#usually to obvious to black and brown people

[redcherrykook]

𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙣 𝙥𝙞𝙘𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙚𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙛𝙧𝙤𝙯𝙚𝙣 𝙡𝙚𝙣𝙨𝙚𝙨 3!

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College Photography Teacher!Jungkook x Student!Reader

27 year old, stupidly handsome asshole teacher Mr. Jeon has absolutely no human decency, he believes your victim complex is what keeps you from ever achieving anything, letting people use you as a bridge. When something unexpected happens, the ice starts to melt as a foreign word called "empathy" enters his egocentric lense. Maybe he will finally manage to teach you a lesson now, since you keep failing his class.

(Mini series)- Episode three!

song recommendation: The heart wants what it wants- selena gomez

Content: Cold, mean, distant, unprofessional Jungkook, hurt, stubborn reader, enemies to lovers, lowkey dramatic, accident happens, mutually beneficial relationship (emotionally), Jk learns a lot from her, Jk is mean but has a soft spot for reader (eventually), 6 year age gap, Reader is from a struggling background, Jk kind of rescues her, happy ending, angst at first, fluff, smut, comedy/crack, bickering, college setting

Warnings: swearing, name-calling,mentions of an accident involving a biker, mentions of hospital, mentions of injuries, really mean Jungkook, i promise he gets sweet, mentions of trauma and abuse (non detailed), mental health struggles (semi detailed), arguments, alcohol consumption

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You're running around in a beautiful field, kissed by sun, however, when you listen closely...

Riiing

Riiiing

"God what the hell" you grumble, rubbing your eyes instinctively. Finally understanding you were infact not in a pretty field but instead awoken by that damn alarm, you turn to your phone, shushing the unbearable ringing.

6:45 am.

Confused and hazed by the morning, your brain still foggy and not quite caught up, you sit there, blankly staring at the wall.

Jungkooks wall.

Right, you are in your teachers house.

In his bed even, well, his guest bed.

Without knowing what to do next, you try follow your usual morning routine, a miserable attempt at normality. Like making the bed and opening the window.

Toothpaste, toothbrush, hairbrush, deodorant, moisturizer and fresh clothes in hand. On your way to the bathroom, starting an easy and clean morning

Opening the door you didn't think twice about seeing Jungkook, purposefully you had set the alarm early. Class doesn't start until 8:45, although it wasn't Jungkooks class today, he should be in school around the same time.

That would mean leaving at around 8.

So a little more than an hour earlier should do the trick just right.

"Look whos finally done sleeping"

His raspy voice makes its way to your ears,

Assumed wrong i suppose.

He's stood at the table in the living room, setting down a kettle and plates. Given the impression that he has already made breakfast, you wonder just when he wakes up in the mornings.

Most importantly, he's in the very same clothes as yesterday, loose grey sweats that sit lowly on his hips, a oversized black tshirt covering his torso. His brown- darkish hair is still a little rough from sleeping. Additionally to not wearing any glasses, he looks,

different.

You had always known that Jungkook was very physically attractive. You're stubborn sure, maybe a little slow.

Certainly not blind.

On this day, he seems particularly pretty. At this point you're practically oggling at his tattoos that are on full display, a casual outfit displaying his well built body, it made him look so,

Attainable.

Enough, enough of fanatasizing about the looks of Jungkook.

"Uh, yeah, good morning" you clear your throat after awkwardly noticing how obvious your staring must have been.

He chuckles quietly, "Had a rough sleep i see" his usually glaring eyes wander up and down your face, pointing to your hair with his finger as he holds back a cocky laugh.

It is only know you noticed how ridiculous you must look, haven just woken up, hair in a mess and the same clothes from yesterday all twisted and turned.

While he stood there, looking..

Whatever

"Shut up" you roll your eyes at him, walking to the bathroom.

But his voice stops you,

"Did you get changed already?" The question made no sense to you, was it because you worse the same clothes you went to bed with?

"What do you mean?"

He shakes his head "Because you are wearing the same things as yesterday. Don't tell me you slept in that?"

Your eyes wander to the ground, sighing in embarrassment while also asking yourself how slow he really is.

"Unfortunately Jungkook, I have to. I can't tell if you're making fun of me or if you're seriously behind, why do you think i only got one bag? I got like, 10 shirts, 6 pants none of them bad enough to sleep in" Furrowing your eyebrows, you meet his annoyed expression

Scoffing he waks into his room, leaving your question on heard.

What a great start.

After that lovely conversation, you make your way into the bathroom, trying to wash away the weird feeling of sleeping in Jungkooks guest bed.

By washing your face, freshening up, changing (finally) and putting your medium greasy hair neatly into a ponytail.

In all honesty you're in desperate need for a shower. Restricted by the thought of getting naked in your teacher's shower, it made you so repulsed you preferred spraying yourself in deodorant from top to bottom to cover up.

It's not like he meant what he said yesterday, not like you would have to use his shower eventually,

You wouldn't actually be staying here.

If it was not for your stomach grumbling loudly, you could be spending the rest of the day locked in the bathroom, thinking about that sentence

Just fucking stay here

As soon as you walk out of the spacious, brightly lit bathroom, you are hit with something else.

No really, you're hit in the face with a black shirt. The scent of cotton and wood immediately clouding your sense, this shirt did not belong to you. The much larger size being another give away that yes, Jungkook just threw his shirt on your face. Catching it in your hands, you look at him confused, fully stopped in your tracks.

"Just wear this when you sleep, dumbass. I have too many anyways. Get to eating now we need to leave soon"

He mumbles while sitting down at the table and eating the eggs he had cooked earlier, his eyes not looking into yours once.

There is no way he could look into your eyes after imaging you wearing his shirt to sleep, disgusted at himself for that image. He simply wanted to help you out, thats all.

For some reason.

Registering what just happened, you giggle in disbelief, thanking him for the food and sitting down yourself. He just groans in response.

He doesn't think he will ever get used to that clingy gratittude.

"You know, you're doing great at becoming nicer. Im starting to actually like you" you say while chewing on a toast.

It would be a lie to say you did not like him. After being a complete menace, he has only shown you kindness. In his own, very strange way. Someone showing you care trying to understand the situation you are in, that was rare. Naturally, it meant even more when the person has previously contributed to you feeling horrible.

Living a life of prejudice and judgement meant appreciation and insight on the smallest signs of help and kindness.

His eyes dart up to meet yours, surpised at first before regulating into a blank look. He nods, smirking just a little bit.

"You're becoming more annoying by the day. Guess we really are learning"

You give him a expressionless "ha ha" in return for that snarky comment.

He's still an asshole, that's for certain.

He hums, remembering something.

"So about yesterday"

Immediately you knew where this was heading, he was gonna tell you to get out today and find somewhere to go. Obviously, you weren't upset at that, he has done enough for you. It would just be painfully awkward to make the walk of shame out, still having no idea where to spend the next night.

"yeah dont worry, I'm gonna find something"

Confidently you set your finished plate on top of his, ready to clean up.

His eyes roll,

"You never listen huh? I told you, you can stay here. Im sure a shelter will call back within the week. Im not risking having to pick you up again anyways or you doing some stupid illegal shit" he reaches to take the plates into the kitchen while finishing his sentence, organized as always.

"You would actually let me stay?" Your voice sounding a little irritated, not because he suggested you to stay, it´s the way he presented it to you. Irritated that he assumes for you to cause trouble and having to act like a caretaker for you.

"Want me to say it a third time? Look, if you don't want to i obviously don't care"

Jungkook can't help but feel offened at the thought of you rejecting his help. He's trying way too hard for some student of his, the more he thinks about it, coupled by your silence, the angrier he gets,

that also reflects audibly in his voice.

"I know there isn't much in that head of yours but god can you say at least something? Im not wasting my time trying to help you if you're gonna be a lost cause"

You frown, looking at him nervously and taken aback at his harsh words. It had been some time since you had last seen him angry. The rapid change from the downlow mean guy you had adjusted to, to an angry man in front of you had made you begin to tremble, recalling past encounters.

"I-I'm sorry i, I just was surprised you would be willing to take that burden on you. I didn't mean to, anger you or something" the words come out in a low stutter, feeling like one potential conversation into the direction of genuine friendship was now endangered.

Upon hearing the way you responded he sighs, two fingers pinching the bridge of his nose as he closes his eyes.

It made him feel heavy.

Jungkook was slowly begining to let you get through all the walls he had so firmly build up, all to hold up that unattainable and cold exterior of his. He knew it aswell, he could feel himself wanting to be nicer to you, getting to know you beyond you being the worst student in his class.

Beyond what he had thought to be an awfully annoying brat.

He just could not explain why, why you bothered him so much, why you got through to him so much quicker than anyone who has ever attempted and notably, failed.

"Damn I, I didn't mean to get so loud. Let's just forget it yeah? You're welcome to stay here, if not i'm gonna drop you off at least"

Once his eyes open they nervously make their way over to you own, soft ones.

Relief enters his system seeing you less intimidated. However, looking down to your visibly trembling hand, a pang enters his chest.

"Are you-"

"Oh look, its almost time to leave. Im gonna get my bag" you rush past him, entering the guest bedroom and closing the door.

For the second time today, in the span of what had only been an hour, you find yourself staring blankly at his wall.

The question of actually staying with Jungkook for a couple more days floating around in your head. Was it really okay for you to sleep, eat, shower, exist in his house for so long? Wouldn't he be too bothered by it?

He did suggest it and hes not one for kindness out of respect.

Where else were you going to go?

It would only be for this week anyways, since it's tuesday already, that's five days at maximum.

Fuck, I'm really gonna have to stay here.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The car ride to University has gone by for what felt like eternity. Jungkook refused to turn on the radio once again, claiming that it would give him a headache this early in the morning. Just like it would have at night or you guessed he would use the same , lame excuse for every hour of the day.

He hasn't spoken a word about your stay nor have you, feeling too afraid to trigger another argument.

In order to protect his job and your reputation, if there is any left, he lets you off at a cornerstore 10 minutes from campus.

"I"ll go collect you later at F41 yeah?"

You nod, closing the car door and walking on to campus.

The University is decently sized, not as big as a state college but far from a small town school. A library, a buisness, medical, performing arts building and a cafeteria all inter connected.

On any other day you would be walking to the performing arts building, tuesday morning classes are always practical lessons like guitar, piano, trumbone, violine and many more depending on your skills and chosen instrument, of course.

However having recently seen an advertisement around campus for a crash course and orientation in art majors, directed to the next freshmen, you decided to take up the chance to meet some new people. Although a massive introvert, you need friends, at least a couple. As a music major, you had every right to attend as well.

In reality you just needed an excuse to not show up to miss Yun's dreaded piano lessons.

F41 is a giant hall reserved for events and rehearsals, having been in that room countless of times over the past two years, seeing it filled with all sorts of people, sounds, activities. A warm feeling spreading inside your chest when remembering so many people come together to create.

Jungkook would be attending the event around 10:25, right when his first lesson of the day ended. As a representative of an arts major, he should be there to finesse new freshmen into his classes. Whether that be by his charming looks or his passion for photography.

When entering the room, it was already filled to the brim with people from your university. Familiar faces you had seen in classes, girls everyone knew and wanted to be like, guys everyone wanted to get with, all the while mentally groaning at the idea of it getting even more crowded with time passing.

And so the time did pass, glancing up at a clock hung up high, it read 10:05 am. You must have talked to over two dozen people at this point.

Lost in your own little world, ready to look for more potential freshmen interested in music, and making even more uncomfortable small talk with classmates you were able to tolerate, something fell to the ground.

A loud thump echoing across the hall, everyone in the vicinity turning around to look what could have fallen to create a sound like that.

Correction,

Who could have made a sound like that..

"Oh god do you need help?" You ask, crouching down and reaching a hand forward to the handsome guy that just fell face first on the floor.

His jawline is so sharp it could cut, his eyes are monolided and a dark shade of hazel, with a head full of curly black hair and full lips, a high nosebridge and lots of moles on his face.

He definitely looks like an artist.

"Oh uhm, yeah, thanks" he mumbles shyly, accepting your hand with his slim fingers, pulling his slim form up with your help.

When he stood in front of you, his figure was a lot taller than yours, looking down to you appreciatively.

"I'm Kim Taehyung" he says while smiling, the palm of his hand rubbing his nape.

The way in which he speaks has you smiling, dark and raspy,

It reminded you of Jungkook this morning.

"Y/n. Are you a freshmen?" You ask him curiously, he looks to be around the same age as you.

He nods before replying "Pretty name for a pretty girl. Yeah, looking into photography" he explains.

You´re kind of blushing at the way he so shamelessly flirts after having fallen on his face just two minutes ago.

Your eyes widen as you begin to shake your hands furiously in an X motion

"Oh my god don't even THINK about photography. I have it and its horrible, plus the teacher is an asshole, to get on his good side you have to be-"

"That would be me. Nice to meet you, I'm Mr Jeon., head of photography and you're currently speaking to my worst student"

Jungkooks stern voice cuts you off rudely, he shoots you a glare while wrapping a hand around your shoulder firmly when referring to you.

You look back at him with a nervous smile, squirming at the sudden touch

Taehyung bows to Jungkook, "I'm looking forward to meeting you mr Jeon."

He turns back to you, giving a flirty wink,

"See you around then, pretty"

Jungkook scoffs and makes a gagging sound once Taehyung has left, looking after him as if his eyes were lasers and Taehyung was the target.

You look up at him with a scrunched nose "Seriously? The one time i get hit on you remind me I'm gross?" you say to him clearly pissed off, his eyes roll as lets his grip on your shoulder go.

"Yeah you idiot, what else would i be doing. Lets get out of here I'm bored already, had a horrible meeting just now" his jaw clenches at the memory.

For Jungkook, there is nothing worse than people misjudging him. He so carefully, so delicately created his distance so no one could over interpret meaning into his words. His rough attitude is that way so everything is as clear as day, everyone is aware of the one and only way Mr. Jeon acts.

