#purity culture for the win :/

[constantvariations]

Watching RWBY Chibi for the first time for this essay and I'm in absolute agony. Do people actually find this funny?

[andthetapeworms]

somebody spewing bullshit aroacephobia and they felt the need to tag me in it for some reason so now that shit is gonna show up when ppl search my name imm gonna KMS!!

[engelsschwert]

Girl help, my blorbos got woobified by the source material.

[claracivry]

I hate you thought police I hate you cringe culture I hate you constant scrutiny of everything one might enjoy I hate you "you're a bad person if" I hate you guardians of morality I hate you endless patholigization of all thought or conduct I hate you "If you enjoy that you should be ashamed"

[muralofsolitude]

look… i identify somewhere on the ace spectrum and can’t stand how most people view/talk about sex…. but my girlfriend brings out my inner allosexual good lord

[mrs-hatake]

jjk men and their toxic traits

warnings: love bombing, obsession, silent treatment as punishment, purity culture, possessiveness, mentions of drug and alcohol addiction, self harm, suicide attempt, self loathing, stalking and younger man x older woman.

a/n: idk what to tell you besties. i did have fun writing nanami's tho, and i think sukuna's the most accurate lol tell me what y'all think :D

Toji: Indifference 

after dating Toji for years, putting him with his recklessness during his assassination assignments, watching him bleed on the bathroom floor while shiu poorly stitches him up, having to move apartments every few months because someone with a grudge or an enemy hunts him down. 

dealing with all of that crap, you’ve exploded once you’ve reached your boiling point.

as much as you love toji with all of your heart, want him to see the beauty of the world and feel alive again, you simply cannot stand by while the man you love kills himself.

that’s why you gave him an ultimatum; change careers and he fixes his life  or you walk out.

you’ve known from the start that toji’s a stubborn mule but you didn’t think that he’d choose his job over you. 

though heartbroken at first, you eventually end up packing your things. maybe now that things have gotten serious and toji sees you slowly removing pieces of yourself from his life, it’d serve as a wake up call.

toji doesn’t even bat an eye.

he’s lounging on the couch, mindlessly watching a baseball match from the television set he’d stolen from his family.

even when you block his view — hands on your hips and all — he just scoots aside and continues watching.

“you knew what you were getting yourself into from the start.” comes toji’s monotone voice after your yelling, “i’ve warned you and you accepted who i am.”

silence fills the room. you stare at him, hoping that once toji sees the heartbreak, rage, frustration and that little bit of moisture glistening your pretty eyes, he’d see the error of his ways.

but no such thing happens.

instead, toji continues to sit on the couch with his mesmerizing forest green eyes, the very ones that made you fall in love with him, are glued to the screen.

when you march to your bedroom to drag out your luggage, toji doesn’t even offer a goodbye. he doesn’t even watch you leave. toji doesn’t bother to chase after you when you’re halfway down the stairs.

Satoru: Love Bombing and Obsession

having been born as the blessed one, nothing really impresses gojo satoru. 

he has mountains of money in his bank account, a stream of endless good luck and women kissing the ground he walks on. with a snap of his fingers, he can have whatever he desires at the palm of his hand.

yet, once you reject him, something inside satoru snaps. no one, no one has ever rejected gojo satoru. it’s always the opposite. 

when you reject him for the fourth time in less than a week, satoru draws up a plan that will surely win you over.

it starts off small. he sends breathtaking bouquets of flowers to your work place with cute little notes praising your beauty. whenever he sees exquisite jewelry, he’s sending them to your house, asking you to wear them. when he’s feeling very d̶e̶s̶p̶e̶r̶a̶t̶e̶  determined, satoru will wire you almost 8 million yen. satoru is then showing up to your work place with the excuse of wanting to take you out for lunch. embarrassed by the glances not so subtly thrown your way and the loud whispers haunting your ears, you agree.

and, honestly, satoru isn’t that bad. he’s got that boyish charm to him, he can be pretty funny and he’s intelligent. maybe you were too harsh with him…is what you initially thought until satoru’s true colors started to show.

he will call you throughout the day asking you what you’re wearing, what you’re eating, what will you eat, who are you with, who were you with, who did you talk to, who are you talking to, who will you talk to and you get the idea.

satoru goes as far as installing tracking devices in your car, home and work place just to stay updated. he even threatened your male co-workers, relatives and friends from talking to you as he strongly and firmly believes that he’s the only one you need.

gojo satoru is like a disease you can’t escape.

Kento: Silent Treatment

nanami kento’s biggest hatred in life aside from the corporate tyranny is adults who are quite immature.

and you know this. but sometimes your emotions get the best of you.

like the other night, you had a pretty nasty fight with kento. you had accused him of flirting with another woman at the end of the year party the company kento is working at hosted. when kento defended himself and explained that the woman was all over him, you yelled that he did nothing to get her to back off.

it was a heated argument which consisted of you yelling your head off and kento constantly defending himself.   

“i’ve had enough of this.” kento mutters as he snatches his pillow and blanket from your bed to go sleep on the couch in the living room. 

come the next morning, you realized your mistake. you barely slept a wink the night before, tossing and turning at your immaturity. guilt lodging itself deep into your soul as you accused kento of infidelity when that man is crazy over you. he works a job he hates just so he can provide for you and for your future family.

with a clearer head, you send him a text.

wanna grab lunch after work?

my treat 🥰  

hopefully, the warm and cozy ambiance of your favorite restaurant will remind you of just how loyal kento is, which will then allow you to apologize and trust him even more.

you go about your day; showering, eating breakfast, cleaning the penthouse. all the while you keep glancing at your phone. you’ve worried your lips so much that they’re bruised and cut, metallic flavor dancing on your tongue.

when kento doesn’t return home, you call him about twenty times until it goes to voicemail.

kento only returns at around nine in the evening. he doesn’t greet you, doesn’t even glance at you. it’s like you’re a ghost. 

you convince yourself that kento is still angry and probably needs some time to cool off but when this behavior continues for almost two weeks, you’re at your wit’s end.

“baby,” you stand in your walk-in closet, reeking of desperation, as kento is busy tying his tie for an important ceremony at his company later that evening, “talk to me.” you plea but he’s silent as the dead.

tears blur your vision as kento continues to ignore you while adding the finishing touches.

