#fantasy braille

[maspers]

I see jokes about Toph being unable to write. And they're funny, and fit in canon. But hear me out: Toph could TOTALLY learn how to write.

Her bending is absurdly fine tuned (exhibit a, her sandbending a model of an entire city) and that needs to correlate to her movement in general so fine motor control is a piece of cake to her. While stuff written on paper might vex her she could still totally be taught letters and words, either by the Helen Keller method or just writing them in the dirt or sand in front of her. While she can't visualize it she can still learn to mimic the motions of writing, so in theory she can totally learn how to read and write, just she can only read stuff with a 3D aspect to it, and she might have some trouble with margins.

And then she could use he knowledge to take it a step further and invent the AtlA version of Braille. And then use her bending to just make it really commonplace. Trying to figure out what she'd call it though. Maybe since Earthbenders could all in theory learn to sense vibrations and shapes it could eventually be learned by a lots of Earthbenders for secret messages, not just blind ones, but Toph's primary goal with it would still be helping herself and other blind folk.

Bumi of course would learn it immediately and then be like "yo Toph I transcribed all the craziest scrolls in my library into your new alphabet/language you wanna read" and she's like "sure" and like half of them are just wacky stories Bumi likes but the other half is like all the stuff he knows about Earthbending that Toph doesn't (on account of her being self-taught) and she takes that knowledge her own rad knowledge and skillz and then revolutionizes Earthbending AGAIN. Possibly leading to the discovery of being able to bend more stuff.

This leads to further research, which leads to further shenanigans, which leads to further revolutions, which leads to Earthbending practically launching way ahead of the other bending techniques in terms of applications. The waterbending's advancement continues to be blockaded by traditionalists (Not that it stops Katara it just makes it harder for her), Aang is like literally the only Airbender and so he can only do so much to improve airbending, and while Zuko and Co are trying to do cool stuff with firebending (featuring DRAGONS) he kinda has to keep it on the down low because everyone's still wary of the Fire Nation. But Toph has literally nothing stopping her so she and Bumi just kinda steamroll their way forward into making Earthbending extremely overpowered.

So basically LoK would have been a heck of a lot more interesting if Toph had learned to write.

[silver-oneshot-is-transmasc]

ok the internet is not giving me the answers i seek time to make shit up

[peculiarcanine-blog]

Ah...

Well, he'll have to wait for them to invent Braille it seems.

poor guy.

Look! Starflight's got some scrolls to read!

Sure hope nothing happens to stop him from doing that :]

[cripplecharacters]

Tag Directory

[large text: Tag Directory]

This list is not exhaustive, but covers the most common tags we use.

Last updated: 05/11/2024.

Disabilities:

#Albinism representation #amputee representation #Autism representation #ADHD representation #Blindness #Brain Damage representation #Burn Survivor representation #Cerebral Palsy representation #CDD representation [Complex Dissociative Disorder] (includes DID, OSDD, etc.) #chronic illness representation #chronic pain representation #Deaf character (includes Hard of Hearing) #DeafBlindness #Down syndrome representation (for things specific to DS) #Dwarfism representation #Epilepsy representation #face difference (includes facial scars, burns, etc.) #GAD representation [Generalized Anxiety Disorder] #heart condition representation #Intellectual Disability representation #Learning Disability representation (includes dyslexia, dyscalculia, etc.) #Limb Differences #mobility disabilities #monocular vision #mysterious disability #multiple sclerosis representation #muscular dystrophy representation (includes all types of muscular dystrophies, SMA, vague muscle atrophy/dystrophy, myopathies, etc.) #mute representation #Nonverbal representation #nonspeaking characters #OCD representation #personality disorders #POTS representation [Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome] #PTSD representation #psychosis representation #Selective Mutism representation #speech disability representation #spinal deformities (includes scoliosis, kyphosis, lordosis) #SCI representation [Spinal Cord Injury] #Schizophrenia representation #substance use disorders #strabismus representation #Tourette's Syndrome representation (includes other tic disorders as well) #vitiligo representation

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#AAC users [Augmentative and Alternative Communication] #ambulatory wheelchair use #ankle foot orthosis #assistive technology (includes Braille) #canes #crutches #guide animals (includes both dogs and miniature horses) #feeding tubes #hearing aids #knee scooters #mobility aids #prosthetics #eye prosthetics #rollators #service animals #walkers #wheelchairs #white canes

Frequent Topics:

#combat and disability #fantasy setting (includes SCI-FI etc.) #fantasy disabilities #fantasy ableism #fantasy species (while this was originally meant for actual fantasy species, anything that's non-human goes here, including basic animals like cats and things like robots) #fantasy tropes #historical fiction #horror and disability #inaccessible setting #magic aids #parasports in media #religion and disability #sign language representation #villains with disabilities

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Other:

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[lostyesterday]

As a visually disabled person myself, one thing I wish TNG had done with Geordi is show his disability actually affecting how he functions in his daily life. For example, I can’t remember a single time in TNG where Geordi is shown as needing accommodations in his work environment. You might say that’s because his visor means that he can basically “see” normally and so he wouldn’t need accommodations, but I find this explanation frustrating.

For one thing, real life visually disabled people absolutely require accommodations to do most jobs, so if Geordi’s meant to be any kind of accurate reflection of the experiences of blind people, he should require some accommodations. For me at least, it isn’t some kind of wish fulfillment fantasy to see a visually disabled character who can do anything a sighted person can with no accommodations whatsoever. Instead, it feels like a denial of everything that being disabled has meant to me over my life. Disabled people are disabled. We have more difficulty doing certain tasks than an able-bodied person would – that’s what makes us disabled. We require changes to our environment in order to function well.

Also, literally just based on the in-universe information given about Geordi’s visor, it doesn’t make any sense to me that he wouldn’t require accommodations. Geordi’s visor is not really described as simulating vision, it is described as providing completely different sensory information about the physical properties of the world around him. I like to imagine the visor’s input as a kind of enhanced spatial awareness with a precise knowledge of where certain objects are, what their shape is, and what they’re made of. As TNG mentions several times, Geordi’s visor provides much more information than human eyes do, but, importantly, in the few episodes where the details of how Geordi’s visor works are discussed at all, it’s never described as providing purely visual information such as the color or reflectiveness of an object. I think that if Geordi faces a mirror, his visor will tell him there’s a piece of glass in front of him and he’ll know about how large it is and what material it’s made of, but he won’t be able to see his reflection in it, because the visor doesn’t provide that kind of visual information. This distinction is important to me, because it means that Geordi is still functionally blind with the visor, and it should mean that he interacts with the world differently from a sighted person.

For example, I would have loved if Geordi had been shown to be unable to recognize particular people until they spoke. All his visor tells him is that there’s a person in front of him and about what size and shape they are, but this isn’t generally enough information to determine a person’s identity. He canonically perceives Data as looking very different from an organic person which makes sense because Data is made of fully different material. And maybe Geordi can generally tell different species apart based on different body temperatures or something like that. But I really wish that Geordi had been shown at least a few times to need the sound of a person’s voice or some other cue to tell him who they were.

I also think it doesn’t make sense that Geordi can apparently read text on computer screens. How can he read if the visor doesn’t really provide visual information? A computer screen should just register as a flat piece of material. Geordi should have required some kind of accommodation to be able to use the computer screens. For example, maybe Geordi could use the computer entirely through voice commands, something that obviously already exists in the star trek world. Or he could use some kind of tactile display. The Voyager episode The Year of Hell shows that computer terminals on starships are able to utilize a tactile display that I’m guessing is somewhat similar to braille. I loved this mention in Voyager of tactile displays, because it indicates that Starfleet ships are probably automatically equipped with such accessibility devices. Geordi needing an accommodation as small as this would have gone really far in terms of making him feel like a genuine representation of a disabled character, at least to me.

[lucysarah-c]

Hey, could you write a story between levi and reader , where levi has to get married to a girl (because she's a rich girl and he is a ceo of a huge company) but he's already dating reader. So.. in this story reader and levi are just passing their last night together before the wedding?

(BTW I really like your post!!!)

"We gather here today,"

Four words pronounced before the most antagonist events ever. It's as if you could hear them as he crossed the door of your flat. Dark raven locks stained by the little snowflakes from the outside reflected under the yellowish light of the candles, as night had set in long ago. You had wished he was right there, right now, multiple times during the past two weeks since the news was delivered. It made you wonder if it was another dream, another specter from your wildest fantasies. Because that's the only thing you had been doing since—coming back to your place after work, pouring yourself a glass of any alcohol you had, and waiting. Waiting at your bed, sitting down on the couch in the living room, or on the kitchen floor, pacing around the room. Crying and falling asleep, but only shortly, because insomnia was as natural as the desperation at this rate. Red eyes, tears making your skin puffy and dry each day, each moment.

