#I don’t think I realized how. well. disabling my disabilities are until I started work this summer?

[nope-body]

.

[notjustjavierpena]

Gush

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: Just pure filth.

Summary: Joel, your dad’s best friend, teaches you how to come with your clit untouched.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: +18 Smut (MDNI!), dad’s best friend, daddy kink (yeah it was bound to happen), pet names, innocence kink, age gap, dirty talk, fingering, squirting, only very brief piv sex, unprotected sex

Word count: 1k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48494866

Gush

You let out a frustrated groan as you look up at the ceiling, arms crossed over your chest and with the prettiest pout that Joel has ever seen displayed on anyone’s face. He sits on his knees in front of your naked body, cock heavy between his legs but with no intention of using it on you and thus making you even more bitter about the situation.

“It’s not going to happen, daddy,” you say as you avoid Joel’s soft eyes. He rubs a hand over your naked belly, skimming it across the sensitive skin below your belly button. He isn’t going to give up. 

“Well, no, not if ya don’t relax,” he says with a smug chuckle. You try to cross your legs to get him to go away, but he catches you by your ankles and places each of your feet flat on the bed again, “Stay, sweetheart. We’ll keep going until we get it right.”

You’ve been at it for what feels like hours now, but Joel hasn’t made you come yet with your clit untouched but oh, you have been on the brink so many times that your cunt is throbbing and a steadily growing pool of arousal is forming on his bedsheets. It’s beginning to feel ridiculous, especially when he bats your hand away when you try to take matters into your own hands. 

“Daddy knows exactly how you touch yourself, I don’t needa see it again,” he had told you after your third attempt to sneak a hand down to your clit. 

Now, you’ve given up coming anytime soon, but Joel is still determined as ever. He runs his thick fingers through your folds once more to slick up his fingers, then twists his wrist and inserts two fingers into your already stretched pussy. 

“You know,” you say after a soft moan, deciding to look down once again to see his digits stretch you open, “I have to be home for dinner in an hour. Dad’s lighting up the barbecue.” 

“He told me he was getting it out for the first time this summer,” he small talks back at you, curling his fingers inside of you and finding your eyes with his own, “There, yeah?”

He rubs once and you nod, moaning as he starts up a rhythm of his fingers slowly fucking against your g-spot. You shift a little, relax a bit further into the mattress and let your knees fall out to the sides. 

“Don’t think of anything from now on, just of this,” he says quietly, pumping his digits in and out of you. 

It starts out completely the same, and it’s enough to make you want to cuss at him. You know better than that though, and let out a whine, “It’s not going to work. Just rub my clit, daddy, please. It hurts now.” 

“Shut up, I got something I want to try,” he coaxes your orgasm a little further. It’s the same build-up; something pooling in the pits of your stomach and tugging from inside your womb, but God, you need that little extra thing to tip you over the edge. 

Or do you? Something changes then, and you realize that Joel’s other hand is resting just above your pubic bone. He pushes down gently and gradually speeding up his fingers, creating more pressure and friction inside of you. 

“What’re…?” You let out a gasp that even surprises yourself, your toes starting to curl and your clit starting to pulse as if begging to be paid attention to, “Touch my clit. Please, oh— f— Joel, daddy. Touch it. Keep going, no, touch it.”

“No,” he says, beckoning your orgasm closer with his fingers. He makes a come-hither motion over and over again, keeping his other hand still on your belly until he can feel his fingers moving inside your cunt, “Wanna see that cute fucking clit pulse just for me, ain’t gonna be able to see it if my fingers are on it, baby girl.”

You panic a little when a new sensation starts coming from inside of you. It’s a form of pressure that you’re familiar with but not during sex, and you start thrashing a little to get him off, “Joel! Joel, I swear, I— I’m gonna pee. If you don’t stop, I’ll… oh my God, Joel, I’m fucking serious. You’re gonna make me— make me…”

You come with a high-pitched moan as all the tension in your body snaps. Every nerve-ending in your clit is on fire with sweet contractions of pleasure, and suddenly your whole heartbeat goes straight to between your thighs as your cunt spasms from clit to slit. It wants something more though, because your legs won’t stop violently shaking, and Joel seems to know exactly what that is. 

Without saying a thing, he removes his fingers from you and you fear that you might actually have pissed his bed because, without warning, a wet gush has stained the sheets between him and you. 

His fingers enter you once more, and you’re ready to cry as he causes another gush of clear liquid to squirt onto the mattress. It feels so fucking good despite how embarrassing it feels, climax slowly fading as he repeats the move a few more times. 

You collapse completely when he finally lets go of you with both his hands. You’re panting softly into the bedroom, and he gets the shirt he had worn earlier off the floor to cover the stained sheets. 

“Holy shit, the princess squirts,” Joel laughs as he crawls on top of you, but it’s a laugh filled with wonder and excitement. He looks younger like this, you think.

He hovers above you, reaches down to guide his hard cock inside of your still sensitive cunt. Both of you gasp in unison, but you’ve never heard his voice so cocky, “You, young lady, are the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen when you come like that.” 

It’s enough to make any sense of embarrassment go away, and you can’t wait to ask him to do it again. 

.

.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

[gdbatbitch]

TL;DR Please, please. I’m at the absolute end of my rope and can use all the help I can get. Also, just putting out there for those that prefer alternates: my PayPal is dextra.hoffman@gmail.com, Venmo is @Dextra-Hoffman, and CashApp is $DextraDawn. Thanks y’all.

I wish I had the spoons to talk about how horrible I have been feeling the last few weeks in real time. Especially the last 3 weeks. You don’t realize how much one little gland will mess up your entire existence until it’s defective or gone. I’ve been without my thyroid for 10 months now. And I’m still suffering the repercussions of it. 

My biggest issue is my TSH levels. I’ve had to have dosage adjustments twice since January, and each time it results in weeks of adjustment time, and a good portion of that, I’ve been completely laid out because of being unable to function. The symptoms can vary, but generally involve massive fatigue, nausea, hot flashes and cold spells/sweats that I’m not able to control and barely able to combat, dehydration, weakness, and just having that feeling you get with a high fever and a flu where you feel half in and half out of reality and not sure if you’re actually alive or you’re a ghost. 

Also because these hormones think they’re that special, they also affect my mental health by spiking my adrenaline levels and triggering my anxiety. My anxiety alone can shut me down for days. It’s been well documented. So the physical symptoms would trigger my anxiety. I have a really high pain tolerance, but sickness not so much. And I have never felt sicker in my life than I have in the last month. So not only was I feeling like I was dying, I was terrified the entire time.

I’ve not gone into great detail about it openly because it was so scary, and I know when I’m in panic mode I can’t really trust my own mind to determine the seriousness of a situation. So I kept it quiet, at least quiet for me. 

Of course, all of this has completely destroyed my plans of getting back to work and out of this poverty rut I’ve been in for months. I had a job lined up, but the start date was right in the middle of my being incapacitated. I tried to work with the company to push back my start date, but that didn’t happen. I’m in the midst of interviewing for a job that would be absolutely perfect, but I’m still waiting for next steps on their part. Aside from those, as anyone currently seeking a job will tell you, it’s abysmal out there. I’ve applied for over a hundred jobs in the last 4 months and I’ve barely gotten any responses. 

I’ve been asked if I’m going to be doing art commissions, and if I were more capable, sure. I’d be silly not to try. But I’ve not been anything close to capable for weeks. I’ve only been back to 100% for a few days now, and even that has been sketchy. So I’m putting a pin in that for now, at least until I can knock out a sketch or two to knock the rust off. 

I was hoping to be done with fundraising, it’s so nerve-racking. But right now, my survival is in peril. I just submitted a request for what will be my last unemployment payout. It wasn’t much, but it was barely keeping me afloat. After that, I’m kinda screwed unless I can figure something out. 

I still haven’t made rent for August, my car payment is late, I’ve got bills up to my ears and I’m just worried that I’m not going to have those things very very soon if I can’t keep up. If I can at least hit the goal on the fundraiser, that can keep me going until I can get back to work (fingers crossed). 

I’ve been struggling with asking for help for a while now because I feel like I’ve been holding my hat out for far too long, but I don’t really have a choice anymore. I’ve also been struggling with a lot of internalized ableism as well because I know I’m disabled and shouldn’t push myself as hard as I do. But that’s a rant for another time.

Please, please. I’m at the absolute end of my rope and can use all the help I can get. Also, just putting out there for those that prefer alternates: my PayPal is dextra.hoffman@gmail.com, Venmo is @Dextra-Hoffman, and CashApp is $DextraDawn. Thanks y’all.

[janeyseymour]

Hii hope ur doing well x If ur still accepting requests for Mel x Reader could u do one where reader has some type of disability like chronic pain and they have a flare at school (cause they both work there) and Mel immediately runs to action and there's like Loooots of comfort etc hehe :3

I hope this is what you're looking for!

Too Late Now

WC:~4.3k

You usually have this under control. Since your fourth concussion, you’ve dealt with the headaches and the occasional migraines easily. Doctors have been helping you and make sure that you always have your emergency migraine medication at the ready.

On top of that, it’s been seven years that you’ve been living with this. You know the when a headache or a migraine is coming for the most part. You didn’t even bother writing down on your forms when you got hired that you should technically have accommodations due to your chronic migraines. You just know how to handle them at this point. It’s part of your everyday life. 

Melissa, your girlfriend, doesn’t even know about your condition. She doesn’t need to know. You saw the way she sprung into action when you had the flu a few months ago- or when you had caught the stomach bug from the kids. After taking care of you with absolutely no complaints, she got sick both times herself. You took care of her too, much to her dismay. She was a caretaker, she did not like to be the one being taken care of.

When you wake up, you feel a little funny. But something is going around the school, as it always is around this time of year. So you chalk it up to that, and you take an Advil and an allergy pill. 

When you’re leaving, you almost have half a mind to throw in your migraine medication just in case… but you get distracted by a text from Melissa asking if you wanted coffee this morning from Dunkin.

Of course I do, you reply back.

Your usual?

Please, and thank you.

Sounds good. I’ll see you at school gorgeous.

And because of that text exchange, you forget to throw your pills in your purse and leave the house. 

As you’re driving, your headache worsens just slightly, and you groan. Allergy season was bad at this time of year, and your sinuses have been paying for it- post nasal drip is at an all time high, you’ve already had an ear infection this season, and you’ve been getting sinus headaches because of it. You don’t realize a migraine is coming on yet, so you just pop another Advil before you head into Abbott.

Your girlfriend is waiting for you in the teacher’s lounge like usual, and she almost immediately sees how unwell you’re feeling.

“Hey, baby,” she says softly as she kicks out the seat next to her.

“Hey,” you sigh, but you don’t take a seat. You just lean down and peck her lips before standing back up straight with a grimace.

She hands you your coffee with a frown. “You feelin’ okay, hon?”

“Allergies,” you say through a yawn. “I think I’m gonna go sit in my classroom this morning, but you enjoy your news.”

“Alright, hon. Do you want me to come with you?”

