#are you part of a disability rights movement or are you treating this as your personal private support group?

[jeezypetes]

The way susanna is so horrifically (racistly) abused and neglected by the narrative and by king himself… and yet she’s the only one who gets a happy ending…. Its so lame and too little too late and yet…. I crey every time

[sneakygreenbean]

personal observations made by a new cane user:

you do not need to be in constant pain to own a cane.

folding canes have a clasp or band to keep them folded. losing the band is a pain in the ass.

you will get dirty looks

it does not matter what age you are. you will get dirty looks.

you have to hold it in the opposite hand as the disabled leg. this is fortunate, as I am right handed, so i hold it in my left hand to support my right leg.

people will try to steal your cane from you.

when standing still, I hold it in my right hand unless i need to do something right handedly. this does not work as well as i thought it would.

being visibly physically disabled is difficult. having a mobility aid will help with pain and movement, but some people don't get them because visible disability is treated with disgust.

if someone meets you for the first time, and you don't have your cane, then they will like you more, but they will not believe you are actually disabled.

if someone meets you for the first time, and you have your cane, they will not treat you the same.

the majority of other cane and mobility aid users I have met are homeless. I live close to a big city.

People do not want to see you being disabled.

you will not hear of the benefits of using a cane from anyone who does not use a cane.

no one will prepare you for the world of being visibly physically disabled. however bad you think we have it is usually not from the disability at all. I can deal with pain and I can deal with an indisposed left hand.

the hardest part of being disabled is the fact that no one will care until you make them care.

the disabled seats on trains are a suggestion

the disabled seats on buses are a suggestion.

you will have a different experience with using a cane than I have had.

your hand will become tired. you are using it as a leg.

your cane is legally a part of your body. this will not stop some people.

you are not your disability. but it will affect you.

i love you

theres always an invisible someone who has it worse. that person will not be affected or offended by your use of a cane. take the damn ibuprofen. put the folded cane in your bag. ask your friends for help. gd knows they need help sometimes too.

you will have to learn that things will be impossible to you. you may not run as fast anymore. you may not become a skater, like you always wanted to be. you may be left behind when everyone else runs ahead.

you deserve better.

your cane handle gets dirty. wash it.

some days pain is worse. some days you will feel it the moment you wake up.

no one deserves pain. the human condition is not to suffer. we deserve better. we deserve to be loved and not tolerated. we deserve to be seen better than from the corners of eyes. we deserve to be heard better than an afterthought at a meeting.

be quick to care for yourself. I love you.

[wildestdreamsblog]

Latibule Season 2: V

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader (Mafia/Detective AU)

Summary: In which he lost his latibule.

Warnings: Secret Identity, Yandere behavior, Obsessiveness, Possessiveness, Manipulative behavior, Violence, Mention of death, Disability, Sexual themes, If you’re not 18+ please, PLEASE, do not interact. Be mindful of the warnings. Let me know if I miss anything.

A/N: BTS is 7.

Masterlist, Latibule 2.IV

“You’re finally awake,” a familiar, gentle voice on your right remarked.

You slowly turned to the direction of the voice, your eyes were slow to adjust from the sudden brightness of the white and sterile room. You could make out a man with a tall form, and even with the little vision you were left, you were sure you have seen this man before.

You blinked owlishly, clearing out the sleep from your eyes and little by little, your vision cleared out as best as it could. When it finally did, your breath hitched from the recognition of who this man was.

The man who claimed to have lost his cat years ago– Suga’s hyung.

He smiled at you when a stark recognition crossed your face.

“I never thought we’d see each other again,” he chuckled from his seat, on his lap was your chart. “Let alone in this circumstance."

You quickly sat up. Only now did you feel a restriction form your left hand. Your other hand was quick to reach out, feeling the dextrose drip attached to your skin. You turned to him with caution in your movement, memories of what transpired before this rushing into you.

He found you and he was going to end you.

“W-where am I?” trying to steady your trembling voice and muster some courage.

Seokjin tilted his head to the side. If he noticed your trembling, he did not mention. Apparently, he was content with observing you with almost scientific curiosity. “You’re in my hospital,” he replied.

He followed your eyes as you tried your very best to see what this room was, your eyes drifting across the whole room as though you were looking for something.

“Are you looking for Yoongi?” he asked when enough silence passed with you looking like you were ready to bolt in any given moment. You were sure that

Your refusal to answer was an answer in itself. Your silence spoke volumes.

Seokjin’s relaxed demeanor was just adding up to your nervousness. Why was he not doing anything, you wondered? You were sure that he was a part of whatever shady business Suga was part of. It was impossible that he was not aware of that. After all, they did seem close and they were brothers. The correlation alone was enough to make you be wary of him despite the friendly act of his.

“He’s outside the room,” Seokjin shared with lightness in his words. He chose not to divulge that his younger brother was literally just outside the room, standing guard as though someone was going to take you from him. Worse, that you would disappear right under his nose had he left his pose. “Wanna know why? Apparently, he, and I quote, ‘cannot bear to see the frightened look his angel gave him’.”

“Do you want to see him?”

“I want to leave.”

He stood up calmly and proceeded to check and adjust your dextrose. “Don’t move this hand too much. You’re going to bleed,” he advised, murmuring under his breath how Yoongi was going to hurt him if you were hurt under his care. He also noted how none of his brothers treated him with the respect the eldest should be given. Also, he grumbled about how he kept on feeding them despite their disrespect.

It wasn’t lost on you how he didn’t answer nor acknowledge what you said.

He fished a penlight from his white coat, “I’m just going to check your eyes, Y/N,” he said as he turned the penlight on and instructed you to open your eyes. “Minimal reaction to light,” he murmured to himself before writing down on your chart. “When did this happen?”

“Should I answer?”

“That’s alright. I’ll just check with Doctor Choi-“

“How did you know my doctor?” you asked in aghast. Did their hold know no bound? If not, how then would he know something of confidential matter?

“Hmm?” he moved away from you slowly, his eyes comically wide and his hands raised as though in retreat. It would have been funny had you not been sure that he was one of the bad men you despised so much. “Y/N, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You squinted your eyes at his retreating form. The room that you were in seemed to be ridiculously large and despite the number of steps he was taking, he was still far from the door.

“I swear I don’t know. But also, while we are in the topic of things I certainly do not know and have absolutely no way of knowing, I also have no knowledge of the scar on your stomach that suspiciously do not look like a cesarean scar.”

---

Seokjin jumped from shock when Yoongi stepped in front of him as soon as he exited the room. “I’m going to die early because of my own brothers,” he grumbled in irritation, clutching your chart to his chest. “I can’t go without seeing my sunshine one more time.”

“How is she?”

“Hey, hyung! Have you eaten, hyung? Thank you for staying up all night to take care of the love of my life. I owe you one, hyung. You’re just the best, hyung. You’re so handsome, hyung– really?! Is that so hard to say those things?!” Seokjin finished, his heavy breath a telltale sign of his agitation.

“Let’s just go ahead and pretend I said those things. Anyway, how is she?” Yoongi asked, his face couldn’t hide the exhaustion from staying up all night and refusing to leave despite his assurance that you would be fine under Seokjin’s care. His face was even paler than normal.

He didn’t even leave his post to eat that he had to call the only available brother (and not even his second nor third choice, but his last resort), Kim Taehyung, to disguise himself and come to the hospital with food. Taehyung then had to force the other brother to eat at least two spoonsful of rice.

Taehyung was rarely denied by Yoongi, so maybe Seokjin chose the right brother for this task. Never mind the fact that he was later on kicked out by Yoongi because he kept on looking closely and taking notes of the way he was acting because he said that it would be useful for his next movie character.

“Hopeless. All of you are hopeless-“

“You are, too. How’s your sunshine, by the way?” Yoongi shot back and despite his lack of sleep, his words were sharp as ever.

“I don’t know where she is, okay!? Why are you hurting me like this?!” he asked dramatically, childishly glaring at him. “I hate you! If you want to know how your Angel is, you better ask her yourself!”

Seokjin walked away, his steps quick and his white coat was trailing behind him which further added to his dramatics. A paid actor, if you would.

“I…I can’t, hyung,” Yoongi admitted behind him. The quietness of the hospital wing was enough for him to hear his younger brother’s vulnerability. Further, it was just enough to stop him from walking away.

“Yoongi, you little shit, what do you really want to happen?”

Yoongi sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping in a rare display of weakness. The image of the strong, composed leader seemed to dissolve in the face of his fear. The man who was usually a pillar of strength was now showing vulnerability. It was true what they said—even the strongest man falls to his knees for the woman he loves.

“Hyung,” he started, his voice low and his dark eyes down casted to the floor. “I just want her to be well. I want her to get back the life she had before I destroyed it. I want her to have a chance at normalcy. She deserves it. She deserves peace-”

 “She will be well.”

“How can you even be sure, hyung?” his voice, despite hinting a bit of hope still held despair. “You didn’t see her like I did. She was so…far from who she was.”

Seokjin smirked, “Because I said so. Now that that is out of the way, what do you really want? What’s really in that disgusting thingy you so fondly called a heart?”

Yoongi looked at him, his eyes held a certain darkness Seokjin was all too familiar with. He stood up straight, a strand of his hair fell to his face as he scoffed, “Her.”

He chuckled before leveling him with a serious stare. “Then go and get her.”

---

Your breath hitched when the door opened and your steps haltered.

Coincidentally, you knew who it was before he could even make it two steps inside the room. Even with your eyes failing you, you could never not know who he was. The sound of the door clicking shut behind him was unmistakable.

This was the moment of truth, you realized. This was your nightmares all and simultaneously coming to life.

