If You Live In The USA, Now Is The Time To Call And Email (and Fax) Your Senators And Tell Them They

If you live in the USA, now is the time to call and email (and fax) your senators and tell them they need to block the ghoulish budget that just passed in the house. I am not being hyperbolic when I say it will kill a lot of people, many of them through horrifying medicaid cuts.

Do you ever worry about how you’ll care for your parents when they can no longer care for themselves? The answer would up until recently have been medicaid, but medicaid cuts will leave older people needing home care in the lurch. Do you know someone who is disabled, with or without official state-recognized disability status? That person likely relies on medicaid, with or without the need for home care. Out of a job, so unable to get healthcare through the workplace? Medicaid would have been an option, but the new budget includes work requirements that might be really difficult to prove - so if you can’t work, but can’t get approved for disability (true for many disabled people, especially newly disabled people, as everyone is likely to someday be) you’ll be cut off from health care. If you’re in between jobs and get in a car crash or get really ill, your options are going to be bankruptcy or death - even more clearly than they were before. In my state alone, it’s also probably going to cut over 200k jobs, and every state is likely to see employment losses.

But the thing I want to get across is this: This bill is baldly eugenicist. It’s there because republicans want to see a lot of poor and old and disabled people die. They are not hiding it. I really urge anyone able-bodied to sit in the discomfort you may currently feel about the disabled or chronically ill instead of looking away, because I can almost guarantee you that this budget, if passed, will someday impact you directly negatively, even if you are currently healthy and not reliant on medicaid. If you are lucky enough to age, you age into infirmity. You will sustain injuries. You will get sick. Things you don’t want to go wrong will, and medicaid - if it survives - will be the safety net that catches you. If it’s not there, that’s a really long way to fall, and you may not survive.

I really hate having to use this specific argument, because I’d hope people would care about disabled people, chronically ill people, old people, etc without having to be reminded of the reality that you will join these communities at some point in your life unless you die suddenly or in some tragic accident. I understand that contemplating the frailty of life is not fun, but disabled, ill, and aging people are not just uncomfortable reminders of the inevitability of decay; we are whole human beings with our own drives and desires, our own offerings to give, funny stories to tell, losses to grieve. I don’t relish the thought of abled people losing that privileged status; I’m just saying that it’s going to happen, and it’s worth caring about the people who don’t have it while you still have the energy to do something with that care, because it gets much harder once you’re no longer abled. If you can’t do it for us, do it for your someday self.

Warmth

[masterlist]

it doesn't look like it but this is a comfy drabble, i promise!! the inspo (and wish for some comfort) is from @whumpcloud. you've read this already but here <3

CW: dehumanisation, abandonment issues, pet whump, self-loathing

It is still dark outside when Mutt wakes up, drenched in sweat, panting from memories that haunt his brain. A moment later, he realises what woke him up, as the night sky is lit up by a flash of lightning, a growling thunder following only moments later. Mutt can feel the rumbling deep down in his bones, making him shiver.

He had been locked outside once during a thunderstorm, the punishment still fresh in his mind. Bound and gagged, of course, so he couldn’t draw attention to himself with his pathetic whimpering and keening.

There had been rain and hail, soaking him to the bone, making the Mutt even more susceptible to the unforgiving cold seeping into his joints. He had wanted nothing more than a shred of his old Master’s mercy, as the thunder rolled over him.

Mutt shakes his head to rid himself of the memories, his fingers twitching. He won’t be able to fall back asleep, he knows, but he needs to be fit enough to serve his Master in the morning!

Almost on auto-pilot, Mutt gets out of bed. He has to be careful when standing up, his mangled legs still struggling to hold him up. When he walks to his door, he no longer avoids stepping on the rug.

Aimlessly, he wanders onto the dim corridor, the old wood creaking under his irregular and heavy steps. Mutt tries not to be too loud, lest he wakes Master up. Fatigue tugs at his eyelids, making them droop, and his stroll does little to clear his muddy mind. He stumbles around, losing time.

Suddenly, he feels something cold and hard and when his eyes focus again, he is holding the handle to his Master’s bedroom in his ruined hand, the door already opened a crack. Just barely, he can see the sleeping form of his Master, curled up under the covers, her hands loosely clasped together in front of her face and oh–

He is Atlas now, isn’t he?

As if in a trance, Atlas enters her room, still not quite here, not quite there. Something pulls him forwards, a pressure getting stronger with each step, like a moth fluttering towards the light. He forces himself to stop a couple of steps away from her, ignoring how empty it makes him feel.

Hasn’t she given enough for him? Must he now also take her sleep? Her rest?

Atlas forces his mind to blank and himself to stop, to turn around as silently as possible. She needs her rest for all the troubles he’ll inevitably bring her in the morning, when he can’t get a hold of himself, can’t do the things a human is supposed to do. He can’t keep taking and taking and taking from her, but some part of him craves her presence so much and he despises himself for it. Maybe he will never be anything but a Pet but for some reason he can’t place, that seems so intrinsically connected to his very being, he only feels whole when he’s with her.

