#like....the meeting is so they can say 'okay you're disabled and you don't have a reliable means of transport we'll help you get around' | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

halcyone-of-the-sea · 9 months

Note

omg congrats for 5k doll! i wanted to slide in and see if i could have a protective!bf Gaz written since my baby is so underappreciated??? i saw this tweet about the scene in mw where gaz's disabling a bomb and is unable to and price throws the guy off the balcony, but this time the bomb in strapped to his love and he's and he's struggling and sees price out of the corner of his eye and remembers what happens last time and panicks and goes all 'you won't do that to her'. just a thought, love all your work!

—Don't Look At Her

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [The bomb starts ticking down, rapidly firing to zero. Gaz won't let Price near you. Not after he'd remembered the Captain's actions when they'd first met.] ❞

"Gaz," your voice wavers, watching the rapidly working man and seeing his darting eyes—lit with panicked fervor. He doesn't answer, so you speak again. "Gaz!"

"No!" He barks, brown eyes instantly meeting yours. Lips pull in a right frown; there's a glint in his gaze that you'd never seen before—not in the many years you'd known him. Kyle's firm hands don't leave the wiring attached to your chest. The vest.

The bomb.

"No, Love," he grates out, immediately getting back to work as you try to keep your tears at bay, body jerking back and forth as your boyfriend pulls at the straps and bits. "Don't even say anything. You're going to fucking fine, you hear? It's going to be okay."

It was the product of bad intel, really. You'd been sent in without the proper know-how, leading to a scuffle where the butt of a gun had been slammed into your temple. When your eyes opened again, it was already too late.

Kneeling in the middle of a large office building, the glass of the windows shattered behind you, and the wind whips the back of your skull aggressively, you stare down at Gaz. Trying to form words on a tongue that won't cooperate.

"You need to run," you whisper out, resigning yourself as the rapid beeping increases. Your heart moves so fast you can't feel the skin of your chest anymore. "Kyle," pleading, you watch his jaw clench something fierce. "Listen to me—!"

"I'm not leaving you!" A sharp snap of a metal piece hits your ears, the piece of the vest clattering to the ground in a violent display of desperation. Gaz glances back up at you stubbornly; as if uncaring about the impending incineration only minutes away. "So you stop bloody talking like that, yeah? I'm not just giving up!"

The sides of your eyes dribble out rabid tears, lungs a mess of air and inhales that can't even be considered breathing anymore by how wheezy they sound.

How would it feel? Exploding into a patchwork of blood and fire—instantaneous, sure, but feeling Kyle's heat and his puffs of air; his fear, you can't imagine him dying like that. Not him.

"Look at me," Gaz pants, fingers pulling at cords in search of the one he needed to cut—unable to pinpoint it through the hack-job that had been done to your vest.

There was every color under the sun except fucking yellow. His teeth clench so tight they hurt his jaw, but he sends you quick glances as you shakily do as he says.

Brown eyes soften, and while the both of your hands shake, for a second there's a relief at the eye-contact. "Repeat it, Love."

You lick your lips and stammer, "y-you're not leaving."

Lips press firmly into yours, and you clench your eyes tight at the sensation, tiny sob breaking the contact.

"That's right." Gaz growls. "Not on my life."

Rapid footsteps race into the room, but before the Sergeant can reach for his weapon, the familiar call from the Captain echoes out.

"Friendly!" It's as if Gaz doesn't even register, still digging and fearfully looking at the timer.

50 seconds. 49. 48. 47...

"Sergeant," Price jogs over. You can barely find the inner strength to look up at him. "Sitrep."

Blue eyes dart from the vest to you and the Captain's serious face goes grim. His expression flashes with the inner workings of his mind, eyes narrowing and a grunt stuck under his lips.

"I have it," Gaz speaks quickly, and the words strike you as odd, though you don't comment. Price slid him a sharp look.

"Gaz—"

"Don't even look at her." Snarling like an animal, brown orbs are volatile enough to rend stone in two as they meet the older man's. You and John are rendered speechless, sharing a swift glance in shock like teenagers hearing their parents swear for the first time.

Kyle's eyes are wild, sweat slicking his brow. "Come fucking on!" He yells and your body is snapped forward as Gaz pries on the straps, having to steady yourself on the man's shoulders for support. Every muscle in his body is taunt; shaking with force.

Perhaps it was the memory that invaded his brain like a parasite that had made him snap at his superior like that—a stab to his fine tissue that digs all the way down his rail-straight spine.

Piccadilly Circus. Tanto building. Hostage with an explosive vest.

Kyle's fingers bleed as they peel back rough velcro, having ripped off his gloves to be nearer to you.

It all flashes past his mind in horrible increments, the past, but instead of a man—the hostage is you. And Price was burning his neck with a harsh stare once more.

He's going to throw her out the window, Kyle panics and you watch with the deadly realization of the situation. No. No, I won't let him. Not her.

"Garrick," Price says, voice deep. But he doesn't move. "You need to get your head back on."

"I've got it screwed on just right, Captain." Gaz grunts. "Trust me."

12 seconds. 11. 10. 9...

You stare at Gaz and memorize the make of his handsome face—the dates and the late nights speaking about the future sticking to your skin like leeches; sucking away every instance of love and happiness. His laugh. His brown eyes.

His smile.

Oh, you want to see your Love smile.

"Sergeant!" Price yells, moving forward to grapple onto Kyle's shoulder. "It's going off!"

Your boyfriend rips out of his hold, fists clenched and screaming.

"Get the fuck off of me! I can save her!" Your back hits the ground with a slap and a ragged gasp from your lips, the Brit straddling your hips in a desperate play to deactivate the bomb.

"Kyle," you look up at him, pleading. "You have to take cover, it's...it's okay. I love you, I need you to know that—"

"Bloody shut," eyes spark, locking on the bright color under the front of the vest. Gaz snaps a hand under the material and rips at it in a ruthless wrench of his arm. 2 seconds. There's a deafening snap of wire. "Up!"

The beeping stops and the world stills.

Your wide eyes can't stop crying as you stare up into brown eyes with astonishment; struggling to breathe. You can't tell if the building is vibrating or only you, but nothing seems to be able to focus as a wave crashes down on you; adrenaline still striking you.

Everything rings inside of your ears, pounding in your head.

Hands grasp the base of your jaw and lips descend to yours, tears slapping your skin from above in a wave of feral agony. Gaz stifles his sob on your mouth as you shake wildly, panting over your flesh.

Price gives off a large sigh from behind, standing straighter and turning his head.

Gaz's forehead connects with yours, but there are no words to be said—just the silent gazing and lingering fear of death. He won't let go of your cheeks, and, quivering, you go to grasp tightly at the sides of his arms.

With a shuddering breath, he closes his eyes and sags into you.

TAGS:

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#cod #cod x reader #cod x you #cod mw22 #call of duty #mw2 #mw2 2022 #x female reader #call of duty x you #cod gaz #kyle gaz garrick x you #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle garrick x reader #kyle garrick #kyle gaz garrick #cod x female reader #drabble #5k celebration

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kurooo-is-here · 4 months

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Hear me out. Drayton and Kieran with a mute s/o?

(Tbh I feel like Drayton would think they’re just shy for the first couple of interactions until someone tells him though lol)

Okay, I'm not super knowledgable about deaf or mute folks. But here's my best shot at this ask, if I am incorrect about anything please let me know!

My interpretation of this is that reader is deaf and communicates through sign language, and they cannot speak at all.

Drayton and Kieran with a mute/deaf Reader

(Ignore the snom gif I couldn't think of anything specific to use for this lmao)

Drayton:

Yeah, he's totally clueless at first. Doesn't get why you're doing odd hand motions instead of talking, but he figures everyone has their quirks. It really bothers you that he won't acknowledge it, so you ask Lacey to tell him for you.

When Drayton hears it from Lacey, he feels really bad and is immediately apologetic. He rushes over to you and attempts to apologize, then realizes he doesn't understand sign language at all, so he stumbles on his words a lot.

Lacey facepalms watching all of this go down, so she reluctantly teaches Drayton some basic sign language so he can get his apology across to you. He's delighted to finally be able to talk to you properly-- he has a crush on you, after all.

The rest of the Elite Four soon complains that Drayton studies sign language better than he studies for any of his classes, but he is absolutely determined to make things right with you. Lacey says she's never seen him work that hard!

When he finally confesses to you, he does it right. He makes sure he corrects himself if he messes up a sign, accidentally blurts out a few words while signing-- but you can tell he really means it. It warms your heart to see him trying so hard for you, despite his initial ignorance on the subject.

Drayton notices you get bullied a lot because you're some regular student hanging out with the big leagues (the BBA Elite Four). He IMMEDIATELY shuts down anyone who has the balls to talk shit in front of you knowing you can't hear them. That kind of vile behavior will never be tolerated on his watch.

He texts you a lot. He still talks to you through sign when he sees you in person, but since he's usually busy doing League Club work (or just pretending to be busy), he texts you when he has a moment of free time. At one point you changed his contact name on your phone to "The Drayster", which made his entire WEEK. He would NOT shut up about it.

Don't let this man figure out swears and silly insults in sign language, he's gonna use them all the time now. One time Crispin asked what Drayton was laughing about and he just signed "bullshit" in response which immediately had you on the floor in tears of laughter while Crispin looked SO confused.

Kieran:

Luckily he's more perceptive and understanding than Drayton, so he picks up on your disability right away. Turns out he already knew a bit of sign language from teaching himself too.

When you ask him how he knew sign language already, he just shyly responds that he wanted to be prepared for the event that he needed to communicate with Ogerpon through it for some reason.

He teaches himself a LOT more sign language after meeting you. He really wants to go the extra mile for his new friend and possible crush so he studies and does his research diligently.