You took a hesitant step back as his shoes made a sound. Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat louder and more frantic than the last.

“You shouldn’t be walking around just yet, Angel,” he admonished quietly, and by doing so, effectively broke the silence between the two of you. You had never forgotten how his voice sounded like despite attempting your very best to erase his existence from your memories. You had never forgotten how deep his voice sounded like, nor how to tell what he was feeling by the timbre of his voice alone.

Despite all that, you couldn’t help but feel something when you heard his voice,

The anxiety was almost suffocating that your breaths came out short and quick. “W-why am I here?”

“You lost consciousness, Angel.”

You stepped back when you heard his voice nearer. Unlike back home, you didn’t know the layout of the room like the back of your hand. You were utterly and truly helpless in his presence. You only had yourself this time. “I want to leave.”

“You need to get treated, Angel-”

“I want to leave!” you screamed at him, your hands now shaking uncontrollably from having to face the person who destroyed your world.

“Angel, calm down,” he implored, worry apparent in his voice but you didn’t care. It didn’t matter what he felt. You wanted him gone. You wanted to get away from this situation. You wanted to go home where everything was familiar. You wanted to hold your son again. You wished he never found you again. You wished that you could just wake up from this nightmare and back to your life.

Suddenly, the back of your leg collided with something solid, and you lost your footing. The room tilted as you fell, the moment drawn out, weightless—until strong arms caught you before you hit the ground. His reflexes, honed from years of instinct, were faster than gravity.

You were in his arms again.

For a breathless moment, you were in his arms again. Your body stiffened immediately, every muscle tensing in protest. Panic flared hot in your chest, overwhelming every sense. The touch you had once welcomed now filled you with terror. You shoved at him, desperate to get away.

“Don’t touch me!” Your voice was sharp, trembling with fear, and you struggled to free yourself, needing to break the contact. He loosened his grip, and you stumbled back to the floor, but his eyes never left yours.

“You’re scared of me…” he said in horrifying realization. Never in his wildest dreams did he ever want you of all people to be terrified of him when he had been nothing but gentle to you. Not when you looked at him before like he held all the answers and hang all the stars in the sky- too opposite of how now your eyes never left his in terror that he would do something terrible to you. Now, your wide, terrified gaze was locked on him as though he were something dangerous, something monstrous that might strike at any moment. The realization seemed to tear him apart, slowly, painfully.

“I-I’d never hurt you,” he stammered, his voice shaky with desperation as if each word might be the last thread keeping him tethered to something he no longer understood. “You have to know that Angel–”

“Don’t call me that,” you cut him off, your voice harsh as you pulled yourself further away, dragging yourself from his reach, from his proximity. And inching toward any corner. The endearment that had once meant so much now felt like an insult, a reminder of everything he had taken from you. His very presence was a wound you were desperate to escape, a scar you could never heal while he was near.

He recoiled at your words, the pain in his eyes deepening as if the rejection physically hurt him. "Please... I’d never—"

"Stop." Your voice shook as you raised a hand, as though the very sound of his voice was too much. "You don’t get to talk like that. You don’t get to act like you weren’t planning to use me and kill me the first chance you got."

A deafening, soul-crushing silence settled over the room, so thick and oppressive it felt like you could choke on it. The accusation hung in the air, heavy, suffocating, leaving no room for either of you to breathe. His face went blank, as if every emotion had been stripped away in an instant, leaving behind only a hollow shell. His eyes searched yours, trying to find something, some trace of the person you used to be, the person who used to believe in him.

If you didn’t know any better, you would think that he already left. His presence felt ghostly, his body frozen as if he couldn’t bear the weight of your words.

“Is that why you are so scared of me? Is that why you let me believe that you were dead?” he asked lowly, disbelief apparent in his tone. Was all the agony he endured because of a misunderstanding, a mistake on his part?

Your heart skipped a beat. What?

He believed that you were dead?

"What are you talking about?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper, confusion mixing with the fear that still pulsed through your veins.

Suga took a shaky breath. If you could see him, you’d see the tears pooling in his eyes, glistening as they threatened to fall. His gaze never wavered, locked onto yours, a painful mixture of sadness and confusion reflected in the depths of his eyes. “T-that night, Angel, you disappeared. We couldn’t find you anywhere. You just…vanished without a trace-” he paused, swallowing hard as if the memory was too painful to relive. “Everyone said that you died. Everyone told me that it would be impossible for you to survive that fire, not after the wounds you got. I never believed them. You must understand. I searched for you—years, Angel. Years of believing I lost you forever."

Your stomach twisted as his words settled in. The intensity of his gaze, the genuine anguish in his voice—it was as if he truly believed what he was saying. He had spent all this time believing you were gone, that you had died. But how? Why?

None of this made sense.

You shook your head, trying to clear the fog of disbelief clouding your mind. Your heart pounded in your chest, and your pulse roared in your ears as you tried to hold onto your version of the truth—the one you had built to survive. "I didn’t let you believe anything," you whispered, your voice shaking. “You’re lying. You’re making a fool out of me again. You didn’t look for me because you wanted me gone! H-he told me that if you find me…that you’d kill me. That you’re scared of being exposed for who you are-“

"Who’s he, Angel?" His voice was soft, but there was a hard edge beneath it—an urgency, a desperation to understand what had led to this moment, what had driven you so far away.

You froze, realization crashing over you like ice water. No. You shouldn't have mentioned him. If Suga thought you had died, then maybe—just maybe—he believed that Hoseok had disappeared with you in the fire. If that was true, he had no reason to go looking for him. No reason to discover what you were protecting.

But time was running out.

Not just for you, but for Hoseok.

Kim Seokjin knew what you were hiding, and the longer you stayed here, the closer Suga would get to the truth. If he ever found out about your son…

Your breath hitched, panic clawing at your throat. You couldn't let that happen. You couldn't let him find Hoseok. "It doesn’t matter," you said quickly, your voice cracking as you tried to mask your fear, but you knew it was too late. His eyes narrowed, sensing the shift in you.

"It does matter," Suga said, his voice growing harder, his patience wearing thin. "Tell me who’s been feeding you these lies, Angel. Who made you believe I wanted to hurt you?"

You swallowed, feeling the weight of his words press against your chest. His eyes were locked onto yours, searching for any sign of weakness, any crack where you might let the truth slip. But you couldn't. If you did, everything would fall apart. You would endanger your son.

"You’re not going to tell me? Fine," he said after a moment of tense silence, his voice dropping to a dangerous calm. "We have the rest of our lives to figure this out. But make this clear: you will not make me live without you again. I’m not letting you leave me."

“You can’t make me stay here!”

Suga’s lips curled into a slight, unsettling smile. "Oh, Angel," he murmured, taking a slow step closer, his eyes never leaving yours. "I can."

Your pulse quickened as you backed away, but there was nowhere left to go. The walls, the room, his presence—everything felt too close, too suffocating.

"You said you loved me once," he continued, his voice soft but chilling. "I told you then... you can never take that back."

Your heart pounded violently in your chest, the words hanging over you like a sentence. You had once loved him, but that love was gone, buried under fear, pain, and the desperate need to protect your son. Yet to him, that love still tethered you to him—unbreakable, inescapable.

"Things have changed," you whispered, fighting to keep your voice steady.

Suga shook his head slowly, stepping closer until the space between you was almost nonexistent. "No," he said quietly, almost tenderly, "the only thing that's changed is that now, I know what it feels like to live without you. And I'm not going through that again."

He reached out, his hand ghosting near your arm, but you flinched away, causing a flicker of something darker to flash across his eyes.

"You don’t get to leave, Angel. Not this time."

[endless-ineffabilities]

Maroon (part one)

modern!Aemond Targaryen x f!reader

The burgundy on my T-shirt when you splashed your wine into me

And how the blood rushed into my cheeks, so scarlet, it was (maroon)

themes: fluff, Aemond and the reader being friends first, shy reader, red wine antics, language + Aemond does not have his disability/lost eye in this one (but I plan to write it in for a potential part two)

word count: 3.8k

series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

The reader has always admired Aemond Targaryen from afar, the brother of her best friend Helaena. Little does she know, she has caught his eye as well. Something is revealed one night, encouraged by a sudden splash of maroon.

"You've been awfully silent tonight," Aemond says, "and more so after Helaena went to bed. Is something wrong, y/n?"

Your fingers tighten around your wine glass, unsure of what to say. Perhaps you have withdrawn back into your shell when your best friend Helaena decided she was going to bed early. She is quite the lightweight, after all. A few sips of wine and she was out.

You didn't mind. But she left you here with Aemond, sprawled out on the expensive carpet in their living room. He gracefully leans against the couch, remaining poised. One thing you admire about him is the way he carries himself, almost with a sense of regal austerity that makes him intimidating to most people. Add that to the fact that Aemond is one of the heirs to the Targaryen business empire, the richest family in the city.

But for some reason, he is gentle with you. Treating you differently than he does anyone else. Almost with reverence. Helaena once joked that he shouldn't go easy on you too much, with you being tougher than you look. Aemond just laughed it off, but you stood there awkwardly, unable to hide the way your face grew flushed all over.

Your crush on Aemond Targaryen has only gotten worse since then.

"I'm not silent," you find yourself blurting out in a defensive tone, "I'm... just... nursing my wine, that's all."

Get your shit together, y/n.

A small smile appears on Aemond's lips, as he notices your increasingly flustered state, "Okay, I believe you."

"Good," you look down at your glass, swirling it around. What should I say next? What should I say next?

Aemond interrupts your nervous train of thought, continuing his sentiment slowly, "Because, you know, I would hate to think if there's anything wrong, or if you feel uncomfortable in any way. We are friends, y/n. I want you to feel that you can be free around me, as you are around Helaena."

