#i hate taking the easy way out all the time

[stychu-stych]

Could we have some of your Lamb head canons please?

I'm going with my modern au because it's my little obsession right now sijssj

I'm cutting the post so it wouldn't be so long. The whole description is below

So the whole thing with Old Faith as the most powerful religion and Bishops is mostly the same like in the game. The world looks similar to our in 1700s, sheep was hunted down over the decades and Lambert was in the group of the last ones. That group was caught and killed, Lamb was lucky enough to be outside the camp at this time but they didn't enjoy their freedom for so long. As a single sheep it was hard to survive on their own

Lamb seeing their wife for the first time sjsbsjsh

Lamber was caught some time later by bounty hunters. However, an accident happened when Lamb tried to escape one night - there were shot in the stomach badly enough that further travel was impossible without them bleeding out. So since Lamb was going to die anyway, the bounty hunters figured out they'd at least bring Old Faith their head. They didn't wait for Lamb to bleed out first, so that death wasn't fast or easy.

First years as a cult leader weren't easy. Taking care of the flock, learning how to fight, figuring out how rituals work, it was a lot for young Death's vessel. Lamb couldn't get used to their new role for some time. But Ratau was a huge help, beloved rat-dad was as much supportive as he could

After their first century as cult leader, Lamb began to feel comfortable in their role, perhaps a little to much I would say. Their grow their wool and started to pay more attention to their appearance and to the things that brought them pleasure. They started to fully enjoy their immortal life, to be too self-confident focused too much on themselves. They liked being in the center of attention, with the flock fully devoted to them. They even started to add a new tattoo with every kill of a Bishop or their the most devoted followers (as a trophy)

Beginning of XX century, Lamb become TOWW's little killing machine, no fear of death or pain. Ready to die, just to stand up and go killing again. They were fully devoted to Narinder in the most toxic way, ready to do absolutely everything just to make their god satisfied. Lamb didn't even realize how obsessed they were with Narinder at that time

Modern times, with Narinder already indoctrinated into the cult. Lamb as a selfish, egocentric, ready to do everything to achieve their goals bastard. Still unhealthy devoted to Narinder but this time in a different way - on one hand madly in love with him, on the other hating him with all their heart because of he did to them. Either way both of those strong feelings keep them close to him

Jeez this post took me more time to write than to draw djdbdjdj I'm soooo bad at writing

[northwest-cryptid]

So I realize that a lot of people might take this response in bad faith, and while I don't have a catch-all answer to the problem. I do want to state a few things I've seen and that I fear we in the left are chronically bad about. I genuinely hope that people won't view this as some ignorant idiot running their mouth; and rather as someone who's looking to help, because what I'm going to ask of you sounds a little accusatory.

A big thing is that you have to stop with the generalization. I've heard people say "but they do it" and "but it IS most of them" and such. I get it, I get it but you can't say "Cis, Straight, White Men are bad" and then expect the good Cis, Straight, White Men to still stand up for you. I've always been told "but the good ones won't care!" Yes, they will.

I was once told by a Rightwinger on a forum that "the Left are a powerful force in converting people to be conservative." When I asked him about what he meant exactly; he explained (with the use of far too many slurs and insults I'll be omitting) that essentially when otherwise Left-Leaning individuals see the way Leftists talk about them or people like them, it's very easy for Rightwingers to sweep in and basically say "we're not going to judge you like that." Of course they hide the fact they will judge you in other ways, but for that moment; they are a beacon of shelter from the otherwise very loud mob of Leftists who would deem you literally the most inherently bad person for being... a cis man.

Am I saying you have to go out there and start forgiving every bigot, humoring every fuckboy; stop holding sexists accountable for their bullshit? Absolutely not. In fact, what I'm asking you to do is stop firing a shotgun at a target that can only be hit properly with a sniper rifle. I'm asking you to stop giving the bad actors a scapegoat. I'm asking you to be specific.

If you take a young man, who doesn't have any concept of things like gender identity, the patriarchy, homophobia, etc. You take that young man and you look him in the eyes and you tell him:

"Men are a disgusting and violent gender, men do not deserve respect. The only good man is a fictional man. All men deserve to be treated poorly, women shouldn't have to put up with men. Cis men are the worst. Straight Cis Men should go to hell."

He's going to become a conservative rightwinger, because at least they won't hate him for being a man. They'll just hate him for being the wrong kind of man. It's easier for that man to seek acceptance through forcing others to be below him, than for him to accept that he is inherently a problem. If you instead literally word it as:

"Sexists and bigots, who would view women as nothing more than objects are disgusting. Anyone who would look down on, and see someone as lesser because of their race, gender identity, or sexuality does not deserve respect."

Well now he's not a target. Because he doesn't see women that way, he doesn't have racist thoughts; he's not currently a bad person and you're not talking about him. Now I know that a lot of people say "but I'm NOT talking about people like that!" I know that, you know that; you know who doesn't know that? The young man who's reading your posts, the young man who hears you at the store, the young man who read your forum response 3 months ago. What they see, plain as day is "men are a problem" and they're going to seek shelter from that.

Unfortunately for everyone involved; the shelter they end up finding so many times is conservative rightwingers. There are tons of people you can hear talk about this on youtube and forums, people who got indoctrinated because they would rather be praised for being a man than hated for it.

Now you might not talk this way, a lot of people don't; but a lot of other people DO. I see a lot of "the only good man is a trans man" or "the only good man is a fictional man" type posts, and even if you want to say it's just a meme or it's all a joke. You need to understand that when you speak generally, a man, especially a young man is going to see that and react to it. It's going to shape their idea of how the Left, who you represent to them whether you want to or not; see them.

If a young man who currently is unaligned on either side of the political spectrum sees a bunch of gay and trans people shitting on men for simply "being men" and not for the patriarchy, not for the sexism, not for male privilege and all that. Not actually educating anyone, not speaking out about the injustice; not discussing toxic masculinity or anything that may even shine a light on the issues people face. Just saying "men suck" and leaving it at that. Only to then see a bunch of Rightwingers saying all those gays and trans people are stupid and they are bad people and they hate men for no reason. That young man is going to make a no-effort decision in that moment to side with the people who do not openly hate him.

It's genuinely that easy for someone to become indoctrinated. Once they're in, they're rewarded for thinking less, promoting the ideals that promise them a higher spot on the social ladder; and generally following the mentality that Leftists are bad, and Rightwingers are good. They keep digging themselves into that hole trying to find a place they belong, somewhere they won't be hated; somewhere they don't need to feel guilty and wrong for just being who they are. Until they learn that the Right also thinks they're bad and wrong, they're a "beta" because they haven't fucked someone yet, they're a "soyboy" if they're not benching 200 pounds, making six figures, and banging a new girl each week. So now the urge for acceptance has shifted. Being a man means nothing if you're not "the right kind of man" if you're not an alpha, if you're not a sigma male then you're not good enough.

Go figure now they start viewing women as objects. That's not a woman, that's a ticket to not being a beta virgin anymore. She can be bought, she can be manipulated because he's an "alpha" he has money, he has control; he's a man. He's been taught all of this, he's been taught that "bitches don't matter." He's been told that working out and having money can get him any woman he wants. He's been taught women are dumb, that they're materialistic; that they don't matter outside of being a quick fuck. If someone tells him off, or doesn't like him it's because "she's a crazy bitch." I was once told "men don't have friends, men have competition." This is how they're taught.

So now you approach this man in some attempt to help him understand the faults in his ways. The problem is he's been convinced for the last so many odd years that by simply being a Leftist, or by being gay, or by being trans; you're wrong. Before a single word leaves you mouth. Because "all Leftists are special snowflakes who just get triggered by everything." Which unfortunately the internet has "proved" to him because of those videos of gay people screaming at cameras, or posts that generalize all straight/white/cis men to be bad people.

Again, this isn't some catch all solution. It's not going instantly turn the tide or something, but you have to stop using general terms. Be specific; don't say "men" say "Sexists" if what you mean is "sexist men" then say "sexist men." Because when you just say "men" you do imply "all men, including you; the man reading this." Whether that's what you mean or not. I don't believe that men are inherently born with a want for things like sexism and racism. I really don't believe men are some inherent evil born with bad intentions. I believe it's a combination of the way the popular culture tells them they should be something great; and the way the Left tell them they're a horrible person for how they were born. That's a fast track for becoming a "Crypto Hitler."

I cannot tell you how many genuine conversations I've been able to have with Rightwingers, where I've been able to sort of get them to see my side of things even just a little. Because I didn't point a finger at larger audiences. I was talking to a man on a forum just a few days ago about the inherent issue of sexism in an abortion ban. I made sure to use the word "sexists" and the word "men" as separate entities. When I was discussing how men have bodily autonomy that women don't, I would say just that; when I mentioned that sexists want to control a woman's body I would also say just that. He still mentioned several times "Well I never said I wanted to do that." To which I had to point out to him that I never said he did, I said Sexists did; so if he wasn't in fact Sexist then the shoe doesn't fit.

