#twice-disabled

[uncanny-tranny]

Hey, if you have speech impediments, you are so amazing.

If you stutter or have a lisp or misspeak easily or you have a flat affect or a limited verbal vocabulary or if your voice is AAC or if you just have a difference in your vocality, you are so incredibly important and amazing.

Just know that your voice is yours. Nobody will ever be able to truly take it away. Your voice is part of you, and you deserve to make it as true to you as you deem fit. I hope you have the space to grow with your voice and whatever about it makes it unique.

[tinygryphon-58570]

Shout-out to the only 7 out of 48 adult dragon poses who aren't standing upright or in motion, 10/10 my disabled ass can relate <3

[eddies-spaghetti]

disability pride icons for disability pride month

(can be used as long as you credit me)

[eddienashtonn]

there’s something so autistic about the riddler as a character. the frustration of having no one really see you, the need to prove yourself smarter and cleverer than all of them to make up for the fact that you could never fit in with them, the compulsive joy of forcing others to play by your rules, the obsession with truth and answers, the comfort of having your own space where you’re in control, the fear of inadequacy, the isolation and loneliness, the need to be acknowledged in your reality to be satisfied but never able to reach that satisfaction.

[this-world-of-beautiful-monsters]

just. like. the fact that the two headed calf poem is about the brevity of life and the cruelty of those who can't find beauty in the freakish and holding on to what moments and wonders you can, but at the same time.

at the same time you've got this little calf seeing twice as many stars in the sky and you've got people making art of him, over and over again, so much of it, so many mediums and styles from so many people who've probably never even met each other, so much of everything, from the passionate and the introspective to the scientific and the shitposty, all these people celebrating him and mourning him and preserving him, protecting him, replicating and resurrecting him however we can.

and you can take a little freak and wrap him in newspaper, but an idea, even one as small and strange as a two headed calf, is so much harder to kill. you can't stop the newspaper, but tonight stretches on, returned to over and over again with every picture, every bit of contemplation, every joke and meme, on and on and on and on.

twice upon twice upon twice upon twice as many stars in the sky. and we can see them all alongside him.

[belleski]

-Consumes new piece of media

-Sighs and goes to add a tally to my 'unethical scientist blorbo' tally

-goes back to bed

[Image description] Image 1: A digital illustration of Dr Loboto from the Psychonauts series. He's drawn from the waist up at a 3/4 angle, with his gloved hand holding a golden dental tool. His other prosthetic arm is held slightly up as if in thought. He's grinning wildly, revealing a set of sharp teeth. The background is a warm brown and features sketches of various characters from the psyconauts franchise, such as Linda the lungfish, Loboto's family, Shegor and the fish gaurds from Rhombus of ruin. There is a bright magenta blood splatter covering the middle of the background. Image 2: A monochrome comic of Loboto, who has one hand up to his chest and the other gesturing of to the side. He's grinning and saying 'I have no relevant skills. I am unpleasant to work with. I like to cause problems.' Coach Oleander can be seen in the bottom right corner, glaring up at Loboto. Image 3: A continuation of the comic . Oleander stands to the right of the canvas with one hand on his hip and the other pointing up at Loboto who is standing in the foreground on the far left. With a sharp grin and a glare, he ignores Loboto's warnings and says 'Hired.' [End ID]

[hotwaterandmilk]

So my new medication and in fact all medications that can halt the symptoms of an attack of this condition are not subsidised in Australia by the PBS. Most have actually been discontinued in the Australian market due to low sales (my condition is rare so... yeah).

If I had a similar (but medically distinct and considerably less debilitating) condition these two injector pens would have cost me $14.99 thanks to the PBS. That's because these drugs are approved for this similar condition and not the one I actually have (which, as I noted above, has basically sweet FA drugs approved here let alone subsidised).

Outrageous medication prices are nothing new to my followers from the USA, where things are a hell of a lot worse than this but regardless of our locations, medication costs like this are fucking criminal.

Two injectors stops... two attacks. You can have 8+ attacks a day. 🙃

Chronic illness, huh?

I guess it's time to become a streamer or sell feet pics or something.

