#i mean i am both disabled and angry so

[raineisnotreal]

Something that actually drives me insane is how inaccessible some college campuses are, it makes me glad that I'm not currently in a wheelchair (even though my joints are absolute shit and at this point even a few minutes of standing is PAINFUL) because I genuinely would not be able to get to my classroom if I was in a wheelchair because the only elevator is a 200 year old freight elevator that some able bodied people struggle to operate. I physically would not be able to get up to my classroom without help. I also would not be able to get to certain areas of campus without taking a path that's significantly longer than what the able bodied students would take (including going into multiple buildings, taking the elevators up, and going out different exits.) Some buildings are entirely inaccessible because the only way to get there is by taking the stairs. not to mention many buildings do not have ramp access. If they do, the ramps are often not salted or plowed, which is essential in the cold climate I live in. Many of them are very rough from the freeze-thaw breaking up the asphalt. Where there are ramps or slopes, some of them are very steep. I often opt for the stairs instead and hope for the best because the ramps are steep, far out of the way, or dangerous. I don't live in the dorms, but if I did, it is unlikely I would be able to access them. The hallways are barely wide enough for two people to walk down at the same time, much less a wheelchair. All of the dorms have stairs up to them (they're on a bit of a hill) and no ramp. Thankfully I'm not a full time student there, so I live at home and commute, but I'm going to an accessible college in the fall and I'm so thankful for that. I just hope I can get some type of mobility aid before I leave so I can actually walk around with a decreased risk of just falling randomly. I really would love to do a deep dive on this. To take pictures and document where my college goes wrong with its accessibility.

[eva-does-their-best]

Going from "I'm not one of those trans people who do x or y" to "I am so one of those and I should have not judged them and I am glad that I got rid of the normative judgemental attitude I used to have".

Going from "I'm just a lesbian so liking trans men is wrong i don't want to deny their manhood" to "My sexuality is weird and that is fine, I like who I like despite the theoretical implications of it and I am not denying anyone's identity because I like them for who they are and respect them no matter what".

Going from "I'm just a regular binary she/her woman" to "I'm a girl and a woman but my dissociation and life experiences also make me feel impersonal so I can use it/its and I'm not weird for it, i wouldn't even be weird if I had no justification either, I can even use doll pronouns because I like them and they make me feel warm and happy and that is what matters".

Going from "Ok so these are all the labels with their very clear definitions and meanings and everything else is internet quirky stuff" to "I literally would not know how to explain what you are and I won't force you to explain it if you don't want, I don't need to understand it to accept you, you are valid and loved. If you instead want to explain it to me I'll do my best to learn and defend it whenever I can".

Going from "I am so sad, frustrated, angry and in pain because I will never be or look cis" to "I actually don't like the cis normative look, I don't want to cispass, I like trans beauty but specifically I like me beauty, the one where I am still myself but a more me version of myself. The world constantly told me what I should aspire to be and look like and like and I was brainwashed for so long but now I've broken free and am free to fully love myself and everyone else in this world who ever thought they were weird or ugly because my eyes find so much beauty in everything and everyone!"

Going from "Ew furries" to "I don't want to make fun of people who deviate from the norm because that is exactly what happens to me and we should all be together or else we are treating ourselves as exceptions and exceptions are easily revoked, I will learn to love everyone against a brain poisoned with conservativism and "normality". I like rats I should make a rat fursona or smth it would be so cute it'd so represent me :3".

Going from "I am useless, lazy, falling behind, a disappointment" to "I am physically and mentally disabled, there have never been accomodations for me in any aspect of my life and the intersectionalities of gender, sexuality, economical situation, etc. have made my life extremely difficult, I forgive myself for both failing and for blaming myself, I will seek help and advocate for myself to the best of my abilities and I will respect my limits in this world that was not made for people like me".

Learning is hard, changing is scary, but it's mostly just your brain being a conservative for the sake of commodity, safety and self-preservation, sometimes you need to fight your brain in a war of attrition but when you finally win you'll be so much happier.

I am so much happier now, my world is bigger and brighter and I see everyone and everything with a new, beautiful light. I look back on how I was and how I thought and how the world works and it all looks so much worse and grey, I am not going back there, this new mind is my home now.

And the best part is that I know I will keep learning more and changing more and the world and this life will keep getting better and better🥰.

[jorblesandco]

Bunny commentary

Bunny only became a full-on asshole after he was excluded and figured out they killed a guy - obvious

Bunny and Henry matching glasses,,,,, besties

TSH is written after Bunny's murder and richard's characterization of him is most likely an attempt at justification

of the greek class, the only one outsiders seem to like Is bunny (and richard but he was an outsider first so he doesn't count as much)

the dog (the greyhound charles rescued) liked Bunny and went on his sunday hikes with him and richard,

he is extremely fond of henry and it shows when he talks about him - perhaps henry is his only real friend in the greek class, the others tolerated for the benefit of henry, and their friendship seems to be that of familiar bickering but obviously takes a turn after bunny is excluded and finds out he(and co) murdered a guy in the woods

one thing i am desperate to know is whether it was henry or bunny who laughed at the end of chapter two . it could be either because it haunts him . but also it could be henry because richard (and francis, for that matter) are both at one point haunted by henry after his death . and bunny was the only person who could make henry laugh . which one of them laughed . maybe both? why does it haunt richard .

bunny writing richard an awkward apology and wrapping it around a paperback of poems and a box of junior mints,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, :(

Bunny woke everybody in the country house up at like 5 in the morning the first time it snowed by running around and jumping on their beds screaming "first snow! first snow!"

he is a good artist . mentioned that he drew himself and henry as little cartoons in roman togas with their matching eyeglasses on a postcard he sent to richard

look . i am just saying that if i found out my friends murdered somebody and they didnt even bother to tell me i probably wouldve blackmailed them too . not bunny's fault they all went along with it . of course i have a better personality than bunny but that is neither here nor there

finding quite a bit of evidence that bunny's parents were neglectful while still keeping up their rich happy family persona . bunny not reading until he was 10 is one of them, but that could also be the dyslexia, but also if his parents put in any effort apart from sending him off to learning disability schools i am fairly certain bunny would've been reading sooner . this is because i did not have a proper reading level until i was about 7/8 maybe even 9 either and it was largely because my parents weren't reading with me . that age is when i switched schools and they started teaching me phonics

he was wearing hand me down almost threadbare too short tweed most of the time . "…the shapeless, tweedy rags he generally wore…"

bunny only knows one card game (go fish)

bunnys reaction to finding out his best friend 1.) called him an annoying rabbit in his diary and 2.) murdered a man was mostly reasonable . he was angry at being excluded , angry that henry, his Best Friend, didn't tell him about it . really i think if henry had just told bunny about it this might have been avoided . all he wanted was to be included . i mean they were Best Friends . henry makes a point of saying "i know him better than you" to richard when relating what went down in italy . francis says he's known about this since november but that's not true because he didn't think they had actually murdered a guy until late in the italy trip, probably sometime in late january or february, whenever it is that henry came home early .

incredibly funny to me that he ry and bunny, best friends, are the ones who die . they are the ones who consistently haunt Richard's narrative . richard says he doesnt think about bunny that much but then why did you write a 600 page memoir about him and the aftereffects of his death then huh????? henry and bunny wear matching glasses in the underworld .

he was possibly in love with henry (and obviously hated the fact as he was extremely homophobic) because how else would you explain your best friend blowing up at you throwing chairs etc and then climbing into Your bed and crying himself to sleep

he treated henry (outside of the outbursts) "with deference" aka polite submission according to our notably unobservant narrator richard . very interesting . but i guess imagine you find out your best friend in the world murdered a guy and then didn't even tell you about it . i suppose that warrants deference of a sort . but he was horrible on a daily basis to the rest of them

btw how much of Bunny's behavior was over-exaggerated??? this is written After the murder, how much is Richard exaggerating in order to justify to himself the murder of his friend. richard says "even today i cannot muster anything resembling anger for bunny". richard narrowing in on and exaggerating Bunny's jerkishness and bigotry to the point that the behavior was in and of itself unforgivable in order to justify Bunny's murder to himself is such a Richard move. unreliable narrator at his finest

"how quickly he fell; how soon it was over" . he didn't deserve that . he didn't deserve for it to be henry, his best friend, to ultimately push him over the edge and watch as he fell

bunny is objectively a not great person but . again Richards unreliable narration makes me question How bad especially bc they all genuinely cared for and mostly liked bunny. none of them are Good really. but richard "if theres one thing im good at its lying" papen is telling us bunny sucks . also judy thinks bunny is hilarious. hates henry though. i trust her judgement more than the greek class

bunny sees little trinkets around says is anybody gonna take that doesn't wait for an answer and swipes it for himself . "these he hid around his room in jumbled little nests" as he should tbh

bunny was their tie to reality i think . he made that comment about "common crackers more like" when julian was talking about tribute . he didn't take the bacchanal too seriously . everything he did connected them to the reality of it .