He just knows the right words to say, doesn't he?

"I know," you respond, in a calmer tone that even surprises you, "and I appreciate that, Aemond. I apologize if I come off as aloof sometimes - "

"Don't apologize," he laughs dryly, "if there's anyone who knows what it's like to come off as aloof, it's me."

"True enough," you smile, taking a sip of your wine. You don't notice Aemond’s eyes follow your movement, fixating at last on the way your lips curve against the glass.

"Tell you what," he says, "how about we play a game? Break the ice even more and all that."

"A game?"

"Yeah, like, I haven't a clue... truth or dare?"

You gulp, your mind racing with the possibilities of what that game usually entails when played out, "I don't think that works with just two people, Aemond."

"Why not?" he slides a bit closer to you on the carpet, and your heart races ever faster.

"It just... it just doesn't!" you shrug, breathing out in a slight huff. He's so close. So close.

"I say it can work, y/n."

"Really, now?" you raise your eyebrows, "I'm not built for doing dares."

"We'll keep it simple. Nothing too ridiculous. And if we don't want to tell the truth, or do a dare, we just have to take three sips of wine."

"Hmm..."

"Or even soda, or water. If you prefer. I don't want to feel like I'm making you drink. Helaena would murder me if you get too drunk whilst in my company." Ah, Aemond. Always so considerate.

"I'm okay," you smile, "I'll stick with wine."

"So you accept my offer?"

You take a deep breath, in an attempt to steel your nerves. Before you can chicken out, and change your mind, you say, "Fine. Let's play."

"Wonderful," he smirks, "So, darling... truth or dare?"

"Truth," you croak, the way he addressed you as darling still echoing in your ears. There's no way you'll jump right into a dare.

"Okay. What was your first impression of me?"

"Oh," you rack your brain for an appropriate answer. One that can be said out loud in front of Aemond anyway.

"I, uhm, I thought you were polite."

"Polite?" he laughs freely, "glad to know I make that much of a lasting impression."

"I mean, not just that," you lean forward, "you were well put together, I guess. Quiet, but not shy. I got the sense that you know exactly who you are. You've got a strong sense of self, and as a result, you know how to take care of yourself, and your family. It's admirable, really." You also thought of running your fingers through his astonishingly silver hair, craving to know what it felt like, but he doesn't need to know that now.

"Hmm," he smiles softly, looking down, almost wistfully, "there was a time when I was quite different, you know. I was so insecure, and so angry. It's a miracle that I've grown into who I am now, but I am proud of myself for it."

Aemond is opening up to me? You get a sense of innocence with the way he spoke, and a sincerity, with all pretenses put away. Here, he is just Aemond, not this great heir or this renowned scholar. “That truly is something to be proud of,” you profess, “I, for one, am proud of the person that you are.”

His eyes light up as he looks at you, “That means a lot coming from you, y/n.”

“Does it?” you ask. Why would it? Since the first time you met, over a year ago, you have not had many lengthy interactions. The handful of times you were brought together, with only the two of you, were purely coincidental. Like this very moment. You did not expect to be drinking wine with him on the carpet tonight. You had actually considered heading home after Helaena went to bed, but Aemond took your hand, pulling you back down to sit with him, imploring you to please stay. Just a while longer.

And you are glad that you had.

“It does,” is the only thing that Aemond says in response, and as much as you want to press on, you decide to let it go.

“Okay, Aemond. Truth or dare?”

“Dare,” he takes a sip of wine. You think of how pointless the whole condition of only having to take a drink when refusing the challenge has become. You two continue to drink, either way.

“I dare you to… uhm, tell me something in High Valyrian.” You’ve always been fascinated by the Targaryens’ native language, them being originally from the faraway country of Valyria. It is truly a place on top of your bucket list, and you secretly wish that Aemond would take you there one day.

“That’s easy,” he smiles, then pauses, looking at you directly in your eyes. He takes a deep breath, as if mulling over what to say. Then you hear it.

“Iksā gevie.”

You swallow nervously. The way his voice deepened went straight to your head, making you feel slightly faint. You whisper, “That sounds… lovely. What does it mean?”

“I’ll let you figure that out on your own.”

You punch him lightly on the shoulder, your confidence gaining a significant boost from the wine, “Come on. Just tell me. What did you say again? Ikse gevya... gevy?”

He beams, amused by your pronunciation, “Iksā gevie,” he repeats, “Eek-sah gev-yeh.”

“Right, right,” you nod, taking another sip of wine, “Just you wait until I type that in Google Translate. It better not have been anything rude.”

“Oh, it wasn’t,” he promises. “Truth or dare?”

“Eh… dare,” you say, but you immediately change your mind. “No, wait, truth! I choose truth.”

“Are you absolutely sure, darling?” Aemond croons, tilting his head.

“Truth.”

“Alright, then. Are you seeing… uh…” he pauses, clearing his throat, “are you seeing any… any chance of you working for our company in the future?”

Are you seeing anyone? He had wanted to ask instead. Aemond internally kicks himself for pulling back.

You notice how weirdly he phrased that question. You choose your answer carefully, “Well, it’s definitely something I would consider. You know how much I admire your family. But, I don’t want anything handed to me on a plate. If I were to get a job there, I want it to be on my own merit. I don’t want you or Helaena or anyone to vouch for me, or put in a good word for me, just because I’m your friend.”

“I understand, darling.” He smiles at the determined way with which you spoke. His stubborn girl. “But if you ever need any help, I’m here.”

You reach out to squeeze his hand gently, as a sign of your appreciation, “Thank you, Aemond. You’ve always been kind to me.”

He looks down at your hand around his, and he clutches yours in return. When your eyes meet, you see that his gaze is so warm, so gentle. You feel as if you are being held. Like you’re safe.

You finally let go of his hand, “So, truth or dare?”

And so, the game continues for another half hour, the two of you growing increasingly inebriated by the minute. The wine glasses have been put to the side, the two of you opting to  take turns with drinking out of the bottle instead. You answer all sorts of questions from Aemond, such as “Which of the Targaryen siblings do you think should run the company?”, “Who’s your preferred drinking partner, Aegon or Daeron?”, and “Do you like my hair better short or long?”

You ask him your fair share, but one thing that sticks to your mind is what he answers to “Are you interested in anyone at the moment?”

“Yes. I think so.” He says, and you can tell that he is being honest. Your heart sinks at that. Of course, there would be someone who already caught Aemond’s eye. He is one of the city’s most eligible bachelors, after all. Women everywhere are vying for his attention. It only makes sense that he would eventually meet someone he truly liked.

“That’s great. I’m happy for you.” Your smile doesn’t reach your eyes, and Aemond astutely picks up on what you may have assumed.

“Darling, I - ”

You cut him off bluntly, not remembering that it’s his turn to ask, “Truth or dare, Aemond?”

“Hmm,” he stands, your question hanging in the air, with his hand outstretched for you to take, “come with me. I want to show you something.”

Taking the wine bottle, you stand and interlace your fingers with his. “Where are we going?”

He guides you out of the expansive living room, turning right at the end of a long hallway. He pries open a glass pivot door, revealing the private stairwell of their penthouse. Without a word shared, you climb up the flight of stairs together. One floor, two floors, three. Until you reach what can only be the roof of the high-rise building they live in.

The cool, midnight air is a refreshing assault to your senses. Immediately, you feel more awake, less drowsy from the wine. The rooftop is spacious and has been outfitted with a seating area, plenty of potted plants, dainty lighting fixtures that hang from the posts, as well as an exposed room littered with bust sculptures. The balcony stretches all around its perimeter, made out of ornately carved bronze.

“Wow,” you say, after taking it all in. “I’ve never been up here before.” You turn to look at him, and he seems pleased at your reaction. You add, “And you live here? Imagine. My entire apartment must only be a quarter of this rooftop, if not less.”

“Hmm,” he smiles, looking around, “I like to come up here to think. This rooftop is rarely ever in use, since my family all prefer to huddle downstairs. And well, Aegon’s afraid of heights.” He sneers at the end.

“Is he now?” you hand him the bottle of wine, “Remind me to bring that up the next time we see him.”

“Last time he was up here, he threw up over the balcony.”

“Oh, god,” Aemond laughs at the way your face scrunches up in disgust. “That’s quite a long drop. I hope he didn’t hit anyone on the sidewalk with it.”

“What a shame, really. That would have been the most interesting lawsuit.” Aemond remarks, before motioning with his head for you to follow him.

He reaches a plush seat facing the balcony, and the two of you sit in relative silence for a while. The whole city seems to be sprawled out below you, and the stars above also gleam much closer, like they are just within reach. Your wandering eyes take everything in with awe, but Aemond only watches you.

Instead of the stars, he thinks of how you are within reach. If only he would just let you know how he feels.

When you turn to finally look at him, you are surprised to see that he has been watching you. “Aemond,” you say, “why are you so nice to me?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, why are you so nice to me? From what I’ve seen, you are indifferent to most people. It can’t just be because I am Helaena’s friend, is it? You don’t have to treat me like I’m some fragile doll, you know. I won’t break, I swear.” Your voice takes on a sarcastic tone, and the corner of his lips lift in a smile.

He looks away, facing the tops of the buildings in the sprawling city that his family empire practically owns. Prince of the city, some people call him.

“I know that, darling.” He tilts his head partially towards you. “I like that you’re… different. I mean, trust me when I say, the crowd that the lot of us are exposed to tends to be entitled, shallow sycophants.”

“Bit harsh, Aemond.”

