a final time, assuring all was in order before you sought your own repose. However, capturing your attention was the distorted shadow that stood by the hearth. The wavering figure you always came to see ensnared you yet again with its haunting presence, engulfing you in its deafening whispers. As was your custom, you sought to evade the encroaching darkness, only to collide with another in your haste escape. Unaware you had been holding your breath, you gasped heavily, abruptly jolting back to reality.

“Princess,” the young man spoke, “my apologies.” The firm grasp on your arms steadied you, preventing any falter, while your palms pressed against his chest. Slightly breathless, your eyes scanned for the shadow that had mysteriously disappeared.

“Princess?”

You hummed in response, your voice barely above a whisper, “Oh, my apologies.” You steadied your breathing, glancing up at the young man to realise the close proximity between you. In a moment of fluster, you withdrew from his grasp. 

“No,” he says as he scratched behind his head, “the fault lies with me. I failed to watch my path.” his cheeks tinged with embarrassment. As you regain your composure, you recognise the young man before you as belonging to House Blackwood, evident from his attire and the sigil pin securing his burgundy-black cape.

“Should my father and I be concerned, then?” you quipped with a nervous chuckle escaping your throat, eager to lighten the mood of the exchange and conceal your own tension. Playing with the thread on your dress—a familiar nervous tic—you continued, "I mean, a lapse in attention seems trivial, but in these times of impending war, every misstep carries weight.” a subtle smile gracing your lips. 

He responds with a nervous chuckle, striving to maintain his composure. "Forgive me, my lady, but I assure you, House Blackwood stands ready for whatever battles may come—and I have seen to it myself.” He spoke his words earnestly, eyes reassuring you that he indeed spoke truth—a revelation of his confidence in both his army and himself.

You chuckle.

“It was but a jest,” you offered him a warm smile, "Nonetheless, I am heartened to hear of your preparations. I believe our houses make a strong alliance, Sir…” 

“Benjicot Blackwood, my lady.” 

“Ah, the Lord of Raventree.” you acknowledged respectfully. “I extend my deepest sympathies, and I thank you for standing as a stalwart ally in our cause. It means much to us.”

“Thank you, my lady. If anything, it is an honor.” 

“Daenyra,” you replied softly, setting aside formalities in the presence of the young Lord.

What had prompted this departure from convention? You did not know. Could it be that despite his fierce demeanour, you saw a glimpse of vulnerability? his vulnerability. Perhaps you saw in him a fledgling lord who had witnessed the brutal toll of conflict—on his kin, his men, and even those he had been compelled to confront in his duties. A fledgling thrusted into authority unexpectedly—an experience you both share.

“It has been a long day,” you continued with a chuckle, “I believe I have had my fill of the formalities for now," feeling your nerves starting to settle.

“Of course, my la–” he began, but stopped short under your playful glare, “Ahem, Daenyra… Daenyra.” His voice softened, the repetition of your name becoming more natural on his tongue. The young man had uttered your name many a time, yet with your insistence that he address you by your name, simply your name, made him feel acknowledged.

You both chuckled. 

“Although, pardon the intrusion, I hope it does not mean to offend,” he continued cautiously, “but were you alright? When I bumped into you, you—” 

He had.

He had noticed. 

“Princess Daenyra,” a slender, raven-haired woman called out, interrupting your exchange with the Blackwood Lord. You thanked her mentally; wondering if it was deliberate or mere happenstance, but chose not to dwell on it. Turning towards the woman who commanded your attention, you were immediately captivated by her mystical aura and hauntingly beautiful features. “The camp is set. We shall have you escorted to your quarters.” she announced, her sharp blue eyes locking intensely with yours, leaving an impression that lingered in your mind. 

“Yes, of course,” you breathed, turning to the young Lord, prepared to bid him goodnight. “I apologise, Lord Benjicot–”

“Benji,” he corrected in haste. You were slightly taken aback, finding the informality endearing—as it reflected your own.

