#WHY DO THEY NEED TO DO TBIS

[theclosetedskeleton]

isnt there gonna be that fucking national test thing at like 1:20 cst for like important alerts for phones or whatever

[kaihihanto-art]

I STILL CANR GET OVER IT blizzard hates my genyatta heart fr

[lyfrassiredda]

introducing the unwilling captain of the Dynamos, former Inspector Second Class Lyfrassir Edda! 

The AU where lyfrassir tries to hunt the prison mechs down with their shiny new eldritch powers (and a gun) for ditching them while their system was vored by a crusty imperialist’s eldritch sugar mommy.

Unfortunately, they’re not the only survivor of a Near Mechs Encounter interested in finding the crew of the starship Aurora— not by a long shot.

[krynutsreal]

i regret making his hair glow can I take that back hey guys will you kill me if I stopp making this dudes hair glow I don't know why I did that in his reference guys please I'm going insan

[shopcat]

z*tara is crazy i keep seeing tiktok comments about it like what the damn hell ... leave her alone. Leave her ALONE. if zuko even looks at her i'll kill him i'll KILL HIM. I'LL GET HIM. you people don't like katara at all... he doesn't deserve her. i'm delirious rn sorry. he's gay and she IS NOTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT on his level Like i'm sorry. as much as i love zuko. Oh it makes me mad... shipping an acorn and an oak tree. she should have slapped him more in the show. you're just wrong. It's just fucked up and wrong. anyway

[softwarmfur]

I saved this for you all very early in the morning.

[oddfluphenazine]

what ou do when I hit you wit dat bee pea dee

[synchlora]

why do I get so angry so easily

[qrowdraws-notforyouthough]

*head in hands* i have an acting final,, for my college in the highschool class,, my chs history class,,,

[cripplecharacters]

Does Your Scarred Character Have to Hate Themself?

[large text: Does Your Scarred Character Have to Hate Themself?]

(TLDR: no. literally no.)

A frequent topic that shows up around facial differences is the self-hatred, self-disgust, self-insert-negative-emotion that we must surely experience. I want to ask* writers without FDs - why? Why do you feel about us in such a way that that's the most common way of depicting us?

*- rhetorical question. I promise I know the answers, but I'm not sure if writers do.

It's frankly worrying to me. Is it really that common to assume that disabled people have this internal, never-ending hatred for themselves? The overwhelming majority of us don't. We hate inaccessibility, when people stare, or some symptoms when they get in the way, or how expensive being disabled is, but I find the concept of us being so completely disturbed by our own disabilities extremely strange. It’s “tragedy porn” intersecting “most basic ableism”.

“But trauma!”

[large text: “But trauma!”]

Trauma of what! People with facial differences don't have some sort of default trauma that we come with like it’s a factory setting. We are a group of people with tens of thousands of stories and experiences!

“Trauma of experiencing ableism/disfiguremisia” - that's better, at least this means something. If you're writing a story about this, please get a sensitivity reader with a facial difference. You can assume how we feel all you want, but in my experience these assumptions are often bizarre and unrealistic. Or just end up writing the same “disability so sad” sob story that everyone has seen a billion times. If you want to write about disfiguremisia, you need to understand the nuance and have more than just the basic level knowledge (which 99% of people don’t have either). If you can’t do that, don’t write about it. Simple as that.

“Trauma of the accident” - thankfully, the accident is an event and a facial difference is a disability. If you want to connect these two like they're one and the same, you're almost surely going to demonize disability. People with traumatic spinal cord injuries, acquired amputees, people with TBI, people with acquired facial differences - we participate in our communities, we have hobbies, we date, we play with our dogs. Disability isn't a death sentence. Media who make it feel like it is certainly don't help people who do suddenly become disabled, don't you think?

Here's a post by @blindbeta about blind characters becoming blind through trauma that’s better made than anything I could hope to write here. I heavily recommend giving it a read.

And, I can't stress this enough - most of us didn't have “the accident”, most of us are born like this! "Traumatic scars" isn't the only facial difference that exists, far from it, it's only one of thousands. It's 99% of our representation and "representation". If you want to make a character with FD - please consider that we aren't a monolith. Just like not all physical disabilities are "wheelchair user with paralysis", not all facial differences are "traumatic scar with somehow no nerve damage".

The overrepresentation of it is incredibly telling, and sometimes - or very frequently - feels like the writer doesn’t actually even want to deal with us. They want to use our disability as a way to cheap drama, moral metaphors, tragic backstories. Not to represent us as living people who are much more similar to you than you apparently think.

Now, I do have enough awareness to know that that's a big part of the appeal. “Horrific Thing #2456 happens” and boom, instant drama! Of course, it's a reasonable response that they would hide their disability for years, avoid talking about it in any way, and magically change their personality to be mean and reclusive, or at least be constantly soooo sad about how much it sucks to be disabled, right?

Do I really need to say that having your character becoming disabled be the worst thing ever is ableism 101? We have been talking about this for so long at this point. Writing about the process of adapting to a specific disability is better left to people who have actual experience in it.

To give an example that will hopefully resonate more with Tumblr users, I will use the fact that I'm also gay. It's not perfect by any means but probably much more familiar territory.

Imagine, let's say, a character. He's gay. The story he's in is supposedly progressive, certainly not trying to be homophobic. The character has experienced an incident, maybe an act of aggression or a hate crime, that happened because he’s gay, which was traumatic. Happens IRL, sure. So of course the character starts hating being gay. He talks about how gross and disgusting it is, he never lets anyone know that he could be “one of them”, certainly not take a stance against homophobia. You can't mention him without mentioning the accident, they're seemingly fused together. No gay love, joy, even basic happiness, he would actually choose to be straight in a heartbeat if given the option to and complains that he can't. This is shown as a neutral, obvious thing that a gay man would do, no one comments on it. He stays like this the whole time, unless there’s a plot twist in the last 10 pages where the world is now magically perfect ("we fixed discrimination, yay!"). This is the only LGBT character in the story.

Keep in mind that there are people similar to this in real life, living with extreme internalized homophobia.

