#and I’ve been having more meltdowns as of recent

[squuote]

I got shit sleep I do not want to be at work rn dude!!!!!! get me outta here!!!!!

#delete later #I read a cool fic but it fucked with me in my dream and I don’t want to go to work #I don’t hate work but it’s like. my emotions are so high these past few weeks #and I’ve been having more meltdowns as of recent #and I miss my cat

[frink-o-matic]

If thinking about doing a thing is causing me to want to cry, then I should not do it right then.

#personal #life policies #i’m talking about listening to myself more #recently I’ve been worse for it because I wasn’t listening to myself saying socializing or sex was a bad thing to do right then #I’d get emotional about said things and then push myself to do it anyway #and then a day or more later I’d start getting irritable or have meltdowns

[disteal]

I only ask cause you usually seem to be pretty up to date on the goings on of this site, but what the HELL is going on with tumblr's CEO? Why are they having a meltdown responding to asks? What's the trans misogyny accusation about? Why is tumblr apparently being run by children?

Thanks in advance.

This is kind of a long story so this is sort of TLDR for brevity but there’s more going on here.

Some context if you weren’t aware; Tumblr has been accused multiple times by its userbase for fostering TERF staff members and covering for them when making transphobic moderation calls. Things like; an overeagerness to ban trans women for posting nudes despite not addressing nazis or bots for years, or protection of notable TERF users who flagrantly break TOS by organising hate campaigns. The users who collected evidence of this became huge targets for these “””alleged””” TERF mods and users and were basically hunted online for sport. Up until recently the “terf mods” take was considered a bit of a conspiracy theory by some who assumed it was more likely to be an automation problem mixed with transphobic reports.

This week: tumblr user predstrogen was recently permabanned (for a second time) following a mass reporting by TERFs. This, obviously, pissed a lot of people off, and a fairly routine “the fuck haven’t you banned the nazis yet??” ask was sent to photomatt, the CEO.

Photomatt, INSANELY, replied, misgendering her multiple times and defending his decision to personally smack down the ban hammer by citing predstrogens nudes, but by his own admission the far more heinous crime was this absolutely ridiculous post;

Matt has also contacted the FBI over this stupid shit despite predstrogen not living in the US.

Lastly, during this very public announcement on the kangaroo court hearing, matty drops this absolute nuclear bomb about Tumblr having some internal drama when they’d discovered an external contractor was A) a transphobe wielding mod authority to be transphobic B) criminally selling moderation (likely to TERFs).

Despite this obviously being on the record somewhere, this is clearly news to fucking everyone including myself.

It’s also worth noting that predstrogen has not been the only recent ban; several black people and black transfems have been instabanned after directly asking matt for accountability (the user i’ve seen specifically named was @rulerofpurple and his partner)

So, naturally, people are fucking furious they spent years getting gaslit by staff, who had been assuring us of their even-handedness, but surprise!!! Trans women WERE being uniquely targeted, and even worse, likely targeted by the people who they could never seem to deplatform despite constant death threats and doxxing!! And despite all this assurance that Tumblrs internals are now perfectly free of transmisogyny and racism, it’s pretty obvious to just about everyone that Tumblr staff are chomping at the bit to ban trans women.

#ask #long post #tumblr staff #transphobia #it’s a mess out here

[idolomantises]

First question, will we be seeing Asmodeus and Lilith again soon? Second question! Do you have a favourite redesign and who was the hardest to redesign?

Yes!

I think my Beelzebub redesign is my favorite. I really love drawing bugs in general and it was really fun trying to rework her design to look more bee-like and less… furry. I actually liked the design so much I decided to repurpose it for my own character who’s Beelzebub’s daughter. She’s not as nice as Helluva’s Bee, very Regina George lol.

I actually got really excited working on her. I just love designing bugs and demons so getting a chance to do both was very enjoyable for me. I actually had even MORE sketches planned for her but I realized I was getting way too involved redesigning a character, so some concepts just became my own thing. Like I was like “I don’t mind that Beelzebub is nice, but she doesn’t feel like a Sin at all”, so I had some bonus sketches of her being like that really cool but toxic friend who just keeps enabling you.

Hardest to redesign though? God. Maybe Angel Dust? In fact even after my most recent redesign I’ve never really been fully happy with (it was very rushed compared to nifty). I enjoy doing Hazbin/Helluva redesigns but one major issue I have with these characters is that they’re WAAAAAY too bloated story wise, and Angel dust might be the worst example of this. Like fitting a drag queen, sex worker, celebrity and mafia boss into one character is a bit of a challenge because you basically have to look at Angel dust and understand all those things about him.

Maybe I’ll do a fifth one if I ever do Hazbin redesigns again LOL, but likely not. I always planned to stop early but the fandom kind of solidified it. These stop being fun knowing that there are people who monitorsmy account waiting for my next redesign to drop so they can harass me and tell me to kill myself. Not fun! I’d rather draw other things.

(Also to be clear, even if the fandom was really nice to me, I still would have stopped. The creator’s constant controversy was the main reason I quit and only did Nifty and Angel Dust after a request. But the fandom meltdown was the nail in the already deep and buried coffin)

#ask quill

[babydollmarauders]

FIGHT — JACK HUGHES

part of the el!hughes au

summary: y/n (lovie) and jack get into their biggest fight yet

warnings: fighting, mention of bad parents (lovie’s)

my head slumps on the back of the couch as Eleanor’s cries pierce my eardrums.

“El, baby, c’mon.” i groan out.

my recently turned one year old is sprawled out on the apartment floor, throwing a fit over something of which i have no idea.

i tried to pick her up, but she just kept pushing my hands away, screaming ‘mama! no! mama, no! no, mama!’

it’s been two weeks of this, and i have a sneaking suspicion that her constant sour mood has been all because of the particular absence of her favorite person. Jack.

it’s been two weeks of early wake-ups and late nights. two weeks of El having meltdowns if i mess up even one thing, like giving her cheetos in a bowl instead of her snack cup, or suggesting Moana instead of watching Lilo & Stitch for the billionth time, or reading her the wrong book at bed time. it’s been two weeks of sleep regression, no naps, and her throwing her food every chance she gets. two weeks of her screaming if i try and leave the room, but screaming if i try and pick her up as well. two weeks of bags under my eyes, messy buns because my hair is horribly greasy, and surviving purely on coffee.

i’m tired. my feet hurt because every time i sit, El screams at me. my head hurts from her screaming. and now my stomach cramps because i, of course, both started my period, and have not had a moment to eat all day. i’ve broken down in tears nearly every night once i finally get El to sleep, because i don’t know how much more of this i can take.

tears well up in my eyes at this very moment, and it takes everything in me to hold back my own screams. not necessarily directed at my daughter, but just in frustration. i can’t think clearly. it’s nearing midnight and i’ve tried everything to get her to sleep, but she just keeps fighting it.

i know she’s tired, just like i am. she’s been up since five in the morning, which means so have i.

“i give up.” i cry out, burying my face in my hands, weeping into them in frustration and exhaustion. “i get it, El. you want your father. i know. please, i know.”

El’s cries pause and i peek through my fingers to see her watching me with a tilted head, before she bursts back into tears.

i steel my spine, wiping my own tears, and strengthening myself. i rise from the couch, scooping my daughter up, despite her smacks to my chest and pulls on my now-falling-out bun, and shuffle towards her bedroom.

going for the last ditch effort, i grab the hidden pacifier in her top dresser drawer, and pop it into her mouth before turning on the white noise machine in the corner and placing her in her crib.

i gaze down at her, watching as she yawns, tears still slipping from her eyes. her eyelids flutter closed before she pries them back open and stares back at me.

“Eleanor Elizabeth Hughes, you have to sleep.” i scold in a whisper.

retreating from the room, closing the door and listening for her wails; i nearly cry in relief when nothing comes. nothing but silence and the sound of the white noise.

my feet pad across the wooden floors as i walk to the kitchen, keeping an ear out for El’s possible whines. too drained to make myself anything sustainable, i settle for a yogurt cup and a cheese stick. bringing my snacks with me into Jack and i’s bedroom, i settle under the blankets.

i have no energy to put into paying attention to a show or movie, and not nearly enough to read a book; so i sit in silence, staring at the wall as i eat.

placing the now empty yogurt cup on my nightstand, i pick at the cheese stick, lost in thought.

i’m struggling.

i feel like a single parent half the time.

i’m not sure how actual single parents do it. the ones who have to work and take care of their children. because parenting in and of itself is a full time job.

i know it’s not fair of me to think so little of myself, but i can’t help feeling like a horrible mother. she never wants me anymore; only ever yearning for Jack.

and i get it. i yearn for him too when he’s gone.

but can’t she be happy with me?

i miss the sound of the front door shutting; too deep in my own head. too far gone in my own thoughts.

but i do hear the not-so-hushed whispers of my husband and his brother as they venture farther into the apartment.

i hear the ‘goodnight.’ from Luke before his bedroom door shuts. i hear the nursery door opening, the white noise from the room getting louder. and then a few minutes later, i hear the nursery door click shut and the sound of my husbands footsteps getting closer down the hall before our bedroom door opens.

my cheese stick is long gone, and my fingers now settle for playing with each other. my nails picking at the others as i still sit in a catatonic state of exhaustion; staring at the wall in front of me.

Jack lets out a breath of surprise when he notices i’m awake in the dim lighting of the bedside lamp.

“hey, lovie.” he leans down, his fists pressing down on the mattress top, and lays a swift kiss on my cheek before rising back up to his full height.

i glance over as he throws Eleanor’s pacifier onto his nightstand.

“i thought we agreed no more pacifiers when she turned one? she hasn’t had one in the past month.” he huffs, stripping his shirt off and throwing it towards the hamper in the corner of the bedroom, narrowly missing by an inch. he eyes the shirt for a millisecond before shrugging and repeating the process with his pants, this time making it in the hamper.

“yeah, well, you weren’t here to attend to her screams and i was.” i retort.

“so you resorted to the paci?” he questions, pulling a pair of flannel pajama pants out of his dresser drawer.

“stop mom-shaming me.” i snap, scooting down and flopping onto my side, my back facing Jack.

“lovie.” he sighs. the bed dips as he sits behind me. “that’s not what i was doing.”

“yes. you were.” i accuse. “you’re saying i’m a bad mom for giving my daughter what she needed in order to fall asleep.”

i turn in the bed to look up at him and he parts his lips to speak, but i keep going.

