#triggered by the post i put in my own queue

[the-tenth-arcanum]

ben whishaw serving cunt as richard ii you will always be famous

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Roads Untraveled 1

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 dubcon/noncon, pregnancy, and other possible triggers. 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: Single and pregnant, you discover a super soldier in the dumpster but he might not be hero you think he is. 

[This is a rewrite of a series of the same name which I removed a couple years ago]

Characters: Silverfox!Steve Rogers

Note: I finally did this.

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 <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

‘When he went away  The blues walked in and met me  Oh, yeah if he stays away  Old rocking chair’s gonna get me  All I do is pray...’ 

You sway to the melody as you wipe dry the last plate. You set it in the rack as Etta James’ soulful crooning wafts around the kitchen. Just the simple task of washing the dishes has you out of breath. You can no longer hum along as you’re suddenly light headed with sweat speckled across your brow. Even the breeze drifting in through the open window can’t cool the constant heat brewing within you. 

You brace your lower back as you reach for the dish towel and pop open the cupboard. The music drones to silence as the next some in queue loads. Your rounded stomach presses to the counter as you take a mug and dry it inside and out. Strange, you don’t remember the song starting like that; the strange warbling noise much unlike Marvin Gaye’s rich tones. 

You set the mug on the shelf and back up. Another noise peaks your attention, too tinny to be a snare. You rub your stomach mindlessly as you sling the cloth over your shoulder. You waddle across the tile to the folding table beneath the window. You tap pause on your phone and the bluetooth speaker goes silent. 

Your fingers pick the damp fabric away from your bump. These days you can’t avoid getting soaked. Even as you can’t forget about the burden of your condition, you’re still oblivious to how it gets in the way until it does. You sigh as you listen for another clue. 

A pained deep grunt floats up from below. Distant but decisive, another rustle beneath the unexpected noise. You lean over the table, a hand on the ledge as you push the pane higher. You bend, stomach pressed to the speaker, and peer down. You expect another dumpster diver searching for empties to trade in; rather you meet a most unexpected sight. 

There is a man in the dumpster, alright, but he isn’t moving. From there, you can’t see very clearly. You squint at the figure strewn among the trash but the zigzag of the fire escape obscures your eye line. 

You shouldn’t go and see. Not only is it a lot of effort, but it’s dangerous. You shouldn’t be wandering into alleys to check on strangers in dumpsters. You don’t know any good reason someone might be swimming in garbage. Nor do you think they would want to be bothered.  

Still, the prickling in your neck urges you to do something. There’s just something so peculiar about the angle of the arm you can see clearer than the rest of the body. At least they’re moving, even if they sound agonized. 

You take your phone and untether it from the bluetooth speaker. You unlock it and keep your thumb ready to dial out. You move as quickly as you can, not very, and waddles along the back of the couch into the entry way. You take your keys from the hook near your door and step into your cushy slides. 

You turn back the latch and leave the door unlocked behind you. The slides shift on your swollen feet as you rush down to the elevator. God, your back hurts. You try not to lean too far back as it only adds to the pain. You need a belly belt but they’re so darn expensive. 

You’re out of breath as you step on and turn to watch the numbers count down. You’re still panting as you reach the lobby and push through the front doors, leaning into the heavy grated iron until it creaks loudly. You clamour down the steps to even ground and your hips pang. 

You put your hand under your stomach, trying to lift it and ease the pressure in your hips. You blow out between your lips as you have to slow down. You shuffle across the grass and into the paved lobby. The stink of the trash brings you back to those early days of morning sickness. And afternoon sickness. And night sickness. 

You try not to inhale too deeply as you step between the brick buildings. You bring your phone up, ready to hit those three digits in a heartbeat. You should’ve done so already. Even if you do, it’ll take hours for anyone to come out here. 

You stop and listen a few steps from the dumpster. You don’t hear anything now. You look up at the sky, dimming towards evening in a mixture of pink and blue, the moon peeking palely through the hue. You grip your phone tight, keys jangling with your movement as you continue forward. 

“Hello?” You call out, “is someone in there?” You linger near the corner of the dumpster, the trash reeking in your nostrils, “do you need help?” 

No answer. You stare up, wondering how you might see inside. If you weren’t built like a keg, you might be able to see from the lower level of the fire escape but you can’t even make it one rung. You blink and call out again. 

“Hello? Are you okay?” 

You wait for a response. Silence again. Maybe they found their way out on their own. You huff. So much for all that. All you’ve done is added to the pain in your arches. You turn on your heel and a groan gurgles and plastic crinkles noisily. 

You stop again, wavering, and peer back over your shoulder. A hand appears over the tops of the dumpsters edge and grips it. You face the large metal bin as the knuckles strain within the stained brown leather, fingertips poking out nakedly, blood and dirty tinged across the flesh. A long grunt follows as the figure drags himself to look over the top. 

“Sir, are you--” you begin, voice catching at the sight of the cowl and the man’s square jaw. The white star on his chest stuns you. It’s him. Everyone knows that uniform, that face, even under his helmet. New York’s own Captain America. 

You gape as the super soldier strains and swings himself out of the dumpster with one arm. His other is hanging limply as his feet hit the pavement. His knees crack and buckle. He drops down onto them and hisses. 

“Captain America?” You utter dumbly. 

He puts his fist to the ground and leans on his arm. He hangs his head and heaves. He drags a leg forward, planting his foot, and makes himself stand. He pushes his shoulders back and winces, reaching to cradle his dangling arm. 

“Steve,” he rasps, “goddamn.” 

You don’t expect the obscenity. Not from him. He leans against the dumpster and turns his chin up. He gnashes his teeth as he grips his arm and jerks, moving the heavy bin with his effort. The pop of his shoulder is sickening as he growls tightly. He stomps his foot and as he shakes out the arm he just put back into place. 

He reaches up and peels off his cowl as he puts his head straight. He looks at you as he wipes the streak of blood from lip to chin. His blond locks are streaked silver and his face is lined. He looks much older than the magazine covers and the TV screens. The magic of editing, right? 

He swipes the sweaty hair from his forehead and huffs. 

“Steve,” you rest your phone on your stomach, “are you okay?” 

He pushes himself away from the dumpster and puffs, “I’m fine. Just... a hiccup.” 

You stare at him. He looks tired and worn. You believe him when he says he’s okay. He's a super soldier and the world has seen his many feats. Yet he looks completely hollow. 

“Are you sure? I could call someone or...” you step forward and point to the slash that borders chest and shoulder, “you should clean that out, shouldn’t you?” 

He looks down and grimaces, “had worse. I got comms. HQ doesn’t care about a few scratches.” 

He goes to step forward and stumbles slightly. He snarls and kicks his foot into the gravel. He wiggles his knee and bends to rub the joint. 

“I...” your mouth opens and closes. This isn’t the man you’ve seen in the media. He's not smiling and golden and shining. Still, he’s the Captain. “I live above,” you gesture upward, “I could help... or maybe you can just... sit for a little bit. Get yourself straight?” 

He looks at you. As if for the first time. His forehead smooths as the tension eases from his jaw. His gaze slowly crawls down to his stomach and you see the dimple in his cheek. 

“Your husband okay with that? I’m a bit of a mess,” his tone is lighter as he fixes his grip on his cowl. 

“Oh no, I don’t have--” you chew your lip and look at the brick wall, “it’s just me. But I have first aid kit and learned to stitch in summer camp. I think I can still remember how.” 

He glances around and nods, “got a back door?” 

“Yeah, it’s... past you,” you nod in his direction. 

He pivots stiffly and cranes to see around the dumpster. You near him and your keys jingle again. You follow him to the metal door with the glass window and you shove the key in and twist. You pull it open a few inches. It’s heavier than the front door. He grabs it and wrenches it all the way back. 

“Thanks,” you murmur. “There’s an elevator.” 

“Hm, fewer people see me, the better,” he sniffs as the door clanks behind him. 

“It might take me a while,” you warn, “I’m slow.” 

“What floor. I’ll meet you,” he offers. 

“Sure, it’s three.” 

“Number?” 

“310.” 

“I’ll find it,” he states and marches towards the stair sign. 

You go to catch the elevator, stewing in disbelief on your ascent. You step off and continue on to your apartment. He’s already there. He stands with his hand on the frame, looking over his shoulder as you waddle down the hall towards him. 

“It’s unlocked,” you say. 

He opens it and waits for you. You thank him as you enter and he follows. He locks it and lingers behind you. You put your hand to the wall as you slip off your slides. He gently lays his cowl on the corner table and bends to unlace his boots. You hang the keys on the hook and place your phone on the small table. 

He leaves his dirtied boots on the mat and limps forward. You stand in the open doorway of the living room and peek back at him. He looks around reluctantly. 

“Please, sit down,” you insist and wave through the doorway before you pass through. 

“I...” he begins and you hear his uneven gait down the hallway. “I don’t want to dirty your couch.” 

“I have a steam cleaner,” you assure. “Sit, I’ll get the kit.” 

He stares, his eyes once more scanning the space. Does he think this is a trip? That you’re some covert agent who all too conveniently found him? That’s absurd. Look at you. 

You shrug off that ridiculous idea and cross to the kitchen. You open several drawers before you remember it’s in the bathroom. Of course. Your brain likes to play games these days. You grab the metal tin from under the sink and return to Steve.  

He pulls off his gloves and balls them on the side table next to the couch. You come around the other side of the couch and sit, leaving lots of space between you. You squeeze the kits as you’re once more out of breath. 

“You okay?” He turns the question on you. 

“I’m not the one bleeding. Just pregnant,” you smile. 

