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littlerequiem · 10 months ago

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we mourned the sea ˚⁎⁺ chapter 1

> Crossposted on AO3

Levi hasn't seen you in a year, and he wonders how you will find him. Changed, perhaps. Lost, definitely. Or: After the war, you and Levi learn to live in this new world.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 - Levi Ackerman / Female Reader (Attack on Titan)

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 - Rated Explicit (18+). Post-Canon, Post-War, Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Domestic, Fluff, Angst, Slow Burn, Explicit Content, Mutual Pining, Grumpy/Sunshine, Friends to Lovers, Flashbacks, Grief/Mourning, Chronic Pain, Panic Attack, Depression, Ambulatory Wheelchair Use, Switch Levi (WC: 6.7k)

( Next chapter / WMTS' Masterlist )

The first time you see Levi, whispered-about-thug and recently-enlisted Scout, you think he doesn’t seem as scary as everyone paints him to be. Sure, he has a hell of a glare, but that’s not the thing that sticks out.

No, what is most striking is the loneliness.

How alone he looks, shadows like bruises under his eyes.

Levi is lost.

He’s not lost in the physical sense, of course.

Levi very well knows where he is. He has repeated these words to doctors so many times he’s starting to sound like a broken record: My name is Levi Ackerman. I come from Paradis Island. I live in Marley.

No, Levi isn't lost physically.

Rather, Levi is lost in the ways often described in novels. Those cheap-thrill books Erwin liked to read so much, the kind that ensured suspense and chest-clutching moments. Usually, it involved a character going on a journey and finding the thing they lost.

“It’s all a metaphor, you see?” Erwin once pointed out.

But Levi did not see the point of metaphors back then, and he certainly doesn’t get it now.

Levi was a soldier for most of his life: so that he could aid the fight against titans, so that Erwin’s vision to help humanity could come true, so that Hange would not be alone in shouldering the weight of it all, so that the world would not crumble under Eren’s actions.

Now, three years after the Battle of Heaven and Earth, his body is changed, and his mind… well, that's the thing that’s lost, isn’t it? He’s still sane, he knows that, but… there's ways he feels himself slipping.

The first two years after the Rumbling were by far the hardest. There was so much to rebuild, so much to do. Levi spent most of his time in makeshift hospitals and infirmary tents. Refugees all around. People who had lost everything, who were in search of a new home, but who lacked the means to do so (Levi never thought he’d have to witness the sight of starving children all over again).

And then, one day, a new start.

Onyankopon was the one who discovered Mare a year ago. He told Levi that it would be the perfect place to retire from his soldiering days. "Mare," Onyankopon said, "is the town where sky meets the sea."

Levi isn’t sure what to make of that idiom; there’s no such thing as a place where sky and sea connect. Another metaphor, perhaps—another thing that flies right above his head.

But he decided to take Onyankopon's proposal there and then. Levi had been idle for far too long, and there was still fire in him, a will to push on.

To keep going, just as he had in the past.

A month later, Levi moved into his new home—a one-story cottage located by the edge of town, overlooking a cliff that descends into sandy shores. It is far enough from the crowds, just the way Levi likes it, while still remaining close to all necessities—just a ten minutes' walk from Onyankopon's home.

Levi's life, as it were, became ordinary.

Because Levi now has a roof over his head. He has a garden, with a broken fence. A patio, where he watches sunsets. He gets money from Marley for his so-called war accomplishments (accomplishments is a strange word for murder, he thinks). He sees doctors, all kinds of doctors—specialists that didn't exist back on Paradis.

Despite this, his routines have stayed the same. Levi has always been a creature of habit, and that much hasn't changed in his new life.

There’s tea, for one. Despite all the special blends available in Marley, Levi still prefers the tea he drank back in the Underground, made from cheap black tea leaves. Piss water, Kenny used to call it, and maybe the old geezer had a point. The tea is bitter to its core, much too strong for most people to stomach (“I’m going to be on the shitter for days after this,” Hange once declared after trying it.). And yet, Levi likes it this way.

There’s his knife, the one Kenny gave him decades ago. Levi still keeps it in his boot or tucked under his pillow. He doesn’t hold it out of sentimentality per say; Levi just doesn’t see the point of throwing it away.

As for other patterns in his life, Levi keeps busy. He sees his doctor on a weekly basis; he's taken a job at the local carpentry shop. He tries to improve his body on a daily basis, even when his mind fights him against it. His leg hurts some days; it’s at its worst when it rains. Over the last year, Levi's regained some of his mobility, enough that he can sometimes walk using a cane when his legs aren't too stiff, though most days, he uses a wheelchair. It frustrates him, sometimes, his reduced range of mobility—he misses pushing his body to the limit—but the physiotherapist ensures him that he is just where he needs to be. He feels coddled, and that annoys him.

Then, there are the people in his life. Scarce as they are, they are all that is left of his past and Levi clings onto scraps of conversation where he can find them.

Most of the brats of the 104th are living their own lives. Levi is relieved to see that. When the war ended, he worried that they would linger too much, but they never did. They moved on.

Falco and Gabi, rowdy kids they are, travel from Liberio to see him. They tell him how Falco is taking flying lessons, how Gabi is part of a youth association that’s going to make Marley a better place.

Onyankopon is another familiar face—a talkative one at that. Every time the man stops by Levi's house, he brings something new to show Levi. Sometimes, it feels like Onyankopon is on a personal mission to get Levi up to speed with the new world. Coffee, typewriters, vinyl players… there doesn’t seem to be a thing Onyankopon doesn’t want to show him.

All these machines are met with a somewhat lukewarm reception on Levi’s part.

All except one.

Because if there's one invention Levi is inclined to think is useful, even if a part of him equally loathes it, it's the telephone. Onyankopon was ecstatic about it, and his enthusiasm eventually rubbed off on him too. It's not that Levi likes to use it—the sound waves, the grated voices… they remind him of the sound of planes and machines, of war and guns, and that gets his heart palpating to the point where he sweats (because Levi’s learned that with his growing age, his body sweats faster than ever before, so much so that Levi sometimes has to wash twice a day).

But the first time Levi hears a familiar sound—your voice—on the receiving end of the telephone, his breath stops. His clammy fingers tighten around the phone, and he glances at Onyankopon, who only gives him a thumbs up in response, two dimples appearing on his lifted cheeks.

Levi decides then that the telephone might not be so bad after all.

“Levi,” your distorted voice sounds from the other side, “can you hear me?”

At first, Levi doesn’t know what to say. He’s seen phones, of course; he remembers Hange using them to communicate with Zeke and the Azumito clan. But he never thought he’d use them personally, and that makes his brain go blank.

“Shit, I think I lost you,” you say, the sound of crumbled papers resonating across the line, “Jean, I think the tele-thing you gave me isn’t working properly. Can you—”

“Hey.” Levi’s voice bleeds into the machine, rough like sandpaper. “I can hear you.”

“Oh, good, I thought I wasn’t using this correctly. Gee, isn’t this just unbelievable? Onyankopon promised me he’d work to set up a phone line in your house, I’m so glad it worked! I know these things are costly but, you know, at least we get to talk, even if it’s brief. Of course, I’ll still write you letters on top of that! And hey—Levi, are you still with me?”

“Yeah, dumbass. You’re the one going on a monologue.”

“I’m just excited! Can you blame me? I haven’t heard your voice in… a long time.”

Levi's heart stutters, your words pulling something in him. He’s all aware of how long it’s been (347 days, by his account).

“I can’t wait to see you next month,” you add in a lower voice, as if you were trying to whisper into the phone, words only meant for him to hear. “I’ve… missed you, 'Vi.”

Levi’s throat feels thick when he hears your familiar nickname for him. His mind buzzes with words, words he has long thought about, words he wishes he could tell you.

I’ve missed you too. I want to see you again. Please come back to me.

All things he thinks to himself, but doesn’t say out loud.

Instead, he manages a breathy, “Mhm,” because more feels impossible right now, especially with Onkyankopon so close by.

“How are the brats doing?” Levi asks instead.

“Oh, they’re good! Armin cut his hair recently. He looks like a blonde mini-you or err… I suppose he’s taller than you now.” If you were standing by his side, Levi would definitely have glared at you. But you chuckle, oblivious to his souring mood. “Guess he always did admire you a lot; I think he’s learned a thing or two from your leadership style.”

“That so?”

“Yeah, he’s cool. Doesn’t glare at everything that moves like you, though.”

Levi clicks his tongue. “Still haven’t lost your shitty sense of humor, I see.”

“Hey, you always found me funny.”

“I never laughed.”

“But you always found me funny—I could always tell.”

“Delusional thinking can get you a long way.”

“Anyway.” You huff with an indignant tone. “Aside from that, Reiner and Connie have changed a lot too! Reiner is still pining over Historia…”

“Disgusting. She’s a married woman.”

“Yeah… weird, right? I keep telling him to move on, he’s got so much going for him now. But he’s hopeless like that, they all are. Besides that… well, Jean grew his hair! Think he’s secretly trying to impress someone. He’s applying pomade and everything.”

He hears the sound of muffled protest, “I am not, Doc,” blending with your sentence. It is followed by your hearty laugh as you seemingly tell Jean to scram.

“That aside, they’re all good. Growing into real adults, you know? It feels like yesterday I was doing their first medical checks... just stupid teenagers. Your old Levi squad, huh?”

The second Levi squad, he wants to correct.

“Yeah, sounds like they’re still a real handful,” Levi mutters.

You chuckle. A comfortable silence follows, one that reminds of old times—you and him sitting in front of the fireplace; him reading his reports, you drawing. The cracking of the phone lines almost sounds like splitting logs now, and Levi feels warmth spread from his lower belly to his torso.

He hears your breath through the phone, like you were leaning closer. “Hey, so… less than a month, yeah? You’re sure you don’t mind?”

“I told you already, didn’t I?”

“Because if it’s too much, you can still say no.”

“Adler, I promised I’d take care of you all, and that’s gonna be the case until I’m buried below ground.”

“Don’t speak like that, Levi! It’s morbid.” Levi hears the sound of your laughter again. He wonders if your eyelids are crinkling, the way they always do when you laugh too loudly. “But, hey, thanks. I really appreciate your help, you know.”

“Yeah.”

“I wonder what it is like, your new life.”

“S’nothing special.”

“Sounds to me like you’re still selling yourself short.”

“And sounds like you’re still talking nonsense.”

After a year of not seeing each other, you are finally coming back to Marley.

You are finally coming back to him.

Levi wonders what you will think of all the ways he’s lost.

Section Commander Erwin Smith seeks you out in the infirmary one day. He tells you that there’s a wound he wants you to check, one he supposedly got during the last expedition.

“I have the new recruit’s file with me. You might have seen him around,” Erwin says as you inspect the wound. "His name is Levi."

In lieu of a response, you give him a nod, not thinking much of this passing comment. This is probably just patient small talk.

You should have known better. Erwin Smith isn't a man known for triviality.

“I’d like for you to keep an eye on him.”

You pause at Erwin's words, eyes shifting away from the stitches. “What do you mean by that, sir?”

Erwin leans back in his chair. “Levi's just lost his friends, and that's made his integration... complicated. He's flighty and hot-headed; he refuses to get a medical check. As it stands, that won't do—I need to know that his condition is stable to place him on my squad. I need him operational.”

“With all due respect, most of these duties you’ve listed fall outside my medical jurisdiction.”

“I know.”

You raise a brow. Erwin shoots you an eyeless smile. You finish the stitch. Erwin pulls his hand back, admiring your work, then shifts his focus back on you.

Waiting on your answer.

“I’ll... I'll see what I can do, sir.”

Erwin stands, interlinking his arms to the back. “I should tell you he’s from the Underground. Will that be a problem?”

“No, sir…" You rise to your feet as well. "Though, knowing this, permission to speak my mind?”

“Please.”

“May I ask what’s so… special about him? If rumors are to be believed, you went through quite the trouble to get him out.”

“I didn’t think you listened to gossip, Dr Adler.”

“I don’t. But if that wound on your hand speaks for the labors of your efforts… well, I think I have cause to worry.”

