#not the most proud of them but take it anyway :]

[lastoneout]

I keep thinking about all of the disabled activists and people before me who stranded themselves on the 4th floor of buildings for weeks and crawled up stairs and fought with airline staff and schools and doctors and refused to stop existing in the face of injustice and bigotry no matter how big and scary and hopeless it seemed. Every time I get angry and scared the protests that lead to the creation of the ADA pop up again and remind me that disabled people are so much fucking stronger than anyone has ever given us credit for, and I can't help but be proud of that. And I know not all disabled people feel like we should take pride in our disabilities and have flags or whatever, but I think not just living, but thriving, in spite of a world that wants us dead and gone, in the face of both illness and persecution, and how we've not only bought ourselves forward, but uplifted the disabled people around us, secured more equal futures for everyone who will come after, and truly changed the way so many abled people have seen us for the better is something to be damn fucking proud of.

We have always been here and we always will be, there will never be a world without disabled people because being disabled is not bad, it's a natural part of the human experience and yeah it sucks some times but even when it sucks we have fought to build beautiful, unique, happy lives with people, both like us and not, and that should be celebrated.

The first sign of human civilization is the healed femur. The body of the profoundly disabled person who would have needed help to even just eat being carefully laid to rest after decades of a full, happy life. The medicinal plants showing even before we were entirely human we were doing what we could to not just survive, but alleviate suffering while we're at it. Above everything, evolution selected not the baby who can walk and eat and be quiet, but the one that can ask for help.

Disabled people are not just angry cockroach motherfuckers who refuse to die, we are proof of humanity's HUMANITY. Proof that natural selection selected a species that takes care of each other. From healed femurs and medicinal plants to vaccines and IVs and insulin to now, we are driven to help one another, we are at our strongest when we don't leave our most vulnerable behind. And I am living proof of that. My mother is living proof of that. Every disabled and chronically and/or mentally ill person I know is living proof of that.

And I don't know about the rest of you, but will carry that shred of humanity's true nature inside me like it's my fucking soul. I am scared and angry and hurt, but I have a lifetime's experience being scared and angry, and I can shake off the kind of pain that would make Atlas crumble to dust like it's nothing but a stiff fucking breeze. Disabled people have always been here, turning fear and anger and pain into joy and beauty and connection, and I'm not going to let everyone who came before me down. I'm not going to give up. Not now, not ever.

It's okay if you're disabled and you've hit your limit, you're too scared and tired and hurt, I won't blame you. But I won't abandon you, either. I might not be able to right all of the wrongs in the world, but I'll be strong, I'll carry all of you with me, I will not give up.

As I've said before, society hates a cripple who won't die, so we must spite them and live anyway.

Please, live anyway. I know if anyone can, it's us.

[simpforpeterp]

stanford pines x reader

Look Me in the Eye

summary: based on a daisy jones and the six scene! a one shot in which ford comes home from a crazy night with bill, pushing you to your limit

warnings: a slap from reader to ford. gender neutral reader! this one shot came from a chapter of my actual oc story about ford but i made it gender neutral x reader because i’m so proud of this scene.

word count: 4.4k

With Fiddleford back home for Thanksgiving and the portal on a brief hiatus, you’d think Ford would take that chance to be home. But he doesn’t; he keeps working. So, you decide to try and get some work done too. Writing hasn’t come easy, though.

Ford is God knows where, and you’re sitting at your piano, staring at the keys, waiting for the words to come. At this point, a part of you has accepted that the Ford you married is somewhere deep in the back of his brain. He said he would do better, but he hasn’t. You think back to your cousin and how you swore that you wouldn’t let yourself end up like that—in a small town with a deadbeat partner and a baby.

The only thing you don’t have out of those things is a baby, which you don’t want. When you were younger, you always saw yourself having kids. But when you marry a human, it’s a little strange to think about. It’s unknown if you could even have kids together. There were legends back home about two humans in the demon realm, and one of them married and had a baby with a witch.

You do a mini birth control spell that you’re not even sure works. Well, it’s worked so far—you haven’t gotten pregnant yet. Ford wouldn’t give a damn about a baby anyway, so why even put it at the forefront of your mind? And you’re fine without kids. You’re not one of those people who craved kids their whole life and dreamed about what life with children would look like.

