#which if that happens ill literally have nowhere to go

[ampheenix]

What is this feeling, so sudden and new?

TAGS: Sonadow, 2k, post-Sonic 3, fluff & crack, that one trope where a character has a crush and thinks it's an illness lol

SUMMARY:

The surprise attack had taken Sonic completely off guard. He’d been wandering the old lab, gently placing a hand against the cracked glass of Shadow’s old containment pod, wondering just what had happened here…

Then out of nowhere, a gloved hand slammed Sonic against the tank, the impact rattling the glass behind him. A familiar thumb pressing painfully into his cheek, air knocked from his lungs, and the world seeming to narrow down to a single point- the weight and sheer strength of the hedgehog holding him in place.

That very moment was when the symptoms began.

Or, after Shadow survives the blast, Sonic finds himself saddled with strange symptoms. Heated cheeks, a racing heartbeat, dizziness…

There was only one possible explanation.

Sonic was allergic to him.

He had to be coming down with something.

Sonic was sure of it.

After miraculously saving the world, which was just a hair’s breadth away from total devastation, as per usual (with just a liiittle help from a certain ebony hedgehog), then going through the traumatic realization that the ebony hedgehog in question was dead after not surviving the blast, grieving for days only to come to the slightly less traumatic realization that no, he’s alive, he’s literally the Ultimate lifeform and crazy strong and why would you think he died in the first place-

Well. Needless to say, it had been… a lot.

But aside from the illness currently ailing Sonic, the aftermath of that whole incident had been surprisingly peaceful!

Tom had been healing up just fine, looking to make a full recovery (thank goodness), G.U.N had finally stopped trying to head-hunt them after they literally saved the world, and, well…

Shadow.

It had been quite the shock to everyone involved when the small, mournful eulogy they had been holding in honour of him was crashed by none other than the hedgehog himself. He did it all cool, too, walking in casually like it was just good ol’ regular game night and not, you know, his literal funeral.

He’d stopped in his tracks when he saw the tears welling up in Sonic’s eyes and the shocked expressions on everyone’s faces. “Did I… miss something? Why are you all so- oh. Right.” Shadow had realized, eyes widening.

Sonic had then barreled into him with all the grace of a falling piano, arms squeezing him tight and getting his fur wet with tears. He’d then jumped back, looking momentarily embarrassed as he scrubbed his arm across his face. “Where the hell have you been, Shadow?! We all thought you were dead, it’s been like- two weeks!”

“Vacationing.” Shadow had said dryly, only to get a hard punch to the shoulder. He’d moved his gaze to the blue hedgehog, confused. “That almost hurt.”

“This is no time for jokes, man!” Sonic had exclaimed, upset. Then he’d stopped, emotions temporarily on pause. “Wow. I never thought I’d be the one saying that.” Off to the side, Maddie couldn’t help herself as she let out a snort, exchanging a glance with Tom.

“But I wasn’t joking. I landed in New Mexico after the blast.” Shadow had stated, folding his arms. “I ended up paying Gabriella a visit while I was there, and she gave me a tour of the city.”

“Gabriella?!” Knuckles had thundered all of a sudden, racing over. His eyes were huge, looking at Shadow with uncharacteristic excitement. “You met her in the flesh? What was she like?!”

“Woah, Knucks, slow down a sec- who the hell is-” Then Sonic’s mouth dropped open, glancing from him to Knuckles and back again. Because there was only Gabriella he knew of that his brother would get this excited about.

“YOU WENT TO SEE THE GIRL FROM LA ULTIMA PASIÒN?!”

Everyone started laughing, and Shadow growled quietly, looking irritated. “Not intentionally. It was on the way, so I thought I’d stop by and remind her that she’s not a prize to be won. That she should be her own person.”

Sonic was full-body laughing now (though not unkindly) lifting a gloved hand to wipe a tear of mirth from his eye. “God, Shadow, you’re a riot! You do know they’re all actors, right?”

“I know that now.” Shadow had muttered, a bit embarrassed. It was almost cute, Sonic thought to himself absent-mindedly, the way he’d narrow his eyes and glance to the side, cheeks tinged with a hint of pink.

Then Shadow’s eyes had found the humans and their chortling, zeroing in on the tall man with his arm in a sling. Remembering the other reason he’d come (aside from seeing Sonic, of course), he inhaled, readying himself.

