#THIS IS SO CLUNKY IN COMPARISON | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

livingdeadhorse · 3 months

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idk what this is. i like robots. i’ll clean these up later. i think.

anyways while drawing these I started thinking abt like. idk does this count as an AU.

General shit:

I didn't make it clear, but the robots that have pupils were built without a hardcoded purpose. They've always been free to explore what they want to do. The robots with fully colored "scleras" were created with a purpose from the jump, so their creators didn't feel the need to make them appear more "human".

The more expensive a robot's parts are, the less clunky it is.

Right now, I'm going with "their human family built them" but that's liable to change.

The designs are also liable to change because uh. duh.

Celestia Ludenberg:

Viewed the robots with an imbued purpose as interesting and superior (something something humanity's advancement). She wants to be praised like that, so she emulates them

Her cat loves how much heat she radiates so it's always near her.

Most of her upgrades are cosmetic but if they aren't, they're stupid. She won't upgrade her CPU or her motherboard, but she'll load up with three 4090s that her other components can't even keep up with. Yes, she does it to flex.

She'll distract from bootleg, refurbished, or shoddily painted parts by turning on her RGB. It gets annoying.

She knows that she's fairly unsettling and she revels in it.

All things considered, her cable management is pretty good.

Her gambling skill is still just luck here, but she tells everyone it's because she has a never-seen-before GPU(& CPU) that does calculations at insane speeds.

Most don't believe her but have no way to disprove her lie.

Kiyotaka Ishimaru

I can't decide if he was built by his father or his grandfather.

Either way, he was built before Toranosuke's downfall, so his internals were all pretty expensive for the time. Luckily for him, that means he was slightly future-proof and has a viable upgrade path.

Unluckily for him, this means he's stuck with really old parts and his 8gb of RAM can barely keep up in a 32gb world sadge

His chassis is built from secondhand or scrap parts. It's why his joints are so ancient in comparison to the rest of him and why he has so much cabling that he can't seem to manage.

Shit chassis = shit airflow = he is always overheating

BUDDY IS YOUR CPU BURNING HOW IS THERE SMOKE

Older tech = LOUD AF. The class bought him new fans to avoid the loud ass whirring. It's not quiet but he used to sound like a jet engine.

He runs on Debian. It was originally going to be Arch since it's lightweight but Debian's whole "old but stable" reputation fits him more. I don't see him properly dealing with bleeding edge software anyways.

His room is filled with past HDDs that no longer have storage. He deems all educational material important so he refuses to delete any lessons. He doesn't have the money for SSDs.

Mukuro Ikusaba:

Is usually in reconnaissance mode, meaning she has a shit ton of hidden cameras in her chassis

This used to benefit Fenrir. Now it benefits Junko.

She can have her parts shifted around with no issue to make room for a better arsenal.

She’s durable in her reconnaissance mode but she’s nigh on untouchable in her combat mode. Her chassis gets 10x bulkier and she can split her attention to several different tasks on the battlefield.

Fenrir Mercenary Group doubles as a weapons company. Mukuro is the only model of her kind though.

They tried to give her reconnaissance model the look of a “normal girl” so she could gather info more efficiently. They failed real bad. They also didn’t account for the fact that Mukuro isn’t good at socializing.

She allocates a CPU core to a process dedicated to Junko. 24/7 365

She believes herself to be less capable of emotion than she actually is. She can’t seem to find the system process that triggers such painful emotions.

Chihiro Fujisaki

Each “fold” in her skirt doubles as a screen. Think of the skirt as having two layers: the top shell and the under shell. The top shell is what doubles as a screen.

Optimized her hardware to work on code as fast as possible (fingers, skirt, etc).

She tends to test out new software on herself regardless of their compatibility with her pre-existing shit. She constantly has to reinstall her OS, but it’s all fun for her.

Speaking of her OS, I was going to make her run on Gentoo but IDK cause of the compile times. It’d be faster if she used distcc but I can’t see her screwing over her classmates like that lol.

So I’m between Nix and Arch.

Insecure about the fact that she overhauled her original model so extensively. Got made fun of for being a ‘defective’ robot. Her father supports her modifications but she still feels bad about having ‘failed’ somehow.

Cue identity issues

She helps out her classmates when it comes to repairs.

Tendency to stay up programming leads to high uptimes. If her friends notice her lagging or crashing, they’ll try to get her to shut down. (In a computer sense lol, not an emotional shut down)

Do y’all remember the xz utils backdoor? Yeah that’s how extensively she combs through code.

Sayaka Maizono

I can’t decide if she was built to be an idol or was originally some other type of robot.

Loves to make kids smile, so she has a sort of candy mechanism in her arm.

Everything about her glows or spins. You will never get bored looking at her.

Her skirt isn’t actually see through I just didn’t feel like erasing the hip joints lmao.

If corpos give her manager enough money, she has to perform with literal ads on her.

State-of-the art facial recognition software. It makes her fans feel special to have their names remembered.

She has a regular sleep cycle due to how load-intensive her everyday life is. Has to shut down for a couple hours every week at least.

Her psychic ability is just her running a million calculations based on people’s behavior and sensing which one is most plausible. This feature is in place to avoid PR disasters during interviews or public appearances.

There really aren’t enough worker’s rights regulations in place for robots.

The company gets alerts whenever she freaks tf out, so she feels even more stifled and repressed. Chihiro helped remove this.

Kyoko Kirigiri

Can’t decide if she was built by her father or grandfather. Probably just built by Jin and he “left” her in Fuhito’s care.

Fuhito made her go through several modifications, hardcoding his own investigative skills into her system.

Her grandfather loves her but has fucked up ideas about her own autonomy.

The events of DR:K still happen. She chose not to replace her hands.

Fuhito doesn’t make much use of a backdoor in her system anymore. He used it a lot more when she was a child but he sees her as a viable heir of the Kirigiri clan now. Chihiro isolated the backdoor to a separate SSD anyhow.

Still complicated father-daughter issues

Everything about her (but her OS) is proprietary, probably commissioned from Towa Industries. Her OS is a fork of Mint. The Windows 7 UI is just because I imagine her grandfather is One of Those lmao.

Has way too many scanners and sensors. She can’t test any evidence herself but she can gather a fair bit of information. Has a vast database for cross-comparison anyways.

Same issues as Togami and Mukuro: sees herself as less capable of emotion than she actually is.

The ramen noodle incident called for actual repairs.

Byakuya Togami

His superiority complex is far worse because he was literally CREATED to be the perfect Togami. You can’t tell him shiiiiiiit.

Gold joints. Scoffs at those with unoptimized cable management or software.

He’s constantly streamlining his own processes. Brings up that he runs on his own OS when Nobody Asked.

Had a similar backdoor to Kyoko’s but Koji did check that one. Obsessively. Nobody would tell Byakuya but He Just Knew. The lack of privacy irritated him. Aloysius helped fix it once Togami finally took over.

Only trusts Aloysius with his repairs. Has a hard time admitting when he needs repairs in the first place so Aloysius hides it under “monthly maintenance”.

Does everything from the terminal even when he 1) shouldn’t and 2) can’t. Bragging rights. He has written a bunch of his own scripts though to speed things up.

Kernel and OS provided to him by Koji. (UNIX-based. Proprietary) Byakuya maintains and builds his own updates. Doesn’t trust cheapskate peasants to do it for him.

Anti-FOSS. For him at least.

Has glasses for the aesthetics. Doesn’t need them.

#this blog uses she/her for chihiro btw #getting weird with itttttt #it started with Celestia and spiraled from there #I have designs for the others but yawn later #trigger happy havoc #danganronpa #chihiro fujisaki #kiyotaka ishimaru #sayaka maizono #byakuya togami #kyoko kirigiri #celestia ludenberg #mukuro ikusaba #robot au #<- tagging in case I actually continue this lol #horse_art

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lisafication · 1 year

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For those who might happen across this, I'm an administrator for the forum 'Sufficient Velocity', a large old-school forum oriented around Creative Writing. I originally posted this on there (and any reference to 'here' will mean the forum), but I felt I might as well throw it up here, as well, even if I don't actually have any followers.

This week, I've been reading fanfiction on Archive of Our Own (AO3), a site run by the Organisation for Transformative Works (OTW), a non-profit. This isn't particularly exceptional, in and of itself — like many others on the site, I read a lot of fanfiction, both on Sufficient Velocity (SV) and elsewhere — however what was bizarre to me was encountering a new prefix on certain works, that of 'End OTW Racism'. While I'm sure a number of people were already familiar with this, I was not, so I looked into it.

What I found... wasn't great. And I don't think anyone involved realises that.

To summarise the details, the #EndOTWRacism campaign, of which you may find their manifesto here, is a campaign oriented towards seeing hateful or discriminatory works removed from AO3 — and believe me, there is a lot of it. To whit, they want the OTW to moderate them. A laudable goal, on the face of it — certainly, we do something similar on Sufficient Velocity with Rule 2 and, to be clear, nothing I say here is a critique of Rule 2 (or, indeed, Rule 6) on SV.

