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er-cryptid · 1 year
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b-blushes · 2 months
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also i am going to the dr tomorrow so please can you send some spare good vibes my way if you have them thank you
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dayurno · 2 months
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i just saw a post about andrew and his meds and how he was probably misdiagnosed for depression but he’s actually bipolar which made him manic all the time bc of his meds and!!!! yes to me andrew has always been bipolar. anyways i just had to share this with someone what are you thoughts on bipolar andrew? i know this isn’t kevin related and for that i’m sorry
"i know this isn’t kevin related and for that i’m sorry" HRGJLDHFGDFJG KDFJG FUNNY....!!!! i do answer non-kevin related asks sometimes but the flesh and the spirit must be willing... i'd say it's occasional like an expert briefly commenting on another expert's field
i thought bipolar andrew was canon? isn't it? i've never really had any extensive thoughts about it; to me it was just a fact of the world like the foxes are orange and kevin is beautiful..... well. regardless. i think it's a good hc if that's what it is :) i'm not all that interested in diagnosing aftg characters with personality disorders and i think a diagnosis of something is not always a concrete reality of life and more so a guideline to follow to deal with a specific cluster of symptoms, but as far as they go, andrew being bipolar makes a lot of sense!
i have a friend who went through the foster system when they were younger and a few years ago i do remember we were talking about andrew and they said a lot of how he was written was taken textbook from a 'how to foster troubled children' manual, which i think is most of what i think about re: andrew's mental health. to me it is more interesting (fiction wise!) to think about the material conditions that caused him to develop the symptoms he did, and less so about the ultimate conclusion of them. does this make sense?
tl;dr: i thought andrew being bipolar was already canon, if it's a hc then it's cool :=)
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daughterofsarenrae · 3 months
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Do u ever have those days where u like. Look back at ur life and ur just like. U know im really happy with my character growth arc
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emptyemptycorners · 11 months
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been kind of feeling like an empty husk lately. and tonight i was remembering that time my stepdad told me i needed to "spend some time with (myself) and develop a personality". i remember being so enraged when he said that, as if i haven't spent my entire life mostly alone, being my only friend. as if its not that he refuses to make the effort to actually get to know me, no, i just don't have a personality at all. tbh, it really makes me wonder what in the world he even thinks about me condidering that at the time he said that he had been married to my mom for several years... i forget how long but probably like 5 years? like....
but i mean i don't really understand how well either of my sets of parents know me, including my mom actually. i do think my mom knows me better than any of my other parents but i think my brother knows me more than my mom, especially right now. in fact i almost wonder if my mom knows less of me now not even only because of ways i've changed but because she stopped caring...
#personal#journaling#ngl posting this shit to tumblr feels safer/more helpful than posting to an electronic journal app#i was trying to use my symptom tracker bc it has a mood/notes section but#i've been feeling so overwhelmed lately thatni just delete the notifications#and havent filled it out in weeks#its just so much to fill out. all my food all my symptoms and at what time and how much sleep#and i never feel like i can look back and actually understand anything about the trends#it all feels random#and there's categories i just stopped using altogether#bc it would try and tell me being at home makes me feel worse than being out and about and its like...#yeah ... maybe bc i only leave the house when im feeling good? maybe bc im home 98% of the time anyway????#like thanks but thats not helpful lmao#its literally easier for me to just notice if i ate something new and pay attention to any new symptoms#like if diet has literally any affect on my joints i prob will never know bc its too long term#but i'll know if my stomach is sick and i had something new that day#although sometimes i'll repeat the same meal and get different results#like tell me why i had miso + tofu and a new ice cream later in the night and needed stomach meds#but then the next day i had miso for breakfast instead and ice cream in the evening to make sure which one it was#and i didnt have any symptoms at all ...#like lol so what was it then bc thats all i had eaten the first day besides cereal for breakfast 😭😭😭#my body is just random. it decides at random how im going to feel and i cant find a pattern even using an app so#it just feels pointless#anyway so since i've not been tracking my symptoms i havent used a journal app in a while now#but like. im nervous about journal apps tracking me and potentially getting me in trouble???#im sure my logic is super flawed bc surely my tumblr would be just as unsafe but idk#like im afraid of expressing my full opinion on religion and politics for some reason ... lol#but yet on this super public and vaguely anonymous platform i have no issue make it make sense 😂😭😂#maybe i also wish for someone to listen but that feels rude and also selfish so idk#feel free to block the personal tag in which i post this shit
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trollslimes · 11 months
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I can't fucking concentrate and this is all due on Tuesday... hlep
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straight4joekeery · 1 year
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I know I say I love you guys but you don’t know how much I mean it. These random people compliment me and I’m over here blushing like a 6 yo who’s crush just brought them a Barbie dream house. Anyways yeah basically if you compliment my work I automatically have a big fat crush on you and swoon every time I see your name.
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neverendingford · 1 month
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#tag talk#just realized the intense depression and associated anger issues and intrusive violent thoughts are prolly related to the Lamictal I starte#I was like “I don't think I need this don't think it'll help but I'll try it for science” because I'll try anything once#and uhhh. I went to go to bed and realized there was a bowl with food tucked into my bed covers.#laundry all over is one thing. that's kind of normal. but food in my bed is massive warning bells so I was like uh oh that's real depressio#so anyway i messaged my dr like hey I think these meds are making me feel so fucking lethargic and despondent and also I want to kill peopl#because I would just stop taking them but I'm willing to see what she thinks.#also my current psychiatrist is really great and I like her a lot idk if I already talked about her but she's really cool.#the first one I got was an absolute dick and was passive aggressive towards me and also straight up lied in her notes about me?#said that I had said I'm not sexually active and like. bitch where did I ever say that ever that's literally untrue and you wrote it down.#like. I don't think medical professionals are supposed to lie about you actually that's kind of a big problem#also she was like “I'm not seeing adhd here at all” and wanted to do a full on adhd diagnosis before trying any meds for it#whereas my new person was just like “oh you don't have to talk about being adhd it's pretty obvious to me” and I was like kissing you kissi#ng you kissing you kissing you kissing y#but yeah. I don't think I want to keep taking these meds and I think I'm just gonna take the meds I have to today not the short term ones#some days I just don't need my adhd meds or I would rather feel my normal relatively unproductive self.#still gonna take the ssri and estrogen obvs cause those need to keep up levels in my body and also duh I wanna keep my E levels up#but the others nah my body is super sensitive to meds (or any substances tbh) so I need a break from them today I feel really unbalanced#I did have my gf deadass ask me “should I be worried?” when I mentioned the violent intrusive thoughts and I was like no no no no it's fine#because like. I've never genuinely hurt someone fully impulsively like that. it's all thoughts it's all in the head#I'm not gonna kidnap and murder and dissect anyone it's just theoretical situations my brain likes to fuck me up with.#but it does kinda suck to have people around you inherently mistrust you because of how your brain works.#my brother told me a while back that he locks his door at night because he's worried about me and you do know how fucking hurtful that is?#the person you trust enough to move out and move in with is afraid of you enough to lock their door at night.#not like that would stop me if I genuinely did try to hurt him obviously. interior door locks are a joke.#but like... that someone would hear you talk about intrusive thoughts and genuinely think you capable of them to some extent.#idk that hurts a lot.#I wish I weren't like this.
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fuyuluvr · 3 months
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stay with me
synopsis: wherein you were forced to take care of your hungover ex.
warnings: rindou is vulnerable, give him a hug, he is also hungover
wc: 2.6k
notes: had this thought in my head for a while so here we are,, also special thanks to sky for proofreading mwa mwa !
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“the answer is no, ran.“ you say as you pull the phone away from your ear for a second to adjust your hair. 
“(y/n), come on. don’t make me beg.” ran scoffs out as he attempts to convince you once more. 
“no, ran. he had it coming with all the alcohol he drinks. it’s a miracle it only happened now.” 
“it’s not so much of a miracle because i can’t take the day off to take care of him. the club is meeting its investors today and it’s already bad enough we both can’t go.” you make a sound of indignance. “and how is this my problem? your otouto hasn’t been my problem since a month ago, ran. don’t start with me.” 
you hear ran sigh from the phone. “(y/n), please just come over here and take care of him. i’ll buy you anything you want for the next month.” ran tries to bargain. you roll your eyes, knowing ran couldn’t see you. “a year.” 