My goal in all of that was to absolve him of blame; but only so long as he didn't fit the bill for the sort of people who deserved the blame. I let him see it as a matter of simple fact. No different than saying "if you didn't shoot this man then you're not the murderer." I didn't say "everyone with a gun shot this man and therefore everyone with a gun, including you; is in fact the murderer." Because doing so would cause nothing but argument. Rather I treated the whole thing as though he couldn't have possibly been at fault right? By the end of it he came out of it saying that abortion still goes against his religious beliefs; but that he can understand how it's specifically a women's issue; and how there should be further discussion about the effects of abortion as a treatment that could potentially save lives. Crazy how that works right? I got a Rightwinger to admit that hey, abortion isn't an issue men should be speaking on. All because I ensured that he didn't feel as though I was pointing a finger specifically at HIM as a man, for being the problem; and instead let him come to the conclusion of whether or not he specifically fit the mold of a "sexist" or a "man." He told me that I was a lot smarter than "those autistic leftists" but he never knew I in fact am an autistic Leftist. That's literally just because in his mind he knows what an "Autistic Leftist" is, what they will say; how they will act, how they'll react. By not being that stereotype; he couldn't just label me some buzzword and write off what I was saying. In his eyes I was a man with a wife and was merely concerned over the safety of our wives and daughters.

Sometimes that's what it takes to make someone see things your way, if I explained to him that I'm a pansexual genderfluid individual who never intends to have children and just believes women should have the right to bodily autonomy for the sake of bodily autonomy the same as cis men have; well he'd probably write me off immediately.

I'm not saying you have you hide who you are, I'm not saying you have to appeal to their bigoted whims and humor their insults. However I am saying that you need to conduct yourself in a way that's going to show young men that you care about them too. That even the young cis white straight men have a place in a Leftist society; that they won't be hated for simply being true to themselves, how they identity; and how they love. That what we want is equality for everyone; and specifically what rights they have for simply being those things, that the rest of us don't for simply being who and what we are.

tl;dr We can save a lot of young men from becoming Crypto Hitlers if we actually stop talking about men in general like they're already Crypto Hitlers.

I couldn't have said it better myself.

[mysteria157]

Undone

nanami kento x black fem reader

wc- 2.8k

warnings- angst, heavy themes, mental health and healing, the fluff that nanami brings.

a/n: I have been feeling like poo these past few days and trying to find my voice in writing. So I created a little drabble that helped me feel better. hopefully, it does for others as well. happy reading

divider: @saradika | JJK Masterlist

He hasn’t heard from you in days.

Granted, that first date was 12 weeks ago, but Nanami is used to the string of texts between you that is consistently pinging—a feat that Nanami never thought to reach. He’s used to the late night phone calls, the FaceTimes that are meaningless because he just wants to look at you. But for the first time, you turned him down.

Three days ago, on the morning of a nice dinner he had planned, you called with a scratchy voice, “I’m just really tired today, but I’ll be shipshape in no time!” You had insisted.

With vigilance sewn into his body since the day he could remember, Nanami notices right away something is wrong. Maybe it was the distant crack of your words. Maybe it was the fact that you cleared your throat once, no—two times to make yourself sound as professional as possible. As if Nanami is an employer and not the man you’ve decided to let into his life.

Regardless, he was as polite as always. Content to change the subject and send you well wishes before hanging up. The meme texted to his phone five minutes later, sweetening whatever sour concoction had manifested in his belly from your phone call. But still…Nanami knows. So he waits.

He waits three days of agonizing silence before a maelstrom of worry finally claws its way to the surface of his pool of impassivity. He stops by the market first and grabs ingredients. There’s a soup recipe you love—a recipe he soaked up like a sponge as he hovered near you in your kitchen during your first date. He’ll make that.

On his way out of the market, his eyes catch a bouquet of Asian lilies. Sunset orange petals adorned with long dark stamen. He picks up a modest bouquet—something large enough to make you smile every time you see them, but not too much to make you sneeze from your allergies.

It’s 6:47 PM when Nanami’s shoes touch your welcome mat. Even as his eyes trace the tawny ‘Welcome!’ made of coir, he can feel the unease wafting from behind your closed door. Your spare key rests in his closed hand, the metal digging into his palm in a silent question. You insisted that it wasn’t too soon in the relationship for this, to have access to each other in this way. After all, finally opening his heart to love after keeping it locked behind the demands of work, Nanami wanted to take things slowly. But you had other plans—you always do. And now, Nanami is glad to have relented so quickly when you gave him the spare key two weeks ago.

You’re a tidy person, meticulous to a fault. So it’s easy for him to spot the littering of disarray. The curtains are drawn tight, casting your home into darkness. A trail of clothes starts from the door and trails to your room. There are dirty dishes in your sink—you hate going to bed with a messy kitchen. The air is permeable—a physical being that Nanami can see the particles as they float and scurry with his movements through your home.

He finds you in your room, a tornado of dirty clothes and empty takeout containers, three blankets deep, with only the top of your hair visible. The air is just as stale in here—heavy with the kind of silence that comes to life from too many hours alone with dark thoughts. Your phone lies on your nightstand, face-down, notifications from others probably neglected along with Nanami’s. He hates the sight, angry at whatever malevolent force that’s decided to torment you, and now he fights it.

The rustle of Nanami setting his things down makes you stir, the lump of covers oscillating with your movements as a flash of your melanin-rich skin pokes from the dark hole where you reside. Your eyes meet his—surprised, alarmed, and immediately angry.

“Get out,” you snap, your voice gravelly from disuse. Through the curtain of your textured hair, Nanami catches a sliver of your icy gaze, foggy with the heaviness he can smell in the room. He takes a step closer, and it’s a step too far. Your tired eyes widen with a simmering fury that makes Nanami think twice.

“Why can’t you listen?! You can’t be here…” you stop short, squeezing the covers around your already decaying form like a lifeline. “Not when I’m—like this.”

He takes another cautious step—your eyes narrow, a weak challenge—then another until he sits at the edge of your bed. The dip from his weight causes your feet to curve into the cavern, toes touching his thighs from beneath your covers.

“Why didn’t you call me?”

The still air seems to vibrate from your fury, dust motes zipping haphazardly as if being pulled back and forth by an invisible force.

“Call you? Call you?? So you could see this? So you could see how I can’t even—“A lump of confusion and rage dies in your throat, the sound gurgling like a sewage pipe. His hands clasp the blanket that covers your shoulders, pulling you up gently with no resistance. You want to smack his hands away, to yell at him to leave and never come back. Because you’re not ready for him to see you like this. Not yet.

But despite the bark of your bite, you’re exhausted—mentally and physically.

“I wanted to wait a few weeks,” you ramble, eyes turned away from him as you shiver from the cold air on your exposed upper half. You’re still wearing the same shirt from three days ago when you called Nanami to cancel; your eyes had already been filled with tears, your throat suffocating beneath torrential thoughts and negativity that springs to life when you least expect it.

“No one wants to see this so soon.”

“From that statement alone, I’m going to assume the men you dated before were below average in all respects.”

“Everyone expects some grandiose gesture to make all of…this go away. And it’s not that fucking simple.” You don’t acknowledge his assessment. Still rambling, still trying to push him away even as he stands. He pulls you up with him with a firm grip still on your shoulders, his care poking at your defenses with inquisitive fingers.

Your knees buckle, threatening to give out without the reassurance of his hold. Your rambling falls to the wayside, fading into the air around you as you finally comprehend your new position in front of him. Standing for the first time in days, the strength of his hands radiates warmth down to your toes. The room falls quiet, opening its ears to your uneven breathing and the smell of tears.

One beat. Two beats. Three.

“It seems you’re standing now,” he says simply, the low crooning timbre of his voice wafting over your face. You heave in a stuttering breath, suck down his air, and let it fill you from the inside with care you’ve neglected. Nanami doesn’t leave his words open for discussion. There is no question hidden in his matter-of-face statement. There is no undercurrent of judgment.

“A bath.”

“What? Kento—no. I don’t need—I don’t deserve—“ His hand slides from your shoulder to cup your cheek, silencing you with its warmth. You resist leaning into his touch, too embarrassed that he can see you like this—stinky, tired, so utterly crestfallen that you can barely function.

“I’ll draw you a bath. I’ll make you dinner. And once I’m sure you’re at least full and clean, then I’ll go. Until you’re ready for me again.”

Steam rises around you in the bathroom, carrying eucalyptus and lavender from the bath oils you like to indulge in on a terrible day like this one. You draw your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms around your limbs to bury your head in the gap it creates. Your eyes catch the water droplets on your skin, hydrophobic and suspended in time before sliding into the bath water.

When you turn your head to the side, you catch your living room from the open door. He’s cleaned up—opened the curtains, picked up the laundry, and vacuumed the floors. One of your candles burns bright, the low whir of your washing machine sashaying through the apartment. All things you just haven’t had the energy to do.

