I think one of the best feelings in the world is having someone to fight at your back and I'm pretty sure if your life isn't an adventure you're not doing it right
they/them pronouns
Hopepunk is the cold hard knowledge that wallowing in despair while the world burns does nothing to mitigate the situation and that the only logical course of action is to fight back. It is, in essence, disillusionment with disillusionment.
Disillusionment with disillusionment. I love that, it's very true.
This is getting on my fucking nerves, so I’m just going to say it here:
Adults who need high levels of support in daily living are not children.
“Mental age” is a concept rooted in eugenics, and it doesn’t actually exist.
No one should be robbed of agency or dignity because of their need for support.
Oh, also, while we’re at it (since disability rights activism that doesn’t tackle age-related oppression is bullshit), kids deserve to be treated with respect too. Shouldn’t be a controversial statement, but it is.
Most people neglect to mention this, but if “being treated like a child” equates to “being robbed of agency and dignity,” there’s something fundamentally wrong with the way we treat children.
I once received a DM comprised of just that sentence. Nothing else. No constructive criticism or any reason as to why this person clearly agreed with my own view of myself.
For someone who has never told anyone in their real life that they write anything, reading something like this from an anonymous user only solidified in my mind the fact that this person was right.
I’m not a good writer.
After an embarrassing amount of minutes passed, in which I thought about deleting every story I ever posted, I decided to delete the message instead. Unfortunately, that didn’t mean I could delete the feelings it caused or change the fact that I’m not a good writer.
Two weeks went by and I didn’t write anything, let alone post. Then I received a comment on a story I had posted three years prior, one I’d written after a death in our family. The comment read, “Thank you for sharing this heartfelt story. I really needed this. I just lost my mom and this really got me today.”
I stopped thinking about being a good writer after that. I thought instead, “what if I had deleted my stories and that one person three years later hadn’t read it that day?”
Here’s what I realized: no one is a good writer.
Good means to be approved of, but stories aren’t created from approval. They’re built from life experiences, feelings, and emotions Therefore, the impact of anyone’s story isn’t good or bad. It’s a million other things.
Heartfelt.
Sad.
Funny.
Inspiring.
Romantic.
So to all the story writers out there, hold your head up, write what is in your heart, and never doubt that there isn’t at least one person out there that needs to read your story.
So, no.
We’re not good writers, but why would we want to be?
people who live in old houses don't give a fuck about anything they'll be like yeah i hear scratching inside the walls at night. it was annoying at first but now it's just part of the charm of this place for me. i actually can't fall asleep without it.
me explaining to the other trainers that apricorns are unknown outside of Johto because of deliberate suppression by the Silph and Devon corporations to present artificial pokeballs as the only means of capturing pokemon and establish regional monopolies after they eliminate renewable sources
in rare moments, it's particularly pleasing to be called a bitch. you are standing there and the dude is fuming because you won't let him take home someone too drunk to stand. you are standing there and not letting karen yell at the barista about the mask policy and this lady absolutely wants to kill you so badly.
standing there and you're objectively, 100%, doing-the-right thing - and you're a bitch! and it's kind of like - you know what, thank you, i am a bitch right now. now you got my hackles up, bark bark. you are standing there, telling this asswipe of a person not to be a bigot - that if things have to get hairy, they will get hairy like a wolf. you've been good for a lot of your life! very well-behaved. your teachers called you a delight once. you get nervous ordering takeout over the phone.
but right now you're a bitch! you are wearing someone else's skin. you are not a name, a person. just a bitch. and it's well and truly freeing. it's rare - very - but it happens to hit just-right. and you're standing there with your ears roaring from adrenaline and you're like, oh. i'm a bitch! i'm a bitch! i'm being a huge fucking bitch! and now, my love! i'm gonna be your big fucking bitch of a problem!