You always assumed it would happen if it happened. And with Ford, it’s not happening. These past few months have proven that more than ever because he’s rarely home. The way most couples go out to dinner at the end of a long day, you and Ford go out to breakfast two or three times a week. But he’s usually trying to hide the fact that he’s rushing to get back to work.

His attempt at spending time with you is noted but not necessarily accepted.

The door creaks open, and you hear the unsteady shuffle of Ford’s footsteps before you see him. He stumbles into the room, shirtless, his hair a tangled mess, eyes glassy, and reeking of alcohol. He stands there in the doorway, looking at you with a mix of shame and regret, unable to meet your gaze for long. He tries to speak, but the words fumble out, barely coherent.

“Ford,” you breathe, your voice wavering between anger and concern. You step closer to him, looking at how droopy and tired his eyes look. “What happened to you?”

“I… I know Bill took it too far this time, but it doesn’t… it doesn’t mean anything. It’s not—” He’s almost nonverbal, his normally sharp mind dulled by the alcohol and Bill’s lingering influence. When you see new tattoos on his body, you lose it.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Ford? What the fuck is wrong with you?” You demand. He doesn’t even look at you; his mind is completely somewhere else. It’s as if Ford isn’t even in there right now.

Before he can respond, you close the distance between you, and your hand connects with his face in a swift, stinging slap. Given that you’re smaller than him, it doesn’t do much other than make him look at you. Ford looks at you, stunned, his hand moving slowly to his cheek where your slap left its mark and a slight stinging pain.

“You come home like this,” you say, your voice breaking as tears well up in your eyes. “After everything, you think you can just brush it off? You think you can say it doesn’t mean anything and that’s supposed to be enough?”

Ford’s lips tremble, his eyes filled with a mix of guilt and sorrow. He wants to tell you how sorry he is, how much he hates himself for what he’s become, but the words won’t come.

“What happened to the man I married?” you continue, your voice softer now, though no less pained. “Where’s the Ford who would move mountains for me, who promised we’d get through anything together? Because this…” You gesture at him, tears finally spilling over. “This isn’t the man I fell in love with.”

Ford’s eyes fill with tears, his heart breaking at the sight of your pain. He knows he’s the cause, knows that he’s pushed you to the edge, but he still can’t let go of the work, of the promises he made to Bill. But none of that matters now—not when he sees how much he’s hurting you.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, his voice raw with emotion. “I… it’s Bill, but I—”

“So, who do I blame?” you ask, and he doesn’t have an answer. “Who the fuck do you think you are, acting like this? You come home from doing God knows what, God knows where, and have the nerve to try to defend Bill? After all of this bullshit, you still think he’s someone worth putting up with?”

You look at him, your anger slowly giving way to a deep, aching sadness. You still love him—God, you love him so much—but this version of Ford, the one who’s been consumed by his work and Bill’s influence, is breaking your heart piece by piece.

“I love you, Ford. I love you so much it hurts, but I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep watching you destroy yourself… and us.” Your voice trembles as you take a step back, the space between you feeling like a chasm.

“Please… I don’t want to lose you. I love you more than anything. I’m sorry.” Ford reaches out to you, desperation in his eyes.

You hesitate, looking at the man you married, the one you’ve been trying to hold on to, but you can’t shake the fear that he’s already slipping away.

“You’re losing me, Stanford.” You shake your head as another tear falls, and it’s like everything comes bubbling over all at once.

Ford reaches out, desperate to close the distance between you, but you step back, gently pushing him away. Your hands, though soft against his chest, carry the weight of all the anger and hurt you’ve been holding in.

“Go take a shower, Ford,” you say, your voice trembling but firm. “I’m not going to talk to you again until you do.”

Your words hit him like a cold splash of reality. He can see the resolve in your eyes, the line you’re drawing in the sand. You’re not just angry; you’re done—at least for now. Ford hesitates, wanting to say something, anything to make this right, but the look on your face tells him that words won’t fix this. Not this time.

He nods, defeated, and turns away, heading for the bathroom. The sound of the door closing behind him feels like a finality he’s not ready to face. He lingers for a moment, his hand resting on the doorknob, hoping you’ll say something—anything—to stop him from leaving the room. But you don’t.

As he steps into the shower, the hot water cascades over him, washing away the grime and sweat from the night, but it does nothing to ease the weight on his chest. He leans against the tiled wall, water mingling with the tears he’s been holding back.

