#because I always feel like I’m not disabled ‘enough’ for help

[just-a-cinnamon-bun]

Nothing like a bad night at work that really remind me that I am, in fact, disabled.

[h0neyfreak]

***

[crookedfandomquill]

This is very situational, and sadly may not be realistic for everyone, but I need y’all to understand that a very important part of political activism is fucking talking to your conservative or moderate friends and family.

My dad voted for Trump in 2016. He’s a middle class white evangelical from Arkansas. He raised me with conservative Christian values, just like his parents raised him. When he voted Trump, he was holding his nose, but he didn’t feel too bad about it, and went on to vote red down the ticket in the 2018 midterms, as well.

But I started college in 2017. Higher education and independence changed everything for me, and I went home over holidays and summers with fire in my belly and a thousand arguments ready at the drop of a hat, to my father’s dismay.

I remember crying in my room after emotional, intense arguments with him. I told him over and over that I felt betrayed by his choice to vote for a man who admitted to sexually assaulting women, who built his platform on dehumanizing immigrants and the disabled, who spread overtly-racist rhetoric, who flouted the values of kindness and self-discipline that I’d been raised on. And my dad always had some justification about the “greater good”: fighting against abortion, bolstering the economy, getting other Christian politicians into office.

But over time, as we grew further apart and I lost my will to discuss anything with him at all, he softened. He started asking me why I thought the way I did about the things we disagreed about. He would listen to my answers without interruption, and mull them over afterward instead of expressing his own opinion. And all the while, he watched the Trump presidency become cruel and absurd and devastating.

The first time he openly expressed regret to me, I had come home for a weekend after Kavanaugh was confirmed to SCOTUS. My dad realized he had helped elect a man who preyed on women… and that man had opened the door to more predators. I can’t tell you what it felt like for him to admit that he’d made a mistake, not just in voting for Trump but in defending him for so long. We kept arguing, but it was more debating than fighting. I knew he was capable of seeing my side of things, even if it took a while, and he knew I wasn’t just a sensitive college student with shallow new ideas about the world.

And then 2020 hit. Specifically, George Floyd was murdered, and the events that followed played out on the national stage. My dad was incredibly shaken by it. He asked me if I had any books from college about racial issues. I loaned him The New Jim Crow, one of the required readings for my Race and the Law class. Then I gave him Just Mercy. Then he watched the documentary 13th. Then he joined a racial harmony group he learned about through one of the few Black families at our church and insisted our whole family come. He held up signs at a protest against Confederate monuments in our conservative southern town. In three years, he went from defending Trump’s comments about “Black-on-Black crime” to publicly advocating for racial justice and opposing the death penalty.

We went together to vote in the 2020 primaries. I couldn’t help asking who he’d voted for; I didn’t even know if he’d asked for the Republican or Democratic ticket. He admitted he’d voted for Bernie. fucking. Sanders, then made me promise not to tell my grandma he’d voted liberal. When the election rolled around in November, he voted Biden. I’m sure he held his nose to do it, just like he held his nose voting in 2016. But I know he doesn’t regret it.

I am, of course, unbelievably lucky to have a parent who loved me enough, and was empathetic enough, to choose his relationship with me over his strongly-held opinions. He kept searching for truth because, as much as he’ll deny it, he’s a very smart and curious person. No degree of intelligence or curiosity makes you immune to propaganda, especially if you were raised not to question the party line. It’s easy to dismiss our conservative, conspiracy-pilled loved ones as stupid, hypocritical, and cruel. Sometimes they are. But sometimes they aren’t. Sometimes they will bend to keep their relationships from breaking. Sometimes, if they can be made to understand that their beliefs and actions are harming someone they love, they will make concessions. And sometimes they just need one person in their life to put a foot down, to be vulnerable and assertive and argumentative, to bring the impact of their politics close to home.

As the most important election of our lifetimes approaches, do not put peace over progress. If you have someone like my dad, someone who is good-willed and smart and loves you more than their own opinions, tell them how you feel. Tell them what their choices will mean for you, for your friends, for your community. Tell them what they could lose: your trust, your affection, your respect. Don’t avoid conflict if it could be productive. Because my conflict with my dad didn’t just win him over–it won over my moderate mom and one of my conservative brothers. And it put us in community with other like-minded people and led my parents to a healthier and kinder faith.

All of this to say, there is hope in conflict. There is hope in our relationships with people who think differently from us. There is hope in exposing your fear and anger and pain to people you love. And hope is a form of activism.

[charredpages]

[Alt text] ten screenshots of text posts by the user themme_fatale on Instagram. The text reads:

(1/10)

Do you remember the exact moment that anti-masking stopped being a far-right talking point

And became advice you were willing to follow?

(2/10)

I try to make the ways I communicate about COVID as compassionate and non-judgemental as possible because I understand that we have all been failed in this and my primary anger is always upwards.

BUT

I also need you to understand - if you are not taking precautions, you are aligning yourself with eugenicists.

The person who actively says “fuck disabled people they deserve to 💀” and never masks, and the person who never masks because “It’s annoying and besides-no one else is” are BOTH devaluing people’s lives.

(3/10)

And that might feel confronting for some of you, and I know the knee-jerk reaction is probably going to be to deflect by accusing me of “shaming people” or whatever.

I’m not shaming anyone though - it’s just uncomfortable to sit with because if you’re the kind of person who follows me chances are you don’t actually want to be engaging in eugenics.

And re-engaging with the idea that COVID is not only still around, but still actively dangerous is asking a lot of you when the alternative is the comfort of denial.

Especially when so many of the tools to keep ourselves and each other safe have been taken away from us. But the thing is none of that is actually a reason not to act.

(4/10)

There are people IN YOUR COMMUNITY relying on you to take precautions so that they don’t d1e.

(5/10)

With love, and compassion for the fact that this shit is hard - ignorance is running out as an excuse. It’s time to do better, and help your mates do better too.

People in your community shouldn’t have to constantly remind you not to put their lives in danger. Surely you can see that’s a pretty fucked up dynamic, right?

(6/10)

We shouldn’t have to push so hard on “it’s good for you to protect yourself too!” Like it still absolutely is, but saving the lives of people in your community should actually be enough to motivate you to act.

It’s genuinely fucked up to be ok with a whole proportion of the population being either being locked in their homes indefinitely or at risk of 💀 on the daily.

(7/10)

It should be considered more socially awkward to engage in eugenics by k1lling and isolating disabled people in your own community than it is to put on a mask

The fact that it’s not should embarrass all of us until we change it.

(8/10)

It should be considered more selfish to put people’s lives at risk than to ask to be kept safe

Your choices can change or reinforce that culture.

(9/10)

Government inaction puts a weapon in your hand

Pretending it’s not there puts us all in danger

(10/10)

Why do you require a mandate to care about other people?

[chronicallycouchbound]

I feel like people often don’t talk about the experiences of disabled people who have caretakers because so much of the conversation is about us—not including us.

I receive in home care for 30 hours a week (+ 4 hours/week for respite). This is paid for by Medicaid (state insurance). Outside of paid hours, my primary caretakers care for me unpaid and assist me most of the time. I’m very rarely left alone due to my high support needs. Often, when I am left alone, I am completely bedridden or at minimum housebound. I have frequent emergency life threatening health problems, falls, and serious injuries even with support in place, and these things significantly increase when I’m on my own.

I’m extremely lucky that my paid caretakers are my partner, my sister (the only family member I have regular contact with, I’m estranged from the rest of my immediate family and most of my extended family) and my best friend.

I used to have agency staffing which was horrible for me and borderline traumatic. At several points, before doing the self directed care option (which allows me to choose my own staff, hire and train them myself and dictate hours for them), I opted to not have any staffing. I was regularly in the emergency room. I can’t drive, so I was having to walk and if I was lucky enough to be able to take the bus on occasion or get a ride from a Facebook acquaintance, they were few and far in between. I don’t have family support, and even my sister who is supportive wasn’t living in the state at the time and doesn’t have a car most of the time.

And before I could even choose which staffing option, even though medically it had been deemed essential for me to have in home care, even though my insurance covered it, I had to wait several years (I was 18 when I was approved) until I was 21 to qualify to start. The reason why: I was legally an “adult disabled child” because of my high support needs (which is funny because I STILL don’t have SSI at age 24) and thus legally unable to consent to my own care plan. I needed a blood relative to consent, and that same blood relative (who had to have proof of such!) couldn’t care for me. At the time, my sister was the only person who could’ve been my caregiver and also she is the only verifiable blood relative I have contact with for safety reasons, and my only relative on this side of the USA.

The first business day after my 21st birthday I immediately got things set up to get in home care.

This is out of date, I get assistance with more than just these highlighted ADL (activities of daily living) tasks now.

In short: my day-to-day life is entirely dependent on others.

And there’s power imbalances that exist between me and my caregivers, even with my current caregivers being amazing and anti-ableist. They will always exist. We talk about the power dynamics of me being dependent on them for my survival, and how heavy that weight can be for each of us.

Having caregivers often means that accessibility is extra difficult— I’ve been told straight up multiple times that I can’t have assistance from my caregivers to help me change in a changing room when we’re out shopping. That they can’t go into the bathroom with me, that they can’t help me get un/dressed during appointments, that they can’t come into spaces with me.

I’ve been denied access to psychiatric care because I can’t do my daily living tasks (ADLs- the highlighted items) independently. And when I’m in a hospital or emergency room, I can’t have my in home workers be paid to care for me, there’s an expectation that the nursing staff at the hospital will do it. Even though my caregivers were specifically trained to learn my body and needs for weeks and have been working with me for years. I have severe cPTSD and showering in front of a stranger is something I cannot do. I would rather fall or faint or get injured or just not shower than deal with that. But I’m expected to just let anyone have access to my body just because I’m physically disabled and need support.

When I faint/fall/get injured/have life threatening health issues arise while I’m not clothed, or when I’m otherwise vulnerable, I’m supposed to let strangers just touch me however they want to. I have to show them my chest (for my cardiac care) and let them poke and examine me. I can’t object without losing access to vital care.

I have agency. I have rights. I have autonomy. I deserve to be able to exercise these things.

[goldenlikedayl1ght]

the lakes - m. murdock

a/n: hey guys so i've been struggling a lot with the fact that i might have hearing loss (i'm going to the doctor next week) and as always i am projecting, but i am not 100% sure everything in this fic is accurate and for that i apologize. but it's my little passion project and i hope you enjoy <3 as always, comments and reblogs are always loved and appreciated! warnings: hearing loss, hearing aids, tinnitus, reader struggling with being disabled, some parts are more vulnurable and don't have the reader being like overly confident in their disability, matt being soft, some suggestive behavior at the end, kissing, nicknames, pretty pg-13 honestly word count: 3.0k summary: your hearing aids run out of battery, and you're forced to struggle through a day of ringing ears and being deaf. matt helps, as he always does. pairing: matt murdock x hard of hearing!reader now playing: the lakes - taylor swift "take me to the lakes/where all the poets went to die/i don't belong/but my beloved, neither do you."

“Are you deaf?”

“What?”

You’re eighteen, home from college for the first time since fall break. Your family sits around for Thanksgiving, and there are so many people talking. There’s about thirteen people at this long dining room table, and they are all talking at once. You’re sitting next to your sister, but you can’t hear her well.

You know she’s speaking, and you’re sure you’re yelling, but you’re frustrated.

“I said, are you deaf? I repeated myself like, four times!”

You feel your face flush.

“Sorry, I didn’t hear you. You’re mumbling, and it’s loud in here.”

Your sister looks at you like you’re crazy.

“I’m right next to you, and I’m not mumbling. In fact, no one is yelling, either.”

You poke your fork at your sweet potatoes and feel hot, angry tears in your eyes as you avoid everyone’s gaze.

Your mom sits across from you, and frowns, planning to tell you to make an appointment at the student health center when you get back to campus.

She doesn’t even have to. You’ve booked one by the time she says it to you.

At the student health center, they administer a hearing test, and then refer you to a specialist for further testing. You call your mom, crying and she gently comforts you, before driving to the nearest bookstore and picking up a book on hearing impairments and a copy of ASL for Dummies.

At the specialist, they do another round of tests. Your doctor tells you that you do in fact have hearing issues and that you should come back in a year for more testing, to see if your hearing gets worse. For now, you get a doctor’s note that requires all your professors to take your hearing impairment into consideration. The process for getting that applied at your university is painful, and only gets worse through your years there.

Before you get to law school, your doctor tests you again, and tells you how your hearing has been decreasing in quality in the past few years. He says that you’ll need hearing aids to regulate it. You cry because you cannot afford that.

You get captioning accommodations throughout law school, as well as a note taker for certain classes that are entirely lecture based. You still try to take your own notes, but it frustrates you that suddenly you need all this help. Your own notes are incomprehensible and often miss key parts of the lecture as you sit for a few minutes trying to decipher what your professor had said a few minutes prior.

You go into corporate law after law school, choosing to stay out of court initially because you find yourself frustrated that you wouldn’t be able to process all of what’s going on due to the many voices.

You stay at this company long enough to get your hearing aids, long enough to pay your loans, and long enough to save up a good fund for your hearing aid needs.

You quit your job and get hired at Nelson, Murdock & Page as an interim while you decide what you want to do.

With your hearing aids, life isn’t so frustrating anymore. You find yourself enjoying casual chatter and not worrying about processing what your friends are saying. At family dinners, you take your hearing aids out when you’re mad at your family, to which your stepdad, another hearing aid user, always laughs.

And, despite the pay not being stellar at your job, you love it. You love working with people who need help, love fighting injustice, and you love your coworkers.

...

If only Matt Murdock would reciprocate your feelings towards him.