Is this, in your opinion, realistic and thoughtful representation? How does it feel when written by a cishet writer, versus a gay writer who is recalling his experiences? Do you think that it's reasonable for the majority of media representation to be like this, or very close to it? How would it affect younger gay people who might already be uncomfortable with being queer? Are gay men the target audience, or are they not even considered as a group of people who read books? Is this helping or damaging the general public's idea of how it is to be gay? Why or why not?

The Masterpiece

[large text: The Masterpiece]

From 13 to 19 of May, we are celebrating Face Equality week (what a coincidence!). It’s important to me in general - and I wish it was more important to abled people, but I digress - especially its theme for this year.

“My Face is a Masterpiece”

Great statement, it represents the community well, I do enjoy how bold it is. Very cool stuff, I love the work our advocates are doing!

But why do I bring this up?

Well, to very non-subtly show that we aren’t a self-hating group of people. We are a community, a community saying “our faces are beautiful, look!”, we are saying “treat us equally, and do it now!”. Our activism isn’t about self-disgust. It’s about fighting your-disgust. 

Why can’t writers keep up? Why are you still stuck decades behind?

Is this the only reason I bring it up?

The Call to Celebration

[large text: The Call to Celebration]

FEI, the org behind organizing it, asks a very simple question (emphasis mine):

“Why do we so often see stories about facial difference as a ‘tragedy’, when they should be about triumph?” “Calling all artists, allies, creatives, galleries.  You can rewrite the story to bring about #FaceEquality and celebrate the unique artistry found in every face. Your participation this #FaceEqualityWeek will help to tell the real story, that there is a masterpiece in every face.”

Here. We are calling for you to stop. Directly from the biggest international advocacy alliance group that's out there. If you create, this is for you.

The last argument to not have your character with a facial difference hate themselves? Because we don’t want this. We are tired and frustrated. For me personally, I’m also offended by this kind of assumption. We aren’t tragedies or cheap entertainment for abled people to pity or be horrified by. We are people, and if you can’t internalize that, you have no reason to write about us.

For once, celebrate us. Happy Face Equality Week!

mod Sasza

[catherinerabbit]

BLEASE JUST SEND ME THE EMAIL I WANNA PLAY MINECRAFT </3

[desideriumwriter]

Metamorphosis | F.W. x Reader

Summary: Fred has been acting differently since he got hurt during the War. You're not sure how many more of his outbursts you can handle.

CW: established relationship, mentions of a head injury, TBIs, migraines, blood, being cut from broken glass, yelling, arguing, crying, not proofread

WC: 4.3k

A/N: now this one is a rollercoaster

based off this request! | f.w. masterlist | navi

Things had been difficult since May.

Voldemort was dead and the war was over. But everyone was dealing with the aftermath.

Things were quiet for a while, people were quiet. Distant but united at the same time. It took a few months for everyone to try and go back to normal.

Now it was November, and Fred was still dealing with the aftermath.

Of course, a head injury from being hit with a spell and a literal stone wall falling on him would have its long-term effects. You’d already read the list over who knows how many times.

Memory loss, light sensitivity, aggression, problems with multitasking, communication issues, irritability, mood swings, forgetfulness, etc. The list went on and on, you hated how long it was. 

You did research on it, listening to his doctors and picking up as many books you could find on head injuries or TBIs.

You even got your hands on some textbooks that muggle medical students used.

George and you took care of Fred after he came back to your shared space above the shop. He spent his first week after being discharged from the hospital at his mums, due to Mollys demands.

Things slowly went back to normal after a few months. Most things.

Shops reopened all along Diagon Alley, including the twins, people felt safe to go out and chat with each other again. 

Life went back to how it was before the war began.

The cold weather was getting harsher and so was Fred. 

You knew that the irritability and mood swings would come along with the injury. You just weren’t expecting it to be so constant.

Fred had his bad days and he had his better days. Today was one of those bad days.

You could tell he was really struggling remembering what was in stock and what needed to be made more of. You sat with him at the counter as he wrote down on a notepad what was needed. Taking notes was one of the things that helped him nowadays.

You saw him look up, the cogs attempting to turn in his head.

“Peruvian Darkness Powder.” You said softly, it was the next thing that needed to be restocked.

“Right. That. Thanks.” He muttered out, crouching over to write it down, his hand shaky and handwriting a bit wobbled.

Frustrated with his shaky hands, he threw the pen down, putting his head in his hands, rubbing his face.

“I just don’t get why it’s so hard. I feel like I can’t properly do anything.” He groaned, the annoyance clear in his voice.

“Fred, it's what the symptoms of a-”

“I know it’s a fucking brain injury. I’ve heard it enough goddamn times. You don’t need to spell it out for me.” Fred spat out, ripping his hand from yours and walking past you. That was the fourth time he snapped at you today.

After closing that night, you sat on the bench right outside the shop. Elbows resting on your knees with your head in your hands.

You were really trying here. Trying your best not to get mad at him, to yell and spit at him as he did you.

He was still your Fred that you loved. He was just a bit different now, and that was okay, he was still your Fred.

The door to the shop opened, the silly tune of the charmed bell playing as a tall figure stepped out. Fred stood to the side of you now, his frame blocked out the light shining on you from the street lamps. The only light now being from the inside of the shop, illuminating his and your face once you looked up.

You breathed in deep, closing your eyes for a second, trying to keep any tears from falling. The cold wind wasn’t helping.

“Hi.” He gave you a shamefaced smile.

George had definitely scolded him and told him to apologize once you went outside. It’s not the first time he’s made him do it in recent times.

“Hi.” You sighed.

“I’m- I didn’t mean to snap at you when you were trying to help me with what needed to be restocked, or when you offered to sort the mail.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, suddenly feeling small. The feeling had become constant for him now.

“And before both of those, when you snapped at me in your office. Then in front of one of the cashiers.”

“I did?” He said softly, genuinely shocked. You nodded, brows knit together.

“Oh, I didn’t even realize. I don’t even remember that. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be so harsh.” Fred looked down, having the same expression as a kicked puppy.

