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August 08 2017

How Do You Say ‘Email’ in Yiddish?


In a thousand-year-old language like Yiddish, with many of its words rooted in the ancient Bible, how would you say “email”? Or “transgender”? Or “designated driver”? Or “binge watch”?

Those terms came into popular usage long after the language’s heyday, when it was the lingua franca of the Jews of Eastern Europe and the garment workers of the Lower East Side and was the chosen literary tongue for writers like Sholem Aleichem and Isaac Bashevis Singer. Though the Holocaust and assimilation have shrunk the ranks of Yiddish speakers — once put at over 11 million worldwide — to a relative handful, Yiddish still needs to keep itself fashionably up-to-date.

So two of its conservationists have produced the first full-fledged English-to-Yiddish dictionary in 50 years and it is designed to carry Yiddish into the 21st century and just maybe beyond. After all, Yiddish has always had a canny way of defying the pessimists.

“Email”? How is “blitspost” — a combination of the Yiddish words for “lightning” and “mail”? “Transgender”? How’s “tsvishnminik,” which blends the common Yiddish words for “between” and “type.” “Designated driver”? “Der nikhterer shofer” does the trick by fusing the Yiddish word for “sober” with that for “driver.” And “binge watch” is “shlingen epizodn,” literally “wolf down episodes.”

… “In the long run if you keep borrowing English, you end up speaking English,” he said.

Read Joseph Berger’s full piece in The New York Times.

July 14 2017


Let villains be villains. But, also don’t forget that they don’t need to be in their ‘villain’ mode 24/7

Corporate and political villains will live their lives mostly normally, outside their shady work.

Warlords, corrupt politicians, crooked law enforcers, other unsavory authority figures, unethical doctors, etc, have families and friends, and full lives outside the shitty things they do.

Even serial killers, hitmen, violent fanatics, etc, can have lives; hobbies, friends, romantic partners, and so on.

 Most villains will be shitty people only in certain aspect(s) of their lives, and carry on like everyone else the rest of the time. 

They are still absolutely shitty people but being afraid to emphasize on their human sides, to lose the sight of their villainy, is incorrect, and takes away a lot of interesting aspects of a character for potential development. 




“artists dont work for the love of art anymore, they just rely on commissions and patrons”

this is how art has literally always been the fucking sistine chapel is commissioned fanart of the bible 

Listen, son.

We artists work REALLY FUCKING HARD to get to a point where people want to actually pay us for our craft, because usually it’s all “lol draw me” and “you should draw x” and “I can’t pay you, but I can give you exposure!”, like we can go to the supermarket and pay for a loaf of bread and a six pack of dr. Pepper with that.

Like art isn’t a fucking service or craft provided like getting your hair cut and dyed, like it is something we should give for free because “artists love making art, they should make art and give it freely”.
Fuck that.

You don’t tell your lawyer that he should council you for free because they “love practicing law”, DO YOU?
You pay them for the work and service they provide. And it’s the most natural thing in the world.

We are working hard to make a career out of a profession that’s viewed as a public service, not a craft.

We are working to make or career or of the thing we love to do most, and you’re NOT HELPING by being an entitled little shit that feels that besides the ton of freely available -for your goddamn viewing pleasure- art, you want artists to just never ask money for hours and hours of work purely because you feel like they should do it “for the love of art”.

I can imagine your face when your boss tells you he’s not gonna pay you this month because he feels you should provide your time and effort “for the love of your job” 😒

This response is basically what I think and I love it! People should just stop treating art as something that lacks value. It’s worth every single dollar, and if you think it isn’t, instead of complaining and ridiculing artists, just don’t buy art. Ever. Don’t see movies, listen to music, read comics or do anything that involves art.

July 13 2017



I think every writer/artist has that one story/drawing that gets completely skipped over, and they’d never say it aloud, but inside they’re like

‘fuck all y'all, that’s one of the best things I’ve done’

plus one story/drawing that everyone loves

‘really? that one?’

apparently this rant has struck a chord with people jfc

July 12 2017

Sooner Than You Think

After the events of Arkham City, Bruce doesn’t know what to do with himself, and secludes himself in the Batcave.