You balance the kit on your stomach as you lean back. You sanitize a needle and weave it with surgical thread. You put that aside and fish out an alcoholic swap. You shift the kit aside and push on the back of the couch as you try to sit forward. You shake and he helps you, a humbling assistance. 

“First,” you turn to him, “we’ll see how deep it is,” you tear open the swap, “can I...” 

“One sec,” he dips his fingers into the fabric and tears the sleeve, renting the fabric like tissue. His arm is thick and well-toned despite the years. A centurion like him can’t complain for the shape he’s in, even battered. “I can do it myself.” 

“Yes, but it wouldn’t be easy.” 

You reach as he angles towards you. You gingerly dab around the gash and he tenses. He takes a sharp breath, “you don’t have to be so gentle. I can handle pain.” 

“Right,” you work more diligently. 

He’s quiet as you tend to him, picking out gravel and some metal slivers. You worry that you might miss some. You lean in closer and he steels himself at your proximity. 

“So,” he clears his throat, “just you and...” the kid?” 

“We all make mistakes,” you chuckle. You can only laugh about it, as scared as you are. 

“Mmm,” he flinches as you sweep down the length of the cut. It’s not that deep, mostly superficial. 

“Let me put some steri-strips on, shouldn’t need the stitches, ” you say as you sift through the kit with one hand, “if you’re hungry, I have leftovers. You like chicken?” 

You don’t know why you’re offering. Maybe it’s because you owe him. Like everyone in the city. It’s your chance to give back to the hero who gave so much. Or maybe it’s because you’re so damn lonely talking to your own stomach. 

“I should go,” he insists as you place a strip across the cut. 

“Up to you,” you say, “I don’t mind either way, but I’m not going to chase Captain America out of ym apartment.” 

He doesn’t say anything. You finish dressing his wound and gather up the wrappers and all. You crumple it in one hand and rock yourself to stand. You’re overly aware of him watching you. You touch your stomach and rub it, soothing your nerves. You find him watching the movement of your hand. 

“You must be pretty far along,” he says. 

“Six months. Chicken tortellini, if you want. I was gonna reheat some. I haven’t eaten since work.” 

“Work?” He frowns and stands, moving better than before. “Should you be?” 

“I’m at a desk. It’s nothing. HR got me some ergonomic stuff. Nothing compared to what you do.” 

You put away the kit and toss the garbage. You wash your hands before you search out the container of pasta in the fridges. You sense him behind you, just in the wide archway that peers into the kitchen. You reach into the cupboard you left open and take the single plate that isn’t in the rack. 

“So, you want some?” You ask. 

He’s silent with contemplation, the shift of his weight creaks in the floor, “I appreciate it, yes, please.” 

“I might have something you can change into,” you say. You wonder why you’re doing all this. Maybe it’s that maternal instinct kicking in. “The father, before he took off, left a few things.” You peek over your shoulder, “he was a bit smaller than you.” 

He shrugs then winces at the careless gesture. “Do you mind if I wash up before I eat? I smell like garbage. I don’t wanna overstep--” 

“Go ahead, it’ll take a while to warm this up,” you say. 

Another long lull. He taps his fingers on the wall and inhales deep enough for you to hear, “promise, I’ll get out of your hair after dinner.” 

“Please, take your time,” you say as you put the tortellini in a glass pan to rebake. He backs away and you sense his hesitation, “oh, down the hall, to the left of the bedroom at the end.” 

“Thanks,” he intones, “oh, uh, just realised, you know who I am...” 

Your brows pop up and you stop before you can put the pan in the stove. You look back at him and give your name. He nods. 

“Pretty,” he comments, “also, it’s just Steve, not Captain.” 

[fandom-friday]

The goal of Fandom Friday: provide a place where people can shout-out their favorite creators from the week, whether it’s a piece of fan art that made you smile or a fanfic that moved you. Drop a link to your favorite creations this week into my ask box along with what you loved about it, and I will give them a shout! It doesn’t have to be Star Wars either! If it’s on another website (AO3, Twitter, etc.), please be sure to state that as well.

This happens each week, so don’t feel like you’ve got to get out everything in one week. Just keep track of them throughout the week or send me an ask whenever you find something, and I’ll drop them all on Fridays (or throughout the weekend if I get a lot). The cutoff for each week is THURSDAY 12 PM (I’m in the Pacific timezone). Anything received after that will roll to the next week. A summary of the weeks’ recs will be posted at the end of the weekly queue, so check back here for all of the awesome fics and art! And be sure to go give the creations on that list some love (and don’t just share the ask responses I put out).

2024 Fandom Friday Weekly Summary Master List

Rules and additional details under the cut! PLEASE make sure you read the rules before sending something in. If your submission violates any of the rules, I will delete it.

Rules:

Please send submissions to my ask box (sending them all to one place makes wrangling them easier each week). In your ask, please include the creator’s handle, a link to their work/post (if links aren’t working for the ask, please DM me them), and what you loved about it!

Please ensure the link is to the creator’s original post and not your own reblog or repost of their work (if they’re on another platform). The idea is to drive people to visit the creator’s page!

The creation does not have to have been posted this week! It can be something older. Also, don’t worry about whether or not a rec is a repeat from a prior week. Just looking to celebrate things that made an impression on you this week, whether you’ve seen it before or not!

NSFW is alright! Just make sure you note it in the ask so I can flag appropriately! Since I’m including 18+ material, minors may not participate. 18+ posts will be tagged with NSFT/lemon/lemony lemon (trying to cover all my bases).

NO incest, underage, cl*necest blogs, master/padawan (or similar power dynamics), dub-con/non-con/rape occurring IN the fic (to include stalker/obsessive behavior fics). Also, no H*rry Potter. There are a few others that I also won’t share due to my discomfort with them (i.e., R*xsoka), so if you’re not sure, ask. Also, many of you submit multiple works at once, and that’s fine, but if one of those works contains something that violates the rules, I will delete the entire ask, so something to be extra careful about when submitting!

Submissions that deal with 18+ material or difficult/triggering topics (pregnancy, abuse, drug use, etc.) MUST BE TAGGED APPROPRIATELY.

If your rec involves spoilers from a show that’s currently running, please include that info in the ask so I can tag it appropriately (I will normally tag a few different ways, but I always use #<show title> spoilers if you need to filter (for example: Andor spoilers will be tagged #Andor Spoilers). I will stop tagging spoilers two weeks after the show stops airing.

You can submit GIF sets or edits, but please ensure you are submitting from the blog that actually created them. Wanted to add that caution since there’s been a lot of people stealing/reposting GIFs and edits in particular recently. So just be cautious.

Try to avoid commentary in your ask that might make others feel bad (“the only person who knows how to write XXX correctly…”). It’s important to be able to appreciate creators without making others feel bad, so let’s try to keep the commentary complimentary without being off-putting for other creators.

Self recommendations are allowed and encouraged! Shout out your own hard work! You deserve the recognition!

*Rules subject to change so PLEASE make sure you read them before sending something in. If your submission violates any of the rules, I will delete it.

**If you have any questions about any of the rules, don’t hesitate to DM me!In addition to sending me asks, I highly encourage you to go either leave a comment on and/or reblog someone’s work (tag me or use the #Fandom Friday tag if you do!). Let’s get the interaction back up on this website and show the creators that work so hard on their stuff some love!

[pjsk-headcanons]

PINNED!!!!

Headcanon submissions are currently closed.

other things are alright tho just no headcanons since i rlly need to clean up the inbox kndlsjd

hi! i thought a blog like this would be fun. i was inspired by @/projectsekaitakes.

layout by @vividly-idol-archives here

blog run by @vbs-kaitos-big-naturals

you can submit through asks!

(apologies in advance if i ever misinterpret something you tell me, im either distracted or very tired while queueing thingswww. you can tell me in asks or messages if i get something wrong!)

Rules:

You are not allowed to have more than 5 headcanons in the queue. dont feel too stressed or guilty about this, its not really a big deal. if you lose track, just wait about a day and you should be fine.

You are not allowed to complain or hate on the headcanons in the replies or reblogs. you are, however, allowed to give your own.

I. e., "Honami can't stand the smell of car exhaust." can have people in the replies saying, "i always thought she would hate the smell of lemons"

You are not allowed to submit headcanons exclusively about gender/sexuality/romanticism. those can get oversaturated really quickly, so to avoid it ive decided to not allow them, sorry. you can send shit like "akito is a little whore slut babygirl" and I'll probably post that since it doesnt really have to do with actual identity or orientation.

Don't misgender Mizuki or erase her representation.

No sexual headcanons. sorry! I'm okay with that stuff, but im also aware that many people aren't so let's not do that here! again, more jokey submissions are okay (read: akito is a little whore slut babygirl) since that isnt really explicit but I'd rather not do anything past that.

No asks that perpetuate harmful stereotypes.

No use of the word "Latinx". you can use latine or latino instead!

AU headcanons are allowed! in fact, i would love them! all i ask is you make a lil note about it before the actual headcanon so people have Context

please notify me if i don't tag something correctly! I'll try to add trigger warnings for everything but i might make mistakes!

if a hc includes a ship, I'll tag that ship. i may tag a group of two or more characters that dont have a name (i.e. shinonome siblings, white day trio, etc.) with "[ship name] hc" (looks at akian) but ill only tag things with the actual ship tag if the characters are explicitly stated to be something other than friends

if submissions get repetitive or follow the same topic/character a lot, i wont queue them and wait until it dies down to put it in the queue. i won't ever delete an ask unless it breaks a rule above!

in the tags of the post, i, blog runner, will share my thoughts on the headcanon. i wont be negative, i promise!