You’ve been dancing this dance for months. You come into work with coffee and stutter when you get to his doorway.

You wonder if he’ll ever know how desperately you want him.

You go about your days quietly, going to the bar with them at the end of a long week. You love your friends and find yourself hoping they know how much you love them.

Karen and Foggy, as well as Foggy’s fiancé, know about your hearing aids since they sit sort of clunkily on your ears.

You don’t tell Matt, though, not at first.

You know how bad it is, to not even tell your blind crush that you have hearing aids. But you’re embarrassed. It makes you sound like an old person even though you’re in your twenties.

But when Matt crawls into your window late at night, bleeding, you don’t even flinch as he crashes onto your floor behind you. You’re reading, your hearing aids out, and he’s unsure why you can’t hear him. Your heartbeat had no reaction, it’s like you don’t even realize he’s there.

He taps you on your shoulder and you turn quickly, and gasp, before starting to sign at him. Even in his disoriented state, he knows you’re doing something with your hands and moving your mouth. At first, he thinks that he might have stuff clogging his ears, but then he realizes you’re signing, probably because you think Daredevil isn’t blind.

He takes off his helmet.

“Matt?” You say, and it comes out a little louder than it should, because you can’t hear yourself to gage how loud you’re being.

He says something, and your gaze focuses on his mouth, where you can barely make out what he’s saying.

“I can’t hear you.” You say, softer now. You reach over to your bedside table and put your hearing aids on. By the time you look back, Matt has passed out on the ground. Oh fuck.

You get your first aid kit and begin to work on his wounds. When you’re done, you pull him onto your couch, now stained with his blood, and watch as he sleeps. Blood covers your hands, and you listen to him breathing.

When he wakes up that morning, you’re asleep on the couch, and when you feel him start to stir. You grab your hearing aids, and turn them on, before watching him wake.

He says your name softly, and you take his hand in yours.

“Hey.. You.. You’re Daredevil...”

“You’re deaf.”

“Hard of hearing. Not fully deaf, just… My right ear is a lot better than my left, but without my hearing aids I’m close to deaf, yeah…”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were Daredevil?”

“I was scared. Scared that… That you would view me differently, scared that you wouldn’t like me as much.”

“I was scared too..”

“When did you start losing your hearing?”

“In college. I realized it when I went home for Thanksgiving, and then it got worse from there..” You tell him. A hand reaches out to your face, and you lean into it, letting your cheek rest in his palm. His fingers trail up towards your ear and gently run his fingers over your hearing aid.

“Thanks for stitching me up.” He says softly.

“No problem.”

“The hearing aid does explain the buzzing I always hear when you’re around.”

“You can hear my hearing aids?”

“Apparently. I can hear a lot of things. I have heightened senses. You use pomegranate shampoo and had red velvet cake for dessert tonight. Your heart is racing.”

Your face flushes.

“I can turn them off if it’s bothering you.”

“How would you hear me, then?” He has a point.

“I just don’t want them to bother you.”

“Don’t offer to hide your disability just to make other people more comfortable.”

You kiss him when he says this, in a careful way. You’re gentle, making sure not to hurt him as you do. He lays there and lets you kiss him, his hands on your face. You realize you had no reason to be scared that Matt might reject you for your disability, because he is the only person in your everyday life who really gets how it is to have a disability that affects all aspects of your life.

You trace the healed scars on his skin as you kiss him gently, careful not to hurt him. You promise that you’ll kiss him more passionately when he isn’t freshly stitched up.

• • •

A few weeks passed after that night. You and Matt start seeing each other more and more as you fall deeper in love. You find it silly that you wasted so many days, afraid of talking to each other and maybe disappointing each other over the fact that you both lack a vital sense.

But Matt never views it that way. You wear hearing aids and it’s perfectly fine because most of the time, you aren’t struggling to hear him and cannot communicate with him, and he can’t see when you can’t hear him.

Instead, Matt loves that he can hear your hearing aids buzzing softly because it always alerts him that you’re there. He can hear your heartbeat and smell you, too, but it’s not quite the same as this soft little buzzing that reminds him often of a bee.

Except for this one day.

You slept over at Matt’s on a Thursday and really, you should have known better. You knew your hearing aids were going to need a battery change soon, but you’ve been so busy with work and with Matt, and worrying about him at night, that you’re tired. So tired that you forget to pick up batteries before your hearing aids die.

You sneak out of Matt’s apartment early, sending him a text that you needed to go get changed before work. Really, you want to avoid the fact that you wouldn’t be able to hear him. But he didn’t respond to your message. You decide that you don’t care at this moment and head out to work, debating the right way to tell your coworkers about your predicament.

When you get to work, Foggy is immediately talking to you, and you are tense.

“Foggy—” He’s not stopping. It sounds like he’s mumbling, and there’s this ringing in your ears. “Foggy, I can’t hear you.” He finally looks to you, and says something, you make it out to be a phrase of confusion. “My hearing aids died.” You tell him. You’re frustrated, and Matt isn’t in the office yet.

You deem this as a blessing and a curse. Foggy goes to tell Karen what’s going on and as you’re settling down for the day, you get a text. You hope it’s from Matt, but when you see Karen’s name, you falter slightly.

‘Hey! Foggy told me what was going on. We’ll have your calls redirected to one of us and you can spend the day doing housekeeping and paperwork.’

‘Thanks’, You respond, “Sorry about all this. I’m usually on top of my battery life.”

“Don’t worry about it. These things happen.”

“Still, thanks. Did you hear from Matt at all?”

“No, he probably just slept in late. He should be in soon.”

You try to ignore your anxieties over his absence even though you know that when he does come into the office, you’ll have to struggle to communicate with him all day.

So, for the first hour or so of your day, you try to get some work done but there’s a light ringing in your ears that’s getting worse and worse as you attempt to try and focus on other things. Everything sounds so muffled. You’re so focused that your teeth grind against each other, your muscles tense, as you attempt to try and block out the ringing in your ears.

You have a feeling that by the time you leave today, those hot frustrated tears will be threatening to pour once more.

You don’t hear Matt as he steps into your office and stands by your left side, where you’re almost completely deaf. He stands there for about ten minutes, trying to get your attention before he realizes the light buzzing of your hearing aids are not there.

You must not have them in.

So his hands find your shoulders gently, and instead of tensing, you actually relax under his touch, because you realize that it has to be Matt. A slight turning of your head confirms it and you lean into his touch.

Neither of you say much for a while, deciding to let your frustration slowly dissipate as you lean into his warm hands. They stay on your shoulders and upper arms, rubbing gentle patterns into your skin.

After a good ten minutes of this, his body shifts to your right side and he leans down, before speaking at full volume, maybe even a little louder, just to make sure you can hear him. It still sounds like he’s mumbling, but you can hear him.

“Forgot your hearing aids?”

“Batteries died.” You tell him. “You never answered me.”

“My phone died. I forgot my charger, too.. Are you gonna be okay to work all day?”

“Mhm..” You smile softly, “You’re gonna have to help answer calls, though.”

He kisses your cheek, and you lean into the warmth.

“Anything for you, sweetheart.” He says, a soft smile on his face.

The day goes by pretty much as you expect it. You spend it doing paperwork and dodging phone calls, your tinnitus gets worse as the day goes on. By the time the day is finally winding down, Karen sends you one final text.

“Matt’s staying a little late to catch up on some work. Want me to walk you home?”

“No, I’ll be fine. Thank you.”

You realize that because she and Foggy are heading home, you’ll be able to sit with Matt, maybe get a little bit of peace. You’re thankful, too, because you’re about to lose your mind over all of this. The ringing is just getting to be too much.

You wait a few minutes after Foggy and Karen head home before you go into Matt’s office. He smiles at you and gestures for you to come in, and you do. You lean against his desk, as he speaks loud enough now that you can hear him.

“I’ll just be a few more minutes, Bee.” Even the soft-spoken nickname doesn't get you out of your funk, too busy wanting to get on your hands and knees and beg God for your hearing back.

That doesn’t usually happen, but every once in a while you ask him for a normal life.

God sends you a blind man as your soulmate, because he must think that the whole thing is quite funny.

“Okay…”

You feel hot tears pooling in your eyes as you bite your tongue and dig your fingernails into your skin. You almost draw blood.

“What’s wrong?” He can tell that something is wrong. He can always tell, and you’re foolish to think anything less of him, and even more foolish to forget his super senses. A part of you bites back a bitter feeling, since you wish you could’ve had super smell, super sight, super taste, anything in exchange for your hearing. You were not given an exchange, only forced to give, with nothing in there for you.

You forget that your boyfriend has super senses and can taste and smell your salty tears and blood in the air. Damn him.

“Loud… Ringing in my ears, my tinnitus is always really bad when I don’t use my hearing aids for a while..” You say softly. “It’s just.. it really hurts...” You confess, tears slipping down your face.

“Sweetheart..” He takes off his glasses and rests them on the desk in front of him. “C’mere..” You can’t hear that last part, but the way he opens his arms gives you the hint.

You sit on his lap, burying your face in the crook of his neck with a shaky sigh. You feel the thumps of his heartbeat and hold onto it, the ringing in your ears slightly muffled by his skin. It doesn’t fix the problem, but it helps.

His hands linger on your body, gentle caresses of your knee or thigh happening here and there. He just wants you to know he’s there, in the same way he desires when everything becomes too much for him.

“”m sorry..” you say gently, and he just hushes you softly, kissing your head. He traces patterns into your skin. He traces words into it as well.

L-O-V-E.

S-W-E-E-T-H-E-A-R-T

He traces your name, his, and your last names.

You kiss him softly, realizing that you might never be 100% okay with your hearing, but Matt will help. He’ll understand. He loves you, and it’s enough to be confident in your future again.

You spend only a few minutes more in the office before you decide to head home, his hand never leaving yours.

You make it back to his apartment and Matt plugs his phone in in case you need to text him and get his attention. You wind up stealing a pair of sweatpants, a tee shirt, and a pair of fuzzy socks. The two of you wind up tangled together on his couch.

Your ear is pressed against his chest as he gently caresses your skin, occasionally moving your hair from your face. He mumbles sweet nothings, and while you can’t hear them, you feel the rumbling vibrations in his chest, and you relish in them. You bathe in the feeling of his heartbeat thumping against his skin.

You fall asleep like this, with Matt touching you and talking in this low tone to make sure you can feel the vibrations of his voice in his chest and in his throat. It’s enough just knowing he’s there. That this thing you thought would deem you unlovable is no match for Matt Murdock, who on your wedding day will throw up the sign for ‘I love you’ in ASL.

For Matt Murdock, who, when you’re taken for loving the devil, will find you and take you into his arms and kiss you so that you know he’s real.

For Matt Murdock, who touches you in all the right ways so you can hear the sounds of your own pleasure.

For Matt Murdock, who will gently trace patterns into your skin when you need to be grounded. For Matt Murdock, who feels himself slipping further and further in love with you and finds himself searching for the soft buzz of your hearing aids when you walk into the room.

[hypnoneghoul]

Ain't No Hope In Hell

WC: 3k

Relationship: Zephyr/Rain

Tags: Disabled Characters, POTS Rain, Fainting, Semi-Public Bathroom Sex, Transmasc Rain, Non-Binary AFAB Zephyr, Cunnilingus, Minor Gender Dysphoria, Tail Sex

T4T Zephyr and Rain fuck in a disabled mall bathroom after the water ghoul has a fainting spell. That's literally it.

Notes: Commission for @everybodyshusband!!! Also tagging @ominousposting because we talked about these two deserving such action a while ago :3

Read under the cut or on AO3.

The bond that Rain and Zephyr share confuses many. They don’t spend much time together and when they do it’s either to sit in silence for hours or fuck viciously for just as long.

Sometimes one follows the other.

Still, despite it seeming so shallow and even toxic to outsiders, the two ghouls need each other. They understand each other in a way that no other ghoul ever could. Their relationship is in their hearts, minds and souls, not so much in anything that’s on the surface.

And like this, Zephyr and Rain love each other fiercely.

One of the things neither of them would ever be accused of enjoying that they do enjoy when together, is going out. Not to clubs, bars or anything like that; what they like is simple dates like going shopping or to the cinema. 

Today they decided to take a train that leaves every hour from a station a few minutes away from the Abbey and go to a mall. They didn’t have any big shopping plans, just mindless browsing, so to speak. If something would catch either of their eyes they’d get it and be pleased, but they’d be as content to leave with empty hands, only having spent that time together. They can also get some food in there, maybe dessert, too—that’s the thing Zephyr and Rain love about malls; there’s everything there.

Well, maybe they are not very fond of the amount of humans they inevitably encounter every time, but that can be overlooked.

And they are having a great day, indeed, until Rain starts feeling unwell.

“Zeph? Think I’m gonna have a spell,” he mutters, blinking hard as his head sways on his neck. The air ghoul reaches out to grab his wrist and turns it to see his watch. His pulse is going one hundred and fifty beats per minute. “Can we go find a bathroom?”

It definitely isn’t anything more dangerous than his usual episodes, so they should be fine without professional medical assistance, but it needs to be taken care of nonetheless.

“Yeah, of course,” Zephyr says, “it should be just around the corner, are you gonna make it or do you want to switch aids?”

“I–I’ll make it,” the water ghoul breathes shallowly, leaning heavier on his crutch, “just gonna go slow behind you.”

“Alright, puddle. Alright, let’s go.” Zephyr grabs their wheels and rolls on slowly, looking over their shoulder every five seconds to make sure Rain isn’t doing worse. The walk lasts both a second and an eternity, but finally the big accessible bathroom’s door latches behind them and Zephyr only has a second to throw their leather jacket on the floor (of questionable cleanliness) before Rain slides down the wall and passes out.

