#i have seen some who don't and have to go to their page to make sure they are the artist before i hit that reblog button

[anakinstwinklebunny]

Hey I love your works and I was wondering if you could write a fluffy head cannon about dad Sam monroe with it being Sam's first Christmas as a dad for bunnycember. If this is possible then thank you and if not then I don't really mind. Thank you.

Author's note: anything for you nonnie

SAM MONROE who made a rocking horse for his little boy;

“Sammie,” you murmured, drawing your knees up to your chest as you inched closer to your boyfriend, watching him wrestle with the instruction manual. “We can just buy one, you know. You don’t have to do this yourself.”

Sam glanced at you, irritation flashing in his blue eyes as he flipped the booklet around like it would suddenly make sense. “No way. I’m not gonna be that kind of dad. This thing says it’s easy to put together, and I’ll be damned if I can’t handle it. Although…” He squinted at the pages again, his jaw tightening. “I’m convinced the idiot who wrote this wasn’t speaking human.”

You bit back a smile, watching as his frustration turned into sheer stubborn determination. “But,” you started hesitantly, trying to find the right words, “are you sure he even wanted this? I mean, he’s barely speaking yet…”

Sam turned to you, dropping the manual to the floor with a dramatic sigh. “Y/n,” he said, dead serious, though his lips twitched into a small, cocky smirk. “I saw it in his eyes, okay? He practically begged me for this damn rocking horse.” His voice softened, pride lacing every word as he added, “And what my little man wants, he gets. End of story.”

SAM MONROE who insists he’s 'not into Christmas', but the way he gently wraps the lights around the tree while explaining to his son why the star goes on top says otherwise.

SAM MONROE who you find in the nursery. He’s got the baby cradled in one arm, a book of Christmas stories in the other. His voice is low and soft as he reads “The Night Before Christmas,” pausing every so often to kiss your baby’s head and whisper, “I’m going to make every Christmas better for you, little guy.” but lets be honest, I think Sam would pass some parts from the book(s) cause for him it'd be too cringy and he'd just add something that isn't in the book but he came up with

SAM MONROE who gets stressed about finding the perfect gift for your son, even though he’s too young to remember it. He drags you to a dozen toy stores, debating the merits of a stuffed animal versus a set of wooden blocks. “It has to be something meaningful,” he mutters. In the end, he settles on a plush bunny

SAM MONROE who complained that it’s “embarrassing,” after you picked out an adorable reindeer onesie for your son yet you catch sam taking about a million photos of the baby wearing it. He even changes his phone wallpaper to one of those pictures, though he’ll deny it if you call him out.

SAM MONROE who woke up earlier than you’ve ever seen him, eager to see your son’s reaction to the gifts under the tree. The baby is more interested in the wrapping paper than the toys, but Sam doesn’t care. He sits on the floor in his flannel pajamas, helping your son tear the paper while grinning like a kid himself.

SAM MONROE who surprisingly insists on starting a new family tradition—baking cookies together on Christmas Day. You both end up covered in flour while the baby bangs a spoon against the counter. The cookies are misshapen and slightly burnt, but Sam calls them “perfect” and he sneaks one into his son’s tiny hand, ignoring your protests of the late hour

SAM MONROE who has his little son on his lap during decorating of cookies - he'll so gently hold the boy's puffy hand, aiming it so the frosting wouldn't go somewhere else than on the cookie. He ends up putting some icing in the his and the boy's mouth to 'make sure it tastes good'

SAM MONROE who helps his little son build his first snowman - and even takes hundred of pics from different angles but if you'd (or anyone) catch him, he didn't do them. He'd also lift his boy so he could stick a carrot to the snowman's head

TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @divineani @haydensprettyprincess @skyguys-princess @catnipaddictt @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @jediavengers @literally-izzy @anisluvrgirl @slutforfinnickodair @xhunnybeeex @fuckmyskywalker @gallerygourmet @deceptiive @rssmary @anakinskwkler @bimbo-baggins17 @cookybananas @emotionallybruisedx @diorvalentina @sevinax @throughparisallthroughrome @aniiuv @ritosparty @ninastyless @lily-strnlo @thesassypadawan @awhhayden @sydkneez @anisangeldust @r0b-in

[nightlyrequiem]

Be Still My Heart

Chapter 15- The Call

Masterlist AO3 Next Previous

New Chapter Every Saturday

You're the best in the meth industry but a new product suddenly pops up. You and your boss, Valeria, must figure out who is making it so you can take back the market. All the while tension is building between the two of you.

A/N: My throat and head hurts so bad. Somebody kill me like actually

Tags/Warnings: Illegal Substances, Boss Employee Relationship, Angst, Some Hurt/Comfort, Violence, Manipulation, Suggestive Themes, Smut (But Only in CH20.), Dual POV

You are so childish. Valeria does something you don't like and you avoid her. You argue with her, ice her out, leave her home when it's in your best interest to stay. Valeria has scarcely seen you since dropping you back off at that shithole apartment complex you call home. You want nothing to do with her and she hasn't the faintest clue why. She tries to focus on the necessary paperwork needed to travel to El Paso but her thoughts keep straying to you.

Her pen lightly scratches over notebook paper, loosely jotting down everything she'll need to bring with her. She should tell you so you can do this for her. Only, you aren't here. Finding work elsewhere in the compound. She's not sure how, considering the only thing you do around here is cook meth and you kind of need a lab to do that, which you don't have. Valeria sighs heavily and leans back, her neck aching from having been hunched over for so long. she runs a hand over the back of it while she thinks.

Valeria is tired of you acting like you're above the rules. She gets up and walks over to the door to her office and pulls it open, looking for someone. She spots two of her men deep in discussion and calls them over.

"Hey." She says. They turn to look at her, looking wary. They walk over. She tells them to find you. "Bring her to my office." They nod and go looking for you.

Valeria retreats back into her office, shutting the door loudly. She pours herself a shot of whiskey and sits back down at her desk. Her fingers tap along the top of it impatiently. Finally, she hears a knock on the door. She shifts into a more casual position.

"Come in." She says lowly. You walk in, not looking all that excited to see her. Normally that doesn't bother her because nobody ever looks excited to see her. However now it only frustrates her. She feels... pleased whenever she sees you, she wishes it were the same for you.

Valeria narrows her eyes at you.

"We had a conversation about you avoiding me a few days ago." She says. "Are you having memory problems or are you being annoying and rude on purpose?"

Your expressions morphs into indignation. "I'm being rude and annoying?" You ask with disbelief.

Valeria rubs her forehead. It's like you two are cursed to have the same conversation over and over again. If you weren't you she'd have fired you long ago. "You're supposed to be working in here, with me." She replies flatly.

You frown.

"Why?"

Why? You're asking why? You've gotten too comfortable. Valeria must be losing her edge. She begins to wonder if the others have noticed. "Because I said so." She growls warningly, hand purposefully fidgeting with the gun laid flat on her desk. You look like you're about to argue but decide against it.

"Alright." You grit. "What do you want me to do?"

Valeria looks down. Grabbing the paperwork for El Paso. "We're going to El Paso, I need you to read these and sign them."

You straighten. "We are? When?"

"Soon." Valeria pointedly flaps the paper at you.

You grab it from her and situate yourself on the couch. Leaning down to read the first page. You're obviously interested in going to El Paso, not so much about working in the same vicinity as her. Well, she thinks, that's too bad for you. Valeria nurses her whiskey while she works. Calmed by the steady thrum of rain that has started up against the window. She sneaks a glance at you.

"Did you go to Saint Marie?" She asks suddenly. Wanting to make conversation about something you two may have had in common.

"No." You reply, not elaborating.

"Saint Vlad?"

"Mhm."

Valeria frowns. "How's your leg?" She asks. "Slip in the shower again?"

"It's fine." You say.

Valeria downs her drink and pours another. It doesn't take much intelligence to see that you don't have any interest in conversing with her. She rolls her eyes and looks away. Your relationship has shifted and not in the way she wants it to. You're really making her fight for what she wants. That's fine. Valeria had to fight to get scraps of recognition and respect from her brothers in arms, had to fight her way up the chain of command in the cartel. Fighting is what Valeria does best. 

She opens her mouth to speak but her phone rings, cutting her off. It's one of the men she sent to El Paso. She answers the call and is caught off guard by the heavy breathing.

"We need help." He pants, voice sounding rough. "Fuck. They killed them. There's so many of them."

Her blood freezes. You sit up and look at her, noticing her stiff body language. "What are you talking about?" She asks harshly. To her surprise you get up and round her desk, crouching beside her so you can listen in. You didn't ask, but you smell good so she lets it go.

"They broke in during the night." He rasps. "They- everyone is gone. They didn't even hesitate."

"Who?"

"I don't know. I don't know. They said 'stop looking.'" He says.

Valeria knows who. It's the people she's looking for, the people responsible for all this mess. "Where are you?"

"I don't know. I ran. I'm in the middle of nowhere." He says, voice lowering. "I think I'm dying. I think I'm dying please send-" 

Valeria hangs up on him. Staring ahead of her intently. She's getting closer. 

"You hung up on him." You say, surprised and sounding appalled. She looks at you coldly.

"There's nothing I can do for him." She replies. There truly isn't. It's a shame, but at the end of the day, he was expendable. You don't seem to have a response for that, however you still don't seem pleased.

"What now?" You ask, brows furrowed with concern. 

"Now we go to El Paso, we're going to finish this and everything will go back to normal." She shrugs. 

"You're very calm about this," You state. "your men just died and you don't seem to care."

"I don't." Valeria replies, taking another sip of her drink.

You shake your head like you're disappointed.

"When are we going?" You ask.

"I'll figure it out." Valeria stands. Looking at you head on. "Finish up those reports for me, I need to go talk to Diego."

You frown. "Fine." You say. Valeria is a little surprised that you didn't try arguing with her. She expected you to ask to come. To ask why you had to do her work for her. You move around her and gather the papers up in your arms. Carrying them back over to the couch and setting them on the coffee table. Thunder rumbles warningly in the distant. The true storm has yet to hit.

[quoth-the-raven-wtf]

I've blocked a lot of endos [I'm clustering tulpas in the same "origin category," btw], and I hope that they'll respectfully do the same in return when I post things like this. I will never be the first to interact with them, and more often than not I delete their comments from my posts and block them in order to keep myself from interacting in a pointless argument altogether.

That being said, I still want to put my thoughts out there.

Heads up, this is a long one. The rest is below the cut. Per usual, summarized points are highlighted in red for faster viewing.

I know for a fact that a majority of endos aren't claiming to have a CDD [complex dissociative disorder], which tends to be the main argument endos like to use in order to explain that they aren't invading OSDDID spaces or harming communities built for those who are disordered. That doesn't make their claims of being "plural" any less harmful to the CDD community. They are still claiming to have symptoms of dissociative disorders, which waters down the severity of the actual disorders themselves.

Being a system means having a fragmented identity [which is what alters are]. A fragmented identity is a disordered identity. A disordered identity is a disordered brain. Having parts is not typical, and endos claiming that it is possible to have alters without a disorder creates this misconception that plurality is completely normal to experience.

[Don't get me wrong, I'm also irritated by the perspective that everyone with OSDDID is constantly suffering and cannot experience any joy, or even enjoy being a system—because that view is just as uneducated as the endo one.]

Here's the thing—watering down the disorder isn't actually one that matters much to those outside of people who interact with the system sections of social media, because I guarantee you that most people don't even know what "endogenic" means. The issue with watering down symptoms of disorders that result in alters are how they harm actual systems. I've seen multiple systems on this app and even a few others on social media who claim to be endogenic, but talk about having other symptoms of CDDs and having childhood trauma that they don't consider severe enough to be "traumagenic." Seeing things like that is honestly heartbreaking. There are so many systems out there who are completely convinced that they simply can't have originated from trauma because "they weren't hurt badly enough."

