atticus

why do i give a shit about social media restrictions? well, i went to the library three months ago with my two teenage brothers to sign them up for new library cards (they just moved) and i was told that under 18s can't have a library card, even a restricted kids-books-only card, without a parent there in person to give consent.

that's fucked for abused kids for sure but that's also fucked for kids whose single mum works two jobs and can't get to the library while its open. and there is NO good reason for it except to appease parents who want to control what their kids can read.

people coming onto my posts telling me 'kids should just do X' have not actually looked into the possibility of doing what they are suggesting. kids now cannot do what you did when you were a teenager even a decade ago. abused kids, disabled kids or kids from low income families ESPECIALLY cannot do those things. they are running out of places to go.

interviews and studies with teenagers repeatedly prove that they WANT to hang out with their friends in real life, and it is getting harder and harder to do it. the internet is one of the only places they can all spend time together, unsupervised, without spending money or getting hassled or moved on by adults.

He laid with his head on Francis’ chest, muttering to himself. Francis thought he was praying. “Will you?” he asked, looking up suddenly. “Hmm? Will I what?” Francis had asked. “Forgive me these things I do?” is Charles’s reply.

Charles liked to have his hair played with/combed by Francis’ fingers. More than once Francis was sure Charles was out cold and took his hand out of his hair, only for Charles to get fussy, humming and grunting at him in dissatisfaction until he resumed his ministrations.

“Hey ! Stay awake.” “Can’t. I’m fadin.” “Oh Charles! Don’t do this to me, mon ange.” “Here.” “Hein?” “Take it.” “Your hand?” “Mmh.” “What do you want me to do with it?” “Anything you want.” “Oh.”

“Tsk, look at that blush; the Lord was sure favorin bright colors the day He made you.” “Mouais 🙄(🥰).”

“No, this,” he said, gripping the crucifix hung around Charles’ neck and yanking him closer, before thrusting the evil thing in front of his face. “This is an addiction.” Charles snatched it back and let it fall. “You’re the expert,” he said, lip curled in a snarl.

Francis, mirthful, with Charles’ face tucked into his neck: “What are you doing ?” Charles, muffled: “Hiding.” His breath had nearly returned to him. Francis: “From me??” Charles: “Uh uh.” Francis: “I see.” He pulled the blanket up over their heads and shifted to thread their legs together, “There; hmm?” Charles nodded and huffed once through his nose, his breath fanning out over Francis’ collar bone. They spoke no more.

“Darlin~” “Sit down. You’re going to hurt yourself,” he said, voice stern, yet his smile still audible.” “Ah,” Charles nodded once to himself, “And that’s your job.” “Bah oui.”

“Ugh mn’good Lord—” “Ah ouais? Il arrive à te faire le coup du truc que t'aimes tant?” “Please Red, mercy.”