#so they grow up happy and healthy

[stormsbourne]

sometimes I think "no, saying aggressively online 'leftists' are prone to being duped into right wing grifts is unfair" and then I come across somebody who says that innocent little baby children (age 14) shouldn't be forced to look at porn

does this child have the internet? does this child have a television? has this child seen a pg13 movie? they have already probably seen worse than whatever is in the nefarious "porn books"

glad that this year kink-at-pride discourse has a new buddy, idiots being convinced by homophobic and transphobic right wing grifters that children are being inundated with porn

(this is without getting into how many children from age 10+ [and sometimes younger!] are already fucking around with their own bodies and with each other's and these sorts of resources are paramount in areas with abstinence only sex ed)

[lunarcrown]

OLLD drawing I can share now of Timmy after recovery and care from staying on double life and being looked after by the box boys~

He’s healthier, happier, his hair and wings have grown back out and have a pretty blue-black sheen to them (that he never knew he had bc in hels his diet and environment only let them be dull) and he just heard the sound of a portal opening for someone to come visit~!

[isa-ah]

making a fursona is fun but getting to retire an old traumatized time capsule of yourself and make a new, happy, grown version of yourself is so fuckin nice.

[napoftustar]

your_home_숩 ☆

[vimbry-moved]

"nanobots" the song is this deconstructed view of child development and parenthood where it's like, 'wow have you ever thought about how weird producing offspring is. like, it's weird, right! we make these little people and they quickly grow into their own individual personalities with their own lives and autonomy and I've lost all authority and there's so many and you've gotta be responsible for them all the time, what did I do !!!'

but as well as approaching it with this slightly overwhelmed perspective, there's a sort of affectionate optimism in there, too. that even tho the concept's intimidating, there's a sense of wonder in how humans develop and raising them and watching them grow up. hey this kid thing's fun actually, yeah I wish they'd leave me alone sometimes, but look at how cute and resilient they are look at what they can do. and then "replicant" is like jesus parenting a teenager is hard.

[fyrewalks]

meta: bob + broken glasses

one.

bob is ten the first time someone breaks his glasses. it happens two weeks after his bubbe returns home to new jersey; two weeks since his mom has been out of bed or off the couch longer than a few hours. nearly three months since his dad's latest deployment and six since his older sister, stevie, died.

it happens on the playground, easy to assume it's some childish skirmish over a swing set - bob's shy even then, made worse by his grief, and prefers to stick to the outskirts and swings during outdoor play at day-camp. (summer day-camp instead of montana, instead of his mom accepting the good natured teasing about her being a city girl or the not so quiet arguments between his grandma and dad about who will take the floyd ranch someday.) none of the counselors hear the taunts. bob doesn't repeat them. the kids accuse him of being different; he assumes they're saying it because of his dead sister. (he won't realize the kind of different they mean for a few years.)

he hides his broken glasses in the back of one of his drawers. his mom doesn't notice, his dad's calls home are too infrequent, gracie's six and easy to distract. it's not till a few weeks of meal trains and hushed discussions about his mom and doctor's appointments among the aunties who come over to watch them that anyone notices he's supposed to be wearing them at all.

two.

the second time it happens, bob is a few months shy of fifteen, all awkward limbs and little self-confidence. it's his second cross-country meet and he doesn't want to be there. the floyds are back in virginia - after three different middle schools, there's only a few vaguely familiar faces here and none of them are on the team. it leaves bob feeling more out of place.

he came out as summer ended on a friday night, a rare shabbat dinner that's just gracie and their parents instead of the eclectic mix of friends from their synagogue and whoever on base that wants, or needs, a place to be on a friday night. his mom cries, though she tries not too, while it's his dad whose the first to hug him and reassure bob he's loved no matter what. he knows his parents talk about it later, that they confide in each other their fears about his future, but they brave his confession with watery smiles and the promise everything will be okay.

he doesn't come out at school. it's less a definitive choice and more that he doesn't need to. other kids simply just know. bob isn't sure what gives him away - if it's his slouchy posture, his voice, or something else entirely. most leave it alone, but there are taunts and curses in between classes; he's shoved into a locker, once. bob doesn't like it, but considers it tame. he's bounced between montana, virginia, and florida his entire life, usually living in the shadows of navy bases. he isn't ignorant. (new jersey, at least, only carries the weight of his dead sister.)

