#But this is My Fault. I have done this to myself.

[loulou-land]

Let's Go Home

Day 8 of @bucktommyfluffebruary | surprise | 2,950 words | fluff and humor | ao3

Its finally done. Yay! Promising myself the next one won't be a long one 🙃

The scent of garlic and basil filled the kitchen as Buck stirred the simmering pasta sauce and glanced at the clock for what felt like the hundredth time. He was starting to worry. 

Tommy was supposed to have been home 40 mins ago. He knows LA traffic was terrible but usually, he’d at least get a text if he was running late. But his phone had been suspiciously silent this whole time.

Buck huffed, flipping the burner off and stepping back. Okay, no. He needed to check on Tommy. 

Just as he reached for his phone, the screen lit up. Tommy’s name and smiling photo filled the display. Relief flooded him, but it was quickly followed by worry as he picked up immediately. 

“Babe, where are you?” Buck asked, his frown deepening. 

A beat of silence. Then: “What do you mean, where am I? Where are you?”

Buck blinked. “Uh��at the house. Where you live?”

Another pause. And then a heavy sigh. “Fuck.” 

“Fuck?” Buck echoed, his concern shifting to confusion. 

“I—I forgot we were staying at the house tonight,” Tommy admitted, voice tinged with guilt. “I went to the loft.” 

Buck stared at the ceiling, dumbfounded. “You forgot?” 

“It’s been a long shift,” Tommy said, clearly frustrated with himself. “My brain is in a fog, and I just—automatically came here.” 

Buck exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. “Tommy. That’s what the calendar’s for.” 

“I didn’t look at it,” Tommy muttered. “I swore we were staying at the loft tonight. Thought we talked about it.” 

Buck sighed, but softened. “Baby, that was like two shifts ago. But it’s fine, I’ll just pack up dinner and head there.” 

“What? No . Sweetheart, I’m already in my truck. I’m coming home” 

Buck clenched his jaw, pressing his lips together before finally sighing. “Alright. Just…be careful.” 

“I will,” Tommy said, his voice quieter now. “And—I’m sorry.” 

“Not your fault,” Buck reassured him, gentle now that he knew Tommy was safe. “It happens. Just get here in one piece, okay?” 

“Okay. Love you.” 

“Love you too,” Buck murmured before hanging up. 

He exhaled hard, shaking his head. He wasn't mad. Just amused. A little exasperated. But still, something about this whole mix-up made his chest feel tight. 

It was a reminder.

Of something they hadn't talked about in a while. 

Buck had promised to go at Tommy’s pace, and he meant it. He did. But sometimes, like tonight—he just… wanted . 

But the last time they’d had this conversation, it hadn’t ended well. 

Buck inhaled deeply, shoving the thought into a far-off, dusty corner of his mind. Right now, he had dinner to finish. And a man to welcome home.

—————————————————————

Tommy exhaled slowly, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel as he drove. His mind was still stuck on the mix-up. 

He felt bad, even though he knew he hadn’t forgotten on purpose. Still, in a way, it meant they'd lost time together. Time he didn't want to waste. 

And, there was something about this entire situation that kept biting at the edges of Tommy’s thoughts. 

Evan had been waiting for him. 

Cooking for him. 

Evan had been waiting at home. 

Tommy tightened his grip on the wheel. 

That was it, wasn't it? 

For months now, the thought had lingered in the back of his mind. How much he wanted to come home to Evan—not just on the nights they decided to stay at the house. Not just in moments they planned in advance. He wanted it every day. Every night. He wanted the certainty of knowing that at the end of their shifts, of every long and exhausting day, they'd be coming home to each other. 

His chest tightened. Because for so long, that word— home —had never really belonged to him. Not in a way that mattered. But Evan? Evan had changed that. 

Tommy swallowed hard. So why was he dragging his feet?

It wasn’t fear. Not anymore. Not like before. 

He’d already lost Evan once because he hadn’t been ready. Because he let doubt and fear hold him back. But he was ready now.

Except…Evan didn’t know that. 

And if there was one thing Tommy knew for sure, it was that words weren’t enough. He needed to show him. 

His grip on the steering wheel loosened as the idea started forming, small and tentative at first, then quickly sparking into something bigger. 

Evan was usually the one who went for grand gestures. But this time? This time, Tommy wanted to be the one. 

Evan deserved to be wooed and wowed, to have something big and meaningful done for him. Tommy wanted to give him that. To give them that. 

