#time still helps

[flowerflamestars]

Timeloop au snippet

“Honestly,” Lucien murmured, soft bird song painting the air like colors existed that weren’t silver, like he’d been thinking about beauty or wonder or anything but her living, this glorious, quiet place he’d brought her, “I have nowhere to go.”   No point in lying to her.   No doubt she’d see through him.   Even wet, even rasped from her throat, Nesta’s laugh had a sting to it. “Bullshit. You’re heir to three Courts. You’re the only faery of any rank the humans will treat with.”   Just Lucien and Jurian, trying to help with what had only been harm for so long Lucien let every insult, every horror, slide right off him.   “Not so much,” Lucien admitted. “Not anymore.”   “Anymore what, Vanserra?” She’d gone sharp, suddenly, stillness a razor edge.   “They tried to kill me,” Lucien sighed. Breathed. How could he blame them? Who was he to say that a thousand years of slavery didn’t deserve recompense? That Hyberns machinations had been repaid? Lucien was High Fae. It wasn’t the fault of mortals he’d tried to bury his own losses in a quest to help them. “A few times. I’m no longer welcome on the continent.”   “I’m not a project,” Nesta hissed, deathly. “Because you need something to do with your bleeding goddamn heart. I’m not going to fuck you. I’m not an Archeron you can have.”   You had to be a body, to bleed.   Lucien felt like more magic than person, most of the time. Caged in useless goddamn bones, had been so useless-   “Funny,” he admitted, hollow, honest heart pounding away, because he was just flesh and blood, fire and fervor, and he wasn’t ashamed but he was so, so, so tired, “I can’t fuck anyone.”   It unwound her, just a little.   “There’s potions for that.”   And just as sudden as she’d taken him off guard the first time, every time, forty eight insane hours and her devastating, endangered delight- Lucien laughed. “Not for losing your mind every time someone touches you.”   Nesta’s grip on his wrist disappeared so quickly it might not have existed at all. Might never had been, had Lucien not turned, looked up from the floor to her white, furious face, shadows beneath her eyes deeper than bruises.   “You’re fine,” Lucien murmured. “I”- he had to swallow. Stop. Breathe as he’d been teaching himself just to fucking breathe. Stop himself from saying something as deranged as the fact that a woman who’d drowned in his arms less than two nights ago felt absolutely safe, to him.   Lucien was a very fine liar, could manage most of the time, but Nesta- whirling in his arms, dying in his arms, stopping his fucking heart, all silver fire-   Nesta Archeron was something else entirely, and it was not the time or the place to even think it.   “I’ll tell you,” Lucien said, slowly. “And you tell me. Please.”

[uncanny-tranny]

Fat people deserve mobility aids, too. No matter if it's connected to their fatness or not, because having a mobility issue that is connected to one's fatness won't change that they're still fat and still have the issue at hand. Fat people don't deserve to "tough it out" because fatness should be this divine punishment doled out to those who "deserve" it. Fat disabled people deserve to have the peace of mind that they can exist in whatever way is most comfortable and accessible to them

[batbabydamian]

*you opening the love letter* what does your damijon look like, pls pls pls pls pls pls pls, i know it would be so cute, i just know it 🙏🙏🙏

here you go! thank you for the ask, this was a lot of fun to do! they're working on a case together ^^

[fefairys]

getting real fed up with my peers treating teenagers like shit. how did you forget so fucking quickly what it's like to be them. shame on you.

[watchingwisteria]

listen there really was just something about how in the book, snow’s 3-page descent from hesitant lover boy to deluded psychopath happens entirely in his mind. lucy gray gives him no indication whatsoever that she suspects him, that she’s going to leave or betray him. he’s just sitting quietly in the cabin waiting for her to return when that seed of calculated suspicion, which he has needed to survive the capitol, takes a hold of him and chokes the life out of any goodness left inside him. it really drives home your terror as a reader that “oh my god did he kill her? did she escape? what happened to her? why would he even think that?” in a way that when the movie had to adjust for visualization it lost some of that holy shit this guy has lost it emphasis.

[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.