[dreamsofbroflovski]

Hii!! I love your work sm, and you write so well. I was wondering if you could write something for Kyle 🙏🙏 Something smutty if possible 🤭 I'm not too picky, and I don't have anything specific in mind. It's totally fine if you can't, though!! Have an amazing day/night, take care of yourself, and I hope you're doing well <3

i see my giant thought transmission antenna i have in my roof is working properly. are we all just using 'shitter' alongside cartman and alec baldwin huh

because i was literally already writing for Kyle when i got this request sjkdkjsdkjsdkjsdikj so indeed i COULD write for him

i've been doing well. classes have started again (which means nowadays between 1 to 4 PST is prime 'yapping on phone' time because some of those classes can get pretty boring). it's been a little hard for me physically due to the disability but i'm glad to be doing something.

anyways, here it is! i'm aware it's a bit different from what i usually write, but i hope it's fire enough anyway. hope y'all have a great day/night too!

Kyle Broflovski x Reader - vodka, peach snapps, orange & cranberry juice

Also available on ao3!

Summary: Kyle Broflovski hated the beach. The sun, the sand, the sea, the people, nothing about it appealed to him. So, when you take him on a trip to one, he's not amused at all.

There might be something in there for the both of you, though, when he decides to remind you what happens when you upset him.

Warnings: Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content (everyone involved is above the age of consent), Smut, Established Relationship, Public Sex, Beach Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Prone Bone position, Doggy Style, Possessive Behavior, Angry Sex, Arguing, Kyle just being an asshole

A/N: okay so! if anyone is confused about beach vibes in march, i'm in the southern hemisphere and it's hot AF in here because it's still summer. so i figured i might as well drag my favourite guy to suffer through the heat with me, as a final goodbye to bright sunny days and this table fan i have turned on 24/7 in front of the computer

kyle is such an asshole in this one it was hard to write the argument. i might just put him on a sex ban and focus on other characters for a bit (oh who am i kidding i love this ginger if he appears to me on a vision i'm definitely running right back to him)

it's a bit different from my usual work, but i hope you guys like it!

“Do we really have to do this?”

Because of course those had to be the first words that left your boyfriend’s mouth as soon as he settled on the driver’s seat beside you, the door not even fully closed before he voiced his complaint, like a child that reeeeeally doesn’t wanna go to the doctor instead of a grown-ass man on vacation.

You and Kyle had decided to go on a road trip to the beach during the first weeks of autumn. It wasn’t exactly prime vacation time - but it was when you two managed to get away from your jobs simultaneously to go on this trip, the rental places were cheaper, and global warming was slowly making sure all seasons felt like summer anyway, which meant it was still decently hot and proper beach temperature.

Unfortunately, another thing that had been scorching ever since you arrived at the place was Kyle’s temper. The reluctant way with which he accepted your trip idea - not that he had much of a choice, since he was the one who chose the last place you went to, and fair’s fair - should’ve been a warning sign, but careful negative comments and and sure, whatevers shifted into outright complaints upon arrival, and even though it was only your first day around, he already didn’t seem keen on anything that involved leaving the Airbnb.

“Kyle, we hardly even got here,” you responded while you both buckled in your seatbelts, “Of course we gotta see the sea!”

In spite of his complaints, he still started the car, continuing to talk while looking over his shoulder as he pulled out of the driveway of the rental. “We have a pool at the house. You could swim there! Clean water, no people…”

“It’s not just the swimming, baby, it’s the vibes! Sunny days like these practically beg for the beach!”

“Or we could’ve gone camping instead,” the mere mention of the concept seemed to bring a happier intonation to Kyle’s voice, but it got snuffed out quickly once he realized it was not the reality he was living in. “The weather’s also great for that right now!”

“We went camping a few months ago,” you reminded him, conveniently forgetting to add that the concept of a forest and insects and sleeping in a tent did not appeal to you at all in this hot weather. “It’s good to have variety.”

His response to that was a nonsensical grumble about the concept of ‘variety’, possibly to give himself some time to pick apart your argument in his mind, his eyes squinting both from anger and from trying to make out the road with the sun shining on the windshield. 

“I really don’t understand what it is that people like so much about the beach.” Well, that wasn’t exactly a direct counter to the case you were making, but if those were the straws his mind was giving for him to grasp at in this fight, then by God was he going to do so. “I mean, what is there to like?”

Ugh, the way he placed that question. Like something he was legitimately intrigued by, expecting an honest train of thought to understand - but years of knowing Kyle, both as friend and lover, taught you to recognize the traps he laid when he had a point to prove; whatever answer you gave, no matter how elaborate and efficient, or even if you decided to stay completely silent, it would be picked apart and analyzed in a way that particularly fit the concept he already had created in his mind. It was smart, and absolutely worked, but being on the receiving end of it had to be one of the most annoying things in creation.

Yet you just had to, this time. Knowing what was coming your way, you walked right into it, armed only with outstanding patience and love for him. “It’s relaxing,” you responded with a small shrug, “Come on, Kyle. Can’t you imagine it? Laying down in the sand, listening to the waves, warming up under the sun…”

Just as you trailed off in your genuine explanation, painting a picture of it in your mind’s eye, he laughed sarcastically. “Relaxing!” He shook his head to himself, “What’s relaxing about getting sand stuck everywhere and swimming in dirty, disgusting-ass water? Do you know just what goes in the sea every single day? It’s all bacteria, sewage, oil and dead stuff at the bottom. And people pee in there all the time.”

Wow, way to throw a bucket of cold water in your daydreams. “Eeh… People don’t usually think about that, no.”

“Of course they’d rather not.” He scoffed. “Because if they did, then nobody would go to the beach, and all those overpriced houses would lose value.”

“It’s a pretty environment,” you pointed out, “Just seeing things feels nice too, you know.”

“Ah yeah, because nothing screams beauty like dozens of half-naked people breaded in sand and salt water hanging out in the sun.”

“Some people are into that,” you shrugged, “You could chill out a bit too.” 

“And this thing!” Completely ignoring what you said and continuing his tirade, he gestured with his right hand encompassing your whole body. “Where did you buy something like this? The sex shop?”

Now it felt like you were getting to the root of the problem Kyle had. It had come up once or twice back at the house - actually, it surprised you that he hadn’t picked a bigger fight about it earlier; you liked to think that it was because he was too smitten to talk. But, now that you were actually wearing it to go out, it was like the situation clicked in his brain. “It’s not that small.” You looked down at the bikini you were wearing. It was new, and surely it might be smaller than what the conservative hicks back at your hometown were accustomed to, but it wasn’t by any means an affront to modesty. It covered everything that needed covering and kept in place what needed keeping, not to mention it was absolutely cute.

However, it was clear that all meant very little to your boyfriend. “You’re wearing basically nothing!” He insisted, making some more grandiose gestures with his arm towards nothing, maneuvering the steering wheel with only his left hand. If he wasn’t raging, that move would’ve been absolutely sexy. “You had a great swimsuit before! What happened to that?”

“I’m not wearing a one-piece to tan, Kyle! The markings are not gonna look good!”

Bzzzt. Wrong answer. “What markings? Look good to WHO?”

This was one of those times where your boyfriend’s lifelong experience with road rage served him well. Because if anyone else was in his position, visibly fuming like he was, the car most certainly would’ve swerved. “To myself! And you’re gonna like them too, Kyle, you’ll see.”

“I already like how you look!”

“Then you’re gonna like me after that too! And also, it’s healthy.”

He shook his head, putting his other hand back on the wheel. “I just hope you know what you’re doing. People get skin cancer doing that sort of thing, you know.” He shuddered and his knuckles turned white as he held a firmer grip, as if terrified by this scenario his own paranoid mind created.

 This time, the buzzer rang for his words instead. Frowning, you put one hand on his shoulder - not as a way to comfort him, but to grab his attention in the manner of a warning. “Don’t even joke about that.”

That more serious tone you used seemed to have gotten to him, a slight frown forming as he actually considered the words that left his mouth possibly without thinking.  “Look, I’m sorry. But I’m not joking! It happens!”

Your fingers dug more onto his skin, as if physically giving emphasis to what you were saying. “A few days of tanning isn’t gonna do that to me!” 

“Well, maybe we should avoid it just in case,” he shrugged lightly, “You know, go back home. Chill there.”

A deep, prolonged huff left your throat, as if you were physically exhausted. This was becoming ridiculous, and you were sure it wouldn’t get better if you kept feeding into it. So you decided to deploy the secret weapon - the one thing that was sure to stop this argument with your boyfriend, to get him right where it hurt.

“You’re acting like your cousin, Kyle.”

Quiet as a church mouse the rest of the way there.

