#sins invalid

[thenervebible]

excerpt from KINDLING: Writings on the Body by Aurora Levins Morales

as seen in SKIN, TOOTH & BONE: the basis of movement is our people (a disability justice primer) by Sins Invalid

[pdf below]

[makingcontact]

Caring Relationships: Negotiating Meaning and Maintaining Dignity (Encore)

Photo of Alice Wong, Stephanie Guyer-Stevens Credit: Alice Wong, Stephanie Guyer-Stevens The vast majority of care recipients are exclusively receiving unpaid care from a family member, friend, or neighbor. The rest receive a combination of family care and paid assistance, or exclusively paid formal care. Whether you’re a paid home care provider, or rely on personal assistance to meet your daily…

[mpaizsounds]

Sins Invalid - Crip Wisdom

script supervision, recording, editing, mixing, and mastering < LEARN MORE HERE >

[fictionadventurer]

I am pleased to find that all the people who said that Book 2 of The Wingfeather Saga was much better than Book 1 were very right.

[mermaidsirennikita]

What gets me that a lot of the time questionable/bad behaviour from the female or male lead is ignored but even the idea or something that's percived as cheating is meet with kill bill sirens.

lol YEAH.

This is a controversial take, but.... I don't know. I think cheating is a very bad, sometimes horrific thing to do.

I don't think it is universally felt in the same way by all couples, and I find it really weird that the internet has kind of come to uphold it is as like... on the same level as assault, domestic violence in general. I also find it really weird that everyone seems to have taken this very simplistic "once a cheater, always a cheater" take to the extreeeeme.

I've never been cheated on, and I've never cheated on anyone. I have several close loved ones who've been cheated on. I supported someone through a cheating situation that really, really rocked her, with diminished confidence, panic attacks etc following (she's also... fine now and views the whole situation in a different light, which is another thing that can happen)--so I'm not diminishing how bad this can be. I also have been friends with someone who did do it, and moved past it and has a happy marriage now. I do not imagine that I could get past it... but who knows, I've also never been there.

However, I think this idea that every cheating scenario is this WELL-THOUGHT-OUT insidious affair that was designed to harm the other person and manipulate and abuse them is... flawed. Because let us be completely real. A lot of people cheat. A lot of people cheat once, and their partners literally never find out and they stay married and pretty happy for the rest of their lives, and nobody finds out. I know that's like, scary to consider, but it does happen.

So while I don't think it’s okay, I do think it's kind of ridiculous that we act like something as common as infidelity is always the same. Sometimes people are just really stupid, dude. Sometimes, people are really stupid and their partners get over it and it never happens again. Sometimes, people spin a web of life-altering lies with secret families that mentally destroy their partners upon discovery. Sometimes, a one-time stupid thing does destroy a relationship (and rightfully so).

I think that this really black and white perspective on cheating as like this UNIVERSALLY CATASTROPHIC EVENT is part of what makes people so averse to it in fiction. And like? Tbh? While it is REALLY difficult to pull off in a romance novel, I do think it's like... weird that something as complex and again, common in real life is like, anathema in romance. People can (and do) have their happily ever afters in their real life love stories after their partners cheat, or frankly after their partners cheat on their previous partners with them. It's not savory... But it's also not always a straightforward "this party is good, this party is bad" situation.

I will always say that the one thing I think romance NEEDS is the HEA and the prominence of the love story. Those are genre conventions. Otherwise... I don't know that there are hard and fast rules. It's kind of like the "can you write a romance in which one party has a terminal illness that is not resolved at the end" question. I don't know, dude. It's hard to pull off, but are we going to say that people don't have HEAs in these complex situations?

[greencheekconure27]

>invalidates a trans person's lived experience and identity

>"im not a terf guys!!!"

Literally have to hide behind the veneer of being antifascist to make sure people dont know youre a major transphobe! Hm!

Now anon, if you please, do point out WHERE you think I'm doing this? Otherwise people here might think you're just making shit up.

[icarusxxrising]

Idk what trans man needs to hear this but you're NOT evil or disgusting for being a man. You do NOT have to suffer for the sins of the patriarchy committed by cis dudes. Being a man doesn't invalidate the misogyny you experienced growing up or experience now. Being a man doesn't mean you deserve to be isolated. Being a man doesn't mean you're inherently predatory or scary. You didn't "choose" this, and finding your true self is NOT "betraying the community" because you happen to be a man and/or masculine rather than a woman and/or feminine. You ARE allowed to be upset when people "affirm" your gender by malgendering you.

