#which if that happens ill literally have nowhere to go

[brionysea]

Is it just me or did Vi really not get an arc this season 😭? She doesn’t resolve the fact that she places all her worth on protecting those she loves. A lot of her big emotional beats (joining the enforcers, becoming a pit fighter, finding Vander, freeing Jinx and getting imprisoned for all her efforts) happened as a result of Caitlyn or Jinx’s intervention. She has so much oldest sister syndrome she infected the narrative 😇

yes! I think it's an issue of flawed ideas and poor execution. in classic me fashion, I'll go through the whole thing to show you what I mean:

vi joining the enforcers despite everything they've done to her (killing her parents, roughing up her family as kids, chasing them down, coming into the last drop to arrest them and intimidating everyone and almost taking powder, imprisoning and abusing and starving vi for her entire adolescence) because caitlyn asked her to and caitlyn is the Most Important Person in her life right now is the exact kind of thing vi would do. I personally love how temporary the enforcer gig is, despite that going against the lore (I honestly couldn't care less), because vi's CHARACTER in this show goes against the lore. I don't care that she's supposed to be an enforcer in the game. I'm not playing a game. I'm watching a show. the vi I know wouldn't do that, it makes no sense for her character, and it really feels like that's the point. she's losing herself for the sake of what caitlyn wants in a very clever way to address whoever demanded the show be more accurate to the game (which, again, I AM NOT PLAYING. BECAUSE THIS IS A SHOW THAT'S MORE THAN CAPABLE OF STANDING ON ITS OWN) without betraying the characters. this is the kind of freedom that would have made for a truly stellar season: going where the story is led naturally by its characters rather than being trapped by a pre-determined narrative

then in vi's fight with jinx (which, fine, I guess vi *would* decide that 'jinx isn't powder anymore' means 'my sister is dead'; she's single minded like that, even if it felt rushed), there's suddenly a random child in the crossfire and vi's like oh. okay. I can't actually hurt innocent children the way I was hurt. I do, in fact, have principles, and they dictate that I intervene rather than allow this to play out. and it turns out that when the chips are down caitlyn doesn't actually care about the undercity because she risked killing an innocent child and wants to kill jinx knowing she's vi's sister (and said that jinx, a young mentally ill girl from the undercity, killing caitlyn's mother, one of the richest and most powerful women in piltover, is the same as vi's parents being killed by enforcers while fighting to end the oppressive social order they enforce. it's not.) and basically says that she thought vi was 'one of the good ones' but she's exactly like all those other animals (again, because vi refused to let cait open fire on a child), before literally gut-punching her and leaving her there. vi was right before, they're oil and water, they're too different. and now vi's lost her sister; lost cait; the rest of her family is still dead. she has no money. no power. nowhere to go. nobody to protect. what's even the point of her?

and then we reach the second act. vi has no purpose so she's like well I'm just gonna fight people for money. because she'll win. obviously. she's a mess, she's drinking all the time, she's seeing jinx and caitlyn everywhere (people really breeze over how vi sees things too - definitely to a lesser degree than jinx, but when she hits rock bottom, it's there). I love this set up for vi. it makes so much sense that putting all her energy into caring for others would end up here. like a message from the universe that she needs to learn to do things for herself or she'll always end up back in this hole. you could argue that vi not having a lot of agency and just following jinx or caitlyn around until she ends up stuck in that cell (her ✨️ prison of the mind ✨️ or whatever jinx's imaginary, out of character, ghost silco was talking about), while boring (so boring), is more of vi being stubborn and stuck in her ways and refusing to learn her lesson until she's forced to. which she was also like in season 1, except there, it was more like vi repeatedly trying to solve problems that were much too big to be punched away by punching them (vi thought jinx could brute force her way out of being traumatised), and even then, I didn't get the impression that vi cared enough about the council to actually give up on jinx because of what she did to them. vi's a brick wall of a woman. sometimes, in this bitch of a world, stubbornness is a virtue

the problem, like a lot of things that had potential in season 2, is that it's not actually followed through on. there's no self actualisation for vi. she just cares about jinx until she doesn't and then she has sex with cait (who does not actually atone for any of the shit she did btw) in the prison cell where vi's sister was just planning suicide and is currently going through with it elsewhere, as far as vi knows

I think the intention was for vi having sex with cait instead of chasing after jinx to be the first selfish thing in her life (which jinx basically told her to do, because no one hates piltover anymore even though they haven't changed at all or done anything to earn this 'meet us halfway' demand of feeling entitled to zaun's bodies for their war after poisoning those same bodies for who knows how long. jinx never called vi an idiot for dating an enforcer. in fact, she feels bad for nuking the council :( which means she's good now! 👍 because GOOD characters are NICE to piltover and only BIG MEANIES care about zaun's independence. even silco's ghost thinks it's a waste of time! apparently he was just bitter and unloved, like a child throwing a tantrum! sure. sure! why not!), but it falls apart immediately because 1) jinx told vi she's going to kill herself (vi knew what jinx was planning before she asked, you can hear the fear in her voice), which obviously takes priority - never in a million years would vi let jinx disappear like that without doing anything about it, no matter how self actualised she is, because STOPPING YOUR SISTER FROM COMMITTING SUICIDE IS A NORMAL THING TO DO. well, maybe not normal, but you know what I mean. it's not exclusively a vi-ism. it's common sense. if someone you love tells you they're going to commit suicide, you do everything in your power to prevent it. and 2) CAIT IS NOT ACTUALLY REDEEMED FROM ALL THE SHIT SHE DID TO THE UNDERCITY. yes, cait letting jinx escape was symbolic of her letting go of the obsession that drove her to that point, but she didn't actually hurt jinx (except now jinx is free to off herself because of cait, which vi would be angry about if she hadn't spontaneously forgotten what she learned in the previous scene). despite her personal vendetta, cait couldn't catch jinx to even attempt to hurt her. who she DID hurt was the undercity at large, and she has no way of making up for that. they dropped the zaun plotline like a hot potato so there's no narrative opportunity for cait to prove to vi (and to the audience) that she gets it now. that she's done being a fascist and vi isn't just blinded by her hotness (which would be a strange angle to take but that's honestly what it seems like. it's so shallow and out of place with everything going on). none of this is earned enough for vi to choose a quickie in a cell over stopping her suicidal sister from blowing herself up

TLDR; there was an attempt at an arc, which was foiled by tying it so closely to caitvi, which was tied to the politics of the piltover-zaun conflict, which was never resolved and thus made vi's arc feel unsatisfying

[nectarinebat]

Been doing real fucking bad and I'm So sick of it. When will it end

[iliveinprocrasti-nationn]

one thing abt being disabled/chronically ill that some people don’t get is that sometimes body maintenance that ensures you have the absolute minimum amount of function can also be something that takes away a lot of control and autonomy. you can argue till the cows come home that making those decisions to try and help yourself (or realistically to try to make sure things aren’t worse than they already are) is something that exhibits control and autonomy and stuff, but they can be so limiting in practice because they’re things that take up so much time but have to be done to do anything else

[defenselesswriter]

so i know if i leave my dishes undone and my mom sees them tomorrow there is a really good chance she and i will get into a huge fight that may or may not result in her kicking me out.

i know this. it has happened before.

but i still can’t bring myself to just do the fucking dishes!

then i spiral because wow i can’t even do a task as simple as staying on top of dishes when i barely work 20 hours a week and have nothing else going on in my life. like how pathetically lazy am i?????

the answer will shock you.

