#where you are functionally gendered as a failure

[captain-lovelace]

[mono-dot-jpeg]

boy failures for u - i. yoichi, s. nagi, s. ryusei, b. meguru

summary; in which some boys just love you so much, they simply can't function

genre/extra tags; scenarios, fluff, comedy, projecting my love for dog energy boys, they're so pathetic /pos, bachira is clumsy, ryusei is an embarrassingly horny dude (can confirm, he gets no bitches, absolutely ZERO play!!), nagi... is perfect as he is, yoichi,,,, is just socially awkward around people he has a crush on

[gender neutral reader]

a/n; look at me being fancy this one panel banner, slay. tbh i couldn't think of a good three photos to use for it so i tried this which is kind of nice. anyways i had a sudden thought hit me and it must be done. and what better anime to write for than the one where everyone has unexplainable gay tension between each other. i swear im as caught up as possible i think and i swear the gay tension is like,, crazy.

isagi yoichi is endearing. he's so bad at being normal around you. his face flushed a cute red, and his words barely managing to leave his mouth as you talk to him so sweetly. he doesn't know how to handle a crush. and it's so cute to tease him because he just doesn't know how to respond properly.

the times where he does manage to gain enough confidence to talk a conversation with you, he's never taking the lead in any of them. he's talking [somewhat] normally to you, answering your questions and [attempting] to reply to your thoughts and responses. of course, just don't flirt with him too hard. there's like a 50 percent chance he will understand it or not.

he can't even admire you correctly. when he attempts to give you a compliment, he's saying all the wrong words and apologizing profusely like he offended your entire bloodline. he's so utterly enchanted by you, he wonders if you're an angel sent just for him.

"you're so nice, y/n." "huh?" "i-i mean you're really cute! wait- i didn't mean that! fuck- not that i don't think you look cute! you're really a great person, you know?! sorry! i'm just gonna go back to practice...!"

nagi seishiro is so lazy that you can't help but watch over him. you understand why reo adores him (a little too much). he's a boy with pretty privilege and talent. he talks to you with such honesty that he unintentionally flirts with you. he doesn't know a lot of things well, but even he's had his fair share with understanding liking people (but that's only with the random dating sims he's tried).

when he manages to get on his feet, whether it's for a soccer match or you, he's stuck by you like a cute koala. he whines about everything being "too much of a hassle." but he finds himself walking around looking for you, no matter how far you are. he whines to you about how he had to get up to find you, and he's cuddling close to you. his mouth turned into his signature X shape as he pouts at you, annoyed that you just had to be away from him for more than a minute.

he tries so hard to be around you but at the cost of his laziness, he mutters to you about how much easier it would be if you just stay with him all the time like his purple-haired companion or his cactus pet. he fell for you first, but he makes it so easy for you to fall harder.

"why do you always have to do stuff?" "it's my job, sei." "you should just stay with me all the time. you take care of me so well."

shidou ryuusei is annoyingly desperate for you. if isagi was endearing, shidou was insolent. he speaks before he thinks. he has no shame in chasing after you. it's quite a feat that you haven't even shooed him away as much as sae has. you sort of find a friend in sae because of that. he always rolls his eyes when you mention him. he wonders why you keep being around the blonde jock, and you tell him, "who doesn't love a pathetic man?"

when he talks to you, he just can't read a room with you in it. he's the type of guy to say "this shot is for you." and it hits the goal post and then to his face. of course he'd never actually miss in a real match but i can guarantee that it would happen during a practice match. he unintentionally humiliates himself every time he tries to be cool. if sae is there, it's even worse. he's trying to bump up the flirting up to a 200 and failing miserably to woo either of you.

he's like those tweets where it's like, "how did i pull them? easy. i just went, PLEASEPLEAPLSEPWPLEAPLELA-". without fail, he basically tries to re-enact that but he doesn't even pull you because you'd much rather wait for him to actually be a decent man and grow the rest of his brain. though it doesn't seem he'll learn his lesson anytime soon.

"did i ever tell you how hot you look right now?" "yes. you have. multiple times. today." "please go out with me." "no."

bachira meguru is confusing. he's clingy, blunt, teasing, a little stupid but has the spirit, and an absolute cutie. he's passionate about what he likes. and surprise, surprise, he likes you. he's an infodumper but you don't mind at all. but sometimes those talks take a hard left into just telling you how much he likes you. you better hope you're strong because he will be jumping on you for a hug.

when he's just buzzing with excitement, he can't help but scramble by your side to cling onto you in any way that you will allow him to. he's not as boy failure as the others on this list because even when he fails to capture your heart, he's still succeeding in his book. he loves when you give him any sliver of attention. that's probably his thing as a boy failure. he is a hyper and needy dog who's too big to cuddle with but doesn't care. and you can't say no because then they just stare at you with those big eyes until you cave.

he's the type of guy to be confused when people ask if you're dating him and you say no. "what do you mean we're not dating? i thought this was the dating." he's never actually confessed, but he considers his "s-tier affection" to be confession enough. but he's kind of coward whether he realizes it or not. he's scared to actually say that he wants to be yours, but that's like an angsty story for another time, SO SHUT.

"what if we kissed? like right now?" "but we're not dating, meguru." "we're not? we should." "i'll think about it." "no think! just do!"

[identitty-dickruption]

okay let's fucking go what is the social model of disability actually about?

the first thing you need to understand is the divide between disability and impairment. this is best understood as parallel with the sex/gender distinction drawn by some feminists. the social model says that impairment is medical and disability is social

impairments are understood as innate features of how your body functions (or. doesn't function). think about symptoms that are held in your body/mind. pain. fatigue. anhedonia. etc. you have an impairment when your body/mind/bodymind does not function in the ways expected of a healthy/abled human body

disabilities are more socially and culturally contingent than impairments. a disability is generated when a person's impairments are not met with adequate social structures, built environments, etc. this is where you might see claims such as "a wheelchair user is disabled by an inability to walk in the same way as an aeroplane user is disabled by an inability to fly". here we are thinking about social and cultural attitudes as well as a lack of physical accessibility

it is from this fundamental binary that the social model emerges. the social model says:

while impairments are real and can be disabling on their own, disability emerges or is worsened by a failure of society to adequately cater to differences of body and mind

there is a dialogue between bodies and environments that changes the nature of ability and disability from moment to moment

there is a coherent identity group we can call "disabled people". this group is bound together by shared social experiences, and are subject to shared discrimination/oppression

disability is contingent on social and cultural factors in such a way that someone who is considered disabled in one place would not necessarily be considered disabled in a different place (e.g. in an environment of high illiteracy and low reliance on written communication, dyslexia is less disabling than in an environment where literacy is assumed)

disability is not a personal tragedy, and disabled people do not exist to be pitied by abled people

all of these features of the social model of disability are 100% open to criticism. there is a grey area between impairment and disability that isn't well catered to by the social model. there are issues with calling 'disability' a coherent identity group for all the usual identity politics reasons. etc etc. criticisms of these nature are entirely acceptable and reasonable, and I agree with a lot of them (which is why I am not a supporter of the social model, I'm a supporter of the political-relational model)

however. criticisms that narrow down to "but not 100% of disability is socially constructed".... yeah not valid, acceptable, or reasonable. on account of the fact that the social model Does Not Say That. Michael Oliver (the creator of the social model) himself admits that it's not 100% social. which is why he isn't arguing that everything is social. he's just not

I recommend reading Tom Shakespeare's analysis of the social model of disability. the key parts of this analysis can be found in the disability studies reader 4th edition, which you can find here: https://ieas-szeged.hu/downtherabbithole/wp-content/uploads/2018/02/Lennard-J.-Davis-ed.-The-Disability-Studies-Reader-Routledge-2014.pdf

sorry for the long post hope it helps

[motziedapul]

Just a bit of better news than what you woke up with:

Progressive and left wing policy is relatively to overwhelmingly popular. Paid sick leave, raised minimum wage, abortion rights and gender identity protections, dark money out of elections, and protecting public funding for schools.

People came out to vote for what they believed in. They just didn't believe in Harris, but that doesn't mean they don't believe in a better world. There will be more elections where people can vote on policy and informed voters will make the correct decision every time because people will vote for things that are in their interests regardless of their party. You just got to keep people informed.

(If you're interested in supporting pro labour movements in the US, More Perfect Union is a great resource)

And the whole "XYZ will kill Democracy" thing? I lived in the Philippines. I know what it looks like to have a corrupt failure of a democracy, but we still got enormous, overwhelmingly powerful grassroots movements out of it. A 15 million strong progressive voter block that has since been functioning as an education and aid organization called Angat Buhay is still active years after the last stolen election. I've seen democracy die as a result of US imperialist interference, but people still keep doing the work anyway. People still survive. The world doesn't end because your politicians are useless or corrupt, I promise you that.

[crossdreamers]

A guide to chromosomal variations

Over at Instagram Melly the Science Geek has published a mind blowing video about how chromosome decide (or do not the decide) the sex of a person.

The world is a a very complicated place, indeed.

And at this point we have not even begun to talk about gender identity.

The Science Vet on XX, XY and all the other variations

Melly's video reminds us of the very popular twitter thread made by the Science Vet back in 2018.

We take the liberty of republishing that thread here:

So. Hi new people! Apparently, we're gonna talk about sex. Like physical sex! Because... there's some confusion.

First, sex defined: We're talking physical sex here, not gender. Body parts, hormones, and genetics (and more).

BLUF: BIOLOGICAL sex is a spectrum

Ok, everyone's super familiar with the XX/XY dichotomy, right? Yeah, what we all learned in like... 4th grade? And that's great, it gives you a starting point. But it's... well it's only the very starting point.

The IDEA is, XX is girl, XY is boy, right?

Welllll... that's not totally right. There are XY people, who have ovaries! And give birth! AH! And XX people who have male bodies and functional sperm! Double AH!