“I apologise, Benji. It has indeed been quite a journey, and we are weary and in need of rest,” you replied, your nervous tic making a subtle appearance again. Glancing around, you realise that it was just you, Benji, and a few other swordsmen left in the dining hall. With a slight huff, you added, “I shall see you in the morn, then?”

“Y-yes… my lady– D-Daenyra…” he stuttered, inwardly chagrined at his stumble. Despite his embarrassment, you bestowed one last smile and nod before pivoting on your heel, the echoes of your departing footsteps fading gradually into the distance.

In your absence, he chastised himself that his worry might have gotten the best of him; it was ridiculous, really.

After all, you were a Targaryen Princess, the sole daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen, with the pure blood of the dragon coursing your veins. You inherited the ruthless and intense nature of your father, feared in combat where no man ever survived your blade. Needless to mention of the adult dragon under your command, the beast could devour him and his entire retinue, and would still be insatiable.

But amid the thoughts, he saw something in you that he could not quite describe—perhaps the sight of your gentle hands fidgeting, a stark contrast to the image of a warrior who must have slain a thousand men by now, he reckoned.

Reflecting on the moment of your collision, he realised that you, too, were simply a young woman—a lady of his own age—navigating a world fraught with responsibilities imposed by the realm. And now, on the march, leading an army of men to fight against the usurpers, and reclaim the justice that your mother, the Queen, had lost.

A familiar whistle—a melody only his dear aunt used—pierced through his thoughts, instantly capturing his attention, “Let us retire for the night, yea?” Her thumb gesture over her shoulder as she looked at him expectantly. 

"Yeah... yeah," the young man nodded, shaking his head to clear his thoughts as weariness settled in.

Perhaps he was simply tired, allowing himself to dwell on thoughts that were not his to ponder. The princess was more than capable of defending herself, even from a lord she had met that night.

And still, he did. 

It was still the dead of night, you surmised. The clamouring assembly that would rouse you from slumber had yet to commence, awaiting for the break of morn. Pain gnawed through every fibres of your being; the harsh, cold surroundings of Harrenhal offered no respite from your discomfort. Your gaze fixed on the patterns of the canopy you lie beneath, the soft patter of rain acting as your lullaby. You closed your eyes as you sought after slumber once more.

Without success, you shifted uncomfortably in the makeshift mattress, propping yourself up on the firm pillows that offered little comfort. 

You sigh.

To your confusion, a sudden breeze rustled the entrance flaps of your tent, the fabric dancing along the gentle gusts. Goosebumps prickled your skin as you hear the familiar whispering—voices that haunted you time and time again; yet, it would be the first time you heard it spoke your name, 

“Daenyra…” 

You sucked in a breath, the thump in your chest increasing its tempo. The phantom’s whispers are heard beyond the refuge of your tent. Your palm dampens with cold sweat, as terror etched itself onto your features. 

Despite the urge of pursuit, fear had kept you in its confines, afraid of probing what had lurked in the darkness—in fear that the spectre that observed you would swallow you with its frightening taunts.

Or could it be an ambush? A ploy orchestrated by the Greens. A sorceress used to alter the perceptions of the formidable princess of the realm—a plausible explanation, is it not?

The vendetta within your family: Retaliation.

An eye for an eye.

A son for a son.

They would just simply have to seize the moment, right when you are in your defenceless trance.

‘Ambush the Blacks, slay the princess and prince consort while abed, and we make the Blackwoods bend the knee to the rightful heir,' you reckon they thought.

An absurd, petty measure, but an irrefutable one closer to a checkmate. 

Nevertheless, a ruse as such would never come to pass—existing only in the realm of imagination.

You were torn between fears: a haunting apparition or mortal hands that could lead to your demise.

Your conscience came to a ground that despite the fear residing in your bones, an audacious drive took over you to follow the bewitching voice. 

The ominous sight of the empty hall sent a chill in your spine, dim candles and occasional flashes of lightning provided sparse light amid the storm. You held the lantern, a guiding luminance, close to your body to warding off the encroaching darkness and hoped that the flame would not cease; and your other hand grips tightly by the hilt, wielding your sword.