It's bizarre to me that this is what the internet has come to.

Here's the thing; if there was actual evidence of endos and tulpas being fully, scientifically capable of existing, I wouldn't be so strongly against their claims. Hell, I've done research in my spare time to actually look for the supposed proof that endos say there is on the ability to be plural without a disorder, and I've reached countless dead ends. Masterlists of "endo-affirming resources" are either incredibly vague, non-credible, or take me straight to an error message [as in, the page has since been taken down]. Aside from those resources, the strongest argument I've seen is that "there's no proof that endos don't exist," which doesn't make any sense either. You could say that about anything you want to, despite currently existing evidence that already suggests your claim is nonsensical.

I am genuinely open to information that is credible, but so far, it just doesn't seem to exist. Anyone is welcome to share some with me, and I will truly approach them with an open mind; that doesn't mean I'm not going to point out lack of credibility when I see it.

In no way do I feel malice or hatred for systems who identify as endogenic, but I'm afraid that directly interacting with endos through areas of syscourse will, and has clearly already created bitterness. I refrain because of how hostile syscourse has gotten, and I encourage others who share my point of view to also keep the hostility to a minimum. I think everyone needs to be more open-minded—both endos and antis like myself. Unfortunately, that's only achievable in a perfect world.

[destielfanfic]

Group Ask #215

Relevant links to find lost fic

previous group asks - feel free to browse them!

spnstoryfinders

Guide to Finding Fic

Guide to Finding Lost Fic

PSA - Save Your Faves!

Lost and Found fic posts - when mods knew the answer!

when looking for fics similar to the ones you have read, check out our Fics like X Reference Post and Fics like X Tag

Before sending in a lost fic ask, please check out our Tags Page and see if the fic in question could be found under some plot/ trope/ pairing related tag! Big thanks to all followers who do check the tags before sending in the ask!!! Our anon is switched off for good but you can always ask for your url to be withhold either on the lost ask or the answer re fic.  <333

And even bigger thanks to all folks who help us to find lost fics! You guys are the real MVPs!!!

Ask #1 ( @trampslike-us ): there’s this fic…#1

Hi! I have been searching for a fic to the point I think I’ve totally made it up now! Pretty sure it’s SU where Dean used to turn tricks to make money for him and Sam as teenagers and he’s working through some shit while him and Cas start a relationship. Sam doesn’t know about Deans past but Dean lets it slip at a dinner (poss thanksgiving?) at Jodie’s (I think!) after a few drinks. I keep going back to Like Moses and Batman thinking it must be that but get to the end and realise it’s not! If you have any idea what I’m talking about send help <3

Ask #2 ( @targaryenchester): there’s this fic…#2

I am at my wits end. I need to reread this fic like my life depends on it. But I can't find this fic anywhere. So the plot kind of goes like this- Dean is a Rockstar but he retired so Sam can have his own career, not just some nepo kid of a big shot singer. However sam screws up with drugs. Dean is retired, he sings at Ellen's bar. Sam feels bad so he brings Cas to check out a singer (Dean). Cas is part of a rival label but he still agrees. Sam is determined to help Dean relaunch his career. So that's how Cas meets Dean. At the bar when Dean is singing. That's the core setting. Does a fic like that rings a bell? Pls help me out🥺🥺

Ask #3 ( @grilmo-bartlett ): there’s this fic…#3

Hi! Im wondering if you can help me find a fic? its really not a destiel fic per se, but I think it was written by someone who hadn't actually seen supernatural and they thought dean was named "destiel." it was kind of a crack fic and I don't remember much else about it, but I feel like I saw it on tumblr. just spent the last hour or so looking and I cant get anywhere. Thank you so much for any help!

Ask #4 ( @buckbuckleydiaz118 ): there’s this fic…#4

Hi! I’m looking for a fic I read on AO3 a while ago and it was a longish multichapter fic, E rating I’m pretty sure. Dean and Cas were in college, Dean was a football player and kind of a bully to Cas and they hid their relationship for a while and had a big angsty break up because Dean saw Alastair bullying Cas again and just turned away instead of defending him yet again and then Dean had a breakdown when Cas left him and threw the necklace Dean gave him back at him. They reconciled after much groveling on Dean’s part. Anna and Gabriel were also in it as Cas’ supportive and protective friends. Thank you!

Ask #5 ( @caseyjw1973 ): there’s this fic…#5

Looking for a fic. It's either deleted or on another platform besides AO3. Dean is a rock star/musician. He performs with a mask. Cas is his assistant and he does not like Dean but is a huge fan of the masked musician. Dean ends up giving Cas a necklace as the singer. I started to read it but I didn't save it. Any ideas?

It takes a village to find a lost fic, every reblog is appreciated!

[bibliophilicstranger]

I investigated the TV trope page and noted something you may have missed: there are numerous examples of the same trope far predating the Harry Potter series. The idea of turning a good character bad for one reason or another, including for shipping, is not a new one. It wasn't started by Harmony fans. Someone could easily have named the same trope The Roman's Odysseus, Zeus the Rapist, or Raoul the Alcoholic. The trope may have been used by Harmony fans, and the existence of those fics may have given the name to the trope, but frankly that says more about the media preferences of the people writing the article. If I had to guess, it was created during the heyday of Harry Potter, as that coincides with when TV Tropes was getting popular (there are approximately 24 pages with Harry Potter-related titles, three of which, including "Ron the Death Eater," are fanon terms). Based on the current Trope-naming guidelines, were the same page created today it might well not mention a character at all but be named "Good Guys Go Bad."

I'm going to have to ask you to provide some kind of credible article on Harmony shippers sending death threats as unfortunately Rowling gets so many of them that my searches are turning up more recent events. Were that to be true it would be unfortunate. Disappointment is warranted, and the expression of that disappointment is allowed, but one should not send death threats, especially not over this.

I can't comment on "classist body shaming and look shaming comments" as I've never seen those particular attacks made. Unless you're referring to the bit from canon where he's got dirt on his nose? Ron is canonically tall and thin-- who on earth is body shaming him for that? And in comparison to whom? Harry is also skinny, with knobby knees.

Attacking Harmony shippers for their reading comprehension is another ad hominem attack and I must request that you desist on that front. For one, it's inaccurate to say that someone who ships Harmony lacks reading comprehension. Reading comprehension is simply the ability to read a text, process it, and understand its meaning. Two people can have equally good reading comprehension but reach a different understanding of the text by focusing on different aspects or bringing different theories to bear.

You seem to adhere to the opposites-attract, pigtail-pulling-is-cute, antagonistic-bickering-is-a-sign-of-attraction school. I concede that is a common enough trope of its own. You focus on the expressions of jealousy toward other romantic interests, the virulence of their squabbles and the explicit details provided. The very things you seem to favor, the "love-hate relationship" are the same things which concern Harmony fans, who worry that such a relationship would ultimately be unhealthy and devolve into domestic violence. If the 'hate' part of love-hate got significantly better over time, then it wouldn't be as much of an issue, but as late as book six Hermione has escalated from trading insults with Ron to sending birds to attack him. In book seven, when Ron returns Hermione punches him, yells at him, and wants her wand to curse him. We don't see them practicing a lot of healthy conflict resolution-- Hermione rightfully bears a grudge that doesn't seem to be resolved until after they visit the Lovegoods, and we don't see them have a discussion where they talk it out as much as they just go through another particularly dangerous event and it makes them ignore and forget any previous conflict-- just like books one and three. Once they're no longer fighting trolls, death eaters, and Voldemort, can Hermione and Ron actually resolve their disagreements?

In contrast, I, and many other Harmony fans, look for exchanges of support and comfort, understanding one another, prioritizing one another. I look at details such as Hermione's words to Harry in the Potions Challenge in book one, her bringing him toast the morning after the Triwizard champions are selected in book four, and his trust in her and prioritization of her desires in book five. There are also the details in book six of Harry comforting Hermione and talking her up to Slughorn and her comforting him in book seven when they visit the Potters' grave or when they learn about Dumbledore. There are a variety of times where they display compatibility by knowing what one another is thinking, or how they're likely to act. While Harry and Hermione do argue, they still treat each other with respect and even while at odds Harry usually acknowledges that Hermione's position is well-meaning. There are other examples where he expresses anger around her, but acknowledges he's not angry at her, but the situation or other people.

Before the explicit introduction of romance in book six, there were only hints in either direction. Even after book six, there was a chance that any romance or attraction wouldn't last. There are many couples who make it through all of high school only to break up as they get older. A first attraction between Ron and Hermione could have flared and burnt out, and Harry and Hermione could have gotten together in the end. Neither Harry's attraction to Cho nor Ron's to Lavender lasted, after all.

Now for the Ginny "fanfic" you mentioned. Are you talking about the forum post of that name from twenty years ago? The one that's not a fanfic, but a conception of ways that Ginny could be removed in book seven? That only actually has only 196 ways? I'll grant you they're not the most tasteful, but this has been done for many characters over the years, including Hermione, Draco, and Edward Cullen.

I'd disagree about who the most toxic people in the fandom are. You yourself reblogged a post acknowledging the toxicity of the Romione fans. In addition to having seen numerous attacks on Harmony fans by Romione fans (including yourself), I've often seen incredibly toxic behavior from Marauders era fans (ex: 1 2 3), especially the ones who ignore most of canon. I think there has been a decent amount of hatred towards Tonks and Remadora (ex: 1, 2, 3) but it's also easy for most Wolfstar shippers to ignore her existence, considering most Wolfstar occurs before the Remadora relationship is even remotely possible. I can't be bothered to expose myself to HarryxDeathEater ships to find examples of them being abusive to Ginny-- I have most of those tags blocked-- but I'm fairly certain Drarry fans have engaged in just as much Ginny bashing and the use of that love-potion trope you don't like.

Accusing someone of "playing the victim card" is a common form of gaslighting and I suggest you remove it from your vocabulary before your erroneous use causes harm. You're also applying it in a situation where it's false. To play the victim card, one must be fabricating or exaggerating victimhood. To see two asks where someone called me a bitch, look here and here. I've deleted others. Here's an out of the blue attack on Lily and here and here are some against Hermione. In your above response you validated what I said about attacks on reading comprehension, but here's another example. And here's the call for negativity against Harmony shippers. As you can see, these are neither fabrications, nor exaggerations and therefore your accusation is false.

Further, you would really rather preach that all Harmony shippers should accept being victims of cruelty, simply because some may have engaged in negative behavior in the past (and a past that in some cases is twenty years and a whole generation of fans ago)? That seems a rather slippery slope, don't you think? It's thinking like that which has synagogues in Canada and Australia firebombed, when those with particular views on Israel/Palestine attack all Jews over their disagreement with the Israeli government, even when those Jews have no say in what the Israeli government does. It's one thing to disagree with a particular person holding views you don't like, it's another to call for an attack on all shippers. Such an attitude only perpetuates toxicity in fandom.

Defend your ship if you like, but if you want a less toxic fandom, constrain yourself to arguing over the text. After all, don't you want to sow positivity for yourself, lest you dislike what you reap?

There is one thing in common with the PeterMJ (Spider-Man/Marvel) and Romione (Harry Potter) shippers; both of their pairings are 'canon' and have everything going for them thanks to favoritism by the author (J.K. Rowling)/ comic writers (Marvel). Despite all that, these

'canon' shippers aren't satisfied with having an already huge following and seek/continue to tear down on other ships (Harmione & PeterGwen) just to push their pairings to front and center. People like these are why we hate fandoms.

I can't comment on the Marvel portion of this ask as my knowledge of that universe is limited in scope and I'm not an active member of its fandom.

As for the Harry Potter part...