His heart breaks. He knew after every other little crack in your relationship that this was coming. But nothing could’ve made him ready for the day you finally snapped. And he knows you don’t believe he loves you as much as he does, which kills him.

Meanwhile, you watch him disappear into the bathroom, your heart heavy with the love you still feel for him, mixed with the deep-seated pain of watching him spiral. You turn on your heel, walking away, needing the space to gather yourself before you can even think about facing him again. As you move through your home, every room feels colder and emptier, and you can’t shake the fear that the warmth you once shared might be slipping away for good.

After all that, you feel like you need a shower too. You can’t believe you said all that and exploded. It felt like it was a long time coming and this was the final straw. His coming home like that, completely shameless, made you feel an anger you hadn’t felt before. Anger because you always said you could do better than your family, but he’s making you feel the same as they did.

When Ford finally emerges, clean but still burdened, he heads into your bedroom. He notices you sitting there with red, puffy eyes. He doesn’t know what to do; he doesn’t know how to fix this.

“I’m sorry for how I reacted, but you have to know how pissed I am,” you speak first as he takes a seat beside you on the bed. “If you don’t love me anymore, just say it. You’re never around anymore, and when you are, it seems like you just want to get away from me. It’s fine if you don’t love me anymore; I’d be heartbroken, but I’d be okay. I’d be even more heartbroken if you kept me hanging around here when it’s just me who still loves you.”

Ford feels his throat tighten at your words, guilt and sorrow gnawing at him. He opens his mouth to respond, but the words catch in his throat. How can he make you understand that his distance has never been about a lack of love? How can he convince you that despite everything, you’re still the most important part of his life?

“I always promised myself I wouldn’t be this,” you start. “Sitting around as if I need someone. I never wanted to be the person stuck at home, trotting around at the genius’ heels. Especially not with someone who doesn’t—who might not—” your voice trembles, and he quickly jumps in.

“I do love you,” he finally whispers, his voice hoarse. “I love you more than anything. I’m just… lost. This work, everything I’ve been doing—it’s consumed me, and I know I’ve let it come between us. But please, don’t ever think that I don’t love you. That’s the furthest thing from the truth.”

You listen, your eyes searching his face for sincerity. You can see the regret there, the deep sadness in his eyes, but you’ve heard apologies before. You need more than just words. Ford reaches out, taking your hand in his, holding it like a lifeline. He can feel your fingers trembling, and it breaks his heart all over again.

“I know I’ve been terrible,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been so wrapped up in my work that I’ve neglected you, neglected us. But I don’t want to lose you. I can’t lose you. I’ll do better—I promise I’ll do better.”

“How many times have we had this conversation, Ford? I—I’m getting tired,” you breathe out.

“I mean, what do you want me to tell you here? Do you want me to say I’m never gonna work with Bill again? Because I can’t! I need him.” Ford tries.

“No, you don’t!” you slightly raise your voice before sighing.

“Do you want me to just stop working so you can be making money and supporting me while I do nothing? I mean, fuck, you’re not exactly writing or anything right now,” he breathes out.

“I’m trying,” you say firmly.

“I can’t… I can’t lose so you’re comfortable! I can’t lose because you can’t win,” he raises his voice.

And then it’s quiet for a moment. Neither of you speaks, but Ford instantly regrets it.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this,” your voice breaks.

He’s failed you in so many ways, and he’s terrified that it might be too late to fix things. But as he looks into your eyes, he knows he has to try.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I’ll do whatever it takes to make this right,” he says, his voice trembling with conviction. “Just… please don’t give up on me. Don’t give up on us.”

“I don’t believe you,” you cry, and he slightly stiffens. “I mean, did you hear what you just said? I need to go for a drive or something.”

“Wait, please,” he starts, but you’re already standing up and trying to leave. “I’m so in love with you it feels like I can’t breathe when I’m not with you!”

As you try to walk out as quickly as possible to hide your tears, he sees your hand come up to wipe them.

“Please don’t go,” he begs, finally catching up with you and placing his hands on your shoulders. “Please, just hear me out.”

“I’ll hear you out later, I just need a minute. I don’t want to give up on this, but I just… I need a coffee or something,” you look him in the eyes, and everything in him softens.