You DO deserve a community that uplifts you. You DO deserve to experience trans joy. You DO deserve to have your voices heard and your struggles recognized. Wanting the bare minimum of solidarity is NOT "making everything about trans men".

[jadeslayter]

︶ ◜ᴗ◝ ࣪ 𓈒・ 𝐑𝐔𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐍' 𝐀 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐍 𓇼

꒰ : 𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐇 ˚ ｡ ⋆

★ The jjk men have a marathon session . ★ Pairings ⦂ Sukuna , Geto , Toji x Fem!Reader ⭒ (separate)

꒰ ୭ৎ 𓂃 𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓 ׂ ׅ

♡⃕⠀ - short drabble : scratching, choking, somnophilia, (dom & feral jjk men cus yesss), degradation, praise, overstim, piv, creampies, spanking, dub-con, dumbification, edging, domestic Geto, power dynamic, true-form kuna, masochism

୫; - pet names : doll , (pretty) girl, baby, princess, mama, ma ୫; - wc : 3k

─── ⋮𝐑. 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀

THE ROOM WAS HOT. Sweltering, even— thick air swallowing your shaking body as you convulsed underneath that bastardly curse; his nails digging angry crescent moons into the plush of your supple thighs– reddened from his previous assault. “Takin’ that c-ock so good,” Sukuna would praise, his warm breath bellowing directly into your face as his hips snapped forwards with ungodly haste, stretching your overstimulated cunt until your velvet walls sheathed the entirety of his size. He wanted you full of shaft– full of him. “I should make it..fuckbaby,” He paused, reeling his head back in pleasure. “Should make things h-arder for..you.. yeah?”

This was not a question, but a statement— Sukuna would ask these things to make you feel as though you had some sense of power over the situation. You hadn’t, but it never hurt to imagine you did. Sukuna preferred things this way, and you’d accede, too. He was certain of it. 

The man’s calloused hands— two of them, the other pair gripped firmly behind your knees, locking your thighs against your chest in a tight mating press— travel along the lines of your body, grazing over your sweat slicked skin. Lower and lower— tantalizingly lower. 

Until they were nestled within the cute folds of your cunt, his big fingers working the bud from hiding as he pinched her between two rough fingers. Not gently, either. He wanted to hurt you; and so he would. He’d squeeze on your little clit with malice, massaging the bud aggressively between an index and a thumb. His other hand spread your lips, sheen coating his shaft in sinful pleasure. 

You’d be cockhungry and desperate by the time he was finished with you— a sloppy puddle of a woman drenched in her own arousal. “‘Kuna—Fuck,’Kuna!” You would scream into the recesses of your lovers neck, inundate scent enveloping you; sukuna laying his full claim to every inch of your being. It was impossible to escape him. 

Your toes curled, his precious cock head jutting against an all too familiar patch of textured velvet. Sukuna was an expert at anatomy— your anatomy, only. He knew your body like the back of his hand, and he’d studied hard to understand it. He’d shoved every inch of himself inside of you to accustom himself with your pleasure points, and he wasn’t afraid to admit it. 

“Shut up n’ take that fuckin’ dick,” He would be so mean with you, degrading you— invalidating you crudely as he split you on his cock. He just couldn’t help but lose his sense of stability, you knew that, Doll. 

He was very lenient with you; very loving, in all the ways he knew how to be. Not many. But, the effort was still there. 

His body would press down against yours— his weight heavy above you as his waist slammed down into you; his inches slipping inside of you with ease, slicked with your pitiful fucking orgasms. Over and over (and over). 

He made you cum so much. Until you were physically unable to move beneath him— it just felt so good. But seeing you immobile wasn’t enough; he needed you brain dead. He needed you to rely on him, you could do that, couldn’t you? You would. He’d make sure you fucking did. 

“Kuna, fuck—right there, baby— hohgod, g’na cum!” The words ripped from your throat, your moans bellowing within the echoes of your bedroom. “yesyesyes, Kuna— fuck m’ cummin’” 

“Yeah, baby, give me what I want— gimme ‘notha one, make it g-ood. Don’t you dare disappoint me.” He meant what he said. His words were sharp in your ears; his breath hitting against the shell of your ear. 