“Master Bruce?” Alfred’s voice echoes in the quiet of the Batcave, bouncing off the walls and the high ceilings, hitting hard against the rough stone. Down one of the shafts over the water, a few bats shuffle around: no doubt the thought passes through Alfred’s mind that the population is getting a little high, and that he should shoo some of the bats out, lest guano become an issue for the equipment.

There is no response. Bruce doubts he expected one.

He hears the soft sigh (because that echoes too, of course it does), and then he hears Alfred’s footsteps down the stone corridor, and the electric hum of the lift in action.

Bruce sits on the floor of his training room, an untouched plate of cheese and crackers on the floor to his left, with an untouched glass of water beside it. The grate metal of the floor digs into the thin material of his pants, imprinting red and white on his ass and his thighs in uncomfortable, digging pain and irritation, but Bruce doesn’t stand or think of moving to a chair.

His back rests against the training console, one knee drawn up in front of him, his other leg stretched out, and Bruce stares into space, his jaw set.

Alfred doesn’t understand. Alfred couldn’t, can’t understand, because Bruce doesn’t get it either.

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He remembers his mother, when her father died: he recalls the funeral blacks and the torn ribbons she’d worn in her hair and on the lapel of her coat, remembers the cloths hanging over the mirrors in his grandmother’s house (but she’d died herself, not even a year afterwards, hadn’t she?), but most of all, Bruce remembers how his mother had sat with her mother, in silence, on the sofa they’d taken the cushions off for days afterwards.

He’d never seen her like that before, with her hair messily tied with one of those ragged ribbons, with no make-up on her face, no shoes, with none of her proper posture, as he’d known her for so long.

The actual image of her is a blur, now, because it was so long ago – how old could he have been? Six? – but he remembers how he’d felt seeing her that way, and how his father had quietly pushed him to leave her be, for a while.

“What’s she doing, Father?”

“She’s sitting shiva for her dad, Bruce.” He and his father had taken a walk in the grounds, walking side by side: his father’s voice had been quiet. “For a week, your grandma and your mother are going to be sitting low, as they grieve for your grandfather. It’s complicated, but you’ll understand it better, when you’re older. Do you have any questions?”

Bruce had dozens of questions. He doesn’t remember, now, what any of them were.

“What’s wrong, Batsy? You’re not sa, are ya?” Bruce can almost see him, standing there, his hands on his hips, his elbows standing out from his body at a comical angle, his head tilted to the side and that huge, ripped grin on his face. “Oh, this is funny. This is really- you know, this is hilarious. The big bat, brought down, all because’a little old me!”

Bruce’s mouth is dry, but he doesn’t want to drink the water: it’s been sitting there on the grating beside him for two days now.

The Joker takes a few steps forwards, doing a stupid walk with his feet wide in a parody of the Penguin, and he leans in so close that Bruce can feel his breath hot over the top of his forehead, smell gunpowder and flowers and a sickly sweet undertow clinging to the Joker’s suit the same way his pinstripes do, as if they’re woven right into the cloth.

Doesn’t make much sense, does it, Batsy?” The Joker speaks in a whisper that rings in Bruce’s ears, and Bruce closes his eyes, except that just makes the vision of The Joker clearer, because he’s standing alone in a sea of blackness, without the Batcave behind him to be a distraction. “Ya don’t even go to temple, and you’re sitting low for me? I gotta say, baby – I’m flattered! What am I to you then, huh? Mommy? Daddy? Bro?”

The Joker’s fingers are on Bruce’s cheeks, now, cupping the strong lines of his jaw with the pads of his fingers drawing over the messy stubble growing on his cheeks, and Bruce can feel his heartrate quicken, his breathing speeding up a little, as the Joker leans in towards him, so he can feel the space between them close. And the Joker’s nose is nearly brushing against Bruce’s, now, and is he going to kiss him?

