#tagging for those that have it blocked ->

[theyamjam]

TY KEKA! already have all the tags blocked! 🫡 i already came across some of the photos and videos a few weeks back those were not nice to look at JHGSKFLG

Hello dear!

Sorry for bothering you, but it's important to remind you to turn off your asks for a few days! Bad things are going to happen on Tumblr soon...

Don t know anything about this but BETTER BE SAFE EVERYBODY!!!!!!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

compos mentis 4

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, chronic health issues, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: After a long court case, your mother stays attached to her lawyer, bringing even more contention into your life.

Characters: Andy Barber

Note: this decrepit pervert is back.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You’re restless. What’s worse, is you have no energy. You never really do. Living is the most exhausting thing you’ve ever done. 

You lean in the window sill, half hunched as you stare out at the suburban street. It’s a nice neighbourhood. Your mother lives in a condo, on one of the highest floors. You hate it. This place isn’t so bad. It’d be nice if it was just you. 

That last thought makes you sad. You don’t know that you’ll ever be able to be alone. You hate being such a burden. What you hate most, is feeling like you’re on a leash. Sometimes literally as your oxygen tube keeps you bound to the tank. 

All your existence, there’s been something wrong with you. In high school, it got so much worse. You didn’t even realise until your mother pointed it out. Then the appointments doubled, the tests too, and it never stopped. Will it ever? 

You’re trapped in a holding pattern. If living is so difficult, should you even try? That’s a bad thought but you can’t help it. You see your mom, you see Andy, and they don’t need all these medicines or this thing to breathe for them. They have lived full lives, they have jobs and a home. You have nothing. 

You turn away from the window. The tall trees and peaked rooftops are no longer so beautiful. They’re just another reminder of everything you don’t and will never have. 

A knock at the door startles you. You cross the room and inch it open. You peer out, disappointed to find Andy again. How long is your mom going to sleep? 

“Hey, sweetheart, I was thinking you might want to come with me. It's pretty quiet around here,” he says. 

“Come with... where?” You rasp. 

“I was going to go to the pharmacy and get your script filled, like your mom said,” he explains and holds up the doctor’s paper. “Found it in her purse.” 

“Oh, uh...” you hesitate. You don’t know what to do. That he’s even asking makes you feel obligated. “Sure, I... okay.” 

“Take your time, I’ll warm the car up,” he assures you. “Anything I can help with?” 

“No, sir, I’ll grab my bag.” 

You shut the door before he can respond. You pause and feel bad. You hope that didn’t seem intentional. You go and grab your belt bag. You check that everything is in it, then drag your tank back to the door. 

You come out and the hall is empty. You go around to the bathroom and rinse off your face. You don’t have a toothbrush so you use your finger to spread some paste around your teeth and rinse your mouth. You’re overly aware of your day-old outfit. You do what you can for your hair then resign yourself to being the same mess you always are. 

You take the stairs slowly. One at a time as you prevent the wheels of the tank from thumping. Andy’s house is so nice, you don’t want to ruin it. You get to the front door and pull on your jacket. You put on your sneakers and awkwardly angle out the front door. 

The SUV whirs in the driveway. Before you can get to the first step, Andy is there. He helps with the tank and sets it on the flat ground. You quickly take the handle and thank him. 

“You alright?” He asks. You wish he wouldn’t be so worried. Your mother doesn’t ever ask, only if it’s for show. 

“Fine,” you assure him. 

You roll the tank past him and he calls after you as you get to the SUV. “Hey, you don’t gotta sit in the back.” 

“Uh, right,” you say. 

You go around to the passenger door and he opens it for you. Once again, he lifts the tank. Before you can react, he does the same to you. You lurch up into the seat and wriggle until he lets you go. He doesn’t seem to notice your discomfort. 

You sit straight and steady the tank between your knees. He shuts the door and you get the seatbelt clicked in. As he climbs in the other side, you take out your vaseline and smear it under your nose. It’s particularly raw this morning. 

“Shoot, is that from the AC? I can turn it down.” 

“No, it’s... okay,” you stare through the windshield. You want to get this done and over with. Your brows furrow at the thought of your mom waking up to the empty house. 

“What’s the matter?” He asks. 

“Nothing,” you insist. 

“You look worried,” he says. 

“I... my mom. She’s in rough shape.” 

“Hungover,” he clucks, “it’s a good thing you don’t take after her with that.” 

You nod, not sure what to say. He does up his seatbelt and checks the mirrors. He shifts and backs out of the driveway. 

“Feel free to put on some music. I don’t think you want to listen to my oldies,” he chuckles. 

“It’s okay,” you hug yourself with one arm, your other hand on the tank. 

The silence buzzes in your ears. It’s too late now to change your mind. Besides, you’re so indecisive about your music. You wouldn’t exactly brag about your taste either. 

The drive stretches on as you huddle into the door, distracting yourself with the passing light poles, houses, and so on. You don’t know this area. It’s not anywhere near your usual pharmacy. You often wait in the car when you do go with your mom. 

He pulls up along the curb and park. It’s a nice quaint street in the neighbourhood. There’s a park on the corner and an organic store on the opposite side. You peek out at the local pharmacy’s moniker, hand-painted unlike glowing banner of the department store where your mom usually goes. 

“Should be able to get this filled,” he says as he shuts off the engine. 

You just nod and hum. He gets out quickly, easily. You envy that. You can’t do anything easily. He comes around as you push the door open. He once more brings down your tank but you’re certain to climb out on your own. You nearly stagger as you do. 

You wheel out of the way as he closes the door. You look around at the other pedestrians. A woman with a stroller, a family just across the way babbling in glee. You turn away before the scene can make you morose. 

Andy leads you to the pharmacy door and pulls it open with a chime. He lets you in first. There’s only a few aisles inside, the pharmacist’s counter is at the back, another till near the front where they sell chocolates and candy. 

You linger until Andy points you down the center row. You go ahead of him and stop before the long counter. He unfolds the prescription as he greats the man behind it boldly. Good mornings and niceties you struggle to get right. 

“Hm, we have these on hand but it’ll be a wait. Been a busy morning,” the pharmacist explains. 

“That’s fine, we can keep ourselves busy.” Andy says. You squirm. You can? Waiting that long will only add to the tension that makes your chest even tighter. 

You back up as he turns around. He looks around for a moment, as if he thinks you wondered off, then smiles at you. “There’s a cafe across the street, how about it?” 

“I don’t... drink coffee,” you say. 

“I know, sweetheart, I remember,” he gently strokes your shoulder, “they have tea, too. Or smoothies. You must be hungry too.” 

“I... if you want to, I guess...” you shrug. 

“You know, I’m not your mom. I won’t say no,” he intones. “You don’t have to be so nervous.” 

“I know, I... I’m sorry.” 

“And you don’t need to be sorry,” he counters. 

You almost apologise again, only to fill your cheeks with air and nod. You feel like you should be though. Like everything you do is a disappointment. 

You go back down the middle aisle. Andy reaches past you to hold the door again. You come out and narrowly avoid a collision. You wait for the family of three to pass by before Andy nudges you to the curb. He takes your free hand as he tugs you with him, jaywalking through the lazy traffic. 

The effort is enough to make your head spin. You get your wheels over the other curb and sway. Andy doesn’t let go. He takes you past the patio area of the cafe and swings back the door before he releases you, pointing you within. 

The smell of coffee, the grind of a machine, and the chatter of diners greets you. You wait behind the two teenage girls at the counter as Andy comes up next to you. He stands close but you assume it’s because it’s such a tight space. 

“Do you want to find somewhere to sit?” He wonders. 

“No, I’m okay,” you say. 

“Sure, uh, so what do you want?” 

You look up at the hand-written menu. You might get a tea after all. 

“The brioche egg sandwich is one of my favourites,” he says. 

“You come here... a lot?” You wonder. 

“Sure. I like to run in the mornings. I’ll grab a coffee on my cool down. And weekends I’ll have breakfast. Your mom’s usually still asleep if she’s around,” he tuts. 

“Right, uh... that sounds fine. Brioche.” 

The girls go to the further end of the counter and Andy waves you forward. The barista greets him by name. She’s very pretty. She has amber coloured braids with a zigzag pattern and cute freckles over her cheeks. You want to ask how she did her hair like that but you don’t want to be rude. 

