#tw learning disability

[stargazer-sims]

🖊 Haru

Thanks @dandylion240 ! Here you go!

Sakuharu Abe (a.k.a. Haru)

Haru is an only child, and he was raised by his maternal grandparents from practically the day he was born. His mother struggled with substance abuse from her mid-teens until the time of her death at age 19. She knew that she wasn't ready for him and couldn't take care of him, so when her parents said they would take him, she didn't resist. Haru's mother took her own life (deliberate drug overdose) when he was just eight months old. He doesn't remember her at all, and he's never known his father. He doesn't even know who his father is. To him, his grandparents are his parents (although he's fully aware that they're actually his grandparents).

Haru has learning challenges, and he had developmental delays and some fairly serious behavioural problems as a child. These were attributed to his mother's drug and alcohol use while she was pregnant with him, according to the multiple doctors and therapists his grandparents took him to. He was diagnosed with a type of Fetal Alcohol Spectrum Disorder. The medical professionals all agreed that Haru was lucky, because his delays could have been far worse, and he may have had lifelong physical disabilities as well as his learning disability. He'll always struggle with some things, but thanks to his grandparents' dedication to helping him learn and grow to the best of his ability, he manages to do reasonably well in his everyday life and has had typical social development.

From a young age, Haru loved music. He always loved to dance, and his grandmother would often find him bopping away in a corner of the room to "the music in my imagination, Grandmother!" When he was seven, he asked for guitar lessons. Learning to read musical notation proved frustratingly difficult for him, but he turned out to have an exceptional ear for music and clever fingers. He learned the mechanics of playing guitar, even if the formal study of music theory eluded him, and by the time he was in his early teens, he could play anything he wanted on his instrument.

Around that same time, he fell in love with rap, and realized that even though the physical act of writing was extremely difficult for him, he could still make his own lyrics. Instead of writing them down, he recorded them by dictating with speech-to-text on his phone. This is how he still composes his lyrics, but now he gets help from Taiji or Senjirō in refining them and incorporating them into the group's songs.

When he was sixteen, he was discovered at his school's talent show by a scout from Peak Entertainment. With his grandparents' permission, he signed a contract with Peak, and joined them as a trainee the following year. That's where he met Ryu, Keigo, Senjirō and Taiji (among many other trainees) and soon after, Sugar Valentine was officially formed.

#sapphire answers #Sakuharu Abe #sugarvalentine #tw substance abuse #tw suicide mention #tw learning disability #stargazersims

[voidmire-system-error]

shout out to clumsy people.

shout out to people with coordination issues.

shout out to people with dyspraxia.

shout out to people with apraxia.

shout out to people with muscle weakness.

shout out to people with paresis.

shout out to people with paralysis.

shout out to people with arthritis n/or joint deformities.

shout out to people with chronic pain whose pain makes it hard to control their movements.

shout out to people with chronic fatigue whose fatigue makes them hard to control their movements.

shout out to people with balance issues.

shout out to people with other conditions that make hard to control body n/or movements.

shout out to people who are undiagnosed n struggling with control movements.

it's not your fault. it's not your carelessness. you deserve support n accommodations. you shouldn't be judged or mocked. you deserve respect. your struggles deserve respect.

#positivity #disability #disabled #coordination issues #dyspraxia #apraxia #actually dyspraxic #clumsy #arthritis #chronic pain #chronic fatigue #learning disabilities #developmental disabilities #neurological disability #neurological disorders #repetition #repetition tw

[autistic-duck]

(Very long post, sorry.)

I had an experience with a college professor last semester that really got me thinking about academics and ableism, specifically in college writing.

A few months ago, my class was having an open discussion, and I brought up an opinion that had been on my mind for a while.

I basically said, "There's a gap between college-level writing and the average person's reading level that we need to fill. Nobody should need to look up words every three seconds to understand a study that could affect their life, so we either need more people to rewrite these studies for the general public to understand, or these studies, in general, should be published with language that isn't so complicated."

My professor responded by saying something like, "Sure, that's a good goal. However, wouldn't a better goal be to raise the average person's reading level so that everyone can understand college-level writing?"

I (in my frantic and confused way) tried to bring up the fact that there are people born at a disadvantage in life. In fact, getting everyone to a perfect college reading level isn't a realistic goal. It certainly isn't for me, and I don't want it to have to be for other people. In fact, the professor who told me this also struggled to understand the chapters we were assigned to read in that class.

Really, it all comes down to this: college-level language is inaccessible.

Even more importantly, many people will never be able to understand most of the huge words thrown around in college writing.

At school, I am constantly told my writing style is "simple" and "easy to understand." This is something my classmates have told me isn't "bad" but just "different." However, I'm still insecure whenever someone mentions it because it is always pointed out. I use a smaller vocabulary, they seem to say, but don't worry. It's just a preferred writing style, they reassure me. They think the simple language is a choice I could stop at any time.

Well, what if it isn't just a "style"? What if I struggle to expand my vocabulary? Learning one new word takes me ages because I need to see it in all kinds of contexts. Even then, oftentimes "context clues" are no help, and I completely misinterpret the meaning of a word for years because it seems like every other native English speaker knew what it meant without needing to say it. A lot of the time I'll read the definition of a new word and instantly forget it after finishing the sentence it was in.

