#but it made me feel better to get it out

[raybyanothername]

I am once more lamenting the fact that I cannot communicate well verbally. Every sentence feels wrong, every word feels lacking. Every eye is judgement. Silence is taken as agreement and every noise I make is a challenge.

The mask is sneaking back up and I'm smiling instead of screaming. I want to cry but I won't. I want to leave but I can't. Being perceived is more painful than being ignored, but I don't want to sink into the abyss. Maybe I'm just meant to exist in physical solitude where my voice only carries the weight I give it and not what others hear. Where my words can exist without being spoken.

[andthebeanstalk]

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.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Let the revenge games begin.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[schrodingersgirlboss]

a golden tip i can give to cryptos or any woman who can't openly talk about radical feminism yet (online or irl), whether it's because you have tra friends or you're scared of being criticized or whatever reason, is to stop using certain terms or following their rules for yourself. don't use the word queer, even if you can't call it out when other people do. same for sex worker. don't put pronouns in your bio. if there's a pronoun option in forms leave it blank (if you can't there's usually a "prefer not to say" option). don't refer to yourself (or anyone but specially not yourself) as cis. i assure you most people won't question it because you're technically not even doing anything. but it'll make you feel one heck of a lot lighter to not let your speech and your behavior be dictated by a pseudo-religion you don't want to be a part of.

[mortysmith]

btw heres my garnet redesign

[ultrainfinitepit]

Questioning Angel (WIP)

[crybaby-bkg]

cw: you two have a son together, mention of being married, old man Bakugou

older retired pro hero Bakugou, who you find hunched over his desk one night. it’s late and the day was long and your son was whinier than he usually is. you’d think the old man would be in bed right now, but alas—he’s not beside you.

instead, as you round the corner to get a full look at him, he’s wearing his reading glasses, adorning an old ratty tank, his arms still big but softer than the years from before. he has a book open in front of him, desk scattered with pictures you can’t see from your angle, scissors, stickers, glue sticks.

“What are you getting up to at this hour, old man?” You ask softly, smiling when Bakugou doesn’t even look up from what he’s doing. his tongue is sticking out in the corner as he cuts a squiggly line on a picture, posing it beside another on a blank piece of paper.

“Therapist said I should get into crafting,” he grunts, finally looking over at you from over his glasses. “Do things with my hands, feel busy, get my mind off’a shit.”

you pad over to where he sits, the overhead lamp on his desk focused on the big baby blue book with white pages. peeking over his shoulder, you rest your head on top of his, chin nestled in the still unruly blond and silver locks, overseeing his work.

and honestly? it almost makes you wanna cry. it’s a scrapbook, the page open to pictures of your wedding day, how pretty you looked, how big he smiled at you. you can see other scattered pictures on his desk—when you got a promotion at work, when he was number one for seven months in a row, a positive pregnancy test, the cutest baby you’ve ever seen, two little teeth coming in, baby being held in dads big ole arms that will always protect him.

“After this page, I gotta do the honeymoon.” Bakugou speaks gruffly, setting down a picture to wipe a hand down his face. “And then life accomplishment shit, the baby, his first steps.” He sounds so tired, and you can’t help but wrap your arms around his shoulders, sliding down to smush your face against his own.

“You always have tomorrow. Come to bed.” You say against his cheek, squeezing him when you feel the rejection start up in his belly. But he deflates, pulling his glasses off, reaching around to pull you in his lap. He looks so grumpy, with his frown lines and crows feet, and yet so handsome with his small smile and soft eyes.

“I’ll print more pictures tomorrow. And maybe go by the store to get some more stickers, too.” He tells you in between kisses, his words soft, his hands rough through your pajamas. You hum against his mouth, holding his nape, afraid to ever let him go.

“You do that. Now let’s go to bed.” You whisper, standing up and pulling him with you. He closes the scrapbook for now, and you glimpse at the cover, heart melting at the picture of you two holding up your son, both kissing his cheeks. The picture is captioned with “Our Life” and you don’t think you’ve ever been more grateful to have met him.

[rebouks]