It started off small, it always does. One thought—fleeting and infinitesimal—but still heavy with a nervousness that plants in your mind like a maggot, burrowing its way through the meat. Your symptoms are more anxious thoughts, more poor remarks of yourself, more he’s successful who are you kidding? More maybe they don’t like you, why can’t you see that? More once Kento sees this side of you, he’ll never want you again.

More, more, more even though those thoughts hold little evidence to prove true. But for you, those maggots burrow until there is nothing left of you but a hollow shell, a husk that has no choice and no energy but to lay down in bed and sleep the days away until the meat heals again.

Beneath the steam, you can spell the mix of thyme, peeled tomatoes, and garlic. The tomato soup you showed him how to make on your first date. He was inquisitive, watching silently, his eyes falling on yours too often to take good notes. Now, it’s another show of this man you’re growing to love, crafting something for you with his own hands, affection beneath the veil of reservation that he shows everyone else.

It’s too much for you. The tears come quietly, spilling down your cheeks and into the bath water, polluting the love that was used to create it.

You hear his footsteps, padded feet on your now clean floor as he walks into the bathroom and takes in the sight of you. You blink against the rush of embarrassment, too tired to wipe the tears away, too tired to hide a vulnerability you wanted to keep a lid on for awhile longer.

He walks to your sink, gathering product, a hair bottle, and a wide-toothed comb before coming back to you. He kneels beside the tub and rolls up his navy sleeves without ceremony, pinching off his glasses before he sets them on the floor. He’s soft but efficient in the way he rubs your bar soap on your loofah, getting it nice and sudsy. He’s relaxed but observant—his tie loosened but not completely off, his forearms flexing with quelled strength as he washes your back and shoulders, the slight furrow of concentration in his brows as he measures his next words.

“Strawberry and cream cheese danishes.”

“Hm?”

“If I eat one, I’ll want more. So I try to stay away when I can.” Nanami continues, washing the soap off your shoulders before he hands you the loofah. You take it without question, watching him disappear to sit behind you as you wash your limbs.

“After Yu…I would bury my sorrow in work. I worked and worked and worked until my boss forced me to take time off. It’s a sneaky sickness. It likes to watch over you and strike the very moment your guard is down.”

You hear the squeeze of your hair bottle behind you, your snarled strands soaking with rosemary-scented mist in his gentle fingers.

“It’s been years. But when it does hit, that darkness that seems to strangle me and tell me that I should have tried harder, that I should have protected him….I like to go across the street from my home and get a strawberry and cream cheese danish.”

You know Nanami has a sweet tooth. You’ve seen the way his eyes light up from the pies that you like to make, always bringing him a slice to work. You’ve seen the sidelong glance he gives strudel that steams behind glass display cases at the bakery he takes you to. But to imagine him leaving his apartment in the dead of night, wrinkled clothes and bags beneath his eyes, not showered in days—paying for a danish…you hitch a breath, a chuckle squeaking and dying in your throat with a painful lurch.

“Why are you laughing?” He admonishes. You can practically feel the lifted brow and gentle smile on your back. Your skin tingles with the movement of his fingers as he works them through your hair, detangling with rosemary and leave-in conditioner

“Do you buy the three-pack?”

Silence. A pause in your hair before baby hairs flutter from the puff of air he shoots out. You bite your lip to keep the dry smile from forming.

“No,” he lies, playfully.

The heaviness in the air gives way to a light current of brightness from your fleeting smile, from the smell of the tub, and your hair now detangled and loose before shrinkage claims it.

“I’m not sure what’s compelled you to think there’s a proper time to tell me that your thoughts grow dark at random moments in your life. Now, two months from now, it doesn’t matter. I love you.”

The declaration wraps around you, sliding down your ajar mouth and curdling in your lungs with certainty, taking root in the muscle for the foreseeable future.

“And if it is alright,” he continues, carding his fingers through your hair to plait it into a single braid. “I would like to love every part of you. Even the parts you try to hide. The parts that make you think that you’re not good enough—for me, or your friends, or anyone else. If anything, being able to be here, right now, is a privilege I’ll cherish.”

When the fresh tears spill over again, they no longer taint the water you soak in. They cleanse, collecting and filtering away the depression and anxiety that claims so much of your life when you least expect it.

After, when you’re clean and smelling of Shea butter that Nanami slathered you in, you sink into your now clutter-free sofa. The exhaustion settles on your bones in a different way. Well earned after a long battle instead of invasive and unasked for.

Your eyes rest on the lovely bouquet of Asian lilies on your coffee table, fresh with stems cut, curling toward you with open petals so you can see the beauty inside. The gesture fills you with more of that feeling, of love that you never imagined to come so soon with a man like him.

Nanami walks around the sofa, a tray that he sets in front of you carrying his own rendition of your tomato soup, toasted sourdough grilled cheese, and a tall glass of water.

“Extra basil?” You ask, lips wobbly around a smile as you take in another form of his adoration that you’ll have forever if he allows it.

“Extra basil.”

When he returns with his own tray, his hair falling over his eyes in a heap of hard work, he offers you a look. A measured look that’s filled with everything he wants to give, an excitement in his warm brown eyes that you can’t wait to see more of. But it’s shrouded in a gentle reservation with gaps only visible to you. Soft smiles for you. Loving touches for you. A beacon in storms that brew seemingly out of nowhere just for you.

He leans forward and brushes his lips against your forehead, a safe place where he can take some part of you while you heal. But you’d like more. So you tilt your head for him, soaking the warmth from his lips that press against yours softly.

Suddenly, your worries, your dark thoughts, your misery that you let keep you beneath your blankets for days all smoothed over from his touch. Satiated until those maggots in your mind wiggle to life again when they’re hungry.

“Marcus didn’t give a rose to Janine.” He says casually as he draws back to his side and turns on the TV, nonchalant as if he didn’t just spend the evening putting you back together with gentle hands and quiet love.

You relax into his side, looking at his arm with teary eyes as he rests it on the couch behind you, offering a blanket of comfort and safety that you haven’t had in a long time.

“Gojo spoiled it,” Nanami continues, grumbling and annoyed at the two syllables of Gojo’s name touching his tongue. He blows at his spoon of soup, eyes locked on the screen, his sharp features colored with flickering blues and reds.

He notices your stillness—of course, he notices—and offers you another kiss on your cheek before turning back to the show.

“I’ll steal his kikufuku as punishment,” you offer, arm shaking with the gentle chuckle he gives in response.

The soup steams in your hands, your hair soft and braided, your body worshiped and clean, Nanami’s heartbeat permeable beneath his clothes as you sink into him and sip your delicious soup.

For the first time in years, you know when the world feels heavy, he’ll be able to lift that weight off of you before it buries you away.

[theminecraftbee]

I did things and it didn’t work. I knocked on doors and handed out flyers and got people to vote. It all meant nothing. I’m exhausted.

first: for what it's worth i don't think it was for nothing. if nothing else, it means that you and the people you worked with tried. that you cared enough to do that. i don't know. i think we'd all be even more upset if no one had done it.

second: when i say "do something" i don't mean it as a moral imperative, as to imply you haven't done something. a lot of us have done something. i mean it for your own sake. from experience: i wanted to die the most in my life when i could not find anything to do about my situation. when i felt like there was nothing i could "do something" about. i felt helpless. right now, it's easy to feel helpless. the "do something" commandment is that if you find something to do, even if it's not much, you're going to escape that pit of despair.

third: the thing you "do", frankly, doesn't have to be what you've been doing. if you hate the dems right now or feel abandoned by the things you did, change what you're doing. maybe what you need right now is something like "driving fruit to your local food kitchen", even if that feels very, very small in the wake of everything, because it's something you can do that you will be able to see measurable impacts for. your "do" can be to bring soup to your siblings. your "do" can be to go over to a friend's and hug them. your "do" can be as simple as a donation. you don't have to be firing on all cylinders, and you don't have to do something big that will fix everything right now. trying to hard to focus on that will just lead to more despair. it's more about the doing.

four: a thing i've done for a long time that's helped me when i feel helpless is make a list of things i CAN do. that way, even if i'm too tired right now to do them, i know i can. when i feel like i am trapped, i have a list. i can follow the list. i know there are actions i can take. i know that i haven't exhausted everything yet.

five: "do something" is a long-term proposition. for now it is fine if you simply need to lie down and rest. the key is just not to lie down to die.

six: because it's not over. it never has been. it never will be. it never is. the trial never ends, whether we win or lose. kinda sucks sometimes! but it's also what is, and it means there's always more that can be done as well. even when it seems like there's not.

[strawberrystepmom]

bnha ending fix it fic. healing!tomura who goes by tenko x f!reader. reader has a defined quirk (magnetism) and is referred to using the nickname sparkles. | word count: 2.3k reading time: 8 minutes

When a knock echoes through your small apartment, you’re up and running to the door before you are even oriented enough to figure out what’s going on.

You fell asleep at your desk. Again. Probably slumped over halfway through the last audit you vaguely remember working on which was for the Ingenium agency. It’s easy to lose track of time when you spend it stapled to your tablet and work bench, fretting over how to make the country you now call home safer. 

