#Whatever it is those two words definitions/symptoms just don't feel right

[shanedoesdoodles]

You ever look for a specific word/thing to describe a feeling you're having and think you've found it but as you look more into it it turns out it was a simular concept but very distinct from what you were looking for? And then when you try to be more specific everything that pulls up is still the same close but definitely not the same thing to describe it? I'm a stuck in a bit of a loop at the moment

[chairteeth]

Nemu's life as a wheelchair user and how terrible f4 is at portraying it (or, well, Not portraying it)

Buckle up I have a list of PointsTM. I will be going into Japan's history with disability as well as what life is like on a wheelchair.

First though, because I want this to have the intended effect, I recommend going over Nemu's swimsuit costume story again. It is Very Relevant. I recommend you enjoy the fluff of it too, before I dump the depressing thing about it on you. Though I will say I really REALLY appreciate how far Touka always goes to make Nemu feel comfortable and supported and listened to and cared for in every situation and- is shot.

So, apparently this room has a big mirror, and Nemu gets uncharacteristically giddy and we get this scene that Will hurt you. She even says that she finds this just as important as the liberation plan.

They had ALL OF THE SETUP, ALL OF IT. And now I would like to also share a recent analysis of Nemu's wheelchair that I dragged some wheelchair users to do, then I'll start thrashing and yelling about the significance of such a change. For reference we mainly have the sprite right:

I'm going to provide the relevant texts directly for you:

no theres like zero leg support beyond the foot plate and even the way the foot plate is designed implies that she has pretty good motor control over her legs

ya no calf pads or anyting smh

and whats with the armrests those dont look v comfy??

i doubt she needs much body support beyond the walking there's proper cushioning elsewhere, though

I can't see a headrest either, and the backrest is not very high, so I'm pretty sure she just can't walk and everything else is largely fine

Me:

it's a separate continuity, but in the anime Nemu can stand. We don't see her walking but we see her standing a few times, and some of them are at points where she has to have walked at least a little bit, so I definitely think it's not "100% can't walk" but rather something more complex. Even before she was a magical girl we saw her standing in the hospital, though you could argue that was before whatever anime illness she has got worse

huh. that sounds like chronically ill person energy conservation to me at least in the anime. me and (name omitted) do that, were usually on our wheelchairs because a walk to the grocery store may be too much and we might keel over from the pain or exhaustion. what about the game?

Me:

I don't think she can walk at all in the game? The times she's not in her wheelchair, someone is carrying her, iirc. I told you that the cause of it was her shaving away her life force repeatedly, and I've explained the other symptoms, but truth be told, we don't see those other symptoms again post Arc 1 (which I think is just because she's under less stress and not constantly shaving away the aforementioned life force), and we were sadly robbed of any kind of "discovery" scene where we get her actual reaction and yk, her assessing the permanent damage done to her body?

Me:

I told you guys how soul gems work as essentially the girl's soul puppetting her body, right? My personal theory is that she did so much damage to herself that it significantly weakened part of the soul gem-body connection. I thought it may have been severed, but if that were the case, I'm pretty sure her legs would just rot off, since magical girl bodies rot when separated from their soul gems for too long iirc, plus she can feel temperature on them so

WHY DIDNT YOU TELL US ABOUT THE TEMPERATURE THING

Me:

I'M SORRY IT'S AN OBSCURE ASSUMPTION BASED ON A QUOTE OR TWO ABOUT A FUCKING KOTATSU, THEY NEVER FUCKING TALK ABOUT THE DETAILS OF THE LEG THING, I WAS TRYING TO STICK AS CLOSE TO THE TEXT AS POSSIBLE

Me:

she's also never complained about pain from her legs, she's lamented the whole being unable to walk once or twice ("this body of mine can't help in any significant way") but never said a word about pain or other complications. Granted, she's also a people pleaser who would rather put on a stoic face than mildly inconvenience literally anyone

yea then it might just be she cant do the walking motions reliably. didnt you say she has an overprotective gf? The gf may have argued for the wheelchair thing to be on the safe side

mmmmmmmmmm ye sounds about right

They also talked a bit about control pads and wheels but this was the summary one of them gave me:

So in short, Nahi: mobility and feeling all good, but no walkies or will fall on face and fracture skull

That's the analysis and conclusion of that part, which will help discuss the next one. Now, first of all... I have complained MANY TIMES about our lack of any scene where this permanent damage is revealed to the characters. They skipped over that. Which I thought, oh, okay, maybe we'll get it in a costume story for the wheelchair sprite. We did not get that! And that's important. Because see, Nemu I think might be able to hide her initial raw reaction depending on who was in the room with her. If she was alone or (preferably and probably likeliest) with Touka, she might not hide it, but it has to have sunk in that she would be dead to her family again. And for a character who so desperately wanted to fit in with her family, go camping with them, and presumably do all the outdoorsy and sporty stuff with them, YEAH, A SCENE LIKE THAT WOULD BE NEEDED, especially because Nemu has the tendency to both self-flagellate excessively (Touka also does this) and to hide all of her feelings and suppress them as hard as humanly possible.

With that out of the way, I am going to go on my certified rant about living in a wheelchair. Let's start at the general inaccessibility of Japan. Nemu's wheelchair isn't exactly... compact or foldable from what I can tell so that doesn't help her in the least. Here is a non-exhaustive list of things to consider:

- Less maneuverability or no access at all in some places, such as hotel rooms, restaurants, and stores

- Way longer wait times for nearly everything

- The temples are shitty to access because 90% of them have The Stairs, and the parks surrounding them have gravel grounds that make it almost impossible to run a wheelchair through (or at least, it's really hard. Think of when Sakurako had to carry Nemu on the beach, sand/sand-like ground and wheelchairs most often do not mesh, especially electric ones)

- The general congestion of large cities is not good but at least Japanese people tend to be nice and polite about it and try not to bother/touch wheelchair users, however this is unavoidable and oh boy haha rush hour

- In the end a wheelchair user in Japan is pretty limited in what they can do if not accompanied, which absolutely sucks

Streets are often narrow too so gestures at list. Plenty of buildings, especially old ones, are never really upgraded/don't have ramps or accessible elevators either, and I have literally seen a Japanese building that needed you to climb seven steps to get into the elevator?? Okay, alright, I will try not to bitch too hard. If using Yokohama as a base, the thing with large cities is that actually, the subway and train networks are generally good for wheelchair users (though they have to take extra steps and a trip that would take an able-bodied person one hour may take the wheelchair user double that amount of time, plus the station staff will choose your train for you). Everything else however, not so nice, and again The Stairs.

Now I go on the funny historical tangent! Around the 1960s in Japan, there was an increase in disabled children being separated from their families and placed in residential institutions, many of which were converted from the ones built for disabled veterans after WW2. At the age of 18, many of these children were then transferred to adult facilities where they would remain until death. As you may be able to imagine, these institutions were not great! Cue many many MANY human rights violations, including child residents being used as guinea pigs for their doctors in surgical procedures and disgusting amounts of incidents of sexual abuse towards female residents. The traditional Japanese notion that disabled people should be hidden by their families like a shameful secret was veeeeery prevalent! That is why these places even existed. Those beliefs are, Still ShiftingTM so to speak but it is much better now because hey at least they finally have an anti-discrimination law. By "finally" I mean that ten years ago they did not have one. You see, the literal basic anti-discrimination act for people with disabilities in Japan only came into effect in 2016 (for the reference of the Americans who may not know and for an easy example, in the US, the same thing happened in 1990, which is still recent-ish but not, "less than ten years ago" recent). That's only eight years ago. So let's not even talk about how VERY highly Not Possible a fully wheelchair-adapted/comfortable home would be in Japan. It ain't great chief, basic programs are still being implemented, and I highly doubt people are very widely educated on the matter unless it affects them personally. I think that is most of the funny historical tangent, so... time for me to talk about adapting to life on a wheelchair.

Let's start with showering and bath/general bathroom difficulties. First of all, it's MUCH likelier for a person in Nemu's position to slip and hurt themselves in the shower/bath, not even likely to be able to stop their own fall because Legs No Worky, secondly washing up unassisted when you're in a wheelchair both takes longer and is difficult/inconvenient, particularly if you don't have a specific chair or other thing to help you in the tub/shower (I am unsure if her family would be agreeable to this or if she'd even ask). For Nemu's benefit we are going to go with my interpretation that magical girls do not have periods, because otherwise oh dear god well that's way worse! But yes there's that whole complication and see, if you live with your family you have people you can ask for help. However we are talking about Nemu, and Nemu would rather starve under a bridge than ask for help (in 99% of cases). We have a section for internal effects of leg loss don't you worry but like, girl already felt like a burden before, imagine how she feels now when she actually does have to depend on others occasionally. Showering/bathing must be an absolute nightmare every single day for the poor girl. You don't realize how much you rely on walking and having usable legs inside the house until you lose that ability.

This leads me into another very funny thing: reach. Imagine having short person struggles. Okay, now imagine your height is cut in half and you have to be sitting down for everything. Who wants to bet you are now unable to reach A LOT of the things at home? Bathroom setups vary so that one you can circumvent, however! Consider the following: Nemu displays an enjoyment of cooking. Have you ever tried to sit down in front of most kitchen counters? They are pretty high up from that position. Which is fine when you're maybe just resting on the chair but can stand up/take steps around, but when you can't... well. Cooking just got a whole lot more inconvenient and complicated! Nemu seems to keep doing it, so I imagine she's figured out the kitchen table hack (kitchen tables are often lower than the counters and therefore often used to do the prep work instead of the counter because it's more comfortable). This still does not account for the stove but we haven't heard of Arc 2 Nemu cooking solo, only either with her mom or Sakurako, so I assume Nemu's family has the decency not to send her to make dinner like they do in Arc 1.

On the topic of short reach, have you ever realized how inconvenient doorknobs can be if you're sitting down? And doors in general when it's not so easy to move, really. This is more the case for those with less grip strength or less mobility than Nemu, but doorknobs are still generally placed high enough to be inconvenient, doors depending on how they open can be annoying (though sliding doors I've heard are better, so long as they're not too heavy), and let's not even talk about the heavy-ish doors that you have to push against. Because while that might be easy outside of a wheelchair... not so much on a wheelchair. The inconvenience of doors and doorknobs aside though, and back to public transport for a second, you cannot be spontaneous. According to a couple of Japanese wheelchair users I gnawed at for the purpose of research, you need to warn literally everyone at least 30 minutes in advance if you want to be able to board a train. If something comes up or is urgent, I assure you, you won't be able to hop on whatever train or taxi you want.

For Nemu in particular taxis may not be possible, but f4 ignores this really hard (like most things that have to do with Nemu's disability, given that it is acknowledged as a thing that exists LIKE TWICE after the initial timeskip scene at the end of Arc 1, mainly in Christmas string where she laments not being able to help with physical labor in any significant way due to "This Body Of Mine" [she's very dramatic about it but also this is an important hint to how she actually feels now that she's experienced at the very least months of living like this and now that she's alone with Touka instead of self-flagellating in public]). In Mokyu's MGS, I remember that moment when Touka calls for a taxi very much On The Spot and they both get on to follow Mokyu, seemingly very fast, and I was just like "????". I'm not really sure that's... a thing they can do that easily, f4...

But anyway, how about another item? Let's talk clothing. This is also not something able-bodied people usually consider or think about, but clothing generally was not designed for sitting. It will likely never fit right for wheelchair users, and many pieces of clothing may not even be comfortable, not to mention they may not be able to wear a lot of things (such as long/drapey fabrics that could interfere with movement, whether of the wheels, the control pad, or their bodies), and depending on how much mobility they have, changing itself can be another nightmare to do unassisted, or at least, it takes longer and takes more effort (we will get back to the "effort" part soon). This depends, sure, but it's often worse for kids and teenagers because they're still growing. It's okay though, I'm sure Touka would be really offended about this and would just take Nemu to get clothing custom made. What a good partner. The clothing issue is often overlooked, but Very Much A Thing. Some pants are not comfy to sit in for long periods of time, or maybe they fit well when you're standing but not when you're sitting... imagine only ever sitting.

I think I've made my point with the clothing aspect so let's move on to ANOTHER THING! Yes, I have more. Some things like transferring may be more inconvenient in Japan than they would be in the West. Transferring, in case you're not aware, is what a wheelchair user moving themselves from their wheelchair to another place to sit (such as a dining table chair, if they want, or a sofa), or back to the wheelchair, is called. It may be more inconvenient in Japan because well, The Floor. Transferring largely relies on upper body strength in most cases, and see, you can park a wheelchair next to a sofa or other chair and move yourself there reeelatively easily, but the floor may be a bit harder due to the difference in elevation from surface to surface. Once again, it depends on the specifics of the wheelchair user in question, overall. I've heard a couple of people say that the floor is Very Bad to transfer to and from, but one of them has mobility issues in the upper body and the other has arm weakness (he can only get back up because he's able to push a little bit with his legs).

For Nemu there's also the possible school complications, but I have not looked much into how accessible Japanese schools are for students on wheelchairs, though I do want to call a bit of attention to how we've seen Touka at school in Arc 2 but never Nemu, and I feel like that might be one of the reasons. Studying from home I suppose could be an option, though it would be iffy to me because of the whole part about being stuck inside and hidden away.

Before I move on to other things, let me. Talk about this other thing. That is specifically heartbreaking for Nemu. That being physical intimacy (we're talking hugs and the like, people, don't get ahead of yourselves). Quick quiz question for you to think about before I answer it, have you ever thought of how to comfortably hug a wheelchair user?

Normally, when put on the spot, the typical able-bodied person who has never thought about it says that well, you can just bend over to hug them! And while that kind of works, that is not exactly a "full hug" and also requires more effort and more Going Out Of Your Way on the able-bodied person's part than a hug to an able-bodied person that you can just easily walk up to and hug without any adjustment, which makes it less likely that the wheelchair user will get casual affection through that. A common one is the hug from the back, which works just like you'd do it for any sitting person, however the hug from the back is not exactly common and depends on how close the two people are. And then there's the other main way to do it, if it doesn't hurt for the wheelchair user. Which is the lap hug. Able-bodied person sits on the wheelchair user's lap and that is how the hug happens. Most wheelchairs should be able to bear the weight, since you have to account for things like carrying groceries or Other Stuff already, so the capacity to bear weight is built-in (some wheelchairs can carry up to 700lbs/317kg). However you will notice that a lap hug is a significant leap in intimacy that not that many people might be comfortable with, particularly in a less touchy culture like Japan. Personally I think Touka is princess enough, has enough of an ego, and enough of a bond/trust with Nemu that she'd have no qualms sitting on her lap, but Yeah. Holding hands is another one that may take a while to adjust to, since it's basically a MASSIVE height difference that you can't bridge, and also walking-walking vs walking-rolling (or whichever verb you prefer for wheelchair users) areeee different let's just say and speed adjustment can also be a bitch

What I'm saying is if poor Nemu was already affection deprived before, It Got Worse. I will touch on this more when I talk about the social consequences losing her legs must've had. To sum this all up so far, it's an entire reevaluation of the world you live in. Things that were once convenient are now inconvenient, or at best, don't help you anymore. People are often stumped as to what to say to you or what to do or how to act around you, especially if you bring up any and all struggles that have to do with the wheelchair thing. It's not Nemu's case but if she had a friend group, that would also mean possible distancing from them due to being unable to do as many activities with them or go to the same places as before. The world is built for the able-bodied, and the effort it takes to just navigate life in a wheelchair can be extremely draining. And SPEAKING OF EFFORT, it is time for the spoon theory! Those of you already familiar with it may skip this part, as I'm simply going to copy and paste from the original creator of the spoon theory, but for anyone who has never heard of the spoon theory, please, do read this part. It may help you understand something extremely important for the daily lives of so many people, and it may even give some of you who the spoon theory does apply to a new tool to use. This is the spoon theory:

My best friend and I were in the diner, talking. As usual, it was very late and we were eating French fries with gravy. Like normal girls our age, we spent a lot of time in the diner while in college, and most of the time we spent talking about boys, music or trivial things, that seemed very important at the time. We never got serious about anything in particular and spent most of our time laughing.

As I went to take some of my medicine with a snack as I usually did, she watched me with an awkward kind of stare, instead of continuing the conversation. She then asked me out of the blue what it felt like to have Lupus and be sick. I was shocked not only because she asked the random question, but also because I assumed she knew all there was to know about Lupus. She came to doctors with me, she saw me walk with a cane, and throw up in the bathroom. She had seen me cry in pain, what else was there to know?

I started to ramble on about pills, and aches and pains, but she kept pursuing, and didn’t seem satisfied with my answers. I was a little surprised as being my roommate in college and friend for years; I thought she already knew the medical definition of Lupus. Then she looked at me with a face every sick person knows well, the face of pure curiosity about something no one healthy can truly understand. She asked what it felt like, not physically, but what it felt like to be me, to be sick.

As I tried to gain my composure, I glanced around the table for help or guidance, or at least stall for time to think. I was trying to find the right words. How do I answer a question I never was able to answer for myself? How do I explain every detail of every day being effected, and give the emotions a sick person goes through with clarity. I could have given up, cracked a joke like I usually do, and changed the subject, but I remember thinking if I don’t try to explain this, how could I ever expect her to understand. If I can’t explain this to my best friend, how could I explain my world to anyone else? I had to at least try.

At that moment, the spoon theory was born. I quickly grabbed every spoon on the table; hell I grabbed spoons off of the other tables. I looked at her in the eyes and said “Here you go, you have Lupus”. She looked at me slightly confused, as anyone would when they are being handed a bouquet of spoons. The cold metal spoons clanked in my hands, as I grouped them together and shoved them into her hands.

I explained that the difference in being sick and being healthy is having to make choices or to consciously think about things when the rest of the world doesn’t have to. The healthy have the luxury of a life without choices, a gift most people take for granted.

Most people start the day with unlimited amount of possibilities, and energy to do whatever they desire, especially young people. For the most part, they do not need to worry about the effects of their actions. So for my explanation, I used spoons to convey this point. I wanted something for her to actually hold, for me to then take away, since most people who get sick feel a “loss” of a life they once knew. If I was in control of taking away the spoons, then she would know what it feels like to have someone or something else, in this case Lupus, being in control.

She grabbed the spoons with excitement. She didn’t understand what I was doing, but she is always up for a good time, so I guess she thought I was cracking a joke of some kind like I usually do when talking about touchy topics. Little did she know how serious I would become.

I asked her to count her spoons. She asked why, and I explained that when you are healthy you expect to have a never-ending supply of “spoons”. But when you have to now plan your day, you need to know exactly how many “spoons” you are starting with. It doesn’t guarantee that you might not lose some along the way, but at least it helps to know where you are starting. She counted out 12 spoons. She laughed and said she wanted more. I said no, and I knew right away that this little game would work, when she looked disappointed, and we hadn’t even started yet. I’ve wanted more “spoons” for years and haven’t found a way yet to get more, why should she? I also told her to always be conscious of how many she had, and not to drop them because she can never forget she has Lupus.

I asked her to list off the tasks of her day, including the most simple. As, she rattled off daily chores, or just fun things to do; I explained how each one would cost her a spoon. When she jumped right into getting ready for work as her first task of the morning, I cut her off and took away a spoon. I practically jumped down her throat. I said ” No! You don’t just get up. You have to crack open your eyes, and then realize you are late. You didn’t sleep well the night before. You have to crawl out of bed, and then you have to make your self something to eat before you can do anything else, because if you don’t, you can’t take your medicine, and if you don’t take your medicine you might as well give up all your spoons for today and tomorrow too.” I quickly took away a spoon and she realized she hasn’t even gotten dressed yet. Showering cost her spoon, just for washing her hair and shaving her legs. Reaching high and low that early in the morning could actually cost more than one spoon, but I figured I would give her a break; I didn’t want to scare her right away. Getting dressed was worth another spoon. I stopped her and broke down every task to show her how every little detail needs to be thought about. You cannot simply just throw clothes on when you are sick. I explained that I have to see what clothes I can physically put on, if my hands hurt that day buttons are out of the question. If I have bruises that day, I need to wear long sleeves, and if I have a fever I need a sweater to stay warm and so on. If my hair is falling out I need to spend more time to look presentable, and then you need to factor in another 5 minutes for feeling badly that it took you 2 hours to do all this.

I think she was starting to understand when she theoretically didn’t even get to work, and she was left with 6 spoons. I then explained to her that she needed to choose the rest of her day wisely, since when your “spoons” are gone, they are gone. Sometimes you can borrow against tomorrow’s “spoons”, but just think how hard tomorrow will be with less “spoons”. I also needed to explain that a person who is sick always lives with the looming thought that tomorrow may be the day that a cold comes, or an infection, or any number of things that could be very dangerous. So you do not want to run low on “spoons”, because you never know when you truly will need them. I didn’t want to depress her, but I needed to be realistic, and unfortunately being prepared for the worst is part of a real day for me.

We went through the rest of the day, and she slowly learned that skipping lunch would cost her a spoon, as well as standing on a train, or even typing at her computer too long. She was forced to make choices and think about things differently. Hypothetically, she had to choose not to run errands, so that she could eat dinner that night.

