#genuinely this is the only way I can feel this as an adult.

[deathsmallcaps]

I’m autistic and despite growing up with a Black Stepdad and Black friends, and thinking the Civil Rights movement and the Civil War were cool, and even going to schools with pretty inclusive curriculums, I sometimes repeated mean things I heard (often from my Dad) or did not give thought to how certain lines of questioning/conversation may feel different towards different people. I was, and still occasionally am, racist. Among other things.

(I initially grew up in an almost exclusively Black and white town that was roughly half & half, and later moved to an area that was more half & half Indian and white. I have only ever lived in the east half of the USA)

Sure I didn’t want to hurt anyone. Sure I did believe that everyone should be treated well. Sure I loved the Black people around me. I’ve never said the n-word - I didn’t even know it existed until I read Roots by Alex Haley. But I didn’t consider nuance, I didn’t consider feelings in my thirst for knowledge, and frankly, I have a tendency to be obnoxious. ALL normal things for an autistic person. But ALL things that are quite hurtful. After all, don’t we get hurt when someone stereotypes us?

Looking back, I feel like my Stepdad should have been more active in my social education. He wouldn’t have been educating some random white person who walked up and hurt him, he’d have been teaching his daughter (he’s always treated me how his family treats daughters, for better and for worse).

But my mom, the white woman, stepped up as a good ally. SHE gave me Roots. SHE talked me through dealing with ‘white guilt’ and how that’s nobody’s problem but mine. SHE encouraged me to educate myself, and to consider what I say before I say it. SHE helped me realize my privilege. With help from a psychologist, we both learned how to handle my social issues. And now I’d say I’m a more conscious person. It doesn’t hurt that one of my English classes focused on the Harlem Renaissance and another taught Othello and Song of Solomon by Toni Morrison. Since then, I’ve sought out media and information by and about creators of Color and my relationship with my Black family members and friends has definitely improved.

I’m lucky guy. My autism is not the most debilitating in the world, and I do think it gives me valuable insight into said world. Acknowledging it helped me gain insight into how I work.

But I’m still an upper-middle class Anglo-American culturally-Christian white adult whose worst personal interaction with the cops is getting a speeding ticket. The only things I could possibly be oppressed about here is my sex/gender and if someone clocks my neurodivergencies. Maybe my allyship if its a REALLY crazy situation. It’s my responsibility to be aware of my privilege, love my fellow humans, and educate myself on how to respect others. Loving does NOT equal respecting. They’re different things. Just like how your family may genuinely love you but do not respect or understand you.

All those things on the news, about children getting shot because they’re wearing their hoodies up, or having a panic attack, or whatever bullshit excuse a white person with a gun can dream up. Those are extreme and something to be worried about. That kind of behavior should be condemned. But that doesn’t cover every single angle of oppression. And oppression isn’t just perpetuated by the nebulous concept of The System! It’s also perpetuated by Our Common Man. AKA, you and me sometimes.

Sometimes, you’re going to reach out in ways that have worked before and it’s not going to be appropriate. That hurts! But if you do your best to incorporate that info into what you’ve learned, then that’s awesome! I’m proud of you! You’re going to have to keep doing it though!!! And that’s okay!!! That just means you’re getting to live life!!!

Apologize and/or change the subject and educate yourself soon after. Those are some of the best skills you can have. You can’t go back, you can only improve the future.

Another really good bunch is being honest and introspecting on why certain things make you uncomfortable. Once you know, own it and desensitize! Be a good friend!

This is getting very long. If you want some concrete examples,

Some of these things happened because I am autistic. Some may have happened because I was a white kid. But for whatever reason it occurred, as an autistic older teen and now adult, I needed to learn from these experiences so I can help make the future better :). You are capable of learning these things too.

Problem: I once asked a Black friend how it was to be Black. I was trying to educate myself! It wasn’t appropriate though. I kept asking repeatedly, and we were like 13. She was a child and shouldn’t have to have the answer.

Solution: My mom redirected me to Black literature so I could learn from adults willing to talk about it. She didn’t owe me information, nobody does, but especially not kids.

Problem: I was 16 (in 2017). I was talking to a Filipino American* girl who was just coming out of homeschool. I wanted to be nice and relate to her, and I loved Disney. Turns out so did she! I asked if Mulan was her favorite Disney Princess. My thinking was ‘I like Tiana best but I really liked seeing Anna because we have the same hair color -> I know representation is important because (at the very least) it’s nice to see people who look like you being heroes -> Mulan is cool and the Asian princess ™. I was trying to relate and be kind. But that wasn’t appropriate. I made a general assumption, and made her uncomfortable. Mulan was a favorite of hers, it turned out, but that does NOT matter. A person’s relationships with their demographic’s stereotypes are extremely private unless shared. And it’s THEIR right to close it up again.

*despite Filipino and Filipina being gendered, when saying demographic information, such as ‘Filipino American’ about a woman, the trend is towards -o. I couldn’t find a direct answer, but multiple sources said Filipino-American about ladies.

Solution: Remember everyone is an individual and may not want to talk about all aspects of their life. Let them offer information about aspects that you aren’t knowledgeable about, like being of Filipino descent, or being homeschooled, or how it is being a Disney fan of Color. If they bring it up, offer responses like ‘I didn’t know that. Cool!’ Or make encouraging noises like ‘huh!’ Or ‘neat!’ So they know it’s safe to keep talking to you about a subject that is important but sensitive to them. And they might not ever bring these things up! And that’s okay. It’s their business. Retrain your nosiness elsewhere, it’s hard but possible :)

I must reiterate: A person’s relationships with their demographic’s stereotypes are extremely private unless shared - and it’s THEIR right to close the subject. And for the record, just because there is a Southeast Asian Disney Princess now (Raya), it would NOT have been appropriate to ask if her favorite was Raya. That’s still stereotyping, it’s just updated for the 2020s.

Problem: I love name meanings. I couldn’t find my one Indian-American classmate’s name meaning online, so I went up to him and after starting a pointed conversation, I told him my name’s meaning in the hope he’d tell me his. He did, but he was uncomfortable. Because I didn’t really talk to that guy before, and in a roundabout way socially coerced him into giving up information to a relative stranger. Information he probably didn’t care that much about, but it was obvious I only wanted one thing from him. It was rude and showed that I hadn’t really cared about him before I wanted something from him. And people generally don’t like being treated like living wikipedias of their cultures!

Solution: sometimes you’re going to have to accept you aren’t owed information. This also applies to my first example. If you can’t find information online, even if you find the perfect subreddit that welcomes questions like these*, they might not give you an answer. And that’s okay. It might drive you a little mad about missing that bit of information, but it will not end your world. Trust me. I’m putting a lot of personal mess-ups on here, I’m not going to start lying to you now.

*people don’t like being treated like walking Wikipedias for their cultures in general, but sometimes the armor of online anonymity makes people more comfortable sharing. Not always though. Maybe check other questions from other people in that subreddit or tumblr or whatever to find an appropriate format, or get a general sense of what kind of questions are answered happily. You may just have to let it go.

