#dragonshit

[fandom-oracle]

I stand by this take

[lya-dustin]

Seasons of my love

Bridgeton!Au! Loosely based on S.2 of Bridgeton where the Male!Reader is Anthony and Aemond is Kate Sharma basically.

It was supposed to be heterosexual, but that felt too basic, so have some gays in love this Sunday instead.

Gif by @gameofthronesdaily

Taglist: @gettheetoanunneryimmediatly

It was heard from the Lonely Light to Asshai by the Shadow that if a man wants to court the princess, he must win her brothers’ favor first. So far, no one has been able to secure Prince Aemond’s blessing.

After Helaena and Aegon petitioned their father to stop Ser Otto and the Queen to force them into marriage, court had been filled to the brim with eligible bachelors.

All simpering fools who have the ambition to rival that of his grandsire and none of the personality nor good nature of Laenor, the last man to marry a princess.

Laenor ---despite his degeneracy--- had been knighted in battle, able to charm birds off trees and, most importantly, a dragonrider.

Laenor had also not given a rat’s arse about what his wife did behind closed doors ---or in the stables as Aemond and Aegon discovered a lifetime ago.

This last part is of paramount importance due to what Aemond knows about his beloved sister.

Sweet Helaena should have been named Rhaena, he thinks as he tries to stop mother from hearing his sister calling Lady Elisa Piper her darling wife.

Helaena did not care if her husband loved her or lived that long and often could not discern between friend or foe, so it fell on Aemond to be the shield who protects her from the rakes and Androw Farmans in the lists.

Being her favorite brother and the only one who cares about her wellbeing, was not an easy job, but only he could do it.

Aegon just wanted her married so their dear mama could stop trying to annul his marriage to Cassandra Baratheon.

Daeron was too young and believed the choice should fall on whoever Helaena liked.

Only Rhaenyra backed this scheme of his, horribly enough.

The Princess of Dragonstone is known for having a good eye for men, Ser Criston had grumbled bitterly ---not that Aemond cared to ask for context about his acrimonious feelings towards his elder sister.

She and Daemon would host the suitors in Dragonstone ---she was in confinement due to the imminent birth of her sixth child--- and send him the list of those whose characters they considered good enough for Helaena along with more profuse apologies from her brood of Strong Boys.

The one-eyed prince found himself forgiving Lucerys after the forty-ninth letter written about his guilt and wished to offer his own eye in recompense.

“Perhaps, number nine and forty will win your approval.” Helaena had said as they met this man whom their sister gave a glowing recommendation.

He dressed well, was a knight and a lord.

Lord (Y/N) (L/N) was also handsome, charming and not a piece of dragonshit, or so Daemon had assured him in his letter.

Perfect for my sweet Helaena, Rhaenyra had added in hers.

“You said the same thing about numbers one to eight and forty, mandia.” Aemond said as he eyed you like a horse being brought forth by the horse coursers yesterday.

As usual, the suitor takes great consideration in wooing his sister and trying to establish a sense of friendship with Aemond.

Unlike the rest, however, you take in consideration his likes and dislikes instead of assuming he is into whatever Aegon or the other rakes are into.

You are well-read, amiable, religious but not a zealot and, most importantly, you get along with Helaena like a house on fire.

“They are perfect for each other, don’t you agree?” mother tried her best to get Aemond to like you.

Too perfect.

And while he has become fond of you, dangerously fond of you, Aemond knows he is setting himself, no, his sister for a sure disappointment.

So one night Aemond decides it is time for Aegon’s test.

A test that consists on getting you drunk, asking questions and leave you in a brothel while both brothers come to a verdict.

You don’t drink much, but eventually you are drunk enough to sing a rather scandalous version of Seasons of My Love with him.

One where instead of a maid it is boy.

Aemond finds himself drunk enough to kiss you.

A mistake the both of you blame on the wine.

After all, Aemond is a prince and you are courting his sister.

“I apologize for my behavior, my lord, it won’t happen again.” He had said pretending it was just that. “But I see no reason to deny you my blessings to marry my sister.”