Kieran already understands if you're socially awkward, because he's full of anxiety himself. He totally gets it if you need to rely on him to be your translator at any point.

He really loves you and has no problems with your disability, even if he has to try a little harder for you. And after a while, communicating with you becomes easier, which makes you really happy!

After the events of Indigo Disk, he becomes much more protective of you. He wants to become stronger so he can protect you from anyone who tries to bully you or hurt you. His Hydrapple is gonna have a word or two with whichever idiot tries to disrespect your name in his presence.

Whenever he greets you, he tries not to catch you off guard from behind or something, since you can't exactly hear him coming. He really tries to respect your boundaries too, so if you feel uncomfortable with anything he does, he understands.

Slightly unrelated, but Kieran definitely flips people off a lot. He tries to be less pissed when he's around you, but on his own? He's saying "fuck you" to a LOT of people.

One time he tried explaining to a guy about your disability, and the guy had the nerve to do the 👉👌 sign at you as some kind of sick joke... the BBA Elite Four found that guy beaten into a bloody pulp on the ground later. Kieran was taking NO prisoners that day.

#pokemon #pokemon scarlet and violet #pokemon drayton #pokemon kieran #pokemon drayton x reader #pokemon kieran x reader #reader is mute/deaf #drayton is such a boyfailure #but he tries his hardest god bless #kuro writes

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luveline · 1 year

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maybe for zombie Steve au, there’s some sort of emergency at the college so there’s like a lockdown ish but Steve & reader get split up & then have an emotional reunion? 🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

thank you so much for your request! I took a smide of inspo from scenes of twd (specifically when the prison fence gets it shit rocked) steve zombie!au ♥︎ fem!reader 5k words

"And you…" You pause, tongue sticking out as you struggle to tuck your shirt into your jeans. "You smoked?"

Steve laughs where he's shrugging into his own jeans. You're both very late.

"Everyone smoked junior year."

"I didn't."

"No, of course you didn't," he says, laughing more. It's a nice sound to hear so early in the morning. You can almost pretend you're well-rested.

"I didn't," you say emphatically, leaning against the wall by the door to slip on your sneakers.

It doesn't matter if you're telling the truth, Steve clearly doesn't believe you. He mirrors your actions and puts on his own pair of sneakers. They were white, once upon a time, but now they're a gritty grey. You stand tall in unison and pull open the door.

"Wait," Steve says.

He brushes your hair out of your face, looking over each of your features casually before his fingers dip down to your belt. You startle on instinct, though he's only fixing the mess you'd made of your tucked shirt. His fingers push under your belt methodically, efficiently. In less than a minute he's done.

Neither of you bother with a jacket. Steve pockets the keys and the door locks behind you, the two of you half jogging out of Little Hawkins to the front of the building.

"I'll be at the north fence all day, okay, so if you need me, come and find me. You're–"

"In the pantry where I always am," you say, "and I'll be fine, so you don't let anything bite you and I'll see you at dinner."

"Wait, wait, wait," Steve says, catching your wrist before you can part ways.

He pulls you in by the arm until he can grab your shoulders. He does altogether too much looking, eyes raking over your face, your neck. He meets your eyes, cups your cheek in both hands.

"I love you," he says quickly, "I love you," —he kisses you wonky, lips way too close to your nose, "I love you. See you at dinner."

He's sick in the head. He doesn't give you any time to answer or bestow the heaping of affection he deserves, simply splits and power walks away from you.

You sigh, wringing your hands together. "Steve! I– I love you too!"

He turns around, his smile ridiculously big, and waves at you. You wave back.

He races out of view. You try not to make eye contact with the people milling around outside of the dorm building and pick up the pace, running down the street to the cafeteria building.

The town hall is alive in the mornings, and class is in session, more kids than you'd ever expected to see again in your lifetime all bundled up in one room. You think it's nice, the way they teach them here. They don't bother with algebra or arithmetic, though Sammy the 'teacher' offers tutoring to anybody who wants it, they just draw and play and talk about emotional wellbeing. Sometimes there are survival classes, but they don't really talk about geeks. They show the kids what wild flora is edible, or how to wrap a cut. You think it's probably more for routine than actual teaching.

"Hi, Sammy," you say.

She smiles, and you're horrified as she says, "Hi, baby. Class, say good morning."

All the kids say good morning to you. You flush with heat from top to bottom. Their cute little faces beaming up at you is an instant disarming.

"Hi, kids," you say, waving.

Hands holding crayons and pencils wave back at you.

You make your way into the kitchen, which is a huge industrial affair connected to an otherwise small cafeteria. Maybelle and Pauline are already inside cleaning up the leftover breakfast and preparing for community dinner.

Breakfast is specifically for the people inside the community who can't manage to make it themselves, the disabled, the injured, the elderly, but dinner is for everybody.

"Sorry I'm late," you say.

"Hun, we don't care," Maybelle says.

"Did you want breakfast?" Pauline asks. "I'm gonna wrap this up otherwise. Somebody's gonna eat it."

It sounds like a threat. You take some of the breakfast they've set aside, which isn't a breakfast food at all, just boxed mac and cheese that tastes slightly stale. You barely notice it anymore, though the texture gives you the heebies.

You move into the pantry and check everything still there, the easiest and most useless part of your job. Then, Maybelle and Pauline try to put together a meal that's both cost effective (the cost being the energy expended to retrieve the food, and the likelihood that this food will be seen again) and not disgusting. Oftentimes they have to make a bunch of different stuff that doesn't go together, but it's better than nothing. You like this a whole lot more than if they just gave everybody a can a day and said there's your lot.

You mark down the things they've taken. You mark down things you might need in Hopper's next supply rub. It's a super cushy job, the kind that isn't strictly necessary, but there are a lot of people in the community and the majority are willing to do what needs to be done. They ran out of jobs quickly, and you're sure Hopper had felt a little sorry for you, so here you are. You're not like Steve. You're not a survivor. You're lucky.

You sit down after a while, no use pretending you have anything left to do, left side pressed to the side of the industrial oven.

"You know, we used to live in Mississippi?" Pauline asks you.

"What?" you ask.

"Mm-hm, we were only in Michigan for vacation, if you can believe it. We had a good time."

"Before, the uh, the apocalypse," Maybelle says with a tittering laugh. "We were hiking in the Porcupine Mountains when some dude tried to bite me. We thought he had rabies."

The room smells like jarred pasta bake, a rich, garlic-thick smell that threatens to make your eyes droop. In the cafeteria, through the open shutters, you can hear the kids singing. Sammy hates nursery rhymes, so they learn the words of old songs by Louis Armstrong. Today, they're a discordant, too fast chorus of What a Wonderful World. It's a racket.

But no matter how loud the kids sings, they can't cover the reverberations of a gunshot.

A hush falls in the kitchen.

You stand up. You aren't panicked, exactly. More like you've stepped into a heavy overcoat, trepidation a weight that settles like a second skin. You move to stand by the sink with Maybelle. She pushes it open, and the three of you stare outside.

Trees rustle in the wind. The kids descend into giggles as Matthew, one of the rare teenagers who deigns to join in, busts out a Louis Armstrong impression, his voice deep and bending. The oven hums.

The second gunshot sounds. After that, you can't count them.

Maybelle slams the window closed and twists the handle down to lock it.

Your heart beats. None of you know what to say. Your pulse bumps, and bumps, and bumps.

"Lock the doors," Maybelle says. "Lock the windows. Just in case."

Gunfire comes fast and ferocious as a sudden downpour, popping in the near distance. Your footsteps clip over the linoleum floor, firm rubber soles like an elastic band as you bound into the cafeteria and meet Sammy's eyes.

The kids are perturbingly quiet.

"I'm gonna lock the doors," you say tentatively.

Dread fills her face. "Okay. Alright."

You fizz around the room, locking the front and side entrances one after another. You're thinking so many things at once that you can't seem to focus on any, and instead your attention is drawn to the inconsequential. How cold the metal on the door's emergency push bars are. The colouring books on the floor.

You're standing in front of the last door with shaking hands as it gets thrown open. You gasp and scrabble backwards, hands in front of your chest to protect yourself.

It's Joyce. Breathless, red in the face Joyce.

"Lock the kids in the kitchen," she says. "The north fence has a leak. They're getting in."

—

Steve is not having the good day he thought he'd be getting.

You'd been exceptionally pretty this morning, tired eyed and disorientated but adorable through and through. You and Steve have fallen into a routine, and you talk so much it's a surprise your throats aren't sore. There's so much to say and never enough time to say it; you've taken to trading stories in the morning while you get dressed. Today was Steve's turn. He'd told you all about his birthday party during junior year, how his dad had almost killed him because somebody left a hole in the wall, and how he still can't eat Dunkin' Donuts without feeling queasy. You'd asked him when the last time he actually got to eat a donut was, and it hadn't been sad, like you might expect.

He'd said, "I don't need any extra sweetness, are you kidding? Got all my sugar right here."

You'd laughed at him (not with him) and nearly choked on toothpaste.

That's a perfect morning for Steve. That's as good as they get. It might be silly, but he'd felt damn good, and foolishly tricked himself into thinking the rest of the day might be similarly great.

"You're a fool, Harrington," he mutters to himself.

"What was that?"

Steve looks up. Jonathan and Christopher are staring at him.

"He's going crazy," Christopher says. "Best take him out to the back shed."

"Funny." Steve kicks the dirt in front of him. "So bored I'm talking to myself," he admits.

"It could be worse," Jonathan says. "We could be on latrine duty."

Steve would rather not think about latrine duty. God bless the communal bathroom in Little Hawkins.

The day is breezy but surprisingly warm, not a cloud in the sky. The sun bears down and heats Steve's skin in waves. He likely should've stopped for his jacket this morning, but he'd been super late. He doesn't want a citation. Another citation.

