this land has been defiled, draped in shadow and seeded with evil! mr monsters was my father - please, call me ginger. she/her, 23. keep licking queen! i believe in you :D
or: if you broke the mechanism, i'm sacrificing you to the creepy doll.
hi there! it's a pleasure to meet you 💕 my name is ginger, my pronouns are she/her, and my timezone is gmt. i am not a minor! please be aware that there will be mature themes (including but not limited to: violence, blood, gore, explicit nsfw, and frequent strong language).
my masterlist is here - please let me know if the link is broken!
we're back, baby! the askbox is open for you to come and tell me all your lovely things 💕💕💕
update 28.02.22: following the unexpected start of my horror arc, i'd like to update my blog guidelines!
some of my writing does contain content that is more graphic, nsfw, and/or potentially unsettling/disturbing - please block the tag "ginger after dark" if you do not want to see this content! this blog does contain explicit 18+ content, and for this reason, minors must block this tag. please consider yourself warned.
rules for requests: you’re more than welcome to send in requests and suggestions, but please be aware that there’s no guarantee that they’ll be fulfilled immediately, if at all! also, please be nice in my askbox - mean asks get the chop.
i love to chat with you but for once i’ll keep it short - check under the cut for my tag directory!
........
i find it really inconvenient when blogs have really generic tags like “anon” or “asks”, so i try to make mine a bit different - it’s a bit easier to block the ones you don’t want to see without interfering with other people’s content!
“ginger speaks the truth” or “ginger rambles” - the various chatter that falls out of my mouth
"ginger after dark" - MINORS BLOCK THIS TAG! for content that pushes the line a bit (e.g. heavily suggestive, disturbing or uncomfortable, graphic horror, etc)
“ginger speaks to lovely blogs” - replies to general asks
“ginger speaks to anons” - replies to anon asks
“ginger reblogs art” - take a wild guess
"ginger writes" - again, does what it says on the tin
“ginger celebrates” - milestone events! so far there have been two (50 and 300)
“ooh a game!” - tag games, ask games, all of that stuff goes under here
i should’ve known. that one day, you would be haunting me as well.
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Literary criticism terms I use on this blog despite making them up myself, much to the chagrin of anyone who does not have my back catalog memorized:
are we the baddies: SFF subgenre focused on agents of an imperial power realizing that and grappling with what to do next, in contrast to stories focusing on the scrappy rebels resisting said imperial power
I could fix him (the empire): SFF subgenre where the colonized subject being nice and/or sexy enough Ends Colonialism, frequently tied to the John President of Racism problem
librarian bait: books centered on the transformative life-changing power of books and libraries, cousin to books focused on the transformative life-changing power of storytelling and narrative in general
college brochure fiction: stories where the protagonist has an artfully arranged group of diverse friends who are as flat as paper and whose cultural backgrounds never come up meaningfully
the Dave Strider: character the fandom fixates on to the detriment of everything else, until the weight of that attention warps fanon and sometimes even canon around them. almost always male. it's happening to Gurathin from Murderbot right now
#OP tell us more about the John President of Racism problem!
It hails from an immortal tumblr post by penultimate-step, except not immortal apparently because I get 'not found' when I try to go back to the original. So here's the text:
It's always disappointing when a series makes a big deal about societal and structural problems in it's setting, making readers think it has interesting things to say about the subject, only to then resolve the problems by fighting The CEO of Racism, John Racist, so that all of society's problems would then get better because they promoted a new CEO.
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. Hippie church moms donating quinoa chips to my local food bank have done more for me materially than any internet idealist ever has.
People get pissed at me for being a pragmatist in my political ideals but I’ve been in the position where I was out of food right now.
And who helped me with that? Not people calling for some nebulous revolution. Not people telling me that the system was useless. Not people preaching at me to grow my own food. It was a church food bank partially funded by the state of Texas that some southern hippies donated a bunch of Whole Foods nonsense to.
