#will the weighted blanket allow me to better dissociate or make me feel every emotion and sob

[zosonils]

surely post some autistic ferb things for us all,,,,,,

hell yeah anon!! here’s an absolute hell dump of Ferb Autism Indulgence Things because i have really been wanting to get my grubby little autistic hands all over him lately

his special interests are engineering and tetris [which is the game he’s internationally ranked in!]

he stims vocally by humming or repeating other vocalisations, but rarely with actual words

if he’s too nervous to vocalise/just not in the mood he goes for small hand movements to stim like clicking pens or tapping his fingers

he does flappy hands/arms when he has a lot of excitement to release! otherwise he prefers to stick to smaller/more subtle motions for a variety of reasons

he only repeats actual words as echolalia, almost always off of either phineas or perry! that thing they do where perry chatters and the boys mimic it and they all just loop off each other for a while is absolutely an echolalia loop for all of them [yes even the platypus]

a very epic headcanon i have is that owca agents are typically labelled as having therapy animal training to give them some more wiggle room with showing intelligence, so perry is officially a therapy platypus for the flynn-fletcher kids, especially the boys. ferb does the aforementioned echolalia chatter thing with perry and also just generally finds him extremely comforting to hold. of course perry’s figured out all of ferb and his siblings’ needs by observation and makes sure to subtly be as comforting as possible for his kids, especially if they’re having a meltdown and need to hold someone who won’t try to talk to them

ferb genuinely dislikes communicating verbally, due to a combination of general social anxiety, struggling to translate his thoughts into words, and finding it physically uncomfortable to talk. it’s not serious enough to prevent him from cracking a joke or vocalising his thoughts every once in a while, but he prefers to be nonverbal as much as possible and communicate through gestures and body language

throughout the series he only ever speaks on his own terms and as much as he’s comfortable with, so it comes out without issue, but if he’s forced to talk when he doesn’t want to or while he’s under stress he struggles to string sentences together and stutters really badly. fortunately he’s got nice friends and a great family so this issue rarely presents itself, although it comes up sometimes during the school year in battles with pissy neurotypical teachers over oral presentations

over time he starts to work past the discomfort [genuinely, it’s on his own terms as opposed to masking to get allistics off his back] so that by the time he’s an adult he can hold an entirely verbal conversation for a decent while before it drains him, but he still tends to avoid speaking if he can

phineas instinctively understands ferb’s silent emotional cues, a lot better than he understands most people’s [but that’s a whole other infodump lmao], and unless ferb actively indicates that he wants to talk for himself phineas usually speaks for both of them and translates any of ferb’s less neurotypically obvious signals

phineas and ferb made The Ultimate Fidget Cube as one of their daily projects [they were being mass produced for an hour or two and then something or other happened, there was a mobile phone and an avalanche of instant noodles, long story short only the handful they made for themselves and their friends are left now] and neither of them go anywhere without it

ferb doesn’t have any specific comfort/security objects but he feels significantly more at ease if he’s got some kind of tool in his hand or within reach [or, failing an actual building-stuff tool, anything he can hold and Do Something with, like a pen or his fidget cube or a video game controller], and is a lot more stimmy with his hands and generally anxious if he isn’t holding something

perry performs the task of comfort item better than any inanimate objects but platypi aren’t allowed to come to school even if they’re very polite :(

believe me the brothers have tested this numerous times

school is stressful for ferb because it fires up his sensory overload and is usually where he’s forced to do some neurotypical shit that upsets him, but his friends always have his back and linda and lawrence are definitely super involved in making sure their kids’ needs are met and respected by their teachers, so he manages pretty well unless something really bad happens to set him off

he’s susceptible to sensory overload, mostly with bright lights, sudden noises, and being touched. the light and sound involved in many of his and phineas’ projects is alright because he usually designed them and knows exactly when they’ll come on and what it’ll be like, but if he doesn’t have that prediction available he freaks out easily. being touched [especially without warning] is the absolute fucking worst and he almost invariably flips out if someone unfamiliar tries to touch him or he’s hit with an unexpected sensation he doesn’t like

he only rarely has meltdowns because he’s good at self-regulating when he needs to and his friends and family know what does and doesn’t fly with him, but when he does they’re often triggered by either sensory overload or being forced to talk