If he was Batman, he’d punch right, knee up, get a blow in to Joker’s solar plexus and then throw him down on his back.

But he isn’t Batman. He’s Bruce Wayne.

And Bruce Wayne is sitting alone in an empty cave, pretending to himself that a dead man is threatening to kiss him.

He opens his eyes, and looks at the emptiness surrounding him, at the rough walls of the cave, at the mannequins with their faceless stares and the stacked crates of Batarangs and gadgets to the side of the room.

Seems to me like I must be your lover, Batty-Boy, if you’re sitting shiva for me.” The Joker whispers in his ear, and Bruce feels himself let out an unwilling sound that’s too hoarse to be a sob. What does he do now? Why had it hit him so hard, seeing the Joker dead on the ground in front of him, feeling the sickly unweight of him in his arms? Hearing Harley Quinn’s ragged cries and tears, and feeling like he should be joining her? “Shame there’s no sex allowed in the grieving time, huh?”

“Stop it,” Bruce hears himself whisper. It echoes off the walls, just like Alfred’s voice had done – there’s no echo in Joker’s voice, because Joker’s voice isn’t really there. Bruce is going crazy.

Ain’t it funny, Batsy?” Joker’s tongue on the shell of Bruce’s ear, Joker’s mouth leaving a red wax trail against Bruce’s temple, Joker’s body, frail and limp in Bruce’s arms, and the ringing silence of Gotham City in the wake of his death.

Bruce wishes he was dead.

Oh, go on! Do it, do it, do it!” Joker clapping his hands together, Joker jumping up in the air, Joker’s skin with holes in it and wrinkled like something already dead, Joker’s eyes glassy and bloodshot, Joker dead. “Lots’a ways you could do it, honey, sweetie, babes. You could use a Bat-noose or a Bat-razor or Bat-pills! Would it be suicide or vespertilicide?” Joker cackles like a Halloween decoration, and then the imagining is gone, and silence reigns.

Alfred can’t understand.

Bruce turns his head to the side, looks at the stale cheese and the soft crackers, arranged neatly on the plate.

He needs to go out.

That’s it, Batsy. Go see Harley. She’ll be so glad to see you…” The Joker giggles, and Bruce sighs, drops his head back against the console behind him a little too hard, so that the pain rings in his skull for a second or two. “We’ll be together again sooner than you think, Batman. Sooner than you think.”

Bruce pulls himself to stand, and dizziness hits him in a nauseous wave, making him grab onto the console to keep his balance as he closes his eyes and tries to stop the room from spinning.

Sooner than you think, he thinks to himself, and he takes the walkway across the cave, towards his suit.

July 09 2017



random thought but what if books were formatted like 2017 rps

     Mr. && Mrs. Dursley  ,   of number FOUR ,   Privet Drive ,   were proud to say that they were perfectly normal  ,   ( thank you very much. ) They were the   last    people you’d    expect    to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they just didn’t hold with such NONSENSE. Mr. Dursley was the director of a firm called Grunnings, which made drills. 

      ― He was a big, BEEFY man with hardly any neck, although he did have a very large    mustache   . Mrs. Dursley was thin && blonde && had nearly twice the usual amount of neck , which came in very useful as she spent so much of her time craning over garden fences,     spying    on the neighbors. The Dursleys had a small son called Dudley && in their opinion there was no finer boy ―ANYWHERE.

July 06 2017

people who leave detailed reviews on fanfiction are a gift to the world
— all fanfic writers, ever, awake at ungodly hours doubting everything they’ve ever written or thought of writing until they see that one (or more, hopefully!) magical, long-ass comment that makes every bit of struggle totally and completely worth it (via rudderless-in-an-ocean-of-stars)
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Reposted byvairasohryunitroventKryptoniteAluAluDagarhenQdeuteluEineFragevonStillost-in-spacegodivakeineGefangenenmushuc0ffeefinkreghrachelbonesHanoimrthewafelstraycatanabeeshampaincoffeebitchhiroshima2zurawianiaczkano-longer-korerosseskatastrofobellthecatlalunaoutlinemimi07janealicejonesdjahneeblackdramatorinagaybardzodobrarada

July 04 2017


Tumblr RP 2012: He grabbed a carton of milk and drank it.