“please.” you stand in front of the mirror, obstructing the view of his reflection. “don’t ignore me, kento. please. i was wrong. i shouldn’t have accused you and i shouldn’t have doubted your love for me. i let my insecurities get the better of me. i’m so sorry.”

for the first time in weeks, kento looks at you. actually, looks. his hands tightly grip your waist and lift you off the ground to place you away from the mirror.

dejected by his rejection, tears are crashing down your cheeks like an angry waterfall. 

you try to sand in front of the mirror but kento stops you. just as it feels like the last piece of your heart is about to shrivel up and die, kento leans in and kisses your cheek.

you’re so surprised by the gesture, you don’t notice kento leaving.

it’s only when you hear your phone buzzing on the nightstand that you’re brought to your senses.

i’ll be home late. don’t wait up.

tonight is the first night you’ve had a well rested sleep since your fight.

Sukuna: Purity and Possessiveness 

purity is everything to sukuna. he’s in a relationship with you because of your innocence, how you’re blissfully unaware of the carnal desires of man. having to rely on sukuna and be taught of one’s sexual desire is a huge power trip to sukuna. he guides you every step of the way; teaches you what he loves and shows you what you need. 

it’s such a euphoric world to live in that it’s difficult to leave it. yet it’s something you have to do. sukuna’s licentiousness is overwhelming. his malevolent behavior frightens you and you no longer feel safe in his arms like you used to.

you’ve managed to hide from him for almost three years but sukuna never stopped searching for you. when he finally finds you, it’s with a grin of victory and of mania glowing in his ruby colored eyes.

until his eyes land on your stomach, that his. instantly, he is sneering at you in disgust. sukuna’s insides curl in protest at the repulsive fact that not only are you with another man, mistakenly believing he can ever satisfy you better than he did, you let him plant his seed in you. 

you are–were sukuna’s possession and he doesn’t like to share what rightfully belongs to him. 

why should he take you back when you’ve been spoiled, polluted, by the dirty hands of another man? sukuna doesn’t go for sloppy seconds. and there’s no way in hell he’d raise another man’s child. 

as quickly as sukuna has reappeared in your life, he’s out of it. 

Suguru: Self Sabotage 

the road to recovery is a long and arduous one. but geto suguru is proud of his accomplishments. the challenges he had faced were insanely difficult but meeting you has made things much easier. 

it has taken a while but, eventually, suguru doesn’t feel his fingers twitching for his next fix. he no longer drinks himself to sleep to silence chaotic thoughts. suguru also managed to throw out all of his blades and his arms and inner thighs haven’t been marred in quite some time. 

yet all of suguru’s hard work goes to waste when the two of you had your first major fight. it was cruel. it broke both of your hearts. it forced you to leave suguru’s apartment for a few days to calm down. had you known that your fight, that you leaving suguru, would come with major consequences, you wouldn’t have left. 

you receive the call at around three in the morning. suguru’s in the emergency room after a drug overdose and slitting both his wrists. you’re in no condition to drive as you can’t stop crying, wailing your lover’s name, so your best friend had to drive you to the hospital. 

the doctors inform you that suguru’s chances are slim and you believe their words because you’ve never seen suguru so pale. even when he first met him, he wasn’t as ashy. his face wasn’t sunk in like it is now.

it’s your fault!

you broke him! 

you ruined him! 

you killed him!

you don’t deserve him!

you don’t deserve anyone!

menacing thoughts abuse you throughout the early morning. by the sun comes out and the nurses stop by suguru’s room to check up on him, you’re dead on your seat. 

thankfully, you’ve been rescued from your torturous thoughts by none other than suguru. he stares at you with a haunted expression. his tongue darts out to moisten his chapped.

“y/n,” he croacks your name and you hurry to silence him lest he irritates his throat any further but one glance from suguru has you sitting back down, “i’m so sorry.”

suguru’s voice is so low that you have to lean in to hear him.

“please don’t leave me. i can’t live without you.”

a sickening wave of terror welling up from y/n’s belly at each word suguru uttered. how could she have been so stupid? why did she fight suguru when she knows just how sensitive he is!

shame washes over y/n like tidal waves.

“i’m sorry, baby.” y/n whispers as reaches for suguru’s hand. she places a gentle kiss on the gauzed wrapped around his injured wrist. “it’s all my fault. i won’t do it again.”

y/n searches suguru’s amethyst eyes for forgiveness.

“promise?” suguru asks, sounding so scared.

“i promise.”

Yuuta: Stalking

dating yuuta is like dating an overgrown puppy. 

he’s so loyal to you that one might actually call it blind devotion. yuuta will jump through burning hopes to please and satisfy you. in his eyes, you’re the most beautiful woman blessed on earth.

dating yuuta can be exhausting as well. since he’s five years younger than you, he’s quite energetic. which is exactly what you’ve been searching for after being married to your lazy husband who barely lifts a finger to scratch his ass.

and it was fun at first but now you’re exhausted to the bone and can barely keep up. that’s why you decide that it’s time to hit the gym. you need to build up your stamina if you want to keep up with your good little boy. 

“good luck with gym today!” yuuta is standing at the apartment genkan to send you off. the tail only you can see is wagging in excitement, ready to hear a compliment for doing a good of packing your gym back.

“thank you, my little puppy.” yuuta beams at the baby voice you use and is as light as a feather when you peck his lips not twice but four times.

“be a good little boy while mommy’s gone.” yuuta fervently nodding his head sends you into a fit of giggles at just how adorable he is. 

yuuta waits about ten minutes before he’s sprinting into your bedroom to quickly change his clothes, yank the apartment door open where he takes the stairs by twos and hops on his bicycle, cycling as fast as his legs can allow him. 

he’s stopping right across the street from your gym just as you drive into the basement parking lot. state of the binoculars at the ready, yuuta enters the abandoned building next to your gym and makes his way to the rooftop.

yuuta isn’t stalking you. really, he isn’t. he just…follows you around to make sure nothing happens to you. 

it’s just like he did before he started dating you. yuuta would follow you around town, patiently waiting for him to plant himself in your world like a may flower. he knows all of your favorite places; restaurants, cafes, stores, etc. yuuta knows where you like to go when you want to be alone and he even knows where your parents live despite the fact you’ve been dating for only two months and you have yet to bring up your parents. 

Yuuta’s grip tightens on the binoculars. he despises the fact that there aren’t any male instructors at your gym. he has to watch from the side as your male teacher comes closer and corrects your posture. yuuta’s eyes zero in to make sure that the instructor’s touches don’t linger. 

after about an hour, yuuta receives a text that you’re going to grab coffee with the girls from your pilates class, girls yuuta has pulled up all and any information on them to ensure they aren’t harmful, that they won’t corrupt you.

okay mommy ♥️

yuuta will a good boy and wait for you 😇

yuuta’s on his bicycle, subtly following your car to your favorite cafe by the riverside. 

[raevenlywrites]

Because education should be comprehensive, sex ed or otherwise

“but why do we need to teach or mention asexuality in health class”

well my guy, maybe so asexual teens dont think something’s wrong w them ???