“but you weren’t here, Jack. you didn’t hear her cries, or have to try every trick in the book to calm her down. you weren’t awake with her for nineteen hours with no nap only to still have her fight bed time. so, yes, i resorted to the pacifier. and ya know what? it worked.”

“i get that you’re in a bad mood, but why are you taking it out on me? i wasn’t even here for you to get angry at me.” he remarks.

“i’m not.” i deny, closing my eyes and hoping he’ll take it as a sign to just let me sleep.

“you are.” he grunts. “and it makes me feel like i’m the bad guy for doing my job.”

“well, i wouldn't have to do this all alone if it weren't for your fucking job.” i know as soon as i say it that my words were uncalled for. but, before i can take them back, Jack stands from the bed, making my eyes fly open to look at him.

“do i not help when i’m home? i’m so sorry that me providing for our family is so hard for you.” he sneers. his sarcasm is not appreciated, and i sit up in the bed in anger. “i’m so sorry that you have to be a mother, while i’m gone making money so that you don’t have to work.”

i shuffle onto my knees on the bed, glaring daggers at my husband.

“when have i ever complained about being a mother? and when have i ever said that i don’t want to work? i never asked to stay at home! but it’s what i do, because not both of us can work without putting El in daycare. which you said you didn’t want to do.”

my finger juts at my chest before poking his. my words harsh in delivery, but quiet in attempt to not disturb the sleeping baby down the hall.

“i never once complained about being a mother. i love her.” i continue.

“are you implying that i don’t love her?” Jack fumes.

“i never said that!” i cry. “you’re putting words into my mouth!”

“i’m just trying to provide for us!” our attempted quiet is long forgotten now, and i can only hope that the white noise in El’s room is enough to mask our argument.

“you think i don’t know that?” i exclaim, he opens his mouth but i don’t let him get a word in. “i’m just saying that you don’t understand how exhausting it is being a single parent half the fucking hockey season! you leave and play games and go out to fucking bars to celebrate wins and i stay here and take care of our daughter, who for the past two weeks, only wanted you!”

Jack throws his hands up in the air, huffing in anger.

“well, i can’t help that! i get that it’s hard, but you’d think you’d be a bit more grateful. it’s part of my job to leave, y/n!”

of everything he’s said, it’s those words that cut me the deepest. and what hurts the most, as small as it may seem, is that within all of our fights, big or small, throughout our entire six years together, never once has he called me by my name while we fought.

it’s always ‘lovie’.

but suddenly, i’m ‘y/n’.

i lower myself onto my butt on the mattress. tears are streaming down my cheeks and i try to wipe them away before Jack can see them.

“now you’re gonna cry?” he lowers himself onto the bed and i push myself off of it in order to gain distance, now standing a couple feet away.

“i quit.” my voice is quiet and surrendered, my words sheltered. i watch as his face drops, lips parting in shock.

“what?” he mumbles, his eyes softening.

i shake my head, letting my tears flow freely now as i round the bed and i head toward the cracked open door.

“where are you going?” he questions, his tone still holding a dash of anger.

“to sleep in Luke’s room.” i reply. he calls after me but his words fall on deaf ears.

i need space.

i don’t bother knocking on Luke’s door, opening it to find him just now sitting down in bed, his hair wet and leftover steam drifting from his en-suite bathroom.

his head snaps over to the door as i close it, and at the sight of my tears, he pats the bed beside him.

a sob racks my chest as i crawl into bed with the boy i look at as a brother. he pulls me into his side, no words spoken between us as he rubs a hand over my hair, letting me cry into his chest and soak his plain white t-shirt.

a muffled cry escapes my lips and he squeezes me tighter, pressing a kiss to my scalp. nothing needs to be said, no words needed to be shared, just quiet shushes and his hand rubbing up and down my back, the other still holding my head tight to his chest in grounding.

i’m not sure how long passes before i cry myself to sleep, Jack’s words echoing on a loop inside my head.

‘you’d think you’d be a bit more grateful.’

***

i’m unsure what time it is when i awake, but Luke is gone from the bed, and the sun peeks through the bedroom window.

i know Luke and Jack have the day off, so if Luke is already up, then i must have slept in later than i usually do.

despite the apparent long sleep, i don’t feel as well rested as i should. my eyes flutter shut for a few moments, but at the sound of the familiar squeal of excitement from my daughter, drifting in through the crack in the door, my eyes fly back open.

i kick my legs free from the tangle of blankets and throw them over the side of the bed, peeling my tired body up off the mattress. i rub my eyes as i walk over to Luke’s bathroom, ignoring the mess amongst the counter and looking in the mirror.

my eyes are still red and puffy from crying, and i turn on the faucet, cupping my hands under the cold running water and splashing it on my face before drying it with the hand towel that’s thrown haphazardly on the counter.

exiting the bathroom and bedroom, i’m immediately met with the sight of El’s smiling face bounding down the hall. her chubby little legs wobble as she runs.

“mama! dada!” she squeals, motioning behind her. a grin overtakes my lips at her excitement.

“yeah? is dada home?” i ask with a laugh as she runs smack into my legs, reaching up with grabby hands.

my heart melts in my chest. for the first time in two weeks, she wants me.

“mama! dada!” she repeats as i hoist her up, lifting her above my head and rejoicing in her giggles.

my eyes are all too soon drawn to my husband at the end of the hall. he stands leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, a faint smile on his lips while my own falls at the sight of him.

our fight replays in my mind; flashes of his red face and his defensive stance. echoes of his harsh tone and his cruel words.

Jack approaches us, leaning down to press a kiss to my lips, but i shift my face, his lips landing on my cheek instead. pulling back, his face falls, hurt shining in his eyes. it hurts me to see him upset, but i can’t bring myself to feel too bad, as i, too, am hurting.

i maneuver around him, padding down the hallway with El in my arms, making my way to the open layout of the living room and kitchen.

Luke is sat on the couch, eyes on his phone while Lilo & Stitch plays on the tv, and i flop down beside him. El crawls into his lap, pushing his phone out of the way and pushing her smiling face into his line of sight. i watch his eyes light up, sliding his phone into his pocket and tickling her sides.

a laugh escapes my lips as he lifts El upside down in front of his face, making her giggle contagiously. but once again, my lips fall back straight as Jack enters the room again.

the day continues like this, living amicably with Jack, but not happily. as the day goes on, the more i reflect on our fight the night prior, and the worse i feel. i was in the wrong. i knew that last night and i know it now.

i know leaving El is hard for him, just as taking care of her without him is hard for me. but my guilt doesn’t erase his words.

i know he didn’t mean it, just as he knows that i didn’t mean mine, but it still hurts. he cut deep. he accused me of being ungrateful, the very same thing he knows my parents called me when i told them i was moving out.

‘you’re so ungrateful. we offered you to keep living with us even after your graduation, and you’d rather move out with your unstable little boyfriend than live with the people who raised you. well, don’t come crawling back to us, we don’t take ungrateful children.’

a lump grows in my throat as i compare the fights. it’s nine at night and Jack is in El’s room, putting her to sleep, Luke long having retired to his own bedroom, leaving me alone on the couch. my knees are pulled up to my chest, my arms hugging them tight, as tears stream down my cheeks.

a small part of me tells me i should apologize. i know if i do, he will too. he already seems to want to move past it.

but the larger part of me says to wait. to let him apologize to me. to make him acknowledge that we fought. instead of brushing past it like it never happened.

Jack strides into the living room, child free, and it’s the first time we’ve really been alone together all day.

i avoid his gaze, rather wiping my tears and averting my eyes to the television, which still plays the credits of The Little Mermaid from our before bedtime movie.

he sighs, taking a seat on the opposite side of the couch. his hand reaches out to graze my leg and i flinch at the soft touch. the larger part of me wins and i rise from the couch, stalking off to our bedroom and away from him.

i quickly change into my pajamas, hoping to be out of the bedroom before he comes in, but i’m not so lucky.

he enters the room as i’m pulling my t-shirt over my head. my t-shirt. not his. he notices this change quickly and shakes his head.

he stands silently, his back leaning against the now closed door as i pull on sweatpants, watching my every move.

i move to the en-suite bathroom when i’m done. making quick work of washing my face and brushing my teeth. when i finally finish with my nightly routine, i head back out to the still blocked bedroom door.

Jack eyes me up and down, and a quick wetting of his lips tells me he’s horny, but i laugh inside at the thought.

does me angry and upset, turn him on? does he really think he has any chance of getting lucky tonight when he hasn’t even apologized?

“can you move?” i huff, crossing my arms.

“where are you going now?” he questions, shaking his head.

“Luke’s room. again.”

“you know we have a bed, right? the one you were in last night before you left me alone in here.” his words twist my heart, but i stand my ground.

“oh, you mean the same bed i was sitting in when you implied that i’m ungrateful and selfish?” i mock, tilting my head.

“lovie.” his tone is defensive enough to let me know that he doesn’t plan on apologizing tonight, so rather than waiting and hoping for Jack to move, i push him aside lightly with my shoulder and slip through the door.

i knock lightly on Luke’s door and it doesn’t take long for him to open it, letting me slip through into the room.

“you guys are still fighting?” Luke asks, shutting the door and walking over to sit on his bed.

“i promise, this is the last time i’ll sleep in your room. if we’re still fighting tomorrow night, i’ll sleep on the couch.” i assure him, crawling up the bed and laying on my side, facing him.

“i don’t have a problem with you sleeping in here, lovie.” he sighs, laying down on his side so that we lay face to face. “i’ve just never seen you guys fight like this, ya know? you guys are usually so in love, it just scares me to see you fight. i want the best for both of you.”

my eyes soften and i raise my hand, running it softly through Luke’s unruly curls.

“Lukey, i’m still madly in love with your brother. one fight isn’t gonna change that.” i tell him. “he said some things that hurt me. i said things that i’m sure hurt him too. but we’ll get through this. we love each other.”

i speak with assurance, but at this point, i’m not sure if i’m reassuring Luke, or myself.

“you should go to sleep, bubs. you have practice in the morning.” i press a kiss to Luke’s forehead before he turns his bedside lamp off and flops down on his side, his back now facing me.

i follow suit, my back facing Luke as i close my eyes and let myself drift to sleep.

***

i’m woken up by little hands smacking my cheeks, immediately followed by the sound of my husbands whispers.

“oh no, El, we don’t smack mommy. we’re gentle.” he tells her softly, and soon after, i feel her open mouth press against my cheek; her version of a kiss.

my eyes flutter open and i’m met by the smiling face of my daughter. she’s held hovering above me by Jack, who seems worried for my reaction.