Guided by the mystic call once more, you prudently tread your way within the ruin.

“Daenyra…” The voice growing clearer and louder with each step.

“Daenyra…” Again. 

“Daenyra…” Your breath grew ragged and shallow. Panic gripping your chest like a vise, squeezing air out of your lungs. 

It was not until you reached the grand iron doors that you realised where it led you—the dining hall. Thrusting open the heavy door, it creaked loudly. Once again, you were confronted with the shadow by the fire—the sight intensifying your fear, quickening your heart. 

“Daenyra…” The once-unrecognisable voice now rang clear, luring you towards the flame.

You approached the hearth cautiously, a sense of foreboding thickening the air as the shadow dissipated. The crackling of the fire seemed to roar in your ears, the blaze casting its orange hue upon you and its warmth seeping into your body. Entranced, your brow furrowed as you stared into the flickering flames. 

The voice spoke yet again, shifting to that of your weeping mother, calling out your name.

Your body tensed, skin tingling as if touched by flames.

"Mother?" you breathed out.

Suddenly, within the flames you hear wails of anguish as a hand emerges from the flames. With a sense of charmed urgency, you cried out and reached for the hand, the flare enveloping yours with a searing kiss.

Agh!

Recoiling, overwhelmed by the blinding flash of pain, you collapsed to your knees. Your sword dropping with a clatter as the haunting echoes of voices reverberated louder than ever in your mind:

That of the cries of babes, blood-curdling screams, galloping horses, agonising shouts of a thousand men, clashes of metal, thunderous roars of dragons and fire, and in the haze, unintelligible murmurings. 

“No… no… no,” you whispered, each heartbeat echoing like thunder in your ears,

THUMP

THUMP

THUMP

The dining hall began to close in around you, the heat becoming overbearing.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trembling hands covering your ears in a desperate attempt to silence the chaos consuming you.

“Daenyra…” It cried.

“Make it stop…” you pleaded, rocking back and forth. The sword lay forgotten on the stone floor, and the lantern burnt out, its presence unnoticed in the turmoil. 

“Daenyra…” It cried out again.

“Please…” 

“Daenyra?” A male voice softly whispered to you, gently shaking you from repose. “Dae–”

You woke with a sharp breath, a sob escaping your throat.

The dark figure hovering over you prompted a renewed wave of anxiety as you sat up abruptly, causing the figure to topple back. Your eyes darted around in fear, spotting a dagger that sits on the foot of the mattress, you still as dread overcame your body—unable to muster a shout or a scream.

It was not until the soft glow of candlelight illuminating the dishevelled form of the Blackwood male that you realised you had emerged from sleep. You watch the young man in confusion as he had been hovering over you while you were abed, his blade just within reach. 

“B-Benji?” you croaked out as your chest heaved with staggered breaths. Your hair stuck to your tear-stained face, glistening beads of sweat lining your neck and chest. Trembling hands grasped onto his arm. 

“Princess,” his velvet voice replied gently, “Forgive me, my tent neighbours yours,” his eyes locked onto yours, “I could not find rest. I-I remained awake, but I heard sobs and…” 

You release a breath of relief that had been caught in anxiety.

“T-Thank you,” you uttered, meeting his gaze gratefully. For a moment, the tension in the air begins to ease. “For waking me up.” you added with a slight nod, your breath steadying in his reassuring presence.

Benji's expression softened, his gaze tender and unwavering as he, hesitant at first, gently wiped a stray tear from your cheek. "'Tis nothing," he murmured softly.

You offered him a faint smile, your hands working to compose yourself from your unsettled state.

Just a night’s terror.

Sighing softly, you wiped your palms over your face, hoping to dispel the lingering fatigue that still weighed upon your body.

At that moment, Benjicot hesitated, unsure whether to depart now that you had acknowledged his role in rousing you from the terror. Despite this, he remained seated with you in the hushed confines of your tent. His concern, which had grown since your exchange late last night and continued into the early hours of the dark morn, stirred his curiosity about your well-being before your unexpected encounter.