Problem: when I was 17 my mom introduced me to two women, a Black woman and a white woman. She told me offhandedly that one played in an American football adult league for fun. Being a feminist, I was really excited by that, because American football is a very male sport. I didn’t end up talking to either of them about it, but I sure thought a lot about that during that encounter. Afterwards, I said something to my mom that made it clear I thought the Black woman was the football player. She corrected me and said “You thought it was [her] because she’s Black,”. She was correct, I felt terrible for stereoptyping, and I cried (I cry easily). I wanted to go apologize or something. My mom pointed out that the apology would be for me, not for her. Which is an issue (I still struggle with this in many different contexts)

Solution: if you want to apologize, ask yourself ‘Am I doing this because I want the person I hurt to know how apologetic I am? Am I doing this because I want to hear ‘it’s okay’?’. If either of those has a yes as the answer, then reconsider making the apology. If the person really does appreciate apologies, then offer one. But keep it simple. Don’t mention your feelings or why you messed up. That doesn’t matter, and can make them feel guilty for their own valid feelings. And regardless, focus more on not repeating the behavior. That’s the best apology, even if you never see the person you hurt again. You hurt someone, so *I must stress this* it is NOT about you.

Problem: I’m going to college in a very white town (it fits my budget). My first week there, a white friend E was talking about her friend P, who I was to meet later that day. She mentioned they are a minority (E is from that white college town and is still learning too. She’s improved quite a bit. She doesn’t lead with that kind of information anymore) who was also from the area. I was confused. I had pretty much only seen white or white-passing people the last few days. I asked, and she told me they were Indian* and from a local people (among others. Like many Indigenous people, P isn’t from just one Indigenous or only-Indigenous culture). I was shocked. I was under the impression that all the Indigenous people from [college] area were killed or forcibly removed or assimilated.

*P prefers the term Indian when talking about themself or their family, due to their multiculturalism and preference to older terms, but the most polite thing is to refer to an Indigenous person by their People. So if you’re talking about M, your Salish friend, and for some reason his ethnicity comes up, call him Salish - not Indian, not Native American, not Indigenous. Unless he prefers those terms. Though individuals generally prefer the more culture-specific name. If you’re talking about a group of different people or peoples who are original inhabitants of the Americas or Australia or the Pacific Islands (and sometimes Africa), then use Indigenous. That being said, always defer to personal preference.

Solution: I let P bring up info about their peoples when they wanted. I looked up some things later. I also did some research and found that the Indigenous people of my [home] area weren’t all gone either. I had been taught in my state history class who they were exactly, and then they were never never brought up again. Then I learned about things like the Trail of Tears and residential schools, and assumed their culture was effectively dead. I was wrong, thankfully!

Problem: This is not exactly racist but I feel that it’s relevant. I’m talking to this guy right now. A couple weeks ago, we went out and I brought up a question that I thought was pretty normal for dates/conversations where you get to know one another. “What do your parents do?” After all, parents’ occupations affect you! He told me that his mom is working as a fruit seller after being laid off and his dad was laid off (his parents are divorced like mine) and is currently unemployed. FAUX PAS! Yikes. Both of my dads have histories of unemployment (my Dad likes to quit, my Stepdad has gotten laid off multiple times*) but all are employed right now. And I know how awkward (at the very least!) it is to be in that situation, especially money-wise.

Solution: I looked up bad questions to ask on dates later and yup! That was on there. Don’t talk money until you you’re serious. Apparently doing it so early on is a very white/privileged thing. One website I read even said that explicitly.

*Once you get laid off once, you’re often a new hire at a company. And being a new hire, you’re more likely to be laid off, because companies value seniority. Thus, a self-perpetuating situation unfortunately. I wouldn’t be surprised if other factors came into play - reminder: my stepdad is Black, and employers may use that information when choosing which new hire to let go. But we know for sure that seniority is definitely part of the issue.

General Reminder 1: Don’t ask to touch or talk about Black people’s hair. No comments about getting it wet, how it’s different from yours, how working with it must be different, interesting little factoids you may have learned about their hair, weaves, wigs, and so on. If you genuinely have curly hair at 2c-ish or higher (see picture), then it’s a different story. You may have something in common that’s fun to talk about! Comments on how nice it looks are sometimes okay, but consider: are you only saying these complements when it’s straightened or braided? Or only when it’s natural? If you really are only complementing them when it’s on one side of the spectrum, then that’s an issue. Respect Black hair as an art form or even just a part of existence, in its entirety.

Also don’t say it’s kinky or wild hair. Black people can sometimes use those terms for themselves but it isn’t for us. There’s literally a ton of historical laws and economies that have oppressed Black people’s hair and those are some of the things that we should just listen to them about.

This can applied to other cultures’/races’ clearly visible differences from your own features, too.

General reminder 2: look at the kind of things you like to watch, or read, or even react with, like memes. Are they making fun of the minority people in those books? Would that meme be as funny to you if the person in the picture had facial features more like yours? Are the people who look like the person in that meme using that meme? Are People of Color getting to talk and have non-stereotypical storylines in your TV show? Are they even there?

Lastly: You’ve read all this advice from a white person. Go seek out advice, stories and more from other sources!!! It might hurt in the moment but that’s just called growing pains. You will still make mistakes but you have to look to the future! Learning from the sources themselves will be a lot more useful towards creating a pattern of information and behavior your autistic brains can utilize :). Let’s all go be better allies!

The books and authors I mentioned are great places to start and another really good one that I cannot recommend enough is the Levar Burton Reads podcast. But don’t just read fiction. Crack open some history books or podcasts or tv shows. Give yourself some context. Personally I adore Wikipedia when I want to find out more but I don’t have a book. Okay I’ll stop.

idgaf how autistic you are stop being racist😭😭

[maxwellatoms]

Do you think were any kind of specific aspects of the culture, industry, economy, etc that made making cartoons in 90s / 2000s better or worse than trying to make them today?

They're literally different worlds.

As a 22 year old neurodivergent, I was able to pitch show ideas directly to executives. Part of that was because TV Animation wasn't a glamorous profession (quite yet), so the higher-ups were genuinely passionate about the medium. I earned good money for the time and was generally trusted to run my show and tend to the crew. I would periodically be handed portfolios, which I would personally review and pass on to other show runners. For the networks it was always corporate, cutthroat, and ultimately about the money, but as an artist you could still have a voice and make art while being paid a living wage.

The pay for a freelance storyboard in 2005 is almost exactly what it is today, but now you're likely to have less time and be required to do an animatic on top of it. Portfolios are online, and (beyond metrics) you'll probably never know if anyone looks at it or not.

Animation got big. Too big. The executives got "glamorous", then the talent got "glamorous". By then you probably wouldn't get a pitch meeting unless you were a celebrity or knew one willing to be connected to your project. Animation eventually got so big that it popped. And that's where we are now.

Most of the people I know from Kid's TV Animation are currently unemployed. I have been off Jellystone for over a year, and I'm starting to get genuinely worried. Like, "move away to save money" worried. Most of the employed artists I do know are on long-running legacy series, and they're concerned about their futures when/if those series end. Right now is not a fantastic time for "animation as a money-making profession". The "glamorous" part popped years ago.

That being said, there are still opportunities out there. If you're just starting out, apparently there's a planned surge in adult and pre-school animation. It's also a great time (as long as YouTube remains sane) to be crafting your own content. But I think that the time of Big Studio Patronage is over for most of the industry. It's up to the individual artist now more than ever, not only to make but to promote their own content.

Back at the height of Billy & Mandy, we mostly pulled fours and fives in the Neilsen ratings, but we occasionally got a seven. For reference, E.R. consistently got eights. It's difficult to say exactly how many people that actually was due to how those ratings work, but it was a big deal for the time. Millions. Enough people that if I had a dollar for each person that just watched that one episode, I would have been set for life. Now, nobody gets a seven. A four is huge. Back then there were maybe fifteen or twenty channels of programmed content as opposed to the streaming smorgasbord we were all just enjoying (and which now also seems to have popped). Point being, even though I wasn't paid-per-view, I was able to use those views as justification for an eventual raise. In modern times, streaming numbers are seemingly deliberately kept secret. You'll never really know how well your show was doing until it's over. Or maybe never.

