#I cannot draw wheelchairs for shit

[h-didanart]

Hello everyone I have arrived with the next installment of ‘Be gay do crimes’

This one is an oc, though his world aligns more with Urban Fantasy than with the Fantasy of the world of the first oc of mine you’ve met

Here we have Old Man Arson (Disclaimer: he’s not actually old, he’s like in his forties lmao)

He’s chill for the most part, his likings including gardening and reading. He’s tad sarcastic and a bit arrogant, but if you’re someone he likes he’ll joke around with you and invite you over for some drinks. If you’re not someone he likes though, and you mess with him or someone he likes, he has absolutely no problem with being a complete ass, a jerk, an absolute nuisance. He can be very reckless sometimes, often not thinking through his actions and getting something blown up, that is not an exaggeration, he has semi-unstable explosion magic. Moreover he knows what he wants and he knows what he stands for, he will not back down if you challenge him, and people have often found that their biggest mistake when meeting him is underestimating his capabilities.

His criminal life is one that would not be expected if you see his daily life. Sure, he is a rather curious individual, and yes he lives in that creepy haunted mansion and gets along with the ghosts haunting said mansion, but nothing about him says that’s he’s an avid demonologist. But not just any kind of demonologist, no, he wants to truly understand his fellow beings.

He wants to know their capabilities, their societal rules, their myths, their features, their dislikes. He wants to know them personally, as the beings they are. Because the society he lives at has done everything in its power to paint them as horrible creatures, they have gone from respected and feared godlike beings to feared and persecuted terrible creatures. But they’re just like zombies, or centaurs, fae, shapeshifters, ghosts. They’re other beings.

And he’s gonna do everything in his power to free those beings who have been imprisoned in the land of the living just for the crime of being brought there and not knowing how to go back.

And his best, and favorite, way to do that is by going to the local demon hunting agencies and absolutely wrecking everything they have. And freeing any demons locked in there. He’s quite infamous for all the explosions and fires he causes, and for being extremely cocky while fleeing. He’s very reckless, and he looks cool with it.

If he gives you Dimentio Super Paper Mario vibes… yeah. Yeah. He used to be a combination of Dimentio and The Boss from JSaB, but then kinda became his own thing.

Oh and yes, he threw himself off a building in that drawing, he can teleport, he’s fine.

[artsycloudysleepy]

2/2

(psst @mrrotten @mylackofgrammaristerrifying @nyenylon this tag list is slowly growing and that terrifies me /pos)

(it's not all OCs this time but i'll upload smth 100% OCs soon! also should be added this is completely non-canonical now!! my babies have grown up a little bit <3)

Plus my cat (Velma) <3

notebook: 2021-2022

sooooooooooooooo i decided to upload every notebook i fill out to tumblr! my current one (2023-present) will be uploaded in mid-late 2025 probably, so this is my notebook from 2021-2022!

however: this was kind of a diary, i have drawings from friends in there that haven't consented to having them online, and one of the people who drew in it isn't someone i still speak to. as a result, i have blotted these things out for our privacy and my general comfort. if i notice something i've missed, i'll edit!

1/2

[justarandomlambblog]

I was possessed by a thought

Modern-ish au but in a "thousands of years post-canon universe"

In which Lamb did not spare Narinder and when they saved the Bishops from Purgatory, actually put them to rest (aka sent them to the After) and oops, the Bishops + Narinder accidentally reincarnated while the Lamb wasn't watching

(Part 2 here)

In this life, the Bishops are still siblings and all were born with magic; Narinder became a priest, and though the other Bishops were raised in the temple alongside him they chose to pursue careers outside of the priesthood. Heket runs a restaurant (of course), Kallamar makes jewelry and sells crystals (he has healing magic so his crystals are literal healing crystals :) ), Leshy is a gardener and Shamura runs a bookshop (I'm sure you're noticing a theme here- their past lives are affecting their new ones). Their past lives' injuries have actually carried over, only instead of being injuries they're disabilities they were born with; Shamura their memory issues, Kallamar is deaf, Heket is mute, Leshy is blind, and Narinder has chronic pain (he WAS in chains for a thousand years, his muscles were ATROPHIED and his joints destROYED, and you cannot convince me otherwise). Not shown here; Narinder also uses a cane and on his really bad days a wheelchair.

Heket: Get a whole pumpkin Narinder, who can't lift more than 20 pounds:

Why do Narinder (and the Bishops) look the same and have the same name? Well. The world may have forgotten them, but the universe hasn't.

Aym and Baal are immortals from their time in the After in this world, and though at first they were resistant to helping the Lamb, eventually they saw they needed Help™ and had no idea what they were doing, and having been witness and aid to Narinder's job for centuries they knew how to help. Over the millennia they fell into the old familiar role of being the guardians of Death (Forneus is also an immortal so don't worry they're not separated again) and are in a constant state of Done With Lamb's Shit (/affectionate).

... I actually really love how Lamb turned out here. It was fun drawing them Older. And quite a flip with making them look older than Narinder. The society that's been built up is still religious but no one recognizes Lamb because they've changed so much over the last two thousand years, and the fact they're a sheep doesn't raise any red flags as sheep have migrated to the Lands from other continents. They're rare but not unheard of.

The Crown fits in by disguising as various types of pets, though no matter its form it always has one eye. This time it's a bird, and it recognized Narinder from a mile away :) The mind forgets but the soul remembers....

[wederyed]

Your headcanons are so interesting! Can you elaborate on some parts, like Yinyang’s other alters or tissues chronic illness? It’s fine if you don’t want to! Also I heard you wanted drawing requests? I hope it’s not too much but maybe your take on the additional alters of Yinyang would be great to see!

ooooo okok bet (sorry this took so long to answer, i sleep a lot LOL)

ok anyways before i get into yinyangs alters, i myself am a system but am not chinese, so if i am accidentally insensitive or offensive that was not at all my intention and appreciate being let known about it

OK FOR REAL ANYWAYS in my mind yinyang has three other alters: lucky coins, red slip, and mystic knot.

lucky coins (they) are the little of the system, fronting not as often as yinyang but come around mostly at night, especially when candle is visiting the hotel as she acts as their caregiver.

red slip (she/he) holds a lot of the traumatic memories yinyang have gone through. while yang has some of those memories, hence his aggressiveness and (in my mind) role as a protector, red slip withholds everything that has happened and almost never fronts as a result. when they do, it is only when yinyang go through extreme stress and have someone like candle, cabby, cherries or tissues with them to comfort

mystic knot (she) never fronts, regulating the inner workings of the system. before candles help, she would do her very, very best to help yin and yang cohost together to no avail due to their constant bickering and chaos, but after iii finally can help them both regulate fronting along with the other members. i know theres a name for this but i cannot navigate the plural-pedia for the life of me :sob:

here are their designs!!!!!

now for tissues!! i feel that tissues has one of those chronic illnesses that is so rare it does not have a name, and with the accent his congestion gives him he would just start calling it his "condishawn" as an actual name, a sort of inside joke with himself and his doctors, and is why hes always correcting everyone lmaoo

im not an expert on chronic illnesses, but realistically its probably a BUNCH of illnesses stacked on top of each other. like. vertigo and vertistop?? 100% has more than one, poor guy...

without a doubt as i said before he suffers from a lot of fatigue, needing many mobility aids such as a cane and wheelchair depending on how bad of a day it is for him. however, i feel like hes probably a little stubborn about it? like some days even if his physical pains are flaring up a shit ton he will still act like everything is a-ok and walk around, sometimes even collapsing from it for someone to find (typically yinyang or trophy) and having to be carried back and forced to rest

ty for asking!!!

[genderqueerdykes]

so. odd question.

i’m a transmasc drag queen and my drag is like. super weird? i do weird shit. and i’m disabled so dancing and voguing isn’t always a performance option, most times i want to just stand there and sing. is my drag still valid? i feel like it isn’t sometimes

hello there! thanks for taking the time to stop by!

oh, definitely! that's a very cool and fun way to do drag- drag should be accessible and tailored to the individual artist that is performing. if you physically cannot do those things, that's okay! some queens just stand and sing, just like you, it's okay too if you need to sit in a wheelchair or use another type of mobility aid

honestly, i encourage more drag artists to involve their mobility and accessibility aids in their drag. bedazzle your cane, let your crutches be a part of the look, and so on. drag has always been about pushing the limits and barriers of what is "acceptable" and drag has always, always been about being thought provoking, so i think you should tailor your drag to how you will feel the most comfortable given your disabilities

if you wanna sing, sing your heart out, gurl! you don't have to dance, just let us hear those pipes and give a wink or two! i believe in you, you can make your performances yours, you don't have to throw yourself across the stage or dance across the whole room. sometimes you can draw all the attention in the room just by being there. sometimes not being able to cover as much floor space adds up to having a personality that fills the room

anyway, i believe in you! i hope you have a good time when you do perform. you deserve to have fun and be yourself! feel free to share any looks or anything like that! take care, stay safe, have fun!