Surprisingly, some people still did not catch on. A substitute teacher started a huge fuss over Jungkook calling someone's artwork tasteless, she accused him of a billion different things except for honesty. The one thing he always tried to be.

Emphasis on tried.

"Responsible , mr. Jeon" you nod to mock him, he just groans and speed walks off to his car with you jogging behind.

When sat in his car, the conversation of where to let you be had to have come up eventually. You couldn't tip toe around any longer, see where things would go, it would just lead to Jungkook being frustrated at your carelessness, even if you did not mean to be careless at all.

"I'm staying at yours" you say suddenly, turning your head around to find him already looking at you, he smiles briefly,

"Not the bench huh? Liar" his joke about the night in the library makes you snicker but cross your arms in defense.

"Under one condition" you add afterwards, having a genius plan in mind.

As anticipated he does not look happy to even hear you out.

"We get drunk tonight. Just, lets just buy some cheap soju and get tipsy, i need to reset all of this mess" a sigh escapes your lips when you think about the past week and the events that have let you here.

Too much happening in too little time.

Jungkook shrugs,

"Sounds better than what i imagined that weird head of yours could come up with. What do you wanna eat? Soju pairs great with chicken" he suggests, small bundles of excitement forming in Jungkook's brain as he imagines you being drunk and funny around him, comfortable around him.

He wondered if it would be a chance for him to loosen up too.

"Sounds fantastic! Havent eaten that in a while. I'll pay for soju yeah?" you grin, hands clasped together as you turn towards him when he begins driving.

He shakes his head, "Am not letting you pay. You cried to me about being poor and think i'll let you buy me anything?"

You open your mouth in a dramatic gasp,

"Wowww okay rich teacher, I never cried though you absolute drama queen"

Jungkook rolls his eyes and chuckles, he mutters a "whatever" while continuing to drive back to his apartment.

"No, thank you though. I feel bad for being on your ass so much" you punch his shoulder lightly, a small gesture of friendship that tells him you're starting to become more free and easy going around him.

"Yeah whatever stop saying it like that. You're making it weird"

You knew he didn't mean it, his eyes remained soften for the rest of the drive.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Settling down has never been your thing, being used to moving around all the time and never really finding ground to sprout on has made you easily adaptable though.

Like spending nights at a library studying or sleeping in your teachers apartment.

It has not prepared you, however, to be comfortable in every situation.

Oddly enough, the past 7 hours you've been comfortably sitting at Jungkook's living room table, studying your heart out while he prepares his lessons and corrects exams.

A peaceful work space for the both of you as you have barely said anything to one another. Only one dim light illuminating the room, his laptop counting as a small light as well. You asked him to light a candle, since it would create a cozier space.

As expected he reluctantly agreed

The silence never once being awkward during this time.

Here and there you had exchanged glances and maybe you have stared at him and he caught you.

Multiple times.

So what? You simply appreciate a good looking guy when you see him.

Somehow the whole day it has been especially evident, from breakfast to the car to now.

How could you not look at him when he sits there, his face full of concentration and his tongue licking his lip piercing, probably unaware he is even doing it?

Moreover, how could he not clear his throat in an attempt to not call you out, asking you why you look at him like you want to kiss him?

Mutually impossible.

"Its getting late already. Lets go soon" he says while stretching his arms above his his head and tilting his head back, his neck exposed delicately to you, you wonder if he´s trying to tease you.

looking away trying to shake off that stupid thought, you answer him.

"Yeah, i'll take a shower first i think"

His nose scrunches up as he hold it, as if signaling to not wanting to smell you

"PLEASE you stink"

A quiet laughter fills the room when you look at him again, his face just looking so unserious and non- Jungkook, not super blank and not super stern either.

Perhaps this was actually the most Jungkook you had ever seen him.

"Nevermind I won't, so i get on your nerves even more" you stick your tongue out when you say that, he replies with his middle finger and you burst out in laughter at his childishly stupid behavior.

27 whole years old and holding up a middle finger.

"Im kindly asking you please take a shower for fucks sake. Didn´t you say you DON´T want to get on my nerves?" he says again, giggling slightly, his smile not matching his eyes that are focused on yours.

"Is it really that bad?" wondering self consciously, you smell your shirt, shrugging afterwards "Its alright to me"

"Yes, yes it is bad, awful literlly disgusting" he goes back and forth with you on this for a while, even while you to grab your sweatpants and a spare tank top you have from the guestroom, he keeps arguing with you, follwing closely behind and using every insult for smelling bad he could think of.

"You're so childish Jungkook it's insane"

Managing to manuver your way into the bathroom frame and he's still chanting for you to shower, you decide enough is enough

"Shut up you just wanna have me naked in your house you creep" and then, just like that, the door shuts, locking yourself in.

Your giggles can be heard from outside of the bathroom, clearly satisfied at managing to stun him in place.

Jungkook just stands there, stunned at the fact you really just said something so vulgar to him, something so out of left field.

It began with you guys arguing like crazy and ended with him following you around his own apartment before getting drunk together.

Cruel world?

"HEY! NO- THATS-" he tries to argue, banging against the locked bathroom door.

"LALALAL CAN'T HEAR YOUUU" you scream back, turning on the water and finally blessing yourself with a much needed shower.

So much to feeling repulsed at the idea of showering here.

One of many things you had said you would not do,

Oh well.

Jungkook laughs a genuine laugh when turning to lean his head and back to the door, listening to the water running as his thoughts start to cloud up his mind.

His eyes close when he understands that, you really were naked inside his bathroom, just on the other side of the door.

He can't stop himself from biting his lip when his thoughts shift to picture how you must look, small hands gently roaming to wash your wet frame, massaging and reaching for every inch of your skin covered in water.

How you must have looked stripping away each item of yours so carefully, slipping your panties down your hips and legs, your shirt stretched over your head

After what has been only a couple seconds to him, the water stops and he's ripped out of his daydreams.

Shaking his head and covering his mouth with his eyes growing more wide by the second, he realizes he had spend minimum the last 10 minutes fantasizing about your naked body, touching yourself, washing yourself under the warm soapy water of his very own bathroom.

Looking down to glance at the tent in his pants, he quickly scurries away from the door,

"What the actual fuck is wrong with me?" he mumbles to himself, practically running into his room to change.

#jungkook x reader #redcherrykook #jungkook bts #jeon jungkook #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x you #jungkook x y/n #jungkook smut #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #bts jungkook #bts fanfic #bts fluff #jeon jungkook x reader

[tariah23]

I went into the boys tag for the first time (a big mistake lmfaooo) and I just have to say that white people fall for propaganda so easily especially when wrapped in a thin veil of that same whiteness that they value more than anything else in the world, even when a series like the boys is sort of an obvious social commentary on that kinda stuff 😭……. They’re calling Homelander their girl…. Their BABYGIRL, nigga, he is a fascist sksjsjaja.

#it’s so… like of course they’d like this white man 😭!!! he’s a good character tho I guess like he’s a really interesting villain but #come on 😭 #I feel so bad for Ryan he’s being indoctrinated I hope mothers milk kills that white man who’s been taking his daughter #his black daughter to those alt right rallies bro 😭!!! #rambling #also #I didn’t know that white man from supernatural was in the boys #I never cared about SN and you know the kind of rep it has but he was really good in the boys??? I haven’t paid too much attention to his #acting but he was actually intimidating like he did his shit #my sister loved Frenchie and kimiko’s relationship lol #she kept on calling him zayn… #edit: not to say that wp are the only ones to fall for propaganda because no one is immune to it but the shit right in from of them is #usually to obvious to black and brown people #like they’ll defend the shit first before anything else

[luveline]

Hey Jade!

I can’t remember if you’ve already written this or not but if not, could you please write bombshell!reader finally joining the BAU? I wanna know how Spencer and everyone else reacted to her finally joining

Thanks lovely :) hope you’re doing well

ty for requesting 💌 fem, 1.3k

The trek from the SCU to the BAU is familiar. If you aren’t being asked to consult, or occasionally brought along on sex crime specific cases, you’ll make any excuse to get there. A broken laptop, an updated reading list, a good cup of coffee. Spencer Reid always provides. 

He just doesn’t get it. You think about it every time you see him, but he can’t understand how nice, kind, and pretty he really is, or he wouldn’t be so shy, and he wouldn’t act surprised to have you seeking him out. 

He’s sitting now behind his desk with a hand over his mouth. You can tell he’s smiling despite it, a warm light to his brown eyes as you approach. 

“Hello,” you say. 

“Hi.” He sniffs, curling his hand into a fist under his nose. His smile is a thousand times more obvious as he tries to hide. “You okay?” 

“Hotch asked me to come. You don’t know what it’s for?” 

His smile finally softens before fading to a more neutral expression. “I have no idea.” 

You wipe your hands down over your hips. “Well, I’m sure it’ll be fine, and not at all like last time.” Hotch has never been angry with you before. It was strange. “I hope he still likes me.” 

“What are you talking about? Of course he does.” 

“What am I talking about?” You agree. “Kiss for luck?” 

“Pucker up,” Morgan says, a coffee cup in hand. Without coffee you’re sure this office would cease to function. 

You shoot him a smile, Spencer a promising look to return, and start up the stairs to the office. You watch your shoes on each step, their shiny black, and you try not to be nervous, but Spencer was acting strange and Hotch has enough reason to revisit his anger. 

Your best defence is a smile, you decide. If you act like nothing happened, you won’t get another rehashing of your mistakes. 

You knock his door. “Hotch? It’s me.” 

“Come in, please.” 

You turn the handle and feel the weight of the door against your elbow as you enter. Hotch sits behind his desk, as usual, but when you’re a few paces from the desk he stand up, which is unusual. 

“How are you?” he asks.

Your eyes widen against your will. “I’m fine. How are you, Hotch? How’s your sweet boy? Did he have fun at little league?” 

“Jack’s perfect. I’m good, I need to talk to you about something.” 

“I assumed.” You wait. Then, neck growing warm, “If it’s about last time, I'm still so sorry.” 

“I’m not going to get angry at you twice for a mistake. But no, that’s not what you’re here for.” 

He’s making you nervous. Is this a guessing game? You lean into your nerves and put your arms behind your back, grasping your wrist as you tilt your head ever so slightly to the side. “It’s not about Spencer, is it? I told you, he’s just a friend. A good friend. But I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardise my chances.” 

“It’s about that.” 

You stand straighter. “I do like him,” you confess, which Hotch already knows. Everybody seems to know except for Spencer. It’s not like you’re in love with him, just you could be, maybe. “But I’m really not– I would never do anything–” You start again. “I want this job more than anything. I know I flirt and I make more jokes than I should, but I take the work seriously, I promise. You guys are the most impressive people I know and I might feel like you’re a friend to me, Hotch, but you have to know how much I admire you. I admire Spencer, and I’d never let my feelings impede my professional ability.” 

“Y/N, I’m not reprimanding you for anything.” 

You swallow awkwardly. “You’re not?” 

He raises his eyebrows and turns to his desk. There’s a packet waiting across his outgoings, which he picks up and gives to you. “I need you to fill these in, first and foremost.” 

He’s smiling. Why is he smiling? 

You peer inside cautiously. Chest suddenly aching, thinking, It isn’t what you want, don’t break your own heart, you pull out the very top sheet from inside. FBI letterhead greets you. 

Facilitation of department transfer for Y/N L/N from the Sexual Crimes Unit to the Behavioural Analysis Unit, as requested by Unit Chief Supervisory Special Agent A. Hotchner and approved by Unit Chief S. Peterson. 

You lay it on top of the envelope. All the papers whine under your tight hand. “You requested it?” you ask. 

“Months ago.” 

“And Sandy said yes.” 

“Strauss, finally. If you sign them today, Penelope’s promised to expedite your processing, whether that’s fair or not. Your desk is ready.” 

“Hotch,” you whisper, not without excitement, but sound hard to summon, “are you serious? You’re not messing with me?”

“You deserve it. You have for a long time.” 

You squeeze your eyes closed. For five long seconds, you stand there, and you think about how hard you’ve worked and how badly you’ve wanted this, and how much faith everybody’s had in you the whole time. You’re so thankful. For Hotch, Morgan, and especially for Spencer Reid. 

“Don’t get upset,” Hotch says, taking your arm. He gives it a good squeeze. It’s so friendly and kind you consider jumping up to wrap your arms around him, but you restrain yourself. 

“Thank you,” you say quietly, pressing the packet to your chest. 

“You’re welcome. I didn’t mind fighting for you.” 

“I need to go and tell Spencer.” 

“Spencer, your good friend.” 

Your laugh comes in fractures from a sudden deep breath. “My good friend,” you agree. “Hotch, thank you. Thank you, I’m gonna go tell Spencer. I’ll be right back.” 

“It’s fine. Just make sure you finish those forms before lunch.” 

You leave with some dignity. You close Hotch’s office door, and you walk to the balcony and look down at Spencer where he’s waiting for you. His hair falls against his neck, his head angled up, and he’s smiling so hard he must’ve already known what you were summoned into the office for. 

You rush down the stairs. He, in all his loveliness, stands in time to open his arms. “I can’t believe it,” you say, your laugh like a ring as you lean against him. He holds you tight and hugs right back, forcing you to bend under his weight. “Spencer.” 

He pulls away just as quickly. “Tell me,” he says. 

“I’m gonna be part of the BAU.” It’s so insane to finally say aloud. 

Spencer looks extremely, achingly happy for you, but his second hug still surprises you. Your nose ends up pressed to his hair, strands of it falling from behind his ear as his palm cups your shoulder. 

You close your eyes. Spencer laughs, his lips a hair's width from your cheek. 

Your excitement grows too much. You squirm away from him and wrap your hands around yourself, holding in a girlish, giggly squeal. “I did it. I can’t believe I did it.” 

He takes your hand. You barely notice. “Why can’t you believe that? You’re amazing. You work hard and you didn’t give up.” 

Morgan returns from wherever he’s been with Emily and Garcia in tow. “There she is!” he says. 

It’s possibly the best round of hugs you’ve ever had in your life. The little congratulations cupcake they present you with is the sweetest you’ve ever tasted. Spencer puts a makeshift name tag on your desk and you don’t bother pretending your eyes haven’t filled with tears, but nobody cares or minds. 

