#functioning labels cw

[roguelibrarian]

if you spend any time at all in autistic spaces you'll at some point hear some version of the phrase "'high functioning' means your needs get ignored and 'low functioning' means your strengths get ignored" and it drives me up the fucking wall because if you're labeled as "low functioning" your needs also get ignored

[lytefoot]

lytefoot overthinks Camp Damascus, part 1 of many

In today's installment of Overthinking Camp Damascus (which is something I'm probably going to be posting a lot about over the next couple of weeks), I'm thinking about why Rose is 20.

Rose Darling, the protagonist of Camp Damascus, has recently turned 20 and is a senior in high school. From a Watsonian (that is, in-story) perspective, this is a result of her religious upbringing: she belongs to a sect in which children take two year-long breaks from secular education to focus on intensive study of religious principles. But I'm thinking about why it was written that way, that is, about why Rose is 20 from a Doylist perspective.

Part of the Doylist reason is that the timeline of her history really needs her to be older than 18, so that there's time for certain things to have happened, but also her power dynamic with her parents requires that she be in the limbo between childhood and adulthood that is the period between turning 18 and graduating from high school.

But I think there's more to it than that. Rose has a specific kind of high masking, "high functioning" autistic experience that I find incredibly relatable. (As an aside, I understand the objections to the use of functioning labels, but I find "high functioning" incredibly useful to describe parts of my own experience, and to distinguish those experiences as not universal among autistic people.)

At any rate, part of that experience is constantly being The Wrong Age. It's about being constantly both ahead of and behind your theoretical peers. It's about people making assumptions about where you are on your life's journey that are always, always wrong because a lot of the time, you're not even in the same place as yourself.

Rose is 20, but she's a senior in high school. Her parents feel that she should be nearly ready to start a family, but rarely allow her to attend "mixed" parties. At the party, everyone agrees that even though she's two years older than her grade, she's assuredly a virgin (and the other teens tell each other as though this is something to be ashamed of).

Her parents value her encyclopedic knowledge within constrained bounds, but treat her insatiable curiosity as a sin. They value her facility with rote performance except when she does it only to please herself. Rose has the experience that I did as an autistic kid who was good at math and science during the cold war. Your remarkable abilities are valuable, provided you aim them in the direction we want them aimed and don't waste your powers elsewhere, and don't you dare act like you're disabled in any way, or indeed like you have needs at all apart from your utility.

And part of that experience is never being the right age. Rose being 20 but being in high school but being fluent in Latin but attacking every question analytically but memorizing facts about death in search of comfort but creating her own bible verses when she finds the ones she knows inadequate but recalling the pharmacology of epinephrine to try to master her situation while dying embodies that feeling so well.

Thank you for coming to my TED talk.

[psychotic-tbh]

I saw a notification replying to a post I may have reblogged(?) but I can’t find this reply in the notes/reblogs of any recent posts for one reason or another

Either way, I just want to put this out there: I don’t support the terms “high/low functioning” as I understand its implications of “aspie supremacy” as some call it, and the perpetuation of stigma relating to neurodivergence.

(Note: I say “neurodivergence” rather than simply saying “autism” because I have seen allistic folks or folks with other neurodivergences—autistic or not—describe their conditions/neurodivergence as “high functioning”)

“High/Medium/Low Support Needs” is an excellent alternative I’ve seen, and I much prefer supporting these terms rather than “low/high functioning” labels

Anyway, I understand that I haven’t said it before, so I’m saying it now /nm

[ghostscrown]

Having to say to doctors I'm "high functioning autistic" just so they believe me a little more about my completely unrelated and kinda worrying heart pain is wild as hell

[sluttypatrickstar]

the absolute state of reddit that i said i thought we should focus on helping and supporting autistic people and making the world more accessible to them instead of laser-focusing on trying to find a hypothetical cure, and people fucking jumped on me for it 😭😭 accused me of being selfish and i had a non-autistic person continually discount my lived autistic experience because they decided i had “mild” autism

people want to make themselves feel better by deciding we need a cure for autism and citing “severe” autistics or a non-verbal nephew or something, but when i suggest improving quality of life for autistic people NOW, they get angry. for them it’s not about trying to help and support autistic people, it’s about trying to get rid of autistic people. support your family member or whoever as they ARE; stop imagining a hypothetical world where they’re someone else.

i rly don’t care to get into the depths of arguing about a “cure”, i’m just shocked as to how much people hated the idea of like... implementing support for autistic people. and i can’t believe i got called selfish for that.