However, in spite of the graveyard-like silence that held him back from voicing complaints, as soon as the both of you got out of the car, it clearly took everything in Kyle’s power not to push you right back inside and drive far away from anything beach-related. Whether you were aware of it or not, your body looked fantastic in your new bikini; with every step you took, men were turning their heads to you like sunflowers to the brightest star - with your very infuriated boyfriend right on your heel shooting them all glares that could also burn just as much as it did.

After not much deliberation and with very quick steps - because Kyle was absolutely frantic and scrambling to settle down before anyone else could get their eyes on you -, you both found an empty spot near some tall rock formations, with not many people around since it didn’t provide much of a decent access to the sea.

“I’m not gonna get any sun in here, baby,” you complained as you pointed to the rocks, which made the sand beneath your feet much more pleasant to stand on with the shadow they cast.

“Well, you’ll just have to make do,” he retorted gruffly, already in the middle of opening his beach chair and setting it on the ground with a bit too much force compared to what was required to do so.

Rolling your eyes, you decided to just let him have this. There was still a decent spot with sun for you to lay on, which was where you put down your beach towel, and hopefully chilling out alone and listening to the ocean might mellow Kyle’s temper enough for him to agree to move to the more open areas later on.

With all your belongings properly placed - a task made more time-consuming than necessary due to Kyle meticulously calculating the positioning of the beach umbrella so it would constantly create the biggest amount of shade from any position of the sun -, you both were free to finally enjoy, or morosely partake in, your bright afternoon out. And you came to find that even your boyfriend’s little fit had done little to dampen your spirits; by the time you were sat, relatively protected of the oh-so-annoying sand by the fabric of your towel, the sour moods had been all but washed away, replaced by a sense of calm and contentment. Even the man seemed less grumpy, seated in his chair with a bottle of ice-cold water at his side and a nice huge book in his lap, sheltered from the UV radiation by the trusty colorful umbrella.

In preparation for your sunbathing time, you took the bottle of sunscreen and spread it around the parts of your body that you were able to reach - arms, chest, legs and face, all properly covered, but still in a way that your skin could still tan. That left just your back without any protection. “Kyle…” Turning your face to him, you called out in a higher-pitched tone, one that you’d used with him quite a few times in the course of your relationship and that by now he had also learned to associate with trouble.

It took him a few seconds to acknowledge your voice and lift his own face up, almost as if he was expecting you to give up or for there to be another person with his name to take the problem for themselves. “Need anything?” He eventually asked, one eyebrow arched above the upper line of the reading glasses perched on his nose.

You lifted the bottle of sunscreen and shook it to draw his line of sight. “Can’t reach my back,” you responded using that same cutesy pleading voice, laying on your stomach while still keeping your eyes on him. “Help me here? Pleeeease?”

For a moment, you could almost see a tiny angel and devil in Kyle’s shoulders battling against each other - his ever-present proclivity to be a good boyfriend and help you out with whatever you needed versus the current desire he had to tell you to eat shit and let you burn yourself under the relentless rays while he chilled in the shade. Luckily for you, the angel did eventually win - whether by legitimate concern or by a lingering awareness that he was still willing to get laid that night, after all - and with a tired sigh, he let go of his book, took off his glasses and got up from his seat, grabbing your sunscreen and settling behind you, knees on the sand on the sides of each of your legs.

Hearing the tiny sound of the bottle cap opening, you closed your eyes, letting yourself relax while your boyfriend did his thing. Even though it was expected, never could you truly be prepared for the full-body shudder that coursed through you when the cold sunscreen hit your already sun-warmed back; but your boyfriend’s hands were already on the case, spreading the liquid into a shiny thin layer on your skin. A gentle pressure accompanied his slow movements, almost like a massage, an image enhanced by the small circles Kyle drew with his thumbs as his palms drifted around. Unnecessary to the work he was doing, but very much appreciated.

During a minute or two, that was all there was to it - Kyle silently rubbing around the sunscreen on your skin with determined concentration while you nearly dozed off, your arms crossed under your head for a makeshift pillow, crashing waves and faraway chirping birds providing a relaxing background noise that seemed straight from one of those ‘Meditation Music’ videos on Youtube. What prevented you from getting completely distracted was the steady increase in pressure you noticed as his hands made their way to the lower half of your body, not nearly enough to be uncomfortable, but certainly placed there with more purpose than it started off as. You could even swear his breathing had gotten a little heavier once he had reached your waist, fingers lingering at your sides just a little bit longer than necessary with an unintentional tickle before continuing their descent.

Until you couldn’t deny it anymore. Once he got to the base of your spine, he was definitely taking deep breaths through his nose and pressing down on your body almost as if he was making an active attempt on pinning you down rather than just holding you. His thumbs pressed down on your lower back, filling in the faint dimples there, before both hands moved even lower, grazing the fat of your ass before moving to the sides to get to your hips.

Then you figured you had to say something. Between the extra pressure, his dragged-out exhales and the fact that he was basically feeling you up in public, there was something abnormal about the way he was acting, which went past mere ‘just helping out with sunscreen’ behaviour. “Baby? Is everything alright?”

The surprise caused by the break in quietude would’ve caused anyone else to flinch and take their hands away from the situation altogether - but Kyle did the opposite, finger pads pressing down on your flesh further at the sound of your voice. “Yeah,” why did his voice sound lower now? “I’m just doing what you asked me to do here. Nothing wrong with that.”

“I know, it’s just…” This time, you cut yourself off. Considering that he was finally being cooperative, you weren’t about to start yet another pointless argument if you could avoid it. Besides, he wasn’t doing anything wrong or that you didn’t like; his hands always felt amazing on your body, in any context, so all opportunities to get a bit of that were appreciated. If both of you were getting something out of this, then the trip had been worth the money spent.

Satisfied with your compliance, he hummed sharply in agreement before turning his attention to your body again, this time making no attempts to hide the way his hands grabbed at your ass instead of just rubbing on it like he was doing before. Figuring you might as well help a man out, you giggled as you lifted it off the ground the tiniest bit - but still clearly noticeable, considering the low growl he emitted before squeezing tight on both cheeks, spreading them apart and pushing them together like his own twisted entertainment.

His palms wandered more and you expected him to go for your thighs this time, maybe paw at the soft flesh and watch everything jiggle. But he surprised you yet again when his dominant hand trailed inward instead, tracing the edge of your bikini bottoms, over your ass and lower still - until he reached your covered center. Your breath hitched at the press of his fingertips, relaxed eyes opening wide. 

Whatever doubt you might’ve had about that particular action being deliberate, any suggestion that maybe he just had gotten distracted looking at your body and struck gold by accident, was out the window when two fingertips pressed firmly over your core, as if trying to get inside of you through the barrier of your bikini; not getting very far in that specific mission, but enough for your boyfriend to show he knew what he was doing. With a slow movement that didn’t lose the intensity of the pressure, he then dragged those same fingers to hook at the edge of the fabric, pulling it to the side.

The moment of silence that followed seemed to scream Kyle’s thoughts straight into your brain. You didn’t have to look over your shoulder to know that he was unabashedly staring; the gaze of those darkened olive eyes burning into the lower half of your body could even tan you itself. His other hand pulled your cheek to the side a bit, giving him a better view of your cunt, glistening with a film of your arousal that had built up from his earlier touches and the proximity of his body. The effect he had on you, physically manifested.

That hand he still had on your ass then took to the job of tugging your bottoms further away from what they were supposed to cover while his fingers dipped between your folds, moving along your slit with a small wet noise that at that moment seemed louder than the very sea. Your eyes shut tight again when he breached your center, getting only to the first knuckle before retreating slowly, a move that appeared to tease him just as much as it did you.

Maybe you should say something, your possibly much more refined awareness of your environment told you. The lack of other people passing by might’ve allowed Kyle to forget that you were still at the beach, and silence plus relative privacy plus being half-naked equaled a perfect opportunity. It was up to you to be responsible, even if it meant dealing with a bit of his embarrassment for a while and depriving yourself of his touch. “Baby, maybe we should…”

“What?” The loud snarl had you startled. His tone was very much alert - this man had not been distracted. “A guy can’t even touch his own girlfriend anymore?”

You didn’t think you even understood what that was about. But clearly, he was still mad. “What? Kyle, it’s not like that…”

“It is like that!” The tone he used to bite back at you, stopping your train of thought, could probably cut through steel. All of a sudden, both his hands were planted at the sides of your head, supporting his body as he hovered dangerously over yours. Now it was his hips that were outright grinding on you, pressing his cock insistently against your ass, and his next words were punctuated by sharp hisses between his teeth. “You put on this fucking thing just to… To show off to everyone… All those motherfuckers staring at your body... While I can’t even touch you… Want me to sit here… Watching you… Like a fucking idiot…”

Only the feeling of him like this, babbling his frustrations away while rutting into you like a wild animal, was sufficient for your judgement to start clouding. You didn’t know what to do. He was as hard as he could possibly get already, straining against the fabric of his swim trunks, and you just knew it hadn’t been a recent development caused by his little massage alone. The idea that he might’ve been fighting his own arousal from the first moment he saw you in your beach ensemble, hiding behind his anger to deny his dirty thoughts amidst the petty arguing, was exhilarating - and to burst that bubble, even if it was the more rational thing to do given the public setting, would be such a waste. 

