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aftonsparv-bugzz · 2 months

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this disability pride month, include anosmics and ageusics.

this disability pride month, stop using the s slur, saying "delulu" "delusional" "deluled" ect when you disagree with someone, stop using "sch*zoposting" and just overall treat schizospecs better.

this disability pride month, stop saying "psychopath" "sociopath" and "narcissistic".

this disability pride month, be kinder to people who hallucinate and experience delusions.

this disability pride month, stop stupidifying those who have trouble with "basic skills", people with learning disabilities, ect.

this disability pride month, stop villanising cluster b's.

this disability pride month, stop saying youre such a "pyromaniac" for lighting something on fire or saying youre "a kelpto" because you stole something.

this disability pride month, stop fakeclaiming did/osdd systems.

this disability pride month, stop saying "im so ocd" after cleaning something up.

this disability pride month, stop being rude and impatient with people with intellectual disabilities.

this disability pride month, stop infantilising non verbal people.

this disability pride month, stop treating autism and adhd as the cutesy disorders.

this disability pride month, stop excusing yourself by lying that youhave adhd when youdont. people need those recourses, youdo not get to take them away.

this disability pride month, normalise people with little to no empathy.

this disability pride month, stop using "attention seekers" (especially on your fellow hpds and npds).

this disability pride month, stop reality checking those who dont consent to it.

this disability pride month, stop bullying those who "smell bad" or "look weird" or whatever. (you never know what someones going through)

this disability pride month, stop giving weird looks to those who have bald spots, or cant stop picking their nose, or cracking their knuckles or whatever. (this is mainly focused on bfrbs)

this disability pride month, stop saying "everyone has anxiety" to those with anxiety/panic disorders.

this disability pride month, be normal about zoocanthropes/lycanthropes.

this disability pride month, treat those with personality disorders like youwould any other person.

this disability pride month, just stop bullying little people. just acknowledge people with dwarfism.

this disability pride month, dont stare at that mobility aid user so much. eyes off of them, they dont need to be in the spotlight for a physical disability. (unless they want to xoD /silly)

this disability pride month, stop judging those with facial/body deformities

this disability pride month, be normal about those with physical disabilities, and stop silently judging them.

this disability pride month, stop saying "pride month 2" or "wrath month". we dont even acknowledge disability pride month at all.

this disability pride month, stop differentiating "queer pride month" and "disability pride month" as "pride month" and "disability pride month". they are both pride months so call them by their full names.

this disability pride month, acknowledge not all disabilities are visible.

this disability pride month, give up your seat to someone who needs it.

this disability pride month, actually treat disabled people with rights and respect.

disabled people are people to. you failing to acknowledge that is your abelism. treat us like youd treat any other normal human being. and maybe, just maybe, after this disability pride month, youcan start treating disabled folks like living beings of society and not like your little pity pets/scary monsters/silly cutesy babies.

#reclaimed slurs #< just a heads up #pride month #disability #disability pride month #disability posting #disability problems #disabled #disabilties #mental illness #tags are just random idont really even know what to put #bfrbs are body focused repetitive behaviour by the way #anyone can add anything !! idont mind theres probably plenty i forgot ^_^

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slutshamethesquirrels · 20 days

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Superbloom - Part 2

(continuation of this, which i've decided to call superbloom. idk what im doing here, this is literally just my most recen menty b taking over im sorry yall the parasites--- the DEMON in me--)

tw: suicidal ideation and domestic abuse all over this bad boy

All of a sudden, Suguru's attitude has been flipped on it’s head. You aren't sure where it's coming from but you know it can’t be good.

It wasn't immediate, but over the course of a few weeks his touches became softer, training became more fair, he sat beside you at dinner and teased Manami when she shot daggers into you. It doesn't make you feel better. If anything, you're lying in wait. You had learned him well over the years, well enough to know he often showed his hands before he played them, if you knew what you were looking for.

The bomb finally drops as you're preparing for bed.

You couldn't brush your teeth hard enough lately. Vigorous swipes against your gums that left them stinging and raw, so much force applied that the bristles of your toothbrush were permanently warped by the pressure. You wanted to scrub away every stupid thing you’d ever said, every dumb impulse that had fallen from your lips. Things like I love you and Please don't leave me had left you with a permanently bad taste on your tongue that no amount of abrasion seemed to help.

As you’re rinsing, Suguru enters with an uncharacteristically slow gate, sliding up behind you and taking it upon himself to gather your hair while you lean over and spit into the sink. The water is tinged pink.

You try to continue as normal, placing your toothbrush back in the holder and fluffing yourself in the mirror, but you can't even look at yourself with his eyes peering over your shoulder. He would never be ugly to you. No matter how low he sunk he would always be tragically, brutally beautiful; with a jaw sharp enough to cut stone and eyes that saw through you.