A second knock rings and you groan softly, stepping toward the door as fast as you can in a half awake and partially dressed state. Your tank top straps sag off of your shoulders, one of your socks has disappeared but there’s no time to search for it.

The door is in view. You twist the lock to unlatch it, pulling the door open. Blinking to adjust your eyes, they widen before you can think.

“Tenko?”

The dark haired man stands in front of you, clad in a hooded sweatshirt and dark colored sweatpants indicating he likely just got off patrol alongside Deku. There’s still around 6 months until he’s released from the fellow hero’s watchful eyes to act on his own though the prior 6 passed far more quickly than he expected. It turns out this hero stuff isn’t so bad.

He won’t meet your eyes, hands shoved into his pockets, obviously chewing the inside of his cheek. 

“Are you okay?” You ask in a rush, opening the door wider to invite him in. 

His eyes further avert their gaze toward something that must be very interesting on the corner of your building. He shifts his weight from foot to foot, awkwardly. 

“I, uh…is this a bad time?”

Shaking your head, you wave your hand over the space created so that he can enter the practical hovel you call home. He doesn’t look at you while he slips inside, careful not to touch you in any way as he passes, practically melding with the wall. 

“I hate to ask again since clearly you aren’t,” you begin once his back has turned and he’s slowly started making his way toward your workbench stationed in the living room. “But are you okay? Did something happen?”

There’s no response for a beat. The man clears his throat, looking over his shoulder before quickly averting his face forward again. 

“You’re…I thought maybe I interrupted something since you’re barely dressed.”

You look down to realize you’re wearing nothing on your lower half but your scandalously small underwear. There’s no sense in making a big deal out of it so you shrug although he can’t see it, padding back into the main living area to join him. 

“I mean, I was asleep but you didn’t interrupt that because I would have been up in a little bit anyway.”

Stopping, you take a moment to admire the outline of him illuminated by your desk lamp, the strenuous routine required by a hero clearly doing him some good as far as you can tell. His hair is healthy, his frame is broad, and he turns his face to look over his shoulder at you once again. 

“I’m alright though.”

Smiling at his confirmation that everything is as it should be, you pick your pace back up and slide into your stool while he leans against the side of your bench. You engage your quirk, Magnetism, as a reflex and a stray bolt sticks to your arm. 

The faintest hint of a smile comes across his face, now turned downward in your direction. You disengage your quirk with a sigh, the sound of metal dropping back down to metal accompanying it. The screen on your tablet lights up when you look down at it, the time across it in large white numbers. 

2:15 AM.

“I can see why you were worried you’d interrupted something, these are booty call hours after all.” 

You joke, twisting back and forth on the stool and looking up at him through your lashes. 

“So are you here for business or pleasure, Entropy?”

He’s too used to that look, full of appraisal and perhaps a bit of interest, but he never wants to read too much into it. Especially not right now while you’re scantily clad, an eyeful of what lies under your shirt no more than a simple shift in glance away, and indiscriminately running your mouth.

Tenko looks away, cheeks warming. Hands that were buried deep in his pockets are now tucked into the crook of the opposite arm where they’re folded over his chest. 

He has visited your apartment multiple times since the first night he formally met you at Izuku’s. The pair of heroes stop by when they’re in the neighborhood or come by to chat if they’re off patrol, usually being joined by Deku’s girlfriend if she can be pulled away from her clinical studies for long enough to come and giggle for a couple hours. 

“I had some issues with my gear tonight and wanted to have you look at it.”

It’s the worst excuse possible but it’s the best one he could come up with on the fly. 

“Oh. You should’ve just said so,” you continue to mutter to yourself while unlocking your tablet. 

Truthfully, he has no idea why he’s here. Some pull in his chest told him to go the opposite direction when walking home to clear his head so he followed it, landing right at your doorstep and standing outside of the door, too anxious to knock, for longer than he’d ever admit. 

Scrolling through the diagnostics app, you gnaw at your bottom lip and jiggle your sockless foot. You squint at the screen because he knows you need glasses and don’t have them on, probably due to the abruptness of his visit. There are all these little things about you that become impossible to ignore when it’s just the two of you.

“Ah! There you are. Let’s see.” You excitedly sing, while wiggling your fingers. He watches with a smile, so soft he may even just be imagining the feeling of it in his facial muscles.

Everything about you makes him feel…inexplicable. 

The unfortunate truth that he doesn’t know how to face is that your place has become one he associates with safety and warmth, something the grown man four years your senior fears he’ll always seek out no matter how distant Tomura becomes from who he is now. 

Tonight wasn’t a hard night but he didn’t want to be alone, pacing until adrenaline finally slowed down and let him sleep.

How unlike him. 

You hum and continue to orate to yourself, squinting at charts he couldn’t even pretend to get. How you manage to do all of this, accurately, safely, and without breaking a sweat, is truly amazing. 

“It says everything is fine. Can you tell me what issues you were having?” 

Sitting up, you fold your arms over your chest and swing back and forth on the stool. He watches you turn small half circles, realizing he may have been caught. Smiling up at him, you raise a brow. 

“My wrist cuffs felt tighter than usual I guess but that might not be an issue you can fix,” he mumbles, trying to explain himself in any way that he can to cover his lie. 

Rather than torture him by forcing him to dig this little hole he’s found himself in deeper, you change the subject. 

“Have you eaten tonight?” You ask, brow quirked. 

He shakes his head. It was a busy shift and he doesn’t have a lovely girlfriend at home to make bentos with him like Deku does and he managed all evening on the half assed late lunch he packed for himself that was mostly made up of the type of shit he used to eat when he was still Tomura. It’s hard to learn to take care of yourself. 

“Alright. Let me see what I can find to make.” 

You stand, walking into the kitchen. Glancing over your shoulder, it’s hard not to get caught up in how intimate this feels. Your face warms and so does your belly, floored by how handsome Tenko really is in that low light that envelops his profile. 

There’s no way your work would’ve failed him tonight. It means too much that it works well

“Next time, come up with a better excuse. Or just text me and tell me you wanna come over.”

You confirm that he has been caught, literally and figuratively. He debates showing himself the exit but instead follows you into the kitchen. There’s no point in backing away now. His heavy footsteps echo after yours while you dig through the fridge and continue to hum, bopping your head along to a completely made up song. 

“Can I ask you something?”

Glancing over your shoulder while pulling out a carton of tofu, you nod at his question. He keeps his eyes as averted as he can, floored by how exposed you are now that you’re not in a dimly lit room, and clears his throat.

“Why do they call you Sparkles? Is it a hero name or something?”

Snorting, you shake your head and shut the fridge. Making your way to the counter that he leans against, you look up at him and slowly start to get to work while contemplating how to best answer the question.

“I’m surprised the Midoriya’s haven’t told you that story,” you joke about Izuku and his girlfriend as one, despite the formality of marriage not yet being completed. 

“I’ve never really asked them.”

Tenko has asked Izuku many other questions about you, namely about the nature of your friendship with Lemillion and how close you two really are.

“They just like each other’s attention,” Deku comforted his unlikely friend with a pat on the back the last time the entire group of you went out and Tenko watched the blonde man hug you a little too tightly. 

But beyond that, he has managed to feel you out himself. Perhaps against his better judgment and here he is again, desperate to learn a little more. 

“Well when I was a third year my final project to graduate from the support course was a glitter bomb.” 

You finally start, finishing chopping one item and moving onto the next. 

Graduation came not long after the Meta War ended. The project was something you’d worked tirelessly on for months before that, a sophisticated piece of equipment with a state of the art fireless ignition. Safety has always been the reason you wanted to invent and this was a golden opportunity to invent something that had no possible chance of hurting its user. No backfiring, no risk. 

“Honestly, nobody really found the invention that funny except for me given, you know…” you wave your knifeless hand around and raise your eyebrows hoping he gets the message without being insulted. 

Tenko tilts his head to the side, unfolding his arms and bracing them on the edge of the countertop. He picks up what you mean and doesn’t wish to pull the thread, eyes darting from his feet to your hand and back.

“But long story short, Hatsume told me once that they are still cleaning glitter out of the 3A classroom carpets and now everyone calls me Sparkles. I ended up selling the schematics to the support item manufacturer that one of my other classmates works for so it worked out.”

The lack of response worries you although it’s a bit silly to care in the first place. You don’t want his presence to be impermanent but you know that once his time trailing Deku around like a puppy is through, it’s likely he’ll never stop by again. It’s something you’ve kind of resigned yourself to over the last several months after finding yourself a little too invested in what you can do to bring a smile to that handsome face that looks a little more lively every day.

That’s a concern for a few months from now. You’ve always prided yourself on the ability to live in the moment so here you are, choosing to ignore an uncertain future to embrace what’s right next to you.

With an exaggerated sigh, you gather up a pile of green onions with the back of your hand and look up at him with a wry half smile. “Why did you think they called me Sparkles?”

Shrugging, he smiles down at you.