“It’s not like that at all…” Your repetition came off more stupid than you intended it to, fingers curling into the beach towel and grabbing a handful of soft sand through the cotton in the flimsiest tether to your good judgement. That same sand was spilling over the towel with the movements of your bodies, sticking to your skin. “I didn’t wanna make you mad…”

“It doesn’t fucking matter… You did,” he lowered himself to his elbows without stopping his grinding, lean chest just an inch or two from touching your back, caging you in even more.

“Just tell me what you want from me,” well, now it just felt like you were stalling time. His thick hardness pressing against your behind felt amazing, every movement of his hips feeling like a promise of a wonderful time for the both of you despite the tense atmosphere. “Tell me so I can help us out…”

“Telling you didn’t work earlier,” his voice got deeper, “I’ll just fucking show you.”

The rutting motions stopped. Swiftly, he lifted himself up and away from you, going back to the kneeling position he started out in, and you turned your head as much as possible to look over your shoulder and see him staring down at you intensely. He didn’t break line of sight on your face as his hands undid the string of his swim trunks, loosening them enough for him to pull the waistband down and take his cock out, giving it a couple tentative strokes.

Alright, he was definitely out of it now. Kyle Broflovski, ever prim and proper, who had taken his sweet ass time warming up to PDA and avoided talking about your sex life with his friends at all because he valued privacy that much - that Kyle was about to fuck you on a public beach in broad daylight because you had pushed the green-eyed monster inside of him to its limits. And now it was loose to attack.

“Kyle, we’re… we’re in public,” you tried to warn him, eyes moving around as if they’d capture anything else in your surroundings from the precarious position you were in. All you could see, though, was the vast sand, your little set of items you brought, and Kyle touching himself without a care in the world.

“Yes, and?” Another small wet sound began filling your ears again - this time, that of his precum spreading over his cock with the movement of his hand.

It was clear he did not give a fuck. You wondered, even, if you should. “What if someone sees us?”

“Then that’s their luck,” he responded plainly, “What, do you have an issue with other people knowing who you actually belong to?”

The way your heart raced in that moment was somewhat suspect in its meaning. Even if you were terrified of getting caught and facing the consequences, there was no denying the thrill of the entire situation, the rush of excitement that set your veins alight just from the prospect of getting so thoroughly taken by Kyle without a single thought to give to the world around you. Having your pleasure mean more than decency or morals or the law itself; return to those usually repressed primal instincts which always made for an electrifying reminder that, at the end of the day, humans were still animals. 

Relenting, but still with the last hint of shame that your logical mind didn’t shake off, you shook your head and planted your face on the beach towel, trying to hide the reddish tint that burned through all of it now - but there was no way to hide from him the fresher coat of arousal that dripped from your exposed cunt with the image his words painted in your mind.

“That’s what I thought,” he rasped, but there was an undertone of satisfaction, the proof that you were on the same wavelength as him on this matter chipping away at his anger, just a tad. 

The wet sound ceased and you felt the weight of his cock resting on your lower back while both his hands took the sides of your bikini bottoms and pulled them down slowly, until they were at your knees. Your attempt at lifting up your hips or legs to assist on that action were met with Kyle stopping altogether to press your body down - understanding that your movement was not required or appreciated, you stopped trying.

Once your panties were off, you felt the weight of his cock resting on your lower back, another small drop of his precum landing on your skin, before your boyfriend manually nestled himself between your cheeks and moved it slowly, tracing the line from your tailbone to your entrance. His non-dominant hand got hold on one side of your ass and spread it to the best of his ability to give him a better view of your cunt, while the other kept a firm grip on his dick.

“Fuck, I love you so much…” His barely audible declaration sounded most absurd amidst the little squelching noises that were being drawn again with Kyle beginning to rub the head of his cock around your entrance, coating the angry tip in a mixture of both your arousals. 

“I love you too… Kyle, please, just-”

Your attempt at calling out to him was interrupted once more with a scoff. “Oh, so now you want me, huh?” The sarcastic complaint was accompanied by him giving your ass a few taps with his cock, knowing exactly how he was getting to you. “Couldn’t have thought of that before you decided to make me mad, now could you?”

Well, for all of his complaining, he surely didn’t seem like he was willing to wait much longer, either. Thankfully, Kyle was rarely a tease - someone as short-tempered as him never took kindly to wasting time -, so it was just a few more seconds before he was pushing inside of your warmth with a prolonged grunt that seemed to bleed off every drip of impatience he had bottled up the past couple of minutes.

“Thank you… Thank you,” you murmured pathetically as his girth filled you up, the tension in your body caused by the expectation easing away with every inch.

You felt his hips pressing down on your ass before he did answer, forcing himself as far as he could go on your cunt, which, given his length, was a lot. “We could’ve been doing this the whole time back home… But no, you had to go and be such a bitch.”

That type of language should’ve earned him a good talking right back - especially since it was abnormal to him. Kyle was more into the praise section of his vocabulary when it came to you, so it needed to reach extreme levels of worked-up before he began really calling you names. At that moment, though, he could’ve referred to you by whatever goddamn word he fancied; because he had started moving inside of you, setting a steady pace immediately, and the way he reached deep inside you always managed to put out any argumentative fire you might have going on, leaving only the heat of passion.

“My bitch, though, right?” The almost full weight of his torso was suddenly down on yours - he was laying over you completely, chest flush against your back while he spoke near your ear. “Even when you’re acting like that… You’re still mine…”

You hummed in agreement, but considering the hard thrust that shook your entire body and had your cervix bruising, it wasn’t good enough an answer. “All yours,” the words seemed to quiver as they left your mouth, “Do what you want to me… Please…”

“Exactly,” he nodded against your shoulder even though you couldn’t see it, “And I will.”

Pearly white teeth sank down on the crook of your neck, making you squeal and leaving a reddish mark, before moving to your nape and tugging at the string of your bikini, yanking undone the small bow you had made to secure it while his hands simultaneously did the same to the knot behind your back. Soon your cute little top laid loose on the beach towel, your breasts squishing on top of the fabric without being constrained by it. They weren’t free for long, though - Kyle’s hands took to that job, being shoved under your chest and grabbing the perky flesh with a firm grasp that mirrored the roughness he used to pound into you.

“Much better… Much fucking better,” he growled, “Should’ve done this a while ago… Get rid of this fucking thing…”

His fingers dug so deeply into the soft skin that even his very short nails were managing to leave the shallowest indents on it, to be accompanied by bruises you’d only see building up hours later back home. Your ass jiggled with every hit of his hips as he thrusted, that thick cockhead absolutely bullying your sweet spot, your arousal coating his base as your cunt gushed even more. Whatever he was running his mouth off about died down as nips and quick kisses were peppered on your shoulders and the back of your neck, making you shiver and your breath hitch with electric goosebumps.

Fuck, did his weight and his hands on you feel amazing. Yes, he had you completely caged in under his body and unable to make any movement, completely at his mercy, but never had you felt more free. It felt like he was everywhere - warming up every inch of your skin, massaging every silky ridge of your walls, talking to your very mind when he whispered in your ear. Even your eyesight seemed to capture him in every aspect of your environment, conjuring images of a face and body it couldn’t see at that moment but which had been living in your heart ever since the first moment you saw it.

When under him, your whole world was Kyle. The pleasure he brought, the love he had, even his fury - nothing made sense if he wasn’t there to give it to you.

Overwhelmed with equal parts love and lust, your body began to tense again in a way that had nothing and everything to do with the weight placed over it. You were getting close, letting out small whines and squirming from the pleasure buildup, barely managing to move much under Kyle. But whatever movement you did have was noticeable - both your twitches and your constant squeezing around his cock told him what he needed to know.

Through his labored breathing, you could basically hear the slight smirk when he spoke to you again. “You’re close, aren’t you? Gonna cum for me, (Y/N)?”

Apparently, you were at a point where you’d only be granted the great blessing of coherent speech if it was to answer his questions. “Yes, Kyle, fuck yes, I-”

A sudden emptiness, like your whole physical body had been hollowed. Right as you called out your nearing orgasm, Kyle pulled out almost completely, keeping just the tip inside and stilling for a moment, his hands leaving your breasts so that he could lift himself on his forearms for adequate support.

“No, you won’t.”

Your immediate reaction, either a complaint or a whine, became little more than a choked sound from your throat once he placed that simple statement. He hadn’t lost his tempo - he never does that -, he hadn’t slipped; that was a calculated move.

“Not until you say it.” The shallowest of thrusts accompanied his speaking now, barely dipping his cockhead in and out of your begging entrance, teasing it with empty promises of bringing back the depth it basically screamed for. “Apologize for your bullshit.”