“Okay,” he breathes out. “Just… please, come home to me.”

“I will. I’ll be back soon,” you nod.

Ford watches helplessly as you leave. The door clicks shut behind you, leaving a deafening silence in its wake. His heart aches with a pain he can’t describe, but he doesn’t have the time to wallow. The moment you’re gone, something snaps inside him, and he storms back into his office.

Once inside, Ford slams the door shut and collapses into his chair, his body shaking as the tears finally break free. He buries his face in his hands, the sobs wracking his body with a force he hasn’t felt in years. All of the pain, the regret, the self-loathing—it all comes pouring out in a way that feels like it could tear him apart.

But before he can even begin to regain control, he senses a familiar presence. The air in the room changes, becoming thick with an ominous energy that Ford knows all too well.

"Why the long face, Sixer?" Bill’s voice cuts through the silence. "Having a little lover’s quarrel?"

Ford lifts his head, his bloodshot eyes meeting Bill’s glowing form. Rage surges through him, raw and untamed.

"This is your fault," he yells. "You’ve ruined everything!"

"Me? Ruin? Oh, come on, Fordsy. You know this was bound to happen. You’re the one who’s been pushing them away, not me." Bill laughs, the sound echoing eerily off the walls. Ford’s fists clench at his sides, the anger building to a boiling point.

"I wouldn’t be in this mess if it weren’t for you!" he shouts, his voice cracking with the weight of his emotions. "My marriage is falling apart because of you!"

"Oh, don’t be so dramatic," Bill taunts, his voice dripping with condescension. "You think I made you neglect them? Do you think I made you ignore all those signs? That’s all you, pal. I see everything, and they’ve been telling you how they feel like every day. It’s not my fault you don’t care enough to do anything about it."

"I- why did you have to go so crazy in my body? I respect you, and I’m still finishing the portal, but what the hell? At the end of the day, I wouldn’t be in this situation if it weren’t for you." Ford glares.

"You think finishing that portal is going to fix your problems? Oh, Fordsy, you’re in way over your head. Stop blaming me. It’s not my fault you want to see me more than your own spouse." Bill laughs.

"Maybe you can’t process emotions like this, but they’re the love of my life. Before them, I hadn’t really dated anyone, and I wasn’t even sleeping around or anything; I was a loser. The only reason I ended up with someone as incredible as them without ruining it, like usual, is because I saw them as an anomaly at first. I didn’t think I was flirting or anything. I don’t know what I’d do if they left me. I wouldn’t even know what love is without them. You need to think about what your actions can mean for other people, Bill." Ford turns back to Bill.

"Clearly, you’re the one that needs to think about your actions. Isn’t it crazy that if you neglect someone’s feelings, they won’t want to be with you anymore? Even I can understand that!" Bill laughs, and Ford just stands up.

Ford sits there for a moment before he decides he can’t take it anymore. He stands up and heads to the music room. Bill yells things as he walks away, but Ford doesn’t hear it. He heads straight for a notebook full of songs they’ve written. His heart is racing as he opens it and sees so many that he hasn’t even heard yet.

In fact, this is a new notebook almost full of songs he hasn’t heard except for a few at the beginning. Have they not tried to show him, or has he not tried to listen? He reads the sad lyrics of almost every song, lyrics about feeling lonely when with someone you love and waking up alone. Songs about how they try to convince themselves that they’re a part of his life but not feeling like it. When did he start pulling away from them?

You sit in your car with a to-go cup of coffee, unsure if you should drive home yet or simmer for a little while longer. Your fingers tap on the warm cup as you try to think clearly. Your love for Ford is swarming every inch of your mind. But you know you shouldn’t accept what you don’t deserve, and you know you haven’t done anything to deserve this.

The version of you before Ford would’ve threatened a divorce already to try and scare him. You don’t want to do that now, but you want him to realize that you can’t keep living like this. You can’t keep following in his stride instead of walking beside him. You’ve won ten Grammys; it’s not as if you’re unaccomplished with no other options but to stay with him.

But you want to stay with him. Ford is so loving and warm. No one has ever loved you the way he has. Hell, no one other than Ford has seen you as more than a one-night thing. And you love him so much. You can’t help but wonder if maybe there’s something here for you to try to understand that you don’t already.