A low hum vibrates out of him. “What’s so special about Levi, you ask?” Something lights up across Erwin’s face. The intensity of the pendulum swinging his way. “I believe Levi is one of a kind—that with him, we may be giving humanity a fighting chance.”

Today is the day.

The morning shines brightly over the little town of Mare, an endless cerulean that speaks of summer and new beginnings. The sun peaks over the horizon, lingering where the sky meets the sea, a ripple of lavender and peach glimmering over the reflection of the water.

At this time of the day, the wind is at its strongest, a breeze that blows the long strands of grass to one side. Beyond the valleys, there's footsteps dotted across white beaches, only to be ushered out of existence as the waves roll in.

Mare. This little town was nothing but fire and dust three years ago. Today, everything has changed. Houses have been rebuilt, trees replanted, and life has begun sprouting again.

Levi spent the first hours of the day cleaning his house from floor to ceiling—a painful undertaking for him nowadays. The cleaning material stings his bad eye; the positions he has to adopt to clean makes his leg hurt. But cleaning has always helped to ground him, and that much hasn’t changed here.

Luckily, he wasn't alone in his task.

“Yo, Levi! You ready?” Onyankopon calls out. The man came early to help Levi get the house ready, and he's now driving Levi to the train station.

“Yeah.”

Levi grabs his favorite cane, an elegant stick made of dark wood from up north. For the occasion, he’s wearing his nicest navy suit, silver cuff-links, and a matching hat—a gift from you, something you bought him the day the Survey Corps first set foot in Marley. You thought it suited him and Levi’s inclined to agree: he doesn’t look half-bad.

The drive to the train station is uneventful and quiet. Onyankopon asks him if he is nervous, which Levi denies. He's not nervous, not really. He just needs silence to gather his thoughts.

After a year of not seeing each other, he wonders how you will find him. Changed, perhaps. Lost, definitely.

Will you be happy to see him?

It’s ridiculous, really, all this uncertainty. In all his years as a captain, Levi never stopped to linger on hesitations, on regrets. No matter what it was—grief, rough expeditions, political coups—he trusted his comrades, he trusted Erwin. Levi trusted himself.

That it would be you, now of all times, who makes him this agitated, seems a strange twist of fate. Perhaps it is his growing age that has turned him into a sentimental fool, perhaps it is the knowledge that it is you, perhaps it’s because Levi doesn’t quite know what to make of the uncertainty... but Levi feels restless.

It took Levi by surprise, your letter. Three months ago to the day. Can I stay with you, Levi? you'd written. Just for a little while, until I figure out what it is I want to do next.

You were gone for a year, helping the Alliance become delegates of peace. Now, Armin and the rest are ambassadors, and Levi no longer needs you letters—he gets to read all about their exploits in the newspaper.

And yet, you never stopped writing to him. Levi's glad of that.

Following all of this, it was decided: of course you could stay with him. Yes, he would help you. When it came to you, there was little Levi wasn’t prepared to do.

And so, with Falco’s and Gabi’s help, he made sure everything was well-suited for your arrival. He got a bed, a night table, a wardrobe, a desk. All of it was arranged into the spare room in his house.

Levi remembers Gabi teasing him about it. “Is she your sweetheart, Mr Levi?”

Levi had just finished fastening a mirror to the wall when she said this; he scowled at the teenager. “No.”

“S’just, it’s an awful lot for an old comrade.”

“Shut up, nosy kid.”

But Gabi raised a point. What were you to him, exactly?

Levi doesn’t know the answer to that question, not exactly. He considers all the people he’s cared about in his life, and he still falls short in finding the right word to describe what you are. He cares for you, that much he knows—he’s cared for you for a long time. It isn’t the same care that he feels when he thinks of his mother, of Isabel, of Furlan, but it’s just as deep. Love, some might call it, but Levi has seldom witnessed it, so he doesn’t know what to make of his feelings.

He supposes if he had to label what the two of you are, it’s connected. Remnants of an old system, a memory of a past when all that mattered was reclaiming the Walls. Two survivors who carry the legacy of those who sacrificed themselves for the cause.

Not that defining it truly matters. Levi’s long accepted his role as the one to carry the torch. He has found stability and peace this way.

Only, Levi wants more for you... even if it means being far away from him.

Yes, it will have to mean being far from him, won’t it? He knows it will. And yet, it doesn’t stop that tiny wisp of something he sometimes feels in his heart at the thought of you—like air, it fills his lungs, begging to be ignited (if you would choose him, he thinks it might).

But Levi’s life was always that of water, and he fears he will drown you if you come too close.

You glance at the injury on his forearm, gushing red. Those damn cadets, ganging up on the new recruit. Erwin’s gamble won’t pay off if everyone else is hostile to his new prodigy.

“Hey. It’s Levi, right?”

Levi’s gaze flickers to yours. It's the first time you're up close to him. His eyes are striking. Freezing gray, like pale moonlight.

“Who the hell are you?” His voice is deep, slightly grated, but not unpleasant.

You give him your full name. “But I actually prefer to be called by my last name, Adler, if you don't mind.” His face stays blank. You sigh. “Listen, Levi, I don’t want to butt into your private affairs... But I just came to tell you this: any injuries you sustain from now on, come to me directly, alright?”

"Please. Those cowards were outclassed. They only landed a hit 'cause they played dirty."

"Even so. Don't let that deter you from seeking help; it's important to take care of injuries before they worsen." A pause, one where you weigh each thought carefully. "That said... you also have my word. Those cadets will be punished for what they did to you."

“Yeah, whatever.” Levi glances at your hands for some reason— transfixed by the way you press on his wound with a clean cloth. “So, what are you, some kind of doctor? You heal people?”

Your lips tug into a half-smile. “I certainly try.”

The train groans as it comes to a stop. Levi knows you dislike trains; even on Paradis, when Hizuru helped to install train tracks across the island, you blanched at the idea of riding in one.

So Levi isn’t too surprised to see you step out of the train carriage on wobbly feet. He takes a step forward, walking into the smoke hissing from the train, avoiding the throngs of travelers passing by. He removes his hat, just to make it easier for you to recognize him.

As soon as you do, your expression lifts.

That smile.

Levi could see your smile for the rest of his life and never tire of it. He hasn’t seen it in a long time, and it tugs at his heart, like a bird flapping its wings.

That you choose to run towards him—your travel bag swinging against your hip, arms dangling by your sides—is no great surprise. If there is something he knows about you, it is your never ending supply of excitement. It makes him want to smile back, but his mouth slightly parts instead.

“Levi,” is the first word that greets him, that swirls through the air and fills his lungs. You seem to catch yourself just a breath away from him, rooted to the spot in front of him. You dip your head down, coy amusement on your features. “It’s really you.”

Levi swallows loudly. He can hear his heartbeat climbing to his head, and he wonders if you somehow can hear it too.

“Your hair has grown,” you say. In the last month, Levi's only kept up his undercut; the top is getting longer now. He knows he should get a haircut, but he's experimenting letting it grow. “It looks good… it suits you.”

The coil in Levi’s stomach tightens. He shields his expression by tilting his head and placing his hat back on his head.

“Hey, um…”

“Just spit it out, Adler.”

His peripheral catches a crooked smile. “Would it be alright if…if I hugged you?”

Oh.

That certainly isn’t what Levi expected you to ask. No, he expected many things just not... that.

In his stupor, Levi can't think of the right words to say to you, so he manages a nod instead.

(He’s grateful you ask before you touch him—you always ask.)

And unlike your earlier display of excitement, full of frenetic energy, your hands treat him with more care. They interlace gently around his back. Levi feels his chest lock as your fragrance sweeps across his brain. The scent can only be described as one thing... Home. Levi grows stiff, not knowing what to do with his hands, so he just lets them dangle along his body. You stay put just for a few seconds longer, and when you break apart, there’s something akin to relief on your face.

(Relief for what, he doesn't know.)

Your hands briefly linger on his forearms. “Just needed to do that. My brain can’t make sense of the fact that you’re really standing in front of me. Like you’re not a figment of my imagination, you know?”

Levi’s gut reaction is to glance down. He doesn’t want to see all the ways you inspect him, all the ways he falls short of the portrait you have of him.

His face hardens and he takes a step back, sheltering himself. “C’mon, we’ve been standing here long enough.”

“Alright,” you answer in a tone that’s no less bubbly than before. “Show me home.”

As you walk in tandem, away from the train tracks, Onyankopon comes to greet you. He envelops you into a hug where he lifts you off your feet. You chuckle, patting his shoulders, and when Onyankopon’s eyes find Levi’s, there’s a glint in them that Levi swears is speaking volumes of Onyankopon’s thoughts.

A look that seems to indicate: Should’ve hugged her properly, you damn fool.

Levi promptly ignores that look. Instead, he sets his glare in an altogether different direction.

The walk back towards the car is painful and slow. Levi tries not to let it show, but coming with his cane instead of his wheelchair really was not his brightest idea. He grits his teeth, trying to ignore the throbbing sensation shooting up in his leg; his knuckles turn white the more he leans on his cane.

You take notice.

“Is your leg hurting?” he hears you ask.

Levi dismisses your concern with a one shoulder shrug. “S’fine.”

It’s not fine. Levi overexerted himself with cleaning today. The sun is too strong. His leg is throbbing.

Despite that, Levi has no intentions of telling you all about that, because you have a tendency to care, to shower him with attention he doesn’t want, and right now, he just can’t deal with it.

You stop right in front of him. “Hey, are you sure? I can—”

“I said it's fine, didn't I?”

Levi's ears are ringing as he steps past you. Shit—he didn’t mean to snap. Five minutes in, and he’s already screwing this up.

(It's like there's poison on his skin; Levi wants to peel it off.)

But you don’t even seem to pay his temper any mind; you hum and turn to look at the train station’s newsstand instead. From the corner of his eyes, he watches you purchase three lemonade bottles, a hand-out for this summer day.

The drive back is filled with more words than the journey here. Onyankopon and you engage in easy conversation, talking about all manners of things—how the 104th brats are doing, how the world is looking three years after everything that transpired, how Onyankopon’s husband and family are faring.

Levi sits in the passenger seat next to Onyankopon while you sit in the rear. That doesn’t stop you from leaning forward, your hands resting on the head of the seats as you talk (“Put your seat belt on, Adler.” “It’s on!”). Occasionally, your fingers even tap his left shoulder, a heads up for you to point to interesting things you notice outside. Levi tries to ignore the sparking sensation that’s engraved in his skin.

(Sometimes, Levi wonders if your touch is actually electric.)

“What about you, Levi?” Levi feels your attention settle on the back of his head, drilling heat into his nape. “What do you make of your new home? Mare, the town where the sky meets the sea.”

“It’s fine,” he replies. “The townsfolk are nosy, you’ll fit right in.”

“Consider my interest piqued. I can’t wait to see your new life.” You hum. “I’ve never started over. Not like this. I mean, I suppose I did, once. The last time was when I first enlisted for the Survey Corps a decade ago… phew, that brings back memories. I remember the looks I got from everyone then—they all thought me very strange to enroll.”

“That’s because you were a suicidal maniac, enrolling to save the lives of soldiers who’d soon be titan fodder. Normal civilians usually have safer aspirations, Adler.”

“I’m not sure if you’re one to talk, Ackerman.”

Levi huffs at that. The portrait that flashes through his mind is vivid, as were the words that went alongside them: Him, an ex-thug from the Underground and you, the crazy doctor. A pair of strange misfits, the Survey Corps' gamble in every sense of the word.

“Oh, Walls!” You’re gasping at something behind him, and Levi glances up to see what you’ve seen. It’s the sea—all shades of blue and as mesmerizing as ever. “This is where you’ve been living? Your descriptions in your letters do not do this place justice.”

“What? You expected me to turn into a poet?” Levi grumbles.

“No, but look at this—ugh! It’s everything. The valleys! The beaches! The bay! This feels just like…” you let your voice trail off, not finishing off your words, but Levi knows what you meant to say.

This feels just like the way it was when we first saw the sea.

And yeah, Levi sees your point. The sea here truly does glimmer like jewels, the way Armin always described it, and the breeze does carry that scent of salt that feels like it’s cleaning the air out of his lungs.