So yeah, I'll say it with pride: Simple words are powerful. Simple words are beautiful. And most importantly, simple words are not inferior in any way to words like "quintessential" or "expedient." (I have no idea what either of those words mean even though I've looked them up plenty of times and used them accurately in essays before.)

Simplicity is why I like shows meant for all ages better than shows meant only for adults. Because in shows that are written with children in mind, there aren't confusing messages you have to spend energy untangling. There aren't unnecessary analogies or feelings that are "implied" but never said. The characters' facial expressions and emotions are easy to read and the moments where I am confused are rare.

Now, this is all coming from an autistic person with low support needs. My reading comprehension score is considered slightly above average, and so is my problem-solving abilities which means I am lucky and I can understand a lot of what I read in college. The main point of this little "essay" was to point out a common conversation I despise hearing in college, the one about simple language and its implied inferiority.

Because guess what? Language is not accessible to everybody. Many of us, even those with high reading comprehension, struggle.

Our goal should never be to make everyone capable of reading college-level books and studies. That is asking for those who need accommodations to accommodate themselves, something I'm sure other disabled people are tired of having to do. Instead, the goal should be making college language more accessible, making knowledge accessible. After all, the reader is only a fragment of the conversation. The writer is the majority of it.

TLDR; Everyone deserves access to language and knowledge that makes sense, and bigger words never mean they are better.

#actually autistic #ableism #autism pride #autism awareness #actuallyautistic #autism #asd #learning disability #accessibility #disability #college #academics #university #student #autistic spectrum #autistic #autism spectrum disorder #autism spectrum #tw ableism

[gayvampyr]

i hate the idea/trope that poor kids who do well in school don’t need any support when it comes to college, or that they all get full-ride scholarships. i don’t do well in school now that i’m in uni but i was a straight-A student throughout all of middle & high school and i got 1 (one) scholarship for $500/semester, which is less than 5% of my tuition. i didn’t have the opportunities or knowledge a lot of the other wealthier kids had, whose parents and grandparents and siblings had gone to college too. like we don’t all end up getting exactly the help we need, and i know the poor kids who weren’t straight-A students had an even harder time getting into college, if they did at all. it’s rough out here for all of us. the only sure-fire way a kid could get guaranteed financial assistance was if they had knowledge of the system and the time and money to pursue them. it sucks

#i can acknowledge the privilege i had to even do well in school in the first place #i didn’t have a learning disability that majorly influenced me in the classroom #i mean i do now but my autism had the routine and schedule i needed to keep me going #but even with that getting into college was hard asf! #im still considering dropping out! #again it sucks #classism #ableism #school tw #education system #text post

[chronic-cane]

The fact that I'm taking a graduate level course and have a professor use "mental ret*rdation" in their slides infuriates me to no end.

Like, I mean no end. I'm trying my best to anonymously get it addressed within the department so that way the professor could correct it and make an announcement about its correction.

I'm also looking through the required textbook, and uh...

[Alt Text: picture of a man looking down one on one side with a blurred shadow of him looking scared or shocked on the other side. The photo is described as "image of dissociative identity disorder" end image description]

And a lot of calling mental illness madness, insanity, and even "minds of disturbed people."

It was published in 2021. (Sociology of Mental Disorder by William C. Cockerham if anyone wants to give it a shit review with me)

At this point I want the class to turn into a mad studies course. If you want to have that language so fucking badly then give the mic to the people who try to reclaim it. If you can screw up this badly, then start making it up to the ones you've screwed over.

But yeah a lot of my time about this class is pointing out how bad it is.

#and this post isnt even about the actual content! don't worry I haven't actually learned anything a month in #and see many inaccuracies #my therapist read some screenshots of the book I sent him and said the fuck out loud #r slur #r slur tw #ableism tw #sanism tw #mad punk #disability #disability rights #rant #disability advocacy

[rollercoasterwords]

ok i know it's just a silly little fanfiction on the silly little internet but at this point i have seen a few different people discussing crimson rivers james + the possibility of him going back into the arena in a way that just feels...kind of casually ableist?? so. some thoughts:

if your first reaction when considering the possibility of james going back into the arena is anything along the lines of "nooo omg he would die so quickly/he wouldn't stand a chance/he'd be dead in a second because of his leg" please! please. please just pause and think for a moment about why that is your first response and how that is informing your speculation that it couldn't possibly be him, because we know pov characters won't die and of course james would die if he went back into the arena with a physical disability. here are some things to consider -

when you talk about things like "disadvantages," think about where you're drawing the line. in the first games, we saw that evan was taller than regulus and better built for climbing trees. he had an advantage that regulus did not have. peter was certain that he was going to die, because he wasn't as strong as some of the other tributes. vanity was physically "disadvantaged" when compared to...pretty much everyone else. both of them outlived tributes like avery and mulciber. clearly, physical disadvantages don't always matter the way you might think when it comes to who lives or dies.

think about what assumptions you're relying on and what lines you're drawing in your own thinking when it comes to disability. yes, james needs a cane. he also gets triggered by bugs. regulus can't fucking shower. regulus gets triggered by the smell and taste and sometimes even the sight of blood (if i'm remembering correctly?). sirius has dissociative amnesia. like. nobody who has been through the arena has come out the other side without some kind of issue, and all of those issues could affect them in different ways that could put them at a disadvantage if they go back into the arena. pause and consider why you might be responding to james's leg differently than you are to sirius's dissasociation, or regulus's panic attacks. what narratives about physical disability have you internalized?