[note: the tag for kohane headcanons is #kohampster hc]

most of all, have fun! that's what fandom is about!

[halfmoth-halfman]

Leaving this blog.

With my mini-series finishing up soon, I've decided to leave this blog as well as my AO3 account once it’s finished. This is not a decision I've made lightly, but circumstances have left this a place where I no longer feel safe.

As of now, I won't be deactivating this blog and will be leaving my fics up for anyone who'd still like to read them. I can't say this decision won't change later, but right now I feel that I've put too much work into this blog to simple delete it.

Below the cut is an explanation of why I'm making this decision, and what has been happening on this blog since the end of last year. It's not required to read or anything to understand the gist of this post; it's simply for my own peace of mind knowing that I spoke up about it. There will be topics that are possibly triggering such as harassment, threats, and racism so please mind the warnings and tags.

The mini-series is queued to finish next week, but there will be no more fic polls or wip wednesdays. I'll still be on here to make sure the queue does its job, and maybe post some stuff from my old drafts as a last bit of fun.

I'll have dms tentatively open for the next two-ish weeks for those who'd like to follow my new account, however I will not be answering anything from empty blogs. After that, asks and dms will be turned off, and I won't be coming back to this blog very often, if at all.

I cannot say thank you enough to the wonderful readers I've had and the amazing people I've met. I don't think I would've ever continued writing without your support and friendship. There's nothing I can do to show my appreciation for all of you.

Maybe we'll see each other again. If not, I hope your inspiration is always flowing, and 2024 treats you kindly.

Mothie 💜

Again, TW: rape/death threats, violent racism, repeated harassment, and mental health.

Back in November, I started getting rude, mean-spirited anons. It wasn't anything I was too bothered with because it didn't happen often and, honestly, my inbox gets flooded for a week or so anytime I post about certain topics. I blocked, deleted, reported and moved on thinking whoever it was would get bored and leave.

However, what started as a few rude anons calling me a bitch or stupid turned into a lot of anons being vile and racist which only worsened over the next few months.

I spoke about it in this post (link) near the end of November. In that post, I mentioned that those were the nicer asks and that was not an exaggeration. I have gotten my fair share of shitty anons as seen here (link) when I had to take a break from my blog because of said anons, but I have never gotten the amount of vitriol that I saw in these asks.

When I turned anon off, I started getting even worse messages from empty blogs that would either be blocked or deactivate within a week. When I turned my askbox off, I started getting hateful DMs. When I turned DMs off, it jumped from Tumblr to my other social medias which I had to private, completely avoid, or outright delete.

I got messages attacking my writing, calling me slurs, threatening to find me and rape or kill me, sending me explicit porn and rape videos while insulting my sexuality, and going into gross detail about how much people I interacted with hated me or how I would never be as good as them. I tried to power through it, pretending everything was fine while I pulled away from this blog, from writing, from friends that I loved and talked to every day. Everything about this blog, the fandoms I enjoyed, the people I talked to, made me so anxious because of these constant messages.

I took several breaks while dealing with this in therapy, repeatedly trying to come back and get comfortable on this blog, but within a few days of coming back the messages would start up again, either here or on any of my social medias I tried to unprivate, and I couldn't deal with it.

Only in the last week or two has it started to slow down and stop on a few of my other socials, which is the only reason I even feel comfortable making this post. However, in regards to this blog and my feelings toward it, the damage is done.

I don't think I can ever truly convey how isolating this has been. So many of these messages were about how I've spoken about my struggles as a black woman in fandom, how much of a burden it puts on the people who interact with me, how inferior I am to them and that I am everything that's wrong with fandom.

I felt scared and anxious to talk to anyone about this, especially people mentioned in those messages, out of fear that this harassment would jump to them. There are friendships that I stepped away from that I will never get back because of that. There are friends that I've felt like I was betraying by never telling them about what was happening because I felt too ashamed about letting this get to me.

I constantly worried that making a post like this would feel like, "Oh, Mothie's whining and trauma-dumping into the void about fandom racism again", that those messages would be right and it would force people to feel like they had to support me. Or worse, that people would agree and it would only make things worse. I've wrestled with so much guilt trying to decide to make this post and figure out what to do to make me trust myself again.

Ultimately, I don't think I was wrong for talking about my issues in fandom, and I don't think anything I've said has warranted this kind of harassment. I don’t know the who’s or why’s behind of this, but I've come to terms with the fact that I'll never really know. Truthfully, I'm not sure it even matters at this point. In the end, I think moving on from this blog entirely would be the best thing for me right now.

But, man, does it fucking suck.

This was the blog where I felt comfortable enough to start writing again, to start posting my fics. It's the blog where I met so many friends, got the courage to join new communities, found new hobbies, new music, new things to enjoy in life. It feels silly to say about a blog, but this was a place where I felt like I was able to carve out a space for myself. I put so much work into making it my own, and now the only thing I feel about it is anxious.

Hate messages and threats and racism have always been a part of fandom, and the internet as a whole. I’ve known since I started participating in fandom spaces that it was going to and continue to happen. I've known that I had to have a tough skin, especially if I ever spoke up about problems I faced because no one was going to have my back if I didn't have my own. I thought I had learned how to deal with it, and how to make a safe space for myself. But this goes beyond that. I did not deserve this. No one deserves this.

In some ways, it feels like admitting defeat, like I'm weak or hypocritical for not being as strong as I pretended I was and leaving. In other ways, it feels freeing to start over, and I'm choosing to view look at this optimistically even if it bittersweet. I don't want to let this scare me away from writing or from speaking about things that are important to me. All I can do now is say I'm so incredibly sorry to those I've hurt by stepping away or keeping this secret, and make sure I'm able to at least leave this blog on as happy a note as I can have.

[chocolatepot]

Twitter is rapidly sinking as people are only allowed to look at it for about ten minutes a day, so I thought I would put together a post explaining the best way to get started on Mastodon! It can be an intimidating prospect as it's not as immediately user-friendly as Twitter or other corporate social media sites.

Selecting a server

The main difference between Mastodon and Twitter is that you don't just "sign up for Mastodon". Mastodon is effectively made up of hundreds of small sites (called "instances") that are all interconnected ("federated") and use the same interface. The instance you choose has only a minor effect on your experience. The main one to be aware of is that if an instance is known to be poorly moderated and have users who cause a lot of trouble, other instances may unlink from it ("defederate") and make it more difficult for people on it to interact with you. This is rare. The very big, unthemed instances like mastodon.social are more likely to have this problem than any fannish one, in my experience. (You can also make a personal choice to block an entire instance if you have an issue with it.)

The other effect is that each instance has its own universal feed of all users on it.

The sidebar looks almost exactly like Twitter's, except for "local" and "federated". Your home feed is just the people you follow. "Local" is everyone on your instance, and "federated" is everyone on any instance yours is federated with. The local feed is why it's worthwhile to choose an instance that has some sort of theme you're interested in, like fandom, tech, queer issues, history, etc.

The two main fannish instances I'm aware of are fandom.ink and federatedfandom.net. There's also wandering.shop but that seems to be more for writers, in my experience. If you want a different sort of instance, just google "[topic] mastodon instance" and you should find it.

Applying to your instance

Because instances are more tightly moderated than the rest of social media, you can't always immediately get into the one you want. (Though I suspect that many have opened up slightly as Twitter flails.) You may need to submit some kind of application and wait a few days.

If you know someone on the instance you want to join, they may be able to get you an invite code so you can skip the queue. I have unlimited invites for fandom.ink, hit me up if you want to join.

You can also join an instance that's currently taking new accounts and then transfer into the one you want later. For the impatient souls.

Posting

The mechanics of posting are just like Twitter's.

You type in the box, you hit "toot" (I know), and out it goes. You may notice that you get a 500 character limit! This is nice.

If you add an image, make sure to add alt text. Not including alt text may get you flamed or shamed. You can also make a poll, set privacy levels, and add a content/spoiler/trigger warning that will require people to click through to see the text.

Use of hashtags is strongly encouraged on Mastodon. I've seen some talk praising Tumblr's style of having a separate field for tags and suggesting Mastodon add that, but I don't know if it'll happen. But unlike Twitter, there's an earnest culture of incorporating tags into your text (eg "I just bought a new #fountainpen") and following tags to get posts about different topics. This is the main way to find people with similar interests to follow, outside of your local feed.

It's also Mastodon culture to write an introductory post with your interests, including hashtags, so that people can find you.

Something else to be aware of is that you can edit your posts! If anyone has already rt'd ("boosted") them - they will just get a notification of your edit.

You cannot qrt on Mastodon at this time. It's a hotly debated topic. You will have to settle for boosting and then replying, or making your own post with context and linking to the post you want to qrt.

Following other people

If the person you want to follow is on your instance, that's all well and good. Click on their name, go to their profile, click the "follow" button.

If they are not on your instance, you need to make sure that you're accessing them through your instance. Clicking on their name from your federated feed, or if someone has boosted them onto your home feed, will automatically take you to the version of their profile on your instance. Also all well and good.

If you get to their profile from somewhere else, such as a direct link from another social media platform, that's a problem. If you try to follow, their instance will bleat at you that you don't have an account. There are two ways to get around this.

One is to paste their entire username (eg "@chocolatepot@fandom.ink") into the search bar on your instance, from your home feed. The other is to navigate to "http://[your server address]/[their whole username]" in your address bar. Both will take you to the same place.