The kiss mean nothing, the prince tells himself even after finding out from Helaena that you prefer men over women and finds her as beautiful as her brother.

It means nothing, Aemond repeats even after he begins to remember how sweet it was.

He claims he feels nothing for you except friendship and yet the wedding day comes and Aemond feels pained enough to try and numb it with wine.

He should not have these feelings for you, he can’t, it goes against nature and the gods of his mother.

But he wants you, wants you in a way he has not wanted a woman or man before.

Aemond makes a toast and cannot keep his eyes away from yours, thinking it unfair that all the qualities he loves about you are on you, a man.

Not just any man, the man married to his favorite sister.

A man he has to pretend is merely a friend for the rest of their lives because the moment Queen Alicent finds out, they are dead.

Later that night, you find him absent-mindedly strumming a lute.

It’s your wedding night, and yet the ones enjoying the bridal chamber are Helaena and her Elissa going by the looks of it.

“Do you take any requests, your highness?” you ask coming to sit beside him.

A dangerous proximity, one where he cannot trust himself to run should his desires and feelings for you get the best of him again.

“Only if its you.” The prince said trying to keep his cool.

“Rather enjoyed that Myrish song the other night. I had hopes to ask for an encore.” You say, hiding your meaning well enough.

“Hmm, what would your bride say?” Aemond knew Helaena had given him the freedom to do as he pleases, but Aemond needs to hear you say it.

“She sees no reason to deny me her blessings to pursue you.” You answer and take advantage of his surprise to return the kiss.

This time it isn’t called a mistake nor blamed on the wine.

This time Aemond dares to do more than just kiss you.

[padfootastic]

hello! here’s a lil drabble/ficlet situation about sirius being super invested in baby harry’s life, to the point he gets annoyed and jealous when he’s not immediately caught up on every little thing.

x

“I can’t believe you’d do this to me.”

Lily entered the dining room to an unusually confrontational scene. On one end of the table was her husband, hands held up, palms facing outward in a gesture matched by the pleading look on his face. Right across from him was Sirius, arms crossed across his chest and a severe frown on his face. In the middle, Harry was sitting with a thumb in mouth, watching his father and godfather intently. Lily was a bit surprised at how quiet he was being—usually the presence of his favorite people meant an overload of squeals and shouts and giggles.

“Padfoot—“ James began only to be cut off by Sirius’ hand swiping through the air.

“No, James, I didn’t expect this from you of all people,” he took a deep breath and Lily was startled to see the emotions play out on his face. “How could you?”

Lily decided to enter the conversation then before things could devolve any further.

“Er, what’s going on here?” In any other situation, the way in which both their heads swivelled to look at her, coupled with the surprise on their face, would’ve been comical but Lily was too distracted to care about that right now. She couldn’t even remember the last time James and Sirius had had a disagreement. Those two just didn’t do that.

Which was another issue all in itself and if she focused too long on it, it made her head hurt (how can two people who spend as much time as they do together never have any tension?? she didn’t get it, didn’t think she ever would). But for now, she had more important things to tend to.

“Well?” She asked again, seeing the expressions change on their face. James was making a face, not unlike a child who’d been caught with their hand in a biscuit jar whereas Sirius had doubled down. His brows were furrowed, lips pressed into a straight line, and the most stubborn expression Lily had ever seen on his face.

“We, er, that is—“ James tried, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “It’s nothing, hon.”

Lily snorted in response. She could see Sirius staring incredulously at James and really, this was just getting weirder by the second.

“Evans,” Sirius said, curtly. She didn’t even bother correcting him knowing it was a lost cause at this point. “Will you please remind your husband that we had an understanding and I won’t stand for him breaking it as he pleases?”

“Sirius—“

Lily doesn’t let James finish his groan before cutting in. “What understanding?”

“Did you and your husband not name me Harry’s godfather for a reason?”

“…yes?”

“And does that not entail certain responsibilities and obligations on my part—“

“…Yes.”

