#and like. walking around looking at this and that. cause i literally can't even functionally look at or talk to people

[cy-cyborg]

Disability Tropes: The Miracle Cure

The miracle cure is a trope with a pretty negative reputation in disability circles, especially online. It describes a scenario in which, a disabled character, through either magic, advanced technology, divine intervention or some combination of the three, has their disability cured throughout the course of the story. Sometimes this is literally, as in the disability is completely and entirely cured with no strings attached. Other times, it looks like giving an amputee character a prosthetic so advanced that it's basically the same as "the real thing" and that they never take off or have any issue with, or giving the character with a spinal injury an implant that bypasses the physical spine's break, or connects to an exoskeleton that allows them to walk again. Sometimes, it can even look like giving a character some kind of magic item or power that negates the effects of the disability, like what I talked about in my post about "the super-crip" trope. Either way though, the effect is the same: The disability is functionally cured and is no longer an "issue" the author or character has to worry about.

But why would this be a bad thing? In a world with magic or super-advanced tech, if you can cure a character's disability, why wouldn't you?

[ID: a screenshot of Roy mustang from Full metal alchemist Brotherhood, a white man with short black hair in a hospital gown. In the corner of the screen is the hand of another person holding a small red gemstone. /End ID]

Well there's a few reasons. First, lets talk about the purely writing related ones. If you've been around the writing or even media critique communities for a bit, you've likely heard people voicing their frustrations with tropes like "The fake-out death" where a character is either implied to have died, but comes back later, or is explicitly shown to be dead and then resurrected. Often when this happens in media, it leaves the audience feeling cheated and like a character's actions and choices don't really matter if even the worst mistakes and consequences can be undone. In the case of the latter situation, where they die and are brought back, it can make the stakes of the whole story feel a lot lower, since even something like death is shown to be reversible, so the audience doesn't really have to worry about anything bad happening to their favourite character, and once you've used this trope one time, people will constantly wonder why you wouldn't use it every time it comes up.

The same is true for "fixing" a character's disability. It sets a precedent that even things as big and life-changing as disability aren't permanent in this setting. We don't have to worry about anything major happening to the characters, there's no risks associated with their actions if it can all be undone, and it will lower the stakes of the story for your audience. Personally, I also feel like it's often used as a cop-out. Like writers wanted to include a major injury the leads to something big like disability for shock value, but weren't sure how to actually deal with it afterwards, so they just made it go away. Even in cases where the character start the story with a disability and are cured, this can still cause issues with your story's stakes, because again, once we've seen you do it once, we know its possible, so we won't feel the need to worry about anything being permanent.

Ok, so that's the purely writing related reasons, but what if that situation doesn't apply to the story you're writing? What if they're "fixed" right at the end, or the way they're cured is really rare, so it can't be used multiple times?

I'm glad you asked, because no, this is far from the only reason to avoid the trope! In my opinion, the more important reason to avoid it is because of how the a lot of the disabled community feels about the miracle cure trope, and the ideas about disability it can perpetuate if you're not very, very careful.

You might have noticed that throughout this post, I've put words like "cured" and "fixed" in quotes, and that's because not every disabled person wants a cure or feels like their ideal to strive for is able-bodied and neurotypical. For many of us, we have come to see our disabilities as part of us, as part of our identities and our sense of self, the same way I, as a queer person might see my queerness as a part of my identity. This is an especially common view among people who were born with their disability or who had them from a young age, since this is all they've ever really known, or who's disability impacts the way they think, perceive and process the world around them, how they communicate with people or in communities who have a long history of forced conformity and erasure such as the autism and deaf communities. Many disabilities have such massive impacts on our lives that we literally wouldn't be who we are today if they were taken away. So often though, when non-disabled people write disabled characters, they assume we'd all take a "cure" in a heart-beat. They assumed we all desire to be just like them again, and this simply isn't the case. Some people absolutely would, and there's nothing wrong with that, but it's not as universal as media representation makes it out to be.

Another reason it's so heavily disliked is because this trope is often used in conjunction with other ableist and harmful tropes or it's used in ways that perpetuate misinformation about living with a disability and it can have ableist implications, even if that's not what the author necessarily intended.

If the miracle cure is used right at the end of the story for example, as a way to give characters a happy ending it can imply that the only way for a disabled character to be happy in the long run, is for them to be "fixed", especially if they were miserable all the way up until that point. If it's used earlier in the story as a way to get said character back into the action, it can also be read as the author thinking that disabled people can't be of use to the plot, and so the only way to keep them around is to "fix" them.

Of course, there's also the fact that some authors and writers will also play up how bad being disabled is in order to show why a cure is justified, playing into the "sad disabled person" trope in the process, which is pretty much what it says on the tin. Don't get me wrong, this isn't to say that being disabled is all easy-breezy, there are never any hard days and you should never show your character struggling, not at all, the "sad disabled person" trope has it's place (even if I personally am not a fan on it), but when both the "sad disabled person" trope and the miracle cure trope are used together, it's not a great look.

This is especially bad when the very thing that cures the disability, or perhaps the quest the heroes need to go on to get it, is shown to be harmful to others or the disabled person themselves. Portraying living with a disability as something so bad that it justifies hurting others, putting others at risk, loosing yourself or killing yourself in order to achieve this cure perpetuates the already harmful idea that disability is a fate worse than death, and anything is justified to avoid it.

I've also noticed the reasons the authors and writers give for wanting to cure their characters are very frequently based on stereotypes, a lack of research in to the actual limits of a person's disability and a lack of understanding. One story I recall reading years ago made sure to tell you how miserable it's main character, a former cyclist, was because he'd been in a car accident where he'd lost his arm, and now couldn't ride bikes anymore, seemingly unaware of the fact arm amputees can, in fact, ride bikes. There are several whole sports centred around it, and even entire companies dedicated to making prosthetic hands specifically for riding bikes. but no, the only way for this to resolve and for him to be happy was to give him his arm back as a magical Christmas miracle! It would be one thing if the story had acknowledged that he'd tried cycling again but just had difficulties with it, or something was stopping him from being able to do it like not being able to wear the required prosthetic or something, but it really did seem as though the author was entirely unaware it was even possible, which is an issue when it's the whole point of your story existing. This happens a lot more often than you'd think, and it's very clear when an author hasn't even bothered to google search if their character would be able to do something before deciding the only solution is to take the disability away.

There's also the frustration that comes from being part of an underrepresented minority, finally seeing a character like you on screen or in a book, only for that representation to be taken away. Disabled people make up roughly 16% of the population (though many estimate these numbers are actually much higher), but only about 2.8% of American TV shows and 4.1% of Australian TV shows feature explicitly disabled characters. In 2019, around 2.3% of films featured disabled characters in a speaking roll, and while it's slowly getting better as time goes on, progress on that front is very slow, which is why its so frustrating when we do see characters like ourselves and so much of their stories focus on wishing to be, trying to become or actually being "cured".

An finally, there's the fact this is just a really common trope. Even if we ignore the issues it can cause with your story's tone and stakes, the harm it can do to the community when not handled with care, the negative perceptions it can perpetuate and everything else. It's just a plain-old overdone trope. It shows up so often that I, and a lot of disabled people, are just getting tired of seeing it. Despite everything I've said, there are valid reasons for people to not want to be disabled, and just like how I made sure to emphasise that not everyone wants a cure, it's important to recognise that not everyone would refuse it either. So long as it's not done in a way that implies it's universal, in theory, depicting someone who would want and accept a cure is totally fine. The issue is though that this trope is so common and so overdone that it's starting to feel like it's all we ever see, especially in genres like sci-fi and fantasy (and also Christmas movies for some reason).

[ID: A Gif of a white man in a top hat nodding his head with the caption "Merry Christmas" down the bottom. /end ID]

Personally, because it's so common, I find even the few examples of the trope used well frustrating, and I honestly feel that it's at the point where it should be avoided entirely where possible.

Ok but Cy, you mentioned there are ways to use this trope well, what are they?

So, like I said, I'm of the opinion that this trope is better off not being in your work at all, but if, for whatever reason, you can't avoid it, or it's use is really that important to the story you want to tell, there are less harmful ways to implement it.

Don't have your only disabled character take the cure

If you really must cure your disabled character's disability, don't make them the only disabled person in the story. Show us another character who, when offered the same cure, chooses not to take it. This at least helps push back a little against the assumption of "of course everyone would want this" that these kinds of stories often imply and doesn't contribute (as much) to disability erasure in the media.

Don't make it a total cure

In real life, there are cures for some disabilities, but they rarely leave no trace. For example, an amputee's limb can sometimes be reattached if it was severed and they received medical treatment fast enough, but it usually results in at least a little nerve damage and difficulties with muscle strength, blood flow or co-ordination in that limb. Often times, these "cures" will fix one issue, but create another. You might not be an amputee anymore, but you're still disabled, just in a different way. You can reflect this in your fictional cures to avoid it feeling like you just wanted to avoid doing the work to write good disabled representation.

Do something interesting with it

I got a comment on my old tumblr or possibly Tik Tok account ages ago talking about their planned use for the miracle cure trope, where their character accepts the cure at the cost of the things that made her life enjoyable post-disability. Prior to accepting the cure, she had found other ways to be independent to some extent and her community and friends helped her bridge the gaps, but they were all taken from her when she was "cured" forcing her into isolation. Kind of like a "be careful what you wish for" sort of thing. The story was meant to be a critique on how society ignores alternative ways of getting the same result and how conforming to other people's ideas of "normal" isn't always what you need to bring you happiness. This was a genuinely interesting way to use the trope I think, and it's a perfect example of taking this trope and twisting it to make an interesting point. If you must use a trope like this, at least use it to say something other than "disability makes me sad so I don't want to think about it too much". Alternatively, on a less serious note, I'm also not entirely opposed to the miracle cure being used for comedy if it fits the tone. The Orville has some issues with it's use of the Miracle Cure trope, but I'd be lying if I said Isaac amputating Gordan's leg as a prank, knowing it could be reversed in a few hours did get a chuckle out of me.

If your villain's motivation is finding a cure for themselves, don't use it as justification for hurting people

Disabled villains need a post all their own honestly, but when a villain's motivation for doing all the terrible things they do is so they don't have to be disabled anymore, it's especially frustrating. Doubly so if the writer's are implying that they're justified in their actions, or at least that their actions are understandable because "who would want to live like that?" Honestly, as a general rule of thumb, avoid making your villains disabled if you aren't disabled yourself (especially if they're your only disabled character), but if they are disabled, don't use the disability as a justification for them hurting people while finding a cure.

So are there any examples currently out there to look at where the trope is used, if not well, at least tolerably?

Yeah, I'd say so, but they're few and far between. Two examples come to mind for me though.

The Dragon Prince:

[ID: A Gif of Ava the Wolf from the Dragon Prince, a light brown, fluffy wolf who is missing her front right leg. /End ID]

The Dragon Prince on Netflix uses the miracle cure twice, but I still really enjoyed the show (at least I did, up until my Netflix subscription ran out, so I've only seen up to season 4). The first time the trope is used in the series, it's actually a fake-out. Two of the main characters, while looking for someone to help them heal the dragon egg they're carrying, encounter a young girl named Ellis and her pet wolf Ava. The two explain their egg is not looking good and they need to find someone to help it, but no one they've found had the knowledge or ability to do anything to help. Ellis says she knows a healer who can help them, and tells them that this healer even restored Ava's amputated leg when she was a pup. When we actually reach this "miracle healer" however, she is revealed to be simply an illusionist. She explains that Ava is still missing her leg, she simply made it look as though she had restored it because Ellis's parents were planning to throw the puppy out, believing it would not survive with its disability and would only be a drain on supplies. This was not actually true and Ava adapted to her amputation very well, she simply needed more time, and hiding her disability and making her appear abled gave her the time she needed to fully recover and adjust. When they return to the healer with the main characters, she removes the illusion and explains why she did it, emphasising that the real problem was never with Ava, but with how people made assumptions about her.

While I do feel it was drawn out a bit too long, I do appreciate the use of the trope as the set up to an overall positive twist. Disability does come with down-sides, it's part of the deal and it would have been nice to see a bit more of that, but for disabilities like amputation in particular, the worst of our problems often come from a lack of adequate support and people's pre-conceived ideas about us, and it was nice to see this reflected, even if it is a little overly simplified.

