#selectively mute character

[clinko]

Umma --- Student, Traitor, Badass

Why did you become a reaper Umma?

"To prove a point."

[hybridequalist]

At long last, it's out. I had to save this draft from the Ao3 shutdown, but thankfully it's all still here.

Previous Chapter (tumblr link)

Taglist (you can be added upon request):  @ sesquipedalian-aficionado   @nesli26, @manga-crazy, @venomemes, @galleyleelol, @makingtimemine, @jackie-sugarskull, @nightshade7117, @skysthelimit291, @randomshizzles101, @inumorph, @snow-massacre, @phantom-fangirl-stuff, @pixellated-sparks, @vsalamandor2, @otaku-mai, @snarky-badger​

                                            ************************

It was a weird feeling to be visiting one of the exam rooms in the hospital while off the clock--it was like you were playing pretend, sitting on the exam table like any other patient as if you didn't mop these floors or empty the trash cans regularly. Even weirder to be with someone who was not only ready for but expecting their thoughts to be read.

"I'm not going to lie to you, this was actually pretty open and shut in terms of examination," Dr Dan remarked, pulling out the MRI images from his folder.  "There was no damage that we could detect from your fall."

"No signs of any contact with a symbiote either. Can't say I understand the specific neurology of how it happened, but the connection you experienced with him left no physical impact."

How was he so good at communicating on two fronts? He couldn't have had practice with it--you didn't get the impression Dr. Dan had regular superhuman contact (leaving out Venom and Eddie). Maybe it had to do with how much he had going on in his head; he was an observer and was always analyzing stuff.

"There was one thing I took note of that I wanted to bring up, however," he continued aloud, picking up one of the printouts and placing it on a clipboard. He pointed to a specific gray spot, near the lower middle of the brain. "This is your amygdala--the 'fear center' of your brain. On most people, it doesn't show up as prominently as this on an MRI."

You held up your hand to stop the doctor and pulled out your phone, checking that the volume was up.

"Is that a problem I need to worry about?" the device vocalized for you.

"Not necessarily; it usually means that your amygdala has increased activation compared to most other patients we scan." Dr. Dan frowned to himself, something occurring to him. "It's not exactly the same, but it does resemble how the amygdala looks in patients with a PTSD diagnosis. However, that isn't something that can be diagnosed by MRI and I am not qualified to make that call regardless. Now, moving on to these other scans..."

He pulled out a few of the printouts, handing them over and waiting expectantly, his face not revealing his giddy excitement. You stared down at the monochrome images of your own brain from multiple angles (though thankfully not a cursed front-facing one), but they looked the same as any you'd ever seen before--they might as well be a stock image used in a medical drama.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what I'm supposed to see in these pictures," you commented, handing back the rectangles of glossy paper.

"That's just it: these are the scans I took while you were actively 'reading my mind'! They look completely normal! It's fascinating!"

"The procedure was similar to brain mapping, which basically tells anyone who knows how to read an MRI what parts of the brain are active at any given moment," he continued aloud, taking back the pictures and rifling through them to pick one in particular. "This one shows that your brain was engaged in the same way as when someone is actively listening to a conversation. But it's this one that's really interesting."

He flipped around another picture and you noticed this one seemed a bit clearer on some brain areas than the other scans you'd looked at.

"This scan, however, is when I asked you to pay attention to the memory. As you can see here--" he lightly touched towards the front part of the brain "--your emotional centers were wholly engaged, borderline hyper-activated which is why they're so clear. The language center is almost completely inactive by comparison."

"Now the exact reasons are a little unclear because there's not exactly any research about 'mind reading', but if I were to hypothesize as to why, I'd say that while passively 'listening' to thoughts, your brain operates like you're listening to a vocal conversation. But when it comes to focusing on a memory, you experience something closer to total empathy--you experience the memories of other people as if living through that experience in reality. When you connected with Venom's memory, you experienced this total empathy with a sapient but entirely non-human organism, meaning that your human sensory understanding of the world clashed with Venom's alien sensory experience, which is probably what caused the mental shock you reported; because Venom doesn't have the same senses as a human being when unbonded, his memory overwhelmed your brain trying to translate the information."

Dan was so excited. This was something new, something that had never been experienced or studied and he was lucky enough to witness it. But he was intentionally repressing that feeling, making a conscious effort to watch your face and remind himself that you were a person who potentially had some trauma mixed in with all the things he found so interesting.

He was really good at his job, unlike many others you could name.

You were in the midst of trying to think of a good response when suddenly your phone began to vibrate aggressively. You rushed to shut it off, feeling an involuntary flush color your body at the sudden interruption.

"I have a trolley to catch," you explained, standing up and gathering your things. "I can't afford to miss my errands before work today."

"It's perfectly alright," Dan assured you, giving a gentle smile. "I'll go ahead and note that you appear in good health, but if anything else comes up, do not be afraid to give me a call--or whatever form of communication suits you best. Eddie knows how to reach me directly if anything concerning develops."

You nodded, staring down at your shoes as you put in your earbuds, starting up music to drown out the thoughts of anyone you might pass--people tended to unconsciously advertise hyper-personal details or very gross things in medical contexts. If you had to "see" one more weird rash secondhand, it would be too soon. Oh yeah, and the small issue of lots of people being in simultaneous pain that made your body ache in sympathy.

Idly, you opened your phone calendar and looked at your list for today's outing, walking through the steps in your head for how to make your afternoon as easy as possible. As you stepped into the lobby, someone shoulder checked you as they went to grab a drink from the water cooler. Not gently either; there was some impact that hinted it might have been intentional.

"Shoot, I'm sorry! Thought I cleared you. Are you okay?"

You glanced whomever had just crashed into you and were met with a wall of pastels--blonde hair streaked with sky blue highlights, a pale yellow tee peeking from under white, sleeveless denim, dotted with vibrant pins of all shades and slogans. Focusing in, you realized that despite the height of your new forced acquaintance, their face was very young--they couldn't be more than sixteen at the oldest.

"I knew I shouldn't have worn heels today! But you're good, right? No injury?"

Nothing they said felt out of place, the tone was an appropriate level of concerned and the volume was just right for a normal conversation, but their thoughts were focused on anything but actual worry for your well-being. They were looking you over with a distinct focus, looking for any exposed skin and trying to strategize how they might be able to make some casual contact without appearing overbearing or drawing attention.