A slow smile tugged at his lips as he pulled into the driveway. He reached for his phone, already composing a quick text. 

Time to get to work.

—————————————————————

It had been a couple of days since the mix-up, and Tommy was acting weird. 

Buck noticed it immediately. 

At first, it was little things—Tommy being unusually glued to his phone, giving vague answers when Buck casually asked what he was up to, staying in his garage for long periods of time. It wasn't enough to raise alarms, but enough to nag at him. 

And then the schedule thing happened. 

They were having breakfast, Buck still finishing up while Tommy took his empty plate to the sink. 

“So, since we’re both off this weekend, I was thinking we could go watch this new exhibit that just opened—” 

Tommy hesitated. 

“I might have to handle some stuff,” Tommy replied, a little too casually. 

Buck froze, fork pausing mid-air. Okay…

“What kind of stuff?”

“Just…stuff.” Tommy leaned down, pressing a quick kiss to the top of Buck’s head before heading to the bedroom to get dressed. 

Okay . Suspicious . 

Under normal circumstances, Buck might have let it go. ( Not Really ). But Tommy had already been acting differently—distracted, distant in a way Buck couldn't quite put his finger on. And now, he was being all shifty about the weekend. 

Yeah. Nope. Buck’s brain didn’t like that. 

His thoughts spiraled fast, latching onto the worst-case scenario before he could stop them.  

What if he realized he’s not ready for this— for us —anymore?

The thought hit him too fast to contain it. Too hard. And from there it just got worse. 

Shit, have I been too much lately? Maybe he wants space. 

Maybe he’s trying to figure out how to tell me. 

And suddenly, everything made sense. The distraction. The vague responses. The distance. The hesitation. 

Buck pushed his plate back, appetite gone. 

He wasn’t just going to sit here and wait for the other shoe to drop. If something was happening, he needed to know . 

He wasn’t getting blindsided again.

—————————————————————

Buck was not snooping.

Snooping was invasive. Wrong . He was just… investigating. Like a concerned boyfriend, who was definitely not snooping in Tommy’s garage, after he'd left for his shift. 

Buck had a couple of minutes before he had to leave for his own shift so he was determined to check things out quickly, hopefully get some peace of mind and figure out what was going on with Tommy.

He looked around the garage wondering what Tommy had been up to the past couple of days. There wasn't a car on the lift, so he hadn't been working on one. His eyes scanned the space before coming to rest on a stack of papers. 

"If he’s planning something, there’ll be clues there."

Buck shuffled through them, scanning receipts, random notes, and—wait. What was this ?

His eyes landed on a handwritten list:

Confirm rental: Starlight’s Cinema Double-check timing for Saturday night Send final slideshow edits, practice speech about memories

Slideshow? Memories ?

Buck’s stomach dropped . It wasn't their anniversary or anywhere close to a holiday. 

And a slideshow…with memories ? Reflection ? Was Tommy trying to soften the blow?

"Oh my God."

His chest clenched .

"He’s breaking up with me."

He didn’t even realize he had moved until he was already out the door, and rushing to the station.

—————————————————————

Buck paced the station's kitchen, arms crossed, eyes flicking toward the oven as the smell of warm chocolate wafted through the air. The chocolate chip cookies (Tommy’s favorite) were almost done, but he was too restless to wait. 

“Okay, let me get this straight,” Chimney said, voice flat. “You snooped in Tommy’s garage—”

“I investigated !”

“—and then found one list and decided that meant he was definitely breaking up with you?” Chimney finished, disbelief dripping from every word. 

“When you say it like that, it sounds crazy,” Buck winced, biting his lips as he turned to look at the cookies through the oven's tiny window. 

“That’s because it is crazy." Eddie called lazily from the couch, not even looking up from his phone. 

Buck turned, gesturing wildly. “Eddie, he’s acting weird. He forgot we were staying at the house that one night, and now he’s being all secretive, and—”

“Or,” Eddie cut in, finally glancing up, “maybe he’s planning something good and you just went straight to disaster mode?”

Buck faltered. “But—did he say something to you?" He asked, hopeful. 

Eddie raised an eyebrow. “No.”

Buck slumped, disappointed. 

“Whoa. What if it’s a proposal?" Chim interjected suddenly, eyes lighting up. 

Buck choked. “What—no.”

Chimney snorted. “You sound horrified.”

“I just—that’s not what this is!” Buck spluttered. 

“Well, neither is it a breakup, probably ,” Eddie countered, tone maddeningly calm. “Did you ask him what’s going on?”

