#it feels so good to be done with this

[separatist-apologist]

The Sweetest Con

Summary: Nesta Archeron has been trapped in witness protection for the past five years, hiding a secret no one can ever learn. All she has to do is wait out the criminals back home determined to punish her and her sisters for a lie they told years before.

She can handle anything- even the new agent sent to keep her safe.

Read on AO3 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

Nesta woke with a start to frosted windows and her ankle tied to a bedpost. “CASSIAN!” she screamed, voice hoarse from disuse.

“No need to shout,” he replied, sitting in a leather chair by an unlit fireplace. “I’ve been here the entire time.”

He had his wounded leg propped up on an ottoman. Shirtless, Cassian had on a pair of loose black basketball shorts and a pair of ankle socks, and his thigh was wrapped in a clean, white bandage. A prick of guilt slithered through her that she couldn’t quite banish despite what he’d done in response. Maybe they were even, she reasoned.

Or maybe he was a bastard who’d infiltrated her hidden life and now had her tied to a bed.

“Untie me,” she ordered, heart hammering in her chest.

Cassian cocked his head, dark hair spilling over broad, tattooed shoulders. “Are you sure that’s what you want?” “I’ll kill you,” she snapped.

He laughed. “You could have killed me days ago and you didn’t. You can’t kill me anymore than you can leave me, Nes. You know it.”

Looking up at the ceiling, Nesta reconsidered all her life choices. “Not killing you doesn’t mean I want to be with you.” “I assumed you wanted to be with me when I bent you over the kitchen table,” he deadpanned in response. 

“Let me go.”

He shrugged. “Okay. But there’s nowhere to run, Nes.”

“I’m not going—”

“Do me the favor of not lying to me,” he replied.

“Oh? Like you did?” she snapped in frustration. Cassian’s eyes widened ever so slightly, his guilt plain. “When did you decide you weren’t going to kill me?”

“Fuck, Nes, I was never planning to kill you. Ever.”

“Bullshit. Rhys sent you—”

“To keep tabs, that’s all. He wants your sister and she wants to be reunited with you and Elain. I was just watching until it was time to bring you back. I never had orders to kill you.” Nesta didn’t know how much of that she believed, despite the almost pained look on his face.

“And if he called you right now–”

“Christ, Nesta,” Cassian exploded, wincing as he rose to his feet. “Is it that difficult to believe I prefer you alive?”

“It’s difficult to believe you wouldn’t betray me if your boss told you to,” she sneered, heart racing. Nesta knew the truth—knew Cassian was no better than every other man she’d ever been with. They had no loyalty to her, and Cassian would betray her for his friends if they asked. All men did. 

Cassian untied the rope against her ankle, leaving Nesta to scramble to her feet, furious with him. She’d prove she was right. “I told the lie.”

Cassian sucked in a sharp breath. “What lie?”

Was he stupid? “The lie, Cassian. It was me—all my idea, my plan, my lie. I told Feyre to blame the murder on Rhys, I told the police it was him. This is all my fault. Does your precious Rhysand know that? Did you?”

Cassian took a breath, and then another. “So?”

Nesta blinked. “What?” “So fucking what, Nesta?” Cassian replied, crossing his arms over his naked chest. “Rhys thinks Feyre told the lie and you know what he’s doing right now?”

Nesta was too afraid to speak, to swallow the pooling saliva in her mouth. 

“He’s probably fucking her—”

“Don’t talk about her that way!” 

“No one cares about the goddamn lie, Nesta!” Cassian exploded, temper getting the better of him. “Did you think it would change my mind? Your father was a bastard—”

“Don’t talk about him that way, either!” she yelled back, not disagreeing with him. She merely wanted to fight him—if he’d told her his name was Cassian she’d have disagreed with him simply on principle. Nesta wanted to see how far she could push him before he inevitably backed off. Before he realized he wanted a fantasy and the woman beneath was no prize, nothing special. No one worth chasing across the country or obsessing over the way he was. 

“He was,” Cassian snarled as he stalked forward. “He would have done the same to you—would have traded you to someone worse if it suited him. What kind of father—”

Nesta slapped him. “Don’t,” she warned him, unable to listen to Cassian defend her. 