In modern times, a million views on YouTube is enough to get you noticed online. It's a lower bar for entry in a way, but you've got to get there all by yourself. Once you're there (hello Hazbin) a network may indeed come and scoop you up. Even if they don't, you can probably make a decent living with numbers like that if you're savvy and willing to take the time.

I feel like I could go on all day, shaking my fist at the sky, gray-ass beard blowing in the wind. Was it better or easier making cartoons in the past? It seemed that way to me, but that was a world I knew. There was no AI to sell you out to, and the media was more of a "Wild West" than it is today. I do think that AI is going to continue to displace artists (and soon others), making it even more difficult to get anyone's eyes on anything at all.

Culturally, we lack the common cultural touchpoints that bonded our society in the 20th Century. I suspect that the media landscape will continue to become more "bubbly" and disjointed unless some powerful force swoops in to mandate a common viewpoint. Those are two very divergent, uniquely tiring futures, each presenting a different challenge for an artist's survival.

Outside of whatever our modern world is, animation was made for a century by photographing drawings. If Émile Cohl could do it in 1908, you can do it now. It's a lot of labor, but maybe that's part of what makes it special.

[heartz4levi]

HIIII do u do fluff??? I need luka alnst fluff so bad. wiege has me on a DEATHBEDDDDDD </3

if u can't, it's totally okay !! <3 lots of love, hope ur having a fantastic day!

baby you're the highlight of my lowlife !

☆ thinking abt luka + slow mornings . . .

☆ luka (alnst) ,, gn reader . . luka and reader are in an established relationship ,, just very domestic stuff ,, no further warnings. i feel like this is kind of short but i have no more ideas and i'm a bit busy today. </3

as an idol and two—time winner of hit survival show alien stage, slow mornings are a luxury luka can only afford a few times per year.

his schedule is always packed, whether it be with practice, recordings, fanmeets, appearing on variety shows and so on. from the moment he wakes up to the late hours at which luka is freed from his duties, he has to maintain the princely persona he built for himself in order to appeal to his dedicated fanbase.

when he wakes up knowing his schedule is, to everyone's surprise, completely empty, luka takes the opportunity to have a slow morning without a second thought. from the moment he goes to sleep the night before, he turns off the alarm clock that usually wakes him up in the morning's early hours, settling into bed right next to you and then drifting off into peaceful slumber.

despite his years of being an idol, exhaustion catches up to luka very quickly. chances are he will be asleep for twelve consecutive hours on his off—day at the very least. if he just so happens to wake up earlier, around the time every other responsible adult wakes up, luka doesn't complain. why? because you're not out of bed by that time.

the only words that will escape him until he gets out of bed is a groggy, soft "good morning." other than that, even if you try to talk to him, he will only respond with brief hums that sometimes mean yes, sometimes mean no depending on what it was that you just said. but if you whisper him an "i love you." filled with genuine adoration, he will mumble a "love you too." back. how could he not?

it is absolutely mandatory that you do not get out of bed until luka allows you to. he'll be attached to you like a leech, worming his way into your embrace before slinging an arm and a leg of his own over your frame. he'll rest his head on your chest, the steady beating of your heart assuring him that you're here, you're safe, you're with him. and most importantly, you won't slip through his fingers like a wind that comes and goes.

the sound of your heartbeat, the feeling of your skin beneath the tips of his fingers, the calm rise and fall of your chest as you breathe are all aspects that put luka at ease. so long as you'll keep him in your arms a while longer, he's content.

if you'll thread your fingers through his hair, luka will be questioning if he mysteriously arrived at heaven's pearly gates. untangle his blonde strands of hair with careful movements, gently scratch at his scalp with your nails and luka will be asleep in no time at all. problem is, when he's asleep, his hold on you will tighten tenfold. so don't even think about getting out of bed, it's better to just nap a while longer in tandem with him.

in conclusion, slow mornings with luka are quiet and peaceful. he's basking in your presence and vice versa after being so suffocatingly busy for weeks on end, recharging his personal battery bit by bit with each passing second that is spent cuddling in the comfort of your shared bed while rays of sunshine begin to pool into your room, illuminating it to signal the official start of the day.

[penvisions]

gone to the dogs {chapter 8}

Pairing: Boston QZ! Joel Miller x F! Reader

Summary: Biting words, whispered confessions- they all lead to the decision for you to leave the zone for good.

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: canon typical violence, canon typical language,, outbreak fic, darker fic, adult language, reader has no canon name but has a commonly used nickname, reader is mostly blank slate but has hair that can be tied up, fighting, references to injuries, blood, sexual content, p in v, smut, unprotected p in v, pregnancy and pregnancy symptoms, strained relationship dynamic, reader is keeping secrets, joel talks about sarah, offscreen character death (canon), um i think that's it for this one!

A/N: this is on the short side but this chapter stumped me, not gonna lie. think i managed to get to to where i wanted it and then we can move toward the final act of this series! thank you so much for all the birthday wishes yesterday and today- i love y'all and hope the day is good to you ♡

ao3 link || series masterlist || navigation || ko-fi

Items begin to accumulate in both apartments. Different items than what people ask after and need to help cope with the day to day realities of life in the zone. It’s been waning, the heat of summer, but that hasn’t stopped Joel from going out once a week and working the jobs the zone offers for everyone. Tess, too, to help get as much sorted out and set up for the long trek that will result in your and Jean’s departure.

Joel’s heavy steps can be heard in the hallway and they pause as he unlocks the door to Tess’s apartment, his voice filling the quiet before your own door knob is turning and his broad form fills the space.

“Picked up some rations, there’s some root vegetables from the greenhouses. They’re pretty bruised but figured we could make a good soup paired with the seasonings we gathered from that restaurant a few weeks back.” He places a large, and faded crate full of food on the counter before he begins to unpack it.

“Joel.” The weird inflection of his name has him looking over his shoulder quickly to see you holding tight to the back of one of the mixed-matched chairs. You feel nausea rise and your next words get caught in your throat as a gagging noise sounds deep in your chest. Your skin is dappled with sweat from your forehead to the backs of your knees, a hot flash or fever or a symptom of something else taking over your body in that moment.

The soup, you think, the mention of soup and the smell of the food in the crate, but your head is throbbing too much to pin point it exactly.

“Hey, hey, alright.” He’s moving closer but his figure blurs into vague shapes and running colors. Your knees buckle and his big hands catch you, preventing you from collapsing onto the worn hard floor.

He boils gallon after gallon of hot water until the tub is full, bubbles from the bottle of body wash you seldom use. Soothing you as he runs a washcloth over your back, wet hair swooped over your shoulder to shield your chest. He had waited until you were safely in the tub with your back pivoted to him, his hands never straying from where he runs the fabric in cleaning slides over your skin. Despite the head inside your body and the heat you’re submerged in, small tremors shake your body.

When they begin to subside, you begin to breath a little easier.

“I had a daughter.” His voice is low and quiet. You hum in acknowledgement, arms wrapped around propped up knees and cheek resting atop them. Your eyes are closed, his actions soothing in the dim candlelight by which he cares for you in the only way he can show right now. The only way you’ll let him show you right now. His words don’t register until the air grows slightly tense and your eyes fly open to meet his dark ones.