[cleanestkittyspams]

worried about faking how severe my autism is. dunno how to know im not just pretending? been diagnosed with autism almost my whole life. was diagnosed with ‘high functioning’ ,am level 2. but regression i think. its hit hard. am verbal flux? think? or semiverbal????

been masking most of my life until year or so ago, am too tired to do a lot of things, been through a lot past few years, but worried family will think am putting it on. even though they are nice to me and know about autism to extent

worried other autistic will think am putting it on?

bee needs to think about it from outsider view and love self. 🩷

[hotteoki]

sending bf ateez their own memes !

pairing: ot8 x reader (no prns used)

genre: fluff, smau, est. rel.

cw, wc: /

notes: if you noticed i've been using fake text apps instead of the actual one no you haven't (i hate using these apps but i think apple removed the function to text yourself cause i can't seem to do it anymore without a 'not delivered' symbol)

hongjoong (홍중), seonghwa (성화)

yunho (윤호), yeosang (여상)

san (산), mingi (민기)

wooyoung (우영), jongho (종호)

networks: @kflixnet k-labels kbookshelf neverendingdreams-net straykidsland @k-films @pirateeznet

[klausinamarink]

The Only Sounds Are His Heart and Music

rating: T | cw: mentions of Vecna nightmares and near-death experience | wc: 893 | tags: established relationship, canon divergence, hurt/comfort | prompt: Love is the perfect mixtape/Love is the heartbeat I can feel when I hug him

written for @steddielovemonth

-

Heavy silence filled the trailer, not even the barking of the neighbours' dogs or the rattling winds dared to break inside. It was as if all sounds from the outside world had been snuffed out, putting the residents into a solitary confinement room. It would've been unnerving if the Steve wasn't pressing his ear against Eddie's chest where his heart thudded loudly.

Ba-bump. Ba-bump.

Eddie was still alive.

Steve swallowed another lump down his throat, wincing slightly as he did. When Eddie had gone white-eyed and later floated in the air, Steve screamed so loud out he nearly shredded his throat. He had no idea how much it hurt to speak until after the music worked and Wayne Munson demanded an explanation for his nephew's apparent possession that when Steve had tried to explain, barely a wheezing sob came out. Dustin and the other kids had taken over as storytellers of the Upside Down while Steve held a heaving Eddie in his hold.

Eddie was breathing normally now as if he was sleeping. But Steve knew from his tense body that Eddie was still wide awake. His fingers kept twitching from squeezing Steve's biceps to twisting the wires of his headphones where Dio's Hungry For Heaven blared out to gripping the blankets around them. It was close to his usual manic energy but more subdued. Terrified as if everything he touched was even real.

Whoever the hell this Vecna guy was, Steve was ready bash his brains out with his nail bat.

Ba-bump. Ba-bump. Ba-babump.

Eddie's heartbeat stayed the same but Steve caught the moment it started to quicken. Steve squeezed his arms around Eddie's torso and nuzzled his face against the chest. He wanted to kiss his boyfriend so badly but Steve couldn't bare to let go and let the sound of his heart vanish from his functional ear.

He felt Eddie shuddering out a breath before his arms began to wrap around Steve's shoulders. Eddie sniffed and pressed his face on the top of Steve's head.

Nestled between them, Hungry For Heaven faded away but the Walkman kept whirring. And then, very clearly, Eddie My Love by The Chordettes started playing.

Steve blinked down at the Walkman with a mix of confusion and bubbling fear. He knew that Lucas was the one who managed to snagged the right tape to save Eddie during the panic, but for a terrifying moment, he wondered if Lucas made a mistake. "What the-"

He looked up when he heard Eddie snorting. For the first time since he had safely fell back to the ground, Eddie was cracking a smile. "I thought Vecna was going to snatch me again when that played after Dio. Turns out that it's my second favourite song." He lifted the Walkman up to the streams of the moonlight so Steve could peer closely at the cassette's label. His heart leapt up to his throat when he recognized the tiny heart doodles over his own handwriting.

Eddie's VERY METAL Mixtape

The whoosh of air escaping Steve's lips might've been a sigh or some poor attempt of a laugh. Either way, relief flowed from him, top to bottom. He dropped his head onto Eddie's chest again, almost headbutting the chin. "Jesus" he murmurs soft enough that it doesn't agitate his throat, "we should give Sinclair a fruit basket."

"A truck full of them. Freshly produced from sweet Alabama." Eddie adds cheekily.

They chuckle together before falling back to silence, barely accompanied by the faint vocals.

Ba-bump. Ba-bump.

Steve waits for another minute before he breaks it with a quiet question, "Are you okay, Eds?"

It's a stupid question, but Steve just wanted to hear his honesty. No person can handle the massive guilt of letting Chrissy Cunningham go home after a little freakout over the drug she wanted, only for her body to be broken beyond recognition by an unseen force in front of her parents, or be tormented alone by painful headaches and nightmares before nearly dying, or the sudden revelation that your secret boyfriend and his little gaggle of kids have been fighting monsters of an alternate dimension for years.

Eddie gave out a drawn-out sigh before he answers, "Not really. Feeling like shit but I can't sleep."

