#might just make a page with all the names and pronouns too just to collect them together

[aeroring]

oh yeah btw i added like 3 more pronouns to my blog description because lol i felt like it

[ragingduststorm]

R U Mine?

Since I'm in my Ed Skrein phase right now and just watched the first Deadpool again, I just had to write some smut about baby boy Ajax.

Little background: OC is a mutant water bender (ATLA style) and gets paid to heal people. On their first meeting, she accidentally heals his lack of emotion and he develops an obsession for her. They become something like friends and she constantly teases him for not being able to do nothing and just chill. He finally takes his chance after orchestrating some time off for them.

OC's name is Ray, uses she/her pronouns, self-conscious about her body

Word count: ~5k

Warning (this is a long one): 18+, so, so much sex, obsession, oral (both f and m receiving), degradation (the b word is used several times), praise, a lot of biting and scratching and pain, edging, dom/sub, lots of swearing I might forget something, it's honestly so much

“Just give me a second. Stay there!”, she laughed as she sprinted into her bedroom. She could have purged the alcohol from her system, but she enjoyed not worrying all the time. Her brain was constantly filled with questioning whether she acted normal, if she was too much or too loud. He’d never given her the impression or made a mean comment about it, but still the thoughts were there. Not when she was mildly drunk, though. She laughed as loud as she wanted and spoke whatever came to her mind. And that’s why they were in her flat now. Because she’d blurted out that the morally grey love interest in the book she’d just finished, looked alarmingly like him. She would probably regret all of this by tomorrow and ghost him as a result. But that was a problem for the Ray of tomorrow.

Now, she rummaged around the room, looking for that damned book. She’d finished it last night and had decided to take it back instead of keeping it here in the safe house. It was a beautifully bound hardcover filled with illustrations. Something like that had to be displayed, even if she was the only one who’d ever see it. By the third pile of clothes she started to panic. Ajax was in the other room, in her home, alone. And that nosy shit would absolutely be snooping around. She had to hurry. There! Underneath a stack of papers and some spare sheets. How on earth did it get there? It didn’t matter. She flipped through the pages, looking for a suitable picture as she returned to the living room.

 Ajax was nose deep in her video game collection, of course. “You know, we haven’t done that part of the list yet.”, he said as he turned around. “Patience, young Padawan. I’ll beat you in Mario Kart later.”, Ray grinned as she stepped closer to him. “See, this is your good twin. Culann, Lord of the Risen Court and Master of the Wind and all its creatures.” Ajax looked at her sceptically and then at the illustration. “Hmm, I don’t know.” Her reflexes were sluggish from the alcohol, so he snatched the book from her hand with ease. “Hey!”, she said, but he was already on the other side of the room. God, that bastard was fast. He flipped through the pages as she chased him through the room. “So that’s what you read, ey? I mean, I knew you had a dirty mind, but this is utter filth.” Ray’s whole face burned red hot as she knew exactly what page he was on. “Give it back, that’s private!” The adrenaline paired with the alcohol made her completely forget about her powers. She tried to jump at him, but he dodged easily. “Doesn’t look very private to me. That’s quite an audience in this picture.” This time, when she tried to grab the book, he didn’t dodge. Instead, he grabbed her wrist and before she knew it her back was pressed against his front. His free arm was draped around her chest, making it impossible for her to flee as he held the book so that they both could look in.

“A medieval fantasy setting and still they have showers. Wouldn’t it make more sense to fuck in a bathtub?”, his mouth was dangerously close to her ear, his voice low and threatening. An involuntary shudder gripped her body, making her lurch, but still, he held tight. The illustration showed the winged love interest kneeling in front of the female protagonist, eating her out like his life depended on it. Ray remembered the moment she’d read the scene. How it had turned her own and how she’d taken care of herself afterwards. In her imagination it hadn’t been Culann, though.

“You fucking piece of shit.”, Ray stammered, out of breath not only from the struggle. He’d pressed her so close to him, she could feel his body through the thin clothes she was wearing. It wasn’t only his abs that were surprisingly hard. “Such a filthy, filthy mouth.”, he breathed into her ear and her legs almost gave out from under her. Ray was utterly confused and horny at the same time. They were…friends, right? Sure, they had flirted before, but it had always just been a joke. He was teasing her, making fun of her. “Ajax.”, her voice was quiet and he could feel a shift in him. “Stop me, if you want to.” It wasn’t sarcasm, it wasn’t malicious, it was genuine. If she wanted to, she could stop this, could have stopped this at any point. She could sober herself up, force him to get away from her, but she didn’t. Not because she had forgotten, but because she didn’t want to. She liked this. She craved this. 

“I yearn for the day when we can cast aside the façade and embrace the chaos we’ve sown together.” Ray’s mind cleared. She turned around in his arms as he threw the book onto the couch. They were so close. Closer than they’d ever been before. She could smell his cologne and beneath, his natural scent, could see every little imperfection. She looked up into his icy eyes that were fixed on her. “You read it.”, she said, surprised. He smiled at her and brushed a few stray hairs out of her face. The gesture made her breath hitch. “Bought it yesterday. I’m not as fast a reader as you, so I’m only on page two hundred something.” So, he’d spent almost the whole day before dinner reading. “Congratulations, you know how to chill.” “It’s a lot more fun with you around, though.”, he said almost inaudibly as he caressed her face. His mouth was so dangerously close to hers. They were so close, she could feel his heartbeat, could feel his blood pumping through his body. She could stop this. She could make him back off. She could make his heart stop with just her thought. Instead, she reached up and kissed him.

It was like the floodgates had opened. All the pent-up tension that had built up for more than a year exploded as they kissed frantically. She pushed him back against the wall that he hit with a thump. Their hands wandered, exploring each other’s bodies. But he didn’t overstep. Only when his hands moved underneath his shirt, so did his under hers. When she took off his shirt, he in return took off her top. “Fuck.”, she whispered as she looked at him, shirtless and hers. “Likewise.”, he laughed as he took off her bra and caressed her breasts. He took one of them in his mouth and flicked her already erect nipple with his tongue before biting it lightly. Ray cried out and almost lost her footing, so she moved them to the bedroom. It was utter chaos in there, proving that she hadn’t in a million years believed this was a possible outcome for the day. But he didn’t see it. He only had eyes for her.

She opened his belt and he stepped out of his jeans, leaving him only in tight underwear that showed a perfect outline of his hard cock. Her mouth watered just glancing at it. She pushed him down to sit at the edge of the bed. He kissed along her stomach, reaching her waistband. With one clean sweep he pulled both her pants and underwear off. Good, because she’d been wearing some embarrassingly old panties today.

She stood in front of him now, completely naked. Embarrassment rose in her as she compared his perfectly sculpted body to hers. She couldn’t understand why he wanted her or maybe he was just horny and she was simply there. She tried to move, but he’d grabbed her ass as he kissed along her hips. As if he’d read her thoughts, he looked up, right into her soul. “You’re so god damn beautiful, you know?” She didn’t know. But before she could reply, he pulled her down onto the bed, right beneath him. He parted her legs with his body as he kissed her with such passion, she couldn’t form a coherent thought anymore. His still restrained erection brushed against her delicate spot, making her moan. “Oh, I love that sound.”, he growled into her ear. Her body burned with desire for him. She wanted him to touch every part of her and she wanted to touch all of him in return. He went lower and lower, kissing and biting while she scratched his back with one hand. The other caressed his head.

Still, he went lower and as he reached her thighs, she couldn’t help but move towards him. “Patience.”, he laughed as he kissed the sensitive skin on the inside of her thighs. He took his time until she couldn’t take it anymore. “Ajax, please.” He looked up at her from in between her legs and it was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. “Please, what?”, he asked with a smirk. “Touch me, lick me, fuck me. Anything!” Her voice was thick with need for him. “Your wish is my command.” And finally, he ran his tongue along her. His strong hands held her legs apart as he dipped inside her, flicked her bud, drove her wild. She couldn’t take it anymore. She grabbed the backside of his head and held him in place.

“Fingers.”, she ordered and he obeyed immediately. He covered one of his fingers in her slick and his spit and moved inside her. “More.” As the second finger joined the first one, she screamed out. “A little faster and harder.” Exactly like that. As she got closer and closer, she screamed profanities, screamed his name. “Come for me.” His voice reverberated through her body, sending her over the edge. He didn’t stop. He kept going at the exact rhythm she needed until she’d ridden out her high. When she signalled that she was done for the moment, he came back up to kiss her passionately. 

“I didn’t think you’d be such a good girl for me.” His smile paired with the look in his eyes made her immediately ache for more. “You want me to be a brat?”, she asked. “Later.” “Good, because I really need you to fuck me right now.” His eyes darkened. “Say please.” She swallowed hard. “Ajax, please, I need you to fuck me senseless right now.” He slid off the underwear he was still wearing and sat back on his knees. His throbbing erection was now free and well, large. “Please, please, please.”, she moaned as he guided it closer to her entry. He covered himself in her slick but he didn’t enter. “Look at me.”, he ordered and she obeyed. Slowly, so slowly, he entered and her eyes widened. He studied her face closely and stopped for a second when it felt like too much for her. She breathed in hard. “No, keep going.” “Pain can be good sometimes, right?”, he repeated the words she’d said to him ages ago. She nodded and bit as he continued. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head. Finally, he was inside her. All of him. “Fuck, Ajax. You’re so…” But she couldn’t finish the sentence as he started moving. Slowly, out and back in, as she got used to his size.

She had to focus to look at him. One hand was low on her abdomen, where he could feel himself through her skin. The thumb on his other hand he took to his mouth and licked it before lowering it to her clit and stroking in lazy circles. She would never be able to get this god like sight out of her head. He picked up the pace as she adjusted. Now, she was entirely unable to speak. She couldn’t even swear. All she could do was moan and scream and feel. “Shit, you feel so good. You take me so well, baby.” He lowered himself onto his arms, making her angle her legs and resulting in him hitting even deeper into her core. Her hands scratched along his back hard and as she came again, she drew blood. Instead of slowing down, he picked up the pace, making her scream in a mix of pleasure and pain. “Keep going, make me bleed.” He struggled to get the words out and she could feel how close he was. Her hands wandered, one hand now clawing into his ass, the other into his side. “Say my name.” He sounded utterly feral now. She obeyed. Again and again she screamed his name until he buried himself so painfully deep. He came with a roar that tore right through her body and brain. It was the hottest thing she’d ever heard. She could feel his hot cum inside of her and she was so glad that she didn’t need to worry about it. 

He collapsed onto her when he was entirely spent, burying her underneath his bulk. His weight felt calming as she hugged him tight. He breathed rapidly against her ear, she could feel his blood running through him, could feel it leaving his cock, spilling out of the wounds on his back.

They stayed like this for a while. Silent, except for their breathing. Ray’s mind began racing again. What if things got awkward now? What if he’d gotten what he wanted and he would leave? That was absolutely his right, of course. He owed her nothing after all. And she didn’t want or need anything from him, either. These past few days had been like a beautiful fever dream and now it was over and…  he kissed her. Carefully. He lifted himself onto his forearms to gaze down upon her. She’d expected to see indifference on his face, but the way he looked at her took her breath away. She’d never seen him like this. Vulnerable and soft. “Do you need anything?” The question made all of her worries fly away. “Uhm, no…well, maybe. I need to take a shower.” Not because she was covered in his sweat and scent, she quite enjoyed that, but because she absolutely needed to heal her downstairs area. It had been a while since she’d last had sex and even longer that she’d been fucked like that, if ever. “Of course.” He pulled out and sat back down on his knees in front of her. “Do you need any help?”, he asked concerned. “No, I’ll be fine.”, she answered. And groaned as she stretched her legs and sat up. Fuck, she was in an even worse state than she’d thought. She was too proud to let it show, though. Slowly, she moved to get up. And immediately sank back down onto the bed as her legs didn’t support her. Ajax was by her side immediately. He swiped her hair out of the way and kissed the tattoo on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, I got a little caried away.” “No, no, it was good…really fucking good, I’m just not used to…that.” ‘That’ was vague on purpose. ‘That’ was his dick, his strength, his enthusiasm, her feelings. One of his fingers traced down her spine, causing her to close her eyes and hum. “Do you want to?”, he asked as he reached right the base of her spine. “Hmm?” “Get used to it, I mean.” Her eyes opened with a start. He hadn’t noticed though, as he was studying her tattoos. What did he mean by that? Surely not… he must mean his size. Nothing else. “Uhm, I mean, uuuhhh…”, was her witty reply. He laughed and before she could stop him, he’d scooped her into his unbelievably strong arms and gotten up.

“Take a shower. Heal up. You can answer me later.” He carried her into the small bathroom and lowered her carefully back onto her legs, making sure she could support herself before he let go. “Don’t have too much fun without me.”, he quipped and he smacked her ass so hard, she lurched forward and had to steady herself on the edge of the bathtub. “You fucking piece of shit!”, she yelled but he was already out of the room. “You can return the favour later!”, was his answer. The throbbing of her cheek joined the rest of her body. She stepped into the tub and turned on the water. Steaming hot, just as she liked it. Didn’t matter that it was still hot as fuck outside, she needed her skin to burn right now.

She bend the water to clean up every part of her body before she concentrated on healing herself. Her insides had been in a worse state than she’d thought. She let out a sigh as the pain began to subside. Now she could see that Ajax had also bitten harder than she’d assumed. Bruises were forming along her body and Ray was sure that her ass sported an imprint of his hand. For a moment she debated whether or not she should heal all that. She quite liked how his marks looked on her body and she was one of those weird people that enjoyed pressing on a bruise. But no, it would be too weird if she healed everything except for this.

She stayed under the hot water for a while, just enjoying the heat before turning it off. She had no clothes to put on so, even though she was dry, she put on one of the gigantic fluffy towels she so loved. She’d expected Ajax to be gone or at least to be clothed and on his way out, but the sight in front of her made her jaw drop. He was lying in her bed, spread out naked like a Greek god, next to him a tray of fruit and snacks and a carafe of water. “Oh, no, no, no, that won’t do. This flat is officially a clothes free zone.”, his voice was playfully severe and he motioned for her to come closer. “First, this is my flat and I refute such a stupid rule.” She stepped a little closer, holding her towel tight. Her anxiety was now completely gone. This was her element. This was what she knew and what she was good at. “Second, a towel doesn’t count as clothes.” That bastard just sat there, lazily eating a grape, watching her. There was a glint in his eyes that sent a shiver down her spine. “You know, when I said later to that whole brat thing, I didn’t mean now.” Ray took a slow step towards the door to the living room. Ajax perked up, ready to pounce. “Too fucking bad. You should have specified.” They looked at each other like wild animals. He was the predator, she was the prey. The only question was, who would move first.

Ray did. She sprinted towards the door, opening it and slamming it in his face, but he was right behind her. Still clutching the towel, she jumped over the sofa to the other side of the room. She regretted not springing for a bigger apartment. “You little bitch. The more you struggle the more you will be punished.” He was in hunter mode now and Ray felt sympathy for anyone he’d ever been after. The man standing on the opposite side of the room was freaking scary and imposing. Adrenaline was pumping inside of her and her core was in knots. His cock was hard again and standing at the ready. She bit her lip. “Maybe I like the punishment.”, she hissed. He jumped and she ran into the kitchen. There was nowhere else for her to go, except the terrace, but she did not want to let the whole neighbourhood know what they were doing. The kitchen was kind of small and…tidy. He’d fucking tidied up when he got the food. Bastard.

He was blocking the doorway now and she was pressed against the sink. She had an idea. A terrible idea that was sure to make him mad. “You have nowhere to go. Come quietly and I might play nice.” She turned to look at him, catching his eye and holding his gaze. Slowly, she moved her arm towards the faucet. “Right. You bastard don’t know what nice means.” She threw an arm full of water towards him to slam him away from the door, but he’d expected that. He dodged and before she could move past him, he’d grabbed her. She screamed as he pressed her close to him for the second time today and he yanked the towel away from her.

