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*Noticing Trauma sentence starters. π¨
β€ Β Β @pitgrittedΒ Β [ ; ]
βIt doesnβt have anything to do with trust. You donβt have to tell me. But Iβll listen, if you do.β
π ππππππππππ ππ πππππ ππ πππππ πππππ πππππππ πππ πππππ, πππππππ πππ π πππππππππ ππππ ππ ππππππππ πππππ ππ ππ π πππππ ππ ππππ ππππ ππππππ. Not weak. Steady. But it's hard to regain any form of composure after the little slip up he's had, no amount of smooth talking able to burrow his way out unless he wants to snap his teeth with a sarcastic, biting comment that he knows would only tag on more suspicion or shatter the mood more violently. Not needed, not now. It wouldn't fix anything...
Jayce curls his hands that bit tighter around the handle of Mercury. She still hums away beneath his hold, a reverberating sound that carries an ever steady but barely noticeable quake. For a moment, he's a little jealous, neatly blunt fingernails biting into the leather covering his hands from within the protective gauntlet's he wears. He's irritated, defensive, embarrassed, but the fighter's concern is so thickly palpable in the air he can't bring himself to keep up the pissy mask for long.
However, he still can't bring himself to look at Sett. Shame mingles strongly into the explosive concoction of emotions he feels whirling about, his eyes taking on a more dulled tone, darker, marred over in stormy fatigue as he allows his expression to slip knowing his face was safe from being studied.
A glum shade, muddied by what memories soured everything else about the relatively tame spar just mere moments prior. The smoke stings at his nose.
Still in the process of trying to catch up mentally with everything, he knows for damn sure trying to explain things off as either honestly as he could, or cover them up with the bullshit excuse of it being nothing β just an overreaction, just a mistake β wasn't going to patch anything up. His shoulder's remain squared off, tensed so tight he swears the next breath he takes will snap his tendons like a taut pulled elastic from the adrenaline heavy strain.
With a tired sigh, a following resigned hang of his head, he shifts his feet, a forlorn expression crossing his features as the edge of his boot nudges against the shattered bit of stone & metal that crunch away beneath. He can hear nothing over the silence draped oppressively over his shoulders, somehow, it's all the more frustrating as he realizes the other man is thinking, taking everything about the situation in, carefully piecing together why Jayce had reacted how he did when he felt himself begin to slip more into that fight or flight state of mind during their fight. He's not proud of his panic, but now that he's had a moment to breathe, he shakes his head, stands straighter, turns on his heel with a premade excuse, a sentence carefully crafted & ready to push this whole disaster topic away balanced right on the edge of his tongue.
Too bad it's nearly choked on when the other man speaks. His voice is serious, low. Not quite fully sympathetic, only painfully, frustratingly cautious, so quietly gentle he could've missed the rare show of concern that flashes. Shrugging his shoulders, Jayce moves to busy himself with a jittery circle of his wrist, tightening his hold once again as he glares into the sleek frame of his weapon. He scoffs with a shake of his head.
The gesture says all he needs to express.
I don't trust you. Not enough. Ironic, considering he'd allowed the other to brutally spar against him, allowed some semblance of physical intimacy past 'just fighting', but apparently the line is drawn when it came to emotional reliance. Trust. Darkened brows remain pinched, that continual flow of steady anger all directing itself inwards spills over as he shifts, turning to cast a look the other's way, an attempt to gauge the Ionian's own feeling's before he knew how best to continue.
Only to once more find himself startled at the oddly kind, disarming words shared further. Read like a simple schematic for one of his machines, Jayce blinks wide eyes at the man, turning to better face him as his face twists up into a confused, baffled look. A heavy swallow as he braces his hammer's end against the flat of the ground, a twist of her handle properly disarming the hextech whirring away at his side. Head cocking at an angle, he answers, though his voice is uncharacteristically quiet. Not at all loud, confident like he normally prided himself on being.
β First of all β¦ sorry for that. Quick reflexes you have. β As usual, he tags on, risking a wincing glance to the side, where some of the floor remained steaming with smoke, still charred an unnatural shade from where he'd aimed his cannon earlier. Another guilty swallow, before he continues, gaze breaking, glove padded hand lifting to rub at his neck in a self-soothing gesture. β Second β¦ what do you know about me. Honestly? β
A stupid question. But depending on the answer given, Jayce'd plan where to go, what to share, from there. If tales of the council roomβs explosion reached this far, if he was connected to that disaster or any of the others in the infancy of his inventing career, heβd add on his own context behind his twitchy trigger finger. Adaptable. It's what he's thankfully best at. He wasn't entirely eager to bare his heart out now of all times, but β¦ clearly they couldn't get anymore training done if he was constantly holding back out of some lingering ptsd. His progress was stunted unless he addressed it head on, or worked through it in his own time. Huffing softly through his nose, he waits, hands moving to pry his gauntlets off.
so happy to hear that ur pcs fixed!! hope you can save up enough for a better one in the future anyways though c: happy and excited for more beautiful butches to come
I love you anon <333 I'm here to deliver beautiful women for you all
hopefully this isn't too late for the fanfic ask game ^^: π¦ and π
OMG it's never too late, thank you so much for asking!!! πππ I love talking about writing π₯°
π¦what are you most insecure about when you post a fic?
