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amberlynnmurdock · 11 months ago

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Neighbor Pt. 3

Matt Murdock x Reader

Summary: Matt hears her come home from a date, and interrupts when he hears it go south.

Words: just above 2k

A/N: So this series is basically different excerpts, so the chapters may not fall right into each other if that makes sense... so here's another night of them being neighbors! Hope you enjoy :)

Genres: light angst, comfort, fluff

Part 2

Matt came home to a quiet and cold apartment. After jiggling his keys in the lock a few times, his musty old door finally opened, and he was met with the cool draft that came in from his even older windows. Pushing the door closed with his back, he sighed deeply and dropped his suitcase on the floor. He hung his head low.

Today was long. Too many papers at the office, too many people to talk to… or maybe, the night before, he spent too much time out as Daredevil and barely got any sleep. Or maybe he had trouble falling asleep. Matt wasn’t sure, but it didn’t matter. He was finally home.

It seemed like everyone else in the building had livelier apartments than he did—he could smell spaghetti from an apartment below him, with jazz music playing in the background. Another apartment had children laughing at a cartoon. Another one was having guests over for dinner. Even Fran, the apartment’s snoop, had brownies in the oven. Of course—it was Friday night, and people like them had plans.

Their apartments were all warm and inviting. But not his. It was cold and empty, and nothing played in the background—only these heightened sounds in his ears and his thoughts. His ever so dreadful thoughts.

But what about hers?

He cocked his head against the door to listen closely to her apartment. What was she doing? Nothing seemed to be going on. No tea was on the kettle. Not even the sound of pages being turned in a book. She wasn’t home.

Matt furrowed his brows at this—he knew she had the morning shift today because they had their usual morning greeting and walked each other out. Part of him was disappointed he couldn’t share his lonesome with her, but the other part felt guilty because, of course, she had plans. While Matt was reclusive and preferred the dark, she was friendly, inviting, and liked to be out. Why would she waste her radiance on being locked up in her apartment?

So, Matt did what he normally did. Instead of being at home alone with his thoughts, he changed into his Daredevil gear and waited on his rooftop for something, anything, to call for him. Eventually, it did, but something was missing tonight.

***

He wasn’t out for long.

He was missing punches, throwing them too soon, otherwise just overall thrown off. Something was off. After stopping a robbery, and nearly taking a bullet to his shoulder, Matt tapped out. He sulked in his gear all the way home and stomped down the steps from his roof, back to his cold and empty apartment.

It was nearly midnight. Some people in the building were awake, and others getting ready for bed. And still, she wasn’t home.

Is she okay?

Matt pushed any thought of worry away. Pushed any thought or feeling of attachment away. After all, she was just his neighbor. His neighbor who sometimes said hello to him, who sometimes dropped a book off in braille for him. Not his emotional support neighbor. Just a neighbor, whom Matt couldn’t keep himself from listening to her calming presence.

So what if he liked her anyway, just a little bit?

She would never get involved with a complicated man like him, who held so many secrets and even more baggage.

Plus, they were neighbors. It could neverwork out.

Matt immediately stripped himself of his Daredevil gear and stepped into a hot, steaming shower, to wash these thoughts of her away. Wash this awful night away. Wash the dried blood on his skin away.

He lay in his bed, silk sheets sprawled over his half-naked body. He had his hands behind his head on his pillow, senseless eyes staring up at the ceiling. The building was winding down, finally. No loud conversations, no ovens beeping. Just people getting into bed and soft snores.

And then, he heard it.

The front door of the building unlocked. Footsteps make their way up the stairs. That familiar and therapeutic scent of warm vanilla filled his senses. Finally, she was home.

But she wasn’t alone.

“I had a good time tonight,” he heard her say on her way up the stairs. Heavy footsteps followed closely behind her. Matt listened to her heartbeat and furrowed his brows—she wasn’t telling the truth.

“Me too,” a smooth, masculine voice said. “Are you sure you don’t want to have some coffee?”

“Oh yeah,” she said nervously, masked by a high-pitched tone. She was being overly nice. Cautious. “We had so much food at that restaurant. I’m stuffed. I’m honestly ready for bed,” she laughed, again, a quiver in her laugh. Matt sat up on his elbows as he listened closely.

“Me too,” the man repeated, in a tone Matt didn’t like. Conniving. Entitled. There was an underlying message.

“Well, here’s my place,” she announced, placing a hand on her door. Matt noticed she often forgot to grab her keys when she was nervous. Matt had made her nervous that one morning, but nothing like this. She was… uncomfortable now. She wanted this man to leave. “You didn’t have to walk me up.”

And there it is.

“I wanted to,” he said, leaning against her door, blocking her from the lock. “I thought maybe you could show me the inside.”

“I, uh,” she stammered, fidgeting for her keys unsuccessfully. “I don’t know, it’s late…”

In an instant, Matt throws on a shirt, gray sweatpants, and his dark glasses and hurriedly walks to his door to meet her and this stranger in the hallway. This stranger who won’t leave her alone, who takes the hint and ignores it, this stranger who’s making his neighbor uncomfortable.

Her heart leaps when she sees Matt suddenly coming outside his door, brown hair disheveled and a smile on his face.

“Matt!” She exclaimed. “I’m sorry, was I loud?”

“Not at all,” Matt smiled through gritted teeth. “Just thought I forgot my mail. That’s all. What are you up to?”

“Um…”

“We’re on a date,” the man states plainly. Matt pretends to be shocked, that he didn’t know someone else was there. He feigns surprise and lifts his eyebrows.

“Oh,” Matt said, “Sorry. I didn’t realize.”

“There’s no mail,” the man said curtly, clearly upset that Matt interrupted whatever it was he had planned. “You can go back into your apartment now.” An icy tone.

Matt took a step forward, eyebrows tightening, jaw clenched. He wants to tell this man that he can break every bone in his body. He wants to tell him that if he ever hears him in this building again, he’ll make him beg for mercy. He listens to the man's body muscles tightening, his heart rate is fast in anger. Whatever his plans with her were, they weren’t pure.

But Matt remembers she’s here, witnessing this, scared. He doesn’t want to be whatever that man is. He wants to show her he cares enough about her to walk out of his apartment at midnight and save her from whatever is happening.

So, instead of answering the man with a threat, he looks in her direction—concern etched in his expression, care in his voice.

“Is everything all right?” Matt asks her.

She shakes her head, mistakenly. She quivers a weak “no.”

The man stood menacingly over her. If she didn’t open her door for him, he’d manipulate her into doing it eventually. And Matt was interrupting his plan, he knew it. The man didn’t like that. Well, Matt wasn’t going anywhere until he left her alone.

He walks up to Matt, close enough so they’re standing face to face. Matt can smell the rum on his breath, which reeked with bad intentions. His hands turned to fists as the man began to speak whatever bullshit threat he tried to come up with. But Matt cuts him off.

“If you don’t leave this apartment in the next thirty seconds, I will have Detective Brett Mahoney and the entire 15th Precinct outside for your arrest for harassment and intimidation. Or worse—I’ll have the apartment snoop named Fran come out and scare you herself. Have I made myself clear?” Matt spoke through gritted teeth, keeping his voice calm and even.

The man was looking at Matt like he really had the nerve—and he did. She stood there, watching this all unfold, wanting nothing more than to lock herself in her apartment and shut her phone off for a week.

He stared Matt down, trying to find any glare behind his dark red glasses. All he saw was his angry expression in the reflection. How can he be intimidating to a blind man? Matt is blind to an extent, but he’s not blind to people with malicious intentions.

All he does is scoff at Matt. He turns on his heel and looks at her as she cowers into the corner of her door. Matt takes a step forward immediately to stand between him and her. He scoffs again.

“Didn’t know you were fucking your neighbor,” he spat before bounding down the stairs, slamming the door behind him.

Matt stood for a moment, listening to the man curse to himself outside, kick a random can on the ground, and walk himself down the street before entering a taxi and returning himself to whatever hell he came from. It wasn’t until Matt was sure he was gone from the vicinity that he heard a loud stomping again, booming in his ears, that he realized it was her scared, frantic heartbeat coming from behind him.

Matt turned around to face her, taking a step back to give her some space. “Hey,” he cooed. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she lied, placing a hand over her heart in an attempt to calm herself down. “Well, now I am. Goodness… he wouldn’t take a hint.”

Matt sighed. “I think he was ignoring them on purpose. Who was he, anyway?”

“Some guy I went on a first—and last—date with,” she answered sheepishly. “I didn’t even want to go. My friends encouraged me to get myself out there. Clearly, it was a mistake.”

“I’m sorry he treated you like that. You don’t deserve that,” Matt replied in a soft tone, your usual calm heart beating frantically still. “You should never do anything you’re uncomfortable with. Even if it’s as simple as a first date.”

“I know,” she said, defeated like she’d told herself this before. “I don’t know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t come out. Thank you, Matt.”

“No need to thank me,” Matt said, shaking his head. “That’s what neighbors are for.”

She smiled softly. “You’ll save me from my next bad date?”

Matt laughed, glad that she seemed to calm down and was back to her friendly, unafraid self. “It’s late,” he said softly, deflecting from her joke. He didn’t want her to go on another bad date—she didn’t deserve that. But he also didn’t want her to go on a date with someone other than him. Which was why he was about to wish her goodnight.

“It is,” she yawned. “Well, maybe I’ll see you in the morning. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Matt whispered. “Don’t forget to lock your door.”

She giggled, already letting herself inside. “I won’t.”

“Hey,” she said suddenly, half inside her apartment, half out. From this alone, Matt was looped in her scent. “You don't think he will come back, do you? Now he knows where I live.”

“He won’t,” Matt shook his head, “and if he does, I will deal with it. Don’t worry. Get some sleep, okay?”

“Okay. Thank you again, Matt.”

She closed her door softly, and Matt waited until he heard the lock click before he went back inside his apartment.