But it's not that simple, not when you're the size of Archive of Our Own. So, let's talk about the vagaries and little-known pitfalls of content moderation, particularly as it applies to digital fiction and at scale. Let's dig into some of the details — as far as credentials go, I have, unfortunately, been in moderation and/or administration on SV for about six years and this is something we have to grapple with regularly, so I would like to say I can speak with some degree of expertise on the subject.

So, what are the problems with moderating bad works from a site? Let's start with discovery— that is to say, how you find rule-breaching works in the first place. There are more-or-less two different ways to approach manual content moderation of open submissions on a digital platform: review-based and report-based (you could also call them curation-based and flag-based), with various combinations of the two. Automated content moderation isn't something I'm going to cover here — I feel I can safely assume I'm preaching to the choir when I say it's a bad idea, and if I'm not, I'll just note that the least absurd outcome we had when simulating AI moderation (mostly for the sake of an academic exercise) on SV was banning all the staff.

In a review-based system, you check someone's work and approve it to the site upon verifying that it doesn't breach your content rules. Generally pretty simple, we used to do something like it on request. Unfortunately, if you do that, it can void your safe harbour protections in the US per Myeress vs. Buzzfeed Inc. This case, if you weren't aware, is why we stopped offering content review on SV. Suffice to say, it's not really a realistic option for anyone large enough for the courts to notice, and extremely clunky and unpleasant for the users, to boot.

Report-based systems, on the other hand, are something we use today — users find works they think are in breach and alert the moderation team to their presence with a report. On SV, this works pretty well — a user or users flag a work as potentially troublesome, moderation investigate it and either action it or reject the report. Unfortunately, AO3 is not SV. I'll get into the details of that dreadful beast known as scaling later, but thankfully we do have a much better comparison point — fanfiction.net (FFN).

FFN has had two great purges over the years, with a... mixed amount of content moderation applied in between: one in 2002 when the NC-17 rating was removed, and one in 2012. Both, ostensibly, were targeted at adult content. In practice, many fics that wouldn't raise an eye on Spacebattles today or Sufficient Velocity prior to 2018 were also removed; a number of reports suggest that something as simple as having a swearword in your title or summary was enough to get you hit, even if you were a 'T' rated work. Most disturbingly of all, there are a number of — impossible to substantiate — accounts of groups such as the infamous Critics United 'mass reporting' works to trigger a strike to get them removed. I would suggest reading further on places like Fanlore if you are unfamiliar and want to know more.

Despite its flaws however, report-based moderation is more-or-less the only option, and this segues neatly into the next piece of the puzzle that is content moderation, that is to say, the rubric. How do you decide what is, and what isn't against the rules of your site?

Anyone who's complained to the staff about how vague the rules are on SV may have had this explained to them, but as that is likely not many of you, I'll summarise: the more precise and clear-cut your chosen rubric is, the more it will inevitably need to resemble a legal document — and the less readable it is to the layman. We'll return to SV for an example here: many newer users will not be aware of this, but SV used to have a much more 'line by line, clearly delineated' set of rules and... people kind of hated it! An infraction would reference 'Community Compact III.15.5' rather than Rule 3, because it was more or less written in the same manner as the Terms of Service (sans the legal terms of art). While it was a more legible rubric from a certain perspective, from the perspective of communicating expectations to the users it was inferior to our current set of rules — even less of them read it, and we don't have great uptake right now.

And it still wasn't really an improvement over our current set-up when it comes to 'moderation consistency'. Even without getting into the nuts and bolts of "how do you define a racist work in a way that does not, at any point, say words to the effect of 'I know it when I see it'" — which is itself very, very difficult don't get me wrong I'm not dismissing this — you are stuck with finding an appropriate footing between a spectrum of 'the US penal code' and 'don't be a dick' as your rubric. Going for the penal code side doesn't help nearly as much as you might expect with moderation consistency, either — no matter what, you will never have a 100% correct call rate. You have the impossible task of writing a rubric that is easy for users to comprehend, extremely clear for moderation and capable of cleanly defining what is and what isn't racist without relying on moderator judgement, something which you cannot trust when operating at scale.

Speaking of scale, it's time to move on to the third prong — and the last covered in this ramble, which is more of a brief overview than anything truly in-depth — which is resources. Moderation is not a magic wand, you can't conjure it out of nowhere: you need to spend an enormous amount of time, effort and money on building, training and equipping a moderation staff, even a volunteer one, and it is far, far from an instant process. Our most recent tranche of moderators spent several months in training and it will likely be some months more before they're fully comfortable in the role — and that's with a relatively robust bureaucracy and a number of highly experienced mentors supporting them, something that is not going to be available to a new moderation branch with little to no experience. Beyond that, there's the matter of sheer numbers.

Combining both moderation and arbitration — because for volunteer staff, pure moderation is in actuality less efficient in my eyes, for a variety of reasons beyond the scope of this post, but we'll treat it as if they're both just 'moderators' — SV presently has 34 dedicated moderation volunteers. SV hosts ~785 million words of creative writing.

AO3 hosts ~32 billion.

These are some very rough and simplified figures, but if you completely ignore all the usual problems of scaling manpower in a business (or pseudo-business), such as (but not limited to) geometrically increasing bureaucratic complexity and administrative burden, along with all the particular issues of volunteer moderation... AO3 would still need well over one thousand volunteer moderators to be able to match SV's moderator-to-creative-wordcount ratio.

Paid moderation, of course, you can get away with less — my estimate is that you could fully moderate SV with, at best, ~8 full-time moderators, still ignoring administrative burden above the level of team leader. This leaves AO3 only needing a much more modest ~350 moderators. At the US minimum wage of ~$15k p.a. — which is, in my eyes, deeply unethical to pay moderators as full-time moderation is an intensely gruelling role with extremely high rates of PTSD and other stress-related conditions — that is approximately ~$5.25m p.a. costs on moderator wages. Their average annual budget is a bit over $500k.

So, that's obviously not on the table, and we return to volunteer staffing. Which... let's examine that scenario and the questions it leaves us with, as our conclusion.

Let's say, through some miracle, AO3 succeeds in finding those hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of volunteer moderators. We'll even say none of them are malicious actors or sufficiently incompetent as to be indistinguishable, and that they manage to replicate something on the level of or superior to our moderation tooling near-instantly at no cost. We still have several questions to be answered:

How are you maintaining consistency? Have you managed to define racism to the point that moderator judgment no longer enters the equation? And to be clear, you cannot allow moderator judgment to be a significant decision maker at this scale, or you will end with absurd results.

How are you handling staff mental health? Some reading on the matter, to save me a lengthy and unrelated explanation of some of the steps involved in ensuring mental health for commercial-scale content moderators.

How are you handling your failures? No moderation in the world has ever succeeded in a 100% accuracy rate, what are you doing about that?

Using report-based discovery, how are you preventing 'report brigading', such as the theories surrounding Critics United mentioned above? It is a natural human response to take into account the amount and severity of feedback. While SV moderators are well trained on the matter, the rare times something is receiving enough reports to potentially be classified as a 'brigade' on that scale will nearly always be escalated to administration, something completely infeasible at (you're learning to hate this word, I'm sure) scale.

How are you communicating expectations to your user base? If you're relying on a flag-based system, your users' understanding of the rules is a critical facet of your moderation system — how have you managed to make them legible to a layman while still managing to somehow 'truly' define racism?

How are you managing over one thousand moderators? Like even beyond all the concerns with consistency, how are you keeping track of that many moving parts as a volunteer organisation without dozens or even hundreds of professional managers? I've ignored the scaling administrative burden up until now, but it has to be addressed in reality.

What are you doing to sweep through your archives? SV is more-or-less on-top of 'old' works as far as rule-breaking goes, with the occasional forgotten tidbit popping up every 18 months or so — and that's what we're extrapolating from. These thousand-plus moderators are mostly going to be addressing current or near-current content, are you going to spin up that many again to comb through the 32 billion words already posted?

I could go on for a fair bit here, but this has already stretched out to over two thousand words.

I think the people behind this movement have their hearts in the right place and the sentiment is laudable, but in practice it is simply 'won't someone think of the children' in a funny hat. It cannot be done.

Even if you could somehow meet the bare minimum thresholds, you are simply not going to manage a ruleset of sufficient clarity so as to prevent a much-worse repeat of the 2012 FF.net massacre, you are not going to be able to manage a moderation staff of that size and you are not going to be able to ensure a coherent understanding among all your users (we haven't managed that after nearly ten years and a much smaller and more engaged userbase). There's a serious number of other issues I haven't covered here as well, as this really is just an attempt at giving some insight into the sheer number of moving parts behind content moderation: the movement wants off-site content to be policed which isn't so much its own barrel of fish as it is its own barrel of Cthulhu; AO3 is far from English-only and would in actuality need moderators for almost every language it supports — and most damning of all, if Section 230 is wiped out by the Supreme Court it is not unlikely that engaging in content moderation at all could simply see AO3 shut down.