The air ghoul does not worry, he’ll wake up in a few moments, as always. In the meantime they watch as the other’s glamor slowly slips and rummage through his backpack for a salty snack and some water.

Soon enough Rain opens his eyes.

“There you are, puddle,”  Zephyr chuckles. “Was starting to grow bored.”

“Sure you were,” the water ghoul groans, sitting up slowly. “How long was I out?”

“Whole…” they check their watch in a theatrical manner, “two minutes.”

“Hm.” Rain makes grabby hands when he sees the air ghoul holding his replenishment set ready and they can’t help but shake their head at how adorable he is while still so out of it. He’ll feel better once he munches on a few nuts from his obscenely salty mix, though.

“You think you can get up already?”

“Why?”

“I want you off that nasty floor,” Zephyr scoffs, “and in my lap, preferably.”

Rain rolls his eyes but gets to work on standing up. Thankfully this bathroom actually is accessible—unlike many fakely advertised ones—and there’s a lot of things he can hold on to to stand. It works, albeit the water ghoul still gets dizzy and there’s black spots dancing in front of his eyes. He grabs Zephyr’s hand in the dark and flops down onto their lap. “C’mere, puddle.”

“That is more comfortable,” he sighs, leaning back against the air ghoul’s chest. They place a little kiss on Rain’s neck, just under the gills that escaped his glamor when he was out cold. A pleasant shiver runs down Rain’s spine at the gentle touch and his fins ruffle. “Gimme more, Zeph.”

“Greedy,” they hum but oblige nonetheless, putting their mouth over the water ghoul’s gills and kissing them softly. Rain groans and lets Zephyr appreciate their neck for a little while longer before he can’t take it anymore; he needs their lips on his. He tangles his fingers in the air ghoul’s hair and pulls them away from his neck and up, to kiss him. He slams their lips together and they both moan into it, getting more desperate with every second. They only part to catch a breath.

“Have we ever defiled a disabled mall bathroom before?” Rain asks, panting, as he leans down and rubs his nose up and down Zephyr’s neck, breathing in their fresh summer scent.

“I do not believe that we have,” they answer as they continue to grope the pretty water ghoul in their lap.

He hums thoughtfully, “Do you reckon it is time to do so?”

“Absolutely I do,” Zephyr breathes before tangling their fingers in Rain’s hair and pulling him up to seal their lips in a kiss even more heated than before. Their teeth clank together and they both try to shove their tongue down the other’s throat in a battle for dominance. Even though it’s obvious who is—and is going to stay—in charge. It’s always Zephyr; the only one for whom Rain always subs.

The next time they need to pull away to breathe, Rain notices something on the wall.

“Why was I laying passed out on this filthy floor when there’s a perfect bench right there?” Rain scoffs and throws his hands up dramatically; the princess that he is. There really is a perfect bench right there; albeit a foldable and rather unobvious one.

“You were already going down,” Zephyr shrugs. It is the truth, there was no time, but the truth is also that they didn’t notice it earlier, either. “You know I like to see it.”

“Oh, do you now?” Rain scoffs at the air ghoul’s poor joke. Or a flirting attempt.

“How could I not?” they seem dedicated to making him blush impossibly more, now. “Who wouldn’t like to see a pretty water ghoul between their legs, hm?”

“Are you attempting to make an offer, you old tit?” said water ghoul laughs. Both ghouls are well aware of how the half-affectionate, half-insulting nickname sounds without context and even though it does not get much better with it, the situation improves slightly when one is aware that it originally came from the bird tit and the facts that Zephyr’s feathers in their fully unglamored form are a similar color to that of a tit. The fact that it’s a rather loaded homonym just adds comicality that both Zephyr and Rain love.

“Depends,” the older ghoul shrugs. “Are we in a rush?”

“Not at all. It’s hours until the last train back home leaves.”

“Well, then…Do you want to go down?” Zephyr winks.

“If I can kneel on your jacket.”

“Such a princess, aren’t you? I’ve got a better idea.” Zephyr lightly shoves Rain off of their lap before getting up from their wheelchair and walking over to the bench. They unfold it, look it over and press on it to see if it’s reliable for…more than sitting. It’s rather high, but that will only make the air ghoul’s idea work even better.

“Hop on, puddle,” they pat it in invitation, “today’s my turn to get my mouth on that pretty cunt of yours.”

Rain can’t stop blushing even hotter at that, but he follows the other’s command. As he situates himself on the edge of the bench, Zephyr returns to their wheelchair. They bring it as close to the bench as possible, sit back down and lock the brakes so they don’t just roll away mid eating Rain out.

“As much as I wish I had that skill, I don’t think I can fuck you with my tongue through your jeans,” they tease with a wink, patting his thighs.

“Oh, shut it,” Rain grumbles but does indeed start to fumble with his pants. He drops them down to his ankles but Zephyr tuts and shakes their head. “What?”

“I want my head between your legs, puddle,” they purr, “I need full access.”

Once again the water ghoul mutters something unintelligible under his breath, as if in protest, and yet still obeys Zephyr's every word.

His pants are all but ripped off and thrown across the bathroom to land in the sink—hopefully dry—and the air ghoul wastes no more time. They grab Rain’s thighs, spread them and lean in to nuzzle their cheek against his soft skin. The water ghoul’s lower legs end up hooked over Zephyr’s shoulders and their feet on the back of their chair. A rather solid position, if not for the bench under his ass. His back and hips will hate him for it later, no doubt.

Zephyr throws him one more look before descending onto his cunt and licking a fat stripe up his folds. As always, what they start with is a way to indulge themself more than the other—they love having delicate, wet skin under their tongue. They also love seeing how easy it breaks, but that’s for another time.

The water ghoul instinctively puts one of his hands on Zephyr’s head, digging his fingers into their scalp and pulling on their white as snow hair. They groan against his cunt, but not in protest. Lucifer only knows they grew their hair out just to get it pulled more and, oh, does Rain deliver every time. His tail wraps around Zephyr’s arm when they grip his hip.

Zephyr licks between his folds, up and down to flick the tip of their tongue against his clit and then goes back down to tease around his hole. They prod at it and Rain thinks they’re about to really lick into him when a wave of unpleasantness hits him. He curls in on himself slightly.

“Zeph, wait, uh–” Rain breathes out, tightening the hold he’s got on Zephyr’s hair. They pull away immediately.

“What’s wrong, puddle?” they ask with concern in their voice.

“Nothing, nothing’s wrong, just…” he bites his lip, “don’t put it in today. Please?”

“Yeah, of course,” the air ghoul smiles at him knowingly, with deep understanding. They’ve been there. “I’ll suck your pretty cock instead, what do you say?”

Rain only lets out a rather undignified grunt as a response as he throws his head back against the wall.

“I’m taking that as a yes,” Zephyr smirks and dives back down to take the water ghoul’s t-dick into their mouth. They start out light; swirling their tongue around it and petting it gently with the appendage. Rain is already so lost in it he can only whine and whimper; thankfully the bathroom is all solid walls, or else someone would definitely be calling in an emergency.

He’s pulling on Zephyr’s hair harder and harder with every lick over his cock, losing his mind even more when the air ghoul really starts doing what they’ve promised; sucking him off. Rain all but wails the first time Zephyr hollows their cheeks and sucks at his sensitive t-dick. It’s maddening.

At some point Zephyr grunts and takes one of their hands off of Rain’s thighs to move it down and fumble with their zipper, desperate for some kind of stimulation themself. They manage to open their pants, wiggle a hand inside and rub their own wet cunt. Rain only notices when the air ghoul’s moan vibrates through him.

“Zeph–” he pants, “Zeph, lemme–”

The water ghoul can’t really articulate what he wants, overwhelmed with pleasure. He unwinds his tail from Zephyr’s other arm and shoves it down their pants along with their hand.

“Oh,” they moan as they pull away from Rain’s cunt. They squeeze their eyes and rest their head against the water ghoul’s thighs, breathing heavily as he rubs their clit with the tip of his tail.

“Good?”

“Yeah, get it–puddle, get it in deep,” Zephyr begs and their shaky voice makes Rain whimper.

He obliges—once he collects himself enough to focus—and pushes his tail further down their pants. He finds the air ghoul’s slick hole and pushes in, slowly sliding his tail deeper and deeper until he all but runs out of it.

“Fuck…” they swear under their breath and follow it with a whine and it’s like a song. Zephyr returns to sucking Rain’s dick as if they want to slurp his soul out right through it and the water ghoul himself does his very best to stay focused enough to be able to fuck the other steadily with his tail.

There’s no rhythm to it, but neither of them cares; it’s all a blur of moans and whines and groans as they pleasure each other the way they know the other likes best. That’s the thing about them; they just know things, understand each other like nobody else.

Rain’s eyes cross when the air ghoul trails their wet tongue down, past his cunt to lick at his taint and tease his ass. Just for a moment, to make Rain soaking wet all around; they don’t go further, but Rain moans as they’re taking him apart piece by piece anyway. If Zephyr had access to the base of his tail, too, it’d all be over in seconds. Alas, their position makes it impossible.

There’s something about the softness of the skin in some places that makes Zephyr lose their mind. Another rather peculiar thing about them.

The air ghoul drags a smooth fang up the inside of Rain’s thigh—both a threat and a promise, but only for when they’re back home. They’re both wrecked and the fact that they’re in public escapes their horny minds entirely, it’s the instinct that keeps Zephyr in check.

“Do that…your tail, the–that thing you do…” they groan and even though it’s not much information, Rain knows exactly what to do.

“Lean back, need–need space.” He pulls his tail out of the air ghoul’s cunt and twists it tightly around itself, only leaving the spade out on the bottom. When he slides it back into Zephyr, it’s like a perfectly textured thick dildo with an attachment to stimulate their clit. Rain presses the flat tip of his tail against it and the air ghoul folds in on themself in pleasure.

“Fuck, that’s good,” they moan and start rolling their hips slightly, riding Rain’s tail as much as possible as they return to the task at hand; the delicious, soaking wet water ghoul cunt right in front of their face. And making it even wetter.

It won’t take much more and they both know it; it’s just a minute after Zephyr puts their mouth on Rain’s cock that he cries out a warning, “Close…”

“Uh-huh,” Zephyr hums in acknowledgement and nods slightly. The water ghoul can only assume it means they are nearing their climax, too. Still, the air ghoul is focused solely on Rain and making him cum his brains out. They double down their efforts and the noises falling from rain’s lips gain in volume.

“Yes, yes, yes–I’m–c–cumming, Zeph, oh,” he moans—the loudest and most wrecked of them all—and the air ghoul can feel slick gushing out of him to drip down their chin and onto the godforsaken bench. Rain’s entire body goes rigid as waves of his orgasm wash over him; including his tail. The makeshift dildo becomes impossibly thicker inside them and Zephyr groans in a nearly pained manner as they’re thrown over the edge, too.

Rain sags forward, falling face first into Zephyr’s chest as they lean back in their wheelchair. The both of them breathe heavily for a longer while, slowly coming down from their highs.

“I hate you, you old tit,” the water ghoul murmurs at some point, making Zephyr laugh.

“I love you, too, puddle,” they reply with a grin, patting his back.

Once they deem themselves composed enough again, they get up to clean the mess that they’ve made of each other. Putting both their glamors back in place and adjusting their clothes and hair so as to not scream with their looks about what they’ve been up to in that bathroom, they get ready to go.

“I don’t even want to know for how long we’ve been blocking this bathroom,” Rain grunts, a little disappointed in himself. 

“Don’t worry, puddle,” Zephyr reaches out to pat his hip reassuringly, “it’s not a busy day and I’ve seen another one not so far from here, I’m sure we didn’t cause anyone inconvenience.”

The water ghoul hums in acknowledgement and finally unlocks the door again. To his great relief there isn’t anyone waiting. They leave the bathroom and decide to visit one more shop that was on their agenda; Rain feels alright now and one more won’t hurt anyone. After that they check potential trains that could take them back to the Abbey and start making their way to the station.

“We should have a list,” Zephyr proposes at some point.

“Of what?” Rain asks, genuinely curious.

“Places we defiled,” the older ghoul clarifies and Rain snorts out a laugh, “and places we have yet to defile.”

“I’m down,” he giggles under his breath, “but only if we write it down on a piece of paper that I can hang on the fridge in the den.”

“You got it, puddle,” Zephyr grins. “My requirement is that we put Primo’s closet at the very top of the been there, done that part.”

“Ah…” Rain sighs dreamily, “that was a glorious time, indeed, dear Zephyr.”

“Absolutely it was, dear Rain,” the air ghoul agrees. “Whose next, Terzo or Copia’s?”

“Secondo’s. Let’s go chronologically.”

“I love your brain, puddle.”

[cherry-pop-elf]

Chronic Tonic

Wolverine x Reader x Deadpool

Authors note: I’m taking advantage of all this hype to bring awareness to chronic pain, because we know this bitches have it. ((Written by someone who suffers from it

Warnings: Canon typical violence (so it’s gonna get gorey), disabilities, domestic fluff, pain, blood, gore, Logan and Wade loving each other in their own way, Blind Al being iconic and a worried mom, DogPool being a angel, and heavy talk about disabilities and disability awareness

“Honey, mind coming to help me with the dishes?” You would hear Al call for you. You swore you were the only person she treated you with that Black Mama Magic with. As if you could complain. Suppose having company helps soften you up.

You had recently properly moved into the apartment. A bit cramped now, but given how often Wade and Logan went off to do super hero work it didn’t really matter. You knew deep down Al was happy to have you move in. Even if she doesn’t show it. Same for Mary Puppins, who loved to show she loved your attention.

