any chance you could write stepdad!steve catching you sneak back in from a party?
Pleaseeeeee 🤤 This is a lil short one but I might give it a second part
"What time do you call this?" You knew you were fucked when the taxi dropped you home and the light in your kitchen illuminated the drive way. Your mum made a habit of turning it off every night and you were only getting away with this if everyone was asleep.
It was well past the time your mum and stepdad usually went to bed. Hell, it was well past the time you usually went to bed yourself. You didn't often stay up to 2:37am and you absolutely never stayed out that late. Despite the fact you're in your 20's, your new stepdad had set the rule that you were to be home by 1am every night. No exceptions. Asshole.
It usually wasn't hard to follow his rules. No boys in your bedroom. Don't stay out late. Fill up the fuel you use in the car. Nothing really out of the ordinary. But then again, he kept telling you that you weren't the rule breaking type anyway.
"Sorry, I lost track of time." You did your best to avoid looking at your stepfather while you lied through your teeth. You'd known damn well what time it was and you'd had every intention of staying out until the lights in the club came back on. You just didn't think you'd get caught.
"Mhm." Steve's hum almost sounded convincing, pausing while he folded his arms, his navy blue pyjama top straining around his biceps. "You expect me to believe that? You're a bright girl, sweetheart. I know you can tell the time."
Damn your own body for betraying you like this. His praise makes your tummy flutter and you know it's so damn wrong.
"I know you want to be a good girl, don't you?" He pauses again, waiting for your response and he seems satisfied when you nod. "Always so well behaved for me. You know what? I'll let you pick your own punishment. Just this once." His eyes are trained on your face, watching for any sign of discomfort at the way things are progressing.
"Option 1. I confiscate your car keys." Fair enough but that would be really inconvenient. "Option 2. I confiscate your phone." Oh no, absolutely not. "Option 3. I confiscate that shitty little vibrator you keep in the drawer beside your bed."
How does he even know you have that? It's mortifying enough that he feels able to punish you but this is a step further than you were expecting.
"No need to be shy about it, honey. I get it. You've got needs. Nothing to be embarrassed about. And if it makes you feel better, I could show you how a real man should touch you. You'll forget that little plastic thing even exists."
Fuck, that's an offer you could only ever have dreamed of. In fact, it's painfully close to what you imagine while you're frantically rolling the vibrator in question over your own clit.
"If you'd rather lose your car keys or your phone, feel free. Choice is yours." Steve sounds awfully nonchalant for someone who's just made a proposal like that but there's no chance you're turning down his offer.
"Option 3." Your voice is barely a squeak and you almost think you've made the wrong decision when Steve raises an eyebrow.
"Good girl. Go get it."
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Today my therapist introduced me to a concept surrounding disability that she called "hLep".
Which is when you - in this case, you are a disabled person - ask someone for help ("I can't drink almond milk so can you get me some whole milk?", or "Please call Donna and ask her to pick up the car for me."), and they say yes, and then they do something that is not what you asked for but is what they think you should have asked for ("I know you said you wanted whole, but I got you skim milk because it's better for you!", "I didn't want to ruin Donna's day by asking her that, so I spent your money on an expensive towing service!") And then if you get annoyed at them for ignoring what you actually asked for - and often it has already happened repeatedly - they get angry because they "were just helping you! You should be grateful!!"
And my therapist pointed out that this is not "help", it's "hLep".
Sure, it looks like help; it kind of sounds like help too; and if it was adjusted just a little bit, it could be help. But it's not help. It's hLep.
At its best, it is patronizing and makes a person feel unvalued and un-listened-to. Always, it reinforces the false idea that disabled people can't be trusted with our own care. And at its worst, it results in disabled people losing our freedom and control over our lives, and also being unable to actually access what we need to survive.
So please, when a disabled person asks you for help on something, don't be a hLeper, be a helper! In other words: they know better than you what they need, and the best way you can honor the trust they've put in you is to believe that!
Also, I want to be very clear that the "getting angry at a disabled person's attempts to point out harmful behavior" part of this makes the whole thing WAY worse. Like it'd be one thing if my roommate bought me some passive-aggressive skim milk, but then they heard what I had to say, and they apologized and did better in the future - our relationship could bounce back from that. But it is very much another thing to have a crying shouting match with someone who is furious at you for saying something they did was ableist. Like, Christ, Jessica, remind me to never ask for your support ever again! You make me feel like if I asked you to call 911, you'd order a pizza because you know I'll feel better once I eat something!!
Edit: crediting my therapist by name with her permission - this term was coined by Nahime Aguirre Mtanous!
Edit again: I made an optional follow-up to this post after seeing the responses. Might help somebody. CW for me frankly talking about how dangerous hLep really is.
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I 100% believe Lois Lane requested the presence of Bruce Wayne in her delivery room.
Nobody, not even the League, understood until it was time to give birth and Clark froze up at her bedside. Bruce was there to coach them both through it, as Clark’s friend and as Lois’ human reinforcements.
(Bruce flew to Metropolis in a helicopter when he got the news. He found Clark ashen and trembling at Lois’ side, eyes clenched shut as she screamed. He slid into place like he’d never been missing, talking Lois AND Clark through it like he delivered babies every day of the week)
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ngl I'm not a fan of how the very necessary discussion of how autistic girls (and many poc for that matter, not that we usually remember this) often end up masking hard due to the pressure to "be ladylike" or "not be too angry" and therefore end up being seen as "very polite" and "mature for your age" and so on and so forth is morphing into being less about how social pressures may impact how autism presents and more about saying "so there's Girl Autism and there's Boy Autism and Girl Autism makes you nice and polite and pleasant but Boy Autism makes you gross and annoying and rude and offputting and no it's not ableist at all to say that being overly excitable or trying to get a turn to talk when you don't know when your turn is or struggling with arbitrary rules is rude and annoying because Girl Autism exists uwu"
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Gideon Nav terrible fashion sense is so important to me babygirl has never been free to dress herself in her LIFE and i firmly believe that if she did have that freedom she would wear just. the most dogshit outfits. socks with slides. neon colors. shirts that say TITS with an arrow pointing down. outfits so bad every woman she meets is begging to take her on a department store makeover episode. outfits so bad you wonder if she got dressed in the dark upside down picking her clothing items by chaos potential. outfits so bad they wrap around to being sick as hell before winding back and punching you straight in the face
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