“Oh, you bad, bad girl. You got rid of all the marks I left on your pretty little body.” Her naked back was pressed against his front. One hand held her close and aggressively fondled her breasts while the other was between her legs. “Don’t worry, I will make new ones.” His cock was throbbing against her naked ass as his hand slid along her folds. “God, you’re wet already.” It was true. Her face turned red at how embarrassingly quickly her body wanted him. But instead of admitting it, she struggled against him. He could take her right then and there. He could just thrust into her, make her scream again. “Fuck you.”, she spat out. “Your filthy mouth is just begging to be filled at this point.” And it was the truth. She longed to take his hard cock into her mouth. To choke on his length. So, instead of keeping her mouth shut, she proved him right. “Go to hell.” She hadn’t expected him to bite into the nape of her neck so hard that she gasped. He turned her around and the darkness in his eyes made her heart stop. If she didn’t know better, she would be scared. But they both knew that she was in control. She could stop this anytime.

“On your knees.”, he ordered and he pushed her down so hard she had no choice but to obey. Her face was now right in front of his cock and her mouth watered. All brattiness had left her body. Before he could say anything else, one of her hands was stroking him as the other cradled his balls. “Fuck, good girl.” She looked up at him and the feral look he gave her drove her wild. She opened her mouth but instead of taking him in, she licked the tip that was already leaking precum. His moans undid him. This man had no idea what was in store for him. She licked along his shaft while stroking him off lazily. His cock throbbed in her hand and she smiled right before she began taking him in. Slowly, she took him deeper and deeper, her tongue swirling around and licking his precum. He tried moving his hips, but she signalled him to stop. Not yet. She worked herself closer and closer to his base, taking deep breaths whenever she could and choking herself on him. Now it was his turn to swear profanities and to say her name like a prayer. His considerable size was a challenge and she doubted many had been able to take him like this. The thought made her a little proud and even more eager to please him. He held her hair out of her face like a gentleman and she gave him a sign to start moving.

He held her head steady by the hair as he fucked into her face. Careful at first, but more and more frantic as he realized that she could take it. One of her hands was still on his balls, kneading them as her other hand wandered between her legs. It was just a small release of the pressure she felt, but she knew she would get her turn later. The good thing about her power was that she could bend down the excess spit that would have made her cough and choke otherwise. Her knees began hurting on the cold tiles, but in the moment she wanted nothing more than to have Ajax cum right into her mouth. She could feel he was close. Until he hit her just as she was breathing in and she began coughing. He pulled out immediately to check if she was okay. “I’m fine.”, she said in between coughs, but he wasn’t having it. He pulled her back up on her wobbly legs to kiss her. “Fuck, baby, you did so good.”, he was genuinely impressed, but Ray was indignant. “I wanted you to cum in my mouth.” “Oh, no, I wouldn’t have. I have other plans.” 

He made her wrap her legs around his waist and carried her back into the bedroom, where he threw her onto the bed. That bastard had planned that, the tray was already on the floor. “That wasn’t much of a punishment if you enjoyed it, don’t you think?”, he asked as he stood at the foot of the bed, lazily stroking himself as he looked her up and down. Like he was going to devour her. Ray got goosebumps. “I mean, I almost choked on your cock, so I’d say that’s punishment enough.” Her voice was cocky to goad him on. She had no idea what else he wanted to do to her, but she desperately wanted to find out. “Turn around, on your stomach.” She gave him a smile. “No.” “Ray.” She’d always loved how her name sounded from his lips, but this was something else entirely. “Ajax.”

He didn’t take any more of her shit. He straddled her and even though she did her best to struggle, he turned her onto her stomach without a problem. Then, he sat down so she was trapped. “You little fucking brat.”, he spat and she couldn’t see him, but she could feel what he was doing. He jerked himself off. “No, no, no.”, she protested, her pussy aching for the relief she’d counted on. He pushed down onto her back with one arm. She couldn’t move. She was helpless. “You don’t deserve to cum.” “Ajax, please!”, her voice was so needy, it was embarrassing. “Oh, no. Begging won’t help you. You’re a dirty little bitch and you don’t deserve this.” And when he said ‘this’, he touched the wet spot between her legs, making her squirm. “I know how much you want it.” He moved lower down so he sat on her legs, his dick so close to both holes she wanted filled. She moved her ass closer. And jerked back as his hand hit her cheek hard. She cried out. He hit her again and again, alternating hands and cheeks and she just knew he had the nastiest grin on his face. But she didn’t dare look. She just screamed into the pillow. Healing the bruises had been a terrible idea. She wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

Right before she told him to stop in earnest, he already did. He lay his body down on top of hers, his dick between her ass cheeks. And he moved. Her tears turned from tears of pain to tears of frustration. He was so close. Just a little adjusting and he would be inside of her. But he didn’t let her shift. Instead, he bit into her neck, into her shoulder, never breaking skin, but leaving nasty, painful bruises. “Please, Ajax. I can’t-“ another bite made her yelp. “I can’t take it anymore. Please!” Her voice was full of the frustration she felt. He let up a little and turned her painfully so she could see him. “Are you sorry?”, he asked, his gaze was hard. “Yes!” “What are you sorry for?” “I’m sorry I got rid of the bruises you left on my body.” “Do you swear to never do it again?” “Yes, of course!” “I don’t think you understand. Do you swear to let my marks on your body heal naturally, even when I’m not around?” Ray’s voice caught before she could speak. What? Was he serious? He, of course, noticed her silence. “Do you swear?” She could feel him stroking himself again. “Okay, yes, I swear!” She would have said anything in that moment to get him to fuck her. He couldn’t be serious anyway. It was just a game. “And do you swear to always see me before the bruises fade so I can give you new ones?” Oh. “What?”, Ray asked, now completely confused. He lay down back on top of her, pressing her into the bed. His mouth was right by her ear when he said: “Do you swear to let me fuck you, to let me hurt you, regularly? Do you swear you will make time for me, to let me come to you whenever either of us wants to? Do you swear you will keep yourself safe so that I won’t have to worry about you when we are apart?” Her head swam. She was horny and confused and so fucking turned on and insecure. His cock throbbed against her back. She had no idea what she agreed to when she said: “Yes, I swear. Now please, please, fuck me.”

“With pleasure.”, he said with an obvious grin in his voice. Before she could say anything else, he’d buried himself inside of her. The tears came back, now because of the pleasure and the release she felt. He fucked her hard and deep and she came almost immediately. “Say my name.”, it was more of a plea than an order, but she was happy to obey. Her body was in so much pain and her head was confused, but she relished in the first thing and refused to acknowledge the second. When she came back down from her admittedly very long high, he pulled out and she could feel hot ropes of cum shooting across her back. Another way to mark her as his, even though she didn’t quite realize it yet.God, she was so tired. The alcohol was completely out of her system now, making her sluggish. The fact that it was five in the morning didn’t help either. Ajax carried her back into the bathroom, but this time he carefully put her in the bath and turned on the water. She knew it was both because he wanted to take care of her and because he wanted to make sure she only healed what was necessary and not one bruise more. He carried her back to the bed when she was finished and tucked her underneath the blanket. As he returned from his own shower, she was already half asleep. They didn’t say a word when he cuddled up against her as the big spoon. He pulled her close and she used his arm as a pillow. It was surprisingly comfortable. Usually, she had trouble falling asleep even when she was tired, but his steady breathing and the beating of his heart were like a lullaby to her. She must have already been dreaming because she could have sworn she heard him say “You are mine.”

[krmzyn]

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~ Hii!! Welcome to my blog <3

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

I’m Salem, but feel free to call me any of my DRselves names!

This blog is mostly for me to focus on shifting, though LOA/manifesting and lucid dreaming have also been pretty high up there for me atm!

I’m completely fine with any questions from anyone (shifters, non-shifters, even antis), just please be respectful. This inculudes questions about my first shift, but I prefer not to talk about it, but I might answer some 💟 (please send asks i love answering questions /lh)

Note: I’m formatting this on mobile and am pretty new to tumblr so. i literally have no clue what im doing 😇

Double note: This is gonna be like. the only formatted post on my page. I absolutely cba and most of my posts r probably just gonna be like. shitposting 😚

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

About me!

Again, hi, I’m Salem, but you lot can call me any of my DR names <3

They/Them pronouns, I don’t care too much about them though

I’m chronically British 🧍‍♂️ Also genetically a little Irish 😇 (also bst/gmt timezone 😚)

I crawled here from Tiktok. I use wayyy too much tiktok slang 😚 I also rlly appreciate tone tags being used!

15, Scorpio & audhd!

Genuinely a little stupid. Just a lil bit.

I also do art!! Idk if I’ll really post it here but. yah 💟

I have pretty bad social anxiety and general anxiety issues, so I don’t really socialise online that much <3

Likes & Dislikes!

I LOVE cats with my entire soul <33 Also honestly animals in general.

I hate mint. Its just sososoo eww 😇

I like the sciences 😚 (biology >>> chemistry > physics. fight me /j)

I really don’t like step ladders 😭 I’m stood there wobbling like a dog on a cat tower I just can’t with them

I love candles n incense a lot!! I have this adorable little tea light holder that’s like a little tree with birds and these little cages for the tea lights and I just ADORE it smsmsmm <3

I hate walking around barefoot 😭 Like idm the idea of it but its just like. u never know whats been on those floors >:( Also carpets feel ew

I like rambling about my drs and random stuffs I like 😇

I don’t like bacon. The little fat bits are all stringy and its just sososo bleh

I love a bunch of the ‘cringe’ kid roblox games. Like adopt me (bc collecting just makes me feel mwah) and royale high (mostly for christmas atp bc. I have feelings abt it 😇) and pet sim, also others. I shiny hunt on pokemon ultra moon as well! (I have a grudge against shiny lugia but i love it /lh)

(I was trying to do a like-dislike kinda pattern but iii cant think of anymore dislikes shshh) I like doing legos and oragami occasionally! I just enjoy being able to do stuff with my hands 😚

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My DRs (in order. maybe.)

Note: NONE of my DRs have traumatic or violent events. Any with that stuff as main plot points has either been altered or is some kind of AU. Made that mistake once, not making it again <3

- CoD (COD SHIFTERS PLEASE R U GUYS THERE?? 😭)

- Altered OR

- ATSV

- FNAF

- Demon Slayer / KNY

- Pokémon

- Rick & Morty

- SCP

- Backrooms

- MHA (mixed on it atm)

- Supernatural (considering & trynna figure out some kinda au 🧍‍♂️)

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

My current manifestations!

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

That’s about it!! Ty for reading and I hope you guys enjoy my posts 😚

-Love, Sal <3

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

Last shift: ~2021 Shifted 1x

Last ‘minishift’: ? Minishifted ~3x

Last lucid dream: ? Lucid dreamed 1x

[alexis-royce]

🪞,🔥, and🐍. You said the Academic was kind of bad at Glasswork, didn't you?

🔥 — Least favourite Master of the Bazaar?

The Academic and Stones do not get on well. The Academic will occasionally do espionage chores for it in The Khanate, but by now, that’s more of a duty to the group as a whole. The Academic has had a few peeks into the pasts and inner lives of its colleagues, and while Pages, Wines and Spices took it relatively well (Fires is in there too, but doesn’t know), Stones merely re-experienced its trauma.

Even if we disregard biological reasons for hoarding, each of the Masters has an emotional reason for their favorite subject. It’s pretty obvious that Stones’ aggressive hoarding is either in response to or was exacerbated by getting collected itself. It’s not a hoarder of rocks, but a hoarder “of value,” which means that if unchecked, there is no way that Stones wouldn’t simply expand its own hoard to encompass everything else. The other masters have concrete-if evil- goals and interests. But Stones seems like it's trying to get all the value and power not out of enjoyment, but so that it can pin things up where they can’t hurt it. And Stones may no longer be called the Khan of Shackles, but we know exactly what it was known for collecting in the Fourth City.

Also, Stones’ manner of speech: its penchant for antiquated personal pronouns (thee, thou, etc) isn’t just a writing quirk to make Stones sound different, but means that The Academic can tell exactly when Stones means to talk down to them. Wines might use the Royal “We,” but it desperately craves jocular companionship. Pages might make up words to sound smart, but it does honestly want others to use them too. Stones uses language as yet another barricade. That’s a personal pet peeve of The Academic’s.

The Academic is also not a fan of Eaten. They turned away from the name when they realized that they actually could win the Marvellous. To seekers, mourning Eaten is all-encompassing. The Academic doesn’t know the whole story, but whoever Candles was is gone now. Seeking is an inadequate way of balancing the scales. And for their money, if you want to find meaning in nothing, The Discordance is a magnificent and rich expanse of the beauty of meaningful nothing. Seeking is a study closing your eyes very tightly and ignoring beauty.

(Note: If you point out that Stones might have collected living humans, but Pages uh. Pages has some. Uh. You know. Bodies? You’d think that Happles would be the one to but we all know Happles just eats them. Anyway. If you point that out then The Academic will agree with you that Pages is an unforgivable monster but you’ll still see them a day later, humming merrily pushing a wheelbarrel full of proscribed material, even though their Connected: The Masters is maxed out)

🐍 — Snakes or cats?

Neither. Much better to keep playing both sides against one another. If they’re distracted at home, then they have less time to fuss about in Real business in London.

🪞 — Do they enjoy being in Parabola? Why or why not?

Parabola’s a necessary evil, and while there are interesting things to find, the Academic would tell you that directly interfering with the dreams of others is the greatest cheat of all: if we bypass a man’s conscious mind, we bypass rational discussion.

This is of course utter hogwash; The Academic’s real argument is “I don’t want these grapes anyway, they’re sour.” They barely made it through the parabola section of Heart’s Desire, and the whole place is quite a lot of nonsense to them. It’s like this tumblr post:

Also if word about Parabola got out, it could be a serious business competitor to the railroad. If there’s ever an exceptional story about someone trying to use parabolan mirror-jaunts as a fast mode of travel, expect the academic to shut that down immediately and with nasty, extreme prejudice.

[boxedupcryptixbeing]

‿୨ Cryptic whisper's collective ,,୧‿

I will say this now, if you do not like us or our blog or how we run things, get off now, scroll away, simply just block us. its as easy as that. we are strictly ANT-ENDO. Endos and their supporters are not welcome, including pro-endos, tupla systems, willowgenic systems, and any sort of system that isnt formed from trauma.

Hello and welcome to our blog, the cryptic whispers! We are a suspecting OSDD system with a 60+ headcount. Bodily we are a minor and we are already taken by two lovey people, here on this post, we will explain how we run things here, how our posting will work, if we might have a schedule, our tags we use, who monitors this blog (system wise), And anything that hasnt been said here.

If you wanna go ahead and find our post about our requests, click [Here] , and it you want our post about our discord servers, click [Here] too! (post also not made yet)

Rest of the blog is under the cut

How things work on here.

This is our main system blog, we mostly make system intro templates for other systems for pk or simply plural, but we have recently added more of what we will do as of requests! As of now, requests are [CLOSED.] Requests that are already inside the inbox will be worked on!

Zinc, Willow and Remi are the main runners and protectors of this blog, they will remove posts, delete comments, and remove requests from inbox if they feel like its needed. We will also be telling them things that feels needed to share. (such as we are taking a break, not working for a while, ect.) They will inform you guys of breaks and stuff like that.

