#t: bullying

[rivetgoth]

It's honestly crazy that discussion around testosterone HRT skews so much towards the beginning stages of it (to the point that you have dozens of guys thinking their transition is "failed" if they don't pass by like a year in lol) and what the initial changes of the first couple of months to years look like, like the classic laundry list of those early basic changes like bottom growth, voice drop, etc, when IMO literally none of that compares remotely to the depth and intensity of the long term total masculinization you start to experience like 3-5+ years in.

[royaltea000]

POV they just told their da shixiong on you

[angel---eater]

tbh the whitest trolls to me are the zahhaks and the makaras bc of what kind of internet-people equius and gamzee represented at the time. juggalo culture is predominantly white working class folks or white folks on the poverty line, and in the US bc of segregation, that meant a lot more mixing of cultures than you see in middle class and up areas. its the same with canada and the UK. so you see a lotta black influences in there bc of how US class structures have been constructed. its a melting pot made by and for the working class. a lotta irl juggalo stuff is pretty chill from what ive heard? as a movement they want to demolish class heirarchy and build community. ofc theres room for abuse in the lifestyle though, thats not unique to juggalos. gamzee as a rich white boy living a juggalo lifestyle but not getting it right and actually reinforcing what irl juggalos fight against makes perfect sense for his character

equius on the other hand is like belligerently Hegemonic White Cis Dude coded to me. he represents young white cis boys on the precipice of falling into the manosphere pipeline, imo. specifically bc theyre lonely and insecure. his spot on the hemospectrum is perfect for breeding that shit. he's been told his whole life that hes better than most of the ppl he knows. hes higher up caste wise than most of his friends, particularly nepeta, but still feels inferieor to his friends who ARE higher up than he is, which is what sparks that hyperspecfic brand of insecurity in white cis boys. their only real problem is that someone else whos even more priviledged is looking down on them. and gamzee also being white just kind of compounds that bc of the sense of 'competition' between white guys or whatever, to be The Whitest Squarest* Guy who is On Top (haha) Of All Other White Square Guys

everyone else? nah. its so obviously not whats happening. which really just highlights the fact that large swaths of fandom still believe that white is default in terms of character design. and its insane to me how ppl can say w/ their whole chest that the hemospectrum has nothing to do w/ race, its just abt class, when racism and class are intrinsically tied. like theyre horrible twin sisters, man, you cant rlly have one without the other. enforced class models in society dont work unless theres someone up top deeping someone else Deserving of having less bc theyre not the exact same type of person as them

*using the term Square here not to denote any kind of 80s movie nerddom but to try to describe hegemonically cishet (and homogenized white) normies who are toxic abt it and think everyone else should be like them

[king-magppi]

🖍Sml cringe compilation cause artblock and brainrot hit at the same time. The new puppets were too ugly to not draw at least once.✏️

Enjoy, or not..?

[yandere-daydreams]

no you don't understand officers that's my son,,, he's so feral,,, and the bunny costumes are so deeply unserious,,,, it endears me to him even more unfortunately </3

[buckybee]

It’s wild to me that in AOS Kirk is a smartass who gets into frequent brawls and goofs around whereas in TOS Kirk was canonically bulled in the Academy because he was a nerd.

[hingabee]

i made some doodles for @aireyverkhovenskys femswap au. the first three are all seperate but i put them together bc it feels wrong to not let them engage

[steddieunderdogfics]

Do You Have a Mirror in Your Pocket? by blipblot

@blipblot

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

4,779 words, 1/1 chapters

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Tags: One Shot, Pre-Season/Series 03, Fluff, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Protective Eddie Munson, Bullying, Flirting, Terrible pick up lines, Steve getting humbled by his own past actions yet again

Summary:

Eddie listens closely as a disbelieving scoff echoes across the bathroom and then more wet footsteps in the opposite direction as if the person is searching for something. “Fantastic,” the voice says bluntly. “Great. Just what I fucking needed.” Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up as he recognizes the voice as none other than the recently dethroned Steve Harrington. “Alright, ha ha, very funny you guys,” he calls out. “Give me back my fucking towel now, please.” Eddie hesitates for a moment, looking quickly around the locker room and seeing no other person or a spare towel in sight.

Thanks for the rec! This recommendation is apart of our Writer's Wednesday! All of the recs today are written by @blipblot. Want to nominate an author? Fill out this form!

You can submit fic recs to our asks or the submission box!

