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renthony · 1 year ago

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Nimona: a Story of Trans Rights, Queer Solidarity, and the Battle Against Censorship

by Ren Basel renbasel.com

The 2023 film Nimona, released on Netflix after a tumultuous development, is a triumph of queer art. While the basic plot follows a mischievous shapeshifter befriending a knight framed for murder, at its heart Nimona is a tale of queer survival in the face of bigotry and censorship. Though the word “transgender” is never spoken, the film is a deeply political narrative of trans empowerment.

The film is based on a comic of the same name, created by Eisner-winning artist N.D. Stevenson. (1) Originally a webcomic, Nimona stars the disgraced ex-knight Ballister Blackheart and his titular sidekick, teaming up to topple an oppressive regime known as the Institution. The webcomic was compiled into a graphic novel published by Harper Collins on May 12, 2015. (2)

On June 11, 2015, the Hollywood Reporter broke the news Fox Animation had acquired rights to the story. (3) A film adaptation would be directed by Patrick Osborne, written by Marc Haimes, and produced by Adam Stone. Two years later, on February 9, 2017, Osborne confirmed the film was being produced with the Fox-owned studio Blue Sky Animation, and on June 30 of that same year, he claimed the film would be released Valentine’s Day 2020. (4)

Then the Walt Disney Company made a huge mess.

On December 14, 2017, Disney announced the acquisition of Twenty-First Century Fox, Inc. (5) Industry publications began speculating the same day about Blue Sky’s fate, though nothing would be confirmed until after the deal’s completion on March 19, 2019. (6) At first it seemed the studio would continue producing films under Disney’s governance, similar to Disney-owned Pixar Animation. (7)

The fate of the studio—and Nimona’s film adaptation—remained in purgatory for two years. During that time, Patrick Osborne left over reported creative differences, and directorial duties were taken over by Nick Bruno and Troy Quane. (8) Bruno and Quane continued production on the film despite Blue Sky’s uncertain future.

The killing blow came on February 9, 2021. Disney shut down Blue Sky and canceled Nimona, the result of economic hardship caused by COVID-19. (9) Nimona was seventy-five percent completed at the time, set to star Chloë Grace Moretz and Riz Ahmed. (10)

While COVID-19 caused undeniable financial upheaval for the working class, wealthy Americans fared better. (11) Disney itself scraped together enough to pay CEO Bob Iger twenty-one million dollars in 2020 alone. (12) Additionally, demand for animation spiked during the pandemic’s early waves, and Nimona could have been the perfect solution to the studio’s supposed financial woes. (13) Why waste the opportunity to profit from Blue Sky’s hard work?

It didn’t take long for the answer to surface. Speaking anonymously to the press, Blue Sky workers revealed the awful truth: Disney may have killed Nimona for being too queer. The titular character was gender-nonconforming, the leading men were supposed to kiss, and Disney didn’t like it. (14) While Disney may claim COVID-19 as the cause, it is noteworthy that Disney representatives saw footage of two men declaring their love, and not long after, the studio responsible was dead. (15) Further damning evidence came in February of 2024, when the Hollywood Reporter published an article quoting co-director Nick Bruno, who named names: Disney’s chief creative officer at the time, Alan Horn, was adamantly opposed to the film’s “gay stuff.” (16)

Disney didn’t think queer art was worthy of their brand, and it isn’t the first time. “Not fitting the Disney brand” was the justification for canceling Dana Terrace’s 2020 animated series The Owl House, which featured multiple queer characters. (17) Though Terrace was reluctant to assume queerphobia caused the cancellation, Disney’s anti-queer bias has been cited as a hurdle by multiple showrunners, including Terrace herself. (18) The company’s resistance to queer art is a documented phenomenon.

While Nimona’s film cancellation could never take N.D. Stevenson’s comic from the world, it was a sting to lose such a powerful queer narrative on the silver screen. American film has a long history of censoring queerness. The Motion Picture Production Code (commonly called the Hays Code) censored queer stories for decades, including them under the umbrella of “sex perversion.” (19) Though the Code was eventually repealed, systemic bigotry turns even modern queer representation milestones into battles. In 2018, when Rebecca Sugar, creator of the Cartoon Network series Steven Universe, succeeded in portraying the first-ever same-sex marriage proposal in American children’s animation, the network canceled the show in retaliation. (20)

When queer art has to fight so hard just to exist, each loss is a bitter heartbreak. N.D. Stevenson himself expressed sorrow that the world would never see what Nimona’s crew worked so hard to achieve. (21)

Nimona, however, is hard to kill.

While fans mourned, progress continued behind the scenes. Instead of disappearing into the void as a tax write-off, the film was quietly scooped up by Megan Ellison of Annapurna Pictures. (22) Ellison received a call days before Disney’s death blow to Blue Sky, and after looking over storyboard reels, she decided to champion the film. With Ellison’s support, former Blue Sky heads Robert Baird and Andrew Millstein did their damnedest to find Nimona a home. (23)

Good news arrived on April 11, 2022, when N.D. Stevenson made a formal announcement on Twitter (now X): Nimona was gloriously alive, and would release on Netflix in 2023. (24) Netflix confirmed the news in its own press release, where it also provided details about the film’s updated cast and crew, including Eugene Lee Yang as Ambrosius Goldenloin alongside Riz Ahmed’s Ballister Boldheart (changed from the name Blackheart in the comic) and Chloë Grace Moretz as Nimona. (25) The film was no longer in purgatory, and grief over its death became anticipation for its release.

Nimona made her film debut in France, premiering at the Annecy International Animation Film Festival on June 14, 2023 to positive reviews. (26) Netflix released the film to streaming on June 30, finally completing the story’s arduous journey from page to screen. (27)

When the film begins, the audience is introduced to the world through a series of illustrated scrolls, evoking the storybook intros of Disney princess films such as 1959’s Sleeping Beauty. The storybook framing device has been used to parody Disney in the past, perhaps most famously in the 2001 Dreamworks film Shrek. Just as Shrek contains parodies of the Disney brand created by a Disney alumnus, so, too, does Nimona riff on the studio that snubbed it. (28)

Nimona’s storybook intro tells the story of Gloreth, a noble warrior woman clad in gold and white, who defended her people from a terrible monster. After slaying the beast, Gloreth established an order of knights called the Institute (changed from the Institution in the comic) to wall off the city and protect her people.

Right away, the film introduces a Christian dichotomy of good versus evil. Gloreth is presented as a Christlike figure, with the Institute’s knights standing in as her saints. (29) Her name is invoked like the Christian god, with characters uttering phrases such as “oh my Gloreth” and “Gloreth guide you.” The film’s design borrows heavily from Medieval Christian art and architecture, bolstering the metaphor.

Nimona takes place a thousand years after Gloreth’s victory. Following the opening narration, the audience is dropped into a setting combining Medieval aesthetics with futuristic science fiction, creating a sensory delight of neon splashed across knights in shining armor. It’s in this swords-and-cyborgs city that a new knight is set to join the illustrious ranks of Gloreth’s Institute, now under the control of a woman known only as the Director (voiced by Frances Conroy). That new knight is our protagonist, Ballister Boldheart.

The film changes several things from the original. The comic stars Lord Ballister Blackheart, notorious former knight, long after his fall from grace. He has battled the Institution for years, making a name for himself as a supervillain. The film introduces a younger Ballister Boldheart who is still loyal to the Institute, who believes in his dream of becoming a knight and overcomes great odds to prove himself worthy. In the comic, Blackheart’s greatest rival is Sir Ambrosius Goldenloin, with whom he has a messy past. The film shows more of that past, when Goldenloin and Boldheart were young lovers eager to become knights by each other’s side.

There is another notable change: in the comic, Goldenloin is white, and Blackheart is light-skinned. In the film, both characters are men of color—specifically, Boldheart is of Pakistani descent, and Goldenloin is of Korean descent, matching the ethnicity of their respective voice actors. This change adds new themes of institutional racism, colorism, and the “model minority” stereotype. (30)

The lighter-skinned Goldenloin is, as his name suggests, the Institute’s golden boy. He descends from the noble lineage of Gloreth herself, and his face is emblazoned on posters and news screens across the city. He is referred to as “the most anticipated knight of a generation.” In contrast, the darker-skinned Boldheart experiences prejudice and hazing due to his lower-class background. His social status is openly discussed in the news. He is called a “street kid” and “controversial,” despite being the top student in his class. The newscasters make sure everyone knows he was only given the chance to prove himself in the Institute because the queen, a Black woman with established social influence, gave him her personal patronage. Despite this patronage, when the news interviews citizens on the street, public opinion is firmly against Boldheart.

To preserve the comic’s commentary on white privilege, some of Goldenloin’s traits were written into a new, white character created for the film, Sir Thoddeus Sureblade (voiced by Beck Bennett). Sureblade’s vitriol against both Boldheart and Goldenloin allowed Goldenloin to become a more sympathetic character, trapped in the system just as much as Boldheart. (31) This is emphasized at other points in the film when the audience sees Sureblade interact with Goldenloin without Boldheart present, berating the only person of color left in the absence of the darker-skinned man.

The day Boldheart is to be knighted, everything goes wrong. As Queen Valerin (voiced by Lorraine Toussaint) performs the much-anticipated knighting ceremony, a device embedded in Boldheart’s sword explodes, killing her instantly. Though Boldheart is not to blame, he is dubbed an assassin instead of a knight. In an instant, he becomes the most wanted man in the kingdom, and Queen Valerin’s hopes for progress and social equality seem dead with her. Boldheart is gravely injured in the explosion and forced to flee, unable to clear his name.

Enter Nimona.

The audience meets the titular character in the act of vandalizing a poster of Gloreth, only to get distracted by an urgent broadcast on a nearby screen. As she approaches, a bystander yells that she’s a “freak,” in a manner reminiscent of slurs screamed by passing bigots. Nimona has no time for bigots, spraying this one in the face with paint before tuning in to the news.

“Everyone is scared,” declare the newscasters, because queen-killer Ballister Boldheart is on the run. The media paints him as a monster, a filthy commoner who never deserved the chances he was given, and announce that, “never since Gloreth’s monster has anything been so hated.” This characterization pleases Nimona, and she declares him “perfect” before scampering off to find his hiding place.

It takes the span of a title screen for her to track him down, sequestered in a makeshift junkyard shelter. Just before Nimona bursts into the lair, the audience sees Boldheart’s injuries have resulted in the amputation of his arm, and he is building a homemade prosthetic. This is another way he’s been othered from his peers in an instant, forced to adapt to life-changing circumstances with no support. Where he was so recently an aspiring knight with a partner and a dream, he is now homeless, disabled, and isolated.

A wall in the hideout shows a collection of news clippings, suspects, and sticky notes where Boldheart is trying to solve the murder and clear his name. His own photo looks down from the wall, captioned with a damning headline: “He was never one of us—knights reveal shocking details of killer’s past.” It evokes real-world racial bias in crime reporting, where suspects of color are treated as more violent, unstable, and prone to crime than white suspects. A 2021 report by the Equal Justice Initiative and the Global Strategy Group compiled data on this phenomenon, focusing on the stark disparity between coverage of white and Black suspects. (32)

Nimona is not put off by Boldheart’s sinister media reputation. It’s why she tracked him down in the first place. She’s arrived to present her official application as Boldheart’s villain sidekick and help him take down the Institute. Boldheart brushes her off, insisting he isn’t a villain. He has faith in his innocence and in the system, and leaves Nimona behind to clear his name.

When he is immediately arrested, stripped of his prosthetic, and jailed, Nimona doesn’t abandon him. She springs a prison break, and conveys a piece of bitter wisdom to the fallen knight: “[O]nce everyone sees you as a villain, that’s what you are. They only see you one way, no matter how hard you try.”

Nimona and Boldheart are both outcasts, but they are at different stages of processing the pain. Boldheart is deep in the grief of someone who tried to adhere to the demands of a biased system but finally failed. He is the newly cast-out, who gave his entire life to the system but still couldn’t escape dehumanization. His pain is a fresh, raw wound, where Nimona has old scars. She embodies the deep anger of those who have existed on the margins for years. Where Boldheart wants to prove his innocence so he can be re-accepted into the fold, Nimona’s goal is to tear the entire system apart. She finds instant solidarity with Boldheart based solely on their mutual status as outsiders, but Boldheart resists that solidarity because he still craves the system’s familiar structure.

In the comic, Blackheart’s stance is not one of fresh grief, since, just like Nimona, he has been an outsider for some time. Instead, Blackheart’s position is one of slow reform. He believes the system can be changed and improved, while Nimona urges him to demolish it entirely. In both versions, Ballister thinks the system can be fixed by removing specific corrupt influences, where Nimona believes the government is rotten to its foundations and should be dismantled. Despite their ideological differences, Nimona and Ballister ally to survive the Institute’s hostility.

The allyship is an uneasy truce. During the prison break, Nimona reveals that she’s a shapeshifter, able to change into whatever form she pleases. Boldheart reflexively reaches for his sword, horrified that she isn’t human. She is the exact sort of monster he has been taught to fear by the Institute, and it’s only because he needs her help that he overcomes his reflex and sticks with her.

Nimona’s shapeshifting functions as a transgender allegory. The comic’s author, N.D. Stevenson, is transgender, and Nimona’s story developed alongside his own queer journey. (33) The trans themes from the comic are emphasized in the film, with various pride flags included in backgrounds and showcased in the art book. (34) Directors Bruno and Quane described the film as “a story about acceptance. A movie about being seen for who you truly are and a love letter to all those who’ve ever shared that universal feeling of being misunderstood or like an outsider trying to fit in.” (35)

When Boldheart asks Nimona what she is, she responds with only “Nimona.” When he calls her a girl, she retorts that she’s “a lot of things.” When she transforms into another species, she specifies in that moment that she’s “not a girl, I’m a shark.” Later, when she takes the form of a young boy and Boldheart comments on it, saying “now you’re a boy,” her response is, “I am today.” She defies easy categorization, and she likes it that way.

About her shapeshifting, Nimona says “it feels worse if I don’t do it” and “I shapeshift, then I’m free.” When asked what happens if she doesn’t shapeshift, she responds, “I wouldn’t die-die, I just sure wouldn’t be living.” Every time she discusses her transformations, it carries echoes of transgender experience—and, as it happens, Nimona is not N.D. Stevenson’s only shapeshifting transgender character. During his tenure as showrunner for She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (Netflix/Dreamworks, 2018-2020), Stevenson introduced the character Double Trouble. Double Trouble previously existed at the margins of She-Ra lore, but Stevenson’s version was a nonbinary shapeshifter using they/them pronouns. (36) While Nimona uses she/her pronouns throughout both comic and film, just like Double Trouble her gender presentation is as fluid as her physical form.

Boldheart, like many cisgender people reacting to transgender people, is uncomfortable with Nimona. He declares her way of doing things “too much,” and insists they try to be “inconspicuous” and “discreet.” He worries whether others saw her, and, when she is casually in a nonhuman form, he asks if she can “be normal for a second.” He claims to support her, but says it would be “easier if she was a girl” because “other people aren’t as accepting.” His discomfort evokes fumbled allyship by cisgender people, and Nimona emphasizes the allegory by calling Boldheart out for his “small-minded questions.” While the alliance is uneasy, Boldheart continues working with Nimona to clear his name. They are the only allies each other has, and their individual survival is dependent on them working together.

When the duo gain video proof of Boldheart’s innocence, they learn the bomb that killed Queen Valerin was planted by the Director. Threatened by a Black woman using her influence to elevate a poor, queer man of color, the white Director chose to preserve the status quo through violence.

Nimona is eager to get the video on every screen in the city, but Boldheart wants to deal with the issue internally, out of the public eye. He insists “the Institute isn’t the problem, the Director is.” This belief is what also leads the comic’s Blackheart to reject Nimona’s idea that he should crown himself king. He is focused on reforming the existing power structure, neither removing it entirely nor taking it over himself.

Inside the Institute, the Director has been doing her best to set Goldenloin against his former partner. Despite his internal misgivings and fear of betraying someone he loves, Goldenloin does his best to adhere to his prescribed role. As the Director reminds the knights, they are literally born to defend the kingdom, and it’s their sacred duty to do so—especially Goldenloin, who carries Gloreth’s holy blood. This blood connection is repeated throughout the film, and used by the Director to exploit Goldenloin. He’s the Institute’s token minority, put on a gilded pedestal and treated as a symbol instead of a human being.

Goldenloin is a pretty face for propaganda posters, and those posters can be seen throughout the film. They proclaim Gloreth’s majesty, the power of the knights, and remind civilians that the Institute is necessary to “protect our way of life.” A subway PSA urges citizens, “if you see something, slay something,” in a direct parody of the real-world “if you see something, say something” campaign by the United States Department of Homeland Security. (37)

The film is not subtle in its political messaging. When Boldheart attempts to prove his innocence to Goldenloin and the assembled knights, he reaches towards his pocket for a phone. The Director cries that Boldheart has a weapon, and Sureblade opens fire. Though the shot hits the phone and not Boldheart, it carries echoes of real-world police brutality against people of color. Specifically, the use of a phone evokes cases such as the 2018 murder of Stephon Clark, a young Black man who was shot and killed by California police claiming Clark’s cell phone was a firearm. (38) The film does not toy with vague, depoliticized themes of coexistence and tolerance; it is a direct and pointed allegory for contemporary oppression in the United States of America.

Forced to choose between love for Boldheart and loyalty to the Institute, Goldenloin chooses the Institute. He calls for Boldheart’s arrest, and this is the moment Boldheart finally agrees to fight back and raise hell alongside Nimona. When Goldenloin calls Nimona a monster during the ensuing battle, Boldheart doesn’t hesitate to refute it. He expresses his trust in her, and it’s clear he means it. He’s been betrayed by someone he cared about and thought he could depend on, and this puts him in true solidarity with Nimona for the first time.

During the fight, Nimona stops a car from crashing into a small child. She shapeshifts into a young girl to appear less threatening, but it doesn’t work. The child picks up a sword, pointing it at Nimona until an adult pulls them away to hide. When Nimona sees this hatred imprinted in the heart of a child, it horrifies her.

After fleeing to their hideout, Nimona makes a confession to Boldheart: she has suicidal ideations. So many people have directed so much hatred toward her that sometimes she wants to give in and let them kill her. In the real world, a month after the film’s release, a study from the Williams Institute at the UCLA School of Law compiled data about suicidality in American transgender adults. (39) Researchers found that eighty-one percent have thought about suicide, compared to just thirty-five percent of cisgender adults. Forty-two percent have attempted suicide, compared to eleven percent of cisgender adults. Fifty-six percent have engaged in self-harm, compared to twelve percent of cisgender adults.

When Boldheart offers to flee with her and find somewhere safe together, Nimona declares they shouldn’t have to run. She makes the decision every trans person living in a hostile place must make: do I leave and save myself, or do I stay to fight for my community? The year the film was released, the Trans Legislation Tracker reported a record-breaking amount of anti-trans legislation in the United States, with six hundred and two bills introduced throughout twenty-four states. (40) In February 2024, the National Center for Transgender Equality published data on their 2022 U.S. Transgender Survey, revealing that forty-seven percent of respondents thought about moving to another area due to discrimination, with ten percent actually doing so. (41)

Despite the danger, Nimona and Boldheart work diligently against the Institute. When they gain fresh footage proving the Director’s guilt, they don’t hesitate to upload it online, where it garners rapid attention across social and news media. Newscasters begin asking who the real villain is, anti-Institute sentiment builds, and citizens protest in the streets, demanding answers. The power that social media adds to social justice activism is true in the real world as it is in the film, seen in campaigns such as the viral #MeToo hashtag and the Black Lives Matter movement. (42) In 2020, polls conducted by the Pew Research Center showed eight in ten Americans viewed social media platforms as either very or somewhat effective in raising awareness about political and social topics. In the same survey, seventy-seven percent of respondents believed social media is at least somewhat effective in organizing social movements. (43)

In reaction to the media firestorm, the Director issues a statement. She outs Nimona as a shapeshifter, and claims the evidence against the Institute is a hoax. Believing the Director, Goldenloin contacts Boldheart for a rendezvous, sans Nimona. From Goldenloin’s perspective, Boldheart is a good man who has been deceived by the real villain, Nimona. He tells Boldheart about a scroll the Director found, with evidence that Nimona is Gloreth’s original monster, still alive and terrorizing the city. Goldenloin wants to bring Boldheart back into the knighthood and resume their relationship, and though that’s what Boldheart wanted before, his solidarity with Nimona causes him to reject the offer.

Though he leaves Goldenloin behind, Boldheart’s suspicion of Nimona returns. Despite their solidarity, he doesn’t really know her, so he returns home to interrogate her. In the ensuing argument, he reverts to calling her a monster, but only through implication—he won’t say the word. Like a slur, he knows he shouldn’t say it anymore, but that doesn’t keep him from believing it.

Boldheart’s actions prove to Nimona that nowhere is safe. There is no haven. Her community will always turn on her. She flees, and in her ensuing breakdown, the audience learns her backstory. She was alone for an unspecified length of time, never able to fit in until meeting Gloreth as a little girl. Nimona presents herself to Gloreth as another little girl, and Gloreth becomes Nimona’s very first friend. Even when Nimona shapeshifts, Gloreth treats her with kindness and love.

Then the adults of Gloreth’s village see Nimona shapeshift, and the word “monster” is hurled. Torches and pitchforks come out. At the adults’ panic, Gloreth takes up a sword against Nimona, and the cycle of bigotry is transferred to the next generation. The friendship shatters, and Nimona must flee before she can be killed.

After losing Boldheart, seemingly Nimona’s only ally since Gloreth’s betrayal, Nimona’s grief becomes insurmountable. She knows in her heart that nothing will ever change. She’s been hurt too much, by too many, cutting too deeply. To Nimona, the world will only ever bring her pain, so she gives in. She transforms into the giant, ferocious monster everyone has always told her she is, and she begins moving through the city as the Institute opens fire.