[its-blip-on-the-radar]

Not to shove my old art in your face but I am losing it over how I used to draw myself before I processed I was trans. I tried to hyperfeminize myself so much. I was DEEP in that closet holy shit.

I'm still struggling to draw myself with my mobility aids, the only example I have of me using my mobility aids is the blue feminine piece above in my wheelchair and one comic where I show myself using my cane. I use a rollator nowadays but my ability to walk is starting to decline again.

Anyways have some more recent art from how I draw myself, just so you also can see the difference lol.

Big addendum I know transguys can be feminine, I cannot be feminine however it is a pretty bad trigger for me. I straight up refuse to wear pink or purple anymore, like it's bad. And not something I really wish to "overcome". It's a strict boundary of mine that I will never dress femininely again. So take that for what you will.

[echho]

1., 11., 30., 38. and 40. for the ask please.

And bonus one if you don't mind, what's up with the wheelchair ghoul art?

goodness gracious that's an Amount!! thank you ŋ you never disappoint

1. How long have you been a fan of Ghost?

oof. starting off strong. umm

actually no idea because i think i knew some of their songs and about the aesthetic and everything before but i actually became interested in the lore and started listening to their music less casually during the moac boom. so like. idk. two years? one and something? no idea. sorry :c

11. What is the most underrated song?

HA i'd say zenith solely because it was pretty unknown but now that it's available on spotify and stuff... la mantra mori? i know some people don't like it for how repetitive it is but. it's literally a mantra. and idk it reminds me of copia SO MUCH because like. you share not the blood of ours?? thus we focus on your death??? yeah. slaps

30. How long did it take you to fully understand the lore/names/history of Ghost?

again, idk how to count it but like. a couple of weeks MAX after i first became truly interested during the moac boom. i was severely hyperfocused on that shit hahshd

38. What's your favorite theory?

terzo is still alive/will be resurrected because i fucking miss that fucking sexbomb uh

40. How did you discover Ghost?

half-answered earlier but before the moac boom i knew ghost because of my ��� music hunting sessions ✨ (where i used to open youtube and just click on random songs until i found a whole new playlist of music)

also we don't speak about the long forgotten wips, ok? ok.

(jk. the thing is,, i tried drawing it on paper but couldn't get the proportions right, so i tried digitally but it's so much harder because i'm not that proficient in digital art and just. cannot get it to look like i want it to look. so brain said nope and now it's sitting unfinished between other projects on my pc and i just cannot see myself actually sitting down and getting the work done in the near future. because you know. brain evil because brain want perfection. but i thought about drawing more crutches rain and/or fiNALLY FINISHING THE GHOUL FIC!!!!!!!)

[hi-im-dazey]

I got in a heated debate with my home town over exactly this.

They wanted to make the downtown closed to car and bus traffic, remove the main parking lot and replace it with bike lockers. They posted this on their Facebook town hub thingy.

I pointed out that not everyone could ride a bike, and got answers like

"Well the light rail is just up at the end of town!" (it drops off at the main drag on one end, it does not go through the downtown or connect with any transportation that DOES go down the main drag, mainly because there isn't any public transport down the main drag)

"Well anyone can LEARN to ride a bike!"

"Then you can walk! There won't be any cars to worry about!"

"Have you tried a (tricycle, balance bike, recumbent, electric assist cycle)"

and, in a brilliant display of completely missing the point and simultaneously bringing up another, different, completely valid point, that they also did not understand,

"If you can't afford a bike, you can look for used ones, they are much cheaper." I replied

"Sorry let me clarify, not everyone is physically capable of riding a bike, unless this plan takes into account that some people will NEED to drive or get driven, or need accessibility taken into account for mobility aids, then it's a bad plan. You've lost your hat. Any plan where you lose your hat is a bad plan." Years later (after they did not end up fixing the issues with the plan and just decided to pretend it was never suggested instead) They came up with a new plan to make permanent "parklets" which are these small semi enclosed seating areas along the sidewalk.

To encourage people to gather and eat and hang out so forth.

They post the architect's concept drawings of them. On the Facebook hub. I believe you will be exactly 0% surprised to learn that these parklets are entered by a step DOWN into them and are fixed tables and seating with no way to make room for walkers or wheelchairs, or people who have balance issues or size concerns.

AND to top it off, The were taking up half the existing sidewalk and several storefront (convenient for people who cannot walk long distances) parking spaces all along the district.

So not only can't you use them, but if you use any mobility aid the sidewalk just got 50% more fucked, space-wise, for you to use.

Again I sailed in and pointed all of this shit out. Again they fucking dropped it like they never even mentioned such a thing.

Here's the kicker, they never asked for any suggestions on HOW to fix it. Never posted when the City Council would be hearing from the public, never approached anyone who was pointing these things out (I wasn't alone on the parklet concerns)

All I could think of was this:

One of my best friends, who lived on the second street (I lived on third) had Cerebral Palsy, he walked everywhere with two canes, and every time I see shit like this I thought

"Well how the fuck is my friend supposed to get anything done? There's not going to be enough room for him to get down the street, and I won't be able to get him close enough in the car to drop him where he needs to go."

and

"I guess my mom is SoL, since she has to park close because of her fucked up hip, ankle, and knee, and they are going to do away with blue parking, since they don't want cars there."

and

"When my back eventually gives me the big 'Screw you, hippie." I guess I am no longer welcome in my hometown." (I have a birth defect that will eventually take my mobility)

People planning this shit have no empathy, and no concept of their own fragility.

They can ride a bike now, sure, but will they be able to later? It's like it never occurs to them that people can also BECOME dependent on mobility aids, in addition to being born needing equity assistance.

I'm so tired of the whole "hey when you're designing walkable cities make sure to include disabled people so we can access the town too" gets turned into "are you saying walkable cities are ableist??" Which turns into people calling us a bitch for trying to explain that we currently live in a walkable city but can't leave the house alone because the sideways slope of the sidewalks and deep inclines for the streets make every street crossing a broken bone risk.

I live less than a mile from a carless town square, a library, two grocery stores, a post office, a medical clinic, a mental health crisis center, laundry mats, ice cream shops, book shops, bakeries, restaurants, more than I can even remember. It's amazing and exactly what a lot of you dream of. The street crossings are super safe for pedestrians, people can jog, ride bikes, and push strollers just fine. Except I still can't access any of it safely and anyone using a wheelchair or scooter is in danger. But apparently I'm an oil industry shill and a bitch for pointing that out instead of a disabled person who wants to get groceries or check a book out at the local library a few blocks away.

[sublimespices]

Help two trans bitches (one of whom is severely disabled) move

Me and @pf2e live in a shitty studio apartment that already costs $800 a month and our rent will be increasing next year by a whopping $75 for a month-to-month lease. We can hardly afford this apartment as is and I've scoped out two that are significantly cheaper. We will easily afford rent in either of those apartments but we cannot afford moving costs as I recently had to clear out our savings to buy a wheelchair and we don't have enough savings even for the security deposit let alone application fees, first and last months rent, renting a U-Haul, giving a friend gas money, etc. to get out of here.

I'll draw pretty much anything for people's donations, and I can also do hand crafts, etc. Marcy does tabletop design work as well. We don't have a huge support system locally and I can barely walk around my own home. I have EDS and scoliosis and struggle with daily tasks and living in this tiny apartment doesn't make things easier as I'd like to get a power chair one of these days with help from my doctors and we just don't have space for my mobility aids, our clothes, pretty much anything. My ankle is also sprained so I've been out of work for far too long.