“Sure thing Miss Althea!” You called back, as you would return Mary to her little dog bed. She gave a whine of protest, only to hush up when you tucked her in with one of Wade’s hoodies. Smelled like her daddy’s, so she was contented to nap time.

“You don’t have to keep calling me Althea-“ She would laugh, as you would enter the kitchen. Quick to already start drying them off, or working on the plates Althea didn’t quick get clean enough. She had a dish washer, but being able to do normal things can be soothing. You knew she was a little worried about her boys. She had her ways of showing it.

“Well I wanna, so-“ That had her laugh at your smart off tone. Was like Wade was in the apartment still. Had her sigh, as you two held your routine perfectly. You often helped her, but in the ways that soothed her. Such as not immediately dropping everything whenever she called for you, or babied her when she was struggling with something. Actually treated her as what she was. A person, who needed different types of help. Simple as that.

“I don’t know if it’s the damn arthritis��s, or just that mama sense I got, but I feel it in my bones. That nerve ache that something bass gonna happen. Maybe we should get the towels out of the laundry-“ Althea would tell you, as you frowned. Wade and Logan were practically immortal. They had to be fine, right?

That’s when the stench of blood smacked you in the face.

It hit you long before they reached the door. Nearly dropped the bowl in your hand, as it just filled your lungs. That intense iron. Althea gave a ‘I knew it-!’ Huff, as she was already walking to grab the needed towels. While you yourself were wondering how she didn’t even so much twitch a nose at it. Maybe the cocaine finally wore it down.

“Get the door for them! And a mop!” Althea called to you, as you brought your shirt to cover your mouth. It was just a suffocating stench. Was like walking into a morgue, where all the war time soldiers came to rot. Wonder how bad it must be for Logan with his heighten sense. Then again, he’s probs used to it by now.

When you opened the door you nearly threw up. The smell was so bad, had you gagging. Now you understood why Althea always left febreez and a face mask next to the door. You strapped that shit on like it was a gun to your belt. You were gonna need it, especially with how banged up they were.

Wade wasn’t even in one piece. His upper torso was tossed over Logan’s shoulder, as he would drag the lower half by the ankle with him. The sight of dangling organs made you feel faint. The internal parts being on the outside was rather distracting from the fact Logan was literally missing half his face. Was like some terminator shit.

“We’re back~!” Wade would sing, as Logan would toss the broken bundle of body parts onto the couch. He himself just sat in an arm chair. That was sweet, you had to admit. Letting Wade have the couch. Least that’s what would cross your mind when you weren’t trying to keep from vomiting.

“Don’t go puking on me. I don’t need eyes to know they be fucked up. Come on, let Mama show you how it’s done. Come on-“ Al would grab your arm, as she would use the side of the couch to help find her way around. Logan tried to be sneaky, and used his foot to push the coffee table away for her. So she didn’t trip. You noticed that. That didn’t sneak by you.

“Yeah, this is why I hate Magicians. Like come on man. Not even a cool spell like Sectumsempra. Just a damn ax. Lame to the L TO THE A TO THE M E-!” Wade you whine, as Al would try and figure out what needed to be done today. As if she wanted to deal with baby legs again.

“Not your PotterHead bullshit again, you fucking nerd-“ Logan would complain, before DogPool would jump into his lap. With a rag in her mouth. Wanting to help him out. The gesture was appreciated, as he rewarded her a ruffle to her fluffy head.

“Alright, here’s how you put a body together. If I can do it you can do it. Not like you can fuck up. Just gotta get it good enough, and that damn healing factor does the rest. Don’t faint on me, baby.” Al would comfort you, before she would guide your hands to the torso.

Was quite the adventure, but it was going to be a needed skill after all. It’s important to make sure they heal up as fast as possible. You never know when you’ll be ambushed, or some other wild plot point that makes you stressed. Not to mention that being a throuple meant getting used to this.

With taking a breather at the butchered surgery, you would stand up to look at Logan. Most of his face had actually healed over already. Well, the muscle anyway. He may not have been as bad off as Wade but you wanted to make sure he was doing ok all the same.

“Don’t give me those doe eyes. I’ll be fine, kid. Nothing we can’t handle. We’re gonna be fine. You did your job. Go wash up. Don’t want to know what the hell you’ll catch.” He tried to act like this wasn’t something painful, but you knew. You knew he’s hurting badly. It’s just easier to pretend than to just make everyone uncomfortable.

You would give a little huff, but toon the advice. A shower was certainly needed. Was a well earned reward. Helped take a lot of pressure off of Al’s shoulders. She could focus on cleaning around the home now, since you did the hardest part. Now was just time to clean, and hopefully help the boys clean up to.

Looks like it wasn’t needed, as you returned. There to see that Logan had come to help clean Wade up on his own. Despite the aches, he was doing his best to help clean up Wade. Taking away all the ruined clothes, and using the cloth that DogPool gave him. Just making sure the stitch work was taken care of.

“Careful with the claws, peanut. Daddy’s sore.” Wade would laugh, but you could hear the dryness. A dryness of exhaustion. You may not understand what it’s like to be in pain twenty four seven but it’s not that hard to understand it’s taxing.

“There’s still a needle and thread here, bub. I’ll finish off your lips next.” He would warn him, but that tired tone was also shared. There wasn’t really that normal bite to it. It was like the two of them were on autopilot. That it was easier to let a routine speak over an isolating silence. It’s easier to pretend everything’s normal than to let the pain sink in. To be deep in your bones, make you spasm, and remind you that sometimes being alive isn’t the best gift humanity can have.

“Come on, you to buddy.” You would soon grab a damp cloth from the kitchen. You took your turn on the couch. Just gentle dabs at Logan’s cheek, in some kind of means to help Logan. You can’t take away the pain, but maybe showing you cared could help? That you’ll never be exhausted of them complaining. Being in pain twenty four seven would wear anyone down. It’s not fair to let them pretend it isn’t.

“Daw, kitties getting pampered.” Wade would lazily say. As if he was in so much pain it was triggering a high. Was that something possible? To reach a pain level you get a buzz and can’t really comprehend your surroundings? Yeah. Yeah you can.

“Ignore him. Wades being Wade.” Logan grumbled, but didn’t fight your attempts to help. Even if the cold cloth did nothing, the fact you were willing to try can be enough sometimes. Not everything can be cured. Doesn’t mean people can’t try and help dull it.

That seemed to be the last anyone said, for a while. Never thought the Merc With The Mouth would ever be quiet. Guess sometimes your body just can’t process things. That so much goes on all at once that your brain just can’t keep up. Sometimes you just gotta autopilot. To feel your body throb, beg, cry, spasm, ache, bones crack, muscles tear, brain buzz, nerves burn, just feel every fiber of your being set a blaze. Sometimes you just have to ride it out, until you can come back from autopilot.

You didn’t pressure them at all. You let them do their autopilot. Didn’t interrupt them at all. Just let them do what helped them best. You just made sure to help in your own way. Such as reducing their need to move more than they should. Grabbing them new clothes, washing their bodies by hand, getting them something to drink, just whatever they needed to got it. You were able bodied, and knew they already felt shit enough not being able to get up to do it themselves. You didn’t hold it over their heads. They had enough of a rough day.

“Thanks peanut.” Wade would smile at you, as you would plant a kiss to the top of his head. A gruff was given from Logan, his own means of thank you, so you kissed his head as well. He deserved to get affection all the same. Just because Wade was more open to his emotions didn’t mean Logan gets left out from the smooches.

“They ain’t gonna leave the couch for a while. I know that feeling-“ Al would say, as she had blankets for them. So you took them from her, and helped them get as comfortable as their aches allowed them to. So much ache that even Logan couldn’t complain at Wade’s overly touchy affection. He was just to damn tired.

“Better get used to this. Happens once a month I swear.” Al huffed, as you gave a sound of agreement. Given she wouldn’t be able to see you nod your head. Just hurt your heart to see it all, but that’s just how the cookie crumbles. Sometimes people are born with it, like Logan, some just get it from Mother Nature saying you had to be special like Wade. Couldn’t imagine the mental barrier they had. Then again, not like they had a choice.

Least DogPool was there to help. Having jumped up on the couch, and snuggling between them. Doing her little pat to the blanket, and curling up between her daddies. Doing her best to help them. Warmed your heart. You made sure she had a plushie while she was there. She wouldn’t leave their side easy after all.

“Not bad for your first run around. Didn’t say that bullshit of ‘wow you are so strong-‘ and that useless crap everyone says-“ Al would ramble to you, as she returned to the dishes. Back to her routine. Like nothing had even happened.

“I mean, why would I? It’s a given, and it’s not like it’s doing much.” You muttered, as you tried to do the routine as well. To try and wash, and clean, like nothing weird had happened. That wasn’t your normal, though. But you’ll learn to have that normal.

They deserved to feel normal.

[fantasy-frog]

To anybody who might see this, July in the states is disability pride month. As someone who’s past decade plus has been a journey towards understanding, accepting, and advocating for my psychological and physical disabilities and my whole life, aiding disabled family members, I want make it known that: the way many of us feel you can help us the most, is not by “pretending” we’re abled, like we’re just like everyone else, because we’re *not*

When disabilities are ignored, or treated as just “uniquely abled”, it falls on the disabled to maintain abled people’s comfort; to make our disabilities small, to not advocate for equity and the bettering of our lives in a supposedly equal society.

Equality is not equity.

Differences must be acknowledged, understood, and worked around *by abled people* for any true progress to be made.

Most people think this is government related. I know abled people as individuals can’t change that there’s little to no wheel chair access in their bustling city, that the sidewalks are cracked and filled with lips. An abled person can’t make public schools treat autistic kids with humanity, or children with memory-relates disabilities able to always have notes for their exams. They can’t make the employers stop firing us, or the government give us our right to marriage when living under SSI.

What I’m asking for is Empathy. True empathy. The kind that informs your beliefs, and actions. Talk to disabled people. Get to know them. I promise you, you have a disabled person in your family or social circle. Really be inquisitive about their experiences, struggles, and frustrations.

Acknowledge your privilege. Your ease of access to the world. Really sit in it. Absorb it. Your empathy will only grow. And when enough abled people do even just this, the world for us becomes less hostile. It becomes more livable. We become no longer burdens, but cherished by our communities, our families and friends. And trust me, even though the world is not built for me, and I have to consistently jump through 10,000 hoops to achieve even the smallest of victories for an abled person, and my body hurts and breaks down, so I get in a chair on wheels, or get out my cane, or put on my noise cancelling headphones, and just come across obstacle after obstacle -

The majority of the pain comes from the stares. The glances. The questioning. The points when you see the patience leave the eyes of the one who you thought loved you unconditionally, and you remember your place in our collective culture. And fuck man. You recall how workable all the bureaucracy and hurdles felt, how manageable it was to push forward (it’s what you always do) … before you were reminded of where you sit on the totem poll, and how conditional worth is in our society.

Disabled people are worthy. We are valuable. But we need you to believe it, or nothing will ever change.

[lemon-popp]

Spending time with the sith: episode iv

Pairings: Qimir x Black! female oc

warnings: Unprotected sex, Fluff, swearing, pining, slight rejection, Typos (sorryyyy)

words count: 5k

masterlist

Luna’s body is lifted onto the elevated bed with Qimir aiding her every move as if she’s some hurt bird while lifting each of her legs. Although she deeply appreciated his tender help, it wasn’t really necessary, it was just a twisted ankle. She wasn’t ran over by a ship and left completely disabled. But despite these thoughts, she basks in this feeling.

Back home she has always working. Never had a break since the day she was old enough to join the workforce. It was tough at first, but eventually she got used to it…because she had to. It wasn’t enough just living off the salary her mom made at the apothecary, she knew she needed to help. Though much protest from her mother, Luna insisted, Sacrificing her freedom to give her mom even just the slightest break from being the sole provider. Allowing her to reduce her hours so they can spend more time together.

As of recently though, her mom quit. Not by choice of course, but because of her rapidly declining health that caused her to even have difficulty standing at the cash register. The day her mom returned home with the news, Luna knew that she had to step up. She knew that she had new responsibilities on her dainty shoulders, responsibilities to which she took on with no hesitation. She would do anything for her mom, which meant picking up multiple shifts, getting another job and taking care of her mom’s every need. So it’s safe to say this girl was on the clock 24/7. So yeah, she’s definitely appreciating this treatment, ignoring the guilt that sat in her stomach, just for this moment.

“I’m gonna go make dinner,” Qimir’s pleasant voice seeps through her ears like a musical melody. Her big brown eyes meet his, and she almost completely forgets about relaxing. Her workforce robot brain rebooting into action.

“Oh i can help—,” Before the eager girl can finish her suggestion, Qimir’s places his large and on the top of her thigh, as a means to stop her.

“No,” His eyes glare deep into hers, his eyebrows low and face straight as if he was scolding her. Luna’s eagerness dissipates almost immediately and she cowers like a scared puppy, but a heat swells up to her cheeks, ”I got it. You just lay there, looking beautiful and rest. okay?”

The dominance oozes off his tongue as every word that was spoken enunciated meticulously in a stern tone.

He meant it

Qimir wasn’t sure where this came from. Any of this. The hospitality. The tender words. Just being giving in general. He just wanted to give to her. Whatever she wanted. He even wanted to give her everything he never received.

Luna nods in agreement, sinking back down into the cotton sheets that covered his luxurious bed. Qimir turns on his heels and makes his way to the kitchen, his large figure disappearing from her view.