And God, would you fucking cum. All over his cock— for the nth time. Your release flowed out of you with haste, coating his shaft in another layer of your euphoria. Your body would convulse, shivering desperately beneath the man once more as you struggled to overcome your high. 

His thighs wouldn’t stop their smacking; his heavy balls slapping against your cunt with hellish velocity— Godspeed. He was so careless. 

“Thas’ it, Pretty girl,” He huffed, his chest heavy with the weight of his own impending orgasm. “Giveitall— give it t’ me. Not stoppin’ til’ you’re fallin’ asleep on my cock.” 

─── ⋮𝐒. 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎

“DONTSTOPDONTSTOPDONTSTOP,” You’d pant, latching your flailing hands around the bare abdomen of your lover– his skin dewy with sweat as he forced another inch of himself into your sopping walls; cunt swallowing his shaft expectantly. 

He was right where you wanted him— ramming against that spot with genuine rapture; his hips rocking into you gingerly. “Don’t stop, baby? Yeah?” He’d mimicked, his hands traversing the frill of your nightgown; thin silk hiked over your thighs, pooling above your bellybutton. 

Cute little lolita top he bought you on the night of your honeymoon— the night you were finally taken by a real man— it had always looked so good on you; the blue of the fabric slightly faded over the years of your marriage. He loved seeing you in his clothes; albeit his personal wardrobe, or the clothing you’ve accumulated with his money. The feeling never faltered. 

Geto would be obsessed with the way your perky nipples peak from below the fabric, sensitive buds hardened underneath the restrictions of your nightgown. 

A strained chuckle would pass Geto’s pre-parted lips, heavy breaths and groans resounding within the man's throat. “Thas’it, Baby,” Suguru would moan, the intensity of his thrusts sending recoils through your body. You’d grip the headboard for stability– fuzzy brain swarmed with indescribable pleasure. 

Geto was an elephant when it came to retaining information; all information. Names, dates, locations, everything. So, naturally, Geto’s interests peaked when you had mentioned being woken up to the rock of his hips between your thighs; how foreign his cock would feel inside of your sleepy lil’ cunt while you dreamt of him, and how familiar it’d feel when you awoke to the sensation of spilling on his length. 

So here he lay, a soft hand wrapped firmly around the width of your neck, the other clasped firm within the bend of your knee, your ankle resting upon his broad shoulders. That cute little nightgown of yours clinging to the curvature of your body with sweat. 

You were so pretty when you were like this— cum drunk, lust clouding your comprehension. You only knew how to ask for more and more. You only spoke Geto’s language, and he had no problem following suit. You were his— through and through. 

“This pussy’s s’ fuckin’ good, Baby,” A husky groan reverberating in his throat— adam’s apple bobbing as he spoke. “‘specially when i work her up in the mornin’.” You felt so good around him. Looked good, too; cute little cunt puffy with overstimulation; your holes clenching so desperately around his thick cock. 

And those eyes, Jesus, those eyes, Baby. He could stare into them for hours; big curious orbs blown with pleasure. Hearts practically morphed your irises; delectation overwhelming. This— in all of its glory— is why he wanted you in missionary; wanted to see that pretty, drool-crusted face as he edged you into oblivion.

He almost felt bad for you— princess pussy so sensitive, yet so eager for a release. So needy, only for his package. “So—hnh— full’f me, yeah? Wanna cum, Princess?” His pelvis pistoned between your shaking thighs as the heat of a prolonged orgasm washed over the both of you, coiling the knot within your stomach with yearning.

Geto would roll his hips into you, slowing his pace as he ground himself deep within your velvet walls, pressing your abdomen into the mattress— his raven locs veiling against your forehead; hair disheveled atop his head. He was so focused. Determined. 

He looked the most attractive this way, his skin ripe with droplets of sweat; blotchy patches dotting his arms— soon-to-be-bruises forming just beneath his flesh. He looked so strained above you, thrusting everything he had into your cunt as he distributed his weight into his forearms, his nose directly against yours. 

He’d exhale against your lips, beridding his lungs of their oxygen before pulling you into a sensual, slow, kiss— his lips entrapping yours as they began to swell with pressure; his teeth boring indentions into the plush. 

Geto would tilt his head slightly to the right , angling his nose before yours as he deepened the kiss; his desperation palpable. His tongue would slick over your lips; a gesture of request— and he’d slip himself within your mouth when you oblige, his tongue exploring your cavern hungrily. 

