#and apartments not being accessible for mobility aids

[cryptid-writer]

The ada just triggered his fight or flight response

And chuuya is a flightless bird >:)

[thedisablednaturalist]

Literally all the shit rich people have turned into luxuries are stuff many disabled people need (or would need to manage their pain but can't afford it)

Comfy ergonomic chairs

Indoor pool/hot tub (therapy bath)

Massages on the regular

Aides (rich people call them servants)

Yea even a cook who makes you special meals (perfect for people with special dietary needs and for those with severe allergies, as well as people who are in too much pain or are otherwise unable to cook)

Elevators in your house (even small ones just for groceries, my rich aunt has one in her beach house!)

Rich people don't buy these for fun I hope but custom powerchairs are obscenely expensive. It pisses me off when I see another person invent "the wheelchair of the future!" Which then is literally never fucking used because none of us can afford it (and insurance definitely won't pay)

Indoor gyms or even personal exercise equipment. Hard to go out to a gym somewhere else when you're disabled, especially if you are immunocompromised

Outdoor spaces to relax in. It's literally vital for your mental health to at least see the outdoors. I'd rather be bedridden in a sunroom (with retractable blinds) than a shitty apartment with one tiny window.

There's even freaking health retreats these people go to regularly. There's a fibromyalgia retreat in new york where they basically take care of all your needs while trying different treatments and seeing which ones help. Either it's heaven or making money off of scamming desperate people who are able to scrape the money together to go.

Private planes, which I honestly think shouldn't exist, but one that specifically catered to people with disabilities (spaces for wheelchairs/other mobility devices, accessible handicapped airplane bathroom, anxiety reducing tools, trained medical personnel and care team)

Also customized cars, except instead of making gas guzzling racecars to joyride in while everyone else is trying to get to work, cars with electric ramps, lifts, doors, cars customized for someone with limb differences. Those cars where you can roll your wheelchair right up to the wheel. Fuck even self driving cars once they are no longer deathtraps.

Skincare products that are safe for sensitive skin like eczema but also actually work

Nice-looking clothes customized to fit limb differences, access points, look good in wheelchairs, colostomy bags, etc. while also being comfortable and not fast fashion.

Dental care!!! What the fuck why is this shit so expensive!! I don't want my teeth to fall out!! (Disabled people usually need more dental care bc we have a harder time keeping up maintenance)

Rich people go and splurge on all of these even though they don't need them while calling disabled people selfish for begging their insurance for even one of these.

[teaboot]

Grandpa Update

Okay, so if you saw this post, you know I found my grandpa. Unfortunately, after reaching out to family to help untangle his affairs, it looks like he's going to be homeless within the next two months.

We're going to try and convince him to move to the states to live with my mom, but if he doesn't want to, we're fucked. His mobility aids won't even fit through my doorway and he can't do stairs to access my bathroom or the spare bed.

If he agrees to join family in the US, which he can because he has dual citizenship, we need to order him a wheelchair-accessible shuttle for the eight-hour round trip to the passport office and back. Then we need to arrange a shuttle to the airport, send my brother over to meet him at there, and then send him and my brother back stateside.

If he says no, he's going to be living on the street either downtown our outside my apartment, and as well as having no outdoor shelter or parking at my place he still can't get to the kitchen or bathroom on his own and I work full time.

At the moment everything is up in the air but there is a chance I may have to open art commissions to raise money. Whatever he ends up choosing, he's going to need supplies and assistance.

I can do realistic paintings, sketches, tattoo designs, print patches, and linocut prints, but with time being a factor I may end up offering commissions for sketches and small tattoo designs.

If anyone wants to filter out these posts, the tag is #grandpa saga.

Thank you for your time.

-Tea

Edit: Photo's censored for privacy but my hair and mouth and junk are still the same as this pic if that helps at all

[ladamedusoif]

able

(Joel Miller x disabled F!Reader)

Pairing: Joel Miller x Disabled F!Reader

Summary: "I just don't think she'll be able for patrol". But then it's just you, Joel, and your trusty walking stick in the middle of nowhere...

Content/warnings: Reader is disabled (she has rheumatoid disease/arthritis in addition to panic attacks, she uses a walking stick as necessary); Reader had a sister; Reader is an art teacher; strong violence; blood; description of panic attack; references to impact of chronic illness and disability; references to medication; references to disease and death; non-canon compliant; Jackson!Joel; strong language; ableist language and abusive language

Rating: Mature; 18+ MDNI

Word Count: ~3.7k

A/N: After making a plea earlier in the week for people to actually write disabled Reader fic, as opposed to forcing writers to feel they have to tag literally everything in an able-bodied Reader story, I knew I had to put my money where my mouth was as a disabled, neurodivergent writer with various mental health things going on here and there. And this one-shot is the result.

This one is a little personal. I was diagnosed with rheumatoid disease about ten years ago, and Reader’s experiences are informed by my own (though, thankfully, I haven’t had to contend with an apocalypse that meant I couldn’t access the medication that has kept me going). She’s also inspired by @agentjackdaniels, who acted as consultant extraordinaire on walking sticks and panic attacks, and suggested the Joel picture for the moodboard. Thank you, Luce, for this, for fighting the good fight for representation in fic - and for beta-ing the story. 

(A note on terminology: rheumatoid disease/arthritis are sometimes used interchangeably. ‘Arthritis’ often sounds like it’s ‘just’ osteoarthritis to people who don’t know the difference. Rheumatoid, unlike osteoarthritis (which is shitty in its own ways), is a systemic, lifelong, chronic illness and an auto-immune disorder that affects the entire body, not just bones and/or joints. So personally I use ‘rheumatoid disease’ as it conveys more of the impact of the condition. It's also often seen as an 'old person' disease but this simply isn't true - not that this stops mobility aids being modelled by people in their 80s all the time...)

Please follow my writing blog @ladameecrit and turn on notifications to stay up to date with my work.

Dividers by @saradika - moodboard by me

You weren’t supposed to make it.

Twenty-odd years in the apocalypse with your fucked-up joints and no steady supply of the meds that kept you going, pushing through the cycles of fatigue, and fighting off your own goddamned immune system as much as you were fighting clickers and raiders. 

You really weren’t supposed to make it. But you had Annie.

You were sharing an apartment when the outbreak happened, a quirk of shitty personal circumstances - she’d just broken up with her long-term boyfriend - that probably helped save your life. Annie was the all-action sister - the kind of person who thinks there’s nothing weird about spending your weekends doing triathlons and “Tough Mudder” challenges, who had a perfect bill of health your entire lives, who bounced out of bed in the mornings while you cracked and creaked and stiffly manoeuvered yourself into being. 

The good days generally outweighed the bad in the years between your diagnosis with rheumatoid disease and the initial outbreak - or maybe you had just gotten used to the aches and pains and the occasional flare-ups of fatigue. You invested in a walking stick to help on those days when mobility was particularly bad: solid, heavy, and carved in a pale yellow wood. It felt like a comfort in your hand, more a sign of strength, to you, than of weakness. 

Annie helped you through the panic attack that consumed you on outbreak day, working with you to regulate your breathing and relax your tense muscles until you could finally say what was on your mind.

“My meds. What am I going to do without my meds?”

Nothing a quick smash and grab at the local pharmacy couldn’t fix. It was the first of many, stockpiling the little yellow tablets you relied on and taking as many packs of over-the-counter painkillers as you could carry. Useful currency in the apocalypse, as it turned out.

All-Action Annie was never going to cope with life in a QZ. She got the two of you out after months of planning, nights of whispered talk about a town out west that was normal - or something close to it, anyway. She hadn’t entertained your protestations about you slowing her down, holding her back.

“You think I’m leaving behind a girl who’s so handy with a weapon?” she’d teased, pointing to your walking stick. “Be real. We’re busting out together.”