As sucky as it seems, the current status quo really is the best situation possible. Sorry about that.

#archive of our own #endotwracism #end otw racism #content moderation #sufficient velocity #i hate how much i know about this topic

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grapejuicestyless · 2 months

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It Killed You Just The Same

Harry Styles x fem!reader

Summery: He loved her, he loved everything about her. More than her looks, but how gentle she was. But when given the choice between killing her or letting them kill her, he had no choice.

She wore long brown boots, ones with clunky buckles at her ankles. Long socks poked out of the tops, thick and white, matching the crisp white dress she wore, covered in eyelet fabric that fell no more than past her upper thighs.

She looked the closest you could get to a lamb, and Harry deemed she was just as sweet as one too. He noted the dirt on her knees, probably from kneeling on the ground to tend to the animals that scurried by, and the wheat in her hair.

It seemed the longer she was around, the more life came around. It was like even the most dim creatures knew how gentle she was, how much she could give them. Harry always loved that about her, how somehow, with all the cruelty spat at her, she always had more love to give. He decided she was better than most, motherly to anyone smaller than her, all the squirrels and kittens, the children and the wasps. It didn’t matter to her, her love was all the same, like a real life princess.

“Y/n/n!” Harry called out her name across the grassy field, and as she turned to him he swore all the air was stripped from him. He felt guilty for even going through with it, but her innocence was worth so much more than anything. He’d heard about how sometimes people will sit with their pets as they die, let them lay in their lap and comfort them through the darkness until the pain simmers out, make them think it’s not forever. Harry figured Y/n deserved that too.

“Harry!” She squealed, running over to him with a wife grin, her hands pulling at the ends of her dress even though the fabric was short enough to begin with. Her underwear peaked out from underneath. Harry usually would have scolded her playfully for being so forgetful, for nearly flashing the birds flying overhead, but he decided he couldn’t even fake being angry at her today.

Her hug felt like a blanket of warmth on his skin, her hair done in braids that fell down her back. He wished it had been down so he could have ran his hands through it one last time, but he stuck his nose as close to her scalp as he could and memorized her smell.

“I missed you.” She told him, giggling against his body. Her skin felt so soft in comparison to his, her clean cut cuticles and baby pink nails so beautiful in comparison to his calloused palms and bloody knuckles. He wondered how something so pure could have fallen into his lap at all.

He considered himself awfully lucky to have been given her, for her to have loved him like she did, because he was certain he loved her twice as hard, but now he saw it as a curse. His karma for all his bad doings. Because the world was cruel, and a man like him could never have a woman like Y/n. So it made him choose. He could take her, or the men who he tried so hard to keep her away from would have her.

“I missed you more baby, how was your day?” Harry asked, his words muffled by his lips pressing against the top of her head. Her smile spread against his neck where she kept her head buried.

The leather around his waist felt harsher than before, the very belt Y/n had helped alter for him, the holes punched in by an old screwdriver and a hammer that laid untouched in the junk drawer. In fact, it felt too tight now, a belt that was usually falling off of him, suffocating him until he felt purple.

He hoped the feeling of his hand rubbing her back distracted her mind from the feeling of his other pulling the knife from its pocket that hung on the side of the belt.

“It was awfully warm this morning so I spent most of the day leaving our extra jars outside with water for the animals. I swear I heard some chipmunks panting earlier today.” She joked, and a small laugh rumbled through my chest.

“I bet, baby. Thank goodness they have you to look after them.” He entertained, his arm raising to wrap around her back, the butt of the knife pressed into his palm, just barely touching the curve of her back.

“Honestly, Harry it has me thinking.” She spoke softly, practically mumbling now in the comfort of his touch. It seemed he always had that effect over her, lulling her into a state of vulnerability with him, baring everything for him to see.

His hand shifted, the cold edge creating a small gap between the eyelets in Y/n’s pretty white dress. Harry could only hum as his hand shook, the knife so close to her skin, he wondered if she could feel the coolness of it radiating onto her skin.

“I wanna be a mother.”

Her words hit him deep, but it was too late. Blood poured from where the handle lay, the blade hidden somewhere underneath her skin, stuck between the fabric of her dress. The delicate whiteness of it stained a deep satin, dripping in a line down the center of her back. But she didn’t move, she didn’t scream, she didn’t beg. She didn’t even gasp.

Her arms slowly wrapped around Harry tightly, her lips pressing against his skin tenderly.

“No, no, no.” He mumbled quickly, unwilling to believe he ever had the willpower to follow through. He tried to pull her from his body, willing whoever was watching over him to have the power to give him the gift of looking into her lovely eyes just one last time.

“No, please, darling.” He pleaded, pulling her off of him frantically. Her eyes were crinkled in the corners and her lips in a soft smile. She looked defeated, but not because of him, like her own body was giving out on her.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, baby. I had to, I had to save you, I’m sorry.”

He told her over and over again to make her understand, but he was a fool because it was all wasted breath. Of course she knew, she’d known it from the second it pierced her skin. Her lover was rough, cruel, violent, and vicious, but he was never mean, and he always was honest when he said he loved her.

“I love you.” She promised him in a thin gasp, her body lying against his in a final hug, and thats the way she went out. So fitting for such a loving woman to have gone out in the loving embrace of her lover, her soulmate. His hands drenched with the blood he never wanted to face, and his knife stuck in his back. He only realized as her heart stopped and her thinking ceased that the knife laid right where her heart would be just a few inches back.

But he had just missed it, in the end. He had missed her heart and he was glad he did. He only hoped as he sat in the dirt holding her in his lap like a wounded doe that in some other life, he was able to give her everything, and the birds that would shake him from his nightmares would have instead been their children he would never meet.

#harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles imagine #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles #yn x harrystyles #fine line harry styles #harry x reader

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nights-at-crystarium · 1 year

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As a twitter/tumblr user since 2010-2011, I believe I have sufficient grounds to say that currently we as a community are living through the scariest, shittiest time yet. This post isn’t trying to fearmonger, no I’m not leaving tumblr until it literally keels over, but I suggest that we don’t put all our eggs in one basket.

If twitter/tumblr stay usable, great! In the worse scenario, you’d have kept posting on a new platform and stayed ahead of the curve.

This post shares my personal experience with three potential “new”* fandom places, and is aimed to help fellow content creators. I’m an artist fully depending on internet to survive, my reasoning may not apply to you if you’re a hobbyist. Do your own research, it’s always healthy. * Pillowfort and mastodon have been around for 5+ years, bluesky is ~2 years old.

Discovering new people to follow kinda sucks on all three platforms, twitter and tumblr are eons ahead, but, given the recent chaos and uncertainty, I’m willing to be patient, keep posting on those, and feel safer than I would’ve otherwise been. More baskets good, one basket bad.

All three have poor visual customization, don’t expect custom tumblr themes.

This list starts with the least popular, but most human and easy to join, and what I personally trust the most. All three allow nsfw if labeled properly.

✦ Pillowfort is a barebones tumblr. Intuitive, cozy, but currently very, very small. Be patient with its clunkiness or lack of some features, it’s made by an AO3-like team. I’d personally love if the fandom crowd managed to redirect its attention to it instead of the sus bluesky.

Joining: is free, invite-only, but the waitlist is nearly instant.

Lurk around on their official tumblr: @/pillowfort-social

✦ Mastodon, for me personally, is impossible to explain directly. I’ll use several comparisons.

- Discord but all servers can interact. You’re still on a server curated by some human(s) that might tell you what you can and can’t post, BUT, if you don’t like that server’s policy, you can move to a new one while keeping your followers. - Email, users A and B may be registered on different domains, still they can talk. It’s a weird comparison, but fediverse (please I’m not explaining THAT but it’s a good thing) in general looks like another email story: unlike big sites that come and go, it might stand the test of time. - Someone compared mastodon’s structure to xiv’s dc and servers, if you look at its domain names that way, it might be easier to understand.

Depending on user, mastodon may feel gatekeepy/snowflakey. I haven’t spent enough time on there to form a proper opinion yet, but a warning’s due.

An actually good and hopeful thing about mastodon AND tumblr: the two might start interacting in future. Ever lamented that your fav asian artists don’t use tumblr? If they use misskey, or any other place on the fediverse, it might be possible to follow them directly from tumblr in future, and vice versa.

Joining: is free, however some servers close for new members sometimes, and have human moderators reviewing your request.

✦ Bluesky is a twitter without Musk: today’s average internet user reads this, drops everything and already looks to register there. It’s still sus, but people flock to it like crazy. Most likely to become the next big fandom place in my eyes, even if I’m not happy about that.