Aware that many eyes were on you and not wanting to draw any suspicion that you were escaping, you waved your hand in a "don't worry about it" way and adjusted one of your earbuds, praying it would be enough to signal that you were going to mind your own business and they should do the same.

Their mind confirmed you had succeeded, but your chest tightened as you felt their determination to put their hand on you spike. It didn't have any obviously malicious undertones--no lust, no violence, no harmful intent--but the simple fact they wanted to make skin-to-skin contact so badly set off all your internal alarm bells. You stumbled a few steps back, creating a gap with one of the waiting room chairs between the two of you, your gaze cataloguing everything you could about this person, determined to give a face to the thoughts that were triggering your flight response--another presence to add to the list of avoidance.

The world began to blur as your brain started to race, feeling an increasing number of thoughts focusing in on the small confrontation unfolding before their eyes. Breathe, you reminded yourself. I can't have a breakdown here.

You didn't care how it looked as you all but fled the hospital lobby--you just needed to GET OUT. The more distance the better. It didn't matter that you were basically blinded by the outdoor sun, you were out of there. You knew you weren't being followed, but the sting of frustration that came from the pastel stranger was plenty to assure you that it had been the right choice to ignore all social graces and follow your gut.

Once the hospital was long out of sight, you took a second to breathe, fighting tears that threatened to escape. You had too much to do and no one was going to cover for you if you lost it--that would require explanations that you couldn't give.

Work was blessedly normal--you had a few sticky notes of things patients had requested you pass on to the nurses (both literally asked and silently craved) and aside from someone accidentally tearing their stitches while stretching, no emergencies. But as you changed the linens on one of the recently vacated beds, the personal radio clipped to your uniform beeped. You frowned as someone spoke through it--the receptionist at the front desk, a friendly part-timer in her 50s named Janice.

"Can you come down to the records room? There's a situation developing."

You pressed the response button in the affirmative pattern--one long call, one short, two long to match the morse code "y"--and left your supplies where they laid to jog towards the room where you'd been summoned.

Janice was pacing by the door, barely dodging out of the way when you came in. Her face was scrunched in worry and she immediately pulled a pen and a scrap of notebook paper out when she laid eyes on you.

"Glad you came quick. There's a guy who came in asking if his girlfriend had been checked in. He gave a description that matched you creepily closely, claimed your last name was hers. Gave off bad vibes something fierce, so I didn't want to confirm anything. He's waiting in reception right now, refused outright to give his name."

The image in her mind was unmistakable: a shorter man, average build--a little on the scrawny side, actually--with a blonde crew cut and hazel eyes that held unmistakable malice.

You thought your stomach had dropped plenty when encountering the pastel stranger. The sight of Mitch at your workplace sent it through the floor.

Janice was still trying to explain what had happened at the desk and how she was trying to buy time, but you grabbed the paper and pen from her hand and scrawled as fast as your hands allowed without tearing through the flimsy surface.

He's bad news. Major bad news for me. Don't tell him I'm here. Long story, but he is not a safe person. I need to report this to Dustin, he'll get a notice to everyone who needs to know.

You shoved the paper back into Janice's hands and jerked the door open, sprinting for the elevators and thanking your lucky stars that the swing shift wasn't over quite yet--Dustin was on that rotation for the month and it would have been a nightmare to contact him if he wasn't onsite.

The administrative offices weren't an area of the hospital you spent a lot of time, but the unfamiliarity of the layout proved no big deal: there were only a handful of people up here and your sixth sense picked up on your handler's thoughts with little effort, serving as a waypoint in the boring, flat colored halls. You entered the office without knocking, setting the deadbolt and pulling the blinds on the small hallway-facing window shut.

"Excuse me, what are you--oh, it's you. Nevermind then; proceed." Dustin--a slightly fat man with a shaved head and square glasses--had jolted to his feet indignantly upon your entry but upon recognizing you, he settled back into his office chair, locking his computer and going to shut off his phone. Of course, you only ever came to see in of your own choice when there was something serious to discuss--and you weren't one to make mountains out of what he might consider molehills.

"A man came here to look for me," you signed, intentionally slowing your pace and giving the hospital admin time to read your signs as he was consistently out of practice. "His name is Mitchell Barrett. He's affiliated with a known agitator group."

"The one mentioned in your files or a separate entity?" Dustin whipped out a pen and began to write down the required incident codes.

"The one in my files, but I don't know if there is still an organized system. His current goals are unknown, but this is the second approach attempt he's made. I don't know how he found out this is my workplace, but I am so far his only target."

Your boss finished taking his notes and sighed heavily. Being a Hospital Admin was a seriously stressful job at times, but having to fulfill his secondary job at the same time? If it wasn't deemed a big enough concern by the USMS, then he'd be in charge of managing the response and with the investigation going on in regards to the--

"If you don't have any more relevant details to report, would you mind not following my thoughts all over the place?" Dustin interrupted, frowning at you. "You're free to clock out if you feel you will be more secure at home, I will excuse the absence as an emergency. I'll also have to pass along the warning to Dr. Joland and the other relevant staff."

Nerves twisted up, mouth dry and cheeks flushed, you stumbled back out of the office, struggling for a moment with the door latch. It hadn't been an intentional move to read Dustin's thoughts, but to be fair he was the only one who would know it was happening: he had a sensitivity for mutant powers that had forced him into the position he currently occupied. As you stepped through the elevator doors, your knees suddenly refused to support you any longer. Your hand dragged across the buttons, lighting up a handful of them as the doors slid shut, slowing your descent and giving time for you to silently weep at the years of your peace that had just ended.

[geeking-n-tweaking]

Unfortunately for the neurotypicals I have watched this movie so he is now autistic by adoption

[cripplecharacters]

I have an autistic level one (low support needs) character that doesn’t speak, but physically can. Just finds it painful (emotionally? not physically) and hard. He was mute before I decided he was autistic, and I want to know if it can be the sole cause for it? I’ve seen a lot of contradicting opinions on what being nonverbal means. He used to speak bc he is physically capable but he got comfortable w himself and others and doesn’t do it anymore, or very rarely. Can this be solely autism-related? I feel like it is not selective mutism because not speaking is simply what they prefers, not something caused by any particular emotion or anxiety. I experience that sometimes and would like to know if it can ever be permanent/full-time and in that case if it can be considered being non-verbal.