TLDR; this apartment sucks, it's too small, and we need somewhere with at least one bedroom and a dishwasher

I'd like to raise at least $2500 if possible. Thank you for reading, and if you need any sort of proof of our shit situation I can definitely provide. We have a bit of cash but that's all we've got as far as savings.

pp.me/dollitea

pp.me/skcb

c*shapp $sweetvalentines

v*nmo @/cryptqueen

0/$2500 raised

[wolfstar-in-color]

July Colorful Column: Remus is a Crip, and We Can Write Him Better.

There is one thing that can get me to close a fic so voraciously I don’t even make sure I’m not closing other essential tabs in the process. It doesn’t matter how much I’m loving the fic, how well written I think it is, or how desperately I want to know how it ends. Once I read this sentence, I am done.

It’s written in a variety of different ways, but it always goes something like this: “You don’t want me,” Remus said, “I am too sick/broken/poor/old/[insert chosen self-demeaning adjective here].”

You’re familiar with the trope. The trope is canonical. And if you’ve been around the wolfstar fandom for longer than a few minutes, you’ve read the trope. Maybe you love the trope! Maybe you’ve written the trope! Maybe you’re about to stop reading this column, because the trope rings true to you and you feel a little attacked!

Now, let’s get one thing out of the way right now: I am not saying the trope is wrong. I am not saying it’s bad. I am not saying we should stop writing it. We all have things we don’t like to see in our chosen fics. Maybe you can’t stand Leather Jacket Motorbike Sirius? Maybe you think Elbow Patch Remus is overdone? Or maybe your pet peeves are based in something a little deeper - maybe you think Poor Latino Remus is an irresponsible depiction, or that PWPs are too reductive? Whatever it is, we all have our things.

Let me tell you about my thing. When I first became very ill several years ago, there were various low points in which I felt I had become inherently unlovable. This is, more or less, a normal reaction. When your body stops doing things it used to be able to do - or starts doing things you were quite alright without, thank you very much - it changes the way you relate to your body. You don’t want to hear my whole disability history, so yada yada yada, most people eventually come to accept their limitations. It’s a very painful existence, one in which you constantly tell yourself your disability has transformed you into a burdensome, unworthy member of society, and if nothing else, it’s not terribly sustainable. Being disabled takes grit! It takes power! It takes a truly absurd amount of medical self-advocacy! Hating yourself? Thinking yourself unworthy of love? No one has time for that. 

Of course, I’m being hyperbolic. Plenty of disabled people struggle with these feelings many years into their disabilities, and never really get over them. But here’s the thing. We experience those stories ALL THE TIME. Remember Rain Man? Or Million Dollar Baby? Or that one with the actress from Game of Thrones and that British actor who seemed like he was going to have a promising career but then didn't? Those are all stories about sad, bitter disabled people and their sad, bitter lives, two out of three of which end in the character completing suicide because they simply couldn’t imagine having to live as a disabled person. (I mean, come on media, I get that we're less likely to enjoy a leisurely Saturday hike, but our parking is SUBLIME.) When was the last time you engaged with media that depicted a happy disabled person? A complex disabled person? A disabled person who has sex? No really, these aren’t hypothetical questions, can you please drop a rec in the notes?? Because I am desperate.

There are lots of problems with this trope, and they’ve been discussed ad nauseam by people with PhDs. I’m not actually interested in talking about how this trope leads to a more prevalent societal idea that disabled people are unworthy of love, or contributes to the kind of political thought processes that keep disabled people purposefully disenfranchised. I’m just a bitch on Tumblr, and I have a bone to pick: the thing I really hate about the trope? It’s boring. I’m bored. You know how, like, halfway through Grey’s Anatomy you realized they were just recycling the same plot points over and over again and there was just no WAY anyone working at a hospital prone to THAT MANY disasters would stay on staff? It's like that. I love a recycled trope as much as the next person (There Was Only One Bed, anyone?). But I need. Something. Else.

Remus is disabled. BOLD claim. WILD speculation. Except, not really. You simply - no matter how you flip it, slice it, puree it, or deconstruct it - cannot tell me Remus Lupin is not disabled. Most of us, by this point, are probably familiar with the way that One Canonical Author intended One Dashing Werewolf to be “a metaphor for those illnesses that carry stigma, like HIV and AIDS” [I’m sorry to link you to an outside source quoting She Who Must Not Be Named, but we’re professionals here]. Which is... a thing. It’s been discussed. And, listen, there’s no denying that this parallel is a problematic interpretation of people who have HIV/AIDS and all such similar “those illnesses” (though I’ll admit that I, too, am perennially apt to turn into a raging beast liable to harm anything that crosses my path, but that’s more linked to the at-least-once-monthly recollection that One Day At A Time got cancelled). Critiques aside, Remus Lupin is a character who - due to a condition that affects him physically, mentally, emotionally, and intellectually - is repeatedly marginalized, oppressed, denied political and social power, and ostracized due to unfounded fear that he is infectious to others. Does that sound familiar?

We’re not going to argue about whether or not “Remus is canonically disabled as fuck” is a fair reading. And the reason we’re not going to argue about whether or not it’s a fair reading is because I haven’t read canon in 10-plus years and you will win the argument. Canon is only marginally relevant here. The icon of this blog is brown, curly haired Remus Lupin kissing his trans boyfriend, Sirius Black. We are obviously not too terribly invested in canon. The wolfstar fandom is now a community with over 25,000 AO3 fics, entire careers launched from drawing or writing or cosplaying this non-canonical pairing. We love to play around here with storylines and universes and races and genders and sexualities and all kinds of things, but most of the time? Remus is still disabled. He’s disabled as a werewolf in canon-compliant works, he’s disabled in the AUs where he was injured or abused or kidnapped or harmed as a child, he’s disabled in the stories that read him as chronically ill or bipolar or traumatized or blind or Deaf. I’d go so far as to say that he is one of very few characters in the Wide Wonderful World of media who is, in as close to his essence as one can be, always disabled. And that means? Don’t shoot the messenger... but we could stand to be a tiny bit more responsible with how we portray him. 

Disabled people are complicated. As much as I’d like to pretend we are always level-headed, confident, and ready to assert our inherent worth, we are still just humans. We have bad days. We doubt our worth. We sometimes go out with guys who complain about our steroid-induced weight gain (it was a long time ago, Tumblr, okay??). But, we also have joy and fun and good days and sex and happiness and families and so many other things. 

Remus is a disabled character, and as such, it’s only fair that he’d have those unworthy moments. But - I propose - Remus is also a crip. What is a crip? A crip - like a queer - is someone who eschews the limited boundaries placed on their bodies, who rejects a hierarchy of oppression in favor of an intersectional analysis of lived experience, who isn’t interested in being the tragic figure responsible for helping people with dominant identities realize how good they have it. Crips interpret their disabilities however they want, rethinking bodies and medicine and pleasure and pain and even time itself. Crips are political, community-minded, and in search of liberation. 

Remus is a character who struggles with his disability, sure. But he’s also a character who leverages his physical condition to attempt to shift communities towards his political leanings, advocates for the rights of those who share his physical condition, and has super hot sex with his wrongfully convicted boyfriend ultimately goes on to build community and family. Having a condition that quite literally cripples you, over which you have no control, and through which you are often read as a social pariah? That’s disability. But using said condition as a means through which to build advocacy and community? Now that’s some crip shit. 

Personally, I love disabled!Remus Lupin. But I love crip!Remus Lupin even more. I’d love to see more of a Remus who owns his disability, who covets what makes him unique, and who never ever again tells a potential romantic partner they are too good for him because of his disability. This trope - unlike There Was Only One Bed! - sometimes actually hurts to read. Where’s Remus who thinks a potential romantic partner isn’t good enough for him? Where’s Remus who insists his partners learn more about his condition in order to treat him properly? Where’s sexy wheelchair user Remus? Where’s Remus who uses his werewolf transformations as an excuse to travel the world? Where’s crip Remus??

We don’t have to put “you don’t want me” Remus entirely to bed. It is but one of many repeated tropes that are - in the words of The Hot Priest from Fleabag - morally a bit dubious. And let’s face it - we don’t always come to fandom for its moral superiority (as much as we sometimes like to think we do). 

This is not a condemnation - it is an invitation. Able-bodied folks are all but an injury, illness, or couple decades away from being disabled. And when you get here, I sincerely hope you don’t waste your time on “you don’t want me”ing back and forth with the people you love. I’m inviting you to come to the crip side now. We have snacks, and without all the “you don’t want me” talk, we get to the juicy parts much faster. 