“I know how much you like your news,” you tell her. “I’ll be okay.” You head to your classroom, and she watches you in concern.

By the time the kids are supposed to come in, you know exactly what’s happening- a migraine is coming on. And you, like an absolute lovesick idiot, forgot your medication because you were too busy texting your sweet girlfriend. Your head is in your hands as you massage at your temples, the lights are off, the sound of the barely functioning air conditioning is making your eyes throb in pain. 

Hypothetically, you could call out now. But there’s a shortage in substitutes, you don’t think you can even think properly to create sub plans, the thought of moving from your desk makes you want to cry, and you know it’s only a short amount of time until you’re unable to drive for the next… eleven hours. You probably wouldn’t even be able to make it the drive home.

You have no idea how you’re going to survive today without your medication.

When the kids start to make their way in, you nearly burst into tears. You silently thank God that you didn’t put any makeup on today. You throw your sunglasses on as they trickle in, and you stay seated at your desk. 

You can’t teach today, and you know this. It’s going to be a day where the kids sit quietly and watch magic school bus, you take them out for extra recess, and then they can sit and work on their projects, or read and draw. You don’t care what happens today, as long as they aren’t loud. 

Again, your kids think that they have a sub until they see you sitting at your desk in the dark.

“Ms. Y/N?” one of the girls comes in and runs up to your desk.

“Hey, sweetheart,” you say softly, and even the eight year old can see the pain etched in your face.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m okay, Skylar,” you tell her quietly. “Ms. Y/N’s head just hurts, so today is mostly going to be an independent and quiet work day. Unpack and get ready for today, love bug.”

The little girl gives you a gentle hug before going to her desk and unpacking. You keep your eyes closed as the rest of them trickle in, and they’re oddly quiet. They are never this quiet. You almost always have to remind them to do their handwriting pages and do their lunch count.

When you do open your eyes to take attendance and explain to them what’s happening today, you see that Skylar had quietly taken it upon herself to write the morning routine on the board.

Morning! The note on the board reads. Ms. Y/N’s head hurts, so come in quietly. Unpack, lunch count, the next page in journal, then DEAR. 

Your heart melts, and you realize how lucky you are that your students genuinely care about you the way that they do. Skylar is over by the lunch count board writing a tally for you, and she quietly comes and slips it over to you.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” you whisper to her, and you have a small tear trail down your cheek. “Do you want me to take it to Ms. Schemmenti to put in, or should I take it down to the office?”

“I can put it in, honey,” you give her a gentle squeeze before opening your laptop. You wince immediately due to the light, but you can handle this. You can’t have her go down to Melissa’s- your girlfriend would flip her lid when she found out how under the weather you were feeling and you didn’t stay home or ask for her help. 

All of your students watch you silently. They’ve never seen you this drained. Sure, they’ve seen you sick; you rarely call out. They’ve seen you tired after a night of volunteering or staying up late to finish grading papers and preparing for them. But they have never, ever seen you this down- to the point that your skin is pale and you can’t take off your sunglasses because your head hurts so bad.

“Miss Y/N?” one of the boys raises his hand quietly, and he’s usually known for giving you a hard time.

“Yes, Cameron?”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

You just barely nod and take a shaky breath. “Here’s what we’re going to do today,” you tell them. “We’re going to do our independent work for each of our subjects today- I know we have projects and papers in all of the subjects except math. For math, I’ll have… somebody… take you outside for extra recess, and if you’re good and quiet today, I’ll put on Magic School Bus at the end of the day for dismissal. Deal?”

All of your kids nod, and you give them half a smile. Then you get a shooting pain right behind your left temple, and you quietly cry out in pain. You grip the table for a few seconds and take a deep breath before you open your eyes again. They all look absolutely terrified.

“Nobody tells Ms. Schemmenti,” you tell them as you point at them all.

They all raise their hands in surrender.

“Okay,” you sigh deeply, shakily. “Who is going to lead our morning meeting?” It’s Rayna.

When that’s over, the kids quietly pull out their social studies projects and start to work on them. When social studies is over, they quietly move on to their independent reading for fifteen minutes. And then they line themselves up silently for specials.

“Can I trust you all to walk yourselves down to the gym silently?” As you write a note to the gym teacher explaining that they are coming on their own and to just send them back down to your room when gym is over.

“I take my line leader duty very seriously, Ms. Y/N,” Jayden tells you seriously. “If we aren’t quiet, I’ll tell you.” You nod, hand him the note with the instruction to give it to the PE teacher, and they’re off.

You get approximately forty-five minutes of peace and absolute silence. You close the door, grab your coat and throw it over your head, and lay down on the back table. You’re small enough to fit if you curl up.

On your kids’ way back to the classroom, they just happen to see your girlfriend in the hallway on her way out of the teachers’ lounge.

“Where’s Ms. Y/N?” the redhead asks with a popped eyebrow. You always walk with your children everywhere.

All of the kids look at each other nervously, remembering the way you told them that they weren’t to tell the second grade teacher. But Melissa is staring them down.

“She called the gym teacher and told him to just let us walk down by ourselves because she had to use the bathroom,” Jayden tells a fib, and he hates doing it to his former teacher. But he promised you.

Melissa furrows her brows, but Jayden’s always been a good kid. “Okay… Well, tell Miss Y/N to put up another class compliment star because you’re all walking through the hallway very nicely.”

The line leader nods and takes off in the direction of your classroom, while Melissa heads towards the office to make copies.

You’ve just barely managed to get yourself back to your desk when the kids come back in, but your migraine is starting to make you nauseous, and you don’t even know what to do anymore. You won’t even be able to drive yourself home, so you just have to wait this out- at least you should get paid for it.

“We saw Ms. Schemmenti in the hall,” Omari tells you quietly while everyone else is getting out their snacks. “She said to give us a class compliment star because we were walking so nicely.”

“Nobody said anything, did they?” you ask.

“Jayden told her you were in the bathroom and told the gym teacher to just let us walk down,” your student says. “I don’t think he liked having to lie to her though… and Ms. Schemmenti didn’t really look like she believed him.”

As if on cue, the second grade teacher is knocking softly on your doorframe. She looks so concerned for you. “Ms. Y/N?”

You thank God you weren’t facing the door and have half a mind to rip off your sunglasses before standing and meeting her on the other side of the room. “Class, eat your snacks while I talk to Ms. Schemmenti in the hallway.”

“Amore,” Melissa whispers softly as she gets a look at you. “You look terrible. Why don’t you go home? I can split your class between the other third grade class and mine- not like I haven’t juggled two grades at one time before.”

“I- I can’t go home,” you mumble, and you wince at the florescent lights that aren’t out for once.

“And why’s that?”

You bite your lip. You have to admit to her just how terrible you’re feeling. She’s going to flip out and become insanely protective. She’s going to be upset you didn’t tell her about your condition before. “I get chronic migraines sometimes, and I… I have one right now.”

“Oh, hon,” Melissa whispers sympathetically.

“I usually have meds for it to lessen the pain, but I left it at my house this morning, and I think if I tried to drive home, I would throw up or black out,” you tell her honestly. “The kids have been really great this morning though, and they understand.”

“How can I help?”

“During my math period, can you take them outside? They deserve extra recess today,” you practically whimper as you close your eyes and brace yourself for the shooting pain you can feel getting ready to come on.

“Why don’t I just split the kids for the rest of the day while you lay down?” your girlfriend suggests.

“I’m here, they’re behaving and quiet, and I need to get paid,” you tell her. “They’re okay with me for everything except math.”

“Okay, sweetheart,” the redhead sighs. “But you just call if you need me, you hear?”

“I know,” you say softly. “I’ll be-” You cut yourself off with a whine and grab her arm as the pain comes. When it’s over, you relax and finish, “-fine.”

Your girlfriend shakes her head with a deep breath before stepping into your classroom. Jayden looks terrified.

“Ms. Schemmenti, I didn’t mean to lie to you,” he says quickly. “I didn’t want to, but I-”

“It’s okay, buddy,” she says softly before looking to the rest of the class. “You be on your best behavior for Ms. Y/N, and if anything happens, you come down to my room. I’ll be over during your math time for extra recess if you continue having a great day. Capiche?”

“Capiche,” your students reply, and you walk slowly into your room before putting your glasses back on and putting your head in your hands. Melissa gives you a gentle pat on the back before squeezing your shoulder three times.

Your kids finish their snack, and when that’s over they work on their research project for writing. They line themselves up silently for lunch and walk themselves down. You take up your position on your back table again, and close your eyes. You beg God to make the pain stop, and you finally give in, crying.

What you don’t know is that your sweet, sweet girlfriend is on her way to your apartment to grab your medicine. She also grabs a gatorade and your favorite hoodie (that is actually hers). She stops at Wawa and grabs you a Tasty Cake before returning to the school.

When she gets to your classroom, her heart breaks. She can see the way that you’re shaking from underneath your coat, and she has no doubt that you’re crying.

“Oh hon,” she mumbles as she makes her way over to you. She lays a delicate hand on your back and rubs up and down soothingly. “I brought your medicine, your favorite hoodie, and a Tasty Cake from Wawa. Can you take the medicine for me?”

Her kindness and gentleness just makes you cry even harder- and that only makes your head hurt worse.

Your alarm on your watch starts to go off, and you whine. “I don’t think I can do my recess duty today.”

“I’ll get the music teacher to cover it- she’ll do anything to get some of my meatballs,” your girlfriend tells you. “You just take your meds, and hopefully they kick in.”

You nod, just barely manage to sit up and take the medication and you take the hoodie and ball it up and put it under your head. 

After she calls the music teacher and arranges your coverage, she asks, “Jeet today?”

“No,” you mumble.

“Can you try to eat the cupcakes I brought?” At your nod, she opens it for you and practically feeds it to you.

“Did you eat?” you ask your girlfriend.

“Don’t worry ‘bout me,” she dismisses your concern. “I’ll get my lunch in eventually- just might be while the kids are running around on the playground for math.”

Once you’ve had one of the cupcakes, you groan. “I don’t think I can eat anymore.”

“Okay, hon,” Melissa frowns. “You know your body.”

“My body wants to sleep.”

“Well, you have another thirty minutes of recess, and you know I’ll always take your kids for you,” your girlfriend reminds you.

You nod and close your eyes. “Set my alarm for the end of recess? And if you wouldn’t mind just sending my kids here from outside for me?”

She presses a delicate kiss to the side of your head, but she doesn’t set your alarm. She fully intends to let you sleep the rest of the school day, and she’ll take your kids for you- all twenty three of them. She can handle it.

It’s not like Ava is here to tell you you can’t get paid for today. And in reality, Ava wouldn’t care anyway.

Your perfect, wonderful girlfriend picks your kids up from recess, and she has no idea how she manages this, but every single child is able to grab their belongings without waking you up. They were even able to silently move their chairs.

When you wake back up, your head is still pounding. It’s starting to ease up though. You glance at your watch from underneath your coat.