Just like it felt to witness it the first time.

“This must be what paradise looks like,” you say.

And just as they pass a curve of the road, something new comes into view: between the soft clouds, a flying boat appears—not one carrying weapons, but instead, carrying with it the tale of a youth whose only sin was a passion for flying.

The medical check is done in silence.

Levi is underweight. His lack of sun exposure has left his skin and eyesight sensitive. You prescribe things to help, though you think some ailments might be a lifelong battle.

When it comes to checking his heart rate, however, that’s when you realize the full extent of Levi’s upbringing. Levi undoes his shirt and your eyes take in the cost of his survival—Levi’s torso, marred with scars. Some of them seem recent, while others are old, stretched-out skin that tells you enough.

These come straight from his childhood.

Just how much violence has Levi witnessed in a single lifetime?

“So?” Levi asks, looking directly at you. He leans his weight against the door’s frame leading to your bedroom, crossing his arms over his chest. “You can redecorate if you like.”

“Why would I do that? This is perfect.”

Levi thinks you might be touched, but he isn’t sure—he was never good at reading your more subdued emotions. Anger, sadness, happiness: those, he can read. Everything in between becomes more complicated.

You continue to step around the furniture of your bedroom, inspecting it like you are discovering details of a new kingdom. Your fingers fumble over the bed frame. “These bed sheets are my favorite color.”

Levi knows. He picked them for a reason.

(He’ll never tell you as much.)

“There’s drawing supplies in the desk drawers,” he says.

He hears it then, the way you suck-in your breath, catching it in the back of your throat. He swerves his attention onto you, only to find you fixing the desk with a stupefied expression.

“You remembered?”

There’s bewilderment in your tone.

Why do you seem surprised? Isn’t this the least you deserve? Levi almost says that there is even more—that he has all your sketchbooks from Paradis, that they were recently delivered by his request. But he abstains from it. He thinks it might be too much right now, though whether it’s too much for him or for you, he’s not sure.

Instead, he just replies gruffly, “It was hard to forget.”

You take a step towards him, eyes softening. “Levi, thank you so much.” You gesture at the room. “For all of it.”

Somehow, those words make Levi want to look away. It isn’t that he doesn’t appreciate you expressing your gratitude, but he’s never known what to do with it served on a silver platter. He prefers to ignore it when he can.

“S’not a big deal.” He shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans, glancing towards the carpet on the floor. “Couldn’t let you starve on the streets, now, could I?”

“Hah, I don’t know,” you say softly. You've moved to the windows, your fingers feeling the beige curtains. “You might be underestimating me. I can be very persuasive; I’m sure I’d manage to survive out there.”

“Please. You wouldn’t last a day out there.”

You scoff at him, feigning offense. “And why not?”

“You’d want to help some poor fucker giving you puppy eyes, and they’d just end up mugging you.” Or worse.

“Well, alright. You got me there.” You glance away, raising your fingers to run along the scar on your cheek.

Levi follows your movements, studying the way your hands conceal your old injury. He wonders if it still hurts, if you forget it is there only to be reminded of its existence when you catch your reflection in the mirror.

It happens to him, sometimes.

“Seriously, thank you.”

The gentleness in your tone cradles his ears. Levi takes a step back.

“No need to get emotional on me.” he mumbles.

You chuckle. “Still. Sometimes, it’s good to say things out loud.”

“If you say so.”

Levi turns around, fumbling with the handle of the door.

But just as he’s about to head out, to leave you to unpack, there's a distinct sound that comes from the other side. Levi hears that familiar "Meow," before he sees the tabby cat sliding in between the cracks of the door.

“Oh..." you say, "what's this?”

Right. Levi probably should have mentioned this minor detail in his letters.

“Scout,” he supplies, eying the kitten currently rubbing her head against his right leg, a loud prrr vibrating against his calve.

“You… you got a cat?”

"Yeah."

"Like a pet?"

Levi crosses his arms over his chest, tapping a rhythmic beat of five counts against his forearm. “Do you need to get your eyes checked or what?”

You ignore his surly attitude, the same bafflement still present in your tone. “And you named him Scout?”

“Her. She's a female cat.”

You look down at the cat for a moment, your eyes wide like saucers. Then, with a low, hushed tone, you let out a strangled, “Walls, you're a cat dad,” before pinching your lips tightly, like you were trying very hard not to burst out in fits of giggles.

Levi’s jaw instantly clenches. “Stop laughing.”

“I wasn’t laughing!”

“You were about to.”

“Yeah, alright, I was about to.” And then, as if saying those words out loud gave you the right to do as you please, you stifle out a snort, shooting up a hand to cover your half-contained laughter.

This time, Levi doesn’t bother hiding his glare.

Paying this interaction no mind, Scout looks at you with a quizzical stare, her big, green eyes taking you in. Just like you, the feline creature is now discovering the new room and the furniture that goes with it, and she now seems to want to understand what to make of the new occupant that is to share this space.

And so, with a last parting mrrp, the cat skitters towards you, her fast steps tiptoeing against the oaken floor. In response, you crouch down, outstretching a delicate hand in Scout's direction.

With a combination of grace and suspicion that only cats are really able to muster, Scout sniffs your fingers, her slit pupils observing your every movement. Whatever she was looking for must have pleased her, because not a moment later, she lets out a high-pitched mewling sound and rubs her cheeks against your digit.

A smile forms on your lips.

And when you look back up, there’s a sparkle in your eyes that makes Levi’s heart skip a beat. "Oh, she's cute," you coo, scratching Scout's chin. "How old is she?"

"I don't know."

"You didn't ask?"

"I don't speak cat, Adler."

"She didn't have an owner?"

"No, she was alone when I found her."

"Oh."

Levi had found the kitten half-dead under some debris less than three months ago; no one in town knew where she had come from, or how old she was. Most likely, her mother had abandoned her, but it was hard to know for sure.

All he knew is that the kitten had been alone, and that was enough for him to want to help the frail thing. Taking her in was only meant to be a temporary thing and yet, here she still was.

"Well," you interrupt his thoughts, head tilting as you inspect Scout, "I reckon she can't be more than four months old."

Levi lets out a grunting sound, not really knowing enough about cats to refute or agree with your observations. Instead, he half-turns away, grumbling parting words, “I’m gonna make us some tea while you unpack.”

“Your bitter old tea, huh?”

He means to ask if you’d prefer something else, but it comes out all wrong, again. “Got a problem with that?”

Shit.

Your eyes lock with his.

And your smile widens. “Not at all. This feels like being home.”

Levi clears his throat, turning away. Home. Is it really like that?

No, of course, it’s not.

Home doesn’t exist anymore.

And he’s not the same man you once knew.

A/N: This story has been in the works for the last year, and it's been a very precious project for me. This fic seeks to shed some light on Levi's life after the war, with its ups and down - but ultimately, it's a story of love and healing <3 Furthermore, English isn't my mother tongue, so you know the spiel - don't hesitate to let me know if you spot mistakes, but pls be patient!

( Next chapter / Join my taglist )

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logince · 3 months ago

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as a ambulatory disabled bitch with crutches, wheelchair, canes, and a rollator, I think we should see Freddy with more than just a crutch. like on good days maybe he just needs the One crutch, but on bad days? painful flare ups?

Let him have a wheelchair! Let him run over Billy's toes , and give Darla rides in his lap!

Let him have a rollator, so he can sit when he needs to, and keep his books and stuff in the bottom of it.

Let him have canes that he decorates for special occasions! Canes that match his outfits ! WHEELCHAIR WITH STICKERS !

#freddy freeman #shazam fam #captain marvel #billy batson #darla dudley

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stargirlie-sharon · 5 months ago

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my brain: hey

me: what

my brain: what if you made headcanons about team prime with a chronically ill/disabled human

me: THAT'S GENIUS LEVEL SHIT LET'S DO IT

Team Prime taking care of a chronically ill/disabled human

Fandom: Transformers Prime

Ft. Optimus Prime, Ratchet, Arcee (+ Jack), Bumblebee (+ Raf), Bulkhead (+ Miko).

Content: Headcanons, platonic comfort, fluff. Reader's illness isn't directly stated. Mentions of mobility aids, flare-ups, pain/discomfort (caused by said chronic illness). Reader is implied to be an ambulatory wheelchair user. Dividers by dollywons.

A/N: this was very self indulgent (and comforting to make), i have plague psoriasis and god it is not easy living with it with all the flare ups, skin issues, psoriatic arthritis... >:( i'm doing a lot better now, i first wrote this while i was having a pretty bad flare-up. as of now i'm fine, but even now it still scars me

to ya'll who are suffering too from a chronic condition, i want you to know that you're loved, and your illness doesn't define who you are. you're not alone. this journey won't be easy, but there will be others willing to support and share that burden with you. take care! <3

tfp banners made by me in picsart! i would prefer if you didn't use these, since i have made them specifically for these headcanons, but i can't exactly stop you, can i? lol. just don't claim as your own

soft autobot hijinks ensue. long post ahead!

After they had been newly introduced to you, the Autobots had swiftly picked up on the fact that you were in need of a bit of extra assistance than the regular human, considering your condition. And they're more than willing to give the support that you need.

Optimus Prime

Optimus takes on the role of a protective maternal figure for you rather quickly.

He reminds you to take it easy, and that your body needs its rest. He wouldn't want you to strain yourself.

He may collaborate with Ratchet- whether that be to ask for advice, research together about your illness(es), or for the both of them to care for you.

If you're a wheelchair user, he'll request Agent Fowler to make modifications to the base so it's more accessible to you and easier to get to certain areas. Ramps, platform lifts, and disability-friendly stuff in general will be installed. Also, your meds/supplements, comfort items and things you may need will be easy to retrieve here at base. He wants to make sure you have the best quality of life here.

It makes his spark ache to know you're in so much discomfort. He wishes he can do more to ease your pain, and feels guilty that he can't do much more. He wants nothing more but for you to feel safe and happy.

Optimus is a good listener. He likes hearing about your interests and hobbies, even if he may not understand it the most. And you're more than welcome to vent to him.

If you want, he'll tell stories from his past back on Cybertron, before he was a Prime. Maybe you could share some memories with him, too. Optimus is just happy to talk with you, and it brings him a sense of warmth when he sees you in an uplifted mood.

Sometimes, he'll cradle you in his servos, his touch giving you a sense of security. As he does that, he'll reassure you with encouraging words and remind you of how much you are worth.

"You're so strong, little one. Despite everything, you strive on and keep going, even in the darkest of times... you're truly more than meets the eye. I'm proud of you. I mean it."

Ratchet

As a medic, he cares. Ratchet educates himself about your illness and does whatever he can to aid you. He'll research your illness's effects, triggers for flare-ups, basically everything. Also, expect him to ask you questions from time to time.

He is a bit more prepared to care for you, since he has dealt with patients back on Cybertron that were disabled and/or ill long-term.

When you're around, he's always sure to keep a watchful eye on you. He's also visibly more concerned and caring when it comes to you. (The others find it endearing. Don't tell Ratchet, though!)

"Have you taken your meds/supplements already? No? Go take them. You need them, after all."

"Do you need a boost? Here, let me help you."

Ratchet opens up more than usual when he's with you. He's even more soft with you when you have flare-ups! He can't help but let his usual grumpy self falter when he sees you in this state... He orders you not to move around too much or put yourself in more discomfort.

If you ever need to vent about your struggles and insecurities, Ratchet's there for you. Sure, he may not be the best with handling emotions, but he'll be there to listen. He'll try to the best of his abilities to console and reassure you. He has your back, and is never leaving your side.

Arcee (+ Jack)

She's sooo protective of you. Seeing you as part of her extended family, along with the other humans, she is fiercely protective when it comes to you. She'll go above and beyond to ensure of your safety and well-being. The last thing she'd want is for you to be in pain, let lose you.

Being the smallest of the team has its perks! With her size being the closest to a human, Arcee can easily fetch you your aids and medications whenever you need it. Just say the word, and she'll speed off to get your desired item (and you might not even need to say the word, it's like she already knows it by instinct).

She'd be really good at giving advice. Honest and firm, yet reassuring and gentle.