The infection took hold in her about three days from Jackson. Fuckin’ barbed wire, tearing a jagged line through Annie’s hand and leaving behind an old-fashioned kind of threat to life, the kind penicillin had mostly dealt with. But that was then. This was now. 

She died in an abandoned farmhouse in the middle of nowhere, you holding her hand until the end, talking to her about your childhoods and trying to keep smiling until she closed her beautiful eyes. 

It took all your strength to dig her grave. And then, somehow, you found more.

You weren’t supposed to make it. But you did. 

Jackson stands before you. 

He sees you for the first time in the community dining hall, talking animatedly to Maria as you hungrily devour the food set in front of you. Eyes wide, face grubby, clothes ragged. Half-wild, he thinks, like most of the new arrivals. Like him and Ellie, once upon a time. He returns to his bowl of soup and his own thoughts - at least, until he’s interrupted by Maria.

“Joel? Want to introduce a new member of the community, just arrived.”

He doesn’t quite know why he’s surprised when he realises you’re leaning on a sturdy hand-carved walking stick in a solid, light yellow wood. Maybe it’s because he knows how physically hard it is to get here. Maybe he just assumed folks who needed a stick wouldn’t have been able to manage the journey. 

For a second he can hear Sarah’s voice in his head, chiding him for focusing on what a disabled person can’t do instead of what they can. 

“Joel?”

He snaps out of his reverie and looks from Maria to you. “Uh, hi. Sorry, just…sorry. Forgot my manners.”

“I was just saying how glad we are to have someone who can offer some art education in the town, isn’t that right, Joel?”

Your eyes are warm and mischievous as you meet his gaze, silently conveying your amusement at Maria’s rather brusque manner. It’s all Joel can do not to laugh.

“Sure is. You’re an artist, then?”

You shake your head. “Not a real one. I was an art teacher, before. Long time since I created anything, though, so I hope I remember how.”

He smiles softly, his gruff exterior receding a little. “Bet it’s just like riding a bike,” he says, before his face falls as he looks at your walking stick. “Oh, shit. Sorry. I didn’t mean… Shit. Hope I didn’t offend.”

“As it happens, I can ride a bike, Joel. The apocalypse just doesn’t give me much cause to.”

You leave him with a smile and a wink as Maria ushers you to meet other townsfolk. He watches you as you walk away, the tap-tap-tapping of your stick beating out a new rhythm in the heart of Jackson.

You think of Annie every morning when you wake up in the little house you’d been assigned. Sometimes, as you potter around the kitchen, still revelling in the novelty of making yourself morning coffee for the first time in two decades, you even talk to her. You tell her about the town, the townsfolk, your work in the community vegetable garden, your art classes. 

“Honestly, An, you wouldn’t believe how popular they are,” you tell the Annie who, in an alternate universe, is sitting at the kitchen table with her own mug of coffee. “I’m setting up extra sessions to cater for demand.”

There’s something uplifting in how hungry the people of Jackson are to make art, no matter their experience or existing skill level. They’ll draw stuff from memory, they’ll dutifully work on a still life, they’ll even traipse outside with you, wooden sketching boards in hand, and make rapid-fire sketches of the goings-on on Main Street. 

Joel doesn’t join a class - but the teenage girl Maria refers to as “Joel’s kid” does, all potty-mouthed and enthusiastic and pretty damned talented, to boot. Ellie tells you how she’s pinned up the drawings she’s proudest of in their home, “like our own fuckin’ art gallery or some shit.” 

You pull up a tall stool and sit beside her, resting your stick over your thighs. “Joel’s got his guitar and those dumbass model figures he paints,” she continues, leaning around her easel and squinting at the woman who’d volunteered to act as a life model for this week’s classes. “But this shit? This is real art.” She adds a little highlight to the woman’s sweater and leans back to assess the work.

“You probably got exempt from patrols, I’m guessing. On account of the stick, an’ all.”

“Maria asked, and I signed up happily. I got all the way here, didn’t I? I’m sure I can manage patrols. And it’s the least I can do - they’ve even found me some of the medications I need.”

Ellie nods, somewhat convinced, and returns to sketching out the contours around the model’s jaw.

The day of your first patrol arrives. You bundle up and set out early for the stables, allowing extra time to get there on account of the flare-up you’d been experiencing the day before. 

You arrive early - just in time, in fact, to overhear a heated conversation between Joel and Maria.

“She’s doing enough, ain’t she? I just don’t think she’ll be able for patrol.”

“You’ve seen her out and about, Joel. She’s mobile. She’s competent. She’s good with the horses. She got all the way here, the last stretch on her own. What more proof do you need?”

“You’re seriously gonna send a woman with a walking stick out on patrol?”

“I seriously am. Sent you and your bad back out, didn’t we?”

“That ain’t the same and you know it.”

“Just saddle the horses, Joel. And, in case you’re wondering - yes, I paired you together deliberately, just until she gets settled.” You hear her footsteps recede as she leaves him.

You had misjudged how much your already-limited grip would be further impeded by the gloves you’re wearing. The stick clatters to the ground.

“Who’s there?”

You emerge from the shadows. “Me. Sorry.”

Joel rolls his eyes and gruffly points out the tack and supplies.

The first patrol passes in silence. You wonder what happened to the softer man you’d caught a glimpse of the first day you arrived.

On the second patrol, you ask him questions about himself. On the third patrol, he asks (fewer) questions about you. By the fourth, you’re having something approximating normal conversation. 

“Sarah loved to make all kinds of stuff,” he ventures, leading the way on his chestnut horse. “Those beaded bracelets, that girly Lego in the pink and purple, all of that. My girl had enough Magic Markers to supply a whole elementary school. Maybe two.”

You can hear him smile, even without seeing his face. His shoulders relax a little as he recalls the memory.

“So she was a creative kid?”

“Creative, sporty… she could do anything. Made the school soccer team, she was so proud. Just a…” He pauses. “A great kid.”

There’s a few beats of silence, punctuated only by the sound of the horses snickering and the steady rhythm of their hooves on the ground. 

“What about your sister, was she arty like you?”

You’d told him about Annie on the last patrol. This was the first time he’d asked about her explicitly.

“She was the sporty one. I think that’s why I survived so long, truth be told. She was so strong and fast and tough as fuck.”

He chuckles, the burr of his voice resonating in the cold air. “Sounds like a good balance, though.”

“It is - it was. Was.” Your voice grows quieter as you repeat the word to yourself, chest starting to tighten. The horse slows, responding to the tension of your body, as Joel continues to trot on, not realising you’ve come to a halt behind him. 

And then the tell-tale snapping of a twig, the sound of footsteps, and the realisation there’s someone else there, emerging out of the woods. Two someones. 

Raiders. 

The panic attack that has been building inside you gives way. An innate fight or flight response kicks in as you roar his name. 

Joel turns and charges back towards you, just in time to see you take out one raider with a crack shot from your pistol. He slows the horse and readies his rifle, staring at the other man who is now trying to haul you off your mount.

“Get the fuck off me, motherfucker!” You flail against him, desperately shifting your weight to the other side of the saddle to try to shake him off. 

Joel takes aim. 

You think you’ve kicked the raider off. And that’s when you hit the ground.

He can’t take the shot now, not with her half-hidden from his view and audibly fighting off the man who’s dragged her to the ground. Joel is still a little distance away, slightly too far to see exactly what’s happening. 

Why didn’t he hear her slowing? Why didn’t he realise she was further behind than she ought to be? Why did she slow in the fuckin’ first place?

Joel quickly dismounts, rifle in hand, moving closer so he can get a clearer shot at the guy who’s now standing over her. The horse’s elegant neck obscures the raider’s hands from Joel’s vision - he has no idea if he’s pointing a gun at her or not. 

He thinks he has a clear sight on the guy’s head, provided he stays in the same position. He readies the rifle. 

Suddenly, the raider disappears, letting out a primal roar before he hits the ground. 