I think Romione fans have the issue that while their pairing is canon, it's not well developed in the text (very few pairings in Harry Potter are). We're told that they get together, marry, and have children, yet we don't actually see a lot of development of the relationship blocks that would support the longevity of their marriage. Yes, they went through the war together (although Ron abandoned them for a good portion of that) and yes they were friends, but their friendship was highly contentious and they spent significant portions of each year not speaking to one another or not hanging out (first year before they were friends, second year when she was petrified, most of third year, part of fourth where Hermione was more with Harry, part of sixth year, and part of seventh). Now, technically, first and second year don't count, but honestly, the only year they spend the entirety of together where they don't have a major fight is their fifth year. We know they like each other from Hermione's actions in book six and Ron's in seven, but we don't really see why they do, why that would turn into love rather than a teenage crush, or why they'd make it as adults.

Supposedly Hermione likes Ron because he's funny. Supposedly Hermione's maturity makes up for Ron's lack and he gets her to open up. While there's something to her liking someone who can lighten things up, if that's all then she could just as easily have liked one of the Weasley Twins instead. As a Hermione-type myself, I've often liked guys who were funny, but them being funny isn't enough. The guy I dated when I was 17 was funny, but he also lacked drive and dedication and in the end that made us incompatible in the long-run. Yeah, it's nice to have friends that can make you laugh, but in a partner for life you want someone you don't have to nag all the time when you need them to do something.

We also know that JKR admitted that Romione was her personal wish-fulfilment, clinging to her original idea of the plot, whatever that was, rather than a natural outcome of what she actually wrote. She also said they'd have needed counseling and their relationship was further questioned in the Cursed Child.

This puts Romione shippers on a weaker footing than most canon-pair shippers in other fandoms, making them defensive. Yes, they have the benefit of canon, but not the textual support, other than 'well, our people got married.' They can be threatened by Harmony supporters, who have fairly well crafted arguments grounded in the text for why Harry and Hermione make sense as a pairing. This makes Harmony a greater threat than pairings which are more loosely grounded in the books: Dramione, for instance, is never going to happen in a close-to-canon universe, but it takes very few tweaks to make Harmony work. Additionally, many of the arguments used in favor of Romione are equally as powerful for Harmony, such as the length of their friendship. Indeed, many of the arguments regarding Hermione's feelings for Harry specifically are a lot stronger, because we do see instances where she chooses Harry over Ron, such as in the seventh book.

It is unfortunate that these tend to become rather nasty fights that devolve into personal attacks on the sanity, demeanor, or reading comprehension of the Harmony shipper. I've seen many people go after another Harmony shipper on here pretty nastily, and I've heard tiktok and instagram are worse. Some screenshots I've seen are basically Romione shippers vowing to spread negativity about Harmony just because they don't like some of the fanfic people have written. As if it weren't possible to just, you know, not read the fanfic you don't like.

It would be nice not to get people randomly calling me a bitch in my inbox, but you know, such is life. I don't know if they dislike me more for shipping Harmony or Jily at this point but I really don't care.

[celtrist]

Why does Vassago already have merch, we haven't even met him yet

[starmocha]

I love it when artists watermarked their artworks. I WANT TO KNOW THAT I AM REBLOGGING FROM THE ARTIST. I want you to get the love and support and recognition for the masterpieces you have created and have given people the privilege to see. 💖

[babycharmander]

(BOOK OF BILL SPOILERS)

I just finished reading The Book of Bill and I am kindof losing my mind over some of this stuff.

I had wondered if Alex Hirsch might make Bill sympathetic in some way and oh boy I was not expecting him to do it so successfully (and without cheapening Bill's character).

So, we learn that Bill was born into a 2D world... as a mutant who can see into the third dimension. He claims he was absolutely loved by all, but when talking about his powers, he mentions under Pyrokinesis:

"Cipher, Cipher, he's insane / Starting fires with his brain." The kids in grade school could be so cruel. But where are they now, huh? WHERE ARE THEY NOW?

So probably not quite as liked as he was letting on. To add to that, there's the silly straw page, which looks like silly nonsense until you decipher some of the codes:

"EYE DOCTOR OF A DIFFERENT KIND / WHO WANTS TO MAKE HIS PATIENTS BLIND" "THE DOCTOR SAYS / THREE SIPS A DAY / WILL MAKE THE VISIONS / GO AWAY"

I wasn't sure what this meant until I saw someone point out... he was seeing a third dimension that no one else could see. His parents probably took him to the eye doctor to try to "fix" him. Which, speaking of his eye doctor, the coded message in the section about human eyeballs says something interesting:

"MY OPTOMETRIST NEVER SAW IT COMING"

It could be a joke given beforehand he's talking about dissecting a human eye, but given the previous hints of medical abuse, I wouldn't put it past him that he tried to get revenge on his eye doctor.

Oh yeah and the whole thing about him setting his entire dimension on fire? Yeah it turns out it was entirely a mistake (he just wanted everyone to understand the third dimension he was seeing so they could be free of only two dimensions), he was so traumatized by it he blacks out when trying to recall it. He deeply, deeply regrets it, and...

"What? Your ENTIRE home dimension? destroyed? How? By what?" Bill looked distant, more distant than I'd ever seen him. "By a monster."

He sees himself as a monster.

And yet, he's not some innocent, misunderstood being. He still revels in causing pain and chaos. He's terrible in general, but becomes incredibly abusive toward Ford.

"YOU'RE MY PROPERTY. DON'T FORGET IT. The hillbilly abandoned you, your father won't want you returning without millions, you have no friends, and if you died out here in the snow, who would even miss you?"

Which... speaking of him and Ford...

Yes, yes, I know people ship them. But like, whether you see their relationship as romantic or platonic (I see it as the latter), there's some interesting parallels to be made here.

Both Bill and Ford are mutants who were mocked for their being different. (Bill was not physically a mutant, as far as we know, but more in the sense of him having vision stronger than that of everyone else in his dimension, and also having special powers. And he does describe himself as a mutant.) Both became social outcasts, separated from their families but still haunted by them (Ford seeing commercials of Stan on TV and running across old photos of him and his brother, Bill being haunted by his family in some form). Neither could return home for one reason or another. Both more powerful than their peers (Ford intellectually, Bill in terms of actual powers). Both of them isolated and alone. (Yes, Bill does have the Henchmaniacs, but they seem like shallow friends, and only really seem to follow him out of a desire to have a place to party.)

Ford was not aware of most of this, aside from knowing that Bill could not go home because his dimension was destroyed. But Bill absolutely saw himself in Ford. There was no other person he tried to use whom he felt a stronger connection to.

And he actually seems to care about Ford--he actually gave him a birthday present, and when Ford didn't like it, he decided to get drunk and party with him instead to make up for it.

And then when Ford realizes what Bill's plan actually is and refuses to go along with it, and fights back no matter what Bill does, Bill completely breaks down.

After living for trillions of years, he met someone who was like him, and that person rejected him.

He goes berserk, wreaking havoc, being caught by the dimensional authority that he's been taunting for most of his life.

And then after dying and being cast out of hell for being too annoying, he winds up faced with the Axolotl, who sends him to therapy, where he continues to break down further, sending out the book in a desperate attempt to find someone, anyone who will help him break loose and wreak havoc once again.

"You have no friends, and if you died ... who would even miss you?"

I don't know, Bill. Who would even miss you?

In short,

[ID: The front and back of one of Bill's Valentines cards. On the front is a black void with Bill Cipher lying down without his hat, gazing blankly upwards, with the text "I DON'T WANT TO DIE ALONE" above him. On the back is a simple white "TO/FROM" in red, with a red outline illustration of Bill spontaneously growing a mouth and eating a realistic, bloody heart. /end ID]

[fratboycipher]

obligatory welcome guide for redditors

A lot of the guides I've seen don't actually seem to understand how reddit works in comparison to tumblr so

your blog is basically your own small subreddit. some people curate this heavily to fit a theme, like a sub, most people don't

reblogs are culturally equivilant to upvotes but functionally equvilant to crossposting

there is an algorithm. it sucks and nobody uses it. turn it off in settings. everything is generally chronological

likes are functionally equivilant to saving a post

you've probably already seen this but change your icon and put something in your bio or people WILL assume you're a bot. personal info not required

generally, anything you would put as a comment on a thread should go in the tags or the replies of a post. only add comments in reblogs if you want it to become part of the base post

tags are mostly equivilant to flairs, used for organization and commentary

your dashboard is an aggregation of everyone you follow

there is an r/all equivilant(trending page) but it sucks and nobody uses it

our search also sucks. your best bet is using tumblr.com/tagged/[TAG] and not /search

there are no mods

by extension, reporting something doesn't put it in front of the mods, it sends it to staff, who may or may not do anything(usually they don't)

there is no karma, there are no karma limits. anyone can reblog anything, comment/reply to anything, or post in any tag

"reposting"(reblogging) old content doesn't matter. people can and will reblog the same post multiple times, including in a row

CAVEAT. reposting someones art(NOT reblogging, making a new post) is a dick move. i know this is commonplace on fandom subs but its not necessary here. everything you post should be [OC] unless you are reblogging. or posting shitty memes

we have our own sitelore, you'll pick it up

(though im not opposed to bringing some over from reddit)

our app also sucks. we do not have third party apps and any that claim to be are scams. sorry

for desktop, most people use the XKit Rewritten extension for QoL improvements and to revert shitty aesthetic updates, much like old.reddit

we have no idea where the porn rules are at either. add a mature content flag to anything you'd get fired for looking at at work, that's about it

finally, from the bottom of my heart, fuck u/spez

[5ummit]

New Mature Content Warning Overlay (And How to Get Rid of It)

More fun community label "features"! Unlike the new mandatory label for #NSFW, this one is a bigger deal to me because it affects my entire blog and it can't be avoided by just using a different tag.

Apparently on custom blog layouts, if you happen to post or reblog even a SINGLE post that's been flagged with the mature content community label, a full-page warning overlay will appear blurring out your entire blog that must be manually clicked through every single time the page is refreshed. At first I thought this was just a bug due to my older layout but I've come to realize it's not. It's a feature (as confirmed by this recent changes post) that affects all custom themes. The formatting will vary based on your own theme but here's what it looks like on my blog:

I don't know about you but I find this is stupid and annoying. If it could be dismissed once and never seen again that might be one thing, but that's not the case. The vast majority of my blog is not "mature" enough to warrant such an aggressive and invasive warning. I also think pop-ups are obnoxious in general and I'll be damned if tumblr's going to force me to have one on MY blog.

After some desperate googling for a known workaround and being unable to find even a single mention of it, I decided to take on the challenge myself. I'm not a theme coder, so apologies if there's a better way to do this, but luckily it only took me like 10 minutes to figure out a simple fix, which I'm now sharing with anyone else who may want it:

.community-label-cover__wrapper {display: none}

Just copypaste that somewhere in your CSS and goodbye pop-up!

If you're not sure how to access your theme code, check out this help article. You can also add the code via the Advanced Options menu, which is actually even better (if you can get it to work, it depends on how your theme was coded), because it will then automatically be reapplied to a lot of themes without having to remember to manually add it every time if you change your theme in the future.

Obviously this will only remove it from your own blog for anyone who may visit it. If you never want to see this warning again on other people's blogs you can also add this custom filter to your ad block:

tumblr.com##.community-label-cover__wrapper

Unfortunately I do not have an easy tutorial on hand for this one as the method will depend on your specific ad block app or extension.

Some additional notes:

After adding the theme code and saving the changes, give it a minute to update as it sometimes takes a little while for the page to refresh.

The warning overlay only seems to appear if a "mature" post is on the FIRST page of your blog, which is still annoying and makes the whole thing even more pointless and stupid because what if someone visits any other page of your blog, and oh no, happens to see "mature" content they weren't warned about?!

The warning also appears on direct links to "mature" posts.

This hack has NOTHING to do with entire blogs that have been flagged as NSFW. It only works for non-flagged blogs with custom themes that happen to have individual "mature" posts.