The second time this trope comes up in the series is when one of the antagonists, Soren, is injured during a fight with a dragon, becoming paralysed from the neck down. His sister, Claudia is absolutely beside herself, believing it was her fault this even happened in the first place, but Soren actually takes his new disability very, very well, explaining that he understands there are things he can't do now, but that there's a lot of things he can still try, that his previous job as a soldier just didn't allow time for. It's possible this reaction was him being in denial but it came across to me as genuine acceptance. He is adamant that he doesn't want a cure right from the beginning because he knows that a cure would come at a cost that he doesn't want his sister to pay, and that he is content and happy with this new direction his life will be going in. Claudia, however, is not content. It had been shown that she was already using dark magic, but this event is what starts her down the path of using it in earnest, disregarding the harm it will cause to those around her. She ignores Soren's wishes, kills several animals in order to fuel the healing spell that will "fix" him, and Soren is pretty clearly shown to be horrified by her actions. What I like about this use of the miracle cure trope is that it touches on something I've seen happen a lot to disabled people in real-life, but that rarely shows up in media - the fact that just because we accept ourselves, our disabilities and our new limits, doesn't mean our friends and family will, unfortunately. In my own life, my mum and dad were always accepting of my disability when I was younger, but as I got older and my support needs changed, my body took longer to heal and I stopped being able to do a lot of things I could when I was little, they had a very hard time coming to terms with it and accepting it. I'm not alone in this either, a lot of disabled people end up cutting contact with friends and family members who refuse to accept the reality of our situations and insist "if we just try harder maybe we won't be so disabled" or "Maybe you will get better if you just do [xyz]". Unfortunately however, some disable people's wishes are ignored completely, like Soren's were. You see this a lot in autistic children who's parents are so desperate to find a cure that they hurt their kids through toxic and dangerous "treatments" or by putting them through abusive therapies that do more harm than good. Claudia has good intentions, but her complete disregard for Soren's decision still harm them both in the long run, leading to the deterioration of their relationship and causing her to spiral down a very dark path.

Full Metal Alchemist: Brotherhood

[ID: A Gif of Ed from full metal alchemist, a white boy with blond hair, staring angrily at a jar of milk on the table. His brother Al, a sentiant suit of armour, is in the background looking directly at the camera. The caption, spoken by Ed, says "So we meet again you little bastard" /end ID.]

The show does begin with Ed and Al looking for a way to cure their disabilities (which they gave themselves when trying to resurrect their mother as children went horribly wrong). However, when the boys discover that the object needed to do that - a philosopher's stone, can only by made through absolutely abhorrent and despicable means, and using one, likewise, comes at the cost of potentially hundreds or thousands of people's souls, they immediately stop, and shift their focus on finding the stones that had already been made so it can't fall into the wrong hands, and preventing the creation of new ones. The core theme of the show is that everything has a cost, and sometimes the cost is simply too great.

However, right at the end of the show, several characters are healed in a variety of ways. Ed gives up his ability to do alchemy to get his brother's body back, as well as his arm so he can save his friends in the final battle, but neither of the boys come away from this completely "healed". Al's body has not been used since he was a child, and so it is shown he has experienced severe muscular atrophy that will take a long time and a lot of work to recover from, acknowledging that he has a pretty tough road ahead of him. When we see him in the epilogue, he is still on crutches despite this being several months after getting his body back. Likewise Ed is not fully healed, and is still missing one of his legs even if he got his arm back.

The more... interesting use of the trope, however, is in the form of Colonel Mustang who was blinded in the final season. Mustang is shown to take to his blindness pretty well given the circumstances, finding a variety of ways to continue doing his job and reaching his goals. When other characters offer to let him use the philosopher's stone to heal himself however, he takes it, acknowledging that this is a horrible thing to do and that Ed and Al would be extremely disappointed in him if they ever found out. He uses it both to cure his own disability, and to cure another character who was injured earlier in the show. While I'll admit, I did not like this ending, I can at least appreciate that the show made sure to emphasis that a) Mustang was doing fine without the cure, and b) that this was not morally justified. The show spent a very long time drilling into the viewer how morally reprehensible using the stone was, and it didn't try to make an exception for Mustang - you weren't supposed to like that he did that.

When I talk about these tropes, I do try to give them a fair chance and discuss the ways it can potentially work, but I really do want to reiterate that this particular trope really is best avoided. There are ways to make it work, but they will still leave a bad taste in many of your viewer's or reader's mouths and you have to be exceptionally careful with your wording and framing, not just in the scenes where this trope is used, but in the lead up. If you really must use it, I highly recommend getting a few disability sensitivity readers and/or consultants (yes, even if you are disabled yourself) to help you avoid some of the often overlooked pitfalls.

#writing disability With Cy Cyborg #very long post #I could have sworn I talked about this trope already but I couldn't find the post. Apparently I had a lot more to say anyway lol #long post #disability #Disabled #Disability representation #Physical Disability #disability Tropes #Writing #Writeblr #Authors #Disabled Rep #Writing Advice #writing Tips #Disabled Characters #writing disability

[levmada]

Hey how are you feeling?

Im glad your requests are still open. Loved the answer to my last request so I hope you don’t mind me sending in another one?

Some cute hurt/comfort with taller gn reader and postwar Levi. After the ackermanbond is gone I imagine Levi getting really sick for the very first time. Fever and everything also adding the flashbacks to when his mom got sick. And reader ofc nursing him back to health and also comforting him 🧡

im so so so so so so SO sorry😭i took literal months with this sari... i wish i had a good excuse, but i hope you like this :(

i took a lot of inspo from this eruri fic from ao3. stress cannn cause flu-like symptoms, and i wanted this to be the outcome of all those years of suffering for levi finally catching up to him.

probably not medically accurate: it's not very clear what the nature of levi's knee injury. it's seen partially crushed, but it's not clear what medical technology marley has (especially w/ the last volume cover in mind). i'm functioning on my idea that levi can't get around without a wheelchair, but he does have range of motion, partly based on the health of the cartilage/joints/bone, but mostly based how painful it is. it's more complicated than that, but i wanted to add a disclaimer anyway.

(tldr this is the levi torture hour)

➥ pairing: postwar!Levi x taller!gn!reader

➥ about: Not even Levi is invulnerable, both after the war and back then, so it's stupid to be scared when he gets sick.

Until it isn't.

➥ c/w: sick fic, post-war Levi, delirium/nightmares, reverse hurt comfort, implied past csa, happy ending (promise), medical inaccuracies, nightmares, established relationship (married)

➥ wc: 5.3k

In the comfortable, quiet rays of mid-morning, you hum to yourself, and sip your mug of tea. You watch a white cardinal with red tips toddle on the windowsill on the other side of the glass. That’s rare.

It takes off.

You trace the rim of your mug, sighing slowly but heavily through your nose. It’s getting harder not to think about it.

You want to think that—now that you and Levi are retired (what an odd word…)—it’s reached that natural time to start sleeping better. Sleeping in, not out of an absurdly rare indulgence, but to relax.

It’s been nine months, not counting the few Levi was cooped-up in the hospital.

Even for him, relaxation shouldn’t be impossible after some point. In fact, he hasn’t shot awake just before dawn for a while, anticipating a reveille that won’t ring out.

But you fought beside him; your bad habits and your happiness wrestle over the reality of your new life too.

But…

You reach across the small wood table and hover your hand over the cup of tea you poured for him; decent, but not piping hot and steaming like earlier.

This will be a once in a lifetime opportunity: you get to coax Levi out of bed late in the morning.

You stand, bringing your arms behind your head to stretch just a little as you walk to the hall, down to the bedroom. The door is cracked like you left it.

Like a tired waterfall, the vast majority of the thick covers lay spilled haphazardly to the floor, so you’re surprised even before you take a look at Levi, who’s still curled up asleep, facing your way. That leaves his back to the light glowing through the curtains.

He kicked them off?

Like the sheets, his sweater is white; his trousers are dark, loose and cut (with his knee brace on underneath). With his arms tightly crossed like that, and the harsh crease sitting on his brow, he almost looks awake and stressed out.

“G’morning, ‘Vi…”

Importantly, his pallor, normally as pale as snow, glows pink. A few strands of black cling to his forehead.

You stride over with a bit of a frown that wasn’t as deep when you were feeling just plain impatient, and take a sit on the edge of the bed.

“Are you feeling sick, baby…?”

That crease deepens. He twitches awake. "M-Mm?"

Now that you’re close, you notice his breathing is a little labored. You touch your knuckles to his temple. Eyes barely crack open.

"Sweetheart, ‘Vi… You definitely have a fever..."

You comb his bangs off his damp forehead, and they close.

The heat radiating off his skin—you grimace a little.

Actually... have you ever seen Levi so much as under the weather? You can’t even remember.

He shifts slightly, as your strokes rouse him.

"Do you feel sick?" you ask for the second time.

"Huh? I'm fine..."

His eyes finally blink open, fluttering once or twice. But then, a shadow passes over his face that seems to disprove that assertion of his.

He shoves his elbow underneath himself and starts to lift himself up. "Stop—fretting. 'm fine."

He gets most of the way; he’s resting heavily on one arm when he grunts, then leans.

"Stop, sweetheart," you huff, and take him by the shoulder. "What hurts? Your head?"

Looking dazed, like he’s not all there, he lifts his bad hand to his temple and, with his ring and little finger, feels his temple.

“Don’t know…”

"Lay back down, you clearly need some rest—even if this is rare for you, okay?"

“What?” He looks perturbed with you. “Don’t be stupid. There’s too much t’do. N’ I’m fine,” he grumbles, blatantly lying.

"Levi..." you warn.

"I'm just... tired," he mumbles. He rubs his eye with his thumb. "Fuck. Fucking tired."

His strength starts to evaporate as his eyes slip closed.

In an instant—before he collapses—you thrust your arms around him, and lay him back down on his side slowly.

It doesn’t quite hit you until you maneuver his arm out from under him, and listen to his even but labored breathing for a bit of time.

You stare down, eyes wide. Are you scared?—Or anxious?

Well either way—it’s not until you stopped being at risk for a violent death day-in and day-out for years that you even realized you were constantly anxious.

It’s not a nice feeling.

It’s okay. Though. You rationalize. Not even Levi is impervious to everything, and certainly not now. It’s stupid to be surprised.

You feel his forehead with the back of your hand one more time, and kiss your teeth. Definitely a fever, but an exact number wouldn’t hurt.

The thermometer and other simple medicines are shoved in one of the high kitchen cabinets, a second thought when you both moved into this quaint little cabin in the woods (aside from his prescriptions). You didn’t even say it out loud, even. 

Now pinched between your fingers, you stand back and stutter on your feet, unsure of what else you need. You want to need something more helpful, but the need to go and check back on him is most powerful. 

A short ways down the hall, you pick up on the unbelievable yet unmistakable sound of… crying. Unrestrained, and yet, the kind of crying that steals breath. 

You expect to wake up as soon as you reach the bedroom—some disturbing but absurd dream.

But you don’t. He’s curled up where you left him, eyes closed but now gasping sharply through his teeth with tears glistening on his cheeks. One drips off his trembling chin.

You drop onto the edge of the bed immediately, and try to speak, but find yourself helplessly stuck at a complete loss as to where to even start.

“Why…” You card your fingers through his hair, to no reaction. He must be asleep, right?—But how, why?

“Hey, hey, c’mere,” you coo gently, sitting so as to swaddle his back and caress his head.

You make it all not sound like a question. “Everything’s okay. It’s okay, sweetheart… Wake up.”

His eyes tightly shut, and tears squeeze through. He croaks. “Can wake up.”

It takes a moment for you to register that he really meant to pronounce it as “can’t”.

“…You sound sorta freaked out, and you want to talk to Falco?—Is Levi alright??”

You silently curse Gabi for being so observant.

“Which place? I have the books, um, right here…!”

“No…” You swallow a little, and coil the bright red cord to the phone around and around your finger. You wish it was as simple as some tinnitus, or nerve pain. 

“No?” Gabi asks on a high lilt; a question within a question.

“I know. He never gets sick, which is why I want to talk to Falco. I appreciate you trying to help, but please hurry?”

