#and thus. sensory overload

[gay-otlc]

Sensory overloud hours (:

[brutalmasks]

currently thinking about how, since bunny mask's head / sort of by extension her neck ( yeahhh, i'd say that, because she is NOT immune to decapitation ) are basically her achilles heel in the way that they heal muchhh slower than the rest of her body does + there have even been times where she didn't heal properly at all in those areas... that most of the scars bunny has are concentrated around there.

thus, if your muse is intimate with her in any way, then they'll most certainly be seeing those on her skin and i just 😭 it kind of hits me RIGHT in the feels — and i say this because there has to be a lot of trust there for bunny to feel safe enough to expose what is literally the most vulnerable spot of her body to them, you know? so yeah. that is one surefire way of knowing that bunny mask trusts your muse with her life ❤️

[tamaharu]

why is talking to parents about mental health stuff so nerve wracking like im just informing them that im planning to get an adhd assessment so they could help with insurance and im like oh man i should be shot for this

[clamorybus]

when i catch myself thinking "maybe i'm not really autistic..." i have to remember: covid

[paradoxesofgalaxies]

Where would the most calm place in the world be like for you? And would you prefer to be alone or bring a loved one there?

Thanks Bunny 💜💜

I think the most calm place for me would be a small cottage deep in the woods with a creek running nearby. None of the noises of modern life, no high-pitched buzz of electricity, no rumbling cars nor honking horns. Just the sounds of the bugs and the birds and the critters. The soft gurgle of the running water. I guess what I'm figuring out here is that calm is very attached to sound for me.

And I would want husband there with me. I always feel safer with him around 💕

[lucientheartisticfox]

WENT FROM ONE SENSORY NIGHTMARE (BAD SMELLING SCIENCE ROOM) TO ANOTHER (LOUD MATH ROOM) HELP

[wroteclassicaly]

Daddy Steve

(Steve Harrington x Female Reader)

Summary: Steve finds out you’re pregnant.

Warnings: Language, hurt/comfort, best-friends to lovers, Daddy!Steve, mentions loss of virginity, alludes to smut, nausea, throwing up, and pregnancy stuff.

Pairings: Steve Harrington x Female Reader

A/N: Ever since that Daddy Steve comment in season three, my brain can’t get a breeding kink addicted Steve outta my filthy ass head! And thus, I bring you more trash that you didn’t ask for, lol!! I might do a part two with smut?? Enjoy! - Kristen <3

“C’mon, you love this stuff, honey,” Steve mumbles around a mouthful of buttery popcorn.

You’re smashed between him and your shared best-friend, Robin Buckley—on the sofa, watching some newly released horror film that went straight to video, and right into Steve’s VCR. You have to fight everything inside of you not to gag on the smell of popped kernels, urges to inhale, an automatic reflex that only serves to make your predicament worse. Robin wrinkles her nose in distaste, reaching across you and shoving his wrist away.

“Because having greasy ass butter on your chin is really encouraging her to try it out, Harrington.”

“Mhm,” You say, a half whimper slipping out. Your stomach rolls, making you automatically grip onto your baggy denim over shirt, the small swelling of your tummy a comfort.

Fuck the morning sickness… when did this start happening?

Robin’s eyes glance at you with a pitying worry, raising a brow in silent communication. You shake your head, giving her an ‘I’m fine’ signal, dodging Steve’s last classic film snack advance. When you catch sight of his tongue working to clean off his mouth’s corner, that ache teeters between your thighs, a rush of words tumbling off your lips.

“I have to go pee.” You scramble from the couch, nearly tripping over worn converse in the process.

And, as it turns out, your excuse is an even more idiotic thing to say. Steve’s voice halts you in your footfalls.

“Again? That’s like, the fifth time in an hour. And unless you’re chugging from some secret flask, I haven’t seen you drink much of anything, either.”

“I…”

“Dude, do not ever question a woman again about her bathroom habits, okay?” Robin interjects, giving him the Robin look.

“If she’s on her period she can just tell us that. You think I give a crap? We’re all friends here.” Steve shrugs a shoulder, tossing the empty popcorn bag down and ducking his salty fingers into his mouth with a delectable ‘pop’.

You’re momentarily lost within the realm of your raging hormones. Your doctor had told you to expect fluctuating moods, surprising shifts in your appetite; sexually, emotionally, physically, and nutrition wise. That explains why you’re always stealing Dustin’s sour candy and eating spoonfuls of peanut butter at 3:00 AM, crying at reruns of Cheers, and currently ogling your best-friend like he’s always been yours, and isn’t currently pining for someone else. Steve isn’t yours, despite what he’s put inside of you after one needy night together. His dark irises suddenly find you gawking, leaving him confused.

The way his nose is shaped, his jawline structure, that delicious neck he permitted you to mark at one point, that gorgeously soft hair you spent all night pulling, to that sinfully beautiful mouth—you’re speechless and very overwhelmed.

I need him…

He starts to move, but you hold up a hand. That would be sensory overload. “I should definitely go home after. I’ve got an early shift at the store tomorrow.” You lie.

“After what? Peeing?” Steve laughs.

Another ever changing hormone snaps your irritation, causing you to roll your eyes, desire lightly dissipating. “Obviously. That cool with you, King Harrington? Or do you need to further bore me with your pathetic excuse for a movie pick?”

Robin starts to edge back from Steve, his own anger at your snapping at him seeping through, coming off him in dangerous waves.