Laying in his bed, he listened as she crawled into her bed in her apartment. Her heartbeat told him she was still awake. When he heard it slowed down, signaling she had fallen asleep, he closed his eyes and drifted into a slumber himself.

TAGS: @mattmurdocksstarlight @yentroucnagol @danzer8705 @allllium @i-marvel-bitch @mattsgirlsworld @babygrlmurdock @writtenbyred

#neighbor #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #charlie cox #charlie cox x reader #daredevil #daredevil x reader #daredevil x you #marvel #daredevil born again #matt murdock #mcu #the defenders

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pleasurebuttonwrites · 1 year ago

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Irritated

Matt Murdock x F!Reader | Explicit 18+ | 2.2K

Summary Cooking for Matt goes all wrong and your insecurities come out.

Warnings smut, oral (f receiving), angst with a happy ending

A/N First time writing for Matt. The perfectionism was strong with this one - this has been sitting for months and I'm finally posting.

~~~

The cloud of smoke is quickly filling the apartment. You had turned the burners off, but the charred mass in the skillet is still sizzling. You crank the vent hood fan on high, and open a window. It isn’t enough.

—

As he’s racing home across the rooftops, the smell singes his nostrils. His body is exhausted but it gives him a dose of adrenaline before he realizes that it’s not a fire, just a burnt dinner.

Dinner? At this time of night?

That’s when it dawns on him. The smell is coming from his apartment. Maybe it’s my neighbor, he hopes with half-hearted optimism. With the way his night has gone, he doesn’t think he’ll get that lucky.

—

You’re fanning the smoke out of the window, using one of Matt’s law document tomes in Braille, when you hear the door to the roof. You speed up your fanning, as if that will in any way remove the smell from the apartment.

His footsteps are on the steps now and you turn to apologize — with some self-deprecating humor to relieve your anxiety — when you catch the irritation on his face. Cautiously, you say, “I’m sorry about the smoke. I was just trying to cook and I don’t know what—”

“It’s fine.” He cuts you off with words a little too flat and forceful to be sincere.

That familiar feeling washes over you. You had expected it to happen sooner or later, and here it was. He was finally figuring out that you were more trouble than you were worth.

He tosses his mask on the chair and yanks off his gloves, his mood infecting every motion. Without another word to you he retreats to his room and closes the door behind him.

—

From the other side of the door, Matt catches the way your breath hitches, hears you gather your things and walk out. He wants to stop you but the devil still has a hold on him and he knows he could only make things worse now.

He knew this would happen sooner or later. He knew he’d drive you away. Took longer than he thought it would. He tells himself the smart thing to do would be to let you go. Just let it end here.

But he hears your footsteps on the pavement outside. You’re walking home instead of taking a cab. He throws a shirt and pants on over his suit, and chases after you.

—

You only make it a block before he walks out of the shadows and strolls along next to you, not even winded from catching up.

“You shouldn’t be out here alone. You could get hurt.”

He says it so matter-of-factly, resentfully even. If he’s there out of real concern for you, rather than a sense of duty, he doesn’t show it. You say nothing to that and he doesn’t speak again.

The walk seems to take longer under the weight of the silence between you. When you finally get to your building’s door, you unlock it quickly and step inside. You don’t even look at Matt as you push the door closed behind you. But before it can latch, he catches it.

“Sweetheart,” he begins. “I’m sorry about the way I— the way I acted. It had nothing to do with you. I had a shitty night and I should’ve cooled off before coming home.”

When he puts it like that, it makes you seem unreasonable. Softly, apologetically, you say, “No, you should get to cool off in your own home.”

The words you’re not saying hang in the air between you but you feel too foolish to speak them so instead you stand there in the doorway, picking at your nails, looking down at them instead of him. He reaches out and stills your fidgeting, his warm hand enveloping both of yours. “What is it, sweetheart? Will you talk to me, please?”

Your first instinct is to lie, but the way he subtly turns his ear to you lets you know he’s listening to your heartbeat. Your pulse picks up just from knowing he’ll know if you lie.

You let out a sigh. “I just— I feel like I can’t do anything right.”

His brows furrow and he lifts his chin. You wait for him to prompt you but he’s going to keep silent until you tell him everything. He’s stubborn like that.

You remind yourself that he actually wants to know. He’s asking you for the truth. You take a deep breath, gearing up for an act of trust, and you let it all spill out. “All I do is make everything worse. I mean, I don’t bring anything to this relationship. But I thought maybe I could make you a nice meal. Then I’d be good for something. And that blew up in my face. Almost literally.”

A thick silence follows and you think he must be struggling and failing to dispute anything you’ve said. But you realize you’ve read it all wrong when he says in a quiet and deadly voice, “You think you don’t bring anything to our relationship?”

That voice — his devil’s voice — never fails to light a fire inside you. The sudden heat on your skin makes the night air feel that much cooler, and you shiver. His nostrils flare as he inhales deeply, taking in all the ways your body has reacted to him.

He steps forward into your building, and you step back. “It seems I haven’t properly showed you how important you are to me.”

As he advances, you back down the hallway. You can’t take your eyes off his face. The naked desire, the grim determination, the devil stalking his prey. You nearly collide with the staircase banister, but he gently guides you out of the way with a hand on your hip. One he doesn’t remove until you get to your door.

He plucks the keys from your hands and feels for the right one before quickly unlocking your door. It swings open but you both stand at the threshold.

“Matt,” you begin. As much as your body is begging for him, you feel guilty that the whole situation got turned around. You were trying to prove something to him and now he’s the one putting in the effort. Again. “I just feel like I haven’t yet earned your love.”

He hangs his head, exhaling his frustration. “First of all, you don’t need to earn my love. Secondly, if you even think for one second that you don’t deserve it, then I’ve failed you.”

“No, stop! I’m the one who fucked up, okay?” You storm past him into your apartment. He follows you inside, shutting the door behind him.

He draws in a breath to say something, but thinks better of it. He nods and says simply, “Okay.”

It’s the way he gives in that has you on alert. He never just gives in; he’s planning something.

“Make it up to me, then,” he tells you.

“How?”

“Take off your pants.”

“Matt—”

“I said, take off your pants.”

“That can’t be all I’m good for.”

“Sweetheart, I promise you we will find a way for you to feel deserving in this relationship. But right now, let me surround myself with your scent so I can get this smoke out of my nostrils.”

How were you supposed to think straight when he says things like that to you? You really wanted to give him what he wanted, but it didn’t feel right. “Well then that’s just you doing something for me again and I still can’t give you anything.”

He flashes that grin he uses during cross-examination when he’s about to tear the prosecution’s case to shreds. “You wanted to feed me. Now let me eat.”

—

You don’t know how he does it. But as soon as you stopped protesting, he had you naked with your ass at the edge of the couch and him kneeling in front of you.

“Spread your legs for me,” he says in a low, soft voice. You do as he says. He takes one deep breath and whines, his tongue flicking out over his bottom lip. “I can already taste you.”

He starts on your thighs, pressing kisses from your knee to the hinge at your hip all along the soft, sensitive skin of your inner thigh. You feel the heat of his breath pass over your cunt before he kisses his way down to your other knee.

He’s doing it on purpose. Taking his time and lavishing you with kisses. Giving again. The guilt washes over you. “Matt—”

He shushes you just as the pad of his thumb brushes at your entrance, collecting your slick before sliding up to your clit. Your eyes roll back into your head and your words die on your lips. He applies just the right amount of pressure as he works circles over your sensitive nub. You whimper at his touch and he gives a satisfied hum in response.

It feels so good yet it’s not enough. “Matty, please.” Your voice is barely even a whisper but he hears you loud and clear. He lifts his thumb to his lips, moaning as your taste hits his tongue at last.

You expect to feel his mouth on you but instead he brings his hands together and says, “Bless us O Lord and these Thy gifts—”

“Matt—”

His name is no sooner from your mouth than his lips wrap around your clit, and you cry out from the pleasure. His skilled tongue slides through your folds and dips into your entrance. You clench around nothing, pushing more of your juices onto his greedy tongue. You don’t have to worry about making a mess on the couch. He’d never let one drop of you spill.

You honestly don’t know which of you are making more noise. He’s so vocal even with his mouth as busy as it is. He grunts and moans with every exhale, and every inhale is a heavy intake through his nose — when it’s not pressed into you.

Your hand, outstretched at your side, grips a throw pillow, the stuffing clumped beneath your palm, your fingers wrinkling the fabric. Matt clamps his hand over yours — while his tongue continues swirling — and guides you to the crown of his head. You grip a fistful of his hair and instinctively pull him even tighter to you.

His moans muffle but grow more desperate. In truth, you try hard not to make more sound than your breath, just to catch every unhinged noise of his.

You’re so close now. You can’t help but raise your hips a bit, humping his face as his tongue works you over. The vibration of his growl sends you over the edge. No matter how quiet you’ve been trying to be, the force of your orgasm rips pleas from your lips. “Matty…fuck! Oh, Matty, hngh…”

As you come down from your high, you loosen your grip on his hair and he slowly pulls away from you. You take in the sight of him. A bit of his Daredevil suit peeks beneath his shirt. His hair is mussed, hairline damp with sweat, and his mouth and chin are coated with you. He licks his lips and smiles and it’s totally unfair how pretty he is just like this.

You let your head fall back, your breathing slowly returning to normal. But the drop in your heart rate coincides with the rise of your thoughts, and the feelings of guilt, shame, unworthiness. You don’t know why you can’t just accept his love. But no matter how much you try to trust that he means what he says, you can’t shake the feeling that you’ve fooled him somehow. And he’s going to wake up one day realizing his mistake.

Almost as if he can read your thoughts —

“Sweetheart, if you need me between your legs to chase away your thoughts, I’m more than happy to be of service, but it’s probably not the healthiest way to deal with it.”

“Matt Murdock’s lecturing me on what’s healthy.”

“I know. I know.” He gives you that wide smile. So comforting that it’s impossible to feel anything but warmth when he smiles at you like that. Then he gives your thigh a little smack and says, “Let’s get cleaned up.”

—

Later, while you’re laying in bed together, his body cradled around yours, you’re both too tired to continue the conversation you know you need to have, a conversation of the ongoing variety. In the quiet and the dark you both feel your insecurities rise. Matt is pretty sure he’ll end up driving you away. You’re pretty sure he’ll realize you aren’t as great as he thinks and leave. But both of you really want this to work and you’re both willing to work on it.