“Did it feel good to see his body?” Cassian asked her, gaze sharp and lethal. “Did you feel relieved knowing he couldn’t hurt you anymore? Or did you feel guilty, Nesta, that Feyre did the thing you’d always wanted to?”

“You don’t know anything about me,” she whispered, voice trembling.

“I know more than you think. I worked with your father, you forget,” he replied, coming closer still. Close enough she could feel the heat radiating off him. Nesta wanted to press her face against him and tell him everything. The life before her mother died, when her parents made it clear they loved each other first and their daughters second. Realizing the blatant favoritism and how even their attention felt like a curse. The downward spiral when her mother died and the different ways he played them off one another while acting hapless and confused.

And Cassian was right. Nesta did feel relief. And guilt, because what kind of terrible daughter wished her father was dead? What kind of horrible person wished she’d had the strength to do what Feyre had? 

Cassian’s callused palm caressed her cheek. “If I had known…I’d have done it for you,” he murmured. “You’re too sweet.” “No one thinks that about me,” Nesta bit back, hating the way tears were gathering against the corner of her eyes.

“No one knows you. Not like me,” he replied, his expression cautiously guarded. This time, when Nesta raised her hand to hit him, Cassian caught her wrist. It wasn’t a bruising hold but it was firm, his eyes flashing with warning. 

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Cassian breathed, crowding her personal space. “Push away everyone who loves you until you’re alone just to prove you deserve to be alone. The only person who thinks you’re unworthy of love is you, though. Not me, not your friends, and not your sisters, either.”

“What do you know about it?” she whispered, hating the hitch in her voice. Fuck him. Nesta hated him. She hated him for speaking about her insecurities with so much confidence, as if he had the right. 

“I know what it's like,” Cassian whispered in response, thumb rubbing a soft, soothing circle against her wrist. “My mom was murdered and my dad…I killed him. Hunted him down, let him see the man he refused to raise and the monster everyone said I’d be. He deserved it.”

Cassian spoke the words with such relish, his eyes bright as he conjured up memories of the past. “Would you do it again?” she asked him, throat dry.

“Yes,” he said without hesitation. “The only difference, I guess, would be my methods. I was too angry—I didn’t savor his pain. If I could go back, I’d prolong his suffering.”

“I think I’m a bad person,” she whispered, hating the way her body started to shake. “I couldn’t keep them safe. It was Feyre—Feyre who saved us. And she’s still…she’s in danger and I’m here, useless—”

“Don’t,” Cassian interrupted, his expression fierce. “Don’t talk about yourself that way. Not in front of me.”

“Someone should,” she snapped, wrenching her hand from his grasp. “What good is it to pretend otherwise?”

Cassian shook his head. “No one thinks half as harshly about you as you do.”

“I should have—”

“You’re sweet,” Cassian insisted, stepping in front of her as she tried to leave the bedroom. “My sweet Nesta.”

“No one thinks that.”

“No one knows you like I do. Someone told you you were cold and harsh, once, and you’ve never forgotten. But they were wrong about you. Let me be your weapon, Nes. Please.”

“And what do I do, then? Sit at home and—” “You asked me if I’d kill you if Rhys ordered me to?” Cassian began, eyes glittering with something that looked like triumph. “Ask me if I’d kill Rhys if you told me to.”

She just barely got the question out. “Would you?”

“Yes.” Spoken easily, without hesitation. “If you had a sword, I’d kneel and allow you to knight me. If you were a Queen, I’d beg you to make me your General. Your enemies are mine, your banner the only loyalty I know, your command my edict.”

“You like poetry now?” she asked, strangely embarrassed by his declaration.

“I read too, you know,” Cassian told her gently. But Nesta didn’t know that. While he’d been studying her, she’d been largely ignoring anything to do with him that didn’t involve his body laying atop her own. 

“You’re a bad man, Cassian,” she murmured, trying one last time. One last test, just to see, at least for now. Maybe there would be another someday, and maybe he’d let her down eventually.

But right then, Nesta saw his determination coupled with his realization he nearly had her. Damn him. 

“I never said otherwise,” he murmured, eyes soft. “I’ll be good to you, though.”

“Is this what you call good?”