With him gone, Luna takes this time to ‘tame’ her hair, or at least that’s what the people at school and work would say whenever she wore her hair out. She loved her hair, her mom always encouraging her to have her on style and to feel confident. It just so happens that when she felt most confident was when her curls framed her face like an angel in the clouds. The brown lengthy coils that resembled a male lion.

But right now, as her hair was still damp from the bath, took the opportunity to make a slick low bun with her hands. She didn’t necessarily feel like Qimir was unwelcoming to her hair, or her self expression in general. Especially after the way he manipulated it in his large hand, careful not to entangle is fingers inside the thicket. She decided to style her hair simply because she still had no bonnet and didn’t enjoy waking up with knots, tangles and dry hair.

After fifteen minutes, the slick back bun was a slick as it could be and as if on cue, Qimir entered back into the bedroom with one ceramic bo in hand. Steam escaping from the dish.

Excitement rushes through Luna, preparing her taste buds for the delicious soup she had yesterday until the bowl finally arrived in her hands.

vegetables? really?

Qimir catches how her face that was just bright with excitement, dropped when faced with the dinner for tonight. Her thick eyebrows furrow in confusion and plump lips pouting. He shakes his head at her in amusement.

Funny that she wants the soup now.

“What’s the matter?,” Humor coats his sentence in a teasing manner, a smirk crawling across his face, knowing exactly what is the matter.

Luna rolled her eyes at him, taking the metal fork in hand to stab the sautéed carrots, broccoli and cauliflower in spite. Masking the slight disappointment in her face and her annoyance at him noticing this disappointment.

Truth is she felt bad for judging his food so early. Granted it did look like a boil of green thick bile, but nonetheless it was still rude of her to have act that way. Luna sighed lightly, bringing the fork to her lips consuming the vegetables, which were perfectly seasoned.

is this man a chef? holy cow this is delicious.

“mm, never a chef. just had enough patience to learn,” Qimir answered the question that rang in her mind for the third time that day. Not caring about hiding his power anymore. Who he was. He trusted her.

Well, he trusted that she wasn’t working with the jedi. She’s far too emotional to be with them and there’s no way she’d just freely let him roam her mind if she were.

Luna’s eyes flick up to meet his, her almond eyes burning into his with a dissecting squint. Her mind ran a million kilometers per minute, trying to once again understand how. The question repeats around her brain as it attempts to make up reasonable answers, but to no avail. The only way is to ask.

“Are you a jedi?,” Her voice clear, eyes locked as she takes another bite of her food, awaiting for his confession.

Him being a jedi is the only possible explanation. Well…besides the fact that he’s alone, on this planet.

Qimir surprising breaks the interrogating eye contact with the beautiful girl in front of him, his gaze dropping along with his mischievous smile.

He figured this moment would come. I mean, he fully expected it with how he was recklessly answering the burning questions that played in her head. But the feeling that washed over him as the words left her sweet lips, was something he would never expect.

His stomach dropped, heart slowing to a deathly rate and his skin grew cold, but he still broke out in a light sweat on his forehead. The thought of telling this compassionate, caring, and charismatic woman that he was a fallen jedi, who murdered and felt no guilt, crushed him. The thought of her possible reaction crushed him. Her eyes succumbing to fear at the realization that she has been living with an evil sith. He feared this. But why?

she’s not yours Qimir. she was not and never will be yours. if anything this is for the best. Telling her will drive her back home, back to safety, back to her mother and away from you.

A lump forms at the back of his throat, this prominent adams apple bobbling as his tries to swallow it away. It lingers anyway.

With a sigh, he reaches out to grab Luna’s injured ankle to which she slightly winces at, but doesn’t protest as he places it across his thick lap. His eyes focus on the bare skin of her leg, avoiding the intense chocolate orbs that stared at him with concern.

Qimir’s large calloused hands caress her injury, his fingers massaging the tender bone. At first it just felt like a deep contusion, but at the seconds went by the pain that was once there is completely gone.

he just—he just healed me.

Her eyes widen at her realization as she slowly circles her foot, testing whether she’s being delusional or not. The bleeding organ in her chest thumps harder, her brain buzzing with questions all while her fingers grip onto the warm bowl.

Qimir softens the grasp he has on her ankle, letting his hands fall off of her smooth skin. Taking her sudden change in demeanor as a sign to give her space.

The burly man sighs, the most defeated he has looked in their shared time together.

“I am not a Jedi, Luna. Not anymore,” Qimir sighs but spoke directly, firm with his words. His hands that now sat on his lap, fidgeted the the hardened callouses that formed on his palms.

Luna’s brown eyes light up at his confession and small smirk forming across her lips at the thought of being right. Or so she thought.

“I was thrown away by my master. I was unable to tap into the power of the force with their methods. I was unable to cut ties with my emotions. Unable to let go of the life i had before them. My family. They just expected me to just…forget about them. But i did, to the best of my abilities.”

Although Qimir’s strong voice doesn’t falter while telling his story, Luna can sense how heavy it weighs on his heart. The way his dominant eyes that never shy away from intense eye contact couldn’t even meet hers. The way his heavy shoulders slumped in an egregious posture.

Luna takes the bowl in her hands and sets in down next to her to instead reach out for his large ones. Along with his hands, she also take his gaze. His saddened eyes finally met her warms ones that reassured him.

“Q, im so sorry,” Qimir flinches at the nickname. It may have been something so small, but that small thing lit his chest on fire and warmed his cheeks. His natural confidence started to sprout again thanks to her.

“I use the force on my own terms now. By using my emotions. my anger, my sadness, my passion. my desire. I use it. i have used it on you. to heal you. to read your mind. and I have used it on others. on the jedi”

Luna’s compassionate smile drops for a second, letting the last sentence register in her head.

i have used on others. on the jedi.

To luna it seemed very clear what he meant by that statement. Of course he wasn’t reading their minds to flirt with them easier or using it to heal them like he was doing to her. He used it for revenge.

The thought didn’t necessarily scare her, knowing that she personally didn’t need to fear him. But coming to the realization that this man that she has given her trust to has possibly killed, did shock her.

This is the same man who carried her bridal style over a twisted ankle. Who comforted her while ranting about her mother’s sickness. Who fed her meals, bathed her, and pleased her like no other, including herself. So Qimir being a murder definitely failed to run across her mind.

However, this realization didn’t change anything. “thank you for telling me,” she spoke gently, almost in a whisper-like manner.

“Why aren’t you scared?,” Qimir chews on his pink bottom lip, confused on how such a sweet soul like her isn’t running away at his confession.

i read your mind. i lied about my identity. i killed. why is she still sitting here, staring at me with those gorgeous eyes.

“Why would i be scared of you, Qimir. From the sound of it, you were taken away from the purest love anyone could experience and forced to sever those ties. You were never allowed to heal from such a traumatic event. Unable to build a potential relationship to fill that void. You’re not a bad person. You’re just hurting,”

Luna’s rogue thumbs draws a soothing pattern on the back of his veiny hands, making sure that he not only heard her words, but felt them too. Feeling how much she truly sympathized with him.

“i do have one question though," A small smile spreads across her lips. Curiosity and intrigue forming. "Outside of revenge on the entire jedi, what is it you desire most?”

Although the question was meant to be light hearted, the air grows thicker as she awaits for his response. The previous sympathetic gaze they shared was soon washed away, replaced with something else. Qimir’s eyes scan the woman that sat in front of him taking in all of her beauty. The way the curls that were once free and wet, was now pulled back presenting the masterpiece of her face.

“The power of two,” Qimir brings his gaze back to her chocolatey eyes, locking them in an intense stare off that neither of them backed down from. A look that spoke a thousand words yet nothing at all. The hands that once held his were now overpowered as he gave her dainty palms a knowing squeeze.

Now it's time for Luna to take her bottom lip in her mouth, chewing it nervously. The thought of him referring to her in the sense of the 'power of two' sending her mind in an overdrive, but so did the thought of him referring to someone else completely. While rather fearless, Luna was no fighter much less a wielder of the force, it would foolish of her to think he was making such an implication.

“Q—I hav,” Luna starts but is interrupted with Qimir's full plush lips against her's, the had that were once holding onto hers found its way to the sides of her head, keeping her hostage. Confirming that he was indeed referring to her.

The girl only takes a second to recover from the surprise of his lips before joining his feverish kisses, allowing herself to let her hands wander over his cream robe. Qimir's lips sizzled with desire and he sucked on her juicy ones, all restraint he had leaving his massive body.

Qimir was extremely skilled at keeping his cool, that was what most fear about him. The fact that it was nearly impossible to detect what he was truly feeling, unable to predict his actions. However, when it came to Luna. Her loving eyes boring into his soul, reassuring him and showing such loyalty only after these short two days, it made him lose it cool, to put it lightly.

With lips moving in unison and fitting together like cogs in a clock, Qimir crawls towards her, his lengthy body hovering over her tiny frame. Luna peers at him through her thick eyelashes, admiring the way his biceps bulged against the linen long sleeve cloth, allowing her fingertips to follow her gaze up his arm up to drape hers around his neck.

The oversized robe that enveloped Luna parted slightly at the neck, exposing her impressive décolletage. The threatening unveiling drives Qimir to insanity as he attempts to hold himself from ripping the thin linen from her body himself. But Instead he opts for soft kisses that trail down tantalizingly slow, tasting the sweet honey of her skin.

Luna arches off the bed, her back forming a deep curve that’s practically begging for qimir to take advantage of. Her chest fully pushed out as a result causing the robe to open up even more. Qimir groans at her reaction. pleased

all of this over some kisses. she has no idea.

Qimir loops his arms through the gap between the sheets and her back, allowing his arms to wrap around the girl’s waist. His pink lips reach the hilt of her covered breast before using his teeth to tug at the cloth that barely covered her hard nipples.

Luna gasps at the cool feeling of air that caressed her nerve as she stared down at the man who had hunger written all over him. He was a starved lion. and she was a gazelle.

His eyes meet her’s, stalling at her newly exposed skin 1) to check if she was okay with this 2) to see the pure bliss on her face when he latches his lips around her stiff brown nipple. Qimir starts with gentle licks which later progresses into sucking and nibbling while he frees a hand to pinch the other.

Luna’s eyes roll back, her hands dragging its way to his hanging hair, gripping softly. Moans escape her lips, her back arching even more into his mouth which Qimir takes note of.

she wants more

Q detaches from her swollen breast to kiss down even further, using the force to untie the robe and open it up completely. Luna’s full body now on display.

Goosebumps litter her golden brown skin that burned under Qimir’s gaze. Which were filled with nothing but admiration. If she looked closely she could see the hunger subsiding for a second being replaced with awe as he observed her.

There was a goddess lied underneath him. Trusting him to please her. To serve her. And serve he shall.

Qimir swallows the sudden lump of shyness that formed at his throat due to the sight before him. The cocky confidence rushing back.

The burly arms release her from his unwavering hug around her waist allowing him to use his wide hands to wrap around her calfs, lifting them. Her legs now nearly reached her head, her womanhood fully exposed. At mercy to whatever he had in store.

Luna’s chest starts to pound in excitement, a toothy smile spreading across her beautiful face. Qimir looks down between the girl’s legs, catching her wide smile that caused him to grin with confusion. His thick eyebrows knit together at Luna’s untimely humor.

“What’s going on little one?,” He gives her a playful smirk as the hands wrapped around her calfs drag down the length of her legs, running over the developing goosebumps that littered her strong quads before stopping right at her inner thighs.

Luna's breath hitches at the back of her throat from the growing anticipation at feeling his warm hands touch her even warmer delicates, “I just— I’m excited.”

“Excited hm?," His lips latch on to her dangling legs, starting at her previously swollen ankle to which he littered clement kisses against before trailing down, his tongue slipping out to take the same path his hands took. The pink buds tasting the sweetness of her skin, only what Qimir could image to be just a snippet of what she really tasted like. The man stops only a couple inches away from her exposed core, the smell her dripping arousal filling up his senses. If he wasn't enjoying this teasing, she would've already been on her third orgasm. but the way her heart thumped in her chest, her mind already nothing but tv static and how she arched her back after every touch was something worth savoring.

Qimir inhales deeply, filling his lungs with her pheromone that sends him into a high to which he blows out with a dramatic sigh. The air that leaves his lips blowing directly onto Luna's throbbing clit.

Her body contracts, eyes shooting down to his with a pleading gaze. Begging to give her what she wants. Begging for his lips on hers. Qimir catches the sent glare, reveling in the power it gave him but only for second as his desire to please this gorgeous woman overthrew his need for power.

Luna throws her head back with aggression, her back lifting off the bed as if she was being possessed as she felt the way his tongue swirled and lapped at her bud. The hand gripping onto her left thigh moved to her core as he gently inserts two fingers in. The moan that escapes her mouth drives him crazy as he pumps his thick calloused fingers all while still obliterating her lit with his talented tongue.

Luna's hands find their way to his hair, pulling on the long hair that sat at the top of his head, begging for more.

It was nice feeling the way his lips sucked on swollen clit and how his fingers hooked inside of her. Hell, it was one of the best feelings she's ever experienced in her life. But somehow she craved more. She craved closeness. She craved him inside of her. She craved the feeling of them coming together as one.

"Q- Qimir, I nee-- I need you," She pants with closed eyes. the grip on his hair tightening attempting to lift him from his dinner. Qimir raises his head revealing his absolutely drenched chin and a slightly annoyed face. Luna giggles at his bewildered state before dragging him up by his wet chin to meet her eye level, "I need you Qimir."

Her chestnut brown eyes stare pleadingly through his oak ones, hoping that he would just use that awesome force power of his to read her thoughts. To save her from the humiliation that was starting to bubble up inside of her.