“Oh yeah, okay!”

You peer over your shoulder from your place stood in the hall and rock on your heels nervously. The only space of time you could find where you could bear to leave him was when he was quiet.

Falco has matured so much, even over the past year, and you trust him with this. He’s training to be a doctor; being a soldier never suited him much anyway. Levi was the first to say so, as usual the perfect judge of character. 

You speak slowly and calmly to him, encouraged by his own composure.

“It sounds like a flu, just with that added symptom,” he’s thinking out loud. Thin pages turn. “Severe stress can cause flu-like symptoms sometimes… Especially when it’s prolonged. Does that sound like anything?” 

 “No. No way.” You shake your head, your brow pinched tightly. In fact you laugh. “Haven’t fought any Titans lately, at least.”

His voice lowers, thinking as he talks. “True, yeah. Especially for you guys, nothing could ever really compare, right?”

“You have no idea. Not with Levi.”

“We can talk about it another time, maybe,” you amend quickly. You know almost for certain that’s not going to happen.

Falco hums. “Anyway, if that’s the case, that would explain why it’s been so severe, with the sudden onset. But think of it like a fever he needs to sweat out,” he explains.

“Y-Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You hear the light smile in his voice. “Don’t be too far away, though. It’s easy to tell, you know.”

You smile to yourself.

Even if the Rumbling somehow started back up above your head, you’d rather die. 

You write on a little notepad—some scrawl verbatim—Falco’s directions and words of advice, the phone trapped between your ear and shoulder. Most of it is generic, for influenza of course, but you write. 

A blunt but dense thump sounds not so far away. You even flinch, but just as quickly let Falco know you’ll be right back.

In the bedroom, the pale blue duvet and sheets spilled onto the floor looks like a stiff waterfall being wrenched this way and that by Levi’s attempts to sit back up, like a puppet trying to pull its own strings. He grunts in what sounds like frustration, but you can’t know for sure as his bangs obscure his eyes. His hair all over is a downright wreck.

Gaping, you fall down beside him and hurry working off all the offending fabrics he’s twisted in. 

“Lee—…”

Your help lets his shaky hand hover over his knee, like he can’t be sure if it’s his. He’s breathing hard; it’s ten times shakier than his hand.

“Come here.”

He doesn’t so much as twitch, but he doesn’t resist either. Then, when something in him registers that you’re there, he leans into you like you’ve just brought the weight of the world off his shoulders. 

You tug the soft pantleg up, and sigh at what you see. The scarring, like a row of pink and purple mountains stabbed into his flesh, is more inflamed than usual, leg minutely trembling when you raise it.

He must’ve tried to stand up.

“Does it hurt very bad?”

Not even such an obvious question gets you a retort of any kind. He whines softly when you have to brace that area to lift him back up, but no more.

From the dull darkened blue cotton in the shape of a V in the center of his chest, and coming down from his underarms, he’s burning up; you need to get started just as soon as you’re finished with Falco. For now, you wipe his clammy temples and brush his bangs back. He’s looking at you, but he doesn’t seem to see.

“Levi…” You press on his round cheeks under your palms, grimacing at the heat pelting off his skin.

He moans softly, some relief softening his features. “Huh. Take m’jack-et. Yer cold.”

You shake your head even though he can’t see, as, sharply and without warning, tears appear and stab at your eyes. He’s not even wearing a jacket. 

“Be right back,” you manage. “Okay?”

You don’t really expect a response, and you don’t get one.

First thing’s first, he needs water. You feel stupid not thinking of that first. That was at the top of Falco’s directions. 

You catch Levi in a moment of relative quiet—not peace, but quiet—and cradle the back of his neck, unhinging his jaw with your other. Easy enough. You tip the glass and feed him water with the utmost care and precision. This is some act terribly intimate, a type of intimacy removed from hand-holding or sex entirely while managing to rank above them both. Over all these years, his life has been in your hands a few times, but feeding him pills—something for the fever and something for the pain—and working his shirt off for something fresh and loose-fitting feels more reverent even still. You put him in shorts and practically fortify his knee with a brace and pillows wrapped up with the belt of a housecoat so even if he rolls over, he won’t.

He chokes on a sob while you’re tucking a cold press behind his neck, forcing you to stop. His eyes squeeze shut.

“Levi?” you ask softly.

Either he’s having a nightmare, or he’s in pain, or, both. He tightens his crossed arms. His first movement in hours.

“What hurts? Falco said it might be your head.”

Another sob bursts from him. “S’head’s all over the wall, looked, it… sorry….”

He continues mumbling, but none of it sounds like words. 

"Levi, it's okay, it's okay. Okay, baby? S'okay," you murmur; on and on. The washcloth has gotten smushed between his shoulder and the pillow—you set that somewhere aside. Then you lean over, rubbing with your thumbs the tears off his glistening cheeks, and messy black strands off his forehead.

Sometimes you will catch a word, sometimes you won’t. You will almost wish you didn’t the times you do. Yet you feel sworn to make sense of every mumble, a pervasive, unbreakable, urge. You’re sworn to it.

That’s how the rest of the day goes. He’s never lucid enough to eat; only enough to mumble when he’s freezing, or when he’s burning.

After dusk has bled into the sunset, and night has set in, you sit and watch over Levi religiously. To be fair, you don’t have anything “better to do”, but you hardly ate. If he knew, he’d be in your ear grumbling or otherwise dragging you by it to the kitchen, but does it matter, when he can’t know?

No, you decided, with some fucked-up determination. You want him to bitch at you when he wakes up. Not shivering trapped in an uneasy sleep.

When it gets late, you, arduously but carefully, do what you can for his knee.. He moves too much.

You wipe his face and neck of sweat, and lay a fresh, ice-cold and wet folded washcloth on his forehead. The fever is slowly getting worse.

You dote on him, carding back his bangs, and murmuring and repeating all manners of comfort you can think of. It’s becoming obvious when he’s having a nightmare.

…Finally, as Falco suggested, you’ve kept him hydrated; fever reducers every few hours. 

All that's left to do then, is sleep. This realization makes you nauseous with worry.

Nonetheless, you squirm under the covers on your side, close beside him with your face tucked in his shoulder. You take a slow, deep breath. 

It’s so discomforting; Levi can’t fall asleep flat on his back, ever, and yet…

Your head shoots off his chest before you’ve registered you even woke up—gasping, and a guttural cry from below. It’s pitch black, too dark to see.

That explodes him into motion. He repels you backwards as you grapple for his shoulders, and like fists closed around your throat, as he resists your every attempt to stop him hurting himself, as he whimpers tiredly, as his bawling stabs the most tender place inside you—you feel sick.

“Levi—! Stop. Levi listen to me!”

You’re louder than him, but nothing—his eyes won't open—and your stomach swoops just then as he almost succeeds in jabbing his knee in your stomach, an extra hard punch combined with the brace. That cry is a sob of nothing but pain.

Enough. Finally you bite the bullet, you drop your full weight down on top of him, if it means he’ll finally stop. 

At first, you’re as steady as a boat on rough waters. A huff of relief slips out when his writhing grows sluggish, quickly.

He squirms mildly under you, breathing still stubbornly labored. “Get… off me.”

He tries to raise his arms from his sides, but can’t. 

“I’ll, fuckin’ kill you.”

You viciously shake your head. “It’s just a dream.”

Are you telling only him that?

“S’ get off, you can’t, s’nough hurts ‘er.”

“L-Lee…”

You strain to make him out, as he sobs weakly. “Leave me alone already...”

His name escapes you over again like a prayer in the heat of a battle. Your determination crumbles right into dust; you fall beside him and sit up, unsure of what to do besides take his hand. You can’t bring yourself to switch on the lamp.

“It’s going to be okay.” You squeeze.

He whimpers. “…Please.”

You can’t open your foolish mouth and tell him or yourself that it’s just a dream anymore.

Falco was more correct than you gave him credit for.

Falco also warned you that it would get worse before it got better.

With the hours that keep passing—which have stretched out into two days so far—he more and more mutters in his sleep, other times under his breath, but most times he’s incoherent.

But, it’s all come to fall under one topic. 

And just like that first night, it doesn’t quite make sense, but it doesn’t have to. 

You don’t want to think about it; you just want to take care of him. Your anxiety is constant, and sharp. If only he’d wake up; you talk to him as if he’s awake—but to no response whatsoever, like you don’t even exist.

Moments you’re forced to leave him are the worst—for you and for him. Most times when you come back, the washcloth meant to rest on his forehead has drooped and sagged beside his temple.

At any rate, the difference between fever and tears has gotten hard to tell.

You just can’t stop from shaking, and your throat is tight, but Falco remains adamant that the flu is what he said it is. 

A lamp is still glowing on your side in the late night. The air is cool, and it’s quiet, but a rare moment of “peace” makes the sounds of your shared breaths obnoxious.

Your heavy eyes sting; despite that, when they creep closed you feel yourself fading in seconds, with Levi’s head tucked under your chin, upon your chest. Seemingly, any covers are too stifling for him at the moment; pressed against your collarbones, you feel his forehead is hot again. 

You cradle gently the nape of his neck, idly rubbing the knot of bone at the base of his jaw. As if you’re doing anything to protect him from anything…

He mumbles, slurring, “Y’have t’come back…”

You’re not dizzy with the shock or the horror, but it’s worse almost, to be confronted with the full magnitude of a rueless, unceasing pain that is just as lonely in its magnitude as it is devastating.

You rub his back as he buries his face in your neck, sobbing like it takes all his energy to do so. “I’ll be faster.”

“I don’ know where t’go, what do I do now?” he babbles over your soft hushes. “Wait, next time I’ll get it right...”

“It’s okay, love, it’s okay.”

“I don’ know why I even…” 

Trailing off, he starts to whimper, and can’t go on. 

He doesn’t stop, it doesn’t, not for a second while—all you can do—is hold and console him even though he may not know it.

Until he exhausts himself. Drifts. into a light sleep.

For it to happen all over again. Seeping into his sleep like crude oil, the next stress-induced terror to force his breathing shaky, labored.

"...Need," he whimpers, the first word you’ve made out in a while.

Your stomach swoops, the thought that you can do anything to help directly. "What do you need, sweetheart?"

"Don't sell it. Don't sell it, I need it."

You deflate, jaw wobbling. "Sh, sh, it's okay,” you soothe. You reach for the tray on the bedside behind you, and, using the cold cloth, you dab the sweat from his blushing temple and neck.

"S'gonna take away from m...me." He starts to pant, continuing to mumble, crying, a complete melting away. Lamenting, abject.

"Shh... Shh..."

His arm loosely draped around your waist—which you’d put there—tightens its hold, but in drifting bursts, like he keeps slipping.

“Please.”

You inhale sharply. "Please?"

"Don'. Leave me."

"I won't leave," you swiftly promise. "I won't leave, I won’t.”

He cries in his sleep for so many names that aren’t alive anymore.

Don’t go. Don’t go.

Wake up, Momma.

Wait... Just wait.

That wasn’t the worst point. Not even hunched, taken-over by so much stress and pain until he gagged was the worst point. None of what he had already said combined could amount to the last night.

You snap awake on your stomach at some blurry unknown instance, acutely aware you’ve slept like shit.

Did you even, only blink?—No. The most faintest shade of grey weakly gives your bedroom the suggestion of texture and shadow, but—your arms are empty. You reach over blindly, but the side where Levi should lay is empty and cold.

A pit bursts open in your stomach, filled with bright panic. 

You lurch up and shove off the covers, breathing hard. 

Where could he be??

If he was feeling better, then you would've woken up a while ago, because he would've told you. Not just... 

He can’t be far.

You shiver. 

On your feet, you cross the room in a few strides, and frown as you pull open the bedroom door. It's never left closed at night this time of year; it gets about ten degrees colder without the insulation. (But the chill pressing to the bottoms of your feet, you barely even noticed.)

"Levi!?"

The switch on the wall is right within reach, which lights up the hall. You look right and almost jump back; you might’ve tripped over him if you hadn’t looked first.

He sits hugging his legs—tightly folded against his chest, Levi, why?—there right outside the white doorframe. Shivering, glossy face red with fever, and most certainly in agony by now with all the abuse done to his knee, you’re not sure if he even notices you. Not from this angle.