He grinned. “How long did you know?”

“The minute you walked to my door,” she replied as he stared back at her incredulously. “You look nothing like a cop—”

“A compliment—”

“And also I can google. Do you think I didn’t look you all up years ago?”

“Ferye didn’t,” Cassian said with a smug smile. Nesta bit back the urge to scream a little. Feyre didn’t even google Rhys? It was so like her, to just put it all from her mind and trust that fate would guide her. And Rhys… “Is she safe?”

“Yes,” Cassian said solemnly, and Nesta believed he wouldn’t lie to her. Not about this, anyway. Nesta felt off kilter, unsure what to do or say next. It took her a moment to remember it all—he’d put a cloth over her face filled with chloroform and Gwyn and Em—

“My friends—”

Cassian grimaced. “Mor and Em are fine…well…Em is fine. Mor is…getting what she deserves, I think.”

“And Gwyn?”

“Az took her with him.”

Nesta was going to kill him. “Took her where?”

Cassian’s eyes slid to the floor. “I uh…I’m not sure.”

Nesta punched him hard in the shoulder.

“Ow! I didn’t kidnap her!”

“No, but you brought him to us!”

“Well, shit, Nes, I didn’t know he was gonna get obsessed when she put a gun in his face. Though…now that I think about it…I probably should have known,” Cassian mused, hazel eyes far away. “He’s always been…”

“Cassian, I don’t think you can judge him,” Nesta said, mind racing. Gwyn would be fine…right? “He’s not the…he wouldn’t…he respects the word no, right?”

Cassian’s eyes widened. “Of course. I’m sure he wouldn’t…do that.”

“How sure?”

Cassian’s gaze searched her own, face serious. “If he hurts her, I’ll kill him for you.”

Nesta wasn’t sure she believed that, but his words soothed her a little.

“Besides, from the last update we got, it sounds like she’s giving him a difficult time.”

Nesta was tempted to press him, but Cassian turned and asked if she was ready to go home with a wariness that betrayed how nervous he was. She wasn’t leaving him, though—even if it was a betrayal of her time in witness protection. She was ready to go back to living her actual life, to stop pretending to be Agnes, a woman she hated, and living in a place she loathed.

Rhys knew the truth and he didn’t want them dead for it. And Cassian…a million memories slithered through her mind. He’d cooked with her and done yoga, and—

“Did you kill Tomas?”

“Of course,” he replied easily, tossing a couple things into an open canvas bag. Nesta didn’t know why it mattered, but she crossed the wood floor all the same to fling her arms around his neck. 

“Thank you.”

Cassian hugged her back warmly and without hesitation. She felt him inhale the scent of her hair, hand spanning the entirety of her back. “For what? I love killing.”

“Cassian…you know thats fucked up, right?”

He shrugged. “We all have our talents.”

“Take me home, Cassian,” she murmured. Cassian only smiled, lips in her hair.

“Consider it done.”

CASSIAN:

In his wildest dreams, Cassian never expected Nesta to come as easily as she did, in the end. Perched in the passenger seat, Nesta complained about the music he listened to—Divorced Dad Rock, she claimed—the route he took—What is your obsession with backroads—and the way he drove—Get your hand off my knee, Cassian. 

With any other woman, in any other circumstance, it would have been a nightmare. He’d have been ready to commit a trail of homicides before he ever reached home, but listening to Nesta settled something restless and wild in Cassian’s chest. After a lifetime of violence, she made him feel safe, somehow. 

It didn’t hurt that she had a gun holstered to her thigh and those sharp eyes kept vigil even at night. Nesta didn’t relax until the doors were locked, the curtains drawn, and the closets checked for monsters. Was it him, he wondered, that made her look? Or the life she’d lived before him? Cassian drew up the courage to ask the night before they arrived home, holding Nesta in his arms.

“Are you afraid of me?” he asked into her hair, unsure what he’d say if she did.

Nesta snorted. “Of you? No.”

“Then why—”

“Habit,” she replied, reading his mind. “It doesn’t hurt anything though, does it?”

“I just needed to know.”

They fell back into silence, half asleep even as Cassian’s mind whirled. What was Rhys going to say when he came home like this? Maybe he ought to put a ring on Nesta’s finger…just in case. 

