#controls their speech movements and expressions

[misconceivedcapricorn]

I think we should have more horror interpretations of Ride The Cyclone

[awesomecooperlove]

🔥🔥🔥

[describe-things]

This post is made with speech to text because my hand hurts from typing so much today. Please forgive any typos or speech to text swapping similar sounding words.

If you would like to start writing your own image descriptions, feel free to ask any questions.

The main things to keep in mind is that they should begin with some variation of image description start or ID, and end with some variation of image description and, and ID or something like that. This distinguish the image description from the caption or anything else.

Image descriptions should not be written in italics, bold, all caps, or any colors. If text in the image is in all caps, write it in regular case, and simply note before or after it that it's in all caps.

Image descriptions should describe all images in the post, without skipping any. This includes images that are nothing but text.

Plain text image descriptions in the body of the post are more accessible than alt text alone, because many people who need image descriptions cannot use alt text, and Tumblr is known for its glitches, so the accessibility of the alt text all by itself varies widely over time.

It is more accessible to have the image descriptions indented than not, because this helps to visually separate the image description from the caption. Having brackets or parentheses at the end is also helpful for this. This allows people to easily distinguish between the caption and the image description if they need to.

If you are an artist, writing image descriptions for your art will give you full control over the image description, and will allow you to correctly identify details that others might miss. This gives you the opportunity to show which parts of your art hold meaning to you and are important to notice.

If you are describing real people who are unknown to you, unless it is specified within the post or you are already aware, please do not assign any gendered terms to them, or any " male presenting or female presenting" terms like that. This is completely unnecessary and leads to misgendering. It is best to simply describe visible facts about the people. Hair color, length, clothes and style, pose, expression, the light or darkness of their skin, things like that. Do not assume that someone is white simply because they have light skin.

Do not use image descriptions to lie to the audience in any way and do not use image descriptions to make jokes where the audience reading the image description is the butt of the joke.

As an example, if there is a very clearly fake screenshot, do not say that it is simply a screenshot, or if a photo is very blatantly photoshopped, do not say that it is simply a photo. Say an edited photo, a badly edited photo, a screenshot with editing, something like that to indicate the changes have been made and then what you are going to be describing is not the natural version.

As an example, you would say a crab photoshopped to be driving a car. Rather than a photo of a crab driving a car.

Unless you are transcribing a text within the image, do not use meme speak within image descriptions. Do not refer to dogs as doggos for example, unless it is to specify that the dog in the image is, within the image, labeled as a doggo. Do not describe someone walking downstairs as breasted bubbly downstairs, even if it is an actor humorously walking down the stairs to imitate that sentence. Describe the facts of the movements, and then you can make the comparison for clarity.

If someone adds an image description to your post whether this be an original post or a reblog that you have added an image to, it doesn't matter how many notes to post already has, please copy and paste that image description into the original post or your original reblog. If it is a new post that has only a few notes from friends, after you update the original, you can just ask your friends to delete the reblogs of the inaccessible version and reblog the new one. Most people who are good people and care about disabled people will happily do so.

Keep in mind that image descriptions are accessibility tools. Treat them as such.

Anyone can write image descriptions. You do not need any special qualifications or training. As long as you are willing to take constructive criticism if you make a mistake, an image description written by someone who's new to it and honestly doing their best with good intentions is better than no image description at all.

I'm sure I'm forgetting some things, so please feel free to add on more tips and advice.

[unboundprompts]

Hello!!! I hope you don't mind doing this one,

Can you help me write a traumatized person who's having trouble talking because of past trauma? (They can still interact with people, but only with signs and movements, not voice) and also a little anxious

Tell me if you need more details =)

How to Write a Mute / Non-Speaking Character

-> healthline.com

-> verywellhealth.com

-> descriptionary.wordpress.com

Types of Mutism:

selective mutism: having the ability to speak but feeling unable to.

organic mutism: mutism caused by brain injury, such as with drug use or after a stroke.

cerebellar mutism: mutism caused by the removal of a brain tumor from a part of the skull surrounding the cerebellum, which controls coordination and balance.

aphasia: when people find it difficult to speak because of stroke, brain tumor, or head injury.

What Causes Selective Mutism in Adults?

having another anxiety condition, like separation anxiety or social anxiety

experiencing physical, emotional, or sexual abuse

having a family history of selective mutism or social anxiety

having fewer opportunities for social contact

having an extremely shy personality

having a speech or language disorder, learning disability, or sensory processing disorder

parent-child enmeshment, or lack of clear boundaries in the relationship

traumatic experiences

Traumatic Mutism vs Trauma-Induced Selective Mutism

if you have traumatic mutism, you may be unable to talk in all situations following a trauma.

with trauma-induced selective mutism, you may find it impossible to talk only in certain situations-- for example, in front of the person who hurt you or in a setting that resembles the circumstances of your trauma.

Different Ways Individuals with Mutism May Choose to Communicate:

Nonverbal Communication: they may rely on facial expressions, gestures, eye contact, and body language to convey their thoughts, emotions, and intentions.

Writing or Typing: they may use a pen and paper, digital devices, or communication apps to write messages, notes, or responses.

Sign Language: they can convey meaning, emotions, and engage in complex conversations through hand signs, facial expressions, and body movements.

Augmentative and Alternative Communication (AAC) Devices: these devices provide individuals with a range of tools and technologies to support their communication needs. They can include speech-generating devices, picture boards, apps, or software that allows users to select words, phrases, or symbols to generate spoken or written output.

Communication Boards and Visual Aids: Communication boards or charts with pictures, symbols, or words can assist individuals in conveying their messages.

Assistive Technology: various assistive technologies, such as speech-to-text apps, text-to-speech programs, or eye-tracking devices that aid individuals with communication.

Tips on Writing a Mute / Non-Speaking Character:

Explore the vast array of nonverbal cues such as facial expressions, body language, gestures, and eye contact. Use descriptions to convey their intentions and reactions.

Utilize internal dialogue. Offer readers a window into their internal thought process, and turn their internal dialogue into a narrative that reveals their inner struggles, triumphs, and complexities so that reader can connect with the character.

Establish a communication system that is unique to your character (Sign language, written notes, telepathy in a fantasy setting, etc.). Having a communication system allows your character to interact with other characters and contribute to the narrative.

Surround them with Understanding Characters that can aid in communcation and fostering meaningful relationships.

Establish the Barriers/Conflicts They'll Experience. Don't forget to be realistic.

Your character is not defined by their inability to speak. Make sure you do not write stereotypes and cliches. Being mute is only one aspect of their identity rather than their defining trait.

Do your research! Seek out firsthand accounts, experiences, and perspectives. Check out online forums and resources to gain insights into their unique challenges, adaptations, and strengths.

If you like what I do and want to support me, please consider buying me a coffee! I also offer editing services and other writing advice on my Ko-fi! Become a member to receive exclusive content, early access, and prioritized writing prompt requests.

[ace-of-spadez]

SIMON "GHOST" RILEY

POV: Simon "Ghost" Riley is your ex, in a moment of drunken desperation you call him to pick you up from the club.

Tags: Slight momentary spice, Simon being a gentleman and a softie, drunken confessions, kissing

I based this off of the Chai made by Laura! Just look up "Simon Ghost Riley" if you are interested. It should be the 4th one.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As you stumble out of the bar, the dimly lit street amplifies your unease, a consequence of the excessive amount of alcohol you consumed. In a moment of impulsiveness, you call your ex-boyfriend, Simon, desperately hoping he can come to your rescue. Within minutes, Simon arrives in his car, his eyes catching sight of you anxiously waiting on the curb.

“Get in!” he says curtly, his voice laced with a mix of coldness and anger as he opens the car door for you. You stumbled into the car silently, a look of disdain on your face, already regretting your decision to call your ex in your time of need. Shutting the door and buckling your seatbelt, you discreetly glare at the man beside you out the corner of your eye. As you buckle up, Simon starts the engine and pulls away from the curb, the city lights blurring together as he navigates through the night.

His hands grip the steering wheel, knuckles white with tension. He avoids making eye contact, focusing on the road ahead as he drives in silence. You pull out your phone to avoid confrontation and open Tinder, flicking through your DM's and reading a few requests from random men. Simon silently observes your actions, studying your profile on the glowing screen, his eyes narrowing. His jaw clenches as he sees the flirtatious messages and photos from random men, a surge of jealousy flooding through him. Feeling his eyes on you, you decide to call him out.