“Okay, what is with this goddamned attitude? We always watch bullshit movies and you’ve never complained about it before!”

“Mr. Former Prom King isn’t keen on attitudes now? Sounds like a problem that’s not mine.” You push, unable to stop yourself. After all, it’s better than feeling like garbage listening to him go on and on about Nancy, not even knowing he took your virginity and got you pregnant in one go.

If Steve could tuck his eyebrows into his hairline then they’d be there. His hands pinch his hips, lips pursed as he’s clenching his teeth.

“You know what, you should leave. Between your bitching, constant bathroom breaks, and acting too stuck up to watch a movie and eat some popcorn with your friends, you’re not much fun to be around anyways.”

“Steve!” Robin scolds.

“What? Princess is allowed to act like she’s too good to hang out lately and we can’t be upset about it?” Steve motions to you with a tipped hand.

There’s a burning brimming your eyes before you can stop it. You’d prefer the anger. Steve’s hands tighten at his sides, jaw twitching, a biting question, battling his urges to comfort you and apologize for upsetting you. “Why are you even crying right now?”

“Let’s all just calm down and breathe, okay?” Robin stands now, tiptoeing to meet in the middle of you.

“I was calm. I think you need to talk to her about all this. As a matter of fact, call her tomorrow after I call her a cab and she leaves, because I know she’s not working in the morning, and she just lied to our faces.” Steve adds.

Your face flushes, stomach tightening. That sickness is overpowering you, taking control. You can’t stop that watering in your eyes, blurring your vision, making your two best-friends blobs in the distance. They start arguing back and forth, Steve’s evident confusion at Robin defending your behavior, and Robin pleading with him to give you a break. You don’t say anything, but turn on your heel and make the walk down the hallway, barricading yourself in the bathroom and taking care of your pressing bladder, head in your hands as you silently cry.

Being a simple band geek that harbored a crush on Steve for years, turning into his best-friend too when you and Robin began working at the mall with him, to leaning on each other when Starcourt fell into shambles and monsters became very real to you, finalizing one shared night three months ago—it all happened so fast. Steve never said anything more after, just thanked you for being there for him and checked in on you with phone calls and a work chat. You couldn’t bear staying with him that night, either, so you had left, leaving your virginity and your scent behind on Steve’s sheets. You wanted to, you needed him as much as he had to have you, but you weren’t sure how to feel about it, and Robin had picked it up right away—scolding you, before asking how it was and if you were alright. She’s been there for you through it all, and you’re double on the guilt at dragging her into this mess.

“Honey?” A heavy rasping of knuckles and a deep voice, a softer tone is sighing out on the other side.

You imagine him in that Steve Harrington lean, his ankle crossed over the other, palm on the framework, posture leaning into the doorway. Heaving out a breath you shouldn’t have held, you finish and wash your hands, throat constricting around a painful gulp as you unlatch the lock and pull open the door.

You’re right.

His lips making that familiar motion, dark eyes saddened, worried, guilt ridden. You don’t even let him speak, locking your arms around his striped clad waist, arms sliding down, wrists brushing his leather belt. You inhale his laundry detergent, cologne spritzed scent, sniffling your apologies in quiet words. He lets you go on, pulling away a minute later to grip your shoulders, squeezing. “If you are on your period… or you’re upset about something, or I pissed you off, will you please talk to me?”

Your heartbeat gallops full speed ahead, thrumming sporadically against your throat. “I’m not on my period, Steve.” The words feel dry, your lips too chapped to even speak.

“Then what is it, and why can you tell Robin but not me?” He sounds hurt. Really hurt.

You find yourself at a loss, tongue stumbling to scrape up scraps of words. Nothing comes.

“She hasn’t told me shit, but I know that she knows what’s going on?”

You escape his words, chickening out. “My cab ride will probably be here soon, I better go.”

“I never called a cab.” Steve crosses his arms over his chest now. “And I wasn’t going to, you just pissed me off.”

“Yeah, well… ditto.” You snark, not meaning to.

“Okay, care to share why? Because I do everything I can to make sure you’re safe and you’re smiling. It makes me feel like shit when you feel like shit.”

Every scenario you imagined telling Steve about carrying his baby in, you never thought it would be him hovering over your blubbering, nauseated, hot mess form. But as you look into those eyes of his—glittering with undiluted concern, pulse vibrating off your lungs, ping ponging off your jugular, the words come on their own.

“I’m pregnant.”

That very popular symptom of sickness overtakes you, having you abandoning Steve in the doorway with your confession, your knees hitting the floor, head over the toilet bowl as it all comes out. And you sob. Over exerted from physical exhaustion, mentally tired over a guilty conscious, and ready to go to sleep—you pathetically cling to the Harrington’s guest toilet, panting, mouth wet, trembling hand reaching for your hair, only to be swept away. When you look up your heart takes a painful blow, stuttering in your chest. Steve’s eyes are watering, teeth gnawing on his lower lip.

He looks wounded, defeated. Like you kicked him into a gutter and left him there. Alone.

Still, he helps you lean back, stretching his long arm to flush the toilet and reach for a decorative hand towel, using the bathtub faucet behind him to wet it and press it along your forehead, edging down your neck, finally cleaning your mouth. He’s so gentle, so delicate in his touches, aside from his own emotions. You grip his wrist, seeing the dried tears matting his gorgeous lashes, holding his hand in yours. “I’m sorry.”