[cumbunnywitch]

I've seen at least one, but posts saying not to blame the people who didn't vote for Harris because whatever are fully in the wrong and they always will be.

You chose moral high grounding and purity culture over the possibility that our protests would work. You chose "she leaned too right in her campaign" over "Trump and the people who want to puppeteer him are going to get a lot of people killed." You chose the democrats being idiots over the republicans want a racist rapist.

You didn't choose? No, you had a choice. You used yours. If you chose not to vote because you wanted to use your non-vote as a voice to show the democrats that they have to win your vote, you're still going to get your face eaten by the leopards. They aren't going to hear you anyway.

Protests work on the left side of our shit-ass two party system because they at least pretend to care.

Here's just, off the top of my head, the things you decided were less important than telling the democratic party "No you have to be good enough":

Student Loan Forgiveness or Relief

Healthcare

Trans Rights

LGBTQIA Safety

Abortion rights

Palestine/Gaza

Ukraine

Industry Regulation(notice all those recalls on food lately?)

Cost of Living

Police Reform

Taxes

There's no such thing as a single-issue voter, not anymore. The right is diametrically opposed to making any of the above better for anyone, whether or not they voted for that shitstain, unless you're very rich, and very white, and a very straight man.

Honestly, if you voted for Jill Stein, at least you fucking voted. Her numbers won her absolutely nothing but at least you voted.

But no. "Don't vote for Harris because she's not good enough! She's running a campaign to secure moderate republicans!" Yea no fucking shit. That's what they've been doing for the last forever. Yea, it still sucks. But most moderate liberals who actually vote still struggle with that list up there. There's literally a democrat trans woman who just got voted in who wants to support Israel's genocidal campaign of murdering every Palestinian.

And you know what? If she sees that line, she might actually stop and think and move a little bit over to my perspective. Every conservative sees that line and immediately thinks "Yea kill the fuckin' brown people!" because they don't consider them fucking people.

If you didn't vote because you saw people saying Harris wasn't leftist enough, not liberal enough, she was a former prosecutor or the democrats haven't done enough for you in the last 4 years, you fell for the Russian psyop. You fell for the propaganda.

Does it suck that Harris wanted to court the swing states and their moderately conservative voting base over to vote for the first woman president? Yea, it's been a shitty idea for decades and they've been doing it for as long as I've been voting. Obama was the center-ist centerist ever, and he still got healthcare reform passed. He also drone striked a lot of people and gave banks billions of dollars when the financial sector faceplanted after trying to balance on a pin for the longest time.

I was gonna add a read-more or chop this up better but no. You get to read the whole thing. If you didn't vote, or you voted for trump, I want you gone. Unfollow me, block me, because you clearly either don't care enough to prevent our slide into authoritarianism and a fixed court for the next 60 years, or you actively hate me.

[burnednotburied]

Chapter 6: A Dagger In One Hand

AO3 Link | Masterlist

Pairing: Abby Anderson x fem!reader

Fic Synopsis: Abby goes looking for Owen and ends up on the wrong end of your knife.

Tags/CWs: angst; slowburn; mutual pining; enemies to friends to lovers; talks of purity culture/ideals and “sin”; internalized homophobia and some comp-het feelings (they’re both so gay but so dumb about it); animosity between WLF and Seraphites; blood/gore; descriptions of being hanged; religious/cult-like ideas

Note: I'm really sorry for how long it took for me to write this chapter. Life's been a bitch lately. Keeps kicking me while I'm down, so to speak.

Someone asked about a taglist, so I'm starting one! Please comment if you want to be added :)

----------------------------------------------------------------

Abby fell asleep surrounded by Scars but woke up alone.

She sat up, blinking away the stubborn remnants of her dreams. Images of her father, alive, and simpler times.

Sunlight shone in from nearby windows, indicating that it was probably already late morning, if not early afternoon, meaning that she’d slept much later than she’d meant to. Much later than she normally would.

But the last couple of days had been anything but normal.

The sound of voices in the hallway brought Abby to her feet and out the door.

Lev and Yara stood just down that hall, arguing, their voices low and insistent.

“Even if you make it, she’s not going to come with you,” Yara said.

“I can convince her.”

“We broke the rules, Lev! That’s all she’ll care about!”

Abby didn’t know who or what they were talking about, and she wasn’t nearly awake enough to begin to decipher it. Behind her, a door opened, across the hall from the room she’d come from.

“Abby?”

Your voice was quiet. Almost surprised. Like you hadn’t expected to see her standing there.

She shivered, as if you’d touched her.

She wished you would touch her.

Jesus. She really needed to get her thoughts in check.

She turned to face you.

You smiled, a stark contrast to the tense words being exchanged just around the corner. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Abby might have just woken up, but she could’ve sworn there was a halo of light surrounding you.

Maybe she was still dreaming.

Her too-recently-conscious eyes could only take in one thing at a time. First, your eyes. She was stuck there for a while. Probably much longer than what was socially acceptable. You had beautiful eyes.

Then, your mouth. Lips still slightly upturned in a warm smile. She wanted to know if you greeted everyone like this. If that smile was a common sight to those around you or if it was just for her. She couldn’t imagine she’d done anything to deserve special treatment from you, but looking at you smiling at her felt like a gift. One that she couldn’t possibly have earned.

It was at that moment that Abby remembered that she was looking at the Seraphite Prophet.

Isaac had warned her about you just over forty-eight hours ago. He’d said that the greatest threat you posed was in your ability to win people over, earning their loyalty even at the cost of their own morals. Their life-long allegiances. Their people. 

She understood now why you had been chosen to be the new Prophet. There was something about you that drew people in – had them letting their guard down – with or without all of the Seraphite brainwashing. 

Hell, Abby met you two days ago and she was already prepared to leave the certainty and security of the Washington Liberation Front to follow you wherever you wanted to go.

There was something magic about you. You must have a similar effect on everybody.

Abby was momentarily relieved, feeling like she’d solved an equation. She wasn’t losing her mind. (At least not any more than anyone else around you was.) This wasn’t her fault. It was yours.

Even as she thought it, it sounded stupid to her. But the only alternative was that these thoughts and feelings were uniquely, inherently her own. And that could only lead to the hope that you might feel the same way about her. 

She finally managed to pull her eyes away from your face and noticed that you were carrying a small, neatly folded pile of clothes. 

“Mel gave these to me,” you said, following her gaze. “She said that they don’t really fit her anymore.” Abby only blinked at you incredulously, not understanding. If she hadn’t just woken up, she would’ve known what you meant. “You know. Because of the–” You trailed off, using your hand to make an arching motion over your own stomach, as if to represent a pregnant belly. “–the baby.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Abby looked away, running a hand absently over her braided hair. “Makes sense. That was… nice of her.”