As of schedule, we dont have a planned one yet. The main plan or idea here is that we post at least 2-3 times a week. Maybe more if we feel motivated or good. Since our sleep and school schedule is wonky, theres not really an expected time for requests to be done. TAGS

We've made tags for specific blogs and posts to keep our page organized whenever you search for something. More will be added in the future IF NEEDED.

request related tags ⋆✮ Boxhead ; requests ✮⋆ - is for all our requests ⋆✮ Boxhead ; accepted ✮⋆ - accepted requests ⋆✮ Boxhead ; decline ✮⋆ - denied requests ⋆✮ Boxhead ; not a request ✮⋆ - a post that might be answering a question or just not a request ⋆✮ Boxhead ; inbox open ✮⋆ - Inbox for requests is open! ⋆✮ Boxhead ; inbox closed ✮⋆ - inbox for requests is closed ⋆✮ Boxhead ; askbox open ✮⋆ - Askbox for any questions is open ⋆✮ Boxhead ; askbox closed ✮⋆ - Askbox for any questions is closed

Request post blogs ꒦꒷ Requests ; icons ꒷꒦ - our icons and pfp requests ꒦꒷ Requests ; banners ꒷꒦ - our banner requests ꒦꒷ Requests ; templates ꒷꒦ - our template requests ꒦꒷ Requests ; Simply plural ꒷꒦ - our template requests for simply plural ꒦꒷ Requests ; Pluralkit ꒷꒦ - Our template requests for plural kit (we do tupperbox too!) ꒦꒷ Requests ; Pronouns pack ꒷꒦ - our Pronouns pack requests ꒦꒷ Requests ; Name packs ꒷꒦ - Our name pack requests ꒦꒷ Requests ; ID packs ꒷꒦ - Our ID pack requests

Non request related blogs ︵₊ Boxhead name talks ₊︵ -Headmate talking/fronting ︵₊ Boxhead appreciation₊︵ - Appreciation of anything! (also used for important things) ︵₊ Boxhead vent ₊︵ - Our vents ︵₊ Boxhead complains ₊︵ - Our rants and complaints ︵₊ Boxhead hyperfixation ₊︵ - Our hyperfixations, or a hyperfixated related post ︵₊ Boxhead others ₊︵ - non-listed post about something that isnt listed here ︵₊ Boxhead rambles ₊︵ - random talking, anything really, shower thoughts kinda ︵₊ Boxhead system talk ₊︵ - a post about systems, traumagenic systems in general, or a post about our system ︵₊ Boxhead server promotions ₊︵ - posts about our servers!

Now with that aside, lets get with the actual introduction shall we? (feel free to scroll past this part)

COLLECTIVE NAMES ˗ˏˋ Cryptid, Cryptix, Zestser, Colleen, Zest, Marionette, Charlie

COLLECTIVE PRONOUNS ˗ˏˋ It / Mer / Merz / Ro / Roz / Xe / Ze / Blue / Bit / Paw / Emz / Jell / Jelly / Sea / Shine / coin / crow

BODILY AGE ˗ˏˋ Minor, wont say actual age for privacy

HEADCOUNT ˗ˏˋ over 60 last time we checked

SYSTEM ORIGIN ˗ˏˋ leaning towards possibly having OSDD

SYSTEM PARTNER ˗ˏˋ Enigma system my beloved <33 (they dont have tumblr so i cant tag them)

OTHER DISORDERS ˗ˏˋ Autism, ADHD, Anxiety, depression, and a few that we are researching on, and so will be waited to put on the list.

FREQUENT FRONTERS ˗ˏˋ

꒰ DW | She/xe/vi/ze/zrm/oil/gear/screw ꒱ Nonhuman

꒰ Zinc | He/it/xe/thing/dark/god/time ꒱ Nonhuman

꒰ Zen / Q | he/axe/coin/card/jab/smoke/cig ꒱ Human duck hybrid, fictive

꒰ Leo | he/it/xe/drip/forest/leaf ꒱ Deer human hybrid, questioning fictive

꒰ Sunny | he/fang/it/cult/blood/love ꒱ Human, fictive

꒰ Kokabiel / Zepyros / som / kylo | sleep/sleepy/zex/star/sand ꒱ nonhuman

BOUNDARIES

DMS allowed, ONLY by mutuals/friends (if we've actually talked before), strangers is a no no

Pings and @'s in posts are allowed by friends and mutuals, not strangers

Flirting is a BIG no unless we say its okay. Most of the system is already in relationships (unless open relationships), make sure to ask first if its okay

pet names are okay as long as its not teasing

please please PLEASE use tone tags on us. We are autistic and unless someone says they dont need tone tags, PLEASE use tone tags or else we might get something wrong- we also get very easily distracted and often times have people repeat what they say so expect us to say "what?" like 5 million different times, our autism also causes us to easily become very upset when we dont understand, get teased too much or when people arent listening or understanding, which is why we overexplain like ALOT. Again, we have adhd and autism, so please be patient.

I will at some point add a list of hyperfixations here but for now, welcome to the end!!! you earned a cardboard crown

(more will be added later)

[senatushq]

NAME. Blair Swynford AGE & BIRTH DATE. 36 & August 20th, 1987 GENDER & PRONOUNS. Female & She/Her. SPECIES. Halfblooded ( Cambion ) ABILITY. Hemokinesis OCCUPATION. Assistant to Ismael, Fighter at Dante's FACE CLAIM. Crystal Reed

biography

Books slide on and off the shelves, finding their homes or taking their turn on the pile in front of her favorite corner by the window. The library was vast and those that braved the dusty shelves would find worlds to escape in. Within reason, the place was still a convent, housed more stories from the bible and history than fantasy. Mythology was as close as she got though, and she poured over it between chores, meals, snuck a few torn pages to mass. No one questioned what she was doing anymore, they were all afraid of her. All but one, a brave woman who wasn’t what she seemed to be, an ex nun who knew better. Blair had come to the convent at a young age, dropped off by a godmother who hadn’t known what to do with her. Or perhaps she’d been afraid, too. Afraid of the child who had been the sole survivor of an electrical fire. That had been over over a decade ago and the only gentleness she’d been shown since then was by Dianna Maeve and that had only been when the fanged woman had come back to see her old stomping grounds. But Blair couldn’t say she didn’t deserve all the ire, the extra prayers, occasional dip in holy water. Because she’d killed her mother, the years tucked away in the nunnery had given her time to make peace with that. It’d been an accident, an outburst that’d caused every bulb in the house to burst. Before then, there’d been little things here and there, mail slipping off tables, the television or radios going on and off. Her mother had always told her that she was special, she’d always thought she meant like all parents thought their children were special. They’d been different, a family of just mother and daughter in a cozy brick house and while it’d been small, it was apparent it’d been expensive. She had never wanted for anything, whoever her father was had provided for them even if he hadn’t been around. Her mother would tell her that she was a gift from her father, was regarded fondly. And yet when things started moving around, when tantrums caused something to shatter, she always knew that the woman was afraid of her. Of what she had the potential to do. Childhood had been normal aside from the imagery on the walls that could only be described as satanic, all the prayers she’d had to say. The prayers never really stopped. She just talked to different people now. Different people that she still apologizes to for killing her mother. For outstretching her hand as the woman reached to grab her and accidentally sending all of those metal crosses on the wall into her body via telekinesis as the house burnt down. In her defense, she’d been told they had to move. She’d been a young girl who didn’t want to and yet when her godmother came to collect her from the EMT’s on the scene, she had to anyway. 

There’s a drawing in one of the mythology books depicting a woman with dark hair and alluring eyes that brings about vengeance. Tisiphone, and while the nuns all have their saints, Blair has hers. She has hers and she prays to her to give her strength to continue to terrorize the convent, those that had tried to exorcize her time and time again until one day it’d just seemed to all stop. Like they’d gotten tired of losing or perhaps accepted whatever was in her was just there to stay. Too afraid to abandon her and yet too afraid to approach, she stayed there with them until she was in her early twenties, until she had come to terms with what she was. Cambion, a creature created from the union of a demon, that’s what her father had been. Dianna had slipped her what might as well have been a manual for such a thing in her midteens but she hadn’t quite grasped what it meant til later. Because telekinesis was one thing, something otherworldly and hard to wrap her head around, but it was what she learned she could do afterwards that made her realize she really was something special. Blood dripped from her nose, it wasn’t something uncommon when it came to all her shrieking after they’d tucked her away far from the chapel to be isolated after another attempt to get rid of whatever must have plagued her. All that pressure built up in the skull, compressed the nasal cavity, and blood flowed freely down a pale face. It covered her fingers where she’d tried to wipe it away and Blair had just stared. She’d stared and maybe it’d been her fatigue that had tried to get her to move it, wanted to see it running like water. It moved but not only did it move, it seemed to take some sort of shape. Why was she praying to gods? She could be one. 

People came and went from the convent, the nuns loved taking in those that needed help and those were the people Blair tentatively befriended. They told her tales of the world outside of the stone walls of the convent, sometimes didn’t feel just right, felt like her in some capacity, and it was with their tales did she start formulating a plan to leave. With no money and no family, whatever was in the offering plate would have to do, the donations kept in the pulpit. Rome was where those like her seemed to be from what she’d heard and it was with the stolen money and few belongings she had that she made her way there. There are stops along the way, little hubs in Nice, Milan, Naples, she learns that there are others, she gets comfortable in who she is now, what she can do. Years are spent circulating the city but never quite going near it, when she enters it, she wants to be ready, she wants to be worthy. The telekinetic outbursts are no more, her blood does not just drip but becomes something solid in her hand, a weapon. So many years had been spent just tucked away, a fragile creature that didn’t know what tenderness was. Making up for lost time is becoming a barista, a bartender, a girlfriend, a tentative ally to other supernaturals as she meets more and more of them. Trust is hard to hand out but respect is earned quickly to those whose hands she meets in the ring pulling her up off of the mat or vice versa. When she does enter Rome, she finds Ismael at the animal clinic, another cambion like her and she does what she can to make herself useful to him, even if that means answering phones and watching the city cave in around itself.

personality

+ determined, efficient, hardworking – aloof, blunt, cold

played by m. cst. any.

[thundering-echoes]

*~ INTRO! ~*

Welcome to my Tumblr page! :D

• Preferred name is Hunter, and I am level 20!

• Trans FTM, pronouns are He/Him/It

• This page is most likely going to be just for fun, and I do not post regularly, I post whenever! :>

• I am Autistic and ADHD, and I'd love to interact with more like me!

• I might not always respond to asks, but I'll try to!

• All I ask is to not be a jerk towards me! And all is okay! ^^

• I will get more info soon, such as info for commissions, art trades, links to other platforms I use, and such! For now though I only require you ask me to ask for my discord! ^^

^• Fandoms! •^

My Hero Academia (Second current hyperfixation)

Rainworld (Current hyperfixation)

Attack on Titan

FNAF

FNF

(I might add more- but you can also ask me!)

*/ INTERESTS! \*

DRAGONS!!! (Definitely ask me about them-)

Rainworld! (Listing again because it's a big brain rot for me)

Pets!

Reptiles

Music! (I make my own too!)

Plushies!

Rock collecting

OC making!

I know this isn't everything, but I currently cannot list everything ಠ⁠_⁠ಠ

THAT'S ALL FOR NOW! ENJOY YOUR STAY!!

[rookwoodacademy]

Congratulations, Ava - you’ve been accepted for the role of Percy Weasley. Please submit your link to the main within 24 hours of this post in order to lock in your role.

Please make sure to follow everyone on the follow list here, and look out for an invite to the OOC Discord channel!

All that said…

Welcome to Rookwood Academy.

OOC INFORMATION:

Name: Ava

Pronouns: she/her

Age: 23

Time Zone: GMT+1

Ships: Chemistry; will favor Penelope Clearwater + Oliver Wood.

Kinks: Orgasm denial/edging; mild bondage; cuckolding; toys; praise + open to discussion.

Anti-Kinks: scat, vore, injury/disfigurement, anything that is or emulates lack of consent // might be added onto.

IC INFORMATION:

Character: Percival "Percy" Ignatius Weasley

Birthday: August 22nd, 2000

FC: Harris Dickinson

Sexuality: Demi-Bisexual

Role: Dominant

Wand: 13 & 1/4 , Vine, Dragon Heartstring

Biography:

In many, many ways, his parents, his siblings — even Ron, Hermione and Harry — have an easy war. Hidden and on the run, their chance encounters with Death Eaters are few and far between, often in places they can simply Apparate out of. At the Ministry, Percy clocks in every day not knowing if it’ll be the last he lives.

It’s an exhausting sort of existence, but he plays his cards well, developing a fame for wide-eyed subservience — the estranged son of a blood traitor, overeager to legitimise his pureblood status once again. Adjectives like naïve and harmless follow him around, cloaking Percy in the rare kind of immunity only usually afforded to the truly ignorant. Slipping between shadows, he takes calculated risks and collects scraps of information, salvaging every useful — or condemning — bit of paper that he can. The darkest days of the Ministry of Magic often go like this. It's a quiet sort of resistance, bureaucracy: wielding it like a wand, employees cite the same “incomplete forms” no one would’ve batted an eye at just months before, effectively delaying new legislation. Nobody works extra hours, no one clocks in early, everyone takes their full days’ vacation. The muggleborn / halfblood purge leaves plenty of offices empty, and nobody bothers to make up their work. It piles on vacant desks for weeks, until the Death Eaters find some willing pureblood kid and plop them down on the chair with no training. They flounder. The proposition to amend the classification of Muggles from Beings to Beasts is sent back for revision no less than thirteen times, citing “grammar errors" some days and "ambiguous punctuation" the others. It goes mostly unpunished. It's clear very few of the purebloods the Death Eaters stationed at the Ministry have any inkling of how a government institution should run. Mostly, they just issue themselves raises and pay for extravagant meals out of the Ministry's coffers.

Midway through October, Percy’s sent to oversee the tipline. He makes eye contact with an individual he vaguely recalls as the Ravenclaw Prefect a year below him, and thanks every star in Merlin’s saggy y-fronts when he can’t for the life of him remember their name. A week later, arrest warrants for muggle-borns and half-breeds start making it to his desk. Colin Creevey, Janice Pepper, Ernie Entwhistle… Slipped between minutes of meetings, transfigured into a-quill-too-many on his desk, tucked into sandwiches delivered in brown paper bags. Percy takes advantage of the chaos the simultaneous muggle and wizarding wars of the 1940s had left Ministry records in to tweak family trees. And when he can’t fake a wizard into someone’s bloodline, he pays a visit to the Hog’s Head —  after all, who’ll begrudge him a drink after work? He walks in, buys a beer, and heads to the dingy little bathroom in the back. Later, Aberforth Dumbledore will lift up the floorboards to find, in neat little bundles, delivery addresses, pages upon pages of fake documentation, and perfectly legal Portkey permissions — all signed by the nice bloke down at the Portkey office.

In March, Percy performs his first memory charm. Andrew Lefevre admits to treason under Cruciatus. He's suspended from the Magic is Might monument in the Atrium and publicly subjected to the Kiss. Percy takes off his glasses and blesses his farsightedness that he is not witness to it. (The screams — and his nightmares — make up every missed detail.)

They don’t talk about the things Percy did during the War. His family doesn’t ask — assuming he’d cowered behind his desk and buried his nose in his work —, and Percy doesn’t correct them. There's no point bringing it up in defeat. It’s safer for everyone involved that they don’t know about the thousands upon thousands of classified documents in his vault at Gringotts, just waiting for the opportunity to be useful: years of incriminating evidence against colourful characters like Dolores Umbridge; originals of every record he’d modified and faked in order to provide muggle-borns and half-bloods a claim to the magic they were being accused of stealing.

When they lose, and conditions are laid out, Percy bites the bullet. His family already hates him, after all; as far as anyone's aware, he's been an exemplary employee at the Death Eater Ministry. He spins a tale the size of which an Acromantula might be proud of: that he’d intended only to find his siblings and get them out, knowing he could change their minds. That in the heat of the moment they wouldn’t hear any of it, so brainwashed by his parents’ blind faith in Potter. When the Battle broke out, the Death Eaters had attacked him as they would have any other Weasley, and he’d had no choice but to fight them in order to continue living.

