#cw deafness

[e-m-p-error]

Valentino And His Disabilities

Valentino has never had great eyesight in Hell, but the longer he is dead the more his sight deteriorates. He has perfect vision in the dark and is able to read and do other things, but in any form of light, he is essentially blind. When Vox smiles at him with his big, blue teeth, he also gets what he calls Moon Eyes where he is transfixed and cannot stop staring despite not being able to see.

After the stripping of his left antenna, Valentino's hearing went from being able to hear up to 300hz to only 150hz. He is half-deaf, and though he is still capable of hearing better than any human and most other Sinners, he does not hear as well as he used to. When he watches TV he has it turned up loud, and prefers loud music. He has to really strain to hear whispers if they are not relatively close to him. He does hear a static hum when Vox is around and generating it.

Due to the stripped antenna, his sense of smell and taste were also damaged. He has to get his other good antenna in there if he wants to smell something, and he prefers foods that have a heavier scent so he can taste them properly.

[e-m-p-error]

Valentino didn't like to spread this about himself for obvious reasons. A blind, deaf Overlord was easy pickings in most people's eyes, and he didn't want to deal with that. Who would? It was bad enough he was challenged at all. But if it got Charlie to drop the animosity? He was willing to let it go this once.

His antenna twitched as she moved to the side and he sighed a little. Of course, that would be the next question. He should have expected that.

Antennae slowly lowering to press flat against the brim of his hat, Valentino closed his eyes for a second.

"Overlords are all sort of connected in a lot of ways," He began grimly, "I had a run-in with Zestial after the death of my ex-husband. His death was permanent and he was close with him and Carmilla. I'm not sure why she didn't retaliate, as well."

His hand twitched and he drug it down the side of his face, taking another drag off of his cigarette.

"He stripped my antenna entirely, removed the," Gesturing vaguely at the feathery appearance of his good antenna, he sighed again, letting the smoke billow from his lips, "Bastard left me crippled and scarred and he's lucky he only took six bullets before he left me be."

She still didn't trust him, but she could not deny the sympathy she felt after he revealed such a sensitive part of himself to her. She really was a bleeding heart, wasn't she? Yet, something about the way he spoke sounded oddly...genuine? At least for someone like him.

Before she had time to puzzle over the meaning of his words she directed to his right side. "O-Oh, right!" She quickly caught on, and moved to his right, tilting her head back to look up at him. Sometimes she forgot just how tall he was.

"I see...Um, how did that happen?" It occurred her to that that might be an extremely sensitive topic and she was quick to correct herself. "I--I mean--! No pressure to answer of course. I'm just curious by nature, you know?" She forced out a laugh, desperately trying to save face from a possible blunder.

[bonefall]

it is healing to come onto this blog and see basic respect for diasbility after being in other corners of the fandom and reading the words “snowkit could never be a warrior because he wouldnt know what anything is. he wouldnt even know what a clan is because nobody could explain it to him” said in full seriousness

Im..... That statement is so ableist I cannot even imagine the worldview you'd need to have in order to come up with that.

They really think the only way anyone learns anything is through verbal-speaking-words-noises? No one has ever observed something before? Not even once?

This is beyond touching grass, this person just fell out of the fucking Jurassic Period when all they had was ferns and stegosaurs.

I just...

OH YES. I remember my first day of Society Lessons as a hearing person, where the everything was explained to me. Via Audiobook. FIRST they spoke and said, "you are standing on the ground." It was a life changing revelation, and the world began to spin.

But it did not stop.

THEN they said, "there are fingers on your hands." The sensation of flesh and bone crackling into existence is indescribable, but I did not yet know pain, until they told me, "that hurts." I began screaming immediately.

And yet... it continued.

They explained so much. Chairs. Tables. Walls. The sky. Frogs. Ionizing radiation. Breathing. I was told all of it, in one sitting, and only then did I understand. Only when my ears were bursting with normal hearing knowledges, did they begin... my final test.

A strange wall-chair-finger emerged from the sky-of-the-wall, stood on the ground several times, until it was in front of me. A second one came behind it, this one slimmer. The audiobook gave these things names;

Human. Father. Mother. Door. Walking. It was completely impossible to know what these things were until that very moment.