“How long have you known?” Is all he can croak, voice shaky and damp. He settles back against the wall, you following suit, still holding his hand in yours.

“Two months.”

“We had sex three months ago.” He reminds you, as if maybe he’s unsure how to approach it.

He remembers?

“I found out when I was already four weeks. Besides, it can’t be anyone else’s when I’ve only slept with you.”

“But we were just together for one night.” He looks confused, scrubbing a hand over his face, sniffing.

“Yeah, Steve, we were.” You hope to god that he gets the message without you having to say it.

It takes him moments, which feel like eternity. And then you are very aware of his pointed stare. “Are you telling me I’ve been the only guy to ever take you to bed?”

“Looks like it. Congrats.” You mutter, lifting your knees, an indulging stance your little swollen bump won’t let you complete. You grab over it, an instinctive reaction. Steve’s directing a watchful eye over your bulky denim, swallowing, his words coming out meek, gently. “Can I see?”

You look like a deer caught in headlights, moving to drop his hand, but he holds on, fingertips drawing circles over the back of your palm. “It’s okay.”

It relaxes you enough to agree, using your right hand to lift the denim, your simple lavender top stretched over the small swell that’s nestled at your navel, expanding towards your hips. You feel Steve move your joined hands over the fabric, scraping, scratching, dipping down underneath the bottom, hovering. “It won’t hurt it if I feel, right?”

This makes you laugh softly, shaking your head. “You didn’t pay attention in health class at all, did you?” At his exasperated dumbfounded look, you continue. “S’ okay, Steve. Just please don’t push on anything, because I can’t promise you the front of your shirt won’t look like the Exorcist after.”

“That bad, huh?” He questions, sincerity dripping through his words.

“You have no idea.” You help him raise your tee beneath your breasts, that cute and developing bump in all its glory. Your skin, already getting a couple more stretch marks, shines in the low light of the bathroom, your breathing and Steve’s all that is audible.

Times like this you wish you had your Polaroid to take his absolutely fascinated stare in. His big hand closes over it, pressing feather light, his watch showing 10:01 PM. It feels so damned good to have him know, to have someone touching you like this. And oddly… it’s as if this is how it should always be.

Steve is on the precipice of unknown, a possessive derailment wiggling its way into his normally calm exterior. His baby. Parts of him that fused with parts of you, growing an entire human being. And the sheer fact that you’re swollen with his child? He has to fight every way that pummels a fire into the pit of his stomach.

“I took your virginity when we made this?” He is marveling.

You clear your throat, embarrassed. “You did.”

He sniffles once more, then he’s palming circles across your stomach, before respectfully tugging your shirt down and adjusting it. He makes a move to halt you from shaking the denim back down. “You don’t have to hide it anymore. Please, don’t.”

You give a watery look of incredulous admiration, grateful he’s still the Steve Harrington you have come to know.

And love…

But he doesn’t have to be privy to that part.

“They said I should be able to hear its heartbeat next week.” A lightened load off your chest has you audibly relaxing against Steve’s shoulder—unintentional, but natural—his arm resting around your shoulders, kneading out mounts of week long tension.

“How big is it? I mean… can they tell?” His fascinating questionnaires have you giddy.

Ever the inquiring man.

You move your neck from side to side, attempting to fixate on the knots, trying to get some squeeze off your muscles. Steve takes notice immediately, his fingers tucking beneath your shirt collar, pinching your flesh and rolling it under his easy grip. “Don’t worry, I got you. How’s that?”

“Mhm, s’ good, Stevie.” His nickname tumbles free, making him squeeze you affectionately. “A plum, by the way.”

He does rear back this time, bewildered, a ‘huh’ pressed into the line between his brows.

You laugh, his ministrations on your neck’s nape continuing. “The baby. It’s the size of a plum, is the way they described it to me. Or whatever I wanna think of that is that size.”

“Can I come?” When you frown, he’s quick to continue, his voice a raspy whisper, still tear-dampened. “To the appointment, I mean.”

You won’t deny how your heart is racing, how his wanting to be involved is both scary and welcomed, but you’re also on the defense, walls up. You can only imagine what his parents will think, what everyone will think. And Nancy… You don’t want to ruin anyone’s future from one one sided night of meaningless sex.

Steve can see the wheels turning in your head, your muscles tensing beneath his touch. It’s a bit frightening.

“Honey—“

“I didn’t need anyone’s permission in deciding to have or keep this baby, Steve. I don’t expect any help, I don’t want any pity support. I’ll be fine on my own.”

The familiarity of descending guilt slaps you in the face, Steve’s shocked look peppering his features. “You think I don’t want to help with my own baby? You think I’m that much of a fucking douchebag?!” He stands now, hands on his hips in that stern way.

You too attempt to stand, gripping the empty towel rack to keep steady. “I didn’t know if that’s what you’d want, Steve. We’re both still so young. It’s my body, so the decision to carry our child was up to me. If I wasn’t going to, I still would’ve told you. As for helping? Like I said, we’re both young and you’re attached… elsewhere.” You try, carefully avoiding her name. “S’ not like I was excited to be the Midwest mom that traps the former heartthrob.”

“Then that would make me the Midwest dad that should’ve worn a condom and taken care of you more. If we’re sharing blame here, let’s even it out.”