“You fucking cunt!”

Joel can see she’s standing now, the man prone before her. As he rounds the horse he sees her lift her cane, hands securely gripping the pointed end of the stick. 

She brings the solid, weighty handle down on the raider’s leg with a sickening crunch. Even Joel recoils a little at the sight and the sound.

“F-f-fucking…c-c-cunt!”

Thwack. The other leg. 

Fuck. She knows exactly what she’s doing.

”Keep calling me that, and I’ll keep the blows coming.”

Holy fuck. Who is she?

”C-c-c-cripple.”

”Excuse me?”

The raider props himself up on his arms. “I said, cripple. Fucking crippled cunt.”

“You shut your fuckin’ mouth.” Joel cocks his rifle. 

The stranger sneers at Joel. “Awww, he’s actin’ the big man now. Weren’t too quick gettin’ back down here to save your cripple woman, were ya?”

Before Joel can react, she swings her stick over her head and brings it down on the man’s skull with a furious scream that seems to come from the very depths of her being. 

She screams and screams as she hits him, over and over, eyes wild in her blood-spattered face. Joel recognises this: in himself; hell, in Ellie. It’s the moment when the floodgates open and all those years of pain blend together and zone in on this convenient target, an avatar for everyone and everything who had forced loss and trauma upon you. 

He roars at her to stop, but knows she can’t hear him. It’s just her and the raider, now: her rage and fear and grief finding their expression through a walking stick turned cudgel.

A single shot ends it. She turns sharply, as if snapped out of a trance, and sees the smoke leaving Joel’s pistol. 

“Hey. Hey. You alright?” His broad hands grip your biceps as he looks into your eyes.

Yes, you tell him, yes. You’re fine. But Joel keeps asking. 

“Talk to me. Are you okay? I’m worried about you. Please, just talk to me.”

You are moving your mouth, but no sound is coming out. The familiar vice is tightening around your chest. You look down at your blood-stained hands and you struggle to breathe. 

“‘M dying, Joel. Can’t breathe. All the blood. So much. Why can’t I breathe?”

Oh, he realises with a pang. She gets these things too. And I know how to help.

“You’re okay, you hear?” He’s rubbing your arms gently, keeping his gaze on you. “You’re alright. Breathe along with me, okay?”

It’s difficult to find the rhythm, at first. Joel’s hands find yours and squeeze them in time with his breath.

”In through your nose, that’s it. Slow and steady. Now out through your mouth.”

He can see your muscles starting to visibly relax. A wave of relief courses over him.

”Yeah, that’s it - you got this. You got this, good girl, you’re just fine. Gonna be alright.”

When he’s confident your breathing has settled and the panic attack receded somewhat, he gently guides you away from the body of the dead raider, one hand holding your horse’s bridle and the other holding yours. 

“Why don’t you have a seat for a minute, huh?” Joel gestures to a long, low tree trunk lying near the forest’s edge and opens his saddlebags, rummaging until he finds a cloth, a battered hip flask and a bag of dried apple slices.

”Here.” He wipes the blood as best he can from your hands and proffers the flask, settling his substantial frame beside you on the log. “Have a sip or two, just to relax you a little bit more. Got a snack, here, too.”

You flinch at the taste of the liquor, but take a second sip regardless. The apple slices barely taste of anything in the afterburn of the moonshine. Joel nibbles on some jerky and stares into the middle distance. 

You take a break from patrol, agreed with Maria, and a few days off your art classes. It was tempting to keep going, to return to the light and airy studio and to your students. But you feared a relapse.

And your body needed to recover physically, too. You ached from head to toe, fingers and toes puffy and swollen and movement seriously restricted. You ration out the supply of medication you’ve secured since getting here, and use hot water bottles and plenty of rest to try to ride out the flare in your arthritis.

Three days after the incident, there’s a knock on the door. You hobble to answer it, leaning on your trusty stick for support.

”Came by to see how you were doing. Got you some things if you needed ‘em.”

Joel is standing on your front porch, holding a jute grocery bag. He pauses, as if waiting for you to give him permission to say more.

”That’s so very kind of you, Joel. Come in, won’t you? I was able to set a fire so it’s nice and cosy.”

He watches as you lead the way into the living room, noting how much slower you were today. Guilt laps at his conscience. He said she shouldn’t go on patrol. He knew.

”You want me to bring these into the kitchen for you?”

“That would be a great help. Thank you.” He’s glad to see you smile, after the trauma of the patrol. “If you want a drink, I’ve got some tea and coffee in the cupboard just to the left of the sink.”

He pops his head back into the living room. “What would you like?” 

“A tea would be perfect. Mugs are in the cupboard to the right.”

You wrap yourself back up in your blankets on the couch, making room for Joel when he returns with the drinks and a couple of cookies, sent over by Ellie as part of his care package for you. The mug feels like a comfort in your aching hands, its heat assuaging the inflammation ravaging your joints.

He sips his coffee and you sit in silence for a little bit, watching the flames dance over the firewood. 

“Have you, uh - you been okay, doing okay, since…”

Joel stares into his coffee cup and then looks at you, a little awkward. You smile, hoping to reassure him.

”I’ve been okay. Just the physical pain and exhaustion, mostly. And - well, you saw it. The panic. It can leave you drained.”

He nods and takes another swig of his drink. “I know. I - I’ve had times like that, too. Real fuckin’ scary, when you’ve never gone through it before.”

You study his face for a moment or two, noting the little scar on his temple, the lines on his face, the stern expression completely undermined by the warmth of his deep brown eyes. For an instant, he seems so vulnerable, this strong, tough man sitting on your little couch. 

“I haven’t had an attack like that in a while. But then, I hadn’t done anything like that in a while.”

This time Joel turns to look at you properly. “Not your first rodeo, huh?”

You giggle at the turn of phrase. “Not quite. Let’s just say my stick did a lot of work over the last twenty years. He wasn’t the first to feel the brunt of it.”

Joel nods, and you feel strangely relieved that he doesn’t seem surprised. “Doesn’t get easier, though, does it?”

“It does not. Which is why it’s better to avoid having to do it.”

”I agree. Gotta say, though, I - I was worried you wouldn’t be able for patrol, y’know?”

You arch an eyebrow at him. “I know. I overheard you, remember?”

He blushes. “Aw, shit. Yeah. I’m sorry about that. I just didn’t want anything happening to you, what with your - condition, and all.”

You sigh softly, not really noticing the affection in his voice. “Most of the time, I’m fine. Y’know? I’m slower, but I do okay. I get tired more easily, but I manage. I didn’t come here to be a drain on the community.”

”You aren’t.”

”I know, but I want to keep it that way. I want to pull my weight. I’m able, Joel.”

He huffs in agreement. “Not like I’m a perfect specimen these days, either. Knees, fuckin’ back, deaf in one ear…” 

You chuckle. “And you thought I wouldn’t manage patrol? Anyway, you’re not doing so bad, are you?”

He gives you a little smile, but that constant sadness still haunts his eyes. He stares at his coffee for a moment.

“You knew what you were doing, though.”

”I did. But I didn’t feel like I could stop.” You sip your tea, swallowing hard. “And I’m scared that makes me some kinda monster. You know?”

Oh, he knows. He knows it too well.

”You aren’t a monster.” Joel resists the urge to put an arm around you. “You just… something snapped, I guess. All that - well, all that hell you’ve gone through. It… it changes you. But it doesn’t make you a monster.”

He realises you’re crying before you do, spotting the fat tears that roll down your cheeks. He finds a clean handkerchief in his jeans and offers it to you. 

Fuck it. 

“Can I - can I put an arm round you? Just for some support?”

Your eyes light up, tears or no tears, and you nod enthusiastically. Joel is warm and comforting, his broad chest and strong arms a kind of anchor in the emotional storm. You nuzzle against him, and he gives you a little squeeze on the arm.

”You’re a really brave woman, you know that?”