When we got to the end of her pretend day, she said she was hungry. I summarized that she had to eat dinner but she only had one spoon left. If she cooked, she wouldn’t have enough energy to clean the pots. If she went out for dinner, she might be too tired to drive home safely. Then I also explained, that I didn’t even bother to add into this game, that she was so nauseous, that cooking was probably out of the question anyway. So she decided to make soup, it was easy. I then said it is only 7pm, you have the rest of the night but maybe end up with one spoon, so you can do something fun, or clean your apartment, or do chores, but you can’t do it all.

I rarely see her emotional, so when I saw her upset I knew maybe I was getting through to her. I didn’t want my friend to be upset, but at the same time I was happy to think finally maybe someone understood me a little bit. She had tears in her eyes and asked quietly “Christine, How do you do it? Do you really do this everyday?” I explained that some days were worse then others; some days I have more spoons then most. But I can never make it go away and I can’t forget about it, I always have to think about it. I handed her a spoon I had been holding in reserve. I said simply, “I have learned to live life with an extra spoon in my pocket, in reserve. You need to always be prepared.”

It's hard, the hardest thing I ever had to learn is to slow down, and not do everything. I fight this to this day. I hate feeling left out, having to choose to stay home, or to not get things done that I want to. I wanted her to feel that frustration. I wanted her to understand, that everything everyone else does comes so easy, but for me it is one hundred little jobs in one. I need to think about the weather, my temperature that day, and the whole day’s plans before I can attack any one given thing. When other people can simply do things, I have to attack it and make a plan like I am strategizing a war. It is in that lifestyle, the difference between being sick and healthy. It is the beautiful ability to not think and just do. I miss that freedom. I miss never having to count “spoons”.

After we were emotional and talked about this for a little while longer, I sensed she was sad. Maybe she finally understood. Maybe she realized that she never could truly and honestly say she understands. But at least now she might not complain so much when I can’t go out for dinner some nights, or when I never seem to make it to her house and she always has to drive to mine. I gave her a hug when we walked out of the diner. I had the one spoon in my hand and I said “Don’t worry. I see this as a blessing. I have been forced to think about everything I do. Do you know how many spoons people waste everyday? I don’t have room for wasted time, or wasted “spoons” and I chose to spend this time with you.”

Ever since this night, I have used the spoon theory to explain my life to many people. In fact, my family and friends refer to spoons all the time. It has been a code word for what I can and cannot do. Once people understand the spoon theory they seem to understand me better, but I also think they live their life a little differently too. I think it isn’t just good for understanding Lupus, but anyone dealing with any disability or illness. Hopefully, they don’t take so much for granted or their life in general. I give a piece of myself, in every sense of the word when I do anything. It has become an inside joke. I have become famous for saying to people jokingly that they should feel special when I spend time with them, because they have one of my “spoons”.

And that folks is the spoon theory. The spoon theory of course applies to wheelchair users. In Nemu's case it's more of a magical affliction and doesn't seem to affect her beyond the part about not being able to walk, however, as we've covered, that part is significant. It takes a mental, physical, and emotional toll. Then, other than this whole thing, there's issues with agency and independence. Yk, being able to live unassisted. I think Nemu could mostly handle it because I mean it's all she's ever done (insert parentification issues and her basically having raised herself, etc etc). Now here is a fun topic. How about social consequences? They are in fact significant as well! We just don't see it as much because Nemu's social life generally starts and ends at Touka, who is arguably the best-equipped person for this. You can bet Touka pulled three all-nighters to do research on this the moment she realized Nemu was not going to recover or at least not in the near future, and we already know she's extremely attentive from what we saw in Arc 1, so. Literally the best possible person for Nemu to hang out with, who will also never try to encroach on her decision-making or her boundaries, never try to take freedom or agency away from her, etc. Unfortunately there are more people around Nemu who may not handle it as gracefully (or well. Whatever Touka is doing. Her stunted social skills are actually a good thing when it comes to this).

Let's go from worst to better: Nemu's family. They are literally not mentioned again after Arc 1's final battle, ever. Not even when Chapter 8 happens. Not at all, zero mentions, at least none as far as I know. Which is concerning. Nemu still speaks fondly of them in Arc 2, from the Christmas quotes, but I mean. Desperate for love. Desperately learning her family's favorite foods and colors, fretting over what gift to get her brother. Which is just extra sad knowing that she's probably dead to them (again). I don't think it's a stretch to say that Nemu's family would have ZERO CLUE how to handle the entire topic. Common reactions are either avoidance/pretending it's not there, or severe awkwardness and hesitation that there is no way the wheelchair user won't notice. Particularly if they're a very perceptive person who pays close attention to the people around them (Nemu). I think Nemu's family might be the avoidance type, since they're allergic to making any effort to get to know her or yk treat her as their daughter instead of, parentifying her to hell and back at best. But let's take another couple of examples: Iroha and Ui.

I think those two might be the awkwardness type. Which is, "I have never encountered this problem and I'm not sure how to go about it but I don't want to hurt or offend this person" and normally leads to general insecurity/anxiety about mentioning specific things around the wheelchair user, or inviting them to things, or assigning tasks to them because the person fears they might hurt themselves/be unable to do what you asked, feel worse, etc. It can manifest in many ways and is normally born out of politeness or genuine personal concern for the other, but alas wheelchair users are not (all) blind, so they do very much notice. On their side it's also awkward and hurtful, in most cases. It's bad too when they get condescended or infantilized or as I mentioned before people take their agency away. It's that thing where you assume the wheelchair user needs help for (insert task) and that you're just being nice by lending them a hand but hey, hey. Maybe ask instead of assuming and moving to do a thing for them that you don't know with 100% is something they need help with. Maybe they don't actually need your help (cough savior/hero complex) and I assure you they appreciate being able to do whatever they can by themselves. Yes, it's well-meaning, but that doesn't mean it won't hurt the wheelchair user or make them feel bad/worse about themselves. The infantilization thing is often related to this too.

Next and last, the inner consequences of a significant loss such as this one. This part is about self-perception, perception in regards to the world and to others, and obviously it ties into Nemu's previously established concerns, fears, and general IssuesTM. This is another "sigh where to begin!" moment for me, because as I have established before, Nemu has major issues. Take literally every issue Nemu has ever had and them pump them full of steroids, then assume that bits of those issues drop off the bigger issue blob and grow into new connected issues. That is what this caused. There is of course a fun set of new issues that relate to the old ones but aren't fully connected as well. That being the feeling of being broken, incomplete, defective. For a person like Nemu whose worth is in considerable part determined by how useful she can be to others, that's not good. She's very much the type to keep things in rather than express them, except the precious scarce few times when we see her alone with Touka (you'll notice that usually we don't get scenes of them alone together save for Christmas String where there was A Pressing Issue to solve, normally it's the rest of the cast going to them for something so it's not exactly the correct atmosphere or moment for a vulnerability moment, Nemu has them, we see some, but they are Very Few).

The one comment from when she and Touka were moving their books out of Touka's private room in the hospital (still real gay of Touka to casually of her own will give Nemu a permanent space in her private room just so she could store her books), the one where she gets all droopy about being unable to help with the whole book moving process? Yeah that's your confirmation that as suspected, yes, she was lying when she said "this is fine" at the end of Arc 1. This is not by any means fine. Sure she has accepted it and thinks she deserves it but this is Nemu "I am to blame for damaging the economy of Japan" Hiiragi (I have a screenshot of when she said this) so like gestures vaguely. By that point in Christmas String, as I said before, she's probably been on a wheelchair for months at the very least, so she's had a chance to experience what that's like, among other things. I can't imagine she feels great about it. While simultaneously thinking her intestines should be bundled up with a pitchfork every day at noon for her sins, of course (insert aforementioned self-flagellation issues). Because she blames herself for literally everything and likely also blames herself every single time her inability to walk leaves her unable to do something she could've done before, and may even push herself beyond what's safe and healthy for her at times. Therefore, internally, yeah, Nemu is way worse than before. FORTUNATELY the stress of the Magius and the physical strain from making uwasa are no longer a thing and she has a safe place to be in every day with her partner who understands and loves her and doesn't even think of any adjustments as "effort" (of course this is nothing for Touka, she's a genius, I can hear the Toukitty saying with her nose up in the air like that). So that is, one good thing. And she can likely read more easily.

Unfortunately, Arc 2 also brings stress and more guilt due to the factions. There's the NM guilt and the PB guilt mainly, but also the stress of the few people they care about besides each other (such as Ui and Iroha) being in mortal danger. And what bothers me is, the way this entire thing affects and stimulates Nemu's concerns and fears from before is so criminally overlooked and outright ignored? We saw from her quotes and personal memo that she desperately wants to be loved, desperately wants to not be forgotten, and to leave behind a legacy (this is about the being forgotten part too). A common issue for wheelchair users is, in fact, that they are neglected and forgotten about, often only an afterthought, particularly for the administration. And so it annoys me endlessly that f4 are allergic to handling their disabled main cast member whatsoever and neglect her in much the same way her family does.

Anyway, this isn't exhaustive, there's definitely more to unpack, but it's already very long and I thank everyone who has read this far for your time. I hope it helped you guys understand at least a little bit better.

[walkingstackofbooks]

DS9 2x22 The Wire thoughts (I'm re-watching, so there may be future spoilers)

I'm so excited to watch this again!

I guess we don't know that Julian had the choice to "entertain one of his lady friends" the night before, but I certainly choose to believe he did, he wanted to finish Garak's book more :p

Garak's stammering in "Doctor, what do you think you're doing?" :3

"In my expert medical opinion, I'd say it's sick." XD

"Keiko would be proud of you." Hah - the thing is I can imagine the overly-excited Julian telling her about this at some point and her just sweetly saying "well done, I'm impressed" but in her teacher voice she uses for seven year olds

"It's not like you two are really friends." Julian is NOT being subtle here that at the very least he WANTS to be real friends 😅 this man and lying...

Okay and now he's stabbing the plant with the hypospray because he's so frustrated with not being able to help Garak

VERY dramatic entrance, doctor.

😬😂That looked suspiciously like Quark was miming giving Julian oomax while saying "maybe a late night session in a holosuite".

"Try not to yell at any more admirals for a while." "I wasn't yelling. I was just expressing my feelings. Loudly." Gotta love Sisko

Oh, his poor dejected face at the information recurring taking weeks :3

Love how Julian is called to take care of Garak - this isn't Dr Bashir being called, it's not a medical emergency. It's Julian being Garak's only known friend who's requested.

Is it just me or did Julian check Garak or when he said "We'll go to my quarters"?

That drink exchange was VERY smooth of Quark and Julian

"I routinely monitor all of Quark's subspace communications." "Is that legal?" XD

"I see your point"... That's actually the exact same phrase as altered!Julian uses in Dramatis Personae - only this time it's ihm agreeing to do something questionable with Odo, last time it was to do something reasonable with him.

" I hope you don't have one of those little bugs hidden in my quarters." "Should I?" What's the betting Julian's going to be paranoid about this for a few weeks?

Julian's "What?! *sigh*" after being told Garak had left the infirmary. Idk it gave me feels.

I'm here for his Angry Pacing

"Doctor, did anyone ever tell you that you are an infuriating pest" "Chief O'Brien all the time, and I don't pay any attention to him either." That answer came SO quickly, he didn't even have to think about it

"I'm a doctor. You're my patient. That's all I need to know" JULIAN I CANNOT WITH YOU

Ohh, his sad looking downness <3 <3

Endless endless compassion, I love you so much

"Right now I'm not concerned with what you did in the past. I'm simply not going to walk out of here and let you die. We need to turn that implant off and whatever withdrawal symptoms or side effects you may experience, I promise I'll help you through them." Is he really not in love with Garak?! Because this is some gay shit Julian Subatoi Bashir. GAY I tell you

"In that case I want to talk to him now. Wake him up." "I'll do no such thing." "Doctor, these are murder cases and Garak may be a suspect." "That may be so, but he's still my patient and I won't have him disturbed." I am WILD about calmly resolute Doctor Bashir

I love a sleepy Julian :3

Garak's manic speech is incredible. WHAT a performance. My word. I couldn't look away.

" I can't believe that I actually enjoyed ... staring into your smug, sanctimonious face." Staring into Julian's face sounds pretty gay to me, Garak. (Who wouldn't enjoy staring at it though?)

Ah yes, wrestling on the floor with your alien crush while he is out of his mind. Definitely never happened before in Trek. No parallels here to be drawn.........

"I don't want to hurt you." And presumably he actually could.

Julian whizzing through all the samples, brining one back having seen it for all of 2 seconds and immediately knowing which one to overlay it with. THAT SEEMS PRETTY GENETICALLY ENGINEERED TO ME. I swear I don't know how that crackpot retcon worked so well, but it DOES

"More than I deserve." Oooh, callback to earlier int he episode when he said "Has it ever occurred to you that I might be getting exactly what I deserve?" .... My HEART

"I've about given up on learning the truth from you, Garak."I The FONDNESS with which he SAYS this!

"We were closer than brothers...."Sons of Train" welp, that's the 'true' bit

Holding handsssss!!!

There's no way Sisko sanctioned this, right? Did Julian just steal the shuttle craft?!

Okay then, just beam into the house of someone you know to be extremely dangerous and start poking around?! Your curiosity, Julian, I swear...

*wide smile* "I always drink Tarkalian! ..." -suddenly realises that this is VERY personal information Tain has on him- "...Tea."

Did he just GIGGLE? *rewatches* Yep, it's definitely there - "Are all the Starfleet Lieutenants as brash as you are?" "I couldn't say - hehe - though I doubt it."

"I thought you were his friend." "I suppose I am." YES HE SAID IT that's the first step

"Information is your business." Julian you are bold as BRASS

"he'll never come home again" oof, knowing the double meaning of home as Cardassia and to Tain

The disappointment in Julian's face at the answer to his "Who was Elim?" question

Ohhh, that last conversation. Julian's so damn fond of him. That smile at the end. They ARE in love.

Well this was delightful. What a good episode. I had forgotten, and wasn't sure if it had just been hyped up. But no. Truly phenomenal. Thanks, DS9!

[robitherat]

Loving the Brian Hours rn it's so good I love this man

But yeah it's very interesting how the Operator Sickness affects people, because it takes some of the most visceral parts of many different mental illnesses and hits those afflicted all at once. The seizures and amnesia are reminiscent of epilepsy, for example.

That's why, when Tim was in the hospital and he's explaining all this to Jay in entry 66? 67? He mentions that they "pinned almost every disorder they could on me at some point".

Operator Sickness has enough symptoms to where it's obvious there is something Fucking Wrong, but there isn't enough to pin it down in a concrete way, and it affects everyone differently, like how no two people will experience a regular mental illness in the same way.

Its very good writing tbh

RIGHT like honestly it feels very realistic in that so many disorders have so many overlapping symptoms and manifestations and presentations that all sort of run together to the point that determining what's what with any sort of definition is basically impossible. Like i know from my personal experience with some of the less debilitating end of the spectrum (not to diminish my own issues ofc but like. I have it pretty easy in terms of Mental Fucked Upedness.) that getting a definitive answer as to what, specifically, is wrong with my brain, and even after years of pretty intensive research both on my own and yknow. Doctors and shit doing theirs there is still SO MUCH brain that we don't understand and that includes ways that it can be fucked up !!!! And like idk maybe all of this sounds really doomer-ish or like fatalistic or whatever but honestly like I've said before neuorology is just so so so interesting to me and as much as I despise the pathologization of everything I also really really really think there is so much more to things than we will ever realize, and maybe for some people that means that we won't ever get specific answers or solutions to the problems people face, but I think that more than that it just means that we as a society and a culture need to work towards building better support systems for everyone without the need for a specific word to concisely explain all your problems to everyone who asks.

This Got very away from the original ask but genuinely the way that the Operator Sickness was written and the subtleties of it make me so so so happy as someone who has fixated on shit like this since like. 4th grade LOL

[joodlepo]

Take Care Of Me / Lee Felix Smut (18+)

Summary / Felix has been very sick for the past week, and you've been helping him get better. He's finally starting to look a little more like himself again, but unfortunately he still feels pretty weak. So, you decide it might be time for some physical therapy in the bathroom...and your patient is definitely up for that!

Pairings / (Top) Lee Felix + (F) Reader

Word Count / 4.0k

Warnings / Sick Felix, Bath Sex, Dirty Talk, Creampie, Rough Sex

A string of coughs left Felix's throat, and he leaned backwards to rest his head against the bedroom wall. A dull ache throbbed in his chest when he tried to breathe deeply, but it didn't seem like anything serious—just another symptom that would soon fade away on it's own. The pain was a little bit more than usual; maybe he had caught something from one of the staff at work? He couldn't remember having been exposed to any new germs lately...

Felix sighed as he let himself sink deeper into darkness again, allowing the warm embrace of unconsciousness to take him over completely once more. It felt nice, not being able to think anymore for a while.

"Oh Felix!" You called out loudly through the bedroom door, causing him to jerk awake with an irritated groan. "I made you a bowl soup! I hope you're hungry~"

Your voice sounded cheerful enough, despite your ongoing concern about his health. Opening the door slowly, you peeked inside before stepping into the room, carrying two bowls of steaming broth between both hands. They were filled with thick white liquid and covered by thin slices of meaty vegetables floating within them. As expected, they smelled delicious too.

Your eyes widened slightly when they fell upon the sight of him lying sprawled across the floor in nothing but his boxers. His skin was pale and clammy, making him look even sicker than normal.

But, there wasn't much time to worry about how bad he looked right now. All that mattered was getting some food down his stomach and getting him back into bed. That way, hopefully he'd start recovering quickly, without wasting any precious energy fighting off whatever illness he might have picked up.

You hurriedly placed the bowls onto the desk beside the bed before rushing over to help him sit upright. Felix's eyelids fluttered open weakly, revealing bloodshot eyes behind their dark circles.

There weren't many traces of sleep remaining in those orbs.

"Ah," Felix croaked quietly, clutching hold of the edge of the mattress with trembling fingers. "Thanks..."

"Don't mention it." You smiled softly, reaching forward to press a kiss against his forehead. "Here, eat this first and it's back to bed for you!"

Felix obediently lifted his hand to accept the spoonful of broth offered by you, taking small sips, until it was all gone. Once the first bowl had been emptied, you handed him another, which he greedily devoured within a few gulps.

"How are you feeling?" You asked gently. "Can I get you anything else? Should we call someone or go see a doctor?"

"No need for that," Felix shook his head, smiling faintly. "It'll pass eventually. Just give me a moment."

His words were reassuring, and you nodded. Even though he seemed weaker today compared to yesterday, you still knew he'd be okay. At least, that's what you hoped for. After finishing off the second bowl of soup, Felix layed back down on the bed, breathing heavily as if struggling to stay conscious.

He coughed several times before speaking again, looking exhausted beyond belief.

"Thanks for bringing these," he murmured drowsily. "They really hit the spot."

"Of course, Lixie." You smiled, leaning closer to place another soft peck atop his cheek. "Take care of yourself, alright?"

Felix gave you a tired nod, closing his eyes and sinking into peaceful slumber. With a smile, you stepped back from the bedside and turned around to leave. Then, just as you reached the doorway…

"W-Wait." Felix spoke quietly, his accent thick with exhaustion. "Do you mind staying here tonight?"

The request came out of nowhere, leaving you startled for a brief moment before responding with a hesitant, "Uh... r-really?"

"Yeah. That'd make things easier," he said simply. "My body feels heavy... I can barely keep my eyes open."

With a deep breath, you once again approached the side of his bed and sat next to him, watching him carefully as he took shallow breaths. He seemed awfully vulnerable lying down there like that.

"Are you sure?" You whispered worriedly.

"Mhm." He replied firmly, reaching out to squeeze your hand lightly. "Please don't leave."

A lump formed in your throat at the sound of his plea.

You couldn't deny how terrible he looked, especially considering how long he hadn't eaten properly. And yet, you also knew he wouldn't ask unless he truly needed you to stay. So, instead of arguing further, you merely nodded silently, squeezing his hand tightly in return.

"Okay then," you murmured softly, gazing down at him with loving eyes.

Hours passed by in silence as you remained seated beside him, holding his hand in yours and stroking his hair occasionally.

The gentle rhythm of his slow, steady breathing lulled you into a pleasant trance, allowing you to forget everything else for a while. Although, you just couldn't sleep. Not because you didn't want to, but rather due to the fact that you eagerly wanted to keep checking on your boyfriend's condition every few minutes.

In return, this only served to prolong the night and drive away any chance of restfulness.

You rose from the chair about twenty minutes later, and began tidying up his room, setting aside his clothes and washing away the stains left behind by his sickness. Afterward, you went ahead and prepared a hot bath for him; something you figured would do him good, given how badly he must've felt otherwise.

"Felix, wake up." You called out softly, rousing him from his slumber.

For a moment, he didn't respond, continuing to lie there with his eyes closed and chest rising gently in short breaths. Eventually though, he opened them, squinting at first before blinking rapidly several times until they finally focused properly once more.

"S-Sorry... I guess fell asleep for a while..." He mumbled sheepishly. "I'm sorry if it's bothering you."

"Don't worry about it," You assured him. "Anyway, I drew a bath for you. It should be ready soon."