[graevs666]

god i don’t wanna be here i don’t wanna exist

[phagodyke]

man. getting a little sick of being everyones 15th option for everything. when is it my turn to be someone's first choice :^[

[lokischocolatefountain]

Savior

Fandom: The Last of Us (HBO) Pairing: dark!Joel Miller x captive reader Rating: 18+ Dead Dove Do Not Eat Warnings: I repeat, DDDNE. Kidnapping, non-con, dub-con, face fucking, bondage, objectification, dehumanisation, captivity, drug and alcohol abuse, boot licking (literally), boot kissing, master/slave dynamics, name calling (bitch), loss of identity, Stockholm syndrome, really messed up dynamics, mention of spitting, mention of boot fucking, mention of watersports but not performed. Word count: 1.7k words Summary: Joel saves you from the horrors of the world only to inflict another horror on you. A/N: *slaps roof of this fic* This fic has everything (again, heed the warnings) I’ve been away for a while now and I’ll probably taken long to post my next fic. But I hope this is a fun read 🥺

The world was a big place and you knew nothing about it. You wanted to. You wanted to go beyond the walls of the QZ and inside those buildings people said were tall enough to touch the sky. You wanted to see the remains of museums. You wanted to see trees and sit on the grass and eat fresh fruits.

In a mockery of this daydream, the universe decided that not only would you never step outside but that you will be confined in a space smaller than the QZ.

You knew nothing about the world, but you knew everything about him. Many people passed by the doors of his apartment throughout the day. But you identified his strides. The heaviness of his boot against the floor, the speed at which he walked, how big his strides were. When you heard the grating sound of metal against metal, you knew he’d slotted his key in the door. You began trembling just at the sound of the door opening, your body fearing everything he would inflict on you.

Yet your cunt throbbed with anticipation. Your heart fluttered with joy. He was cruel, yes. But you knew he cared about you. He shared his food, traded to get you a few clothes, even got your medicines when you were ill. He was violent with you, but that was only because of the hard work he had to do all day.

As he walked in, you took in his appearance. Hands stained black, a thin sheen of sweat on his face and arms. He was tired again. He downed some of the brownish liquor he brought back a week ago and popped in a few pills. Sometimes he even shared them with you.

He put the bottle down and walked towards you. It was summer and you didn’t need to wear clothes. So you didn’t. He said he wasn’t going to waste time washing them when you didn’t have to wear them. With your ankle chained to the radiator, there was nowhere for you to go.

You smelled the tasks of his day on his boot as he stood in front of you, his boot dangerously close to your face. You willed yourself to not throw up. Not again, not again, please no, not again. They were dirty, too dirty. You did everything he asked you to, but you couldn’t bear when he made you fuck yourself on his boot until you came. And you did, every single time.

A sharp sting pulled at every nerve ending on your face as his boot made contact with it.

“Thought you’d died,” he said, unbuckling his jeans. You pressed your palms on the floor and sat up on your knees.

“Still breathing? Let me check,” he said, pinching your nose between his fingers. You gasped when he cut your access to air, breathing through your fuckhole to keep yourself alive. “There’s my bitch… Still alive.”

He took his cock out of his pants, large and intimidating, just like him. You opened your mouth instinctively. Happened when you got the shit kicked out of you when you didn’t keep your holes accessible. Happened when food and water were conditional upon how satisfactory you were as his stress toy. Nose still pinched, he unzipped himself and plunged his cock inside you. Your legs kicked around as his thickness restricted your breath, your cunt tightening around nothing as he let you struggle for a few moments more.

Finally, he let go of your nose, allowing you to see another day. You looked up at him, gratitude filling your heart that he would allow you air. It wasn’t always like that. In the initial days of your captivity, all you wanted was death. But eventually he taught you to be grateful for everything he did. Grateful he gave you a purpose, grateful he grabbed you from the street, that he fed you his scraps and trained your fuckholes to be useful.

You moaned uselessly as your throat burned from his size. Thankfully, he didn’t mind your noises. He was good, merciful. So kind to let you make any sound at all though you were forbidden from talking. He’d fucked that notion out of you long ago. Called your mouth a fuckhole as he did your cunt and ass.

A mouth was for talking and eating. He reminded you often that you didn’t have one. The hole on your face was a hole to fuck, a pit for his cum and spit and piss. When you’d accepted that, you found you had no need to speak.

The small room filled with Master’s grunts and groans, punctuated by the involuntary moans from your fuckhole. You always hated blowjobs, finding the act demeaning and avoiding it until whatever boy you were dating annoyed you into sucking him off. But this wasn’t a blowjob. You didn’t suck cock, you simply complied as he fucked a hole he owned. Still, you tried to be as worthy as you could with the little freedom you had.

He bottomed out inside you, your nose pressed against his belly. Your hair was in a tight grip in his fist, a handle to make you more convenient. But you tried with the little space you had, licking his balls. He moaned and thrusted though he’d fed you all that he had. An animalistic need to seek sexual gratification no matter how. One hand in your hair became two and he began his brutal pace that would leave your fuckhole bruised and out of use for a few days until he deemed it fit to fuck again.

Your face hit his soft belly over and over and his balls slapped against your chin. Your cunt thrusted up into the air, begging for something, anything. It didn’t have to be Master’s cock. His hand, a kick from his boot you so hated, his pistol. It needed to be used, just as the rest of your body.

It didn’t take long for his cock to leave your fuckhole, ropes of sticky white fluid coating your face. Your hole gasped for air and Master, generous as he was, let you have air and water.

No, not water, you realized as the strong taste attacked your senses. The glass bottle you took from was an old beer bottle, the label worn off but a hint of color reminding you of the brand. But it wasn’t beer. Something that they brewed in the QZ that he was kind enough to share to keep your nightmares at bay. You kept the final sip in your mouth and looked up, your throat straight to accept the pills he threw in. You swallowed, tears flowing down your cheeks. You would sleep well tonight, untainted by images of your loved ones turning, of your gun putting a bullet in their heads before they could rip you into pieces.

You bent forward and pressed your lips to his filthy boots, silent tears growing into sobs. You kissed and licked the filth, hoping he knew how grateful you were for this one night of mercy. For thinking about you, noticing how you suffered when night came and the memories of a past life flooded in. With each second of worship, you showed him how grateful you were for the freedom he gave you by chaining you up in his room.

When his boots were clean, you gave it one final kiss and hugged his legs. You rested your cheek on his boots, shivering when he bent down and petted you.

“I know, I know,” he said quietly, his voice soft and kind. He let you weep at his feet for what felt like hours but you knew was only a few minutes. Eventually your sobs died down and he pried you off of him gently. He placed a bowl of slop in front of you and filled the other bowl with water. Sustenance. And you didn’t even have to work for it. You were hungry, god you were so hungry it hurt. But you waited. You were just a useless bitch with nothing left but the base needs of your belly and cunt. But you still had manners. You didn’t take anything Master gave for granted. He placed food and water in front of you, but it wasn’t permission to take them.

He deserved your respect, your obedience. You knew he suffered at night just like you did. Outside, he did backbreaking labor so you didn’t have to. And he always kept you fed, took care of you. You couldn’t give him as much as he gave you from where he kept you so you showed absolute deference.

“Eat.”

And that was when you began.

“My name’s Joel.” He said out of nowhere from his place in his bed. He didn’t look at you for a response. Just spoke it into the air. You left your food and water behind and crawled to the foot of his bed, nuzzling your head against his boots with no other way to show gratitude.