“—as well as yours?” Sirius finished, speaking over her uncertain agreement. Now she was a bit stumped.

“Ours?” She blinked at him, wondering what he was on about. A quick glance in James’ direction showed no help from that side. Her husband had the most resigned expression of exasperation on his face, which was really saying something, considering how often he looked like that.

“But of course!” Sirius said, “You are aware that James has the mirrors, yes?” This time he didn’t even bother waiting for her to nod before continuing. “Which means instantaneous communication.” He stressed the last two words, eyes squinting and a stern wrinkle appearing on his brow.

“Si, stop being so dramatic,” James cut in. “You’re confusing the dragonshite out of Lily.”

She grimaced lightly. “Very elegantly put, darling.” Her dear, dear husband only sent her a cheeky wink in return.

“Fine,” Sirius sneered. “Let me ask you this, then.” He pointed one long, pale finger in her direction, her eyebrows raising at the attempt at intimidation.

“Is it or is it not true that Harry, my godson, crawled on his bum across the living room exactly eight days and three hours ago as of right now?”

She opened her mouth to say—not sure what, exactly, but something. Before she could, though, Sirius had already cut in with an overemphasised, “And. Is it or is it not true that James, once my dearest friend—“

“Once?” James yelped.

“—and you, fellow co-wife—“

“You can’t be serious right now,” James groaned, clearly distressed if he wasn’t considering his egregious word choice.

“—did not even bother to use aforementioned mirror to inform me, post-haste?” Sirius finished dramatically, with the air of someone throwing down the gauntlet. He stared at them with a ridiculous air of triumph around him, daring them to disagree.

Lily could only stare in bemused disbelief at her husband’s best friend, nay, brother. One of her closest friends in his own right. Someone who, by all accounts, was incredibly smart and articulate.

Perhaps his bloodline was making more of an appearance here?

“He really has gone off his rocker, hasn’t he, Lils?” James’ spoke what she dared not say out loud. “Should’ve considered this before putting him in charge of the sprog.”

The words had the intended effect. In front of her wide eyes, Sirius basically puffed up in outrage, reminding her terribly of a charm-dried duck. He leaned forward to wrap a possessive arm around Harry, as if James could’ve been anything but joking and they’d take his precious godchild away from him, keeping him plastered to his chest. Harry, for his part, was as overjoyed as ever. He happily wrapped his chubby fingers around two of Sirius’ and prompt tried to insert the whole thing in his mouth, drooling and chewing gummily.

And Sirius, who was notorious for not even deigning to shake hands with strangers (and on one unavoidable occasion, had actually cast a cleaning charm on his palm the moment they’d stepped back from the handshake), someone who applied three different kinds of purifying charms on anything before using it, barely even spared a glance in his direction beyond pressing a kiss to his crown.

“Well, nothing for it then,” Sirius sniffed, nose slightly in the air in a way that reminded Lily entirely too much of Narcissa Black—not that Sirius would appreciate the comparison, of course. “I’m afraid I must take my godson out and away from this dishonourable institution then.”

And in front of both the Potters’ disbelieving eyes, Sirius actually swept out of the room with their child happily lounging in his arms, neither of them looking back even once.

“James…”

He made an answering squeak, still looking at the doorway through which Harry had basically been kidnapped by an over zealous godfather.

“What just happened?”

Her only response was the sound of his head landing on the table with a thunk.

[izayoichan]

Flynn: Well, ehm.. What does it do? River: Well, it stands around being fluffy and looking fabulous. Like your own Dolly Parton -and he winked playfully- Plus, it's someone to talk to, remember a bit like a cat or a dog. Flynn: But I already talk to Lobo?

River chuckled, he had given Lobo to his son, as they were so close. And he had made Munchie into his familiar, although not locked him to an orb, in a way he had kept him the same cat as always, and just given him the familiar's long life.

River: Lobo is a familiar. Dolly on the other hand needs you to care for her, feed her, and talk to her. Although I am sure you talk to the chickens you have as well, Dolly is trained to react to feelings. Flynn: So if I am angry? River: She will know, and react and behave a certain way. Flynn: Hopefully not spit in my face? River: Hopefully not. -grins- but she might! She’s a lady, she takes no dragonshit. So if she spits on you, you probably just said something stupid.