The Chordettes come to a sweet end before being inappropriately followed up by Black Sabbath's Die Young. It made Steve shrivel on the inside. He wished he could pummel his past self for including that song in the tape. But if Eddie was bothered, he didn't show it. Still-

"You're going to fine." Steve whispers harshly. His face is close up to Eddie now, his hand pressing against the other man's heart. "As long as you keep listening to our tape, we're gonna figure out to kick Vecna's ass. You will live."

Ba-bump. Ba-bump.

Eddie's eyes glistened. Steve flipped the both of them over, careful not to crush the Walkman, allowing Eddie much more room to crawl further up and bury himself into Steve's tight embrace. Eddie's face pressed into Steve's neck, already soaking his skin with tears. It doesn't bother Steve at all. His hands rubbed his boyfriend's back in smoothing circles. Steve brought his mouth to Eddie's temple first before moving to his ear, quietly repeating "you will live" over and over.

Steve prayed for it to be true.

Ba-bump. Ba-bump.

[eternal-kosmo-ghoul]

Hi there!

I saw that your requests are open :D

May I ask for hcs or a little scenario, if you wish, of how Swiss and Mountain would react to seeing reader (he/they pronouns, if possible) up really really late because of nightmares and insomnia? I’m thinking about fluff and platonic relationships! (Cuddles? Little kisses? Yes please)

Thank you so much for your time and for your writing! writing! 🖤

❝kiss the nightmares away❞

➵ “i’ll be your little sunshine.” —❤︎

pairing: swiss and mountain x male!reader (he/they)

theme: fluff ✿

a/n: first of all, i hope you’re doing well hon, i hope this fic can soothe some potential nerves you have there <3 i hope this fic met your standards. and tbh it can be read as platonic or romantic so i didn’t use the platonic tag

cw: insomnia sucks, that’s really it. swiss and mountain are very caring for the reader here

┅✦┅

his head hurt so much.

normally, the insomnia never got this bad— but tonight was a particularly shitty night. not only was his day at the ministry rather rough, but y/n had just experienced a chilling nightmare that still sent shivers down his spine— which only worsened the effects of their sleep condition.

it was anything but pleasant, but he hates to say that this wasn’t the first time this has happened.

insomnia was a bitch, but they have grown accustomed to dealing with it on their own— even if it sucked.

sighing heavily, y/n’s feet carried him through the ministry halls and into the kitchen, in hopes to find a snack that’ll soothe his mind and hopefully calm his nerves down.

the fridge door swung open and y/n grabbed the nearest thing on the shelf, not even bothering to look at what he had just grabbed— or the label for that matter.

just as y/n was about to open whatever container he snagged— the sound of someone clearing their throat made y/n whip his head around to find the source of the sound.

“you know you’re holding a jar of mayonnaise, right, sweetie?”

confused, y/n turned his head to the entrance of the kitchen, and was met with a familiar multi ghoul leaning against the door frame. swiss, with his arms crossed, looked at them in an almost amused manner.

y/n looked down at his hands to see that he was indeed, holding a jar of mayonnaise. he didn’t even notice, he was probably way too tired to even function. sighing heavily, he opened the fridge and put it back inside.

“sorry, i didn’t notice.” y/n responded, looking downcast to avoid swiss’ gaze

“i can tell.” swiss replied back with a cheeky tone, before he made his way over to y/n. he could already tell something was up.

“so what are you doing up so late?” swiss asked, his tone of voice shifting into a more caring one. y/n didn’t respond, his silence was already a good enough answer for swiss, and the multi ghoul sighed.

“that bad, huh?”

“it’s always bad, swiss. but tonight has just really fucked me over.”

swiss let out another heavy breath of concern, and brought his large, clawed hand to gently rub y/n’s back— who was currently hunched over the kitchen island, head bent down. it was the most he could do to comfort the poor boy.

at that moment, heavy, but gentle footsteps, made their way into the kitchen, causing both y/n and swiss to look over at the kitchen.

it was mountain. he must’ve heard one of them come down to the kitchen. tilting his head in confusion, he turned to swiss.

“what’s going on?” the earth ghoul asked, almost innocently.

“insomnia is kicking y/n’s ass again.” swiss replied back, his tail flicking a bit as he spoke. he then went back to rubbing y/n’s back.

“damn right it is.” y/n groaned out, his forehead resting against the table as he just let swiss rub his back.

mountain just let out an ‘ah’ at Swiss’ answer. he felt bad for the poor boy, he knew how bad insomnia could get at times. all he knew now was that y/n needed some comfort.

the drummer turned to look at the vocalist, and the two exchanged a knowing look before nodding at each other. at that moment, the earth ghoul scooped up y/n in his strong arms, cradling him like a baby— which made them yelp from the sudden change.

“what the—!? hey what are you guys doing??” y/n asked almost suspiciously, wondering what in hell these two ghouls had in mind.