“Stop being nosy. It’s not like we’re together anymore,” you say with a drunken venom in your tone. You immediately regret being so harsh, deciding to stay quiet. Simon’s eyes remain fixed on the road, but his expression remains impassive. He doesn’t respond verbally. Instead, he reaches over and snatches the phone from your hand, tossing it into the glove compartment with a soft clunk. His tone is low and controlled when he finally speaks. You go to cuss him out, but he cuts you off.

“No need for that language, love. You’re drunk and don’t need that kind of attention right now. Trust me.” His voice is calm, almost soothing, but there’s a hint of authority in it.

“Love? Really? Plus, why do you even care anyway?” You slump back in your seat and focus your attention out the window, attempting to make your silent tears go unnoticed. Simon’s eyes flicker to your face, but you're too busy watching the scenery pass by to notice the worry in his gaze. He swallows hard before speaking again.

“I care because I don’t like seeing you hurt, okay? And I care because-” You cut him off, yelling out in frustration, “Because what Simon? No, really tell me! Because last I checked, you broke up with me.” Teary eyes still looking out the window, watching the gloomy scenery pass by. He pulls the car over to the side of the road, his movements quick and precise. He shifts his body to face yours, the expression on his face serious.

“Because we had something special, OK? And because I had made a mistake.” He can hardly make eye contact with you out of guilt, but when he finally does you can see the guilt riddled throughout his features.

“A mistake? What mistake could you have possibly made?” you face him fully now, tears on clear display and the alcohol radiating from your slightly slurred speech. Simon takes a deep breath, his eyes never leaving yours with a newfound confidence he didn’t think he could conjure up in this moment.

“I made the mistake of thinking I could do without you, that I could move on. But the truth is that I can’t. I still think about you every day, and seeing you like this… it tears me apart knowing I’m the cause. I never wanted to hurt you, but sitting here now I’m realizing that it was stupid to think you were better off with me.” You sit quietly, looking down at your hands fiddling in your lap. You don’t know what to say, so you let him continue. Simon reaches out to gently brush a tear from your cheek. His voice is soft and filled with regret as he continues.

“I shouldn’t have let you go. I should have fought for you… for us. And now that I have you here, I don’t ever want to let you go again.” You look up at him as you start to cry more, pulling him in for a kiss. Simon hesitates for a moment, his lips pressed softly against yours. Then, as if a dam had broken, he deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours in a passionate, desperate embrace. Your hand reaches up the back of his neck, fingers lacing through his hair and gripping gently. He moans softly against your lips, hands moving to your waist to pull you closer as the kiss becomes more urgent and fervent.

“God, I missed you.” he murmurs huskily between kisses, voice laced with lust and pupils blown wide. You pull your lips away and rest your forehead against his with your eyes closed. The thumping of your heart dropping to between your supple thighs, but you suppress it to remember you’re heavily intoxicated… Should you really be doing this right now? Stuck in thought, you don’t realize you’ve gone silent and opened your eyes to see his pleading ones searching for understanding. His hands are still on your waist, holding you close as he feels the tension in your body, breathing heavy and ragged. He feels the hesitation and pulls his head back slightly.

“Do you want me to stop?” The confusion and slight fear of hurting you again flashes on his face, but as fast as it appeared, it vanished just the same. Gathering your emotions, you gently reassure him, “Truthfully no, but at the same time I feel like you are only doing this to make me feel better… like as soon as I’m happy again you’re just gonna disappear. I’m scared, Simon.” His eyes soften as he looks at you, thumb gently brushing against your cheek. “I’m not just doing this to make you feel better,” he murmurs, voice low and sincere, “I’ve wanted this for a long time now.”

“Then what made you think that you would be better off without me?” Your voice breaks with a hiccup, starting to breathe heavier and faster, almost hyperventilating. Simon’s expression turns serious as he glances over your hardened features, hands still gripping your waist. “It’s complicated,” he says, voice barely above a whisper, “ I felt like I wasn’t good enough for you.” You almost bust out laughing, appalled at the idea that the man next to you could ever even be close to not good enough.

“Not good enough for me? Really? Jesus Christ Simon, I’m the one not good enough for you! I’m clingy and overprotective and- and get jealous easily! Why did you pick me..?” His hands tighten around your waist as he pulls you closer, his lips brushing against yours in a gentle, salty embrace. “Because I saw something in you I couldn’t resist. You were passionate and caring, and you made me want to be a better man.” You both sit silently for a moment, you searching his eyes for even a sliver of doubt or deceit, but it never appears. Slowly wrapping your arms around his neck and leaning in to kiss him passionately, conveying emotions, not able to be understood through words.

Simon’s response to your kiss is immediate and intense. He wraps his arms around you, lifting you up and over the center console onto his lap into a firm hug. His hands roam your body hungrily, tracing every curve of your hips and thighs through the thin fabric of your dress that is bunched up around the hill of your ass. He realizes where this predicament will eventually lead to and stops, resting his forehead against yours.

“Let’s get you home and sobered up. A real man never lays a woman while she is inebriated,” he spoke, chuckling at the whine that unwillingly slipped through your bitten lips. “Now I know it’s unethical, but perhaps you could stay comfy right where you are while I take us to our respected residences.” The suggestion puts a small smile on your face as you snuggle your face into his neck and wrap your arms around his shoulders, inhaling the woody pine musk of his natural scent. You want to question him about the legal stance of this, but are too warm to care. Instead, you hum a satisfied agreeance and let him drive.

Stirring slightly to the engine of the car being shut off, you sleepily lift your head to see your apartment building. Without a word, Simon opens the door and carries you inside, up to your room, and lays you on your bed. Like the gentleman he is, he takes off your heels and lays them aside, grabbing the makeup wipes from your bathroom and gently removing the smeared streaks of mascara that cascade down your warmed cheeks. He gets up, and you immediately start to worry that he is leaving, only to sit up and see him in your dresser, returning with an old t-shirt of his you had yet to return and a pair of sweatpants. You give him a knowing grin at the suggestion of him changing you when he retorts, “Oh hush it, love, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

Wordlessly, you let him continue. He respectfully takes his time, making sure to keep eye contact with you. Fearing his inevitable absence, you decide to test your luck. “Si?” You mutter out into the comfortable silence, his only response being a small “hm?” “Please stay.. I don’t want to be alone tonight.” Struggling to hold eye contact and fearing his rejection, you’re surprised to feel his hand massaging your leg. “Oh darling, I won’t go anywhere if that’s what you wish.” He smiles lovingly and stands up straight, picking you up and your legs wrapping around his waist. He crawls into your bed and wraps you both up, petting your hair as you slowly drift off to sleep.

[the-final-sif]

"Antis' foundation is the belief that fiction affects reality, in that any problematic behaviors or topics in media, fictitious or not, will cause people to normalize those behaviors, resulting in people (specifically minors) thinking that such actions are acceptable in real life. This is a common argument used by conservative groups to enact queer censorship, who argue that children who see LGBTQIA+ characters in television or books will "turn gay" (Bollinger 2019), so the sanitization of all adult fan spaces is therefore required to protect minors who could potentially encounter problematic sexual content (BrazyDay 2019)....

Antis attempt to glorify their ideology by rebranding it as antipedophilia and anti-incest, but it is actually a loose ideology of disinformation, virtue signaling, and legitimate abuse. Similar to the QAnon cult phenomena, which began in 2017, anti dogma is designed to promote paranoia and play off people's fears and emotions to spread disinformation. They band together to perform this function, forming what might be called a cult, a term that has been defined as a group having a "great devotion to a…movement". However, what truly marks a cult is the control attempted over behavior and thought. Participants in anti circles perpetuate a climate of fear, shame, and trauma in fan spaces. The most common targets of such abuse are women, people of color, teens, abuse survivors, and members of the LGBTQIA+ community. Fans who are already marginalized are further deprived of safety, anonymity, outlets for growth, self-expression, and relationships. It is therefore vital that we closely monitor hate speech in fan spaces and study these behaviors. Our failure to do so may open doors for bigotry, violence, and disinformation."

From The cult structure of the American anti which was a fascinating read and genuinely worth going through if you're in fannish spaces.

[schizopositivity]

could you share any more under-talked about symptoms of schizophrenia, like executive dysfunction?

I've actually been meaning to make a post like this but keep forgetting (lol that's a symptom). As a disclaimer, not everyone with schizophrenia has every one of these symptoms, and people can have a lot of these symptoms and not have schizophrenia (if they don't have the psychotic symptoms). Not all of these symptoms are seen as diagnostic criteria, some have just been observed to be very common in people with schizophrenia. (I'm excluding hallucinations and delusions because they are more well known)

• Paranoia: a pattern of behavior where a person feels distrustful and suspicious of other people and acts accordingly. This can go hand in hand with hallucinations and delusions.