“a ye–?! fine. just get over here.” you made a noise of complaint, not expecting him to agree so easily to your terms. 
“fine.”
to say that you had an unpleasant expression on your face would be an understatement. ran opens the door with a teasing smile as he gestures for you to come in. 
“i got him to go to sleep, but do keep note of the bucket beside his bed, make sure he has a bucket near him every time because i don’t know how frequently he’ll throw up. also his meds are—” “by the medicine cabinet of his room. yes, ran. i know. just go.” you sighed.
“the sooner you seal the deal with those investors, the sooner i can leave.” you say under your breath, ran bites back a laugh before he shakes his head and turns around, leaving the apartment and his little brother in your capable hands. 
a groan leaves your lips as you fall back onto their couch, arm automatically covering your eyes as you block the lights of the living room from your vision. 
it took you at least 10 minutes of mentally complaining before you stood up and went to their kitchen, rummaging around for their utensils so that you could fix something to eat.  
stupid ran. stupid rindou, stupid fucking haitanis. stupi–
“aniki?” 
‘...do i look like an aniki?!’ you think to yourself as you rolled your eyes, saying nothing as you hear rindou’s footsteps recede from the staircase, it sounded sluggish, and you just knew that rindou was staggering over himself just to get through the stairs. 
fucking hell. you think to yourself as you made yourself in view, rindou looked at you with half-lidded eyes that turned into a glare. “who are you and what’re you doing in my house?” 
you blinked, jaw falling open, not knowing how to respond to the seemingly still drunk rindou. 
“i, -uh…” rindou shakes his head, but he seems to regret that as he hisses and holds his head. 
“i think you should go back to bed.” you say, not wanting to converse with him further. 
“i didn’t ask.” rindou retorted before another groan left his lips. “shit. my head…” as much as watching your ex struggle was an entertaining sight, you knew that with the way he was shakily holding onto the railing of the stairs, it was just an accident waiting to happen. 
with a sigh, you walked over to him, flinching at the way he dodges your touch. “i have a girlfriend.” he glared at you and you could feel your heart drop. 
of course he has a new girlfriend. to you, moving on was the hardest thing you could ever have done, but you can’t say the same for him. so many women are falling in line for him even when the both of you were dating, maybe your breakup wasn’t a big deal to him as it was for you. 
“rin–” “only (y/n) can touch me, so fuck off.” he hissed, slurring his words as staggered a bit, foot slipping from one of the stairs. 
“rindou!” your arm shoots up to stabilize him as you help him regain his footing. 
“let go of me… only (y/n) can… t-touch me…” he slurs out, his vision bleary as he tried blinking it out. 
rindou has no idea how much he drank. a bottle? two? five? how did he even get home? well, ran obviously drove him home but how? things aren’t making sense in his drunken mind. he feels as if he’s floating and that he’s in some type of alternate universe, because how is he seeing you despite breaking up with you for a month. 
“it’s me, rindou.” you say, rindou squints, trying to make your face out with the cloudiness in his vision, his body feels like it was under control as it recognizes your voice, he fell into a state of semi-consciousness, where he can still hear you but it feels like he was paralyzed. 
“for fuck’s sake, rindou.” he hears you curse him out as you take his arm over your shoulder, doing your best to drag his tall and heavy body back to his bedroom. 
he vaguely remembers walking alongside you, somewhat helping in transporting his body. but he was too drunk to acknowledge it. 
the younger haitani feels his body flopping down the soft plush of the bed, your arm being squished under his weight. 
“rindou, move.” you say as you try to take your hand out. rindou indeed moves, but not in the way you wanted. his arm shoots up to yours, a shriek escaping your lips as you were pulled beside him. 
“stay.” rindou mutters, his arms encasing you in his hold. you cringe slightly as his breath smelled of the bottle of whiskey he probably finished, but you lied still, a few seconds passed and you began to smell his cologne, he smelled like himself, like home. 
you shook your head at the thought, knowing that this was wrong. the two of you were broken up, you shouldn’t be melting in his arms, but what could you do? it’s not as if you could push him off, — you could, but the real question is, if you wanted to. 
you should push him off, you know you should, but you’d be lying to the entire world and to yourself if you say you didn’t miss him. 
“rindou…” you say, hand already on his arm, prepared to push him away and leave him alone in his room, but it was as if he could feel what was approaching as he tightened his hold on you. 
“please stay…” his voice was quiet, clear. as if he weren’t shitfaced, he tries to convey what he feels as he breathes in the scent of the shampoo you always used. he finds himself unconsciously burying his face onto your head. eyes falling into a close as your presence lulls him into a sleep he so desperately needed. 
you lie still, feeling stiff as rindou’s heavy arms trap you against his chest, you can hear his snores leave his mouth, he unconsciously pulls you tighter, fearing that if he lets down his guard a little bit, you would disappear from his touch. 
just this once. you say to yourself as you succumb into his arms, closing your eyes and finding yourself unconscious. 
rindou wakes up alarmed. he jolts slightly as he realizes that he has his arms wrapped around someone. he blinks his violet eyes confusedly as he tries to make sense of his surroundings. 
the younger haitani’s jaw drops as he inhaled the scent of your perfume, the scent that he craved to smell for the past month. he musters up the courage to look at his side, eyes widening once he confirms that the person sleeping next to him was you.
rindou was at a loss. he didn’t know how this happened, why this happened, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t like that it happened. he sighs, pulling you closer as his stare burns at the back of your head, trying to memorize how many strands of hair you had because he was sure that things wouldn’t be the same once you woke up. 
sleep for a little more. let me enjoy this longer. rindou thinks as his hand reaches up to yours, tracing every fingertip and knuckle. 
all good things must come to an end, rindou realizes that a bit too soon as he feels your hand twitch in his hold. 
“rindou?” you sleepily asked. rindou hitches his breath before immediately deepening it, as if it were breaths he took while asleep. 
“i know you’re not asleep.” you say, you bit back a fond smile as his arms freeze over your frame. you turned, looking directly at his widened violet eyes, letting out a soft smile. 
“hey.” you say, voice above a whisper. 
“hey.” rindou says back, cringing as his voice cracks under the pressure he was feeling at the moment. 
“you reek of booze.” you say as you crinkle your nose in disgust. rindou panics, not wanting to let go of you but also wanting to bolt up and brush his teeth. the headache he was feeling a little while ago dissipated, he now realizes that he was not dreaming and you were in fact in his arms. 
“s-sorry.” he says, still staring into your eyes. 
you felt overwhelmed under his stare, it was an effect he had over you and you didn’t know if he knew or not. you cleared your throat. 
“so uh… can you let me go now?” you ask, rindou shakes his head. 
“no.” 
“okay then.”
silence. 
three minutes and 48 seconds of silence passed, him just staring at your face, trying to remember your features and you looking away from his gaze. 
“you should let go of me now.”
“no.” “why?”
“i’m scared if i let go, this will be the last time i hold you.” rindou admits. you sighed, looking down, eyes tracing the half tattoo that ran at the expanse of his chest. 
“rindou…” you start. “we’ve broken up… it was mutual.” 
“no, it wasn’t.” rindou responded quickly, “i only agreed because it seemed like you were decided.” 
“then why didn’t you fight for us?” you say, voice sounding unusually small. rindou looked at you with regret, “i didn’t think you wanted anything to do with me. i thought you had enough.” 
“rindou… i just wanted to see that you cared.” you didn’t know what to say, neither did he as the two of you basked in the silence. 
a few more minutes passed before you decided that lying down was enough. rindou panicked, sitting up when you do and immediately hissing at the hangover that made its appearance. 
“please don’t leave.” rindou says, begs as he looks at your figure that was getting up from his bed. 
you looked at him, brows furrowed as if you were contemplating on something. 
“i’ll change. i promise.” rindou says, “i’ll lessen my drinking, i’ll spend more time with you, i’m sorry i made you feel unimportant, i swear i’ll love you more than i ever did, just please don’t leave me again.” his voice wobbles and your eyes widen. from the start of your relationship with him, he’s never shown any sign of weakness. so to see him on the verge of breaking down was something so new. so raw, that you couldn’t believe what you were seeing. 