“Nes?”

She merely hummed in response.

“We should get married.”

There was a very pregnant pause in the dark. “Is there a question in there somewhere?” Nesta finally asked, rolling over so she laid on her back.

“If I ask, you might say no. I’m telling you we’re getting married.”

Nesta leaned up on her elbows while Cassian tried to suppress his grin. If he wasn’t careful, she’d shoot him again. Why did that turn him on? 

“You’re telling me?” she repeated, her voice lethally soft. “Do you want to try again? I’ll pretend I never heard you say that.”

“No.”

In that, Cassian was certain. If he gave her the option, it was too risky that Nesta would say no. She’d fight him no matter what, but this way, at least she knew the outcome. He’d take her to the altar kicking and screaming if he had to. But Nesta was going. 

“Cassian—”

Cassian had her before she could raise her fist, pinning her beneath him quickly. Using his knee to spread her legs, Cassian settled himself between her thighs before lowering her head.

“Do you imagine a life without me, Nes?”

“Maybe.”

That wounded him, though he was determined not to show it. “Oh? And how do you figure?”

“Maybe I’ll get bored of you,” Nesta said in that flippant, bratty way of hers. The words shot straight to his balls which irritated him. He was never going to win a fight against her if he couldn’t keep his body in check. 

“Yeah?” he questioned, teeth tugging roughly at the lobe of her ear. “Do you think I’ll ever be bored of you?”

“Probably,” Nesta said, though there was a breathless quality to her voice. “Maybe you’d prefer someone less difficult.”

“Don’t sound so hopeful, Nes. There will be no one else. For either of us,” he added, just in case she thought he was giving himself some sort of out. 

“Cassian—”

“You shot me, remember?” he said, pressing a kiss to the side of her neck. He would like a recreation of that moment. Nesta, gun pointed at him, Cassian, helpless. Though, he’d prefer it ended with him fucking her against a wood floor rather than picking a bullet out of his leg. 

“And that made you want to marry me?” Nesta asked, fingers brushing the stubble of his cheek.

“No,” he admitted, “though it certainly didn’t hurt anything. The sight of a gun in your hands, I just…fuck. Tomorrow. We’ll get married tomorrow.”

“How do you think we’re going to get married? We don’t have paperwork, a license—”

“I’ll figure it out,” Cassian interrupted. 

“Do I have a choice, Cass?”

“You could shoot me again. Run off, if you want. But I’d find you,” he added, just in case there was any doubt. “I’d bring you back.”

“Seems you’ve got it all figured out.”

“I’d like it better if you were excited,” Cassian murmured, kissing just beneath her jaw. “If you said yes.”

“You’d have to ask me a question if you wanted that,” Nesta replied blithely. 

Fuck he wanted her.

“Marry me?” he asked, changing his inflection just enough it was a question.

“No.”

Cassian covered her mouth with his own, kissing her with a brutal intensity that left him breathless. Desperate. Of course she said no. She likely had to, couldn’t have said yes even if she wanted to and still it did something for him. 

“Marry me, Nesta?” he whispered again, lips inches from her own.

“No,” she said again, though there was a whine to her voice that hadn’t been there before. Cassian kissed again, and again, his tongue stroking her own as his hands began skimming down her sides. How long before she said yes? Would they be fifty years in before Nesta finally admitted she liked being his wife? Three kids, eight grandchildren later?

Cassian ignored his desperate need to hear her say yes in favor of making her want him again. It felt as though it had been a lifetime since he’d last felt her beneath him, but right then he thought if he didn’t touch her, taste her, he’d go mad from wanting. Why was she wearing so much clothing? Nesta was in one of his t-shirts and a pair of underwear, all of which felt criminal right then.

He’d marry her, and then he’d keep her naked in his house, he decided. She could do whatever she wanted so long as she did it without a top. Cassian pulled it off over her head, dislodging the bun of hair she’d set just before they’d fallen asleep.

“I put moisturizer on—”

“I don’t care,” he growled, kissing her again. Fuck her skincare routine, and her pretty hair, and everything else. Cassian liked Nesta when she was fussy because it made undoing her all the more fun. Raking his fingers through her silken hair with one hand, Cassian used the other to palm her large, soft breast. He was painfully erect and making it her problem, grinding himself against her pelvis until he could feel her arousal through the thin fabric of her panties. 