 He’d turned to the couple with his gaze on the ground, looking almost… guilty. “Tom?” He’d said softly, voice cutting through the light atmosphere in the room. Almost instantly, every eye was on them.

Tom stiffened, giving him a slightly suspicious look as he’d nursed his injured arm. He hadn’t really been wary of Shadow so far (mainly because Sonic had given them all the full story afterwards- considering the guy had helped saved the world, he hadn’t really held the injury against him. That and the fact that he was supposed to be dead.)

Shadow had winced at his rejection, almost imperceptibly so, but Maddie caught it. She had given her husband a gentle pat on his arm along with a smile. “Come on honey, hear him out.”

Tom had met her eyes for a moment, unsurprised- Maddie never did have the willpower to resist sad hedgehog eyes (and neither did he, to be fair.) Raising an eyebrow at her regardless, Tom turned towards him.. “Alright then… Shadow, was it?”

“Mmm.” Shadow had affirmed. Sonic and his brothers had watched them with curious eyes, wondering what was about to go down.

“I am… sorry, that you got hurt. It wasn’t my intention- I… I thought you were Commander Walters, the man who ordered for my imprisonment fifty years ago. But then the technology, the hologram- whatever it was, glitched out and it was only then that I realized my mistake. I apologize.” Shadow bowed his head.

Before anyone could say anything, he had lifted his head again, turned towards the door. “Thank you. Goodbye.”

In the blink of an eye, he was gone, leaving everyone gaping after him. Sonic had called his name over and over, frustrated that he had disappeared so quickly (he still had so many questions!!), but the hedgehog had disappeared.

Fast-forward to a week later, where Sonic was pacing across the floorboards of his bedroom, mind racing. He was sure of it- Shadow had infected him with something terrible.

First off, the hedgehog was living rent-free in his head, and it was weird.

He spotted a red thing next to a black thing? His thoughts immediately jumped to Shadow.

Noticed a kid gliding around on rollerskates? Shadow again.

And every night when he went out to gaze up at a sky of stars, he couldn’t help but think about the soft words they had exchanged, when he and Shadow had been watching the sun slowly rise over the Earth.

“A light shines, even though the star is gone.”

And it wasn’t just that, oh no!

Whenever Sonic remembered those times they’d spent together... He’d start feeling oddly dizzy and warm, his heart would start racing, he’d feel a weird fluttering in his stomach, and strangest of all…

 He’d feel the strange urge to bury his head in his hands and roll around on the floor.

The first time he’d noticed the symptoms was during the battle- the one just before Shadow had attempted to vaporize them all with a black hole. (But hey, forgive and forget, right?)

The surprise attack had taken Sonic completely off guard. He’d been wandering the old lab, gently placing a hand against the cracked glass of Shadow’s old containment pod, wondering just what had happened here…

Then out of nowhere, a gloved hand slammed Sonic against the tank, the impact rattling the glass behind him. A familiar thumb pressed painfully into his cheek, air knocked from his lungs, and the world seemed to narrow down to a single point- the weight and sheer strength of the hedgehog holding him in place.

Sonic found himself stunned, eyes widened and his senses overwhelmed. His nose had filled with Shadow’s unmistakable smoky scent, a mix of ozone and gunpowder and something faintly metallic. It was a scent Sonic recognized instantly, one tied to lost battles, bruised limbs and tense conversations, but he’d never smelled it up so close like this- it was sharp, intense and almost.. intoxicating.

Shadow had practically reeked of fury and frustration, even more so than usual- distracted by the strong scent and too shocked to even attempt escaping his rough grip, Sonic was reduced to useless putty in his hands as Shadow tugged his head back and hurled him against the wall.

But that adrenaline, that zing of energy that always came with a surprise attack- it still didn’t explain the peculiar warmth in his cheeks when Shadow had hissed directly into his ear, roughly pushing his head into the glass to the point where he couldn’t move (and Sonic was strong, so that was not an easy feat.)

Before he knew it, Sonic found himself rolling around on the floor again with his head buried in his gloves, letting out a high-pitched squeal. What was with him?!

Sonic could tell his family had noticed too… he’d been quieter than usual, too lost in thought to infect the house with his usual contagious grin and razor-sharp wit.

Tails kept shooting him furtive glances when he thought he wasn’t looking, Tom and Maddie had been having more and more whispered conversations late at night (Sonic had caught his name being muttered more than once), and heck, even Knuckles was feeling the weird vibes!

Knuckles! That was how you really knew something was wrong.