You fall down on your knees. “Levi? Look, I’m here. Talk to me, please, okay?”

His bloodshot eyes are cracked open, staring ahead, but seemingly seeing nothing. Between the tears, you can’t tell if this is good or bad. 

"Levi..." You take his shoulder in an attempt to nudge his attention towards you. “Look at me. Please.”

He was already tense. His head turns, mostly looking at you sideways—emphasis on his pale eye—but looking at you nonetheless. Good.

"What's wrong?"

His brow knits together.

“C’mere.” You lean forward and card his damp bangs back to feel his forehead. The whole time, he just looks at you passively.

“Better... But this cold won’t help in the end. Medicine is in the bedroom, so...”

You huff very softly to yourself. “…You need more bedrest. I don’t know why you even came out here. Why didn’t you wake me up?”

He blinks.

“Let’s go back to bed,” you insist then, under your breath. 

Some clarity crosses his dark eyes, his voice then a cracked brittle rasp.  “…Not the bed.” 

His gaze sort of drifts away from you. 

You thought he was through with that habit. Confused, you ask, “Why not?”

“It’s ruined. It was always disgusting, but… this is worse.”

“I’ll change the sheets then. I know, it’s not—”

“You can’t do anything,” he says, tucking his chin to his chest, intent eyes focused somewhere down. “Corpse smell doesn’t come outta anything, it just smells worse the longer you leave it. It gets colder n’ heavier, then the smell, it attracts bugs. There’s a fluid,” he says quietly. Casually. “And then it shrinks. Getting eaten’s all the same. But I think that way’s worse.”

What can you even say to that?

“I won’t do th-at to you…” His brow furrows sharply, gripping his sleeves—you see now—with bright white knuckles. Even sitting up, he’s almost curled up into a ball.

You talk quickly, before the full gravity of all this can reach you. 

“You won’t do anything,” you insist. “How about the sofa? Would the sofa be okay?”

“I can’ go to sleep,” he hisses. “I won’t wake up.”

“That’s not true. Why do you even say that??"

"I'm sick."

"Yeah, but it’s not bad-sick!”

You regret the moment you raise your voice. That almost innocent passivity he exuded is crushed by complete and utter detachment. 

“…Denial doesn't help. Don’t be stupid. Don't even—shouldn’ touch me. It’ll end worse fer you.”

You tremble minutely, stewing in silence while in panicked, rapid-fire fashion, you rifle through explanations. He sounds so serious. And he's nothing but.

You know that Levi’s mother died from sickness. He’s called out for her, a lot.

In nightmares… A nightmare?

You guess that’s where it all started for him, as he always slips into a warm voice and delicate eyes those rare moments he does tell you about her. Being sick then, being sick with you here… It all clicks into place.

Okay. Fuck…

The real monster of it all is the fever—making him unglued like this.

You rub the bridge of your nose, swallowing thickly. Okay. 

A firm calm settles over you; for once, Levi is scared. That means you won’t be.

“Levi…” you console.

You reach out to his shoulder, only to flinch when he flinches before a push knocks into your chest. It sends you falling into your backside with an injured grunt.

Instantly, intrinsically, you know it’s going to bruise; all his strength, one hand.

Your eyes pop open to his own—uncannily—wide with his lips twisting into a grimace. 

Putting his eyes ahead again, he sucks in a choked breath and slumps. “Sorry, I thought you were… Sorry.” He gasps. “I’m sorry.”

You get back up on your knees, slowly, and settle down beside him without hesitation. You’re more frantic than ever to close this icy chasm-like space.

“It’s okay.”

He shakes his head as sharp and as fast as his rattling breaths. “I thought you were him. I don’t get it… it just kept hap-happening… Fucking…”

You see him still searching for the words to explain.

“It’s okay. It’s all okay.” 

The warmth in your voice is genuine. When it shakes, you just hate that he’s suffering with nothing you can do to lift it all away, like blood by steam. 

He grips his hair, having made himself as small as possible again. “I’m—s-sorry.”

“Shh…”

Slowly until now, you’ve been leaning in, and now you firmly rest your hand on his back, rubbing in long, consoling motions. This seems to help.

You stay like this while his breathing shudders through tears. It’ll only hurt you both to bring force into it again; either way, any way, it’s not his fault. You don’t know what he meant… but why would it be the man who came and chose to look after him?

“Sorry…”

Everything you see if one ruddy cheek and his temple glistens with either tears or sweat, and his eyes look painful.

“Look at me. Baby.”

An order seems familiar. He does.

“You trust me, don’t you?”

He understands slowly, but you know the answer. After a time, he blinks, and nods.

“Stay still, please.” You kiss his temple. 

“…Sure.”

One arm around his back, the other scooped under his knees, you lift him up into your arms with not too much difficulty. He goes tense, but leans into your chest nonetheless.

“It’s going to be okay,” you murmur as you walk. You want desperately to ask about his leg, but this feels too fragile, like if you bring up physical pain then the whims of the fever will take him back over. 

He’s trembling all over, it seems, before you lay him back down in bed, and once you do he clutches a bit of your blouse at the collar with a grip that confirms for you that he’s not letting go. You sit beside him with his waist pushed against the side of your thigh.

“I’m sorry, it’s all my fault,” he croaks out softly, staring at your sleeve which he now grips. “I wasn’t fast ‘nuff. I hesitated n’ it got ‘em killed for nothing after made the same mistake… Sorry i-was my damn pride…”

You let him talk, rather mumble. When there’s a lull, you rest your palms on his hot cheeks. Better than the last time you felt them. His eyes instantly flutter in relief.

It’s surprisingly easy to give him water, then the fever reducer. Meanwhile, he’s clearly fighting the weight of exhaustion pressing down on his eyelids.

“Don’t make me sleep…”

“I’m not. I’ll just stay by your side. Then”—you cup his cheek—“I’ll do it again.”

He hardly grunts, eyes closing.

You won’t sleep, and you can’t sleep (if there’s even a difference). In fact, you’ll bring in one of the kitchen chairs and sit by him with a novel; you’ll read by candlelight, with a handkerchief hanging like a tarp from the lampshade so maybe he can rest easy.

Being that the flu is a release of stress… He’s getting better. He’s getting better.

Hour-by-hour, more or less (but mostly less), you snap awake at the tiniest stirring from your husband beside you. Maybe mumbling a ghostly snatch of a word; mostly sniffling. It takes you half an hour to drift off again.

This unforgiving cycle obnoxiously persists until morning sunlight poking your sleeping mind wakes you. Suddenly, again. You see him.

It’s a mystery, how long, but Levi is gazing at you softly with bloodshot, but, maybe aware eye. You feel better when he glances away, like every time—if, not when—you catch him staring. Your legs are tangled slightly, his slow breaths brush your cheek.

"Baby," you murmur. "You’re awake?”

He looks annoyed. “No, I’m sleeping with my eyes open.”

“How do you feel? Be honest," you quickly add. You drape your arm around his waist.

He frowns at your tone. "...Like my head got hit with a sledgehammer.”

You say nothing.

His voice gets softer and gentler. “I don’t remember… And you look like shit. What happened?”

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

“…So I’m going to be wrong,” he surmises, looking away. “I slept in too late.” 

He goes to rub his eye, and sniffs. The distress marring his expression grows. 

“It’s been a couple days, but it’s alright,” you say. You’re quick to explain as the realization seems to come over Levi that he hasn’t had a proper bath in that length of time.

Though, it’s hard to explain. It’s even harder to wrap your mind around the fact that he doesn’t remember how he’d cried, and—insinuated, what he did. What horrors he spoke of. 

You finish. Behind a thinly-veiled straight face, he stares into your eyes with the quiet accusation that you haven’t told the whole story. 

“It… was… bad,” you bear to admit. “That’s why I look like shit.”

The self-loathing that falls over his expression like a deathly shroud is instant. He looks away, glaring at nothing, but before he can think anything, you squirm much closer, tighten your hold, and kiss his chin.

“It’s not your fault. And if I had to, I’d do it all over again. So don’t start.”

He watches you for a beat, as if searching for some exaggeration, but soon looks resigned to the truth in your vow. At this long-awaited point in your lives, with some legwork to say the least, you’re relieved to know you’ve finally got it beaten into his head that you love him, whether he agrees or not.

You watch him swallow, and many emotions cross his eyes as he mulls your words over. 

“I don’t like that it’s just a flash for me,” he resolves.

“I know. But we can… talk about it?”

Honestly you’re shocked the words left your mouth. Levi also stares at you like you just spoke a foreign language. It’s pathetic, as he would say, sure, but—people like you and him don’t just talk about things like that which fueled those nightmares of his.

He looks away, considering. Finally, he brings hand up to yours, nestled deep under the covers. Your fingers clasp gently, foreheads brushing. His silvery blue eyes calmly watch yours. That’s his answer.

It’s so different, and not so comfortable right now, but you believe, now, that’s okay.

Levi masterlist | main masterlist

#levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman fluff #levi ackerman x you #levi x you #levi x y/n #levi ackerman x y/n #levi ackerman oneshot #levi ackerman angst #aot oneshots #aot fanfiction #captain levi x reader #captain levi x you #captain levi fanfiction

[allsadnshit]

It's so wild to me that people will get filler and Botox and do like 30 step skincare routines but refuse to stop drinking and vaping etc cause I had such a good FaceTime with my dad today and like not only is he showing up so different and attentive and strong and clear as a father now that he's sober but he looked so good and I kind of can't stop thinking about how he's in his 60's and has always had a bad complexion and after a year of not drinking and doing yoga and therapy he literally looks like a decade younger and I think it's such a scam people push plastic surgery and expensive skincare on us as a society and yet not a soul is suggesting that maybe the best thing for our health is not poisoning ourselves

Like so many of my loved ones are heavy drinkers (have at least one drink most days, heavier on weekends) and have problems with their immune system and get sick really easily which can def be affected by so many factors but like it's just crazy to see an alcoholic who's literally been in my life since the beginning get sober and be like wow it's not just a matter of addiction and substance it was like actually not letting his body function at it's true capacity

Like I wonder how many of us walk around drinking and smoking and then wondering why we have early hair thinning problems, dull skin, and constantly catching colds and flues while we actively destroy our immune system

Like we all know alcohol lowers our immune systems ability to fight and be strong and do its job but it's so amazing to actually see someone you love get healthier than you've ever seen them

Even though I've been sober for a few years now too it does really inspire me that it's worth the trouble not just emotionally and mentally but physically too in so many ways!!!!

[ftmtftm]

I’m sorry but until xenogenders and neopronouns can understand that I don’t want to “share my pronouns”, that I want to go through life as a normal, binary man, that I want assumptions to be made, that t isn’t some fun thing but a medical necessity for the rest of my life, that being trans isn’t a celebration but a condition for me and that I never want to be in a pride parade or even really open about it, until y’all can respect that, every single one of you, at least the fucking majority of you, then i can’t take anything seriously. I have been outed, assaulted, misgendered, and a whole bunch of other shit by “Tucutes” who walked all fucking over me as a binary trans person, I’ve been forced to be okay with they/them pronouns and been forced to be called the t-slur by a fake trans person because it was “affirming” for them to use on “other trans people”, I’ve been forced to wait years for t because the lines weee clogged up because people wanted to microdose it because they didn’t actually want the effects but they wanted to feel special, I’ve been outed as trans by fake trans people who want everyone to know what a cool catch I am, I’ve been told how gross t made me, I’ve been pushed out of every space that makes an effort to include as many people as possible because they start using rhetoric that sounds like the same rhetoric my transphobic father uses.

I cannot ever find joy in being trans, there is nothing to find joy in for me. Ever. I’m sick of people acting like it’s fun and silly and goofy. I’m sick of people appropriating a medical condition. I will always be sick of it. I am truly sorry that you had someone assault you and that they happened to be part of a community that I am also, but all transmeds want is some fucking respect for not doing this for whatever “euphoria” or political reason but because we fucking have to. All we want is respect and to not have our medical condition turned into playing make believe that you’re a “catgender” or an alien or whatever the fuck, do that on your own terms I don’t care, but the association with dysphoria and the fact that you will spit in the fucking faces of dysphoric binary trans people? That’s why transmeds exist

.