“It’s okay, Fred. I know you don’t mean to.” You slowly nodded.

“I’m trying to not be so rude. I’m trying to be better, I promise.”

“I know, Fred. I know.” You sniffled.

The doctors said practicing patterns would help with cognitive ability. Patterning. So stocking the purple and orange mystery boxes in a pattern would be Fred’s practice.

He began to practice different patterns:

Purple. Orange. Purple. Orange. Repeat.

Then moved onto a bit more strange ones:

Purple. Purple. Orange. Orange. Purple. Orange. Repeat. 

He was struggling a bit more than usual today, you watched as he did, and it broke your heart.

You sighed as you put your notepad away, pausing writing down the grocery list for now and making your way over to Fred.

You reached out, putting the next correctly colored box on the shelf for him. He grumbled out a ‘thanks’.

“I can do the rest for you. Go give your brain a break.” You breathed out a laugh, trying to be lighthearted as you picked up the large box filled with the remaining mystery boxes to be put away.

“No, it’s fine. I’ve got it.”  Fred mumbled out, paying you barely any mind.

“Fred, I can tell your stressed enough just let me-“

“Will you piss off? I said I've got it!” Fred didn’t mean to yell, especially in the middle of a busy store, he was just frustrated. 

Your cheeks heated up in embarrassment and anger due to all the staring eyes of confused customers looking at the both of you.

“Fine, fucking do it yourself then.” You shoved the box into his hands. Walking off, pissed off as you threw off your hat onto the counter.

George murmured your name as you walked by, trying to put a hand on your shoulder, you shoved out his grasp.

You hid away in the back stockroom. George followed, entering a tiny bit after you.

You sat on a wooden box, leaned over with your head in your hands. 

“You know he doesn’t mean it. He got blasted pretty hard, it’s just one of the side effects.” George sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets.

You were so tired of those two words. Side effects. Yes, of course you knew what the side effects and symptoms were, that they wouldn’t be pretty or easy. But you were just so sick of hearing it.

You shrugged, lifting your head up.

“He's frustrated. With himself.” George sat down next to you, intertwining his hands into a ball. “He always feels bad after he gets angry.”

“I know, and I’m trying my best to help him out but it’s like he never fucking wants it. He refuses.”

“He’s never liked help, always wanting to be so damn independent and stubborn.” George let out a weak chuckle and shook his head. “It took him five minutes to accept the money Harry gave us. Even after that he tried to tell Harry he’d give it back if he changed his mind.”

“I remember, I was there.” You smiled a bit to yourself at the memory, Fred was so adamant about Harry keeping the money, or at least most of it.

“Chocolate?” He pulled a small bar off one of the shelves, you shook your head. “It’ll make you feel better.” You persuaded, you let out an amused sigh and took it.

“You stole that line from Lupin.” Unwrapping it and biting off a small chunk.

“Yeah, but it works doesn’t it?” You let out a defeated nod and smile in response, taking another bite.

“He’s not gonna be like this forever. You know that. He’s gotten a lot better since May. Just, his moodiness will stick around for a little bit.”

“I know. I’m just so worried about him. I can’t help it.”

George was at Angelinas for the night. It took him ten minutes to stop worrying and finally go, constantly reminding you if you needed his help with Fred, if Fred starts getting mean, to send him an owl and he’d come back immediately. You shooed him off and assured him Fred and you would be fine, that he should go have a worry-free night with Angelina.

It was going well, you watched a short movie and shared some snacks and cuddles on the couch. It was all going so nicely until you both decided to get changed and go to bed.

You slipped on a night shirt talking to Fred about the movie as he opened the top drawer on the wooden dresser. The one that creaked and occasionally jammed from time to time. 

Tonight was one of those times.

He pulled out a pair of pajama pants from the drawer, his eyebrows knitting together when he pushed the drawer and it barely moved. You looked over and frowned disappointedly.

“It’s stuck again.” You sighed, thinking out loud. 

“I know.” Fred muttered out under his breath, you didn’t catch it.

You watched as he repeatedly tried to push it, it wouldn’t budge.

“It’s just old, maybe tomorrow we could go window shopping for a new one?” You suggested sweetly as he didn’t respond, he just clenched his jaw as he continued trying to close it.

He used a terrifying amount of force as he slammed the drawer shut with one last push, causing the whole thing to ratter. The sudden movement and sound made you jump. You took a step back, Fred noticed. His expression faltered for a moment as his eyes scanned your body language.

“What, are you scared of me or something now?” He muttered, an attitude in his voice.

“No, I never said I was scared of you. You just…”

 “What? I’ve just what?” 

You were so sick of his attitude. You took in a deep breath before speaking.

“You’ve been acting up, you’ve been slamming doors, throwing things down when you’re frustrated, you yell more. At George and I especially. You’re unpredictable.” You let out quickly.

“Unpredictable? I have not been that bad. You’re dramatic.” Fred shot back, he was a bit hurt by your words, yet deep down he knew you were right. His actions had become surprising. But he was too damn stubborn and he was in the middle of a beginning argument, so he wouldn’t admit to it now.

“I’m not, you’re proving your point with how you’re being now. You’re being stubborn and defensive. You get angry and you yell at me. When I’m just trying to help! The doctors said-”

“I don’t give a shit what the fucking doctors told you! Or those stupid books you’ve been wasting your time on!” All this yelling hurt his head. But the words were spilling out his mouth like a waterfall of poison. 

“Have you considered your not being any help? If you really wanted to help you’d let me do shit myself instead of acting like I’m fucking stupid! You wouldn’t be walking on eggshells around me! You’d let me be instead of being a pounding in my head!” His chest heaved, his face slowly being filled with regret as he saw you. Taking a step back with the most painful stare at him, astonishment and hurt written all over your face.

He watched as you brought your arms up around you, holding yourself as if it was a way of shielding yourself from his words.

“Is that really what you think of me?” Your voice went soft. A small crack in your delivery of words as you rubbed your upper arm.