Hi,

Autism is definitely a common reason for people to not speak, or to previously have been able to speak but no longer being able to do so, either at all or consistently.

Here's a blog post from Assistiveware, an AAC company, explaining intermittent, unreliable, insufficient, and expensive speech! It has its own resources. To me it seems like your character experiences intermittent or expensive speech — I hadn't heard of expensive speech before, but I knew of the other three — and is therefore semiverbal.

Nonverbal is more for people who don't speak (whether it's because they never do, or cannot), and people can become nonverbal without having been so their whole life. Sometimes it's extended to people who have maybe a couple words, like 1-5.

You could potentially describe your character as 'doesn't speak,' or 'rarely speaks,' and those are perfectly acceptable descriptions, too.

Hope this helps!

– mod sparrow

[dismas-n-dismay]

I need to start seeing Mute Meijack propaganda on the dashboard right now. Don’t care if it’s selective mutism or what but my baby girl is NOT A YAPPER and her being mute and Chilchuck learning sign language for her would absolutely make my day

[potatoesarecheese]

We need more mute characters in fiction

More mute characters in fiction that aren't infantilized or belittled or, god forbid, fixed. Characters that, instead of learning how to talk "normally" learn to stop hating themselves for being different.

Sure, we have the mute characters that physically can't speak, their throat was damaged, their vocal cords were ripped out, they're deaf. All those reasons are great.

But we need more mute characters that can speak, but actually can't in every way that matters. Characters that should be fine but they're not and they don't know what's wrong with them and they're just stuck feeling horrible all the time.

Characters that are trapped inside of their own heads, wanting to scream and speak and be heard, but also unable to because they are terrified of being perceived. because they shouldn't speak. because they won't speak.

Because they dug themselves into a hole but they have no idea what happened how to get back out of it or even call out for someone else to throw them a rope.

Because their whole society is built around this idea of perfection and how your body is supposed to work and so of course they're struggling. everyone else has baked it into their heads that they're “broken” and “useless” when they're really actually not.

Instead of getting fixed and learning to talk, they find a group of people that are normal about it. That treat them as an entire human being and help them unravel all of those ideas about the "normal" and "correct" way to do things.

We need more mute characters in fiction, because how can you ever even begin to communicate with someone if they don't know how to listen to you?

We need more mute characters in fictions, because it will help us unravel all those ideas about the "normal" and "correct" way to do things

[blackfliesinbluesugar]

Fics tagged like 'sex favourable asexual Alastor' and 'sex positive asexual Alastor' that are just pure pwp with zero reference to asexuality are so funny to me. Op, you can just write porn, it's ok, we know this is fanon, you don't have to pretend his asexuality was considered here. No one is going to chase and beat you with sticks I promise.

[diodellet]

cw: incoherent rambling, im still going through it™, unbeta'd++all mistakes are mine

grim being a selfish brat is the point of his character arc. when you're told to claw for your survival in a prestigious yet hostile magical academy, when you're told that the weak must obey the strong, of course you're going to make use of what little advantages are given to you. that means demanding your henchman to do your every bidding and taking any opportunity to prove your strength.

kindness, consideration, compassion, empathy - they don't have a place in NRC. or so it seems.

the great thing about him starting the story with an obnoxious and abrasive personality is in how he awkwardly navigates his first ever friendships. in the sweetness of the rare scene where kinship just clicks for him, where his boasts and complaints become banter, where he feels like he gets to belong, to have a home.

and there's something deeply tragic about grim too, the fact that he's going to be left alone when yuu returns to their original world. what will happen to his student status? will he have to move out of the ramshackle dormitory? can he make it through his studies without you at his side?

when the first person who gave you kindness leaves, what are you supposed to do? will you say goodbye or will you fight to keep them?

[kelperine]

Alien stage brainrot, been doing some doodles of @d1schizophrenicc and I’s ocs

All they do it fight, no one knows why they are together

He’s pathetic

[gryfflepuffinthetardis]

Sweet Jane Part One — Campbell Bain x Reader

Summary: Y/n was admitted to Saint Jude's hospital in Glasglow soon after her eighteenth birthday when she developed a case of psychogenic/traumatic mutism; there she meets a talkative, optimistic, idealistic, hyperactive nineteen-year-old boy with Manic depression who dreams of becoming a DJ, follow them through their story and learn what happened to Y/n.

Series Warnings: Past Toxic Relationship, Manipulative Ex, Mentions of Past Rape, Mental Health, Discrimination against the Mentally Ill/Neroudivergent, Traumatized Reader, Abusive Parents, Mentions of deceased family members, Stalking, Suicide, Reader doesn't handle men touching her well, Mentions of Sex, Bad Caretakers, Implied Non-Scottish Reader, Implied Short Reader, Campbell Bain's Dad is Terrible

Chapter Warnings: Reader refuses to speak; Loving Campbell Bain, Traumatized Reader, Selectively Mute Reader, PTSD Reader, Psychogenic Mute Reader, Traumatic Mute Reader, Manic Depressant Campbell Bain, Bipolar Campbell Bain, Schizophrenic Furgus, OCD Rosalie, Reader Developed Selective Mutism as a Coping Mechanism, Reader may have an intense type of anxiety caused by trauma, Reader is implied to not be Scottish or at least from Scotland (I am American but just add where you're from), Reader is implied to be shorter than the six-foot Campbell Bain

“You are a mystery to me, yet so familiar. Like a song I’ve never heard before, and a tune I’ve known my entire life.”

Y/N hadn't spoken a word since she was eighteen and long before that something had changed. Her parents finally decided enough was enough and sent her to Saint Jude's hospital in Glasgow.

Campbell had literally crashed into the new girl during his excitement at hearing that the Saint Jude's radio station would be reopened.

The girl screamed as he collided with her and she started screaming and kicking due to his body weight on her.

"Sorry. Sorry. Sorry." He said, hurriedly, getting off of her and holding a hand out to help her up but she just stared at him, terrified, "I'm sorry. Uh..." He realized he didn't recognize her, as far as he knew he was the youngest patient at Saint Jude's and this girl was around his age. This was exciting! "Are you new? I'm Campbell Bain, I'll be the bane of your life until one of us is discharged." He chortled at his own joke before he realized she was still of the floor, "Oh, let me help you up." He crouched down and took her hand, helped her up.