4:12 is staring back at you. School has been over for an hour…

You take your coat off of your head to see a classroom without chairs and Melissa perched on the closest desk to you, glasses on the tip of her nose and reading something on her phone.

“There’s my gorgeous girl,” she says quietly as she puts her phone away. “How’re you feeling?”

“Mel, why didn’t you wake me?”

“You needed rest. Your kids’ chairs are in my room, and I told them to just come get them tomorrow.”

“I slept at school for almost four hours.”

“And how are you feeling now?” she prompts again.

“The prescription is starting to kick in,” you mumble. “But because I didn’t take it during the onset, I mostly just have to ride it out.”

“How long do your migraines usually last?”

“Hopefully, I only have another three hours of this hell,” you tell her.

“And are you feeling okay to go home?”

“I’m shocked Mr. J hasn’t come in here to kick us out,” you grumble.

Melissa flashes you that devious Schemmenti smile. “He did. But I told him… in a non-threatening way… that we would be staying here until you woke up on your own, and I would lock up the school.” She twirls the keys around her finger. “Now, do you need to stay here to ride it out, or…?”

“I really don’t know if I can drive to my apartment yet,” you admit sheepishly. “I’m still kind of nauseous.”

“Can I take you back home, then?” your girlfriend asks you softly as she fixes your wild locks.

You nod with a groan as you sit up. You go to grab your bags, but Melissa already has them next to her and both of your things are slung over her shoulders in a second. 

“You just worry about getting your pretty little self into the car, yeah?” She presses a gentle kiss to your temple, and you know it’s all in your head, but her kiss makes you feel even the slightest bit better.

She piles your things in her car as you slowly get in and close your eyes. She gets in not a few seconds later, closing the door as quietly as she can. As the two of you are pulling out of the parking lot, you feel her warm hand settle on your thigh, and she squeezes it gently. It shouldn’t affect you the way it does- especially given how you’re feeling right now.

When she pulls in, she tells you gently to head in and up to bed. She’ll handle all of your things, she’ll be right in to curl up with you and/or nurse you back to health.

“I just have to ride it out, honey,” you remind her.

“Well, we’ll curl up together then,” she tells you. “And when you’re feeling up to it, I’ll make us something for dinner.”

“I love you,” you sigh softly as you drag yourself out of the car. You get yourself into the house and are just laying down in bed as she comes in. She changes, lays down next to you, and pulls you into her arms gently.

“Hon, I can sleep on my own,” you mumble into her chest. “I know you have a shit ton to grade.”

“I can do that tomorrow during my prep,” she whispers. “Right now, my girlfriend needs some love and attention.”

Because of her warmth and the delicate fingers that are tracing patterns on your arms, you fall asleep easily. And when you wake up, she’s still laying with you, and she’s half asleep herself. You wake up to a mouthful of red hair, and you sigh in content. Your head is no longer pounding- you think your migraine is gone. 

“How’re you feeling?” your girlfriend asks you softly, eyes still closed.

“So much better,” you tell her truthfully. “You didn’t have to stay. You could’ve had dinner or graded stuff while I slept.”

“And what kinda girlfriend would that make me, hon?” Melissa retorts. “But I’m glad you’re feeling better. You ready to eat a real meal?”

“Yeah,” you sigh softly. “After a few more minutes of cuddles?”

“I can’t say no to that.”

After a few more minutes, and a rather loud grumble of both of your stomachs, you head into the kitchen hand in hand. She starts making dinner while you go over to one of her bags and start grading the math tests she gave to her class yesterday.

“You don’t have to do that,” she tells you as she stirs the pot.

“I have to make it up to you somehow,” you say as you mark a few questions wrong.

“You can make it up to me by tellin’ me why I never knew you got migraines… and frequently enough to have the good shit prescribed to you,” the redhead says as she turns to look at you pointedly.

You frown and keep your eyes trained on the papers in front of you as you shrug.

“Y/N,” she says sternly. “C’mon.”

“Nobody really knows,” you mumble before you clear your throat. You suppose you have to be honest with your girlfriend. “After my fourth concussion seven years ago… it’s just something I got used to dealing with. I usually have them under control and can just push through them.”

“Why didn’t you tell me, hon?” she asks softly. “Or at least told me this morning when we were in the staff room?”

“I thought I was fine,” you tell her honestly. “It didn’t hit me until after I had already walked into my room, and at that point… it was too late, and I didn’t want you fussing over me for something I could’ve prevented.”

“Hey,” Melissa turns the burner down to let her sauce simmer. “I always worry about you- whether you’re sick or not. But when I saw you this morning, I knew something was wrong. You shoulda told me. I would’ve driven to your place to get your medicine sooner.”

“I was just going to tough it out,” you sigh.

“You were going to pass the hell out in pain,” she tells you. “Your kids were really worried about you.”

“I know they were… They were so sweet today and made sure they were on their best behavior for me,” you say softly. “I wish I would’ve gotten a picture of the morning message Sky put up on the board for the rest of the class.”

“They were just as well behaved for me,” the second grade teacher tells you honestly. “Although that may be because I promised them all doughnuts if they were good.”

“So… we have to leave early to pick up doughnuts for the kids?” you laugh. At her nod, you shake your head playfully. “I’m buying.”

“With whose card?” she snorts out.

“Mine, thank you very much,” you tease back.

With your banter, Melissa knows you’re feeling much better and are on your way to feeling 100 percent again soon. 

After dinner, the two of you go back to lay in bed. 

“Put a few of your pills in a plastic baggie for me to keep in my car for you tomorrow,” Melissa tells you as she pulls you into her arms again.

“Babe, I usually have them on me,” you tell her. “This was a one time thing.”

“I don’t like seeing you in pain though,” she mumbles against your head, kissing it gently. “And if I can help prevent you from crying out in pain at a small noise, I will.”

“Okay, honey.”

The next morning, the two of you show up to school with dozens of doughnuts for the kids, and yours and Melissa’s classes enjoy the treats together. They’re all thrilled to be rewarded with the sweet treat. They’re happy that they can talk in their own classroom again. They’re glad to see that you’re back to yourself.

“Ms. Y/N?” Skylar asks as she gives you a hug that morning.

“What is it, sweet girl?”

“Can you like, not get sick like that again? I’m happy we got doughnuts, but I don’t wanna have to play teacher again for you… It was hard.”

You chuckle as you muss her hair. “I’ll do my best kiddo.”

Melissa just nudges you with a smirk. “I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again,” she assures your student. 

[diamondnokouzai]

Top Ten Ways to Recover From the Loss of a Loved One—Number Nine Will Shock You!

This is a sponsored article! All the advertisements you see provide us with our funding. We’ve marked them with “sponsored content” so that you can tell!

Our advertisements use targeted advertising, so we use your cookies to tailor our advertisements to your needs. If you’re not comfortable with that, disable your cookies here.

Losing a loved one is never easy. From realizing you’ll never hear them laugh again, to almost crying at the grocery store because you put their favorite food in the cart by reflex, to seeing their face on strangers in the street, to the funeral and the well-wishers—it’s never easy. Personally, I recently lost my baby brother. It was unexpected—I suppose it usually is, when someone you love dies—but I kept going. These are some of the tricks that I found that helped me.

I see you. I’m with you.

#1: Think About Them

 It may seem counterintuitive, but thinking about the loved one who you lost can actually help the mourning process. Focus on them. Remember their smile, their laughter, and even their tears. Remember all the parts of them that were alive. Think about their energy. Focus on all the memories you had with them, to the point where you can’t think about anything else without connecting it back with your loved one. Sit in their bedroom and refamiliarize yourself with their smell, their possessions. Remember—if you start to think that you’re doing too much, then you never really loved them.

Sponsored Content

 Personally, I sit in my younger brother’s room and think about the games we used to play together. I take out the old chessboard and play a game with him. I close my eyes and remember his voice, playing back all the phrases he used the most in my mind. I listen to whatever he has to say. It can be difficult, at first, to hear your loved one’s voice after you saw them die, but as you stick with it it becomes more and more natural until you don’t even have to try at all. You can do it.

#2: Be Gentle With Yourself.

 Mourning takes as long as it takes. There is no way, nor any reason, to rush it, so don’t try–simply let yourself go along as time passes. See the sun rise, then set, then rise and set again and again, ad nauseam, all without the person you lost. Let the moon cross the sky without taking in anything around you. Let the loss wrap itself around you without anything changing. Don’t let anyone else try and force you to grieve any faster than you need to. Don’t let anyone else control your mourning. No one but you can decide how you mourn—if you’re more comfortable sleeping the day away than going to therapy, that’s no one’s business but your own! Remember, it’s your pain. Only you can make it go away.

Sponsored Content

 And even when you hear their voice at night or in the television static begging for you to bring them back, remember: that’s just proof that it’s working!

#3: Get Into Nature

 It’s important to recognize the healing power of nature. My younger brother used to love going on long hikes at night, and while I personally am connecting with his memory by going into the woods, even if you don’t have that kind of connection with nature, going outside and getting close with the plants can be healing. The sight of so much life all around you, the smell of plants and the feeling of leaves, the disgust that roils over you as soon as you remember that as alive as the plants are, none of the people you love will ever be so alive again. You will finally understand why they died, even if you don’t accept it.

 Remember, go as far into the forest as you can. As long as you remember the first two steps, you won’t get lost—or, at least, not lost enough for it to stick. You just have to stick with it, further into the forest, until the sun sets. Until you can’t even see the trees in front of your face, and then go further. Just past those dead bushes, past the cordon, past the sign. Then you’ll be there. Then you won’t have to accept anything.

 Remember. I see you. I’m with you.

#4: Read!

Just like getting into nature, getting into books is a great way to help escape from the pressure that comes with

Spo

    nsored Content

mourning. If you aren’t sure where to start, you can always ask your local bookstore owner, or check for resources online! Personally, I would recommend The Worst Loss: How Families Heal From the Loss of a Child, The Turn of the Screw, and Pet Sematary. Of course, if you would rather read The Shining or The Body Keeps the Score, then that’s completely fine. What’s most important is that, whatever it is that you’re reading, you’re still thinking about your loved one. Remember, you can’t forget them. Do you think that they would want to

Sponsored Content

be forgotten? Of course not! You’ve heard them begging!

#4: Connect With Other People

 Obviously, you aren’t the only one who remembers your loved one. They were too good for you to be the only one who remembers them. Other people knew them, too, and you can always speak to the other living about your mutual loss. Personally, I speak to my parents. When my baby brother was alive, my parents frequently scolded him, but it seems that they’ve begun to regret a great many things since we lost him. I ask them to tell me stories about him, and I let them cry. Sometimes, I even start crying too—but that’s healthy! It’s important to get all your emotions out.

Sponsored Content

 But that doesn’t mean that you have to forgive them. They know what they did, after all. They know that they ignored your loved one while he was screaming, begging to live. What kind of parent could ignore their own child? What kind of parent would hurt their own child? They know what they did! If they regret it now, isn’t it too late? There’s no more forgiveness after death.

 You wouldn’t want to forgive the person who killed someone you loved. They wouldn’t want you to forgive them.