“Andy, how are you?” She chirps in recognition. 

“Good, we were just walking through the neighbourhood,” he says,  You adjust the tube under your nose self-consciously. The barista is gorgeous and reminds you of everything you’re not. 

“Oh, is this your fiancee?” She asks. “She’s finally come around.” 

Andy chuckles and you blanch. He doesn’t offer a protest and neither do you. You wait for him to correct her. He doesn’t. 

“Sweetheart, what did you want to drink?” He looks at you and you nearly choke. 

“Can I have the pomegranate tea, please?” Even your voice sounds ugly. 

“Sure, what size, hon?” 

“Small,” you croak out. 

“Small pomegrante, and your usual?” She asks Andy. 

“Yep, and two of the brioche breakfast sandwiches. Oh, and something sweet for dessert. Those cherry tarts look delicious,” he points to the display.” 

“Got it, anything else?” She taps the till screen. 

“That’s it,” he slips out his card and waits. He selects a tip amount before he taps, the machine beeping in acceptance. You spy the total right before it disappears. Oh, that’s expensive. 

“I’ll bring it to you, Andy,” she smiles brightly, “you two enjoy.” 

Andy takes your hand again before you can react. He brings you to the table and you sit across from him, right by the window. You feel like you’re on display. You hate it. 

You push the tube into your nose as you think then trail your hand down the length. You stare off into the distance. You don’t know, it feels weird. It feels like he’s doing too much. Like maybe he feels bad for you. 

“Whatcha thinking about?” He interrupts your trance. 

You flinch and look at him, then avert your gaze to the table. 

“You didn’t...” you begin then shake your head. 

“What?” He prompts. 

“Nothing.” 

“Go on, sweetie, you don’t have to be shy with me. You can say whatever you need,” he leans forward as he crosses his arms over the table, “you know, your mom told me you’ve never really had a father figure. I’m here to help, to support you.” 

You nod and pick at your dry lip then stop yourself, hiding your hands under the table. “You-- that woman... she thought I—that we—you didn’t say no.” 

“Oh, I didn’t want to embarrass her,” he laughs. “It’s funny, don’t you think?” 

“Yeah...” you nod at your lap. “It is really... funny. No one would really want to marry me.” 

You cover your mouth as the thought slips out. You shake your head. Why did you say it? 

“Huh? Sweetheart?” He leans in even closer, “you don’t think that’s true, do you?” 

You shrug and peel your hand away, chewing on your sleeve as you slump low in your seat. 

“You’re a nice girl. Pretty too.” 

“I’m not,” you murmur into your cuff. “You don’t have to lie.” 

“Well who says you’re not?” He urges. You shake your head again. 

“Your mother?” He suggests. You shake your head harder. She would be livid if you told him that she did. He clicks his tongue, “well, however it is, don’t listen to them.” He reaches across to you, “hey, sweetheart, look at me.” You obey, trembling in humiliation, “you are very pretty.” 

[quietwingsinthesky]

it really is not that hard to curate your online experience. deanjohn/samjohn squicks me out for Reasons, and i really can't look at anything about it, but despite having multiple mutuals who partake, i never do have to look at it. i just have the tag blocked. it's that easy. if you're crying and shitting your pants about how awful the stuff you're "forced" to see on tumblr is, may i suggest that it's a you problem. get over yourself and block some goddamn tags.

[transmechanicus]

look this is really probably unnecessary, but I've seen tons of posts about how everyone is mad about the page that's going to post unmasked pics of the st guys and how outrageously disrespectful it is to them and well... I gotta say that it's just not that deep.

it's been pointed out that they've only ever said that 'their identities aren't important to the music or the story'. and that's it in terms of the "extreme lengths" they go to hide their identities.

i'm a regular follower of the reddit page where their identities are openly discussed and there is a decent amount of evidence that one of them or someone from their team lurks there and plays around a little with that community. ie, a few of the recent "the summoning solo shenanigans" were suggested in that thread and then seen on stage the next show. but who knows.

some of the guys are actually still participating in other media to a small extent. one of them still streams with a friend on twitch often. one of them just put out some older official music project on Spotify. one of them gets his new tattoos posted unmasked on his tattoo artist's page.

look, I'm not saying that this person who plans to bring this stuff to Tumblr shouldn't be warned about and of course everyone should have the opportunity to block and avoid it to keep their experience of the band how they prefer. that's no question how it should be.

but like... everyone is saying that this person who's starting the unmasked blog is like, evil and so disrespectful to the band. and I think that's just not right. it's their right to start whatever kind of page they want. it's everyone else's right to avoid it.

like I said, this is not really going anywhere, and it's not personal, I just have seen so many people bashing that person on a personal level and I just gotta tell someone, it's not that deep. thank you for reading

To me it is that deep, from what i’ve heard there was a major panic on Instagram in 2023 bc freaks were using info on there to harass II and his family. Hell he still alters his voice in videos, which you only do if you’re concerned someone is dedicated enough to scrape the internet with audio of your vocal patterns. I’ve seen video footage of Vessel cussing out a guy at a festival for yelling real names in the audience. There is direct evidence that the band members dislike off-stage info being known and shared, and that a portion of Sleep Token’s fanbase cannot be trusted to respect the secrecy that allows the band members to live comfortable lives relatively peacefully and out of the public eye.

In my personal opinion, your examples of how they’re still on other social media, and that you know that info abt them are reinforcement of my dislike for unmasked data aggregates. Unless the tattoo artist’s posts or the twitch stream is tagged #SleepToken there is probably a reasonable expectation that they don’t want band related attention for those things. Even if somebody does recognize them as the band members, it would be a minority population if it weren’t for subreddits and archives directly connecting dots between those things and Sleep Token, which is presumably why you have that info yourself in the first place.

By aggregating and collecting unmasked info, a resource is being provided that essentially says “Hey i know these guys have almost entirely retreated from the internet for their own safety and comfort…but here’s their names and faces and loved ones and colleagues and past projects and every little activity they do in their spare time. All gathered together and directly tagged and marked in relation to the band they’ve purposefully tried to anonymize and distance their real lives from”.

It’s stalker behavior, it’s unhealthy, it could be genuinely dangerous for the members if the wrong person made use of it, and i reserve the right to passionately condemn it.

[cute-ellyna]

Honestly I really really miss the times when we had time to build our own opinion on games (or whatever other experience tbh).

I actively avoided the marketing campaign for the start because I felt it was too aggressive and too revealing. When I started playing, I blocked aaaaaall the tags and stayed away from my social channels as much as I could, because I started to see the criticism and I wanted to decide by myself what I liked about the game and what not.

But it’s hard, and info still leaked into my feeds, and it’s sad to admit that those opinions did influence how I see some aspect of the game. I started to feel “meh” while playing because some of the critics were true but I didn’t know anymore if they were my own opinion or if I was being influenced (I’m kind of ashamed to admit it because I consider myself a person capable of critical thinking lol).

I have to be honest, here: the spark in my heart is rekindling since I reactivated my socials but actively seeking people who enjoyed the game.

Again being influenced “against my will”? Who cares at this point. Truth is, the “full Dragon Age experience (TM)” as I know it is 10% made from the game itself and 90% time spent within the fandom, sharing favorite moments, creating missing scenes, analyzing hidden lore, and well, enjoying a world-set we all share a love for.

I can’t wait for the bad criticism to definitely go away so I can again enjoy my Dragon Age heaven for the next years to come ❤️

I would be lying if I said I didn’t feel a sort of guilt for liking Veilguard

Every critique I see, shallower storytelling, companions, weaker dialogue, is one I agree with, and yet I still like it. I like exploring the maps, I like the companions, I like the main story. I like every main story quest even if it’s not the in-depth story I would have preferred

And I can’t help but feel like I shouldn’t. I love this series too much, am I disrespecting it? I choose to focus on the parts of this game that I love, I choose to focus on what this game is over what it is not or what I think it should’ve been, and love it for that. There are parts I would tweak, and in my head and writing I do tweak those parts. But I still like it

It could have to do with so much constant exposure to negativity around the game. When other members of my community, including close friends, aren’t enjoying it, it genuinely feels like I’ve made a poor judgement. I’ve deluded myself into thinking I like this game because I want to. But then I play it and actually have fun, and the whole cycle starts again

I do think time with soften the views the fandom has on Veilguard, I’ve already seen it start to happen, and it isn’t like I’m the sole person who enjoys it. At least half the fandom does. But the criticism is so vicious and often full of blame towards fans who do enjoy it. It starts to get to me. But that’s not anyone’s fault but my own

[luciferanalyzestar]

I kept seeing fans under the replies of critical posts, I notice something common with these posts, yhey are tagged using the main tags. Please do not tag your critical posts using the main tags!