She stared at him with a confused look on her face but she didn't pull her hand away yet more out of shock than anything. Campbell offered her a smile before she ripped her hand out of his grip and ran off, leaving Campbell very confused.

He asked the nurses about the girl but none would give him proper answers, until he got to Stuart the orderlie, who should've been a patient instead but... you know, life.

"She's a looney." He said, blankly.

"Ai, yes. Yes. Yes. I know that much but what's her name? What's her deal?" Campbell prodded.

"Y/N." Was all he said.

--

A few days later, Eddie McKenna arrived to be the DJ for Saint Jude's, with assumption that he'd be able to tell the difference between the staff and the patients.

He had an interaction with Stuart and assumed he was a patient but found out that he was a nursing assistant. Well, that couldn't be good.

Then he met Campbell, who seemed perfectly friendly and nice before realizing he was a patient himself.

Campbell and Y/N were on better terms, now that she had stopped bolting on the other direction when he tried to talk to her. And they listened to Eddie's show as Y/N read Narnia.

Soon after the show, Eddie heard Campbell playing and singing, Summertime Blues on his guitar which was only slightly out of tune, which Eddie had played on his show. He saw Y/N correcting Campbell's finger placement on the guitar as he whined that it hurt his hand.

Campbell enthusiastically praised Eddie and explained on his poor timing and the patient’s dependence of television.

Y/N caught sight of something moving outside the window and she threw a guitar pick at Campbell, making him pout in her direction before seeing her pointing and they ran to window as he said, “Hang on, you’re not boring me or that, but I’ve just seen a friend of mine flying past the window.”

Y/N and Campbell leaned out the window to see the hospital’s Schizophrenic who despite the schtick his disorder stereotyped him as he was just the most gentle soul you’d ever meet, if a little eccentric, grappling down the side of the building.

“Fergus! What’re you doing!?” Campbell shouted after him as Eddie joined them, “you’re gonna hurt yourself!”

“Shall I get a nurse?” Eddie asked and Y/N shook her head.

“Fergus! You’re gonna miss your cocoa, you know!”

“I know.” Fergus told him.

“Can Y/N and I have it, then?” He asked.

“Help yourselves.” He told them.

“He’s escaping.” Eddie said, surprised how calm both of them were being so calm about this

“He’ll be knocking on the door in an hour or so. He always does.” Campbell reassured Eddie, “annoys the hell out of the staff but makes this one smile.” He nodded at Y/N as she sat on Campbell’s bed with his guitar, the look of fascination in Campbell's eyes was not lost on Eddie.

Campbell returned to his enthusiastic and impulsive idea-planning, the first being to bring up a story when a student nurse accidently gave everyone in the ward a laxative, making Eddie and Y/N look at him oddly and the only problem he saw with it was where he’d get that many laxatives.

“What about a request show?” He asked Eddie.

“I already thought of that. I haven’t enough records.” Eddie shot down that idea… well, he’s never disagreed with Campbell Bain before.

“So?”

“So? When folk request something, they usually like to be able to play it.”

“We just make them keep requesting until they hit something we actually have.” Campbell said, “‘if you can guess a record that we actually have in our library, then we will play it for you with a special dedication’.” He did a playful punch in the air, “who could resist?”

“It’ll never work.”

Y/N who had been playing with Campbell’s guitar, then played a jingly tune.

“You’re right, Y/N!” He declared, enthusiastically with an enthusiastic pointed finger at her and then he ran his hand through his light auburn-brown floppy hair, “We’ll need some jingles.” Y/N looked up when Campbell sang a jingle, “Hospital radio, Saint Juuuuude’s.” He smiled at Eddie, “that sort of thing.”

“You need singers to record jingles.”

Campbell picked up his guitar from Y/N and sat next to her, “and what exactly is sitting here before you?”

“A lunatic!” Eddie declared, making Y/N softly giggle.

“Aye, a singing lunatic!” Campbell agreed, enthusiastically. “We could record them in the station, aye?”

“Aye…” Eddie submitted.

“Brilliant!” Campbell exclaimed, going back to Eddie, “Now give me the key.” He held out his hand.

“What key?” Eddie asked.

“To the station.” Campbell said and ran to the door, looking out, “look, I’ve gotta start. Writing the jingles, rehearsing the singers, cataloging the albums.”

Eddie looked at Y/N as she looked back down and realized he hadn’t gotten her name, having been distracted Campbell’s… Campbell-ness and Fergus escaping. “Uh, ma’am… what’s your name again?” Eddie asked, making Y/N look up from a piece of paper she was now writing on, she gave him with a blank deadpan look at being called “ma’am”. She was only eighteen.

“That’s Y/N.” Campbell said.

“What’s your favorite album?” Nothing. She just looked at him, “can you sing?” She blinked twice and he turned back to Campbell, “what’s wrong with her?”

“Oh, she doesn’t speak. She hasn’t said a word since she got here.” Campbell said, “and there’s nothing wrong with her, she’s just looney like me!”

Eddie walked closer to him and asked as gently as he could, “Campbell, how exactly are you here?”

Campbell paused in which he faltered, knowing how his own father felt about his disorder before smiling, “Can you not guess? I’m manic.” Y/N looked up and smiled at him, making his eyes dart to her and a more genuine smile appeared on his lips before he reassured Eddie, “but don’t worry. The drugs I take make me completely stable. Except for headaches, of course.” He blinked in pain as he focused back on the painful headaches and he squeezed his eyes shut before blindly grabbing onto Eddie’s shirt who could sense a scene coming up as could Y/N who looked up to be amused by Campbell, “I get these headaches. I just comes over me and I cannae…” He flopped on his bed, next to Y/N and shouted out in pain, “ah, the bells! The bells!”

Y/N reached over and went to place her hand on Campbell’s back before stopping, hesitating to do so, not sure if they were close enough or if she wanted to admit that they were close enough and then suddenly Campbell’s mood shifted back to near manic and he shot himself up to look at Eddie, making Y/N pull her hand away, blinking briefly in surprise, “And I want my own show, by the way.”

“What?” Eddie asked.