“No! Absolutely not! I just- I’m-” Here comes the sputtered out apologies, the regret filling him up immediately, you just shook your head.

“Forget it, I’m done with this conversation.” You barged out the room. That look never leaving your face, it will haunt him forever.

“Where are you going? I thought you were going to bed?” He called out as you went down the hallway.

“I’m sleeping on the couch tonight.” You shouted back, more of a loud mutter really. Fred said your name disappointedly, leaning against the bedroom door frame. You didn’t respond, you didn’t turn around, you made your way to the couch.

He didn’t run after and stop you. Knowing you’d give him the silent treatment and refuse to get in the same bed as him. For tonight only. Hopefully.

Though you tried to muffle and hide your sobs behind your hands, Fred could still hear it all the way from the bedroom. Those pained sharp breaths in that turned into wheezes, the little hiccups and whimpers of sadness you made when you breathed out were far too loud to be hidden.

You cried for two hours until you finally got a grip of yourself. Getting up and going down the hallway, not to get back in bed, but to see if Fred was.

You peeked your head in just enough to see his side of the bed, he was laying on his back peacefully, his eyes puffy. Had he been crying also?

He was relaxed now though, resting. At least he was getting some sleep. You quietly sneaked back to the living room. Lying back down on the couch and using a throw pillow for your head. 

You couldn’t get comfortable, couldn’t keep your eyes shut, couldn’t stop thinking, you couldn’t sleep. You missed him, you really just wanted to be next to him.

By the time the clock ticked to 2AM, you got up, tiptoeing back into the bedroom. Sneaking to your side of the bed, so carefully pulling back the sheets. You moved so carefully, so lightly, so gently as if everything was made of fine china. 

You debated if you should snuggle up to Fred, not wanting to wake him. What if he got annoyed again? You really didn’t want to deal with another conflict.

You carefully scooted over to him anyways, testing your luck. You slowly wrapped your arm around his torso, ever so lightly laying your head on his chest. He began to move and your body immediately tensed up.

His arm hooked around you, circling your waist, the other arm reaching over, his hand softly placed on the side of your head. Your body went limp in happiness. You could start crying again from all the joy you felt in this moment.

This is how you knew Fred hadn’t become a whole other person than the one you knew before the accident. His hands on you, holding onto you so sweetly, just like he used to. There were still those little remnants of his true self hanging around. He was still Fred. He was still your Fred.

You woke up to an empty bed. The sunlight shining down on Freds side of the mattress.

You changed into more presentable clothes, hearing the chatter from downstairs and knowing the shop was open. 

Going downstairs, Fred was nowhere to be seen while George was moving around helping customers and constantly casting spells to organize things.

Owning a joke shop was absolutely not a one man job.

“Where’s Fred?” You asked, looking around as you approached the counter. George was stacking cards. 

“In his office. Another migraine.” He tucked in his lips, seemingly annoyed.

“Oh. Well, I’m gonna go out, probably window shop. Do you need anything?”

“Could you get some cabbage? And a few more quills and ink? We’re running low.” He said, swiveling his way out from behind the counter.

You may have stayed out longer than you meant to.

Thinking you’d be back before five, you got home at nearly eight instead.

You did some looking around in local furniture shops, and you picked up what George asked for. You mostly just walked around the quieter streets, needing to get away from all the noise.

By the time you got back it was a bit dark outside and there was a closed sign on the shop door. You unlocked and locked it quickly, moving upstairs tiredly.

The living room light was turned off, the moonlight from outside being the only thing that made the room somewhat visible. Fred was sitting on the couch.

“Hey.” You spoke softly. 

“Hi.”

“Where’d George go?”

“He stopped by Angelina’s for dinner.” He said blankly. Everything felt so awkward.

“Oh. Have you eaten?” You asked as you set down the bags of supplies.

“Yeah, I had some leftovers.”

“Okay, well, what’re you doing in the dark? Get some light in here.” You giggled as you flipped up the light switch, overhead light brightening up the room.

Fred quickly scrunched his eyes closed with a pained expression, he put a hand up to shadow his face.

Fuck. Light sensitivity. He was already dealing with a migraine, that’s why he was in the dark, and you turning on the light made it much more intense.

“Shit. Sorry, sorry, sorry.” You blurted out as you hit the switch down, the room going darker again.

“Here, I’ll- I’ll get you a glass of water.” You sputtered out, running over to the kitchen sink and grabbing a glass, filling it up with cold water from the tap.

“No, you don’t have to.” Fred muttered out.

“Please, it’ll help. Just let me help.” You pleaded as you ran back over to the couch, sitting down and holding the glass towards him. He denied it again.

“Fred, just drink-“

“I told you! No!” He shouted, pushing your hand away.

The glass slipped out of your grasp. Hitting the floor and cracked into pieces, somewhere in the impact a small shard hit your lower leg. Nothing serious, it could be quickly closed up with a spell, but it was bleeding heavily already.

Fred realized what had happened once you felt the stung and winced, holding a hand over your small injury, crimson staining your hand and dripping onto your sock.

“Oh Merlin, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to.” He panicked as he straightened up, patting his sides for his wand, he had left it in his office. He saw yours on the coffee table.

“Here, let me fix-” He reached one hand towards your wand, the other laying on your shoulder.

“Don’t. It’s fine, I’ve got it.” You said as you reached across, grabbing your wand and leaned your shoulder away from his touch.

His stomach twisted, the guilt was eating him up. He fidgeted with his fingers, not knowing what to do with his hands now that you refused his touch and his help.

You said a quick spell, the cut swiftly closing, skin looking unharmed and the only evidence of what happened being the remnants of drying blood on your leg and hand.

“I’m gonna go wash off my hands.” You said so quietly, almost a whisper. Fred stayed silent as he watched you get up and walk away, he wanted to cry.

You returned to the living room with a packed suitcase, quickly walking past Fred on the couch and to the chimney. His eyes stayed glued on you the entire time. You didn’t look at him.

“You’re leaving?” Freds brows knit together in a sad way, he sat up straight from his spot on the couch.