[birdantlers]

A heartfelt and grievously expanded-upon update to this—please, please read the whole thing if you can. reblogs much appreciated.

(DISCLAIMER, for all who are saying reasons like abusive parents/legal stuff/toxic ex/triggering memories/page got deleted/job/stalkers/bullying/[[insert any other shitty life thing]], This is not concerning that—personal safety & health ALWAYS comes first, and is worth more than any media ever could be. This is my biggest reason for defending that autonomy. I would be a hypocrite to say I hadn’t deleted triggering posts of mine or ones that got me in trouble with my family.)

it genuinely makes me sad and kinda upset when someone purges all their old art off the internet like. barring harmful content what if someone liked that. What if someone would have. And now nobody will ever know and it's just gone. even people's old invader zim askblogs or whatever getting deleted feels like a micro alexandria to me and that's just something I made up. I wasn't even thinking of a specific one it just stresses me out. Is this the autism I don't get why nobody else seems to freak internally abt it like I do. I see artists whose blogs I've never even looked at go like "man so glad I deleted all my old stuff it's so clean" or saying they throw out art from when they were kids I'm like. how are you not hurling. How is that not distressing that is literally your tree rings why would you do that. I want to see what's out there. people want to see it I promise someone out there likes it

...don't they??? Does everyone get quietly irrationally upset by this as me, or is this just hyperfixation/autism/some amalgam of the two. I'm not a hoarder or obsessive compulsive or anything like that so i wonder..

Anyways. reblog if you had a favorite amateur youtube animator in your childhood whose channel got nuked without a trace one day that you still think about.

I wanted to attach this video because it condenses my point very well. A TLDR of sorts. Please watch the whole thing, it genuinely changed the entire way I think about art as a concept.

(2nd vid is "Subjectivity in Art")

“The moment your art touches an audience, the ownership shifts in an irreversible way. [They're] not having an art experience with you and your intentions. They're having an art experience with the art object.

“You can't just burn your past; it's not even your past to burn anymore. It's other people's history as well. Whether or not you like it, that art is already bonded to somebody's soul, and if you rip the art away, you're ripping a bit of the soul that has adhesive contact to it.”

The digital age makes it very easy to distance or detach yourself from the impact your work has—be it art, fanfic, videos, even memes. Online content is as important to people now as any other media, if not more. But it's also by far the easiest, fastest, and most effective form of it to erase from public access. Media so unbelievably important to people and in general. Yes, you—with the 2010s purple sparkle dog speedpaint. I still think about that speedpaint all the time, because it was the first time i learned that you could draw on a computer, and I thought it was cool as hell. I still do.

I do wish there was a stronger culture of preservation and consideration for this, because every time I see people talk about snuffing their stuff because it doesn't personally resonate with them anymore, I just think ...what about all the people it did?

I've seen lots of people saying "get over it, it doesn't even matter," but it fucking does. It does matter. Even if I didn’t make it, even if I don’t have to deal with being the one who made it, even if I'm naturally inclined to be distressed by it—It still matters. And there’s nothing you could ever say to suddenly make it not matter, because there’s nothing you could ever say to make it not matter to me.

Don't devalue the act of creation. Don't dismiss something you made. It's out there, in people's thoughts and hearts and souls, and that is real. Even if you don't know it. Especially if you don't know it. Especially in a world where physical media is being snuffed out, the internet is constantly dying without any physical remains to recover, social isolation is rampant, and simply because independently produced content online is still media.

Fanfiction can hold equal or greater significance to someone as a book, but you can’t unpublish a book. Authors don’t have a button that can vaporize every copy of their work across all time, but fanfiction authors do. I’m not counting people who download fics either—when you buy a book, that transaction is over. But online, you have the power of unending transaction that can be terminated instantly at your will. The process of publishing fanfic vs. publishing a book may be different, but people’s connection to the art is the same intensity.

So yeah. I do get depressed about the Internet being a constant Alexandria, but the times I get the most depressed is when I click someone's page and see that all their work is gone because they're ‘curating a new aesthetic’ for their page or some shit. Or weeding out all the "ugly" art. Or just went on whatever the hell 'thrill deleting' is, because they just get a kick out of it.

Fuck it—yeah! It upsets me! I’m not wrong to say that. I’m saying it!

Under the cut, because it got long as shit! Also don’t worry the ending is way sappier and more ‘beauty of human nature’ vibe so it’s not all doom and gloom lol

What if that was someone's favorite art of that character. What if someone read that 'cringe oneshot' on the worst day of their life. What if that Warriors meme vid is still burned into a college student’s mind despite being gone for 10 years. What if it's actually not just you and the ones and zeros you rent out to the world—secure in knowing the original will always be on your computer for you to do whatever you want with it.

I really, deeply wish there was more of a general awareness of this, because even though social media can be used like a diary, that’s functionally the opposite of what it is. It’s social media. When you post, it’s no longer in a vacuum, even though you can’t see the real humans that content touches—often deeply.

Media is history. You shouldn’t burn that history just because you personally believe it isn’t worth saving.

Because it’s no longer just your personal opinion. It’s no longer just your personal work. it’s. history. Memory of media is not a suitable replacement for the media itself. If it was, we wouldn’t save anything at all. Nostalgia is an agent of that. The definition of nostalgia is grief for moments of the past that are inaccessible, and the biggest balm for that pain is accessing a physical reminder of those moments. That opinion of yours is no longer personal. It’s weighed against uncountable people across all time that your thing is ALSO personal to. People who would, and will mourn its absence.

How many times have you joined an older fandom only to discover that some of its most popular works are gone? How many times have you routed through random blogs looking for scraps people hopefully reblogged? how many times have you used Wayback machine desperately praying that a fan fiction or a YouTube video will be there? How many times do you look up crunchy old vines or YouTube videos or anime AMV‘s? How many times do you remember old fanfic.net sex that impacted you in middle school, only to shake your head and go ‘probably no point even looking.’

i mourn the absence. No, people can’t and shouldn’t have their agency over what they post revoked, but they should be conscious of that weight. If you’re reading this and getting extremely annoyed, and you’re not in the pink text above,,,, good.

I honestly do hope it gets under your skin. I hope it sits with you. I hope you feel it every time you hit that button, and whether or not you do hit that button—if you hesitate, if you remember this, even spitefully, I’ve done my job. I am howling into the void. And I may not want an answer, but I do want my anguish to be heard and remembered. Because it isn’t me just being melodramatic.

I know I sound that way writing so much, but if my favorite writing YouTuber can drop trow this week and go, "yeah, sorry, all my video essays from less than a year ago that you listen to in the car all the time? I'm "rebranding" my content so i deleted them. besides, my personal views don't really agree align with the analyses i did, or the techniques i taught in them anyway. Sorry if some of the literal tens of thousands of you used them, but I don't want to feel shackled to having youtuber "classics" tied to me”

….then i guess I'm just going to have to sound dramatic! That fucking sucks! Hours of work and knowledge gone! This was a new channel too. It’s very likely there’s no archive of any kind, because who would think someone who worked hard enough to write, record, and edit hour-long videos, would just turn around and nuke it all? I definitely didn’t see it coming, but I did just start a new screenwriting class a few weeks ago, so I’ll tell you at least one person is REALLY missing those fucking videos right now. Because a lot of them were about specifically screenwriting, which I know jack shit about. and that specific person’s pace, editing, and style of breaking down information was the best suited style I found that I could focus on and absorb. There’s no replacement for that. No alternative for his individual perspective. his jokes. his opinions.

No, they may not resonate with him now, but in this decision, he’s put up a big middle finger to everyone who might have. And he has like 100k subscribers! Those are confirmed supporters! Imagine how many silent and untethered observers are feeling this loss right now. Imagine how many will not have it in the future.

If he never posted them at all, we wouldn’t know we had it. It wouldn’t be a loss. But we did. We did have it. Until he decided that no, we didn’t, because he just happens to be the one out of millions of individuals holding the button to burn it in a hundredth of a second.

His personal work, the attachment I had to it, and the ways that it helped me are now just ripped away. I am one person out of millions, literal MILLIONS of people who saw and liked this content before it vanished. The soul has been ripped, the access severed, and by CJ’s (and my) definition, the art is functionally dead. Not for the YouTuber or anyone else lucky enough to save a link or download, but everyone else. From this point until the end of time, even if people even two weeks from now don’t know it. Even if someone who stumbles upon his channel today, doesn’t know it.

We only mourn the concept of Alexandria because we had some kind of scope for what was inside. Yes, maybe you got self-conscious and deleted your 12 year old deviant art account. Do you know who else is doing that?? THOUSANDS AND THOUSANDS of other twenty somethings who ALSO feel self-conscious about their old socials. Art. Fanfic. One direction fan videos. anything.

Suddenly, an unquantifiable amount of information from your age group—an entire age group in 2012, is. gone. And we will NEVER know what’s been erased from that history. We will NEVER know what could have been significant to us ten years from now. Twenty years from now. A hundred years. A thousand.

You could have deleted a fanfic that would have been someone else’s new go-to panic attack distraction tomorrow. You could have deleted a video someone used to laugh at with their friend who died yesterday. When you delete something, you risk tearing a hole in unknowable personal histories.

The Internet isn’t just a big library of Alexandria. It’s a library containing libraries. And those libraries have their own libraries in those libraries have their own as well. libraries inside libraries, inside libraries, ad infinitum. To conceive the amount of destroyed history on the Internet is crushing.

And I just can’t help but I ask myself how in gods name people can choose to contribute to that, instead of reposting everything to trash heap alts titled “hall of shame” or some shit.

You can offload to alts. Put up disclaimers. Make password locked blogs, or dropboxes, or anonymous imgur dumps. Anonymous reuploads. Orphan fics. Make a playlist or linktree of unlisted videos. Cut off the watermarks. Delete all references to it on your main. Make a dedicated unlisted playlist. make a google drive. Make new portfolio sites. Delete any questions you get about it. Change pen names. Pretend it never existed.

Give a heads up.

Something.

But don’t. kill. the media.

The knowledge that our stuff is going to forever be tied to us is a cross we have to bear, but the responsibility that comes with putting it out there in the first place, can’t be ignored.

Anyway. I'm not trying to start conflict. This is not a bash on anyone, nor a call for witch hunts. Or anon hate, or blocks and unfollows or anything of that nature. I'm not wishing ramifications or hate of any kind on anyone who does wants to do any of this.

I'm also not guilt tripping— I am not saying that you should feel bad. I AM saying why it makes me feel bad. That’s not guilting, it’s a dialogue. One I personally feel is long overdue.

It's me yelling into the void: please consider the real people on the other side of the screen before you hit that button. Realize and know that whatever you're about to erase from history could be the most important thing in the world to someone.

Art is an experience. It's why we revisit it. If art and history simply lived in the matter and code of media, we would only need to look at it once. We wouldn’t put things in museums. We wouldn’t build libraries. We wouldn’t look up vine compilations.

If you're able, consider (and I do mean consider, this is not a call to action) not destroying that. And don’t shrug it off as some pretentious asshole venting on Tumblr. You only need to look in the notes and tags to see that it isn’t just me. it’s never just me, or you, or the pixels.

And even if you do shrug it off, then at least recognize that what you make matters. Whatever you think about it, if it’s out there, that's not your discretion anymore. If a tree falls in the woods and even one person is around to see it, it fucking mattered. Because it happened. Don’t mulch your tree rings if you don’t have to. Because if enough people do it, a whole forest is gone. Media is history, no matter whether you think it’s worth putting in a museum, or only has 30 notes.