"We gather here today to say goodbye to a beloved…"

Your heart stopped for a split second as he turned around to face you while he closed the place you two used to call your own. The deep green French trench coat with the wings of freedom behind it. The split second that you caught a glimpse of his face after all this time and probably for the last time, you couldn't help but tear up. Which you hated, because it clouded your view, and the last thing you desired was to lose a single minute of this. It was a necessity, a demand, a right, a desperation. Quick steps on the wood planks echoing, probably neighbors underneath cursing your name in this instant. Combat boots rushing to you, his hands picked you up in a hurry. Your hands had memory and necessity on their own, quickly they gripped his face and hair. Tugging from it, trying to imprint in your touch the memory of it as a blind person learns the touch of Braille.

Desperate lips colliding against each other, mouths prying open to breathe each other's breath away for a million times that night but the last for a lifetime. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders as if your life depended on it as his enveloped your legs around his hips. You two could have done it there, in the middle of the living room or perhaps on the kitchen countertop as that time you two got a little too handy while preparing dinner. He would blame that time on that cute sundress you had on. But not this time, this required the classic setting of a bed and the intimacy of a bedroom.

Your nightgown rising up as he carried you around the place he knew like the back of his hand. Softly placing you on the mattress.

"I…" Levi broke the kiss for the first time, speaking up. His face seemed conflicted, and his eyes hurt.

But the hand that was holding his face ran a thumb through his parted lips as the endearing sight was enough, "Shhhh don't say anything,"

'Don't lie to me, don't tell me the truth. Don't remain quiet, do not raise your voice, but above all, do not ask me for forgiveness,'

It was passionate, slow but needy. As if you two were back to being teenagers losing their virginity, not trying to rush it, covered in love but also eager to finally be intertwined all night. Under the milky light of the moon, your body shined by the sheer sweat of it, hair falling backward like a waterfall. Who cared if someone could see it from the street, someone returning home late or perhaps running from it. Turning the lights would break the moment but you needed to see him. See his frown expression as he forced himself to not lose a single detail, his tinted cheeks, his dark hair sticking to his forehead as his parted lips gasped your name. Fingers sinking into the flesh of your hips as your hands sank their nails into his shoulders for leverage but also for possessiveness. Somehow both of you wished the marks you left on each other would remain forever, like a permanent tattoo.

"I love you," his voice shook with emotion. Is there a worse curse in this life than forcing someone to never say those three words again?

"Life is so unfair," what we all think when something forcefully parts our ways in life, leaving us devoid of explanation but filled with only one answer: learning to live without it.

It's dead, and that night was its funeral. Perhaps that's why your black attire, as you heard from the last seat of the avenue, "We gather here today…

to celebrate the union of these two souls,"

You promised yourself not to cry as someone promised to never drink again after a wild night. Both oaths done after the consequences but never upheld. Perhaps you should have dressed in red, to send the message. 'I fucked the groom, I'm fucking the groom, I'll fuck the groom,' but she didn't deserve such humiliation and petty acts. It wasn't her fault; she has been dragged into this as much as him. And it felt petty to be angry at someone who looked at him so full of hopes. The most important day of her life, the day she had been dreaming and promised of since she was a little girl. Her eyes glittered with naive hope that perhaps, despite the circumstances, he would be the prince in shining armor she had been sweet-talked about.

It offended you and also raised the most utter adoration out of him. His integrity. Because you knew, you knew as the sky was blue that it was over. Because Levi would never look at another woman, he would never betray his wife even if this was arranged. He was simply that noble. What captivated you about him was also killing what you two created.

What postmortem activity it was, observing the death of you two by coming to his wedding.

I hope you liked this little piece!! Thank you so much for requesting this, I had a great time writing it. I hope it was good enough! Link to my masterlist and my other works if you feel like checking them out. Tags!: @nube55 @justkon @notgoodforlife @nmlkys @humanitys-strongest-bamf @quillinhand @thoreeo @darkstarlight82 @i-literally-cant @angelofthorr @aomi04 @levisbrat25 @l3visthighs @hum4n-wr3ckag3 @hannieslovebot @starrylevi @rithty @mariaace @ackrmntea @emilyyyy-08 @levisfavoriteteashop @katestrophes @levistealeaf @an-ever-angry-bi @youre-ackermine @fxnnyackerman @secretmoneybearvoid @trashblackrainbow @feelingsandemotionsnotexplored @flxrartsstuff @katharinasdiaryy @kikarouflames @levisecretgfblog @searriously Wanna join my tag list? Here!

[treefey]

#‘it didn’t occur to me; until it was too late; that I had disabled Po; then given him a magical cure for his disability #‘thus implying that he couldn’t be a whole person and be disabled. I now understand that the magical cure trope is all too common in #‘[Fantast]/[Science Fiction] writing and is disrespectful to people with disabilities. My failings here are all my own’ #that last sentence fucking hurt

Oof. I love Cashore for catching this and fixing it, but I am much less harsh on the way she wrote Po. I know this is a trope; Daredevil and Toph have the same "blind but see so much" thing. But I think in all three instances, it's obvious that their second sight doesn't make up for the lack of regular sight, and the characters are still whole humans. Matt has to steal a burner phone and have Claire read text messages to him. Toph is super disoriented on a boat, on Appa, or on ice. Neither one wants you to feel pity for their lack of vision.

And Po... It hit me on my last reread how much he loves looking at things. Katsa says he lost beauty. He loves the striking sight of po trees and his castle hanging over the water. He loves being overwhelmed at the sight of Katsa, being lost in her eyes. He will never see her again. We catch Po at the beginning of his journey where he is still accepting this-- Matt has accepted it years, and Toph's blindness always matters more to other people than to her. At the end of Graceling, I got the sense that Po's grace didn't "fix" him, but merely protected him from suspicion. It would have been really dangerous for him to be outted as a mind reader in the immediate aftermath of Leck. He is still disabled and is still grieving and learning a lot.

Maybe I think this way because Bitterblue was already published when I first read the Graceling series, so only had to wait like 2 weeks to see how being blind affects Po. And I think it's important to note that he's farther along in his journey-- he's accepted his blindness and hates that he can't just shout it from the rooftops.

I also think if you're in a world with magic powers, it makes sense that magic can be a... disability aid, I guess? In short, I'm really glad Cashore got input and wrote Bitterblue, but I don't think she needs to feel like she failed. But a blind person may feel differently!

I’m definitely not crying over the authors note at the end of BitterBlue where the author acknowledges that earlier in the series she disabled one of her characters just to immediately magic cure him and when writing a later book had someone to consult with about if she could get around said magic cure and have him still be disabled character so she could show him being whole and happy while also being disabled

[grimalkinmessor]

MP100 Characters Ranked on How Likely I Think They Would Be To Use The Death Note:

(because I like combining my hyperfixations ✨)

Mogami. I don't think I have to explain this one.

Ritsu. He is going on a killing spree IMMEDIATELY the boy practically IS Light Yagami, his name is literally spelled with the kanji for justice and he already went on one power-hungry crusade, he is RIPE on the Kira tree og

Dimple. He already has the god complex down, he just has to get on board with the whole killing people thing—considering he's already an evil spirit, it wouldn't take much convincing tbh

Shou. He would cause SO much havoc with it but only for fun. For the meme. For the vine. He kills the Queen of England with it and cackles as he watches the ensuing flood of Megamind memes. He would also threaten his dad into compliance with it because the Death Note isn't Battle Based, it's Instadeath. "Ever go on TV and embarrass me like that again and you're going out by dysentery."

Takenaka. He's not a bad kid, but being telepathic would make him incredibly susceptible to wanting to take bad people out before they did anything wrong. Plus just getting them to shut up. That idiot that keeps having vivid erotic fantasy in the middle of science class has ONE more again before Takenaka would embrace his villain arc whole-heartedly. The only reason he's this far down is because I think he'd hesitate.

Tsubomi. I think she'd kill someone just to see if she could get away with it. Then she'd put it away and only bring it out when certain situations arose that needed a Quick Solution™. That girl knows what needs to be done and she does it—she decisive. Anything like Suzuki happens again and she just drops them dead on live television Lind L. Tailor style and then goes on about her day like nothing happened. All heroes wear pretty hair clips 🙏

Tome. I don't know how to explain this one. Vibes. She feels like she'd be gripped by the powerful urge to kill someone but it would take her a lot to go through with actually writing someone's name down. She'd want to test the Death Note first to see if it worked, so that's one person down, but anyone else would need to have either hurt her or her friends irreversibly, and even then it would probably be a one time thing. She'd use it far less than Tsubomi—two people might actually be her max.