Though in other scenarios you might’ve asked for a bit more clarification on what your boyfriend meant, there was no time for such discussion in that specific moment; not with the little kisses from his tip distracting you, making your walls flutter stupidly around nothing as they missed the pressure on them. “I’m sorry,” you muttered almost absently, trying to channel all your focus into that sensation between your legs, taking whatever you could get out of it.

Given the way he clicked his tongue, that wasn’t enough. “Properly,” he insisted, “You have to tell me what you’re saying ‘sorry’ for. If you’ve truly learned your lesson, then it won’t be a problem.”

Trust and believe, you wanted to have learned it. Giving him what he wanted wouldn’t be an issue if you did. But everything had happened so fast - the bickering had worn you out, then the relaxing ambience of the beach and his touches on your body had fogged up your thoughts and made you forget what even the fight was about. All you knew is that you needed to apologize, appease him, if you wanted that release to be granted to you.

“I… I don’t know,” you admitted, “Kyle, I’m sorry… Just… Help me out here, please…” 

You weren’t sure if he would really dignify you with an explanation, considering how much he was making a point that you’d ‘learn your lesson’. However, Kyle was nothing if not impatient - he was struggling just as much as you, if not more, to keep edging the both of you like this, his whole cock throbbing with the need to have your cunt wrapped tight around it again. So, with a long sigh which emulated an annoyance that really didn’t reach his heart, he basically jumped at the opportunity to play teacher. 

“You pissed me the fuck off,” he finally stated, “You argued with me. Made me angry. Made comparisons I didn’t like. And then tried to act like nothing happened. But most of all…” 

A slight pressure on your back - shifting his weight to one arm, he pushed you down with the palm of his other hand, a tiny sample of the possessive cage he had you in earlier. “You let other people see what’s mine.” This last part seemed angrier than the rest of the explanation, as if it meant more in relation to everything else. “All those fucking guys staring. Eating you up with their eyes. You’re not supposed to be a sight for them. You’re mine.”

He spat those concepts related to other men like they personally hurt. Jealousy always managed to have a powerful hold on Kyle’s heart - his love for you and need to keep you close and protected becoming so overwhelming he couldn’t express them properly in situations he perceived as adverse -, and you’d seen it manifest into this deep sense of possessiveness a couple of times. Never before had it felt so real, though - like he’d do damn near anything to make sure everyone including yourself knew that anything related to your being belonged to him, that he was a threat to the world as long as anything tried to sullen your relationship.

And damned if you weren't going to help him. Because you wanted to be his. His protection made you feel safer than anything else, his presence soothed your pains and his love untangled your troubles until they were barely wisps, irrelevant in the wind. Also there was no denying that he was yours - a man that devoted could not belong to anyone else.

“You’re right, Kyle,” ah, those magical words that always had him a hundred times more willing to listen to whoever uttered them had to say. “I don’t need anybody’s attention, only yours… I’m sorry…”

“And are you gonna fucking listen to me from now on?” Another push on your back, like a nudge to continue speaking. “You’re gonna let me take care of you?”

“Always,” you were quick to answer, “You can do what you want… I need you…”

When he sighed and his hand left your skin, relief had washed over you, already anticipating the pleasure that surely was to follow. Yet, instead of pushing his cock fully inside again, he pulled away from you completely, straightening his posture and leaving you truly empty. You were about to lift yourself up to complain - you had done what he asked, goddamnit! Since when was he so mean? -, but all you managed was another squeal as he held your hips and pulled them up abruptly, your knees bending instinctively to accommodate the new position, leaving you face down ass up.

This time, there was no preparation before your boyfriend bottomed out in one strong thrust that almost made you lose balance, using his hold on your sides to pull you towards him, to meet halfway the speedy movements of his hips. This new position allowed him to fuck you even harder; the sounds of his skin slapping powerfully against yours could possibly be heard across the whole shoreline, and so could his wanton grunting and moaning. Your own frantic cries of pleasure were muffled by the beach towel, your face planted on it - if anyone else dared to hear them in their full glory, you’d have to move countries to escape the embarrassment.

That climax Kyle had denied you earlier was coming back with a vengeance, your whole body tighter than ever as if it had capitalized on the stress of denial. You swore you were able to feel the veins on his cock against your walls with how tight they were on him, and if you weren’t so focused on your own release, it would’ve brought a smidge of smug pride to your ego to know that he was definitely feeling it too.

“Fuuuuck… The things you do to me,” your boyfriend grunted behind you, thoughts from a brain that was swimming with desire being put into words. “Make me lose my damn mind… And I fucking love it.”

“I love you,” the little sentence came out downright desperate, “Kyle, please, I can’t wait anymore, I’m going to…”

“Do it.” Oh, the way he sounded when he was giving your orders. He was made for that role. And you were made to follow. “Show me what I do to you…”

Your whole body shook and you would have fallen if not for Kyle’s hold on your hips - the sun itself had come up to meet you as you came, boiling your veins with its warmth in a way that made everything in your skin spark with pleasurable fire. In a last burst of strength, you bucked your own hips back, ignoring Kyle’s pulls; and the way you deliberately moved dealt away with what little restraint he still had in him, his nails trying to claw at your skin as he also climaxed shortly after, thick loads of his seed spilling into you. His thrusting continued through it, fucking his cum into your cervix, painting it white as one last demonstration of possession - like the others, a very welcome one.

There was barely any time to bask in the afterglow, though. While you still tried to gather back your thoughts and calm down from your high, a thick fog of bliss mixing with the salty shoreline air that seemed to cover you completely, Kyle’s next actions were far more dynamic - you heard the rustle of the fabric as he pulled out and shoved himself back into his swim trunks, grunting like if physically pained when he quickly stood up, wobbling on his feet as if his limbs and brain hadn’t yet received their fill of the blood his racing heart pumped. Through unfocused eyes, you watched the blurry shape of his body tripping around in the sand while he scurried towards your stuff, those long legs of his not much more stable than stilts, carrying a spent body that refused to comply with the hurry its actions seemed to require.

“Uhm… Kyle?” You found it in yourself to ask, your voice still so weak it could’ve been overshadowed by the crashing of the waves. One of your arms stretched to the front of you, as if trying to grab at your boyfriend, who was already hastily shoving your few belongings back into the bag, definitely not in touching range. “What are you doing?”

“We’re leaving,” despite the firmness in his response that left no room for questioning, it was clear his vocal cords were also struggling to find strength to get the words out; he had left all of his energy inside of you with his orgasm, and was currently running on leftover anger, plus perhaps a little bit of panic.

After all that, the fight that was in you to get your sunbathing on and spending some relaxing time at the beach had vanished without a trace. You sat back on your heels and wrapped your naked, now sand-coated body with the beach towel like it was a protective blanket made out of whatever was left of your shame. Maybe you’d even have taken one more moment to collect yourself, but hurried callouts from your boyfriend had you quickly getting up on shaky legs and tripping over the bunched panties that fell at your ankles before you rushed to pick up your belongings and go after him.

You figured playtime was over. You’d go back home and never approach the subject again, dismiss it as another bout of angry sex and go back to your normal loving relationship. But, as Kyle grabbed your wrist tight and turned to you again, and his focused expression and furrowed brows belied the lust in his eyes, it was clear there was only a mere half-time in those plans, and the things he still needed to do to you required way more time and more private settings.

Weeks later, you’d even say it was worth the traffic tickets your boyfriend got while racing to the Airbnb, or the risk of jail time from the beach moment. Kyle, his wallet a couple hundred dollars lighter, gets bright red in the face when he weakly disagrees.

Dividers by @cafekitsune

[purpledemonlilyposting]

Genuine question: why are you okay with r-slur but uncomfortable with the q-slur? English is not my first nor my second language but to my understanding r-slur is seen as bad nowadays but q-slur has been reclaimed the same way as the word gay has been since both were used as insults towards LGBTQ+ people. I decided to censor both words cause I don't want to offend anyone, not even accidentally and I am bit unsure how to use them so that no one gets angry. Thank you for your answer in advance, I hope you have good day.

It's pretty simple. And keep in mind this is my personal viewpoint:

The word "queer" literally means "strange". When you call me "queer" on the basis of my sexual orientation you are calling my sexual orientation "strange".

The word "retard" is short for the term "mental retardation". An outdated and no longer used clinical term for someone with profound intellectual disabilities. When you call someone a retard you're saying their cognitive function is significantly arrested.

So see the difference?

One is calling gay people strange for being gay.

The other is calling someone stupid for being stupid.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for not helping out as much as I am expected to?

I (29nb) live with my mom (50sf) and I get a metric ton of shit from people about it. I lot of “creepy person living in their mom’s basement” comments. What no one knows, or seems to care about, is that we’re both disabled and extremely poor, and we are each other’s only support system. We have no family. We have no medical support teams or cleaners or anyone who can come help us out when we need it. What this means is, I do stuff on her bad days, and she does stuff on my bad days. When we’re both bad, stuff just doesn’t get done. We are both fully aware that this system is isolating and sucks, but we literally have no other options.