it's tame until it's not. until his second cross-country meet. bob's in the middle stretch, pace decent enough to keep up with some of the older kids, and he's actually starting to enjoy himself. and then there's a hand on his back and he's crashing to the ground, literally tasting dirt. bile rises in his throat as he watches his glasses get stomped on deliberately, he can't unhear the accompanying slur.

he makes it to the finish line with a limp, mud on his face, and broken glasses. when his mom fusses over him later, bob blames it on being clumsy. no sense in making her worry; he doesn't like it when she cries.

three.

bob's sixteen with a long summer of open blue sky awaiting him. he skips dinner with his grandma up at the big house in favor of the bunk house with the ranch hands hired for the season. someone hands him a beer with a wink and a sly 'don't tell your grandma'; it doesn't taste great, but after a day of fixing fences, he likes that it's ice cold. he likes that he belongs, he likes that he can imagine his dad at this age too - it's the first time he feels like a man.

most of the ranch hands know him, they've seen him grow up in bits in pieces. they finish dinner and bob's content to listen to the way conversation flows and settles around him until they drag him into it too. does he like school, what's florida like, how are his folks and sister back home. then - you kissing any girls, yet?

bob answers honestly, he hasn't kissed anyone. at first, he doesn't mind the laughter, but it turns bitter in the mouth of one of the new ranch hands. there's something ugly in his eyes.

a chair scrapes back and adrenaline blurs it all together. there's shouting and fists and someone pulling him out of the way. trying to retreat, bob catches an elbow in the face and his glasses end up under someone's boot.

the unmistakable sound of his grandma's shotgun ends the skirmish. his grandma stays behind to deal with the mess while an older ranch hand gets him fixed up in the big house. later, when bob still can't sleep, his grandma sits on the edge of his bed with a sigh. it's too dark to read her expression. she tells him that his dad will take it better coming from him rather than her and that if he wants to drink in her house, he better never get drunk or stupid; he can't throw a punch worth a damn.

four.

he's eighteen, and his mom won't stop crying. there shouldn't be tears, not with bob's new diploma and a mit acceptance letter pinned proudly to the fridge. at least, there shouldn't be so many tears; it is a bittersweet occasion, an unavoidable reminder of the dead sister forever frozen at fourteen.

grief isn't the reason for the tears, though. no, the real reason is the neat stack of paperwork tucked safely in bob's desk committing him to the nrotc and eight years of navy service after. it's a choice he refuses to budge on and it leads to a few tense weeks in the floyd household.

he knows somethings wrong the minute he walks in the kitchen two weeks after graduation, both parents seated at the small table, clearly waiting for him. gracie isn't home; she's got regionals coming up, they should be with her at practice. (bob's long since taken the backseat to her gymnastic aspirations and he's mostly been okay with her hogging their parents attention; he just hates that it's their focus on him that causes alarm bells to go off.)

it starts off simple enough - reminders of his parents sacrifices. his dad doing his best to ensure his children wouldn't be forced to choose between the life sentence of a ranch or the navy. his mom, happy with the life she chose, but still always wondering about the life she might have had if she hadn't dropped out of college to marry and raise children. it's the reason they both pushed so hard for academics and sports and extracurriculars. then, it's the pricey flight lessons touted as more of a financial burden then it really is for the floyds. if he wants to fly, isn't that enough for him?

bob might not get the whole picture, but his maternal grandparents paid for his truck. all cash. between all three grandparents, he knows his parents haven't hurt for much (so long as their pride hasn't stood in the way).

but god dammit, what about his own sacrifices? what about bob, ten and anxious and terrified, begging his mom to get out of bed? what about bob, stuck in the routine of waking up gracie and making sure she has breakfast and lunch even after his mom escapes the fog of depression? or his childhood? one marked by four elementary schools, three middle schools, and two high schools. no one should be surprised that he chose the navy when his dad's service defined his early life.

why is his choice to join the navy and fly any different than gracie's devotion to gymnastics? it's the same risk. gracie could break her neck too.

or, what about plain want? clear blue sky - bob saw so much of it on the ground, he wanted the 30,000 ft views too.

but these thoughts are kinder than the words actually said. bob drags up every awful detail of his mom's depression, how his dad's grief and ill timed deployment felt like neglect. it doesn't matter if his points about chores and helping with gracie were valid after that. the damage is done on his side.

there's more yelling and tears and then the final blow - his dad shouting that bob's gay and it makes him weak, the navy will chew him up and spit it him out. but his dad's temper runs fast and quick, it ends with a too quiet 'fine, if the navy's your choice, you got a day to get out of the house.' they won't burry another child.

