#creating my own disability aids

[9260remade]

As a rape survivor, I understand the need for safe space together – free from sexist harassment and potential violence. But fear of gender variance also can't be allowed to deceptively cloak itself as a women's safety issue. I can't think of a better example than my own, and my butch friends', first-hand experiences in public women's toilets. Of course women need to feel safe in a public restroom; that's a serious issue. So when a man walks in, women immediately examine the situation to see if the man looks flustered and embarrassed, or if he seems threatening; they draw on the skills they learned as young girls in this society to read body language for safety or danger.

Now, what happens when butches walk into the women's bathroom? Women nudge each other with elbows, or roll their eyes, and say mockingly, "Do you know which bathroom you're in?" Thats not how women behave when they really believe there's a man in the bathroom. This scenario is not about women's safety – its an example of gender-phobia.

And ask yourself, if you were in the women's bathroom, and there were two teenage drag queens putting on lipstick in front of the mirror, would you be in danger? If you called security or the cops, or forced those drag queens to use the men's room, would they be safe?

If the segregation of bathrooms is really about more than just genitals, then maybe the signs ought to read "Men" and "Sexually and Gender Oppressed," because we all need a safe place to go to the bathroom. Or even better, let's fight for clean individual bathrooms with signs on the doors that read "Restroom."

And defending the inclusion of transsexual sisters in women's space does not threaten the safety of any woman. The AIDS movement, for example, battled against the right-wing characterization of gay men as a "high-risk group." We won an understanding that there is no high-risk group – there are high-risk behaviors. Therefore, creating safety in women's space means we have to define unsafe behavior – like racist behavior by white women towards women of color, or dangerous insensitivity to disabilities.

Transsexual sisters are not a Trojan horse trying to infiltrate women's space. There have always been transsexual women helping to build the women's movement – they are part of virtually every large gathering of women. They want to be welcomed into women's space for the same reason every woman does – to feel safe.

Leslie Feinberg, Transgender Warriors: Making History from Joan of Arc to Marsha P. Johnson and Beyond

#💬 #leslie feinberg #transgender warriors

[prismatic-bell]

IMPORTANT REMINDER TO MY EUROPEAN FOLLOWERS AND OTHER TUMBLR DENIZENS FROM AN AMERICAN DESERT-DWELLER:

Climate change is a bitch and summer is coming. If you don’t already have an air conditioner and/or fans, NOW is the time to get them.

THINGS YOU SHOULD BE SHOPPING FOR NOW:

—clothes made of cotton or linen

—air conditioner

—fans

—frozen meals that can be cooked in the microwave

—potable bottled water; you want five days’ worth per person and pet in your household

—bottled fruit juices; it does not matter if these are sugar-added because you’ll want the electrolytes

—electrolyte drinks

—electrolyte pills (you can get these online, I get mine from Amazon)

—popsicle molds to use with fruit and juice

—ice cube trays

—nonperishable salty snacks like peanuts

—one charger brick per adult in case of rolling blackouts or power outages; charge these at the beginning of May, and drain them via use once a month if they’re not needed

YOUR TO-DO LIST:

—check your home’s HVAC system if you didn’t do it at the beginning of winter. Make sure all the filters are clean and replace them if needed

—check the seals on your sinks and bathtub in case you have to run water to handle shortages

—make and freeze meals you can cook in the microwave or simply defrost. Remember to select light summer fare, not hearty winter soups and gravies

—purchase and freeze lunch meats and cheeses you can defrost and use this summer for sandwiches when it’s hot

—assemble your check-in list: elderly, pregnant, disabled, and immunocompromised friends and relatives who may struggle to get things they need when the heat wave hits. Have this list posted and ready to go through daily once the heat gets high. DON’T JUST ASSUME YOU WILL REMEMBER. WRITE IT ALL DOWN.

—create a list of emergency contacts in case of fire, heat stroke, and other heat-related emergencies. This should include your local version of 911 (I think in most of Europe it’s 112, but don’t rely on me as an American, LOOK IT UP NOW before you need it), your doctor’s phone number, and two emergency contacts. Keep it in a place where it can be easily found if someone needs to make these calls on your behalf.

—ask your doctor for an additional prescription for any medications you take, and fill it now. Extreme heat can cause disruptions in the supply chain. Make sure you cycle these meds; that’s to say, always use your oldest bottle first so you don’t end up with expired meds in an emergency.

—stock your first-aid kit. If you don’t have one, now is a good time to make one.

—if you own a car, get your yearly maintenance done now. You don’t want to be dealing with an inoperable vehicle if you need to evacuate.

Staying safe this summer starts now. Get your prep done.

[nothorses]

"the public education system is intently evil and all teachers are abusive because it was the worst experience ever for me personally"

guys, look, I'm legitimately sorry that happened to you. that's fucked up. it shouldn't have happened, and it shouldn't be allowed to happen again to you or anyone else. I'm sorry.

public school was hard for me too, at times, and I'm still suffering the consequences for the harsh grading, the arbitrary deadlines, the hours of completely useless-to-me homework. I could name a few teachers who have been pretty fucking terrible. the fact that nobody considered getting me evaluated for ADHD has had an impact on my self image and academic success that I can't erase.

and also.

I grew up in an area where education, in particular, is incredibly progressive-leaning. educators are working really hard to create and try out education philosophies and practices that prioritize kids and their learning, rather than teachers and what they think kids should learn.

My sex ed was comprehensive, and came entirely from school. My gay sixth grade teacher taught me about HIV/AIDs in a useful, accurate way. In high school, I learned about the way orgasms work & I was prepared not to feel shame for normal stuff.

I learned that Communism was not what the USSR actually practiced, and what it really means. I learned about atrocities and, specifically, the genocide of indigenous people committed in/by the US. I learned about the military industrial complex, the school-to-prison pipeline, and I learned about manifestations of racism specific to my local area. I learned about Stonewall, and the intersection of the civil rights movement with gay rights and disability justice.

My creative writing teacher taught us about LSD, and the real reasons we shouldn't do it, after a hilariously ineffective assembly run by some local cops. He spoke gently, carefully, and emphatically about his friends and his own experiences. Later in the semester, he read us a story he wrote about two gay men finding each other in a deeply homophobic environment.

My sci-fi teacher made me feel safe & seen as a kid with "weird" interests. My US History teacher helped me research and put together a 10-page paper on the modern relevance and mission of Feminism. My government teacher made me feel appreciated for the work I put into the class, and the thought I put into what I said in it, even though he disagreed with a lot of it. My sixth grade teacher bought me books to read with his personal money, whichever ones I asked for. My third grade teacher made me feel safe. My science teacher in middle school made me excited for and passionate about science, and saw and nurtured the effort I put into her class.

A lot of stuff sucks, absolutely. But I am seeing new teaching methods being tried out all the time, and I am watching teachers get really excited when I teach their students about the roots of modern graffiti in US black history & to question property laws, and just...

There's hope. there are so many people doing so much work to make things better. so many people agree with you on what education should be, and are trying so fucking hard to put that into action, and so many public schools- not just teachers, but whole schools and even districts- are really doing that work. so much is getting better.

I had more to say, about necessary childcare and trusted adults and outside contacts and time away from abusive family. But like. Please just sit down and listen to more people on this, and please talk to educators and education professionals about what's really going on in this big huge world of philosophy, science, and practice.

#education

[cryptidclaw]

Star Firesight!

Bonus! Healer/Second Firesight:

And Outsider/Apprentice Rusty/Fire:

Design Notes:

I redesigned him again despite saying I would stop doing that... Prev design and old bio here.

He still has a lot of the same features as my previous design, i mostly just changed his pattern and coloring! I wanted him to be a rustier color!

I also changed his cheek fluff to be round, mostly just for an interesting face shape! his cheek fluff hangs a little more flat when he's older just to give him a more matured look (hes been thru some shit, his cheeks hath deflated)

Character Bio:

Star Firesight

(Fireheart/star)

Bisexual & Polyamorous; Trans Tom; he/him

Age as of 1st arc's beginning: 7 moons; 11 Hyrs

Age as of 1st arc's end: 2 cycles, 5 moons; ~26 Hyrs

Title meaning: -sight = this cat can spot things that others cannot; a cat with a close connection to the Stars; this healer receives many signs from the Stars; the healer may also be very good at spotting illnesses or injuries.

Outsider -> Healer -> Second -> Leader of Thunder Order

Mentor: Redtail (died) -> Spottedleaf

Mother: Nutmeg

Father: Jake

Sibling: Sapheart (Princess)

Half Siblings: Socks; Ruby: Tinyclaw

Mates: Sandstorm; Shriketail

Kits: Squirrelflight (sire: Sand); Leafpool (sire: Shrike); Foxleap (sire: Sand); Icecloud (sire: Shrike)

Grandkits: Star Hollyleaf; Falconstrike; Jaywing; Alderheart; Sparkfire

Other notable kin: Cloudtail (nephew); Snowshoe (nephew); Mistletoe (niece); Spiderleg (nephew); Shrew (nephew)

Notes:

Firesight has chronic pain (and mobility issues later in life):

Fire has the Scottish Fold breed's mutation which effects cartilage in the body, this causes his ears to fold, but it also causes chronic joint pain and can progress into swollen and inflexible joints.

For Fire, he is has the heterozygous version of this mutation, which means that his disability progresses more slowly, as a young cat he does experience some joint pain, with some days being worse than others. He is able to medicate with his own chronic pain herbal mix he created as a Healer. However as Fire grows older his joints will worsen, and by the time of his old age he will be unable to jump and some days is unable to walk.

He is able to still use his medication to aid him and is able to lead a happy life, but he is disabled and I didnt want to leave that out of his character! It's important to have disability rep (and spread awareness of the issues with the Scottish Fold breed) and I hope I serve him justice!

Character Summary:

In Progress (to be added later)

...

[Image 1 ID: a digital drawing of Star Firesight, an AU version of Firestar from Warrior Cats. He is standing with his left side showing and has a proud and happy expression with a smile. He is a short, chubby and round shaped rusty orange and red tabby tom with small folded ears and green eyes. his chest, underbelly and paws are all a lighter shade of orange, and he has a red stripe down his back as well as a single red swoop shaped stripe on his side. He has red to orange striping on his face and red freckles on his cheeks. His right ear is brownish-black, he also has a small black spot above his nose and a black stripe on his back. He has a white flame shaped spot on his chest, a white muzzle, white paws and a white tail tip. He wears yellow flowers and green leaves in his pelt and a simple crown rests on his forehead made up of a diamond shaped red stone and a small teardrop shaped white stone below it./End ID]

[Image 2 ID: a digital drawing of Firesight, an AU version of Fireheart from Warrior Cats. this drawing is almost the exact same as the first image, but in this he has no crown./End ID]

[Image 3 ID: a digital drawing of Fire, an AU version of Firepaw from Warrior Cats. this drawing is almost the exact same as the first image, but in this he has no crown, or flowers and leaves adorning his pelt. his face also seems younger and he has a brighter happy expression on his face with his mouth open in a smile like he is talking./End ID]

#millionth redesign lol #cryptidclaw's warriors au #rise of change #firesight #firestar #fireheart #firepaw #firestar design #fireheart design #firepaw design #firestar au #warrior cats au #warrior cats design #warrior cats #warriors

[morallyinept]

Reverence - A Ezra x Limb Prosthesis F!Reader One Shot

Written as part of my B O D I E S Series 🤎

BODIES MASTERLIST

Summary: A mysterious, vagabond man comes to your aid, and in return you show him some kindness. And over the course of a stormy night, you discover you both have more in common than just outward appearances.

Pairing: Ezra x Limb Prosthesis F!Reader (No name or physical description of reader in terms of ethnicity, Reader does have hair, however. Reader has a prosthetic limb. She was born with an underdeveloped limb below the left knee. Reader's age is not mentioned, so you can determine/imagine it's you, if you'd like to, bub. Ezra is in his early-to-mid 40's.)

Word Count: 12.1k - because Ezra won't shut up. 🙃

Scoville Smut Rating:🌶️🌶️🌶️ “You tell me I'm doing well, and then, you try to kill me."

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.

Triggers & warnings: Mentions and descriptions of limb loss/use of a prosthetic limb/Ezra is missing his arm/Reader is missing her leg below the knee/unprotected PIV (wrap up, folks!) fingering/oral M & F receiving/there is no fetishising of limb loss here, it's real love/sex with very real bodies/an imagined world created within the Prospect universe/Ezra comes with a thesaurus

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ.☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.

I write for me, and I share with you. If this story isn't to your taste, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.

Author’s Note: It's important to me that all types of readers are represented in my work, therefore this collection of stories is written for readers with REAL bodies. However, anyone can enjoy them. Whilst this story may not specifically represent your own personal journey, it is my hope that it resonates and offers comfort and enjoyment. The condition/disability mentioned in this story is not 'one size fits all' - everyone's journey is personal and unique, and I have undertaken as much research as I can to write accurately and respectfully. 🤎

MAIN MASTERLIST | EZRA MASTERLIST

Enjoy! 🖤

The Pug is a skiv of a planet that seems to have been forgotten by time itself.

Its once-gleaming skyscrapers now stand as towering monuments to a bygone era; their facades stained with the grime of countless rotations. The feculent streets below are a tangled web of concrete and steel, where the lurid neon glow of Vayok advertising signs cast flickering shadows on the faces of the downtrodden masses.

The air of Puggert Bench is thick with the acrid stench of industry, a noxious cocktail of pollutants and toxic fumes that hang heavy over Noki District like a thick shroud.

The sound of machinery echoes through the streets, a constant reminder of the ceaseless churn of production that drives the small planet's rototiller economy, despite being nothing more than a mechanical layover for most passing through on freighters. 

Despite the harshness of its environment, Puggert Bench is a livable place of vibrant contrasts. Here, lander pods zip past rusting hulks of abandoned ship corpses, their sleek orbs cutting through the smog with effortless grace.

The cloud stream, blocking out the sun in a haze of burnt umber that chokes you when it sticks to the back of your throat, carries on the breeze through the air into your nasal cavity as you breathe in. When you blow your nose later, black shit will present itself to you in your tissue, unless you wrap up with a mask or scarf whilst outside.

For every gleaming skyscraper and bustling marketplace, there are a dozen dark alleys and forgotten corners where the lawless thrive. In the shadows of the city's turgid underbelly, criminal syndicates and black-market traders ply their illicit loot prospected from alien moons; their activities hidden from the prying eyes of the less-than-honourable authorities.

Everyone is fair game in this place.

A place, where walking by yourself late at night probably isn’t a wise idea, but when left with little choice as your shift runs over - again - you brave it head on, picking up your often wonky steps with a hurried pace.

You’ve walked this grimy thoroughfare countless times, memorising the way with muscle memory. You wrap your fraying scarf round your face, cutting out the tar that burns on your tongue.

A slight drag on your gait, an itch surfaces where the buckles rub at your skin around your left knee joint. You stop, pinching and digging your fingers in over your pants to tug out the relief from the burn of the itch.

With each step, you’re reminded of the weight that bears down upon you - the prosthetic limb pressing back against your prickly marred skin with a relentless intensity. The artificial joint, no matter how seamlessly it's been integrated with your body, still causes a continual dull ache that reverberates through your bones with every movement.

You can switch it off sometimes, but the hard pavement beneath you seems to magnify every twinge of discomfort, every jolt that sends shockwaves of thudding pain coursing through your remaining upper limb with every step you take.

You’re still toying with the idea of trading it in for a bionic model, but the foreboding cost and invasive surgeries to wire it into your nerves - that come with their own horrific testimonials of those who’ve had it done, and done badly - far outweighs any desired practicality. Instead you navigate life with the callouses and blisters, used to them being part of your daily routine.  

Slipping your fingers between the buckles offers minimal, sweet respite for a few blissful moments as you scratch, when suddenly, a hand shoots out from the darkness, grabbing you roughly by the arm and yanking you into a secluded alcove; the brick walls slick with the sweat of the city.

Before you can react, a gruff voice growls in your ear, sending a chill down your spine.

"Your credits. Now!" The assailant demands, his putrid breath hot against your neck as he presses a sharp object against your side.