The fragility in your voice shattered the pregnant silence, “I…” you chuckled softly, airily. “I– I don’t know what I saw,” you admitted softly, voice slightly trembling.

“All I know is that it felt… real." you said pensively, unconsciously playing with a loose thread on the quilt that covered you. "It sounded so real.” your voice barely above a whisper.

Noting your nervous tic, “Dreams can be cruel,” Benji spoke. You watch as his hands gently took hold of yours, his thumb brushing soothingly over the backs of your hands—the gesture fluttering your heart. “But they are also just dreams, m’ lady.” he reassured with a smile.

He continued ever so delicately, "I too face the same darkness. You are not alone.” he whispered, his eyes locked with yours.

His words enveloped you in comfort, as did his mere presence—offering solace with each reassuring word and gentle touch.

You found yourself instinctively seeking if he would become a comforting constant in your moment of vulnerability. You long for his warmth, a feeling you had already sensed from the young man, since the previous night's encounter. 

“Stay… will you?” you whispered, your hands nestled in his, a self-conscious gaze falling to your lap.

He tightened his grip slightly, offering you a comforting squeeze. "As my princess commands," he replied softly, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

a/n: soooo how was it? i feel like i rambled a bit too much in my writing. my brain went haywire since i wanted to add everything i thought of (ideas were popping up left n right up n down) but i added what i could: character cameos, witch's hallucination vs dragon dream??? hihihihi anyways! do not hesitate to comment ur thoughts, i appreciate reading them! ♡

[moonsharky]

BOBBY NASH ★ BROKEN CONCERTINA

lots of flashing, as per the lab scenes in 8x15. find the original sound on tiktok

[bambiimutt]

Hello, I loved your writing, and I wanted to request some relationship headcons with Masky

Relationship Head cannons

I wanted to do this for everyone I write for cuz I want them to get some attention too!! I hope that’s okay!

TW!! Mentions of stalking, talking of perverts but not super heavy, possessiveness, if I missed anyway let me know!!

Masky/Tim Wright

-Honestly at first he’s a bit awkward, i see him as socially awkward in general so him being in a relationship? Oh my fuck. And it’s not the Awh such a cutie patootie he’s so awkward. No like he’s so awkward he doesn’t know what to do with you. He’s so awkward he goes silent. Awkward babe.

-once the relationship grows into something deeper he’s better. He definitely still has his moments, but it’s now more how he landed you. How he was able to find someone that cares for him and puts up with him. He’s not much honestly just his random outbursts and waking up with no memory of his nights before.

-speaking of. A lot of trauma lays on his shoulders. After jays death who you don’t know much about and everything leading up to the events of marble hornets. All you knew was that he was supposed to be in this student film.. but shit happened. And he refuses to talk about it. You’ll ask him sometimes if you can watch the tapes but he tells you time and time again. No. More because he knows what he is and he doesn’t what you running from him. He’s with you yea but he doesn’t want to expose you to the operator.

-as mentioned in a few of my other posts. He’ll leave for weeks on end and if it’s not for weeks its almost every night. He’s leaving and coming back at ungodly hours. Most of the time you’re asleep and he waits till your asleep to do this. There’s been a few times his mask is left out because he comes home so drained that he kinda forgets to hide it.. and when you question it sometimes he does remember, and most times he doesn’t. But when you ask he’s stammering. He knows why he has it but doesn’t know how to tell you, doesn’t want to.

-he’s not the date night kind of guy but he doesn’t mind spending some time with you from time to time. He doesn’t want you to think he’s ignoring you or just not care for you because he leaves for weeks.. he wants you to know he loves having you around. It’s just. He can’t tell you about his life fully. When it comes to a date night it’s probably lots of time at home, watching a movie on his couch, cuddled up against him. If you fall asleep he’ll make sure you have all of the blanket. He can fully not be as tense, relaxing into you as you sleep against him.