I watch a human dip a hook into water and produce a fish, and I recall my Society Lessons where they called that "fishing." I am decked in the face by a nefarious hooligan, and I have only the audiobook to thank when I know I have been "punched" by a "bad guy." It was only the magic of verbal-speaking-words-noise that made me understand that there are "other people" and that they "do stuff."

Sometimes, even, in "groups."

Before the Society Lessons Audiobook, I knew nothing. I was pure, innocent, uncorrupted by concepts such as "parents" and "door." I am grateful every day that there is no such concept as "being shown things" or "simple logical reasoning" or "looking."

Blessed be those amongst us who escape the horrors of the Society Lessons Audiobook. I pray that you never learn what anything is. Be free! Free as a bird, which also knows nothing and famously cannot learn. 🤗

DEAF/HOH FOLLOWERS I'm losing my mind do you want me to bump a 'Hearing Disabilities Herb Guide' to the top of my priorities? Something you can use to bludgeon whackadoodles like that. This is ridiculous

Obviously not a MEDICINE guide but like; common causes of hearing disability in clan cats. Accommodations for hearing loss vs congenital deafness. Actual difficulties of not having that sense Clan-by-Clan. Debunking of misconceptions like... not being able to learn APPARENTLY.

[dramaturgydrakes]

zombie jason from some number of months ago..

[octisticsopinions]

About the mentally disabled Palestinians murdered

I strongly support spreading awareness and honouring the memory of disabled Palestinians killed in the genocide. I am not at all against mentioning their identity as disabled people, because a lot of the time it is related to their deaths.

But please, I am begging you, be respectful.

Eyad Al-Hallaq was a 32 year old Palestinian Deaf Autistic man. He was murdered on his way to his school, the Elwyn El Quds center, which provides services for both disabled children and disabled adults. An Israeli officer shot him dead on the 30th of May in 2020, and then claimed he thought he was trying to murder a woman who was screaming. I have also seen it be claimed the officer thought he was a terrorist because he was wearing gloves.

Some people, while trying to honestly spread awareness, have used extremely disrespectful and infantilising language to describe him, repeating claims he had "the mental capacity of an 8 year old" and saying that his doctor said that, when it was not.

This is never an acceptable way to describe a 32 year old Autistic. He did not have "the brain of a child", he had the brain of a Deaf Autistic adult. This is extremely disrespectful to Eyad Al-Hallaq, and does him no favours, especially when such rhetoric has been used to justify the murder of Autistics. Eyad Al-Hallaq being an adult man should not make him less of a victim- not only is insisting on treating him like a child disrespectful and ableist, it perpetuates the idea that Palestinian men are not victims.

We should remember Eyad Al-Hallaq. We should remember his identity as a Deaf Palestinian Autistic. And we should remember him in a respectful way.

Rest in power, Eyad Al-Hallaq.

[until-my-teeth-fell-out]

I used to not understand why "to turn a blind eye" and "to fall on deaf ears" were considered ableist language because they felt like just some phrases. But now that I think about it, if the only instance where people brought up autism in a conversation was something like "to display autistic uninterest" I'd be pissed off too.

[hotcat37]

Some deaf! Jere doodles....ahem 🦝

[deafsignifcantother]

you're gonna need somebody on your bond

♥ summary: inspired by @doliacuddles's tomie fic here, as well as another fic relating to a s/o tomie-related but i read that months ago and have no idea where it could be. - basically this about Alastor being like "you're only here because you taste good" and reader is like "okay then stop being nice to me because it's weird that you're not craved like the other men so get off my back bruh" ♥ helpful lore: reader is a demon with the abilities combined of tomie and the 'hosts' from the vita carnis series. ♥ relationship: alastor x female deaf reader ♥ word count: 3k ♥ notes: femme fatale, i'm not mentally okay, alastor doesn't know sign language, she talks though. + there's light gore in these because I'm silly goofy so my bad guys!

His claws find their way into your hips. Drawing blood as usual, he stares into your eyes, testing your regard, neither of you breaking eye contact.