Serizawa. I hc that people with psychic powers can see the Death Note's bad jujus or whatever, so he wouldn't have to test it to know it would work, but I still think he'd use it. If he found it while he was still with Claw, he'd use it because it was easier to kill someone that way than with his psychic powers. Even if it he found it after Claw, it'd be the same reasoning. He's definitely killed people in the past and if someone hurt his friends or his mother he'd very much take the easy out of simply writing down a name rather than going for a fight. He'd still feel really bad about it though, so it'd probably only happen once.

Minori. She uses it to see if it's real, finds that it very much is, and then locks it away in her room. She won't use it, but it'll be a constant thought in her mind. A very real temptation.

Emi. She uses it once out of curiosity to see if it's real, then buries it in the woods where no one will ever find it...but she can go back for it if she ever needs it.

Hanazawa. He's reformed but his temper is still something to behold. He's only this far down the list because he's got that "I could kill you with my powers why would I need a book to do it for me" swag ✨

Shimazaki. Similar to Teru but less reformed. "I would just kill you with my powers why would I need a notebook" two electric boogaloo. Plus he's blind and idk if the Death Note takes braille or morse code.

Toichiro. The ULTIMATE "I'll just kill you with my powers I don't fucking need that thing"

Shinra. He wouldn't use it, but he'd absolutely make the mistake of picking it up and handing it over to someone that WOULD use it (cough rising sun psychic division cOugh)

Onigawara. Talks big shit about using it, but would never. Likes to think he COULD use it though, even though he's too upright for it.

Reigen. Picks it up out of curiosity and gets a laugh out of it, but doesn't test it. He's seen enough shit to be cautious though, so he has Mob look it over and then burns it once Mob confirms it's got bad vibes.

Mob. Sees bad vibes. Doesn't even pick it up. Blasts it into ash and goes home without thinking about it again. Buys milk on the way there.

[ravenclawhierra]

Reading.

Ominis Gaunt x Reader

Summary: Ominis has had a rough day and he wants to spend some time with you. He asks of you a favor, wishing to spend as much as time with you as possible.

Tags: Insecure reader, fluff, Ominis being a sweetie, FLUFF

Word Count: 2,2k - 1,6k without the Deathly Hallows

It was just… tough. He wanted to rest. He was so tired. So exhausted. His thoughts were nothing but exhausting, honestly. Pushing him to the edge, it was too much. Everyday he'd deal with the same, today however, was worse on him than usual. As much as he was used to this, it'd still come for him - Killing him from the inside.

He had already lost a friend, and he was losing another one. He was grieving. Grieving over something that wasn't even lost. He felt as if it was bound to happen soon, but hoped it wouldn't. As much as he enjoyed the presence of his Angel, it wouldn't feel the same without his friend. Would he be asking for too much? He had hoped not.

Walking along the Hallway, he thought about how he wanted to see you now. Or at least feel you near him. You always helped him cheer up, forget about his horrible thoughts, or simply interrupted them when he's thinking about you. He was already finished with reading his book, he needed to get a new one from the library, he just hoped they would have more books in braille.

He skipped his way to the door and down the stairs of the library, and went ahead to find some more books. He walked along the section with books in braille before hearing two familiar voices. He listened to you and Sebastian speak.

"How long have you been together now? I mean, you still haven't given him a kiss, right?"

"We've been together for 2 weeks now and I know, I want to kiss him but I'm afraid…"

"Afraid of what exactly? He won't bite."

"I don't know, I'm afraid he won't like it, and what if he doesn't really like me either?"

He stepped in before the two of you could continue and you both looked up at Ominis.

"Hello Sebastian, (Y/n)," He greeted you, his voice a bit quiet. You hoped he hadn't heard the two of you talk. To your luck, he seemed as if he only entered the section and had nothing to hear. You sighed a small sigh of relief. You didn't want him to know just how you felt, not because you didn't trust him, but because you just couldn't get yourself to tell him. It was like something was pulling you back. Maybe fear? You just weren't sure.

"Hello Ominis, you can sit next to me if you'd like?" You wanted to state that, but you were just so unsure. Ominis smiled at you and sat next to you. How you hated your voice. You wish you didn't have to talk for him to understand you. But you had to. 

You went to the next page of your book, hoping for something exciting. You loved reading fantasy books, they'd take you to an imaginary world where you could imagine yourself as a better person, and a different person entirely. 

"What are you reading?" Ominis asked, his eyes gleaming with wonder. Oh those beautiful eyes of his. 

"Oh I'm… I'm reading some fantasy book about dragons." Your voice was quiet, shy. He smiled at you. It was nice feeling you close to him, having you talk to him. He was already feeling somewhat better. 

"Uh…" Sebastian sighed, "I just remembered I have detention." 

"Well? Best of you to get going then." Ominis also sighed. It was his third time this week. What is he doing to get in this much trouble? 

"Yes, I know. Have fun you two." Sebastian picked himself and his stuff up, murmuring and walking to wherever he had detention now. 

Well, now it was awkward. For the both of you? You didn't know. You didn't know what to talk about, and Ominis was genuinely quiet usually. You did enjoy his presence though, so it was not too awkward for you. You hoped he felt the same way, because at least it wouldn't be awkward silence you're sitting in. 

"Do you want to take this to the dormitory? My room at least. It would be quieter." Ominis suggested, to which you slightly blushed. You knew he wouldn't do anything funny to you, but it still made you kind of fuzzy on the inside. 

"Sure," You agreed happily, "It would be nice to move from this spot for a bit."

You grabbed your books and picked yourself up, waiting for Ominis to do the same. He got up and used his wand to let him get around. Before taking any steps though, he reached for your hand and pulled you close to him.

"It would be easier for me this way," Your blush was covering your entire face now, thank Godrick he didn't see you now. You had hoped he didn't feel your heat all the way from your hand. 

You slowly made your way to the dormitory with him. You both decided it would be nicer to walk. Floo Powder was there to help, always, but it was nicer just doing everything you two can, slowly. You had more time to talk, more time to laugh, smile. You always forgot about your worries when you were with him. You felt kind of free! Except when it came to telling him about your fear. Which is exactly what's stopping you from telling him.

When he smiles at you, when he laughs at your jokes, when he comforts you, soothes you, all of that. All of that made you feel like you were worthy of love. From none other than him. That was a big deal to you. The day you met him, you felt as if he had something against you, but as he opened up, you started liking him more and more. He did too, though.

However, neither of you could get yourselves to confess, and Sebastian was there to listen to the both of you. Constantly talking about each other. Lucky for the both of you, he couldn't stand it anymore, and made you two go on a date in Three Broomsticks. His plan was a success, as the two of you then started dating. Seriously, how could the two of you be so dense with each other's signals. The world will never know. 

Finally, you had arrived to his room. It was your first time there. One side was clean, the other was a complete mess.

"I'm sorry, I share the room with Sebastian and he keeps not cleaning his room," He smiled at you awkwardly, "He claims he gets around easier with his mess."

You laughed. It was just like him to be like that. Messy room, messy hair. You wondered how the two of them got along so well. 

Ominis sat on his bed, patting on the side next to him, calling out to you to sit next to him. And you complied. Oh no. The silence was there again. How do you go from quiet, to talkative, to quiet again? 

"(Y/n)," Ominis called, "Would you mind doing me a favor?"

"Sure, do you need anything?" You asked, smiling at him. Your heart was pounding.

"I was in the library, looking for books. I couldn't find any." He smiled back at you, shy, "I was wondering if you could read something of yours to me, please?"

Oh my. What a request. You hated your voice. But you couldn't deny this to him. He asked so politely, so nicely. In that sweet voice of his, with those beautiful eyes. 

"O-of course." Your blush was covering your entire body at this point. "Would the Deathly Hallows do?"

"I enjoy that story," Ominis laid down on his bed, checking if you'd lay down with him. "So, please do."

"I'll sit, but I will still read to you." He nodded, closing his eyes and preparing to listen to you. 

"There were once three brothers who were travelling along a lonely, winding road at twilight. In time, the brothers reached a river too deep to wade through and too dangerous to swim across. However, these brothers were learned in the magical arts, and so they simply waved their wands and made a bridge appear across the treacherous water. They were halfway across it when they found their path blocked by a hooded figure."

You cleared your voice slightly, keeping an eye on Ominis, but he didn't budge.

"And Death spoke to them. He was angry that he had been cheated out of three new victims, for travellers usually drowned in the river. But Death was cunning. He pretended to congratulate the three brothers upon their magic and said that each had earned a prize for having been clever enough to evade him."

Ominis slowly grabbed your free hand, wanting warmth. 

"So the oldest brother, who was a combative man, asked for a wand more powerful than any in existence: a wand that must always win duels for its owner, a wand worthy of a wizard who had conquered the Death! So Death crossed to an elder tree on the banks of the river, fashioned a wand from a branch that hung there, and gave it to the oldest brother."