“Guess I always thought it was because of your personality.” 

Biting back a smile, your cheeks warm while you drop the tofu and a bunch of sauces into a now hot pan. 

“You really think I sparkle?”

Chuckling, he lifts himself away from the counter and walks to your other side to gently shake the handle of the frying pan. 

“I think there’s no way you don’t already know that about yourself.”

No sense in arguing with a man who is right. Giggling, you reach for the frying pan handle and gently shove him with your shoulder.

“Hey, you’re my guest. Let me handle it.”

Side stepping, he finds himself looking downward at the slope of your back and once again at your very visible derrière. That same ache that led him to your front door returns, his mouth drying out as he realizes it. 

Why does he feel comfortable enough to stand here? Is progress, improvement even, supposed to feel this terrifying?

“Go sit down Ten,” you nod toward the living area with a smile. “I can handle it.”

Ten.

It has been a long time since someone he considered a friend called him that. He doesn’t recall anyone he’d ever considered more than saying it. 

“And what if I stay right here?” He asks, smiling when you look over your shoulder at him again. 

Is he flirting with you?

“Then I won’t stop you.”

[sirfrogsworth]

Now what?

Whenever I see Trump my brain thinks of my mom and I feel angry about how she died. I have PTSD and I'm actually in the process of seeking out a therapist to address it.

And until I can get some help, I guess I'm just going to feel that anger for a while. I was really hoping I wouldn't have to see or think of him again.

This is pretty bad. And it is really scary. And I hate that one man is capable of causing so much fear and anxiety among the people I care about.

I guess there is one thought I am trying to hold onto.

I recently talked about chronic illness and the "new normal." As illness progresses you sometimes have to accept a new normal and learn to adjust and adapt to it. And every time I was faced with a new normal I was convinced I could not adjust or adapt. But every time I figured it out and found a way to keep going.

I think we will adapt because we have to. We will fight because we have to. But we will need each other to get through this.

Look to your allies. Your friends and your trusted family. Keep those relationships healthy. Do the work to maintain them. Prioritize building and sustaining a personal support system over everything else. Do your part when they need help. Keep in regular contact. Keep the emotional labor as reciprocal and balanced as possible. And don't be afraid to tell them when you feel overburdened. Keep communication healthy so you both feel comfortable expressing hard truths. Open up to them so they feel trusted and make sure they feel comfortable doing the same with you. Try not to lean on one single person too much as they might get overwhelmed.

But also remember to enjoy your friendships. They are not there just to be your therapist. (An *actual* therapist is a good idea if it is feasible.) It's important to laugh and waste time together. Shoot the shit and bond over mutual interests. Or introduce them to your interests and teach them why you love what you love. Ask them about their interests and even if you don't completely get it, be happy that something makes your friend happy.

If you feel like you don't have a support system or it is severely diminished like mine, you'll have to do the work to seek out new people. I'm in that process now after losing my parents. And trust me, I know it isn't easy. I am really struggling to connect to new people. It takes a lot of energy and I haven't had a lot of energy to spare. But I know it is what I will need to help me adapt to the new normal. So I'm going to put in the effort and figure it out. I encourage you to do the same.

You will not connect with every new person. That's okay. Remember this is a process and it takes time. And don't beat yourself up if building your support system is slow going. If nothing else, you are learning and growing and developing tools to help you on this journey.

This community has been so kind to me. You all are a part of my support system. And I feel very lucky to have you in my corner. I love you and I care for you. I'm going to try my best to advocate for what you need. Helping others is another way to keep moving forward. A righteous sense of purpose is a powerful tool in the face of a new normal.

Please take care of yourselves as best you can.

Find your people if you haven't already.

Or find *more* people if you don't have enough.

You are in my thoughts.

[macaiv]

Esteban when asked about mental health and the importance of support in the Fórmula Latina Interview:

Yes, it is obviously not an easy topic.

It's difficult to be on the spotlight and have that much pressure, day in, day out. When you perform, everything is going super well. But when you have tough days, everyone's hitting on you.

And that's Formula One. And there's only 20 seats and it is normal that this is the case. But what has been very important for me is to count on the people that are there. It doesn't matter what the results are. You know, my team around me, my family, my girlfriend, all these people are going to be there, it doesn't matter what's going on. And to try and be in that bubble, which is a comfort bubble and just come out of it when you are racing and come back in again. That's probably the best way, to not get impacted from the people that can be difficult to you at times.

And yeah, obviously, social media can be a tough world as well. And yeah, it's important to, as I said, take the positive because it's easy as well to see only the negative because the negative makes more noise.

But there's a lot of people out there that wish me well, I got a lot of supporters in Mexico, I've seen it this year, the support has been amazing. And everyone on the world as well. And you can think, there's only negative sometimes, but it is not true.

The people are still there and supporting and they are fighting the one that hates and that is very nice to see, obviously.

[thrashkink-coven]

Okay here’s the hard part.

I think a lot about that guy, so called Jesus, and his philosophy of radical forgiveness and empathy. For a long time I thought that was just a line abusers use to force their victims to forgive them (AND IT IS)

But! I also think about Lucifer and the things he taught me regarding the concept of hell. If I was the ruler of hell and I had to manage all these terrible people, what would I do? Torture them? Give them endless suffering so they feel guilty? Do to them what they did to others so they can understand how bad it feels?

Latinos who voted for Trump, oh you disappoint me, but no, I don’t want you to be deported. Women who voted for Trump, *sigh*, no, I don’t want to see you get an ectopic pregnancy or carry your dead baby. No I do not want all those conservative gays to lose their right to marriage. And no, I don’t even want all of those fucked up fascist nazi racists to die.

It would be SO satisfying to see them get what they deserve, right?

God, I’m so sick of being apart of a species that loves to conquer. We bleed, they win, they bleed, we win. I’m sick of patching wounds. All I see is hellfire.

My friend Taylor Mcnallie is facing fraudulent charges because of an altercation that happened while she was protesting in Calgary. The bitch of a cop who assaulted her not only received no punishment, she got a fucking promotion. I remember during one of Taylor’s speeches someone said something like “I hope she gets arrested and goes to jail,” and Taylor said, “I don’t hope she goes to jail. Jail shouldn’t exist. I just want her to get fired and apologize. That’s all I want.”

Pacifism, true pacifism, like the kind that guy preached about, doesn’t mean laying down and accepting every terrible thing assholes do to you with a smile. It means taking away their ability to harm without harming them yourself. Eliminating the evil without becoming evil. Punching nazis does not make you a nazi, but praying for the death and destruction of people, human beings, because you hate them as much as they hate you? *sigh*

The hardest part about this whole radical empathy thing, is the fact that I cannot even wish harm upon those who want me dead. Isn’t that funny? That literal neo nazi, yeah, I hope he has shelter. Fuck I hope that rapist still eats tonight. I hope he feels shame until the day he dies, but I don’t hope he gets raped in prison. I don’t even want him in prison to be honest, I want him to be cared for, and I want his ability to do harm stripped away.

“Even if he hurts a child?”

God damn it, yes. I can’t add more suffering into the world, even if it is inflicted upon the people I’d love to hate most. I want to take away his power to do evil, I want everyone to know what kind of person he is and the terrible things he does so they can keep themselves safe… and then I want him to be safe.

I want all those terfs to have clean drinking water. I know they hate my guts, ugh, it is what it is. But praying that they experience the pain they’ve caused me, hoping that they die or suffer only makes me more like them.

WHICH SUCKS. This way of thinking is NOT satisfying AT ALL!!! Being vindictive and petty is FUN and it FEELS GOOD!!! That’s why it’s so fucking easy, and that’s why we keep eating each other over and over again.

Having said all of this, we should definitely bring back the guillotine lmao. I’m not saying that we should be super nice to people who are trying to kill us, do fight back. If the people need to kill their oppressors to be free then, hey, I’m not going to tell them they’re wrong for that. This isn’t a “we should all hug and sing kumbaya together! Kindness is always the way!!!” take. If the only way to bring death to the empire is to bring death to its owners, then so be it. Do so in the way that produces the least amount of degradation to your soul.

But wishing natural disasters on Texas, hoping that that racist woman’s parents get deported, out of spite and hatred… what are they doing to you? What are you doing to yourself?

Humanity is disgusting, truly truly abhorrent. I want to be able to look at us and embrace us with acceptance of that. Every single fucking terrible person on this earth deserves liberty, life, and freedom. Even when you spit in my face and hurt the people I love, damn it, I won’t hurt you. I see you as a rabid animal that needs to be sedated and slowly acclimated to compassion. And I will keep trying, even if you never learn. I can’t give up on humanity.

This is the most important and the hardest part. I’m not telling you to forgive, forgiveness is for you. If it doesn’t serve you, don’t forgive. But don’t let people without humanity kill the humanity that exists within you. Don’t let hatred fester in your soul. You’re allowed to be mad, hell, you should be furious. Let that fury keep you warm, but do not become a monster too.