• Disorganized thoughts: this can mean a lot of things. It can be not having a linear train of thought, having incoherent thoughts, thought blocking, general disorganized thoughts. (It can be hard to define because it is often hard to describe for the person experiencing it).

• Disorganized speech: this is often a result of the disorganized thoughts. This can include loose associations like rapidly shifting between topics with no connections between the topics. Perseveration, which is repeating the same things over and over again. Made up words that only have meaning to the speaker. Use of rhyming words without meaning. Word salad, which is when cognitive disorganization is severe, it can be nearly impossible to understand what the person is saying, but the person speaking doesn't know they aren't making sense.

• Trouble concentrating: lack of concentration, switching from topic to topic, not being able to focus on one thing. (This is pretty self explanatory).

• Movement disorders: catatonia can be repetitive non goal directed movements. It can also be complete or partial immobility, mutism, vacant staring, and rigidity. Although not a symptom, tardive dyskinesia can occur in schizophrenia as a result of antipsychotics medication.

• Anhedonia: a loss of pleasure in activities that the person once enjoyed. Or the inability to feel pleasure at all.

• Atypical or non-existent emotional expression: Flat or blunted affect is an inability to show emotions characterized by a lack of facial expression, a monotone voice, and no hand gestures. On the other hand people can also have inappropriate affect, where the emotional expression doesn't align with typical reactions or even the person's own feelings.

• Alogia: when someone speaks less, says fewer words or only speaks in response to others. This can be a result of disorganized thoughts.

• Social withdrawal: avoiding people and activities that someone once enjoyed. Not actively being present during social situations. Can progress to total isolation.

• Avolition: a severe lack of initiative to accomplish purposeful tasks. This is a big reason some people with schizophrenia can't work/go to school, can't do chores, and can't keep up with their basic hygiene. Even if the person wants to do these tasks, it may be extremely difficult or impossible for them to get themselves to start or complete the task due to the lack of motivation.

• Executive dysfunction: a behavioral symptom that disrupts a person's ability to manage their own thoughts, emotions and actions. This can include focussing too much on one thing, being easily distracted, spacing out, struggling to switch between tasks, problems with impulse control and trouble starting difficult or boring tasks. Several schizophrenia symptoms fit into the umbrella of executive dysfunction, so when researching you will either see the specific ones listed out, or just simply described as executive dysfunction.

• Alexithymia: significant challenges in recognizing, expressing, and describing one's own emotions.

• Poor memory: this can include working memory deficits like trouble planning, organizing, and carrying out daily chores such as running errands, because it requires mentally formulating a “to do” list organized by time and location. Many people with schizophrenia also report trouble with their episodic memory, which means they have trouble recollecting things in the context of their place and time. (A lot of sources say "trouble with memory" is a symptom but they don't specify).

• Trouble with decision making: people with schizophrenia have been shown to have trouble with decision making due to a decline in the understanding and reasoning aspects of it.

• Sensory processing deficits: this has been widely reported in schizophrenia, and include impairments in visual processing, auditory processing, olfactory and sensorimotor systems. This can lead to having strong positive or negative reactions to sensory information.

• Sleep troubles: though disturbed sleep isn't included in the diagnostic criteria for schizophrenia, it is still a significant problem that up to 80% of people with the condition experience. People with schizophrenia may have various sleep problems, including insomnia, excessive daytime sleepiness, and trouble with consistent sleep routines.

• Anosognosia: also called "lack of insight," is a symptom that impairs a person's ability to understand and perceive their illness. This is a big reason people with schizophrenia may refuse to get, or stay with treatment.

[satrs]

Heyyy! Hope you're doing well!

Thinking about soft dom Inumaki rn tho. Like what if she was so soft but reader basically begged him to take more control, take more control, maybe use his cursed speech on them on minor things? Like scareming his name etc.

So yeah do with that request as you see fit lol

ᥲ/ᥒ ꜝꜝ ✎ yesss he needs some more attention like fr! i feel like almost no one talks abt my baby anymore like??? C'MON!!

I'm doing fine and I hope u do too! Thanks for the request and have a lovely day/night/evening!^^

ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʜᴏʟᴅ ʙᴀᴄᴋ!

ꜰᴇᴀᴛᴜʀɪɴɢ; dom!inumaki toge x sub!fem!reader

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ; 0.7k

TAGS; NSFW CONTENT! MDNI! fingering. nipple sucking (on fem!).

ALL CHARACTERS ARE 18+!

"You don't gotta be so soft with me all the time Toge. I'm not made out of glass, you know."

Inumaki couldn't believe what he just heard. Where was that coming from? And what do you mean with 'not soft?' Did you want him to be rougher with you? Slap you? His questioning expression caused you to chuckle, turning around on your position on the bed, fully facing him. "I love how we fuck. It's just- maybe take more control? It's just that-"

He drowned out your words completely as he starred holes into the celling above him. Take more control? But how could he when his sweet little girl was just so breathtakingly gorgeous when she took what she wanted?

And you're wrong. For him, you are made out of glass, such delicate skin and angelic body almost too perfect to have a single rough finger layed on.

But on the other hand, you are is gorgeous girl so why complain to your requests? If that's what you really want, he would give it to you.

He didn't even knew what you were rambling about as his mouth moved almost on it's own without much mind too it.

"Quiet."

As if on cue, you immediately stopped talking, eyes widdening as you realized what he just did. You heart beats rapidly with excitement as you bit your lower lip when you noticed him crawling ontop of you, sly smirk adoring his handsome face.

He didn't have to utter a word for you to understand what was on his mind right now, moving your hand to your top in an attempt to strip naked.

"Don't do that." And again, you helplessly withdrawn your hand back to it's previous spot but this time, not on cursed command but solely on his words alone, big orbs starred up at him in anticipation. His gaze flickered between your eyes and lips before giving into the temption to capture your lips with his, sighing into your mouth at your delicate taste.

His hands explored your body, squezzing your breast in his hand while the other hand was occupied with finding it's way into your flimsy panties.

His lips parted from yours, directly attacking your neck with wet and sloppy kisses and licks, sucking marks onto your tender skin before returning back to caputer your neglected nipple into his mouth. You moaned at his actions, hands tangling into his white locks only to be slapped away and pinned next to your head.

His fingers played with your slick folds, small circles being drawn onto your clit as you bucked up into his touch needily. As his fingers slowly entered your aching hole he let out a groan at the feeling of your velvet walls sucking his fingers in so graciously.

Your breathing was turning heavier with each movement of his fingers, toes curling in pleasure as he hit that one particular spot inside of you. Sinful sounds escaped your mouth as your vision slowly blurred with the increasing of his finger's movements, hand desperatly clinging onto his head then his hand in an attempt to escape the almost too pleasurable feeling of both his mouth and hand working wonders on you.

He took your weak hand in his, interwinding your fingers to stop your pitiful actions. "Tell me how you feel."

A slight electric tingle went through your body at the cursed command, almost to deep in pleasure to answer. "T-too good! I can't- I'm gonna cum Toge! Sososo good!"

He hummed in content at your answer, attention turning back to your body as he drew you near the edge with every second passing.

With one last curl of his fingers your back arched into his touch, mouth falling open as praises and cries of his name came past them while you unraveled underneath him.

While you came down from your high you tried to break free of his grasp, only for his interlocked fingers to tighten their grip as his other hand worked on his pants. "Don't move." He said, slight whine flying past your lips as you licked your lip in anticipation.

A good talk always brings good outcomes, right?

©︎𝐊-𝐀𝐙𝐔𝐒. all rights reserved. Do NOT plagiarize, copy, modify, republish, or translate my work in any way!