[magpod-confessions]

MAGPOD CONFESSIONS

[pt: magpod confessions]

Blog for unpopular opinions, headcanons, rants, aus and whatever else related to the Magnus Archives or Protocol. Just send them in my askbox

Inspired by @/wc-confessions and run by @thecatspasta & @recoveringangelz

No DNI, this isnt my main so likes and follows wont come through here, asks wont be immediately posted and queue will be adjusted by how many asks I have.

Do not send asks that include detailed discussions of sex or personal trauma. Any asks sent including those will be deleted

Spoilers and other things are often not tagged, proceed at your own risk, however you can ask me to tag a certain post and I will do so. Trigger tags I will put more work into tagging, but may miss some

I post almost every ask, even ones I disagree with, however if you send me hate or something that is obviously very bigoted I will just laugh at you. Asks I do not post are those who outright attack/insult other people or violate the rules

Sending asks directed at me is absolutely fine and highly encouraged, but I do reserve the right to not answer it if it makes me uncomfortable

If you want, you can add the 🗣️ emoji to your ask and Ill answer it with complete honesty (more info on why i dont do that without the emoji here)

(to my anxious/paranoid folks i promise you have not sent anything accidentally very bigoted)

[wwdits-kink-meme]

WWDITS KINK MEME

Why not start a revival? Send in your prompts!!

This is an experimental format, so hopefully it works out!

SUBMIT A KINK MEME

FAQ (also under cut for mobile users)

What is a kink meme? Basically a public (usually nsfw) prompt, popularized on Livejournal. One person will throw out an idea that they don’t or can’t fulfill themselves in the hopes that it will spark creativity in someone else! A kink meme can be as simple as pairing + trope, or a full well-thought-out AU!

How do I submit a kink meme? Use the ask button on this blog and it will go into the queue! You can submit anonymously (traditional), but it will be posted either way - make sure you click anonymous if you don’t want your face on it!

How do I fill a kink meme? Any way you like! You can write a fic directly in the reblogs, post it on another site and provide a link, or even post a 32 part series in the replies! We just ask that you link the prompt on your creative piece and/or reblog the submission with your piece included or linked (whichever applicable). If you are putting an explicit fill in reblogs, please remember to add a community label if the original post does not already have one!

Can I fill/submit an NSFW prompt if I am under 18? NO!!!!!!!! Doing so not only endangers you, but the adults in fandom, as well. We can’t stop you from seeking out certain content if you want to see it, but you should not be interacting directly with adults on sexual topics.

Can I fill a prompt with art? Absolutely! If your craft is drawing, painting, crocheting, stop-motion, needlepoint, cosplay, etc etc etc and you are inspired by a kink meme, we encourage you to participate! We also encourage adding alt text to any images.

What content do you allow in submissions? All kinks are welcome - yes, even that one. We will reject submissions that are not WWDITS-based, are hateful in some way, or appear to be submitted in bad faith. Venting, character-bashing, or incomprehensible prompts will be deleted. Transphobia, racism, homophobia, antisemitism, ableism, etc will get you blocked. Due to the limitations of the mods, we are currently only accepting submissions in English or Spanish.

How are kink memes tagged? Tags will include any and all pairings, kinks, applicable tropes, and potentially triggering content to the best of our ability. If we have missed something or you would like to request a certain trigger tag, send us an ask! We cannot guarantee that we will be able to tag for everything, however, and it is important to remember to protect yourself and your online experience. Submissions with explicit language will have community tags attached.

Can I submit SFW prompts? Of course! Despite the name, kink memes aren’t just for porn.

Can I submit prompts with characters from the WWDITS movie, too? Absolutely!

Can I submit prompts with my OC? No, but not because we don’t like your OC - we just don’t know them! These prompts are for someone else to fill, so it has to include characters they know.

Can I submit reader-insert or y/n prompts? Yes, as long as the other characters are from WWDITS!

Can I submit RPF prompts? No, as we prefer that this kink meme focus on the characters in the show rather than the actors who play them. However, celebrities who have appeared in the show as themselves count as characters and are fair game (within reason)!

Can I submit crossover prompts? Yes, under certain conditions. This is a WWDITS kink meme, and we want to ensure those characters have the spotlight! So if your prompt is mostly about the crossover property, or if the WWDITS character is simply one of a medley of different characters, it may be rejected. No Harry Potter, please.

Can I make my own kink meme for a different fandom using this blog as a template? Of course! We encourage this - please bring kink memes back to fandom!!

Who are the mods? Just some adult fans who long for the insanity that was LJ back in the day.

Mod the Impaler - they/them ModMilla - she/her

[oc-aita]

Welcome to oc-aita!

This blog functions exactly like @am-i-the-asshole-official, except it's for the blorbos from your head only. You pick a scenario that happened in your story, and write it in the point of view of your OC of choice (which doesn't specifically means how other OCs view the situation, or what really happened). Then, they will be judged whether or not they're the asshole here.

The questions will come with a poll, and it follows the same categories as these. For easy access (although they are explained a bit more on the link), they are:

YTA = You're the asshole NTA = Not the asshole JAH = Justified asshole NAH = No assholes here ESH = Everyone sucks here INFO = Not enough information to judge.

Please, provide at least a bit of context! Specially if there's magic or other things that aren't from the real world, but also just. The context needed to understand the situation (or what your OC considers important/relevant).

I also accept fan characters, but I don't know every piece of media, so please clarify (in another ask) if they're from a specific media.

NSFW (tagged as "NSFT") is allowed, but don't get too explicit, if possible. I am an adult, so don't worry for me.

This blog runs on a queue! For now, the waiting time can be up to a week I think, but that's more of a guesstimate rather than a hard truth. You can also find your AITA posted the next day you send it, it really depends.

I will be tagging potential triggers as "[thing] tw", and mentions of these as "[thing] ment". If possible and needed, please put trigger warnings on your own at the beginning on your ask! Sometimes I can miss stuff.

I don't accept Alternative Universes AITAs only involving canon characters from media. If your AITA is about a fan character and it involves a canon character from that media (example, if your FC is asking whether they're the asshole in a situation involving a canon character), that's fine, but this only focuses on characters you yourself created (unless you are the creator from that book/comic/series/etc, I'm not going to stop you in that case:p). Sorry about that!

With this, we're nearly done. A few things, though: Unless they're tagged as "my own", the OCs and situations are not mine. So, don't send anything about them directed towards me. I will not post hate or anything negative directed towards the owner themself, and avoid telling bad things to the owner on the notes for what their character did. And please, don't take this too seriously, this is just a silly little blog for silly fictional characters! I will add the corresponding trigger warnings if needed, but these characters don't exist, and real people matter more than fictional characters.

Done? Then get ready for your little guy to be judged!

[readychilledwine]

For Richer or Poor

Summary - Rhiannon and Rhys struggle with finding each other the perfect solstice gift

Warnings - smut, angst, virginity loss

A/n- this started as angst and fluff and kind of took on a mind of its own.. I apologize for the delay on getting it posted. Miss Sophia has had a mind of her own the past couple days so I've been a little busy forgetting to queue things ❤️ baby daddy's scheduling is now back in place, though.

Peep Requiem for a Dream here

“I don't understand why you are putting so much pressure on one gift,” Azriel stroked Rhiannon's back as she cried. “Rhys loves you, not any materialistic thing you could buy him.” Rhiannon broke down again, back shaking with each heavy sob.

That was the issue. She could not buy him anything. When her father had thrown her to Azriel's feet and abandoned her with her older Brother, he had left her with nothing but the clothing on her bloodied back.

She had no money.

No title.

Nothing she could gift Rhysand for their first Solstice together.

She couldn't even bake him anything nor cook him a dinner. Not unless the two young fae wanted to undergo a Mating Ceremony.

She had little to offer him while he gave her the world. Constsntly showering Her in gifts from Velaris and any court his father would force him to visit.

From teas and treats to lavish clothing, Rhiannon had it all, but she never had the ability to pay it back.

Rhys and his mother walked the Palace of Thread and Jewels. He was carrying the many bags she had accumulated as she shopped for him, Cassian, Azriel, his sister, and now Rhiannon.

Rhys was struggling with gifts for the latter. He had spoiled Rhiannon so much over the past year, and he was lost in what to get the female he'd hand the world.

“What about just something simple? A necklace? A bracelette?” His mother wrapped a Hand around his bicep. “She enjoys blankets. Perhaps a soft new blanket.”

Rhys stared straight ahead. “Nothing says I love you and want to spend the rest of my days with you like a shitty last minute blanket, mother.” He sighed, knowing what he wanted to do, but knowing his father would have his head.

He allowed his mom to pull him into the finest jeweler in the market. “Just do it, Rhysand. We will hide it until we can't anymore.”

Rhys held Rhiannon tight that night. Refusing to let Her go near the small tree his mother was placing presents under. They had been friends for 4 years now, knew they were mates for one year, and had spent that year courting. They had done nothing more but laid in his bed together, kissing and her hands slightly exploring at times while his roamed every inch of her frame like he was making a map.

He had never pushed her into sex, never asked for more than just her love and kisses, but he knew that small box under the tree would change everything. She had wanted to wait for marriage, a tradition drilled into her head through years of beatings from her step mother and Father.

And now, in just 12 short hours, after his Mother, Azriel, and Cassian left for the party being thrown in the Mead Hall, Rhysand would be asking her for her hand.

He placed a few soft kisses along her neck, smiling as she snuggled in closer to him with a small twitch of her lips. Just a few more hours, he told himself.

Solstice morning was filled with laughter and joy. The males having partook in yet another snowball fight as Rhiannon spent the morning in the kitchen helping with what little she could without triggering a mating frenzy.