"You're doing awesome. Keep up the good work." She'd say to you after you've done even the smallest of achievements. Had your breakfast? Well done! Drank water? Good job! Took time to rest? Amazing!

She's the greatest at hyping you up. "You can do this. You're unstoppable!"

She isn't usually one for physical affection, but she enjoys just.. being present with you. You'll have her sitting by you or silently supervising you.

Jack also is frequently concerned about you. Not to the point where he is a constant worrywart, but he does care. You'll get a "How are you doing?" or something along the lines of that from time to time.

Arcee is a mama bear. Anything or anyone trying to hurt you? They're as good as scrap. Speaking of mamas...

Jack's mom? Every time June visits, she always wants to check up on you. She brings in monthly care packages specially made for you, filled with snacks, medications and supplements! Jack was a little embarrassed at first when she started giving those to you, and with her coddling you, but he's gotten used to it. As long as you're okay and cared for, he's okay too.

Bumblebee (+ Raf)

Bumblebee was initially quite concerned about you. This was the first time that he's ever heard of humans being ill long-term. And the fact they have to go through so much? It makes him feel bad.

He's very clingy and caring to you! He likes spending quality time with you, and he may invite you to fun drives out with Raf! That is, of course if you are physically able to. If not, then maybe a video game or movie will do.

Bee joyfully beeps at you in greeting. "Bee's happy to see you! He's asking how you've been." Raf helps to translate.

Bumblebee is your source of emotional support and comfort. He really does love and cherish you, and is super affectionate!! He wants to make sure you're happy as often as possible.

Headrubs, hugs, a hand- or rather, a finger on your shoulder, holding you- all of it is a must!

During dark days, he's always there to provide support for you. Vocal comfort isn't exactly the best option for consoling, so physical comfort is the next best thing for him to bring you comfort. Hugs, nuzzles, pats, anything to give you those warm and fuzzy feelings.

He may not be able to voice his love for you properly, but he certainly can and will express it with whatever way he can to make sure you are constantly loved by him, regardless if you have you have your illness or not!

Bulkhead (+ Miko)

Bulkhead treats you as if you were made of glass (not like he does it with the other kids). Extremely gentle and careful. He's a gentle giant to the core.

He also asks a lot of questions to know how your illness works and what you may need.

Miko likes cracking up jokes or offer to watch movies and/or play games in order to make you happy.

In all honesty, she isn't very confident in comforting others verbally, despite her talkative and outgoing personality. But Miko still wants to give support whenever you need it!

Cuddle pile!! Bulkhead and Miko will set up a cozy little area for all three of you to just relax, filled to the brim with blankets, pillows and snacks. You and Miko will be resting against both sides of Bulk, while his servos gently hold both of you, acting as a warm, secure blanket for you two.

Your smile never fails to make him smile as well. "Aww, well aren't you just precious. Glad to know you're feeling happy."

Seeing you in pain, whether it be physical or mental, also never fails to stab him with a pang of sorrow. Immediately comes to your side to comfort you. "Hey, hey. It's gonna be alright. Here, lean on me."

Bulkhead is always there to lend a hand- or servo, whenever you are in need of it. If you just want to spend time with him for a while or cry your feelings out, he'll pat your back reassuringly with kind words.

thanks so much for reading! feel free to request something if you'd like. you can request for more disabled/chronic illness related stuff, too!! ^_^ i'd be happy to write for it, and i'll do it to the best of my efforts. INTERACTIONS/REBLOGS HIGHLY APPRECIATED!!!! i worked hard on this

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msfcatlover · 10 months ago

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Oracle!Tim has a wheelchair, but hates using it. He loudly insists he doesn’t need to when almost anyone suggests it. He can get around just fine on crutches, and it’s bad enough the way people treat him like that; he refuses to have them literally looking down on him.

Except, see, the thing is… he does need it. By the end of the day navigating on his crutches, Tim hurts. His back is screaming from the shoulders down, his spine feels almost swollen with how it takes over his senses (burning, throbbing, every click & grind of bone like having a knife wedged between the vertebrae,) the skin on his legs feels like it’s trying to crawl off his body, and there’s sharp needles of pain shooting through his leg muscles. If Tim spends the day on his feet/moving around a lot on his crutches, he’s going to spend the next 3 nights trying to be Oracle while flat on his back on the floor. (Tim does try to get around this by having wheelie chairs in all his offices and just not walking around much, but if the weather turns cold or a big storm blows in, even that won’t help.)

He gets better about it over time. Cass drags Tim into helping with her specific charity work, helping other disabled kids in Gotham. Tim ends up giving interviews in which he talks about being an ambulatory wheelchair user, how he’s treated when he goes out in the chair, how people act like it’s all a horrible lie if they ever see him get up from it, and how it combines with Tim’s own pride & internalized ableism to lead to him gritting his teeth and just pushing through. “It’s not worth it,” he tells Vicki Vale, a rueful smile on his face. “It’s never worth it, to go home and lay on the floor in too much pain to move, just so the people at the grocery store don’t see me in my chair. But I do it anyway, and I’m probably going to keep doing it… so if you see me out in public, please ask me if I’m being stupid, because there’s a good chance the answer is yes.” People laugh. Vicki calls him brave for talking about it. Tim says if he can raise just a little attention, make people a little more aware of how they treat people in (and out) of wheelchairs, he’ll have done something good.

Then he goes home. Lays on the floor. And tries not to cry while one of his loved ones rubs tiger balm into his back, because no, people don’t understand, it fucking hurts.

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terribledactyl · 6 months ago

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I hate to be #thatbitch who’s joyless in main tags, but I wish fanartists and fic writers put just a *hair* more thought into how they write/draw Viktor’s disability, especially in modern AUs.

To start, let’s try to unpack what in particular seems to be his disability. It’s nonspecified in show, but we can at least look at the areas he seems to be struggling in most. I’ll try not to be too biased towards projecting my own disability onto him and only talk about what’s shown on screen.

Let’s start with the obvious: examining his mobility aids. Through most of the “past” (from childhood to first meeting Jayce) he only uses a cane. I’m going to focus on the ones that seemed to give him the most support, which are his crutch and his brace.

The brace seems to be stabilizing his whole leg, with extra support around the knee and ankle, plus two straps at the thigh and one at the calf. Consistent with what we’ve seen in childhood flashbacks as well, where his ankle is held at an angle I recognize most as what mine look like when I roll it.

When he trips in the flashback, it seems to be primarily over his own feet, which emphasizes the weak ankle to me. As a whole, that leg seems to be capable of supporting a bit of weight, but not consistently.

We also see him transition from a cane to a crutch. It’s not a more stylish version of the cane, it’s got a different function. And not just any crutch, but an ergonomic one. I recognize it off my wishlist.

Now branching into personal interpretation and what I’d like to see more of, I think he needed that extra support all along. Using a cane when you need more support than that really sucks, spoken from experience. So why would someone use a cane with no brace when they need a crutch and a brace?

The truth is, there are a lot of reasons. Pride, cost, internalized ableism, any mix of those and more. And I think if you’re going to give him only a cane in your modern AU, I’d like to see some consideration as to why someone who needs more support than that is only using a cane.

Is he having a good day, and he keeps the crutch and brace for emergencies? Would a good brace be too expensive? Can he not afford an ergonomic crutch? Would he benefit from having more chairs in school/work/The Lab(tm)? Would he benefit from being an ambulatory wheelchair user? Could he afford one even if he did? Is he too stubborn to admit he needs more support than he’s getting from a cane? Embarassed? Afraid of what it means for him? If he’s only using a cane, does he have to go out less and that’s what makes him more of a homebody? These are all REALLY interesting things to explore!

This is me not so subtley begging people to explore his disability more, because it affects everything. I’d really love to see more fanart of him with a crutch and not a cane, although he does use canes canonically into adulthood so I can’t say that’s not a founded choice to make. I’d love for fic writers and fanartists who give him a cane to know that’s an intentional choice and how it would change how he interacts with the world, even in small ways.

Learn the different types of braces and what they’re good for! Learn about bandages, tape, compression braces, hinged braces! Learn about forearm crutches, ergonomic crutches, canes, walkers, wheelchairs! Just please be intentional with the choices you make!

#viktor arcane #arcane viktor #arcane #long post

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thehollowwriter · 6 months ago

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I love thinking of scenarios of Silas coming to NRC (literally the only way of getting him on the surface is through Finn lol) because I get to think of his human form and other stuff that comes with it.

This man does not care for fashion nor does he have any sense for fashion lmao. He probably just wears jeans, sneakers, and a white shirt and calls it a day.

I have mentioned it before but for those who are a new or don't know: due to his disability, Silas is an ambulatory wheelchair user in human form! (The damage to his tail from being shot transferred to his legs) He can stand up and walk around with a cane, but it's incredibly painful and the chair is a lot better.

Silas does not like that he has no claws in his human form and will stare at his nails in annoyance sometimes. He keeps all his black markings and scars, which puts people off more often than not, which is fine by him because they leave him alone.

He barely knows anything about land outside of what Morrigan, Finn, Ezra and Alastair have told him and though he is keen to learn, he's very out of his depth and that frustrates him a lot.

NRC is a rampless nightmare and Silas just wants to see his son ok why do you people have so many stairs. He needs to see the headmaster and rip his head off have a chat but he can't do shit if he can't even get into the main building without walking and ending up in excruciating pain later down the line.

If you know Silas well, you'll notice how his whole demeanour flips like a switch when he sees Finn lol. He's very happy to see Finn and that's mostly expressed through headpats.

Silas wants to meet Finn's friends and it's ok he'll only judge everything they do and say for a few minutes tops/hj. He probably goes to Savanaclaw since it was Morrigan's dorm (and stares at his portrait for a while...) and to Mostro Lounge since he's heard so much about it from Finn (Azul is quaking in his shoes/J)

Anyone who realises Silas is Finn's dad are just like "That explains a lot" lmfao (Ace especially XD)

Silas interacting with other parents would be absolute chaos but also hilarious lol.

I'll probably think of more stuff another time but I needed to yap

Tagging: @distant-velleity @br3adtoasty @rainesol @theleechyskrunkly @jovieinramshackle

@galaxies-and-gore @cyanide-latte @cynthinesia @officialdaydreamer00 @krenenbaker

@offorestsongs @kitwasnothere @elenauaurs @boopshoops @inotonline

@1dont-really-know @kazumify @minteasketches @elysia-nsimp @skrimpyskimpy

@casp1an-sea @offorestsongs @tixdixl @poisoned-pearls @the-trinket-witch

@ramshacklerumble @ghostiidasponk @thegoldencontracts @sillyslipperybananapeel @cloudcountry

@skriblee-ksk @twstinginthewind @lumdays @theolivetree123 @natsukishinomiyaswife

@authoruio @jewelulu @raguiras @moonyasnow @skibidibabygirl @quartztwst

@yuizenihaswriten @devosin @oya-oya-okay @b0njourbeach

@kirans-wonderland @coffinkissez @idikeis

#quinn quips #silas clearcove #finn clearcove #octavinelle #twisted wonderland #twst oc

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uncharted-constellations · 3 months ago

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Random dc thoughts because ive been ping-ponging through random media lately, feel free to hop in

-Characters like Terry, Carrie, and Helena really should just keep to the more offshoot universes. I still think its fun for them to crossover into mainline on occasion but they just dont make sense otherwise

-why does every batfam adaption merge the kids. Timmy Todd in btas, (i know they tried adding jason in later through the comics but im not buying it) Cass Brown in HQ:tBOP, Steph Drake in Gotham Knights. They made up an entirely new kid for Gotham Knights and then still merged Steph and Tim for??? Reasons

-why deage zatanna for young justice. I mean why deage characters in general but still. You dont understand if shes bruce age she should be a hot milf, why have we not agreed on this collectively.