He's been drawn to you since the second he saw you, which hasn't surprised you in the slightest. What was a surprise was how non-sexual the draw was and how classy he had formerly been. Now he settles on trying to scare you; his heart races at the idea of you fearing him. But you never do. You just give him a cocky smile, running your tongue over your teeth as if you're mocking his attempts. It only makes him want to tear you apart.

He pulls you closer to him, dragging his nails across your skin, blood staining your red dress. His eyes glow despite the darkness of the alleyway. He had been planning on killing you, but somehow, the amusement of your neutral reactions is saving your life. He's fighting his urge to devour you by devoting his time to scaring you. No matter how many cuts he makes to your skin, how many times he's dug his teeth into your neck after sneaking up behind you, you never scream, never give him a proper reaction. Sometimes, you caress the side of his head, petting him like an animal.

His mouth opens, and your face grows a smile. His breath is hot on your face, tongue dripping with lust as it makes its way to your neck, licking up your tendon, leaving a trail of hot saliva. Instead of pulling away, you tilt your head to give him more access. It disgusts him. His body language and his thoughts offer two different stories.

He leans back, moving one of his hands to grab your mouth, pushing his claws in so deep that you can feel the sharpness against your gums. He whispers something you can't understand before the stinging of his impaling becomes unbearable. Your eyes water instinctually.

Oh, my little girl. He had said.

He shakes your head back and forth, wedging his way into your mouth, nails caressing your tongue.

With a strength only he possesses, and in one quick pull, he rips your jaw off.

:3

With your regenerated jaw, you sigh, rub it, and look over at the baby-like version of yourself growing from the detached part of you. Its eyes are angry, and it grinds its teeth and growls. The small, pointed, undeveloped teeth show off as if they're any sort of threat.

There is no off-switch to the abilities Hell had gifted you. Even since you first fell down, demonic men would lick their lips and lunge at you. You've gotten accustomed to the feeling of teeth ripping you apart, and admittedly, sometimes, it excites you. This Mrs. Potato Head magic you're stuck with has pros and cons. One of the pros, and your favorite pro, is having the infamous Radio Demon at your every beck and call.

So, in his room, you watch him devour the early-birthed head. Brain matter fell from his lips, mixing with blood and whatever fluid was lodged behind your eyeballs. It's eyeballs, not yours. The stomach-turning sight of him ripping the flesh straight off its face, the layer coming off like the skin of a chicken's breast. Degloves, the sight of the red and orange meat around your skull makes you squint.

You look away.

The tension between you and the sounds you can only imagine is unbearable. Sometimes, you're grateful you're deaf. You don't fear Alastor, not entirely, but that doesn't mean you can't be disgusted by his bestial traits. Watching him eat you is not the most attractive sight. A bit of an ick if you do say so yourself.

He licks away the remains of your runny, sticky tissue until there's nothing but the pure skull. His long, slimy tongue had licked up the rest of your brain from where he cracked it open.

He is prepared to rip you apart and devour your creations once again. He approaches, practically on all fours, his shadow corrupting your seated form. You look so good on his floor. He could pounce, dig his nails into you like he loves doing, or maybe he can impale you with his sharp antlers.

But all he does is give you shivers as he pets your silky hair, and when you expect him to yank on it, he puts his face into it and sniffs. Your spine straightens. Dirty man.

You turn, staring at his bloody face, his sharp eyes, and his tight smile. He is so handsome like this. The swoops of his hair and the shoulder pads on his coat give him a unique figure; everything about him is exceptional. When you reach out to him, hand heading towards his face, he leans back and eyes you. Your hands don't hold claws like most demons; they're surprisingly gentle for a woman tainted with morbid curiosity. Your feminine charm is a part of his interest. The blood on his face goes from endearing to annoying when he doesn't let you wipe it off. Seriously, you wish to sign, come here. Though he'd never understand a word you'd say.

Testing his apprehensiveness towards you, you stretch your arm out anyway and rub the blood from the corner of his mouth. He again leans away from your touch, bending his head to the side, his smile turning into a snarl.

He can eat you alive, but you're not allowed to touch his cheek? Ridiculous. You match his snarl, animalistic vocabulary through two demons' language barrier. He uses his trigger fingers to grab your wrist, not breaking eye contact.