It summons fans like crazy especially when a new episode drops, or something is announced. Never tag your posts using "helluva boss" or "hazbin hotel" when talking about the shows negatively. We all know that some take criticism against these shows personally. Same goes with using the character tags in your posts unless it is a redesign of a certain character, and you are criticizing the canon design.

If you are a fan and critical posts keep getting recommended to you, filter out these tags:

hazbin hotel critical

hazbin hotel criticism

hazbin hotel critique

anti hazbin hotel

helluva boss critical

helluva boss criticism

helluva boss critique

anti helluva boss

vivziepop critical

vivziepop criticism

vivziepop critique

anti vivziepop

There are probably other ones, but these are the main ones used. Go to your account settings, put those tags in the filtered tags and post content and BOOM! You will never see our asses again.

If you want to make sure you will never see your posts, just block us. If you think a critical post is dumb, just block the user. Arguing back and forth about whatever is pointless. If I see someone say something out standish or just plain stupid, I just block them. Getting into arguments is tiring.

Fans, please stop making posts the critical tags too. I am not saying you are not allowed to share your own point of view but some posts I came across sound like you guys want to cost trouble and not have a meaningful discussion.

Does not do childish things like this:

[crescenthistory]

Underneath Your Mistletoe

Pairing: Barty Crouch Junior x Reader

Synopsis: Barty already loves your belly button piercing – but he loves it even more when you wear a mistletoe jewellery in it for Christmas.

Words: 3.7k

Warnings/tags: SMUT (mdni), afab!fem!reader, established relationship, sex as a form of gift, mistletoe innuendos, oral sex (fem!receiving), orgasm, making love but barty style, marking kink, body worship kind of, no penetrative sex, barty's oral fixation, fluff, one big happy family trope, some christmas blues and references to barty's mental health struggles, barty typical humour, your pov

Note: this is based on a text post i wrote back in october and have since lost – it has been on my mind for a while. merry christmas to all those who celebrate, this is my gift to all the barty girlies 🤍

Barty hates gifts.

You know this, and as his loving partner, it is your duty to find a way around it. To respect his desire not to rip off wrapping paper with watchful eyes on him, while still showering him in some form of love and perceptiveness – to show him he is thought of and wanted. While he may not enjoy most Christmas traditions, that particular bit was important for him to feel and fully believe.

If you could pat yourself on the back, you would, because you thought you truly hit the nail on the head this year.

After three years with Barty, you found yourself happily living together in a shared flat in London. One that was just a few blocks away from the flat Regulus shared with James, where your two friend groups – that had somehow beautifully meshed since seventh year – would be getting together tomorrow for Christmas Day. While Barty pretended to moan and gripe over having to spend time with “the literal dogs”, referring primarily to James and Sirius, it was all an act by now. He was as excited as you were. 

Though, his wish to make the most of your last night together in complete privacy before A Very Potter Holiday emerged was decidedly not an act. That was just Barty’s devotion to you soaring deep in that way he promised he would never get enough of.

You hoped he wouldn’t because you couldn’t even if you tried.

Barty had made you a home cooked meal for the night, a dish called sarmale that his mother used to make around the holidays. Insisting on not being an inch away from you, he had pulled the grandfather chair that usually resides beside the sofa up to the dinner table. “Come here, you,” he had whispered with a gleeful laughter before all but picking you up and placing you in his lap in the chair. 

It took a little effort for you both to sit and eat comfortably, but once you did, any protest you had about the impracticalities melted away – because eating delicious warm food in the wonderfully warm lap of your boyfriend truly was no complaining matter. You sat sideways in his lap so you could both eat off the same plate and chat in between mouthfuls of food, Barty occasionally poking your cheek when it was filled to the brim, repeating that it is the cutest thing he had ever seen. 

Once the food was long since devoured and you had reclined more in your seat, chin resting on Barty’s shoulder as you dazed at him with an undoubtedly lovesick look, you decided it was go time.

Barty’s thumbs snuck beneath the waistband of your matching pajama bottoms, massaging the bare skin there absentmindedly. Laughter had freshly died down on his lips, from something you don’t even remember what was but that left a residue giddiness in your bones. You tilted your chin upwards just enough to steal a kiss from those very lips. He happily obliged you with a growing grin.

“Baby?” you mused. He hummed in response, silently asking what it was. “Would you mind helping me decide on an outfit for tomorrow?”

His grin quickly grew wolfish. “You know I always love helping you get dressed, Dragă. And undressed.”

You rolled your eyes and gave his arm a light slap, as if this was not exactly what you were going for. “Keep it in your pants for now, yeah Junior?” You slid out of his lap, giving him both of your hands to help him get up once you gained your footing.

“Yes, ma’am!” He gave you a fake salute before letting you pull him up. 

With one hand behind him grabbing the top of the chair blindly, he dragged it with him as he trailed behind you into your living room. The door to your shared bedroom was attached to the living room, so you turned to him with a perhaps too-obvious smile, trailing a finger down his chest.

“How about you just get seated here, and then I’ll come out and show you?” You cocked your head to the side, playing innocent.

Barty pretended to pout. “I don’t get to watch you change?” 

“Maybe later if you behave.” You brought the finger up from his chest to flick at his nose, yelping when he caught it and gave your knuckle a light bite. “That is certainly not behaving, B.”

“You like it,” he drawled jokingly, pecking you once before sitting down in the grandfather chair once more, sprawled out with one knee over the armrest. “Please don’t be long, Dragă.”

You shook your head, goofy lovesick look taking over your face once more as you turned around. “I’ll make sure to take longer just because you asked.”

He huffed, deflating further into his seat, but when you turned around to look at him, he had intertwined his fingers over his stomach, jumper ridden up enough to expose his lower midriff. His face was indulging, a form of domestic bliss you never expected to be able to draw from him, but revel in every day.

You blew him a kiss and slipped in past the door to your bedroom, leaving it slightly ajar behind you – enough to be able to talk through, but not enough for him to see you.

Truth be told, you picked out your outfit for the Christmas party a week ago. Even more so, the outfit you would be trying on now was decidedly not the one you will wear tomorrow, nor was it ever an option.

What you would be doing, is showing Barty his gift.

As you pulled out a box beneath your side of the bed, you found the three things needed to pull it off. A short skirt, a cropped silk shirt – and a piece of mistletoe jewellery, perfect for your finally healed belly button piercing.

When you first got the piercing, Barty could not keep his eyes off of it nor his hands off of you. He was a lover of all things alternative and different, an enjoyment you suspected originally derived from an urge to upset his father, but quickly became one of the many ways he could feel safe and truly like himself. While he adored you just the way you were, whenever you would get piercings, tattoos or anything of the sort, Barty would be drooling just a little bit more than usual. 

There were permanent purple and red hickies littered around your stomach now.

For the past few weeks, Barty had been brainstorming all the different pieces of jewellery you could wear once the piercing fully healed, as you both knew there was not a lot of time left. Already he had bought you quite a few different ones, in the colours and styles he knew would match your favourite go-to outfits. 

Somewhere along the line, you got the cheeky idea of a mistletoe jewellery – a kiss under the mistletoe is one Christmas tradition Barty could easily get behind, yeah? At least a kiss underneath your mistletoe.

A slight giggle escaped you at the thought as you brought the jewellery to the ensuite bathroom to rinse it with saltwater and wash your hands before changing them. 

“What’s so funny?” you heard Barty call from the living room, somehow experiencing FOMO within his own flat.

You decided to make it worse. “Was just thinking about something hilarious James said last Christmas.”

A gasp. “Cruel woman. What a cruel, cruel woman you are.”

“You like it,” you replied, parroting his earlier statement. The guffawing laughter told you that you were right.