“…No…I mean not like directly.” 

Eddie and Chim exchanged a look. 

“Right,” Eddie deadpanned. “Because why communicate when you can snoop through his stuff instead?”

Buck groaned, rubbing his hands over his face. “Fine. I’ll talk to him.”

“Good.”

A pause.

“…After I see where he goes tomorrow.”

“BUCK!” 

The entire station yelled at him.

—————————————————————

 Tommy had been nervous for the past few days, but mostly, he was excited. Excited for the future, for Evan’s reaction to the surprise, for the moment he finally got to show him what he'd been working on, for the hopeful response. 

Still, a small part of him was nervous—apprehensive. Not about the decision, he was sure of that. But about this —showing Evan this side of himself. 

The romantic, over the top, cheesy side. 

They had promised to be honest though. To be themselves, fully. 

And he was sure Evan would never laugh at him, not over this. 

Okay, Tommy was definitely ready to show Evan his surprise. He’d hated being evasive and vague all week. He knew Evan had been worried about his behavior, could see it in the little ways Evan had been watching him more closely, the overly casual questions. But once he saw it, once he understood , it would hopefully have been worth it. 

…Of course, he really should've kept in mind who his boyfriend was.  

“Hey, uh…you know that guy?” John, his friend and the theatre manager, asked casually, nodding toward the street. 

Tommy turned, eyebrows furrowing—only to catch the figure of his boyfriend quickly dashing into an alley to avoid being seen. 

Tommy sighed, long-suffering and deeply exasperated. 

“That would be my Evan,” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

John snorted. “Well, looks like the surprise isn't gonna be much of a surprise.”

Tommy shook his head. “I should have figured something like this would happen.” 

“Your boyfriend not good with surprises or something?”

“Something like that,” Tommy said dryly. 

John checked his watch. “Well, I can give you about twenty minutes before the next showing starts. Think that's enough time?” 

Tommy exhaled slowly, passing over the usb drive. “I'll make it work. Thanks.” 

“Screen 2,” John confirmed as he walked inside. 

Tommy took a deep breath, mentally preparing himself 

Then, with an air of long suffering resignation (and maybe just a little bit of fondness), he made his way toward the alley. 

Time to retrieve his ridiculous boyfriend. 

—————————————————————

“Shit, Shit, Shit.”

Buck whirled around, searching for an escape route, but the alley was a dead end. His heart pounded. 

Maybe he didn't see me , he thought, clinging to hope. 

Then—footsteps. 

He straightened up, wiping his palms on his jeans and trying to think. Think of something, anything to say before—

“Evan?”

Buck flinched. 

Slowly, he turned to find Tommy standing at the alley entrance, arms crossed, wearing the kind of expression that said r eally?  

“T—Tommy, hey.” Bucs voice cracked. He forced a smile. “What a coincidence.” 

Tommy raised an unimpressed eyebrow. Then hummed. “Mmm. Is it?”

Buck deflated. “Okay, fine. Sorry, I just—” He hesitated, biting his lip. Then, before he could stop himself—

“Are you breaking up with me?”  

Tommy’s expression instantly morphed into one of pure, baffled horror. “What?”

Buck swallowed hard, his voice smaller this time. “Are you…breaking up with me?” 

Tommys face softened in an instant. “Sweetheart, no .” 

He closed the distance between them, pulling Buck into a firm hug. Buck exhaled shakily, melting into him.

“Is that what you've been thinking?” Tommy asked, voice low and gentle. 

Buck nodded against his shoulder, gripping the back of Tommy’s jacket. 

Tommy sighed, pulling back just enough to cradle Buck’s face in his hands, thumbs stroking his cheekbones. “Evan, baby , no. That’s not it at all. I had a surprise for you. A good one. Or well…I hope it’s good.” 

Buck blinked, surprised to find Tommy looking nervous now. 

Buck instinctively covered Tommy’s hands with his own, squeezing gently. 

Tommy stopped talking and looked at him. 

“...Come with me? He asked softly. 

Buck briefly hesitated, the weight of his earlier fears still lingering in his chest. But curiosity was quickly overtaking it. 

Tommy smiled, lacing their fingers together.

—————————————————————

Buck followed Tommy inside, taking in the space. 

The small cinema was charming, with warm lighting and a cozy feel. It smelled faintly of buttered popcorn. 

They entered one of the screening rooms. It was completely empty—the massive screen already lit up with a paused presentation. 

It had pictures of them on the slide. 