“Perhaps,” he smiles sardonically, “but anyway. I’m used to people only being interested in me because of my last name, or the family legacy. No one’s ever bothered to see me for who I truly am, save for only a handful of people. Because of this, I get quite protective of Helaena, since she can be overly trusting. She only chooses to see the good in others.”

“That’s what I love the most about her,” you say sincerely.

“Hmm, yes. But it also makes her more vulnerable. She’s had friends before, who were only clearly hanging around her so they might leech off of her higher status.”

“Aemond, I’m sorry to hear - ”

“But not you. I am aware that Helaena tried to help you before. Tried to get you a better apartment, or get you a high-ranking job with us. It would be easy, just like that. But you refuse, time and time again. You don’t mock us either, simply for being who we are, and having this much privilege. You see us as people, and unfortunately that’s a rare thing. I can tell that you truly care for Helaena, otherwise I wouldn’t let you hang around her at all,” Aemond smiles, nudging your shoulder, then drapes his arm on the back of the seat behind you.

“Overprotective brother much?” you taunt lightly.

“It’s an affliction I choose to bear,” you notice how he has leaned closer, his breath warm on your face.

You swallow nervously, “So, I guess you answered my question.”

“Partially,” he shakes his head slightly, “darling, I’ve got a long list of reasons why I like you, and that’s only scratching the surface.”

“Oh.” If you thought you felt faint before, then you were just about ready to pass out now. Panicking, you raise the wine bottle to your lips, taking a long drag. But when you pull the bottle away, you must have done it in a nervous rush, causing it to tilt in a way that wine spills out and splashes on your shoulder.

“Steady, y/n.” Aemond takes the bottle from you, setting it down on the stone floor.

“Fuck.” You look down and see the wine stain on your shirt, seeping wider, a shade of scarlet so deep it could be mistaken for maroon.

Suddenly, Aemond laughs. You want to act incredulous, or annoyed, but the sound of his laughter is so hearty and genuine. And so rare, that you find yourself smiling at the sight of his dimples deepening, and the faint lines around his eyes bursting free.

“What’s so funny?” you ask.

“Nothing,” he shrugs, shaking his head, “It’s just, at the rate you’re going with the wine, you could be giving Aegon a run for his money.”

“Ha-ha,” you dab at your shirt with your hand, but it doesn’t do much good.

“Come, I can lend you something to wear.” He takes your hand, leading you out of the rooftop.

“It’s alright, Aemond. I can just borrow one from Helaena.”

“She’s already asleep,” the two of you descend down the stairwell, stopping at the first floor below.

“I’m sure she won’t mind.” Where is he taking me? Must be the laundry room, or a guest room?

“I insist,” he declares, dropping your qualms altogether.

You come to a halt in front of a wooden door, painted a brushed forest green. Before you could ask anything, he holds the door open for you, “This is my room.”

You look at him expectantly, unsure of whether you should enter. He only smiles, “After you, darling.”

With your heart pounding in your chest, and the maroon patch still vivid by your shoulder, you step inside Aemond’s bedroom. It’s massive, predictably, just like every other room in this penthouse. The walls are a comforting, deep shade of forest green, just like the door. There are also accented panels of dark gray, to avoid a monotony of colour. The furniture is simple, clean, modern. Yet each one possesses intricate detailing. His bookshelf covers the entire eastern wall. His bed… well. You compose yourself, trying not to let your mind wander.

You feel him standing behind you, waiting.

“Nice room,” you say.

“Hmm,” you can practically hear the smile in his voice, “thank you. I don’t really bring anyone in here.”

“Oh, I don’t mean to impose - ”

“Stop. I asked you to come in here, y/n.” He walks over to a sliding door to the left, revealing a large walk-in wardrobe. Of course he would have one of those.

He disappears inside for a moment, before returning to you, a dark green sweater in his hand. The same shade as his bedroom walls. Hmm. Aemond seems to have an affinity for green.

“Here, put this on.” He hands the sweater to you. “This should be comfortable enough to sleep in.”

“Thanks,” you take it, feeling the material in your hands.

“No problem,” he continues to look at you, and you have to ask, pointing to the walk-in wardrobe, “Could I maybe change in there?”

“Right, sorry, I should have offered,” Aemond smiles, looking down.

“One second.”

When you gently slide the door shut, you lean back against it, taking the deep calming breath you’ve been holding in. Being around Aemond makes you feel as if your very skin is on fire. The attraction you feel for him becomes so palpable, making you somewhat a nervous wreck. There’s no need. Like he said, he is your friend, y/n.

You sit on the bench in the middle of the room, taking your shirt off. Hurriedly, you put on his green sweater, and he’s right. It is so damn comfortable. And it smells exactly like him.

“Everything alright in there?” you hear him from behind the sliding door.

“Y-yeah,” you say. Taking your stained shirt in one hand, you stand, and meet him outside.

He studies you, admiring the way his sweater hangs off your torso. “Hmm,” he remarks, as he always does, “you look better in it than I do, y/n.”

“Well, thank you,” you say sincerely, before adding, “but I have to disagree.”

“You look beautiful.” He suddenly says, the words immediately taking root in your heart, “You are beautiful.”

“What?” you croak, your voice coming out in an astonished whisper.

“That is what I said earlier,” he continues, “That is what iksā gevie means.”

“Oh.”

Aemond crosses the few steps needed to erase the distance between the two of you, plucks the shirt from your hand, and deftly tosses it to a nearby chair. Then, he takes your hands in his. He gazes into your eyes, and his expression is a mixture of longing and reluctance. He then traces your cheekbone with his fingers, delicately, as if you will crumble under his touch. And you just might.

“Aemond - ”

“Iksan jāre naejot vūjigon ao sir.”

You feel the urge to ask him what those words mean, instead you choose to simply let it be, and just bask in the sincerity in his tone. In the way he does not drop your gaze when he spoke them. In the way his hands slowly find themselves on your waist, pulling you close.

He leans in, slowly. And the whole world ceases to exist around you. The ringing in your ears becomes silenced, and there is only Aemond. You’ve always wondered what it would feel like, his lips pressed against yours. His devotion reserved only for you. It seemed like a dream, but now, it is well within reach.

But the dream is shattered when a heavy knock echoes throughout the room. Three, brief, raps on the forest green surface. That was all it took to break the spell.

Aemond’s brows furrow in frustration, his hands still on your waist. There is an anger in his voice when he calls loudly over his shoulder, “Yes?”

“It’s me, sir.” You recognize the intruder to be Criston Cole, the head of their family’s security team.

“Wait here, darling,” Aemond says, running his finger over your lips, over what he could have taken if you had not been interrupted.

Aemond opens the door, and you briefly meet Criston’s eyes from across the room.

Your presence in Aemond’s room seems to catch him off guard, but he straightens quickly, “Aemond, there is someone here for you.”

“At this fucking hour?”

Looking at you once more, Criston lowers his voice when he replies, but you hear it anyway. “It’s Alys Rivers. She’s waiting for you downstairs as usual.”

As usual. Alys Rivers. The famous model and socialite. You knew of her from the magazines, the internet. There have been tabloid articles of her and Aemond, but you knew better than to pay any attention to them, not believing that there could be any truth to such lowly forms of media. Or at least, that was what you assumed. But if she’s here, in this ungodly hour, then…

“I think I should get to bed,” you walk towards the doorway, “to Helaena’s room, that is.”

“No,” Aemond stops you in your tracks, grabbing your arm, “wait. We aren’t finished yet. I just - ”

“Your guest is waiting, Aemond.” You cut him off, not meeting his eyes.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” he says, while he tries to get you to look at him, but to no avail. You’re worried that if you do, you might not be able to leave.

Criston shuffles out of the way to let you through, greeting you with a cordial, “Good night, y/n.” You notice how there might even be a hint of regret in his eyes.

Each step feels heavy as you make your way down the hallway to Helaena’s room. Compared to how you felt, mere moments ago, as though you were floating on air.

Sleep doesn’t come easy to you that night, your thoughts racing on what might be happening down the hall. Who is Alys Rivers to you, Aemond? Why did she have to ruin what would have been a perfect night? Are you just stringing me along?

When you finally succumb to slumber, you fall into a dream.

Of who else but Aemond? Of who else but the one whom your heart desires?

Ok ok ok. This will be the last thing posted before part 5 of Heart on Fire. I think. 🤞

“Iksan jāre naejot vūjigon ao sir.” - "I'm going to kiss you now." - Aemond 🖤

Maroon just had to be multi-chaptered. It might be my favourite track from midnights.

Apologies to those who have sent requests. I do see them, but I'm just a bit bogged with uni/life at the moment. Hopefully will write a lot more soon!

Also, thank you thank you for all the kind remarks/messages. You guys are amazing. Any suggestions for part 2? Let me know in the comments 🖤🖤🖤

Aemond/HotD taglist: @aemcndtargaryen @cryztalline @fairaardirascenarios @blackravena @vensidia @xinyourdreamsx @mrswhitethornbelikov @mikariell95 @thermiting @witchofthenorthstar @m00n5t0n3 @booknerd2004 @throughgoeshamilton @xcallmetaniax @wrendermeuseless @m-indkiller @graykageyama @nsainmoonchild @milemarianne @immyowndefender @moonmaiden1996 @caspianobsessed @schniiipsel @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @random-human02 @icarusignite @flourishandblotts-inc @siriusdumblittlepuppy @just-a-harmless-patato @moni-cah @boofy1998 @huntycola @angel6776 @sanguinalia @thelastcitysposts @daeneeryss @wondergal2001 @huntycola

[hareofhrair]

While I'm yelling about House MD--

I see in the notes of my House posts sometimes people being like "ooh, maybe I should watch that" and I always kind of wince and want to grab them like, yeah, please do, but also watch out. There's a reason we call it hate crimes md, and it's not just because of the queerbaiting.