Lucky for her, Qimir didn't have to use it anyway, he knew what she wanted from her words alone. The playfully annoyed expression is replaced with a soft look as he takes in the current situation. He stares down at her, a swirl of emotions brewing in his chest. Lust, excitement, warmth, comfort…fear.

Qimir shakes the last thought out of his mind, narrowing his focus back on the beauty who was currently begging underneath him.

The distance is closed with a tender kiss to Luna’s full lips before pulling away just slightly.

“Are you sure?,” He asks just centimeters away, eyes locked in a unwavering gaze, both searching for signs of uncertainty. None arises and Luna nods, committing to her statement as the ache in her core grew exponentially.

Qimir mouths an ‘okay’ before sitting back on his knees to give him space to fully remove his robe. Unveiling his godly body that makes the woman shift up to get a better view.

A part of her felt like she needed to be pinched. That there was no way that she was experiencing the privilege of laying underneath him. His detailed abs and large biceps on display for her. His desire rock hard just for her.

Luna stretches out to run her delicate fingers down the length of his torso, feeling each ripple that decorated his abdomen in disbelief. He was real. Truly real. Too real.

A pleased smirk formed across Qimir’s pink, swollen lips, savoring the feeling of her fingers trailing down his body, nearing the lengthy member that throbbed for her. Qimir throws his robe off to the side and takes back his previous position hovering on top of Luna, as she continues her venture.

Without warning, Luna wraps her hand around his warm cock, taking in the size as her hand could barely fully wrap around him. Her jaw goes slack, mouth gapped open in surprise and Qimir’s smirk only grew wider.

He was going to enjoy tonight.

Qimir removes Luna’s grasp off of his member to instead pin it above her head by intertwining their fingers together. The head of his cock grazing her clit as he did so. She was ready for him.

and so was he.

Qimir takes his free hand, aligning his length with her begging entrance. He pushes in gently with a sharp inhale that is shared with Luna who tightens the grip on his hand. The thickness of his cock and the lack of experience on her end making it rather difficult to go fully in.

The burly man pulls out and pushes back in with the same technique as before, but this time Luna breathes out, fully relaxing into him. He slips in deeper than before, a strangled moan leaving Luna’s lips with an arch in her back.

Although he wasn’t fully in yet, it felt like she was full to the brim with him. The way his veiny length stretched her out further than anything else had ever before sent her to spiral. Her once strong eye contact, faltered with fluttering eyes that threatened to roll to the back of her head.

“You’re doing so good little one,” Qimir’s hips came to a stop, giving Luna some time to adjust to his impressive size. In the meantime, Qimir brings his free hand to her face, gently caressing the apple of her cheek with his thumb longingly. His eyes never leaving her just in case she shows any sign of discomfort before she mentions it.

While admiring her face, he is brought back to moments ago to when she comforted him. Validated his feelings. Understood him.

Heat starts to swell at his chest at the memory. A swarm of butterflies following right behind that choose to settle at his tummy. An emotion he longed to feel as a padawan in the jedi. An emotion he still denied himself of seeking until all of his business was taken care of.

Luna came back to her senses, catching Qimir’s lightly glossy eyes staring down at her so softly. Her breath hitching at the sight of him before giving a quick squeeze of his hands, bringing him back to reality.

“I’m ready,” She whispered between them with a soft smile. Qimir nods, pulling out and pushing back in repeatedly in a languid manner. Making sure he didn’t push too much of himself inside. At least for tonight.

His slow strokes drove Luna insane as they allowed for her to feeling almost every inch of him. Every throbbing vein raking the walls of her vagina.

Qimir dips his head in the space between her shoulder and head, his lips locking in on her neck. Kissing, nibbling and licking on her carotid artery.

He could kill her right now, the idea did cross her mind. He was a hurt, damaged man with nothing to lose, what would be stopping him from killing me? but that thought also drove her insane. That such a powerful, majestic man could end her like that, however chose to heal her. she felt like putty in his hands, at mercy to his touch. It made her wonder if it was because she was just an exception or he’s really just a good person. She hoped both were true.

Qimir’s thrust starts to pick up, his hand leaves her cheeks lowering to the round of her hip, his digits slightly digging into her skin. Luna wince at the increasing speed but soon adjusts with loud moans following suit.

“So perfect. So perfect for me,” Qimir gruff voice groans in her ear through his kisses. The compliment ignites a fire pit inside her stomach, A fire pit that eventually evolves into a lit stick of dynamite. Her walls grip onto him impossibly tighter, pulling a gruttual moan from him.

They were like animals. In their most primitive human state as they filled the air with strangled moans and heavy breathing. Bodies colliding like the moon and the stars. Moving in unison. Hearts beating in unison while their hands grip and claw at each other. Luna’s untangle their way out of Qimir’s possessive hold and make their way to his muscular back, her nails digging into his flesh, holding on for dear life.

Qimir gives one last lick to her neck before lifting his head to level with hers that struggled to stay still. Constantly being thrown back with every powerful thrust. His now lonely hand finds its way to her jaw, holding her still with a tender yet stern grip. He held her captive, forcing her eyes to stay on his.

The desperation on her face sent qimir into orbit. His confidence through the roof at seeing her fluttering eyes, gaped lips and flushed face. He found her absolutely breathtaking.

Qimir’s lips take hers by surprise and they kiss. Slow and sloppy. Lips crashing together, tongues exploring the inside of each others mouths. lips occasionally being bitten, but soothed by a loving kiss.

Luna’s mind was now obsolete. Head empty. no thoughts running. All she could possibly think about was Qimir and his touch. He was all she could consume.

The ignited dynamite reached its end point. At brink of explosion and with every thrust, his torso rubbed the nub of her flower. It was impossible to hold on. No matter how badly she wanted to stay in this moment forever. Her body begged for release, thrashing underneath him chasing her high. Qimir takes notice, breaking the kiss to egg his girl on.

“Come little one. Come for me love,” And with that she did. Her barely open eyes rolled to the back of her skull as her body convulsed violently as a strong orgasm rushed through her. Her nails dragging down the length of his back, deep enough to draw blood, well if Qimir wasn’t…Qimir.

The mix of the stinging of his back and the relentless pressure wrapped around his cock, only sent Qimir to meet his own release. With haste, he pulls out, coating her stomach with his seed. Luna too busy coming down from her own high to even notice.

The man reaches out to grab the nearest thing, which so happens to be his robe, to wipe his cum off of her. While delicately cleaning the girl, who now seemed so relaxed that she sunk deeper into the bed, a vision of his seed dumping inside of her popped into his head. Her smooth stomach eventually rounding as she carried their creation. Their love child.

Never in his life, or as long as he had been sexually active, had the thought of impregnating a partner made him feel such a way. Typically the idea would come from the mouth of the desperate woman he chose from the bar, who extremely overestimated the extent of their relationship. Not him.

Aside from the fact that he never found anyone worthy of carrying his seed, having a family scared him. He knew he wasn’t fit for fatherhood considering the lack of representation and love he has received.

Qimir removes himself from his thoughts, knowing that if he kept going it would end with him spiraling. So instead he keeps his focus on her, thinking how glad he is that she cannot read his mind or else she’d probably be off running too.

The man throws the robe back on the ground and rolls off the girl onto the empty space in the bed beside her, lying in his back. He opens his right arm out, inviting Luna to snuggle up next to him. An invitation she takes with great pleasure as she places her ear to his chest, wrapping her bare leg around his.

The laid there in silence, skin to skin, breaths per second decreasing reaching ultimate relaxation. Both of their eyes growing heavy, and their hearts swelling with pure warmth. Qimir rests his chin on her slicked back hair, inhaling the coconut smell that emitted from her.

Luna felt like she was neck deep in quicksand, officially unable to claw her way out. Every second, starting from the moment she was brought back to this cave unconscious, she was sinking further and further. There was just something about this man. Even though he is practically a stranger, sooo much stuff still left to learn about him, she felt compelled to him. A strong desire to know him, all of him, and to accept whatever baggage came with it.

Her moms voice rang through her head, wise words breaking through her own consciousness. The honey voice filled her mind with a quote that never really made sense, until this moment.

They were watching a movie in the living room, as they did every friday night if they were working a night shift that day. A movie about a princess and a knight having a terrible first impression, resulting in mutual disdain for each other to then being engaged and in love in the span of a day.

Young Luna scrutinized the legitimacy of the plot. Screaming that falling in love in a day was impossible. Someone would have to be crazy to do that.

Until her mom dismantled her entire argument with one sentence. The sentence that played through her head now.

“Love does not deal with time, but with the connection shared between the two,”

Luna closes her eyes, taking in a deep meditating breath to calm the racing of her heart. She can’t push her feelings down, her mom wouldn’t want that. Plus the fact that Luna always leaned towards being outspoken even in situations that didn’t really call for it.

With a huge exhale, Luna breaks the comfortable silence.

“Q…I think i— i think i love you,” Luna declares with a shivering voice, the first time she has outwardly expressed her nervousness around him, as she waited for his response.

Qimir’s breathing stops, every bone in his body turning into titanium too heavy to move. Her genuine words falling to a void of silence as the only thing Qimir could register was the pounding of his heart. Sweat pricks at his forehead, unsure of how to respond. Literally.

His mouth parts, preparing to return the sentiment, to confess all of the emotions that he tried to bury. But the hand of fear restricted him from doing so. Its grip tightening around his neck in a death hold.

“it’s okay, you don’t have to say anything. i just— i just thought you should know,” Luna reassures, a hint of disappointment coating her tongue.

She wasn’t necessarily expecting him to say it back. Of course she hoped for that. Hearing that the feeling was mutual and that he didn’t view her as some delusional little girl would’ve sent her to the moon. However, she didn’t confess for the purpose of it being thrown back at her. She wanted to tell him the truth, she wanted to live her truth because life is far too short to live a lie. To not take chances.

Qimir’s heart clenches at the sound of her tiny voice. Wishing there wasn’t some unhealthy trauma preventing him from chasing what he really desired. Wishing he wasn’t the way he was. A piece of trash. A failed Jedi. A murderer.

With heavy eyes, Luna shoves the sting of rejection towards the back of her head as she flips her body, her back now facing Qimir. Figuring that he would want space after her pathetic confession, ignoring how her body turned cold once she left his chest. How she longed to feel his bare skin against hers. she just wanted to respect him.

Little did she know that this was the opposite of what he wanted to happen. Luckily, his fear didn't restrain his ability move anything else of his body as he flips on his side, his front facing her back. His bulky arms reaching from behind her to pull her body into his, spooning her.

A small smile spreads across Luna's lips as she slowly drifts off to sleep.

episode v

[covid-safer-hotties]

Also preserved on our archive

By Kelly Betts

People can’t see my disability from the outside. I worry that in this current political climate and with the new law, it may not end at the comments and harassment I already face.

On Thursday, officials in Nassau County, New York, where I live, signed a mask ban into law, one of the first of its kind in the country. And while to most healthy adults it doesn’t mean much, to those with serious health conditions, like me, it makes getting out into the world a lot harder.

The ban was touted by lawmakers as a public safety measure after reported antisemitic incidents and protests at various New York universities, many involving people wearing masks. Those who violate the new law face a misdemeanor charge punishable by up to a year in jail and a $1,000 fine. And while there are exemptions for people with religious and medical reasons, it’s not dealing with the law that I’m afraid of. It’s dealing with the “citizen cops” of the world who will be using their discretion to enforce it.

I was diagnosed with acute myeloid leukemia in February 2023. It’s a fast-growing type of blood cancer. I underwent more than five rounds of chemotherapy, and the following July, thanks to an amazingly generous donor, I had a stem cell transplant, something I knew nothing about until I got sick. I was given some of the most powerful chemotherapies to kill my old immune system and any remaining cancer cells. Then I was given my donor’s stem cells to help build a brand-new immune system.

There are a lot of risks that come along with the transplant, especially in the early stages as the stem cells are engrafting and you have no immune system. The first 100 days are the riskiest, and you must watch everything from what you eat to how it’s prepared, and most of all the people around you. Your body is starting from scratch, so you have almost no immunities. Any vaccinations you’ve had over your lifetime have been wiped out. For the last year since my transplant, my immune system has slowly been getting stronger. But building a new immune system takes years, and I have a long way to go. So, wearing my face mask whenever I go out is essential.

That brings me back to the new law. I wear a medic alert bracelet and would hope that showing it to the police, should it ever become an issue, would be enough. But that’s not guaranteed, because anyone can just order one. Would I be forced to show up in court to prove my medical condition to a judge? And what cost and time could that take, all to protect my health? And what about my family or people who act as caregivers, who don’t technically have medical conditions of their own, but still wear masks to protect me? Would there be an exemption for them?

Most of all, I worry about those who have strong feelings against masks. As we know, many people read headlines and not always the full story. And just reading most of the headlines, all someone will know is that there’s a mask ban in Nassau County. Even at the height of my illness, with no hair and really looking like I had cancer, I still got comments like “Covid is over” or “that’s not protecting you.” And while the few comments hurt, especially while I was battling for my life, I could shake them off. I had a bigger fight ahead of me.

Now, healthier with hair again and 43 years old, the comments continue. But I worry that in this current political climate and with the new law, it may not end at that. People can’t see my disability from the outside. It’s been hard to get back out in the world, as many can relate to after going through a global pandemic. Even being as careful as I am and just starting to let my guard down a little in outdoor settings, I caught Covid. And it took my body and immune system down hard. Luckily, I’m recovering and back to wearing my mask diligently, even outdoors.

I want to be able to return to my normal life. And go out with friends, see a Broadway show, and one day get back to my office in the city. But now with New York City considering passing its own mask ban, I don’t know when I would feel safe enough to do that. Is this law really protecting the masses?