It didn’t help that Shadow still hadn’t shown his face in the week since his funeral, not even to say hi, which was just plain rude if you asked him! What kinda guy showed up at his own eulogy, claimed he was ‘vacationing,’ and then just… disappeared?

The mysterious illness… the symptoms only seemed to appear whenever Shadow was involved, so could it be that- wait, no, that was just silly.

But it made too much sense…  Sonic’s antsy pacing slowly petered to a stop as his eyes widened, his mind racing.

He had to be allergic to Shadow. That was the only possible explanation.

Sonic was sure of it. But, well, just to make sure-

“Tails!! Tails!!” Sonic raced down the stairs, taking them three at a time before skidding to a stop right next to his brother. Tails glanced up at him from where he was watching TV with Tom and Maddie. But where was- ah. Sonic’s ear twitched hearing Knuckles rustle around the kitchen- probably hunting about for grapes.

“Sonic?” Tails said, understandably confused. “What is it?”

“If you’re planning another adventure, I hope it can wait another five minutes.” Maddie smiled sensibly, sounding a bit sleepy from under the blankets where she was cuddling with Tom. “Bluey’s about to start.”

“Oh! Wait, really?” Sonic paused, indecisive. On one hand, he’d wanted to ask Tails to give him a quick medical checkup with his scanners. You know, just making sure he didn’t have some other strange disease- that would prove once and for all that his allergies were tied to Shadow, right?

“You should watch with us!” Tom smiled, patting the empty couch cushion next to him. “Though there isn’t much blanket left, thanks to Maddie…” He shook his head at her, bundled up in the fluffy blanket with a shameless grin.

But on the other hand… “Which episode is it?” Sonic asked pensively, this information vital towards his final decision. Chances were, it was one he’d seen a million times-

Tails grinned, knowing they’d won. “The 80s one.”

“Sold.” Sonic said instantly, and in the blink of an eye he was nestled on the couch with them. Hey, it was his favorite episode! Sometimes you just had to prioritize- he could investigate the allergies afterwards.

Knuckles re-entered the room from the kitchen, holding a large bowl of fresh green grapes (as Sonic had predicted). He then stopped in his tracks seeing the blue hedgehog on the couch, frowning. “Hedgehog, you stole my spot.”

“What can I say? You snooze, you lose!” Sonic grinned, sinking further into the couch cushions and making sure to get extra comfortable.

“I will not stand for this disrespect.” Without missing a beat, Knuckles walked over and easily lifted him up with one hand, other hand holding the bowl, before unceremoniously dumping him on the other side of the couch.

He then sat down to tuck into his grapes, sending Sonic a triumphant grin of victory as he did so. The others all snickered, Tails trying his best not to laugh as he gave his brother a consoling pat on the shoulder.

Sonic just rolled his eyes with a good-natured sigh, accepting his fate. Still, that didn’t mean he couldn’t be petty about it- he scrambled over everyone (getting some annoyed groans as he did so) in order to steal some grapes from the Echidna, swiping them quick as a flash before he was back on the other end of the couch.

He nibbled on them with relish, grinning at Knuckle’s sour expression. Hey, these were juicy! Yum.

Sonic settled in to watch TV with his family, and his mind definitely didn’t keep drifting back to Shadow, over and over again.

And that night, when he gazed up at the galaxies and stardust swirled across that inky expanse, he absolutely didn’t hear Shadow’s soft, gentle words echoing in the back of his mind. Nope. Not even once.

…Allergies were really the worst.

If you enjoyed, feel free to leave a kudos on ao3! <3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62019349

[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."

[lxdreyar]

Hi guys! I did it in the fall, for Halloween, but I've only translated it now! I hope you enjoy this zombie virus universe comic! Sorry for the bad English, I used a translator.