“hi, baby!” i coo, a smile stretching over my lips as i take her from him. “good morning, beautiful!”

“mama!” she cheers, followed by a steady stream of babbling.

“she woke up a couple hours ago. she was looking for you.” Jack tells me. “i just changed her diaper, and she already ate breakfast, but i noticed she’s been chewing on everything this morning, so i threw a couple of her teething toys in the freezer and she’ll probably want a popsicle soon to sooth her gums.”

i look up at him and nod, acknowledging that i heard him, before i sit up and lay El down on the bed, tickling her tummy and listening to her joyous giggles fill the room.

“Luke and i are off to practice, we’re running late.” he runs his hand over El’s hair, leaning down and kissing her forehead before turning to look at me again. “Luke said he wants to take El to the park after we get back. he said for me to ask you if you can have her dressed and her diaper bag ready for when he and i get back.”

“yeah, i can do that.” i reply and he nods, pushing off the bed and laying a kiss on my own forehead before he leaves the room.

i heave out a sigh, looking down at El, who’s already looking up at me.

“you wanna go take a shower with mommy?” i baby talk, pasting a smile back on my face. she smiles right back, grabbing at my shirt. “yeah, you do. you love showers, don’t you? my little water baby.”

*

El is all dressed and ready to go when Jack and Luke arrive home, while i stick the last snack into her diaper bag.

“hey, lovie.” Luke chimes, throwing an arm around my shoulder and squeezing my head into his chest. “she ready?”

“mhm! she should be good to go.” i confirm as i push out of his hold, stuffing the bag into his arms instead. “you have the stroller, right?”

“yeah, i’m taking Jack’s car and it’s already in the trunk.” he confirms, slinging the diaper bag over his shoulder and scooping his niece up from where she was already staring up at him by his legs.

“alright, say bye-bye to mommy and daddy!” Luke sings out, waving to us. El copies him, waving her entire arm about in order to wave goodbye, and with that, they’re out the door; leaving Jack and i in silence.

i busy myself by picking up the toys strewn about the living room floor, while Jack unloads the dishwasher. but tension lingers in the air.

maybe i should just apologize.

i hate this feeling.

i hate not being cuddled up with him right now.

we usually spend any El free hours curled up in our bed. napping, watching a movie, talking, or just taking part in general bedroom activities.

but instead, we’re across the room from each other, doing daily household chores and trying hard to avoid the screaming silence between us.

i drop a barbie into the toy box and stand up straight, looking towards my husband, who’s already staring at me with gentle eyes.

“i’m sorry.” i sigh, squeezing my eyes shut, holding my hands to my face. “i hate fighting.”

his hurried footsteps click against the wooden floors, stopping when he gets in front of me. his hands come up to mine, delicately pulling them away from my face before his arms encircle my waist.

“i hate it too.” he whispers, and i know his words hold a double meaning. he hates fighting and he hates leaving.

“i shouldn’t have said the things that i did. i shouldn’t have taken my bad mood out on you.” i let my head bob forward, my forehead laying against his chest. “i was tired, and i was angry at the situation, but not at you. never at you. you’re providing for our family, and i’m so glad that you get to do that by doing something you love.”

he kisses the top of my head, his lips lingering on my scalp.

“i’m sorry too.” he mumbles against me.

“i’m sorry for making it seem like i was mom-shaming you, i should’ve chosen my words more carefully. i’m sorry for making you feel bad. i’m sorry for accusing you of saying i don’t love her, i know that’s not what you were saying. and most of all, i’m sorry for implying that you were ungrateful. you’re not. i know you’re not. i should’ve never implied that you were.

“you’re an amazing mom, lovie. the best i could’ve ever hoped for El. i should’ve been more understanding about how hard it is for you to take care of her alone while i’m gone.”

i peer up at him, my chin still resting on his chest, and give him a pointed look.

“and i’m sorry for not calling you ‘lovie’.” he huffs out through a laugh. the corners of my mouth quirk up and i pull his head down to push our lips together.

my whole body melts even further into his, finally at peace for the first time in over two weeks.

#el!hughes au #jack hughes #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes fic #jack hughes blurb #nhl fic #nhl blurb #nhl imagine #faithlynn’s writings <3

[drdemonprince]

Can we really expand our window of tolerance as autistic people? I’ve been working on that kind of thing for so long and I can’t tell if I’ve made any genuine progress or if I’ve just unconsciously doubled down on masking :(

We can! But our expanded distress tolerance can't come out of nowhere. Something has to give. So for example, for me, I have way fewer sensory issues these days than I used to have, by a wide margin, and I have significantly less social anxiety and don't need much social recharge time on the level that I used to. I have more distress tolerance for sensory input and for social stressors now than I ever have before -- but this has required lifestyle changes and unmasking in order to get there. Let me break down both these improvements and how they happened:

Even as recently as a year ago, I would have terrible sensory meltdowns on a regular basis. But I haven't had a single sensory meltdown in months, maybe not even a single one for the entirety of 2023 so far? And that's because I have a) cut out caffeine, dramatically reducing my physiological stress levels, b) cut back on some workplace stress by reducing my commitments, c) stopped taking on additional projects outside of work that I didn't want to do and that only caused me stress (workshops and talks), and d) began working from home far more consistently, and made myself a wfh office that is more comfortable.

Now I operate from a really solid base of sensory comfort most days and I'm not overloaded with information or overwhelmed with obligations. This means I am far more tolerant of screaming people on the bus, the upstairs toddler slamming her feet on the floor, ambulances blaring by, noisy concerts, people bumping into me at the bar, etc.

I also am, for the first time in my life, clear-headed enough to recognize when I am starting to experience sensory distress, and can intentionally put on sunglasses or pop in ear plugs or remove myself from an upsetting situation more quickly. I had to experience what being relaxed and not overstimulated felt like, and get accustomed to living that way, in order to recognize subtler signs that I was feeling shitty and take steps to address those small annoyances before they exploded. I can handle a lot "more" in an intentional way now because I built my life to allow "less." My overall distress tolerance has still expanded -- but it's because I stopped masking and began attending to my sensory and stress regulation needs.

For the social piece, my distress tolerance has also gone up due to unmasking. If I was still motivated by passing as NT or being socially acceptable all the time, I'd be so overwhelmed being around people and worn down by every interaction. I also wouldnt be able to advocate for myself. But in the past few years I've become more and more openly weird and outspoken in my needs and true feelings, and I've recognized that the right people actually love me more when I do so and show up for me, and so being honest or even difficult to deal with is not really a threat.

This means I just don't experience much distress being honest or difficult to deal with anymore. I really can tolerate the discomfort of telling someone they're wrong or that I'm hurt without freaking out about being hurt or abandoned, because I've had a lot of good experiences with it and because I enjoy being unmasked so deeply that I just can't put my personality back in a bottle.

Masking lowers distress tolerance because it frays your nerves with stress and wears you out and bars you from ever getting to attend to and regulate your discomfort when there are signs of it happening. In order to increase your distress tolerance, you actually have to learn to better honor your discomfort early, and preventatively, so that you don't bubble over into a meltdown after days or weeks of ignoring your needs.

I think some people think distress tolerance is about becoming more tough, but it's quite the opposite. We become more resilient by getting better at recognizing and attending to our hurts.

[ghouljams]

Speakinggggg about the nun: say she slips up and kisses soap, does he has a meltdown because he thinks he’s responsible for corrupting a woman of the cloth? Or is super devious about it even before he knows she’s not a real sister

I'm telling you right now, Soap has a corruption kink here. He is devious about it, he doesn't know she's a fake nun but he also doesn't really care lol this got long, as Soap and his nun always get:

In order to keep up appearances you and your roommates help out at the church sometimes. It’s not too bad, the reverend is nice. Besides that they’re one of your customers so you don’t feel too pious helping them. Really does wonders for your nerves being in a house of God and feeling like you might burst into flames at any second. It would suck to die in your full nun kit, it’d be a horrible ghost outfit. 

Soap has never been one for religion, seems like a crock of shit to be beholden to some man in the sky. What’s God ever done for him? If there was a God he knows a couple people that should’ve been struck down long ago and were currently living very well. This was where Goose said you’d be though, so he was stomaching the church grounds.

“Soap?” One of your sisters catches him, fuck what is her name? “What are you doing here?” Steamin’ hell is it that obvious he isn’t a church man?

“Lookin’ to confess some things, don’t suppose you can help?” He flashes her a smile, watching her lips draw in a thin line.

"We… don't really do that, but you can talk to Moon, she's good at keeping secrets." She says, going back to what she’d been doing.

“And where might she be?”

Johnny finds you doing inventory in the church’s pantry, neatly cataloguing canned goods and recent donations. You hardly look up from your clipboard when he enters, figuring it’s one of your roommates. You turn to ask what they need just as his hand fixes itself to the shelf behind you.

“Johnny? What’re you doing here?” You blink up at him, he seems to be thinking something through. You raise a brow while you wait for his brain to kick into gear.

“I’ve come to confess,” He says finally. You smile, trying not to laugh.

“And they sent you to me,” You shake your head at his short nod, “Alright let’s hear it. Tell me your sins so you may be absolved.” You mean it as a joke, but he steps closer and the air changes. Something small and shivery in the back of your mind takes in how big, and warm, and close he is, how dangerous it is to be in close quarters with this man in particular.

"Forgive me sister for I have sinned," he says, voice low and seductive as he boxes you in, "I've been having impure thoughts." Your eyes dart to his jeans, you snap them back to his face as quick as you can.

"That's… fine, I'm- well I mean not fine in like a catholic sense," you press closer against the shelf as he leans more heavily on his arm, "Are you catholic Johnny?"

"Not even a speck," he says, tipping his head to the side, you mirror the motion swayed by the way his eyes land on your lips.

"That's your first sin I think."

"Won't be my last."

“You’re- this is-” Your brain throws up half cooked protests against having him this close. He hums, waiting for you to say something with a smile.

“Hail Marys,” He says, voice so thick and low that you have to press your legs together under your skirt, “you’re supposed to give me a number.”

“I’m-” Your eyes dart past him to the door.

“You, hen,” His fingers touch your jaw, directing your attention back to him, “just you.”

“I am-” You can feel your breathing, the way your chest rises and falls, you wet your lips with your tongue, “-a pious woman.” Are you reminding him or yourself? His smile seems to grow.

“And I’m a devoted man.”