You nodded, falling quiet as Lev and Yara’s voices grew louder just around the corner, the two of them still arguing.

“I can’t believe she’s on her feet already,” Abby said after a minute.

Your worried look gave way to another small smile. “Yes, well, Yara’s always been tough.” 

There was so much that Abby didn’t know about you. And Yara and Lev. And about your history together. She’d been picking up on bits and pieces of it, especially yesterday with Lev. It had taken some time, but he definitely started opening up to her as they traveled to and from the hospital.

He had even turned things around on Abby and asked what was going on between you and her. And he seemed to find it funny when she got flustered and dodged the question entirely. 

But you had not been such an open book. And Abby wanted to know more. She wanted to know everything. 

She just didn’t know where to start.

“What are they fighting about?” she asked instead. 

“Lev is worried about their mother,” you explained, just loud enough for Abby to hear. “About what’ll happen to her because of them.”

“Should he be worried?” she asked.

“He needs to focus on his own safety right now.” 

“What could happen to her?” If she had to guess based on what she knew about the Seraphites, it couldn’t be good.

You looked away. “Sometimes parents are held responsible for their children’s sins. But their mom is so devout that she’ll probably be fine.”

“Are there options? For helping her?”

You frowned. “Lev wants to go back to the island to get her. But he would never be able to convince her to leave. I’m not even sure that I could, and I’m–”

“The Prophet?” Abby finished.

You moved on without acknowledging that truth. “Yara and I are more worried about what she might do to him.” Before she could think of a response to any of that, you looked back at her, shaking your head like you were shaking those thoughts away. “They’ll work it out. Lev’s not unreasonable.”

“He’s a kid,” she said frankly. “I’m not an expert, but aren’t kids supposed to be hard to reason with, especially when they’re emotional?”

“He’s a Seraphite,” you corrected her. “Seraphites are never really kids.”

Again, Abby felt the urge to ask you to explain, to tell her more about what you meant by that. 

“I could use your help with something–” you said, hesitant, “–if you wouldn’t mind. I would ask Yara, but she’s occupied. And she’s also down one arm.”

“Yeah,” Abby said, sincere and probably far too eager. “Of course. What do you need?”

You smiled gratefully and gestured for her to go back into the room where you had all slept. She followed without question, shutting the door behind her. 

“It’s kind of embarrassing.” The look on your face told her that you wouldn’t be asking if you didn’t have to. “It’s this dress,” you said. “It isn’t meant for me to be able to take it off myself. One or two of my attendants would always have to help.” And then you turned, just enough to draw Abby’s attention to the back of the dress, where there was an admittedly overly complicated looking corset thing going on. It looked cool, but yeah, she could see how it would be difficult, if not impossible, for you to undo it by yourself.

“They might as well have sewn me into it,” you added, doing your best to look at it over your shoulder. Then you turned back to face her. 

She took a beat before she found her voice. “You have attendants? Like maids?”

You shot her an exasperated look. “I had attendants. But they are on the island and I am here, and it’d be really great if someone would help me get out of this thing once and for all.”

“Yeah yeah, I got it,” Abby said, smiling now. “Turn back around.”

You sighed but did as you were told, tossing the pile of clean clothes on the couch for the sole purpose of being able to cross your arms over your chest. Abby chuckled, surprised but amused by your sudden attitude. 

She stepped up behind you, taking a closer look at the fabric contraption that had you trapped in this dress. It suddenly occurred to her that, in order to help you with this problem, she would have to get very close to you… And that she’d have to touch you… And that this would inevitably end with you taking off your clothes. Hell, she was (technically speaking) the one who would be undressing you.

She cleared her throat and tried – not for the first time that day and probably not for the last – to get her thoughts under control. You weren’t coming on to her. You just needed help. You probably would’ve been just as likely to ask Mel to do this. 

Abby shifted on her feet behind you, lifting her hands to start what was sure to be a very long untangling process, but she paused before actually touching the fabric that hugged your back. “Can I…?” she asked. It felt important to have your permission before she touched you. 

“Hmm?” you hummed, glancing over your shoulder before you realized what she meant. “Oh. Yes. Please.”

A thrill shot through her at the sound of you responding to her request to touch you with please.

God, there had to be something wrong with her.

No one – genuinely not one single other person in her whole life – had ever had this effect on her. 

She got to work on the dress, trying to convince her stupid, horny mind that the ribbons and fabrics beneath her fingers were not, in fact, attached to your body. She was unsuccessful.

“Jesus, they really did not want you getting out of this thing,” she huffed. “What? Was trapping you in your clothes their way of keeping you chaste?”

Since when did she say shit like chaste? It did sound like some bullshit the Seraphites would do though.

To her surprise, you laughed. “I think the idea was more likely to keep me dependent on others. Trapped both physically and mentally, you know? … It’s a dress, Abby. You don’t exactly have to take it off to have sex.”

Abby’s fingers stilled, her eyes went wide, and her face warmed. And she was glad you were facing the other way so you didn’t see any of it.

She changed the subject before she did anything stupid, like ask you literally anything else about that subject. “So… have you always worn this dress?”

It was a stupid question, but it’s the first thing she could come up with under these conditions.

“This exact dress, no,” you said. She could tell from your voice that you were smiling, and she couldn’t be sure but she thought you might be teasing her. “But some version of it, yes. Since the day I turned twelve. New ones were made for me as I grew and if they tore or got dirty, but it was always something like this.” You paused for a few seconds before going on. “It’s strange. I haven’t worn pants in eight years. I’m kind of excited.”

Abby couldn’t imagine being excited to wear Mel’s hand-me-down pants. But she also hadn’t been forced to wear the same virtually inescapable dress for nearly a decade. The thought alone made her chest feel tight. 

She had made a small amount of progress with the dress, but not as much as she would have wanted, and she was getting frustrated with the whole thing. She yanked on something that she thought would loosen it, but ended up making it much tighter. You let out a sharp hiss.

“Sorry,” Abby said quickly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do tha–”

“Do you want to just cut it off of me?” you asked, spinning around to face her again, clearly even more eager and annoyed than she was. 

“Umm.” Abby thought her brain might be shutting down entirely. “Yeah. I can do that. If you’re sure you’re not gonna want to wear it again.”

“I’m not going to want to wear it again,” you confirmed.

Neither of you had taken a step back when you turned around, which left very little space between you. Something that Abby was painfully aware of.

“Okay,” she said, voice low. “Then I guess I’m cutting you out of the dress.” But she didn’t move from where she stood, just a breath away from you.

You were the first to move, walking over to where you had all dropped your stuff yesterday and returning with your dagger. 

