#I sincerely hope this hurt

[myfairkatiecat]

Voice - a Keefe Sencen Poem

@justmossyall @phtalogreenpoison @justalunaticfangirl @fandom-mind-dump @whentheleavesfallfromtheoak-blog @lilliesandlight @permanently-stressed

I use my voice.

I use it for more than speaking.

“He’s a good kid,” they say,

“A smart kid—I wonder why he’s acting out”

I don’t want them to wonder

so I talk.

Joke, mock, quip, disrupt—

they don’t wonder

the expectations evaporate.

I feel lighter.

That is the power of my voice.

I use my voice

because if I make people listen

then they won’t look.

If I give them enough to hear

they won’t feel the need to see

and so I hide in plain sight.

I talk to cover what I want to be overlooked

I draw attention to myself

in the ways I want it

to avert attention

from the things I don’t want to be seen.

That is the power of my voice.

But sometimes my voice doesn’t work

Because sometimes, people care

And when people care

they look even when they can listen

and no matter how much they’ve heard

they still want to see

and what could be a worse time

than now?

when my defenses are weakest

quietest

and my feelings are loudest

and I know your feelings

and I can tell

somehow

you know mine.

When nothing that I know is true

it all comes back to you

and wide brown eyes

and a far from easy life

and a kind of sympathy

no one has ever had

And I wonder

is there something about humanity

that is truly beautiful in that way?

Something more of us

would be blessed to experience

and never will?

The gaze of a person

who understands

having lost every role model

or even every person I ever told myself

I didn’t care about

(even when I did)

and without having lost all those things

the understanding gaze

is not empty

but full of understanding

The understanding is warm

but terrifying

because

it isn’t something I chose

my voice won’t work

why won’t it work?

where are my defenses?

if I can’t hide

I have no choice

but

to run.

I know that you hate me.

Please don’t be afraid of me.

I hope that I’m right.

I know that I’m wrong.

You don’t think you can forgive me.

You shouldn’t forgive me.

You will forgive me.

I know you will forgive me

and I want you to forgive me.

You shouldn’t forgive me.

I use my voice

but things are different now

and so much has changed

and so much has happened

and I have been forgiven too many times

but when I am hurting, I hurt

without even wanting to.

I talk

I talk myself out

I talk and talk and talk

until my vocal chords hurt

I crack jokes

whenever I can

to prove I haven’t changed.

That is the power of my voice.

Until I have changed.

The world is dark.

Just for a bit.

I don’t use my voice.

Every whisper that builds inside of me

is proof that I have irrevocably changed

It was my actions that caused hurt

and my words that brought me back.

But if my voice can cause hurt

and my actions are what they always are

(the awful things I cannot seem to stop doing)

then what is there

left to me

that is worth loving?

(I wish you wouldn’t look at me

like I deserve the world

when no one knows better than you

how little I deserve.)

I feel powerless to stop myself

from causing the worst kind of hurt.

Pain helps.

A little.

But not enough.

That is the power of my voice.

I don’t use my voice

but I still am surrounded

by the people my voice could hurt.

Without my voice

every semblance of normalcy

is gone.

I have changed.

(She changed me.)

I have no defenses

everything has fallen

and I can’t hide

even from myself

and I certainly can’t hide behind my voice

and I know how much you’ll hate me

and I know I’m so redundant

and I know that this point

I’m almost painfully predictable—

but I have no choice

but

to run.

That is the power of my voice.

[giantkillerjack]

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.

[batbabydamian]

Batman and Robin (2023) #10

DAMIAN’S BIG BABY AND BESTIE 😭

[mercymaker]

went to bed last night feeling that it was finally time to step back and let the dust settle and try to get things back to normal and then woke up to all that

[mumblesplash]

offering other people art help feels like a saw trap sometimes ngl. love helping out, Really love having opinions, hate having to figure out which opinions are actually important

[dreemurr-skelememer]

Dreamtale pet peeve

When people claim that Nightmare killing Dream and taking the apple is the best ending? Like? What? No! If that happens the entire multiverse is plugned in darkness and dispair. No more happiness or joy or happy ending lots of dead people. And I'm just sitting here like how? How is that the best possible ending for people?

