Also Tangentially Related To My Last Post - Someone I Worked With Years Ago Told Me About This Thing

HILFE

Please DO NOT watch Sia’s new ableist film “Music.” The autistic character Music is shown having several meltdowns and being held in prone restraint. Prone restraint is dangerous, and has killed many autistic people. Take Eric Parsa for example. Autistic people are killed by neurotypicals who don’t know how to handle meltdowns and Sia just makes light of that. Plus, she cast a non disabled person to play Music. So again, do not watch “Music.” Here’s a thread of films with good autistic representation if you want to find something to watch.

cleaning is so scary. and for what

"Asexuality is a sexuality and as a whole is not inherently rooted in mental health problems or hormone problems and thus should not be pathologized."

And

"Some people who use the label asexual are asexual due to trauma, mental health conditions, or medications/hormonal problems and they should always be welcome within the asexual community."

Are two concepts that can and should coexist.

had to scratch the otp itch

Gladstone distracting Magica accidentally results in discovery of world’s strongest hair spray

You know those anime meta posts along the lines of “I was born with pink hair. The doctors told my parents I was a Main Character and ever since my life has not known peace from demons/spirits/sports competitions/harems who find me”

Well I see that, and I raise you this:

An anime boy whose appearance is, by absolutely anyone’s account, completely and utterly average. Mundane hair. Mundane eyes. Not even glasses to set him the tiniest bit apart. A simple, unmemorable, unrecognizable civilian among a backdrop of millions.

And he has a lot of passions, and a lot of ambitions, which he hones every chance he gets. He’s dabbled in sports and archery and cooking and just about anything you could wrap a competition around. And he’s competed in many of these. Every chance he gets. With all of his passion and all of his might.

He’s crushed by the competition every single time.

Until one day–one day something clicks for him. Something that should have seemed obvious from the start and yet never was–as though everyone, including himself, was unwittingly blind to it. It clicks, when he realizes every kid who’s beaten him in competition, every kid who’s gone on to fame and glory and acclaim, has been some candy-haired gel-spiked ridiculously-dressed fucker. 

There’s some trend there that this Main Character boy can’t explain and can’t understand but he decides, this one time, fuck it. He’ll play along too. He’s got a model train competition in four days, and he’s got nothing more to lose. He hits up the department store, buys the pinkest, noxious-est, fruitiest hair dye he can find, the spikiest hair gel available, and the gaudiest clothes on the thrift rack. He enters the model train competition looking like a bubble gum gijinka.

And he wins.

Suddenly, the other candy-haired contestants notice him. They talk to him. They pledge rivalries. Girls notice him. Judges applaud him. Acclaimed model train aficionados offer him internships across the world. He’s hit on something. 

The main cast expands to cover just about every candy-hair cliche in the book: from the mostly-normal-looking demure school girl with the blue hair to the Naruto-est, yelling-est boy with the red-and-green spiked hair. The cool megane senpais, the purple haired tsunderes, suddenly everyone is interested in him. They’re prodigies and upstarts and underdogs and they truly believe that this main character boy is one of them.

So the main character boy maintains his ruse. He touches up his roots at dawn every morning and carefully attends to his gelled spikes and tells absolutely no one about this great, uncanny, unfathomable secret he’s stumbled upon. He wins his competitions left and right. He racks up the acclaim. He’s hailed as a prodigy of all trades, just now bursting onto the scene, and boils to the top of all his candy-haired peers.

He’s rising up, his every dream within his grasp. Until one day he gets a note under his door, taped to an old picture of his Normal Boring self from middle school, that says “You don’t belong”

There is a way of washing your body where you stand use just a damp wash cloth to clean yourself, and you don’t stand under water or in a bath. Do you call this a:

- top and tail

- pta/ pits tits ass

- dry bath

- other (put in tags pls)

- never heard of this