You’re very aware he meant something else, but it brings you right back to being beneath him, your legs wide open, thighs trembling, hands holding purchase, unsure, going with him, letting Steve lead. That burning loss of feeling Steve Harrington between your thighs is enough to cause you to squeeze your legs, drawing his attention. And whatever this fresh feeling is, he seems to be feeling it too.

Steve lets his arm shift, fingers combing your hair back behind your ear. “You thinkin’ about it?”

You’re pitifully admitting, hands cupping his back as you slink into his embrace. It’s warm, it’s safe, it’s Steve Harrington. There will be a time for talking, but now isn’t it, now is soaking each other in, being together, with your baby boy or girl.

“I’m thinking a lot of things.” Is your answer, but it’s enough for him to remember how you felt that night, the way you gave yourself to him and stayed right there with him.

There’s a soft air around you both, seemingly helping ward off your aching insides, letting the nausea vanish. Your hand wraps itself over the swell, Steve watching in admiration, hand lowering onto your own. It’s back and forth grins, and you’re pulling away as you remember Robin is still in the living room. Stepping forward and out of Steve’s too warm for your hormones to handle embrace, you turn on the bathroom faucet to wash your hands and cup some water into them, drinking and swishing the nasty taste out. Steve doesn’t take his eyes off you, even as you both find your shared best-friend in living room, brow raised in concern and amusement.

Your bump is on full display and she is shaking her short mane, eyeing Steve’s doe eyed gaze, the color on his cheeks. “Aww, congrats, Daddy Dingus.”

You burst into laughter, full on.

[green-alm0nd]

[The Bad Batch x fem!reader (Headcanons)]: (Slow) dancing

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Summary:

Dancing with your significant other, from the Bad Batch.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Established relationship, fluff, that's it. Not proofread.

Enjoy!

----

HUNTER:

He loves spinning you around.

When there's traditional Pabu music, when there's townspeople with their guitars gathered around the landing platform, or the main plaza for most, he loves dancing with you in a small corner, spinning you around and seeing you laugh.

Omega helped him learn, since it's not a skill they usually teach clones. You taught her and then she taught Hunter without you knowing.

He really enjoys dancing with you, and usually feels very comfortable doing it.

Because of his sensory overload, he's unable to listen to music for a long time, thus the reason why he likes taking you to a secluded corner and dance with you.

You love how much he loves dancing.

Mainly because you never thought a clone that turned out to be your significant other would be invested on even learning.

Yet there he is.

Bonus: Spin in flowy clothing and a flower on the side of your hair and he becomes putty instantly.

ECHO:

Doesn't like dancing at all.

But for you, he's willing to give it a try.

Even though he liked seeing people dance, he never thought he could attempt to move his body in any way.

He was very awkward at first, and would only let you teach him when you two were alone in his barracks.

He felt like his brothers would laugh at him endlessly for that.

However, after a while, and some practice, he did get better. Though, he preferred watching you more than him joining you, since he was slightly insecure about it.

But, he loves making you happy, so he will dance with you. He even joined you in a traditional festival on Pabu when the war ended, and you two danced to the guitar rhythm.

Bonus: he becomes really embarrassed when he asks you to dance.

WRECKER:

He's actually very shy. But he loves to dance.

He likes anything that has to do with spinning you around and having you close, kind of like Hunter.

I feel like he has 'two personalities' when he's dancing.

When he's with Omega, dancing becomes more like a fun game, with the objective of making the kid happy.

But when he's with you, dancing becomes more of a loving gesture, something you only do with him.

He becomes more gentle, and less 'hyperactive'.

He only admitted it out loud once, but he's a sucker for slow dancing.

Bonus: he loves hugging you after you stop dancing.

TECH:

No. He refused every time.

He doesn't like dancing, he feels awkward, and he feels like he's not good at it.

However, there was one time he did dance with you.

He was stressed out of his mind, irritated and mad since he couldn't get anything done well.

You clearly noticed this, and decided to take him on a walk, to let his brain rest (though it never really did).

You walked for a bit, until you reached a nearby forest, and you were actually the one to initiate the dance, grabbing his hand and spinning him around gently.

He blushed profusely, and felt really awkward, yet let it happen.

He found it romantic.

Even though he refuses every time, a small part of him still liked it.

His mind is too complex and thus has no concept of dancing (at least, in my opinion)

He never found it useful, either.

CROSSHAIR:

He refuses most of the time, but he is good at dancing.

Whenever you asked, he always cut you off with a snarky remark.

You finally get your answer on Pabu, when he asked you to dance.

It was odd, you were walking by the beach and he stayed a few mater's away from you. When you turned around, his arm was extended, and you understood what he wanted.

He's very skilled at slow dancing, it almost surprised you at first.

You two danced on a small corner of the beach, him spinning you around and moving with your hands on his waist.

Crosshair can be quite romantic sometimes.

To think that a once imperial Crosshair knew how to dance and never used that skills is slightly surprising.

----

Not really proud of these headcanons tbh

[arcadiabaytornado]

I firmly believe the entire plot of LIS was caused by Max's autism.

Think about it. Max gets emotionally overwhelmed in class and goes to the bathroom to have what she describes as a "meltdown."

Her sensory overload places her in the bathroom at that exact moment, and thus, the rest of the game's plot unfolds.

Everyone say thank you, autism, for giving us the time-traveling sapphic simulator.