“You don’t…” You whisper, genuine in the not wanting to pull the truth from him if he wasn’t ready or willing to share it. That’s not what your relationship was built on, the foundation was one of mutual trust and respect.

“I do, Cane. You deserve to know the reason behind why I feel the way that I do.” He’s nothing like the image he made during your argument nearly a week ago. He’s all slumped shoulders and soft eyes, gentle hands and low, quiet voice. Gone is the man who was biting back just as viciously as you had been. Submitting to your will and decisions, submitting to you in the quiet moments you share still even now after such an explosive interaction.

“She was…on Outbreak day. I did everything I could and it wasn’t good enough.” “I wasn’t enough.”

“Did she-“

“Not bit. We were, uh, tryin’ to get out of the city- Austin. Military, they were corralling people, stopping anyone from getting out of the limits and I couldn’t get her past the county line.”

“Joel…”

“She was my entire world, my entire reason for living. Gone in the blink of an eye, in a shaky breath and I buried her in our backyard.” His hand doesn’t stop moving, the drag of the scratchy cloth along your skin paired with his words sprouting goosebumps along it. “It took me hours to scrub all the blood off of my body, but I still see the stains. I still feel it thick on my hands, see the way it was all that was left of her. That’s…that’s why children are a curse. You carry them with you, feel the pain of failing them. I don’t…I don’t think I’m a good enough man to be what Jean needs. I couldn’t even protect my own child and Jean…she’s going to need a lot more help. The birth, it’s going to be tough no matter what, you can’t deny that. But after…I’m not enough for that either. But you are, I believe with my whole heart that you can be what she needs. So even if I don’t like it or agree with it- you two going to live with them, it does make sense.”

The air in tiny bathroom grows thick with emotion, the swell of them swirling around as if to imitate the steam from actual running hot water.

“I don’t want to leave you, but it…it’s what needs to be done. For the sake of mother looking for help, looking for a way out of the life she’s been coerced into. And Frankie…” Your voice warbles as a hiccup bubbles up. “Frankie is getting sick, Joel. He needs me too.”

“We won’t be able to visit much, with how things are getting worse.”

“I know.”

“I meant what I said the other day. About lovin’ you.”

“I know you did and I know how hard it might’ve been for you to be that open with me. I wish, god, I wish it could all be so much easier. That we could have a little house to ourselves, a backyard garden to grow the things we need, somewhere safe to be who we want to be. But that’s not the way the world works.” You can see it so clearly, the man who sits beside you now on the peeling tile of the small bathroom- doing so in a better house, a better environment, tending to a toddler as giggles rain down a set of stairs or a hallway as you busy yourself with other things or come home from a long day. But it’s not the way the world works, and so much is broken.

Even if you feel the love for him that he proclaimed for you.

You feel the need to protect yourself, the baby growing in your womb. And your instincts are screaming at you to run, even if he’s soft with you now and reveals the reasons behind his feelings on the matter of children. A father in mourning. Something he carries with him still, transformed him completely. Peaks of his old self rise to the surface and it’s an amazing thing to see, to experience. Hope crests and vanishes in one slow blink, but the words still sneak past your lips.

“Would you-“

“Cane, I’m not a good man. I don’t deserve to be involved in the raising of someone born free of what life has done to me. I would try, but I know who I am now. I’m not fit, I’m a fucking dog fighting and thrashing against anything that tries to tie him down, that challenges him. And you, you are too. But you’re good, at your very core. There’s still good in you, but I’m all rotten.” He doesn’t look at you, up from where he rings out the suds and water from the rag he had been using. He drapes it over the edge of the tub, swirls his hand in the water to test the temperature. “Gettin’ cold, let’s get you out before you catch another fever.”

“Joel…” You watch as he stands, his clothing still from what he wore out during the day, where sweat once creates damp spots in the worn fabric.

“I’ve made my peace with it, I’m the one who let it take control.” He rinses the suds from you in silence and you give him the time to mull over his thoughts, grateful for the glimpse of who he used to be. But your decision still remains the same, the zone too dangerous for you now. There are too many threats and even though he shared with you that he has a daughter, Joel Miller is still a threat.

Because you know he would do anything to protect you, even from yourself.

“Cane.”

“I don’t have time to talk right now, I’ve got somewhere to be.” It was the last check up in the deteriorating medical center that the zone houses. The true nature of your visit sworn to secrecy from the older nurse who helped keep everything as organized as possible as supplies and medical supplies became scarce.

“C’mon, we both know you’re just trying to get away from the apartment. Been cooped up for too long, but you’re still a little sick. I made soup, come have a bowl, yeah?”

Sighing, you pivot on your feet, boots scrunching up the threadbare carpet beneath your boots and walk back down the hall. Tess stands in her doorway, hair pulled back behind her shoulders and damp from her evening shower. She must be tired, still getting used to working again, it’s only been two weeks since she’s been feeling well enough to. The ordeal with Jean cropping up out of nowhere but giving everyone something to focus on besides the seasonal shift in weather that’s been causing the sickness to crop up all over the zone.

“She’s fast asleep in the bedroom, body is really feeling the strain of what’s going on. I’ve given her some of the vitamins we still have. But she needs true pre-natal stuff.” She explains when you look toward the living room that houses her own bed now, taken from an empty apartment that the tenant across the hall up and left. She locks the door securely behind you, moving about the small kitchen space to get a bowl ready for you.

“Frankie has some, Bill scoured his entire town and collected it all. I’ve been in contact with him, he assures me they have what we need for her. Bill took everything from the local pharmacies around Lincoln.” You aren’t terribly hungry after last nights bout of nausea, but you know that you need to pack in as many nutrients as possible. “The med center here is a joke, they’ve got such a restricted approval rate for things people actually need. But maybe we can sweeten the deal for some other stuff we might need.”

“That’s good. And yeah, take whatever you think will help.”

You both share a comfortable silence that is only broken by the scraping of spoons in ceramic. A shared meal among friends, two women who never anticipated being here with one another. But you are grateful that she’s part of the deal of having Joel come into your life. She’s been such a help, a pillar that you know you can rely on. The stunts she’s tried to pull before, her energy harnessed against you in an initial stand off, now put forth to help run the trade business you take pride in.

But you worry about when you are no longer here. Not for the business, you trust her to take it over flawlessly. You worry for Joel, how he will fair once you leave the zone for good. Once your pregnancy advances enough to show, you won’t be able to make the trip. It would be too reckless, too much of a risk of someone seeing you that stems from the zone. You don’t want Joel to know the true reason you left, especially after what he told you last night. He’s a good man, but he’s lost. Consumed by the grief and the fall of everything he once knew in more ways than you anticipated.

You feel so strongly for him, something you never imagined when you allowed them into the fold of your life here. The one you fought tooth and nail for, the one you bled and broke for. He is a father, only child lost before the world could contort her in heinous ways. A blessing in disguise, because you’ve seen his softness. You know he allowed her to be exactly who she wanted to be, and she could only have been good. Too good for a world like this.

“Tess, I need to ask you something.”

She’s quiet as she regards you across the table. She must be able to see how exhausted you are, the emotional and physical strain you’re under. You feel like everything wrong with you is on obvious display, from the fight with Joel to the way your stomach is roiling at the food you’re trying to consume. But you push forward, it’s all you’ve ever known, to tamp down discomfort in order to adapt and hold your ground.

“I need you to take over the business here in the zone.”

“You’re going to stay with Jean.” It’s not a question, it’s an observation. She’s smart, she sees things that no one else does. Cut from the same cloth as the one you found yourself swaddled in and embracing rather than tearing free.