Does everyone just hate happy endings that much? That they want to suck all positivity from a fiction multiverse.

favoritism is the poison of fiction consumption 🤷‍♂️ so many people lose media literacy and reading comprehension if it's all about the fave

[pardonmydelays]

i had so much fun last night omg

[frosty-tian]

Despite me still really missing BoulGram and holding them dear to my heart (which some might have read about in the deleted post), the time the new hyperfixiation kicked in was actually perfect timing because so many unexpected shit happened, one which I still haven’t gotten over and am likely a slightly traumatized by.

Funny how things worked out.

Working on everything to the point of collapsing seems to be the only solution because being alone is the only way to be safe.

[loveandthings11]

Jeremy Strong for Vulture 4/30/23

“We as a culture would be a lot better off if we judged a little less and empathized a little more.”

Jeremy hates being called cringeworthy and so does Kendall. It’s called being sincere ❤️ Do people understand it actually hurts him? 😭😭 Will be defending him forever!!

[dapperrokyuu]

Dont incredibly know what Anthony's deal is, but I do think this is an interesting moment thatll come back later. It just reflects back on the concept of Living Dolls "not being their own (or a) person" that could have twisted into a sense of inferiority and/or identity issues he's potentially struggling with.

[sage-is-in-fact-very-tired]

I. my current wip is turning out *much* longer than I thought it was going to

[carry-on-my-wayward-butt]

Hey bestie I just saw your multiplayer post and 1: I totally get it. Multiplayer sucks so much ass because I’m an impatient motherfucker.

But I wanted to ask you something. I’m so sorry, I’m not trying to be rude or judgmental, just some food for thought (that you may not even need!) from a bestie who is rooting for you!!

Have you ever considered that FOR YOU playing multiplayer with someone might be less about your personal enjoyment and more about doing an activity with a loved one that THEY enjoy?

It sounds like you have people in your life who love something! And they also love you! And they want to share those things with you, even though they aren’t your favorite! Obviously you don’t need to let anyone pressure you into anything, but I think doing un-fun activities that someone else enjoys with them can be a very sweet way of engaging with them selflessly.

Like i fucking hate bowling. So fucking much. I can’t even explain it. But once recently I managed to put that aside because a friend wanted to bowl on her birthday and I didn’t want to rain on the parade.

And I was nervous, like I’m going to ruin this with my bad attitude because I hate bowling. But I decided to try a different mindset? I don’t care if I have fun doing this activity, the fun part is being with my bestie. Joking around, hanging out around her. And it actually made it so much more fun. I don’t know how to describe it but bowling with her was actually fun that day.

And cooperation is so difficult and different even than the bowling example, but I actually have one for that too! I recently tried Portal 2 with my dad (we famously struggle to cooperate and always end up arguing.) But he loves the game and wanted to spend time with me. So I resolved to do it well. Instead of playing the game the way I usually would, I was intentional about playing differently. Because this is a different activity entirely, I’m not playing a game, I’m hanging out with my dad.

I literally just stuck by him, let him tell me what to do, and was blown away when he started asking for my opinion. And since I’d faithfully followed orders, when I had an idea to try he would do the same. And eventually we entered a cooperative zone I’d never before have deemed possible with my father.

So anyway, like I said this may not be applicable for you! But I thought it might be decent food for thought, maybe there is a new way to approach that activity that could be less painful for you??

since you typed so much and put so much effort into saying this as kindly as possible to get it out to me i want to do you the same courtesy and say this with patience and grace.

i know they want to share something they love with me, and that doing something im not into so that my loved ones can have fun with me is just something humans in a community occasionally have to deal with. sometimes we just have to grin and bear it so our friends can enjoy our company, and in a community, everyone takes a turn grinning and bearing it.