Thousands of years ago, a child named onfim doodled on his homework. They’re crude, and everyone has the wrong amount of fingers, and they’re also priceless archaeological artifacts recognizable throughout the world.

the only thing separating Onfim’s doodles and your MS paint Pokémon doodles is time. The only thing separating your old MS paint Pokémon doodles from being a priceless artifacts, thousands of years in the future is time. Your creations are already priceless artifacts. No matter what you do, don't ever, ever deny that. It isn’t blowing up your own ass, it’s artistic and anthropological fact.

The mundane and the supposedly unworthy are often the first things lost to time, and that’s why they’re so precious. That’s why artists who were before their time are scorned first only to be celebrated later. Do you think they knew that was going to happen?? What if they nuked it? Many probably did! But now that’s happening exponentially and instantaneously everywhere, WITHOUT the artist having to destroy their only copy—which makes it way easier and more dismissable.

Sometimes, If you’re revolutionary enough, people will make an effort to preserve your work, but recognized and thoroughly recorded work is rare compared to unrecognized and thoroughly recorded work.

Sometimes something is beloved enough that it would be impossible for it not to go down in history, but even then it isnt a guarantee, and it’s rare. But if van Gogh burned all of his paintings in a fit of despair before his death, we would have no van Gogh. Because he wasn’t respected as an artist in his time, but that wasn’t what defined the worth of his art. The people after him did, because his art was still there for them.

If you rip the art away, you're ripping a bit of the soul that has adhesive contact to it. If you belittle your art, you belittle the very real relationships and emotions and revisitations people have with the media. You defy the inherent worth and weight of a creation. you created. That's effort. It's passion. No matter how flippant or unskilled or worthless you think it is, it matters. Because at the end of the day, you could have chosen to make nothing at all, and you didn't.

•

Muting notifs

[mayasaurusss]

hey how are you? could you write jinx x reader? something like jinx taking the reader's virginity. thanks ❤️🫰🏻

My favorite piltie

A/N: Hello! I am okay anon, thanks for asking! Just a bit sad that tomorrow Arcane will end😭.

I want to make it clear that I tried to do this before the next act drops, so I wrote it in two days and some things might not be very good, but I hope you will enojiy it nonetheless!!

Contains: female reader, detailed description of a wound, smut. All characters are 20+ years.

2,8 K/4 pages

When Jinx came knocking at your door tonight, you didn't think you'd end up in this position: her hands gripping at the skin of your chest and with her head buried in it.

The beginning of your night had kicked off with a strange twist when you heard a knock on your fifth floor appartment's window. You gulped down your fear and with a fast beating heart, looked past the window's glass to see a crouching figure with bright pink eyes staring at you. Any other occasion and you would have died on the spot, but you knew who she was. As soon as you opened the window, the figure let herself in, crawling out of the darkness and into the light of your room. "You are so nice letting me in, piltie" she said, and you don't miss the venom laced in the last word she spoke. "Your people aren't really known to be kind" her long fingers mess with the many little trinkets displayed on your shelves, checking their mechanisms and turning their gears.

"What do you want, Jinx?" you can feel a tingling sense of anger inside your skull at her continuous teasings.

You still remember the first time you had seen her, running from enforcers and covering her wounded shoulder.

You knew how ruthless they could be, especially since Miss Kirramman had taken control over the city. In a strange turn of events, you had found her curled up in one of Piltover's abandoned alleys and brought her with you to your home, taking care of her for the next few days until you found your window open and the blue haired criminal nowhere to be seen. During that time, you grew fond of her and were sad when she disappeared. Some weeks had passed and your life continued to flow normally, until she showed up at your door again. You were actually kind of amazed by the fact that she managed to sneak inside the appartment's building without being noticed, but after the third time, when someone called the enforcers on her, she had begun to climb on the building's exterior and knock at your window instead.

"Oh nothing, just wanted to pay a visit to my favorite piltie" she falls back on your bed, sizing you up from head to toe with that smirk of hers that makes your heart beat faster. "That's all?" the mattress dips under your weight as you sit next to her, always keeping your eyes on hers. "Mhmm, maybe" she fishes something from a bag -one you've just noticed- and shakes it: a small glass globe filled with water and fake flakes of snow. The tallest buildings of Piltover reflect the warm lights of your room, making the city of progress look ethereal under the glass. But it wasn't the shiny buildings or the snowflakes that got your attention, but a small name made with metal and gear parts glued to the bottom of the globe. "No way...is this a real Valdiani?!" the shock in your voice makes Jinx's heart flutter, something that she has never experienced before.

She lets out a proud snuff of air from her nose, pushing her chest outwards, "Consider it a gift for my fav- shit!" the sudden swear catches your attention and you look over to see Jinx doubled over. "Jinx! What is going on?!" It's faint, but you can see her hands wrapped tightly around her left side, traces of blood seeping from between her fingers. "Oh shit! Jinx what happened?" she lets out a breathless chuckle, her skin suddenly far paler than normally. "Hah, just some gift the bluebellies have given me" she sucks in a breath when you move her hands, biting a scream away. A deep wound runs along her side, pus forming where her skin had been pulled back from the slash, bleeding red on your covers. You run outside of your room and collect gauze, antiseptic, healing creme and a glass of water.

"Here, bite this" you hand her an old cloth, which she promptly places in between her teeth. "Ready?" she nods, taking a deep breath and closing her eyes. The heat of your hand is the only thing that brings her comfort. She isn't ready though when you pour the liquid over her wound: it feels like billions of needles stinging and burning her flesh, making her want to vomit.

"There there, it's over..." you quickly dry her skin and massage the healing cream on her, finally finishing when you cover her stomach with the gauze. She releases a huff of relief, mindlessly tangling her fingers with yours. When the pain subsides, she realizes how close the two of you are. You on your knees, her panting and sweating, how close you are to her and how fast her heart is beating. It would take a second, just a second for her to reach for your lips and melt into you...

"Uh... I- uh, just-, what happened?" you try to not sound too shy but your voice gives your feelings away. "I..." Jinx's throat bobs and it seems that she'd rather curl herself up like a hedgehog than admitting whatever she did. "You know, the usual. Went on a walk, stormed a shop, stole some things, got the enforcers called on me and..." she gestures towards her side, "...this happened".

Jinx isn't clear with her words, but something about the blush on her skin hints at the fact that there may be something else underneath her facade. You might try at least, right? Reaching for the glass globe, you twirl it in your hands, watching the snowflakes fall on Piltover. "Jinx...did you get chased after stealing this?", she doesn't answer, but her shy silence is enough for you.

"Why? Why do this for me?" she pouts her lips before answering, still held back by some sort of pride. "W-what can I say? Anything for my favorite piltie...".

A heavy silence fills the room, of the kind that is difficult to bear.

You can't believe it. You just can't believe that she'd be so reckless, so stupid! It's difficult to bite your anger back, but you do so, and instead of crying or screaming or scolding her, like Jinx thought you were going to do, you just hug her tightly against your chest. Your grip is so strong against her that she feels like she'll choke on it.

But you are so warm in comparison to her body, so, so warm. For the first time in a while, after Silco's death, after Vi's betrayal, after everything went to shit, she feels like she can breathe. And so she does, inhaling your scent in between, tasting it on her tongue. When you pull back, Jinx's eyelids are heavy with want, her mouth slightly open and her skin red.

It takes a second for her lips to push against yours, for her hands to come up and grab your face and pull you down towards her. The kiss is surprisingly tender for it to be Jinx's: you expected teeth and tongue, not pecks and soft touches. The way she sighs and runs her hands on your chest has you keening for her. "Jinx..." a small line of spit connects your lips, and before you can say anything else, she wipes it off on your bottom lip and sighs, "You know what piltie? I think I deserve something too".

Blinking at her a couple of times, she groans at your naivety and continues while taking your cheeks in her hand. "It has been a hard day for me: running from enforcers, bleeding all the way here... I think I deserve a gift too".

And that's where you are now, naked from the waist up with Jinx on your lap, diligently taking what's hers. The way her tongue teases your nipple is something to die for. It seems all her softness has died with the kiss you shared before, now tugging and biting every part of you. You gasp as she bites your nipple, leaving the indents of her teeth on the delicate skin.

"If I knew I could see you all shy and fidgety-" she tugs your left nipple with her long fingers, smiling cruelly when tearing a gasp from you, "...I would have done this earlier". Her lips leave your right nipple, spit chilling the skin, before she teases both of them with the point of her fingernails, moving and tickling them.

Jinx lets out one of those cruel laughs of hers before diving right back on your nipple, giving it one last kiss and moving towards your stomach. She kisses and strokes every one of your scars, every mole or freckle, every inch of skin, until she comes across the hem of your pants. "N-No wait, Jinx..." you place your hand on her forehead, strands of blue hair falling in between your fingers. She halts immediatley at your discomforted voice, billions of little alarms going off in her head and an attentive yet scared look in her eyes. "What is it?".

"I... I have to tell you something" and with that, her heart beats faster and faster and that obnoxious voice inside her head speaks; 'You've hurt her' and 'Look at what you've done' and 'Did you really think she would genuinely like you?'. But your voice is stronger than theirs. "Hey? Is everything alright? We don't have to do this" in the meantime, your hand cups her cheek, thumb stroking at the pale skin. "Yeah I- I am okay. And I want to" her own fingers close in on you and she takes a moment to breathe. Your own warmth is one of the only things that can make her calm. When the voices blur away and only you and her are left, she opens her eyes again, your reflection sharp inside their pink. "What do you have to tell me?" now it was your time to take a breath, because knowing Jinx, she could have two reactions over your news: making fun of you or absolutely losing her shit. "I... I am a virgin".

She takes a moment to process the information and then lets out a wheezing laugh, making blood rise quickly to your face. "That's it?! I thought I accidentally hurt you or something!". The only thing you can do at this point is pout and look away offended. "Oh come on toots" her hands take a hold of your face before turning you to her, who is smiling softly and with tenderness. "I am just kidding. Don't be so moody. And besides..." she captures your lips, biting and licking and sucking until they darken, leaving a faint trace of blood where her teeth were, "...It's so fucking hot".

The descent to get to her prize is tedious and long, but Jinx can't help but want to savor each one of its steps. Her fingers finally hook on the hem of your pants and pull down, revealing your naked thighs to her; the only thing stopping her from claiming her prize is the fabric of your underwear. "Wait a second..." despite how cute you look to her, Jinx rolls her eyes at yet another one of your attempts to stop her. "What, toots? You don't want me to fuck you?" your eyes widen when she so bluntly says that, without an ounce of embarrassment on her face, but continue. "What?! N-no I want to....it's just that..." you eye Jinx's position on the floor. "The wound might be painful if you crouch... I don't want you to hurt yourself".

"So, what do you want me to do?". You look back between Jinx and the plush, comfortable bed, a lightbulb popping off on your head. "Lie on the bed", you say, making Jinx blink a few times before processing and understanding your intentions. "Ohh, I didn't take you for the kinky type, toots". She crawls over the bed, making sure to look as alluring as possible, then lies down with her head pressed on one of your pillows. "There. Do you like this more?" the way that she's so smug about it, with that stupid smirk of hers, makes you want to choke her to death.

"Shut the fuck up", you follow her, placing yourself on each side of her head, feeling her hands rise on your tighs to curl on the soft fabric she so wishes were to disappear. "Hmhm, alright" she eyes the patch of cloth that has begun to show a wet stain, images of what she is going to do to you already flashing in her mind. But this position prevents her from sliding them off without you having to move away from her, and she'd rather keep you and your pussy here. "You know, as much as I love how cute you look with these..." you only have a brief moment to see a malicious glint in her eyes, before she tears your underwear apart, leaving you naked in front of her "I'd much rather have you bare". "Jinx! I just told you to shut up!" it doesn't help that she doesn't mind you and whistles loudly, making you feel more and more embarrassed. "And I -shut up!-. And-and those were expensive! Do you know how-!" but all your words die in your throat when she, with a strength you didn't know she had, pulls you flat against her mouth.