“She needs someone to help her through this. Frankie and Bill will support her and give her what she needs, but she’s also going to need someone who knows what she’s going through.”

“Mistake me if I’m wrong, but I’m the mother out of the two of us.” Her eyes rove over your body, assessing but not judging. “I would be able to sooth some of her worries, my own pregnancy was rough. Can offer her some insight and be there for her.”

“This is something I need to do. Get some fresh air, get out of the zone for a bit. And not because of some fight with Joel. I just- it’s all so much, and it’s only getting more dangerous. You can pivot in the direction you want, limit trades, limit clients, just…promise me one thing.”

“Depends on the promise.” She looks you straight in the eye, and she can see it, you know she can. That you’re choosing to run for the second time in your life. You can only hope that this time you’ll be able to get away.

“Keep Joel safe. From the competition, from himself.”

“Stay and do it yourself.” She looks away to gather her bowl and set it in the sink with a clink.

“I can’t. I need to be with Frankie, there’s….we aren’t sure just yet but he’s exhibiting symptoms of a degenerative disease he holds the genetics for. Bill contacted me after a weird interaction, he wasn’t sure what happened and asked me if I knew anything it could be.” You have yet to admit this part of why you want to go, but your family- Frankie, he really needs someone who knows how to handle it. It’s too much for loved ones to go through alone, support is needed, and you can provide it while receiving your own from the two men.

“He’s the reason I’m alive right now, Tess. I owe it to him to be there for him, to give him a fighting chance at this. My…my mother had something similar, so I grew up around it, in a household that centered around caring for someone who was sick like this. I can be the support he needs, the support they both need.”

“But you’re willing to leave behind the man you’re in love with.” She crosses her arms as she leans back against the counter. She’s not judging, just simplifying what you’re telling her. No bullshit, just matter of fact realities of what’s happening. It’s appreciated.

“Joel is strong, he…he’s capable.”

“You and I both know he’s going to spiral the second you leave the zone.”

“Well, Tess, frankly it’s none of my business. He’s a big boy, he can handle a little break up. He’s the one who decided that he didn’t want anything to do with people who need his help so I’ve got to rearrange my entire life in order to pick up the slack. What the fuck else do you want from me, huh? I’m literally handing over my entire business to you both and you’re telling me I need to consider doing more? Fuck no, I’m doing everything in my power.”

Her eyes rove over you, watching, reading. And you’re not worried about her finding out, you realize.

She would keep your secret, an unspoken understanding between two women who have lost everything.

And you know you’re right, she does too. Joel is a good person, but he has his flaws. And his was telling you that children are a curse, no matter the outcome of their own lives. He feels so much guilt for not being able to save her but you know he also feels it for the relief that his little girl doesn’t have to be witness to what the world fell into.

With a nod, she accepts your words and takes them into her own aged hands.

Days of organizing breeze by as the nights begin to cool. Joel helps you to unload the bag you use on your runs and organize. Go over the lists of what is already waiting for you in Lincoln and what you still need and go over the detailed route to the nth degree. And when it comes time for you to leave late that night, he’s helping you both sneak out of the zone to make the trip with you.

The morning light is faint, summer in full swing makes it hot. An early departure seemed the most reasonable, for safety as well as ensuring Jean wasn’t traveling in the height of the heat the days reach as time progresses through the seasons. They’re harsher, now, the effect of living in a zone right by the eastern coast paired with the damage done to the land and atmosphere to combat the outbreak that ruined the world. There were rumors of contaminated water pockets in the once abundant aquifers underneath the city.

The sand and clay that protects them no longer strong barriers but crumbled over time in the aftershocks of bombings and digging for new resources when it could be safely done.

The young woman huffs as she walks closely in front of you, you and Joel walking around her to ensure her front and back are covered. He’s got a gun one of your soldier contacts traded for a bag of pain pills, even at the protest of the man who now shoulders it and keeps it at the ready in case of any threats or danger. You insisted that with the open fields you would need to walk along or through and the thick forest by the river that it would be better to have a longer range than benefited from a handgun.

It's an easy trek, despite the distance and the heat. A water break by a bubbling river, a rest stop underneath the thick canopy of trees. Nearly seven hours, but not once did Jean ask to rest for longer than fifteen minutes. The openness of the land uncomfortable for her- all she’s ever known is the zone and before that the city it once was. She’s young, alone, and now facing the ramifications of one selfish, dead man’s desires. You vow to give everything you can to her for her to make the most of it. You see a lot of yourself in her, she has the potential to harden, to pick up the skills she’ll need to protect herself and her child.

Stopping just inside the tree line, you hold a hand to your hardened stomach. You’re not showing, it’s only been a month since you found out, since Jean sought Joel out for help. You feel the change because you anticipate it, look forward to it despite the circumstances and details, you yearn for a reason to live other than just survival. And the little bundle of life growing inside you allows you that.

Joel looks over at you, his eyes already sweeping across the last bit of distance and the metal gate is faint on the horizon. They rove over you, from your frizzed out hair in a messy updo, to the hand held to your middle.

“You okay?” His brow furrows as he glances over at Jean, who looks so out of her element, a contrast to your controlled demeaner. Her breath is a touch heavy, her long locks pulled back but still loose.

“Yeah, just hungry I think.” You wish he would reach out, touch your shoulder, skim the back of his hand against yours. But you know it’s wrong to want it, you’re the one running away this time. Put the distance between you, the wall back up though the parts that were dismantled scatter between you in quiet admissions and the way you both pulled emotions and sensations from each other’s bodies.

They’re both waiting on the other side of the gate when you clear the tree line about half a mile away, guns slung over shoulders much like Joel. Frank and Bill are on alert, though you can sense that they will take this as seriously as warranted. Good men are hard to find these days, but you thank the stars that you’ve crossed paths with three of them.

“What was her name?” You look over to him as he helps you to carry your personal bag up the quiet staircase. The house is lived in, far more than it was the last few times you’ve been here over the years, a testament to the life that Bill and Frank make for themselves every day. The door to the room is open, giving you and Joel easy access to filter in after each other. He places your bag on the bed, his own as well- a worn backpack.

“Her name was Sarah.” His voice softens even now, ten years later, when he speaks her name. Your heart clenches, your stomach fills with flutters. He cares so much, even now. And you wonder for a split second if he would say your own name that way if he were to find out that you were carrying his second child…

“Her name is Sarah.” But you can’t do that to him, not now. He’s proven that he doesn’t want that life any longer, isn’t suited for it, said it loud and clear. Still, you reach for him, resting your hands atop his broad shoulders and straddle his lap. There’s nothing sexual about it, just the need for human connection and warm contact. His arms wrap loosely around your waist as you rest your head underneath his chin.

You both smell of sweat and sun, dirt and pollen cling to your clothes but you don’t care.

“Yeah, darlin’, it is.” He whispers as he just holds you, not knowing when he’ll get the chance to again.

He basks in your company until a soft knock sounds on the bedroom door and Frankie announces that dinner is ready. It’s just before sundown, but he convinces Bill to wait until your trio arrived- wanting to ensure you had a decent welcome home.

“It hurts too much to say, but I do…feel the same, Joel.” You close your eyes as the feel of his knuckles graze your cheek. The roughness of them calming from the first touch. The secret you hold close doesn’t taint the way you still crave his touch, his lips, his soft murmured words of comfort. “I do have love for you.”