-honestly why did young justice do a lot of things. Why merge the teen titans cast with them when the whole point was that they were different. Ive never been a big fan of it and i still dont get the hype

-I do have to say tho back as a kid my watching order was The Batman (04) and then Young Justice and my primary thought looking at the YJ joker after the TB one was "whos this british looking twink" but i digress

-I have two wolves in my head. One says that babs should be aged in between bruce and dick and the other one really likes The Batman (04). Both wolves agree its weird for her and bruce to hook up

-Speaking of babs, the back chip thing. I dislike what it stands for but should it not exist at all? At this point shes almost been magically un-paralyzed as long as she'd previously been in the wheelchair. Could potentially go the 'she got a little bit of feeling/mobility back and is now more of an ambulatory wheelchair user' route and give her some crutches as well as the cane and wheelchair, but idk.

- Extremely Controversial Opinion, I think Tim's "Drake" identity wouldve been a smash hit if theyd instead made him more of a P.I. character and ditched the ugly brown spandex. Regardless if its the correct move for his character is clear they dont know how to progress him at this point and it might get them from A -> B. (Also think its really funny to give him a columbo fedora but thats besides the point)

#i might add to this later idk #dc #rambles #i could go on about the character merging but you get the point #also the kid from gotham knights could make a fairly decent live action terry #he might be blond but hes got the chin and a somewhat similar voice

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the-effect-of-chaos · 2 months ago

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It is 4am. I should be sleeping. However, since my own chronic illnesses are keeping me awake, I figured I would let you all in on my own personal disabilty/chronic illness headcanons for our favourite stranger things blorbos.

So because I am a firm believer that certain characters can not survive the Upside Down episodes without there being some form of physical impact to their well-being beyond the obvious mental toll I have thusly concocted a list below for you of my own personal headcanon'd disabilities and chronic illnesses and the characters that develop them.

Starting with Eleven for a change since y'all know I am obsessed with Steve, we'll shake it up a bit.

This girlie definitely gets Daily Migraines. You cannot tell me that the toll of using her powers is limited to the nose and ear bleeding. That powerful brain of hers absolutely forces inconvenient shut downs the stronger she gets and the more she uses her powers. (She and Steve bond over the experience of how shitty migraines are.)

Additionally, due to her significant mental trauma and abuse, our super girl develops fibromyalgia and all the lovely (/s) symptoms therein. As a fibro sufferer, I truly believe that El is a great choice to explore the impact the condition has on a person's mental, emotional, and physical well-being. (Is my fibro currently flared up and making me cranky? Yes. Yes, it is.)

Next up is Max!

This one is a no-brainer, especially post-season 4, but our fiesty redhead is wheelchair bound and vision impaired. I feel like she is primarily ambulatory, and can get by on crutches for short distances but between the impaired eyesight and the general chronic pain and weakened limbs from the multiple fractures in both her arms and legs she prefers the chair. It puts less stress on her limbs and while she grieves over the loss of ability to skate, gaining a new set of wheels to attempt tricks in - and give Steve an early heart attack - lessens the emotional hurt to be more manageable.

On to Will now, because that boy has s u f f e r e d and that means I am able to make him suffer more for my own catharsis as a writer.

Hoo Boy! Will has some serious goddamn upside down induced chronic conditions. First up, severe asthma, you cannot make me believe his lungs weren't severely fucked up from his first round with the UD. Boy was stuck there for 5 days in that ashy atmosphere and then you had the weird sludge tube that was shoved down his throat etc before he was rescued.

Number two, is a toss up between bronchiectasis or Chronic obstructive pulmonary disease (COPD). COPD probably makes the most sense but either or would work. This boy's lungs are fucked I tell you, absolutely fucked.

Moving on to - you guessed it - Eddie! I couldn't do this lost without including the love of Steve's life (my own opinion you don't have to subscribe to it).

Eddie definitely develops Complex Regional Pain Syndrome following his banquet for the bats. His left leg is the worst for it, along with his abdomen and upper torso. If I had been more organised I would find the fanart floating around here of Eddie with crutches cause fuck yeah he would absolutely kill it with crutches. And also likely use them to hit people because the impulse is hard to control, especially in crowds with pushy people.

For consideration is the possible impact the bats may have had on his internal organs. But this I will admit is beyond my personal experience and chronic illness knowledge, it would still be interesting to see Eddie with ongoing gastrointestinal issues.

Last but by no means least my favourite whump victim Steve Harrington.

Now, to get the obvious and fanon approved chronic conditions out of the way. This boy has some severe head trauma courtesy of Billy and the Russian Interrogators. And with that comes a few staple chronic illnesses and disabilities, which, as previously mentioned, fanon has adopted. Chronic Migraines is number 1. Impaired vision and loss of hearing are number 2 and 3. The head trauma trifecta if you will.

In addition, I would like to put forward another chronic illness forward for consideration. Hypermobility either as Hypermobile Ehlers Danlos Syndrome (hEDs) or Hypermobility Spectrum Disorder (HSD). Why? Because it's again been kicking my ass and I want to cathartically torment my blorbos with it. I just also really like the idea of Steve having the ability to pull out the hypermobile joint thing as a party trick as a teen like I use to before it all goes to shit as he hits his twenties and suddenly everything hurts all the fucking time. I just also believe that being as sporty as he is, he definitely dislocated his shoulders and sprained his ankles and wrists on multiple reoccurring occasions, and just shrugged it off without realising there was a reason for that.

Honestly, the biggest thing for me is to inflict the same suffering I endure onto my blorbos for both equal measures of catharsis and representation.

The only illness I have that I have yet to find a blorbo victim for is my Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome (POTs). Although I won't lie, I am very tempted to inflict it upon Steve post septic shock or bat bite infection because the impact that would have on his mental health? Delicious whumpage, and a great way for me to personally process my feelings about the disabling impact it has had on my life.

Anyway, it has now been over an hour and a half of typing this post AND the tags. I really need to try and sleep, so hopefully, getting this out of my head and onto your dashes helps that along.

Off topic, but fuck do my elbows hurt. The joint pain of HSD fucking sucks.

#stranger things #chronic illness #chronic illness representation #steve harrington #eddie munson #max mayfield #will byers #jane hopper #eleven hopper #PLEASE KEEP IN MIND THESE HCS ARE INSPIRED BY MY OWN EXPERIENCE WITH CHRONIC ILLNESS AND DISABILITY #fibromyalgia #migraines #chronic pain #postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome #hypermobility spectrum disorder #<< the listed chronic illnesses are what I myself deal just in case #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things headcanons #for other chronically ill/disabled fanfic authors PLEASE feel free to add your own suggestions for chronic illness representation #please be kind #I cannot express how nervous I am sharing this because of the potential blowback #but diverse representation in fanfiction and regular fiction matters #and that includes disabilities and chronic illnesses #anyway dont like dont read its that simple #thistle musings

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cripplecharacters · 1 year ago

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Hello! I hope you having a good day, I just had a question that I hope is ok.

Is there any condition that would make it difficult to walk long distances (sometimes using a wheel chair, sometimes crutches) but doesn't affect the hands/arms at all? I'm working on a concept for a character and was wondering about making him an ambulatory wheelchair user since it's not something I see often in stories, but he's also a musician mainly playing stringed instruments and I don't want that to become painful for him.

But I wasn't sure if that was something that could exist and I wouldn't want to write it that way if it's not

Hello lovely asker!

So here is a list of conditions that don't (or sometimes don't) affect the upper body and can be ambulatory conditions.

Conditions that physically effect the lower back/legs:

Lower extremity amputation

Congenital lower body differences - Foot, ankle, knee etc. (Club Foot, Miserable malalignment syndrome etc.)

Sacral Agenesis

Monoplegia

Leg injuries

Cartilage Damage/Injuries

Spina Bifida

Arthritis

Incomplete Paraplegia

Leg length difference

Ankylosing Spondylitis

Multiple Sclerosis

Hypermobility

Hereditary Spastic Paraplegia

Posterior tibial tendon dysfunction

Complex regional pain syndrome

Conversion disorder

Brain Based Disorders:

Epilepsy (drop epilepsy, myoclonic epilepsy etc)

Diplegic Cerebral Palsy

Narcolepsy (often with cataplexy)

Chiari malformation

FND

PANDAS

Tourettes/tic disorders

Autoimmune Encephalitis

Heart/Respiratory/other etc.:

Vertigo/POTS/other conditions that cause syncope/dizziness

Respiratory Conditions (COPD, etc)

Heart Conditions

Conditions that affect balance/increase fall risk

Post polio (and other diseases)

Psychosomatic Paralysis/Pain/other ailments

This is just a rough list of what we could all come up with, there are many others that have gone forgotten, but that's for you the writer to do more research on too. One thing is a few of these conditions can affect the hands or eventually progress to effecting the hands, arms, and/or even the upper or lower back.

Depending on what type of instrument they play will also factor in. Playing posture is different with every instrument, as well as the weight. And some instruments like the Viola Da gamba does require leg strength. If the character is classically trained also, it makes a difference in etiquette. I am (was technically) classically trained and if you have pain of any kind you're told it doesn't matter, you're told to play through the pain and keep going. To suffer for your art is still the prevalence in the classical world. Excruciating pain? Keep going. Cut open your finger on something? Keep going. It's not good, but it is the reality of it, unfortunately.

Also I will mention that don't be afraid to choose another condition that does affect the character's upper body. A lot of disabled musicians have a variety of conditions and simply exist and play music. But also even though the character might have a condition that mainly affects the legs, if pain is common with the condition you choose, this still will affect the character playing. Being in pain even if it's not in your arms or back can be very distracting and will throw you off.

And one last thing! Please don't write this character "Overcoming" their disability to play music. I would research disabled musicians (Itzhak Perlman is the first one that comes to mind for me) and even—if called for—adaptive technology for instruments or how people have adapted their instruments/music to them for more accessibility.

Alrighty! Happy writing! I hope this helps some!

~ Mod Virus 🌸 (and a very thank you to Mods Sasza, Rot, Bert, & Patch for helping me with the research on this)

#mod virus #mod sasza #disabled character ideas #ambulatory wheelchair use #wheelchairs #anonymous

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couldurfaveescapeaperturescience · 6 months ago

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i dont really do propaganda on my polls but this one is important to me especially for the non homestucks this propaganda is pulled from their intros because there is just so much to get into otherwise roxy and dirk will be the most helpful here but i want to get into them all also i obviously have an alpha kid prefernce im sorry rose passion for obscure literature, enjoys creative writing, has a fondness for bestially strange and fictitious, and sometimes dabbles in psycoanalysis dave spins incredibly ill jams using turn tables and mixing gear, likes obscure bands, collects and preserves weird dead things, amateur photographer, and he runs multiple ironically humorous blogs, websites, and social networking profiles roxy goddamn does she love wizards, wishes they were real and that so too is their magics, she enjoys writing fanprose about them that is not so great, she is however great at the esoteric sciences such as ectobiology, dark fenestrology, and appearification, she has accured many dead preserved cats from here expirments, she likes video games that are past their prime, she has a soft spot for old school technology, and her coding credit is totally rediculous she is as deadly to the grid as she is beautiful dirk holy shit does he love puppets, he has extreme dexterity to operate them unseen, that is when they are not pre-ambulatory through lovingly imbued mechanization, he digs writing cognitive algorithms, he's self taught on ancient civilizations, master of mythologue, a popculture academe, he dabbles in the sequential arts, against the better judgment of those his age he builds robots and sets them to kill mode and spars to the death, he also does rap battles with them and use sendification to give them to his friends dirk splinters lil' hal an autoresponder dirk made when he was 13 which is basically 13 year old dirk in a pair of anime sunglasses brobot only here because his is obvious a dirk splinter i dont like his name so i dont think about him, anyways he was sent to jake by dirk in order to keep jake on his toes by fighting him ghost brain dirk is a version of dirk that was made from dirks heart powers and jakes hope powers there are others that i am not including to me those three are the main ones

#portal #portal 2 #aperture science #homestuck #rose lalonde #dave strider #roxy lalonde #dirk strider #lil hal #brobot #ghost brain dirk #homestuck 2 #homestuck^2 #pesterquest #poll #polls

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littlerequiem · 4 months ago

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we mourned the sea ˚⁎⁺ chapter 4

> Crossposted on AO3

Levi hasn't seen you in a year, and he wonders how you will find him. Changed, perhaps. Lost, definitely. Or: After the war, you and Levi learn to live in this new world.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 - Levi Ackerman / Female Reader (Attack on Titan)

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 - Rated Explicit (18+). Post-Canon, Post-War, Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Domestic, Fluff, Angst, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Grumpy/Sunshine, Friends to Lovers, Flashbacks, Grief/Mourning, Chronic Pain, Panic Attack, Depression, Ambulatory Wheelchair Use (WC: 4.1k) A special thanks to @sixpennydame for her help on this chapter.