“what do you think, honey?” swiss said from behind mountain, peeking over the earth ghoul’s shoulder to look at y/n. “we’re going to help you.”

it wasn’t long until the trio reached mountain’s room. y/n breathed in the fresh aroma of healing herbs and fresh water, must’ve been from the decorative plants in mountain’s room.

being the gentle giant he was, mountain carefully placed y/n on the center of his queen sized bed, and it wasn’t long until the two ghouls were all over y/n.

swiss was cuddled up on the right side of y/n’s body, his head buried under the curve of their neck, while his arms proceeded to wrap around y/n’s waist and his legs tangled in the other’s. mountain then moved to y/n’s left side, his chest pressing against the smaller boy’s back softly while he draped his long arms over y/n’s and swiss’ bodies to move them closer to him. the earth ghoul’s tail was also wrapped around y/N’s leg affectionately.

the position was… oddly comfortable, and it was quite serene too. it put y/n’s mind at ease, and his muscles visible relaxed after being stiff for so long. both swiss and mountain took notice of this, and started to purr lovingly— the vibrations of their purrs only serving to further heal y/n.

“this is nice…” y/n muttered out softly, to which swiss chuckled slightly.

“told ya we’d help, pretty boy.” swiss teased back slightly, making y/n only rolled his eyes at him.

“oh shut up.” they retorted, eliciting a chuckle from mountain, who rested his chin on top of y/n’s head.

“alright, simmer down you two. i think we all need to sleep. especially you, y/n.” mountain said with a more firm, but soft tone, making both swiss and y/n nod.

swiss couldn’t resist, but he pressed a soft kiss onto y/n’s cheek to help comfort him, which in turn made them giggle from the ticklish feeling. mountain let out another chuckle and placed a kiss on top of y/n’s head, purring softly right after.

y/n definitely wasn’t expecting his night to go like this. being pulled into a cuddle pile with the flirty multi ghoul, swiss— and the sweet and gentle earth ghoul, mountain.

his insomnia was definitely bad.

but these two ghoul’s provided enough comfort for him to make him feel safe.

and that feeling was enough to allow his mind drift off into a dreamless, but peaceful sleep, appreciating the warmth of another’s arms.

[qprconcepts]

I do not mean to be rude but I wish to ask, how are these not romantic relationships? They function in almost exactly the same way.

Hi!

This is a question many ask, and there’s various different answers and reasons that people will give but i think the overall answer to your question is the intention BEHIND the functions. some categorize it as not being entirely platonic and not entirely romantic either.

queer platonic relationships differ couple to couple, the meaning is similar since it also differs. that also means what happens within the relationship will differ. i.e. some queer platonic partners kiss, while others may not. it can even be that some do not cuddle, but while this can happen in a romantic relationship, the distinction is what matters for some.

It is the same concept that comes from knowing you want a relationship to be platonic, or romantic. somepeople will know when they want to label themselves as queer platonic.

It really just comes down to the choice of the couple/people.

cw sex mention under more !

i personally have multiple queer platonic partners because I am committed to them and our relationships but we do not kiss or engage in any sexual activity. this distinction matters to me, it lets me know they are also committed to the relationships we’ve built, in my case, more than just platonically.

(someone please correct me if i’m wrong and or add onto what i’ve said. (personal opinions appreciated))

[xxstraymoonchildxx]

This Couple is Unusual

Prologue / Next

Chapter 1: This Couple, negotiating

cw: none

As Charles Dickens once put it: “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times”.

The both of you sat in a horse carriage, cars being still not too common around that day, and looked outside the busy street.

England in the nineteenth century was a sight to behold. In awe you watched the people walking down the streets, clad in Victorian fashion - the men in suits, top hats (hopefully without mercury), and walking canes; women in long modest dresses with hoop skirts or bustles underneath giving a distinct shape and various little hats on skillfully made hair. You fit in perfectly with the clothes Asmodeus provided you with. Satan was dressed to the nines, the striped pine green waistcoat over the pristine white, high-collared shirt hugged his muscular frame nicely; the dark coat he wore fluttered slightly behind him when he walked (he couldn’t help himself and only wore one sleeve, the other draped over his shoulder casually). The ascot around his neck matched his black pants and shiny dress shoes. You matched him well - the bodice underneath the dress - white with pine green stripes - emphasized your waist but wasn’t too tight; the long-sleeved waistcoat had frills in the front that opened under the bust like a curtain and ended in your back with a large bow. Around your neck was a necklace with a cat pendant Satan gifted you for your last birthday. 

All that being said sadly didn't distract you from the fact that it smelled so bad. 