To all you stupid fucking fascist pieces of shit, I hope you get exactly what you deserve. And what you deserve is not death, pain or suffering. It’s self reflection and growth, guilt and humility. As much as I would enjoy seeing you hurt, I refuse to become like you. And damn it I love you, I love every human being on this planet. I love you so much that I cannot become you. I love you so fucking much that I will continue to fight for your rights even when you’re trying to take mine away. and I hate that I love you like this, but I can’t stop.

So I will stop you.

- James Baldwin

[a-loose-collection-of-ants]

Ok. Shit.

I get the feeling I'm not gonna sleep tonight, and who knows, I might regret this tomorrow but I need to get some thoughts out.

I've tried to retain this idea that most people are inherently good. Some of this is the remnants of whatever religious faith I was brought up in, and some of it is just what I tell myself to stay sane. It's getting harder to think that way, but I am trying to hold on to it.

There's this image I keep replaying in my head. My dad and I were visiting family down south shortly after he had wrapped up his cancer treatment. We stopped by my aunt's house in South Carolina, and she told me with tears in her eyes about how she had started gardening again after my dad's diagnosis. There was a Trump flag flying from her roof.

On another visit to the same family members, we were visiting a college and walked by a gender neutral bathroom. My uncle made some off-color joke about it and then quickly moved on when nobody laughed. My sister (a sort of closeted trans woman) looked at me with an expression of both deep sadness, and whatever face you make when you watch a bird fly head-first into a window.

My point is, I know these people aren't filled with hatred and malice. It's not constructive to waste your energy hating them when their greatest sin is ignorance.

I barely remember the Obergerfell decision, but I remember being in middle school around the time it happened. Attitudes towards queer people weren't great, but they changed so rapidly that I barely noticed. Maybe the fact that this was when I realized I was queer gave me a false sense of security when it came to the "moral arc of the universe", or maybe it's the example I have to hold onto about how fast things can change.

It's easy for people to fall into patterns of hate when they lack exposure, and the media landscape right now is making easier to avoid that sort of exposure. The basis of the fight against extremism is education, and I think it has to also be compassion.

Don't get me wrong, I also have family that are more than likely not worth the effort ("they" control the weather and all that), but those aren't most people. Most people are exhausted by politics. They see the price of groceries and vote for the other guy regardless of who's name is on the ballot. Or they're like a classmate of mine, who didn't really like either candidate and was having trouble just voting for the "better" one.

If anything, I guess this is a reminder to myself to hold on to empathy despite everything. It's fine to feel angry. Hell, it's probably good if it gets you moving. But we cannot respond to dehumanization with more dehumanization.

I'm not really all that religious anymore, but I hold on to some things. One of them is this: All things, by virtue of being crafted by God's hands, have value. Or, as my dad said it "God don't make no shit". This goes for yourself, as well as everyone else. I can't let myself lose that right now.

I don't want to belabor my point too much, but I do want to say that I saw people saying things like "it's all over if trump wins". I'm not going to lie, it's bad and people are going to get hurt and die because of this. America was waiting for the results of it's biopsy and we found out it's cancer... but we're not dead yet. I don't have a specific action I can advocate for, but please, don't give up. Authoritarianism is a longstanding wound on this country and it festers in apathy.

Take a deep breath. Regardless of what happens, time moves forward and the sun will rise in the morning. I am going to go to work, make some dinner, and hopefully find some way to work volunteering into my schedule.

Recommended listening if you want to cry right now

[dookiecurly]

this is gonna be specific just hear me out okay this came to me in a vision +good for writing motivation or practice or whatever

imagine reader is some famous celebrity singer actor whatever and they go on the ship for whatever reason..maybe they really like space or something idk

how would they all act towards them?? would the way theyre treated get changed from their popularity?? 😳😳😳…?i cant imagine jimmy or curly acting too different towards them but daisuke maybe?? hes a fan idk im just thinking…

I'd imagine reader got on the ship because they wanted to experience space.... And because they paid lots for it.

Both before and after crash hc >∆<

Reader death not specified

Yes there's Jimmy, he's the tw

Curly

Before-Crash:

- Confused why Pony Express gave this.. celebrity.. permission to get on a cargo spaceship.

- Tries to be nice. He doesn't act like those ppl that are super excited to meet a popular person. To him, you're just another human.

- But of course, if you make a mistake on the ship he'll go a little easy on you. He assumes you probably didn't get much.. training.

- You're his responsibility as well now! But he also is probably too busy to give you a tour of the ship, he'll ask one of the others. ( Definitely not Jimmy or Swansea. )

- If he's interested in you..... I guess, small flirts when he's off the clock. He takes responsibility!

- Compliments your work if he's a fan.

After-Crash:

- Curly feels embarrassed, and even more embarrassed if he's interested in you.

- At some point, thinks you'll come back to earth and tell everyone what happened and how bad he is at being a captain. Plus, destroying Pony Express's name that MIGHT land a lawsuit.

- During all the........ Deaths, he felt bad that a person that shouldn't even be connected to all this is paying the untold price of going on the ship with them

- Probably wanted to kill himself when he was brought to the table and saw all those corpses!!

Swansea

Before-Crash:

- Doesn't give a shit

- Probably treats you JUST like Daisuke but is a little less aggressive..

- Actually, I think he thinks you're a liability and dislikes you because you're just a rich piece of shit that thinks they can do wtv they want

- Might MIGHT complain and say that you're a liability when something bad happens

- If he's interested in you, you probably remind him of his wife by appearance LMFAO, I'm just kidding I'm not funny.

- If he's interested in you, he'll treat you a little nicer.

- I don't think he'll be a fan..... Unless you're like, Shelly Duval or Frank Sinatra or something. (RIP SHELLY DUVAL AND FRANK SINTRA I LOVE YALL)

- Won't say he's a fan though.

After-Crash:

- I have a gut feeling that he'll act like those drunk adults that go like, “Isn't this how you teenagers do it? WOO!" But like in a "Aint this how you people do it in Hollywood?”

- Says you should get less food because you dont do work around the ship. Won't say this if... He's interested, or only if he's drunk and mad or mad.

- If you die before him, he'll feel a little guilty like he does with Daisuke. I don't know if it's a lot of guilt, but enough guilt.

Daisuke

Before-Crash:

- FUCKING ECSTATIC.

- Wants a picture, and a signature. Treats you special because you're a celebrity.

- Uses his free time to be your friend. If he's interested in you, hes gonna try to impress you with his intern task (Swansea fucking hates it).

- Brings you to fuck around in the ship because I'll assume that you're about the same age, or you at least have the same age mentality.

- If he's a fan, he's way worse/better. Your decision.

After-Crash:

- Once again, if hes interested in you, he tries to be your big prince charming. When they start rationing the food, he gives you more

- I don't know if he'll prioritise you because you're a celebrity, but he tries.

- Tries to cheer you up when things get bad

- If you die before him, he kinda just............ Guilt. Yeah, thats all. Kinda feels like he didn't help enough.

Jimmy

Before-Crash:

- Thinks you're a liability 2.0

- Doesn't respect you

- Thinks you're a bitch because your life is better than his on Earth

- Probably.... JUST PROBABLY, daydreams about doing things to you so he can 'humble' you. Likes the thought of such a loved and respected person gets humiliated.

- If he's interested in you.... He'll have worse thoughts.

- Probably complains about you, in front of you.

- Not a fan, doesn't like the internet.

After-Crash:

- Now thinks youre... Still the biggest liability of the ship. In fact, you're the worst of the worst.

- Says you should get less food because you don't do any work 2.0

- If you die before him... Awesome! Doesn't care. Won't spare you even if hes interested, but cares.

- Gets married to your corpse, AGAIN I'M KIDDING. Doesn't strike me as a person who'd get married unless it benefits him, actually nevermind, go read Jambalaya Enthusiast's fic about Reader in the film industry in Jambalaya Enthusiast's Masterlist.

Anya

Before-Crash:

- Might be curious?

- She'll be nice >u<

- Yeah, she's probably the one giving you a tour!

- Anya will be a little concerned that a person like you is on the ship. In a way that she's concerned that a person who doesn't have any training is on the ship.

- She'll be glad to help you with anything, like motion sickness.

- If she's interested, she'll try to do little gestures for you. I think her love language is acts of something something, I forgot.

After-Crash:

- Anya doesn't really want you to come into the medbay and look at Curly.

- She gets super nauseous, so she doesn't want you to get super nauseous in an unfamiliar and stressing environment.

- Perhaps will give you a little of her food with you. I feel like Jimmy has engraved into her brain that she's not a good enough nurse, so she thinks she doesn't deserve the food she eats ( because Swansea and Jimmy say you don't deserve the food. )

- Comfort her, she's dying in her thoughts and wants to go to the medicine supply.......

- If you die before her, she will actually start spiralling.

[bluerose5]

I'm writing this because a) it's my blog, I can do whatever the hell I want and b) I've been seeing such an increase of these types of posts on my dash and for the website/app that preaches that they're about "community", some of y'all are pretentious as fuck when it comes to fandom.