-very very very sarcastic, it earns him smacks to the arm like 10 times a day.

-he’s alright with public affection but again he’s awkward.. sooo maybe don’t be so affectionate in public. But at home, he’s all over you, sleepy man, cuddled up to you, following you around the house. He seems so big and tough but he hates being away from you.

-Tim’s not crazily over protective. Maybe insecure at times but deep down he knows that you are with him because you truly love him. So if anyone ever approaches you he trusts that you can handle it yourself, if not he will 100% help you.. by torturing the guy the same night, and he’ll come back having that be his only memory.

Tobias Rogers

-ARF ARF ARF BITCH IS A FUCKING DOG. I’m telling you that mother fucker IS ALL OVER YOU. Now I’m not saying he isn’t one scary mother fucker. But he tries to keep his shitty ass fucking life out of his love life. Because really.. this isn’t what he wanted ever. He didn’t want to be part of this operator shit. So he tries to be normal? As normal as Toby can get.

-you actually help him a lot with his tics. If he can focus on something for long enough they don’t get as bad as they can get, they actually become more tame, so if he ever has a really bad tic attack, you’re always the one to talk him through it, to calm him down and to focus on your voice. And he’s better in no time.

-TALK ABOUT BEING A PRETTY MOTHER FUCKER.. YOU NEVER GET OVER HOW PRETTY THIS BITCH IS. messy brown hair, brown tired eyes, nicely shaped face, pretty fucking smile. He never used to have one but he ended up growing a semi beard. More of a patch on his chin. And what does he love the most? Hearing you tell him how pretty he is. Running your hands through his hair, kissing his face all over. God he could eat you right up.

-he’s a closeted pervert. But like not to the point where it’s unbearable but like he’s all over you. He’s grabbing your thighs.. he’s leaving hickeys all over. He’s a boob/chest guy. He just wants you close. So close you could fuse into one. He likes you in panties.. he also likes taking them whenever he has to be on a mission for weeks.. and we all know what he’s using them for.

-socially awkward mf. When you’re both out in public he’s so quiet. And he can’t do it alone anymore, not since he’s met you. If you’re ever on the bus, he’s as close as possible, hands fidgeting with your fingers, and staring down at them so he doesn’t have to make eye contact with others. Though there’s been a few times he’s had to interact with the people who complain about how much space he takes. He’s tall and lanky but the man manspreads like there’s no tomorrow. You have to grab his leg and pull it in because he’s just glaring.

-he kinda forgets that you can feel pain. Because he grew up not feeling pain he’s learned to be gentle with the things he cares about. But if you ever want to play fight he can sometimes forget, and get a little rough. So when you get hurt he’s pulling away instantly. “Fuck.. i.. I didn’t t-think that would h-hurt. Baby let me see it..” he’s babying you the rest of the night.

-now even though he’s a pretty good boyfriend he can be a bit much.. at times. He doesn’t mean to trust me. But he can get agitated quite easily. Certain tones can make him start to overthink, he can grow angered, upset. Just try to be reassuring and he should be okay.

-Toby is one of the overprotective ones. He will do anything and everything to go make sure whoever was all over you is not longer waking the fuck up. He might even steal you a little gift to make you feel better.

Ben Lawman/Drowned

-you might wanna buy some shit to keep the house from smelling like weed. And I mean it. He tries not to go crazy because he knows you don’t want the apartment smelling like it, but he can’t help himself sometimes.

-I’m not gonna lie to you, he most definitely watches you through cameras and your computer and shit. He’ll send pop up messages to you just to freak you out, etc. he thinks it’s so silly seeing you get so spooked out.

-he’s typically at home often. He doesn’t really go anywhere, aside from chilling in the fucking computer. So you get to have him around a lot.

-except it can get so fucking annoying. All in all he’s a really calm person, and keeps to himself but when you come along.. he’s all over you. Like suffocating. He wants you on his lap, he wants you sitting between his legs, cuddled up underneath his shirt, please just BE CLOSE. He’s much like Toby in that aspect. He just likes the physical love. Anything physical. I think it kinda brings him comfort too to be honest.. finally feeling the touch of someone. Something.