“the past month has been hell without you, i… i didn’t know what else to do so i drank myself to the brink of death.” rindou looks down, “i can’t count the times aniki and sanzu had to haul my ass back to the apartment because i blacked out.”
“whenever i black out, i keep imagining that it was you taking care of me, so when i woke up and saw you in my arms, i couldn’t believe it.”
“rindou…” “(y/n), please. don’t lie to me. i know you still love me too. if you didn’t, you wouldn’t be here.” he was right. you knew to yourself that you’d be lying if you said you no longer loved him. but you didn’t know. 
you didn’t know if this was just your emotions taking over your rational mind but you find yourself nodding. 
“i do… still love you.” you murmured, knowing that it was pointless to lie, knowing that rindou can read you like his favorite book. 
“then… please stay with me.” rindou says, hand reaching for yours, only for you to pull back away. 
“you should go back to bed, rindou.” you say, standing up and walking out of his room. 
rindou could feel his heart beat uncomfortably on his chest as he tried to stomach what just happened. 
did you just… leave? 
rindou again, was at a loss. he feels like was delusional, like he imagined the entire conversation because how did he just have a full on heart to heart conversation with you, and now, you were just gone. 
he clutches his aching head, feeling his headache come back as he groans, believing that he just imagined that moment with you. 
he jolts when he feels a wet rag on his forehead, his head tilts up and he sees your concerned eyes staring back at him. 
“i didn’t want to tell you, but you also reeked of sweat so… wipe yourself off.” you gave him a teasing smile, rindou’s jaw drops as you sit down on his bed. 
“i know that we didn’t end on… favorable terms. or at least, what i thought was a mutual break up.” you say, looking at the wall. 
“but i can’t lie, i missed you so much.” you finally looked at him, your eyes showcasing the feelings you hid. “there were times i picked up my phone and almost messaged you, but i knew that i had no right to ask how you were doing, because i was the one who broke up with you.” you continue, feeling a bit remorseful. 
“i don’t know where to go from here, rin. but all i know is that i miss you and i hate seeing you blackout drunk because of me.” you finish and it was silent before you feel yourself being pulled by his strong, shirtless frame. 
“i…” rindou opens and closes his mouth, but words weren’t escaping his lips. 
“can we try again?” “what if it doesn’t work out?”
“at least we tried.” rindou says, burying his nose to your hair, pressing a soft peck at the crown of your head and you find yourself leaning into his touch. 
“i can’t let you leave here without trying to win you back.” he says, you let him hold you as you breathe in his scent. 
 a few minutes later, he feels you nod against his chest. 
“okay.” “okay?”
“let’s… try again… we’ll be better this time, right?” 
“right.” rindou promises, hands intertwining with yours as he pulls them in for a kiss. 
“okay then.” you confirm, leaning into him, your lover. feeling safe in his arms. 
“let me go, rindou. i’ll cook you some hangover soup, god knows how much you need it.” you say, trying to pull his arms away. 
“just… five more minutes.” he says, “don’t wanna let go just yet.”
with a playful sigh, you smiled against his skin, wrapping your arms around his. “fine. just five more minutes.”
the both of you fell asleep right after that. 
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iicarused · 2 months
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##let us adore you
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jeff the killer x reader / eyeless jack x reader / ticci toby x reader / UNEDITED
synopsis: general headcanons in which how you met them
beware: DARK THEMES / yandere traits, stalking, implied manipulation, mentions of murder &&* gore //: if there is any that i missed, please let me know !
envelope from the author: masky, hoodie, and kate chaser will be pt 2 of this:)
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JEFF THE KILLER
he met you at a convenience store, how funny. this man planned on killing the cashier, take the cash and leave a meal for his cannibal friend out back, then hop to the next town over. yet, you walked through the aisles of the store at the dark of the night. do you know what kind of creeps are out here at this hour?
he waited for you to leave before he got the job done. you should feel relieved, you should feel like the most luckiest person in the world and it’s because he spared you.
“no, i’m staying back.” he would tell his eyeless friend. “it’s my business to know and for you to fuck off,” he’d argue. “i have a… dilemma.” jeff confessed. for someone he only caught a glimpse of, for a voice he only heard a faint whisper from, he didn’t know whether to stay just for you or to leave while he can.
you were a plague in his mind, because he searched for you. it took three days at most to finally find the dorms you stayed in, and another three to know your roommates schedule. everyone in the area was shaken from the murder, everything including you. but why?
he could not understand why you would lock your windows and double check if the door was locked. both of you lived in a secured building where security littered the grounds and constantly checked ID. jeff would know, he stole a carbon copy of himself (in terms of dressing style) just to make sure of your safety on campus.
“hey, watch it!” jeff barked at the random who sped by you. he fixed his mask and came to your aid, a gloved hand coming over yours to help you up from the grass.
“oh, they’re probably just late to class,” you breathed. “it’s fine, but thank you.”
through the thin lens of his sunglasses, jeff drank in your appearance. “they could’ve bumped you on to the curb side — it really ain’t, sweetheart.” you smell great by the way.
“but they didn’t.” you finally looked at him and smiled. “are you a med student?”
you’re so sweet. so pure, and he wanted to corrupt that. he wanted to see those pretty doe eyes flutter up at him like that again, for the sweetness behind your gaze was enough for him to melt. he wants you, no, he needs you.
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EYELESS JACK
you were a curious one, a little too curious in this scenario. a detective in a case of which you were to figure out why bodies were missing organs — or why people were waking up with soreness to their abdomen to only find a stitched up wound.
you took this case as an eager detective who wanted to solve the biggest mystery of north america — but you felt as if you just signed your life away. in the next eight victims that fell to their demise, you made notes of when and where it occurred. it would not be until a night after talking with the sheriff and little too much rum, you found something.
to your horror, the first letter of every street spelled something. two words that nearly sent you running if it weren’t for something stopping you from leaving
“found you.” his voice was a gentle whisper, and almost incoherent if it weren’t for the dead silence in the room. you dared not turn but you felt if you didn’t, it would come closer.
the pistol is on your desk and you’re ready to make a ruckus for anyone on the street to hear. “what? was this just some silly little game for you to show me you could spell?” there were only two regrets you had in your entire life.
the first regret was that you wished you never lied to your mother of who broke the plate that was on the floor. the second regret was turning around and facing a being that was too intricate for you to understand.
“i like playing with my food.” he replied before lunging at you.
you made it out alive — but at the cost of remembering how those sockets were nothing but a void. the liquid that cried on to your face when he was on top of you, and that second, you took your pen and stabbed his side. — but that encounter made you more determined than before
this case turned into a game of cat and mouse, and neither of you know who is cat or who is the mouse. chasing each other became a source of entertainment, and conversations ensued between physical fights
he never intended on killing you, oh no. you were too… fun. the chatting, the hunting each other, the thrill of it all made him go crazy. with time, maybe he can finally sink his teeth into your skin without the murder aspect. he just wants to taste you.
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TICCI TOBY
your name appeared on the file of people to “take care of.” why? he doesn’t know and quite frankly, he cannot care. you were just another name on the list that needed to be gone.
he would not lie that it took him ages to find you. the town you were supposedly at was a total flunk, and when he told the boss, he was told to figure it out. at this rate, he wanted you gone for the sake of his own sanity. yet, after a month and hopping two towns, he finally found you.
everything he had on file sprouted nothing but lies because you were a doll, quiet literally if he fixated on your skin. he watched the way you moved and the way you made it seem effortless to walk on two feet. he often tripped over his when gawking over you. your scent is just how he imagined it when he peered over your sleeping form.
you made him forget why he was in search of you in the first place. toby fantasized a lot about you: your curves, your voice, your walk, your life. he often daydreamed of it when watching from afar, especially when you went through mundane tasks such as grocery shopping. the only time he remembered why he was told to end you was when he questioned why you were such a threat.
turns out you were friends of a friend who was a foe to his boss — the eyeless man. he made it no secret when in turn he went to find jack, but he didn’t expect to meet you so soon! oh, this is way too soon, how does he look? is it okay, this setting isn’t the right place, i mean, you were supposed to be
“toby? just toby? that isn’t quiet threatening for a man like that, isn’t it?” you werent speaking towards him, but instead asking jack who snorted in return.
you were a prize on the shelf, and toby wanted to keep you behind glass doors. “listen — pal, friend — how about we make a deal.”
while jack couldn’t see it, your gaze was locked with toby’s the entire time. there was something behind them, something that you couldn’t quite place. you weren’t sure whether if it was a good or bad thing considering the work you found yourself in.