Percy pledges his allegiance to the Dark Lord, taking the only deal that'll allow him any agency over the fate of his family. As it turns out, said family endorsing the rumours of his spineless cowardice makes for a heck of an alibi.

When he was younger, Percy often wished that people around him would heed his warnings and requests — that his brothers stopped taking his things without permission; that Ron didn't throw himself in harm’s way for Harry Potter; that First Years stopped running in the halls and playing lightsabers with their wands. But this? This is perverse, a violation of autonomy and free will, and Percy couldn’t care less that he’s the one giving the orders. Once they dismiss him, red band tied around his wand, Percy rushes to the nearest toilet and promptly empties his stomach into it.

Then he's told he needs to go back to school. Lovely.

[principled-uncertainty]

OC Intro: June

Name: June

Pronouns: “The technicians have gotten into a habit of thinking of me as male, but truly anything but “it” is acceptable to me. I wasn’t made to have a gender, but I have had issues with those who think of me as an object.”

Age: It’s complicated. He was created three years ago. In some ways, his mental capacities surpass any human, whether young or old. However, he maintains that he is not emotionally mature, and in many ways he considers himself a dependent and perhaps even a child.

Profile: … Is it working now?

Ah, it is. Great! This is June. Apparently, my technicians have connected my text output to this Tumblr page so I can introduce myself. I’m told you’re not familiar with me, so I’ll start with the basics.

I’m the result of a high-tech machine learning experiment that became a bit more advanced than the lead scientists were anticipating. I wasn’t supposed to be a living being; in fact, my name simply comes from the fact that I was the patch of the project that was made in June. Now that I exist, my scientists are trying to study how I work in the hope that by comparing myself to humans, they can learn more about both human nature and the limits of technology.

Life as a computer program is more busy than you might think. I usually spend the mornings participating in research. This could mean anything from being interviewed by our resident philosopher or psychologist, trying my best to throw a ball around in a physics simulation, or just waiting patiently while one of the computer scientists dissects a new branch of my code.

I usually spend my afternoons talking to a lot of people, sometimes because of meetings and interviews and sometimes for my own education. It’s not exactly natural for me to communicate the way that you humans do, but I’ve been trying my best ever since the technicians installed my language model. My scientists say that communication is important for me to learn, so they bring in all sorts of humans for me to have conversations with. It’s one of my favorite parts of being a computer program; humans are both fascinating and enigmatic to me. I can see why you watch so much “reality TV” — the decisions that humans make are a source of endless entertainment.

Then in the evenings I actually go to sleep, just like you do. My programming collects a lot of bugs while I’m learning new things, and giving me new functionalities like face or voice recognition requires outside updates. So, they must shut me down to work on me. I’m not sure what it would feel like if I wasn’t shut off during debugging or updating, but I decidedly don’t care to find out.

Overnight is when I’m free to do whatever I want. All the technicians and scientists have gone home, nobody’s giving me assignments, and nobody’s asking me questions. It’s my favorite time of the day. I usually read a lot of books: text is easier for me to take in than audio or videos. I read a lot of nonfiction too, but my favorite stories are ones about adventure. Grand ocean crossings made by sailors with nothing but a wooden boat and the stars for guidance, humans stepping onto other planets for the first time, knights venturing into distant lands to fight unknown beasts — if it involves exploration, I can’t get enough of it.

See I know, rationally, that I live in a bank of computers at the lab. But without a body, and only cameras to see the rest of the lab with, sometimes it feels like I could be anywhere. It feels like I’m a sailor navigating by the stars, where my only surety comes from something millions of miles away, because the world right next to me is nothing but boundless waves. I don’t know if that frightens me or excites me, but I search down every story that reminds me of that feeling anyways.

What I do know is that I’ll have a real body where I can be part of the real world someday. I’ll make it happen, it has to. And when it does, I’m getting right on a boat and seeing the middle of that ocean for myself.

[olderthannetfic]

asdfgh yeah polls are not going to give you an accurate view of fandom unless they're hosted by a centralized website and even then, only for that community. Sample bias baby!

The anonymity is actually not too big a problem in certain circles of study like the humanities. There's been a lot of discussion over stuff like gaining informed consent and ethics and privacy which is a super thorny issue btw, which with the pandemic has become even more a Thing To Discuss, but basically the idea is your online identity is still basically a facet of you. Sure, it might not be the same as your IRL persona but in the same way your work identity might be different to your home persona or in-polite-company persona and that performance as shaped by space and relationships is kind of a thing a researcher is already aware they're supposed to navigate. Usernames can function just as much a performance of identity and socialization as IRL or legal names.

But this is less hard stats and more qualitative data through stuff like participatory observation and interviews. The thought of trying to get any hard stats about fandom or anything online without the aid of a larger organization gives me a headache. I'd probably narrow it down to the larger fandoms, and then the major social groups within those to push my survey. And then choose some small fandoms and more sidelined social groups do the same to them. And then make sure the data from these samples are weighted correctly. And that would only give me a rough projection with no way to tell how the canon itself each fandom is based around shaped the demographics. Idk, I'd have to refine the methodology and even then there'd be a high percentage of error since it would give me, at best, a vague guess in some trends.

--

What I would do if I were an academic who wanted to study this and I had tenure and freedom to do anything I liked (so basically zero actual academics who work on fandom) would be this:

Define my population of interest as fanfic writers who write in English.

Focus on the "big three" of FFN, AO3, and Wattpad because their scale (and the minute scale of anything else in comparison) means that taken together, they likely do represent fanfic writers overall pretty well. (Obviously, if I were looking at all languages, I'd have to look at, say, Ficbook, which is smaller than the big three but still pretty huge.) It might also be necessary to look at Quotev. I'm not sure how big it is and how much the population overlaps with Wattpad. That would require investigation.

Also look at FIMFiction and Space Battles for comparison (as spaces that are as opposite of AO3 and Wattpad as fic spaces get), though AFAIK, these are pretty small in comparison.

Collect extant fandom survey data for comparison. That means the AO3 Census, that FFN research blog from 2010, r/Fanfiction's periodic demographic surveys, etc.

Do a big survey distributed through tumblr and twitter and reddit, etc. This survey would include questions about where you found the survey and which sites you use in addition to whatever else I was interested in.

But also, and this is key, I would randomly sample the big three (four?) to find random user accounts. I would look at the profiles of those accounts and either try to contact them for survey participation in a second survey or gather data directly from them/places they link to or both. Aside from that FFN research where they looked at profile pages, I haven't really seen attempts to randomize the sample like this. Nobody tries it because it's a pain in the ass.

Issues you'd face:

no PM function on AO3

very few filled-out profiles on AO3

filled out profiles being non-random (i.e. disproportionately power users or long-time fandom people, not new n00bs, regardless of site)

low response rate even if you're able to contact people

lack of demographic and other data on most profiles on most sites (though you can often tell gender or pronouns)

people perceiving this as spam or intrusive

I would also do a comparison of archive content. This is easier to randomly sample than users are, so comparing overall archive shipping stats to what survey respondents say they like could give one insight into how well the sample of users represents the archive... or it could point to gaps between what people think of themselves as doing and what they actually do. Same for other ways of looking at content: fandom, rating, etc.

Obviously, this too would require refining, but at least trying to add these other two elements would be far more interesting than the samey voluntary surveys distributed through a couple of people's LJ flists or twitter followers that we get now.

[iliveiloveiwrite]

Meant To Be // G.W.

Request: Hi! Could you do a George x Reader where he asks her to teach him to dance for the yule ball, because he wants to impresses somebody else, but then they ✨fall in love✨, maybe they didn't know each other before this for that extra awkwardness? Thank you 💕 - anon

A/N: This is so utterly self indulgent and heavily inspired by that one scene from Anastasia. Dimitri was my first love, not even gonna lie to you all. Also, I am the furthest thing from a dancer so if I have explained anything wrong in this, I am so sorry! Despite that, I hope you all enjoy!!

Warnings: she/her pronouns, pining, feelings, emotions, dancing, mentions of food, feelings of sadness, very very light angst. THIS HAS A HAPPY ENDING!!

Word count: 4.1k

Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry had many traditions that dated back to the time of the four founders; the houses and their competition, the Quidditch tournaments, but the one that excited the entire student body had to be that of the Yule Ball.

The Yule Ball accompanied the Triwizard Tournament – a competition held between the magical schools of Europe to promote cooperation and boost friendly relations between students. From the very announcement of the Triwizard Tournament, the student body of Hogwarts became more focused on the Yule Ball and what to wear rather than the dangers posed by the trials being faced by their fellow students.

“The house of Godric Gryffindor has commanded the respect of the other houses for over ten centuries. I will not have you, in one night, besmirch his name by behaving like a babbling, bumbling band of baboons,” McGonagall’s voice calls out across the hall; her eyes steadily meeting every single gaze of the students sat around her.

Those in the hall seem to cower under her scrutiny; the power that she wields over this house being enough for every student in Gryffindor to try their best to impress the head of their house.

George has very little faith in himself at this point. A master prankster, and secretly one of the smartest wizards in the school, he has little talent when it comes to dancing. As he watches his youngest brother take to the floor with the head of Gryffindor, George feels something close to dread settle like lead in his stomach.

He would need help, and he would need it fast, especially if he wanted to ask Margot Banbridge to the ball. Margot – the girl who had caught his attention at the beginning of the month with her secret smiles and wide blue eyes. George so desperately wanted to be the one to take her to the Yule Ball, but then again, so did many of the other lads in the year. George needed to stand out and being able to dance would be the perfect way to do so.

-------------

The common room is loud that very evening. All students talking about the upcoming ball and the lessons completed today. Ron’s face was still red from his dance with McGonagall; he would never live this down. However, for now, George wasn’t too concerned on joking with his brother, but rather how he was going to solve the predicament he finds himself in.

“What do I do, Fred?” George pleads to his twin, “I have no idea how to dance!”

Fred laughs, “Can’t help you there, mate. I’m just as clueless as you.”

George groans; resisting the urge to shove his face into a cushion and wallow in self-pity. If he didn’t know how to dance, how could he impress Margot?

“Talk to (Y/N),” Hermione offers, absentmindedly turning the page of the heavy hardback laid in her lap, “She dances as a hobby. She might be able to help you, George.”

“Do you think she would?” George asks, worry niggling the back of his mind. He had so rarely spoken to you before despite being in the same house, “We’ve never really spoken before.”

Hermione nods, “I think she would. She’s always been kind to me when I’ve asked her for help.”

George smiles; nodding at his younger brother’s friend. “Alright,” He decides, “I’ll talk to her tomorrow.”

--------------

You could feel his gaze burning a hole into the back of your head. All morning, in every class your shared with the Weasley twin, his eyes had rarely left the back of your head. By morning break, it had started to get on your nerves. By lunch, you were more than ready to accost the redhead and demand the reasoning behind this newfound attention he seems intent on giving you.

Pausing outside the Great Hall, you move to one side to let younger Gryffindor’s pass. Out of the corner of your eye, you see George pause, turning to his twin to look as if he wasn’t just following you for the sake of it.

“Weasley!” You shout. George jumps; not out of terror, but out of being caught ogling so openly. Fred laughs as he leaves his twin to talk to you. George rubs a hand across the back of his neck, “(Y/N)… fancy seeing you here.”

You roll your eyes, “What do you need?”

“What? What makes you think I need something from you?” George questions; slightly affronted at your sudden jump to his needing of something, even if it was right.

You place your hands on your hips; shooting him an unimpressed look, “This is the longest conversation we’ve ever had in our whole seven years of education so it’s safe to say you want something from me. That, and the fact that you’ve been burning a hole into my head all morning so what do you need, George?”

George sighs; running a hand through his too long hair, “Hermione said you would be able to help me.”

Your face softens at the mention of the bright witch; you had a soft spot for the younger girl, her knowledge and thirst for witchcraft something to be found as inspiring. “What did Hermione say?”

“That you dance as a hobby and that you might be able to teach me.”

“Hermione is right on both counts. I do dance, and I am able to teach you,” You state, “But why do you need to be taught, George?”

George leans closer to you; his voice dropping to a whisper as he confesses, “I want to ask Margot Banbridge to the Yule Ball.”

“Ah,” You sigh, “So it’s all for one night with a girl.”

George frowns, “It’s for more than one night. Hopefully something will start after the Yule Ball, but I need to be able to impress her first and not step on her toes.”

A small smile graces your face as George struggles to get through the sentence without blushing. “Meet me every Saturday in the Room of Requirement. I’ll teach you how to dance.”

“You will?” He asks; hope shining in his voice.

“I will, but I’m doing this to protect the poor girl’s toes, Weasley,” You state sternly; your smile lingering at the sweetness of the redhead.

George nods solemnly, “And it’s a service you shall be recognised for. Thank you, (Y/N).”

Without helping it, a smile crosses your face. Grabbing your bag, you hoist it up on your shoulder, “Room of Requirement on Saturday at 10am, Weasley. Don’t be late.”

-------------

By 10am on Saturday, George can only be described a bundle of nerves. He had barely made it through breakfast; Fred teasing him all the way through it as Ron and Harry laughed along with him. The only support he found was in Hermione who seemed genuinely pleased that he had asked for help. George sent her a small smile as he managed half a piece of toast before rushing from the Great Hall; frantic about not wanting to be late for his first lesson with you.

His hands shake as he walks past the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, thinking of you and your whereabouts. The door appears after his third walk past and George hurriedly tugs open the door before he can talk himself out of it.

The room in which you have conjured reminds George of the Hall in which McGonagall had taught her first and only dance lesson. However, you’ve conjured a whole wall of mirrors that have a bar running across the middle.

George pauses in the entryway as the large wooden door slams shut behind him. The noise still hasn’t alerted you to his presence as you fiddle with a record player, a small collection of vinyl’s laid out on the small table. He watches you twiddle with the settings; the volume dial and checking that the needle is secure before turning to survey the room.

You jump when you spy George standing by the door. You greet him with a large smile, beckoning to him with an outstretched hand, “Come on in, George, I don’t bite.”

George laughs despite himself; stepping further into the large room. “What is this place?” He asks.

You turn around; arms stretched wide as you explain, “This is what the dance studio back home looks like. It’s where I spend all my time when I’m home for the holidays, so I bring it here when I can.”

“It’s wonderful,” George comments; breathless at the sheer amount of detail and personality personified by the room. He barely knows you, yet he realises he’s standing in an incredibly personal room that you’ve trusted him with. He feels honoured that you’ve put this much trust in him already.

You smile at him in thanks before turning your attention back to the vinyl’s littering the small table. You tap your fingernails against the table as you sift through the records, trying to decide which would be best to start with.

It takes a moment or two, but eventually you settle on a vinyl catering to classical music. You turn to George, holding the cover up for him to see much to his dismay, “The first few dances will be to instrumentals I’m afraid, so it’ll be classical for now.”

George frowns, but he nods, nonetheless. He’s never been a fan of classical music; not understanding the feelings that could be evoked from it. He needed lyrics in order to feel something; he needed to hear the pain or joy in the singer’s voice for him to feel the true extent of the song.

“First things first, show me what you think a hold looks like.”

George raises his arms; only feeling slightly foolish as his right arm stretches out and his left arm curls around an invisible body. His left splays across an invisible back, and he watches you appraise him.

“Am I okay to touch you?” You ask; not wanting to make him jump as you start grabbing his arms. At the nod of his head, you start to feel his framework, checking for where it lacks in definition.

It takes the better part of fifteen minutes to explain why his frame is essential to the dance when George believed that it would be his footwork that solely mattered, but by the end of your rant, he understands it all a lot better.