Tommy? Buck asked, confused. 

Tommy exhaled, stepping forward. “So…the other night, with the house mix-up, I keep thinking. And I realized something.” He gulped. 

He sent a quick signal to the projector booth. 

The slideshow started. 

Buck’s breath cough as their life together so far, unfolded before him. 

Photos of them laughing. Cooking. Tangled together in bed on lazy Sunday mornings. Little candid moments—Evan’s concentrated frown when he worked on crossword puzzles, Tommy’s soft smile when he thought no one was looking. 

Interspersed were quotes—some dryly teasing, some sentimental. 

“Evan, I could watch you drool into my pillow for the rest of my life.” 

Then:  

“Turns out, home isn't a place at all.” 

Buck’s heart clenched. His throat tightened. 

His hand blindly reached for Tommy’s. 

Tommy squeezed back, firm and steady. 

Then the final slide appeared. 

A picture Buck knew instantly. 

The sun was setting, golden light spilling over everything, the house looking warm and inviting and the two of them, standing right in front of it. 

Buck, Chim and Eddie had been helping Tommy fix something on the roof that day. Buck had scrambled a quick dinner for them and he had just called them in for it.

And, Tommy had run straight to him, kissing him like he hadn't seen Buck in days. 

Eddie had snapped the picture at that exact moment.  

Buck remembered laughing into the kiss, the warmth of Tommy’s hands framing his face, the distant sound of Chim yelling, “Get a room!” 

The slide faded into darkness. 

Buck turned to Tommy, eyes shining, tears slipping down his face. 

Tommy inhaled sharply. “Oh, love .” He reached out, cupping Buck’s face, wiping the tears with his thumbs. 

“I’m okay,” Buck promised, voice wobbly. “I just—no one’s ever done something like this for me.” His breath hitched. “No one’s ever shown me…”

He trailed off, trying to hold himself together, to breathe through the overwhelming emotion in his chest. 

Tommy’s gaze softened, and he smiled, pressing their foreheads together. “Evan. Baby . You don't have to thank me. You deserve this. And so much more.” 

Tommy took a deep breath, hand slipping to Buck’s neck. 

“...Move in with me.” 

Buck’s breath caught. 

His heart stopped. 

“...Wh—what?” he whispered. 

Tommy smiled, warm and so sure. “You said it once—why be apart when we could be together? I wasn't ready then. But I am now.” His fingers traced lightly over Buck’s jaw, grounding him. “That slideshow? Every single one of those pictures, those memories—that's me telling you how happy I am. Every second I’m with you. And when I'm not?” His voice dropped, quiet but so certain. “I'm still thinking of you.” 

Buck broke. 

A small, broken noise escaped him, and he was nodding before he could even find the words.  

“Yes,” he whispered, voice hoarse. Then stronger—Brighter. “Yes.” 

Tommy’s lips parted, like he hadn't fully expected the answer, like it still surprised him. 

Buck laughed at the thought. God, what a pair we make.

And then, before Tommy could respond, Buck surged forward, crashing their mouths together in a kiss that was all yes . 

Tommy made a surprised noise but melted into it instantly, strong arms wrapping tight around Buck’s waist, holding him there, 

When they finally pulled apart, slightly breathless, they just stared at each other. 

Grinning. 

Giddy. 

In Love. 

Then Tommy snorted, shaking his head. “We definitely have to talk about the stalking thing, though.” 

Buck laughed, light and free. “Yeah, okay. Fair enough.” 

He leaned into Tommy’s warmth. 

“But first…”

He reached for Tommy’s hand, lacing their fingers together. 

“Let’s go home”

[straycalamities]

i hate hate hate hate hate so much when people take you forgetting things as caring less about them or whatever it is you forgot not having meaning to you "enough" to remember

i forget things that mean the world to me all the fucking time like i'm sorry i'm just like this

[marzipanandminutiae]

I’ve had weirdly antagonistic and insulting housemates like that before - once had a flatmate yell at me about which hook I hung my towel on in the bathroom. Sounds like they’re being unnecessarily rude in the way they’re raising this, I’m sorry. From my experience, I wouldn’t get into litigating what counts as filthy (bc you can’t rationalise with people being irrational), but rather focus on agreeing processes that work for everyone. E.g. ‘after preparing food, wipe down surfaces with x cleaning product and do all washing up within x time’. If they keep complaining, can just return to the fact that you’re following the agreed process and you’re happy to revisit that if it’s no longer working, but they need to also extend a little grace and be okay with you not having exactly the same priorities as them. Good luck!