“Well, after all this work, I think it’s only fair, don’t you?” He questioned.

“Campbell, I cannae just give you your own show.” Eddie protested, “you need training on the equipment.”

“So? Train me!” Campbell pleaded, eagerly. “I’ll take Friday nights.”

“Will that not clash with Brookside?” Eddie questioned.

Y/N looked at the window where they had gone to to shout after Fergus.

—

The next day, Campbell and Eddie were in the common room with Eddie standing shyly while Campbell did the opposite and shouted through a party megaphone while Y/N sat with Fergus, writing down something for him to read. “Ladies and gentlemen, I have an important announcement to make!” He spotted Fergus and Y/N and narrowed his eyes, “Fergus, stop flirting with Y/N.”

Y/N rolled her eyes and went to the couch rather bored now and put her headphones on.

Campbell and Eddie had announced the request show, while admitting that they had limited records. Eddie went to talk to Nana while Campbell stared at Y/N, feeling nervous to approach her since he worried she hated him with how scared she got when he interacted with her.

Then Fergus clapped him on the back, making him stumble and look at him, unamused before approaching the silent H/C-haired girl.

"Hey, Y/N," Campbell said, kindly, walking up to the silent girl but she didn't seem to hear him as she was listening to her Walkman. He tapped her shoulder, making her jump and stare at him with wide eyes just as she had when they first met. He gestured to her headphones, silently asking if he could take them off and she slowly nodded and he gently slid them off and could vaguely hear Damn, I Wish I Was Your Lover by Sophie B. Hawkins.

"Hey, we're doing a request show. You have any requests?"

She looked at him for a good while before getting up and leaving. Campbell frowned and his spirits were diminished before leaning forward and face planting his face into the couch cushion, groaning.

—

Campbell showed Eddie the radio station now cleaned and useable thanks to him, Y/N, and Rosalie and as he left Eddie questioned Campbell about Nana and Campbell answered in his own hyperactive way before Eddie questioned him about his obvious crush on Y/N.

“The silent girl, uh… M/Y/N.” (Mispronunciation of Your Name)

“Y/N.” Campbell corrected, automatically in a slightly defensive tone.

“Is she your girlfriend?”

Campbell’s cheeks burned as they reddened and his heartrate quickened, “No. No. No. She’s new actually. Been here about a week. She… she’s a mystery.” He gave out a dreamy smile, “One I’d like to solve but…” He shrugged like, what can you do? —

Campbell was snoring when he was awoken by a friendly smack in the head. He woke up, groaning with confusion before turning on his light, illuminating Y/N who smile sweetly at him as she held something behind her back.

"Jesus, Y/N." He groaned, "what you do that for?" She just looked at him and he nodded, remembering who je was talking to, "right. Uh, what is it?"

Y/N brought a custom record sleeve out from behind her back and he slowly began to realize what she was trying tell him.

"Oh, you want me to play one of these songs during the show tomorrow, er… today?" He asked.

She nodded and sat on the edge of his bed, making him kick around spazzily and awkwardly before sitting up, trying to make room for her as his heart pounded and he looked down at her, feeling her body heat up against his but forced himself not to think about that as it was a bit of a creepy thought to have at two in the morning as she showed him the songs on the back of the vinyl which was also handmade, she pointed at the first song: a cover of The Velvet Underground's Sweet Jane by Cowboy Junkies.

"Is that your favorite song?" He asked and she nodded. "Wait, these are all from different bands, how'd you get this?"

She pointed to herself, "you made it?" He gathered, "Who made the record?" She pointed to herself again and he just smiled at her impressed and enamored by her. "You are one mystery, Y/N L/N. You may be my favorite mystery.”

She smiled, telling him that she liked the idea of being a mystery to him and kissed his cheek, near the corner of his lip, nearly making him melt with a loud dreamy sigh before running off. He looked after he with a starstruck look of awe on his face before flopping back on his pillow, groaning.

—

The next day, Y/N shared a smile with Fergus before listening in on the radio to the show, standing and watching Campbell through the window.

“Good evening! This is Ready Eddie.” Eddie introduced, “and on my left is my right-hand man…”

“Campbell Bain.” Campbell introduced, not seeing Y/N watching him and the smile on her lips.

“And you’re listening to the first ever Ready Eddie Radio Request Road Show.” He gave Campbell a thumbs up and the nineteen-year-old pushed a button, making a jingle play.

“Ready Eddie’s road show. Ready, Eddie, go.”

“That’s right. This is the premiere. This is the first. And you can tell everyone that you were there. You heard it! You saw it!” Campbell said, enthusiastically before joking, “And they’ll tell you, it’s all part of your illness.”

Y/N giggled at his antics before realizing this and she zipped her leather jacket up over her shirt with the sarcastic quote on it.

“We’re playing requests from Ward Eleven this evening. This one is for Francine. I hope you’re listening, Francine.”

Campbell then teased, “I hope anyone’s listening.” He then saw Y/N watching him and let out an audible smile that melted his insides.

“Is anybody listening?” Eddie asked, “Is anybody out there?”

Then Help! By the Beatles started to play and soon the patients came out and Campbell ran out of the station to dance with some patients before more came out, including Fergus. He gave Y/N a smile and thumbs up as he flashed the part of the television he had removed.

Campbell ran back to Eddie and pulled his earphone off so he could talk to him, “the television’s broken, Eddie! There is a God!”

Eddie nodded in the direction of Y/N and Campbell’s face lit up and he ran to Y/N and taking her hands, trying to ease her into dancing. She shook her head before starting to shuffle awkwardly to the music before Campbell took her hands and pulled her against him so she danced with him to the beat of the music. She then giggled up against him and he smiled, triumphally.

He was about to comment on how beautiful her laugh when there was a BANG! And the music stopped, making them all exclaim in disappointment before Campbell and Y/N ran back to the station to see what was wrong.

“What’s wrong?”

“The mixing desk.” Eddie said, trying to fix it with his limited knowledge.

“Do something!” Campbell exclaimed.

“What can I do? I can’t even turn on the bathroom light without shocking myself.” Eddie remarked.

“Well, check the plug. Maybe it’s the fuse.” Campbell suggested as Y/N looked up at Fergus and gestured for him to come.

“It’s not the fuse.” Eddie sighed.