So the thing about House is... It began airing in 2004. The 2000's were, for those of you who missed them, an... interesting time for what was then still called "political correctness." And these times were heralded by a certain Type of Guy, with a certain type of Edgy Humor. In pushing back against the admittedly very white liberal language policing of the PC movement, his goal was to be as offensive as possible, to every demographic possible. For those that had thought it through enough to justify this behavior, the claim was an intent to shake things up and force people to confront their unspoken biases and have hard conversations. The catch phrase was "I'm not racist, I hate everybody equally." These were your Jeff Dunhams, your Dane Cooks...

(For my part, I think it was, at it's heart, white guys attempting to parrot the marginalized groups demanding radical acceptance? A gay person saying "yeah I'm a faggot, what's it to you?" A disabled person saying "yeah I'm crippled, fight me about it. Call me a person with special needs again and I'll break your kneecaps with my cane." They picked up on the "we'd rather be called a slur than this avoidant, self righteous, language policing bullshit" and came away with "so I should call everyone slurs, got it.")

Enter House MD.

The tagline of the show is "Everybody Lies," and it's a very consistent theme throughout. The thesis of the show is that our society, with its shame and repression and bias, is incapable of real honesty. And approaching problems with soft, non confrontational language that talks around the issue instead of dealing with it only makes this worse.

So naturally, House is one of Those Guys.

I doubt there is a single episode in which he does not at some point, say a slur. When Foreman (the only black character and, until Kutner and Park, the only non white major character) is in the same scene with House, you can be absolutely certain he is going to say something racist, while staring at Foreman with a shit eating grin, daring him to make a fuss about it so he can monologue about how Affirmative Action is actually condescending to black people.

It would be one thing if this were strictly a character choice, something that was specifically wrong with House the person. Unfortunately, even when House is not involved the show itself is still, just, blindingly racist, all the time. Any time the patient isn't white, it's a horror show. Racist caricatures as far as the eye can see. It's also intermittently sexist, intersexist, nauseatingly fatphobic, and while it generally does better with disability than most any other show of the time, it is still shockingly ableist at times given the main character is, himself, physically disabled, and implied to be autistic as well.

What makes it worse is that they set House up as someone who wants to deflate people's egos and make them confront their biases ect, and then almost never puts him in a position where he's punching up. There's even a specific episode where he's treating a conservative campaign manager who released an insanely racist anti-migrant political ad, and his racism just doesn't get brought up. The ugly truth about himself he's forced to confront is that he's gay, and the man he's in love with and the people he surrounds himself with are, well. Conservatives.

All of this is not to say you shouldn't watch House or that House is a bad show. It's just very much a show from a very specific and unfortunate moment in the recent history of the ongoing battle for equality. The worst part is, its heart is in the right place, it is just doing a real bad job. It wants to be progressive. It just thinks being polite and respectful is weak and lame.

On that note! The show also features a canonically bisexual woman who actually says the word bisexual-- fucking wild for the time, where the best you generally got was vague allusions to "swinging both ways."-- And it shows her in relationships with both women and men. Including, very notably, Foreman. And if I need to tell you how revolutionary it was for them to show a romantic relationship between a black man and a white woman in the 2010's, take a minute and think about how many relationships like that you've seen in TV or movies since then. Or ever.

It centers on a nuanced and compassionate portrayal of an addict, and tackles the realities of that in an incredibly honest way I don't think I've seen anywhere else. Just the simple, consistent reminders that both House and the other addicts featured on the show are using for a reason, and it's often because they have medical needs that have been neglected by bigoted doctors. There's a whole arc where they try to restrict House's use of painkillers by reducing his prescribed dose to basically a handful of ibuprofen, claiming he only thinks he needs such a high dose because he's addicted and he'll "adjust" to a lower dose in time-- IE, get used to just living with the extreme pain. Unsurprisingly, the increased pain makes him awful to be around, worse at his job, and eventually drives him further into addiction. The way the show deals with this is honestly fantastic, especially given, again, this was the 2000's and 2010's. For a somewhat contemporary comparison, take a look at how addicts are portrayed in Breaking Bad, which came out four years after House in 2008. The general attitude towards addicts was not great.

This show has a lot going for it. The relationships and the stories it tells are honestly incredible. But it is also very flawed, and people should be aware of that going in.

If you want to start watching House, awesome! But maybe look up trigger warnings first.

(Also, completely aside from All That^ there's also the genre typical medical gore and body horror, so, you know, also be prepared for that!)

[trans-axolotl]

also: I mostly switched over from saying "antipsychiatry" to psych abolition after I started to see more groups like CPA use it, and thought I'd share some of my thoughts on it.

antipsychiatry is a fundamental part of psych abolition for me, but i think my definition of psych abolition contains a lot more. first, there's a lot more things than just psychiatry that i want to abolish and transform--the whole mental health system and many different belief systems, types of providers, forms of treatment, and types of incarceration that are encompassed in that. i think it's important to name and identify the particular harms of psychiatry as a value system in the way it is the strictest example of pathologizing, medicalizing, and the strongest adherer to the purely biomedical model of illness and how this creates so much harm. but i think that there are also so many other harmful structures + belief systems within the whole mental health system. i also sometimes see therapists, for example, portraying themselves as alternatives to psychiatry, and while that's true in the sense that they are a different treatment option than a psychiatrist, they are often still harmful actors in their own rights and entangled with the state in an equally bad way.

second thing for me is that i think it's really important to intentionally build cross movement solidarity, especially with the prison abolition movement and to expand the way psych survivors currently support support people fighting for abolition of all forms of incarceration. (i drew inspiration from sins invalid and the 10 principles of Disability Justice). I see so many people in psych survivor spaces saying " I can't believe we were treated like prisoners on the ward" with the implication that it's fine if prisoners are treated that way, but it's bad when it happens to them. i think that's fucked up and i think that any psych survivor movement that doesn't actively support people incarcerated in prisons is a movement that does nothing to dismantle white supremacy. we need to be able to recognize the ways carceral logics operate in many different structures, and approach our activism as a shared struggle, where we constantly are led by those most impacted. so i think that naming what we're doing as "abolition" is important (with the important caveat that our organizing must then actually be abolitionist, and especially for white organizers, that we need to learn about the history of abolition, actively support the Black leaders and thinkers who have created the prison abolition movement and not center ourselves, that we actually have to be actively involved in supporting abolitionist work happening in your area, instead of just stealing the work of Black abolitionist scholars to use it for our own benefit without any credit or reciprocity, that we need to actively interrogate ways white supremacy culture and antiblackness are showing up in our movement places so that we aren't inviting our comrades who are people of color into spaces that are not safe for them, or exploiting our comrades of color by expecting them to do the work of dismantling the racism within our shared organizing spaces--don't call yourself a psych abolitionist if you still call the cops on your homeless neighbors, if your solutions to psych incarceration contribute to gentrification, if you refuse to support currently incarcerated comrades, for example.)

third thing is that antipsychiatry as a specific term is often associated with the sociologist theory from the 1960s, some of which i think is useful, some of which comes from antisemetic and racist psychiatrists who should not be given any legitimacy. antipsychiatry also often gets associated with cults like scientology. although i think that scientologists bastardize a lot of antipsychiatry stuff and weaponize it for their own ends, a lot of the public thinks of them if you say antipsychiatry, and it can cause misconceptions. also think that people sometimes assume antipsychiatry is inherently against medication and while i don't think that's our responsibility to clear up every time people misread our words on purpose, i think it's been a lot more helpful for me to talk about medication in the context of autonomy, harm reduction, war on drugs, and the ways that psychiatry creates issues to consent, autonomy, informed use, risk reduction, etc etc etc. and i think psych abolition helps me do that a little better.

i get in a lot of conversations with people who say "well from what i've seen you are just against institutionalization. why not just say that instead of attacking psychiatry?" and my answer is always if we want to end institutionalization, we have to end the structures, belief systems, and power dynamics of psychiatry--psychiatry is one of the logics that enables institutionalization to continue, and abolishing institutionalization without abolishing the structures that allow it to continue mean that it just pops up again in a new form with a new name (asylums to hospitals to group homes etc etc etc). so i think psych abolition to me is a clearer way to encompass the ways that all these systems are interconnected, and that when we're fighting for mad liberation, the right for mad/neurodivergent/mentally ill people to access care, support, healing on our own terms, to be free from institutionalization and violent treatment, and have the right to exist as mad people, whether or not we're "cured."

TL;DR: I switched to saying "psych abolition" rather than antipsychiatry even though there are many core ideas of antipsychiatry that I agree with. I think that for me, psych abolition helps clear up some misconceptions that people have about antipsychiatry, more clearly connects to prison abolition, and makes it clear that we need to transform more of the mental health system than just psychiatry.

[ciderjacks]

ngl I was ranting to my friend about this but I think the worst part of becoming physically disabled for me is not the shock, not the pain or shitty doctors or rescheduling or confusion or fear, but the way people start fucking treating you.

I have had so many people, good people, people I’ve known for years, start treating me completely differently. And not in like an oh it’s awkward now and sometimes they ask dumb questions way. I mean they’ve started observing my every movement, trying to find some inconsistency and “catch me lying”, calling me out openly and accusing me of faking, trying to prove I’m not really disabled. More than one person who I know has done this. I don’t know if abled people understand how insanely awful that is to do to someone. I don’t know what’s wrong with my body either, but I know what I can and can’t do. The idea that they know my body better than me is already shitty. Not only that, these people who I know and have known (often for years), are now telling me to my face that they think I’m the kind of person who would do something like faking a disability for attention. like are you fucking serious? Did you always think that low of me, or is it just because I’m a cripple now that you feel comfortable assuming that?