“Here.” Face unreadable, you offered the deadly blade to Abby handle-first. She took it as you spun back around.

She gripped the dagger’s hilt in her hand tightly. The trust that you must’ve had in her, to hand over your weapon and willingly turn your back to her… It made her feel brave.

Or maybe she had bravery and stupidity mixed up.

Abby began carefully cutting through the same ribbons that she’d previously been attempting to untie.

“Are there rules,” she asked, trying to sound nonchalant, “about abstaining from sex? I’ve read about a few Old World religions that were strict about that.” 

You were entirely unfazed by the question. “Seraphites have rules for everything. Some of them always made sense to me. But most of them are ridiculous. Meant only to ensure that our Elders are able to maintain complete control.” 

The top of the dress loosened and began to sag as Abby continued to slice through the offending constraints, until it was only held up by the straps. She had done enough for you to be able to easily get out of it. If you were to let those straps fall from your shoulders, the whole thing would fall to the floor, gathering at your feet. 

She looked away from the smooth expanse of skin in front of her and tried to force that image out of her mind. 

“Should be able to get it off now,” she said, deciding that it would actually be better for her to take several steps away. 

An earnest ‘thank you’ came from your lips as you grabbed the new clothes from the couch. You didn’t ask her to turn around, but she did anyway. And she was decidedly not thinking about what was going on behind her.

“To answer your question from before,” you began as you got dressed. “Yes, there are rules about that, but they’re wildly unimaginative. We are not permitted to be alone with someone of the opposite sex – outside of our family members – until a spouse is chosen for us. At which point, that person becomes a family member. So technically, we’re never allowed to be alone with someone of the opposite sex.”

“That sucks,” she threw out, not knowing what else to say as she stared at a random stain on the wall and forced herself to wonder how it might’ve gotten there.

“Probably. For most people. But I never really had a problem with it.” Your voice was much closer now, just behind her.

“Why not?” Abby’s question of if it was safe to turn around yet was answered with the light touch of your fingers against her wrist, trailing down to meet the dagger still grasped in her palm. She relinquished the knife to you, letting her hand linger against yours as she turned to face you, taking it all in.

You were, indeed, wearing pants. And also a shirt. And they both fit you pretty well.

And you were beautiful. There was always that.

You passed the dagger from your right hand to your left, and the look of determination on your face was nearly the same as it was moments after she first saw you. When Abby was hanging by her throat and you were going to kill her. Only this time the feeling coursing through her body wasn’t fear. It was anticipation. 

Whatever you were planning to do next, she wanted it. 

“Why not?” Abby had asked a minute ago.

“Because I’ve never had any interest in the opposite sex,” you answered as your right hand found its place against her jaw.

Time slowed as you stood there for a moment, holding a dagger in one hand and Abby’s face in the other. 

She thought you might kiss her. She was hoping you’d kiss her.

And then the door flung open and your hand fell to your side.

Yara was crying or yelling or both, and it took Abby way too long to process the words she was saying.

“Lev’s gone! He took a boat! He’s going back to the island!”

----------------------------------------------------------------

Note: This chapter is a bit shorter than usual, but it felt good to end it here for now. Also, I want you to know that I'm dedicated to finishing this fic, and I know exactly where I want to go with it, so expect more updates soon!

Taglist: @h0meb0dyi @lmaoo-spiderman @quinnsadilla @rew1nds @sapphicontherun

[ghostinthetumbchine]

also while i do not count on it i disagree that having galadriel temporarily succumb to saurons temptation is against canon, certainly not thematically.

lotr literally ends with frodo succumbing to the temptation. they still win because frodo took it as far as anyone possibly could and they end up "saved" by gollum and what is strongly implied to be an act of Eru.

so having the protag fall to temptation partially but still manage to climb back up and triumph would be in line with it. believing that galadriel cannot be the one to do that goes back to the purity culture and that false virgin mary image of hers.

[touchoffleece]

I can't believe people are essentially using the argument of "bad things is happening, so no joy or escape-ism should be happen because it takes away focus from bad things".

Yes the current event is happening on top of usual shit life throws at us but for some of us we go partake in things like writing and reading as hobbies to get us through the hard times.

I never really considered that most of the younger folk complaining and targeting Archive of Our Own (Archive for fandom works, it's an archive no matter how much people try and say it isn't. It was created with the intention to preserve) do so because they don't understand or can imagine an internet where big companies and bored brain dead billionaires ran everything with the sole intent to make money at the expense of the consumers wallet and privacy were not normal.

Other than that thought, there is also the whole counter point to "why not care about *blank issue* over a website", being: People can care about multiple issues at once!!

I can't help but feel the younger folk spewing this are being enabled by older bad faith people wanting to sanitize or playing moral crusades against AO3. Which was made as a place to archive and act as a safe place when those same type of moral purity types took down so many sites they seemed impure or improper, making the corporatization of the Internet possible.

can i be real? i think ao3 should die for doing a donation pool for themselves with everything going on

[troublesomesnitch]

Abraham (Grantchester) x Reader

Inspired by Ewanmitchellcrumb's amazing Abraham fics, in particular this one.

Contents: smut. first kiss, making out, dry humping, handjob. Porn without plot (and porn without penetration).

Warnings: arranged marriage, oldfashioned gender roles and attitudes towards sex and marriage. Abraham being dickish (but he's trying to be nicer)

Words: 3600

Purity culture and dry humping, name a more iconic duo, i'll wait.

-

The rain is beating hard against the tin roof.

You are huddled up against the wall, your arms wrapped tightly around your legs to keep warm. You had gone out for an afternoon walk to find some peace and quiet, and maybe pick some of the first little spring flowers, when you were suddenly caught in a torrential downpour. Not too keen on the idea of sprinting all the way home, you scrambled to take shelter in the first place you could think of: a dilapidated shed at the edge of a muddy field. The old farmer used to store tools and machinery there, but now it stands abandoned and in disrepair, full of cobwebs and mouse droppings.

If one was alone it might be quite an unnerving place, located as it is right on the border of the woods.

But you are not alone.

Abraham is sitting right across from you, dressed in his usual plaid jacket and red neckerchief, his long legs stretched out on the floor. When you stumbled inside he was already there, having sought shelter from the rain himself.

You only narrowly managed to convince him to stay.

As a young, unmarried girl, you are not supposed to be alone with men. Not even with Abraham - especially not with Abraham. The two of you will be getting married in just over a month, but the rules of courtship are strict, and every minute you spend with him must be chaperoned. Something that he has, surprisingly, taken very seriously. Maybe because his first attempt at an engagement didn't exactly work out as planned.