You look at the ring on your finger—his ring. And you don’t feel like other people have described, like it’s a handcuff or a jail cell that’s keeping you locked to him. You love being married to Ford. Saying you don’t and never did would be a complete lie. You just don’t love being mostly ignored by the man you love.

For someone so smart, he can be such an idiot sometimes. Letting some kind of entity possess his body whenever it pleases is a new low. Is that my problem? Bill? you think. It’s not right to you that his weakest self gets to decide how your life is going to turn out; you get to decide that. And what you want is a life—a beautiful marriage, a home—with him. With the man you know he truly is. And you’re going to get it, hell or high water.

You take a deep breath, your eyes still fixed on the ring as you turn it around your finger. The thought of a future without Ford makes your heart ache, but you know you deserve better, and you know Ford is capable of giving it to you—if he just realized how much you mean to him, how much you mean to each other.

You sip your coffee, the warmth grounding you, giving you the clarity you need. You know you have limits. If Ford can’t see the toll his actions are taking on your marriage, then you have to make him see it. You have to stand up for yourself, for what you want, and for the life you could have together.

You start the car, the decision made. You’re going to drive home and talk to him—not in anger or frustration, but with the love that’s still there, burning so fiercely in your heart. You’re going to make him understand what’s at stake—not just your marriage, but everything you’ve built together.

As you drive, the road blurs slightly through your unshed tears, but you blink them away. You can’t afford to lose focus now. Ford needs to know that you’re serious, that this isn’t just another fight that will blow over. This is your future, and you won’t let it slip away without a fight.

When you pull up to the house, your resolve only strengthens. You take a deep breath before stepping out of the car, the ring on your finger feeling like a lifeline rather than a chain. You walk into the house, finding Ford sitting on the couch, his head in his hands. He looks up as you enter, and the relief in his eyes is almost overwhelming.

“Ford…” you begin, your voice thick with emotion, but you hold up a hand to stop him as he tries to respond.

“Ford, I need you to listen to me,” you say firmly, though your voice trembles slightly. You sit down beside him, taking his hands in yours. “I love you more than anything in this world, but I can’t keep living like this. I can’t keep being the one who’s always trying to catch up to you, to your work, to everything else that seems to matter more than me or my feelings.”

His eyes widen in panic, and he starts to speak, but you squeeze his hands, stopping him again.

“No, Ford. Let me finish,” you continue, your voice soft but steady. “You’ve always been so loving, so warm, and I’ve never felt like this with anyone else. But you know me, and you know I’m not the type to ignore the fact that I’ve felt more like an afterthought lately. And it hurts. It really, really hurts.”

“Please, I—” Ford’s face crumples, and you can see the guilt and regret swirling in his eyes.

“I don’t want to threaten you with divorce or give you an ultimatum,” you say, your voice breaking slightly. “But I need you to understand that if we’re going to make this work, you need to start seeing me as your partner again, not just someone who’s here to support you while you chase after your dreams. We need to be in this together, walking side by side—not with me always trying to catch up.”

Ford looks at you with such intensity that it nearly takes your breath away. His eyes are red and puffy too, his fingers nervously moving his ring in circles on his finger.

“You’re right,” he finally says, his voice hoarse. “I’ve been an idiot, and I’ve taken you for granted. But I swear to you, I’ll do whatever it takes to fix this. You mean everything to me, and I can’t imagine my life without you in it. You make me want to be better, not just for you, but for us. And I’m going to prove it to you. I don’t want to lose this with you, and I’m so sorry that I’ve hurt you. Just… please, don’t go. I’m still yours. My heart is always gonna be yours. You are the one I want.”

“I just want you to see me, Ford. Really see me. I’m not asking you to give up your work, but I need you to find a balance, to make room for us in your life. Because I can’t keep doing this if things don’t change.” You nod, tears spilling over your lashes as you squeeze his hands.

“I see you. I promise I see you,” Ford whispers, pulling you into his arms. “And I’m going to show you just how much you mean to me. I won’t let you down again. And those aren’t just empty promises—I mean every word I say to you.”

As you hold each other, the tension begins to melt away, replaced by the hope that you can find your way back to each other. It won’t be easy, but you know it’s possible. And for the first time in a long time, you believe that you can make it work. Ford pulls back slightly, his gaze locking with yours.