Flynn just chuckled and shook his head, which had Dolly tilt her head watching him as if waiting for something more. As they stood there, they could all hear small feet coming to see the present as well.

Beginning - Previous - Next

[tedwardremus]

Snuffles & Son

Chapter 2: Wizarding Library of London

“It’s not just the Lestrange vault that was finally turned over to us. You should see some of the shit some of the other lowlifes were hoarding. Dolohov apparently had human skulls.”

Sirius grimaced at the thought of Death Eaters stashing human remains in their vaults. “Do we know whose skulls?”

“No one recently deceased, probably a few hundred years old.”

Sirius let out a dark laugh, “Well, you’ve got to admire their commitment to the aesthetic, I suppose.” 

Sirius was sitting in front of the fireplace in his sitting room, talking to the disamdobied head of Mad-eye Moody, whose magical eye swiveled around the room, as if scanning for potential threats. Sirius had called Moody early that morning to discuss the cup found in his cousin’s vault.

It wasn’t unusual for Moody to pass a long cursed items from the Ministry to Srius. According to Moody, too many government members would be more likely to pocket a confiscated valuable than dispose of it properly. Sirius was on Moody’s very short list of trusted consultants. 

According to Moody the deal the Ministry finally struck with Gringotts meant the Ministry could inspect property in imprisoned Death Eater’s vaults that were cursed with dark magic or proven to be acquired through terrorist actions or war proffiterring. Everything else in the vaults was to remain untouched. 

Moody gruffly added that “Even with the dragonshit restrictions, the Aurros managed to turn some of the Lestranges gold into a very sizable donation to the permeant spell damage ward at St. Mungos.”

[skinandscales-if]

Hey Rein, if you have a sec, would you mind telling us about the colours that a dragonshiter can be, and if there are any hard limits in your mind about those colours?

Yeah of course! There shouldn’t be any hard limits on the scale colors, in my mind you’re already playing a dragon so stopping at more realistic colors seems nonsensical imo

I can actually give you a quick list of the colors already implemented into the demo as well (you choose for your primary and secondary scale color) and though it may change/alter in the future, I think this is pretty comprehensive

So far we have: red, orange, golden, yellow, green, blue, purple, pink, black, gray, white, and brown- and more may be added in future updates!

[amazinmusic]

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Willie Maze (@queenshiphop)

🎹🎶🎼🎵🔥🔥🔥🔥 #eldee 🤙🏽 #Repost @roddablizz ・・・ #dragonshit #LABORDEPT #stillworkin #production #producerlife #producerspotlight #roddablizz #longisland #strongisland #producer #inthelab #inthestudio #instrumentals #beats #hiphopbeats #hiphop #beatsrhymesandlife #labordeptmusic (at Orlando, Florida)

[pro-86]

🐲🐲 In The Ruinz #dragonshit #icwt @duuble00_five https://www.instagram.com/p/BpAz8xilv65/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=bq2tb692ixxp

[heart-of-flames]

I know you say you have a lot of plans, but I can’t help but think they’re going to be as good as the final season of Game of Thrones. Just saying.

Maybe you should say a little less, dear Anon.

[jinglejax]

Draggin gurl doodles

[facefyrefox]

Raw image from today with @alpha.07 @blondies_photography #raw #dragonbabe #dragongoddess #dragons #dragonshit #fireflow #firearts #flowartists #flowarts #flow #fireeating #fireeater #firegypsy #fireeatinggypsy #firebreather #ladybreather #FaceFyreFox #fire

[lya-dustin]

A Preview for the Bridgerton! AU

Aemond x male!reader ft.lesbian!Helaena and so many refrences to Rhaena Targaryen, the OG Targaryen Lesbian and rider of Dreamfyre.