Your hand squeezed his, giving him more warmth. 

"Then the second brother, who was an arrogant man, decided that he wanted to humiliate Death still further, and asked for the power to recall others from Death. So Death picked up a stone from the riverbank and gave it to the second brother, and told him that the stone would have the power to bring back the dead."

The room was getting colder and you wished you could have his warmth around you.

"And then Death asked the third and youngest brother what he would like. The youngest brother was the humblest and also the wisest of the brothers, and he did not trust Death. So he asked for something that would enable him to go forth from that place without being followed by Death. And death, most unwillingly, handed over his own Cloak of Invisibility."

Ominis slowly massaged your palm with his hand, smiling at you, making you even warmer.

"Then Death stood aside and allowed the three brothers to continue on their way, and they did so, talking with wonder of the adventure they had had, and admiring Death’s gifts. In due course the brothers separated, each for his own destination."

All this time, you were imagining the three of you guys in the story. A perfect trio.

"The first brother travelled on for a week or more, and reaching a distant village, sought out a fellow wizard with whom he had a quarrel. Naturally with the Elder Wand as his weapon, he could not fail to win the duel that followed. Leaving his enemy dead upon the floor, the oldest brother proceeded to an inn, where he boasted loudly of the powerful wand he had snatched from Death himself, and of how it made him invincible."

You wondered if Ominis was thinking the same. You took your hand away from him quickly to go to the other page. 

"That very night, another wizard crept upon the oldest brother as he lay, wine-sodden, upon his bed. The thief took the wand and, for good measure, slit the oldest brother’s throat. And so Death took the first brother for his own."

He Immediately went back for your hand.

"Meanwhile, the second brother journeyed to his own home, where he lived alone. Here he took out the stone that had the power to recall the dead, and turned it thrice in his hand. To his amazement and his delight, the figure of the girl he had once hoped to marry, before her untimely death, appeared at once before him."

You looked at Ominis, hoping he was enjoying your storytelling. 

"Yet she was sad and cold, separated from him by a veil. Though she had returned to the mortal world, she did not truly belong there and suffered. Finally the second brother, driven mad with hopeless longing, killed himself so as truly to join her." 

You focused on finishing the story now.

"And so Death took the second brother for his own.

But though Death searched for the third brother for many years, he was never able to find him. It was only when he had attained a great age that the youngest brother finally took off the Cloak of Invisibility and gave it to his son. And then he greeted Death as an old friend, and went with him gladly, and, equals, they departed this life."

You closed the book and quietly mumbled a small "That's it." 

You were hoping to get a reaction from him, but he was asleep now. You smiled at him and put the book on his table, right next to the bed.

You joined him now, laying right beside him. He looked so peaceful while asleep. Tell him. 

"It doesn't help now," you whispered, "But I'm scared. I'm not sure of what. I just am." 

"I know you can't hear me now, but I don't want to lose you because of myself. I want to be myself with you. I want you to accept me the way I am. Which is just… Insecure. I'm sorry."

You stared at him. He was so pretty. He was so nice. Understanding. Caring. Friendly. All of that, and he's yours. It was just a blessing to have him. 

You got up for a second, grabbing the blankets which were folded by the foot of his bed, covering the both of you. You cuddled up to him. Simply adoring him. Without much thinking, you pecked his lips.

"I love you, good night."

He wasn't asleep though. And he heard you. He always has heard you. He will always listen to everything you say, he knows how important that is to you. He will return everything you have done for him, tomorrow. Just as the two of you wake up.

[blindbeta]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It also allows us a bit of fantasy escapism.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hope this helps.

-BlindBeta

[peachy-panic]

A prompt: Myles has Elijah strung up and is doing something unpleasant to him

This is a good excuse to insert a piece of canon I've been meaning to write.

WARNINGS: Captivity whump, scars, branding, knives, referenced noncon, self harm

When the shower shut off, the first thing Elijah reached for—the first thing he always reached for—was the tube of scar gel on the bathroom counter. 

He stuck his hand out from behind the curtain, groping blindly in the dark. No matter how much time passed, he still couldn’t bring himself to take a shower with the lights on, leaving him dependent on the sliver of sunlight that came through the small frosted window above the toilet. It was enough to get by, and just enough to leave his body a shadowed blur in his vision.

When his fingers found the familiar plastic, he grabbed it and flipped the cap with his thumb. He dispensed a dime-sized circle onto his palm, careful not to use too much at once. This shit was expensive, and definitely more than he and his mom should be spending with limited funds, but she knew how important it was to Elijah, so she never mentioned it. But every few weeks, a new tube would appear on the bathroom counter like clockwork. 

She just didn’t know the real reason why he needed it so badly. Not entirely.

There was no shortage of physical reminders of Elijah’s captivity etched into his body, and none of them were easy to cope with. Some of them were easier to cover, and some of them never saw the light of day. But only one instilled such a burning revulsion, one that went beyond skin deep, to the point that on several occasions, Elijah found himself on the bathroom floor next to a shattered razor, fighting the urge to filet the entire ugly fucking patch of skin from his body. Instead, he settled for thin, violent slashes across the existing scar, like he was crossing out words on a page. Just to alter it in some way. To take ownership of something that so inherently robbed it from him. 

Today, he bypassed the superficial scars altogether, ignoring the sharp lines of raised skin that had split apart under Myles Voss’s blades and belts, on his arms and shoulders and chest and stomach. Instead, he took the full amount of gel and smeared it across his inner thigh, rubbing until it covered every inch of scar tissue. 

It was overkill to close his eyes so tight, but he did it on instinct, keeping his chin tilted up so there was no chance of seeing the lines on his thigh. He wished there was a way to detach his brain from his nerve endings, so he didn’t have to feel the ridges of lettering under his fingertips like braille, reading it out over and over and over and—

The handcuffs were nothing new, but Elijah knew something was off when Myles didn’t unlock them immediately after he rolled off of him. 

Myles stood from the bed, stretching his arms over his head, and walked to the dresser on the far side of the room. Elijah stared after him blankly, slowly coming back to himself. He blinked hard a couple of times before Myles turned back to him. A golden knife gleaming in his hands. 

He was pretty sure this fucking scar cream didn’t work. He had spent countless hours online looking up his options: creams, lotions, surgeries. Most of which were too expensive to even consider, and none of which would be one hundred percent effective. No matter which route he went, even in a fantasy world where he could afford a real procedure, there would always, always be evidence of the marks Myles left on his skin.

Elijah’s wrists tugged against the restraints before he could even fully process what he was seeing. “W-what are you…?” He couldn’t even form the whole thought. This was normally the part where Myles would force him into some sick semblance of an embrace, followed by a hellish shared bath that always led to the probability of another round. He almost never brought out the knives after they had sex. 

Myles’s expression gave no leniency when he said, “We’ll keep the cuffs on for this, baby. You don’t want to fight me.”

He yanked his sweatpants up to his hips before the towel even hit the ground, like leaving the scar exposed for one more second would reveal him to the world. He could still feel it, though. There were days where the scar tissue was bad, and days where it was worse, but he could almost always feel it; if he stretched just the wrong way, if the jeans he wore were tight enough for the seam to rub just the wrong way against his inner thigh. 

Half of his wardrobe was eliminated when Elijah returned home, and not just because all of his clothes hung loose on his malnourished frame. Any pair of pants that had rips along the thighs—which, given Elijah’s fashion choices through high school, were most of them—posed the risk of showing it. 

Elijah would never be able to forget it was there. Myles had made sure of that. 

He heated the knife first, dipping the blade into the burning fireplace for a few long seconds. Elijah’s first panicked, incoherent thought was that maybe he was sterilizing it. Maybe creating a way to cauterize as he cut. In hindsight, he wondered if it had more to do with making sure the it scarred. 

The moments between seeing the blade glowing in the fire and the knife making contact with his skin were chopped into a motion blur. He recalled pieces: Myles’s weight dipping the mattress. Hands prying his legs apart. He remembered screaming, and even if he didn’t, he would have remembered the dry ache in his throat rendering him unable to talk for the entire next day, leaving Grayson to a silent cellar and a nearly catatonic companion for company. 

The heat itself, the slice of the blade through the delicate skin of his inner thigh, was a blare of white, hot pain that blew out any conscious thought. He passed out. Several times, he knew, because he recalled waking up over and over to the realization that it was still happening. 

It could have lasted seconds or hours. 

When he woke up, he was on the floor of the empty bathtub, alone. The excess blood had been washed away, a bandage fastened over the wound. Through the white of the gauze, he had already begun to bleed through; patches of red in the neat shape of two letters.

MV.