#5: Keep Everything Clean.

 It can be hard to remember the basics, when you’re grieving. Soap, bleach, baking soda—who cares about any of that once they’re dead? But you have to keep things clean, even if there’s no point in going on. If things get to be in too much disarray, the neighbors could notice and interfere, and no good ever came from an interloper.

Sponsored Content

 Here’s a neat life hack: buy all the cleaning supplies in advance on one trip! That’s one less time you have to go out and talk to people. Get three or four jugs of bleach, six or seven boxes of baking soda, and about three gallons of soap. You might get some looks at the cash register, but that’s why they invented self-checkout!

#6: Make a List

Planning can be difficult when you have so much on your plate. The best thing to do for it is to make very basic lists so that you know what you have to do, and to break it down into smaller, more manageable parts. For things like doing the dishes, you can make the steps as simple as picking up a plate, putting it under the water, and turning on the faucet. For more difficult things, like living, you can make it even smaller—step one, wake up. Step two, open your eyes. Step three, inhale. Step four, exhale.

Sponsored Content

 Or, you can always just give up! After all, if you really loved the person you lost, you would want to be with them, wouldn’t you? Or are you as selfish as they say?

 Don’t worry. I believe in you, at least!

#7: Get Into Art!

Sponsored Content

 Art can be a great way to get your emotions out. Obviously, there’s no such thing as bad art, but you should try to keep your art true to yourself and to your mission. Don’t ever forget about why you lived when they didn’t, you worthless piece of shit.

Sponsored Content

 And while it can be tempting to break the rules of art, remember: you have to know the rules to break them! Henry Capaldi didn’t break onto the art scene by blowing up statues, but by building them. So remember—five points per pentacle, and while blood type doesn’t matter as much as it was once believed to, it does still have to be human!

#8: Figure Out What You’ll Give Up

Sponsored Content

 Some people struggle with this step. Should the bedroom be packed up and stored, or should it stay in place? When can old homework assignments be recycled, if ever? Is it more important that you live, or that your loved one lives? Is there anyone else you can give up? Will it even work, if you aren’t sacrificing yourself?

Sponsored Content

There is no “right” answer to these questions. It all depends on what kind of person you are. Personally, I chose my parents—there is nothing a parent should want more than for their children to live, after all. They know what they did, and so do I.

 And besides, Mom hasn’t been the same since the accident. She’d want this.

#9: Visit The Grave

Sponsored Content

 Some people say that you should visit the grave in order to get closure, but that’s not why you’re here, is it? Bring your shovel. It’s so dark down there, you have to get them out. They still need a body, after all. Carry them carefully—depending on how long it’s been, they might be falling apart. That’s alright. Once they’re back, everything will be better again! Just like before! I wouldn’t lie to you,

Sponsored Content

would I?

 This is where things get tricky. You can’t let anyone see you take them out of the graveyard—they wouldn’t understand. They would tell you to leave well enough alone. But they haven’t gone through what you have. Not like me. I know all about this kind of pain.

Sponsored Content

Remember. I see you. I’m with you.

#10: Get Into Nature

 It’s important to recognize the healing power of nature. You have to do this at night, of course, preferably when the moon is full, but if you have a flashlight, it shouldn’t be a problem. Into the woods, now. Past the deadfall. Ignore the figures you see in the darkness—you’ve been so stressed lately, sometimes your mind plays tricks on you. Just keep going. You’ve got all the materials you need now, and even if you can feel some of the cold, slimy parts of your loved one dripping down your chest and into your boot until it squelches between your toes, that doesn’t matter anymore. You’re almost to the cemetery! Don’t give up!

You want him to come back, don’t you? You loved him. And now you can love him again! Just get into the cemetery and bury him again. This time it’ll be better than the first funeral. You’ll be able to embrace him this time, no one will stop you. You’ll be there for him! Isn’t that wonderful? Aren’t you happy?

 Why not?

 Ignore the corpses you see on the ground and the freshly disturbed dirt. Your mind is just playing tricks on you. Focus on your loved one. Kneel down and pray if you want, but it won’t help you now. Not since you already came so far.

 Ignore the sounds you hear coming from behind you. There’s no one there.

 Don’t worry. You’ll be with your loved one soon.

 I’m sorry for tricking you. I just needed one more body.

 Remember. I saw you. I was with you.

#11: Dead Isn’t Better

 He’s back! Isn’t this wonderful? He’s just like how he was. It doesn’t matter how much of his skin or flesh is missing, or what he says. He’s just like he used to be. Everything’s just as good as it was. You don’t need your parents anymore. You don’t need anything! He’s back home with you. Isn’t that perfect? Aren’t you finally happy?

Sponsored Content

 Why not?

[cosmicjoke]

Hey, I know you probably don’t let those hateful people bother you, but I just wanted to say something anyway. I really think you’re an amazing person and super smart, and I’ve learned so much from your blog and your fics, both about AoT and Levi specifically and also life in general. Because of you, I’ve become more aware and understanding, especially about stuff like disabilities and how ableism shows up everywhere. Honestly, I used to be clueless about all that. I didn’t even realize how common ableism is until I started reading your work. It’s awful seeing people attack you on your blog all the time just for writing about Levi’s disabilities. You’ve also taught me so much about trauma (sexual trauma in particular) and mental health. I’ll admit, I used to be really judgmental about eating disorders, especially anorexia. I thought it was just about vanity or being picky with food. I’m ashamed to say that now. I didn’t get it AT ALL. But your writing changed that for me. On top of that, the way you write about Levi’s struggles with his sexuality really hit me. I grew up in a place that’s super unkind toward queer people, so I relate a lot to how Levi feels in your story. It’s terrible that people accuse you of “hating straight women” just because you write Levi as queer. Anyway, I just wanted you to know how much your work has impacted me. And reading your analysis posts on your blog has helped me come away with a better understanding and appreciation for AoT and Levi as a character. Don’t let these unhinged haters get you down! And as a side note, some of your anons and haters need a reminder that fiction is, well, fiction lol I love seeing my favorite characters struggle and suffer because it’s cathartic. There’s a reason angst, whump, and hurt/comfort are so popular. That doesn’t mean we love the character any less. Keep doing what you’re doing!

Hi there! First of all, thank you so, so much! Your words are incredibly kind and I honestly found myself smiling reading them. To know my writing, whether it’s been my fiction or my analyses, has helped you in any way, let alone all the ways you’ve detailed here, is the biggest compliment I could receive. I always hope the stuff I write will end up being beneficial in some way, either in engendering an appreciation in others for the things I love, or in helping engendering greater sympathy and understanding toward the things I tend to explore in my fiction, and hearing you say my writing had done that for you is amazing! If my stories have helped you develop more compassion and awareness toward those with disabilities, either mental or physical, that really is the most I could ever hope for. That’s such a big deal to me. Knowing specifically it helped you understand and have greater compassion toward those suffering from anorexia in particular is amazing to hear, and also to know it made you more aware of how unfortunately prevalent ableism is. Thank you so much for sharing that with me. And thank you also for sharing how my depiction of Levi in my stories has given you some sense of solace with your own experiences growing up! Again, that’s such a huge compliment. I also really appreciate what you said about the accusations leveled against me. I definitely don’t hate straight women, or anyone based on anything so arbitrary as sexual preference, haha. I just like to write Levi as queer in my stories, but anyone who knows me knows I don’t even actually ascribe any sexuality to Levi when I’m strictly talking about his canon character, because the truth is, it’s never an aspect of his character that gets brought up and so, doesn’t really matter in the context of canon. If someone wants to ship him with female characters, or with themselves, that’s fine by me, haha. I seriously don’t have any issue with any ships or any shipping community. Everyone should be allowed to ship what they want without being harassed. Just like everyone should be able to discuss Levi’s canon character without being targeted for it or accused of being anti shipping. Sadly, some people just can’t stay in their own lane and have to actively work to make anyone who thinks differently from them miserable. But anyway, seriously, thank you so much again! To know my work has served as that much of an inspiration to you is honestly inspiring to me, and I appreciate you reaching out to tell me so more than I can put into words! Thank you so much again!

[s3rena-gal]

୨⎯ Hello Nestlings, ⎯୧ ₊°。 ❀°。

This a more traditional gyaru post, one that you’ll find in many magazines like Egg, Popteen, etc…well y’ know how the models are often asked what’s in their bags? That’s what I will be doing! We will be looking at what’s in my bag! Without further ado, let’s take a look! ☆〜（ゝ。∂）

𓆩❤︎𓆪 Serena’s Bag 𓆩❤︎𓆪

😈 Here’s the bag in question!

😈 It’s very spacious and holds a lot (as you’ll soon find out lol)

😈 I got it at a yard sale for $1 i think lmao

😈 the keychain on the side was from Burlington I believe

So how this will work is that each of the following photos will contain a set of objects from my bag. Each set of objects come from a certain pocket of the bag since i like to keep organized lol (i hope this makes sense lmao) Let’s get started!~ 𖤐

😈 Starting with the zipper side compartment!

😈 I highlighted the more important/relevant items to my gal experience (like the tangle since I’m autistic). I will do this for the other photos as well.

😈 i just realized that both my bed comforter and hand cream are polka dots lol

😈 Keys reveal lol~ I don’t drive, so these are house keys. I think I need to get a new keychain soon…the pink strap is lookin kinda dirty >.>

😈 Next is the main pocket of the bag, aka the void where things always sink to the bottom lmao

😈 basic things like wallet, sunglasses, pill box and mask (no, the pandemic is not over and it never will be as long as ppl refuse to mask/vax and compromise disabled and chronically ill lives 🙃) sorry if i got heated but it’s true lol

😈 The accessory bag is real! (/lh) this is where I toss my jewelry, hair accessories (and even a belt sometimes) when I’m overstimulated! This is an essential item for the ND experience if you’re a fashionista in general, gyaru or not <3

😈 sketchbook with a pencil and eraser bc i like draw and sometimes creativity strikes when I’m out lmao

😈 (KIRBY) makeup bag!! It has translucent powder, and some lippies 🩷

😈 Lastly, we have the small pockets on the other side of the bag…good for holding small things lol

😈 loop ear plugs always come in handy whenever I’m in a crowded place!

😈 tictacs, cough drops, and AirPods…yea lol

😈 y’know how I said I had those lip products in my makeup bag? I use the lip balm 90% of the time 😭

😈 travel brush compact! Very convenient!!

And that’s what’s in my bag!! I enjoyed sharing with you all! Until next time:

Xxx,

Serena ❤️

[nomsfaultau]

Daily ask №21 (3 WEEK ANNIVERSARY WOO)

Education edition!

1. The fault crew get magically teleported to high school. To everyone else they appear as perfectly normal, definitely human, high school age students. Except Phil, he's a professor. Oh also the red is temporarily disabled. They also get a note from me apologizing for sending them into random situations so much and the info that they'll be there for one school day and they'll be teleported back when they exit the school after the school day ends. They also have backpacks with their timetables and any other normal schools stuff they might need. What happens?