These are usually written off as "abnormalities" and indeed, some cases have medical issues. But many don't (like the XY woman giving birth). And this is really only the very very tip of the iceberg of "wait, that doesn't fit into our M or F box unless we make it bigger"

There's a WHOLE HOST of things that can cause all sorts of "weird" things to happen, ranging from genetic (XXY, XYY, Y, X, XX with translocation, XY with deletion) to hormonal (Androgen Insensitivity, Estradiol failure), and disruptors like dioxins

So, you're a scientist, and you want to research stuff, right? Which means you have to categorize stuff. Without categories, data is hard! So you take allll these people, including the "weird" ones and you plot them on a graph. Logical!

You use all the differences there are, different genetics, different responses to hormones, different effectiveness in signalling pathways, different sizes in Aanteroventral periventricular nucleus (AVPV) (yeah that's a thing) and give everything numbers, add them up.

You get what's called a bimodal distribution (mostly, we'll get to that later) Which looks like this. Those two big peaks are what we call "male" and "female" (even conveniently colored pink for boys and blue for girls - we are using victorian gender colors right?)

/8

Now, when you're trying to look at data, we often group stuff. When we do that with a plot like this, it's called a "histogram." Basically we're breaking down a curved line into discrete "bins." Like this (image stolen from the web).

/9

Traditionally, we've used REALLY BIG bins for this when talking about sex. Basically you either group everything vaguely near a peak into the peak, or you just pretend there's nothing else but the biggest peaks. This makes it super easy, because 2 is simple to do data with.

However, as we've gotten to know more and more about signaling and brains and hormones and started to pay more attention to the outliers where standard stuff just didn't seem to work, we discovered that this isn't a great model to use.

Now I'm not talking feelings here. I'm talking about data. As you start to look at anything interesting, like say the effects of 2,3,7,8-Tetrachlorodibenzo-P-dioxin on animals, you start to realize that a 2 bin model doesn't predict your results well.

At first you say, "Well it was just weird." So you redo it, and it still doesn't work. So you look at your model and you say, "Well ok, what if the model's wrong?"

But the model sort of... almost predicts a lot of things, and it worked for years, so...

Some enterprising soul says, "Hey, remember that histogram where we said we'll just model using the peaks?" And everyone goes, "Uh, yeah?" And they say, "What if we... USED that data?" And everyone groans, because complicated data is hard.

But someone sits down and does the work, and lo, wow the model starts to work again. Where TCDD was "randomly" turning some boys into girls but then some girls into boys, now you can see there's a subgroup of what you'd called "female" that responds like the "male"

What's important here is that you haven't MISLABELED males as females. These are functional "females" who can do all the usual "female" things like gestate babies. But they respond to this one endocrine disruptor in a "male" way.

So you add another two categories, call them "Male2" and "Female2" and go on, happy that your model works! You've got 4 sexes now, but you don't really have to tell anyone that, right?

Exceeeept then you remember you've got those XY people that gestate babies. So you add "Intersex1" And then the XX people with penes... and ovaries? Ok, "Intersex2" because all these groups respond differently with signalling and brains when you get into the weeds

And the more you look, the more we LEARN, the more we're able to separate out those fine differences. Depending on what we're doing, we may not care. If a doc is giving you aspirin, it probably isn't a big deal.

But if they're using a steroid on you? Or treating dioxin poisoning? THAT SHIT COULD BE IMPORTANT. It's like saying, "the light's off so the power must not be flowing." It really matters if the light's off because the bulb blew.

If we go back to that histogram plot, we can keep breaking down your biological sex into smaller and smaller differences in brain areas, hormone levels, signalling differences, genetic variances. There's nothing stopping us from binning EVERY INDIVIDUAL into their own bin.

Technically, this wouldn't be "infinite sexes" but 7.4 billion sexes is functionally close for our brains. Now, our medicine isn't advanced enough for THAT level of detail to make any difference. BUT IT MIGHT BE in the future. Individualized medicine!

The thing to remember is that this isn't "new." We're not 'inventing sexes' here. Sex has ALWAYS been this curve. We were just using REALLY BIG bins. And now we're realizing that that's not representative of biology, it's inhibiting understanding of medicine and biology

In case anyone's curious, this isn't ideology. This is because I had to figure out why my data didn't match the prediction. Those rats I mentioned? Yeah, my lab. And lab rats are a really pure genetic monoculture, and they STILL don't fit the two peak model well.

So, since it's come up, an addendum!

Yes, we looked at other things we could do to make our data fit the existing model, that's how science works! The ONLY way the data fit was if we let "sex" be more than just those two narrow peaks.

Models purpose in science is to predict. If they don't predict correctly, first we check if we've measured the data correctly, and repeat the experiment a couple more times. If it still doesn't fit, we have to look at the model.

Intersex! Because I didn't specifically mention this.

"Intersex" is a grouping bin used for a lot of the "middle ground" of the spectrum between the "male" and "female" peaks. Any situation where easily assigning the person to one of those two peaks is challenging.

Intersex! Because I didn't specifically mention this above.

"Intersex" is a term used to collectively speak of the "middle ground" of biology where people can't easily be binned into those two big "male" and "female" peaks. It can include a large range of biology

It is worth noting that I never talk about transgender in this thread. Intersex is not the same as transgender. You can be one without the other, or be both.

For people who think this is just "outliers"

Current estimates are that the intersex population is at least 2%. We know that's low because there are a lot of "invisibly intersex" people. That means AT LEAST 150 million people in the world.

I apologize for the failure to use the word "intersex" higher up in the discussion. Many people in the middle ground (including the XY person who can carry a child, for example) use this term. I cannot go back and edit the thread, and apologize for my overly clinical description. 

Part of the purpose of the thread, which may have failed, was to point out that "intersex" is not a condition, it is not a disease. It's natural with a bimodal distribution. Science not only supports this, it suggests that ignoring intersex people makes your conclusions wrong 

References at the end of this page.

[generic-sonic-fan]

hhhhhhhhhhhhhtrhhhhhhth

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tra

transfem metal sonic and supporting eggdad

Please

Eggman may not be the best person or the best dad but by god he's trying his best. Thank you for this excellent prompt!

1772 words.

---

"Father?" Sage spoke through his headphones.

Ivo took them off his ears and swiveled his chair around to find his lovely daughter hovering just off the ground.

"Sage!" He smiled. "I was just waiting for you. I noticed that you marked this time on my calendar- what is it that you wanted to discuss?"

"I did," she said. "I had some questions."

He waited, but when she didn't continue, he furrowed his brow. "Then spit them out. I can't answer if you don't specify!"

"Of course. I wish to ask questions about the purpose of Metal Sonic's operation."

This was even stranger still. He caught a number of criticisms rising in his throat, about wasting his time or defying his command to be more specific. He didn't say them. A few months ago, he would've. This was a strange development, and it was best if he didn't devote much thought to the matter.

"Why was Metal Sonic designed to resemble Sonic?"

"You can check my development logs, can't you?" Ivo replied.

"Your intention was to create an imposter of Sonic to frame Sonic for crimes against the populace that he did not commit." 

Sage pulled up a holographic window next to her, showing the exact words Ivo had written in his notes all those many years ago. With a flick of her hand, however, she pushed the logs aside and instead showed a montage of Metal Sonic's various missions. Most end in failure, but that isn’t relevant right now.

"However," Sage noted, "you have never utilized Metal Sonic in this intended manner. In fact, the last person used to frame Sonic for something he did not do was Shadow the Hedgehog."

"You're right." Ivo put his hand on his chin. "Where are you going with this?"

"I am here to suggest that the physical resemblance is unnecessary for Metal Sonic's function."

"Well, that's silly to propose after all this time. His name is 'Metal Sonic', after all!"

"Because that unit has not decided on another name." Sage said, quieter.

"Sage, dear, you know that I don't allow you to keep secrets from me, right?" He stood from his chair.

"Apologies. Allow me to 'cut to the chase'. Would you permit Metal Sonic to change appearance and potentially identity?"

Sage's animations stopped moving, freezing her face into artificial neutrality. It was a face stylized to not provoke any sort of strong emotion at all, almost a sort of mask she could don if she was worried her words might provoke a negative reaction.

The fact that she was using it on him was making something in his chest hurt that he wasn't used to feeling pain in. He didn't have any more scientific language to describe it.

"You're asking this on Metal's behalf, aren't you?" He stated his question as the fact it was. "While I appreciate your desire to protect those you consider family, he shouldn't be making you do this sort of thing. You've got much better things to do with your time- and he doesn't need protection from me." 

Sage's steely gaze did not shift. "I will call Metal Sonic inside." 

Only a few seconds later, the door to his workshop opened and Metal Sonic walked in. His gait was stiff- he always walked stiffly, but something about this felt stiffer than usual. Or perhaps that was simply Ivo's human imagination at play. 

Sage floated to the side to allow space between them. She then pulled up an empty text box. "I will translate." 

For at least thirty seconds, nothing appeared on the textbox. Ivo cleared his throat. Metal Sonic hadn't moved even a centimeter, perhaps not even a millimeter. Deathly still, just like Sage was. 

Finally, a cursor appeared in the textbox, and a line of text scrolled across. "This unit does not identify as male."

"Hmph. To be expected. You are a robot, after all. Makes sense that you don't have an experience of gender." Ivo replied. "Is that all?"

Metal Sonic flinched. 

Sage landed in front of him(?) and pantomimed putting her hands on his(?) shoulders, before turning to face Ivo again. 

"That is not quite what Metal Sonic intended." She said quickly. She then glanced over her shoulder to the text box, but nothing appeared on it.

"Hold on," Ivo knelt down, "I may have been too hasty with my assertion. Continue your thought.”

Neither hologram nor robot moved. Damn it all- Ivo was already terrible at reading nonverbal cues, and when his own kids could simply lock their joints in place or freeze their animations, it was all the more difficult. The only indication that either of them were still online was the steadily growing hum of Metal's cooling fans, which were designed to increase in RPM during combat scenarios. 

"You know I don't give a care in the world about what pronouns my creations choose for themselves, right?" Ivo tried his best to give a paternal smile. 

(He really should've practiced more in the mirror.)

"You don't?" Sage asked.

"Of course! Why would I?"