Colorfully,

Mod Theo

[vegance]

1. The difference is a human baby is a human and thus should have all protections we provide humans.

Also some ara and vegan places will keep animals alive in spite of them suffering, you just can not keep a cow in a wheelchair.

2. Just because modern supplements allow vegan lifestyles that doesn’t mean people should ignore the millennia of evolution that went into forming our digestive tracts. That evolution will still impact our modern lives. Its why we cant get b12 from sources other than animal products or supplements. Its just not bioavailable for us.

3. You can tell if a local farm meets your own standards by, going to visit it. That’s what i meant there. Also cows literally do not give a shit about ai and dairy cows have kinda accidentally been bred to not care too much about their calves.

4. I have serious doubts about how healthy a vegan baby formula is. Not to mention even if it works for human babies how about all the orphaned animals, some of which are obligate carnivores and may not be able to process whatever vegan replacements are in the formula. Bioavailability is a super important thing to remember. There’s reasons cattle and such can survive and thrive off of just grass but humans cant. And it’s bioavailability, which is different for each food and for each species.

5 and 6. Those weren’t aimed at you specifically. Those were general things meant for everyone. And it wasnt meant to be condescending. It was meant to be neutral. The simple fact is ive seen people source from documentaries and papers that have been proven to be false. Not everyone knows how to find peer reviewed papers. And the general public often does think documentaries are fact to the point that one made about mermaids was believed.

why is being human the only thing that affords a being the right to be free of torture, cruelty and being killed? what's the reason? what is this based on? does this mean that any being who is not human should not have that right? primates? whales? hypothetical intelligent alien societies? no? only humans. or only homo sapiens? where do you draw the line? and why?

and like...the historical fallacy is just not an argument? it does not matter what humans used to do, or what they had to do.

many people also do not get enough iodine, selenium, vitamin d, folic acid (in pregnancy) without either supplementing themselves, or consuming fortified food (or animals who were fed vitamins). so where does that leave us? there are many things that we didn't evolve to do, or to have. unless you are advocating that everyone live a paleo life, that argument just has no meaning. medical professionals say it is possible to be vegan and healthy. that's all that matters

how many people go visit farms? how many people really only ever eat the meat /animal products that has come from a farm that they know everything about? almost no one. and there are very few farms in most high income countries, where the animals actually have a good life. most people just do not have access to that. and it still doesn't change a thing about the slaughtering process.

honestly, i trust the actual food administrations who approved those vegan formulas more than like...a random anon on tumblr. why should you know more about the topic than them? and again, what do like,,, orphaned baby lions have to do with you eating a cheeseburger? literally nothing. you are not a baby? it does not apply to you.

i appreciate that the source thing was not aimed at me but like...its not like that is just a vegan problem? i still don't get why you would bring it up here specifically. especially on a blog where i pretty much provide sources for almost everything that i say

edit: and cows literally do care to be seperated from their babies. and honestly, if you look at how ai of cows is done....like i think the chances are pretty high that it causes them at least some discomfort? and cows are literally restrained while it is happening. and anyway, cows cannot consent, it is literally a human being sticking their entire arm up their anus and a metal rod up their vagina. that's sexual exploitation. doing the same thing for any other reason would get you charged with bestiality

[huntershowl]

BE STILL.

PERSEPHONE'S THOUGHTS stop in their tracks as the words, not her own, ring clear in her mind. it is and isn't a voice. she does and does not hear it. as if i have a fucking choice, thinks she in response — if he can read their mind, he will hear her.

enough moments have passed in this howling storm, trapping them both in its eye with not another voice, face, or body in sight, that the ozone smell begins to lose its grip on her. persephone struggles for breath once; twice; the third time, her throat relaxes enough that she can once again suck air into her lungs. but she still cannot move.

the grip on their wrist is strong enough to ping the pressure sensors in their arms. the feeling in them is akin, more or less, to wearing a thick glove: they can sense impact, temperature and grip, but sensation through the skin is rendered impossible. it is not often that they can feel.

they feel, now, even as it eases slightly. a bead of sweat rolls down their hairline, cuts across a knife-sharp cheekbone. pale throat bobs in a hard swallow. the rage has not subsided, nor has the fear that roils sickeningly thick in her stomach; but she can think through it.

what are you? that infernal fucking not-voice again, reverberating in the base of her skull. fuck off, comes her pushback.

it barely takes a second. it feels like a hand reaching down her throat. any panic that was beginning to subside surges back into the cavity of her ribcage with a vengeance as the monolith pulls at the threads of memory, dips his hands into the stygian depths and comes back up blackened by knowledge.

the hands, from earlier, the source of that fear. the long slash across their neck, made with the mouth of sewing scissors shaped like a delicate bird. the owner of those hands, the clash of body and body. the hard strike of knuckles across the face; a black eye covered expertly by makeup for the next event. a hand resting on her waist as they speak to another pair; a finger pressing into a cracked rib, just so. skin, sweat. lips, teeth. all of it pain. ( CLAWS AND TEETH AND SPITE. this is the pain that birthed them. the fear of body, of lips and teeth and hands. )

the arms are a different story. he picks up on that. persephone's body is trembling by the time it ends, the voice from before — gentler, now — cutting through moments she hoped to forget forever. shit. they can't stop fucking shaking.

who, then? asks he.

fletch never taught them how to resist this. persephone tries; she tries, but the hound does not yet know to take hold of this infinite thing herself. to push back with it. the flash of memory: the twins are eighteen, making a run for it in the night. seph at the controls, ready to fly — she wasn't the greatest young pilot, but she knew the basics and that was enough. then, a blackout. a long, dark blur of repressed memory, barely comprehensible until the moment persephone screamed, yanked against medical restraints to try and stop amari fletch from taking her brother's eye.

she couldn't stop them.

this memory is a knot: a bundle of confusion and suffering, guilt chief among the emotions gathered within it. fletch's hand gripped her upper arm, the other planted firm upon her shoulder, and tore her in two with the force of a ship's hull. both sides in quick succession, the sickening flesh-noises drowned out by screams.

it's all very white and dreamlike. faces melt; environments bleed into nothingness. it blurs together, other than the onslaught of pain, which they could not forget if they tried.

somehow, however, this turning point has less of an effect on her than what he saw prior. remembering the loss of her arms, persephone's nervous system slows to a calm, steady state. the only thing that upsets it is the image of her brother. but fletch — fletch, drawing blood; fletch explaining the prosthetics; fletch taking her wheelchair to the garden and naming each flowering plant they passed; fletch, teaching them to fight in the sparring grounds and to waltz in the ballrooms; the pain is overwritten, washed out by slow-built loyalty. devotion. she was at her lowest and they rebuilt her, piece by piece. how could persephone feel anything but love for the hands that cradled their face and told them you will be perfect for me?

their head spins. it feels as if they've been hurled through hell and back again. only now do they release the stuttering breath they've been holding. still not aloud — persephone's not sure if she could speak, even if she tried. let go of me. they need to retreat. escape. take fletch by the hand and leave.

Be still.

It rolls in through the ozone on all shades, palpable, colorless. He fills the nothing, however scarcely, with substance enough to point her to him. To something like the ground. His voice finds itself inclined to a velvet swathe; parts toneless, parts smooth.

Her blind rage scribbles a fiery pace in the sockets of his eyes (if eyes he does have), ant-biting the fringes of everything. This void betwixt them.

He should like to see it at a steeper angle. Others might be reminded of snowglobes, this way that Ren draws gazes like refractions through her.

It doesn't have heart, murmurs the bodiless voice. Breath, growling, in the belly of her fear. You won't make it bleed.

But try. Yes, try.

Somewhere inside—a step within his wonder, a leg up on his erudite realm—Ren gives, in but margins, to her memorial styx and her dread. The jaw around her wrist fixes, while there a modicum of his constriction goes, easing, swirling round the cyclone of her drain. Leading with the footfalls of a follower.

Perhaps a void can open its arms.

What are you?

Ren's cyclopic eye, theirs nigh-level, glitters with answers—what she is has already begun to whittle at him. Claws and teeth and spite and pain. Pain.

Mm. . . . There is music in her past, where her pupil constricts on what it knows; and there are bones, and screams. No. He did not take your arms.