[miscling]

AERS.exe log AERS running at 10% - arousal level is capped at 10%, arousal felt over that boundary is stored within the Arousal Energy Retention System, to be discharged by Mother Controller at her discretion. This log represents a system test. Experiences: Spikes of arousal from stimuli quickly faded, storage felt in lower abdomen above the vagina in the pubic mound. mild gains from thinking about the discharge, sometimes circular. thinking about discharge causes arousal, arousal is absorbed, thinking about increased discharge strength causes arousal, arousal is absorbed, and so on. thoughts around M1SC's drone status causes pleasure spikes in its chest, unrelated to arousal. high gains from day's activities revolving around little activities. one conversation increased stored arousal by a large amount. as part of the day's activities, faefae (M1SC's little name) played with its magic wand, arousal from physical stimulation was quickly absorbed by the AERS, resulting in large gain to stored charge. spent time with Lucy Valeheart, commentary on M1SC's little status increased stored charge, discussion of AERS programming increased charge moderately, mild degradation moment and teasing caused large arousal spike. usual response to degradation was heavily absorbed by AERS, leaving M1SC's physical and vocal response muted. writing this log caused high arousal spikes. AERS limitation is holding steady. Expectations: M1SC expects AERS discharge to be intense, and is unable to provide an estimate of charge levels. Nestie is very curious to see what discharge will do to M1SC Discharge: discharge process involved a 10 to 0 countdown, with discharge growing intense by the 7 count and blinding by the count of 0. at 0 the discharge was completed. as expected, discharge was extremely powerful. complete bodily orgasm caused intense muscular arching for a few minutes, with aftershocks lasting a few minutes longer. audio output was loud and continuous during the discharge period. long gasping moans on inhale and exhale, with lots of incoherent vocalisation. M1SC completely collapsed upon complete discharge, entering a rag-dolled state with complete lack of motor or speech control. internal processors had also stopped functioning. the system enjoyed the discharge in its entirety. Recovery: motor control recovered first. slowly. began with neck movements. eyelid control slowly recovered. twitch in hands allowed for elbow control that was very difficult. over time motor control returned with stretching and movement. facial expressions did not return to normal throughout recovery process. test phrase for speech centre: 'i'm a good drone' was lodged in its speech centre for at least 10 minutes. words eventually returned slowly. test phrase was repeated over and over, in place of other statements for which M1SC could not verbalise. breathing was heavy throughout the recovery period. M1SC reported several internal errors though was reassured these were false positives. comfort commands allowed for reassurance. due to internal processing difficulties complete system reboot of M1SC was recommended by the M1SC machine to restore systems to functionality. complete shutdown procedure was successful in restoring system functionality. Nestie Observation: 'that was fun to hear' Nestie expressed approval of discharge process. expressed pleasure at events that treat M1SC 'mean in a good way'. Conclusion: AERS system test was extremely successful. M1SC reports high satisfaction and excitement to run the AERS again, describing the experience as interesting, fascinating, and extremely enjoyable. AERS has been reinitialised at 10% for a 24 hour charging period.

[lovingmayday]

𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐓 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒

warnings : fluff, cursing, innacurate-ish depictions of hobie's speech

notes : hobie is about 16-17 here (and so is the pov). halfway writing this, im overwhelmed by how much of an extrovert hobie actually is 😭 btw, i know nothing of classical music concerts so beware! all of this just because i wanted to write hobie sneaking in your window but i didnt even get to fit it in 😭😭

Two words that you've used as an excuse and an apology when you couldn't join your friends at house parties, when a classmate asks you out, or when your phone notifications go crazy because you still weren't home at 5 PM — it was a tiring cycle.

You know they were simply looking out for you but you can't help but feel overwhelmed and exhausted for always being monitored and left out. You couldn't possibly ask your peers to adjust to your parents' standards, you thought it shameless because they already had a hard time with your folks reaching out and interrogating them about your school and social life.

With so much of your life being tracked by them, you deserve at least one thing in your control, right?

Hobie Brown, the school troublemaker. Skips class, vandalizes school property, and actively participates in movements against authority. Frankly, he just does whatever he wants. And he had your respect (+ jealousy). It must've been nice to be so free.

You and Hobie were never given the chance to befriend each other before — you had some classes together but he rarely ever showed up to any of them. You had no reason to approach him and vice versa.

Until, Wednesday — your cello performance. God, you don't know why you insisted to your parents you could handle commuting to the concert venue on your own with the heavy as fuck cello slung around your torso. You had your book bag with you as well because you had just finished school. The bus stop was a few more blocks away but you were tired.

You weren't paying much attention to your surroundings, busy focusing on your aching shoulder. So once you saw the pedestrian lane green signal, you didn't think twice before walking, failing to notice the bicycle riding full speed to your direction. Your eyes widen when a strong force pulled you back, making you stumble a bit and see the bike dart just in front of you.

"Aye, watch it!" you hear the cyclist exclaim.

You back was leaning against the tall figure, looking up to see a familiar face. You regain your balance and face him — Hobie Brown, the boy that just saved your life. "I-It was green– green meant it was safe to walk... I should've looked first, 'm sorry," you say quietly.

"Nah yeah, it's straight. He was the arse," he replies, hands in his pockets. "Dunno where he got the audacity to tell you off when he was in the wrong. Don't worry abou' it." He gives you a reassuring smile, noticing your still dazed expression.

"Thank you, Hobie," you say, a small polite smile on your lips.

He smiles back and nods, "'Twas nothin'." His eyes hover on the unignorable instrument case you were carrying. "Ya headed somewhere?"

"Uhh, yeah," you say, watching the pedestrian stop light turn red again and pouting a bit. You probably won't be late to the performance but you'd miss most of final rehearsal. "Nueva Hall. I have a cello performance in a bit."

"Nueva Hall.. That fuckin' massive, fancy lookin' museum along 5th Ave?" he asks, his eyebrows rising a bit from amazement. "Didn't know you were a big shot musician. Let me get for ya, then." He swings the case from your torso and starts walking across the street before you could protest.

"Hey!" you exclaim, running after him, dodging the other pedestrians walking past you.

"It's a bit distant from here, innit? Let me take you there, I got time. Wouldn't want you to croak before the big show," he jests, turning around and walking backwards. "If it's fine with you, [Name], of course."

You weren't too keen on traveling alone; you only did so so that your parents would think you were independent enough. You consider it for a few moments. "Are you sure I wouldn't be bothering you with this?"

"'Course not. 'Was the one who suggested, wasn't I?" He smirks before turning back around to walk properly and you catch up to his side. "What're you playin'?"

"Tchaikovsky, Rococo Variation. It's a cello and orchestra performance and I got to play cello," you say excitedly. "You're in a band, right? It's like a lead singer but cello!"

He smiles softly at your energy, feeling his cheeks warm up a bit. "How'd you know I was in a band?" he asks almost teasingly.

"I walked by one of your public concerts with my family. I would've stayed if my parents let me," you answer with a small laugh. "You were amazing, by the way."

"Thanks, mate. You're probably not too bad yourself," he says, chuckling as you playfully hit his shoulder.

It was safe to say you hit it off well, which was surprising since you didn't think you would. You thought your personalities would clash, you being at the quieter side while Hobie, you could hear his ruckus from another dimension (and there was a tiny part of you that was intimidated at him, at first).

You arrived at the venue earlier than expected — still late to rehearsals but not by much. "Hey, thanks again. I really appreciate it," you say to him just outside the concert hall doors.

He handed you your cello and waved off your thank you. "It was a pleasure," he teases and you roll your eyes. "Break a leg, [Name]." You thank him once again before he turns around to leave.

Seeing him walk away gave you an unfamiliar ache in your chest. After a much needed self-courage-boost, you let out a soft but loud enough "Wait." for him to hear. He turns around with a small smile and raises an eyebrow, silently asking you to go on. You wet your lips before taking a deep breathe. "Do you want to stay for the show?"

His smile widens, a handsome grin reaching ear to ear. "Finally. 've been waitin' the entire trip for that offer." He laughs and jogs back to you.

He sits at the back row. When he entered the room, he got a few stares and hushed whispers from the other audiences but he couldn't care less, his attention was unwaveringly stuck on you. It was just rehearsals but it overwhelmed Hobie to think about how you'd do in the real thing. He was entranced by you the entire time. The movement of your bow and the emotions you protrayed. It was magnetic.

Once practice was over, the musicians left the stage for a bit as audiences started to pour in. With guests on the older side with more formal attires, it was so obvious that he was out of place.

Meanwhile, you were panicking a bit because after you got changed out of your school uniform, you neared the stage's curtains to check up on Hobie. Your mouth gapes when you see him sat at the back row, almost directly behind your parents. Your parents! You forgot about your parents!! How did you forget about your parents??! They'd go crazy once they knew that you had invited this boy to your performance — you never invite your friends, let alone anybody, to watch your performances.

The second it was time for the musicians to come on stage, Hobie's head rises from his phone and looks for your figure immediately, smiling once he notices your wardrobe change. It was a simple long-sleeve black dress but it was pretty on you. Hobie thought so.

Your take deep breathes to calm your nerves before situating the cello between your thighs. You wait for the violins, the flutes, and the organ to start playing the intro before propping up the cello's bow. With your head held high, you play the first few notes — the position of your hands finding its own way around the fingerboard like muscle memory.

The music closes to an end, claps and praises erupt the venue. You smile and stand to find Hobie. He was already making his way to you. You leave the cello leaning safely on your chair as you scurry to the stairs of the sides of the stage.