With slightly trembling fingers, you finally managed to unscrew the standard stainless steel barbell and insert the new mistletoe one. The change didn’t sting at all, and you knew it was fully healed – it actually had been for about two weeks already, but you lied to Barty that it still hurt a little to be able to get away with this.

You knew he would quickly forgive you.

Once the jewellery was fastened, the outfit was quick work. You had put aside a set you thought fit the Christmas vibe – red skirt and a white silk top – but its primary function was showing off your waist, your piercing on full display. As you zipped up the skirt, you began to prepare Barty from his place outside. 

“I only really have one outfit to show you,” you called, just loud enough to be sure he would hear you, but still allowing some teasing to slip into your voice. “I quite like it, but I don’t think it is quite the one to wear tomorrow now that I think of it.”

“I swear to Merlin, baby, if you walk out in just lingerie, I will ravish you.”

“If I walked out in lingerie, it would have been with the intention of you ravishing me,” you said through a laugh. “But no, you can dream on, B.”

You could hear him shifting in his seat, undoubtedly sprawled out more and more with each passing second. You buttoned only two of the buttons on the silk shirt – enough to be tempting, but not enough to distract from the true star of the show. 

“Whatever you want to wear, you’ll look stunning,” Barty added then, a sincerity in his voice on the off-chance that it was insecurity and not teasing he heard in his voice. You were quite certain he was onto you by now, but the attentiveness still made your heart bloom. 

With a quick final look in the mirror, you decided it was everything you needed it to be.

You laid your hand on the door handle, beginning to slowly drag it open. “How stunning are we talking, baby?” you asked with a teasing lilt. “Good enough to eat?”

You stepped into the room, walking with measured, steady steps towards Barty, feeling every bit like the lioness he made you out to be.

You were right, in your absence he seemed to have unhinged his every joint, legs and arms strewn everywhere over the grandfather chair. Yet the second his eyes fell on you, he gathered them all together as he shot up in his seat, feet planting firmly on the ground.

“Treasure…” he trailed off, eyes going all over your body.

You stood about two metres in front of him, hip kicked to the side as you allowed your body and midriff to be on display. His mouth was agape in admiration, but you could identify the moment he noticed the piercing. Shock and pleasure mixed on his face and something akin to a moan escaped him just at the sight. Barty’s hands gripped his knees with a force that only served to excite you further.

“Baby,” Barty groaned then, eyes glued onto the mistletoe jewellery. “You truly are a treasure, aren’t you? A pretty little wrapped up gift.”

You let out a breathy laugh, already affected by his words. “Just for you, my love,” you murmured as you stepped closer, almost within his reach. “Figured you might want to share a kiss beneath the mistletoe?” You lathered faux innocence over your words, quickly contrasted by your growingly smug smile as you took in his flustered and heated expression.

At last, Barty’s eyes shot up to meet yours, his beautiful irises having given way to darkness. “May I?” he asked, not waiting for an answer as he shifted in his seat.

When he moved, you expected him to come to stand before you, kiss you and maybe move you to the bedroom. You should have known your boyfriend better. 

Barty slid directly off the chair and onto his knees, landing with a soft thump before you. His hands shot up to grab your hips, steadying himself as his chest came almost flush with your thighs, never once breaking eye contact as he moved. 

You shuddered at the sight. Barty Crouch Junior, with his messy dark and green hair, his eyebrow and nose piercings, his rugged yet dangly form and dark clothes, on his knees in front of you, holding onto you for dear life.

“Please,” you whispered in response.

Still with laboured breath, he flashed his white teeth with the width of his smile. “My lovely, lovely gift of a girl,” he murmured, squeezing your hips. Barty let his gaze trail from your eyes down your neck, over your semi-exposed chest, finally coming eye to eye with his eternal temptation.

He let out a light growl before closing the distance to press a wet and hot kiss right beneath your naval, his nose brushing against the mistletoe. 

In an instant, you moved your hands to place one on his shoulders to steady yourself and tangle the other into the mess of his hair. “Beautiful, beautiful.” Barty whispered praises as his lips trailed to the left and right, reactivating the hickies he had left there the other night, creating a beautiful night sky for the mistletoe to rest against. 

You couldn’t help but chuckle at his ministrations despite the heat pooling in your gut, tugging slightly at his hair. “What would you do if I actually wanted to wear this tomorrow and you’re defiling my skin like this?” you tease.

With his lips still attached to your skin, just a breath above the waistband of your skirt, Barty looked up to meet your gaze through his eyelashes. You couldn’t see it, but you could feel his warm smile against you. “You aren’t?” he asked in faux surprise, nipping at the skin with his teeth. “I should hope you would, then we could show everyone what a wonderful gift giver you are.”

He sucked particularly hard on the delicate skin then, drawing a shaky sigh from you – clearly his intention. “I think this is a gift reserved only for you, my love,” you managed to whisper.

“Good.” Another kiss. “Doesn’t mean we can’t let the world know, though.”

If you had any good piece of banter to respond to that with, it was erased from your mind by the feeling of his hands on your hips moving to dip his thumbs into either side of your waistband. Tantalisingly slow, Barty dragged your skirt further down, letting his tongue and teeth roam over every inch of newly exposed skin.

His breath was hot against you as he placed tentative, open-mouthed kisses, but he couldn’t fool you – you could feel his desperation in the way his fingertips dug into you as if they were chasing bone and the way his teeth scratched against you in his rush towards his next kiss.

When he reached your panties with his thumbs, he gave you a wicked grin in between kisses before hooking his fingers into those as well, and with a flush pulling them down so the clothes could pool around your ankles. A genuine groan escaped Barty at the sight of your bare core, want dripping down onto your thigh. You used your hand on his shoulders for support and you stepped out of your skirt and underwear, kicking them to the side. His hands found your skin immediately after assisting your undressing, but he let one explorative pointer finger come up between your folds, gathering the slick, just barely missing your clit as he brought it back to his face.

Maintaining eye contact, he stuck his tongue out and licked your arousal off of his finger, squeezing his eyes shut and moaning at the taste. 

He looked downright unholy.

“Fuck, baby, you are fucking everything,” he groaned, squeezing your hips.

“You like it?” you asked breathlessly, hands in his hair tugging without thinking.

A wicked grin accompanied his wink. “More than like.” Barty sunk further down on his knees so that his face was right in front of your naked cunt. His left hand came up to splay out across your stomach, thumb barely brushing your mistletoe jewellery when he dragged it back and forth across the skin, leaving goosebumps in his trace.

“When under a mistletoe, right?” he asked.

Before you had the chance to respond, Barty dipped his head forward the last few centimetres needed and delved his tongue in between your folds, licking a clean stripe up your pussy. He circled your clit once he reached the top before flattening his tongue out for another broad stroke. A gasp escaped you and you parted your legs further on instinct – Barty used the momentum to hook your left leg over his shoulder, both arms securely holding your hips in his grip, not allowing you to falter for even a second.

Barty did indeed kiss you, lips wrapping around your clit to suck, teeth already grazing you cheekily in that way that promised more. Thrills were shooting through you, an almost tickling sensation that spread throughout your bloodstream until it settled into a content humming. Barty’s tongue, his lips, his touch and his arms were warm and strong against you, steady and so desperately devoted. His movements were in sync with yours, having learned well enough by now how your body ticks, and how to get what he wants – which is to devour you – while making you feel as good as possible.

He moved further down with his mouth, focusing his tongue around your entrance and moving his head subtly back and forth so his large nose nudged continuously against your clit. The soft moans spilled from your lips, spurring him on; you knew better than to keep them in by now, feeling fully empowered and comfortable in his affection. 

Barty curled his tongue against you, dipping in to graze at the soft spot just inside of you, causing you to grip his hair tighter. When you pulled at his hair more harshly, a satisfied groan escaped him, top lip vibrating against you in a wonderfully delicious way. “Fuck, Barty,” you whispered and gasped when his teeth touched your unhooded clit as his lips curled back into a smile.

“Good enough kiss for you, Dragă?” he teased as he drew a quick breath before letting his hands grasp your arse more securely to bring your cunt flush against his face, drawing blasphemous sounds from you in an instant.