I personally have no good feelings about bluesky. Same as twitter, which I hated even before the 2018 tumblr exodus, yet the crowd decided to make it The New Fandom Place, and, grudgingly, I had to give up and also join them in 2022. During the year I haven’t stopped despising twitter, yet, I can’t deny that it helped me survive. I estimate half of my patrons, and, hell, even tumblr audience, comes from twitter. So, if bluesky ends up being the next hot shit, I’ll have to keep up because internet pays for my living.

Joining: is free but hell, invite-only, the waitlist is a lie, your best chance to join is a direct invite.

This’s all I’ve got to say for now. If you have a correction or an addition, replies/reblogs are welcome!

Screenshots of the current interfaces under the cut, you may spy on my profiles o/

Pillowfort

Mastodon.art

Bluesky

#i grabbed a name on cohost and inkblot too but those interfaces instantly turned me away #also i'm not covering the mobile apps since i'm a pc-only user #social media #pillowfort #mastodon #bluesky #text post #long post #this already started making rounds but i wanted to add about algorithms #all three seem to have no algorithm atm #only 100% about pillowfort tho

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bits-and-babs · 2 years

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hello!new person here. i read your "close proximity" fic and loved it! I'd love to see how you'd write Din Djarin x shower sex. also, I'm sorry for your loss

𝐒𝐎𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐃 — 𝐃𝐈𝐍 𝐃𝐉𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐍

» PAIRING : The Mandalorian x f!Reader

» CONTENTS : shower sex [if that wasn’t obvious], dirty talk, Din is like a hybrid of a sub and a service top? Cream pie (practice safe sex, kids!), overstimulation. 18+ guys, you know the drill.

» AUTHORS NOTE : thank you for the condolences sweet pea <3 and thank you for sending in an ask to distract me, it’s really appreciated

» DIN MASTERLIST : here || MAIN MASTERLIST : here

The ‘thnk’ sound of beskar being set somewhere outside of the shower makes your heart lurch. Your eyes scream to open but you keep them firmly closed, squeezed together so hard that shapes swirl behind your eyelids.

When you and The Mandalorian had returned to the Razor Crest soiled with blood, you had insisted upon a shower the moment the soles of your boots hit the Durasteel of the boarding ramp. Mon Calamari vital fluids smell precisely as you'd expect – fishy.

Mando hadn't responded initially; his visor turned to you in silent acknowledgement. A man of little words, you had taken that to mean he accepted your fixed proposal. Only when you entered the hanger did you hear his awkward monotone piercing his helmet vocoder.

"You need any help?"

You had turned on your heel, momentarily shocked into silence. The Mandalorian wasn't forward like this. Ever.

"You won't be able to wash your hai–"

"Just keep your eyes closed." He'd smothered your concerns before you had a chance to voice them entirely, a strain in his voice practically begging you to stop questioning him.

Your pulse thumps in your eardrums, drowning out the roar of the falling water hitting the shower floor. It's impossible to listen for where Mando is, his stealthy movements smothered by the racket.

"Ma– Mando?" You mumble, hands hanging awkwardly by your side. He doesn't respond, and you take a step back in a clumsy attempt to avoid being in his way. The stream of hot water bears down on the top of your head, the impact resonating through your skull.

His hands, shed of their two-tone leather gloves, grab at your hips and push you clumsily against the wall. The sudden contact forces you to steal a breath from the steamy air, gasping loudly. It singes your lungs; makes you lightheaded.

Mando smothers your lips with his own. The kiss is clunky and disjointed at first, but he licks into your mouth, and your knees melt beneath the hot water.

When you mindlessly wrap your arms around Mando's neck, he leans his body weight against you. You’re chest to chest, and you can feel his pulse lurch when your fingers run through the hair at the base of his neck. There is a scar there, the skin rough and ragged in comparison to the surrounding dermis. In your kiss-drunk haze, you vaguely recall Mando informing you of his running with Moff Gideon and the almost fatal wound he sustained while protecting the child. Something buzzes through you, surging inside your chest – admiration.

"I've dreamt about this.” He breathes the admission into your mouth, and your whole body seizes. It's not just the sound of his unmodulated voice, the gravelly, brooding timbre and the way it settles between your thighs and swells around your clit as though he possesses the power of the Force.

No. It's the words themselves. It's the concept of Mando visiting you in his dreams, as though every waking moment he spends with you isn't enough to satiate his desire to be close to you. It’s tender, soft, and so unlike the hard, unyielding Mando you’d grown to know.

It reels you, knocks you off your axis to think that the immovable being before you craved you as you yearned for him. That before he was a Mandalorian; he was a human, a human with needs.

He needed you.

You sigh into his kisses, rolling your hips up to meet his and noting his hard cock pressing flat to your lower abdomen.

Water droplets run down your body, but instead of dousing the flaming heat of your body, they act like gasoline. The sensation of the trickling liquid sparks hot embers across your ribs, your hips, and your breasts. Mando’s palms quickly follow the trail squeezing at your flesh greedily as though he were jealous that the water got to touch you first.

"Hah–" you moan as you feel Mando sweep the head of his cock through your folds, collecting the slick before tapping it over your clit. Static fizzes in your blocked vision, prickling behind your eyelids as a wave of pleasure rocks through you. “Mando-“

“Fuck,” he husks, and the undistorted vibration in his voice rattles your brain and strikes you dumb. “Fuck, you’re so good.”

He’s not praising you. He’s babbling. Rambling random nonsense as he sweeps through your folds again, relishing in the arousal that coats his throbbing dick.

“Stars! You’re so wet- feel so fucking good when I-hahhh-“ Mando loses his composure when he begins to sink into your heat, mouth falling open and letting out a pathetic moan.

He scrambles to grab your thigh, hooking it over his waist and then pushing it towards your chest. It angles your hips, and he slides straight inside you with little resistance, your body desperate to be filled.

“Fuuuck-“ he grits through his teeth, panting as your walls flutter around him. The stretch of him sinking inside you so easily burns. It scorches down your spine, searing your nerve ends and sending your body into meltdown as your body trembles at the intense bliss he draws from you so easily.

“Feel so fucking good-“ he chokes as he rocks into you, your walls instantly gripping around him in response. He’s not pulling away, instead repetitively pushing deep into you and bumping his head against your cervix. It hurts, smarting like a bruise, but the pain spurs on the twisting, winding arousal that blooms through you.

You’re wheezing, each thrust knocking oxygen from your lungs and sparking colourful, swirling distortions behind your eyelids. A repetitive wailing sound reaches your ears, short, sharp and pitiful.

“Uh uh uh- Ma-Mah-aha-“

“You get so tight when you want to cum,” Mando groans in your ear, his own voice distorted with exertion. “Sta- It’s okay-… I won’t stop; give it to me.”

Mando’s proclamation trips you over that edge, his promise to keep going. It’s tearing you open, your orgasm bursting a hole through you like you’ve been shot with a blaster bolt.

You’re sobbing, clamping down around him as your tears mix with the shower water and slip down the drain.

“F-Fu-Fuck-“ Mando struggles, his hips stuttering as he cums inside of you. There’s so much of it; his breathing wrecked as he continues to thrust into the deepest parts of you.

You don’t even get to question his failure to keep his promise. Mando, despite cumming so early, continues to push into your heat, ignoring the soul-shattering overstimulation. The slam of his fist against the durasteel shocks a ragged whine from your throat, your eyes rolling back into your head.

“I’m- oh fuck, I’m gonna give you another,” he heaves, voice bleeding into your brain and screwing with the hormones there until your body is drowning in dopamine, buzzing with it. “You’re gon-na give me another, baby, come on-“

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dailyadventureprompts · 6 months

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Simpler Monsters = Faster Combat

Been thinking a lot about different ways to tune 5e the way I want it, and I was inspired by a recent chat about how bullshit CR is as a mechanic to ponder over how d&d does its monsters in comparison to other games.

What fundamentally slows combat down (both at the table and during prep) is the mechanical assumption that the monsters/baddies/npcs controlled by the DM have to function on the same mechanical framework as player characters: standard/move/bonus/reaction action economy, HP, AC, Damage numbers etc. While some of this is in the name of game balance, we can all admit that it's clunky as hell and could stand to be overhauled.

In a lot of ways d&d monsters are the way they are (huge stat blocks, a pain to modify/homebrew) because of the old wargaming/competitive/adversarial days of play, specifically in that every monster had to have a canon range of stats so that the DM coudn't "cheat" in the party's favour or against it. I think the pursuit of good gameplay has largely evolved past this obsessive need for objectivity over the past 50 years.

Once you run enough d&d you realize that monster stats don't actually matter. The baddies need enough offence to threaten the party and enough defence to hang on long enough to make the combat interesting, with the actual spice of the combat being tactics, goals, and special abilities. For several levels during an ongoing campaign (lvls 6-9) I swapped out traditional monster HP for gnomestew's "10 good hits" system. None of my players noticed the change, and suddenly my prep/running the session became 1000% easier because there were way less numbers to take care of.