Your thoughts hazy, your breath becoming rhythmic, you speak into the dark. “I don’t have to cook for you, you know. Like if you don’t want me to. Do you want me to?”

He hums in response, sleep nearly stealing his ability to speak. “If you want to… then I want that…too. But you don’t have to. But you can. You can use my kitchen whenever you want. If you want.”

You’re both quiet again and you nearly fall asleep then he says, “Just not for a few days. Let the smoke clear. ‘M staying at yours til then.”

#matt murdock fic #matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x fem!reader #daredevil fic #matt murdock fanfic #daredevil fanfic #matt murdock smut

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j0kers-light · 4 months ago

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Hey <3 What would Joker think about a reader who speaks lots of languages? Does he speak multiple as well? Would he learn some together with the reader? Or does he not really pay attention to that? Have a lovely day~

Hey hi my love!! 🖤✨

It’s a beautiful day actually and my brain is running a mile a minute to answer this. As someone who is trilingual, (and working on learning more) I find it tricky to answer this ask from Joker’s perspective.

Because on one hand learning a new language is both daunting and fun; anyone can do it! However it does have a tendency to pinpoint origin and define you as a person.

Joker knowing a different language (in my opinion) is too risky given his strict, “I have an untraceable past” reputation. If he starts speaking a different language, it can be traced back to his past.

So no. I don’t think Joker would bother learning a different language. He speaks English and sarcasm. Now if it were for the betterment of his Light? He might?

Joker believes that pain translates the same across all languages, so why bother trying to understand what a person is saying as they plead for mercy?

He doesn’t have the need to pick up a new language so English it is!

That all changes when he meets his Bunny who is a foreign speaker. And ohh boy, he wasn’t prepared.

Your accent, the speed in which you talk.. Joker finds it downright sexy! Everything you say has a bit of a kick to it.

He doesn’t know a word you’re saying most of the time and you use that to your advantage when you’re upset with him.

You stop talking in English and rant in your mother tongue leaving Joker standing there like 👁️🫦👁️

Joker is a certified simp. We know this. He instantly bricks up hearing you speak, especially if you say something during sex that he can’t translate. Horn-Y to the point of no return. 🥵

He is in awe how you speak multiple different tongues in the same conversation, simply because you can.

One minute you are cracking a joke in English, you pause to listen to someone speak (insert language) and then you reply in a third; effectively blowing J’s mind.

You are constantly translating in your head and thinking of the correct consonants and vowels to use while still engaging in conversation.

It takes a sharp mind and loads of patience that Joker greatly admires. How you do it? He’ll never understand but it’s definitely hot.

Joker finds out that you know to sign and can read Braille too by accident; what are you? A walking Rosetta Stone? At this point what language do you not know?

Imagine his disbelief when he discovers you can sing certain songs in several more languages…

Joker dubs you his Google translate and if he needs assistance, best believe he’s asking for your help.

You turn to glare at your boyfriend in disdain. He really dragged you out of bed for this. “I don’t know Mandarin, Joker.” You say for the fourth time.

Your response isn’t what J was expecting and his wide grin slowly falls from his face. Tense seconds pass as he hides his disappointment. “Bunny… you know a loT of languages..”

“Yes, but not..” You pinch your nose with a sigh. You are not an automated translator that J assumes you to be. You don't know every language! (that would be so cool btw)

The best course of action is letting Joker's hopes and dreams down softly. “It’s a rather hard and complicated dialect to learn, J.”

“And that mumbo jumbo you sang the other day wasn’t hard?!”

You drew a blank at him cutting you off. “J, what are you talking about?”

“Uhh you sa~ng in the car jusT fine, what's stopping ya now?” He grumbled. It took you a minute to remember what he's talking about and even then, you're still confused.

“Joker. That was Hebrew. Completely different language. Omg, are you really that racist?” You ask.

The poor guy that Joker abducted will just have to wait until you and J finish arguing to confess that he's fluent in English. He's too invested in this discussion to interrupt.

So that was a self insert head canon anon sorry not sorry. 🤣🤣🤣🥴 To clear the air.

I can speak English, Greek, and Spanish. Although I can read and comprehend Spanish better than speaking it. ��

I began learning French and Russian when I was in school but dropped it for personal reasons. Oh! I totally forgot that my boss was teaching me Vietnamese for two years back in the day lol.

I can sing certain songs in Hebrew, Danish, Latin, Spanish, French, and Japanese. I also poorly translated a few chapters of a book in German out of desperation until the official release was published in English. 🙃 I'm a menace.

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twiniverse · 11 days ago

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Just to give it its own post, because it's important enough to warrant it:

I'm not "the person choosing the give the finger to people who need accessibility tools". I have not once said that people can't write ids on my posts. I didn't say I wouldn't look into having someone else do it. I said that I can't do it, that it is not my job, and that a certain someone's attitude is foul and that makes people less likely to want to do what they say.

I also have not thrown a little hissy fit because someone isn't doing what I want. I haven't literally told anyone that I wouldn't leave them alone until they did what I wanted them to do. I haven't used several different accounts and ips to evade being blocked in order to angrily yell about how superior I am to everyone else in the fandom, or to belittle anyone. I haven't gone to the side account of someone who has blocked me to continue my tantrum there.

I don't have a problem with accessibility, or with people who volunteer their time to give access to more people. Believe it or not, accessibility is something I'm highly dedicated to and something I am often finding new ways to implement in my actual job. My team is implementing on-site image blockers on the user side so they don't have to see things that upset them. We're making sure our on-site games aren't going to be triggering people's vertigo. We're making sure there are colour themes so that no one has to choose between blinding white light or blinding white letters, but the people who do like those options will have them, too! We're implementing high contrast mode! Our head coder is blind, in fact. We'll be working with her quite a bit to make the site- which is visual based- still accessible for those with screen readers and other aids. She has a braille display, isn't that cool? I didn't even know those were a thing until she told me.

My problem is specifically with the person who has not only harassed me, but other people in the fandom. My problem is specifically with the person who outright admitted that their reaction to being told "no" is to become aggressive and condescending. My problem is specifically with the person who thinks they're the only person who gives a damn. My problem is with the person who says that they don't have to do it, that they're volunteering their time because they care, but also says it's their job and we need to let them do it. My problem is with the person who speaks on behalf of others who do not want to be spoken for. My problem is specifically with the person who told me that they would continue harassing me unless I met their demands. My problem is specifically with the person who will read a fraction of what I actually said here and will respond with how horrible of a human I am because I focus on accessibility with my actual job and not my fancomic that I barely have the energy to work on in the first place.

My problem is specifically with the person who read everything I said and instead of recognising and accepting that they're the only one I have a problem with decided to start attacking me and accusing me of being ableist because they, and no one else, have pissed me off.

As I said to begin with, I blocked them because of their attitude and the way they harass people. The way they've harassed my friends, the way they've harassed people I don't like, the way they've harassed newbies, etc, etc. It had nothing to do with IDs, and it still doesn't. I blocked a shitty person, and that person made an assumption and is throwing a hissy fit about it. That's all there is to it. The bottom line is that genuinely anyone can add id's to my posts except for that specific person because I don't want that specific person interacting with me.

This next bit is for you, that specific person: "-but you blocked me after writing a single image description for your posts, for some stupid reason." It was not a stupid reason. And like I said in my response, it had nothing to do with you writing an image description for my post. It's because you're a foul, slimy little cockroach with a superiority complex. You think you're the hero but you're the villain here.

So, again, as disrespectfully as possible: Fuck. Off.

#pip post

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blindbeta · 3 months ago

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Ok i don’t know if you’re doing asks right now but I’d honestly like to ask about a character in a murder mystery/fantasy story I have and I’m not sure if they align with any negative blind stereotypes or if it’s something I should avoid altogether even if it’s not a stereotype.

To start, my character (let’s call him B) has JOAG (juvenile open angle glaucoma) and has tunnel vision. He also relies on a cane and braille. He also takes medication for his condition ( I was thinking carbonic anhydrase inhibitors or beta blockers but I still need to dig deeper into that.)

I was thinking of having a blind main character (and blind side characters too). He has a tsundere/ojo-sama personality (rude on the outside, sweet on the inside type of guy) and water powers. I know that there is a bit of a pattern with rude or defensive blind characters and I feel unsure about whether or not I should add that into my story. I thought of him being apprehensive of one of the other main characters because he doesn’t know them personally and isn’t a huge fan of change. He slowly warms up to the other character but he struggles to do so. He helps the rest of the other characters in solving the mysteries and tries to think as logically as he can but sometimes his bias slips in every now and then.

Onto his powers, I was thinking of him having the ability to control water. I was also think about having him have an interest in potion-making and his spell books being written in mostly braille because he relays on braille the most.

He has a few hobbies and interests such as going on picnics, siren singing/just singing in general, drinking tea and organizing his stuff. (Apologies if this is a lot, I love rambling about my characters lol).

That’s all I have for this character at the moment. I hope nothing in this ask was offensive or anything. You don’t have to answer this if something in this post came off as rude or offensive. Thank you for your time!!!

Avoiding Rude or Defensive Blind Characters— Explore It and Add More Blind Characters to Show Different Personalities

It sounds like everything is in order right now. The only concern I have is addressing the rude/defensive thing you brought up.