This is the slowest day they've ever seen on fence duty. Usually the general hubbub of the community catches the attention of a handful of geeks, and fence duty stabs them through the brain with lethally modified crowbars. It's gross, but it's necessary. It keeps you safe. Yet today they haven't seen a single undead.

"Maybe they're dying," Christopher says.

"They're already dead," Jonathan says.

"How do you know? You felt for a pulse?"

"They decompose," Jonathan says, laughing softly. "They're corpses."

"I'm just saying." Christopher shrugs.

Steve ignores them both without malice, staring through the section of chain link fence he's standing in front of and out into the streets. The north side of The College faces the surrounding town. From here, he can see a pharmacist's building, a sandwich shop, and a small veterinary clinic. Shells of cars long dismantled line the road. Natural works to reclaim them slowly, tires threaded with long grass. A few days ago, a deer ran straight up to the fence and stared at him. He promised you he'd come and find you next time, even though you hadn't really minded. He wants you to see it. There's more out there than just geeks and bad people.

He shivers and fiddles with the holster on his hip, checking for the tenth time in as many minutes that the gun held within has the safety mechanism on. He really doesn't wanna shoot himself in the foot. That would majorly suck, though, he thinks, you'd look after him. That might make it worth it.

Not that he'd shoot himself in the foot for your attention, that would be totally backwards. But he thinks you'd look cute as a nurse, with the little hat—

"Do you hear that?" Jonathan asks.

Steve pulls away from his questionable thoughts and turns to see his kind of friend. Jonathan stands with his nose to the fence, straight brown hair curling at the bottom of his neck. He needs a trim, but who is Steve to judge?

"Hear what?" Steve asks.

Though you can see the town through the gaps, the fences are blanketed by trees. Old trees with thick trunks, the kind that protesters would chain themselves to if the government ever suggested cutting them down. The ground around them is more dirt than grass, like the packed earth under the fence and Steve's shoes.

He assumes Jonathan's talking about the creaking of a thousand branches in the wind. Brown and orange leaves fall in droves, crinkly and scratchy as they litter the floor.

"I can't hear anything," Steve says.

"It sounds like a car engine," Jonathan says.

Steve cannot agree. Now that the world is silent, car engines sound like jet planes. They shake the ground. There are no vibrations to be felt, but… there is something.

"I'm gonna walk the perimeter," Steve says. A creeping unease takes shape over his shoulders like the winding suffocation of a python. He can feel the pressure of it against his throat.

It's nothing, he thinks to himself.

Sections of street flash between the trees. Tree, empty street. Tree, empty street. Each tree blocks the sun, and goosebumps erupt over his skin, the hairs on his arms standing up with each footstep into the dimness. Steve pulls his crowbar close to his chest.

I'm paranoid, he promises himself, even as the strange sound Jonathan had heard begins to rise. He knows what it is, he knows, but he doesn't want to know. The wet suck of meat being pulled off the bone, and the dry rattle of lungs that won't fill. He lets the sun kiss his cold face for a moment, and then he stops behind the cover of a huge sycamore tree and leans, carefully, slowly, to the left.

The sun hasn't warmed the sparse grass. Each blade is frosted into spikes. The leaf litter has turned to mulch, disturbed and churned by the body splayed open atop it. Blood emulsifies the dirt, a black mud that covers the hands, arms, knees, and mouths of a sizable herd.

Steve flinches backward, covers his nose to shield himself from the stink, and swiftly presses stiff fingers over his mouth to stop himself chucking up.

There must be fifty or more geeks huddled there, fighting for scraps of ligament, falling over chunks of inedible veel.

Steve wants to retreat quietly. His hands have other ideas.

He drops the crowbar, fumbling for it with every centimetre it falls, and ends up knocking it a couple feet away with a horrified gasp.

The fences are hammered into the ground so they can't be moved, but there aren't many fence posts between sections. Flimsy chain link is all that separates Steve and the herd.

They look up. They start to move.

Hands reach for him, hands force themselves through the holes of the fence, skin peeling back over muscle like the delicate rind of a pear. He watches in horror as the herd congregates, as the herd leans its collective weight against what's basically chicken wire, as dessicated flesh shaves off of their dead bodies, as the fence begins to bend.

The geeks use each other like ladder, pulling and climbing, heaped like jenga tiles until a gnarled hand closes over the top of the fence.

He wants to run. He needs to stay. He needs to separate them, he needs to thin the weight. He scrambles to take up his crowbar again, taking a step forward, but the tattle tale sound of metal scratching against metal squeals in his ear, and he leaps backward as the fence tips forward.

He should scream.

He trips as he grabs the crowbar, palm aching as it smashes into the ground. He barely touches the floor, pushing himself back up and using his momentum to sprint toward the rendezvous point.

"Jonathan!" he shouts, his voice strained. "They're over the fence. Section twenty one is coming down!" The fence has already come down, but Steve isn't thinking straight.

Jonathan barely looks at Steve. He only needs one glance before he's looking past him. Steve looks back, too, and then he keeps on sprinting.

Jonathan unholsters his gun. Christopher does the same.

Behind Steve, across the stretch of the college campus, a wave of geeks snap their gored maws. Steve runs harder than he's ever ran before, faster than he's ever moved, even faster than that night in the woods with you, scroungers on your tail, laughing and cussing, their flashlights shining at your heels like the beam of a prison guardhouse.

Steve vaults himself over an overgrown hedge and right into the centre of the campus. There aren't many people out, but any at all is too many.

"Get inside!" he shouts without explanation, shoes sliding over stone as he leaps for the civil defence siren nestled against the gym building. "Get inside! There are geeks inside the fence!"

Jeremy and Dustin had jerry-rigged the broken siren months ago for situations like this to only play for two seconds. Not long enough to attract anything that isn't already here. Steve slams his hand into the button and stares up at it in a petrified awe as the siren begins to cry, one long and wailing wave of sound that careers over the community.

It might be his imagination, but he thinks that the silence after it stops is imbued with impending doom. One empty, fragile moment, before the shouting begins, and the following pop of gunfire is impossible to ignore.

He thinks of you in the kitchen across the quad. He thinks of running to you, of hiding you somewhere nobody will ever get to you.

He runs back the way he came.

—

All these little faces in disarray. You huddle amongst the youngest ones and try your best to keep them quiet, whispering a story as the sound of gunshots cracking over asphalt rivets the quiet.

"Me and Steve, we saw all kinds of fish. We saw carp, and salmon, and koi fish in the lake. They looked like huge, gorgeous goldfish, they had–" everyone jumps as something close by takes a hit, a fence perhaps, split apart— "these huge black eyes and these popping mouths. You know how fish pop their lips together?"

You look around the circle and beg one of them to answer. If Sammy weren't such a wicked shot she would've stayed and handled this a hell of a lot better than you are.

"I know," says one of the youngest girls. She can't be six years olds.

"Yeah? How do they do it?"

She starts to pop her lips. You grin despite your welling panic and nod encouragingly. You'd clap if your hands weren't full of smaller hands.

"Yeah, like that! They were swimming so close to us, I could see their gills."

Your story isn't true, but it is distracting. You hold their attention for as long as you can. Pauline stands in the doorway, eyes flitting between the three entrances to the cafeteria, and Maybelle haunts the sink, hiding just behind the other overhead spray to try and find out what's going on. The storm siren hasn't sounded again, and Hopper hasn't come around to tell you it's safe.

It might never be safe again.

You swallow down the urge to scream and squeeze the tiny fingers curled over your palm. They belong to a little boy, white and brown-haired with pretty hooded eyes. He looks like Steve.

You could've sworn, just before the siren, that you'd heard him yelling, but you'd raced to the sink and looked out and hadn't seen him.

You can't help thinking about it. About everything — he could die. He could already be dead. Joyce swore she hadn't seen him, and had only managed to speak to Christopher, who'd split off to alert the older group. She said Jonthan was holding off a group of geeks. She couldn't stay, determined to go help him.

So if Christopher was looking for Hopper, and Jonathan was by himself at the north fence, where was Steve? Where exactly was the leak?

You lean forward toward the kids and whisper, "Does anyone else have a story? From a vacation?"

"We went to Niagara Falls, once," Becky says.

"You did? What was it like, huh? Was the waterfall really loud?"

Becky starts to tell her story. You try to listen. You can't think of anything at all besides Steve, though your priority is keeping everybody here safe, your brain won't stop. You can't shake the feeling that you'll lose him, and it's a bright red branding behind your eyes. You're gonna lose him.

This can't be happening.

It's been a month since Connor, an ex-member of The College with delusions of grandeur, dragged you underdressed and freezing through miles of forest with your wrists bound, wondering if you'd ever see Steve again. A month of nightmares and hot flashes and reaching out for Steve in the dark.

You'd thought, if you died, if Connor killed you, that it would ruin Steve's life. He'd waste it looking for you. You'd thought that was the worst feeling in the world, knowing you'd leave him behind.

You hadn't understood what this part felt like. How Steve must've felt, wondering if you were dead. How he must've argued with himself as you do now.

Steve hadn't hesitated. Robin mentioned it once, casual but earnest. Steve tore the place apart looking for you. He assembled a search party and went looking for you on a hunch. Steve says he's lucky they chose the right direction. You know it's more than that. You know you're the lucky one.

He knew you were in danger, and he came to get you.

"Maybelle," you say, standing up. "I'm gonna need a knife."

—

Steve isn't sure what the fuck they're doing. Hopper shouts instructions but they're confusing and nobody knows what's happening. Geek gore drips down his arm and he prays he doesn't have any broken skin as he ploughs the sharp of the crowbar deep into a grey mottled eye socket.