“I’ll try to be back before winter, I swear to you.” His body is still hot where he’s pressed up against you, the air of the room heavy with the scent of sex. One last desperate coupling that neither of you even attempted to fight, feeling righteous in taking one last thing for yourselves. He pushes up, the cooler air pebbling your skin as he kisses the tip of your nose before pulling away completely, pulling out of you where he’s softened inside.

“I believe you, please, be safe going home.” You feel something in your heart clench, as he walks across the room toward the ensuite, completely naked and exposed. Muscles and evidence of your passion on display in the low light from the plugged in salt lap.

“I will, but the zone isn’t my home.” His voice is low and full, despite speaking the admission freely to you as he uses a warm cloth to clean between your legs. You hiss out, sensitive after the way he pulled pleasure from your body. The quirk of his mouth at one end betrays what the hitch of your breath does to him, his fingers swiping up through your tingling folds. Two thick fingers, feeling for the combined release he wiped away, but he finds how slick you still are. Humming, he raises a brow and looks up at you from under his lashes.

You don’t ask him what he means by that, and he doesn’t tell you that he thinks of you as his home.

But you think you know as he gently, reverently brings you to the brink of pleasure one more time and cradles you carefully, tightly as you fall over the edge.

The soft, quiet conversation shared between two people tucked into the same bed in the dead of night echoes in your mind as Bill opens the gate for Joel to leave through.

As you watch Joel’s broad form disappear into the tree line from behind the gate, you feel a tremendous shift. There’s no going back on the decisions and circumstances that led to this moment. You know this is for the best. A warm hand cups your shoulder, and you put a hand over it and squeeze.

“It’s going to be okay. He’s a strong one and you- you’re gonna be an amazing momma.” Frankie’s whispers as he steps up close. He can feel the anguish and conflict stemming from you as you stare at the now empty land between the fence line and the bank of trees. He sees the cracks in your façade, knowing who you once were and who you are now, the emotions at war with each other. It would be so easily to fall apart, but you can’t let yourself do that. You have to be strong, it’s all you have.

You don’t ask him how he knows. But you know that he’s there for you and will do everything he can to do so as long as possible. Even when Joel doesn’t return before the first snowfall in two months’ time and all you can do is hold tight to your swollen stomach and hope he’s okay.  

previous chapter || next chapter

taglist: @sawymredfox @tuquoquebrute @orcasoul @itsokbbygrl @keylimebeag

@n7cje @hiddenbabynyc @ameagrice @everythingiwanttoread @furiousmushroom

@vivian-pascal @76bookworm76 @dugiioh @jellybeanxc @littlemisspascal

@undercoverpena @janaispunk @jessthebaker @persephone-girl

@corazondebeskar @harryscum @morgaussy @burntheedges @pascalpvnk

@cavillscurls @joelmillerisapunk @copperhalfcent @blackcatgreengrape

@the-orange-tabby-cat @yxtkiwiyxt @punkshort @cumberpegg

@littlemisspascal @mosssbawls @luxurychristmaspudding @cherrycolouredflunk

@tobethlehem @axshadows @ameagrice @theoraekenslover @mellymbee

@suzysface @jessthebaker @joeldjarin @mosssbawls

[hurtspideyparker]

have we considered: Tony Stark being jealous of Peter because he gets to be happy, intelligent, and innocent in his childhood without it coming at a price?

"Stark men are made of iron". Tony was not allowed to be soft, or cry. He couldn't go play with friends when he could be working, was sent away to boarding schools and skipped grades so every time he got along with his peers he was ripped away from them. Placed with people who resented him for being smarter and richer at a young age

When he played with real toys instead of computer parts he was called childish, when he wanted to read books instead of rough house with the other boys he was called a sissy. He had whiskey bottles thrown at his head, and soon they were in his hand because god at least they made things tolerable. An alcoholic before he could even drive because he just had to one up his old man in every way, huh?

He grew up too fast; sex, booze, money. A minor getting taken advantage of by older women who wanted SI secrets. A 21 year old running a company that decides how thousands of soldiers would die. He became mean, guarded, fake. The only people who cared about him were his employees

And Peter? He gets to play with toys, action figures and Legos, and doesn't need to feel guilty about it, even at an age Tony was considered an adult and was all on his own. He has friends who genuinely care for him, aren't just using him, who he can spend time with whenever he pleases. Parental figures who love him and have never laid a hand on him, berated him and threw things at him just for tugging on their pant leg. He can actually talk to his Aunt May, actually be held and consoled, or share joy and be supported. He's seen Peter cry and he didn't even try to hide it. Didn't flinch when someone stepped too close (he's never been hit for that? not even yelled at?)

He gets to be intelligent and excited and not be told it isn't "enough" or directed at the right thing. He's allowed to keep his innocence because it's more important he has friends and safety than groundbreaking patents. He doesn't feel the need to turn to drugs or sex to fill a void because he's already happy, and has much healthier coping mechanisms. A real support system and a parent who tells him she's proud and she loves him

Tony Stark is jealous because Peter is too much like him except he gets to do everything right. Maybe he's what Tony could have been

(bonus if Tony talks to May about why she doesn't apply Peter's intelligence more or punish him for being childish and shes like "he's still just a baby? It doesn't matter if he's smarter than college students, he isn't one and he isn't ready to be one." And Tony's like Oh. Maybe I needed someone to say that for me.)

[chezmad]

Opposites attract

Pairing: Pre-borderlands Suguru Niragi x Female reader

Summary: Ayumi and Niragi wordlessly agree to spend their study time together, developing a routine. During their time together, Niragi tries to pick Ayumi apart to discover what her intentions are.

Warnings: Again not much (we are getting there) mentions of bullying.

Part 2 Routine ✰

-

The next day, Niragi showed up early at the library. Not that it would change anything, but he knew what awaited him. He assumed Ayumi wouldn’t be there yet. And if she were, she'd probably be sitting in her usual seat, which was slightly further away from his. However, upon arrival, Ayumi sat with her work sprawled out next to his usual seat.

A smile grew on Niragi’s face. He was excited to see her, which wasn’t a feeling he usually got when he knew he’d have to interact with someone else. He hadn’t quite figured her out yet, but for now, he viewed her as a genuine person.

When Ayumi finally noticed him, she gestured for him to come sit.

“Hey,” Ayumi smiled.

“Hello, how are you?”

Ayumi picked up on the fact that he was stuttering less than yesterday—an indication that he felt more comfortable.

“I’m tired. Hopefully, you can keep me awake for the next three hours.”

He wondered how conversation slipped so easily off her tongue. She even made someone like him feel like he had something to say.

“How are you?” she asked sweetly.

“I’m good, thank you.” He said quietly, giving her a quick glance. He placed all his books onto the table before sitting.

Ayumi grabbed one of the books that had slightly slid her way.

“You study law?” she asked, shocked that he studied such an intense subject.

“Oh, sorry—” he said, while reorganizing his books on the table.

“Yes—um, it was my parents' choice.”

Niragi cringed at the unnecessary information he’d spilled out of awkwardness.

“Well, you must be smart; otherwise, they wouldn’t have put that weight on you.”Ayumi tried her best to stay positive.

“You know,” Ayumi started, “I major in linguistics, and my parents are very disappointed in me.” She moved one of her linguistic books in Niragi’s direction.

“Oh, why’s that?” Niragi asked, guessing it was because it wasn’t a parent favourite.

“They don’t think I’ll be able to find a job once I’m finished. But throughout my time in school, the subjects I was best at indicated that—” Ayumi pouted her lips as she thought. “I’d be best at linguistics.”

Niragi had concluded so far that Ayumi was a strong woman. She could speak for herself and clearly went against her parents' wishes—something he could never do.