“Cassian…” Nesta breathed, arching her neck as he began to drag his mouth down her skin.

“Marry me,” he replied, certain he’d be repeating this well into fucking her. 

“Shut up, Cassian,” Nesta replied, just in time for Cassian to lick her nipple. He sucked a little harder than he needed to, groaning when she arched into him. Her hand slid between his legs for his cock, squeezing a warning.

“Do that again,” she whispered, her eyes somehow bright even in the pitch dark. “I dare you.”

“Fuck,” he panted, wishing she’d keep stroking. Nesta released her grip in favor of raking her nails down his back before her palms settled on his shoulders to push him lower.

Cassian settled between her legs, peering up at her in the dark. “Are you going to marry me?”

“I guess it depends how well you do tonight,” she replied, which was an improvement from the outright no of before. 

“When have I ever done a bad job?” Cassian asked as he slid the fabric of her white panties to the side. There was something about letting her wear them that turned him on. Like he was doing something he shouldn’t, touching something forbidden. Nesta was a lady—she should have been off-limits.

And there he was, running his bloodstained hands all over her immaculate skin. This was Cassian’s religion, his home—his purpose. How could she not want to marry him when he’d never been more sure of anything in his life? That first taste of her felt holy, and when her legs fell fully open, Cassian truly believed there had to be some sort of higher power.

How else did you explain a woman like Nesta Archeron? 

Nesta’s fingers found his hair as he began to lick at her, taking his time in the dark. Where did he have to be? Outside of just returning home and telling Rhys what he’d done, Cassian didn’t need to be anywhere at all—and Rhys could wait, besides.

Rhys would wait. 

Cassian took his time, eyes adjusted to the dark as he licked slow circles around her clit. His fingers teased, using the fabric of her underwear to rile her up until Nesta was panting, thighs squeezed tight around his face.

“Cassian—”

“Are you going to marry me?”

“Cassian!” she replied, but he’d pulled away entirely to look at her. He wanted to hear her say yes—it was killing him that she wouldn’t, and if that was the only way he’d get that answer, well…

He’d done worse things than this. 

“Cassian, please,” Nesta all but begged, and he couldn’t stand that, either. Maybe it was just his aching cock begging him to get on with things, but Cassian returned his mouth to her pussy, licking faster this time because he wanted to hear her come. He’d missed the sound of her breathy sighs and the way her chest flushed red when she got close. Nesta’s legs trembled, arching and rolling against him in a mimicry of fucking. 

He needed to be inside her more than he needed anything else. Cassian pulled her close, wishing he’d sat her on his face so at least she could touch him. That was heaven and hell all at once, the desperate need to taste her and the frantic urge to fuck her. 

Cassian pulled back moments before Nesta came, panting roughly as he pulled his cock from his pants. Nesta whined, arching her back so her nipples pointed directly at the ceiling. Fuck.

“Marry me, Nesta.”

“Yes,” she replied, too lost to pleasure to think about fighting him. Cassian was quick to slide his cock into her body, using the pad of his thumb to rub her clit so Nesta came as he was entering her body. He felt her tighten around him, the sensation causing his eyes to roll up into his head. She was so wet—so warm. Cassian laid himself against, letting himself feel the waves of her pleasure against his otherwise still cock—he was too close and he hadn’t done a damn thing. 

“No take backs, Nesta,” he whispered against her ear.

“We both knew I was going to say yes,” she replied, eyes fluttering open to look at him. “I just wanted to give you a little hell.”

“I like hell,” Cassian murmured, kissing the corner of her mouth. “And I love you.”

Nesta smiled, a sweet smile on her lips. “I know you do.”

If he’d been in his right mind, Cassian might have demanded she say it back. It was very Nesta not to say it, to let him wonder if she meant it. But he knew, as she reached for him, that Nesta felt the same. He didn’t need words—her actions screamed it. 