but this is something i do for them with like... team shooters and realtime co-ops. not for turn based strategy where i'm forced to wait on them to read at the speed of smell or watch a cutscene they've seen six times so they can make different decisions or meticulously organize their inventory.

when i play fortnite with my boys, i dont need to wait on them except to regroup or discuss what to do next, and i'm happy to put my impulsive playstyle to the side and hold back instead of barging in guns blazing like i do solo. i grin and bear it.

but when i play bg3 or ffxiv or wow with my boys, i'm fucking miserable, impatient, and forced to adhere to their playstyles when theirs all mesh together and mine is the outlier.

i read at warp speed. i comprehend and strategize and improvise faster. slowing down is torture because the game itself is already working at the pace of a 600lb century tortoise and i'm already making concessions just to be able to play at all.

i dont want to work and try when i play games. i want to relax and turn my brain off. my friends all know this and they have for over a decade.

they have known for 15 years that i hate turnbased strategy games, and i hate playing multiplayer. i am able, with effort, do one or the other, but not both. they've known this for so long. and every like 8-15 months they seem to forget and something they all love comes out and they want me to be included and i get the game and have a good time by myself and im able to join in the conversation and the last six times this has happened evaporate from their memory and they insist it'll be differen because this one is "actually good" and i assure them it will not be different and they encourage me to try and i grow a fucking demoncore in my chest with the weight and pressure of not screaming HURRY THE FUCK UP IT'S BEEN 7 MINUTES THAT YOUVE BEEN ORGANIZING YOUR FUCKING CHEST THIS IS SUPPOSED TO BE A SILLY FUCK AROUND RUN NOT A SERIOUS ORGANIZED RUN THIS ISN'T "PLAYING A GAME" THIS IS "SCROLLING TIKTOK WHILE I WAIT FOR LITERALLY ANYTHING TO FUCKING HAPPEN AND THEN NOT GIVING A FUCK WHEN IT IS MY TURN BECAUSE THE EXPERIENCE IS RUINED BY FORCING ME TO PULL MY BRAIN OUT OF THE GAME!!!!!!!"

and all of that stays in my chest because obviously i'm not about to shout at my friends that theyre functionally illiterate and to just kill something already so it festers and rots between my ribs and i am having a noticeably bad time.

your friends cannot possibly enjoy something that makes you actively miserable. your friends want you to have a good time doing something they love, not to bottle your misery and fake it so they can have a fun time.

it isn't even about the game or my playstyle. it's about the fact that they learn this lesson CONSTANTLY and yet never seem to learn. it's about how i HATE the part of myself that keeps giving in just to get that little bit of revenge on them to really drive the point home this time.

----------------------------------------------------

it is february. you are lactose intolerant. your friends KNOW this. they have for nearly 20 years. sometimes you have a small ice cream bar because theyre so good and worth the pain. your friends only bought cheese pizza for the party, and no other food. you sigh.

You're like "i'll join another time, i cant eat cheese pizza." they insist it'll be okay, they want you here so bad because they love spending time with you. they'll take care of you, the second bathroom will be free all night and they have plenty of pain killers and extra clothes. you tell them 'okay but take care of me for real this time'. they promise.

there are no pain killers, only iron suppliments. they used up the pain killers about a month ago and didnt notice, they didnt think theyd need any so soon. the second bathroom is immediately clogged because one friend flushed paper towels on accident, and the others are using the main bathroom very frequently because they all drank too much. they didnt realize they wouldnt be able to drink so much. how could they have know the toilet would clog? they're complaining about your gas because there's no febreeze, only lemon pledge. how could they have know they needed febreeze so soon? the guest bedroom is full of dusty storage and the bed smells like mothballs. how could they have known they'd need to use it so soon? the only extra clothes are too small for you and the shower is mildewy. later in the night you ask for them to get you some water and they're all too tired. you get yourself some water and groan in pain the whole way to the kitchen and back. "can you keep it down, we're trying to sleep!" "YOU LEAKED SHIT IN MY BED?!?!" "ughhhh the bathroom is acrid"

you burn the house down in your mind.

your friends party every other week, so the next time you gather, and every time after that, they have food you can eat. they learned their lesson! all is well, and you're able to make funny jokes about how much you wanted to kill them, and they make funny jokes about how stupid they were to forget something so important, and they suffered a lot from your gas and groaning and having to clean the sheets since it was their own fault after all, so they'll never forget now! you forgive them. friends fuck up sometimes. months and months of perfect parties. perfect friends.

it is november. it's party time. you arrive. there is only cheese pizza.

you sigh.