It shucks out, the geek's body collapsing in a heap at his feet. Tens more stagger forward.

"Everyone should be inside, but that doesn't mean everyone is inside!" Hopper shouts, his booming voice echoing over the din of shots and slick stabbing. "We need to contain them. Joyce, Jonathan, I need you back here. Bernier, Taylor, McCoy, push for the fence! We need to get it back up and standing before this gets worse. Harrington!"

Steve pierces the skull of an approaching geek like an eggshell, springing back before a second can tear a chunk out of him. "What?" he yells.

"You should circle back to the quad, make sure there aren't any stragglers."

"Joyce already secured–"

"It's up to you, kid."

Steve appreciates what Hopper's doing. Everyone knows you and Steve are unhealthily dependent on one another right now considering the circumstances, and he'll admit that his heart wants literally nothing more than to be where you are. He thinks of you locked up in the kitchen with all this happening outside and hates it, but as long as you stay where you are, that's as safe as you can be.

He doesn't bother saying yes or no, throwing himself back into the throng.

It's the ultimate workout. Sweat stings his eyes, his brain pounds behind them. He has to stay vigilant and he has to be fast. He cuts down geeks with a practised agility, Bernier on one side, Taylor the other. They force their way to the fence, and soon there's a small army of survivors behind them, bullets burning his eardrum to the right.

When the fence is finally in view again, they buckle down.

It's a huge struggle. Hopper and Livingstone front a team of five of the older guys with a replacement fence on their literal shoulders. The woods are teaming with geeks who must have heard the gunfire and the siren. They cut down the old fence behind Steve and the youngers. The new one gets thrown up just as Steve spears a geek through the ear, hammers whacking into frozen earth with a sound like a car crash.

"Harrington, inside the perimeter!"

Steve eyes an imminent geek but does as Hopper commands, weaselling through the single gap they've left behind. They finish the inner hammering and Hopper and Livingstone set about chaining the sections back together.

Steve backs away from the fence and tries to catch his breath. He leans back and brushes the hair out of his eyes, chest heaving, eyes shuttering closed in relied. They survived it. They did exactly what they were supposed to do in this situation and the plan worked.

Somebody takes the crowbar from his hand and he lets them, scrubbing both hands through his hair, scalp cool with sweat as a gale of wind blows. He looks up, and the sky has darkened, that rare morning sunshine nowhere to be seen.

He opens his eyes. Christopher is sitting a ways away looking queasy. Joyce is hugging the life out of Jonathan, kissing his cheek, hand in his hair. Bernier and Taylor are stabbing the new wave of geeks. Steve isn't worried, there aren't a quarter as many as there had been.

The smell is barbaric.

"Don't relax too quickly, kid," Hopper says, "we still gotta round up the bodies."

Steve laughs morosely, secretly pleased when Hopper pats him on the shoulder. His back fucking hurts and he stinks of gore and zombie gunk. Dead material somehow slimy and dry as bark at once, Steve wants a shower, and a hug from you, in that specific order.

"You okay?" Jonathan asks him, squinting. There's blood splattered against his forehead.

"They had to do this today?" Steve asks. "This is my favourite shirt. I'm never gonna get the guts out–"

A scream splits the air.

"The quad," Hopper announces. "Taylor, Bernier, keep going. Everyone else, with me."

His blood ice in his veins, Steve runs with the rest of the group. He realises he's left his crowbar with Taylor and grimaces, pulling the gun from his holster and knocking off the safety mechanism. Steve isn't good with a gun. He only ever used one right at the start, when he hadn't known that sound to a geek is like a porch light to moths. That, and he'd run out of ammo.

"Oh, goddammit."

There's a crowd of geeks they must've missed around the side of the town hall. Hopper immediately starts yelling at a young teenager screaming in front of the gym to get back inside.

Steve's okay, his heart's fine, and then he sees you. You're wrist deep in brains, surrounded by bodies and coated in a black spray of blood. It's in your hair, your eyebrows, all over your cheek and your shoulder.

He nearly wrenches Livingstone off of his feet as he bursts forward to help you, gun raised and poised. He shoots and drives forward. One geek, two. Three, five, he loses count. He gets so close he can hear your panting breath, not panicked but struggling to keep going.

"Fucker," he says, one geek left between you and safety.

You scramble to the side. Steve shoots it point black in the back of the head. It falls down slow, and then it thunks against your shoes.

You reach for him on automatic as you pull your feet from under him, treading over the soft of the geeks shoulders and into Steve's waiting arms. He holds the gun away from you to click on the safety, shoving it back into his borrowed holster.

"You're okay?" you ask loudly.

"I'm fine, what are you doing out here? You should've stayed inside the pantry."

"Says who?" you ask, squeezing him so tightly he feels his skin bruising in the shapes of your arms.

"Says everyone!" he shouts, squeezing you back just as hard.

You catch your breath together. His hands rove over your back, checking and rechecking that you're real and you're not hurt. He pushes you away from him to check your front properly, hand on your face, your arms.

"I'm fine," you say, "I'm perfect."

"You have more blood on you than the rest of us put together."

You hum unhappily. "I think I got a fresh one in the artery. It sprayed like a fountain, it was–" You sigh, stroking a loose curl of dirtied hair from his eyes. "It was disgusting."

He wants to kiss you, but he's normal, and you're both plastered in blood. He's less normal as he wraps his forearm behind your head and forces your face into his neck, groaning in an exhaustive relief. Your warm breath against his skin is everything he could ever ask for.

"Stay inside, next time," he murmurs.

"Not a chance."

"Think I can give him a citation?" Steve hears Hopper ask.

Joyce gasps through a laugh. "They're cute!"

"This is a public space."

Steve huffs a laugh against your ear. "Holy shit, you scared the fuck out of me."

"I had to know you were okay."

His hand slides down your shoulders, searching for something he can't explain. "I'm okay. We're okay, honey. You can relax."

The last of your resistance ebbs away. You melt into his arms, and Steve pretends for your sake that he can't feel you shaking like a leaf. You just tore your way through a herd to make sure he was okay: you're the bravest girl he's ever met.

#steve zombie!au #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things 4

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kieran-granola · 5 months

Text

Sometimes I like to think about BruJay, feat Jason opening a food bank in Crime Alley.

He charges a 50¢ flat fare per week, because he can afford to cover the weeks when donations aren't enough, and lets people pay more if they'd like because he knows how important pride is when you're broke.

The donations are slow at first, because he doesn't really have the time to do both community outreach and walk into grocery stores to ask for their end-of-stock. He doesn't mind, and usually just buys stuff himself to distribute it.

And then one week, he gets a big "anonymous" donation. Including new shelves and fridges for the space he's repurposed as the bank.

Jason's like, Huh. Okay. Whatever. It's probably just a power move from Bruce to show that he knows what Jason is doing.

Except the donations keep coming. Quietly, on time, without any requests or cards. It's nothing extravagant—just practical items and staple foods—but it's what Jason's people need. And so eventually, Jason steels himself and pays Bruce a visit.

He's not sure what to expect, but he figures the mature thing to do is to approach Bruce like a businessman. He's a big donor, Jason is going to thank him for his contributions, ask if he needs any paperwork for his tax deductions and be on his way.

Their meeting starts off that way. Bruce lets him set the tone, and thanks him for his work for Gotham. They talk about Jason's goals for the food bank, and about how they could make it more efficient and accessible for the people Jason serves—neighbors help each other in Crime Alley, but Jason knows a few elderly and disabled people who would benefit from deliveries. The Wayne Foundation couldnsubsidize and organize that so he can give aboveboard work to people in need.

Just as he's leaving though, Bruce can't help but stand up and call out for him. "Wait, Jason. How have you been?"

Jason tenses and looks at him. "I'm doing just fine, Bruce."

"Good. That's... Good." Bruce smiles a small, awkward smile that looks nothing like the practiced grin he conjures up for the press. "I just want to say, the food bank is a fantastic initiative and I am grateful that you're letting me contribute."

"I'm not petty enough to fuck my people over just because you piss me off on a regular basis."

"I know. And I know you can handle yourself but... is there anything I could do for you?"

"I don't need anything." Jason glares at Bruce in warning. It should be enough, but he can't help running his mouth. "Unless you wanna find me a date, I'm all set."

"I see." Bruce gives him a long look. "Are you free on Thursday?"

Jason blinks. "What?"

"There's a new Italian place in the Diamond district. I've been invited to their opening night. I could use a partner."

"What the fuck. Are you seriously offering to take me on a date yourself?"

Bruce doesn't flinch. "I am."

"I was kidding."

"And I wasn't. Is that a no?"

"It's—" Jason swallows. "I'm not interested in spending a night with Brucie."

"All I'm asking is for you to spend an evening with me."

Jason bites his lip. He never expected Bruce to see him as a man and not as a child. Not in a way that would make Jason's pitiful crush seem attainable, at least. Saying yes is tempting, if only to see if Bruce is truly capable of treating him like an equal.

"I'll see if I can make it," he answers cautiously.

Tension seeps out of Bruce's shoulders. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me. I haven't decided not to stand you up yet."

"I look forward to the surprise. And I'm happy you came to see me today either way."

"Right." Jason gets to the door. "What happens on Thursday... It won't affect the food bank, will it?"

"It won't." Bruce smiles wryly. "I'm not petty enough to fuck our people over just because you piss me off on a regular basis."

Jason lets out a bark of surprised laughter. "That sounds wrong coming out of your mouth."

"I know. Don't tell Alfred."

┈━ ◇ ━┈

When Thursday comes, Jason heads to the vicinity of the restaurant. He doesn't show himself immediately. Instead, he watches as Bruce waits for him patiently, even though he goes way over reasonable lateness.