Over the past couple years I've branched out into games using the PbtA and FitD systems, which run the combat encounters through the same gameplay framework as they do skill resolution. Fighting a demon to the death is mechanically the same as escaping away from an avalanche, and while this game design is quite elegant, I want to preserve d&d combat as the tactical miniature skirmish minigame that it is.

I think I'm going to start work on a combat hack, something that will let you port in any vanilla or 3rd party monster you'd like for theoretically any CR range. I'm going to wrap in some of the developments made by the 5e successors (daggerheart, mcdmrpg etc) along with my own ideas about how to make the system run smoother.

#dnd meta #dapper digresses #combat #dap combat hack

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hotchfiles · 7 months

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ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ❝ [CHOICELESS HOPE] ❞ — three. need in the devotee.

pairing: aaron hotchner x bau!reader. summ.: the moment leading up to the kiss, the drumroll, is as good as the kiss itself. it's certainly more innocent. it's completely harmless. cw: canon divergent. emotional cheating. right person wrong time. no use of y/n. wc: 1k+.

previously

First cases were always an awkward matter, getting to know new people, having them wonder if you were nice or not and wondering the same thing about them. You thought maybe having Dave around would make it less clunky. Irrevocably wrong you were, as you had to explain the divorce from your cheating husband when he asked how the bastard was.

Everytime you thought about your divorce it made something in your brain twitch, it had been finalized four years prior but it still hurt, and you got mad at yourself for being hurt, not only because it was a hit to your gut, your non trusting nature decided to trust this one man and he broke it so easily. But it hurt more as deep down you felt like you deserved it. Like it was your karma.

“I watched you speak about the importance of profiling for crisis negotiation once. You seemed very passionate about it, almost like Hotch–” You held in a sigh as the genius boy possibly every unit had heard of spoke. You were an expert. A leader in your field. It just happened that your field was the one Hotchner literally wrote the book about. You would have to deal with the comparison constantly now. “Why did you transfer?”

“Not the pay, that I can assure you.” That earned you your first group laugh, some of them looking over at Rossi, possibly understanding now why he looked so enthusiastic about your transfer, or because he was the one who mostly talked about the fact the pay was shit.

“She was the only one available with experience, and she was forced to.” Aaron clarifies from his seat on the jet, having thoroughly read your paperwork by now. You nod in confirmation, not caring that it wasn’t the best look to have been forced into their unit. It was yours first anyway.

“Familiarity with the way Hotch works was a factor too, it seems.” Some things don’t come written on paper, only the influence of being one of the unit’s founders, like Dave, guaranteed that type of information, or at least you thought so, as that fact didn’t come to you as reasoning. Still, you wouldn’t lose the opportunity to tease Aaron, even if only a bit.

“Familiarity is a way to put it, huh? Most of his methodology was created with me.” Scoffing loudly was his response while he shook his head in disbelief, the rest of the team glancing from you to him in curiosity.

“Maybe write a book about it then.” Two hours into the first jet flight and you could possibly punch him in the face to get that little shit eating grin out of it. Or maybe kiss him.

“I thought working with you two together would make me feel young again. It doesn’t. I’m too old for this now.” Dave points to you both and looks back to the files, bringing the conversation back to the case in hand.

First two months he tries not to favor your presence, sending you off with Derek, Dave or Spencer to check crime scenes, talk to suspects, witnesses, but like magnets you two always ended up beside each other, too close, shoulders touching while reading files and completing each other’s thoughts for the profiles.

You do try to keep your distance as best as you can as well, favoring sitting alone on the jet, talking to Emily or losing to Reid at chess, bonding with the team was an important part of what made any work the best work possible. And it’s not as in better workplace, but better at the job.

Connecting with the team made profiling better, faster, that was why you and Hotch were quick to make connections, quick to see holes, patterns, when you were together.

Still you catch his annoying glances that he makes no effort to conceal when you lock eyes with him, instead he smiles with his teeth and waits for you to look away. And you usually do.

Las Vegas being the final destiny though, you had your mind set on not looking away when he did his well known dance of glancing and waiting for you to look back, instead getting up to your feet and walking over to him, savoring the soft, almost shy smile he gave you as he took in your every move, from your seat to the one by his side.

You take a spray bottle out of the pocket of your FBI jacket and hand him without a word, trying to ignore the way he makes it his job to linger the soft brush your fingers against his as he read the information.

“Sunscreen? You know I don’t–”

“Don’t like the feeling on your skin, yeah, that’s a spray one, not sticky, not liquidy and it dries out completely.” Aaron listens to you intently, but still has his suspicions, being shown clearly by the way he furrowed his brows even though his heart was skipping several beats by your actions.

“What about the smell?” He’s properly fiddling with the bottle as if he was a kid with a toy, taking the cap off and trying to smell it through the sprayer, you roll your eyes and extend your arm to him.

“It’s unscented, touch and smell my arm, I’m wearing it.” You’re not really thinking it through when you almost shove your forearm on his nose, he obliges it and takes a deep breath, you feel the air leaving his nose in your skin and get suddenly shy.

His cheeks flush in warm pink, the product might be unscented but your skin smells like… You. He could recognize it from a mile away. He thinks to himself for a second and realizes that maybe if sunscreens had your scent he wouldn’t mind using them. And when his fingers softly touch your wrist, getting hold of it to lower it down, he is reminded of how soft you feel so he has no choice but to drop it or else he would be holding onto it for as long as you’d let him.

#lari writes sometimes #those are two different days btw #aaron x reader #aaron x you #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch x you #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds x reader #hotch x reader #hotch x you #hotch imagine #hotch scenario

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ghost-bxrd · 6 days

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For the dragon rider au, what does dragon riding gear/armor usually look like? Is it lighter to allow for more aerodynamics, or heavier for more protection? Something in the middle?

Also. How big are Red and Robin?

It depends on the dragon!

Robin for example has to wear a light saddle as he’s only just big enough to carry a rider. Even more weight would severely hinder him during flight! So Tim wears well insulated clothes for the cold air further up, the safety harness, and little else in terms of armor.

The larger dragons don’t have this kind of limitation, so most of the gear/saddle design is up to their rider with the universal focus being safety and comfort.

Bruce has a rather clunky saddle on Bat with several small bags and pouches built in for various items. Bruce himself wears a rather heavy set armor (think Batsuit) that’s still comparatively light to allow for an easier time to mount and dismount his dragon.

Dick’s saddle is rather sleek with fewer pouches, allowing him to blend almost completely into Nightwing’s feathers when he wants to (great for warmth and added insulation). His gear is focused on flexibility, and he mostly opts for leather armor with a thin layer of inlaid chain mail. Not enough to keep arrows from piercing it but hypothetically enough to prevent it being a fatal injury. (He also tends to “forget” about strapping himself into the safety lines, claiming it hinders his maneuverability. This is a bold faced lie.)

The one thing all saddles and individual rider gear has in common are the safety lines that are hooked into fixed points on the saddle and can be attached and loosened to a specific harness the riders have to wear (mostly in the form of a thick and supportive band around the waist). They keep the riders safe from falling during risky air maneuvers.

As for a size comparison here’s a rough comparison chart! You can find more in the Digital Art tag on this blog 💚

#I typed this all out once before and then tumblr decided to crash I was FUMING 😭😭😭#jason todd #dragon au #dragon rider au #dragons #freedom like ashes #Tim drake #dick grayson #batfamily #bruce wayne #batfam #robin #red hood #Batman

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weasleykisses · 9 months

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You’re So Pretty III (Remus x Reader)

A/n: Remus wants more than anything to kiss you, but he just cant. He doesn’t want to hurt you, but avoiding you is even worse. (Also, note that reader in this is shorter than Remus since he’s like 6’2 canonically. Im really sorry if you’re taller than him)

Word count: 6.2k

_______

Sirius had snatched her up from the couch and spun her around in so many circles she felt dizzy. The skirt to her dress swung back and forth. Music from the old, muggle record player rang out in the common room. Y/N couldn’t stop laughing. She moved so gleefully, barefooted on the carpet to keep her from falling over some clunky shoes.

James was dancing with Lily, and Y/N felt her chest inflate with a bit of pride. For James getting the girl he’s always been dreaming of, and for Lily finally facing her biggest fear of loving that mischievous boy.

She felt light as air. The spiked hot chocolate running through her veins, the smell of peppermint and pine needles in the air, and the flickering light from the fireplace behind her. She couldn’t remember the last time she laughed so hard, nor could she remember a time she felt this alive.

Remus sat on the couch, not a drop of liquor running through him. He preferred to stay sober anyway, just to make sure everyone made it out unharmed. He couldn’t help but stare at her though, Y/N L/N, with the most beautiful smile he’d ever laid eyes on. She was dancing with Sirius, as her friend twirled her around and dipped her backwards a bit, causing a squeal to leave her lips.