Thank you @gettheetoanunneryimmediatly for the idea

Gif by @divineandmajesticinone

It was heard from the Lonely Light to Asshai by the Shadow that if a man wants to court the princess, he must win her brothers’ favor first. So far, no one has been able to secure Prince Aemond’s blessing.

After Helaena and Aegon petitioned their father to stop Ser Otto and the Queen to force them into marriage, court had been filled to the brim with eligible bachelors.

All simpering fools who have the ambition to rival that of his grandsire and none of the personality nor good nature Laenor, the last man to marry a princess, had

Laenor ---despite his life of sin--- had been knighted in battle, able to charm birds off trees and, most importantly, a dragonrider.

Laenor had also not given a rat’s arse about what his wife did behind closed doors ---or in the stables as Aemond and Aegon discovered a lifetime ago.

This last part is of paramount importance due to what Aemond knows about his beloved sister.

Sweet Helaena should have been named Rhaena, he thinks as he tries to stop mother hearing his sister calling Lady Elisa Piper her darling wife.

Helaena did not care if her husband loved her or lived that long and often could not discern between friend or foe, so it fell on Aemond to be the shield who protects her from the rakes and Androw Farmans in the lists.

Being her favorite brother and the only one who cares about her wellbeing, was not an easy job, but only he could do it.

Aegon just wanted her married so their dear mama could stop trying to annul his marriage to Cassandra Baratheon.

Daeron was too young and believed the choice should fall on whoever Helaena liked.

Only Rhaenyra backed this scheme of his, horribly enough.

The Princess of Dragonstone is known for having a good eye for men, Ser Criston had grumbled bitterly ---not that Aemond cared to ask for context about his acrimonious feelings towards his elder sister.

She and Daemon would host the suitors in Dragonstone ---she was in confinement due to the imminent birth of her sixth child--- and send him the list of those whose characters they considered good enough for Helaena along with more profuse apologies from her brood of Strong Boys.

The one-eyed prince found himself forgiving Lucerys after the forty-ninth letter written about his guilt and wished to offer his own eye in recompense.

“Perhaps, number nine and forty will win your approval.” Helaena had said as they met this man whom their sister gave a glowing recommendation.

He dressed well, was a knight and a lord.

Lord (Y/N) (L/N) was also handsome, charming and not a piece of dragonshit, or so Daemon had assured him in his letter.

Perfect for my sweet Helaena, Rhaenyra had added in hers.

“You said the same thing about numbers one to eight and forty, mandia.” Aemond said as he eyed you like a horse being brought forth by the horse courses yesterday.

[astralsexwizard]

To the person who left lit dragonshit on my doorstep and ding dong ditched… that was pretty hilarious, good job. Really, hats off. Also i screwed ur mom now we’re engaged and she wants y’all to move into my dark tower. We’re going to be one big happy family!!! Your bedroom is in the dungeons

[voidic-writing]

Fictober Day 5, “Didn’t we already have this conversation?”

Genre: Original Fiction, Fanfiction Fandom: Dungeons and Dragons Title of Media: “Scottish Campaign”

Flora sighed heavily as she sat across from Malachi, feeling an immense sense of deja vu. She ran her hand along the frills on Fauna's head, getting a soft and happy trilling as a response. Flora usually liked Malachi decently well, but this felt like one of the times when she vehemently did not.

"All I'm saying, Flora, is that you don't know what the Drow have done to the High Elves. I know you read plenty, certainly you have read about what they did to the High Elves during the war." Malachi almost pleaded, as if trying to convince her that he was right.

She looked across the table at him, glad it was just them at the table tonight. "I've read plenty of the books, you are aware, from both sides. And all I can say is: the High Elves won the war, they wrote the books they wanted to glorify and rationalize what they've done to the Drow. It's dragonshit, and I assumed you were smart enough to not be tricked by it, but obviously not." She sighed, "You seemed to like Deanah well enough during the brawl."

Malachi seemed to growl at that. "I can put aside differences when it's for the betterment of the group. Can you?!"