Panic surges through your veins as you fumble for your wallet, your hands trembling with fear as you forget momentarily which pocket it’s in.

He shoves his hand in the pocket closest to him, rooting around in there uncouthly as you protest and struggle.

You’re both disturbed when a shadowy figure emerges from the darkness, with a quiet determination.

The newcomer is a man of imposing stature, his features obscured by the billowy hood of his tattered coat, and a facial scarf of his own that covers his nose down to his chin.

But what catches your attention most is the sight of his empty right sleeve, the fabric of his coat pinned haphazardly against his shoulder where his arm should be. 

“I’d rethink that course of action, unless violence with a matched counterpart is what you're getting at.” The man warns in a steady, yet rich Southern drawl. 

Your mugger mouths some regurgitated insult in Vayok. You don‘t fully speak it, but you know enough to know he’s mocking the obvious disability of the man, who simply chortles in response to a jibe he’s probably heard before.

But you're left wondering in bewilderment at how your apparent saviour will pull this off. 

“You assume this handicap is to my detriment? Are you sure you wish to find out how inaccurate that misinformed assumption is?”

Undeterred by his physical limitation, the man squares his shoulders, his gaze locks on the attacker with unwavering resolve; a pair of dark eyes shining defiantly in the dim light of the alley.

In a matter of moments, fisticuffs ensue. It happens so fast, you're unsure who threw the first hook. Seizing the opportunity, you break free from the thief's grasp and stumble away; your heart pounding in your chest as you watch the scene unfold before you. 

You watch helplessly as the man’s coat is torn where it’s previously pinned as they kerfuffle and tussle - the tear in the dirty fabric is deep. The one-armed man subdues your attacker, his movements fluid and precise despite his apparent infirmity.

But a surprise blow to the sternum knocks him down with a winded oof. 

The bolt pistol is revealed; gleaming chromatic and pearly in the night air as it falls from the coat pocket of the man and skitters towards your feet. 

A single squeeze on the trigger renders your attacker incapacitated, growling as he clutches his shoulder and stares up at you taking careful aim again. 

The thief stumbles backward, his grip loosening on the man completely as he struggles to regain his balance. He’s all teeth and spittle as you watch the one-armed man take his hand - that’s still holding onto your wallet - and bends it back at a sickening angle.

The assailant yelps with the slow, deliberate cracking. 

“Drop it, or I can assure you I’ll make it a more painful process than necessary.” The man warns.

The wallet clatters to the ground.

“Excellent. I suggest you hasten with speed to get your wound tended to, lest I change my mind about absolving myself from further violence.”

As the thief slinks away into the darkness, nursing his wounds and cursing under his breath, you turn to your saviour, your eyes wide with gratitude and dumbfounded admiration.

But he slumps down the wall clutching under his ribs, chest heaving. 

“In Kevva’s name, woman!” He snarls when he sees you still taking aim.

Taking little risk, you keep a grip of the pistol, primed and ready.

“Yes,” he nods, breathing in raggedly. “Best to keep your wits about you, Birdie. There are all manner of beasties out here who would relish a chance to get you.” He sniffs deeply. “But tell me, do you treat all your saviours with the same warm welcome or am I the exception?”

“Can never be too certain.” You remark with a shaky hand. "It's like you say, all manner of beasties."

He looks at you like a dog sniffing out the other; sniffing out whether you’re a threat to him or not. Dark eyes preened on you and unrelenting.

“Keep it steady, pet.” He motions to the blaster with a subtle nod. “A weak grip makes an opportunity easy to exploit.” 

You look at him suspiciously, two dark tar eyes regarding you back as he pulls down his scarf to breathe, and to show you his face for reassurance you assume, although the swampy air makes him cough and hack.

“Just some friendly advice.” He explains with a dull shrug. He sucks in air with a deep snort and spits out a globule of phlegm on the pavement. 

“The mistake you make is assuming we’re friends.” You confirm confidently, although there's a tremor to your tone. Your body feels like jelly as you try to steady yourself. 

“An underestimation I won’t make again, duly noted.” The man confirms as he struggles to stand upright himself. 

“Do you need a hand?” You put to him as he struggles with balance. 

He glares up at you with a rather repugnant look through cinched in brows. The two deep pits of his nostrils flare at you like black holes opening across the vacant universe that’ll swallow you whole.

“Sorry. Poor choice of words.” You quip, as you step towards his sneer. You remain steadfast with the bolt pistol, holding out your other hand. 

He mutters fast under his breath, growling, and you don't catch it.

"What was that?" You query, suspiciously, arming the pistol again.

“Timid threats from a quashed maverick. I’m no harm to you, pet.” He holds his only palm out to you.

You take it and pull him upright to his feet. He passes your wallet to you with thick, grubby fingers and you surrender his bolt pistol in return, albeit reluctantly.

You shudder and gasp out, feeling the unrelenting burn around your prosthetic make itself known again; the adrenaline subsiding in your body.

“Quell your snivels. You remain unsullied. I'd garner that a win.” He says simply, noting your watery eyes. “He was nothing but a hungry brute.”

“Quite the hero, aren't you?” You remark with a scoff at his barbarous contempt towards you.

“Don’t mistake me for a gallant knight, I’m far from that. More of a superfluous hooligan, but I’m still a man with a mere iota of sympathy and respect for the superior species when they find themselves in trouble.” He eyes you carefully as you wibble about on your feet. “You're just a slip of a thing, why are you out so late wandering? Are you lost, little bird?”

“No. My shift… it ran over. This is my usual route home when there's no shuttle.”

“Do you often find yourself in trouble’s embrace?”

”Won’t be the first time, I'm sure.” You mutter. 

“Unfortunate. I hear a surge-five is well on the way. Best be homeward.” He remarks with a click of his lips as he looks up at the glowering sky. The heavy swell of a incoming storm predicted is approaching in from the horizon in a cluster of almost onyx clouds.

His scowl softens as he looks back at you still trying to process the whole incident and remaining a little unsteady on your legs. 

“I expect you to denounce the offer, but walking you back to your quarters would seem prudent, given the errant situation. I know I appear as a stranger to you, so I’ll respect your wishes if you decline.”

You don’t hear his words as you focus on remaining upright, trying to process the events. 

“Oi. Woman. What say you?” He questions again, bringing you back to him.

“I can mend your coat.” You offer, fuzzing back in and your eyes fall on the large gaping flap on his right shoulder. 

He looks down at the sleeve you nod to and a growl erupts from his lips at the tear. “That will be unnecessary.”

“Do you have another coat?”

“No.” He gruffs. 

“Then it’s necessary.” You assert. “The surge-five is predicted to be harsh.”

He simply nods and drops his hood, shaking his head fully out from under it. An aquiline nose cuts a sharp line across his face, accentuating the aura of strength and intensity that surrounds him. But oddly, a small, messy blonde coiffure sticks out against his hairline, stark amongst a sea of dark oil-slicked tufts.

“I'm not holding out much optimism at your skill. The hole is quite impossible to simply mend.” He observes. 

“You let me worry about my skill. I accept your offer of chivalry. It’s kind of you, thank you.” You say, with a pertinent nod. 

“I’m not kind, pet, but the assumption is appreciated nonetheless.”

“Kind enough to walk me home and save me from losing my wage.” You tuck your wallet back into your jacket. 

“I have enough on my conscience to reconcile with, let alone the thought of a woman of your calibre making it home in one piece.” He tucks the bolt pistol away inside his coat. 

“My calibre?” You baulk.

“I meant it as a compliment, of course. Pretty thing like you out here is bound to attract some attention.” He says, eyeing your stance.

"Why are you out here anyway?"

“Minding my own. What’s your name, friend?”

You tell him and he nods. “Ezra.” He introduces. “I’m perplexed by your intentions.” Ezra replies flatly. 

“All I offer is some tea and some respite from the incoming storm.” You say. 

“Do you open your home to every vagabond you meet?”

“Only the charming ones.” You remark with a snort. 

You’re convinced you see a grin turn up his lips. “No quid pro quo? Nothing is free, Birdie. Smart women like you, you know this.”

“I am smart. I offer you some food and drink and to patch up your coat, that’s all. I know very well you’re a stranger and could harbour ill intent despite this heroic facade you've presented.”  

“It’s no facade.” He says with a frown. 

“Good, because I have no qualms in putting a bolt in you should you try to turn on me, we clear?” You warn with a satisfied smirk. 

"Been there, done that." Ezra eyes his stump with a wry grin before he rolls his eyes dramatically at your stern look. "Clear."

“I have my own bolt pistol back at home.” You warn.

“Oh, I’ve no doubt. The fire in your belly serves warning well enough, Birdie. I wouldn’t dream of any chicanery.” 

“Then follow me, Ezra.” You say, with a brewing smile.

Your tiny, poorly provisioned apartment is nestled in a nondescript building on the outskirts of the city.

A walk there that has you both absorbed in a mutual silence that offers a strange comfort, akin to the satisfaction of picking at a scab. Ezra mostly keeps his hand in his pocket and side glances you occasionally with parted lips as though he’ll say something, but doesn’t. 

“Let me get you something for that.” You offer, as you note his knuckles when he takes them out of his pocket and pushes the rusted gate open for you.

“It’ll dry over soon enough.” He says, looking down at his bruised and bloodied fist.

“It’s cold and the winds are picking up.” You say, noting the ferocious sky churning overhead. “I’ll get the tea brewing. Come on up.”

“You’re not as frail as I first assumed. I must stop doing that.” Ezra mumbles as he looks you over.

“He took me by surprise. Had I been prepared, I might have thrown a hook or two.” You shrug. You note he hesitates behind you. 

“Pertaining to the circumstances of our meeting, perhaps you might want to be alone?” You can sense the trepidation hanging around him; he’s wary of you and it pulls at something inside your chest.

“Come up, Ezra.” You repeat, ignoring him. 

He lets go of the creaky gate behind him. “Far be it from me to deny a lady. Even if her taste is somewhat marred in misjudgement.”

“Something tells me I can trust you.”

“That would be your first mistake.” He assures. 

“Well, this evening might surprise us both.” You say, as he follows up the steps behind you.

You take your time, hand sliding up the railing as he walks beside you. With each step, you focus intently on the movements of your prosthetic limb, adjusting your gait to compensate for its artificial nature.

You weight bear on your right side, loading your foot and keep your momentum forward up the stairs. You wince as you feel it rub uncomfortably again. 

“Are you hurt?” Ezra asks as he examines your unhurried pace. 

“No.” You shake your head with a rueful smile as you carry on. 

The stairs, with their unforgiving surfaces and steep incline, pose a formidable obstacle, testing your resolve with each upward stride. The prosthetic, while marvellously engineered, lacks the finesse and flexibility of a natural limb, making each step a delicate balancing act between stability and control. The last thing you want to do is slip in front of him.

After you reach the eighth floor, slightly panting, he follows you round to the faded door of your apartment. 

“Cosy,” Ezra retorts as he's introduced to your small, cramped world. “It's not often I’m rendered without speech.” Stacks of clutter balance precariously in columns on every available surface.

“I like to collect things.” You say nonchalantly.

“I can see that.” He counters, blinking as he steps through cautiously. 

You hold your hand out expectantly for his coat and he hesitates. 

“I can’t patch it if you’re wearing it.” You sway.

He slips it off his shoulders and you try not to look at the long sleeve that flaps without a hand at the bottom of it on his right side. His sweatshirt is terribly frayed and holey, and his pants seem loose and ill-fitting.

Boots that are at least a size too big for him clomp around his feet. His appearance, although broad and foreboding, also hints at the gaunt and destitute. There’s a peculiar smell emanating from him now he’s taken off his coat. Something sweetly rotten. 

You beckon him through, tossing his heavy coat over your arm, and he follows you through to the living quarters; a stalwart room that overlooks the grimy city.

The air is thick with the scent of stale coffee and lingering incense spices, mingling with the faint hum of electronic devices scattered throughout the cluttered space. 

You switch on an air purifier and remove your scarf revealing your face to him fully as you instruct him to make himself comfortable in the ragged recliner.

You busy yourself in the small kitchenette, chinking cups and getting out a tin of med supplies for his hand. You throw a couple of packets of freeze dry in the warmer and set a timer. 

On the splintered coffee table in the centre of the room, stacks of dog-eared books and half-empty mugs vie for space with an assortment of trinkets and knick-knacks thrown clumsily over it.

He leaves through the pages of a hefty book on mining. “Light reading material?” Ezra queries as he tosses the book down. 

“Call it a tempered curiosity.” You say, coming through with the cups and the tin shoved under your arm. 

“Curiosity killed the feline.”

“Yeah, but it has nine lives.” You state boldly to him and he smirks. 

“I could tell you all you need to know. Was my profession, a man’s work.” Ezra explains as he takes the mug from you. The heat immediately absorbs into his fingers. 

“You're a Prospector?” You ask, with raised eyebrows. 

“I was. Not much of anything now.” His lips downturn into the rim of the mug.

“Where are you from, Earth? You look the type.” You ask him, settling slowly and rigidly into a rickety chair opposite a sewing machine in the corner.

You lay out his coat on your lap and reach for a pin cushion. It smells musty and wild, like the outdoors. 

“From that suppurate shit-hole? No. Sorry to disappoint.” He smirks.

“Where then? Lau? Your accent hints at relations from a primitive Earth.” You probe.

“You seem well acquainted with it.” He says, reaching for the med tin and flipping it open. He tears at the packet of an antiseptic pad with his teeth, spitting the paper out that sticks to his lip. 

“I read.” You smile as you regard him.

A rugged moustache adorns his upper lip, its edges slightly frayed, combined with a shadow of facial hair, adding to an air of menace that might initially catch one's attention. His presence in the small, dimly lit room feels both enigmatic and imposing.

If you had to guess, you propose him to be within his early fortieth, to forty-third rotation, or thereabouts. His skin carries a layer of grime, a testament to the rigours of his endeavours. 

“The memory of my origin is hazy at best.” Ezra shrugs, as he presses his knuckles against the moist swab he lays out on the coffee table. He hisses with the sting. “Home hasn't been a concept that I’m all too familiar with. Although I’m informed it was blue like Earth was before it was ravaged. It's been a long time since I was stationed in permanence. My bones have always been restless.” He leans back in the recliner and sips at the fragrant tea. “This tea… it harbours memories.”

“Regale me.” You entice, as you thread the bobbin on your machine. 

He licks round his lips savouring the citrus taste. “Have you ever ventured to Kerulon?”

“No.” You shake your head.

“A pisser of a planet, why would you? I got waylaid there once, on my fuknugt ship. Stranded for a time, which seems to be the continual narrative for my story, but I digress. It’s a planet on the edge of The Fringe, known for its vast expanses of sand and scorching twin suns that never set. Not much there at all except for a slow, agonising death. But as luck would have it, amidst the dunes that stretched endlessly towards the horizon, I sought refuge in a humble desert oasis. A rare oasis of life amidst the harsh landscape, it was tended to by a group of nomadic travellers known as the Sand Dwellers. They offered me a generous cup of their signature orange tea - a brew infused with spices native to Kerulon's desert flora, I’ve come to suspect. Your tea reminds me of that cup of salvation.”

Ezra sips another mouthful loudly and hums with his eyes closed.

“I got it from the marketplace.” You chirp. 

“Really? How uncanny… And where exactly did you procure that?” His pointer finger, stubby and long points to the glassy jewel on your shelf by the grimy window. 

“I found it.” You shrug.

He scoffs as he approaches and reaches for it as though drawn under a spell. “Birdie, do you know what this is?”

“A pretty rock.” You say with a lazy mirth.

He stands and fondles the faceted cabochon inside his big palm, eyeing the blood amber middle. “Aurelac. You’re sitting on an abundance of riches.”

“I’m well aware of Aurelac and it’s worth on the black market.” You press on the pedal under the table, and the coat slides through your machine fluidly. 

Ezra blinks, bewildered. “You know it’s worth, and yet you’ve abdicated it as a paperweight?"

"Mhm."

"Such a curious creature, unable to be bribed by gems in abundance. You must be the only one not to be swayed by the allure. And that’s a rarity.”

“I don’t need riches. If it matters so much to you, you take it.” You simply say with earnest eyes. 