Eventually Jason understands that Bruce won't be going in without him. He comes out of hiding, flustered because Bruce looks gorgeous in his evening clothes, and because fuck, he didn't expect him to give him more than just the benefit of the doubt. Except apparently his company was the only thing that made the prospect of this evening worth Bruce's time.

They end up ditching the fancy opening night and grabbing chili dogs and ice cream in the park.

When Bruce kisses him goodnight, he tastes like all of Jason's favorite things, and Jason is pretty sure his heart is going to beat out of his chest.

#brujay #jason todd #Bruce wayne #kieran writes

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gachawolfiebloom · 2 months

Text

Your Pursuit of Perfection

Story and Artwork By: @GachaWolfieBloom

Chapter 4: A New Challenger

Summary: A few months after the events of WOTFI 2023, SMG4 starts having really bad dreams about the "Its gotta be perfect" incident. One night however, his fear allows the nightmares to break through and he gets taken to a horrific dimension. He finally meets the tv adware, who manipulates him into returning to his insane ways, intent on claiming much more than the perfect video. Now it's up to his friends to stop this madness and save SMG4. Can they do it in time or will they lose SMG4 forever? (In case you are unaware this is a sequel to the its gotta be perfect movie)

Tags: angst, its gotta be perfect, love confession, luigi, mario, meggy, melony, nightmares, scary, smg3, smg4, smg34, smg3 x smg4, tari, tv adware

They all went back to the castle to think of a new plan. Meggy was pacing back and forth while everyone else was worried. Mario was the most freaked out as he kept running around screaming "SMG4 IS GONE!!! MARIO'S NEVER GOING TO SEE HIM AGAIN!!! DO SOMETHING SMG3!!!" Tari tried to calm him down. "It's okay Mario! We'll find a way to save him!"

"Who was that and where did he come from?" Meggy pondered. "Whoever the hell that was, he's so dead when I find him." Three said with a serious tone. After what he had witnessed back in March, he was not taking any chances this time. If anyone hurt or killed Four, consider it their funeral. Boopkins asked "That icky stuff looked kind of familiar..."

Meggy had a realization just then. "You're right Boopkins! That's the same substance that we saw engulf Four with the its gotta be perfect incident!"

"The what?" Melony asked. Right. She wasn't there when they faced the insane man. "Oh sorry Melony. We faced some kind of weird goop and Smg4 got possessed from his obsession of making things perfect." Melony felt distraught when she heard that. "That's horrible! I hope that Smg4 is okay. Maybe we should have paid more attention to him." Three's face changed into a guilty expression when he heard Melony say that. "Three? Are you okay?" Meggy asked.

"Yeah sure..." Mario suddenly got an idea and ran up to Three. "SMG3! YOUR MEME POWERS! USE THEM TO BRING SMG4 BACK PLEASE!!!" Before he could say a word, a voice behind them spoke "I'm afraid that won't work."

They all turned to see Smg1 and Smg2 standing behind them. "Your meme energy won't connect with each other when you are in different realms." They all looked in confusion at the meme guardians. "What do you mean different realms?" Tari asked. The two shared a glance with each other and sighed. "We know who has been targeting Smg4 and where they took him."

"WHO!?" It was finally time for them to know about the mysterious figure who was watching from the shadows all these months. "His name is the TV Adware. He has taken Smg4 to his world, The Realm of Torment or as you call it, The Nightmare Realm."

"Well then what are we waiting for! Let's go over there and kick his butt already!" Three said, about to make a mad dash for the door. "Wait!" called Smg2. "We don't know what he's planning."

Smg1 lowered his voice. "You deserve an explanation. This is something that we had hoped would never come to pass."

"The TV Adware is a being that likes to corrupt others by using their disabilities against them. Back when you faced Smg4, he apparently knew exactly what to say to convince him to his side. He used his fear and hatred to give him the powers that you all encountered. After you defeated him, we hoped that his forces of darkness would back off...but we were wrong. He has watched you all these months and has now gained enough strength to claim what he wanted all those months ago."

Meggy pipes up with curiosity "What would that be?" Smg1 did not hold back when delivering this announcement. "TO CLAIM ENOUGH POWER TO BREAK THROUGH AND TURN OUR WORLD INTO HIS OWN DARK KINGDOM!!!" They all gasped and a few even looked scared. Luigi and Tari clung onto each other, shaking. Smg1 calmed down and apologized. "Sorry. We realize this is a lot."

"You're telling me! It's not like we just learned that our friend is kidnapped by some evil tv guy and is going to be used to let all hell loose!" Smg2 decided to help out. "We should have told you sooner, but there's no time for that. We must travel to his dimension and save Smg4 before the TV Adware can take control of him again."

"H-h-how are w-we g-g-going to stop h-h-him..." Luigi said nervously. "If we can all join our powers to Smg4, we might have a chance to save him." Smg1 said. "But what about our home?" Meggy asked. "Leave that to us!" Another pair of characters came up behind them. Swag put his sunglasses on while standing in a cool pose and Chris just rolled his eyes. Chris explained "The US military can hold them off while you guys go stop this guy."

"But how are we going to get there?" Tari asked. Smg2 pointed out "We know of a place where we can open to his world." Meggy rose up "Let's all be strong for Smg4! Who's with me!" She put her hand in the middle as Melony followed. "I might not know about your first encounter, but I'll help in any way I can!" Tari put her mechanical hand on top and says "It sounds scary, but I'll do it for Four!" Boopkins had some trouble, but put his hand in the middle as well. "Count me in!" Bob followed "FINE. I'LL BE NICE THIS ONE TIME." Luigi shakily puts his hand in as well. "I-i-i'll try..." Mario excitedly slaps his hand in the middle as well. "YIPPEE! MARIO WANTS TO RESCUE SMG4 AS WELL!" Saiko put her hand in and says something in anime.

Only one person left. "Well Three..." He thought for a few seconds and said "As much as I hate to admit it, I really don't want to lose that idiot." He put his hand his in as well and they all lifted them up. "We're coming Smg4!"

Smg1 said "We must hurry... we don't know how long Smg4's bravery will protect him..."

Your friends won't save you this time...

Chapter 5: The Return of I̵̤̫͘ǹ̷͇̇s̸͈̦͗̆ȁ̵̟̉ñ̷͔̰ḯ̶̲͇̅ṫ̵̝͗y̴̺̠͆̀

#smg4 #smg3 #smg34 #angst #its gotta be perfect #love confession #luigi #smg4 mario #smg4 melony #smg4 meggy #nightmare #scary #smg3 x smg4 #smg4 tari #tv adware

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weeb-polls-with-pip · 7 months

Note

Not that you're taking submissions for new characters or anything, but I just want to talk about another autistic anime (technically video game) girl. Spoilers for Persona 5 Strikers ahead.

Meet Kuon Ichinose! One of the first things she tells you about herself is that she's particularly good at noticing cats. If that's not an autistic hello I don't know what is. Anyway, she gets to know the Phantom Thieves and that they operate in a sorta alternate dimension formed from people's cognitions. She immediately basically goes, "okay, neat, can you give me computer stuff from there to study?" You know, rather than being surprised at the existence of such a thing.

Her special interest is programming, particularly AI. Turns out she's created two fully sentient living programs. The first of which she created essentially as a disability aid. She appears bright and cheerful all the time. Even when inappropriate. The reason for this is that she's actually masking. She has no idea how emotions or the human heart work, and believes she lacks these. She says that she's less like a human and more like a heartless doll. Still, her first sentient AI she created to learn about the human heart, hoping secretly that she might through this learn that she really does have a heart.

That AI she made (Sophia) comes to see her as a mother, and ends up helping her. At the end of the game the two of them set off together to learn more about people.

Basically she's an autistic tragic villain turned redeemed mom with a robot daughter (who's also autistic, btw) who helps save the world. I love her and her character arc so much.

You had me at 'good at noticing cats' but that last paragraph just sealed the deal. She sounds incredible,,, I love her 🥰🥰🥰

#autistic anime girls poll #poll asks #kuon ichinose #persona 5

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disabled-cat-in-a-cowboy-hat · 5 days

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So today as I was getting up to update my commission information on Ko-Fi I get slapped in the face with this benign fucking horseshit:

Fucking-- excuse me??? Who the absolute fuck do you think you are telling me I am 1. Impersonating MYSELF or 2. Scamming people by giving them EXACTLY WHAT I PROMISED?

First of all, how dare you people have the god-damned audacity to take my shit down without so much as a warning, reaching out, asking me questions, asking me to verify my identity, asking me for documents or receipts or evidence to support YOUR bullshit claims that you UTTERLY FAILED TO PROVIDE ANY EVIDENCE OR REASON FOR? In this country our legal rights say that we are Innocent Until Proven Guilty-- well you didn't prove SHIT.

"We have used human moderators"-- Did you though??? Did you really, though? Because your utter failure to provide a legitimate reason-- like Somebody Else We Know-- sure begs questioning.

More perplexing is that when I query this particular matter, there are basically ~no other reports~ of people getting their accounts randomly unpublished for these specific accusations.

Seeing as this is a UK-based company, it seems to me that this was an act of contempt in Malicious Targeted Hate.

Very suspicious indeed that this happened mere hours after I got my first donations in fucking ~months~! Suspicious enough that I now have to scrutinize and suspect my donors and subscribers and consider if they are subbing just to falsely report me as a scammer-- since I have read reports of that.

Like, okay. Giving Ko-Fi the benefit of the doubt-- which I am Not, actually, because you owe it to your content creators to have more discretion, maturity, and to offer us some fucking DIGNITY-- and giving my subbers the benefit of the doubt (luke warm at best, because I cannot trust like that when I am stalked, doxxed, griefed, and abused by multiple ex-friends every step of my life), if you are giving me money with an expectation of a specific service you are barking up the wrong goddamn tree.