It's very strange because I HAVE been doing what I was told to (clearing the counter of crumbs if any fall on it, wiping up spills- which I would have done anyway -etc.). Which is why this is so blindsiding

I've started taking pictures of the kitchen before and after I use it so that mess I didn't make- what little there is -doesn't get blamed on me. Because they've apparently all decided this is MY fault specifically, since "we didn't have this issue before you came." Which seems impossible because- I cannot emphasize this enough -I AM NOT MAKING ALL OF THE "MESS." There are crumbs on the stovetop. I only use the stovetop to make rice. How, I ask, could I possibly be responsible for that? Especially because they apparently all decided that was a fine state for the stovetop to be in, or they'd have cleaned it themselves!

It's also just the lack of directness. I'm TERRIBLE at direct communication, I freely admit. But I've been letting little things slide because...you know...we have to live together, everyone has flaws, and I can easily fix things to my satisfaction myself or ignore them since it's not been anything major. And I thought either it was all good or they were doing the same, because they've been perfectly pleasant to me and not raised any issues.

But now I find that they've all been talking behind my back about how filthy I apparently am? And just...I don't know, waiting until they can call a ~house meeting~ and confront me as a united force?

(It will be their way or the highway at the house meeting, I already know from the last one- every time I tried to interject that I didn't feel something was necessary or I had a different opinion, it was just immediately shot down in tones that suggested I was being totally unreasonable. Eventually I just gave up, because compromise was clearly not on anyone's mind so much as Being Right and getting me to do what they said.)

It's just such a mess and has me in a terrible mental place because my biggest fear at any given time is that Everyone Secretly Hates Me, and. Now it seems like that's been true the whole time.

[vinylfoxbooks]

February 7 - Cauldron  February 8 - Breath/Breathe @into-the-jeggyverse | wc: 1,193

“I had plans tonight,” Regulus grumbles, scrubbing at the table, “But then you had to go on and do your thing, talking to my stupid brother instead of paying attention to what you were doing and you fucking blew up the potion.” 

James, as much as they’ve been trying to tune out Regulus’ anger, doesn’t have much of a choice. It’s the only other thing that they can hear other than the horrid sound of the harsh scrubber rubbing against the rough side of the cauldron they’re leaning into, practically folded in half at the waist to scrub the grime off the bottom of it. But they’re already feeling guilty enough about it, and this is just making it worse. 

“I’m sorry,” they mutter, low. They’re not even sure Regulus can hear it, but with the way that their faint voice echoes in the cauldron, there’s a possibility. 

They know that he’s heard it when he suddenly stops his angered ranting, and there’s silence other than the abhorrent sounds of cleaning and scrubbing. They take in a deep breath and push their torse out of the cauldron. They don’t turn to look at him, instead just walking to the bucket and cleaning off their scraper sponge, “I wasn’t trying to blow it up. I was-” they shake their head, “I know that you put me on reading and stirring because it’s the ‘only thing that I can do right’ but I can’t even do reading right. That’s why I liked to be paired up with Remus because he can read and instruct me in a way that’s clear to me, but their new relationship has Sirius hogging him as a potions partner.” They swallow thickly, walking back to the cauldron but not climbing inside of it quite yet. Instead they take to scrubbing at the lip of it. 

They’re quiet for a moment, “It’s just that… sometimes when I’m reading the words get all wiggly and run together and suddenly they stop making any sense and it hurts my eyes and my head. So I’ll usually ask Remus to read for me. That’s-” they finally chance a glance up at Regulus, he’s looking back at them, “that’s what happened. And you were busy chopping the leaves just right and I knew that you would just get after me for asking for clarification so I turned to Remus. But Remus was distracted keeping Sirius from blowing up their own potions and-” they take a deep breath, realising that they had been forgetting to take in full breaths, “I don’t- I don’t know what happened but I’m sorry and I really didn’t mean for this to happen.” 

“Potter,” Regulus says, his own voice now quiet and much softer than it was before. Yet it’s intentional, “Breathe.” He puts his own rag down on the table and takes a couple steps towards them, “I get it, you don’t have to try and over-explain yourself. I-” he swallows, James can’t take their eyes off of him now that he’s speaking directly to him and not just grumbling to himself. He takes another step closer, “I’m so- I should’ve asked for what you wanted to do instead of just putting you into a role. I don’t- I clearly didn’t understand how you best operate and so all of this was partially my fault.”