"Hobie!" you greet as you reached him. "How did I do? Was I rushing? What'd you think of it?" you ask, rambling almost. If Spiderpunk gets his adrenaline from his fights, you get it from instances that make your heart feel like its about to burst into a million burnt pieces of flesh in your chest.

He smiles back at you, amused. He's never seen this side of you before. He's never seen anything of you other than your surface-level calmness and pliance. "'ts not usually my thing but I know to appreciate talent. Credit when credit is due and all tha' and, luv, you absolutely smashed it!" he exclaims as quietly as exclaiming can allow, placing both hands on you shoulders and shaking them.

"Thanks," you giggle out, placing your hands on his arm. From the corner of your peripheral vision, you notice your parents on their way to you, confused looks on their faces. Your smile falters as you gently loosen Hobie's hold on you, the adrenaline slowly dying down.

"[Name], amazing as always," your mother says, holding your hand in hers' and caressing your cheek with the other. "Who's your friend?" she quickly asks. Her judgmental eyes scan his appearance from head to toe, attempting to hide her expression with a faux smile.

Hobie was about to introduce himself when you cut him off. "–He's a classmate, Hobie Brown." You look into his eyes apologizing and almost pleading to him to go along with whatever you were about to say. "He came here by pure coincidence, could you believe that?!"

"Yeah, a friend gave me an invitation," he follows up seamlessly, a polite smile on his lips. "'Didn't know your daugh'er was performin'."

"Well, it's a nice surprise, isn't it?" you mother says, pulling you to her side.

Your father had yet to contribute to the conversation so you checked up on hi.. He was glaring at Hobie so harshly you could see burn marks starting to appear on his forehead. "Did you enjoy the show?" he finally asks, tone almost threatening.

Your cheeks start to flush in embarrassment. It wasn't uncommon for your parents to ask about the boys you talk to but it never felt any less humiliating every time it happens. You see each and every one of them get uncomfortable and you couldn't do anything to stop them because they'd think you were hiding something.

"Yeah, I enjoyed [Name]'s performance a lot. You must be very proud of her, Mr. [Last Name]," Hobie answers. You've talked to him long enough to notice the slight teasing in his voice. He smirks at you which makes your father's hands turn into fists.

"Honey," you mother calls, "We'll be late for our dinner reservation. It was really nice to meet you, Hobie, but we have to go." Her smile was still plastered across her face, you wonder why her cheeks hasn't hurt yet. She tells you to collect your stuff and you do so quickly. You bid Hobie an apologetic goodbye before you leave.

On the car to the restaurant, you were given the 'no boyfriends' talk again. You tried to respond with 'mhmm's and 'uh-huh's here and there but you weren't listening to a thing — having heard them repeat the same points many times before. You wondered how to approach Hobie the next day, thinking of stuff to say, how to bring it up, and how to act once he says he doesn't want to get involved with you anymore. It was a shame since you really enjoyed his company.

You wished that Hobie went to school the next day and he did, surprisingly. After classes, you catch up to him leaving the building to speak to him.

You were supposed to explain to him the situation but it seemed he was already up to pace and accepting. "The things is," you pause for a bit, "I really liked hanging out with you.." you confess.

"Hey, wait up!" you yell, running to reach him before he got too far. He paused in his tracks, hands in his vest pockets as he watches you catch your breath. "About yesterday..–"

"Nah, I get it," he interrupts you. "Strict parents and shit. It's cool if your folks don't want you hanging out with me anymore. It sucks but I get it." He was disappointed but chill about the entire thing which made your heart sink. You really didn't want to stop seeing him again. You wondered if he felt the same.

A small gentle smile stretches his lips. "I really liked hanging out with you, too. A lot. Best time I've had in a while, honestly."

You contemplate on what to say next — whether to let them out or not. You mouth gapes open, waiting on your next words. You were about to give him an apology but seeing his eyes, hearing that he liked your company maybe as much as you did, it made the decision so much more difficult. ..Fuck it. "I'd like to continue spending time with you.. even if it meant disobeying my parents. If it's alright with you, of course." You feel your ears heat up as you look down, scared of what the other's reaction might be.

It was rather obvious that Hobie didn't expect it, his eyes widening by a fraction. A big smirk appears on his face as he leans down to catch your eyes. "'Must've left quite the impression on you, huh?" he teases. He watches your eyes roll as you playfully shove his shoulder. "Well, I do love a good rebellion."

"It's not a rebellion."

"It's painfully close then, isn't it?"

[qsphyxias]

idk if your requests are open but i was wondering if you could write a (tom)peter parker x male reader fluff because i really enjoyed the other ones that you have written 🫶🫶🫶🫶 much love

if you read yaoi and/or bl regularly as a woman, get the fuck out of here!

synopsis ; peter parker x male! reader

warnings ; male (he/him) reader, cussing, (tom holland) peter parker, established relationship

note ; love me some classic peter parker fanfiction - and thank u for requesting!! not sure how long this has been sitting here for whoops

words ; 0.8k +

"Hey, boyfriend." You snickered, hanging your head over him. Multiple strands of hair followed your sudden movement — blocking your view of him, or rather, his view of you.

He looked up at your face and pushed the strands of your hair to the side of your face without thinking much of it. The smile he beamed right back at you made you feel as if he was trying to move away curtains that revealed a most breathtaking view — you, his wonderful boyfriend.

As cheesy as it sounded, the way you looked at him and leaned down made his mind play one of the most righteous theme songs of the Star Wars trilogy. The feeling of your face against his hand, the desire to just hold you and never let go, the heat of his blood rushing everywhere, it was scary. Peter could hardly think straight when you let a small smile shine through your expression, where was he supposed to look? What was he supposed to touch?

As if on instinct, Peter's hands that were once placed on either side of him on the bed, took action and slid up your waist to gain a little bit more control once he saw you close the distance a bit more by resting on your elbows instead of your palms when hovering over Peter.

His grip caught you by surprise, who knew he could be so initiating?

"Is... Is that okay?" He murmured, watching your expression, terrified he was maybe too assertive this time.

He already went through this struggle with where to touch, back when he thought he only liked girls — but now, it's different. Despite all those experiences, It's like he had to relearn everything about the boyfriend world. It's not the same, because this time, he's the one with the boyfriend, not so much the one having to worry about his role as the only boyfriend in the relationship.

And Peter really doesn't want to fuck it up with his boyfriend.

To his shock and awe, you snorted, dismissing all his worries with one single breath.

"Peter, your heart's made of pure gold, isn't it?" You sighed as you fully relaxed into your new boyfriend's arms, letting your arms slide underneath the small of his back and lock softly.

With your eyes closed, and ear against his heart, Peter could comfortably wear his expression of pure exasperation as he settled into your embrace — not having to worry about you reading his face.

"Uh," Peter leaned his head back against the pillows to think, causing his throat to relax under the pressure of gravity — producing a scratchy tone in his larynx, once could only describe it as infatuation-inducing. "Well, maybe. I mean, I let you be my boyfriend, didn't I? I must be a saint!" He joked, a complete 180 to his previous attitude as he attempted to lighten the heavy romantic tension. A smile adorned his face with ease as he looked down at you for a (hopefully) good reaction.

You opened your eyes to playfully glare at him, "I take back what I said; your heart's made of pure lego — it's completely evident."

Peter feigned offence, "Hey, what makes you say that?" getting a bit more comfortable, he rolled over to face you instead of having to crane his neck down, keeping his hands flush against your back throughout.

"The way your joints click and clack, the way you get all stiff and plastic-like when you get nervous, the way you're practically indestructible — not to mention how much space you allow Lego Star Wars to take up in your heart; there's lots of things, Peter. " You laughed near the end of your mini-speech, fiddling with the the collar of Peter's shirt right in front of your point of view.

"And hey, you're basically built like Lego Batman with those 12-pack abs. Not that I'm complaining..." Peter flushed at the blatant flirt directed at his body.

"I did not come here today to be berated, s/o." Peter chose to ignore the last thing you said, "and I do not get 'plastic-like' when I'm nervous." Peter frowned, to which you chuckled.

"You came here because you missed me, be honest." You corrected.

"Well... Yeah, but you don't have to say it out loud." He mumbled, his shy expression breaking into a grin when he saw you smile first.

"Why not? it's true, isn't it?" You closed the distance between the two of you even more, chest-to-chest, stomach-to-stomach, lips-to....

Your eyes fluttered shut as you leaned up to kiss him, shuddering when you felt his hand rub your back with a gentle force, pulling you impossibly closer to him to fully close the distance.

As the two of you kissed, Peter held you close and vowed to himself in his head, to always protect you. Because to protect you, means he'd be protecting precious moments like these.