Bullet points because genuinely, my patience is beginning to run very thin for you anon. My ask box and the new post button have two separate functions and I think there is one you should be using instead of the other.

This is just attention seeking behavior at this point, and I'll give it to you and I'll be compassionate but I won't let your shit slide.

I'm sorry, but this is genuinely like looking in a mirror at my 15-20 year old self and it sucks and I honestly feel very sorry for you. Your pain and upset is very real. Your feelings do matter. And? You need to talk to a mental health professional. Serious advice. You need a therapist or some kind of support group if you do not have one already. That is a lot of baggage that deserves to be explored with someone who can genuinely help you in a controlled environment - not the askbox of random trans people you take issue with because they remind you of traumatic events in your life. Your triggers and people who remind you of people who have hurt you are your responsibility to deal with. It's not the business of people who are literally just living their lives in ways that make them happy. The world doesn't need to change around you for your own comfort, you need to change yourself to make yourself comfortable.

It's honestly okay if being trans makes you upset. It's okay to lament and even grieve a life you wish you had but can't have because you are not cis. Again though, that is not an issue that people who aren't like you are causing though. It's genuinely your business to deal with those emotions - not theirs.

You are not a doctor. You are not a medical professional. You are not the one giving care and other people's medical needs, decisions, and histories are none of your g'ddamn business. It is absolutely ridiculous that wait times are what they are and that access to care is not what it should be - but that is a failure of the system not the people. You legitimately sound like working class folks who complain about people on food stamps "taking up all the government resources" and people who complain that "immigrants are taking all our jobs" right now. You are putting the burden of the system onto the individual when it legitimately isn't their fault. Ultimately you are actively being failed by the medical system you are attempting to covet, not by your fellow trans people.

I've also been told I'm disgusting for being on T. I've also been told I'm disgusting for wanting facial and body hair, for feeling comfortable in my masculinity, for loving being a man in all of its complexities. Even by other trans people. You are not alone in that experience. The solution to working through those emotions isn't to throw conservative complaining about food stamps and immigrants level tantrums about it like you are doing now though.

Being trans can be fun. Being trans can be silly and goofy. Again, it might not be that way for you and it sounds like you've been in an environment where you're not allowed to love yourself for any reason, let alone for being trans, so it's probably very hard for you to conceptualize experiences outside of your own - but you sound... very young. I promise it gets better with time and distance. Please leave the environments you are in when you are able, they don't sound healthy for you.

Point of order: My ex was not a transmedicalist, by any means. I was assaulted by them and felt disgusting and dysphoric because of it and found transmedicalism on my own afterwards to try to validate my sense of self. I was hurt by someone else and then turned my hurt into a weapon. It sounds like you've been hurt and are also turning that hurt into a weapon. I hope some day you're able to put it down.

#asks #anon #long post / #assault / #anti transmedicalism #anti transmed

[jake-g-lockley]

di im having frankie x desi!reader thoughts :""""""D

like imagine him and you being invited to a wedding and you're part of the wedding party so you don't get ready with him and even though the both of you are engaged he's never seen you in a fancy ass lehenga before so he absolutely freezes when you walk past him, in your element, tying jasmine onto the brides hair and you see him and bonus if before you both leave you adjust his sherwani pin and THE MAKING OUT THAT ENSUES MY GOD IM YEARNING SO BADLY RN

Asian Ting in a Lehenga (Frankie Morales x desi!reader)

Masterlist

Warning: kissing + hot Frankie, swearing Word count: 1k

A/N: tell me that this robe wasn’t just a sherwani and that the ovary or blood vessel I just burst was worth it. Short drabble based on this ask by @brekkers-desigirl and damn my brain literally can't handle this omggggg

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Frankie frowned at his reflection as he ruffled his hair, attempting to tame it down a notch before leaning against the wall furthest from the crowd as he waited for you. The deep mustard sherwani that was detailed with suns you had bought for him made him look like a prince but Frankie had always been one to not like the spotlight on him. He sighed as he looked at his watch for the umpteenth time, waiting for you to make your appearance. 

To call you his fiance was a great gift and he loved your family, your culture and whatever made you the beautiful woman that you were. You were quite literally the apple of his eye and no one on this big blue Earth even comes close to you. 

As the sister of the bride, you had taken your position as the maid of honor very seriously, making sure that everything was planned down to military precision, which Frankie also was very proud of (and slightly turned on by). Frankie absolutely enjoyed the whole of yesterday, watching you order people around while he trailed around you eating and feeding you tasty Indian sweets, his mouth set in a dreamy grin that earned him buckets of laughter from your relatives. 

Frankie’s thought bubble burst as he caught your distinct sweet perfume. Before he could call your name, you quickly brushed past him to rush up to your sister. Frankie’s mouth dropped to the floor as he freezes, his eyes scanning your form as you held up jasmine flowers while yelling at your sister. Frankie had never seen you in Indian clothes before and he swore that you had exceeded his expectations tremendously. 

Your lehenga was the same shade as his, decorated with similar sun patterns and its long skirt cascaded down your body as though you were a goddess draped in sunshine. Your hair was worn in a half up and half down hairstyle with long beautiful tendrils framing your face. You were pinning the extra flowers onto your sister's hair while Frankie’s eyes were pinned onto your gorgeous skin that peaked between your blouse and skirt. Frankie made the mistake of moving his eyes slightly upwards, gazing at the low neckline that adorned your blouse and he felt a warm swirl of dizziness settle in the pits of his stomach.

He reached out for you and you moved, causing your dupatta to latch onto a bead at the cuff of his sherwani. He mindlessly followed you as your dupatta clinged onto him like the last ounce of his sanity. He watched your hips move almost fluidly and he couldn’t take it any longer, his arm reaching out to grab you and pull you close. You gasped and let yourself be pulled into his chest as he turned you to face him. 

“Frankie…” you breathed, scanning his face as your face lit up in a smile, only for it to fade once you caught the look that graced your man’s face. 

Once your brain had regained its functioning abilities, you wordlessly stood a little straighter and tipped your chin upwards, freeing your arms from his grasp. Frankie dropped his arms to his side and dipped his head.

Fortunately for Frankie, you had other ideas. 

You curled a finger under his chin and tipped his face up so that his eyes met yours. You stare for a while, admiring the way he had shaped-up his beard and the way the sherwani settled beautifully on his broad shoulders. You dropped your hand to the collar and adjusted his sherwani pin before pulling him close, until your mouth grazed his ear. 

“Bride's changing room in five, pretty boy.” you said, before leaving Frankie to stand there open mouthed as you quickly rushed off to settle your sister. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The second you had opened that door, you knew you made a small error in choosing a lehenga with such a low neckline. You clamped your eyes shut as you were pulled into a hasty rush of yellow, big hands grabbing onto your hips and dragging you further into the room. 

“Look at me, amor.”

You opened your eyes to only have them flutter close as Frankie traces a line along your exposed abdomen with one of his fingers, before pinching you softly, making you gasp.

“Francisco!”

“I did tell you to look at me.” he shrugged as he smiled down at you.

“Fine, I am now, what are you-”

Frankie cut you off by pulling you close and kissing you fiercely, the fury blinding you to the point that you felt like blacking out. He pinched you again and licked into your mouth when you groaned and pushed his straying hand away. You slid your hands into his curls as you deepened the kiss, his arms wrapping around you and pulling you flush against his chest. His lips were warm against you before he suddenly pulled away and nipped at yours, causing you to moan a little too loudly for your liking. He pulled you in for one more kiss before leaning his forehead against yours and exhaling heavily.

“Fuck, you look delectable, mi diosa.” He says, laughing at how delirious he felt, tugging at your skirt. 

“Nuh, uh, that's enough, big boy. We’re going to be late.” you said, shaking your head at the way Frankie’s fingers grip your skirt and the way he dipped his head to your neck for some soft kisses. 

“A goddess, that's what you are, and you are mine.” he said into your neck.

You love the effect you had on him, but you had a wedding to run. Frankie groaned softly as you pulled his hands away from your skirt. 

“I’ll let you have your way if you behave.” you said, wondering if the compromise might put his thoughts on hold. 

“Fine, but I don’t think I ruined your make up enough.” He said playfully, swiping his finger on his lips to show you the lipstick you left on it. 

“Now you understand why I didn’t get ready with you right?” you said, patting his face. 

“We would have never left the room and I would have been fine with that.” he huffed as you laughed and kissed him on his cheek, happy with your oversized troublemaker. 

Tagging: @romanarose @mintpurplemnm @swiggy-needs-mental-help

#frankie morales x desi!reader #frankie morales x reader #triple frontier fic #triple frontier fan fic #triple frontier au #triple frontier #frankie morales #frankie x reader #frankie morales x you #desi fanfic #francisco morales #pedro pascal fluff #santiago garcia x reader #will miller x reader #benny miller x reader #netflix #triple frontier fanfiction #lehengha #sherwani #oberyn martell #prince oberyn #prince oberyn martell #pedro #triple frontier fluff #joel miller #joel tlou

[south-sea]

fooling around with this guy's design some, because i realized i can't actually call him a metal sonic

it's Complicated because in terms of character, he's meant to be an alternate of second chance metal, so in my mind he registers as the same core character. but in this AU, he's not made by eggman, much less even in the image of sonic, and at that point that's literally not even metal sonic anymore, that's just an OC. so while i don't claim this to be an ~original design~ or anything, tagging him as the character feels disingenuous, so i'm going with "metal medic" from here on out.

some expanded design notes on this guy:

"bigger ears and rounded corners": he's made in the image of shadow purely for the sake of being his caretaker/companion. the goal was to provide someone his size/general shape to help keep him comfortable. (someone in the tags of a previous post about this AU likened him to baymax and tbh that is Exactly the intended vibe. you get me.)

"no use for a turbine or even a back jet"/"padded finger tips instead of claws": originally i had in mind that he'd still have a much smaller jet or something on his back, but the more i thought about it, the less necessary that seemed. given his role is that of a caretaker, he was not designed with speed or combat in mind. at most, he's got built-in heelys just to be a little quicker than average and not make a huge racket as he's walking through the halls and such.

"made from cheaper material with crude plating": the resources available to his creators were not up to the same standard as the regular sonic universe. it's a wonder he functions at all. he's scrapped together with visible bolts, flimsy hinges, uneven plating, and his power depletes incredibly fast. they had limited options when it came to color, hence the lack of red to mimic shadow's stripes (much less the medical cross tackily slapped right there on his forehead).

(i did take some inspiration from my own shadow android design, such as the bulkier arms, but it's surprisingly difficult to design a robot made in the image of shadow, that still reads like an alternate metal sonic, without making him look exactly like a shadow android or just regular metal sonic. like, at his core he's still supposed to be "second chance metal but to the left", so looking like regular metal is still kind of intentional, it's just, his background is so completely removed from canon that it's weird to still call him a metal sonic, you know?)

in terms of personality/function:

he's considerably more Robot than even canon metal, in that he's coded to operate within a specific set of parameters and limited free will. he has his purpose and goals already predetermined, and his feelings are more or less the same. so, contrary to second chance metal, he is fully obligated to care for his shadow and knows nothing else.

his logic is more akin to gemerl's in that he takes his objectives very literally. when he finally decides it's in the best interest of shadow's health to escape the facility with him, it comes from a place of logic, though it can be argued there's also genuine care/warmth there, just like gemerl's bond with cream. his creators maybe shouldn't have coded him with such a strong sense of care for shadow if they didn't want to be betrayed. (or maybe that's exactly what they intended :) who knows)

given he's meant to be a more personable caretaker, he's considerably more expressive both in gestures and eye animations. he's more "playful" than "bubbly", and more "careful" than "patient".

he isn't incapable of causing harm in the interest of protecting shadow, and it's not like it goes against his coding to cause harm in general, but he's not very good at fighting. shadow is very much the actual protector in this case; metal tends to get underfoot more than not once they're free.

he is completely mute and has no means to communicate beyond simple nods/head shakes/thumbs up or downs. he was not coded with the capacity to learn sign language or emulate words. in general, his coding does not allow for the same depth of self-learning like canon or second chance metal.