2. What would each character's favourite subject be? Why?

3. How much experience does each character actually have with school/the education system?

4. Would Tubbo having dyslexia imply that dyslexia is a condition that affects the soul and not the brain? Considering the fact that I don't think they.. have.. a brain. Can they even get brain damage? Or bruises (doesn't have blood).

5. What would each character be a teacher of if they had to be a teacher?

1.Well Tommy is having the best day of his life making friends and chatting and goofing off. Everyone else is losing their minds. I don’t imagine they’d participate willingly given a major lack of familiarity and general chaotic upheaval, but we’ll assume magic reinforcement. 

Phil is pulling his hair out trying to fake lectures on the fly, but is pretty good once he gets into it. Honestly one of the better substitutes the classes have gotten, given I’ve dealt with neonazi subs in the past. He’s fun and nice but can wrangle everyone enough that they aren’t just feral. Philza is unflappable to various hazing rituals, and somehow gets a class to enjoy a brief meditating session like one of my coworkers managed once. Still don’t know how she got 10 year olds to beg to meditate again…

Tubbo is desperately trying to find a wheel chair so they don’t have to explain the flying thing. And then kinda adores it since it’s so much easier to get around and they’re way less tired than normal since constantly flying on a skeleton crew gives very little time to rest. Unforchie living in the woods makes wheelchairs impractical due to the terrain. They keep going hella fast and accidentally running into walls and stuff. Though it’s probably an awful model that is uncomfortable after a few hours rip. Other than that, becomes THE person for school gossip. Literally knows all the dirt within hours. Cheats their way through all tests and work too because come on they’re an adult they’re not dealing with this bullmuffin. 

Wilbur is mentally dying. He only knows forbidden knowledge and has never done proper math before. Its only understanding of social convention is stuff picked up in crowds and stores, only brief interactions to avoid further attention. Doesn’t understand literally anything that’s happening, and ends up ditching class to try and hide until the school day is over (no concept of how long that is). Starts stress eating really bad. 

The Blade is somewhat shy at first given it’s a bunch of people he doesn’t know, but gets into it. He’s having fun preforming way above grade level and rubbing it in the face of children. But also uuhsghsja in person school is so long and requires consistent attention in a way that is hellish on the adhd. He misses college schedule flexibility and fewer number of hours. 

2.The Blade likes mythology bc he’s a nerd. And also the voices have scraps of information from the past sometimes. Wilbur likes theater because it’s his natural calling. Philza likes science because it keeps evolving all the time and is really funny to compare to previous human theories on how stuff works. Tommy likes art. He’s not like good but he has fun. Tubbo’s a philosophy guy since omg other people with ethics…

3.Wilbur: zilch. Nada. Never really considered how humans seem to know stuff while he’s had to puzzle everything out. Is jealous when it realizes people are just told how to operate and function in society when it had to learn the hard way. 

The Blade: online classes, skimmed through K-12 stuff and then attended proper college. A proud dual major. 

Tubbo: has gone through the school system twice, plus law school. I think Rosalind was like a psychology major but didn’t do anything with it. Jasmine was in year one, and Rhodes gave Tubbo informal schooling. 

Tommy: a high school dropout because the Foundation got him before he could graduate. Was planning to go to college but wasn’t sure what degree to get. 

Philza: a bunch of weird stuff over the millennia. Not stuff really geared towards children, but I figure he’s dipped in with various philosopher and academic circles. I suppose most recently would be Dr. Anderson rambling about his archeology work, since Phil was a big help on his thesis. 

4.Nah not a soul thing at all. Bees have brains. And also very importantly, 2 compound eyes with 6,000 lenses and three ocelli (primitive light receptor eyes). Now that is a lot of images, though a bee brain does combine them like how we combine our two fields of vision. Except, Tubbo also has approximately 1 million eyes when at the 200k population, most of which is not looking at only the words before them. Plus most of those eyes are very very small compared to the letters. This all makes it rather hard for them to read, which Rhodes interpreted as dyslexia.  

Also fun fact only the insectoid body’s eyes can see the color red, since (to my understanding) light operates differently at a small scale so insects operate lower on the light spectrum (ultra violet to orange). But the insectoid eyes are way bigger so they can have human range too. Though Tubbo tends to call things that for them are in the orange range red since obviously when Rhodes was looking at red stuff that’s what he taught them it was. So also partially color blind, or color+ given the ultra violet. 

Tubbo could get temporary brain damage should the majority of bees get brain damage (probably difficult without killing them). But give them a month and those bees will all be dead and replaced. Potentially could get bruise like injuries from internal damage to honey cells, but they’d probably eat the spilled honey. 

5.Phil is a welding teacher because fire and invention. He helps kids make swords and whatever they can think of since he wants to foster human innovation. He can’t be a history teacher because what he has experience with is very spotty and he’d probably argue with the official version of history so much that all his students fail testing.

Wilbur is a gym teacher. Everyday is leg day. It loves designing weird challenges and games and honestly half the kids probably hate it. He always beats them on the mile, definitely not one of those gym teachers that sits and watches the kids exercise. 

Assuming the orphan thing isn’t a problem, The Blade is an English teacher. Preferably for middle schoolers since they’d really vibe with his edgy humor. Everything he grades is always three months late. 

Tommy teaches graphic design. It’s stuff like editing silly videos and photoshop nonsense. It’s very easy to get him off topic to avoid working that class period. 

Tubbo covers home ec with an emphasis on stuff like gardening. They always seem to know when people are acting up, like eyes in the back of their head but a million times worse. 

[theatrekidenergy]

I think it's so cool that you're a figure skater. How did you get into that? I've debated it myself, but I'm disabled so I'm unsure if I should attempt it or not, lol, but those who can do it have always impressed me and seemed extremely magical. There's no need to answer this if you're uncomfortable, obviously, I'm just curious :)

I just realized I’ve left this in my inbox for so long I’m so sorry man 😭 /gen

1. Thank you so so much! That means a lot to me.

2. How I got into it and my process:

Essentially the way I got into it was that one day I went to an ice rink with my cousin, fell many times, and loved every second of it. That’s what sparked it. I got home with a new hyperfixation that had formed nearly spontaneously and started researching like crazy, it was all I could think about for about 2 weeks before my mom caved in and bought me a very beginners lesson which I passed the first day and went to the second level. (Keep in mind, it’s not needed to commit to buying skates for quite a while! I didn’t buy skates until having had skates for nearly 4 months)

From there I flew through levels pretty fast, and became friends with someone who I now consider to be my absolute best friend. 4 months into skating, right after I bought my first skates, my coach who had taken me under her wing particularly decided to have me perform in a show, The Nutcracker. Was I terrified? Absolutely. But, I was in a group of other skaters and it taught me loads of fundamentals of skating, and performance. I highly recommend taking any chance to do shows like this, especially during the winter months which have great help for beginners and advanced skaters alike. After the nutcrackers my coach skipped me multiple levels into a higher up program.

I’ve been skating for nearly a year now and have competed in countless small programs in my city as well as two different competitions on a regional level and will be in a duet in a show this august as well as a soloist in a huge show this winter.

3. Disability wise: Personally speaking I have fibromyalgia and hEDS, and I’ve talked to my doctors multiple times about the safety of it for me and they’ve all passed it off as okay, plus being on the ice all the time essentially functions as a full body ice pack which feels like heaven if you have chronic pain. Please, before you start skating talk to your doctor and physical therapist about if it would be a good choice for you. I was not diagnosed when I started skating but was in a lucky enough position to be able to continue as well as being encouraged by my doctors to continue it; however, not everyone is going to be the same and it’s important to talk to your doctor about it as you become more advanced for your own safety.

Also, don’t be afraid to tell your coaches and community about your diagnosis! In fact, lots of skaters I know have some kind of a disability, and many of the staff have the ability to give certain accommodations on ice depending on the rink you skate at.

4. A bit of encouragement: Believe me, progress is possible and everyone works at their own pace, there is no shame in being a beginner and I promise you figure skaters are some of the sweetest communities you can be a part of, if you ever need any help I’ve never once had a more experienced skater be rude or even passive aggressive. I hope you decide to make the leap to figure skating, it has helped me so much and I hope it can do the same for you. I hope you have a fantastic day / night and I’m wishing you luck!

[cowboypossume]

I'm Holding You To That

Hehe! @kamikothe1and0nly asked for a fedex sick fic and I will deliver !! I more went disabled rather than sick becasue that's something I have more experience with! When I'm sick I just pass out for 24 hours and mix medicine and don't talk to anyone, so I don't feel like that would have been the best story.

However, this has been in the drafts for long enough so...

Its time !!

Fitz couldn’t open the front door. 

The keys were in his hands, he was already on the porch, the next step should have been easy: moving. Just two more steps, a slight of the hand and he was inside. 

His vision was starting to blur, though. His heartbeat was too elevated. He knew the signs well. Something was about to go really wrong. 

Dex leaned against the door frame, barely cracking the door open. “We talked about this, Fitzy. You can’t expect your body to just suddenly jump back into full force.” 

“I know.” “Do you?” Dex swung the door open fully and started to walk away. 

“Yes, Deck.” Fitz came inside, barely closing the door behind him. “I’m in the same doctor’s appointments you are.”

Somehow they moved to the kitchen. Fitz knew somewhere that he should pin this and bring it up when his body wasn’t on the verge of collapsing, or he didn’t feel 3 seconds away from throwing up, yet he wanted this fight. It felt easier, somehow. “I know that losing a leg doesn’t mean I can go up from five miles in the morning to seven. I know that my body has 17 and half things wrong with it, and pushing the exercises only makes it worse. I know the same shit you do.”

“So why do you keep trying to over-exert yourself?” Dex’s words were harsh. Sharp and built up. “Why do you push yourself so hard you can’t even come inside the house because your body freezes? Why don’t you try gradually building up? Or any other option. It’s like you don’t care about yourself. Or how it’ll affect me.”

“That’s a bit of a fucking selfish viewpoint. What’s wrong with my body should have more weight than how you feel.”

There was a pause as they’d realized their feet were all-but-touching. 

“Ok, pause.” Dex sighed, taking a step back. “We’ve both had a long morning and this isn’t fair for either of us. Go take a shower, and we’ll come back to this when we’ve cooled down.”

Thirty minutes later, as Dex was plating something off the stove, Fitz sat on the kitchen counter. He was too tired to fully tell what was happening across from him, but it smelled good, and his body was in no position to object. 

The time of transition was filled with the clanging of pots and pans, until Dex handed him a fried egg on toast with something green alongside it. “About before, I know reminding you all the time doesn’t help. I’m just-” Fitz lightly grabbed the snack, putting it on the counter beside him. He brought his head against Dex’s, “Worried. I know. I appreciate that, I really do. But you have to remember this is my body. I've had the same one for 19 years now. I know its signals.”

“I know that, objectively.” Dex squeezed his eyes close and brought his nose against Fitz’s. “And I’m not trying to control you but you’ve said that exact phrase before. And I’ve believed it before. And I don’t want to be overbearing. I just . . .”  