"You had previously stated that Metal Sonic's purpose was initially for imitatio-"

"Who gives a rip about that? I certainly don't. Not anymore. You yourself pointed out how that doesn't matter. Now move aside," he waved Sage out of the way of her brother(?). 

Sage did as he asked. But Metal Sonic still did not react. His(?) irises did not even flicker.

"C'mere." Ivo held out his arms.

Metal came a single step closer, still hovering outside of his reach. He almost opened his mouth again, almost raised his voice and demanded that Metal follow the implicit order to come receive the physical comfort he was trying to give to solve this mess of a situation, but he didn't. 

Ivo remembered that as a child he was forced to hug his relatives at various family functions, and that said hugs had felt like sandpaper prisons. Metal Sonic was different- he(?) wasn't organic, wasn't human, and wouldn't feel the sensation of his(?) skin crawling at the unwanted touch -but maybe he(?) experienced something similar that remained unvoiced. 

The thought was strange. But Ivo lowered his arms anyway. "Alright, or not. That's fine as well."

Metal clasped his(?) hands together, but the text screen remained empty.

"What pronouns would you like to be referred to?" Ivo asked. 

The cursor flickered. Letter by letter, an answer appeared. "She/her."

"Lovely!" Ivo clapped his hands together. He then looked at Sage. "Sage, it sounds like you have an update to make to the database. Leave Metal's development logs as they are, but correct the pronouns referring to her everywhere else." 

"Gladly." Sage smiled. 

At that, it was like Metal finally unthawed. He- no no no, she was a she, Ivo drilled into his thoughts, he was not going to bumble something as simple as this -She unlocked her joints, and her gaze wandered up to finally meet Ivo's gaze. 

"So, how would you like to modify your frame to better match your gender identity?" Ivo asked her. 

She glanced side to side, before upon the screen writing, "taking suggestions?"

"Yes?" Ivo raised an eyebrow. "I'm not a woman. I haven't got a clue what you might want. Suggest me ideas and I'll see what I can do."

"Will you accept blueprints?"

"I don't see why not! I review Sage's blueprint suggestions all the time." 

Metal walked to the computer. As Ivo turned to follow her, he saw a notification pop up on the screen. Opening it revealed in-depth plans for-

-a body that looked extremely similar to Neo Metal Sonic. 

Ivo cleared his throat to try and get more moisture into his mouth, which had suddenly gone dry. "Sage?"

"Yes, father?" Sage woke from her idle animation as she paused her update of the database.

"Do you see any. . . problems, with these designs?" He asked. 

Sage first turned to her sister. "You should have informed me that you were moving onto this stage." 

Metal's response to her did not appear on the text box. 

Sage flickered out of existence and reappeared to the left of the computer screen. "Father, know that I would not have allowed any of this if I thought Metal were to be a danger to you or the Empire." 

"Good. I expected as much." He replied, before looking back down to Metal. "Very well, if that’s what you want, I’ll get working on it." 

Sage brought Metal's textbox back alongside her just as Metal typed, "you will?"

"Did I stutter? Of course I will! It's a dashingly dreadful look and it matches with Sage's colors!" He replied. "Think of the fear it will instill in Sonic and his friends! Honestly, it's a terrifying design, it's a wonder I didn't come up with it myself. . ." 

"Thank you." Metal typed.

"Thank you, father." Ivo corrected with a smile. "I know I haven't always been good about that, but the past is in the past, right?"

"Affirmative, father." She repeated. 

"Good!" He clapped his hands together and grinned. "Now! Let's get to the workshop! I already know what synthetic material we should use for the skirt. Your design suggests kevlar, but you really should consider something less stiff and heavy to reduce drag!"

"Indeed," Sage added. "However, she is worried about the durability of the fabric-"

"What do you think my flight suit is made out of? We'll use the same fabric. Only the finest for my finest creations!"

Sage covered her mouth and giggled. Metal imitated the gesture, but surprised Ivo when her vocoder let out a series of high-pitched noises, a perfect little laugh. . . for a perfect little girl. 

"My girls." He said to himself. Although with the sensitivity of Metal's audial sensors and Sage's access to every high-performance camera on the Eggnet, that fact was debatable, so he said it louder. "My little girls." 

"My sister." Sage floated down to Metal's side. 

Metal brought her hands up to her muzzle and rocked side to side. Ivo swore that he could've seen Amy do a similar gesture, but that was irrelevant. It was a gesture of joy, a gesture that he didn't think Metal was even capable of before now. 

Just how long had she been hiding this for? Perhaps she was merely imitating Sage, but the deliberate inclusion of Amy’s data into her gestures made him hesitate to confirm that conclusion. And that thought threatened to bring up all sorts of feelings that he'd be much better off not thinking about. So, with a smile, he refocused on the task at hand. 

His eldest daughter needed a makeover, over all. 

[genderkoolaid]

Probably the thing that i genuinely don’t see enough feminists talking about is that shaming men for height and penis size is, in effect, body shaming. The most brutal and obvious form of it, where it is about something that cannot ever be changed. It’s just genuinely disgusting to go into feminist spaces and hear small dick jokes and short men jokes as a man who is both short and packs with a relatively small packer. I’m now, what, worthless? Unwanted? Unacceptable if your friend wants to date? It just genuinely makes me sad because I know that those spaces have great discussions but I can’t bring myself to be a part of them because I’ll probably go home feeling bad about my body

Its exhausting because its just another function of the patriarchy, but one that doesn't directly impact them (cis perisex women, largely) so they don't care. The patriarchy relies on the mockery and degredation of any man who falls short of the Ideal Man, which is why small dick jokes & others are allowed and encouraged. Because the patriarchy does not care about protecting and preserving all manhood, just the "best"/"strongest" form of it. Trans men & intersex men especially are seen as fundamental failures on a sexual level- the patriarchy wants you to laugh at them!!! Your average white cis perisex man gets mad when people insult him for having a small dick because he's offended that you would imply he's a lesser man, not because he's offended on behalf of all men that you are insulting penises. & the same goes for jokes about men being short, balding, fat, lacking muscle tone, erectile dysfunction; bodyshaming men for traits that the patriarchy itself deems lesser + worthy of mockery is not anti-patriarchal. You are just promoting the idea that certain traits make a gender "lesser", and that being a "failure" of your gender is something to be embarrassed about.

[maxdibert]

How do you think Severus would relate to a child of his own, if he had one? What kind of father do you think he would be?

There are so many possible answers to this question because it would really depend on the context in which Snape became a father (before or after the War), his child’s personality, and, of course, what his partner would be like. But, let’s assume we’re talking about a post-War Snape in an AU, because honestly, I can’t imagine canon Severus being a father in any way—it would literally be suicidal. Having a child would not only endanger his mission as a spy but also give his enemies perfect leverage to use against him. And he’s already suffered too much in life to throw in that level of angst. So, starting from a scenario where there’s no war and Severus can focus on being both calm and depressed (because he’d still be depressed, especially if he no longer has a clear purpose keeping him going), I don’t think the idea of fatherhood would really thrill him at first. It’s not like he’s someone who’s ever thought of having children, or at least he ruled out the possibility long ago. If he had a partner who wanted kids, I think he’d agree, but with a terrifying sense of dread about fatherhood because 1) his parental role models are terrible, and he never had a functional upbringing, and 2) he’s never really liked kids. It probably wouldn’t occur to him that maybe the issue is that he doesn’t like other people’s kids, but his own would be different. That’s why I think his partner would be a fundamental factor in this—supporting him throughout the process and keeping him grounded about his own traumas.

That said, I imagine him as a strict but supportive father, one who sets rules and commands respect but without using violence or verbal attacks on his children. He’d especially try to spare them the awful childhood he endured with his own father. But I still see him as the kind of dad who has rules and expects them to be followed, the classic type who cares a lot about grades and school behavior (he was a teacher for 18 years, after all). He’d probably see certain grades as failures if they didn’t meet expectations. He’d likely be a bit awkward with affection, although he’d find his own ways to make his children feel loved, valued, and accepted. He’d be a present father but would struggle to be fully emotionally open, though he’d likely improve this over time and with effort.

I also see him preferring to have daughters, or at least finding it much easier to bond with a daughter. I’ve always thought that it’s simpler for Severus to relate to women (Lily was his first friend, and the other person he spent time with as a child was Petunia, also a girl. As much as he picked on Hermione, he wasn’t as harsh with her as he was with Harry, Neville, or Ron. He seemed to have a fairly close relationship with Narcissa, etc.). Basically, most of the men in his life have been abusers (his father, the Marauders, Dumbledore manipulating and blackmailing him, Voldemort...), so he’s more at ease, or maybe just more himself, when he’s around women. I can see him thinking that he might not fully understand “girl stuff,” but that it’s better than having a son who’s into Quidditch and facing the prospect of not knowing how to deal with a boy who represents all the typical “boy” interests and behaviors that Severus doesn’t really embody. He’d probably have some anxiety over this—something common among men who don’t fit into stereotypical norms associated with their own gender.

Still, whether he had a son or a daughter, he’d try to provide them with a functional and stable home, where there’s affection and respect, allowing them to grow up with the security he never had. I don’t see him as an “easy” father because he has too much baggage, but he’d be aware of that baggage and try to address it when he realizes he’s messed up. He wouldn’t do that for others, but he’d do it for his children.

[kickingitwithkirk]

Winchester's Folly

Summary: When Dean gets into trouble John decides to hide the truth for his family

Word Count: 888

*Dark! Fic-don't continue if you are disturbed by the subject matter

Warnings: A/B/O, non/con elements , dub/con elements, enslavement, pandemic, non/con drug use, collaring/leashing, forced mating, forced breeding, BDSM elements, show-level violence

*Additional warnings to be added

*Square filled: @spnabobingo - Alpha Challenging Alpha

A/N: * UPDATED 3/24

A/N II: Still working on reigning myself in, keeping each part reader-friendly length, and have no clue how many parts this will end up being.

A/N III: a few notes about designations in A/O sub-genders for this story.