Tumblr RP 2014+: Slender digits might curve delicately——&& OPAQUE biodegradable material would find a long-lost home snugly ‘neath gangly sticks of bone and sinew. A cow’s utter hath provided CREAMY substance now floating on white clouds of honeydew in said CARTON—— and as butterfly petals part to receive the rich nectar, a feather-like sigh finds it’s way into the Autumn air.



person: but it’s canon

me: yes, but it’s very badly written, so we ignore it

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July 03 2017

You Won’t BELIEVE How Many Em-Dashes Local Writer Can Squeeze Into One 5K Word Fic



Just go ahead and @ me next time

listen –

July 01 2017

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                                             GOTTA GO FAST

- 616 Pietro Maximoff, with X-Men movie influence, no MCU
- AU & X-over friendly!
- character development & story-focused

                                  WRITTEN BY DICTIONARY

June 30 2017






okay like. supposedly being interested in m/m relationships, or even a specific m/m relationship because you like the specific dynamic depicted is fetishizing. because it’s only acceptable to take an interest in any m/m relationship if you’re a man who likes men, apparently. BUT then also m/f relationships are supposedly relatable and accessible to everybody???

or maybe.

just maybe.

that’s a bullshit argument used to shut down enthusiasm for anything that isn’t heteronormative as well as to shame a group of what is perceived to be young women and girls. because any time young women like anything at all, however harmless or even positive and uplifting, that thing is relentlessly mocked and derided as shallow and ridiculous.

this post has so much going on that i guess i gotta write a whole essay so here we go

as a gay man, i can say with full and total confidence that more often than not, women’s consumption of our relationships, and our sex lives, and our trauma is fetishistic. it’s not about fighting heteronormativity. it’s really not that deep.

finding another man loving man in fandom is incredibly difficult, especially in shipping circles. i’ve been in the tumblr business for almost seven years, and i’ve met maybe 1 or 2 guys total who write slash besides me. slash fiction is dominated almost entirely by women and woman-aligned people, and it’s been this way for a very long time. even a good amount of smutty slash fanzines in the 70s-90s were written by women who liked to write about boys fucking. when i met another guy who wrote slash fanfic, i was completely shocked. it had taken 6 or so years to meet him, and i was completely bowled over. and i just thought “boys don’t write about boys loving boys, that’s not our thing”. but what i wanna know is why isn’t it our thing???

why aren’t most slash fanfics written by boys who love boys? why isn’t a genre, a subculture ABOUT US, something that we’re seemingly not allowed to participate in? why do we feel like outsiders when writing our own stories? why are some of them most praised “gay shows” and “gay books” (for example, the song of achilles and yuri on ice) all written by women, and read by women, and aren’t really catered towards gay men at all even though we’re the SUBJECTS of the story.

when you go through websites like goodreads and look under the “gay romance” section, you see names like madeline, jane, abigail, marie, amy. i mean, abigail roux’s writing alone probably takes up half the list! you might see a sean or a david thrown in, but for the most part, stories about men loving each other are written by women. ones that are written by men often don’t get the attention reigned in by the foxhole court and cut and run. that’s where the issue lies. in a community supposedly dedicated to us, our love, our sex, our relationships, we take the back seat. we don’t get recognition. we don’t get control. we don’t get to tell OUR stories OUR WAY.

not to mention, much of slash has always been smut. and that smut, for a lot of questioning boys who love boys, that’s our first exposure to sex between two men. i know it was for me. but when it’s written by someone who’s never been a man having sex with a man (and no, if you’re a cis girl having sex with a cis man is not the same way trans men have sex with cis men, but y'alls abysmal treatment of trans men will have to wait for another post), it’s often written inaccurately and unsafely. not using a condom? unsafe. spit as lube? definitely not safe. SHOVING IT IN???????? REALLY NOT SAFE. rimming someone without having them clean or use an enema first????