You never knew his name until then. You didn’t know if he knew yours, but he called you Bitch. Useless bitch, stupid bitch, ungrateful little bitch. Good bitch. You responded to Bitch. And soon enough, you were Bitch even in your innermost thoughts. But now you had a name for the man who rescued you, showed you mercy though you were so difficult in the beginning. Because of him, you were no longer a zombie walking the QZ and laboring night and day just for food and clothing. He freed you from the burdens of choice, from the efforts of survival, the agony of humanity.

You didn’t have to throw bodies in the fire, didn’t have to clean officers’ floor on your hands and knees as they leered at you. You didn’t have to fear the FEDRA officers who’d put you in jail just to fuck you. Being human was the worst fate in this world and Master saved you from it. With him, you were safe. Nothing was under your control, so you were now free from self-blame. You didn’t have to fight to keep living a life not worthy of living. You didn’t have to watch others with their children and parents and friends and feel the agony of not having yours anymore.

Here, he’d given you a place at his feet. He reduced you to Bitch, freed you from the humanity that came with the name people used to call you. The world wasn’t such a scary place anymore. After all, you were only his bitch and the world was your benevolent Master.

[schizopositivity]

If you see any videos online of a mentally ill person in public being filmed without their consent, please report it as harassment. Examples include: a video of someone talking to someone who isn't actually there, a video of someone having strange or erratic behaviors, a video of someone speaking gibberish or talking incoherently, etc.

This is a huge violation of the person in the videos privacy and extremely disrespectful. They could be having the worst day of their life. They could be homeless with no support system or access to care, with nowhere else to be but in public. They might not see that you are filming, and have no idea or control over who sees them in a vulnerable state. Please consider the feelings and safety of the people in these videos, they are already going through enough as it is, you don't need to add to their problems by filming, posting, or even just watching these videos.

No one is better than the mentally ill people in these videos. Everyone is capable of having a mental health crisis that leads to strange behavior in public. How would you feel if someone posted your worst moments online for people to laugh at? These are human beings that deserve the same amount of respect as anyone else in the world. Yes, even if they are homeless, or on drugs, or swearing, or dirty, or disturbing the peace of a public area. That is a human being no matter what.

As someone with schizophrenia, it's so disgusting how often I come across videos like that online (yes, even on Tumblr). A lot of these "strange" behaviors that are being filmed are literally just symptoms of mental illnesses like schizophrenia. The person cannot control what they are doing, and might not be aware that it is perceived as strange. It's also important to acknowledge that people with severe and persistent mental illnesses are at an increased risk of violence by others, homelessness, substance use disorders, being arrested, and being involuntarily committed into psychiatric facilities. Alienating us and reinforcing stigma against us can contribute to those risks. It's also worth noting that paranoia is a symptom of schizophrenia, and knowing that people are willing to film us in public to ridicule us at our vulnerable moments is extremely paranoia inducing. This can cause us to fear going out in public, which leads to isolation, which makes the symptoms of schizophrenia worse.

There is so much risk associated with the filming, posting and viewing of these videos. Plus it further dehumanizes a disenfranchised minority. Is it really worth it? Is the few seconds of "entertainment" really worth all this distress you are causing?

If you want to advocate for mentally ill people, or even just care at all, you must stop this from happening. Don't film people in public without their consent. Don't post videos of people in public without their consent. Don't like, share or comment on videos of people in public filmed without their consent, it just boosts it in the algorithm. Report any instances of this that you see, even if you think "this one's not that bad" or "the person doesn't seem distressed in this one" or "okay but this one is actually funny", no excuses, report it.

[fatuismooches]

At the beginning of your relationship with Dottore, there had been numerous times when he had tried to leave you, or rather, attempt to force you to leave him in the Akademiya. Ignoring you, snapping at you... most notably literally kicking you out of the dorm (to waking up and nearly stepping on you, as you had decided to knock out right at the door.) Merely because he still had difficulty believing he was loved by you, despite having known you for years. It took much time but, eventually, your feelings finally clicked in that genius head of his.

However, uncharacteristically enough, there was one time you debated on whether you should leave Zandik. Only one time. And he had found out. If only you had been more careful.

It happened during the later stage of your illness when your ability to do many basic tasks had been stripped from you, leaving you reliant on Zandik for many things. You felt very guilty, for making him so do much work for both himself and you, but there wasn't much you could do about it, being the way you were now. Did you tell your lover about this? No, of course not.

But today, today would just be another regular day of what you had accepted to be your new life. However, you had noticed in the morning he seemed rather irritated, but you had no chance to ask him about it since he had to leave for class. You wondered what that was all about. (You, somewhere in the depths of your mind thought. You were continuously being a burden on the knowledge-driven scholar, no wonder he'd be irritated.)

When he returned to the dorm, you could tell that the foul mood still remained. Though, you could not understand what had caused it. He was perfectly fine last night, something must have happened after you fell asleep... As you watched him, the words "welcome home" could not seem to come out as they usually did, especially when he had not even acknowledged you yet, only emptying his bag with all of his books and other tools. You swallowed nervously, wondering how you were going to go about this when he spoke.

"Where?"

"Huh?"

"Where do you plan to go?" You were understandably confused by this seemingly random question.

"Um... nowhere?" A nervous smile made its way to your face, as Zandik only gave you a blank look, before carefully unfolding a piece of paper, and reading it over once more, no emotion on his face. Which, was already quite alarming for you, because Zandik was the kind of person who always had a hint of annoyance written on his face. He then turned the paper to face you and you squinted, reading the contents.

Oh. You instantly recognized what it was. It was a form that one had to fill out if they wanted to move out of the Akademiya's dorms.

When you said you felt guilty for everything, you meant it. Meant it to the point you worried if you were still good enough for him, if you had become annoying, a bumbling nuisance that had become more of a chore rather than a partner. It worried you, and you couldn't help but think about it. What if you were right? What if he did feel all of those things? Then maybe, maybe you should relieve him of this burden. You. Then, he could continue to pursue his goals, without the added hindrance of taking care of you.

It wasn't something you were set on yet, more like something you mulled over in your head. But you had filled out the potential moving out form tentatively just in case you decided to go through with it. Ah, you probably had shoved it in your bag along with your many missing assignments, and Zandik must have found it after trying to check your homework... But now, your lover was staring holes into you, expecting an answer.

"Well, I- I didn't mean it. It was... just in case," you were just spewing words at this point because you really had no defense. After all, how do you explain to your roommate of many years that you were going to move out and disappear without telling him?

"Just in case," the scholar repeats. "Just in case..." And then Zandik laughs. At what? You're not sure, because you've only seen him laugh at other people's foolishness, or in scorn and bitterness. It's a bit unsettling, seeing him act this way, but you have no time to think about it before the paper is torn right in half twice and then abandoned in the trash bin.

"No." Well... alright then.

"Za-"

"No, no no no. How utterly absurd. Ridiculous. You are not going anywhere." The way he says it simultaneously sounds like an order to you yet also an attempt to reassure himself of your impossible departure. You wondered if he interpreted your reason for leaving as something more... drastic.

"Hey-" You stand up, hoping an embrace would calm his nerves, but he begins to pace around. Now, this wouldn't be unusual, he tends to do this while he's ranting or deeply thinking about his research but obviously, it's different this time.

"Leave? No," Zandik scoffs to himself, "the possibility is nigh on impossible. There is no need to plan for such lengths, I shall make sure it doesn't come to that." When he finished mumbling to himself, you tried to interject before his gaze snapped back to you.