Still, your parents are satisfied with the match, and for the most part, you are too. Abraham is quite handsome, you think, with those splendid blue eyes, and he's just a few years older than you. A little rough around the edges, but he doesn't mind hard work, and he is good with children and animals, and those are fine qualities in a man.

Sometimes, he lets you sit and watch while he cares for his horses; cleans their stalls and their hooves, brushes their coats, takes them out to the pasture for excercise. He speaks so calmly to them, firm voice when they disobey him and soft when they are skittish or scared, and there is something so endearing about it. You wonder if he will speak to you in the same way once you're married. Harsh when you disappoint him, but gentle when he lies on top of you at night. You'd like that, you think.

Right now, Abraham doesn't speak to you at all. It is not too out the ordinary, as he isn't particularly talkative in the first place, but you had hoped that being alone with you might loosen him up a little. Instead, it seems to have had the opposite effect, and for the past twenty minutes or so, he has occupied himself with throwing pebbles and broken bits of plaster at a glass jar on the floor.

Not the most riveting pastime - but it does give you an idea.

"How about we make a game of it" you suggest, when the silence has become so deafening you can hardly bear it. "Best of five. If you win, I'll bring you lunch tomorrow - anything you want."

"Yea?" Abraham hums, looking up and right at you, clearly intrigued.

"And If I win - " you pause, a deep scarlet blush creeping up your neck. "If I win, I want a kiss".

"No" he says, right away and with a stern expression, his mouth forming a thin line.

"Just one -"

"No" he repeats, but it's a little softer this time, and he gives you a cocky half-smile. "You'll get one soon enough, don't you worry about that".

"But I won't win" you try. "You know I won't. Or" - you eye him teasingly- "do you really think you might loose to a girl?"

It's the same argument you would use against your little brother, and when Abraham's face settles into something very offended, you can hardly believe it actually worked. But all boys are the same apparently, even when they're grown men. Always have something to prove to the world and themselves and each other.

"I win - " he grumbles, "you bring lunch every day, rest of the week. And your mum's cider."

It's Wednesday today. Four days isn't a lot, you can manage that. There's not much cider left, but Mum will understand, she'll be happy to know that you're taking good care of your soon-to-be husband.

"Alright then" you nod. "You go first."

The odds are against you, because Abraham has had plenty of time to practice already, something you forgot to consider when you issued the challenge. But you are determined put up a good fight, not only because you ache to know what kissing is like, but also because you want to know what Abraham is like. If he's rough or gentle. If he's a passionate lover, or someone who just wants you to lie still and be quiet when he performs his marital duties.

As expected, his first stone goes straight into the glass; yours unfortunately bounces off the side of it. But then Abraham narrowly misses his second one, while yours actually hits the intended target. It gives you at least a glimmer of hope.

And then, something happens. Something very strange.

Abraham picks a rather large stone, but he overshoots by just a little and it lands on the dusty floor.

And the next one does too. And the one after that.

It must be on purpose, it must be. But his face betrays nothing at all, only the same disgruntled expression he always wears, and soon there's only one pebble left. Your very last one, and it lands in the glass with a loud plink.

"I won" you state, in complete disbelief, and the corners of Abraham's mouth twitch up a little.

"Looks like it, yea"

You eye him with suspicion. "But you hit - you got four in a row just before we started -".

"Beginner's luck" he shrugs, rising to his feet and brushing his hands on his trousers. When you hesitate, he cocks his head. "C'mere".

You do not need to be told twice, instantly flitting to his side and tilting up your face like you've seen ladies do in the movies. Abraham breathes deeply, and he places his hands on your waist to pull you closer. He smells nice, like fresh rain and firewood and a little bit like damp wool. You close your eyes.

"You ever kissed a man before?" he murmurs, so close that you can feel his warm breath fanning over your face.

You shake your head - of course you haven't.

There's no response to that, only calloused hands touching your face, Abraham's nose brushing your temple. He bends his head, and when he presses his lips to yours, you are not prepared for how soft they are, and how warm, and how gentle. His mouth opens slightly, his tongue slipping just past your lips, and then he releases your face and pulls back.

"There" he mutters, but you are not ready to part from him yet. Your hands cling to his jacket and your eyes are heavy and hooded when they flutter open.

"Again" you breathe.

He shouldn't, he really shouldn't, you are absolutely not allowed to do such things before the wedding. But Abraham is a young man, and since your engagement was officially agreed upon, he has surprisingly managed to stay out of trouble - mostly, at least - and away from neglected young housewives and the reverend's shapely daughters. It has been... a while since he last touched a girl, and you are the prettiest little thing, with your wet, parted lips and your hair frizzed from the rain. How could he possibly resist when you're looking up at him like that, begging for more?

Your first kiss was sweet and demure, but this time, Abraham wraps both arms around your waist and runs his hands up your back. He nibbles at your lower lip before he slides his tongue into your mouth, deeper this time, so he can brush it against your own. When you mewl it goes straight to his crotch, and he deepens the kiss, tilting your head to the side with a finger under your chin.

You mustn't, you shouldn't, you can't, but your body is burning with want, and you think Abraham's must be too. He's holding you closer, letting his hands wander over your body, your hips, your waist, the small of your back. They move to squeeze your bottom, and when he pushes his hips forward, there's something hard poking at your stomach.

It sends a jolt of excitement down your spine.

In theory, you know what a man looks like under his clothes. The men work outside in the summer, and many take off their shirts and roll up the legs of their trousers in the heat. But you have never seen a man fully naked, and you have never felt a man's body pressed up against you like this. Abraham's chest is hard, and his shoulders are broad, and his arms feel so strong when they're wrapped around you. He moves to kiss just below your ear, and you take the opportunity to let your hands roam tentatively over his chest and his stomach, even reaching under his jacket to feel the warmth of his skin through his shirt.

It's nice, but it isn't enough to satisfy your curiosity. You want to touch him there.

Abraham breaks the kiss when he feels your hand inching towards his crotch, but he doesn't stop you. Just looks at you stunned, with darkened eyes and a slight flush across his handsome nose. His... his - cock is straining in his pants, and you brush your fingers over the bulge, feeling how he hardens even more at your touch. It is clumsy and inexperienced, but Abraham still closes his eyes, and his hand comes down to cover yours and press it harder against him.

It feels good for him, despite your lack of practice; you can tell. You cup his crotch, and he lets out a sharp breath and bucks right into your palm. You tilt your face up again to kiss along his jaw as you rub him through his trousers, feeling how he swells and throbs from your touch, until he suddenly swats your hand away.

You worry that you have overstepped, or done something that hurt him, but he leans over you, and tugs at your hips - to pull you down with him, you realise. Right down to the floor, although he is at least gallant enough to shrug of his jacket and lay you on that, rather than directly on the ground.