The monolith is almost gentle.

Who, then?

The one from beyond allows them speak, but they are like an insult. Peran keeps himself like the eternity inside a tree. He waits thus fixed.

“he does not like you, watching one.” Vermis has since staked her place atop a table, and now idles between these two worlds. fffear everywhere but in her heart. She, like Peran, is sulking. Both patient for their master. “he has had to watch you. I couldn't be made to do something so plain. it is reasonable, then, his silence.”

Peran pretends to have forgotten his ears.

[salemwritesxx]

our days together

↳ paraplegic Bakugou x hero Reader

summary: Snippets of Bakugou’s and Y/n’s lives, including a proposal.

w.count: 2.5k

content warning: fluff, baku in a wheelchair

------------------------------------------------------------

 “Oi!”, you called out and laughed, “You cheater!”

“Phh, yeah right, not my fault you’re so slow.”, Katsuki also laughed as he rolled across the field and threw the basketball – getting it in effortlessly and with that, winning the little game.

Turning around with his wheelchair, a big smirk on his lips, he approached you, who was sitting on the ground and panted, and then stopped in front of you.

“You know, I know I’m like… really fucking hot, but like, you cannot always collapse whenever you see me.”, he teased you with this shit-eating grin on his lips that made you snort and roll your eyes in a playful way.

“Okay, how about this? One more? And the loser has to cook dinner?”, you asked and stood up, immediately meeting Katsuki’s ruby eyes staring at you with that glint in them.

“Okay. But don’t cry into my chest when you lose, okay?”, he grinned and rolled away to get the basketball, your “Yeah, yeah, you and your big mouth, be cautious or I’ll roll you off a hill.” making him laugh.

If anyone would have listened, maybe they would have been a little taken aback by how you talked to each other, but the truth was, it was harmless bickering and teasing. Never would you have hurt your boyfriend in any way, shape or form and both of you knew.

“Hah, fat chance.”, was the last thing he said before throwing the ball into the air for one last game.

--

Rolling through the big, automatic doors, Katsuki was gasping a bit as he had rushed into the hospital as fast as he could with his wheelchair, until he finally reached the information table and he could ask for “L/n Y/n” completely out of breath.

“May I ask who you are?”, the nurse asked back, since she didn’t want any stranger into a hero’s room and even though Katsuki wanted to snap and growl at her, he gulped down his rage and took a deep breath before he said, “Bakugou Katsuki. Y/n is my boyfriend.”

“Ah.”, she then said and smiled, “Yes, yes, L/n-san had mentioned you briefly before they had to bring him into the surgery room.”

“Surgery?”, he barely croaked.

“Yes, he needed surgery as both of his bones in his arms were broken. He is already in room 193 and should be awake.”, she said as if she was talking about the weather, even though it sounded horrible that both your bones were broken to the point you needed surgery.

Thus, he only nodded and with a quick “Thank you.” he rolled away and into the next elevator.

Bakugou had found out barely an hour ago. You had your night patrol, hence why you were admitted to the hospital at around 4 a.m. while Katsuki was asleep at home in the warm bed. To say he felt awful was an understatement. He was sleeping soundly at home, he literally had to pee at around 7 a.m. and being in a wheelchair, he was definitely awake enough to notice his phone vigorously blinking, but instead he chose to ignore it and went back to bed. All while his phone was silently going crazy from the texts and phone calls your friend, that was on the patrol with you, had left with your phone on Katsuki’s.

And now it was 11 a.m., because he was stupid and a lazy ass and he hated himself for sleeping in. Hence, when he had looked at his messages and the voice notes that were left on his phone, he panicked. Bakugou called his mother right then and there to come pick him up, not caring if she had to work, because this was an emergency and he didn’t have a car, let alone a driver’s license. He had never needed one until this day.

Once the ping signaled him he was on the right floor, he rolled outside and looked around to search for the rooms 160 to 200 and in the end, even after asking a nurse because my God that hospital was just way too big and confusing, Katsuki found room 193.

As he opened the door after knocking, you sat there, one arm in a cast and staring at the TV, looking bored and a little uncomfortable, however, the moment you saw him, your face lit up, “Katsuki!”

The two other patients in the room also turned their heads to see who was intruding.

Thankfully, you were on the bed closest to the door, hence he only pushed himself a little further until he faced your bed sideways and he could put his breaks on to scoot a little closer to the edge of the wheelchair so he could lean on your bed.

“Y/n, I’m so fucking sorry I didn’t come sooner.”, he immediately grabbed your free hand to squeeze it, ruby eyes lightly shimmering.

Though you simply shook your head and leaned in to rest your forehead against your boyfriend’s.

“It’s okay. I even told them to not contact you because I wanted to call you myself. I’m sorry they made you panic.”, you also apologized, thumb soothingly drawing on the back of his hand.

“No, you don’t understand!”, he barely whispered, “I was awake at 7 because I had to piss. I could have been here … far sooner, instead. My fucking sleep was more important, I didn’t even look at my phone, even though I knew you were out on a patrol, I should have… I should have looked. It was going off like crazy, but I just turned it around… What if it would have been more serious? What if… you were on the brink of death and instead of coming here as quickly as possible, I just slept at home and I wouldn’t have been able to say goodbye?”, he deeply sighed, feeling awful and just… terrible for being such a shitty boyfriend.

However, once more, you shook your head and then let go of his hand to bury it in his hair instead, softly massaging his scalp and pulling him in for a soft kiss, just to mumble against his lips, “It’s okay. Don’t think about the “what if”, Baby. I am here. And I only had a broken arm. And you are here now too, so… isn’t that the most important thing?”

And slowly, Bakugou nodded and wrapped his arms around your neck.

“I’m just so… so fucking relieved you’re okay.”, and with that, he leaned in to connect your lips.

“My, my, young love.”, made both of you however wince and turn around to look at the elderly woman who was snickering behind her hand and looking at the TV again, both of you then blushing lightly but also smiling at each other.

“Ah!”, when he suddenly heard a small sound from his pocket, Katsuki pulled his phone out. “Oh shit.”

“What?”

“It’s Mom. She says if I don’t come down immediately she is going to rip the nurse to pieces because she won’t tell her your room number for security reasons.”, which made him playfully grin again and you snicker.

“Then you should better go and help her confirm she is welcomed. I don’t want Mom to rip the staff to shreds.”, you snorted and giggled, once more showing how close Katsuki’s family was to your heart since, after so many years, it was natural to call Mitsuki and Masaru Mom and Dad as well.

“But… don’t you think she can wait juuust a little bit longer?”, Bakugou grinned and put the phone onto your bed, before pulling you back in for another kiss, letting Mitsuki wait for just a few moments longer while he was simply relieved you didn’t have a horrifying accident while out on patrol like he once had.

--

“Seriously, where are we going?”, Bakugou asked once again when you opened the car door, his eyes blindfolded.

“Shh, will you shut up already?”, you giggled and leaned in to peck his lips, making him wince, then grin a little. “It’s a surprise, you don’t want to spoil your surprise, right?”, you softly took his arms and positioned them around your shoulders.

“But I don’t feel so good when I can’t see. I feel like a doll being dragged around.”, he then sighed when you picked him up and carried him over to the wheelchair, this time letting you handle everything in order to not ruin the surprise.

“I know, Baby. I promise, it’s over soon, just this once, let me surprise you. Trust me, okay?”, you gently squeezed his hands and then placed them into his lap.

“You know I trust you with my life. As if I would let anyone else blindfold and carry me around.”, and even though it was true (he did trust you with his life) Katsuki’s heart was still hammering wildly in his chest, being a bit nervous, but also excited. He didn’t like being so helpless, since he wasn’t. He could very well take care of himself, though Bakugou was also okay with letting you lead him this time even if he was a bit uncomfortable, he wanted to be surprised by you.

Another soft peck against his lips later, he heard you shutting the car door and then, he felt a soft push, telling him you were now starting to walk.

“You can probably already tell where we are, right?”, you snickered and Katsuki frowned for a bit as he took in the surroundings, smelling the salty air and hearing seagulls and waves in the background.

“The ocean? You don’t want to drown me, do you?”, he snorted and laughed, which only got him a soft flick against the back of his head as you said, “Don’t say that. If anything were to happen to you, I would go crazy.”, which successfully made him close his mouth and blush a little.