[martyrbat]

batman: shadow of the bat #0

[ID: a flashback of the outside of Wayne Manor at night. A narration box (unrelated to the scene) reads, “Ya think he's got a guardian angel, or somethin'?” Inside the manor, Leslie Thompkins and Alfred Pennyworth are talking in regards of young Bruce Wayne. They sit in a magnificent library at a small table as Bruce sits at his own desk that's across the room and has his face buried in a book. Alfred reassures her, “— Worried about him, Doctor Thompkins? I can assure you there's no need! Master Bruce has the manor to live in — myself to look after him — the best education money can buy—”. Leslie cuts Alfred off before he can continue rambling out more examples. She tells him, “It's what he doesn't have that bothers me, Alfred. Friends — hobbies — the kind of life a normal teenager looks forward to. He spends all his time in the gym, or here reading. I don't think he ever recovered from his parents' death.” We're shown Bruce, now in a close-up and able to see the book he's reading is titled ‘Lip Reading For Beginners’. Bruce peers over the book intensely as Leslie continues to express her rightful concern, “He almost seems obsessed!” END ID]

[hypermascbishounen]

There's a deep irony in Berserk being so admired by people who really really hate what Berserk is about on an emotional level, but especially when writers want to take influence from it. Because Berserk is very strong thematically, and someone who can't acknowledge subtext is going to whiff on emulating anything good.

[lastoneout]

Hey uh @ people with ME/CFS I got a question...

Everything I've read and heard about kinda seems to go hard on the idea that over-exerting yourself tends to lead to exhaustion that just never gets better at all no matter how long you rest after, and like I always assumed I didn't have it, because yeah overexerting myself tends to make me way more exhausted than is does other people and the exhaustion lasts like, a week or more sometimes, but it does eventually get better.

Like last weekend I went shopping for my birthday and also to an art gallery, and then I did a few small errands, and I conserved my energy as best I could, resting often, using mobility aids, ect, but I had to spend Mon-Fri in bed doing basically nothing aside from watching youtube, listening to music, and playing tetris because that was all I had the physical and mental energy to do. And granted that was dragged out a little because I had to go to the ER on Wednesday due to a migraine that got triggered by all this(bcs overexerting myself almost always triggers a migraine) and on Tuesday I sat in the car while we took my cat to the vet for a quick nail trim, but aside from that I just rested and even though I am feeling a bit better today I'm still just SO fucking tired and I know I'm going to have to take it easy for a few days more just to be sure I'm okay.

Which like, idk doesn't sound normal, that's for fucking sure, but I do know that with enough rest eventually I will return to my normal, which isn't everyone else's normal but is still normal enough that I can make myself easy meals and sit at my desk and talk to people and make phone calls and run errands without it killing me too badly.

But like idk my doctors seem convinced that I don't have any kind of autoimmune condition(although they haven't actually ran any tests they just keep insisting I'm not showing the signs of one and to keep up with physical therapy even when I tell them that just going clothes shopping for a few hours puts me on bedrest for the next 2-3 days) but idk again this does NOT seem normal. I legit feel SICK sometimes when I push myself too hard, like I think I'm coming down with a cold or something but it never actually turns into one, I just have that "eugh" sick feeling for a day or two and then it goes away once I've rested enough(also for clarification I never get any real cold/illness symptoms like a temperature and I mask literally everywhere and this ONLY happens after exertion so I don't think I'm actually getting sick). I also don't usually feel rested when I sleep but I always chalked that up to the insomnia more than anything?? But it does happen even when I have a good night's sleep with no tossing and turning or nightmares...

Anyway if anyone who does have Chronic Fatigue Syndrome could maybe explain to me what it's like for them I would appreciate it because idk what else could possibly be going on with me but I am so fucking tired of my doctors acting like there is nothing wrong. It might not be ME/CFS, and I have been diagnosed with fibromyalgia so maybe this is all just that? So I also wouldn't mind if someone who has fibro can tell me if this is all just fibro stuff. But idk I just want to know for sure, you know? (If it helps in addition to the fibro I also have arthritis, hEDS, orthostatic Intollerance, and occipital neuralgia.)

[seveneyesoup]

ngl i’m still worried. like i Do have complete faith in ncuti gatwa but what i Don’t have is much faith at all in rtd’s writing about race

[bonebabbles]

Nearly everything that Slash does is just something Clear Sky did. The only difference is that the narrative is arbitrarily concluding that Clear Sky's behavior was all totally excusable and understandable because of good intentions (which he does not actually have anyway) whereas Slash is pure evil.