You’d dance in tango, tongues swirling vehemently as the kiss grew increasingly sloppier with every reposition of your lips against his; saliva glistening along the corners of your lips, some dripping upon your chin.

His cock continues its cruel assault, bucking away at your g-spot with malice; his hips shifting slightly to elicit more lude noises from your throat— to which he would swallow up in that kiss, drinking down your essence as he fucked himself into you. 

He was fucking you so good. The pleasure had your eyes rolling into your skull, your toes pointed with tension. 

So fucking close. Just a few more thrusts—

Geto’s lips unlatch themselves from yours, a bubble of intimacy stringing between you before snapping, the droplets warm against your flesh as they land.  

A deep sigh; and then it’s gone. Everything. The movement of his hips ceases between your bruised thighs— begrudgingly, ‘course. You’d feel so empty; so indifferent, so.. frustrated. He’d taunted you with the idea of an orgasm yet again; eighth time in counting.

“Not yet,” He’d huff as he’d collapse above you, his flesh adhering to yours with sweat— lots n’ lots of it. “Just a little bit longer, You can hold it f’ me, huh?” 

─── ⋮𝐅. 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈

SOMETIMES WHEN TOJI fucked you, you were physically incapable of making any noise. 

It just felt that good— your little cock hungry brain unable to process any sounds other than pitiful whimpers, occasional gasps when he’d force the arch of your back deeper into the mattress. 

Especially after he’d ram the entirety of his dick into you; his balls slapping against your thighs, girthy 7 inches bottoming out within you, not the slightest shiver of repentance. This was your punishment, after all. What did he have to be apologetic for? 

Certainly not your actions. You were responsible for atoning those. And you would, he’d make sure of it. Your careless transgressions were what got you in this position to begin with— slutty little holes on display for him while you drooled helplessly upon the cotton of his pillowcase, your saliva soaking the fabric through and through. 

“D’aww, Mama,” He’d chuckled ingenuienly through his teeth, callous fingers adamant with their search between your legs, his broad fingertips circling your clit prudently with the resolve of his amatory impurity. He wanted you so bad; wanted to split you open with his seed, fill your breeding chamber until you were swollen with every last drop. “T’s too much? hmm? c’mon, use that mouth, t’s all ya’ good for, idntit?” 

Toji was so mean. 

So condescending as he forced his vigilantic tournament upon your cunt. She could take it. 

But God, it’d feel so good. He’d feel so good inside of you, stretching your velvet over the length of his cock, burrowing himself into your cute lil’ g-spot. He loved being inside of you, even if it were for the benefit of punishing you with the sadistic means of fucking you until you nearly safeworded. 

He hadn’t wanted to hurt you, Doll. Only a lil’ bit. Out of spite, ‘course. 

You’d manage to force a lamentable little whine once more, nodding your head frantically as your sweat adhered your forehead to the pillowcase. “Please,t’stoomuch, Jiji— god, rightthere!” Muffled moans swallowed up by the material your husband were fucking you into. 

“Yeah, right there?” His tone was teasing, his voice pitching as he mocked your desperate pleas of pleasure; how very piteous you sounded begging him to continue with his assault on your insides. Had you no shame, baby? But t’s okay, Toji preferred you absolutely fucking stupid on his dick. Easier for him to thrust his seed into your cunt, because you were simply unable to object. Not like you would, anyway. 

Your arch deepened, the fat of your ass recoiling against Toji’s brutality— skin slapping whilst your eyes rolled into the back of your skull. So fucking good. Toji knew just what you needed— knew your body better than you had. 

Knew how to push you beyond your limits; have you a crying, screaming mess on his bedsheets. He loved seeing you so voracious; all created by him. 

“You don’t get to say that,” He breathed, his thrusts erratic from behind you— peak of his orgasm approaching rapidly, desirous cockhead famished for its release. “‘T’s too much’, this ‘s—..fuck, Baby— This is your f-ault.”