"And you. You, how dare you go behind my back and do such a thing? Do you think me incompetent? Do you think me a senseless fool that I would allow you to do this?"

"..."

"I find this quite tasteless, especially after how much you parroted about 'always being by my side' or 'never leaving'. Or have you finally shown your true colors? Leaving me after-" Zandik cut himself off because the words he was going to say next shouldn't be said out loud. Leaving him after he's already obsessed with you, when he's already in love with you and would go mad without your presence. But then all he could feel was your arms around him and your face buried in his chest.

"Zandik please, I'm sorry," your voice was but a whisper. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean anything like that." Zandik's hands itched to hold you back, but he restrained himself, needing to hear your reasoning.

"I don't want to leave you, I really don't. I love you! So... that's why I filled that form out. Because I... am scared of burdening you too much. I know how you are. I know you want someone who is useful, w-who can be of assistance in all kinds of ways, not someone who is dead weight. So I... I don't want you to force yourself to- ow!" Your increasingly pitiful dialogue was interrupted by a flick to your forehead and the clicking of a tongue.

"Fool..." he moved his hand to rest on the top of your head. "You can be quite intelligent, but the reasons for your stupidity can be headache-inducing sometimes. Now that you've said all of that, has it clicked how idiotic it sounds?" Though your partner's words sounded harsh, his tone was noticeably softer. You could only cast your gaze downward as he sighed.

"I too wonder why you do not take your own advice. Were you not the one who said to... 'talk things out', before jumping to conclusions? So why have I not heard of this?" (The phrase feels out of place and rather disgusting on the man who normally refuses to hold a conversation on anything other than research, but he forces it out for your sake. Unfortunately, he can also hear your sing-song voice in his head as he replays the words.)

"Because... it's dumb, like you said. I shouldn't waste your time anymore..."

"I usually do not entertain dumb inquiries but... you are an exception. My assistant's questions must always be clarified." And as his lover, your troubles must always be assuaged, but that part was left unsaid, although you knew what he meant. "Yes, your usefulness was a great help, but I couldn't care less about that right now. I care about you, and if taking on extra responsibilities happens to fall under that feeling, then so be it. I don't care," Zandik said bluntly. Was it elegant? No. Was it truthful? Yes. It made your cheeks warm a bit.

"Well... thank you for the honor," you couldn't help but crack a tiny smile as Zandik only mumbled something incoherent before pushing you back to bed. Ah, you were feeling a little drained from all of that.

"Now that all that is sorted out, and that hopefully every inch of that nonsense has left you, I suggest you go to sleep quickly, unless you want to be kept awake by the sounds of my latest experiment." You only giggled at your boyfriend. He's unkind... in a kind way if that made sense. But before you could be whisked away to the land of dreams, Zandik spoke once more.

"[Name]."

"Mhm?"

"...Do not try to leave me ever again."

"...I know, Zandik."

[ladamedusoif]

able

(Joel Miller x disabled F!Reader)

Pairing: Joel Miller x Disabled F!Reader

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

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

Rating: Mature; 18+ MDNI

Word Count: ~3.7k

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

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

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

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

Dividers by @saradika - moodboard by me

You weren’t supposed to make it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jackson stands before you. 

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

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

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

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

“Joel?”

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

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

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

“Sure is. You’re an artist, then?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who’s there?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So she was a creative kid?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Raiders. 

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

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

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

Joel takes aim. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You fucking cunt!”

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

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

“F-f-fucking…c-c-cunt!”

Thwack. The other leg. 

Fuck. She knows exactly what she’s doing.

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

Holy fuck. Who is she?

”C-c-c-cripple.”

”Excuse me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

”You aren’t.”

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

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

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

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

“You knew what you were doing, though.”

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

Oh, he knows. He knows it too well.

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

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

Fuck it. 

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

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

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

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

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

[godgavemenoname]

PLEASE HELP TRANS, DISABLED COUPLE IN TRANSPHOBIC STATE STAY HOUSED !!!

we had to leave our last job because im immunocompromised and our coworkers didnt mask which made me very ill for over a month... we don't know what to do. work from home jobs are more competitive than we expected, but at this point, in-person jobs are EXTREMELY difficult to find because we're trans and visibly GNC. we can't go outside without getting dirty looks and random people pushing past us in the grocery store, let alone find jobs that can accommodate our disabilities enough and still pay enough to survive. i can't do justice to the rising level of hostility towards trans people here. if we lose housing again, we will be in a VERY bad position because we literally have nowhere to go but the streets or maybe one of our respective rapists, which are both extremely dangerous situations made worse by the fact that we're trans and in the south with no support system... if anything bad happens, we're completely on our own out here.

we also still do not have enough to pay for our medications, so our physical and mental conditions are deteriorating.

we're just hoping to god we can get jobs, but even if we do, it's looking like we probably won't be able to earn enough to pay rent by the maximum possible due date which is the 15th of april.

we'll try to raise whatever we can ourselves, and i'll update this post if there are any new developments...

for now our goal is at least $1532

please spread this and donate if u can!!! i know so many people are struggling right now so i hate to ask, but please reblog even if u can't donate🥺💕

P*YPAL: .me/cryptidfriend105

C*SHAPP: $RaphaelSchmidt

V*NMO: crypticangels

[kirby-the-gorb]

we are about an hour into rare disease day in my timezone! (it's always the last day of february, whether that's the 28th or the 29th.) the true prevalence of mast cell disorders is unknown, as they are often misdiagnosed or ignored. and mast cell activation syndrome, the most prevalent kind of mast cell disorder, only had diagnostic criteria laid out for the first time in 2010. so whether or not it's truly rare is really up in the air!

(personally I suspect it is just aggressively underdiagnosed but I'm not a research scientist or diagnostician right now. and even if it is rare, it's gonna be a lot less so than it was 5 years ago as certain respiratory infections are known to trigger it into visibility. that's what happened to me when I got mono at the end of 2015, further compounded when I got covid in 2022.)

all chronically ill people face a lot of hurdles when it comes to seeking diagnosis, accommodation, and treatment (all of which can be severely complicated by any intersecting marginalities), but rare diseases present a special challenge.

for example, I have an immune disorder. my immune system does not like being alive, my mast cells are way too jumpy and throw a tantrum over every little thing. you'd think an immunologist would be the one to treat me, right?