“Yeah. Not for long. I’ll be back.” You spoke, back facing him as you put down your small suitcase.

“Where?”

“A friends place. For a few days.” You didn’t tell him who, he would most likely send letters apologizing.

George was the one who suggested it surprisingly. Once he came home as you were washing off the blood, he told you to go take a few days to yourself.

“No offense to you, you’ve been doing great. But I’ve lived with him for nearly twenty-six years. I know how to deal with him when he’s mad.” He held your shoulders.

“I know how to deal with him too, you know.” 

“Of course I do. But I know you’re worn out as well. You need to take some care of yourself. Focus on you for a few days.” You really didn’t want to agree with George on that, it felt rude to do it. There was really no good way of saying he was wearing you down.

“I’m sorry.” Fred spoke out.

“I know, Fred.” You let out a heavy breath. “I’m not mad at you. I think we should take a break from each other.” You tried not to let your voice wobble.

“You don’t mean a break up, right?” He stood up from the couch.

“No. Of course not.” You finally turned around, looking at his gloomy face. “We just need to spend some time apart, just for a day or so. Okay?” You kept your voice soft and nurturing, hoping it would hide the way your own words were breaking your heart.

"Can I just get a hug before you leave? Please?" Fred took a few steps closer, his steps cautious. You closed your eyes and nodded.

You didn’t want to look at him for too long, both of your faces were threatening to deteriorate into tears, and you couldn’t stand to see it.

He pulled you into him nicely, hands slowly and carefully wrapping around you like you would crack if he moved the wrong way.

“I’m sorry I’m like this. I love you.” He said softly, sounding like it was a plea for you to stay.

“I know.” You mumbled into his chest.

Fred’s injury didn’t bother you. The forgetfulness of struggles with certain things didn’t bother you, you didn’t care if he struggled to keep track with things. 

It was just his anger. His outbursts. His shouting. That’s what bothered you, it was nothing like him. Sure, he’s definitely gotten moody or stubborn or annoyed before like during Quidditch matches back at Hogwarts or when a much needed shipment arrived late at the shop.

But you’ve rarely seen him truly mad, yell like he does now, the only time you can remember him like that is when he had to be held back from helping George and Harry beat up Malfoy after a match in his seventh year.

“I still love him, of fucking course I do. But he’s changed so much. it’s like,” You stopped, clenching your jaw and trying your best trying to keep tears from returning. “It’s like sometimes I look at him, and he’s a ghost, he’s a completely different man I fell in love with all those years ago.”

“You’ve changed too.” Alicia commented, “You’re not as much of a hermit as you used to be.” She joked, poking you.

“Oh piss off.” You let out a breathy chuckle, face falling soon after. “I’m scared. What if he stays like this forever?” You whispered out, a small crack in your voice.

“He won’t. You told me already, there’s still that cheeky little Fred that you’ve always know still in him. He’s getting better day by day.” She tilted her head. “And fuck it. Even if he doesn’t, even if it takes a while, you gotta grow with him.” You looked at her, puzzled expression on your face.

“If you don’t grow with him, if you aren’t willing to go through that, then what in the hell are you doing?” She shrugged, laying back in her chair. “You’ve gone through these shitty times with him before, right? And you both made it through. What makes you worried you won’t be able to do it again?” 

Alicia was right. You’ve gone through rough patches with him and made it out just fine. Casual disagreements, arguments and fights, yet you always made up. Leaving those arguments in the past and loving each other in the present.

“You staying another night?” Alicia asked you, taking a sip from her glass.

“No, I think I’ll go back. I’ll send an owl and tell them before I go.”

Once the green flames subsided and you stepped out of the chimney, dusting off your clothes. Fred came running into the room, a bouquet of all the flowers in his hand.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

“Feeling alright today?”

“Yeah. Yeah. Are you?”

“Yeah.”

God, you hated the awkward tension in the air. It felt like this every time you had a conversation.

“That’s good. Uh, these are for you.” He stuck out the bouquet nervously, hand trembling. You put down your suitcase and stepped closer. A small noise of adoration left as you looked at the flowers, it was all your favorites.

“I may not be able to remember much. But I remembered these were always your favorite.” He let out an awkward laugh.

The last time you told him what flowers you liked was in year five. You took the bouquet from him with hesitant hands, surprised by the gift. Fred swallowed his anxiety before he began to speak again.

“I didn’t mean to be so rude. I just get so frustrated with myself, I don’t want to act like that anymore. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t take it out on you, you didn’t deserve it.” He moved to cup his hands around your face, bringing your teary eyes to meet his.

“I promise you I’m going to be better. I swear on everything. I will be better.” He gave you a sweet kiss on your forehead, then pulled you into a hug. 

You held on tightly to his torso, turning the flowers away to keep them from being crushed.

“I love you.” You said into his sweater, tears beginning to fall.

“I love you too. So much.”

tell me what you thought! <3

[princessbrunette]

stepbro!rafe with reader who prances around the house alwaaays braless n shes just oblivious on how that makes her big brother feel :(

i forgot if i have requested tbis or not, if i did u can ignore !! xx

୧ ‧₊˚ 🎀 ⋅ 🍡 ˖°

you were in your own home, of course you were gonna stroll around without a bra on. surely he couldn’t expect you to wear one all the time, especially when you and rafe were often left to your own devices at tannyhill— growing comfortable enough together for you to assumably not have to worry about that kind of thing.

it started off just going braless beneath big sleep shirts when you walk around the kitchen in the morning — something that was pretty unnoticeable if you weren’t particularly looking and fairly appropriate to wear around the house. but you got comfortable, and apparently according to your lack of— must have burned all your bras over time or something. rafe started to notice your nipples peeking through little crop tops and baby tees, flashing him a cute smile as you’d pass him in the hallway which he’d barely catch because he was too focused on staring unabashedly at the way your tits would bounce with each step.

you’d even gone braless with a couple of tank tops, which would drive rafe up the wall, shaking his head at you in faux disgust which you wouldn’t even care for— thin material clinging to the shape of you, nipples practically piercing through the fabric.

it was one day you were prancing around cleaning the living room in a thin baby tee, braless, and tiny little booty shorts. rafe was feeling particularly high strung that day, and decided enough was enough.