[thehealingsystem]

currently crying as I'm writing this but uh I reeeaallyy wonder when people are gonna decide to leave us lesbians with unconventional gender identities alone. please leave the teenage bigender lesbian alone. they're a young girl in high school who likes other girls whom their mother will never accept and has to hide their relationships, and forever hide their heartache after they fail. please leave the transmasc lesbian alone. people will whisper behind his back about how much of a tranny he is while expressing disgust when he holds hands with a girl. please leave the nonbinary lesbian or just transfem lesbian alone whom is too masc or man-leaning for your taste, whether that be because they're amab or a nonbinary guy, they're trying super hard just to live and can barely pass and is forced to hide or else people will accuse them of invading spaces or being a predator. I know you won't ever see us as deserving of the lesbian label- no matter how much we present like a cis girl or how much we've been discriminated against for our attraction, from my experience- but we're just trying to make it by too. I'm tired of just trying to convince people I'm allowed to exist. not be in spaces, be in communities, exist. please leave me alone. please leave trans lesbians alone.

[prolibytherium]

Would kill to read animal POV fiction that has the animal POV’s interaction with humans be like, semi realistic to the level of caution most predators take with large prey and/or competitors (including humans).

Like instead of the usual - “the human is such a weak, pathetic creature... so slow, no claws, blunt teeth… completely helpless without its 'Fire Sticks'. how is it the master of the earth?” type crap it’s like, the bear protagonist or whatever approaches some dude who spreads their arms and yells and the bear is like “FUUUUUUUUCK THAT THING JUST GOT HUGE. IT'S LARGE AND MAKING NOISES. HOLY FUCK.”

[donnyanne]

so i draw trash once a year JUST KIDDING APRIL FOOLSSSS

[m1d-45]

Can I offer you the thought of gifting Kazuha a music box to keep during his travels?

songbird

notes: yes. ignore that it took me [checks notes] like several months to get to this request. and that it was meant to come out on his birthday. shush.

word count : 3k

-> warnings : none ! minor spoilers for inazuma AQ but nothin serious

-> gn reader (you/yours)

taglist : @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me || @chaoticfivesworld || @raaawwwr || @ryuryuryuyurboat || @undrxtxd || @rainswept || @wanderersqt || @rozz-eokkk

< masterlist >

there was little you could give a wanderer. he only carried what he needed, and what was needed was already kept close and well-maintained. there was little room for extra trinkets or unnecessary weight, either sacrificed in a moment of exhaustion or left behind when fleeing from those who wished him ill.

your kazuha was no different. even after joining the cruz fleet, he travelled light, with barely the clothes on his back to keep him company. he kept his pen in one pocket and paper in another, rarely carrying so much as a coin purse. this was fine and good, except his birthday was coming up and you had not a single clue what to get him.

you couldn’t ask beidou or the crew, as he’d certainly be lingering by and his hearing was far sharper than his blade. you couldn’t ask him—you’d tried, actually, but he’d just smiled and promised that he didn’t have want or need for anything. he spoke of his birthday very casually, as if it was any other day and not the reason he was by your side at all.

but kazuha was nothing if not thoughtful. for your last birthday, he’d gotten you a book of pressed inazuman flora, each carefully labelled, and had spent the entire afternoon telling you exactly where he’d picked each and why he’d chosen it. a lavender melon flower for resilience, a sakura bloom for change, a maple leaf for love. it was a painfully sweet show of affection, especially considering that the sakoku decree was not yet lifted.

“kazuha- are you sure you want me to have this? it could be years before you could collect these again.”

“please, my muse, the decree will not last forever. i have faith. and even if it doesn’t…”

he slips his hand into yours, looking out across the harbor. he’d taken you to a ridge just outside the city, letting you appreciate the sights without being unable to focus on his book. he looks away for a while, out to the sea, out to what lies beyond, the world seeming to slow to a crawl around you. the very air held its breath, allowing a wayward samurai’s sigh to linger, his mind far, far away.

“…inazuma is my home, but it is not my only place of rest. even if i never again got to experience a wondrous autumn, i’d still have this book.” he dragged his eyes from far-off shores, the same color as the maples sewn into his clothes.