Occasionally little boys ran onto the bumpy roads, scooping up what the horses left behind. (You hoped none of those children would get themselves hurt or worse.) Not only that, the industrial smoke carried over from the factories, and people still threw things into the Thames that didn’t belong there (mainly human and industrial waste, and unsurprisingly the occasional corpse)

“I am grateful we didn’t visit London during the summer of 1858,” Satan stated after he saw you wrinkle your nose in displeasure ”I've read about it recently, it was labeled the Great Stink. There were various artists depicting their idea of a shinigami riding along the Thames during that time.”

“Guess it was easier to drop everything into the river. I can’t believe the working class had to bathe in that polluted water, like, eww. Bet Barbatos would've gotten a heart attack from those rats running around if he was with us.” 

Satan hummed in response, looking back outside the window.

You passed the central street that had various shops aligned next to each other.  Somewhere had to be one of the subsidiaries of the sorcerer's society where you would meet one of your teacher’s acquaintances, Viscount Laurent Cavendish who was responsible for the finances there. He was the son of a vineyard owner who made business with high society and offered wine tastings, perfect for making strong connections.

Satan helped you out of the carriage, the strong grip he had on your waist made your cheeks turn pink. The coachman handed you your luggage and wished you a nice day. 

The subsidiary looked like every other building in the business area, disguised as a bank (and also functioning like one for cover). You went inside, walking to the front desk of the entrance hall. An elderly gentleman sat behind the oak table.

“Good afternoon, how may I help you?” he asked politely. You took out the letter from Solomon stored inside your bag, handing it over while introducing Satan and yourself. The man’s eyes widened, looking at the demon in surprise, then back to you. “We need to speak to Viscount Cavendish as soon as possible.” He nodded and made a quick phone call with a hushed voice. Not even a minute later you were escorted to Cavendish’s office.

You expected Laurent Cavendish to be a middle-aged man but you were mildly surprised to have someone sitting in an office chair who can’t be older than thirty. Auburn hair framed his oval in a style that reminded you of Mephistopheles and dark blue eyes looked up from his paperwork to eye you thoroughly. Come to think of it, the way he looks at you, judgingly, reminds you a bit too much of the aristocrat demon. He signed you to take the two seats in front of his desk.

“I’ve never expected this shady man to get himself an apprentice. Say, is his cooking still as horrendous?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“Nearly killed me once.”

Cavendish sent you a crooked smile, just for a split second, before leaning back in his armchair, folding his slender hands. Back to business. “So, what brings you here? I assume you aren’t interested in opening a bank account.”

“We are interested in the Whitechapel Murders. We plan on acting as reporters from a foreign country. Unfortunately, we don’t have the proper connections in the Londoner scene,” Satan answered and you continued “But my teacher recommended you, Viscount, saying you’re a powerful man in the Sorcerer’s Society and Londoner Underworld”

You hoped to tickle his ego to the best of your abilities. To drive it home, you opened your suitcase - enchanted so you can put as much as you want in it like in the RPGs Leviathan often plays with you; basically unlimited inventory space - and brought out a gift box, addressed towards the man in front of you and put it on his desk. “We can pay you for your troubles, of course”

Curiously Cavendish opened the present, hummed with a twinkle in his eyes, and closed it again. 

“Very well. The murders are all over the newspapers but Scotland Yard is, unsurprisingly, still clueless. Our Society isn’t interested in the case per se, but of course, we are up to date about everything even if we don’t involve ourselves in such … events. The victims are brought to the funeral parlor Undertaker; the owner is involved with the underworld as well and is a reliable informant, despite his unique personality. I’m also acquaintances with one of the Yard’s chief staff, Sir Redcliff. Although I’d advise you strictly to be discrete with any valuable information.”

Satan looked at you and nodded. Cavendish took a sip of his tea after this long monologue. “I’ll provide you with the necessities and wish you all the best. Please wait in the entrance hall. My secretary will bring it to you once I am finished.”

After shaking hands with him, or rather with Satan, you were escorted outside. But not without his calling something out to you right before the door closes:

“Beware the Queens Watchdog, Earl Phantomhive!”

“Well, that went smoothly,” Satan said, guiding you inside the called carriage. The Viscount supplied you with a hotel reservation as well as various objects for bribing purposes - like a bottle of expensive wine for the Yard and credentials. “He must be quiet in debt with Solomon to go for such length. I wonder what was in the present you gave him” You thought about it for a moment “Eh, I guess some rare ingredients or magical items. I didn’t look inside.” The blond demon let out a laugh “I am surprised, by how noisy you usually are”

“Hey!”

Half an hour later, you arrived at the hotel. It was nothing too fancy from the outside, a two-star equivalent from your own time maybe? You stood before the entrance door when you suddenly heard a gentle meowing noise. 

Satan was quick as always, crouching down to pet the little creature in front of him “Are you all alone?” he cooed, petting the few-month-old kitten. In the blink of an eye, not two, but three and four emerged around the corner. You watched it with a grin. 

