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You know every show that the premise is like “people find out ghosts/monsters/demons are real and are charged with stopping them” appeal to me way more now as a post-graduate not because I believe in ghosts more or whatever but because can you IMAGINE just being handed a job that you don’t even need to apply for? Like just being told “basically there’s this bad thing and all you do is make sure it doesn’t do what it wants” that’s just customer service baby and I worked that for 6 goddamn years! Just TRY getting past “I have a job to offer you” before I can jump down your throat agreeing.

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Hey. I think I hate you.

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the insane experience of missing a fictional character . like you can always go back and reread the book , replay the game , rewatch the show or movie , you can always go back & see them , but you can never experience them & their story for the first time again . its absurd to miss them because they'll always be there , but you'll miss when there were still new things for them to say .

for a small time they were real & growing and changing and you hung onto every new word, but now all they can do is repeat the same story forever&ever & they're not real anymore because you know everything they're going to do. & you miss them. its fucked man...

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Oliver: I dreamed about you while I was in my bludger coma. I was all old and withered and you were still nice and pink.

Percy: you think I’m nice?

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post game smooch ♥️

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Title: Asshole Tax and Wedding Bells

A/N: Marinette thinks they just landed a dream client. Instead, they just adopted a feral Batcat and her billionaire chaos family.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng was a legend in the wedding planning world.

She didn’t just organize weddings—she saved them.

When venues burned down? She had backups.

When dresses ripped, tore, or got wine-spilled by drunk aunts with boundary issues? She sewed new ones—by hand, overnight.

When bridezillas turned into full kaijus mid-ceremony, Marinette tranquilized them with perfectly brewed jasmine tea and a thousand-yard stare that made even the most stubborn mother-in-law fold.

And the best part? No one knew how she did it. Just that she did. Every time.

Well. Almost no one knew.

Behind the curtain, hidden in her glitter-covered office was a collection of magical gods disguised as chattering trinkets.

“Don’t book the Villa di Magnifico,” barked Tikki one morning. “The energy is rancid. Someone will fall in the koi pond. Again.”

“Tell the Jones couple not to elope,” buzzed Nooroo, floating lazily. “He’s still texting his ex. Ugh. Mortals.”

“Charge double for the ones who ask for ‘a Boho Fairy Woodland Cosplay Princess wedding but on a $200 budget.’” growled Plagg, who was currently lounging in a vintage teacup. “Pain in my whiskers.”

Thus, with the collective power of the Kwamis’ ancient wisdom and Marinette’s type-A perfectionism, the business soared. Soirée Saveurs had its name whispered between celebrities, politicians, and socialites. Some said she was psychic. Others called her a miracle worker.

One person called her dangerous.

That person? Selina Kyle.

And she meant it as a compliment.

The first time Selina saw Marinette, she was elbow-deep in silk and tears, sewing a wedding dress in the supply closet of a vineyard, lit only by the glow of emergency fairy lights and spite.

The bride’s designer gown had been ruined by a jealous cousin with a red wine “accident.”

Marinette just smiled, tied her hair up, and got to work.

By dawn, the bride walked down the aisle in a gown more beautiful than the original—one that sparkled with hand-sewn beads, magic-infused lace, and a vengeance that could cut glass.

Selina fell in love. Not romantically—she had Bruce for that—but on a primal “I-will-collect-you-like-a-shiny-rock” level.

“You’re planning our wedding,” she declared, dragging Bruce into Marinette’s Parisian office a week later.

Bruce had protested at first. Not because he didn’t trust Selina’s taste—he did. Mostly. But because his kids were feral, Alfred was passive-aggressively stressed, and he was emotionally allergic to planning anything.

Then he met Marinette.

She was young. Too young. Barely mid-twenties and already commanding meetings with New York’s elite like she had them tied in ribbons.

And yet…

He watched as she effortlessly rearranged their wedding timeline, suggested alternate locations based on Selina’s preference for moonlight and Bruce’s tragic inability to survive pollen, and even offered a side service for “handling dramatic relatives with grace and quiet violence.”

Bruce blinked. “You’re… thorough.”

Marinette gave a business-cute smile. “Mr. Wayne, I’ve single-handedly prevented five divorces, seven scandals, and one cult uprising disguised as a bachelorette party. I have to be thorough.”

Selina beamed. “We’re hiring her.”

In the car, moments after leaving Marinette’s office…

Selina slowly turned her head to Bruce. Expression unreadable.

“I’m only going to ask this once,” she said, voice low, nails tapping against the leather armrest. “Did you sleep with the wedding planner?”

Bruce opened his mouth, closed it. Rubbed his temples.

“No,” he said at last. “I slept with her mother.”

Selina stared. The silence was absolute.

“…If we just met your kid and didn’t invite them to the wedding,” she said slowly, “I swear, Bruce, I’m about to make this cost you so much fucking money that you’ll actually feel it.”

Bruce sighed.

“I’ll get the checkbook ready,” he said, resigned. “We’ll add her to the guest list.”

Meanwhile… in Marinette’s office…

The second they walked out, Marinette threw off her heels and moonwalked across her floor.

“Asshole tax~ Asshole tax~” she sang, scribbling numbers in her invoice like an ecstatic goblin. “Gonna add the asshole tax~ Asshole tax~ Gonna fuckin’ tax his ass~”

Tikki floated nearby, munching on a croissant.