His voice is quieter, more intentional. You look at him quizzically from under your lashes, unused to praise of this kind. For an instant you think about asking him what he means. But the safety you’ve found in the broad arm draped around you is all you need right now. 

You nuzzle a little against his chest, and watch the fire dancing for the rest of the night. 

[birdofmay]

Friendly reminder that not everyone with cerebral palsy needs canes or other visible mobility aids, but still needs to use the accessible bathroom (unstable trunk/floppy/dystonic, needs the handrails, wears diapers and somebody else has to change them, etc.)...

If your only criterion for being allowed to use the accessible bathroom is "I can see that they have a mobility aid", you don't seem to know much about disabilities apart from your own...

[chronicallycouchbound]

Internalized Ableism As Means For Unhoused Survival

We need to dissect the cultural context of homelessness as it relates to disability. I’ve spent most of my life unhoused, while also being a disabled person who didn’t have a clear understanding that I was disabled, and both of these experiences had huge impacts on my experiences of ableism, especially internalized.

It needs to be understood that it’s not always rooted in internalized ableism for someone to not identify as disabled, especially regarding physical disabilities. Including choosing to hide disability, pain, or weakness. It also includes choosing not to use mobility aids or other assistive devices that could, in theory, be helpful for their day-to-day life. Instead, they grit their teeth through the pain or find alternatives to manage. This is akin to (and may overlap with) autistic masking.

Being on the streets comes with a culture that allows for strength to often guarantee safety. The ability to physically defend yourself, carry your belongings, withstand harsh weather, use survival expertise, etc. are often necessary skills. Showing weakness is vulnerability. Vulnerability allows for situations where you are more likely to be targeted because attackers can recognize your difficulties and take advantage of them. This danger is amplified if you are a part of other marginalized groups.

When I was a young queer and trans person growing up on the streets, my homelessness was inextricably linked to those experiences. If I were to seem like I was disabled, I was putting myself in a more vulnerable position. Once I started using mobility aids on the streets, I experienced significantly more dangerous situations than I had before. I faced more direct physical violence and threats as a result of it. It wasn’t just me fearing that I might face judgment for being visibly disabled, it was that I was facing real-world repercussions, both within the unhoused and housed community. I was targeted by housed people frequently due to the inherent publicity of unhoused experiences.

Unhoused people spend significantly more time in public. As a currently unstably housed person, but housed nonetheless, I have the privilege of privacy for my pain. I can crawl in my apartment freely without anyone literally kicking me while I’m down. I can scream, I can sob, I can dissociate, I can do whatever I need to, with or without aids, and not face violence from the people around me.

I also have access to more supportive aids just by having housing. I now have in-home care attendants, something that was impossible without a home. I have a bed I can rest in at any time. I have a microwave for hot pads. I have a bathroom. I have electricity. I have food. These things were never guaranteed while unhoused and disabled. Unsurprisingly, I have significantly fewer emergency room trips, unmanageable flares, missed doctor appointments, etc. now that I have even unstable housing.

When you have more time in the public eye, there are more opportunities for facing ableism and houseism from the general populace. Those two experiences intertwined, and being chronically homeless, led to me having to navigate internalized ableism as a survival skill because there was a direct link to the ableism I faced daily.

Some disabled people on the streets, especially if they can’t hide their disability, feel more pressure to present themselves as inspiration porn. Inspiration porn panders to ableist narratives about disabled experiences, and can even give you an edge while panhandling. It also acts as a protective factor, there’s a mindset that if you’re not held back by disability, then you are not disabled. Thus, your disability cannot be exploited by others, and you are just as strong as a physically abled person. It’s something we do because we have to in order to survive, whether or not we’re conscious of the ableist narratives we’re feeding into.

There are times when I have to choose to do actions that are more harmful for me, such as presenting as more abled, for my immediate safety. I have to weigh the risks, and often, the risk of being attacked is far greater than the risk of falling, fainting, or being injured. This is not internalized ableism, it isn’t subconscious, it is for protection. Presenting as disabled is difficult enough, but when other marginalizations are added to it, it is exponentially more dangerous. Even more so than it is for me to not use aids or to not accept help at times.

If I wasn’t able to be recognized as disabled, I was granted more privileges akin to those my able-bodied peers automatically receive. If a bathroom wasn’t accessible for me, but I did my best with it instead of asking for accommodations (which is often seen as being picky, needy, or ungrateful) then I was more likely to be allowed to use that bathroom again. The same goes for couch surfing at a friend's house, needing to carry everything I own up three flights of stairs, if I didn’t mention that it was difficult for me or said no to help, then I was being a good guest by not making my hosts uncomfortable. Making concessions like this whenever I could gave me more access to safety.

When my disabilities became more serious, and I wasn't able to keep making concessions, I would fall in that bathroom, I would faint on the stairs, and I immediately was more unsafe. I couldn’t hide my disability anymore, the choice was taken from me. No amount of pandering to abled people would make me able to do those things anymore. For me, that felt like a personal failure. I had been told my whole life that I could and should push through my disabling symptoms and conditions, and I took that as fact. Not being able to do that was a heavy and horrifying feeling for me.

It’s taken years (and is an ongoing process) to find safe enough spaces where I can ask for help. Where I can freely use mobility aids, show my actual pain, wear braces, wear compression garments, cry, rest, and otherwise exist as my disabled self without being harmed. It’s taken equally as long (and is still ongoing) to find grace within myself and advocate for the accommodations I need and actually use them. I still struggle with the pressure to feed into inspiration porn, something that the cripple reclamation movement is focused on deconstructing. I struggle with accepting help, asking for help, or even looking like I might need help. But I also recognize that beautiful things can happen when I get what I need.

It heals internalized houseism to be dismantling my internalized ableism, and vice versa.

Unhoused disabled people are allowed to be weak. Unhoused disabled people are allowed to cry, to scream, to be in pain, to ask for help. Unhoused disabled people are allowed to be human, just like everyone else.

[alpaca-clouds]

Solarpunk and Disability

Alright, let me speak about the diversity issue, that irks me the most about the entire Solarpunk community. Because, boy oh boy, a lot of Solarpunks do have a big issue with disability in many regards. Because they often just do not even think about disability and how it might affect people in a Solarpunk world.

Basically, when they imagine a Solarpunk future, they imagine it as a world where disabilities and chronic illnesses do no longer exist. Which is... kinda eugenicist, to be perfectly honest.

I am disabled. I have AuDHD, I have some chronic health issues and for quite a while I had issues with my legs after an accident. This made me unable to walk long distances or use a bike at all.

And disability is something that actually affects a lot of people. About 20-25% of all people have some form of disability. Only some of them are born with the disability. In many cases disabilities are acquired through either accidents or old age. But obviously that does not change the statistics.

People with disabilities might have certain needs, that need to be met. Needs, that abled people do not have.

A big example of this comes with the consumption of meat. There are those people, who will tell you that a Solarpunk future has to be all vegan. But what they forget (apart from the fact that hunting is a big part of some cultures - and that hunting is going to need to happen either way, because of invasive species and the like) that some people are dependent on meat. Some, because they suffer from allergies, that make it almost impossible to eat much else. Some, because they cannot properly digest plant based food. And some, because of stuff like autism that does not allow them to eat a lot of different things due to taste or texture. Those people will need meat, because otherwise they are going to starve.

Another big example of this also shows in how people design Solarpunk landscapes. Yes, cobblestone is nice for nature, because water can go into the ground. And obviously same goes for natural ground. But... those are not accessible for people with the need of mobility aids. Wheelchairs struggle on those grounds, as do other mobility aids. Even blind people might struggle with that type of ground in some cases. So, while we might wanna try to not put concrete everywhere... at times concrete is just the most accessible way to deal with the ground.

Or another one: Cars. People really want their car free future. But some people with disabilities might be dependent on cars to get around, because public transport just is not accessible to them.