The two of them looked so incredibly happy to be with each other. Remus felt like he was intruding on their privacy just sitting there taking a peek. The way she smiled so brightly at Sirius, her cheeks flushed and her corners of her eyes crinkled from smiling so much. He could hear her laughter and the way she yelped and clung to him when he dipped her a bit too far back.

Remus was convinced that those two belonged together. They had such a strong friendship. It ruined his mood whenever he saw them so close with each other, not having come to terms with his eventual heartbreak no matter how hard he tried.

When Sirius let go so he could go pour himself another drink, Peter was quick to jump in his place, taking Y/N by the hands and dancing back and forth to the upbeat song. Peter was always quite shy around girls, but Y/N made him feel comfortable. She was just so soft and sweet, kind to a fault. Remus Lupin understood why everyone was so endeared by the girl.

Y/N didn’t mind his furry little problem. Despite all his fears and his doubts, she promised him time and time again that she didn’t mind that he was a werewolf. She would sit in the infirmary for hours just holding his hand and telling him jokes, trying to cheer him up the best she could given the circumstances.

Every time he looked at her, he felt a pang in his chest. Something so strong he thought he might be having a heart attack at times. She would gaze at him with that dreamy look in her eyes, and he would positively melt under her glance, under her smile. She was the prettiest thing he’d ever seen.

She was too good for him. Y/N was pure and innocent, never one to get in trouble or hurt anyone else. He was a monster, that much was clear enough. He could harm her if she ever found a way to interfere with his transformation. She might be okay with things now, but if they got any closer, there was a good chance he might chase her away. Still, it was tempting to stand up and wrap his arms around her to dance just like his friends did.

Yet, he wasn’t them. He wasn’t a harmless flirt like Sirius Black, nor was he a quidditch star and hopeless romantic like James Potter, he wasn’t even friendly like Peter Pettigrew. He was just himself, the guy who turned into a beast every full moon and injured himself horribly every time. He was the guy who had scars all over his body, certainly too ugly in comparison with her smooth, soft skin.

So he buried his nose further into the novel he was reading and tried not to think about her. He tried to tune out her contagious laughter, and the beat of the songs. Godric, he tried.

She clutched at Peter’s hands and swung her hips to the music. Even through her slightly tipsy haze, she could feel tension running off Remus into the common room. His hesitation was palpable. Quietly, she excused herself from her dance with the short blond boy, saying she was just gonna get another shot before returning.

She made her way to the coffee table in front of Remus’ seat on the couch. She poured a bit of hot cocoa into her mug and just enough fire whisky for a kick.

“Remus,” she hummed, taking a seat beside him. He shivered at the touch of her thigh flush against his. She was so warm. Her fingers tapped at the edge of his novel, urging for him to shut it.

“Y/N,” he replied, watching as she took a sip of her drink and sighed, feeling that familiar burn in her throat. “Taking a break for a minute?”

“I suppose, but I came over to see you. You don’t seem like you’re having a good time,” the girl told him softly, “Don’t you want to dance with us? Or at least with me?”

His heart skipped a beat at her question. Yes, he would very much want to dance with the girl of his dreams, but he just couldn’t bring himself to do so. He was just so afraid of messing up.

“I’m just people watching.”

“Oh, come on now. I promise I won’t laugh if you step on my feet,” she giggled, poking him gently in the side. “I’d love to get at least one dance in with each one of you. I’ve already danced with Sirius, Peter, and Jamie. You’re the final piece of the puzzle.”

“Sweetheart, try as you might, I’m not getting up to dance around, even if it is with you.” She felt her heart skip a beat at the nickname. Sure, everyone had names for her, but coming from the dirty blond felt so much more enchanting. She loved when he called her sweetheart, darling, or love. Maybe he used the same terms with other girls, she didn’t know, but she still felt special regardless.

She grabbed the book from out of his hands and stuck the bookmark in between the pages to save his spot. Quickly she took another sip from her mug before extending a hand to him. “Please. For me, Remus,” she asked.

His heart couldn’t say no, even if his brain was begging him to. He took her hand in his, which normally he wouldn’t think so much about, only now he felt like his skin was burning up.

He just liked her so much. He was completely, madly in love with her.

Marlene stood by the record player, looking through Lily’s collection of vinyls, finally deciding on one. Her eyes found their way up to Y/N, where she winked with a little smirk on her lips. The expression confused her for a moment until the record started playing a much slower song than the previous one.

That snake. The betrayal she felt from her friend was too real.

She turned to peer up at Remus, giving him an awkward grin. “We can wait until the next song if you like. This one is more up James and Lily’s alley,” she said nervously, trying not to make it weirder than it already was. Her hand had slipped from his to fiddle with her other hand, picking at her chipping nail polish.

He knew she was right. Maybe they should wait until the next peppy song. Only, he really didn’t want to. He wanted to pull her close to his chest, hold her hands, and twirl her around. Remus shook his head, taking her hand back in his.

Her heart was racing. He wanted to dance with her. Even if it was awfully romantic, he still wanted to. For a moment, she felt hope building up in her chest that this crush she had on him wasn’t unrequited after all. She still smothered down the thought however, considering it more of a fever dream than the truth.

She nodded, wrapping her arms around his neck, while his gentle hands sat on her waist. Everything around her was so overwhelming, the touch against her waist, her fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck, the feeling of Marlene and Dorcas staring from their place at the record player. Her eyes couldn’t meet his, instead peering down at her feet.

He took that opportunity to gaze at her; how bashful she was, the way her cheeks were flushed and her nervous smile, her gaze focused down on the floor no doubt because she was embarrassed.

How could she be so comfortable around Sirius for dozens of songs, yet so nervous when it came to a single dance with him? Did she not want to dance with him? Was he too close? He didn’t know what was going through her mind, but naturally his brain went to the worst case scenarios before the positive ones.

“Did you have a fun time tonight?” He asked quietly.

“Yeah. It’s been great. Wish you’d joined the festivities a little earlier though,” she commented, “I know you’re not shy.”

“I just liked seeing everyone happy together. That’s more than enough.”

She nodded, agreeing with him. He was also so observant, watching everyone while they fooled around. He never instigated pranks, but you could bet he was there watching from the side. He was always there trying to make things better for everyone. There were so many things to appreciate about him, like how he offered her chocolate when she was hurt, or when he would sit in the Astronomy tower with her when she was crying.

“I want to see you happy, too,” she told him. “You’re always looking out for everyone else, but what about you?”

“Just being with you is enough,” he confessed, but quickly corrected himself, feeling a bit too awkward with that answer, “With all of you guys, of course.”

If only he’d have kept the first statement, she thought. Of course she wasn’t special like that. She didn’t brighten his day, not like the others did. She was the least beautiful of all the girls, not the smartest either. Remus liked smart girls. Ones that would sit and read with him, study together, talk about random things for hours. She wasn’t that smart, not like the Ravenclaw girls.

Lily was still dancing with James as she peered behind Remus, and Sirius was trying to get Marlene to slow dance despite her opposition to the idea. Peter sat at the table drinking another cup of hot cocoa, but his eyes would trail up every now and then to his group of friends, noticing things about everyone. No doubt the boy noticed the way Remus was staring down at her with puppy love in his eyes, or the way she was now stumbling a bit on her feet as the nerves got to her.

It was wonderful, she thought, as his hands held onto her waist a little tighter, as if she was going to blow away in the wind. Everything was so perfect. The twinkling of the lights around the room, the wreaths with mistletoe hanging from them, the big Christmas tree towards the center of the room lit up with enchanted candles. The windows were frosted over from the snow that day, and she could see the individual snowflakes sparkling when the light hit them just right. It was beautiful.

Y/N was beautiful.

He wanted to kiss her. He never wanted to kiss anyone more than he did right then as the girl pressed her body closer to his so they were rocking back and forth. His heart beat against her ear that rested on his chest, and he prayed it wasn’t racing.

He reached down, tilting her chin up with one hand, the other still wrapped tightly around her. Finally, she had to gaze up at him instead of wandering the room.

It felt like he was going to kiss her. She couldn’t think of anything else. By Godric, she wanted to be kissed by him. It would complete what she already thought was a perfect night. To finally get a kiss from the boy she’d come to fancy far more than she should.

“Rem, what is it?” She whispered. He felt himself leaning closer, but paused before he could go any further.

He opened his mouth to say something, anything really. Yet, no words came out. He just stared at her e/c eyes for a moment before a wave of guilt washed over him.

He shouldn’t be doing this. He shouldn’t be holding her so close. He shouldn’t be falling in love with her. He didn’t deserve to. A monster, that’s all he was. A disgusting and dangerous beast. Even if she disagreed, it wasn’t fair to her. He hated that his friends helped him with his problem, and he hated even more the thought of Y/N getting swept up into it as well.