He ate at you hungirly, tongue alternating every second between broad and pointed strokes, drawing quick figures over your clit before letting his nose take over as he dipped inside of you. His face must surely be completely covered in you by now, and the thought made you clench your thighs even more. Barty hummed purposefully against you, moving his hair just right and basking in all that is you; his favourite gift.

It was clear he could tell you were closing in on your orgasm from the smugness in how he ate you out and the increasing strength in his hold on you. With your leg over his shoulders digging into his back and your hands on his neck and shoulders clinging onto him for dear life, you would have thought it was enough – but Barty had your hips fully circled in in his grasp, holding the small of your back and your backside cheekily as he ensured your complete safety. 

“Come for me, baby,” he whispered against you, making sure his lips moved right against your clit.

You were shivering and shaking in his grasp, laughing at the intensity of your orgasm while standing upright in the middle of your living room. He laughed too, but doubled down in his efforts, practically burying his face within you. 

A long, guttural moan filled the room as you almost crushed Barty’s head against you – just how he likes. Your eyes were scrunched shut and your mind was completely elsewhere as he began massaging the flesh he had been abusing mere moments ago, pressing featherlight kisses up the length of your cunt and continuing above it.

“Absolutely perfect.” He pressed a final kiss right beneath your naval. You sighed in complete satisfaction, going increasingly limp as he stood back up to his full height, holding you slumped against him. You were certain your eyes must be dazed as they met his, and he seemed to drink it up, a new goofy expression mixing with his hungry one.

“I take it you approve of the mistletoe?” you mumbled, not expecting your words to be so slurred, not having realised that your mouth had gone numb. He saw the surprise in your face and you both giggled together, foreheads pressing against each other.

Barty gave you a soaring kiss to the lips this time, not shying away despite the absolute mess you had made of his face. You couldn’t bring yourself to care either – on the contrary, you parted your lips to let him take your mouth in full, mixing your cum and spit between smiles.

“You’re bloody insane, you know that?” Barty laughed breathlessly between kisses, holding you impossibly close to his body.

You bit back the “I reckon that’s why you like me so much”, knowing the joke would prompt a tirade about all the things he loves about you. Instead you smiled happily, giving him sweet kisses in quick succession.

“Maybe I just wanted to show my boyfriend what a merry Christmas it could be?”

Barty hummed in approval. As he felt more secure in your steady legs, he let one of his arms leave the encirclement of your back for his fingers to palm your cheek, carding lazily through your hair. “Might have to get a mistletoe tattoo myself now as a thank you.”

You guffawed, throwing your head back with laughter, and he took advantage of the moment to begin kissing down the length of your neck with an open mouth and explorative tongue. The laugh quickly turned into a content sigh.

“We would never leave the bedroom,” you commented, pretending to be concerned by his suggestion.

“And what a wonderful life that would be indeed.” Barty came back up in front of your face, eyes alight with foolish love and mischief. “Speaking of bedroom…?”

You barely had the time to nod once before he had bent down to hike you up into his arms bridal style and ran off towards the bedroom with you, cackling like a madman.

It was a merry Christmas, after all.

[her-soliloquies]

I'm half convinced that if Vi and Cait hadn't actually kissed and slept together, there would be some people showing up out of nowhere to say that their relationship is supposed to be platonic and seeing it as romantic is harmful to the concept of simple friendship and that two people can be close without it being romantic etc etc (which they are saying about jayvik and silco/vander)

Now since explaining a thousand times that people can have different opinions and they should learn to respect them instead of correcting them as if there is only one true answer does not seem to work, here's an idea: just block those ship tags and let us all have peace in this fandom.

Thank you.

[arom-antix]

Hey, just wanted to reach out to say that I found you pointing out and calling this person was really great and you shouldn't have apologized. It was incredibly true what you said, and to be honest it seems out of touch with the reality of a great deal of the japanese fandom, the nuances and their culture. Also, it was as you pointed out, extreme and may I say rude. I want to mention too that the way it was written, as if entitled of the knowledge and the 'explanation' made it all worse in context of the 'fucked up'. The original poster always gets away by using the 'well-written academic'' statement of their 'metas' as an excuse to do or say and make everyone else agree and if not, uses victim narrative and discourses exactly selecting wording for people to agree on it or feel bad.

I don't know if they tagging you in the way they did made you reblog and apologizing/backing up, but no one thought bad about you pointing it out. On the contrary, a lot of people had been bullied and discriminated by this person when they called them out/disagreed going onto lenghts of sending their friends to harass people, and the other persons can't even defend themselves because they are effectively blocked. To quite a few people in the fandom has been done, even accusing them as 'acephobes' (when they're not) or even Nazis by spreading lies. So yeah, I just wanted to say that. I think you were right to call them out publicly.

Thank you very much for this ask. To be completely honest I agree with everything you said here and don't actually feel bad about pointing anything out. I mainly apologised because I didn't want any potentially poor phrasing from my side to cause unnecessary hostility and because I myself have gripes with this person's behaviour but didn't want to cause a scene.

My honest opinion is that they have a serious issue with taking accountability for their own mistakes and highly overestimate their own intellect. If you're reading this, @thegirlwhorideslikeasamurai, sorry if I seem harsh, but it's true. I saw your post lamenting how you're the only academic meta writer / fan in the fandom and I didn't interact then because I honestly do not care enough to start that drama but with the information Blonndiec has just given me, I think it's necessary that someone calls you out.

You're not an academic. You're not beyond the mental capabilities of other fans. You're actually incredibly childish in your metas and analyses and I am not kidding when I say that I was halfheartedly writing essays more academic than every analysis I've seen from you when I was barely a teenager. I don't know how old you are and I frankly don't care. You're not as clever as you think you are.

Also, don't think I didn't notice that you didn't reblog my correction (link here to my correction and here to their "response" for those who didn't see that exchange) of your post so that you could control what your followers saw of the exchange. You're the opposite of an academic. You control information to tailor the narrative, you don't cite your sources properly if at all, you don't format your posts in anything close to how an academic analysis would be, you make unbased claims, you reference posts and canon material without in any way indicating where that information is from, you reference your own (equally unacademic) metas and your conclusions from them without indicating what post it's from or that it's your own theory this new one is based on and instead present it as a common fact, and I could go on and on and on. Your posts are also riddled with logical fallacies and you talk in absolutes and opinions when there's no canon basis to claim such things. I'm sorry, but that's not academic in the slightest.

To be clear, you don't have to be an academic to post on the Internet. You don't have to be anything at all. You could up front be a genuine idiot with no remorse and that's fine. But when you claim to be an academic and also put down the rest of the fandom for not being on your level, you have to be able to back that up. It'd still make you sound like a prick but at least your arrogance would have a basis. It currently does not.

I haven't personally seen the discussions that Blonndiec is referencing and I'm not going to claim anything definitive (because that would be unacademic of me, take notes) but if what they're saying is true and did happen as described, which I have empirical, if anecdotal, evidence to believe could very well be (a friend of mine has personally been blocked by you after they criticised you without actually mentioning your name which I of course can't prove is the reason for the block but the timing is awfully convenient), you should know that you should be ashamed of yourself.

If there's context missing, feel free to enlighten me and call out any incorrect accusations. You have every right to defend yourself. However, I encourage you to cite your sources since you're such an academic. If you don't, then it's just your word against Blonndiec and anyone else who might comment's word and that doesn't prove anything. Don't misunderstand, acephobia and nazi rhetoric should absolutely be called out but only if it's actually happening. False accusations can ruin lives. I hope you know that.

I'm not a fan of calling people out publicly and, again, thank you for this ask, Blonndiec. But considering many of the issues I've personally seen and those I've been informed of by second hand sources were posted publically, I don't really feel bad about calling this out. I could do a full breakdown of just the insulting "academic" comments alone and how there's no academia to be found in said academic metas and, Samurai, if you give me reason to, I will show exactly what I mean point by point (and academically just to give you an example of even low level academia).

If you respond to this, do it in a reblog. That's what a real academic would do. If I'm wrong and you can prove it, you'd have no reason to not show my post in your rebuttal. If I'm right, you'd have every reason to be upfront about your mistakes and how you intend to rectify them. There's nothing wrong with being wrong but there's a lot wrong with refusing to admit to it in a way that lets others peer review you (academic thing, look it up) and come to their own conclusions about the situation. That's what you did when you just @'ed me instead of reblogging my response. A true academic wouldn't hide a peer review. You'd know that if you were one.