I’ll admit, I actually enjoy this type of blind character. It falls a bit into Disabled Snarker trope, which I love. I feel these characters tend to be viewed as having more agency than blind people are typically believed to possess.

It also allows us a bit of fantasy escapism.

Typically, blind people aren’t allowed to express the level of snark that these characters are. This is because we are expected to lack desires of our own, be excessively passive, and to not complain even when we are wronged. An example of this would be blind people being told they did something incorrectly when they are denied services, or were ungrateful when refuse help they don’t need.

Here is a video where Sadi on Tiktok laments her rideshare troubles caused by bigoted drivers. Link here.

Here is one where she discusses being grabbed by a stranger. Link here. And another where she expresses her frustration with the dismissal she faces when she speaks about being treated inappropriately. Link here.

Here is one by Tobes, who describes accidentally running into cars that are parked on the sidewalk and being scolded for it despite that fact he had no reason to believe a car would be parked that way. Link here.

We are often considered rude because of ableism. Additionally, we often have to be stern and stubborn just to get through the day and this can be perceived as rude by others.

You could have him use this attitude in areas other than blindness or only when provoked in an obvious way. Having a cool attitude that others find intimidating or unapproachable might be a way to go about this.

Or he could still put someone in their place for being ableist and this actually might be a refreshing fantasy for a lot us who can’t always call out ableism the way we want to. To me, people are going to think blind people are rude no matter what we do. This means most of us, especially those of us marginalized in multiple ways, are forced to police our tone or reactions in frustrating ways, even when someone is being harmful toward us or openly oppressive.

Sometimes it’s fun to see a blind character who responds in a way that is proportional to the ableism being directed at them.

I am not sure if you can go against this stereotype one your own, because again, some people will see blind people as rude no matter what. This is in direct opposition to the idea that blind people are all innocent beings without agency. These two opposing stereotypes of blind people are very strong and I know from experience that it is difficult not to be put into one of these boxes. He may deliberately display an aggressive attitude in an attempt to gain some agency over how he is perceived. Conversely, he might be defensive or rude about everything, while being chill about blindness stuff or even ableist attitudes. Instead, he could become colder, distant, or emotionally cut the ableist person off. He could also be like Toph and react to personal or structural ableism with jokes.

Basically, it’s good to be concerned about this, but I think commenting on/exploring it would be a better option. Subverting the trope is also challenging because it might accidentally cause him to be put into another box. Therefore, it might be more helpful to explore it for him personally, giving him more depth and challenging the idea that all blind people are naturally rude for “no reason. [Quotes around “no reason” to indicate sarcasm.]

Personally, I want to see blind characters having agency, depth, a community, and using mobility aids and blindness techniques. So I’m okay with this. The story might still benefit from a sensitivity reader or two though, and I’d love to read it myself. You can also try @sensitivityreaders

Lastly, having other blind characters would help challenge any stereotypes readers might have. In addition to showing his sweet side mentioned in the ask. Sorry I couldn’t give you a yes or no answer on this topic, but my personal go-to fix for stereotypes is always to show more blind characters. This allows you to show off more personality types of experiences around blindness.

Also JOAG can be painful if not caught early or managed properly. You seem to have done a good job of showing treatment options and different conditions. There will be a lot of medical stuff in his future/present, which means he has experience advocating for himself. This could also help explain why his attitude might seem rude or defensive to abled characters, in addition to the Rude Blind Person stereotype.

If any other blind or disabled folks have thoughts or suggestions, please share.

In closing, I don’t have any concerns with his powers. Also points for cane use!

Some parts of this ask might be relevant as well. Link here.

Hope this helps.

-BlindBeta

#blind #blind characters #writing blind characters #rude blind person stereotype #blindbeta #blind sensitivity reader #disability #ableism

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silanb · 1 month ago

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Self restraint

(A lil snippet I wrote as a warmup)

>>> Interfacing: You look up at the cabinet, rows upon rows of medication bottles and medical supplies lining the shelves. The two bottles in your hand have a place here, somewhere, you just have to find it.

SHIVERS: Lieutenant Kitsuragi shuffles the bottles around, once, twice, three times. The bottles never seem to find their right place. Their home. Not like this is his city. He shuffles them along anyway.

The bathroom is cool. You try not to shake it off.

Visual calculus: there is a system here, if you take the time to examine it. Carefully planned and sorted so he can find everything he needs. Little braille labeled caps that let him find things even when it’s late and dark, or in the early morning when he’s too tired to put his glasses on. To grab them without looking. Yes, there is a system here, you just don’t know it.

Reaction speed: Yet.

Interfacing: You could take the time to try to piece it together, that way you’d know where to place the bottles. It might take some time but it’s only been a few seconds of you standing here. The Lieutenant is busy putting things away, and it shouldn’t take all that long.

Electrochemistry: That’s right, he’s distracted, so he wouldn’t notice if you popped a few of those bottles into your coat pocket. He’s bound to keep some strong stuff in there, maybe leftover prescription pills from being shot. It would be oh so nice to relax with Kim once you have *those * in your system

Logic: he would notice as soon as he went to grab something and his system was disrupted.

Rhetoric: and if he didn’t, what if he reached for a bottle in the morning, without his glasses, and because you’d moved them he picked up the wrong one? He wouldn’t make a habit of buying ones with brailled caps if he didn’t use them.

Electrochemistry: that could be a problem for future you. You might not get a chance like this again to see if he’s got some really good stuff in there. Just, for future reference.

Volition: and violate the Lieutenant’s trust in the process, undo all your work getting sober, and ruin your ability to work tomorrow. You shouldn’t. It would be better to simply place them on the shelf to the side of the cabinet for Kim to handle later.

Interfacing: [Failed] You try to understand the system Kim has put in place, without looking for drugs to pilfer from your friend, but aside from all the bottles being arranged so they can be easily grabbed without shuffling it’s impossible to tell. Some have prescription names you don’t know, allergy tablets and mild pain pills are next to each-other while stronger pain meds and a decongestant are in completely separate locations. You won’t be figuring this one out champ.

You place the bottles delicately on the shelf next to the cabinet instead, front and center so he won’t miss them when he comes in next to grab them.

When you walk back in to the kitchen Kim has only put away about half of the groceries you helped him bring up. The ones left sit half organized and dumped from their bags on the counter.

“I set them next to the counter so I didn’t mess up your groove in there,” you offer, leaning past Kim to grab something in hopes of helping another way. “Hope you don’t mind.”

“No, that’s preferable actually, thank you,” Kim offers one of his small, rewarding smiles.

Empathy: The Lieutenant is tired today. He barely bothered to put on presentable clothes when you came by, maybe even to the store. Not having to clean up your messes is always a good thing but today it’s a relief that you’re just here. He’s glad for your thoughtfulness.

Inland empire: He always is. Now help your partner in arms, he needs the relief.

In a comfortable silence, you get back to work helping him sort the groceries away.

#dobes writes #disco elysium #kim kitsuragi #harry du bois #ficlet #fanfic #writing #i just love them getting too be casual and domestic and stuff #also love when Harry gets to help Kim back #hopefully I can get into the swing of writing propper disco style again #it’s been a long while #adryn I’m writing brat Kim fic if it kills me dw

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accessibleaesthetics · 6 months ago

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Earlier this year, I went to Smithsonian's National Air and Space Museum, and I was struck by who I saw using some of the accessibility features of the exhibits.

[Image Description: Photo of the Command Module Columbia exhibit at Smithsonian's National Air and Space Museum. The command module, which sits behind glass, is a full-size truncated cone with a docking probe and dish-shaped aft heat shield. In front of the glass is a sign with information about the command module on the left, a photograph in the middle, and a labeled smaller model on the right. The smaller model is labeled in both slightly raised text and Braille, and has a slightly raised hand icon next to it inside of a yellow speech bubble. End Image Description.]

This exhibit, like several others, included a part of the sign you were supposed to touch, as indicated by the hand symbol. This meant that people who couldn't see the actual thing behind the glass could get a very good idea of what every part of it looked like by touching the model and reading the label, which was offered in both raised letters and Braille.

[Image Description: Close up of the right side of the exhibit sign from the previous image. The light shining on the black surface of the exhibit sign shows darker spots where people left fingerprints. The entire Braille label is a near solid dark spot. End Image Description.]

This is obviously very cool and it's great that they invested inclusive design. But what really struck me about this was how much it was being used. You can tell from the photo that the Braille part of the sign has had many fingers on it, but I don't actually think all of those were from members of the target audience.

I could be wrong, of course, you can never really tell if someone is blind or low vision simply by looking at them. But I saw multiple children come up and run their hands over the smaller model mounted to the sign. At least one of them was running their fingers along the Braille too.

And it wasn't just children either. I saw at least one adult (other than myself) interacting with a similar model in another exhibit, one of a footprint on the moon. This one openly encouraged you to touch it rather than just implying permission like the one in this picture did. And that got me thinking: how many more adults would be doing the same thing the kids were if they weren't held back by this unspoken "oh, this feature is not for me" assumption? There are many haptic learners out there, after all.

If the people who design these museums realized the potential for a curb cut effect here, how many more exhibits would have these features?

And having full three-dimensional modules for people to touch weren't the only thing this museum offered either. You don't have to have all that to make the sign more user-friendly to those who have trouble seeing it.