I've had 6 immunology referrals rejected in the past 9 months alone. multiple major immunology clinics in my major city tied to a major research university outright refuse to see patients with "mcas" written anywhere in their chart.

after 8 years of being debilitatingly ill, and suspecting it was immune mediated for 6, and getting it confirmed beyond a shadow of a doubt by the bone marrow biopsy last month, I will have my second ever appointment with an immunologist. another 2 1/2 months from now. the first immunologist lied to me about the reliability of the one available blood test, when I first came up with the hypothesis by myself 6 years ago, and forced me to abandon my (correct!!! now proven!!!) hypothesis for 3 entire years while we wandered around lost and got nowhere other than even more thorough process of elimination.

okay, well if my immune system is attacking me, maybe it's technically autoimmune? that's the rheumatologists instead of the immunologists, what do they have to say? dick all my dude, I don't have rheumatoid arthritis so they just shrug at me and go "idk, fibro? I don't know why you're here" and send me home with nothing. (I literally had a rheumatologist say to me, verbatim, "I don't know why you're here." buddy it's your job to read the chart and decide if I get seen or not, you tell me. at least he had a snazzy outfit.)

being chronically ill can be a terrible struggle no matter what, but a disease that is perceived as rare, accurate or not, adds a whole new layer of bullshit. (and of course there are much much rarer diseases out there, with even more hoops and dead ends and struggles and all-new layers of bullshit that even I don't have to deal with!)

anyway I'm having a shit time and using this awareness day as an excuse to productively bitch about it 👍

[nanawritesit]

Wonho Boyfriend Headcanons!

a/n: this wasn’t requested but there’s a CRIMINALLY low amount of wonho content so i thought i’d do something since he’s literally my husband 💞 (don’t tell san or yoongi hehe)

He loves to call you bunny 🐰

probably wants you to call him bunny as well, it’s a mutual nickname between the two of you

Holding his hand whenever he has to go somewhere high up since he’s afraid of heights, even though his hand is massive compared to yours (he is baby okay)

gym dates 🏋🏼‍♀️

even if you don’t want to work out he just likes taking you with him :)

he likes that you get to see him in his element, all sweaty and breathing heavily 😳

and you’ll usually ward off all the girls and guys who try to hit on him 😀

he’s the best at opening jars, like he should get an award for it

if you’re having trouble opening something you don’t even have to ask, you’ll just hand it to him and he’ll pop it open like it’s the easiest thing in the world

ramen dates 🍜

or pizza, depending on the day 🍕

although he prefers to make it at home with you and just snuggle up on the couch :)

you guys love cooking together

speaking of which, when you guys are alone at home, he barely wears any clothes 💀

like you sometimes wonder why he has so many shirts when he hardly ever wears them

if it’s fall or winter he’ll usually wear sweatpants around the house but that’s about it

(plus it gives him an excuse to cuddle up to you 💞)

he’s SUCH a cuddle bug

everyone thinks he’s so tough and dominant but i think he’s super soft as a boyfriend

loves it when you trace your finger along his tattoos

he can be pretty protective of you, especially if someone is being rude to you

he’ll straight up be like “hey, don’t talk to my partner like that”

he doesn’t like to act serious bc he thinks his size can be intimidating enough to people, but when it comes to protecting you, he won’t hesitate to scare tf out of someone

does NOT like it when other people hit on you

he’ll just bite the inside of his cheek and tighten his grip on your waist while his eyes are piercing into the other persons’ like daggers

again, he’s only scary when he wants to be

it doesn’t bother you though, you mostly just find him extremely attractive when he gets protective of you 👀

but moving on from that, he has a habit of just randomly picking you up and holding you in his arms no matter where you are

even if you’re around your friends, he’ll just scoop you up out of nowhere, and you’ll continue on with your conversation like nothing is happening

your friends are just like ??? why does he do that ???

and you’re just like idk he likes holding me ig 🤷🏼‍♀️

buying his his favorite milk and a tangerine from the convenience store as a surprise before you visit him at work

although he’s usually the one visiting you at work, mostly bc he doesn’t like to eat alone 🥺

you’ve started just packing both your lunches together since you usually end up sharing them

poor baby gets sick really easily so you usually end up being his nurse 💞

he gets SO whiny and needy when he’s sick too 😭

you just baby tf out of him bc he’s so damn cute

making him soup, putting a wet towel on his forehead, rubbing his tummy, refilling his humidifier, anything he needs

he’d do the same for you if he wasn’t always the one falling ill 🙃

you’ve started forcing him to take vitamin c capsules bc you’re tired of seeing him sick all the time

coffee dates ☕️

LOVES it when you steal his shirts

they’re just so big on you and he thinks you look absolutely adorable in them <3

he never gets upset when you take them, in fact he encourages it

“what’s mine is yours bunny” 🥰

obv he loves it when you get all dressed up for an event, and he’ll drool over the sight of you every time, but his favorite look is just you in casual, lazy clothes

asks you to help him practice his english almost every day

he wants to travel the world with you

buying him metamong plushies whenever you see them

he randomly buys you flowers a lot 💐

likes to send you spicy selfies when he knows you’re busy just to fluster you 😳

stealing his glasses just to mess with him, and as he’s looking for them, you’ll put them on and just sit there like ☺️

he just tackles you and covers your face in kisses bc he can’t stay mad at you

he usually prefers taking showers but he LOVES taking baths with you 💞 if he knows you’re having a stressful day he’ll draw a hot bath for the two of you before you get home with your favorite bubbles and light some candles too :)

also loves it when you touch his butt (you just can’t help yourself sometimes) 💀

you’ve definitely changed his mind about marriage. he never saw himself marrying anyone before he met you, and now he can’t imagine his life without you in it 🥰

[awheckery]

I need some help

so. this is hard. here goes:

for the last six-ish weeks, I've had an exceptionally challenging time of things re: my haunted devil body being exceptionally haunted and full of devils, and I have missed a lot of work. a lot of work. might be losing my job soon, in fact, but I'm trying not to think about that.

I'm trying to crawl my way out of the hole, but I have nothing in the bank right now and no money coming in, literally this is a screenshot of my account from today, and it's not showing the insurance payment that put me $50 in the negative this morning.

I have no other savings, my credit card's maxed out, I don't know how I'm going to pay my upcoming rent and my cupboard's down to baking ingredients and canned vegetables, so the sitch is looking pretty gd grim for me right now.

if anyone wants to donate and can afford to be kind, I'm linking my paypal and cashapp below, but I'd prefer to be able to offer something in exchange.

I think most y'all are following me because it is known that I make quilts, but that's mostly a side effect of my true hobby: collecting fabric. (this is a joke. mostly.)

I don't know that I have the energy to commit to making quilts or other complicated goods right now, but I do have a truly massive stash and excellent color sense. I've pulled these curated fat quarter collections as examples of what I have on offer:

this is a very small sample of what I have in my stash; I've been collecting fabrics since 2014, so I have a massive collection of rare & out-of-print fabrics from Moda, Free Spirit, Windham, RKaufman and other brands, a portion of which I've catalogued and uploaded to gdrive here.

that's nowhere near my full collection, it's just a jumping off point of what I've got to work with. I'd put fq bundles on etsy or something similar to make it easier, but the total lack of funds has temporarily kiboshed that idea.

in the meantime, I'm selling individual fat quarters for $2.50 each and curated stash-builder sets of five like the ones above for $15. I'd also be happy to make coordinating pot holders not unlike this one at $35 for a pair.

(pls don't ask me for oven mitts, I don't want to talk about one of my greatest failures)

NOTE: all fabric comes from a smoke, pet and fragrance-free environment, and will not be prewashed. I know that makes a difference to a lot of folks, not just me.

I'm also open to assembling pre-cut quilt & other craft kits, PM me to discuss what you're looking to make and I'll figure out if I can make it happen for you.

I appreciate any and all help more than I have words to communicate, and I know I'm pretty damn wordy! I'm pretty far down in the weeds at the moment, and I need to raise around $1800 in the next ten days in order to pay rent, catch up on my bills and pay for food and medication.

please help out a chronically ill artist and shop my stash!

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[bookwormbynight]

I don't know much about dracula--tell me more about the au perhaps??

Oooh I gotchu babe. So. To be fair. In Dracula, Lucy's entire story is only a piece of the whole thing, and there's a lot of ambiguity surrounding the actual events (everything was documented by her horrified friend who only saw the aftermath) which is part of the horror (also Dracula didn't seem to have any attachment to Lucy in particular). However, the Lucy bit is what grabbed my brain and there are multiple things from it we can grab and stick onto Light.