#metal medic #lab rat au #art by sea #it is entirely reasonable if you still want to tag him as 'metal sonic' and i very much don't mind if you do #i'm just explaining my reasoning here

[cherry-velvet-skies]

It's time for more Beatle Era Ratings! (I fixed the title 😌)

Episode 3: Johnny Boy 🥰

Moon Dog (Pre-Beatles Era)

Teddy Boy John somehow looks older than when John was actually older

He gives the vibe of a teenage boy who dresses to look older in order to get into an adult rated movie lmao

Formed a band and felt like the coolest guy in the world (and you know what he unknowingly created one of the greatest bands in the world so he's allowed to feel that way)

6/10 because he looks great but the look is not really for me

Twist and Shout (1962-63)

And just like I thought, he looks younger here than the previous era

John Lennon if he were an android in Detroit Become Human

He looks so uncomfortable dressed like this PLEASE 😂 someone help him

4.5/10 and I know the second they walked off stage he would rip this jacket right off lmao

Cuddle Bug (1964-66)

One of John's best eras and that's a fact

He's so friend-shaped I'm gonna cry

This haircut suited him so well and gave him an all-around adorable vibe

100/10 and I have a personal vendetta against anyone who ever made him feel bad about his appearance 😤

Blue Meanie Defender 3000 (1967)

If you ever wanna know what the people in the late 60s who experimented with any drug they could find looked like, just picture this mf

Bro saw God at some point and God was a walrus apparently

But this was when he actually got glasses instead of just being fucking blind all the time so I guess that's good

7/10 although I can't tell if being around him when he's high would've been nonstop laughs or literal hell on earth

AnD nOw YoUr hOsTs fOr tHiS eVeNinG (1968-69)

An absolute gremlin of a man

But I mean if I was in his shoes I would just randomly scream for no reason too so I get it

If Get Back taught us anything it was that mans hardly showered

6.5/10 the vibes are hella confusing but not terrible. Sense of humor was off the charts though

Bigger Than Jesus (1970)

So far John's Jesus era was the fanciest

The fur coat and wool cap are giving Bratz doll

Speaking of Bratz dolls John would've loved early 2000s fashion I JUST KNOW IT

9/10 he would've worn Juicy tracksuits religiously and ate us all up

I Sleep Well, Thanks (1971-72)

Exhausted dude at his office job who just wants to go home and get high

You know what scratch that he shows up high and has the nerve to act surprised when he can barely function

Survives purely off of spite

6.5/10 he wants to cause problems on purpose

I Am the Egg Man (1973)

I'm not even sure I have the certification to comment on this

Seeing John almost bald feels sacrilegious

He looks like one of those unhinged yoga instructors

2/10 I am very uncomfortable with the energy we've created in the studio today

Freelance Artist (1974-77)

In his academia era

His aura feels like one of those people who you go to their apartment and it's full of giant canvases with art that deserves way more recognition

That Elvis pin is iconic

10/10 and this entire photoshoot is honestly so beautiful I wish I could've included all the photos

Sexy Valet Driver (1978-79)

I absolutely adore the tie and waistcoat combo

It gives me an immense level of gender envy, and John is not immune to that lol I wanna look the way he does in this photo so bad

He looks both cute and handsome but I can't decide which one tips the balance

20/10 if I saw him dressed like this I would definitely compliment him (and maybe ask him out if I was feeling brave 🤭)

Eccentrically Reserved Fashion Designer (1980-∞)

Are we gonna pretend that he didn't look absolutely GLORIOUS this year

I think I have to say this one is a dilf era because oh my god

I secretly think John would've been a great fashion designer idk he seems like he has the correct amount of insanity to pull it off

542/10 and it's a shame we never got to see how he would've evolved physically, and even personality-wise, as the years went on. I feel like he would've been a better person as he got older and I wish we would've gotten to see it 🥺💕

#I was listening to music while doing this and I kid you not Imagine came on just as I was typing the last sentence #I guess that means John approves of my hot takes lmao he must've read them and been like yeah alright #john lennon #john winston lennon #the beatles #beatles #george harrison #ringo starr #paul mccartney

[alostlittleriverlotus]

most of all, I'm hoping that now that I'm getting some actual medical help, my mother will actually start believing me and allowing me accommodations without me having to have a violent meltdown and suicidal episode to get it because I'm triggered insanely bad. Like maybe me asking for stuff to prevent an episode IS the warning. I'm sick and tired of getting my requests and needs ignored until I have a whole ass emotional break and psychotic episode and risk harming myself because my mental state is so fucking fragile when I tried so damn hard to get me that help to AVOID THIS EXACT SCENARIO.

And maybe she'll actually start helping me get some things to aid my mobility, but who knows. I'm mostly surviving until I can move in with MA and he'll help me out, bruh. Dude. I cant. I effing cant.

I'm just so sick and tired of doing everything I can to protect my mental and physical state just to avoid some really bad episode. And with the shit I'm uncovering now, like, dude. No wonder I have such insanely bad control issues. This bitch is so much more unstable than previously thought. I try so damn hard to avoid insanely bad episodes whether it be physical pain or emotional crisis/distress and my parents don't take it seriously. Then I have a whole episode cause I'm pushed to the fucking edge and then they blame me for not controlling my emotions. I wish I could just fucking scream about all the stuff that is going on in my head, but they wouldn't get it. They barely get my anxiety, let alone if I opened up about other shit. And when I DID open up about delusions or hallucinations, my mom just brushed it off cause she experienced that too. Either she does not feel it to the same degree or she does and that's ALSO WORRYING but she doesn't see it that way or both. Like girl. I mean legitimate hallucinations and delusions. It ain't good if you're experiencing that too. But what do I expect.

I just hope this will improve my living situation until I can move in with MA and we can work together to properly accommodate me since they actually fucking believe me and don't treat me like I'm lazy and bratty and unwilling because I'm in severe pain or I am dissociated as fuck and barely feel alive. My fucking plant is less fragile than me.

Just so tired of being pushed to the edge then treated like a monster and like I'm crazy. Like thanks. You're worsening the fucking things some of my alters tell me which only makes me wanna rot even more.

Like it's been a good while since a bad episode has happened thanks to them questioning me when I'm in an extreme brain fog and dissociated state and just asking for help since I'm in so much pain. But dude. It still hurts. It still fucking hurts and makes me mad. I can't wait to move out and actually get to feel alive because someone actually fucking looks at me like I'm a person that needs help and can't do it all myself. Cause I'll be with someone that is going to help me and reassure me over the tiniest things that I've been guilted over for before. That we'll actually work to get me mobility aids and I can't wait until the day I can move around and do more because I don't have to force myself to walk as if im a perfectly functional human being with a perfectly functional body. I'm just so tired of being mistreated then made to feel like I'm crazy and I'm the abuser because I was neglected and had my physical and mental issues overlooked and blamed on me for years so much so I would punish myself. And you know what's sad? Even typing this...I feel like I'm a terrible person and I'm hating myself. I feel sick. I hate that I'm made to feel this way cause of how I've been treated since I was literally fucking 3 and 4 years old. Not to mention the system shit that I don't ever want to get into publicly due to the distress it causes me and the asshole alters in here.

#negative emotions #disabled #fatigued #chronic fatigue #chronic pain #chronic illness #heds #hypermobile ehlers danlos #system #plural #plural system #traumatized #actually narcissistic #actually disabled #actually autistic #actually traumatized #rant #angry #sick of the fucking neglect and mistreatment #stop holding me to these high standards that my fucking broken ass can't reach #ableism #exhausted #brief suicide mention #suicidal mention

[ashlingiswriting]

For the recent passage questions: “for me, it’s pineapple condoms or nothing.” All the way up to Richie saying “are you really gonna punish me for a joke”

Idk why but I love that little bit so much and would love to hear your thoughts on it!!

thank you so much! i'm excited to get into this chunk of writing.

warning: i really get into the analysis here, possible to an insufferable extent. can't help it! i just love them so much & i have so much to say about it!

for me, it’s pineapple condoms or nothing. you’re a real high-maintenance fuck. you laugh. michael used to like that about you, just how easy you were, or how easy you made yourself. buddy, you got no idea. 

on the surface, they're bantering. haha! we're not going to have sex, for a silly reason! because the idea of us having sex itself is a joke, and we're both in on the joke, right? right?

it's them reassuring each other that it's fine, even though for both of them, deep down, It's Not Exactly Fine.

also, a few lines ago, julie has literally realized that she loves him, specifically because he takes it easy on her, because he's figured out a way to be with her without making her feel like she needs to run, and without making her feel like she needs to act like someone else. he fucks up a lot, but he's trying, and does it all with his own humor and heart and she sees that and she loves him.

which is in strong contrast with mikey, cause she started off very much herself with mikey, but when they starting having sex she promptly fell into weird, somewhat unhealthy patterns of behavior where she was like 'it's casual! that means you can fuck me whenever, never text unless you feel like it, disappear for an entire week with no explanation, it's all fine. i pretend that watching you fall apart doesn't kill me, you pretend that neither of us have intense emotional involvement in this, and, you know, it's functional!' and then he dies.

it's so obviously fucked in retrospect, but she 100% did it to herself. mikey didn't even ask her to be like that. she just...wanted to be wanted and got scared about demanding anything more.

in many ways, do i know you? is a love triangle story where one corner of the love triangle is already dead. but mikey's ghost is often just around the corner.

so even though again it's all jokes on the surface, julie's memory of how she shrank herself down and didn't demand what she wanted/needed from mikey, the last man she loved, is obviously gonna have an impact on how she views her—very recent!—realization that she loves richie.

it’s been such a long day for both of you, apart and together. of course you’re getting messy, of course it’s time to go. you zip up your coat, run your hand through your hair. 

you can see her here already trying to diminish and dismiss and repress that realization. her feelings can be blamed on the long day she's had. and she doesn't even call them feelings, she calls them "getting messy". she zips up her coat, runs her hand through her hair; prepares to go outside and leave; tries to put herself together/look normal.

let me drive you, he says again. you wave him off. no, i need to walk. clear my head. it’s december in chicago, fuckin pitch black—  i’ll be fine. it’s christmas eve, are you really gonna punish me for a fucking joke?

the story's very much from julie's pov, and julie can be a pretty self-absorbed character. (honestly, when i was writing this, i didn't know if i'd get any readers making it several chapters in, because she's not always a particularly sympathetic, nice, good, or attractive character. so again, i'm THRILLED that literally anyone is reading!)

anyways yeah julie can be very self-absorbed. this is partly due to the hermitlike existence she's been leading—she hasn't had to engage with other people on a particularly complex, intense, or deep emotional level, and even her relationship with mikey was noticeably stunted in several ways—but it's also partly due to just being a personal flaw of hers. she's so self-absorbed, in fact, that she actually misses what's going on with richie because she's busy thinking about richie, paying more attention to the man in her head than the man standing right in front of her.

a parallel thing occurs in chapter three, when she's fantasizing about how she'd heat up leftovers for richie if she took him up to her apartment; how she'd take care of him, in another world where she was willing to be that vulnerable. but like, he's right there! she could take care of him by paying attention to him right then and there, especially because he's venting and literally all he needs in that moment is a listening ear.

do i know you? isn't just a line from chapter one or the title of the story, it's also me drawing little hearts around one of the main themes of the story. how do you truly know a person and how do you learn to love them right?

julie thinks she knows richie because she knows so much about him from mikey's stories, but in chapter three she's surprised to find out that richie deals cocaine. of course mikey wouldn't have told her that, since it was mikey's idea for richie to do that, and in the end this is all because the beef was failing financially. that wasn't something mikey was proud of, so he didn't tell her about it. (shame & its sources & how to deal with it is another huge theme in the fic!) so in that moment julie has a rare moment of clarity and tries to look at richie physically to really fix him in her mind, to observe him for herself. to be in that moment with him. which is a lesson that she...could perhaps have learned more quickly & thoroughly lmao. but isn't that life? it's rare that people learn important lessons once and follow them perfectly ever after.