[Image Description: A sign with a two-dimensional diagram of the Blériot XI aircraft. Each part of the illustration, including the person next to it for size, is slightly raised off the surface of the sign. All words on the diagram are labeled in both raised text and Braille. Beside the diagram is a slightly raised hand icon next to it inside of a yellow speech bubble. The labeled parts are the front, propeller, rudder, and elevator, most of which have arrows pointing to the respective parts of the illustration. End Image Description.]

You can make two-dimensional diagrams accessible too.

Finally, as an aside, the videos at the exhibits, the ones you could play on your own, all had open captions, and at least one had open audio descriptions as well.

#air and space museum #accessiblity #curb cut effect

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iphig3nia · 2 years ago

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Cursed || Sebastian Sallow

“That girl had laid a curse on me”

Sebastian can’t seem to stop thinking about you, it’s almost like a curse.

cw - none

a/n || Favourite Lord Huron song honestly they were COOKING cooking. Thank you for all the notes and kind words too :000 I am SHOCKED I am in TEARS. You guys are so sweet :D I didn’t think some of these would take off like that, especially since its all song fics oopsies.

—

“I think I’ve been cursed.”

Sebastian looks over to Ominis, who doesn’t even react to his friend’s comment. “I think you’re overreacting.” Ominis replies back continuing to feel the braille of a textbook. “She plagues my mind, I can feel her presence all around me. How is that not a curse.” Sebastian rubs his face with his hands, feeling the blush creeping up on him. “That just sounds like a crush, the remedy would be to tell her how you feel.” The brown-haired boy shakes his head. He knows he’s falling for you, and Sebastian doesn’t want to believe it. He grumbles and goes back to studying, clearly his friend doesn’t understand how terrible this curse is and how you’re too good for Sebastian anyways.

“I’m a goner I guess.”

Sebastian sighs as he walks through the empty hallways. The moon is high in the sky, shining through the tall windows. As he walks he swears he can see you in the shadows. He can hear your laughter following him as he walks back to his room, blowing over him and enveloping him like a warm wind. Sebastian shudders, he can almost feel your touch on his skin. “I hope its not too late to break the spell.” He mumbles to himself. You wouldn’t want to be chained down by him, all the bad that Sebastian’s done would follow him to the ends of the Earth. He feels suffocated in the hallways and quickly finds himself in the courtyard, steadying his breathing as the cool air hits him.

He sits down on a bench, his breath remaining unsteady despite his best attempts. Even though Sebastian is outside and the moon and stars are shining down on him, something is constricting him. Holding him. Making him unable to breathe easy. You’re not even there and your presence is somehow haunting him. But its not you that’s making him feel this way, its the thought of how you would take his confession that plagues his mind. You may have cursed him to always think about you, but that doesn’t mean you have to accept his love. Sebastian could throw up, he swears he catches your perfume on the wind.

Do you even know how you make him feel? Of course you would, you’re the one who cursed him right? With your teasing touches that leave him in a puddle, your eyes that hold the universe and so much more. You once kissed him, out of excitement rather than true love Sebastian thinks. It was on the cheek and it was because he gave you his potion notes. Sebastian holds his hand to his cheek and still feels your lips on them. He looks up at the night sky and leans back against the bench “I don’t know how to fight what I can’t see.” He reaches up a tentative hand and brings it back down. Why would the heavenly stars answer him after all the hell he’s raised.

“Fighting demons there Sallow?”

Sebastian jumps at your voice, he almost doesn’t believe it’s really you until you’re standing in front of him. You smile warmly at him but your face has worry written all over it. You sit next to him and remain in a comfortable silence, not wanting to push him. You knew about his little crush (Ominis told you after he got tired of hearing Sebastian whine), but you didn’t know about the true turmoil its caused him. Finally you both look at each other “you think I cursed you?” You laugh as Sebastian blushes “I can’t stop thinking about you every day, I was doomed by our first kiss.” You knew that it would stick with him, the sweet peck on the cheek turning his brain into mush.

You see him look down at his hands “I’ve done things that have no name.” You see him frown. You gently take both of his hands, erasing those thoughts from his mind. “What’s the point of the future if not to move on from the past?” You squeeze his hands gently, his warm hands that envelope yours.

“I can’t ask you to love me (Y/N).”

“There’s no need to ask when I already do.”

You words make his heart flutter, he can feel it jumping out of his chest. “Your chained to me now, not the past, I’ve cursed you to love me forever right?” You joke as you hold his face in your hands. “Who knew love was going to be like this.” Sebastian is melting into your hands, stuck in a trance by your eyes. His past will always be right there, mocking him from the shadows. But when he’s in your hands, when he’s in your presence, all of it somehow disappears. Sebastian supposes that he should just stop fighting the curse and let it take all of him. You have him under quite the spell, he’s not even sure he could undo it, or want to undo it. He’ll let it come over him, like the tide coming to pull him back into that ocean blue. What better way to die than to drown in your love, than to stumble around drunk with it.

You let your lips cross the space between and find him at the end.

#hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow fanfiction #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x you

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icouldhyperfixatehim · 10 months ago

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last twilight finale time for me and i'm going to jot my thoughts as i go and just post it altogether bc i don't want to fill the tag w nonsense to excess so lets go

4 minutes in and i'm already pissed off. 3 years my entire hole, ugh. where's that meme of a woman putting a toy out of a child's reach? i'm the woman the child is p'aof and the toy is fucking time skips

so glad mork got to fulfil his five minute dream of being part of the exploitative tourism sector decimating hawaii. cool love that for him, it's definitely better than finding healing through love and support or whatever

i hope they had fun with the mork porjai implication bait and switch, because night walked through the door and my only reaction was: well obviously -_-

and here's the man himself! aof why are you doing your stan lee cameo in THIS ep of all eps. you could have photoshopped yourself into the last twilight mountain scene like the teletubbies sun and i'd have been less fucked off w you right now

okay but i'm never too bitter to appreciate a nice little bookshop. this is cute. i hope the shelves have braille indicators or smth. would have been cool to see some practical accessibility considerations - evidence of what day has learned and how he's letting the ladder down for others. also where's his white cane? i thought he was finally using one?

the lighthearted tone of this flirting...i am being gaslit. rubbing sugar in my wounds doesn't feel any better than salt hey

i do love watching porjai get the full princess treatment though, she deserves it

their "adult" conversation over cake has me so weary. don't explain how you want me to interpret this narrative thanks, i'm a big girl with some, nay, muLTipLe brain cells. you can tell me it was all about mork pitying day and day not liking to be pitied, but i don't like being told what to think. it's a disservice to these full, multifaceted characters to turn them into informed-storytelling puppets

porjai is my ep highlight so far for real. namtan, the actress that you are and the beauty that you have in the bridal get up. nightporjai are so dark horse special to me. THIS. THIS is what i wanted for mork! to do the growing and the healing IN SUPPORT AND WITH LOVE TO STAND FIRM FROM AGHHH, not on the arse end of america for no reason at all

ah, the classic romcom airport dash, except i'm mad lmao butWAIT PORJAI DOING A GRIFT FOR LOVE SHE IS THE EP HERO!!!

oh christ. oh christ they're not are they?

no they are...oh my god. oh i'm. i've written this whole thing pissy over the relationship thing i didn't even. oh my god. i'm heartbroken.

"the worst page in my novel" i'm. i actually feel a little sick. how horrible. what an absolute reversal. they waited until the last 15 minutes to make my worst fear on seeing the very first trailer come true, they waited until my guard was down

to all my disabled buds out there, wherever you fall on the spectrum of weary to deeply hurt by this narrative decision: your happy ending is in no way reliant on you someday "getting better". you do not have to "get better" to be whole, to be worth loving, to find meaning and joy in your life. you are not incomplete.

this is so busted. i'm so incredibly disappointed by this turn. they cocked this up massively, i need to go make mashed potatoes bye

#last twilight #liomsa #no lol i'm tired now for real

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chobani-flip · 4 months ago

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so... I've been tagged by @newtkelly (WHO HAS A WIP IN THE WORKS WHICH IS GONNA BE SO AWESOME OMG GO READ ALL THE FICS I LOOOOOOVE) and @alchemistc (THE AMAZING ALCHEMISTIC MAGE OF AWESOME WRITERY POWERS WHO WRITES TRULY EXCELLENT FICS ????DAILY????? GO READ) to put my music on shuffle & list the first 10 songs + tag 10 people

but

the thing is... i... kinda don't listen to music? 👀👀👀 i know, i know, believe me.

like, i am not an alien, i have heard music before, but i don't go out of my way to listen to music in my regular day to day life.

so rather than just not taking part, or trying hard to come up with songs i really love a lot (which, they totally exist! but i can never think of one until i hear it on the radio or in a shop or as background song on a show or something) im gonna tell you about the audiobooks i found really fucking cool and my one podcast i adore:

the podcast AKA the only reason i have spotify on my laptop :

Ridiculous Crime (iHeartRadio) -

Zaron Burnett and Elizabeth Dutton talk about "outlandish capers, heists and cons" to "shine a light on the absurd side of criminality". "Always 99% murder-free and 100% ridiculous". i adore this podcast so fucking much, i am willing to 15sec+ manually skip the embedded ads that appear in LOOOONG chunks at the start, at the 20 minute mark, at the 40 minute mark and at the end of the episodes. also, Elizabeth Dutton is a 911 fan and she's the one whose endorsement finally made me decide to give the show another try. like, srsly, if you've gone off true crime because while you enjoy listening to RL stories and mysteries but all the sensationalizing of brutal crimes just got too much made it impossible to consume? THIS IS THE PODCAST FOR YOU (just srsly, skip the ads, they're fucking annoying

⬆is one of my favourite episodes

the audiobooks:

Vital Organs - Suzie Edge

this is a book full of extremely interesting stories from history connected to various bodyparts.

this is the tagline: From Napoleon's penis to Van Gogh's ear, from Marie Antoinette's teeth to Marie Curie's bone marrow, this book brings together the remarkable stories of body parts that have made history. and you might get the impression that it's going to be a bunch of kings and queens and famous people from that (and like yeah, they're there obviously) but there are so many fascinating stories about people you've never heard of? it's really cool. the one that really stuck with me was about the creator of the Braille writing system, Louis Braille.

