I Hope People Eventually Realize That Ableism Isn’t Just Being Mean To A Disabled Person Just Because

I think some of this comes from the idea of getting addicted to "happy pill" pain meds.

Guess what, most pills aren't actually "fun" to take. They can have mild to terrible side effects. But we have to make that decision to trade off those nasties for living a somewhat acceptable and functional life, or living one at all.

“if you take medication for that, you’ll be taking medication all your life!!” yeah, and?? bud, i already put on my glasses every morning. it’s like. a condition of mine, not a side hobby i’m pursuing irresponsibly. 

Dean Winchester in SUPERNATURAL 1.19 "Provenance"

for #carryonanniversaryweek day 5: soulmates

It’s November and you’re four years old and your brother is only six months and you already know that if you lost him tomorrow you wouldn’t know who you are anymore. 

You kiss him on the forehead and tell him goodnight. 

You run out the front door with him only a few hours later.

It’s November and you’re twenty-six years old and your brother is only twenty-two and you’re staring up at his dorm complex with your hands stuffed into your pockets, shaking slightly, working up the courage to break in. 

It’s cold and your breath comes out in puffs and you know that if you don’t get the answer you want, you might just drive off a bridge.

You walk out the front door with him an hour later. 

Two days after that you’ll carry him out.

It’s May and you’re twenty-seven years old and your brother is only twenty-three and you’re running towards him as a knife is pulled from his back and he falls to his knees.

You catch the world in your arms and watch it fade away to nothing like sand slipping through your fingertips.

You’re pretty sure the whole world can hear your scream.

It’s February and you just turned twenty-eight and your brother isn’t yet twenty-four and you’re being held tight in his arms and you don’t fully understand why, only that he tells you he never wants to listen to Asia again. 

When he tells you the full story, you spend the night after the revelation awake and staring at the ceiling.

You try to imagine what Hell might be like. 

You see your brother dying over and over and over again with no way to ever stop it and almost throw up as fear eats away at your stomach.

It’s May and you’re still twenty-eight and your brother is only twenty-four and your chest is being shredded and your blood is flying in all directions and you can hear your brother screaming. Or is that you?

The world goes dark and comes back into focus in a world of darkness, pain, and loneliness. 

You scream your brother’s name. It’s the only prayer you know.

It’s September and you’re not yet twenty-nine and your brother is still only twenty-four and you see him for the first time in forty years and you smile for the first time in just as long. 

When he holds you, you nearly breakdown.

His arms feel exactly as you remember them. 

It’s May and you’re twenty-nine and your brother is only twenty-five and you’re calling to him, not sure he can hear you through the wood of the door, but that doesn’t matter. He needs to hear you.

He doesn’t. 

Your heart cracks in half.

It will never heal.

It’s May and you’re thirty and your brother is only twenty-six and you’re pressed up against your car, your face fucked to Hell and that’s what you’re staring at right now, a gaping maw to Hell, open in the earth before you.

Your brother stands on the edge of it with his arms spread wide.

For a moment it seems like he won’t fall in.

He does. 

This is the first time you think you’ve lost him forever.

It’s November and you’re forty-six and your little brother is only forty-two and a lot of time has passed. And this is the last time you’ll see him. So you make sure you’re looking at him when you tell him everything you never did.

You die in his arms and you’ve never felt so comfortable and warm in all of your life. 

There’s a smile on your face when your soul leaves your body. 

You never see the way your brother breaks apart once you’re gone.

It’s very warm out and you’re waiting for someone and then you turn and your little brother is beside you on a bridge in summer and you’re smiling. He smiles back and pulls you into his arms.

You’re crying, but it’s alright now. You both know it’s the last time you’ll ever do it and suddenly your sobs transform into peals of laughter.

Nothing has ever been so perfect.

gifbattle: gadree vs. twinkjared ↳ round 3: favorite quote

It is not just forever, it is also forever growing. If your coffee shop shuts down, it failed. If it runs with a steady standard flow, it's a modest success and cute. Only if you expand to become a chain, it is considered a success. This "growth" model of finance and society is just crazy.

I think a lot about how we as a culture have turned “forever” into the only acceptable definition of success.

Like… if you open a coffee shop and run it for a while and it makes you happy but then stuff gets too expensive and stressful and you want to do something else so you close it, it’s a “failed” business. If you write a book or two, then decide that you don’t actually want to keep doing that, you’re a “failed” writer. If you marry someone, and that marriage is good for a while, and then stops working and you get divorced, it’s a “failed” marriage.

The only acceptable “win condition” is “you keep doing that thing forever”. A friendship that lasts for a few years but then its time is done and you move on is considered less valuable or not a “real” friendship. A hobby that you do for a while and then are done with is a “phase” - or, alternatively, a “pity” that you don’t do that thing any more. A fandom is “dying” because people have had a lot of fun with it but are now moving on to other things.

I just think that something can be good, and also end, and that thing was still good. And it’s okay to be sad that it ended, too. But the idea that anything that ends is automatically less than this hypothetical eternal state of success… I don’t think that’s doing us any good at all.

Lex: I have a position you might find more appealing. A position that pays a hundred thousand dollars a year.  

[x]

The Witch King's very bad day continues.

While I've revisited eps to make gifs, I haven't done an attentive rewatch in many years. So, I rewatched the pilot. The boys look so young 👶😄. There's a ghost story, or maybe there are two ghost stories. One is the obvious, the woman in white. The other is Sam being haunted by his past, with Dean like a link to an older era. He pulls back the curtain to an American Gothic horror tale, with his vintage car, and vintage cassette tapes, and vintage persona. Sam is the modern young man, about to head to the future, but just when he thought he was out...

I wouldn't say Dean pulled him back in. That gentle tug wasn't enough to do it, in fact. Dean has bravado, but is surprisingly soft-spoken and tentative in the way he watches for Sam's reactions like a hawk. Even when he pushes Sam on the bridge, his eyes are wide and hurt, and his hushed, "Don't talk about her like that" is not so much angry as it is a plea.

Sam seems completely self assured. He's worldly, smart, decisive. I feel as viewers we're following him from the respectable suburban world to the bad place. With John leaving a vacuum behind him, literally the empty motel room, both boys seem to fill that space -- Sam immediately connecting with John's research, while Dean dons the mantle of John's protective coat. Pleasing metaphors of inheritance.

Speaking of inheritance, Jessica's death in the same manner that killed his mother is what pulls Sam back in. He's now on the same path as John. He's the one who commands the "we" in "We got work to do." Another pleasing story parallel.

Dean is the older brother, but I'm always struck that at this stage he's almost delicate. The eyelashes, the bracelets, the too big jacket. He's positioned in this trope as the bad boy, yet Jensen always has an inherent good guy quality. He's so funny, but it's like a vaudeville act. He's insanely charming and devil-may-care, but you get the sense he's also down on his luck. He's odd and fun and intriguing.

The desaturation and shadows of the cinematography never get old. J2 are beautiful and immediately as watchable as Mulder and Scully. There are some stunning women and recognizable character actors. Of course some of it seems dated, now even more retro than intended lol, yet the Americana parts are mythic and hold up as a motif. Bonus points for including a public library for research. They're searching for a shade of a father; they can't go home, there be ghosts; home is an empty husk of trauma. Still love this pilot.