I state VERY CLEARLY on my Ko-Fi what I am and am not capable of doing. If you expected something else-- that's YOUR problem. I indicated MONTHS ago ON Ko-Fi that my health was taking a nose-dive and that if people did not help me start meeting my goals that I would not be able to continue offering what services I did provide much less open commission slots--- and people completely fell through on me. Not only that, I lost my ONLY FORM OF INCOME THAT I DID HAVE AT THE TIME. I am JOBLESS, now. Things are ONLY GETTING WORSE!

But yeah okay let's bully the disabled (refused all benefits) handicapped, mentally ill (had all healthcare ripped away), mentally handicapped, severely traumatized, transgender (had my gender affirming care RIPPED AWAY), autistic, PTSD-having, living-with-abuse, wheelchair-bound-in-a-living-sitatuation-that-has-no-room-for-a-wheelchair, pseudo-homeless rape survivor who is having worse and worse and worse seizures the more people don't fund my surgeries or healthcare. Oh, and I have untreated skin cancer.

Yeah, you're real heroes, alright. Man oh man better save people from me. I am sooooooooooooooooooooooo dangerous and scary!

So to make matters ~funnier~, getting in Ko-Fi's fucking business and demanding answers yielded them immediately restoring my account with zero comment or explanation. That's awfully fucking suspicious for: " We have used human moderators" isn't it?

You can no longer use the "Our algo is a silly goose, tee hee! It was an accident! Tee hee! :)" excuse that other platforms get to when you make that claim.

Pressing them for answers further,-- because that's not fucking good enough for the suicidal panic attack that that email gave me-- has yielded no response from them yet. And probably won't.

So all in all this sounds like fucking bullshit, hmmm? Sounds like there's a breakdown of competence in your back-end and either you are 1. Lying about using "Human Moderators" or 2. Letting yourselves be manipulated by my fucking abusers into doing their dirty work-- just like certain other websites have and continue to do or 3. YOU ARE FUCKING TRANSPHOBIC AND TARGETING ME.

So now this has become a ~PSA~!

Beware!! Ko-Fi can and will just arbitrarily unpublish your page and/or close your account without warning, no notice, no explanation, and will not clarify what you "did wrong" or how to avoid it in the future! Not only that, but so will PayPal and Stripe, who they pander to!

As artists you should all be raising alarms and red flags about this! This is my entire livability! When I saw that email I collapsed out of my chair, hurt myself, couldn't breathe, had severe convulsions that caused severe bodily harm, made me throw up what little I got to eat (I cannot afford groceries), and made me have a complete suicidal breakdown. I am sick to fucking death of these platforms (Ko-Fi, Paypal, Stripe, Tumblr, Twitch, Patreon, Youtube, etc) playing with peoples LITERAL LIVLIHOODS like a fucking JINGLE BALL TOY.

We are HUMAN BEINGS. WE HAVE PROTECTED RIGHTS. WE DESERVE RESPECT AND DIGNITY. AT THE VERY LEAST WE DESERVE TO BE TOLD WHY YOU ARE LITERALLY TRYING TO FUCKING MURDER US. You should be. ASHAMED.

#kofi #ko-fi #kofi button #kofi_button #ko-fi button #ko-fi_button #kofi labs #ko-fi labs #long post #psa #artists beware

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lenteur · 5 months

Text

random thoughts about tell me that you love me, episode one

(the rest is under the cut because i'm worried about your eyes having to read ALL OF THAT and this post might contain spoilers)

First of all, I'd like to say that the scenery is gorgeous 💘 I'm in love with it 😍

The first thing I've noticed is how peaceful and slow this drama is. I really like that. I wonder if there will be a lot of moments of silence because cha jin woo has a hearing impairment.

The music ambiance in this episode is amazing. You can feel how the main character feels about the world around him.

I like that mo eun understood jin woo can't hear well and went back up the rooftop to save him.

Mo eun still taking the time to reassure jin woo that everything's going to be okay in the middle of a fire, how caring of her.

So now we know jin woo is triggered by fire because something happened when he was younger. It must have taken place during high school but we don't have the details yet.

I'm in the middle of this show and I'm already in love... I think it's cute how the more they meet the more they communicate with each other and find ways to do so because jin woo can't hear.

It's amazing that they're both thoughtful about each other: she came to rescue him during the fire, he's serving her the dish and even bringing her a towel when it started raining on them. It's those little gestures that mean a lot.

Mo eun even tried to cover her ears to understand how it feels to be in jin woo's shoes.

I noticed that the first time jin woo smiled is when he was with mo eun, the only person who seems to notice him. She's the first person who went to him and tried to understand him. She even went as far as saving him because she knew if she didn't chances are he'd have been caught in the fire.

And now mo eun is learning sign language for him? Oh take my heart while you're at it! I know they're not in a romantic relationship but it's just heartwarming to see them BOTH put effort into communicating with each other and no just jin woo. It proves that she is a thoughtful person. She's thankful for jin woo helping her and she wants to let him know in the language he understands the most.

The shift in jin woo's eyes when he saw her communicate with him in sign language 💖 followed by "I always thought I was the one who should make efforts" Kindness and understanding go a long way.

Jin woo has been rejected by others (ie the grandma who swiftly went back home when she learnt he can't hear) so it must have been a relief for him to see someone not be deterred by that and trying their best to communicate with him.

What I really liked the most about this episode was that it matched with jin woo, whether it be the pacing or the sounds, it helped us put ourselves in his shoes. I'm glad this decision was made because it's rare to find shows (didn't say it was impossible) that put a spotlight on a disability that well.

I'm going to give the episode a 9/10

ps: i was made aware this is a remake of a 1995 japanese drama Aishiteiru to Ittekure. I haven't watched the drama so I won't be making any comparisons between the two. So if my opinion differs from yours because of that, please know that i am aware the japanese drama exists but i won't be watching it (for now, who knows?)

#what a great surprise!#i can't wait to watch the next episodes #thank you to the talented gifmaker that made me want to watch this thanks to their beautiful gifs 💗#random(al) thoughts #kdrama #tell me that you love me

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crimeronan · 10 months

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I feel like I would consider myself polyamory agnostic in a way, like I would maybe like for it to happen but I often fear that I don't have the ability to manage even one partnership, let alone multiple relationships, since I am often. So tired. I often find myself idealizing the "late" stage of a relationship when everyone already has settled into what to expect of each other and knows not to take it personally if someone falls asleep mid movie, for example. All this to say, how do you handle your relationship structure as a disabled/chronically ill person? Do you have any advice/thoughts on how it works for you? (I feel like perhaps you have posted about this before and I am just forgetting...)

oh this is a really good question! i'm not sure how relevant my life experience will be to you, particularly given that i started dating all three of my current partners before becoming disabled/crippled. but i am happy to share!

first off -- i 100% get romanticizing the late stage of relationships, sometimes you just need things to be chill and flexible. but i also don't think that this stage necessarily Needs to be reserved for Late Relationships?

like.... the older i get, the more upfront i've decided to be about my needs, especially with new people. granted, a lot of the people i meet these days are either disabled themselves or Get It -- my social circle is mostly queer spoonies in their 20s and 30s + much much older retirees that i hang out with at the local pool.

some people prefer not to be so open so quickly about their limitations, it is hard and scary to be visibly disabled, harder still to ask for help & admit that you might be inconvenient / a burden / take up extra space. this USED to be me until i said. eh. fuck it. after a certain point, wounded pride is just a mental construct

basically, like. when i'm online these days, you'll see me be clear about my limits with strangers - i'll say that if i stop replying to chats or asks, it's not bc i hate you, it's bc i'm tired or forgetful. that i can't guarantee responses to ppl, even people i'm already friendly with. that if my mood is bad or my pain levels are high, i won't engage in much social interaction at All. that my capabilities fluctuate wildly depending on the day and that i cannot be relied upon for consistent scheduling or posting or creative output

i'm similarly open with people irl. it helps that i'm often using mobility aids when i'm talking to people. the mobility aids sorta strip the possibility of pretending not to be disabled. it's kinda the elephant in the room. but it means that i can be like, "as you can see, i am very crippled. i may need flexibility with any plans that we make. due to being very crippled."

if people get upset by this or simply don't have the capacity to deal with it, that is fine! that's not either of our faults, no one's done anything wrong, we're just not in the right circumstances to mesh. i don't get hurt by that personally. i've honestly found that it saves SO much time and hassle and potential drama/heartache to set expectations right away. the only other option is to exhaust myself and end up failing to meet expectations regardless and losing the friendship after burning up a bunch of energy and social bridges. painful and bad!

so like... i can meet a new person, and if they're cool with My Whole Deal, then there's no waiting period before we're familiar enough for flaky behavior. i can be like, "i'm not sure i'll be able to walk tonight, is there a place to sit down at the event?" or "i'm flaring a little, is it okay for us to be kinda flexible about tomorrow's schedule?" or "hey, i'll get back to you as soon as possible i promise, i'm just fogged TO SHIT today [peace sign]" from day 1. it's great

i'm not saying that you Have to do this; i am aware that it breaches like seventeen laws of general social etiquette. i'm just saying that i have met many people who are totally chill about this! as long as you're chill and respectful of the other person as well, you can do whatever you want forever

that was not even relevant to the initial ask, so. AS FOR MY PARTNERS.

i actually don't find that my illness makes it harder to navigate my relationships at all. like i mentioned, i've been with all three partners for Many Many Years now. we know each other Extremely well, we're all extremely turbo autistic, we all have blunt communication down to a science. so saying "i'm not up for doing [x thing] tonight, can we take a rain check?" is super easy.

in fact, my partners can basically intuit a flare from just my physical movements and tone of voice, even before i say a single word. we are VERY familiar with each other.