Campbell ran his hand through his floppy hair, “I cannae believe this. I’ve just had the world’s shortest career as a disk jockey.”

Fergus took out a screwdriver and headed inside to help and started to unscrew the screws of the mixing desk.

“Fergus, what are you doing?” Campbell asked.

“I’ll just have a look.” Fergus reassure him.

“No, don’t!” Eddie shouted, “don’t have a look there.”

Y/N helped Fergus lift the plate of the mixing desk as Eddie continued to try and stop Fergus and Y/N, “Fergus, Y/N, I’m asking you. Please, leave it alone”

“He’s gonna blow it up.” A patient said.

“He’s not!” Campbell protested.

“I think I know what the problem is.” Fergus told Eddie.

“He’s blowing it up.” Another patient said and the others started to chant Fergus’ name.

“Fergus, don’t, okay!? Just leave it alone. It’s all we’ve got.” Eddie pleaded and Y/N smacked Eddie’s shoulder when Stuart literally pushed her out of the way, making her squeak and stumble before Campbell caught her and glared at Stuart.

“Oi, watch where you’re going!” He shouted.

Stuart aggressively grabbed Fergus holding him in a near chokehold and Y/N tried to go forth to help but Campbell held her back, knowing she’d just be pushed away again, if not sedated.

“He’s not causing trouble, is he?” He asked Eddie and Y/N shook her head, frantically at Eddie.

“No, he’s just helping me, get the mixing desk going again.” Eddie muttered.

“Him? He couldn’t get his brain going again.” Stuart spat and Y/N scoffed, implying that she felt that better described Stuart than Fergus.

“Leave it, Stuart.” Isabella, the more kind nurse said, “it’s all over.”

Stuart let Fergus go and sulked out of the room, clearly upset that he didn’t get to hurt someone as Y/N gave him the middle finger.

Fergus closed the plate of the mixing desk and Y/N flipped the switch, making the light come back on.

“You two are geniuses.” Campbell gasped.

Y/N shook her head and pointed at Fergus like, no, he’s the genius.

“YOU’RE GENIUSES!” Campbell shouted and he slammed the door shut and got back to the microphone, “Sorry about the technical problems, folks. We’re now back on the air and we hope to keep it that way. Our next request is for Y/N and dedicated to her by me.” He chortled as he looked at her and clicked his tongue as he winked.

The cover of Sweet Jane played, making Y/N smile as Eddie looked at Fergus, giving him an apologetic and thankful smile as Fergus perpetually scowled before his lips curved into a gentle smile.

Later, Y/N helped Campbell clean up the hallways before they bumped into each other.

“Uh… so how did you know how to help Fergus?” He asked.

She took out her wad of paper and wrote: Learned. Taught.

He nodded, taking what he could get, “I always knew you were smart.” He said, honestly and he hesitated before leaning towards her to kiss her cheek like she had done the night, she shifted, conflicted as she could see the pure gentless in Campbell's personality, in his actions, in his eyes, and she could feel it in his cheek kiss. He had hesitated, not wanting to overstep boundaries and he was still nervous about his decision but before she could react Eddie ran out of the room, making them break apart and move out of the way before he rammed into them.

*This is a series from my Wattpad, so I'm moving in to Tumblr and Archive of my Own. There is an entire subplot later on of stalking and the cause of the reader's muteness or mutism (which ever is the correct term). Am I the only one who feels like Campbell Bain might also have ADHD or is it just because of his Bipolar/Manic Depression. I'm usually good at this but I'm having a hard time differentiating the two or maybe it's just David Tennant.

[valorianknights]

Azrael, Angel of Death

Just my take on Azrael for Hazbin Hotel. I think Charlie deserves a loving but misunderstood Aunt.

I figured that the exorcist Angels' helmets were designed to mimic her helmet, since she is known as the harbinger of Death.

I also drew Emily cause' she's the best girl!

I'd like to think that since Azrael's duty to guide souls from the mortal realm into the spirit realm, she's akin to a reaper. When she takes the souls from their physical bodies, she also goes through their memories to create a soul scroll, which acts as a human's "Life in review" or "Record of existence". Azrael then takes this scroll, along with the soul, to the Hall of Divine Judgement. Where the Council of Archangels and God will Judge the soul. After the sentencing Azrael casts Instant transmission on the soul and they spawn in either Heaven or Hell.

Human souls never retain their memories of divine judgement since they're too overwhelmed with their lives flashing before their eyes.

[hybridequalist]

So...I forgot to give my tumblr lovelies this chapter. Oops?

Previous Chapter (tumblr link) Next Chapter (tumblr link)

Taglist (you can be added upon request if you like):  @ sesquipedalian-aficionado   @nesli26, @manga-crazy, @venomemes, @galleyleelol, @makingtimemine, @jackie-sugarskull, @nightshade7117, @skysthelimit291, @randomshizzles101, @inumorph, @snow-massacre, @phantom-fangirl-stuff, @pixellated-sparks, @vsalamandor2, @otaku-mai, @snarky-badger​

                                              ************************

Blinding whiteness. Whose idea was it to make sidewalks white? Why on earth did people insist on light colors for exterior spaces? You'd only just stepped outside and already your eyes were assaulted by aggressive, California sun bouncing off the crowded hospital parking lot. It was almost enough to tempt you to turn right around and search the gift shop for sunglasses or a hat of some kind to protect yourself.

"THERE SHE IS, EDDIE. WHAT'S WRONG WITH HER?"

"Let's giver her a second, she just got a full face of sunlight."

You squinted though tears, looking for your friends--and your ride. You could faintly see someone further down the walkway, sitting on a shiny object that only added to the glare. A few blinks and a hand to shade your face clarified the image: Eddie Brock, still wearing a full jacket despite the sunny day, seated atop his motorcycle. You marched over, waving a greeting. The reporter responded with a nod, shrugging off his backpack and retrieving his extra helmet for you.

"YOU SEEM WEARY, MORSEL," Venom commented. "DID SOMETHING KEEP YOU FROM SLEEP? OR PERHAPS SOMETHING ELSE?"

"It's nothing important," you brushed it off, trying to keep the memory of the weird person from the night before out of your thoughts--you just wanted to go home, eat real food and sleep in your own bed where strangers couldn't encroach on your rest.