//What magnificent creatures. What an adorable little family~// Blushing, he played with the litter of cats. He didn’t hear the sound of protest from around the corner.

It wasn’t until another set of hands appeared in his line of sight. He looked up, staring into a pair of reddish-brown eyes. 

Bonus:

Earlier that day:  Y/N: Okay, we should change into more time period-appropriate clothes *takes off top* Satan: HOLD U-!

__________________________________________________

Finally done it. Had like no time to write last week thanks to being short-staffed.I might edit something in case I notice spelling mistakes. I usually use Grammarly but it doesn't catch everything.

[disabled-sysboxes]

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Zionists

Anyone who believes in cluster a / b / c abuse

Anyone who believes that alters can have disabilities / disorders the body doesn't (i.e one alter having BPD but the rest of the system doesn't). Alters can hold symptoms and show off more obvious traits than others, but the entire system has the disorder.

[imnotpayingforurtherapy]

Okay hot take

Can people start using the functions on apps for their actual purpose

Like if your posting nsfw, put a break before the art work and label the post as mature. There's minors on this app but even if there weren't forcing people to look at porn is disgusting

This goes for Spoiler warnings and Tw/Cw too

add a break so people choose whether to look at it or not

Ive seen some genuinely triggering stuff on here and had some if my favorite mangas spoiled because people don't know how to sensor shit

and the

"spolier

.

.

." Doesn't cut it

USE BREAKS OH MY FUCKING GOD

THIS IS HOW IT SHOULD LOOK

[syncopein3d]

@whumppromptoftheday This is from your prompt!

CW: badly injured whumpee, implied past violence, robbery, begging.

Broken World

1. Rescue

The Ripper stepped out of a violent tear in reality and into a dark hall. The rift in this universe annealed itself almost immediately, the maddening uncolors of the Other Place quickly vanishing. Then Ripper had to bend almost double for a moment, swallowing the taste of blood as they waited for the pain to stop. They didn’t make a noise. They’d learned not to do that a long time ago.

It was hard to get carnite. A lot of it had been mined out, and it was the source of one of only a few ways to permanently alter the function of metapowers without removing them. It was therefore tremendously valuable. The cache supposedly being kept here in Registered Metahuman Team 99B’s base was said to weigh five kilos and be worth about a billion dollars.

Ripper snorted back more blood inside the medical mask. Real costumes were for people who wanted to be on the news. Ripper was wearing gray sweats and a dingy white tank top with a black hoodie. Their mask was just a black N-95. They weren’t even wearing real shoes. They had tabi socks with lightly textured soles, almost noiseless on the institutional tile floor as they walked down the hall. Their gray backpack was the most expensive thing on them, metal-less, high-density ceramic zippers only.

All the lights were out because nobody was here. The Ninety-Nines were at a parade doing security for the mayor or someone. Ripper didn’t know who and didn’t have a reason to care. The important thing was that Silverant and Teledyne weren’t here, no annoyingly perky speedster, no super strong asshole who could break Ripper’s spine with a tiny finger-flick. None of the others were that dangerous to someone quiet and careful, Ripper told itself.

The ventilation hummed constantly, but the heat felt like it wasn’t doing much. The air was cold. The Ripper knew they were four stories below ground; they needed really precise imaging to get into somewhere they’d never been. It hadn’t been cheap, either. Not many people had been down here on the Vault level. The rooms on either side had little windows in their heavy steel doors. Ripper peeked in all of them until it found the one that looked like a biology lab more than a place to keep rocks: microscopes, fridges, centrifuges. A good look from the door was enough.

Ripper stepped back and reached into the world inside itself and tore it open, clawing at their chest. Their hands went from brown to light blue to flat black as they exhaled into a silent scream. Inside became outside, and now they were in the Other Place, grasping in front of them to tear at the membrane of something made of colors that weren’t real and didn’t make sense. They had to get out before they could focus on the idea that they weren’t real here, either, or it might stop existing before it could get through.

The membrane tore, burning and wet under their fingers, and they slid out into the glittering dark of the lab. They stifled a cough. There was no recording equipment this far down, but it felt so loud in the quiet.

They turned on the overhead lights and rifled all the cupboards. Nothing was locked, not a good sign. And while they were reading the labels on all the little shelves above the counter, someone made a noise.

Ripper froze.

It happened again. Someone had made a sort of whimpering moan that ended in a gasp, like maybe they’d breathed too deep and it hurt. It came from behind one of three doors in the back of the lab. These had bigger windows in them, laced with a diamond pattern of metal reinforcement, so it could see that two were empty. All of them were bolted shut.

In the third one, there was a man tied to a steel chair.

Ripper stood there staring, still swallowing blood inside the mask. That was normal. This wasn’t.