I swing in many academic spaces and yet that doesn't make me any kind of expert and I don't claim to be one because I'm not. But since you want to be one so badly, reblog this with a response and show us all how smart you are. I'm dying to know what your academic take on this is.

[eclipsecrowned]

BLOG MOVE!

Long overdue, blog has become a complete mess, Hoping to enter 2025 with some more positive energy by being able to pre-empt blocking some real freaks out there who like to lurk on my page and a better focus on ic!

What this is going to look like:

Fresh transfer to a new blog, though I will slow drip in what people would prefer be transferred over*. Mild rework of muse page to remove muses that no longer or never generated interest. A tighter focus on what sparks joy for me as much as for my partners bc tbh i got kind of exhausted being 'the x person' or not feeling that all muses were regarded as equal in different fandoms.

Timetable:

I'm going to spend the next few days I have off doing the heavy lifting of actual coding/aesthetics/test posting, and so on. Over time, I will be finalizing my carrd to have more in depth information for all muses, as well as the easy-access mobile muse page for people who just want it short or sweet. I also intend to ensure each muse has a fully functional tag system before moving bc these same named bitches w a tbt appended are killing me. Is this Charlotte from B*rserk or Charlotte from Debede? Shut up past Kadi I'm going to kill you. This hopefully means I will be fully ready to go in early-mid January if not a little sooner. For now, I will still be semi-active/lurking here just grabbing everything I need, and will let you all know when that changes.

What's coming with me:

Dynamics/Ships

Headcanons

Most of you hopefully!

Probably most muses

Most fandoms, with a few greatly expanded character-wise

Any threads people want me to transfer*

Any IC or meta asks people want me to transfer*

*The focus at the start is on just setting a new daily writing habit, which means I will likely focus on new threads and asks to start. However, I don't intend to totally abandoned some threads that have been plotted or even just interest me. The main point is that I will put those on the back burner until I can give them the focus and energy they deserve. If there is a thread or ask you want on rotation moving forward, please fill out this form so I can hold on to it :D

If you 100% want to remain mutuals the new blog like this post and I will follow you once it's identifiable as mine/not a bot.

[lena-kieran-zor-el]

For real. All those blogs with bad takes in the CaitVi tag, have gotten an immediate block. I’m here for my own peace and enjoyment, the opinion of loud homophobes ain’t gonna beak that. You can’t engage with hate and malicious folk.

It’s more than just homophobes. There’s too many loud folk who don’t understand textual and sub textual readings of character actions and motivations who have concocted absurd readings of the plot and characters. Caitlyn isn’t some evil monster or irredeemable despot, which is clearly readable if you can simply read. Jinx isn’t a hero. Vi wasn’t out of character in choosing her own happiness.

But it’s also how people don’t know how to *take* from fiction to apply to the real world; they’re instead forcing a real world’s square peg into the round hole of the show’s events to try and make a point about how a character isn’t *moral*. Plot and character are created by people in our world, yes - their development isn’t in a vacuum where our world doesn’t exist. However - unless the work is a satire, something *meant* to be a lampooning read on a current event - you need to create some distance when you interpret that world. It’s meant to be analyzed in its own context, only after word to be extrapolated into possibility for reality.

Media literacy has been turned into a buzzword, but this is just plain old regular literacy people aren’t learning. Subtext, variation, parsing dichotomy - doing more than just *feeling* and then justifying the feeling so you’re never wrong. That’s the exact thing these characters failings warn you against.

Don’t just *feel.*

Think.

[lambsonburn]

TAG Analysis - Ep I (first minute)

To preface, this analysis will be very, VERY long because I simply can’t help myself. It also may very well be in parts.

With the length of it, I’ll put a read more thing (or hope I have, I’ve never used the feature before) so it’s not a massive block of text for people to scroll past :)

For starters, the opening scene of the show is crafted so beautifully. Firstly, we the audience see the danger before we see who in danger. Even though this is such a simple, subtle thing, it’s so effective because this is the perfect way to define what the show is and what it’s about - daring rescues of those in situations which in our world would seem near impossible to aid, which just adds to the heroics of IR.

Furthermore, the way the characters are introduced is incredible. As with before, we hear the man’s voice before we see him - creating a similar effect as to previous. But he is presented in such a way that leads our eyes up his form and to his head because we know that he is the one making the SOS which makes the sudden interruption of the child so much better. It’s an “oh shit he’s not alone” type reaction, even though the child is very visible next to him. Also the way they are positioned in the balloon, how it’s at an angle, makes the father falling out seem almost inevitable. Plus, the idea to give them hats makes the scene even better because the act of them falling off and out of shot just adds to the tension.

As a quick little side piece, the use of music is fab. I would go more in-depth about the music if I could but I’m not very well music versed being an art kid; that and it’s been a few years since I last played clarinet so some things are a little vaguer now. To begin, the music in the first 20 seconds - it’s in a repeating pattern, three times up once down twice in a row. Then it goes to a lower register when the father begins to speak which not only allows us to hear him much clearer but also adds to the danger of the scene. Then after he climbs back in it begins to crescendo upwards before including a motif (that I’m pretty sure is used in other episodes) but sounds more heroic-y (I think it shifts to major key but I’m not sure).

The arrival of TB2 from the clouds is so well done, my god. Not only is how it appears so well handled, but the music that accompanies it too. Its presence in the scene is so well crafted. The balloon is to the side, still swaying out of control as to still elicit the danger, but the camera is zooming out. This makes the balloon seem smaller so that when TB2 appears it looks, frankly, fucking huge. What’s even better is that we hear then see it. We hear its engines so clearly that it cuts through the music. We can’t see it but we know where it will appear because the balloon is kept to one side of the screen. The music when it appears is also handled so well. Instead of the faster, scaling initial notes, they’re now much more drawn out. Yes these notes are still scaling upwards, but instead being fear-inducing it leans towards heroism especially with what I think is a gong 34/35 seconds into the ep which really just adds to the feel (it’s uplifting!!). And after, it goes into one of the main motifs played when on rescues. And then it changes AGAIN!!! Just as he grabs the child, it picks up - it gets faster. Nothing has happened but you know that something will. Also the wide shot at 48s initially doesn’t appear to furthering the story, but what it does do is further dramatise the danger. Simply “look, we’re 10,000 ft in the air. There is nothing around us.” You see this openness and you know that that man will fall and he does. And just before we get the drama… BAM intro sequence. It builds so much suspense because you know what’s happening, you know someone’s life is at stake but you have to wait through an incredible cool intro sequence to find out what happens.

Probably leave here for now, at least for an hour or so before I come back to it.

[fmaoldficarchivist]

Navigating Tags | Submit A Fic | Find A Fic | Q&A

Hi! This is the FMA Oldfic Preservation Blog, we're dedicated to digging up the old, beloved fanfics steadily dying to linkrot and lost accounts on places like livejournal, wattpad and quotev, to archive and display them here for the continued enjoyment of the public.

I understand the importence of always backing up these fics directly to the internet archive whenever possible to preserve the original integrity of the work, as well as its associated profiles and links. But due to complications regarding crawling mature content on sites such as livejournal, as well as the risk of certain fics and websites becoming unfindable on the wayback machine in the event the original link becomes lost, I sometimes have to work around this.

This blog exists both to allow the internet archive to crawl at-risk fics effectively, and to bring fics and fansites that have faded into the background, or even gone offline permenantly, back into the spotlight for a new audience to enjoy (or an old audience to rediscover).

All fics are welcome in the name of fandom history, regardless of ship, fic content or any associated fandom dramas therein, but I always try to tag appropriately, please feel free to comment if you feel additional content warnings or tags are necessary.

Requests are always accepted and encouraged!

How It Works (by website)

This blog is an index of archived fics across many old fan websites, with the goal of preventing those sites from being lost to obscurity (I didn't know about half of these when I joined the fandom) along with archiving and indexing oldfics on sites that are still active, like ao3.

The below format allows me to archive and index any fic on the websites listed while skirting tumblr's mature content policy. It also allows me breathing room, the ability to post more fics with less stress, and avoids outright reposting fics whenever possible.