Steals prey and land

Brutalizes anyone who gets in his way (Clear Sky has a higher body count and Slash never directly murders anyone though)

Rules group through fear and intense control

Orders gladiator-style public "training" sessions where they all fight with claws out

Smacking children (Alder, Fern Leaf)

Hand-feeds subordinates so they can control exactly what they eat

Allows big piles of food to start rotting in camp

Throws a subordinate in front of a predator (Thunder with a fox, Beech with a dog)

Threats of violence and general assault (Clear Sky is CONSTANTLY hitting women who offend him)

Didn't give proper burials to victims (Clear Sky was going to leave all the dead bodies of his cats behind at the First Battle and left Misty's corpse to rot after taking her children, Slash had his dead underlings brought to the dump)

Clear Sky's fridged wife comes out of the sky to coo that his behavior "never drove anyone away" while Slash is here DOING THE BEHAVIOR that apparently "never drove anyone away."

They tried so hard to make a villain worse than Clear Sky to make him look better in comparison but physically couldn't. He was that bad.

[acepalindrome]

Maybe I’ve just consumed too much horror, but so many scary stories are just trash to me. What if there was a bunch of spiders somewhere. What if there was a physically disfigured person. The scariest encounter while camping ever!!! and it’s just a homeless person exhibiting clear signs of mental illness. Literally it was just a lady behaving in a way that appears irrational and then runs off. She doesn’t lay a finger on anyone. But oh yeah, that’s horror. She was digging a hole for no apparent reason. Terrifying. How will you ever recover from witnessing that.

[planes-like-vultures]

friendly reminder

don't go up to random disabled people and ask why they have a mobility aid??

it's so weird that i even have to say this but like don't do it

it's just so odd to me that some people think they have the right to know about stranger's medical issues

[canineyelps]

being considered 'twice exceptional (2e)' is such a weird experience.

I have hyperlexia II (hyperlexia and autism) but I also have moderate dyscalculia (like dyslexia but w/ math).

I have the reading skills of a 30+ year old but my math skills are on the level of a 6th-7th grader, I'm going to be eighteen in a little over a year.

I had to retake a math class and still got a poor grade but I'm in an AP english class.

But I'm still the weird kid in all of them.

[whumble-beeee]

A New Enemy Has Entered The Arena

The (Un)Official Guide to Hero-Keeping | Cont'd from Part 6

Content: disabled whumpee, trans whumpee, tied up/handcuffs, (brief) dissociation, noncon partial undressing, noncon touch, attempted noncon

* * * * * * * *

Except from: The (Un)Official Guide to Hero-Keeping; a self-help guide for villains and bounty-hunters Dr. Vaughn Verhulst

["Make them fear the wrath of god, then remind them the only god they should fear is you."]

* * * * * * * *

“So, this is the capture, huh?” The new voice drawled. Despite the exhaustion and the agony lacing throughout every part of his body, Stan's managed a look up at the new situation. Directly into a pair of steel blue eyes that made his breath stutter. “Not much to look at, huh?”

Stan scooted backward, but Deeby seemed to beat him to the same idea, stepping in front of the man and completely blocking him from view.

“There's no way you're the one doing the pickup. What are you doing here?”

The new man tried to side-step Deeby. “Don't worry, I'm not trying to interrupt your smooch-fest, just wanna make sure you aren't breaking our new toy–”

Deeby stepped in front of the man again, the man barely stopping short of crashing directly into him, just long enough for Stan to gather his scattered bearings and realize there was a new person here and all the distinct possibilities of what that meant for him.

And suddenly he felt lightheaded again.

“Dude…”

“What.” Deeby insisted slowly. “Are you doing here?”

This new guy… honestly, not much to look at himself, from what Stan saw. He couldn't have been too much older than Stan, fluffy light brown hair, an accent he couldn't quite place, but… probably European? He also wasn't wearing any sort of mask or anything to hide his face, which was only vaguely concerning, Stan decided to believe. Not to mention, this new guy had been wearing a knit sweater vest? It looked soft. Stan almost had to remind himself that the guy must be a threat, just like Deeby, or why would he even be here?

He just looked so corporate.

“I told you, checking on the capture, getting some intel. Making sure you didn't crap up the very simple plan, or kill him. It’s a real concern with you, I'm sure you understand.”

The man tried to side-step Deeby once again, and once again the mercenary blocked him. Stan started to scoot back away from the two, his ankle chain softly clanking as it dragged across the floor. Whatever was going on between them, he wanted no part of it.

“He's secure. And alive. Not fatally wounded, and will continue to stay that way.” Deeby stated. “You can leave now.”

Sweater-vest ventured an exaggerated glance over Deeby's shoulder, just barely giving Stan another view of his steel-colored eyes. Something about them made his heart skip a beat.