Cassian had pulled himself out and was simply too drunk on the woman beneath him to care about anything else. Especially when her whole body tightened as he reentered her body, drawing a ragged whimper from Cassian’s lips. Somewhere in his head, he thought he heard Nesta asking for more. Maybe that was merely wishful thinking—Cassian couldn’t be sure.

He pumped, though, fingers slipping between their sweat slicked bodies until he found her clit again. He needed to hear her, needed to feel her. He was dangling on a precipice and yet he couldn’t finish, in part, he thought, because he wanted to feel the rhythmic clenching on his cock again.

Nesta came loud enough that if they had neighbors in the hall, they certainly heard her. Assuming, of course, the headboard knocking against the wall hadn’t alerted everyone to what they were up to. Cassian didn’t care, spilling himself right behind her the moment he felt her tighten around him like a vice. His orgasm ripped through him like a bomb, making a fool of him as he panted and pleaded her name. 

Nesta, Nesta, Nesta. 

Reality slipped back in like an unwanted house guest, forcing Cassian out of Nesta so she could quickly make her way to the bathroom, complaining about how much he’d come. As if that was a bad thing. 

“Cass?” Nesta asked, naked and illuminated by the harsh glow of the bathroom lights. He was once again struck by how beautiful she was. Ethereal, like some kind of angel sent from heaven to shoot him with his own gun. 

“Yeah?” he said, eyes on her face though he was looking at her boobs through his periphery.

“Can we…stay…for a day or two? Before we go back? Just us?” she added.

Cassian grinned, beckoning for her to come join him in bed.

“Whatever you want.”

And he meant it. Whatever she wanted.

Forever.

[noodles-and-tea]

Our hextech dream….

[hinamie]

to moving forward

[mroddmod]

everyone be quiet i'm manifesting

[chloesimaginationthings]

The true meaning behind FNAF princess quest

[ruushes]

companions re-classed part 3 - shadowheart 🌌🌚🌝

*shadowdancer isn't a 5e rogue subclass, it's a 3.5e rogue-based prestige class, but it suits her so well and when i played 3.5e as a kid i thought it was the coolest thing ever lol so i wanted to use it

karlach 🔥 wyll ⚔️

[thebaldursmouthgazette]

I’m sure Dumat being defeated the same year andraste was born means nothing

I’m sure this has nothing to do with the fact that andrastes mother was part of a tribe who helped the grey wardens fight and defeat dumat the same year she was born, meaning that she could have been a fetus affected by the taint in the proximity of a dying arch demon

And the fact that nobody knows which grey warden killed dumat, as seven wardens died from injuries from his death throes, and therefore we cannot actually identify a warden who absorbed his soul, means nothing

And I’m sure it is a complete coincidence that andraste had dreams and visions of the being later referred to as the maker her whole life, and behaved strangely, talking about hearing lost voices and seeing strange auras. That absolutely doesn’t sound like anyone else we know

[giantkillerjack]

Today my therapist introduced me to a concept surrounding disability that she called "hLep".

[plain-text version of this post can be found under the cut]

Which is when you - in this case, you are a disabled person - ask someone for help ("I can't drink almond milk so can you get me some whole milk?", or "Please call Donna and ask her to pick up the car for me."), and they say yes, and then they do something that is not what you asked for but is what they think you should have asked for ("I know you said you wanted whole, but I got you skim milk because it's better for you!", "I didn't want to ruin Donna's day by asking her that, so I spent your money on an expensive towing service!") And then if you get annoyed at them for ignoring what you actually asked for - and often it has already happened repeatedly - they get angry because they "were just helping you! You should be grateful!!"

And my therapist pointed out that this is not "help", it's "hLep".

Sure, it looks like help; it kind of sounds like help too; and if it was adjusted just a little bit, it could be help. But it's not help. It's hLep.

At its best, it is patronizing and makes a person feel unvalued and un-listened-to. Always, it reinforces the false idea that disabled people can't be trusted with our own care. And at its worst, it results in disabled people losing our freedom and control over our lives, and also being unable to actually access what we need to survive.

So please, when a disabled person asks you for help on something, don't be a hLeper, be a helper! In other words: they know better than you what they need, and the best way you can honor the trust they've put in you is to believe that!