When Ballister sees Nimona’s giant, shadowy form, he realizes the horrific pain he caused her. He intuits that Nimona isn’t causing destruction for fun, she’s on a suicide march. She’s given up, and her decision is the result of endless, systemic bigotry and betrayal of trust. Her rampage wouldn’t be happening if she’d been treated with love, support, and care.

Nimona’s previous admission of suicidal ideation repeats in voiceover as she prepares to impale herself on a sword pointed by a massive statue of Gloreth. Her suicide is only prevented because Ballister steps in, calling to her, apologizing, saying he sees her and she isn’t alone. She collapses into his arms, once again in human form, sobbing. Boldheart has finally accepted her truth, and she is safe with him.

But she isn’t safe from the Director.

In a genocidal bid she knows will take out countless civilian lives, the Director orders canons fired on Nimona. Goldenloin tries to stop her, finally standing up against the system, but it’s too late. The Director fires the canons, Nimona throws herself at the blast to protect the civilians, and Nimona falls.

When the dust settles, the Director is deposed and the city rebuilds. Boldheart and Goldenloin reconnect and resume their relationship. The walls around the city come down, reforms take hold in the Institute, and a memorial goes up to honor Nimona, the hero who sacrificed her life to reveal the Director’s corruption.

Nimona, however, is hard to kill.

Nimona originally had a tragic ending, born of N.D. Stevenson’s own depression, but that hopelessness didn’t last forever. (44) Though Nimona is defeated, she doesn’t stay dead. Through the outpouring of love and support N.D. Stevenson received while creating the original webcomic, he gained the community and support he needed to create a more hopeful ending for Nimona’s story—and himself.

The comic’s ending is bittersweet. Nimona can’t truly die, and eventually restores herself. She allows Blackheart to glimpse her, so he knows she survived, but she doesn’t stay. She still doesn’t feel safe, and is assumed to move on somewhere new. Blackheart never sees Nimona again.

The film’s ending is more hopeful. There is a shimmer of pink magic as Nimona announces her survival, and the film ends with Boldheart’s elated exclamation. Even death couldn’t keep her down. She survived Gloreth, and she survived the Director. Though this chapter of the story is over, there is hope on the horizon, and she has allies on her side.

In both incarnations, Nimona is a story of queer survival in a cruel world. The original ending was one of despair, that said there was little hope of true solidarity and allyship. The revised ending said there was hope, but still so far to go. The film’s ending says there is hope, there is solidarity, and there are people who will stand with transgender people until the bitter end—but, more importantly, there are people in the world who want trans people to live, to thrive, and to find joy.

In a world that’s so hostile to transgender people, it’s no wonder a radically trans-positive film had to fight so hard to exist. Unfortunately, the battle must continue. As of June 2024, Netflix hasn’t announced any intent to produce physical copies of the film, meaning it exists solely on streaming and is only accessible via a monthly paid subscription. Should Netflix ever take down its original animation, as HBO Max did in 2022 despite massive backlash, the film could easily become lost media. (45) Though it saved Nimona from Disney, Netflix has its own nasty history of under-marketing and canceling queer programs. (46)

The film’s art book is already gone. The multimedia tome was posted online on October 12, 2023, hosted at ArtofNimona.com. (47) Per the Internet Archive’s Wayback Machine, the site became a Netflix redirect at some point between 10:26 PM on March 9, 2024 and 9:35 PM on March 20, 2024. (48) On the archived site, some multimedia elements are non-functional, potentially making them lost media. The art book is not available through any legal source, and though production designer Aidan Sugano desperately wants a physical copy made, there seem to be no such plans. (49)

Perhaps Netflix will eventually release physical copies of both film and art book. Perhaps not. Time will tell. In the meantime, Nimona stands as a triumph of queer media in a queerphobic world. That it exists at all is a miracle, and that its accessibility is so precarious a year after release is a travesty. Contemporary political commentary is woven into every aspect of the film, and it exists thanks to the passion, talent, and bravery of an incredible crew who endured despite blatant corporate queerphobia.

Long live Nimona, and long live the transgender community she represents.

_ This piece was commissioned using the prompt "the Nimona movie."

Updated 6/16/24 to revise an inaccurate statement regarding the original comic.

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Notes:

1. “Past Recipients 2010s.” n.d. Comic-Con International. Accessed June 10, 2024. https://www.comic-con.org/awards/eisner-awards/past-recipients/past-recipenties-2010s/.

2. Stevenson, ND. 2015. Nimona. New York, NY: Harperteen.

3. Kit, Borys. 2015. “Fox Animation Nabs ‘Nimona’ Adaptation with ‘Feast’ Director (Exclusive).” The Hollywood Reporter. June 11, 2015. https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/movies/movie-news/fox-animation-nabs-nimona-adaptation-801920/.

4. Riley, Jenelle. 2017. “Oscar Winner Patrick Osborne Returns with First-Ever vr Nominee ‘Pearl.’” Variety. February 9, 2017. https://variety.com/2017/film/in-contention/patrick-osborne-returns-to-race-with-first-vr-nominee-pearl-1201983466/; Osborne, Patrick (@PatrickTOsborne). 2017. "Hey world, the NIMONA feature film has a release date! @Gingerhazing February 14th 2020 !!" Twitter/X, June 30, 2017, 3:16 PM. https://x.com/PatrickTOsborne/status/880867591094272000. ‌

5. “The Walt Disney Company to Acquire Twenty-First Century Fox, Inc., after Spinoff of Certain Businesses, for $52.4 Billion in Stock.” 2017. The Walt Disney Company. December 14, 2017. https://thewaltdisneycompany.com/walt-disney-company-acquire-twenty-first-century-fox-inc-spinoff-certain-businesses-52-4-billion-stock-2/.

6. Amidi, Amid. 2017. “Disney Buys Fox for $52.4 Billion: Here Are the Key Points of the Deal.” Cartoon Brew. December 14, 2017. https://www.cartoonbrew.com/business/disney-buys-fox-key-points-deal-155390.html; Giardina, Carolyn. 2017. “Disney Deal Could Redraw Fox’s Animation Business.” The Hollywood Reporter. December 14, 2017. https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/news/general-news/disney-deal-could-redraw-foxs-animation-business-1068040/; Szalai, Georg, and Paul Bond. 2019. “Disney Closes $71.3 Billion Fox Deal, Creating Global Content Powerhouse.” The Hollywood Reporter. March 19, 2019. https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/news/general-news/disney-closes-fox-deal-creating-global-content-powerhouse-1174498/.

7. Hipes, Patrick. 2019. “After Trying Day, Disney Sets Film Leadership Lineup.” Deadline. March 22, 2019. https://deadline.com/2019/03/disney-film-executives-post-merger-team-set-1202580586/.

8. Jones, Rendy. 2023. “‘Nimona’: Netflix’s Remarkable Trans-Rights Animated Movie Is Here.” Rolling Stone. July 3, 2023. https://www.rollingstone.com/tv-movies/tv-movie-features/nimona-netflix-trans-rights-animated-movie-lgbtq-riz-ahmed-chloe-grace-moretz-1234782583/.

9. D’Alessandro, Anthony. 2021. “Disney Closing Blue Sky Studios, Fox’s Once-Dominant Animation House behind ‘Ice Age’ Franchise.” Deadline. February 9, 2021. https://deadline.com/2021/02/blue-sky-studios-closing-disney-ice-age-franchise-animation-1234690310/.

10. “Disney’s Blue Sky Shut down Leaves Nimona Film 75% Completed.” 2021. CBR. February 10, 2021. https://www.cbr.com/nimona-film-abandoned-disney-blue-sky-shut-down/; Sneider, Jeff. 2021. “Exclusive: Disney’s LGBTQ-Themed ‘Nimona’ Would’ve Featured the Voices of Chloë Grace Moretz, Riz Ahmed.” Collider. March 4, 2021. https://collider.com/nimona-movie-cast-cancelled-disney-blue-sky/.

11. Horowitz, Juliana Menasce, Anna Brown, and Rachel Minkin. 2021. “The COVID-19 Pandemic’s Long-Term Financial Impact.” Pew Research Center’s Social & Demographic Trends Project. March 5, 2021. https://www.pewresearch.org/social-trends/2021/03/05/a-year-into-the-pandemic-long-term-financial-impact-weighs-heavily-on-many-americans/.

12. Lang, Brent. 2022. “Disney CEO Bob Iger’s Rich Compensation Package Revealed, Company Says Bob Chapek Fired ‘without Cause.’” Variety. November 21, 2022. https://variety.com/2022/film/finance/bob-iger-compensation-package-salary-bob-chapek-fired-1235439151/.

13. Romano, Nick. 2020. “The Pandemic Animation Boom: How Cartoons Became King in the Time of COVID.” EW.com. November 2, 2020. https://ew.com/movies/animation-boom-coronavirus-pandemic/.

14. Strapagiel, Lauren. 2021. “The Future of Disney’s First Animated Feature Film with Queer Leads, ‘Nimona,’ Is in Doubt.” BuzzFeed News. February 24, 2021. https://www.buzzfeednews.com/article/laurenstrapagiel/disney-nimona-movie-lgbtq-characters.

15. Clark, Travis. 2022. “Disney Raised Concerns about a Same-Sex Kiss in the Unreleased Animated Movie ‘Nimona,’ Former Blue Sky Staffers Say.” Business Insider. https://www.businessinsider.com/disney-disapproved-same-sex-kiss-nimona-movie-former-staffers-say-2022-3.

16. Keegan, Rebecca. 2024. “Why Megan Ellison Saved ‘Nimona’: ‘I Needed This Movie.’” The Hollywood Reporter. February 22, 2024. https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/movies/movie-news/megan-ellison-saved-nimona-1235832043/.

17. St. James, Emily. 2023. “Mourning the Loss of the Owl House, TV’s Best Queer Kids Show.” Vanity Fair. April 6, 2023. https://www.vanityfair.com/hollywood/2023/04/loss-of-the-owl-house-tvs-best-queer-kids-show.

18. AntagonistDana. 2021. “AMA (except by ‘Anything’ I Mean These Questions Only).” Reddit. October 5, 2021. https://www.reddit.com/r/TheOwlHouse/comments/q1x1uh/ama_except_by_anything_i_mean_these_questions_only/; de Wit, Alex Dudok. 2020. “Disney Executive Tried to Block Queer Characters in ‘the Owl House,’ Says Creator.” 2020. Cartoon Brew. August 14, 2020. https://www.cartoonbrew.com/disney/disney-executives-tried-to-block-queer-characters-in-the-owl-house-says-creator-195413.html.

19. Doherty, Thomas. 1999. Pre-Code Hollywood : Sex, Immorality, and Insurrection in American Cinema, 1930-1934. New York: Columbia University Press. 363.

20. Henderson, Taylor. 2018. “‘Steven Universe’s’ Latest Episode Just Made LGBTQ History.” Pride. July 5, 2018. https://www.pride.com/stevenuniverse/2018/7/05/steven-universes-latest-episode-just-made-lgbtq-history; McDonnell, Chris. 2020. Steven Universe: End of an Era. New York: Abrams. 102.

21. Stevenson, ND. (@Gingerhazing). 2021. "Sad day. Thanks for the well wishes, and sending so much love to everyone at Blue Sky. Forever grateful for all the care and joy you poured into Nimona." Twitter/X, February 9, 2021, 3:32 PM. https://x.com/Gingerhazing/status/1359238823935283200

22. Jones, Rendy. 2023. “‘Nimona’: Netflix’s Remarkable Trans-Rights Animated Movie Is Here.” Rolling Stone. July 3, 2023. https://www.rollingstone.com/tv-movies/tv-movie-features/nimona-netflix-trans-rights-animated-movie-lgbtq-riz-ahmed-chloe-grace-moretz-1234782583/.

23. Keegan, Rebecca. 2024. “Why Megan Ellison Saved ‘Nimona’: ‘I Needed This Movie.’” The Hollywood Reporter. February 22, 2024. https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/movies/movie-news/megan-ellison-saved-nimona-1235832043/.

24. Stevenson, ND. (@Gingerhazing). 2022. "Nimona’s always been a spunky little story that just wouldn’t stop. She’s a fighter...but she’s also got some really awesome people fighting for her. I am excited out of my mind to announce that THE NIMONA MOVIE IS ALIVE...coming at you in 2023 from Annapurna and Netflix." Twitter/X, April 11, 2022, 10:00 AM. https://x.com/Gingerhazing/status/1513517319841935363.

25. “‘Nimona’ Starring Chloë Grace Moretz, Riz Ahmed & Eugene Lee Yang Coming to Netflix in 2023.” About Netflix. April 11, 2022. https://about.netflix.com/en/news/nimona-starring-chloe-grace-moretz-riz-ahmed-and-eugene-lee-yang-coming-to-netflix.

26. “’Nimona’ Rates 100% on Rotten Tomatoes after Annecy Premiere.” Animation Magazine. June 15, 2023. https://www.animationmagazine.net/2023/06/nimona-rates-100-on-rotten-tomatoes-after-annecy-premiere/

27. Dilillo, John. 2023. “’Nimona’: Everything You Need to Know About the New Animated Adventure.” Tudum by Netflix. June 30, 2023. https://www.netflix.com/tudum/articles/nimona-release-date-news-photos

28. Reese, Lori. 2001. “Is ‘“Shrek”’ the Anti- Disney Fairy Tale?” Entertainment Weekly. May 29, 2001. https://ew.com/article/2001/05/29/shrek-anti-disney-fairy-tale/.

29. Sugano, Aidan. 2023. Nimona: the Digital Art Book. Netflix. 255. https://web.archive.org/web/20240309222607/https://artofnimona.com/.

30. White, Abbey. 2023. “How ‘Nimona’ Explores the Model Minority Stereotype through Its Queer API Love Story.” The Hollywood Reporter. July 1, 2023. https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/movies/movie-features/nimona-eugene-lee-yang-directors-race-love-story-netflix-1235526714/.

31. White, Abbey. 2023. “How ‘Nimona’ Explores the Model Minority Stereotype through Its Queer API Love Story.” The Hollywood Reporter. July 1, 2023. https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/movies/movie-features/nimona-eugene-lee-yang-directors-race-love-story-netflix-1235526714/.

32. Equal Justice Initiative. 2021. “Report Documents Racial Bias in Coverage of Crime by Media.” Equal Justice Initiative. December 16, 2021. https://eji.org/news/report-documents-racial-bias-in-coverage-of-crime-by-media/.

33. Stevenson, N. D. 2023. “Nimona (the Comic): A Deep Dive.” I’m Fine I’m Fine Just Understand. July 13, 2023. https://www.imfineimfine.com/p/nimona-the-comic-a-deep-dive.

34. Sugano, Aidan. 2023. Nimona: the Digital Art Book. Netflix. 259-260. https://web.archive.org/web/20240309222607/https://artofnimona.com/.

35. Sugano, Aidan. 2023. Nimona: the Digital Art Book. Netflix. 7. https://web.archive.org/web/20240309222607/https://artofnimona.com/.

36. Brown, Tracy. 2019. “In Netflix’s ‘She-Ra,’ Even Villains Respect Nonbinary Pronouns.” Los Angeles Times. November 6, 2019. https://www.latimes.com/entertainment-arts/tv/story/2019-11-05/netflix-she-ra-princesses-power-nonbinary-double-trouble.

37. Department of Homeland Security. 2019. “If You See Something, Say Something®.” Department of Homeland Security. May 10, 2019. https://www.dhs.gov/see-something-say-something.

38. University of Stanford. n.d. “Stephon Clark.” Say Their Names - Spotlight at Stanford. https://exhibits.stanford.edu/saytheirnames/feature/stephon-clark.

39. Kidd, Jeremy D., Tettamanti, Nicky A., Kaczmarkiewicz, Roma, Corbeil, Thomas E., Dworkin, Jordan D., Jackman, Kasey B., Hughes, Tonda L., Bockting, Walter O., & Meyer, Ilan H. 2023. “Prevalence of Substance Use and Mental Health Problems among Transgender and Cisgender US Adults.” Williams Institute. https://williamsinstitute.law.ucla.edu/publications/transpop-substance-use/.

40. “2023 Anti-Trans Bills: Trans Legislation Tracker.” n.d. Trans Legislation Tracker. https://translegislation.com/bills/2023.

41. James, S.E., Herman, J.L., Durso, L.E., & Heng-Lehtinen, R. 2024. “Early Insights: A Report of the 2022 U.S. Transgender Survey.” National Center for Transgender Equality, Washington, DC.

42. Myers, Catherine. 2023. “Protests in the Age of Social Media.” The Nonviolence Project. February 11, 2023. https://thenonviolenceproject.wisc.edu/2023/02/11/protests-in-the-age-of-social-media/.

43. Auxier, Brooke, and Colleen McClain. 2020. “Americans Think Social Media Can Help Build Movements, but Can Also Be a Distraction.” Pew Research Center. Pew Research Center. September 9, 2020. https://www.pewresearch.org/short-reads/2020/09/09/americans-think-social-media-can-help-build-movements-but-can-also-be-a-distraction/.

44. Stevenson, N. D. 2023. “Nimona (the Comic): A Deep Dive.” I’m Fine I’m Fine Just Understand. July 13, 2023. https://www.imfineimfine.com/p/nimona-the-comic-a-deep-dive.

45. Chapman, Wilson. 2022. “HBO Max to Remove 36 Titles, Including 20 Originals, from Streaming.” Variety. August 18, 2022. https://variety.com/2022/tv/news/hbo-max-originals-removed-1235344286/.

46. Iftikhar, Asyia. 2023. “Netflix CEO Slammed by LGBTQ+ Fans over Cancellation Comments: ‘They Are NOT Allies.’” PinkNews. January 24, 2023. https://www.thepinknews.com/2023/01/24/netflix-ceo-ted-sarandos-cancelled-shows-lgbtq-fans-reactions/.

47. Lang, Jamie. 2023. “Netflix Has Released a 358-Page Multimedia Art of Book for ‘Nimona’ - Exclusive.” Cartoon Brew. October 12, 2023. https://www.cartoonbrew.com/books/nimona-art-of-book-aidan-sugano-netflix-233636.html.

48. “Wayback Machine.” n.d. The Internet Archive. Accessed June 10, 2024. https://wayback-api.archive.org/web/20240000000000.

49. Lang, Jamie. 2023. “Netflix Has Released a 358-Page Multimedia Art of Book for ‘Nimona’ - Exclusive.” Cartoon Brew. October 12, 2023. https://www.cartoonbrew.com/books/nimona-art-of-book-aidan-sugano-netflix-233636.html.

#original essays #original post #nimona #nimona movie #nimona 2023 #nimona film

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uncharismatic-fauna · 2 months ago

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Back with the Black-footed Ferret

The black-footed ferret, also known as the American polecat or the prairie dog hunter (Mustela nigripes) is a species of mustelid native to central North America; its historical range stretched from southern Canada to northern Mexico. Its habitat overlaps with that of prairie dogs, and largely consists of prairie, scrubland, and steppe environments.

Black-footed ferrets rely on grasslands for food, and the average adult maintains a territory of 148 acres (60 ha). They are highly solitary, and both males and females will fiercely defend their space from other ferrets. Within this range, the prairie dog hunter feeds almost exclusively on prairie dogs; when prairie dogs aren't available, their diet is supplemented with mice, squirrels, and rabbits. Adults hunt mainly at night, and during the day they will shelter in abandoned prairie dog burrows. While fearsome fighters, both adults and kits are vulnerable to predation from birds of birds of prey, owls, coyotes, badgers, foxes, and bobcats.

Though they generally are not social, American polecats do interact with other polecats once a year to mate, generally in March or April. Females will actively seek out and entice males, and individuals with both sexes likely mate with multiple partners. After mating, the female returns to her territory, and after a 45 day pregnancy she gives birth to a litter of 1-6 kits. The young are blind and deaf at birth, but grow quickly and are weaned at about 6 weeks old. In the fall, they leave their mother to establish their own territories, and reach full maturity by the following year. Adults can live up to 12 years in the wild.

Both male and female black-footed ferrets have similar appearances. Like other ferrets, they have an elongated body and triangular head, to better help them squeeze into small burrows in search of prey. The paws, the tip of the tail, and patches around the eyes are marked in black; the rest of the body is tan, russet, or brown with a light cream underbelly. The average adult measures 50 cm (19.7 cm) long and weighs 650 g (1.43 lb); females are slightly smaller than males.

Conservation status: M. nigripes is considered Engangered by the IUCN. Threats come from habitat destruction and the decimation of their primary food source, as well as human-introduced disease. There is only one known wild population left, though there are a number of captive-bred populations in zoos and reintroduction programs. One group, currently run by Native Americal tribal biologists, is raising funds to continue their work restoring black-footed ferrets to their native habitats (April 18, 205).

Photos

Clyde Nishimura

J. Michael Lockhart

Chris Prague

#black-footed ferret #Carnivora #Mustelidae #polecats #weasels #ferrets #mustelids #carnivores #mammals #grasslands #grassland mammals #scrubland #scrubland mammals #north america #central north america #animal facts #biology #zoology #ecology

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thedilfdiaries · 1 year ago

Text

How quickly can you take your clothes off, pop quiz

Joel Miller x reader

Masterlist

Wordcount

Summary: The enemies to lovers/one bed/forced close proximity/light grumpy x sunshine/patrol partner fic no one asked for.

Warnings: 18+, unprotected p in v, grumpy joel, reader is called "the new kid", reader has breasts but no physical description. It's more tension filled fluffy bickering than smut, but I couldn't help adding a little drop of it in.

Notes: I've been so sick this weekend and was strictly supposed to read fic, but this idea came to me anyway, so I queued it up. I hope you like them as much as I loved writing this. Ty @saradika-graphics , what would we all do without you?