when ferb starts entering meltdown territory his verbal skills are the first thing to shut off, and if it gets worse he usually stops communicating altogether and enters a really bad dissociative state that he won’t come out of until he feels safe again and can be carefully brought back to his senses

standard procedure for ferb meltdowns is to get him a weighted blanket and some tea and a perry if you can find the slippery little bugger, let him snap back to reality at his own pace, and once he can communicate his needs again pay extra close attention to them until he calms down enough that he can properly self-regulate again

his favourite sensations are weight/pressure, the funky bumpy shit perry’s tail has going on, and anything soft!

most of his clothes [including his usual outfit in the show] are tight-fitting but made out of soft fabric for maximum comfy

the blanket on his bed is a weighted one, but if he’s too far from his room or it’s too hot to be comfortable under a blanket sometimes he’ll just find the tightest spot he can wedge himself into without getting hurt or stuck and squish himself in there to calm down a bit

his favourite food texture is crunchy stuff, and he samefoods with particular cereals and sandwich combos that rotate every few months when he finally gets tired of the exact same breakfast and lunch every day and wants slightly different identical meals

while he’s fine with variation from day to day, he’s very firmly attached to the summer/weekend formula of wake up > cereal > big idea > where’s perry > [building montage] > mom holy fuck > sandwich > [having fun montage] > our fuckoff massive contraption has vanished somehow > oh there you are perry > snacks > nondescript vibing > dinner > bed time, and if this schedule gets significantly thrown off it really bothers him

ferb shows his emotions more subtly than neurotypicals, which can make him seem hard to read, but his external emotional range is still extremely distinct - he just expresses it in atypical ways sometimes!

one of his most notable atypical emotional cues is that thing he does when he’s startled and he pulls his hands up - he does this in we call it maze when candace falls over on her skates in the beginning, split personality when busting candace scares him, lost in danville when he’s worried another capsule might fall on him or phineas, and the phineas and ferb effect during how do i do it when milo’s exercise bike crashes, just to name a few instances! this boy has Unique Emotional Cues and i love him for it so much

he’s better at reading emotions than phineas [as low as that bar is], but sometimes misses more subtle cues and doesn’t quite trust his ability to read anyone aside from phineas, candace, and his closest friends

he’s been aware that he’s neurodivergent ever since he was diagnosed as a little kid [he was first diagnosed with autism when he was extremely baby, not even three years old, and had it continually reconfirmed as he got older] and he’s been entirely happy with being autistic for as long as he’s known what that even means, with this only being reinforced as he found siblings and made friends with other autistic kids :)

good lord this is such an infodump i’m sorry i just love my son so very much and have been feeling particularly self indulgent today ;<;

#i've been on and off typing at this ask for like six hours help hsjnkdfnkj /lh #i love ferb so fucking much you guys have no idea #[diverges his neuro] #sonic forces me to answer questions #just fucking whatever #THIS post goes RIGHT in the infodump tag #long post #good lord i'm sorry lmao [except i'm not because talking about my comfort characters is awesome] #anon

[lyssismagical]

may you know that you’re loved, even when you’re lost

Whumptober Day Twenty-Nine. Numb

Read on AO3

“You have to tell me what’s going on with you, Peter,” May’s saying, voice far away and echoing.

He’s sitting on a couch, their couch, in their apartment. Queens, he reminds himself. His name is Peter Parker. His aunt is worried about him.

He’s looking at her, but it’s hard to focus on her blurry face, world spinning and colors muddling together. He blinks a few times, wishing he could blink the dark spots out of his vision, but he’s learned their permanence.

“Peter?” May tries again.

Right, he thinks, focus. He has to focus.

Pulling at the corners of his mouth with foreign muscles, he twists his face into a polite smile. “I’m okay, May.”

His own voice sounds weird and distorted, not right to his ears, a stranger’s voice.

And May’s face falls into an emotion he couldn’t even try to decipher if he wanted to. Her hands touch his knees and he looks down at them, blinking slowly and too numb to feel the kind touch.

“I know you’re lying to me,” she says, sighing. He can feel her looking at him, but he can’t remember how to look up again, eyes trained on her blurry hands. “But I can’t make you talk… Just- I’m here for you if you need anything, alright?”