As you explained, Felix let out a relieved sigh before sitting upright on the bed, letting you help him get out of it. As he stood, he winced slightly, placing a hand against his stomach, where it throbbed painfully.

"Is your tummy hurting?" You frowned concernedly. "Should I prepare some medicine or something? I have plenty of painkillers around here..."

"Nah, I'll be fine," Felix waved dismissively. "It just hurts a bit still is all... But, thanks anyway."

He gave an embarrassed chuckle, rubbing the back of his head shyly as he began to walk towards the bathroom. You followed closely behind him, pausing briefly when you reach the doorway.

Even so, you stepped inside the steamy room after him nonetheless, taking off your shoes and pulled up your sleeves.

Then, you helped him step into the tub, lowering himself slowly into the steaming water. His face was flushed red from the heat, causing him to appear even paler than usual. Felix's skin looked dry and rough, almost scaly in places, which made you frown deeply.

"How does that feel?" You asked anxiously, glancing over at him curiously. "The water, I mean..."

Felix turned around, giving you a small smile as he reached out and squeezed your hand reassuringly.

"Better now." He chuckled. "Thanks again."

Once he seemed to settle in comfortably, you returned to the entrance of the bathroom and waited patiently for him to finish bathing. A light blush covered your cheeks when his bare back came into view through the glass door, making it hard not to stare openly.

It wasn't like there were many other things worth looking at here anyway; just some towels on hooks along with a few bottles of shampoo and soap sitting on top of one another by the sink. The sight of his toned muscles flexing beneath the clear liquid caused your heart to skip a beat, eliciting a soft moan.

"Hm? Is something wrong?" Felix blinked innocently, looking somewhat confused at your sudden reaction.

"Nothing!" You blushed harder, trying desperately to hide your embarrassment. "Just uh, surprised is all..."

The corner of Felix's mouth twitched upwards as he glanced at you, smirking ever so slightly. He chuckled softly before turning around again, letting out a deep sigh. His shoulders shook lightly under the water while his head tilted back briefly against the wall behind him. Sounds were muffled but still audible enough for you to hear over the of warm water caressing every nook and cranny of his body.

The moment felt strangely intimate, watching this man who had become such an integral part of your life bathe himself... even if he did look rather silly doing it.

"Damnit... I can't reach right there," Felix muttered, shifting uncomfortably under the hot spray that splashed onto his face. "Y/N? Do you mind coming back inside?"

You nodded silently, carefully opening the door once more and stepping into the bathroom. As soon as you closed the glass partition between both rooms, however, Felix spun around quickly. Your eyes widened when you saw his cock standing fully erect now, droplets of water clinging to its tip as they rolled down towards his balls.

Felix looked at you with a questioning gaze before looking away again in embarrassment – only making things worse by letting out another soft groan. You gulped audibly, not knowing how to react or what to do next; all thoughts leaving your head as you stared wide-eyed at him from across the small bathroom.

"Uhm, should I even ask? Or are we just going to stare awkwardly until one of us gets uncomfortable?" You finally managed to mutter after taking a deep breath, averting your gaze slightly so you wouldn't be tempted to keep staring at him.

"Sorry..." He mumbled softly, blushing darkly as he gently pushed his thighs together to hide his erection behind them. "I didn't mean to get hard, honest. It's just... well, my dick is sensitive sometimes."

Your brows furrowed worriedly while you watched him try to cover up his obvious arousal. His words sounded sincere though, which made you feel somewhat better about the situation. Still, something told you that you shouldn't press too much on the matter since he seemed quite embarrassed already.

"... Alrighty then," You sighed lightly, trying to push aside your lingering anxiety. "If you want me to leave, I'll go."

Felix shook his head slowly. "...No, please stay. You don't have to touch it or anything werid like that. I just can't reach my back properly without help, alright?"

His voice was laced with nervousness, but you couldn't deny feeling rather curious. That same curiosity won out in the end, however, because you decided to sit yourself down on a stool placed nearby. Rolling up your sleeves again, you scoot towards the edge of the tub where Felix could easily see you. After getting comfortable, you leaned forward slightly and reached towards his lower back.

"Here goes nothing..." You murmured quietly, gently rubbing soap onto your fingers and beginning to work through the lather. A faint moan escaped Felix' lips at your gentle ministrations, causing you to blush lightly as he shifted underneath you.

"Mmm~?" Felix hummed quietly, tilting his head slightly to the side and smiling bashfully. "That tickles..."

You chuckled softly, shaking your head. "It doesn't hurt, does it?"

He gave a sheepish grin in response. "Not really, no. Just feels good, actually."

You smiled fondly at him, leaning even closer to start working on his shoulders. The muscles were firm beneath your hands, yet surprisingly flexible considering their size. You worked your way downwards, careful to avoid touching his hips due to how slippery they'd gotten from the hot bath. Felix let out a quiet sigh when you began scrubbing the rest of his upper back, rivulets of sweat forming along his spine.

"There we go~" You cooed, washing off the last traces of soap with some more water. "All clean!"

"Thanks," Felix said gratefully, rolling onto his front as he sat upright again.

His chest glimmered faintly in the dim lighting provided by the overhead light above, and the same erection you first noticed earlier peeked out from the gap between his legs.

You swallowed thickly, unable to tear your gaze away from his crotch. Felix smirked shyly, giving you an innocent smile. "So uhm... how exactly do you wash someone else's back anyway? I've never done it myself, but I've always wondered."

"Oh, well..." You trailed off, realizing you weren't sure how to respond to that question.

You could barely focus on talking normally anymore, though. All your attention was focused solely on the sight of his stiff shaft poking out from below him, coated in clear precum. You tried to avert your gaze, but it wasn't easy. Every time you looked over at him, you found yourself being drawn back towards those long, toned limbs of his. And each time you did look at him, you felt your heart skip a beat.

"Hahaha... Sorry for asking such a weird thing." Felix giggled nervously, clearly aware of your growing attraction to him. "I guess I'm trying to lighten the mood here."

"Ah, um..." You stuttered, struggling to find any kind of coherent thought amidst the haze clouding your mind. "N-No, it's fine! I'm actually pretty distracted right now, so... yeah. Lightening the mood sounds nice."

Felix nodded happily, resting his chin against the edge of the tub and grinning brightly. God, this guy had such a cute face, you found yourself thinking idly. One you wanted to kiss very badly, if given half the chance.

"Do you... wanna touch it?" Felix asked suddenly, making you blink in surprise before you realized what he meant. "Just, not directly. Not unless you're okay with that, of course. If you aren't, I understand."

The sudden shift in topic caught you off guard, leaving you momentarily speechless. Your eyes widened, staring intently into Felix' own lustful gaze. You gulped rather heavily, shivering under the weight of his intense stare. It took everything within you not to give in to your desires, but after several seconds passed, you managed to form a reply.

"Y-Yes, I would love to touch it." You whispered huskily, swallowing hard.

A broad smile spread across Felix' features, and he quickly moved past the awkwardness. He moved back against the wall behind him, stretching one leg outwards while keeping himself balanced atop the other knee. This left his groin completely exposed to you, and made it much easier to get close enough to touch.

"Then come here." Felix commanded, gesturing with a hand. "And put your hands on me."

Your cheeks burned red, but you didn't hesitate to comply. Once again, you scooted the chair much closer to where Felix sat, letting him guide you through whatever motions were required for you to reach him.

The moment you got within range, however, you paused, unsure of whether or not you should continue. Felix saw your hesitation, and gave you a reassuring nod. "Go ahead, I don't mind. Just be gentle with my cock; I'm still sick, remember?"

"...Right." You mumbled softly, slowly reaching forward.

Despite all your worries, once you touched him, it became immediately obvious why he'd been aroused like this. His skin was smooth, almost silky in nature. Even just brushing up against it sent pleasant tingles shooting down your spine. His dick stood straight up from his body, its length slightly thicker than average - probably due to the fact that it hadn't fully recovered yet.

You reached out hesitantly, gently cupping his length with both hands. It twitched under your touch, eliciting another soft moan from Felix. He leaned back further, allowing you better access to his shaft. As you began stroking it, you couldn't help but notice the faint scent of sweat mixed with a hint of musk. It wasn't unpleasant, really. In fact, it was rather arousing.

But, when combined with the smell of his own arousal, it somehow made it even harder to keep your thoughts together.

"Mnh..." Felix grunted lowly, leaning his head back against the bathtub. "That feels good... Keep doing that."

You hummed in response, continuing to stroke him as best you could. It only took a few more moments before his breathing grew heavier, and his hips bucked involuntarily. You stopped briefly, surprised by how fast things had progressed.

However, Felix simply grinned playfully at you, prompting you to resume stroking him. After several more minutes, you noticed his cock begin to twitch, signaling the onset of climax.

"A-Are you close?" You gasped, unable to hide your nervousness.

"Yeah, I think so..." Felix panted breathlessly, giving you a wink. "But hold off until then, alright? I want you to do something else for me first."

"O-Okay..." You breathed, nodding. "What is it?"

Felix' grin turned predatory, and you knew exactly what he meant. With that realization came a flood of conflicting emotions: excitement mingled with apprehension. But, you soon pushed those feelings aside. After all, this was about pleasure - yours and Felix'.

So, without further hesitation, you began strip naked, baring every inch of your gorgeous skin for him to see. As you did so, Felix watched silently, seemingly entranced by your actions. When you finished undressing, he smirked at the sight of your nude body before speaking again.

"Are you planning to ride me?" Felix teased lightly, causing you to blush deeply.

"I-If that's what you want," You replied nervously, averting your gaze. "Or... we can just cuddle or something. That works too, right?"

"Whatever makes you happy is fine with me." Felix said cheerfully. "In fact, either way will work just fine."

With that, Felix grabbed your waist roughly, pulling you onto his lap. The water splashed loudly around you both, adding to the already tense atmosphere. For a second, neither of you spoke. Instead, you merely stared into each other's eyes, sharing a brief kiss. When you finally pulled away, you had decided to lower your thighs, allowing Felix to slide himself into place between your spread knees. The tip of his dick prodded delicately against your entrance, teasing you with its presence before slipping inside.

A moment later, the head popped past your innermost ring, causing both of you to gasp audibly.

"H-How does it feel?" Felix whispered breathlessly, gripping tightly onto your shoulders. "Does it hurt too much? Are you still okay with going through with this?"

"It doesn't hurt," You replied honestly, reaching forward and grasping hold of one of his hands. "And yes, I'm fine with continuing. Just take your time, alright?"

"Mmhmm~" Felix hummed contentedly as he continued to thrust slowly within you. "Tell me if you need to stop though, all right?"

Your heart swelled warmly at his concern, knowing that he cared about you enough to worry whether or not you would enjoy having sex with him. Even more so, you found yourself falling deeper and deeper into the throes of lustful pleasure as his shaft moved ever-so-slightly inside of you. Every inch of him felt wonderful; every twitch and throb sent shockwaves of bliss coursing throughout your entire body.

Overcome by the overwhelming sensations, you gripped tighter onto his hand and tilted your head back, moaning softly as you gazed upon the ceiling. You tried to keep your moans quiet, wanting to make sure that no one heard you, but soon gave up on that notion, releasing a throaty cry of ecstasy.

"Shit! Ngh, fuck! F-Faster, Felix! Please, fuck me faster!" You begged desperately, shuddering each time he slammed deep inside of you. "Oh god... fuck!"

A low chuckle rumbled out of Felix' throat, sending shivers running down your spine. "Like this?"

The pace of his thrusts grew even quicker, eliciting another pleasurable squeal from you as he buried himself completely within your pussy. His cock pulsated rapidly against the walls of your vagina, stimulating you just as much as it did him. And yet, despite how good it was feeling, you wanted more – needed something else to come along and drive you insane.

"More," You whimpered urgently, glancing sideways at him. "Please..."

Without giving him a chance to respond, you wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders and tugged on him roughly. As expected, he responded eagerly, pushing himself harder and faster than ever before. It seems the adrenaline rush had taken away his sickly pallor, because now, he looked positively manic.

In fact, if not for all those dark bags under his eyes, he might have been mistaken for an entirely different person altogether.

A man who'd lost control over his body's needs; a madman driven by lust alone. He pounded into you with reckless abandon, going so far beyond what anyone would consider normal that it made you wonder whether or not there were any limits left after such a performance.

"Fuck! Fuck! FUCK! Oh god, yessss! Yes, like that! Harder! Faster! More!" You cried out loudly in response to every single one of his thrusts, unable to keep up with his frantic pace no matter how hard you tried.

The bathroom tub beneath you began to shake violently, splashing water everywhere, but you didn't care about anything other than being fucked senseless right then and there. Not only could you feel yourself getting closer to climax, but also Felix seemed to be reaching some kind of fever pitch too. His hips snapped forward repeatedly, driving deeper than ever before without pause, causing both of you to cry out in surprise.

Then came the moment when everything changed.

Your orgasm hit first, exploding through your entire body almost instantly upon Felix' final stroke. A long line of curses spilled from your lips as pleasure tore through you like wildfire, leaving nothing behind but a lingering warmth where once there had been pure bliss.

"Felix!" You gasped harshly, struggling to catch your breath between moans. "I'm cumming again!"

His own voice sounded strained, raw and deep, which only served to fuel the fire burning inside of you further. "Yeah? Is my good girl ready for her reward?"

You couldn't answer, nor could you do anything besides moan back weakly at his question. But somehow, he understood anyway, and that knowledge sent a thrill shooting straight through you.

"Yeah! Fill me up with it!" You cried desperately into his ear. "Cum all over me!"

He was quick to comply, slamming himself hard against you one last time before burying his face in your neck.

Felix grunted loudly as another wave crashed down on him, this one more powerful than any previous. The hot liquid poured forth onto your breasts, coating them entirely while simultaneously dripping down your stomach until even your thighs were drenched. It wasn't just your pussy either; every inch of skin was coated by the sticky fluid. After he pulled away, the feeling lingered, making your legs tremble slightly.

Eventually, you slumped down heavily onto his chest, exhausted beyond belief. Both of you lay there panting together, letting your bodies recover before moving anywhere else. Although, curiosity got the better of you and you leaned up enough to look him.

"H-how are you feeling?" Felix asked nervously as he looked back at you with wide eyes. You smiled weakly in response but didn't answer right away.

"Tired," You mumbled sleepily. "Very tired."

He chuckled lightly, another string of coughs racking his frame.

After several minutes of rest, however, he finally managed to straighten up and sit upright. With some difficulty, he pulled himself out of your wet folds and slid off the rim of the tub, leaning against the shower curtain rail to catch his breath.

"I'm really sorry. You'll probably get sick too after what we've done here," he said apologetically, gazing at the water droplets dripping from his hair.

You giggled weakly, trying to ignore the fact that you could barely walk. "Don't be silly, Lixie! I don't mind getting ill at all."

His cheeks turned pink when you called him by his nickname, the freckles across his nose standing out sharply under the fluorescent lighting. Well, they weren't really 'pink', per se, but rather an odd shade of redder than usual. In either case, you couldn't help but smile fondly at the sight.

[nagito-kissmaeda]

Horny on Main Disease - Komaeda x Reader

Summary: Reader catches a strain of the despair disease that means she says everything she is thinking. Kind of awkward considering all she can think about is how much she wants to jump Komaeda's bones. This is intended to be sort of funny, but i still wrote it pretty seriously, just want to make it clear that i did not half ass the smut. i whole assed it.

Word count: 4444  Contains: fem reader, they/them pronouns, despair disease, explict sexual content, unsafe sex, voyeurism Read on AO3 ミ☆ Please send me a DM or an ask if you’d like me to write something for you!

It’s not even a particularly hot day, and yet you’re sweating bullets as you walk over to the dining hall like you do every morning. Your legs are wobbly and your head is aching something terrible, you assume that you’ve caught a cold or something , whatever the problem is, it’s going to be a question for Tsumiki when you meet up with her at breakfast.

Kuzuryu is standing out by the pool, pensively staring into the still water. He probably misses Pekoyama, but you’re smart enough to know not to-

“Hey, Kuzuryu! I bet you miss your dead girlfriend, huh?”

He just stares at you, and it takes a good few seconds for you to even realise what you just said out loud. You clap a hand over your mouth, horrified.

“I don’t know why I said that!” You squeak

Kuzuryu doesn’t look...angry? He shakes his head at you and sighs, “you’re acting weird today too, aren’t you?”

“What? Weird? Who’s weird?”

“Owari was here a few minutes ago, bawling her eyes out on the ground.” He crosses his arms and looks away from you, “I think the bear is planning something again.”

You nod sternly, “anyone with tits as big as Owari has nothing to cry about! Something is definitely suspicious.”

Oh god why did you say that??

“Oh god, why did I say that??”

You just keep saying everything you’re thinking!

“I just keep saying everything I’m-“

Kuzuryu grabs you by the wrist and starts tugging you towards the dining hall, “something is definitely fucked up.” He looks down at where his hand is gripping yours, “Jesus Christ, your skin is on fire!”

“Yeah, cause I’m hot !” That was already an embarrassing thing to say, you are horrified when your mouth drops open again to follow it up with, “bow-chicka-wow-wow!”

There is definitely something wrong with you. In general you are the sort of person who takes the time to carefully curate every word that leaves your mouth, the fact that you are just speaking without even thinking about it is bizarre and alarming. The ache in your head is also steadily growing stronger and you’re starting to feel dizzy, maybe you’re just delirious with flu? It doesn't make sense for you to catch the flu on an abandoned island, but weirder things have happened already.

It is at this moment that you realise you have been (only semi-coherently) mumbling your full internal tirade outloud to Kuzuryu, who is now helping you up the stairs to the dining hall. He has very diplomatically, been either ignoring, or at least pretending to ignore everything you have been saying.

“You’re nice. Probably the politest yakuza i’ve ever met.” you pause, “I’ve never met another yakuza, i'm not sure why i said it like that.”

Kuzuryu scoffs and tugs you up at the last step. Deigning to give your comment any sort of response.

As you step up onto the dining hall landing, you freeze. This is dangerous. Your nails are biting into the skin of your palms, and your already warm face feels even hotter. Don't look at him, don't think about him, don't look at him, don't think about him. Kuzuryu is giving you a look, you must be verbalising your own mental gymnastics, but that is less embarrassing than the alternative.

“Don't look at him, don't think about him, don't look at him, don't think-”

You look up, like an idiot . Komaeda is sitting by the window with his chin in his palm, just sort of staring off into the middle distance, not really looking at anything. The morning sun cascades through the window and catches in his hair. It shimmers. Your heart twists and turns in your chest, you have been trying to keep this little fascination of yours under wraps, but he slowly closes his eyes and takes a deep breath in through his nose and-

“He looks like an angel .” You say, and you say it loudly.

All eyes in the room turn to you. Hinata especially is looking at you with his particular brand of exhaustion, that says this is not the first weird thing he has heard today. You scramble, trying desperately to think about anything other than Komaeda, to stop yourself from saying anything stupid. In your desperation, what you say is: “Yes hello! I was talking about anyone in this room apart from Komaeda. Please do not be confused, it was not Komaeda. I want to make it crystal clear that i am NOT attracted to Nagito Komaeda. This is a very convincing lie and you all believe me!”

Mioda straightens her spine and salutes you, “Roger! You are not attracted to Komaeda, I believe you!”

Your sweating even more now, it’s getting hard to breathe, “Forget I said anything!”

Mioda salutes again, “Consider it forgotten!”

“What is happening?! ” Hinata exclaims, gesturing wildly to you, Mioda, and Owari who you suddenly notice is leaning against the far wall and sobbing, “This is not normal!”

Your eyes slip to Komaeda again. He is looking at you and he is blushing-

“He looks so...cute…” You whisper, and Hinata yelps.

“Why are you all being so weird???? ”

Monokuma takes that as his cue to finally show up. Waltzing on into the dining hall like he owns the place, clearly buzzing with excitement, “A good question!” He says, clamoring up onto a vacant chair and holding a paw in front of his face to hide his laughter, “ Oooh , this is my best motive yet! Looks like three members of the class have come down with a bad case of the despair disease!”

“D-Despair Disease?” Tsumiki contributes, nervously playing with her hands, “I’ve never heard of such a thing!”

“Yeah, well. It’s pretty self explanatory!” Monokuma says, “The main symptom is high fever, along with some other fun despair related effects! It’s a bit of a mixed bag though and no two cases are the same! For example, Moida is suffering from the Gullible Disease...Owari has the Cowards Disease.” Then, Monokuma points his stubby little paw in your direction, “And you have the No Filter Disease. You just say whatever you’re thinking! It’s been lots of fun so far, upupupupu~”

“Oh, does that mean all those things they were just saying about Komaeda were the truth?” Sonia says. Her brows draw together, and she taps her lips with a finger, “How interesting.”

“It’s not my fault he’s gorgeous!” the words escape you before you have a chance to stop them. You squeal and clap a hand over your mouth before you start talking again. Komaeda is now bright red to the tips of his ears.

“That was true? GROSS!” Saionji exclaims.

You glare at Monokuma, “If you wouldn't kill me for doing it, I'd rip out all your stuffing right now.”

Monokuma withers a little, “Aw~ Is that what you really feel? Here I was thinking we were great friends.”  