“You sure about that, big man? Kid doesn't seem to be doing so hot.

“Yup.” Deeby didn't even entertain a glance back. “Buh-bye now.”

Stan could practically hear the eye-roll that accompanied the groan that Sweater-vest let out. “Well excuse me for not trusting you as far as I can throw you. Look, I'm not just here to mess with you, I'm here on Lana's orders. She wants you to call her.”

Stan stopped scooting dead, an icy coldness surging through his chest, a sudden darkness swirling around his head. Lana. That sounded like a real name. Why was this man using real names? Deeby didn't use a real name, he was very dead set on that! Why was this new man using real names?! Real names were bad why was he using real names–?!

Deeby also stiffened at the name. He hand clenched for just a fraction of a second. Then he shook his head and brought his hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“Why didn't she just call me instead of sending your sorry ass to deliver the message?” Deeby finally seemed to settle on.

Sweater-vest's eyes flicked over Deeby, up and down, before an unnerving grin spread across his face. “I know something you don't know~” he sang slowly, like some sort of horror movie villain.

“You planning on telling me? Or you just gonna stand there like a skin-walker.” Deeby look just about ready to blow.

“Soon as I verify the little super lives up to our wildest hopes and dreams.”

“Y’know, technically we’re supposed to be on the same side.”

The man sidestepped Deeby one last time, and this time, the mercenary just let him pass by. Stan shrank back as the piercing gaze of Sweater-vest appraised him, looking him up and down as he slowly walked closer.

“A bit worse for wear, no?” Sweater-vest noted, almost to himself.

“Yeah, little shit tried to escape. Got pretty far too, he's stronger than I thought. Got me right–” Then he noticed Stan had backed up halfway across the room instead of stayingin place on the floor right behind him. And sighed. “Kinda a wuss though…”

“Die.” Stan growled, scowling at the mercenary even as he clutched his knees to his chest.

“Oooooh” Sweater-vest cooed, and Stan nearly jumped out of his skin when he realized how close the man had gotten to him. “Feisty little guy, huh?”

Stan kicked out at him and skittered back, only to realize he was almost out of room to skitter. So he reluctantly stood his ground. Well, sat his ground. “Get away from me!”

“He's mostly talk,” Deeby called again. “Mostly…”

Stan barely even registered what Deeby said. His vision completely tunneled on Sweater-vest as he slowly advanced on Stan, like a predator stalking its prey.

“Dang, Dick Biscuits, you really got a handle of him, don’t you?” Sweater-vest's eyes never once left Stan's. “Leashed and collared, like a little puppy dog… “

Stans cheeks turned a bright red. He glared at the man as hard as he could, jaw clenched so hard it could have broken, because honestly, how dare he?!

Deeby sighed, like he'd rather be anywhere but where he was now. Stan could relate.

“Yeah… It's necessary.”

“Oh, I agree wholeheartedly.”

The man crouched directly in front of the trembling Stan. “Hi,” he said softly, disarmingly, giving Stan just the slightest tilt of the head. “My name's Vaughn, its–”

“Christ man, would you cut it out with the names!” Deeby yelled, causing the both of the smaller men to jump as he marched over. Stan reflexively curled up into a little ball, gut swirling with a new and terrifying form of dread and suddenly very aware of his restraints once more, while Sweater-vest–... Vaughn… sprung up to face down Deeby.

As much as Stan was absolutely terrified of Deeby, he had to admit he agreed with the bounty hunter on this one. The way Sweater-vest threw out names like that felt… Dangerous. On a visceral level. He hugged his legs closer to his chest.

“Why?” Sweater-vest taunted. “It's not like he's gonna live to tell anyone.”

“Nothing's ever 100% with these things,” he growled. “Unless you want to get fifty to life here as well. You'd be doing me a huge favor, honestly, and bring Lana down with you while you’re at it. But leave me out of it.”

Sweater-vest hummed, considering. Glanced Deeby up and down. Then scoffed. “Don't you have an important phone call to get to, Deeby? I’d hate to have to tell Lana that her least favorite ex disobeyed her direct orders and needs to be dealt with.”

The mercenary stared down Sweater-vest. The intensity of it almost entranced Stan, it seemed to go on for an eternity. Then, finally, Deeby let out a small grunt, and took a slow, deep breath.

“Stan!” he yelled. Stan nearly yelped. “If he tries anything, kill him, he deserves it. And you.” he turned his attention right back to Sweater-vest before Stan could stutter out some sort of question or affirmation. “Don't fuck with him.”