Evening, Day 1

As you fasten the straps of your worn-out boots, the reality of your first patrol with Joel Miller, the cornerstone of Jackson's defence, settles in. You've heard stories about his exploits, and you're determined to prove your worth, that you're more than just another mouth to feed.

The morning air is crisp as you meet Joel by the gate. He grunts a greeting, his eyes scanning the perimeter with practiced vigilance. You fall into step beside him, the weight of your rifle a comfort against your shoulder.

"So, where are we headed?" you ask, trying to break the ice.

Joel's response is terse as he nods in front of himself. "Out there."

You nod, swallowing your disappointment and try again. "So, Joel, I've been studying the maps, and I think if we—"

"Save your breath. We'll check the traps, clear any infected, and get back before dark. That's the plan."

You nod, a little deflated but still hopeful. "Got it.” You press your lips together, taking his words to heart.

The rest of the patrol is silent, save for the crunch of leaves underfoot and the occasional direction from Joel. You're vigilant, alert, and when you spot a tripwire, you quickly signal to him, earning a curt nod of approval. But upon returning to Jackson, you go to sign out in the patrol book, and your brows furrow at the entry Joel has already made.

Patrol Log - Jackson Settlement

Date: Indeterminate, Outbreak

Pair: Joel Miller/The New Kid

Entry Signout: All clear minus the constant chatterbox that seems to think their voice is a homing beacon for every clicker in a ten-mile radius. - J

You didn't even talk that much. You roll your eyes and close the book a little too hard.

Evening, Day 2

You meet Joel at the gate once more, you notice a flicker of surprise in his eyes when you simply nod in greeting, foregoing the usual stream of words. He grunts in response. You're determined to show him you're not just the “constant chatterbox" he'd written about. You've spent the day replaying his words in your head, using them as fuel to prove your mettle.

—

"Up ahead, there's a blind spot by that old truck. Cover me while I check it out."

You nod, taking up position without hesitation.

As he disappears behind the rusted vehicle, your heart pounds in your chest. Every sound is amplified in the stillness of the evening—the distant hoot of an owl, the rustle of leaves in the wind, and then a low growl that sends a chill down your spine. An infected emerges from the underbrush, its eyes locked onto Joel's last known location. Without missing a beat, you take aim and fire—a clean shot that drops it instantly.

Joel reappears just as quickly as he vanished, his expression one of mild surprise at your swift action. "Nice shot," he grunts begrudgingly before moving on as if nothing happened. A small victory for you; perhaps he's not entirely immune to your efforts after all.

The adrenaline from the encounter with the infected is still coursing through your veins as you and Joel continue your patrol. His rare compliment echoes in your mind, fueling your determination to prove yourself further.

As you make your way back to Jackson, you can't help but feel a sense of accomplishment. You've not only held your own but also protected Joel's back when it counted.

Back at the settlement, you hurry to the patrol book before Joel can beat you to it.

Patrol with Grumpy McGrumpface complete. All infected cleared. Check back in a few days. And for the record, this chatterbox saved our asses tonight. Maybe next time, you'll remember to check your blind spots—and your attitude.

You add a little smiley face next to your entry, a playful jab at his perpetual grumpiness.

As you walk away from the book, you glance back to see Joel reading your entry, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. It's a small crack in his tough exterior, and it gives you hope that there's more to Joel Miller than he lets on.

Evening, Day 3

The air is tense as you approach the gate, the familiar silhouette of Joel Miller waiting for you. There's a certain expectation hanging between you two, a silent challenge that has been building since your last patrol. You greet him with a nod, the same flicker of surprise in his eyes, quickly replaced by his usual stoic expression.

As you set out, the landscape feels different, almost as if it's holding its breath. You're more attuned to the subtle shifts in the wind, the way the light filters through the trees, and the distant sounds that could signal danger. You move with a newfound confidence, your steps sure and quiet, your senses heightened.

We're going to sweep the old high school today," Joel says, breaking the silence. It's the most he's volunteered about the day's plan, and you take it as a sign of trust, however small.

You acknowledge his words with a simple, "Understood," and follow him towards the dilapidated building that looms in the distance. The structure has seen better days, its windows shattered, the playground overtaken by nature, a haunting reminder of a world that once was.

As you approach, you signal for Joel to hold position while you scout ahead. You move with caution, your eyes scanning for any signs of movement. The silence is broken only by the creaking of a swing, swaying gently in the breeze.

You clear the perimeter, finding no immediate threats, and signal Joel to advance. Together, you methodically clear the classrooms, the gymnasium, and the cafeteria.

As the sun begins its descent, casting long shadows across the desolate high school, you and Joel finish securing the premises. The tension between you has simmered down to a low hum. It's eerie how the remnants of childhood laughter still linger among the abandoned desks and faded educational posters. You can't help but wonder what became of the students and teachers who once filled these halls with life.

"All clear," you report, as you finish sweeping the last room, your voice echoing through the empty halls.

Joel grunts in agreement, his eyes lingering on the swing set outside, its melancholic creaking a stark contrast to the silence that now fills the school. "Let's head back. It's getting dark."

You nod, but as you turn to leave, a sudden storm rolls in, the sky turning an ominous shade of grey. The wind howls through the broken windows, whipping up leaves and debris in a frenzied dance. Within moments, the heavens open up, unleashing a torrential downpour that shows no signs of letting up.

"Damn it," Joel mutters under his breath, his gaze fixed on the rapidly deteriorating weather outside. "We ain't makin it back to Jackson in this."

Your heart sinks at his words. The high school isn't equipped for an overnight stay—at least not comfortably—and sharing close quarters with Joel Miller is an entirely different kind of danger than what you've faced so far today. But there's no other choice; safety comes first. You follow him to the least damaged classroom and start gathering materials to make it through the night: some old mats from the gym for bedding; whatever dry wood helps you start a small fire, and some canned food from what remains of the cafeteria's supplies.

As night falls and darkness envelops your makeshift shelter, you can feel Joel's unease mirroring your own—two predators forced into an uneasy truce by circumstance. You both know that despite your differences and his gruff exterior, survival often requires uncomfortable compromises... like sharing body heat when temperatures plummet during stormy nights like these... like sharing a “bed” when there's only one dry spot left in an abandoned high school turned refuge from infected monsters lurking outside.

—

The storm outside rages on, its fury unabated, as the match from your hand hisses out against the wet concrete floor. The darkness inside seems to thicken and you can feel the cold creeping in, the dampness seeping through the layers of your clothing, chilling you to the bone.

Joel's silhouette is barely visible across the room, his frustration palpable in the heavy silence that follows the failed attempt to reignite the fire. The tension that had momentarily subsided now returns with a vengeance, amplified by the primal need for warmth and the instinctual fear of the unknown dangers lurking in the darkness.

Joel rummages through his bag, the sound of items being shuffled around punctuating the silence. He pulls out a small waterproof match case, flipping it open to reveal just three matches left inside. His fingers, roughened by years of survival and hardship, gingerly pick up the first match. The strike against the side of the box is sharp and swift, but the wind howling through the broken windows extinguishes it before it can catch. A second attempt meets with the same fate, and Joel's jaw clenches in frustration. "Damn it," he mutters under his breath, his voice barely audible over the storm. He looks at the final match with a mix of resignation and determination. "You know, if you were more careful, we'd have more to work with," Joel grumbles.

"Oh, so now you're worried about being more careful?" you retort, unable to keep the sarcasm out of your voice. "A little too late for that now ain't it Miller?”

Joel glares at you, his eyes narrowing in the dim light. "I've been careful," he growls. He strikes the last match, shielding it from the wind with his hand. But again it fails, leaving you with no heat.

You can't help but feel a sense of satisfaction at seeing Joel struggle. "Yeah, well, maybe you should've thought about that before we ended up in this situation," you say.

Joel shakes his head. "You think this is fun for me?" he asks. "Stuck in this godforsaken place with someone who can't stop talkin?”

You glare at Joel, his silhouette a dark shadow in the dim light. "You think I wanted this?" you snap back, frustration seeping into your words. "I'm here because I have to be, just like you."

Joel grunts in response, his gaze fixed on the remnants of the failed fire. "We don't have time for this," he says gruffly, standing up and brushing off his pants. "We need to conserve body heat."

Reluctantly, you both make your way to the makeshift bed, nothing more than a pile of old gym mats and whatever dry fabric you could scavenge and a small emergency blanket meant for one person. The thought of sharing such close quarters with Joel is unsettling, but survival trumps discomfort every time.

You lie down first, turning your back to him as he settles in behind you. The awkwardness of the situation is not lost on either of you. You can feel the heat radiating off his body despite the layers between you. As minutes pass in silence, save for the howling wind and rain lashing out, Joel shifts slightly behind you. His arm drapes over your side as he tries to find a comfortable position—and then his hand accidentally brushes against your breast. You stiffen instantly; it's an intimate contact that neither of you expected nor wanted under these circumstances.

"Whoa! Watch it!" you exclaim indignantly, trying to wriggle away from his touch while still maintaining contact for warmth's sake—a delicate balance indeed under these cramped conditions.

Joel recoils as if he's been stung by a wasp. The tension in the room spikes, and for a moment, neither of you moves. Joel's breath hitches, and you can feel his body tense up behind you. The accidental touch has set off a chain reaction of awkwardness, and you're both acutely aware of the other's presence. "Sorry," Joel mumbles, his voice rough with embarrassment. "I didn't mean to..." His sentence trails off, lost in the sound of the rain pounding against the roof.

You nod, acknowledging his apology, but the damage is done. The line between survival and intimacy has been blurred, and the close proximity is playing tricks on your mind. You can't ignore the warmth of his body, the steady rhythm of his breathing, or the fact that you're both very much alone in this abandoned high school.

Minutes tick by, and despite your best efforts to keep a respectful distance, the reality of your situation becomes increasingly apparent. The cold is seeping in, and the need for warmth can't be denied. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, you find yourself leaning back into Joel, seeking the heat that his body is so eager to provide. He stiffens at the contact, but he doesn't pull away. Instead, he cautiously wraps his arm back around you, pulling you closer.

It's been a long time since either of you has felt the touch of another person, the comfort of human contact that goes beyond mere companionship.

Joel's breath is warm against your neck, and you can feel the evidence of his arousal pressing against you. It's a startling realization, but it's met with an unexpected surge of desire that you can't quite suppress. The knowledge that he's affected by your closeness is thrilling, and you can't help but wonder if he can sense the effect he's having on you as well.

The line between necessity and want is blurred, and in the end, it's the human need for connection that wins out. With the storm as your only witness, you turn to face Joel, your eyes meeting in the dim light. There's a silent question hanging between you, one that's answered with a soft, almost hesitant kiss. The kiss is an exploration, a rediscovery of a basic human need that has been long neglected. It's a slow burn, fueled by days of tension and the shared experiences that have brought you closer than either of you could have anticipated. Joel's hands find their way to your face, cradling it gently as he deepens the kiss, his tongue tracing the contours of your lips before slipping inside to meet yours in a dance that is both familiar and new.

The cold is forgotten as warmth spreads through your body, ignited by the friction between you. You find yourself pressing against him, seeking more contact, more heat. Your hands roam over his chest, feeling the firm muscles beneath the fabric of his shirt. The sensation sends shivers down your spine, and a soft moan escapes your lips as Joel's fingers deftly undo the buttons of your shirt, revealing skin that is hungry for his touch.

There's an urgency building between you now—a primal need that cannot be ignored or denied any longer. Clothes are shed hastily; each piece removed reveals another patch of warm skin eager for exploration and connection

As the last of your clothes fall away, the cool air of the high school classroom is a stark contrast to the heat that radiates between you and Joel. His hands trace a path down your sides, exploring the curves of your body. The rough pads of his fingers leave a trail of goosebumps in their wake, and you can't help but arch into his touch, seeking more.

Joel's gaze meets yours, and there's a vulnerability in his eyes that you've never seen before. It's as if the walls he's built around himself are crumbling down, brick by brick, revealing the man beneath the hardened survivor. You reach up to cup his face, feeling the stubble scratch against your palms, grounding you in this moment—a moment that feels both surreal and more real than anything you've experienced in a long time.

With a tenderness that surprises you both, Joel lowers his lips to yours once more, kissing you deeply as he positions himself between your legs. The anticipation is palpable; every nerve in your body is attuned to his presence. As he enters you, there's a brief moment of discomfort followed by an overwhelming sense of fullness—a completion that transcends physicality. You move together in rhythm; each thrust is punctuated by gasps and moans that echo off the walls of the abandoned classroom. The world outside has ceased to exist; all that matters is this connection—this desperate need for closeness in a world gone mad.

Joel's pace quickens; his breath comes in ragged gasps against your neck as he drives into you with an urgency born of months—if not years—of pent-up desire and longing. You meet him thrust for thrust, your fingers digging into the muscles of his back as waves of pleasure crash over you both.

The tension builds within you like a storm gathering strength—a tempest that threatens to sweep away everything in its path until there's nothing left but raw sensation and pure ecstasy coursing through every fiber of your being until finally - release washes over you both in a rush of heat and sensation that leaves you gasping for air. The world around you fades away, replaced by the pulsating rhythm of your shared climax. It's a moment of pure, unadulterated bliss.

As the aftershocks subside, you find yourselves entwined in each other's arms, your head resting on his chest and the steady beat of Joel's heart is a comforting sound against the backdrop of the relentless storm outside. The cold is kept at bay by the warmth generated by your bodies, and for the first time since this ordeal began, you feel truly at peace.

Eventually Joel's breath evens out as he falls into a deep sleep, his body relaxed and sated in a way you've never seen before. You take a moment to study his face—the lines etched by years of hardship softened in slumber, revealing a hint of the man he might have been under different circumstances. With gentle care, you extricate yourself from his embrace and pull on your clothes, intending to keep watch over the sleeping giant beside you.

The hours pass slowly; dawn is still a distant promise when you hear it—the unmistakable sound of movement outside your refuge. Your senses immediately go on high alert; adrenaline courses through your veins as you cautiously approach one of the broken windows, rifle at the ready. The storm has lessened but not enough to obscure the shapes moving in the pre-dawn gloom. Infected? Or something worse?

You glance back at Joel, still lost in sleep, and make a split-second decision. You won't let whatever danger lurks outside reach him while he's vulnerable. Steeling yourself, you slip out into the storm-ravaged landscape. The rain pelts against your skin, a relentless barrage that does little to dampen your resolve. You move with purpose, your eyes scanning the darkness for any signs of movement.

The high school grounds are eerily quiet, save for the occasional clap of thunder echoing in the distance. You keep low, using the remnants of the playground equipment as cover as you make your way towards the source of the disturbance. The last thing you want is to lead any potential threats back to Joel.

As you approach the perimeter of the school, you catch sight of a small group of infected, their grotesque forms illuminated by the occasional flash of lightning. They seem disoriented, their movements erratic as they struggle against the wind and rain. It's clear they're not here for you; they're simply passing through, driven by some primal instinct to seek shelter from the storm.

You take a deep breath, steadying your aim as you prepare to engage. The first shot rings out, echoing through the deserted schoolyard. One of the infected drops to the ground, its body convulsing before falling still. The others turn towards the sound, their milky eyes searching for the source of the threat.

You fire again, and then again, each shot carefully placed to conserve ammunition. The infected fall one by one, their bodies piling up in the mud as you advance, keeping the upper hand through sheer determination and skill. But as the last one drops, you hear a new sound—a low growl that sends a chill down your spine.

You turn just in time to see another infected emerging from the shadows, its jaws snapping hungrily as it charges towards you. You raise your rifle, but the mud beneath your feet gives way, sending you sprawling to the ground. The infected is on you in an instant, its weight pinning you down as it tries to bite through your rain-soaked jacket.

With a surge of adrenaline, you manage to free one arm and reach for the knife strapped to your belt. You drive the blade upwards, aiming for the infected's exposed throat. The creature gurgles in pain, its grip loosening just enough for you to wriggle free and deliver the killing blow.

Panting heavily, you push the infected's lifeless body off of you and take a moment to assess the situation. The immediate threat has been neutralized, but you're acutely aware that more could be drawn by the sound of the struggle. With no time to lose, you make your way back to the school, your heart pounding in your chest.

You slip back inside and secure the door as best you can. You turn around and see Joel is already awake, his eyes scanning the room as he reaches for his weapon. The sight of you, unharmed, brings a look of relief to his face, quickly replaced by a scowl. "Where the hell were you?" he demands, his voice rough with sleep and worry.

"I heard something outside," you explain, keeping your tone even. "I went to check it out."

Joel's expression darkens. "You should've woken me up, you could have gotten killed out there," he grumbles, his concern for your safety masked by his usual gruff demeanor.

"I didn't and you needed the rest," you reply, meeting his gaze. "Besides, I can handle myself.”

Joel's jaw clenches, and for a moment, you think he's going to argue. But then he just nods, acknowledging your capability even as his protective instincts chafe at the thought of you facing danger alone. "Next time, wake me," he repeats, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You can't help but smirk at the gruff concern in Joel's voice. There's a part of you that enjoys getting under his skin, challenging the walls he's built around himself. "You know, Joel," you say, your voice light but your eyes serious, "I think you might actually care about what happens to me."

Joel's scowl deepens, but there's a flicker of something else in his eyes—something that looks a lot like vulnerability. "Don't get the wrong idea," he grumbles, looking away. "I just can't afford to break in a new partner."

You chuckle softly, shaking your head. "Sure, Miller. Keep telling yourself that." You walk over to where he's now sitting and nudge him playfully with your foot. "Admit it. You like having me around.”

Joel rolls his eyes, but the corners of his mouth twitch upwards in a reluctant smile. "You're alright," he concedes, his voice gruff. "But don't let it go to your head.”

You can't resist the urge to tease Joel a little more. "I think you protest too much, Joel Miller," you say with a playful grin. "I mean, first you can't stop complaining about my chatter, and now you're almost starting to sound... affectionate."

Joel's eyes narrow, but the ghost of a smile still lingers on his lips. "Don't push your luckp," he warns, his voice carrying a note of fondness that he's unable to fully conceal.

You lean in closer, lowering your voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "You know, for someone who pretends not to care, you sure were... attentive last night," you say with a sly grin, your eyes dancing with mischief.

A flush creeps up Joel's neck, and for a moment, you think you might have pushed him too far. But then he chuckles—a low, rumbling sound that you feel more than hear. "You're a pain in the ass, you know that?" he says, shaking his head in mock exasperation.

You beam at him, feeling a sense of triumph. "Maybe," you admit, "but you like me anyway.”

—

As the first light breaks through the retreating storm, you and Joel prepare to leave the high school behind. You gather your belongings, exchanging quiet glances with Joel as you both acknowledge the shift in your relationship.

The journey back to Jackson is uneventful, the aftermath of the storm leaving the world outside quiet. You walk side by side, your boots crunching on the wet gravel. Joel seems more at ease, his usual stoic demeanor softened.

Upon your return to the settlement, the familiar sight of the gates brings a sense of relief. The guards nod in recognition as you pass.

You make your way to the patrol book, your fingers brushing against the worn pages as you prepare to document the latest entry. Joel watches you, his expression unreadable, as you pick up the pen and begin to write.

Patrol Log - Jackson Settlement

Date: Indeterminate, Post-Outbreak

Pair: Joel Miller/The New Kid

Entry Signout: Patrol complete. High school secured. Infected cleared. Storm provided unexpected overnight stay. No serious injuries to report.

You pause for a moment, considering your next words carefully. With a small smile, you add a final note

Casualties: Zero. Zilch. Nada. Unless you count the ego of a certain grumpy individual who may or may not have been out-shot by yours truly.

You cap the pen and step back, allowing Joel to read your entry. His eyes scan the page, and you see the ghost of a smile tug at the corner of his mouth as he reads your postscript. He doesn't say anything, but the look he gives you speaks volumes.

As you turn to leave, Joel's hand catches yours, his grip firm yet gentle.

Hey," Joel says as he pulls you closer. "I, uh... I don't know how to do this," he admits, his gaze dropping to where your hands are joined.

You give his hand a reassuring squeeze, offering him a small, encouraging smile. "Do what, Joel?"

He takes a deep breath, his throat bobbing as he swallows hard. "This," he repeats, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. "The... talking about feelings stuff."

You can't help but chuckle at his attempt to articulate his feelings, the corners of your mouth curling up into a smile. "Is this the part where you tell me that despite your better judgement, you've grown fond of me?" you tease, squeezing his hand in return.

Joel rolls his eyes, but there's a hint of amusement in his expression. "Somethin like that," he admits gruffly, releasing your hand to run a hand through his disheveled hair. "You've got guts, I'll give you that. And maybe... maybe I don't mind the chatter as much as I let on.”

Your heart skips a beat at his words, the gruff admission meaning more to you than any grand declaration of love ever could "Well then," you say, stepping closer to him, "I guess this means we're stuck with each other."

Joel's response is a low chuckle. "Yeah," he agrees, his hand finding its way to the small of your back in a gesture that feels both new and familiar all at once. "I suppose it does.”

#joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller #joel miller fluff

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paradlselost · 6 months ago

Text

. ⋮ ULTRAVIOLENCE .ᐟ ֹ

doctor phosphorus x female reader

⎨ 𝐀𝐍 ⎬ fun fact i’ve wanted to eat uranium for a long time so he is the worlds most perfect man to me . also sorry for not writing anything in so long , i’ve been busy and jumping from hyperfixation to hyperfixation for a while now as you can see by my unfinished mouthwashing fanfics . but i watched the show last night and he is my favorite and there’s almost nothing about him so i had to . enjoy !