Your perception of Alastor is inconsistent. Will he bite your hand off or kiss your knuckles? Will he rip your throat out or lick it gently? You can never tell. His intentions are quite versatile.

This time, he just lets you go, patting your head before standing. He extends a bloody hand to help you up.

The empty skull behind him is disregarded but will soon be another treasure he'll place on his shelves next to the other ones he's gotten a taste of. Oh, how addicting your flavors are. And you're so willing to let him debase the creations your body births. He loves your snarls too, the way you copy his facial expressions.

His hand caressing your cheek reeks of sincerity. You stand shorter than him, bodies never close enough to touch but close enough to reach. If Vegas had odds on it, you'd step closer, and he'd be okay with it.

Out of fascination, of course. Nothing else.

He laughs and you step back. You've been comfortable with the blood and remains, obviously, but the rancid scent of your remains on his breath is the worst part of knowing him.

:3

Husk opens another bottle for you with his claw, eyes facing the floor to Alastor's command. Your position in the hotel is a unique one. You're another 'staff' member brought by Alastor, as he's convinced Charlie that you'll be more than able to get people into the hotel. This is true, as a lot of men have come in, some getting disemboweled by Alastor the moment they try and touch you. But some of them are less attentive to you after a while.

Here's the formula, you hand out fliers, wink, and head back to the hotel. Then, men will appear at the doors for days (or all coming at once within a few hours). You caress their cheek and tell them you'll be all theirs if they follow Charlie's plan. That's when Alastor locks you in his room. He's discovered through this process that your spell will go away with a lack of contact. Three days, to be exact. The men will follow your single command, granting Charlie willing participation and fulfilling Alastor's help for the hotel. Pentious was a harder participant, especially considering he couldn't kill him for his attempts, but those went away with everybody else's. In his room, you get your own vanity, one placed so you can watch the fireplace and have a small view of the door. Homey, not the worst place to be locked inside.

This is one of the few chances you can be out and about without Alastor directly standing behind you. Husk hands you the bottle.

"Thank you," you grab it and, instinctively, brush your fingers against him. He mumbles a response before mentally facepalming.

You put the bottle to your lips and try to hide a smile, but your eyes never leave Husk, teasing him to meet your gaze. Come on, you little kitty cat, entertain me.

He's not an idiot. Between knowing your tricks and following Alastor's orders, there's no chance he will amuse you.

Angel sits beside you with a drink already in his hand, always utterly unfazed by your abilities, and toasts you. His mouth holds a lopsided smile, and his eyes stare unread. You clink your drink against his. Staring into his eyes is relieving; there's no threat, not one you're used to.

Quickly, you realize why he had stepped over. Alastor forms behind him, obviously having followed, and he stares at you while addressing Husk. His lips are impossible to read with that smile.

"Don't mind her, Husker," his voice deepens, heavy with static. "She's always chasing the knife."

"Yeah," he looks Alastor up and down, "I can tell."

Alastor barks out a laugh before passing by Angel, leaving a vast distance, grabbing your wrists, and forcing you to your feet. This is why he doesn't like letting you roam without him. You don't behave. What could he have done if Husk fell for your charm? Kill him? No, no, that's only for the useless. Nobody in the hotel would want to deal with an unstable alcoholic in heat. Have you lost your mind?

You're lucky you're so delicious.

Alastor grabs the bottle from your hand, eyeing it, tapping it a bit before tossing it over his shoulder. It travels a distance and shatters against a wall. With a sarcastic wave of a finger, his other hand grabs your hips (his favorite place) and forces you to follow him back to his room. With how he touches you, one would think you're his best friend. Your relationship is admired by those who knew you least. However, Nifty notices that he holds you similarly to Rosie and smiles at you the same way he does at Nifty. Still, Husk recognizes the dreadful deadlock no matter how kind it may seem. And though your presence makes him uncomfortable, Husk will never turn you down when you approach the bar. Mainly because there was once an instant where you weren't trying to ruin his week with your mental prowling. You brought him a gift. It was from before you were tethered permanently to the hotel, back when Alastor brought you in to show you around. In the days when you could go in and out, you brought Husk some expensive Lucky Larger he hadn't seen since he was alive. You were the one that adverted your gaze. As much as a mosquito-like woman you've ended up being within an ample amount of months, there was still a semblance of a kind woman. You drank it together, and your shell cracked open like an egg. When you spoke to him, you had the voice of a teenage girl permanently stuck in the past. He could not respond in a way you'd understand, but he lent you an ear anyway. The drunker you get, the smaller your voice becomes, and the more watery your eyes get, but the moment Alastor comes by, your voice turns into a loud, cocky laugh, and you hold a snarl at Husk. He got it. He understood.