[cripplecharacters]

Hi, I’m concerned about whether there is anything regarding disability that are strictly off limits for abled author to write about. For example, I know it’s meaningless for an abled author to write about what it means to be disabled, or the disabled experience. Is there anything else that would be infringing on boundaries & risk speaking over actual disabled authors? I know including non-POV disabled characters who just happen to be disabled are fine with proper research. But I feel as if I might be treading some risky ground here because I have a POV character who is disabled. Regarding that, I want to know if some things are off limits if I am abled myself (such as their personal feelings regarding their disability - it’d be odd if I didn’t mention this at all since they’re a POV character, but I don’t know to what extent/if i should explore this at all, especially since it’s a result of injury).

Hi!

Outside of the examples you gave ("what it means/how it is to be disabled") I don't anything is strictly and always off limits for abled writers in general because disabled people will have such a wide range of opinions* on this that it'd be impossible to know what you can and can't do - it's better to just do it well and thoughtfully if you do decide to go for it.

*Examples: I know disabled people who don't want people without their disability to write characters with it at all, no exceptions. I really heavily dislike abled writers putting their disabled characters through nightmarish levels of ableism because it feels like torture porn or at least as exploitative. Someone else will be fine with abled writers doing literally anything. Some people see all non-OwnVoices representation as inspiration porn. Disabled people are too big and diverse of a group to come to a specific consensus.

There are areas where I think they should be more careful, like in stories where a character suddenly becomes disabled, as that can easily turn into a plotline that focuses on how disability is bad due to the missing nuances of such an experience. Even putting aside that there's a ton of room for factual errors on how recovery or just the medical side of things in general looks like, I feel like it can be difficult to write this kind of plotline in detail if you don't have experience in it. For this kind of things, I believe that sensitivity readers are a must if you want it to be a major part of the story. If it's a minor one then I think it can be okay, especially if you aren't going into the emotional nitty-gritty of the whole process much.

There's also the obvious topic of tropes that I think abled writers should avoid - but as you probably seen on our blog, there will always be exceptions to them. Example: I always say to not put your character with a facial difference in a mask - but in this post I said it was fine if XYZ happened. Nuance and all. But putting tropes in just to be "subversive" usually comes off as cheap, assuming that they actually are subversive in the first place (which they usually aren't).

Tropes are tools, and they can be used well if the writers put effort in, and especially if they ask the group that the trope itself affects. They are bad if they're done mindlessly and without care for actual disabled people, and at the end of the day it depends on how the writer decides to use them. Don't just assume that your case is "special" and "totally different" from all those people who do use them wrong - these two groups often end up as a perfectly circular Venn diagram. Check with disabled readers first.

Having a POV disabled character is completely fine in my opinion. It's not like we are a completely alien, unrelatable concept to abled people. It can be done well, but it does also require more thought and effort to be put in. Again, I think that sensitivity readers can be incredibly helpful in a case like this.

And I think that it is important for the writer to just look at the page and ask: do I know enough to write about the character experiencing X? Because sometimes the answer will be no, and that's fine. Not even stories written by disabled people will touch on every single aspect of the disabled experience because it's so incredibly wide that there would be no place left for actual plot.

We also don't just sit around and think about how we feel about our disabilities. Sure, deciding how your character feels about it in the vague sense is helpful for characterization, but there's a ton of disabled people who treat their disability as a complete non-event. People like us who mod a blog about disability representation are very much a minority. Your character could just be like "oh yeah I guess I do use crutches but it's been 10 years so I keep forgetting about it" and only actively think about that when the actual situation calls for it.

Your character could be 100% neutral about their disability and just think of their cane as something they carry around the same way they do with their house keys, or could be So Positive and make sure their cane compliments their outfit just right every time they leave the house. What I'd advise against is a character who dislikes their disability. Again, it probably could be done well if there was a lot of effort involved, but it's really not something I look forward to when we're talking about abled writers. Even if their intentions are good, or even if they want to show the diverse spectrum of disability (which again, is true! there are people who feel purely negatively about theirs), it feels weird. Like, why? I think that in 99% cases, those kinds of characters are better left off to disabled writers.

Last thing that I want to add: unless you're writing about ableism, or time-accurate historical fiction, don't use slurs. If you want to refer to some movements that use any of them (Cripplepunk) either shorten them (CPunk), beep the slur out, or at the very least acknowledge that they are slurs.

I hope that this helps!

mod Sasza

[yantalia545]

Yandere Axis sharing the same darling

I am just in love with all of the support I am receiving after coming back to posting. You guys are just so sweet! Thank you so much for all of your support and love. Keep being awesome!

If you thought dealing with just one of them was overbearing, try being pursued by all three.

Since this group gets along fairly well, they most likely would share their darling as opposed to fighting over you. Much like what would happen if you had the allies obsessing over you rather than the Axis powers. Not to say they can't be possessive or jealous if you seem to be giving more attention to one of them or ignoring them. Which in it's self, is a deadly concoction.

You most likely were a part of the Axis when they grew an attachment to you or were begging you to join them during the time of war if you weren't already a part of it. However the circumstance may be, the end result will always be the same; You will join them. Whether it be through negotiations or by force is completely up to you.

By the off chance that you took part in the Allies during war times, things would be a bit stickier but still produce the same results.

As everyone knows, they don't win wars so you can't say that they took over your country. They may have occupied your country at one point during the war. Sadly, however, you would be rescued by one of your fellow Allies at some point.

If the Axis were lucky enough, they may have war-torn your country enough so that it would be difficult to get back up on your feet again once the wars were over. With that, you'd be vulnerable and in need of assistance. Not that they're much better.

As they slowly rise back to power, they'll watch over you from a distance; Mostly. Italy is in need of comfort after the war and is in desperate need of some comfort from you. Japan and Germany however, will stand to painfully admire your beauty from a distance. They almost had you. They just needed a little more power then things would have gone differently.

The three of them will silently beat themselves over the thought that they were so close to finally obtaining you. They just needed a little more power to have made all of their dreams come true, but they got careless and cocky somewhere along the way and got swept up by the Allies. Curse them.

Because of these swirling thoughts, the three will work hard through their bubbling anger every day rising back to power and a chance to be with you again. Then when the does finally come, they can put their second plan into place.

A simpler plan.

Sneakier.

The Axis may try to appease your cause in hopes through seemingly fair treaties. Don't you ever take anything at face value when it involves them. There will always be shadowing loopholes and conditions that are set to seriously disable you from your own economy. How did you not see this coming?

With you finally within their grasps, the real conditioning can begin.

Life with the three of them can be quite rough. For starters, you'll hardly get any alone time. If you're not spending time with all three of them then you're at least spending time with one of them. They just want as much time with their darling as much as possible. After all, they did go through hell just to get you this far.

And the rules. I’m talking mostly about Germany on this part, but there will be a strict set of rules that you must follow or you will face punishment. However, Germany can’t help but have a soft spot for you like he does with Italy. The worst punish there would be is isolation and starvation. You may even find him to be quite lenient if you’ve been behaving or rather sweet lately.

Italy would most likely be the one to soak up most of your time by clinging to you like you were apart of him. He just wants to do everything with his beloved. The other two will mostly just tag along with whatever. I do feel that Japan would be the one to be annoyed if anything and will try to sneak time with you when Italy is asleep.

Japan is the most tame out of the three. During his alone time with you, he would be content with just sitting with you and enjoying the night sky while sharing cups of tea. There won’t be need for many words. Just basking in you presence alone is enough to satisfy him.

At times, there may be bitckering between the three but they’re pretty tame. You may be just be pulled back and forth as they argue what their going to do or if someone is spending too much time with their darling *cough, Italy*.

You will for sure break under them. There are just too many of them to get away from them. Stockholm syndrome will sink its talons into one way or another with this trio.

[lightasthesun]

Happy Disability Pride fellow spoonies!

As always: mind the tags!!

Push through (until you break) by @guildofscribes

Oneshot | 1,6K | Obi-Wan, Anakin, Cody

Next to Anakin's ease and power within the Force, none of the clones realize just how far General Kenobi is pushing himself to keep up. It's war. And he'll do what he must. Until he can't.

Memories awash with colour by QuickSilverFox3

Chapters: 2 | 4,4K | Cody/Obi-Wan

There is a Spring Festival on Coruscant meant to remember when the city overtook everything and what they had all lost because of it. Obi-Wan and Cody never manage to see it, but they spend the time together regardless.

No words needed by jack_a_rose

Oneshot | 2,8K | Cody/Obi-Wan & the 212th Attack Battalion

“It really doesn’t bother me, my dear,” Obi-Wan lied through his teeth, struggling to sit upright on the bed in the medbay after his most recent injury. His arm was in a sling so he couldn’t sign, and Cody could see the frustration in his eyes with every instinctive move to lift his arm, “I have spent years not hearing, it is as much a part of me as my lightsaber is, it’s part of who I am. Yes, my implant allows me to hear and yes, sometimes I do miss the voices of my loved ones, but I am used to it.”

“But you shouldn’t have to be,” Cody signed as he spoke, letting out a sigh, “you chose to get the implant for a reason, to have the choice to hear. And that choice has been taken from you.” “You do not need to worry about me, dear,” Obi-Wan said, reaching out with his uninjured hand to place it on Cody’s knee.

Cody just shook his head and smiled sadly. “I always worry about you, cyare.”

a quiet tapestry by lux_arcana

Oneshot | 2,9K | Obi-Wan & Quinlan

The war had broken Obi-Wan, but he was alive.

Sometimes that was enough.

(Or: The impact of Obi-Wan's strained relationship with the Force after the end of the Clone Wars)

instead i took care of you by CallToMuster

Oneshot | 2K | Obi-Wan & Service Animal Boga & Ahsoka

When Obi-Wan opened his eyes again, he was on the ground and he couldn’t remember how he got there.

[Or: many decades after the successful ending of the Clone Wars, Obi-Wan is still struggling, in ways both old and new.]

heavy off a golden hue by catboydogma

Series | Cody/Obi-Wan (Rex & Qui-Gon)

“And there are some, like me,” Obi-Wan said, voice softening against his will, “who relapse. And relapse. And… and it never quite leaves. I’m afraid I’m rather susceptible to the kind of emotional distress that the flowers thrive in. There is so much love to be had in the galaxy, and I can’t help but… even when it hurts. Perhaps especially when it hurts. I let it get ahold and it’s chronic at this point. Even if I never loved again, I will always have… this.” He spread a hand over his own chest and already, he could feel the stuttering slip of petals and leaves threatening. He kept his breathing slow and shallow, and the threat passed—for now.

Heliotropism by wobblycompetencies

Oneshot | 15K | Poe/Luke (Rey & Wedge Antilles & Mace)

“Really,” he said, to underline the point, because Poe was looking a little doubtful. “I’m in no rush here. Whatever you want to do, or not do, is fine. I’m just...enjoying spending time with you.”

"I’m not in a rush, exactly, I just want – " Poe normally was able to state his mind with little angst or uncertainty; now, he looked faintly exasperated with himself. "I do want to find out what I still can do. Not all at once, though. And I don't know what it’ll look like, or – or how long it's gonna take for me to get there."

Luke reached for Poe's hand where it was drumming restlessly on the tabletop, and squeezed it reassuringly. "Find out together?"

Ni haa'taylir ner'st o'r gar (I see myself in you) by foreverchangingfandoms

Oneshot | 11K | Obi-Wan & Tholme (Qui-Gon, Quinlan, Bant, Vokara)

On a mission, Obi-Wan is seriously injured in a way that could change his life forever. Whilst healing, he finds help from his friend's Master and the one Jedi who understands how he feels.

look after you by piqu3d

Oneshot | 2.2K | Obi-Wan/Cody & Luke & Leia

He’s sitting in his chair, legs turned irreparably inwards leading to knobby knees covered by a loose blanket. The cannula in his nostrils is slightly crooked on its way to the tank attached to his chair. There are pale purple circles under his eyes, and wrinkles wear at his skin around his eyes and his nose. His hair, stringy with sweat, drapes against his pale forehead. His lopsided smile rests on chapped lips, and his hands are lightly trembling where they hover over his lap.

He’s the most beautiful person Cody’s ever seen.

if it's quite alright by piqu3d

Oneshot | 2.2K | Obi-Wan & Leia (minor codywan)

“Obi-Wan,” Cody’s voice filters from the cracks between Leia’s fingers, and Obi-Wan wants to sob. His heart keens at the phantom touches on his shoulders and around his waist as he listens to Cody’s steady, low voice. “Obi-Wan, it’s alright.”

A forced chuckle rips its way from behind his teeth. “Alright, is it?”

Cody’s response is a buzz over the wireless connection: “It’s going to be. You have Leia. Fulcrum and her charge are alive. Just breathe, Kenobi.”

Not Her by dieFabuliererin

Chapters: 23 | 76k | Ahsoka-centric | Padmé/Anakin (Obi-Wan & Ahsoka & Anakin & Cast)

A white-hot warning flashes through the Force, and Ahsoka jumps to the rooftop without hesitating. Whatever Obi-Wan's reason for not defending himself, she can't allow the sniper to kill him. She wouldn't be able to live with herself.

Incapacitation by whitchry9

Oneshot | 3K | Obi-Wan & Stim (medic oc) & Cody

Neuromuscular incapacitation: the disruption of nerve and muscle function by a targeted electrical stimulus.

Or, Obi Wan gets shocked repeatedly, and the aftereffects are... many.

Speak No Word (Hear No Sound) by TemporaryUniverse

Oneshot | 6K | Obi-Wan & Ahsoka and Anakin and Boga

Ahsoka wasn't sure what she was getting into when she was assigned to Master Kenobi and sent to the front lines. She didn't even know he was deaf.