Why am I seeing all these damn posts lowkey belittling people, whether it be in a "joking" sense or otherwise, about how they do fandom? Then the OPs wanna cry in the replies about how they didn't mean it that way when people address it, and some of these posts go completely unchallenged as well. And the fact that so many people are reblogging these posts is so discouraging! Y'all, I hate to tell you but just because you headcanon things for this reason over another, just because you stick to a certain amount of canon compared to others, or you characterize so and so character based off of these specific bits of canon, oooo it's so "in-character"... Say it with me now, THAT DOES NOT MAKE YOU A BETTER FAN IN ANY INHERENT SENSE.

These posts have been veiling these sentiments under joking tones or by specifically trying to make it a preference thing, but there is often an air of superiority to them that is so easy to see, especially as a writer. I cannot stress this enough. STOP ALIENATING YOUR FAN CREATORS BY SUGGESTING ONE METHOD OF FANDOM IS INFERIOR TO OTHERS. If it's not hurting anyone, then be supportive. Now, of all times, is not when we should be tearing others down with these slick ass remarks, thinking y'all actually did something with those posts. And if anyone reading this feels guilty or defensive about what I said for some reason or another, then evaluate why that is and how you can do better to support your fandom creators better.

To any creators who need to hear this, write that crackfic, write that ship with no interaction, write that crossover. Get silly with it, and just write it, no matter what the haters say! I remember when I was younger and just started reading fanfiction, some of my favorite indulgent fics were those where the cast of characters would read the book/watch the movie/interact with their chosen media they were from. Those fics got me through hard times, and I loved the author's notes where the writers spoke with the characters. Point is, don't let anyone take your fun, magic, and joy out of fandom. Don't let them convince you that what you do is somehow lesser or "cringe" because you're having a good time. Somewhere, someone out there is your target audience and they're more than grateful for what you do! 💙

[iitsarss]

╰ㅤ₊ㅤ๋࣭ㅤreader x gr13f3r　 old friend　᠀

ꔛ word count: 834 or smth⠀╱⠀established friendship (?) 。

(¬_¬")⠀⠀⠀note ⠀╱⠀kms yall ive been soo unmotivated + school be kicking my ass,, plus not been on my best recently. request for anon hope u dislike it!!/J no but actually sorry this is shit,, I like making griefer a nervous mess that’s cute..anyways byee

When his dad had said, “We’re going to visit an old friend,” Griefer thought they’d end up at some elderly guy’s house, maybe some high school buddy his dad hadn’t seen in years. What he didn’t expect was to walk in and see… you.

He stood there, staring at you, frozen for a couple of seconds. And then he realized you were staring right back, which somehow made it worse. Awkward. But he couldn’t look away. Those eyes… you’d changed a lot since he’d last seen you. The quiet kid he remembered was gone, and in their place was someone he barely recognized but felt he’d known forever.

Your mom was still as sweet as ever, just like he remembered, chatting away with his dad like they’d never stopped. Even when you all sat down in the living room, they kept on, talking and laughing like they had endless stories to catch up on. Occasionally, your mom would ask Griefer a question or two, and he’d stammer out a reply, nerves on edge. And when his dad and your mom got up to make some tea, leaving the two of you alone in the room, the silence grew thick. It felt impossible to start a conversation—it was never this hard before.

Memories flooded back. You two had met when you were just six years old. He’d liked you right from the start; you were a good friend, someone he could count on to sit with at school, to meet up with after class. He remembered the way you’d climb trees together, daring each other to go higher. He remembered how you’d get quiet and a little shy whenever he brought his friends around. He remembered you almost getting expelled together on the first day of high school.

But what he remembered most was not wanting to let you go the day you left. You’d both cried, clinging to each other as you got in the car to leave town, and he could still feel the ache from that day, the hollow feeling that settled in his chest. You hadn’t told him why you were leaving, but he knew you were going to miss him just as much as he was going to miss you.

It had taken him a long time to get used to you being gone. And now here you were, right in front of him again. Taking a deep breath, he finally blurted out, “S0? H0W’VE Y0U BEEN..?”

The words tumbled out awkwardly, and he immediately cursed himself. Was that too casual? Should he have said something else? Something deeper? But his internal ranting stopped the moment you answered with a simple, “Fine.”

"Fine?" he thought. Was that a “fine!” with excitement, or just a flat “fine”? Damn, he was overthinking every little thing, and he hated it. But then the conversation found its rhythm, and soon, he was laughing with you again like no time had passed at all. He forgot how easy it was to talk to you, how natural it felt. He told you about his life—maybe not the whole Venomshank thing, and he left out the endless hours gaming—but he filled you in on enough to say he was “doing fine.” And he listened to your stories, dropping little jokes here and there just to make you laugh. God, he’d missed that laugh, the way it lifted at the edges, the way your smile always seemed to reach your eyes, making them light up.

Before he knew it, hours had passed. Time flew by with you, and he barely realized he had to leave until your mom was gently ushering everyone out the door. But, luck was on his side: she’d arranged to meet again next week.

Later, as he sat on the stairs that led to your house, you sat beside him, still smiling from the day. “IT’S B33N- UH, G00D T4LKING TO Y0U, Y’KN0W? W3 SH0ULD S33 EACH 0TH3R MOR3 0FT3N.”

You chuckled, giving him a playful look. “You missed me, huh? I missed you, too.” He felt his throat go dry at that, coughing to hide his embarrassment as he looked away.

“Y34H… 1 DID. M1SS3D MY FR13ND.”

...

When Griefer finally got back home after the long drive, he went straight to his room, kicked off his shoes, jacket, and shirt, and crashed onto his bed. He lay there, staring up at the ceiling, replaying the day in his mind. He’d had so much fun, laughed more than he had in months. He’d missed that—missed you. Maybe he’d forgotten just how much he’d liked you back then.

As his thoughts drifted into more dangerous, cheesy territory, he rolled over, burying his face in his pillow, kicking his feet a little like an embarrassed kid. The feeling was undeniable, and it made his heart beat a little faster. He missed you—he really missed you.

And he knew it, especially from the way his heart skipped a beat every time he pictured your smile.

[13th-floor-in-moonstone]

My mom came into my room this morning before I'd crawled out once, just to see how I'm doing with the results, ask about it, and she sat down beside me, and barely managed an "I'm sorry, squishy." before she started crying for me. She told me how easy it is to get your passport, how I can put whatever gender I want on there, and said that one of her friends sent money for me to do it.

I've rarely seen or heard about her crying. I can count on one hand the number of times I've seen or heard about her crying.

The first was when my dad was trying to take me away from her, I heard her crying but didn't know if I should go up the stairs the rest of the way, so I didn't.

The second was when we all heard that David Bowie died. I don't remember if I was just told she cried then or if I caught a glimpse.

The third was when I told her I was suicidal at the time. She hugged me as close as she could and cried for me then too, much like she did today.

The fourth was when we heard that Sakurai Atsushi died. I didn't see her cry, I wasn't awake yet, but my grandma commented that the last time she saw my mom cry like that was over David Bowie.

And now today. Today she cried and clung to me and tried to comfort me when my only thought was how I could comfort her.

This shouldn't happen. Parents shouldn't sit there crying for their children who will be hurt by others' hate and lack of action.

No one should fear for their loved ones' safety after an election.

[a-bad-case-of-the-stephs]

THIS!!! The fact that Steph repeatedly instantly jumps to cheating whenever she gets weird vibes from Tim isn’t random. she’s not like being absolutely crazy. Her trust issues are a genuinely unhealthy pattern of behavior with her, but a pattern nonetheless and a pattern worth examining from her point of view . As you mentioned, Stephs utter lack of good men in her life absolutely plays a role in this. I also totally believe a huge factor in this is Stephs self esteem.

There’s actually good evidence for this reading.

Way back during Stephs pregnancy arc (long pained sigh), when Tim has to move out of Gotham and he says goodbye to Steph.

She insuates that she would understand if Tim had cheated on her, due to how "disgusting" she feels she has become.This is so deeply sad, but also important. It’s a great example of how Stephanie Browns low self esteem seems to tie directly to her thoughts about being cheated on and left behind.

It also implies that someone cheating on her is something Stephanie finds acceptable to a degree, she gives Tim an easy out, she tells him that she understands why he might want someone else.

Robin #62

Importantly, All Tim says before this is that he's moving due to a personal decision. Steph immediately takes this to mean he found someone else and is leaving her. There is literally no pause between this conclusion and Tim's sentence, even once Tim explains that it's not a decision he made, her first and immediate thought is that he found someone else and is leaving her.

The swiftness that Steph arrives at this conclusion makes me think she's been cheated on before.

Even when Tim and her first get together there’s evidence for this. Like the literal VERY first thing Steph is talking about when she gets together with Tim is the hypothetical situation where he “runs off with supergirl”. She’s obviously joking, but this is a huge indicator of where he mind goes when she’s entering a romantic relationship.

Robin #56

I would not be surprised at all if she’s dealt with being cheated on before.