Also, I want to be very clear that the "getting angry at a disabled person's attempts to point out harmful behavior" part of this makes the whole thing WAY worse. Like it'd be one thing if my roommate bought me some passive-aggressive skim milk, but then they heard what I had to say, and they apologized and did better in the future - our relationship could bounce back from that. But it is very much another thing to have a crying shouting match with someone who is furious at you for saying something they did was ableist. Like, Christ, Jessica, remind me to never ask for your support ever again! You make me feel like if I asked you to call 911, you'd order a pizza because you know I'll feel better once I eat something!!

Edit: crediting my therapist by name with her permission - this term was coined by Nahime Aguirre Mtanous!

Edit again: I made an optional follow-up to this post after seeing the responses. Might help somebody. CW for me frankly talking about how dangerous hLep really is.

Plain-text version:

Today my therapist introduced me to a concept surrounding disability that she called "hLep".

Which is when you - in this case, you are a disabled person - ask someone for help ("I can't drink almond milk so can you get me some whole milk?", or "Please call Donna and ask her to pick up the car for me."), and they say yes, and then they do something that is not what you asked for but is what they think you should have asked for ("I know you said you wanted whole, but I got you skim milk because it's better for you!", "I didn't want to ruin Donna's day by asking her that, so I spent your money on an expensive towing service!") And then if you get annoyed at them for ignoring what you actually asked for - and often it has already happened repeatedly - they get angry because they "were just helping you! You should be grateful!!"

And my therapist pointed out that this is not "help", it's "hLep".

Sure, it looks like help; it kind of sounds like help too; and if it was adjusted just a little bit, it could be help. But it's not help. It's hLep.

At its best, it is patronizing and makes a person feel unvalued and un-listened-to. Always, it reinforces the false idea that disabled people can't be trusted with our own care. And at its worst, it results in disabled people losing our freedom and control over our lives, and also being unable to actually access what we need to survive.

So please, when a disabled person asks you for help on something, don't be a hLeper, be a helper! In other words: they know better than you what they need, and the best way you can honor the trust they've put in you is to believe that!

P.S. Also, I want to be very clear that the "getting angry at a disabled person's attempts to point out harmful behavior" part of this makes the whole thing WAY worse. Like it'd be one thing if my roommate bought me some passive-aggressive skim milk, but then they heard what I had to say, and they apologized and did better in the future - our relationship could bounce back from that. But it is very much another thing to have a crying shouting match with someone who is furious at you for saying something they did was ableist. Like, Christ, Jessica, remind me to never ask for your support ever again! You make me feel like if I asked you to call 911, you'd order a pizza because you know I'll feel better once I eat something!!

Edit: crediting my therapist by name with her permission - this term was coined by Nahime Aguirre Mtanous!

Edit again: I made an optional follow-up to this post after seeing the responses. Might help somebody. CW for me frankly talking about how dangerous hLep really is.

[bacchuschucklefuck]

class swap design masterpost for convenience (from top to bottom: bard!riz, cleric!gorgug, sorcerer!kristen, barbarian!fig, artificer!adaine, and rogue!fabian)

[artofalassa]

I'm drifting off to nowhere The past, an echo on my mind Home, I'm almost home...

[obsob]

bedtime story with my love !!

[ibahibut]

💀: Fewer wounds, more kisses from me.

🐦‍⬛: Contract's accepted, mi amor.

Music inspiration: A Little Death by The Neighbourhood

[hinamie]

yuuji smiling and sukuna making a face like That did u really think i wouldn't do a panel redraw

[abyssruler]

roses are red, violets are blue, lynette is so done with the two of you

lyney x gn!reader

lynette thinks fontaine’s worst kept secret isn’t how neuvillette wears blue underwear or how the hydro archon loves a good drama, no, fontaine’s worst kept secret is lyney’s massive crush on you and how everyone and their grandmother know except you.

comedy, pining lyney, lynette being so done

Lyney’s frowning.

Most people would find it an odd expression on him, used to having him direct dazzling smiles and playful laughter their way. But Lynette isn’t just anyone, and the sight of Lyney frowning is hardly a rare phenomenon within the privacy of their household.