“i give you a useful warning from a boss, and i... tag a long sometimes.”
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nibbelraz · 2 months
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I read a fic recently where mu qingfang was like "sometimes if we get VERY lucky, shang-shidi knows some miracle cure" and ive thinking about that in terms of 'god sqh'. Like you mention how x disciple is gonna die of the hyperdeath dying flower and your martial brother speaks in tongues to himself for a moment before stuttering and stammering his way into a 'this might work but good luck' possible cure. Reality takes a sharp turn for half a second and then when you try it, it works. He dismisses it and himself but it keeps happening. Not always, but sometimes. Often enough to be a pattern. Is he some kind of seer? Diviner? Or just divine? He's very protective of his personal rooms so you're not going to be able to get evidence either way. He keeps a garden of poisons and cures that he supplies you with personally, anyway. You're not gonna pry. Then later when everyone is screaming crying throwing up because he betrayed the sect you interrupt his demon king? Boss? Something. To be like hold up. Shang-shidi can I have an address for any emergency letters I might have to send you. Oh and also have you got a supplier for your meds in the demon realm? Hm? Oh yes very powerful demon Lord your flustered servant takes anti anxiety medicine. Yes it's a mix of herbs that forces him to be in less of a state- yes he gets worse than this. Shang-shidi don't whine I've seen you off your meds I KNOW you get stomach aches from anxiety so bad you can't work. Yes the 'category 5 tummy event' is not a secret. We know about them shang-shidi.
The category 5 tummy event he's so me 😭
The idea of Mu Qingfang just knowing that yeah Shang-Shidi most often then not probably has the cure to this Very deadly disease and doesn't bat an eye he's just like well as long as they live I GUESS.
Also the person with the balls to go staring up at this incredibly cold and dangerous demon with a straight face to tell Qinghua to take his meds
Mobei would definitely listen and take notes
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er-cryptid · 10 months
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copperbadge · 29 days
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So the ADHD Handbook post struck a chord with a lot of people...
I don't think I have it in me to write the book I suggested, mainly because most of what I want to write about is variable by situation. I can't actually offer a magic formula for getting a good assessment, all I would be able to do is say "Here are the warning signs, here's my personal story, shit's just rough". Which I could do but it'd be basically an entire book of "shrug emoji". The best possible way would probably be to offer it as a workbook, like "Here is a page for you to record every communication with the clinic doing your testing. Here is a page for you to write down possible other approaches to getting your medication if the pharmacy is out." etc.
I do think I might write it as a novel of some kind. Possibly even a novel about someone writing a handbook, I haven't decided. I had a dream last night about the book, in which I saw a woman watching a revolution taking place in the distance, thinking, "This is not what I intended when I set out to write a self-help book." Baller way to start a novel, honestly.
Anyway there were several suggestions for books in the notes, so I thought I'd compile those here. I have read none of these, so I can't vouch for their contents, but I'm including what my readers said about them.
@blogquantumreality linked to How To ADHD by Jessica McCabe, who is a well-known ADHD youtuber (I haven't found her videos super helpful but they're also not aimed at me). @knitsinweirdplaces added "The last section of the How to ADHD book is literally called 'how to change the world' and exactly points out we can advocate for a more disability friendly world that traumatizes ADHDer less in the first place. It's the only book I've read that hits the balance of 'your brain has immutable challenges' and 'these strats may help' right. Bonus, it is inclusive of people who use adhd meds and those who don't/can't."
@theindefinitearticle mentioned "I read how to keep house while drowning recently and it's been much more practical for me in terms of actual usable advice." This book has also come up numerous times during National Clean Your Home Month as a helpful guide to cleaning.
@buginateacup said "The year I met my brain is the only one I've read that actually felt like it was making useful suggestions for living with ADHD."
@cabloom said "iampayingattention on Instagram wrote How Not To Fit In."
@grison-in-space said "Do you have any idea how over the top excited I was when I found I Overcame My Autism and All I Got Was This Lousy Anxiety Disorder?"
@doubleminorforroughing wrote "Please read Devon Price. He wants to tear it all down and I love it." I will add that I don't think I've read Laziness Does Not Exist but I have read Price's shortform work extensively and I think he's been very influential in rethinking how we frame laziness and productivity in relation to both work and neurodivergence, so I can second the recommendation.
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corroded-hellfire · 10 months
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Good Girl - Eddie Munson x Reader
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Collaboration with the amazing and wonderful @munson-blurbs 💚
Summary: When Eddie reminds you to take your antidepressants, little does he know that he’s stumbling onto one of your favorite kinks.
Note: This is a reminder to take your medicine if you haven’t today. Make Eddie proud.
Warnings: smut, p in v, unprotected (wrap it up), praise kink, corruption kink, allusion to daddy kink, prescribed use of antidepressants
Words: 2.7k
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“You’re seriously trying to tell me that Steven Tyler is better than James Hetfield?” Eddie gawks at you with a disbelieving shake of his head, turning off your Aerosmith cassette in protest. 
“I didn’t say that; I said that he has a wider vocal range. Which is factual,” you retort, snapping the tape back in place and cranking up the volume. 
But Eddie’s not buying it; he paces around your room and mumbles under his breath dramatically. Spotting the bright orange bottle on your dresser, he snatches it up and shakes it. “I thought these things were supposed to make your brain work better,” he teases. “Are you sure you took them today?”
It’s meant as a lighthearted joke, but his smile falters when he sees your gaze drop from where he’s putting on his little one-man show. “You did take your bye-bye sad pills today, right?”
You roll your eyes and grab the bottle from his grasp. “They’re called antidepressants,” you grumble, making no effort to hide your annoyance, “and, no; I didn’t.”
“I think my name for them makes them a little more fun,” he says as he flops onto your bed. “But why didn’t you take them?”
There’s no sense hiding anything from Eddie; he’s been your best friend for far too long and can see right through you. “I’m tired of having to rely on medication to be less sad,” you admit. “It’s, well, it’s fucking depressing.” The irony isn’t lost on you.  
Eddie sighs and lifts himself up on one elbow to look at you. “You know, people need medicine in order for their blood pressure to remain stable. Them not wanting to take the meds isn’t going to do anything except have their blood pressure levels either plummet or go through the roof.”
Tilting your head at Eddie, you shoot him an unamused glare. “My blood pressure is fine.”
“Fine,” Eddie says as he pushes himself up into a sitting position. “Go tell Wayne to stop taking his blood pressure medication because he should rely on his heart the way it is. We’ll see what happens.”
The daggers you’re shooting at Eddie only get sharper because both of you know that you can’t come up with a retort for that. When you don’t soften, not even a bit, Eddie groans and drops his head back. 
“C’mon,” he whines. “Be a good girl and take your pills.”
All of the muscles in your body seem to lock as one at the term. Heat begins to crawl its way up your body and you can only pray that it doesn’t appear on your face. 
“W-What did you just say?”
“I said,” Eddie starts, as if being annoyed he has to repeat himself, “be a good girl and—oh. Christ, does that…?”
“Shut up,” you snap with far more venom than you intended. “Give me my meds and forget it, okay?”
Eddie’s looking at you like the cat who ate the canary. The smirk on his face is becoming more self-satisfied by the second. “Oh, absolutely not, sweetheart. I just found out that my best friend in the whole world has been hiding her secret kink from me.”
“I said, drop it.” You clench your fists in a feeble attempt to ward off the humiliation. “We’re not fucking, so it’s none of your business what any of my secret kinks are.”
“Kinks? As in more than one? Oh, do go on.” He’s got a shit-eating grin on his face, but it fades when he sees your eyes welling up with the beginnings of tears. “Look, you don’t have to be embarrassed. We all have things that turn us on. Even pure, chaste, little ol’ me.”
Now that makes you laugh. “Okay, Mr. Celibacy over here…tell me one of yours. It’s only fair.”
“I think it would just have you clutching your pearls, Miss Good Girl.” He winces when you give his ankle a playful kick, but he obliges. “Fine, fine.” He puts his hands up in surrender. “I like the idea of corrupting a girl. Sweet thing getting ruined by a freak like me.”