Immediately, he starts on the buttons of your coat, almost ripping the garment open to part it from your chest. His hands greedily palm your breasts, covered only by your dress and the brassiere underneath, and he squeezes your flesh; pinches your nipples through the fabric and rolls them under his thumbs. They stiffen from his touch and he leans over you and brushes his mouth against your chest, even latching onto one pert nipple, sucking and biting until your dress is wet from his spit.

It makes you whine with both pleasure and pain, and surprise too. You have never been touched like this before, never felt wanted like this before. Abraham's eyes are dark with lust, and it is almost frightening how determined he looks when he hooks a hand under each of your knees to push them apart.

You gasp when he lays over you. His body is warm, and heavy, and it feels so right to lie like this underneath him, caged in by his arms and with your thighs spread wide around his hips. His cock is big and hard and he presses the thick bulge between your legs, and grunts softly at the feeling. You can't help but wonder how many girls have been underneath him before, because he's so unabashed in the way he pushes his hips against yours, so eager when he starts rocking back and forth, clearly mimicking... other things.

Your hands cling to his shirt and you arch up to kiss him again, sighing when catches your lip between his teeth. They don't kiss like this in the movies. At least not in the ones you have seen. Your mouth is wide open, and Abraham is absolutely devouring it, licking your lips, shoving his tongue all the way to the back of your throat. It is rough and needy, and there's a trail of spit between you when he pulls back to catch his breath.

If someone found out, you'd be in so much trouble. Abraham is on you, and his cock is stiff, and he is moving so intimately against you, but you can't bring yourself to stop him. It feels wonderful, having his weight on top of you, having his hard cock pressed against your center. His bulge is big and hard and heavy between your thighs, and he's groaning as he rubs it against you, rolling his hips steadily, rhythmically. As though he was really inside you, and you are not sure if it's on purpose or pure instinct, or maybe a bit of both.

It has you swooning, just thinking about it. How badly he must want you, how needy he must feel, his cock all hard and swollen and his balls so full of his - his come. The thought of it makes you sigh, makes you feel soaking wet, makes that tingling warmth spread even faster in your loins. There are so many things are happening in your body; the kissing, the rubbing, the pressure between your legs - God you've never felt anything like it. You squirm underneath him and spread your thighs wider.

it makes Abraham groan, your hands on his chest and the way your hips are bucking and circling against his cock, and fuck he'll go crazy if you keep making those noises, those soft little whimpers. His cock is pulsing and his balls are pulled tight, and seeing your face all twisted with pleasure has him leaking already.

Truthfully, it was Pal's idea that he should pursue you, just like it was Pal who first spoke to your father on his behalf - but as you are a sweet and pretty girl, Abraham could see no reason why he shouldn't go along with it. He is a grown man, and a grown man needs a wife, and he likes looking at your legs when you help your mother with the laundry. Especially when you wear that grey dress that is a little too tight around your hips. Once you're married he will buy you a brand new one, and a nice pair of shoes with a little heel, and you'll be such a pretty little wife, cooking his meals and washing his clothes and giving him kisses when he comes home.

He moves faster, pressing his hard bulge even tighter against you, and you can feel something building in your body, though you are only barely aware of what it is. Your muscles are tightening and tensing up, desperate for a release that you instinctively know how to find, and you arch your hips up and rub frantically against Abraham's cock. You need more, more friction, more pressure just there, and you hook a leg over his back so you can push up better. Abraham lets you chase your peak, even helps you along by sliding his hand underneath your bottom to press you tighter against him. He is utterly mesmerised by the sight, your blissful expression as you shamelessly use his body for your own pleasure, sighing and whimpering and grinding your little cunt so desperately against him.

When he kisses you again, all the tension breaks.

You gasp, and Abraham watches you intently as a series of tiny little shivers run through your body. A very gentle climax - your first, by the looks of it. You writhe and moan beneath him, and when the waves of your orgasm settle, you are all blushed and looking up at him with glazed, love-struck eyes.

He could probably coax you into sleeping with him right now if he wanted to, but in a - frankly rare - moment of chivalry, he decides against it. You're a sweet girl, saving yourself for marriage and all. Your first time should be somewhere nicer than in this cold, filthy shed.

One way or another though, he will make you finish him off properly, and he sits back on his heels and quickly unbuckles his belt. Abraham's cock is impressive in size, and he is very proud of it; always enjoys the look of amazement on a girl's face when he frees it from his trousers.

You look equal parts intrigued and horrified. It is much bigger than you had anticipated, long, pink and bulbous at the tip, and he boldly gives it a few quick tugs as you watch. Even in his hand it looks massive, and you wonder how on earth it'll ever fit inside you, but that is an issue for another day, because Abraham mutters here and reaches for your hand. Your fingers wrap cautiously around his shaft, and it is hard, stiff, and yet so soft at the same time. You have no idea what to do, but Abraham's hand closes over yours, guiding the strength of your grip and the pace of your strokes.

It turns out that pleasing a man is not difficult at all. All you have to do is move your hand up and down, dragging the skin over the tip of his cock and back down again in a quick and firm rhythm. Abraham dips his head into the crook of your neck, and his hands come up to fondle your breasts, his teeth gritted and his eyes squeezed shut. You quickly grow more comfortable with the motion, and you slip your other hand between his legs to fondle his balls too - carefully, as you know that is a very delicate area for a man. They feel big, and hairy, and heavy in your hand, and he moans when you squeeze them lightly, trying your best to massage them in a way that gives him pleasure.

It would seem that you succeed, because it isn't long before Abraham's body tenses and his balls tighten right in your grip.

" - gonna come" he grunts, and you can't help but hold your breath in anticipation.

Abraham groans, and his cock pulses in your hand, and then his semen starts spurting from the tip. There's so much of it, spilling all over your fingers in thick, sticky ropes, and you keep stroking him through his peak, taking in his ragged breaths, the shallow jerks of his hips, the deep furrow of his brow. It is the loveliest thing you've ever laid eyes on, and when he stills your hand and collapses next to you on the floor, your chest swells with pride. You made him do that.

"Fuck" he pants. There's a lock of hair sticking to his forehead, and you are dying to reach over and gently brush it back, but you are too shy to be so familiar.

"Was it good?" you ask instead, hoping for praise or maybe a nice compliment, but Abraham just gives a hoarse laugh as he tucks his cock back into his trousers. You look away. Despite what you did just a moment ago, looking at it now feels terribly indecent.

Outside, the rain has stopped, the wind has died down, and it is high time for you to return home. You wipe your hand clean with a handkerchief - you can rinse it in the stream on the way back - and turn away from him as you smooth out your skirt and button your coat.