A coy chuckle, and then he’d shove your face deeper within the recesses of the mattress— his right hand heavy above your head as he crushed your frame into the foam. His fingers entangle your roughly tousled hair— the singe of his grip searing through your scalp. “If you’d learn patience, I wouldn’t have ‘t fuck you this way—“ His large knuckles strategically angle your head, his fist pressing your left cheek into the pillow. “Now you’re stuck, Mama,” 

Toji was so ashamed of you, he had trained you so much better than this. You couldn’t even resist your primal urges long enough— couldn’t respect yourself or your husband long enough to wait for his return. Had to call and call his phone; sending him nude photos of those perfectly unbruised breasts, squeezed between a pair of elbows Toji so desperately wanted tied behind your back. 

Your soft eyes would gaze up at the camera as you angled your tits into the frame, snapping the photo and shooting it off to your preoccupied, very busy, husband. Caption being a string of pouting emojis, your desperation almost sickening. Toji’s eyes glossed the minute he opened the inappropriate image, his cheeks warm with the creeping effects of your careless neglect. 

He had you stripped bare and teary eyed in no less than 10 minutes after walking in the door; no hooking his keys, hanging his coat; slipping off his shoes— straight to the bedroom, straight to burying his cock inside of your disgustingly greedy cunt. “Yeah, this’s what ya’ wanted, wadntit’, fuckin’ whore.” He had panted against your skin after his second soul snatching nut, gleaming as he watched the cum spill from your hole. You were able to speak then, strings of curse words and affection spilling from your raspy throat. 

But now he’s pushing out his fifth, and all you can do is lay breathless, pinned to the mattress as your body jolts from the force behind— your ass bruised in bright red handprints, purple and dark green splotches adorning either side of your waist's curvature. Your cunt tight and unwinding against your lovers intrusion as the heat of your orgasm buzzed overhead.

“Oohbaby, t’s’ close, huh? Can feel that pussy clenchin’, Ma.” He rasped deeply, beads of sweat dribbling down onto your back as he rammed himself into you. “Go ‘head, Baby, cum on this dick— fuck, yeaahh baby, M’ cummin’, too,” 

He shot another thick load within you, your pussy clenching down— spazzing helplessly against shaft as he bucked, the accuracy and rhythm of his thrusts receding. He gripped onto your waist for support, balancing himself before lifting his right leg and sitting the flat of his foot against the bedsheet, angling himself inside of you to better overstimulate that poor lil’ g-spot. 

Your screams would prove futile; the fatigue of your cries evident, though no sound emits, your vocal chords just too strained. The sting hurt so good, overstimulation paralyzing you. You really were stuck at the mercy of this man, cumming repetitively on his cock like it’d be your last. 

His thighs resounded off of yours as he fucked the both of you through your paralytic highs, his dick splitting you deftly. It wasn’t long before the peak of yet another release overcame, the sensation sending a rush of euphoric bliss over you as you gasped, your body language giving way to your liberation; shivers and jolts of electricity firing through you— a tired arch faltering underneath him. 

Exactly the way Toji wanted you. Punishing you was so much easier when you obeyed. When you sat and took your punishment like a big girl— Toji’s big, strong girl. Like you’d take this one, over and over, until he decided he was done with you. 

And he was far from that. You hadn’t begged enough, and that just wouldn’t do. No matter, you’d pay with every drop of cum you pushed out of that swollen, sweat-slicked cunt. 

“Gimmie anotha’ one, c’mon, cream until you’ve learned your fucking lesson— til you learn the privilege of restraint.”

© JadeSlayter 2024 Tumblr

[sweaterkittensahoy]

Stop misappropriating the abuse and trauma cults use through purity culture for your stupid fucking shipping discourse? Holy fuck no wonder everyone hates this whole discourse.

Since when is "priests getting shuffled around after raping kids and kids being told they're sinful because they had bodily reactions to being SAd" comparable to "Bobo the clown said my ship was cringe"

I'm not gonna answer this with The Aristocrats, as a I threatened, because I want to make a very serious point to this anon:

Purity culture isn't just religious abuse. It is most widely connected to religious abuse. Including actions in the Catholic Church and all fundamentalist Christianity. It's entire existence is about terrifying and indoctrinating people into being fearful of their own actions and bodies so that they feel certain that moving out from the "umbrella of safety" (to use a fundamentalist term) will result in them being harmed in ways they can't imagine. This is generally happening at the same time as they are being harmed by those who are supposed to be keeping them safe from all those terrible, worldly evils. Like speaking up when you're being abused. Believing you are not responsible for the actions of a rapist, and many, many other things that any person with an ounce of self-worth and good sense (two things not allowed in fundamentalist circles) knows are true in abuse situations.