⎨ 𝐂𝐖 ⎬ monster ! reader , mentions of body dysmorphia and imposter syndrome / depersonalization , religious trauma + blasphemy ( cause i can’t help myself ) specifically in catholicism , catholic rituals , depictions of eating raw meat , depictions of wounds , hurt / comfort , depictions of cannibalism , described body horror . smut : fire / burning kink , dry humping , fingering , male moans ( yay ! ) .

3 . 1 k words ++ not beta read .

PART TWO OUT NOW : CINNAMON GIRL

Eyes flutter closed, allowing darkness to wash over you. Soft sounds of birds chirping fill the room around you, drowning out the constant humming of the chip in the back of your neck. You’re hyper aware of everything, the fabric of the blanket that covers you and the cold air that stings your nose as you breath in; chest rising and falling in rhythm.

You remember how reluctant the guards that watched over you were to allow you the sounds you so desperately needed to sleep, not believing your pleas to quiet your constantly racing mind. Nearly a week without rest made them understand rather quickly, when, despite the power dampener locked around your neck, talons began to grow out of your hands and your spine contorted with the growing of fleshy wings.

It seems you’ve been blessed, something has gone right for once in your life as you’re now able to change the sounds to whatever you wish instead of the constant rushing of waves. Secretly, you’re happy to have been put on this mission. Grateful, even, as much as you could be to a monster like Waller. Perhaps you could even forgive her for the electrocution you’d been put through.

Weasel kips at the foot of your bed, stuck to your side since the day you had snapped at him: barred your fangs and shoved him away from you. Something about the beast had been so pathetic that you ended up apologizing and giving a hesitant scratch to the back of his ears. He’s good company, loyal if not a bit of a flea concern, and he listens when you speak to him unlike many of the others in the special containment of Belle Reave.

Nina was kind, as well, perhaps a bit out of her element, though. You’d once tried to make small talk with GI but that ended as quickly as it had started with his sudden interrogation on if you were a Nazi. And god, you wouldn’t dare bring anything up to the others.

Crickets chirped through the headphones you had been allowed to wear, owls hooting and birds calling. A forest at night, a beautiful scene you were sure you wouldn’t be able to see freely again, but you do not indulge in those negative thoughts. You can already feel it looming over you, exhaustion and stress mingling to bring it out. The thing that stirrs inside you, monstrous and ugly. Its hungry, and you know better than to ignore that hunger lest the Weasel that kips at the foot of your bed be more than a scrap of fur.

So, you stirr. Sitting up in the bed you remove your headphones and push the blanket from your form quietly as to not disturb him. He’s almost cute when he sleeps, like a crusty old dog that resembles more of a tattered blanket than a pet. Regardless, you close the door quietly behind you and walk down the long winding hallways of the palace. Truthfully, you had never been anywhere quite as lavish, never had a king sized bed all to yourself or a private bathroom. Its almost too big, especially at night when the shadows dance up the walls and cast an ominous glare over just about everything.

You know better than to gaze at your shadow as you pass the large walls with royal family portraits. Unworthy, unrighteous, evil. The rosary marks still pierce your skin, forced to pray this thing away day and night till your palms and knees bled. You’ve grown resentful towards the being that shares your body. It makes demands of you, to feast, a single slip can give way and allow it to control you. Some kind of devil, the reason you’re here in the first place.

Your mouth had begun to hurt in your search for the kitchen, gums beginning to bleed and pool against the base of your tongue.. You’d have thought you’d be used to this by now, that your world wouldn’t continue to be turned upside down, that the Lord’s Prayer wouldn’t recite involuntarily in your mind as it all starts over again. You stumble over your own two feet, finding yourself silently wishing you had that power dampener around your neck once again. Your stomach rumbles more.

It feels like an eternity till you finally find the kitchen, thankful that all the servants had retired for the night so you can spit your mouthful of blood into the sink. Crimson stains the marble, dripping from your chin as you turn on the faucet to wash your mouth of the taste. Your fangs had grown in now, taking space in front of your canines and piercing uncomfortably against your bottom lip whenever you close your mouth. Hunger gnaws at your stomach as if beginning to consume the lining itself.

You throw open the fridge door with little care of the noise it makes as it slams into the counter beside it. Eyes scour for something, anything, till you land on a large, raw goose marinating for tomorrow nights feast. Shaky hands reach out to grab it, allowing the glass tray it sits in to fall to the ground and shatter. The shards prick at your bare feet, cutting and marring your skin with more blood, though you don’t seem to notice.

Fangs sink into the bird, soft flesh breaking at the intrusion. The taste is almost euphoric, never had you tasted a meat so rich and fatty; your body had gotten far too used to the awful prison food they served in containment. You rip out a large chunk; tendons harshly snapping from the body as you swallow nearly without chewing. Your eyes gloss over as you devour the bird, reaching in to grab at the sausage links that had also been waiting to be cooked the next day.

You hadn’t realized how much you had truly lost yourself till a harsh green glow halted your feast. Head whipping around to greet the skeletal face of Phosphorus, a hiss falling from your lips that still wrapped around a chunk of meat like a food insecure cat. He was your least favorite of all, acting as if he knew everything simply because he had been a doctor before his incident. Not like it mattered in Belle Reave, and certainly not in the monster sector they were kept in.

“Woah. Calm down, I’m not takin’ that from you.” A huff came from him, head tilted to the side as he watched you, almost intrigued with the way you acted. He simply stepped past you, walking over to the sink and simply staring down at the blood that had graced the basin. “This yours?”

The link fell from your mouth, rolling into the shards of glass and crimson as the fangs retracted back into your gums, eyes returning to normal. All you could do was stare at him, as if he had asked the most stupid question in the world. Smartest man in the room your ass.

“Who else’s would it be?”

“Don’t know, thats why I’m asking. Flag and I got into a fight earlier and I totally won, so I’m just wondering.”

“Oh.”

He leans back against the countertop, facing you now, the sleeves of his hoodie protecting him from burning through the granite. Part of him had always intrigued you, in a way, everyone but Weasel had a signature outfit; but him? A hoodie and a pair of sweatpants. It was almost comical how simple he was, though you supposed there wasnt much he could keep. A step towards him, wincing at the sudden realization of what you had done.

His gaze followed yours, looking down to the glass and blood that gushed from your feet and ankles. The light from the fridge and his green glow illuminated the space between you two, dancing off the shards on the floor. Your mouth was covered as well, sloppily wiped onto your cheeks as you had feasted. God, you looked a mess, but the pain distracted you from that fact. Biting your bottom lip to muffle a pathetic whimper of pain.

“Cmon don’t cry, what’s a little glass among friends?”

“I am not crying.”

If he had eyes to roll no doubt he would’ve. Stepping over to you and hooking an arm around your shoulder to help you stand without any warning. Your first instinct is to fight him off, to tell him no and shout at him, but you don’t. Instead, you lean into the touch and allow him to help you hobble up the stairs to, what you originally assume to be your room, but soon discover he’s guiding you into his, and then, into his bathroom.

Theres something almost intimate about the way he grabs your hips to help you onto the counter so he can patch you up. You hadn’t asked this from him, but it didn’t seem to matter much now as he filled a bucket with warm soapy water, dunking a rag in a few times and using the help of tweezers to pick the glass out of your skin. You do your best not to flinch, using the time to preoccupy yourself with washing off the blood from your face.

John 13. You detest the thought, Belle Reave had ripped every ounce of belief from your body, but the ceremonies and rituals of your youth had not quite left your mind, and the intimacy of the moment didn’t help. Silence filled the room, the only noises being the soft sounds of the wash cloth being dunked into the water and squeezed out. You’d seen it before, a relatives wedding, the washing of the feet ceremony. It’s meant to be intimate, to be between spouses, to show commitment and love just as Jesus had to his disciples. You feel far more like Judas, however, with the monster that festers inside you.

“So. What was that?” His voice snaps you from your thoughts, eyes fluttering down to look at him, hesitating at his question. You don’t have a good answer, not one that wraps everything up into a neat bow at the least. Just what you know, which isn’t much.

“It’s the reason I’m classified as a monster. Theres… something that lives inside me, a devil of sorts I was always told. It’s been there for as long as I can remember, its why I had to wear the collar back in confinement. It starts to creep out whenever I slip, get too comfortable or let my guard down.” You’re quiet, not wanting to break the softness of this encounter. “I’m sorry you had to see it.”

“You don’t have to apologize. We’re all freaks, its the whole point of this task force.”

“I guess. I’m still sorry.”

A huff comes from Phosphorus as he grabs a clean washcloth, dunking it in fresh water and reaching up to wipe off some of the blood that you had missed, that still marrs your mouth and flesh. He’s close, now, very much so. He smells of sulfur, though it does not cause you to recoil or scrunch your nose; its a scent you’ve grown accustomed to with the monster that shares your body. Can a skeleton be attractive? Is that possible?

You lean into the feeling of the warm washcloth against your cheek; having been so long since someone had touched you. Before you had been arrested you indulged in sin, lust, it had engulfed your body and it wasn’t a feeling you ever wanted to encounter again. How it could consume your entire being, give control over to someone other than yourself. It’s a fine line for you, but you feel the distantly familiar feeling of butterflies flutter in your stomach at the proximity of him.

You feel sick; like bile will creep up your throat any moment, but it doesn’t feel bad. Not with how he lets the cloth be a barrier between the two of you, between his hands that will burn your body at his touch. You’d welcome it, to let him cauterize your wounds and fix you. Your hands creep up to wrap around the back of his neck, protected by the hood of his sweater as you pull him closer. He’s warm, comfortable.

“I don’t like you apologizing, you look like a kicked puppy.”

“You’re smiling, though.”

“Can’t help it, I’m a skeleton, doll.”

His voice is a giveaway, though, possibly the most upbeat you had heard him despite the quiet and intimate nature of the room. You feel it, the radiating warmth from his other hand creeping down to your thigh, rubbing soft, soothing circles against the fabric that protects your skin from his touch. It would hurt, but a part of you almost welcomes it, wants to feel it.

You worry your bottom lip between your teeth, eyes focused on the hand that slowly crept higher from your thigh. He’s close, his heat rivaling that at your core. You miss the way his head tilts to the side at your demeanor, hands grasping and releasing the fabric of his hoodie over and over.

Phosphorus said nothing as he continued to wipe some of the blood from your mouth, lingering over your bottom lip while his other hand becomes preoccupied with cupping you over your pajama pants, skeletal fingers pressing in to give you some friction.

That nausea you had felt earlier returns tenfold, punishing yourself for feeling anything remotely good. The situation reminds you far too much of the last time, dipping too far into bliss. It seemed you had only blinked when the body of the lover you had found for the night was strewn across the room, spitting half eaten entrails out of your maw. He guides you to lean back against the mirror, your hand clasping over your mouth to muffle your sounds as he slips below the fabric of your nightwear.

You can feel it again, the hunger that rises to your chest. Your hands shake against your skin now, nailbeds aching with the growing of your talons. A whimper, squeezing your eyes shut. You are selfish, greedy. You’d rather relish in this than warn him, to have one moment that allows you to feel human, to feel wanted and loved.

A sudden burning feeling rips you from your thoughts, your hand had been removed from its post over your mouth and was held in his. Tears well in your eyes at the feeling, the searing pain that washed over your body and forces you to see white. It aches, branding you.

“Shit.” Is all that falls from his mouth, moving his hand away before you needily grasp it once more. Intertwining your fingers, keeping him there. The pain had forced the monster away, talons no longer threatening to protrude from your nailbeds and spine ceasing its contorting. You are lucky, graced with an opportunity to feel something beneath the endless pit in your stomach. To feel him.

“Don’t stop.” Your breathless words are more than enough to encourage his continuation, slotting himself between you legs and pressing the suddenly tight fabric of his sweatpants against you. A soft sigh falling from your lips, head tilted back, hair fluffing up on the mirror as he began to rock against you.

“I wont.” Slow, at first, as if testing the waters to gauge your reaction. Soft whines emitting from somewhere behind the skeletal teeth that were on display for you. Your hand scrunches up his hoodie, dragging his chest closer to you as he began to pick up the pace.

Needy and pathetic, his hips grinding rougher against your pajama pants, the tent in his pants catching on your covered clit; pulling a gasp from you as you arched your back. He focused his movements in that spot, up and then down to elicit soft whines and moans from you. Matching his neediness, having been touched starved for so long.

You’d grown up with depictions of heaven, imaginary white fluffy clouds somewhere high above the Earth. But here, right now, you’re more than convinced this is paradise. Rough fabrics rocking against each other, keeping you grounded on the countertop you sit on, the mirror behind you beginning to fog up with your heavy breathing. Your hands still intertwined, the harsh stinging drowned out at the near bliss you faced.

Hes sloppy now, nearing his finish far faster than you despite your state. Harsh whines fall from him as he grinds against you a few more times before panting and leaning against you. He’s winded for a moment, catching his breath, though the hand not holding yours travels back down to rub against your core.

Hes rough, guiding you to gush around nothing. You can feel your heartbeat below, drumming uncomfortably as you bury your face in the neck of his hoodie. His hand slips below your pajamas once more, continuing to tease your swollen clit and soaked folds as tears pricked at your eyes, squeezing his hand to single for him to stop.

Within a moment, he did. Ceasing the torment though not removing his hand from under your pants. Allowing your juices to pool against the cotton of your underwear before guiding his hand lower, placing his palm flat against your thigh and removing his other hand from yours. It stings, the cleansing fire emitting from him, your hand already burned as he brands your thigh with his handprint.

“Perhaps we should act like this didn’t happen… I’m sure it would make being on a team awkward.”

“I-... Yeah. Agreed. I should, um, head to bed.” Awkward you lift yourself from the counter and fix your pajama pants, slipping off the granite and setting against the cold tile floor. Your feet still hurt, though not nearly as bad as they had hurt before and surely nothing in comparison to the feeling of him against your skin.

He gives little more than a nod as you slink out the door, stumbling down the hall to find your own room and quickly running a hot bath. It would soothe you, make everything better, you deemed. Stripping to allow yourself to sink into the warmth as a sigh falls from your lips, eyes drawn to the handprint marked on your thigh.

You trace the outline with your finger, over and over almost obsessively and silently cursing him for his words. An asshole, you remembered, your least favorite in the little ragtag team. Though, with the way he had whimpered and moaned against you, you were halfway convinced you may be able to fuck the sarcasm and ill wit out of him.

#doctor phosphorus #dr phosphorus #creature commandos #creature commandos dc #smut #x reader #doctor phosphorus x reader #dr phosphorus x reader #i need that radioactive man so bad

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bestanimal · 2 months ago

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Round 3 - Reptilia - Accipitriformes

(Sources - 1, 2, 3, 4)

Our next order of birds are the Accipitriformes, colloquially called “raptors” or “birds of prey”, though these paraphyletic terms are often used to include unrelated orders such as owls and falcons as well. Accipitriformes are comprised of the living families Cathartidae (“New World vultures”), Sagittariidae (“Secretarybird”), Pandionidae (“Osprey”), and Accipitridae (“hawks”, “eagles”, “kites”, and “Old World vultures”).

Accipitriformes typically have a sharply hooked beak with a soft cere housing the nostrils. Their wings are long and fairly broad, adapted for soaring flight. They have strong legs and feet with raptorial claws and opposable hind claws. Almost all Accipitriformes are carnivorous, hunting by sight during the day or at twilight. They are predominantly active predators and/or scavengers, and many are specialized for particular prey items.

Accipitriformes are generally monogamous over many years, though they will choose a new mate if their old mate dies. Females are usually larger than males, sometimes to a substantial degree. Courtship typically involves displays of flight, and presenting gifts of food. Most Accipitriformes build nests, and return to the same nest site each breeding season. Typically, both the male and female will build the nest, incubate the eggs, and raise the young. Many Accipitriformes are long-lived, and can take several years to reach sexual maturity.

Accipitriformes arose in the Eocene, around 50 million years ago. DNA sequence analyses suggest that divergences within the Accipitriformes began around the Eocene/Oligocene boundary, about 34 million years ago.

Propaganda under the cut:

The California Condor (Gymnogyps californianus) is often considered a conservation success story, having just barely escaped from the brink of extinction. In 1987, only 27 individuals remained. Conservationists at the San Diego Wild Animal Park and the Los Angeles Zoo rounded up all 27 remaining wild birds and began a captive breeding program. Beginning in 1991, captive bred California Condors were reintroduced into the wild. Today, around 561 California Condors live wild. The bird is still critically endangered, and its population is only kept stable by regular vet checks and frequent captive releases, with all wild California Condors being tagged and closely monitored. Like many North American Accipitriformes, the California Condor is threatened by lead poisoning. Lead shot is often used for hunting, and when it enters an animal, it explodes into tiny fragments. When hunters field dress an animal (ie. butcher it at the kill site and leave the inedible bits for scavengers) small fragments of lead shot often remain in the carcass. It can take a fragment of lead as small as a pea to kill a bird the size of an eagle.

The Black Vulture (Coragyps atratus) and the King Vulture (Sarcoramphus papa) (image 4) appear in a variety of Maya hieroglyphs in Mayan codices. While the Black Vulture is often depicted as a symbol of death or attacking humans, the King Vulture is sometimes portrayed as a god with a human body and a bird head. According to Mayan mythology, this god often carried messages between humans and the other gods.

The genus Cathartes locates carrion by detecting the scent of ethyl mercaptan, a gas produced by the bodies of decaying animals. The olfactory lobe of the brains in these species is particularly large compared to that of other animals, giving Cathartes vultures an incredible sense of smell.

The Secretarybird (Sagittarius serpentarius) (image 3) is a highly unique Accipitriform, sporting long legs and being mostly terrestrial. The tallest Accipitriform, it can grow to a height of as much as 1.3 m (4 ft 3 in). The Secretarybird eats small vertebrates and insects, which it flushes from the grass by stomping its long legs. It will then chase after its prey on foot and kill it by stomping. Only small prey items such as wasps and grasshoppers will the Secretarybird kill with its beak.

The Osprey (Pandion haliaetus) (image 2) is the only living species of its family, and the most widespread Accipitriform, living almost worldwide wherever there is water. The Osprey's diet consists almost exclusively of fish. Their vision is well adapted to detecting underwater objects from the air. Prey is first sighted when the Osprey is 10–40 m (33–131 ft) above the water, after which the bird hovers momentarily and then plunges feet first into the water. They will often completely submerge underwater, only to immediately surface and take flight with their prey in tow.

The Palm-nut Vulture (Gypohierax angolensis) is a uniquely omnivorous Accipitriform, with a diet consisting of 60% to 90% palm-fruit, as well as wild dates, oranges, other fruits, some grains, and acacia seeds.

Most vultures have flat feet adapted for walking, and lack the grip strength of their predatory cousins. But the Bearded Vulture (Gypaetus barbatus) has maintained strong feet, which it uses to carry and drop large bones in order to crack them open to more manageable pieces. The Bearded Vulture is the only known vertebrate whose diet consists of 70–90% bone.

The Egyptian Vulture (Neophron percnopterus) is one of the few birds known to use tools. Egyptian Vultures will use a pebble as a hammer on large eggs they wish to eat, swinging the pebble down onto the egg repeatedly until it cracks. They will also use twigs to roll up wool, making it easily transported back to their nest.

The Bearded Vulture and the Egyptian Vulture are the only birds known to use cosmetics. They will bathe in iron-rich dust or mud, or rub it on their bodies, dying their feathers yellow, orange, or even red. Both sexes will dye their feathers, and it seems to serve no purpose other than to look good.

The Snail Kite (Rostrhamus sociabilis), Slender-billed Kite (Helicolestes hamatus), and Hook-billed Kite (Chondrohierax uncinatus) are specialists in preying on snails, which usually constitute 50–95% of their diet.

Many accipitrids of almost all sizes have been recorded as capturing and then flying with prey of equal weight or even slightly heavier than themselves in their talons, a feat that requires great strength. Usually, the bird will leave prey at the kill site and return to feed repeatedly. Accipitrids such as the Golden Eagle (Aquila chrysaetos), Wedge-tailed Eagle (Aquila audax), Martial Eagle (Polemaetus bellicosus) and Crowned Eagle (Stephanoaetus coronatus) have successfully hunted ungulates, such as deer and antelope, and other large animals (kangaroos and emus in the Wedge-tailed) weighing more than 30 kg (66 lb), 7–8 times their own mass.

Most accipitrids are solitary, or only share space with their mate, but the Harris's Hawk (Parabuteo unicinctus) is known for being a “pack hunter”. Flocks of Harris’s Hawks generally consist of a dominant female, her mate, and the young of previous years. The flock will hunt cooperatively, working together to hunt comparatively large prey such as hares, and sharing the meal after bringing it down.

Some harriers have evolved to become polygynous, with a single smaller male breeding with and then helping multiple females raise young.

The single largest known tree nest known for any animal belonged to a Bald Eagle (Haliaeetus leucocephalus), and was found to be 6.1 m (20 ft) deep and 2.9 meters (9.5 ft) across, and to weigh 3 short tons (2.7 metric tons). Bald Eagles usually build onto their previous nest every year.

The Bald Eagle is considered a conservation success story. The Bald Eagle was severely affected in the mid-20th century by a variety of factors, among them the use of the pesticide DDT. While DDT was not lethal to the adult bird, it interfered with their calcium metabolism, making them either unable to lay eggs, or lay eggs which had thin, brittle shells which could not stand the weight of a brooding adult. By the 1950s there were only 412 nesting pairs in the 48 contiguous states of the USA. Other factors in Bald Eagle population reductions were a widespread loss of habitat, as well as both legal and illegal shooting. In Alaska alone, approximately 70,000 Bald Eagles were shot in a 12 year period. The Bald Eagle was declared an endangered species in the USA in 1967, and laws were put into place prohibiting killing of the birds. But the most significant protection occurred in 1972, when DDT was finally banned in the US, and in 1989 when it was banned in Canada. The Bald Eagle has significantly rebounded since then, and as of 2007, is classified as “least concern”, a testament of what regulation can do. However, today, the greatest threat to eagles in the US and Canada is the continued use of lead, with more than half of adult eagles across 38 US states already suffering from lead poisoning. Bald Eagles mainly eat fish and carrion. Lead poisoning comes from lead shot used by hunters, as well as lead sinkers used by fishermen and ingested by fish.