“I’ll gut you like a fish.” you pause, “a bear-fish.” another pause, “a fish-bear.” You groan, “UGH, I can’t stop saying stupid things! I’m all sweaty! This sucks !”

Tsumiki steps over to you, her hand is shaking as she brings it up to your forehead.

“Oh…” you breathe, “your hand is cold.”

“S-Sorry! I’m just checking your temperature.”

“You smell like lavender.”

She recoils a little, “It’s j-just my shampoo!!'' Then she shakes her head and turns to the rest of the group, “Monokuma is telling the truth. They’ve got a fever.”

Hinata hurriedly presses his hand against the foreheads of both Owari and Moida, confirming that they’re also burning up, “What do we do, Tsumiki?”

Before she can answer, Monokuma pipes up again, “did I forget to mention? It’s contagious~~”

Saionji squeals and backpedals all the way to the stairs, “Contagious!?”

“Yeah and I'm a conta- genius . Get it?”

Souda gives you an uncomfortable look and scratches the back of his neck, “How much space in your brain is taken up by bad puns?”

You’re feeling really dizzy now, “A lot of it! But usually I don't say any of them!” your knees wobble and you almost fall over, luckily Tsumiki is still close enough to grab you before you topple to the ground, “I am going to kill that goddamn bear .”

“Could-could someone help me?” Tsumiki squeaks, “If i keep holding them up like this we-we’re just both going to fall over.”

You giggle a little, slipping into a semi-delirium as you cling to Tsumiki for dear life. Hinata and the others start working on a plan to keep everyone safe until the illness runs its course, “Hey Tsumiki…” you whisper, “Komaeda’s got real nice hands, huh?” she is too busy trying to keep you upright to answer, “I want him to carry me. Unless I'm too heavy, Tsumiki, am I too heavy?”  

You’re all but draped over Tsumiki now, who is trying in vain to shuffle you over to a nearby wall, when you suddenly hear her sigh in relief, “Oh...Th-Thank you. I’m not very s-strong…”

You manage to flop your head around to face the other direction, lacking the strength to turn your neck properly. Komaeda is looking down at you, it might just be the fever, but you feel like you’re going to burst into flames.

“Aha, I’m sure i'm not much stronger than you, Tsumiki.” He says, gently wrapping his arm around your shoulders and tugging you over to him. You might have moaned, you can't be sure, “But I do have the height advantage.”

The utter tsunami that leaves your mouth is unavoidable. Literally medically unavoidable, but that doesn't stop it from being the most embarrassing moment of your life.

“He’s touching me. He’s touching me…” your head has come to rest on his chest and you are practically hyperventilating, “He smells like chamomile soap and clean laundry...His hands are cold, his shirt is soft...Oh god i'm so sweaty, he probably thinks i'm disgusting! Komaeda, i'm so sorry , this was meant to be a secret!!! I wasn't going to tell you, everyones gonna think I'm weird!” your thoughts are leaving your mouth faster than you can think of them, if Komaeda is reacting to anything you have to say, you don't notice because despite your mouth running a mile a minute you still have an ounce enough of shame and bury your face in his chest to hide from your own words.

The world is spinning, your head feels heavy, everything is so hot , “Your hair is nice, did you know your hair is nice? God, I've wanted to run my fingers through it since day one. This is so fucked up, you almost killed someone! I want to stop talking , i feel like i'm gonna pass out, i'm gonna pass out, i'm gonna pass out. Im gonna…”

***

“I think I passed out.” Is the first thing you say when you wake up. You’re still hot and the back of your neck is sweaty, but you can see that you are now in the hospital, and that you’re wearing a hospital gown.

“Who undressed me?!” You exclaim, disappointed to find that you still can’t help saying everything you think.

At the sound of your voice, the door to your room opens, and Komaeda steps in.

“No! Not you!”

He freezes, withering under your gaze, “Ah, I see. Being greeted by garbage like me in your current state, it must be insulting .”

You feel like an asshole .

“That’s not what I meant! Please don’t go, I never want you to go.”

Komaeda laughs a little, still lurking nervously in the doorway, “You’re confusing me.”

“I don’t want you to hear what I’m thinking. I want you to stay, but all I can think about is how much I want to suck on your collarbone.” You freeze the second you stop talking, a high pitched whine leaving your mouth as you hide your face in your hands, “I’m so sorry! I can’t stop it!”

Stepping further into the room, Komaeda quietly closes the door behind him. Your heart is pounding.

“I’m nervous.” You say.

He tilts his head, walking over to the side of your bed, “I can still leave if I’m making you uncomfortable.”

“No, I’m not uncomfortable.” You shrink under his gaze, “it just, the way you closed the door it makes me feel like you’re planning something, like maybe we’re going to have-“ you manage to cover your mouth before the rest of the sentence escapes. Keeping your hands tight over your lips as all you can think about is his long fingers, his soft hair, his half lidded eyes.

“Are you...still talking behind your hands?”

You nod.

A smile crawls up the side of his face, “are you saying something embarrassing?”

“I wanna stick my tongue in your mouth.” You say, loud enough that even the tight grip of your hands doesn’t muffle it.

Komaeda remains remarkably calm, “You keep saying those things. This disease...means you say whatever you’re thinking, doesn’t it?”

“Yes. It’s driving me crazy, I’m just being such an idiot and I’m probably freaking you out. I’m sorry.”

“No, that’s not it.” He sighs, moving slowly as he sits down on the side of your bed, “Honestly, why would you let such thoughts about scum like me take up so much real estate in your mind?”

“I can’t help it!” You exclaim, “I’ve been trying not to think about it, but I just can’t! I want you so badly. I…..I-“ you hold your breath, you can’t let that last part out, no matter what, you can’t say that last part. You’ll die of suffocation before you let him hear it.

“You...what?” He asks

Oh god. You can’t stop thinking about it. Your lungs are aching, screaming for you to just open your mouth.

“What are you hiding, hm?”

It’s too much. The nerves, your sick and weakened body, him right there . You can’t do it, you can’t stop it, the next time you see Monokuma, you are drop kicking him into the sun.

“I’ve touched myself while thinking about you!”

The words echo off the walls of the room like a gunshot.

For a moment Komaeda just stares at you, but then, his shaky hands reach out and wrap around both of your wrists. His throat bobs.

“Hng. I want to suck on the side of your neck, I want to see you covered in marks from my teeth-“ you try to cover your mouth with your hands again. Komaeda grips your wrists tighter.

“No.” He whispers, trembling, “keep going.”

“ God, your hands are so big. I want to know how deep your fingers would reach inside of me. I bet you’re good at it, I bet you’re really good at it.” He just keeps staring at you, ghostly green eyes blown wide, chest heaving , “Are you turned on? Is this turning you on? Just pin me down and fuck me, do it, do it, do it!”

“How...how often are you thinking about me like this?”

“Oh, all the time.” You freeze, mentally (and therefore also verbally) berating yourself, “Not all the time! Just like, a normal amount. However much that is.” He is still just looking at you, the pad of his thumb slowly brushes across the pulsepoint in your wrist and you shiver, “Yes, yes! I’ve wanted this intimacy with you for so long . I couldn't tell anyone, I couldn't tell you. During the first trial, when you went on your weirdo rant about hope and despair. I was scared, i was so scared, but oh god- ” you can't stop yourself. Every thought in your head is pouring out of your lips. Filling up the room, the mortification is drowning you . All you can do is squeeze your eyes shut to avoid looking at him, “I was wet , Komaeda. I went back to my cabin and came three times to the thought of you, I am reprehensible . What do you think the others would do if they found out, huh? That all i can think about is you fucking me over my trial podium. They’ll tie me up next-”

The bed squeaks, and Komaeda brings his knee up and over your hips.

“-Oh my god. You’re doing it aren't you?”

His other leg comes up on the bed, and he settles, hovering up above you. He shrugs, “I honestly don't understand why this is something you want,” he leans down over you, resting his palms on either side of your head, “but who am I to deny the wishes of an ultimate.”

If not for the warmth of his lips pressed against yours, you are sure that you wouldn't be able to shut up, based only on the number of thoughts tumbling through your head like they’re on a spin cycle. You are still sweaty with fever and probably look disgusting, but Komaeda shuffles down in between your legs and hikes your hospital gown up to your waist. So you are suitably distracted.

He laughs as he hooks his fingers around your panties and tugs them down your thighs, “I cant believe that you want scum like me to touch you like this. Usually I would assume that you are lying, or taking pity on me.” He grins, running a finger up the length of your sex, “But everything you say to me is your exact thoughts, isnt it?”

“Yes! Touch me, please! ” You’re quivering beneath him, barely able to breathe in between your frantic pleas, “You feel so good, you feel perfect . I want your fingers inside me so bad .”

He hisses as he slips his middle and ring finger inside of you, eyes glued to where your entrance is swallowing him up, “Ahaaa...you’re drenched . You really do want me don't you?” he pistons his fingers in and out slowly, slowly and deliberately, “Someone like you, desiring me so terribly. It’s such a waste , but i can't help it. I must be selfish and take this chance while i can.”

“Not a….waste....” You force out, helplessly grinding on his fingers, “Want you....want only you…”

“Oh- Ohhhh .” He moans, “I can feel you, squeezing around my fingers. You’re so wet...so warm…”

You hear a zipper coming undone, and your thoughts go into overdrive, “oh my god, oh my god. Komaeda’s going to jerk off in front of me, wanna watch, wanna watch! ”

His fingers still inside you for a moment as he tugs his boxers down far enough to slip out his cock. Your eyes follow the movement of his long fingers as he slowly curls them around the base, and tugs them up again, rolling the pad of his thumb over the head. His hips buck, and you moan.

“You...you’re tightening around my fingers…” he breathes, choking on a moan as he pumps his cock again, “you like watching me touch myself?” Your hips stutter, grinding your clit against the meat of his palm as he continues stroking himself. His eyes are wide as he watches you writhing beneath him.

“The face you make when you do that...it’s so cute.” You say, whining as his fingers start moving inside you again, “it’s even cuter than I imagined. Your cheeks are all red.” You swallow, “and your cock is so pretty...I want you to cum inside me, so bad .”

His breath hitches, “you want me to cum, inside you?” his cock is leaking with pre-cum now, painfully hard in his hand. His chest is heaving.

“Yes yes yes! ” You plead, “I want you, please! ”

“I don’t understand.” He breathes, and you whimper as his fingers slip out of you, “How could someone be so desperate for my pathetic seed?”

“Fill me up , Komaeda!” You exclaim, at this point you are long past embarrassed. The words leaving your mouth are the absolute truth and there is no way you can deny them.

He groans at that, an octave deeper than you are used to hearing and it seems he is having trouble denying you. His own desperation mingling with yours and overtaking his painful self-doubt, he wraps a hand around the base of his cock, and slowly edges the swollen head against your entrance, “f-fuck…” he mutters as he slips inside you, “you’re so warm .”

You can barely even register what you are saying anymore, it’s little more than a string of compliments about how good he feels inside you. About how handsome he is. Your tongue feels weird and loose in your mouth from overuse, but you still can’t stop talking.

He looms above you, halo of white hair bouncing as he thrusts in and out of you, the unmistakable jangle of the chain hanging from his jeans. All things that confirm it is Komaeda inside of you. Your heart races with the fact.

“Th-thank you, for permitting me to do this with you.” He stammers, sweat slowly dripping down his brow, “it’s...so good...it feels like I belong inside you. ”

A moan rips through you, and you hook your weak ankles around his waist, “you do belong inside me. You fit so perfectly , I was made for your cock. GOD I sound so filthy…..I- I can’t help it.”

“ No.” He hisses, eyes meeting yours, “Keep talking.”

“You say that like I can stop.” You dip your head lower, and wrap your lips around his left collarbone, moaning as you suck hard enough to leave a bruise. He keens above you, hips snapping against yours even faster, “Your hip bones are digging into my thighs…”

He squeezes his eyes shut, “I-I’m sorry, do you want me to-“

“Don’t you dare stop, Komaeda. You’re mine , I want to feel every inch of you.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

You bring a shaky hand up to his cheek, he nuzzles into your palm, “You aren’t hurting me. It feels wonderful.”

He kisses you then, messy and wet, his lips taste like desperation. Even with his tongue tangled with yours, you are still trying to speak. Sweet nothings, forceful demands, anything and everything that comes to mind is trying to force its way out of your mouth. Something is in the pit of your stomach is twisting tight and you moan greedily into the cavern of his mouth as his hips meet yours again. You can feel that he’s losing his rhythm.

“S-sorry. I’m...im close…” A moan rips from his throat and he buries his face in your neck.

Your hips have started canting up to meet his, you want so badly to be close to him, to feel all of him, “M’close to. I love having you inside me, i want to do this again and again and-”

Komaeda freezes, eyes turning to the door on the other side of the room. Footstops.

“Who is it? Did they hear? Are there going to come in? What do you think they’re going to do if they see you inside of-”

Komaeda covers your mouth with his palm. You’re still talking, but at least it’s muffled now. Kuzuryu and Hinata are chatting in the hallway, the footsteps seem only to be growing closer. You can't stop thinking terrible, horrible things, and while Komaeda’s hand keeps you quiet enough that they can't seem to hear you from outside, Komaeda can definitely hear you.

“I wanna keep going.”

His eyes are blown wide, but you feel the tell-tale throb of his cock inside of you, “ What?! ” he hisses, “there’s no way you can keep quiet like this...they’ll definitely hear us.”

“I don’t care if they hear us, I want them to hear us. I want them to know what you’re doing to me.”

His hips twitch, and he bites his lip hard to keep in a moan, “You're not ashamed to be seen intimately with someone as despicable as me?”

You coo at him, running your index finger down the front of his throat and over the mark you left on his collarbone, he tentatively removes his hand from your mouth and pushes some sweaty hair away from your forehead, you smile, “I’m not ashamed of you. I’m in love with you.”

Komaeda sucks a breath in through his teeth, and it is only then that you realise what you have said.

“Oh GOD. I didn't - I'm so sorry.” your eyes are wide, you’re ready for him to jump up and bolt out of the room, “I just thought it and then i said it, and jesus christ im so sorry-”

You’re cut off by his lips. The kiss is gentler, less desperate, but filled with the depth of passion. He starts thrusting in and out of you again, and you gasp in surprise at the feeling. He pulls away from the kiss, and rests his forehead against yours, his breathing heavy as one of his hands slips down under your knee. He pushes your leg up higher and you choke on a moan at how much deeper this new angle feels.

A high-pitched whine leaves his throat as he continues moving inside of you, he swallows, “I...I love you too.”

“Aaah... ahhh .” You’re so close at this point, the coiling in your stomach is about ready to snap, “I love you so much, I want your cum, please! ”

“I’ll give it to you, I...hah...I’ll fill you up...is that what you want?”

His hand slips down to your clit and you shriek , clenching hard around his cock, “Yes, yes, yes! I’m close...i'm so close…”

“I’m gonna...I...I…”

A moan rips through you as your climax finally hits, for the first time this day your mind is void of thoughts. All you can do is feel . Your fingers dig into the bedsheet under you, and your legs tighten around Komaeda’s waist. He writhes and moans above you,  he just keeps going, harder and harder and harder, and then, with a heavy groan you feel him release inside of you.

“Thank...you…” you mutter, “thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you…”

Before Komaeda has a chance to say anything in return, someone clears their throat on the other side of the door. The two of you freeze.

“Are you two done?” Hinata asks, he sounds exasperated.

Komaeda clears his throat, “Um...yeah...pretty much.”

“His dick is literally still inside of me! Maybe give us a few minutes!” You wince at the blunt sentence that just left your mouth, Komaeda is clearly trying not to laugh, you huff “Sorry Hinata! I can't help it!”

This disease was going to be the death of you.

[aphrodite-would-be-proud]

@ava-sr said: EE i do apologize that this is late, but maybe a small request because of my moblit-brainrot. which dates he would like to take you on? maybe like one of those guided painting classes? aGh all i know is that man is the absolute sweetest and i love him with all my heart

Types of dates with Moblit pt.1

{ Moblit x reader | tw:none | fluff | modern }

{ "Vanitas Still Life" 1662 by Edwaert Collier c. 1640 - after 1707 London or Leiden }

Ideal dates : these are dates he plans up ahead, makes sure they go smoothly and you're both are having fun. He really looks forward to these dates, they're like an event for him. He saves them up for important occasions like your anniversary, valentine's day, birthday.

I. Cuddling for hours at a time

you have to understand that in Moblit's overworked and stressful life, moments of respite are rare and far. He's so deprived of touch and love that it's a miracle how he has managed to function without even a beep. The thought of having someone to warm his bed, cradle his worries and put them to rest by simply combing through his hair, never crossed his mind despite having a hundred thoughts running through it per minute.

Some days he manages to forget your existence even, not out of some selfish desire or to belittle you, but out of disbelief, after all it's too good to be true.

You're too good to be true to him.

Your tender words pull him back each time he blindly steps closer to the edge, a never-ending spiral of self-destructive work tendencies awaiting him at the bottomless abyss. Your warm embrace shutting out the swarm of nagging voices meant to guilt him out of rest, to act as if the key to curing his sleep deprivation was to not acknowledge its existence, that fatigue symptoms could be erased by his own homemade placebo remedies.

As if your mere touch could turn anything to gold, and in his case, it did. 

It was what made the difference between an anxiety inducing catastrophic day, and a mere rough stepping stone he could easily manoeuvre around leaving his pace steady and undisturbed.

Reminding that it's okay to fail, to give something your best only for it to crumble to dust. It's a process of trial and error, it takes time and patience.

You don't get to choose how well things end up working out, it's not up to you nor is it your place.

And that's why for him, his ideal place in the world is in your arms, to simply let the rise and fall of your chest lull him into comfortable numbness. His features softening as the oxytocin levels rise, courtesy of your warm embrace, soft skin providing just the right pressure against his own.

Laying on your shared bed together, the soft breeze coming from the open windows moves the thin curtains. Moblit is Holding you close as one of his arms sneak around you, fingertips tracing shapes up and down your back. Face buried in your shoulder as yours rests on top of his head, stray hairs almost tickling your nose when you brush against them.

The passing of time does little to his cotton filled mind, occasionally attempting to pull you even more closer as if it's possible. Legs tangled with yours under the heavy blanket despite him hogging most of it.

Every now and then, when a certain amount of time passes, he'd look at you with half-closed eyes, a lidded look of satisfaction before murmuring in his sleepy voice.

"Do you want to get up?" And despite his sincere words and warm tone, his body makes no move to detach itself from your side.

Does he know the soothing effect of the circles he keeps drawing up your back? Or how much him talking with his lips still pressed against your neck makes you melt just a bit.

Whatever it is, Moblit seems confident in his ability to keep you snuggled against him, tucked underneath the warm blanket and fluffy pillows almost muffling your answer.

II. Visiting a music bar

Preferably something with soft yellowish lights, small enough spaces not meant for dancing but to create an intimate atmosphere akin to a music venue.

A jazz club, maybe a brewery.

Dimmed sunlight seeping through the thin curtained window, shadow traces of people smoking outside while making small talk, cushioned bar stools placed around the long bar with a mirrored wall behind it as several aged bottles and fancy glasses with signatures decorate the wooden shelves.

The quiet chatter of people blurring behind the mellow music the band is playing on the nearby stage, smooth movement with relaxed postures as if they've done this a hundred times before, and they probably have.

You're sitting in one of the booths near the window, a private spot where you're far enough for people not to notice yet close enough to still hear the music flowing.

The beat is slow, hypnotising even that the minutes blur together. 

Moblit giving you a smile as he comes back with your drinks, sitting opposite of you before handing you the cold glass, ice cubes clinking against each other as you raise the frosted rim to your lips, sugary sweet filling your senses, the cooling sensation of the drink slides down your throat.

There's a hint of citrus in it.

You've learned to trust Moblit's choice in drinks after being together for so long, he just knows what's going to taste good and which kind of drink you seem to need without having to say a word.

He seems comfortable here, even referring to the bartender by his name like they've been friends for a while, and maybe they have judging by the out-of-script welcoming he gave Moblit.

One conversation starts another and both of you find it so easy to talk to each other without boundaries or second thoughts, the smiles and occasional chuckles almost never leaving your features while nursing on your drinks.

He tells you stories from his work and about his co-workers. You find yourself entranced by his seemingly abusered line of work and the amount of chuckle worthy instances a single work day can offer.

That one time Hange knocked the liquid incense oils that someone Levi brought to freshen the place, well to their luck the oils fell directly on an open flame from the nearby scented candle which resulted in the fire spreading through the liquid alcohol between the broken glass.

And despite the feeling of dread, from seeing his files catch on fire this story brings him, the sound of your chocked laughter as you almost spilled your drink over your clothes, made it all worth it for him.

III. Antique shop

There was something to be said about Moblit's yearning for especially old looking things, trinkets, crumpled maps, tea stained letters and silvered mirrors.

You can't miss the gleam in his eyes as he opens the antique store door open for you the chime of the door bells following after. The smell of burning incense lingering in the air alongside the slow ticking of an old wooden clock.

The look on his face is of pure fascination, his eyes following the trail of the objects lined on the tables, from the old oil paintings with hand carved frames to the crystals reflecting sunlight next to the colourful stones. Observing as he carefully walks behind you through the narrow spaces between the tables and shelves. 