( Previous chapter / Next chapter / WMTS' Masterlist )

Your eyes lock with his. Amber light kisses half of his face, placing the shadows under his eyes in the spotlight. They seem more present the nights before expeditions.

He raises a brow, as if asking, ‘what demons are you running from?’

“I draw,” your voice fills the silence. “Nights before expeditions. It helps me clear my head.”

The first memory Levi has of his mother is him combing through her long, black hair.

Not many could keep long hair in the Underground. The lack of sun exposure, for one, made it hard to keep healthy hair. And if not that, the lice usually did it. When it struck a brothel, women and men either found a way to kill those nasty fuckers or they were forced to shave their hair and wear cheap wigs instead.

And yet, his mother did manage. It was one of the things that drew men to her—Olympia and her hair that shone like midnight.

Kuchel’s hair was black, and it did, at times, seem to be made of darkness itself. Only, it was none of the misery found in the shadows of the Underground. Instead, it felt more like the darkness found in the night sky. Liquid starlight. Levi remembers running his fingers through her hair, marveling at the contrast of it against the paleness of his skin.

Yes, Kuchel Ackerman’s hair was beautiful. Elegant, even.

When she died, people often told Levi he was her spitting image. He doesn’t know about that—he often wonders if people only said this out of pity, a handout to somehow assuage his grief, or if they truly meant it. But Levi supposes that if he inherited something, it is his mother’s hair. He has a decent amount of it, thick and dark, and when he runs his hand through it, he feels a little part of his mother in him.

Beyond that, he is different.

Levi has known for a long time that he is nothing special to look at. He’s boyish, nothing like the people Levi’s met over the years—men and women born with the right set of genes under the right set of circumstances. Levi isn’t like that, and that’s fine. He’s not a self-conscious man. He knows his worth.

Still, the question begs to be asked: knowing all of this, why do you choose him as your subject today?

Levi looks up from his reading, considering this very question. Early morning is in full bloom, and Levi’s sitting around the table on the porch, enjoying his first tea of the day while reading the newspaper—two activities he’s neglected these past minutes.

He’s been too busy pretending not to see you hiding your sketchbook.

What are you even hiding it for? You’re not fooling anyone. If your seated position—knees pulled in under a blanket, tools tucked behind both—wasn’t a dead giveaway, your face is. It always carries an intensity to it whenever you draw. Tight, puckered lips, like you were extorting all the pressure to the center of your face. A crinkling of concentrated brows. Vivid eyes, sharp with focus.

Levi reels all his restlessness in his fists. He should not interrupt you. He will not.

This is, as far as Levi is aware, the first time you are picking up a pencil in the last three years. The first time you show an interest in getting back into drawing at all, in fact, in the time since the Rumbling.

Which explains why Levi’s frozen like a statue, scared to pop this moment.

Don’t say anything, he tells himself. Don’t fucking ruin it for her.

Levi remembers the first time he caught you drawing like this. It was an evening before an expedition, one of the first ones that followed Isabel’s and Furlan’s deaths. Everyone huddled around the campfire, but you sat alone. He’d approached you then, the loner he was, seeking your presence like a moth to a flame. He remembers that look you wore when he caught you—wide eyes and parted lips. You thought he’d come to judge, to call you a creep for drawing others.

Instead, Levi asked if he could watch.

(Later, he would even tell you the hard truth—to keep on doing what you did, because this was the only way to immortalize every face, that many men and women in your drawings would not come back.)

From there on, Levi would often catch you drawing here and there. Cadets, squad leaders, horses—no subject seemed out of reach. He remembers Hange even trying to convince you to draw titans on a particular expedition (“Unfortunately, Hange, I think drawing a real-life titan, while also on a moving horse, would end in my untimely death.” “Boo…”).

You loved to draw and Levi loved to watch.

They say an artist’s gaze is alluring, and while Levi can agree your eyes have this magnetic way of pulling him in, there’s another thing Levi loves to watch.

It’s your hands. With them, you draw lines on paper. With them, you bring tenderness and kindness. With them, you heal people.

Recently, Levi's started to wonder how your hands would feel on him. The memories of last night are still on his mind; Levi remembers just how close you got to him.

“Hey, what do you think Erwin and Hange would be doing if they were with us?” your voice cuts through the silence.

Levi’s fingers twitch against the newspaper in his lap. For a moment, he wonders if he misheard you.

But no… you really asked.

And Levi has no answer.

This is the first time you’ve brought up this subject—brought them up. It isn’t that Levi doesn’t want to talk about Erwin and Hange, but he doesn’t remember the last time he could talk about anyone from his past. He thinks the 104th sometimes walks on eggshells around him, as if bringing names up might summon a curse best left forgotten.

But he supposes, if anyone would want to talk about the Survey Corps veterans, it would be you.

He’s grateful that it’s you.

“Erwin,” Levi clears his throat, “Erwin would bury himself in knowledge. That know-it-all would probably run the local library by now.”

You perk up, eyes bright. “Ohh, good one. See, I would have bet on him becoming a teacher, but now that you mention that, well, I change my mind.”

Levi grunts in agreement, imagining Erwin following in his father’s footsteps. Fitting. "He’d do both. Read a book while lecturing you about another one."

“He totally would.”

An excited smile graces your lips then, just as you focus back on your sketchbook. The low morning light catches the scar on your face, and Levi thinks he would love to trace over it with his fingertips, to bestow softness where there was once pain.

Instead, he watches as you turn back to your sketchbook.

“Erwin would have books from everywhere, I’m sure of it,” you muse. “He’d have an entire collection of it.”

“Yeah, his home would be a mess.”

You snort, raising a brow at him. “You’d help him sort it out, wouldn’t you?”

“Fuck no, I'm not his fucking maid.” Levi scrunches his nose, remembering how often he used to clean after Hange and Erwin. “Erwin would need to learn to clean once and for all. Until then, I’m not stepping foot into his house.”

“Tough love, huh? Well... that just means he’d have an excuse to come here then, to enjoy the porch the way we are now.”

Levi makes a non-committal noise.

“What kind of book do you reckon he’d be reading?”

Levi shrugs, throwing an arm to the back of the chair. “You’d know better. You were a member of his book cult.”

You roll your eyes. “It wasn't a cult, 'Vi.”

“At one point, you met every Sunday evening. Sounds like a cult to me.”

You tilt your head, amusement gleaming in your eyes. “You know, some might call knowing so much about a bookclub you’re not a part of rather creepy.”

“Please.” Levi shoots you a look. “You wouldn’t shut up about it.”

“That’s because we always hoped you’d join on your own. We all considered you our non-official member, you know.” Amusement flashes across your face as you seemingly scour past memories. “Like... a grumpy mascot, or something.”

Levi clicks his tongue, shaking his head dismissively.

Silence falls. Levi takes to watching the horizon. This side of the house with the porch faces the ocean; from here, it’s just a few minutes walk to the beach. Levi can tell that the waves are calm today, that the tide is low; he can’t make out the sound of water.

“What about Hange, then?”

Levi’s gaze focuses back on you as you ask this question; you’ve placed your bare feet on the chair, one arm looped around your knees and propping your chin on it.

“I think Hange would’ve poured themselves into modern inventions,” you say. “They only got to see some of Marley’s technology, but Kopon’s nation is more advanced, so I’m sure they would have wanted to go there... or at least see what remains of it.”

Levi thinks if Hange’s life hadn’t been cut short, that they would have followed in Onyonkopon’s footsteps and ended up working on those damn flying machines. They showed such an interest for trains and moving vehicles—something Levi could never understand. Flying seems like the natural next step.

He tells you as much.

“Walls, you’re right," you say. "We’d look up at the sky and see one of their inventions. I’m sure about it.”

“Yeah,” Levi suspects there’s fondness in his tone just about now, “we would.”

There’s a lull in the conversation, where Levi can just admire the sky and the clouds and you. He thinks this exact view would make a nice subject for a drawing—if he could draw.

It might be this realization that causes him to speak up, “Hey…”

“Mm?

“What are you sneaking around for?”

Your eyes fleet up, at first surprised, before melting away into a sheepish expression. You lift a hand to scratch the back of your neck, like Levi catching you hiding your sketchbook was somehow shameful.

“You noticed, huh?”

“Hard to miss,” Levi mutters, brows scrunching low, “you’re shit at hiding.”

“Hey!”

“Face the truth, Adler. I’m half-blind and even I noticed.”

“You say that like you’re not one of the most perceptive people I know... I’m pretty sure you’re still leagues above everyone else.” You take to tapping the eraser side of the pencil against the arms of the seat. When you glance back at him, your expression softens. “Fine, you caught me. I was drawing you. But... well. It’s just that you’re easy to draw, Levi. Drawing you feels… natural, I guess. Always did.”

At that, Levi doesn’t have a reply. There’s a burning sensation forming in his belly, a flutter that’s close to panic, only he knows it is not quite that.

“Sorry,” you say, “does it... does it bother you? I can stop.”

“It’s fine…” Levi exhales, heat prickling at his cheeks. His fingers tighten on his knee. "Though I don't know why you bother."

A light breeze picks up his bangs; he gets a whiff of salt and sand.

“I guess I never told you before, but… you’ve always been a good subject,” you say. “See, everyone always thought of you as this no-nonsense soldier and, sure, you were that, too, but... I don't know. Those evenings when you’d sit by the fire and read, or stare into the flames, there was... something that slipped through the cracks.”

“Something.”

“Yeah. Something.”

“And now? Why draw me now?”

“And now… and now it seems like the easiest thing. Muscle memory, you know? My emotions are easier on paper than they are in my head.”

A ball forms in Levi’s throat. He wants to ask you about what sort of emotions you’re trying to make sense of, but saying those words seems unwise right now. Impossible, some might even say.

“Keep on drawing, then,” is all he manages.

For the rest of the morning, Levi sits in the quiet, watching you draw—something he never thought he’d get to experience again.

“Stay safe,” you tell him by the stables. You’re geared up for the expedition, your horse’s reins in hand.

Levi says nothing, but he squeezes your shoulder to convey his own words: Don’t die.

“Marigolds, periwinkles, carnations. These flowers will go right here, here, and… here. What do you think, ‘Vi?”

Levi squints, trying to ignore the glare in his eyes cast by the sun. He follows your delicate finger, pointing to spots in the garden, filled with different colors and scents.

“Looks like flowers in dirt,” Levi mutters.

You chuckle, placing a marker beside each plot of turned soil.

As promised, Levi is helping you decide what to plant where today. Ever since lunch, the two of you have been treating the space like a canvas that’s yours to fill—sectioning the land, preparing the soil, uprooting and transplanting potted flowers out of their containers, assigning them to specific spots of dirt.

“I picked these flowers because they’re supposed to be good for beginners.” You roll your shoulders back as you shrug off your stiff crouching position. “I wonder if they’ll thrive.”

Levi makes a noncommittal noise in response, not knowing the answer to that question. He shifts his weight from one leg to another, trying to ignore the way his shirts clings to his skin.

On account of the warm weather today, Levi has rolled up the sleeves of his flannel shirt. He’s currently trying to ignore the urge to scratch at his forearms—rashes from an overexposure of sun. Levi knows he ought to go back inside, but he stays rooted to his spot. He tells himself it’s because he promised to help, though he knows you’d chastise him if you noticed the state of his skin.

He slides his sleeves back down before you notice.

“They look like every other flower to me,” he finally declares, eying the delicate petals between your fingers, “fragile.”

“Well, flowers are more vulnerable than other plants, I’ll give you that. But you gotta trust in the process, right?”

“S’not about trust,” Levi places a hand on his hip, attempting to fan himself using the edge of his shirt, “just don’t want you getting all mopey if they die.”

You snort. “I won’t. We used to grow herbs near the infirmary back on Paradis, remember? Sure it’s not much different.”

