if you recently left the controlling religious atmosphere you were raised in and are struggling to forge a new moral code of you own separate from the the harsh and arbitrary standards of that atmosphere and are constantly worried about whether or not you’re being a good person because you don’t have an external authority to judge you and tell you
(I POSTED THIS TO THE WRONG ACCOUNT BUT IT’S FINE I FIXED IT NOW)
Alright, I know what you’re thinking…
“wOW Ray made an original post,,,? Bet it’s shit lmao”
And you’d be right.
(A few month’s after the Squip incident. One might say the SQUIPcident. (Or not. That’s pretty bad. It’s almost 1am. I’ve been writing for three hours. Sorry.))
“Why did you come back?”
At that, Michael gave Jeremy a startled look. The dim pink-gold light from Michael’s rock lamp cast strange shadows on Jeremy’s face. Hazy fog filled the basement, making his already blurry vision even worse. Michael had taken his glasses off forever ago, the heat of the room fogging them up and making them useless. Smoke curled out of Jeremy’s mouth, his hair unkempt and curlier than ever. It bounced ever so slightly as he leaned back to look at the ceiling, breathing slowly as his eyes closed, allowing him to shut out Michael’s searching stare.
“What do you mean?”
Jeremy sighed, frustration evident on his face as he drew in a shaky breath, pushing himself further into his beanbag. “You know what I mean.”
There was a pause as Michael considered his next words. Jeremy nervously let another mouthful of smoke escape, watching it rise in the hot air to join the cloud wrapping around the two of them.
“I came back for you. And because… I’m selfish.”
Now it was Jeremy’s turn to look confused, and as he finally turned his attention to him, Michael wished he could take the second part back. Jeremy’s gaze was steady and his eyes were so bright in the dim light that it hurt Michael to look at him, and in a moment of weakness, he turned away.
Jeremy continued to stare, waiting for him to say more.
“We rely on each other. Y’know, best friends and all.” Michael laughed anxiously. “What would you do without your Player One?” The unsaid words in his mouth tasted sour, burning a hole in his throat. It wasn’t enough, and it was bullshit, and they both knew it.
“Yeah,” Jeremy grumbled, frowning as he handed the blunt to Michael.
Michael gazed at it in his hand; the hot embers ebbing away, the smoke furling around his fingers, the thin paper fragile in his tight grasp. He looked around until he found his makeshift ashtray, leaning forward to put it out. He could feel Jeremy following his movements, watching Michael as he tucked his head between his knees, observing him as he sighed. Michael ran his fingers through his hair, pulling at it until it stuck up straight. Without warning, he let out a laugh, startling Jeremy behind him.
“When did we start lying to each other?” He asked, his mind a mile behind his mouth. By the time he’d registered what he’d said, Jeremy was chuckling with him. Both let their laughter ebb away to silence before Jeremy let out a hushed answer, his tone somber.
“I’m not sure.”
The silence stretched on for a moment longer, heavy on their backs. Michael shifted to look at Jeremy over his shoulder, still hunched over with his elbows on his knees. A look of desperation and something unfamiliar was plastered on Jeremy’s face, and it surprised Michael, turning his expression to one of confusion.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
Michael felt his face fall, and he swallowed, spit thick in his throat. His heart ached and his stomach curled as he turned to face Jeremy in his beanbag, shifting closer until their knees touched.
“So much,” Michael replied. Hesitant, he reached forward, slow and unsure, watching Jeremy’s reaction. Jeremy stared at Michael’s hand, waiting, until he finally met Michael halfway, pushing his hand up slightly to entwine their fingers: Michael’s dry and callused, Jeremy’s clammy and warm.
“Is this okay?” Michael asked nervously. Jeremy nodded, studying their grip. After a while, he looked up to meet Michael’s gaze, and leaned forward ever so slightly, his eyes staring intently into Michael’s, and his heart wrenched once more.
Michael opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again.
“I’m scared,” he whispered. Jeremy’s gaze softened, and and his eyes flicked downward so quickly Michael wasn’t even sure it happened. A look of determination crossed Jeremy’s face.
“Well, I’m not,” he said, leaning in. Michael knew it was the weed talking, knew Jeremy would never be so ballsy otherwise, knew neither of them would have the guts to do this without it, knew that this may ruin things forever. What if Jeremy took everything back in the morning? What if he pulled a ‘no homo’ and that was it?
What if? What if, what if, what if-
And then their lips brushed, and Jeremy’s breath hit his face, and before he knew what was happening the last of the distance disappeared and their mouths met. Michael forgot everything, and his eyes shut, and it was just him and Jeremy and nothing else. The kiss was wet, and hot, and tasted gross, like pot; but Michael loved it regardless. He felt Jeremy’s eyelashes hit his face as his eyes closed to match Michael’s. He reached up with his free hand to hold Jeremy’s face, and it shook slightly as he gently cupped his jaw, guiding Jeremy to a better angle, one where their noses weren’t scrunched together. He shivered slightly as Jeremy’s free hand found it’s way to Michael’s hip, moving him closer still as he balled the fabric of Michael’s jacket into his fist.
It lasted only a few seconds, yet it felt like an eternity before they broke apart, Michael immediately looking down to their clasped hands, overwhelmed. They breathed heavily for a few moments before Jeremy reached for Michael’s face, forcing him to look up. They locked eyes and stared at each other until a giggle escaped Jeremy’s lips, and it was so endearing and so incredibly Jeremy that Michael couldn’t help but smile and laugh with him.
“We’re idiots,” Jeremy said, letting out a few more chuckles.
“Yeah, but I think we’ll manage,” Michael retorted, grinning.
As Jeremy beamed at him, Michael knew that he didn’t have to worry about ‘what if’s’.
oh hey so. saying a Black character is “a perfect sunshine boy!!” or “a Goddess!! she doesn’t need no man!!” can also be a form of dehumanization.
when Black characters become such “pure cinnamon rolls” you can’t ship them, when they “deserve so much better” you refuse to pair them with any white fave, when they’re “just so flawless” they become boring, when you insist they’re “perfect” but then utterly and completely stop there, you’re reducing them to one dimension.
they become props for white character development,
cos you’re not letting them have any character of their own.
when the only characters that are flawed, relatable, interesting, complex, shippable, deserving of pages of meta for a 0.02 second glance ~just so happen to be~ white you’re indicating that they’re the only characters you see as fully human.
anyone with common sense and basic human decency: that’s a unique and valid way to look at his character. far out, dude. radical, my guy. and even if others don’t personally see it, there is no conceivable reason why that headcanon should really bother them or be met with negativity. you do you. happy vibes, man.
do you think cybertronians researched things such as dry ice and other winter hazardous road conditions, or had to learn from experience? ‘cuz all i can see the autobots readying up for battle in the icy roads of canada, and they don’t know about the curse that is canada’s highways and just spin out when trying to chase decepticons
my back is killing me, so this is actually a cas piece i did earlier this month that i totally spaced that i did! i think it’s because the anatomy got pretty lost while i was inking, and then i tried to fix it, and then i decided i was done lol
i have a bunch of color archival ink pens that i keep spacing i have, and i know i did this to play with the red one! a little morbid but y’know