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction

[apollosfavkiddo]

you wanted headcanons? 🤭 i got you 😽

how about a jason grace x apollo!reader set of headcanons!!

:’)

⛧° jason grace x daughter of Apollo! hcs

⛧° 。 ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆༺♱༻⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ 。°⛧

⛧° 。 ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆༺♱༻⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ 。°⛧

content: Jason Grace x apollo!reader hcs

warnings: BAD BAD BAD, slightly possessive jason, reader is implied to be blonde

a/n: i hc that every child of apollo has the hair at least a little lighter than usual. like, it's not jet black nor a super brown, they have light brown or blonde hair. and i used this on this hcs! i'm so sorry if u don't like it, but i took this creative liberty... anyways, enjoy!

word count: 0,8k

⛧° 。 ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆༺♱༻⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ 。°⛧

now playing… midnight rain - taylor swift

blondie met blonder, they fell in love, and they had blondini 

jk, jk, no kids... yet  

you were aware of who was jason grace, like everyone around camp 

one of the Heroes of Olympus, son of jupiter, always looking for his friends and family, creating sanctuaries for the minor gods, hot as hell, as you heard from your siblings 

i mean, you obviously wouldn’t go around asking anyone 

because in reality you haven’t even saw him yet, since he was always so busy going between camps 

but one day the oh so awaited encounter came to reality  

you spent most of your days at the infirmary, since your healing powers were quite... impressive, to say the least 

you were one of the best healers around, if not the ultimate best 

so, you obviously had to come running towards the hurt kid, who happened to be your friend, leo valdez 

you were almost a hundred percent sure that he hurt himself at bunker nine, and only because he had a crush on one of your sisters – alyssa. and it wasn’t even an assumption he really did liked her, as he himself told you about it 

but you were surprised to see a certain blonde boy carrying him through the infirmary doors with leo’s foot blackish purple and swollen  

you quickly went to him and gestured towards an empty bed, which the blonde – that you figured it’d be Jason, leo’s best friend – put him on and sat beside him 

you didn’t spare much time to look at jason, but he had a scowl on his face as if saying “I’m so disappointed on you” with only his eyes  

“oh, for my father’s music, what in the hades happened to you, valdez?” you asked, your voice laced with concern and a little bit of reprehension 

“where’s aly?” the shorter boy asked, earning a snort from jason 

“you dropped a wrench to your foot to see the girl you got a crush on? my gods, valdez. thought you were over that.” the taller boy said, and his deep voice gained him a glance from you 

and that’s when you fell in love for the first time 

his blonde hair was even lighter than yours, his skin slightly tanned and his muscles... oh GODS. and that jawline that could easily cut a diamond 

he was easily the most handsome man you ever saw on your entire life.  

and trust me, he thought the exact same about you 

the difference is that he had noticed you long ago 

it was a rainy day on camp half-blood, right after capture the flag 

jason had gotten himself hurt. It was something minor in his eyes, but piper insisted that he should go on the infirmary to check 

well, thanks gods he did went to the infirmary that day, since he had a broken rib and a bruised face  

you weren’t the one to treat him, but he did saw you taking care of the other injured people from the game, and from that moment on he was completely and utterly WHIPPED for you  

like, he’d stalk you around, discover all your agenda for the day and just follow you around, without you even knowing who the hell he was  

so, after the day that leo almost broke his foot trying to get alyssa’s attention, you and jason started to hang out  

but in the beginning, it was only around leo, too, so you two could mock the latino boy about his stupidly obvious crush on alyssa 

but soon that friendship went beyond hanging out just around leo, who was more than happy now so he wouldn’t be the third wheel  

and every day you just fell more in love with jason  

and he also fell completely and totally HEAD OVER HEELS for you 

and when you guys finally made a move, the whole camp was happy  

except for leo, who now was officially third wheeling  

but have you heard that song midnight rain by taylor swift? That goes like “he was sunshine, i was midnight rain”? 

yeah, that song is YOU 

but this time the roles are a little reversed, seeming that it was “she was sunshine, he was midnight rain” 

but you were quite literally the perfect couple 

the golden girl of camp half-blood and the golden boy of camp jupiter  

a match made in heaven  

oh and your dad was more than happy when he discovered that you were dating jason  

his #1 otp, fr  

and look how perfect 

you and will are siblings  

jason and nico are basically brothers  

so... double dates obvi??? 

also he’d be telling everyone like “oh you know the BEST HEALER AT CAMP? Yeah, she’s my girl” 

walking with an arm around your waist ALL THE TIME 

he's like ‘gotta show the world you’re mine, love’ 

being a daughter of apollo gains you lots of unwanted attention for being pretty as hell  

so whenever he sees someone hitting on you he’d be like NUH UH, that girl is MINE. Bitch  

oh, and you literally make his days lighter and brighter  

with all your smileness and cuteness  

oh, the it couple fr.

a/n pt2: this one's bad and i HATE it but idc

#all my love 🍀 #postcards from leah #jason grace #heroes of olympus #pjo hoo toa #heroes of olympus x reader #jason grace x reader #pjo #jason grace x y/n #jason grace x you

[wileys-russo]

I NEEEED a bf leah fic about going to NY with her because she has been pulling some ultimate looks. Maybe being at the basketball game with her and her trying to explain everything to you as well as being super touchy because she can feel people looking at what’s hers

jorts II l.williamson

"leah for the love of god please tell me i'm seeing things and you are not wearing prada loafers with nike tube socks right now." you shook your head in disbelief as you finished doing your hair and returned from the bathroom.

"you know how it is, prada or nada baby." the blonde grinned smugly from where she was sat on the edge of your hotel bed, putting down her phone as she drunk you in.

"come here." the taller girl purred, quickly standing to her feet and reaching out for you, taking your hands and whistling as she spun you in a circle.

"hello sexy." the defenders hands fell possessively to your hips as her eyes hungrily roamed your exposed cleavage spilling out of the lacey black bralette which just peeked out of the chocolate brown oversized button up you were wearing in place of a dress.

her pupils dilated at the black leather knee high boots which completed the look, jaw clenching as her tongue licked slowly at her lips making you smile smugly, adoring the obvious effect you had on her.

"oh god leah...jorts?" you groaned ruining the moment as your gaze flickered down to the washed denim which hung to her knees, pushing her away with a roll of your eyes.

"jorts are in at the moment love." the blonde retorted with her usual cocky smile, slipping on a few rings as you swapped over your earrings. "right to go?" leah offered you her hand, grabbing her phone off the bed as you slid your room key into your clutch.

"i hate that you can make anything look good."

~

"so we want the blue team to win right?" you clarified quietly, tapping at leahs hand which was placed on your thigh. "for once yes." leah chuckled, slender fingers tracing lines on your warm skin as she banged on about the rules, you only half listening as you simply hummed.

"at least try to pretend like you care darling." leah chuckled quietly offering you a sip of her drink as you tried to take the cup, giving her a look as she moved it back.

her eyes boring into yours expectantly you knew what she wanted, so with a roll of your eyes you lent forward allowing her to put the cup to your lips, not missing the quiet warning not to roll your eyes at her again which followed.

you took a swig before your girlfriend moved the cup back, ring clad thumb wiping a few loose droplets from your bottom lip, your stomach fluttering at the simple gesture as the blonde turned back to the game, squeezing your thigh gently.

everything was fine until the buzzer sounded for halftime, leah leaving you with jason as she disapeared to get the two of you another drink, placing a loving kiss to the side of your head as she stood.

however when she returned to see her seat was filled by another body her good mood was instantly diminished. the blonde was easily fifty metres away but already saw on your face that you weren't comfortable, much as you tried covering it up with a fake smile.

"sorry mate, seems you're in my seat." you let out a silent sigh of relief as your girlfriend appeared in front of you, glancing down to you wordlessly checking in as you gave her a small nod of assurance.

"we're just talking, there's a seat there." the man nodded behind him to jasons vacant seat as the movie star had been briefly whisked away by a few of his peers for a photo, the stranger not even sparing leah a look as you glanced up at her with pleading eyes.

the blondes jaw clenched as she watched the american place his hand on your shoulder and you went rigid, hands fidgeting with the bottom of your dress shirt as his eyes shamelessly wandered your body.

"yeah there is. and i'm sure you've got one elsewhere, so why don't you run along and go sit back down in it." leah warned, voice now octaves deeper as her eyes glared into the side of his head. "look doll-" the mans gaze finally lifted from you and his face slackened seeing the english captains bright blue orbs piercing down on him angrily.

"oh shit you're leah williamson." the man realised, eyes widening as he shot to his feet and took a step away, allowing your girlfriend to sit back down, placing the drinks by her feet and stretching her arm protectively over the back of your chair.

"nah not me, sorry mate." and with that the blondes hand which sat on your shoulder grabbed your chin, the defender leaning in and rewarding you with a searingly passionate kiss, your breath hitching as she wasted no time slipping her tongue in your mouth.

by the time she pulled away with a slight pop, leaving your lips somewhat bruised and a little swollen the man had scurried off back to wherever he'd come from.

leahs own lips curled into a cocky smile as yours tingled from the feverish kiss, brought back down to earth as leah turned your head to meet her eyeline, hand still gripping your jaw only now a lot more tenderly.

"did he do anything to you?" the blonde asked seriously, perfectly plucked eyebrows furrowing with concern as her eyes roamed your face for any sign of discomfort. "no he was only sat there for a minute or two before you came back, I told him i was here with someone but he wouldn't take the hint."

"i should have poured my fucking drink on his head, smug prick." leah muttered angrily, letting go of your chin and pressing a much softer kiss to your forehead. "hey calm down. i'm okay, don't let him spoil our evening." you grabbed her hand and squeezed as leah nodded, downing her drink in one and exhaling, rolling her neck a few times as her arm stayed wrapped around your shoulder.

"besides, once we get back to the hotel later baby i'm yours and only yours." you whispered to your blonde lover as the game recommenced, causing her cocky smile to only grow wider.

"in that case then i'll make sure the entire hotel are reminded who you belong to as well." leah murmered in your ear as she kissed at your rapidly blushed cheek.

"all mine. my most pretty girl."

#woso x reader #woso fanfics #woso #leah williamson x reader #leah williamson #engwnt #woso imagine #woso blurbs

[luvangelbreak]

Deprived

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 matthew sturniolo x layla venita (female!oc) summary: everyone knows the story of the bad boy and the good girl but what happens when the school's most popular boy, Matthew Sturniolo, and the girl who notoriously is never there, Layla Venita, cross paths. warnings: none? word count: 1.2k a/n: hi!! this is my first fanfic on here so im still getting used to the tumbler format but this will be a series. pls lmk ur thoughts or feelings or concerns or all of the above <3

pov: third person

Layla walked down the busy hallway, making a B-line for her locker that was further away than she needed it to be. She didn't want to be at school any more than she had to. The only reason she still went was to ensure she didn't get expelled for her attendance or lack thereof. Her shoulders were slouched as she pushed through the busy narrow hallway, her peers rushing to their classes.

The bleached blonde girl didn't care if she was late to her English class, it was the easiest class for her to pass even if she wasn't there. As the hallway started to filter out, she reached her locker and quickly punched in the numbers on her padlock. She swung the door open lazily, regretting her choice of rolling out of bed already but knew she might as well follow through with her choice now that she was here.

After throwing her bag into the locker, sliding her phone into the pocket of her black sweatpants that matched the black hoodie she wore. As she always did, she had her black leather jacket over the top since the cold Boston air seeped into her hoodie easily. She left her headphone in, grabbing her books for English even though she knew she would barely use them. She slammed her locker closed, easily heading to her English class now that no one was in the hallways.

She reached the closed door that was her class, swinging the door open and instantly felt the eyes of her peers bore into her. She closed the door, her teacher giving her an unsatisfied look but clearly not surprised.

"Layla, you're late," her teacher stated the obvious and Layla resisted the urge to roll her eyes, hearing that sentence at least twice a day.

"I'm aware," she replied blandly, earning a scowl from her teacher.

"Take a seat," Miss Piler demanded and Layla didn't respond as she slid through the students, eyes pouring into her. She brushed their looks off, being used to it by now, "And take your hood off."

Miss P glared at Layla as she sat down in the back left of the classroom. With a sigh, she slid the hood off of her head, her hair still covering the headphone that was playing music at full volume in her ear. The lesson continued as per usual but Layla could feel someone looking at her as she stared at the wall blankly.

She turned her head to the right to see a pair of blue eyes staring at her from across the room. She instantly recognised the cocky smirk that was plastered on the brown-haired boy's face, rolling her eyes as she looked back to the wall in front of her.

"What are you looking at dude?" Chris whispered to his brother who was looking to his left before he spun around to face Chris again.

"What?" Matt whispered back and Chris leaned back, looking over his brother's shoulder at what he was looking at, realising he was looking at Layla.

"Why were you staring at her?" Chris questioned, keeping his voice low so that the teacher wouldn't scold them. Matt shrugged, a smirk still on his face as he looked back to whatever the teacher was writing on the whiteboard, hardly paying attention.

"Was just looking," Matt mumbled back, giving a vague answer. He heard all the rumours about Layla, how much bad news she was. He also heard all the rumours about himself, all of the lies that people conjured up to make him seem better than he was. He wondered if it was the same situation with Layla, if the rumours about her were lies people made up to make her seem worse than she was.

The rest of the class, his mind wandered to all the things he had heard about her, realising that he never paid much mind to her. That wasn't unusual for him, he never paid much mind to most people except his immediate friend group.

Layla sat in the corner, drumming her fingers against her desk to the beat of the songs that played in her ears as she scribbled random doodles on her paper. Since English was the one subject she found came to her easily, she spent it daydreaming. She wondered why Matt was staring at her, he had never paid any mind to her before.

She didn't want to let it bother her, people stared at her all the time at school. But for the most loved guy in the school to be staring at her, it felt weird. He only paid attention to his friends on his hockey team and the cheerleaders that were always neat and tidy with their hair and makeup done pristinely, their outfits put together and a tad bit revealing but never enough to get dress coded.