Ezra baulks and struggles to form words.

“You Prospectors are all the same. Vultures just picking at the sinew on the bone. I’ve yet to meet a Prospector who didn’t live up to the reputation of harbouring an unsatisfied greed. You’ve killed for that.” You look at the gem wrapped inside his whopping palm with disdain.

“I have, and indulged in deeds far worse.” Ezra nods with a sigh through his enrapturing verbosity. But also a drained voice that indicates he’s just plain sick of this shit now, sick of it all.

Ezra smirks, bearing teeth and a corrupt murmur slips out. “Your assumption is emphatically sound, little bird. It's like a disease, the siren song of Aurelac knows no bound or reason. A sane man would always be swayed to harvest and reap. I couldn't count on all of our combined digits the number of times I’ve made lewd choices in spite of my perseverance to merely covet the riches that the Kevva forsaken moon bequeaths under her ample bosom. I've spent a long time there suckling at the teat. It only pains me now to ponder my very justifications for it to begin with, purging the bowels of that fecund wood…” He trails off grinding his teeth and sighing as he examines the unspoiled gem shining in his hand. 

As you work, Ezra's voice pierces the silence once more, each syllable laden with a poignant blend of resignation and acceptance. 

“There was a time when spitting off the edge of the world was an arrogant riot; to pillage and plunder with luck and careless abandon, but now with spirited discourse, I’ve settled into a freefall back into the harsh shunt of The Fringe. Some of us have the proclivity for greatness, while most do not. I fear I’ve become the latter.”

You look up at him and his face bears the worn lines and creases of hard experience, etched deep by the sun and wind, giving him a weathered and world-weary appearance.

His prominent nose adds to the pastiche of mystery and arcane belligerence that hovers about his person. A scruffy beard adorns his jawline, adding to his rugged and no-nonsense demeanour.

Oily hair streaked with grey at the temples, falls in disarray around his forehead, but what catches the eye most is the striking patch of blonde amidst the darker strands at the roots.

It seems like the evidence of a possible birthmark born in the hair line, or could just be a fashion choice exalted in bad taste. You make a mental note to ask him later. But it adds a unique touch to his plotline in a twist of his devious character as you ponder him and his story.

“Such a beauty,” Ezra remarks, observing you as he twists the jewel around his thick, calloused fingers. “It’ll fetch you a good sum.” He simply returns the gem to the shelf, his eyes lingering on it long after it leaves his grip. 

Your eyes graze down to the missing appendage, trying to fill in the gaps on his pages, as you place pins in your teeth. 

“Ah.” He notices your lingering gaze. “Go on, ask away.” Articulating around his Southern inflection with deep flutters of his tongue, it scatters out of it like jagged diamonds from the mines of Ajaxia.

You smile. “Nothing to ask.”

“I’m not foul to you like this?” You sense that he loathes it. Wired bitter with the loss. 

Despite the initial challenges and the occasional stares from strangers when your limp overtakes you when your prosthetic becomes unbearable to bear full weight on, you refuse to be confined by societal expectations or limitations.

You throw yourself into mundane life with unparalleled gusto, pursuing your work with a fervour that could inspire those around you if they weren’t so ignorant and assuming. A trait that might only embolden Ezra too, the more time he spends with you, if he cares to.

The thought of revealing your commonality with him rests idle on your tongue however. 

Yet, beneath your fearless exterior, you can harbour moments of doubt and insecurity. There are days when the weight of your prosthetic feels heavier than usual, and the whispers of self-doubt threaten to overshadow your resolve. You recognise it too, in his dark eyes right now, fierce, but also harbouring that self-loathing and defeated eroding.

It’s different for you, you don’t miss what you’ve never had, you only know a life like this, but for him? To have had it and then lost it, you can feel the decayed emotion that it evokes pouring from him, even if he never says the words out loud.  

You stand, approaching him with his coat patched and he raises his eyebrows. “Far from it. We might have a common depth.” You mutter. 

“I fail to see anything we share in common. However, you have magic in you, no doubt.” He says, as he admires his mended coat. “Witchcraft.” He smirks, running his fingers over the neat stitches.

“You have a way with words.” You smile, reaching for your cup.  

“A flair, so I’m told. Thank you.” He says earnestly to you, eyes big and round. 

“I work in the textile factory, my job.” You explain as you disappear into the kitchen when the beeper from the warmer goes off. 

“I was good with both my hands too, once,” he surmises bleakly. “What meat is this?” Ezra enquires, chewing slowly to savour the peculiar tang from the heated freeze dry meal that you’ve thrust at him with a spoon.

“Trog. At least that's what I tell myself. Makes it go down easier.” You remark.

“Never look a gift trog in the mouth, I suppose that’s good counsel.” Ezra shrugs and shovels in more, steadying the packet in his crotch for support; the warmth of it seeping into his thigh muscles and warming him pleasantly. 

“I’ve some Bitz Bars if you'd prefer?” 

He shakes his head. “If I never see a Bitz Bar again it’ll be too soon.”

The brief silence between you is disturbed only by the battering swell outside that has increased in its voracity in the last hour, and the soft chews and gulps as you both devour your meal in ensconced silence. 

It’s a harmonious, off-key beat that serves as the background chime to your dining encounter. Discreet in your mutual voyeurism as you eat and steal curious, yet wary glances at one another. 

You’re sitting at the small table with your sewing machine, whilst Ezra masticates on the recliner, albeit much slower, and negotiates a spoon in a hand that’s not ambidextrous in the slightest. 

“Tell me where you learned your skill.” Ezra prompts around a spin cycle of meat. 

“I have many. You’ll need to be particular.” You finger a newly discovered hole on your kneecap idly and frown at it. You can see a peep of leather from the buckle tarnished underneath.

“Oh, I don’t doubt that, pet.” Ezra smirks, as he chews through his mouthful and runs his tongue around his teeth dislodging pieces of meat; his dark eyes flashing to you briefly. “Specifically your skills with a needle,” he waggles his stump at you and his sleeve flaps about and knocks his pouch over. “Fucking tarnation!” He mutters, pissed. 

You get up pliantly to assist him as he gathers the packet with quick snaps of his fingers. He spoon-scoops the contents off of his thigh, plopping the mounded heaps back into it, feeling the juice and gravy soak into his pants in a small, irritating patch.

“My grandmother taught me.” You say, dabbing at his thigh with a cloth.

He nods at you whilst continuing to alternate between cleaning himself of the spilled grains and meat, and eating it with good measure.

“Commit to a deal with me.” Ezra prompts after he swallows down the gristle.

“What kind of a deal?” You question, narrowly.

“I’ll tell you my story in its entirety and you regale me with yours in equal measure. Omit no detail too small.” Ezra declares.

“There’s really not much to tell. My life has not been spent roaming the Interplanetary digging up sparkly gems.” You remark. 

“You sound bitter.”

“My hindrances keep me here.” You sigh. 

“What hindrances?” He cocks his head at you. 

“Tell me your story, Ezra.” You deflect as you settle back in the chair to eat. 

Ezra smiles exaltedly. He relaxes back into the recliner after discarding the packet, whilst you listen keenly as he recounts how he came to be on the wretched moon with a group of like-minded individuals - rapscallions, as he refers to them - who were an entourage of the roguish sort.

Ragtag acquaintances he’d collected during his time prospecting many planets and satellites across the Interplanetary, but seemingly coming up short until The Green was set in his sights during the heights of the Aurelac rush. 

Of course, man’s greed always complicates even the basics of well interpreted relations, and soon he found himself without his ship or his crew; most of them deciding to pick one another off over petty quarrels, whilst the successful of the rogues took to leaving the moon. And Ezra was stranded with nothing but a serious, yet mysterious being known only as Number Two, who filled the role of henchman to Ezra’s own smart, callous wit at genial leadership. 

He reiterates to you, several times, that Number Two was not much of a conversationalist, much to his imminent dismay, so when he happened upon Damon, he informs you of the relief he felt to copulate wildly in words exchanged with a stranger, even if they weren't pleasantries.

It’s apparent to you, before he’s started to share his whimsical story, that Ezra has a rapt knack in kinking the tendrils of censorious intelligence and a dry sagacity that often blurs the lines of sarcasm and menace. Flowery, Southern treble clefs dance off of his tongue in a verbal, bewitching thrall, playing their music around your head in kaleidoscopic wonder. 

The things he'd done, the things Ezra he'd lost, are all painted from his cracked lips for you to see and experience, unscathed in the most exquisite details and colour. Feeling as though you’re there with him by his side and witnessing the altered course into complete annihilation. He was sure he’d be abandoned by Cee in a warped juxtaposition that, even his attempts at atoning for his previous sins couldn’t seem to cleanse him of. He iterates wistfully that he should've seen it coming. 

Ezra finalises the story with her gallant return and bringing him home rather than being left there to perish.

He’s notably candid when he speaks of his love for women - plural. He shares vulgar trysts about his many lovers on Luxillion, mostly whores whom he paid good credits for before he settled off on his wanderings, but who won't even entertain him now that he;s no longer whole. He mentions he occasionally dabbled freely in the delights of flesh with a fellow Y chromosome too; a flouted omission that makes your pores saturate at the outlandish, yet scandalous thought of it. His laying partners are of no prejudice. 

Ezra is regimented in never speaking of an unrequited love nor a love that holds permanence inside of his beating organ of clogged ventricles. The closest Ezra has come to feeling an emotion akin to the desire to protect another is with the bolshie whippersnapper named Cee, who had saved him from his fate on The Green.

And then you, this very evening. 

“What happened to her?” You enquire. 

“Your guess is as good as mine. I woke up in a med bay and haven’t heard a whisper since. Skipped out with a sack full of gems. Good for her.” He remarks. 

You watch as he winces and scowls down at his stump.

“Are you alright?” You query.

“Just an irritation" You watch as his lips curl back over his teeth. "Sometimes it… it feels as if it’s still there. Sears. Feels like I can still wiggle my fingers, the most peculiar thing.”

Nursing the aggravation is made small, as Ezra stares out at the window with a watery look making his scleras shine and the cords in his neck tense. Trying to push it to the back of his mind to be recycled into some distorted relief.

“That’s quite the story you shared.” You say. 

“It’s but mine to keep. And now yours too, I guess.” Ezra sighs and winces again. “Do you happen to have anything for the burn?” He asks, feeling the pain grow and mutate from his wrangled nerves into his veins.

“I might have a tranq.”

“Bliss.” He says as you get up. He notices you take a moment to regain your balance, a slight limp to your gait as you make your way forward. 

A large explosion-like sound is heard outside and you turn towards the window as the lights go out in your dingy apartment.

“Kevva’s wrath!” You gasp, a silhouette lit up by the purple lightning that rips terribly across the sky.

“Did something calamitous occur?” Ezra asks, standing too.

Aggressive thunder is heard rolling in once more as the rain pelts harder until it’s a tiresome skirmish battering the panes.

“Looks like a strike hit the fuse box. Whole District is out.” You say, hovering by the window.

“Perhaps it was a good call, your invitation.” Ezra says, a small smile unfolding on his lips. 

“Mm. The rain is often acidic.” You retreat to the kitchen and find some medicine and some candles. Lighting a couple on the coffee table, you take a hold of Ezra’s sleeve after passing him the pill. 

“Not a tranq unfortunately, but it might take the edge off.” You begin to roll his sleeve upwards. 

“What are you doing?” He queries.

“Making it easier.” You say, softly. You pin it in place, and then fetch a spool and needle from your sewing table. 

He watches, eyelashes fanned across his cheekbones as he stares down at your fingers working around the new hem of his sleeve you've created.

“I think I’ve seen you before... Around the District, down by the river.” You begin, carefully as you start to sew the sleeve in place. "You live there, don't you?"

He immediately bristles. “I don’t require charity. I’ll take my leave.”

“Ezra. You have nowhere to go. We both know that. It’s a dangerous night with the surge-five. Drink your xanadu tea and stay. You can take my bed.”

He sighs as his eyes shy away. “My predicament since my return from the Green has rendered me… unlucky, it’s true. There isn’t a place or a sympathetic ear here for people like me, and so my place is with shelter under the bridge. But I won’t spoil your evening with my dreary plight.”

“We can share in the dreariness.” You smirk, looking around at the dim confines of your apartment gloaming with waxy candlelight. 

He sighs again as he watches you thread neat stitches to keep the sleeve in place. 

“I can’t force you to stay. But I’ll sleep better knowing you’re safe rather than outside in that. I’ll make do on the recliner. I insist.” You say as you glance at the lightning streaking across the sky.

“Kindness offered to a scoundrel. You are something, Birdie.” 

“It’s only gratitude for what you did in the alley. We’re even.” 

"If I were to take you up on your offer, I will sleep here. You won't be denied your bed."

"There's no argument, Ezra. You'll take the bed and we'll say no more about it." You confirm.

“You trust me fictitiously.” 

“No, I trust you.” You correct him. 

“You know nothing of me. I could take your treasure and run whilst you sleep.”

“So do it. I already told you I care not for it.” You say, as you thread the stitches carefully. 

“Why don't you cash it in? You could improve your living quarters.” He suggests. 

“My living quarters are fine as they are.” You reply with a frown. 

He looks at you curiously, deep eyes burning into you as you find them with your own. 

“I don’t care about the material things.” 

“Pet, your dwelling is stacked with material things.” He grins. “Look at all this treasured garbage.”

“It’s gotten a bit out of hand admittedly. But it's mostly worthless.” 

“What is worth it's weight to you?” He enquires, boldly. 

“Life. Connection…" You catch his eyes. "Love.”

He scoffs as he brings his cup back to his lips and swallows the pill. 

“Immaterial things.” You say, as you notice his gaze heading towards the Aurelac gem again. 

“Before I left for the Green, the only material possession I owned was my ship. A Testing Screamer.”

“Fancy.” You remark, unimpressed. 

“No, she was a patched up shit bucket of rust, with a channel rat infestation, but I worked her hard. She got the job done. As I recounted, words and metal flew amongst my crew and they left me there to seek my death without her. I came back with far less.” He says, glancing down at his missing arm. “So, I relish the importance of the immaterial, even if you assume otherwise of me.”

“I assume nothing, Ezra.” You confirm. “There. You’re all patched up. You’re free to go into the wily night if you're so adamant.” You wince at the chafing burn around your knee joint.

You’re keen to rid yourself of the prosthetic, but hesitate whilst he’s here. You don’t mean to be prickly, but it’s a burn that’s starting to irritate.

“I’ve offended you.”

“No.” You shake your head with a faint smile offered. “I’ve been really grateful for your company, actually. It's been nice to converse with someone.”

“Do you feel lonely, pet?” Ezra questions out of the blue. 

You turn to face him, your knee knocking against his and you wince. “All the time.” You answer honestly.

“I find it hard to accept that you cloister yourself here alone each cycle.” 

“Why?”

“Because you're indeed bewitching.”

His hand is felt on your waist, gently squeezing, and you stop him as he reaches your thigh. 

“Too fast?” Ezra queries, reading your eyes carefully. 

“No.” You smile. “But…” You sigh with a steady gulp and then take his hand, hesitating before you place it on your artificial calf just past your knee. 

He immediately raises his eyebrows with a crooked smirk as he feels not soft flesh under your pants when he squeezes, but a hard shell. He knocks against it, bewildered. 

“You come with secrets,” he hisses jovially. 

“Missing pieces.” You correct. 

“As do I.” He says as your eyes fall to his stump barely poking out of the rolled up sleeve now. “Tell me your story,” he murmurs hauntingly.

He begins inking soft kisses into your collarbone and you don’t stop his forwardness. Instead you close your eyes and relish the feel of the warm, tender contact offered.

“No story. I was simply born this way.” You sigh, feeling his lips burn on your skin. Your fingers run themselves through his oily nape and scritch into his scalp. 

“Then there’s no less of you to love, pet.” Ezra groans, looking up at you. “A simple man would be worthy of your affections, even if just for a night?” 

“Perhaps.” You smirk.

“Perhaps? Here you sit like Kevva pushed you out her womb for me, perfectly moulded from clay, and you say perhaps?” 

You simply smirk as he looks at you, trying to figure you out. 