Flora just looked across at him with a hint of fangs. That hint led to Fauna looking across at Malachi as well, growling at him. No one upset her Mama and got away with it. Flora rubbed between her frills, and her drake girl calmed down. With a sigh, “Didn’t we already have this conversation?” She shook her head, "I feel like we've had this conversation so many times since I got that scroll and you learned my thoughts about the Drow and the High Elves. And my answer hasn't changed, so if it's all the same to you, good night, Malachi. I hope you wake up in a better mood."

Flora hoped down from her chair, steadying herself on Fauna's back, which was at her head height these days and doubtless taller soon, and the pair of draconics headed up to their room. Flora had drunk enough to be honest, and Fauna worried about her Mama.

Flora really hoped Malachi would stop picking this fight with her. She believed what she believed, he could do as well. And she wasn't giving up the scroll. It was too important to her now, only to the rightful owner might she relinquish it.

[seaskjaldmaer]

I’ve been thinking about Arthur Weasley and Lucius Malfoy’s very muggle fight in flourish and blotts. I know very well that Lucius needed a commotion to slip Riddle’s diary unoticed amongst Ginny’s things. But.

Death eater mate : An elf could secretly place it amongst her books in the trai-

Lucius : or...

Death eater mate : it could slither its way to her bag when shopping in diago-

Lucius : or...

Death eater mate : it could be handed inconspicuously by an jovial ‘bookshop help’ like a good bargai-

Lucius : ...or

Death eater mate : ... you could cause a scene in a bookshop by goading Weasley senior with so much dragonshit that he would throw himself at you and you’d both wrestle like divas on the bookshop’s floor, bashing books on each other’s heads like toodlers, in front of dozens of other wizarding families, non accounting for the fact that you are both accomplished wand duellists and a little over two years old

Lucius : fiST FIGHTTTT

[jjkpls]

starry eyes - jjk drabble (PG)

> genre : angst fluff comedy drabble, harry potter!au

> pairing : jeon jungkook x reader

> words : 1.4k

> warning : strong language, unfinished project

« What the fuck is this?! »

The guy throws the magazine down on the table, with such burning rage that it sends your thermos flying away. You’re lucky you’re so worried that a nargle might steal your butterbeer that you make sure to always keep it shut close. Otherwise, the table along with all of your parchments and study books would have been ruined.