She, Azriel, and Cassian had exchanged their homemade gifts without the presence of the High Lord's family, the three of them tucked into the boy's room as they exchanged homemade treats. They all couldn't afford much, so these small things had become their tradition. Something they could gather ingredients and supplies for a fairly cheap and make with love and effort.

They did the same for Rhysand's family, showing their gratitude for his mother's choice to pull the three of them into their home. Azriel and Cassian traded gifts with Rhysand while Rhiannon had to wait.

Anxiousness Had set into the pit of her stomach as she got dressed this morning. Rhysand's mother had taken gentle care, braiding her long dark hair, making sure her nails were trimmed and clean, that her hands were oiled and moisturized.

She had ensured Rhiannon had been gifted a fine set of oils and lotions along with a pretty lacy outfit she had hand made for “when the time felt right.”

The evening came quickly, prompting Cassian, Azriel, and Rhysand's mother to leave the cabin, heading to the Mead Hall for celebrations and leaving the two mates completely alone.

Rhys had her between his legs, Tucked into his chest tight and placing small kisses along her temple and hairline. “I'm sorry I'm keeping you away from the camp party,” Rhys tilted her head up. “I just wanted time alone with you.”

Rhiannon smiled softly. “If you think I'd rather spend a single moment in that hall with those males, you truly underestimate my love for you.”

“I thought we could talk about that,” Rhysand began softly. “About love and us.” Rhys sat her up, hiding the small black box behind him. “You know I love you, right?”

The falling look on her face had Rhysand back pedaling Watching in horror as she moved away from him and sat down in the opposite couch.

He moved to her instantly, grabbing her soft small hands. “I already fucked that up,” he muttered taking a deep breath. “What I mean is, I do love you, and I hope I have made that clear and obvious.”

He took a deep breath, pausing to kiss her left hand. “I have loved you long before the Bond snapped, and I would love you regardless of it being in place. From the moment Azriel carried you in the doorway begging mother for help, I felt drawn to you.”

Another long pause came as he kissed each knuckle on her hand. “I knew I loved you the moment you took down a male, not knowing he was one of Devlon's bastard Sons and beat the shit out of him for grabbing you. I knew I loved you when I pulled you off of him and went back to fight. I knew I loved you as you sat holding Ice to your lip getting lectured by mother and simply said, “let the camp lord know I'll do it again.” I knew I loved you because of your spark, your fight.”

Rhiannon looked away, hiding her amusement. “So you knew You loved me when it turned out I was violent.”

“You are a violent, murderous, little creature,” Rhysand purred softly, trying to hide the lust in his tone. “And I stupidly love every single ounce of it. I love your eyes when you see something that makes you happy. I love how you pout when I don't give you whatever you want-”

“I do not pout,” Rhys smirked at her, thumb going to her pouty bottom lip.

“Oh yes you do, Darling.” He kissed her gently. “I want to spend my life with you. Learning all the other things I can love. Growing to love the things I already do more.”

Before Rhiannon could respond and process what was happening, Rhys was on one knee before her, an open ring box in hand. “It would be a long engagement, Rhiannon Darling, but will you marry me?”

All she could do was nod, crying as she threw herself Into his arms, holding him tight. “I presume that is a yes?”

Rhiannon nodded before pulling him to her and kissing him deeply. It did not take long for that kiss to become more passionate. Rhys was on top of her in an instant, resting between her legs as they wrapped around his waist, hairs tangling into her long dark hair.

Her own hands found the buttons of his shirt, undoing them quickly and pushing it down his shoulders. Once the material was no longer there, Rhiannon began to run her hands over every exposed piece of skin. Nails and fingertips gently brushing some areas while other areas were squeezed.

The second those legs, those damned legs, wrapped around his waist, Rhys knew her intentions. He pulled apart from her, almost chuckled as she whined softly, “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” her voice was breathy as she tried to get him closer, nodding eagerly in confirmation.

Rhys got off the couch, lifting her With him as he did and carried her to her room. “I refuse to let your first time be on a couch instead of a bed,” he laid her down, smiling ferally as he did.

It was teasingly slow, removing her from her clothing, smiling as she laid Naked below him, dark hair spread out around her head like a halo. “So beautiful, darling.” Rhys placed soft kisses along her jawline, whispering to her as his fingers trailed every curve.

Her skin was on fire from every pass, every gentle caress, every touch she'd never experienced before. The second his tongue flicked Her nipple, a whine she'd never heard from herself tumbled from plush parted lips. “So sensitive,” Rhys muttered before licking and sucking her breast while his hand played with the other one. Once he was satisfied, he freed her nipple with a soft pop Before switching sides.

Rhiannons' back arched more cries falling from her lips as her hands tangled in his soft hair. “Please,” she whimpered, thighs clenching together as wetness and heat pooled between them. “Rhysand, please.”

He tutted her softly, mouth returning to hers. “You'll take what I give you, when I give it to you,” another harsher kiss had her whimpering. “Understood, darling?”

“Yes, husband,” the word spurred something primal in Rhysand. Eyes going dark with lust and need.

Since that bond had snapped, all he had wanted was to be hers, for her to be his in return, and now he was taking it. He was stealing this opportunity. Rhys kissed down her body again, growling when he finally hit her core. “So fucking pretty.”

He gave her no warning, diving into her cunt like a man starved. Rhiannon quickly became a mess of moans and cries. The foreign feeling he was bringing her was unmatched to anything she had made herself feel before.

She knew Rhysand was a talented lover, having laid in bed late at night hearing him with the few females he would bring home before they had gotten together, before the Bond snapped, but this was unimaginable.

It was messy. Tongue spreading and taking slick as he lapped at her entrance and clit.

It was hot. Sweat forming on both of their bodies as the room grew warmer and warmer, as panting took the place of stable breaths.

It was raw passion. Each lick, nudge, moan a measurement moment. Each tightening of her core, of her stomach twisting causing more drive as she pushed it down the bond to him.

It took minutes that felt like seconds for her to fall apart on his tongue, that coil snapping as she screamed his name and stars took place of her vision.

Rhys kissed her clit before moving back up her body, hand replacing his tongue and fingers running through her folds. “You taste divine,” his lips found hers, tongue going into her mouth to share his new favorite wine with her. “I could spend days between your beautiful thighs, Rhiannon.”

He was distracting her, praising Her with soft kisses and words. When he finally felt his finger was wet enough, he slowly pushed it in, watching her face as her breath hitched and eyes rolled back.

“Relax, little mate,” he whispered. “I have you.” He moved agonizingly slow, forehead resting On hers as her breathing picked up again. He smiled as her walls relaxed, Welcoming his finger deeper into her warmth. “There we go. Doing such a good job, darling.”

Rhiannon had her eyes locked shut, mouth opened to a soft o as she felt that coil begin to wind itself up again. She could feel Rhysand's eyes on her, his spare hand tracing her cheekbone As a second finger entered her, stretching her out more to prepare her for him.

Rhys seemed to be on a mission. His fingers were curling, scissoring, searching. It was obvious when he found what he was looking for. He watched as his mate took a deep breath, back arched again, and then a Loud moan of his name fell from swollen lips. He felt his stomach stirring with male pride as he Began to aim over and over for that same spot, feeling wave after wave of her arousal and pleasure shooting down the bond.

He had her pulled apart within seconds again. The pride of it all shot straight to his ego.

His beautiful little mate.

Folding for him Over and over again.

Rhys kissed her deeply, deciding she was ready and pulled his fingers out. “Last Chance to tell me to stop, Rhiannon.” Rhys' forehead found hers again, going into her mind to find any doubt. Instead he found love, contentment, need, lust. Her thoughts were clouded and occupied by him. His scent, his intelligence, his voice. His own clothes were long forgotten, slick soaked hand moving to coat himself before lining up with her. “Tell me it hurts and we stop.” She nodded, hands going to his biceps as her hazel eyes met his.

Rhys pushed in slowly, watching her like a hawk. Her nails dug into his arms, almost spurring him on As she whimpered softly underneath him. He stopped as she tensed up, gently stroking her hair, “You have to relax, baby. I don't want to hurt you.” Rhiannon, done with teasing and wanting this part over With, wrapped her legs Around his waist, forcing him in deeper with a gasp. Rhys growled, burying his head into her neck as his self control slowly began to disappear. He pushed in the rest of the way, groaning as her soft walls hugged him.

They sat like that for a few seconds, allowing her to relax further, to adapt to the intrusion. “Rhys, please,” she begged. “Gods please move.” He was lost in the haze of her, pulling out slowly before pushing back in and setting a soft rhythm. Their hands found each other, fingers lacing together as he made love to her, hitting that perfect spot every time he reentered her body. “I love you,” he whispered and smiled as she said it back.

“Faster,” she panted. Rhys felt his smile go feral. His speed picked up, watching as her breasts bounced. His free hand found her hip, squeezing the side of her ass as he took her.

Their joint pleasure was building quickly as they freely sent it to each other down the bond. Rhys could feel himself nearing that edge and brought his fingers to her clit. “Need you to cum, Rhi,” he almost begged her for it. His Fingers began to circle that bud, watching through heavy eyes as she began chanting his name over and over again, walls fluttering and clenching around him. “Need to feel you fall apart on my cock, little wife.”

That word.

That precious word.

The word that made this all okay in her mind was her undoing.

The idea of being his wife. His mate. His everything.

She shattered around him, crying for him and screaming his name as she came. She saw the heavens behind her eyes as she pulled him closer, mind lost in the feeling of him, the smell of him, the need for him.

Rhys tumbled over the edge seconds later, moaning her name loudly as did.