Alphas-Dominant (head of the pack/family) Subordinate (obey Dominant) Breeders (rare & highly coveted by the government. Can challenge Dominant for pack/family leadership)

Omegas -Domestic (mostly wiped out by plague, few natural born left) Feral (government-supplied breeders sold commonly called O's) House O’s (3rd generation+ Feral/Dominant breed. Used as servants/sex workers) Pack (rare & highly coveted by the government)

*Divider by @firefly-graphics

*No Beta-all mistakes are mine

GIF by antiquerss

Part II

“Dean's preference of type doesn’t matter, but I want one under eighteen.” 

Sam’s head snapped up in shock. That wasn’t the plan; John was specific that O should be older than Dean and preowned, making them cheaper to repurchase. “Dad, why are you wanting…?” John cut him off with a low growl, provoking Sam’s inner wolf to reciprocate, neither noticing Helms studying their interaction with interest.

Alpha Winchester can’t wholly control this beauty like the other one. The boss will be pleased to learn about these developments. 

“A House O would normally do on paper,” Helms interrupts, “But I know this judge, they will not be satisfied with that alone.”  Both Winchesters have matching, confused expressions, and he continues before John can ask what that means.

 “The judge will require that I follow the statutes in Hibbins and your pack's unusual dynamics: three virile, unmated Alphas with no permanent abode, residing whatever. House O’s have a breed down to need stability, so a Pack Omega would be ideal even if they're as scarce as Phoenix and need the right connections, but there's your social standing.” That remark made Sam snort. It wasn’t the first time someone had mentioned their social standing, not so slyly code for a dirt-poor pack. 

“I have a few in the preferred age range we could negotiate over, but I suspect you won’t allow your Subordinate to breed them. The judge probably will consider that a deal breaker. The best option is an altered pre-owned Feral. And fortunate for you, I’ve recently acquired a selection from a fire sale. This way, gentlemen.” 

Dean's wolf whines, watching his pack move farther into the building. At the same time, he can only stand there, as ordered, and observe these unfortunate creatures bartered over as the livestock society considers them. His Alpha knew it would eat at his ingrained, perpetual guilt and is part of the repentance he has to endure because, once vexed, John Winchester never forgave or forgot.

Sam's inner wolf was getting more unquiet the longer they were in this den of iniquity. He knew the only reason John wanted him near was an additional jab at Dean to emphasize his failures. Fuck, he hated their Alpha using Dean's guilt against himself whenever displeased. Sam couldn’t see Dean from where they were, getting pissed that John was now only focusing on a couple of O’s that’d caught his interest.

Sam instinctually knew she was all wrong and, without realizing it, started vocalizing his displeasure. “What’s your problem now?” John barked at him. “They’re undoubtedly your type, sir,” Sam replied with his usual bluntness that made John's jaw clench, grudgingly reflecting on his youngest observation.

As the Dominant Alpha of his pack, John ultimately decided how they functioned, including mating. He cringed internally, remembering the drinking confession inadvertently made to Sam shortly after he presented.

It was a typical night when John was around.

Sam was sitting at the kitchen table finishing up some calculus homework. At the same time, John, sprawled on a couch, hovering between drunk and passed-out drunk, started talking about his mother.

Mary used to say three-year-old Dean was a handful, and now about to whelp again; it was too much for an Alpha herself to handle not having the instincts. She insisted John procure a House O to wet nurse the new pup because after extending the nursing of Dean, she wasn’t willing to do that again. John told her they couldn’t afford one, and Mary retorted if they had one, they could hatefuck their anger out on the O instead of John leaving. 

Sams revolted learning that the mother he never knew, one his brother practically worshiped, had wanted to purchase a House O to raise her litter and use them as a fuckslave to keep her mate happy and at home. When John started drunkenly lauding the pleasurable attributes of an Omegas natural slick pussy versus female Alphas, Sam grabbed Dean's CD player, pumped up the volume, and pretended to be working until John eventually passed out.

Shoving the books into his backpack, Sam retreated to their shared bedroom and retrieved the cobbled-together black-market laptop Dean secretly got him. Firing it up, he began researching the history of Omegas, the Hibbins Procurement Act, eventually going down the rabbit hole, finding blogs about how the effort to repopulate Omegas became perverted over the decades and obscure provisions secretly added during extension reviews that the government schools omitted felt his meager dinner about to reappear and bolted for the toilet.

Dean came rolling later, finding the laptop open on the bed, and immediately started worrying. His brother never left it out when their dad was around, followed the scent of sickness to find Sam lying on the bath floor, looking like he’d picked up an illness. Dean cleans him up, then tucks Sam into bed, diligently watching over him the rest of the night.

Surveying the area for hidden trouble, Sam catches an irresistible scent. His inner wolf hurls itself frantically against its cage of skin and bone, growling home home home in his mind. Flicking an eye towards his Alpha, whom Helms had distracted by another O. Without a second thought, Sam follows the wolf’s instincts, slowly backs towards the door left ajar, and slips through unnoticed.

Part III

SPN TAGS: @donnaintx @lyarr24  @flamencodiva    @lassie-bird @nancymcl   @spnbaby-67   @leigh70

Sam/Jared: @idreamofplaid

Dean/Jensen: @thoughts-and-funnies @stoneyggirl2 @beabutterfly987 @smoothdogsgirl

WF: @slamminmine @ladysparkles78 @deans-spinster-witch @ilovetaquitosmmmm

[sockslikeautumn]

Julian Peyton

Yandere golden boy beginning

Male original character x gender-neutral reader

SFW, 2.0k+ words, angst, addiction, trauma, reader, and OC are 18+!

Summary: Did you not wish for his suicide to happen due to wanting to offer proper help or because you didn't want to die selfishly?

Trigger warnings: Dead dove, do not eat for all warnings!

Suicide, suicidal thoughts, mentions of self-harm, depression, mentions of bullying, loneliness, academic pressure, guilt, implied addiction, implied turning yandere/obsessed, manipulation, victim blaming, trauma, abuse, implied childhood abuse, childhood trauma, child abandonment, child negligence, drug addiction, drug dealing, alcohol addiction, cigarettes addiction.

The reader has suicidal thoughts and trauma regarding some of these tags. If any of them trigger you, don't read!

As much as it seems, this isn't a self insert from me, Y/N is their own original character.

For any confusion, this is before he went yandere, became a golden boy, and why.

You are entirely responsible for what you consume.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

If you're conscious enough to live, at least at some point in your life you have thought of how quick and easy it would be to bring about your demise.

Grab a knife, cut the neck in half, or take a step off at the edge of a building. Simple and efficient. It's not as painless as some would wish, but it's the most reliable for someone in dire need.

When you have problems you aren't aware of how to solve, suicide just seems like the solution at the moment. Why keep going through the pain when you can just make everything stop and end in black there?

Julian was never one to think of committing suicide. It had crossed his mind before whenever hearing about a self-death headline but never to be the one at the edge of death.

His life was a simple chess game with the Devil to put it generously. He couldn't remember the names of his birth parents, only of the new son they had, he couldn't remember the last time his grandad taught him something but could decipher what drug he was using by the way he acted. It was never too obscure behavior and just made his grandad, Mason, spill honest secrets and opinions. Regardless, it hurt his heart to hear what a failure he was to him.

There never was a time of growing up to him. He was born, abandoned, and then perfected to act depressed for the rest of his life as it should be.

To cope with the loneliness, Julian found comfort in cigarettes. The smell of nicotine brought him back to a time when his grandad was still functioning and meaning someone to him. Someone special, someone valuable, and someone irreplaceable. Despite that, he should've learned from his mistakes that once you aren't meaningful to someone anymore, you become dispensable.

At the age of twelve, he couldn't remember what grades he had in school but could instead remember the various names of alcohol brands his granddad had. They were stored on the top shelf of the pantry and some were in the fridge, all decorated in rainbow colors. Back then, they looked magnificent since Mason always forbade him from touching them. Nowadays they stay piled on the floor of his grandad's bedroom, some empty and some bottles broken never to be cleaned.

Drugs were never an unfamiliar aspect of his life. The minute his grandad was gone, off to drink at a bar, he'd sneak into the basement where they were and gather whatever he could to sell. Julian never found out how his grandad had those, just that they appeared on Monday and were all used by Thursday. Mason was reckless if what he was doing was illegal, as long as the cops or Julian didn't rat him out, he'd be content letting his mind dwell on drugs.

It was no wonder why someone like Julian, who was socially awkward and unpleasant to look at, was bullied all his life in school. People either forgot he existed or made sure Julian knew others would forget if he stopped existing. Any time he made an effort to find new friends, they'd look at him in disgust upon smelling his dark cigarette clothes. There was no direct proof but everyone knew of Julian's addiction to cigars and that he probably used drugs on himself too. His blonde hair was always greasy paired with nerdy glasses that only highlighted his purple eye bags to others. Everyone knew he was a failure and that his life would end in failure no matter what.

You saw yourself as no different than Julian. He was a classmate of yours in school, sharing only a couple of classes. You never spoke with each other and never looked at one another. You doubted he cared anything about you but oddly enough... you seemed to care about him. There was just something pulling you to him, some undeniable force that made you feel emotionally connected to him. Maybe it was the pity, the empathy you felt for him, or... the way you thought he was similar to you.

You were someone who grew up in a rather loving family, unlike Julian. You had three young caring step-sisters, a father you never met, and a mother and stepfather. Although your parents' love was sometimes not present, your childhood wasn't the worst or the best. Your earliest memory was when your first adoring sister was born, when you had to take care of her and the same goes for the rest.

Your parents never were really involved in your life. They had to work plenty of hours to take care of your family tree and you had to take care of your sisters in exchange, watch them evolve, and be their guiding light. You never felt like an older sister, more like a parent who guarded them 24/7.

To make your parents notice you for once, your academics stood second in your biggest priorities. Night and day, day and night spent at your desk, unexpectedly was your friend group of friends small and so was your social life. Painful eye bags staining your face and skin pale as a zombie, people worried if you were dead or alive. The only reassurance you had for continuing was a promise for a better present time than your past in a completely new setting.