When you look up, the guy is standing there, shoulders still wide and square, chest rising and falling fast, not an ounce of his anger has been washed out. Yet you see, from the nervous flickering of his eyes -the ones you know well- that he is embarrassed by the ruckus he’s caused. He looks at the thermos for a little while, his hand reaches on reflex to pick it back up but he stops midtrack, keeping his hand tucked in the pocket of his emerald robe. « It’s a magazine. It’s like a book, except it’s thinner and there’s not just one story in it. It’s a multitude of articles- » You start to explain, frowning in deep concentration because it’s such a complex question to answer to when you’re taken out of the blue. Jungkook gapes in shock. Looking around, he sees a lot of faces he recognizes, watching with a concern expression painted on them. They’re all wondering why the hell he’s talking to you, and you’re here, giving him a lecture on something so fucking stupid like he wouldn’t know. For a second, he almost yells, ready to bark and bite for he’s sure you’re mocking him. Then he remembers, you’re the freak. That soft, airy and nonchalant attitude of yours is not feinted. You just have no fucking clue. « I know what a fucking magazine is! » « Oh. Then why do you ask? » Your eyebrows are knitted, lips pursued and head tilted to the side, curious and confused and he’s infuriated even more. How dare you act like he’s the crazy one when you’re the freak? « Jeon Jungkook, the story behind the starry eyes: a disease, an enchantment or... something else? » The letters, bold and scintillating because of a charm, are blinking his way and his fury turns up a notch. This is the most ridiculous situation he’s ever found himself in. You’re just standing there, looking a bit lost but rather patient and he just feels like he’s not going to get anything from you. At most, he’ll get a headache and a new rumor going around from having been seen talking with you. « Why did you write this shit? Where does it even come from? Are you fucking insane? » He’s barking now, definitely, morphing entirely with the nickname he’s been adorned with since he’s started playing Quidditch in his third year. Back when people started getting interested in the cute and promising Ravenclaw, when they started noticing his obstination and his persistence and brutality, relentless, strong and fierce like a hungry dog and they’ve started calling him that. Now he’s all dog and not much human left, barking at her, a bit louder than necessary, a bit louder than he would naturally, just because he wants to make sure that the little group of cute girls from Slytherins who are always eyeing him with insistence whenever he walks by them would hear that he is not friend with you. « Oh well, I report the news. » « The news? » « Yes. You know most people have never heard about your kind, and since everybody is interested in you, I thought it’d be nice to bring light to your people. » « My-? » It’s like being stuck in a nightmare. One when weird shots after weirder shots happen, you see it, you feel something is wrong, but for some reason, the world keeps spinning around and you’re supposed to act like everything is fine. Or it makes him think about that weird enchanted box his grandmother gave him as a child. That magical little wooden box, to which you could ask any question and get any random answers, mystic and cryptic and fucking moronic, that would have nothing to do with what you asked. He never understood the purpose of that box he kept only to not disappoint his grandma. Just like you, he doesn’t get your purpose if it’s not only to make his perfectly fine life a fucking pain. « Are you here to thank me? Or maybe you want to appear in the next issue to talk about it yourself? I'm saying this but I don’t think it’d be a good idea. I don’t want to bore people by talking about the same thing two weeks in a row. I could have you in a column if you want. Like a column in my column. » It makes you giggle a bit. He just stares. He’s past anger now. He’s feeling dumb and numb and deems it’s not worth it. You are « mentally challenged ». It’s obvious. You’re not mean though so he supposes that he can ask you a favor. « Ok, whatever. I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. These stories- bullshits, I- I’m a hundred percent wizard and I’m pretty sure there’s no star people- » « Boragoes- » « Whatever. Stop distributing this shit to people and don’t ever talk about this again, okay? » You giving him a look he hates. Your lips pursued and your head nodding a bit. At first, he thinks you’re being comprehensive, you’re showing him your empathy or something as if you believe he’s uncomfortable with his true nature and feel bad for him. Like you don’t get anything he’s telling you at all.

But then it gets even worse, there’s a little glint, quick and sudden, in your eyes and you start starring at your hands toying together nervously on the table. Like you’re upset. Saddened by his words. And he’s pissed off again because again, how dare you? You’re the one who came up with this crazy story about a kind that doesn’t even exist, saying he’s one of them, sharing your garbage magazine with this dragonshit in it to everyone in school and having them all mock and snigger at him. It doesn’t make sense. In any shape or form. It’s not fair to him. He’s never done anything to you to have you ridicule him like that. So what the fuck? Now you’re hurt? « Screw you. » This he mumbles under his breath, as his cape graze the table when he swirls around to leave. He hopes you haven’t heard it but it just had to come out.

« ‘...it’s a rarity. Centaurs have dozens of stories of such apparitions, and this is easily explained by the fact that their heads are constantly lost between stars. I’ve tried to obtain an interview with one of these creatures but I wasn’t able to. As most of you know, centaurs are very private creatures that don’t really appreciate to be questioned. If I were able to, however, I’m sure they would have confirmed that Jeon Jungkook, seventh-year student, seeker of Ravenclaw and heartthrob of Hogwart, is definitely half-star (”Boragoes”), half-wizard.’ Heartthrob, huh? » Jimin is sniggering like a real Slytherin, making Jungkook wonder for the umpteenth time why does he even bother being friends with one of them. He has nothing to say. Or maybe he does. Something about how no one has ever and will ever write a whole goddamn article and invent a whole goddamn legend around him just because they find his eyes pretty. Because that’s essentially what happened, Jungkook thinks. But then he remembers that Park Jimin couldn’t care less about being called pretty eyed and even less about having a Hufflepuff interested in him. Therefore, he doesn't say anything. Keep the thought in his mind, as a personal little reminder and funnily enough, it helps cool him down and somehow, he’s less mad at you.