Website's being indexed from, and how each work:

Standard - Fic page(s) are saved to the wayback machine, then the archived link - along with the original, if the site is still up - is posted with the original summary and tags, along with additional tags and content warnings added by myself to aid in navigation. This means you can still read fics on currently active websites even if they shut down, or are currently under maintenence.

Special - For websites the Wayback Machine is unable to crawl, fics will be reposted here in a private post so they can be archived. The private post is deleted and the archived link is used to make a normal post for the fic. This avoids tumblr flagging by keeping as little smut directly on the blog as possible. fanfiction.net - Standard archiveofourown - Standard, also hosts my open oldfic collection, which serves a similar purpose to this blog, collecting external bookmarks as well as fics on ao3. The collection will never be closed and anyone can contribute. deviantart - Standard mediaminer - Standard txq.nu/jumpyboys - website has shut down and archived fics are the only available - Standard yaoi.toukakoukan - website has shut down and archived fics are the only available - Standard archive.skyehawke.com - website has shut down and archived fics are the only available - Standard adultfanfiction.net (2003-2013) - adult-fanfiction.org (2013-) - Standard scimitarsmile - suggested by zetalial - website has shut down and archived fics are the only available - Standard

wattpad - Website has blocked url from wayback machine - Special

quotev - Case by case, Wayback Machine occasionally seems to struggle to archive or load Quotev directly. livejournal - For fics without a mature label, Standard. Fics with a Mature label are blocked from the Wayback Machine due to the content notice, Special.

Early posts which do not meet the format listed will retrofitted in the near future, and this notice removed.

[ultrakill-confessions]

I love love LOVE V1. Like to a potentially abnormal amount, though granted the ultrakill fandom is decently abnormal about ultrakill (affectionate) so I'm not tooo out the ordinary.

Anyways, I wanna smooch V1 sooo bad. I'm ace so I don't wanna do anything further, but I'm very physically affectionate, so I desperately wanna hug and snuggle with them and then smooch them and help with repairs and sit with them and-

I love them!! I've fallen entirely for the silly robot! It's to the point where I've had 3 dreams about them, one about their origin and two others about just hanging out with them; I'm pretty sure the most recent one was set in the credits museum (that I hc as being a small part of heaven that V1 can reach but this isn't about that shhh).

I will admit though, I have gone a little stir crazy. I've read all the V1/reader fanfic I could get my hands on, I constantly stalk the V1 Ultrakill tag to see any new art of my beloved, I listen to the playlist I made for them, and sometimes, if I really want to see them, I open ultrakill, mute the music, and then load into the sandbox so I can turn on mode with the cheats.

Ngl, the amount of Gabriel/V1 that pops up in the tags is always a lot larger than I expect, which the art is great and all, and absolutely no disrespect to those that ship it!! But I really don't (due to the fact that. Well. I want to be the one dating V1) so I have the tag blocked.

I do tend to think of V1 as a sort of artist! Typically a musical one (I'm a professional singer myself, so music means a lot to me), but any kind of artist works ngl. I mean, heck, in their origin dream they were making a clay vase! And when it comes to me inserting myself in, I typically pose myself as a semi-corporeal spirit, able to touch and feel, but not really able to pick up much, typically helping out V1 with their descent into hell. Sometimes I like to think Gabriel can see me and is just like "what the fuck did you do to get haunted, machine?" (Nothin, I just love them a whole lot :3)

I.. really really wish there was more V1/reader. There's so much to explore, so many directions you could take it in! What if you're the last human alive? They could protect you for a plethora of reasons! What if you're a friendly fellow robot? What if what if what if, ya know? And I know it's all "be the change you want to see in the world", but I want to see other people's takes on it. But.. on tumblr there's someone who seemingly got pestered or spammed out of posting, people wanting the same as I do, and at first there was a spark of hope with someone else, but last I checked, their account was gone. I know I'm not alone, but the lack of content does make me feel a bit lonely, admittedly.

Sorry for this being such a long confession, I guess I had more feelings about them than I thought I did.

Gods above and below I love V1 Ultrakill, and they're not even real.

-

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

God, Rest Ye Merry

Warnings: kidnap and other dark elements. Not all kinks or triggers are tagged. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Summary: You're sick and you don't think things can get much worse until they do.

Character: God the Bounty Hunter

Day Twenty-Four of the December Daze Challenge.

Prompt -i'm too sick to go anywhere!

Note: As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

It’s the happiest time of year and you couldn’t be more miserable. Your head is pounding, your nose is stuff, lips cracked from having to breathe through your mouth, and you just want to go to sleep and never wake up. Still, your body is too addled with the flu to allow you that peace. 

Watching the snow through the window, you dig deep down to find the strength to go out. You shudder as you hook a mask over your ears and bend the wire across your nose. As much as you’d love to share the cheer, you’re not that type of person. 

You take your reusable bag and your keys and set out. You pull your hood up as you emerge into the white swirl. The fur around the edge blocks out your peripherals and before you is an endless sprawl, untouched by shovel or plow. It isn’t far to the pharmacy; across the street and down the next corner. 

You trudge through towards the prize of more cough drops and possibly some vitamin C. You’ve gone through most of your supplies, not having bothered to replenish since the last time you had a cold. You’ve been lucky for so long that it has to be absolutely horrid this time. 

You kick through the drifts. The snow is getting deeper by the minute. Some might relish the festive fall but you’re not into it. Thankfully, you’re staying in for the holidays. Not that you have much choice with this chesty cough. 

The snow dampens the sound and you slow as you come in sight of the pharmacy. The silence is eerily still despite the winds sweeping the flakes over the blanketed ground. You dust the snow from your hood and pivot to see around you. You’re the only one desperate enough to be out on Christmas Eve, aside from the poor retail employees sentenced to work in purgatory for those last-minute sales. 

You press on and enter the pharmacy with the jangle of the bell above. You do your best to kick the snow off before you cross the threshold. You pass the shelves of Hallmark cards and wrapping paper and pull your hood down. You read the hanging signs of the aisle and drag your treads towards the cough and cold section. 

As you turn down that aisle, the bell on the door rings again. Strange, you didn’t see anyone on the street. It could be someone who works down the next street or someone brave enough to drive in this. You stop before the shelves of cough drops and get the extra menthol. You might try the vapour rub too. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to get some electrolytes too. 

You spend a bit more than you should on your haul but at this point, you’d sell yourself for some relief. You bring it all to the counter as another pair of footsteps softly trace the rows behind you. You pay and the girl behind the till puts it all in a paper bag. You choke back a cough and thank her. 

You pull your hood up in expectation of your delve back into the elements and hug the bag to your chest. Your head slumps as the short walk back seems a Tolkien-ish trek in your condition. You push through the door with your shoulder and slow as you step into the calf-deep downfall. 

You get about halfway down the street. You’re panting as your legs ache and your chest thrums. You look ahead of you as the soft crush of snow comes from behind you. You blink as your head pulses and you turn slowly as you try to see past your furry hood. 

Not fast enough. The snow cushions your fall as you’re thrown into the piles. Your bag falls out of your arms as you murmur and fight weakly against the powder and your own weakness. Your struggle is short and pathetic as the white fades to black, the world and all your agony with it. 

💝

You cough yourself awake. Your throat feels as if it’s lined with shards of glass. You groan and chatter as a chill washes over you. Your arms are heavy as you drag them up to hug yourself in an effort to ward off the cold. 

There’s a tug on your wrist as you do. Your lashes flutter and your head lolls as you raise your hand shakily. The leather cuff below your hand blurs in your hazy vision. You pull again, the resistance enough to deter you. What is that? 

You cough and use your other hand to wipe your nose. What’s going on? What happened to you? You just wanted some relief and now... 

You remember falling. Did you trip? No, something knocked you over. You’re sure of it.  

You wince and force your eyes open, even as they ache. You peer around the dim space. You lay on a thin mattress on a metal frame. There are two pillows, one under your head, another beside you, a grey duvet over you, and that cuff on your wrist. You lift your hand again and examine the chain attached to it. It trails over the edge. 

What the fuck? You’re too sick to even think about trying to get it off. Your eyes scan the shadowy walls, your scalp slaked in cold sweat, and you shiver again. There’s an electric heater glowing orange like the doorway to hell in the corner of the room, and a folding table shrouded in the dim. 