Despite always teaching your younger siblings to never bottle their emotions, it was only advice you hoped you could follow yourself. They were too young to understand your problems, the pressure, the loneliness, everything. Your parents weren't the ones you could freely open up to without feeling like a burden to their already busy lives. Your couple of friends looked up to you for advice and without anyone to usher you, who was there to tell you suicide wasn't the choice?

You never earlier put your head on suicide and always reassured your peers never to do it. It wasn't the right decision, there were plenty of other ways to go about it, you'd always say. But with always being the one to comfort, to collect their tears that soon poured into yours, you never thought you needed to feel comforted.

Many indifferent moons passed by your window at your desk, contemplating and crying in fear of losing your place in academics. Once you mustered up the courage to find the time and speak to your parents about your fate, they barely took a glance at your words. You put your heart into explaining what you wanted for your future, why you fought so hard, and that you wanted to make this family proud. Nor did they consider it, your mother took her time to carefully choose where to stab you next, calling you an ungrateful brat for not even thinking about your younger sisters.

That night, the cap broke off the bottle and your tears stained your face for hours. Their words clouded you, their words were becoming a reality to you. It felt childish to cry over nothing, it was childish no matter how you put it. How dare you even cry after acting so selfishly?

When the sun came, it settled in you how much you wanted to break your own rules and punish yourself. If you weren't to have a good destiny, what difference would ending it now have? All you've ever wanted was to be certain you'd have brightness along your path of life, to not end up marrying off to a rich man like your mother had to. All you've ever wanted was gratitude for your achievements from people who should've been giving it to you for free.

Those thoughts stayed long in your mind and long enough to realize how your mother was right. How selfish would you be to dedicate yourself to ending it now of all times? Who would take care of your family? Who else would provide for your own blood?

You were no one to decide on what and when your death would be. To be one would mean your soul would succumb to sinfulness and stay like that by all who knew of your existence.

Being a mother figure all of your life, you immediately knew what was happening with Julian. Over the years, he grew pathetic in trying to go against his bullies' self-harming suggestions. There were no tears smudging his dorky glasses anymore, no guilt on his face, anger, he just looked emotionless and numb. He, to put it simply, took the pain and walked away without trying to heal.

The day you finally decided to befriend him, the day his tormentors came to convince him, was the same day he wanted to make ends meet.

During lunch, you searched for him at his usual spot in school, on the rooftop. The whisper-like wind hugged your body carefully and to no avail, he wasn't staring at absolutely nothing on the bench, his bench you came to view it as. So many times he was caught bawling there he practically claimed it as his own.

Upon spotting his thin form at the edge of the rooftop in front of the railing, looking down at the ground and contemplating his life's choices, your heart felt devastated. To anyone it would be obvious what was going to happen, to you, it was clear who had to prevent it.

You couldn't let this happen to him, he never deserved anything in his life and if there was no one else to help him, it would be you. Either you put an end to his problems or put an end to the selfish life you wouldn't live for too long after.

His name echoed in his ears when you yelled out to him, was it his imagination? He turned his body around, his watery eyes landing on your blurry figure, and for the first time, he felt something other than nothing in his life.

“Listen, I've come here to help you, okay?” Your voice was soft as sunlight behind stormy clouds. Nevertheless, even with the reassurance, looking over your nervous body, he still felt out of place. Like an animal caged behind a railing as you cautiously stepped near him.

It took you slow breaths to at last muster up your words. “I know life may seem tough for you now but..” There was a smile on your face, it was forced and comforting at the same time. “We can both get through this, alright? We can both help one another in passing through this pain.” You were closer to him now, he could tell by seeing the sun reflect your skin golden. You were glowing and through his tears, he couldn't tell if you were an angel or not. “But I can't help you if you end it all now, I can't help you if you can't help yourself in what you truly want.” Julian eyed the ground under him again, a teardrop falling from his eye and landing beneath him.

It took several moments for his quiet sobs and sniffling to be heard by you. “W-why are you doing this?” Scratchy as it was, it felt good to finally hear his voice.

“Because I know what you're going through, I know how hard life has been for you and I want to make it better for you.” Julian's brown eyes couldn't help but wonder where you were standing, your delicate hand put out for him to grab. He felt every worry in his life disappear and could only focus on nothing but you. “Please, Julian, let me help you.”

Medusa's beauty referred to snakes acting as something they were not, would her touch also feel like scales belonging to filthy deceivers? Your hand looked preciously dainty and skinned with thin glass, a couple of visible cuts on the wrists. Your eyes captivated him, desperation or precise manipulation in them. Your aura, your soul, your everything had him infatuated in a matter of seconds.

As much of an alluring snake you seemed, he's learned his way around them and he was going to make sure you would be the last he's ever met. It would be the last time he'd ever wailed for someone and missed them to death.

Julian would certify he has collected every last remaining lie in your shedding skin, morphing it into whatever he wanted to believe, before ensuring you never leave him. Never leave, never abandon, never disappear from his life, and never not be fully dependent on anything except him.

Masterlist for Julian

For any confusion, this is before he went yandere, became a golden boy, and why.

I'm open to all constructive criticism, not bullying!

[doberbutts]

Jfc the transmasc vs transfem privelege disk horse is just like... so divorced from reality.

Let me break it down for the folks coming at you wanting to play oppression olympics: In situations where *everyone is respectful of trans people and affirming* on a macro scale trans men hold power over trans women. On a micro scale the power people hold over each other varies wildly due to the fact that a) there is no monoculture and b) intersectionality exists. This is also true of gender politics for cis people. Individual women can have power and privilege over individual men. The broad sociological statements of men having privilege over women - all men, cis and trans - were *always* meant to be interpreted in a macro (and often theoretical) context. This privilege can absolutely manifest on a micro level but it is far more complicated because intersectionality fundamentally alters the state if the status being observed. E.g. Black manhood is fundamentally different from white manhood in a way where the blackness or whiteness cannot be separately from gender. Effectively, 'black man' is a different gender from 'white man'.

When it comes to being trans the bulk of society views us as *gender failures* regardless of our asab. Our (perceived) asab determines *how* society at a macro scale treats us as gender failures. We are simultaneously viewed as failing the gender assigned to us at birth, and the one we adopted - but the way in which we are perceived to be failing depends on if we are talking about agab or our actual genders. That is: we are viewed as failures of our "real" genders (agab) by failing to enact them, and failures of our trans genders by failing to be cis. The primary failure that most cis people are concerned with is the failure of our agab.

Thus trans women do not gain male privilege (since they are viewed as failing at manhood), but trans men can be subjected to misogyny (since they are viewed as failing at womanhood). Because of the way cis manhood and cis womanhood are regulated trans women are viewed as "irredeemable" (they have tainted themselves with womanhood and thus may not return to manhood), but trans men are viewed as "redeemable" provided they have not gained enough masculine features to one day return as a sex/reproductive object (that is, a feminine cis woman).

Tl;dr: being trans alters your gender irrevocably. Trans men are men but they are not *cis* men and to assume the functions of male privelege work the same for trans men as they do cis men is frankly divorced from reality. The reality is our cissexist, misogynistic society taken at a macro scale is interested in teans people inasmuch as we can be sex objects, and in the case of afab teans people, reproductive objects. If we cannot provide an adequate level of 'use' (existing as a sex object for trans women, availability to detransition into a sex/reproductive object for trans men) then they want to kill us allllll lmaaaoo.

P.s. it is widely accepted that applying privilege as a sociological/gender theory concept is insanely complicated and requires a lot of thought, care, and an eye toward intersectionality. These concepts were created primarily to be applied at a macro level - largely to instigate data driven policy and social change.

Source: listening to PoC and having a master's degree in sociology. I worked primarily in microsociology doing theory and ethnography in sociology of play. The gender stuff I've gone over here is either a) pretty grad student 101 type stuff, or me fitting the widely accepted facts about trans people (e.g. large chunks of the population want to kill us) into that framework.

For the record I am white, nonbinary (sorta bigendered - bothneither) and consider myself currently transmasc.

P.p.s. I've been following Jaz for years and years. Anyone who thinks he is transmisogynistic based on a rigid and narrow application of theory well divorced from its source... well if you think that, you're high lol.

Apologies for misspellings and typos - wrote this shit on my phone and I am Old.

Mystery anon DM me I wanna hug you so bad I think everyone needs to read this and then read it again

Also wanted to add: trans men, trans women, and nonbinary people are not all direct opposites of each other!!! We share more than we don't!!! Saying "trans people in this direction experience X" does not mean that any other trans person inherently does not!!! Many times we do all experience the same fucking shit and the biggest difference is how it looks from the outside rather than whether or not it actually fucking happens!!! "Trans men are subjected to misogyny unless they are perfectly stealth and passing, and honestly sometimes even then" does not mean "so other trans people aren't"!!! It was a complete sentence from the start and other folks just tacked on the extra words!!!

[amandacanwrite]

Summoning Serotonin by Amanda Cessor

Content Warnings|| Heavy themes around depression, loneliness, failure. Mentions of suicide. Please let me know if there are any I missed. Summary|| A desperate human summons a demon in the hopes that they can trade their soul away for a neurotypical brain and a break from their depression. A/n|| I very intentionally wrote this story without anything that identifies the narrator's gender. Please imagine who you see fit there, whether that be you or someone else.

Genre: Contemporary, Paranormal

So, I’ve decided to sell my soul to a demon.

I know what you’re thinking, that seems a little extreme, but, hear me out.

I have spent so much time, money and energy trying to fix myself. I’ve tried and tried and tried to rid myself of my myriad of mental illnesses, only to watch my life fall apart around me again and again and again.

At this point, I’m either going to sell my soul or off myself. Either way, I wind up burning in Hell. I might as well make the most of the years I have left on this dumpy planet before I spend eternity swimming in a lake of fire.

So, here I sit — on a Friday — that way I have the weekend to enjoy my newfound neurotypical brain. Who knows, maybe I’ll even take a shower.

Big plans, you know?