The main reason I’m avoiding getting a wheelchair even though my crutches aren’t working well for me anymore is because it will get worse. I can take most ableism, that attitude is not one I can take easily. It makes me nervous to exist in public, makes me nervous to do what’s right for my body.

Like, it’s disgusting, it pisses me the fuck off. How dare you treat me like I’m not a person anymore just because I’m disabled. And don’t pull that “well it’s hard for people to accept” bullshit. Shut up. You think that’s hard? I was a physically healthy person who went on walks everyday before this. Do you want to imagine being 17 in the middle of senior year and randomly losing that, and having no idea why, as it slowly progresses and doctors keep being useless? Does that sound awful to you? I bet it does- so then imagine you go through that, but the whole time your best friends and family are standing there and instead of supporting you, they’re obsessing over your movements and telling you to your face with no shame that they think you’re a lying attention seeking asshole. Imagine how terrible that would be. Imagine how betrayed you’d feel.

Idk, I wanna emphasize again that the people who do this are good people, because y’all seem to not want to acknowledge how normalized this treatment of disabled people is. You see it in media, comedy, conversation, everywhere. Abled people don’t want us to exist, so they accuse us of being fake and it seeps into everyone.

[ipsogender]

The Social Model of Intersex

I recently wrote up an explanation of the social model of intersex and here I'm gonna take what I wrote the other day and expand on it.

Exposition: Some Disability 101

The social model of intersex is based on the social model of disability so first we need to know that terminology:

The medical model of disability views disability as something inherently disordered, requiring treatment/cure.

In contrast, the social model of disability sees that what is disabling about a disability is how society treats disabled people. There aren’t ramps and elevators for wheelchair users. There aren’t enough people who know signed languages or Braille. Videos don't come with quality captions and audio description. Etc.

(image from here)

The Medical and Social Models of Intersex

The medical model of intersex is analogous to the medical model of disability. Being intersex is seen as disorder that needs to be cured. The terms disorder and difference of sexual development (DSD) are sometimes used by people who think of intersex this way. This is the dominant model that most people in Western society use to think about intersex, and similar to how the disability rights movement is resistant to the medical model, intersex people as a community want our medical model to lose its dominance.

The social model of intersex is similarly analogous to the social model of disability. It sees intersex variations as natural bodily variations. What sucks about being intersex is the intersexism - the stigma, discrimination, isolation, and shame that surrounds being intersex; the fetishization of intersex bodies (usually ambiguous genitals); the medical violence/trauma that comes from being coerced into gender-conforming treatments; and so on.

Authority and Gatekeeping

The two models have different epistemic implications, i.e, whose knowledge is important and valid. The medical model places (perisex) doctors and biologists as the authorities on intersex. Being intersex is a result of medical diagnosis, and doctors are the gatekeepers.

The social model places actually intersex people as authoritative, and what emerges from intersex communities is less emphasis on diagnosis and more emphasis on how your bodily variations have affected your life experiences.

And once you get people talking about life experiences and failing to meet a perinormative standard, it becomes apparent that common diagnoses like PCOS and gynecomastia are frequently associated with the same sorts of life experiences that people with diagnoses that everybody agrees are intersex.

For intersex people, having intersex be a big tent is an advantage. We suffer from isolation so terribly. Having more people in the community helps break that isolation. And having more community means more ability to mobilize against harmful practices like IGM.

Edit to add: the social/experiential aspect of being intersex is one of many reasons why intersex people react negatively to non-binary people saying they want to "transition to intersex".

The Futures We Want

For social model folks like me, the ideal future is that intersex people are accepted, respected, given considerate medical care that respects bodily autonomy, and given access to safe and inclusive community.

In contrast, medicalists think the ideal future is that there are no intersex people, because we have all been “cured”.

This is part of why so few intersex people find out their diagnosis is an intersex variation from their doctor (if they're even lucky enough to get and be told their diagnosis). This contributes to why so many intersex people don't figure out we're intersex until adulthood. Giving patients a label to help find social support and organize politically for better conditions just isn’t something in the mental toolkit of somebody who is stuck in the medical model.

Where The TERFs Come In

The medical model encourages the intersex community to stay fractured into different diagnoses, and to view us as rare anomalies.

This is why TERFS and other transphobes love the medical model of intersex. They cannot handle the idea of intersex being common. They need it to be rare so they peddle their narrative that biological sex is simple.

Even though the biology is clear that sex is really complicated and there is no clear line between male and female, and a whole bunch of middle ground, the anti-trans lobby isn't willing to listen.

To them, there is no middle ground. There is instead two separate categories - male and female - and with each categories you have a tiny subset of "disordered males" and "disordered females".

This is why we see anti-trans posters trying to sow doubt about POCS as intersex. PCOS is common. It affects primarily women. And recognizing hyperandrogenism PCOS as intersex is a direct threat to their messaging about sex and gender.

Summary

The medical model contributes to so much of the intersexism that intersex people face, notably from the anti-trans lobby and from doctors. We suffer from seen as being broken/disordered, from coercive medical interventions, and from the isolation that comes from being told you're uniquely broken. The social model allows actually intersex people to be seen as the authorities on intersex; and for us to find community, healing, and political power.

[brucewaynehater101]

ok here's another wingfic au but taking it in the opposite direction from the last one. (different person from the original op btw)

what if tim and all of the bats did have wings but instead of the surgeon adding wings they actually removed them from tim?

now tim has to deal with the experience of losing his wings and not being able to fly anymore. maybe it took away his instincts so he can't reciprocate anymore despite once being able to do so with ease. or maybe he still has his instincts but the others find it hard to reach out to him now that he doesn't have wings anymore.

but tim is a stubborn fuck so what if we combined this with that one fake wing au where tim learns to build his own wings bc he refuses to never be able to fly again.

and maybe tim manages to pull it off to the point where no one even knows that tim ever lost his wings in the first place until it's revealed in a traumatizing manor idk.

the fake wing fic i was talking about is called "Loading and Aspect Ratio" by JUBE514

Oof. For some reason, I can't read fics where someone loses their wings. It's such an important part of their identity and being that losing it causes an insurmountable amount of grief. To me, I imagine it to be similar to a vital part of someone's culture being taken away from them (like forcibly cutting hair for some cultures or preventing someone from having access to an important part of their identity).

However, I would so be down for a fic where, after Tim loses his wings, he creates prosthetics. It would not be the same, but Tim could learn to find himself again in the pile of wires and metal he fashions into his ability to fly again.

I think this prospective fic could have many different themes it could address:

One, Tim would probably be pissed at people treating him as fragile or lesser because he lost his wings. This could be a great allegory to how people treat disabled individuals, especially after an incident that changes the person's ability. It could also address how folks interact with people who have gone through traumatic and life changing events.

Two, the experience is going to absolutely suck for Tim. Even when he creates new wings, it's not going to fix everything. They will probably cause him pain, the scars will hurt, he will be going through all the stages of grief rapidly and repeatedly, and they might malfunction. There will be days he destroys his wings in anger and despair. Sometimes, he won't leave his lab, won't get out of bed, or refuses to eat. He might get dysphoria or imposter syndrome, might lash out at loved ones, and will probably isolate. It will be a very rough transition for him.

Three, there might be social stigma against "fake" wings. Maybe it would ping the others' instincts wrong. They might struggle connecting with Tim before and after he gets the prosthetics. I would also imagine that Tim would need to implant a chip into his body/spine/brain (idk robotic prosthetic science) to have the wings work correctly. I doubt he would tell them before doing it.

Eventually, his family would rally to support Tim's choice for the fake wings. It's the dealer's choice on whether Timothy Drake is known for his fake wings or not. On one hand, Tim could be the face of WE's prosthetics department and providing support for people who have lost their wings (and he could address the lack of Cyborg rights currently in law [companies can reclaim prosthetics if you go bankrupt effectively taking a part of you]). On the other hand, it could address how people don't have to publicly embrace aspects of their identity. They are a person with unique experiences and don't need to fit themselves into boxes or become the poster child of a movement (it sucks, but sometimes embracing your identity means you get limited down to that subjective experience in how people see and identify you).

If the Waynes don't know about Tim getting his wings taken away and then replaced, that kind of reminds me of a fic I read where Tim's arm was replaced. He built it with YJ and his family didn't find out for years. I don't remember the name, but it was really good.

I haven't read that fic you mentioned, but now I'm excited to check it out ^^

[gotta-pet-em-all]

hey @goldenrodchef and @feeling-seasickness get over here

sea. you stepped out of line, and in "trying to help" you took the side of the oppressor a lot. Even if you meant it as a "know thine enemy" thing, you didn't clarify that, and gen saw the vague statement and assumed the worst because frankly he's used to getting hatred from all sides and can't afford the benefit of the doubt. You need to be more aware of your privilege or lack thereof. This doesn't mean you lost the oppression olympics, it means you need to work to be a better ally, because this stuff doesn't come easily. you will fuck up. everyone will fuck up. but learning to own up to it is a valuable skill you need to learn.

gen. if you get self deprecating and start apologizing at vague statements, you make people around you uncomfortable because you're treating them like bombs waiting to hurt you and they don't know how to deal with it. You don't need to put yourself down like that. And frankly, you shouldn't be the head of this movement because it's putting far too much strain on you to try and shoulder all of it. Learn to delegate.

and for my part. sea, i'm sorry i went off on you without fully checking the context. i didn't think to check your age, or the notes of the post. gen, sorry if that made you uncomfortable that i kept escalating the conflict on your behalf.

both of you should read up on some theory to try and understand this better-- disability theory, particularly by amputees, those with facial disfigurements, and regarding infantilization, would help. Transgender theory would be great as well! It's not perfect but we do have existing literature on bodies that have been othered by the collective, so build on it.

if you really want to talk about names, seriously look up euphemism treadmill theory. hell, social linguistics has a lot to say about this. the original name isn't going away. if you dislike it, make some new ones, see what the group itself likes to use.

sea, look up youth liberation, or youth for human rights. I think it would help you work through some biases. gen, try the nap ministry, for rest as a form of resistance against the oppressive forces capitalism.

finally. you guys need to work it out. don't just assume the other person hates you. talk it out. please.