When I try to explain this to people, sometimes they change their view from me being a creepy leech, and sometimes not. The problem is, they always assume I am the kid taking care of their sick mom and start to pile on all these expectations of me. They always ignore the part where I’m disabled and chronically ill as well. They always ignore when I say that there are certain things I just can’t do, can’t do frequently, or can do but at a very limited capacity. So, no matter how they look at it, I turn into this giant leech in their eyes. This happens every single time. They don’t see my disabilities, they don’t believe me when I say there are things I can’t do, and they start to treat me like shit because in their eyes I’m the lazy kid not doing enough for their mom. And I’m starting to wonder if maybe they’re right. Not all of my problems are health and physical stuff, so a lot of my mental health days are wasted time I could be doing stuff that needs to be done. I’m also younger, so I should be doing more for her than her for me.

Some people are really angry with me for not doing more, and I can’t help but wonder if I really am being lazy. Especially when I think I can probably push through stuff more than my mom can.

AITA?

[thaltro]

Hey there! I've been following for a while bc I saw your absolutely gorgeous bad sans ref for Nightwatch and upon finding more content and context i am so excited for the comic- I love the characters and worldbuilding- I wanted to ask a few questions bc I've been loving this everytime I see new art I eat up the new meal :D no pressure to answer all of them ofc! Take your time if you need it-

Will you post the comics on tumblr or a different website?

Was there something that inspired you to make this comic/Kickstart the want to make it?

As someone who really struggles with motivation to do stuff does anything motivate you to draw and worldbuild? Or does it just come to you?

Not sure if anyone has asked this yet but do have a favorite character you made or are making for Nightwatch?

Like I said no need to answer all the questions, love your art and content! :)

Ooh a QnA ok

1) I’m definitely posting the comic to tumblr, but also on my toyhouse! I won’t just suddenly post it though, before that I’ll release pmv trailers which should be very soon.

2) for inspiration I’ve always loved horror- what started the idea of nightwatch was reading I have no mouth and I must scream, the idea of perpetual inescapable torture is fascinating, especially personalized hellscapes. I also really liked AM as a character and he heavily inspired Atrophy (I headcannon his voice to be AMs) (wait I guess it’s not a headcannon hm)

3) I love world building, im a history major and also studying sociology and psychology- I’m definitely inspired from human history and global cultures. Nightwatch’ s world building is a conglomerate of different social stratifications, but leaning heavily towards conservative religious cultures. For world building I really recommend learning history- it makes you passionate about the patterns of humanity and more aware of the tropes you can use.

But for characters it just comes to me naturally (literally) most characters are based off of my Alters haha. So a lot of them like dream, psych, atrophy, memory, killer, horror etc are all aspects of myself. As the host I hold our productivity, our ego, and our low empathy- that’s what psych is heavily based off of. Dream is based off two parts who hold a lot of of our childhood trauma and religious trauma, likewise Atrophy also is based off of alters who hold childhood trauma. When your a system you go typically through some crazy stuff, when I’m done nightwatch I plan in the future to write horror stories based off it but yeah. Aside from system experiences a-lot of the characters who will experience ableism like memory does, is based off my experience with how people treat my physical and mental disabilities.

Suffice to say, I’m an angry person and I hate the world around me. Nightwatch let’s me vent that hatred in a coherent artistic way. I have a big ego and like to think I’m an interesting person so I write stories based off that because I think it’s interesting. My hatred for pop psychology, ableism, child abuse, and religious abuse is pretty obvious in it I guess. If your struggling to write the easiest thing for me at least is to write about what you hate or are scared of the most- then develop a world around it.

4) my favourite character is Dream probably- I mean I never stop drawing him, Atrophy comes close too. Though there are alot of characters I enjoyed writing like Fresh, Dr. Fell, Dust, Epic, Error yk- I like writing comedic characters. But what I’m most proud of writing it’s probably just Psych, Dream, and Atrophy as I put an equal amount of effort into writing both.

Thanks for the questions it feeds my ego nom nomnomnom- kidding I just genuinely like not shutting up and it’s weird that people actually care to ask

[gameshowtrainwreck]

the only difference between the weepy wendsday club and myself is that I've been fucked by the system longer than they have (D or R, both parties fuckin' 𝕝𝕠𝕒𝕥𝕙𝕖 the disabled), and now they're sad because there's a chance they might have to experience it themselves.

i am a reflection of what i deal with as shaped by the environment i occupy. people literally tried to argue that sometimes genocide is acceptable and that doing less than the bare fuckin basic minimum (e.g. 1% of the 43 million student loans forgiven) means we shouldn't criticize or talk bad about my betters otherwise trump will win.

trump still won, you dumb motherfuckers.

trump still won and none of these hateful pieces of shit will learn anything from it. losing to trump once can be a mistake, benefit of the doubt covers that. losing to him twice is a pattern of deliberate, willful decisions by those within the party that everybody else swears will defend democracy yet simultaneously are also too fragile to withstand criticism from someone who would have really liked for her to win. considering how fucking smug everybody had been about it before the election, even i thought harris had it in the bag. turns out that if i handled a fucking surgery the same way harris handled her campaign, i would still be in fuckin prison.

the same group of people who watched a genocide unfold and said nothing are now subject to the big sads. folks, nobody has any reason to be sad about something your candidates willfully chose to do.

if anything, y'all should be getting angry. get angry at the people responsible for this in your own goddamned party. or don't, because gosh we all know how much of a fuckin hassle it was actually giving a shit during the 1st trump admin.

i guess that's why a lot of harris voters are now talking about wishing more hurricanes on the south (even though black people will be the most likely to be hurt by it) or calling ICE on latinos for having the fucking gall to not vote correctly; makes sense to just go full-on masks-off.

that's why i'm just waiting for the other shoe to drop and all these sadsack assholes start switching over to full-blown fascism. i would fucking jizz my pants if i was proven wrong, believe you me, but a lifetime of experience and a neurodivergent hyperfocus on world history has told me a lot of people simply ain't got that shit in them.

so fuck em, i will cuss them out if to provide some modicum of consequence for the democratic party failing the people they allegedly care about because god knows a lot of these motherfuckers have been sheltered by their economic status.

[littlest-nightingale]

I have a complicated relationship with the concept of a glass child. Because. Ppl say it's ableist but it isn't? Like yes. The sibling didn't choose to be disabled, and you shouldn't hate your sibling for being disabled. But that doesn't mean the glass child didn't suffer. Because, from the child's perspective, their parents aren't paying attention to them, all the attention is being given to their sibling. Their parents don't have time for them. And that's damaging. Unfortunately there really isn't much to be done. So while yes, you shouldn't blame the disabled sibling, that doesn't mean glass children can't be upset about what happened. Having emotions and feelings towards something that happened to you doesn't make you a bad person. And that's what a lot of arguments about glass children seem to boil down to- "you're ableist because you have (negative emotion) towards your sibling." Which, no! I am angry about what happened to me! I am angry that I was neglected because my sister was sick! I am angry that she was born with a disability! This is not because I hate my sister, it's because we BOTH deserved better! In a lot of cases, glass children DO have loving parents - BUT they were just victims of random chance, I guess. There's nobody to blame- sure, there are shitty parents, but in situations like that, the disabled child takes priority. It sucks! It really does!

Basically. You can be angry about it. It's okay to feel. But glass children are victims of circumstance. They can be angry at the circumstances they were raised in.

[the-scarlet-witch-22]

I've thought about posting this more publicly, but I'm hesitant to do that because this isn't a topic I discuss very often. My blog has always been kind of a public diary in a way, so I'm going to leave this up for now.

I am terrified of another Trump presidency for so many reasons. I'm a gay woman who is in a relationship and would like to be able to not only get married, but have my marriage be recognized in every state in this country. I'm the older sister and future sole guardian of a sibling who has developmental disabilities. It pains me more than I can express how awful it is living in a country that does the bare minimum to support its citizens, especially its disabled ones.

I've been very vocal on my disdain and disgust for how the Biden administration and our government as a whole is handling the Palestinian genocide. Anyone who knows me knows this. I've gotten involved and plan on continuing to protest and do what I'm able to.

With that being said I did vote for Kamala Harris, and I've gotten into debates with people I considered to be friends over my decision to vote. The number one argument that being highlighted was "it doesn't matter who wins because both Harris and Trump are Zionists who don't care about Palestine."

I agree that our government is deeply rooted in Zionism, and it genuinely pains me to know that human rights of people who are not white do not matter to our government.

However, as someone who has been a very vocal advocate for human rights the majority of my life, saying "it doesn't matter who wins because the outcome will be the same" is not only incredibly ignorant, it's just plain stupid.