So when Alastor throws the bottle over his shoulder and leads you to his room, Husk takes notice of the slight stumble of your feet.

"Oh boy," he turns his attention to Angel. "This'll be good."

Alastor doesn't miss your uneven steps, either.

You grumble, "I wasn't doing anything."

He lightly shakes his head, a motion unnoticed by you. The words he'd say if you could hear them.

His gloved hand remains on your side, and his heeled boots match steps with your shorter stride. You place your hand over his, securing his grip on your waist, your blood-colored nails fading with the shade of his coat. He gathers the strength not to pull away. Your hands are warm, as warm as the arteries stringing your body together; he wants to cut you open and bury himself inside you. His grip on your waist tightens, but when you try and draw back, he interlocks your fingers and places them back. I'm just making sure you don't fall, he convinces himself; you're stumbling like a calf.

His other hand sports his microphone, using it as a cane.

"Alastor," you say his name with a velvety tone. Thank God you can't hear the glitching tones the speaker just let out. Whatever you were going to say never left your lips. He removes his hand, slipping away from you, and opens his bedroom door. You enter, and he follows, closing the door, the most routine part of your days, much grander than the standard living 9-5.

His hand lingers on the door, where you imagine a soft clicking of the lock; he keeps his eyes on you as he does.

He approaches you in a few straightforward strides, placing both hands on your cheeks, the ends of his nails softly scratching at your atlas. The fireplace ignites, the lights dim, and his hands slide closer to the back of your head. Your hair brushes from your face.

You love these little (and a tad bit sensual, but he would never describe them that way) staring contests.

His teeth part. "What a lovely thing you are."

You close your eyes, preparing for a bite. But when it doesn't come, you peak.

There's no change in his expression, but he's laughing through his teeth. Alastor is not good at affection; he's mostly known for just allowing people he likes to give it to him. But when you don't initiate, he finds himself taking the lead. That's why he grips your hair and tilts your head back, looking at your eyes as your lids drop with the angle. Your brows even furrow, a genuine smirk growing on your lips. Oh, that's interesting.

Your closed lips part as your jaw relaxes. He tilts your head more, leaning over you, his neck bent to overwhelm your form. The ridges of your esophagus lead to perked tendons and high collarbones. Your head flutters strangely. Are you struggling? Your hands even lift to touch his elbows.

"That hurts," you say. That hurts? He's clawed you, split you in half, swallowed your eyes and chewed your fingers off, but this is what makes you complain?

He speaks. "You're so strange."

You just stare at him.

He continues. "You prance around as if you have all the power in the world but you melt at any caress. What does that make you?"

Would you do that to any other man?

You just blink, your expression filled with discomfort, and he lets you go. Alastor even takes a respectful step back. With a shifted attitude, his eyes squint, and his smile closes to be a joyful line on his face.

When your mouth opens again to speak, he raises a finger to shush you. He gestures to the wall with his head, his hair bouncing, and his ears following suit before his outline dissipates into traveling shadows. How will you act if you didn't know he was watching?

Your face drops. You definitely got Husk in trouble.

Don't feel bad, you remind yourself, just think about what he could do if he had looked into your eyes.

Alastor protects you from that.