Ask A Historian: 50 Surprising Answers To Things You Always Wanted To Know - Greg Jenner

(he also has a podcast, my friend loves it - that's how i found out about the book - but i have space for only one podcast in my heart)

abso-fucking-lutely excellent and interesting and hilarious. remember the tumblr post about the corpse pope put on trial? well, that one was one of the questions Greg Jenner got asked and he talks about the Cadaver Synod in great detail. Mansa Musa, ever heard of him? No? well, google the name and you'll be just as outraged as i was when you realise just how massive and influential he and his Mali Empire was and how your (generally really good) history classes and textbooks never fucking mentioned him. you'll also find out when the first monday was, and why the devil is a goat, and what the Flintstones ot right about Stone Age

A Curious History of Sex - Kate Lister

(also has a podcast apparently, but like i said i can only manage one)

It's a really really cool and interesting book 😁 here's the tagline:

This is not a comprehensive study of every sexual quirk, kink and ritual across all cultures throughout time, as that would entail writing an encyclopaedia. Rather, this is a drop in the ocean, a paddle in the shallow end of sex history, but I hope you will get pleasantly wet nonetheless.

Savage Appetites: Four True Stories of Women, Crime and Obsession - Rachel Monroe

so this isn't true crime, but it's about true crime, it explores why people, and women especially, are fascinated by it. it's not particularly accusatory or judgemental since the author is interrogating her own fascination, but it doesn't shy away from the nastier implications and sides of being enthralled by true crime.

honestly, this describes it really well: Combining personal narrative, reportage, and a sociological examination of violence and media in the 20th and 21st centuries, Savage Appetites is a "corrective to the genre it interrogates" (The New Statesman), scrupulously exploring empathy, justice, and the persistent appeal of crime.

currently listening to: Salt: A World History by Mark Kurlansky

did you know that the word salacious comes from salt? because people believed that salt made you horny and virile? and also that it protected you from evil spirits so in some places in the world (like France and others) in the middle ages, infants would be bathed in brine and salted before a baptism? and that salad is a salad and also from salt because the Romans loved to salt their assorted veggies, when they weren't making garum, the salty stinky fermented fishsauce? AND THAT SOLDIER IS A SOLDIER BECAUSE IN SOME PARTS THEY USED TO BE PAID IN SALT AND SOL AND SALT AND AAAAA i love it so much

ok 🤣 im done. now, i am aware that this was very much not the assignment if the assignment was getting recommendations for music, but if the assignment was finding out more about the person behind the blog, well, here you are 😁 these are the things i find cool and interesting

no pressure tagging: @wakeupnew @tiltingheartand @26-cats-in-a-trenchcoat

@kinard-buckley @bugboybuck @mistmarauder

@jackmichaela @do-androids-dream-ao3acc @so-that-was-okay

@apartmentsmoke

#me

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bumblebeeappletree · 5 months ago

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I’ve been thinking about schools for the blind and schools for the deaf. And while I know most states have schools for one of the two, or have one school where both attend at the one campus, I knew that there wasn’t schools in every state. And so I decided to take a look to see which states currently have running schools, and which states don’t. So all together there’s 13 states without a school for either the blind, the deaf, or both.

Now I think it’s very important for each state have at least one of each school in order to help support these students who would do better to have this sort of education. Especially since they would feel belonging as most disabled students feel alienated from their peers in an abled school system.

I think that these states, without these schools, have a unique opportunity here. They could use this as a way to build a school not only with maximized accessibility, but to build these schools sustainably. Some of which would go hand in hand. Lightbulbs that wouldn’t need so much electricity? Could also be lightbulbs for students with light sensitivity. Just as an example.

Alaska, Connecticut, Delaware, Maine, Nebraska, Nevada, New Hampshire, New Jersey, Oregon, Rhode Island, South Dakota, Vermont, and Wyoming all have different different environments. Some states closer together have similar weather patterns that their school buildings could be similar. But this could also help showcase how each biome’s sustainable buildings are different. Alaska might need more wind turbines than Nevada while Nevada would need a larger rain water harvesting system than Alaska. Although in this time of bigger storms and unpredictable weather, as well as strong fires, it would be best to build these schools to withstand these conditions.

I’m talking schools having green rooftops with solar panels on top. The greenery helping cool down the panels, and the solar panels providing some shade from the harsh sun. I’m talking about having a food forest with pathways that are accessible by wheelchair. Same with greenhouses for the colder months. Or for the warmer states, a shade house for the too hot weather. A small area with a variety of houses, some completely built for wheelchair users, so students can learn how to live in a house by themselves or with roommates. (Again, built sustainably.) And for the pools it’ll be natural pools. Chlorine has been shown to raise rates of asthma. Having a natural pool is healthier for the lungs, the skin, and hair.

Ideally these schools would be built in cities with a good transportation system, as to help teach the students how to get around in a city. Perhaps even give the students, and staff, a discount on using these transportation services. And should the students go on outings, for say a restaurant, they could ask for the restaurant to get Braille menus and subtitles for any TVs.

As there is some overlap between states that have neither a blind school or a deaf school. I propose that these states would have them in one building on one campus. And in these schools tactile sign language would be taught for the blind deaf and the blind or deaf students who wish to learn. Because as of right now, as far as I’m aware, the only place that does this in the USA is in Seattle. No where else.

“But how would we get the staff to teach this if it’s so rare?” You may ask. Simple.

We pay people to learn tactile sign language.

And if we have staff that already know tactile sign, they would get paid more than staff who don’t. And the pay rate would be the same for staff who know ASL, and the same would go for staff who know Braille. This way, staff members would be more inclined to learn how to sign, to read Braille, to communicate with students and help them with their homework. And if we can’t pay the people to learn these things, then we can have their schooling paid for. I’m sure there’s some blind schools that even pay for classes for their staff should they want to become an Orientation and Mobility Instructor. When the staff member completes their course they work for the school as an O&M instructor until a specific time frame is up. (Example “we pay for your classes, and then you work with us for 5 years as this type of teacher. Then you can become a contractor.”)

I think that this is something that can be done. Not only would it give these students a unique experience, an opportunity to learn more, and be in a healthier environment, but it could be a standard for new schools. A proof of concept if you will. There are many schools around the world where it’s been built sustainably, reclaimed materials, or in unique ways for accessibility. (A blind school in India has different plants by the windows of different classes so students know that they’re in the science classroom if they smell lavender and so on.)

I’ll be honest, I would love these schools to exist. However I have no idea where I would have to go or who I have to talk to to get this ball rolling. I literally live in none of these states so it would be even harder. However, I still wish to share my idea so start this conversation. And perhaps someone would see this and go “wait. I can help with this.”

Thank you for taking the time to read this. I very much would like to talk to you all about what could be in these (theoretical) schools!

#solarpunk #sustainability #accessibility #sustainable architecture #schools #blind #deaf #low vision #hard of hearing #blind school #deaf school #USA #accessible architecture #sustainable schools #accessible schools #I just have a lot of thoughts and feelings about this #hope I wrote this well enough for the grand audience lol #and Ngl this isn’t even going into programs and buildings to help teach adults who are loosing their vision or their hearing

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mayajadewrites · 1 year ago

Text

Stained Red

Chapter Two: Black Coffee

The walk to Birch's Coffee isn't too far from the office, but the temperature makes it feel like it's 5x longer. You love Autumn though, so you savor every moment of the cool breeze and foliage.

Walking down the steps, you notice Matt is walking a bit slower and looks almost lost. "Do you want to hold my arm?" You ask, holding out your left arm in front of him.

"If you don't mind, thank you. The wind is throwing me off." Matt lightly grabs your arm, picking up his pace. You felt his fingers grasp your arm a bit tighter when someone walked by you.

"So, how long have you lived in New York?" You ask, shoving your other hand in your pocket.

"I've lived in Hell's Kitchen my whole life. I don't think I could ever leave here even if I tried. You?"

"No way, me too. Born and raised." You smile proudly, looking ahead at the sign for the coffee shop. You led the two of you into the cafe, rubbing your hands together as the door closed.

"Cold?" Matt said, fixing his jacket.

"A bit. But I'm honestly always cold." You adjusted your beanie, running your fingers through your curls. "It doesn't help that I strictly drink iced coffee."

"I'm gonna try not to judge you." Matt shook his head, looking in your direction. "What's good here?"

"First, tell me how you usually like your coffee."

"Black." He said flatly.

"Ok, Matt "Boring" Murdock. Then just get a black hot coffee. I'm gonna get an iced vanilla latte with cinnamon."

"Hey, easy on the boring. You can't go wrong with black coffee."

You order for the both of you, sliding your card over the counter. "I'm so sorry again about earlier. I need to watch where I'm going."

"It's okay, maybe I'll bump into you tomorrow morning so I can take you out on a coffee date." Matt smirked, patiently waiting for his coffee.

You shake your head and look down, your cheeks burning a bit.

"I'm not opposed."

The barista sang your name, like she was in a Disney movie.

"Thank you." You smile, grabbing the two drinks.

"No problem, is that your boyfriend?" She whispered, raising her eyebrows. "He is not bad to look at."

You raised one of your eyebrows, your eyes falling. "Thank you." Was all you said before you swiftly turned around and headed for the small table Matt was waiting for you at.

"So, what's your day looking like?" You ask, leaning your cheek on the palm of your hand.

"I have some briefing to do, but nothing really crazy. I should be out of the office by 5. I never asked what you do, that was rude."

"I'm an author. Nothing crazy, but I write romance novels." You took a sip of your latte. "I rented out the office space so I can create boundaries between work and home. I didn't want my house to also be my workplace."

"Ah, makes sense. So you have a way with words?"

"I mean - maybe?" You laughed, slowly looking up at Matt. It felt like he was staring straight into your soul.

"If you can translate one of your books to braille, I would love to read your work." Matt sipped his coffee, adjusting his glasses.