not only unsafe, but also really gross. the general consensus (and yes i asked) about this is that safe sex has been deemed by slash shippers to be “boring”. they want to get right to the fucking, no time for prep (which is literally the most important part), no time for cleaning, no time for lube, no time for protection. this is incredibly dangerous for young men who love men who are trying to figure out all the different ways that we can make love to each other. if this is their only exposure, they’re going to think that doing this is okay. they’re going to think “yeah, i can just shove my tongue into someone’s dirty asshole” or “i don’t have to prepare my partner before shoving very large into something very tiny” which is not the case and will get people hurt. i know fic isn’t supposed to be a sex ed class, but the lack of sex safety is really concerning.

and when men who love men like myself bring up the fact that maybe you guys should stay in your lane a little and let us take the wheel in a genre entirely dedicated to us having sex with each other, you somehow claim that we are “kinkshaming” you and being misogynist by taking away “the one place where women can explore their kinks without judgement”. which is complete and total bullshit because FIRST OF ALL gay people are not your kink. we are not your fetish, we don’t exist for your entertainment or your gratification. if you really think that two men who make love to each other is your “fetish”, then maybe that’s telling you something. human beings aren’t kinks. so fuck outta here with that.

and the obsession with boys enduring homophobic and sometimes transphobic abuse and rape for the sake of ~angst~ and hurt/comfort is uh pretty fucked up. the obsession people have with gay trauma is by far the most disturbing of all. like so many woman slash writers go out of their way to subject gbt male characters to all sorts of injury and abuse just so they can be ~comforted~ and possibly get comfort sex. the idea that you want to see us hurt just because you think it’s cute when we comfort each other isn’t okay. like, didn’t someone want to write a check please fanfic about the pulse shooting??? yeah how can any of you look at that and think it’s okay. it’s not okay. in no world is that okay.

so this brings me to your claim that if gay/bi/pan men (including trans men and male-aligned people) tell you to maybe chill out and maybe let us write stories about us for a change, that’s a misogynistic/homophobic/shallow statement. this just blows my mind. i need a little more clarification about why it’s such an evil no-no for us to want to represent ourselves or speak for ourselves or tell our own stories. because it kinda seems homophobic that you’re so angry about gbt men wanting to represent themselves. it almost sounds like you only think our love and our sex and our lives exist only for you to write and read about. you’re making it sound like we are objects made for your consumption, and by establishing ourselves as real people is ruining your fantasy.

nobody’s saying you can’t be supportive of gbt boys and want to write about them in your stories. but for the love of god, don’t get angry when we want to tell our own stories, and don’t pitch a fit when we express that we’re uncomfortable with being objectified for your own sexual gratification.

tldlr; men who love men have never existed for your consumption. we are not your “escape from heteronormativity”, we are not your “safe space for kink exploration”, we are not your favorite ships, we are not your kudos on ao3. we are real men with real stories who want a chance to express ourselves in a genre that’s about us but that we seemingly aren’t allowed into. we are people, and we deserve to and be seen as people and treated like people. stop speaking over us and invalidating our concerns about how we’re being treated. and that’s the tea. 🏳️‍🌈💁‍♂️☕️

@ all you straight fujoshis

Oh my gods this. This is everything I try and fail to say when people ask me how to explain fetishization vs storytelling.

Do you know how many books by gay men I edited in my time at the erotica publishing house? One.

Out of literal thousands of manuscripts, there was One gay man writing m/m, the rest were all by women, and I feel safe in saying, the majority of them, not from within the LGBTQA+ community.