“To the devil maybe,” Your voice whispers, letting him tip your head back, his lips ghosting over yours.

“Maybe.” He tells you, and kisses you before you can respond.

You’ve been kissed before, you’re not a real nun after all, but not like this. Not this slow and exploratory drag of his lips against yours that makes your eyes flutter closed. Indulgent, your brain purrs, he’s indulging in you in a way only a sinner can. With all the haste of molasses as his nose nudges against yours, coaxes you to open for him as his tongue swipes against your palette. He groans and your stomach drops hot in your core. You drop your clipboard in favor of pressing your hands against his firm stomach, fingers shivering against the hard muscle. Impure thoughts indeed. He pulls back and you blink your eyes open to see him smiling down at you. His thumb swiping at the wetness on your lower lip.

“Isn’t that pretty,” He tells you, you swallow, “Thank you, Hen.”

He leaves you almost as quickly as he found you, and you are absolutely fucked. Bad, very, very, bad for business.

#let's do some kink tags first I think #corruption kink #religion kink #incorrect confessional etiquette #I'm not catholic which is great because Soap and his nun aren't either #we're all flying blind #using a stand in nickname for the nun so lemme know what y'all think #cowboy!Soap #menace of a man he is really just doing the damn thing #soap modern warfare #johnny soap mactavish #soap mctavish #cod x reader #soap x reader #soap x you #john soap mactavish #johnny mactavish

[alwaysahiccupandastrid]

As an autistic person, I want to say something about The Good Doctor.

Over the last month or so - but especially the last two days - Twitter has gone nuts about dragging the absolute piss out of this show. Because autism representation is so rare in major television shows or movies, I’ve been finding myself questioning whether The Good Doctor is in fact “good” representation in the slightest or if I’m just clinging onto it because it’s one of the few shows out there with an autistic lead… and people dragging the shit out of it has made me even more unsure because I’ve only seen one and a half seasons of the show so far and so I can’t really speak on how the show has done recently in regards to portraying autism.

Personally, do I feel that Shaun in TGD represents me and how I am autistic? No. But to be honest, I wasn’t expecting him to because autism is a spectrum and the areas where my autism affects my life will be different to other people’s; it’s also worth noting that it’s been shown that autistic traits are different in girls than in boys, and that girls tend to mask more etc. Obviously this does not apply to ALL boys and ALL girls, but in general it’s thought that girls and women tend to have different traits to boys and men.

With this in mind, Shaun actually does remind me at times of a child at the school I’m currently at - again, not 100% the same but there’s similarities in regards to how they talk, what they say etc. However, that child is five-nearly-six, and Shaun is a grown man so… do with that information what you will. There have also been a couple of moments I’ve had so far watching the show where it’s seemed like lightening has struck and I’m like “Oh that’s me!” - namely the social awkwardness and a meltdown scene. It’s not every episode, it’s only on occasion, but it’s been nice to see nonetheless because the only other time I’ve witnessed that with an actual confirmed autistic character is Newt Scamander.

Obviously I don’t speak for all autistic people, and I’m very aware that many other autistic people have expressed dislike and criticism of the show - and I get it, I truly do. I do think the show isn’t exactly the best written (to put it nicely) and that it gives a very stereotypical representation of autism, namely “white boy/man autism”. I don’t want to bash the show too much because while I’ve seen complaints about it, I’ve also had some fellow autistic people say to me that they love the show and that they feel Shaun represents them - and that’s great.

I do want to express my discomfort about the fact that people have turned a scene where Shaun is having a meltdown into a meme. There is a very fine line between criticizing a piece of media for bad representation and then mocking autistic meltdowns - and I think a lot of neurotypicals are in fact just using it as an excuse to laugh at autistic people and mock us. It’s not just that scene either: I’ve seen people mocking clips showing how he stands, how he talks, how he interacts with people, and it very much feels like people just wanted a chance to make ableist comments about autistic people.

It’s also interesting that this show has so far had six whole seasons air, it’s got extremely high viewership, and yet it’s only now that people are taking offence to a scene that occurred at least four years ago. I know that Twitter has had a field day over another scene in the first season where Shaun at first struggles to understand why a trans woman is “she” (which, you know, is a whole other kettle of fish given that I’ve seen it claimed that autistic people are more likely to be trans/NB etc), and far right TERFs/bigots were using that scene as some kind of “gotcha!”… right up until it was pointed out that by the end of the episode, Shaun fully accepted the trans woman’s gender identity and used the correct pronouns.

Again, I’m not saying this was brilliant writing or anything, but it was several years ago and is only now being brought up, same with other scenes taken out of context in the show… Yes, autistic people have voiced grievances with it before, but were ignored - I don’t believe for one minute that the neurotypicals making the memes and being preachy give one shit about actually autistic people or care about us, because otherwise why were our voices ignored before? It’s only now that it’s been getting public notice for the trans episode that people are going “ohhhh this show sucks and is bad representation” as if members of the autistic community haven’t voiced that opinion for years. It just rubs me the wrong way quite frankly.

What I will say is that I’m tired of seeing people drag Freddie Highmore though. He’s a good actor, anyone who’s seen him in things he’s done since his childhood will know that, it’s not his fault if he’s given shit scripts to work with. I do also think Freddie means well with his portrayal, even if he’s (as far as we know) allistic and the fact he appeared in an Autism $peaks video (because of TGD/all the cast did it) - the man has zero social media presence whatsoever though and didn’t even know what Pokémon Go was, so I’m going to give him the benefit of the doubt this time and assume he truly hasn’t been informed about how harmful that organisation is. Or maybe I’m just going soft on him because seven year old me had an age appropriate crush on him eighteen years ago, who knows at this point?

I’m hoping all of this talk will open up a dialogue about the show and about the representation of autism, if nothing else.

#the good doctor #shaun murphy #freddie highmore #autistic #actually autistic #autism

[doberbutts]

As Disability Discourse 2.0 crosses my dash yet again I am left sort of wondering where the line is.

I am physically disabled. I am also neurodivergent. I do not consider myself mentally ill but I know that there are people out there with my exact diagnoses that do consider themselves mentally ill.

I have a brain injury. You can point to it on an MRI. I have the images to prove it. I had to re-teach myself how to speak. Those weird typos I have sometimes? Yeah my brain just reads letters wrong and sometimes spits out the wrong word or tense or grammatical structure sorry, that’s what happens when your brain gets shaken around in your head like a maraca following a serious car accident. I have a permanent tremor in my right hand and arm which results in me being incapable of fine motor control when having a flare. I am photosensitive and relatively intolerant of stress. I knocked an eye loose and was thankfully able to keep it but occasionally need to cover it or else it feels like someone is stabbing me directly in the brain when there is literally any light or movement whatsoever.

Did you know that over 30% of people who survive TBIs debate and even attempt to kill themselves within the first year? It’s still a bit unresearched but many neurologists believe it’s because many survivors have a hard time adjusting to their new normal when it feels like they have lost all control over themselves. I did not get that bad but I had many meltdowns where I would sob uncontrollably because it was all just Too Much, and the knowledge that it would be Too Much, Forever was curse over comfort.

Is that a mental or a physical disability? A part of my brain is damaged, like a scar. It is entirely neurological and mental in its symptoms.

I was diagnosed with a different brain condition, one that affects the autonomic nerve within my brain, causing fainting episodes, out-of-control mast cells, horrific digestive problems, and joints that bend a little too much. Average quality of life after diagnosis is roughly equivalent to someone with end stage heart failure.

A part of my brain is faulty and always has been. It is entirely physical in its symptoms. Is this a mental or physical disability?

My knee hurts. I was knocked off my bike one day on my way home from college. It was a hit-and-run driver and I didn’t have the money or the insurance to do more than slap a brace on it and limp around for several weeks while it healed. Less than a decade later it gave out. I was completely unable to walk for months. I lost my job. I ended up switching careers entirely so I could sit. I walk with a cane. I have to physically drag myself up stairs with my arms and my “good” leg. I spend nights grasping at my knee willing it to stop spasming as I try to get some sleep. I’ve had to beg for painkillers. Surgery will not help it. My knee is Completely Fucked, Forever.

This is a clear physical disability, that much is for sure.

I recently went to see Spiderverse. I warned my friend that it was entirely possible I’d need to duck out at some point because the movie would overwhelm me. I also warned her that I would probably need to immediately rest or go home and would not be able to hang out because I was anticipating it to be Sensory Hell. I went in prepared with my own snacks, tinted glasses to take the edge off the flashing, and even looked away during some of the worst of it.

I needed to duck out after an extended chase scene which featured a lot of flashing lights. I was able to come back and finish the movie. I needed nearly an hour of rest to stop shaking and be safe to drive myself home. I immediately went to bed upon getting home at about 4pm and by the time it was night had a pounding headache and shivers. I knew this would probably happen because the first one was very bad for my brain injury and I’d been pre-warned the second one was worse about it- truly I think it is really those movies’ biggest flaws is that they are very not friendly to people with problems with bright flashing lights.

My knee did not prevent me from entering the building. The theater was wheelchair accessible.

But even with sensory provisions, my brain injury and faulty nerve made it a monumental task to just finish a two and a half hour task of literally just sitting there.

I could go in. Staying was the part that was in question.

[buglord-isaac]

Ghost helps Soap - part 1

“Poor Scottish boy gives more care than he receives… he’s like the regiment’s personal therapist.”

Gaz sighed and took a swig of his drink. Ghost watched from his peripheral vision. He had been invited to Price’s room to drink by Price and Gaz, and had been unable to find an excuse fast enough to say no. He didn’t mind having a drink, that’s for sure. It calmed his tense nerves and even tenser body. And… he couldn’t complain about their alcohol stash. He hadn’t really been paying attention until he heard Gaz say the word ‘Scottish’. He knew then he was talking about Soap.

“Poor boy. I wonder what goes on in his head. He’s so young. Young at heart. I was surprised when I saw him get into the special forces at such a young age.”

Price drank too. Ghost knew what Price was saying was true. Price had been Soap’s mentor. His teacher. What he hadn’t known up until recently was that Soap had been the youngest in Britain to get into the special forces. It was rather impressive.

Ghost lifted his mask above his lips, drank a large gulp of his Kentucky, then pulled the mask back down as his teeth gritted from the burning sensation.

“His attitude… i can tell it’s a facade.”

This got Ghost’s attention fully.

“I’ve seen it. At meal times if he’s not sitting with us he’s staring into the distance with a frown. Sometimes when he’s alone he just covers his ears… poor thing…”

Ghost chimed in. “So why do you not care for him the way he cares for us?”