But the point of the purity culture as identity in the above-mentioned circles is to teach people from birth that they aren't to have their own feelings, ideas, or instincts. They are only to follow the feelings, ideas, and instincts on the approved list in order to stay within the structures they know and feel safe in even as they feel very unsafe.

That being said:

Purity culture can also exist WITHOUT a religious structure while still being about controlling the thoughts, feelings, and actions of everyone within it. In terms of fandom, purity culture is groups of people stating that if you write something uncomfortable or gross or immoral, then YOU must be uncomfortable or gross or immoral and therefore, not worthy of the safety and moral superiority of the group.

Purity culture without religion teaches black and white thinking, encourages thought policing, and shames anyone who steps outside of a very narrow definition of good and bad by turning an entire group of people against them for being "bad".

Just like in religious circles.

Just like in the cult of fundamentalism.

Purity culture is a term taken by fundamentalists and turned into a whole way of life because the goal of fundamentalism is to make people too scared to leave. Purity culture in fandom does the same thing. It uses fear and threats of abandonment/harassment to control the way people act because a group of people decided they didn't like something, so they must try and wipe it out rather than simply ignore it.

I am not mis-using the term because "Bobo the clown said my ship was cringe." My use of the term is intentional and precise because what is happening in fandom spaces now is non-religious purity culture cult thinking. My use of the term does not invalidate or water down the use of it in conversations about religious abuse and trauma. With or without religion, purity culture is a dangerous cult of "us vs them" that is built to demoralize and eradicate those deemed unworthy.

[mpaizsounds]

Loving With Three Hearts (Sins Invalid Performance, Spanish Dubbing) Audio engineer, script supervisor, editor, mixing, and mastering < LEARN MORE HERE >

[soupthatistohot]

BSD: An Absurdist Analysis - Ch. 114

My thoughts on "Crime and Punishment"

[BSD Absurdism Masterpost]

Okay, so! Fyodor probably isn't dead.

And my theory for what his ability is would tie into Asagiri's absurdist storytelling thus far.

In Sigma's flashback, we see Fyodor get impaled in a manner that is eerily similar to how he dies in the helicopter, a way that pratically guarantees his death. Yet, as Sigma observes, he must have escaped the execution in order for him to still be alive.

My theory, put simply, is that when someone successfully kills Fyodor, he takes their place.

His ability is called Crime and Punishment, right? And if the ultimate crime (sin) is murder, then the punishment would be death. So, then, perhaps when someone is able to kill Fyodor, it causes their death, and somehow Fyodor takes on their lifeforce (for lack of a better term) and is able to keep living.

This would also explain why he has been able to live for such a long time. If he keeps getting killed by people whose lifeforce he assumes, then he can theoretically live forever as long as people keep attempting to murder him.

This would explain the end of the chapter where the body is shown to clearly not be Fyodor's. The helicopter pilot would have paid the consequence for Fyodor's murder, and thus been the one to die. For whatever reason, I suppose this means he and Fyodor switched likenesses? This is further supported by the panel in the flashback/memory where something seems to be happening to the man who impaled Fyodor after he does so. This part I cannot explain as well, but I think y'all can understand what I'm getting at with this.

Additionally, this theory of Crime and Punishment explains the purpose of the prison-break game, he's been trying to goad Dazai into killing him all along so he can die in turn, and finally be rid of his rival.

(Edit: the above point is likely rendered invalid because No Longer Human would very likely protect Dazai from death by Fyodor’s ability. That being said, it further explains why Fyodor is so determined to kill Dazai — not only is he his match in wits, but he might be the only one capable of killing him for good.)

Further, it could possibly explain Nikolai's desire to kill Fyodor. Perhaps Nikolai knows the nature of Fyodor's ability, and is the only one who does, which is why he considers them to be so close. He idolizes Fyodor, and so he desires to one day kill him, because he knows it will kill him in turn and Fyodor will get to continue living on. This one's a bit of a reach, but I do think it's a potential explanation if my theory about Crime and Punishment is correct.

And now for how this all fits into absurdism!

Fyodor has been the main antagonist for a really long time, basically for half of the manga's run. Up until this point we've had little to no clues about the nature of his ability and if my theory turns out to be correct, wouldn't that just be the greatest absurdity of all time? A villain that literally cannot die because when someone kills him, they actually die instead of him? How do you even defeat such a person?