ANYWAYS. in this passage, julie's just preoccupied with being as emotionally opaque as possible and getting the hell out of there, so she's focused on herself, not at all on richie.

richie, in the meantime, is picking up on her weird vibes & doesn't know what caused this. he knows that she let him drive her before and that was fine—delightful, even—so something has to have changed. he chalks it up to the sleepover + condoms jokes, the fact that he's brought up, even jokingly, the mere idea of them having sex. and he also wants to take care of her, he does actually want to drive her home, so her rejecting that doesn't feel great! just feels like her being stubborn (which she is). so that's why he's like, it’s christmas eve, are you really gonna punish me for a fucking joke? like, we had such an amazing night together, we're closer tonight than we've ever been before, i cooked for you, you came willingly to my apartment, we talked about our families, and now you're going to reject my care and leave in a weird tension filled way that i'm like 80% sure is happening just cause i made some off color jokes???

also, as one might expect from a guy whose father was never around, whose best friend committed suicide, and whose wife left him...richie's kind of sensitive about being left. see: season 2, when he explicitly says he fears that carmy & co are gonna "drop this ass" & leave him in the dust. so! yeah!

what i do love, though, is that they've learned from last time, in a way. in chapter 3, when there was that disconnect between them and he senses it and is offended by it, she responds angrily and defensively, says something hurtful, and basically the only reason they don't get into a much bigger fight is because he showed a bit of mercy (probably spurred by the fact that she didn't show up the night before and he was truly concerned about her absence).

THIS time, even though there's a disconnect between them, when he bursts out in frustration, she understands what's going on and de-escalates the situation, reassures him, tries to be gentle. and even though he's not completely satisfied with her walking home in the dark, he lets it go, recognizing that she has her own reasons but she's not angry with him and she doesn't mean it as a rejection of him.

they're learning!!! i love it when they learn! it took us 34,000+ words, but they're figuring it out!

...

the extent to which all this analysis is post facto? YOU'LL NEVER KNOW, I'LL NEVER TELL 😂😂😂

anyways! thank you so much again for the excuse to scream abuot them, i've been drafting chapters nine and ten, and this thought exercise was deeply satisfying.

feel free to send me another of these my askbox:

#diky #correspondence #ask games

[destinyc1020]

I think it’s really healthy for everyone to take breaks, put the phone down and enjoy the people around them, actually watch the movie and show instead of having their phone in their hand while watching, don’t pick up the phone while at dinner with friends and be present. Tom has alluded to how he wants to actually be present with the people in his life and he’s more naturally an outdoor person. Vitamin D and walks do you good. I think we can all do that more in the new year. Cause it’s actually unnatural to know this much about other people and celebrity is not a natural thing.

Omg yes yes YES to everything you just stated!! Omg! 💯👏🏾

Phone-in-hand disease is a real thing! 🥴 Some ppl literally get panic attacks and can't function if they don't know where their phone is 24/7, and they can't even go one outing with friends without bringing out the phone at some point. (This is called "phubbing" btw 👀)

It's so much nicer imo when you can be PRESENT in the moment with the people around you, and really give them your undivided attention, instead of always being on your devices, or looking smthg up on your phone while "spending time with friends".

It's actually quite rude when you think about it, but we're all so used to that type of behavior that we really don't even realize just how RUDE it actually is. 🥴

And I've been guilty of it too btw (just being honest), so I totally get it!

I remember Zendaya said years ago in a print interview smthg to the effect of it was getting to be almost anxiety-inducing posting smthg on social media. I guess I would feel the same way to if I have hundreds of millions of followers 🥴 She even went on to say that she almost got to the point where it felt like she was obligated to post smthg because fans expected her to, and she didn't like that feeling at all. 😔

I'm glad she has found her balance.

[thenasoneshots]

Classroom Shippers - Lestrade x Reader

Requested?: No

Prompt: None

Reader's Relations: None

Warnings: None

Other Notes: You're a primary teacher in this

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

"Miss (L/n), is he your boyfriend?"

I felt my face flare up at the question from the small girl. Maybe taking a load of 11-12 year olds on a school trip alone wasn't the best idea… I bent down away from the detective inspector to her level, "No… he's not. Now did you need something?"

"But you love him though, don't you?"

Again, my face went redder than I thought was possible as I responded, "Millie, my love life is none of your concert at the moment. Please just go and have fun while we're here."

"But there's like police guys everywhere! We can't do anything, that's what I came to tell you!"

I sighed, "Alright, can you go and get everyone to come back to the bus then? We'll go to the hotel for the afternoon then."

She nodded and ran off as I took a deep breath turning back to Greg, "I'm sorry about that, but this is what I get for taking them on a school trip all on my own."

"It's kind of cute to be honest. They're just looking out for you, you know, (Y/n). Want you to be happy and all."

I smiled, "I guess you're right, so… what happened here that you had to spoil our school trip?"

"Murder case. I just hope that Sherlock doesn't appear…" Greg responded, muttering the last statement, causing me to giggle, "You know Sherlock though, he will appear. I wish you luck for when he does. I should probably go and get those kids to the hotel," I replied, before saying my goodbyes and walking off outside where I saw the kids sitting on the bus, Millie waiting outside. I smiled and walked up, "Good job, Millie. Everyone here?"

She nodded, "Yep! So… are you sure that guy isn't your boyfriend?" I just shook my head and got on the bus, her following me as I talked to the driver about where the hotel was we were staying at.

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

The last day we were in the centre of London for for the trip, again, somehow we managed to bump into Greg again.

"We meet again, (Y/n)."

I giggled, "Yeah. I guess we do. Another case?"

He nodded, "Yes, and unfortunately, that psychopath is already here."

I giggled, "I think you mean 'High Functioning Sociopath', Greg. You should listen to him though."

"I know, but he just makes Scotland Yard look like a bunch of idiots."

I giggled at his complaining but before I could say anything else, "Miss (L/n)!! When are we going home? Oh Hello again, Mr! Are you sure you're not Miss (L/n)'s boyfriend? This is the third day in a row we've seen you and her talking." My face flushed red and I hid behind the clipboard I had with the schedule written on as I composed myself, "Alright, We're going home now actually," I replied, checking the schedule, "To the bus!" The three boys smiled and took off, but before I could follow them, I felt a hand grab my wrist. As I turned around, Greg grabbed my upper arms and kissed me. I blinked and wrapped my arms around his neck, kissing him back.

"Are you sure he's not your boyfriend?"

I flinched back at Millie's voice and cleared my throat "Well, I gu-"

"I am," Greg interrupted me, wrapping his arms around my waist from behind, leaning his head on my shoulder, "Now I guess I should let your teacher take you back."

Millie smirked and ran off as I turned around so I was now facing Greg, "Thanks for that. Now she's going to tell the whole class and I'll never hear the end of it."

He chuckled and pecked my lips, "They deserve to know that their teacher isn't single anymore. Plus otherwise they'll just get mad at you when your name changes."

I rolled my eyes and giggled, "Is this your way of proposing even though we literally just got together?"

"Well, we're childhood friends, we've known each other for so long, (Y/n), but no, not yet. Maybe in a few years."

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

"Now, to conclude our final assembly of the school year, I'd like to pass over to our Year 7 teacher, Miss (L/n)."

I smiled and took a deep breath walking up to the small mic in the school hall as the headmistress patted me on the shoulder, "Good luck."

I nodded to her as a thanks before speaking into the microphone, "Hello to you all. Now those of you in year 9, might remember that school trip we had when you were in year 7, and how you kept asking me if the guy we kept running into was my boyfriend, well, when we come back in August, I won't be 'Miss (L/n)' to any of you anymore," this caused gasps and mutters of confusion to go around the hall, "as by that time that won't be my name. I am pleased to tell you all that I am getting married over the summer!"

There were many cheers throughout the school hall as I continued with one final point, "Oh, before I forget, Millie Williamson, please can you and your parents come and see me in my classroom after the assembly."

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

"What did you want to talk to me about, Miss (L/n)?" Millie asked.

I smiled and bent down to her level the best I could, placing a hand on her shoulder, "Millie, how would you like to be the flower girl at my wedding?"

Her eyes widened and filled with joy, "Really?! You want me as part of the ceremony?!"

I nodded and she looked up to her parents a pleading look on her face. Her mother sighed, "Miss (L/n), may I ask why you want Millie to be your flower girl?"

"Well, to be honest, if it wasn't for her, then I wouldn't be getting married at all. It's thanks to her constant pestering two years ago that gave me the courage to confess my feelings to Greg, my now fiancé and I want her to be there as a thank you."

"I see."

"Please, Mum, Dad? Please can I do it?!" Millie asked again, causing both her parents to sigh, "Very well, what date is the wedding, Miss (L/n)?" I smiled widely and told them the date as Millie gave me a hug.

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

I smiled, snuggling into Greg's side, the two of us sitting on the sofa in the house as I admired the shiny ring on my finger.

"How was today?"

My smile widened and I leaned up kissing him, "Absolutely perfect. I wouldn't have had it any other way."

"I love you, (Y/n). So much."

"I love you too, Greg. Both of you."

"Huh? What are you talking about?"

"I'm pregnant," I whispered in his ear before snuggling into his side and going to sleep.

#bbc sherlock #x reader #lestrade x reader

[tartlette1968]

It's 2023, and we're not post-covid, we're mid-covid,

Nearly 2 weeks ago my sister, in Perth, on her Facebook feed posted something to effect of...

"Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck faaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrkkk..."

So something was not right.

In actual fact something was very fucking wrong...

My Brother-in-law had covid. My fully vaxxed brother-in-law who is on immunosuppressants to control lupus, has a low functioning thyroid, and diabetes HAS FUCKING covid, from somewhere. He needed hospitalisation in very short time, because of small clots in his lungs, and was released, after being immediately prescribed anti-virals. Then back in hospital again, then released. He is now back in hospital, again, with pneumonia. Now, let me explain this slowly. Lupus is an auto-immune disease, and to control it, you have to suppress the immune system. What they have to do, now, to fight the pneumonia, is to lessen how much they suppress the immune system, which won't be fun for his lupus.

Meanwhile, Huntress and I contracted covid over here in Adelaide. Officially our positive RATs didn't come until Wednesday and Thursday. The RAT I did on Tuesday (when I felt completely shithouse) was negative. There I was sleeping more often than not, smelling literally every bloody smell there was, and finding those smells really awful, my head feeling like it would burst, and the RAT was negative. Huntress did a RAT Wednesday, and Thursday morning showed me the faintest of red lines that showed her to be covid positive. I did another RAT then, and as soon as the fluid from the test dropper hit the line, it turned bright red, for me, no waiting for 15 minutes. I was feeling about 50% better by then, save for my sense of smell being very dull; I still felt like crap, but I wasn't surprised. While I was obviously improving, after Tuesday, Huntress was slowly feeling worse.

But Thursday was the 26th of January, and a public holiday, so there was no calling her GP. We called Huntress' Doctor Friday, and they were eager and insistent on Huntress attending a Respiratory Clinic, to organise a script for the anti-viral meds very quickly. Then the nurse urged us to call the ambulance to monitor her SpO2. That was done, and they were here for hours, but the end result was a script filled for the anti-viral by 6 o'clock that day.

It is day 5 or 6 now, on our own covid journey, and Huntress is improving faster than we hoped after two days of the anti-viral course. I'm smelling things again, and sleeping without waking up coughing every 20 or 30 minutes. Huntress, so far, has managed to avoid an ear infection, and pneumonia, which would cause all sorts of problems, as she is seriously allergic to all antibiotics, save some that really aren't useful at all. She is sleeping, and only experiences the odd coughing fit.

But my Brother-in-law is in a life or death battle, now.

Look, our Government has been defending their slack approach to covid, by trying to reassure us that "Most people are vaccinated, now."

Huntress is vaccinated, with one booster, but the last dose she had, unfortunately, brought on anaphalaxis, which required a day in the ED, and adrenaline shot, and a worry, now. She can't risk another dose, at least not of an mRNA vaccine.

So it's this simple. I was walking around, with covid, breathing this stupid virus... into my mask, because this is exactly the reason why I wear a mask. I get runny noses after one sneeze, all the time. That was no different to what happened on Monday, when I already had covid. My throat feels a little scratchy regularly, and my nose gets blocked weekly, thanks to just stuff in the air. Even if it was just the flu, on Tuesday, I wasn't going anywhere, because I was sick, and I didn't want to infect someone.