No one thinks it's vampires when Light/ucy starts having nightmares, reporting a feeling of someone sitting on them at night, occasionally sleepwalking out of the house before someone finds them, and, most obviously, exhibiting symptoms of anemia out of nowhere with bite marks on their neck, but this is because no one THINKS to think it's vampires. Maybe you have a parasite in your room, Light, let's change the mattress? Is it an illness?? Wtf is happening??

I think, unlike Dracula who literally only Mina's (missing) husband knows, L should be a part of their lives, at least briefly. And have some reason to notice Light. I'm not sure how or why yet?

But this would add to the fun when Light starts accusing L of doing something to him and L being like 'who, me??' and both of them know that he's right even though Light doesn't exactly know the details.

I don't think L would need to steal a wolf from the zoo in order to get at Light that final time, but it should be big and dramatic. Maybe Light wouldn't be asleep when L comes to turn him. We all know Light would fight for his life hard and nasty.

Ooh, also, it's unclear how exactly vampires are turned in the book. Lucy doesn't let us know and we KNOW it isn't just 'get killed by a vampire' because the three sexilicious vampire ladies eat a kid and that kid never shows up again (read Dracula guys I swear), but since Dracula feeds Mina his blood on 'camera' and it does Something to her still-human body, I'm gonna say it's feeding a human your vampire blood and then having their heart stop. So L's gonna force-feed Light some blood and make him swallow it once he's got the upper hand, and Light's death wound is gonna be large and gorey. (And slowly... disappear... as the funeral comes closer and the days go on, hmmm, that's odd, dead bodies don't usually heal themselves, but no one notices because the wound was sealed and covered so they could have an open casket.)

Lucy's funeral was kind of the main event. Stoker spent literal paragraphs describing the beauty of her corpse (weird thing to do bisexual king), the redness in her lips, the fact that huh, there's a slight wrinkle in her nose (Van Helsing just covered her in garlic flowers), did she die like that? It's Snow White Sleeping Beauty levels of dead gorgeous. And then, of course, the rising. Lucy rises from the grave to feed on the blood of local children, until the Squad catches her and kills her once and for all. Of course, we're not gonna use that bit, because L wouldn't let half of that happen and Light's not gonna aim for children, but the fact that she rose at all is part of what makes her story so notable, and contributed to the inspiration for this AU.

Any other questions? <3

[originalcollectionartistry]

Guess I waited too long part 2

Well! After being continually threatened by my mates and partner to finish it and the requests here, I’ve finished a part 2! It’s angsty and fluffly with a hint of sexy 😉 If y’all want a part 3 of pure smut let me know!

Warnings: mention of torture, clone experimentation, and lots of angst and some foreplay towards the end!!

Word count is a little bit above 4k

Part 1 Part 3

As always, I write for 18+ so MINORS BEGONE!!!

Enjoy!!

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You hadn’t heard from the boys in 20 rotations. You assumed something had happened as they wouldn’t go this long without contacts. Cid was repeatedly calling them, threatening them. You asked Cid to lay off. They probably needed some time to cool off, as Cid had left them stranded on a desert planet. And while Cid claimed no responsibility, you would do the same as the Batch. You’d leave too if you could. But you owed Cid a lot, and after one small mistake at your other job, you were back at the bar full time. It was a small clerical error, something that was easily fixable but that was enough to fire you. 

“If they don’t show their faces, I’m gonna turn them in!” Cid huffed. “You don’t cross me and get away with it!”

Your stomach dropped, fearing the worst now. What if they had been caught? “You don’t mean that Cid. They’ve done a lot more for you than you have for them! Surely you must understand they’re angry. Just because you think you have control doesn’t mean you do anymore. They’re free men.”

You clocked out, not wanting to be near Cid anymore. The place was empty, save for the three regulars. You walked home, hoping to have heard something. You checked your data-pad, hoping to see a coded message but nothing. Not one of them had let you know they were safe. 

You made dinner and watched a holodrama. Not your favourite but it was something to keep your mind off the Batch. After your outburst with Tech at the store, you cried your heart out, calling out sick from your shift at Cid’s that night. You wanted to tell him! Truly you did! It just hurt so much to see him and Phee happy and in love that you had to walk away. 

Your comm chirped with a coded new message, from Phee. The boys were safe and they needed your help. The message ended with coordinates. What in Force’s name would they need your help for?? 

You called Cid, saying your sister was ill and being it was just you and her, you were needed off world. You didn’t have a sister but Cid didn’t know that. You never spoke about your private life in the bar, fearing Cid or someone could blackmail you somehow. Which was a smart move as Cid sent a message back allowing you off world. You never asked for time off so Cid had no reason not to trust you. You said you’d be back as soon as you could, as long as the Empire didn’t convict you on false charges. 

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You were a nervous wreck the whole trip over to Pabu. You really did not want to see Tech; you still felt bad at your outburst and missed him but you did not want to see him and Phee cuddled up. You groaned in pain, your nerves getting the better of your stomach. How were you going to face Tech? You had acted so poorly! Yes you loved him but it was so hard to see him with another person! You felt it was easier for you to push him away, make him hate you so you could force yourself to move on. But you knew that was never going to be the case, cause as you as you landed, you were bombarded with affection from Wrecker.

“There’s my girl!” Wrecker cried out, enveloping you in a hug. You laughed happily, the gentle giant always knowing how to literally sweep you off your feet. 

You returned the hug and Hunter approached next with Omega. Giving them both a hug, you choked back tears, not realising how much you truly missed them. You looked around and saw Tech was nowhere to be found… neither was Phee. Your smile faded, but you forced it to stay on your face a while longer as Hunter showed you around. 

You had to admit, the island was… well, paradise. Sure there were risks of tsunamis but you felt you could live with that. You could see how Hunter had relaxed his shoulders, his face was bright. Wrecker was satiated and NOT hungry!! Omega was laughing and having fun, with kids her own age! You wanted to stay, your complicated relationship with Phee aside, you could happily live here. 

“Ah, you’re here safely. I was wondering if you had received the message. I remember your data-pad having certain security measures.” 

Turning from Hunter you saw Tech, enamoured with his own data pad. You smiled fondly at the clone’s usual posture. “Yes I got them Tech. You had nothing to be concerned about.”

Tech looked up briefly to see you smiling gently, like you used to with him. He did notice, however, that it was a forced smile. A duality of one, both gentle and sincere but forced and painful. Looking back down, he said matter-of-factly, “Of course. Phee knows how to follow instruction and is a highly intelligent individual. While not at my level, she is more than average. I was never concerned about that but if you would find us.”

Ouch. Okay, that one stung, but you felt you deserved it. You had been rather rude and callous towards Tech. Even if he didn’t mean to insult you, it hit deep. 

Phee sat next to Tech as everyone sat around the table you had been led to. Obviously something serious was going on but you did not expect to be told what your role would be and you did not like it!

“Are. You. Karking SERIOUS????” You shouted! “Absolutely not! Cid has saved my ass from the Empire more than once, I am not putting myself in their sights again!”

Hunter looked at you, knowing you were lying and that this wasn’t about the Empire. This was about the nature of the mission and the role you’d play. He looked from you to Tech, feeling the tension rise higher and higher. As uncomfortable as it was, maybe there was a small hope you’d tell Tech the truth. Hunter could feel Tech's heart speed up as your words hurt more than the goggled clone would ever admit. He could also hear how fast your heart was beating and you were basically a loth cat in headlights.