Some people will always go: "But when I imagine utopia, why can I not imagine all of that being healed?" But here is the thing: Especially Solarpunk makes this big point about being an attainable future. And realistically there is never going to be a method of healing disabilities, that comes without side effects. And you are basically saying: "Disabled people should accept those side effects, so that I do not have to think about their needs any longer."

Not to mention that it is very hurtfull to people, to be told that they are not supposed to exist in the way they are in your utopic future.

[blackpilljesus]

I wish I had more methods of self-defense using tools against moids. I live in australia so can't even carry pepper spray in public :(((( and i have to join a club to get access to a gun

It really does suck not easily being able to defend ourselves but there are a few things that could help apart from guns and pepper spray:

DIY Pepper spray. If you're in a country where pepper spray is illegal you can make your own one (tho it can be less potent compared to store bought). Bear in mind pepper spray needs to be changed after a period of time. For DIY pepper sprays change them every 3-6 months as potency can be lost overtime. If you're caught argue it's for food & it's all you had at the time.

Alt (aerosol) sprays. Things like hairspray, wasp spray, and deep heat. If you want to stay clean legal wise but also want something to defend yourself with. Similar thing with pepper spray in terms of being mindful where you spray. I can only attest that deep heat massage spray does pack quite the punch, nowhere near actual pepper spray but can be enough to cause disorientation giving you a chance to run. Hair/wasp sprays are shakey tbh but can help if you have nothing else.

Mobile phone. Ever had a phone fall on your face before? Ouch. But phones are surprisingly strong. Not a first approach I'd personally go for but if there's nothing else or it comes down to it; instead of just throwing punches (that'll mostly be ineffective), you can use a smart phone to aid in landing more effective hits. Main downside with this is that you've gotta be pretty close. Now some may think "but I dont want to ruin my phone" but you can always replace a phone not your life.

Ofc best thing to do is to try & get away but there are times where you're backed into a corner. Legal system sucks & punishes women for defending themselves but it is what it is. I personally use the last two more often as back up bc it's long making your own pepper spray.

[rosesandthorns44]

I lowkey forgot how helpful my grabber tool is for tidying up my room...

I can sit in a central location and just pick trash/laundry/recyclables and put them where they go!

I've had the dang thing for probably close to a decade. Why don't I use it? IDK. Internalized ableism? Imposter Syndrome? Denial?

I always tell myself, "I'm better now. I don't need all those things anymore," and avoid using any assistive devices unless I'm in so much pain I can barely move. It's bullshit! I'm making things so much harder for myself.

I keep thinking about getting a rollator so I can get out of the apartment more on my days off. Then I tell myself that's being overdramatic, and i don't need it. Lately, I'm resistant to even using my cane.

I get scared to go places on my own in case I get too tired! Clearly, I need SOMETHING.

I didn't use to be so self-conscious about visibly appearing disabled. It's more since I've entered the workforce, and I'm the only one at my company who uses mobility aids. Also, I got severely harassed/discriminated against by my ex-boss (reported her ass and got her fired!).

I'm fucking tired of being the odd one out at work and working in a completely NOT accessible building where the only mobility aid I even have the option to use is my cane.

Heavily considering applying to an independent living center a few cities over so I can be amongst peers and do some good for the local disabled community. It's just hard to make the leap and change careers.

[iamyouknow-yours]

It's been over a year since I got my mobility scooter and longer since I got my cane. So... Mobility Aid Appreciation Post!

Put your own mobility aid appreciation in the notes, I would like to read!

Wheelchair edition:

I can go on fun adventures with friends, spontaneously as well!

I have gone to various parks, to get snacks, and the other day I scooted from university all the way to my friend's house! I went on the side of a small motorway which was a little bit terrifying but it was fun and I was safe.

I can get around campus so speedily. Well apart from that the accessible routes are a little backwards. But I can go fast to them and arrive before people ambling between classes.

Part of the reason is because people just jump out of my way when they see me coming. They move so fast to not be in my way, it is very funny.

Part 2 of that is that I can go through crowds quite easily. It's a little annoying bc people aren't expecting to look down to see people trying to move. But once they see me they move. And they tell other people to move.

People let me sit at the front of things. I got to sit right at the front of a convention panel and I was so near Kat Graham!!

People open doors for me.

I hardly ever have to wait in line for things, I get put in the front and get to skip the queue.

I can be out of the house for much, much longer.

I am way more patient about my friends wanting to take their time doing things and looking in shops because I don't have to stand, I can sit while they do that.

I have way more stamina for being hungry or cold or tired or sore because I can be sitting while experiencing those things.

The battery has only started Running Out one time and even then she did get me home.

It's helped with learning to drive a car because I am better at understanding the turning circle and how reversing while turning works.

I have gotten better at using my scooter! I am pretty good at maneuvering and judging her distance and stuff. I only bump into corners if I'm in a hurry and in my house ie not making an effort to not hit people's walls.

I've had interesting conversations with people who have come up to me to ask about getting one for a family member. This may be not a perk to some people! So keep that in mind. But I think it's also about my vibe, I usually give off the vibe of "you can come talk to me".

Cane edition:

People give up their seats for me. Especially on the train. If there are no seats, then the old women will squish together and then we all sit next to each other. People are really nice about giving me a seat.

I can climb stairs so much easier!

I haven't lost my balance or fallen or twisted my ankle once while using it.

I can lean on it when I get tired which means I can stay out for a bit longer.

I can use it to get up so so much more easily.

I have a built in fidget toy with the strap.

It folds up and so I can put it in my bag to have just in case.

I hurt my leg one time and boom I already had a mobility aid.

I can use it to walk when my tummy hurts and I can't stand up straight.

And to alleviate your fears, no one has asked me why I switch hands when I use it.

Reminder that it is fully allowed and okay to lie to people when they ask why you're using a mobility aid. You can also say, "It's really difficult to talk about."

Or a funny/brave response like "I didn't read the terms and conditions." and "none of your business".

[urbancripple]

The problem with making a space physically accessible is that it is only one part of the whole “accessibility” problem. But because physical access plays such a prominent role in making a place accessible, people have a tendency to think of it as the only thing needed to make a space inclusive, but accessibility is so much more than that. Access isn’t just about curb cuts and automated doors, it’s also about the power structures, systems, and societal attitudes that keep disabled folks (especially mobility aid users) out of public spaces.

Just because you add an accessible bathroom stall and an automatic door to a few buildings on campus, doesn’t mean your university is accessible. A few floor plan changes aren’t going to fix systemic discrimination built into the education system. What good is an accessible university in a town with no public transportation? What good are scholarships when they force someone to choose between education and healthcare? Claiming that a space is accessible without addressing the systems connected to it is like putting a toilet in the middle of a field and claiming you have working plumbing: you can pretend everything is fine for a while, but eventually people are gonna realize you’re full of shit.

If you want to make a place truly accessible, you need to focus on more than just grab bars and door widths. You need to also focus on the less obvious barriers to access: transportation, housing, health insurance, cost of living, etc. For example: you offer a paid internship at your company in a major city. Rent is expensive, but most of your interns have been able to find a decent place to live in some of the older neighborhoods/buildings in the area. However, these older buildings don’t have elevators and only have apartments on the 2nd floor and up. Your wheelchair‐using intern is going to have to decline your offer because they would have to live in more modern (and much more expensive) apartments in order to have a place to live and they can’t afford to do so on the salary you offer. You can add all the grab bars you want to that bathroom, but your internship isn’t going to be accessible until the systemic issues connected to it (lack of accessibility in housing) get resolved.

The good news is that there is one thing you can do to really help disabled folks: vote. Vote often, and vote correctly. That’s right: I said vote correctly. If you jump into a voting booth and vote against things like public transportation, rent control, funding for special education, government regulation of healthcare costs etc., you’re not being an ally to disabled folk. Instead, you’re furthering the systems that make things like access to higher education, employment, and housing truly inaccessible.