Donald Trump has made a name for himself as a racist. Someone who has been blatantly and openly homophobic. He has made disgustingly ableist comments on disabled Americans time and time again. He's a rapist, he has sexually assaulted multiple women. He started an insurrection that resulted in violence I have never seen taking place on the Capitol.

And now he's going to be sworn back in this January.

I'm angry, and I'm sad. Not only as a member of the LGBTQ community and a supporter of our disabled community, but also as someone who was sexually assaulted. This isn't something that I talk about very often, publicly or privately, but it is so fucking painful knowing that our country does not view SA survivors as real people who deserve to live knowing their abusers will be held accountable for their actions.

Because why the fuck would anyone want to come forward, knowing their abuser can become President not once, but twice and win the popular vote the second time.

I hate this country, and I mean this when I say if you voted for Trump or voted third party, or didn't vote at all, you are part of the problem and the next four years are going to undo the most basic of human rights this country has barely started to grant its citizens.

Fuck each and every one of you.

[melkor-did-nothing-wrong]

Hiiiiiii :DD Sending this as an ask bc I feel like it’s been a while since I sent you one of those lol.

What do you think the Dark Lord’s favorite ways of showing each other affection are?

Besides this, I mean.

Ahhhh but what am I to pick now that you took the best option off the table? (Kidding. But maaaan I'm so happy I put that bit of nonsense into your brain haha dragon silliness is always a win!)

I think for Melkor it's physical affection of all sorts. Kissing Mairon on the cheek, wrapping an arm around him in public, hugs, holding hands, being cuddly in general, back rubs and massages (Am I saying this because Mairon works hard all day, or because my own back hurts? who knows! Probably both!!!) To me, Mairon is the sort of person who doesn't really care for getting compliments. Both because he already knows what he is and isn't good at and genuinely does, knows his worth and the worth of his work, so he does not feel the need to receive reminders, AND ALSO because he is hyperaware of how easy it is to get on people's good side by complimenting them first and then asking for a favour or something of the sort. To him it's more important to actually see proof that others in his circle genuinely enjoy his company. I know there are a lot of fanon depictions where Mairon is depicted as hating Melkor for being too handsy/physically affectionate, but I think Melkor's extremely averse to touch in most instances so him being physically affectionate towards Mairon is a great way to show that he genuinely enjoys being around him and also trusts him enough to be this comfortable around him. (And also it's a sort of "OMG GUYS LOOK HE LIKES ME BACK!!!!!!!" which is honestly probably a first for him hahaha.)

From Mairon... Well, I am a "Mairon brushing and/or braiding Melkor's hair" truther at heart. "Melkor's hair is longer than Mairon's" is the one piece of semi-popular fanon I'm going accept with no further questions because it's great. But braiding takes long enough when your hands are perfectly functional and your hair is shorter, so I imagine it'll take a looot longer when you're working with a physical limitation/disability and have long hair. So Mairon helps. Because he wants to. And he likes patterns. And he likes making his hubby look pretty. And sometimes he's a petty bitch who likes them to have matching hairstyles. Mairon also likes fixing Melkor's hair throughout the day. Because it's adorable, and people who call partners doing that "annoying" are wrong.

But also compliments. Because Melkor is a bitter, angry old man, and for him everything he's heard early on had to do with how bad he was or how wrong he was or how everything was his fault somehow, despite it literally being part of Eru's greater plan. When all you've heard is how bad you are and how everything you do is terrible/the literal cause of the world ending or whatever... Yeah, I imagine Melkor LOVES being told nice things from time to time! <3

[cataqu33rz]

Jazz is Disabled!!

I'm not sure how disabilities gully work in tf generally speaking, I think most continuities would go "yeah they're robots they just replace shit" but HRMMM I need more visably disabled robots!!!! AND GUYS IF THERE'S ANY DISABLED ROBOTS LIKE THIS (for example Ultra Magnus in tf prime) LET ME KNOW CAUSE I'D LOVE TO SEE THEM!!!!!!

I really wanna have him with a prosthetic leg from the tfone mining incident, cause I think he would be really cool with it and open up SO MANY talking points about it in the lore. My guess is that being a miner, he probably didn't have the funds to get a spendy ass replica leg so he got what he could. It's shitty and sometimes makes his life more difficult, he is probably saving up to get at least a better one cause this one doesn't suit all his needs. Yet he's still content enough with it, able to be humorous in grim situations.

Jazz would LOVE to fuck with people with it. Like when like dancing, his leg will "accidentally" slip off and hit a bot in the face as they scream bloody murder. Jazz finds a lot of chances to be silly with it, pulling pranks, cracking jokes, making up white lies to strangers, because that's who he is and also to kinda say fuck you to abelist bots who treat him differently due to how noticeable the prosthetic is.

And imagine if he was in ES with a prosthetic leg and meets Dorothy, itd be so cute and fun to see them have solidarity over it. Both lost theirs doing their job and I'm sure Jazz got a lot of looks on Cybertron for having a prothestic that stands out rather than trying to get an exact copy of his other leg. Dorothy might not have seen a lot of transformers before with prosthetics/didn't know they could get them and both are very curious about the processes to get them on Earth and Cybertron.

Jazz is a fun guy but does not have a blind eye to the discrimination he faces (cause he can't). I am also very transparently projecting, cause while I am not missing a limb, his could be a story of being a poor disabled person which IS something I'm intimately fimilliar with.

He has less job opportunities due to his lesser quality leg, he can't take on as many shifts and it gets achey if left on for too long (which in order to make a living he often times has to push past its limits). While he can transform, it takes some getting used to again and does get comments about people being able to see where his prosthetic and how it "ruins the aesthetic" of his alt mode. He can be as funny as he wants, but sometimes it does get to him, and does know when to cut the crap and get serious about it. He genuinely doesnt feel lesser for his disability, he's just really angry at the bots around him who see him as lesser, he has to work 20 times harder than another bot to get the same amount of work, and tbh I don't see a lot of support for being disabled happening on Cybertron. I kinda think Jazz is an outliar where most prosthetic bots are shut ins or they had to turn to other means to get paid (ie. instead of getting a hands or legs, they get weapons to fight illegally), but Jazz is fighting to be seen and treated as an equal, and not a lot of bots like others "rising from their ranks".

[the-real-rain-world-confessions]

HELLO. I am the anon that has stage 2 liver cancer and was gone for about a week to get a liver transplant and doing chemo to make sure I am clear now!

Anyways! As a cancer survivor, I think Pebbles is a very good metaphor for chronically disabled and/or terminally ill people. His rot may be a product of him messing with his genomes but I cannot help but relate to that. He wanted to live and make others live to the fullest while also escaping the Cycle. He wanted to be free from his pain and torment while also living in a way that mattered most to him. He deserved to live with his iterator found family and spend time talking to them till they all finally broke down, either from lack of repairs or from ascension by Saint.

Also the constant debates of if he's a minor or not is interesting but infantilising in the end because of how disabled people and terminally ill people may react to their situations. From my perspective, it's infantilising and ableist as I relate to his anger and struggles. He deserves to be seen in a light that shows he's rightfully angry. Because he is! He deserves to be angry and vent it out. He even gets shut down by Suns and Moon unintentionally because they both acted like they knew him better than himself with his issues. He goes so far as to ruin himself to get anywhere to help himself escape the pain and cycle. His anger is righteous even if aimed incorrectly.

And I am of the opinion that Artificer and Pebbles were a means to an end for each other but grew to be found family due to Artificer being unable to ascend like Pebbles. She would've seen him as family after a while as he protected her and gave her a home, even if unintentionally. She does not have to be bound to her primal urge of Violence only. She obviously craves Companionship and that's what binds her to the cycle as well. Even if Pebbles puts up with her, he would eventually have an attachment, healthy or not.

.

[lifeafterpsychiatry]

[Read your pinned post, not demanding advice, just venting about a disability thing. Thank you :)]

My new roommate (a new friend of my partner) decided a couple weeks after meeting me that I'm either "basically a child (that can't consent to sex or kink), or a disappointing adult that doesn't even try in life". I offhandedly mentioned autism and he said "everyone in this house is autistic, you're just using it as an excuse to be lesser". "Try harder, be better". He said I live in a "wanton way" (idk if he knows what that word means lmao) and that he can't stand it. He can't even pretend to be civil because my not trying is so unbearable. When I tried to reason with him calmly he got so angry and screaming that my partner and I were both kind of scared of him. I got slightly snarky after an insulting tirade from him, but I never called him names or got mad. But now he's pissed at me for distressing/traumatizing him by making him so angry, and convinced he did nothing wrong other than "get a little mad because you baited me".

The thing is, I am legally disabled. I can't work a job (according to me, my parents, past psychs, and the US. government fwiw) and I can't do several chores a day. This is just a fact. I HAVE been trying to do new things and reach outside of my comfort zone in big ways (doing more tasks, managing my health, going to IRL events despite my anxiety), but I'll always be disabled. Autism alone can be that disabling but I actually meet the criteria for several mental illnesses, as well as a sleep disorder, which he ignored when I told him. He believes that because HE is autistic/mentally ill and can do certain things that anyone can do them if they "actually try", "grow up", and stop making excuses for themselves.