While you're not too positive that Alastor would be keen on you roaming through his stuff, this room might as well be yours, too, so you run your fingers across the books on his shelves. Your buzzed state gives you lenience to his rules (in your eyes). Does he even read these? The only time you've seen him here is late at night when he lights the fireplace or during the times when he feeds. There's an outlier in the books, and when you look closer, you realize it's more of a thick folder. After glancing behind you, you test your luck and pick it off the shelf. It truly is a folder. It's filled with sheet music, once blank bars filled with hand-written notes and braces. When did he have the time to write these? A lot of the circles aren't filled all the way, and many of the dots are just black pits. Rushed? Does he write these with passion?

You flip through the papers, just glancing over his writing before a doodle on the edge of a page catches your attention. You almost miss it; it's on the far left side, hidden by the pages on top of it. The folder finds its place on his bedside table, open to the same spot, and you take the sheet out to look closer.

It's you.

It's a doodle but recognizable. The lines have been sketched many times as if he took the time to work on them. You have a neutral expression, a 3/4th view with your eyes locked on the perspective. It's not the drawing that captivates you; many people have attempted drawing you before, but it's how simple it is. There are no twisted expressions, no figures ripping themselves through your face, or your body ripping in half.

You glance behind you again, almost expecting him there. Being alone is more sentimental; his absence is relieving. When you look back down, you will see a wet patch. You touch your cheeks. Tears. Are you crying? That's embarrassing.

You tuck the page back and close the folder. Any possible further drawings are unseen; you're going to avoid seeking them out; this one is satisfying enough. The second you put it back on the shelf, your self-control loosens, and you stumble back, knees wobbling, and sluggishly fall to the floor. Laughter escapes you. Why are you laughing? No matter, your throat keeps releasing laughs, loud and uncontrolled. What a disgusting man.

[my-ears-are-burning]

Anyone else wanna tear out their inner ears and become completely deaf instead of partially? No-one else?

[e-m-p-error]

You've written about Val being disabled, but how much does Vox know about it and is he protective of Val because of it?

In Reference To This

[ Vox ]

Vox knows that Valentino was hurt the day his antenna got stripped. He knows that he was aching and hurting for months after. It took a while before it was able to move freely again, and he remembers when Val recognized that it was going to scar. All of this was the physical pain that he was very aware of. He is also very aware that touching the stripped antenna really, really hurts, it's a very sensitive scar.

As far as the extent of Valentino's hearing loss, however, Vox isn't totally sure. He knows that Valentino complains of people talking on his left side because he can't hear them as well. He is completely deaf on that side, and Vox kind of understands that much, but he doesn't know how his hearing works now.

He is not aware of Valentino's tasting issues, though he is very acutely aware of how he smells. He likes to get his antenna right up in Vox's cologne and rubs his face in it whenever he smells it. It's the main/only reason Vox knows about this from Val and not just in theory.

Vox is most aware of Valentino's poor eyesight, and he monitors how it gets worse over time. He's working on solutions for it because he can't stand the thought of seeing Val go entirely blind. It is important to him to do what he can to help Val in the meantime.

Actually, yes. Vox is incredibly protective of Val, especially in a fight. He always makes sure that he's got Valentino's left side since he can't hear on that side and his sight is very poor. Val is a good shot despite his eyesight, but Vox knows there are still weak spots that can be exploited.

That said, he's still trying to figure out how to give Val his hearing back, but he's been playing with a few ideas that he hopes will help.

[dawnrider]

Posting the second part for the Modern prompt from @inukag-week 2023! Again, heed the content warnings and tags. I'm trying to make sure I put in the AN what to watch for in this one. Chapter 2 on AO3

[westywallowing]

god one of the worst things I think with chronic headaches is the different range of abilities you have depending on how painful the hurt is and/or what TYPE of hurt it is. I particularly hate the ones that effect my vision, because with sunglasses and a podcast distraction I can drive anywhere I want for errands (even if it will be in pain, I am still physically able to do so with limitations), however what I can not do is look at a TV or laptop screen for the life of me. so any online coursework that I am obliged to do and that has a deadline, I can barely accomplish :))

[bittwitchy]

samara weaving, guns akimbo (2019)

[concerningwolves]

I've been doing a lot of voice recording and speech practise today, and it's really got me thinking about what it actually means to have a speech impediment.