He never told anyone about the brand on his thigh, but that didn’t mean it was a secret. There were the agents and paramedics who found them, naked and terrified in the master bedroom, leaving nothing to the imagination. Then there were the people at the hospital, both doctors and police, who poked and prodded and splayed him open for photos and inspections and bandage changes and—

And of course, there was Grayson. There was very little Elijah could ever hide from him. This was only one more thing they never spoke about.

Elijah shut off his bedroom light and crawled under the blankets. When he stretched out onto his stomach, the position tugged at the scar tissue unevenly, like a thread pulled too tightly under his skin. He flipped onto his back and scrubbed both hands over his face and into his hair, pulling tightly enough on the damp curls to sting. 

“Now you won’t forget, baby,” Myles crooned, running a calloused finger over his initials. “You won’t ever forget who you belong to.”

***

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[aweekoftodays]

Something I love about shadow slave is all the little details.

I went into this story thinking it was just a power leveling fantasy, generic yuh know but not bad. So i skimmed through the first half of the first book and it kept surprising me.

Every time I thought a character was generic and flat, the author would surprise me when they switched to the character's point of view and the little details that tell you the author truly cares about his characters. It's just that the story is told from Sunny's point of view and for a good part of his developement he doesn't notice or care about other people besides on how it affects him. Looking back, it tells you so much about Sunny and his relationships.

The empty spaces in this story is just as important as what's being said.

For example, everytime Cassie comes up it mentions that she's blind or that she's the blind girl constantly. And so, i thought, roll my eyes, okay is that all she's defined by? A lot of stories would leave it at that. There’s the blind girl, the strong girl that eats a lot, the powerful and expressionless girl but beyond that, it's all about how they interact with the main character not who they actually are as people.

Not in shadow slave. So we switch to Cassie's pov, and the author adds so many little details on how she's still blind no matter how many powers she has that overcome it. Worrying about tripping over stuff, learning braille, actually having instruments tailored just for her, and the disconnect with her parents due to her disability and her powers.

And that's when we finally realize that it's not that she's always defined by being the blind girl, it's that Sunny defines her by it. It's the way he talks about and treats her. Even with all his good intentions and how much they love and care about each other, you can see throughout the novel it still shows through to Cassie and affects their relationship.

(God the relationships are so complex, I love it, i need another whole post about it)

There's so many examples of this and I love this story for it.

[munson-blurbs]

Chapter 3: All This Time Goes By, Still No Reason Why

Collaboration with my Eddie Munson sister wife, @corroded-hellfire 💚

Series Summary: Based on the Jonas Brothers song of the same name. You and Eddie share a hospital room in the wake of Hawkins' turmoil, striking up an unlikely friendship that could lead to much more.

Chapter Summary: With the help of Robin and Nancy, you and Eddie realize how much you mean to each other, but a medical emergency may prevent either of you from admitting your true feelings.

Warnings: eventual smut (18+ only, minors DNI!), Eddie survives the Upside Down, hospital, mentions of surgery, description of Eddie's scars, controlled use of pain medication, angst

WC: 5.2k

Divider credit to @firefly-graphics

“It’s time to play the Family Feud!”

Click.

“Today on Sally–”

Click.

“There’s nothing good on,” you bemoan, flicking through the channels absentmindedly. Just as you’re about to give up on finding something to watch, a familiar dramatic voice rings out from the tinny TV speaker.

“It’s twins, and the two of you are the father of one each.”

Your fingers falter on the remote as you hear the events play out. Shelby’s sitting in a hospital bed, not unlike your own, one baby in each arm. The plot is so ridiculous, yet you can’t help but be drawn in. The only thing missing is a bucket of popcorn for you to chow down on.

And Eddie, you think miserably, swallowing the thought like it’s a dry pill. He would sit slack-jawed as the two lovers argued over which baby belonged to which man, making comments like, “did you see that?!” when he knows good and well that you’re sitting two feet from him and did, in fact, see it.

Dr. Drake Ramoray is about to announce the paternity test results when there’s a soft knock on your door.

“Can, um, can we come in?” You turn your head to see Mandy standing in the doorway, pushing a redheaded girl in a wheelchair. “This is Maxine. She’ll be your new roommate,” she explains.

“Yup, finally busted out of intensive care,” the girl deadpans, tilting her head to better hear the TV. “Is that Days of Our Lives?”

You give an embarrassed giggle, muting the show. “Yeah, sorry. Guilty pleasure.”

Maxine shakes her head. “No, put it back on! I love that shit. I didn’t have a TV in ICU, so I had to listen to my boyfriend read to me.” A blush creeps across her cheeks at the mention of her boyfriend, and she leans on Mandy as the nurse helps her into the bed. “He has a nice voice, though. So it wasn’t all bad. Better than listening to him argue with his friends about D&D.” Mandy laughs at that before excusing herself from the room.

The mention of the fantasy game is like a knife slice through your heart, but you shake off the thought. “That’s sweet of him.”

“Yeah,” Maxine nods. “Read all my favorites. Guess that’s how it’ll be for a while, until I learn Braille.” That’s when you notice that her eyes are cloudy, the blue irises not focusing in a particular direction. 

You’re rendered speechless for a moment, unsure how to respond to what she’s said. “I’m sorry,” you finally manage to choke out, wincing at how dumb you sound.

Maxine doesn’t seem to care or pick up on your embarrassment. “It sucks,” she says, “but I’ve got a good support system, y’know? And with the way everything in this town’s gone to shit, being blind doesn’t seem like too big of a deal.”

You assume she’s talking about the earthquake essentially splitting Hawkins into quadrants, destroying homes, businesses, and leaving far too many people injured or dead. You start to nod before remembering that she can’t see you. “I get it, but it doesn’t mean it’s not a big deal to you.”

She pauses before responding, contemplating what you’ve just said. “Guess so,” she mumbles. “I just feel guilty worrying about myself when other people are suffering even worse.”

“I’ll drink to that.” You raise your glass of water to your lips, feeling the lukewarm liquid slip down your throat. “Have they told you how much time you'll be stuck here?” 

She chuckles tersely. “Nope. They all keep saying, ‘a little bit longer, and you’ll be back home.’ But I don’t even know if I’ll have a home to go back to.”

“Where do you–did you live?” You shake your head. “That might be too personal, sorry. I’m just excited to have someone to talk to.” And it’s true. Ever since Eddie left a few days ago, you’d been alone with your thoughts. Never a good thing, especially when you’re feeling this sad and helpless, and the mundaneness of the hospital certainly doesn’t help.

“It’s cool. I lived over on Porter Street for a year or so before my mom and I moved into Forest Hills Trailer Park.” She gnaws on her lower lip as though waiting for your judgment. “But before we came to Hawkins, I lived in California.”

“Oh.” California. Where you and Eddie had made plans to run away to–though the sincerity of those plans were apparently up for debate. You want to ask her about it; if she’s ever been to Los Angeles, if she wants to go back, but the knot in your stomach urges you to shift the topic. “Your trailer–was it destroyed in the earthquake?”

“Not sure,” she answers honestly. “No one’s said anything to me, but that could just be to keep me from getting upset. But my boyfriend’s idiot friend–one of them, anyway–let it slip that my neighbor’s trailer got, like, split in half.”

“Oh, shit,” you breathe out. “Is your neighbor okay?”

“Uh, I think so,” Maxine says. “I haven’t talked to him but my boyfriend said he was released from the hospital.”

“That’s good,” you say. “I mean, not that he was in here, but that he was okay to leave.”

“Eddie—that’s my neighbor—is staying with some friends, I think. Or friends of his uncle or something.”

The way your head snaps so quickly in the redhead’s direction makes such a loud crack that even she hears it, wincing at the pop. “Eddie” is a common enough name, but you can’t think of another Eddie other than your Eddie—or, Eddie Munson, that is—in all of Hawkins.

“Wait. Is your neighbor Eddie Munson?” you ask, voice quivering despite your attempt to sound casual.

Her eyebrows pinch together and her head tilts in your direction. “How do you—oh shit! You’re Sunshine, aren’t you?”

Your face heats up at hearing Eddie’s nickname for you. How did Maxine know about that? She’s already said that she hasn’t talked to him. Which only means she heard it from someone else. But who? Between the days dragging into one another and the cocktail medley of medications you’ve been on, you’re not sure if Eddie called you that in front of his friends or not. But either way, somehow it was going around in his friend group that he’d met you and coined that nickname for you. 

“I, uh, yeah, I guess that’s me,” you say. 

“Dustin was telling me about you,” she answers your unasked question. “He said you’re pretty cool and you and Eddie got along really well.”

“Yeah,” you say, heaving a sigh. “I guess we did.”

“Did?” Maxine asks, picking up on your tone. “Something happen?”