For a few moments, you walked in silence and pushed him along, Bakugou waiting in anticipation, wondering what you were going to show him. A sunset?

“Okay… We’re here.”, you put his breaks on and then walked around his wheelchair to kneel down in front of him, “I’m going to take off the blindfold, okay?”, and once he nodded, you reached out your hands.

Once the fabric wrapped around his head was loose and gone, Katsuki blinked a few times before looking around, a soft smile immediately sneaking onto his lips as he watched a beautiful sunset and the waves and ocean glistening.

“What do you think?”, you asked with a hushed voice while gently taking his hands and squeezing them, still kneeling.

Slowly, he turned his head, ruby eyes sparkling as he gifted you one of his rare smiles whilst quietly saying, “It’s beautiful. But that’s not everything you wanted to show me, right?”

“Haha, how did you know?”, you shyly chuckled, though Katsuki simply squeezed your hands and said, “Your hands are shaking.”

And even though he didn’t want to think about, Bakugou has always been a pessimist, looking at the worst case scenario, which could be you bringing him to a beautiful spot to watch the ocean just to break up and softly tell him you couldn’t be together. Though, even he knew that would be a bit of a reach and yet, when he could feel your hands shaking, he inevitably got a little anxious himself.

After a few seconds of silence, you then looked up, your e/c eyes shimmering a little and a soft smile on your lips as you whispered, “You know I love you, right?”, Katsuki immediately nodding and welcoming your lips as you had leaned in to kiss him, just to mumble an “I do. And I love you, too.” back.

Letting go of one of his hands, Bakugou watched when you pulled something out of your pocket, just to feel his heartbeat increase when it was a small jewelry box, his mind racing.

“We have been together for almost 6 years at this point.”, you then started and looked at him again, “I love you. And with every passing day I love you more. Back then, I was just barely out of High School when we met, my friends had urged me to not see you again, because they were embarrassed on my behalf that you were in a wheelchair.”

“Fucking asshats.”, he growled and clenched his teeth.

“Ha, you can say that again. Safe to say I ignored them and looked for new friends afterwards. Because if I would have ever listened to them, I would have never got to know you. I would have not been so happy. I know you sometimes feel like a burden to me, even if you try to conceal it by joking.”, and that was certainly true as Katsuki instantly blushed a bit and glanced to the side, feeling called out.

“But, Baby. I hope you know I have never once thought you were a burden. I love you. And if you ever need me, I will help you, even though I know you can handle yourself all alone, because you are so amazing and strong, you can count on me – always. And…”, then you finally opened the little jewelry box, his eyes already dangerously glazed, “if you let me, I want to be there for you for our whole lives. As your husband and best friend. I want to make many more memories, I want to experience growing old only with you, that’s why… Will you marry me, Katsuki?”

Gulping lightly, he had to look to the side for a few seconds, before turning back, a small tear already dripping from his eyes, hence why he quickly wiped them away, chuckling an “Oh fuck!” in embarrassment and to hide his feelings, just to nod and whisper, “I will.”

“Katsu…”, smiling brightly and with your own little tears shimmering in your eyes, you took the ring out of the little box and slipped it onto his ring finger, fitting perfectly, thus you wrapped your arms around him, Bakugou’s arms also immediately slung around your shoulders as you hugged and kissed him.

“I love you. I love you so much.”, mumbling it against his lips, he chuckled and held on even tighter, whispering sweet nothings back, only to softly gasp when you suddenly grabbed him around his hips and pulled him up, almost looking like you were both standing, though you were holding his weight securely.

“Oh fuck, don’t let me fall.”, he croaked under tears yet still with a joking undertone, though you very seriously answered him as you pecked his lips and quietly muttered, “I would never. I am here to catch you, always.”, which made him tear up again as he teasingly punched your shoulder and mumbled a “So cheesy.” though capturing your lips in the sweetest kiss afterwards while the sun had completely disappeared behind the horizon eventually.

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@salemwritesxx || do not repost, edit, modify or translate my works

writer’s note: a very sad headcanon of mine is that Bakugou, barely 2 years into his hero career, gets paralyzed due to a villain attack and is bound to a wheelchair ever since. i don’t use this headcanon often cuz well, it’s just really sad :( but for today, i thought my headcanon’ed paraplegic baku deserves a little happiness <3

[disgruntledspacedad]

Aftershocks (2/5)

The Better Love Series 

pairing: Javier Peña x Fem!Reader (Ears). Part of the Better Love ‘verse. 

summary: That bomb fucked you up a little more than you thought. h/c, fluff.

words: 2.5k 

warnings: 18+ - canon typical violence, lots of medical stuff in this one.

a/n: unbeta’d. I had a surprise day off, so enjoy the second installment of Aftershocks much sooner than I had anticipated. More notes to follow!

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five 

MASTERLIST

You’re escorted beyond the heavy double doors of the emergency department in a hurry. It probably has a lot to do with Javi busting into the waiting area with you in his arms, flashing his DEA badge and barking out orders in irate Spanish. 

Honestly, you wish he wouldn’t make such a scene. Sitting still in the car had allowed you to catch your breath a little. You feel like shit, sure, but you’re pretty sure you aren’t actively dying.

Try telling him that, though.

The triage room is little more than a curtain masking a dimly lit corner. You’re answering what questions you can in halting Spanish, but Javi can see that you’re overwhelmed. 

“Ella habla ingles.” His tone earns him a dirty look, but the nurse nods, placing an oxygen probe on your finger and frowning up at the monitor. Both of you follow her gaze, noticing that the number reads 87. 

“The doctor will see you soon,” she says carefully. Her English is heavily accented, and suddenly, you’re grateful beyond words that you have Javi here to translate. “Here. You’ll wear this.” She winds the oxygen tubing beneath your chin and around your ears. The oxygen is dry, burning your nose and making your face twitch in annoyance, but you can’t deny that you feel better with it on.

The nurse leaves you then, pulling the curtain closed behind her. Javi continues to stare at the monitor with his arms folded across his chest as the number on the screen climbs to 89, then to 92, the soft tone of the blips rising in pitch with each subtle improvement.

He’s thinking again, you can tell. 

“Javi?” You reach for his hand, tugging at his fingers. Instinctively, you know that leaving him alone to stew right now cannot be a good thing.

He glances down at you, all dark, glittering eyes and terse expression, and worry clinches in your gut. “You okay?”

Javi snorts. “Really, Ears.” You can just see him fighting the urge to roll his eyes. “That’s a hell of a question, coming from you.”

You decide to shoot for levity. “I’m great, thanks for asking.”

That earns you a pathetic, lopsided lip twitch. You count it as a win anyway.

The doctor never shows. Javi grumbles and broods. A little while later, somebody comes with a wheelchair to whisk you away for an x-ray, and no matter how much blustering and badge-flashing and protesting he does, Javi is told firmly to stay put. 

He’s pacing agitatedly in the hallway when return. Apparently, it had felt like an eternity for him. 

In reality, you’d been gone less than twenty minutes.

It seems that your x-ray has earned you some attention, because things start happening a little faster now. People are in and out, one nurse bustling in to wordlessly draw an entire fistful of little color coded tubes of your blood, another working on IV access in your opposite arm. You take it all stoically, caught between watching in fascination as the nurse tapes the catheter in place with practiced efficiency and wondering why all of this can’t just happen in one stick. 

A little while later, the same nurse returns with a bag of fluid. “Seca,” she informs you as she stretches to hang it on the hook in the wall. 

“She says you’re dehydrated,” Javi translates. His face is a stone wall, the subtle clench of his jaw the only hint of the emotion that churns beneath. You can just imagine him kicking himself for not making you eat or drink. 

You bite back a shiver. The saline is cold in your arm.

They move you to a real room not long after that. It’s only marginally bigger than your corner in the emergency department, crammed with two rickey, uncomfortable beds separated by another dingy curtain. Thankfully, you don’t have a roommate for the moment.

You let Javi handle the paperwork as you change out of his sweats and into the itchy, open-backed gown that you’ve been provided with. Even with the oxygen, moving around still requires that you pause to catch your breath, and you’re grateful for the opportunity to sit when you’re done, even if the hospital bed you’re on is squeaky and uncomfortable.

Once the documents are signed and the nurses are gone, silence settles thickly between you. Javi is standing with his fingers fisted into his hips, glaring daggers at the clock on the wall. He hasn’t spoken in a long time.