“Aw, so protective, falling in love already?”

“I'll be back in a few, don't try anything!” He yelled as he made his way toward the door. Then, only slightly under his breath, “Pinche pendejo.”

The smile on Sweater-vest's face immediately dropped and he whirled around.

“Krijg de tering, vuile teringleier!”

The door slammed shut, the crack of metal against metal deafening in the sudden silence. And they were alone. Together.

Stan stared at the floor and clenched his fists, trying to calm his racing nerves. Did his best to keep his breathing even. Be still, not show weakness while also not challenging the man he was now alone with. He never thought he would ever actually miss Deeby's presence. But here they were.

“Brute.” Sweater-vest seethed under his breath as he sauntered back over to Stan. “Should've just put him out of his misery years ago, swear to God.”

Then his demeanor completely shifted once more as he stood over Stan. More professional, more cold, more demanding.

“Anyway, stand up, let me get a look at you.”

“Are you ‘The Guy?’” Stan blurted out before he had time to even realize he was doing it. Anything to break the sudden unbearable tension.

Sweater-vest tilted his head with a raised eyebrow and a small laugh. “The Guy?”

“Yeah…” Wow, suddenly he wished he never said anything. “The uh, the guy. You know the guy…” Stan's voice wavered as the man scrunch his nose at him. As if Stan was speaking an entirely different language. “Like. Like the guy. The guy who, uh, who…”

He took a deep breath, and blurted out “The boss guy who had me kidnapped!”

A brief pause. The man stared at him.

“No,” he snorted. “No, I'm not ‘the guy’, as you so eloquently put it. And your ‘guy’ is actually a lady, the lovely Ms. Lana who I mentioned earlier. And I'm Dr. Vaughn Verhulst, you can call me Vaughn. Pleasure to meet you.”

Stan shrank into himself slightly. “Oh…”

Again with the names. They made his skin crawl, like tiny ants crawling up and down his arms. The full name this time too, Dr. Verhulst. And Lana. Where had he heard that name before? Lana...

Stan didn't have time to ponder the question, though, as the man surged forward and reached down toward Stan's vulnerable neck, and Stan screeched and jolted back trying to get away.

But the man was surprisingly fast for a guy who could be mistaken for an office drone.

“Alright now, stand up.”

Then suddenly Stan was choking as the two fingers looped under his collar and dragged him upward, squeezing Stan's windpipe fully shut with Stan gasping and clutching at the collar trying to free himself and allow his body the sweet air it so desperately begged for the whole short distance up. And when he was finally standing and the collar loosened just slightly, Stan coughed and wheezed and tried to double over on himself to lessen the pain, if only the man wasn't still holding him straight up by the collar. He finally managed to get his own fingers under the collar just enough to pull it away from flush against his throat, his body shifting from world-shaking coughs and gasps for air to shuddering wheezes and shivers, and only then did he realize that Vaughn’s other hand wasn't just sitting idly by. No, instead it settled on his arms and ribcage, pressing into the tender bruised flesh that marred his entire body.

He felt a sudden sharp pain at his side and twitched away from it, only for a steadying hand to fall on straight onto another bruise on his waist and press in, clutch at it, holding him in place and sending jolts throughout his entire body that made him dizzy. All the breath left his body. He froze.

“What– What're you–?... Stop, let go…” It felt almost taboo to break the sudden stillness. He tried to pull away, but the grip on his collar just tightened, knuckles pressing harder into his neck as Sweater-vest continued to press into his side.

“Shhhhhh, dropje. Just let me do my work.”

“Your work?...” The hand pressed into his broken rib, and Stan yelped out and shoved the offending hand away from the tender area.

“STOP! Stop touching me! Stop!” Stan cried. This was too much. What was even happening here?

Vaughn's dark gaze fixed on the place that had made Stan cry out, calculating, jaw set. Stan withdrew into himself sightly before he remembered himself, and stared defiantly right back. Then the gaze drifted slightly lower, softening with an almost mischievous smile and a low hum before he finally, finally, looked Stan square in the eyes.

“Take your shirt off.”

Stan's heart turned to ice.

“WHAT?! No! You’re insane!”

Stan managed to rip free of his grip and launch backwards, only for his back to slam directly into the wall. Damn it. He saw stars, and the world rocked around him.

He pressed into it regardless, held his cuffed hands up in front of his torso as some sort of measly defense. “Get– Get away from me! I'm not taking my shirt off! You're crazy, get away!”