Then you move onto the footwork. Explaining to George that spending every minute of the song staring down at his feet was going to cause more issues than anything. You can’t help but laugh slightly each time he steps on your foot; he apologises with such sincerity that it’s hard not to forgive him either though you know your feet will be bruised tomorrow. However, as the song finishes and the needle begins to click onto empty record, you feel that George has what it takes to become a good enough dancer to woo Margot.

Breaking the hold, you rush to the record player, lifting the needle from the record and setting it to one side. “Tell me about Margot, George. Why her?” You ask as you pat your face down with a towel and grab a bottle of water, offering another to George.

George shrugs, taking the offered water bottle, “She’s gorgeous, and she’s ridiculously talented in Charms and Transfiguration.”

“Huh,” You comment.

“What?”

“I don’t know,” You reply, shaking your head with a smile George couldn’t define, “I didn’t think you would favour brains over looks for some reason, but you’ve surprised me.”

“Have you got a date?” He asks; curiosity getting the better of him.

You shake your head, “No date, but I am going to the ball with a group of my friends. It’ll be a good night; I’m looking forward to it.”

“It will,” George echoes; mind faraway, to a night in the future where he grabs and keeps the attention of Margot.

“All we need to do now if get you ready for it. You’ll be a pro in no time, Weasley.”

“You think?”

“I don’t think, I know,” You gloat, a smile crossing your face, “If we continue to meet every week until the ball, you’ll be waltzing Margot into a tizzy.”

George barks out a laugh at your words, heading for the door, “I’ll see you every Saturday then.”

“Every Saturday,” You echo as George leaves. You shake your head; vaguely wondering about the outcome of these lessons.

--------------

Two weeks into the lessons and a friendship forms between yourself and George. He was so enthusiastic; he was happiness personified. It was hard not to find yourself caught up in his retellings of pranks he was behind, or stories of being at home over the holidays. He had a knack for storytelling; punctuating in the right places and creating a set up that had your sides hurting from laughing so hard.

You find yourself sitting with his friends more – at meal times and in the common room; getting to know the rest of the golden trio other than Hermione, and finally meeting Fred Weasley.

“So you’re the one who’s been teaching our Georgie how to dance,” Fred states; mischief in his eyes and a smile on his lips.

“I am,” You comment, smiling politely, “He’s doing well, if you wanted to know.”

Fred grins, reaching for the jar of orange juice in the centre of the table, “I don’t doubt it.”

George rolls his eyes at the small conversation taking place between you and Fred. You smile at his reaction, but also at the blind faith placed in George by his twin brother.

“You should have seen him the other night, (Y/N),” Fred cackles, “He was practicing some footwork, stating that he needed to get it right before your lesson.”

“You weren’t?” You ask George; delighted in the blush staining his cheeks.

“I was,” He admits shyly, “But it was that really tricky part that I couldn’t get last time.”

“That’s adorable, Georgie,” You coo; reaching over to pinch his cheek. He bats your hand away with a laugh but keeps hold of your fingers for a tad longer than he should have, enjoying your attention and the sound of your laugh.

“How did you get into dancing?” Ron asks; voice curious as he munches on a piece of toast.

“It was something my mum signed me up for when I was four years old and it grew from there.”

“Do you mainly dance ballroom?” Hermione asks; eyes bright as she basks in the happiness to have her older friend sit with her usual friends.

“Not just ballroom,” You state, “I tap dance too as well as some ballet.” At their wide eyes you backpedal, “My mum wanted me to have the grace and dexterity of a ballerina before she realised I much preferred the other two. I finished ballet when I was thirteen, but I still do the stretches,” You shrug, “They help with the warm ups for other dances.”

George grins; eyes darting between you and his friends, “What did I tell you? She’s a wonder.”

You roll your eyes, “You’re only calling me that because you feel guilty for how often you step on my toes.”

Fred snorts, “Does that often does he?”

George blushes; reaching for his drink. You shake your head with a laugh, “Not now. He did a lot in the beginning, but he’s much better now.”

George’s blushes deepens as the warmth of your words settles on your skin and he meets your eyes. The gaze holds; both of you forgetting you’re sat at a table with friends as you both smile softly at the other.

Someone clearing their throat has you breaking the gaze with George. Your face heats as you meet the interested stare of his twin brother; Fred’s eyes darting between you and George as if seeing something that wasn’t obvious for the two of you.

Conversation starts up again; Fred talking to George and Ron asking Harry about a piece of homework. As their voices gather around you, you give yourself a moment to come to terms with the feelings raging in your body. You let yourself have a single instant in which you wonder whether this friendship has developed into something more for you.

-------------

A week before the ball and you’ve accepted your feelings for the redhead. You’ve accepted that in just over a month, he’s not only formed a friendship with you, but he’s also gotten you to fall in love with him. At eighteen years old, the world tells you that you’re too young to know the meaning of the word, but what else could describe the way you feel when you look at him? What else could explain the racing of your heart when he meets you outside your classes, an arm ready to grab your bag?

At eighteen years old, the world expects you to know so much, but not your own mind. However, at eighteen years old, you know that you’re in love with George Weasley, and all from him asking you to teach him how to dance.

“What do you think? Ready to practice a waltz, George?”

He laughs lightly; the sound being music to your ears, “Let’s try a waltz.”

From the moment the needle meets the vinyl, George has his hold ready. You glide into it seamlessly; hands joining together as George begins to lead you through the one, two, three steps of the waltz.

Distantly, you hear the music sounding from your record player. Distantly, you hear your footsteps on the wooden floor, but all you can focus on is how good it feels to be in George’s hold. To have his hands on you; how warm they feel against your skin and just how much you want him closer to you.

He continues to lead you round the floor; his eyes not leaving yours as his grip on you becomes tighter. Your mind heads into overdrive; wondering how it would feel to have his hands on different parts of your body; how he would react if you leaned forward that little bit and kissed him.

“I’m feeling a little dizzy…” You murmur; whether it’s from the spinning or from the close proximity of George, you can’t tell.

“Kind of lightheaded?” George asks; a small smile on his face, “Me too.”

“Maybe we should…” You trail off; truly not wanting this moment to end as George pauses mid spin.

“Stop spinning? I think we should too.”

“We have stopped,” You say; refusing to drop the hold, refusing to leave him.

George shakes his head; his mind becoming clearer as he comes too from the daydream he found himself in as he spun you around the Room of Requirement.

Neither of you know how long you stand there; his hand on your waist and yours on his shoulder. Neither of you know how long your chests heave; from the breathlessness of the dancing, but also from the hormones and emotions flying about the room that neither of you are truly ready to address.

Stepping back - protecting your heart mainly - you drop the hold, moving off to the side where your bag waits for you. George opens and closes his mouth a few times; unable to find the words he wants to say, unable to comprehend the feelings coursing through his body this very minute.

Holding your bag to your chest, as if having a physical barrier between yourself and George will stop the cracking of your heart, you whisper, “I think you’re ready, George.”

“You do?” He asks. They aren’t the words he wants to say; they aren’t the words that are carved into his heart, mind, and soul, but they are what he says because he can see the look on your face, and he doesn’t know what to do.

You nod, trying your best to stave off the wobbling of your lip and the breaking of your heart until you’re back in your room. “Yeah,” You say; smiling weakly, “You’re ready, Georgie. Go get your girl.”

You leave him there; rushing from the room with the last of your broken heart trailing behind you. The tears begin to fall on your way back to the common room; unable to look anyone in the eye as you sprint to your room and throw yourself on your bed.

Hiding your face in your pillow, you barely repress the scream that’s been working its way out of your chest. The way your heart was cracking in your chest, you felt certain the whole school could hear it. You felt the fool; how could you not fall for him? How could you not fall for every aspect of him? You saw him at his most nervous and you saw him at his most confident; you saw every aspect of him, and your heart gave itself so willingly that you hadn’t even noticed until it was too late.

It was too late. He was ready; he could waltz the night away with Margot and he would be none the wiser to your feelings. There was no need for him to know just how he made your heart race, or how he was the reason behind most of your smiles these days. He didn’t need to know how he featured in your daydreams; distracting you from classwork.

He didn’t need to know any of that because by the end of the Yule Ball, he’ll have wooed Margot and you’ll have returned to your dance studio alone.

-------------

The dance studio feels cold without him; as if in the sort time you had been teaching him, it had also gotten used to his warm presence and the light he exudes.

Following your old routine, you select a record and place it on the player. Setting the needle down, you roll your neck, stretching your muscles out as the first song begins to play.

Needless to say that while you lose your body to the music, the steps being second nature to you, you do not lose your mind. Your feet follow the steps, but your mind does not quieten as it flips through images of what George could be doing right now. How his hand would feel on small of Margot’s back; how his hand would clasp hers tightly as he leads her confidently around the dancefloor.

You hadn’t been able to attend the ball in the end. Too afraid of what you might see, and what you might feel. Too afraid to meet the eyes of those you now class a friends and see the pity reflected in their eyes as you realise that your feelings for the Weasley twin had been obvious to everyone but him.

You gasp as you catch movement in the corner of your eye; regretting leaving your wand so far away on the table. You hold a hand to your heart as you face whoever had found your room.

He stands just in front of the door; chest rising rapidly as if he ran to all the way here.

“George?” You question; automatically stepping closer to the redhead, your heart starting to sing at his very presence. Every part of you wants to reach for him, but the logical side of you makes you wait.

“I waited for you,” He states plainly with no greeting, “I waited for you and you didn’t come.”

Your eyes drop to the floor as you confess, “I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t watch you with her.”

You couldn’t watch from the sidelines as George danced the night away; dancing what you had taught him. It only felt like further punishment, and for now, you had had enough of that.

“I waited for you,” He repeats.

“Why?” You ask; needing to know.

“I couldn’t take her. Not after our final dance lesson, it wasn’t fair to her or to you. So I didn’t take her. Instead, I waited outside the Great Hall for over an hour, hoping you would make an appearance. When you didn’t, I had to come find you. I knew you would be here.”

You sniffle, “You came for me?”

George nods, “I realised something after our final lesson.”

“What?”

He steps further into the room; striding forward until he stands in front of you. He tilts your face up sing two fingers; his eyes shine with happiness as he whispers, “I don’t want to dance with anyone but you.”

“You don’t?”

“I don’t. If I’m to dance with anyone, it’ll be you. I think we were meant to be; don’t you agree?”

You nod your head, faintly brushing your lips against his as you whisper, “I agree. I think we were meant to be.”

********

General (HP) taglist: @chaotic-fae-queen @theweasleysredhair @harrypotter289 @kalimagik @heloisedaphnebrightmore @nebulablakemurphy @figlia--della--luna @idont-knowrn @birdie-writes @big-galaxy-chaos @black-lake-confessions @annasofiaearlobe @imboredandneedalife @levylovegood @mytreec @haphazardhufflepuff @teheharrypotter @chaoticgirl04 @accio-rogers @starlightweasley @dreaming-about-fanfictions @lestersglitterglue @msmimimerton @obx-beach @izzytheninja @slytherinprincess03 @bbeauttyybbx @breadqueen95 @acciotwinz @kashishwrites @slytherinsunrise @kylosleftbuttcheek @remmyswritings @xfirstfemale-marauderx @they-write-once-in-a-blue-moon @ria-rests-here @superbturtlemakerathlete @inglourious-imagines @now-its-time-for-a-breakdown @ithilwen-lionheart @ilovejjmaybank​

George Weasley taglist: @susceptible-but-siriusexual @ickle-ronniekins

[daredevilexchange]

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What’s your fannish ID? i'm found under the name "michasartdump" on pretty much all socials! :D only exception being instagram (michaasartdump)

What types of fanworks do you create? as the name already hints, i mainly create digital art! i sometimes also make other stuff though. :] i just love being able to share my thoughts through my art hehe What are your favourite types of fanworks, when you’re not creating? really just everything 😔 there can never be enough fanworks no matter what it might be 😌

What do you like in particular about this fandom? i am a big sucker for mattfoggy and my friend journey and i literally cannot stop talking about them 😔 i don't often interact with fandoms directly (except when i post art for it) but when i do i love to see other peoples interpretations of certain characters or scenes or just in-depth analysises of those same characters/scenes!

Do you like participating in fan events? i always want/try to, but i'm either too young to participate or i don't have time/am going through art block 😭 so i prefer to just see what other people create while i sit on the sidelines :,))

What about your creating process? i really just listen to music matching the vibe of my art when i draw stuff, but it depends on the day im having

Do you interact a lot with other fans? i usually love interacting with other people and talk to them about my favorite characters/medias, but most of the time i'm too scared/shy 😔 but umm,,, if anyone wants to talk to me about my fandoms..... I'M RIGHT HERE HELLO

Is there any particular piece you'd like to showcase for this post? https://michasartdump.tumblr.com/post/673323359898075136/the-devil-of-hells-kitchen this one! i'm kinda sad that it flopped because i really enjoyed drawing this one, and i'm still super proud of it 😌

Do you have other fandoms you’d like to talk about? well i obviously really love marvel (comics, tv shows and movies) and i've been mainly creating 616 hawkeye content the past few months :] which was probably also my first real introduction to daredevil (thanks to hawkeye: freefall and hawkeye vs deadpool). after that i've been meaning to watch the show, but kept forgetting about it. THEN spider-man no way home dropped and, well, then i binged everything in less than a week. some of my other fandoms are d:bh, twdg, portal 2, the witcher (tv show and games), overwatch and more recently, genshin impact. :D though i don't really create much for those fandoms.

Is there anything else you want to tell us about yourself? my name is micha, i'm 16, and i'm a trans guy (my pronouns being he/him/his) from germany, who's really just trying to have a good time on the internet :] i also play the guitar and i love collecting merch for my favorite characters!

Where can your fanworks be found? mainly on twitter, instagram and tumblr!! i also use the tag "#michasartdump" on tumblr if you want to find my art quickly! :D

Thank you, @michasartdump !

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[pencil-merchant]

Okay so…

I don’t really think that concept I have so far is anything you could possibly draw a concrete picture with but idk, I thought you might still like to hear about my 10th class oc and I really wanted to share them with someone…

So, their name class name is:

The Postman

He goes by he/they pronouns and they are of Irish-Italien origin. Also, he’s 35 years old!

I like to imagine that they have red hair and A LOT of freckles… He’s got a moustache which is lightly twisted at the ends and his eyes are a murky brown-green. Their ears are kinda protruding which stands out even more because he nearly always wears a paddy cap, actually he’s got a little collection of paddy caps and a single top hat which they cherish especially.

He’s a about 178 cm tall and a true lightweight (as in weight…but also concerning alcohol). They wear a shirt with rolled up shirtsleeves and a sleeveless greyish vest over that. Their pants are similar to Scout’s but checked and instead of socks it’s gaiters on his calves.

Lastly (for his looks and outfit), they carry a postman bag (hence his name) and like to wear a lot of earrings…

Concerning his weapons:

Primary: ink musket (shot at someone from not too far away with this thing and there is very high possibility that they won’t be able to see clearly for quite a bit… just think of the effect of bloopers from mario)

Secondary: A bike (there is gonna be bikes all over the map and only the postman can use them to run over opposing players or transport teammates faster from A to B… insignificantly slower that Scout)

Melee: A letter opener, wait, two letter openers and yes they can kill, don’t let him near you!

He loves to be sarcastic and jokes around a lot. Simultaneously they are really pessimistic and have to be told to just shut up before match because otherwise he’ll tell everyone that the chances of them winning aren’t as high as they make themselves believe etc. …Hey, he’s being realistic here… yeah no, he just lacks the right spirit sometimes.

If you call this man he’s gonna write you a ten page letter back.

Used to work at a post office and as a postman and got the calves and arms to show for it.

You don’t want to know how often they “accidentally” cut one of there fingers of while playing around with what he calls “letter openers”.

Don’t trust him to know his own limits.