She licks your clit like a starved woman, like it will be the last meal she'll ever have. She doesn't dive right in your pussy, instead takes her sweet time to torture you, making you wish she'd just fuck you already. "Jinx...please, I-" she opens her eyes to see you above her, naked and panting with pleasure, something she only ever dreamt of seeing.

She can't say no to her favorite piltie. Her cold hands grab your ass, propping you up in a new angle on her face so you can't move, but she can do everything she wants to. She spends the next minutes milking your pleasure out of you, before pushing one finger slowly inside of you. You gasp in pain at first, a small trickle of blood wetting your skin and her fingers, and after a few minutes, feeling need arise from the depths of your guts. Jinx's eyes widen when she first feels you move atop her fingers, riding them messily; and she already has a new idea. "No, none of that toots" with her left hand, she yanks your hips down on her fingers, preventing you from moving further. Her next words feel like ice cold water on naked skin; "I won't make you cum if you do it again" and as if that wasn't bad enough, she emphasizes her point with a trust of her fingers. "You will be a good girl, won't you?".

"Yes, yes, yes I will be a good girl..." her smile is all you see before she disappears underneath your thighs. As soon as you get used to the alien feeling of her fingers inside of you, her pace is unrelenting; fast and hard, torturing your clit with her lips. She takes your hips and places your slit directly onto her tongue, forcing you to grind down on it. When you start to wheeze from her touches, she decides to move onto the next phase of her plan. "Hey baby, get up a sec" you would rather keep on grinding on her tongue, but comply anyway. You get up, putting ditance between your slit and her mouth, but while you do, she directly shoves in her fingers, making your legs almost give out. With her other hand she pushes you until your ass is flat against her lap. "Come on, bounce" you don't let her repeat herself twice, already fucking yourself on her fingers at the best of your abilities. What she's seeing is far better than anything she could have ever dreamt of: her favorite piltie bouncing up and down her fingers, eyes heavy and panting above her. And your movements on her own crotch only make her feel more and more euphoric. Oh, if only she could feel you... When she curls her finger on that spot that has you keening, you finally come undone; finger intertwined, billions of stars exploding beneath your eyelids and electricity coursing through your veins. You collapse on her, skin against skin, puffing and gasping for each breath. Your whines reach Jinx's ears and right now, she wants nothing more than to tear orgasms upon orgasms from you, but she'll have to wait.

You roll over, taking a place near her on the bed, shivering from the intensity of your first time. And when Jinx, with a horrifyingly both sweet and sadistic smile turns to you, excitement clear on her face, your pussy clenches around nothing and your blood turns to ice. "So, wanna go again?"

[always-just-red]

Hii! I've seen some Pregnancy scenario with LaD's men, but I have this HC-- personally for Sylus. That when fem!reader got pregnant, he didn't really understand how the Pregnancy hormones work, until he experienced one and he got confused how he should act or react because it's feels like he's walking on landime, one wrong move/word, she'd throwing tantrum or being sulky at him

I've heard from my Friend who got pregnant before, when she craving something and her Husband showing any form that he can't fulfill what she's craves, she felt her heart broken, and she'd sulk and acted as if he just cheated on her. The problem is, she always craved something that didn't even exist at that moment😂, she's craving certain type of Mango while it's not even that Mango season, so nobody selling it. He literally being desperate to negotiate with her cravings

So... Can I request a scenario smiliar like that? It doesn't have to be mango, or any foods. Just... how Pregnancy hormones or Cravings could make Sylus got frustated lol

Aaaaa anon this is adorable, thank you! We love making Sylus suffer in cute and harmless ways. He's always asking for trouble, so let's give him some! 😌💅

Something Sweet

Sylus x Reader 🩸

Summary: Sylus knows how to get what he wants. Getting what you want might be a little more tricky...

Genre: fluff!

Warnings/Additional tags: female!reader, IMPLIED pregnant!reader (pregnancy not actually mentioned or described- just hormones being hormones ✌), established relationship, canon pet names, a lil bit of roleplay because Sylus refuses to leave his Mystic Adventure era

| Word count: 2.1k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

“Sy, d’you know what I’m craving right now?”

“Always, sweetie.” Sylus doesn’t look up from his book. “Not now, though. I’m tired.”

Morning sunlight streams through the gaps in your living room curtains, casting pale yellow shapes over the floor. A shard of it has been inching over the sofa towards Sylus, the sharp edge now grazing the side of his face. He shifts, ever so slightly, away from its touch. His eyes are open but heavy.

“No,” you scold, leaning forwards to swat at him with your book. “That’s not what I meant, you narcissist.”

He chuckles with his usual low timbre— his gaze still not lifting— and the sound is deeper for how close he is to sleep. He wants to give in to it, you can tell. When he turns a page, the movement is languid, soft. You’re losing him.

“Sy,” you say again, then with more of a whine: “Sylus.”

His eyes flutter closed as he draws in a deep breath. His hand raises, his fingers stretching to pull his reading glasses from his face. They’re set down on the arm of the chair beside him, along with the book, and he turns to you with a smile. “What are you craving, sweetie?”

You rest your book on your stomach. Your legs are stretched out over Sylus’s lap, and his hand finds one of your feet, massaging an ache from it as you begin your speech. “Do you remember that café we used to go to? The one we found when it started raining in the park that day? We didn’t think it was open, but then the owner knocked on the window and said we could—”

“Yeah?” His hand moves to your other foot.

“Well, they make these—”

“Macarons.”

“You remember?”

His smile widens like he remembers vividly. “Kitten, how could I forget? I’m still jealous of that sweet little treat. You’ve never made that face for me, and believe me—” he wiggles one of your toes— “I’ve tried.”

That had been one of the only times you’d truly caught him off-guard, back when your feelings for one another were unnamed and uncharted. The rain had been drumming against the café window, and you’d heaved Sylus’s damp coat from your shoulders— giggled at the raised eyebrow and the sarcastic ‘…thanks’ he’d given in turn. One hot drink later, you were lifting a pastel pink macaron to your lips, taking a delicate bite and failing to stifle a tiny, almost euphoric moan.

You remember realising yourself: blushing profusely and expecting some remark, some ridicule, but none ever came. Sylus’s eyes were wide, dark, fixed upon your still parted mouth.

After a few of the longest seconds of your life, he’d dragged the plate with the rest of the macarons away from you and muttered something about how you had better not do that again.

“They’re still the sweetest things I’ve ever tasted,” you tease now, just as you’d wrestled him for that plate back then, set on eating every last macaron.

He makes a hmph as he idly runs a finger over the part of your foot he knows is ticklish. His expression is distinctly grumpy, but it falters as you laugh and try to writhe away from him.

You’re quickly out of breath. “Sylus?”

“Mmm?”

He glances up at you and you smile sweetly, head tilting. “Please?”

His coat on a rainy day. The entire plate of macarons in the end; he’s never been very good at denying you anything. For the first time since you’d stirred him from his book, however, he appears genuinely regretful. “You’re forgetting something, sweetie,” he murmurs gently. “Why did we stop going to that café, hmm?”

You shrug.

“It closed, kitten,” he sighs. “Months ago.”

“What?”

Not only did you already know that— you actually visited the café on its final day. The owner was telling you stories: he was moving somewhere warmer, closer to family, and he needed all the funds he could get. Sylus had snuck an obscene amount of money into the man’s tip jar whilst you acted as a distraction. You both had fond memories of that place; it was nice to make one more.   

It's all coming back to you and you’re struck by a wave of nostalgia. You want to go back there. You can’t go back there. It doesn’t exist anymore, and you’ll never taste sweetness like that again.

Your mouth has gone dry.

“Sweetie?” Sylus prompts, because he notices you’re far away. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” your voice wobbles, “I just really wanted… I mean, I really needed one of those—”

“… Macarons?” he finishes for you.

You burst into tears, and one day, you’ll tally this as another time you took the man by surprise. His face drops instantly— lost, for a moment— before he slides your legs from his lap, allowing him to lean closer. “No, no, no,” he coos, “don’t cry, kitten, please. I didn’t mean to… well, I didn’t realise…”

He doesn’t know what to say, and he always knows what to say. He set you off with a single word and now he’s stuttering like sentences are all possible landmines. He tries his luck again, putting a foot forward: “Listen to me. I’ll go to the store. Would that be alright? Or perhaps there’s another café that could—”

You explode: sobbing even more viscerally. Your whole body shakes with it.

Sylus has frozen. He watches on helplessly as you cry, blabbering about the macarons you can’t have and the café you can’t return to. Across the room, even Mephisto has hunched down on his perch, though he issues a few, spirited squawks, maybe in solidarity with your breakdown, or maybe in protest of it.

It’s like a catalyst. You cry more: burying your face in your hands because what the hell is wrong with you? It’s not a big deal. It’s not a big deal, so why do you feel sick? And then there’s Sylus— your Sylus, devoted and adoring— and here you are, punishing him for something beyond his control.

You look up from your hands, desperate to apologise, but he’s gone. More shards of sunlight paint his empty seat and catch all that’s left of him: a few crow feathers, glistening like onyx. Mephisto is gone too, and the room is quiet, save for you snivelling and feeling sorry for yourself.

“Sylus?” you call out into the empty morning.

It isn’t his fault, not really. You wouldn’t want to be around you, either.

…

Something brushes over your cheek, and your tired eyes open.

The sun has ebbed back behind the curtains and the ceiling light has taken its place, casting artificial highlights over everything in reach: the coffee table, the closed-up flowers at its centre and a mug of tea that’s gone cold. Sylus is in front of you too, backlit and soft like a daydream, and he—

He left you.

“Sy?” you whisper warily, because the context is coming back to you slowly, piece by piece.

“Hey,” he coaxes, voice as honeyed as whatever’s turned the air sweet.

You blink, rubbing sleep from your eyes and relishing the warmth of his hand on your face. Then you slap his shoulder. “Hey, really? That’s all you’ve got— hey?”

He’s kneeling for you— on the floor, beside the couch— so you can meet his eyes. He settles his chin thoughtfully on the edge of the seat, his nose almost touching yours. “What would you prefer, sweetie?” His lips are close to yours too. “Good evening, my beloved? Greetings, my queen?”

“How about sorry?” you snap, because he isn’t cute and he isn’t charming.

He pouts. “Why sorry?”

“Because you left, Sylus!” You sit up straighter, and your phone tumbles out of your lap. Its screen is still lit-up from a few hours ago, showcasing a very one-sided conversation and a rant you never actually sent, because it’s still in the text box.

You vaguely recall writing it, so you try to snatch the phone from Sylus’s hand as he plucks it from the floor. He’s more alert than you. More co-ordinated. He keeps it out of your grasp as he reads the unsent message, an eyebrow raising.

It was a lot of things— colourful, creative— not entirely tasteful. “My, my, your highness,” he tuts, “so this is the treatment your valiant knight receives for undertaking your quest?”

“You’re not valiant,” you rebuke, and you manage to wrestle your phone from him. “You’re—”

“A heartless prick,” he finishes casually, quoting your message with a chuckle. He takes your free hand and kisses the back of it, refusing to let you pull away. “And whose fault is that, I wonder?”

“You can have your heart back.”

“Nope. You’re stuck with it, sweetie. With me, too. Now—” he sits back on his knees— “would you please ask me about my quest?”

The analogy is lost on you. You sit fully up, looking down at him. “What quest, oh valiant knight?”

His lips form a smirk; he just loves when you play along. “Close your eyes.”

You do— whether you’re queen or not. You hear him shifting aside, and then there’s a snap of his fingers. The air changes, warping like thick, liquid smoke, and you know he’s using his Evol. “Open,” he commands.

And there on the coffee table, freshly teleported, is a plate of macarons the colour of cherry blossoms. As if anticipating the comparison, Sylus pulls a handful of pink petals from his pocket and blows them up into the air so they can spiral down on the scene. He watches them. Then you. “Ta-da,” he proclaims, his tone dry but full of humour.