Being captured together gives them the chance to get to know each other a little more. For better or worse.

dancer in the dark by catboydogma

Chapters: 3 | 10K | Cody/Obi-Wan & Dooku & Anakin

“Fuck,” Obi-Wan said. “Anakin, what’s Bly’s last name?” Anakin blue-screened for a moment. “Uh…”

“Fuck,” Obi-Wan said again, sliding ungracefully off the boards with a thump and putting his back to the door. “Is that—tell me that’s not Bly’s father, Anakin.” Good God, he’d never live this down.

“No,” Anakin said after a moment squinting first at the door, then Obi-Wan. A tangled mess of sound was echoing through the room as the newcomers greeted Bly and vice versa, all deep voices with light accenting—Māori, Obi-Wan remembered, slightly giddy. It was a Māori accent, because—“That’s his brother,” Anakin told Obi-Wan. “Cody—”

“Cody Fett,” Obi-Wan said, clutching his cup a little tighter and steadfastly refusing to look over his shoulder. “He’s brothers with Cody Fett, former Olympic gold medalist and—oh, God.“

[artist-issues]

You're my new favorite blog! You have no idea how I wish I could peck inside your brain like a chicken. 😭😂😂 I am a Catholic and a recovering agnostic. I struggle with letting go of my old way of life and philosophy constantly, I have been struggling with it since the day I decided to revert - that was back in 2017. (I think you would like to know my journey back to the Faith started after watching HBO's The Young Pope! 👌🏼) At this point I don't know if I'll ever be the person the Lord wants me to be, oh well, I'll die trying and I know that will mean something.

I just know I can't go back to being a non-believer, because as Carl Young said, now I don't just believe, I know. The irony is my struggle to believe in something I know to be objectively the Truth.

I have a question for you though, actually I hope for some advice from you. How do I reconcile with the reality that I haven't become who I dreamed to become (like career wise), but now that a new career has been shoved upon me (a career my parents wanted for me - and they valued safety and stability over "following my dreams" I suppose)? ...which isn't necessarily a bad thing, because it is an extremely noble profession and it pays quite well.

The thing is, as much as I try to accept my new career, I keep telling myself and to others that I'm doing this for my parents and not because I want to be here. I feel terrible about it. But, again, it's not like I am unfulfilled (I am unhappy though, but that comes with the work culture/environment, I feel like I am surrounded by 40+ year old teenagers); as a matter of fact, I do think I know - objectively - in my heart that this is exactly where the Lord wants me to be? But I keep fighting against it, keep struggling against this sense of vocational calling that I'm feeling towards my new job, instead I desperately wanna give into my want to go "live the life I want." Like throw this all away, get new training and start all over with the career I wanted all those years ago.

I want to be better, to be sacrificial like Christ on the Cross. I've always known I had a little depression (comes with my disability from a young age and this whole dream thing); I have been suicidal over this, I actually used to joke with myself that I'd kill myself if I don't achieve my professional goals by the time I turned 25. I will turn 30 this September and even though I haven't been literally dead, I feel like I've been in a vegetative state - mentally - ever since the day I turned 25. I hope that makes sense.

I started seeing a therapist 2 weeks ago since my mental health started affecting my new job - she did say I have depression and is trying to help me but I just don't know if I want to be helped at all, because I am unable to do the exercises she tells me (like create a routine, exercise well, write down good thoughts, etc.) I feel like I'm failing myself, my parents and, most importantly, my Heavenly Father.

I apologise if this is nonsensical, I apologise for dumping all of this on you - random stranger on the internet - but idk I felt like maybe you'd have something wise to tell me to knock some sense into me (without a bump to prove it hehe).

Thank you and God bless! 🥰

You’re very kind, and I’m glad you feel comfortable enough to share all this with me! I really never have anything good of my own to say, or any wisdom to offer, except what I “steal” from God…and I guess what I mean is, if I ever say anything helpful or good or true, I’m just the messenger. I didn’t come up with it. On my own I have zero wisdom or good things to offer.

Anyway, I was surprised reading this because I have gone through (been going through) a similar sort of mindset. I went to school for the career I dreamed about (still dream about) and I worked hard and I wanted it more than anybody around me (very Mike Wasowski in MU of me) and it hasn’t happened the way I planned, or in my timetable.

I mean, in all humility: I work with a studio making a tv show, but it hasn’t got off the ground yet, and I work for a company that writes movie reviews, but neither of those things pay my bills. I have a third job, working with therapists, that’s nothing like what I always wanted to do. That’s my “career,” but it’s not the career I’m passionate about and working toward. And I wonder if I’ll ever do anything “major” in the line of work I love and went to school for. And when I do, I have gotten into some really dark mental places.

Forgive me for not using the words “depression” or “suicidal.” I hate using those words because they’re overused and romanticized and flooding the culture. But more importantly I hate using them because the only thing I identify with is Christ, not any mental struggle I try to slither back into, like a snake trying to put back on old skin. I’m not my overthinking—I’m not my depression—I’m not my suicidal thoughts or emotions—I am one with Christ. Those are things inside me that are defeated and dead—the teeth have been knocked out of them. They just gum me from time to time. So I want you to know I empathize with you, but that’s my point and that’s how I want to answer you:

The only thing about you that really matters is Christ.

Who He says you are, what He has done and how He lived, which is applied to you because He said it is, by grace alone, through faith alone. No matter how you feel.

And I say that to you, as the answer, because I think you and I focus too much on what could be and what “should be” as if God has a set path for us, and if we don’t figure out what it is and walk it, we’ll have a less-fulfilling life. “If I stay at my therapy job and just work with teenagers and write on my blog for the rest of my life, I’ll be fine, but I won’t be as good as I could be.” Or for you. “If I stay in this career I’m in, the one my parents backed me into, I’ll make it, I’ll be fine, but I’ll never be as happy as I want to be.” We’re both thinking, every once in a while, “This is career is what God wants for me, and all my misery is coming from not submitting to it, and if I could just wrestle my contentment into place and give up the thing I want, and submit to what God wants, I’d be fulfilled.”

But how do we know any of those thoughts are true? How do we know God wants us in these boring old careers we wouldn’t have chosen—didn’t choose? Or, how do we know these boring old careers are what we’re stuck in because we didn’t take the plunge and work harder for our “dreams,” which were what He really wanted us to do? How do we know either of those things?

We don’t. We don’t get to know. That’s the point.

Because that’s not how God works. Not from what I can tell in the Bible.

“And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him.”. Colossians 3:17.

Whatever you do. Not “the one specific thing you figure out He wants you to do.”

My mom described it to me once when I was in a really dark place trying to figure out what He wanted me to do, paralyzed with indecision, afraid He wanted me to do something I just didn’t want to do, like this: “God doesn’t hold out one flower and say, ‘this is the one I want you to have, so you can either take it or take something worse.’ God makes a field of flowers, and He says, ‘Which one do you want? Pick one, and do it with excellence for Me.’ Then just trust Him to make it good.”

It sounds like you’re in a career, but you are wrestling with whether or not to pick it, now that you have some autonomy as an adult, or to pick starting over. Well. Pick one. Just pick one. And trust God to take care of you. Trusting God looks like thinking it through with excellence, then making the decision—and making the decision means letting go of worrying about the thing you didn’t pick. “Take every thought captive in obedience to Christ.” Once you make a choice, make it all the way, and don’t let your mind wander anymore to “what if this blows up in my face? What if I should’ve stayed back there at the crossroads, or gone down the other path?” It’s going to be hard and God is going to take care of you, no matter what you pick. So don’t let your mind go to those places where you worry; acknowledge the worry, and every time, ask God to help you remember that He’s got you.

Because here’s the point, here’s the thing: He does have you. Because ultimately, your career really doesn’t matter. It doesn’t, it doesn’t, it doesn’t. Neither does your dream. Not ultimately. And now I’ll say “our” because I need to hear it too. Our dreams and careers are not the point of us, and our dreams and careers are not what God means when He says “I’ll take care of you.”

What He means is, “I’ve already taken care of you.” Because the most important thing isn’t our job or our dream. The most important thing is, we’ve been rescued out of eternally being trapped in our broken desires, and now we get to live for Christ, Who is the Way, the Truth, and the Life. That’s the major. And that truth is where our fulfillment is supposed to come from, what our lives are meant for, our purpose. As long as we pick one, and do it with excellence to make the name of Jesus famous, with that goal in mind, we’ll be emotionally fulfilled. We’ll be satisfied. Because that’s the goal. Not making movies, or whatever it is you want to do. Not having secure means of living. Just…living our lives to make who Jesus is famous. We can do that wherever.

So then the choice? It becomes a minor, not a major, and the pressure of “will I be happy?” is off, because happiness isn’t found in that stuff. And whenever I forget, and start looking for happiness in my dreams, goals, career, that’s when it all starts to feel dark and stressful and hard and crushing. Because it was never meant to give me happiness or fulfillment—that’s a need only Christ can fulfill.

Don’t misunderstand me. He cares what you do. He cared about every decision you make, and He does have a plan. But that’s going to happen anyway. So just pray, consider which option is a) wise to go for and takes care of the responsibilities God has entrusted you with, b) which option you genuinely want, when your wants are not influenced by fears, and then c) step out and do it in faith. And do it with the mindset of, “I’m doing this, and I’m not thinking about the alternative if I can help it, and I’m also not putting all my happiness-eggs in this basket, because even if it crashes and burns, hey, I’m still one with Christ and I can still make Him famous no matter what road my career goes down.”

I hope this helps. It’s a subject I’m hamster-wheeling around in my mind right now a lot—but when I just fix my eyes on Christ and think about how the most important things, the things that give real joy and happiness, are already and forever taken care of and I can’t mess them up—then can get off the hamster wheel and enjoy the life He’s given me, right now, today, without worrying about the future.

[upat4amwiththemoon]

Hey can I have a platonic teen gn reader who has dyslexia( it is a reading and writing disability) x Avengers who goes to Peter’s school. They feel worthless and frustrated because they need help yet they can’t help others with English. So they try very hard yet it barely gets noticed. They are working so hard to the point they break. It is ok if you don’t do it. Thanks

Struggles

Summary: Working twice as hard just to reach their level.

Pairing: Avengers x gn!teen!reader

Warnings: I have a limited knowledge of dyslexia

Word count: 706

a/n: hopefully this is what you had in mind

Tags: @thought-of-you-and-me @rafecameronswhore

masterlists | guidelines

Y/N mumbles a paragraph from the assigned book again. It’s the third time they are reading it through, struggling to fully comprehend what’s being said. Frustration is starting to rise, as the book has to be read by the end of the week, and they have to write a short essay on it to prove they read it.

“This one had a mast thin as a sapling. Its sail hung skewed and fraying, its sides were patched. I remember the jump in my throat when the sailor lifted his face. Burnt it was, an shiny with sun. A mortal.” They read out loud slowly, taking time with each individual word. Sighing, they rub the space between the brows, starting to feel a tension headache coming.

They don’t have a lot of motivation to do this, because they work so hard on every single assignment, but the grades aren’t showing it. It seems like everyone else in her English class is getting effortless As and Bs, while they are crawling along with Cs and Ds.

Slamming the book shut, they throw it to the ground. Y/N leans their head against the table, shutting their eyes tightly. The amount of work they have to put in their school work is starting to get overwhelming.

Taking a deep breath in and letting it out, Y/N lifts their head and gets back to reading. They know they have to use more time to finish the work, even if it’s starting to feel like too much.

Y/N stares at their paper as they and Peter walk into the compound. D. All that work for a D. Their eyes are burning as the two come up to the living room, where some of the Avengers are hanging out. Although, Peter doesn’t live at the compound, he spends a lot of his time there, being good friends with Y/N.

“Hey, kids!” Tony is the first one to greet them. “Got your English assignments back today?”

Peter nods, taking out his paper. “I got a B+.” He smiles.

“Great job, kid!” He claps his hands together once.

“I know the Avengers work takes a lot out of the both of you, so we want you guys to know we’re proud of you.” Steve smiles before turning to Y/N. “What did you get?”

“A D.” They mumble, eyes and cheeks burning. Their gaze is cast downwards, away from their team’s eyes. They don’t want to see any disappointed looks. “I’m sorry, I really tried. I worked so hard on it. I did my best, but it wasn’t enough.” Their voice starts to crack and their whole body shake.

“Hey, hey,” Natasha gets out of her seat, walking to Y/N, “it’s okay. Grades aren’t everything, you don’t need to apologize.” She wraps her arms around them.

“But it’s not just this assignment, it’s every single one.” They lean against Natasha.

“Why didn’t you tell us? Or ask help from anyone?” Steve asks.

Y/N hiccups, lifting their head. “I wanted to prove I could do it by myself, that I could be just as good as everyone else. But I couldn’t.”

“We all need help with something.” Peter sets his hand on Y/N’s arm. “I always need Steve’s help with history. I just can’t remember all the names and years on my own.” Steve nods in confirmation. “I’ll help you out with English, okay? We can work on the assignments together.”

Wiping away their tears, Y/N nods lightly. They didn’t necessarily feel good about crying in front of everyone, wanting to keep a capable picture of themselves in front of the others, but they still feel relieved to get it all out in the open.

“Thank you.” They whisper.

“We’re all here to help you, kid.” Tony speaks up. “Well, they are. I’m no help in book essay thingies.”

With a small laugh, Y/N nods again. “Do you want to go over our essays together now?” Peter asks.

“Yeah.”

Peter and Y/N start walking out of the room. “You two always make us proud!” Tony shouts after them, showing a thumbs up. Peter smiles giddily as they walk towards his room, craving Mr Stark’s acceptance.