[autumnteawithfriends]

Wait wait wait wait wait

What if Stella notices her daughters sensory issues, with loud noises and stuff, and that's why she gets the earbuds/record player for her

Like I felt like Stolas has a tendency to ignore things that are a problem(like Stella hiring the hit on him at dinner) while Stella is accutly observant so she can nip any problem in the butt(i think she'd be a bit of a control freak)

THAT ACTUALLY SOUNDS SO ADORABLE!

Stella noticed that Octavia likely has been having sensory issues ever since she was young and thus got her a record player since music can help with sensory overload (at least for me) and later got her a phone and earbuds down the line to help!

Also Stella being a slight control freak is a interesting HC considering how negligent Stolas is of everything that isn’t related to Blitz, shame we’ll never get to see a positive side of Stella

[candiid-caniine]

support needs and sex

having trouble with words recently. during this, I don't post much. have autism, have talked about it here before, but only small things.

but lots of frustration recently about representing. how people with low support needs have louder voices. people with cute, quirky autism get represented more because neurotypicals don't feel as uncomf. still they have their struggles but you know. middle to high support needs are uncomf. have to hide, have to be quiet. people with low support needs, also sometimes think *their* autism is *all* autism. don't want to talk about mid/high supports people, or be associated.

but, speech loss bad enough that I don't want to go into it today. stick to what is doable.

autistic people have sex. autistic people do kink. lot of positivity here about this. i've seen it. you've seen it. you've seen me also do it.

but autism in sex, not just:

cute stimming because sex feels good

sensory overload, in a good way

hard to speak because of good feelings

person getting flustered/shy/nervous

not only cute. not only shy. not only because of good feelings.

autism can be ugly, scary, difficult, bad communicating, hard to know how to support, getting in the way.

for me:

speech loss; not cute speech loss because of good feelings, speech loss because life is exhausting; exhausted, don't want to have sex

handling rejection poorly. have to use a lot of energy to keep from being a bad partner because of overreacting

sensory overload because good, but i dissociate because sensory overload

use sex to escape bad feelings, not in a healthy coping way

can't explain why i react poorly. in most circumstances. but also happens around sex

frustration because i can't think how to explain

meltdown because so frustrated

cycle repeats

have trouble understanding un-firm versions of "no" (have to work hard to communicate with partner, and i do, but hard work af)

have trouble understanding "maybe"

have trouble predicting how i "will/would" feel

thus frustration. meltdown. cycle resumes

or, know what i want; don't know how to explain

AND YET: i am not:

too dysfunctional for sex/relationship

"basically a child"/too immature

unsafe person

too fucked up for marriage

bad person for dating

someone who should avoid sex until burnout ends

...because i am adult. my partner is an adult. we talk about things. we know good expectations. i don't lie about can/can't do things. they don't lie about can/can't do things.

sex is only one slice of this. this blog is about sex, so i post it here. but these issues are big in my life. need support in school, in work; i seem so functional to a stranger, but only because support needs are met.

support needs met = big privilege. i acknowledge this. not so easy for many people, who seem less functional to others, only because support needs not met.

anyway. conclusion:

neurotypicals/non-autistics: don't expect sex + relationships with autistics to be like sexy imagine posts on tumblr. can be sometimes, but often not.

autistics, even: don't expect sex + relationships with other autistics to be like sex + relationships for you.

low support needs autistics: you guys have a problem. (maybe technically i am you guys, don't really know, so maybe *we* have a problem.) some of you don't like when autism represented as mid-high support. don't like to think you're like us. not cool. either way stop speaking like *your* autism is *all* autism. if you have energy + time + emotional resource to do so, tell off other low support needs when they act like this.

high/mid support needs: i see you. you belong. you deserve healthy, good sex if you are adult. support needs =/= being unworthy/not well enough/not functional enough for relationship. possible to have relationships that work for you, allow for the kind of support you need, from other person/medical team/support system. don't mask to get through relationship. hurts you, you should be loved for who you are.

[enbycrip]

I had a bit of a meltdown at my OH last night about the fact that services designed for abled people are “convenience-based” - have an app or a text-based service, send you updates - and thus accessible to me on the days I literally can’t talk or think in a straight line due to fatigue and brain fog, or sensory overload means I’m huddled under my bedcovers with the curtains closed and Loops in, but every fucking “accessible” service means a long phone call, planning intensively in advance with no allowance for variable health, and flexibility for them but none for you - ie, “we’ll pick you up at some time between 10am and 1pm, we can’t wait so if you’re not ready immediately you can’t come, and we can’t tell you how long you’ll be on the minibus because we’re picking up 8 other people.”

I can’t do public transport, which is *still* less bad than that, because I have chronic fatigue and if I’m out and up too long, I’ll crash, and if I crash, then whenever I eventually get home and to bed I won’t be able to get up for days. I’ll be crawling to the bathroom like it’s fucking Everest. And yet that’s pretty much the given for any form of “paratransport”.

A huge number of disabled people use services abled folk use for convenience to literally survive. GPS apps. Food delivery. Laundry services. The “convenience-based” approach - ie, abled people have choice, so if it’s shit they won’t use it and it’ll go under - is what makes it actually accessible to us. It means that we can use our limited energy and limited capacity to get a vital thing done with minimal expenditure and thus have some left over for other vital things.