“You don’t get enough of that shit talk from the meatheads at school?” Idiots like Jason Carver seem to have a never-ending list of insulting nicknames for him, with Freak being their go-to. 
Eddie shakes his head, frizzy brown curls brushing against his cheeks. “No, this is different. I don’t want to be called a freak. I just think the idea of a nice, innocent girl wanting me to corrupt her is hot.”
“Like…a good girl?” You’re trying to replicate his teasing tone from earlier, but it comes out more salacious. You bite your tongue, though the words have already escaped your lips. 
Eddie just chuckles, somehow oblivious to your gaffe. “All right, well played. Laugh it up so we can call it even.”
You unscrew the cap of the bottle and take a pill, washing it down with the water you keep next to your bed. “But, Eds, I took my medicine! See?” You stick out your tongue with an exaggerated aaahh. “Just like a good girl.”
Eddie’s eyes narrow; he’s not sure how to interpret the situation. To be honest, neither do you. “Don’t play this game with me,” he says, suddenly serious. “Because you get to forget all about this, while I’m stuck with blue balls for the rest of the day.”
“Sounds like you’re speaking from experience.”
He nods. “Plenty of experience.” He rubs his sweaty palm along his denim-clad thigh, his eyes never leaving your body. 
“Lucky for you, good girls don’t let their best friend walk around with blue balls, do they?” This is it. It’s now or never. You walk over to the bed and straddle his waist, pressing your hands to his chest. His heart is beating a mile a minute. 
Any semblance of self-control is gone as Eddie hisses, “They certainly fuckin’ don’t.” His lips crash against yours in a hungrily, sloppy kiss. His palms are on either side of your face as he holds you impossibly close. Whether he realizes it or not, he’s grinding up against you, creating a delicious friction between your thighs.  
Eddie wraps a strong arm around your waist and lowers you down to the mattress. Lips never leaving yours, his hands slip up the inside of your shirt, his rough calloused fingers causing goosebumps to break out along your skin. When you’re forced to break apart for air, you take the opportunity to yank your shirt off over your head and toss it somewhere on the floor. Eddie copies your motions, so when he leans back in this time, your bra is the only material between your two chests. 
“So pretty,” Eddie mumbles as his kisses move down to your jaw. One of his hands comes up to cup your breast through your black cotton bra. “Such a good girl for me.”
His words have you whining and arching your back. It forces your chest even more into Eddie’s hand, which has him smirking as he runs his nose up to your ear. He places a soft kiss there before reaching down for the button of your jeans.
“You really do like it when I call you that, huh? Tell me, baby, did you ever think about me calling you that before? Lay here at night with your hand between your legs, picturing me calling you my good little girl?”
An almost pornographic moan slips from your lips as he speaks, and you’re barely able to concentrate on lifting your hips up enough for him to pull your jeans and panties off. 
“Wanna be your good girl,” you mumble, face heating up at the admission. “Just f’you.”
“Aww, how sweet,” Eddie coos, leaning to capture your lips in another soft, slow kiss. Your hands slide down his pale chest until they rest on the handcuff buckle belt that you’ve stared at so many times, always wondering what it would be like to take it off of him. 
“Pants off, Eds,” you say.
“Excuse me?” he says against your mouth. “What was that?”
A small whine tumbles from your lips before you squeak out, “Pants off, please, Eddie.”
“Much better,” Eddie says with a wicked grin. “That’s how good girls get what they want. Take your bra off, baby. I want to see all of you.”
Reaching behind your back to unhook the garment, your eyes never leave Eddie’s form as he strips himself of his jeans and boxers. All the times you’d imagined Eddie naked in your bed…they didn’t do the real thing justice. He’s long and wider than you expected, and even more mouthwatering than you could’ve hoped for. 
“Staring, huh?” Eddie says and you can hear the smirk in his voice before you even look up to see it confirmed on his face. “I’m flattered, sweetheart.”
“‘S bigger than I imagined,” you admit shyly. “Need—I mean, can you please use your fingers first?” 
Eddie nods, running his pointer and middle fingers through your wet folds before pushing them inside you. “Aw, y’already soaked for me, baby? Barely even touched you.” He continues fingering you as he nips at your earlobe. “Y’sure you’ll be able to take my cock, pretty girl?”
The nicknames have your head spinning. “Y-yes, sir,” you choke out, whimpering when he stops moving his thick digits. 
“Well, shit,” he says with a small chuckle. “Looks like you’ve unlocked a kink I didn’t even know I had.” He looks deep into your eyes as he orders, “call me ‘sir’ again.”
“Yes, sir,” you manage, feeling his thumb making slow circles over your clit. “Anything f’you. I’m a good girl f’you, sir.”
Eddie growls as he slides down so his nose is level with your sex. “Not a good girl. You’re my good girl.” 
“Your good girl. Only yours, fuck!” You yelp loudly as he starts sucking on your swollen bud, simultaneously fucking you with his fingers. Your legs tremble, which he takes as a sign to lap at your pussy with more vigor. “R-right there, sir. Please don’t stop. Please don’t stop, sir.” You sound pathetic, but it’s working for both of you. 
You feel the pressure mounting in your core as your orgasm washes over you. “I’m cumming, holy fucking shit, I’m fucking cumming—” But just as the coil begins to snap, he pulls away from you, chin shiny with your slick. 
“What the fuck?”
“Ah ah,” Eddie chides. “Good girls wait so we can cum together.” He spits on his hard cock, fucking into his fist a few times before lining himself up with your entrance. “Y’okay?” he asks, pushing the tip in only after you give him a resounding yes. The feeling of him inside you is one of ecstasy, and you wrap your legs around his to pull him impossibly closer. No one has ever filled you the way he has; no one has ever stretched you so deliciously. 
“Eddie,” you murmur into the crook of his neck. His hands grip your hips as he buries himself within your walls. “I-I mean, sir, y’feel…fuck…feel s’good.”
“Me?” Eddie laughs incredulously as he continues thrusting into you. “No, baby. Nothing compares to how good you fuckin’ feel. Nice an’ tight, aren’t you, angel?”
The new nickname sends shivers of pleasure down your spine, and you bite your lip as you squeak out an agreement. 
“Tell me, my sweet girl,” Eddie growls, cock twitching within you, “what would your friends think if they knew the freak was balls deep in your pussy right now?”
You can only moan in response, and Eddie beams at your apparent wordlessness. 
“Fucked the words right out of you? Cute little head of yours can only think about my cock, hm?”
“Feels…feels…” You wrack your brain for any descriptors for the waves rippling through your body, but you come up empty-handed; rather, empty-headed. 
Eddie’s all-too amused by this, pistoning his hips as he beckons, “Come on; good girls use their words. How’s it feel, baby?”
“So good, Eds. Y’make me feel so good.” It’s barely two sentences, but it placates him. 
“Aw, you like the way my cock makes you feel?” A sneer crosses his face. “Like when the freak’s cock splits you open? How about when I do this?”
Before you can register his words, he’s bringing his thumb to your already overstimulated clit and rubs it while fucking you. “I know you like that, angel. Can feel you getting tighter around me. Fuck, anyone make you feel this good before?”
“N-No, just you,” you manage, another wanton moan escaping your lips. 
“Good girl, using her words f’me.” Your pussy clenches at the praise, spurring Eddie on further. “Just wanna wreck you. No one else can have you but me.”
“Only yours,” you slur in your cock drunk state. Every nerve in your body feels alive as Eddie pounds into you. Your eyes flutter closed so when Eddie leans down and flicks his tongue over one of your nipples, it surprises you. “Oh!”
“Can’t forget about these gorgeous tits, baby girl,” Eddie purrs. “They deserve some love as well.” He laves his tongue up and down the swell of your breast before sucking the nipple into his mouth. A new decibel of a whimper leaves your throat, and it has Eddie smirking around the hardened bud in his mouth. 
Your hand comes up and tangles in Eddie’s hair, fingers ever so lightly digging into his scalp as he gives your nipple a particularly harsh suck. He pulls off with a pop, hips still pounding into yours vigorously. The motion of your bodies causes your bed to shake and your headboard to bang repeatedly and obnoxiously against the wall. 