It's hard because I deal with a lot of internalized shame for being disabled, and it feels like he lit a match and attempted to explode my self esteem in the name of some self-aggrandizing goal to "open my mind" and "improve me". We financially cannot afford to kick this guy out, so I just get to try to avoid him in a tiny building and also live with my new fear that he could lash out and hurt me. Emotionally at least. He has described himself as a "deeply angry person", my partner calls him "way too high strung", and I just live in anxiety that he'll flip out again. He's PROBABLY not violent at all but not knowing for sure makes it hard to live there.

And I'm having to process my sense of shame and guilt for not being Enough for this world. I hate being called a child and I hate having ignored how incredibly, incredibly hard I work just to function in day to day life. The laughable thing is when we met he seemed great and I thought we could be friends. Now I feel like I'll never be able to make friends (like at my events) because if a fellow neurodivergent person can't even accept me then who in the world will? I'll never have a healthy roommate relationship and no one I meet will ever tolerate me. I'm always alone (apart from my partner) and I hate how lonely and isolating life is.

Your roommate is an abusive ableist and I'm so sorry. None of this is on you. You don't deserve any of it. You didn't do anything bad. He's the problem. And while it's terrible that you're stuck in this situation for now, he is not everyone. I know and know of many people who found people to live with who both respect and accommodate their disabilities. It's not impossible, you were "just" unlucky to run into an abusive ableist. And I sure hope your partner is taking your side in all of this, because you are NOT the problem here.

[khruschevshoe]

OFMD Critique: Izzy Hands, "Burying Your Cripples," and That Fucking Finale

(Note: this is a cleaned-up/expanded version of a post I made earlier regarding disability rep in this show bc I was chatting with @itswhatyougive and @notthewriteryourelookingfor about "Burying Your Gays" and the parallels with the "Burying Your Cripples" trope in media, which is often more insidious because people are less primed to notice it and call it out.

Also, although I am analyzing a trope in media in the most unbiased way I can, I am going to get angry. Because this is a show that did its job at making us care about its characters and their portrayals and you can't get mad at me that I did just that.)

On a fourth note when it comes to the problems with the writing in this season of ofmd...the handling of disability. Because good God.

To preface this before anyone jumps down my throat about getting upset: I am disabled myself, both physically and mentally. I carry a small laundry list of mild to moderate conditions that impair my daily functions. I understand what it is like to desire to see characters that carry disabilities similar and dissimilar to my own onscreen. I also understand that there ARE multiple disabled characters in OFMD (ex. Jackie with her wooden hand, Ed with his knee brace, Pete with his cleft palate, Lucius with his mentioned bad back/wooden finger). I UNDERSTAND that these were all generally handled decently well, incorporated without drawing attention to them (although the disappearance of Ed's knee brace was strange to me in season 2, even that I could get with bc personally I only need to use my cane when my knee flares bad and can walk perfectly normally the rest of the time without an aid).

Which is all to say: the way that Izzy's death was written is insidiously (likely unconsciously, but still) ableist. His entire arc this season revolves around community and recovering from trauma and accepting himself both in a queer sense and a DISTINCTLY DISABLED sense. The way he remarks upon his own disability and his acceptance of himself and the way that the show is written to have his crew member ACCOMODATE him joyfully as an EXPLICIT SYMBOL OF LOVE was a breath of fresh air when it comes to disabled characters. I also enjoyed the way that he pokes fun at it occasionally in the same way that I do with my coworkers/friends (joking "oh really, you're going to ask an invalid to do that?" *gestures at my cane*).

But that ending. God, that fucking ending. *vehemently taps table* The fact that this character who opens up, who is accepted for both sides of his identity after dragging himself through the fucking pits over them, is killed. BECAUSE HIS MOBILITY AID COULD BE SEEN BY THE ENEMY. BECAUSE HE WAS SEEN AS UNIQUELY VULNERABLE. And then they FUCKING PULL HIS MOBILITY AID, the very symbol of his acceptance, from his FUCKING BODY SO HE CANNOT BE BURIED WHOLE?

I'm sorry. I really am. I don't mean to get furious about this. But as a disabled person who saw such hope in this character, who saw a storyline about a part of myself that is rarely displayed onscreen (that slow acceptance of the part of yourself you considered broken + the acknowledgement of love by your family/community in the form of loving accommodation without complaint), this hurt me at a very primal level that I didn't know I could be hurt at.

Bringing this back around to the "Burying Your Cripples" trope: the reason why an ending like this is so horrifying is because it is very much telling you that you can have a healing arc, that you can finally find yourself accommodation and acceptance, and it doesn't matter. Your disability will be the thing that kills you.

To people who say that this ending is justified because sometimes death is just random like that, that saying that death makes healing not worth it, I get what you're saying. In real life, of course you're right.

But this is a CLOSED NARRATIVE. It is a story with BEATS that MATTER, made of decisions by writers who had to purposefully decide to put scenes together. There's a reason they're called "arcs"- they're supposed to aim at a specific point. IF YOU LET EVERY CHARACTER IN A SHOW LIVE THROUGH THINGS THAT SHOULD HAVE KILLED THEM EXCEPT FOR THE DISABLED CHARACTER, YOU ARE MAKING A FUCKING POINT WHETHER YOU REALIZE IT OR NOT. Izzy's death is not showing "random chance" or "the risks of piracy"- HE DIED BECAUSE HIS MOBILITY AID WAS VISIBLE.

Lemme repeat that: costume concepts showed that the original design of Izzy's naval outfit covered his wooden hoof. It was a conscious decision to have the shot of the naval officer looking down at Izzy's leg, at his exposed leg, and pinpointing him as the weak one despite there being entire scenes dedicated to showing that he was still as strong as the rest of them. In a show where the budget and runtime was restricted, not a single shot or costume decision was on accident. They had to pay more to green screen in that leg.

If Castiel went to superhell because of his gay confession for Dean, then I cannot think of a clearer way to Bury Your Cripples than having Izzy die because someone saw his mobility aid.

Do I think they did this on purpose? Well, no more on purpose than David Jenkins looking at Izzy's Hayes-Code-era gay coding/arc and saying that he knew that Izzy would have to die because that's what characters like that do. No more on purpose than saying that the mentor character had to die because that's what characters like that do.

Izzy's disability was visible, was the cause of his death, because "that's what happens" to pirates who gain disabilities. They are weaker. They are more at risk.

I'm sorry, but fuck that.

Fuck the idea that in a show that created a careful space in its narrative (for a season and a half at least) for queerness to be treated ahistorically kindly, that often disregarded geographic, historical, and medical accuracy to tell a compelling story, and that purposefully provided racial and body diversity while calling out racism, that the disabled character getting offed is a "kind ending." It's not. It never has been. And I'm tired of accepting that sort of thing.

I am SO GLAD that fanfic exists with better depictions of disabled arcs/endings in OFMD bc I don't know if I could recover otherwise. Hope my fellow disabled folk out there are recovering as well, and that they understand that there is positivity to be made out of poison- it just wasn't what the finale gave us.

[perplexingluciddreams]

I have barely even started growing my hair, and already I am thinking I need to cut it (which means buzz my head again).

The bits at my ears is too long, and really bothers my sensory issues when I wear my noise-cancelling headphones. Unfortunately, the headphones is non-negotiable because my sound sensitivity is so much that I can barely sit in my quiet bedroom without being bothered by other house sounds and people sounds and outside sounds.

I am so upset about this. I really want long hair.

I am even more upset that I don't even get the choice. My disabilities decide for me, for so many things. I just want to choose. I have no control over even the smallest of things.

Today will be my last attempt to find a balance of wearing my headphones a bit less, to see if that can help the around-ear-hair-sensory-bad-ness.

But even if I manage to keep going for another week or month or few months (unlikely), I think at some point I will start having violent meltdowns because of the hair again. Especially when it is wet in the bath, or when it is greasy. I already still struggle with those sensations even when it is a centimetre long. And even if the meltdowns are not a problem to consider, it feels so bad that I am miserable.

I just wish I had the choice, for this one small thing.

And through all of this, my chest is still there. Still large and heavy and causing pain and sensory issues and worsening clothing-related sensory issues. It makes my thoughts so negative and angry and I get irritable and so unhappy.

I usually like to try and see both sides (positive and negative) and think logically about a situation. But this one is so overwhelmingly negative that I often can't see a positive. Sensory issues is only one aspect of my autism, and on its own it is so disabling.

I can get so upset about these so called "little" things, because the control is so completely out of my hands for the big things that I don't bother to think about them. I only want to be able to grow my hair - I don't think that is a big ask. Yet I am still too disabled to do even that.