“Well,” Niragi tried to think of what to say, “I think it’s an interesting subject. I’ve never met someone who studies linguistics.”

Ayumi smiled to herself, feeling acknowledged and appreciated.

“Thank you,” she put her hand on her heart.

“Anyways, stop distracting me, Suguru.” She turned back to her work, tucking her hair behind her ear.

As the pair smile to themselves as comfortable silence fell between them. This gave Ayumi time to think.

She noticed Niragi only spoke when spoken to. He didn’t ask questions or begin conversations—not because he was rude or didn’t care, but because of a lack of confidence.

Niragi was a victim of bullying, and he always had been. He’d dealt with it throughout his entire life—from peers to adults, to anyone who noticed that his weaknesses outweighed his strengths.

He didn’t want to be weak; he just never had anyone in his life to guide him. No one to tell him that he didn’t need to put up with the bullying. That’s why he listened to his parents and studied law. He admired Ayumi for her confidence to rebel against her parents’ wishes.

Only on the second day the pair had already began a routine.

Niragi packed his books away at 4:30 p.m. Ayumi stood waiting, leaving her books scattered on the table.

They silently walked to the café, ordered their coffees, and again, Niragi insisted on paying.

They took a silent walk back and began studying again.

6 p.m. rolled around, and the two packed their bags.

“Are you going to be here tomorrow?”

Ayumi asked, already knowing the answer.

Niragi looked down at her, her bright, puppy-dog eyes looking back up at him. His face flushed at the long eye contact he accidentally held.

“Uh—Yes, 3 p.m.”

Ayumi enjoyed the effect she had on him; she could tell her simple actions made him nervous.

She gave that little flirty wave before turning around without a word and leaving.

Niragi watched her delicate steps as she left the library. The atmosphere felt empty, the temperature feeling colder now that she was gone. The only indication she was ever there was the heavy, perfumed air.

He walked back to his dorm feeling the bite of the cold, he thought of all the responsibilities he had to complete when he arrived at his dorm. The laundry, making food, the dishes, organizing his revision notes. However, he could not construct a plan because his mind was occupied. He found his thoughts wandering back to Ayumi.

He couldn’t reason it; he could think of one possible explanation as to why she would want to bother with him.

She was confident, and from what he had witnessed of her on campus outside of the library, she was popular.

Maybe she thought he was a normal boy outside of the study sessions—that he had friends and a social life. Niragi died a little inside when he imagined what she’d think if she witnessed him getting bullied.

He hoped that would never be the case, because anyway, that’s partly the reason he stayed so late in the library.

He was hated by the boys at his university. In fact, they had a target of his body shape marked in an alleyway. And whenever they caught him while he was walking back to his dorm, they would line him up against the wall and hurt him in all types of ways.

Punching, hitting, pushing, spitting. Their favorite was to take turns trying to hit him in the face using a baseball bat and ball.

At the time, Niragi couldn’t explain to Ayumi why he packed his books away to only get a coffee, but it was for this very reason. He was tormented. Anything he could do to minimize his chances of being targeted, he would do.

He didn’t expect Ayumi to understand, nor did he want her to know. He liked how he had presented himself to her so far, but it would only be a matter of time before she found out.

All it would take was one of the boys finding out about his after-school study sessions or her walking past him on campus while he was actively bullied, unable to protect himself.

The endless worries kept him awake, his hands constantly brushing through his hair in stress.

It was new, he thought to himself. It had been two days, and he was already stressing about how yet another friendship was going to be ruined.

This stress was going to kill him.

In contrast, Ayumi lay in her pink bedroom, music playing at a low volume. She rolled onto her stomach, almost love-sick with the thought of the cute boy she’d somehow squished into her routine.

Tags: @so-dramatic1

Authors note: Second chapter complete! Niragi will come around guys trust me. Smut will be added in further chapters however i’m taking it slow to really show the contrast between pre-borderlands Niragi and Canon Niragi.

[transfemme-shelterdog]

TW: Heavy talk of sexual assault, rape, and suicide

The whole "trans women get killed and trans men get raped + detransitioned" thing infuriates me. Because first of all, this isn't the oppression Olympics. And second of all, do these people realize that trans men getting raped and detransitioned is also killing us? Survivors of sexual assault are already 10 times more likely to kill themselves. Pair that with it being "corrective" rape (one of the worst hate crimes, I'd argue) and that many of us would kill ourselves before letting them detransition us, and yeah, they're killing us. They're just not doing it outright because they hope they can get a use or two out of our wombs first.

I've already been sexually assaulted once. Maybe a few times if I count some weirdly sexual encounters with adults as a kid. I consider myself lucky that it wasn't full-blown rape. That didn't stop me from developing a phobia of sexual assault. And I do mean phobia. I'd say everyone fears sexual assault to some extent, but my fear is debilitating. I can't go outside alone, I can't date, I can't be anywhere with anyone unless I have someone at my side that I know 100% will fight to the death to protect me. So that leaves my father and my veteran step mother. That's it.

I've been told I'm paranoid and insane for this but I literally have homemade leather straps and buckles I wear over my underwear and genitalia to act as a final barrier against any assault. They're damn hard to get off in a rush or with just force. Hopefully it'll buy me time to fight back, should I ever have to.

"Just getting raped and detransitioned" is a fate worse than death to me and many others. And there's people out here acting like this is the good ending or an act of mercy. I'd take a lifetime of physical torture if it meant saving myself from being raped. And it wouldn't even be a hard choice or close decision. I'd make that choice as easily as breathing.

And please, genuinely, God forbid I get raped and impregnanted. I'm not religious, but I'll pray to God for this. The rape itself is already a death sentence. The pregnancy is just an added cruelty. I'd have to cut that thing out of me and dispose of it somehow before I died because I'm not being buried or cremated with someone's parasite inside me. Being buried under my deadname and as someone's daughter is cruel enough. I won't be buried as an unwilling mother.

"Trans women just get killed" also completely ignores all the trans women who have been raped for being a "sissy" or a "fag." Or just because men hate them.

Just. Sorry for all this. You don't have to post this. I know it's a heavy topic and I've been quite grim. But fuck, I'm scared. I'd rather they just kill me. It would be a mercy.

I'm really sorry to hear that OP. I hope you find someone that you're ok with being around, and being intimate with, if that's something you're wanting. I also wish you the best in your journey of healing and coming to terms with your phobia, I want only the best for you.

You're not paranoid or insane for taking precautions that make you feel more comfortable, that's never a bad thing. If it works for you, keep doing it.

It really is a shame that people assume that trans men can just abort the fetus, and that's over and done with, and there'll be no lingering damages physically or mentally. It's an incredibly ignorant and shallow take, and I'd agree that for trans men, being raped and impregnated is truly a fate worse than death.

Unfortunately, I doubt many people will see it the same way. Hell, afab cis women aren't even taken seriously most of the time, so you throw in transandrophobia in there, and you have even less of a chance of being taken seriously, and having your fears and feelings acknowledged by society. People forget that most women aren't taken seriously when they talk about fears and risks of SA, so what makes them think that a trans man/masc would be treated any better?