“I’ve never loved anyone like I love you,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t date anyone in high school or college—I was too focused on my work. Hell, I’ve only slept with four people in my life, and you’re the only one who wanted me after that. You’re the only one who stayed the morning after and kissed me and smiled at me. You looked so perfect then, and it would’ve been impossible not to want more with you. You’re the reason I want to be better, the reason I want to wake up every morning. And I don’t know how I got so lucky to have you in my life, but I’m not going to take it for granted anymore. I promise you that.”

“Okay.” You nod for a moment before bringing his lips to yours.

He sinks into you, and the next thing he knows, he’s on top of you on the couch. Both of your hands are desperate as your lips talk. And he thinks, while this is happening, that you are worth everything to him. He didn’t think any of this would be happening when he first got out of high school and his life was in front of him. He never thought he would even have a spouse, let alone be kissing you with his body between your legs in your home on a quiet November night.

And the further things go, he realizes that he hasn’t touched you like this since your most recent talk about him neglecting you before tonight. Seasons changed, months passed, and he was too wrapped up in whatever he was doing to just exist with you, which is what he loved doing when you first met.

[tomboxed]

jesus christ could you get any gayer

[feelo-fick]

it can't be too hard right?

it's easy not to think about things, he tells me i don't think all the time! wait...

—

a scene from a fic that i have no clue if ill finish, let alone post, but look i made fanart of my own thing that doesnt even exist :D

[choconoru]

Putting these doodles here as well, drew all of these some time ago! The designs all belong to @//linkeduniverse

[tyrramint]

Sometimes I get jump scared by my own art, but like in a good way?

I’ll open up the drawing program and my latest art will be pop up and I’ll be like ?????? I MADE THAT???

[i-am-a-fan]

i heard you are totally normal about the characters you love.

care to share why 👀

This… this sounds like i’m being questioned for saying i’m normal….

BUT TO ANSWER YOUR QUESTION!!!!

✨AUTISM (possibly)✨

[ratatatastic]

"i like that but i dont want to hit it too hard... gotta protect barky at all costs" "i found one already, ill take this one too. im taking it to the locker room tomorrow to show barky" hmm

[antiadvil]

sorry people are annoying about your chronic illness lou i think you rock and it sucks that you have migraine 😔 you deserve to have so much fun at tit no matter what tho. love you x1000

thank you <3 i am really excited for tit!! i was talking with some friends the other day and i'm trying to convince a friend to visit for the show so we could go together and even if they can't make it it's going to be so fun. i'm for sure going to be meeting up with a friend who i met up with at WAD and there should be a few other tumblr people there who i'm excited to meet :) i'm planning to take a nurtec beforehand to hopefully help prevent a migraine from the lights/general excitement of the experience and i will have my nsaids and triptans with me in case that's not enough!

my real hope though is that whatever we do at my next neurology appointment will actually help this time (which it should... i think i've finally jumped through enough hoops for botox or a cgrp antagonist but i've thought that before and insurance has told me i am wrong) and i will maybe not need to worry so much about all the migraine stuff. summoning circle or whatever

[inkwell-and-dagger]

a much younger foster!!!!! probably 18-23 years old here :3

this was probably during their fighting ring prime, although they weren't doing well mentally or physically. either way look at them. so edible.

also! original pose (I CANNOT SPELL) credit to @/mellon-soup on pinterest n stuffs :D

note I forgot: as a little treat, they hated their heterochromia back then. extremely self-conscious of it, hence the hairstyle choice

[just-another-product-of-today]

.

[rambling-robot]

pvp got enabled in the discord tonight

[curiosityschild]

1. Went to a PFLAG meeting

2. Prescription filled

:)

[julesnichols]

Y'know. There were several ups and downs when I was working for the mouse, and the downs were always really, really bad. But like also I'm glad for them because four years ago I absolutely would not have said SHIT about being given a shift that conflicts with my availability and just worked it hoping it never happened again. Now I will talk to all four fucking managers who work throughout the entire day I've been here until one of them listens instead of pushing back and getting pissy about me saying it's not my fault and sure, I'll try to find coverage to be nice, but not my fucking problem if I can't find it, can't work the shift, they can't mark me as a no show and they can die mad about it because they should've thought about it before giving me a shift I can't work 🤷

[luveline]

Jade can I please get a chatty af yapper sunshine girlfriend with Sirius?? Like May be someone tells her she talks a lot so she's super quiet around him cuz she's worried he'll get annoyed and break up with her but poor Sirius he misses his chatty girl and just angst with fluff

thank you for requesting! fem, 1.4k

James Potter means well. Honestly, you don’t think he has a mean bone in his body, so you try not to take it to heart. 