“You do know what you just signed up for, right?”

“Yeah,” Marinette grinned. “Free press. Gotham elite. Triple rates.”

“Bruce Wayne’s long-lost daughter, apparently,” Plagg deadpanned.

Marinette froze. “Wait, what?”

Kwamis: 😬😬😬

Later, in Wayne Manor…

“Father,” Damian scowled, flipping through the guest list. “Who is Marinette Dupain-Cheng?”

Bruce: “...Your sister... maybe..” he says calmly as he reads the newspapers.

Tim: spits coffee

Dick: “WE HAVE A SISTER?!”

Jason: “Told you he was hiding bastards.”

Steph: “This is gonna be the best wedding ever.”

Cass: already crocheting a welcome sweater

And somewhere in an apartment…

Marinette picked up her phone to see fifteen missed calls from a Gotham number.

She looked at Tikki. “So, how bad could it be?”

Tikki sighed. “You ever seen a wedding planner get adopted by a billion-dollar vigilante crime family?”

Marinette blinked.

“...Do they tip well?”

I was half asleep when writing this, so sorry for the mistakes

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Percy and Oliver being the only griffyndor boys is super funny because I know they split they’re room directly in half. Like I feel like they respect each other to not touch each others stuff.

Vs

But also the idea that there is one (or a few others) griffyndor boy(s) who is forced to see the madness that is Percy “academics is super important” Weasley vs “Oliver quidditch is my life” Wood living together.

I think they would go crazy. They’d beg for a room change everyday

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Oliver crushing hard 😔

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Am I the only one who headcanon that Percy Weasly is also good at Quidditch just like his brothers and sister??

Imagine growing up in a family full of Quidditch naturals he ought to be also good, right??

I mean what if he's actually a great Seeker like his big brother — I mean all that uptight laser-focus energy had to go somewhere!

Then what if Oliver Wood who's in need of seekers just saw him in one of those free Saturday pickup games with Marcus and the fourth years... and almost had a breakdown when he saw his roommate that he has a crush since forever READS A BOOK WHILE RIDING THE BROOM AND THEN CATCH THE SNITCH AFTER FIVE MINUTES!!!

Then quits the game because he wants to find another book because just finished the book he was reading.

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I'm sorry but how can I just discover that people ask to be each others leprechauns in St Patrick's day??

I can imagine Oliver asking Percy to be his:

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"who's your favorite Weasley?"

uhh Ginny obviously

"that's such a basic answer!"

You want a real answer- Percy Weasley. Specifically more fanon leaning Percy with an academic rivals to lovers trope with Oliver Wood where they're the only Gryffindor boys in their year and when they first meet they can't stand each other for their different priorities only to slowly fall in love and realize they're more alike than they originally thought. Oh, and Penelope is a femme lesbian and everyone just assumes her and Percy are dating since they're best friends and are seen together all the time.

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Mcgonagall, rubbing her temples: I am not proud of what I am about to say, but someone get me a cigarette.

Penelope: But Professor, we don't smoke.

McGonagall: Cut the crap, Penelope. I'm not an idiot. I know that one in five people smoke.

McGonagall: *points at Percy* One! *points at Marcus* Two! *points at Oliver* Three! *points at Audrey* Four! *points at Penelope* Five!

McGonagall: Now, I am going to close my eyes, and when I open them, there better be a cigarette between these two fingers!

Percy: *puts a cigarette in McGonagall's hand*

McGonagall: Thank you. ...Light?

Academic Disaster: *all simultaneously pull out lighters*

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Percy Weasley…. with a sleeper build??

Percy Weasley who carries around SO MANY FUCKING BOOKS ALL THE TIME

+ His heavy ass school bag

+ Moving said books around to place them at various heights on shelves and in his room

Taught himself to be ambidextrous to be as versatile when studying as possible which means FOREARMS

But he’s skinny asf and no you can’t really see it

(Especially in comparison to Oliver Wood, who’s built like a fridge and is a healthy 6’2)

And I do mean he LOOKS skinny like enough people have seen him without a shirt (brothers, other family members, Oliver, people in vicinity while swimming and such) and that boy is thin okay 

But there was this one time when Percy went to move a whole stack of textbooks from his bed to somewhere else, and because he’s wearing a short sleeve pajama-esque T-shirt (probably Oliver’s), Oliver half spit his drink out because ARMS??

SINCE THE FUCK WHEN?? FUCKING WHERE??

Listen if you think that kid hasn’t built up muscle from a quidditch crazy family that makes him play all the time, Molly Weasley’s hearty cooking, carrying around his own books and probably other people’s sometimes and helps shorter kids put theirs on the higher shelves in the library all day every day, you’re crazy

But because he’s like 6’5 it gets distributed differently and he looks like a candy cane no matter what

Sometimes you can see it when he’s carrying enough books at once, and upon discovering this, Oliver will poke at Percy’s arms in wonder and it makes Percy flush but he secretly kinda loves it

Yeah one time Percy surprised them both after Gryffindor won a particularly large match and he PICKED UP OLIVER (all 200+ lbs of him) AND SPUN HIM AROUND IN EXCITEMENT

“WHAT THE FUCK I DIDN’T KNOW YOU COULD DO THAT”

“I DIDN’T KNOW I COULD DO THAT EITHER”

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im gods weakest faggot

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this was a historical moment in television