And you know what? I’m sick and tired of defeatism. What can we get done right now, huh? Are you gonna accept something a bit better to help people right now or are you waiting for your perfect utopia to come to you?
Yeah, UBI is better than the quinoa chips. Sure. But right now the quinoa chips are stopping people from going hungry and if all we can do is get the food bank quinoa chips to more people, then I say so be it. That’s something. I’ll almost always take baby steps over nothing.
my general opinion on what people should be "allowed" to portray and what topics they should be "allowed" to explore in fiction is that you can make whatever art with whatever themes you want but i'm also allowed to think the way you handled it was tasteless and should've been done differently. my negative opinion on your handling of sensitive topics is the price of admission for publicly showcasing your work. this is not a pro-censorship stance because i am not The Government
this is getting really popular so i’d like to add the important caveat that your criticism of a work is no more unassailable than the work itself. just as one is entitled to be critical of something someone else is entitled to disagree with that criticism. i add this because some of you pretend to give a fuck about thoughtful analysis and then when someone points out flaws in your argument you declare that all criticisms are valid. this is untrue. the status of a hater is no more sacred than that of a liker. get off your high horse and engage in the thoughtful discussion you pretend to believe in or perish by my blade
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thank you ao3 for being an archive and not an algorithm. thank you for letting me like things without consequences, thank you for being free with no ads, thank you for having lawyers to defend our freedom of speech. thank you tag wranglers. thank you to all authors and thank you ao3
senior/elderly nonbinary people. I adore you and you make the world a better place. whether you've known for multiple decades or you just found out last year. thank you for just Being. so much love from me.
after phainon takes on his spectral form in in absentia you learn that he cums ectoplasm together. you think you should be more ashamed that you're fucking phainon for the first time when he's like this, a mere outline at the edge of your vision, a mirage that flickers out when you try to focus.
but titans, can you feel him.
he's draped over you, rutting frantically against your hip. you can see the way your pajama shorts wrinkle with each thrust, the way it catches against the outline of something, pressing soft against your flesh. there's goosebumps pricking down your arms—despite the heat sparking in you, phainon's cold, the strange weight of him like a blanket of fresh snow.
it's worth it.
you shift, hungry for more, and he settles between your thighs, the thick head of his cock catching against the slight dip of your cunt. he ruts up again, pressing just hard enough to start to spread you open, even through the fabric. you hiss out a breath and jolt when it's swallowed down by the afterimage of lips against yours, a cool tongue dipping into your mouth.
phainon kisses you with an eagerness that makes your face heat. he wants, you think, and you're not sure you remember him wanting before. it was always what was best for others—for you. as if he'd put away his own desires, locked them tight into a space behind his ribs.
you turn your head, chest heaving. you get an nip on the jaw for it, but you scowl at him. (you think.)
"one of us has to breathe," you tell him.
he doesn't seem bothered by your reprimand; there's frost dragging down your neck. you part your lips, but he rolls his hips again, spreading your legs further around the bulk of him.
when you glance down, there's a wet spot near the waistline of your shorts. it grows bigger as phainon thrusts against, the fabric darkening.
you shove at phainon as best you can—hitting thin air at least twice—and his weight lifts, somehow coming across as reluctant.
you sit up. your bed is dipping at your feet; he's kneeling, he's waiting for permission. but you're focused on the little gleaming bead of fluid that's starting to drip down, barely outlining the head of his cock.
you reach forward without thinking, dragging your fingertips across it.
it's thicker than pre, you think. you can't quite make sense of it.
you pop your fingers into your mouth.
you don't even have time to process the feel of it before phainon's weight is on you again. you yelp as you hit your mattress, pinned beneath him, his hands desperate, sinking into the plush of you.
he licks into your mouth as he presses you down. you can feel the heft of his cock; he ruts against you as if he needs it. needs you.
he palms your tit, skimming over your nipple. the sensation is blunted by your shirt, but it's still a flint-strike thing, just enough to start to catch.
he thrusts against you hard; eager. you cant your hips to meet him. you move with him as best you can. heat starts to curl up your spine, sparks to kindling.
you pant into his mouth as he bears down on you. your underwear is sticking to you, the wet fabric clinging to your cunt.
phainon ruts against you faster, almost desperate. you can't match him. you give in, spreading your legs wider to give him more space. his cock finds the seam of your cunt even through your shorts, pressing it apart just enough to make you want more, more, more.