"What do you want" Abraham asks suddenly. "For your wedding gift. What do you want?"

Immediately, you start going through all the lists in your head - there are a hundred things to consider when setting up a new household, clothes and dishware and furnishing, and the little hope chest under your bed is already filled to the brim.

"Well-" you begin, "I'll get linens from my mother, and you already have the stove sorted, and Cora said we could have her old cast iron skillet, but we should probably start saving for a -"

"No" he interrupts, impatiently. "Forget all that, what do you want from me"

He looks sheepish and uncomfortable and it takes you a moment to realise that he is trying to be attentive - maybe even romantic.

It makes you want to throw your arms around his neck.

"I don't know" you mutter, blushing all over again. "I haven't thought about it - you don't have to give me anything"

"I'll get you something. Something pretty, yea?" he grins, wide enough that his cheeks crease and dimple - God, he's awfully charming sometimes, when he wants to be.

You blush even deeper, picking at your nails and responding with an awkward yes, yeah alright.

Abraham doesn't say anything after that, already back to his usual sullen demeanor - but right before the door closes behind you, he grabs you by the wrist and pulls you back to kiss you right on the mouth.

You make your way back home, warm all over from the kiss and the excitement and the lingering heat in your core. And maybe a little bit just from the very thought of Abraham himself.

I have never posted fics to tumblr before, please let me know if there's anything wrong with it!

[olderthannetfic]

I returned to fandom as an adult during the pandemic to escape. Mid-pandemic, several other bad things happened, some of which are still ongoing. To be honest, getting excited about stories is the only thing that keeps me going. I'm generous with my love. I'll give anything a chance and I appreciate the effort that goes into creating anything, even if I end up not liking it. And if I really dislike something, I just move on to the next thing. After all, there have never been more choices. My to-watch and to-read lists are infinite.

The problem is that it's pretty lonely. I just want someone to squee with about things now and again, but most fandom spaces are so full of negativity, even after you filter out all the purity culture BS. You join a discord server called Blorbo's Biggest Fans and it's just everyone shitting on the people who created Blorbo or on fans of A Different Version of Blorbo. Or else being pre-emptively miserable about An Upcoming Project with Blorbo.

It's exhausting. I'm in fandom for the joy. Think Cinema Wins, not Cinema Sins. I have enough misery and fear in my real life. And I know that everyone else does too. Why bring misery into your escapism?

--

[what-even-is-thiss]

If you’re trying to get yourself out of the purity culture mindset of even touching or thinking about “bad” things corrupts people and you’re still Christian or at least still believe in God in some capacity my advice to you is to remind yourself that

A) God is not your judgemental aunt. They see everything and therefore probably have a pretty good understanding of things like harm reduction and how the human brain works considering They invented it. Yours and other people’s involuntary thoughts and coping mechanisms aren’t the enemy winning they’re part of being human and if anything knowing the thoughts you have shouldn’t be acted on is a good sign about your personal character.

B) Certain things you’ve been taught are harmful either aren’t harmful or aren’t as harmful if precautions are taken. Premarital sex is the classic example. Traditionally abstinence was the only reliable way to prevent STIs and unwanted pregnancies but we’ve got the technology now to reduce the chance of that stuff significantly. Besides, if you like it and are being careful and respecting your partners it’s very likely no harm at all will come of it. If you cause no harm on purpose, that’s not a sin. That’s just using what He gave you to have a good time. And even if it was a sin His whole deal is forgiveness. This doesn’t just apply to sex either. Watching media that depicts “immoral” acts, doing drugs, and many other things can be done safely or at least have their impact minimized. Follow your best judgement on these things and when appropriate try to guide people around you to reduce harm in their own lives as well, but don’t try to dictate for them what right and wrong is in their own lives.

C) God basically is the entire universe. They can’t be harmed or destroyed by human action. The universe isn’t a tug of war between God and evil. God made the rope. You or anyone else making mistakes, having a difficult time forgiving someone, sinning, having weird or nasty thoughts from time to time, or doing or making something that blurs the lines between morality or immorality can’t hurt God or the universe. She’s too big for that. And forgiveness and mercy are kind of Her whole thing. One mistake or even many isn’t an earth shattering event. You’ll be okay.

Basically what you need to remember when trying to train yourself out of this mindset of purity culture and never doing anything bad ever is that you need to work to make your default assumption that you’re trying your best, so is everyone else, and judging whether or not something is actually harmful isn’t always a clear cut and easy thing. God understands nuance. They gave us humor as a gift to cope with the struggles of the world. Learning a bit of flexibility with yourself and others isn’t always easy, but you can do it. Rethink your knee jerk reactions. Pray about it if that helps you, and most importantly be kind with yourself and others who are on this same journey. It takes time to unlearn some harmful attitudes you may have been taught. And that’s okay. You’re doing fine.

[bread-tab]

i don't know who this guy is or participate in supernatural shipping and normally don't even give anything related to the "antiship/proship" discourse the time of day, at this point, but holy shit. based

Both sides lose since you have framed it as a fight

Never seen someone sum up this problem in so few words. This applies to... SO much shitty discourse. So much deeply unnecessary conflict and fighting in general. Any time something gets escalated into a fight that didn't need to happen. Which does, in fact, include like 99% of fandom discourse. This guy gets it.

siken saw his words being twisted and he’s having none of it god bless

[r1z3n]

Everyone that knows Batman has kids thinking he would be one those Really Strict Parents that usually go hand in hand with purity culture you know the type.

However,

Batman aka Bruce Wayne is strict about some things usually Safety related Things, but he 100% is weird about it, then he just has Weird Rules. Like, "Don't sneak out of the house" (The house was made, then reinforced to be a fortress, even Bruce doesn't know all the safety measure in place. Definitely don't sneak out the 2nd floor, Guest wing, 3rd room window, we have a pit trap." "Don't be out after 9PM" (You can leave after that, but something about trying to get into the house at 9:00-10:00PM is Gotham weird) Then we start getting to the niche weird rules: "No mixing your liquor types" (Bruce is pretty sure wives tale is based on you are more likely to get alcohol poisoning if you drink many drinks of different alcohol % cause it is harder to track your intact, ask Bruce why he developed that hypothesis)

"If you are going to mess with the manor ghosts, you are the one that has to make the phone call to John C. to fix it." (The ghosts like John, and Bruce hates it, therefore he won't make the call.)

"No Piercings in Vigilante Suits" (Bruce promises you only need to learn the lesson once on who wins flesh or armor in a battle of piercing caught on reinforced armor)

ETC. Just Bruce being strict in a 'I learned my lesson the hard way, please oh god do not follow in my foot steps' which leads to some wild strict reactionary rules. - Feel free to reblog or send asks with other additions.