“Hey there.” You murmur after a few seconds of eye contact in the mirror and he finally bends a bit. He shoulders relax and the corners of his mouth curl up– but you wouldn't quite call it a smile.

“Hey baby.”

Your stomach sinks at the word. He hadn’t called you that since highschool. You know he catches your shocked expression in the mirror when he chuckles, low and dark.

“Relax a little, you act like you don't trust me.”

You refuse to respond to that. You both know the truth anyway. Instead, you spin between his arms until you’re facing him and cup his face in your hands.

“You're up to something.”

He hums the affirmative “That easy to tell, huh?”.

“I know you.”

The smile that plays on his face is laced with grief. It strikes fear in your core.

“I called Satoru.”

Your body goes rigid. That could mean a variety of things.

“You called Gojo?”

He sighs and lets his eyes flutter shut, forehead falling forward against yours as he nods “Sure did.”.

A beat passes as you carefully pick your approach.

“...So when's your execution?”

He snorts and rolls his eyes, leaning back to meet your gaze once more “I called Satoru for you.”.

Your eyes flit back and forth between his as silence permeates the space. He's stone laden, completely unwilling to show his cards, not that any of that was new.

“So when's my execution?”

At this, he laughs. Only the morbid ever made him laugh these days.

“No executions– well, not now anyway. I called him to come get you.”

You wait for it to hit you, subconsciously tensing your body for the rush of emotion. The excitement of seeing an old friend, the anxiety of what he may think of you, the fear of rejection after you had willingly chosen Suguru over him, the devastation of being sent away, the grief of what would undeniably be losing your first love after countless years–

It doesn't come. Inside your chest is less of a hurricane and more of a gentle rainfall. You’d been skirting by one day at a time for so long, what came tomorrow was irrelevant.

“He can take better care of you than I can, y/n–” Suguru must've mistaken your silence for protest.

“Okay.”

Three days passes at a snail's pace. Nothing is easy.

The girls take the news of your departure hard. Mimiko holes herself up in their shared bedroom and Nanako clings to Manami’s side as if to spite you, and she probably was spiteful, but there was nothing you could do to change the outcome. You tell yourself it would be cruel for two girls to find their only matriarchal figure splattered on the concrete, or hung from a belt in some temple closet anyway. They could hate you and move on, but grief would never fade.

The worst part is Suguru. He's reverted back to an older version of himself, one that could've saved you. Every touch is a serrated edge, slicing your skin over and over. His hands become demonically gentle, deceptively needy. He grabs and traces and caresses your skin with a reverence you thought had long since left him. For years now, you’d assumed this piece of him was long gone; that the observant and sentimental friend you’d once known had been incinerated in the raging fire of devastation that coated Jujutsu High School in his defection.

And yet, here he was, laying in bed with you and drawing circles on your collar bone with calloused fingers; drinking you in with his eyes like he’d never once seen you laid vulnerable before him, like he was afraid if he made the wrong move you’d reject him.

Eight hours.

Your hand off to Gojo was scheduled for eight hours from now, and somehow, you still weren’t nervous. You knew there was a high possibility that he would obliterate you as well as Suguru on sight, and yet you couldn’t bring yourself to care. In fact, a piece of you was hoping he did. An escape was an escape, through fair means or foul, and at least that way, Suguru could escape himself as well.

“You nervous?”

The question jars you slightly, your eyebrows furrowing as you shoot a look up at the crow-headed man who was your everything. The man who was leaving you with nothing. Since when did he start caring about your feelings?

It would be kinder of him to snap your neck right now, you think.

Nevertheless, you answer honestly:

“No.”.

He hums, contemplative, as his hand transitions from pointed fingers on your skin to a flat palm, sliding up the side of your neck at a snail’s pace, savoring the feeling. Despite yourself, your eyes flutter shut, sighing into the feeling and settling into an impatient anticipation, though you didn’t know whether to expect pain or pleasure. They were the same thing anyway, no? Sometimes they felt the same.

“Two years ago, you would’ve been.” The response comes muffled from squished lips against your jaw, gentle kisses that burn like acid being planted there.

You whimper, your hands snaking their way across his marble form, one willing him on via the crown of his head and the other sliding it’s way down his torso. How easily he could take you down with a noxious touch, his toxins immediately urging your muscles to contract in ways you weren’t sure you wanted them to. You were a host body to a hairworm, unable to bring yourself to life but malleable under his manipulation. He wanted the impossible from you; to exist as you were and yet be more than a carcass when he had other corpses to necromance. His lips trail from your jaw to your ear, a warm tongue tracing the shell with an expert curve.

Your name being spoken has you forcing heavy lids open, trying your best to grant him attention under the haze of his spell.

He smirks.

“You be good for Satoru, yeah?”

You nod like the compliant pet you are.

“That’s my girl.”

The words are shards of glass that spear through your chest.