consider that we have actually already seen disability addressed in the first arena! james needs glasses to see. many people don't consider needing glasses a disability, because the accomodations needed for those who wear glasses are widely available, and because it is so common + normalized that those who wear glasses don't face much (or any) stigma in their day to day lives. but regardless of how you'd define poor eyesight and where you'd draw that line, it is undeniably a physical disadvantage that james needs a physical accomodation to address in order to put him on a "level playing field" with anyone who has 20/20 vision. and how was it addressed? super-fancy high-tech contact! bam. clearly, the hallow does take disability into account in some ways, because they want to make sure they have an interesting game. so again, where's the assumption coming from that james's leg would put him at like...an egregious and impossible disadvantage?

i think it's completely valid to have discussions about disability and to talk about the reality of how a physical disability like james's might affect him in the arena. but i also think that discussion should be dissecting and pushing back against societal ableism surrounding physical disability, and saying shit like "oh he'd die so quickly bc of his leg" is...not doing that. so. just some food for thought!

#i am not physically disabled and i am sure that i still have a lot to learn about ableism myself #which is why i am trying to just make this post a call-in for other able-bodied folks like myself #to pause and think about what assumptions we find ourselves making #and just like. to generally be thoughtful with what we're posting on the internet #i don't think any of the posts i've seen that say shit about james dying quickly are ill-intentioned #i think they're just thoughtless #we live in an ableist society and everyone internalizes ableism #so we have to be thoughtful if we don't want to perpetuate it!! we have to pause and think! #crimson rivers #crimson rivers spoilers #tw ableism #ranting and raving #txt

[crybaby-bkg]

cw: talks of illness, needle mention/getting a shot

Bakugou loves you in your entirety. Loves your smart mouth and your little grins and fluttering lashes whenever you’re begging him for something. Swears to whoever would listen that he’d do anything for you.

Even when that includes taking care of you when your sickness becomes too great. When your body is too heavy to let you sit up on your own. Dabs a cold rag against your forehead when you break out in sweats from your low, holds a cup of orange juice to your lips (hand squeezed himself when you told him you hated how sour the processed ones tasted), unwraps your candy wrappers when your hands shake too much. He dotes over you the whole time, asks if you’re okay but only reply with a nod when you have a mouthful of candy, let’s you lay all over him when technically you’re in range again but your physicality hasn’t yet caught up.

And when you’re high, he doesn’t berate you. Doesn’t guilt trip you for eating a little more than expected, taking a little less insulin that you had calculated. He only kisses your forehead, brings you water bottle after water bottle when you go through them, doesn’t complain when he has to keep pausing the tv for your bathroom breaks.

Bakugou loves you in your entirety, with every ounce of his being. Never faults you when you’re moody, only asks in the most gentle tone if you’ve checked your numbers lately, and doesn’t hold it against you when you confess that that’s the root of your attitude right now.

He gives you your shots and draws a little pinprick of blood from your fingers, even though it terrifies him to do so. He’d hate to fuck up, but your belly has gotten so sore from the overuse of the area. Stands above you on the side of the bed, bent at the waist, his tongue poking out the side of his mouth, eyebrows downturned in concentration the whole time. He talks the step aloud of giving you a shot in your thigh, over wipes the area with alcohol, holds the fat there tightly until you giggle that he can relax a little. You have to remind him not to hold his breath when the needle slides in smoothly, and that he doesn’t have to kiss the area every time he finishes.

Bakugou rubs the knots out in the puffy areas, the lumps hiding underneath your skin. Gets a warm washcloth and soothes it over your skin when it gets sensitive to the touch. Doesn’t let you hide them when you undress, only kisses and kisses until the ache is somehow gentler on your muscles.

And on the days where you struggle, Bakugou is always there, a pillar for you to lean on. When the insurance is doing stupid shit with life threatening medicine, he’s there handling everything when your frustration takes over. When the media or fans make offensive stereotypes or comments or even ‘jokes’, he doesn’t hesitate to educate them, put them in their place, make them apologize even when he knows it’s hit something vulnerable in you. He fills you up on carbs before you go out drinking, and puffs his chest out when he gives you your shot in front of your friends with a little more confidence.

He annoys you though, with your CGM. He’ll send Kirishima or Mina over to your place when he gets a notification that you’re either high or low. Sends you a text that you’re rapidly dropping and better be stuffing some skittles in your mouth right now.

Bakugou loves you, and never in spite of your illness. He loves you, with your illness, with your lumps, with your mood swings and sensitivity when things just won’t go right today. He loves you, with everything that makes him whole, he loves you.