bob, the ever dutiful son, listens. on the flight to montana, cramped in a back row, he looks at his glasses held loosely in his fist and thinks it might hurt less if they were broken.

four, five, or six?

three months after his parents kick him out, he goes from montana to boston. he starts at mit and he finds, surprisingly, with some encouragement from new friends that beer and whiskey and cigarettes make him braver than he's ever been.

and the thing is, he's got his dad's same quick temper; it's just he's never had much use for it, always too quiet and too shy to find anywhere to put it. but a crowded bar? a guy being a jerk and not listening? sure, that's as good a place as any.

turns out, his grandma is right - bob still doesn't know how to throw a punch. sometimes, he remembers how he got the bruises, crooked frames, and scratched lenses. sometimes, he doesn't. either way, bob tells himself he's got it under control. except - he misses classes, he can't wait tables hung over, and no one is exactly impressed with him at the nrotc.

in the end, it's a combination of things that get bob to quit drinking his second year of college. (although, he still occasionally sneaks cigarettes when stressed.) gracie crying, a few letters from his parents. more than a few genuine apologies. a concerned commanding officer, citing his dad's respectful career record and how bob won't measure up like this. a patient rabbi and a better group friends than his first roommate, the one who dragged bob out partying his first night in boston. trading bars and beers for the library, more classes to average out his abysmal gpa.

it changes somethings, a relationship with his parents that sometimes feels like walking on ice, deciding to focus on weapon systems than outright piloting, but not everything. bob recommits to his faith, goes back to pretending things don't bother him, and decides life's a lot easier when people think he's just some nerdy stick in the mud than someone who can't handle his liquor.

[girlivealwaysbean]

.

[fadeintoyou1993]

i hate seeing my parents cry so much like literally top 5 worst things for me to see ever

[bibleofficial]

enraging the hamstercare subreddit by ‘making a safe hamster ball’ & it’s just a wad of my hair in a hamster ball tied in a clear plastic bag

[eclaire-went-bam]

npd + autism culture is literally refusing to engage in your special interest because now it's so so mainstream and you don't wanna be associated with all the fakes who are into it

i pretend to not really enjoy space/astronomy anymore because holy shit so many people in my life who like astrology conflates the two. i can't talk about astronomy without someone bringing up some spiritual shit. and i know everything they do say that's correct, they're viewing it from a VERY different lens than i am

i hate family who act like "we're all stardust" is a new revelation to them in their spiritual journey, which i have ALWAYS stated growing up, albeit with a more scientific lens. they also act like it's some special notable thing that means we can manifest anything when i just think it's a fact of life & people only view it as something astonishing because of how mysterious and disconnected the stars seem to your average person

i can never bring up my nuanced takes on life outside earth because someone always dumbs it down or tries to make it fit their own personal ideology on real time, or they'll think i'm lying once i say The Proven Alien Hoax Is, ✨Surprise Surprise✨, A Hoax Again™.

don't get me started on all the alien theories rooted in Just Racism

there's also a lotta people who aren't necessarily spiritual or conspiratorial with it, but it's an aesthetic for them, which on its face is fine, but i hate the thought that i will be grouped in with people who just find kinship with the great unknown Like Y'all Don't Appreciate It Like Me!!!‼️ gatekeeping rn on god how is the special interest i was bullied for so mainstream in internal culture and aesthetics

so i just pretend i don't really care much about it & it's really diminished by love of space & that's a shame & all but idk what else to do

nevermind the fact that when i was like 7 years old i cleared out two whole libraries of their astronomy books by reading every single one regardless of reading level

nevermind the fact most things i own are based on space

nevermind the different space and aerodynamic museums ive been to

nevermind me being able to name certain events just based off photos

nevermind me still owning a lotta books

nevermind me opting to study physics so i could better appreciate space

how dare my special interest be stolen ‼️‼️‼️

[autistic-katara]

the autistic urge to write ur blorbo having the most dramatic ass meltdown to make up for the fact that while ur overwhelmed asf and will probably spend the next few hours anxious-stimming at the very least u for some reason cant fully outwardly express allat so this is the next best (and safest) option

[hells-greatestdad]

// ramblin abt shit that no one wants to hear bc personalllll and maybe sorta trauma dumping

in tags

you been warned

[echoesofadream]

maybe I can even learn to be happy for other people

[welcometoteyvat]

normal programming interrupted I will be Not Normal for quite possibly the next 2 months all the way until 4.4 release

[vveakfish]

something something Kon brain worms something something Miley Cyrus music