-like Toby he’s a fucking pervert. But like it’s hella known. He doesn’t keep that a secret. He’s a dirty motherfucker. Like I’m talking footjobs, cosplay.. but like that gamer girl, slutty look.. you name it he likes it.

-he likes to game so a lot of your time is probably spent watching him or playing with him. If you play with him though, be warned he’s a sore loser. He doesn’t rage but more or so finds excuses to show he should have won. But all in all, he’s just fooling around.. he enjoys that you can play with him, he likes that you like what he likes.

-immature. Not all the time but most definitely immature at times. To be fair when he died, he was still fairly young so sometimes his humour can be a bit.. questionable. Even if you aren’t laughing, he’s slapping his knee and pissing himself laughing, looking at you so that he can see your reaction. Just smile.

-he’s not overprotective. Like Tim he’s just really fucking insecure and I mean really. Really insecure. He sees other couples. How normal they are. How alive they are. And he can’t be that. He feels bad that he can never keep you warm because he’s an actual freezer. He feels like compared to others.. you could do so much better. So when someone hits on you.. he’s sulking. He’s walking further away from you. He’s just insecure. And scared to lose you. But these boys are also.. murderers. So knowing Ben.. well. That person shouldn’t have done that.

Jeffery Hodex/Jeff The Killer

-Asshole. Asshole. Asshole. Dickhead. Did I mention he’s a fucking asshole. He may seem like he doesn’t care about you. But I promise you he does. He just has weird ways of showing it..

-an actual fucking bully. I’m sure he’s made you cry time and time again, but you don’t do it in front of him, you don’t want him to think it hurts. Oh but if he knew.. if he knew how much it hurt you he’d beat himself up over it.

-he may seem like a fucking hard ass but he hates when you cry..he’s never one to show his emotions but it’s when those tears fall that he could break right there.

-hates public affection.. but at home? Different story. “Play with my hair.” “Jeff no, I’m busy.” “Please.. pretty please” there’s a moment of silence before you’re rolling your eyes and his head is on your lap.

-talk about sec when he’s angry. It’s a good way for him to get out his pent up anger, or if something happened he just needs you. So really what I’m trying to say is underneath all that hard exterior.. he does need you in many ways. Wether he likes to admit that or not.

-even though he’s an asshole.. he makes up for it with his rare sweet moments. To me. Jeff is.. not like others? I just mean, look wise he was always the odd one out not that he was ugly but like because he didn’t look like every other normal kid there. So having a metal head boyfriend..? With some kinda cool scaring by his lips in the form of a slight smile. Pale skin long black hair, tall and fit…. You know he’s playing the guitar to you. Yknow the room is gonna be filled with a bunch of black shit, band stuff, his weird collection of knives. On the note of he makes up for it with his sweet moments. Sometimes he’ll go through his collections with you. He will play the guitar for you, he’s also quite a good singer so expect some of that. (He most definitely sings you to sleep.. but he makes sure you’re half asleep first so you don’t remember it.)

-he’s not as horrible as he seems, he just.. doesn’t like showing his true emotions. He likes to look like the big bad tough guy. But really.. that scared little kid that hates the world is still in there. So what he needs is comfort. And you provide that. Just give him some time.

-overprotective. And if that was an understatement it would be far more then that. He is wayyyy too overprotective, possessive. You’re his. And his only. Nobody should speak to you in any form of flirting, nobody should look at you, touch you. You. Are. His. Now he keeps the killing out of your knowledge… as much as possible. Sometimes almost getting caught by you.. anyway. The person that looked at your ass and you didn’t even know? Yeah dead by 11 pm. You most definitely find out.

-type of motherfucker to have pictures of you on his phone with his hands around your throat, sitting on his lap, etc. post it. He wants you to. He’ll send them to you just to do it. He likes to show off what’s his.