Ghost had his fair share of meltdowns, both by PTSD and by sensory overload. Soap had somehow been there each time, and he somehow knew exactly what to do. Whether it was to just be in his presence, to fetch his headphones, or to hug him, he had been there. Why was no one doing that for Soap?

“He refuses to admit he needs the help. He puts on his brave face. It’s convincing, that face.”

Ghost rolled his eyes, drank the last of his glass, and tensed his jaw. He cared for Soap. A lot. He had been there and willingly listened to his jokes, he would gladly chat to him for hours on end. Hell, Ghost would willingly stay up all night just to talk to him. The fact that Soap helped so many and no one lifted a finger to help him made his blood boil. Maybe it was the alcohol.

“I see him helping you out a lot, Ghost.”

No response. Ghost’s brain was ticking in its thoughts about the injustice of Soap never being helped.

“What’s going on with you and Soap anyway? You two seem to sp-“

“That’ll do!”

Ghost put his glass down, surprised it didn’t break from the force. He stood up and looked down at Price.

“Thanks for the whiskey, Price. But I have other things to do.”

“He’ll just pretend like he’s okay…”

“Too bad. If no one here will help him, I fucken will.”

#cod mw2 #ghost call of duty #ghostsoap #ghost x soap #soap cod

[zebulontheplanet]

Hi! I have a question regarding your recent posts on catatonia. This is actually something I’ve been wondering about for a while now and I hope you have an answer. At first, it seemed like catatonia and autistic shutdowns where the same. I read that catanonia mostly occurred in people with schizophrenia, but could also be a symptom of autism, so I thought they were synonymous. Then I read that they weren’t, and I understood that the difference was in severity with catatonia being more severe and also lasting longer (hours to days). What you’ve described in your recent posts sounds a lot like what I thought were autistic shutdowns (which I’ve experienced in a similar way) and less like what I understood what catatonia to be. This isn’t me trying to tell you you’re experiencing a shutdown instead, I genuinely think I’ve misunderstood something and I’m hoping you could clear it up for me since I’ve clearly not had much luck with my own research. What is the difference between catatonia and autistic shutdowns?

Hey anon! This is a very good question that I didn’t really know the answer to for a hot minute.

So with my catatonia, I’ve been diagnosed with it. A doctor has confirmed it is indeed catatonia I’m experiencing and not something else. So there’s not really a doubt in my mind that it is catatonia. However, I do have autistic shutdowns as well, they’re actually more common than meltdowns for me so I can tell the difference pretty easily.

The difference for me, is that autistic shutdowns are caused by extreme emotions. They’re basically the opposite reaction of a meltdown. A lot of people refer to them as internal meltdowns cause they’re caused by extreme distressing things.

For me, catatonia can literally happen at any time. I could just be sitting there and boom, catatonia. Although it’s very common for me to have it when I’m starting a task. When I’m starting a task, I don’t feel every which way, it just sorta happens. My brain gets stuck.

Catatonia CAN get worse with intense emotions, and it can happen if you’re having an intense emotion, but that doesn’t mean you have to be having an intense emotion to experience catatonia. My catatonia gets worse with stress, but that doesn’t mean that my catatonia is a shutdown. Also to me, my catatonia is far more frequent than a shutdown. While a shutdown I have maybe once a week, I have catatonia maybe a few times a day.

From my understanding some doctors believe that shutdowns can lead to catatonia, but they still have a very distinct difference. Catatonia also comes with a variety of other symptoms, like no reaction to mild pain. While in a shutdown, I will personally react to mild pain.

Catatonia also comes with other issues, and my catatonia is really complex. From having semi-catatonic states that make me feel like I’m going through quicksand, to mutism, to so many other things. The lasting affects of catatonia are also not the same. While someone with a shutdown will eventually come out of their shutdown, catatonia can be more complex then that. From lasting hours to not being able to talk even after your catatonic episode.

I hope this explains some things! I’d also google “autism catatonia” there’s a few articles that explain it well! Many autistics with catatonia have lasting effects, like diminished social interactions and social isolation, and diminished ways that the person just behaves in general.

They’re very different and I hope this explains some! Im still not sure and my psych isn’t even sure if my catatonia is caused by my autism or by my Schizoaffective so we’re just shrugging our shoulders. Have a lovely day anon!

#zebrambles #autism #actually schizoaffective #catatonia #autism shutdowns #long post

[chrollohearttags]

doubt y’all will see this but lmaooo (tw//mental health)

feeling a lil better but taking a much needed ✨break ✨. Been kinda letting my mental health just decline for a while bc I don’t feel like explaining to a doctor or my family how I feel. The smallest things have been upsetting me. Not to mention, i had the unfortunate experience of being around someone who traumatized me for years recently and I’m certain that was my biggest trigger. I’ve had antidepressants but never took them bc we all know you just gotta pray about it 🤪 (iykyk)!Writing was super relaxing and my peace but like everything else, it’s become overwhelming. Doom scrolling these apps are just the worst and Imposter syndrome kicks in and I hate everything I’m doing. So rather than me having meltdowns over stupid shit that doesn’t matter, especially when this should be fun..im gonna unplug until I’m in a better headspace. I have a bad habit of overanalyzing and worrying if I’m letting ppl down and when I saw my reach kinda plummet, I felt like I had fucked up again. Honestly,I feel as though my work just hasn’t been what it could be. So imma dip for a few days, see how I feel and possibly try to start on more stuff. I love y’all so much and I apologize if I’ve been annoying anyone. Feel free to spam me and I hope y’all have a good weekend.

#cherry’s asks 🍒 #tw mental health #I’ll spare y’all my further descent into madness

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Leona, Cater: Rewrite the Stars

I like that Leona’s Groovy is at night; the great kings of the past can watch over him and see how far he’s come ✨The hat shading his eyes in the initial art is also fitting; it really makes his eyes stand out!

Leona voice) Poor me, I need some good rest cuz I’ve been working so diligently as a student and dorm leader 🥺 Lyin’ ass…

P.S. brb gonna grip Cay-kun so hard for saying Leona is “acting like a cool leader” 😊 WDYM CATER??? ??? ??????? ? ?? 😊 YOU 'D BETTRr taKE YhAT BSACk RIgHT NOW MiSTEER 😊 last thing I need right now is a reminder that L*ona’s actually a good mentor OTL

A Boy in Bloom, and his Flowering Future.

“What do you want to do in the coming year?”

"I don't want to repeat a year. That's it."

"Eh." Cater blinked. "You wanna run that one by me again?"

"Clean your ears out and listen carefully next time," the birthday boy retorted. "I'm not going to repeat myself. If you didn't catch it the first time around, then you've only got yourself to blame."

"Nah, I did hear you, but... Well, I guess it's more like a 'Wow, I can't believe this!' moment, y'know?" A faint chuckle emanated from Cater. "After all, you're kiiinda infamous for doing just the opposite! Like, you've already been held back once, and you don't exactly have the best attendance record for lectures."

"An old lion can still learn new tricks," Leona simpered, his mouth twisting into something coy.

"You seem super motivated now, Leona-kun! Did something good happen recently to jump-start this?"

"Good?" A scoff, dryly amused. "That's a stretch. Lotsa stuff happened this year, but I'd hesitate to call any of it 'good'.

"There doesn't have to be some big, fancy world-changing reason for a change of heart. I'm just sick of stewing in the shadows and gazing out to a barren pride land. It's about time for the sun to dawn on a new era—and I plan to be there when that happens."

“Ahahah, well~ Graduating’s the bare minimum for us students. It sounds like you’ve got even bigger goals than that.”

“When you’re as noble of a soul as I am, you’ve naturally got the ambitions to match,” Leona purred sarcastically. His voice was languid, like a cat making lazy strides across the floorboards. “Can’t just be throwin’ in the towel the moment the going gets tough. That goes for Magift and in real life.”

“Hmm? That sounds totes different than the you I remember from the interdorm Magift tournament.” Cater’s mouth pulled into a smarmy grin. “I could’ve sworn you gave up and had a meltdown when your plan was foiled!”

He received a poisonous glare. “You just have to remind me, huh? … You know what? Fine, have your cake and eat it. I’ll own up to it. ‘Sides, it was a long time ago.”

“Right, you’ve had a rebranding and a personality glow-up since. All that’s missing is the formal apology video! It’s a necessity for celebs that get cancelled for their #wicked actions.”

Leona scowled deeply. “Can it, I’m NOT doing that. And who’s a ‘celeb that got cancelled for their #wicked actions’?!”

“Really? Awww, but I bet you’d get mad views on it!”

“Tch, it’s things like this that makes maintaining social grace a real drag,” Leona grumbled under his breath. What I’d give to vanish to a remote resort, far, far away from the idiots I’m surrounded with…

“Anyway, nothing gets done if all you do is whine and then quit. People who don’t try can never achieve anything. They’re already down and out from the get-go.

“Cowards who refuse to look at themselves in the mirror don’t have a place in tomorrow. They’re stuck in the past, clawing for some semblance of hope, however futile. That ain’t me, not ever again.”

“Sounds like you’ve def had this on your mind for a while! You’re acting like such a cool and self-assured leader~”

“Please. This is to be expected of every leader. Even your Red Young Master would know this much.”

Leona leaned his shoulder against the school building. Folding his arms, he lifted his head up. “They’d know it too.”

Cater followed his gaze, meeting a vast expanse of the night. The sky was painted a deep black-violet, speckled in glowing white flecks. Stars—so many of them.

“The great kings of the past,” Leona said, his words tainted with the taste of something bitter. “When we pass on, we become a part of nature: the grass and the dirt that feed the next generation, the stars in the sky that light the way in the dark. The things that keep the world turning.

“In the Circle of Life, we all have our roles to play.” A smirk steadily grew on his face. “I know what mine is, and I intend to act on it. The highest point in the sky may as well be mine.”

His declaration resounded in the silence of the campus. One wish, resolute, uttered only for him and Cater to hear. In the quiet that followed, the green of Leona’s eyes flickered not with vengeful fire, but with a flame more thoughtful and warm and…

… the slightest bit vulnerable. A softness Cater had never witnessed before.

Leona-kun has changed a lot. He’s starting to be a little more honest with himself too. wonder if I could ever meet him on that level.

The thought was quickly shoved away, shelved back in the coldest recesses of his mind before it could properly take hold. The space reserved for the darkest parts of him, where truth soured and masks were neatly displayed.