So, because of my russel-silver syndrome, my jaw isn't quite shaped right. I've had a lot of overcrowding with my teeth and although that's been fixed now, I still can't always get my mouth into the right shapes to make sounds. My "r" goes soft and my "w" sounds like an r, for example; I also get too much saliva going on when I speak and I'm often in danger of biting my tongue, which makes my s and sh sounds go slushy. (Incidentally, "slushy" is a nightmare word to say).

But the thing is, people who know me often say that they don't notice my speech impediment. I don't know if this is because they think they're being kind, or if they've just gotten used to it so they can parse my speech automatically, or some combination thereof. I've had people tell me that I sound "wonderfully clear for a deaf person", that my voice is "cute", and that "oh, your speech impediment is actually mild. I barely notice it!".

Lately, I've begun to consider that speech impediments aren't thought of as something someone has. They're thought of as something that other people experience. People tell me that mine is mild because they barely notice it, but you know what? I notice! I notice all the time! And I don't mean this in a self-conscious way, either (although I have certainly been self-conscious for a long time). What I mean when I say that I notice my speech impediment is, it's always there, constantly, when I speak. I can never stop thinking about it. Every time I have a conversation, I have to consider how I'm shaping words and whether I'm speaking clearly enough to be understood. It is exhausting. When I listen back to my own voice, I can really hear where I've started to get tired from speaking as the quality of my pronunciation goes way downhill. Sometimes, I reach a point where I'm so tired from the mental effort that I just. stop speaking. I simply can't do it anymore. I've had to scrap several recordings because this happened.

So.. doesn't this count as a speech disability, then? Because it is something that disables me. It hinders my speech! It wears me out! And no amount of being told that "it's actually not at all noticeable :)" is ever going to change that.

[candicewright]

Cw // vent, discussion of emotional/physical/sexual abuse, mentions of body image issues and controlling food habits

This might be a bit worrying to read but I promise I'm fine lmao we are already planning to leave I just needed to put this in writing.

Three years of "you shouldn't wear that much makeup" "you will be a great housewife" "you're weird" "you're insensitive" "you're too sensitive" "you're uncaring" "you don't have empathy" "you're a liar" "you're made of stone" "you don't say hello enough" "you don't look me in the eyes enough" "you eat too much" "you eat too little" "you always agree with your father" "you shouldn't be a psychologist because you don't care about people" "you have such a tiny and pretty body, why would you want to gain weight" "you must be glad your mom died before you started university so you can focus"

And that's just me.

You called my dad manipulative and abusive when that's only ever been you. You called his girlfriend a mop, said that she should serve you, said that she should marry my dad so that if she dies of cancer he can get money. You comment on everyone's lifestyle and compare them based on how much you approve of them. You rank your grandchildren in terms of intelligence, work ethic, salary, partners, etc and you do so in front of us. The first time you met my mom you took the chair from under her so that she would fall to the floor. You've sexually harassed my dad's girlfriend, her daughter, your granddaughter, your granson's girlfriend, random waitresses, and cleaning staff and those are only the instances I have seen. You've been physically abusive at least once with my dad that I know of.

Your wife died of lung cancer and she asked explicitly that you didn't come near and denyed you hugs when she was hospitalized.

You've caused my dad so much stress that he has incredibly high blood pressure now with the worries that entails.

I'm done. I tried to love you as family but YOU have made that impossible. We may live in the same house, but you're not my grandfather anymore.

For my own wellbeing, I can't care about you.

[granulesofsand]

CW for repetition, possibly ableism, bottom bit on RAMCOA

My phone’s captions are horrific. I’m trying to watch a talk, and the captions I got were

Alien

Life

Nobody nobody nobody

nobody nobody nobody

nobody nobody nobody

What does that even mean? I had to rewatch the segment a few times over and it was more along the lines of

As a kid, I felt like an alien. Nobody told me the rules of life. Nobody told me what to do.

How do you get from point A to point B? How is it that bad? The video captions are more accurate, but don’t show in the small window when YouTube is minimized.

Why can’t the video captions just be smaller too? They’re already there, now make it still be there when it’s small.

The video was Jean Riseman and the Stronghold System on RAMCOA at https://youtu.be/nfEX-PnePRI?si=8-Ck28gIoovzgkWj.