"Sure, but just so you know there's some parts that are, well - spicy."

"Spicy? Like as in spicy sauce?" Matt tilted his head.

"Sorry, as in like... dirty."

"Oh. You mean sex." The ease that he said that made you nervous. Men don't usually make you nervous.

"I- yes."

"Ok... so like I said. If you can translate it to braille I would love to read it."

"You got it, Murdock." You smiled, checking the time on your phone. "We should start walking back." You slid out of your chair and when you looked up, Matt head your coat in his hands.

"May I?" He asks innocently.

You nod as Matt gently helps you put on your coat, running his fingertips up your arm. Your breath hitches when his hands get close to your neck - how embarassing.

"Thank you." The smile on your face was small, but inside you felt like you were bursting. When his touch was gone, you felt almost like you missed it.

Matt adjusted his hand and grabbed your arm to lead you out, to which you sighed in relief.

The walk back to the office was quiet, almost like you both were soaking up this time with each other. When you reached the steps, you couldn't help but feel a bit disappointed.

"Don't forget about my special copy." Matt winked, letting go of your arm. "And thank you for the coffee. It was delicious." You looked at his lips, smelling a faint coffee scent mixed with his musk and vanilla.

"I won't. Get some work done, Murdock." You walk in front of him straight to the elevator. The doors shut slowly and you leaned your head against the wall. You've never felt like this after a coffee date, let alone a simple touch.

You needed to write to get your mind off of Matt Murdock.

Later that day

You started a draft of your new novel, but ended up burying your head a new book you recently picked up. Before you knew it, it was 5:15. Surely Matt had left by now.

"Knock, knock." You heard a low voice say, accompanied by a soft knock on your door.

You got up from your desk and opened the door for Matt, surprised to see him. "I thought you would've left by now." You say, opening the door wider so he can come in.

"Well, I was about to leave but I noticed that I didn't hear you leave, so I thought I could walk you home, or walk you to your boyfriends house-"

"I don't have a boyfriend." You shook your head, packing up your tote bag. "I live alone about 8 blocks from here. If you're up for the trip, I would love for you to walk me home."

Matt nodded, looking around the room. "Where is your coat?"

"Its right next to the door on the coat rack, but I got it. Don't worry."

"Nonsense." Matt walked to the coat rack and gently grabbed your jacket.

I wonder if his hands are always that gentle.

Matt helped you put your coat on, and you two were off.

"Since, you know, I can't see - what's your address? Maybe I'll know where it is." Matt asked curiously.

"Sure," You tell him your address, maneuvering through the crowds of people leaving work.

"That's right near the gym I go to, Fogwells." Matt said.

"Oh, nice! I pass by there all the time." You make a mental note to look through the window to see if he's working out next time.

Your walk home was full of innocent laughs and smiles, and it was over too soon.

"This is me." You stopped in front of your apartment, looking at Matt. "Thank you for today, I enjoyed it." You turn to go up the steps before Matt gently grabs you by your forearm.

"Could I get your number? So I can remind you about the book." Matt smiled, tilting his head to the side.

"Yes, absolutely." You smile, grabbing his phone and typing in your name as a new contact along with your number.

"Have a good night." Matt smiled, the way he said your name made your heart pound a little faster. "I'll be seeing you."

You smile and head up your stairs, looking back as you do so. Matt was still waiting there - you assumed he's waiting for you to get into your house.

You close the door and lock it, and he's gone.

When was the next time you would see him? Would he touch you again? God, his lips look like a treasure. I wonder what they taste like...

That's it, you need a drink.

Next chapter will be in Matt's POV! Hope you enjoyed! PS - I'm also going to start incorporating mood boards for each chapter going forward. Let me know what you think!

#matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock fanfic #daredevil #daredevil x reader #daredevil born again #marvel #mcu #karen page #foggy nelson #charlie #charlie cox x reader #the defenders

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larkawolfgirl · 1 month ago

Text

Cooking Oil on Canvas (Promptio)

Rating: Mature

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M, Multi

Fandom: Final Fantasy XV

Relationships: Prompto Argentum/Ignis Scientia, Gladiolus Amicitia/Prompto Argentum/Noctis Lucis Caelum/Ignis Scientia

Characters: Ignis Scientia, Prompto Argentum

Additional Tags: World of Ruin | The Long Night (Final Fantasy XV), Established Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, caretaking kink, Feeding Kink

Summary: They lost more than Noctis that day. They lost the sun, safety, normalcy, the means for growing crops. Ignis should be lucky. By relative standards, he's lost the least of everyone. His needs may be met, but his wants certainly are not.

Read on ao3

Ignis felt the breeze from the open window, cool against his skin. Outside, an eerie stillness hung in the air, like the calm before a storm.

He should be lucky. He was in all the ways that should matter. Anyone else would kill for what he had.

His station as the king’s hand and continued contribution to keeping what was left of society running came with privileges. As a mind behind creation of the solar lamps (the only current means of growing food), he had been granted one of the rare devices. At first, he had refused, knowing that it should be shared with the masses who were starving for a single handful of fresh vegetables. But after enough debate, the chef in him had finally caved. He had taken it upon himself to provide freshly cooked meals to the rest of Lestallum. Besides, tending to his small garden gave him something to spend his ideal time on.

He was capable of doing more—he wanted to do more. But he was far too important—and far too fragile.

No amount of debate would change that fact.

His job was entirely safe, nothing except planning, calculations, and discussions.

He turned away from the window to face the interior of his home. Even though he needed it less than those risking their lives on the battlefield for weeks at a time, he had been granted the entire apartment to himself. It was still small by past standards, but it still contained a whole, private bedroom, kitchen, and bathroom. It would have felt cramped for three (four), so he should feel lucky that neither Gladio nor Prompto were hardly ever home. Home, if only by elimination. There was no other home for them to return to, and yet, Ignis could count the number of visits each of them had made in the last year on one hand, and only once had those visits interjected.

Ignis ran a hand over the soft comforter on the bed they had shared that day. He wished it stilled smelled like them rather than mint from his small garden. Their visit had been too much in every way—too poignant, too passionate, too explosive. What started with electric need—the slotting of the jagged pieces of their hearts—had turned into bitter accusations. There was too much distance between them now, too much space for the ache to set in. There was an empty hole none of them could fill, and as it turned out, it was less painful to focus on other missing pieces.

He supposed it was easier for them. During battle, they had no choice but to stay focused. For Ignis, it was a challenge to keep his attention on ration plans and hunting routes when his chest began to burn with loneliness.

He counted his steps to the kitchen, holding his hand out to ensure he did not stumble into the counter. Pulling down a container with braille he had carved himself, he began preparing a simple meal of seasoned potatoes. The familiar act was comforting but without the joy he used to feel when he was cooking for those he loved. Even on the rare occasions when Prompto or Gladio were there to eat the food he prepared, Ignis was hit with the remorse that he could no longer cook anything he could feel proud of. He missed the way his chest would warm at their gushing praise at him finally perfecting a new recipe.

Ignis sat at his small table and began to eat. His stomach filled, but his heart remained hollow. He had more than most, yet it was still not enough.

As much as he wanted them to stay, he would never ask it of them. Just as it was with Noct, they had their duty to fulfill. What Ignis truly wanted was to be out there, fighting by their side, knowing immediately when they were hurt or hungry. What use was all his knowledge if he couldn’t be the one to execute it? He yearned to be useful in a tangible way, but all he could do was wait and hope that when his lovers returned to him, he could put their broken pieces back together and send them back on their way feeling loved and well-fed.

Prompto visited more often than Gladio and stayed longer when he did. It was to be expected, Ignis supposed. Prompto had always been sensitive, needy. While Gladiolus had built callouses over every part of himself—his heart included—Prompto was delicate like the skin of an overly ripe peach. That also explained why he chose to return to him rather than seek out Gladio. The advisor was accustomed to care—as much mental and emotional as physical. He knew when to voice his concerns and when to curb his tongue. When Prompto returned bloody and broken, he would bandage him up and hold him until his crying faded away into silence.

When had he last heard him cry? Ignis hated that he was reliant on his hearing and touch to know when his love was struggling. There was no doubt in his mind that Prompto had withheld the depth of his pain. He had hidden behind a smile more times than Ignis could count. Now, he need not even do that much to pretend that everything was fine.

Except everything was not fine. Nothing was fine.

Ignis was lucky. Ignis was healthy. But Ignis was not fine.

If Ignis, who had been trained to deal with emotional strife and had known ahead of time what would happen to Noctis was feeling this way, how could Prompto possibly feel? His best friend had been taken away right after he had dealt with trauma after trauma. He had lost his family, his home, his identity, the promise of a future, and now, he barely had his boyfriends either.

He conjured an image of the blonde in his mind. At least, he tried to. It had been five years since he had last seen him. The hair was right—unforgettable like a chocobo’s tail—but his face was wrong. How many freckles did he have again? Did he even still have freckles now that they had lost the sunlight? How high were his cheek bones? How wide were his lips?

Ignis’ fingers twitched with the aching desperation to feel over his face to repaint his memory. He recoiled at the word he had chosen.

At least his dreams still seemed accurate. Black hair and deep blue eyes. A radiant smile and dusting of freckles. An eagle tattoo spreading its wings skyward.

As always, he woke to silent, chill, darkness.

Prompto trudged up to Ignis’ door, hand hesitating at the doorknob. Should he knock? He should knock, shouldn’t he? It wasn’t like the other man was expecting him. He didn’t have the right to call this place home. Forcing a smile onto his face, he hit his hand against the hard wood of the door. There was an extended pause before the door finally opened.

Ignis was a blissful sight to his sore eyes who had seen nothing besides injuries, death, and destruction for the past four months or so. The man was wearing his visor and a suit which looked shockingly out of place compared to the torn rags Prompto had on. He stood perfectly straight, jaw set, awaiting whatever news was coming.

His body screamed with the desire to crash into his arms and claim every comfort he could. He wanted to remember what touch felt like on skin and to remember that good still existed in the world they were fighting for. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He didn’t have a right to ask anything of Ignis who had already given so much and was still here silently offering solace.