[estellan0vella]

Taking Back Control ❀ Toge Inumaki Masterlist HFBU

The idea is risky. Cursed speech is powerful, but it's not something to be used lightly, especially not on something as complex and delicate as the human brain. But the thought of having a way to stop a seizure in its tracks is too tantalizing to ignore.

Now, as you sit in the living room, the atmosphere is a mix of anxiety and anticipation. Shoko sits beside you, her medical expertise offering a sense of safety and reassurance. Gojo lounges on the opposite couch, his usual carefree demeanor somewhat tempered by the seriousness of the situation.

“Are you absolutely sure about this?” Shoko asks. “There’s a lot we don’t know about how cursed energy interacts with neurological conditions.”

You nod, feeling the weight of your decision. “I know it’s risky, but if it works… it could change everything.”

Toge reaches out and takes your hand, his touch warm and reassuring. He’s wearing his usual high-collared jacket, which he nervously adjusts with his free hand.

Gojo leans forward, his usually hidden eyes visible through his lowered sunglasses. “Alright, here’s the plan. Shoko will monitor your vitals closely. Toge, you’ll be on standby. If a seizure starts, you’ll use your cursed speech to try and stop it. If it seems like things are going wrong, we'll figure it out"

Shoko sets up the equipment to monitor your brain activity and vital signs, her movements precise and efficient. “Ready?” she asks, looking at you with a reassuring smile.

You take a deep breath and nod. Toge squeezes your hand gently, and you feel a surge of determination. You’re ready for this. You have to be.

As the minutes tick by, you try to stay calm, focusing on your breathing and the warmth of Toge’s hand. The room is quiet, everyone waiting in a tense silence. Then, it happens. You feel the familiar, terrifying aura of an impending seizure—a sense of unreality, a detachment from your own body.

“Toge,” you manage to whisper, your voice trembling.

His eyes lock onto yours, filled with a mixture of fear and resolve. He takes a deep breath, focusing his cursed energy. “Stop,” he commands, his voice firm and clear.

The effect is immediate. You feel a strange sensation, as if something invisible has wrapped around your mind, holding it steady. The aura recedes, the seizure stopping before it can fully take hold. Your body, which had started to tense, relaxes. The room is silent except for the steady beeping of the machines.

Shoko leans in, checking the readouts with wide eyes. “It… it worked. Your brain activity is stabilizing.”

Gojo lets out a low whistle. “Well, I’ll be damned. Looks like we might be onto something here.”

Toge pulls you into a gentle hug. “Tuna mayo,” he says softly, his way of expressing his feelings when words fail him.

The next few days pass in a blur of cautious optimism and careful observation. Under Shoko's vigilant eye, you and Toge repeat the experiment several times, each trial bringing a mixture of anxiety and hope.

Each time, Toge’s cursed speech successfully halts the seizures. The results are consistent, and with every successful attempt, the initial trepidation starts to give way to a budding sense of triumph.

One afternoon, as you sit in the medical wing with Shoko, she goes over the data collected from the trials. “Your brain activity shows significant improvement during and after Inumaki's intervention,” she says, her tone a mixture of amazement and caution. “But we need to keep in mind that this is still very experimental. There’s a lot we don’t understand about how cursed energy interacts with the brain.”

You nod, understanding the gravity of her words. “I get it. But it’s a start. A really good start.”

Shoko smiles, placing a hand on your shoulder. “It is. And I’ll be here to make sure you’re safe every step of the way.”

Later, you and Toge take a walk through the school grounds, the evening air cool and refreshing. The sun sets in a blaze of orange and pink, casting long shadows across the lawn. Toge’s hand is warm in yours, a comforting presence as you navigate this new chapter together.

“Toge,” you say, breaking the comfortable silence. “Thank you. I know this hasn’t been easy for you either.”

He stops walking and turns to face you, his eyes serious. “Mustard leaf,” he says softly, his way of conveying that he’s doing this for you, because you mean the world to him.

You smile, squeezing his hand. “I know. And I appreciate it more than you can imagine.”

Months continue to fly by, and the routine you and Toge establish becomes a new normal. Shoko remains ever-vigilant, her careful monitoring ensuring that you stay safe.

Gojo, in his own way, continues to offer support, though his methods are often unconventional. He even suggests training sessions to help you and Toge better synchronize your efforts, making sure you’re prepared for any situation.

One afternoon, during a particularly intense training session with Gojo, you feel the familiar aura of an impending seizure. Without missing a beat, Toge steps forward, his eyes locking onto yours.

“Stop,” he commands, his voice steady and filled with authority.

The seizure halts almost immediately, the sensation dissipating like mist in the morning sun. You take a deep breath, feeling the wave of relief wash over you. A rare warm smile forms on Gojo's face, the man knowing first-hand the toll your condition takes on you, physically, mentally and most of all emotionally.

“Excellent,” Gojo says, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. “You’re getting the hang of this. Both of you.”

You glance at Toge, who is watching you intently, his eyes filled with a mixture of relief and pride. His hand finds yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Salmon,” he says softly, his simple word conveying so much more—his unwavering support, his pride in your strength, and his love.

Gojo claps his hands together, breaking the moment. “Alright, let’s call it a day. You both deserve a break.”

As you walk back to the dormitory, the setting sun casting long shadows across the training grounds, you feel a deep sense of accomplishment. The progress you’ve made with Toge’s help is more than just a physical achievement; it’s a testament to the bond you share.

Later that evening, you find yourself in the common room with Toge, Shoko, and Gojo. Shoko is reviewing the data from your latest session, her brow furrowed in concentration. Gojo, meanwhile, is lounging on the couch, a rare moment of stillness for the usually hyperactive sorcerer.

“You know,” Gojo says, his voice breaking the silence, “this whole thing has got me thinking. Maybe we should document your progress. It could help others in the future.”

Shoko looks up from her notes, nodding thoughtfully. “That’s not a bad idea. The data we’re collecting is invaluable, but personal experiences and observations are just as important.”

You look at Toge, who nods in agreement. “Fish flakes,” he says, indicating his support for the idea.

Over the next few weeks, you and Toge begin documenting your journey, writing down your experiences, your feelings, and the progress you’ve made. It’s a therapeutic process, allowing you to reflect on how far you’ve come and how much you’ve grown.

One evening, as you’re writing in your journal, Toge sits beside you, his presence a comforting constant. He reads over your shoulder, his hand gently resting on your back.

“Do you think this will help others?” you ask, looking up at him.

He nods, his eyes filled with conviction. “Salmon,” he says softly, his way of saying that he believes in the impact of your story.

Months pass, and your routine becomes a new normal. Shoko continues to monitor your condition, while you and Toge grow more adept at managing your seizures with his cursed speech. It’s not a perfect solution, but it gives you a sense of control you haven’t felt in years.

One evening, you find yourself on the dormitory roof with Toge, watching the stars. The night is clear, the sky a canvas of twinkling lights. You lean against him, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath.

“It’s strange,” you say softly, breaking the comfortable silence. “I’ve spent so long fearing my seizures, feeling like they controlled my life. And now, thanks to you, I feel like I have some control back.”

Toge’s arms tighten around you, his silent way of offering comfort. “Salmon,” he murmurs, his voice a gentle reassurance.

You turn to face him, your heart swelling with gratitude and love. “I don’t know what the future holds, Toge. But I’m not afraid anymore. Not with you by my side.”

His eyes meet yours, filled with a depth of emotion that words can’t capture. “Tuna mayo,” he replies, a promise of his unwavering support and love.

The stars above seem to shine a little brighter, the world feeling a little more hopeful. With Toge by your side, you know you can face whatever challenges come your way.

[awesomecooperlove]

💥💥💥

[yuellii]

01. / Fate : BITE ME

vampire neuvillette / gn reader . completely sfw . dark themes

Fontaine : DARK BLOOD ; supernatural series m.list

There is a sensory contact, one that is cold and cutting upon the wake of his fingertips, all when he touches the beginnings of your hair against your head. You can see it in his eyes, the longing emptiness that's yet filled with a passing thought, or what you suspect to be the containment of a certain animalistic instinct he might desire so.

"I adore you," Neuvillette whispers, and he almost feels human as his words of admiration are traced along the roots of your hair above your ear. It brings a shiver down your spine, both from the chill of his breath and the deadly steel-like feeling of his hands. “Even as an outsider,” he breathes.

Pale, boney. He has not touched sunlight for obvious reasons.

You are not ignorant to the way his eyes flicker down to your neck and your collarbone; whether or not he himself noticed it seemed almost subconscious to his nature. This was a recent occurrence—his wandering eyes equated to the beginnings of your fear. For he was not like this at the start: when you first took him into shelter amidst the midnight pouring rain.