#this was both so hard and so easy to write #I think about this stuff all the time whenever I do something betes related #by actually forming words and an idea around it was so daunting #do not perceive me lmfao #forgot to mention but he also gives you at home pedicures with absolutely no complaint <3 #even if you aren’t a t1d just know that he will still love you so much in your entirety #and your illnesses and ailments are pieces and parts of you that he cherishes with his whole being <3 #also if anyone of you decide to write about your illness/diseases/disorders #pls tag me!!!! there’s not enough disability representation and I would love to see more #even if I don’t know anything about it bc he helps me to learn something new all the while!!!! #I love u guys :) #—new treat in the streets! 🍫 #bakugou treats! 🍬 #tw: needles

[whumble-beeee]

The Waiting Game

The (Un)Official Guide to Hero-Keeping | Cont'd from Part 3

Contains: disabled whumpee, trans whumpee, PTSD, past captivity references, needles mention, tied up/retstraints, blood, collar

* * * * * * * *

[As the warden of your captured hero, you are responsible for their health, for better or for worse. So it is generally advised that you should make a habit of tracking what injuries you cause on or in the hero’s body. Write it all down in a journal!

Another reliable approach is to examine them physically. This approach is best used if you think the hero is lying or trying to hide a physical ailment they so stupidly caused to themself while you were away. There will usually be resistance from the hero to such an approach, so you may have to restrain the hero to use this method. This also comes with the drawback that only external ailments can be detected, so you will likely have to also pick up on cues in the way the hero acts to detect more invisible sicknesses; Are they dizzy, lurching around, or exhibiting other signs of illness? Then they might just be ill! But be wary of faking! How stupid they’ll feel when you don’t fall for it because you’ve read The Unofficial Guide to Hero-keeping! (for more information, turn to ‘Identifying Faked Behaviors’ on pg. XX)]

* * * * * * * *

Stan felt like he was dying. 

The way his arms wrenched behind his back had him constantly readjusting just to find even a semi-comfortable way to lie on the hard flooring. Every time he readjusted, the horrible aches and pains marring his body lit up as if it were the first time all over again, continually reawakening him with an infuriatingly small shot of adrenaline that only served to make him just conscious enough to feel the buzzing agony anew. He wove in and out of consciousness like a speedboat hurtled over the waves of choppy storming seas.

Genuinely a waking nightmare.

A bitter feeling at the top of his mouth stung lightly, clouding his mind, pulling him away from the terror, the torture, pulling him closer to an uneasy unconsciousness before the ever-present danger of the situation stormed back to the front of his mind and jolted him back awake.  Because yeah, the mercenary was still here in the room, sitting in his stupid chair and scrolling on his stupid phone. At least when he wasn’t standing up every so often to bounce around the room like a bouncy ball, or restlessly spin around in circles like a toddler or quietly seethe in a sort of Spanglish about “¿por qué tardan tonto?” and “God, are they fucking with me?” and “Ughhhhh, I’m bored.”

The intermittent movement only served to constantly remind Stan of his place on the floor, tied up, beat up, ankle chained, dizzy, collared, and without his cane.

Oh, and the collar. It sat heavily on his throat, restricting any and all use of his powers. Making the possibility of fighting back stretch ever farther away. 

He swallowed. Pushed the thoughts away. He tried not to think about it too much. The memories returned in the form of twisting waking nightmares if he thought about it too much. He did his best to just focus on the good things instead;

The fact that Chloe, his amazing little sister, didn’t seem to be involved in any of this. And if he ever found out she was, he would burn this entire place to the ground. He’d done it before for her, and he’d do it again. For her.

The fact that when (not if) he got out of this situation, he still had his fiance, Marcus, to go back home to. And in fact, Marcus was probably planning a rescue mission right this second, and when he saved Stan and put this Deeby guy in prison, they could all go back to normal and Stan could forget any of this had ever even–

“Oye! Chico! Stan, you better not be dying on me!”

Stan flinched out of his half-asleep daze and tried to move his hands out from behind him. His shoulders felt so stiff.

Didn’t work. 

Right. 

Then his eyes focused on the bounty hunter, and a glaring jolt of danger danger danger made him avert his gaze downward. The action made this vision swim, and he swayed. Had he always had a headache this bad?

The bounty hunter snorted at him.

“You givin’ me the silent treatment or something?” He started a slow meander toward Stan. “I was just checking up on you, bud. You stopped twitching and whining and shit, thought you were dead.”

And suddenly Stan found out that, in fact, there was a much more comfortable position for him to take in his bound-up state, that being him scootching back as quickly as possible from the encroaching mercenary until his back hit the wall. 

“I wasn’t–!” Stan did not want to be a part of whatever recreational activities he would come up with to stave off the aforementioned boredom. Especially now that he was so defenseless. “Just–... I just– tired… and hurting. Wasn’t ignoring you.”

He stopped in his tracks and raised an eyebrow. “Okay, I can understand the hurting, considering…” he gestured vaguely to all of Stan. “That. But you’re tired? Really? You’ve been sleeping since you first got here.”

Stan took a deep breath and managed to roll his eyes against his better judgment.

“Getting kidnapped, beat to shit, and tied up so you can barely move really has a way of doing that to you, I guess…”

Stan knew his mistake as soon as he voiced the thought. Then it all but was confirmed when he saw the way the mercenary perked up, that lively glint in his eye, the way his smile widened just slightly. Stan found himself tensing and pressing even further into the wall, as if that would help at all when the mercenary came over to do whatever tortures he saw fit.

Instead, the man quirked his head at him. “When was the last time you ate? You hungry?”

Then he didn’t wait for an answer before rushing to leave the room.

Stan had to take a moment to process.

“I– What?!” he tried to call after the mercenary, already feeling his heart pounding in his chest. The bounty hunter reentered the room again with his hands in his jacket pockets, and Stan couldn't cover up the small whimper that escaped from his throat when Deeby trotted up to him and pulled out that same horrible pocket knife from before. 