[angelwinkteruhashi]

Do you have any Teruhashi headcanons? I saw a list from the person RPing Reita, and now I'm curious about other people's headcanons ^w^

((OOC post))

Omg I have so many it's not even FUNNY I am so excited to get to share them!!! Some of them are a little more silly than the others but for the most part theyre all canon to this rp blog

All of Teruhashi's contacts are "Bestie" With different emojis next to them to signify who they are. Just to be sure that no one feels jealous if they see her typing over her shoulder!! Some of the examples I have on hand are

Yumehara = 🧡Bestie🧡

Aiura = 🔮Bestie🔮

Kuboyasu = 🏍Bestie🏍

Saiki = ☕️Bestie☕️

She uses a lot of emoticons!!! She says it's because she loves how customizable and cute they are, but actually she just hates how face/people emoji's look and also knows that people typically consider emoticons cute and wants to try and work her way into that niche a little bit more (she's comfortable in her current pretty girl monopoly but if she's able to turn a few heads by having a cute typing quirk then hey, win win!)

Her parents raised her to be very agreeable and palatable, and would typically punish her for speaking out or behaving "un-ladylike", and she's internalized a lot of that. She knows, objectively, that it was unfair, especially when compared to how her brother was raised, but she doesn't want to acknowledge her parents as bad at raising her. They helped her become the perfect pretty girl, after all!

In canon she doesn't like children, the headcanon is that she genuinely doesn't realize she doesn't like children. This one's kind supported by canon ("how do you feel about children?" "Oh, I love them!" In her imagined 'adult conversation' with saiki), but I genuinely think she just does not realize the pattern of her not liking them. Every child she meets is an exception to her.

She is Aromantic! This one's pretty common- she mistakes the feeling of relief/happiness/the wide array of emotions she feels from Saiki treating her like an actual person as romantic attraction. She genuinely enjoys being around him because she likes being treated like anyone else would be.

On that topic- I headcanon that a part of the reason she originally liked hanging out with Saiki so much before she actually got to know him, even if she didn't realize it, was because of the novelty of it all. Not only was she trying to get someone else's attention, but she also got treated like he would anyone else. Even if it can get draining, 9 times of out 10 she does like that she's given special treatment in canon. While she does start actually viewing Saiki as a close friend decently quickly, early on into their friendship she did subconsciously view him as just an escape from her usual day-to-day. If I had to put a date to it, I'd say she started viewing him as an actual friend instead of a novelty of sorts sometime after season 1, episode 16, where they go on a "date" together in the town next to her brother's movie shoot.

This one's more of a personal thing I do for art, but I imagine her glow changes form when she feels something strongly. My evidence is that sometimes when she loses her mojo she also loses it. This one is more of just something I use to draw her more expressively than an actual headcanon, lol ^^

On the above note, I headcanon that her golden glow isn't actually a real thing. It's just something Saiki uses to signify her "ability" to the audience, similar to how he makes himself slightly visible when he's invisible for easier audience viewing. That's why, when she does slip up and get angry or something similar, she typically loses her glow (at least from what I remember). <- this one's not canon to this RP blog, just my own personal little headcanon for when I watch the show!

She's absolutely one of those people who practices piano for months on end in secret before 'accidentally' sitting down in front of one while at school and going "Oh well, it wouldnt hurt to try!" And perfectly playing the piece she had practiced. She does that for everything. She learned how to make origami because she overhead a different class was going to do an origami making contest that was open to anyone for the school festival, just in case she was asked to participate.

She's interested in photography! This one's pretty obvious on my page, since I have her take photos pretty often. She watched a lot of tutorials and did a lot of practice to make her photos look pretty, but not too good to where people would start to question her if she posted them online under the guise of a beginner.

The one thing she cannot for the life of her learn is to how to make food that's already been touched look decent for photos. She knows it's a thing some idols do in case paparazzi try to take pictures of them while they eat, but when she tries she spends too much time trying to make the food look "perfect" after every bite or cut and will end up having to eat cold food once she inevitably gives up. It enrages her.

She actually really enjoys action movies. If asked, she would adamantly deny that she's more fond of them over any other type of movie, but her dvds and streaming service history says otherwise. Watching a guy get punched in the face is very cathartic for her.

I'll probably add more as I think of them, but these are the ones I could think of off the top of my head!

[0809sysblings]

maybe this will get rocks thrown at me but i kinda hate when people call the 18+ prisoners "grown adults" as insults and ways to like... shut down any sympathy with them. how because they are "grown adults", they "should have known better". this has just always bothered me. i see it and i have to sit and stare at the wall for 10 minutes.

like. idk. being an adult does not automatically give you skills like Emotional Regulation, Impulse Control, Ability To Learn From Consequences, Ability To Plan For The Future, Critical Thinking, Interpersonal Skills, etc etc. you have to be Taught these things no matter how old you are. if you are not taught these things, and you are not supported in an environment that helps you further develop these things... you just. Aren't gonna be able to do them well.

adults just, typically, have accumulated enough experiences in life to have been able to learn these things. but not every adult has had that privilege. or some adults have had to just shut off the parts of their brain that would allow them to learn these things to be able to function at a basic level.

[icewindandboringhorror]

sneeping with his legs up over his head for some reason... weird boye

[novasquadron]

ANYWAY i recently got into tng and am now super obsessed with wesley (just a lil dude!! why does everyone hate him i don't get it!!) and all the Implications and Potential that his character had (and has)

like your father killed on duty, lingering resentment with the man who feels responsible for it, the same man whose words are like gospel to you, who gives you every single opportunity that you shouldn't be given, who was only persuaded to do so by a somewhat higher being who is oh so carefully crafting your life in just the right ways for Something, constantly being brought forward and pushed away, too many parent figures and only one and none, the only meaningful friendships you have are with people twice your age (they will always see you as a child), you do everything for Him, everything for His legacy (your dead father? your captain? they're so closely intermingled and so far apart), you finally reach what everyone knows you're going to do, you get into the best team in the school, you have a best friend (was he something more? do you even remember?), you kill him (it's so much more than that but the black and white is addicting), everyone hates you, He's disappointed in you, how long has it been since you could look your mother in her eyes, you want to die but that would be unfair, how dare you feel guilty, and oh look, the beings who have watched you for your whole life (they knew this would happen) want you to join them. there's never been another choice. the prodigal son always completes his duties.

[slime-hoe]

I am once again brought down to my knees by the knowledge that Billy Hargrove would 100% vibe with WAP if only because it’s exceptionally vulgar and makes people horny and or embarrassed .

[bibuckleykinard]

how many times do we need to learn as people that irony and hyperbole can be harmful because 'jokes' aren't easily distinguished from genuine thoughts and feelings until we stop rewarding people for speaking or posting about violence

like even if you're joking/don't actually believe that/think whoever you are insulting is bad/immoral/fictional therefore deserves it - ad hominem attacks always do more harm to the people who share those characteristic then the individual you intend to cause harm to or discredit

[gibbearish]

btw its interesting the way james tries to imply that like. well the videos that have plagiarism are the ones our dumb stupid annoying patrons requested about bad topics that didnt deserve to have the effort put in to covering them well so basically its fine. like obv thats interesting on its own but moreso the fact that he doesnt actually /say/ it, or like. give a list of the videos hes referring to, just says "those videos are very clear on which ones they were" i think as a nod meaning like "yknow the ones everyones talking about". unless what hes meaning is that like they put a note in certain videos saying "this video was requested by a patron, we here at james somertom incorporated do not espouse these views" which seems unlikely to me. idk methinks maybe it's because there is indeed a lot more than people think and with all the buzz he's not sure which ones have been discovered yet or not, so putting down a solid list that missed some would look like he was still hiding things whereas putting down a fully sourced list would be admitting to wayyyy more than anyone's found yet

[booksandberries]

yknow what i wish i had more people i looked up to

[shadyhouse]

.