Whereas with disability services the entire ethos is “you’re *so* lucky we funded this; it’s entirely based on abled people’s ideas of what we think you need and “deserve”; you’re disabled so you clearly have nothing else to do with your life other than wait around for us to provide the “service”; if you’re physically disabled you clearly have incredible planning skills and executive function and know precisely what you will be doing for weeks ahead and have an abled carer who also has nothing to do with their time except wait around with you; if you have *any* form of communication, processing, planning or learning disability you clearly have an abled carer who can do all your communication and planning *for* you; these two things *never* cross over, at least if you have any capacity to speak or do anything independently”.

And if you don’t use these “services” - which, btw, are incredibly difficult to access, usually need a referral from a social worker, and are not remotely publicised - then you *clearly* don’t “need” them. The fact that they are utterly impossible to coordinate with, say, going to a vital medical appointment is met with shrugs and “well maybe the hospital can arrange transport for you”. Then that process starts all over again.

[orange-orchard-system]

System Ramble: reading, inner/internal voices, and our brain's continuous attempts to understand the world around us

[PT: System Ramble: reading, internal voices, and our brain's continuous attempts to understand the world around us / end PT]

I'll probably have to expand on this at some other point because it ties into how we feel our plurality is a fundamental part of how we process the world (and that deserves its own essay), but there's something interesting that happens when we read that has to do with our system.

Have you ever seen those posts that talk about "the little voice in your head" that you get whenever you read something? A lot of people are able to hear the words they read being "spoken" in their head as they read them. A lot describe the voice reading "out loud" in their brain as either being their own voice or some detached voice without anything more to it, but for us...

... it's closer to one of us reading out loud to the rest of us.

As we write this post, for example, we can identify the headmate in front who's taken on the role of the "voice" reading each word. There's no simpler way to describe it – he's the one reading out each word to the rest of us, and we can hear his own inflections and other verbal quirks as he reads. We've recently begun trying to consciously pass the role of this "inner voice" around, and we can definitely hear a change depending on who's reading, even if it's the exact same text. Eddie has a deeper voice, and reads much slower, giving the impression of a grandpa reading a book by the fire. Danny, by comparison, has a higher voice, reads quicker, and is often audibly annoyed when he has to reread something. It's a very interesting thing to experiment with.

Based on these experiments, acting as this "inner voice" is sort of like a very flexible system role for us, one we naturally fall into or out of most of the time, but can occasionally choose (which is, funnily enough, very similar to how our switches function). This phenomenon happens automatically with most texts we read, and may be part of the reason we have so many introjects; our brain may be simply creating the most fitting "voice" for what we read as it sees the need, which is frequently either the author, or a character in the text. But regardless of the reason, it's a very helpful tool for figuring out who's in front or discovering new headmates, as we have a strong sense for whoever it is that's reading at any given time, and find it especially easy to visualize a headmate whenever they're taking on this role.

On rare occasions where this doesn't happen, we often have trouble absorbing the information we read. It just doesn't stick in the same way one (or more) of us reading to the others does. Which is definitely a con; if it weren't so automatic for us and thus rarely a problem (especially now that we've identified what's going on), we'd definitely be counting it as one of the ways our DID disables us. It's not too different from how it becomes difficult to impossible to absorb information when we're too dissociated, after all. (But then, that raises a question: is the reason we can't absorb text when too dissociated because the dissociation is keeping us from fulfilling this role? Food for thought.)

This isn't the only way in which we utilize our plurality in order to process and absorb information; we also have various system members we call "captioners" whose job it is to make it easier to understand what we hear or see by creating visuals based on this sensory input. We haven't tried having these two roles active at the same time – mainly because I think it would just overload our brain with too much to keep track of and any attempts would fizzle out – but it's an interesting idea for something to experiment with in the future. The parallels are interesting, anyway, especially with how they seem to indicate that our plurality is fundamental to how we process the world and what kinds of choices our brain made when creating us. Perhaps it's all part of our brain's attempt to cope with its own dissociative disorder by creating work-arounds for the problems dissociation can cause, but... I feel like there's more to it than that. The question is where to look for answers (and if the answers are something we should be unpacking just yet).

That brings me back to the beginning. It's interesting to see how our plurality functions almost like a neurotype in some ways – I don't know if I'd call it that, but I can see some parallels in how others talk about them with how plurality functions in our brain. One day, I hope to write a collection of all the different ways our plurality affects us like this, as a sort of guide to our own processing and understanding of the world through a plural lens. For now, though, it's just interesting to think about how I'm now reading this post "out loud" to my headmates as I write it, and how my internal voice differs from those who have read it before me.

... Also, I'm just now realizing this system (no pun intended) works better when the fronter writing a text is also the headmate reading the text. Huh. That fits, somehow.

So, to recap: we get the most out of reading when we use our plurality to host what is essentially system storytime, our internal voices differ a lot more than we first thought they did, and it's interesting that our brain keeps making selves and roles just for helping us understand the world around us. Thanks for reading our ramble.

[chavisory]

‘I live in extremes’: A qualitative investigation of Autistic adults’ experiences of inertial rest and motion

"An alternative explanation of Autistic inertia is derived from a predictive coding account of autism (van de Cruys et al., 2013, 2014). Under predictive coding, perception is determined by both prior expectations about the world, as well as incoming sensory signals from the world (Clark, 2015; Hohwy, 2013; Rao & Ballard, 1999). Any mismatch between the expectation and sensory signal generates a prediction error. While some errors should be attended to, others are unreliable and should be ignored. For example, you might be more alert to a mismatch between what you expected your friend to say (‘hello’) and what you heard your friend say (‘yellow’) when in a quiet café (where the sensory input is more reliable), but the same mismatch might be ignored in a noisy café (where the auditory input is less reliable, and the error could be attributed to a mishearing).