Familiarity. Safety. Comfort. Perhaps what Leona would have called cowardice.

Cater swallowed.

“… If you ask me, you already shine like the star of a great king,” he said cheerily. “Just check out your birthday get-up! You’ve got the drip and the skills for it!

“I’ve got the skills to be a ball of gas in the sky?” Leona grimaced.

“Hey, hey! Let’s not phrase it like that! It’s so not a nice image to think about. Instead, let’s call it… a ball of stardust!”

“Why stardust?”

“I read in a horoscope once that the reason we can do fortune telling with the constellations is cuz people are made of the same stuff as stars are,” Cater explained with a sure wink. “Stardust! Our essence is the same as the what’s in celestial bodies.

“Don’t you think that sounds so much more poetic? When you wish upon a star, it’s said your name wish will come true—but since people and stars are made of the same stuff… then we should be able to make our wishes come true using our own power ⭐️”

“‘Fraid I fail to see the point of your whole whimsical after-school special. It’s obvious that it’s in our hands to shape the future, balls of gas or stardust or no. The great kings of the past can watch it ‘n weep.”

“That’s the spirit!! You got this~” Cater flashed an enthusiastic thumbs-up. “Go and get’m, Leona-kun!”

“You don’t need to tell me twice.” Leona peeled himself away from the main school building, his broom ready.

The birthday boy plopped down on his magical tool, brazenly using it like a sofa. It floated seemingly on its own accord, effortlessly supporting his full weight. Controlled, obedient—like a waiting pet.

“Oh, wait!” Cater called out, suddenly producing his phone. “Is it okay if I grab some pics of you taking off for Magicam? I’ll just need your handle to send you the…”

Resting an arm on his knee, Leona brought his heel down and grinded it against the handle. A signal, a cue, for the broom to kick into high gear.

WHOOSH!!

A shower of golden sparks exploded from the bouquet, and he smoothly launched into the air, his hair and the brim of his hat flying behind him. The violent kickback slammed into Cater, sending him falling back, his phone clattering to the ground.

(“My phoooone!” he wailed.)

With the shadows out of the way, Leona could see the stars for what they really were. Tens of hundreds of them, sparkling clusters in the inky night.

So many wishes. So many kings. Many, many things. Everything, everywhere, all at once.

A world waiting to be rewritten, to tell of his accomplishments.

“One day… I’ll be among them. They’ll tell stories about me, the greatest ‘king’ of them all.” This truth, Leona spoke to the stars.

The future was littered with prizes, and he was to be the main addressee.

#twst #twisted wonderland #Leona Kingscholar #twisted wonderland imagines #twst imagines #Cater Diamond #twst scenarios #twisted wonderland scenarios #disney twisted wonderland #something no one asked for #Leona birthday takeover #spoilers

[veeluvss]

fire alarm

autistic!jj who is affected by the fire alarms

this is the first fic i’ve properly written with jj being autistic, pls share your thoughts with me and let me know if you want more … or less

elle and hotch help (mainly elle)

sorry it’s taken me so long to upload new things, i’ve been super busy with uni and life in general :)

Elle could tell from a mile off. The anxious looks, the finger tapping, the quiet cloud that just came over her. She shot Hotch a look and they both glanced to JJ who was ready to break down any moment. It hadn’t come as a shock either, which was thankful - in a way.

Only half an hour before, the entire building was evacuated due to a fire alarm. They were herded like cattle down the stairs. No one could see their feet, their hands - nothing. It honestly felt like they were on the way to the slaughter house. And then the loudness of the alarm, blaring through the entire building. JJ hated it - yet she tried to keep herself composed. She was better than it. She could do it. She was going to be okay - that’s all she kept telling herself.

They managed to get back into the building after being outside for twenty minutes but the bullpen was a mess. People had just up and left so quickly. Hotch had called the team into the round table room to debrief on the rest of the days plans just as JJ was on her way to the bathroom. She couldn’t miss the debrief so she quickly followed the rest of them. She sat in her normal seat, next to Derek. However, he seemed to be completely oblivious to JJ’s struggles and was going on about how stressful the whole ordeal was. Spencer went along with it, spitting statistics about fires which only panicked JJ more.

Elle knew something needed to happen very soon before JJ had a complete meltdown. Hotch knew too.

“Right, Morgan and Reid, I want you to go down to the terrorist unit and get the files for the recent case. Garcia, we need the names and numbers for the families involved. Rossi if you get started on the directors report please.”

The team members mentioned left the room in a hurry and Elle moved to sit beside JJ. Hotch closed the blinds, shut off the lights and put a do not disturb sign on the door before leaving them alone.

“Sweetheart, can you hear me?” Elle asked gently, putting her hand on top of JJ’s trembling one as it reached to her face to pick at it again.

“So loud,” JJ whimpered, shaking her head.

“It was really loud but it’s nice and quiet in here. It’s just you and me.”

“Hold,” JJ asked, avoiding eye contact. Elle moved closer to JJ and wrapped her in a tight embrace. JJ needed the deep pressure therapy - it helped calm her so well and Elle was proud she recognised that was what she wanted and asked for it.

“I’ve got you. You’re safe now baby,” Elle sighed, squeezing JJ. JJ buried her head deep into Elle’s neck, hiding from the room.

Half an hour later, JJ was feeling much better. She’d calmed down completely and sat in Garcia’s office with her headphones on. Hotch let her off from work for the rest of the day, to relieve the pressure but she didn’t want to go home on her own. Elle still had work to do and they thought it’d be easier for her to be with Garcia. Someone fun, in a small space with little noise or disturbances. She sat on the floor, under the desk in her small safe space whilst playing her Marvel game.

However, it wasn’t long until another fire alarm ripped through the building. JJ didn’t notice at first, too engrossed in her game but then Garcia pulled off her headphones and reached for her hand.

“We have to go Jay,” Garcia said but JJ’s eyes were wide. She didn’t want to do that - not again. She shook her head and turned into the wall, closing her eyes tight and covering her ears. Garcia didn’t know what to do. She opened her door and looked around - just as Elle came round the corner.

“Oh thank goodness, she won’t move,” Garcia said, panicked.

“It’s okay, I’ve got it. You go,” Elle said. She crouched down beside JJ and reached for her but JJ threw up her hands, hitting Elle away.

“JJ, we have to leave now,” Elle told her sternly, ignoring the pain in her wrist.

“No, no no no no, I can’t!” JJ screamed, covering her ears and cowering further in.

“Agent, you need to leave-” a security guard said from the door.

“Give me a minute,” Elle replied, turning back to JJ.

“Come on love please, I’ll be there the whole time. We can go to the back we just have to get out,” Elle pleaded.

“I can’t,” JJ sobbed.

Elle sighed, there was no way JJ was moving and Elle couldn’t leave her. “Darling here, come into my arms.” JJ cried but moved over to Elle. She covered her ears and collapsed into Elle’s arms.

“Ma’am please, you have to evacuate,” the guard said again.

“God, I’m trying okayy.” Elle replied.She was trying her best not to explode at him. JJ was her priority, and the last thing she was going to do was force her to leave before she was ready. This has been a stressful enough day for JJ and she was not making it worse.

“Can’t go, I can’t,” JJ sobbed to Elle.

“Jay, we have to.” Elle stood up and pulled JJ with her. It was a struggle, it was hard and JJ fought. As soon as they got down the stairs, the younger girl collapsed to the floor again, shaking in fear. She swung at anyone who came near her and screamed at Elle from across the car park. The team watched on, as well as the many other FBI agents who had also been evacuated. No one could help the small girl as she screamed, rocked and cried - she wouldn’t accept any of it.

“Stay here with her, I’ll go grab her things. She needs to go home,” Hotch said to Elle after the building was deemed safe again. Elle nodded, agreeing JJ had to go home.

“Jay,” Elle whispered, moving closer to the trembling girl. Her hands were over her ears and her eyes shut tight. Elle rubbed her back, “We’re going to go home now.”

JJ nodded, removing her hands from her ears and agreeing : “Home.”

“Home, let’s go.” Elle smiled. She got JJ in the car as they waited for Hotch to bring her stuff. Elle put her belt on and stroked her hair to keep her settled. JJ was fiddling with her fingers so Elle grabbed a spare fidget toy from the glove box. JJ took it, signing a quick thank you, then played absentmindly.

Hotch came back down and handed Elle the bag. “Take a few days, both of you.”

JJ stimmed the whole way home, her hands fiddled with her fidget toy and she rocked back and forth in the passenger seat. Elle kept the music on a low volume wie and put gentle tunes on, as to not overwhelm her girl. It had beena tough day but Elle knew JJ was strong and knew she could get through it.

thank you to @cmfan2005 for the edits!!!

#criminal minds #criminal minds evolution #jennifer jareau #jennifer jareau head canons #jennifer jareau imagine #jennifer jareau au #elle greenaway x jennifer jareau #elle x jj #jennifer jareau x autistic!daughter #jennifer jareau x elle greenaway #jennifer jareau x aaron hotchner #jennifer jareau is autistic #autistic!jj

[chaifootsteps]

‘Sup, Chai! Studio Anon back at it again at their ramblings- tonight I’m feeling spicy, so why not talk about that once couple Viv’s stans froth at the mouth over: Stolitz.

I never really understood much of the appeal. Like- the trope of the commoner and the royal are fun to mess with, but those couples could work if you set them on equal grounds. There’s already a clear power dynamic set with those, so either find a solid middle area where the two could connect (ex. A runaway prince meets a cunning thief, an exiled prince meets a hermit, etc.) but you could work with the boundaries the relationship has so long as you can develop it.

But, uh- exactly where is that in Stolitz?

Stolitz already starts with an abusive power dynamic (yknow, the whole deal with the full moon and all it gross details) and it doesn’t do much to remedy that after. Stolas is a high, rich asshole who uses his status to fuck with/generally just fuck Blitz and that’s it. We never get to hear how Stolas does anything else with him- but Viv wants us to believe they care about each other? How?

Like, a scene, a moment, a glance into what those two act like without the guise of sex. And no, Ozzie’s doesn’t count since Blitz only brought Stolas along to get into the club (which is pretty fucking weird, btw. it’s a sex club, why is it just for monogamous couples? not really my point but yeah that’s weird.) and Stolas wanted to get Blitz to fuck him after so. There’s that.