“i’d still have you, wouldn’t i?”

and oh, archons, just the memory of that was enough to make your cheeks warm from more than just the liyuen sun. it’s early morning and the crowds are just starting to pick up, the shops of the lower harbor slowly selling off their wares. you’ve been looking for the better part of an hour now, and nothing seems to quite stick.

he already has pens, and is rather fond of the kind he already has. while you have the name and seller of said pens—he’d lent you one a while ago and never took it back—he already kept several spares tucked into his pockets. no matter how often he writes, how many papers he folds and gives away, his pad never seems to thin. the thread he uses to repair his clothes never fades or grows sparse, and he’s never so much as lost the tie in his hair. the week is growing shorter, and you have nothing.

and sure, kazuha isn’t materialistic to begin with, but you can’t think of anything else. it’s not like he dislikes liyuen food, but you’ve caught him frying his own fish enough times to know that he far prefers simpler tastes. he’s the one more familiar with liyue’s plains and hills out of the two of you, and you’re not eager to hurt yourself looking for somewhere new only to find out he’s already been.

he never asks for anything, never shows a hint of wanting. if he likes something, he gets it, leaving little for you to grasp at. it’s hard not to feel helpless, when he knocks at your door with your favorite flower in hand and you can hardly think of a single thing to do for his birthday. you can’t very well buy the sight of gardens of maple, nor somehow import those odd jelly-fungi he’s mentioned eating while in inazuma. based on the way he describes them, you’re not even sure if they’re meant to be edible…

his sword is kept in pristine condition. his shoes don’t seem to wear. you’re not familiar enough with medicine to try at getting him something for his aches, but it doesn’t matter, because every dawn means a fresh set of bandages, the faint herbal scent of whatever medicine underneath staying strong. he doesn’t need anything, and what he does he already has, and what he wants is quickly paid for through months of saved wages. he catches his own food, embroiders his own clothes, and you’re certain he’d filter and drink seawater if beidou didn’t stop him.

what can you get someone so minimalistic?

you prepare to loop around a final time, pricking your ears for the slightest call of something interesting. an array of local fruits, the freshest on the market. silk textiles, horsetail baskets, handmade chopsticks. you push through the crowds, eyes flicking over each stall. food, clothes, more food, building supplies? the harbor is crowded, overlapping shouting and negotiating and the barest sound of music through it all, quickly becoming overbearing.

…music? you stop and turn and seek out the delicate sound, surprised enough that your purpose for browsing has been lost. it’s rare to see street performers this far from the city center, not to mention the sound is so thin… normally there’s at least a set of drums to cut through the chatter. you’ve looked over everything twice anyway, it wouldn’t really hurt to look.

you don’t find a performer. instead, the sound leads you a few stalls over, to one full of various odds and ends, each carved from a dark wood. a lone chair, a set of cups—one has a weird chip in the lip—on an uneven plate, a good dozen set of chopsticks, somewhat clumsily painted. it’s tended by a young man who’s very nervously watching the customer in front of him fiddle with a wooden box, turning it over and inspecting every angle. there’s a key sticking out the back, and when they open it again, a single thin note floats out, quickly dashed away by the crowds. it’s beautiful, clear and crisp, even with the noise around you.

“maybe another day,” the other customer shrugs, and though the vendor’s face falls, yours lights up.

it’s perfect. sure, yeah, as the would-be buyer steps away and you look closer, the lines of engraving are uneven and hesitant, but the music was what made it worth it. kazuha always talks of the song within whispering wind, and you’ve seen how his pace slows when passing an opera, lingering just so. you never bought tickets because you didn’t know which he’d seen before, but this… this would do just fine.

“sorry about the wait,” the vendor apologizes, a slight sigh to his voice. “feel free to take a look around, just please be careful when handling the pieces. i don’t need another scolding from master lu…”

you pick up the box before he’s even done speaking, flipping open the lid. inside is some sort of flower on a plain pedestal, the same color as the rest of the box and largely unremarkable. you turn it, twisting the key in the back a few times, letting the song play again. it’s a slow, dancing tune, clear through the bustle. the little flower spins slowly, and you’ve made up your mind.

“what song is this?”

the vendor perks up, picking through his pockets until he finds a folded note. “’moon in one’s cup,’” he announces, “composed by yu-peng from up in yujing terrace.”

you dedicate the name to memory, closing the box and latching it shut. already, your heart is beating a bit fast, excitement and relief filling your chest.