Laxus Dreyar. He is nicknamed "Thunder" because of his loud voice and unexpected appearances out of nowhere. Ivan Dreyar, Laxus' father, decided to do research on this very virus. But not in order to create an antidote, but in order to find out how the virus can be manipulated for its own purposes, subjugating (already former) people. Young Laxus, not fully understanding what is happening and why his Grandfather banished his father from the town, follows him to find out everything and help his father, believing that he was driven away unfairly (he does not know the reason and cannot believe that his father could do something so terrible). Ivan was not so friendly towards his son, believing that he would interfere with him in every possible way, as he saw in him exactly the same thoughts and views on life as Makarov. While they were walking to Ivan's temporary base (which he created while still under Makarov's command), he finally decides that his son will be an obstacle to him, after a couple of phrases that Laxus said "casually." Therefore, in the same way, "casually", as if by chance (so that his conscience would not torment him) pushes him down from the roof of one of the garages along which they were walking. The guy lands extremely unsuccessfully, from that moment Laxus has no right eye. Ivan watches as his son slowly dies and his conscience begins to really torment him. He begins to grieve even more when he sees one of the infected fall to his knees in front of his son and bite his hand. Ivan goes downstairs, realizing the mistake he made. He kills the infected and decides to stay with Laxus until he dies. He heals his eye as best he can, spending some reserves of alcohol and bandages on it, and can only wait for when he will have to kill his own son a second time. But what a surprise for him when Laxus wakes up fully conscious after a while, he feels bad because of the loss of his eye and he is disoriented, but he is alive, can talk and, in principle, no symptoms appear on him. Ivan dramatically redoes the story of Laxus' fall, saying that it really was an accident and pulls him towards that very "base" - the "Raven's Tail" There he tries in every possible way to explore Laxus and the only thing he understands is that His bitten hand has become darker, almost completely black, the veins have swollen and become brighter and obvious purple color.

But it didn't go above the forearm. It was in this area that the weakness and problems in using the right (previously leading) appeared. hands, because of what he will have to retrain and become left-handed. At this base, Laxus eventually meets a newly arrived guy, Freed Justin. Despite his abominable socialization, he manages to make friends with the guy (although, rather on the contrary, Freed manages to make friends with him) and from that moment on they spend all their time together. After a while, Laxus finds out that Freed has some other deadly disease and he has very little left. It breaks his heart and he angrily shuts himself off from everyone (including Freed) A couple of days later, Ivan calls Freed for one of the studies, telling him that it could help with his illness. This study becomes lethal for the green-haired man.

Laxus was an observer of this study, greatly worried about his friend, so when everything went wrong and Fried began to literally change before his eyes, losing his mind and screaming in pain, he began to panic greatly. When Laxus saw that Freed's pulse had stopped, his heart broke for the second time. Realizing that he was left without the person who had become his first and true friend, he slowly began to lose his mind. He saw hallucinations in the form of Freed, dreams, sleep paralysis, and so on and so forth. He could hear his voice and it seemed so real..

[spicyycarrot]

"Arcane vs. Class Struggle: the failure of Season 2"

or is that too dramatic? anyway I'm gonna write a video essay about why I think Season 2 of Arcane unfortunately kind of sucked ass. see my previous posts & reblogs for more detailed stuff & also add critiques & criticisms of I didn't mention something but p much my main points (in no particular order) are

too many things happen off-screen / audience is forced to analyze micro-expressions to make sense of characters' actions

story is rushed and oversaturated with plot elements entirely separate from each other (should've been 2 seasons) some elements from Act 1 literally just don't go anywhere

Jinx & Vi story was underbaked, got an unsatisfying ending & despite being the heart of the story, clearly took a backseat to

the arcane storyline which overshadowed pretty much the entire rest of the plot. got way too big way too quickly to the point that I felt I was watching an entirelt different show from S1 at times

class struggle elements from S1 go unaddressed/are glossed over, especially

Caitlyn's actions that she faces 0 repercussions for and has to do no work to atone for

Vi is barely a real character this season. her pitfighter arc should've been an ARC, not judt a montage. + "reclaiming Vi's prison trauma" is an inane reason to have her have sex in her suicidal sister's prison cell

Isha is literally just a plot device & Jinx's storyline is like a slap in the face to her mentally ill fans

ep 7 was fantastic but Ekko was gone for almost half of the season & him as the leader of the firelights disappearing should've been a MUCH bigger deal to the story + firelight tree plotpoint gor abandoned + Ekko & the firelights were like the perfect leaders of Zaun but that went nowhere

Mel's storyline with the black rose was interesting but felt like it came out of nowhere + I still don't understand why she'd work with LeBlanc after everything she put Mel through (but I'm glad Mel was the one to bring down Ambessa) + allegations of the disposable Black girlfriend trope, Mel deserves better :/

Sevika is important in Act 1 but gets no speaking lines in Act 3 despite becoming a member of the council? which got no buildup?

again, feel free to add but that's what I can think of off the top of my head

[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 👍

[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

[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 🥰