It generally would’ve been better if they played up the power imbalance to really sell a more mature theme. I’m pretty sure they wanted something darker, so why not reinforce that power imbalance? Instead of Stolas being this “uwu soft baby owl boy” we could play him up as being a prince of hell. He’s immortal, he’s likely had several heirs but they’ve all died out (he’s probably outlived them but because Octavia looks so much like him he could coddle her in a sick, narcissistic way.) and only wants some fun in his life out of his boring work (which we never really see in the show, so I never really understood his placement).

Then, comes in Blitz.

Blitz, a runaway from the circus and wanting to start a new life by doing the impossible (starting a business is unheard of by imp standards iirc) and needs the book to get it going. How did he hear of the book? Hell if I know. It just happens, and he ends up sleeping with Stolas and admitting to his consort-wife he fucked him.

Stella in this pseudo-rewrite would also have a lot going on for her.

She knows she’s just another consort in a long list of others that Stolas had only to keep with heirs, but she wants her life to be meaningful. She wants to be a good mother. She wants to have a good life. She wants that high status Stolas likes to abuse so much because she’s been abused herself, by Stolas. She’s an asshole, sure, but it’s not like Stolas cares. It’s a loveless marriage, I’m sure everyone knew that.

But to be publicly embarrassed that an imp wormed his way into their bed (and Stolas, just for his imp fetish and excitement keeps Blitz around) causes a meltdown.

Then Stolas starts to see his world crash and burn as his once “obedient and boring” wife divorces him and wants custody of the child he so “adores”, IMP perhaps getting into earthly trouble due to their sloppy kills or misuse of the grimoire, and the goetia family beginning to finally gain emotion and life as Stolas’ life goes upside down.

But he doesn’t ever blame himself. He blames Stella, blames the family- hell, probably even blames Blitz because he doesn’t care about him more than just sex.

And that’s the only thing he really has a grasp on.

His impish little plaything.

JUST. Just imagine if that’s what Stolitz was: an unhealthy display of power and obsession. I’ve recently found some enjoyment writing these sorts of messed up power dynamics (similar to what I’ve written above but it’s a lot messier) and it kills me that Viv shows us a rape deal and expects us to go, “Wow!!! Such cute and wholesome gays!!!!” Like that was normal.

Use what you have, Viv. Make it fucked up. If you didn’t want your uwu yaoi ship to be so toxic, maybe rewrite it?

also ngl Stolas and Blitz designs make them look like they’re from two different shows and generally look ugly to me so the amount of ship art I’ve seen of those two make me laugh. like pick an attractive couple to make fanart and fanchildren for jfc. it’s sad.

This is a great writeup. It's frustrating how little it would take to make these two interesting, to make them likeable, but Viv just...doesn't.

#Anonymous #studio anon #stolitz critical #viv stuff #actual blog post

[wario-speedwagon]

Dave and Old Sport Adopt a Kid: Chapter 14

Happy Valentine's Day! I've got an extra long chapter for you this time, and it's a bit of a doozy, so I hope you enjoy! Full chapter under the cut :)

Chapter 1 Chapter 13 All Chapters Index

Chapter 14

Jack. was. miserable.

Frankly, all he wanted to do once he got home was go straight to bed so he could at least meltdown over everything in private. But no; Dave was almost certainly gonna expect an explanation the moment they sat down, and Jack was running out of ways to get out of it.

Does he just rip the whole band-aid off tonight? ‘Hey Dave, that was my sister Dee, you know, the one you and Henry killed? Yeah, she’s not thrilled that I’ve started working with the man that helped kill her.’

…

Jack was tired enough that just saying those exact words was maybe even tempting actually. Whether or not it would cause a shitshow, at least it’d be easier than enduring more of Dave “subtly” egging him on to share more about his past. If he really wanted to know that badly, he could just have it then.

But that wasn’t what Jack really wanted at all. He cared enough about his relationship with Dave to not want to jeopardize it so thoughtlessly. If only Dave could just somehow take the hint that he kept things to himself for a reason. Not to mention the secrets he kept were usually things he himself wished to leave behind.

Y’know, like his dead family.

And as much as he hated to admit it, maybe Dave was onto something with his recent stunt. Why not build a new family on the ashes of his old one? Maybe it wouldn’t be half-bad after all. It could even be fun, once he eventually got over the salt of how Dave sprung this all on him without listening—

*sigh*

…Except his “dead family” was still there to haunt him. And that complicated all of this for him.

Still… Maybe there was a thin thread of hope… It was foolish to think it would ever fix the bridges he burnt, but still…

With Pruny now here with them, maybe leaving the child murder behind would be on the table. It had its fun, sure, but Jack was far from attached to it, and the actual killing parts of it were, uh… more to Dave’s taste than his own, if he had to admit it.

Jack didn't at all regret befriending Dave, not one bit. At the same time, he decided he didn't always care for all the lives he helped take either. Or more specifically, for being the William to Dave's Henry. He saw the parallels, and it left a nasty taste in his mouth whenever he noticed them.

But worst of all, the blood on his hands permanently ruined his relationship with his family. It ruined it first with Peter when Peter believed the reports that he killed Dee, and then it ruined it with Dee when Jack decided to be the very child murderer he'd been framed to be.

He didn’t know why he ever thought she wouldn’t eventually notice.

*hic*

Oh… Pruny was starting to cry behind him again.

Now a different flavor of guilt took over. It’d always been one of the worst sounds to Jack, knowing that he couldn't comfort it to silence. And not simply because of the car he was busy driving either; despite how easily children could just show all their feelings, Jack never knew what to do about most of them. No matter how much faith Peter had in him back then to reassure him that he would do just fine. No matter how much he thought he could trust Jack to do it on his own now.

But that must have just been wishful thinking on Peter’s part to feel better about moving out in the end, because after that day, that faith had been well and thoroughly dashed.

…And it turned out that trying to reach out to Peter to apologize and explain after everything that happened was a mistake too…

Well, that guy was dead now anyway, so it doesn’t matter anymore, right?

No no, Jack wasn’t going down this train of thought again.

But man…even Dave, who was now currently offering generic words of comfort to a silenced Pruny, was somehow much more natural at this than Jack could ever manage in his six years with Dee. Yeah, maybe it was better to leave Pruny to Dave tonight.

The drive home was approaching its end now; except where he would usually start to feel relief and unwinding after another hard day, Jack felt none tonight.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The three had just finished anticlimactically climbing out of the car and entering their home. Only minimal words were exchanged in the process.

And now they were milling about in the living room, evidently waiting for someone to be decisive enough to break the ice.

Well Jack had one idea to change this awful mood a bit.

“C’mon, let’s go take care of that scratch. Lucky for you I always have plenty of ointment. Go wet a towel and clean your face, I’ll be right back.”

Jack had already disappeared before he could see Dave’s slight confusion at this turn of events. Must not have been anything Henry ever bothered with for him.

Being a zombie cursed with immortality had its strange quirks. Sure, his body always repaired itself from injuries back to a functional state, though Jack learned the hard way that if he didn’t properly care for said injuries, they rarely healed, er, right.

And just as he promised Jack returned to the living room, antibiotic cream in one hand, as well as a clean rag in the other—he decided didn’t trust the Freddy’s-provided bandage Scott gave Dave to be sufficiently sanitary. (Heck, with Freddy’s incredibly lax sanitation policies, if they really wanted to take down Dave Miller, they didn’t need any sort of Springlock trap or sting operation, but simply an honest attempt at first aid. How ironic.)

Dave was currently dabbing his face with the wet towel he obediently got for himself, and Pruny was sitting next to him, observing with interest as she usually did. (Thankfully her eyes seemed dry again.)

“Why don’t you take that filthy dish rag off your face so we can clean it up right.”

“Nah, you don’t have to—”

Jack took his seat next to Dave on the couch, close enough to get a good look at his face, and Dave immediately tensed away for space. Jack took it upon himself to remove the old bandage himself since Dave didn’t seem so inclined.

The rag covering half his face was removed to uncover a flustered expression with almost-red cheeks. Dave’s whole demeanor was uncharacteristically timid and touchy right now, but it was probably easier if Jack ignored that for now.

“Chill out, a little ointment sting never hurt nobody,” said Jack matter-of-factly as he was already mindlessly portioning and spreading the appropriate amount onto his fingers ready for application.

As Jack’s hand approached his cut cheek, Dave instinctively pulled away with a quiet, nervous laughter and an ever redder face.

“C’mon, man, what’s your issue?”

“...N-Nothin’! Just… heh… gonna be cold, isn’t it?”

Jack blankly stared at the obvious cowardly excuse—‘cold’?—and Dave’s failed show of composure collapsed even further the longer it went on.

“...Do it yourself then if you rather—”

“Oh, nonono!” he unexpectedly insisted. “You can still— Eheh…” Dave trailed off quickly and intensely avoided eye contact again. His face was now beet red and clearly fighting off an involuntary smile of some sort, and it looked goofy as hell.

“—AGH-gh-hgh—!” Jack had impatiently smeared a glob onto one of Dave’s cuts.

“There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“—A little more warning next time!” yelled Dave grimacing, hand instinctively cradling his now-stinging cheek.

“Now rub that stuff in more. The more it stings, the more you’re doing it right.”

Dave did as told, wincing accordingly. When he stopped rubbing his face, Jack turned to face him again and readied another glob for application, which turned Dave’s face red again.

Pruny was silently grinning watching all of this go down with completely undivided attention. Jack couldn’t blame her, Dave’s faces were definitely providing some free entertainment.

“Goin’ under your eye now.”

After a moment of blank hesitation, Dave nodded, tightly closing his eyes to brace himself.

“Don’t scrunch your cheeks up so much like that, just relax them.”

But Dave’s face seemed to do the opposite of relaxing the closer Jack’s fingers approached for another smear. Wow, Jack wasn’t expecting him to act so shy about this. It was definitely frustrating to work with, but it was amusing enough that he didn’t mind.

His fingers finally made contact with the bags of Dave’s eye, and to his credit, Dave didn’t back away this time, but bravely took it, humming whimpers of discomfort to himself as Jack lightly rubbed the stuff until it eventually absorbed.

As Dave was getting used to the sensation of his face being touched, Jack then repeated the process above his eye. Jack glanced at his side to see Pruny still utterly transfixed, watching Jack's hand like a dog watching the tennis ball waiting for you to throw it. Jack was pretty sure she probably hadn't blinked in a good while, so he playfully dabbed a small fleck of ointment on her nose with a grin on his face, winning a mischievous laugh out of Pruny that Jack reciprocated with a chuckle. Dave had opened his eyes too late from his prolonged wincing to catch why they were suddenly giggling.