The symbiote felt unsatisfied with your answer, but took your words with no further complaint. You tugged on the helmet and settled onto the bike, wrapping your arms securely around Eddie's middle and resisting your natural instinct to pull away when the jacket stretched and lightly secured itself to your skin. With just a few more minor adjustments, the engine began to purr and the motorcycle pulled away from the curb.

It was a funny thing, holding on to another person like this: your rational mind knew that it was just a safety precaution, just the safest position to ride this vehicle, but that didn't stop your heart-rate from rising at the realization that you were holding onto someone in even a slightly intimate way. Stupid oyxtocin; you weren't even touching skin. How long had it been since you'd actually hugged someone? There weren't many people who you felt comfortable asking for such a thing, especially not since moving out on your own. And Eddie didn't feel like a man who was super upfront about breaking that contact barrier. His partner, on the other hand, had no such qualms: Venom was all about the tactile experience, maybe because he was so entwined in sharing his host's sensory perceptions of the world? It probably didn't help that he was very well equipped to hold onto things with his goo-like body and ability to produce tentacle appendages. You wondered what it felt like to be the host when he took over, to be fully surrounded by another being.

Maybe you were more sleep-deprived than you'd suspected. Why were you imagining being held by an alien (and his host)? Why were the thoughts strangely appealing? You didn't even know if you could host Venom in the first place--and being a poor match sounded like a bad time all around. Maybe you were still a bit spooked from the other night and were craving comfort a touch more than usual. Yes, that had to be it. No other reason why you wanted to never let go of the man driving the bike.

Your apartment building couldn't appear quick enough, but in hardly any time at all (or a short eternity--you really had no sense of time right now), you were tugging off the borrowed helmet and taking a moment to fix your appearance from the constant wind. You quickly waved goodbye at the pair and started towards the complex door, determined to just get to your room, put on your comfy pj's and distract yourself from the tangled feelings that had arisen.

"Hey."

You paused, hand on the door handle, and glanced back at Eddie.

"I know this is probably an awkward time to ask," he shrugged, "but would you be willing to consider sitting for an interview sometime? It's the one I mentioned back at the grocery store."

"EDDIE! WHY ARE YOU THINKING ABOUT WORK RIGHT NOW?! I THOUGHT WE WERE GOING TO ASK THAT OTHER GUY?"

"Chillax, Vee. It never hurts to ask just in case."

"I can only promise to think about it," you signed before repeating your wave farewell and tugging open the door. You remained beside it, however, keeping one eye on the bike through the small, decorative window that sat at eye level. Though slightly warped through the wavy glass, you were able to watch as Eddie revved his motorcycle and pulled away from the curb.

"EDDIE, THIS COULD BE RISKY FOR HER IF SHE SAYS YES."

"She's free to refuse. I think she will say no, but if I didn't ask then we'd never know. Besides, we can keep her anonymous and that jacka..."

The thoughts left your range and the usual snippets of traffic replaced the familiar internal voices. Heaving a sigh, you headed for the front office, where you knew Lauren spent business hours if not needed elsewhere. Poking your head into the open doorway, you spotted your landlady on her computer, writing a schedule of some kind. She'd had her hair done recently you noticed, her previously fading cyan braids replaced with her natural dark afro. This was new--normally she get some other eye-catching color right away (she'd been talking about doing pink or lilac). Was she taking a break from dyeing? Or was this just temporary?

You noticed her phone was resting under her arm and immediately shot her a quick text, a faint smile tugging at your lips.

Behind you

Lauren picked up when she felt the vibration, read the text and immediately glanced back at where you stood. She instantly did a double-take and jolted to her feet. Without a word, she rushed forward, arms outstretched. Despite being able to see though both her actions and thoughts, the force of Lauren's hug was surprising and you staggered a step or two catching her and returning the embrace.

Her thoughts were scattered: she was overjoyed to have you back home, overwhelmed with equal concern regarding your health and already bearing the full weight of her work on top of it all. When she released your shoulders, her eyes flickered over your face, searching for any sign that something might be off, any indication that you were unwell.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

"A-okay," you responded. "Headaches are all gone, no bumps. The doctor I was seeing was very considerate too."

"I made some lunch since I knew you'd be back soon-ish. Come."

Lauren offered her hand, which you lightly grasped, and lead you back into the hall and down towards her own apartment. Once inside, she released you to fetch a tray of sandwiches, which she set up on her table alongside some plastic plates.

Once the pair of you had settled into munching on lunch--you almost cried at the fresh ingredients after a few nights in the hospital--Lauren took it upon herself to share the news of the past few days. Including, it seemed, some rather pertinent news for you specifically.

"Someone asked for you by name. Most ordinary-looking man I've ever seen. Business casual dress, short hair. Refused to give a name, left as soon as I refused to name any tenants. Reminded me a bit of when the undercover cops try to snoop around, but something about it was...off. I don't know how else to describe it."

"Did he know my full name? Or just first name?" you signed, squinting a little as you tried to remember the faces of anyone who might be putting an effort to find you. Most Agents wouldn't be so bold as to confront a non-relative, but you had successfully avoided them for the most part since leaving High School. Could it be the others then? Of course, most of them wouldn't exactly fit the description of "ordinary-looking" unless they were someone totally new that you'd never met...

"He had your first name very clear. He wasn't as certain on the last name. Any ideas what that was about?"

"None," you partially lied. You had ideas, of course, but the likelihood of those ideas being real were slim at best. "Was that the only stuff I missed, then?"

"That's all in terms of news, but I did want to have a little chat with you before you head home and unwind."

Lauren pressed her hands together and pursed her lips. Her thoughts buzzed like an overexcited hive of honeybees, flitting this way and that as she tried to decide how to open the conversation. You stared at the sandwich in your grasp, willing yourself to ignore the images your landlady had flashing around in her head. You could feel your appetite drying up as your stomach began to twist with nerves.

"Is it bad?" you asked, glad that your hands managed to keep from trembling too much.

"I don't mean to stress you out or anything. It's about Eddie. I did some...research about him."

She couldn't know. There was no way Lauren was able to make the connection between Eddie and the "Demon of San Francisco" rumors. Her thoughts didn't seem to indicate that specific path, but there was definitely some genuine, serious concern for you.