For a moment, he is outside again, chained and gagged in the freezing rain, thoroughly unwanted. This time, it is Atlas who holds the key, dangling it just out of reach from his desperate self. He understands his old Master now, he thinks, understands why he locked a creature like him out. It is only right.

Before he can take another step, he hears a sleepy groan right behind him, freezing up. Atlas fears looking around, fears seeing Master’s hateful gaze, even though he can’t conjure up a fitting image, no matter how hard he tries. He still does –of course he does– his breath catching in his throat.

With her eyes still closed, Aveline has lifted one arm to hold her blanket up, as if inviting him in. Like a man dying of thirst discovering a miracle oasis, Atlas stumbles closer. It seems too good to be true and if there is one thing he has learned, it’s that no good ever befalls a Pet like him. Still, he wants to hope.

“For me?” Atlas croaks into the dark, as hushed as his damaged vocal cords allow him.

Her response is nothing more than a drowsy mhm and a light, lazy gesture with her hand. Hesitantly, Atlas steps closer. He shouldn’t know how this goes, should be overwhelmed with the very real possibility of doing this wrong and subsequently being thrown out. But he isn’t.

The movements feel like second nature, even as he navigates his bulky frame first onto her bed and then into the embrace of the much smaller woman. Atlas doesn’t have to think, his body moves on its own, which is undoubtedly a good thing because if he allowed himself to process what he was doing, he’d surely panic.

As he lays down on his side, Aveline lowers her arm to cover him with the blanket too, then settles it over the side of his chest. It should be the worst crime a Pet like him could commit, to lay his head on her soft pillow, to curl up against her warm body, to feel her snuggle up against his marred back. But for some reason, it doesn’t feel like a crime. It just feels like home.

Atlas deflates in her arms, sighing. Her touch is tender, not restricting, tethering Atlas to this world, as sobs start to build up in his chest against his will. If he cries now, he will surely ruin the best thing his life has ever allowed him.

Maybe this is a dream and tomorrow he will wake up alone in his own bed but none of that matters in this moment. Unconsciously, his crooked hand searches for hers, clinging to it. Aveline squeezes it back, as a couple of stray silent tears start to escape his eyes.

Her body is warm and she holds him tight. Atlas can feel her resting her head softly against the nape of his neck, whispering that Everything is going to be alright.

Atlas sniffles, his tears soaking into the pillow. They lay like that for a while, Aveline’s thumb stroking soothingly over the back of his hand, careful with the raised scar tissue.

Pets like him aren’t made for this kind of comfort, this all-encompassing warmth; her kindness feels like an unbelievable gift. He’d do anything for her, Atlas decides, as his eyes grow heavy and start to slip close. He can’t hear the harsh thunder anymore, can’t feel the cold rain.

Atlas knows he doesn’t deserve it, even as he falls asleep, but–

He wishes someone had been this kind to him before.

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starz8nk

4 months ago

Guys it's winter now, go help them if you can or reblog to boost

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You are afraid of success

Because failure is much more validating. Failure will pat you on the back and say, "maybe next time, hun", it will feed you anticipation and that flutter of trepidation in your chest when you think of success, it will make you feel comfortable in that bog you settled in.

The illusion of productivity keeps you in that mindset and prevents you from facing this fear. It keeps you feeling busy so you don't feel bad about being stagnant. It tells you you're walking in strides while you actually stand still, avoiding the discomfort of fully committing to success. Just like buying a dozen of fancy pens and notebooks instead of writing a book, you busy yourself with useless tasks that keep you from actually applying.

You can shift and manifest with just an intention and without any effort, but some of you are afraid of accepting even that. Just another script for my another DR, just another playlist with dozens of subliminals (do you even listen to them more than twice before creating a new one?), just another small "check" before a big manifestation, just another hour of reading through Tumblr/Pinterest/Reddit/TikTok posts and success stories, just another pile of photographed and screenshotted angel numbers. Are you not tired?

Shifting and manifesting are mundane and trivial to the point of being innate to you. If you have an apple in your hand, do you daydream about it? Do you create playlists named "🐁 🎀 𝐼 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝒶𝓃 𝒶𝓅𝓅𝓁𝑒 🎀 🐁"? Do you buy a special knife that you proudly call "my apple knife"? Do you create moodboards for this apple? No, if you want an apple and you have it, you bite it.

You already have and know everything there is to know, and nothing will happen unless you actually start applying. You may know that only intention works, but did you internalize this knowledge? A lot of you throw fancy manifesting lingo while still persisting in the state of lack. Remembering and knowing is not the same as applying. Don't let this mistake keep you on Shiftblr until 2030.

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starz8nk

6 months ago

My name is Fatima Shahin, and I live in the Shuweifat area of Lebanon. Like many others, my family has been devastated by war. One dark night, explosions destroyed our home, leaving us with only a few clothes and important documents as we fled.

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