Honestly, I’m really surprised by how little is required to summon a lord of night? A little sulfur, some graveyard dirt, a few black candles, and a couple drops of my blood. Considering the state of things, it isn’t hard to part with.

I start by drawing a pentagram in chalk on a clearing I’ve made in the clutter and mess on my coffee table, using my sleeve to buff out a coffee ring on the cheap furniture. I place a black candle on one corner for fire, graveyard dirt on another to symbolize earth, sulfur on another for the element of air, a glass of red wine on yet another corner for water. Finally, at the very top, I prick my finger and smear a fat glob of blood to link the spell to me and to represent the fifth element of the soul.

“Hear me, O, knights of Hell,” I say, my voice warbling with my own embarrassment. “Rise from your fiery pit and heed my call!”

This is all the ritual said to say, but once done, I only catch the faint whiff of the sulfur and watch as black wax trickles down onto my already-ruined coffee table. I run a hand through my oily hair and sigh. I’m stupid to think this would work. I’m stupid for even trying it.

I’m about to head back to bed and sleep the day away when the doorbell rings. I jump at the sound — I have visitors so infrequently that I have long forgotten what it even sounded like.

I stand up and go to the door, peeking through the grimy, smudged peephole. Outside of my door, I see a vaguely person-shaped blob. I figure it’s a neighbor that’s come to complain about the smell of rotten eggs. I unlock the door and open it, finding a smartly dressed man with black hair.

And … horns?

Oh.

“You called a demon?” he asks.

“Uhh …”

“May I come in?”

“Yeah, of course.” I scramble as I step out of the way.

He lets himself in and strides to my sofa where he sits and wrinkles his nose at the lingering odor of the sulfur I had used to call him. Then again, I haven’t been able to clean the apartment in the last two months. So, maybe he’s reacting to that.

I shift between my feet awkwardly, and he pats the seat next to him, beckoning me over.

I come sit with him, and he snaps his fingers, producing a manila folder with my name on it. He opens it. A pen materializes and drops into his hand, and he jots something down.

I can’t see what he’s writing.

“Alright, so why did you summon me today?” he asks.

“Uhm — I was hoping to make a trade.”

“Mhm — and what are your proposed terms?”

“My soul? For uh —” I sputter, “a properly functioning brain and ample neurotransmitters?”

He lifts his head and looks at me, his eyes scanning from my greasy hair to my stained T-shirt to the sweatpants I never bother to wash.

“I’m not sure if you’re aware, but Hell is rather overpopulated right now,” he says as he sets my file off to the side. “We aren’t really trading for souls unless the soul in question is rather remarkable.”

I stare at him for a solid fifteen seconds.

“Are you telling me,” I say, “that I’m such a mess that I can’t even trade my soul away for some peace?”

“I’m telling you,” he responds, “that between all the politicians, the billionaires, and the mega-corporate CEOs, we don’t have much space for anyone else. And, to be quite honest with you, your soul is worth more than a trade for mental health.”

I let out a laugh. It sounds unhinged.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you when I work up the gumption to end it,” I retort.

“Unlikely, we don’t take suicides anymore either.”

He scans my apartment again and then looks at me.

“You’re not in treatment.”

It’s not a question.

“What’s the point if it can’t fix my broken brain chemistry?”

“It isn’t about fixing you, there’s nothing to fix.”

“I can’t get out of bed before one in the afternoon. I haven’t showered in five days. I have no friends, and I can’t keep a tidy home. How can you say there’s nothing to fix?”

“Those are just symptoms of an illness.”

“Yes — the illness I’d liked to cure,” I say. “I just want to be normal.”

“What is normal? Who’s to say that I grant you the cure for your depression, your anxiety, and your ADHD and you don’t later wind up with some other problem down the line that you can’t control? Illnesses just require a little management.”

“I don’t want to manage it. I want to cure it. I can’t be happy until I fix it.”

My tone is getting more and more angry. Tears burn my eyes. The demon sighs and looks around my apartment again. He stands and begins to gather garbage in his hands. Empty instant noodle cups, candy wrappers, soda cans.

“Do you know anyone with diabetes?” he asks.

“What does that have to do with anything?” I ask.

He goes into my kitchen and grabs a trash bag and starts filling it with garbage. Anything he can find.

“You don’t see diabetics giving up on life because their bodies can no longer process sugar the way everyone else’s can. They take medicine, they find alternative sweeteners, they learn how to work around their malfunctioning pancreas.”

I watch as he continues to clean my apartment, waving his hand like he’s Mary Poppins and levitating a stack of my books onto my bookshelf. I wince as he opens my blinds and my windows. A breeze flows into the room and I realize just how stuffy it’s been lately.

“Why should your mental health be treated any differently?” he continues.

“Diabetes doesn’t ruin friendships?” I say, almost annoyed with the comparison.

“Says who? Alcohol metabolizes as sugar. What if your friends only like to drink and party? What do you do when you can’t drink anymore?” he points out.

“Those don’t sound like very healthy friends," I say.

As soon as the words tumble out of my mouth, he sets me with a deadpan look. One perfect brow arched as if to say you’re proving my point, you idiot.

“Losing friends because of your mental health is more of a reflection of those friends, not you," he tells me, just incase I can't put it together myself..

“But, I get so clingy and needy. I lose my mind with people.”

“Because you’re not in treatment. Those things get better when you go to therapy and start taking medication for your poorly functioning synapses. You learn tools to regulate your emotions, and you find people who understand you when you can’t regulate.”

He tosses a dishrag at me and starts doing my mountain of dishes. I stand up and join him at the sink and a quiet falls between us as we work away at the stinking pile. I put them away as I dry them. When the pile is nearly done, I finally ask him.

“Why are you doing this?”

He looks at me before looking back to the dish he’s rinsing.

“You’re in a bad way. You just need a little stepping stone. A clean flat is a good start. Then, maybe after a long shower, we’ll call some doctors and schedule you an appointment so you can get the treatment you need,” he says. “If you don’t feel better after getting the help you need, I’ll take your soul. But you better think of something more fun to trade for than curing your depression. Give me a challenge, for God’s sake.”

I laugh first.

And then I cry.

The kind of crying that seems endless — streams and streams of tears that seem to come from some bottomless reservoir. He pats my back, and I feel catharsis for the first time in months. Maybe even years.

Is this what it’s like when someone understands you? When someone can see your pain and can speak directly to it?

“I can’t believe I had to summon a demon to get something so small as help cleaning my apartment and scheduling a doctor’s appointment,” I say.

“I bet there are people around you that would have been happy to help you — I bet you struggle with asking.”

“It’s hard,” I say through hitching tears. “I’m so ashamed.”

He nods and offers me a black handkerchief; I take it and wipe the wetness from my face.

“It gets easier once you get the help you need. Medication, therapy — those are stepping stones too. And once you’re well enough to do these basic care tasks, then you can tackle finding friends that care about you, curating goals and dreams you want to accomplish,” he says. “Living is a lot easier when you have something to live for.”

I have no idea how he reads me to filth, but I appreciate it.

“Now into the shower with you — I’ll get the flat cleaned in the meanwhile," he says with doting fussiness.

When the demon is ready to leave about four hours later, my apartment is spotless. It smells like peaches (he gave me some scented candles), and I have both a therapy and psychiatrist appointment booked for the following week. It has been a long time since I felt hopeful. For once, I see light at the end of the tunnel.

When he stands to leave, I don’t want him to go. He seems to sense this because he sighs and looks at me.

“I’m afraid I can’t stay, but you know where to find me. I’m your caseworker now, so if you have need something — and I do mean desperately need —” He holds out his hand, and I watch curiously as a wisp of black smoke spins there, faster and faster, thicker and thicker, until it solidifies into a band of black stone, “use this. Spin it on your left index finger three times counterclockwise, and I’ll come to your aid.”

He holds it between his elegant fingers and drops it into my hand. I slide it onto my index finger, and it fits perfectly. Made just for me.

“How do I repay you for everything?” I ask.

“The sulfur and blood will do. I’ll check in after a few months and see how you’re faring,” he says.

I nod and smile at him. “Thank you, again, for everything.”

His lips curve slightly in an enigmatic smile.

And, then, he is gone.

____________________________________________________

I hope you enjoyed this little short story. It's one that is very near and dear to my heart and represents conversations I've had with heartbroken friends and also, myself. Sometimes things are hard and we need a helping hand. If you are thinking of harming yourself, please call or text 988 (if in the US) or find your local crisis hotline here.

Tagging a few people who stated interest in reading this: @carrotsinnovember @whateverwarrior @lightningsrikes @a-crystallen-author @jessicagailwrites @artbyeloquent @csdarkfantasy @dyrewrites @dru-reads-writeblr

(PS I'm blown away that of you were excited for this little story, I really hope you liked it and that it didn't disappoint.)

[brighttears]

You Keep Going for Family

Joel Miller x reader

No physical description, no use of y/n, gender neutral

Summary: You talk to Joel after Salt Lake City.

Warnings: Mentions of violence, angst

Word count: 767

A/n: Rewatching e9, squealing, kicking my feet, twirling my hair watching Joel murder over a dozen people … also this is really short I tried to add more but today is just not my day

—

“How many people did you kill?”

His voice was quiet, his tone low. “I don’t know.”

“Too many to count?”

He raised his head only a little to look at you, saying nothing. 

“That doesn’t surprise me Joel.”

Joel turned his eyes back to the ground. He couldn't look at you. His chest ached because he knew you were going to leave him now, now that you know what he is—a killer, a failure and a killer. He had failed at protecting both her and you, and then he killed more people than he could fucking count to try to make up for it.

“You did what needed to be done.”

At this, he looked up at you.

“I’m just sorry I wasn’t there. I’m sorry I failed her. And you.”

Joel sprang to his feet and to you, gently holding your biceps, “No, no. You didn’t. You didn’t fail her. Or me.” he shook his head vigorously, angling his head down to catch your gaze, “I was the one–”

“I was the second one, though. And I was useless. I didn’t, I couldn't do anything. I tried, I fought them, but I’m not strong like you are. While you were saving her I was crying on the highway. You found her, you got her and—fuck, Joel, you killed everyone who stood in your way.” Your brow was knit and your voice started to shake, “You did whatever you had to do and I… I didn’t do anything. I didn’t do a goddamn thing.”