[thessalian]

Thess vs Missing Mobility Aids

Well, I'm kind of screwed for a couple of days.

A little something about my block of flats: we have four communal dumpsters for the entire block - two for regular garbage, two for recycling. In order to minimise the chance of vermin in the building, these four dumpsters are in a building outside the block of flats which we will call the dumpster shed. Now, the little dumpster shed is right up against the kerb (curb for you Americans; I don't know why they spell it differently here either, but they do) so that the bin men can get to it. Meanwhile, the actual apartment building is down a fairly steep downgrade from the road. And to encourage people to use the small flight of steps or the driveway if they want to get to the front door, there's some retaining wall and landscaping blocked off by mid-height fencing and/or mid-height brick wall. The kind of thing that it takes effort to vault over or climb. Now, the dumpster shed is accessible to those of us putting stuff into the dumpsters by means of going around to the side of the shed, where there's a little platform and some glassless windows at a level that's somewhat easier to lift the dumpster lids and put things in them. This platform overlooks the landscaping and retaining walls for a space of about two feet, and is separated from the landscaping by a steep drop and a bit of safety rail.

Note the bit of safety rail and the steep drop. It is relevant.

I wanted to do some tidying so I figured I'd take the recycling out, come back for the kitchen garbage, and head out to the corner shop for ibuprofen etc on my second trip with the kitchen garbage. As usual, they haven't collected our recycling recently and the recycling dumpsters were a bit full, so I had to play some Tetris with it. And because I needed both hands to do this, I leaned my cane up against the wall, sort of wedged into the corner between what I think is a drainpipe and the wall of the dumpster shed, near to the retaining wall.

Note I said "sort of" wedged. It is also relevant.

While digging recycling out of bags and stuffing it into anyplace it'd fit, I heard a clang. I thought it was a can shifting. It was not a can shifting. It was my cane, falling through the gaps in the safety rail. Made a maybe 7-foot drop into a bush.

I can't get to that bush. I can't vault the fence that might give me a chance to get there, and I sure as hell can't boost myself onto one of the walls. Even if I could, I'd have to get out again. I have no the fuck idea who to ask about retrieving it - probably the landscapers, but they only just turned up last week so we won't be seeing them for awhile. And, at the end of the day, it was a cheap thing and several years old and I probably needed a new one anyway.

Point is that I am without my cane. And I rediscovered just how badly I do actually need the damn thing, because after all that, I still had to take out the kitchen garbage and head out to the corner shop for some now even more badly needed ibuprofen. I'd forgotten how badly walking hurts without the cane.

Anyway, payday's Friday, but honestly, even with an Amazon rush order I probably wouldn't get a new cane until then anyway. I'll cope for the time being. I'll just have to be very careful about any walks longer than getting around the flat. Ugh. I did not need this today, after a particularly shitty day at work.

Just please remind me to get a spare cane. That sort of thing is good practice anyway. Shit happens.

[lotus-es]

reasons why schools should be more accessible in terms of lifts, ramps and such. 

 1- students, especially students engaged in spots such as foot ball, tend to get harmed in injuries such as broken legs, broken ankles, twisted ankles and many more injuries that require either wheelchairs, medical boots, crutches and any mobility aid. thoes injuries in fact do not happen that often, but they do happen, and need to have solutions that are not horrible for students to just go on with their years. lifts are realy important for injured students beacuse even if they might be ABLE to go up the stairs, going up and down the stairs in crutches are in a boot is firstly dangerous for the students in a way that they could easily slip, their ability to retrain them selfs from falling is restrained. some of the movements required to get up some stairs can be quite difficult to do i a boot are in a cast. the reason why thoes movements are difficult is because you shouldn't be going up and down the stairs with thoes in most cases. giving you leg/legs are a hard time in thoes situations can be damaging and could make the leg/s take longer to heal, wich we realy do not want.

2: schools often have disabled students, even if they aren't always in wheelchairs. school often have 1 are more students in wheelchairs, which we should accommodate, and then there are the students with mobility aids such as prosthetics, canes,  knee splits and others. loads of thoes students could technically go up and down the stairs, but it could harm them, and with time worsen their condition, wich we really do not want. i think all of thoes students should have a comfortable way to get around their schools without harming them self.

3: older people in the school, such as teachers are administration should have the possibility to get around their school without tying them self lots in between classes. i have the opinion that everyone should be able to get around school safely and more are less confortably, and getting pushed around by students in satire casses because you are old and you cant walk fast because of your old bones and organs is terrible for those teachers. 

4: an other reason a student might want are need to take other things than satire casses is because of their eyes. blind students might need to get around their school, and often, lifts and ramps are way easier to get around. some completely colour blind people sometimes also would go around safer and more comfortable. ive seen a cople times people saying that when they can, they take ramps because the stairs sometimes are hard to tell apart if the personne cant see colours. are sometimes people have cataracts, tho that would be more the teachers than the students, but the teachers safety and well being is important, so, lets say the teacher has cataracts, and they can stil teach, but feels and is way safer if they can tell stairs appart more.

this is messy and probably not thr best way to explain it, but idk, i did this in 30 minutes and english isnt m first language :p

[counsellormurdock]

have some matt murdock headcanons to share?

oh man, yeah, i got a few :joy:

re: matt's senses - i'm a firm believer that they can easily exhaust him when used at length or intensely (see dd. vol 5 issue 14 where matt develops a nosebleed by trying to listen so hard for the absence of sound in order to find blindspot / muse). extended use of his senses to navigate and fight leaves him thorougly exhausted if he doesn't moderate himself (and we know matt is aces at moderation). because of this, his skills & training in being able to expertly navigate in traditional ways as blind people do is incredibly important. following a few days stretch of constantly vigilantism, matt just wants to check out and in order to get around relies on the skills he learned in his O&M classes back in the day.

re: matt's cowl that only covers half his face - this was intentional. yeah, it might make it easier to recognize him, to put two and two together that matt murdock is daredevil, but being a disabled man, matt knows how inaccessibility can disparige and increase stigma and ableism. by only wearing half a cowl, matt's able to better assist the Deaf and HOH within his city. Hearing loss is not something that matt can easily detect with his own senses, and if he covered his mouth he'd be removing his help from this community of people.

@ live action: always expressed displeasure at nelson & murdock being on the second floor with no elevators. again, a roadblock being truly accessible.

firm believer that matt murdock is pansexual demiromantic (always pretty quick to sleep with people but takes that deeper emotional connection to form that last relationship).

two main reasons matt refuses to having a seeing eye dog: 1. the overall assault having a dog would have on his senses ie. loud, smelly and they shed. 2. obtaining a seeing eye dog is an unnecessarily difficult and usually expensive process and he wants those trained dogs to go to other blind individuals who need that mobility aid more than him.

off the previous point: matt also makes a yearly contribution to 'the seeing eye' a foundation that provides specially bred & trained dogs to the blind. a non-profit that relies on donations, matt keeps his anonymous, not needing the recognition. (the amount varies, but in the comics where matt & foggy have a pretty successful law firm it's a sizeable donation).

at his confirmation, matt chose joseph as his name. st. joseph was chosen by god to care for mary & jesus because of joseph's love for god. he was also a man of great compassion for others and his desire to protect people was honorable.

matt dislikes lent - not because of sacrificing a luxury to show his faith but because of the weekly fish fries that a large number of churches hold. it's the entire city smells like a fast food grease trap.

doesn't own a lot of books due to the size in which braille books are in respect to the printed versions. he has a couple, mostly his favorites that he keeps, as well as a lot of his law texts - which are unruly and massive, but they were a bitch to carry and remind him of how he became a lawyer. he doesn't really reference them much, since they are quickly outdated and obtaining more recent versions in braille is difficult. this is one area where matt depends on electronic copies/screen reader technology to stay up to date.