He wants to nod, it seems appropriate to nod, but he can’t quite remember which muscles will allow it, so he doesn’t.

May pulls her hands away from his knees and she stands up, world distorting around her. “I love you, honey, you know that, right?”

He’s staring at her face, trying to make sense of it, trying to convince himself that he looks like that too, trying to convince himself that she’s real.

It’s hard to believe. Only because he doesn’t feel real. And if he’s not real, how in world is everything around him real? It’s hard to differentiate what’s real and what’s not. He feels like his body is melting away and his brain is floating into outer space, and-

He forgets that he’s not supposed to think about space, it hurts just a little bit too much for his dissociation to handle and the universe tips around him, unsure how to handle the two ends of the spectrum at the same time.

“May?” His tongue feels foreign inside his mouth and his voice sounds like it’s underwater.

She turns to him from where she’d given up on him (of course she would, he shouldn’t be surprised, everyone’s going to give up on him, it’s about time) and she offers one of her kind smiles.

“Yeah, honey?”

He likes the sound of her voice, even if it does nothing to stop his body melting into the floor and his brain floating into the ceiling and the panic clawing at his chest.

He hangs onto it like a lifeline.

“Love you too.”

* Static.

Filling his ears and his head and his vision, static.

He’s lying in bed. The only thing that exists in his headspace is the ticking on his watch, hand resting over his chest, heart in sync with the ticking.

It could’ve been any time between noon and 4am, he doesn’t know- couldn’t know. Time is hard to figure out when his brain is gone and his body is like a heavy, weighted puppet for him to puppeteer.

He wants help- needs help. He hates feeling like this. Like he’s so far away from reality, disconnected, filled with static, empty and unreal.

But he lays, alone and too far gone to really feel anything, in his bed, staring up at the ceiling, and losing himself in the ticking of his watch.

* He doesn’t sleep at home, just stares up at the ceiling and lets time slip through his fingers. Instead, he sleeps in class, or at least he pretends to sleep. He thinks he just becomes so not-real that people just think he’s sleeping. Because he never shakes the tiredness.

Detentions fill his afternoons and nothing feels real, so he doesn’t fight it.

His homework is left unfinished, suit left untouched in his closet, light switch taped so it can never be turned off, texts from Tony left on read, he doesn’t process anything.

He just passes through life like a ghost, floating and not-real and numb.

* “Peter?”

That’s him, he thinks, quickly blinking his eyes open and towards the speaker. Black spots dance across his vision and exhaustion hangs onto his bones, but he tries his best to focus, even just a little bit on the blurry world.

It’s Ned. He’s holding onto Peter’s elbow, eyes wide with a sort of intensity.

“Peter, I thought you cancelled lab night,” Ned says. People use his name a lot when they’re talking to him like it’ll help him to remember that it’s him they’re talking to.

He’s not sure why Ned would know he cancelled lab night, can’t remember saying that at any point, but he doesn’t really remember cancelling either.

Somehow, someway, Ned seems to understand Peter’s incapability to compute, and he takes the lead as the car honks across from them, glinting in the sunlight and making Peter wince as the world blurs a little bit worse.

The concrete’s too solid under his feet and every step feels like a thousand years pushing forward with every individual muscle, but they do eventually get to the car.

But Ned keeps a firm grip on his arm, giving him no choice but to follow.

Peter doesn’t lift his eyes, but he knows it’s Tony who steps out of the car based on the watch that makes Peter’s brain go fuzzy.

“-okay?” Tony’s saying.

Peter wishes he was better at playing pretend. Wishes he could look up at Tony and smile and make conversation until they got to the tower, but his brain is broken. His body won’t function. He doesn’t feel real.

“It’s just… It’s just a Day, Mister Stark,” Ned’s trying to explain. “He’s just… spacey.”

Peter knows Tony’s frowning without looking at him.

Concrete under his feet, Ned’s hand on his arm, the school behind him, the bustling of students going home. Tony’s watch is ticking, the sun is glaring down on them, the car engine is running.

Grounding. But not enough, never enough to make the static feel less crushing, to make the numbness fade.