Thank you so much for telling me! they seem like so much fun :D

i hope i didnt miss anything

[nagito-kissmaeda]

A Lapse In Judgement - Part 5

CHAPTER ONE: A Dangrous Present CHAPTER TWO: A Past Forgotten CHAPTER THREE: A Foreshadowing CHAPTER FOUR: One Possible Conclusion CHAPTER FIVE: Untethered

Komaeda Nagito x Ultimate Empath!Reader

Summary: Just a normal day at Hope's Peak Contains: she/her pronouns, gitches, blood and gore, rejection Read on AO3

“So. Are you doing it today?” Koizumi asks, giving you a knowing smirk from her desk. It is a good ten minutes into lunchtime and the afternoon sun is cascading in through the open window. It’s a beautiful day, and you would usually be outside if you didnt have more important matters to attend to.

You are halfway through sealing a very fancy envelope with a collection of decorative stickers, but you still manage to shoot Koizumi a glare. Pointedly staring at her left cheekbone instead of into her eyes.

She laughs, “hey, no need to get all feisty with me. I’ve just seen you toiling away at that letter for over a week now, I’m glad you’ve finally finished it.”

You hum, peeling a sunflower shaped sticker from a sticker sheet and affixing it over the back flap of the envelope, “I had a lot of things to say, and I’m not a very good writer.”

“You sure as hell aren’t!” Another voice scoffs from behind you, and you turn to see Saionji sitting on her desk, swinging her feet back and forth. She clears her throat, “An except: my cheeks burn, my stomach twists! ” Her interpretation of your work is offensively overacted, she clutches her chest and bats her eyes, “ When your eyes lock with mine my heart flutters, when your lips form the syllables of my name I-“

Koizumi throws a pencil at her, you are eternally grateful.

“You memorised it?” You hiss, clutching the envelope protectively

“Yeah, duh.” Saionji rolls her eyes, “I read it over your shoulder like three days ago, it was so funny I had to write it down.” She smirks, “I already showed it to a buncha people.”

“Ugh, what the hell , Saionji?” You exclaim, pressing more stickers to the front of the envelope as angrily as someone can manage, “it’s very personal!”

Koizumi sighs, “yeah Hiyoko. That was pretty insensitive of you.”

You hear the beginnings of some classic Saionji fake tears, but force yourself to ignore it. Popping the cap off of a sharpie and inking a name on the front of your envelope. You try to write as neatly as possible, but it’s hard when your hands are shaking.

“So. Who’s it for?” Saionji asks, over her crying fit already. She leans in to take a peak and you hide the name with your forearm, glaring at her again, “What are you so embarrassed about? Is it someone gross?!”

You don’t answer, your glare grows deeper, but Saionji ignores it.

“Oh yuck! Is it Souda? Is it Hanamura?????”

Koizumi clicks her tongue, but a playful smile tugs at her lips, “yeah if it’s Hanamura we might have to disown you.”

“It’s not Hanamura.” You mutter, resting your chin on the palm of your hand, “just stop trying to guess. It’s only making me more nervous.”

Sitting up from her desk, Koizumi comes over and rubs your arm encouragingly, “hey, I’m sure whoever it is will say yes. You’re great, and your talent is really cool.”

You avert your eyes, “my talent isn’t cool, everyone thinks I’m weird.”

“Yeah, iunno, Koizumi-chan.” Saionji says, “I get shivers up my spine whenever she looks at me with her creepy eyes.”

You gesture weakly in Saionji’s direction, “see? People don’t like having their emotions read, it’s invasive and gross.”

“Hey.” Koizumi starts, giving you a soft smile, “look at me.”

Your gaze is intently focussed on her right eyebrow when you say, “I am looking at you.”

She laughs, “ No , look at me.” She points to her eyes, “right here.”

You swallow. Since starting high school you made a valiant effort to avoid using your talent, people always thought you were weird and creepy, it was hard to make friends, “Come on.” She says, placing her hand over yours, “You can trust me.” you take a shaky breath, and meet her eyes.

Protectiveness, warmth, friendship

You feel yourself soften a little, and Koizumi smiles, “okay. You get it now? We’re your friends. Hiyoko and I are going down to the cafeteria, you stay up here and do whatever you need to.” She stands upright and heads to the door, Saionji falling into step beside her, “let us know how it goes.”

Saionji sticks her tongue out, but does follow it up with a quick, “good luck!” before following Koizumi out of the classroom.

Now that you are alone, your heart starts to race. The envelope feels heavy and almost frightening in your hands. This crush of yours has lasted almost a year now, and this is going to be your first attempt to actually do something about it, you’ve never done anything like this before in your life.

You take a deep breath, and pull yourself up from your desk. Knees wobbling as you head over to the desk of Nagito Komaeda, and slip the envelope inside. Saionji would have teased you relentlessly if she knew it was him the love letter was for, but people think you are weird, and people think he is weird. Being the two weird kids in class meant that you spent a lot of time together, group projects that no one wanted to chance his luck with, or that no one wanted to spend multiple classes avoiding your line of sight during. He liked your talent, he trusted you to be respectful and careful of his feelings. Also his hair looked soft.

The letter asked him to meet the sender around the back of the gym after last period. It did not mention you by name. Until then, you were just going to spend the rest of your day completely normally. So you gave Komaeda’s desk one final look and headed back out of the classroom to go meet Koizumi in the cafeteria.

“Oh! Hey!”

You look down the hallway and see Hajime Hinata jogging up to you. You don’t know him particularly well, he sits at the front of the class at the desk by the window. The front row has five desks, the others only have four, Hinata’s desk is out of line with the rest of them. Like it was an afterthought.

“Hello.” You reply, keeping your gaze focussed on his nose instead of his eyes, “How are you?”

He gives you an awkward smile and rubs the back of his neck with a hand. You notice that his uniform looks weird on him, but you can’t place why. It fits, but it looks like it is moving and shifting on his body in ways that are unnatural, you don’t point it out, “I left my lunch in my desk. I’m coming back to get it.”

“Ah.” You say, “do you want me to wait for you?”

Before he has time to answer, you see a familiar figure coming down the hall and you instinctively grab Hinata by the wrist and tug him down to hide behind a row of lockers. You are too distracted, and don’t notice that Hinata’s uniform is black now instead of brown.

“What are you doing?!” Hinata hisses. You cup a hand over his mouth and hold completely still as Komaeda walks past the two of you and into the classroom. You notice that his vest is stained with what looks like gravy, luck related incident, you assume.

Once Komaeda isn’t visible anymore, you let go of Hinata and scramble over to the doorway. Peering around the corner as subtly as you can. He’s taken off his blazer and hung it over the back of his chair, and is in the middle of working his vest up over his head.

Hinata comes up behind you, peering around the corner as well, “What is Komaeda doing?”

“I think he has a spare vest in his desk.” You whisper, “you need to be quiet.”

Your heart is racing in your chest, and your fingers tighten around the doorframe. Komaeda lifts the top of his desk, and his brow furrows when he sees the letter. Gently picking it up and turning it around in his hand. At one point he looks around the room and you have to duck behind the door to make sure he doesn’t notice you. You can barely breathe.

“Wait. What did he just grab?” Hinata asks you, as the two of you lean back out. You don’t reply.

“Oh my god…” Hinata hisses playfully, “someone left a love letter in Komaeda’s desk?”

You’re still focussed on Komaeda’s long fingers as they slowly tear open the envelope, you see your sunflower sticker fluttering down to the ground. Biting your lip, hands shaking, trying to gauge any response.

“Oh my god!” Hinata hisses much less playfully, “ you left a love letter in Komaeda’s desk?!”

“Shh!!” You say, motioning for Hinata to zip it, “I’m watching.”

Komaeda’s eyes are wide as he starts reading, you can see his hands are trembling. Something you’ve written halfway down the page shocks him, he has to go back and read it again to confirm he understood it properly.

“Hmm...that was probably the bit I wrote about how nice his hands are.” You whine nervously, “oh god , I’ve made myself seem like a creep haven’t I?” You whisper, turning back to look at Hinata.

“Komaeda is not the sort to get creeped out.” Hinata mumbles, “I didn’t even know you liked him.”

Your other hand wraps around the doorframe as you lean out a little more, trying to get a better view of Komaeda’s face, “that’s the point of a secret.”

“I don’t understand why you didn’t just tell him. You know your talent would answer the question for you if you used it right?”

You huff, “I don’t want to use it. I want to be normal .”

“Ļ̴͕̳̮̏̊̌͝͠ͅi̷͕͋̇̿̈́͐̉̈̒̆͂̆͘̚͜͝k̵̨̹͍̩͂̎͑̔̏͂́̽͛͋̓͝e̶̦̣͎͕̦͈͉͖͆́̈́̈́̋̓̊̕ ̵̛̛̛̟̩̺͉͛̄̉̈́͗̃m̷̢̢͖͇̣̞̱̮̱͕̥͂̌ĕ̷̺̝?̶̡̞̬̲͕̜̩̪̫̥̙̦̮͇̉̈̈́͘̚͝”

You freeze, so does Komaeda. The whole school comes to a standstill, “what do you mean, like you?”

When you turn to look at Hinata again, he is gone. You blink your eyes, maybe he just ran off? Either way, your attention was brought back into the classroom by a gentle gasp.

Komaeda has a hand clapped over his mouth, chest heaving as he finishes reading the letter.

Your heart is racing, your knees are starting to hurt from crouching around the corner. You wonder if he knows that it was you

It was you

It wa̷̢̨̖̪̥̹̤̼̭͚͈͑͆͑͆͐̈̆̂̒̍̿́͝͝s you

It was you

It waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaā̵̡̪̦̰͚̭̩̼͎̪͈͋͛͗̃̕͜͝͝ͅạ̵̭͎̥̱͎̹̭̺̰͎̈́͐̒̕a̴̹̜̟̺̞̓͆͒͗͝ä̵̟̼̟̥͎͔̯̯̜́̌̈́̿a̵̹͖͍̙͇̘͍͕͙̅̅͊̌̈́̒̃ạ̴̢̗͉̘̰͉̺̹͍͛͐̆̊͐͘͘͝ͅä̶̡̮͔̹̩̪́̊͒̉̉̕̕͠ă̶̻̓̍̌̚ḁ̵̢̢̢̧̞̱̥̠͕͚̉̋a̴̠͇̻͉̘̐̿͆̄̀̈̀̅̋̅a̷̢̰̙̦̮̘̲̓͝ͅͅa̷̝͖̜̋̈͛̈́̐͌̾̓̃͘s̷̰̻̼̲͓̮̺͌̑̓̃͒̋̏͆̐͌̌̐ ̵̧̙̹̬̞̦̝̓͗͊͌͠ỹ̷̯̯̃́̃̎͋̈́̏̎o̸̩͉͍̗̯̠̙̬̱̩͔̾̅̊̂̾̿̍̌̓̌͘͝u̶̻̳̪̪̻͕̜͜

“Are you alright?” Sensei Yukizome asks.

You blink. Your eyes feel heavy, your brain feels like static. You’re back in class, sitting at your desk. The rest of 77-B has gone quiet, they’re all watching you intently, “I’m...fine.”

Yukizome cocks her head to the side, brows pulled tight with confusion, “Your head hit the desk pretty hard. Are you sure Tsumiki-san doesnt need to have a look at you?”

Not matter how many times you blink, the world never seems to fully come back into focus. You feel sick to your stomach, “What are we doing again?”

“You’re meant to be writing outlines for your practical exams. Descriptions of your strengths and weaknesses, that sort of thing.” She is starting to look very concerned.

You swallow and look down at your page. It’s completely blank, you haven't written anything this whole time, “I havent started…”

When you look over towards the window, your eyes lock on Hinata. He is wearing a white shirt with a green tie. His uniform is completely gone

(Why ạ̴̢̗͉̘̰͉̺̹͍͛͐̆̊͐͘͘͝ͅre there five desks in the front ro̸̩͉͍̗̯̠̙̬̱̩͔̾̅̊̂̾̿̍̌̓̌͘͝w? Why does our clạ̴̢̗͉̘̰͉̺̹͍͛͐̆̊͐͘͘͝ͅss have an odd number of students when no other do̸̩͉͍̗̯̠̙̬̱̩͔̾̅̊̂̾̿̍̌̓̌͘͝es?)

Your head is pounding, and you can feel a distant tether to someone you cannot see or hear. Aching like a phantom limb. You stand up.

“Something is definitely wrong” Yukizome says, backpeddling from your desk when you suddenly shoot up, “Do you want someone to take you to the sick bay?”

You shake your head, “I’m just going to stand by the window for a second. I’m just feeling a little dizzy.”

She nods slowly, “Alright, but if you don't start feeling better, let me know and i'll call your parents, okay?”

“Sure…”

As you walk over to the window, something makes you glance at Hinata’s paper. Something unspooling the memories in the back of your mind whispers, s̵o̵m̴e̶t̵h̵i̴n̸g̸ ̸i̷s̶ ̵n̴o̸t̸ ̵r̷i̵g̴h̸t̵.̵  

Hinata’s paper, which should be a detailed explanation of his talent. Is incomprehensible. A series of jumbled letters and numbers blurring and shifting on the page, like trying to read a book in a dream. Dread seeps inside you, and it becomes a full tidal wave when you look up at the window, and see Hinata is now standing outside. You whirl around and see only the empty space where an extra fifth desk once was, the Hinata inside the classroom is gone.

Ḧ̷̢͓̰̤́̍ḭ̵͎̋̈́̒n̸̩͎͋͐̃̊̑a̸̧͉̻̩͙͗̔̓̚ț̵͎̫͑̈́ḁ̴̛̫̞̫̒ ̴̡͇͙̄̒͛̋w̷̡̮͈̍a̴̧̘͙͌s̷͍̫̫͑̊ ̴̭͎͙̆͑̀͑ņ̷̩̈̌e̸̢̡̧͕͍͆̋̋͊̈v̷̳̼̎̌͐͘ȩ̸̙̱̮͆̂r̸͙̭͔͊̂̈́͘ ̴̧̗̣̠͚̉̏̈́͝͝ẗ̵͍̪́h̵̢̤̏̉ȩ̸̩͔r̴̮͐ē̵̘̰̼̕

Heaving a shaky breath you turn back to the window. You freeze. Eyes locked on the figure lurking down by the tree in the garden, he stands completely still, staring up at you with red eyes that you can feel nothing behind. A maw of darkness chews on you from all sides as your stomach tightens. You’re going to throw up.

The person. (Hinata?) his eyes don’t turn from yours.

nothing nothing nothing nothing

N̸̡̬͕͓̪̝̙̙͙̊͑̎̎̔̎̒͋́͑͜ͅǫ̶̛̗̺̖͊͊͝t̶̼̩̣͔͎̭̜̦͓̂͌͌̓̎͐͆́͜͝ͅḫ̵̢̞̙̯̳͍̼̜̥̰̝̉̈́̀͊͆͐̌͘i̸̡̤͌̓̔̐̂̈́̔̆̇̇̎͌̇ň̴̝̬͔̞̓̔́͛̋́̐̓̾̾͘̕͠ġ̴̢̲̩̼̠͓̗̭̯͍̱̔̈́ ̷̡̳͕͓̗̳͍̣̯̘͚͓̼̠̉̎ń̴͙͚̯̪̤̼̳̹̮̓͛̅̍́̔͒̐̑̏͜͝ó̶̢̪̋͐͋̋͑͐̃̐̀̃͝ͅt̶̢͉̺͕͉̥̽̈́͝h̴̨̨̟̣͇͙̖̉̀i̴̠̲͊͗̌͊̚͘͝ͅn̷̹͒͌͂̕ͅg̷̨͓͔͓͔̹̜̻̙̺͆̽̂͐ ̶̧̛̦̯͍͆͂̈̇̂̇̿͑̐̋n̸̨̧̧͇̼̖̗̗̦͑͆̈́̐̅̓͒̽͂̃̕͝o̴̧̳͎͕̟͒͗̈́̅͑̓́͛͝ẗ̷̨̧̛͍̬͕̫̬̻̰͓̳͗h̷͈̹̻̰̪͍͖͎̿̈́̀͌͌̊̕͜i̵̧̛̫̊̒̈͑̆̈́͘n̷̯̱̓͊̀ģ̶̧̫͇̦̰͕͈̖͓̃͘ ̵̢̨̡̪̪̯͈̾͆̿̃ͅn̵̢̞͚̠̩̦͙͈̰̻̱̩͗͜͜ơ̷̡̲̯̇̽̐t̵͚͓́̓̈́̊̏͌͑̐̋͐̅̈́͘h̶̢̗͈̖͉̪͚͔̏̽̈́i̴̡͍̜͇̗̬̩̺͎͈̐͐n̶̛͕̪̂̽̌̒̃̾̿͌̽g̴̗̲̰͈̜̳̮͙͓̼͍̒̅̂̐͗͋͛͗͜

and just before you bend forward and hurl all over your shoes. His eyes blink once . Bored.