He scowled, then reached into his pocket with a deep sigh. A glint of steel gleamed in the light as Vaughn pull out a pair of very sharp-looking scissors and waved them lazily at Stan's chest.

“You are.” Sweater-vest stated simply. “I'm a doctor, dropje, I have to take a look at your body, make sure that ass didn't leave any lasting damage. You worry too much.”

Sweater-vest suddenly went to reach around his arms and get at the top button of his shirt, and Stan slapped them away, earning himself a glare from the man as he stepped closer once more and boxed him in completely.

“Stan… Schatje…” he spoke lowly, voice sickeningly sweet. The scissors drifted so close to his throat. “I'm going to make this so simple for you, yeah? I'm cutting your shirt off now. If you make things difficult, then your shirt won't be the only thing cut, got it?”

Stan squeezed his eyes shut and tried to become so small. Small enough that the threat wouldn't see him anymore and he could run away and never have to deal with it again. This was insane. This was insane, right? This guy was insane!

“No, no, no, no, no, don't, get away from me, get away from me.” He tried to inject as much hissing venom as possible into the words, but they still didn't come out much above a squeaking, shaky whisper.

Vaughn reached for his top button, and though Stan pressed into the wall as much as he could, arms up and ready to strike at any moment, this time his fingers weren't stopped from undoing the top button. Then continuing down from there. Then he gently grabbed Stan's wrists and moved them downward and continued unfastening, all the way down until the front of his shirt was completely open, the cool air giving Stan goosebumps.

“Oh.” Vaughn said, almost to himself, running his finger over the strap of Stan's chest binder. “I didn't realize you were transgender, Stan.”

The swirling mass of thoughts in Stan’s head finally meet the one overwhelming his gut and crashing down upon him, breaking the fragile spell keeping him paralyzed.

“DEEBY! HELP!!” Stan cried out, loud as he possibly could. As if Deeby would ever help him. As if he would save him. All Stan knew was that in that very moment, he would prefer the physically abusive mercenary a hundred times over this guy, the guy who looked at him like a lion at an antelope, the man who feigned kindness, whose smile seemed just a bit too perfect, who made weird cryptic comments and who threw names around as if it didn't matter whether or not Stan knew them. As if Stan would never live to escape. As if the horrors Stan would endure were cursed to echo the walls in which they occurred, never to be heard by another soul.

“Oh calm down, Stanny, he's not going to come save you.” Vaughn dismissed, quickly pulling down the sleeve of his shirt and cutting it open down the seam, the quick repetitive snip snip snip of the scissors filling the room completely. Stan's weak attempts to slap away the scissors or otherwise stop his disrobing were all but brushed off by the ‘doctor.’ A quick but very intentional blade to the neck was all he needed to freeze Stan up and allow him to continue.

Very soon, Vaughn had the shredded fabric that used to make up Stan's shirt sprawled across the floor at their feet. Stan didn't even feel the coolness of the room goosebumping his skin anymore, not with the burning red in his cheeks and the again wandering hands of Sweater-vest to keep him unbearably warm.

He could scarcely breathe. His brain started to feel farther and farther away from his body. His hair was standing on end, shivers running throughout his entire body making him twitch. And he wondered if he should even put in the effort to ground himself. Maybe it would be easier if he was far, far away for all of this anyway.

“It's not like I care, Stan. It doesn't matter to me. I'll even let you keep your chest binder thing on, if that’d make you more comfortable... Hey.”

He snapped a few times in front of Stan's eyes, and Stan despairingly snapped back to reality. So close too. Just for Sweater-vest to smile his weird creepy smile at him. There was no way to misconstrue the malicious gleam in his eyes, the one that made Stan's own eyes go wide and his breath halt entirely as he stared into them. His other hand was on Stan's back now. He was practically holding Stan in a facsimile of a hug. Pressing in his lower back. Lower. Just a bit too low for comfort.

“I'm serious, I can work with that,” he reassured, hand now dipping under Stan's waistband, and before Stan could react, he pulled the captive in close to him, pressing his pelvis securely into Stan's lower stomach while brushing to closed blades of the scissors along Stan's jawline and up his cheek. “It's not what I was expecting, but it doesn't change what I'm going to do to you.”

And that's when Stan pulled back and punched him square in the jaw.

* * * * * * * *

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Taglist: @flowersarefreetherapy | @pirefyrelight | @cakeinthevoid