Levi isn’t so sure about that, but he doesn’t say a thing. What does he know about growing things, anyway? All he’s ever seen of flowers is how they’re laid on graves.

From the corner of his eye, he catches you looking at him. Something soft lingers in your expression, like you want to say something, but you don’t. He looks away before you can. There’s dirt smudged across your cheek, he realizes. He should tell you. Or wipe it off. But he does neither.

“Hey, did you know flowers have unique meanings here in Marley?” you say, breaking the silence. “That each color and species is symbolic of a specific emotion?” You point to a cluster of yellow petals. “The girl working in the library, she explained it to me. Yellow marigolds represent passion. Purple periwinkles serenity. And pink carnations are all about gratitude.”

Levi studies each one, committing the names to memory without really knowing why. “So you use them to express feelings and shit?”

“Something like that.”

“Sounds like a pain.”

“Maybe. But some people like the poetry behind such gifts. Others like the game. And sometimes, people are just too shy to say the words out-loud, so they find comfort in finding other ways to express themselves.”

“Is there a flower that says you’re a pain in the ass?”

“Not that I know of.” You quirk a brow up at him. “Is that one directed at me?”

“Who else?”

That isn't the whole story. If flowers really meant something, you’d need a whole damn garden for everything he doesn’t say. No flower could say it all. But Levi doesn’t quite say that, either.

Instead, he gestures toward the porch stairs. “What about those?”

You follow his line of sight, spotting the blue flowers you planted your first weekend here.

“Oh, that’s technically a herb,” you say. “Myosotis. The forget-me-not flower. It represents... love, in many ways.”

Levi watches the forget-me-nots shift with the wind. In the distance, Scout lunges at a butterfly, and misses. He exhales through his nose, watching her try again. Stubborn little thing.

“Hey, can I ask for your help?” You shift beside him, adjusting your grip on a bundle of flowers. “I’m having a hard time digging this hole. I think there're pebbles blocking the way, but I’m scared these flowers will get all tangled up if they're not held properly.”

Levi peers over the edge of the garden plot. You’re planting carnations, holding them with one hand as you attempt to shovel a hole with the other.

He grumbles something beneath his breath but walks closer anyway, his cane digging against the turned soil. With a slow, careful movement, Levi lowers himself onto the grass, shifting onto his uninjured leg before dropping onto his ass with a dull thud. He leans his cane against his knee and reaches for the flowers.

With a parting smile, you move back to your task. You shift your weight by pressing onto your knees, using the small shovel to push stubborn roots and obstacles aside.

Incidentally, it also gives Levi the perfect view of your ass.

And fuck, if your gardening outfit (worn-out denim overalls with a white t-shirt) didn’t already make his mind swim, this view now certainly does.

Not for the first time since you arrived, Levi has to wonder about the questionable fashion choices from Marley, and why it's having such an effect on him all of a sudden. Levi’s lived through war, through hell, and yet here he is, losing a battle against a damn pair of overalls.

His fingers tighten slightly around the stems in his hand before he can help it, but he forces them to relax.

What a pain.

Levi knows human attraction is perfectly natural; he's experienced his share of it across his life. But human attraction hasn't mattered to him for a long time.

He’d be lying if it didn't matter now.

Because, not for the first time since you arrived—Levi finds his mind wandering. He imagines leaning back into the grass, his hand pressed on your lower back as he helps you stay balanced crouching. He tries to envision the texture of your overalls under his fingers. Would it be rough, or would it be soft—soft, like what he pictures your skin’s texture to be? How would you even react if he touched you? His touch would probably repulse you, right?

And yet, last night, he swore—

Levi closes his eyes, groaning inwardly.

This is ridiculous.

Is this really all because of last night, when he thought he saw you leaning in? Fuck, for all he knows, everything he saw was just a figment of his imagination. A trick of the light. He’s only able to see from one eye—should he really be relying on his sight to make judgment calls?

Sweat trickles now down his back, thick like honey.

“Oi,” he blurs out, desperate to derail his own thoughts. “After all this shit grows, what then? Gonna run a flower empire or what?”

“Hm... I’m not sure if I’d make for a very good florist.”

“You'd learn.”

“Maybe, but I’m afraid my motivations are more... selfish, in that regard. I guess I just wanted to experience what it was like, to tend to a garden. Do things normal people do, you know?”

Levi stays silent. Scout meows in the distance, missing her butterfly again.

“And I figured you might like something nice in your home,” you add casually.

At that, Levi has to click his tongue, the sound sharp against the wind. He looks out at the horizon. “I’m not much for pretty things.”

(That’s not entirely true. There’s you, and he’s certainly into your prettiness, as exemplified by the way his body is reacting in your proximity.)

“Who ever needs pretty things?” you point out. Levi frowns, turning his attention to you again. The sight of you surrounded by a myriad of flowers is like something straight out of a painting. Enchanting.“That’s the point of prettiness. It’s there to bring people joy, it’s there to be admired and inspiring. It may not be needed, but it’s appreciated, right?”

Levi's suddenly reminded of his mother, of the way she used to keep the house clean, of the way she used to teach him to drink tea.

He remembers asking her why she bothered. In his memories, her voice is soft like a feather. “Because it is pretty and elegant,” his mother answered, “and you are all those things, my Levi.”

“Are you aware that even animals like pretty things?” By now, you’re a little out of breath from all the shoveling. You wipe your forehead with the back of your hand. “Take pigs, for example. We think of them as dirty animals because of how they’re kept by humans, but... out in the wild, they’re pretty clean. They even like to decorate their homes with things they collect.”

“Tch. Are you comparing this to a pig’s sty?”

You laugh. “'Course not. But what I’m trying to say... what I’m trying to say is that this garden feels like planting something… I don’t know, hopeful. Not because we need it for anything, but because it just... it just exists.”

Levi doesn’t respond right away. Instead, his hand test the soil between his fingertips. He thinks about how he used to hate the feel of dirt under his nails—how it reminded him of crawling his way out the Underground, of survival. That sentiment hasn’t changed here, only he finds himself being... willing to be in this state.

“S'not so bad,” he murmurs.

Later, when Levi finally reaches out to place his handkerchief in your hand, telling you there's dirt on your face, he’ll come to another realization: that for the first time, he doesn’t have to worry that it’s blood you’re wiping away.

Just a bit of dirt.

It’s like blood rains from the skies that day.

The expedition is declared a disaster.

A few days later, when Levi comes home from work, he finds another gift waiting for him on his dresser.

You’re not home tonight; you’ve volunteered to help with the preparations for the upcoming festival, so he doesn’t get any opportunities to scold you for spending your money on him—again.

Instead, Levi unravels your letter.

Levi, Mark my words, you’ll see that flowers have their use-cases, even for a tea-maniac like you. I hope this suits your taste. -A

Levi unwraps the gift, guessing already what its content might be. He isn’t disappointed. The bag contains loose tea leaves, filled to the brim, along with tiny white buds that remind Levi of snow.

Elegant cursive adorns the note on the satchel, its reading clear as day:

Jasmine flower tea.

I hope you enjoyed this update. The plot is going to start picking up from next chapter onwards, so I hope you can look forward to that ^^ If you have time, I'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments as they really keep me going. Take care!

( Next chapter / Join my taglist )

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mechs-headcanons · 4 months ago

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my headcannons for everyone's mobility aids that I can think off off of the top of my head and other things I'm too tired to think:

Nastya: Blue cane, transparent, sparkles in the light. She has similar looking crutches, but also sometimes the Aurora just helps her along with her cables (the best mobility aid. trust me.) She also has alot of braces

Jonny: The Dr House cane. He probably has a cheap shitty wheelchair somewhere that he got because he refuses to accept that he actually is in that much pain that often and only really uses it to try and hit Nastya with.

Ivy: Crutches, but they have pouches attached to them to carry books. Probably forearm crutches, but the elbow ones. I think they'd either be plain black all over, or they'd be red and gold to match her asethtic. (She uses them very rarely though, only if her brain is refusing to let her use her legs at all. I feel like it's obvious I project on Ivy sometimes.)

Tim: Cane. I love the headcannons of Tim being the most fashionable on the Aurora(or one of them.), so he has an entire collection of canes. Ones got dragons on it:) (he also gets back pain.) or a plain white cane if his eyes don't want to work that day.

Ashes: Cane but also maybe a wheelchair. I think they'd have problems with balance and keeping their breath, and also, the lungs have got to be so heavy that's got to take it out of them.

Marius: Crutches. I think this should be made canon. He loses his kneecaps all the time (which same here, that's basically the same as constantly semi dislocating your knees trust me am doktor:D.) it would make sense for him to struggle with balance and have to need to use them more often than the other mechs. He's also probably a ambulatory wheelchair user because of this too. His crutches are almost definitely covered with stickers though. (Ivy probably has matching pouches with him so he can carry her books too.)

Brian: Cane, crutches and a wheelchair on occasion. If his entire body and brain was remade, there's no way there's not going to be chronic pain, or issues with signals. His canes probably an old man wooden one, his crutches are probably the cheap £30 ones you can get from Amazon and his wheelchairs probably Jonny's when it's not being used. All in all bloody hell Brian you can get better equipment.

I think they definitely have it all semi? Scattered about, but I also think each person stores their aids in specific locations. Like Marius's crutches are always nearby him as he's an almost full time user, whereas you could realistically say that Jonny ate his cane and I wouldn't shrug. The most common place for mobility aids though would probably be the bedrooms or in the main living/common room. Or the kitchens. Or if your name is Dr Baron Marius Von Raum in the mouth of an octokitten.

-🪿

ouh reading:0 my brain is SLIGHTLY fried from all the asks so excuse me if this is incoherent. i’m gonna go through these and then add the people you missed :}

nastya: yes. give her a sparkly cane/crutches. i also do like that the idea that the aurora helps her around:} she probably also has knee pillows for when she’s fixing stuff and she has to be on her knees or crawling for long periods of time.

jonny: his cane is probably also set to the wrong height cause no one taught him how to use it right and he refuses to change it when someone points out it’s wrong. i bet he only uses the wheelchair if someone pushes it for him cause he’s dramatic like that /lh

ivy: mm yeah :D she probably doesnt use a wheelchair because she gets antsy sitting for too long :} i think when her brain doesnt let her use her legs, it feels sorta like when your foot falls asleep but on her whole leg and for a longer period of time.

tim: definitely. he matches his cane to whatever colour eyes he picked that day cause he’s coordinated like that. when his eyes malfunction i think he doesn’t have any in at all (cause i think of his mechanism sort of like a prosthetic) cause it’s irritating when he has non-working eyes in. also the coloured bits and the actual mechanism are separate:D

ashes: wheelchair ashes mm, they definitely have a decked out one with stickers and like a fire decal over the wheels. they dont use it much on the ship unless they’re having a bad fatigue day, only when they’re going long distances on a planet so they don’t get tired.

marius: crutches marius<33 i bet his armpits are bruised/have issues cause of his crutches but he refuses to admit that it’s an issues. (i do trust you, you are a doktor /silly). even when his kneecaps aren’t missing, i bet they’re loose and click/shift/lock up quite a lot (i’m projecting cause that’s what happens to me) love the book bag on his wheelchair for ivy omg yes :} his wheelchair is the nicest in the crew’s cause he uses it quite a lot

brian: i bet all of brian’s aids are second hand but he doesn’t want to get new ones cause in his words “if it aint broke, dont fix it” (it is broke, and it does need to be fixed). brian also regularly disappears into dark corners of the aurora when he gets migraines because he refuses to admit he’s in pain. i think the only think of his that isn’t second hand is a hip brace that raphaella forced him to get :}

OK now for the guys you missed oh geez i’ve been writing for three years (or so it feels like /silly)

raphaella: i think she’d have back pain from her wings, cause they’re metal and really heavy. she probably has a special back brace so she doesn’t screw her whole spine up. she also has some knee pain but doesn’t use a cane for it, just some more braces.