“hey, come to my office okay? we need to talk.” was all he said before he marched off, expecting you to trail behind. you furrow your brows, setting down the duster you were using to swipe the dust from the shelves as you walked, no, bounced along behind him.

once you’re in there, he shuts the door and doesn’t give you much space to move about, standing directly infront of you.

“whats the matter, rafe?” your voice is high and worried, making him shift on his feet, licking his lips irritably.

“you know, i’m… i’m getting real tired of you not respecting me as a man, okay?” he rambles, eyeing you.

“what do you mean?”

“you really think this shit,” he plucks at your clothes, startling you. “is appropriate attire to walk around the house in? around your stepbrother?” he tilts his head, voice raising a little bit and you glance down at yourself, a flicker of shame behind those innocent eyes. he closes in on you, lowering his tone to a volume just above a whisper. “i’m a man okay? i have needs, and — and you are making it increasingly harder to ignore those needs. do you understand what i’m saying to you?” he grits his teeth, emphasising the t on each word making your eyes widen, head nodding.

“i’m sorry, rafe. it’s just comfortable.”

“yeah, well, you’re kinda killing me… and that’s not fair, is it? riling me up like that? without letting me touch you?” he seethes, eyes squinted and you hate when he’s mad at you, bottom lip puffing out which in hindsight probably only riled him up more.

“you— you can if you want. just want you to stop being mad.” you offer pathetically, eyes glassy and apologetic and he’s stopped in his tracks.

“yeah? you—you want your stepbrother to touch you?” he makes a face like he’s disgusted by the mere offer and your face falls, confused and ashamed. before you go to take it back, he gently taps you on your shoulder, making you lean against the door he closed behind you. “thats why you wore this shit, isn’t it?” his warm hands graze you, sliding up your body until they’re cupping your free’d tits through the thin fabric of your shirt. they’re warm and squishy and he can’t help but give them a generous squeeze, the act making your cunt throb, back arching into his palms only confusing you further.

“r—rafe.” you’re trying to warn him of the way it’s making you feel, thighs pressed together and eyes fluttering, but he’s already well aware — mouth flicking up into a smirk.

“yeah. i know. didn’t think i would do it, right? you know this is what girls like you get.” he starts to lift your shirt until it’s tucked above your tits, the two of them now free and being fondled making you mewl. “you gotta learn that your actions have consequences. i’m… i’m the older step brother that has to step up, teach you shit… m’proactive you know i— i gotta handle you so you behave yourself. nothin’ wrong with that, right?”

he’s rambling now, erection vividly pressing against his pants but his eyes wide, expression unreadable— like he’s searching for something. moral justification, maybe. he knew it was wrong, but he was trying to convince himself other wise. all he needed was that green light.

“rafe it’s okay.” you whisper. permission.

he steps back suddenly, leaving you prey-eyed and jostled against his door, top still pulled up above your tits. he sways on the spot undecided for a moment, itching his nose as he eyes you before uttering words that would change your relationship forever.

“take off your clothes, alright?”

୧ ‧₊˚ 🎀 ⋅ 🍡 ˖°

[shopcat]

actually my favourite thing about the nailbat despite the iconography of it all despite its recognisability or whatever is that it is literally a monster fighting weapon ONLY like. imagine the point of view from the outside like if i saw some motherfucker with the anime boob physics of a bouncing haircut and an irl heart shaped filter following him wherever he goes walking into a commotion of some kind like hey hey hey it's cool and he's holding a baseball bat driven through with thirty 10 inch industrial nails that has clearly been doused in bleach multiple times i would scream and cry and DIE that is SCARY why is he mad maxxing all over town. i would be like why is prom king sailor suit works at family video and gives kids discounted candy best friends with the objectively coolest band kid steve harrington holding something that could kill a human being with one good hit anywhere from the waist up i would run away wailing and have to rethink my entire worldview have to stare at a wall or something. plus it'd be so hot i mean what who said that

[whyse7vn]

THE OTHER WOMAN -

[ ot7 x reader ]

tan 😰

8 participants - 8 online

———————————

tae: why did the the whole world get to see where yoongi’s tattoo was before me

jk: rumour has it that he doesn’t like you

yoongi: i do not like you

tae: it’s not good to believe all rumours jungkook

jk: ur right sorry

yoongi: i said i do not like you

tae: who are you taking to???

yoongi: nvm bye

y/n: how did you not know where the tattoo was??

tae: he didn’t tell me?

yoongi: you never asked

tae: i shouldn’t have to ask

yoongi: shut the fuck up

jimin: omg???

hobi: by newjeans?

y/n: anyways i need advice

hobi: by taemin?

jimin: WHERE?????????????????

y/n: but i need you all not to be weird about it

tae: daddy is here 4 u

namjoon: tae wtf

jin: clearly that’s asking a lot

jk: i’m a great advice giver

yoongi: you have never given advice in ur life

jimin: why would we be weird about it?

y/n: i’m going on a date

jk: WHAT

yoongi: oh?

jin: finally

jimin: congrats

tae: no ur not wtf

hobi: okayyyyyy

namjoon: nice!

jimin: stop talking like that

namjoon: who?

jimin: NiCe 🤓👍🏻

hobi: aju nice?

namjoon: i don’t see the issue

jimin: never say that shit again

jk: IS THIS SOME SORT OF SICK JOKE

tae: i rebuke this devil

hobi: devil by the window by txt

jin: IT’S WITH MINGYU ISN’T IT OH MY GOD IM SO SMART THATS WHY HES BEEN AROUND SO MUCH OH MY GOD

jimin: that’s crazy jungkook isn’t he ur bff

jk: SHE NEVER SAID IT WAS WITH HIM DONT BELIEVE EVERYTHING YOU READ

tae: guys it’s time i fess up

it’s me

y/n: never lie like that again

tae: don’t tell me it’s actually that rat

y/n: rat???