Eddie gives the same attention to your other breast, exploring the soft skin with his tongue and lips before ravishing your nipple. It only adds to the intense pressure that’s already built up in your core.
“Ed—Sir, please. I need—”
His teeth grazing your nipple has your sentence ending with a strangled gasp. 
“I know what you need, baby,” Eddie coos, leaning up to hover his face over yours. “You’ve been such a good girl for me. Letting the freak use your tight little pussy. And you enjoyed it, didn’t you, sweet thing?”
“Yes,” you whine, practically a sob. “S-Sir?”
“What is it, princess?” Eddie asks, teeth clenched as he tries to stave off his impending orgasm. 
“Want you to cum inside me.”
“Fuck,” he growls. It takes him a second to regain enough composure to be able to respond. “Yeah? That’s what my good girl wants? To have the freak’s cum deep inside of her? Want to feel it dripping out of you and down your legs? Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll fill you up nice and good.”
Eddie bucks his hips a few more times before he cums, fucking his spend up into you with primal groans. “Take it—fuck, take my cum. Jus’ like a good girl.” He doesn’t stop until he’s soft and panting, flopping onto your chest without daring to pull out. 
The two of you lay there for a moment, catching your breaths and relishing in the post-sex glow. A post-sex glow that you’re sharing with your best friend. Your best friend, Eddie Munson, just had his dick inside you while you called him ‘sir’ and he called you ‘good girl.’
“Um, Eddie?” you manage, and he lifts his head as he finally withdraws and lays down next to you. “What…what exactly did we just do?”
“Well, when two people love each other…” He starts to tease you, but his face blanches when he realizes what he’s just implied. “I mean, like, as friends…”
“Right. When two people really love each other as friends, they discover each other’s kinks and have mind-blowing sex.” 
Eddie wiggles his eyebrows. “Mind-blowing, huh? You know that flattery works with me.”
“‘M serious,” you say, trying to redirect the conversation back to your original thought. “Where do we go from here?”
He considers this, tongue poking out between his lips in contemplation. “I’m spent; you wore me out with your insatiable appetite for lust.” He chuckles as you flip him off. “So I say we take a nap, and when we wake up, we can see what other kinks we wanna explore.”
“What other kinks do you have?” You rest your head on his chest and snuggle in as he wraps a protective arm around you, kissing the top of your head. 
“That’s for me to know and you to find out,” he taunts, yawning as he says it. “Sweet dreams, angel.”
“Sweet dreams, Daddy.”
“Oh, fuck me.”
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salt-baby · 10 months
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POTS Medication Vocabulary
after about the third time a doctor prescribed a medication that made my POTS drastically worse, and about three doctors visits past giving up on being an easy patient, i started asking my doctors the following questions whenever they prescribed a new long term medication:
is this medication a hypotensive? (will this medication lower my blood pressure?)
does this medication have a risk of tachycardia? (can this medication raise my heart rate?)
is this medication a diuretic? (will this medication dehydrate me?)
can this medication cause hyponatremia? (will this medication cause my body to lose salt?)
your doctor likely doesn’t know all of this off the top of their head for every medication, but they should know the most common adverse reactions. some may simply tell you they have no clue. i still think it’s worth asking to force them to consider these mechanisms.
for additional consideration:
your pharmacist likely knows the answers to these questions better than your doctor does. 
an additional list of types of drugs which should be avoided is available here, in the table on the fourth page. (note that propranolol, a beta blocker, is often prescribed for POTS but is discouraged by this paper. as someone whose taken it, it’s worth trying to see if it will improve symptoms, but didn’t for me. Additionally, these are just guidelines, and in those with, for example, both hEDS and POTS, the benefits of opiates for pain relief may be worth the risk of worsening POTS.)
regardless of what the doctor says, I always look up the FDA info sheet before taking a medication. these can be found pretty easily on google (your med + “fda pdf”), and list most of the adverse effects. I’m happy to make a post about reading these info sheets.
there’s a reason prescribing medication is left to those with years of medical training - it’s a complicated and difficult process. but oftentimes those who do this work are so overworked and burnt out, they don’t have the ability to read someone’s entire medical file, or be aware of an adverse event that only affects those with an uncommon condition. I find asking these questions forces my doctors to think about my chronic conditions, and after so many adverse events, I always check a medication for myself before taking it. 
remember that you can and should refuse to take a medication that is making your life worse or harming you. even pediatric patients have the right to refuse a medication, and often times, I’ve found nothing other than a very firm “no, I refuse” will get a doctor to consider other options. and even though its against the norm, remember that you have the right to ask your doctor why they’ve chosen that medication for you.
as always, feel free to ask questions, they make my day!
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ladamedusoif · 1 month
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able
(Joel Miller x disabled F!Reader)
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Pairing: Joel Miller x Disabled F!Reader
Summary: "I just don't think she'll be able for patrol". But then it's just you, Joel, and your trusty walking stick in the middle of nowhere...
Content/warnings: Reader is disabled (she has rheumatoid disease/arthritis in addition to panic attacks, she uses a walking stick as necessary); Reader had a sister; Reader is an art teacher; strong violence; blood; description of panic attack; references to impact of chronic illness and disability; references to medication; references to disease and death; non-canon compliant; Jackson!Joel; strong language; ableist language and abusive language
Rating: Mature; 18+ MDNI
Word Count: ~3.7k
A/N: After making a plea earlier in the week for people to actually write disabled Reader fic, as opposed to forcing writers to feel they have to tag literally everything in an able-bodied Reader story, I knew I had to put my money where my mouth was as a disabled, neurodivergent writer with various mental health things going on here and there. And this one-shot is the result.
This one is a little personal. I was diagnosed with rheumatoid disease about ten years ago, and Reader’s experiences are informed by my own (though, thankfully, I haven’t had to contend with an apocalypse that meant I couldn’t access the medication that has kept me going). She’s also inspired by @agentjackdaniels, who acted as consultant extraordinaire on walking sticks and panic attacks, and suggested the Joel picture for the moodboard. Thank you, Luce, for this, for fighting the good fight for representation in fic - and for beta-ing the story. 
(A note on terminology: rheumatoid disease/arthritis are sometimes used interchangeably. ‘Arthritis’ often sounds like it’s ‘just’ osteoarthritis to people who don’t know the difference. Rheumatoid, unlike osteoarthritis (which is shitty in its own ways), is a systemic, lifelong, chronic illness and an auto-immune disorder that affects the entire body, not just bones and/or joints. So personally I use ‘rheumatoid disease’ as it conveys more of the impact of the condition. It's also often seen as an 'old person' disease but this simply isn't true - not that this stops mobility aids being modelled by people in their 80s all the time...)
Please follow my writing blog @ladameecrit and turn on notifications to stay up to date with my work.
Dividers by @saradika - moodboard by me
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You weren’t supposed to make it.
Twenty-odd years in the apocalypse with your fucked-up joints and no steady supply of the meds that kept you going, pushing through the cycles of fatigue, and fighting off your own goddamned immune system as much as you were fighting clickers and raiders. 
You really weren’t supposed to make it. But you had Annie.
You were sharing an apartment when the outbreak happened, a quirk of shitty personal circumstances - she’d just broken up with her long-term boyfriend - that probably helped save your life. Annie was the all-action sister - the kind of person who thinks there’s nothing weird about spending your weekends doing triathlons and “Tough Mudder” challenges, who had a perfect bill of health your entire lives, who bounced out of bed in the mornings while you cracked and creaked and stiffly manoeuvered yourself into being. 
The good days generally outweighed the bad in the years between your diagnosis with rheumatoid disease and the initial outbreak - or maybe you had just gotten used to the aches and pains and the occasional flare-ups of fatigue. You invested in a walking stick to help on those days when mobility was particularly bad: solid, heavy, and carved in a pale yellow wood. It felt like a comfort in your hand, more a sign of strength, to you, than of weakness. 
Annie helped you through the panic attack that consumed you on outbreak day, working with you to regulate your breathing and relax your tense muscles until you could finally say what was on your mind.
“My meds. What am I going to do without my meds?”
Nothing a quick smash and grab at the local pharmacy couldn’t fix. It was the first of many, stockpiling the little yellow tablets you relied on and taking as many packs of over-the-counter painkillers as you could carry. Useful currency in the apocalypse, as it turned out.