Fitz brought his hand between Dex’s curls. “There was more going on than just my body Dex. We were literally kidnapped and tortured. Of course my health was at risk. ”

Dex wouldn’t look at Fitz. 

“But my gadget still failed you.” 

“Even if they worked we were still being tortured, Dex.” Clearly Fitz wasn’t getting through. He brought him in for a tight hug, trying to get him back. “You’re a wizard with the mechanical stuff, but that doesn’t fix shitty people being shitty. Or trauma being trauma.”

Dex’s head stayed down and his brain was somewhere else. “You’re changing the topic,” he mumbled. 

 Fitz shrugged. “I think it’s related, but we can just not address it, too. I can eat my toast in silence.”

Dex held him to that.

As Fitz washed off the dishes while Dex dried them, he let out a heavy sigh. “I know what happened to us isn’t easy to talk about, but not talking about its effects doesn’t change them. Maybe you’re right; I could be overstepping-” “No. I brought it up. Clearly I have something there that I still haven’t resolved. I just don’t think you and I should be the ones to unpack it in. Especially in the middle of the kitchen while you’re regaining strength from another stupid idea.” Dex winked at that last part. 

Fitz brought him in for a hug. 

“Ok sap,” Dex rolled his eyes. “We’re finishing these dishes.” “And this conversation.”

“Ok but that is going to happen after I go to therapy on Wednesday. We can finish this task now.”

“I’m holding you to that.” Dex kissed his cheek.

And Fitz finally felt safe.

[oldbutnotyetwise]

When You Say Nothing At All

     I want you to think about this seriously for a few minutes.  What would it be like if you lost your voice and couldn’t speak anymore?  It is something that we all take for granted almost from the time we are born.  A young baby will coo, gurgle, blow bubbles experimenting with sounds and quickly realize that people around them pay attention to them when they do this.  There is absolutely no doubt in any parent’s mind that a baby is very capable of communicating their displeasure from the moment of their birth. In time the baby learns words which slowly form the foundation of their language skills that under normal circumstances last until they die.

     Maybe for the rest of today I would like you to think about what it would be like if you couldn’t speak.  Every person you want to talk to, you can’t.  Phone or video calls? Nope, you can’t make or receive them.  You could use sign language or play charades or become a Mime, except your arms and hands don’t work very well. 

     ALS is in the final stages of stealing my voice from me.  Whatever is supposed to be working, whether it be my vocal chords or the way my tongue helps to make sounds, they simply aren’t working anymore.  When I do try to speak, I speak much slower, I focus on enunciating my words, what voice I have left is now much softer.  So even if you can hear the sound coming out of my mouth there is a good chance you may not understand it.  It sounds silly but I can now become exhausted just from talking.  I mumble and slur what used to be words but now are quickly becoming indistinguishable sounds.  I know what I want to say, the words are very clear in my head but by the time they leave my mouth its like they have gone through a blender and no longer make sense.   I would like to think I was once a good conversationalist, but now I’m just a listener, hopefully a good one.  I am no longer able to ask the probing questions that showed people I was really interested and helped bring their story out. 

     If I’m being honest, I knew that this day was coming.  I knew that with ALS when the person starts slurring their words, they normally lose their ability to speak four to six months later.  I am now coming up on that six month point.  Even though I knew this day was coming, I find it very difficult to believe and accept that I will not be able to speak anymore.  I find it hard to believe I sound like I presently do.  Yes, yes I know, finally my friends and family will be able to get a word in while I am sulking in the corner.

     So the other day Robin and I were out walking Kiwi, she went into store and Kiwi and I rolled down the street to a warm sunny spot to wait for her.  A young man approached asking if he could pet Kiwi.  I said that he could and then we began chatting.  He heard the garbled words coming out of my mouth and I could read his face as he tried to determine if the garbled words might also be indicating a mental disability.  I could see how difficult it was for him to understand me, and in the end I regretted having gotten into the conversation with him.  Chatting one on one with people has always been something I enjoyed, just one more thing ALS has now taken away from me.  

     Robin was out the other day when my phone rang, I normally don’t answer my phone these days preferring Robin take the call, but as it was Sunnybrook Hospital calling I thought I had best not miss the call.  They were calling to advise they were sending a form that needed to be signed, hearing me mumbling they then added my Power Of Attorney could sign it for me.  Numerous other calls like this have come through since I’ve been going to the hospital, this time with my mumbling they added the part about a POA being able to sign for me.

     Sadly, my communication methods are starting to resemble that of an obnoxious teenager who can’t be bothered to actually converse with his parents.  I now point at things, nod in the direction of things, or maybe just look at things hoping that Robin will understand what I want.  When someone is asking me if something is all right I now resort to the ever reliable thumbs up.  

     Now people in my situation have ways to communicate thanks to advancements in technology.  I was told early on to ‘Voice Bank’… save my voice so when it came time that my computer would sound like me speaking.  Sadly I just never got that done, by the time I started trying to do that it was already too late.  There is also something called AAC which is Augmentative and Alternative Communication which includes boards with buttons to push which then say common phrases, or even Eye Gaze Technology, where your eye movement is able to communicate with your computer which can then speak or write for you.  Presently my Text to Speech App on my phone has me speaking with an Australian accent.  I’m trying to distract the listener from this broken old man in a wheelchair and make them think of me more along the lines of a handsome Aussie on a beach with a surfboard under his arm.

     Robin and I have always gotten along very well.  We used this rather unconventional approach to our relationship, we actually talked and listened to each other.  We are each others best friends, and although we can certainly talk about the big things going on in the world, we are both much more interested in what is going on in our own little world.  When we lived on the farm there were always things going on, she would tell me about her gardens, I would tell her about the things I saw on my hikes, we would slip into those easy conversations much like you might slip into a warm winter sweater, they just felt good.  Those nice easy conversations that I loved are now slipping away from us.  Having to continually repeat myself, and still not being understood makes me want to give up attempting to converse.

     I am totally dependent on Robin for my survival.  It is extremely important to me to make sure that I am able to tell her how much I love her, not only for who she is, but also for all she is doing for me.  It is also so important to me that I can make her aware of how very grateful I am for everything she does for me.  Yes you are right, she does in fact know how much I love her and how grateful I am, but it is still important for me to be able to say the words, just as it is important for her to hear those words….but I can’t say them, and she can’t hear what I can’t say…..or can she?

     Through most of my later life when I was struggling with something I would “sit with it”.  Not everything requires immediate action or response, sometime by just sitting with something a solution presents itself, or I am able to come up with a well thought out plan to deal with it.  So I was sitting with my inability express my love and gratitude to Robin when an old Allison Kraus song came to mind.  It was an old favourite of mine, and one I had played on my guitar many times…..and it gave me comfort. 

When You Say Nothing At All

It’s amazing how you can speak right to my heart

Without saying a word, you can light up the dark

Try as I may, I can never explain

What I hear when you don’t say a thing

You say it best, when you say nothing at all.

Robin, Kiwi and I.

[samwpmarleau]

fic: into this night i wander

whumptober day 9: obsession masterlist: tumblr, ao3 Quake’s warpath brings her more than just notoriety.

Robbie makes a mean huevos rancheros. She’d found that out when she’d dropped by on what turned out to be the morning of Gabe’s birthday to see if Robbie — and his other half — had any more information to offer about what’s been going on in the city. He’d reluctantly filled a plate for her, she’d just as reluctantly told him it tasted okay, and thus has been her excuse for showing up here the past two weeks.

He hasn’t always provided such fanfare, sometimes it’s merely cereal, but the prospect of both food and information has kept her coming back. The system she’s constructed for herself has been working out great.

Had been working out great.

“You want to explain this?”

Daisy, contentedly chewing on some toast as she listens to a police scanner, prepares to roll her eyes at his theatrics when she sees he’s holding a piece of paper in his hand. The bite of toast goes down painfully in her suddenly dry throat. She would know that paper anywhere. Even from several feet away, she can see the man’s handwriting. Why Robbie has it, she can’t explain, unless —

“Did you go through my van?” she accuses, getting to her feet.

“No, I went to the front door.” Robbie glances down at the paper, then at her. “Have you gotten one of these before?”

You could say that.

She snatches the paper from him without answering and scans its contents.

Her breath shallows as she reads. It’s not the same as the other letters. Oh, the author is the same, of that she’s sure; the handwriting matches, as does the syntax. But where the letters she’d received were creepily complimentary, this is something else entirely.

After all our time together, why do you turn against me now? Every night I waited for you and you never noticed me. But you never went home with anyone, so I thought you were saving yourself for someone special. For me. I thought this man was just a source. But that’s not true, is it? You walk around his house like he owns you, like he knows you better than I do. He is trying to keep us apart, Quake. Is it my fault? Have I made you angry by being silent for so long? Well, don’t worry. I won’t let him come between us anymore. I will remind you how much I love you. Signed, Your Friend.

She doesn’t realize how long she continues to stare at the letter until Robbie tilts her chin up to look at him. “When did you start getting these letters?”

“I — a few months ago, but he hasn’t been violent like this before. I didn’t think — we’re just having breakfast, I had no idea he’d threaten you.”

“Threaten me? Three years in S.H.I.E.L.D. and is hasn’t crossed your mind that this guy is one bad day away from deciding that if he can’t have you, no one can?”

“I’m sorry, I never meant for you to be brought into it. He’ll leave you alone if I stop coming here. I’ll grab my stuff and go.”

Robbie looks at her like she’s grown a second head. “You’re crazier than the guy who wrote that letter if you think I’m going to let you go off on your own.”

“Let me? You don’t get to let me do anything. Spare me the alpha male bullshit.”

“It’s not alpha male bullshit. You’re being stalked, Daisy.”

“I can take care of myself.”

Challenge in his eyes, Robbie invites, “Yeah? Quake me then. Show me how you can take care of yourself.”

Daisy tugs down the ends of her sleeves, hiding away the purple spiderweb of bruises. The movement makes Daisy’s arms throb with pain, reminding her unnecessarily that even with the bone restoration pills, using her powers means risking permanent disablement. Her left arm’s already broken, her right ready to follow suit. Even fighting hand-to-hand would be recklessly tempting fate.

And Robbie knows it.

A glare is all the ammunition she has, so she throws that at him. “I’ll figure something out. I always do.”

“I’m trying to help you.”

“I didn’t ask for your help.”

“No, just my food.”

Ire growing, Daisy brandishes the letter at him. “If I don’t leave, today, this is gonna escalate.”

“Or it’s going to end.”

“What are you gonna do, kill him?”

“If it comes to that.”

“That’s why I don’t want you involved. You can’t just murder anyone who’s inconvenient.”

“I murder people who deserve it.”

“All this guy’s done is send a few letters. That warrants the death penalty now?”

Robbie lets out a disgruntled sigh. “Look, just … stay here tonight. We’ll see what the danger is. Okay?”