"And what did your background check reveal?" you asked, trying to make your face and signing indicate a teasing tone though your stomach was so knotted you might accidentally give yourself abs. 

"Don't get smart," Lauren chastised lightly, rolling her eyes. "Your Eddie is Eddie Brock, the investigative journalist guy--he had some kind of segment on the news that got cancelled a while back."

You nodded, recognizing a few of the clips that Lauren was thinking of. 

"Apparently he was briefly fired due to pissing off someone with influence and there was a whole smear campaign put against him. But that's not what bothered me. I doubt he's mentioned it since you've only recently been hanging out, but he used to be engaged to someone, a lawyer I think. From what I found...Eddie used his fiancée's confidential information to make some accusations and it got her into serious trouble."

"But why tell me all this?" you questioned, still uncomfortable. 

"This was all in the past year; I just think you should know what kind of guy you're hanging out with. Just something to keep in mind."

You didn't detect any malice in Lauren's thoughts--not directly at any rate. It was...concern for you. She didn't want you getting too attached to someone who might be sketchy, no matter how good-looking or charming he was. You briefly wondered what her reaction to Venom would be--probably terror, if you were going to be wholly honest.

In all honesty, this wasn't all new information: you'd done a quick web search on Eddie when you'd first learned his name and knew there had been some drama about his reporting career, but there hadn't been much detail about why, just implying he'd gotten in trouble for poking around. The oh-so minor detail of a fiancée caught in the crossfire was rather startling, though; Eddie had always come across as something as a loner, at least externally--Dr. Dan was the only person who has really shaken that perception.

"Well.." you shrugged, "Thank you for your concern, Lauren. I know you mean well, but I am an adult who can take care of myself."

You felt a little bad having to sign it so explicitly, but your landlady's persistent mothering streak needed to be nipped in the bud before it branched too far. Of course being able to see exactly where she was coming from (with her mind reflecting on memories of protecting a few of your neighbors from abusive partners and family) didn't exactly make it easy, but you didn't need her doing anything risky in the name of protecting you--you had the best early warning system in the world to keep yourself away from dangerous people. Of course, she didn't know that bit either--all she could see of you was what you presented, the partial mask of "normal human".

You politely excused yourself, taking your half-nibbled sandwich with you as you exited Lauren's home. You pondered what you had learned, frowning lightly to yourself. If your understanding of the timeline was correct, then Venom had entered Eddie's life sometime after he'd been fired from his job within the last year--meaning he'd entered the picture after Eddie's breakup with his fiancée. Is that what he'd meant about people walking out of their life? Or had that just been a general statement, conjured by the number of contacts that being a reporter brought?

The keys to your door scrabbled against the lock for a moment as you absent-mindedly stepped inside your home, kicking your shoes off.

There was also the whole thing about an interview--Eddie had mentioned the article twice now and it had been a prevalent thought during most of the time you'd spent with him outside of the hospital. He seemed very interested in your opinion about some newly proposed law that had recently been under heavy debate. You hadn't been paying too much attention, but apparently there was going to be an "official" record of anyone with powers of any kind. It had always been kind of odd hearing about it because, as far as you knew, those records were already being maintained, it just wasn't public knowledge to the "unpowered" majority. Was the department just too small now to keep up their work in the shadows? Were they expanding their reach in response to some top-secret incident? Or was this an independent move?

What could Eddie possibly want you to say in the interview? Did he think this was a big controversy within the mutant community? (Was he aware that there even was a community?) Or was he just looking for a credible quote, to actually put a mutant's words in his article to "spice up" the story?

You knew he'd asked in good faith--he seemed almost pre-prepared to accept rejection, actually. Unlike with Dr. Dan though, you got the sense that it wasn't exactly his natural response to be okay with that--it was a learned skill and a decently recent addition to his metaphorical toolbelt; he was being intentionally conscientious of you, pushing away his natural, rabid curiosity and other potential agendas in an attempt to not intimidate you. How much of that was his partner's urging, you had no real reference for.

A headache began to pulse behind your eyes and you squeezed them shut in an attempt to relieve the pressure. The thoughts of your neighbors--including those above and below--were starting to encroach on your brain, a mixed, multitoned cacophony. The old man two door down was upset about something on TV. The toddler above you desperately needed a nap but couldn't articulate their tiredness to their equally exhausted parent. The grade-school brothers across the hall were playing swords, compounding their excitement. The teen metalhead had some heavy drumbeat pounding and intense in their headphones. Someone walked by on the sidewalk, counting the windows. The college student somewhere below your feet was crying at a romcom. The housewife had just started a spicy segment of her novel. Someone, somewhere, was bored. Someone else was hungry. Another thought from someone, was this a new one? had you already experienced that feeling? Who was it? What was it?

Sudden pain in your foot pulled you partially out of the spiraling mental carousel --you'd accidentally kicked the doorframe of your bathroom while stumbling towards it. Desperate and nearly blind from the sensations all the thoughts kept inserting into your brain, you felt around the cabinet where you kept the strongest commercial sleeping pills money could buy. You shoved one of the chalky tablets into your mouth and forced yourself to swallow it before practically sprinting towards your bed. 

You prayed the drugs would kick in fast enough. To finally give you some silence.

[cannondisabledcharacters]

Today’s disabled character of the day is Sunny from Omori, who has hikikomori syndrome, depression, an unspecified trauma, selective mutism, Arachnophobia, Aquaphobia, and Acrophobia. He is also visually impaired (route dependent)

Requested by Anon

[Image Description: Drawing of a boy with medical wrapping around his head and right eye. He is drawing with blue lines with a faint blue background. He has short black hair and black eyes. He is wearing a white hospital gown.]

[taylorshope]

Supermassive characters that I headcanon to have Selective Mutism

Ashley

Abi

Brad

Junior

Megan

Anthony/Andrew

Erin (canon :D)

[maryannecrimsworth]

Pretty sure no one even care about me but I'll be back for a while so I'm making requests again

Is anyone even interested in "You do need a friend" after so long? 😭😭😭

[tic-toc-clock77]

There's been so much going on with Kate The Chaser lately and now, I can't stop thinking about her.

I think my hc will be selectively mute Kate, depending on the situation she's put into. I feel that's decent. It'll be subject to change though! (And of course, build ons and suggestions are always, ALWAYS welcome!)