And boy howdy did they pitch fits when we turned to them and said “your manuscript does not meet our health and safety requirements please revise” because our house had a strict safe sane consensual rule, along with body positivity, which everyone LOVED when they were writing m/f stories. But when it came to m/m we had so many authors say “ew, but that’s not ~sexy~ :/” to which my reply was often a very politely phrased “literally don’t give a fuck Susan, you know what else isn’t sexy? Bleeding assholes, which coincidentally is what you’re being.”

But y'know, nicer. Because I’m a fucking proffesional.

Anyway. Do you want to know what happened to said singular man writing m/m fiction? He got dropped after a year. Because, and I quote, this is a direct line from our then marketing team, about a gay man writing gay erotica: “that’s not what women want to read”

And if that’s not one of the most precise and fucking infuriating demonstrations of what the fuck is wrong with the “but I write gay slash fic! I can’t be homophobic!” “~allies~” (spoiler: you’re not) in fandom and yes, even in “real” publishing, I dunno what is.

There is a Difference between storytelling and fetishization, and all y'all crying “kinkshaming!” when someone asks you to treat them with respect, need to stop.

Okay, I’m sorry, but this is sort of something I’ve been sitting on and not sure how to express. So glad this post finally graced my dashboard

June 29 2017

What’s my writing trademark?


I’ve seen this for art, but what about my writing makes you go, “ah, that’s a _____ production”?

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the suffering never ends

This is the real process

Resources for you!

Character Ideas:

Character Design Ideas:

Naming Help:

Creating Background/backstory:

Character Interactions and putting your character into your world/story:

Bonus art masterlist!


June 28 2017



reading ur old writing

i dont know which facial expression in most accurate 

June 25 2017

headcanon ; pietro’s first death


It’s a clear, summer’s day in 1959, with the sun shining down, and before Pietro and Wanda the waters off the Portuguese coastline glitter in the light. They’ve only been in Portugal a short while, and are travelling alone: Wanda sits on a grassy bank, a blanket spread about her as she takes in some bread and water; Pietro, having already eaten, is exploring the coast around them.

The day is pleasantly warm, and Pietro strikes his way out to sea before heading back to the coast - they’ve found a deserted headland, where the cliffs are isolated and no one is around to watch two twin teenagers hanging around the waters.

Pietro is having a great time - he and Wanda haven’t visited a beach in nearly three years, and he loves the sensation of sand giving way under his speeding feet and the way he can clamber up the cliff sides. 

Pietro is musing as he dances up a crack in the cliffs that for his and Wanda’s dinner, he might dive into the water and pluck a fish straight from there, and then–

Losing his footing on a loose piece of rock, moving at too fast a speed than is safe, Pietro stumbles and is thrown back and away from the cliff - far enough away that Pietro can’t grab for some kind of purchase as he feels himself fall, and fall, and fall.

In trying to twist his body, Pietro actually makes his position worse, and he lands hard on a dirt plateau, his weight landing on his neck with a crack that sounds like a whip and echoes up the headland.

Wanda hears it, and she jumps to her feet, calling for her brother… And receives no response.

Wanda panics, running up and down the coastline, and it takes her nearly an hour, but then she finds Pietro. His neck is bruised and his eyes are closed shut, his mouth slightly open: he lies sprawled below the highest cliff, and Wanda begins to sob, grabbing him and holding him close to her - and in those days, when Wanda and Pietro were both still so young?

Their powers were each unpredictable, and they were both still learning.

Pietro comes awake with a gasp, clutching at his sister’s skirt as he feels himself, freezing cold and aching from every inch of his skin, lying in her arms. He’s unsure and panicked and perplexed, but the most important thing, for the time being, is to assure Wanda that he’s just fine, that everything is fine.

And when Pietro swims out, later, to catch some fish for them to eat…

Pietro remembers what it was like to be cold and unfeeling, in complete darkness, isolated from absolutely everything, from his own flesh and skin, and to be thrown back into his body like a match onto kindling.

And he knows, from then on, and forever, that Wanda will always get to choose whether he lives or dies.

This stays with him, terrifying but unavoidable, every day of his life.