“Turn around.” The bounty hunter ordered with a little twirling motion of his blade.

What was happening?

“A-ah– What?! N-no!”

His mouth pressed into a straight line, an agitated huff leaving his nose at the challenge. Though, the shine never left his eyes even when they narrowed.

“I’m gonna undo the cuffs, turn around.”

What?

Stan balked. “Why would–... What’s the knife–!”

The mercenary surged forward and reached for the back of Stan's neck. Stan ducked down with a screech, more out of instinct than anything else as he braced himself for the pulling of the strap around his throat, his breath being stolen away from him as it tightened, constricting his windpipe, cutting off his air supply and inevitably wrenching him around like a ragdoll. 

Only for the pressure to instead pull on the back of his shirt. 

And sure, yeah, he was still wrenched forward so that he splayed out onto his stomach, barely avoiding smacking his face into the ground after a blinding white light filled his vision when he fell hard onto his injured, overworked knee, and a hoarse cry forced from his throat when the bounty hunter's own perfectly working knee dug into his upper back right between the shoulder blades. But Stan could barely even find it in himself to be mad about that over the overwhelming and very confusing relief he felt at not being choked out.

He still squirmed and struggled to get out of the pin, though the struggle was very short-lived as he fell into a forced freeze when the point of the knife rested threateningly on the small of his back. Right above the cuffs.

“Cálmate! Jesuchristo,”  the hunter’s voice sounded from above him. “Sit tight and shut up, I’m doing you a favor.”

His wrists lifted up and the sliding shing and clicks of metal against metal sounded out, the cuffs shifting and clacking against his wrists as Deeby worked. Then one of the cuffs momentarily tightened before clicking open and wrenching off, and before he could even think of struggling again, the knee on his back swiveled around, grinding painful bone into bone as his arms swung above his head and were recuffed there. 

Stan grit his teeth against the various pitiful noises threatening his vocal cords. If he wasn't going to fight back, he at least wasn't going to yelp like a wounded puppy.

Even if the man sitting on his back did make him agonizingly reaware of the beating he took earlier, the punch to the liver, the throws against the wall, the sprint on a knee that barely worked. And newly aware of a few possibly cracked ribs that shot lightning-quick stabs up through his chest and arms.

The manhandling was truly a gift that just kept on giving.

“There, that wasn't so hard, was it runt?” The bounty hunter said smugly as he pinched the back of Stan's shirt and pulled him back upright to his knees, which Stan quickly readjusted to sit crisscross. He had to bite his tongue from another defiant ‘yes’ and possible ‘that's what she said’ joke. 

The mercenary nudged his leg with his boot. “Verbal response, bud.”

Stan pursed his lips as he inspected the cuffs adorning his wrists, noticing for the first time the dark fuzziness that clouded the edges of his vision. “You… you could have just… let me just turn around…”

He squeezed his eyes shut and blinked rapidly, shaking his head to clear the fuzz. Unsuccessfully.

“I gave you two chances. Told you what I was about to do. Plus, you need to learn to just do what I say. We can practice now actually! Eat this!”

A protein bar fell into Stan's lap. He stared at it. 

He hadn't really noticed over the various screeching aches consuming his body which warranted more immediate attention, but a small, almost unbearable void was starting to take the place of his stomach. Maybe that's why he was so lightheaded. He tried not to dwell on how long he must have been here for the hunger to get that bad, and very tentatively picked up the bar to inspect it for… tampering he supposed. Poisoning.

As he turned the bar over in his hand, a small flash of dark red blotching his hand caught his eye; A little smiley face, lightly bloodied and scabbed over carved into the back of his hand. Taunting him with its joy.

He gawked at it, clenching his fist and watching the scab move lightly over the tendons. This must have been what the mercenary had carved into his hand that made him freak out when he'd first woken up. A perversion of everything the symbol was supposed to represent.

A fucking tiny little smiley face.

“It's not poisoned or anything.” 

Stan practically jumped out of his skin as the mercenary appeared right beside him and deafeningly thumped one of the chairs down.

“If I wanted to drug you, I'd just–” he pressed the side of his fist into Stan's flinching arm and made a small popping sound, pantomiming a syringe. “Works a lot quicker than orally. And I can control the dose better.”

Oh. Oh no.

If the mercenary was ever going to drug him– Which there was almost no doubt he would try at some point–

He would use a needle.

“If– If you…” he was breathless, head spinning all of a sudden, vision tunneling on the death grip he held the protein bar in. “If you try to give me a shot, I'm going to– gonna freak ALL the way out. All the way. The entire way.”

He chuckled. “Damn, maybe I should poison your food then, calm down runt. Just sit in your chair and eat the protein bar.”

Stan wrenched his gaze up to the chair. He felt so hot. Was the room always this warm? He did not want to sit back in the chair. What would the bounty hunter do to him if he sat in the chair? What would he do if he didn't? Tie him up again? Torture him? Or maybe the plan was to poison him with the food. Deeby must have known he'd be hungry, he must’ve been here for hours at this point, if not a day. Or days?! He wasn't sure he could take much more of a beatdown, he already felt like he was teetering on the edge of a never-ending spiraling hole that he would never be able to escape from if there were any more restraints, more pain, more collars and taking away his powers so he couldn't defend himself even though he tried, more nonchalant bantering as if his entire life wasn't being torn apart at the seams, as if he weren’t in chains on the floor of some unknown warehouse with a collar forced onto him again with absolutely no chance of escape and no chance he would ever see any of his family ever again, no way to protect Chloe from the same fate, no–

“--Chico! STAN!!”