Before she knew it the bell rang loudly through the school, interrupting her thoughts and students lept out of their chairs, desperate to talk to their friends in the hallway before their next class. Layla followed behind her peers, always being the last one to leave the room and the last one to enter.

After doing her routine of trudging her way back to her locker, grabbing more books she needed for her next class and being told she was late, again, she realised she would have to continue this cycle until her lunch break which was at 5th period.

+++

Layla had finally made it to her lunch break without leaving the school and she decided that she would give up on her last classes of the day, her brain already half-fried from the math and social studies classes she had just endured. She pulled her bag out from her locker, throwing the heaping pile of math books back into her locker with a groan. She suddenly felt a presence next to her and she looked to her left to see none other than Matthew Sturniolo.

"Hi," he beamed at her, leaning against the locker beside hers as he crossed his arms, his letterman jacket rustling as he did so, "I'm Matt."

"I know," she blandly replied as she started placing the books that she needed to take home into her bag.

"You're Layla, right?" he asked, earning nothing but a quick glance at him from her deep brown eyes, "I don't think we've ever actually talked."

"I wonder why," she mumbled sarcastically, only driving Matt to talk to her more. She observed him from her peripheral vision, taking note of his brand new blue jeans and white air forces.

"What class do you have after this?" he asked, clearly wanting to keep the one-sided conversation going that she had no interest in. She slid the bag onto her shoulder, sliding her hood back on.

"None," the quick reply from her didn't stop the dark-haired boy's attempts to talk to her further.

"What do you mean?" he asked, pure confusion on his face as she slammed her locker closed, turning to face him with a deadpan look.

"As in, I'm leaving," she spoke slowly as if she were speaking to a child and Matt nodded, biting his lip so he could think of something to say before she left.

"Mind if I come with?" he asked hopefully and she furrowed her eyebrows in confusion.

Not thinking he was serious, she replied with, "Knock yourself out."

She began walking down the hallway, hearing the rattle of lockers behind her as she walked towards the exit with her squeaky old white high-top converses. By the time she reached the door, she heard a pair of footsteps jogging down the hallway and she turned around to see Matt holding his backpack on one shoulder with a smile still on his face. With a roll of her eyes, she opened the door and he followed behind her shortly.

#matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #matthew bernard sturniolo #matt sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo #the sturniolo triplets #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo edit #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo smut #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #nick sturniolo #christopher owen sturniolo

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Magic and Genetics

So, this is not like 100% finished and will be more musings than a full theory. The main reason is that we, as humanity, just don't really know that much about genetics. Like, we get the gist of it, but we can mostly only say: "it's complicated" about it.

Which is true. Like, the idea of dominant and recessive traits the way most people are familiar with (like the eye color chart for blue eyes and brown eyes) is super oversimplified and inaccurate. Like, there are 2 major genes that affect eye color and then there are 8 more genes that affect eye color, hair color, and skin color, but we aren't really sure in what way. We just think they do from observation. Usually, genes behave in a way that is in line with the dominant and recessive traits charts, but there are exceptions to it. Again, we just don't know much about this field.

Because of this, I can't really come to conclusive conclusions regarding exactly how many and which genes affect a person's magic in the world of Harry Potter. What I can do is use the book evidence to try and create a pattern of how magic behaves genetically.

Disclaimer: I'm not a doctor, nor did I study genetics in any professional capacity, this is from online reading and self-study. And most importantly for fun 😊

Why do I think magic is influenced by multiple genes?

So, JKR stated in an interview she thinks of magic as a single dominant gene. This is impossible, since if that were true squibs and muggleborns wouldn't exist and the chart for the likelihood of a child being born with magic would look like this:

And that's just not what we see in the books...

This is all without mentioning how squibs like Arabella Figg can see dementors while muggles can't:

“A Squib, eh?” said Fudge, eyeing her suspiciously. “We’ll be checking that. You’ll leave details of your parentage with my assistant, Weasley. Incidentally, can Squibs see dementors?” he added, looking left and right along the bench where he sat. “Yes, we can!” said Mrs. Figg indignantly.

(OotP, page 143)

This means that squids do have some magical genes that muggles don't.

Additionally, from what we know about wizards as a species they have other differences from muggles that would effect their genetics in less obvious ways, for example:

Wizards heal faster, so cell regeneration is different than muggles.

Wizards have a completely different set of illnesses than muggles, so their white blood cells are also different.

Their brain cells likely live longer since they have an overall longer life expectancy.

Since they can see magic, like dementors and the Leakey Cauldron, we know the sight receptors are different.

Their nerves likely also function differently since they can sense magic in a way muggles can't.

To name a few.

And this is all without going into the fact wizards can reproduce with other species (goblins, veela, and giants to name a few) which actually implies a common ancestor to all of these races, but I'm not going into that can of worms.

What I am going into is how magic works genetically and how predictable it is. As in, if I know the magical status (pure-blood wizard, half-blood wizard, muggleborn wizard, squib, or muggle) of two human parents, can I tell how likely their child is to be a wizard, a squib, or a muggle?

What are squibs?

We don't know of many squibs in the books, these are the list of the known squibs:

Argus Filch

Arabella Figg

Marius Black

Dolores Umbridge's brother

Molly Weasley's second cousin

Squibs aren't a subject wizards like talking about, even not wizards who don't mind muggles like the Weasleys:

"Er — yes, I think so. I think Mum's got a second cousin who's an accountant, but we never talk about him."

(PS, page 73)

The definition of a squib is a child without magic born of a magical parent. If we look at the list of squibs above, all of them except Umbridge's brother are pure-bloods. This is kind of important because of the limited genetic pool of pure-bloods.

I tried calculating the inbreeding coefficient (basically how likely it is that a specific genetic trait is identical in both parents. The number ranges between 0 and 1) of the pure-bloods in the Wizarding World. We don't have much information on most families, but even looking at the Black family tree, they aren't really inbred (except the Gaunts). The closest relation there is the marriage between second cousins Walburga and Orion. So the inbreeding coefficient of pure-bloods would be above zero, but not high enough to cause serious health detriments for the most part. But, this doesn't mean wizards don't have a problem with a limited genetic pool even without close inbreeding.

Looking at that same Black family tree, we see a lot of familiar names: Flint, Crabbe, Burke, Potter, Crouch, Longbottom, Weasley, Prewett, Malfoy, McMillian... Basically, all pure-blood wizards are related. Some more closely than others, but they are all related. It means that among pure-bloods there is less genetic diversity which tends to cause illnesses and weakness in children over the course of multiple generations.

Such illness can, for example, come in the form of a squib. If the child just isn't capable of having full access to magic, due to their limited genetic pool, they will be born a squib.

But what about Umbridge's brother?

Well, here's the interesting thing. When looking at accounts of children of a pure-blood and a muggleborn, they are all always magical (and usually quite powerful, but more on that later). Umbridge's mother though is muggle. I believe a muggle parent would also have a higher chance of a squib offspring since they don't have magic. Essentially, Umbride's brother received some of the magical genes from their father, and some muggle genes from their mother, leaving him somewhat capable of interacting with magic, but not casting it — a squib.

Essentially squibs have a higher chance to be born from two pure-bloods (due to lack of genetic diversity) or from a wizard and a muggle. If we look at the books, we actually never see a squib being born from a pair of two wizards where one of the parents is half-blood or muggleborn (since they bring new genetic diversity and make the offsprings much likelier to be magical).

What are muggleborns?

So, we covered that squibs are rare and are caused by the lack of genetic diversity in the pure-blood families or by receiving non-magical genes from a muggle parent. But what about muggleborns? How could they genetically exist?

Well, I discussed here the actual percentages of different blood statuses across the Wizarding World. And the percentages looked like this:

57.5% Pure-Blood and Most Likely Pure Blood

22.5% Half-Blood

15% At Least One Magical Parent

5% Muggleborn

And as I covered here and here, I believe magical Britain is approximately 0.01% of the muggle population. This means that muggleborns are incredibly rare in the muggle population and have an overall very low chance of being born. But under what circumstances would muggleborns be more likely?

We know, for example, that the brothers Colin and Dennis Creevey were both born magical. It means, that their parents had genes that make them more likely to have magical children. This means Petunia had a higher chance of being born magical than, say, Vernon, it was still a low chance, but it was more likely.

Now, I'm not the first to raise this theory, but I believe these muggles that have a slightly higher chance for magical children like Mr. and Mrs. Creevey are descendants of squibs. We know that:

"Squibs were usually shipped off to Muggle schools and encouraged to integrate into the Muggle community. . . much kinder than trying to find them a place in the Wizarding world, where they must always be second class..."

(DH, page 136)

So, squibs have been sent for generations to live among muggles. It means that there are multiple "muggles" running around that are actually squibs. They might be able to see dementors or notice something odd around the Leakey Cauldron, but not enough to produce magic. But they still have magic in their genes. And when they have kids, sometimes, through a fluke of luck and genetics a muggleborn can be born.

This means all muggleborns are distantly related to wizards in some way, but still the muggle blood adds some much-needed genetic diversity that makes them less likely to have squib children.

What would magical genes look like?

So, we talked so far about how to predict the likelihood of a child having magic or not. But we also know not all wizards and witches are magically equal. You have crazy powerful individuals like Voldemort, Harry, and Dumbledore. Hermione is an incredibly skilled and talented witch, often the first in class to get spells right. And then you have wizards like Crabbe, Goyle, or Merope who are barely more magical than squibs. Then you have unique magical gifts like being a parselmouth, metamorphmagus, or seer are all inherited, and therefore genetic.

So, let's start with the power/talent difference between wizards that we see. I think this, like squibs, is correlating to the lack of genetic diversity. Sure, you have pure-bloods that are magically powerful or average, but if we look at the most magically powerful wizards in the books — Harry, Voldemort, and Dumbledore — they are all half-bloods. They all have a higher genetic diversity.

Hermione and Lily, are also examples of this added genetic diversity raising the likelihood of magical talent. Both muggleborns, both referenced as talented and bright multiple times. Snape, another half-blood is also referenced often as an incredibly talented wizard.

Actually, Nymphadora Tonks is one of the best pieces of evidence for magic weakening over pure-blood generations and becoming stronger with the new blood from muggles or muggleborns.

The Black family had the hereditary magical gift of being metamorphmagi. This gift has been lost for multiple generations, the first Black to be born with this gift in recent history is Tonks. And it makes perfect sense, Andromeda, a pure-blood with the genes for being a metamorphmagus, marries a muggleborn, Ted, who has the much-needed genetic diversity, so their daughter is finally durable enough for the metamorphmagi magic to kick in.

The Gaunts are another example of just how much the lack of genetic diversity affects a wizard's magic. All three, but especially Mereope, are portrayed as barely skilled with magic, almost squibs. But then we have Tom Marvolo Riddle, magically gifted so much beyond most wizards because he had the added genetic diversity from his muggle father.

Parseltongue seems to be a more dominant trait than the metamorphmagus ability. As even an almost squib in the Gaunt family can speak it. That being said, the Gaunts are implied to be incredibly incestuous, so perhaps it's just a matter of both parents speaking Parseltongue that causes this gene's apparent dominance.

We also know these genetic traits are only passed to wizards. So a squib from the Gaunt family, would not be able to speak Parseltongue. So, while it is a separate gene, it is connected to the other genes that affect magic. That's why a muggleborn born from a Gaunt family squib line, could potentially be a Parselmouth. They won't necessarily be a Parselmouth, but they have a chance to get the gene.

Conclusions

So, let's put all of it together into a series of rules* to how magic seems to work genetically.

*Rules is not exactly the correct word. It's more like, how it would usually behave, but there are flukes to genetics and everything is possible.

Two magical parents would almost always have a magical child. Pure-bloods are more likely to have squib children than half-bloods or muggleborns due to lack of genetic diversity.

A child of a muggle and a wizard has a higher chance of being born a squib than two magical parents. (The chance is still pretty low though and the child is more likely to be magical)

Muggleborns are the result of at least one parent who is a muggle that descended from squibs and has magical genes.

If both parents are squib-descendant muggles, all their kids might even end up magical. (Like the Creevey brothers)

Being a parselmouth, metamorphmagus, or seer are all unique genetic traits that are passed in a separate gene but dependent on other magical genes. Each one of them behaves differently as a gene.

Genetic diversity promises a higher chance of naturally magically gifted children. (It doesn't promise they will be more gifted, just makes their chances better)

Blood purity and a limited genetic pool cause magical children born to these lines to be overall weaker. (Again, there are exceptions, this is just about chances)

#harry potter #harry potter thoughts #harry potter theory #hp theory #hp #wizarding world #hp thoughts #hollowedtheory #wizarding world of harry potter #wizarding population #wizarding society

[corazondebeskar-reads]

live to rise - chapter one

live to rise series

one: they'll find you, burn you

series masterlist | next chapter

gladiator!Din Djarin x f!reader

word count: 3.7k

summary: The Last of the Mandalorians have fallen; their Mand'alor captured. Stripped of his armor, his weapons, his people. Din rises to fight another day, grasping onto the hope that his son still lives.

No fighter has won their freedom from the Empire's arena before. With the help of a servant girl, can he hope to break free?

warnings: dark, dead dove do not eat, captivity, forced proximity, canon-typical violence, genre-typical violence, prisoner of war, indentured servitude, fight to the death, au where the empire wins, discussions of genocide, discussions of war, graphic descriptions of violence, graphic descriptions of injuries, gore, brutality, religious themes, fictional religion, mand'alor!Din Djarin, major character deaths, many minor character deaths, Din has hearing loss, angst by the bucket, Din Djarin takes the helmet off (kind of)

Please heed the warnings. There will be major & minor character deaths in almost every chapter. This is not a happy story, but I hope you find it worthwhile anyway.

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

It’s morning when the news breaks.

By lunch, datapads are discarded in favor of gossip. It’s as useless as the Imperial rags parading as official broadcasts—all speculation and slander.