Previous // Next

[Robin scrambled over the back of the sofa and wedged himself beside Oscar, absently watching TV. Part of him hoped his father wouldn’t wake, but he was a notoriously light sleeper so the chances were slim. Sure enough, Oscar stirred, sleepily wrapping an arm around his son with a cosy hum] Oscar: Mmh-.. what time is it? Robin: I don’t know. Oscar: Late, then… [Robin shrugged a shoulder, the steady rhythm of his father’s heartbeat soothing his frayed nerves; he wished they could just stay like this forever-.. Oscar’s breathing softened as he threatened to drift off again though, reminding Robin why he’d clambered out of bed in the first place] Robin: Papa.. can I ask you something? Oscar: Anything. [Robin held his breath, readying himself for the inevitable barrage of Oscar’s unpleasant memories] Robin: Can you tell me the truth about what Larry said? I asked grandma, but she made me promise I’d ask you too-.. that you’d explain it better than her. Oscar: Is that what you’ve been thinking about this whole time? Robin: I don’t want you to die again… Oscar: I’m not going anywhere, I promise. Robin: You can’t exactly promise something like that. Oscar: I promise I’ll try my best not to, then. Robin: You still think about that sorta stuff though, don’t you? How do you know it won’t happen again? [Oscar sighed as he righted himself and settled Robin atop his knee, wondering what on earth Sidney had told him] Robin: She said you knew the risks-.. why’d you do it? Oscar: I wasn’t thinking straight-.. bit off more than I could chew. I was in a pretty bad place at the time. Robin: Why? Oscar: I like to keep things to myself, but it doesn’t do you any favours; I used to use all that nasty stuff to bury my feelings, to numb the pain it caused me to keep it all locked up n’ keep going. Robin: But everyone has secrets, don’t they? Oscar: They do, the fewer the better though-.. I think you’re as bad as me for bottling stuff up, but it’s so important to talk about things n’ let people help, ‘cause otherwise you’ll just end up finding unhealthy ways to cope instead. Robin: So, it happened by accident? Oscar: Yeah-.. it was pretty scary, to be honest. Robin: But it definitely wasn’t on purpose? Oscar: Sometimes I figured it’d be easier, but I didn’t want to die, no. Robin: I don’t want you to either, not ever. Oscar: It’s normal to be frightened of losing the people you love. Robin: Really? Oscar: Yeah-.. I used to worry about my grandad dying when I was your age. Sometimes it’d randomly pop into my head and I’d wonder what I’d do without him n’ get all pissy with everyone ‘til I could be alone, then I’d cry about it. [Robin felt a twinge of sadness yet smiled faintly, feeling slightly less weird for worrying so excessively] Robin: Sorry I asked grandma first… Oscar: It’s alright, being curious is normal too. [Oscar squeezed Robin tightly, semi-wishing he’d explained a little sooner; he was so mature for his age sometimes] Oscar: I’ll never ever be upset with you for asking questions, okay? There’s nothing you can’t talk to me about. Robin: I didn’t want to make you remember. Oscar: The past is what makes us who we are, buddy-.. I just hope I’ve made enough mistakes for the both of us…

[stuckinapril]

me stoically navigating my way through drama bc bigger things are ahead and it’s not my fault people are dumb

[bronzebluemind]

It’s been 0 weeks since the World Cup finale, 17 weeks to go until sgp and 34 weeks to go until next season.

[loopyarts]

Bus au comic gift for @drawbauchery it takes until night-time for Hajime to finally have time to give Teruteru his one hour hand holding time, he fell asleep. Here you are Teruhina fans your fill. :3

[evermorethecrow]

SPOILERS FOR AKAI BY ITOTYPES!! FLASHING LIGHTS!! EYESTRAIN

akai chuuya my beloved silly guy

@itotypes i hope this makes like any sense at all i had a vision

[uncanny-tranny]

I've been thinking about modesty from a specifically trans lense lately. I was taught that modesty indicates shame, that modesty means you're simultaneously ashamed of being human and having a human body, but also that you are "purer" because you adhere to a hegemonic idea of modesty. Frankly, I just don't agree with this, and it was very much steeped in the idea of specifically christian ideas of modesty.

Before I transitioned, I felt very unprotective of my body because it never felt like mine to begin with. I didn't really care what happened to it, and while I was modest by other people's standards, I certainly didn't feel it. Once I actually started transitioning (and especially on testosterone), I've found that I'm so much more "modest" because I've become protective of my body. There's this stereotype that trans people start "showing themselves off" after transitioning, but I honestly feel the opposite. I'm possessive over my body and exactly how it acts and appears because I actually like my body, and it finally feels like mine. I'm honestly kind of selfish about it, and I think I've earned the right to be.

I made this post because I think this is an interesting topic, and I think it's interesting the ways in which we internalize the influences that be. It's also a reminder that no matter how you feel about things like modesty, you should adhere to what makes the most sense to you and what you are most comfortable with. There are pressures to be modest in this way or that way, but what truly matters is what you decide with your body and yourself.

[aurosoul]

being 30 so far is just like ‘you will go through the most cataclysmic mental anguish of your life but you actually heal from it this time. also you have hip dysplasia. go to the doctor more often.’

[bakedbananners]

I think any criticism you can apply to Jason being a boring main character could just as easily be applied to anyone else in the Seven because the entire Heroes of Olympus series lacks a strong definitive narrative voice in general

[oatbugs]

my research partner and i are huddled in a blanket in paddington waiting for a too-late train i already miss you and you and you