You’re prone to hyperbole nowadays, but this is without a doubt the best thing you have ever seen.

“Sylus,” you gasp in disbelief, “how did you—”

“It doesn’t matter,” he says; the story isn’t for today, and he’s very, very tired. A few weeks from now he’ll tell you about how he tracked down the contact information of the owner of the old café. How he spent an hour on the phone bargaining for a certain macaron recipe, and several more hours in the kitchen, trying to get them perfect. “Now, they might not be exactly the same, sweetie. But I did try to—”

You surge forwards, capturing his lips in a kiss. It’s so impulsive— so reckless— that you almost tumble down from the couch, but he catches you, steadies you, and your hand is gripping the soft of his hair as he kisses you back. Slowly, his mouth not leaving yours, he lifts you back into your seat.

“Easy, sweetie.” His voice is low as he pulls away, and though he turns his face from you, you can make out the blush on his cheeks. He settles back into his kneeling position on the floor. “I have one more surprise for you. Do try to control yourself.”

He retrieves a small, complete flower from his pocket, albeit one a little dreary from its journey. Sylus smiles triumphantly as he holds it out to you, and he was right; you do want to throw yourself at him. Instead, you take the flower and lean forwards, tucking it behind his ear before he can protest. He’d tilted closer to help you, and he sits back with an exasperated tsk when you’re done.

“It suits you,” you grin.

He yawns. “Everything does.”

You don’t want to get into trouble, so you shimmy to the very edge of your seat and carefully— showing tremendous restraint— reach out to take his face in your hands. “You’re amazing, Sy. Thank you for doing all of this for me, but…”

“But…?”

“I missed you. I like macarons, yeah,” you smile, “but I’d much rather have you.”

This time, he can’t hide his face and the way it goes pink, like the blossom behind his ear. His cheeks are warm beneath your palms. “You couldn’t have said that before I spent the whole day—”

His voice is strangled as you keel towards him— slow and deliberate— to thread your arms around him and pull him into a hug. He tenses for a moment, then wraps his arms around you too: holding you tightly, keeping you from falling any further. You can feel his hand stroking your back and he hums as you give him a gentle squeeze.

“Such a lovely moment, kitten,” he muses, your head on his shoulder. “I do hope it’s sincere, and not— say— an excuse for someone to get her paws on the macarons behind me.”

There’s another moment of quiet.

“Don’t be silly, Sy,” you retort, but your mouth is full, your cheeks are stuffed, and not a single word of it is intelligible.

[nobodysuspectsthebutterfly]

FYI artists and writers: some info regarding tumblr's new "third-party sharing" (aka selling your content to OpenAI and Midjourney)

You may have already seen the post by @staff regarding third-party sharing and how to opt out. You may have also already seen various news articles discussing the matter.

But here's a little further clarity re some questions I had, and you may too. Caveat: Not all of this is on official tumblr pages, so it's possible things may change.

(1) "I heard they already have access to my data and it doesn't really matter if I opt out"

From the 404 article:

A new FAQ section we reviewed is titled “What happens when you opt out?” states “If you opt out from the start, we will block crawlers from accessing your content by adding your site on a disallowed list. If you change your mind later, we also plan to update any partners about people who newly opt-out and ask that their content be removed from past sources and future training.”

So please, go click that opt-out button.

(2) Some future user: "I've been away from tumblr for months, and I just heard about all this. I didn't opt out before, so does it make a difference anymore?"

Another internal document shows that, on February 23, an employee asked in a staff-only thread, “Do we have assurances that if a user opts out of their data being shared with third parties that our existing data partners will be notified of such a change and remove their data?” Andrew Spittle, Automattic’s head of AI replied: “We will notify existing partners on a regular basis about anyone who's opted out since the last time we provided a list. I want this to be an ongoing process where we regularly advocate for past content to be excluded based on current preferences. We will ask that content be deleted and removed from any future training runs. I believe partners will honor this based on our conversations with them to this point. I don't think they gain much overall by retaining it.”

It should make a difference! Go click that button.

(3) "I opted out, but my art posts have been reblogged by so many people, and I don't know if they all opted out. What does that mean for my stuff?"

This answer is actually on the support page for the toggle:

This option will prevent your blog's content, even when reblogged, from being shared with our licensed network of content and research partners, including those that train AI models.

And some further clarification by the COO and a product manager:

zingring: A couple people from work have reached out to let me know that yes, it applies to reblogs of "don't scrape" content. If you opt out, your content is opted out, even in reblog form. cyle: yep, for reblogs, we're taking it so far as "if anybody in the reblog trail has opted out, all of the content in that reblog will be opted out", when a reblog could be scraped/shared.

So not only your reblogged posts, but anyone who contributed in a reblog (such as posts where someone has been inspired to draw fanart of the OP) will presumably be protected by your opt-out. (A good reason to opt out even if you yourself are not a creator.)

Furthermore, if you the OP were offline and didn't know about the opt-out, if someone contributed to a reblog and they are opted out, then your original work is also protected. (Which makes it very tempting to contribute "scrapeable content" now whenever I reblog from an abandoned/disused blog...)

(4) "What about deleted blogs? They can't opt out!"

I was told by someone (not official) that he read "deleted blogs are all opted-out by default". However, he didn't recall the source, and I can't find it, so I can't guarantee that info. If I get more details - like if/when tumblr puts up that FAQ as reported in the 404 article - I will add it here as soon as I can.

Edit, tumblr has updated their help page for the option to opt-out of third-party sharing! It now states:

The content which will not be shared with our licensed network of content and research partners, including those that train AI models, includes: • Posts and reblogs of posts from blogs who have enabled the "Prevent third-party sharing" option. • Posts and reblogs of posts from deleted blogs. • Posts and reblogs of posts from password-protected blogs. • Posts and reblogs of posts from explicit blogs. • Posts and reblogs of posts from suspended/deactivated blogs. • Private posts. • Drafts. • Messages. • Asks and submissions which have not been publicly posted. • Post+ subscriber-only posts. • Explicit posts.

So no need to worry about your old deleted blogs that still have reblogs floating around. *\o/*

But for your existing blogs, please use the opt out option. And a reminder of how to opt out, under the cut:

The opt-out toggle is in Blog Settings, and please note you need to do it for each one of your blogs / sideblogs.

On dashboard, the toggle is at https://www.tumblr.com/settings/blog/blogname [replace "blogname" as applicable] down by Visibility:

For mobile, you need the most recent update of the app. (Android version 33.4.1.100, iOs version 33.4.) Then go to your blog tab (the little person icon), and then the gear icon for Settings, then click Visibility.

Again, if you have a sideblog, go back to the blog tab, switch to it, and go to settings again. Repeat as necessary.

If you do not have access to the newest version of the app for whatever reason, you can also log into tumblr in your mobile browser. Same URL as per desktop above, same location.

Note you do not need to change settings in both desktop and the app, just one is fine.

I hope this helps!

[pretty-little-mind33]

James Potter x best friend!fem!reader

Summary: You and James stumble upon an ancient book of spells rumored to enhance pleasure.

Genre: SMUT (nsfm) + hurt and comfort

Warnings: sex while under an 'aphrodisiac' of some kind, unprotected sex, penetration, cock warming, quickie, public (not seen by anyone), riding, insecurities, porn with plot ✨

JAMES POTTER MASTERLIST

"Someone is gonna see us," you whisper, feeling James Potter's hand in yours, his thumb occasionally soothing circles over your palm as you stumble in the dark corridors under his invisibility cloak.

"That's the point of the cloak, love," James answers, holding in a laugh as he guides you towards the entrance to the library and he mutters the spell for the lock as you hold your breath. 

"Hear us then," you counter, unconsciously squeezing his hand for reassurance. 

James doesn't hesitate to return the squeeze and he smiles when the lock opens with a click. He opens the door and you both squeeze inside.

Once the door shuts behind you, James drops the cloak and you let out a shaky exhale, adjusting your hair. The room is dark and it smells like dust. You hold in a cough as James mutters, "Lumos," and then grins like he'd gone mad.

"Told ya we'd be fine," he sing-songs and kicks your shoe in a playful manner as he walks by you to look at all the restricted books. 

You groan and take out your wand, walking along the shelves as you pick up dust with your index. "Are you looking for something in particular?" you ask, your voice low as you read the names of books, realizing just how dangerous this could become.

James nods. "Yeah, I bet Sirius I could find "Moste Potente Potions" so we could make some Polyjuice potion," he says casually. 

"And you needed me, why?!" you turn to glare at your best friend. 

James looks at you with a smile. "Didn't really. I'just like your company."  

You bite the inside of your cheek and go back to looking at the books. "Polyjuice is dangerous, James. Are you sure you want to meddle with that?"

James nods again and he hums, "I'm top of the class in Potions, I'm sure I can handle some Polyjuice." He sounds smug and you roll your eyes at his behavior.

James is reckless and impulsive and honestly, you're worried about him making that potion with his friends. You don't dare bring it up, because who are you to tell James what to do? You aren't his girlfriend or anything—

"Woah," James's voice interrupts your thoughts as he walks over to you. You turn, standing in front of him as he flips the pages of some old dusty book. "These spells are ancient—and completely forbidden—" he mutters, his eyes round with excitement. 

You tilt your head and read the title; "Antiqua Cantus." Ancient Spells.

"Bloody Hell, there's a pleasure-enhancing spell–like a sexual thing—" James exclaims and holds the book open to you so you can see. You walk over and stand next to him, looking over his shoulder at the spell. James begins to recite the spell and you read along, entranced by the words on the worn-out parchment.

By moonlight's glow and stars above, 

Ignite the flames of lustful love. 

Let passion's heat our bodies bind,

In ecstasy, our souls combined.

Whisper soft this sacred plea,

Unleash our wildest fantasy.

Once he's finished, you glance around the page and frown. "Shit." You grab the book from James and then look up at him with wide eyes, "James, this is a wandless spell!" you whisper and his eyes widen like yours did as he realizes what happened. 

He grabs the book from you and reads the instructions. His shoulders relax and he points to the small print— "It says the participants must have already existing feelings for this to work," he mumbles and looks up at you, smiling reassuringly and unsure all the same. "So—"

"Yeah—" you whisper, stepping away from him.

"I feel fine," James starts.

"I do too," you say, feeling completely normal. 

James shuts the book with a slam and his smile returns. "Thing is probably too old to work, anyways," he says confidently. You nod, less confident than he is but you push those worries down. 

He doesn't like you like that—so why would it work?

Once James finally finds the book he's looking for, you both cram under the cloak and you make your way back to the dorm. You ignore the feeling, but your head feels fuzzier than it should. Every brush on James's arm against yours sends shivers up your spine. You're extra aware of how he smells and it's intoxicating. You bite your lip, hoping the pain will distract you from the pleasure building. 

The spell. 

James looks normal. He's even humming the Hogwarts song under his breath, his eyes trained forward as you make it to the Common Room. It feels so unfair—that he's fine and your stomach twists with butterflies as your nipples harden painfully against your bra. 

It isn't fair. 

As soon as you have the chance, you pull away from James and sit on the couch, pressing your thighs together. You glance up at the stairs to the girl's dorms, wondering if you should run up and take a cold shower to quench the ache.

"Hey, you okay?" James asks, folding up the cloak as he looks you over.

Bloody fuck, his voice. 

"Mhmm," you nod, focusing your attention on anything but how turned on you are or how hot James sounds and looks. How much you want his lips on yours. 

You clench your thighs again, nervously pressing your hands in between them and your breath hitches when James sits next to you, his hand flat on your thigh. You inhale. 

"Are you sure?" he asks, looking at you behind his glasses with a look that makes you want to pounce on him. This is so humiliating. You move your thigh so his hand slips onto the couch and James's frown deepens. "Hey," he whispers again, "What's happened?"