“We had a fight,” you admit. “We both said some pretty nasty shit to one another. Then he left without saying goodbye, and I haven’t heard from him since.”

“Eddie’s never been known for his impulse control,” Max notes wryly, but anything else she’s about to add is cut off by the sound of more voices at the door.

“Max!” It’s Robin, and she has a girl by her side. “Hey, it’s me and Nancy. Sorry we’re late; no one told us that you moved rooms–oh, it’s Sunshine!”

You blush at the second mention of your nickname. “Hi, guys,’ you say, giving a little wave. “How’ve you been?”

“Can’t complain,” Robin puts her hands in her pockets. “But, really, we should be asking how you’re doing.” She glances over to her right side. “Oh, this is our friend, Nancy Wheeler.” Nancy gives you a soft smile, and you try to muster up one back.

“I’m okay.” you shrug. I had my first surgery yesterday, so I’m sore. Kinda nauseous from the pain meds. But other than that, I’m fine.” 

“She and Eddie got into a fight,” Maxine–Max–pipes up from the bed next to you. “He didn’t even say goodbye to her. Just…poof! Vanished.” She makes a little explosion gesture with her hands to emphasize her point.

Nancy presses her lips into a thin line. “Yeah, we heard,” she admits. “Eddie told us the other day. He, uh, he’s not very good at handling conflict.” 

“You can say that again,” you mumble, trying to hide your bitterness.

“He’s been different ever since he came home from the hospital,” Robin says. She pushes the curtain between the two beds as open as it would go and puts two chairs in between you and Max. She takes the chair closer to you and Nancy takes the one closer to Max. 

“What do you mean?” you ask.

“He’s been acting weird,” Robin says.

“How can you tell?” Max asks, a smirk on her lips as she gazes unseeingly at the ceiling. 

“Weird for him. He’s all broody and sulking. I mean, I get that the guy almost died, but he was in a much better mood when he was in here.”

All eyes—even Max’s—turn to you laying in your bed. It’s hard not to shrink under their gaze. You tuck your blanket up higher in an attempt to comfort yourself. 

“Do you want to talk to him?” Nancy asks, leaning forward to see you around Robin. 

“Yes,” you admit. “I thought we could clear the air before he left, but clearly that didn’t happen. Then I was hoping the phone would ring. Or maybe he’d just show up. Every time I was taken out of my room for tests or something, I’d always ask my nurse Mandy to watch in case he stopped by. This whole thing’s honestly just got me going crazy. I just want a chance to apologize and explain.”

“What happened?” Robin asks, but after a stern look from Nancy adds, “If you don’t mind talking about it, that is.”

You take a deep breath and nod your head. The pain meds are still circulating through your system so you find yourself more willing to spill your guts to these girls you hardly knew. 

“You know how he called me Sunshine? Well, that ended up being a shit load of pressure. I mean, he didn’t really put it on me—I-I guess I did. But if I brought happiness to his day then I didn’t want to bring him down by telling him the news on my leg wasn’t good. This can be a pretty shitty place to spend day after day so I didn’t want to make it worse on him. 

But it’s not like he ever gave me a chance to explain any of this. Just assumed I was lying to him for my own sick enjoyment. Kept going on and on about how I was just like everyone else who ever made fun of him. And that really fuckin’ hurt. Then he called me—among other things—a bitch and I was seething. I was seeing red, spitting mad. So, I…well, fuck, I said something I really didn’t mean. It went too far and I regretted it the moment it came out of my mouth. I tried…I tried to tell him that. But he wouldn’t listen. Not that I entirely blame him. So, I told myself, I’d talk to him in the morning before he left. Then everything would be-be good.” 

You didn’t expect to start crying while talking about this—about Eddie, but your cheeks are covered in the wet proof that you did. You’re so flustered that you don’t even register Robin taking your hand in hers. 

“Let it out,” she reassures you. “You never told Eddie about any of this?”

You shake your head. “Everyone kept saying how happy I made him. I didn’t wanna be the reason why he’s sad.”

“I don’t think he would’ve been sad,” Nancy tells you. “Concerned, yes. But, I also understand you wanting to shield him from that.” 

“He misses you. It’s plain as day,” Robin says, and her words make you start crying even harder. She scoots her chair closer to you so that she can rub your shoulder consolingly. “It’s going to be okay. And I’m not the type of person who is just going to say that to make you feel better. Actually, I tend to say the wrong thing when I’m trying to make someone feel better. But I genuinely believe this is just a misunderstanding you guys are gonna get through.”

“Yeah, if he ever talks to me again,” you say with a sniffle. 

“He will,” Nancy says and she sounds resolutely sure in her answer. 

Robin and Nancy stay for a little over an hour, talking about people that you don’t know and places that you haven’t been, but you somehow still feel part of the whole conversation with them. It might be the medicine coursing its way through your body, but you feel a little emotional being in a group of girls like this. You hadn’t made a solid group of girl friends away at college, so you’ve been missing this kind of connection. 

Once Robin and Nancy leave, they’re not out the door for thirty seconds before Max pounces.

“You love him.”

“What?” You’re so taken aback by her statement that you can’t come up with anything else to say. No point in asking who she’s talking about, since the only guy you knew in their whole conversation was Eddie—and Steve and Dustin a little. But you’d never even thought those words to yourself about Eddie before. Obviously, you found him attractive. Very attractive. And he’s so kind and funny. It’s addictive spending time with him; you always want more. Your stomach flip flops as you come to the realization. 

Holy shit. Max is right. 

“I know I’m right,” Max says.

Color draining from your face, you turn in her direction. “What?”

She chuckles and shrugs her shoulders. “Knew you were thinking about how right I am. I’m right about most things. Just ask my boyfriend.” 

A frantic knock on the door has Eddie hoisting himself up from where he’s slumped down on Gareth’s couch, which is now his makeshift bed. Since he’d been discharged from the hospital, he and Wayne have been crashing there. It’s a nice place; much fancier than the trailer, but it’s not his home. The steaming cup of cocoa that Gareth’s mom made for him reminds him of the shelf of mugs in his own home, now utterly destroyed. 

Bet Sunshine could make tonight better, he thinks glumly. She made everything better. The knocking gets louder, snapping him from his pity party. “Coming, coming!” Eddie grumbles, tossing aside the quilt and padding towards the door. 

He’s nearly bowled over by Robin and Nancy, who eagerly push their way into the living room. “Um, come on in, I guess?”

“Cool, thanks,” Robin says, plopping down in an armchair. “We need to talk to you, like, now.”

Nancy rolls her eyes. “Jesus, Robs. You make it sound like an emergency.”

“It is an emergency,” Robin protests. “A love emergency!”

“Lucy, Ethel!” Eddie interrupts. “Can you get to the point, please?”

Nancy grins as she delivers the news. “We saw Sunshine today,” she says, watching as Eddie’s eyes widen in surprise. “Max is her new roommate.”

“She misses you, and she is so, so sorry,” Robin jumps in. “She told us that she was going to talk to you the morning after your argument, but you’d already left.” She frowns. “Did you really leave without saying goodbye?”

Eddie buries his face in his hands. “I fucked up. Bad.” He stands up, pacing the room. “But so did she! She—she threw the murder charges in my face! Like it was nothing.”

“She knows,” Nancy says. “And she feels awful about it.”

“And she lied to me,” Eddie adds. “I mean, Buckley, you were there when Harrington said there was a spark. How could there be a spark if she’d just been lying to me?”

Robin breathes out, sharing a knowing look with Nancy. “Eddie,” she starts, “she felt a lot of pressure to keep up this happy, optimistic façade for you. She thought that if she told you what was going on, you’d worry about her.”

Eddie barks out an incredulous laugh. “Of course I’d worry about her! When the people you lo—care about are going through shit, you worry about them!”

“Well, did you tell her about the Upside Down?” Nancy presses, leaning her chin on her palm. 

“No.”

“And why not?”

“Because it’s crazy, and unbelievable, and pretty fuckin’ scary!”

“Yeah, well, the stuff she’s going through is pretty fuckin’ scary for her, too,” Robin explains. “And just like you wanted to protect her, she wanted to protect you.”

“Jesus.” Eddie breathes out a long sigh. “What can I—how can I fix this?” A misty film coats his eyes. “I never meant to make her feel like she couldn’t talk to me about her problems.”

Nancy puts a polished hand on Eddie’s shoulder. “I think you should be telling her this,” she says kindly. “Maybe bring her some flowers?”

Eddie perks up a bit at the thought. “Yeah! Yeah, I can do that. Maybe I can go next week, when I’m cleared for longer car rides.” The trip home from the hospital was painful enough; each bump in the road sent shockwaves through his scars. 

Robin smiles. “I think she’ll love that.”