Two thunderous finger snaps shot through his consciousness. Stan screeched and tried to slam his elbows back, straining against the cuffs and shoving back into the wall as hard as he could, breath shuddering, feet skidding across the floor, eyes darting around trying to see through the pinhole that his vision provided for the source of the noise as the world spun on its axis around him.

Then his vision locked on the source of the noise, darkness slowly receding back to the edges of his vision. The source of the noise stared at him with a probing look on his face. Stan shrank even further into himself, if that was possible. He had curled up into a little ball at some point.

“Let go of the collar,” the hunter said, voice scarily even.

Stan felt his heart skip a beat as he realized that he was indeed white-knuckling the collar. He pried his hands off of his neck as his heart pounded in his ears, only barely drowning out the deafening sound of his own gasping breaths

“Wait wait, I didn't–!...” The mercenary stalked toward him, and suddenly he felt like a trapped animal again, collar and chains and all. “Please, I– I'm sorry! I didn't mean to, I wasn't trying– trying– I wasn’t–!”

The hunter squatted down right in front of him and sharply held up a finger, and Stan slapped his hands over his mouth to stop any more words from tumbling out at the command.

“Follow my finger with your eyes, yeah?”

Stan jerkily nodded. Tears burned his eyelids and wet his hands.

Deeby moved his hand around and around in front of Stan's face. Stan did his best to follow it. The motion made Stan's head spin, as well as the piercing red gaze of the mercenary staring into his pupils that he did his best to ignore. 

“Oof, yeah,” Deeby said finally, resting his arm back down on his knee. “Concussion.”

Stan finally removed his hands from his mouth just enough to squeak out a response. “Concussion?”

“Concussion. You're off balance even though you're literally sitting down, staring into space, spacing out. Not making eye contact. Swaying. Plus your pupils are all blown up and you can't track for shit,” the mercenary laughed. “Maybe tossed you around a bit too hard back there. But hey, I told you what would happen if you tried to escape. That's on you, bud.”

Stan’s breath hitched on a light growl bubbling up in his throat. So it was his fault that he was beaten so badly that his brain literally rattled around his head? His fault that he was having a very understandable breakdown?

He wiped at the tear tracks running down his cheeks and around his eyes. Snorted, tried to get his chronically hitching breath back to normal. He couldn’t even remember what normal breathing felt like. The metal of the cuffs was surprisingly warm as they accidentally scratched at his face. 

“So… What're, uh…” he whispered breathily. “What’re we gonna– gonna do about it?”

“The concussion?”

Stan nodded.

“Nothing to be done really. Just don't try anything stupid and you won't get tossed around again, I guess. But you can’t really treat a concussion.”

Stan clonked his head back against the wall with an exasperated whine. The mercenary just gave an amused shrug in return with an almost empathetic smile. “Maybe don’t do that though. Want some painkillers?”

“No,” Stan growled at the air. His vocal cords sounded strained and whiny from the crying, and he cleared his throat to get his voice back to normal.  “I want you to let me go–” 

Deeby scoffed, but Stan reinterrupted the interruption before he could start with another quip. “– OR failing that, I want you to leave me the-the hell alone!”

“Hm. Yeah, no. I'm bored. I’ve left you alone for the past day, and I think you're supposed to stay awake for a bit if you have a concussion anyway. So you're not going back to twitching on the floor for the time being. And I’ll assume you’ll get snarky if I say I wanna do something more physical…”

The mercenary stood up and went to go grab his chair, setting it down just a few feet away from Stan before patting the seat of the chair that he’d set down earlier, the one Stan had previously been tied to, flashing a smile that Stan could have almost mistaken as friendly with all the brain fog.

“So sit down, eat your protein bar. Let’s just have a chat.”

* * * * * * * *

Next

Taglist: @flowersarefreetherapy

#whump #whump writing #whumper #whumpee #hero whump #defiant whumpee #kidnapping whump #captivity whump #tw recapture #trans whumpee #disabled whumpee #(un)official guide #NEW CHAPTER OUT FINALLY WOOOOO #sorry it took so long #it will happen again #this one was also just a little bit slower as a little break before we pick back up again in a chapter or two #so get ready and get excited for that! #bc a new challenger will be entering the ring >:) #also stan's starting to warm up to the name 'deeby' it seems #sucks considering the new things he'll be learning soon #I mean what #who said that #anyway #this chapter was so fun to write just like all the others! #hope you enjoy!

[northlight14]

Me: I’m mentally disabled and have a learning disability

People: what! No! You’re really smart!

Me:

Me: bitch when the fuck did I say I was dumb?

#the amount of times I’ve had this conversation istg #fun fact y’all! I can be disabled and be smart! #I can even have a learning disability and be smart! #its y’all that depict people with learning disabilities as dumb. your ableism is showing babes❤️ #dyslexic #mental disability #learning disability #learning disabled #cw cursing #tw cursing #tw ableism #dyslexic culture

[themakeupbrush]

TLDR: Think twice before you think a product is lazy or useless, it probably solves a problem you don’t have and don’t have to consider.