All-Action Annie was never going to cope with life in a QZ. She got the two of you out after months of planning, nights of whispered talk about a town out west that was normal - or something close to it, anyway. She hadn’t entertained your protestations about you slowing her down, holding her back.
“You think I’m leaving behind a girl who’s so handy with a weapon?” she’d teased, pointing to your walking stick. “Be real. We’re busting out together.”
The infection took hold in her about three days from Jackson. Fuckin’ barbed wire, tearing a jagged line through Annie’s hand and leaving behind an old-fashioned kind of threat to life, the kind penicillin had mostly dealt with. But that was then. This was now. 
She died in an abandoned farmhouse in the middle of nowhere, you holding her hand until the end, talking to her about your childhoods and trying to keep smiling until she closed her beautiful eyes. 
It took all your strength to dig her grave. And then, somehow, you found more.
You weren’t supposed to make it. But you did. 
Jackson stands before you. 
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He sees you for the first time in the community dining hall, talking animatedly to Maria as you hungrily devour the food set in front of you. Eyes wide, face grubby, clothes ragged. Half-wild, he thinks, like most of the new arrivals. Like him and Ellie, once upon a time. He returns to his bowl of soup and his own thoughts - at least, until he’s interrupted by Maria.
“Joel? Want to introduce a new member of the community, just arrived.”
He doesn’t quite know why he’s surprised when he realises you’re leaning on a sturdy hand-carved walking stick in a solid, light yellow wood. Maybe it’s because he knows how physically hard it is to get here. Maybe he just assumed folks who needed a stick wouldn’t have been able to manage the journey. 
For a second he can hear Sarah’s voice in his head, chiding him for focusing on what a disabled person can’t do instead of what they can. 
“Joel?”
He snaps out of his reverie and looks from Maria to you. “Uh, hi. Sorry, just…sorry. Forgot my manners.”
“I was just saying how glad we are to have someone who can offer some art education in the town, isn’t that right, Joel?”
Your eyes are warm and mischievous as you meet his gaze, silently conveying your amusement at Maria’s rather brusque manner. It’s all Joel can do not to laugh.
“Sure is. You’re an artist, then?”
You shake your head. “Not a real one. I was an art teacher, before. Long time since I created anything, though, so I hope I remember how.”
He smiles softly, his gruff exterior receding a little. “Bet it’s just like riding a bike,” he says, before his face falls as he looks at your walking stick. “Oh, shit. Sorry. I didn’t mean… Shit. Hope I didn’t offend.”
“As it happens, I can ride a bike, Joel. The apocalypse just doesn’t give me much cause to.”
You leave him with a smile and a wink as Maria ushers you to meet other townsfolk. He watches you as you walk away, the tap-tap-tapping of your stick beating out a new rhythm in the heart of Jackson.
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You think of Annie every morning when you wake up in the little house you’d been assigned. Sometimes, as you potter around the kitchen, still revelling in the novelty of making yourself morning coffee for the first time in two decades, you even talk to her. You tell her about the town, the townsfolk, your work in the community vegetable garden, your art classes. 
“Honestly, An, you wouldn’t believe how popular they are,” you tell the Annie who, in an alternate universe, is sitting at the kitchen table with her own mug of coffee. “I’m setting up extra sessions to cater for demand.”
There’s something uplifting in how hungry the people of Jackson are to make art, no matter their experience or existing skill level. They’ll draw stuff from memory, they’ll dutifully work on a still life, they’ll even traipse outside with you, wooden sketching boards in hand, and make rapid-fire sketches of the goings-on on Main Street. 
Joel doesn’t join a class - but the teenage girl Maria refers to as “Joel’s kid” does, all potty-mouthed and enthusiastic and pretty damned talented, to boot. Ellie tells you how she’s pinned up the drawings she’s proudest of in their home, “like our own fuckin’ art gallery or some shit.” 
You pull up a tall stool and sit beside her, resting your stick over your thighs. “Joel’s got his guitar and those dumbass model figures he paints,” she continues, leaning around her easel and squinting at the woman who’d volunteered to act as a life model for this week’s classes. “But this shit? This is real art.” She adds a little highlight to the woman’s sweater and leans back to assess the work.
“You probably got exempt from patrols, I’m guessing. On account of the stick, an’ all.”
“Maria asked, and I signed up happily. I got all the way here, didn’t I? I’m sure I can manage patrols. And it’s the least I can do - they’ve even found me some of the medications I need.”
Ellie nods, somewhat convinced, and returns to sketching out the contours around the model’s jaw.
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The day of your first patrol arrives. You bundle up and set out early for the stables, allowing extra time to get there on account of the flare-up you’d been experiencing the day before. 
You arrive early - just in time, in fact, to overhear a heated conversation between Joel and Maria.
“She’s doing enough, ain’t she? I just don’t think she’ll be able for patrol.”
“You’ve seen her out and about, Joel. She’s mobile. She’s competent. She’s good with the horses. She got all the way here, the last stretch on her own. What more proof do you need?”
“You’re seriously gonna send a woman with a walking stick out on patrol?”
“I seriously am. Sent you and your bad back out, didn’t we?”
“That ain’t the same and you know it.”
“Just saddle the horses, Joel. And, in case you’re wondering - yes, I paired you together deliberately, just until she gets settled.” You hear her footsteps recede as she leaves him.
You had misjudged how much your already-limited grip would be further impeded by the gloves you’re wearing. The stick clatters to the ground.
“Who’s there?”
You emerge from the shadows. “Me. Sorry.”
Joel rolls his eyes and gruffly points out the tack and supplies.
The first patrol passes in silence. You wonder what happened to the softer man you’d caught a glimpse of the first day you arrived.
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On the second patrol, you ask him questions about himself. On the third patrol, he asks (fewer) questions about you. By the fourth, you’re having something approximating normal conversation. 
“Sarah loved to make all kinds of stuff,” he ventures, leading the way on his chestnut horse. “Those beaded bracelets, that girly Lego in the pink and purple, all of that. My girl had enough Magic Markers to supply a whole elementary school. Maybe two.”
You can hear him smile, even without seeing his face. His shoulders relax a little as he recalls the memory.
“So she was a creative kid?”
“Creative, sporty… she could do anything. Made the school soccer team, she was so proud. Just a…” He pauses. “A great kid.”
There’s a few beats of silence, punctuated only by the sound of the horses snickering and the steady rhythm of their hooves on the ground. 
“What about your sister, was she arty like you?”
You’d told him about Annie on the last patrol. This was the first time he’d asked about her explicitly.
“She was the sporty one. I think that’s why I survived so long, truth be told. She was so strong and fast and tough as fuck.”
He chuckles, the burr of his voice resonating in the cold air. “Sounds like a good balance, though.”
“It is - it was. Was.” Your voice grows quieter as you repeat the word to yourself, chest starting to tighten. The horse slows, responding to the tension of your body, as Joel continues to trot on, not realising you’ve come to a halt behind him. 
And then the tell-tale snapping of a twig, the sound of footsteps, and the realisation there’s someone else there, emerging out of the woods. Two someones. 
Raiders. 
The panic attack that has been building inside you gives way. An innate fight or flight response kicks in as you roar his name. 
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Joel turns and charges back towards you, just in time to see you take out one raider with a crack shot from your pistol. He slows the horse and readies his rifle, staring at the other man who is now trying to haul you off your mount.
“Get the fuck off me, motherfucker!” You flail against him, desperately shifting your weight to the other side of the saddle to try to shake him off. 
Joel takes aim. 
You think you’ve kicked the raider off. And that’s when you hit the ground.
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He can’t take the shot now, not with her half-hidden from his view and audibly fighting off the man who’s dragged her to the ground. Joel is still a little distance away, slightly too far to see exactly what’s happening. 
Why didn’t he hear her slowing? Why didn’t he realise she was further behind than she ought to be? Why did she slow in the fuckin’ first place?
Joel quickly dismounts, rifle in hand, moving closer so he can get a clearer shot at the guy who’s now standing over her. The horse’s elegant neck obscures the raider’s hands from Joel’s vision - he has no idea if he’s pointing a gun at her or not. 
He thinks he has a clear sight on the guy’s head, provided he stays in the same position. He readies the rifle. 