Oooh. Everything? π No, okay, I'll try to be more specific. I'm afraid that, since I'm writing the same two goobers getting together over and over again, people will look at the similarities in my stories and writing and be bored, or even annoyed. And, always and more in general, I'm afraid that the parts of each story I love the most, the ones where I feel like I've done something actually interesting or beautiful, or really expressed myself as a writer, will instead come off as meaningless, or pretentious, or stupid.
πgive yourself a compliment about your own writing
Uhhh... I edit a lot before posting, so it's usually pretty tidy? π
And I personally think my metaphors are really cute, especially when I have a chance to weave them into the fic for longer segments, so that you see the thread of them showing up here and there in the fabric of the story π
(The writing ask game is here if anyone wants to play!
i loeveeeee zines yaaaaaayyyyyy i also love zines which r created by my cool mutuals and not some scary random person who intimidates me into not signing up in case they judge me... YIPPEEEE
Dad!Matt struggling to communicate with his nonverbal autistic son while he is overestimated
Hello hello hello. Back again with another fic! Btw my friend with autism proof read this to make sure it was accurate and not offensive so yaaaaaayyyyyy.
**I do not own any characters or part of the franchise from Daredevil**
Pairing: father!Matt Murdock x autistic!son!reader!
Genre: slight angst but ends with comfort
Summary: go to req
Tw: cussing, overstimulation, Matt sorta snaps at his son :(
All Too Much
It was a humid day. Too humid. Gross. Muggy. It made your clothes stick to your skin and made your hair damp. It made you want to gag.
Matt had to take you to work this Saturday. You didnβt really mind because you liked Foggy and Karen but the office smelled horrible and the color hurt your eyes. You sighed and flapped the hand that wasnβt being held by your dad.
βAlmost there, Jr, cβmon.β Your dad seemed distracted, which means he couldnβt pay attention to what you were signing in his hand.
Not that you really could anyway; one of your hands was holding his. His phone was in his pocket which meant you couldnβt use the text to speech app he downloaded for you.
You two stopped in front of his law firm. He buzzed in opened the door, gesturing for you to go in. As soon as you walked in the smell of the neighboring offices hit you. The scent of smoke and mold and the feel of the dust brushing your face made you gag. You looked at your father. You wanted to tell him you didnβt wanna be in here.
βAlright Jr, up we go. Iβm running late.β He picked up his walking stick and began jogging up the stairs.
You watched him and took a deep breath before following him up the stairs. You bit your bottom lip hard.
Every possible sense was immediately flooded with too much information.
The phone ringing. People talking. Papers flicking. All the different smells of individual people. Cigarette smoke coming in through the window from a neighboring office. The underlying stench of mold. The sun was too bright. The paint on the walls reflected a horrible color due to the light. Suddenly your once soft shirtβs collar gripped your neck too tight. It felt like every fibre of the shirt was rubbing just the wrong way on your arm hairs, your skin. There was a gross taste of sweat mixed with the copper taste from your now bleeding lip.
You noticed your dad was no longer beside you. You whipped your head around, your hair brushing your cheeks. You spotted him talking to Karen and holding some of his braille papers.
You hastened over to his leg and tugged on it lightly. No response. You shook his leg and made grunt. Still no response. Finally you hit his leg twice and made a high pitched whine.
ββ¦Okay. Thanks, Karen keep working on that.β Matt finished with Karen and knelt down.
He looked mad.
βWhat? What could you possibly want?β His harsh tone was like a slap on the cheek.
He sounded mad.
Tears welled in your eyes and you ran into his office, slamming the door and hiding under his desk.
βShit.β Matt sighed.
He took a deep breath in and walked over to the door to his office. He knocked three times.
βJr? Can I come in, please?β He focused on you and what action may signal a response.
Then he heard a small sniffle.
Fuck, he made you cry. Shit shit shit.
βIβm coming in, ok?β He said.
He opened the door slowly and closed it gently. He walked around to his desk where he heard you crying. He sat on the floor across from you, next to his chair.
βHey, Iβm sorry Jr. I shouldnβt have snapped at you and taken my frustration out on you. Can you forgive me?β He whispered.
You looked at him through tear filled eyes and nodded but put your head on your knees.
βCan I do anything for you? Do you want your headphones?β He asked.
You nodded quickly. Your dad opened one of the deskβs drawers and reached inside. He pulled out a pair of noise canceling headphones and slid them to you. You peeked out from your knees and grabbed them. You put them on and began to calm down.
βDo you wanna stay in here until youβve calmed down?β He asked.
You nodded again.
βYou know that I love you, right?β Matt asked.
You shakily tapped his knee, your gesture for his hand. He held his palm out you formed βilyβ in his hand and he smiled as he felt around it.
You put your head back down on your knees.
βAlrighty, Jr. Iβll check on you in 15 minutes.β You watched him get up slowly.
Before he left he scribbled something on a sticky note and stuck it in the ground close to you. When you felt the vibration of the door close you looked at the note.