Also I specifically didn’t use the word disability when writing this except when referring to myself because there are many people who use assistive devices who may not consider themselves disabled.

Alright, I just want to talk about this for a second. At CES (Consumer Electronics Show, a huge convention where cool new gadgets get announced) L’Oreal announced two new products, HAPTA and Brow Magic. In case you can’t open the article, here’s how the company describes them, as well as pictures of the products: 

“ HAPTA, the first handheld, ultra-precise computerized makeup applicator designed to advance the beauty needs of people with limited hand and arm mobility; and L’Oréal Brow Magic, the first at-home electronic eyebrow makeup applicator that provides users with customized brow looks in seconds. “

The number of comments I’ve seen questioning why these devices need to exist is mind boggling. If a product exists, and it strikes you as pointless, lazy, or unnecessary, take the five extra seconds to consider what issue it might solve for someone else. As someone with a disability, I understand accessibility tools and devices sometimes come across at first glance as ridiculous and unnecessary, especially when marketed to the masses (see the snuggie as a prime example). The HAPTA device is clearly assistive, if you bother to read the description, but things like the Brow Magic, which aren’t explicitly labeled as assistive and are marketed to everyone, can be much more of an issue. I imagine if you have dexterity issues and thin brows or even hair loss, this could be a game changer, but most people just see it as an expensive device for people too lazy to do their brows.

The other thing I want to mention is price. The HAPTA is still considered a pilot product, and unlike the Brow Magic, will not be easy to market to the masses who may not require an assistive device. I saw somewhere that this is expected to cost around $200, which obviously is not accessible to most people who need it, but is unfortunately a fair market price in the US. The technology is similar to the one used in motorized stabilizing spoons for tremors, which are around the same price. Hopefully, as these types of tools become more common, the price may come down over time. 

#long post #side note I love assistive technology #and occupational therapy even if I hate doing it #i love finding tools that solve problems and learning about issues with daily living i may not have considered #besides having limitations myself i credit the childrens museum exhibit on disabilities i used to go to #tw disability #tw ableism

[luolite]

STEM father Vs Humanities daughter

(They both have autism)

#this dynamic is actually the best and horrific #literally since getting diagnosed my parents have slowly realised they too have the learned disabilities #autism #stem #humanities #arts #adhd #auadhd #actually autistic #actually adhd #family #tw family

[dyslexic-dyspraxic]

I think one of the things people overlook is not meeting expectations as someone with dyslexia and dyscalculia, because I have seen posts on ADHD but none on Dyslexia or Dyscalculia

More than anything, I was made to feel like a failure because of my dyslexia and dyscalculia

I was constantly told I was smart and evaluated as if I was neurotypical intelligent

But I would always struggle, I would always fail to live up to expectations because the thing about neurotypical intelligence is you are expected to be good at everything academic, maybe you excel at one thing, but you aren't really bad at anything, struggling with language or maths is never even considered for neurotypical intelligence

And there I was struggling to read, coming out as dyslexic and being hit with "but you're so smart" with varying levels of derision and confusion

Struggling with basic maths as people praised my intelligence and dismissed my grade as nothing impressive because it was what they expected of me, because they didn't see the anxiety I had over adding numbers together, they didn't see how my difficulty with numbers was covered up by my intelligence, I could do logic, I could do complicated problem solving, I couldn't tell you what 13% of 500 was without feeling anxious and freezing

People looked at my grades and they only saw someone smart, they didn't see how I struggled, they didn't see how I tried to meet expectations and fell short, because reading is exhausting and numbers make me anxious, they would dismiss my struggle because "you still did well, it's still a good grade" and it was, but it wasn't good enough

I was being compared to the neurotypical with the same predicted grades as me, the neurotypical who did better in all their exams than me, and I never met that expectation

They judged me as neurotypical and found me lacking as neurodivergent

#severly dyslexia #dyslexia #dyslexic #actually dyscalculic #dyscalculia #tw neurotypicalism #neurotypical bull #neurotypicalism #neurodivergence #neurotypical #neurodivergent #learning disabilities #disbaility #learning disability #disability #disabilities #disabled #discussions of ableism #tw ableism #ableist nonsense #ableist bullshit #ableism

[justabirdboy]

yknow like i know school is fucked up but i never hear people talk about the demonization of mediocrity in school. it's everywhere. make a 100 on your test. be in the top 10 percent, you want to succeed in life dont you? make all As. do all your homework: join a club. join three clubs. volunteer. and we do all this just to make it to college or get a job. as if we must break ourselves trying to be the best, just to deserve a life. it is so ingrained in us and remembering all the times i cried as a child because i didn't know how to do a math problem, and therefore wasn't "trying hard enough" or "paying attention" is heartbreaking. you can tell students that it's okay to make mistakes as much as you want, let them retake as much as you want, but it wont fix the horrible, heart wrenching, panic attack inducing fear of mediocrity that society instills into children. this is a traumatic event, especially for kids who are deemed "gifted", "intelligent", or "academically talented" by teachers and/or parents. this also is especially traumatic for those with learning disabilities or people who just lagged behind in school. why is it so bad to just be mediocre at some things? maybe a 50 percent is okay. maybe failing is okay.