"phainon," you gasp, trying to buck into him.
he jerks against you.
the chill registers first. the damp comes next. his weight settles heavy on you, but only for a moment. he rolls off when you bat at him, though he stays close, the soft cold of him radiating against your side.
you sit up and slip a hand down. his cum is thick, the texture strange, almost goo-like. it webs between your fingers, glimmers oddly. it starts to roll down your fingers, honey-slow. you spread them to watch the strings of it snap.
the rest of it is starting to soak through your shorts. you shiver as it does, glancing down.
your shorts are a mess.
"that better not stain," you grumble.
a hand grabs your ankle. before you can protest, you're flat on your back again.
a cool mouth settles against the curve of your thigh, sucking gently. it almost feels repentant.
phainon noses his way up to the warmth between your legs. a promise of making it up to you.
9 out of 10 times I see people on here celebrating a new "landmark piece of anti-AI legislation" the legislation in question is inevitably some variation of "we propose making IP laws more restrictive but presented through the language of opposing AI". But that one from germany about holding google liable for the words of its AI overview feature is legitimately good I think. If they actively choose to shove that thing in everyone's face as the first thing they're going to see when they make a google search then they shouldn't be able to dodge accountability for the information it provides with a little "gemini AI can be inaccurate, please remember to double-check information teeheehee" disclaimer.
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my dad likes to call the stretches of time where you’re not creating “dreaming periods” and says that they’re meant to allow you to absorb all of the beauty, life, and inspiration from the things around you so that when you’re able to create again, you will have fanned your spark back into a flame. sometimes its hard to see those moments as anything but stagnation, but he always says that they’re natural and healthy and needed—things that should be embraced rather than feared.
Just realized that the reason I love making friends on tumblr is because it’s exactly how you make friends on the playground as a six year old. No, I don’t know their name but they love mermaids too and built this awesome sand castle. No, I don’t know their age but their imaginary cheetah is friends with mine. You like this show? You like this character?? You can sing the theme song really loud??? Here is a flower crown. Here is a juice box. You can share my time and I might never see you again but part of you stays in my soul forever. In my mind we’re still on the swing set and the sky is blue and nothing will ever be wrong again.
[ID: a white lace curtain with the words "I DIDN'T ASK TO BE BORN / BUT I CERTAINLY DIDN'T / ASK TO DIE / EXCEPT FOR WHEN I DID / AND I THANK GOD / HE NEVER LISTENS" added with white interfacing just above a flower motif border /End ID]
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you have permission to pick that 2 year old "abandoned" project back up. it's not mad at you for setting it aside. and maybe time and distance have helped ease or erase the things that made you put it down in the first place.
“Do it scared” “do it alone” are all great tips, but my biggest takeaway from therapy is do it messy. This is especially true if you’re getting out of a burnout, which I experience often. Literally just do it messy. You don’t need to pick the perfect trail to walk, the perfect playlist to listen to, whatever the fuck it is. You don’t need to have a meticulous to do list and wake up at the exact time you planned and drink the exact amount of water you planned to drink. Like the biggest thing for people like me to remember is sometimes it’s okay to do it messy. Put on a random yt workout and just get it done in sweats. Do 5 minutes of a daunting task and go from there. Sometimes just getting up is a win during intense burnouts or depressive funks. Literally just do it messy.
egads! @gingerbreadmonsters - Tumblr Blog | Tumlook