James shakes their head, taking that for the apology that it is, “It’s fine. I should’ve said something about it earlier. Or pushes that I be partnered with Remus because I know that it’s better. I can handle SIius’ pouting for a couple hours.” 

“Don’t pretend like I’m not at fault for this.” Regulus shakes his head, “I didn’t give you a voice or listen to you and I made myself unapproachable. Then I’ev just been shitting on you…” he looks around at the classroom, “We’re close to being done, you can leave early and I’ll finish up and cover for you if Slughorn comes back.” 

James looks at him alarmed, “No, I’m not leaving. You don’t have to do that for me. Like you said, we’re almost done and you said that you had plans. Maybe if we finish up faster than you can still get to them.” And with that, they’re turning back around and once again leaning over the cauldron. It’s one of the last ones that they need to do and they know that their back is going to kill them for this. 

Regulus is quiet for a while, not moving, before he finally goes back to the table he was cleaning and resumes his work. He huffs, “You’re far too nice for your own good, do you know?” 

James laughs weakly, “A lot of people say that, but I’m not really. I’m nice to people that I care about or want to like me, but I’m- I can be a dick to people who I don’t want around me, which is actually a lot of people.”

“If you say so,” Regulus says, James isn’t shocked, not a lot of people believe them unless they actually see it, “But you’re too nice after everything I’ve said and done to you.” 

They shrug with one shoulder, even if Regulus can’t see it, “You grew up in a bad home and you only know how to be mean to protect yourself. Believe it or not, Sirius treated us really shitty for the first several months of us living together before we finally got it in his head that we weren’t going to take his bullshit and that we didn’t deserve being treated like that. I figure you’re the same way and I’ve gone through it once, I can do it again. I also know that I’ve been quick with you before so we’re even.” Then they mutter, low enough that they hope Regulus can’t hear it, “Besides, I like it when you’re mean to me.” 

“What was that last part?” 

“Nothing.” James shakes their head. 

Neither of them talk for the rest of the detention period. But when James is telling Regulus that if he hurries he might still be able to get to his plans, that it’s not too late, Regulus shakes his head and says that he’s going to walk James up to the Gryffindor Tower as sort of a ‘make up’. James insists that they don’t need one, but Regulus insists. 

So they head up to the Gryffindor Tower and Regulus manages to grind out an apology to James when they get to the Fat Lady’s portrait. Then he turns on his heels and storms away before they can really process what’s just happened. James stands in the corridor for a moment before finally turning and getting let in, not without a pointed look from the Fat Lady. 

The others are waiting in the common room for James, and Sirius immediately stands up, “How was it? I hope Reggie wasn’t too hard on you.” 

Remus nods, “I’m sorry that I couldn’t be your partner this time.” 

“Mhm, I’ll never hog him again.” 

James laughs softly, thinking back on the past hour, “It’s- it was n’t that bad guys, I promise.”

[genderqueerdykes]

I'm scared. I'm only 18. I haven't done anything to medically transition and I don't know if I am going to be safe to stay out of the closet. I hope to go to college in Chicago, it's safer there than Missouri.

But it's still America.

I might have an out via a rescue marriage in Canada but it's so expensive to live there, worse than here and it's not even confirmed. And I feel sick at the thought of leaving my friends here. I don't know if I can bring my boyfriend or my queer platonic partner with me but they're both trans like me. I'm trans masc, boyfriend is also trans masc, and QPR is transfem genderfluid.

I want to protect them. And I think they're both in more danger than me because my boyfriend is half Latino, and currently transfems are in more danger than trans mascs.

I'm scared.

Do you have any advice about what to do to be able to feel I have control over my life? How do I make an escape plan that includes my partners? What can I do to keep myself and them safe? I want to get a hand gun for protection but I know I'm passively suicidal so I'm terrified I'll turn it on myself.

What can I do to get involved politically and try and preserve my rights in my state?

I'm also scared because I'm going to Kentucky for a bit and I don't know if I'll be able to pass well enough to boymode safely. Should I go back in the closet while I'm there?