TS: ok ik it’s literally made of wood but like let me have joy and make it disabled, it’s my favourite,,, i think it’s joints rub together, especially in it’s hands and ankles because the joints there are smaller (arthritis ✨✨). i also think it’s joints lock up. it wears compression gloves and socks :} it also uses a cane, not cause it needs it but because it wants to fit in :D

i think that’s everyone,,,

#mechcanon #askcanon #the mechanisms #i’m not tagging them all i’m sorry #🪿 anon #disability #mobility aid

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sarahbelisa · 4 months ago

Text

It's P-Day People!

Ebooks are available NOW for order (Red) and pre-order (Blue)

The option to buy print copies is coming... just real, real slow. I'll update the masses once I get my proof copies and finalize for publication. Until then, hang tight!

What's all this then?

#queer romance #diversely disabled protagonists #childhood friends to lovers #second chance romance #30+ romance #jewish love interest #ambulatory cane user

Red (25k) is a prequel novella centered on two boys growing up in rural Tennessee. Nash is a quiet, dutiful son with a big heart who knows too much about the cruelty people are capable of. And Teddy is defiant and determined to make a place for himself in the world despite all the ways his body would rather him be tucked away safe and quiet. This story is about how they grow close through childhood into their preteen years and step up to the precipice of something Nash isn't ready to name.

Blue (69k) is their second chance. Reunited after 20 years, they can do it all right this time... if only they can weather the emotional turbulence of the funeral that brought them back together to take the plunge into something old and new all at once.

Find the first chapter of Red, like my bleeding heart in your hand under the cut!

Credit for the dividers goes to @strangergraphics-archive. Check 'em out!

The new kid is red-faced and wheezing by the time they make it up the hill. It ain't even half as big as the one over by Chuck's place, but by the way Teddy is huffing and puffing, you'd think he'd run up and down it a dozen times.

Before he can think better of it, Nash asks, "What's wrong with you?"

He ain't fat, not even close. He probably ain't a smoker neither, considering most six-year-olds aren't, but he's sure breathin' like one. Maybe this is why Ms. Rainer was fixed on having Nash see Teddy home from the bus stop. Somehow, she knew just by looking, that there's somethin' off with this one.

As Teddy heaves for air, his backpack slips free from one shoulder, but he shrugs it back on and keeps dragging his feet through the gravel. His house is visible now, set too close to the road, so it's a muted dusty gray under all the gravel dust. The dust swirls in the wind like a toddler playing at being a ballerina after too much sugar, and the leaves dance along to the rasp of the corn stalks shifting and swaying in time.

Nash hesitates on the porch as Teddy throws open the storm door and pushes into the house without a backward glance. When he doesn't close the door behind him, Nash follows.

Inside, Teddy's ragged breaths are louder, helped along to Nash's ears by the uncovered wood floor. He follows into the kitchen where the yellowy linoleum pops and crackles underfoot in the places where it's bubbled up.

The drawer beside the sink opens with a screech of wood as Teddy pulls out an inhaler, puts it between his lips, and sucks in a long, deep breath. With his eyes closed and his face screwed up, he lowers the inhaler and holds his breath for a long, long time. Then he exhales, wipes his nose with the back of his hand, and faces Nash with his chin tipped up proudly.

"All the things."

"Huh?"

"You asked what's wrong with me," Teddy says in a reedy voice. He pauses to breathe. "There's a lot wrong with me."

"Oh. Are you… sick?"

Dying is what he wants to ask, but he's been whacked in the back of the head enough to know better.

Teddy shrugs, inhaler between his lips again and Nash has to wait until he tosses the inhaler back in the drawer, rams it shut, and exhales.

"Not right now," Teddy says, "but maybe tomorrow. Wanna play Pokémon?" He flips the lid off a sagging women's shoe box on the table and reveals a treasure trove of Pokémon cards.

Nash cranes for a closer look before he can stop himself. "Woah, those are all yours?"

He pulls cards out by the handful. "Yeah, my mom and dad used to buy me a pack every time they had to travel."

Nash stares, mesmerized, as Teddy rifles through the cards like he knows what he's looking at—all the colors and creatures and elements—it's overwhelming.

"They must travel a lot." He can't imagine what that's like. The farthest he's ever been from Deliverance is the Walmart in Buford Hills, the next town over.

"Used to. They're dead now, so…" He keeps messing with the cards. Like it's nothing to him. Like he doesn't care. Like his face isn't scrunched and his shoulders aren't boxed up around his ears.

If he wasn't so visibly uncomfortable, Nash would think he was trying to make a joke. He doesn't know what to say, so, out of pity, he puts his backside on the line and asks, "How do we play?"

He's gonna get an ass whoopin' for being home late, but it's almost worth it for the relieved smile that overtakes Teddy's discomfort as he babbles about types and strengths and weaknesses.

Nash settles himself opposite him at the table and silently bemoans his inability to ignore the kicked puppy types.

"Thank you, Mr. Spinoza, but I'd rather walk."

"Are you sure?"

Teddy's uncle is a middle kind of man. He isn't tall or short. Nor is he skinny or fat. Neither smiley nor angry. He seems content to hold the middle of it all. He's got his car keys in his hand and is poised over a pair of mangy boots, waiting for Nash's change of heart. He ain't even out of his shop uniform yet—streaked with car gunk though it is.

"I can drop you off and have a quick word with your folks explaining why you were out late. It's nearly dark."

"You don't need to," Nash rushes to say. "Honest. I walk quick 'n' it ain't far."

His aren't the kind of parents anybody likes to meet. Maybe Mama'd be alright without Daddy stompin' and ragin' all the time, but she ain't without him so there's nothin' for it 'cept to keep the middle kind of men away from Daddy's all-the-way kind of man.

Mr. Spinoza's expression is mild as he watches Nash, but Nash gets the feeling he's seeing through to the heart of things and Mr. Spinoza knows exactly why Nash don't want anybody reasonable near his daddy.

He doesn't move or breathe until Mr. Spinoza nods. Only the wrinkle between his eyebrows betrays his discomfort with the plan, and Nash means to be long gone before that discomfort can win him over.

"You'd better get a move on then."

"Yes, sir."

"You're going to be in trouble?"

Teddy's wavering question stops Nash's inching retreat toward the door. He's wearing the same bafflement that all the kids with good, kind parents display whenever they're exposed to someone who can't blindly trust their folks.

"Only a little." And maybe in another life that'd be the truth. It's not late, but it's the time of year when the sun turns in early and only rises when it can't get away with staying down any longer. And Daddy don't usually need an excuse to put the fear of God into him, so it's always a special treat when Nash gives him one.

"Why'd you stay then?"

It might be something in the jutting tip of Teddy's chin or the proud shine in his eyes, or perhaps it's instinct honed from years of tiptoeing around his old man that warns Nash away from the truth—or at least the truth Teddy's diggin' for.

"I never seen that many Pokémon cards before."

Teddy's posture relaxes, and that same playful grin from earlier peeps out.

"Have," Mr. Spinoza says.

Baffled, Nash retorts, "Have not."

Mr. Spinoza shakes his head. "No, 'I have never seen that many Pokémon cards before.'"

Nash glances at Teddy, then looks back to Mr. Spinoza and slowly, with his best enunciation, says, "Neither have I."

Teddy cackles, head thrown back, and nearly falls from his seat at the table. Mr. Spinoza smiles, and it lightens him up, but not enough to make Nash feel better about being the butt of some joke he doesn't understand.

He inches back. "I should go."

"Thank you for keeping Teddy company. You're welcome back anytime—but call home and get permission first."

"Yes, sir." But he knows there ain't no way Daddy'll ever give him permission to come back. He shoots a longing glance at the cards still strewn across the table. It's a shame he won't get to play again. It was fun while it lasted.

Nash sets his tray in front of him and eases onto the bench. Once he's sitting, he breathes out slowly through the ache in his ribs as his body acclimates to the new position. Then he nearly drops his pizza when a lunch box slams onto the table across from him and a small body throws itself onto the bench.

"I made you a deck." Teddy doesn't explain what that means and upends his lunch box on the table. Out falls a plastic wrapped sandwich, a baggie of baby carrots, a box of apple juice, and two stacks of Pokémon cards. Teddy sets the deck that's bound by a blue rubber band besides Nash's tray, then removes the pink scrunchie from the other and puts it around his wrist.

He glances at Nash's pizza, held aloft and uneaten. "Hurry up and eat that or we won't have time to play."

Unsure what else to do, Nash takes a bite. He swallows. "Aren't you gonna eat?"

Teddy makes a face but dutifully unwraps his sandwich and takes a bite before setting it aside and turning his attention back to shuffling his cards.

Nash makes a face at the sandwich as it oozes purple on the discarded plastic wrap. "Is that just jelly?" It explains why he doesn't seem interested in eating it. Then again, it's weird that he brought a lunch at all. Everybody knows Fridays are pizza days and nobody wants cold lunch instead of pizza.

"I'm allergic to peanut butter and we're all out of turkey." With his tongue between his lips, he attempts a real shuffle, like how adults do, and drops his cards all over the table.

Nash rescues one from the edge and slides it back to him. "Why not have pizza then?"

"Allergic."

"To pizza?"

"Cheese and tomatoes." He eyes Nash's slice wistfully before he smears his cards around to get them good and mixed up. "It smells good, though."

"Oh." Nash recalls their walk yesterday and how he went straight to his inhaler once they got inside. How during their walk was the only time he'd been quiet. "What else are you allergic to?"

Teddy's annoyance is clear in the sharp rapping of his cards against the table and the pucker of his lips. "Do you want to talk about all the stuff that's wrong with me, or do you want to play? We don't have time for both."

"Play." He crams a massive bite into his mouth and chews as he opens his chocolate milk.

Teddy mimics him with a similarly large bite of his jelly sandwich and says through his full mouth, "You like the electric types, right?" He swallows thickly. "I gave you all the ones I could find, but there's not a lot, so I gave you the flying and psychic types too. Is that okay?"

"Yeah, that's fine." He shoves the last of his pizza in his mouth and wipes his hands vigorously on his jeans before he picks up the deck of cards Teddy prepared for him. "Did you get all fighting ones again?"

"I added some ground ones." He looks up and grins. "Ground is super effective against electric."

"So? Aren't flying and psychic super effective against fighting?"

Teddy lights up. "You remembered."

"How to kick your butt? 'Course I did."

"Well, this time you won't. I've got a plan."

They don't finish the match before the bell rings, but Nash had Teddy on the ropes no matter what Teddy says about late game comebacks.

That afternoon, Teddy pulls a red handkerchief up over his mouth and nose before they get off the bus and keeps both arms over his face until the cloud of dust kicked up by the departing bus blows away. His voice is muffled behind the fabric, but he chatters all the way to his house and doesn't stop until Nash hesitates at the end of his driveway.

"Aren't you coming?" He peers at him through fogged lenses. "I want a rematch so I can show you how I was going to win."

Nash shakes his head. "I gotta get home."

"Oh." Teddy doesn't bother hiding his disappointment. "Well, what about tomorrow? That's your house, right?" He points at the roof in the distance, peeking just over the hill that obscures most of their property. "I can come over and—"

"No! I mean, I'll come here. If I can, I mean. I have to ask."

"Okay," Teddy says slowly. "Why don't you want anybody at your house?" He gestures at the dusty house behind him. "It's not like we're rich or anything. You don't have to be embarrassed."

What's embarrassing is that he clocked their lack of money without ever stepping through their front door, but that ain't it. "I'm not embarrassed," Nash snaps. "I just don't want to deal with how annoying my sister will be with you around. That's all."

Teddy's expression clears. "You have a sister?"

"Yeah, an annoying one. She'll be in kindergarten next year, so we'll have to deal with her at school then."

"Cool, maybe she can play with us, and we can do three-way battles! I've never done one of those before."

Nash shakes his head. "She's not smart enough. She'll just get in the way and mess up your cards. I'll just come over here, okay? If Mama says it's alright, I mean."

Teddy has a look like he wants to argue some more, so Nash waves and starts backing up the way he came.

"See you tomorrow."

"Yeah, okay. See you."

Relieved he got out of that, Nash turns on his heel and hurries home.

Midway down the hill, he looks back, but Teddy is gone.

#wildflowers of deliverance #book recs #queer romance #book promotion #debut novel #disabled characters #mlm yearning #bookblr #writeblr #indie author #romance #child abuse

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