The room that had previously echoed with the sound of her slick, skin making contact, of their moans was now silent. Breathing the only thing indicating life was still there. Rhys pulled Out of her slowly, picking her up the second he was stable on his own feet and carrying her to the bathroom.

He bathed her as she slept in his arms, his own mind still processing that this had finally happened.

She woke up the next morning, ring on her finger to the sound of Cassian egging on a fight. Rolling her eyes, Rhiannon left her bed, Walking to the kitchen and joining Rhysand's mother at the table for coffee. “How long?” She asked.

Amara looked at Rhys and Azriel, watching as the shadowsinger landed another punch. “About 10 minutes. Should be done soon. Let's talk wedding dresses.”

Rhiannon smiled, leaning her head on Amara’s shoulder. “Happy solstice, mom.”

“Happy solstice, Rhi.”

[dark-falz]

This GIF is gonna be part of a bigger and one of my favorite sets but my queue is filled up until the next year and I don't wanna mess with it atm so I figured I'd just throw it out on its own.

This post is sentimental to someone I use to play PSO with back on Xbox because this area put me in a whole mood 🙃

Today I realized I haven't been to the Ultimate Mines 1 since my Xbox online days. Going back recently, I couldn't picture what they looked like. But when I was there, I was slapped with the fondest memories of my favorite person I played PSO with, DJ. Sadly there isn't much I remember besides a few bits of his personal information, and possibly his gamertag from 2002, none of which help me.

But today I remembered, loading into the level with Elly, this was his favorite place.

I always hated the Mines. I developed a fear of big machinery 100% because Baranz were terrifying to 12 year old me. (had actual panic attacks during spray tans and CT scans later lmao) I remembered asking him why he always picked Mines missions. His reasoning was the vast change.

I never really saw it. Until now. Until I'm alone, making GIFs of it. And I'm just really thankful my realization triggered that memory of him. Because now I'm going to make sure to spend a lot more time there.

And I'm sad and really miss my friend now.

Ok thanks for listening.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Quiet Ones 1

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 dubcon/noncon, and other possible triggers. 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: You live a quiet life, but your peace is fractured by a chaotic man.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen, short!shy!reader

Note: don't ask me why I did this.

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 <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

You keep to yourself. That’s the safest, the easiest way to live. You keep your head down, your eyes to yourself, your voice bottled up. 

You grip your phone as you approach the coffee shop. You stand on your toes to see through the painted windows and frown at the long queue. You won’t have to worry about that. Like everything else social, you’ve found a work around. 

You look at your phone, the app showing your order as ‘preparing’. It should be done shortly as the progress bar fills close to complete. You can bear the claustrophobia for a minute or so until it’s ready. 

You go to open the door but an arm reaches past you and does that first. You step back, patiently waiting for the other customer to precede you. They don’t move. You stare at their shoes. Dark blue velvet loafers with gold emblems on chains.  

“Go on, baby face, I got it,” the man’s voice makes your skin crawl. 

You shrink down and give a nod, throat clenching as you struggle to find your voice. You’re not much for conversation but you’re but impolite. 

“Thanks,” you force out without raising your head. 

You scurry through quickly, a bit to close to the stranger than you like, and you clasp your phone against your chest as you stand just away from the cluster of people awaiting their orders. You bounce on your feet as the noises join together to form a cacophony; the hissing steam, the clanging metal, the clinking porcelain, the calls of the workers behind the counter, and the buzz of the crowd seated or standing around the cafe. Sweat gathers on the nape of your neck as the chaos swirls a storm around you. 

You pull your phone away from the front of your pullover and check the screen. Should be ready any moment and you’ll be free of the circus. You adjust your grip on the phone, almost jittery as another customer joins the wait at the pick up window. 

You breathe out. It’s not usually this busy at this time. You have a routine. You can handle the expected. You order on your phone so you don’t need to talk to anyone. You wait outside until it’s almost done then come in too quickly claim your prize. But not today, something’s different and it’s throwing everything off. 

It’s only on Wednesday’s that you venture down to the cafe. It’s the halfway point of your week so you mark it with a taste of motivation. The same order every week. A London fog latte. Simple and affordable. Nothing fancy, nothing complicated. 

Your name cuts through the din, “...medium London fog.” 

You drop your arm to your side and set your shoulders. You march forward through the parting bodies ahead of you and reach for the cup. Before you can grasp it, someone else scoops it up. You nearly cry out in horror. Someone’s stealing your order! 

You turn to the tea thief but they make no move to flee. They hold the cup nonchalantly, turning it to read the sticker on the side, reciting the same name that just rose from the barista’s lips seconds ago. You face the stranger but again, your eyes are downward.

The blue loafers! 

“Cute name,” he comments as he holds the cup out. 

You once more try to take the cup but before you can, he has it out of reach again. Your lashes flick and your fingers twiddle helplessly. His large hand is firmly around the cup so even if you did try to wrestle it from him, you doubt you’d have any hope but to spill it all. 

You look around but no one else seems to notice. They’re all staring at their phones or talking with the person next to them. The staff behind the counter are too busy appeasing the rush of orders. 

“I’ve never tried one of these,” he taunts, “I’m more of a ristretto guy. Like my espresso.” 

You shake your head and rescind your hand, balling it against your fist. What does he want? Why is he bothering you? You said thank you. Did he not hear you? 

“Don’t get yourself in a tizzy,” he pushes the tea towards you, “there you are, sweat pea.” 

You hesitate. You slowly unfurl your fingers and reach for the cup. As you wrap your fingers around it, you can’t help but brush his. Thick and strong and unmoving. He clings to it for just a moment before he lets you have it. 

“Thanks,” you squeak again, this time louder so he certainly hears you. 

“You got a sweet voice,” he puts his hand on his hip, a glimpse of a shiny gold watch face peeking out from beneath his sleeve, “I’d love to hear more of it.” 

Your eyes round as you focus on the zipper of his thin jacket. You shake your head and meekly raise your cup awkwardly and dip your chin slightly. No thanks. 

You turn and weave your way back through the crowd. Your heart is thumping in your chest. What an odd encounter. 

More so, you’re dismayed that he saw you. That he noticed you. For years, you’ve done your best to be invisible. You prefer it that way. You don’t even think your neighbours know you exist. But that man, he seemed to see nothing but you. 

You push outside and nearly drop your cup. You try to steady yourself. You’re all knotted up and tense. You tuck your phone into your back pocket and bring the cup before you nose, inhaling the sweet scent of the foam. Something about it isn’t as soothing as usual. 

You turn down the pavement and wince as a sole scuffs close behind you. Suddenly, another set of steps walk next to yours, measured to keep in tandem with your own short legs. Blue velvet.  

You walk faster. Is he following you? Why? What does he want? He’s much taller, you can’t outpace him. 

“You know, when I said I’d like to hear more, I thought maybe over a coffee?” He suggests. 

You don’t say a word as you keep your eyes forward, squeezing your cup tight as you try not to swish it around too much. You’ve never had to deal with this before. Men don’t see you. There was a time you hated that but since, you were grateful for that. 

“I mean, I could do most of the talking, never had much of a trouble with that, jellybean,” he offers. 

You shake your head. Your throat tightens. You can’t speak. You want to scream but you can’t make a noise. 

As you get to the corner, you stop short. He steps past you but just as quickly catches himself and turns to face you. You gulp and look down at your cup. You can’t keep going. If you do, you’ll lead him right to your home. 

“What’s going on, sweetheart? You forget something? How about we head back and I’ll buy you something sugary to go with that?” 

You furrow your brow and step back on your heel. You bring your eyes up, a furtive glance at his face, brief and flickering. You just want to know what he looks like so you never see him again. 

His blue eyes twinkle, his nose is long but proportioned to his chiseled face, his hair is combed back, the sides shaved, and a thick swatch of hair lines his upper lip. He’s older than you, you know that much, but you’ve never good at gauging age. You’ve never seen him before but you can’t be sure. You don’t look at many faces. 

You pivot and cross the street without looking. You narrowly miss a bumper and get a honk in remonstrance. You can’t stop yourself. You’re panicking. You head down the next street as his footsteps follow. It’s all you can hear.  

As you pass a bin, you dump the drink. You don’t pause as it plummets heavily into the trash and you fall into a brisk half-jog. You pump your arms, puffing wildly, dizzy as you search for a saviour.  

You dash into the library. You don’t know what you’re looking for. Just for anyone to get this man to leave you alone. 

You don’t look back as you enter and head straight for the front counter. You’re out of breath as you approach the rounded edge and tap the bell frantically. A woman emerges from behind the window wall and she greets you with a confused chime. 

“Hello, can I help you?” She asks. 

“Yes, I need...” you gulp and glance at the doors. You push away from the counter and spin, searching. You don’t see the man. He’s probably waiting outside. But you never looked back. You never really saw if he was following. “I...” you turn back to the woman, “never mind.” 

You cross your arms and turn away. You cringe as you realise how ridiculous you must have seemed. Worse, you didn’t mean to bother someone just doing their job and over what? You’re own issues. You should go home, back to your reclusion, where you can’t be in anyone’s way. 

👄

When you finally muster the courage to leave the library, your journey home is slowed by your paranoia. You have your phone out, held up so you can see over your shoulder with the front camera. You watch the screen more than the sidewalk ahead of you. 

You get home without a second shadow. As you let yourself through the grated front door of the building, you can’t help but feel stupid. That man must’ve got the idea when you as good as ran in the other direction. You’re being dramatic. 

You close the camera and put your phone away. You waist six dollars in your frantic flight. You mourn the tea latte as the heavy inner door clunks shut behind you. You drag your feet up the stairs as your keys jingle on your finger. 