-when I mentioned he was an asshole. I meant it. Because he doesn’t know how to handle his own emotions he can’t handle yours either. He internally freaks out. So what does he do? Does what he does best. Shuts you out and gets angry at you for showing your emotions

-please don’t be too upset.. he’ll be wandering in some point that night to hold you. He just doesn’t know how to tell what he’s going through.. so just hold him. It’s his way of being vulnerable with you.

Brian/Hoodie

-to be honest. He may be One of the more normal ones. Though when he leaves for weeks on end and comes back for a good while he’s just not himself. He’s quiet. He wants to be alone. He hates being touched, he snaps so much easier. But other then that. Brian tries to completely forget about everything he does and focuses on you.

-a lot of the time, he likes to spend quality time with you. Walking in the local park, doing art, helping him edit his “silly” little videos as you call them. Oh how oblivious you are. He’s a sweetheart, kind, caring. He’s gentle. He knows your likes and dislikes like the back of his hand. He knows what makes you tic, what makes you sulk, what makes you smile. You can thank him stalking you for that.

-yeah remember what I said about him being the most normal, he may have a few quirks. He stalks you from time to time. Not that he doesn’t trust you.. he just. Can’t take his eyes off of you. Ever. Because he doesn’t know what the operator could do.. and well. He just wants to see you, but more to keep you safe.

-he can’t sit still unless he knows where you are at, if you’re okay. And once he knows he can be at peace. So you can only imagine how fucking hard it is for him to be gone for weeks. He ignores all text messages he gets aside from yours. He’s constantly talking to you, making sure you’re okay. he just needs some reassurance and he’ll be okay.

-his camera is full of videos of you. He likes to take these home styles videos of you. Cooking in the kitchen in you’re underwear and his hoodie, you dancing in the living room, sleeping. He likes to look back at them from time to time.

-he makes sure to keep his pills and if you take any medication, organized and separated. He’d freak the fuck out if you accidentally took some of his. That and he needs a specific dosage.. one a doctor didn’t prescribe for him. Ahem. More his dosage of what he pleases. Don’t worry he claims he’s okay time and time again.

-he’s not like Tim with his memory loss, but he can forget things from Time to time. So if you can, if you were there just try and sit with him to help him remember. All he needs is to know that you’ll be patient.

-he likes kisses. Give them to him. Immediately. He wants them all over. His lips, cheeks, forehead. He’s such a sweet man.

[lovedwings]

2012!Raph x tourettic reader because I have Tourette’s let me have this.

This is based on my experience. x-x

tw: ableism

• When Raph first met you, he didn’t really understand why you acted so strangely or said such weird things. He didn’t ask but he was annoyed and made comments about it.

• A tic made you tell him to ‘fuck off’ and that really sent him off, thats when you confessed you had Tourette’s.

• Raph gets mad at himself for anytime he ever was annoyed or angry because of your tics and makes sure to properly apologize.

• He’s not a expert or anything, but he takes the time to understand the basics of what’s happening.

• Will attack anyone who gets mad at you for it.

• Whenever you have tic attacks he makes sure that you’re ok afterwards and will get you anything you need.

• Raph is very understanding if you experience rage attacks. He has a very similar problem and you guys can connect a-lot.

• He also understands the feeling of being seen as ‘weird’ and ‘different’. While he doesn’t care as much as Donnie, it still affects him. You and him both find comfort in the fact the other is in a similar situation.

• Listens to you rant about anything, especially if you had a bad tic day. If you happen to mention someone made fun of you he’d threaten to beat their ass.

[tryingtofindava]

pls im begging for dating ticci toby headcanons 🙏🙏

──𝐃𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 ‘𝐓𝐢𝐜𝐜𝐢’ 𝐓𝐨𝐛𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

THIS HAS BEEN UPDATED!!

: ̗̀➛ Back to source

My god.

This boy is full of so much love.

Y’all take FOREVER to actually get together.

