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To any and all disabled people in the United States

Whatever disability you have, whether mental or physical or anything else, my senior thesis is gonna be on ways to make the U.S.A. more accessible :)

If ya'll have reliable resources for your specific disability or for disabilities in general, that'd be so helpful 😭😭

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He's REALLY mad this time, guys

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WAS THAT THE BITE OF BENNY?!

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wip art of Anya and Ellen

My girlies deserve the world and more

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silence

Misha seeks out a conversation with a friend. (I attempted to write this very ambiguous. You can view this as platonic or romantic.)

Sundays always felt slow, and the rain made the day feel even more empty. Somehow, Misha Bachnyskyi found himself walking over to his friend’s house in the rain with a hood over his head. When he got there, he noted that his friend’s mother’s car was not parked in the driveway, meaning she was probably out working, and his friend was home alone.

Misha almost hesitated to reach out and knock on the door. Why had he come here, really? He hadn’t even asked him if he could visit. But surely he wouldn’t mind, right? Something about today felt gloomy, and it wasn’t just the gray skies. Misha felt down, and he wasn’t sure why, but what he did know is that he needed a friend today.

Finally, Misha tapped his knuckles against the wood. Knock, knock, knock. He took a step back, waiting for just one moment before Noel Gruber opened the door a crack, peering out. When he spotted Misha, he opened the door completely, smoothing out his clothes and smiling a little. He hadn’t expected the visit. “Misha,” Noel said to him, “a pleasant surprise, really. What are you doing here? You walked over here in the rain?”

The walk from Misha’s house to Noel’s house wasn’t very long, perhaps a few minutes, but maybe it was still a bit concerning that Misha had made the walk in the rain without even notifying Noel he was visiting. “H..Hi,” Misha stammered out after a few seconds—he didn’t really think about what to say. “Ahh… Well… I just wanted to hang out, I guess.” It wasn’t the entire truth, but it wasn’t completely false either. 

Noel frowned. “Are you… sure? You look kind of upset.” Misha sighed. Great. He knew something was up.

“Aghh… I don’t know. I just… I started feeling kind of sad. I just let my feet take me here. I guess I just need a friend.” Misha wasn’t usually open and honest like that. Something about Noel felt… safe. Like he could tell him anything and he wouldn’t judge him.

Noel felt honored to be that safe space for Misha. He could have gone to Ricky, or texted Talya, or kept it all to himself; but he went to Noel. His feet took him to Noel. Still, Noel concealed how glad he was. He stepped out of the way to let Misha in. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

Misha stepped in behind Noel, threw his shoes off, and took a vague glance around. He sort of slouched like he was trying to get his wet hoodie as far away from him as he possibly could, uncomfortable. He spotted a coat rack right by the door, and lifted his arms up and behind himself, pulling the soaked jacket over his head. He pinched the hood with his index finger and thumb and hung it up as he finally replied, “I just want to… talk.”

Noel nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. We can talk.” He smiled; perhaps it was a bit crooked. He wanted to do this right, he really wanted to show Misha he’d support him. Don’t overthink it, Noel. “Do you wanna go in my room?”

“Sure,” Misha said with a shrug. He didn’t mind where they went, really. As long as he could  talk. “Lead the way.”

As per usual, Noel led Misha to his room. It was quite dim in there; the big light was off, and the only things lighting it up was the dim light from the window and a pretty, vintage-looking lamp next to Noel’s bed. Misha recognized it—Noel had thrifted it a while ago. He had been so thrilled about it, Misha recalled. Something about it being super cheap.

“Here,” Noel said as he began to move a few pieces of clothing off his bed, “Come sit.” He sat on the edge of the bed, beckoning for Misha to sit next to him. Misha smirked playfully. He’d been here several times before. He might as well live here.

“Nah,” Misha said before flopping onto the bed face first. “I think I’ll lay right here.” Noel was taken aback, and then laughed. “Sure,” he replied. Noel hesitated; would it be weird if he laid next to him? Surely not. They were friends, right? Being friends with guys as a gay man was hard. Most of the time, they’d think he liked them if he did something that could just barely be interpreted as romantic. But Misha was different. He didn’t mind the friendly affection; in fact, he actively seeked it out. Unlike with friends Noel had in the past, they would hug and sit close to one another very frequently. It was nice. 

So, finally, Noel laid next to Misha, their shoulders touching on the small bed. Noel turned his head to face Misha, and Misha lifted his head to face Noel. They smiled at each other.

Misha flipped over onto his back, now, and leaned closer to Noel. They shared a few moments of warm silence. Noel wanted to give Misha the chance to speak first.

Finally, Misha took a breath.

“I like the rain. It reminds me of home. When my mother and I would snuggle up under a blanket, when she would tell me stories and read me poems.”

A beat.

“Do you like the rain, Noel?”

Noel thought about it for a moment. “Sometimes.”

He paused, and then elaborated, “It can be poetic, really… It makes a good metaphor. Sometimes it’s harsh; thrashing around trees, beating down on your skin… sometimes it leaves behind a bright rainbow.”

“Sometimes it’s calming, listening to raindrops hit the window,” Misha continued, and left it at that. The silence between them revealed the sound of rain falling onto Noel’s window.