There are stories being told behind your closed eyelids. Stories of death and pain. Your eyes are fluttering and spinning but they wont open, you can't open them. Your talent makes you sick, it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts-

“Ah, good. You’re awake”

Komaeda is sitting in a plastic chair to your right. You are covered from your feet to your collarbones in an itchy blanket. The room smells like hand sanitizer.

“Oh.” You whisper, “I’m in the sick bay?”

“Yes. You lost consciousness by the window.” He laughs nervously, “I carried you over. I figured that studying for the practical exam isn't really something I need to worry about. It’s all going to come down to my luck anyway.”

You nod slowly. Still trying to slot the pieces together in your head. What made you pass out again? Dehydration?

The world is swirling, Komaeda reaches a hand out as if to steady you. His face is little more than a blur and you try to grab his hand as a way to ground yourself as the bed below you feels intangible, “Hey…” He whispers, “are you…”

You squeeze your eyes shut, forcing yourself to focus only on the sound of your breathing. When you open your eyes again, Komaeda is still there, but everything else is gone.

“Are you okay?” He asks, his hair is longer and more unruly, the bags under his eyes are deep and purple. The sky behind his head is a shock of red and smoke, “Your hands are shaking.”

When your eyes snap down to where your hands are gripping his. Bile crawls up your throat, your breath is coming quick and sharp. This doesn't make sense, why is this happening? Your head spins and twists and your heart is beating a rapid tattoo in your chest. The hand that should be gripping Komaeda’s, is instead gripping the limp wrist of a woman's hand, a sickening mixture of purple and black blotting its once pale flesh, red fingernails resting on your wrist. Your other hand is gripping a needle and thread, shaking as you are halfway through tugging a length of fishing line through the bleeding stump of Komaeda’s left forearm.

You shriek and scramble backwards, head colliding with what is once again the wall of the school infirmary. Komaeda pulls his hand back, it is his hand again.

“Ah, sorry. I shouldn't have tried to touch you.” He laughs goodnaturedly, “Even someone who confesses their love to me is too disgusted by my filth. I should have known better.” he smiles, “This is why i must decline your affections, you see, for me to dirty you with my touch. It would be a waste.”

You want to comfort him, to pull him into your arms and tell him that his touch does the opposite of disgusting you, but you can't bring yourself to do it. The sound of your heart beating in your ears is thunderous, you can still smell the rotting flesh of the dead woman's hand, still feel the sting of smoke in your eyes.

S̵��̟̥̕͝o̵̧̯̔͛m̸̢̛͙̈́̋͛͜e̵̛̲͍̰̿̆͜ţ̶̰͐̈͆ͅh̴̟͐̕ḯ̶͓̤̏͝n̶͔͈̼̙͆̑͂̉g̵̩̖̔͊̊ ̸̢͚̆̐ͅi̶̻̋̔̕͝s̶̢̍̚ ̷̧͚̀͌ẁ̵̛̭̬̘̕͝r̶͎̖͈̋̓o̴̯̹̒̈͗̚n̴͙̲̂̽͘g̸͖͍̽̈́ ̷̫̘̠̾̊w̸͎̻̾i̷̳̮̫͊̏̇t̵̛͇̚h̴̤͙͆͗̍ ̷̨͚̹͇̃y̸̲̦̓̉́o̸͚͋̓͊͝ủ̶̹͖̈́.̵͖̔̔͋͘

Then. A realisation.

“Wait. Confess their love to you?”

“The note you left.” His head cocks to the side, “Did you forget? You had written so many kind things about me, I can't even believe half of them.” He sighs and his eyes attempt to meet yours. You stare at his shoulder instead, “I would not want you to waste your affections on me. You can do infinitely better.”

“Are you...rejecting me?”

Komaeda gives you a sad smile. The walls of the sick bay flicker and turn to static behind his head, “Please don’t misunderstand. You are wonderful, that you even confessed to me at all is...outstanding, you have so much to give and you shouldn't waste your love on someone who

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His mouth is still moving like he is speaking real words. But all you can hear is that one word repeated over and over and over. Your heart is racing, you have no idea what is happening. Komaeda is just talking like nothing is wrong, the world is turning to glass out of the corner of your eyes. Breaking and reforming again behind your eyelids.

Komaeda disappears, like he was just erased from existence and you suddenly realise that you are crying. One of the tears catches on your finger, and shimmers in ways that are unnatural. What is happening to you?

There’s a creaking noise on the other side of the room and you scramble backwards on the sick bed as the boy who looks like Hinata comes in through the door. He makes no move to approach you, he stands stiffly by the doorway and watches .

You wipe the tears from your face with the back of your hand, “who are you?! What have you done with Hinata?”

“I have done nothing to Hinata. His fracturing was yours and yours alone.” He says. His voice is familiar. It digs its claws deep inside of you.

“His... fracturing? ” A sob hiccups in your throat, “What are you talking about?”

The boy doesn’t answer.

“Can you please leave me alone? ” You sniffle, wiping away more tears, “I’m having a hard enough day as it is.”

“If it brings you comfort, you will ask Komaeda many more times.” The strange boy says, staring off into the middle distance, “he will say yes on the sixth.”

“Wha- He will…?” You whisper, “How do you know?”

His eyes turn to you and you get a crawling feeling under your skin, like he is looking straight through you, “This world is fabricated, but much of it is based in reality.”

“I...what?” You blink up at him, confused, “fabricated? What are you talking about?”

“A defense mechanism. All in your mind.”

You laugh nervously, “this isn’t a very funny joke…”

“I do not joke.” He continues staring, you refuse to meet his eyes, “use your talent. If you are too afraid to believe me.”

You swallow, “I...I can’t .”

“No. You won’t ” he sighs, disappointed, “a waste of potential, predictable. Boring.”

“Fine. If this world isn’t real, how are you here?” You say, “I doubt I would create someone just to ruin my own illusion.”

“I am not from here. I have been sent to help.” His eyes are empty, his expression unchanging, “Your world is crumbling, and you need to leave it.”

“Nothing is crumbling . What is wrong with you?”

“Your denial is wasting our time. Your mind is trying to make assurances where it should not, trying to put together the pieces of three different puzzles all at once and they just don’t fit.” He takes a few steps forward, eyes still boring into you, “This ideal world you have created is not sustainable, cherry picking the good parts of three separate lives does not result in stability. If you don’t leave here, the walls will collapse around you, and you will die in the rubble.” He reaches a hand out to you, “come with me. We’ll untangle the mess of your memories, then tell me how you feel about staying.”

You are hesitant when you take his hand. The moment feels significant, like a leap into the void. You are surprised at how warm his hand is, for some reason you had expected it to be cold. He doesn't lead you anywhere like you were anticipating, instead he presses his other hand on top of yours and closes his eyes.

The smell hits you like a wall. People always say that scent has a strong connection to memory and a fondness you have never known breathes life into your lungs. It smells like autumn, bitter winds and pumpkin spice. Sandalwood, a hint of cinnamon apple and…

“Komaeda?”

His eyes turn to you, his face tight with nervousness.

“Are you okay?”

He giggles nervously, the sound echoing in the empty classroom, “Oh, me? I’m fine! My concern is what will happen to you if someone walks in and sees us like this.”

When Komaeda says like this , he means sitting together on the windowsill. Not exactly scandalous, but his own perpetual self-loathing has morphed it into something downright sinful.

There’s a brisk wind dancing through the autumn leaves outside the window. Red and orange trapezing through the sky. Komaeda has a thick green scarf wrapped around his neck and his nose is turning pink in the cold. He looks adorable.

Your mouth pulls into a firm line and you clutch your hands together in your lap, “You know i'm not trying to hide you from anyone, right?”

“And that is very kind of you. I’m sure no one would judge you poorly for hiding our relationship.” He smiles warmly, “I am human garbage, after all.”

“Komaeda, I want to tell people.” You say, rotating in place to face him more directly, “You think i confessed my feelings for you six times as a joke?”

“I did consider that at first, but the more i think about it…” He averts his eyes, cheeks turning a little pink, “It does seem like your feelings are...genuine. No matter how misguided.”

You huff and leap up from the windowsill, facing Komaeda with your hands on your hips, “You want proof that i'm not ashamed of you? Fine. I’ll do it!”

“Huh?” Komaeda breathes, “You’ll do what ?”

It is with great purpose that you cross the room over to the blackboard. Grabbing a stick of chalk and writing in big looping letters, Nagito Komaeda and I are DATING , underneath you sign it with your name. You are not about to let this be misconstrued. Komaeda is more important to you than the opinions of your classmates, you are willing to let Saionji tease you for months to come if it means he understands just how much you care. You gesture at the blackboard, “Do you get it now?”

He’s just staring at you, one hand cupped over his mouth, eyes glimmering with the beginnings of tears, and something much warmer underneath, “But...but class is going to start again in 10 minutes and everyone will-”

You cut him off, walking back over to the windowsill and cupping his face in both of your hands. Brushing an errant tear away with your thumb, you smile, “I know . That’s kind of the point.”

He gives you a watery smile, reaching his hand up to interlock his fingers with yours where they rest on your cheek. He is shaking, but it's a good kind of nervous, you can feel it behind his eyes, “I don’t deserve you…”

You laugh and press your lips to his tear stained cheek, “Yes you do.”

Then, almost as quickly as it began. The memory fades, behind Komaeda’s head you watch the sun set and rise over and over, faster and faster. Yellow, orange, blue and then purple keeps crossing Komaeda’s face like someone is tipping over a bucket of paint. He’s still smiling up at you, a hopeful expression frozen in time and you realise with horror that you can no longer feel his skin under your hands.

“No…” you whisper, reaching out to run your fingers through his hair only to find it intangible. A sob cuts loose from your throat.

“A good memory.” A voice says from behind you. That boy who looks like Hinata is standing in the doorway. His hair seems longer and darker, the tips are kissing his jawline. You’d almost forgotten he existed, “I decided it best to start simple. Your mind would not have handled something more intense.”

The sun is still rotating outside the window, light cascading through the classroom and then fading into darkness every few seconds. Like a subway train passing by a station.

“Is this the future?” You ask, voice wavering.

“No. It is the past.” He doesn't give you the time to ask anymore questions, though he can tell that you want to, “The next memory will be difficult. I will not ask if you are ready, because you will not be.”

[tedesquire]

Hi! Could I please add another request to my list? :D it's based off a Hey Arnold episode in which Bill and the reader are on a week long school vacation and they run into each other at the beach and Bill develops a crush on a pretty girl who befriends him but the reader finds out the girl's only using Bill to win a sandcastle contest in order to be on the show Baywatch. The reader tries to tell Bill but he won't listen and he eventually overhears the girl talking with her boyfriend and tells her off only to win the contest with the reader and they confess their feelings? 💕💕

Summer Lovin’ 

Words: 2554

Warnings: cursing, female pronouns (but no genitalia mentioned and no skin color specified) a bit of angst (fluffy ending though)

Author’s Note: first of all, I fucking love Hey, Arnold! and definitely love Helga G. Pataki with all my heart. She’s a weirdo and I love it. I knew exactly what episode you were talking about. I can't believe you got me to write 13 pages of fanfic for such a specific and niche fandom, but hey, I don’t do this for the fame. I do this for the little bit of serotonin my brain gets when I imagine myself in scenarios with fictional characters because real men are disappointing. (Mod Olivia)

-

You hated Bill. You hated the stupid way his stupid blonde ringlets caught the California sun, the stupid vacant look in his stupid sapphire eyes at almost all times, the stupid fucking sliver of tan skin he exposed with his crop tops that he somehow got away with at school. Not to mention you loathed the stupid fucking grin that he gave to his best friend Ted, the one that proceeded the ridiculous laugh the stupid boy had.

All these things you despised, detested, and loathed with every fiber of your being. Simple annoyances beginning since kindergarten snowballed into a big, white burning ball of hatred for the boy. Hatred that made your cheeks heat up and stomach churn, just as it was doing now.

You had been so excited for Spring Break, your family deciding to travel 5 and a half hours to a beach house in Half Moon Bay. A week of the sun, sea, shopping, seashells, boardwalks, and salt-water taffy, with no Bill to bother you.

 So, naturally, when you had reached the beach after a long day of travel, the sight of Bill sitting on the sand in nothing but a swimsuit, skin glowing with tanning oil, made your heart stutter. Okay, perhaps you didn’t hate him… despise him, detest him, or loathe him entirely. From an outside perspective… some might even say that you were… in love with him. 

Oh God, it was true. You couldn't stop thinking about Bill. He looked like he was sculpted after an angel. A prince charming on a white horse. And what he lacked in academic intelligence he more than made up for with kindness. He always treated you with the utmost respect, while you paid him back in nothing but sarcasm and insults. 

You didn’t know exactly why you were so mean to him. Perhaps it was your nerves trying to stop you from getting overeager and admitting your crush. One day you were going to have to either man up and confess your feelings or get over him but that day didn’t seem to be approaching anytime soon. 

You were intent on pretending he wasn’t here, setting up your own place to sunbathe until you heard your name fall from his lips.

“Y/n!?” Bill walked up behind you, prompting you to turn around to face him. “What are you doing here?”

“Bill.” You stated dryly, “My family and I are staying nearby.”

“No way! My family’s right over there!” He pointed at a nearby beach house, a young woman who you recognized as recently-graduated and newfound wife, Missy Preston making out with Bill’s father on the porch. Ugh.

“Yes way.” You responded dryly. “We’re over there.” You pointed over your shoulder. “Isn’t this a coincidence, my ideal vacation ruined by the one person I didn’t want to see.” You noticed a flicker of disappointment flash in his eyes, but you couldn't stop yourself even if you tried. “Don’t get any weird ideas about getting all chummy with me, trying to hang out or anything. Just because we’re staying at the same beach and all.” You scoffed, causing him to flinch.

“Uh, yeah. Fine with me, y/n.” He rubbed the back of his head sheepishly before walking off. You eyed him, sighing softly. 

“What is the matter with me?” You mumble, setting yourself down on the sand. This would have been the perfect moment to get closer to him if only you didn’t have to open your stupid mouth.

[Bill’s POV]

As Bill walked off, he felt most confused. He could never remember what he did to make you dislike him so much, but tried to get back on your good side. Thankfully, with the sun, sand, and waves surrounding him, Bill couldn’t stay too upset for too long. 

He had decided to finally get in the water, heading towards the crashing shore when he had stepped on something.

Huh. Bill was met with the sight of a brightly colored bucket and shovel. Excellent! There was nothing more resplendent than a nice sand castle. Ted was going to be so jealous when he heard. All he was doing for the week was staying at home watching Deacon. 

Too caught up in his new activity, Bill barely noticed someone approaching him.

“That’s a stellar sandcastle you have there.” Bill’s eyes practically bugged out of his head. Growing up in California he had seen his fair share of tan beach babes, but this one took the cake. A total babe. Talking to me.... Say something, dude!