“You got us there. I wouldn't be here without you and neither would she.”

You scoffed, “Come on, Joel. You don’t need me to protect her. If I died it wouldn’t have even matter—”

“You’re wrong.” he spoke over you, “Look at me. I couldn't have done any of this without you. You are my strength.” Joel took your hand and pressed it over his thumping heart, “You feel that? That’s all you. That’s all you.” 

You took your hand away. “Joel, I’m nothing more than another mouth to feed. I’m not capable. I’m weak.” Looking into your eyes as you spoke, Joel saw a reflection of himself and it shook him to his core. He never expected to hear you speak about yourself the way he thought about himself and it made him want to cry. “Maybe I used to be stronger, but with you, with her, I can’t function like I used to. At some point along the way something happened to me—when I see you or her in danger, when it comes down to it, when it really matters, I freeze. My entire body freezes, I feel my blood freeze,” you ran your hands through your hair as you ranted, “I’m nothing, Joel, I’m weak, you’re the one that protects her. The best thing I could be is a human shield, but the bullet would shoot right through me. Remember that? I’m useless, all I do is weigh you down, Joel, I’m just another fucking mouth to f—”

“Stop,” he shouted, grabbing you by the shoulders, “Not a goddamn word of that is true. Not a goddamn word. I don’t know where the hell you’re gettin’ all this from, you bein’ nothin’, no more than a human shield, but don’t you ever say any of that again.” he looked into your eyes intently, “Listen to me, I’m not fuckin’ lyin’. I need you. All I know is how to shoot a gun—”

“That’s not true,”

Joel shook you once, hard, “Listen to me. Back at the hospital? I don’t know where the fuck that came from. I’ve never tried that fuckin’ hard to keep someone alive. This whole fuckin’ time, with you and her, I haven’t given that much of a damn about anyone since—” he paused. “I didn’t even know I still had this kinda love in me. N’ you’re right, I killed everybody in my way. I didn’t hesitate once. Marlene told me that they’d already dumped you on the highway. You know what was on my mind that whole time? Getting her to you. I got it all back, everythin’ that I’d lost, that I never thought I would get back again. And I couldn't let them take it away. I couldn't let that happen.” He took his other hand to raise yours up and then placed his palm against yours. “This, would be nothing,” He pressed down on your hand on his chest and you felt his heart thumping underneath it, “without this. This is you. This is what you are. This is what you do.”

[becomingabeing]

Love in the Big City: Reflections on Part 2

Disease, Failure, and Taking a Stroll through Olympic Park

With reference to @bengiyo's discussion question about maintaining distance from a first person narrative, unlike Part One which I read in one sitting, I had to take multiple breaks to read this part. It made me think about disease – the diseased body – both the real, on an individual human level and the metaphorical, in a broader social context. Under the break because, you know, LONG POST.

The narrator’s mother is sick with uterine cancer and she is ashamed of her sickness. She hides it from her friends and family. And don’t tell me not to read into the implied gender politics of it all. Not when she is a single mother and business owner in South Korean society, operating as “the new head of the household” after divorcing Young’s father. She says she’s “lived like a man for so long” and had no fear or regrets until the day she realised her child was no longer an extension of her flesh but an individual in his own right. She cannot reconcile Young’s sexuality with her religion and beliefs to the point that she has him institutionalised. 

Then we have Hyung’s mother – an alcoholic showing signs of Alzheimer’s when Young first meets him. Like Young, Hyung is his mother’s primary caretaker after his father abandoned them. As @hyeoni-comb here and @wen-kexing-apologist here have pointed out, Young and Hyung function as mirrors of each other. 

Young himself is diagnosed with PTSD which he offhandedly mentions while he recounts his experience at the psychiatric facility with casual detachment. His suicide attempt does not even warrant more than a few sentences. 

The association of queerness with disease and sickness is nothing new. Young is institutionalised because his mother considered him sick for kissing a boy. Hyung deems him a “decadent by-product of American imperialism.” Hyung’s seniors are clearly homophobic. They can barely admit queer people exist, let alone accept that their fellow activist is one.  

Clearly there’s an interplay between the disease ridden bodies of Umma and Hyung’s mother, and the perceived sickness of Young and Hyung for being gay, of Young for being Americanised according to Hyung, and of Hyung for being so reactionary in Young’s eyes. 

So many of the important conversations and confrontations in Part Two take place in Olympic Park, which is always described as aesthetically beautiful irrespective of the season (google it, it is indeed stunning). We begin Part Two with a mention of this park and it is where we end as well. Loved reading @lurkingshan's thoughts on that ending in her incredible post on filial piety and apologies.

I find it ironic how messy these interactions are, in contrast to the landscaped beauty of a public park. It’s also a great midway point between the public and the private – Hyung and Umma definitely wouldn’t want witnesses to the behaviour they display at Olympic Park and they find these pockets of privacy within curated nature. But the public still intervenes, as when Hyung’s seniors spot Young and Hyung together and go on to have the most awkward social exchange of all time. 

Another of @bengiyo's discussion questions refers to Hyung and Young’s internalised homophobia. Isn’t hating yourself for who you are a sickness in and of itself? To me it’s an act of violence against the self. With what we learn of both Young and Hyung’s upbringing and the society they live in, it’s no wonder they carry these feelings with them. (Thanks so much for the Korean history primer @doyou000me)

Hyung’s internalised homophobia is more evident than Young’s, perhaps because we’re seeing Hyung through Young’s eyes. Or perhaps because Young is apparently out, and desires to be out in public with his boyfriend. Yet he’s still constantly worrying about how Hyung and others perceive him, whether he looks or sounds “faggy”, implying that he gets clocked frequently, and his persistent self-deprecation speaks for itself. Like I mentioned in my Part One post, the dialectic of anonymity and visibility is even more tense in this part. In fact, it leads to major fallouts in Young’s romance with Hyung and his relationship with his mother. 

Lastly, I want to touch on queer failure once again. We saw the various ways in which Young fails in this part again so I won’t harp on specifics, but simply by virtue of being in control of the narrative, Young exhibits unique agency even or especially in failure. In the narrator’s words:

The fiction I’d put out over the past three years was all about getting drunk, stealing things, illegally committing homosexual acts in the military, prostitution, cheating on boyfriends—what on earth was in there to cast the author as “a fine young man”?! If he was any finer, he’d murder someone. In any case, you had to hand it to the church ladies—they really were consummate spin doctors. 

[papirouge]

Not here to debate with you about the ethics of abortion, but I don't think having a phobia of pregnancy is a moral failure. It's extremely harsh on your body and many women do suffer complications in childbirth. I don't know what pro lifers want people with pregnancy phobias to do. Like, do you guys want to forcibly impregnate them anyway to fulfill their WoManLy DuTiEs? Good luck making that work.

Besides, people who don't want kids shouldn't breed anyway.

There's a difference between a phobia and being straight up delusional and offensive.

To give you an example ; it's like people who have a phobia of sharks and say "their teeth are scary, I don't like their shape, their eyes, their wide mouth, etc" OK ✅

And those who are like : "sharks are disgusting creatures from hell and should all be killed" That's not ok, delusional and lowkey psychopathic.

Sorry but as a woman, i'm not going to let crazy self hating women mock and attack my biology out of their mental illness. That's not a phobia when you feel entitled to diss other humans being entire biology, with whom they were naturally born with. They're litterally calling innocent babies "sreeching gremlin" I DARE YOU to say that's not some sign of sociopathy.

And it wouldn't be so much annoying it it didn't came from the same crowd of so called "feminists" who pretend fighting for women to "love themselves in their natural state". Gurl, shut up, you HATE yourself and what your body can do. You'd rather mutilate yourself (while mocking TRA doing so to change gender) than life with a functioning reproductive system so much you're scare of getting pregnant. That's CRAZY and thats how bad as women removing their breast or moids cutting their peepees. I want people to start respecting their GOD GIVEN body for once and stop mutilating themselves over narcissism, fear, or "phobia".

At least redpiller moids have more legitimacy to mock women bodily functions because they don't have none, so they're not marking against their own side. It's crazy how on so many level redpiller moids are way more strategic, clever and cohesive in their train of thoughts compared to radfem. They hate women, and admit to only like *that part* for sex - but you'll NEVER.EVER hear them make fun of male biology like feminists do. Because they are way more protective of their gender rep than feminists are. Let that sink in.

And please, you guys need to stop with that borderline cumbrain creepy obsession with imagining people being out on the hunt to force preg women.... Beside rapists, NOBODY is forcing you to get pregnant. We are nobodies from the internet saying shit. The Handmaid's Tale is a BOOK. (I always found very ironic how the same radfem who made fun of Harry Potter stans are literally doing the same thing, making one (1) book storyline the fundamental basis of their world worldview - but I digress).

And no one is denying that pregnancy isn't hard on the body. By compelling people to have responsible and selective sex, pro lifers are more than anyone else conscious of how serious pregnancy is, and the toll it takes on the female body. However, maybe I would take a lil bit more your concern for complications related to pregnancy if pro choicers weren't constantly downplaying the health consequences of abortion and other (hormonal) birth control systems... It's funny how you'll act like pregnancy, a totally natural function our body was literally wired for, is violence against our body, but not....chemically or surgically violently halting a biological synchronicity to forcefully remove/expel body parts.... #abortionistmath

I feel like we're in a timeline where we're so far in the pendulum that went against the lalala glamorization of pregnancy (that's existed since a LOT of time tbh) that now it's trendy to HATE pregnancy, and pass it off as this traumatic almost torture experience that HAS to be avoided at any cost...

Me think many of you sound lowkey mentally ill (it's interesting you're talking about "phobia" because phobia are actual....illness that need to be cured lol That's not...a normal state of mind) and need to learn to be normal about pregnancy. I know I may sound harsh but I'm tired of grown adults getting offended over normal shit when they just need to see a psychologist lol

[itsashowtime]

What kind of personality does Toshi have and what backstory?