“Why can’t Phee do it? They’re already a couple! They’d make a more convincing married couple than me and Tech!”

“Because I am going to Cid to try and convince her to let the boys off. Make sure she knows they didn’t cross her.”

Tech looked up, pointing his endearing index finger. “Not to mention, Phee is a recognisable character. One glance in her direction and we’d have guards swarming us. You are less so. Able to fly under a guard’s radar.” 

You looked over to see Omega doing her little porg eyes. Sighing, you asked her to go to bed. Confused, she stated she wasn’t tired but you barked back: “Go to your room young lady!”

Hunter gently moved her to her room before scowling at you. You scowled back. How dare he think you’d say yes to a mission like this? Pretending to be a married couple just to get some intel? Yes, you knew it was a chance to see if Crosshair was alive but how dare he assume you’d be okay! Did he really think 20 rotations was enough to get over a man? 

“Kriff every single one of you! I’m going home.”

Phee approached you a second time as you readied your ship. You really did not want to talk to her but you let her slink next to you in the cockpit. You were simply recalibrating the hyperdrive so it would be a smoother ride home. If Phee wanted to sit there, she could. As long as she didn’t speak to you -

“I know why you’re saying no. It’s okay to admit it to me.”

You hissed in her direction, dismissing her claim. She simply smiled and leaned back in the copilot’s chair. You loathed how easy relaxing came to her. As if there was nothing wrong in the galaxy. 

“He talks about you a lot. It’s almost annoying. It’s one of the things that endeared me to him, remembering every little thing about everything. Everyone.” Standing up, she placed a hand on your shoulder. “Just talk to him. He misses you.” 

The kriff was that? You never deemed Phee has the “sharing” type. For kriff’s sake, she nearly got your friends killed because she didn’t want to let go of that stupid heart of the mountain! But even you had to admit; if Phee was saying something about how much Tech missed you, then something was going on and you needed to help. 

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“I will reiterate. I hate all of you right now.” You took a breath. “But, after some thought, I don’t really have a choice, do I? If the target only goes for married women, then Tech and I are the ones going to be convincing enough. As much as I hate admitting that.”

Everyone knew it was true. Wrecker and you were basically brother and sister. Rough housing and pulling pranks. Hunter and you were best friends, recognising attractiveness with no want to pursue. Echo never prioritised romance and so if he were around, it would be a friendship. 

After some more briefing, you walked onto the balcony, drink in hand and a bottle in another. You were going to need a lot of liquor to be able to bear this mission. You hoped it panned out cause you were going to be mad if it was a dead end. 

“Something is troubling you.” There was that voice you loved, coming from the man you never would get over. 

Downing your drink and pouring another you scoffed, “You think? I’m playing your wife while your girlfriend saves your asses from a crime informant. You’re forced to be near me after our last encounter. How in the hell are you not troubled?”

Pausing to process your words, Tech considered you carefully. You looked as beautiful as when he last saw you. Hair down and flowing in the wind, fingers elegantly grasping your glass, legs unintentionally letting all the galaxy know how strong you were at rest. He truly did not how to feel. He missed you, missed your attention. But he was still angry at how you walked away so easily from him and his brothers. 

“I… am. But this mission will be easy. You are a phenomenal actress. You pretended to care for me and that made me notice your absence,” he said.

Before you could defend yourself against his statement he continued. “Plus you are irresistible in most of what you wear. The target will spill whatever you want to hear.” With that he turned to leave. 

Your heart broke hearing his words. But he did just pay you a compliment so you felt you should let him know...

“I do care though… I always have. I never stopped.” He paused at your whispered words before continuing to upgrade the ship. 

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You looked at the wedding band on your finger, hating how it got there. It wasn’t real. It didn’t come the way you desired it to. You wanted it to come from the man you loved, because he loved you back and wanted the whole galaxy to know. You felt like crying, your throat closing and nose tightening. Blinking tears away, you finished your makeup and waited for Tech to get you. 

You hated being back on Coruscant. It reminded you far too much of your days as a medic for the Republic. You had been one of the few non clone, and non Jedi military personnel to serve. You weren’t based with any regiment. However, knowing General Anakin Skywalker, you spent a lot of time with the 501st. Poor Kix had become overwhelmed at times so you were often jumping from trooper to trooper across the battlefield to help him out. It burned you to return to Coruscant and remember your days in the military. You missed the clones; you missed the Republic. No government was perfect in your eyes, but Palpatine aside, you thought the Republic had worked fairly well. You were happy once… not so much anymore. 

Your door slid open, Tech stepping in. He was momentarily breathless at how beautiful you were in your gown. A bright emerald green falling gracefully in all the right place while clinging to your curves perfectly. Your hair was loosely pinned away from your face, framing you in a way that only a goddess could look like. A glittered sheer cape was pinned to the shoulder seam of your dress, your ethereal beauty being augmented. 

“Are you ready?” Tech asked, trying to seem normal, which was easy for him. His voice rarely betrayed any feeling.

You turned to face him, tears already returning. You nodded, “Yes. I’m ready.” Already dreading the act of being fake married to the man you love, who didn’t love you. 

You seemed to play the part of unhappily married wife well as the second Tech left your side, your target, an imperial officer overseeing the phasing out of clones, approached you and bought you a drink. Tech was across the ballroom, firsts threatening to deck the man flirting with you. His jaw was tight and teeth were grinding. He was furious at how easy you seemed to be in the target’s presence, laughing and tossing stray hair back. You were supposed to be that way with him! 

“Tech! Stay focused! You can talk to her after. Just a little longer!” Hunter’s voice rang in his ear. 

He was right. Tech needed to focus. He can process this unusual feeling of jealousy later. It wouldn’t be long now; your face was showing a certain shock that was fearful intrigue. Something was said to make you nervous. 

“The project is fascinating! Using chemical injection to quell insubordination and create the perfect super soldier; it’s a magnificent sight to see.” 

You swallowed slowly, making sure not to choke. You knew the Empire wasn’t above experimenting but torture and mind control was something you didn’t think they would stoop to. Poor Crosshair. You never met him but the boys talked fondly on him so you felt your heart twist. 

“And the clone? Which one was it again? They all look so alike.”

The man smiled; the type of smile that only an evil, slimy demon would have. “Right now, we are using CT 9904. He committed treason by shooting his lieutenant. But he was an enhanced clone so the Empire doesn’t want to dispose of him yet.” 

His hand landed on your thigh, slowly creeping higher and higher. Tech couldn’t take it anymore and moved quickly. He hated seeing the officer’s hand on you, particularly when you didn’t want it there. 

“Hello darling. I have finished my work here. Did you want to go home?” Tech put his hand on your lower back, kissing your temple. 

Your heart clenched, remembering this wasn’t real. He didn’t really want to touch you or kiss you. 

“Aww come on! I’ll take good care of her!” the target exclaimed, obviously not wanting you or his chance at a lay leave. 

You sighed, keening into Tech’s hands. “Yes husband. I’m ready to go home. I think I’ve drank a bit much tonight.” 

You both bid your target goodnight, Tech leading you quickly back to your rooms. He was acting strange you thought, but then again, everything about Tech was wonderfully strange. He was only challenged in games by his own intellect and yet wanted to share everything with everyone. You could see why Phee had clocked on to him. 