He dropped both his hands from her body and took a step back, his eyes now glued to the floor. “I don’t know what came over me, Y/N. I should go.”

As if she could keep him from leaving, the girl grabbed his hand. It broke her heart when he tore his hand from her grip, walking over to the table and grabbing his book for the night.

“Remus, I’m sorry. Whatever I did wrong, I’ll fix it. You don’t have to leave,” she tried to reason with him, practically begging for him not to go. She felt like she’d fucked everything up somehow, made him uncomfortable. She knew it was a wrong idea to dance to this song with him. To try and make something that was just friendly into something romantic.

He just sighed, shaking his head. “You didn’t do anything.”

She watched as he walked up the stairs to the dorm rooms, listening to the door shut and the handle click into place. Her shoulders slumped and she caught the eyes of Marlene and Dorcas by the record player, seeing their sympathetic expressions.

It was okay if Remus didn’t like her back. She wouldn’t have a problem with that. It just hurt to know he didn’t want to do something as simple as dance with her. It hurt to know that he grimaced when he looked down at her. That the sight of her made him want to run away.

She suddenly felt sick. With a thud, she plopped down on the couch beside Sirius and Peter, picking up her mug to take a long sip. “Mind pouring me another, Siri?” Y/N asked, holding out her cup to him.

“Y/N, Moony really didn’t mean anything by it. He’s just confused,” Sirius tried to reassure her, but she only shook her glass, waiting for her drink. At least she could get so drunk she forgot about everything that happened. The raven haired boy poured her another shot.

“It’s okay. I don’t even know why I’m disappointed. We’re only friends.”

Peter looked at Sirius knowingly. Everyone knew except for her and perhaps Remus, but he was good at picking up on things. She didn’t want to be friends, but she couldn’t just ask him out. It was too intimidating.

“Listen, you’re a great girl. Any guy would be lucky to have you, you know that, right?” Sirius asked her, and Peter was quick to nod in agreement.

“I don’t like Remus.” That was a blatant lie.

“Well, if you did, don’t give up on him. He’s rough around the edges, but he really is a good guy.”

She knew he was a good guy. That’s why she fell for him in the first place. He was so kind and charming. Remus was so smart too, leaving her swoon whenever he tutored her in something she struggled with.

She tried to hide her expression, looking off to the floor away from the boys. Tears threatened to fall from her eyes, and she bit her lip to hide her quickened breaths. It was always hard accepting the fact that Remus didn’t like her, not in the way she liked him.

“Oh no, angel, please don’t cry,” Sirius pleaded, noticing the way her eyes had begun glistening with fresh tears. He raised his hand, one lifting her head softly while the other ran a thumb across her cheeks, brushing away the droplets that fell. “I promise, it’s going to be okay.”

“Then why does he do that?” She asked, quite pathetically. She appreciated Sirius for talking to her about this, and chose to keep her secret safe and sound. “He leads me on and then runs away. Does he not realize what he’s doing?” She wiped the tears from her eyes but they were quick to gather again. Remus had to make everything so difficult sometimes.

She was so confused in how she felt. On one hand, she absolutely, without a doubt, loved Remus Lupin with all her heart. On the other hand, she felt like giving up. Time and time again he made her feel special, made her feel loved and cared for, only for him to correct himself. He would leave her standing there, crestfallen and thinking she had done something wrong.

A sob escaped her lips, and she was quick to latch onto Sirius. Her hands clutched at the back of his shirt while she pressed her face into his collar. She just cried while he brushed down her hair and rubbed her back comfortingly. She could count on the Black to be there whenever something happened between her and his best mate.

“Y/N, you’re a catch if I’ve ever seen one. Don’t let ol’ Moony bring you down,” Peter tried to soothe her, reaching up to place a hand on her knee.

“He doesn’t deserve you, angel,” Sirius muttered against her head.

Despite his soothing, she kept crying until she’d run out of tears for the night. She bid Sirius a goodnight before heading into her dorm. She curled tightly into a ball once in the comfort of her own bed. In her hands was Remus’ sweater, which she hugged to her chest. She was such a dumbass for getting attached to an emotionally unavailable boy.

The worst part is, no matter what he did, she still loved him.

____

“You absolute prat! You’ve got to stop fucking with her feelings,” Sirius scolded after entering their dorm room and shutting the door so anyone left lingering in the halls or the common room couldn’t eavesdrop. He glared at his friend who laid in his bed with a pillow covering his head.

“Leave me alone, Pads,” the boy groaned, refusing to move the pillow from his head, instead hugging it tighter to his face. A part of him wished he could smother himself and make all of this end.

Sirius rolled his eyes, walking over to his own bed and sitting back against the headboard while his feet stretched toward the end of the bed. He crossed his arms over his chest. “You didn’t have to make her cry.”

“She cried?”

“Yeah, not that you stuck around to see it. She thinks you hate her. That you’re disgusted by her,” Sirius told him with a scowl. He was awfully protective of the girl, finding her shyness adorable and her excitement for the little things in life to be admirable. It sucked seeing her chasing after someone and having her heart broken time and time again.

He’d never tell Remus that Y/N had a crush on him. That wasn’t his place. However, he wouldn’t let Remus get away with treating her like shit while they were “just friends”.

Remus sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose, finally tearing the pillow off his face and letting it drop to the floor. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Maybe bloody kiss her when you’re clearly thinking about it. Ever thought of that?”

“And if she doesn’t like me? Then what?”

Remus was still convinced Y/N had a thing for Sirius. She was always smiling when she was with him. She let him flirt with her all he wanted and he noticed the way her face flushed when he was particularly bold. He noticed them hanging out when no one else was around. He noticed all of it, and it hung over him like a storm cloud. Genuinely, it made him feel so isolated. His best mate and the only girl he’d ever really cared for like this, together doing Godric knows what.

“Then you go back to being friends. Does she seem like the judgemental type?”

“No, but it would be awkward.”

“Only if you make it awkward.”

Remus sighed deeply, rolling over on his side to face his friend, his head propped up in his palm. “It doesn’t matter anyway. I can’t be with her.”

Sirius already knew all about what Remus was talking about. He had droned on about it before, how he was so afraid of him being a werewolf and being in a relationship with anyone, much less Y/N. “Don’t start with the self-deprecating shit, mate. You know she doesn’t care if you’re a werewolf or not.” It was a pretty lousy excuse if you asked him. “She loves you, Moony.”

“She does not love me,” Remus argued back, confident in his reply, more confident than he was in most anything in the world. She loves you, he wanted to say. The thought was headache inducing, making him sick to the stomach.

And that was the end of it. No matter what Sirius said, it all went right through Remus. He was determined to keep this girl at arms’ length, even if it tore him up inside to do so. She was just so lovely. She plagued his every waking thought when she was in the room, or even when someone simply mentioned her. Yet, she didn’t care for him that way. They just happened to be friends.

Not to mention the boy was far from blind when it came to love, like the ones he read about in his novels. The looks and touches he’d seen between Y/N and his friend were remarkably full of love and care, something she didn’t have with him. If only Sirius could see that, maybe then he could be the one to make her happy. Instead, he was here lecturing him on how to make Y/N happy. Perhaps if he wasn’t such a flirt, none of this would even be a problem.

He just groaned into his pillow and shut himself out from the world around him, no longer responding to what Sirius had to say to him. He was done. He was done with all this nonsense. All this romance bullshit, no matter how much it made his heart race or the gears turn in his mind. He was done.

______

Only, that was harder said than done when seeing her in person after that night.

She continued to be lovely, friendly, normal - only now he could sense the waves of sadness and discomfort that poured off her person when the group hung out together.

Her heart ached since Remus ran away from her. He had done similar before, but she always forgave him. He was complicated. He was secretive with his emotions. That was one of many things she’d come to respect about him after knowing him for so many years.

She cried that night, and when the other girls came to bed, they comforted her. She didn’t have to tell them what happened. They already knew. It seemed like everyone around her knew about her crush on him.

But life goes on, and she woke up the next morning to the rest of the girls getting ready for class. She pinched her cheeks to bring some life into them, and watched as her smile turned up in the mirror, making sure it was as genuine as it usually was. She was a strong girl, and one incredibly handsome and charming boy was not going to bring her crumbling down. She’d done enough crying.

Sitting next to Remus at the table was far from comfortable, but she was able to do it. She just leaned a little bit further into Sirius’ side than she normally would, something that made Remus feel more defeated than anything. He had given up on pursuing her, almost entirely, only the remnants of his heart still yearning for her. As he watched the way she cuddled up on him, it wasn’t hard to see she found comfort in the raven haired boy.

He could only sigh to himself, dipping his spoon into his porridge for another depressing bite.

She also talked a bit more with James than she ever would in one sitting, with the two of them having so little in common. She took the time to compliment all the girls on their hair and makeup that morning. She talked to Lily about their Potions class that afternoon, and the book she had propped up in front of her. Anything to keep herself from having to discuss with Remus what happened that night before. Anything to avoid talking to him in general, actually.