You apartment is at the very end of the hall. You enter and twist the latch. You slide the chain into place and hang the key ring on the little hook beside the door frame. You untangle your purse and leave it with your phone on the table in the corner. 

You shuffle the few feet to the front room and look around. You find comfort in the familiarity of your little apartment. Your hideaway. 

You go back to your desk and sign back in. You’re back later than usual but you can still make up the time. As long as there’s enough tasks left in the portal. You don’t have to let that man ruin your whole day. You’ll never see him again. In a few days, you won’t even remember him. 

👄

Wednesday. Halfway through the week.  

You scroll and click around your screen as you watch the clock in the corner tick on. Usually around this time, you’d be excited. You’d clock out for your break and go down to the cafe. As much as you looked forward to the treat, the walk alone was relaxing in its own way. 

Not that day. Despite your efforts to shrug off the strange encounter, you haven’t shaken it. So instead, the kettle boils as a bag of earl gray sits in an empty mug. You’re not going. Maybe next week. 

You’re a bit depressed but you’re too nervous to make the venture. Oh well, you’ll save a bit of money. You could find a different place next time. That might be easier. 

You stay logged in and claim a new task. Hey, you can be done work earlier if you can power through. You might even make a few extra bucks. 

The kettle clicks and you get up to pour the water. You leave it to steep, forgetting it for the screen before you. Your fingers tap endlessly across the keyboard, filling the silence as you zone in on the words, transcribing messy ink to Times New Roman. 

Your trance is broken by a sudden buzz. You sit up, the kink in your neck pangs. You need to stop hunching. The buzz comes again. Is that... It must be a mistake. It happens now and then, someone buzzes the wrong apartment. 

You get up as it sounds a third time and you shuffle down to the speaker box. You hit the button, “wrong number.” 

“No--” 

You let go of the number before you can hear the response. They buzz again. You sigh. You hit the button. 

“I’m sorry but you have the wrong number,” you repeat. 

“I don--” 

You release the button again and take a step back. Buzz! You’re getting annoyed. You hit the button. “Wrong--” 

“Got a delivery. 212.” The man’s voice drowns out your own, reciting your name after your apartment number. Your finger stays on the button as you frown. A delivery? 

“I’m not expecting a delivery.” 

“Are you...” he says your name again. 

“... yes.” 

Silence, filled with the low hum of the speaker, “so, can I come up or...?” 

“Uh, I guess.” 

You pull your finger away and hover it over the other. Maybe it’s from work? There was the one time they sent a cheap mass production travel mug with their logo on it as some incentive. A poor attempt at employee appreciation. 

You press down and hold until you’re certain they have enough time to get in. You wait by the door, ringing your hands. You hear the door at the end of the hall open on its old hinges and you peek through the peephole. 

You watch the fuzzy figure come into focus with each of his long steps. He doesn’t hold a box nor wear the uniform of a postal worker. No, he wears those blue leather loafers and holds a bright pink paper cup with a white lid. From the cafe.  

As he comes close, you get a pigeon’s eye view of the hair on his upper lip and his bold blue eyes. It feels like he can see you too as he stands smirking on the other side of the door. This can’t be real. 

He knocks and you wince as the door shifts in the frame. 

“Special delivery,” he calls through, “open up, baby face.” 

[eldritchamy]

omg i completely forgot about the grand folia hotel. i read it when it came out, it rewired my whole dang brain, and then i moved on. aaaa im gonna go reread it right now even though I've been up all night and need to sleep (there aren't any plants around to stop me from making self-destructive sleep cycle decisions muahaha). thank you for your post about it! also if it's alright to offer a recommendation, Hospitable Takeover on Readonlymind.com was the second ever HDG fanfic and in my opinion greatly informed the tone of the setting in 2021 and 2022. It's also just super cozy and comfy and a perennial favorite of mine ^w^

You're welcome for the brainworms!

I understand completely, I'm not sure WHAT chapter 10 did to me but I think my brain is a torus now. I didn't THINK I had a free use kink (I PROBABLY still don't, at least as a participant), but I didn't think I had a PETPLAY kink either until this fucking universe started turning me inside out a few days ago.

I'm already rereading The Grand Folia Hotel myself because I feel like given the plot there's a lot more to get out of it by reading it through a second time (somehow I didn't realize that Phoebe was basically in a perpetual lesbian bluescreen from the moment she stepped into the garden in chapter 1).

Plus it was just EXTRAORDINARILY HOT and I can't wait to watch Phoebe/Amaranth get broken all over again.

It's a shame the story didn't keep going into the ongoing corruption and implantation past her initial surrender, the characters had such good chemistry with each other that I'm really craving more of them. Would have LOVED a chapter or two (or six) of newly implanted pinnates, especially with how amused Celosia was by the fact that they fucking tricked her into taking them at all. Celosia and Phoebe are fucking perfect for each other.

Her revenge must have been DELICIOUS.

And GOD Becca must have been so fucking smug about it once Phoebe was ACTUALLY a floret. I need to know the teasing that happened once she got her real implant.

This is what I meant in a previous post when I said I was "frothing at the cerebellum" to read it again. I'm going actually insane.

Which, as many new people are I'm sure rapidly learning about me, means it is Once Again Infodump Time, because I suffer from a terminal case of Someone Needs To Shut Me Up With A Kiss disease. (I am also a long sufferer of Capitalizes Letters For Emphasis syndrome.)

I'm like the free use kink of infodumping, a bunch of people seem to have figured out how to make me do it almost on queue, and they do it, because they think it's cute. I don't DENY that it's cute, but god does it seem to cost me a lot of the time that I meant to spend reading about the good little florets.

I CAN'T keep taking an hour to write every goddamn post I make about HDG. WHEN WILL I SLEEP? More importantly, WHEN WILL I FINISH REREADING CHAPTER TWO? It took me four extraneous paragraphs to even mention that the read more continues exactly from the train of thought I left off on an aforementioned four paragraphs ago! God, I need help.

AND Phoebe never even saw herself in a mirror ONCE in the story! I want to know what happened the first time she saw what the Class Gs were doing to her! (Do you think Celosia put her in Doll Mode and made Amaranth pose in front of a mirror and be perfectly still, watching her own blank expression obediently while Celosia and Jazz just relentlessly caressed her with every imaginable affection? Do you think Phoebe's wake up trigger was Amaranth saying "Good dolls know they are deserving of love. I'm a good doll and I am worthy of love"? Do you think, beyond the moment when she accepted she was meant to be broken by Celosia's will, that that was the moment she understood what it meant to be put back together, and it was the moment she truly felt, and for the first time could not deny or run away from, that she was the happiest she'd ever been? Because I DO think that happened. And I need it.)

It even would have been nice to see INDRA further along in her own corruption later on. Altiss seemed like a good influence on her, it was really sweet that she had that nice moment with Phoebe at the end of the Matinee.

I'm STARVING for more of that specific story, it was SO good. (Keysmasht, if you ever see this somehow, how much of my soul do you want for a few more chapters? I'll beg.)

Hell, I might beg for permission to write those chapters MYSELF someday. That story is too good for there to not be more of it.

Anyway.

Thanks for the recommendation! I can't BELIEVE I've never heard of this setting before now, it's extremely my shit (apparently) and I'm loving the discovery of new, interesting content that I can not fucking put down. Judging by the tags on my posts, and a friend on discord, flinging myself headfirst into all of this has inspired a few other little seedlings to follow me into florethood.

Recommendations from people more familiar with the setting and stories are definitely welcome, though I can't promise I'll get to any one particular story soon.

Abscission and Divaricated come up in a lot of recommendations for lore reasons? But I've been putting off some of the longer stories like those and Dog of War because they're HUGE commitments and it's so hard not to consume as many stories as possible.

Except, of course, for the fact that I keep rereading the ones I've already gone through because I like what they did to my brain.

I'm struggling not to make TWO other ones I've already read (the original and Inosculate) the next ones on the list after rereading Grand Folia.

Hospital Takeover sounds like an EXCELLENT recommendation, I LOVE cozy and comfy stuff within a primarily kink setting. I'm SO glad the second one I ever read was A Normal Grocery Run During Which No Domestication Occurs. I adore the way SapphicSounds writes dorkier more nervous Affini, and I'm glad I got to see THAT QUICKLY how much of a tonal range there was in HDG stories.

Sleepy Bitch also sounds cute, so I wanna do that one soon.

Also the reading of any particular one is slow going because unfortunately my brain is absolutely churning with ideas of my own. I'm VERY tempted to do a pinnates one because I'm absolutely HOOKED on that concept in particular. I already know one of their names and I just came up with a great title for the story while ...rather vividly imaging a very intense domming scene.

I do want to read a fair bit more before I try my hand at writing one, though. While I've got enough domme in me to feel like I could do some of the Affini taunting justice (seeing Akash in the first story use almost the exact domming style I go for was... enlightening, to say the least; now I know why I get such good keymashes out of my teasing victims), I want to have a bit more confidence in the world itself first to make sure I get it right.

But it's far from the first time I've considered writing erotica. I definitely have the brainworms for it at the moment.

[cannibal-nightmares]

A list of my fic WIPs in response to an ask I received ^^;

Right now I am actively working on: "Trust Fall: Euclid" - A dual-perspective take on acute psychosis, Stein has a complete breakdown in the sanctity of his weapon. [ x ] - [ y ] - [ z ] "white roses and black doves" - A thorough depiction and conveyance of psychosis and giving in to the whims of accepting help. // [ x ] - [ y ] "Trick of the Light" - Stein processes and learns to live with a major personal loss with the loving help of his friends. [preview to chapter 2] [preview to chapter 2] [preview to chapter 3] "Matching Point" - An exploration on migraines and physical touch; a partner piece to "Teleharmonic: Smoke and Light."