“Peter?” Tony’s saying. He’s touching Peter’s cheek, turning his face up, but Peter’s numb, too numb to feel much, to react to the pain in Tony’s eyes. “Hey, bud, you doing okay?”

His face is gentle and kind, calloused hand soft on Peter’s face, words quiet. It’s nice.

But Peter can’t find the strength to formulate a response.

“That’s okay too, buddy,” Tony says and it helps lesson the panic that had been creeping up his throat. “C’mon, let’s get you into the car.”

Tony says some quiet words to Ned while getting Peter into the car, but the young hero doesn’t bother to listen. Too much energy.

Engine, he reminds himself carefully when he starts feeling too weightless. Engine rumbling, watch ticking, breathe, the sun shining, the blurry world spinning around him, the punch-drunk feeling that’s settled around him.

“You hungry, bud?” Tony asks. He’s sitting in the driver’s seat now, suddenly, and the world is even blurrier out the window. “We’ll take it easy when you get to the tower, yeah?”

Even though Peter doesn’t answer any of the questions, Tony doesn’t seem to mind.

“We’ll order some pizza later,” Tony continues. “Get some garlic bread too. You can pick a movie to watch. As long as you don’t pick Toy Story again.”

It’s on the tip of his tongue, the cry for help, the plead to be saved, but nothing comes out of his mouth. So he settles for focusing on Tony’s voice and the soft hum of the engine, and tries his best not to float any more than he already is.

* “Mister Stark?”

It’s the first thing he’s said since they arrived to the tower. Tony set him up on the couch and tossed a few blankets over him and there’s an untouched mug of hot chocolate on the coffee table for him.

If Tony’s surprised by him speaking out of the blue, he doesn’t show it. He just turns and puts on one of his soft smiles.

“Mister Parker?” he replies, with the kind of easiness Peter wishes he could have.

He swallows thickly, tongue suddenly too big for his mouth. Tony’s face is all fuzzy around the edges and Peter tries and fails to blink it away.

Tony’s reaching out for him, so he grabs for Tony’s sleeve, needing something to ground him. He needs to be grounded. He can’t remember the last time he was, but nothing seems to help.

“Mister Stark,” he repeats, fingers curling into Tony’s sleeve shakily. It’s too dark and he blinks again to try to rid the world of the awful vignette it’s taken on, but nothing helps-

“I’m here, buddy.”

I’m not! he wants to scream, he’s not here, not present, not real. But nothing escapes his throat.

“Mister Stark.”

Tony’s free hand, the one that isn’t tangled in Peter’s shaking fingers, brushes back Peter’s curls with a careful, cautious touch.

“I’m here, Peter, I’m here. Breathe for me, okay? Can you count five things you see.”

It’s harder than it may seem because he can’t quite be sure if the things around him are real. He can see his hands but he doesn’t feel too real at the moment.

“Peter,” Tony sounds more insistent this time, so Peter pushes himself to cooperate.

“You,” he says, staring into the blurry colors around him. “Um, um, TV, couch, blanket, um, me. Am I- Am I-”

He’s pretty certain he’s panicking, clutching onto Tony like a lifeline who’s kneeling beside the couch, eyes wide.

“That’s good, buddy, you’re doing good. Could you count five things you see that are white?”

Different. Scales tipping. Focus, refocus. White.

It doesn’t help with his punch-drunk blurry vision, but he can do it. If Tony’s asking him to, he’ll try.

“Shirt,” he says, flexing his fingers in the fabric. “Buzz Lightyear, um, um, Tony- I-”

“You’re doing a good job, kiddo, only three more, okay?”

He nods once, movements caught like molasses. “Marshmallows, um, I- um, pillow, and- and rug.”

Tony smiles like he’s insanely proud of Peter. “There you go. You wanna do another one? How about you tell me what things you can hear, hm? You’ve got some crazy enhanced hearing.”

“Heart,” he starts. That’s an easy one. “Watch. TV, Toy Story. Um, cars, and, um, me? Do I count? Am I- Am I real?”

Tony’s still smiling, a quiet smile like it’s a secret. “Yeah, you’re real, bubba. You’re right here with me. I can hear you and feel you and see you. You’re right here sitting on my couch in the Tower. I bought it back after I got you back, you remember that.”