Pulling your attention whenever he finds a particular curious thing to show you as if it's an offering, it can range from music boxes with a really familiar melody that you can't quite remember or a beautifully shaped rose quartz stone that feels cool against your palm.

Whatever he brings, it often manages to intrigue you in some way. Moblit could always notice things other people would skip over otherwise, scanning the tables was like a small treasure hunt.

He'd always pick one or two leather journals, almost filled to the brim with ink scribbled pages and tea stained spots, personal diaries dating back to the 90's and if he's lucky they might edge towards the 80'. He likes to read them, live in someone else's shoes even for a split second, puzzle pieces falling in place as he figures out what kind of person the author was.

Of course sharing his discoveries with you while having lunch later, not out of pride nor to show off, but out of genuine respect to other people's lives and their dedication for leaving behind a piece of their soul.

IX. Roadtrip 

It's something he plans months ahead in advance, he genuinely wants to make the best out of the few weeks off both of you got to spend together. Making sure to plan a set of destinations, preparing snacks and food, packing your essentials and renting a big enough van.

A small getaway even, to completely leave everything behind and set out on a carefully planned adventure with the one he loves most, you.

Enjoying the fresh weather, the high sun and fast wind as both of you roll down the windows, fields of green and yellow meet you alongside the road the further away you move from the city.

Although be careful; the Moblit behind the wheel is a much much more different than the one you know, he's using all what remains of his self-restraint not to speed down the highway and swirl, the thought crosses his mind every hour or so and he's visibly agitated when you're forced to drive behind a particularly slow driver.

You might even have to remind him of the speed limit occasionally just so you don't end up with a pile of speeding tickets at the end of the trip.

It's like all his usually cautious and calculating demner evaporates into mist the second he touches the steering wheel, Temptations of just flooring it while high on adrenaline still linger in the back of his mind.

Beside that, the trip is a relatively calm one as you get to bask in all the new and different places you'll get to visit. Try new food and walk through different city streets, just the experience of something out of the usual is enough to satisfy Mobilt. Not to mention the fact he gets to experience it with you and just wander around without a purpose or care as long as you're together.

He'll definitely keep in mind what sort of things you seem to like, what intrigues you and the kind of reactions you show. He even started an album filled with mostly your pictures and the things you've seen.

It's most relaxing and filled with low stakes, nothing too fancy but nothing too boring either. Walking the thin line perfectly.

X. Visiting a museum

But not just any museum you see, one centred around natural history. Displaying everything from ancient fossils to full on skeleton displays of a 122 foot titanosaur, depictions of distant relatives of homosapiens and modern evolution trees of the current animals.

Moblit guiding you through the shiny tile floor and between the exhibits while holding your hand, eyes gleaming with passion as he goes on and on about each thing you glance at. Making all the trivial facts seem more fascinating than they have any right to be.

The squeaking sound of footsteps echoing on the too clean floors as four children pass you by, racing each other towards the iron suits of armour on display. They almost fall over the red ropes from leaning too close in, their caregiver seemingly busy talking with a security guard over the 'smoking not allowed' sign. 

You spare them a final glance before following Moblit through the corridor leading to the world history & old inventions section. Soon enough he steals your attention again as he begins talking about the first airplane prototype that you can't help but be enamoured by.

Despite there being a sign framed on the wall that sums up the jest of Moblit's lecture, he manages to make it not only less boring but add his own twist and uncommon known facts to it that it feels less of a history trip and of an interesting conversation.

He has so much knowledge that he's so eager not to only share but hear your own opinion and take on it, valuing your view no matter what amount of knowledge you have over the subject.

XI. Painting together

It's an idea that you offhandedly suggested after your museum visit, after all spending an hour in the Impressionism era gallery did leave an impression on you. And so the suggestion of checking out an art store for some acrylics and a couple brushes left your lips on the way home without a second thought.

Well little did you know that the small suggestion managed to latch into Moblit's brain for weeks after, making him spend his free time searching and gaining information on painting and how to start, he even managed to find some really good classes having a limited time course sale

That's how both of you end up in a guided painting class, seated next to each other with aprons on and a pallet to mix paint tubes in. You'll find out how much of a fast learner Moblit is, so much that most of the class he spends guiding your hand through the steps and offering his help whenever possible, although he still remembers not to be overbearing and still gives you space.

Both of you are in your own bubble from the class, being with him makes you feel easy and more reassured. He's like your very own comfort corner that you seek in every party, except that he can walk around with you and always looks out for you.

And whatever you end up putting on that canvas, Moblit will cherish more than any renaissance painting, will even insist on hanging it somewhere in the apartment.

[jimmygibbsjrrr]

I have a lot of thoughts about the Slaters

namely, I've been wonderin why the Fairfield Survivors got thrown off the boat in Death Toll

in this panel of The Sacrifice comic, Francis confirms the fates of three of the rescue vehicles:

Image ID:

A panel from The Sacrifice: Part 1. Francis is sat in the rescue vehicle from Blood Harvest, speaking to Louis. His dialogue is as follows:

"Louis, I hate to be the one to break this to ya, but we been heading to the safe zone four times now. Helicopter: crashed. Plane: crashed. Boat: kicked us out and left us to die."

/end ID

the chopper from No Mercy was confirmed crashed in Crash Course, and as for the plane from Dead Air, it was pretty easy to guess (and would have been confirmed in the cut campaign Dam It).

but the part about the boat? that's the Slaters' boat from Death Toll. this is the first time we learn this information.

so...why? what happened?

(more under the cut, ended up writing wayyyy more than I expected over these past few days and don't wanna clog people's dashes lol)

so. let's take a quick dive into the last chapter of Death Toll, to see what we can discern about the Slaters from their dialogue.

the rescue vehicle in Death Toll is a civilian boat, Saint Lidia II, owned by John and Amanda Slater, a married couple. Amanda is never heard in-game, but John's reactions to her can be heard over the radio.

the Slaters are explicitly looking for "anyone out there with firearms". John later adds that "once you get on this boat? Your job is keeping our asses alive". it appears that their motivation for saving the Survivors is selfish from the get-go.

this is undoubtedly true in Amanda's case, however, some of John's lines betray a more selfless attitude. he will berate Amanda for not "think[ing] about the little guy". he will ask, "So what, then? We leave 'em to die? I can't do that, Amanda." whilst Amanda is thinking purely of their own survival, John still feels compassionate towards his fellow survivors. despite this, he says that "I don't want our first act of kindness to be our last", acknowledging the conflict between his compassion and his self-preservation.

so. these are the Survivor's saviours in Death Toll. a conflicted married couple looking for bodyguards, offering to take the Survivors upriver to a military safe zone in exchange for protection.

as for why they get thrown off the boat...well, the easiest explanation would be Amanda.

but, stay with me here, because I think it's a little more complicated than that.

this boat? fulla tension. there's the obvious tension between the Slaters, who we've established seem to fight and disagree regularly. then there's the inevitable tension between them and the Survivors. I reckon Louis, with his generally positive and friendly attitude, wouldn't have much of a problem with them, might even attempt some friendly conversation or something. however, he's about the only one.

the comic fully establishes Bill as caring about nobody except the Fairfield Survivors - the most obvious evidence of this being the words he lives and dies by, "we look after our own". he isn't particularly interested in other people, unless they can help the group out. and he'd likely recognise the unstable and conditional nature of their rescue. while I'm sure he'd try and keep the peace, in any reasonable disagreement or fight Bill's likely to take his friends' side, and if anyone's getting thrown off the boat Bill is going with them. this goes for the whole group, to be honest; I don't think they'd want to split up at this point.

Francis hates boats, hates water, and can't swim, so (and I'm getting a little speculate-y here) would probably be in an even sourer mood than usual on the journey. being as abrasive as he is, plus this additional stress, it's fully possible he could piss off the Slaters enough to get himself (or all of them) thrown off the boat.

as for Zoey? well, I don't imagine a married couple who constantly argues is gonna sit well with her, considering her backstory. similarly to Francis, the situation they're in would make her far more stressed, making it more likely for her to lash out.

Amanda didn't want to save the Survivors in the first place, so while I think that John wouldn't throw them off the boat without reason, I reckon she could persuade him to throw them off if they 'caused trouble' - and they would get into an argument with her far easier than they would with John.

in short: yeah, I can see them getting thrown off the boat by the Slaters after some huge fight or disagreement. I think that's a reasonable interpretation of canon, and definitely an interesting concept.

...however, I do wonder if this tension would really be enough to destabilise their mutual need, after everything they went through to come together.

which is why I'm going to bring up The Last Stand!

I gotta quickly address something before this segment: yeah, I'm totally aware this campaign isn't canon. this evidence works with the fact that it exists in an 'alternate timeline'. also, I am missing a few citations for this section - if anyone can provide them I'd really appreciate it, but just a disclaimer that I currently can't prove some of the things the wiki claims members of the Last Stand Community Update Team have said. here and here are the wiki pages where I got this information. in short - the above explanation is simpler and more canon compliant, the conclusion I draw at the end of this post is backed by shakier evidence but I believe is more interesting, and you can make of all that what you will.

allegedly, members of the Last Stand Community Update Team confirmed a strongly-suspected fan theory about The Last Stand: that it branches off from Death Toll in some way, in a non-canon alternative timeline. as well as this, they allegedly confirmed that in this alternative timeline, the Survivors still end up in Newburg for Dead Air. even without the confirmation, this remains a solid fan theory, due to the constant references to Riverside and re-use of many of Death Toll's assets.

who rescues the Survivors in The Last Stand? John Slater. no Amanda - just John. despite her lack of voice actress, if she was still present John would give some indication of this at some point. it can be speculated that whatever happened to her contributed to the lack of rescue at the boathouse that forced the Survivors to take an alternative route. either way, he ends up at the lighthouse when the Survivors call for rescue, alone, and picks them up.

and then later...throws them off the boat. into Newburg.

what reason would John have to do that? without Amanda, surely he wouldn't have that push, as he wanted to rescue the Survivors for multiple reasons in the first place. without his constant arguments with Amanda, Zoey wouldn't be nearly as stressed. and between the three of them I'm sure the other Fairfield Survivors would stop Francis from pissing John off enough to get them thrown off the boat. in short, less Amanda = less tension, and no reason for the Survivors getting chucked off the boat.

...right?

I'd like to remind you that a symptom of the Infection is paranoia.

what if, in both The Last Stand and Death Toll, John and Amanda are infected by the Survivors on the way to the military safe zone? after all, the virus is confirmed to occasionally be airborne, and I doubt two civilians have completely effective, sustained protection against that. likely the only reason they hadn't already been Infected is because they got out on the water early on in the pandemic, and hadn't come into contact with anyone else since. it's unlikely that one of them is immune, and even more unlikely that they're both immune (especially considering those with XX chromosomes may be genetically less likely to be carriers). wouldn't Francis have mentioned it if their rescuers turned or were obviously Infected? yes, but it's possible that the airborne strain works slower as well, meaning that the Survivors are thrown off of the boat after the symptoms kick in but before the Slaters fully turn. even Church Guy had at least an hour from being Infected to turning, and he was bitten. Newburg isn't too far from where the Survivors are rescued in Death Toll anyway (the burning city in the background of the finale is Newburg), so the Survivors clearly didn't last long on the boat anyway. as a result, the Survivors wouldn't realise it was the Infection intensifying the Slaters' paranoia - they'd just think the Slaters were being dicks. Francis also explicitly mentions that they were "left to die", implying negativity or even hostility from the Slaters as the Survivors were being thrown off.

so yeah. that's why I think they got thrown off of the boat in Death Toll - a combination of the intense tension between the two parties, and the Slaters falling victim to Infection-induced paranoia. but an explanation minus the Infection is equally as plausible. it all depends on what you find most interesting, I suppose, and both feel like they fit pretty well into the world.

lord this is a long chunk o text. I know most fandoms prefer art and fanfic over this sorta thing, so please let me know in replies or something if you're interested in more stuff like this. also if any of this makes sense because I like to ramble.

oh and if you'd like to use any of my interpretations in fanworks like art or fic, I'd love to see it :)

[sebs-anxiety-and-insanity]

You're human?!

Zombie apocalypse au

I have a request in one of the comments and to that person I respond: your request is being done as fast as possible, I had it done but then I reread it and realized it was crap so I am rewriting it again :] the outfit above is Virgil's current outfit he is not genderbent it's just one of my favorites also this is a long one so yeah

Entry number 604:

I don't consistently write unless something big has happened. That said, I have realized something big. I haven't seen another human in roughly three years. THREE. All that remains is undead. This isn't even meant for humans anymore... Haha maybe I'm just starting to lose it... The isolation is getting to me...

Rotten, molded flesh was everywhere around him. He had forgotten the turn again! Ugh, how could he be so stupid!? He  could hear their staggering footsteps closing in, hear their groaning get louder and immersed Virgil in the pain soaked groans coming from behind. It's bizzare to think that they could be in pain while they're chasing you. Well, not really chasing you, but, eh- you get the point. Virgil looked around the alleyway (classic, right?) Looking for a place for him to escape. He looked to his left. Brick. He turned his head to the right. Stone. In front was a back of an apartment building, he could try his luck climbing? Yeah, that might work.

Virgil didn't realize how much time he actually spent thinking of a way to escape the group of Z's behind him until he heard a call from someone- a walker? No. Maybe some disembodied voice- "You're gonna let them eat you?" Virgil looked around to see a disgusting hand reach for him, and succeeding in grabbing his backpack, tugging him backwards. He could hear the voice in the back of his head? Maybe? "Shame." After his fight or flight kicked in he quickly pulled forward, making his way to the building, hearing the sound of something hitting the ground he assumed to be a Z. He quickly reached down pulling the knife he had in his boot out and started to climb the building. He got on the dumpster, struggling to stay up right with the dumpster moving beneath him. He reached up for the window sill, pulling himself up with the help of a push. The push off of the dumpster caused it to roll backwards and to the side hitting a wall. "Shit." He looks up to find the next place to grab. Taking a deep breath Virgil reached for the next window sill using a near by air conditioner as a step stool of sorts. A few seconds after his foot put it's weight on it he heard a creak. Uh oh. The air conditioner quickly fell out of the window, crushing a Z at the bottom and almost sending Virgil down with it. He managed to keep a semi good hold on the window. Virgil closed his eyes resting his forehead on the building. "C'mon, c'mon.. Whew okay Virgil you got this." He whispered before continuing his journey up.

At the second window from the roof Virgil decided to rest a moment, taking advantage of the open window. He took deep breathes, trying his best to hold on as he was reluctantly losing his grip. As he caught his breath Virgil felt chills run down his spine as he heard the most inhumane groan. He looked up, scared at what he might find. There stood a HUGE Z. No this one goes into walker. More dangerous than a Z (they are all zombies just he names them in categories-)when stuck in place. It began to walk toward him dragging his leg behind him. Virgils breath hitched. He was screwed didn't have enough time to climb past the window without the walker getting his legs, but he also couldn't get a weapon to defend himself with. He could try climbing in and then grab a weapon but that didn't seem like he could win that. No,, his best bet was to keep climbing. He grabbed the next window sill, the cuts and scrapes from the brick building he was on, burning his hand. Clenching his his eyes shut he continued to go for the roof. "Open your eyes!" A different disembodied voice said it this time. Virgil obliged and looked up to see a man. Wait, a man? As in, HUman?! "C'mon kiddo grab my hand!" Virgil stared at the out reached hand. Is he even real? Or is this man a figment of his imagination? Something made for his spiralling mind. He felt a finger glide against his boot. He wouldn't have long if he just stared. Real or not he'd rather take a chance with the guy. Virgil quickly stopped staring and grabbed the hand. The stranger Began to pull him up, and Virgil let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding, until the walker grabbed his boot. Shitshitshit nonono. Gasping Virgil began to try and pull himself up more with the help of the man of course. "A little help Rem?" The man struggled to get out between grunts, obviously using all his strength to get Virgil up on the roof. "Ugh, fine!" The first disembodied voice spoke- did he say 'Rem'? Virgil was felt himself be pulled up a bit but the walker wasn't giving up and wouldnt let go. Virgil went wide eyed upon feeling the breath of the walker. "NO!" Virgil began kicking in spastic movements, kicking and flailing harder then before. Was this how he died? Delusional and alone?

One kick seemed to land or something cause Virgil felt himself being lifted with ease and sat down on the roof. "I have saved the damsel in distress again!" Virgil didn't realize he'd closed his eyes, but when he opened them he was pleasantly surprised. Three people stood before him. REAL PEOPLE! In a moment of  euphoria, and a lot of mixed feelings Virgil

Lept onto the closet person to him, clutching onto him tightly, muttering things the taller male couldn't hear. "Sweetie? Are-are you okay?" Rem, as the other male called him lightly touched Virgil's back, tapping him in a questioning manner. Virgil's heart fluttered at the nickname, and his skin buzzed and hued at the touch. Virgil coming to his senses sat up Apologizing, of course not fully to his senses as he continued to straddle Rem. "Apologies- it's just.." Virgil looks down at Rem, staring into his eyes for what felt like forever (five seconds) and then looked over to the other two, who looked as if they didn't know what to do about the situation, before looking back at Rem. "You're human?" Virgil leaned forward a tiny bit,, his hands holding him up on Rem's chest. Rem chuckled and Virgil could just explode in happiness by just feeling the vibrations of coming from his chest. Rem was real. That's all he knew. Rem wasn't from some twisted part of his head making him believe he wasn't alone. "I-i Mean- like, you're real?" Virgil looked away blushing, "As real as that pretty little face of yours sweetheart." Virgil was sure he was a tomato by now and- wait. Is he..? OHMYGODIMSTRADDLINGAREALLYHOTGUY.  Virgil quickly got up, looking over at the two strangers. "Aww." The one with glasses and curly blonde hair said. The other looked as if he would be the definition of perfection if he were a prince.

Hell most of the people here could be on most sexy guy alive or whatever that magazine was. "I'm Patton, and this is Roman!" The man-Patton enthusiasticly pointed at the main with red tipped hair. "He's super strong." Patton whispered. "And that's Remy!" Patton pointed to the hot guy getting up from the ground. "And you are?" Patton displayed a puppy face that could get someone out of death row after there wasn't a response. Virgil contemplated telling them his name, after all Virgil isn't a very good name.. "Well, sheesh! You look like my anxiety and depression demon from like 8th grade." Virgil shrunk in on himself at the remark from Roman. "Roman that's enough." Remy spoke up as he stood beside Virgil. "What? I mean this.. Look" He gestured at Virgil. "Looks to be a lot of effort! Does he try to make himself look like this in the APOCALYPSE-" Before he could stop himself Virgil hissed at Roman. Virgil slapped his hands across his mouth, shocked that he did that to a stranger. Virgil carefully looked back up to see Roman in shock, Patton whispering things like "woahhhhhhh my new son". Virgil didn't wanna look at Remy's reaction though, afraid of the look he might be given. If there is one thing to know, even when seperated from the rest of humanity, it to know that Remy gave off a different vibe then the rest. Roman gave off a 'more bark then his bite' (although he definitely could put you down) Patton  a dad vibe. And Remy the bad bitch of the apocalypse vibe, one that could end you with words. Or even just a glare. "Fuck you princey." Virgil crossed his arms. Roman looked to be glowing and Patton covered his ears. "Why thank you anxiety." Virgil glared at him. But decided not to tell his name. At least, not to Roman. "I'm good enough for Royalty! Even in the end of the world." Remy sighed. "So, what now?" He looked over to Patton, dusting his leather jacket. "Hmm, I suppose we take him with us! Maybe Lo will lemme keep him." He didn't like being compared to a pet or a piece of property but when these are the first human contact you can let it go... Once.

Okay, when hearing he might get to go to a camp with other humans- people, he didn't expect to be carried, but, Remy insisted, saying something about Patton not wanting precious cargo damaged. Virgil let himself doze on Remys back listening to the light conversation taking place between Patton and Roman. The breeze hitting Virgil was delightful and helped lure him closer to sleep. Virgil remained on that edge of sleep to where you're asleep, but you knew you were asleep and was partially awake. (Make sense? Idk it happens me-) he heard the conversation take more serious tone, "So.... Now that anxiety is asleep, what are we gonna do with him? I mean we don't know for sure if he is safe. Maybe he has been bitten.. You know somewhere hidden by those clothes." He heard a sigh presumably from Patton, "I'm sure he would've shown symptoms by now. Besides, he's adorable, right, Remy?" "He is definitely adorable-" "See!? Let's just wait and see what Logan says." Virgil tightened his grip on Remy and finally drifted off fully to sleep.