While the details of the Mandalorians’ final stand for their homeworld circulate above, the stiff air of the lower complex is thick with the question: to whose barracks will the fallen king be assigned?

You know the answer. Your datapad had pinged early, much before your day should have begun. Much before the news went live across the galaxy.

Cell C-5 had been scrubbed clean on your perennially bruised knees the day before when Dup, a young Gungan whose face was bruised as if he’d already gone a round, had failed to return from the arena.

He had been brought in late the previous night, shaking and weeping and not speaking a lick of Basic. Those were the hardest. There was no comfort, no preparation, no honor you could give them.

He didn’t return after his first battle.

It was the way of things. Many never saw a second sunrise.

As caretaker for Barrack Cresh, whether your fighters eat, drink, bathe, get medical attention and fresh clothing, or, well, anything, falls on you.

So you stocked C-5 with the basics, but the Mandalorian King’s file is barren when your clearance arrives. You bristle at the lack of biodata. How are you supposed to provide proper clothing or order his dinner?

It becomes obvious when he arrives that evening.

You’re not.

It’s past curfew when they bring him in, and normally, you’d be in bed. But one of yours had come back a few minutes earlier from the medbay and you know the state they usually return in, so you’re in C-2 with the door shut.

The ex-Rebel pilot, Gino, doesn’t argue as you dab the shallow cuts on his face with an alcohol swab, but he does flinch when you tug the split skin on his calf together like a stubborn bedsheet to apply suture tape. They had used just enough bacta for his serious injuries and left the rest to bleed.

“Sorry,” you hiss, but it’s lost in the pneumatics of the door.

Gino is on his feet immediately, shushing you with a finger to his lips. You can’t risk being seen through the little window, so he minds your space as you flatten to the ground and peek through the delivery slot.

At first, all you can see are boots. So many boots. And among the shiny black rubber is the oddest pair of worn brown leather. It’s been so long since you saw anyone in shoes but the guards; your stomach churns with fear.

Gino taps at your head, and you let him help you up to peek once they’re past the cell.

It’s the Mandalorian. There are five of the Moff’s personal guards in their black kits restraining him, and they still have to jab him with an electrostave in order to shut the cell door fast enough.

He’s snarling, the modulator of his helmet warping and crackling the terrible cacophony. He’s also huge, and the strip of lights shines off his dark armor like someone took a handful of the night sky and smudged it across the wall of the cell.

You brush away the errant question of how much of his bulk is the armor and how much he comes by naturally. You’ll find out tomorrow, like everyone else.

The hype alone ensures a sold-out arena. The officers and their simpering spouses and sycophants are salivating for the battle—or at least for the profits.

The headlines fill seats to a swarming mass, everyone vying to see the latest and shiniest trophy.

He won’t be shiny for long.

Not after they strip away the beskar that protects one of—if not the last of—the “galaxy’s greatest warriors” and see if he’s worth anything underneath.

They don’t expect him to survive. They don’t want him to, really. They want to crush the will of any who would still defy the Empire. A very public, humiliating execution is the Moff’s wet dream.

The Mandalorian is gone before your morning rounds, dragged up to the arena’s cage to watch his fate play out on the faces of others. Either end is the same, really.

And if he survives, it won’t matter. Sure, prisoners can earn their freedom through a percentage of the money they bring in from wagers, or they can die trying.

But no fighter has made it out alive. Not even close.

You’re close, though. Not that you’re in an arena contract. But you’re nearing the end of the third year in a five-year indentured servitude sentence, and it carries a lower fatality rate.

Which isn’t saying much, really. It would be hard to have a higher fatality rate than the fighters.

There are twelve of you and ten barracks, not counting the fluctuating number of sponsored champions who have private accommodations.

Sixty standard fighters, never more or less as the sun rises.

Sometimes, you return to six empty cells.

Only once have you found your flock all home. You fell to your knees and cried right then, bringing acrid dread to a boil as you knew it would never, ever happen again.

Just three days ago, Din Djarin had stood in the grand hall at Keldabe, knowing it would be the last time.

It was still. Silent. Not yet in the chaos of war, but just on the edge, as when rainfall is a distant specter and the uneasiness cloisters in your lungs.

He takes in the art behind the throne with quiet reverence, eyes following the sharp lines and bold colors, the stories of their ancestors dutifully and beautifully eternalized.

The shame creeps up his neck again, but he shrugs it off. It will work. He’s known for his tight and effective strategy, and his advisors had agreed to the plan.

He only hoped the Ka’ra would accept his soul into the Manda all the same. That the blood of his brethren wouldn’t deny him the peace that he ached for.

He thinks once more of Grogu, breathes through the pain, and then clears his mind.

Turning from the throne, he strides to the grand windows—to Paz. With hands clasped behind his back, he follows his general’s focus to the TIE fighters breaking through the atmosphere.

Troopers are within the walls. The Destroyers won’t be long, now.

“Vod,” Din begins, angling toward Paz.

“Do not deal me the insult of an out,” Paz snaps.

“I would never,” Din says, throat cinching around the words. “It’s an honor to have you at my side.”

Paz dips his head. “It’s been an honor to serve with you, ner Mand’alor.”

Din knows he speaks true. Though they may not have always gotten along, they were still vod. Still loyal, until death.

Death they now stood on the brink of.

Outside, the fleet falls fast. Din grimaces as their ships careen to the surface and crush the city into crumbs. Fire spreads, and he has to pretend the homes are empty. That everyone got out in time.

The Empire assumes each Kom’rk-class fighter is full of Mandalorians waiting to drop into battle. They target them with glee, thinking they’ve devastated the sky and ground teams in one fell swoop.

But each ship has only a pilot. A pilot who climbed into the cockpit knowing they would certainly die. Willing to take the place of their vod.

Mando’ad draar digu. They will live on in him until he draws his last. More importantly, they will live on in their families, who—if he’s done anything right—will live far beyond him.

“Par Manda’yaim,” Din says.

“Par Manda’yaim,” Paz echoes.

They are to be the last words spoken to one another.

Inside the palace, the fight leaves no breath for such things. Not that they need it; their movements are fluid and equal.

It takes half the platoon to take Paz down and the other to take Din.

Unlike his vod, they do not grant him a warrior’s death.

In the arena, they’ve left him in the armor as he paces the cage. Every moment with it spurns the barb deeper in his gut, the terror turning terrifying as his rage becomes a tsunami.

The fights are nothing. The Imps who thought he’d be intimidated by them have clearly never seen an average Mandalorian brawl. These ended with a little more finality and a little less bickering over the winner, but the actual fighting? Mostly pathetic.

He doesn’t look upon them with scorn, though. These are beings stripped of all dignity, underfed, and devoid of hope. The Empire has ground them into the dirt beneath their glossy boots, and he expects that for many, death is a kindness.

In the end, he lets them take the beskar’gam from his bound body. They hold him, scanners at the ready, the whole of the galaxy waiting to witness his final defeat in real time. The giddy grins tell him what he already knows—they are certain this will break him.

He holds eye contact with Gideon just to see the shock that strikes him at Din’s defiance. He aches to smirk or snarl or sink his teeth into the man, but he won’t give him the satisfaction.

They don’t give them weapons for this fight. At least they’re being honest about their intentions.

Hand-to-hand combat with a Wookie should be a death sentence. Should be, for a lesser being. But the Mand’alor is far sharper than their blades could ever hope to be, and he wields his mind and body as expertly as he would a blaster.

Din doesn’t speak Shyriiwook. He wishes he did, for when he asks his opponent for their name, he fails to capture the response. It slips from his grasp, slick as his hands are from the Wookie’s blood.

Bare hands that have rarely dealt such tangible death. Dust stirred up from the struggle sticks to the thick, hot carnage. He’ll feel the give of the Wookie’s eyeballs under his thumbnails for days. The crack of his skull under Din’s knee, driven like a wedge into the soft cartilage, is at least slightly more familiar.

It’s not a long fight. After all, Din has something of which his opponent has long been deprived: something to live for.

The Mandalorian isn’t back by dinner drop-off, but your captain sent the cart loaded with a tray for him, so you dutifully set it on his cot atop the folded blanket.

There’s been no clean-up call, and the roster is empty. But you don’t have to wonder over his whereabouts for long.

In the servants' barracks—which are actually barracks and not a soft word for cellblocks—the reports are already underway.

Some of the attendants get to watch the fights. Or, rather, they have to, bound as they are to a single combatant. The mandated proximity is unforgiving, and no one likes to watch.

After all, there’s very little difference between you and the fighters. Instead, the attendants take on the solemn duty of letting the rest of you know how your residents fared or fell.

“He was a berserker,” Hali says in hushed whispers. “They took all that armor off, and he just looked like a man. A pretty man, but… just a man. But when it started, he moved so fast. It was over in, like, two minutes.”

“Shut up,” says Eli, your bunkmate. “He did not take down a Wookie in two minutes.”

“No, he really kriffing did,” hissed one of the new attendants whose name you hadn’t caught. “It was brutal. The whole arena went quiet. And he just stood there, covered in blood, looking at the crowd.”

“Okay, whose block is he in?” Eli demands. “Someone needs to spill now.”

“Mine,” you say quietly.

“You haven’t said a kriffing word this whole time? What’s he like?”

“I don’t know,” you confess. “I only saw when they brought him in last night. He was still armored. And terrifying.”

“I saw him,” Hali says. “He was in the lounge.”

“They took him to the lounge after his first fight?” you say, jaw hanging open. The after-party was a grotesque performance, with sponsored fighters forced to smile pretty and play nice with their benefactors after a victory.

“No,” Hali’s face is grave. “They displayed him. They’ve chained him up next to his armor.”

You cover your mouth to stem the nausea. “No,” you hiss through your fingers. The disrespect hurts, raking through like a nexu claw to the chest, and you don’t even know the man.

Eli sets a hand on your knee from where he sits cross-legged beside you on the bottom bunk. “There’s nothing you can do.”

“I know,” you say. But he knows you, sees it written between your brows, and hears it in the crack of your voice.

It’s a weakness; you know it. It had been a strength back home. Every single being that passes through your barrack doesn’t have long. The small hall of cells is a port, and you are the ferryman. Knowing each of them for the last scant moments has only made you love harder and faster.

To try and ease a soul’s journey is a burden you have always chosen to bear.

Come morning, sure as the stars, your cells are full. The Mandalorian is not the only new face—there’s a humanoid woman in C-1, too. The Klatoonian had been gone before the noon bell prior, and his cell cleaned by your hands within the hour after. Ovesu had survived four battles over ten days, but no trace of him remains now.

You start with her, Reen Sala of Drall. She’s on the roster for early afternoon, and you want to make sure she’s got food in her.

You tell her as much.

“Today? Already?” She wraps her fingers around the window bars, peering at you.

“Yes,” you say solemnly, sliding the tray through the slit at the bottom of the door. “Eat quickly. They’ll be coming to get you any minute. They’re going to take you up and prepare you and make you watch the day’s first battles.”

She has a steadiness to her eyes and stock to her build, just enough to have a chance. When she begins to eat, her hands only shake slightly.

“Are you a farmer?” you ask, watching her broken, stubby fingernails wrap around the metal cup of water.

She nods, gulping down quickly to add, “Mostly grains. Eggs. Basics.”

You give her a wan smile, the image of her in a sun-soaked field behind your eyes. It would have to be enough. If she held on, maybe she could fill in the picture.

“Thought so. Me too. My parents have a grove on Hetzal,” you say.

You chat for a few minutes, exchanging tales of her chasing tipyip and you sneaking honeyfruit and shuula during harvest.

“Good luck,” you murmur when you finally step away.

You don’t linger with Disdraa, the Twi’lek in C-3. She took a nasty blow to the head yesterday, so you slide her tray in as quietly as possible, hoping she’ll steal some extra rest.

Which brings you to the Mandalorian. He has no other name in your database. A mistake, you wonder, or an erasure?

When you knock on his door, you keep your eyes downcast. The decision you made in the lift was impulsive, but clear. He will have this respect here, if nowhere else.

“Good morning,” you say.

It’s silent.

You slide the tray under the door. “Do you need anything?”

Nothing.

“Okay, I’ll be back this evening if you think of something.”

Din rolls his eyes in the dark room. Does the quiet, simpering little act really work on the other prisoners? He vaguely considers rejecting the tray just to irritate you.

But he’s a Mandalorian. He doesn’t give in to petty spite when survival is on the line. He has battles to win and to do so, he must eat.

The food is bland but nutritionally complex, so if he keeps up a routine, he should be able to maintain his strength. He’s already run through and decided the optimal calisthenics and body weight routines he can do in the confines of his quarters.

He’s not stupid enough to think all the fights will be so quick or easy. The only benefit, and he’s unwilling to call it that, of not having his armor is that he’s so much faster.

He’ll get out.

He has a promise to keep.

When the Death Star fell three years ago, it took nearly the entire Rebel Alliance with it. The rest were scattered in the ash. And when the Empire barely flinched, the Mandalorians knew their time was running out.

With one loss notched on their belt already, they would have to strike swift and sure.

And so Din’s life as the rebel liaison began.

When he went to Gideon’s cruiser, he had no backup. Technically, no one even knew where he was. But espionage and false diplomacy took too long, purged time they did not have. And he wasn’t going to get another chance to try.

He lost the intel in the skirmish but gained a sword he knew not how to wield, a title he knew not how to bear, and a son he knew not how to raise.

The guards come for Reen, forcing you to finish your deliveries in a tense, silent two minutes.

She doesn’t come back. You paint her picture that night while her soft face and sun-streaked sangria widow’s peak are still fresh in your mind. It, as with most of your books, is stained with errant tears.

Eli had convinced you to keep the ones you ruined with grief, when you first began, desperate not to forget.

“It’s just more proof they were alive if they were also mourned,” he said, flipping reverently through the pages.

It goes against the practice, but it’s not even the most egregious way you’ve had to compromise, so you let it go. This is not the Hall. You have no easels, no canvas, no priestess.

You wonder who’s taken over your space, who they plucked from the apprentices to take over the memorials.

