a little bit weird but harmless

But I just wanted to do a quick shoutout to the writers and artists who devote time to these otps- because often your work won’t get enough attention to feel truly validated. Your work may never get the hits/kudos/reblogs/comments a more popular pairing will, but don’t despair- someone out there is happy because you did the thing, and honestly? If you’re happy you did the thing, then keep doing the thing.

Thank you for the time and effort you put into the ships no one talks about. You’re amazing and don’t forget it.

"But can you feel it?" Post-phalloplasty sensation explained.

It walks you through various stages throughout recovery which are meant to help your brain connect the sensation you experience to your new penis. The rehab protocol was created with input from trans patients to ensure it actually addresses trans needs, like dealing with dysphoria, and is meant to be used by people with all kinds of goals for their phallo. You can also check out the study they published on this protocol for more info!

I personally don't support this (tho i didn't hate comment or even let it known that i read it) but what are ur thoughts on it?

I can see that they “give credits to the authors” in the first ask you sent, but giving credits means absolutely nothing when they still steal other people’s fics.

so it is still blatant plagiarism and stealing, with or without the credits.

credits mean nothing when consent is not explicitly given. the authors being offline for years is not an excuse. if you create something, that thing is permanently yours. an author does not have to stay online forever in order to retain ownership of their own works.

so I’m sorry but the fact you say “it isn’t plagiarism ig” just because the person gives credit is wild to me. yes, it is. credits are only after you got a clear permission from the author and you credit them to both acknowledge and thank them for their consent. if you just copy and paste other people’s works, ✨change the characters’ names and then credit the authors✨, without the authors’ knowledge or consent, you are still a thief.

This is weird, bad behavior.

This is a rude, bizzare, nonsensical thing to do.

This shows blatant disregard toward the original author, absolutely, but it also a huge violation against the entire nature of fanfiction. Copy-pasting names out for other names doesn't make any sense.

That's not how characterization works. That's not how voice works. That's not how setting works. It doesn't work. It's weird.

I've had this exact thing happen to me while I was actively writing in the fandom that the story was copy-pasted from. and I was not reached out to in spite of the very easy messaging function built into the site. so I can say, with absolute certainty, if people out there really need to get the opinion of a fic writer who has had this happen to them: this fucking sucks, don't do this, you will absolutely cause more harm than you could ever imagine.

I can no longer remember exactly when this happened (it was something like 15 years ago, so do forgive me), but I remember the fic, what fandom it was "transported" to, what pairing it was, the response I got when I reached out to them to say "hi, not cool, actually". and even though I got an apology and the fic was removed, I still think about it. (and no, not just because I only heard about the fic because a third-party commented and asked if I was the copy-cat because they'd read the other story first and assumed the worst about me.) it just really fucking sucks, even if it's done in "good faith" or whatever. there is no excuse in stealing from someone, "even" if it's made by another "fan". you always ask for permission, you always wait, and if you don't hear back or can't find any statement from the fic writer about their works, maybe don't fucking do it? giving credit means absolutely nothing, and I cannot believe it's the year 2026 and we're still having this conversation.

NOni (emphasis on the first syllable): “well now you’ve done it, good job” meaning you’ve majorly fucked up

noNI (emphasis on the last syllable): “I TOLD YOU DIDN’T I” meaning I totally was right and this argument is over

noni (literally no emphasis): “Anyway” or “I need to rearrange my thoughts, give me a sec”

NOniin (emphasis on the first syllable): “i admit my defeat you were right” meaning it definitely answers the noni above

noNIIN (emphasis on the last syllable): “let’s get started” or “okay anyway let’s continue”

NONni (emphasis on the first syllable): “aw, that sucks”

nonNI (emphasis on the last syllable): “without further ado, let’s get started”, usually after a long wait before a lengthy speech/presentation

nonni (again no emphasis): “you’re such a disappointment”

nonnnnnni (the length of the -nn- defines the meaning): “that’s too bad” or “i told you so” or “why would you drop the family heirloom vase it was literally worth 500k euros”

No. Nii. (the pause between no and nii defines the meaning): “yea, just like I was saying” or “and that’s about all I know about this issue” or “okay you’re right” or “hold on i need a moment to figure what to say next”

noniii (the length of the -ii defines the meaning): “ah, it’s finally working” or “I’m not so sure about that one”, or “well I guess you’re right but consider the following:” or “ah, buckle your seat belts, the ride’s about to begin”

no NIIN (sometimes no is almost swallowed and it sounds like “nNNII”): “finally finished”, usually after a lengthy speech/presentation

no nii-IH (if you forget the singsong tone this won’t work): “that’s what i’ve literally been trying to say for the past three hours” or “i know right ugh”

no niiii-i (the last -i is really short and sort of fades into the void of eternity, probably the most passive-aggressive word in the entire Finnish language): “i fucking agree” or “yeah tell me about it” after a very negative discussion, in which you usually complain about someone or something

NONIH (only mothers know how to say this one): “do this or so god help me” or “it’s six am on a Saturday morning and you’re about to clean up the entire house and the neighbour’s house too”

yes omg! thank you for this ask, i actually love this idea sm

i think it happens on a random tuesday in february, maybe even not on the actual day (because remus overthinks everything and decides valentine’s itself is too performative). they’re in the dorm room because sirius claimed he “needed help with history notes” (they both know it’s bullshit). remus has been practicing the words in his head for three weeks, but when sirius flops onto the bed beside him, close enough that their shoulders brush, everything collapses. his hands are shaking so badly when he blurts, “sirius, i—i’ve been meaning to—fuck, sorry—would you… maybe…”

remus’ cheeks go nuclear the second the words start tumbling out. the flush starts at his neck, creeps up under his faded jumper collar, and settles high on his cheekbones like he’s been running in the cold. he can’t look sirius in the eye at first, so he stares at sirius’ socks instead, stuttering through half-sentences, “i know it’s stupid and probably not—i mean you don’t have to… it’s just that i like—really like the way you laugh at my shit jokes and—okay, i think i’m ruining this.”