Daisy so does not have the patience for his protectionism. He has no right, and she is not remotely inclined to be responsible for a murder, no matter how skeeved out she may be. Still, maybe one night wouldn’t hurt. She’d at least get some dinner out of it. “All right, fine,” she relents, “one night. But that’s it.”

———

Robbie sends Gabe to a friend’s house for the night as a precaution and insists on sleeping on the couch, something Daisy only performatively objects to. His bed likely is more comfortable than the couch and definitely more comfortable than her van; she has plenty of pride, but she’s not that prideful.

Which turns out to be the wrong decision.

Other than the usual humming of the refrigerator and distant rush of the freeway, the house is quiet with its residents all fast asleep. At first, Daisy thinks the tapping that wakes her is just the house settling. Or maybe the feral cat that frequents the underpass has hopped up on the fence. Except the noise keeps coming, tap-tap-tap, too uniform to be either the house or cat. Groggy yet curious, Daisy sits up in bed and scans for she doesn’t really know what.

Nothing stands out — until her eyes catch on the window she’d forgotten to draw the curtains over. There, almost sheet-white in the moonlight, is a face. It looks like it’s floating, so dark are its owner’s clothes. Floating and staring with hands cupped to the window to better see inside. The man doesn’t blink, his mouth curved into a placid smile. The smile grows when he sees that she’s noticed him.

She yelps in surprise and scrambles out of bed, hitting the flood with a thud. The man mouths her name and moves his hand to the latch that keeps the window shut. It’s locked, she’s pretty sure, but that doesn’t stop him from trying to open it. She wills herself to move, to risk sending a quake at him, something. She’s faced far more dangerous, intimidating creatures than a single man. She’s beaten them, usually with little effort at all. Yet here she sits frozen in the dark, watching as he attempts to enter. To get near her, to … she doesn’t know what.

She wonders what he’ll do when he realizes he can’t get the lock undone. Would he smash the window? Does he have a weapon? The house has a back door and Robbie’s at the other end of the house, what if —

Daisy jumps as the door is abruptly shoved open. Robbie. “Hey, I heard —”

He sees what she sees then, the man at the window. Her breath catches in her chest as the man’s expression twists from eager to furious when he registers Robbie’s arrival. That Robbie clearly hadn’t been sharing even the same room, let alone the same bed, doesn’t seem to matter. Being here at all suffices. The man bangs on the window so hard it rattles in its moorings.

“Go into Gabe’s room and stay there,” Robbie commands. Between his tone and the man at the window, Daisy has no desire to argue. She goes one way and Robbie the other, setting off at a sprint out the front door.

There’s a window in Gabe’s room, too, and she hurries over to throw the curtain over it. From Gabe’s desk she grabs a pair of scissors and backs up against the wall. She can’t fathom a scenario in which the man gets the better of Robbie — of Ghost Rider — but she’s not about to take the chance. Blood rushes in her ears. The way he had looked at her, first with such adoration then such hatred …

If Robbie hadn’t won their argument about staying here, if she’d been in her van and the man approached, if she didn’t have time to get into the driver’s seat to speed away …

She adjusts her grip on the scissors as they slip in her sweaty palms.

She doesn’t know how long Robbie’s gone. It feels like hours. Were he anyone else, she might try to go after him, see if something’s wrong. But if there’s anyone in the universe who could hold their own, it’s him, she just has to trust that.

Her nerves are frayed by the time there’s a knock on the door. Her heart leaps into her throat.

“It’s me.”

Robbie’s voice has Daisy dropping onto the bed in relief as he comes in and flicks on the lights. He seems to be uninjured. “Did you find…?”

“No, coward turned tail and ran. I didn’t see which way. But he gave us those handprints on the window, and maybe he left tracks somewhere that we can check out in the morning.”

“Okay. Yeah, good idea.”

Robbie crouches down in front of her and places a hesitant hand on her knee. “Are you all right?”

“You mean besides never being able to sleep again? Yeah, I’m great.” She glances at the scissors still in her hand, then Robbie in his sweatpants and an old t-shirt. “You gonna say I told you so?”

“No. I’m just glad you’re safe.” Robbie gets to his feet then pulls her to hers. “Did you recognize that guy? Anything familiar about him?”

She shakes her head. “I’ve never seen him before.”

“Well, all those newspaper articles and blog posts, he could’ve come from anywhere. You haven’t exactly been subtle going after the Watchdogs. Quake.”

“Hang on, are you saying this is my fault?”

“I’m saying it’s not going to be easy to figure out who he is. And after tonight, there’s no question of whether he’s dangerous.” Sounding like it’s the last thing he wants to suggest, he says, “You should reach out to S.H.I.E.L.D. They’ll be able to help you. Protect you. Fix your arms while they’re at it.”

He has a point. Between her and Fitz, it probably wouldn’t take all that long to find the man, and she’s willing to bet Simmons has updated gauntlets ready to go. She could outfit her van with surveillance tech she can’t drum up on her own, and it would keep Robbie and Gabe from harm, too.

But the idea of returning after all the damage she’d caused, reviving the roots she’d pulled from the ground, it’s too daunting. Besides, with a new director and S.H.I.E.L.D. in the spotlight, who knows what hoops she’d have to jump through to get their help at all?

“I’m not going back,” she says. “If it’s your safety you’re worried about, don’t be. I’m leaving. He’ll follow me, not you.”

“I can look out for Gabe and myself just fine. I have a demon on my side who’d happily incinerate that guy. You don’t.”

“I’m not some damsel in distress for you to save, Robbie. You don’t get to have a say over my life.”

Robbie clenches his jaw. “Fine. Make your own way. I’m sure Gabe’s scissors and your thirty-year-old van that barely works will stop this guy from finding you.”

Daisy envisions the man tapping at her driver’s side window, or jimmying the lock on the back door, or slashing her tires. Using her powers on him would work to put distance between them … but it would also render her arms virtually unusable, and then what? She’d have to go solicit help anyway, probably end up in the hands of the cops and put in jail for vigilantism. Best case, S.H.I.E.L.D. would take custody and she’d be back at square one.

Doesn’t matter. She can’t stay here. She wants nothing to do with having to rely on Robbie Reyes and his condescension.

She shoulders past him and walks down the hall to the living room to pack up the few belongings she’d brought into the house with her. Pulling a sweatshirt over her pajama top, she bids, “Tell Gabe I said goodbye.”

There’s nothing but incredulity on Robbie’s face. “You’re really that stubborn?”

“I don’t need you.”

“Okay, just — let someone help you. You’re going to get yourself hurt.”

“What do you care?” Daisy snaps. “You didn’t want me here to begin with.”

“I didn’t want you getting in my way and threatening my brother.”

“And now I’m getting out of your way.”

Robbie reaches out to grab her wrist. “Daisy, come on. You’re being stupid. You know you’re being stupid.”

“No,” she says, shoving his hand off and striding to the door, “I’m dealing with my own problem.”

———

Daisy doesn’t sleep well, but she does sleep. Her van is a comforting constant. It runs, whatever Robbie had said, and she’d found a vetted parking lot to hole up for the night. While her meager cot may not be as nice as Robbie’s mattress was, it’s a bed all the same. As the Los Angeles sun streams into the van, awakening her, she stretches and prepares to get on the road again.

A thin breeze alerts her to a fluttering piece of paper beneath her windshield wipers.

She opens it, and the sun loses its warmth.

I knew you didn’t want him, Quake. I knew you loved me. I’ll see you soon. Signed, Your Friend.

[clovercoin]

CloverCoin Artpack 2024 March + Updates

[PATREON POST + ART PACK] Hey everyone... I see March is rounding the corner to being over and I realized I never actually make an official patreon post yet. A lot has been happening on our end / IRL. We recently found our we might need to move this summer... But thanks to a lot of back and forth between us and the new landlord we got a lease extension for 1 year to prepare our savings and safely move out to another place in town or around this town we are currently living in. After a lot of discussion between my husband and I, we're really struggling to find rental single family homes that fit our disability needs AND budget. Rent bubble in our area is about 70% more than our current rent which... is mind blowing. But we are determined! With further discussion we think we agree, we'd like to buy a house to make sure our needs are met and that we can take care of our senior dogs without having our lives uprooted without notice. So our belts are going to be really tight over the next year while we try to scrimp and save every penny to go towards our goal to purchase a house next year. That is scary but also so exciting! Wish us luck, we're going to need every lick of it to pull this off. ~~~ Other worse news... The reason why I've been struggling these past few weeks. My family has been reaching out to me and it's official. My mother has a terminal cancer diagnosis. I do not live near her, so I would like to budget a trip out to see her at some point this summer. We don't have any real time lines yet until we see how to reacts to chemo treatment. She's just started that this month. So that's been a weird tangle of emotions and talking with my siblings about what we expect out of all this. How we each can help in what ways we can. One of my older sisters is taking control of talking with the doctors and updating us since my mother is extremely avoidant about talking about her illnesses. At this time I won't be taking any time off from working and doing adopts/commissions. We need the money more than ever, even just to go fly or drive up to see her. But I will update on patreon/discord when I'm taking a week or so off to visit her. ~~~ More middling news? Our two senior dogs, Ollie and Junior, have been having little health scares this year. Feels like 2024 just started and so much has happened! Ollie has been diagnosed with a heart murmur and is on medication now to help treat it. Diet and life style changes as well to help him stay fit. Junior may have had a small seizure or stroke, for 2 days he was not able to stand or walk which really scared us. Both have been to the vet multiple times this year and are being watched VERY closely. I just hope nothing happens to them before we find them a new house to live in. (knocks on wood) ~~~ I myself am having some medical issues but... Just with everything going on I just haven't had time to assign myself with a new clinic and new gp. My new health insurance won't let me see the old one anymore and it's EXTREMELY disruptive to my whole life. So there's a chance my body might get a flat tire in the future, but I'll try to manage it accordingly. To end it all on a good note, I did finally finish my very last tooth filling / replacement and after a year and a half of constant dentist visits, my mouth is all fixed! Hooray!!!! Now we just have to tackle my jaw and TMJ problems haha. ~~~ I think... that's the big items of what's going on. Why I've been really absent online and for updates. Life just kinda had a weird downpour on us, but we're sorting it out. We signed a new lease. Prov is working very hard at his new job. The future is really scary for me right now and I'm really struggling. Please be patient with me while we go through these big life changes at this time. I'll be opening up new commission slots soon to start a monthly income to help with house savings. If anyone has pending commissions with me or trades, please never hesitate to DM me/poke me for updates. I've been a lot more disorganized more than usual lately and I am happy to give any updates or refunds as needed should anything come up that I can't handle. Sorry bout the long read everyone, but thank you so much for skimming through and keeping up with what's going on in my life. I've been desperately missing art more and more every day I spend away from it, so I look forward to sharing even more art with you all! Thank yo everyone for all your support! AJD . ART

[just-some-guy-at-shiz]

Okay, so here’s a scene: Nessa’s just gained power and started restricting rights, and Boq is bitter. There’s a bit where she keeps asking him to fetch her things out of this one particular cabinet, until eventually he gets fed up. Cue the sounds of furious hammering from another room. Nessa rolls in to see Boq standing hands-on-hips beside the cabinet, which has been ripped off the wall and sloppily nailed on farther down the wall, within Nessa’s reach. It is lopsided. One corner sticks out farther than the others, another corner is cracked, and bent nails stick out everywhere. There are patches of wallpaper missing where the cabinet used to be. This is purely an act of spite. But Nessa is thrilled, because now she can do this one thing without him.