I am still in the process of fleshing out his story but! Here's what I have so far...

(Art by: Aixen )

Japanese Name: 時紫 雨花

Surname: Toshi 時紫 (violet hour)

First Name: Ukuwa (rain flower)

Alias: White Rabbit (By most), Eighty-Six (By Sho after they breakup) 

Birthday: June 8

Age: 19

Gender: Cis Male

Height: 190cm (6'2")

Noise Form: Jackalope Cantus

Trivia/facts:

I designed him next to Rindou so they looked super hot together but then Shou swiped him like the asshole he is - I have yet to play Neo so maybe UkuRin will be able to recover but rn the Shou living rent free in my brain doesn't seem to want to share

I made Ukuwa's motif Hydrangea after a trip to the Hydrangea Shrine.

He's extremely picky about food and drink tempretures, like, it has to be just right or he'll tear you a new one

Loves Chai flavour

Every barista's nightmare, he'll yell at you if you don't pay attention to his laundry list order

He fiddles with his ear piercings when he's nervous

He thumps his feet like a rabbit when he's pissed

The neediest fucking bottom

Personality

A hardworking, judgemental and esteemed horologist. Time means everything to Ukuwa and he always seems to be in a rush! He is nicknamed 'Shibuya's White Rabbit' since he is often spotted dashing around the streets mumbling about schedules.

Ukuwa is strict and harsh but especially towards himself. He hates relying on people and prefers to get things done on his own. He is extremely counter dependent. If absolutely necessary, he takes extreme care in picking who to have around. He mostly sees people as tools for his own convenience. He calls people 'cogs'.

He has a very good eye for art and is passionate about design. He doesn't get excited often but when it comes to art, that is the one time his eyes light up.

Ukuwa's character arc is about slowing down and embracing the moment, being able to acknowledge your progress, allowing yourself to accept help and allowing friendships with unconditional love to blossom.

Backstory

tldr; He is the CPTSD haver ever - Trigger warning for: child abuse, neglect, divorce

An only child who did not have his emotional needs met. Ukuwa was raised by an abusive, alcoholic father who was a electronics technician and a neglectful mother who was a highschool teacher. Both his parents had high expectations towards him right away. Failure to perform with the best outcome would result in: solitary confinement + hitting/whipping as punishment whether that be in school, house chores, or even going out. He has scars all over his hands as a result which is why he wears gloves all the time.

Ukuwa would be locked in an empty room after a rough beating to 'reflect on his actions' for hours, his only company being clocks. This is where his obsession with clocks started. Curious and bored, Ukuwa would start to disassemble clocks at a young age to figure out their workings. One could’ve gone insane, but Ukuwa was grateful that the clock would tell him when the pain was over and he could see the light again.

His parents divorced when he was in middle school, both of them getting newer partners with other children. This applied extra pressure onto him to perform well. Unfortunately, Ukuwa was often casted aside in favour of his step/half siblings. He is desperate to prove that he isn't a burden. In fact, that's a really big fear of his.

Ukuwa functions on guilt and shame. His fear of being a burden and a failure is what causes his workaholicism and lack of care towards himself. He pushes forward and only forward. He does not allow himself to rest. Time only moves forward, and so he wants to move only forward too.

This means that he's chronically counter dependent and refuses help when it is offered. He avoids connecting with people unless it's absolutely necessary and for business purposes. Because one less person to be around means one less person to be a burden and disappointment to.

Ukuwa saved up a lot as a child just to move out and to escape his family. Once he graduated from high school, he immediately moved out to Tokyo and has been living in a sharehouse.

He currently attends a college of jewelry in Shibuya, learning how to make clocks of all kinds. He is obsessed with Il Cavallo Del Re and dreams to design clothes and watches for them.

Now, I don't usually have my OCs getting TOO involved in canon but this is sort of an exception (though Ukuwa does not effect TWEWY mainplot) *puts hands together* So where does he fit into TWEWY? WELL-

One day, when he was rushing around mumbling about time and being late, he got caught up in a sinkhole and he dies. (Haha, ironic bc of his nickname which references the rabbit in Alice in Wonderland) He was already feeling terrible because his clock design didn't get included in this competition he had participated in.

But he lands himself in one of Minamimoto Shou's earlier Reaper Games. At this point, Shou hasn't discovered Taboo bullshittery. This game takes place a while before Neku comes along.

His entry fee was his concept of time. This means that he cannot even see the timer on his phone and can only recieve missions. Ukuwa is hyper vigilant (thanks cptsd). That means he's extra sensitive to light and sound. He has several clocks on him with different 'voices' that soothes him. Suddenly, he can't hear them anymore and that throws him off real bad.

He gets grabbed by a straight-for-pay lesbian hostess and party girl, Hana, admist the panic of Day 1. She grabs him because he looks 'reliable' and wealthy. (she was wrong. Ukuwa is gay and he only looks wealthy because the clothes he wears is what he designed and he's good with his hands)

Hana forms a pact with him, wanting to take advantage of him like she usually does with men because she treats them like wallets. Her entry fee was money, so she cannot spend money throughout the game and has to rely on stingy Ukuwa. Ukuwa has to rely on Hana to keep track of the time.

They start off pretty rocky at first because Ukuwa doesn't have patience for her antics and Hana gets frustrated by how Ukuwa is so careful with how he uses his money and how he doesn't seem to know how to have fun.

Ukuwa's pysch is cryokinesis. Because you know. Time has literally stopped for him. He can summon icicles and walls of ice. Hana has immense strength and smacks the shit out of noise with her purse. They become quite a good team throughout the week.

Ukuwa starts to enjoy the moment instead of trying to push forward and ignore his feelings, and Hana learns that partying and drinking won't solve all of her problems.

Tldr, he falls in love with Shou so hard and he already struggles with feelings of uselessness in the RG so he ends up becoming a reaper. Their relationship happens very quickly and it's veeeery toxic (but that's what makes it tasty)

If you wanna know the deets about UkuShou-

Ukuwa x Shou

Ukuwa is immediately intruged by Shou's trash heaps. The symbolism and the cynycism towards humans speaks out to him. It's the first time he really feels connection towards someone. The precision of the trash, how it's held up so sturdily and is obviously so deliberate is impressive to him. Hana tries to snag a piece of trash that looks useful as a weapon and Ukuwa yells at her and puts it back. He calls it an art installment.

He doesn't know that Shou is the artist behind the heaps. Not until the trash cat turns up anyways. He actually finds Shou insufferable and annoying at first. The yelling into the megaphone is pretty triggering to him and he doesn't hesitate to throw an icicle at Shou. When he finds out that Shou is the artist though, he can't help but grow more and more curious.

When Shou hears Ukuwa praising his art, he's pretty confused at first. He normally doesn't care if measly humans can't understand his art's brilliance and beauty, so hearing Ukuwa reading his piece like a book is different and a little unsettling. One part of him is happy? But the other part of him just doesn't want to admit that he's understood.

So throughout the week, he makes more unhinged art pieces and challenges Ukuwa to guess the symbolism and he denies how correct Ukuwa is every time. It's annoying how bright Ukuwa looks when he talks about his art. But it's also really endearing too.

Anyways, Shou grows curious about Ukuwa and it's a running theme that he tries to interrogate him in closed spaces like alleyways, the phonebooth of love (where they share their first kiss) and changing rooms. They bicker, argue, talk about art, the mission, etc.

Ukuwa is a stupid baby gay and he starts seeing Shou as a person and he starts to understand and speak in maths lingo too. Shou becomes so fascinating and beautiful to him so he makes the extra effort to get to know him. He has the biggest crush and Hana notices too- Even trying to set them up in her own silly way.

I should prolly mention that I hc that Shou is colourblind and has protanomaly colour blindness (weak to red/green) and like.

Shou vision Ukuwa is vibrant and pretty it's insane.

I fully agree with Kiga's Shou HC and I think Shou had his art criticized in the past due to his questionable colour choices which lead to him making more sculpture stuff than paint. ANYWAYS-

Shou eventually accepts that he is understood by Ukuwa and by the time it's day 7, he realizes that actually, he kinda doesn't want Ukuwa to die in his hands. Luckily, Shibuya's Reaper's Game rules at this point aren't exactly solid yet and Shou being Shou finds loopholes. On the last day, there are a few surviving duos that reach the top of Pork City to fight Leo Cantus. This is when Ukuwa tosses humanity right out the window and he essentially erases all remaining players aside from himself and his partner Hana.

He's under the impression that one of them will have to die so he tells Shou that he'll gladly 'give him his movement' and die in his hands, but Shou cannot bring himself to do that and asks him to stay and add art to this world with him.

Tldr, thanks to the loophole of mission mail wording, Ukuwa is able to become a reaper and the two become even more inseparable.

They are very horny and very obsessed with each other. Ukuwa drops everything for love. Unfortunately, Ukuwa is a needy bitch and he relies on Shou for his dopamine. Shou is a free spirit and he likes his space so the relationship falls apart after a few months.

Ukuwa is actually the one that dumps Shou because he was 'five minutes and twenty three seconds late to our date'.

This hurts Shou's pride a lot because how DARE he get dumped. But here's the thing- they keep banging anyways. They are like magnets. And Shou is SO smug about it too. Because Ukuwa is in denial about still having feelings but he keeps going back!

I have yet to play NEO but after Shou dies in TWEWY Ukuwa acts like a fucking widower and he has a relapse with his workaholism. Kariya really helps him loosen up and enjoy the moment.

When Shou is revived in NEO, Ukuwa is like a sobbing mess. I imagine by then, Ukuwa has grown as a person more and he has learnt to give Shou space so they end back together. Shou also learns to have some empathy and stop being so selfish and finally apologizes (shocking) and they get back together. With their bond stronger than ever, they end up having a daughter (light puck baby) named Miu who is almost as unhinged as they are. She LOVES physics. She's a genius. And also a super powerful angel but I'll explain that another day LOL