Remy nudged Virgil's head with his own, effectively waking Virgil up. "Huh? Smguhthmbi.." Remy chuckled, "before turning the corner into an abandoned looking apartment. "We're back, bitches!" A man dressed in a duster and jeans with a tie wrapped around a jar that hung from his belt, looked over at the two, eyes narrowing at Virgil, making him very aware of his position. Virgil immediately got out of Remys hold, Remy taking his arms away from Virgil so he didn't trip him. "Out, everyone, please." The man took off his glasses gesturing in his and Remys general direction. "Not you two." Virgil felt a lump in his throat, anxiety creep up his spine. Ah, how he missed this. He didn't. This was actually the only thing he didn't miss about humanity. "Now, tell me," The door shut with a soft click as everyone else had left. Leaving behind all types of supplies filling up the kitchen and various other rooms. "Why are you here?" The man walked in front of the table he was behind, leaning on it as he crossed his arms. Virgil was starting to feel panic as he didn't actually know  why he was here. "We saw him in an alley way, cornered by Zombos." Remy lifted his sun glasses letting them rest on his head. Moving over to the old kitchen counter. "He climbed up the side of a building and we just kinda keep him-" "I do not believe I was talking to you." Virgil flinched at the amount of venom oozing from  his words. "Can he even help us in some way? We have enough people to house! If he cannot pull his own weight then he can leave. Of course he would have to prove himself, he does seem weak. Having to have been carried seems strange.." His eyes squing through the glasses placed on his nose. "I-" "Has he been bitten?" Virgil had to swallow irritation from being cut off and the amount of questions coming from this stranger. To be frank, he was actually missing being alone and isolated already. "N-" "I wasn't talking to you." The man shot back, okay, now Virgil was getting really irritated. "Any sane person knows that one would lie to save their own skin. I mean, you had to be running from something to have carried that much stuff." The man gestured to his things. "Jesus, calm down! He hasn't been bit!" The man raised his brow, as if begging the question 'and you know this how?' Remy rolled his eyes. "Bitch, he would've shown symptoms by now, Einstein! Sweating, really fucking hungry, etc. Fucking hell! Leave it to Logan to make things overly dramatic." "I am merely being protective." He seethed. The man who Remy called Logan, pinched his nose sighing. "Fine! We can keep him-" "Can everyone stop fucking saying that!?" Remy and Logan stared at him in suprise. "I'm not some fucking THING you can keep! I was doing just fine without this place- yes this means, I. Don't. Need. You. Damnit I'm not something you can claim as property and I sure as HELL ain't no fucking-" Virgil threw his hands up in the air before taking a breath. "No, I don't need to prove myself to you and I won't. You don't want me here then I'll go." Virgil began to turn around to leave. "I'll gladly take another three years without people." He muttered. "Hey, I saved you." Remy reminded. "You are my responsibility and if I say you stay you stay." Remy took a step forward. "... I owe you and the other two but I don't owe him." Virgil stopped moving and stared between Logan and Remy. "He is staying with me Logan. And really how much pain can he cause I mean we have Remus." Logan paused thinking a moment. "*sigh* fine. I'll get him an outfit. But he is pulling his weight around here." "Alright!" Remy turned and started to guide Virgil towards the door. "Feels nice to have two bad bitches here." Remy smirked at Virgil as the walked. His hand floating around the small of Virgil's back as he showed him the place. Maybe having found a group of survivors wasn't so bad after all.

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

Woah that's a long one 😅

Anyways I'll work on a part 2 soon

Hope you enjoyed💜

Not proof read

Tag list {you can ask to be added or removed}:

@reiney-weather @helloidkwhatimdoing-0 @love-lemons @emo-sunshine42 @autumnpleaves @hedgiehoggles @radicalskatervirgil

[artsyxloner]

Not just a Monster

Warning: drinking

19: Another Infected

Ji-Soo laid on the recovery table fast asleep. She was still kinda pale but that will soon go away once she starts healing. The group managed to find antibiotics if she got an infection.

I would have given her some of my stuff but it burned up in the car explosion. I've been in here for a while, making sure nothing went wrong. Watching to see if her side was turning red, or started to swell.

It could get infected easily and-spread throughout her body if not watched or treated carefully. Soon Jae-Heon came in, I smiled. He was pretty badass for a man that worships God and is also a great swordsman.

( please note that this is not meant to offend anybody, my religion is Christianity )

He took a seat, laying down some white candles he brought with him. checking over Ji-Soo. I could tell something was going on between them but neither announced it yet. I guess in a world like this it was hard to.

" What are the candles for?" I questioned but waited as he lit them with a lighter. Clasping his hands together he bowed his head and began to Pray. Watching him, I haven't prayed in a long time.

I use to think what was the point, thinking it wouldn't do any good since I did a terrible sin. But seeing how Jae-Heon is still keeping his faith even after killing monsters it was the same difference.

Killing is killing.

If I ask for forgiveness will it help? will I finally stop feeling guilty and move on? Will I be able to forgive myself? I wish I knew what to do I was uncertain. But I closed my eyes and bowed my head.

Dear lord

I know I shouldn't be asking for your forgiveness... but please lift me of the sin I committed and if possible I could somehow forgive myself someday and in hopes, they can too. let my family Rest In Peace.

I finished reopening my eyes, I jumped a little realizing Jae-Heon was watching me. " God will forgive you Soo-Nico for whatever you've done." He reassured me, I felt my heart was weighing heavy.

I had to ask since he's was the only one that I could talk about religion. " how are you so sure?" Was he going to forgive me? For something as terrible as that? Jae-Heon had a knowing look on his face. " Because he's a merciful God,"

With that answer, I nodded, " I don't mean to pry but what were you praying about." I wanted to ask, I probably seem nosy. I saw him glance at Ji-Soo," for someone to live a long, healthy, happy life."

Now it was my turn to give some words of encouragement. " They will," it was short and simple but effective. Jae-Heon patted my shoulder. " you're a good kid, I'll watch over her. you should go eat something to build up your strength,"

he informed, me I had to laugh, now that he mentioned it I was pretty hungry. Rubbing my stomach I got up, bowing. Leaving the room, heading to go get something to eat.

His words somehow made me feel better. They were having dinner in the day-care-center walking in I had grabbed my plate sitting down beside Hye-in. I guess it was better to eat with people than being alone.

She was happily eating, away I noticed she had a white face mask on. She looked like a puffy marshmallow, it seems like they have all washed up. I needed a wash. Taking my spoon, I scooped some rice and took a bite.

" Ms. Cha, " Hye-In spoke up getting the woman's Attention, She had looked up. " I thought that you were tan but you're just really dirty." Hye-In laughed, I raised an eyebrow.

" Thanks.." Ms. Cha stared at her I couldn't believe she just said that. " I'm saying you look good now." what she didn't look better before?

" I got these masks in the mail. Want one?" Hye-in offered to pulling up her shirt, revealing a couple of packs of face masks. Well, that's one way to hide them.

" No, thanks. I know That I look pretty without it." This earned all kinds of laughs around the room. " wait, Seung-Wan needs it." Byeong-ll point making  Seung-Wan clap back defensively.

I have I admit it was pretty funny, as we chatted, Sun-Young walked up to our table she seemed nervous. I wondered what about it? " I should go outside." Before I could take another bite I stopped looking up at her. What for?

" I think I'm starting to have symptoms." that's when all the attention turned towards her. It was quiet, " I should've told you sooner." Sun-Young had a long face as if she was disappointed for not telling. " I guess I didn't want to believe it. I'm sorry."

No one can blame you it's scary finding out your showing symptoms it's like your life just has been ripped away. It's hard to accept. " I just don't want to put everyone in danger. So I should go before it's too late—"

Ms. Cha, interrupted Sun-Young, " still you shouldn't go outside." She dismissed. " she right. You're still human, you'll die if you go outside." Hye-In agreed. But Jay-Hwan thought otherwise.

" –We can't let her stay here?" I rolled my eyes, " why don't you shut up!" I fussed that's when Eun-Hyuk Entered the room. " why don't we all hold a vote?" Byeong-ll suggested a worried look was plastered on his face.

Then he all turned to us, " just vote how you feel, because this is like... taking part in a murder." I remembered those words, the day Eun-Hyuk guilt trip, everybody, to so they could vote for Hyun-Su to stay for selfish reasons.

But that was over and done with now, " I vote she gets to stay in the arcade." He raised his hand, I did also Even Seung-wan, " Me, too. Maybe she'll be able to hold out as Hyun-Su did?"

After that everyone raised their hands. I was Surprised when Eun-Hyuk's hand was raised, he has changed, well a lot of them have. It looked like Sun-Young was about to cry.

Soon everyone said their goodbyes, I felt bad she was going to be locked up. But it's what she wanted to keep everyone safe it's better than being outside.

At least they won't discriminate against her as they did to Hyun-Su and now be there for her. Things were changing for better than worse. Hopefully, it stayed that way.

After finishing my food, everybody was in a gloomy mood. They moved around sitting in different seats. " I could definitely use a drink on a day like this," Byeong-ll grumbled moving his pointer fingers around a small candle that was lit.

" There you go again." 

I didn't mine alcohol, but it sounds good right about now. Jay-Hwan told putting in one earbud," well, do you think Sun-Young will hold out like Hyun-Su?" Seung-Wan rethought his words he said earlier.

" I hope so. I thought it was just her husband, but her whole life is awful."  Hue-in announced, yeah I remember Suk-Hyun.

" lady you're face is Awful." Eun-Yoo sneered, I had to smirk, shaking my head. " well I think Byeong-all it right. We could definitely use a drink today."

Ms. Cha agreed I hadn't noticed she left, she was carrying a glass cylinder it was a beautiful dark red juice with raspberry in it.

Setting it down on the table unwrapping the top taking off the plastic wrap. " What is this Korean wine? Please tell me it is." Byeong-ll pleaded.

Everyone began to turn their heads to see. Gil-Seob sat up smelling the wine, " it's at least four years old." He looked up at Ms. cha and she nodded. He smelled it again as Eun-Yoo and I came over sitting beside each other.

" it could be as good as Medicine." I smiled, taking a glance at Eun-Yoo we were both too young but I already had some wine before but it wasn't that great but I was willing to give it another try.

Eun-Yoo Leander forward smelling it, " Yu-ri left early by the way." She informed him, she then moved pushing the Cylinder to me. " go on," she smiled I did to smelling it. God that smelled so sweet, my mouth watered.

" shall we finish this off before Eun-Hyuk comes?" She suggested, talking about her brother. Gil-Seob stuck his pinky in the jar getting a taste. We all began to laugh.

But stopped seeing Eun-Hyuk, he had a straight face, considering he was the leader he made the choices around here shit. " speak of the devil." Gil-Seob mumbled.

I was for sure he wouldn't let us drink, but to my shock he did. " just don't forget your duties." Eun-Hyuk then left, turning back around we quickly Gil-Seob began pouring the wine into small cups.

He handed them out giving me and Eun-Yoo one. I gladly Excepted it before I could take a sip Eun-Yoo nudged me. " hey, I saw you and Hyun-Su almost kiss." She whispered in my ear. My eyes went wide, feeling my whole body go stiff.

WHAT!?

I took a sip avoiding her stare, wow this was good and sweet, " don't be embarrassed you guys are cute together might as well hook up before you know what happens." She hinted, smirking at me.

I took another sip, gulping it down. Is this girl talk? From an actual friend? I wanted to be together with him and I confessed in way that was out of my comfort zone.

" Thanks... And yeah, what is better than two Infected's getting together in a world where anything and everything could go wrong." I said lowly enough just for her to hear.

She Seconded that. " his lips were this close!" I wined, showing her pinching my thumb and pointer finger together symbolizing how close were to kissing. I could feel my cheeks heat up, was I getting drunk I only took a few sips I must be lightweight.

I leaned my head on her shoulder kinda upset, she brought her hand up patting my head. " don't worry you'll get your chance, and you'll be the one to do it." She added.

I thought it over, " Me? why me?" My eyes glanced up. She huffed, " because Hyun-Su is too nervous, plus you made the first move he still wouldn't have done it if you didn't say anything." Eun-Yoo finished her cup like me.

I think that is enough Wine for today. I sat my cup down, feeling all fuzzy. Thinking about Hyun-Su's lips they were chapped and dry but it didn't matter I kiss them either way.

I then heard Eun-Yoo laugh loudly. Did I say that out loud? " you did!" She confirmed I was embarrassed hiding my face in my hands. Only me.

"All Alright!" Gil-Seob clubbed his hands together, " who's in for a story?" He recommended, " aren't we too old for stories?" Eun-Yoo stated, he only smiled. " not this one." is all he said

Taking a seat where everyone slept. We followed I laid my head on a pillow. " it was a very dark night with no moon. I lay down between the corpses and pretend to be dead, but u were watching them carefully." so this was a scary, story the Irony huh?

" the remnants of the people's army went inside the building, and the allied forces that were after them fired hundreds of shots at the building." He took the weird stick Jay-Hwan was holding and reenacted the gun fire-making Pow sounds.

He was on his knees saying it loudly but he suddenly stopped. " Hey, I know I saw them go into the building with my own two eyes," he said as if he was so sure. " they all went into the building but nobody came out of the building." I was interested now raising.

" and there were no dead bodies found. How baffling that building." He sucked in a breath looking around as if remembering something. It seems like everyone was on the edge of their seats. " Was here." Everyone gasped, raising hearing this.

" then?" Jay-Hwan gulped, " we have no idea what's buried underneath where we are. That's what I mean."

He Motioned towards the ground, " -what? -jeez." Someone asked not to believe this scared, I mentally laughed the only thing scarier than that is me in this room.

They had no idea, well except Eun-Yoo but then there was a loud bang since everyone was tense they all screamed. An unfamiliar man came running into the room wearing a black soldier suit." He came towards us seeing the jar of raspberry's sticking his hands in it eating them.

We all scooted back, Gil-Seob held up the stick ready to attack if needed. But Yi-kyeong strode in. " who are you, someone yelled. " I think he's a runaway soldier." He continued to eat, as the raspberry juice dripped on the table.

He then looked at his stained red hands, he kept mumbling something I think it was run? But from what? " quickly!" He freaked out then started shaking falling to the floor. What the hell?

Yi-kyeong grabbed onto his collar as the boys got up to help her. They dragged him away. " well that was unexpected." Hye-In blurred out. The girls nodded.

Seeing there was no reason to stay anymore, I got up and left before any more surprises popped up. I said my byes to Eun-Yoo, I figured I should search around for Hyun-Su.

A/N

Finally finished with this chapter. And please I'm sorry if an offended anyone talking about god, I don't mean to if you guys worship a different religion. I did it because it fits in with the characters' plot. And I also smell a great friendship coming up.

Thank you guys for the reads, votes, and support!! 🖤

[csykora]

[A tabby cat curled up in the middle of a bubble hockey board. Or you, being comfortable in an athletic community that’s good enough for you]

Hiiiiii! I’ve been looking at ice hockey and it seems a cool sport and something that I might want to do as a hobby. Only Im disabled. Do you think I could still do the thing? Do you have ideas on how to start doing the thing? Ive often found it hard to do sports because coaches or trainers don’t know shit about disability and so have no clue how to teach you things or what you may or may not be capable of and telling them is useless because they make assumptions about your body and gah. Cheers

Hey—

Yes. Do the thing. Please go do it! I am not your coach, not your trainer, only friendly local bone witch—which I am very annoyed to have to say because you are a great athlete to work with.

Can I point out a couple things you just said?

You’re offering to do a trainer’s homework for them.

The early game didn’t have coaches. People milled on and off in whatever situations they felt like. Coaches and trainers came onto the scene so that someone was keeping track of who was actually good at what, when they needed support, and how to use them to best effect. That’s their whole gig.

Talking to folks on this blog, I’ve learned lots of people have this impression that capital-A Athletes have some factory-settings-standard body, any deviation a disaster (and they themselves can’t be athletes because they don’t.)

I think it’s very useful to smash this idea. Every athlete is a grab bag of weaknesses and weirdnesses, from old injuries down to handedness. Every coach longs to have three right-shot defensemen, and has made peace with the fact they’re not going to get them. Their job is to play with all the mismatched pieces they do have until they fit into a team.

If you present a coach or trainer with information about your abilities, and they don’t want to use that information, the problem you got right there is a shit coach.

Despite what the National League believes, there are more than 32 coaches in the world. 

Throw a stick up here and you’ll hit another amateur coach. When we’re little, if we get a shit coach or PE teacher, we get stuck. That does real and lasting harm, which I am happy to go on at length about, but to flip it around:

Now, you are a big Zee, who wants to learn to play as a hobby, with the goal of having fun. That’s a powerful place to be.

I won’t say there aren’t stakes: you could get hurt, physically or emotionally. Sharing information about your body with other people to try to keep yourself from getting hurt all the time can be hard. Playing can make you feel physically accomplished and capable in your body, which is a deep need I think we all have, so having to back away if a team does turn out to be shit is hard. So I don’t say “you can always quit a team” lightly, but…there is no threat if you quit a shit team, no one (who matters) will get mad or make you go back.That means you can advocate for yourself, and if a reasonable shot at advocacy reveals that a coach isn’t just unfamiliar with how to do their job for someone with your disability but uninterested in doing their damn job for a disabled person, you can wave them farewell and find another.

Now, our goal is for you to find a good trainer, who just needs to be given information about what you (not someone with the ‘same’ condition, but you specifically) have got going on.

I’m going to tell you to look up an adult learn-to-skate program. Most rinks will have regular learn-to-skate and learn-to-hockey programs spaced throughout the year (often paired so you spend “first semester” on skating before the people who want to move up to hockey). Look up different rinks, talk to people about the rink culture and the coaches there. If you have the time, maybe spend a while hanging out there watching the open skates, local team practices or public classes, getting a sense what it’s like and telling yourself you have as much right to be in that barn as anyone else. Then sign up for a class. But first I want you to be devastatingly, Hepburn-ishly confident in talking about what your disability means for you.

From the information you’ve just given me, I don’t know almost anything I would need to work with you. You may or may not know that information about yourself already, but you can figure it out.

“Mild hemiplegia” is not a super-medical phrase. Hemiplegia is complete paralysis on one side of the body, where you are unable to move those muscles on purpose. A mild to moderate loss of muscle strength on one side is hemiparesis.

These terms are, to be honest, mostly used to organize medical literature. They describe very specific signs that might happen for a variety of reasons. Other symptoms like loss of sensation, loss of range of motion, involuntary muscle spasms, or loss/delay of involuntary motion (reflexes), which may or may not occur with plegia/paresis, have to be specified and described. If I were treating you I definitely wouldn’t describe your case as “hemiplegia”, I would call it “hemiparesis” with a lot more descriptive words around that (and I probably wouldn’t use either when talking to you).

It’s not that you used a word wrong. I’m concerned that 1. people have made you think you have to use A Medical Name for your disability for it to be taken seriously, but also 2. because the stroke happened so early, you’ve actually been denied care and opportunities to learn about it.

1. First, for the record, you don’t have to justify your disabled identity to me. And while I really (really) understand the self-protective urge a lot of us have to try to say, “my condition is really real and serious, it has a Real Medical Name, please believe me”, I think that (outside of a legal context where you’re seeking protected accommodations) that strategy often isn’t as useful as we hope it will be to communicate with other people in our daily lives. The people who demand to see your Really Medically Serious card before making accommodations will always find something else to demand, while people who aren’t trying to be assholes will be better able to help you if they know exactly, practically how.

It’s not that one way of talking about your disability is wrong, but I want you to talk about it in ways that are useful to you, that help you connect with other people and get you what you want.

2. I’ve worked with a lot of elders who have paralysis or hemiparesis from strokes later in life, after being able-bodied for most of their lives, and doctors and therapists jump right up in there teaching and training them to “recover” that “lost function”. They/their families can’t not know all the medical words just from hearing them over and over. But what often happens when a person is disabled since childhood is that…they aren’t seen as having “lost capacity” that can be “saved”, but as having a baseline “low level of function” that’ll never change, so much less attention is payed.

I’m using the air quotes because many people’s disabilities are present throughout their whole lives, and someone’s disability or disabled identity is not just a “problem” to be solved or gotten rid of. But people with disabilities grow and change, especially when we’re, you know, children. What often happens is that parents/authorities encourage able-bodied children to play, practicing motions and building up their bodies’ ability to move, while children with disabilities get benched from practice, benched from not just one activity but from being active at all, which means being benched from developing their bodies in the ways that might actually work for them, and from developing relationships with their bodies.

Proprioception, for example, is a combination of some fundamental ability/capacity/threshold/potential/whathaveyou and skill developed through experience that changes in context. Ever seen a baby? None of them know where the hell they are. A baby that can crawl is let loose to explore the world and bump into things that trigger their nerves until their body learns to fit all that sensation information together and use it. A baby that doesn’t crawl for some other reason often doesn’t get a chance to explore, to experience those sensations or train up that skill. And a kid that has a different threshold for stimulation, who naturally seeks out more or less or a different sort, is often stopped from stimming in ways which would provide their body information they could process.

As an adult, you get the chance to look at what you want to do and how your body can do it again.

So…

I want you to go throw a ball at a wall. Try to catch it. If you do any exercises already, sit-ups or pushups, do some of those. Run around the block, jump around on your bed. Stretch or just swing your arms and legs around. Find some small objects to use as weights and lift them, with either arm and then either leg (or set them on the floor and see if you can push them).

Work your way up your body one limb at a time, first thinking just about that limb on its own and then comparing the two sides after you’ve done them both. Don’t put a value judgement on anything yet, just pay attention: if your feet feel okay after running around, if you had more strength in one spot than you expected, if you had fun jumping, if there was a time you thought you might wobble but were able to correct, count that too! Think about each activity you did, the sensations around it, and whether that stim was satisfying, overstimulating, or not stimulating enough.