You feel like your entire body is on fire. You need to touch yourself or throw yourself out a window—you can't make up your mind.

"The stupid spell—" you say, your voice soft as you avoid his gaze and stare at your knees, feeling your hands shake. "it's working and I- I can't handle it, James," 

He doesn't answer for a moment until you hear a familiar laugh. "Oh, darling," he says, his hand finding your chin as he turns your head around, grinning. "Look at me." 

You do so but he shakes his head, his eyes shimmering. "No. Look at me," he whispers, his voice husky and deep and your eyes widen when you understand what he means. Your gaze falls from his eyes to the painful-looking bulge tenting his trousers and you inhale sharply, the sight causing your mind to haze over. How had you missed this!?

"Look at what it's done to me, love," James finishes as his thumb strokes your cheek. "We really messed up this time, didn't we?" he hums.

"You messed up," you whisper, leaning into his touch. Thank Merlin no one is in the Common Room at this hour because your desperation is embarrassing.

"I messed up," James says with a strained smirk and he twirls some of your hair in his fingers. "Can I make it up to you, darling? Can I make the ache go away?"

James knows this is wrong. You're both under some kind of sexually enhancing spell—this is so many shades of messed up. Still, his heart and dick yearn for you. Somehow, he's managed to hide it well, most likely because he'd had experience in that department—James was constantly turned on to some level when he was around you. He can't help himself. 

"H-how?" you ask, the idea of giving in to the desires not even crossing your mind. 

James smirks, looking at you as his glasses fall down his nose. He pats his thigh. You look down, your eyes widening. You shouldn't. This is wrong. Still, your body responds to him without your brain's permission as you lift yourself to straddle his lap. Your skirt bunches up your thighs as your arms wrap around James's shoulder. You gasp for air at how sensitive you are and you can't look him in the eye.

You can feel him hard and needy against you and you swallow. 

"Look at me," James whispers once more, his voice husky and deep as his hands grip your hips and he moves you up and down his trousers. You whine and bury your face in the crook of his neck, your skin clammy and flushed from need. 

Suddenly the movements stop and your grip tightens around his shoulders. 

"Look at me," he says again, lips pressed to your ear as he sounds as desperate as you are. "O-or I'll stop," he threatens, not sounding convincing considering the spell is starting to hit him hard and he's about ready to come in his trousers. 

You pull away, looking at him as your mind buzzes and you search his eyes for some hint that you both need to stop this. You see none so you say, your voice strained, "James. Fucking need you, please."

You lift your hips, finding his zipper and fumbling with his trousers as you push aside your panties. It's rushed and sweaty and not at all romantic like you'd planned—not to mention public. You pray everyone else is asleep and won't walk in on you sitting on your best friend's cock.  

With a moan, you press down and he slides in easily. "Shit, you're so wet," James mumbles as he kisses your neck, holding you close as his cock twitches inside you. You both don't even think of the fact he's not wearing a condom or anything. You're too lost in the pleasure for any rational thoughts.

"Fuck," you groan, keeping him inside you without movement for a while. You hold him as close as possible, needing him. Needing his warmth.

James groans, his eyes shut in pleasure as he holds himself back from fucking you roughly. He's going to explode at any moment if he doesn't feel you move. "Y/n," he warns, his hands tightening even more on your poor hips. 

You take that as an invitation and you move, your movements slow and languid in the beginning, feeling every pull and stretch and you can't tell if James's cock just feels so much better than any others you've been with, or if the spell is messing with you. 

Perhaps it's a little of both. 

"Bloody hell," James grunts, losing control, as he moves you with him, his hips snapping up into you. You gasp, falling onto his shoulder as you hold him even closer, the pleasure almost unbearable.

You don't know if it's been hours or mere minutes but once James spills himself into you, his hands around your back as he continues to move your body to his liking, you can't hold it in and your mouth opens, a silent moan catching you by surprise as you finish around him. You feel weak and fuzzy almost instantly as if the string master that kept you aware suddenly cut you loose. 

James's hand soothingly runs in your hair as he pants, his eyes shut. The only sound you can hear is your and James' ragged breaths and all you can smell is the burnt-out firewood and sex. You feel much calmer now as your brain tries to catch up with the events that just transpired, and when it does your blood runs cold.

You sit up, looking down at your best friend. He's looking at you, not daring to speak. You'd just fucked him with such want and need and yet all you can think about when you look at him is how you did all that without knowing the feeling of his lips on yours.

Shame burns your skin and you scramble off him, the feeling of his cock leaving from inside you makes you wince as you hold in all the emotions that threaten to overwhelm you. 

"Hey," James whispers, his hand reaching for yours as he stops you from running away, standing up in the process so he's looking at you. He drops your hand and, clearly embarrassed, tucks himself back inside his trousers. You stare at him, feeling dirty from an experience you'd wished had been amazing. 

And it was more than amazing if you were honest with yourself. You'd never been more satisfied in your life, but it also wasn't what you'd really wanted. Was it too cliché to want roses and candles? A steamy kiss and some swoon-worthy romantic confession? 

Instead, you'd gotten love bites and finger dents.

"What's going on in your head?" James's voice interrupts your thoughts as he moves closer. 

"Hmm?"

"Darling, come on, please talk to me," he insists, wanting to know exactly what you're feeling so he can understand his own feelings. 

You cover your face with your hands, head dipping down as your body finally calms down from the surplus of hormones you've experienced.

"We shouldn't have done that, James—I–it was wrong," your voice fades as his hands find your wrists and he pulls them down. He looks hurt, sad, and guilty all in one emotion painted on his handsome face. 

"Do you regret it?" he asks, his voice wavering. 

You open your mouth to say yes but hold yourself back. It's more complicated than that. "I don't know– I just didn't think it would happen like this and—we didn't even kiss," you ramble, avoiding looking at him. You should have been looking because then you could have seen his next move coming.

James gently takes your cheeks in his hands, pulling you into him so he can kiss your lips. For something surprising, it isn't forceful at all. He doesn't kiss you longer than a few seconds and he doesn't use his tongue. He's delicate with you, making sure he isn't crossing any boundaries.

When he moves away, your eyes are open and you're silent for a moment. Then, you grab his collar and pull him in, crashing your lips onto his. You kiss him like he's your last meal on earth--like you've been starved of him. He feels so good pressed against you, his hands in your hair and then your cheeks again, and then your waist. You feel dizzy and you pull away. Your lips feel swollen and love-bitten and you're a flustered mess.

James continues to hold you close as he presses his forehead to yours, his thumb rubbing your waist. "You're amazing," he speaks so softly as a faint smile graces his lips. 

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I don't tell you enough, do I?" James smiles and tilts his head. He leans in and kisses your neck. "You're amazing—so wonderful," he inhales your scent but doesn't comment on it and a shiver runs up your spine. 

"I– we–" You want to bring up the fact you had sex with him but James puts his finger on your lips, his thumb rubbing under your chin and he shakes his head. 

"Stop worrying so much, lovely. It's okay. I promise it's okay. I didn't hurt you did I?"

You shake your head and James's smile turns into a grin.

"Good. So we're okay, hm?" he looks at you expectantly. "You're still my best friend."

Your heart thumps loudly in your ears. Best friends. "Y-yeah, you're still my best friend, Jamie," you say, your voice strained as you smile reluctantly. 

You want to be so much more than best friends.

James can sense your hesitation and he takes a breath. "W-would you want to try to be more than just friends, Y/n?" he pauses, and then his voice picks up, "and I'm not saying that because we just fucked. No. I'm saying this because I'm hopelessly in love with you and I think you love me too. You kissed me like you love me. I want to try to make this work."

You feel like the world is crashing around you. Your skin feels clammy and your head is dizzy. Still, an unfamiliar warmth spreads all around you. You feel blissful and you reach for James's hand, needing to hold him. He lets you hold his hand and he intertwines his fingers into yours. He looks nervous like he's expecting a rejection.  

"I do love you, James. So much. I want to try this too," you whisper, looking at him with a shy smile. 

James's grin widens and he picks you up, spinning you around as he keeps you close when your feet touch the ground again. "I'll do right by you, my love," he whispers in your ear and you hold your hands behind his neck. 

"So no more late-night trips to the restricted sections and trying old, dangerous, spells?" you tease.

James nips at your ear. "I kinda liked this one."

You laugh and swat his pec, your hand trailing down his chest as you fist his shirt and look up at him with a mockingly stern look. "Don't be a smartass, you wanker."

James returns your laugh and kisses behind your ear. "No more trips to the restricted section and trying old dangerous spells. Pink swear."

You pull away and hold out your pinky, which he takes and you grin. 

"We can still have sex though, hm. We don't need a spell to do that, right?" he teases but the question almost sounds serious. 

You roll your eyes. "James."

"I'm just making sure!" 

[mythicalcoolkid]

I love the "glasses are disability" thing because it applies to basically every complaint abled people have about disability

"You're not even that bad, why would you get that?" Have you ever used a magnifying glass for small details or zoomed in on a picture

"Why do you have that accommodation TODAY?" Why do you wear reading glasses when you're reading

"It seems like your 'needs' are inconsistent." Yeah and you wear sunglasses when it's sunny and not all the time

"But you can technically walk without that." Yeah and if I put the page really close to your face you could read it, it would just hurt and be hugely impractical, inconvenient, and limiting

"But you COULD go without it all the time, you don't NEED it to live." And maybe you could technically see without your glasses, doesn't mean it's comfortable or practical day to day

"If you REALLY had a hard time seeing you would have glasses." Have you ever known someone who couldn't afford a new pair of glasses? Or eye appointments? Someone who needed vision therapy or special prism glasses? Someone whose vision only gets bad during migraines or seizures? Someone with astigmatism that glasses can't help? Someone who didn't qualify for LASIK?

"You only use it when you're out in public." Have you ever gotten up to use the bathroom at night without putting on your glasses

"Decorating it is just trying to get attention, and it's a medical device so stop glamorizing it." Do you hate any patterned or colorful glasses frames too? Art with characters who wear glasses? People who make OCs with glasses? Glasses chains, prescription sunglasses, aesthetic fake glasses with tinted lenses?

"There are secretly lots of people just using aids for fun and attention." There are secretly lots of people wearing fake glasses or colored contacts for fun and attention, it does not affect you

"We need to find fakers, they're stealing disabled resources!" Someone pretending to need glasses is "taking" a seat in the front from someone who might need it more. That sucks and they shouldn't do that. But I'm not going to scrutinize every person who wears glasses to see if I think they really need that seat. You personally are not the arbiter of who is (based on the random times you've seen them) secretly not disabled

"My friend has that and doesn't act like that." Does every pair of glasses in production, or even every pair close to your prescription, work for you? Is your vision identical to every other nearsighted person?

"If you can do X why can't you do Y? Some people with that can do Y."/"But if you have that how can you do X? People with that can't usually do X." Some people are nearsighted and some people are farsighted and some people are both. Some farsighted people can read some without glasses and some can't. And good distance vision doesn't mean you don't ever need glasses, it's just an entirely different reason you'd need glasses

"You're too young to need that." And there are young people who need bifocal lenses

"Why don't you use this DIFFERENT aid though, it would look like you didn't even have an aid." Why doesn't everyone in the world wear contacts

"Why can't I/my friend/my kid play with it?" Do you let random strangers and children try on your glasses at the grocery store

"I was just trying to help, I thought you'd need a push/you were in the way." Are you cool with me suddenly pulling your glasses off your face to clean them, or because the glare was distracting me

"You'll eventually stop using it though right?" Are you planning on no longer needing glasses someday

Disabled people are free to add

I am aware this is not a 1-to-1 perfectly accurate post. Do not come into the notes trying to "um actually this isn't a perfect comparison." I know. Just don't