The pictures are small, stacked across the page like a quilt. Most of them have a name, maybe an age, maybe a planet, inked into the corners.

It's certainly not the scale you’re accustomed to, and your colors are limited to the pigments you can press from your dinner, unblessed and unpurified, but you make do.

You never paint them while they still live, not wanting to tether their souls to the pages while they have a chance. But they are yours, and so you will take the burden of remembering from their souls.

“Tray, please,” you say after knocking on the Mandalorian’s door that evening. He’s slow to respond, but you don’t mind. It’ll be a bit before he gets accustomed to the routine, if he makes it that long.

Most don’t.

It grates against the floor when he kicks it out, and you exchange it for the full tray of dinner.

“Do you need anything?”

Silence.

“Okay, have a good night.”

You don’t have hurt feelings. It’s the way of things. Some of the beings who come through never speak a word to you. It doesn’t change your loyalty or your duties.

Din is determined to puzzle you out. Why the farce? Everyone else he’s encountered is open in their disgust and amusement. He’s a novelty, a prize, a disgrace. What purpose does your feigned care serve?

“—dining with us tonight?” calls the inmate to his right in C-3.

You make a show of rolling your eyes, taking the last two trays from the cart. You slide one to the Twi’lek who had spoken.

“Depends. Are you going to behave?” you say.

“I always behave,” the fighter lies.

You seem to laugh, just a silent huff of amusement, and sit down with your back against the wall between the two cells.

He can’t see you from here, but he can hear snippets of you making light conversation between bites.

Something you say gets a lighthearted rise from the Devaronian in C-4 across the hall.

“Old? You want to talk about being old?” he booms.

C-3 groans. “Don’t get him started, come on.”

You laugh. “—else to bitch about. I’m saving— trouble.”

“…that I should suffer your disrespect,” C-4 is trying to say over you.

“Yeah, yeah, Vrar, you’re a terrifying grumpy—,” you tease.

A pause. A murky mumble from C-2.

“—you, Mandalorian? How old—?” You ask, tearing a chunk off your bread roll and popping it in your mouth.

He doesn’t answer.

After you leave, it grows quiet. A few moments pass, as if he was just waiting for you to get out of hearing range, before Vrar speaks up.

“Mando. You holding up? Any injuries?”

Din sits silently on his cot, leaning against the wall.

“Alright, I get it. You don’t have to talk to me. But can you be more respectful to the girl?”

If it’s bait, it works. “I don’t make a habit of being respectful to my captors.”

To his surprise, Vrar barks a hearty laugh. “Is that what you think? She’s a slave, Mando, same as the rest of us.”

Din feels hot guilt rise in his throat. “My mistake. I’ll do better.”

Vrar grunts his approval, and that’s that.

The next morning, when you ask if he needs anything, he tells you, “No, thank you,” in a soft but sure tone.

You straighten a little abruptly and try not to look shocked. “Okay. Good luck today,” you say, and move on. You’re pretty sure if you draw attention to it, he’ll never speak again.

You aren’t privy to the way things operate up top. All you know is that they take your fighters randomly, with at least one day between as a rest. Sometimes, it’s longer between fights.

But not for Mando. For the next two weeks, it’s every other day like clockwork. They’re capitalizing on his novelty, you think, but also hoping to wear him down.

Rumors tell you he’s become a quick crowd favorite. It should mean he has a shot at earning his freedom, but rumors also tell you he has the highest price on record.

They don’t want him free, and they don’t want someone to buy him.

No, they want him to die in the arena.

next chapter

thank you so much for reading! i live for your feedback, and i'm not above begging so if you have any thoughts pls let me know

*title from "Get Out Alive" by Three Days Grace

#din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #mando x reader #the mandalorian fic #gladiator!din #the mandalorian x you #mando x you #din djarin x you #fic: live to rise

[clockwayswrites]

Specter of Starlight - Part 1

Summary:

Tim meets a specter of a ghost on a roof. He doesn't know that, not at first. At first he just meets a friend. It's only later he becomes very, very scared for him.

Content warning:

While I promise a happy ending, this fic does not start out happy. The start of this fic deals with (mistaken) suicidal ideation. Neither character is, but the assumption is made and there's a lot of internal thoughts about running into someone on a ledge in the middle of the night and how to handle that. Proceed carefully, darlings.

Wc: 666 (coincidentally spooky)

_____

Sometimes a person on a roof was just a person on a roof— someone out to get some fresh air or distance or space. Sometimes a person on a roof was a tragedy waiting to happen. As protectors of the city, the Bats had to learn to tell the difference.

They tried to stop every time that they could, just in case, but when they were in the middle of a chase or attack they had to make a call. They all had choices that haunted them. They could only make the best guess based on what they knew. Obvious apartment complexes, lower buildings, people on the phone or smoking, in the middle of the roof— if they didn’t have the time, those were usually safe to pass on. Tonight it was an office building, several stories high, a person sitting on the edge of the building as silent and still as the stone gargoyle they were next to. Tonight Tim wasn’t going to risk passing by. At least the figure was looking up and not down. Maybe it was okay. Please be okay. Tim landed lightly, almost soundlessly, on the roof. Still, he saw the shoulders of the person stiffen ever so slightly. They had heard him. Tim let the toe of his boot catch purposefully on the aggregate of the roof— let himself be obvious in his presence. He went kept wide. It was far enough away not to be a threat (that was a lie, Tim would always be a threat) but close enough that at this height he would have time to catch the person if they jumped. With ease, Tim hopped up onto the ledge and let his feet dangle out over the open air. For him the height was comforting, an old friend. “What brings you all the way up here?” Don’t ask them if they’re going to jump. Don’t ask them if they’re that far gone. Don’t cement the idea in their mind. Out of the corner of his eye, Tim took in what details he could in dim light. Dark hair— black likely but possibly dark brown. Late teens likely, early twenties if they were a late bloomer. Which was possible. They’re far too lean— lean enough to be pushing into gaunt. Bright blue eyes flicked to look at Tim and then back up to the sky. “Stargazing.” Tim stared up at the cloud cover that was so thick not a bit of starlight sneaked through. They snorted, as if reading Tim’s mind. “Yeah, it’s not being very cooperative.” There’s a subtle drawl to their voice. Midwest accent, Tim’s subconscious supplies, not a Gotham native. Not even someone who’s been here long enough to lose the accent. Just long enough to be up on a roof in the middle of the night. Their voice is almost lost in the night air even though it’s still as death. There’s not a single breeze to snatch their words away, but the voice is still just a little hard to hear. “I don’t think you’re going to be in luck tonight,” Tim replied. “Lady Gotham isn’t known to be accommodating.” They gave a long hum at that, clearly thinking something over. “Guess I’m not really stargazing then.” “So what would you say you’re doing?” Tim tried to keep his voice casual. They gave a little shrug, eyes still glued to the murky sky. “Just… wondering it must be like… to die without getting to see the stars one last time.” Tim jolted towards them instinctively, his hands gripped white knuckled tight on the ledge to avoid reaching out. Don’t do anything that might give them a reason to jump. The stranger glanced at Tim again. A crooked smile graced their lips. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” Tim wants to say he’s not scared. It would be a lie. “I’m not up here to jump, I promise. I very much want to live.” Tim wanted desperately to believe that.

_____

AN: Finally wrote the start of this last night when I couldn't sleep. I gave it a rough polish so here it is! I don't know if I'll post all of it on tumblr, as I think I want to play around with chapter pacing for effect, but have this here at least. (Also I cannot tell you how many times I wrote Tim as TIme.) As always, stay delightful.

@michealawithana | @skulld3mort-1fan | @legowerewolf | @tsukihimeyfan | @bahfev

#dp x dc #danny fenton #tim drake #brain dead #dead tired #i think those are both the ship names #yes? #tim/danny #tw sui ideation #tw suicidal ideation #not really but it's feared #let me know if there needs to be more cw tags #specter of starlight

[jaylienpotter]

Part 3 of Let them be | 1.9K words

> Part 2 | Part 4 <

Let people want both

Remus, James and Peter were outside already, waiting for Sirius to join them to go to Hogsmead. Remus was getting impatient (it was getting close to that time of the month), it was unbelievable the amount of time someone could take to get ready. They always expected him to take longer, hence why not waiting at the dorm. But that day Padfoot was taking especially long.

Lupin's frown became something else entirely. Thin lips parted, brown eyes wide and cheeks most certainly darker than usual. Siri looked absolutely gorgeous, hot, perfect.

"Looking good Pads!" Prongs greeted the last marauder with his usual cheerful grin. But he didn't have the tall boy's slightest attention.

"You think?"

"Yeah! Girl day?" Sirius hummed affirmatively and got closer. Fuck did he she look even better.

"Where did you get the clothes?" The short blond boy was still getting used to the whole gender thing, but it had gotten better since the protest they did for Regulus.

"Well, Marlene gave me the skirt, said it's a tad too big on her. The top is mine but I cut it to be cropped. Not bad, I'd say. Definitely not the straightest but it's me after all. And I don't know, it gives it a grungy style. The fishnets are Mary's. I was expecting it to be uncomfortable but it's not, really. The accessories are all mine except for the bracelet, which is also Marlene's. The boots are mine, obviously. It would be fun to maybe get heels at one point but I don't think they exist in my size."

"You can always try spells. You look wicked, anyway!" Potter turned to Remus, who was very much panicking on the inside. "Y'alright, Moony?"

"Huh? Oh- yeah, yeah." Was that suspicious? He was quite collected in general but something about that man - or woman, person, didn't really matter - made him feral. He wanted Sirius to be his. He needed it. But he was far too awkward and shy to ever make a move. I mean, what if it ruined their friendship?

"Look!" Pads lifted her rectangle black sunglasses to show an amazing eye look (not that Remus knew much about makeup) that made her grey eyes pop. "I did it myself! Lily has been teaching me how to make different looks with makeup."

"You're on a first name basis, now? You're not stealing Evans from me, Pads, are you?" He squinted as if threatening, not that he would ever hurt his best friend.

"No, don't worry. I'm still very much into blokes."

"Good. Anyone you got your eyes on?"

"Maybe. Maybe not." Suddenly focused on the conversation, a million thoughts raced through Rem's head. Did Padfoot have a crush? Who could it be?

"Secretive. I'm onto you, Pads. And how about you Moony? We all know Pete is devoted to the Ravenclaw boy-"

"Merlin! I've told you already, Benjy and I are just friends."

"Sure." Round glasses turned to Moony, who, for once, was feeling somewhat brave.

"I guess you could say I fancy someone." He hoped to get a reaction from said person.

"Ooooo! Who is she?" This was his moment.

"Why are you assuming it's a girl?" There it was. Pads looked up, interest peaked. It could only be from curiosity, she always enjoyed some drama. Or maybe, hopefully, it could be deeper than that.

"Am I the only straight person here?"

"Well I'm not gay, because I don't fancy Benjy. I don't fancy anyone." Poor Pete. James wouldn't leave him alone about it, constantly teasing.

"Whatever you say, Wormy. Who's this person, Moony?"

"Ain't telling." He was feeling brave and maybe even impulsive. But not even the full moon made him an idiot.

"Aww, come on! Why don't you lot tell me anything?!"

"Perhaps because you're extremely obvious and embarrassing." He did have a point. Although that wasn't the reason in this case.

"Awn, do I embarrass you in front of eagle boy?"

"You're insufferable!" Potter chuckled, deciding it was enough teasing.

"Well, where we off to first? Zonko's?"

"We should go there last. We will need quite a lot of things, we're running out of stock for pranks."

"What would we do without you, Moony?" Get in a lot more detentions, that's for sure. "Three broomsticks?"

They all agreed and went to the pub, ordering butterbeer. After a while of talking about nothings, Peter got up.

"I have to go for a bit."

"Meeting a certain someone whose name starts with a B?"

"Sod off, Potter. I'll see you later." He was barely out the door when James got up too.

"Oh shit! I also need to go. I want to buy Lily some flowers. See if this time she'll accept going on a date. Sorry mates." He took some coins from his pockets (most of them galleons, rich prick) and messily left them on the table. "Uh this should cover some of the drinks. I'll meet you at Zonko's in like 30, yeah?"

"Just go, lover boy."

"Thank you, you're the best!" And then it was just them. It's not like they were never alone, but it was especially hard to focus when Sirius looked like a hot rockstar. No matter where Lupin looked, he could easily get flustered. Face? Amazing makeup that he wanted to kiss. Top? You could see her abs under the crop. Bottom? Obviously the mini skirt. There was no way out.

"You seem distracted."

"Hm? Do I?" Fuck.

"Yes. Is it because of the person you fancy?"

"Maybe." Absolutely.

"I didn't know you were bi." The lanky boy just shrugged, afraid to say something stupid. "Do I know him?"

"You know everyone."

"You know what I mean." Another non answer, a sip of the butterbeer that was near the end. "Do you know if he's gay? Or bi or whatever."

"He is."

"What does he look like?" They were getting into dangerous territory. There weren't many males at hogwarts with fucking grey eyes. Join the long black hair and it was a given.

"Why the interrogation? You also didn't give us much closure."

"Ask me things, then." He pondered. He desperately wanted to find out if Padfoot had any interest in the boy across from her.

"Do you fancy someone?"

"I do." Could be anyone.

"What's his house?"

"Gryffindor, of course. I have high standards, Moons." Siri was the only person that called him that. Got this man on his knees every time.

"I mean you dated a Ravenclaw."

"Shhhh we don't talk about him."

"Right." Brown eyebrows came together "Is it- is it James?" It made sense. They were always together, after all. And Potter was always complimenting his best mate.

"Prongs?! Fuck no! He's my brother. Why? You don't fancy him, do you…?"

"No, no!" Different Marauder.

"What's his house?"

"Also Gryffindor. What does your crush look like?" It could go downhill from there very fast.

"Brown hair. Brown eyes." Matched… "Bad sense of style." Listen. Remus didn't have a bad sense of style. He just liked to be comfortable. Although he could be the one in the description since Black said he looked like a grandfather.

Before Rem could answer, probably ask something that was more specific, a crash and shouts were heard a few tables over.