I want you to be able to go to a learn-to-play program, ask to talk with the coach at an appropriate time during the application or orientation, and say things like, “I have this condition. This is what it means: I have less strength with one arm, but I can move it as fast as the other, and with the same range of motion. I don’t grip items as well with one hand, or I tend to grip very hard. I don’t feel this type of sensation in this area, but I do feel that”.

Your coach is then going to recommend exercises to build strength in particular areas, or modifications to exercises so that you can do them without needing to use a particular area; they might have you try different equipment (find a tape job or adapted hand position that helps you keep hold of your stick, etc), and they may also encourage your towards and start training you for a particular position where you could do the most. When it comes to sensation, they’ll know to watch you closer for injuries in that spot that you might not notice.

This came in while I was applying to go back to university, and I bribed myself through the short essay section by pausing every hour to eat chocolate and sketch out what I would have you do for hypothetical positions and exercise plans. That’s still a long way off, but I’m very invested, so a couple things I want you to think about as you work towards the goal:

Keep sled hockey in mind. It’s not always a fit for people whose disability involves their arms, but it’s a cool community and most rinks will offer clinics where you can try out a sled and get a sense of the game.

How do you feel about getting hit with a puck? From your description, stickhandling and shooting may not be super fun for you. They may be, but if you give them a fair try and start to fee discouraged, try picturing yourself as a defender focussing on positioning or shot-blocking, or a goalie. Some people never ever want to do it, which is fair, but if you’re at all interested I’d love to see you try some time in goal! Everyone’s different but some folks the weight of the pads and the focused role can be really good stimulation. If your handling or footwork doesn’t feel great, goaltending would let you focus on moving your body more naturalistically as a whole to position in front of shots. And everyone else will love you for volunteering!

Write back and tell us how it goes!

[spac3bar7end3r]

Maybe I Don't Want Heaven?

Ineffable Bureaucracy / Post Armageddont / 1915 words

prompt: “Yes, I admit it, you were right.”

read on Ao3

“Archangel Gabriel, I believe you have gone local.” One of the agents of Heaven says while Gabriel is sitting at his desk, reading humans’ newspaper.

“What? Gone local? Me? No way.” Gabriel’s voice gets higher. He puts down the newspaper and looks at the angel in front of him. “I know I have too much human knowledge but no need to fear, there’s no way I’ve gone local like Aziraphale.” Gabriel shudders. What even is Aziraphale at this point? He doesn’t know and doesn’t care to know.

“Really? Then what’s that?” The angel squints their eyes at the newspaper and Gabriel just shrugs, putting it down on his desk. “I want to keep up with humans. We don’t have a reliable intel down there anymore,” Gabriel complains, thinking of Aziraphale again. He knows that that guy is staying with the demon Crowley now. Romantically.

What the fuck is romantic anyway? Gabriel doesn’t understand.

“Lord Beelzebub, what’s the occasion?” Some angel at the door says while Gabriel is trying to look busy doing nothing. He looks up and sees Beelzebub, Lord of The Flies, Prince of Hell, Crush of Gabriel, standing behind the door, looking grumpy.

Well, okay. Gabriel understands a romantic a little bit when he looks at Beelzebub’s annoyed face.

“I heard you have my boy.”

Gabriel perks up. Beelzebub stares at Gabriel and turns their head away as if to say, No, not you.

What a shame. Gabriel could easily be Beelzebub’s boy. If they want.

Wait. Where’s that thought come from?

“The Disposable one.”

“They were named Disposable, so just let us have them.” Gabriel shrugs, glancing at the poor demon who sits far in the corner. He constantly looks at Gabriel and then at Beelzebub like a lost child. “What’s the fucking point of the demon being up here? We’re meant to be down there.”

Beelzebub waves their hand and the Disposable Demon’s ears perk up. He stands up and slowly jogging his way to the prince of hell.

Gabriel understands what Beelzebub means. They fell, so they have to stay down there. Although he doesn’t mind one demon or two to stay up here and entertain him. Heaven is boring.  If it’s not because of his responsibility, Gabriel might take a break on earth like what Aziraphale did. Well, anything but eating gross matter.

“You know that humans don’t really read that, right?” Beelzebub uses their index finger and thumb to pick up the newspaper on Gabriel’s desk.

“What? They do read it. It’s a newspaper.” Gabriel sees it with his own eyes when he was briefly visiting the earth not long ago.

“It’s a fucking leaflet from a supermarket.”

“Really? Hm, I guess that's why I couldn’t see many humans in the paper. I thought they’re just really really interested in ham.” The archangel throws the leaflet on the floor. Beelzebub looks at it for a semi-second before it engulfs in flames.

Gabriel smiles. He stares at Beelzebub’s face. He really likes the contrast between the demon and the whitewashed floor. Beelzebub’s entire being looks so gloomy compared to the bright decorations of heaven. Their hair looks strikingly black which is so different from Gabriel’s pale one. He’s always liked looking at Beelzebub’s hair, even when it was long.

Even before the Fall.

“Sod off, stop looking at me.” Beelzebub frowns. They turn their back to Gabriel. Disposable Demon follows them like a lost puppy. Heaven doesn’t have one. Every puppy in heaven is not lost, they know where they are going. Nevertheless, Gabriel imagines that’s what lost dog looks like on earth. He’s been imagining what things will look like on earth lately. Sandalphon’s knowledge does not suffice.

Gabriel looks at Beelzebub’s back. What a ridiculous costume. He wonders what would they look like if they let Gabriel introduces them to the world of human’s fashion, the only thing he thinks humans have done right. Their attire is so ridiculous Gabriel wants to peel them off.

Gabriel looks at those two figures until they are gone.

“Yes, I admit it, you were right.” Gabriel sighs, leaning back on his chair and looking at his colleague who’s sitting not far from him. “I’ve gone local.”

Fucking humans and their stupid feelings. Is this contagious? Is Aziraphale the source of this?

- - -

“No, I am not!” Aziraphale crosses his arms, looking so offended that Gabriel has the audacity to come to his bookstore and accuse him of spreading humans’ feelings.

“Are you saying you have...feelings?” Aziraphale gapes.

“I don’t know what they are...This is not my territory.” Gabriel mumbles, “Some angels thought I’ve gone local, so maybe, maybe this happens because of the Anti-Christ or because the Armageddon didn’t happen like it's supposed to be!”

Aziraphale raises his eyebrows and says, “I assure you, it doesn’t work that way. What are these feelings you were talking about anyway?”

“I don’t know, but these feelings tend to bubble out of me when Lord Beelzebub appears.” Gabriel throws himself on the sofa, thinking about what happened earlier while looking through Aziraphale’s books collection.

Aziraphale looks Gabriel up and down. He hums lightly. Ah, of course, of course. It is barely there, almost hesitant to bare its wings outside of Gabriel’s body but it was there nevertheless; a feeling of love.

But Aziraphale doesn’t work for heaven or Gabriel anymore. He decides to be mean about it, just because he can. Crowley must be proud (Yes, he is).

“Archangel Gabriel, I think, well, From the time I am living and observing here on earth, I suppose you’re suffering a human condition called--” The angel gulps, trying to think of some credible name, “Evol.” Aziraphale spreads both of hands and says it dramatically. If it was some clever humans or playful demons, they might snicker at the stupid name and let it go. However, this is Archangel Gabriel we’re talking about.

“What? Why didn’t I know that? Is it serious?”

“It won’t get you discorporated, if that is what you’re asking.” Aziraphale feigns seriousness then resumes talking, “You didn’t know it because it happens recently and...we were busy with the Antichrist.”

“Oh.” Gabriel nods. “Then what will happen to me?”

“You will have to stay on earth.”

“WHaT.” Gabriel widens his eyes.

“Oh, yes.” Aziraphale grins. “Normally the feelings will dissipate by itself for humans, so I guess you have to do it human’s way.”

Gabriel’s face twists with disgust then he sighs.

“Alright. I’m going to do the paperwork first then I’m coming back...on earth.” He gags and stands up, walking out of the store.

Aziraphale laughs giddily. This is better than telling Michael to miracle a duck!

- - -

“Doesn’t that poor sod hate living like a human?” Beelzebub looks at Gabriel from afar. He looks kind of rough. Guess that is what happens when the clueless archangel stays on earth for too long.

“I don’t know.” Disposable demon tilts his head. “Might be.” He shrugs.

Beelzebub has heard from one of the flies that Archangel Gabriel decided to stay on earth for whatever reason. Beelzebub came here to see why or how. They cannot imagine how Gabriel can stay on earth with that limited human knowledge.

No, they are not worried about the Archangel. They just want to know.

“Hey,” Beelzebub walks over to where Gabriel is. He is sitting on a bench, looking at nothing in particular.

When Gabriel sees Beelzebub, he looks happy before he’s kind of deflated. After a month of living on earth and he was beginning to think he won’t feel anything anymore, and here they are, making Gabriel feel things again.

“Why doesn’t it help?” Why Gabriel still feels things? 

“What doesn’t help?” Beelzebub squints their eyes.

“Aziraphale told me I have Evol.”

“And what the fuck izzz that?” Beelzebub says grumpily. The buzzing sound slips from their mouth.

“A human condition that shows symptoms of...having feelings. It’s getting worse when I saw you last time. I suspected it was the Antichrist’s doing.” 

Beelzebub stops. “What did you say?”

“I said it’s a human condition--”

“No, not that part. You have feelings when you saw me?” Beelzebub looks at Gabriel’s confused eyes.

“Yes?”

Beelzebub’s wheel slowly turns in their head. They think of what Gabriel says earlier and the mention of Aziraphale. Of fucking course, it’s Aziraphale. that weird angel is living with Crowley. Their devious and annoying personalities definitely rub off on each other.

“You stupid fuck. That was just ‘Love’ spelt backwards.”

“What.” Gabriel tilts his head, still not understand.

Aziraphale is lying? Gabriel gapes. Aziraphale is lying.

“You love me, you idiot,” Beelzebub says exasperatedly and walks out without looking back. Gabriel just stands there, trying to process what that means.

- - -

“You’re still here?” Beelzebub asks. It’s been months.

“I am still here.” Gabriel sighs.

“Now that you know that condition is not real, why don’t you go back?”

“I don’t want to go back.”

“Oh.” Beelzebub grins. This is new. Does the Archangel like living like humans now? “Don’t tell me you consume ‘gross matter’ now.” Beelzebub does the air quotes.

“No, I don’t.” Gabriel twists his face. “Now that I know about my feelings for you I just...I’m tired of this stupid sides. Heaven, Hell--”

“Humans suck. Angels suck.” It seems like Beelzebub wants to continue to say Demons suck, but they stop themselves before it happens.

“I don’t want you to think that I only care about you after the Armageddon,” Gabriel says after they fell in silence. “Remember Egypt?”

“Before shit went down? Yeah.” Beelzebub nods. They think of the time when people worshipped them. That was a long time ago. They don’t think about that anymore. Sometimes they do remind themselves of the time when Gabriel came to talk to them. That time everything was bearable, even the ugly place like earth.

Beelzebub sighs. The past is the past. There was no more Lord of the High Place. Now they are the Prince of Hell. Lord of the Flies. They are content with that.

“You just have to return to heaven and do your stupid job as usual. The feelings will go away soon enough.” Beelzebub says and frowns simultaneously, thinking of what they say, suggesting the Archangel to go back and forget about his feelings for them.

Gabriel stares at Beelzebub. “I don’t want to go back. I don’t want to be alone up there.”

Beelzebub sighs in relief. It seems like Gabriel ignores the part where they told Gabriel to move on, but they still don’t know what the Archangel wants.

“If you think, even just a tiny bit, that I will go up there with you then you’re wrong.”

“I...did not ask you to go. I ask you to stay.”

“Stay? Stay where? Here? Gabriel, you’re an archangel. Your place is heaven.” 

“Maybe I don’t want heaven?” Gabriel asks to no one in particular, but he still stares at the Prince of Hell. “Maybe I don’t want the earth. And God Almighty, I definitely don’t want hell.”

“Then What do you want?” Beelzebub looks up, staring straight to Gabriel’s eyes and anticipating the Archangel’s answer.

“I want you.”

Gabriel doesn’t know where would be the best place for both of them, but he believes that he could find one. He doesn’t care about earth much, but if it means he can stay with them then so be it.

[milkte-aa]

" deal breaker! " (myg x y/n x jjk) 001

📍tags/genre ;; angst, satire, demon!au, prince!au.

📍summary ;; many many years ago, an ancestor of yours made a deal with two demon princes and never paid his debt. the demons, who lay dormant, have awoken and want their prize. and as a blessing and a curse, the prize is you.

📍author's note ;; the story is a bit mature, so chapters that don't have gore, violence, or smut, are still best for 16+ readers. but, of course, read at your own expense.

📍to find other chapters search #db-jjkmyg

"Come on, Jungkook! We don't have all year!!"

That loud voice resonated throughout the large, victorian styled manor. The dark hardwood floors were just a clean and shiny as they had been left, back when the victorian era was on the rise. It was a tragic day, when the manor was left behind, and that day would always be remembered as the day when the demons lost the great war. The two demon princes, who resided within this manor had fought and the front lines, and were forced into dormancy when they lost.

The heavy sound of footsteps could be heard at the home's entrance from deep within the many halls. Approaching every so calmly, Yoongi knew his call had been heard.

He gazed into the round mirror next to the coat rack that lay in the manor's entrance hall, fingertips brushing lightly over his cheek and jaw. The last time he'd seen his own face, was over 130 years ago, and there had been a long and deep cut that split his face in half diagonally. It was strange that they woke up, let alone come back completely unharmed or scarred. It left Yoongi to wonder why he was returned to his original state? Why wasn't his black hair matted with blood? Why was his skin left smooth and clean and not cracked, cut, and burned? Why was Jungkook so unhurt as he? He was greatful that his lover was back in the correct mental state, but why was it so?

"Weird isn't it? That we look brand new?" A chuckled rumbled across the entryway, taking Yoongi's attention away from his silvery reflection. He looked to Jungkook, the tall and handsome boy he'd had as a companion for centuries.

Yoongi nodded, looking back towards the mirror for a moment. He watched himself, quietly staring into his dark eyes. Jungkook cleared his throat in an attempt to get the other's attention, "So, hyung, why did you call my name?"

Jungkook had shoved his hands into the pockets of his blazer, with a coy smile on his face. Depsite them having come back so 'new', they were still wearing the same clothes. Black blazer's and slacks, dress shoes, and decorative silk shirts with matching chokers. Silver and gold adorned their fingers and ears, matching the outfit and the era they had left behind.

"Ah yes, we have some unfinished business to conclude." Yoongi turned again to the younger male, "Sadly, that war interrupted us."

Jungkook tilted his head. He was tired and confused, and quite frankly it took a second for him to even recall the very war that took place. But he caught on, remembering the crippled old man that had begged them to cure his only child of an incurable disease. They had done so, with promise that they would be able to collect whatever prize they wished from him when they returned—whether it be riches, land, or a soul. He nodded.

"Is there any prize to collect?"

Yoongi licked his lips. "I believe so. I looked into while you took a nap. The current family isn't rich, so I think we'll be collecting a soul. Unless something else takes our interest."

Jungkook liked the idea of a prize, even though the last thing he could remember was losing a great battle. Souls meant servants. Servants meant things getting back to normal.

Yoongi approached his companion, placing a palm on the younger's cheek. He still saw the condition Jungkook used to be in. The beaten and swollen image lingered in his memories. "I'm so happy you're okay..."

Jungkook smiled, setting his own hand over Yoongi's. "Mhmm, me too. Now, let's go get our well earned prize before it runs away."

"Yes, let's."

Your ancestory had always been a mystery to you. It felt like living in fog, and only ever seeing what was closest to you. You never met your grandparents, as they were all dead before you were born, and so you could never ask silly questions about what wars they lived through or where they grew up. Your parents wouldn't talk about it much, especially after their divorce when you were thirteen.

Though, despite all that you didn't know, there was always one thing that remained clear—your family was cursed.

The story was simple; over 100 years ago, a man in your family made a choice. Would he save his daughter from death or would he let her go and end her suffering? Despite what his little girl had wanted, he chose to save her from the clutches of death, and looked everywhere for the cure. But no books held the answer and no doctor had the time. He had lost hope. That was, until the man was approached by a mysterious creature and offered a deal. He took it without much thought, not caring to ask what the creature was or where it came from. Because of that, his ancestors believed him to have cursed the bloodline— due to making a deal with something that has yet to collect its end of the bargain.

If the family really was cursed, then maybe that would explain why you felt like nothing ever went right. All through highschool, you made mediocre grades and never seemed to impress your parents while simultaneously managing to never make any long lasting friendships. During the year between highschool and college, you had gotten fired at almost every job you took for extremely stupid things. And now, in university, depsite having finally made some good grades you're knee deep in student loan debt. You could hardly pay bills as it was, and soon enough the bank would show up a take you shitty car and even shittier apartment.

But what could you do about that? Nothing, really. Life is just a series of miserable mistakes and regrets, with the only promising goal being growing old and retiring right at the age when freetime is uncomfortable and impossible. Yeah, life is shitty. Life was so shitty sometimes, that it made you wish that the deal your idiot ancestor made would come back and haunt you because then maybe life wouldn't be so painfully drab.

Though, your catch yourself in that thought because demons, or monsters, or fairy tales weren't real.

Ring ring ring!

The distint chime of your cellphone rang at you from your bedroom, gently calling you to answer an important phone call.

"Who is it at this hour? Its almost 10 o'clock..." You pulled yourself up from the old cushions of your hand-me-down couch, eyes briefly passing over the screen of your tv, which flashed with commercials at the moment. With quick steps, you reached your bedroom, which wasn't really that far away at all, and managed to reach your phone before it quit ringing.

"Hello?"

Nothing could be heard from the other end, thought you were certain someone was listening to you.

"Who is this? If you're trying to sell me something just do it already and don't waste my time."

Nothing again, and with that you hung up— people these days were rude over the phone too. You huffed, turning your phone off and chucking it on the bed with a soft thud. Through your annoyed attitude, though, a strange feeling of coldness swept up your spine. It swarmed your brain, filling your mind with a ice so black and dark that it stopped you from thinking for a moment. But it faded, as it some sort of fire or heat had burned it away. Strange, you thought, and then you snapped back into reality.

The tv show you were watching echoed in the distance.

You walked quietly back to the living room, gazing down at your index finger and grumbling at the chipped blue nail polish as you did. You hardly paid attention to your surroundings in this moment, and ran into the couch, slamming your toe against its hard bottom.

"F-fucking hell! Bitchass couch, always in my fucking way!" You yelled out, squeezing your eyes in pain as you reached down to hold your throbbing toe.

A soft sound eerily similar to the clicking of tongue of teeth could be heard, and then...

"Well that wasn't a very ladylike set of words." The low grumble of words jerked you out of your pain, your eyes wide as the shot up to see a man sitting on your kitchen counter, his legs crossed calmly over one another. He was cold. That very coldness you'd felt just before you left you bedroom.

"W-who'er you?!" You scrambled backwards, nearly falling your ass in the process. "How'd you get in my house?!!"

The man chuckled, cleary amused with your prey-like display. His dark gaze raked over you slowly, and his tongue peeked out of his lips for a brief moment. He had black hair, brushed out of his face to show a subtle bit of the pale skin on his forehead. The rest of him was pale, all except his eyes and hair... and the oddly Victorian outfit he wore. "Who am I? How'd I get in? Those are your questions?" He scoffed, "Mortals... You never cease to amuse...."

He trailed off just as you looked to your left, spotting a large black dog towaring over your couch and gazing at you. It looked like a hellhound, but there was something oddly human about it. At closer look, the dog had black horns atop its head and rows of razor sharp teeth and a two-pronged tongue. Its tail swung around carfully, like a snake.

The man on your counter spoke again, "I am a demon, little girl, older than your bloodline and nearly as old as religion itself. This here is my friend, who decided to appear in this form rather than a human one...."

You scoffed, definitely by accident. The reflex in you to pass off stupid claims as symptoms of a low IQ. You regretted this immediately.

The man showed you his teeth, a flashy way to tell you to know your place. "I'm serious, girl. You can stand there all wobbly kneed a pretend that you don't know, deep down inside what we are, but I see right through you." He looked to the dog, that looked back at him and let out an impatient whine. "But... I will be kind and tell you the story, so that maybe then you'll show us some more respect."

You blinked several times, a feeble attempt as waking up from this nightmare. Demons? Imposible! Such a stupid idea. These are just figmants of your imagination. Maybe your family was cursed; but it would be cursed sooner with insanity that it would with demons.

"Once upon a time, during the Victorian Era, a young girl suffered from a bad case of of some very mysterious disease. Her father wanted her to live so very badly, and sold everything he had to find her a cure. But no doctor could care to help, and no witch had a practical solution. He poor, little girl was dying and each day the pale horse grew closer. But, one day, he found himself in the presence of two strange creatures that he passed off as extremely smart hellhounds. Whatever they were, he made a deal with them, selling his soul for his daughter's life. The 'creatures' were nice, and decided to wait until the man got to live a happy life with his daughter before they came to collect his soul and his life. But, those 'creatures' got caught up in a war and were left dormant for over 100 years. And now, they need to get paid for their kindness..."