Again, you feel that burning need to pull him out of his head. “Not really set up for visitors, is it?” you ask wryly. It’s a stupid, pointless thing to say, but you’re just trying to fill the void.

Javi glances around the room, raising his brows at what he observes. There’s no chair and no free space, nowhere for him to sit. Sighing deeply, he yanks back the curtain that divides the room and eases carefully onto the bed opposite of you, leaning forward with his arms folded on his knees.

You grit your teeth. Really, you wouldn’t have minded him settling down on your bed, but the more time you spend with Javi, the more you’re starting to realize that he withdraws when he’s feeling wrong-footed. As annoying as it is, the distance he’s putting between you is just par for the course, and it’s just not worth addressing right now.

“How are you feeling?” he asks softly, pinning you with a sharp, assessing stare.

“Better,” you answer automatically, forcing some cheerfulness into your tone. Honestly, you’re far more worried about him than you are about you. 

Javi raises a skeptical brow, clearly doubting you.

“No, really!” 

Your protest makes him shake his head in dark amusement. “What am I gonna do with you, Ears?” he wonders aloud.

You’re ready to supply several very detailed answers to that question, all of them interrupted as your doctor finally breezes into the room. 

“About fucking time,” Javi mutters under his breath as he rises to his feet.

“Hola, hola. I’m Dr. Perez.” Dr. Perez says, actually managing to sound a tiny bit apologetic. “Forgive the delay, por favor. I know it must seem that emergencies are the most non-emergent situation in the hospital, but, I promise you, we are working hard behind the scenes.”

 You decide immediately that you like Dr. Perez. He’s not a big man, compact and clean cut, with just the faintest dusting of silver at his temples and a warm, genuine smile. 

Javi must be thinking along similar lines, because he comes to stand just at the edge of your shoulder, looming dark and foreboding at your side as Dr. Perez approaches your bedside. 

Oh, now you’ll stick close, you think fondly, trying to find a little amusement in Javi’s behavior. Everything about this situation is entirely new, totally incongruous with the cool, suave Javier Peña that you thought you’d known, and a malicious, possessive part of your brain is just eating up the implications.

“I understand you were involved in the bombing in downtown Bogotá, correct?” Dr. Perez’s grip is firm and cool as he shakes your hand. 

“Yes, that’s correct.” You’re acutely aware of Javi standing stiffly beside you, watching your every move.

“Most unfortunate,” Perez shakes his head in a show of sympathy, and you manage to believe him. “And the breathing problems, they began later, no?”

“Yes,” you answer, surprised that he would guess with such accuracy. “I was okay afterward. Maybe a little bit sore. But not hurt.”

“Ella ha estado tosiendo sangre,” Javi interjects quickly. You’re not sure what he’s saying, but Dr. Perez’s eyes flicker in his direction, a swift, meaningful look passing between them. 

“Veo.” Dr. Perez says smoothly. He frowns down at you. “And how for were you from the blast zone?”

You think back, willing yourself to relive the memory of the morning in clinical detail. “I was crossing the street,” you say slowly.  “Headed home.” You do some quick mental math in your head, analyzing the width of Circular against the image of Emilio, waving. You’d been close enough to shout a greeting. “Forty feet. Maybe a little less.”

Beside you, Javi sucks in a sharp breath. 

Perez purses his lips. “Sí, eso lo haría.” He crosses the room, flicking a switch to illuminate a bright white panel built into the wall that you hadn’t noticed before. He shuffles through your chart, pulling out a dark film and pinning it to the light. 

It’s your chest x-ray. You can clearly see the curve of your ribs, stark white against the darker background of your lungs. In the middle of the film lies the dusky outline of what you assume is your heart. To the lower left, a patch of hazy, white blur mars the image. 

“This is the problem.” Perez points to the blur. “Pulmones magullados. Your lungs are bruised, see? This is common in blast zone survivors. The change in air pressure when the bomb ignites causes an injury to the lung tissue. You are bleeding just a little bit internally.”

You can damn near feel Javi gritting his teeth at that.

“But I felt fine,” you protest weakly, looking assentingly at the blob on the x-ray. It’s a pretty good size.

“Sí, you were fine.” Perez is nodding along with you, like he’d expected the argument. “That’s normal with this type of injury. You felt good immediately afterward because the bruise was new, the bleeding slight. But the bruise has gotten bigger, and you have gotten worse.” He indicates the oxygen that you are wearing with a grim nod. “You are a very lucky, mi amiga, to have walked away from that. Muy afortunada. Had you been closer…” Perez trails off, shaking his head somberly. “It does not bear thinking.”

He claps his hands, startling you away from the grisly images stirring in your mind. “There is good news, though!” Perez gestures toward the x-ray as a whole, circling over it with his index finger. “I see no rib fractures, nothing collapsed. Your breathing might get worse before it gets better, but it will get better. We will keep you under close watch until then.”

“Keep me?”

“Sí, you will be here.” Perez pins you with a no-nonsense stare, as if to curtail any protests before they come. “There’s another matter. You have a small concussion as well. To this area, here.” He taps the back of his own head with his hand. “From falling down, yes?”

You nod. The area he’s pointing to is right where your head hurts most, where you’d fallen backward after the blast. “Yes. It did knock me off my feet.” Apparently a with a little more force than you’d initially assumed.

Perez hums. “We will monitor that as well. You do not take blood thinners?”

“No, sir. No medications.”

“Bueno.” Dr. Perez seems genuinely pleased by this. “You’ve made my job very easy.” He gathers the film and shuffles it back into your chart, flopping it shut with a flourish. “Rest for you, Orejas. Time and sleep will do the best healing.”

“Orejas?” you can’t help but ask. It’s the name that Emilio had used for you, but you’re shocked that Perez knows it. 

Perez smiles. “I listen to my nurses. That is what they call you.”

“How much time?” Javi interrupts before you can respond. You’d nearly forgotten about him, as quiet as he’s been. 

Perez turns to address him for the first time. “It depends largely on her body. The concussion is small, and won’t require anything in the way of treatment. Her lungs, though…” Perez frowns down at the closed chart with a furrowed brow. “The contusion is still developing. A few days, a week, perhaps? I can say more tomorrow.” He turns back to you, sighing in sympathy. “I’m afraid you’re in for a stay, mi amiga.”

Well, fuck.

With that, Perez disappears just as quickly as he’d arrived, soft, quick footsteps echoing down the hallway, and silence falls once again over the room.

Javi doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. He’s standing very still, arms folded tightly across his chest with his thumbs digging into his armpits. The expression on his face is downright chilling. 

Your blood turns to ice.

“What the fuck, Ears?” he says very slowly, enunciating each syllable with deadly precision.

You glance up, suddenly hesitant to speak. The little movement must be enough to spur him on, though, because Javi fucking explodes. 

“Forty fucking feet!” he bites out, clawing angrily at his hair. He paces the tiny room, whirling as he runs out of space and pointing an accusing finger at you. “You told me you were across the street, Ears, not crossing it. There’s a big fucking difference.”

You blink at him, recalling the conversation you’d had in the embassy parking lot. 

Shit, he’s right.

“Why the hell did you lie to me?” There’s a subtle warble in his tone, a flicker of devastation in his eyes that’s quickly masked. 

Discomfort that has nothing to do with your injured lungs twinges in your chest. “I don’t know,” you answer miserably. You hadn’t thought of it as lying. At the time, you’d been overwhelmed by the situation and thoroughly confused by Javi’s erratic behavior, just desperate to get home and sleep off the worst morning of your life. “I didn’t want to upset you, I guess.” 

Javi laughs sarcastically. “Well, you’ve done a fucking fantastic job of that, haven’t you?” He throws his hands in the air, like he’s had it up to here with your shit. “Coughing up blood all over my kitchen floor. Christ, I should have known.”

Okay, now he’s being a little dramatic - the only blood you’d coughed up had been into your fingers, after all, but the protest is lost on you as you look him in the face. Javi’s eyes are deeply shadowed, his expression pained, his hair standing wildly from where he’s run his fingers through it. 

He looks thoroughly exhausted.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, dropping your gaze to the floor.

Javi huffs and looks away, clearly not ready to accept any apologies from you.

You don’t blame him. Throughout this entire screwed up relationship, you’ve done an absolutely piss poor job of putting yourself in Javi’s shoes, and it’s coming back to bite you in the ass.