People need to remember, we're super infectious before we are even feeling sick, and there are people walking among us who, while they are doing everything they can to prevent being infected, we need to meet them halfway. My sister caught covid a few months ago, and moved into their caravan to completely isolate herself, and keep my Brother-in-law safe. But we need to wear masks, keep washing our hands, get vaccinated, and avoid crowded events and places. Because for some people, even doing all they can do, it isn't enough, and they need us to be brave and step up to do our bit, too.

#covid #covid still kills people #covid is not over #the pandemic might be over but covid isn't done with us

[weabooweedwitch]

wait is equinus really a full blown disability? isnt it just a medical condition like arthritis or smth my cousin had surgery for it last year n when i asked she said its definitely not on the level of a disability

Hm, I think it kind of depends on the level of severity, and looking at pictures online, I definitely got lucky in terms of it being much worse, but when I was diagnosed, my podiatrist literally told my mother "well, technically, she can't walk normally"

I guess it's kind... technical, like i sort of feel like sometimes the only difference between certain conditions and dosabilities is that insurance isnt willing to cover them all? I feel like any medical condition that significantly impacts your ability to function is a disability but you probably are right that equinus is probably classified as a medical condition. I usually just refer to it as a disability because it's caused me significant trouble over the years and even though it's been a few years since my operations, I still have long term aches and effects from having it untreated, like my knees are rotated inward and makes it hard for my to squat and stand up, and I still have certain pulling in my back, shoulders, and my hips also can get very sore and "poppy" and the same goes for my ankles which have a limited range of motion I was supposed to help earn back through PT but, I was working and didn't feel o had any time

Also there's a chance your cousin may need surgery in both legs! Unless that's what you mean. I had/have equinus in both legs and they operated on the worse one first but I had both treated and it gave me such a significantly better quality of life 😩 like shit even though I've had surgery I can still feel certain back pain and it's like, I can only imagine where I would be at without that treatment. My weight had just kept increasing and increasing from the low activity and depression binging and even now I'm probably going to need further treatment for my knees

I mean, nowadays, I still consider myself as a person with equinus and the long term effects on my body from that, but, definitely like before I had my surgery, I couldn't even walk around like a large Walmart without needing constant breaks and when I had my first job they had me mop the floors and it hurt me so extremely bad just with that repetitive slight bending over that I literally threw up, so, I guess I kind of just started referring to myself as disabled, but, you're probably right when you say its just a condition. I will say though that like, significantly severe equinus literally changes the shape of your foot sometimes to grotesque levels and I would definitely consider those people disabled for sure because. I mean. Just look at this. And some people have their knees completely RUINED by this condition

[ghost-proofbaby]

Hi ghost it's me the girl formally known as guitar anon, also formally known as a girlfriend.

So we broke up a little over a month ago. There was this whole drama with his parents and money that I don't know the whole story about. He either left their place or got kicked out I'm not sure. This all happened the day after me and him went to a concert together and I really thought everything was fine. Jokes on me I guess 🙃

But I'm telling him that he can stay at my place with me and my parents until he figures something out bc at that time I'm just freaking the fuck out and feel like my world is crashing down. Little did I know. Cause like 3 days later he's like hey I can't handle being in a relationship while I deal with all this. And like I get it. It's fucking stressful. But like all I wanted to do was help him and I felt helpless.

We still talk somewhat frequently. Less so now. He gets an apartment. He talks to his parents again. It's been like two weeks and I can barely function. He invites me to his housewarming party (which was last night). I wanted to go but I didn't want to go but I knew if I didn't I'd feel worse thinking about the what ifs. So I trudge through my shit show of a life for two more weeks and make it to yesterday.

I go with the friend that set us up and her husband. His parents are there. That hurt more than I thought it would bc I never thought I'd see them again and I somehow got it into my head that they'd be mad at me. I walk in the door and his mom is like oh I missed you and hugs me and I hug her so hard bc I literally dreamt about her a few days ago telling me that everything would be okay. I tell her I miss her too. She says maybe me and her son can get back together soon. Me and him just look at each other. Later I get so drunk I throw up. Sometime when this is happening his dad tells my friend that he's so pissed that his son broke it off with me bc I am a nice girl. They probably felt bad bc I was puking up my guts at the time too. Which I have never done before so I guess that was another first I can check off.

When we leave I hug him and tell him I miss him and he says he knows. And he says to tell my parents hi and I say well neither of them wanted me to come tonight and I couldn't quite read his face he was either upset or pissed off but I'm not gonna lie it kind of made me happy.

I don't know what to do bc I was going to tell him I loved him. And then he broke up with me but he still wants me around. Mostly. And it's drudged up a bunch of issues I thought I had dealt with and I can't think of anything else and it's driving me insane. I just don't know when to quit bc I don't want to bc we were fine and then we weren't and nothing even happened. I'm sorry if this is too much and too depressing but I went to you with all the fun stuff so you can have some of the sad too.

🙃

oh babe :-( i just wanna wrap you up in a hug.

i can sort of understand the whole "maybe i shouldn't be in a relationship while my life is crashing down", but it also just sounds like a panicked decision on his part?? part of a relationship is being there for someone through good and bad, being there for the other person when shit goes down. the downfall, of course, is that you can't force someone to let you be there for that. if someone doesn't want support, it can be nearly impossible to force it upon them, y'know?

i think if it keeps on affecting you negatively, at some point, you've got to set that boundary for yourself as well. if he's allowed to set his boundaries, so are you.

do not set yourself on fire to keep anyone else warm, no matter how much you love them - that is the best advice i've ever received.

i'm sorry, hun. i'm giving you all the virtual hugs

#seriously i cannot stress how many hugs im sending you #someone claiming they can't be in a relationship but keeping you around on a leash is the absolute worst feeling #it's easy to tell someone going through it to set the boundaries but it's much harder to actually be that person who has to do such #my heart goes out to you babe

[carelesstemper]

disconnected

Life is good. It has been good for a while, and a part of me thinks that suffering is what makes good writing.

This time last year, I came into a lot of troubling circumstances. Things that would have broke anyone. It never got better. It was like one thing after another. As soon as I thought I was good, another thing happened. For a while, things started to get better. I was actively working on making things better. I could have quit. I definitely could have just walked away from life and disconnected myself from reality. In a way, I did though. I got a good apartment, my savings were finally built again, and I started going to school. These changes were just so much. They were routine destroying. Something I worked to get to was destroyed. Literally, like the rug being pulled out from beneath my feet. When things started going back to a new normal it took me a long time to adjust. I felt disconnected from my life. The things that were happening around me was just that. Happening around me but I couldn't find it in myself to appreciate my surroundings. to truly be in life. I knew I was supposed to be happy, and I knew I was supposed to be grateful. I just didn't know how to do that. It was like watching my life through a two sided mirror. I was barely functioning and watching things happen on the other side of a mirror. I eventually did break. I didn't want to do anything. I just wanted to rot in bed all day and when I was finally sick of it, I still didn't see a point in not doing it. I didn't see the point of leaving my freshly renovated apartment to try and at least find something to enjoy about life again. It was draining. It wasn't like those times either where I was disconnecting from life as much as I could for attention. I genuinely wanted to just step away and figure out what was hurting me.

Then one day, I got up and found the sunshine I was looking for. I finally reached the end of the road to my suffering. It was like all of that sadness... The grey cloud hanging over my head ceased to exist. I found some purpose in my life again. I started feeling grateful and proud of myself. My self esteem started to rise again, without even trying to lose weight or change something about myself. I just.. Started to feel happy again. After a scary few months, any ounce of happiness was something I desperately wanted to grab at the first opportunity. What I am scared of, is it being artificial. I'm scared that I'll fall again and be back where I started the next time I encounter a huge series of change like that again. So I've started to be more gentle with myself. I've tried to create a safe space for myself, without harsh criticism. A space where I can lay back and take a minute every now and then. I've learned that my sadness, and my fears, don't go away just cause I push them away at first glance. I've learned that in order to be happy and successful, there's going to be rainy days and in order to survive that I have to be my own safe space because if not, there's no where else to go. I have to be the comfort I look for in others as well. They can't take away my pain and suffering. Not that support isn't needed, it's great to have but in order to accurately use those supports, I need to be a part of that. I can't expect others to fix me if I don't know how to help myself.

[bylightofdawn]

!!!!

WOOOF Finished Chapter 22 and holy fuckballs I am EMOTIONALLY DRAINED from writing that chapter.

That is an emotional doozy. I will prolly have to edit it heavily. Also ahahaha this chapter is cursed with so many rotating POV. I can't even

I just pray people can follow-along with this.

EDIT: I legit just went and laid next to Genji and wrapped my arms around him and hugged him for a full two minutes. Which is shocking because he normally would be IMMEDIATELY out of there. But he actually passively laid there and let me bury my face into his shoulder and lavish kisses on him. Bruh, I needed that moment.

Of course, after two minutes he was like 'Nope, I'm done' and immediately scrambled from my arms and crouched on the foot of the bed like two feet away looking at me like I'm the madwoman I am. I gave him a sheba stick for his services as my emotional support animal.

I'm gonna put plot spoilers behind the cut because I need to get it out of my head right now.

🚨🚨Read at your own risk. 🚨🚨

⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️

Last warning, do not click if you don't want chapter spoilers

H o l y s h i t

So it's revealed Montross hired a Death Watch assassin to try and take Jango out.

I'm giving Jango the idiot ball here and he just...ran with it. Went right for Montross who was fully armored up, ready to ostensibly got 'hunting' Death Watch. Jango is a fucking idiot who is unarmored and immediately tries to take Montross out, ends up getting overpowered and turned into an unwilling captive to a now panicking Montross who squares off with an EXCEEDINGLY pissed Jaster who is doing everything he can to not flip his shit.

Ends up telling Montross he'll let him go if he releases Jango.

They start arguing back and forth, Montross doesn't believe him and has Jango pinned to him with a blaster to his head as he literally backs himself into a corner, aka the bank of windows in the living room.

Mij tries to interject, is literally the only other person armored up and ready for action and the only one with a jetpack (you can see where this is prolly going) He tries to defuse the situation with no luck.

Jaster continues to be scarily intense and telling Montross if he lets Jango go he can leave alive but it he hurts him, he's going to make his death very long and very painful which....not great negotiating skills on his part but it's a high emotional state so we're gonna give him a C- average on handling the situation and his temper.

Myles who is like three seconds from passing out ends up throwing a vibroknife through the window which shatters it and gives Montross a sudden exit which he takes.

By throwing Jango out the window as a distraction and he then proceeds to book it as Mij dives after Jango rather than chasing after him.

Jaster isn't happy with Myles cause that was a stupid risk he just took with his son's life though Myles argues back he knew Montross would take the out and predicted he would prolly do something like that but he knew Mij was there with said jetpack to save the day.

Mij drags Jango back inside who just sags, Jaster tries to grab him, his dumbass being the one with the nearly non-functional arm and a leg still healing from getting hit by a skycar a few days (and chapters) earlier. So he ends up nearly going down too and poor Mij is just over EVERYONE'S BULLSHIT and throws both of them at the couch.

Jaster orders him to go after Montross which Mij hesitates over because three people are fucking walking wounded who literally can't stand right now. Jaster orders him to go after Montross but he is long-gone at this point so he ends up just giving up and returns to base as Jaster announces over team comms Montross is a traitor and he's shoot on sight.

Kal is all "WTF repeat that?"

Meanwhile Vau is his typical ice-cold self and is all "Copy, last location?" just no questions just straight up ready to merc a bitch.

Why? BECAUSE IT IS WALON VAU

Which is when Mij just is done with everything and tells Jaster he lost him and he's returning to base.

And that's how this shit show of a chapter is going to end.

Next chapter is going to be just as awful. Jaster is going to go on a roaring rampage of revenge. Thankfully Myles isn't dying though he might pass out and will have a solution for how to track him and Death Watch.

I am so fucking drained from writing all of that chaotic bullshit. If you think the summary was chaotic bullshit, imagine where my poor brain is right now.

Also NEVER do this, I just literally had to get it out of my brain or I would not be able to sleep or have any peace tonight I think.

#el writes #fanfic related musing #spoiler warning #don't click that cut if you don't want major chapter spoilers #don't cry to me if you miss those warnings #I am so fucking tired from writing this #holy crap #brb dying #okay not dying #cats are awesome #like 5% of the time they are not being asssholes the other 95% of the time