"Let's go somewhere else?"

"Sounds good."

After paying, Moony awkwardly followed his crush to a secluded area in the street.

"How about you? What does your crush look like?"

"Dark hair…" Pads hummed, encouraging to continue. "Light eyes…" Bastard was smirking. Smirking at the pink cheeks across the scarred face.

"I see…" She got close. Very close. "You know, Lupin. I couldn't help but notice you get particularly shy whenever I'm wearing a skirt. Any reason?" He didn't say anything. I mean, what was he supposed to say? Sirius obviously knew the answer already. "I'd say you simply like short skirts but I don't see you staring at other girls like that." His cheeks matched the colour of their house and he could be playing quidditch with how fast his heart was beating. "What is it, Remy?"

"Siri…" His voice was pleading, his eyes were pleading, his heart was pleading, he was on his knees and she was well aware of that.

"No no." She took his chin and made him look into those grey eyes. "Say it."

"I…" Shit, he was nervous. "I… like you…"

"Was that so hard? If all I needed to do to get you to like me back was to wear a skirt, I would've protested a lot sooner."

"It's not since the skirt… It's been longer." The Black smirk. Annoying and hot. He just wanted to kiss it, aware the bold red lipstick would get smudged on both of them.

"Remus John Lupin, you fool." And just like that, their lips met. Pale arms around the taller one's neck. Moony put his arms around her and pulled her closer, feeling her bare skin and melting into the kiss.

Merlin knows how long the kissing lasted. Time didn't exist between those two. After what seemed like an eternity and yet not enough, they parted.

"You have some lipstick on you." She chuckled and cleaned some of it with her finger. "I'm making it worse…"

"That's okay. I'll wash my face."

"Woooooo!" Turning around, there was a short Filipino blondie cheering them, holding hands with her dark skinned girlfriend. "Fucking finally! You better tell me the details, Black!"

"Fine! Now sod off Mckinnon!" She laughed and pulled Dorcas, walking away. "Well…"

"I uh… I'll wash my face at the pub."

"I'll walk with you." The silence was a tad awkward. At least to Remus. His crush took his hand and broke the ice. "So, since when do you fancy me?"

"I'm not sure… A year, maybe? You?"

"Awww really? You should have come out sooner. I've liked you since fourth year. Never made a move because I thought you were straight. And even after the protest, I wasn't sure if you just found me attractive because I look like a girl."

"No, I like you when you're masculine too. The skirt just… I don't know, has a different effect. Wait here?"

"Is my lipstick smudged?"

"A bit."

"I'll go too." They went back to the pub they had left some minutes ago. Pads went to the girl's bathroom while Remus cleaned his face and grinned at the mirror in the men's. When they met again, the red lips were as lively as before. They stained Moony, the shape of a kiss on his left cheek. "Sorry. Had to."

It had been over 30 minutes since James left to fetch Lily a gift. So naturally, he and Pettigrew were already waiting at Zonko's.

"There they are! Where were you two- Is that lipstick?!" The werewolf blushed and looked down while his partner held up their hands grinning.

"We're dating!"

"What?! You were each other's crushes?!" Wormtail shook his head.

"You are so oblivious, Prongs."

"Wha- You knew?!"

"Everyone with eyes and some common sense knows those two have been pining over each other. Congrats on figuring it out, it was getting painful to watch."

"Wormtail!" Pads gasped dramatically, her hand over her chest. "How could you stay quiet?"

"Wasn't my place to say anything. And it was quite entertaining to watch how stupid you both were." Sirius seemed offended, but Remus couldn't help but find the whole situation hilarious.

#Another part of the lil series hehe #wolfstar #genderfluid sirius black #marauders #marauders era #the marauders #harry potter marauders #marauders fanfiction #marauders fandom #dead gay wizards #remus john lupin #remus lupin #remus x sirius #sirius black #james & peter & remus & sirius

[autisticlancemcclain]

What’s your most hated fandom characterization for each of the main 7?

hoo boy am i glad you asked. although i’m gonna be real, my issue is less with fandom characterization, because you do you i don’t give a shit, and more with how people go batty if you personally are not a fan of fanon characterizations.

like, lemme be obvious and talk about my biggest example. i am a brown eyed lance truther. we know this. the amount of weirdo comments, weirdo DMs, and weirdo asks i get is atrocious. i post a lot of them bc they’re so stupid they’re funny but the amount of people per week that tell me to kill myself is lowkey wild. the amount of people that love to say some variation of “i liked your fic but you ruined it by making lances eyes brown! his eyes are blue!” and i’ve checked other brown eyed truther’s fics — either they delete their comments better than me, or they do not get the same thing. idk what the deal is lol.

i will concede to the point that i’m a contrarian and annoying about it, but a list of the following non-fanon headcanons/characterizations i hold that have been commented on in some derisive way:

- bitchy hunk (lol)

- non “cinnamon roll too pure and baby and good for this world” hunk*

- allura is a good character (🤡)**

- allura is a sweetheart

- allura is not a drill sergeant

- kuron was a good iteration of shiro

- red paladin lance/black paladin keith/blue paladin allura

- retired shiro

- pidge is not cruel

- pidge is not an infant and can handle things a regular 14-15 year old can handle

- small details are irrelevant (think lances family, exact prekerb details, etc)

- keith gyeong and lance sanchez

- fucking brown eyed lance. i’m saying it again

- tall keith

- non omega keith***

- readmores

- autistic lance

- adhd keith

- non asshole/cruel keith

- comphetting gay lance****

- shallura

- bi shiro, demi keith, essentially any sexuality headcanon that isn’t mainstream

- hunk who isn’t food obsessed

- that’s about it

*stop infantilising hunk

**the allura hate is ridiculous and largely rooted in anti-Blackness. it should not be a fight to say that she had a reason to feel betrayed by keith’s heritage, that she did not “get in the way” of klance, that her death was stupid and ridiculous, that she is often pushed over in favour of klance (not as in she’s less popular, but that her/her death are used as a plot device to further klance), and that she is as interesting, nuanced, and multifaceted as the rest of them.

***people, inevitably, feminize characters in fandoms (largely because many people in fandom are young women, i know i feminize characters simply bc i’m making them like me and i’m feminine lol), and my issue is that people (in the general sense, not everybody) love to feminize keith and then get really mad if anyone else is feminized. this is not about fem or trans woman keith btw. this is about people omega-ifying him and then losing their MINDS if i don’t share that headcanon.

****i literally only wrote this once and then never again because people lost their minds. but as much as i love bi lance, i think it’s interesting that usually, when we see “boy crazy” or “girl crazy” characters, especially if they have a lot of chemistry or homoerotic tension with a same-gender character, people are like oh ya that’s comphetting. that character is desperately trying to outrun the gay thoughts. but with lance, who was definitely girl crazy and cared more about having a girlfriend than actually dating and falling in love (think “mrs blue lion” — he didn’t give a fuck about who he was marrying, so long that it was a girl), calling him gay will have people saying you’re erasing bisexuality. as if he was not fucking straight in the show. so.

sorry this is so bitter and ranty lol. been in a mood

#and have been wanting to complain about this specifically for months #so thank u for that #longpost #vld headcanons #rant #ask

[sheltershock]

Currently thinking about the symbolism of orange with Sasha’s character. How it’s a metaphor present both in Sasha’s mind and lab/office of having a very cold exterior(black/white or greys and blues) and having the smallest pop of color in the interior specifically with the color orange.

The first obvious appearance of this is in his level. When he pops out of the trapdoor/hatch in his mind there’s orange light streaming out from wherever that portal leads to deer within. This is then mirrored in the sequel seen in his office, which has the same cube design with geometric framing. The general feel of the lab is cold and almost inhuman in a way. There’s no windows and all the light is artificial. But the small corner of his office is brightly lit and warm on the inside. And the couch and pillows on top are orange along with bits of the rug on the floor.

It’s also in his outfit. The dark pants, shoes, gloves, glasses and coat cover up the sweater he’s wearing that striped with tans and browns, earthy colors and a less saturated orange. Three places, that’s a pattern.

Then there’s the detail of where the orange is, in comfortable things. It’s the surrounding light for wherever Sasha’s hanging out when chaos is absolutely rocking his entire world. It’s in his turtleneck sweater, something you usually wear to combat cold. It’s in the couch cushions and pillows, something you usually interact with to talk a break or rest in.

It’s such an obvious metaphor. Sasha is such an intimidating figure initially, cold and detached from the world and others. But then you actually spend a little time with him and he’s actually a dork who cares a lot about the people he’s close with. The most glaring time is when he calls Lili ‘darling’ that one time in RoR, completely unprompted. For most the jet ride he’s barely acknowledging that she’s crying her eyes out and mostly has the air of “don’t make me turn this car around.” But then just out of nowhere when he gets good news about Truman’s location he just pulls out the “I think we might know where he is, darling” while clearly putting on the softest tone he can most definitely but imitating Milla. And it just shows that he’s been aware the entire time and just saying something now while trying so hard to be comforting is so much. Fantastic characterization.

I love all the small details in this series, even with something like color and where it appears and how that links up with the character themselves. Just wow. I love the writing here.

#psychonauts #psychonauts 2 #psychonauts rhombus of ruin #sasha nein #I’ve just had this rolling around for a while #there’s this one post about the orange in his office and how Milla clearly must have stepped in and I like that post #but I’ve noticed this detail for a minute and I fully believe Sasha chose the orange himself #its a reoccurring thing for his character so yeah #maybe you can speculate that orange is sasha’s favorite color. it would be a cool headcanon #I’ve imagined before that oleander and him are having a tiff and oleander is talking about how they’re fantastic friends and sasha just goe #”okay. what’s my favorite color?” “….blue. No! It’s black isn’t it?” “Black isn’t a color Morry it’s a *shade*”

[adobe-outdesign]

DHMIS Easter Eggs and Background Details

A huge list of a bunch of background details, foreshadowing, and Easter Eggs I noticed on my second watch-through. Note that I’m only including things that are fairly obscure, rather than “obvious” items others have already pointed out (so I’m not including the symbol sightings, for example). Feel free to add on with anything I missed.

Episode 1

In the theme song, Red Guy is “you”, which makes sense as he’s usually the audience surrogate character

Among the briefcase’s papers is a sticky note with 1906 on it

Right as the briefcase leaves, the last line is “you can be the ones who dig a hole for a funeral” as foreshadowing to the next episode

Everyone’s name tag in the factory has their name except for Yellow’s, which just says “employee”

When Bird is talking to Red in the office, he says that they’ve only been there for “9 minutes”. This is at the 14 minute mark and they got to Peterson’s at 5 minutes in, so they have indeed been there 9 minutes

According to the Carehound poster, Peterson’s is closed Mon–Sat and is open for exactly 4 minutes at 10 PM on Sun

Red Guy framed and hung the fax the fax machine gave him on the wall

Before the song starts the briefcase is rushing off to his job, but when the song ends he tells Brendon it’s time for his bath (as in, they’re going home). Meaning that teaching/torturing the puppets was the job he was rushing off to

Episode 2

The orange with eyes that was in the very first DHMIS short is in the BG when Red checks his ID card

The gel teacher appears as an inanimate object while Duck’s in the bathroom during the Big Day song

The tissue box says “sad squares” on it

Yellow’s red overalls from the ending of the DHMIS 6 short appear on his bed

The make your new friend box claims the new friend is not, in fact, toilet trained

The cassette that Duck plays is the same song from the end credits

Stain mentions “some people think we’re in a simulation” during their song, which references both the end of the OG series and episode 6 of this show

The shovel at the end of this episode cameos at the end of the original DHMIS 6 short as a teacher

There are a bunch of maggots by real!Bird’s feet at the end before they start the song

Episode 3

The Chuddle Dollops are “warm lasagna flavor”

Lillie and Todney switch their shirts from brown to black and white stripes while at their house for some reason

The picture Todney holds up appears to show Yellow holding a very Dead Duck by the leg

When Todney and Lillie are measuring their heights, the names on the wall are “grandma”, “Todney” and “Lily” (spelled with a Y)

When they measure Yellow’s height, they also measure his feet. They’re getting his measurements so they know what size to make the outfit they stick him in later

Duck has the toasted bread slice child from earlier on the table when Red drops in

Episode 4

That triangle thing from the original series shows up on the bookshelf early on

The apple teacher from the last episode also shows up on the shelf, surprisingly not eaten

The pamphlets Warren holds up for the restaurant-style meal include one for Grolton’s Chiken

The trio’s digital style avatars from DHMIS 4 show up in the BG when they go online as well as the “nothing” sign from 2 and the clown painting from 1

There’s a phone in every ep so far, probably as a reference to the role phones played in the OG series. A phone ringing is what leads Red into the office in 1, Red says you have to schedule to use the phone in 2, Lily and Todney cut the landline in 3, and there’s a phone in Yellow’s brain that Warren uses to order food

The search results on Colin include “long faced individuals in YOUR area - looking to chat!” and “long faced man VS horse - the ultimate long face showdown!”

Episode 5

The recipe note on the fridge says “rat shin”, “pie”, and “egg soup”

The photo in the kitchen background changes to a different photo each ep

Bird’s clipboard includes “one Jason” at the bottom

Bird individually counting tiles instead of counting it as one floor is valid considering the floor extends infinitely during the blackout in 6

If I’m not mistaken Red walking into another room is the first time that’s ever happened in either the show or the shorts. Usually it just cuts to them already in a different room

There’s another phone on the wall in the living room

The train teacher’s eyebrows fall off in bike form and remain gone while in car form

Mullhoven’s name is on a signpost (and the teacher) during a song transition, and the poster under it says that this is a “neighborhood watch area” with a picture of a woman (maybe meant to be Lelsey? though it doesn’t look much like her)

Roy’s face is on a pirate flag

1906 reference on the second bus, which reads “terminal 196″ in all of the destination windows

The car has a worm button in it

Bird says “we’ve already seen a dead horse”, even though they haven’t

Mini-Tony on the dashboard

Time Child’s digital clock reads 19:06

Mulhoven is spelled differently every time it shows up

Some of the Mulhoven signs include “Nice Hair”, “Nice Road”, and “It’s shoes”

Another sign says “Quiz Night Fun: Every Morning (It’s fun!)”