You deserve his irritation, and more.

Javi’s pager beeps, the shrill sound of it slicing through the tension. He snatches it roughly off of his belt, frowning down at the display with squinted eyes.

You glance up at the clock on the wall. It’s pretty late, but given the day Javi’s had, it’s not outrageous to assume that somebody would need to be in touch with him at this hour.

 “I’ve got to take this,” Javi says tonelessly, hardly glancing up at you. If there’s any regret there, it’s buried very deeply. “I’ll see you later, Ears.”

He’s gone before you can get a word in edgewise.

♠

confessions/notes:

I speak one language poorly, and I’ve never extensively written a character who is not a primary English speaker (I’m not counting Javi here). Any critiques or corrections to my Spanish are very welcomed!

Up next: a look at things from Javi’s POV.

Spanish translations: 

She speaks English. 

Dry

She’s been coughing up blood.

I see. 

Yeah, that’ll do it.

ears

tags:@jedi-mando, @perropascal, @aerolanya, @pikemoreno, @bitchin-beskar, @mostly-megan, @huliabitch, @starsandmando, @starlight-starwrites​, @thirstworldproblemss, @knittingqueen13, @yespolkadotkitty​

Javier Peña tags: @magpie-to-the-morning, @tiffdawg, @danniburgh, @1800-fight-me​

To my taglist peeps, I’m sorry for tagging you guys three times in 24 hours. Again, chaotic jay cannot plan anything, like ever.

[star-anise]

Can you or someone kindly explain to me why violent riots are necessary? Why we apparently need to fight fire with fire? I just. Similar to your recently reblogged post, I cannot fathom how it is helpful. I understand that people are angry and they shouldn't be condemned in the way they are being condemned for property destruction (though people seem to forget that a lot of people, especially poor and disabled people, can't afford that) but like. What is this actually going to achieve?

The specific “point” of the current protests is addressing racist policing practices, an end to police brutality, and/or the abolition of the police, all of which have very actionable goals--for example, increasing crisis mental health resources, decriminalizing stupid shit that it doesn’t benefit society to police, changing how police are funded to de-incentivize unnecessary arrests or tickets, or increasing police accountability for harm. But I’ll address your question less as “what do these activists want to achieve” and more as “why are riots occassionally necessary praxis.”

The one thing I can’t comment on is how much the appearance of armed counter-protestors changes things. That’s new, partly in the last couple years and especially this week, and I haven’t got a solid grip on how that plays out. So I can just talk about my general knowledge.

The violence isn’t the inherently necessary part, it’s the protest. Protests and demonstrations are necessary; to create political change, it helps to demonstrate that a fuckload of people care deeply about this thing and are willing to take time out of their day to show that. It shows other citizens that this is an issue they could care about without being alone, and it shows the people in charge that if they don’t pay attention to this issue, a large proportion of their constituents are going to be unhappy. Sometimes the protest is also instrumental to the change, like occupying a building so it cannot be demolished, or occupying a road so that troop convoys cannot drive down it. My ex-girlfriend’s involved with a group that puts cups of paint on bike lane markers to demonstrate how frequently cars drive into bike lanes if they’re able to, in an attempt to get the city to invest in bike-friendly infrastructure. There are a lot of tactics out there.

Most protests are nonviolent and many are successful. They achieve small goals. An elected official may have so many people sitting in their office waiting room that they are forced to talk to them so that they go away and business as usual can resume. A cause may get on the news because people want to understand why a road was shut down or what all the people standing out there are talking about. People in power have to listen to activists and make concessions to them to make them go away. Stuff like that.

Some people believe that violence is intrinsically necessary--that’s the point of the Black Bloc, who think that property damage is a positive good in itself, or that nobody will listen unless you damage things and cost people money. That, to be honest, I... mmm. I think many people with violent leanings love violence in itself and will justify it more often than someone looking at the situation with dispassionate eyes will say, “What we need here is to break a bunch of shit.” 

But the more common cause of violence in protests is when people want the protest to stop or go away. That is, when the elected official’s secretary says, “Look, he’s not going to meet with you, please leave,” or a boss says, “I’m not going to increase your wages, so go away and stop telling the customers about your grievances with me.” Part of what makes a protest successful is saying, “No, I’d really rather stand here and talk about my goals than go away and make your day easier.”

That’s when it escalates to force. When they call security or police to get them to force the protesters to leave. It turns into a game of chicken; as a protestor, it doesn’t do to show that you can be easily made to back down, but your opponents are going to use an increasing level of force to make you want to leave, or to physically remove you. And when that escalates--for example, when the riot squad shows up and starts physically attacking people--protestors often find that sitting there and letting someone attack you isn’t a good strategy; keeping yourself safe and continuing the protest are generally preferable. Responses can range from putting people who’d make the police look bad for attacking in front (people in wheelchairs, people in nice clothing, people with bicycles, Nice White People, whatever), to having medics on hand to treat people who have been injured, to using umbrellas to ward off tear gas, to, yeah, the use of violence in defense. If a cop is beating up your friend, and you can beat the cop up so they stop, that makes a material difference to your friend.

This is why even Fox News has slowly started to cotton on to the fact that forceful police responses to protests, like calling out the riot squad, are the key feature that escalate protests and turn them really nasty. Only a small number of people at any protests actually want things to turn violent or loot things; the majority of people would rather use peaceful means if they were available, but they’ve found that nothing else worked so now they’re protesting. But once people are under physical threat, they get scared and desperate, and things get ugly.

Especially at Black Lives Matter protests, the police often have a very direct and vested interest in making sure the protestors don’t get listened to. They don’t want to be criminally responsible for the things they do in the line of duty or have the news talking about what a bad job they’ve done. Therefore, there is a lot of incentive for police to make the protestors look bad--so they’re very likely to use police tactics that they know will escalate the situation and turn it violent. And since that’s the exact thing BLM protestors want to draw attention to, it to some degree proves their point to be able to demonstrate the police responding to nonviolent people with violence when the cameras are rolling.

[phoenixonwheels]

Bitch I’m literally in a wheelchair. It’s Phoenix On Wheels.

A lot of higher profile disability activists than me have gone into great detail on why you cannot draw a line between physical and mental disabilities. If you even care (which you pretty clearly don’t) do some damn research into disability theory and the history of the disability rights movement and why working together has always been and should remain the goal.

If your whole point is to exclude disabled people from Cripple Punk then you too can fuck right off. Oh yeah and if you want to talk about being disrespected and disregarded by the disability community look at the number of visibly disabled people walking and rolling around during a fucking pandemic unmasked - literally participating in eugenics against the immunocompromised members of our community. It doesn’t get more disrespectful than eugenics.

I’ve been part of this movement nearly from the start and y’all over here building the TERF equivalent in the disability community, just drawing different lines in the sand to be pissy. Just show yourself out. I have no time for your exclusionist shit.

Something that makes me rather uncomfortable as a physically disabled, mentally disabled/brain damaged individual, is this hard line that tumblr c-punk (cripple punk) communities have been placing in the sand regarding what conditions "do" or "don't" qualify for c-punk.

Yes, c-punk is 100% percent a movement for the physically disabled, and specifically the mobility aid user; not the able bodied- regardless if they are disabled in a cognitive way. I am not here to argue otherwise.

However there seems to be this growing misconception that things like autism, intellectual disabilities, and even brain damage do not have a physical impact, or physically disabled those who have it. That chiming in as someone with these conditions is inherently disrespectful, and that these conditions alone could not be physically disabling.

But that's just.... Not true. Realistically, the more "severe" forms of these conditions almost always come with a slew of physical symptoms. Trouble with coordination and movement. A poor ability to swallow, or to feed one's self. Inability to safely go to the washroom without aid, and many, many more. Not only does this often require 1:1 aid, but it typically leads to the use of mobility aids, and other medical supplies/assistance. It leads one to be physically disabled by their cognitive condition alone, and nothing else.

I want to encourage people to think twice about the large, sweeping statements they're making about these conditions, and to reflect on how it must feel to those who don't fit that narrative. Yes, there are always going to be people who are not physically disabled by virtue of being autistic, intellectually disabled, brain damaged, etc. But when you act like it's all of them, you do a massive disservice to the (often overshadowed, and dismissed) people who are.