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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patience and indulgence.
early access + nsfw on patreon
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(hey i drew this comic in collaboration with the very talented author prettyunhinged, who wrote an amazing fic to go along with it!!! please leave a comment and kudos if u read it, it's so perfect >.< but also do look at the tags first lmao )
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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
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i genuinely don't care how good a piece of ai generated art or writing looks on the surface. i don't care if it emulates brush strokes and metaphor in a way indistinguishable from those created by a person.
it is not the product of thoughtful creation. it offers no insights into the creator's life or viewpoint. it has no connection to a moment in time or a place or an attitude. it has no perspective. it has no value.
it's empty, it's hollow, and it exists only to generate clicks (and by extension, ad revenue.)
it's just another revolting symptom of the disease that is late stage capitalism, and it fucking sucks.
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We really need to talk about how good balls are more bc like,,,, mouth stuffed full, nose pressed into their pubes, cock resting on your face,,, the picture of cute, dumb submission,,, you’re not gonna make them cum with any of your licking and sucking but it makes them feel good and it makes you look like a desperate slut,,,, them forcing your head into them, nose filling with their musk, head spinning,,, I’m just a bonus to your jerk off session <333
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It's not.like he wanted to be here, Jesus.
Not that he'd leave either knowing where they are right now— mind you.
"And who is this, Cap?" Shazam screaming child gives a strained smile, back straight and answers.
"My colleague–"
Danny interrupts, face finally away from the glass that separates him and space. "Shazam over here got grounded by mom, and since he had a JL meeting, I was to come along as supervision."
Batman is eerily still, staring at them.
Poor Billy, he's gonna deal with this alone next time.
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Somebody mentioned in a tag on one of my posts the scene where Marco Animorphs is showering after antmageddon and he finds an ant stuck to his hip by the pincers where it presumably was trying to bite him in half when he was an ant and then it died from him becoming very big very fast and I feel like that scene, and the scene where Cassie finds a sliver of a sentient person’s flesh between her teeth while she’s flossing and then flosses until her gums bleed, really deserve recognition in the literary canon. Applegate deserves an award. There should be a TV Trope named after whatever the fuck that is. Like fridge horror but diegetic. Bathroom horror. Your bedtime bathroom routine as an opportunity for personal confrontation with the violent detritus of the dead which lingers in and on your body even after you have ostensibly stripped yourself of weapons and healed over all your wounds.
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