in dd vol 6 issue 8 matt mentions that reading in braille reminds him of work and enjoys audiobooks for pleasure. he's picky about the ones he listens too, wanting a good plot and a nice narrator to listen to. he only listens to them when there's true downtime, it's not something he plays on commutes or while on patrol. they're reserved for the pleasure of relaxation.

also, he enjoys being read to, especially from people he cares about and is close with. it doesn't matter what it is, listening to his loved ones voice will always calm him down even when anxiety and depression feel like they will tear him apart.

there are two separate issues of dd comics where matt doesn't say a word the entire issue. i cannot remember which ones, i know one is from the 80's when doctor fear has the entire city infested with demons and idr the other but i know it exists. BUT, there are days where everything is just so overwhelming that matt doesn't need to add his own voice to the mix and doesn't say a word - his quiet days.

his love language is words of affirmation - the boy just rly needs to hear that he's doing a good job at things.

it doesn't take a lot of alcohol or other drug to get matt drunk/high. what someone might consider tipsy, matt feels is closer to a stage of drunk. his blood alcohol content is still the same as another individual of his size drinking the same amount. so, matt can still go drink-for-drink but he seems like he can't hold his liquor as well as a "normal" person.

dislikes texting, especially with people who don't know proper etiquette when texting someone who uses a screenreader. strings of emojis become incomprehensible nonsense and he won't bother listening to the end if he has to listen to "winking face with tongue winking face with tongue winking face with tongue" over and over.

okay, i think that's where i'll call this, i could keep going forever, but thank u for the ask !!

[phoenixfire-thewizardgoddess]

Genuine questions about the Apocalyptic Genre

So, what is the shelf life of a bullet? Assuming that it was left in a box in a relatively dry, temperate room?

What would happen if it got humid / wet?

What about guns? Let's assume they're in a safe, how long can they go unoiled and ignored before they're useless?

A lot of the things Survivors in apocalypse and zombie movies find to save them just, don't seem practical to find and be able to use without any ongoing maintainence or care

And some things break down naturally (eg petrol has about 6mths of use if stored perfectly).

Fabric frays and can wear thin over time, but heat, rain, huidity and substances can increase the decay

Food is impermanent

Seeds do not last forever, unless stored Very Specifically, and your average shopping centre isn't going to.

Plastic gets brittle over time, and breaks.

A lot of stuff we use is straight up designed to fail after a certain period of time.

Medications? Forget it, you're already dead. Mobility aids? Anything that needs electricity?

Generators that aren't solar powered are likely going to be impacted after a period of time, esp fuel based.

Cars? There's a lot of little parts that can go tits up. Sure, maybe you luck out and you bunk down next to a nearby car superstore, still not going to have Everything for Every Model and Year. Headlights, wipers, etc. may sound small... but when you need them, you need them.

Tyres? Rubber wears down rapidly.

Clothes - do you know how to manufacture fabric? Sure you might run into a lincraft or spotlight in the early days and have fabric to spare in your panic hut but, at some point, someone's going buck wild. Fabric wears out.

Camping stuff? Assuming you have a tent and basic stuff? Not many are made to last forever (except some super expensive models, etc)

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

So, what could you reasonably expect to find say...

a) Day 1 of the apocalypse, zombie or otherwise? Probably most things.

b) Month 1 of the apocalypse? A lot of food and medications would have spoiled, industry went down even if only in certain fields, cars would be blocking the way, maybe some places have electricity and water. Depends on the area.

c) Two months? 6 months? A lot of things people assume they will find or have access to in an apocalyptic setting are gone, or not in useable condition.

d) 12 months to 2 years, even a lot of the canned stuff isn't safe. The main thing you need is common sense and a knowledge of dangerous food signs (botulism) like buldging cans.

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

What could we possibly think to have access to, scavenger wise?

Let's assume that that apocalypse was a devastation that did not involve aliens or zombies or being hunted. The rules would be different. Not a lot of humanity left.

+First things would be checking house to house in a radius out from your own to find people and animals that have been left. Free who you can. Livestock might need to have gates opened so they can move to somewhere with more grass or food... if you are not used to livestock, use your brain but also try to find someone who might have more of a clue how to move them safely.

+Take inventory of what you have on you and have access to, food, water, clothes, etc.

+One good zombie apocalypse podcast mentioned that day one they had everyone fill up all containers and bathtubs and buckets with water in case the power went out. Sounds good. If you have tanks, make sure you have a ladder somewhere, to do the old 'how much' test.

+Some way to make fire. The flick lighter you have now will work, until it runs dry... start thinking of other options from day 1, because that day will come. The wood sticks and friction works, but is slow, flint/steel not everyone has options, two stones can take ages to spark, etc.

+Probably cutlery and some cooking items. Worth collecting, esp if its more than just you and you lost your own home / were a brand new uni person with nothing in the apartment.

+If you have a cooler, but no access to ice, it might not be ideal. In the first days, though, you might have a chance to use it with ice for meat and other items. Ice boxes are brilliant and last DAYS if used right, without a change to ice. But not a forever option.

The question is if you then need to move somewhere cooler.

+If you raided a school you could get one of those big plastic drink containers to store water in. Or most bunnings type places have the 20L water containers, some with spouts. Bonus of getting a trolley thing to pull it about in. Its about a lot of water that can be ported as needed. They are uncomfy to lug hand-wise over distance, because of the way it dangles of your arm, but if you got creative with ties, you could backpack it.

+Bags. Different shapes and types, especially backpacks.

+Water bottles, or containers like thermos that would hold stuff for long treks, etc. Most camping stores could have the little pouches and the long straw but like... you get a bit of mildew in there and the whole thing is a pain to clean etc.

+Assuming you can settle somewhere, and are not 100% mobile the whole time, you'd be focused on being somewhere with access to wood for fire (food, heat, light) depending on the type of apocalypse.

+Cheap stores could be plundered in the early times for shitty items that might work a few times, and basic hygiene items. You don't need brand name if you're desperate to be clean. Soap, toothbrushes, toothpaste, a towel or two, etc. They won't last foreever, but when a towel starts to die out, it becomes other things like rags,, something to patch up a hole in the wall, fire starter material (most are polycotton)

Stuff that you need in the moment but can replace as life goes on.

+A basic toolkit, might last a while (live in a Bunnings, you might have a chance to rebuild society lmao, garden section, tools, even dog and cat foods there too if you manage to get out with your furry fam)

+In any school or ofice there should be at least one orange over full first aid kit. Grab it. The things in it will need a bit of updating over time, and discarded after a time.

+Pharmacy - you're gonna need meds and a local medicine wizard who can find solutions for the meds that run out and aren't replaced, if any.

+Paper and pens, something to help you leave notes for others to let them know where you are, or where to get help. Even just keep diary and inventory. You could try carving on rock but who has the time?

+Seeds and fertiliser. This'd need to happen earlier o, and if water is scarce you might need to get creative - is there a dam nearby or a creek they could plant near? Can you get soe of those Easy Planters that have a little wate tray under that kind of manages itself.

At least one shovel. If the rich try to raise prices on things... remember, a lot of fertiliser can be improved through the addition of blood and bone.

+I'd raid the library for things like a Big Book of First Aid, any book that told of native foods and poisonous plants, any How To Guides, and also some novels of different kinds to make sure no one was going to lose their minds. Maybe steal a whiteboard and some markers, so you can teach others these things, because hopefully there'd be a community starting up to replace what was lost.

Hopefully, the librarians wouldnt kill you.

+Cloth, pillows, bedding (possibly from stores or from abandoned homes of the gone), even scraps from the op shops and general clothes. Thread - try to find the cotton stuff, the plastic 2 dollar stuff from cheap stores tends to snap easy, esp with too much tension. fine for little stuff tho.