I’m with you that Tim is just not really too much at fault for how low grade toxic their relationship could be, it really seems like he tries his best, and while he doesn’t always stick up for her, he’s there for her in a lot of important moments and they can be cute together.

I don’t think their relationship was as big a push into war games and then Stephs death but I’m open to the idea. I can see where you’re going if we’re looking at The original reason we are given for Steph becoming robin, her anger at Tim for his “cheating” which was just a misunderstanding. However I personally hate the og explanation, I find it weaksauce and lame and it makes Stephs time in Robin all about Tim and her spurned romantic feelings, which is just less interesting to me. I tend to stick to the explanation we get in Batman: 15 Cent Adventure about why Steph wanted to become Robin.

I totally could do a deep look into how Stephs approval complex for Bruce comes about, because she was Not always like that, she didn’t always gaf what Batman thought about her. To me this need for approval is the main factor which kicks off both her tenure as Robin and then also the actual events of War Games. I also find it rly interesting lol. Thank you duskdog for your as always wonderful insights and info, Stephanie needs as many insane people willing to defend her on the internet as possible, and your service is definitely appreciated.

It’s been one of those days. It’s Time for me to violently defend stephanie brown on the internet beyond what should be considered reasonable or good.

I saw an older anti stephanie brown post which blamed Steph for Robin #87 (when Bruce reveals Tim's secret identity to Spoiler and offers to train her) and all the comments and reblogs and whatever were ragging Steph and it pissed me off and it made me sad so I'm going to break down why being mad at Stephanie for something Bruce Wayne did is insane, why Stephanie is genuinely in the right, and why having the same opinion as Alfred "boy mom" Pennyworth is embarrassing.

This ones gonna be more rambly and less analysis like than my other Steph posts for the record, I just kinda need to get this off my chest.

Let's break it down.

When Batman first brings Steph onto the team as Spoiler he tells Steph Tim's secret identity. When Tim finds out his secret was told to her, he freaks out. Tim's perspective is super understandable. He feels betrayed by Bruce, because he didn't even consult or ask Tim first, a clear betrayal of Tim's trust and the supposed equality of their partnership. Especially in light of how much Tim feels he has sacrificed to keep Bruce's secret.

But lets look at the situation from Stephanies perspective. Because she is just NOT at fault here.

Here are the facts: Stephanie is approached by Batman, who has in pretty much every interaction beforehand been cold and dismissive, and who she expects to tell her to quit being Spoiler again.

This man has only ever shown an ounce of approval towards Steph's vigilantism one time before this, for like one line in Stephs very first appearance. For him to be asking her for help sets off serious alarm bells. Steph is "really scared" when Batman asks for her help to find Robin.

Robin #84

Furthermore, its important we don't take Batman at his word here. Bruce is withholding information, something he does with Steph a LOT. He says "no one" knows where Tim is, and in Robin #87, he clarifies that Robins transmitter went dead.

Robin #87

"No one" is an exaggeration of epic proportions, given that Batman has not checked Tim's boarding school, or contacted Alfred, the location which it is overwhelmingly likely he is at, and the person who would be able to check extremely easily.

Robin #87

Because Bruce didn't want to go to Brentwood himself and run into Alfred, or have to speak to Alfred, on account of their fight in Officer Down, he sends Steph.

While the fear and worry Steph is portrayed with in Robin #84 doesn't really carry over to #87 (one of the numerous inconsistencies between these two issues) the fact of the matter is Steph is misled by Batman about the stakes of Tim being missing, which she is led to believe are much higher than they are.

In addition to this, Stephanie was under the impression that Tim was only ever holding back his secret ID soley because of Batman's wishes, that Tim was just waiting on Batman to change his mind.

Robin #56 #75 #82 #62

Tim will assert this is true later, and he certain says this is true beforehand.

If he's telling the truth, he doesn't have an issue with Steph knowing his identity. He has an issue with Batman telling her without checking with him first.

How is Steph supposed to infer this?

Steph has no reason to think it's important that Batman checks with Tim, because Tim has made it abundantly clear to her that he does want her to know but has just been waiting on Batman's approval.

Let's look how Steph acts when she meets Robin knowing his identity for the first time.

Robin #87

Steph enters the situation seeming to believe Tim will feel happy for her and relieved that their relationship no longer has to be as one sided as it has been. She still leaves room for Tim potentially having conflicted feelings, by mentioning she "hopes" that it's okay with Tim that she's finally on the main team. Tim, as mentioned early, freaks out.

Again, Tim's frustration is understandable. But let's look at Steph's dialogue for a second.

Robin #87

She says "we can be together now". This is weird and really interesting choice, because Tim and Steph have been dating for the entirety of No Man's Land and over the course of her entire pregnancy. This is a substantial amount of time. So what does Steph mean by "now"? There are two explantations.

Steph and Tim were not on speaking terms before this, because Steph was under the impression Tim had been cheating on her. He isn't cheating, but it surprisingly never gets resolved. Like the many other threads which were brought up in Robin #84, it gets completely ignored in Robin #87 and onward. Steph could be referring to the fact that she believes they couldn't be together because he was supposably cheating, but now that she knows his secret identity, he has no reason to cheat anymore. This is a super flimsy idea however, and given the fact that no character brings up how Steph believes Tim was cheating with Star after Robin #84, the logical conclusion is that it was either resolved off screen, or retconned.

The second explanation is much stronger. Steph says "now" because despite the fact that they have been dating for so long, their relationship has been extremely unbalanced. She's been closed off to half of Tim's life, something she agrees to when they first get together, but clearly has taken a toll on her. To the point she says "now" because, to her, the relationship never really truly started.

Robin #80

This isn't a stupid or petty complaint, for the record. Tim has seen her at her worst, he was there for there immediately before and after childbirth, but she doesn't get to know anything about an entire half of his life. This is especially true when you consider much Tim was in control of their communication.

He can show up at her house anytime, but if he doesn't initiate contact Steph's on her own. In Robin #80 for instance, Steph is presumably just hopping around rooftops hoping to bump into Tim, because she has no other way to find him.

Robin #87

And after Steph expresses excitement that they can finally be in the balanced relationship, a real relationship, she is rebuked with a violent "No!" that she seems to lean away from. And in the next panel, she asks, confused: "What?" in a small speech bubble which gets entirely ignored. In fact, neither Batman or Robin speaks to, or even addresses directly Stephanie for the rest of the encounter.

When Robin storms off without even a look to Stephanie, Stephs reaction is (big Shocker) to blame herself. Batman uses neutral language to place the blame on Tim, stating that Tim feels betrayed. In direct contrast, Steph actively disagrees, clarifying that Tim was betrayed, and more than that, she directly places the blame on both her and Batman's shoulders.

Robin #87

But Stephanie is a prop in the plot. Tim doesn't yell at her, he runs from her. Because she isn't Stephanie Brown, his girlfriend who has been in a massively unbalanced relationship, who is overjoyed at finally getting to be in a "real" relationship with him, she's the person Batman told Tim's identity to. He's not angry at her, he's angry she knows his identity and Bruce didn't bother to ask if Tim could tell her. He's angry at Batman. This conversation, this whole drama, is about the partnership between Bruce and TIm.

Stephanie Brown, who believed Tim was just waiting for the Batman go ahead, had no reason to think Tim would be anything but as happy as she was. Importantly, Stephanie Brown is seriously just not to blame in this situation, even if she blames herself (which as I've discussed before, is a running theme with her characterization, her low self-esteem and occasional tendancy to blame herself for the actions of others).

Not to mention, Tim doesn't blame Steph either. So if you're reading Robin #87 and somehow coming to the conclusion that Steph is a monster, please reassess.

Robin #92

How does Alfred factor into this? I'll make it quick.

Robin #88

Oh no Alfred, I'm so sorry that your loyalties to Master Timothy run so deep that you HAVE to yell at the teenaged girl who was more of a prop than anything in that encounter and had no reason to think Tim would be hurt. Oh no, really that must be so hard for you. Well, at least we know he's consistent, I'm sure if he's this mad at Stephanie, he's fucking fuming at Bruce Wayne, right? Right? Right?

No, of course not. Alfred Pennyworth, hypocrite extraordinaire is out there actively defending Bruce to Tim. Which no one asked him to do.

It's all "in his defense" and "you knew the perils" and "master bruce's crusade ill afford the delicacy of privacy required in affairs of the heart" and "stop feeling sorry for yourself"

I cannot believe he has the gall to yell at Steph for this. Talk about wounding Master Tim deeply bro, just wait until its Tim's 16th Birthday Party and Alfreds applying his stupid latex mask with a smile on his face. Sorry Alfred, you’re not always wrong, but when you’re wrong you’re really wrong.

That’s all. Goodnight 🌙

[anomalouscutie]

well well well if it isnt the hindsightly predictable consequences of my own actions

[kavehater]

Chappel Roan saying she’s sad she’s demisexual and then there’s me being aroace as a whole like don’t you think I’m even more sad 😭