Unfortunately, your attempts to do so don’t work. They really, unquestionably don’t. By the time you’re outside of Sirius’ flat that afternoon, James’ small comment is all you can think of. 

“You’re so chatty I’m surprised you don’t run out of breath,” he’d said. Not without love. You’d bumped into him in Sainsbury’s and ended up talking for ages about one thing or another, you know him well, you’d even say you were friends, though he’s of course Sirius’ friend rather than your own. “But I’m the same. God, Sirius used to hate how much I talked, he’d be sick of me. I think I numbed him to it over the years.” 

You can’t imagine it. Sirius and James are best friends. With Remus, they’re the most in love threesome of friends you’ve ever met, and it’s nice; it makes you very proud to have a boyfriend who cares for others as deeply as Sirius cares for them. It’s like a constant demonstration of how he’s a good man. 

But you’d never stopped to consider that they weren’t always so seamless, and you’ve regrettably never considered that your constant talking is something that could put him off. 

You talk to Sirius about everything. There isn’t a word to describe the excitement of having someone waiting to listen to you every single night. You could tell him every detail of a day down to what colour socks you wore and you know he’ll sit there listening with his hand on the small of your back, or his fingers twined between yours. You’ve never felt so loved as to be able to just talk about everything and have him talk back. 

But… what if, this whole time, he’s been wishing for a little bit of quiet? 

What if eventually, the talking becomes too much? 

He must be with you for a reason. You aren’t holding the poor guy hostage, he acts like he’s mad for you ninety percent of the time (while the other ten percent is spent sleeping on your shoulder). 

Like now —you knock his door and you can hear him scrambling up from the sofa, the sound of a book dislodged or a remote hitting the rug, you’re not sure. The door yanks open and Sirius smiles at you, pulling you in through the gap with a familiar hand on your hip. 

“Hey,” Sirius says, tucking you against his side, “hey, did you get lovelier over the weekend?” He shoves the door closed and gives you a hug with one arm, pausing in the hall. “Sorry I couldn’t see you. I don’t think we should miss another weekend.” 

You have a lot to tell him. It’s been ages since you spent nearly three days apart, but James’ conversation stays at the front of your mind. 

You decide to be less overwhelming, but not less loving, curling your arm behind his head to pull his cheek down for a kiss. “I don’t think so, either.” 

Sirius tilts his head away from you in an invitation for more kissing. 

You’re at home in his flat. You take off your shoes and hang up your jacket. You change into a pair of jogging bottoms with loose legs and let him hoist you onto his bed for a few stolen kisses, though he isn’t propositioning you, and you end up laying across his bedspread with one of your legs in his lap as he tells you about his days without you, his thumb sliding with pressure down your calf. 

“Mostly I wished I’d asked you to come over anyways, even if it was just to sleep together at the end of the day. Maybe next time we can do that?” he asks. 

“Of course we can.” You smile at him indulgently. “I’d come over for twenty minutes if it was all I could get.” 

“Or I can come to you,” he says, “even if it’s just twenty minutes.” 

He smiles, a beaming thing, and leans down slowly for a soft kiss. 

“So,” he asks, his breath on your lips, “how was your weekend? Lonely?” 

“So lonely,” you tease lightly, eyes fluttering closed as he continues his massaging of your leg. “But it was okay. I missed you, really, and didn’t do much else.”

“No?” he asks. 

Your voice takes on a shine as he squeezes your knee, “Missed your hands.”  

“I missed your everything.” He grabs for your forearms and pulls you into a sitting position. “But everything was okay?” he asks more seriously. 

“Everything was fine.” 

He raises his eyebrows, but eventually lets them relax. “Well, okay. Good, sweetheart, I’m glad it was okay.” 

He persuades you into the kitchen to sit with him as he makes dinner, refusing to let you help, and yet insisting you be there in the same room, as though you’d like to be anywhere else. Sirius makes your favourite of his usual rotation, offering you spoonfuls for tasting, gaps of silence stretching as he struggles to find new conversation. You start answering his questions but remember time and time again that Sirius could become totally sick of you. He might already be. 