“I’m not perfect.” You say, your eyes averting away. 

“I’ll be the judge of that. I’d like to see you bare.” He says, and you know immediately what he means. 

You sigh out deeply and nod. “You too.”

“Birdie-”

“You. Too.” You sway. “Let me see you, Ezra.”

He watches as you stand and unzip your pants. You notice his eyes lingering on your centre for a moment, hidden beneath your bland underwear, but then his eyes trail down your left thigh to your knee where the buckles meet your skin.

You unbuckle your prosthetic without any meekness at all, leaning on his shoulder for support as he wraps his only arm around you, offering balance.

“I've got you, pet.”

You let it clatter to the floor and sit down in his lap, straddling him as his fingers tentatively brush over your revealed skin.

He, however, gulps as his fingers linger on the hem of his sweatshirt.

“Can I help you?” You ask him, and he shakes his head, pulling the offending item off clumsily and revealing his stump to you as his sweatshirt plops beside him.  

“Beautiful,” he says, observing the smooth skin of your ungrown limb. You shudder as his fingers sweep delicately around and across it.  

“Likewise,” you say, stroking down his arm to where it stops into a knot of twisty scars.

“Two peas in a dreary pod,” Ezra says, hooked nose brushing over yours. 

“I don’t like peas.” You chuckle. 

“Another commonality,” he smirks.

He watches as you reach forward behind him and take a small jar from the shelf. You push it into his hand as you open the lid and begin to scoop out some of the waxy salve inside. 

The balm, infused with cooling agents and healing properties, provides instant relief to your inflamed skin with a comforting warmth; soothing the rawness that bears the brunt of the day's chafing from your prosthetic.

He inhales the scent, lifting the jar to his nose and hums at the fresh, earthy aroma. 

“Homemade.” You clarify. 

“More potions from my talented sorceress.” Ezra smirks. “May I?”

You nod, holding the jar for him as he scoops out a small dollop, and rubs it between his thick fingers until the consistency turns thin.

“Tingly,” he says in wonder.

He runs it gently around your skin, rounding the circumference and across the calloused welts and blisters, soothing and massaging gently. 

“That feel good?” He queries with a bewitching smile all of his own.

"So good, Ezra." You nod with a breathy hum and he watches as you lean forward and kiss his stump gently, mouthing over the fibrous knots and welts. 

“Your mouth is Kevva sent,” he groans as he watches you.

You run your tongue over it, kissing up his shoulder and tasting the salt of his neck. Tasting him there as he fondles and rubs your knee gently, fingers slick with the balm. 

“Your ministrations, although kind, are wasted.” He gasps. “I’m not a man that can be tamed. I fear it's been too long that I won’t be gentle.” Ezra warns. 

“Neither will I.” You growl as you pull him to you, teeth tugging on his lips.

He engulfs you wholly; his hand swamping your back for support as you crush him towards you. His tongue slithers into your mouth and you suck on it, gasping as you feel his blunt nails rake up your back over your shirt. 

“Here?” He pants around your succulent mouth. “Or the comfort of your chambers?”

“Here. There. I don’t care. I just want you, Ezra.” You groan, your body tingling and sweating.

You squeal in delight as he stands with you abruptly, his sole arm keeping you wound tight around his body as he steps into your bedroom.

“I may only have one arm, but you're safe in it.” He reassures you by gripping you tight. 

“Never doubted it.” You say, nuzzling into the salted musk of his neck as you cling on around it.

He twinkles as he smirks at you; those dark eyes regarding you with a controlled enthral, left to marinate spicily in your thoughts and on the fine hairs of your arms. 

Outside, the sky growls, bearing its teeth as Ezra lays you on the bed. He watches you unbutton your shirt and pull off your panties, revealing yourself fully bare in all your flesh and graces to him.  

His eyes roam over the contours of your body, taking in the shape of your tummy, your hips, the swell of your breasts. The way your right leg curls up and the way your left, stopping at the knee, moves with a seductive fluidness to it just like the other.

Your entire body is his to freely claim, to roam unbidden. Slick pussy to drown in, to worship at the altar.

He's never been a good man, undeserving of the fruit you bear freely to him now as he licks his salivating lips. But you make him feel good; a small, insidious voice convincing him he’s unworthy is quashed inside his mind, silenced blissfully as you beckon him forward and allow him to touch, to explore.

He’s marvelled by his own restraint, wanting nothing more than to tear into you - pull you apart and put you back together again. Yet he’s rendered docile, eager to draw long, haunting moans out of you as he tastes and feels each of them, taking his sweet, glorious time instead.

“You’re so…” He fails to find the right word in his mental thesaurus to do it justice. "I want nothing more than to whelve myself inside of your tight, hot cunt right now." Ezra sighs, staring at your slick centre, an obvious tent growing in his pants. “But first, we must discuss logistics."

You giggle looking up at him. “Fuck logistics, just get over here and fuck me.”

He shakes his head in disbelief at you, spread out before him and he swears he’s never seen anything more beautiful. 

“Can you ride me?” He kneels on the bed, pink lacing his cheeks. “It’s easier if you can, my balance is often maligned. A chin to the nose might be an unpleasant douse to the fire.” 

“I can. I might need you to support me if we go hard.” You nod. 

“I can do whatever you need.” Ezra smirks crookedly. "Slow, fast... hard."

“What do you need?” You ask him, reaching for his face and planting kisses over it.

He smells wildly acrid, a build up of sweat and grime from the city has sunk into his flesh, but you’re undeterred as your mouth runs over his skin. Your cunt is so fucking wet just inhaling the stagnant, earthy hidrosis of him; beads of your slick running out of you in a delectable tickle.

“I need you to sit on my face, pet.” Ezra instructs you through a strained grunt, his lips curling up over his teeth as he helps position you above him. 

You lower yourself down onto his waiting tongue, holding onto the bed railings. His arm is firmly around you, as assured. 

He licks burning acid on your pussy, dissolving you down to the chalk of your bones as he tastes you; groaning into your folds hungrily. You grind on his mouth, chasing that blooming high that tingles and leaves you clawing in his hair desperately as he tongue fucks you gloriously.

You're basking in the pure pleasure of his mouth and tongue lapping at your pussy, all consuming and euphoric. Losing yourself to that dreamy build up of tension that arches your back and curls your toes.

And just when you think you can't take it anymore, suddenly all that tension is released and pulses throughout your body. You fall into a zen state of absolutely nothing - just white, hot pleasure coursing through your body.

You forget everything. Your name. The aches from your prosthetic. You even forget to breathe. He’s taken your body and mind to this exquisite place simply with his mouth and lets you fly and float around up in there until you come down, and then he’ll build you up again and again.

“I could lick you for turns, pet.” He snuffles through a satiated smile.

It makes you melt into him, crumpled like paper. Burnt up and falling ashy onto his skin. His stump rests against your thigh, prodding gently against it as his hand sweeps down your back and grips onto your ass, pushing your cunt further onto his mouth.

You move your hips, writhing against his tongue as he licks up onto your clit and you cry out in relief at how good it feels. 

“You taste divine,” he muffles around your sticky lips. 

He pushes his head up, lips squelching around to get right in as your thighs ripple and shake as he brings you to the edge once more. You're standing on the precipice of the universe and looking down into it's swamping, glittery depth.

You rest back on your hands, your fingers squeezing around the meat of his thighs as his one hand blazes a journey over your belly and towards your breasts where he squeezes and massages the left in his grip. His eyes stare up at you and you stare down, lips parting as your moans increase. 

His tongue is precisely erratic, licking, sucking and flicking in all the places he can get to to draw your orgasm out and make it last. A kaleidoscope of colours stream in the room, their waltz blinding you as they swirl and merge. You can feel it all over your body, the heat, the burning as you tense and coil. 

When you come again, it feels like you're floating once more; your body slack and wibbly as you gush into his waiting mouth. And as much as you could let him do this, for indeed many a turn, you want him in your mouth too.  

You move with ease, comfortable to slide across the sheets gracefully and with speed that makes him grin. Pulling his pants down, you see him in all of his thick, weeping glory. 

"Fuck, Ezra..." You murmur at the sight of him.

“This is how you make me feel.” Ezra pants as you stare at the hard swell of him almost lunging out his groin at you.

His cock feels imposing; heavy and smooth. A flushed pink head swollen and leaking profusely. You feel how hard he is, how he’s acutely dripping for you; strings of pre-cum coming away in your palm as he brings it up to his mouth and licks it away whilst eyeing you.

And you can’t explain what it does to your body, let alone your brain, at how wet he is for you. And hard, so fucking hard that it bulges angrily; a taut, thick vein popping off on the side.

“Take me to paradise, Birdie.” Ezra hums, as he watches you slither between his legs and take him in your mouth. 

Ezra's eyes roll into the back of his head and he bites his lip until it bleeds copper rust on his tongue. He makes some intangible sound as he looks down at his fat cock sucked slowly and deeply into your mouth.

He brushes your hair away with shaky fingers, unsure and unfamiliar with such a gentle movement that he orchestrates, thumb stroking over your cheek.

“You can take it deeper than that. I know you can. Let me slide all the way down in there. Feel me in your belly.” Ezra grunts. 

He bucks his hips as you swallow, your fingers scratching into the soft, wiry hairs in his groin and over his belly. He fills your throat and you feel him twitch when you suck harder. 

He pulls your head back and tells you to spit on it. Smirking, you do as he instructs, and he watches as the globule decorates him in crystal strings.

“More,” Ezra keens, as you spit and drool over his cock further.

You’re panting for it; desperate to have him inside of your mouth again as he keeps it close enough, but just out of reach from your lips - teasing with that crooked grin lacing down at you.

But then, he finally lets you have it again, and is enthralled as you take him in greedily like you’ve been starved.

Humming in satisfaction, you suck him down and swallow deep, feeling him prod at the back of your throat as he guides and controls you with his hand knotted in your hair.

His grunts are felt on the end of your clit, his satisfaction tingling all through your body and you get off on getting him off; grinding your hips against the comforter on the bed as you suck, chasing your own release. Groaning out around his cock when the sheet catches your clit deliciously.

You pull him out of your mouth in a wet slurp and begin kissing around his groin; each little kiss peppering him and absorbing into his skin, leaving further fiery brands as you go.

You haven’t lost interest in his dick, still grasping him in your hand and running it over him, but you’re interested in all of him now, want all of him.

He’s drawn into your eyes as they look up at him, as you work your way across his abdomen and leave his hand to weaken inside of your scalp. It drops to your jaw as he helps you slither up his body and kisses you.

He’s surprisingly gentle, explorative and leaves no part of you untouched by his lips as he’s only too willing to return the favour. He lays back, his body weakening as you sit on his cock; your hands running through his hair, massaging his scalp as his head lolls back and he loses himself to the feel of your nails scratching through it.

You’re squirming and pushing yourself down on his length.

“Oh, you want it all, huh? Take it. Fuck my cock, pet. It’s yours.” He husks.

“You feel so good.” You whine, pulling on his hips as you work. 

“I'm going to make a mess of you when I come.” He grunts.  

“I want you to fill me up, Ezra.”

“Flood you,” he groans. “Fuck, I want to ruin you, but I want you like this too. It’s confounding.” He pants.

"Plenty of time to ruin me," you groan.

The infinite kaleidoscope only intensifies, becoming more vivid. Bursts of colour explode from behind your eyelids and are felt warming you all over as his cock nudges against the deepest part inside of you. 

“Ezra!” 

You feel his mouth roaming your chest. Sucking your nipples between his teeth as he alternates, pulling on them, teasing them hard; the tiny spots around your areolas standing and tightening too. Little pleasurable bumps that each have their own nerve centre that make your pussy twinge and drip like a leaky faucet over his cock as you ride.

Soon you flop forward onto him, your breasts hitting the hardness of his chest. That delicious pull deep inside your belly makes itself known. That tight, knotting before you’ll snap back and release.

His pants increase and those growls start to haunt. He’s close. It’s in the way he grabs and paws at you more sloppy now, like he can barely hold on anymore.

All it takes is an enticing whisper from you, telling him to come, to let go, to fill you up, and his teeth sink into your shoulder.

He groans and grunts deeply, hips stuttering and candid whimpers leaving his breath. All the atoms of his being spilling into you, thick and warm as he drips out of your cunt over his thighs.

And Ezra doesn’t let you go. He keeps you there, kissing you, glued to his chest, fitted around him like a perfect puzzle piece. 

The surge-five still roars outside, but seemingly less consequential. 

The acidic rains have moved on and the window of the bedroom is speckled with only a few streaks of wayward drops that the wind blows in squiggly lines around it; the tail ends of shooting stars before they die out completely. 

A little snuffle beside your ear focuses your attention on Ezra, still asleep beside you in the middle of the night; his stumped arm poking out of the bobbled blanket, and his other still curled under your back and ending around your waist.

His fingers twitch occasionally, as he jostles and flinches in his sleep, still branding on the skin on your navel. You wonder what he dreams about to make him shudder so.

Your head tilts to examine his face in the darkness. The slow roaming from the blonde tuft so stark in his chocolate hairline, to the way in which his eyelids flutter restlessly as his eyeballs move under them as though something is alive. 

He pelts your face with light breaths that are warm and hardened, and yet it’s a scent that doesn’t putrefy as you allow yourself to be bathed in the warmth of them.

You refute anything that’ll disturb your peace right now, such as the dull urge to urinate, instead cocooning yourself further into this moment right here in Ezra’s sleep laden grip.

He’s unlike any other man you’ve ever met and it leaves you breathless as you examine his face whilst he sleeps beside you.

Thick eyelashes adorn his swollen, sealed lids and a wiry scar is a slapdash carving below his left eye socket, leaving your imagination to ponder how he obtained it.

A thick velvet slug, matted with sweat and the residue of your slick, clings to his top lip, whilst the rest of his chin and neck is garnished with unruly stubble that's in the throes of growing in length and sparsity in hodgepodge greying patches. 

His lips, pale pink and fuller on the bottom set, are chapped and sore, much like your own as you continue to gnaw on them whilst you mull the events over of how this enigma came to be in your sheets this night.

“See something you like, Birdie?” Those lips move with a small gruff tone.

“Merely spectating.” You reply back, softly. 

“Spectating? I think the term is voyeurism.” Ezra smiles with his eyes still closed, and the creases around them grow in number and folds. 

You smile and Ezra can hear the moisture in your mouth click around your teeth at such a close proximity.

“Your lament protests about sleeping on the recliner were just a bunch of who shot John, weren't they?” He croons into the skin of your neck, dipping his head as he stretches. You feel him inhale deeply against your skin.  

Ezra wonders briefly if he’s suffered another loss, for his left arm is numb with the weight of you resting on it. He wiggles his fingers bringing them back to life and feels your skin warm against it under the blanket.

“Your practicality has been lampshaded,” he whispers. “Tell me, did you plot this tryst into fruition?” He chuckles. 

“One would think this situation is amusing to you,” you say.

“It’s ah… something.” That brazen itch turns from ghastly mania into a settling excitement, an accepted wave of rapture that shakes his bones at your warmth and proximity; the blood in his body rushing towards the end of his cock at breakneck speeds.

“I fear I won’t be able to resist sordid temptation much longer.” Ezra repeats, a dirty grunt escaping through his strained voice.

“Then don’t. Defile me at your whim.”

The sound of his haughty chuckle is both harmonious and husky at the same time as it reverberates from somewhere deep in his chest cavity. Ezra is most attractive when he smiles and laughs, you think. It completely changes his stern, scowled face.

Perfect, puffy lips crooking up into his cheeks revealing a dimple that draws the eye in; a smile that could convince the sun into imploding. But his smile has dissipated and those dark eyes are prying into places they ought not to pry again.

"I'm going to annihilate you, pet." He whispers, grazing his lips against your own. "You think you can take it?"

You know you’re stupid to think you can do this; nudge him to the precipice and encourage as he jumps off it willingly. Coax him to show you the most depraved, abominable parts of himself and not have some repercussions come and bite you on the ass for it.

See him unleashed fully; the worlds across the Interplanetary cracking open and their suns splitting into two as he savages and ravages.