jimin: it’s so him omg

hobi: aju nice fr wow

jk: SAY THIS IS A JOKE OH MG GOD PLS PLS LLS PLS PLS

y/n: it’s a joke

jk: see lol knew it lol that was so funny my goddddd loll WOW LOL UR SO FUNNY OHBMY GODDD😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂

tae: mingyu kills people he’s a real bad guy trust me

y/n: maybe i’m into that

jin: omg she’s a freak guys

that’s kinda hot

hmu when ur done with him lol

yoongi: get a grip

jk: I NEED A CIGARETTE

jimin: ew

hobi: smoking kills!!!

namjoon: what did you need advice about anyways?

jk: MY ADVICE IS DONT GO

y/n: doesn’t matter

i realised that asking you guys for advice is the worst idea i’ve ever had

tae: i say you take all his money then shoot him

jimin: tae are you still broke be honest

tae: shut the fuck up???

jimin: get ur money the fuck up???

namjoon: enough

hobi: that was so elsa of you joon

enough anna I SAID ENOUGH🫸🏻❄️👩🏼‍🦰➡️🥶

yoongi: what

hobi: i think i’m depressed

y/n: i’ll kiss it better

tae: WHORE??????

HELLOOOOOO

SOMEONE TELL MINGYU THE DATE IS CANCELLED

CUT THE CAMERAS BLOCK HIS NUMBER SHOOT HIM UP

jin: ur severely troubled

jk: tbis is what heart break feljsl like….

jimin: he’s drunk already???

jk: the other womajn 💔

hobi: mingyu is a man

jk: *tjhw otjker maynne 💔

jimin: jungkook is bilingual since when??

hobi: what language was that?

y/n: jungkook are you crying???

jk: njever?????

yoongi: ur gross

tae: real men cry

and then shoot up other men called mingyu

right jungkook???

jk: iwnag to killl nyself

y/n: i won’t go

yoongi: wtf no?

y/n: you want me to go??

yoongi: that’s not what i said

jin: he’s upset that ur gonna cancel on mingyu for jungkook and not him

wow i’m just on a roll today

tae: what about me

hobi: what about you???

tae: if you want to fight just say that

i’m ready

hobi: i want you gone

tae: in what context?

hobi: life????

jimin: AWOMANNNNNNN

namjoon: guys if we were actually nice to each other everyone could actually be happy in life

tae: i wish nothing but the worst for you

hobi: that would upset adele

jimin: who????

hobi: i wish nothing but the best for youuuuuuuuuuuuuu

jimin: ???

hobi: kys

jimin: wtf

hobi: sorry the voices take over sometimes

y/n: taes schizophrenia takes another victim yet again

tae: my what?

y/n: i’m a born singer 💜💜💜

yoongi: are you really not going because of jungkook??

y/n: oh

ummmmmmmmmmmmmmm

jk: ple😰😭😕😢

jimin: i say go

fuck yoongi fuck jungkook and definitely fuck tae!

tae: i would NEVER sleep with you

jimin: ur actually the dumbest person i’ve met

yoongi: she’s done that already

tae: ????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????

jk: NONONONONINONONONONONONI

hobi: sighs when will we see peace in the gc?

y/n: you did not just type “sighs”

hobi: sighs again i did and ur gonna deal with it

y/n: you make me heave

hobi: sighs for the last time boys heave when they talk to you

i’m heaving!

jin: tf is wrong with hoseok today??

hobi: the voices

yoongi: are you avoiding my question

tae: no?

yoongi: i am not taking to you

tae: ok make that clear next time wtf

yoongi: why would i ever need to talk to you???

tae: i think yoongi’s on his period guys

namjoon: you are actually asking to get beat up tae

and i am not helping you this time

tae: literally came out the womb swinging try me bitch

jk: i’m sjookso sad i can’t take thjids sigk lifeanymore

jimin: me when i’m illiterate and ugly

jk: i’m not ugly

jimin: so now you can spell?

jin: you must be ugly cuz how tf the girl you been chasing ur whole life going on a date with your best friend she’s known for like a few months 💀💀

y/n: i’ve known mingyu for way more than a few months what the hell

jk: OH MY GEJDOEENEJEJJEJE

GOADFAFDDDFFGAGAGAHSAHAJSJSHSSJSJZJSJSJSSJXHSJZJZHahjsshyshzgzhzhzhzhzhzzhHhaHzhzhzhzhzhBHbahababahzhshzhshshshshshshsgzhshshshshshshshshzzhshhzhhsh!/.£))/)/)/)>\>\>\\>\>>)/)/)6/)-71£-/).)/)/))/)/£..£

namjoon: he’ll get over it

jk: KILL MESHSJJSJSJSJSJSDJJSJEJEJEJDJJDJDJDJCNNDNDNDNDNDNDNDNDN/£:£:££:!:!;£;!;£:£;£;!;!;!;£;!;£;£,!,’xnznn-&2&2873&:&:&2&:&&2&:&&:/&£2&2&2&/&/£:£:£:!.!!,!!,!,!!!!!!!!!najsjsjsjsjjsjdjdjdjjdjjj&&.£££.£:!!.’dnsndjsjsjdidjdisiwjsjsjsjakxkxkjjdjdjdjjxjdjxj

namjoon: i hope

hobi: jhope?

jin: this is real sad i’m just saying

tae: tell me about it

ik ur going out with mingyu out of pity but you can’t give a guy false hope like

that yk?

jin: why in ur right mind would you ever think i’m agreeing with YOU?

tae: excuse me??

be on the right side of history jin

jimin: you should of died at birth or something

tae: i told you i came out swinging there is no way death could of taken me

i’m above it

y/n: ur above death?

tae: yeah why???

u think it’s hot?

jk: weLL IM NOT ABOVE IT AT ALL AND IM ABOUT TO KMS

jimin: thank god

yoongi: get a fucking grip

tae: yoongi square up

yoongi: fuck off

tae: you all witnessed it yoongi backed down

he shook in fear as the mighty kim taehyung raised his fist in rage

hobi: i feel empty

y/n: hobi are you ok?