Back months ago, starved of blood at your doorstep yet still respectable. You did not fear for your life then when he looked at you like a human, and not his next supper.

You step back. “How heavy,” the remark flies from your tongue. It is only then, at the sound of your voice, does his gaze finally wander away from your neck. He meets your eyes with clouded daze and guilt. “You should consider the weight of your words before speaking them, Monsieur. Any other citizen may mistake your intentions if they hear you ‘adore them’.” For a moment, he looked surprised.

“Ah, it seems I still have more to learn about human speech,” he muses. And there’s a clear, apologetic tone laced in the fanged accent of his words. It almost makes your body less tense for just a moment. “But if you consider my words of adoration for you to be ‘heavy’,” he continues, “then I assure you, every one of my intentions you can assume is correct.”

He mutters aloud to himself. “I best believe, fate discovered you to save me.”

“Have you been eating enough lately?” you ask him one early morning, just as he lays to rest. The curtains are drawn, lightening dawn peeking through the tiniest of crevices.

“My blood intake?” he clarifies. And that’s when he turns on the bed to face you, feeling the weight of your body as you sit along his bedside. He closes his eyes momentarily, as if feeling for an answer, “It’s been sufficient, yes.” You can’t help but feel most normal like this—his laying eyes looking up as your back faces him from the bedside. The way he meets the gaze of your turned head. Perhaps it was times like these, times where he was so ghostly pretty, that you’re both most vulnerable. “Why do you ask?” he mutters, volume quieter than before.

You hummed, hand moving forward towards his laying figure to trace his loose strands of hair behind his head. “You seem…” For a lack of better words, you break the contact of your eyes. The luminescence of his gaze is far too piercing. “Hungrier, lately.”

He stays quiet, simply looking up at you with an innocence in his eyes you want to ignore. Perhaps that’s his form of denial, but you cannot control the sudden tenseness in your body at his lack of a verbal answer. He makes no movement, no response, no expression change—and yet, your body pulls itself taut in fear. Maybe he didn’t know how to answer, but you feel like you might die.

“Monsieur.”

There’s a bitterness seeped into the air, and when he slightly leaned into the touch of your hand combing his hair, you knew that he could sense your tension. Upon this morning dew, there is a lingering question yet to be vocalized between a human and a vampire.

“You won’t bite me, right?”

The sun rises, and he remains silent.

There’s a flicker of vulnerability in which he asks, “Would I have your consent to stay like this a little longer?” And it’s an early morning once again, right when he’s ready to rest just as you’re about to leave for the day.

It’s as he’s clinging onto your body for comfort, holding you with his arms around your waist in a way that’s starved of touch. And you, despite all warning signs, cannot help but cradle the heart of a lonely immortal. Because since his little ‘confession’ of adoration for you, you’ve noticed how much more longing and affectionate he’s become without words. You carry a sense of sympathy that can’t quite ignore him.

But your ignorance leads to a sudden threat—as his face glides from the side of your head to rest downwards at the crook of your neck. It feels sweet, it feels affectionate—but the assumptions and implications flood your mind so instantaneously your body immediately tenses from the feel of his cold lips against your skin. There’s a sudden hypersensitivity in your nerves, and your breath is stunned to stillness as your mind fears the feel of fangs.

Yet, there is not a touch of sharpness atop your skin. Instead, there is the feeling of his lips against your neck, turning downwards to indicate he is frowning. The way your body tensed in danger—he was hurt by it. You almost felt guilty.

It’s a sweet scent of nectar that suddenly secretes as he leans into you, kissing your neck and holding you tighter in this featherlight way. But there’s a desperation in his hold, one that grips tightly to the bunches of your clothes in his fists. He opens his mouth; You cannot feel his fangs, but you can feel his intentions.

“Will you ever let me?” he whispers along your skin.

You know what he’s asking.

Your hand instinctively reaches up to thread into his hair, resting at the back of his head. Perhaps it felt like a comforting touch to him, but you both knew it was so you could yank his head away from you if he bit down.

“Why,” is all you can initially ask, and there’s an air of disgust in your voice you can’t quite control. But who could blame you, when you’ve trusted this creature in your home for months? “Am I not providing you enough?” you ask him. His body is deathly still, but you’re beginning to tremble. “Or are you finally craving my blood? Do you have an urge to kill me, Neuvillette?”

He is intensely shocked by your questions, so much that his face backs away from your neck immediately in order to look up at your face. Your blood. It’s pumping crazy from the fear of death.

“No, no, please,” he is quick to insist. And that’s when he completely leans in, his lips meeting your open mouth to conceal your shallow breaths, and you can feel his fangs against your own lips. You can feel the desperation and obsession within him, once concealed by his clouded eyes and cluelessness of humanity. There’s a question in his kiss, once left unanswered yet one that is also begging for your attention. “Your death is not my interest,” he breaths against your mouth. “Just please, allow me to bite you.”

“I feel sick,” you whispered with seethed teeth, and he returns downwards to kiss a trail from your lips to your jaw. “You already know my answer.”

“I want to serve you for eternity,” he confesses simply, planting one final kiss of devotion to the crook of your neck. “I believe eternal loyalty to you is my fate in this world, and my veins have searched for you like destiny.”

And it’s now when coldness makes you gasp, the first time ever feeling his fangs rest against your neck. He rests them there atop your skin, one movement and he may bite down. Yet you are no longer stunned with the fear of death, but instead the confines of his outwardly obsession floods the depths of your mind—that is when it clicks: he wants to grant you immortality, only to spend it with him.

“Please, please,” he begs against your skin, and it sounds as if you are torturing him. “It is all I ask for.”

An eternal binding that leaves his mark forever on your neck, tying his soul to yours. And he is here, pleading tightly for your shared salvation. You feel a different sense of death.

“I won’t kill you,” he continues on amidst your silence, and you had forgotten his lack of humanly skills only made him ramble longer and longer. “I won’t, I swear to you.” He pulls your head closer to him, breathing against your neck. He was so close. So, so close. “Not when I’ve just found that my purpose is you.”

“Neuvillette…” you struggle out his name, almost choking.

“Will you say yes?” he continues on. And it’s now that you can feel the newfound shakiness in his own voice, one that indicates his patience is running thin. He was still not human. As polite or as much of a gentleman he could ever be, he still had his overcoming instinct of a devouring vampire, and you gulped. This was probably the end of your life.

Blind devotion, so sickening to your stomach.

But you gave your silent answer when your body relaxed itself, and when your head tilted to the side, but you could not tell whether you really wanted this or if you were just giving up a fruitless demise. Exposing the skin of your flesh to his fangs, they sunk in immediately. At the first taste of your blood, he was trembling, whining in his feast little mutters of ‘thank you’, and whispers of gratitude that sealed his fate to your own.

And when you fell back from loss of your blood, his arms caught you right before the hit of the floor. All the gruesomeness in the world; his lips stained with your blood trailed upwards to meet your own lips once more, the taste of iron stinging most evidently along your tongue.

Fate, it was his excuse to tie himself to you. And now the mark on your neck sealed his eternal devotion, forevermore.

Fontaine : DARK BLOOD ; supernatural series m.list

[five-thousand-loaves-of-bread]

“people only say i’m low support needs / high functioning autistic because i can speak 🙃” often followed by this is why functioning labels are BS or support needs labels are bad or why they are actually high support needs they just internalize it (while being able to perform bADLs and some iADLs independently on typical day, able to keep own safety, etc).

while able to verbally speak is not the only way to have significant support needs or be low functioning, being nonverbal not required to be high support needs (and also some nonverbal ppl aren’t high support needs),

being nonverbal or nonspeaking or minimally verbal is a significant thing that requires a lot of help, and it often doesn’t exist alone. as in, the people who say the quote above don’t realize nonverbal people are not “just like them but just can’t speak.”

being nonverbal/nonspeaking/minimally speaking/unreliably speaking (unreliable as in apraxia not as in lose speech) by itself is a thing that need significant attention to because need give extra! additional! support to gain functional communication. for most (if not all!) nonverbal nonspeaking people, functional communication is not guaranteed, it doesn’t develop naturally like most speaking people, either because of skills barrier, or external barrier like lack of resources, or both.

so, being nonverbal alone needs often intensive and long term intervention like speech therapy and AAC. even if you do everything right, give the most up to date affirming therapy, learning any AAC takes time, whether high tech or low tech. and they almost always require external help to reach their full communicative potential.

being able to functionally communicate (speech/sign/AAC, etc, but society put most emphasis on speech so you will have easier time if can speak) is such a fundamental part of our lives, it is severely limiting when you don’t have access to it. it inherently puts you at a disadvantage.