“how much?”

you were hiding something from kazuha. he didn’t know what, he didn’t know why, but he knew it.

well, that was a bit of a lie. if he had to guess, it was whatever you’d gotten for his birthday. he’d done his best to assure you that you needn’t do or buy anything for him, but you’d gone and found something anyway. he couldn’t mind too much, not when the wind around you seemed to curl and skip along, ruffling your hair with self-inflicted pride. you were happy, and that was a fine enough present in itself. it was better than the poorly-hidden worry that always colored your features before, and it was a relief to know that it was a shallow issue you had been hiding. birthday or not, he’d hoped you’d tell him if something was wrong…

but it was nothing, thankfully. you asked him to find you after dinner on the day of, and that was that. the rest of the week slipped away like clouds from the sky, leaving him with a clear mind and a faint smile as he slept.

beidou was, surprisingly, not the first to wish him a happy birthday. it was furong that first saw him enter the breakfast hall, raising a glass with a shout that quickly spread across the crew.

“happy birthday!”

“here, c’mon, let’s get you a drink.”

“a toast!”

“to another year of smooth sailing!”

“to our stormwatcher!”

beidou was, however, sat closest to the door, and so she was the first to throw her arms tight around him, not minding the way his armor certainly dug into her skin.

“happy birthday, kazuha. don’t mind the noise, yeah?”

it would be impossible for a day such as today to turn south. the crew settled down and food was pressed into his hands, the shouting cooling off as they refocused on whatever they had been doing prior to then.

aside from the commotion at breakfast, his day was relatively normal. monitor the supplies coming in to ensure nobody tampered with them, then unpack them below decks. there was less to do, but that was simply because the date of their departure was approaching. within a few more days, he’d be off across open waters once more, keeping eye on the horizon.

that was for later, however. after lunch, he left port and took a stroll north, sitting for a while in an open field. the sky was cloudy, but not enough to worry about rain, so he lay on a flat-enough stone and let inspiration ebb and flow. a haiku here, a scratched out line there, though he was admittedly less focused than usual. the joy from that morning hadn’t really left him, sticking to his clothes and filling his thoughts. he wasn’t blind to the fact that he was welcome aboard the alcor, but it would be foolish to deny the appreciation of such a loud gesture, in meaning and volume.

his birthday didn’t mean much to him. sure, there was another year’s worth of memories to look back upon, a year’s worth of friendship and connections, but that could be declared any other day just as easily. when on the run from the shogunate, there was little time for such things as celebrations…

perhaps that was why he was still smiling. not just because of his friends, but because he had the energy to appreciate them. the ability to take off work and sit in the sun, soaking in nature. the energy to look forward to later obligations, instead of being permanently stuck in the moment.

dinner was far calmer than breakfast. he returned to the fleet late in the evening, ducking below deck to help cook. very few crew members liked (or were even good at) cooking, which meant it often fell to him. today, though, he was ushered out quickly, a few more people than usual seeming determined to block him from entering. it was strange, but not unexpected. the crew was close-knit, with every milestone met with raucous celebration.

he didn’t mind, though, returning above and busying himself with odd tasks. ferrying messages from furong, sorting papers with huixing, any and everything to keep himself occupied until the bell rung and dinner was served. the smell of alcohol quickly stained the air around the crowded dinner table, joining the heady mix of relaxation, joy, and a bit of anticipation.

another surprise awaited him, it seemed. he stuck around after he’d finished his food, noticing when little yue slipped out but not mentioning it. he also looked the other way when he snuck back in with a plate with a somewhat dented cover, letting someone else take his empty plate as the new one was pushed into its place. the conversation fell and he ignored the smell of sugar in the air, lifting the lid.

inside was a cake with shaky, cramped writing, struggling to fit his name in such a small space. it had obviously been made in-house, and was likely whatever secret the chefs had been determined to keep.

the cake itself was okay. a bit too sweet, dense, and with an odd sourness that he couldn’t tell was intentional or not. but the crew was happy and laughing and he didn’t need wine to get dizzy off their high, sitting at a well-worn table in a familiar seat surrounded by those he loved.

there was only one thing left…

he packed one of the last slices and kept it close to his chest as the halls grew quieter, the night air far cooler above deck. anemo softened his fall onto the pier, the wind leading him through the city and into familiar streets. the sight of your house had long since engrained itself into his mind, but he still felt his smile grow, tucking his cake behind his back as he knocked.

you were as beautiful as ever. he was certain you could pick yourself up from a pile of mud and still be sstunning, but tonight you had put in effort. still dressed for the weather, but with a bit more care into the set of your hair, standing straight.