[falconwhitaker]

Related to my last reblog, I do wonder if a lot of people my age (early 30s) ended up with our opinions of feminism kinda warped by the way it was treated online.

I'm conjecturing a lot here, but I feel like a lot of people using the word "feminist" pejoratively – I'm looking at you here, atheist YouTube – used it less as a reference to a specific ideology and more as a way of indicating "left-wing person who believes others deserve rights".

Think about how "feminist" or "feminazi" became "SJW". Like if you're a feminist, you're a social justice warrior, so you're left wing, you believe in equality, you're progressive, right?

Except that feminism covers a huge spectrum of ideologies clustered under the umbrella of "Promoting women's social, political and economic rights", and not all of those ideologies are going to be intersectional. Being a feminist is not the same thing as being anti-racist, or trans-inclusive, or pro-queer, or disability positive, or opposed to fat hatred, or supportive of Jewish people, or any other progressive stance.

Feminism is about the rights and equality of women. That means even the shitty forms – white feminism, trans excluding radical feminism, sex worker excluding radical feminism, any other shitty form of feminism you can think of – is still feminism.

It's shitty feminism. But it's still feminism. And we can't just shove them under the carpet by saying "They're not real feminists" because they are. We have to acknowledge them. Accept that, whether we want them or not, they are a part of our movement. And then we work together as hard as fucking possible to prove oh my god your version of feminism is really really shit for people who aren't just like you let's do it the way that doesn't make the world worse.

[imflyingfish]

Hi fish hi fish!! :] hope you're doing swell- wanted to ask for some advice

I've been trying to learn how to draw wheelchairs for a while now, hardest part has been finding refs with people in em, do you know what terms to search up to find stuff like that? All good if not, just know you're pretty well acquainted with drawing em so figured I'd ask

First off I'm going to state that I'm not a wheelchair user. I have researched them in the past and have asked a family member who uses one for advice, but still don't take my word as absoultely reliable. The majority of my knowlege/observations comes from watching family members with chairs so it may be biased. I'm going to be mostly talking about manual chairs but the same suggestions should apply to powered.

Searching up "wheelchair drawing reference" can help, but I discourage using google images. Often the images will be unrealistic due to them being stock images, or of the wrong type of wheelchair for what youre drawing. (One that comes up a lot are foldable wheelchairs which are more associated with hospitals than practical life).

Instead, try to use reference collections made by wheelchair users. This is a really good collection by Criptid Cosplayer in both manual and powered wheelchairs. They also have a small guide to designing fantasy wheelchairs which was interesting.

I also reccomend learning what the different parts of a wheelchair are and do. This will make it easier to understand how the user uses the chair, the shape of the chair and make it easier to remember the different parts while drawing. I don't have a specific source for this using photo reference since I looked at real wheelchairs for this. However @/calvin-arium has a good guide to drawing chracters with wheelchairs with drawn diagrams here.

Also ensure you observe how real people use wheelchairs. I find that tutorials for using wheelchairs are a good source for this since they break down how each movement works. This will make it easier to draw Wheelchairs in montion/natural posing. Wheels2walking has a good video explaining rolling and one here for wheelies.

Other tips:

Give your characters wheelchair gloves, especially if they're going to be going longer distances than just being inside. Not all users use gloves but they do help protect the hands.

Consider if the character needs additional support/what type of chair they're needing. E.G. Seatbelts, cushions, cupholders, additional storage space, hight of handles/if they have handles, back height ect.

Check what type of wheelchair your character needs. One of my OC's needed to always hold a megaphone as her main weapon, so I gave her a powered wheelchair with a headrest to ensure that I could still have her move around the battlefield without taking away her disability. Other times you will need to consider the type of chair around their disability rather than design/character function. Make sure you research the type of chair for the disability and adjust if needed.

Wheelchairs have different functions. Sports wheelchairs and off-road wheelchairs look very different to regular wheelchairs so keep that in mind. Always research the right wheelchair

Also consider if your character can move their legs or not while posing.

To draw the wheelchair start with a circle with the figure to get an idea of the pose. Treat the chair as an extension of the character while drawing. Don't worry about the anatomical accuracy of the chair before you have a good idea of the pose/a basic sketch or thumbnail

Remember to draw the wheelchair using perspective. or dont.

Wheelchairs are even cooler decorated. Some people use stickers, covers, lights, fabrics, spikes.

It's okay to draw wheelchairs badly. I see a lot of people avoid drawing them for fear of getting them wrong but thats just. counterintuative. Make sure you research (even further than this post links to) and stop avoiding them.

Okay yeah, thats all I can think of for now. Keep in mind that I'm not disabled and so not everything I say is guarenteed to be accurate. But this should be enough to help you out I think.

If anybody else wants to add on to this feel free

[tomahawthorne]

Gotta love the energy around rw//by fans. "What do you mean?! Valid criticism is totally allowed!" and then another comes and drops ad hominems like fucking atom bombs at the most mild fucking opinions. The irony of seeing a username and IMMEDIATELY jumping to conclusions about that person's opinions and calling them media illiterate... that's the cherry on top. Actually, scratch that. The real irony is going "Ironwood's arc was one of the best in the series!" as if that contradicts the ableism, and then talking about media literacy. Ignoring the fact that the quality of his arc is subjective (I liked most of it and still think they absolutely fumbled several parts, and I'm talking before he went all Saturday morning cartoon villain), in-universe reasoning or internal consistency doesn't automatically make something not fucking bigoted. Half the time I don't think the writers even think through the implications of their work—I doubt they intended to make Qrow sound ableist for calling him the Tin Man as an insult—but unintentional bigotry is still fucking bigotry and it doesn't matter that it's playing into the lore or allusions or whatever. (As an aside, maybe it's a hot take that I find the use of Tin Man as an insult at least a little ableist, but I feel justified in that belief considering the rest of the show's awfulness about disability.)

The whipped cream under the cherry is ignoring all the black voices that spoke about the Faunus/Adam's arc to make the most obtuse reading of both, and as a black man who's gotten shouted down whenever I bring up the many ways the writers and their biases ruined it, I'm fucking tired. Because too many of these piss-poor attempts at """"exploring"""" the "harm racist attitudes do" boil down to surface level white comfort bullshit, and rw//by is a prime example. The heroes are more preoccupied fighting the villainized minorities struggling for their rights than they are with the actual structure of racism. The so-called cautionary tale of "don't be racist or terrorism will happen!" is fucking insidious because 1) it implies that you should only care about racism when it could bite you in the ass personally, 2) the primary focus of the arc is almost always the terrorism and not the structure of racism that fucking drove them to it, and 3), my biggest issue, it pushes the blame onto the minority, for having the audacity to protest too loudly, for being hurt and reflecting the fact that you were hurt.

The harm of the so-called cautionary tale is two-fold, because while it's telling majority viewers the oh-so thought-provoking message of "don't do a racism," it's quietly reinforcing to its minority viewers that the only "good" way to protest for your rights is by playing nice, not threatening the structure, carrying yourself like a damn saint just so your abuser might treat you with a shred of humanity. I could write a damn essay on this, and how much this show and its fandom plays into white fragility, but that would require going back and rewatching for research and this show as it is doesn't deserve that level of effort. To put it simply, the Faunus arc (and yes, its handling of Adam) are both pretty damn racist because in its middle school furry fanfic-tier retelling of the Civil Rights movement, it perpetuates ideas that harm real fucking people (friendly reminder many of the sentiments the fndm shares about the White Fang "taking it too far" parrot white moderate/outright racist opinions about BLM and the Civil Rights movement :D) while convincing its viewers that "no, you totally don't need to examine racism as an institution and the ways you contribute to it. Look! Ex-heiress and totally-reformed racist Weiss threw a guy in the dumpster because the actual civil rights activist was suddenly incapable of defending herself".

This shit isn't a uniquely rw//by problem, but the difference is that I don't get 16-year-olds calling me some kind of slur or -phobe when I criticize the writing/fan opinions of the Flag Smashers or Killmonger. Imagine having a more insufferable fandom than the MCU.

[alientitty]

[pretend its underwater im on browser] who is saying this. fr. the concept of autism didn't exist before the modern era, the entire point is that our understanding of the mind, suffering, and role in society is dependent on social conditions. in different times and places traits we might call autistic were not necessarily even grouped together with whatever framework people had. but more to the point is that the social model of disability under capitalism basically emphasizes that one's capacity to do mainly a very specific kind of labor in a specific time frame was not always as primary to one's existence in society as it is today. of course people in the past were seen as different and suffered in ways similar to today, some societies were cruel and terrible to people who didn't fit into its norms--whether or not anglophone netizens in 2024 might describe these people as autistic or disabled etc. the point of the social model of disability and related antipsych stuff is to point out 1. the way we see things and the way people are categorized and treated today is not immutable and 2. analyze how these things operate so they can be changed.

it's very frustrating to see people so flatly mischaracterize these positions/theories/movements. it's clear you just identify so strongly with one or more diagnoses and want so badly to see it as a fixed category transcending all time that any challenge to any part of this, uh, post-enlightenment positivist view of social categories, any challenge to it rocks your entire world unbearably. so you get cries of "you're invalidating my pain!" "stop saying there was a past utopia where disabled people were 100% cared for" when nobody is saying this. I don't understand how people who get this so strongly with gender completely flip out when you try to apply it to something else.

a classic example is how in some societies people who had hallucinations or seizures had elevated positions in society as shamans and/or kings (some contemporary shamanic practices conceptualize it similarly), where as someone with such experiences in 19th century europe may have been cruelly imprisoned in a madhouse. especially in the realm of mental health, you should not be clinging to psychiatric diagnoses like they're dogma, the dsm is constantly being revised and it's not a ridiculous fringe position to have issues with the way the field categorizes people and reinforces its own categories (well known examples are rosenhans psych ward study or criticisms of bpd as separate from ptsd/c-ptsd). I'm ranting now but I just gotta say in a mad dash to be contrarian and anticommunist you guys are running right back into the very chains shackling us all...