It took a second for Prompto to remind himself that Ignis wouldn’t know who he was until he spoke.

“I’m back.” The words came out bright, attempting to lighten up the shadows that hung over their lives.

The shift was instant. “Prompto, love.” And as soon as he heard him say his name, knew that Ignis could still immediately recognize his voice, a bittersweet pain twisted at his heart. He almost choked on a sob, but he held it back—just barely. Fortunately for him, Ignis could not see the way he bit his lip.

“Glad to know you didn’t forget me.”

“I would recognize your voice amidst a cyclone.”

Ignis’ hand found his shoulder and physically led him to the nearest chair as if he was the blind one. The touch which should have came across as demeaning, as if Ignis thought him incapable of finding the way himself, felt like the first raindrops after a drought. The man’s hand stayed where it was, a silent acknowledgment that he craved human contact as much as he did.

Silence fell between them, Ignis waiting and Prompto unsure of what to say. The advisor’s hand felt heavy with expectation.

“I brought one down myself today,” he finally said, sounding more boastful than he truly felt. He wanted to prove that he was capable, but it had been more necessity than skill. He wondered if he could sense the tremor in his voice, the way his heart raced with the remembrance of the encounter—the fear, the adrenaline, the desperate struggle for survival.

Ignis took his hand, bringing it up to kiss over his knuckles. “I’m proud of you, love.”

Prompto’s throat tightened. Pride was not something he often allowed himself to feel, not when every victory came steeped in loss and the knowledge that one battle meant little in the long run.

“Are you in need of mending?” Ignis asked, concern lacing his voice.

Yes, he was pulling apart at the seams, actually. “There’s a nasty gash on my right calf. It’s nothing serious, though.”

“Stay put. I will fetch the first aid kit.”

Prompto waited, fiddling with his hands and the loose strands of his cargo pants. There was so much he wanted to say, but so little of it felt okay to admit.

Ignis returned with a strip of gauze and medical scissors. “Do you need stitches or just a patch up?”

“Uh…a patch up’s probably fine. I’m thinking of staying put for a while. Give it time to heal.”

Ignis didn’t meet his eyes, but he was sure he would have if he had been able to. “That is a wise choice.”

His hands were careful as he cleaned, disinfected, and bound the wound. The contact of his hands on his skin was both a balm and a sharp reminder of all the tenderness Prompto denied himself. When he was finished, the advisor leaned down and pressed a feather-light kiss to the bandage.

“Thanks, Iggy.”

Ignis’ hands remained on his leg. “We should get you changed. These clothes are barely hanging on.”

Prompto laughed. “Yeah. They’ve been through it.”

“Have you been eating?”

Eating, not eating enough. They both know the answer to that.

“Yes. I can handle myself out there.” He spared the details that handling his meals meant a constant eye out for the rare animal, scavenging for scraps, and rationing until his stomach gnawed on itself.

Ignis’ fingers flexed over his leg. “I know. Yet, I am prone to worry.” Especially when I don’t see you for so long, he omitted.

He didn’t say that he would be fine because that was a promise he couldn’t keep.

“Let me cook you something.”

“That would be amazing, Iggy.”

The advisor stood and felt his way to the counter, opening a cupboard and running his fingers over the contents. “Do you remember the time Noctis tried to cook steak for my birthday?” he asked, a small smile playing on his lips.

“Yeah.” Prompto laughed. “The entire apartment complex had to evacuate because he set the meat on fire.”

The memory was a sweet one, from a time when their biggest worries were paperwork and training schedules. Ignis held on to it tightly, letting it warm him from the inside out.

He opened the pull-tab, filling the air with the scent of preserved meat. He dumped the contents into a pan and carefully lit the burner. He listened to the sizzle, counting the crackles per second, and imagined the meat browning.

“I wish we could do this every day.” The words slipped out before he could stop them.

After a long pause, Prompto admitted, “I do too.”

The meal was done. Ignis divided it into two bowls, handing one to Prompto. They ate in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. The meat was tough and salty, but it was filling.

He heard the scrape of Prompto’s spoon against the porcelain of the bowl and his teeth chewing at the meat. It was a comfort knowing that he had something warm in his stomach.

“We’ll come back,” Prompto said when they were finished eating. “You know that, right?”

Ignis nodded. “I am aware.” But there was still no certainty that they could continue to return to him. “Let us get you out of those tattered clothes.”

They moved to the bedroom, and Ignis pulled an outfit out for him. They were decidedly not battle-ready. The nice, fine clothes which would have cost a pretty penny in the past was nearly worthless now. Nearly anyone besides Ignis would snag them or dirty them at least within a day.

“We’ll get you something else tomorrow.” They would have to speak with Holly. All fighting-issue clothing was stored with the collective food rations to ensure that everyone who needed them had access.

Prompto started to undress, but Ignis’ hands moved in to do it for him. The blonde laughed. “Miss me that much, you can’t wait to get your hands on me?”

“Yes,” was his serious reply.

The laughter died in his throat. He let him have his way. Long, dexterous fingers pulled tattered shirt over his head. He paused only long enough to tuck the shirt over itself before dropping it to the floor to touch bare skin. His movements were slow and deliberate, running over the planes of the hot skin of his arms.

Prompto squirmed. “Iggy, you don’t have to go this slow.”

Ignis’ lips were a thin line. “I fear I no longer know what you look like.”

Prompto put his hand over his. “Hey. I’m still me.”

“That is just it. I have forgotten what you look like. How wide is your smile? Has the darkness stolen your freckles like everything else? Have you gained or lost muscle over the past year?”

“To be honest, I don’t even know myself. I haven’t taken the time to notice.”

Ignis cradled his face. “Will you allow me to? I want to have an accurate image in my head.”

With a nod of assent, Ignis’ hands resumed their journey, slowly, deliberately tracing the contours of Prompto’s arms, feeling the sinewy strength that had developed from heavy wielding weapons. He mapped the topography of scars and muscle, noting the changes—the leaner build, the brittleness that spoke of lost nutrition and days spent in relentless pursuit of survival.

His hands lingered on each rib, counting them like a rosary, a prayer for his health and safety. He felt the steady beat of Prompto’s heart beneath the firm chest, a rhythm that sang of life amidst ruins.

In the careful mapping of flesh and bone, in the silent communion of skin on skin, Ignis found solace. He memorized the breadth of Prompto’s shoulders, the curve of his spine, the dip of his waist—details that became lifelines in the dark sea of his blindness.

Ignis’ fingertips lingered on the delicate skin of Prompto’s collarbone, tracing thin scars which told of hardships endured and battles fought. He felt the heat radiating from Prompto’s body, each shiver under his touch.

The gentle rise and fall of Prompto’s chest beneath his palms seized Ignis with a beautiful fantasy. A kitchen bathed in the warm glow of afternoon light, the scent of herbs and spices teasing the air, and the laughter that once filled the room. He envisioned Prompto seated at a table, cheeks rosier and fuller than they had been since those carefree school days, indulging in every dish Ignis could conjure.

The contrast between the life he yearned to give Prompto and the meager sustenance they managed to scrape together weighed heavily on Ignis’ heart. He wanted to offer him all the best dishes and watch as he ate to his heart’s content. Yet, even as his mind grappled with these fantasies, he knew it was a luxury they could not afford.

His hands continued their exploration down to Prompto’s thighs and calves which were tight from endurance. As he traced the expanse of his skin, he imagined Prompto becoming too heavy to run away from him. Years ago, when their relationship was still fresh, he blonde had embarrassingly shown Ignis a picture of himself in Elementary school. He had called himself fat and ugly, but to Ignis, he had looked adorable with his chubby cheeks and round belly. He wished he were this way now. Too slow and heavy to be useful in battle. Maybe if he plumped him up enough then he would be able to hold onto him enough to make him stay.

“Please, Iggy,” Prompto’s voice cut through his fantasies with a note of desperation. “I can’t take it anymore.”

The instinct to serve overshadowed his longing to continue his painting. His hands, which moments ago had been agents of recollection, now became instruments of pleasure. He wrapped his fingers around his lover's arousal, his movements practiced and attentive. He listened to the way Prompto’s breath hitch, the subtle shifts in his body that told him more than sight ever could.

The warmth of Prompto’s skin, the sounds of stifled moans, the tension coiling and uncoiling within—each sensation etched itself into Ignis’ consciousness. He willed it all to memory.

Here, in the quiet communion of shared pleasure, he dared believe they could survive anything, as long as they held fast to one another.

Prompto’s release was quick and unexpected. It shot from him with a violent intensity that shock his entire frame.

The blonde’s head fell to his shoulder. “I’m so tired, Iggy…but I don’t want to stop.”

“Of course, love,” Ignis whispered, his voice a soft caress. “Let me take care of everything.” He drew the younger man close, enveloping him in an embrace. The gentle press of his hands, the warmth of his skin—each offered reassurance, a soothing balm for wounds unseen.

As their bodies moved together once more, Ignis held onto the belief that this connection was their truest weapon against the desolation that surrounded them. It was a fragile hope, perhaps, but it was theirs to cling to in a world that offered little else.

And so, he gave himself over to the moment, to the tactile language that spoke of life and love, of a bond that might yet keep the darkness at bay.

In the hushed aftermath, Ignis’ hand came to rest on Prompto’s stomach. He could hear rain starting to patter against the windows in a soft, relentless sound.

He wished he could see the storm, could watch the lightning arc across the sky. He wished for so many things.

Prompto shifted, voice tentative. “What are you thinking about?”

“I find myself wishing I could cook you a high-class meal,” he offered. He could sense Prompto’s gaze on him, searching for the deeper currents beneath the half-truth.

He left him to interpret his words at face value. There was solace in the fiction that one day he might again don the apron and serve them a feast, but for now, he would hold onto the warmth of Prompto’s body against his.

“What I wouldn’t give for a proper meal like you used to make. It’d be nice to pretend things were normal, just for a bit.”

Ignis felt a pang in his chest, a yearning to grant that simple wish. To feed them was to care for them, to offer sustenance not just for their bodies, but for their souls. But such thoughts were too indulgent for their daily struggle.

“Promise me something, Prompto,” Ignis said, his voice barely above a whisper. “When this is all over, we’ll have that meal. All of us together.”

“Promise,” Prompto replied, the single word a vow filled with hope.

#ffxv #final fantasy xv #promptio #ignis x prompto #polyship roadtrip #chocobros #ff #final fantasy #my writing #fanfic

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