Focus, refocus. Don’t lose it now.

“I need help,” he says.

“We’ll get you help, kiddo,” Tony murmurs, running his thumb over Peter’s thumb. A constant.

“Feels like- Feels like I’m dreaming all the time and I- I don’t know how to wake up,” Peter says. “And it feels like I’m drunk all the time. Like- Like I can’t see right and everything’s blurry and out of focus, and I can’t feel anything. I hate it and I- I wanna go back to normal.”

“I used to have nightmares all the time.” It’s an unexpected admission, but it does it’s job of grabbing Peter’s attention again. “Of Titan. I sometimes would have to go watch footage of you swinging about just to remind myself that I got you back. I’ve called May before in the middle of the night to make sure she’s seen you alive and well.”

Peter frowns, feeling real enough for tears to fill his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

But Tony laughs quietly. “No, don’t feel bad, I just wanted to show you that you’re not alone, okay? And I got help and I’m doing better now, and I’ll be with you every step of the way to make sure you get better too, yeah?”

“Feel like- Feels like static.” He’s crying he thinks, lifting one of his hands away from Tony’s sleeve to rub his face and check. “Static and too bright and numb and tired. Always.”

Tony nods and runs his fingers through Peter’s hair gently. “I know, bubba, it’s going to take a little while, but one day, I promise, you’ll feel better, okay?”  

“You promise?”

Wrapping his pinky around Peter’s outstretched one, Tony nods. “Yeah, kiddo, I promise.”

It’s not an instant fix, but the promise is enough to help Peter keep pushing forward.

And just as promised, Tony’s there at his side through everything.

Just as promised, one day, he starts feeling better again.

#whumptober2019 #no.29 #numb #lyss writes #tw: dissociation #depression #irondad #irondad fic #don't tag as starker #this is just me projecting

[rhomsfanfic]

Comfort (Aizawa Shouta X Reader)

a/n: I just needed another small scenario after a lot of stress today, hope you guys enjoy it too!

Dragging your feet over the floor, you groaned as you finally reached his room in the building, leaning with your shoulder against his door. Reaching deep into your pocket, you tried to reach for your keys, your hands only fishing between an old tissue and some change that you had dumped into it without any effort before. Groaning again, you hit your head a few times against the door, wondering if Shouta was at home or if you were going to stand in the hallway until he came back.

It had been such an awful day. Your boss had made sure to reprimand you for a missing report, only to call you back into his office an hour later, saying he found it. When you wanted to get a chocolate bar from the vending machine it got stuck and no matter how much you shook the electrical device, it wouldn’t budge. Tired and hungry, you went back to your desk, your chair breaking under your weight and as if it wasn’t enough bad things happening, you met an old friend from school who continued to brag about his life and all the luxuries you simply couldn’t afford.

And now you were here, in front of your boyfriend's apartment. All you wanted was a hug, maybe a nice bath, and if it wasn’t too much to ask for, something to eat, but you quickly realized you would have none, as the door didn’t move out of the way to let you enter. Biting your lips, you felt the burning sensation of tears welling in your eyes, all the dissatisfaction of the day finally breaking out. It wasn’t like you to be quite so emotional in public, especially not when standing at Shouta’s door, your boyfriend normally knowing you as a chipper person.

Sniffling, you stood there, leaning against the entrance, occasionally wiping your tears away. Your hand went fishing in another pocket, pulling out your phone. From the time displayed you could make out that he wouldn’t be back anytime soon, but just in case, you texted him that you had forgotten your keys and were waiting for him. There was no reply and you could see your battery display dropping into the reds before you closed the display.

With every second that passed, you found it harder and harder to hold back the weeping sound that erupted from your body. Sinking to the ground you wrapped your arms around your legs, hoping to suffocate the sound a little, to not make a scene in the middle of the hallway. A few minutes passed like this, your tears leaving marks on the pants you were wearing, but on some point, the noises disappeared and you felt your mind drifting into the unconscious.

When you woke up again, you couldn’t quite remember what happened. Covered by a blanket you lifted one of your arms to rub over your eyes, trying to figure out where you were. The weary feeling in your bones made you remember how you had crouched down, from there on figuring that you fell asleep, even if it didn’t explain your situation now. However, you felt warm in your sleeping spot, rolling on your side to look around.