“Never thought I’d be taking love life advice from Lady Wheeler and Video Girl,” he muses. 

Robin shrugs, clearly not offended. “Better than from Steve,” she says simply. 

It’s only been about two weeks since Eddie’s been in these halls, but being able to walk them of his own free will and knowing he can turn around and leave at any time he likes certainly makes it better. Making the familiar walk to his old room, Eddie wrinkles his nose at the scent of antiseptic and whatever disinfectant they use to clean the floors. How did he ever sleep in this place? Bells and alarms are going off every other minute. Eddie feels like he’s going crazy and he’s only been in the hospital for three minutes.

Small bouquet of Sunflowers in his hand, Eddie takes the elevator to the correct floor, then turns right down two hallways, and he’s finally at the room. Before raising his fist to knock, Eddie takes a deep breath to compose himself. He wasn’t sure how he’d be feeling seeing his Sunshine again after their fight, but the correct answer to that would be anxious. He gently knocks on the door frame and pokes his head into the room.

“Who is it?” Max asks, talking to you, Eddie presumes. Or maybe to him, wanting him to announce himself. 

“It’s, uh, me,” Eddie says, taking a step into the room. “Um, Eddie.” He glances over at your bed, hoping one quick look would steel his nerves to look at you head on. But he does a double take when you’re not in the bed. 

“Hey, Eddie,” Max says. She breaks him out of his confused haze and he steps around the curtain to see her. Considering all that the girl had gone through, she doesn’t look too bad. Casts are still covering the multiple bones that had been broken, but her unseeing eyes were by far the most unsettling. It caused a pit in Eddie’s stomach to know all that she had endured and all she had tried to shield her friends from had landed her here like this. 

“How’re you feeling, Red?” Eddie takes a seat next to her bed, your flowers still clutched in his grip.

“So bored,” she says with a sigh. “There’s shit to do around here. I have to listen to everything. Can’t watch anything, obviously. Can’t touch anything ‘cause of these damn broken arms. Only other senses I get to use are my sense of smell to inhale the lovely aroma of body odor and hospital chemicals, and my sense of taste when I have to literally be spoon fed because my body doesn’t work.”

“Jesus,” Eddie says. “I’m thinking I’m lucky now that all I have are some chunks of skin missing from my one man show for some fucked up demonic bats.”

“I’m sorry,” Max says with a sigh. “I didn’t mean to unload on you like that. Just been stuck in my head today.” 

“No, no, I get it. But, uh…couldn’t you have talked to… I mean, where is, um,” Eddie stutters out.

“Your Sunshine?” Max asks, a mocking cheesy smile on her face. “Came to see your girl?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says with a sigh. A faint blush comes to his cheeks at Max referring to you in that way. “Where is she?”

“Her second surgery is today,” Max tells him. “They came and took her early this morning and I’m not sure when she’ll be back because they’ll take her to recovery first.” 

Eddie’s grip tightens on the flowers in his hands and he makes a conscious effort to take it easy so the stems aren’t snapped off when you get to see them. There’s a queasiness in his stomach as he thinks about you being in surgery right now. Unconscious, doctors working on you, scalpels cutting open portions of your skin. It gives him a full body chill. 

“Her mom is here somewhere. In the surgery center’s waiting room, I’d guess,” Max tells him.

“Oh,” Eddie says, suddenly becoming fidgety in his seat. He wants to go out there and find your mom, who will hopefully have an update on you. But he doesn’t want to leave Max all alone again. 

“Go,” Max says, as if reading his mind. “Just make sure you switch the television to something else before you leave. If I hear the news cycle one more time I’m going to claw my way out of these casts just so I can turn the channel myself.”

Eddie stands and flips through the channels until he settles on Wheel of Fortune. “How’s that?”

“Kinda hard to play along without seeing the puzzle, but whatever, it’s better than the news. Oh, uh, Eddie? Before you go, can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” he says, slipping his free hand into the pocket of his jeans. 

“No one will give me a straight answer. Maybe they don’t know or just don’t want to tell me, but I know you’ll have seen it. Is my home okay? I know my mom’s still staying there, but I want to know she’s safe.”

Eddie frowns and takes a few steps forward to gently place his hand on your shoulder. “Your trailer looks fine. Or, well, I guess I should say it looks the same. None of the trailers in Forest Hills have ever looked ‘fine.’ But yeah, your mom is safe there. No damage or anything like that.”

“Thank you,” Max says, releasing a sigh that’s probably weighed heavily on her for a while. 

“Sure thing. Hey, I brought some flowers. I’m gonna put them on Sunshine’s bedside table, okay?” He takes one of the sunflowers out of the bunch and snaps off the branch so he can stick it into one of Max’s twin braids. “Now you look like a real flower child.”

“Can’t hold my fingers up in a peace sign, but okay. Yeah, I’ll tell her the flowers are from you if she comes back in here after you’ve left. Glad to know there’s actually flowers in here though, because I smelled them and thought it was some new cleaning product they were trying.” 

“Thanks, Red. I’ll see you soon, yeah?” Eddie asks as he sets your flowers down.

“Wish I could say the same,” Max says and Eddie winces at his phrasing. “I’m messing around. Go find your Sunshine, lover boy.”

“Ugh, don’t call me that,” Eddie whines.

“Fine. Romeo? Lovebug? Casanova?”

“Jesus, just call me Eddie,” he says with an eye roll. He shouts a goodbye over his shoulder as he heads out of the room. 

Eddie makes his way to the waiting room, rubber soles of his worn Keds squeaking on the linoleum floor. He recognizes your mom from their brief encounter the day before he left, and he gives her a tight grin. 

“Um, hi,” he says. She gives him a confused look, and he realizes how different he must look, freshly shaved and in his normal clothes. “I’m Eddie. Sunshine’s old roommate? And, uh, the one who called her Sunshine, I guess.” He ducks his head bashfully. 

Your mom’s expression softens as she recognizes the boy. “Of course! Sorry, it feels like my head is spinning, waiting for the doctor to come out with an update.”

“How long has it been?” Eddie asks, taking a seat next to her. 

“Too damn long,” She chuckles lightly as she glances at her wristwatch, letting out an exasperated sigh. “About four hours now. They said it shouldn’t take too much longer than that…”

As if on cue, Dr. Sanoj hurries into the waiting room, fingers clasped together. A knot forms in Eddie’s stomach; whatever’s going on can’t be good. 

“I have an update on your daughter,” he says to your mom. “We could speak somewhere private, if you’d like.” His gaze briefly shifts to Eddie, who shoves his hands in his pockets shyly. 

But your mom is firm when she shakes her head and says, “no, he can hear this.” 

“Okay,” the doctor begins. “The surgery was successful, and didn’t take too long at all. There are some complications, however; possibly due to having two procedures done so close together.”

“What’s going on?” Eddie interrupts. 

“We’re having some difficulty waking her from the anesthesia, and she’s spiked a small fever,” Dr. Sanoj admits. “There’s no real cause for concern yet. We’re just going to have the nurses continue to take her vitals.”

Eddie feels your mom’s fingernails dig into his wrist, but he doesn’t complain. It feels good, in a way, to know that he can be there for someone in their time of need. “Can we see her?” she asks the doctor. 

He nods. “Yes, of course. You can follow me into the recovery room.” They’re both right on his heels as they make their way down the white corridor. Neither of them say a word, but the fear is palpable. 

“You can go in first,” your mom offers. “I need to make some phone calls to relatives and friends. Just let me know if she wakes up, please.” Her tone is hopeful, but Eddie can still sense the anxiety beneath it. 

Seeing you in such a vulnerable state twists Eddie’s heart. He doesn’t even realize he’s crying until he feels the tears on his cheeks. Pulling up a chair to your bedside, he takes your hand and brings it to his lips, kissing it gently. 

“Sunshine, can you hear me? If you can hear me, please wake up.” He leans over, placing the back of his free hand on your forehead. “Shit, you’re burnin’ up. Small fever, my ass,” he grumbles. He’s always been suspicious of doctors, and he doesn’t trust that this isn’t more serious than the surgeon let on. 

“Listen, Sunshine,” he starts. He’s not sure if you can even hear him, but it’s worth a shot. “I’m really sorry that I made you feel like you had to pretend to be happy all the time. That’s never what I wanted. I guess…I guess I figured you’d tell me if something was wrong. Sounds kinda dumb now that I’m saying it out loud.” He gives a small laugh. “And when I found out that you’d been keeping your surgeries a secret, I thought it was just you pushin’ me away. But now I know it’s because you were just tryin’ to protect me.