.....and, alright. after fighting the urge to longpost i've decided to put the rest under a cut. YOU'RE WELCOME 4 THE RETURN OF YOUR DASHBOARDS. "why didnt you put it under a cut so much earlier" read my posts boy

anyway. click readmore to hear me expand upon just how fucking incredible and awesome and kind and generous and loving my People are

there ARE some ways that the illness has made it more difficult for ME to be the kind of partner that i want to be -- for example, i often lack the energy to provide proper emotional support during stressful situations, i have a shorter threshold for pain/irritation than i used to, i can't give 100% of my energy anymore and there have been times when that has resulted in hurt feelings in my partners.

(there have been far more times, though, when nobody's feelings are hurt and it's literally fine.)

in every case where feelings DID get hurt, we've talked stuff out and fixed it within like an hour. bc we all trust each other and know that we don't WANT to hurt each other's feelings. i never ever Ever say things with the intention of wounding my partners, and they know that. they never say things with the intention of wounding me, either, which is why our very blunt "hey, you need to change something you're doing" convos go so well. there's no need to tiptoe, it doesn't hurt me to know what they're thinking or feeling or needing.

sometimes things are just hard and shitty and we're all doing the best we can. this is just part of adulthood i think. especially adulthood in late stage capitalism, etc. the Biggest key to my polycule is that we are all much happier as a family than we would be without each other. the relationships are about as wholesome and healthy and non-toxic and openly communicative as they can get

the Other key aspect when dealing with my illness is that.... being polyamorous has actually been... SOOOOOO MUCH BETTER than being 1) alone, OR 2) in a monogamous relationship EVER WOULD BE?

it is Extremely Stressful for my family to deal with me being this sick. i am aware of that. but i haven't had to bear the brunt of it. not only do they support me, but they also all communicate with and support each other. so no one person is bearing the entire weight of the stress or pain or fear. and i don't have to comfort people over my own symptoms, which most disabled ppl i think would agree is.... exhausting

when i'm too fucked up to speak aloud, let alone support my partners the way i usually do, they ALWAYS have EACH OTHER as a safety net.

this safety net has been beyond vital for me personally, too. round-the-clock care from a single partner is insane and exhausting and leads to unraveling tempers. but when you live with two partners who can help cover your chores and cook and make sure you don't die of your Symptoms (TM)? that's much more doable.

it's HARD, bc literally everyone in the house is disabled to some degree, but it's doable. (it being hard is part of why my QPR is going to move in with us soon. extra hands!)

a few weeks ago, rafi (partner of 7ish years) went on a short vacation to visit family in california. and justice (QPR of 3ish years, best friend of 8ish years) booked an impromptu next-day plane ticket to come stay with me and vi (partner of 11ish years) while rafi was gone. because i was Very Sick. i was flaring horribly the whole time she was here, and she made meals and cleaned and ran errands and picked up medications and returned phone calls and lay in bed with me watching low-stakes tv shows and made sure i didn't stroke out without anyone there to help.

this meant that i basically got to stay in bed the whole time, which was very very Very needed. and vi -- who has a bad back -- wasn't unduly taxed with Literally All of the household upkeep in rafi's absence.

the same principle has applied when i've needed my partners to help cover my share of bills or my household chores or my errands or whatever. since there are three other people involved, the Immediate Support Net is much wider than in a monogamous relationship. especially bc all three of them have their own familial and friend support networks to reach out to!

having more people around is actually awesome for me. i don't feel like i'm expending a lot more energy than i would in a monogamous relationship, but i AM receiving a TON more support and care and love than would be possible in a monogamous relationship.

i guess the conclusion i'd make is: no man is an island, humans are hardwired to build large social support groups, and in a good relationship, you'll receive At Least as much as you give. right now i'm receiving a SHIT TON MORE than i give, and i do often feel pretty bad about it despite knowing it's not my fault.

but these people have chosen to be my family. and if they ever want to stop choosing me then they absolutely can. and if they need more from me or they need something Different from me, then they'll literally just tell me.

(i know they will literally just tell me because all three of them have literally just told me in the past. they're three people i can implicitly trust to say things like "hey, this thing you said made me sad / was unhelpful" and "hey, i'm really stressed out about [x thing], can we make a plan to deal with it?" and "hey, this situation is pretty serious and i know that you don't want to face it but i really need you to. i will take on whatever i can for you and support you the whole time")

so: yes it has been hard to some extent, managing three relationships while also being sick. but it is also a wonderful setup with a million unthought-of advantages & i am much better cared-for and much better AT caring because of it & i fucking Shudder to think how horrific being sick would be without them.

i love my family so much.

#long post #replies #polyamory #this barely scratches the surface bc it's just a few examples of how our dynamics work but hopefully it is clarifying #polyamory is an advantage that has saved my Entire Ass. my partners are wonderful.#all relationships do take work but my three relationships don't take So Much Work that there's no benefit you know #the work is really easy. it's just. you take care of me when i need it and you can. i take care of you when you need it and i can #that's literally it. it's not a hard symbiosis to maintain #autoimmune tag

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arbor-et-um · 1 year

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If you've been living in pandamonium

You may be a trash panda if you're waking up exhausted by your room and other things too probably (This is not a diagnosis, please seek medical advice if you experience symptoms such as lil Grabbies and a very soft tail.) If you're a trash panda, first, I'm so proud of you for continuing to be so punk rock in the face of your mental and physical illnesses, it's really important that you know I see you. (If you're not a trash panda I hope any of this is useful to you as well.)

Trash pandas usually do their snacking in bed or on the move, and they usually fall into a terrible cycle of not having the energy to deal with a situation that's constantly and actively draining their energy. Probably nocturnal by nature but forced by society to adhere to an unnatural "day person" schedule, and definitely overwhelmed, to the extent of possibly even feeling numb all the time due to sensory overload.

You've got a lot of garbage tho, and if you want, you can keep reading and I'll give you some coaching. If you're not in the mood but you're thinking about it just bookmark this or something ok?

Ok. What I want you to do is get a trash bag right now. It can be one you've already started on, or it can be an empty one. Put it up somewhere within arm's reach*, and plop your booty on the floor if you're able to.

*Use your reach extender if you have one and use it regularly. Don't go looking for yours if it isn't EASILY accessible to you, and if you don't have one, there's a good one right here for like fifteen bucks.

If I've just blown your mind and you hadn't even considered getting a reach aid (in the sense that perhaps you are disabled and it hadn't occurred to you that a reach aid would be helpful to you, and that it would be immensely so and you need time to process that), I love you so much, please order one, and gleefully use it as a tool to clean a few days to weeks later when it comes and you're not in unreasonable physical pain cleaning your room. As long as it helps you clean and it DOESN'T end up in your closet and never used and doesn't help you at all and becomes a part of the problem. Take what works and leave the rest, okay?

I love you, now say it back, but out loud, to yourself.

If for any reason you can't put yourself on the floor, easily reach the floor, ask for help, forget the floor for now. Fuck the floor. It didn't get messy overnight, it'll be there tomorrow. I want you to focus on your desk or your bed or your table instead as you've already started and are at risk of losing momentum and as long as you're detrashing any horizontal surface you can reach it will impact your eyes and brain a lot.

If you simply don't have floor space to sit on the floor because of Things In The Floor and that is your only limiting factor to getting down to tushie town, meet the others here by sitting where you normally do and just grab. Grab anything that food came out of. You're not dirty. You're not. Your room is dirty and you are not your room. You are not your actions, your actions are a reflection of your well-being and your state of mind. Put on some YouTube, listen to music, start a podcast or finish an audiobook.

Take frequent breaks for food, water, and hiding in the bathroom for as long as you need, but when you're in your room, you're probably going to be thinking about your trash anyway, so please promise me you'll stop enabling yourself to spend that entire time feeling ashamed of your trash.

If cleaning was used as a punishment for you at any point then you're allowed to feel resentful over your trash's existence, so please be compassionate about your resistance to cleaning. You deserve to walk or drive across your floor without hearing a crinkle or feeling dirt on your feet or having to worry about falling over, especially if it bothers you that you can't.

You might find or recover other things that you don't want to keep on the floor. Pick them up, dust them off, and ask yourself if you put it with the trash because it doesn't actually fill any void for you or if you lost it under the trash and already know where it belongs in your home, and put it where it goes - for now, in a "keep" pile behind you where you're sitting.

When the sphere of space around you is clean, take a moment to be FUCKIN PROUD and do some stretches, and congratulate yourself. Drink some water and decide to stop for now or carry on. Take a picture!!, Look at it for inspiration if that spot gets messy in the future again.

ANYTHING you do at this point is doing one thing and one thing only: giving you a win. Just feel the confidence of knowing you can do this, you really really can. You're allowed to do this in chunks instead of all at once if you allow yourself to. Your space is wherever you put your body and you can do whatever you need to do in that space and I mean that.

If youve been dragon your feet through your clothes

You're a dragon if you don't have a problem with trash in your room, but you do have a problem with clothes, stuffed animals, cords, complain of clutter and other items you really do value being piled on the ground or your bed. It's only really a problem if you're in danger of tripping and hurting yourself or if your treasures make it hard for you to sleep comfortably. (Trash pandas, if you've made it this far, can I hold your hand for 2 seconds so I can cheer with you by throwing our fists to the sky??, Fucking woohoo my guy)

These are your things and you're not bad to or discarding or disrespecting them when you let them end up on the floor and lost in your bedsheets, you're just tired. You're doing a good job and you probably just need more shelves and boxes or box shaped shelves or baskets, and you need to clean your bed off long enough to get one (1) good night of sleep before you start to tackle your room!!!! I don't care if you dump the contents of your bed on the floor just so it so you can starfish. In the morning, you're gonna put your things on the bed again and just get to work. Start with the dishes and step or drive over or around your piles without judgement on your way to and from the kitchen. These are your brain piles man, so let self love win against shame paralysis.