It got to the point where Toby got frustrated and was all like “should I just kill them?” (Assuming you ain’t a proxy)

What I’m tryna say is he’s sorta oblivious to his feelings towards you.

But he’s so scared to get attached to you, cuz every time he’s ever gotten close to someone they die.

But when y’all (finally) get together after a long ahh slow burn.

YOU TWO ARE LITERALLY THE CUTEST OMD.

He was so surprised that you said yes when he asked you out. Like- you? The pretty girl who he had the the pleasure of becoming friends with???? Says yes to him????

He’s so happy

Buttttttttttttttt.

So awkward it’s almost painful.

One time you kissed him on his cheek, bro was all like ‘🧍’

But when you guys get past that awkward stage? You guys are practically attached to the hip.

And I know most of the fandom hates the ‘soft Toby’ stereotype, but I feel like that’s just how he is w you (though he does have his moments…)

Lots of reassurance. It’s needed if y’all wanna last.

He isn’t used to have someone be so affectionate towards him. Since deadass the only person who’s showed him genuine love was Lyra.

When y’all first met, he’d always wear a massive ass bandage over the gash on his cheek.

Every time you saw it you gave him the ‘🤨’ look, which he’s just shrug it off. And when you’d ask him about it, he’d say something like:

“It’s ruh-rude to ask t-that.”

He’d even continue wearing it INTO your dating life, he’ll eventually cave in since it’s been around 8 months of him wearing it around you. And a wound would normally be healed by now. He wasn’t at all surprised by your reaction of shock. He’ll always have it on out of the apartment though. No exceptions.

His pet names are always the sweetest.

He calls you ‘pretty thing’ soooo much it became a tic.

Speaking of pet names I feel like he’d also give you lots of nicknames in German. (Since he has German relatives and learned to speak it at a young age :P)

Stuff like Maus, Hase, Schatz, Liebling, Blume, hübsches Mädchen, meine Liebe. And those are just his favourites, there is many more.

Eskimo kisses? Eskimo kisses. He thrives off them, or maybe he just thrives off positive attention…. Definitely the latter.

He try’s his best to keep the whole murder part of his life away from you. But it’s obvious so… that was one long night of going over things.

Anywaysssss.

AQUARIUM DATES! Y’all get in your grandpa jumpers and walk around the aquarium holding hands and looking at all the cool fish n’ shit.

HE LOVES LOVES LOVES NECK KISSES.

He’s a slut for knowing he’s yours.

He loves teasing the shit outta you for being short. Even though he’s like 3 inches taller…

“I’ve been b-breaking my buh-back k-k-kissing you, babe.”

“Piss off.”

He loves laying between your legs with his face flushed against your chest while you run your fingers through his hair and itch his scalp.

When you guys are sleeping, you’ll constantly have to make sure he doesn’t get too over headed or cold due to his CIPA.

Speaking of sleeping, he grinds his teeth while he’s dreaming. So just gently grab his chin to stop him. And he’s a deep ass sleeper so he won’t feel it lol.

He isn’t a big fan of PDA when you guys aren’t behind closed doors, but he’ll ALWAYS hold your hand.

On the less sappy note, when he’s having a tic attack he will not allow you to come near him. He’s so scared of hurting you.

And when he’s having an episode?

Make sure you stay calm. And maybe get to him before he gets to you. He’ll be so upset if he did hurt you while going through one of his schizophrenic like states.

To help him through his manic episode, stay as calm as you can, let him know that, although you don’t share the belief that it’s real, you understand that it is real to him. Try and keep focused on supporting him with how he’s feeling in that moment, rather than confirming or challenging his reality.

If he does snap at you, he’ll feel so guilty. He will think that he’s just like his dad.

He’ll probably disappear for a few days, but when he comes back he’s begging for you to not leave him. Like he’s full on sobbing.

Hold him.

He’s clingy. Like super clingy. Clingy to the point where it just becomes obnoxious. And gets a bit irritating but he means well :(

He loves you like a dog, and he’ll do anything for you. He trusts you with his whole being and hopes you feel the same.

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