He was middle sized, dark haired, not as brown as the Ripper. He’d been in decent shape before someone beat him with… Ripper measured the size of their own fist with the bruises on his naked belly. The knuckle marks were bigger. Was that Teledyne, Ripper wondered, just pulling his punches? The man’s eyes were swollen, and there was a cut above one eye that had matted his eyebrow and blinded him with blood.

The blood looked sticky and half-crusted. Around his nose it was still red, in horrid congealed bits atop the black. It had taken longer to dry up. His eyes couldn’t be seen at all between the swelling and the dim overhead light. His cheeks were deeply hollow. Bands of muscle pulled tight and stringy across his ribs. A blow had left a mark there, black and blue and swollen. Ripper realized that some of the marks were yellow around it, and tried not to gag as they realized why, that someone had waited for the bruises to fade a little and then hit him there again. Cuts around his jaw showed someone had shaved him carelessly, and a deep shadow said it hadn’t been today. His light gray sweats were spotted with blood drips. His feet looked almost black. They had no toenails.

Hairs stood all the way up along Ripper’s spine. It almost cut and ran right then, but a billion was a lot, and maybe this man knew where it was kept. So instead they unbolted both bolts and opened the door. A thin slice of bright light seemed to hit him like a blow; he jerked back, turning his face away as he wheezed. Ripper heard him swear under his breath.

“I won’t hurt you,” Ripper said. “I’m not one of them.” Their voice sounded rough. It usually did. But it didn’t sound like anyone else’s voice. The man looked around, squinting at the bright light.

“For God’s sake, turn that off,” he said. The Ripper went to turn off the lab lights and came back.

“Tell me where the carnite is and I’ll take you with me,” Ripper said.

“Untie me and I’ll show you,” he said. It took him a couple of tries to get that all out.

The Ripper considered that, looking him over from under their hood. He wasn’t too big. Ripper was taller. And he was in bad, bad shape. Maybe he wouldn’t try anything dumb.

“Yeah, all right.” It walked around to look at the back of the chair. The man’s wrists were zip-tied to each other and the middle bar of the tall chair-back. He had pulled hard enough to make them bleed, but not too recently. The blood had dried all the way. The Ripper pulled at them slightly, getting them off his skin a tiny bit.

“Hold still.” The smallest tear between its fingertips, the smallest gate to the Other Place, separated the plastic like it had been cut. They did it again at the ankles, one by one. THAT didn’t hurt enough to matter. There was only a faint looming shadow for warning before the man crumpled forward. Ripper grabbed at his waist as his cheek smacked into Ripper’s shoulder.

“Hey, careful!”

“Stronger than you look,” the man mumbled, groping weakly at Ripper’s upper arms as he knelt there. He stank of old blood and sweat. “Tha’s good, cause you’re gon’ have to help me walk.”

“Yeah, fine. Come on.” Between the two of them, they managed to get him mostly upright, leaning on Ripper with his arm drawn across its shoulder. “Okay, where’s the carnite?”

“Can you really gemme out of here?” he asked.

“Sure. Organic bodies are easy enough. The Other Place doesn’t like metal, though. You have a pacemaker or anything? Fillings?” He didn’t seem to have any jewelry.

“Nah,” the man said. He wheezed every time he breathed.

“Then no problem. Where’s the carnite?”

“There’s’s secret panel,” the man said. “Kick th’ wall by the blood fridge. That one.” He pointed weakly at a chest-high fridge with a clear front and rows and rows of vials. The Ripper hauled him over there and kicked at the wall with a heel in the spot where there was a smudge. Something hissed, and the panel popped forward and to the side in one abrupt movement.

Inside was a niche with a couple of shelves. There was a green gemstone as big as the Ripper’s fist, a pair of vials of red and blue liquid, and a steel case with a couple of wire fasteners like an ammo box.

The Ripper lowered the man to sit on the floor and reached in to get the case.

“It doesn’t feel like five kilos,” the Ripper said.

“More like four and a half. They. They’b. Been powdering it,” the man said, leaning against the blood fridge with his swollen eyes mostly shut. “So they c’n inject me.”

“What’s your meta?” the Ripper asked, popping the case open. Crushed stone lay in a fat cottony lining. It was the color and sheen of gore. When they poked it, it felt like shards of rock all right, but it was disturbingly warm to the touch. Their stomach turned over. This was it.

“I heal fast. Blood makes other people heal fast, too,” he said. “They said, they.” He stopped to breathe as Ripper closed the case. It turned to look at him.

“They said what?” it asked, a little more gently. They didn’t stop the process of shoving the baggy lining full of carnite into their backpack and zipping it up. They put the empty metal case back.

“Said one more treatment and it won’t. Wear off. Please,” he said. His head swayed as he tried to find Ripper’s face in the shade under their hood. “Don’ leave me here. I can help you. You’re sick, right? Y’sound sick.”

Ripper wasn’t sure he was even telling the truth.