When the dishes are in the sink or dishwasher or on the kitchen counter and not in your bedroom, begin organizing your depressuon den piles into intentional piles. Give the piles mental labels, just a flash word.

Clean clothes

Dirty clothes

Trash

Toys

Paper

Hobby a

Hobby b

Hair ties

Cat toys

Chargers

Make these piles working from left to right. Stop when you need to. Play on your phone for a few minutes or take a food break or a shower and when you come back to the cleaner semicircle of your bedroom, decide to either 1) continue or 2) be done for the day and whichever you choose, just be gentle with yourself. You are mighty and I am proud of you. Your life didn't get messy overnight. Choosing to clean your room when it's THIS hard to clean at all is a really good thing to do for yourself.

When you ARE actively working on your room, I want you to promise me you'll invest your time in making piles and then finding containers for those piles.

Your bedroom being cluttered is. Not. A. Moral. Falling. On your part. Being good or bad at cleaning doesn't make you a good or bad person.

#cleaning motivation #like and reblog for part two: goblins and gremlins

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youraveragecatastrophe · 11 months

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Can you imagine what it must all have been like for Gray though?

Like. Picture this. After getting badly injured on your job, you get out of a long, long hospital stay. We're talking months. You don't remember any of those months. You don't even remember the accident.

So you get back to your boring little life. It's the same as it was before, but after brushing so close to death you do have a better appreciation for it. Or you try to, anyway.

And then you meet this weird young woman for whom you feel an inexplicable fondness. You talk for about 4 minutes. Later, instead of meeting you again as promised, she slips away. You think you'll never see her again. Well.

A few months later, she appears out of thin air again and says she seeked you out specifically to help with her job. You want to help, so you say yes, and you fly to New Zealand. There, everything seems straightforward until it- doesn't. It looks like you've been tricked, but for what? Then you find yourself into a situation more sinister and dangerous than you thought possible, yet you're not scared. When someone threatens the woman (your friend? It feels weird to call her a friend when you barely know her, but you feel close to her), you don't recognize the voice even though it evokes contradictory feelings in you. Happiness, fear? When you're in front of that weird bomb-like device, you don't know what it is but you know how to disable it, instinctively, confidently, like muscle memory.

Back in Sydney, you still don't get all the answers you want. The woman disappears again, but it's okay. You think this won't be the last you've seen of her. And maybe then you'll get your answers.

#the thing is. the thing is there's so much POTENTIAL with that dude #that storyline is so cool. the whole. 'i don't remember these people or situation but they still evoke emotions and they feel familiar'#is absolutely fascinating to me #losing your memories doesn't undo the year and a half of training + being a fully realized operative #but iiii don't like the way they went at it in s4 #the whole 'vile made him a good person by what heightening his empathy'? what??#i do like the reveal that HE seeked out vile and wanted to join tho.#very interesting and tragic wrt his friendship with carmen #but now rewatching the episode and watching him ask if they're the good guys is. weird.#like sure it helped carmen believe gray was actually the good person she saw him as #but i'm sorry i can't take the 'they brainwashed him into being good' seriously it just. doesn't work #still can't really articulate my feelings about it. we'll see if i get somewhere by season 4 lol #carmen sandiego 2019 #graham calloway #csweekly

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lily-janus · 11 months

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Someone Like You - Chapter 4

Chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3 | next

Summary: the inevitable clush between the two ex-friends.

Pairings: roceit

Warnings: disability, public humiliation, painful history, angst. I think that's it but let me know if I missed anything.

Word count: 1,183

It's that time of the week again folks! And this time I bring you the first chapter that was written by me only! Hope you all enjoy^^ @prince-rowan-of-the-forest

"That's a terrible idea." Janus deadpanned as Roman finished telling him his next idea for their project.

It was a few days after he… after they toured the potential places of filming their little film.

"What? Why? We can't film it with just the both of us! We need a crew!" Roman protested.

"A different crew, then." Janus said stubbornly.

"Oh c'mon, what's wrong with my friends?" Roman folded his arms over his chest, waiting for Janus' answer.

"I… They don't know anything about film-making." Janus tried to come up with an excuse. Roman might treat him nicely for some unknown reason Janus is still trying to figure out, but that doesn't say anything about the rest of his friends. And.. of course there's um… There's Virgil.

So, obviously Janus can't work with them, he does not have the energy to deal with what that entailed.

"Yes they do! I promise, plus they're really nice and great people… Well, Logan can be a bit stiff but he does have a good heart." Roman continued insisting.

"Just… no, okay?" For fuck's sake that sounded so pathetic, what's wrong with him? Well… besides the obvious.

There was a beat of silence in which Janus could feel Roman's gaze studying him.

"What's your problem with my friends? You don't even know them. I promise they won't judge if that's what you're worried about." Roman said again, though much softer this time.

"I just… I prefer to avoid meeting new people." He settled on, eventually. Which was half truth, true, he hated meeting new people. But, unfortunately, Virgil is far from 'new people'.

"Ohhh I see." Roman said, and Janus let out a sigh of relief. "I'll help you then!" Roman said immediately after, dragging Janus away from the lockers before he processed what was happening.

"What? No! Roman! Let go of me!" He almost dropped his cane from the surprise-dragging, left leg aching as he struggled to keep up and free himself from Roman's grip.

Someone must have walked towards them in Janus' blindspot and bumped straight into him, making him lose his balance and fall painfully on his behind. He heard some faint chuckles and his cheeks burned in embarrassment.

He lost his cane during the fall and attempted to crawl towards it when he saw a hand in front of his face.

"Janus! Oh gosh I'm so sorry… Are you okay? Can I help y-" Roman said distressingly above him.

"I think…" Janus cut him off, "you've helped enough" he hissed at him, finally reaching his cane and using it to help him get back on his feet without Roman's help.

Roman looked down in shame, "right… sorry, I just thought you'll see him coming your way and-" he tried to explain himself but Janus was already walking away, trying to ignore the laughter that followed him.

"O-okay… see you after school for our project okay?!" He shouted over the rackous in the hallway but Janus didn't grace him with a response.

…

Despite not answering Roman about whether or not they'll be meeting after school, he still found him waiting for him outside of his last class. He would have loved to ignore him and go home but they still had a project to finish and he did not feel like failing this class.

Roman bit his lip, "listen, about earlier-"

"Just forget about it, what are we doing today?" Janus cut off his less-than-genuine-apology.

Roman sighed, seeming to have expected this reaction, "...if that's what you want… I thought we could work on our costumes today but…" he hesitated.

"But what?"

"Well, as much as I hate to admit it, Virgil is way better than me when it comes to sewing… but I know you two have a history so… I guess we'll do our best with my skills." He laughed awkwardly.

Janus huffed, "how bad can it be?"

"Um… sewing-my-hand-into-the-fabric kind of bad?"

Janus swore under his breath, heart aching in his chest as he realized there's not going to be any way around it. Life just keeps being oh so kind to him. "Fine… whatever, let's go to Virgil's and get this over with."

Roman smiled in relief, "oh good, I'm sure this won't be awkward at all!" Janus would have said that sentence with a lot more sarcasm but Roman seems to really mean it, ignorance is bliss I guess.

…

"Oh, Roman, what's up man?" Virgil said in surprise when he opened the door, "...and Janus… long time no see?" He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly as he noticed his ex-friend at the doorway as well.

"I don't want to be here anymore than you want me here, trust me." Was all Janus said as he walked inside after Roman.

"...good to see you too." Virgil sighed, closing the door behind them. "Roman, what did we say about springing upon me human interaction without warning? Texting is not very complicated, you know." He said tiredly, leading them to his room.

"Sorry, Virge, it was kind of last minute and I forgot to notify you, we won't be long though, just need your help with our English project." Roman apologized, Janus staying silent beside him, trying his best to sink into the floor but not really succeeding.

"Oh, the Macbeth one? What do you need me for?" Virgil asked, walking to sit on his bed.

Janus tried readlly really hard to ignore the pinch of nostalgia this place brought, Virgil's room especially… he does not cherish those memories at all… in case you were wondering. He knows now it was all fake, Virgil was just his friend as long as he was his only option, once he got more, he was more than happy to ditch him for those…. Not that Janus cared, alone suited him just fine.

"...what do you think, Janus?"

He was suddenly aware of everyone's eyes on him and he realized he spaced out without noticing. "Um… it's great!" He hoped that fit with the question Roman asked him.

Roman and Virgil exchanged looks, "ah… we asked if it was okay if I measured you guys before I start working on Roman's designs? Are you okay?" Virgil said, frowning at him.

Janus huffed in annoyance, "like you care… and yes, fine, whatever, just make it quick."

Virgil rolled his eyes, "of course, wouldn't want to make you suffer in my company for more than necessary."

"Aw c'mon, Virge, he didn't mean that-"

"Yes, that'll be appreciated, thank you." Janus agreed.

"Janus!" Roman protested.

"I don't know what's your issue with me, I never ditched anyone to hang with the more popular kids the first chance I got. Virgil on the other hand…" Janus spat, watching Virgil's gaze turn downward.

"That's not what happened, and you know it." He said quietly.

Janus gripped his cane and turned to face the door, "keep telling yourself that." He opened the door and made to leave.

"Wait! What about-"

"I'll measure myself at home and send it to you, goodbye." And he walked away without another word.

#sanders sides #sanders sides fanfic #Someone Like You #chapter 4 #logan sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #roman sanders #janus sanders #pre romantic roceit #janus angst #virgil angst #tw disability #tw humiliation #Lily writes #wip exchange

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