I'm fairly confident about this theory, my only question would be why he would reveal this now? Surely, he knows that Dazai would figure it out, both from Sigma and from the corpse clearly not being him, so what benefit does Fyodor gain from revealing not only that he's survived, but what his ability is?

[radioactive-earthshine]

"Bart's aging has always been everywhere so it's not invalid to draw him like this [9-11 years old]."

Incorrect. While Bart's aging has been variable throughout the comics it has always been explained by a very clear and blatant events preceding the aging.

The youngest Bart has been in the comics barring flashbacks, and literal one-off aging time shenanigans, is 12 which was a thing for all of 3 pages then he rapidly aged to 14 and was stable for a long, long time.

Bart did not experience any changes in his aging (baring one gag issue where he was a toddler, and the Sins of Youth arc where he was an adult temporarily) for at least two years comic-time.

After apprehending Superboy Prime, Bart was aged to an adult, against the advisement of Geoff Johns and Mark Waid he spent time as The Flash until he was given a mercy kill.

Bart was brought back to life by Brainiac 5 in Legion of Three Worlds where he was reset back to his original age before he was aged up, landing him around 16-17 years old.

Flashpoint happened and he was taken out of comic continuity.

Bart come BACK into comic continuity but we are uncertain what his age is - and this is also something he himself is noted as saying he's not sure what his age is either. Logically, if he never aged while in the Speed Force then when he popped back out he would still be around 17 years old. This is the youngest he can be. Tim, Cassie and Cissie meanwhile aged around a year since Flashpoint and their ages are nebulous. Kon's age as well is uncertain.

Realistically, the Core Four should be in the 18-20 range at the youngest, but if we're going to be 'fair' and accept the reboot fucked age relationships up - then their last posted ages anywhere from 16-18 would be valid.

Bart is not being drawn anywhere near that age group currently in the current run of The Flash and is consistently being depicted as smaller than Jai. This could be valid, as 13 year olds can be VERY BIG and for some completely at their adult height - but the thing is Bart is being drawn SMALLER than he was pre-Flashpoint.

I am so sorry I am so agitated. Even being FAIR it doesn't add up or make sense.

Fixed typos and an error.

[greenthena]

Why we won't have an Apology Dance in S3--or, why I'm choosing to start WW3

Much as I love the Apology Dance, I have a hunch that neither Crowley nor Aziraphale will perform it in S3. It's such a weird (affectionate) little mating ritual, and I cannot see it without thinking of David Attenborough's "Birds of Paradise" clip from Our Planet. (The little fuckers really get going around the 2:30 mark, if you're interested.)

S2 demonstrates so many of these bizarre little mating rituals. Specifically, I'm thinking about the "Don't hesitate to ask me if you have any questions" moment...

...I mean, Goddamn. Someone damn it. Aziraphale is about to climb that demon like a tree.

And the exchange about borrowing the Bentley...

...which is a battle lost before it's even begun because Aziraphale flashes those pretty eyes and Crowley's too smitten to really put up a fight.

Mah point is (dolphins). My point is that every aspect of their interaction, particularly in S2, is a dance, a courting practice, a mating ritual to which only these two weird (affectionate) little birds know the steps.

And the Apology Dance is one of the key steps in this ritual. We know how important it is because Aziraphale has memorized each year when he performed it for Crowley. 1650, 1793, 1941... And Crowley has now reciprocated. But for all the importance of the Apology Dance, we never hear an actual apology. The words, "I'm sorry" are never exchanged between the Ineffables.

Of course, Aziraphale has forgiven Crowley on multiple occasions (have a tissue), but the absolution is never in response to an apology.

Why does this matter, you ask? Because Crowley has never asked to be forgiven. It's one of his self-identifying traits.

And every time Aziraphale offers him forgiveness, it calls into question Crowley's whole identity. I think this is why Crowley initially refuses to do the dance. He doesn't "do the dance," because he doesn't apologize. Because what's the point? If you believe yourself to be beyond forgiveness, why even bother with an apology.

But that's not what's most interesting to me. See, outside of mending his relationship with Aziraphale, I don't think the demon could give a single fuck about forgiveness. On the cosmic level, it's just another carrot dangled by Heaven. The whole concept of forgiveness of sins demonstrates a pretty fucked up power differential. I mean, who gets to decide whether God has forgiven you when She's not even talking?