Gojo is different now. Not that you expected him to be the same. Afterall, everyone you knew had changed since you last saw him. Gotten older, but not necessarily better.

On the flipside of the same coin though, Gojo always had a way of defying the odds.

It isn’t hard to spot him amongst the crowd of the train station, a halfway point between the rural temple you’d tried to make your home and the bustling metropolis that was Tokyo. He sticks out like a sore thumb. Looming, oppressive power in his stance accentuated by impossibly white hair. You wonder if it's still as fluffy as it was in highschool. Though the top half of his face is covered by an ink colored blindfold, you can see the tension in his jaw and shoulders from where you stand on the opposite side of the station with Suguru, who smiles and waves like nothings amiss. You don’t know who’s less amused; you or Gojo.

You turn to look at him once more, drinking in what could be the last moment you see him, the last moment you’re both alive, and he nods approvingly.

You wait for your hug, your kiss, for him to change his mind… but he gives you nothing.

You swallow the lump in your throat and begin to navigate through the crowd, the simple distance between one source of power and the next feeling like an entire country's span.

You dare not look back, because something deep down warns that if you do you just may turn into a salt pillar.

Maybe you were wrong. Gojo, it turns out, is just the same as he always was. Or, at the very least, he’d like you to believe that. Maybe you'd been right on the money in your initial assessment, because part of you thinks his unwillingness to let his feelings be known to others is the only thing about him that hasn't changed.

He stays tucked behind his blindfold, you noticed. The last time you’d been in close contact with him he'd much preferred impossibly dark shades to aide in alleviating his tendency for overstimulation. You always thought he used his eyes as a weapon in more ways than one, peering pointedly over the rims of those mysterious lenses to drive home points with turquoise pupils that stunned most speechless.

Not anymore. He keeps the blindfold on at all times.

They say the eyes are the windows to the soul, and for all his obnoxiously attention seeking behavior, Gojo seems to want to keep the blinds drawn.

It's nice; the unspoken don't ask, don't tell policy the two of you seem to have unwittingly but mutually agreed upon. There were all sorts of walls and barriers put up between the two of you that neither seemed to be interested in taking down; from the drywall of your room in his apartment you refused to leave, to the way a metaphorical gate would slam anytime a conversation started edging towards mentioning Suguru, to the infinity, to the blindfold.

Gojo is also unabashed when it comes to taking up space. He talks incessantly about nothing, stretches his limbs out on any surface he sits on, animates stories dramatically with his hands.

You appreciate it.

Suguru wasn't like that. Existing around him was always a test. He would sit on the very corner of your bed to see if you would choose to draw nearer to him or pick your spot on the other end. Spoke in direct questions that required an answer; never rhetoricals. Eventually this habit would go from testing the waters of intimacy to testing whether you knew your place.

Which is maybe why when Gojo stretches his self out on the couch, leaving only half of the cushion on the opposite side available, you feel grateful. There was no question of where else you should be.

“The higher ups want me to kill you.”

A dark, deep chuckle radiates from the other side of the couch, painting over the sound of some horror movie that you found rather distasteful.

Gojo had always been a movie buff, but he never seemed to be able to focus, always talking over the film like he didn't care. You didn't realize until you’d spent the last few weeks with him that he actually was watching, multitasking through the plot with ease. You theorize he's used to being overstimulated, overworked, over encumbered– he doesn't know how to just enjoy one thing at a time.

“You gonna?”

Your voice is bored; disinterested. You hadn't felt alive since you got here, the only emotion left in you being the hollow echo of guilt.

For being weak. For being selfish. For missing Suguru. For not being more entertaining for Gojo. For wishing he'd just kill you instead, for taking his kindness for granted. For thinking that if the roles were reversed, if the boys had been in the other's shoes this whole time, Suguru would've killed you both. The first time. It never would've gotten this far.

Another chuckle, “Should I?”.

You shrug, indifferent. And he huffs dramatically, tipping his head back against the arm of the couch. The sound catches your attention and your eyes trail from the TV to where his adam’s apple bobs, the supple flesh of his neck exposed to the cool air of his apartment.

There's a spark in your core and you immediately stomp it out. Never again. Plus, Gojo had always been deceptively attractive. Every girl probably felt that way when she looked at him.

But not every girl was you, not every girl had the privilege, the curse of knowing his biggest trauma so intimately, much less sharing it.

“You know, you were funner back in highschool.”

His complaint is rude, but you hear him for what he means to say.

You've changed in a way that I don't know how to handle. Your emotion, or rather lack thereof, makes me uncomfortable.

You’ve always had that kind of understanding with him, you learned it from Suguru.

“And you were a lot more attractive, guess we've both changed-”

Another habit learned from Suguru. You had to fight Gojo's emotional immaturity with sarcasm.

He kicks you playfully and you both giggle.

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