Some others in my queue include: "Franken Stein's Bed & Breakfast" - No demons, no monsters, no witches, Stein's friends keep asking him for mundane favors only humans would ask other humans. A forever fic--one that could just go on forever as a series of short stories--an exploration on Stein's humanity in the face of normalcy. [ x ] "This is Why" - Spirit is in a band and he invites Stein to one of his gigs. Stein has a battle of wits in being tempted to fall to his old vices. // I am undecided if I want to age restrict this one, I have thought out multiple different endings to it. [ x ] "Top 10 staTues tHat CriEd bloOd" - An alternative take on Stein's salvation from Medusa as seen in the anime: Spirit arrives to the rescue instead of Marie. // (I'd also love to explore the idea of Marie saving Stein without depending on her healing wavelength.) [ x ] "Pay Your Ransom" - Looking for an alternative way to process and face some personal trauma, Spirit visits Stein for some... Advice... // While this fic is intended to be very humorous and light-hearted, I haven't decided yet if I want to age restrict it or not. [ x ] "DYWTYLM" - Apart of the Sleep Token project*, a two-chapter piece on what "love" and their partnership means to Spirit and Stein, individually. [ x ] "Dust Into Nothing" - An exploration on PTSD triggers and seeking support. [ x ] "Back Through the Opera Glass" - A self-indulgent piece just to write atmosphere. Possibly dialogue-less, Stein self-narrates what his friends mean to him, against all contradictions of logic versus love. [ x ] "Careful Fear and Dead Devotion" - Another forever-fic as a series of endless short stories, each chapter consists of Spirit and Stein chatting and rambling and getting up to shenanigans before falling asleep in bed together. [ x ] "Gemini" - Possibly a choose-your-own-adventure, an AU where Stein has an estranged sister he considers to reconnect with. "House Call" - Just as it says on the tin. Stein responds to a handful of house visits, namely Spirit, in illness, injury, and over-indulgence. "Midnight Honeymoon" - Stein must admit to grieving over his glory days as he faces a newfound chronic--and eventually terminal--illness. He learns to put all of his faith into his loved ones. // [this one already has a playlist... Did I just spend two hours polishing this? Please don't shuffle it.] A profound defrag fic that's has been secretly at the forefront of my mind for a good while now. More or less inspired by "I'm Thinking of Ending Things" and "A Ghost Story." I know once I start and finish this piece, it's going to be a pinnacle in my heart and mind. I can only hope it will serve me, I hope it will serve anyone who reads it. [ x ]

My enormous projects include: "Eternal Blue" - An immense and thorough exploration on Stein's childhood, his partnership with Spirit, and the teenage journey of the death scythes as we know them. Originally, this was planned to be as close as humanly possible to speculation of canon, but it's grown to have several AU ideas and themes. I have no idea how long this thing is going to be. [ x ] "Kaleidos" - The continuation of "Soul Eater," post-canon featuring an OC, Kaleidos. A reflection of Stein, himself, the professor takes it upon himself to prevent a new student from falling into madness. I wrote a sort of teaser piece to this here.

Some pieces I'd rather be mini-comics than fics: "Haircuts For Everybody" - Stein, in the middle of psychosis, struggles with physical touch while simultaneously being agitated by his out-grown hair. Marie and Spirit help him face his delusions with utmost care. [ x ] "Ascensionism" - An atmospheric alternative ending to "Pay Your Ransom," Stein expects an exchange for his services. This piece, if it comes to fruition, might be age-restricted and available only on Patreon. [ x ]

Lastly, some defrag pieces that may or may not see the light of day: "Seven" - A sort of OOC fic exploring masking agereg in coping with acute depression. It's rather up to interpretation and really is just a drabble to help me process some things. [Untitled] - Academy days AU; Stein discovers Spirit has a tattoo at the same time Spirit finds out Stein has a secret of his own. Spirit takes his meister out to get his first tattoo and actualizes the layers of said secret... // (Normally titles come fast to me, but this is a rare instance where is has not.) "Trip Wire" - A single chapter depicting the slippery slope of earnestly trying to help someone facing acute psychosis.

[grimmkinkmeme]

Welcome to the Grimm Kink Meme

Doing our part to reintroduce kink memes to the fandom ecosystem!

Credit to @wwdits-kink-meme for the idea and for their generosity in allowing other fandoms to use their blog as a template to start additional kink memes!

SUBMIT A KINK MEME HERE

FILL A PROMPT HERE

This post will be updated with frequently used tags for ease of navigation on mobile.

Questions? Check out our FAQ! (also under the cut for mobile users)

What is a kink meme? A kink meme is a public (usually nsfw) prompt thread, originally popularized on LiveJournal. One person will throw out an idea that they don’t or can’t fulfill themselves in the hopes that it will spark creativity in someone else. A kink meme can be as simple as pairing + trope, or a full well-thought-out AU.

How do I submit a kink meme? Use the ask button on this blog and it will go into the queue! You can submit anonymously (traditional), but it will be posted either way - make sure you click anonymous if you don’t want your face on it!

How do I fill a kink meme? Any way you like! Submissions are open for you to submit your prompt fills directly to this blog, but you can also do any of the following:

Reblog the ask post and put your fill in the body of the reblog

Make your own original post on tumblr and link back to the original prompt post

Post your prompt fill to AO3 or another fanfic archive and post a link on tumblr

Whatever you do, we just ask that you link the prompt on your creative piece and/or reblog the submission with your piece included or linked (whichever applicable). If you are putting an explicit fill in reblogs, please remember to add a community label if the original post doesn’t already have one!

Can I fill/submit an NSFW prompt if I am under 18? No, you should not do this. Doing so not only endangers you, but the adults in fandom as well. We can’t stop you from seeking out certain content if you want to see it, but you should not be interacting with adults on sexual topics.

Can I fill a prompt with art? Absolutely! If your craft is drawing, painting, crocheting, stop-motion, needlepoint, cosplay, etc. and you are inspired by a kink meme, we encourage you to participate! We also encourage adding alt text to any images.

What content do you allow in submissions? All ships and kinks are welcome - yes, even that one. Prompts not related to Grimm will be rejected. Venting, character-bashing, or incomprehensible prompts will be deleted. Transphobia, racism, misogyny, homophobia, antisemitism, Islamophobia, or ableism will get you blocked.

How are kink memes tagged? Tags will include any and all ships, kinks, applicable tropes, and potentially triggering content to the best of our ability. If something is missing or you would like to request a certain trigger tag, send an ask! Every possible trigger may not be tagged for, however, so it’s important to remember to protect yourself and your online experience.

Can I submit SFW prompts? Of course! Despite the name, kink memes aren’t just for porn.

Can I submit prompts with characters from the Grimm tie-in novels, comics, and games, too? Of course!

Can I submit prompts with my OC? No, but not because there’s anything wrong with OCs! These prompts are for someone else to fill, so it has to include characters they know.

Can I submit reader-insert or y/n prompts? Yes, as long as the other characters are from Grimm!

Can I submit crossover prompts? Not at this time.

Can I make my own kink meme for a different fandom using this blog as a template? This kink meme was created using the WWDITS Kink Meme as a template with permission of the generous mods as stated in their FAQ. I encourage you to check out their kink meme if you’d like a thorough starting point!

Who are the mods? Right now this blog is run by Jujubiest, one lone Grimmster who misses LiveJournal kink memes. If at some point we have additional mods, we will list them here.

[pretty-little-martyr]

pinned post

For Palestinians reaching out for me to boost their posts: Please provide verification either in your ask/message or on your top post! I don't have connections to Gaza or Palestine as a whole, and I have been receiving many scam messages. I'm very cautious.

I hate that I have to say this, I hate that people are using this as an opportunity to scam people, but I hate even more the idea of unintentionally supporting a scammer.

I will gladly post all vetted/verified fundraisers and reblog your posts. I add them to a queue so they continually show up on my blog.

I cannot guarantee my audience can help but I will do all I can. I do not have access to my own money but I will share fundraisers wherever I can. I'm sorry I myself cannot donate and all I can do is provide additional visibility. I do not want to go into the details of my financial situation but I do not have money of my own to give.

-----

For other things;

this blog does not tolerate racism, homophobia, aphobia, queerphobia, transphobia, intersexism or exorsexism.

no TERFs or SWERFs allowed, if i reblog from one let me know. radfeminism is dogshit.

transunity or bust.

pro-contact MAPs do not interact, please.

transandrophobia is real, i have personally faced transmasc-specific threats of violence, medical discrimination, etc, so it'd be pretty weird to pretend i haven't. and it will be weird as fuck if you come onto my blog pretending the same. your mileage may vary on the verbiage itself but pretending transmascs and trans men don't face unique transphobia is just foolish to me and i won't entertain the topic.

i don't discourse i just exist. if you disagree with my existence i won't be letting you stay. simple-as. don't block-evade you will not be more stubborn than i am.

i am bad at tagging things in an organization sense but you are always free to shoot me an ask requesting a trigger-tag and i will do my best to comply. i have memory issues though and if i keep forgetting please do unfollow me.

im bipolar w/CPTSD and sometimes i will be mentalillnessposting on main but if im talking about something heavy i always put it under a readmore with CWs. so you won't be sniped with random traumadumping on your dash, promise.

I have OCD/guilt/morality issues, do not guilt trip me.

if i reblog something shitty, or post a fundraiser that's actually a scam, please let me know! everyone has blind spots and i am not exempt. i would rather know than live in ignorance.