The White-rumped Vulture (Gyps bengalensis) is critically endangered, with a global population of less than 6,000 individuals. Once numbering in the millions, the White-rumped Vulture was thought to be “the most abundant large bird of prey in the world”. Following the Indian Vulture Crisis (see below), the White-rumped Vulture has declined by 99%, the steepest decline in birds since North America’s Passenger Pigeon (Ectopistes migratorius).

Vultures are nature’s disease control. They are highly effective scavengers, and are able to digest and resist many diseases with their highly acidic stomach acid, stopping the spread when they scavenge a carcass.

Old World Vultures are the most imperiled group of birds on the planet, with around 70% of vulture species threatened with extinction. The extent to which we need vultures became incredibly apparent beginning in the 1980s in India, with an ongoing event now known as the “Indian Vulture Crisis”. Most of India’s vulture populations plummeted due to indirect poisoning from NSAID painkillers left in the bodies of deceased cattle. After vultures began to disappear, carcasses were left to rot, increasing the populations of less-effective scavengers such as rats and feral dogs. The feral dog population increased by the millions, also increasing the amount of rabies bite cases. Since the disappearance of vultures, India has seen a significant amount of rabies cases, causing more than 47,000 extra deaths. Animal carcasses left to rot have also contaminated the water supply in rural areas. It is estimated that the Indian Vulture Crisis has cost over $40 billion in economic impact.

Similarly, the African Vulture Crisis has only just begun. In Africa, vultures suffer from accidental and intentional poisonings, as many farmers leave poisoned carcasses out to keep predators away from their livestock. Poachers will also poison and kill vultures, as their presence can alert park rangers that the poachers have made a kill.

While New World Vulture populations seem to be doing fine (excluding the California Condor), and are protected under the Migratory Bird Treaty Act, it is best to be wary should the Americas face their own vulture crisis. Like in Africa, American farmers may target vultures as perceived threats to their livestock, or poison predators resulting in the accidental poisoning of vultures. Vultures also suffer from many of the same threats as other birds of prey, including lead poisoning, rodenticide poisoning, and loss of habitat. Most South American vultures are also severely understudied, and their populations could be dropping without our knowledge.

#physically restraining myself from giving more Vulture Facts #I have a whole hour long PPT presentation on the vulture extinction crisis just sitting here #animal polls #round 3 #reptilia #Accipitriformes

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mtcloudsworld · 5 months ago

Text

𝐓𝐎𝐎 𝐒𝐎𝐎𝐍?

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 | none, black!fem reader, husband!dickgrayson, it's just funny how mother nature works...Don't mind me lol 😭😂 this just randomly came to mind and I needed to put this somewhere. Edited, but please ignore any errors, ty. Enjoy!!!

"Shit, he's kicking..."

You say standing before the full body mirror, admiring your bare, swollen stomach to watch a foot press flush from the inside out against your belly.

You could see the outline of where his foot was pressing and decided to trace your nail along it. Giggling a little when you feel the baby squirm a little, clearly interacting with them.

Although it did hurt a little you couldn't help but smile enduringly at the weird interaction.

It was late at night when nightwing─ Dick Grayson, your lovely husband had came back from patrol, already out of the shower in only his pajama pants smelling like mint and old spice.

You were already dressed in his old black guns n' roses shirt and boxers with your bonnet on smelling like jasmine and vanilla from your shower earlier.

You were a night owl at heart so Dick wasn't surprised to see you still up.

All night, you were relaxing, enjoying your peace. Did a little bit of cleaning and organizing here and there, tidying up a bit before settling yourself down for bed. And when Dick finally arrives back home, the little bundle of joy decides to disrupt your peace.

"Is he finally awake?" You heard footsteps come from behind.

Then warmth presses up against your back, feeling the tough exterior of his chest pressed against your back and suddenly surrounded by his strong bulging arms, tender hands smoothing along the roundness of your stomach to feel your body lean into his protective embrace. "Yeah, he was quiet all day until...' you then glanced at him through the body mirror, watching as he planted kisses near the side of your face, ear, neck and jawline. "Not that he ever moves to the sound of my voice but...he's more excited when you're around."

"Hm," he smirks proudly, a daddy's boy perhaps?

"He recognizes my voice. He missed papa." Dick mumbled coddling you with his face buried between your neck, swaying your bodies sweetly.

It was quiet for a moment. Enjoying his tender, sweet love and affection towards you.

You're mind began to wander out of the blew.

"...Baby?"

"Hm?"

"What if 'he' is actually a 'she' ?"

The question makes his head pop up.

"Then... she recognizes my voice." He corrects.

And that brought a smile to your face, turning your head a little to make eye contact with him, challenging him.

"But... what if 'she' is actually a 'he' ?"

And he deadpans, "babe, really?"

"What? I'm just asking!─ "

"No, no, no, you are not "just asking" and we're not doing this again, tonight." He states, shaking his head in disapproval yet still wore a smile on his face. "We're not doing this at..." He turns to look at the digital clock in the nightstand before glancing at you "...1:30 in the morning where I answer all of your questions till your mind feels satisfied and then be up all night because you suddenly can't go to sleep. No, it's not happening."

"Okay but wait, listen," you pout, turning to face him completely. "I get that we wanted the baby to be a surprise but... I just can't help but wonder what if he is actually a she, or if she is actually he????"

"That's why we bought neutral colored clothes and other necessities for a reason, so we wouldn't have to worry about that" He nods, pointing towards the preoccupied corner filled with amazon boxes and gift bags of baby stuff that has yet to be set up and put away, call it laziness.

"Yeah but I feel bad that I keep calling the baby he when it could possibly be a she."

"Babe, you're overthinking this way too much right now." He stresses with a heavy sigh.

When he noticed the look of worry/pout on your face, he reaches up to cup your face. Stroking at your cheeks back and forth to slowly feel its smooth texture graze along his soft yet slightly calloused palms. "Look, whether they are a boy or a girl, all they need to know is that their parents love them very much and will do any and everything to keep them safe and sound. No matter what, they're always gonna be cared for."

You sigh, shoulders relaxing. You hate that he's always right. Always know the right words to say. It honestly makes you stand back and feel like a fool at times but you know that dick didn't see it in that way, you were just...an over-thinker at heart.

"Yeah, you're right...." You finalized, looking down to your belly, feeling the baby move once more and rub your hands over the swell of your stomach. "I want them out of me already. I wanna see if they'll have your face." You gleamed, glancing back up at him.

Dick chuckles, "You say that now..." and turns to walk back to the bathroom.

"I'm serious, Dick."

"Mhm, yeah, sure, if you say so."

"You want them out just as badly as I do, so don't even." You stated pointedly, your finger directed towards him with a playful yet warning look.

"I do, but I'm patient about it..." He then frowns a little when you give him a look, one that asked "are you sure about that?" , "...oooorrrrr at least I think I am." He sighs, "I'm just enjoying these last few moments baby free until time says otherwise." He clears up, turning back to the sink to start washing the dirt and grime off his face.

Patience was key right now.

As much as both of you wanted to see your first child come into this world, both of you were still enjoying your time baby free. You, obviously, were in a rush to get them out of you. Dick also was ready to get them out of you, but he was enjoying his freedom.

Once he finished washing his face he started brushing his teeth, hearing the TV play lightly in the background whilst you prepared yourself for bed.

He was in his own head, thinking of who his baby could possibly look more like. Deep down inside he wanted a babygirl. Wanted her to look just like you, mocha skin, dark curls and blue eyes and that beautiful smile of yours. He had an assumption that she was gonna be bold, confident, funny, smart, stubborn and driven with determination. She was, of course, gonna be a mixture of both of you.

Just as Dick spits the paste out in the sink, he hears a sudden splash against the wooden floor. He smiles while wiping his mouth with the face towel and jokingly asks, "Did you spill water again? I swear to god, woman.." he huffs, turning the light off, "if I had a dollar for every time you spill water, I'd be richer than Bruce." Dramatic ass.

Dick was gonna say way more but when he comes around the corner and halts in place, frowning and staring at what's before him...he feels his heart drop.

"D-Dick...?"

You could barely utter a word, barely say his name above a terrified whisper. You were so stuck in shock that you barely recognized the pain shooting through your body at first, legs shaking and soaking wet...as if someone had splashed water all over them.

And like on cue, you both make eye contact.

"My water just broke." You say nervously with shaky breaths, holding onto the dresser for leverage as you feel yourself start to buckle.

And Dick, out of shock, fear and terror, utters, "I WAS JUST KIDDING!!!"

"I DIDN'T KNOW IT WAS GONNA HAPPEN LITERALLY!!!"

After all the numerous phone calls, rushing you to the hospital and being by your side for the entirety of the process, it was safe to say the pregnancy was a success.

Mr and Mrs. Grayson welcomed a healthy babygirl.

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃

𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐋 ©𝐦𝐭𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐝𝐬 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓

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fandom · 2 years ago

Photo

Top 23 of 2023

Have you been aching to get your hot little hands on 52 weeks of data around original posts, likes, reblogs, and searches, all weighted and ranked and tied up into categories with a nice little bow on top? Well, today’s your day! It should come as no surprise that Artists on Tumblr reign supreme: from stunning traditional art, jaw-dropping digital art, fanart, sculptures, textile art—you name it, basically—this year’s list shows that Tumblr truly is the home for art and artists. Thank you, Artists on Tumblr, for enriching our dashboards day after day.

Rounding out the top three, we have two iconic shows: Good Omens is live-action, and The Owl House is animated, but both have a heck of a love story at their core. The second season of Good Omens blessed us with not one but two ineffably exquisite ships, while the final season of The Owl House broke and then healed fans’ hearts in equal measure. Thanks, @danaterrace! Actually, come to think of it, the Good Omens finale kinda did the same in reverse. Thanks to you, too, @neil-gaiman! We can’t wait for season 3.

Speaking of heartbreak and healing, Our Flag Means Death’s second season offered both in droves. The entire cast gave stellar performances, and fans couldn’t have been happier to see the kinds of representation the show displayed. Last year’s #1 topic, Stranger Things, may have dropped a bit, but trust us, you wouldn’t know it from the amount of meta, fanart, and fics in the tag. And did you hear about the live-action adaptations of both The Last of Us and One Piece? They were a preeeetty big deal this year, too. Check ‘em out if you haven’t yet (lol, of course you have). And we’d be remiss not to mention the hugely dedicated fans, fanartists, and fic writers devoting their time to all things Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Y’all deserve a little pizza, as a treat.

2023 was also a year for blockbuster movies, which of course hasn’t escaped anybody’s notice here on Tumblr. Barbie smashed box offices worldwide and left us reeling with every re-watch. How can one describe Greta Gerwig’s pink-filled opus? It certainly is one of the movies of all time. Meanwhile, with its incredible animation and soundtrack, Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse introduced us to a whole new multiverse of Spider-People, opening the portal to a veritable flood of incredible OCs. And then, of course, we got a fresh perspective on an old classic when cinephiles introduced Martin Scorscese’s cinematic masterpiece, Goncharov (1973), to a new generation of film aficionados who resoundingly agree that it is, in fact, the greatest mafia movie ever made. We’re so glad this underrated film finally got the acclaim it has long deserved.

In the realms of gaming and tech, the long-anticipated Baldur’s Gate 3 has basically become everyone’s new favorite D&D/dating sim combination. Of course, the Pokémon franchise, games, shows, and Hatsune Miku collabs remain perennial favorites. Elon Musk’s purchase of Twitter, sorry, we mean of course X, made waves across the internet. Similarly, the Reddit blackout drove Redditors to new venues, and Tumblr users welcomed the folks from r/196 with open arms—we’re huge fans of your memes, y’all, and you fit right in. Welcome, we’re glad you enjoy the chaos. Here’s a fun fact: if we included post metadata in Year in Review rankings, #polls, introduced in January of 2023, would have been the #5 topic on Tumblr this year. Phenomenal.

And, oh right. Taylor Swift had kind of a big year, what with the albums, the epic global tour, and the movie and stuff. Fantastic work, @taylorswift, the Swifties on Tumblr thank you for everything.

This is Tumblr’s Year in Review.

Artists on Tumblr

Good Omens

The Owl House

Barbie

Pokémon

Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse

Critical Role

Goncharov

Taylor Swift

Genshin Impact

Stranger Things

The Last of Us

Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles

Elon Musk

196

Star Wars

Our Flag Means Death

Crowley | Good Omens

LGBTQ

Cottagecore

Baldur's Gate 3

One Piece

Aziraphale | Good Omens

#year in review #top 23 of 2023 #tumblr2023

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fellominaarcher · 2 months ago

Text

talking for the moment we live in - NINGNING X FEM!READER

⤹ Fic type: Oneshot

⤹ Content warning: FLUFF

⤹ Trope/pairing: Best friends to lovers

⤹ main m.list | æspa m.list

Y/N and Ningning had been best friends since middle school. Their friendship sparked one ordinary Monday morning, the kind where you show up to class, awkward and tired, only to realize there are zero empty seats.

Y/N had scanned the room like a lost puppy, each desk either occupied or “reserved” by backpacks, jackets, or straight-up glares. Panic slowly creeping in, she walked toward the only free chair she could find—one tucked near the back by the door.

The girl next to it had her head down, clearly asleep, with long dark hair cascading like curtains over her face. Y/N hesitated, cleared her throat quietly, and asked, “Um… excuse me, Yizhuo? Is anyone sitting here?”

The girl stirred. Slowly, Ning Yizhuo lifted her head and blinked at Y/N like a confused baby owl. It took her a moment, but then she lit up.

“Oh? OH! No, no one's sitting here. You can sit,” she said, brushing her hair back and sitting up straighter.

And just like that, Y/N found her seat and her best friend.

From then on, things escalated quickly. They were instant chaos together. Talking through lectures, singing during class breaks (and sometimes even while the teacher was still talking), and developing the kind of bond that made other classmates raise an eyebrow or two.

Y/N and Yizhuo also earned some shushes too.

That was also the start of something Y/N wasn’t prepared for: feelings. Big, inconvenient, fluttery feelings for her best friend, Ning Yizhuo, who preferred to be called Ningning.

Fast forward to the present. Y/N’s parents were heading out of town for three days, and like the concerned, nosy parents they were, they suggested—read: insisted—she invite Ningning over for a sleepover.

“You won’t be lonely,” her mom had said, already dialing Ningning’s number. Y/N barely had a say in it, but let’s be honest, she didn’t really need one.

Night one? Peak madness. The two of them were in full crazy mode. Singing their hearts out like they were performing for a Grammy, dancing in Y/N’s mom’s dresses (some of which were definitely from the '90s), and attempting to cook—key word: attempting.

Spoiler alert: the kitchen looked like a scene out of a disaster movie.

Now it was nighttime. Y/N and Ningning were sprawled across the couch, a bowl of popcorn between them, watching Scary Movie 1. A classic, ridiculous masterpiece. They were laughing so hard they could barely breathe.

"This movie is so stupid," Ningning wheezed, wiping tears from her eyes.

"It's perfect," Y/N grinned, tossing a piece of popcorn at her.

As the movie rolled on, something shifted. Y/N's laughter slowly died down, not because the movie got boring but because her eyes had accidentally wandered.

Right to Ningning's face.

She was still giggling, cheeks flushed, eyes squinting from laughter. Her smile was radiant, that kind of smile that made Y/N’s heart flutter and her brain shut down entirely. Her hair was a little messy, her face glowing under the TV light, and...

Y/N blinked.

Why am I staring? she thought, snapping her gaze away in a panic. But the damage was done. Her heart was already pounding way too fast for something totally innocent.

Totally. Innocent. Right?

(Y/N wasn’t so sure anymore.)

The movie continued playing, wild slapstick chaos unfolding on the screen—but Y/N had completely checked out.

She wasn’t watching anymore.

The Scary Movie wasn’t scary. Not even funny. Not because it had lost its touch but because Y/N's brain had gone full spiral mode. Her attention was fully hijacked… by Ningning.

Just a moment ago, she’d been laughing along. And then her eyes flicked to her best friend’s face, just for a second.

Big mistake.

Because now? Fireworks. In her chest.

Everything about Ningning suddenly felt so loud. Her laughter. Her soft, dimpled smile. The way her hair framed her face. The way her pinky had brushed against Y/N’s when they both reached into the popcorn bowl at the same time.

God. What is wrong with me?

She couldn’t even hear the movie anymore, just the white noise of her own thoughts, looping on an endless reel of what ifs.

Could she keep this forever? Just… quietly crushing? Secretly loving her best friend from two inches away for the rest of her life?

Or worse, would this little crush disappear over time? Fade into nothing?

No. That thought hurt even more.

But confessing? That was definitely not an option. That would be a disaster of epic proportions. Ningning didn’t feel the same way. There was no way. And Y/N would never risk ruining the one thing that mattered most: their friendship.

She had to keep it inside. Lock it in a box. Throw it in the ocean. Never speak of it again. She was so deep in her emotional wormhole that she didn’t even notice Ningning talking until...

“Y/N.”

Y/N jolted a little, blinking hard. “Huh? Yeah, Ning?” Then her eyes were wide and she was trying to appear normal.

Ningning’s voice was casual, teasing. “I said… am I that pretty?”

Y/N’s soul momentarily left her body.

Did she, did she just get caught? Caught staring?

Y/N’s ears turned bright red. Suddenly, the random throw pillows on the couch were the most fascinating things she’d ever seen.

“What?” she laughed awkwardly, trying to sound unaffected. “The hell are you talking about?” Y/N tried to deflect with those disconnected and awkward laugh.

Ningning chuckled, shooting her a side glance before turning her eyes back to the screen. She clicked her tongue and patted the cushion in her lap.

“Come on,” she said playfully. “You were staring at me like I'm the prettiest star. Be honest. Is it the cheekbones?”

Y/N buried her face in her hands. “I’m gonna die.” She was dying to completely run away from her best friend's teasing gaze.

“You’re gonna die cute, though.”

Before Y/N could come up with a witty comeback, Ningning suddenly shifted, twisting on the couch to face her directly. Her face was close. Way too close. Y/N instinctively leaned back, heart thundering in her chest.

“Now’s your chance,” Ningning whispered dramatically. “Go ahead. Stare at my face properly. Since you’ve been sneaking glances all night.”

“I-I was not—”

“Shhh,” Ningning leaned in closer, grinning like a smug cat cornering its prey. “Don’t cut out the fun. You weren’t watching the movie anyway.”

Y/N, very dramatically, clutched a pillow to her chest and squeaked, “I will literally dive off this couch.” It felt like her heart was about to burst out of her chest.

“Come on, Y/N,” Ningning said softly, “you really think I didn’t notice?”

Y/N blinked, stunned.

“I’m not just talking about tonight. I’ve seen the way you look at me. The way your eyes follow me when I take notes, when I talk to you, when I talk to others…” Ningning tilted her head, gaze soft. “You look at me like I’m magic.”

Y/N’s entire world felt like it was crashing and floating at the same time.

“And you know what?” Ningning leaned in and gently pecked the tip of Y/N’s nose.

“I like it. So much.” The Chinese girl clarified, subtle but it spoke of something loud.

Y/N’s eyes widened. “You-what?!”

But Ningning didn’t stop. She leaned in again, this time pressing a soft, tender kiss to Y/N’s lips. It was quick, just a flutter of something real and electrifying, but enough to leave Y/N breathless.

When Ningning pulled back, she had a playful smile on her lips and her voice dropped just a little softer.

“So,” she said, “only look at me that way, okay? I don’t want you looking at other girls like that. Only me.” Ningning was quick to claim her place by Y/N's side.

Y/N, still frozen, blinked once. Then twice.

And finally croaked out, “Well. That’s… unfair.”

Ningning raised a brow, amused. “How so?”

“Because now I’m definitely gonna keep staring.”

“Good,” Ningning giggled, leaning her head against Y/N’s shoulder like nothing had just happened. “Now shut up and let’s finish the movie before I make out with you for the whole night.” This girl is gonna be the death of Y/N.

“...You’re the scary part.”

“You wish.”

main m.list | æspa m.list

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spideyanakin · 5 months ago

Note

Fiyero request! Something like childhood friends reunited or friends to lovers. Thanks!

strawberry tarts (fiyero. t)

synopsis ➾ gn! reader, purple butterflies and strawberry tarts; the memories of him who turned bittersweet with growing up. He replaced them with lovers and careless days, you replaced the memories with studying, never thinking your new worlds would ever collide again. [w.c 3.3k]

warnings ➾ angst, miscommunication, fiyero being too adorable for this world, his parents being questionable.

fiyero masterlist

main masterlist

read part 1 first - purple butterflies

You didn’t know why you had agreed. A peculiar feeling really. One that went against your wishes of keeping a distance. And as Fiyero grabbed your hand, brushing his fingers with yours, you knew the distance was going to be harder and harder to keep.

That's how you found yourself amidst the dance floor of the Oz Dust, his hand against your back as you swayed to the rhythm of the band.

You were stiff, to say the least. Feet tumbling over one another at each careful step, eyes darting away from his. Uneasiness resting in your irises as he attempted to make you turn to the beat of the song.

You awkwardly stumbled back into him, his hand resting a new time against the small of your back. You felt as though his presence was made of fire, surely his fingers would burn through the violet fabric adorning your back.

"That bad?" He smirked, one of his easygoing smirks that made you want to hit the back of his head. Your eyes darted to meet his. "You look tense," he noticed.

"Oh," you cleared your throat. "Sorry." You awkwardly swallowed, mouth dry as you tried to make sense of the swirling feelings fluttering in your mind. You knew you were tense, you did not need him bringing it up.