But you want him despite all the swill and misfortune; you want him to make you fall apart - to totally obliterate you. Use you as mere clay for his own twisted satisfactions as he leaves imprints and eternal marks on you that’ll blister and bleed.

The way he touches you, the way he doesn't shy away from your body leaves you wanting for the affection he drowns you in. He’s your missing piece making you whole. He dilutes your pain with his own making it bearable. 

You shudder at the feel of his fingers softly stroking over your half leg; a ghostly touch that you acutely zone into. His eyes are still brooding into yours. 

"Break me." You urge.

“I can smell your sweet stink all over me." Ezra grunts as his fingers slip down the between your ass cheeks, leaving a devastation of goose pimples in their wake.

You rest your clipped knee onto his hip, opening you up for him. You bite your lip, gnawing frantically on the bottom as the path takes a delectable turn towards your cunt. 

Your head swims; the hairs on your body and nipples coming alive. Feeling high and giddy, balanced on that precarious cusp of passing out, but not quite managing to do so.

You breathe out slowly as his fingers pause; the burn of them felt deep inside your core already as you clench around nothing, and the throb of your clit aches and prickles with a pang of eager want. 

Ezra’s gaging; reading your reactions and fine tuning into that solid will that you’ve been dismantling slowly over the course of the last turn spent with him.

He knows, for it’s ambushed his own impenetrable walls too. 

He feels your hand clamp around his cock as the tension in your body pulverises at any remaining restraint you have. He strokes over your mound towards your clit, and as soon as he touches it - that hard, pulsing nub - you both groan out in unison. His fingers push into your pussy, slow and thick as you gasp.

Your other hand fists inside his hair as your face draws nearer to his own, your eyes zoning in on his lips that are wet as he licks them.

“I will destroy you.” Ezra breathes, admitting defeat. “I have nothing to give you, pet.”

“I don’t want what credits can buy from you.” You moan as his fingers swipe over your clit. “You see me.” 

“I do. I see all of you. I like what I see.” He tongues at the skin at your neck. “You see me, too.”

“It’s kinda hard not to, you’re like a neutron star.” You smile. 

“You trying to woo me, pet?” He smirks, as he slides down your body, kissing over it as he goes, elbow pressed into the mattress for support. 

“Is it working?” You gasp as he abruptly buries his head between your centre, and lets his tongue go to work. 

Your head is thrown back in the pillows, your eyes greeted with that dark void of space; the stars turning in their spirals as time slows down and he pulls you out from the inside.

Marvelling at the true alchemy of his tongue as it laps at your wet folds and he slurps you up like water, dehydrated like he once was on Kerulon. Transcending above the highest point in infinity and still climbing as your eyes roll into the back of your skull. 

Your hand fists through his hair, drawing him closer; his nose dusting your clit as his tongue fucks deep and swallows all the sweet honey you have to give him.

“All I can do is take you to the stars.” He grunts. “Is that enough for you?”

“More than enough.” You whine as you come around his lips. 

Ezra then spends the rest of the night breaking you apart, piece by piece, and putting you back together again, just as he said he would.

His voice wakes you, but not from beside you where you expect him to be. 

“Consarn it, you fumbling bawheid!”

You quickly reach for a tattered robe and grab at your crutches, wooden and rickety beside the bed, and follow the infernal muttering to the kitchen where he’s standing around broken cups on the floor.  

Ezra glances up at you with razor wire for lips pressed into a thin line. 

“Were you making tea?” You enquire through heavy lids, and he turns bashfully from you, the broadest back presented and littered with constellations of freckles and moles. 

“Yes trying, but my cumber-world impairment-” he grits his teeth “-makes me sloppy. Fuck.” 

Your gaze lingers curiously over him, determining him not to be an apparition but real; half expecting him to have fled already. You glance behind you and the Aurelac gem is still there on the shelf by the window as he left it.

“I can make the tea.” You smile softly, a hand reaching out to touch the expanse of his back, and his hackles immediately soften. 

He steps to you, his singular hand finding the familiar shape of your waist as he pulls you close. 

You take in the detailing on his worn face again. The way the pores on the smooth bump of his nose are marred with oil, the thickness of his brow; the entice of his full bottom lip. 

Ezra wanders freely over your features too, from the shine in your eyes to the feel of your hair soft in his hand as he brushes his fingers through it like a comb.

He scratches up to your scalp massaging your skull as he steps closer into your personal space and your eyes close at the sensation of it, birthing millions of prickles across your skin; your nipples standing tall and hard beneath the slip of the gown you’d thrown on, like diamonds cutting through the thin fabric. 

“How good does that feel?” His breath is drenched in a stale warmth on your face and you breathe the notes in deep.

"Really good." You breathe, nuzzling into his ministrations.

"Is your body defeated, pet, or can you take more?" He whispers into your crown.

You smirk. "More."

"Greedy." He snickers. "You'd make a fine Prospector."

Something’s hanging around in the air between you; something that’s unspoken. You’ve noticed it growing between you as the eventful turn has worn on into the night and seeks the new light of the dawn glowering through the smog. 

It’s inside the delirious crookshank smile on his lips as he reveals it to you in between the comfortable silences when you talk. In his swampy brown eyes that take you in and feel as though he’s pulling you apart with them to see what’s really going on inside of your fibres and nerves. 

And it's here again now as you linger, watching Ezra watching you, sensing that when the time comes to part from the questionable consternation of his company, it'll leave ruptures somewhere inside of you.

The black lacquer thoughts slither up from your spine and germinate insipid sparks into your core; a groundless lust that dizzies you from the smooth tickle of his fingers brushing down your hip and across your thigh.

You gasp as his fingers stray too close to your swollen centre, still drenched warm with his copious spend and aching from the stretch of him. 

You’re weak for him; weak for those skilled fingers on his singular hand to be crawling inside of you and fucking you up, quite literally, as he weaves them in and out of your soaked pussy, curling them and wrapping you around them further.

“Ezra,” you gasp as he pumps them in and out, your balance swaying. 

“Hold onto me,” he says, as you rest your crutches against the counter and wrap your arms around his neck. 

He pulls your only leg around his waist once more, hard cock bobbing at your perineum, lifting you with ease; his only hand resting on your ass, and carries you back to bed. 

Ezra has you all over again, devouring, leaving his marks on your body. Revelling in the melodies of your panting chants of his name as he fucks deep and hard.

His lips part slowly as do yours, reacting to him. Drawn to him, drawn into him completely and controlled somehow like a puppet and he’s playing with your strings; plucking slowly and gently at you and you’ve no idea how.

No idea how you've gotten so willingly naked in front of a stranger, despite his strange appeal, and are allowing him to guide you like this. Thighs splayed open before him and showing him your most intimate self.

It doesn’t matter how, for it’s pure fucking bliss. 

You slide down on his cock and ride him slowly, gently as his arm wraps you up and holds you close to him, almost crushing the life out of you as both you exertions wane.

You gasp out, letting his lips go as he fills you up again, makes you detach and lose yourself in this moment inside of his arms - inside of him.

And that’s the crux of it, you want to give him this, make him see that he’s worthy of love and affection and tenderness. You know what it’s like not to have that.

Ezra smiles faintly at you, giving into the feel of you lavishing your love on him.

He reaches down to grope your knee gently, and you shudder at the feel of his fingers brushing against it. You run your hand equally down his stump, and you watch as his eyes glisten before he scrunches them shut and crushes you against his chest as he spills inside you once more. 

“The storm has quelled. I should take my leave.” He says distantly after, stroking over your smooth nub as it rests languidly across his torso. His gentle touch soothes better than the balm. 

“You should stay.” You murmur, hoping he hasn't heard the longing in it. But of course, the plucky sleeveen has. 

“We find ourselves in a quandary.” Ezra retorts as he draws circles over your skin with his fingers. 

“Dare I ask what stories these tell?” You put to him as your fingers trace the marred lines over his sternum. 

“Probably wise if you remain in the dark, Birdie. I was not a gentle man once upon a time.” His warning is stark, but his eyes are soft and velvety as you look at them.

“You know how to be gentle.” You sway. 

He nods. “To those who I feel so inclined.” He nudges his nose against yours.

The skin of your knee is so soft despite the roughness of the chafe. It’s a sensation that imbues you with warmth rather than discomfort; his thick fingers caressing gently, exchanging heat between your skin.

You’ve never let anyone feel it before, but he doesn't shy away. Neither do you as you kiss and flick your tongue tenderly over the stump of his arm. You let your tongue dip into the jagged welts and fleshy riverbeds of his scars.

He hums out with his eyes closed as you explore languidly and find your way eventually back to his bruised lips.

He makes you feel seen, he makes you feel whole for the first time. And it’s a feeling you don’t want to let willingly extinguish. You kiss him deeply, fearing it might be the last time. 

“Your hospitality has been most charitable, pet. The swell has dissipated satisfactorily.”

You sigh out. “This whole idea was just idiotic from the get go.” You’re already mourning the loss of him, another part failing to grow on your body, but he doesn’t move. 

“Something I specialise in.” Ezra muses. But his smirk downturns when he sees your face. “Is that sincere affection you possibly harbour?”

“You think this whole time I spent with you was a ruse?” You frown.

He shakes his head. “I hope not. Did I fall victim to a spell?”

“I want you to stay, Ezra.” You say, reaching for his hand. “But only if you want to. There’s a place for you here, with me, if you want it.”

He closes his eyes, your knuckles resting on his lips, his thumb stroking over the hilt.

“You definitely have me under a spell. There’s no other possible explanation.” He hums as his eyes find yours staring back, unwavering. “You and your magic tea.”

“No magic. Maybe you just want to stay with me.” You smile, knowingly. 

“Perhaps some things can’t be explained by the universe after all.” 

“Perhaps it’s the Aurelac.” You snort. “That Siren song you Prospectors can't resist.”

Ezra shakes his head vehemently. “Maybe it’s just you, Birdie.” He smiles as he leans in to kiss you. “Maybe I finally found my missing piece.”

I really hope you enjoyed reading this story with Ezra, and welcome your comments/thoughts. I'd appreciate a re-blog if you liked it so others can find it on their dash to read and enjoy too - thank you very much! 🖤

BODIES MASTERLIST

MAIN MASTERLIST

EZRA MASTERLIST

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #ezra prospect #ezra prospect x reader #pedro pascal characters #ezra prospect x you #ezra prospect x f!reader #prospect 2018 #ezra prospect smut #ezra prospect fluff #tw limb loss #tw prosthesis #every body is beautiful #diversity #inclusivity #bodies series #jett's writing

[khaire-traveler]

🌋 Subtle Hephaestus Worship ⚒️

Creating carvings/sculpturs; wood, soap, soapstone/gemstone, clay, etc.

If you're struggling with a disability, being kind and gentle with yourself; you are doing the best that you can

If struggling with medical conditions, research your treatment options; be well-educated on the subject to know your rights

Keep a picture of him in your wallet

Wear jewelry that reminds you of him

Collecting volcanic rocks

Have a candle that reminds you of him (no altar needed)

Have a donkey or crane stuffed animal

Have imagery of cranes, anvils/metalworking, or fire (cranes would likely be good for a Christian household)

Treating your body kindly; taking care of yourself physically

Support homeless shelters or organizations that assist the disabled

Light a bonfire in his honor; gather with loved ones around it or sit alone in peace

Make your house a home; honor your space, and make it your own

Try new hobbies/activities that allow you to work with your hands, especially creative and inventive endeavors

Learn about technology; try your hand at computers and the like

Support small businesses and artists, especially those that sell handmade items

Learn how to build/craft things, such as bird houses or diorama-like art pieces

Practice self-acceptance; give love to yourself, especially when you're having a difficult time

Take time to meditate alone or simply decompress by yourself for a bit

Drink hot chocolate, tea, or any warm and comforting drink

Making a list of positive things you encounter throughout the day; try doing this each day

Embracing all of your feelings, but allowing them to be felt and released

Practicing patience; a lot of handiwork and craft work will help with this

Spending time with loved ones, especially found family

Playing video games you enjoy

If you have any walking aids or similar, customizing them and making them your own

Having pictures of ancient Greek architecture around, especially the Temple to Hephaestus

Learning a new skill; improving learned skills

Selling your personal art/crafts; taking commissions for your work

Practice independence if it's something you struggle with (I'm not suggesting you isolate)

-

May add to this later on! For now, this is my list of discreet ways to worship Hephaestus. Take care, y'all; hope this helps someone! ❤️

Link to Subtle Worship Master list

#hephaestus deity #hephaestus worship #helpol #hellenic polytheism #hellenic pagan #pagan tips #deity worship #paganblr

[llama-named-pizza]

Anyone talking yet about how Elon fired someone right after publicly mocking him, and for what? Asking Elon for some contact after being ignored for days?

Meet Haraldur Ingi Þorleifsson. Born in 1977 with a genetic congenital muscle disease that forced him to use a wheelchair since age 24. That didn't stop him, though. In 2014 he founded the company Ueno. Ueno was a company that designed digital brands for various companies. The company was pretty successful, since it won various awards and Haraldur was named Icelandic businessman of the year in 2019. You can see more things he's done on his website - http://haraldurthorleifsson.com/

In 2021, Haraldur sold his company to Twitter. Not just that! He sold it as a salary so that he could pay higher taxes. He ended up paying the second highest tax in Iceland for that year (for an individual).

Outside of his company, he also aided in a project called Ramp Up Reykjavík, the intention of which is to help in installing wheelchair ramps around the city for better wheelchair access everywhere. After the success of the first project, a second one called Ramp Up Iceland was launched, with the intentions of building 1000 ramps around the country. This seems to be the site for the project - https://www.rampur.is/ - it would be great if someone who knows Icelandic can help with explaining how to donate to it?

He also created Bueno, a project that, by his own words, "a non-profit that donates money to good people doing good things". He was given The Order of the Falcon by the president of Iceland, the Icelandic medal of chivalry for contributions to social issues. He was Person of the Year in Iceland in 2022. Honestly, there's probably even more.

And this is the person Elon Musk decided to take the mick out of.

Queue March 6th, 2023. Haraldur tweets out to Musk.

[id: Dear elonmusk,

9 days ago the access to my work computer was cut, along with about 200 other Twitter employees.

However your head of HR is not able to confirm if I am an employee or not. You've not answered my emails.

Maybe if enough people retweet you'll answer me here?]

[id: Elon Musk: What work have you been doing?

Haraldur: I would need to break confidentiality to answer this question here.

If you have your lawyers share in writing that I can do that then I'd be happy to discuss that openly!

Elon Musk: It's approved, you go ahead.]

[id: Two consecutive tweets by Haraldur: Among others:

- led the effort to save about $500k on one SaaS contract. Supported closing down many others

- led prioritization of design projects across the company to make sure we were able to deliver with a small team

- led design crits to help level up design across the company

- was hiring manager for all design roles

- worked on efforts to steer the company away from focusing on power users and on to younger users (because our user base is aging)]

[id: Elon Musk:

- Level up from what design to what? Pics or it didn’t happen.

- We haven’t hired design roles in 4 months

- What changes did you make to help with the youths?

Elon Musk: Would you say that you're a people person?

Attachment to the second tweet: A YouTube video named "What would you say...you do here?". The video depicts a conversation between two men, presumably higher ups, and a third man, presumably someone who works at the company. The conversation is condescending towards the third man, implying his job (a type of customer service) is useless. The video ends with the third man outbursting "What the hell is wrong with you people!" before he leaves the room - based on his body language (looking down when he almost bumps into a colleague), it is implied that he was fired.]

There are other threads with the two conversing, this one is the most notable though as this seems to be when Haraldur learns he is fired. Musk later attempts to imply that Haraldur didn't work, saying that Haraldur "claimed he had a disability that prevented him from typing". As I mentioned above, Haraldur has a disability that forced him into a wheelchair. This same disability is slowly forcing Haraldur to lose strength in his upper body and arms. Not to mention, you don't need to type to work, mister "Lines of code matters". Newsflash, people can do work without typing. Musk thinks he's the only one who can do work without typing, I believe.

It's unknown (to me) if Haraldur was fired during this exchange or before it. At any rate, don't forget that Haraldur was on a "Don't Fire" list, yet Musk still laid him off.