Sirius puts the food on a low heat and washes his hands. He wipes them dry, but when he takes your face, dampness lines the inside of his fingers. 

“I’d like for you to tell me what’s wrong,” he says gently, stroking at the line of your startled frown, “before it gets worse. Do you want to talk about it?” 

“Nothing’s wrong.” 

“Please don’t, lovely. If I’ve done something wrong, please tell me. I want us to last forever, and we can’t do that if you won’t tell me when I upset you.” 

“It wasn’t you,” you say instinctively, then regret it. 

“So someone has?” he asks, still so gentle as his hands coast down your neck like he’s sculpting you, coming to rest on the slopes leading to your shoulders. “You can tell me anything. You don’t have to keep it to yourself… please.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Sweetheart.” He frowns deeply. Couldn’t look more upset. “Of course I’m sure. Why wouldn’t I be?” 

You chew it over, not wanting or willing to cause ructions between Sirius and his oldest friend. “Well, I saw James today at the shop, and… we were talking about you…” 

He waits. “And?” 

“And he told me you– you don’t like talking. That you didn’t like talking, that James used to make you sick of it. So I know I talk too much and you’ve never made me feel like I shouldn’t, but I guess I got into my head thinking you’d get sick of me, too.” 

“When we were younger I didn’t like much of anything.” He curls an arm behind your neck to hold you in place, but it’s not a dominant sort of movement, only protective as your noses inch together. “Did you ever read that poem by Bukwoski? Let It Enfold You?” 

“What?” 

“I’m not very good at explaining myself. I thought if you knew the poem, you’d–” He laughs near your cheek. “I hated everything. It wasn’t James’ fault. He did make me sick of it sometimes, but I just wanted to hide from everything.” He breathes out slowly. “I’ve never wanted to hide from you. I can’t get sick of you. Do you get that? I can’t get sick of you. Listening to you is the best part of my day, you’re my personal chatterbox.” 

“Chatterbox,” you repeat teasingly. 

“You could talk for Wales,” he says. “And I love it, I don’t want you to stop, because I’ll never be sick of it.”

“I don’t want it to be some secret resentment.”

“I don’t resent you for anything. I knew exactly who you were when we met and I love it.” He takes your face again. “I love it,” he repeats. 

You steal a little kiss against the corner of his lips. “What was the poem?” you ask. 

“I’ll find my book, and you can read it to me. What do you think?” He takes a slow kiss as you had in the same place, words like honey. “I miss your voice.” 

He’s basically pleading. It’s not like Sirius to plead, but you pull it out of him. 

“Can I have my dinner first?” 

“The one I made while you deprived me?” he asks. “Yes, if you must.” 

He takes another kiss, but you’re happy to give it. 

[chronicsymptomsyndrome]

I know its kind of silly to say “don’t feel bad for canceling because of pain, fatigue, etc” because I know guilt is a reflex you can’t easily refrain from. But you can reason with yourself so instead I’ll say this:

Nobody can feel what you’re feeling but you. Nobody knows the severity of what you would be putting yourself through if you were to “tough it out.”

If you do “tough it out,” the purpose for you doing the thing will most likely not be fulfilled anyway. You probably will not be mentally present or engaged. You probably will not have a good time or get much out of it. Etc.

If people really have such a problem with it, thats a huge red flag. Being transparent about your needs and boundaries is a great way to weed people like that out of your life.

If you have any kind of chronic illness or disability, remember that you probably have a very warped judgement of what is “reasonable” to endure in terms of pain, fatigue, burnout, etc.

You didn’t ask for this, you don’t deserve this, there is no reason you should have to bear the weight of it alone. I bet if someone else was in your position, you wouldn’t mind helping accommodate for them?

Low energy days are truly sacred, take them seriously. Please respect your body’s signals. “If you do not choose times to rest, your body will choose for you” or however the saying goes

It is so much pressure to have to deliberate what sacrifices are necessary for proper self care. Give yourself extra credit for having to deal with that stress on top of whatever is putting you in that position in the first place. Thats a lot at once

You are leading by example and showing others that you would never expect them to hurt or overextend themselves for your benefit. Putting yourself first always inspires other to do the same.

Please be proud of yourself for even considering canceling and putting your needs first. That is so strong of you <3