However, the brains of Autistic people may treat all errors as salient (van de Cruys et al., 2013, 2014). Thus, in a volatile environment (e.g. a busy workplace or a cluttered home), an Autistic person might become overwhelmed by multiple, salient prediction errors, all competing for attention, leading to cognitive overload, and ultimately mental and physical paralysis (‘inertial rest’)."

This study is excellent (and a good read), and really feels like the beginning of some of the research into autistic inertia I'd like to see in the world.

[mwolf0epsilon]

Hi! Sorry if you’ve already received these questions before, but how do the Bad Batch’s beans work? Do they have special abilities? Or they ostracized by their fellow beans like the batch are (technically) with other clones? Does Omega have a bean? Does Wrecker’s bean have its own mini Lula?

Hello there! It's been a while since I've gotten or answered any Clone Beans asks (what with me getting busy with AF and all). How exciting to pick this silly little AU back up again!

Anyway, onto the questions themselves...

---

How do the Bad Batch’s beans work?

Clone Force 99's Beans are like any other Trooper Beans, with the minor difference that they manifested with the abilities their troopers were decanted with.

Unlike most Beans who develop special abilities later in life to better help out in or out of the field (once their own troopers either acquire an affinity towards some kind of specialization or role, or even undergo ARC Training), the CF99 Beans basically served as a means to help their respective troopers deal with their mutations while they were inexperienced cadets. (Ex: Hunter Bean took the brunt of the force of Hunter's migraines.)

This means that as each member of CF99 began to better grasp the extent of their enhancements and limitations, the less their Beans had to compensate for the negative side-effects that these mutations unfortunately caused (migraines, chronic muscle pain, photo-sensitivity, sensory overload, chronic insomnia, etc...). They are essentially in more of a support role than most Beans, who either act as more of an exaggeration of their Trooper's personality or serve as an outlet of sorts for emotional turmoil.

Funnily enough, this means CF99's Beans are some of the kindest, most responsible and more subdued Beans out there. Which is a massive contrast to the absolute chaos that is their squad of clone commandos.

Do they have special abilities?

Each of the CF99 Beans have an ability that corresponds with their respective trooper's mutations. It was easier to help them, after all, if the little Beans could actually match them.

Curiously, as the squad of commandos gained a better grasp of their respective mutations, their Beans seemed to have slowly adapted their abilities in ways that match how to best help them utilize them.

Hunter Bean - Electromagnetic Sensitivity & Heightened Senses (Aside from alleviating Hunter's migraines by taking them on himself, Hunter Bean also helps him via procuring secure locations where the sergeant can hole up away from overwhelming stimuli, and is also excellent at tracking and baiting out burrowing critters if they need to hunt their own meals while on missions)

Tech Bean - Enhanced Intellect & Speech (During their youth Tech Bean often perused the Kaminoan Archives and Databanks during curfew to satisfy Tech's growing hunger for knowledge, he has thus become the go to Intel gatherer for CF99 since his intellect matches Tech's to a T but he's relatively harder to detect)

Wrecker Bean - Super Strength & Enhanced Durability (Having been the first of the CF99 Beans to forcefully adapt his abilities to better fit his trooper's training regiment, Wrecker Bean is one of very few Trooper Beans who isn't a Vestige who can alter his body mass to make himself bigger... Although more often than not he uses this to dispense much needed bear hugs)

Crosshair Bean - Enhanced Eyesight & Thermal Vision (Always attentive and observant, Crosshair Bean has been a staple of CF99's sniper's entire life by not only serving as a trusty lookout and appraiser, but his most trusted confidant as well)

Omega Bean - N/A (She's too young to have an ability just yet, but much like Omega she seems to have a knack for mimicry that may develop into an actual power)

Are they ostracized by their fellow beans like the batch are (technically) with other clones?

Nope! Trooper Beans are inherently social creatures that value the company of each other just as they value the company of their troopers. To them (unless it's a Vestige, although they can't really help it) a Bean is a Bean! And, since the CF99 Beans are actually much mellower in nature than their oddball squad, they're less likely to pick fights with other Beans.

They're social butterflies, and also very aware of the fact their Troopers aren't exactly eager to be making friends outside of their own group due to a few past incidents. Naturally their Beans are not too pleased with this, as they really don't want their troopers to just write off other clones as being untrustworthy just because of one or two groups they had a spat with over something silly...

Does Omega have a bean?

Yep! I could be all cliche about it and say Omega Bean was her only friend growing up, but that's not true at all. After all the CF99 Beans had been befriended by her long before their respective troopers became aware of her presence.

Perks of roaming the ventilation shafts of Kamino! You meet a lot of friendly faces!

Does Wrecker’s bean have its own mini Lula?

Yes! Her name is Bula and she was Wrecker's very first project when he took up learning proper sewing so that he'd be able to repair Lula whenever she got warn out or ripped.

She's a bit atrocious but very durable... Wrecker Bean loves her to bits!