You could out two and two together, you were mental, the 'deal' your ancestor made was real and it was with this man here and his... dog?

"So that's not really a dog?" You pointed to large mass of dark fur that starred at your with red eyes.

The man shook his head, "No, that's my partner-in-crime Jungkook. And I'm Yoongi. Glad to see you've found your common sense, little girl."

"So, um, Yoongi, what do I have to do with this deal? You can't possibly be here for my soul, I didn't make that stupid deal..." You tried to calm down, but it was difficult to say the least. You were starring death and its dog, er, friend in the face. Who could stay calm during that?

Yoongi looked to his friend, nodding subtlety before he adjusted his hair with a heavily jeweled hand. "I hate to tell you this, but a soul is hard to get once its dead, not unless we were there to grab it. But as I said, its been 100 years, and your great great great grandaddy is probably deep within the inferno. Jungkook and I hardly have the time to find him."

"So, you're going to kill me?" The wind outside your apartment's front door howled, a sign of an on coming storm before it happened. You could almost taste the rain in the air.

The room was silent for a moment, giving your thoughts time to catch up to the situation. You've been acting like this were a real situation. As if! Demons aren't real. Neither was magic or curses ir any of that other mumbo-jumbo. To even believe it for a second would make your insane. Maybe you were. Maybe you were in some sort of looney-bin hospital strapped to a white table and screaming like all hell was loose.

Then, the more fake than real, Yoongi spoke up. He cleared his throat, hopping gracefully off of the marble countertop. The slender man approached you, peering into your fearful and confused face before looking to his hound-shaped companion. The hound thing nodded.

"Hate to break it to you sweetheart, but we can't kill you just yet." Yoongi seemed pleased, a hidden emotion swimming in the dark pools of his eyes. "Remember that war I mentioned? Yeah, well it drained us of our power, and now we can't do something as simple as collect a soul."

Crazy, stupid, gullible girl! This isn't real! Stop responding to your hallucinations!!

You shook your thoughts away, saying nothing to Yoongi at all. He was definitely talkitive and would more than likey continue speaking on his own.

".... So, girl, that means that you're coming with us and will stay under our watch until we're strong enough to do such."

And so he proved you right.

"You don't believe me do you? You think your just a normal, everyday psycho broad who dropped her marbles somewhere and can't find them." Yoongi chuckled. "Do you want to know something? If you were dreaming or imagining this, then you wouldn't be able to feel pain or taste things. And I do recall you jamming your toe not too long ago."

Defiantly, you looked up at him, meeting him eye-to-eye in a show of boldness. "That doesn't prove anything. I could've started hallucinating between then and now. God, look at me, I'm giving into this whole brain fiasco and talking to you! And you're not even real!" You laughed, making this possibility of madness grow.

"Oh how amusing! I, the wonderfully boring and dull, Y/n, have finally gone absolutely insane. I see demons and hellhounds! What's next, fairies and unicorns? Will I begin to preach that I have seen God's true fac-" Your babblings were halted by the most violently pleasant burning sensation, accompanied by the feeling of lips against yours. The mouth against your's was soft, gentle even, with not a hint of malicious intent. You gave in, melt into the touch the snaked around your body— your demon has kissed you.

The moment didn't last long, though you wished it had, because suddenly your bottom lip seared with pain and the taste of blood filled your mouth. Those soft lips tugged themselves away, leaving you with a bloody lip.

"You bit me!" You accused, touching your fingertips to your lip. Yoongi licked his lips, an remnants of your blood disappearing. He grinned.

"Better yet, you would've liked that pain if I kept on with that kiss."

"Why would you do that?" Your ears and cheeks burned with embarrassment. He had done that on purpose, to prove some point more than likey. But the fact that you felt it—his lips, the pain—it meant that-

"This is real. I am real. So is, my very annoyed friend over there." He gestured calmly to the hound who was scrunching its face up, a low rumble emitting from its throat. Your eyes darted back to Yoongi, who was still smiling. "So, sweetheart, are you going to give in and come with us willingly or is he going to drag you?"

You added it all up in your head. Demons, hellhounds, broken deals, war, soul stealing, and ownership. This was crazy... but real. Maybe. The mind is tricky. You contemplated locking yourself in the bathroom and waiting for them to leave, but Jungkook would definitely tear the door down and rip you into ribbons. You could go with them too. Its not like you would be leaving much behind. Your poor parents would be so torn up about it if you just went missing out of nowhere.

Yoongi still stood relatively close to you, so you backed up a bit before you spoke. "I'll go with you, but... let me pack a bag and write a note in case anyone comes looking. Alright?"

You were insane, this was insane, but you had no real choices.

Yoongi nodded, satisfied with your response. "Alright, but hurry. We don't have all year."

And with that, you scurried to your bedroom with two pairs of knowing eyes burying themselves into your back. What had you gotten yourself into, Y/n?

[moonstonediaz]

you definitely don't have to answer this (like, at all) but i was wondering if you got your mri results back? i know from experience that it can take ages to speak to a neuro after, dep. on where you live, but since you mentioned yours thought it could be m.s. i just wanted to say - as someone who has m.s. myself - that i hope it ISN'T m.s., but also if it IS i am rooting for you ♥

hey! i have a habit of over sharing (it’s my toxic trait ☹️) so no issue on that front. i’m actually surprised i never posted about it after the fact lmao.

so, my MRI was normal! my dove, i’m not sure i could ever imagine living with MS. i’m sending you love and light and warm hugs if you like hugs 💙

idk if i told the whole story before, but i’ll tell it now! under the cut just in case it gets long and boring

tldr: it did 🙂

SO. my symptoms began seemingly out of nowhere in august of 2021. it started at work while i was sitting at my desk. my head started pounding—not like a headache, it was throbbing, like my brain felt like it was swelling in my skull—it was pulsing in time with my heartbeat, the sound of my pulse/blood rushing through my veins filled my ears, i felt unbalanced (still in my chair) and vision in my right eye went blurry. it lasted for maybe 10-15 seconds and then it went away. i though “huh. that was fuckin weird” and went about my day. it happened four more times that day.

it took me two months to see my doctor about it. during those months my “episodes”, as i began to call them, only increased in frequency. they went from about 3-4 times a day to about 8-10, still only lasting about 15 seconds each time. once the episode would end, everything was back to normal. but i began to develop new symptoms too. my hands and feet would get tingly, the initial blurriness in my right eye went to complete black, and i started to get really, truly, honestly dizzy. i emphasize this because anytime i would explain my symptoms to people, they’d immediately try to tell me i was dizzy and i WASNT. until i was. one day when i was at my desk, an episode started. and i can’t really explain it but all i could think was “i need to get up.” so i tried going to the bathroom and nearly ate carpet after about 4 steps. i had to sit on the floor until it passed.

i know what you might be thinking: tiffany, you waited two months before seeing someone about this? and listen, i don’t hate doctors but i certainly don’t like going to see someone when i only have vague ways of describing my symptoms. at least at the time all i had were vague descriptors like “idk i feel unbalanced and wobbly” and “i can HEAR my BLOOD in my EARS” and “my head throbs in time with my heartbeat but it ISNT a headache. it doesn’t HURT”

so i went to my regular GP and he decided to run an ekg on me right then and there. (my heart is fine! blood pressure is fine! all healthy in that regard) and then he said it sounded like it could be migraines (insert worlds biggest eye roll here) and then he said “you know, i don’t like throwing these words around bc it puts you in a bad mindset but it could be a tiny brain tumor or it could be a symptom of MS or any number of things. i’m going to refer you to neuro.”

(small backstory here: i saw a neurologist in 2017 for migraines. we did an mri and it was clear (“you seriously need to get a copy of your scan. this is a perfect brain. i’d frame this if i were you” - my neuro at the time. he was completely serious. no i never got the scan lmao) anyway, we discovered that my migraines were due to a reaction to diary. who! knew! regardless of this, i’ve dealt with headaches in some form my entire adult life. i’ve had migraines, ocular headaches, sinus headaches, headaches from lack of caffeine, regular ol’ headaches. just. headaches.)

he sends me to a different neuro at the same office because “he’s good! i’ve worked with him before!” so i’m like whatever i’ll give it a shot. immediately on the first visit he said “migraines” and i wanted to demand my copay back. but i decided to hear him out. no way they were giving me my $50 anyway. so he put me on a medicine that gave me severe dry mouth and didn’t help any of my symptoms. so i had to go back and get put on a different medicine. and that didn’t work and i had to go back and get on a different medicine. and that didn’t work and i had to go back and get on a different medicine. and that didn’t work and i had to go back and get on a different medicine. at that point, he raised his fists and cried out “why couldn’t you just be textbook?!” and i’m like “tell that to my bank account, friend!” so he’s like maybe? this ISNT? MIGRAINES? 😳 wow. novel concept. that’s when he started throwing out names of stuff like POTS (tested for it. not it.) and lhermitte’s phenomenon (close! i guess?) and MS.

when he said MS my heart stopped and my eyes lit up. because while i absolutely did not want it to be MS, if it was then at least we had an answer. not to mention MS came up almost every time i googled a symptom. so that’s when he scheduled the MRI. i paid the damn $1100 (relieved it was this low actually) and stoically went to the hospital because i’m a big girl and can go to the hospital alone 😖 and had my 45 minute long MRI. my hands were numb the entire time and when i asked the tech if that was normal she said “oh……………uh. no?” and that was that! *insert clip of me driving home on a sunny day happily sipping my treat-myself-smoothie to the tune of 1976 Hall & Oates classic “Rich Girl”*

this was on a friday so i didn’t get my results until monday. i wasn’t nervous or anything. i had actually forgotten all about it (intuition, man!) until they called on monday. “your scan was normal” was all they said. i expected to feel relief, but i was even more dejected than i was during the trial-and-error of pills. no medicines were helping at all. my scan was normal. no one knows what’s happening to me. back at square one.

and that’s where my story ends! i’m still having symptoms (my episodes are about 45-60 seconds long now, but happening less frequently. and my vision during an episode went back to just blurry!) but i stopped seeing the doctor. $50 specialist copays add the fuck up and it’s hard to justify when i know he’s just going to throw more pills at my head and hope he never has to see me again bc i’m the meDiCaL mYsTeRy

the only other thing i’ve been able to come up with that it could possibly be is “idiopathic intracranial hypertension” and that is only helped with, you guessed it, more pills! i probably should have seen him one more time for a follow up after the MRI. i really should have. and i still can! i just don’t know. idk what i want to do. ignoring it does nothing, but neither does addressing it. 🤷🏼‍♀️🤷🏼‍♀️🥲🙃

[not-poignant]

Hey Pia! I know you've spoken about this generally in the past, but I wasn't sure if you had ever posted anything specific. I am also struggling with trying to balance my desire to write, and throw myself into writing, with the physical and emotional limitations of disability. I really want to become more serious about my writing, but I don't want to hurt myself. What kind of 'hard limits' do you have to set for yourself to balance your productivity and how do you determine them? Thank you!

Hiya anon!

I’m definitely not necessarily the right person to go to on advice on this. Like, as we speak I’m currently wearing a wrist brace because my Guyon’s Canal and Cubital Tunnel Syndromes are playing up again from me...doing too much...outside of the limits of disability.

So in light of that, I’m shoving the rest of this under a read-more, because anyone who has been following me for a while probably knows that I am the last person to be a role model re: ‘how to work when disabled.’

To be honest, it’s really hard to strike up a balance. Like, really hard, especially if you have chronic illnesses of the kind that shift and change on a daily basis. What you can do one day, week, month, or year, you might not ever be able to do again, let alone rely on with any sort of regularity. Will I ever write 75,000 words in a month again? Maybe. Should I? Probably not. Can I expect that what I’m sticking to this year will be reliable down the track? No. That side of things sucks. One day I might not be able to write anymore and that’s just...how that goes.

I don’t write to a daily wordcount. This just seems folly for my chronic illnesses (of which the primary symptoms are whole body pain and intermittent inflammation, crushing fatigue and brain fog. Writing with brain fog is literally impossible). So I have a monthly wordcount. This means on the good-to-average days I can spin out words, and on the bad days, I have no pressure to attain a wordcount.

You won’t know how much you can do until you start trial/error, and reflecting at the end of say each two weeks, how you feel what you’re doing is balancing against how you feel, and your energy levels.

I’ve learned that it’s good to stop while things are going well. As in, don’t stop when you run out of words or have nothing left or are exhausted. I don’t always listen to this, but what I’ve learned is that if you stop before the well is dry, you’re a) less likely to feel like shit re: specifically writing the next day and b) you’ll generally know what you want to write when you sit down at the computer (notepad/ipad/laptop/whatever) again. This is good advice for anyone, but especially good for people who need to pay attention to spoon expenditure. Sometimes it can be good to use pacing - i.e. work out how much you can do without hurting your energy levels at all, reduce the number even more, and then try and stick to that. Googling ‘pacing / fibromyalgia’ is a good way of seeing how to get an idea of what your limits are.

Be prepared though, for this process to involve finding your limits, which of course means...sometimes getting sick because of hitting them. It might be that editing takes more spoons than you thought, or reading things for research (something a lot of writers do, and that I do) is draining, or posting things / polishing things for publication is exhausting more than you could’ve known. For me, marketing makes me hit the wall in about five seconds. There is no ‘safe’ level of marketing, if I have to market something outside of say, this specific Tumblr, I can expect to have about two weeks of not being productive at all. That’s just...the way it goes.

Which is why my ‘official’ writing Tumblr/Facebook/etc. are all dead. The cost is too high.

I hate pacing (seriously, I did a chronic conditions management course and it was my least favourite part. Like I said, I’m kind of not great to go to about this stuff since I frequently push myself too far and get really sick.) But pacing is very useful, and there are a lot of good guides about it now.

I tend to boom/bust with what I do. I do expect burnout? It doesn’t always come when I expect it, and sometimes it pounces when I least expect it and have been really careful with my output. So I think it might also help to have a plan in mind for if/when you do hit burnout. And also know the signs of you hitting a flare / burnout / whatever language fits here. Write them down somewhere, check in on that list sometimes. If your symptoms fit the list before you’re too exhausted to write, take a break until the symptoms lessen.

Also, plan ahead. Like, once you have an idea of your monthly wordcount - say it’s 10,000 words a month (that’s conservative, but not unrealistic with chronic disability), that’s 120,000 words a year. That’s one book. Or two very short books. Or one short book and a few oneshots. Or one book and one novella, etc. That doesn’t include time put aside for editing, or formatting, or anything else. 

And that assumes that your wordcount remains consistent. That there’s no unforeseen disasters re: health, or long periods of burnout re: health.

Think about what you really want to be spending your time doing, because you’ll need to stay accountable for stray words etc. if you have goals in mind re: wanting to be a writer.

Also, plan breaks. Like, idk if you already are someone who finds it easy to take breaks, but let’s say you hit your wordcount for the week/month/whenever, take a break afterwards. Don’t use all your energy towards the next project immediately, use some of your energy to take a break and recharge a bit.

Um, be patient with yourself (I’m literally giving you advice I don’t follow, lol), and also, it’s important to remember your overall end goals. Are they to make an income? What kind of income? (Realistically, most full-time writers who are releasing 3-4 books per year only ever make around $8000 a year (it’s gone up!), so it’s not a great career for like...income). Is it to have fun? Is it to prove something to yourself? Are you only wanting to write fanfiction, original fiction, or both? Like, all those things I don’t know from your Ask, but are good things to sit down and brainstorm answers for. Because writing for income may produce a very different plan vs. only writing for fun vs. only writing fanfiction.

And it also really depends on your symptoms too. Everyone’s chronic illnesses / and/or disabilities present in different ways, even if two people have the same illness. I’m writing this advice based partly on my restrictions, but my advice would be pretty useless for someone who might have a lot of energy, but is blind, and really just needs advice on what software/hardware they need to help them write. (Actually my advice might be pretty useless anyway, I am not someone who has this figured out - I am like, learning as I go, and usually the hard way. I would be great for ‘how not to fail at this - a lesson learned by example. Over and over again.’)

Personally, I would just...give yourself some time to feel out your writing limits and like, set an alarm or something every few weeks to assess how you’re feeling as a result of writing / editing X amount. If I were less of a workaholic, I think I would’ve done things a lot more slowly. But my personality is the kind that just likes to dive deep into things and deal with the crushing burnout / increased illness afterwards, and hope it doesn’t permanently alter my energy levels.

And sometimes I’m not lucky enough for that to happen. I’m as sick as I am now, in part, because of two decades of going too hard, and not pulling back fast enough (not just in writing, across all things). I think regular people are better at bouncing back, but I wouldn’t know, I’ve always been sick.

I should follow more of my own advice. ;)

[invinciblerodent]

The Liam criticism is definitely unfair. And yeah, I HAVE seen people cite Cullen as abusive and being menacing for his outbursts. Usually these claims weren't supported by much evidence but people will make a lot of excuses and invent flaws for characters they just don't like. I actually see some similarities between the "Liam has anger issues" and the "Cullen's PTSD makes him dangerous" crowds in that they latch on to one factor and exaggerate it to ridiculous levels.

Pt 2. People in this fandom are also quick to flat out DENY that cullen has a mental illness so they can paint his outbursts as coming out of nowhere and being a sign of abusiveness. (I don’t even like cullen but the ableism is real). So it doesn’t remotely shock me that they wanna rip Liam apart over literally nothing. And yeah, I wouldn’t be surprised if some of it is just racism but I bet it’s also because he’s “Boring het, human, boyfriend.”

((Disclaimer, this is a very delicate seesaw of sensitive issues that we are balancing on, essentially contrasting and comparing speculations about the perceptions of mental illness and race -two things only one of which do I have personal experience with-, and I already apologize if I come off as ignorant, or overly clinical in my musings about these things. You guys know I never mean to offend, and please, don’t hesitate to tell me if something I say is hurtful or offensive.))

Okay, full disclosure- I like Cullen just fine. I think that he is an interestingly imperfect character with a fascinating and quite subtle arc that draws a througline in the background of two games, and is then brought to an equally imperfect climax in the third. I don’t have any complaints about it per se, I just recognize that it isn’t without aspects about which to think critically.

Which is precisely it: I feel that it cannot be ignored that most players who are vocal in that discussion, harbor feelings of distaste as per the result of their experience in previous games, and them not being satisfied with the fact that he gets a “redemption arc”. (Which, tbh, I think is an oversimplification, but that’s really not what this is about.)

You are right that many of the sources that paint Cullen as abusive or dangerous either ignore his struggles with mental health issues and paint him as an “asshole without a cause”, OR they villify mental illness to a disgusting (and, imo, in itself frightening) degree- That latter is what seems to be more common, which in and of itself is iffy. But the point is, I don’t recall ever having heard the words “anger issues” in relation to Cullen. His anger is pretty much always perceived as a result of many different factors and symptoms working together, a complexity which use of the term “anger issues” denies.

Using that term pushes the outward manifestation of emotional distress into the middle of the stage in a way that is unlike mentions of anger as a symptom of other mental illnesses. Linguistically speaking, by stating that it is about ANGER, it emphasizes the danger the person suffering from the illness in question poses to others, rather than the suffering of the person themself.

We are already talking context, in which case I cannot stress enough that the history of the representations of black men’s anger in media is… well. That has a HELL of a truckload of baggage.

The thing in, at the end of the day, both Cullen’s and Liam’s actions are, in context, reasonable human reactions. 

Anger is something that is born from fear (of the death of the self or others), from sadness, from guilt or shame (be it the stigma of addiction or feeling like one is the direct reason for the suffering of others), from disappointment (like plans not working out as intended and having grave consequences for innocent people), or feelings of powerlessness and pain. It is a perfectly natural human emotion, an outward manifestation of extreme emotional distress and frustration, and making a pathological case out of it on the basis of one or two instances (in which the person is clearly under extreme emotional duress) is simply an exaggeration.

It is the way we, as a fandom, talk about those reactions and the way we frame them either as resultative or causative (ie. whether the anger is attributed to a more complex source or it in itself serving as the identifier of its source) are what show a racialised overtone.

In no other case is Liam shown as having a temper, he is an easygoing, extroverted, caring young man (”Side effect of giving a shit”) with a good sense of humor, a desire to make meaningful connections with others (as, and I have mentioned this before, he is very much alone in the galaxy, and as a result of that, lonely as balls), and a casual approach that can result in a couple of instances in which his foot ends up in his mouth. He’s quick to express emotion, be it fondness, amusement, displeasure, or, yeah, even frustration, after which he is equally as quick to return to being his usual, easygoing self.

Taking one instance of anger and thinking of it as the norm of a person’s behavior while ignoring all other nuance and evidence of the contrary, especially in the case of a young black man, to me just reeks of racism. 

For Chrissakes, I’m going to stand on whatever rooftop is high enough, and shout let black men be angry without pathologizing their emotions as many times as it takes.

((Of course, side note, with the Mass Effect fandom there is also the whole thing with humans vs. aliens which I think stems from our preconceived notions about groups of people transferring well onto human characters and not so well onto aliens… frankly I think that placing alien characters on a pedestal is, in and of itself, horribly exotifying and the reason so many of them seem to get a free pass is because they get to be seen without the labels of human sexual-, gender-, or racial identity, but that’s a whole other topic.))