#NoShameDay is a day for people with disabilities ~let’em shine~
Personally I find it weird that it’s no shame day because never in my life have I felt or allowed anyone to make me feel bad or “shameful” about my disability. I often describe my disability to children as “you have blonde hair, I have brown. You can green eyes, I have blue. You have strong bones, I do not” because I see it as something so simple about me.
I’ve given the OI speech about a million times on Tumblr, so I’ll spare you a million and one, but if you WOULD like to know more about my life with Osteogenesis Imperfecta, you can watch my video by clicking here .
“I mean, they’ve been trying for a while Luke.” You padded behind him as he walked through the hallway to your shared bedroom. He took a bite of his apple as he thought about what he was going to say. “But she’s like, 40. Isn’t it fairly dangerous for her?” You nodded in response as you sipped on the hot chocolate that was in your mug. “Oi, lemme have some.” “I told you I would make you some.” You voiced, him taking the cup from your hands. “Want some o'yours babe.” He walked with it to the sink and stood in front of the mirror as he took in his reflection. Setting it down on the counter, he made a gesture for you to come get it and picked up his hairbrush. Making your way over to him, you hopped up on the counter and looked at him as he brushed. His forehead crinkled just slightly as he concentrated on his hair, nose scrunching at the times when a strand wouldn’t fall where he wanted it. The tip of his tongue slipped past his lips and wet them just before he pulled his lip ring between his teeth, dragging his tongue across it. His jawline was littered with scruff, little flecks of blonde that your hands itched to touch. As he brushed his hair, his arm muscles contracted, your eyes not being able to resist being drawn to them. It didn’t help that he was shirtless, his chest and stomach toned to the point where you knew he worked out, but you could tell he didn’t focus on that. If it was a sin to look at your boyfriend, hell was going to know you well. The black skinnies he donned weren’t buttoned shut, allowing a sliver of ‘Calvin Klein’ to peek out and a view of just how long his torso was. You hadn’t noticed that he had caught you checking him out until you locked your eyes with his piercing blue ones. “What are you looking at love?” no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t hold back a smirk. Instead of responding, you hooked your finger through a belt loop and tugged him so that he stood between your legs. Your hands went to his chest and supported you as you leaned into him, pressing your cheek to a spot on his shoulder. His arms slipped around you instantly, leaning down to nuzzle his face softly in your hair, a little satisfied grumble rumbling through him. Pulling back, you lifted a hand to his face, cupping it against his cheek, thumb scraping against the hair that invaded his jaw. Letting the tips of your fingers trail along the hair, you felt along the entirety of his jaw line, stopping at the other side of his jaw. Bringing the other hand up to meet his other cheek, you watched as he leaned into your right palm, closing his eyes at the feeling of your fingers scraping the scruff softly. “Need to shave sweetheart. ” You let out in barely a whisper, a lazy smile playing on his face at your words. “I like this too much to shave.” He leaned forward slightly and put his chin in the crook of your neck and nuzzled it there, soliciting a giggle from you. The feeling of his scruff on your neck was not a foreign one to you, being as Luke loved to see the reddish tint in your skin whenever he did that. When you and he were in the heat of the moment and Luke tipped over the edge, his head would dip down, beard meeting your skin, small groans filling your ear as he came down from his high. Also, whenever you met him at the airport after returning from his band’s tour, he always sported some type of stubble, life on the road being too hectic to find time to shave. Truthfully, you loved the feeling of him against your skin as well. “As much as you like it, you have that meeting tonight. Professional band members who want to be taken seriously by executives shave their beards.” You reached behind you and picked up his razor, holding it out in the palm of your hand. “Okay baby.” He conceded, pressing a kiss into the palm of the hand that still cupped his cheek. “But before you shave…” Your arms wrapped around his waist and you let your hands fall just above his butt. “Hmmm?” He questioned, eyes flicking from his unbuttoned flannel you wore to your lips and finally your eyes. A small laugh bubbled from your chest as his hands invaded the flannel and rubbed your lower back. You pulled him towards you and reached higher to press a kiss to his lips, capturing his bottom lip softly between your teeth and tugging as you pulled back. Leaning his forehead against yours, he squeezed his eyes shut and let out a sigh. “Can’t you just come with me? I can tell Mike to bring his girlfriend. You could just hang out in the lobby with her until we finish.” “Luke, listen. I would love to go. But, I have to study for class, and you know I can’t have distractions.” You soothed, running your hand up and down his back. “I know, I know.” He slipped a hand out of your shirt and entangled his fingers with yours. “I just… what if I mess up? What if I am the one that makes us look like losers?” “Luke. Don’t think like that, you know this band like the back of your hand. You can do this. Besides, you’re all losers already.” He smiled at your teasing comment at the end, bringing your knuckles up to kiss them. He moved towards the sink and wet his face to put the shaving cream on. He sprayed some in his hands, rubbing it on his face, hand darting out to catch you by surprise and press a dab on your nose. “Wanna help me shave?” He asked, holding the razor out to you. “C'mere.” He moved between your legs again, wet hands taking purchase on your uncovered thighs. You started on one side and worked your way to the other, his eyes never leaving your face as you worked. You moved his face gently from side to side, making sure that you got everything, running your hand over the freshly shaven skin. “Done.” You smiled, kissing his skin, missing the prickle of the stubble against your lips. “You look cute while you work.” He smiled, patting some after shave on, quickly dabbing a little onto your collar bone. You slapped him lightly and he giggled, reaching onto your shoulders and slipping the material off them, leaving you without a top. “HEY!” You pouted as he slipped the shirt onto himself. He laughed and disappeared into the closet, coming out with a black tank. “Arms up.” You did as he said, letting him slip the material over your head. “Next time you steal a shirt while I shower, pick this one. I like it on you. Besides, now this one smells like you.” Pulling you in for a kiss, he said goodbye, promising to text you when the meeting was over. You cleared your throat when he walked away, him turning to you in surprise. “Oi, Missing something?” You held his phone in your hands, holding it out as he backtracked and stuck it in his pocket. “What would I do without you?” He cupped your cheek and jogged through the hallway, leaving with a quiet shut of the door. Hopping off the counter, you turned and frowned. “Damn, my chocolate got cold.”
Get the idea? The students are masked bands of hoodlums hellbent on the destruction of all social order and the looting of your sock drawer. Apart from the far more balanced pages of Le Devoir and sometimes La Presse, that’s the unilateral image being presented to Quebecers.
Dear writers or anybody who thinks a trans woman would change her name from Micheal to Michelle.
if you had been named “Oi Shithead” at birth, because your parents it’s a fine old family name or whatever, would you then change your name to “Shmoy Shmithead” to make it easier for the people who called you “Oi Shithead” for twenty years?
Incorrectly gendered names feel like an insult. It’s very rare for a trans person to want to pay homage to that insult.
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