He’d told the truth about the carnite, though. Who cared if he could heal or not? They had what they’d come for. And it would probably piss the Ninety-Nines off not knowing where he’d gone AND losing their cache of the most valuable mineral on the planet.

“You know what, fuck the 99B’s,” Ripper said. “I need both my hands, so you have to hold onto me, all right? Hang on tight.” It grabbed the man’s hands and pulled them around its waist as it turned around, kneeling on the floor. They could feel him resting his face against the backpack, each breath still wheezy and labored.

“Are you a man or a woman?” he asked.

“No,” the Ripper said, and tore the world open.

Part 2 here

[mamabearwonders]

Forgotten Victims of the Holocaust 🪽: Functioning Labels Origin. Memory eternal. 🕊️ 🕯️

CW ~ N@zi Germany, e@genics, ableism

Do you recognize these people? Perhaps they could be your neighbor, your friend, your coworker, your cousin. Maybe they liked gardening, music, bike rides, getting ice cream in the summer. Had they gotten the chance to live, most of these people would be enjoying their golden years around a fireplace telling stories of the lives that they lived. Unfortunately, most of these people pictured probably did not survive.

In Nazi Germany, you always picture Jewish people. But Nazis also hated disabled and autistic people (some consider it a disability for themselves some do not). The guy who doesn't even deserve behind the Asperger's diagnosis sided with the regime. Now I'm not bashing on anyone that has Asperger's. I'm focusing on the functioning labels.

He ran a clinic. Anyone he considered high functioning who could mask was spared or just painfully hiding autistic traits. Anyone that was considered low functioning was killed because they were deemed unworthy of life. He sent at least 780 kids to the camps. Even today, doctors use low functioning to deny folks with higher support needs accommodations, autonomy and dignity because they don't see them as people.

This is why I don't use functioning labels. I see myself in them. They were literally erased from the pages of history and deserve to be remembered. It wasn't that long ago. Survivors from then are still alive. Very old, but still here. 🌌

[the-masquerade-council]

This term came to me in a dream, so the oddness of it is because of that

Also CW for mentions of: RAMCOA and programming, conditioning, manipulation, "system hacking", and general psychological abuse. Also I could see this being a possible paranoia trigger for some.

So I few nights ago I have a dream that I was scrolling through tumblr(real fun and exciting dream, I know/s) and a found a post making a system term. The term doesn't exist, at least not as it was in the dream. I thought it was interesting and possibly useful label, so I decided to make it real.

The label was "Saw System" and this is what the flag looked like in the dream. I'm having a hard time figuring out how to explain it but. It was basically a umbrella term for systems that initially thought their system formed autonomously/has autonomously developed system functions, but later realized that the system was programmed, conditioned, coerced, or otherwise externally shaped.

This term can also be used by systems that formed autonomously, but were later "hijacked" as a form of psychological abuse. This is kinda a just general word for realizing that there might a reason the narrative of "the system is there to protect you" doesn't feel like it's fully true for your system.

Autonomously formed systems refer to system that without external coaxing. This is NOT to say that nothing cause they to form, but rather they form as a "organic" response and/or coping mechanism to outside events and traumas. As apposed to systems that's formation were cause and guided for the benefit of an outside person or people. The internal structures of autonomous systems tend to all be developed by the brain as a way of protecting the system, there may still be persecutors and dangerous elements of the inner world, but they formed without the coercion of an outside person or group

In the dream, term Saw System was after the film franchise. Because the movie often end with a montage revealing how seemingly disconnected were all part of a larger plan. Alternative names could be "Jigsaw System", "Puzzled System", or "Cultivated System",

Also before ask, yes this term does technically apply to us, no I'm not gonna say more about that on this post.

So I made my own versions of the flag from the dream, they're just the different Complex Dissociative Disorder(CDD) flags, but with puzzle pieces being removed and color shifted version underneath. This is to represent both puzzling out what has been done, and hope to be able to undo harmful internal structures that were put in place.

These three are general CDD flags: X X X

Dissociative Identity Disorder(DID) versions

Flags: X X

(Technically the white, orange, and black flag was made to a general system flag, but now it is more used as a DID specific flag)

Highly Complex Dissociative Identity Disorder/Externally Controlled Dissociative Identity Disorder/Programmed Dissociative Identity Disorder(HC-DID/EC-DID/PR-DID), I feel like this is kinda obvious, but if weren't programmed do not use this flag specifically. Just because a system was coerced into forming does NOT inherently mean they were programmed.

Flag: X

Other Specified Dissociate Disorder(OSDD). A general OSDD flag and the OSDD-1 flag

Flags: X X

Other Specified Dissociate Disorder(OSDD) -1A and -1b

Flags: X X

Unspecified Dissociate Disorder(U(s)DD) system

Flag: X

Partial Dissociative Identity Disorder(P-DID)

Flag: X X