Boq is genuinely puzzled that she’s thrilled. He kind of assumed she liked people to do things for her, because who wouldn’t, right? Didn’t really occur to see it from her point of view, because he’s too self-absorbed and oblivious for that. He figured she just had mean fun running him around on tasks 24/7. But he starts to realize that she really would rather be self-sufficient if she could, and he realizes how much the world she lives in is not disability-friendly.

Yes she’s the governor, so she definitely has the power to change things, but it doesn’t occur to her to do that, because there have never been accomodations that weren’t made special for her. She needs to be helped by Elphaba while at school because there are literally no ramps on the entire campus. Just stairs. Oz doesn’t seem to have any kind of accessibility standards for any of its institutions. Nessa doesn’t try to adjust everyday aspects of her life to fit her better because she never realized that was an option, because no one ever treated it as one. For her entire life, everyone just assumed she couldn’t do things for herself. So she believed that about herself as well.

But Boq doesn’t believe it. …Because he wants her to stop needing him. He’s very annoyed that he’s stuck with her, because in his eyes it would be very easy for her to be without him. Until the cabinet thing where he sees her excitement and realizes that it’s really not easy. So it becomes his one goal in life to fix everything standing in the way of Nessa being self-sufficient.

Out of spite.

Why is Nessa’s (one-story) home the only building with ramps on the porch stairs? You’re the governor! Put ramps on every building, so you can go to all your meetings and stuff without me! You’re already tyrannical, so outlaw stairs altogether! Ramps or bust!

Also, it’s home renovation time! Everything moved within reach (because it all really should have been anyway, but when Nessa’s father was alive he and Elphaba would have probably have gotten everything for Nessa, and she’d just be resigned to her own inability). Add other home-renovation lifehacks for wheelchair users that I don’t know about because I don’t need them and it’s too 12:22 AM for me to bother looking them up!

And Oz has somekinda steampunk technology, right? Too many gears on the set pieces for there not to be, nevermind the dragon. What if we could put a motor on their chair? What if there could be useful harnesses for times she needs to be out of the chair? What if there were those chair-lifty-seat-things on the side of tall staircases?

Anyway. My point is, Boq starts making more small changes, hoping it’ll make some difference. Nessa worries when he’s gone all day, but he comes back exhausted from working on a rough, bumpy dirt path that was impossible to roll over, chopping up logs to cover the path in smooth wooden planks. He re-positions more shelves and cabinets, more neatly this time. He does a few other domestic things that I can’t think of off the top of my head. All out of selfish desperation, mind you, but with each of these changes, Nessa’s mood lifts, and she demands less of Boq, which makes him less moody, and they start to actually get along. And now that they’re communicating, they work together on this accessibility improvements stuff, because who knows better what Nessa needs than Nessa? Now that she’s seen how much of a difference can be made, she’s taking charge of it all for herself, because she can.

Nessa stops being bitter about what she still can’t do for herself, because now there’s so many more things she can. Boq stops being bitter about his whole situation, because Nessa’s starting to ease up on the whole tyrant thing, and it’s sorta endearing how excited she gets. Now that she spends less time gloomy and solemn (or short-tempered), he can see the way her eyes light up when she’s happy, and she smiles just as sweetly as that night at the ballroom…

The huge problem I can’t get past is that he still doesn’t love her. Because Boq is seemingly the only person who doesn’t think she’s helpless because she’s in a wheelchair, who believes in her self-sufficiency, Nessa loves him even more than she did before. And now that he’s growing to be on friendlier terms with her, Nessa would be even more convinced Boq loves her back, when really, he just doesn’t like-like her and that’s that. This might all be for naught. She might still get heartbroken and magic-spell him. But… What if walking, amazing as it would be, wouldn’t “change everything”? What if she already feels mostly self-sufficient? What if she’s no longer bitter about being dependent? Would that change anything?

I expanded this too far. The only important thing is the scene where Boq rips a cabinet off the wall and practically just duct-tapes it on again lower down, and then gets baffled that it apparently wasn’t recieved as an act of rebellion.

[villanesus]

Masooooooon 🤗 for the let's get personal I'd love the answers to:

17, 18, 23, 26, 28, 35, 49, 72, and 79

Thank you, beloved Pistachio! This took me a minute 😅 (Send asks, folks! Pistachio has left you all at least 2 questions from that list.)

17: What was the last lie you told?

Gosh, straight for the throat. 😂 Hm. Oh, I know. Replied to a work message saying “sorry I didn’t see this until just now!”  I saw it, I just didn’t want to answer. 🙃

18: Do you believe in karma?

I’d like to (I have a strong sense of justice [an autistic trait]), but I don’t think it’s real. Or at a minimum I don’t think it’s consistent. 

23: How do you vent your anger?

As an adult, I usually just vent to a friend. If I’m super furious I will find a minimally destructive activity like tearing up scrap paper or cardboard boxes. 

26: Are you happy with the person you’ve become?

For the most part. I’ve realized that every few years when I reflect on my younger self I always feel like that person was an ass clown (no matter what age). But I’m starting to cut them some slack. 

28: What’s your biggest “what if”?

I feel like there’s a couple different kinds of what ifs. What if X never, what if Y in the future. 

What if I had a better childhood is one I think about a lot. I experienced Some Things and had an undiagnosed disability. So I wonder how I would have turned out with more support and less baseline terror. 

My forward facing what if is equally a bummer. A lot of my what if energy is spent on what if I end up unhoused? Which is probably a direct consequence of the aforementioned what if. 🫠

35: To you, what is the meaning of life?

I’m not sure there is one. That is to say, I don’t think there is inherent meaning so it is whatever each person makes of it. I mostly try to find small things to enjoy and try not to be an asshole. 

49: Ever had a rumour spread about you?

A few times. My favorite was during undergrad. I was one of the top students in my CS program. The program was almost entirely men and the popular rumor was that I only did well in classes because I was providing sexual favors to the male professors. 🤣 I didn’t look overtly queer at the time, though I’m sure most other gays would have clocked me instantly. It was really infuriating (still is on some level), but if you’ve ever met me you’d immediately find that rumor terribly laughable. Graduated with an award and honors, though. 🙃

72: You are at the doctor’s office and she has just informed you that you have approximately one month to live. a) Do you tell anyone/everyone you are going to die? b) What do you do with your remaining days? c) Would you be afraid?

That’s just a sneaky way of asking three questions, but I’ll allow it. 

a) Probably. I think context and transparency are important and my behavior would change so I wouldn’t want people to worry (about the wrong thing?). 

b) Assuming (unrealistically) that I will be in perfect health until the moment I drop dead, I’d use all my vacation time (why quit when I can force the company to pay for my last month of fun), make an effort to see some friends, ensure my estate stuff is in order and there’s a good home for my dog, maybe finish writing some things, and eat whatever I’d like. If I were going to die a really painful death, I might consider other arrangements to end things in advance. 

c) Not exactly. I dislike pain and loss of independence, so if those are part of the experience then I would be afraid of that. I don’t think anything happens after death other than the electrical and chemical interactions in my body ceasing, in turn causing my conscious mind to cease. For folks around my age and older, I have always pictured it like the way tube televisions used to turn off. The screen goes blank, there’s an odd hum, and you can sense the shift of static electricity dissipating from the machine. 

79: What is the single best decision you have made in your life so far?

I think my career choices. I work in a field I’m really passionate about and it’s afforded me a decent life in the hellscape of late-stage capitalism. I’m stressed out a lot, but if I’m going to be stressed out regardless, at least I can do work that feels meaningful. 

[pjthewitch]

some updates to be made

- i’m in a committed longterm relationship with a cool sexy and cannot stress this enough REAL thembo yay

- moved out of my abusive home summer 2021, moved apartments twice since bc bad luck with roommates, but roommate number 3 is cool, plus me and my thembo are gonna start saving to move in together yay

- my first spirit companion (A) turned out to be a scam (figured that out when after 2 years and 4 other companions i still could not feel or interact with that one, and i check up on the blog and discover some red flags that i wasn’t experienced enough to recognize before) oh well, growing pains and all that

- i am not too disabled and chronically ill to work.  no idea what’s going on because there are no doctors taking patients in my city.  guess i just have to hope i’m not dying.  good news is, i’m only a part time crutch user now!  probably going to need a wheelchair eventually because my whole body is weak and in pain now, but until i can get my health sorted out, crutches are doable.

- my partner taught me that there’s actually a term for my belief system (i forget what the term is, but if anyone curious, my stance is that all deities are real as long as there are people who believe in them.  i would like to also clarify though, that i don’t support the appropriation of closed practices and cultures.  just because they’re all real, does not mean they are all for you *cough*white people and wiccans*cough*)

- i’ve been learning about the bible on my own a deconstructing a lot of my religious trauma (still think priests are violently sexy though rip, i guess you could say i have father issues ;) )

- my apartment is super fucking cursed bc of my roommates ex girlfriend.  like stubbornly cursed.  i’ve been here 6 months trying to get the beings out and the spells broken and they just won’t fucking go.

- still do occasional work with Hades and Loki, but i haven’t felt as much of a pull towards them lately, though they are still very important to me and i don’t plan on ending our working relationships any time soon.  Loki has been a wonderful sibling and friend, and Hades will always be the father that accepted me.

- feeling a pull towards luciferianism again, but gonna actually do proper research this time so we don’t have a repeat of last time (breaking news, 14 year old “satanist” tries to summon demons and ends up with a black figure in the corner of his room watching him sleep every night bc he’s an idiot, also leaves the religion upon realizing that the group he was apart of was wildly antisemitic (funfact that experience is why i no longer work in groups, no antisemites for me thanks!!!))

- don’t do reality shifting nymore bc that shit is a cult and also doesn’t work, and also in hindsight was actually dangerously bad for my mental health (constantly dissociating, delusional, + family history of schizophrenia)

- mainly focusing on spirit work now bc why are all my spells so chaotic help

- i don’t to pop-culture spirit work/paganism anymore bc i had a not great experience, but y’all are still valid bc i can’t really have the belief system i have and then pick and choose what counts as a deity, not rly how that works imo

- gotta update my blogs bc i’m no longer a tahno simp (rip in peace, still simpin in my heart)

- also not an update but this has been bothering me. hey non indigenous practitioners, PLEASE STOP RECOMMENDING AND SELLING W*NDIGO SPIRIT COMPANIONS YOU IDIOTIC FUCKS, i don’t care how strong you think your bindings are, your inflated ego and ignorance is putting others in actual danger (love, an actual ojicree person who has experienced the all consuming hunger and destruction those spirits bring and had family driven off the reserve by it)