Coathangers too, you want this stuff up off the ground and not in a Pile. that's snake heaven and also a quick way for it to molder. Where possible, for a community, you'd want to find a way to get and store clothes of all ages and sizes because there'll be kids, and they grow so goddamn fast. Shoes... are negotiable.

+Lots of those Put 'em together Yourself furniture items will die if too old, wet or simply the stars are aligned wrong. Plan further out whn possible.

+Fuel - we know it doesn't last forever. Also a lot of chemicals will likely either be inert or super dangerous after a period of time, be careful handling bottles you find, etc.

+Food - finding in the initial, no wokkas. OVer time? Flour doesn't last forever. You can get eggs if you have food for chickens and the shelter for them. Maybe if you have a butcher you would be able to manage the acquisition of meat... or make do.

I have thought about Farming in the Apocalypse. The problem with the idea of a protagonist just Finding a farm and mangically getting food is that, that's not how it works.

Any farming family can tell you that there's so many different parts to a farm, turning crops, caring for cows and cattle, even just milking must be done regularly or the cows can have severe problems or die. Sheep need regular care and shearing, and also you have to manage them so they don't get flyblown, etc.

You can't turn the tractors on after a certain time, the harvesters, etc. You'd need to think about possible acres of fields needing to be managed by hand. Some crops get burned to stubble, how can that be safely managed? What do you, random possible city protagonist, know about rotating crops?

Do yuo understand what to do for animal husbandry? Hopefully someone from one of the families around would be there, and able to guide and manage it overall, train the survivors, but that never works out in movies.

You might have eggs, milk, meat, and some forms of food in this situation (depending on the farm, some are specifically one or two things), not much fruit

You would need to find a fruit solution, even if you have to raid a shopping centre for rotting fruit to see if you can salvage the seeds. IT would take time to cultivate, even if it did.

Could reach out to any horticulturists who survived, I guess.

+If you can learn to cure the skins, you'd have leather. It needs some human intervention, and piss, so someone would find joy in that...

You can use leather for clothes, shoes, bags, waterskeins (find yourself a medieval reenactor, most can do it themselves), tents, even (if done right) a makeshift pot on the fire. Absolutely fascinating what can be done with it, and it lasts.

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There's so much I think about when it comes to the apocalypse.

Maybe it wouldn't be the most exciting to read/listen to someone eeking out each day in the world left behind, but imagine the story.

Even several stories of people all over hte globe finding new ways to keep going. Some countries would barely be affected, given they alreay live between modern and traditional, and that duality is passed down to the following generations.

But in the industrialised world, where everything is from somewhere so removed from us that the public couldn't work out how to cook a roast on a fire without etting it aflame... like, ometimes I wonder.

The possibilities are endless.

The loss of what is known and the distress of realising that the loss isnt finished. It's going to keep going... again and again, as food runs out, clothes wear away, cars stop working, fuel goes inert, what was known corrodes and either you adapt, or let it drive you inwards.

It could be more fun if the only worry in the apocalyptic wastelands isn't 'need guns, and gun food (bullets)' - also sex.

Sure, that's a human desire but like, we can swing by the adult toy store and see if there's someone inflatable for you to chill with until we get basic needs going, because a baby would be the Worst Thing right now. Actually, what is the expiry date on most contraceptives?

I mean, you'd need weapons. Esp in a farming situation... sometimes births go wrong or an animal breaks their leg, or they're poisoned and suffering. Like, you have to manage that. Especially in a time without vets at the snap of a finger.

There's some practicalities, apart from just This Is Our Town Stranger as part of the dramatic climax, where they then have an Intense Head Nod during an ensuing fight, and now Stranger is One of Us.

I have no idea where this was going lmao, I have been thinking about how silly some of the Survival nonsense is in movies and books and podcasts.

And everything again changes if you are contending with being hunted by aliens, the infected/zombies, animals, etc...

But you can't eat bullets... except in one way. You can't quench thirst with a well oiled gun. Also, guns are loud, I know that gets brought up a lot but what is the fastest way to alert someone to your location? Firework boom boom. Get a damn axe. And a GRINDSTONE. Blunt ones won't split skulls or carapaces or whatevs.

[checkoutmybookshelf]

Damn Right the Perfect Queen Uses a Cane

Fairbanks is somehow simultaneously too small and too large a town. Apparently one of my very best friend's partner has been friend with Elva Birch since they were both teenagers, so that's a degree of Kevin Bacon I was super not expecting but shouldn't have been surprised by, because I KNOW how small a town Fairbanks is. None of which is strictly relevant to why we're talking about the second book in the Dragon Prince of Alaska series, but it is a fun little Fairbanks Fact. Which is even wilder because this book starts in Florida. So let's talk The Dragon Prince's Librarian.

This is, as is typical on this blog for sequels and mid-series books, a SPOILERIFIC REVIEW. Be warned.

Ok guys, I swear we aren't going to do all six books of this series here, and I know I am way overdue for the next Dresden Files book, but where I take just...every single possible issue with how the Dresden Files handles disability, this book handles it SO FREAKING WELL. Tania is realistically tired, realistically has good and bad days, realistically uses mobility aids, and realistically has that all-too-familiar feeling of "No, no, you don't even get to DREAM of being rescued from this situation because a) it will be too painful when it doesn't happen and b) you getting rescued doesn't fix the hideous inequities of the US healthcare system and frankly, that shit NEEDS fixing."

Additionally, I appreciate that Tania doesn't hate her cane. She recognizes that it lets her move and stand independently and it can up her quality of life, if only in small ways. What she hates is that the cane is UGLY. And that is entirely fair, because there is nothing worse than a boring, utilitarian mobility aid that stands out from you and your aesthetic rather than integrating with you. And Rian, absolute PRINCE that he is (pun fully intended), doesn't try to fix or cure Tania, he gets her a beautiful cane that integrates with her personality and aesthetic. That level of support literally made me cry. And then I cried MORE because while Rian couldn't fix the American healthcare system, what he COULD do was donate a ton of equally beautiful canes in Tania's name in such a way that the people who need them most can access them, the process for getting them is as simple and barrier-free as possible, and Rian took care of ALL of this so Tania did not have to expend spoons on it. The care and attention included in how thoughtful and well-executed this was was absolutely breathtaking. Literally, our reality is not this good, and I love that this book took such care and respect with how disability/chronic illness and mobility aids are handled. At no point did any of it feel patronizing, infantilizing, catastrophizing, or an attempt to "fix" something that was "broken" or "lesser." Just A+ no notes, and I don't say that often about representations of disability in books.

The other thing that I just felt in my bones about this book is how the end of Tania's academic career played out. She literally got gatekept and gaslighted because the Small Kingdoms erased every single trace of her master's thesis, her primary sources, and even her ADVISOR (who was paid to disappear, not killed). This very handily gets Tania kicked out of school, and as her health worsens, she also loses her job and health insurance, so by the time Rian shows up at her front door in Florida, Tania's life has literally fallen apart and it is 90% Rian's fault. Which makes the whole fated mates thing SUPER awkward, because she's rightfully pissed with him for torpedoing her degree and academic career, and also he then gaslit the hell out of her about that until he realized they were fated mates, came clean, apologized, and...proposed. It was awkward as hell, you guys.

And let me say, as someone who went to grad school, had someone gone from admitting they torpedoed my life and gaslit me about it to proposing marriage, they would have been super mega deadsies. Like, no questions asked, they just would have been annihilated by the sheer force of my rage.

But fated mates and romance novel, so Tania just mostly spends the whole book going "remember how you torpedoed my thesis?" in varying tones. Rian is literally never living that down, and he shouldn't, because frankly he was lucky to SURVIVE admitting that.

Overall though, I was so happy with the representation of disability and a healthy, positive relationship that includes a disabled person, as well as Tania and Rian as characters, I was willing to overlook insufficient consequences for fucking with a grad student's thesis. Because this book was a delight to read, and it is UNQUESTIONABLY my favorite book in the series.