“And, look, I get it if you don’t want anything to do with me anymore. I’m loud, and impulsive, and I couldn’t pass geometry if my life depended on it. I have no idea what I’m doing after high school, and I wish I could blame the earthquake for that, but it’s all me. Also, in the spirit of honesty or whatever, remind me to tell you the truth about that earthquake thing,” he adds, bringing his thumbnail to his mouth and chewing on it anxiously. 

“Sunshine, you’re, like, this beautiful ballerina with these big plans and a heart of fuckin’ gold. And if–when–you wake up, if you decide to never speak to me again, I’ll understand. I mean, I’ll be devastated because, y’know, you’re kinda my favorite person in the whole world, but I’ll get out of your way. But, please, please wake up. I can’t have you dying before you even get a chance to live out your dreams.”

Eddie stops, cocking his head slightly to watch your chest move up and down with each shallow breath. You start to sputter, and his heart lurches at the prospect of you hearing his words and waking up to them.

But the sputtering gets more violent, and one of the many machines connected to you starts to beep loudly. A swarm of nurses infiltrates the room, nudging Eddie out of the way.

“We need all visitors to leave,” one of them tells him, even though he’s clearly the only other person there.

“Is she gonna be okay?” Eddie calls out as he’s being guided out of the door. “Is something wrong?” He watches as they pull out a defibrillator, attaching the adhesives to your chest before starting it up. He wants to stay and be there for you, even if you aren’t aware of it, but the door is closed behind him.

“You can pull through, Sunshine,” he whispers. “You’ve gotta pull through.” Not many sounds reach him on the other side of the door, and Eddie isn’t sure how he feels about that as he paces back and forth. He’s hardly keeping together when he hears footsteps coming down the hall. 

“Eddie?”

He lifts his head to see your mom walking towards him, a confused frown pinched on her face as she approaches. It’s the sight of her that has the impending tears welling up in his eyes. 

“Eddie, what’s going on? Why’s the door closed?”

Wringing his hands in front of him, Eddie halts his pacing. His mouth opens but nothing comes out. The longer his silence drags on, the more concerned your mother looks. 

“I���m not sure, really,” Eddie says. “I was in there with her then machines started beeping and they kicked me out. They brought some other machine over to her but then I couldn’t see anymore because they closed the door.”

“W-What?” Your mom looks around, seeing if there are any doctors or nurses around that can explain what’s happening to you. She almost bangs on the door but she doesn’t want to interrupt whatever they’re doing in there to help you. “What’s happening to my baby girl?”

Eddie’s eyes were misting over before, but at the heartbreaking tone of your mom, tears start to trickle down his face. He doesn’t know what to do or say. What would you do in this situation? Taking a wild guess, Eddie opens his arms to your mom, who instantly takes him up on the hug. Her head rests on his shoulder and it’s not long before he can feel her tears soaking into his shirt.  “She’ll be okay,” Eddie says. “She has to be.”

--

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[strangestcase]

Griffin being canonically blind isn't canon actually. He was able to throw stones in Kemp's windows, meaning he knew where to throw, his notes were not in Braille and contained Greek letters and numbers other characters were able to see and read (but not understand), and Griffin himself made multiple visual descriptions while telling his story.

It's okay to have headcanons, but calling anyone ableist for not sharing your vision is just disgusting. Also, there are numerous albino people who have pretty normal eyesight, even if it's not perfect. Stating that albino person necessarily must have visual impairment is in fact ableistic itself.

Well, last time I asked an expert they said all people with albinism have visual impairments and most of them are legally blind (not completely blind, mind you), and last time I checked H. G. Wells was not an expert.* Like, did you know people with albinism usually don’t have bright red eyes irl? Their irises are pink or purple. But Griffin is described with red eyes rather than pink, which would be a more common eye color. And that’s (another) thing Wells got wrong, because, guess what, writers can get things wrong. He also doesn’t mention strabismus or nistagmus anywhere, even though very much all people who have albinism have one or both.

(I only know like, two artists who draw Griffin with strabismus. And that’s counting myself.)

Griffin has albinism. I did research before writing him, including asking dermatologists and ophthalmologists, and if I had access to people with the same condition I would have asked them too (and in fact I regret not reaching out to do so). But like… Either you write him with actual real life albinism or you don’t. Unlike Wells, who only mentions he has light sensitivity like, once?

Let me ask you some things, anon: are YOU a person with albinism? In which case, I get it, I get your complaints! Because you’re technically right, and I concede it’s not my job as a physically abled person to police what you do in fandom. I can only do so much.

But if you’re not, would you have been assed to do research to write a character that has albinism, beyond “ummm actually not ALL albinos are blind”? Do you even know what “blind” means, like, medically? And, more importantly: are you saying these things to me because you want me to do better? or is it because you got butthurt I made some posts about the way the fandom ignores Griffin’s disability and treats it as a simple cosmetic effect rather than a medical condition that impacts his quality of life… like, forever ago? Actual, genuine question here. Do you WANT me to do BETTER with disabled rep? Or are you just angry I said you’re getting a disorder wrong (sometimes on purpose!) a few times in the past? Because from your tone I can’t tell and your use of “albino” rather than “person with albinism” makes it more confusing.

Let’s be clear here. “Griffin is visually impaired and should probably be blind” isn’t a headcanon, it’s what would happen if he had albinism, a real life condition from an array of real life conditions, in real life— if he was not a Fantasy White-Haired Freak to Wells and half of the fandom. H. G. Wells could have had a type 1 diabetic character spend a whole day without injecting insulin and you lot would be like “well them needing to inject insulin to not die painfully isn’t canon, stop saying all diabetics need insulin”.

*(Also some of my now late uncles all had type one OCA and, according to my mother, they were all legally blind to various degrees. I don’t count this as a firsthand source but yknow.)

[cripplecharacters]

Hi, I want to write a blind character (with only a residual central vision left) and I would like any input on how I write his son's relation with him, and how someone that's close to the character may act around him/to help him.

Hi! So it’s a good sign that you have an idea of what his vision capabilities looks like, and of course if you can get more specific with a condition that is very helpful, but that is only tangentially related to your question, just a side note!

As for specific ways of acting:

He likely will rely more on auditory cues. Announcing things that other people may not think to say aloud can be very common in domestic settings (ıe: “I’m in the kitchen” “Xyz is at the door”, etc) In my own home just verbally describing things is so commonplace that it barely even feels like something ‘extra’ — its a natural part of how my husband acts around me. Reading mail, cooking instructions, or other domestic “papers” aloud is also a way the son could help his father around the house.

Tactile cues can be equally as important, especially if your character is DeafBlind in any capacity. Touching shoulders, tapping the table, or otherwise signifying a presence can be helpful. You can get creative with these — what specific tactile rituals might the father and son develop together that reveal things about their culture, personality, etc?

If the father is older/has shaky hands, or otherwise might struggle with any personal grooming, would he want his son to help with that? For instance, I am not fully comfortable shaving by myself because I don’t want to cut myself. Note that this is not a given — plenty of blind people are capable of doing these things, it's just something to consider in character development and can provide a background for some emotional / bonding scenes.

Beyond what the son in specific does, there are considerations for the house itself that the son lives in and interacts with. I’m not sure if your work is from the son’s, father’s or both POVs but blind households may differ in a few ways.

Does the father have lights in the house or his room?

Bump dots! If he does use lights, or microwaves, machines, etc how might he mark them up to make them accessible to him?

Cooking tools like liquid level detectors, etc. There are plenty of these but looking around at shops like the Braille Superstore can give an idea of the types of tools that may be attractive to people who need them

Does he use braille or whatever equivalent a fantasy story may have if that’s your genre? If so, consider reading and writing materials, whether they are old school slate and stylus or a more advanced brailler machine.

Note that unless the family has recently moved to a new house or they have recently made interior changes or he is recently blinded, the father should be very comfortable navigating the space since it is his home he spends lots of time in. He likely would not use a cane in his own home, he would not frequently bump into major things like furniture, etc. However if the house is messy and there are hazards on the floor, or they got a new appliance, his vision got suddenly worse, or otherwise made an adjustment, then there is a greater chance of difficulties. Maybe he is more strict about cleanliness with his son so that’s another opportunity for developing their relationship.

This is barely just scratching the surface though. Feel free to follow up with more questions if desired. :)

Mod Zohar

[larkawolfgirl]

Cooking Oil on Canvas (Promptio)

Rating: Mature

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M, Multi

Fandom: Final Fantasy XV

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

Characters: Ignis Scientia, Prompto Argentum

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

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

Read on ao3

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

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

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

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

No amount of debate would change that fact.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Except everything was not fine. Nothing was fine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

__

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Glad to know you didn’t forget me.”

“I would recognize your voice amidst a cyclone.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks, Iggy.”

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

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

“Have you been eating?”

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

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

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

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

__

“Let me cook you something.”

“That would be amazing, Iggy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes,” was his serious reply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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