Sorry for all the questions but you just seem like a person I can ask.

i wanted to publish this because i lived in missouri for a while and i think there are pretty decent trans communities there if you know where to look. i've received asks from people in missouri. can people let this person know how to figure out where to go to for safety purposes? missouri sucks, it's okay, it's not your fault for being scared. red states suck.

you're allowed to be scared and this is serious. i hope we can get some info because you're not alone i hear from a lot of people there. depending on your location you may be close by to people who can help you. stay safe for now

[remedyturtles]

hello a rando here to bother you with a question. sorry if you have better things to do. feel free to ignore.

where did you get the idea for take one for the team, and why did you write it?

i ask this positively; it’s such a brilliant, heart-wrenching, ugly (in terms of material) story, and it’s weirdly super important to me. i’ve never been in leo’s situation (thank god) but something about it just hits me deep and i keep coming back to it. it isn’t talked about enough in my opinion. it's so well done and i could praise it for ages.

hard one to answer. there's a lot of factors.

checking my messages during the planning stage, here's a specific example:

in addition, pulling from the lived experiences of myself and others i know. i have also helped someone close to me work on their phd in criminology specializing in sexual assault.

part of the goal was to obviously create realistic depictions in fiction. how it deteriorates so quickly, how it hurts and destroys, how it is so hard to get out of, how a fatal flaw of loyalty and devotion can be tear you apart, how some humans can take advantage and be terrible and manipulative, how some humans can be unflinching and kind and compassionate, the experience of existing with an AFAB body in society, how you can try really hard and still fail and it's not your fault, living with disability and chronic illness and still being loved, how being helpless and young and shielded doesn't mean it won't still hurt, how being a friend sometimes means going against what they want to save them, how the world is a terrible place but there is still love, there is always love, there is.

or something like that

[iamthepulta]

i did it u_u

[hinamie]

spins him around trying to understand the pink mop he calls hair

[choccy-milky]

another batch of MCs as thanks for drawing clora🥹💖💖 once i start working on something i cant rest until i get it done so ive legit been working on these nonstop for the past 2 days from when i wake up till i go to bed.......i can finally rest 🧎‍♀️........THANK YALL AGAIN💖💖💖🙏🙏🙏 MC's in order: @moonstruckmoony @syaolaurant @dwightschrute11 @boxdstars @versailles-black @ccelicaa @ethniee @wrongcog @ashiori-chan @tamayula-hl @celestinawarlock @serpensortiamaxima @silvyadrakkon @jadepalaceyaya @zorro-d-t

[uncanny-tranny]

I think it would really benefit people to internalize that mental illnesses are often chronic and not acute. Some of us will never be able to jump the hurdle of managing illness, much less sustaining a sense of normalcy. Many of us will never "recover," will never manage symptoms, will never even come close to appearing normal - and this is for any condition, even the ones labeled as "simple" disorders or "easy-to-manage" disorders.

It isn't a failure if you cannot manage your symptoms. It isn't a moral failure, and you aren't an awful person. You are human. There's only so much you can do before recognizing that you cannot lift the world. Give yourself the space to be ill because, functionally, you are.

[unascended]

BEING SPURNED SHOULDN'T HAVE STUNG SO PROFOUNDLY. It was as if he'd been stabbed. Where normally pain required that Astarion have an iron grip on his overt emotional responses, he'd been free to express himself for far too long. What (horrors) wonders being free for a couple months could do for his ability to reel it in.

He could go limp and pliant and allow his body to be used, but he couldn't take a little rejection?

"Wait." It was a snip delivered with a cold hand held up between them, but it was firm. He needed to take a moment, and he couldn't have Sylverian slithering off before he could respond. Astarion's jaw clenched, and rather than look at the hurt painted on Sylverian's face, he leaned over to retrieve the clean underwear he'd forgotten to put on after he'd scrubbed himself clean. Fishing them from a neatly folded pile of clothing, he set about pulling them up his legs and - he reached for a blanket. He didn't want to be clothed, nor did he want to be exposed.

If he swaddled himself, he'd be safer for it. Sylverian wouldn't be tempted to come back to his body as if he were sorry he'd said no.

Wrapped tightly in a rather exquisite fur, he finally turned about-face, scrutiny evident in the wrinkle of his brows. No one had ever said no to him before.

He'd always been the one who -

And no one ever -

He had two choices. He could remain angry and snap at Sylverian like a cornered animal just as he'd done all day, or he could give up the act. No, he couldn't afford to spill it all, not right now, but this... this wasn't working. Hells, if he were being honest none of it was but he couldn't think of a single way to cough that whole vile business up that wouldn't end horribly in one fashion or another. Either way he had to stop this. What he was doing. Preferably all of it, but he didn't want to.

Funny that. If he were deluded enough to believe Cazador was a god he may have thought Sylverian was put in his path to torment him.