“my muse,” he breathed, taking the small box from behind his back. “i have brought you a gift.”

and of course, you made a fuss about it, about how it was his birthday and that he didn’t have to do anything for you. but was that not the same logic that he had given you? did it matter, really, when the air was sweet with more than sugar and even your mock anger couldn’t hide your excitement?

at your behest, he took your hand in his and led you out of the city. his ‘favorite place’ was rather vauge instruction, but his mind had been made up from the moment he’d seen you. not too far, as he’d hate to stay out too late, but still somewhere nice. past bubu pharmacy, up the stone path, and on the low ridge beside it. few people would be passing by this late at night, but it was still close enough to the city that there were no real threats. a blanket was laid out and you both sat, exchanging gifts. his was in a plain bag, carefully wrapped in layers of protective paper, a small wooden box that looked as if it was meant to have legs but the designer had changed their mind halfway through. it was fine work, if a bit clumsy, but he knew it wasn’t yours. your sudden shift in attitude earlier could only be explained by a storefront. further inspection found a latch on the front and a key embedded in the back, and he understood. inside the music box was (what he could only guess to be) a carved silk flower, though again, one of the stems seemed to have been snapped and hastily covered. he reached for the back and turned the key twice, letting the song begin to play.

it was beautiful. careful notes plucked a carefree song, sounding very much alike to the lighter bands along feiyun slope. the music rose and fell, cheerful but quiet, like a soft satisfaction instead of a bright outburst. it was a lovely song in its own right, but his mind was far elsewhere. you were waiting for his reaction intently, face held in suspense like you thought he might hate it. he’d think it foolish, but that would imply that he disliked it, and that was far from the truth. to know you cared so heavily about his reaction to a simple music box, that your worry was for him, that you had been so excited for him, that you were hoping for his approval as if you didn’t already hold all that he was in your palms. the box could be stolen on his way back to the city, knocked out of his hands and dashed under a heavy cart, and his day would still be all the brighter simply by virtue of you being in it.

it was his birthday, after all, and you were one of the best gifts he could ask for.

[anxiousapplepie]

You must think very carefully on you answer. This is the question of utmost importance.

Which combination of characters from your swap aus will be the worst/best/funniest gaggle to unleash upon king or the whole time loop mess

I have thought about this very carefully and seriously, for this is truly is a question of the utmost importance and will give it the gravity it deserves. For absolute worst combination of role!swap characters to be stuck in a timeloop? ALL of the Travelers. They'd make each other so much worse and every time they almost break free someone would always mess something up and send everybody spiraling again. The best team to take on the King? Housemaiden Isabeau & Odile, Cook!Mirabelle, Researcher!Bonnie and Fighter!Siffrin. Don't ask me why, but those guys have the best chance of taking on the King and WINNING first try without any need for a reset. And for the funniest gaggle of idiots to be stuck in a timeloop or fighting the King? Housemaiden!Siffrin. Fighter Bonnie, Odile, AND Mirabelle. Traveler!Isabeau.

[nimudae]

Summer of Lawlu Week 1: Dawn | Caught in the rain | "I never meant to fall in love with you, I just did."

💖 HAPPY LAWLU DAY 💖

[Ko-fi]

[idk-bruh-20]

Irondad fic ideas #102

When Flash first overhears Peter talking about the "Stark Internship," he rolls his eyes and thinks, "Of course he'd go with that excuse at Midtown School of Science and Technology."

Whatever. Flash knows the truth. He's seen the car that Parker gets picked up in, seen the body guard / chauffeur and the absolutely insane amount of discrete safety tech he always has on. Flash is convinced that the whole orphan thing is just a cover story and Peter secretly has parents at least as rich and influential as Flash's own.

Maybe they're politicians or the mob or something, and that's why all the secrecy. Honestly, Flash is doing him a favor by bullying him all the time for being an unimportant orphan. It's the perfect cover. Maybe he'll even drop the ridiculous Stark Industries lie and come up with a more believable backstory soon.

Then, one day Flash and Peter end up in a kidnapping situation.

The kidnappers take Flash's watch, but they leave some of Peter's tech since it's better hidden. As soon as they're alone, Flash expects Peter to hit that panic button and get them the hell out of there.

Only... he doesn't? Did Peter learn nothing from K&R training? Flash reaches over and hits the secret panic button 3 times immediately, no hesitation. Peter is shocked. Flash is like, "Oh come on, I obviously know your secret."

He's kind of curious and excited now to see who Peter's secret parents are, once the cops get them out of there.

He is not at all prepared when Iron Man bursts through the door.

He's even less prepared when Tony Stark steps out of the suit and totally freaks out at Peter, hugging him and checking for injuries.

... maybe he's finally met Peter's secret parent after all.

[melymigo]

Don't make me tap the sign

Please be kind to my boys; they have suffered enough.