It was definitely an all too familiar emptiness in the room, Shouta’s home looking as uncomfortable minimalistic ever, even if you had come to like it, as it allowed you to bring some decorations of your own. You sat up, looking around for your boyfriend, though he was not in plain view. From a distance you could hear water running, assuming he must be taking a shower.

You couldn’t help but yawn, your eyes falling onto a water bottle on the nightstand to your left. Reaching out for it, you opened the cap, taking a big gulp of it, your body practically screaming from dehydration. For a second it made you feel better and you thought about getting up, but the memories of the day coming back to you made you instantly feel too bad to do anything. Staying in bed was probably better since the day didn’t seem to like you very much anyway.

Dissociating a little, you didn’t notice the door to the bathroom opening, Shouta stepping out with a towel around his neck. He gave you a quick glance, noticing you were awake, drawing closer quickly to the bed you were sitting on. “You awake?” he asked, stupid really, but from the look in your eyes, he couldn’t be so sure. Jumping you clenched the water bottle, the fluid overflowing from it and wetting the blanket.

You quickly placed it on the window sill, thankfully taking the towel he held out to you. “Y-Yeah, sorry.” He watched you dab it onto the wet spot for a while before sitting down beside you. “Are you alright?” he asked, picking away some fluffs on the back of your shirt. His hand quickly landing on your lower back which he gave some encouraging rubs up and down.

“Just a long day…” you replied.

In fact, no matter how much you wanted to bail to him and complain all your worries away, you still felt reluctant. Even if he was your boyfriend, he sometimes struggled with his own expressions of feelings, and you feared it would put him off to see you crying or in distress. “That so…” he mumbled. You knew that he was aware that ‘just a long day’ didn’t quite match up with your inner tumult, but you shot him a wry smile over your shoulder, trying to hold it back from breaking out.

It came as quite a surprise when his arms suddenly tangled their way forward, and he pulled your back against his chest, his body feeling very warm from the bath. “Are you sure there’s nothing you want to tell me? Like, why you were crying in front of my door?” Biting your lip once more on that day, you shook your head, though you could feel the tears build up without mercy.

“Hm, okay,” he mumbled into your hair, kissing the back of your head a few times before laying down with you. He only needed an effortless reach to the side of his bed to turn off the little lamp on his nightstand, the only source of light in the otherwise dark room, it was already night. Shouta left you the room to move around, but you weren’t going to without checking your clothes first.

Your pants were gone, though you still were in your shirt and underwear. He didn’t like street clothes in his bed too much, so you weren’t surprised by him taking it off for you, considering he had already carried you in and laid you down to sleep. You felt him slip under the blanket with you, your feet rather cold in comparison with his. Inching closer he willingly opened his arm so you could rest against his chest, holding on to him tightly.

He smelled so good, fresh out of the shower. A sweet fragrance and the feeling of new clothes lulling you into comfort. Even if he could be the grumpiest person on times, you still couldn’t help but feel the best when you were with him. He hugged you tightly to his body, your legs entangling as he flinched at your cold feet, before cupping them with his. Together under the blanket, the warmth rose quickly and you felt yourself being drawn back to sleep, snapping out of it when you heard his voice.

“You know you can tell me everything, [Name]?” Clinging on to his shirt, you nodded, knowing he could feel the movement of your head. “Just making sure…” he mumbled. His arm tightened around you when the sobs shook through your body, and you hid your face in his chest, trying to control your sobs. He calmly turned towards you more, holding your head against him while rubbing your back simultaneously with his second hand.

He didn’t ask unnecessary questions, and for once you were glad he wasn’t that talkative anyway. Instead, he just comforted you with his presence and his touch, rocking you carefully back and forth as you cried your eyes out. “It’s okay…” was the last thing you heard before your mind drifted back into sleep after a while, but all through the night, you could feel his warmth, Shouta embracing you until the early hours of the new day.

#bnha #mha #Aizawa #aizawa shouta #Shota Aizawa #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #xreader #hurt/comfort #eraserhead #Aizawa Shota #shouta aizawa #Fanfiction #scenarios