hobi: are we about to kiss rn?

tae: TELL MINGYU AGAIN

GET THE SS

THIS ISNT ON

sHES A SLUTTTT

namjoon: tae shut up

like actually

tae: :(

jk: NAMJOON TELL HER

jimin: here we go

namjoon: ???

jk: PUT UR FOOT DOWN AS LEADER

SHE CANT GO TELL HER

NO DATING UNTIL SHES 30

namjoon: she’s a grown woman she can do what she wants

hobi: namjoon feminist president

jin: real

jk: UR NO LONGER COOL

AND U SHOULD OF NEVRF BEEN OUR LEADER

YOU LACK LEADERSHIP SKILLS

AND UR BALD NOW

FOR SOME REASON

U NASTY BALD MAN

I HATE YOU I HATE YOUUUUUUUUSHHSJDNX

y/n: i felt bad

but now i no longer do

i’m going

jimin: feminism on the riseeeee

kill all men!!!

hobi: ur a man?

jin: barely

jimin: do not fucking start with me you old hag

jin: OLD HAG???

jimin: YEAH GLAD YOU CAN READ

namjoon: sighs

hobi: it really frees ur emotions doesn’t it joon?

namjoon: yeah

sighs

jin: DONT BE MAD CUZ UR SCRAPING 5’4

jimin: EXCUSE ME???????

tae: i blame mingyu for all of this

yoongi: do you ever shut the fuck up???

tae: i was quite for a whole 5 minutes?

namjoon: sighs

jk: SO UR TELLING ME SHES GOING ON THJS DATE FOR REAL LIKE NO JOKE REAL LIFE??????????

hobi: wish i was super tuna jin rn

y/n: you guys are like bugs no matter how many times i step on you

you don’t die

namjoon: SIGHS

[nekropsii]

asking you this since you’re the only person who understands mituna in the entire fandom in my perception of the hs fandom

is it okay to headcanon mituna as autistic? sorry if you get this type of ask a lot/have already answered this type of ask

Instead of answering this question, I will give some food for thought: Mituna has a TBI. He has Brain Damage. This is a core element of his character. Probably the biggest one. In fact, it's so important to him that it's an injury that has remained with him in death. His TBI is a huge, huge part of what makes him... Well, him. It's why he's interesting.

So... Why is a need felt to also declare him as Autistic? Assuming this is a projection thing, since it tends to be most of the time - if you relate to him for his already canonical Neurodivergency, which is Brain Damage, why does one need to give him Autism as well?

Oftentimes when people headcanon him as Autistic, they tend to minimize or even outright erase his TBI. Oftentimes, people say he's Autistic as the reason he's canon Neurodivergent representation... Even though he's shown no real signs of it, but instead is fully written as a character with a Frontal Lobe Injury, and is constantly stated to have Brain Damage.

TBIs and other Neurodivergencies are often seen as less palatable than Autism. On Tumblr especially, it's far more "acceptable" to be Autistic or ADHD or headcanon a character as such than it is to have Brain Damage or literally any other Neurodivergency or acknowledge that a character is written with those. Autism and ADHD are seen as cute and relatable - even though they're very complex and at times devastating disabilities that do have the potential to seriously fuck up your livelihood, much like Depression and Anxiety, and I'm saying this as someone who has and struggles with all 4 - and are often used to erase the presence of other Neurodivergencies. Hell, it's to the point where people use "Neurodivergency" as a synonym for ADHD and Autism.

Again, I'm not going to answer this question for you. I think there's a way someone could potentially make the narrative of Mituna having Autism prior to the TBI compelling - the TBI has essentially stripped him of his ability to mask, after all, so one could make it be a situation where some of these symptoms are ones he already had, but is only just now really getting shit for because he's no longer able to hide it, and part of that tragedy is knowing that had he never been good at masking, his "friends" would have never accepted him. You could get some interesting questions about that. Was the repression worth it? Would it have been better if he'd just been himself the whole time? I think it's extremely valuable to ask yourself why you see any character as any specific minority - necessary, even - and how that affects not only the character's writing in its original text, but also your relationship with said character. Consider optics. Consider the way in which this character is meant to function in the source material. What purpose do they serve, and what is the driving force behind this character? Is Occam's Razor applicable? Are there other explanations as to why they are the way they are? Perhaps ones that are more succinct, and cover more ground?

Yesterday, I watched a film that has provoked a response in Tumblr that I think is applicable. I Saw The TV Glow. It's a film about a Trans Girl who never finds the strength to accept herself or come out. It's an incredibly gut-wrenching watch. It made me cry several times, and there are parts that made me feel a deep pain in my chest. I sat through 95% of the film with a pit in my stomach. I had to lay on the floor in the dark for a while after I finished. There's a scene where the main character is asked whether she likes girls or boys. She says she thinks she likes TV shows, and elaborates by saying that every time she tries to think about that kind of thing, it feels like someone's cutting her open and shoveling out her insides until there's nothing left. Not that there was anything in there to start with, of course - she says she knows there isn't, but she's too scared to look for herself and see.

That scene was about how Gender Dysphoria can completely disrupt your sexuality and repulse you from the thought of that level of connection with others, because it is, in essence, a deep disturbance with the nature of who you are as a person. Many people who are Asexual, or Aromantic, or both, related to that scene because it, on the surface, depicts discomfort with romance and sexuality. What they failed to understand by chalking it up to its own sexuality, is the fact that that scene wasn't depicting a Sex-Repulsed Asexual, or a Romance-Repulsed Aromantic, it was depicting a Trans Girl who is at such deep odds with herself and her identity that she cannot grapple with the concept of loving or being loved.

What, functionally, is the purpose of slapping an extraneous label onto a character that is meant to depict a certain thing? What is the purpose of assigning the label of "Autistic" to a character meant to depict the tragedy of a loss of support after gaining a disability, or "Aromantic" or "Asexual" to a character meant to depict a deep internal struggle with unresolved Gender Dysphoria?

Ask yourself these questions, and carry on from there. See where your mind takes you.