"Sex is... complicated for me." Astarion admitted, fighting against his urge to simply throw Sylverian out of his tent and be done with this whole mess. "I feel desire sometimes. Often at times you might find inappropriate. But I - well... Cazador had me use my body to lure him the prettiest things I could find."

This was ugly. He should make this innocent man leave before he was eternally scarred. He couldn't. The dam was broken. "I never had a say in what anyone did to me. Or with my body. I never had the luxury of saying no. Not unless Cazador allowed it to entertain his guests."

He was spitting and snarling, perhaps, but for once it wasn't at Sylverian. This wasn't Sylverian's fault. He was right to stop this. He was right and he was kind and it had thoroughly complicated his simple plan.

This time when he reached for one of those warm, pink-tinted hands, it was with a tenderness so genuine that he wanted to gnaw off his own tongue. "Thank you. For what it's worth I do want you. But being touched, it... brings back those feelings of disgust and fear. I disappear into myself. I don't know where I go but I..."

Something in Astarion's voice breaks and he released that soft hand, body rolling to face the wall of his tent and exposing his bare, scarred back to the man beside him. "I was wrong to do that to you. To lie so you'd touch me and I could avoid what you asked me for. You are under no obligation to forgive me, or Gods forbid pity me. But you want this, right? This is what you wanted."

There are several moments spent in shameful silence, red eyes burning holes through the canvas of his tent. So much honesty feels almost as if it's torn him open and left his entire being as a gaping wound on the stone floor of the kennels. It's happened again. One wrong word and he was being defiled.

"I don't know if I can be what you think you see in me, Sylverian. I would do unforgivable things to be free of him."

He already had.

SYLVERIAN WAS TOO ATTENTIVE A LOVER, too in tune with those he shared intimacy with for this shift in energy to go unnoticed. It didn't just brush against his awareness ; it crashed over him with such startling intensity that it left him momentarily breathless.

Astarion was upset.

Was the thought of simply being together and holding each other so upsetting to Astarion?! Was Sylverian’s company, when they weren’t having sex, so unpleasant?!

And suddenly — perhaps because Sylverian was such a bleeding empath and so easily swept away by the emotions of others, or perhaps because he was still overwhelmed, or perhaps because something felt so terribly wrong, or perhaps because of all these things at once — he felt anger stir. It coiled hot in his gut, unsettling and unwelcome, and before he even realized it, he was shying away from Astarion’s touch.

❝I don’t want… this,❞ he said, his voice sharper than intended.

He swallowed hard, his anger dissolving as quickly as it had risen, leaving behind something softer. Something raw and aching. His voice now wavered, quieter, unsure.

❝I… I feel like I am just a reprieve for you,❞ he admitted, his thoughts tumbling from his lips before he could stop them. ❝I don’t judge you for it. I have done the same, when fear stole my rest and only your touch kept the nightmares at bay.❞ Without Astarion, the tadpole and everything else would have been too much to handle. ❝But I meant what I said before, that I want to try, and I don’t think you truly give me a chance———❞

He stopped himself before he could say anything else, his gaze faltering, his fingers toying with a lock of his golden hair to anchor himself. Gods, the tent felt stifling all of a sudden.

Outside, the last remnants of daylight had given way to night.

❝I… forgive me,❞ he murmured at last. This was all so confusing. ❝It has been a long day. I should rest.❞

[avicecaro]

hate to say it, but part of ending the stigma around sexual assault means not assuming every woman blames herself. yes, female socialization encourages it, but that doesn’t make it a given, and the goal of all of these campaigns is to eventually diminish the proportion of women who do blame themselves. it is entirely possible, and increasingly common, for women to experience sexual assault and not feel shame or guilt, which we should be happy about. but instead, there are only so many times you can hear “you know it’s not your fault, right?” before it sounds like “it was your fault”. and there’s only so many times you can hear “don’t blame yourself” before it sounds like “you should blame yourself”. because it feels good to say, doesn’t it? sure, you don’t believe she’s guilty, but you do believe she should feel guilty, so that you can disabuse her of the notion. just something to consider.

[bixels]

While I do think anon was rude, I do think it's pretty shitty to set up all this stuff you were going to add the au and then just drop it. It's disappointing. Definitely unfollowing.

Bye.

[moeblob]

What if I straight up didn't explain myself? What if I just said trust me on this? Would you?

[danandfuckingjonlmao]

whenever dan and phil say words i remember misha collins coming out as straight and think, maybe if we’re really good, that could be dnp too 🙏

[dawnthefluffyduck]

Crazy issues that come up when a character is written a little too well