Suddenly, the raider disappears, letting out a primal roar before he hits the ground. 
“You fucking cunt!”
Joel can see she’s standing now, the man prone before her. As he rounds the horse he sees her lift her cane, hands securely gripping the pointed end of the stick. 
She brings the solid, weighty handle down on the raider’s leg with a sickening crunch. Even Joel recoils a little at the sight and the sound.
“F-f-fucking…c-c-cunt!”
Thwack. The other leg. 
Fuck. She knows exactly what she’s doing.
”Keep calling me that, and I’ll keep the blows coming.”
Holy fuck. Who is she?
”C-c-c-cripple.”
”Excuse me?”
The raider props himself up on his arms. “I said, cripple. Fucking crippled cunt.”
“You shut your fuckin’ mouth.” Joel cocks his rifle. 
The stranger sneers at Joel. “Awww, he’s actin’ the big man now. Weren’t too quick gettin’ back down here to save your cripple woman, were ya?”
Before Joel can react, she swings her stick over her head and brings it down on the man’s skull with a furious scream that seems to come from the very depths of her being. 
She screams and screams as she hits him, over and over, eyes wild in her blood-spattered face. Joel recognises this: in himself; hell, in Ellie. It’s the moment when the floodgates open and all those years of pain blend together and zone in on this convenient target, an avatar for everyone and everything who had forced loss and trauma upon you. 
He roars at her to stop, but knows she can’t hear him. It’s just her and the raider, now: her rage and fear and grief finding their expression through a walking stick turned cudgel.
A single shot ends it. She turns sharply, as if snapped out of a trance, and sees the smoke leaving Joel’s pistol. 
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“Hey. Hey. You alright?” His broad hands grip your biceps as he looks into your eyes.
Yes, you tell him, yes. You’re fine. But Joel keeps asking. 
“Talk to me. Are you okay? I’m worried about you. Please, just talk to me.”
You are moving your mouth, but no sound is coming out. The familiar vice is tightening around your chest. You look down at your blood-stained hands and you struggle to breathe. 
“‘M dying, Joel. Can’t breathe. All the blood. So much. Why can’t I breathe?”
Oh, he realises with a pang. She gets these things too. And I know how to help.
“You’re okay, you hear?” He’s rubbing your arms gently, keeping his gaze on you. “You’re alright. Breathe along with me, okay?”
It’s difficult to find the rhythm, at first. Joel’s hands find yours and squeeze them in time with his breath.
”In through your nose, that’s it. Slow and steady. Now out through your mouth.”
He can see your muscles starting to visibly relax. A wave of relief courses over him.
”Yeah, that’s it - you got this. You got this, good girl, you’re just fine. Gonna be alright.”
When he’s confident your breathing has settled and the panic attack receded somewhat, he gently guides you away from the body of the dead raider, one hand holding your horse’s bridle and the other holding yours. 
“Why don’t you have a seat for a minute, huh?” Joel gestures to a long, low tree trunk lying near the forest’s edge and opens his saddlebags, rummaging until he finds a cloth, a battered hip flask and a bag of dried apple slices.
”Here.” He wipes the blood as best he can from your hands and proffers the flask, settling his substantial frame beside you on the log. “Have a sip or two, just to relax you a little bit more. Got a snack, here, too.”
You flinch at the taste of the liquor, but take a second sip regardless. The apple slices barely taste of anything in the afterburn of the moonshine. Joel nibbles on some jerky and stares into the middle distance. 
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You take a break from patrol, agreed with Maria, and a few days off your art classes. It was tempting to keep going, to return to the light and airy studio and to your students. But you feared a relapse.
And your body needed to recover physically, too. You ached from head to toe, fingers and toes puffy and swollen and movement seriously restricted. You ration out the supply of medication you’ve secured since getting here, and use hot water bottles and plenty of rest to try to ride out the flare in your arthritis.
Three days after the incident, there’s a knock on the door. You hobble to answer it, leaning on your trusty stick for support.
”Came by to see how you were doing. Got you some things if you needed ‘em.”
Joel is standing on your front porch, holding a jute grocery bag. He pauses, as if waiting for you to give him permission to say more.
”That’s so very kind of you, Joel. Come in, won’t you? I was able to set a fire so it’s nice and cosy.”
He watches as you lead the way into the living room, noting how much slower you were today. Guilt laps at his conscience. He said she shouldn’t go on patrol. He knew.
”You want me to bring these into the kitchen for you?”
“That would be a great help. Thank you.” He’s glad to see you smile, after the trauma of the patrol. “If you want a drink, I’ve got some tea and coffee in the cupboard just to the left of the sink.”
He pops his head back into the living room. “What would you like?” 
“A tea would be perfect. Mugs are in the cupboard to the right.”
You wrap yourself back up in your blankets on the couch, making room for Joel when he returns with the drinks and a couple of cookies, sent over by Ellie as part of his care package for you. The mug feels like a comfort in your aching hands, its heat assuaging the inflammation ravaging your joints.
He sips his coffee and you sit in silence for a little bit, watching the flames dance over the firewood. 
“Have you, uh - you been okay, doing okay, since…”
Joel stares into his coffee cup and then looks at you, a little awkward. You smile, hoping to reassure him.
”I’ve been okay. Just the physical pain and exhaustion, mostly. And - well, you saw it. The panic. It can leave you drained.”
He nods and takes another swig of his drink. “I know. I - I’ve had times like that, too. Real fuckin’ scary, when you’ve never gone through it before.”
You study his face for a moment or two, noting the little scar on his temple, the lines on his face, the stern expression completely undermined by the warmth of his deep brown eyes. For an instant, he seems so vulnerable, this strong, tough man sitting on your little couch. 
“I haven’t had an attack like that in a while. But then, I hadn’t done anything like that in a while.”
This time Joel turns to look at you properly. “Not your first rodeo, huh?”
You giggle at the turn of phrase. “Not quite. Let’s just say my stick did a lot of work over the last twenty years. He wasn’t the first to feel the brunt of it.”
Joel nods, and you feel strangely relieved that he doesn’t seem surprised. “Doesn’t get easier, though, does it?”
“It does not. Which is why it’s better to avoid having to do it.”
”I agree. Gotta say, though, I - I was worried you wouldn’t be able for patrol, y’know?”
You arch an eyebrow at him. “I know. I overheard you, remember?”
He blushes. “Aw, shit. Yeah. I’m sorry about that. I just didn’t want anything happening to you, what with your - condition, and all.”
You sigh softly, not really noticing the affection in his voice. “Most of the time, I’m fine. Y’know? I’m slower, but I do okay. I get tired more easily, but I manage. I didn’t come here to be a drain on the community.”
”You aren’t.”
”I know, but I want to keep it that way. I want to pull my weight. I’m able, Joel.”
He huffs in agreement. “Not like I’m a perfect specimen these days, either. Knees, fuckin’ back, deaf in one ear…” 
You chuckle. “And you thought I wouldn’t manage patrol? Anyway, you’re not doing so bad, are you?”
He gives you a little smile, but that constant sadness still haunts his eyes. He stares at his coffee for a moment.
“You knew what you were doing, though.”
”I did. But I didn’t feel like I could stop.” You sip your tea, swallowing hard. “And I’m scared that makes me some kinda monster. You know?”
Oh, he knows. He knows it too well.
”You aren’t a monster.” Joel resists the urge to put an arm around you. “You just… something snapped, I guess. All that - well, all that hell you’ve gone through. It… it changes you. But it doesn’t make you a monster.”
He realises you’re crying before you do, spotting the fat tears that roll down your cheeks. He finds a clean handkerchief in his jeans and offers it to you. 
Fuck it. 
“Can I - can I put an arm round you? Just for some support?”
Your eyes light up, tears or no tears, and you nod enthusiastically. Joel is warm and comforting, his broad chest and strong arms a kind of anchor in the emotional storm. You nuzzle against him, and he gives you a little squeeze on the arm.
”You’re a really brave woman, you know that?”
His voice is quieter, more intentional. You look at him quizzically from under your lashes, unused to praise of this kind. For an instant you think about asking him what he means. But the safety you’ve found in the broad arm draped around you is all you need right now. 
You nuzzle a little against his chest, and watch the fire dancing for the rest of the night. 
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