[lokorum]

Hi! I really love your art. There's a certain haunting beauty about it. I was wondering how you got started in art and maybe what inspired you. I can't stress enough the hauntingly beautiful aspect of your art. Some pieces terrify me but they're really just so beautiful to look at 😅

hey!!! ahhhh thank you so much for your kind words, anon!! its a relief to know that im not the only one who finds my silly draiwings scary phphp

i've started to draw just like most of the folk i think?? by filling my university notebooks with super funny-looking and super anatomically incorrect sketches of my beloved oc phph i tried to work with oil but zero waste movement quickly got me and since then im drawing digital stuff only.

missing the feeling of paint on your hands face clothes and sometimes eyes tbh but also wow oil is expensive!! Σ(-᷅_-᷄๑)

phphpt my memory is bad. like bad bad. i remember having that burning feeling when i looked at something beautiful and i wanted to like...eat it? make it myself and no one elses? not very practical reply phphp sorry! i also really loved to watch film that i've already mentioned before - macbeth (2015) - its a treat for your eyes and ears trust me!! trailer still giving me a goosebombs!

zdzislaw beksinski live in my head rent free since i was a pre-teen and im 1000% sure i'll die thinking about one of his paintings somewhere at the back of my mind. just look at this! man knew how to use a brush like no one else (´ ˘ `).｡oO ( ♡ )

sigur rós music and video clips are definetelly changed a lot in me. watching ekki múkk and all alright made me choke from tears and be speechless for days!

later in life i accidentaly went on the concert where at night - jambinai was part of the perfomance and their music hypnotized me just like all the moths around were hypnotized by the stage lights. i dont even remember what i was doing! just standing there absolutely still, looking at them playing phphp i probably looked like a creppy stalker (◞ꈍ∇ꈍ)◞⋆**✚⃞

but they make incredibly beautiful and sad music, and their connection song, if i get the meaning of it right, about people with disabilities and it always was important theme for me ♡

from lately discovered sources of inspiration can reccomend little games i found on itch!

2:22 AM, how we know we're alive and NORTH!

they're all pretty short from 20 minutes to 2 hours, but use every minute of their time!

ahhh hope it wasnt too much of an info dump and maybe someone find a familiar name here or discover something new for themselves! thank you again anon for your super cute and nice ask!! and thanks everyone to reading all this mess! have an awesome day!! |´･ｖ･)ﾉ♪

[thessalian]

Thess vs the Pollen Count

Things I currently really hate:

Summer

Climate change

Fibromyalgia

The effects of the above on my immune system

Today is a particularly bad allergy day, and according to the pollen count on the weather predictions for the week, it's going to stay that way. The snuffling I can just about deal with, but the itchy and watery eye thing is really cramping my style on damn near anything I wanted to do today. And apparently all of the above bits and pieces are contributing to my allergies being so fucking bad at the moment.

See, after I checked things out and extrapolated that the pollen count is basically going to be a bitch to me all summer, I started Googling. First thing I checked was what antihistamines are best for the itchy and watery eye thing. I'll have to use what I've still got for the moment, but when I'm doing the big shop come payday, I'm probably going to have to shell out for the expensive shit. Yaaaaay comparison shopping? A lot of pharmacies do deals on antihistamines this time of year, so that's something, but finding the best deal is kind of on me. Great.

After that, I decided to check on exactly why my allergies are getting so much worse, starting with, "can allergies worsen with age?" Answer was a resounding yes, partly because your immune system changes as you get older, with a dash of "allergies can worsen because climate change".

Sooooooo ... they more or less figured out that fibromyalgia is at least autoimmune-adjacent, since some studies a few years back where they injected antibodies from fibro sufferers into mice and discovered that those mice had increased sensitivity to heat, cold, and pressure, as well as reduced movement grip strength. Those mice went back to normal when those antibodies cleared their system, so ... yeah, the antibodies those of us with fibro are producing are just ... nope. This gives hope for treatment at some point, possibly (and I will talk bout that a bit later), but in the meantime, it's entirely likely that whatever wrong antibodies I'm producing are why my allergies have been so much worse the past few years.

Of course, the fact that the pollen count has been getting more and more insane the last few years is also likely down to climate change, and obviously there are way worse effects of climate change on the planet as a whole, but I feel well within my rights to get all pissed off about how it is affecting me right now, even if it is an objectively lesser issue. I mean, I also react way worse to heat and cold than I used to, so either way, with the weather being the way it is, I'm just shit out of luck all the way around.

And yes, there is hope that the study proving that fibromyalgia is autoimmune-related might provide hope for a treatment for those of us with fibromyalgia, so we don't have to deal with this. But ... I know the pharmaceutical industry. I've seen what it does and how it operates, from the point of view of various nations, and from multiple sides of the equation (hospitals, government health departments, patients both here and abroad), and I have a bad feeling that it'll never materialise. And there are a few reasons for this, and they're all ugly as hell.

First, there's the fact that while fibromyalgia is debilitating for those of us who have it, it's an invisible disability. We all know how invisible disabilities are treated by most people. Even those with the best of intentions can kind of fumble with understanding the condition. One of my friends asked me at one point why I needed a cane; what it did for me. I guess I get curiosity, but ... it can still feel like an accusation. Like I have to be this disabled to need a cane for any distances outside my own home, and I don't look or act this disabled so... Seriously, I think part of the worst issues with a chronic pain condition is that no one takes you seriously because you don't look in pain, and not seeing the sheer effort it takes to push past that pain because we can't spend our lives curled up in a ball screaming. Anyway, far too many people don't really get why it's that important when it's something they can't see.

Then... *sigh* Then there's the fact that it mostly affects women. Apparently about 1 person in 40 has it, and 80% are women. I honestly want to know where that stands with trans people - like, do more trans men have fibro than trans women, or the other way around? A study of that would be a good idea just to see whether hormones play a part. I also want to know how many men just aren't admitting it because "it's unmanly to whine about pain" or some shit. And how many aren't included in the study because they've been self-medicating with drugs or alcohol without a diagnosis, because apparently my grandmother had it and I figure a lot of her alcoholism was self-medicating back when she didn't even have a name for the condition and just ... hurt all the time. But ... see, all of this is the point. Like, we've done the study on the antibodies, but we haven't done further studies to get a better look at the rest of it. It's just been more or less pigeonholed as "mostly women get this". Medical research on AFAB people is ... lacking. So is treatment for most anything that causes them pain. We have a hard enough time getting any kind of diagnosis in the first place, because our pain is diminished in the eyes of the medical community. So we're told it's not as bad as we're making it out and we should just lose weight or get therapy for anxiety or whatever.

And finally, there's the whole deal where the pharmaceutical industry is way more invested in palliation than cure. Palliative treatment, you're on it for the rest of your life, probably on regularly increasing dosages, but a cure would mean not needing as much palliation. Fewer analgaesics sold, less money in the pockets of Big Pharma. And if not enough people have a condition, even the single regular palliative that would alleviate all symptoms isn't profitable enough for Big Pharma to bring to market. Anyone who's seen Leverage knows - and they toned the shit the Leverage crew were dealing with down from what exists in reality. It's honestly in Big Pharma's interests to have me on a variety of analgaesics, a pill that's technically an antidepressant but is used in the treatment of neuropathic pain (which does fuck all for my fibro because it's not a neuropathic condition like people thought it was, but does wonders for my migraines), and antihistamines all summer, instead of a single pill that actually makes me feel better. They don't want us to feel better; they want money. Even in this country, where we aren't paying half as much for prescriptions (though the price keeps going up by scary increments every year).

So ... yeah. This is currently a very, very bad season for me. I have reminders everywhere of how different my life is now. Effectively having Dragon Age as a franchise taken away from me because EA Bioware have chosen "the ARPG trend" over accessibility, when that franchise has been so important to me for so long, is more depressing than I can even put into words right now. The weather and the pollen is just making me even more miserable than I am at my usual baseline of "everything hurts". I am tired of hurting all the time. I am tired of being tired all the time. I am tired of the limitations under which I exist. And if there ever is a cure, or a truly functional treatment, it probably won't be in my lifetime and it'll be fought against tooth and nail because some rich assholes would rather have as much of my money as possible with very little to show for it instead of having my fucking life back. I'm trying to be strong and solid, because some of my friends aren't doing well either and I want to be there for them, but I'm so much running out of spoons.

Right. I'mma find something to cheer myself up, somehow. I was going to get through the finale of the Horizon Forbidden West base game, maybe kick off Burning Shores, but I figure that's a bad idea when my eyes are itching and watering the way they are right now. And I can't just shut the windows because we're getting into the mid-20s temperature-wise and it'll get too damn hot in here. Blegh. Fuck summer right in the ear.