Wanda remembers finding her brother knocked out, and never knows what her powers did, or that Pietro knows himself.

She can never know.

And Pietro can never tell her.

a day in the fastlane ; a schedule of pietro’s average day



Pietro experiences life pretty fast; a second of experience for most is more like a minute for him and, thus, a minute for most is more like an hour for him. I’ve never actually sat down and tried to work out what an average day is like for him - it’s a bit sadder than I expected.

Lonely as fuck, actually.


Pietro falls fitfully asleep, sprawled in a vest and boxer shorts in bed. He lies on his belly, and then his back, and then his side, and then his back again; watching him sleep is stop-motion in action, for these transitions will occur between blinks, and he’ll move all around his bed, tangling himself, invariably, in expensive sheets.


Pietro, abruptly, is awake.

 From his bed, Pietro reads his Serval Industries emails and replies to any that are salient; he then reads all of the stories from that day that interest him from various news outlets; he reads any magazines or academic publications that have been released that day. 

Pietro subscribes to a mix of broadsheet newspapers, primarily from the US, Canada, the UK, Germany, France and Poland. He enjoys reading personal essays and opinion pieces, particularly, and takes particular interest in articles that pertain to movements forwards in physics and mathematics, as well as mutant-focused stories. He also has a dedicated news alert for mentions of any of his family members, the X-Factor, and new creations from Stark Industries.

The academic zines and journals are more varied; Pietro reads physics, mathematics, biology and engineering, but the majority are quarterly or, at most, monthly. 

Keep reading




If shippers disappeared I wouldn’t have to worry about my cousin stumbling onto pedophilia whenever she searches up ‘black butler’.

Actually, your cousin shouldn’t be watching that show in the first place.  Not only is it built around mature content, but the creator draws doujins for her own work, and I’m pretty sure there is at least one officially licensed hentai game for it.

That’s purely the fault of your cousin’s parents being really, REALLY shitty parents.

Honestly, you’re putting the mental well-being of yourself and others into the hands of total strangers.  That’s not fucking okay.  We don’t know you, and you’re NOT our responsibility.  Honestly, use your fucking brain: Would you let a small child go by themselves to Columbia, and expect that the drug and murder capital of the world would mind its manners while they were present?  Would you even send a small child downtown on their own?  If the answer is ‘no’, then they shouldn’t be online by themselves.

I’m going to say this one last time: Your lack of maturity–and your inability to take responsibility for your own browsing–is your problem.  The rest of the world is NOT going to change itself just for you.  If you are going into PUBLIC SPACES, you are going to have to share those spaces with people that think and feel differently than you do.  You have ZERO control over that, and the only thing your bitching accomplishes is making people want to produce more content just to spite you.

Literally nobody gives a fuck what you went through in life.  Nobody gives a fuck how you feel.  You are a total stranger online.  You are nothing but words to the rest of us.  You don’t give a fuck how CSA survivors that disagree with you feel–why the fuck should we care about YOU?  You are NOT OUR PROBLEM.

Okay, I’m sorry to tack onto this… 

But honestly

They tried to use a lack Safe For Work content… about Black Butler. Of all manga/anime. As a reason to demonize shippers. 

Black Butler

The series that is practically synonymous with the terms ‘yaoi’ and ‘shota’. 

Black Butler. The series that shares the title of ‘Babby’s First Yaoi Porn’ with such other wonderful hits as Junjou Romantica and LOVELESS.

Black. Butler. The series that gets most of its income from merchandise that puts either Sebastian and Ciel or Claude (I think that’s his name) and Alois in suggestive poses and clothing.

… Go outside, tumblr children. Please.

You obviously can’t even use Critical Thinking, therefore not only should you not be in places where NSFW content exists but I hope to God that none of these children ever reproduce.

Fiction isn’t your Nanny, the Internet isn’t a safespace, and one of these days you people are going to end up harassing an erotic content producer who isn’t going to tolerate you claiming that they’re pedophiles and will sue you and yours up the ass for libel and slander.

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