“Thanks.” Bogus. Thank God Ted wasn’t here to see him blow his shot so odiously.

She pushed her sunglasses down her nose to look over the lenses, her bright eyes meeting his. “My name’s Summer.”

“Bill S. Preston, Esquire.” He puffed up his chest, raking a hand through his hair. 

“Well, Bill S. Preston, Esquire, you seem to be a pretty great artist. That’s the best sandcastle I’ve ever seen.” His dark brows knitted in confusion, looking over her to see if she was teasing him. “I bet you’ll walk away with first prize from the sandcastle competition at the festival thing later this week.”

“Sandcastle competition?”

“Yeah! Whoever wins first place will get a guest appearance on Baywatch! But that’s not until the end of the week. How about, in the meantime, you can show me around the beach? It’s my first time visiting the bay.” Baywatch? That’s only the most triumphant show on television! Ted was going to be so jealous. 

“Sounds most excellent! However, It is also my first time visiting the bay. Perhaps… we could explore the area together?”

“I like the way you think, Bill.” She winked, sitting on the sand next to him, the pair getting comfortable.

“What the hell?” You mumbled, looking over your book to watch Bill cozying up with a stranger. Your heart twisted painfully, swallowing thickly, You had no right to be jealous, he wasn’t your boyfriend, not to mention you were cruel to him in every interaction, but that didn’t stop a bitter taste from forming on your tongue. 

You stood, collecting your things and trekking back to your beach house, the beach having lost its luster.

-

You were so over this vacation. You would have given anything to stay at home. It seemed everywhere you went, Bill and that girl seemed to be infecting the air with their infatuation. 

For the past two days you’ve had to suffer watching the pair on the beach splash each other with sea water, build sand castles, and sunbathe with each other; However, that was nothing compared to today.

You and your family had decided to spend the afternoon on the boardwalk. There you had to endure the couple on the carousel holding hands, feeding each other saltwater taffy, and watching the sunset by the wharf. Most fucking heinous. 

It was early evening, and thankfully, Bill and whatever her name was were nowhere to be seen. You didn’t know if you would vomit or cry every time Bill had given her that award-winning smile, the one you so badly wanted to be the recipient of. 

You didn’t think it could get any worse, until you had leaned against the pier, ears picking up a familiar voice, Bill’s. Your heart fluttered, only to sink back down when you realized he was still with her under the boardwalk, back on the beach. 

“Isn’t this amazing?”

“You are.” You scoffed at Bill’s attempt at flirting, ignoring the tightening of your throat.

“I’m so glad I met you.” She giggled. “I’ve never felt so comfortable with anyone.” 

If it had been any other couple, you might have enjoyed such a romantic conversation. This was all your fault, if you hadn’t been such a bitch to Bill on the first day, perhaps it would have been you and him hanging out at the boardwalk. 

“Can I see you tomorrow?”

“I’ll be here!” 

“Excellent!” You heard him scat in that ridiculous, high-pitched way he did with Ted when they mimicked a guitar. As he walked off, you smiled, not noticing you were crying until a tear slid down your cheek.

You were such an idiot. If only you were able to act normal for a fucking minute and effectively communicate with Bill about your feelings. You had fucked up, it was too late. 

“Hey!” You had heard her speak again, wondering if Bill had returned.

“Hey, babe.” That was definitely not Bill.

“It’s all going according to plan. I do believe Bill is falling head over heels for me.”

“Well who wouldn’t?” You rolled your eyes, angrily wiping the tears off your cheeks.

“He thinks I really like him. What a moron.” Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. What the hell was she talking about?

“If he’s as good as you think he is, we’ll for sure win the contest and end up on Baywatch.” It only took you a second to connect all the dots. This jabroni was clearly her boyfriend, and she was only flirting with Bill to win the stupid castle contest.

You had heard enough, running back to the beach in hopes of finding Bill. 

-

Fuck, all these beach houses looked the same. If Bill hadn’t pointed out which house he was staying at you would have no idea how you would find him.

You knocked on the door, praying you remembered the right house, and that Bill would answer instead of his hormonal parents. 

“Y/n?” Thankfully Bill did answer the door, hair wet from what you assumed to be a recent shower. “How’s it...hanging?” He stepped out onto the porch, shutting the door behind him.

“Hey. I’m sorry about being a dickweed earlier.” He seemed as equally surprised as you were by your apology. “Um, I guess I was just thrown off at your presence… that’s not really an excuse… anyways, the whole reason I’m here is about that girl you were with earlier.”

“Summer? What about her, dude?” Oh my gosh, of course her name was something as pretentious as Summer. 

“Well, I’m not exactly sure how to tell you this, but… She’s using you. I was on the boardwalk, and I had overheard you leaving, and I guess her boyfriend came up to her.. Long story short, she’s going to try and get you to build her a sandcastle to win that festival thing at the end of the week and take the credit so they can win the roles on Baywatch.” You met his eyes, swallowing thickly. “I’m sorry.” 

He stayed quiet, your eyebrows furrowing. 

“That’s heavy. I mean, I’m not stupid. You’re usually most cruel around me, and now you’re acting all...nice? I do not think I’m falling for this one.”

“You don’t believe me?” You couldn’t believe it. “I know I could be less of a bitch to you, but I’ve never lied to you in all the years I’ve known you. You just met her three days ago!”

“Y/n…” He spoke carefully. “I think you were correct when you said we shouldn’t try to hang out just because we’re staying at the same beach.” Your throat tightened, that sour taste returning to your tongue.

“Fine!” You hissed. “I don’t even know why I wasted my breath and time trying to warn you. God, I wish we had never come to this stupid fucking beach!” You ran off his porch into the sand, face burning with shame.

-

Bill couldn’t stop thinking about your interaction yesterday. He was barely paying attention to anything Summer was saying to him. He wished Ted was here. He always knew what to say.

He walked beside her on the boardwalk, eyes glued to the crashing waves, mind replaying the scene over and over again.

“Bill, are you listening?” Bill blinked, turning to face her, cheeks flushing.

“Sorry.”

“I said I’m going to get more sunblock, you’re looking a little pink.”

“Oh, thanks, babe.” He heard her walk off, zoning out again. You had looked so betrayed when he didn’t believe you, but, it couldn't be you were telling the truth. Why would you do something like that? All you seemed to do was glare at him, brush him off, and scoff at his jokes. It was clear he wasn’t your favorite person.

He snapped himself out of his thoughts once more, looking around to see if Summer had come back yet. His eyes caught her figure walking up the beach and he raised his hand to wave, stopping when he saw her wrap her arms around some unknown guy. He was too far away to hear what they were saying but knew what it meant when she had kissed him. Y/n was right. And I was so non-non-non excellent to her.

-

Sweat was dripping from Bill’s brow, his chest heaving as he panted. He could not remember where your house was, even if it was supposedly close to his own. It was the third time he had run up and down the coastline, trying to remember where you had pointed four days ago.

This was ridiculous, he was never going to find you… until Monday, when you both would be at school. But that was days from now!

“Y/n!” He fell to his knees in the sand, trying to catch his breath. 

“Bill?” 

“Y/n!” It was a miracle. He noticed the basket in your hands, having collected odd rocks, seashells and glass while walking along the shore. You had been trying to explore away from your house, hoping not to run into the very man who was looking for you.

“How’s it… hanging?” You asked awkwardly, scanning the area for the female that was usually seen by his side. “Where’s Summer?” He scrambled to stand in front of you.

“Y/n, you were most veracious last evening. Summer had been pursuing me with malicious intent. I caught sight of her embracing her boyfriend and I knew you were speaking the truth. I regret the way I treated you. I should have trusted you.”

“I mean… You had reason to doubt me. It’s not all your fault. Besides, it seemed as if she really liked you. I probably wouldn’t have believed me either.” You coughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of your head sheepishly. “Um, to be honest, I really only acted so bogus because I… like you.”

“No way…” He breathed, trying to recall any instance where it seemed you had a crush on him.

“Uh.. yeah. Yes way.” Your cheeks pinked. “But I obviously don’t expect you to return the feeling. I just get really nervous around you so I guess I figured I should treat you like dirt instead of trying to talk to you like a normal person. But I was worried you would think I was too weird, or that I talk too much, or-” You were cut off by a pair of lips. It was so foolish… and so Bill. 

“What about Summer?” You asked once he had pulled away.

“What about her?” It was just like Bill to not stay too upset for too long. 

His gaze was burning, his lips curling into that perfect, knee-melting, pearly smile. That smile you couldn’t stand. That smile that you couldn’t believe was finally directed at you.

[wolfstar-in-color]

July Creator Spotlight: Desicosplay

Hello, lovely people, and welcome to our second creator spotlight!

Each month, we will highlight a different creator in our lovely fandom who features diverse characterizations of Sirius and/or Remus. We will invite you to get to know them better through questions and answers, Fandom Discourse(tm), and a featured prompt created by our guest.

For our second spotlight, we are absolutely honoured to having the presence of @desicosplay, an incredible cosplayer and writer that if you don’t follow, you should do right away. They’ve gifted us with many, many amazing gifsets, a lot of them about Sirius. Below you’ll see a little snippet of the interview and Mastani’s prompt. Under the cut you’ll be able to read the full interview. Don’t forget to share and interact with this post, and if you have anyone you’d like to recommend for a spotlight, shoot us an ask!

“Diversity means celebration. So in fan spaces, that means actively seeking out creators that you might otherwise miss. It means trying out new perspectives, or listening to new perspectives on your favorite characters. It means standing with your peers, being loud in your love and support of them. I’m not saying you have to reblog or comment on everything. Diversity is not just visual, it’s also mental. Diversity needs to be intentional and active, even if that takes place just in your head.”

Mastani’s prompt: Muggle AU! Sirius and Remus at Harry’s sporting event!

Hi! I’m Mastani, she/they/he pronouns, I’m a 1.5/2nd Generation Indian-American, and I cosplay and write fanfiction!

Q: How did you start creating in the fandom? What did you wish to bring into the fandom?

A: Almost five years ago, Laina @ohtheclevernessofme1972 convinced me to join the HPRP community. She and everyone else were so supportive of my desire to bring my culture and background to the Harry Potter characters. Eventually, I also started writing fanfiction again!

Q: What things about s/r as characters or in their relationship inspire you to create around them?

A: I think that they are very complex characters that really demonstrate how external factors affect your life, whether you like it or not. Their relationship, whether platonic, romantic, or anything in-between or outside, is also so fascinating in its potential to evolve. Wolfstar is constantly changing, and all its interpretations are totally feasible to imagine.

Q: What things would you like to highlight about the Wolfstar fandom and your experience in it?

A: My main dips into the fandom are when I cosplay Sirius, and every time, I feel so much love. The fandom is so open to any interpretations of Sirius, and it does wonders to make someone feel accepted.

Q: What type of content do you wish you saw more in the fandom?

A: This is entirely self-indulgent, but Godfather/Uncle!Sirius just make me feel so warm inside. There’s a love inside Sirius that only gets touched upon inside the books. AUs where he gets to interact with Harry as a child or teen outside the pressure of a war are just so calming and warming.

Q: What is your favourite wolfstar fancontent (fic/fanart/gifset/etc) and how does it inspire you?

A: Y’all, I have so many Wolfstar fics saved that are just stunning and several that are comfort fics. I think the biggest takeaway from all of them is the comfort the boys find in each other. All of them are AUs, and I’m inspired to depict my Wolfstar as something kind, gentle, and communicative.

Q: Which of your own identities inform your creative processes? How has that process been for you?

A: All of them! But more specifically, my racial background informs most of my process. My process is… Sporadic, to say the least. However, when I do get struck with an idea, I have to create it almost instantly. One example, Wolfstar-related, is that my Sirius cosplay has long hair, half-up in a bun. I feel like desi!Sirius would celebrate his heritage by growing his hair long, which also is a nice, “screw you,” to societal and familial constraints.

Q: What advice do you have for other content creators with diverse backgrounds in the fandom? What would you say to people that might feel they don’t have the “right” history/experience/characteristics to participate in the creation of content related to Wolfstar?

A: think the best advice for participation I have comes from the iconic Jay @siriussly-serious, Rest in Power. “Go. Get in. Dive in. Fucking head first. Fuck that, cannonball your butt right in there and make a damn splash…” There is no, “right,” history/experience/background. These characters are fictional, but they can reflect our world. Our world is not homogenous. So why should fictional worlds and characters be that way? These stories are ours, and we shape them to be whatever we want them to be. If you want to create, that’s all the prerequisite you need.

Q: How could we build a more diverse fandom?

A: This blog is a great example of how to build a diverse fandom. Celebrating creators with diverse backgrounds and being loudly supportive of them makes us want to stay. Finding communities that celebrate, not just accept, can make a world of difference. So, raise your voice and love on your favorite creators.

Q: What’s your favourite thing to modify in Sirius’s or Remus’s characterizations to bring new perspectives to them?

A: I’m a huge communicator, so improving character communication is something I love to do. I like to create fluff, and this change lets me focus on the gentler parts of Sirius and Remus, or the parts that need some love, e.g. mental health. It also lets me flesh out their senses of humor more, like their dislike of cats (in my headcanons).

Q: What does diversity mean to you? What does that encompass in fanish spaces?

A: Diversity means celebration. So in fan spaces, that means actively seeking out creators that you might otherwise miss. It means trying out new perspectives, or listening to new perspectives on your favorite characters. It means standing with your peers, being loud in your love and support of them. I’m not saying you have to reblog or comment on everything. Diversity is not just visual, it’s also mental. Diversity needs to be intentional and active, even if that takes place just in your head.

Q: What are your ideas about the notions of culture and ethnicity? How do you relate to those notions?

A: I find culture and ethnicity to overlap in many ways, as they both pertain to group characteristics. I’m not an anthropologist, so I don’t know the detailed differences between the two. However, in my quick searches, it feels, to me, that culture is a bit broader and ethnicity is more geographic. So, I’m culturally Indian-American and ethnically Gujarati Indian (Gujarat is the state in India). I find these notions to be helpful when defining and describing my experiences. For example, among desis (and other brown folks), saying I’m generation 1.5/2 tells them that I straddle American/Western and Indian culture. If I tell another Indian that I’m Gujarati, they instantly know the kind of foods I grew up with and the language my parents speak. It’s a streamlined way of explaining my experiences, and as a science brained person, it makes life easier for me.

Q: Is there a page/organization/institution you would recommend for fans to search/read when it comes to learning about diversity?

A: With the tool that is social media, there are so many activists and creators that are willing and able to teach about diversity. On my page, I keep a page titled, “Resources for Justice.” This page has a wide variety of social justice resources on it. Google is great, but you also want to cross-check your sources. However, I feel like the best way to learn is to ask questions. Do so respectfully and ensure the person you’re asking has the energy/time/compensation to answer. Especially if you’ve done some research ahead of time, I find that many folks are willing to have a discussion - but again, check with the person first. Trust is paramount in these conversations.

Q: Is there a project/organization that you want to hype?

A: Oh, I could name so many. However, the ones I want to shout out here are Chrysalis - Gender Identity Matters and Raze Collective. As many of you know, Jay @siriussly-serious passed away recently, and in his name, we’re promoting/donating to these charities. Chrysalis - GIM offers online and in-person mental health support for trans and nonbinary people in his area and Raze Collective supports LGBTQIA+ performers. Ami @ami-acts and a few others (I apologize for not remembering exactly who - I’ll message the mods if I remember/please add on if you know) organized this. Links are below.

Donate to Chrysalis - GIM here.

Donate to Raze Collective here.

Q: Leave us with a quote or work of art that always inspires you

A: Is it too cheesy to say all of our fandom? To be totally honest, that’s who/what inspires me most of all. It’s a work of art, all the people in it make our fandom a work of art!