I think it's fascinating that despite their squabble, Crowley removes his glasses the moment he steps back into the bookshop, performing the Apology Dance in his "naked" face. It suggests that he knows before he even starts that everything is going to be okay. He can approach the situation in a state of vulnerability because he deeply trusts his angel. But the dance, the mating ritual, still has to be completed. It's similar to how Aziraphale knew Crowley would let him drive the Bentley, but they still had to negotiate their way through the motions.

We've called it the Apology Dance, despite the fact that no apology is offered and no forgiveness given. Remember, Aziraphale's response to Crowley's successful completion of the ritual is, "Very nice."

So here's the crux. All these rituals that they perform, the Ineffable dances, if you will, rely on one crucial element. The result of the ritual has to be established before the ritual has begun. They each have to enter the ritual in a state of vulnerability, knowing the outcome will be safe and satisfying. And I think that's why Aziraphale doesn't say, "I forgive you" after Crowley's elegant spin and bow.

Because forgiveness is something Aziraphale only offers the demon when he feels cornered, frightened and unsafe. Think about the two times he's said it. In both cases, the forgiveness was weaponized.

(Apology Dance incoming for this next gif.)

In a very real way, when Aziraphale forgives Crowley, he invalidates his best friend's lived experience. Crowley doesn't want to be forgiven. He wants to be accepted. Loved. Seen.

So as much fun as it is to speculate about who might dance for whom in S3, I truly hope neither angel nor demon apologize to the other. For me, the most meaningful conclusion would be for them to complete their mating ritual not with some dogmatic, pedantic, fucked up power differential where one forgives the other for perceived iniquities. Nah. Fuck that. I want them to accept and love and deeply see one another and fully embrace whatever that means.

Here. Have some tissues.

[thickness-protection-program]

something that helped you embrace your sexuality? been struggling lately to let myself be who I am

Oof yeah self realization at least for me was a long time coming. But coming to terms with my personal asexuality has been one of the best things to happen to my mind. I'm sex neutral and what helped me embrace that is, I don't view myself as a sexual body. I am just a body that has the capability of performing sexuality. I know a byproduct of the sexual liberation in the LGBT community is unfortunately acephobia (but we ain't going nowhere gotdammit!) but sexual liberation also includes the right to not choose sex and if you ask me that is sooo beautiful. Also if you remember the clear distinction between sexuality, romance, and libido that'll help tremendously. Just bc I am not sexually attracted to you does not mean I wouldn't date you, does not mean I don't find you physically attractive, does not mean I don't wanna seeing you naked, does not mean we can't sin in the back of a car from time to time. I'm rambling bc I'm pretty passionate about respecting aces and aros but long story short it's ok to struggle with your identity, but whoever you are can't be invalidated by a person who's never been inside your brain. Idk if you're aro/ace anon but the sentiment still stands for just any identity in general

[2pen2wildfire]

While I'm on the topic, can we talk about how bullshit bishop's interviews are? Like specifically for temple recommends.

Consider: you do something that, in the eyes of the church, is a sin. Say, you share a gay kiss with someone or read smut on your iPad in the dark. Now you're in the bishop's office being interviewed for your recommend. You need this recommend, because if you don't have it, your parents are going to want to know why, and under no circumstances can you tell them what you did to make yourself unworthy.

So you lie. You've been a model Mormon child. You have no interest in homosexuality or pornography or masturbation or fornication, you're sexually pure. And the bishop says Okay and gives you your recommend. Yay! You're safe!

Now I can't help but ask: if the church were true, how would this be possible? Isn't the bishop meant to have a connection to God? Shouldn't he know that I'm lying? I mean, this is the TEMPLE we're talking about! God's special holy place! I feel like he'd be a little more concerned with keeping unworthy people out of it, don't you think? I baptised sooooooooo many dead people before going home and fucking my partner, wouldn't that render all those baptisms invalid? Wouldn't they want to avoid that?

Of course! But what they use to avoid that outcome isn't any sort of genuine divine intervention, it's just plain old-fashioned guilt tripping. They make you feel bad, for sinning and lying about it and falsely baptising all those poor souls in spirit prison. Hopefully if you feel bad enough about it, you'll come clean, and they'll claim that the Holy Spirit must have impressed upon you to tell the truth.

It's all just bullshit.