She clearly wanted to participate too, so Jack let her dab a tiny bit onto Dave's cheek. Of course, when he saw Pruny was taking a turn, Dave had to lower his neck down a lot so she could reach.

Jack then returned his focus to making the finishing touches on the remaining skin cuts on Dave’s face.

“...There, that should do it.”

“Th-Thanks…”

“Don’t mention it. Now how’s the eye itself?” Dave had not opened it once since removing the bandage, which worried him.

“Not… great if I’m honest. Might need to rock that pirate style for a while after all, methinks.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to try to see a doctor?”

“I’ll be arrrright!” said Dave as he all too readily whipped out a classic black eye-patch that he must have stolen from Foxy on their way out.

Jack just stared in disbelief. Pruny giggled next to him.

“...If you start talking like a pirate, I might just have to punch you for it.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They were all gathered at table, clinking their spoons away at their mac and cheese bowls. The two had hotly debated earlier whether mac and cheese was a spoon food or a fork food, but that debate was easily settled once they found that only the spoons were clean in the drawer anyway. Dave was glad to have at least one victory ove Jack today, no matter how much Jack insisted he didn’t “win” anything.

It was still depressing to Jack how quickly his food stash depleted when now feeding three times the mouths. Pruny was eating slowly at her own comfortable pace, contrasting with how Dave leaned in to ravenously scarf down his bowl up to his face. Jack swore he was going to get that white towel wrapped over his eye stained with cheese sauce.

Jack had made him keep the clean towel over his eye for now until they washed the dumb pirate patch of its Freddy's...essence. There was only so much hygiene one could keep up with when you worked at Freddy's, and even less so when you were a rotting zombie, but still: when it came to stuff like that, Peter had drilled every caution into him, and it still stuck with him. (Man, if Peter could see how Jack lived now…)

Dave triumphantly set down his bowl and spoon with a satisfied sigh.

“Ahh, that was good.”

“You barely gave yourself time to taste it, or else you’d realize it’s sadly just Kraft mac and cheese.”

“My friend, I don't need to ‘taste’ it to know it's good eatin’.”

“I… That's an interesting view on food.”

“So…” As Dave's voice calmed to a more serious tone, Jack was way ahead of him and wasn’t having it. “About—”

“Not now. Two of us are still taking our time to actually enjoy and taste our food.”

“...Alright,” he relented civilly.

There was that tension from the car again. Jack suddenly had less appetite when he knew what awaited the end of the meal, but he continued anyway as if unbothered. Still, Dave didn't have to wait so expectantly at the table like this. Oh how Jack envied Pruny right now who was just eating peacefully and obliviously.

…Though now that Jack gave more than a peripheral glance at her, he noticed she wasn't her usual self either. She still had a good amount of her bowl left, and more of her spoon motions were spent toying with the noodles than eating them.

Dave noticed Jack's attention toward Pruny and also seemed to independently catch on to the same concern.

“C’mon, eat, Prune. It’s getting cold.”

She didn’t take notice until Dave lightly nudged her bowl which brought her out of whatever headspace she’d been in as she rushed a bit too much to show them that she was indeed eating.

The table remained at awkward clinking silence, this time minus the ravenous sounds from Dave’s side of the table like before, but eventually everyone finished their bowls. Pruny took the liberty of excusing herself immediately after finishing (and she finished it quickly as if she was being graded on it), so she headed for the spare room for some paper and pens from the desk drawer before taking them out to the living room. (Wait, since when did she find where Jack kept that stuff…?)

Jack, meanwhile, had risen to collect the bowls and silverware and brought them to the sink which he then turned on to fill said bowls with water. He didn’t feel like washing them right away, but he learned from experience that letting mac and cheese dry made it more of a time-consuming bitch to clean later—actually, on second thought, maybe he did feel like doing all of the dishes right now, so he rolled up his sleeves and grabbed the dish soap.

Good. Dave also finally got up to find his own way to keep himself busy too, it would seem.

…Oh, he was coming over to help with the dishes, wasn’t he? He walked toward Jack and the sink, also rolling up his sleeves.

Well here we go.

But to Dave’s credit, and to Jack’s bewilderment, he immediately set to the task without a word, and he was surprisingly efficient at it too. Evidently he knew what he was doing, and Jack didn’t know if it was condescending of him to be impressed considering Dave’s penchant for chaos. Then again, he used to live with Henry, which was always a plausible explanation for any number of mysteries and surprises Jack found in Dave over time.

It wasn’t until a full stack of cups had been rinsed to dry that Dave began.

“Jack Kennedy, huh?”

“Yeah, that’s… my name, don’t wear it out. Actually, on second thought maybe you should wear it out more compared to what you usually call me.”

“No, it’s just—in the car ride, I did a lot of thinking, of where I would have heard the name before. Why it’s familiar.”

“I mean, there is that copycat U.S. president you’re probably thinking of—”

“No, not that, I’m serious!”

Jack dropped the attempt at facetiousness because Dave wasn’t having it. Neither of them were really cleaning any dishes at this point.

“Alright, no more dancin’ around it. I know where I remember your names from. And from that I can connect some pretty ugly dots about what’s goin’ on.

But I wanna hear it all from you.”

“You’re really not messing around for once. Where should I even start?”

“Well, let’s start with names. So you’re a Kennedy, eh?

I’m well aware of who the Kennedies are. Specifically Dee Kennedy, the little redhead girl who got abducted at Fredbear’s in…” Dave counted mentally, “1973. She’d be your sister, yeah?”

For how stupid he acts, Dave was actually scarily perceptive.

“That means you know my real name too. Because the Kennedies and Fredbear’s go way back, don’t we? You’ve known of me long before even Henry died.”

Dave then fell silent, as if expecting Jack to take it from there, so he did.

“You’re William Afton. One of the two men who murdered my sister in cold blood.”

Jack was surprised by the old anger that surfaced as he admitted that. He thought he let that go. Strangely, Dave seemed almost glad about it.

“So I was right. It’s good to see you do still remember that second part too.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sportsy, it’s so damn bizarre to me—how you’d so easily and happily start snagging kids with me of all people, and after what I did to your sister? If you two are really family, then that just doesn’t make sense to me, because you knew damn well who I was from the beginning, so—”

“What doesn’t make sense to me is why you suddenly care about me and my family’s affairs. You certainly didn’t back then.”

“But Old Sport, you’re practically family to me now, so now it’s different—”

“And they were my family just the same.”

That made Dave stop to reconsider some things.

“You really just don’t even think about any of the lives you’ve taken, do you?”

“I-I suppose not? Not most of ‘em, anyway, never really felt a need to.”

Jack held a thoughtful silence. And then he decided to get into it.

“Well think about this then. Dee was our younger sister. Good fifteen-to-twenty years younger than Peter and me, and it was up us to raise her, having dead parents and all.

So you can stop pestering me about why I know so much about raising kids.”

Dave cast a brief look of embarrassment to the side with a half-hearted chuckle.

Jack then sighed before continuing.

“Then 1973 rolls around, Peter’s moved out with his wife and kid, so it’s just me and Dee celebrating her sixth birthday at Fredbear’s, why not? And then of course you know what happened that day.”

Now Jack took his turn to wait for Dave to answer from there. But the response he got instead was strange.

“How did that… make you feel?”

“...Huh?”

Jack looked quizzically at Dave who evidently still meant that question sincerely.

“It was the worst I’d ever felt in my life.”

“I-I see…”

Dave resumed the handwashing that their conversation had suspended, so Jack did the same. They both needed a good moment to think.

But then Dave abruptly set his plate down and turned to Jack.

“No wonder she was so pissed at you! How could you just forget her like that!?”

“Are you aware of the hypocrisy of you telling me that?”

“Still not half as hypocritical as you buddying up with me in front of her!”

“Yeah, well I didn't exactly want her to find out about all that…Why do you think I was so keen to keep her box wound up?” Not that Dee wasn't well aware of what Jack had done at that point anyway, but...

“... …Sportsy, do you ever want to make up with your sister?”

“...Hmm...

…Well what I want and what I plan to do are very different things, and the latter is ‘no, never.’”

“Why not?”

“Well that should be obvious after today; it’s not up to me.”

“Well, what about what you want then?”

“What I want…I don’t really know. I try not to think too hard about what I ‘want’ out of life these, just depresses the hell outta me. I try keep my ‘wanting’ to simple things I'm actually allowed to have, like a cigarette, or a nap or… or a friend to fight off the loneliness.”

“...I think you should at least try to—”

“That’s not what she wants, so it doesn’t matter what I want.

…Besides, since when do you care about her? You wanted her gone just hours ago.”

“Well, if she’s important to you—”

“That's all that matters to you then? What about all the other lives you took? Would you still have taken my sister’s life if you had known me before then?

If we’d still never met, you never would have spent a second thought about Dee’s death or even mine.”

“I—…” Dave did regularly think about his third red-haired victim, actually…

Wait, ‘his’ death—?

“Or Pruny? You would have taken her without a second though if she wasn’t aubergine.”

“But she’s a different—!”

“She’s a child just like all the rest, Dave, no more, no less. In fact, she reminds me a hecking lot of Dee sometimes.”

That last sentence in particular was deeply unsettling to Dave. Empathizing wasn’t something that came naturally to Dave, so when Jack put it like that for him…

Not that Jack was faring any better himself. Not even Dave could accept his hypocrisy either—

“...”

“...”

Their words were starting to settle in the silent aftermath like dust. It… would seem the conversation was over now…

Jack had not-very-subtly turned to resume washing the last of the dishes. And a few seconds later, Dave also dismissed himself to the living room.

But Dave hadn’t made it as far as the dining table before the two instinctively turned their heads toward the direction of the front door as the doorbell chimed throughout the house.

“...Who the fuck would be…?”

Jack quickly dumped the plate back into the dishwater and wiped his wet hands on his shirt as he went to answer the door. And after a beat of considering it, Dave decided he should follow too.

The two walked past Pruny who was thankfully already fast asleep on her couch, drawing stuff left on the floor beside her. Dave stopped behind to pull her bunched up blanket over her.

Meanwhile Jack opened the door to reveal a sopping wet Phone Guy standing right before him.

(Chapter 15)->

#wow this chapter was probably the most challenging to write! But I think my efforts finally paid off! #dsaf #dayshift at freddy's #dayshift at freddys #jack kennedy #dave miller #dsaf jack #jack dsaf #dsaf dave #dave dsaf #dsaf fanfic