He kept the butterfly bracelet. He gave you the most gracious, genuine smiles. He had asked you to dance.

Great Oz, you were losing your grip on reality.

"It's alright," he offered yet a new princely smile, the ones that came so easily to him. You bathed in awkwardness as you looked back at him. Owl eyes trying to decipher every micro-expression lodged on his features. You were doing your best attempts at trying to slither through your feelings, grasping at any dot to connect in the myriad of unanswered things Fiyero threw your way.

You don't know how long you sat in that awkwardness.

"I can't believe you kept it," he broke your swirling thoughts, hand gently squeezing yours.

"What?"

"Your bracelet."

You blinked, confusion seeping through you yet again. You were powerless under his blue eyes, incapable of offering anything else but a weak, "of course I did."

Your mouth suddenly went dry again, or maybe it hadn't stopped being dry in the last ten minutes. You felt shy under his gaze, you wanted to curl like a little animal who only wished for the comfort of its warren. Sink into your pillows and forget this had ever happened.

But you didn't leave his side. You looked at him, eyes softening as a mix of pain and sadness picked at your stomach, fizzling right up to your gaze. Your eyes were becoming glazed and you almost caught a slight change in his own eyes. Did he notice?

"I'm surprised you kept it," you managed to pull out, hand squeezing his.

"Why would I have removed it?" His voice was gentle, laced with a tone you couldn't decipher; utter confusion, honesty, mixed with...disappointment? Was he also being condescending? It was a puzzle your mind struggled to put in place and all you found yourself stammering and stuttering.

"I- I don't know- you-"

"I'm the one who is surprised you kept it," he awkwardly chuckled, and yet another wave of confusion washed over you.

"Why?" You unintentionally squeezed his hand tighter, subconsciously preparing for the answer. You didn't know how much your hands could take the stress-squeezing coming from both sides.

"Well..." He looked away, averting your gaze before finally speaking in a shy voice. "You never replied to my letters..." His thumb caressed your wrist, and you didn't know if it was the gesture or his words that suddenly lit your body on fire and led your heart to almost stop.

"Your letters?" Your steps became twisted and you stumbled back into someone, nearly slipping if not for Fiyero catching you; and of course, he had to catch you as if you were in a fairytale novel, as if he had purposefully dipped you as part of the dance.

You were caged in his presence, and if you thought there would be no escaping him before, now you were truly trapped. Your entire weight was leaning against his grip on your back, your hands tangled behind his neck, fully dipped like one of those pretty princesses and princes you read about.

He was looking down at you, eyes asking for nothing but compassion and answers; maybe reflecting your own gaze as you peered up at him. You were so close your breaths were mangling into one and the jasmine, roses, and leather felt like your own.

"You wrote me letters?" You whispered, and the frown that adorned his face was so honest you didn't know how to react.

"Yes," he slowly lifted you up, and your knees would have buckled if not for the way he was holding you. "Hundreds of letters I sent you in the course of those, I don't know many years."

No. It couldn't be. He hadn't. Because if he had it meant he would have received your own hundreds of letters. Letters you had stopped bothering with years ago because they had been unanswered.

He was toying with you, and you weren't going to have it. No amount of charm could erase the pain and heartbreak you spent so many years mending.

"No," you scoffed, almost tapping your foot on the marble of the club. "I'm the one who sent you letters you never replied to-"

"What?"

"You're the one who never answered mine," you pointed to him, index finger digging in the blue of his coat adorning his chest before you took a step back, shedding his hands from your body.

He said your name, a dry chuckle falling from his lips, "no." He looked at you with something new in his gaze. "You never sent me letters."

"I did Fiyero! Almost every day for months and months, but you never replied," your eyes were stinging, why were they stinging?

This had to be a joke. This was a joke, right? Or a horrid nightmare you will wake up from tomorrow. Yes, a nightmare. That's what you would settle on.

You'll wake up tomorrow morning, in your dorm room, safely tucked in your sheets, and remember this was all a dream. Fiyero never came to Shiz, you never sneaked out to the Oz dust.

You were safe. Tucked away in your corner of the world.

But it wasn't a dream. It was cold, harsh reality.

"Neither did you reply to mine!"

"I never got your letters Fiyero!" You took a step back, gripping the edges of your outfit in an attempt to grasp at something. You looked up at the ocean above you, madly blinking; you would not cry in front of Fiyero.

Suddenly you heard a gasp from him, and you tore your gaze away from the swirling of colored fishes.

Color had drained from his face, and you were almost worried.

"I know what happened," he sighed, almost desperately. "Dammit, I didn't know they had done it this early, or to even you-"

"What are you-"

"My parents spelled my letters so I wouldn't receive or send anything from anyone but them, or royal business... I just didn't think they had blocked your letters."

"Fiyero this isn't a joke," you turned away, you couldn't take this, not right now.

"Hey, no" He shuffled to follow you. "I promise you, this isn't a joke. They thought that would discipline me or something. Focus on my studies, no outside distractions-" He grabbed your wrist.

You let him.

You blinked at him. You didn't know what to believe.

You searched his gaze for an answer. Much to your disbelief you found nothing but honesty.

You wanted to cry, but instead, you whispered.

"You sent me letters..."

"I did," his fingers gripped your wrist a little more, thumb grazing the back of your hand soothingly.

You looked down. How? It felt impossible. Fiyero sending you letters all these years.

"You never got mine..."

You felt hot, cold and everything else all at once. You wanted to leave, you wanted to hug him, kiss him. Anything to quiet your mind and the swirling thoughts that were circling you, caging you in their embrace. The tears were starting to pick at your eyes, and you knew you needed to make a choice.

You knew he would see you crumble in front of him, and you refused to do so.

"Hey," he attempted, feet moving to get closer.

"I have to go," you muttered, ripping your hand from his.

"Ranger, please," he was almost begging, sad eyes peering down at you.

You would not cave. Not even when he used the nickname he had made for you years ago.

"I'm sorry."

"You should stop sulking."

"No."

"Get out of bed for me at least?"

"No."

Elphaba crossed the room to you, sitting on the edge of your bed. She removed her bag from her shoulder and started shuffling through it.

"Fine, but I'm only giving you this afternoon to be sad, and tonight we're stealing ice cream from the kitchens, and tomorrow were going to the poppy field to have a good cry and scream and then you'll be back to normal."

"No promises... Although midnight ice cream does sound tempting."

"It does doesn't it," she wrinkled her nose in mischief, before dipping her attention back to her bag. "Here," she grabbed a big textbook flipping through the page where she placed a sheet of paper. "These are the exercises from Mr. Dillamond," she placed it on your bedside table before fishing for something else. A small leather-bound notebook. "My notes from the day are all in here, make sure you copy them before Saturday, I'll need them."

"Thank you, Elphaba," you muttered against your pillow.

"Can you stop pouting?"

"No," you snuggled further into your covers.

"He asked me if you were okay, you know?"

You didn't answer.

"I don't think he believed me when I told him you caught a cold."

"Hm."

She waited before speaking again, looking at your awkward shape from under the covers.

She knew you were hurt. She had attempted to make you feel better at lunch break, bringing you your favorite dessert and trying to cheer you up with a pep talk.

Even attempting to cheer you up by telling you Fiyero had officially friendzoned Galinda.

But nothing was working, and you were left a mess, attempting to find the truth and fiction within your conversation with Fiyero the night before.

She sighed, a long sigh you caught even from your place a thousand leagues under your covers.

"I could... Try to locate the letter? See if he's telling the truth."

You popped your face out of your covers, raising an eyebrow, "you could do that?"

"I mean... I can try?"

You sat up on your bed.

"I mean, you want answers right? Closure?"

"Yes…"

"Ok," she gave you one of her small determined smiles. "No promises."

You watched her; removing the bag from her lap before cracking her knuckles. She gave you an encouraging smile, sitting more comfortably on your bed before closing her eyes.

She sighed through her nose before speaking in her clear voice, "could you tell me what you wrote in one of those letters?"

"Huh-"

"If you don't mind-"

"No, it's fine," you cleared your throat. "They never started with Dear Fiyero, it was always-"

"Wait I think I see them," you watched her frown, one of her hands gripping your sheets. "They’re locked in magic boxes. He wasn’t lying." Your breath caught in your throat. "There are two boxes. I think one is for the ones he sent, other is received."

Your eyes were stinging. You were about to thank her, about to mutter something when she stopped you yet again.

"I think I can bring them."

"Here?" Your eyes widened, and you watched as her frown deepened. "Elphaba?"

No reply. You watched her, mouth agape as she was muttering something under her breath.

Suddenly, with a flick of her fingers, a loud thud rang across the room.

You squealed, she screamed. You both jumped off the bed, eyes darting from each other to the table in the middle of the room.

Indeed, two iron boxes rimmed with gold laid on the table.

"It worked," she muttered, disbelief written all across her face. "I can't believe it worked!"

"Elphaba you’re amazing!" You jumped to hug her before bouncing towards the chests.

They were gorgeous. Clearly built in Winkie country, with intricate golden loops and flower-like crests. You approached them, in awe. They were dusty; untouched and unopened for years.

You took the small lock in one of your hands. "They're locked"

"Let me do it," she approached you, and with yet another easy flick of her fingers, both chests opened by themselves, creating a big cloud of dust, floating above you like halos.

You coughed, before finally looking at the content.

"This one is to Fiyero," Elphaba muttered, "yours must be from," she noticed.

You grabbed the first letter atop the large pile, and indeed Fiyero Tigelaar was written in big where the sender's name should be. Fiyero had sent loads of letters, you thought. Both boxes were full, but this one had a significant amount more.

You flipped the letter.

Y/n L/n,

Shiz University

"This one's for me," you mumbled, frowning. "He wrote my address down as Shiz."

"Must be a recent letter."

"You think he sent me letters all the way til now?"

"Maybe you underestimated him..."

You raised an eyebrow, heart racing as you opened it.

My Dear Ranger,

I hope you are well.

Call me a fool for writing you, but I thought I would, at least today. I heard through the grapevine that you were at Shiz, I plan on transferring to Shiz next month. Maybe I will see you there.

Your-

You folded the letter, holding it against your beating chest, "he really did it. He really wrote me..."

"Well, here are some of your own letters. Unopened." Elphaba dropped a pile of ten letters she had scavenged from the box onto the table. And indeed, none of them had been opened or read. "There must be more at the bottom?"

"These are the last ones I sent, yes," you looked at them with a sad smile.

"You okay?" Elphaba placed a hand on your shoulder.

"I don't think so-" You were going to say more, try to express the feeling that felt like someone had just poured hot cement at the bottom of your stomach.

A knock rang across the room.

"It's opened," you shouted in a hoarse voice, staring at Elphaba with big eyes.

The golden handle of your door twisted, and when you thought the door would open to your roommate, you found Fiyero staring back at the both of you, bright blue eyes gone wide as they caught sight of the two boxes on the table, and the letters flowing out of them.

"I-" he stared at you like a fish, mouth agape. "I came to see if you are alright." He blinked, unsure of his next move. "Are these-?"

"It's on me. I used my magic to- um- bring them here."

Fiyero did not reply. Instead he walked across the room to you. He took a good look at the boxes, all too familiar with the design. His fingers traced the top of the box before his eyes landed on the opened letter in your hand.

"So you truly did not receive any of these..."

"I will leave now," Elphaba smiled, not leaving you time to respond before scurrying out.

Tension could be cut with a knife as he observed the letters with careful eyes. He looked at the opened one in your hand, a sad smile you had never seen on him before adorning his features.

You watched as his delicate hands fished inside the from Fiyero box; admiring all his never-answered letters. He silently looked at the dates, gently moved the ones he did not seem to care for to the side, right until he found the one he was looking for.

It could be differentiated from the others by its pastel blue envelope. He handed it to you without a word being shared, sparkling eyes pleading for you to take it.

You let go of a breath you did not know you were holding before your fingers reached the blue paper.

To 'Y/n L/n',

White Orchid Farm, Lilly Valley, Winky Country.

Your fingers traced the night sky blue ink.

"Any of yours you want me to read?" His voice was soft as he moved to the second box, fingers catching the one Elphaba had already placed on the table. It dated way before Fiyero's last letter to you, and his eyes seemed to scan the writing of his name on the back.

"Um, the one with the green flowers," you mumbled, watching as he nodded and dived his hands in the myriad of letters.

Your eyes went back to the one in your hand, you took a breath, filling your lungs with courage before starting to open the letter.

My dearest, Ranger,

I think it is time I admit to you, and maybe to myself in the process, that I do not know how to live without you. You are my guide, my through line to a life I keep wishing to escape, and I do not wish to deny it any further.

I love you.

I love you to the stars and back, actually not even the distance is enough to calculate my love for you.

Please come back to me,

Your Scarecrow.

"Fiyero-" You mumbled, eyes darting up to see him--still reading your own letter. You waited, watching as his eyes started to sparkle in comprehension.

He did not voice his feelings, but his movements portrayed a new color you were barely familiar with on him. He looked at you, like a lost puppy as his hands placed the letter back on the table.

You do not know how long you stood there, waiting to decipher something, anything from him.

You didn't have time to register as he took a step forward, hand finding the small of your back and holding you as delicately as the night before. His other hand found your cheek, he barely asked for permission with his gaze; he could see it in your eyes that you were desperate for the same thing.

Before you could say anything your lips collided. He tasted as sweet as you had remembered, and you felt your head spin at the contact. It was soft, delicate, hesitant, and everything you had ever hoped for.

And suddenly you were thirteen again, giggling in the forest as your lips clumsily collided with his for the first time.

But you weren't thirteen anymore, years had passed by, you were grown now, and as Fiyero's lips brushed yours again, the years of yearning burst back to the surface.

Your own hands found his hair, pushing you even closer to him, and turning the kiss hungrier.

You don't know how long your lips had glided over one another before you pulled away for breath, foreheads leaning against one another.

"Great Oz, I was starting to think I'd never to do that again," he mumbled with kiss-bitten lips, making you giggle.

You smiled as you watched his doe eyes, peering at you with admiration.

"Please never leave me again, Ranger."

"I missed you calling me that, I hadn't heard this nickname in years," you blushed under his gaze.

"I missed calling you that," he placed his hand gently under your chin before bringing your lips to his again, "I love you," he kissed you again, "Oz it feels great to say it," and then again his lips found yours, "I love you," another time, "i love you" and yet again, "I love you."

You giggled in his arms, "and I love you, my scarecrow," you smiled, before dipping your head to find his lips yet again.

Oz how you had missed him so.

#prince fiyero 🫧#fiyero tigelaar #fiyero tigelaar x reader #fiyero tigelaar x y/n #fiyero tigelaar imagine #fiyero tigelaar x you #fiyero tigelaar fan fiction #prince fiyero tigelaar #fiyero x reader #fiyero x you #fiyero x y/n

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yall-batman-fanfic · 8 months ago

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Batman/Bruce WaynexMagician!OC| Chapter List

Here is a list of the chapters of the Batman/Bruce Wayne x Magician!Reader story in this blog.

Please note that chapters that are marked with the blue highlight are part of the main story and those without the highlights are the chapters that are mostly scenarios and fluffs with the other characters.

I will update this whenever there is a new chapter.

Season 1

Our First Meeting Involved a Murder and a Cult Part 1

Our First Meeting Involved a Murder and a Cult Part 2

The Three-Way Relationship

The British are Coming!

The Unexpected Guest: The Guardian of Wayne Manor

Children of the Bat

The Time We Got Caught Skinny Dipping

“I’ll Always Be Here for You, Kiddo. Always.”

Fear Toxin: The Memories That Haunts Us

"I Need a Raise."

Along Came Jason

Meeting the Justice League

Day Off & Double Dates

Angels & Demons: Justice League Dark (Part 1/3)

Angels & Demons: Justice League Dark (Part 2/3)

Angels & Demons: Justice League Dark (Part 3/3)

Special Merchandise

A Quiet Night

The Billionaire's Wife

A Promise Across Time (Part1 / 3)

A Promise Across Time (Part 2/3)

A Promise Across Time (Part 3/3)

Moving In

Mother & Daughter

The Consultant: Morgan le Fey Case

Cats

In the Events of My Death: The Bruce Wayne Tapes

Dreams and Reality (Part 1/3)

Dreams and Reality (Part 2/3)

Dreams and Reality (Part 3/3)

Damian's Pets

Opening Up

Gotham Year One

PTA Rivals

Two-Face

Wedding: Without Masks (Part 1/2)

Wedding: The One that Gotham Remembers (Part 2/2)

Another Chance

Little One

Love of my Life

Blurred Photos

Babysitting

Valerie's First Birthday

Penny Too!

Family Sports Day

Trouble

The Crossroads

Wayne Family Holiday Traditions

Beyond

From Our First Case to Our Last

Season 2

Hiya Mom!

Its a Bat-Thing

In Another Life

[Maxie] Zeus

The Riddler's Mistake: The Wrong Kid for Ransom

Exes

Wrath of Wayne [Part 1/3]

Wrath of Wayne [Part 2/3]

Wrath of Wayne [Part 3/3]

Indiana Quinn! Harley Goes to the Temple of Doom

A Family Trip to Liverpool

The Madman's Dream

Superman Saves the Day

Teen Titans!

Happy Valentines Day, Batman

“I’m Sorry, Ma. I’m really, really sorry…”

Dracula [Part 1]

Dracula [Part 2]

Happy Birthday, Batman

Dracula [Part 3]

The Dark Side of Academia

Gotham at Night

Return of Hush

Superhero Playdate

College

Social Services

City of Owls [Part 1]

City of Owls [Part 2]

Sometimes it’s Best to Keep the Closet Closed… and Locked with a Kryptonite Padlock

Moments with the Justice League [Part 1]

The One Thing I Can’t Sacrifice

That Look

There is a Floating Baby in the Living Room

She’s Not My Girlfriend

That One Coworker

Moments with the Justice League: Powerless Atom [Part 2]

Vivian Pryor's Barber Shop

How Robins Babysit

Into the Dreaming [Part 1/2]

Into the Dreaming [Part 2/2]

Date Night

Goodbye, My Love

Season 3

Boyfriend

Friday the 13th

Shut Up!

Prom

Bad Mood

Season 3: Bruce x Vivian Elseworld Chapters

I moved the Dark Knights of Steel and other Elseworld chapters to this post: Bruce Wayne/Batman x OC!Magician Elseworld Chapters

Please note that some chapters do not follow the chronological order due to time jumps that relate to the story, but are placed in this order as major parts of the story are in that certain timeline.

Gotham Year One

Our First Meeting Involved a Murder and a Cult Part 1

Our First Meeting Involved a Murder and a Cult Part 2

A Promise Across Time (Part 1/3)

Cats

The Time We Got Caught Skinny Dipping

The Three-Way Relationship

A Madman's Dream

The British are Coming!

The Unexpected Guest: The Guardian of Wayne Manor

Moving In

A Quiet Night

Meeting the Justice League

Exes

“I’ll Always Be Here for You, Kiddo. Always.”

[Maxie] Zeus

Happy Valentines Day, Batman

Fear Toxin: The Memories That Haunts Us

Wedding: Without Masks (Part 1/2)

Wedding: The One that Gotham Remembers (Part 2/2)

Along Came Jason

The Billionaire's Wife

In the Event of My Death: The Bruce Wayne Tapes

“I’m Sorry, Ma. I’m really, really sorry…”

Children of the Bat

Teen Titans!

"I Need a Raise."

The Dark Side of Academia

In Another Life

Angels & Demons: Justice League Dark (Part 1/3)

Angels & Demons: Justice League Dark (Part 2/3)

Angels & Demons: Justice League Dark (Part 3/3)

The Consultant: Morgan le Fey Case

Indiana Quinn! Harley Goes to the Temple of Doom

Mother & Daughter

Superman Saves the Day

Opening Up

Day off & Double Dates

Special Merchandise

A Promise Across Time (Part 2/3)

A Promise Across Time (Part 3/3)

Hiya Mom!

Dreams and Reality (Part 1/3)

Dreams and Reality (Part 2/3)

Dreams and Reality (Part 3/3)

Damian's Pets

PTA Rivals

Two-Face

Another Chance

Little One

Love of My Life

Blurred Photos

Babysitting

Wrath of Wayne [Part 1/3]

Wrath of Wayne [Part 2/3]

Wrath of Wayne [Part 3/3]

Valerie's First Birthday

The Crossroads

Penny Too!

Family Sports Day

Trouble

Wayne Family Holiday Traditions

A Family Trip to Liverpool

Happy Birthday, Batman

Dracula [Part 1]

Dracula [Part 2]

Dracula [Part 3]

Return of Hush

The Riddler's Mistake: The Wrong Kid for Ransom

Beyond

Gotham at Night

Its a Bat-Thing

From Our First Case to Our Last

#batman/bruce wayne x reader #batman/bruce wayne x magician reader #table of contents #batman x reader #batman fanfiction #batman #bruce wayne #dc fanfic #fanfic #batmom

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lesorciercanadien · 5 months ago

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My Current Inventory of Magic Tools

Here's a list of tools I use in my spiritual practice that can inspire others that are on this path! While some are heritage pieces that cost a lot of money up-front due to craftsmanship, the every-day tools are pretty inexpensive. For example, most candles can be found at the dollar store, and incense can be personalized to your taste. For my practice, I use cedar incense, since it is known as a cleansing plant in the Christian tradition, and many Acadian and Québécois households used cedar on Palm Sunday before palms became widely available.

Most of the heritage pieces, for anyone wanting to participate, I strongly encourage investing a few extra dollars to get good quality items! It will last you years of magical practice, and you can use them with pride.