People have pointed out the Roy cameo in the neighbors shot, but Duck is also a few windows down

One character is dressed like Lily (blonde girl with striped shirt and a red letter), though the letter appears to be “I” instead of “L”

Episode 6

The bill is from Roy-Electric and it’s for 19.06 pounds

Electracey’s last two numbers on her neck are 96

Final phone is the fake phone with a real phone in it. Duck also has a phone during the blackout

Drawing with the dead Duck from Episode 5 of the OG series pops up in the BG during the shredder scene

Crossword includes “Roy”, “gravel” (a nod to DHMIS 3), and “aspic” (DHMIS 5)

When Electracey is malfunctioning the sunlight outside flickers with the indoor lights, hinting at the dollhouse thing

One of the chalkboard drawings says “aspic” and another says “Roy”

Clayhill is also on the chalkboard but scribbled out

The electric clock in the house reads “20:06″ (as in June 20th)

The urn that Red smashes has Duck’s face on it, meaning it’s once again another dead Duck

Sketchbook is lying dead beside the other teachers in front of the fridge

The fridge from the opening also shows up, with the same character pictures (and Duck with a powerdrill, the one used for Stain in episode 2)

There’s a decapitated Duck with a TV where the head should be, which lines up with Yellow breaking the doll in the next scene

The symbols on the book are as follows: Red’s eyes, decapitated Duck and Yellow heads (Yellow’s showing him with wires instead of blood), Roy coin from Ep 1 with a worm, battery with a worm, shovel, Tony, and Yellow’s severed hand from Ep 1

#don't hug me i'm scared #dhmis #dhmis series #dont hug me im scared #outdesign posts things #outdesign analyzes things #I think most of this is meaningless background nonsense but it is fun to spot #long post #greatest hits

[accio-sriracha]

Remus Lupin is HOT.

~~~♤~~~

Sirius Black has never been the type to get shy. Not even when flirting with some of the most attractive guys in school. Sirius once managed to talk his way out of three detentions, because the stand-in while Filch was off doing who knows what for Dumbledore was not much older than they were, and Sirius is very good at flirting.

There was only one known person on the planet with the power to make him blush, and that was their very own Remus Lupin.

Remus wasn't conventionally attractive by other people's standards. He dressed in ill-fitting clothing that hid his figure completley, his eyes were almost always covered by his curls, and his skin was -of course- scarred.

To Sirius? He was the most beautiful man in the world.

Sirius always found himself staring at the way his eyelashes rested on his cheek when his eyes were closed. How his strong hands were so incredibly gentle when they held things. He noticed the way Remus' eyes lit up when he was excited, and how they always seemed warmer when looking at him compared to everyone else.

He had a scar that ran across his cheekbone, it made his light freckles stand out a little more. His canine teeth were sharper than most people's too, a detail Sirius found both amusing and adorable.

Remus' voice was quiet and smooth, even when he was angry, his tone deep and raspy when he was tired. He always wore the same bracelet, one that James had given him their third year with a cresent moon pendant on it, the jewelery itself was cute, but on Remus it looked hotter than it probably should have.

His smell was clean, like soap and coconut, and his jumpers were usually shades of brown, a color Sirius felt suited him perfectly.

From the moment they started dating he had been a blushing mess. Every time Remus' gaze lasted a split second longer than necessary Sirius found himself letting out a quiet involuntary giggle.

Remus would pull him into a hug, sliding his hands over Sirius' hips innocently. Sirius would need at least a half hour to recover before he was able to speak again.

The first time they slept together Sirius' face was red for a week. He'd been unable to control it, every time he looked at Remus he thought back to that night.

As they got older, Remus started to catch on to just how much of an affect he had on Sirius, and started using it to his advantage.

Sirius would be talking with another guy and Remus could tell the other was a little too interested in the conversation. All Remus would need to do is walk up behind Sirius and wrap an arm around his waist,

"Hey babe." He whispered. Sirius would flush and turn to stare at him, forgetting his conversation entirely.

Sometimes, when Remus was in the mood to mess with him, he'd sit across from him at the table. He knew Sirius was particularly attracted to his hands, so he would do little things to grab his attention, dragging his finger around the rim of his glass, purposefully getting jam on his fingers so he could lick it off.

It worked like a charm every time. Sirius would be entranced, watching his throat every time he took a drink, watching the way he sighed when he ate a good piece of chocolate.

Sirius would spend the rest of the day clearly trying to hint at him what he wanted. Remus would pretend not to notice, hiding his amusement as the hints got more and more obvious.

Sirius outright sat in his lap in the common room at one point, whispering in his ear how hot Remus was.

Remus replied with "Thank you." And continued on with his reading.

At the end of the day, Sirius was so tired and frustrated with trying to reach him he gave up, going to bed early.

Remus followed a couple minutes later, locking and casting a silencing charm on the door.

Sirius gasped when the curtains flung open, Remus climbed on top of him and kissed him hungrily.

Sirius was always much more nervous when he was surprised, it was cute to see him like that, a side of Sirius only Remus could bring out.

So yeah, Remus was so, so hot, but he was also Sirius', and nothing was going to take him away.

~~~♤~~~

#wolfstar headcanon #harry potter #marauders #wolfstar #marauders era #remus lupin #remus x sirius #sirius black #sirius loves remus #Remus is HOT #fight me

[drdemonprince]

Your blog is like a breath of fresh air. Thank you for all the wonderful thoughts and writing.

That said I actually have a question. I am pro-palestine(it feels stupid to call it that, as if it should even be a debate) and in a very left leaning friend group. But also a very white academic one. You know the type, read Marx, dream of the revolution but continue studying to end up in 9 to 5s instead of doing anything(I am guilty of it too, this isn't meant as insult just a description)

Anyways, as you can imagine they have been extremely hesitant when it comes to having any opinion on Israel or Palestine. That wouldn't be a problem in itself, I know how to start topics with them and get them thinking usually but in this case there is an additional problem. Whenever I try to broach the topic I get shutdown with "Look at all the shit that is going on here, our country is falling into fascism, I just don't have the energy to deal with this conflict. Please don't talk about it because it's triggering". And I have zero clue what to do. Forget getting them to go on protests with me, I can't even speak to them about it and feel really guilty. Its me bringing up a heavily triggering topic after all. It feels wrong to feel guilty though. I know at the end of the day it's not important if I could convince some people to give a fuck but do you have any advice? How to get over this guilt or maybe how to broach a topic with that considered?

My main problem is my fear of losing my friends because I have been ill for some time(as in physically unable to leave the house for more than a short grocery run, or my visits to the doctor, because of pain and my friends are what keep me alive) and losing their help would be not good.

My exact situation aside, do you have advice for someone to broach a topic that others describe as unpleasant/triggering without causing a huge rift in the group?

Thanks for your kind words and your question, Anon.

I think your friends suck and that you can do better than them. I think you should get out there and find yourself some Black, brown, working class anarchist and anarco-communist buds (and Marxists who show up for others in a real, observable way in their regular lives) as soon as you can.

I know that wasn't the answer you were looking for. But I have seen this kind of entirely theoretical, jaded, self-superior, passive, white well-off Marxist type a thousand times before, and I've failed to ever see them show up for other people in any kind of consistent way.

And it's not only the people systematically crushed beneath the wheel of Capital half a world away that they neglect, either. They tend to be pretty shitty friends and neighbors when it all comes down to it on the micro-level, too. Their smug over-intellectualism and dispassionate cynicism allows them to justify remaining disengaged and going along with the status quo in a way that ultimately serves capitalism very well.

There is a theoretical basis to this selfishness and disengagement, I will admit. This type of overly academic Marxist typically believes that the fall of capitalism is inevitable, that humans lack free will and only behave as befits their obvious material interests, and that there is nothing that one can do on a personal level to hasten any kind of Revolution, so there is nothing left to do but wait, and take care of oneself, and allow the future to unfold.

This is a perspective explicitly advocated for by people like the Chapo Trap House guys, and among academic white boy communist types, it is incredibly popular. I remember hearing Matt Christman saying on his vlogs that he essentially does not believe the conditions allowing capitalism to fall will happen in his lifetime, and so his only responsibility is to just take care of himself and his family and be comfortable.

Ultimately, these types wind up sounding and behaving exactly like capitalist economists who believe that everyone is rationally motivated only by increasing their personal wealth. They are disengaged from politics except insofar as they like to make snide jokes about current events for their own entertainment and enrichment, and they don't see themselves as having the capacity to exert a positive influence on the world, nor any obligation to. It's bleak shit.

At the same time, if your friends are in the circles that tend to read and listen to and promote this kind of stuff, surely they have also been exposed to popular leftist voices advocating loudly for the Palestinian cause. And yet still they have done nothing.

Hasan Piker has been vocally pro-Palestine his entire career, and his Twitch channel has been providing near constant coverage of Palestinian issues since October 7th. True Anon has had multiple episodes on the Israel Lobby, the suppression of pro-Palestinian activism and journalistic coverage, and has aired interviews with Normal Finkelstein. Palestine is the central topic of nearly every Trillbilly Worker's Party podcast for months now.

These are widely popular voices among the very types of Marxists that you say that your friends are, and many of these creators are close friends with the Chapo Trap House guys, whom your friends almost certainly are taking notes from. So it's nearly impossible to imagine that your friends have not encountered the near constant coverage of the struggle of the Palestinians that all the rest of us have. And yet still your friends do nothing. Still they do not care, and dismiss you when you share with them how despairing you feel.

Your friends have turned off an essential part of their hearts, I think. And I don't mean they lack empathy. Not having empathy is fine, I don't have it either -- but I make the conscious choice to care about the Palestinian cause and to advocate for it, because it aligns with my values. I give a fuck. My giving a fuck is conveyed through my actions, not through what I think about or how I feel.

Your friends are showing no interest in learning more about this genocide or doing anything about it. Perhaps some degree of ignorance or hesitancy could be justified early on because the Israeli apologist propaganda is so far reaching, but we're well past the point of that explaining away inaction by now. Over 100,000 people are missing and over 30,000 are known to be dead and little girls are being shot by snipers while seeking medical care while babies are left to rot in their NICU beds.

Your friends know this. Maybe not everyone in the world does, but if they're so well-read about leftist issues, your friends do. And they have chosen, for some reason, not to care. They've disconnected from the pain the Palestinian people are in, unplugged from the steady stream of upsetting information, sought comfort in a politics that says all too conveniently that nothing they do matters, and when you try to share with them how much anguish you are feeling about the mass deaths happening throughout the world, they're dismissive toward you.

Your friends suck. If acknowleding reality and confronting the horrors of a genocide is too tough and triggering for them, then a lot of horrors here at home will be too much for their fragile egos too. There are so many leftists you could be surrounding yourself with instead, I promise -- people who give back to their communities, people who are in the streets doing the tough work of feeding and housing and fighting for the release from prison of people every day, instead of using those local struggles as a shield for their inaction on a more global scale.

Fuck these people for real. This is a big glaring red flag and it will be relevant to your friendship and your life. One day many of them might see you and your problems and your human needs as too much of a distraction from their dry academic jerk-off sessions too. I've seen it a dozen times. Sorry to be so blunt. But you seem like a person who is putting their attention in all the right places and I don't want to see that compassion squandered on people who won't ever show you the same consideration. You can find people who actually walk the walk, they're everywhere.

[sparklychaosandotherthings]

Headcanons for Jason Todd/Red Hood that are true cause I say so;

- every. Single. Time. He wakes up, he stretches out and the crack his entire skeletal structure makes could break the sound barrier

- he has tried to dye the white streak in his hair every single color, he has also tried chopping it off; it comes back every time, usually worse, so he stopped trying

- he uses super expensive no smudge, eye - black, the kind that won’t rub into ur eyes, (when his eyes burn it reminds him of his time in the Lazarus pit) the stuff does not move. so any smears you see in the makeup are done entirely on purpose with the intent to look cool and edgy. (The eye black is one of the only splurging purchases he allows himself)

- the long gloves he wears aren’t actually long gloves, it’s a pair of short gloves layered over boxing bandages (this is entirely personal preference, he claims this feels better, he absolutely could get better gloves if he truly wanted them)

- he thrifted his brown jacket from goodwill and he’s secretly so proud of that fact (he literally LOVES thrifting and pretends like he doesn’t absolutely go FERAL when he finds a good deal)

- he grew up in poverty and that gave him a lot of habits, but one of the most obvious ones is his choice of snacks. His snack requests are ridiculous, two slices of cheese, a handful of chocolate chips, a piece of ham rolled up in a tortilla. Alfred is appalled, but at this point unphased (“master Jason’s snacking habits are his own.”)

- he really likes the color green, but he feels absolutely conflicted about the fact that he really likes that color due to all of the trauma he has surrounding the color (what can he say? He likes the nature)

- he treats his weapons like people. He names every single one of his them and cleans them regularly. He absolutely subscribes to the belief that if you don’t treat your weapons right they won’t work for you. If u ask him about that tho, he’ll lie and say he just wants to make sure they work when he needs them too. (he’ll apologize to them later)

- he has a (sometimes annoying) habit of fidgeting with his weapons when he’s bored, knives will be flipped open and closed, safety gets flicked on and off, move his scope every 5 seconds. Anything that makes something click a lil he probably does, he claims it “helps him focus”

- he wears long socks with wacky patterns every single day, he owns like 25 pairs of them in every color imaginable (there is a Batman pair of them, yes he will lie about that)

- he will not drink coffee black, you would think he would hide that but no, he is INCREDIBLY vocal about the fact that black coffee is absolutely revolting. He doesn’t even really like coffee at all, he prefers to get his caffeine from soda. He doesn’t really like tea either (but if Alfred makes it for him then u better believe it’s the best cup of tea he’s ever had in his entire life)

#jason todd #batman #dcu #i just love him #he’s literally my favorite robin #dc comics #red hood #au #headcanon #ao3