And definitely don't forget that Musk seems to be avoiding paying him.

[id: Tweet by Haraldur: But ok, fair enough, I've been laid off and I'm ok with that.

Next up though is finding out if Twitter will pay me what they owe me per my contract.

Or, will elonmusk, one of the richest people in the world, try to avoid paying?

Stay tuned!!]

#elon musk #twitter #fuck musk #halli #Haraldur Ingi Þorleifsson #Haraldur Ingi Thorleifsson

[alpaca-clouds]

Magically Healing Disabilities and the Road to Eugenics

Because this topic comes up again and again - and a lot of abled people just don't get it - let me try to explain this one more time:

If you create a SciFi or Fantasy world in which there are no people with disabilities, because all disabilities can be healed through magic or technology, you are creating an ableistic world, that favors eugenics!

Erasing disabilities from a world is something eugenicists would want to do, nothing else.

A lot of abled people will reply: "But I just want everyone to be able to live their lives at the fullest in my world!" What they do not quite grasp is, that with that they prescribe what "living a life at its fullest" means to people, not realizing that it can mean a whole lot of different things to folks.

Frankly: I do not think I could live my life at its fullest without my autism, thank you very much.

And sure, some might say: "But what is with people who cannot walk or cannot see?" And I am honest: I would be lying if I said that I could imagine living without my eyesight. But I know people with blindness who absolutely do live their life at its fullest and are perfectly fine the way they are. And it is not my place to tell them that they are not.

Yeah, there are absolutely people who totally would take the magical or technological cure - and I do not see any issue with creating a world that offers it to people. I mean, right now I am suffering from what in two weeks will officially be called long COVID, which makes me absolutely unable to bike and other stuff. And if you told me: "Here, take this pill and it goes away" I am going to take that pill ASAP. But forcing me to take the pill would be wrong, don't you think?

Then there is the other argument that comes along. Of: "Alright, some people do not want to be healed, but if there is a cure why should anyone bother to make the world accessible for folks who do not want to be healed? It is their own fault!" (Yes, I had someone argue this to me before.)

So, let me address it like this: Genetically speaking blonde and redhaired people have a higher likelihood to suffer from certain conditions (especially skin and eye related). So, should we say: "Yeah, well, we need to genetically make you dark-haired and darker skinned, or if you disagree we will not pay for your healthcare"?

Probably not.

Or what is with people who just hate eating their veggies, something that we absolutely do know carries health risks? "Either eat your veggies, or we will not take care for you?" That would be super out of line, right?

Or lets talk about something that left folks will hopefully care about: Trans healthcare. Like, sure, there are massive mental health benefits that come from it. But there are other health risks associated with it too. Should folks just not take care of those, because they are "self-imposed"?

Do you see how much of a slippery slope that is?

Not to mention once again: What is and is not considered a disability is at times pretty randomly decided. It is always an artificial line drawn in the sand. What is a "healthy body"?

And I also should once more note: Most disabilities are in fact disabilities people acquire during their life. Through accidents, through other illnesses, through simply aging. Should we criminalize aging to not have to create accessibility stuff for old people with walking aids? Do you really think that would be good?

So, yeah. Not only is a "world without disabilities because magic" fairly dumb if you consider all the aspects of disabilities - it also is very much eugenicist.

#fantasy #scifi #cyberpunk #steampunk #solarpunk #lunarpunk #utopia #dystopia #worldbuilding #disability rights #disability #actually disabled #disability representation

[pansear-doodles]

Hunter Spearcane Concept that's recently released on Patreon. I plan to make more detailed concept stuff in the future. I have recently also posted some designs for Hero, which I cannot reveal publicly yet until these characters make their debut...

You can check the original post in my Patreon but its description is below the cut

Happy Disability Pride Month!

I've been meaning to introduce something for my Anthro Hunter but we're unfortunately not in that time of the current story yet. I've been conceptualizing this (in my head) for quite some time. I figured putting it on my Patreon for early access would be a good introduction to the type of content you'd see here- concepts and such that I'm not as comfortable putting up on my tumblr just yet (because then it would make people think of things that aren't quite there in the story yet and confuse them).

Eventually Hunter would meet a casual death, but NSH introduces to them a peculiar gift: A Spearcane, using materials from their own parts. This tool would be incredibly useful in aiding them, both on the health and combat aspects. It is the next step to Hunter's ongoing arc of them fighting off their illness.

Hunter is initially reluctant and a little embarrassed to use it, not fully grasping its full functionality yet, but it would slowly grow on them.

The sturdy yet light Spearcane has different primary modes:

Full Spear mode - Which is the default mode of the spearcane. On the middle of it is a comfortable grip in the shape of NSH's symbol. This grip area is the centralized part of the spearcane for its other modes as well.

Dual Spear mode - The spearcane is able to divide itself into two shorter spears. It can lock itself back together on command or by manual.

Cane mode - Mostly used for non-combative purposes. After experiencing tremors (which tires out their body) or if Hunter feels withdrawn (or if they wish to traverse rough terrain better), Cane mode is activated to make moving around easier.

Pocket Size mode - The spearcane can retract itself into a much more portable mode. This mode is also activated when it is alerting others or going towards the master, much like a drone.

The Spearcane in cane mode has a wrist strap that is adorned by soft accessories representative of Artificer and their pups. They can use these accessories as stim toys.

The foot of the spearcane is secure and gravitated towards the ground when it detects unusual bodily circumstances in Hunter (mostly for when they are starting to struggle or when they are about to have a tremor). The cane is explosion-proof, so it can be laced in that material and still be intact. The only downside is that it would be on cooldown, so for a while it couldn't be called to, change modes or float.

Now since the spearcane is precious, Hunter doesn't want it to be on the wrong hands, so NSH created a function that shocks the holder upon a certain command "It's Mine!"- a jolt that is comparable to a baby centipede. It's significant that the spearcane doesn't shock when its simply held by anyone other than Hunter, since Hunter would be comfortable allowing their family and friends to use it. (and this would lead to funny shenanigans)

While it is powerful and not that easy to lose as it can be summoned by a simple whistle, the spearcane can still potentially be lost- to allude to the idea that it is imperfect even still- and a bit limiting. The spearcane, while its able to lay Hunter down more easily upon a tremor, life can be a bit unpredictable- and ofc it won't pull out a full-on-mattress. I just feel that's a bit excessive at that point considering everything else it has.

I had research and consultation with cane users. I even saw some users earlier today in the grocery as I was looking for bell peppers haha. Retractable canes are a thing in real life and I really did utilize that and Rain World's technological aspects (while in the acknowledgement that most technologies in the current timeline setting is tarnished and limited) to its full service. Artificer has mementos that remind them of their family, and so shall Hunter- in the form of little objects attached to an object with the primary function of supporting them.

I wonder if summoning canes that can fly about and alert nearby assistants would be practical and possible in the real world...

#patreon only #rain world #rainworld #fanart #slugcat #rainworld downpour #rain world downpour #my anthro au #hunter

[lurking-latinist]

I just saw this awesome post about including mobility aids in fantasy writing, and I do not want to create a tangent but I *do* want to share some things I learned about disability in ancient Greece when I was researching that paper I wrote on the Philoctetes, so I am making my own post.

Philoctetes is a mythical figure who was one of the Greek heroes going to the Trojan war. Before they got there, he suffered a wound in the foot which would not heal. The other Greek leaders were unwilling to have the noise of his screams and the stench of the infected wound in their camp, so they abandoned him on a deserted island with only his famous weapon, the Bow of Heracles. He survived there for ten years. Now the war is almost over, Troy has almost fallen, but the Greeks have heard a prophecy: they cannot win until they have the Bow of Heracles. So wily Odysseus and young Neoptolemus (the son of the recently dead Achilles) go to the island where Philoctetes is still living, still dealing with his injury. Philoctetes is eager to escape the island, but can he trust the community that abandoned him ten years ago? Can they ever make right what they did to him?

Now that’s the type of story that someone might very well point to who was arguing that disabled people have to be neglected and excluded in a “historically accurate” story. And it’s definitely not an example of casual inclusion. But what that person would be missing is that Philoctetes’ abandonment and isolation in this play was intended to be shocking to its Athenian audience. The audience is invited to identify with Philoctetes and to be horrified at how he does not receive the support from his community that real-world people with similar disabilities did receive, as we can tell from both textual and archaeological evidence.

Martha L. Rose’s book The Staff of Oedipus: Transforming Disability in Ancient Greece emphasizes this. Look, here’s what I wrote in my paper, why should I rewrite it:

Rose approaches her material “though the lens of disability studies, which approaches the phenomenon of disability by assuming that there is nothing inherently wrong with the disabled body and that the reaction of a society to the disabled body is neither predictable nor immutable” (1). In other words, it is necessary to see what attitudes and assumptions about disabilities are actually recorded, rather than projecting any of our own assumptions. ...

Also unlike today, Greek concepts of disability were not medicalized. “Permanent physical disability,” writes Rose, “was not the concern of doctors in antiquity beyond recognition of incurability” (11). This does not mean that disabled people had no resources or were simply left to perish, of course. Rather, they were often cared for within their households and their communities (28), which means that both Philoctetes’ abandonment and isolation form a shocking exception to the norm. The importance of community support suggests that Philoctetes’ joy at being reunited with humanity comes from practical as well as emotional needs. At the same time, the wide range of tasks and trades in the Greek economy meant that many disabled people were far from economically dependent (think of [the god] Hephaestus the lame smith), so that “[a] physically handicapped person earning a living would not have been a remarkable sight” (39). People unable to walk at all rode donkeys or were carried in litters, while those who walked with difficulty used a staff or a crutch (24-26).

So for writers: the ancient Greeks didn’t invent the wheelchair--but they had the wheel technology (I suspect the issue may have been with roads and pavements instead), so your Greek-inspired fantasy world totally can (which was the point of that earlier post). Or maybe your protagonist goes on their adventures with a faithful donkey sidekick that helps them get around. Maybe they are respected for their skill in a craft, making their home and workshop a lively meeting-place for customers. If you’re writing fantasy, you could be inspired by one of the myths of Hephaestus, in which he creates metal automatons--basically, magic robots--that not only support him as he walks, they also act as assistants in his workshop!

Anyway, the point of this post is basically just that I agree with the other post about including mobility aids in fantasy and I had some relevant knowledge in the back of my head. And also that you should read the Philoctetes. Look, here’s a recent free modern English verse translation: https://johnstoniatexts.x10host.com/sophocles/philocteteshtml.html

Oh, and if you would like to see my term paper or the relevant section from The Staff of Oedipus, message me, I will share them.

#philoctetes #writing #I should add that Rose also has information about things like blindness and deafness in her book #I just happened to be writing a paper about mobility

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Could you do the follower bishops with someone who is wheelchair bound and loves to draw

Narinder

All he sees is a loyal follower who serves his vessel and praises his name, so he's indifferent to you being wheelchair-bound.

But out of curiosity, he examined how Lamb accommodated you through the Red Crown's eye.

They built ramps and wooden floorboards so grass/flowers didn't get stuck in your wheels, left an open space for you at the feasting table, and punish whoever discriminated against you or tried pushing your wheelchair without permission.

He's like "yes good,,,,inclusiveness will attract more to the cult >:3"

When Narinder himself winds up in the cult, he's moping around and avoiding everybody.

The other followers said you should prank him by rolling over his tail on "accident", but you aren't a fan of bullying.

Instead you roll up to one of his hiding spots like "hey, I have a small welcoming gift to cheer you up!"

He thinks it's "fertilizer" wrapped in a box, so he makes you open it.

It turns out to be a...portrait of himself?

You explain how you loved drawing your fellow followers, some even paying you and willing to sit still while you sketched their features in great detail.

"I hope it's alright that I took some creative liberties. I tried my best given how Leader described you in their sermons and........a-are you crying??"

"....what part of me made you assume I'm worthy to receive this? I almost killed you all!"

"Well..I like you better than our most recent dissenter who refused to listen to the Lamb unless they "cured" me."

"...ah, I see. So..what became of them?"

"Their body's still in the morgue pit. It's pretty messy...wanna see it?"

"Sure."

Leshy

Tbh he had no idea you were even in a wheelchair to begin with.

So when he first begins his farming duties within the cult, he hears wheels squeaking and thinks somebody's stealing the wheelbarrow from him.

"Hey! Where do you think you're going with that?! I need the wheelbarrow to-!!"

"Actually it's my wheelchair, Leshy. But you were close." You chuckle, assuring him you're not offended when he starts apologizing profusely.

It's a rather awkward first meeting between you two, though you both get along well afterwards.

Given that he's blind, it's hard for him to get around the base, too, so he sympathizes with you on that matter.

It took him a while just to focus on one person's scent at a time with so many followers surrounding him.

But he recognizes you by the smell of wood (different from the one he smells by the lumberyard) mixed in with your scent. So he always knows if you're approaching him.

And when he should stop so he doesn't accidentally bump into your wheelchair.

You've actually helped guide him around by letting him "push" your chair (he just holds onto the handles while you take him to different places so he can get a feel for the base's layout).

Leshy learns you love to draw, being disappointed he can't see the masterpieces you've created.

But you always describe them in great details for him, eventually deciding to invest in painting (specifically with acrylics) so he could feel the textures instead.

Heket

Caravans and carts have a difficult time traversing the swampy, mucky, and uneven terrain of Anura, so she's never seen a wheelchair user before.

When she meets you as a newly-indoctrinated follower, she just stares at your aid curiously, unsure of how to approach you and ask about it.

But since she has a constant resting bitch face, you think she's giving you a dirty look--and you give her one in kind.

"If you have something you wanna say, Heket, then-"

"..sorry.....didn't....mean...to...stare.."

Suddenly you remembered that she can barely talk, and you feel kinda bad for insulting her own disability.

So you cooked her a meal as an apology, to which she forgives you right away and warms up to you quicker than expected (though only bc you made great food).

She learns you love drawing and kinda wants to learn it herself. It could be a good way for her to better communicate her feelings.

Albeit her skills are.....novice at best.

She can draw runes, sigils, and demonic circles to perfection but drawing a simple frog is....tricky.

You give her some advice, and when she gets better through practice, you decide to draw portraits of each other.

Eventually she's comfortable enough to ask about your wheelchair, admitting she likes how you designed it.

Kallamar

He's likely no stranger to having followers with disabilities during his ruling of Anchordeep.

He may have been a ruthless paranoid bishop, but he's not cruel and has crafted mobility aids for whoever asked for one. Canes, wheelchairs, prosthetics--you name it. He even commissioned Kudaai for ones with weapon augments.

So he doesn't treat you any differently when he's indoctrinated into the cult, introducing himself like he would anybody else.

As narcissistic as he is sometimes, he's actually cool to be around.

But you feel like he only acts polite bc of Lamb.

While Kallamar knows you like to be independent, he's willing to help you out if asked.

Whether it's pushing your chair if your arms get tired, or to position it during a ritual you're attending, he's on the case.

The only con to this friendship is that he's deaf af and may have to lean down to hear you better.

But you don't mind it.

When he learns that you love to draw, he wonders if you've ever considered drawing him (he's far too shy to ask though).

However you must have a sixth sense...because you made him a portrait as a gift for a special occasion (aka the day the Blue Crown chose him as its bearer) and put it in a beautiful frame lined with crystal specs, leaving it wrapped up by his shelter.

After he sees it, he hugs it and rushes over to Lamb like "look at what Y/N made for me!!"

"That's nice, Kallamar-"

Do I have your permission to marry them?"

".....huh..?"

Shamura

They become an avid observer of everybody in the cult. Just to get a read on their personalities and what they do on a daily basis.

You're no exception, and they're impressed at how you get yourself around in a wheelchair.

Despite their damaged mind, it's still forever hungry for knowledge.

So they respectfully ask you how long you've had your aid and why, how Lamb has accommodated you, etc.

They're forgetful, but they hope to remember at least this for once and not have to ask you again.

You don't mind it at all, appreciating their politeness.

Whenever you're done with tasks and spend your free time drawing, Shamura often comes over to ask what inspired you today.

But one evening, they have a bad migraine attack while talking to you, forgetting who you are mid-conversation as they hissed, before skittering off....much to your bewilderment.