Misha glanced at Noel again. The other boy stared at the ceiling, appearing comfortable. Misha sort of laughed–although it was more like a sharp exhale out of his nose. “Sick of this sappy shit,” he said jokingly, before flopping directly on top of Noel, catching the poet off guard.

Noel chuckled, “What are you doing? Don’t you find this a little weird?” he said, before quickly clarifying, “I mean, not that I mind.”

“Nah. It’s just like… horizontal hug, no?” This sent Noel into a laughing fit that quickly ended after he snorted and got embarrassed.

Misha snickered. But soon, their laughter dissipated, the silence filled again by the sound of the rain. Misha rested his head on its side on top of Noel’s chest. His heartbeat was somewhat… relaxing.

Of course, their conversation inevitably turned sappy again, for what are two writers if not full of love?

“I miss my mom,” Misha said softly, somberly. Noel placed a hand on his head as a comforting gesture, still silent. “I miss my country.”

He thought for a moment before he spoke again. “It’s kind of stupid,” he began, “but I keep thinking about that question I got a while ago.” Noel hummed as a response. “The one that said something like, if you could go back to Ukraine right now, but couldn’t talk to the choir ever again, would you do it?”

Misha sighed. He was about to get unbearably sweet, but he couldn’t help it. “As much as I miss my home… I meant what I said. Really. I want to go back as soon as I can, but if it means never talking to the only people who were ever nice to me here again? I don’t think I could do that, you know? Is that such a crime?”

Noel looked down at the boy on his chest. He adored the unusual sweetness from his friend. Knowing Misha really did care about the choir, about him—it felt nice. Absent-mindedly, he twirled his curls with his fingers. Misha didn’t seem to mind. “I think that’s really lovely, Misha.”

And once again, they were left in silence, a common theme of this afternoon. But it wasn’t anything uncomfortable—in fact, it was quite the opposite. It was nice they could lay unspeaking and still enjoy one another’s presence and company. That was a kind of closeness that was hard to come by, especially in Uranium.

But all silences must come to an end, right?

“Noel?” Misha said, quietly and softly, as if beckoning for his attention. Noel continued playing with his hair, looking down at him. “Hmm?” 

For a few moments, Misha was silent, the only sound from him was his steady breaths. Finally, he spoke.

“I love you.”

Noel was taken aback by the statement. A boy lying on his chest against his heartbeat—it was undoubtedly intimate. Was this a platonic sentiment? Was it something deeper, more romantic? Noel wasn’t sure.

But either way, no matter what Misha truly did mean, Noel knew his answer.

“I love you, too.”

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quick sketch ib @inahallucination 's post 💭

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ocean, how does being the best member of the choir feel?

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september is so boring like it’s not even a full month you’re just sailing through space you don’t know up from down and you feel a little strange from all that spinning round

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idr have a more interesting question but is there anything interesting going on in school for u guys??

We’re back! We got busy. Sorry. -Ocean

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how far do you think yall could be thrown or throw the each of yall?

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notes for my impostor syndrome:

• no, it's not painful to walk for abled-bodied people

• no, healthy people don't usually use every chance they get to lean against walls or sit down

• no, ableds don't dream about shower stool

• no, ableds don't celebrate days when they're not in pain. because usually they're not in pain

• no, ableds don't want to stop walking mid-way, lay down on the ground, curl up and cry and whine from pain

• no, ableds aren't exhausted by their own bodies 24/7

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Shout out to the ten year old who just got diagnosed. Shout out to the housebound fourteen year old. Shout out to the eighteen year old who can’t go to the university they wanted. Shout out to the twenty two year old who can’t get a job. Shout out to the twenty six year old with a caretaker. Shout out to the thirty year old who can’t buy their own house.

Shout out to young disabled people. We exist.

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Any other chronically I'll people have the experience as a kid where they just Didn't Feel Good? That kind where you couldn't describe your symptoms, or pinpoint anything specifically wrong with you, other than just feeling bad. That definitely should've been more of a red flag.

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Happy disability pride to everyone whose disability makes it hard/impossible for them to leave the house.

Happy disability pride to everyone who WANTS to do something they love, but can't because of their disability.

Happy disability pride to everyone who has ever been ignored, side-eyed or scoffed at (or otherwise judged) for being themselves in public.

Happy disability pride to people in constant pain, that doesn't end or break.

Happy disability pride to people who can't/don't want an official diagnosis because it would fuck up their lives, but they need the accommodations anyway.

Happy disability pride to people who did get/have gotten/had to get a diagnosis, because they needed what came from it.

Happy disability pride to the under-represented disabilities that people don't talk about much, or that get ignored both online and IRL.

Happy disability pride to those whose disabilities get represented in ways that do not match your experience at all.

Happy disability pride to the physically and mentally disabled people who are reading this. If you are one, the other, or (more often) both, you are still a valid person who faces discrimination and hardship from ableists, and we must all band together to vouch for our rights- ALL of our rights.

Happy disability pride to all of you, I love you all, and may we get through this month, and all the rest, together.

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I'M CRYING WHY DID TRUMP TAG PAPYRUS