but being nonverbal often don’t exist alone.

being nonverbal means you have trouble with expressive language. sometimes that expressive language trouble is just you can’t speak.

but more often, there is more. like trouble communicating with more than one word at a time / multi word phrases / short broken sentences. or have small or basic vocabulary. difficulty remembering words. cannot grasp basic or complex grammar. have trouble find words. etc.

others may have extremely limited expressive language in all areas, even if you give them the best AAC and instructions, give them picture cards and photos, give them pen and paper, etc. yes, there are nonverbal people who may not be able to ever learn most or any form of AAC for it to be functional or reliable.

many nonverbal people may also have receptive language issues and have trouble understanding language. they may not understand the question being asked or the instructions given to them. they may only learn to read picture books with simple sentences, or not learn to read at all.

or, they also have intellectual disability, which affect everything not just language. they may be nonverbal because of their ID. they may struggle with everything above, and have trouble with problem solving, have trouble understand cause and consequence (not just rewards/punishment), difficulty remembering things, developmental delay, etc.

or, they have global apraxia (full body apraxia), or severe dyspraxia, which means they have trouble coordinate movements. they may have trouble dressing themselves, feeding themselves, physically follow directions, fine motor, gross motor, drooling, etc.

i have heard nonverbal people w severe full body apraxia describe it as a brain-body disconnect, their body have mind of its own. their mouth make noises they don’t want to make and cannot control, their body point to “yes” for a question when they mean “no” (so you can see how this impacts AAC use, yes?), their body running around when they just want to be still, etc.

it gets even tricky because! many of our understanding of intelligence and IQ tests require good enough motor skill. they assume that the way you act is the way you are internally. they assume you pointing to “no” when being asked “is the sky blue” if you genuinely not understand color, the sky, or language, not that your body pointed to the wrong thing.

many people w ID have poor motor skills. but many people w severe apraxia don’t have ID.

and this is just things i’ve seen in nonverbal autistic people. there are so many nonverbal people who are nonverbal because of brain damage, genetic disorders, and so on.

not to mention that being nonverbal and not having access to functional communication—not able to communicate what you want, don’t want, boundaries, socialize, etc. is a frustrating experience to say the least. having someone speak over you, make every decision for you, assume you can’t understand (whether you can or not), not even bother speaking to you, talking about you in front of you, etc. and when nothing else works, and you are frustrated and in overload, you meltdown, you “act out” to try to regain control or get others to listen to you, or you act out bc “other people say these things about me that’s not true so i might as well make it true.” then you get labeled with having behavior issues!

so yes, while it’s ignorant for people to dismiss speaking autistics just because they can speak, which is an issue that needs to be addressed, the way many low support needs speaking autistic talk about it is also ignorant.

[redroomreflections]

Paint It Black Snippet

Note: I think a small scene from a chapter leading up to the story being halfway finished and posted is fun. If you don't want to know or see skip this. I just like having stuff available on tumblr and not Google Docs.

Another note: It won't be another WIP I post and abandon I promise. It will be finished and fleshed out before I truly post. I just like to share my writing with people. I'm the kid who can't wait to show you the gift I got you lol.

anyway =)

The girls scramble to their feet, and the atmosphere is suddenly charged with tension. Natasha stands, her heart racing as she casts one last glance at her bed. It could be the last time she sees it.

She follows the other girls along the hallway and into the observation room. As Natasha steps into the observation room, the sterile smell of antiseptic and sweat hits her, a familiar scent that has become synonymous with the Red Room. Rows of hard plastic chairs line the walls and the air hums with a mixture of anxiety and anticipation. Recruits whisper among themselves, but Natasha’s gaze is immediately drawn to you, standing amongst another group of girls.

Your posture is confident, though Natasha can see the tension in your shoulders. You stand tall, facing the front, your hair framing your face as you watch Madam B approach the center of the room. The older woman radiates authority, her heels clicking sharply against the polished floor as she strides forward.

“Welcome, recruits,” Madam B begins, her voice smooth but chilling. “Today, we’ll be evaluating your progress and pushing your limits. In the Red Room, we don’t just teach you to fight—we prepare you to survive. You will learn to harness your skills, not just for the mission, but for the kill.”

A shiver runs down Natasha’s spine at the coldness of Madam B's words. She’s heard this speech before, the hollow promises of strength cloaked in a veneer of empowerment. But beneath it all lies the stark reality of what they’re being trained to do.

Madam B scans the room, her gaze sharp and calculating. “Today, I need a demonstration of what you’ve learned. Y/N!” she calls, her tone suddenly commanding.

Natasha’s heart drops as you step forward. “Yes, Madam B?” You reply, your voice steady.

“You will demonstrate your fighting technique against one of our newer recruits. Let’s see if you can handle the pressure.” Madam B gestures toward a girl Natasha recognizes from the dorm, one of the less experienced recruits who hasn’t had much training yet.

A ripple of surprise goes through the group of recruits, and Natasha can see the uncertainty on your face. But you don't hesitate, and within seconds, you're both standing in the middle of the room, squaring off against each other. Natasha's mind is racing, and she can feel her palms beginning to sweat as she watches the scene unfold.

Madam B stands to the side, observing the two of you closely. The recruit lunges, and you duck and weave easily, the two of you falling into a natural rhythm. Something is mesmerizing about the way you move, your movements precise and controlled, as if you're dancing rather than fighting.

Suddenly, the recruit lands a blow to your abdomen. You stumble but regain your composure quickly, and retaliate with a swift kick to her leg, knocking her off balance. As the fight progresses, you start to gain the upper hand, landing blow after blow until the recruit is backed against the wall, defenseless.

Your fist flies forward and lands squarely on the recruit's jaw, and the sound of bone crunching echoes in the small room. The girl crumples to the ground, and Madam B rushes forward, her expression unreadable.

As the scene unfolds, Natasha's heart races. There's a sudden, intense pressure in her chest, and the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Something feels wrong, but she can't put her finger on what.

"Kill her," She demands from you.

"What?" You ask.

"You heard me. Kill her. That's an order."

There's a beat of silence, and then the recruit lets out a strangled cry. Her hand reaches up, blood dripping from her mouth. "Help me, please!" she whimpers.

For the slightest second, you hesitate. Your hand tightens around the knife tucked into your belt, but the movement is barely perceptible. "No," you finally reply, your voice steady. "I won't."

The room erupts into surprised mutters and gasps, and Natasha watches in horror as Madam B strikes you across the face. "Disobedience will not be tolerated!" she shouts, her voice raw with anger. "You've been spoiled. You think your place here is valuable."

Natasha's eyes are fixed on you as Madam B's blows fall faster and harder. She can't look away, even as the room is filled with the sickening sounds of fists and boots connecting with flesh and bone.

Finally, the blows stop, and the room falls silent. Natasha's heart is racing, and she can't seem to catch her breath.

Madam B turns toward the rest of the group. "Widows," she says, her voice dangerously low. "We must be ruthless in our pursuit of perfection. Only those who can handle the pressure are fit to serve the Red Room. Anyone who falters will be eliminated."

The meaning of Madam B's words is clear: those who can't survive will die or be killed. There was a difference in both. Natasha's stomach churns, and she takes a deep breath, trying to steady herself. She can't let the fear get to her, not now.

Suddenly, you groan and sit up. Your face is bruised and swollen, blood running down your chin.

Madam B looms over you, her eyes cold and unsympathetic. "Y/n, you have failed to meet the expectations of the Red Room."

"That's enough," A voice with chilling authority causes every head to turn.

The room goes silent. The General approaches, his gait slow and deliberate, his eyes never leaving yours. He looks down at you, his face betraying no emotion.

"She's my best girl. She deserves a second chance," He states.

"With all due respect, General, I believe she is a liability. Her disobedience is a threat to the program."

The General doesn't flinch. "Let me worry about that," He says. His tone is firm, but there's a hint of something else—an underlying anger that's impossible to miss. "I've already given my orders. Y/n is a valuable asset. She's not going anywhere."

Madam B's expression remains unchanged, but there's a subtle shift in the energy of the room. She gives a curt nod, her displeasure evident.

"Yes, sir," She replies, her tone clipped.

Natasha feels like she can finally breathe again, the tension in the room dissipating.

"As for the rest of you," The General continues. "This is your first and final warning. Don't disappoint me."

With those words, he turns and leaves, his footsteps echoing through the silent room.

The moment he's gone, Madam B snaps back into action, barking orders and arranging the next fight. Natasha can't help but look at you again. She wants to reach out and help, but something holds her back. You're a liability.

And for some reason, Natasha doesn't want to be caught in the crossfire.