Breakfast went by slowly, as did their Transfiguration class where Y/N sat in her normal seat beside her friend, who she desperately wanted to be more-than-a-friend. She tried to think of a way she could find herself escaping this terribly unfortunate situation involving unrequited love. She could confess to the boy on the off chance he actually did reciprocate, but that seemed highly unlikely.

She could try and find someone else to fancy for the rest of their seventh year, but she doubted that would happen. He was just so perfect, no one else would compare. No one looked like him, nor did they sound like him or smell the same. There was no one as intelligent as him besides sweet Lily, and she certainly wasn’t going to fancy the red headed girl.

The only option seemed to be just living with her crush until it naturally went away. As miserable as that suggestion seemed, it was the most sound of all her ideas.

She found herself so distracted that she didn’t even notice when McGonagall called on her, “Miss L/N, please do answer the question.”

The seconds passed like minutes and she found her mouth growing dry from embarrassment. How could she be so careless? She almost never zoned out during class, much less found herself being challenged by a professor. She wasn’t lovestruck like James, was she?

Just as she was about to admit defeat, Remus tapped the edge of his notebook. Written down was the word, “avifors spell” which she quickly found herself repeating aloud.

“Thank you. Please pay attention, everyone.”

An exhale of relief left her lips, and she peered over at Remus with grateful eyes. She mouthed a ‘thank you’ and he just nodded with a small smile.

She tried to ignore how he made her feel the rest of their day together. When they studied in the library because it was a Thursday and they weren’t going to break their schedule, she tried smothering the butterflies that fluttered. She felt his soft gaze trained on her as she stared down at her homework. She tried her hardest to swallow her gasp when he leaned over her shoulder, his face dangerously close to hers, pointing out her mistakes on the worksheet. She desperately wished she could ignore the smell of parchment and chocolate wafting off his body as he spoke to her.

“Y/N? Are you alright?” he asked, breaking her from her daze. She nodded, quickly marking the paper where he had questioned one of her answers. “We can stop for the day, if you want-”

“You’re probably right. I feel like my brain is totally fried from all this studying,” she replied quickly, shutting her textbook and setting her quill on the table beside her worksheets. She was dying to finish up this study session so she could crawl back into her bed and pretend that she didn’t spend the first half of the day with her massive crush who definitely didn’t like her back.

He furrowed a brow, having thought the day’s session had gone by quite fast. He didn’t like it. Usually she sat with him for a good hour or two just discussing the day, talking about books and gossip and whatever else she had on her mind. Instead, it seemed she was running away from him. He should have expected that though, knowing what he had done the night before.

Regardless, he packed up his belongings right alongside her, making sure the last of his inkwells was thoughtfully tucked away before motioning for her to follow him out into the hallways. With a ducked head, she followed him, not wanting to seem weird going her own way when they normally would walk back to the common room together. She tried to ignore the shivers that went down her spine when their fingers skimmed against each other walking side by side.

If she were brave, or maybe stupid, she would have reached out to hold his hand. She itched to touch him. To feel him pressed against her again like the night before when they danced together. God, she just wanted to hold his hand. It wasn’t crude or vulgar at all, but she felt so inappropriate - so wrong for wanting him when he clearly wasn’t interested in her.

Perhaps he could sense her trepidation, or maybe she was just very obvious in how uncomfortable she felt, but he cautiously approached the topic, “Darling?” he asked quietly, with all the sincerity and care he normally displayed.

She couldn’t deny the skip of her heart at the sweet nickname, one of many that he used for her. Whether she was his dove, love, or darling, it made her heart jump. “Yes, Remus?” she replied, stopping and turning to look back at him, craning her neck up to meet his eyes, his gorgeous eyes that caught the sunlight coming in from the windows, honey brown and golden.

“I can tell something is wrong,” he started, rubbing the back of his neck and fluffing up his hair nervously.

“Really, it’s okay-”

“No, it’s really not,” he said firmly, Sirius’ lecture from the night before running through his mind. He thought of her crying when he ran off to his dormitory, feeling like shit after being abandoned like that. He thought of her that morning at breakfast doing her best to ignore him, biting her lip to keep the frown from reaching her lips. He continued, “I’m so stupid. It wasn’t my intention to make you feel unwanted.”

Unexpectedly, Remus reached out, taking one of her delicate hands in his own, running a thumb along her knuckles. She stood there as calmly as she could, but her heart was beating a mile a minute and she prayed to Godric that he couldn’t tell from her expression. He was too busy worrying about his own racing heart and sudden dry mouth to notice anyway. “I was scared.”

She asked, so quiet it was a wonder he even heard her, “Scared of what?”

He took a deep breath before explaining himself, drawing her towards the corner of the corridor, away from prying eyes. She felt herself grow even more flushed, knowing they were tucked in this secluded little corner while he held her hand so carefully in his own. She had that familiar feeling creep up and sink its fangs into her, daring her to act on thoughts she shouldn’t be having. Thoughts that entailed reaching up on her tiptoes and pressing a kiss to his lips, squeezing her eyes shut tightly. Thoughts of grabbing his cheeks in her hands and pulling him down to meet her halfway.

The heavy grandfather clock at the end of the hall ticked as time slowly passed, and she waited with baited breath for him to reply.

“Scared of how much you mean to me. You’re my best friend, Y/N. I know you’re a smart girl, and you’re incredibly brave, but you know I have my problems…” he tried to say.

“Remus! Shush. You know that means nothing to me. You’ll always be my best friend no matter what.”

“Which is exactly why you’re blind to the reality that I am dangerous, and I don’t want you getting into harm’s way,” he argued back as she stared at him, her eyes glazed over with something he didn’t quite recognize. “I’m worried about you. I care about you so fucking much, Y/N.”

“But-”

“But, the more time you spend with me, the closer you get to seeing the worst parts of me. That’s what I’m scared of.” He paused, his chest lifting heavily and falling back down. “I need you to understand that. I-I need you, and I can’t keep you if I scare you away.” His words shook, and she felt his hands begin to shake as they held onto her own. She clutched him a bit tighter, trying to calm him down.

She swore her heart nearly stopped beating in her chest at his words, those desperate words that fell from his lips. It was almost like he was telling her he loved her. Almost.

But they were only best friends. He’d made that clear.

“I care about you, too, Remus. I’ll do whatever is best for you. That’s what I want.”

“What’s best for me is that you’re happy and safe.”

She flushed at his words, finding herself growing hot in the face and lowering her head to hide her flustered expression. He had such a way with words, one that made her positively swoon. How did he not notice? He was awfully charming and romantic for someone who seemingly refused to even try and date.

The words hung off his lips, waiting to fall out in the open after all this time. I love you, he wanted to say. I love you so fucking much it hurts, he wanted to cry. Yet, he couldn’t do it.

He peered over her shoulder at the walkway, catching sight of James and Sirius walking down the corridor towards them. He motioned in their direction, and quickly he dropped her hand, taking a modest step away from her. With confusion and hurt in her eyes, she looked back to him as the blood drained from her cheeks. Was he embarrassed to be close to her around his guy friends? Was holding her hand that serious of a crime that it warranted such abruptness?

Much to her displeasure, she was caught off guard when Remus seemingly bumped her in Sirius’ direction, actually causing her to stumble into the dark-haired boy and latch onto his arms to steady herself.

She turned back to peer at him, questioning what he was doing, only to find his eyes glued elsewhere. He stared at the broom that James held in his hands, the one he was excitedly talking about. His eyes were clearly just there so he could avoid her gaze, one that flashed with heartache. That boy sure had a way with breaking hearts, she thought, feeling herself beginning to fall limp against her other friend.

“Why hello, angel,” Sirius laughed, helping her regain her footing. The laughter from his mouth, however, was awkward, and his eyes flashed nervously between Remus and Y/N as they had come to do so often recently. He sensed the tension, and he noticed the sadness that plagued Y/N like a rain cloud perpetually above her head. “Not interrupting, are we?” he asked cautiously.

“No, we were just talking.” But he knew that was a lie. James seemed to be the only one oblivious to the situation at hand. She frowned, her eyes leaving Remus and lifting to find those of her concerned friend. “Hey, Sirius, James.”

“Hey, guys. We were just heading to the dining hall for lunch. You coming with?”

“Sure,” Y/N said, but Remus had other plans.

“Actually, I have somewhere I’ve got to be. I’ll see you at dinner though,” Remus said, waving to his friends as he took a few steps backward. The three of them watched him go, and when he finally turned the corner, Y/N let her shoulders drop heavily, a sigh leaving her lips. So much for the little moment they were having before.

He certainly had a habit of running away when she needed him there the most, didn’t he?

Part Four is out. (Honestly, as I write this I’m finding myself rooting for Sirius a bit ngl. Should I do two endings, one for Sirius and one for Remus perhaps?)

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