Opening the door to your room, you ripped your hair out of its pins, pulling your jewellery off. Your breathing became laboured and forced. Tears fell rapidly, not knowing how to process the evening. Tech stared at you crying and wondered what had been said to you. He knelt in front of you, hands cupping your cheeks begging you to say something. 

“They’re torturing him… Tech! Crosshair is being tortured! They’re using chemicals to control his mind! They’re using pain and chemicals to make him subordinate!” you cried. You could barely breathe but you didn’t miss how Tech tensed in anger. 

His brother was being tortured and that officer thinks he can take what was his? If Tech didn’t hate the Empire before, he certainly did now. 

Moving to sit beside you, he pulled you into his chest, hoping to comfort you. Phee had taught him this was okay to do when someone was upset. He learned a lot of things from his time on Pabu and with Phee. 

“It’ll be alright. We’ll find him and bring him home. I promise you cyare. We’ll send this info to Echo and Rex and see how we can get to him.” 

Cyare… You didn’t know much Mando’a but you knew that. Love. Tech, the man who was already in a relationship, had called you Love. He was oddly protective tonight and this confused you all the more. 

Your breathing slowed and you calmed down. You excused yourself to the fresher, showering and changing into your sleep clothes. When you emerged, Tech had already changed and was on his data pad, no doubt sending the intel to Echo and Rex. You didn’t want to let the ring go but you had to. It wasn’t real. Now or never, you guessed. 

“Here,” you pressed your wedding band into Tech’s hand. He looked up, confused. “Mission’s over. You don’t need to pretend to like me anymore.” 

Tech frowned deeply. “Right. Thank you. I’ll return this to Shep when we return.” 

You grabbed a blanket and pillow and moved to the floor. You had been making yourself comfortable when Tech looked up at the sounds and immediately stood. He scooped you up and place you on the bed, taking your place on the floor. Di’kut! Idiot!

“Tech. I’m taking the floor. Stop making this difficult.”

“I am not. I am simply saving you from a strained neck and back pain by taking the floor.”

You scowled, shoving him off the blanket you placed down. “Not on my watch smart ass. You need the bed more than me. Don’t be an idiot.” 

Growling, Tech removed himself from your space and entered the fresher. Only… to come back out again. 

“Why are you so difficult lately? What is your issue?”

You raised a brow. “Me? I’m simply trying to establish a boundary! You’re with Phee and -“

“Why do you keep saying that? Why do you care if Phee and I have an emotional attachment?”

You fell silent, weighing your options. “I don’t… I just don’t want her thinking we had a thing while we were on this mission. You were awfully possessive tonight. Don’t think I didn’t see your look of hate towards that Imperial.”

“Because I did not like how that man was handling you. You were clearly uncomfortable and I saw an opportunity to step in. But that is not the reason, is it? Why do you care?”

You saw red, both loving and hating how logical he sounded. Why did you care? Why did you give any shred of a kark if Tech was with Phee? “Because I love you, you kriffing moron!” 

You froze. Oh no… no no no no. Kriff! 

Tech froze too, not expecting you to say that. Anything but that… That did explain your recent behaviour towards him. You were cold towards him, brushing off any inkling of affection, speaking very short and harsh towards him. Your avoidance, your unwillingness to help on the mission. It all clicked for Tech. Your behaviour and his feelings and reactions. 

“You love me?”

Oh for kriff’s sake. Well it’s out now. 

“Yes. I’ve loved you for a long time and I guess… I guess I waited too long to tell you.” You sat on the edge of the bed, facing away from him. Tears threatened to spill, making you more vulnerable than you would’ve liked but you needed to say everything or shut up. 

“When I saw you come back from your last adventure with Phee, I… I was jealous. You two seemed close and Phee asked for my blessing in pursuing you. I never spoke up so I couldn’t tell her no. You are.. your own man. You don’t need me telling you who you can date. Hunter walked me home cause he knew, he felt, how upset I was. So I did what I knew how to do. I walked away. I let you to happy cause that’s all I want you to be. Happy. I threw myself into work and male attention to try and forget about my feelings for you but… they never went away. That’s why I became so cold and harsh towards you. I hated that I still love you. 

“Then you needed me for this mission.” You stood, feet dragging your body to the large windows overlooking Coruscant; tears staining your reddened cheeks. “My heart has been breaking the whole time. I hated pretending to be your wife, cause it wasn’t real Tech! I didn’t want to wear a band on my finger for a mission. I want to wear one because I married the man I love! Do you any idea how hard is it -“

Tech only knew of two ways to shut you up. Stun you or kiss you. Based on his feelings and your confession, he went with kiss. You certainly were shocked but melted regardless. It was a kiss that felt long overdue, pouring every single emotion you both felt into it. 

It ended all too soon when you came to your senses and pushed Tech off. “Wha-What about Phee? I thought you were happy!” 

Adjusting his googled, Tech bent to continue kissing your neck. “After our fifth month of seeing each other we both came to the conclusion we weren’t compatible.” suck. “I missed you.” kiss. “I wasn’t giving Phee the attention she deserved and she had different priorities. She just likes to rile you up. It is.. a game to her.” He cupped your jaw and pulled you in again. 

“She saw how distraught I was with your absence. While we enjoyed each other’s company, we couldn’t give each other what we each truly needed. She needed freedom, I needed stability. She wanted to have fun and explore… I wanted you.”

You looked into those golden brown eyes, questioning silently what he meant. Bringing you to the bed, Tech sat you down and placed himself beside you. “What i mean is, you gave me routine. You gave me stability. You, my cyar’ika, you gave me everything I needed and more. I just didn’t fully realise it until we left Cid’s service.”

Tears started running again, but this time, they came because all your love, the pain, the regret, the pining, it came to the surface. Tech was quick to kiss them away, not wanting to see anymore tears tonight. He understood now he loved you, he just didn’t really know how to express it. Another reason he and Phee didn’t work. She wanted lots of physical affection and contact, whereas Tech wasn’t sure what he wanted. He wasn’t used to physical affection, or any type of affection for that matter which is why he liked you. You never pushed him for anything. If he was busy, you’d just sit next or near him and let him work away, occasionally letting a noise of amusement out. You’d always check if it was okay to give him a hug or even a kiss on the cheek when they left for missions. Something you’d always do, even now.

“Tech, can I kiss you again?” you murmured after a bit. 

Smiling, Tech leaned in. “Of course mesh’la. Whatever you’d like.” 

Chuckling to yourself, you teased, “That’s a dangerous thing to say Ace. You sure about that?”

As if calculating your tease, Tech flipped you onto the bed and pinned you down. “Try me.” 

Oh dear this was a dangerous move! Tech kissed you hard, wanting you feel every little beat of love and attraction he had for you. You moaned, never realising until now how much you craved this. When did Tech learn any of this? His thigh pinned your pelvis down, allowing you to feel his hard muscle beneath the jeans he always wore. 

Tongues battled for dominance, but Tech won. He’d always win, and you both knew it. Breaking apart with one string of saliva connecting, Tech moved back to your neck, sucking and kissing bruises onto your skin, marking you his. He wanted every man out there to know you were his, and he wasn’t about to let you go again. 

He pushed his thigh against you covered vulva, forcing a moan to leave your mouth again. You started grinding against him, wanting more. 

Tech smirked. This was going to be a fun night for you both. 

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Was that fun? Did yall like it? As always, criticism is welcome as long as it's constructive and kind.

Thank you for all the love over the past few days!! If there's other characters you'd like me write for, let me know!! I won't write for minors or minor characters.