[cellarspider]

18/30 Alexa, play Despacito

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And now, we return to Prometheus, which is trying to redeem the last two fifths of itself through blood sacrifice. Content warning for discussion of eyeball nastiness and death by immolation, Holloway.

Taking things slightly out of chronology this time, because there’s an excellent, quiet scene sandwiched in between lots of screaming: I'm sure they meant to put it in juxtaposition with this to heighten the emotion, but I refuse. We'll save that one for later. As a treat for me. And now, as a treat for me, Holloway is dying! Hurray!

So, turns out we’re spinning the wheel of Inconsistent, Ominous Black Goo effects again, and landed on “hangovers aren’t supposed to make your eyes grow tentacles”.

Holloway, apparently in denial, does not recall this fact until he’s gone out with what could generously be called a rescue party, to try and locate Millburn and Fifield. Janek belatedly and unwisely goes along to help, while David appears to go on a pleasant Sunday drive in his golf cart. He’s heading to a better scene, the lucky scamp.

Millburn is very dead–a rubber snake jumps out of his mouth, so you know he’s toast. Fifield’s body is nowhere to be found, and it will make an underwhelming return later.

Holloway collapses, covered in creeping black veins. Shaw finds this distressing. I would be fascinated to know if anybody in the audience agreed with her. I usually would, if only because certain kinds of screaming can kick me into sensory overload, but apparently there’s a psychological component to that response. And so I placidly watched Vickers meet them at the Prometheus vehicle bay with a flamethrower.

I appreciate her belated interest in quarantine and sanitation, but frankly, it’s a little late for that. I already had my rant on that earlier. At this point, things have gotten so bad that even Holloway realizes that the only solution is to go 40k on his ass.

[Video description: A 40k meme clipped from TheRussianBadger’s review of the game Space Hulk: Deathwing: A player says “BROTHER. GET THE FLAMER. THE HEAVY. FLAMER.” Sudden cut to almost incomprehensibly fiery gameplay, with a dramatic choral soundtrack and in-game voice lines “WE ARE THE ANGELS OF DEATH!” “MY FURY IS MADE MANIFEST!”, and ends right before a player yells “I WOULD LIKE TO REGISTER A COMPLAINT” and spins wildly around, spraying flames everywhere.]

Yes, Holloway burns to a crisp! I don’t know what the movie wants me to feel here, but whatever it is, I did not feel it. Did it want me to feel sad about this, because Shaw doesn’t want this to happen? Does it intend to raise the tension by having things spiral further out of control, demonstrating that a drop of the Ominous Black Goo is enough to kill a man in under a day? Am I supposed to take sick satisfaction in watching him die? All these are possible in bog standard horror movies.

However, this is a movie that wants to speak to something thematically. Holloway is positioned as a character we are not necessarily supposed to find sympathetic. As previously mentioned, the Engineers did not invite humanity to this planet. They were warning humans that if they continued to stray in their behavior, they would be killed by something that would come from here. 

Perhaps we are thus supposed to be asking questions about this: why would the Engineers do this? Why create humanity and then threaten to destroy their creations? What was their justification? David has turned this weapon on Holloway, making the choice that at least one man deserves the fate the Engineers planned for all humanity. Does he deserve that? Does anyone?

I was not thinking any of those things in the theater. Because what I actually felt was a desire to return to the scene interwoven with this one, which we will get to next time. This is the danger of creating an unlikeable, expendable character: the audience may feel no pathos when they die, nor question the death’s necessity. If they’re not along for the ride, then they may simply shrug.

Particularly when the rest of the movie is such a mess. This is only their second day on the planet, does anyone else remember that? I mean, I’ve been here for what feels like eternity, but they behaved so stupid, so fast, that this feels less like the inevitable falling apart of dozens of smaller mistakes, and more like one gigantic katamari of mistakes that will not stop rolling until it has collected every mistake in the world, and is thus deemed worthy of becoming a star all on its own, to forever shine out how badly they fucked it all up.

Next time: one of the two good scenes people tend to remember.

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Citations for alt-text rambles:

https://www.swtor.com/ 

https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCSpFnDQr88xCZ80N-X7t0nQ 

https://youtu.be/vy5fgDvb9-c HYEEh-HAA!

Overflow Ramble, because tumblr lets you put in more alt-text than it will actually display in-browser:

A wide shot of Holloway with his arms outstretched, walking toward the vehicle bay ramp. Is this pose supposed to be a crucifixion allusion? I hope not! That would be baffling. Though as these posts have proven, something being baffling doesn’t rule out Prometheus doing it. Shaw is on the ground behind them, restrained by Janek. 

I’m trying to figure out if this was done on a studio stage, or on location. You’d think the latter wouldn’t be possible, but I’ve seen behind the scenes shots of them filming in the volcanic desert of Iceland, they definitely were in places that looked similar. But the background may still be fake after a certain point–outdoor green screens are a thing. 

The lighting on Janek and Shaw doesn’t quite feel right. Part of it’s the shadows: they’re darker on the people than in the background, which is a common problem for CG elements.The visual fidelity of the gravel behind them kind of has a sudden shift about halfway up Shaw’s head, and I’m not sure if that’s just focus or what.

If it is a composite of real and CG, it makes sense that it looks a bit off, though: these are background elements that are not supposed to be your main focus, on a shot that’s not held for too long. There’s always been trade-offs like that in visual effects, they’ve just shifted over the years. Anyway, back to Charlize Theron with a flamethrower.

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