[stuckinapril]

friend wanted to see my tumblr, and when i told him i can’t show it to him bc it’s basically my personal diary he went “oh so I can’t see it but a bunch of strangers on tumblr can??” he literally does not get me. no one will get me like the people in my phone get me

[solardrake]

Delivering mail to the furthest corners of the server ✉✈

[machinerot]

[lanavecorona]

today i offer you tmnt art. tomorrow???? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[p4nishers]

i cant get over the ball being so CLEARLY all for crowley i can't get over aziraphale trying to woo him with a WHOLE FUCKING BALL because that's what he knows that's what romance IS for him because he's been wanting to dance with crowley ever since dancing was invented and he's so stuck in time with the way he dresses and talks and he still thinks a dance is the high of romance AND HE MADE A WHOLE ENTIRE FUCKING BALL FOR CROWLEY JUST SO HE COULD DANCE WITH HIM like now it's so fucking obvious he gave away his BOOKS without a second thought and it was all for crowley he organised a whole JANE AUSTEN THEME BALL just so he could have an excuse to finally dance with the love of his life and i can't get over this i'm shaking my fists and pacing up and down he did not give a single fuck about anything other than dancing with crowley and HE BARELY TOUCHED OTHER PEOPLE'S HANDS WHILE HIS WHOLE FUCKING PALM WAS PRESSED TO CROWLEY'S AND i need to lie down

[saturnvs]

polaris; guiding light for lost horses

[isbergillustration]

Can't Help But Feel Like Somebody's Watching

[aetherlite]

falchions and cunning ⚔️🌊

[inkskinned]

crows use tools and like to slide down snowy hills. today we saw a goose with a hurt foot who was kept safe by his flock - before taking off, they waited for him to catch up. there are colors only butterflies see. reindeer are matriarchical. cows have best friends and 4 stomachs and like jazz music. i watched a video recently of an octopus making himself a door out of a coconut shell.

i am a little soft, okay. but sometimes i can't talk either. the world is like fractal light to me, and passes through my skin in tendrils. i feel certain small things like a catapult; i skirt around the big things and somehow arrive in crisis without ever realizing i'm in pain.

in 5th grade we read The Curious Incident of the Dog In The Night-time, which is about a young autistic boy. it is how they introduced us to empathy about neurotypes, which was well-timed: around 10 years old was when i started having my life fully ruined by symptoms. people started noticing.

i wonder if birds can tell if another bird is odd. like the phrase odd duck. i have to believe that all odd ducks are still very much loved by the other normal ducks. i have to believe that, or i will cry.

i remember my 5th grade teacher holding the curious incident up, dazzled by the language written by someone who is neurotypical. my teacher said: "sometimes i want to cut open their mind to know exactly how autistics are thinking. it's just so different! they must see the world so strangely!" later, at 22, in my education classes, we were taught to say a person with autism or a person on the spectrum or neurodivergent. i actually personally kind of like person-first language - it implies the other person is trying to protect me from myself. i know they had to teach themselves that pattern of speech, is all, and it shows they're at least trying. and i was a person first, even if i wasn't good at it.

plants learn information. they must encode data somehow, but where would they store it? when you cut open a sapling, you cannot find the how they think - if they "think" at all. they learn, but do not think. i want to paint that process - i think it would be mostly purple and blue.

the book was not about me, it was about a young boy. his life was patterned into a different set of categories. he did not cry about the tag on his shirt. i remember reading it and saying to myself: i am wrong, and broken, but it isn't in this way. something else is wrong with me instead. later, in that same person-first education class, my teacher would bring up the curious incident and mention that it is now widely panned as being inaccurate and stereotypical. she frowned and said we might not know how a person with autism thinks, but it is unlikely to be expressed in that way. this book was written with the best intentions by a special-ed teacher, but there's some debate as to if somebody who was on the spectrum would be even able to write something like this.

we might not understand it, but crows and ravens have developed their own language. this is also true of whales, dolphins, and many other species. i do not know how a crow thinks, but we do know they can problem solve. (is "thinking" equal to "problem solving"? or is "thinking" data processing? data management?) i do not know how my dog thinks, either, but we "talk" all the same - i know what he is asking for, even if he only asks once.

i am not a dolphin or reindeer or a dog in the nighttime, but i am an odd duck. in the ugly duckling, she grows up and comes home and is beautiful and finds her soulmate. all that ugliness she experienced lives in downy feathers inside of her, staining everything a muted grey. she is beautiful eventually, though, so she is loved. they do not want to cut her open to see how she thinks.

a while ago i got into an argument with a classmate about that weird sia music video about autism. my classmate said she thought it was good to raise awareness. i told her they should have just hired someone else to do it. she said it's not fair to an autistic person to expect them to be able to handle that kind of a thing.

today i saw a goose, and he was limping. i want to be loved like a flock loves a wounded creature: the phrase taken under a wing. which is to say i have always known i am not normal. desperate, mewling - i want to be loved beyond words.

loved beyond thinking.

[lilybug-02]

You’re making a lot of promises there Chara…

Part 24 || First || Previous || Next

—Full Series—

I enjoyed doing this little Flashback scene. We’ll be back to our regularly scheduled freakout session soon. Having monochrome color is very nice.

Here is a gif of Chara spilling their water because YES. And I spent way too long on it :)

Wow technology is so cool.