sirius is frozen at first, grey eyes wide, but remus keeps going because the silence is worse. he rambles about tiny specific things: how sirius always saves him the window seat on the train even when he’s late, the way he dog-ears pages in remus’ borrowed books with little sarcastic notes, how his jacket smells great when they share it during rainy walks home. every third word catches, his voice cracking on the vulnerable parts. he’s so flushed and stuttery that he starts gesturing awkwardly with one hand while the other clutches his backpack strap like a lifeline. “i—i’ve liked you for ages, longer than—than is probably healthy. and if you don’t, that’s fine, i just—i needed you to know before i exploded or something”. the exploded comes out so small and mortified that sirius finally cracks a soft smile.

remus’ ears are burning, too. he keeps pushing his hair out of his face even though it’s not in the way, a nervous tic that makes sirius want to reach out immediately. he stutters out, “will you… be my valentine? or… you know, boyfriend. boyfriend is way better than a valentine. or, um—or you could be both. or whatever you want. i’m not picky. just—just yours”.

sirius, instead of teasing (for once), gently takes one of those shaking hands and says, “damn, moony. took you long enough”. remus stays pink for the next hour, hiding his face in sirius’ shoulder when the reality hits. sirius presses gentle kisses to the burning skin of his cheekbones and temple to calm him down.

later that evening they end up walking to the corner shop for cheap chocolate and crisps, remus still faintly flushed every time sirius swings their joined hands. he keeps glancing sideways like he expects sirius to change his mind, but sirius just tugs him into a quiet alley behind the shop and kisses him properly for the first time. remus’ hands are still shaky when they cup sirius’ face.

the rest of the week remus is still quietly flustered every time sirius calls him “my valentine” or “my boy” in public, ears going pink again. but sirius starts collecting those flushed moments, with kissing the heat on remus’ cheeks in the empty stairwell and tracing the edge of remus’ flushed jaw while they talk.

Remus fiddles with their pleated skirt, creasing and flattening a couple of folds that had been wrinkled at first but were now even more of a mess since they'd started messing with it. They sigh, tugging on their jumper instead, then scuffing their shoes against the pavement beneath their feet. The bench is growing hard beneath their arse and they're just thinking about walking around when there's a commotion at the entrance of the park: a person with long hair, a leather jacket and boots. Their jeans are so tight Remus can see the definition of their gorgeous thighs from their bench; droolworthy, perfect thighs.

Their heart gives a twist.

Padfoot has been their friend for ages. Online only, of course, given that Remus lives in Wales and Padfoot in Islington, but they've been friends for going on twenty-two years now. As soon as Sirius had a phone that could take photos, they'd begun snapping selfies: Remus isn't sure they've ever seen a more beautiful person in their life.

Sirius looks around, then their eyes alight on Remus, and they perk up from their casual slouch to an excited jog, crossing the distance between them quickly, until they get in speaking distance and falter, broad shoulders coming up to their ears.

They stop just a few paces from the bench, and eyes made of liquid silver roll over them, taking in their knobby knees, the brown plaid pleated skirt, the brown jumper, and falter on their face. At first, they wonder if it's repulsion, but then Sirius flushes, cheeks coloring.

It's the first time Sirius will have seen them. Sure, they both started talking before they'd come out—before they both realized that their preferred gender was neither man, nor woman, but something else entirely. Back when Sirius used to laugh and dream of an escape, back when Remus longed to be worthy.

Hesitantly, they ask, "Moony?" and shove their long, gorgeous hands deep into their pockets, exposing their shyness for what it is.

Remus stands, fixing their skirt and awkward wave. They'd told themself they wouldn't smile widely so as not to expose their wonky teeth, but this is their oldest friend. They can't help it, lips curling into a smile, heart thudding in their chest, pulse roaring in their ears. Sirius is taller than Remus, but more buff, with more padding around the middle compared to how stick thin and inefficient Remus is. They glow brighter than their namesake, and their hair is long; wavy and thick past their shoulders and cascading down their back. This is who they've been in love with for half their life?

Part of them wants to flee, to apologize and say they misunderstood, but Sirius is looking at them with so much hope, so much feeling, that they can't deny their oldest friend.

"Padfoot," Remus confirms, and spreads their arms out: Sirius gapes, then launches themself into them. Remus' arms have always been long and awkward, elbows and wonky joints, but when they hug Sirius, they don't feel awkward. It doens't feel like the first time they've met, but a lifetime of missing someone they've always known. They sink into Sirius' embrace and tuck their face against their shoulder, and breathe them in.

Sirius smells like a crisp summer breeze, a tad bit of gasoline, perhaps a bit of cigarette smoke, but all of that is dwarfed by the warm chicory mixed with sandalwood that must be their cologne.

"I can't believe this is happening," Sirius murmurs, squeezing Remus hard, holding them with firm, steady hands against their lower back. "You're gorgeous, you know?"

Everything in Remus wants to reject it, but that's the thing: the only one who has never lied to them is Sirius. The only one who they've ever come out to is Sirius. The only one who knows everything, who has been there every step of the way, is Sirius.