#lgbtq #trans #actually autistic #autism #disability #learning disability #adhd #actually audhd #actually adhd #depression #anxitey #school #tw school #tw school trauma #school system #actually mentally ill #mental illness #mediocrity

[icedmetaltea]

Late night shitty poetry on the frustration of not being able to translate inspiration/talent from dreams to real life (and just depression lol)

I'm not the same person when I dream

These hands belong to a thousand others who never breathed

A painter, a penman, a singer, a saint,

Grasping for places I could never begin to explain

A violent kind of beauty, overwhelming in enormity

Sprawling ruins of a million doomed worlds

Under the solitude of an endless midsummer 

In memory of the person I’ll never be again

I've cast my eyes upon fractals of impossible color

Run my hands along the boundaries of the universe

Created songs that carry me through the night

Leading me back to the warmth I once knew

And I've seen the sky all lit up with stars

Connected in ways that made sense of the chaos abounding

I think I found a god hidden away in there

Reflecting everything I've never be

And then I wake up,

Blinking my other selves away

My hands are again my own

And my hands are talentless things

#poetry #I wanted to make this into a comic which is ironic bc I can't no matter how hard I try #this is partially about having a learning disability #partially about having no artistic/writing/creative talent compared to my siblings and just in general #and partially just the absolute heartbreak of waking up and being me again #Excuse me for being a drama queen I'm very hormonal rn #Metaltea writes #late night thoughts #tw depression

[imabiscuitinthousandworlds]

It's disability pridemonth, so it got me thinking on my internship at a school for physically disabled children again (it's been over a year holy shit).

I remember that, the day I got there, I had no idea what to expect and how to deal with anything. Well, not even because those children were disabled and I'd never actually met disabled people before, though that certainly played a factor, but by pretty much the entire situation. (I don't think the adults there were really equipped to handle a socially awkward teen on top of everything else either, to be honest.)

The second day a teacher-slash-more of a childcare worker i think? took me aside, spent time to explain everything to me, gave me specific instructions and after that everything went pretty well, and I learned a lot in those five days.

I unlearned a lot of my own internalized ableism, of course. Like the children who couldn't talk "properly" - they still understood everything just fine. It's really sad that I needed to see this to get it, but I'm glad I did.

I could barely understand that one girl, but man, she was fucking amazing at doing maths in her head.

But honestly, the most surprising thing about my internship?

The reactions from people around me.

I was asked so often if it wasn't hard, seeing all those disabled children.

The truth is, no. No, it wasn't. Because I got to know them in an environment that was made specifically with them in mind.

There were railings in child-height all along the walls, so the kids who had trouble with walking could still get everywhere on their own. Doors were automated and wide enough for multiple wheelchairs. The area outside was all flat and open, so all the kids, including those in wheelchairs, could play tag. There were always adults around to help them with whatever they couldn't do on their own, whenever they needed that help.

I saw happy children first, and disabled children second.

Of course they were disabled. Of course I know they'll never be able to have normal jobs, and lead normal lives, and many won't be able to live independantly. I saw a poster in a hallway in remembrance of a girl there who died. I know that this school and daycare was the only of its kind in a way too large area.

But I got to meet those children. I got to help them. I'll never forget the little boy whose hand I held to help him walk when we went to get ice cream with that one group of kids, and when he told me he loved me (children are the absolute sweetest). I'll never forget all of them just being kids, wheelchair or none, speaking or not (or with an aid, I'm not sure what it's called tho, sorry).

I'm so very glad I got an internship there.

And I'm so fucking infuriated that the world refuses to accomodate them even in small matters. I'm fucking mad that these children will grow up to be treated as stupid or lesser just because of a disability. These children are physically disabled, and they are children.

It's one of the most important realizations I needed to have, and I hate that it wasn't a given in the first place. I hate that society made it necessary to see.

Fuck ableism. We gotta fight for a future these children, and any disabled people - physically or otherwise - can live in.

If I used any offensive wording or anything, feel free to correct me, I'm trying and always open to learn more :)

#disability pride month #i tend to not think about disabled people that much bc it doesnt impact me personally #but i really should #our current system is a fucking nightmare #a biscuit's rambles #i really am trying to learn how to be an ally to disabled people so feel free to add whatever! #death mention tw

[ittybittybeastiebuddy]

The desperate yet guilty anxiety that comes from having to essentially beg for accommodations from my college professors is an emotion I wish I was less familiar with

#beastiebites #didnt get shit officially last year so had to ask all my professors individually for extension when i needed #and idk if ill get anything this year so Im once again resorting to oversharing in a desperate attempt to get ny professors to understand #Im fucking disabled and mentally ill and I need deadline extensions like i need water #i feel awful about it though its sorta fuckin humiliating to have to write an email that is me on my hands and knees praying they wont #think im trying to get out of work #im passionate about these classes and i wanna learn so bad Im just #so fuckin mentally ill rn #and i need help #but i dont have access to the help I need #so im just sorta #slowly watching as i become more and more despondant and emotionally drained #and struggle to do basic fucking tasks #Im sorry im just tired and stressed #gonna go to sleep and hopefully feel a little better in the morning #tw vent #vent post #actually autistic #actually adhd #anyways i wish everyone a good day and i hope you have spoons to deal with whatever bullshit life throws at ya