La ceinture fléchée - the woven sash

A symbol of identity to the Métis living on the Canadian plains, the historical Huron-Wendat people, and historically worn by French voyageurs and fur traders and their indigenous partners in trade, these sashes were strapped around the waist. These were mostly useful in keeping the woollen coats closed, store belted tools, help with the strain of carrying heavy pelts, and prevent hernias and back strain on long canoe expeditions. The long strands on the end could also be used as impromptu sewing thread. These sashes would reach about 15cm to 25cm and its length easily passes 2 metres. These sashes were traded among indigenous groups for furs, and later, by the Hudson's Bay Company in the 19th century. It became a part of the traditional Québecois peasant clothing at least since 1776. As the sash travelled upriver to the plains and beyond, Métis groups adopted the sashes, elaborated on its craftsmanship, and truly made it one of their most recognized symbols. Depending on where the sash is woven, the colours can change. For example, for Québec, they preferred a blue colour scheme, for Montréal, red, and for those woven in between Ottawa and the Red River, black was more prominent. Hand-woven sashes can take up to 500 hours to complete. (1)

The one pictured above I bought from Etchiboy, a Métis artisan. The sash I bought was inspired from the Assomption sash motif, one of the oldest known woven patterns from the 18th century. I wear it on my woodland wanderings, for rituals, and cultural days. I especially wear it in winter to keep my coat closed. I chose to adopt the sash into my practice after lots of research. It is an item of rich history between the French and their indigenous allies, and a consequence of the fur trade in our country. I encourage anyone who's interested to buy from artisans who hand-weave them! There are machine-woven ones nowadays that might be less expensive, but nothing beats the quality of good wool and good weaving. With the richness of variety in the weaving patterns depending on the region they're from, why not have a sash that harkens back to the history of your region?

The walking stick or 'le gourdin'

In Québécois folktales, the stick, known as 'the gourdin', was most seen as a gift from a woodland fairy (like a guardian of all trees, or a mistress of the birds) to the intrepid hero Ti-Jean. This magical stick could thwack all his adversaries with the simple command of "tappe, gourdin!" (slap, stick!), among other fabulous deeds (2) This stick was a tool of protection on long journeys fraught with peril. So, what better companion to the Canadien witch than a walking stick? I use mine for every excursion, and have added to it some talismans of a wolf, owl and skull to keep evil spirits at bay. There's also a portable rosary around the stick, and the Ste. Anne of Beaupré religious medal. Historically, she was often a saint prayed to by voyageurs before they undertook the long and perilous journey to the fur trading posts, usually near present-day Montreal. (3)

The pocket knife

The pocket knife is a multi-talented tool of our trade! It can carve folksy figurines, cut wooden branches for weaving, harvest plants, cut curses, and keep les feux-follets (willow-the-wisps) at bay. Folklore has it that if you're out camping in the woods, fold you knife so that it creates a 90-degree angle, and stick it into the bark of a tree bordering your campsite. In the morning, if the blade is bloody, chances are it was the feux follet being intrigued by the space between the blade and the tree, and cutting its throat, thereby being free from its doomed roaming. (4) It is also a well-known tool in case you need to free a loup-garou (werewolf) from its curse by cutting it on its white spot on the forehead where he previously received communion as a kid. (5) By extension, it is a vital tool to break curses. Of course, don't make anyone bleed with the knife. That goes without saying. Treat the knife well, keep it sharp.

The rosary

Yes, my path has Catholic tools in it. Of course! Quebecois and Acadians of my ancestry were Catholic people primarily. It is a versatile tool in my practice, used for spellwork as well as meditative prayer. For those who are interested in praying the Rosary traditionally, I'll create a separate post. For spellwork purposes, I usually say a round of "Hail Mary" ten times before starting a spell for the ultimate protective shield. There is also known folk uses for the rosary in Acadian and Québécois communities. For example, to fidget with the rosary without intent or purpose brings about the Devil. (6) The rosary can also be used as a tool to find lost items. Simply toss the rosary over your shoulder, and the crucifix will point in the direction of the lost item. If you want good weather on your wedding day, hang up your rosary on your laundry cord the day before. (7). Rosaries nowadays even come in decade forms as portable rings for your pocket, and some are actual rings you can wear on your finger. I got a few rosaries myself. One for special rituals (I never toss that one over my shoulder!), and cheaper, more portable options for the tossing spell.

Holy medals

I amassed quite a collection of holy medals for individual saints. Other notable ones are those for the souls in Purgatory (worn on All Souls Day), the Holy Spirit at (worn on Pentecost or when I do divination), Jesus the Shepherd (it's comforting), Stella Maris (patron saint of Acadians). I have a few of the same for more frequented purposes, for example, I keep a Saint Luke medal on my artist's pencil case, since he is the patron saint of artists. Traditionally in Acadian communities, it was known that when your day was going awfully, and your bread dough just wouldn't rise, you just needed to boil some holy medals in water to turn your luck around (8). They are quite inexpensive, so it's fast and easy to grow a collection in a short period of time. Many catholic retailers sell them.

Divination tools : the playing cards, dice and coin

My divination tools can be found in anyone's cupboard and drawers. The trusty playing cards deck nowadays comes in such amazing variety of art, the one I picked for myself was the Bicycle Aviary Playing Cards. It has such a lovely folk art vibe to them! The way to divine them comes from sources of card-playing and superstitions from history and folktales from folklorist Marius Barbeau, and people over centuries carrying around the cards for entertainment and perhaps a glimpse into their futures. One guide on reading the cards: Fifty-Four Devils: The Art & Folklore of Fortune-Telling with Playing Cards by Cory Thomas Hutcheson. Dice can also be used in the same manner if you're doing a numerology-based divination. The coin can be used as a simple yes or no divination by playing 'heads or tails'. The coin can be a beautiful commemorative coin like mine, or a simple 'cenne noire' (blackened penny), or whatever currency you have on hand.

The sewing kit and fibre arts

I wanted to add this iconic cookie tin into the folk witch's repertoire, because we all had grandmothers who had this tin lying around with their tools to mend and sew anything. In my practice, and in my hobbies, I make clothing and I embroider. I can use this tin to house my relevant supplies to have some sacred time darning old socks, creating spiritual garments by hand, or embroidering pretty things. You can also draw sigils on the rim's inner side for blessing your items inside! There's also other uses for some of these tools in your home! For example, my great-great grandmother used to use her thimble to create the holes in her croxignoles, these woven doughnut style rings from the Magdalen Islands.

Musical spoons

Musical spoons, sometimes made of wood to be used for musical purposes, as shown here, or made from every-day metal spoons held together for the same effect, are an iconic instrument in French-Canadian folk music. I would recommend learning how to play them rhythmically and to use that as a grounding tool. I just find these way more authentic than a drum. Not to mention rhythmic foot tapping and step dances are frequently used in our folk music to set up a beat.

Woven Cloths

These beautiful cloths or 'serviettes' were woven by my mother on a giant hand-loom, often employed by local farmer's guilds in Québec. Les Cercles des Fermières du Québec sometimes has craft fairs where they sell these among other hand-crafted items. In folklore, the cloth was present when Ti-Jean needed to create a magical feast on the fly, create a magical tent for shelter, or carry around all his tools for his journey. These cloths however were almost always given by a fay creature, so best be cautious in eating food from it. Nowadays, it can be used as altar cloths, protective shields for your tools, or to apply healing energy to an ailment you carry. (9) I use mine to do my card readings, wrap special items. If you are lucky enough to find a 'catalogne', which is a heavy blanket woven on those big looms from scraps of old t-shirts, cottons and the like, that's like, a massive cloth you can have over your bed and its folkloric properties can be used for protection and good dreams. It is also the best weighted blanket for anxiety, tried and tested by me! Mine was woven by my grandmother.

Cited sources

Wikipedia "Ceinture Fléchée" consulted on Jan 21 2025/ 2. Barbeau 1st series/ 3. Podruchny / 4. Butler/ 5. Maillet / 6. Dupont 83. / 7. Dupont 122. / 8. Dupont 83. / 9. Barbeau 2nd series

Bibliography

Barbeau, Marius, « Contes populaires canadiens », The Journal of American Folkore, vol. 29, no 111, janvier-mars 1916, 154 p.

Barbeau, C.-Marius. “Contes Populaire Canadiens. Seconde Série.” The journal of American Folklore 30, no. 115 (Jan-Mar., 1917): 27-36. http://www.jstor.org/stable/534454.

Butler, Gary R. Histoire et traditions orales des Franco-Acadiens de Terre-Neuve. Québec 1995. p. 156

Dupont, Jean-Claude. Heritage d’Acadie. Collection Connaissance, éditions Lemeac. 1977.

Maillet, Antonine. Rabelais et les traditions populaires en Acadie. Les presses de l’université Laval, Quebec. 1980.

Podruchny, Carolyn. Making the Voyageur World: Traveler’s and Traders in the North American Fur Trade. University of Toronto Press. 2006.

#witchblr #folk magick #french canadian #quebec #folk magic #acadia #canadian #witchcraft #christianity #catholic #folklore

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sentientballofpeas · 2 months ago

Text

@artemis-dawn8 I heard you were making a list of gimmick blogs? Anyways, here's some more. (Sorry) (part 1)