They couldn't sleep that night, wrought with guilt for acting that way in front of you, and the next morning they still can't remember your name despite it being on the very tip of their tongue.

They think it's wise to avoid you, but you track them down with a gift to assure them you weren't mad:

A simple portrait of themselves, signed with your name in the corner so they'd always have a reminder of you.

Least to say, Shamura hasn't forgotten your name since and is forever grateful.

#clanask #anonymous #cult of the lamb x reader #cotl x reader #follower bishops #follower leshy #follower narinder #follower kallamar #follower shamura #follower heket #leshy x reader #heket x reader #kallamar x reader #shamura x reader #narinder x reader #disabled reader #platonic #headcanons #tw ableism #just a small mention of it but putting this tag just in case!

[plagued-melodies]

Sibling Rivalry ⚕️Part one

!This is based on the headcanon that Baizhu and Pantalone are brothers! Also this very self indulgent and usually think of my self insert as the traveler so- I'm sorry if that's not your style :] reader is said to have an exposed midriff because I like that style of clothing but it is not indicative of readers sex or pronouns. I do mention greatly about Baizhu's disability but I'm not entirely sure if I did it justice as I'm not really familiar with him, I just find him pretty so if I said anything wrong lmk so I can improve!

Relationships: Baizhu x traveler!reader

Implied Pantalone x traveler!reader (hes attracted to/infatuated with you sort of?? It's more like he's doing it solely to tease Baizhu but the reader is unsure about him as they don't know who he is but is friendly because he's Baizhu's brother.)

Baizhu and Pantalone are brothers with a strained relationship but still care about one another. Baizhu just has certain boundaries.

I really really like Traveler!reader I'm not sorry

Pronouns used for reader: they/them

This has been in my drafts since forever so forgive me if there are some canon issues lol, I have a stupid mix of what I thought was canon, what is canon, and what is just ???

Also It's been so long since I've written anything I'm sorry if it's cringe or badly paced.

Part One (you're here)

Part Two (to be added)

Imagine that once everything is said and done in the nation of Sumeru you've come back to Liyue for some much needed rest, you trudged your way over the jagged land of the chasm that connects the two nations. With your sore and sunburnt body you end up running into Liyue's best herbalist, Baizhu who is accompanied by little Qiqi. Throughout the months before your trip to Sumeru you found yourself hanging around the eccentric man more and more as word for your future endeavors got around and he had wished to aid in knowledge on what was safe to touch and consume and what to avoid. This lesson turned to several lessons on how to create healing concoctions based on different ailments. You appreciated his help greatly and promised to bring several rare or useful herbs for him to use.

When on the road returning to Liyue, you were surprised to see him so far outside the city however, especially so far off the trail. It wasn't uncommon for him to leave the city but he usually left anything this far out to Qiqi as a precaution due to this condition, he couldn't risk anything if he ended up passing out. If he did go out he usually sticks to the trails most often used by travelers or nearby settlements he could rest at.

You asked him about this, worried about his being and he explains that today he felt capable of retrieving certain herbs he needed and needed to get some fresh air from a visiting relative who was a bit overbearing at times. You nod in understanding, the city coming further into view with the ocean glistening. The sun was at its highest peak at this point and you felt its harsh rays beat down on your exposed back. Your conversation continues on, talking about recent adventures in the dendro nation as Paimon floats about and you hold Qiqi's little hand in your own larger one.

Baizhu talked greatly about his recent endeavors, including a few odd ball patients who he practically had to have dragged into the pharmacy by some of his assistants. He also talked about how he was able to curate some remedies for himself that, while not able to cure his ailment (or achieve his overall goal), help him retain a lot more energy than usual so long as he didn't over exert himself too much. Hence why he's out here with Qiqi gathering some herbs for some clients he had.

You two continue exchanging pleasantries with Changsheng chiming in every once in a while, perched comfortably atop the doctor's shoulders. Baizhu begins to explain the use of the herbs in his bag with you contentedly listening. You both walk into the city through the back trail, the unsteady and steep path putting you into alert for your companions balance. In your focus on Baizhu's safety, you completely neglect your own and nearly slip with the doctor quickly taking hold of you. Despite his weak physicality, he's capable enough to pull you up by the forearm into a safe balanced position before you even hit the ground. He sighs at your clumsiness, a tinge of mirth in his own eyes. He heaves another sigh, a sign of his exertion of energy that's beginning to take a toll. The grip on your forearm moving to a gentle hold of your hand.

"Oh archons I'm so sorry! I should have been looking at where I was going!" You didn't mean to trip the way you did, in trying to help him not exert too much you ended up doing so anyways. He waves off your concern, a mere smile plastered onto his face in response. He continues to urge you forward by placing his free hand onto the small of your back.

"No need, nobody got hurt, it wasn't an issue really, you're not particularly heavy to pick up the way I did, so no need to worry." His voice is chipper as he continues his hold, you don't think to mention it, jotting it down in your mind as him needing to steady himself. A tinge of guilt stirs in your gut because of it. Being a temporary mobility aid for him is the least you can do right now before he could get home and rest properly. You decide to carry out the conversation as normal when you make your way through the city. Ignoring the occasional glance towards your unusual stance from passersby. He takes notice however and raises a silent question, you joke that maybe it's because of the notoriety of his bitter potions. Paimon Snickers from behind you two at the comment, Baizhu feigns offense at this.

"Medicines, not potions and please believe me, if I could make my medicines just as effective and more delightful for people to consume I would, but I cannot risk the medicines effects being nullified by anything that can influence the taste significantly." You laugh at this, missing the way his faux irritation softened at the sound of your laughter, replaced momentarily by adoration.

"I guess that's true... I'd rather take one disgusting dose of medicine that would work rather than small doses of some okay tasting stuff that may not even work..." You muse with a smile, "Especially if you made the medicine. I trust you wouldn't poison me." You chuckle. He shakes his head fondly as Changsheng pokes her head around.

"How insulting, to even suggest such a thing..." Changsheng hisses softly, emphasizing the harsher syllables of her words as she narrows her magenta eyes towards you. Baizhu gently taps her on the top of her head.

"Now now Changsheng, no need to get so defensive... It was a light tease. Don't worry yourself so much." He chides the snake adeptus softly. She flicks her tongue out quickly before coiling herself further. You chuckle at the sight, you know that Changsheng wasn't actually offended and simply wished to give you a hard time.

"Speaking of medicine, I brought a ton of herbs and plants I found in Sumeru, Master Tighnari helped me pick them." You state eagerly, a smile on your face as Baizhu walks in tandem with you. He smiles softly, adjusting his glasses to be better perched on the bridge of his nose.

"Oh? And you would trust me enough with these? After all, you don't know if I may poison you or not." He jokes with a subtle grin on his face. You give a roll of your eyes as you motion your head to the side.

"Oh please, I doubt any poison you make could kill me." You playfully joke back. This goes on back and forth for a while, all of it being in good humor and light teasing as he subtly grips your hand tighter.

The moment is short lived, however when you arrive towards the stairs leading to Bubu Pharmacy. A stern yet audibly relieved voice breaks through your mirth filled bubble. The expression the doctor held now having a look of exhaustion in its stead. You don't recognize it or the words he's speaking until he descends the stairs towards you both, taking carefully calculated and painfully slow steps.

"Baizhu! I knew you needed to run some errands but you've been gone for hours now and while I understand you're feeling better, you need to be careful, what if you ended up collapsing near a hilichurl camp? I was worried sick-" his scolding is cut short when his gaze towards your companion is turned to you, taking immediate note of Baizhu's obvious hold of your form. A heat of embarrassment rises to your cheeks as you attempt to wriggle into a less awkward position. Your subtle attempt is for naught as the green-haired doctor's hold on your hand tightens with a gentle squeeze. You stand there, stiff as a ramp as the mysterious individual raises his gaze once more. Paimon and Qiqi stand silently behind you, the latter's hand still intertwined with your own.

"Pray tell, may I ask who this may be? You two seem... Close." Baizhu clears his throat as he turns his attention to you, seeming to reluctantly diminish his hold on you he turns to you fully.

"Traveler, this is my brother Pantalone, he's here to visit," You turn to him and wave before turning back to Baizhu, "Pantalone, this is the traveler. They're passing through Liyue for a couple of weeks of rest." His tone is unusually curt with introductions. A huff is heard from behind as two tiny hands plant onto your shoulder and your flying companion is lurched forward slightly.

"HEY! You forgot about Paimon!" You roll your eyes slightly at this, taking a strand of her hair and twirling between the fingers of your now free hand before turning to the pair of brothers.

"And this is Paimon, as you probably could tell." You add as she gives a cheeky grin at this. You can't help but get a strange feeling that you've heard his name somewhere before... But, since this is Baizhu's brother, you didn't want to be rude and just tossed that thought into the back of your mind.

"Hm? Oh so this is the well renowned Traveler? The one who's well known all across Teyvat for their heroic deeds?" Pantalone questions rhetorically as he brings his hand out to shake yours. You can't help but notice the rings adorning his gloves hand, the material looks sleek and expensive. In fact, everything he was wearing seemed to be expensive. You tentatively take his hand and begin to shake his own. What you didn't expect however, was for him to lift your hand to press his lips to your knuckles.

The entire group goes silent, you don't notice the look Baizhu gives him or how Changsheng coils in a way to turn her head away from the display.

"My dear brother here has told me lots about you, but he must have neglected to mention just how lovely you look." He says with a voice as smooth as a spoonful of jade fruit soup...

"O-oh umm... Thanks, I guess? That's very kind of you.." You reply rather awkwardly, pulling your hand back when he lets go. He gives a nod of his head, the gemstones hanging from the chord of his glasses swinging slightly before he straightens up and looks towards Baizhu.

"Well, with introductions out of the way, I have some work to do and the traveler is probably very tired after their journey so we should go ahead and let them go to the inn to rest. Right, Pantalone?" He says, placing his gloved hand onto the exposed region for your back that's still slightly tender from the constant sun exposure. Your face heats up slightly at the contact, especially when one of his fingers curls against the small of your back... His other hand goes to your shoulders and steadily turns you towards the other direction, clearly motioning for you to leave. When you start to walk, he takes Qiqi's small hand as she waves goodbye to you.

You smile softly and sweetly while you wave goodbye to her. Paimon gives you a confused smile as she floats alongside you in her usual manner. You shrug, unsure of what the problem here was. Maybe his brother had crossed an unspoken boundary? You can't really say.

Well, he was right about one thing. You're pretty freaking tired. Both you and Paimon are ready to eat a warm meal and sleep in an actual bed.

_____________

You return the next day, a pep in your step as you approach the pharmacy, carrying a bag of plants you had gathered that you weren't able to give Baizhu yesterday. You were excited to give these to him, you weren't sure if he already had these herbs or had any use for them, but Tighnari was kind enough to help you find them so you hoped that they would at least be of some use!

You enter the pharmacy, your smile widening as you wave to Herbalist Gui "Hey! Good morning, Gui. Do you know where Baizhu is?" You ask as you set the bag down onto the edge of the counter. He smiles as he shakes his head no.

"No, unfortunately he had a house call he needed to attend, I can't say when he'd be back... I'm assuming this is a personal batch for him?" He motions to the bag, which you proudly nod to.

"Mhm! Special delivery all the way from Sumeru! Personally handpicked by yours truly and the Head Forest Watcher of the Avidya Forest!" You state rather proudly as you wave your arm to the bag. Unfortunately, with your luck, your haphazard placement on the counter would result in it being knocked by the force of your arm.

You nearly shout with surprise as your hand darts to reach out and grab it, only to be immediately stopped by someone catching the bag before any of the plants fall out or the glass inside shattering. You heave an inward sigh of relief.

"Oh, thank the archons. Thank you." You say with a slight nervous chuckle.

"Oh it's no problem my dear, it was of no issue for me. Do be more careful in the future however." A voice spoke, a voice bonging to none other than Pantalone. The man smiles the same smile he gave yesterday as he puts the bag flat into the counter rather than the edge where you had placed it previously.

"O-oh um, yeah, my bad. I guess I'm just a bit careless today... Hey uh-, Guilty, could you " You give a sheepish chuckle as you speak, unsure of how you should talk to this stranger. On one hand, he's Baizhu's brother, and you really like Baizhu so you should get along with his brother, right? But on the other hand, something seems.... Off about him. Like there's a small voice in the back of your mind that just screams that you've heard his name from somewhere before.

Herbalist Gui takes the bag full of medicinal herbs, setting them down aside for when Baizhu comes back from his house call later.

A sigh is heard from Pantalone as Gui informs him of Baizhu's departure that morning, "Even when I come all the way from Shnezhnaya to visit him, he never ceases his work, even in his condition... whatever will I do with him?" He sounds exasperated, one arm across his chest with his hand holding up the elbow to his other arm where off he has a tired hand resting on his temple and his eyes closed. You clear your throat, hoping to ease the tension in the room.

"Oh well, that's just how he is. It's a house call so he won't be exerting himself too much, especially with Qiqi with him. He may be a workaholic but he knows better than to strain himself, we should trust he knows what he's doing, right?" You try your best to sound reassuring. The taller man nods at your words.

"I guess that is true, I'm not around very often and he's done just fine without me nagging him around..." He says, although he seems reluctant to say those words. You can't help but relate to the feeling of worrying and fretting over a sibling as well.

"Well, since neither Baizhu nor Qiqi are here, I may as well go and complete today's commissions. Thanks again for grabbing that bag, it would have been a pain if some of the glass broke in it." You express as you turn towards the pharmacy's front entrance.

"Oh? An adventurer as well? Would you mind if I tagged along?" He requests, "It's been a long while since I've seen anyone fight, though quite ironic considering my line of work." His comment is vague but you assume that he's being that way on purpose seeing as it's really not your business about what he does for a living.

"Um.. sure? I mean, it's nothing grand, but yeah, you can tag along.. just be sure to stay out of the way. Is there something you need help with?" You ask, maybe he needed help with a commission he had yet to post? That wasn't fairly uncommon, people often just came up to you due to your notoriety and would offer straight up to pay for services rather than go through the guild which could be a tedious and expensive process depending on your job.

"You could say that... And do not worry, I do not intend to be of any bother..." He reassures, "I would just like to see the famous traveler in action, to see if the rumors of your visionless power over the elements is as true as they say..." He adds.

And with that, you head off... You don't have Paimon floating around you today. She was still practically melted into the sheets when you got up and you didn't wish to disturb her. It's not often you guys find an actual roof to stay under and Paimon was just a little thing, she needs all the rest she's missed since the mess in Sumeru. So you left a note telling her you had left real quick to do some commission work and had left a small bag of mora to get herself something to eat for when she inevitably got hungry.

At some point while going about your commissions, you kind of forget about the looming shadow of the man you just met yesterday lurking behind you. It's not until you're out near the Guili Plains are you reminded as you hear the heels of his boots clicking against the ground in a steady rhythm not too far behind you. You're currently trying to find some lost bags from a careless historian that did not think to check his surroundings before setting up a camp and being chased off by the hostile... "neighbors."

A few hilichurls, maybe a mitachurl or two. It shouldn't be a big deal, even with the extra company. So you continue to look around.

"I imagine that doing this sort of work is quite profitable, yes? Especially with a reputation such as yours?" Pantalone suddenly says out of the blue, his arms crossed elegantly behind his back as though he is simply strolling along the city...

"oh um- yeah, I get by. At least food wise. Some commissions pay more than others based on difficulty." You explain, continuing to go through brush and using your blade to cut the surrounding foliage out of your view before moving onto the next area. You didn't think it to be of relevance that sometimes commissioners would sometimes refuse to pay the other half of their fee.

Depending on the size of the commissions, the Adventures' Guild would allow the commissioner to pay only half upfront so that, if something were to occur to either party, at least the adventurer who completed the commission at least got something and that the commissioner didn't completely lose their money.. But sometimes, a lot of time, you'd find yourself having to exasperatedly explain this novel concept to them as they refuse to 'shell out any more mora for a job I already paid for'... It usually wasn't worth the mora to argue too long.