[prettylittleangel333]

bout to start someone shitty lil doctor series no one has watched just for my husband (thomas gibson)

[randomwriteronline]

"Pohatu."

The voice echoed like a knife hissing as it scratches marble. The prisoner (the only one, completely isolated from the rest of the city), huddled in a nook, shivered a little further away into the corner he'd tucked himself into and held onto himself a little tighter.

He did not respond to his own name.

Deliberate steps moved closer: clack. Clack. Clack. Clack. Their rhythm was slow, cold; they accompanied a scrutinizing stare.

They stopped before the cell.

The air felt freezing.

"Pohatu."

The prisoner did not answer.

"You are not stupid. That I know."

The chilling voice was soft. It spoke lowly, taking the time to properly enunciate each and every word perfectly.

"I am certain you know what I am here for."

Once more, only silence replied.

"I would advise you do not make this harder than it already is."

He watched as the prisoner's knuckles shook while tightening around his own trembling shoulders, as though trying to hide his weakness.

"Collaborate. For your own sake."

A sob tore through the room.

Another.

Another.

Another.

"Please," the prisoner finally babbled, voice hoarse from disuse.

Broken.

It was his turn to be faced with the silent treatment. Not a word reached him as he cried inconsolably, naked face pressed against his arms, for what seemed like hours.

His brother stared on, unmoving, expressionless, until the wailing died down and the body slumped on itself from the release of pent up emotions.

"I take it you have returned to your senses."

A crooked whine.

"I do not believe I understood that."

A confused mumbling.

"Speak clearly."

"Yes!" his brother sobbed.

His orange eyes looked into blue ones pleadingly, begging for help, for forgiveness. He watched them furrow, watched clouds of condensation pour from the sides of the white mask.

"You are guilty of a terrible crime."

"Yes."

"You are aware of your misconduct."

"Yes."

"You are aware that I cannot call you brother."

A pained wince: "Yes."

Another long moment of quiet passed.

The prisoner had shifted his gaze onto the floor.

The Toa watched him, fists clenched as tight as he could.

"Are you sure your forgiveness is deserved?"

The body shook from another hysterical sob, as though it had just been struck by a lash: he inhaled sharply a few times, but could not bring himself to speak.

"Answer me."

There was another attempt. Again, nothing came of it.

"Pohatu."

"Please..."

He stared.

He stared at the pitiful thing so powerless and miserable, completely alone, curled on itself on the floor as it shuddered.

"Please..."

He stared at the pitiful thing speaking in a voice that crumbled upon itself like gravel rolling uselessly down the side of a mountain.

"Please, I... Please..."

For a long stretch of time, nothing happened.

Then the door to the cell unlocked.

Pohatu dared to look up: Kopaka stood over him, unflinching, unreadable, hands balled up in fists hard enough to crush boulders between his fingers, looking down with his glimmering blue eyes as the air around him crackled with frost.

He could have so easily torn him apart right now.

Only the two of them, here, in the dark, far away from any other form of life who could have heard any commotion or cared enough to investigate.

Nobody would have even known. Not until it was too late.

Kopaka kneeled before the former Toa and pulled him into a tight embrace, one hand cradling his nape while the other pressed hard on his back to squeeze him closer to himself.

He allowed himself a sigh in relief only when he felt the other's arms wrap around him, his face against the crook of his neck.

Pohatu held him by the waist tight.

"I missed you," he sobbed.

I missed you too, Kopaka could not say despite how desperately he needed to.

He tightened his grip.

Then the pain came.