@bronzong-detector

@randomcryptidencounter

@tag-list-manegment

@the-scrimblifier

@sm64mario

@girl-detector-detected

@medievaljournalist

@jiji-is-blog

@dadquestions

@daily-your-did-it

@tdorcs

@patricia-nixon-official

@nixon-official

@the-daylight-detector

@post-dragonifier

@definetly-eggo-waffles

@gimmickygimickblog

@kasaneteto-official

@theincrediblytalentedziggy

@post-licker

@dyktvideogamesfx

@colormush

@youtubeminuscontent

@minecraft-out-of-context

@assigning-pokemon

@the-everything-remover

@kyubeys-contract

@gimmick-blog-reviewer

@the-frightening-ghoul

@the-anon-scp-confessions

@amen-break-detector

@miku-detector

@its-target-official

@hells-corprate-officail

@ilookforbubbles

@keke-is-blog

@is-it-the-ides-of-march

@spell-unlocked

@girl-detector-detector

@girl-detector-detector-detector

@dissapointed-by-lack-of-soup

@is-the-post-relliable

@picrew-chainer

@i-say-waa

@penguin-detector

@vowelremover

@worm-on-a-blog

@broadway-official

@tomscottnumber

@for-real-the-sky

@snackgenerator

@lxde-official

@haiku-bot-human-version

@thebabycup

@silly-poll-blog

@jet2-official

@crab-thief

@the-gimmick-pharmacists

@animal-families-tournaments

@diogenes-is-it-a-man

@horse-detector

@identifying-uk-trains-in-posts

@we-love-garlic

@a-silly-poll-side-blog-yay

@google-maps-unofficial

@starmod

@another-gimmick-therapist

@the-gimmick-doctor-real

@rathalloffame

@fool-counter

@shattered-moon-crystalis

@weezer-detector

@reactionimagesdaily

@place-an-ice-cube-on-a-burger

@into-the-timeloop-i-went

@cactus-detector

@detector-of-things

@vote-to-note-ratio

@om-nom-detector

@foreign-planet-chaldeas

@gimmick-unremover

@the-great-old-one

@ratligion-official

@baba-is-blog

@animal-vegetable-or-mineral

@alphabetizing-posts

@your-fave-as-owl

@saltwater-spotter

@the-planet-vulcan

@ask-the-rat

@mother-of-evil-chaos

@tagswoman

@asexual-official

@snailifier

@real-hellstar-remina

@fakenewsfactcheck

@oxygen-officially

@lead-official

@atlanta-city-official

@new-update-s-today

@saivior-pallas-official

@rooksbury-real

@official-rhode-island

@silly-detector

@o-s-t—d-e-u-c-h-l-a-n-d

@contextfreepatentart

@curse-of-gimmick

@in-real-life-moon

@real-yucous-ghe

@through-bats-eyes

@diomena-daughter-of-callisto

@the-real-chipotle

@the-gimmick-cryptozoologist

@useless-catalanfacts

@newsverse-camera-crew

@vortexlabs

@official-crab-posts

@hedgehog-detector

@foxpost-generator

@actually-gort

@phicton-of-grandeur

@mozilla-firefox

@the-gimmick-carpenter

@true-blue-straya3

@ogle-official

@doctor-for-spaceverse-gimmicks

@the-ghost-of-a moons-light

@amalthea-moon-of-jupiter

@whale-shark-detector

@blue-marble-earth

@incomprehensible-deity-of-void

@de-haj-theve

@empire-russia-real

@koenigreich-preussen-real

@denmark-norway-real

@polish-hungarian-cw-real

@a-literal-rat

@major-tom-official

@dude-the-ancient-dragon

@apollohour

@actual-god

@samephotoofswslink

@bell-detector

@wildcard-completionist

@squiddo-but-everywhere

@officially-7-eleven

@spinning-dial-official

@official-blahaj-posts

@o70-anon

@red-rotary-dial

@gimmick-explainer

@polls-everyday

@irrelevant–wikipedia-articles

@why-ask-eve

@satan-official

@post-detector

@jeopardy-evil

@telangana-official

@achievement-g3t

@civillisation-updates

@the-actual-catacombs

@just-a-gravastar

@wormed-hole

@the-narrator-news-network

@the-newest-official

@the-scp-news

@wikipedia

@the-evil-lgbtq-foundation

@girl-detector

@official-norway

@the-officialest-news

@autism-detector

@the-official-news

@windows11-official

@therealgodofficial

@the-gimmick-demonn

@miranda-moon-mira

@brown-dwarf-lover

@added-context-readers

@heraldryandemvlemwars

@things-that-are-not-true

@the-real-new-york

@the-identifier

@decontextifier

@nebula-police

@council-of-nebulae

@aussieaspecforces

@museum-place-of-guys

@the-trappist-1-h

@oort-could-official

@mh-a-day

@scattered-disk

@vocabulary-altering-posts

@the-real-nether

@planet-cubed

@notadwarf

@dysnomia-of-eris

@official-romania-account

@the-mage-of-the-hanged

@shadowbanned-stupid

@gaia-bh1-a

@officially-estonia

@stella-the-bartender

@gaia-bh1-b

@your-fave-had-a-divorce

@centrum-1894b

@milkblackoutpoetry

@the-incorrect-dictionary

@kepler-22b-research-labratory

@network-rail

@polyduces-of-saturn

@haumea-of-wizardry

@cute-simile--gimmick

@spaghetti-o-detector

@i-say-your-mom

@thegimmickexplorer

@unofficial-oviraptors

@femboy-community-notes

@i-assign-dnd-alignments-to-posts

@tethys-for-real

@4-vesta-official

@prospero-official

@neuro-officially

@the-elders-realm

@does-this-require-cynobacteria

@thecoffeeanon

@british-rail

@posts-from-anon

@snomba-has-blog

@snomchievment-unlocked

@posts-without-the-letter-e

@sol-lll-official

@encedalus-totally

@official-graveyard-posts

@hate-anon-but-better

@shitty-sheep

@goo-glart-official

@randomalienencounter

@the-sniffer

@sniffer-of-gimmicks

@achievement-achievement-unlocked

@gimmickthiefthiefthiefthiefthief

@space-is-tasty

@primium-the-planet

@centers-for-disease-control

@inevitable-decay

@voices-of-amora-elzin-and-marisa

@the-ancient-night

@the-universe-itself

@british-rail-official

@meecrosoft-word-art

@national-rail

@the-rain-official

@exoplanet-iras-here

@karl-marx-official

@65803-didymos

@rosette-nebula-real

@helium-5-raidioactive

@helium-3-real

@oganesson-real

@i-hate-same-pic-rick-roll

@youareanidiot-official

@polonium-official

@6th-element

@flourine-9th-element

@officially-plutonium

@bat-detector

@official-answer

@the-asteroid-ida

@official-artifact-stealer

@6-hebe

@hellsite-detective

@umbriel-official

@libra-official

@the-astral-thief

@thephantomrickroller

@the-rat-detector-couple-the-1st

@the-little-bear-in-the-stars

@whiny-bitch-detector

@gliese-436-red-dwarf

@official-planet-of-internet

@ariel-the-imoral-girl-of-magic

@the-ringless-saturn

@idontrateyourposts

@helium-real

@the-delaware-official

@copper-official

@fish-detector-the-second

@thepersonofthewatervase

@which-is-the-very-best

@the-astral-twins

@iapetus-totally

@chixulub-impactor-official

@alhena-gemini

@new-caledonia-anarchy

@the-5th-gas-giant-official

@definetly-not-an-orange-lollipop

@theendlesseris

@is-silksongg-released-yet

@the-official-vine

@pintrest-officila

@cute-aggression-official

@autismswagsummit

@tree-un-detector

@trappist-1-f

@duck-detector

@best-tournament-blog-bracket

@orca-detector-detector

@the-cervantes-system

@ask-time-itself

@the-blahaj

@moon-detector

@detector-detector-squared

@lightkepler

@quaor-official

@the-j1407b

@unofficially-arkansas

@pluto-offical

@the-sol-sun-fr

@x-dot-com-unofficial

@hungry-hungry-blackhole

@blatentmisinformation

@unofficial-saturn

@pea-detector

@the-assigner-of-gimmicks

@constelation-crux-official

@certified-door-posts

@the-friendly-neighbourhood-anon

@flute-official-2

@flute-official

@chapel-hill-nc-real

@totally-durham-nc

@the-grammar-ruiner

@cat-thievery

@dark-matter-official

@the-dwarf-planet-eris

@im-canis-minor

@i-give-olms-to-people

@the-star-mimosa

@truly-pluto

@nutopia-official

@gimmickverse-animation

@totally-the-moon-oculus

@really-a-vampire

@mitros-and-situ

@the-actual-ocean

@all-turtles-are-magenta-actually

@anonymous-real

@the-universe-devs

@real-zoozve

@legit-moth

@sclera-officially

@everyone-must-enjoy

@platonic-solid-finder

@brainfuck-official

@vitreous-officialy

@40-eridani-stars

@axolotl-detector

@irl-loading-screens

@autism-official

@snailspng

@gimmick-knight

@europa-official

@detector-detector

@i-am-a-hammer-head-shark

@list-of-not-ominous-threats

@totally-texas

@northern-fail

@totally-the-real-pices

@isitfridayyet

@useless-polls

@mid-maryland

@wed-bed-behead-your-fave

@the-grammar-fixer

@east-germany-official

@official-stopandshop

@thequeryqueen

@autismfaceinc

@out-n-in-official

@theworseshitpostcaligrapher

@lorax-official

@the-real-dragon-god

@republic-of-cascadia

@irespondbees

@therapist-for-spaceverse-gimmick

@redundant-ominous-threats

@law-of-ominous-threats

@the-real-apple-mail

@gimmick-cannibals

@yeah-im-scorpio

@luxembourg-real

@things-that-are-weezer-blue

@welsh-dragon-official

@hygeia-official

@i-squish-your-fave

@alternia-official

@same-pic-of-a-goose-everyday

@official-state-of-idaho

@totally-etsy

@hoodies-official

@the-bible-translated

@the-haunted-forest

@the-fake-yahoo-mail

@utah-official

@officialscpfoundation

@the-name-gifter

@pokemonbattletournament

@the-smile-foundation

@small-potato

@overstimulation-da-emotion

@not-a-mothman

@official-level-5

@pressxtosetfree

@the-prophet-gimmick

@reallybadblackoutpoems

@totally-legit-brazil-blog

@relevant-mtg-cards

@i-eat-random-stuff

@the-gimmick-secret-agent

@unofficially-grammarly

@the-maybe-real-05-council

@opposum-detector

@the-name-stealer

@planet-of-cataclysm

@post-antonyms

@god-for-real

@other-german-confed-majors

@discord-real

@givingyouarandompathogen

@is-it-super-effective

@official-macula

@trumpet-official

@the-actual-las-nevadas

@wind-turbines-official

@the-real-uranus

@annoying-uwu-anon

@doyoulikethis-videogame-song

@whereisgem

@angry-inc

@idaho-official

@new-york-unoficial

@community-notes-real

@polish-lithuanian-cw-real

@mississippi-official

@officially-monaco

@timefromimage

@useless-walesfacts

@i-eat-your-thumbs

@shark-detector

@keytar-official

@solar-panel-official

@obviously-mojang

@algeria-realy-official

@microbes-in-hats

@hasglavebockenburntdownyet

@sillylittleanon

@the-film-theory

@officially-hungary

@actually-the-ussrs-ask-blog

@tenessee-officially

@rick-roller

@french-horn-official

@not-really-kansas-city

@temporarily-moon-two

@mumbai-official

@stitchposts

@starry-unofficial

@real-boeing-757

@organic-blazing

@the-last-ominous-threat

@05-council-unofficial

@anti-gimmick-thceif

@satan-official-account

@definitley-circle-k

@promise-anon

@officially-lowes

@the-gimmick-criminal

@the-real-planet-x

@the-moon-called-cyst

@spider-colon-3-corp

@official-wales

@gimmick-spy

@kahoot-official

@slurps-soup

@olympia-official-thx

@earth-glitches-always

@i-detect-rickrolls

@country-pride-flags

@the-analyzer

@stare-inc

@official-spellcasting-posts

@iris-gemini-home-entertainment

@solar-system-developer

@suspicious-salmon-handler

@officially-gender

@iku-spotted

@the-greek-chorus

@ratethepost

@gimmick-thief-thief-thieft-hief

@wholesomepostarchive

@official-water-detector

@iris-ghe

@the-void-anon

@the-paper-star-anon

@the-real-atlus-for-real

@official-lichtenstein

@nostalgianemojis

@distress-corp

@the-velvet-room-real

@reverse-poster

@happyinc

@totally-the-uac

@mammalidentifier

@archive-of-days

@mary-bell-radiation-authority

@thevoidofficial

@blog-blocking-service

@the-bitey-anon

@the-paperstar-anon

@the-pointing-anonv2

@scp-trading-card-game

@leprechaun-stealerofgold

@the-gimmick-hospital

@ethics-snom

@the-enchanting-table

@the-gimmick-judge

@firefox-unofficial

@the-gimmick-defence-attourney

@the-real-atlantic-ocean

@scp--096

@scp-05-council

@scp–294

@real-chicago

@real-norwayantarcticterritories

@theprovinceofaspecofficial

@the-magic-vending-machine

@the-missing-gods

@thelostcity-atlantis

@seemingly-random-rants

@the-gimmick-executioners

@galapagos-islands-notreal

@santi-the-theory-guy

@i-am-official-spider

@the-economy

@i-cover-things-in-sand

@officially-triton

@scp-or-dread-power

@voice-in-the-shadows

@kharak-the-skeleton

@evilorcadetector

@orca-detector

@gt-live

@the-gimmick-police

@desmos-calculator

@sirius-a--star

@totally-manilla-phillipines

@really-the-lunar-capital

@sunnyd-seltzer-real

@heavens-angels-official

@the-dust-among-the-stars

@the-official-netherlands

@the-same-moss-everyday

@officialcalifornia

@totally-callisto

@baby-france-very-official

@city-of-london-official

@definitely-zen-browser

@gimmickblog-posts

@covering-posts-in-brachs

@official-bulgaria

@identifying-cellphones-in-posts

@ask-wakling-mushroom

@officially-taurus-2

@official-asexual-posts

@cat-face-inc

@green-anon-real

@ancient-greece-official

@realm-of-clouds

@skull-company

@ancient-india-officially

@cracker-barrel

@arizona-official

@depot-of-homes

@loss-detector

@goose-detector

@washington-official

@official-margate

@disability-submarine-fleet

@thetimelooper

@the-official-church-of-santa

@the-gimmick-oracle

@the-eastern-orthodox-church-3

@sleep-finder

@the-pope-official

@mischief-colon-3-inc

@city-of-chicago-il-real-trust

@earth-updates-today

@skanetrafiken-official

@the-void-unoffical

@actually-titan

@spongebobheritageposts

@im-jesus

@queen-eliz-2

@theme-song-giver

@same-pic-of-fire-everyday

@soverign--state-of-britan

@the-state-of-california

@x3-inc

@stare-into-the-abyss

@evil-apple-mail

@wildoshaviolations

@frown-inc

@neutral-inc

@real-ikea-bag

@radamanthusofficial

@embarrased-inc

@smileinc

@class-dojo-officially

@gimmick-irs

@unofficial-finch-app

@fake-news-real

@mozilla-thunderbird

@greenland-official

@evilmathsuggestions

@actually-cuba

@gimmick-chemist

@email-ensemble

@obviously-luxembourg

@doyoulikethissong-poll

@saturn-official

@finding-lemon-in-posts

@definitely-minnesota

@soviet-state-of-new-york

@iceland-the-official

@proton-mail-official

@the-kingdom-of-sweden

@tomboy-hooters-official

@the-evil-yahoo-mail

@the-real-yahoo-mail

@where-is-moon-big

@gensokyo-officially

@totally-malaysia

@the-real-mexico

@multiverse-anon

@temmie-da-anon

@ocprompts

@tamrockets-wobuffet

@your-fav-isnt-divorced

@musical-posts

@hitboxesonstockimages

@destiel-news-network

@arkansasbutreal

@giant1v1poketourny

@text-colourer

@gimmickbloghunter-hunter

@gimmickbloghunterhunter

@thesaurus-official

@is-this-shakesperean-accurate

@britishcolumbiannosecandy

@ask-paranoia-duo

@whataburger-possibly-official

@city-of-boston-real

@unofficialirs

@i-study-anons

@pizza-hut-official

@thegendertheif

@almost-correct-quotes

@dailypokemoncrochet

@your-dewey-decimal-number-is

@crab-misinformation

@the-nevada

@michigan-the-state

@god-of-s2upid

@evergladesofflorida

@cleveland-city

@columbus-official

@south-dakota-unofficial

@literally-just-a-fish

@canada-official

@the-danny-devito-ifier

@truncated-decachoron

@secretly-a-puca

@lets-play-tag

@reassurance-bucket-everyday

@fuck-garlic

@official-olm-posts

@the-official-uk-of-britan

@europe-official

@radiation-detector-official

@macys-official

@the-ussr-actually

@idaho-official

@evil-maryland

@washington-official-2

@actually-czechoslovakia

@the-russia

@estonia-officially

@officially-latvia

@france-the-third

@newlondon-dweller

@characters-with-garlic-bread

@lubin-official

@lightbulb-the-great

@totally-normal-seal

@secretly-a-goose

@rhode-island-real

@locibarpulo-offical

@official-michigan-posts

@sussex-official

@rate-my-reptile

@therickrolldetector

@im-coles-trust

@isetpostsonfire

@australia--official

@identifying-planes-in-posts

@real-karakalpakstan

@greyhound-official

@fistfulls-of-cilantro

@the-hugger

@chess-rook

@jesus-official

@i-am-the-long-finned-pilot-whale

@the-very-unofficial-ussr

@judas-officially

@an-ordinary-phillipines-official

@the-austro-hungarian-empire

@totally-ironland

@fake-post-archive

@unofficially-screaming

@austria-hungary-bosnia-real

@mythicinc-official

@identifingbirdsinposts

@the-all-consuming

@localairport

@random-askbox-shit

@kentucky-unofficially-official2

@scrubthedaddy-official

@free-post-store

@crabslist

@officially-bavaria

@cat-spotted

@identifying-horses-in-posts

@illinos-no-more-wasps

@the-biter-anon

@searszofficial

@thekingdomofserbscroatsandslovenes

@north-dakota-unofficial

@the-us-navy-official

@hawaii-official

@the-real-liquid-death

@invisible-man-official

@montanaofficial

@fistfulls-of-basil

@marioheritageposts

@am-i-a-crab

@totally-czechosolvakia

@manjaro-official

@official-saxony

@otter-of-chaos-official

@pokemon-cards-hourly

@aromantic-navy

@daily-grian

@tree-detector

@queerslurheritageposts

@biblepercent

@the-real-aromantic-fbi

@homestuck-word-counter

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ghostedgwen · 18 days ago

Text

these fatal fantasies | j.potter [part one]

notes : new series for our little Jamie!! I am so excited for where I am about to take this, the potential of this fic is too good!! thank you so much for the requests to be added to the tag list, much love <333

warnings : fem reader, orphaned reader, confusing plot at first, split reality, the Blacks are still prejudiced and racists, marauders friendship, Sirius might be annoying but he's endearing really, google translated French lol srry

You had lived your life as a simple girl taken by fantasy novels, it was really a shock when you turned 11 years old and every night since then has been spent in a world that you thought you had created in your head.

Every night, since age 11 you would go to sleep and wake up in Hogwarts as ____ Black. A Gryffindor witch in a world of magic, and you may or may not be falling in love with James Potter.

. . . If it's make-believe Why does it feel like a vow we'll both uphold somehow?

You blew out your 11th birthday candles happily. You had no family to celebrate with, but the nuns at the orphanage were kind enough to provide a cake while the other orphaned children surrounded you.

They sang you ‘happy birthday’ and in a way, it was. You were just 10, and now you’re 11. You were still alive, despite everything - you lived. That should count for something, right?

You went to bed belly full of icing and cake. The cake was big enough to feed the other children, the nuns made sure everyone would get a piece, it’s how it always worked here. One for all. You didn’t mind, it was all you knew.

You grew up with the nuns. You had asked, and they were unable to fully provide an answer that made sense. They said you came to them as a baby, no name, no note, and they’ve been raising you since. You wonder if it was a Mother who left you at their doorstep.

If it was a woman who had your hair and eyes that dropped you off.

All that faded into nothing as you drifted off. You closed your eyes on your 11th birthday and opened them to find yourself looking at a letter.

“Well?” A woman’s voice.

You look up and saw her, without even knowing how you knew, you did - Mum. She had her platinum blonde hair pinned neatly in a sleek bun. You blinked at her while she smiled warmly at you.

“Alhena?” She called out again. That’s your name.

What’s going on?

You gave her a curt nod and turned back to the letter. You opened it, and allowed your eyes to trace over the words on the letter. Your name was on the envelope. ____ Alhena Black.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,

Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Ms Black,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

You blinked in surprise. Witchraft and wizardry? You’re a witch. You turned again to the sound of the woman who was all too pleased and excited at the letter, you figured you should be to - you felt your mouth stretch into a grin.

“Our little star is finally going to attend Hogwarts!” she chimed and turned to the man next to her.

Your eyes raked over to him. Dad.

You have parents.

They dove in to hug you. You allowed them, and felt somehow that all was right in the world. You went to bed an orphan, but you opened them to find that you have a family and you are going to some magic school.

It took a while to adjust - you were in this dream for about 2 days. You don’t know how long you had been asleep in reality - but here, time moved like it was real. You ate, slept and walked around and it all felt real.

You have been reading about Hogwarts, its history. Everything you could possibly learn about it, and in between you also learned about your family. You were a child of the Black family.

Your Father, Alphard Black and your Mother, Serena Parkinson.

You were a pureblood, whatever that meant. You grew up in a world of magic, not once lacking anything, and it couldn’t be farther from reality. But you figured only an orphan could create a dream this elaborate.

To escape somewhere magical where you had everything.

It was how it started. The first night, and you spent 3 days in your made-up world.

The next night, you didn’t expect to jump right back in the dream, and it was right as you left it. You went to bed as ____ Alhena Black, 11 years old and you woke up as her again.

You flowed with the story, allowing the dream to take you wherever. If the nuns noticed how excited you had been for bedtime, they failed to comment on it. They just smiled as you said your prayers for the night and tucked yourself in.

It went on for as long as you could remember. You had lost count. Where the dreams began and where reality ended was faded and smudged into one painting one, the strokes of paint overlapped. Most days, you’d go around the orphanage doing chores and look for your parents.

The ones you only had in your dreams.

And finally, it was time to go to Hogwarts.

You gulped, looking at the train. You almost jumped when your Mother placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. She leaned down to press a kiss to your cheek.

“You will be fine, Mon chou.” She whispered to you, as if she could feel your nerves. And perhaps she can, she was your Mother after all, she knew you best.

“What if I don’t make friends, Mama?” You ask her, frowning slightly.

It was when your Father appeared by your side, he smiled down at your worried face. You looked up at him expectantly.

“You will be amazing, and nothing less,” your Mother assured you. “Just be yourself and people will come, our little star will shine brightly for all to see.”

The man nodded in agreement. “And there’s always your cousins if you get too shy to make new friends.”

You switched glances between them and gave in with a small nod. They hugged you and watched you board the train with your hope spilling from their bright eyes. You look straight into your Father’s eyes, ones that mirrored your own.

And you turned away without another word.

It’s silly. You had been alone all your life, raised in an orphanage so it shouldn’t scare you to be without your parents. Only, in this dream, you’ve never been away from home for so long. Every waking moment in this fantasy was spent with them, under their care and in their arms.

Serena was gentle and kind. She was classy and all grace, she taught you etiquette and was ever so patient about it. Taught you how to be a true lady, carry yourself well and dress the part. She taught you French, her favourite language. She was kind to the house elves, she loved drinking tea while you played the piano. She cannot cook but will happily bake treats if you ask her to. Serena was raised in a rich home, that much was true in her actions, and yet she didn’t look down on the others from what you have observed.

Alphard was strong and smart. He taught you how to control your magic outbursts, he was gentle in his lessons. He spoke calmly and softly, you doubt you’ve ever seen him angry. He was strong, you knew that much with how confident he was with using wandless and wordless magic, but never once boasting about it. He carried himself in a way that made you feel protected to have him around, and he was always present - he was home always on time after his work at the ministry and greeted you with sweets in hand.

They were amazing parents, perfect, even. So they had to be a dream, despite how real they felt. Because parents like them couldn’t possibly exist in real life, and real life is being left at an orphanage without a name or a note.

Your thoughts were filled with your parents as you occupied a carriage - you hadn’t noticed that a boy was already inside. You figured it would be awkward to abruptly turn back, so you hauled your luggage inside and greeted him warmly.

“Hello, you don’t mind, do you?” you asked, eyebrows shot up and he turned to you.

“Oh,” your eyes traced the scars on his face. “Not at all.”

You grinned impossibly wider and settled on the seat in front of him. “I’m ____ Black.” the name was foreign on your tongue but you had practised it many times in the mirror the past weeks.

“Remus Lupin, nice to meet you.” He smiled at you.

You felt oddly warm then.

The moment was interrupted with the door sliding open. You turned to find a boy with a tuff of black hair in a mess on top of his head and a pair of round glasses. Behind him was a boy shyly waving.

“Hello, mates, got room for two more?”

You were almost blinded by his grin. He appeared too bright, you had thought he looked like looking directly into the sun. You turned to Remus and he only shrugged at you.

“Of course, I’m ____ Black and this is Remus Lupin.” You gestured to yourself then the scarred boy across you.

“Brilliant! James Potter,” he stepped forward and shook your hand, then Remus’s. It was amusing how friendly he was and how he just went inside, tugging the other boy along. “This is Peter Pettigrew.”

The two boys decided to sit next to Remus, sitting across you. You figured they were giving you your space as the only girl on the compartment. You wouldn’t mind sitting with a boy, though, yet you said nothing.

“Excited, ____?” James asked, almost bouncing on his spot next to Remus who watched him in mild amusement. It seems Remus was also noticing how bright James was, you both couldn’t look away from his light.

“Nervous, actually,” you tell him, and he lets out a breathless chuckle at that.

“No need to be,” James shrugged. “Peter here is nervous as well. I say it’s going to be so fun!”

You didn’t get to say anything when the door slid open again. “This looks like a fun party, say - got room for one more?”

You blinked at the boy that interrupted. Black hair that fell in loose curls right above his shoulder and those eyes - the same ones your Father had. It clicked. Cousin. You smiled reluctantly as his wild grey eyes scanned the compartment.

“Hey there, mate,” James happily greeted. “Think we do, you won’t mind sitting with him, ____?”

How sweet of him to ask you.

That’s when the boy with grey eyes locked into yours. His face crumpled at the sight of you and you frowned then. “Bollocks, we’re related aren’t we?”

You have no idea why he seemed displeased by the fact. The boys across you seemed to have sensed the tension when James clleared his throat. You both turn to him.

“This is ____ Black.” James introduced you with a smile.

“____? Oh great,” you can only frown as he closed the door behind him and sat beside you, now sporting a wide grin. “You’re fine. You’re Uncle Alphard’s spawn.”

You made a noise similar to gagging at how he spoke. He laughed at your reaction then turned to the other boys. “Sirius Black, gawk if you must.”

You shot him a look. “This is not a great first impression, cousin.”

Sirius shot you a wink. “What do you mean? I am fantastic!”

“You’re funny,” James pointed at him. “James Potter, by the way.”

“Oh a Potter! Just my luck!” Sirius beamed then he looked at you, tilting his head slightly to James. “You also fraternizing with the enemy, cous?”

You rolled your eyes at him. “Tu m'énerves,” you had a guess that he would understand, and he did, with how he threw his head back laughing at your annoyance.

You cleared your throat and gestured to Remus. “He’s Remus Lupin,” then to Peter. “And Peter Pettigrew, I believe.”

Sirius nodded along your words and sent smiles towards the other two boys, his gaze lingering a bit on Remus. You figured it must be because of the scars.

“So, what house are you lot getting into?”

“Gryffindor, of course, my whole family’s been in it.” James answered, he was the most sociable of the three boys sitting across.

Remus only shrugged, wordlessly. Peter was hesitant, “Gryffindor too.” he spoke in a quiet voice you almost missed it.

Then they all turned to you and you blinked at the sudden hot seat. You hadn’t really thought much about it. Hogwarts was just words on paper for the past months, you’ve been reading and reading and yet - you had no expectations.

“I don’t know,” you answered honestly and Sirius threw a thumbs down in your face.

“Boring! Just guess,” you glared at him, slapping his hand away and huffed.

“Fine,” you narrowed your eyes at him. “Slytherin.”

He made a face at that. “Why would you wanna be in the dark wizard factory?”

You wanted to hit him just to knock him down a peg or two. “It doesn’t say that. Slytherin is for the cunning, resourceful and prideful. It doesn’t say evil, I think self-preservation is an admirable trait.”

James made a sound to your left, now that you turned to fully face Sirius beside you. “You are very narrow-minded cousin.”

Sirius glared at you. “Well my lot’s evil and they’re all Slytherins.”

What a peculiar thing to say about your family. And perhaps, they were your family too, given as you were cousins. You only watched him for a moment and realized he felt too strongly about it, you didn’t want to argue anymore.

“Think whatever, I’ll be fine wherever I end up in.”

“I think you’re both right, in your own ways,” James was already mediating. Both you and Sirius turned to look at him, expectant. “There have been a consistent record of some… dark wizards from that house but, it’s not right to judge them from that. ____ seems cool, and she wants to be a Slytherin, we should respect that.”

And the house debate ended there. The rest of the train ride was spent with random conversations and a mountain of sweets. After the first hour, both Remus and Peter managed to open up.

They were chatting with you as well, Peter was the most hesitant. James said he was just shy around girls and you only shrugged at that. Sirius talked all your ears off about his evil family and crazy cousins.

Said he was glad the other Blacks have graduated before you were all going, Sirius then said he can’t promise to talk to you if you end up in Slytherin. You only rolled your eyes at him.

James is a Potter and it seems Sirius’ folks hate them. Calls them blood traitors.

“Blood traitors?” You asked, confused as you take a bite of your chocolate frog that you managed to catch after it leapt off the box. “What’s that?”

Sirius sent an incredulous look your way. “Oh wow, Uncle Alphard didn’t tell you?”

You shook your head.

“It’s what purists like my family calls purebloods who like muggles and muggleborns.”

You made a face at that. “Why does that matter if we like muggles?”

Sirius gasped at your words and broke into laughter, you reacted fast enough for a high-five when he raised a hand at you and you managed a giggle at the interaction.

“That’s what I’ve been saying!” Sirius exclaimed.

“So, you’re not like his other cousins then?” Remus asked you, and you shook your head.

“My parents did not teach me all that purist bollocks,” you tell them and Sirius would not stop grinning. “They’re good people.”

Sirius nods. “I knew I liked Uncle Alphard for a reason.”

You sent him a smile. “You should write to him, I think he’ll like that.”

Sirius only smiled at you.

You felt like your eyes could come out of your head. This dream is just too real, the boys you met on the train felt too real, realer than you liked to admit. And the enchanted ceiling with floating candles were a sight to look up to.

You shuffled into the Great Hall with the other first-years and felt the excitement begin to bubble in your stomach. The ceiling was beautiful, the castle itself looked magical from the outside.

Next to you was Remus Lupin also gawking at the ceiling. “D’you reckon it’s real?” He asked you and you laughed at that.

“Who cares? It looks pretty,” he seemed to agree when he sent a smile your way.

Names were called, and you almost cursed under your breath when you realized it was in alphabetical order. Your last name is Black, that meant you were going first amongst the group you’ve found in the train.

Sirius went up first, he was grinning proudly as the hat sat on his head. You have read about it, you mostly tuned out its horrible song when you walked in. You watched as he seemed to converse with the hat in his head.

Then it announced - “Gryffindor!” the hall paused. A Black in Gryffindor seemed to be a shock for everyone who knew the significance it held. Meanwhile, Sirius was grinning so wide it almost tore his cheek. Once recovered, the table crowded by students in red robes cheered. They welcomed him and he looked too proud of himself by getting sorted there.

You walked up tot he stool next. You felt nervous, but somehow - you found a pair of hazel eyes in the pool of eager first-years in front of you. He sent a small smile your way as if to say, you’ll be okay.

And it helped. Somehow.

“Hello,” you greeted the hat in your head.

The hat appeared quiet at first, as if it didn’t understand what it was seeing in your head. “You’re quite a curious case, aren’t you, Ms.Black?”

You frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”

“Nevermind that- “ the hat cleared its throat - if it even has one. “You have that cunningness in you, a lot of self-preservation too but - what’s this?”

“What?” you asked, nervous more than ever.

“What great loyalty, and that bravery - you’ve quite the potential for greatness, for glory so it best be - “

“Gryffindor!”

History was made that night. Two Blacks getting sorted into Gryffindor, Sirius was laughing hard when you took your place at the table next to him. It took a shorter time for the hall to recover when it announced your house.

He was having way too much fun with all of it.

“You’re too happy for someone whose evil family won’t be pleased by your sorting,” you shot at him with a glare but he remained laughing. You hit him in the shoulder slightly, not actually hurting him. “Stop laughing, you tosser.”

Sirius shook his head as his laughter died down. “This is too rich!”

“Twat.”

“Who cares what they think? This is rebellion.”

You shake your head at him, what a dramatic tosser. You watched the rest of the sorting - until it was Remus’s turn and despite his indifference about the houses - he seemed nervous when the hat mentioned his potential at the house of snakes.

But ultimately, he was a Gryffindor.

You clapped happily for him and gestured him to the empty space beside you. He obliged and sat beside you, you smiled at him. “We’re in the same house, how wonderful!”

“Yeah,” he breathed out.

Then it was Peter’s turn - Gryffindor. He sat across you. Sirius was congratulating him, and you all anticipated James’s turn. It would complete the roster if he were to end up in Gryffindor as well.

It didn’t even touch his head. The hat barely landed on his head when it announced he was a lion, and you erupted into cheers with the other three boys. He sat next to Peter across you, greeting your group with a wide grin.

That was the start of it all.

The dream felt less like a dream and you clung to it more than your reality. Reality was too mundane, same boring tasks around the orphanage, reciting prayers and scrubbing the floors of the church.

But your dreams were a world of magic and wonder, there was so much to learn and you wanted to know it all. Alongside your new friends, your Marauders.

part two | masterlist

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