"Hmm... I can see that. Based on your own size and how much energy and calories you may burn in a single day, I can't imagine that a full meal or the ingredients to make a meal would be only a few handfuls mora... That among other expenses between two people if you were to include that floating fairy from yesterday would begin to add up greatly..."

At this point, he seems to be talking more to himself than to you, with his left hand, which is adorned with rings, being brought to his chin as he contemplates his own words. You can't help but imagine how Paimon would react if she were here right now, probably saying something along the lines of 'Floating fairy?! Paimon is not a floating fairy! Paimon is Paimon!', you can't help but chuckle to yourself and shake your head fondly at the thought.

"Um.... Yeah. I guess..." You really don't know how else you should respond to that, he's right to an extent but you aren't quite sure what you're supposed to make of this conversation. Pantalone simply chuckles.

"I see, have you not considered the potential of working a single job rather than traveling around as you do? From what I hear, you have a wide variety of skills and talents that could be far more lucrative than the fickle stability of the adventurers' guild..." He questions casually.

"oh um, well it's not really about the mora for me, I mean- it is to some degree because I need to feed myself and Paimon... But i also sometimes just take jobs because people are in need." You explain. Pantalone gives you a curious glance, expecting you to elaborate further.

"People in need? How so?" He questions.

"Well, I mean, look at everything going on. Inazuma just opened its borders, Liyue is now governed by humans, Sumeru lost the Akasha terminal and freed Lesser Lord Kusanali... The world is changing and with it, the situations of people change with it." You explain, unsure of how to really say that you just want to make a difference as you search for your sibling.

"Hm... I see, if only everyone thought that way," He started, "Baizhu and I grew up on the... Less fortunate side of the coin toss... Especially when Baizhu's Illness began to surface... Not many wanted to help us," He says as he gazes around, "And yet, even now, he still insists on working himself day in and day out for the sake of others before himself... I guess this need he has to help others from their illnesses stemmed from when mother and father..." He trails off, thinking to himself.

You could immediately tell that the conversation was getting a bit somber just by his expression.

"Hey um, listen, I don't really know you that well and I don't really want to be told anything that Baizhu himself hasn't said." You explain awkwardly. "I don't want him to think I'm trying to snoop into any personal details about his life, he's my friend and I want to respect that."

Pantalone nods, "I guess that makes sense, I guess since Baizhu has detailed so much about you to me through letters that it almost feels like we know one another personally..." He clears his throat after a moment, "As his friend of course."

You nod to yourself as you continue to search. Your eyes scan the ground and brush for any signs of the bags. Eventually, you find items and papers tossed aside, clearly having been discarded by something or someone. You follow the trail, picking up papers, ink bottles, and other equipment as you go. When you believe you've found the end of the trail you decide to draw your sword just in case, you expect to find an animal or a hilichurl... However, you're stopped dead in your tracks at what had actually ransacked the historian's bag.

Please don't repost my work anywhere else ;w; I plan to post this to AO3 once I update it entirely. I'm not sure how many parts there will be.

#Baizhu x reader #gn reader #traveler!reader #reader is traveler #resder self insert #genshin impact x reader #melodic musings post <3 #genshin impact #sibling rivalry | blog tag

[decolonize-the-left]

Lol. lmao even.

Thank you so much for proving my point.

Like forgive my "holier than thou" and "fake leftist" attitude about it but I think if you want change you have to take risks, risks that upset the status quo. Like voting 3rd party, especially when nobody (including historically blue labor unions and states) wants Biden to be president.

If there's a chance to change things for the better then leftists and progressives take that opportunity. Every time. If you don't take that opportunity then you aren't even a progressive, let alone a leftist ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Conservatives are called conservatives cuz they don't want things to change. You know why? Progress always threatens privilege and their privilege is something conservatives care about maintaining. "Things are fine the way they are, not perfect but be reasonable."

Also since you asked about my praxis; The last 4 years I have: protested/taken tear gas to the face across the entire PNW, organized for BLM, helped create a police alternative in my area so people don't have to call the cops, built mutual aid networks that cross state borders, and then I caught COVID the first time. At which point I became too disabled to keep doing the same level of praxis. So then I spent a Lot of time at the doctor trying to get my new COVID-caused chronic illnesses diagnosed. I couldn't handle activity like that anymore so I shifted gears to accommodate my body. I changed my passively political Tumblr to be my main source of outreach for radicalizing that would double as a political resource for leftist newbies.

Additionally, I've posted about this before and even showed y'all my ballot but I live in Nazi Territory. There is nobody who runs for any office here that isn't a Republican or libertarian and most of the time they're unopposed, too. I regularly don't vote because I don't have anyone to vote for, let alone have a 3rd party candidate to support.

"decolonize your own nationality privilege"

I'm literally Ojibwe, first off. Secondly, you think decolonizing the USA looks like re-electing a colonizer actively commiting genocide? l m a o

Like I said....people like this are closer to being conservative centrists than any kind of leftist. There's No Way someone who supports liberty and self determination would vote for Biden when there are other options ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ and if I did NOT call out this clearly co-optive behavior then I would Not be decolonize the left.

Centrists and conservatives will not be allowed to water down leftist beliefs as long as this blog is here.

I literally came here to be holier than thou and judgey and to hold leftists to a higher standard after I shared so many online spaces with leftists who did Not support Landback, hated IDPOL, and thought class reductionism would lead to a revolution.

So if my posts strike a nerve: good, tbh

Ps;

"real leftism is when you vote for capitalist genocidal Democrats to maintain the peaceful status quo and if you disagree you're a privileged liberal" and "how come you as a famous Tumblr blogger haven't materially affected our elections the last 4 years???" are takes I'd be embarrassed to say out loud so I've hidden your URL, lmfaoooooo

Pps:

You could open any of the books I've suggested on race or colonialism or imperialism or native history :) or join one of the unions I've posted about. Watch one of the videos about building mutual aid networks. You could even learn about presidential candidates on my page. And if you think you can do a better job than me then do it. I'm literally begging.

Or yeah, I guess you could keep doing whatever this is *gestures to the post* instead.

That's obviously very useful.

#not to be mentally ill on main but why do people ALWAYS assume im just preachy??? #i went to the PDX BLM protest after ppl said i didnt have enoughy IRL experience to be a “real” leftist #i hate being dismissed lmfao yall have no idea the things Ive learned and done out of spite to “earn” my voice #so yeah nobody can tell me shit cuz i stay on top of business and thats why i act holier than thou in my posts #its just so aggravating to be literally fucking disabled and VISIBLY doing more work than “allies” who just make posts like this #“why isn't decol radicalizing more people or being useful” thats called a projection worstie #the real question is how have you followed me this long and STILL believe voting for Joe is a decolonial action.... #unless you haven't actually internalized any of the free education and resources on my blog #rant #vent

[psychhound]

How to Survive a Haunting now launched on Kickstarter! Running 3/2/23 to 3/31/23!!

ID in Alt

In How to Survive a Haunting, you play as Stranger, an entity plagued by ghosts who try to possess you, and take over your home and your life. Luckily, you have come across a mysterious old journal, written by a man only referred to as The Journalkeeper. He has spent his life studying ghosts, and made it his mission to record everything he knew about how to defend yourself from them, and how to tame them

On the journey to taming your ghosts, you will represent your accomplishments through tokens, keep a magical deck of cards that help you ward off unearthly possessions, and log your adventure in a journal. The Journalkeeper will walk you through each stage of this process, and teach you how to customize the game to fit your specific needs

Haunting is a gamified mental health aid, designed to help people learn more about how their body works, adopt a challenge mindset, and achieve post-traumatic growth. It is designed with a light horror aesthetic (though no actual scares in the game) to meet people in the mental space that they’re at, and not make light of extremely difficult circumstances. It is geared towards the recovery of those with trauma and (c)PTSD

artwork by @prose-n-scripts

Haunting was inspired by my own journey of recovery and exploration with gamification and tabletop roleplaying games as I struggled for years with PTSD, dysphoria, mental health issues, and more. Games were a safe space for me, and allowed me to grow and heal more than almost anything else. With games, I was able to put the power of recover into my own hands, go at my own pace, and focus on what was important to me

I wanted to create Haunting to help all the people who may find traditional therapy unhelpful, intimidating, inaccessible, or unsafe. Or for others who find therapy helpful but need more structure and guidance outside of sessions. Haunting explores many different ways to help your brain and your body, explains the science and psychology behind its advice in cited research, and never breaks character as a helpful old man giving advice on ghosts

It is geared entirely around building self-efficacy, building resilience, and achieving post-traumatic growth

The funding goal is $3500. This original goal funds for consultant Hayley Twyman Brack, a therapist and avid gamer, to go over the game and make sure everything is cited from the latest peer-reviewed research, and make sure all the psychology advice is up to date on the latest therapeutic practices

I am pulling the knowledge in this game both from my own recovery journey, and my last two years as a social worker working with a large variety of clients with disability and mental health challenges

If we can reach a little further than our original goal, the game will be fully illustrated by wonderful artist Vicky @prose-n-scripts

Please check out the Kickstarter page to learn more and spread the word to anyone who may be interested! I believe in the power of the TTRPG community to make this happen! Thank you everyone!!

#ttrpg #indie ttrpg #mental health #trauma #ptsd #ptsd survivor #gamification

[ask-the-critters-survival-au]

Static dances out from the speaker of the monitor... which is probably power by magic now that you think about it-

"I am sorry children... Picky does not seem willing to listen... It hurts me to think she still considers Dogday to have abandoned you all- especially because it was her own words that confirmed my knowledge of where he is. She seems so... scared to believe what I have said. So quit to curl her ears and ignore it. So quick to turn her emotions into rage... I feel like forcing her to confront that truth may break her."

"I hope you have a plan children. One that does not involve making a deal that could permanently disable you or make this situation even worse. As Hoppy explained the rules behind our contracts? I hope so- if only for you not to fall victims to one of my fellows suggesting a deal that will do more harm then good."

"I have been hard at work devising a way to create a deal that could help you all without harming you or making the situation worse... and I believe I have finally found it. I am to assume that much of the food you all have is food either to rotten to eat or stuff your bodies cannot consume? Picky has told us of your carnivore diets... which does not make sense do to what was used to make you. Studying of that strange issue must be dealt with later."

"Using the rules established- it should be possible for you to use the rule of equivalent exchange to turn that rotten and uneatable food into something you can eat. Again, it perplexes me that none of you can eat other things- Ah sorry, Lost in my thoughts again. I will warn you now that you may end up with an amount of food a small bit less then what you use for the deal- but that should be made up for in spades by the meat sent back being cooked- allowing your bodies to absorb much more of the nutrients then simple raw meat."

"As of the recording of this message... Crafty has only been revealed to me. For the sake of future proofing I have also prepared a deal for her as well. I am not sure of the nature of her episodes of madness... all I do know is that she may freak out at no having anything to paint with- and even that is faulty knowledge. So, with this extra deal, it should be simple to change any spare art supplies you have around into another color. In the case you don't have any... I will attempt to devise a safe deal for that for out next contact."

"All you must do is gather the proper items listed for the magics to consume and warp and accept the deal as per our rules. I hope this can help you all moving forward. I got suggest rationing what you can and eating slowly, as flooding the body with nutrients during starvation can cause a multitude of issues. Perhaps getting you all glass jars to preserve the food is in order. I'll attempt to keep the spell work up so you may continue to do this at any time... but magic can be finicky."

"Maybe making this deal to Picky in return for stopping her pursuit would work, but I am still unsure any magic can be done away from the monitor. What are your thoughts on this Children?"

"I will also look into this issue of you not being able to eat food stuff other then meat- that should not be so yet it is... what has Playtime done this time- How would one warp the human stomach that way? Possibly an inhibiter to the brain? or possibly an certain change in the enzymes your bodies produce?- Ah sorry- Rambling once again. Talk to you all soon. Please- Be safe."

(Heh- Magic time : ), Hopefully everything here makes sense and seems fair to you mod. No need to have our beloved stars starve no? Of course if not that is always alright! I simply wish to fulfill my promise of doing all I can to aid these young souls! Hope you have a great day!)

YES YES! FOOD! IM SOOO TIRED OF EATING ROTTEN FLESH! WE ARE SO TAKING THAT DEAL.

I’m not surprised about Picky. She’s…always been a little ignorant.

She’d still hunt me down even if she got that deal. Me and her...have history.

And Crafty not having paint isn’t exactly the problem. She doesn’t have hands to paint with anymore.

You can thank CatNap for that.

[Mod note: I hope you have a good day as well! I love getting your asks :)]

#ask blog #poppy playtime #poppy playtime chapter 3 #ask the critters #smiling critters #poppy playtime au #ask the smiling critters #hoppy hopscotch #hoppy hopscotch poppy playtime #bobby bearhug #bobby bearhug poppy playtime #craftycorn poppy playtime #craftycorn #mod note

[texas-chainsaw-fanworks]

Upcoming Event for the TCM fandom!

After the success of the Texas Chainsaw Massacre Fanworks event back in December, this blog has been relaunched for a new upcoming event!

For one week in July, there will be a corresponding series of prompts and themes relating to disability and disabled characters in The Texas Chainsaw Massacre 1, 2, and the game. However, as long as disability is the primary focus of the piece, there is no requirement that these prompts must be followed.

By piece, this means that all kinds of fan content are accepted. Fics, art, writing, playlists, covers, edits, moodboards, and so on. Anything you can dream of. I simply ask that no AI generation is used in the process of the creation.

Then, when it’s time to post, participants just use the event hastags! #tcmfanevent AND #tcmdisabilityweek

Additionally, dark and disturbing content will be allowed due to the nature of canon, but with limitations. My harsh limitation is that no proship pairings be featured. This means absolutely no family x family or adult x minor ships. In the case of past trauma or references to unwanted events like these, I ask that the piece be tagged and adorned with warnings accordingly.

If a participant has any questions on limitations or otherwise, this blog is open for messaging and inbox submissions, as well as the moderators own blog @charleslee-valentine. I will answer from any of those places if questions arise.

Finally, I want to clarify that this event is neutral on disability. I am disabled myself and find joy in my life in different ways because of it. Please do not use this event as an opportunity to bash a disabled identity. This is a celebration of the canonically disabled characters in universe first and foremost, like Bubba, the Sawyer twins, and Franklin. Personal frustration, ableism, and difficulty are obviously allowed, and the content doesn’t have to be all sunshine and rainbows, as long as the line into intense and unresolved self-hatred isn’t crossed.

Again, if this leads to any questions, please just let me know.

Onto Prompts! The image below has a least for ease of saving, and there is also a text version down below.

The Texas Chainsaw Massacre Disability Pride Event Prompt List

Day 1- Alternate Communication

• Bubba Sawyer is nonverbal. What other ways might they speak with their family?

Day 2- Weird Lookin’

• Nubbins Sawyer stims and plays freely, but faces ableism. Feature his relationship to disability in this piece.

Day 3- ‘Nam Flashback

• Chop Top Sawyer has PTSD and head trauma. Explore his experience with disability.

Day 4- Gonna Be A Fun Trip

• Franklin Hardesty is a paraplegic wheelchair user. Highlight mobility aids for him.

Day 5- Victims

• Stretch, Sally, Franklin; How might TCM victims be disabled after their time with the Sawyers? Remember the Sawyers themselves may also be victims in the right context.

Day 6- Underestimated

• Times when a disabled character wasn’t taken seriously.

Day 7- Headcanon Disability

• Your favorite headcanon/interpretation for TCM character disabilities.

_____

The reason this event is limited to TCM 1 (1974) and TCM part 2 (1986) and the 2023 game is for ease of moderation, since these are the only TCM media I, the event runner, am familiar with.

With that said, I hope you’re all as excited as I am for this event during disability pride month! See you July 1st-7th!! No sign-ups required! Just create and post if you’re interested!!

#tcm #tcm 1974 #the texas chainsaw massacre #tcm 2 #the texas chainsaw massacre part 2 #tcm game #tcmfanevent #tcmdisabilityweek #tcm fanfic #tcm fanart #bubba sawyer #nubbins sawyer #chop top sawyer #franklin hardesty #drayton sawyer #sally hardesty #stretch tcm2 #vanita stretch brock