All this because you wanted some cough drops. You shake your head, sending another echo of heaviness through it. You whimper and try to touch your temple, the attempt drawn short by the restraint. 

“What’s wrong with you?” The voice is like gravel. 

You flinch and lift your head, searching the room. Something shifts in the corner and the figure steps closer, his silhouette just discernible against the dark. You scoff and send yourself into a hacking fit. What a stupid question. 

“I’m... sick,” you rasp. 

He’s silent. He moves around as you try to see him clearer. He goes to the table, still nothing more than a fuzzy blob to you. Something crinkles as he bends and he hauls up the paper bag onto it. He peels open the tear in its side. 

He turns and hesitates. He comes around the foot of the bed and the heater gives light to his features. You see him clearer as the single metal lamp next to you illuminates him completely. His features are sharp and stony, his expression emotionless. He holds out the pack of cough drops, almost cluelessly. 

“Will this help?” 

You frown. You sigh but it catches in your scratchy throat. You reach for the lozenges. He lets you take them. He watches you tear open the package and then unwrap one of the drops. You shove it in your mouth and groan. 

“Do you feel better?” He asks. 

You squint at him, “not really. They’re just menthol... for my throat.” 

“Oh.” 

What’s wrong with him? Hasn't he ever had a cold? Bigger question, why did he bring you here? 

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says as if he can read your mind. You can’t help but show your discomfort. “I could but I won’t.” 

You frown at him. Did he have to say that? 

“You’re sick.” 

You nod. 

“And alone.” 

You don’t move. 

“My family--” 

“You said you couldn’t go this year. Too expensive to take the train.” 

You snap your teeth shut. How does he know that? You look down at your wrist. He does too. 

“It’s for safety,” he explains but that doesn’t make sense to you. 

“Why...” you begin the question but can’t decide which one would get the right answers. Probably none of them. 

“Take another,” he points to the cough drops. You’re still sucking on the other one. You shake your head and drop the pack on the blanket.

“Won’t help,” you croak. 

He blinks and his blue eyes round, “what will?” 

You just stare at him. You’re half-sure this is a demented fever dream and you’re currently face down in the snow, slowly sinking into hypothermic delusions. He twists on his heel and marches away. He grabs the bag, cradling it to keep the contents inside, and you brace yourself as he comes back your way. 

He puts it on the bed and sifts through. He holds up the large bottle of orange electrolytes. “It’s for babies.” 

You push your elbows into the bed and sit up. He shifts closer. “You should relax.” 

“I can’t,” you say hoarsely and reach for the bottle. “Elecrolytes. Help...” 

“Keep you hydrated,” he finishes. “Makes sense. What else?” 

He reaches inside and takes out the vapour rub. He examines the tin. He untwists the lid and gives it a deep sniff that makes his eyes water. 

“Stinky.” 

“Here,” you reach for it but he keeps it away from you as he reads the tiny writing on it. “Spread across chest...” he mutters as he reads then his eyes flick to you, “take your shirt off.” 

“What?” You exclaim then cover your mouth as you cough yourself halfway into oblivion. 

“I’ll put it on for you. Like it says.” 

“I can do it...” your voice crackles. 

You don’t have time you react as he reaches for you. He shoves the blanket down then tugs on your sweatshirt, drenched in your feverish excess. You squeak but can’t resist him. He strips it over your head as you writhe helplessly. 

You cross your arms over your bra as he pushes his fingers into the menthol rub. As he extends his hand towards you, you shy away. You crush the pillow as he presses his fingertips to your skin and smears the cream over your skin. Your heart is pounding. 

“You shouldn’t be afraid,” he says as his touch lingers and he brings his hand down to feel your heartbeat. “I’m taking care of you.” 

You furrow your brow and stare at him, in confusion, in horror. You have no idea who he is or what he wants, at this point, you’re rooting for the flu to win. He slowly peels away his hand and caps the tin. He turns and searches around, dissipating back into the shadows. 

He re-emerges as he wipes his fingers. He watches you from the foot of the bed as you grab your sweatshirt and pull it back on. He grips the two fingers he used to apply the cream and twists his fist around them and the cloth. 

“Are you better now?” He asks. 

You close your eyes and sink back into the bed. You can’t. You don’t have the energy for this. 

“Not yet.” 

“Oh...” he utters as he looms still. “Well, when you are, let me know.” 

You snort. The way he speaks, the way he just stares, it’s like he’s missing something. It’s just as scary as the cuff on your arm. 

You open one eye and find him still there, watching. 

“God.” He says. You open your other eye and tilt your head.  

“God?” You repeat. 

“That’s me.” 

You drop your head again and exhale. Right, so, maybe you are dead. 

[closetkitsune]

...sooo yeah, I've seen a lot of posts about "tiktok therians" and also younger therians in general and I might as well get my two cents about it out here.

Short version: leave them alone; if they bother you that much then block them and move on instead of wasting your energy

Long version: Loud sigh... I feel like I might get some hate for this, but I might as well get it off my chest sooner or later.

Look, I get it, people are frustrated with how things are being watered down, but please think before you cause needless damage. What if, instead of your teacher correcting your answers on a quiz or test, they just insulted you, ignored you, and kicked you out of class? Not only would you not learn anything, but you'd probably end up disliking the teacher, if not developing a dislike for the subject they taught as a whole (as younger crowds tend to do). I've seen this happen in LGBT+ spaces and it saddens me to see it here, too.

Doesn't anyone else remember what it's like to be a teenager, exploring your identity, exploring concepts of the world in general, learning things, growing and maturing as a person? People get stuff wrong and misuse terms ALL. THE. TIME. Especially when young! That doesn't mean that some of them policing terms and identities is okay, of course; I don't blame anyone for taking a stand when it comes to that.

It's important to ensure that misinformation doesn't spread, of course. And that isn't done with gatekeeping and rage; it's done with compassion and patience. Not everyone is built for that sort of thing, of course; I'm not saying everyone out there needs to have the patience of a saint to correct people when they get certain alterhuman-related concepts or terms incorrect. Just know that being a bully on any level, no matter the excuse, will cause more harm than good.

"But it's the only way they'll learn!" No. Those are the words of someone who is letting their frustration and anger guide their actions. Maybe some people will need that kind of kick in the rear, but that should never, ever, ever be the action of choice. To be fair, I might be biased in this regard; my abusive guardian used that excuse all the time to make me do things because she didn't fully understand how my neurodivergence affected me. As a result, every time I see/hear anything similar to that, I'm strongly against it because it only reminds me of the bullying I endured.

Those who have been in this space for a while need to be welcoming to newcomers, willing to point to resources on some level, but still be firm in their boundaries in case someone decides to start trouble. Gatekeeping is not the answer and will never be the answer; the only thing it does is make the whole community look bad while ultimately causing damage. Of course, if you don't have the spoons to deal with any of this, then just block and move on. don't waste your energy on something you know isn't going to do you any good.

Those who are new to the space NEED to do their research from older, more established sources instead of only defining things in a way that they prefer. Things are going to exist in ways that don't make you the most comfortable, but you have the tools to keep that out of your space and you should absolutely make use of them.

I think everyone needs a reminder here that You are in charge of you. If something upsets you, it's your responsibility to block the appropriate people, set up the appropriate filters, whatever you need to do to make your space safe. If you claim an identity, you should at the very least know what it means and refrain from trying to needlessly police it.

And, I say this as a sex-repulsed asexual: sexual things are going to exist in every single space, be it an identity, fandom, hobby, whatever. It's not inherently bad, but it's certainly okay to not like it and it certainly shouldn't be aimed at minors. Set up your filters, block as needed, and move on. (And if you're the one posting NSFW stuff, tag it or otherwise mark it appropriately.)

If you're coming to tumblr from Tiktok, welcome! I hope you can find a safe space here. If you're a minor, please remember to practice basic internet safety. Don't share your age or location, don't show your face (masks are great for this!), be careful who you talk to, etc.

Please, don't fight each other. Educate each other and stand together. The world is a scary place; we don't need to add more bickering where it could be avoided. And we certainly don't want to alienate people who don't need to be.

(Obligatory disclaimer because this is the internet: please remember to use common sense and critical thinking; I'm not going to tolerate any logical fallacies. I don't have the patience for that.)