Blinding and sudden, cruel, immense, so profoundly unexpected that all he could do was choke on his own breath.

His torso fell backwards, bending much farther that it should have. His heartlight pulsed erratically as he heaved, adrenaline rushing through him and locking his every muscle in place. His legs were slumped, completely unresponsive like the rest of his lower body; all that was keeping his entire form from crashing on the pavement like a broken doll were the kind, solid, dependable arms of his brother.

A hand wriggled in the now empty space where it had shattered his spine in a morbidly playful way.

He was laid down gently, all things considered.

His eyes only stared at his butcher wide and thoughtless like those of a helpless Rahi before a much faster predator.

Pohatu smiled down at him sweetly, exactly like he always did.

"I missed your soft spot for me."

He tore his hand out of his brother's spine with a ghastly crackle, not even flinching, to wrap it around his throat. He yanked: Kopaka coughed out an anguished wheeze as a chunk of his neck was thrown out, clattering a few bio across the floor.

Pohatu pressed his thumb between the Toa of Ice's face and his mask, applying just about the slightest leverage possible to part the two. It seemed to take ages, for the 'pop' of a dislodged Kanohi to echo through the silence of Kopaka's frantic breathing; but even with all that time for a counterattack at his disposal, he did not manage to raise even a single finger against the other. He only stared, fearful, shocked, in denial.

His brother laughed in the same way he always laughed - a gentle, booming sound, friendly and pleasant, that warmed one's heart.

"You couldn't hurt me if you wanted to with all your being," he mocked him, making the sneering words seem like yet another lighthearted joke as he twirled the Akaku between his fingers: "And isn't that why Tahu and Photok are dead?"

He looked onto the other's face. He'd seen it so few times - after being overwhelmed by the Piraka on Voya Nui, for example.

He remembered it had been awfully surreal, to see it; almost frightening, but familiar somehow.

It stirred nothing in him now.

How lovely.

Pohatu leaned closer to it, until he could feel the shaky breaths from Kopaka's mouth curl around him. They were barely fresh.

"A shame, eh?"

Blue eyes stared at him, horrified.

What a beautiful thing to see.

"That you couldn't save me after all."

He laughed his usual jovial laugh again as he stood up, joints cracking a bit while he stretched. The Akaku clicked onto him in a perfect fit.

How nice of him: pure unwarranted trust, forgiveness, an open door, a hug, and now even a fairly useful Kanohi to replace the one he'd been stripped of lest he use its powers to break himself out of containment. Truly, he was almost starting to feel spoiled.

Kopaka squirmed between his feet. Was he trying to get away?

He couldn't help but giggle.

"There's your only flaws: you're too smart for a leech to bite you."

Pohatu gifted him the sweetest of his smiles.

"And you love your siblings too much."

The air shattered beneath his foot with a sickening crunch.

Pohatu didn't even spare a glance at his brother as he walked away from his corpse, face crushed to bits making an absolute mess on the cold unfeeling pavement, body twitching before the rigor mortis settled in fully; the Toa of Shadow hummed a mindless, cruel song, something right out of a Makuta's repertoire, as he he made his way into the halls of Metru Nui's colosseum in search of whoever else in this enormous playground would have the honorable misfortune to be his second victim of the day.

[catgirlthecrazy]

Me: you know what sounds like a nice way to unwind before bed? Playing the cat-befriending-robots game, it's so sweet and relaxing. Yeah, there are sometimes swarms of scary bugs that try to eat me but so far there haven't been too many of them, I can deal with it

Stray: SEWER CHAPTER COMMENCE

Me, an hour later: how the fuck did this poor kitty wind up in a Dead Space level

[thebirdandhersong]

But where do I put all this love? It's inside of me, growing and festering and threatening to explode out of me. Who do I give it to now? Where does it go? Where does it go to fade away? Where does it go to die a quiet death? There isn't a pair of familiar hands to receive it anymore, and no longer a welcoming mailbox waiting with its mouth open. Where does it all go and where should I put it? Who do I love now, the way I loved that boy?