Freminet’s usually Lyney’s choice of victim for whatever nonsense he’s managed to build himself up in that head of his, but Freminet’s busy doing errands and Lynette is unfortunately the only person within vicinity that Lyney trusts with his secret—which isn’t even a secret by this point, people have been making bets on how long it would take you to realize that Lyney’s been pining over you since forever.

Case in point: Lyney frowning over two identical flowers. She doesn’t need to be a mind reader to know that her brother is having a midlife crisis over which flower to give you.

Lynette thinks he should just man up and confess. Preferably within the next week or so, otherwise she’d lose her bet.

“Lynette, which one is more eye-catching, the crimson one,” he holds up the flower in his right hand, then he raises the other one, “or the maroon one?”

Lynette gives him the deadest stare she can muster. “They’re the same color.”

“Oh, sister, have you no taste?” Lyney tuts, pouting at her for a moment before returning to that constipated look as he squinted at the ‘crimson’ and ‘maroon’ flowers. Talk about being delusional.

“(Y/N)’s not gonna care whether the rose is crimson or maroon or red,” she tells him. You’d probably accept a dead flower if it came from Lyney, with that starry-eyed look you always got whenever he so much as glances your way. Lynette’s not one to judge other people’s taste too harshly, but she does wonder what you see in her overdramatic and annoying brother.

Ah, well. They do say love makes people blind. Hopefully not literally though, Lynette’s not looking forward to performing shows alone because Lyney got blinded by his love for you—though if you asked Lynette, she’d tell you it wasn’t love so much as obsession. Only someone insane would spend hours picking out flowers and calling them ‘maroon’ and ‘crimson’. It’s just red.

Lynette squints at him. “And since when were you interested in the meaning of flowers?”

“Well, I suppose you could say I like to dabble in other pursuits.” Lyney gives her a cheeky grin.

“Right…” He’s clearly losing his mind.

“Red roses symbolize true love, though rainbow roses in particular pertain to passion, and…” He trails off, eyes blinking in astonishment. She can practically see the lightbulb appearing on top of his head.

With a flick of his wrists, the ‘crimson’ and ‘maroon’ roses disappear. Lynette watches him warily, wondering what kind of outlandish idea has formed in that head of his.

But he doesn’t elaborate more, only shoots a wink at her and says, “I’ve got a great idea.”

✧

His great idea, as it turns out, is to corner you in an alleyway and make it rain rainbow roses around you as he asked you out on a date, all while Lynette is crouched on the roof, dumping sacks of rainbow roses and vindictively hoping one of them stabs Lyney in the eye. No such luck.

You, as the ever-crazy romantic that you are, are awestruck and amazed by what he’s done instead of weirded out like how a normal person would be. With an eager smile and a twinkle in your eye, you accept the rose in Lyney’s hand and say yes when he asks you to meet him for dinner tomorrow. Lynette wants to barf, but settles for dumping another sack of flowers on top of the two of you.

And if she uses a little bit of anemo to direct a few petals to Lyney’s face? Well, you removing a petal sticking to his cheek and having your fingers linger there for a few moments wasn’t part of the plan (the plan being: embarrass her brother by having him choke on a petal while he’s speaking), but she can’t entirely begrudge the result. Not when Lyney looks like he’s about to have a meltdown with just one touch from you. Good blackmail material right there.

Lynette’s happy that the two of you have finally gotten your heads off your asses and are actually going on a date. Though mostly she’s happy about the amount of mora heading her way soon.

She’ll have to thank Freminet for telling her about the bet about you and Lyney. Maybe she can start a new bet on when the two of you are getting married—probably soon, if the lovestruck look on Lyney’s face is anything to go by. She hopes he won’t be crazy enough to propose on the second date, because you’d certainly be crazy enough to accept if he did.

Oh, well. Lynette will put a bet on one month just in case.

[phantompasta]

more If you find a vigilante in a dumpster by @lunamugetsu art because I do not feel normal rn

The lady on the left is Lady Gotham btw that's kinda how I picture her until the author describes her current appearance

Lady gotham-less art after the cut in case she wasn't the evil mastermind behind that last chapter ending + a meme

Also, for so you can see Danny's drawings in the background

[archivebottles]

Happy birthday to the most special girl in the universe!! Wanted to try something ambitious and ended up with the biggest comic I've done to date