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pauli-writes · 8 months ago

Note

May I request an Aventurine with a reader who's a member of the Astral Express?

Have a nice day!

warning: reader is suffering from nightmares, references to gambling (it’s aventurine after all), flirting

pairing: aventurine x reader

author’s note: this man has taken over my mind, i’m so excited for 2.1 !!! also thank you for requesting, sorry this took so long i had private matters to take care of :3 (this is once again not proofread and partially written at 3am)

being quiet was never really your forte.

whenever you couldn’t sleep at the night you’d restlessly wonder around the astral express, the morning after dan heng would usually complain that you were too loud even though you were trying real hard to stay quiet.

now in the reverie, the hotel in penacony you were staying at, the space was much bigger and the occupants much more lively, not to mention dan heng wasn’t even with you, so he had no chance to complain.

another restless night and you wandered around the hotel. while other guests indulged in the dreamscape, you stayed in reality, afraid that the usual comfort of the dreamscape will twist into something ugly and gruesome for you because of your nightly terrors.

you looked around, most people were asleep, only a few guest were awake, sitting by the bar or enjoying the music. without your friends from the express you felt a little out of place.

“oh, and what do we have here?” a voice snapped you out of your self pity. you looked around, only to find that ipc guy from when you were checking in standing next to you, a golden coin being twirled in between his fingers. “aren’t you a member of the astral express? i think i saw you earlier...”

“i am…” you replied cautiously, not sure of his intentions. “you’re with the ipc, correct?”

he smirked, he threw his coin in the air before pocketing it. “yes. tell me something, why aren’t you dreaming with the rest of your friends?”

you tensed up, unsure of how much you should reveal to him. you didn’t even know his name yet. “i don’t sleep well.”

he paused, looking at you curiously. “do you now?”

“yes.” you said defensively and slightly annoyed. he wasn’t exactly making a good first impression on you despite his rather attractive appearance. “why aren’t you dreaming?”

“let’s just say i have business to take care of first,” he replied, in the same breath he pulled out a pack of cards. “although i have some time to kill until my meeting, care for a game?”

you thought for a moment, before nodding. “it’s not like i have anything better to do…”

the blond smiled and started shuffling the cards with his skilful fingers, you didn’t even know what game you were playing yet, but found yourself at least slightly interested. you gained your hand and he explained the rules, but a few turns in it was apparent that he was much better than you. he won easily.

you sighed and gave him his cards back. “you don’t mess around, huh?”

he chuckled, “of course not. i play to win.”

“even without a wager,” you mused with a smile, watching as he put the cards away. he chuckled too.

“i have too leave now. it was nice meeting you, i hope to see you again, sweetheart.” he flashed you a charming smile and a wink.

you rolled your eyes playfully, “you don’t even know my name, i doubt you’d even remember me.”

“oh, i think it’d be impossible not to remember you. you’re very unique believe it or not.” he stepped closer to you, it was then that you noticed how he was slightly taller than you. you opened your mouth to give him another snarky remark, but was stopped as he pressed a gentle kiss on your cheek. as he pulled away you could feel your face heating up.

“cute.” he said with a chuckle as he stepped away from you, “we’ll meet again after everything is over. i promise you that.”

he walked away, giving you a nonchalant wave over his shoulder and leaving you sitting at the bar with a bright red face. you watched him walk up the stairs, disappearing down the hallways leading to the rooms.

once he was out of your sight you calmed down a bit and gathered your thoughts, it was then that you noticed that there was a foreign object in the pocket of your coat. you grabbed it and looked at it, it was a playing card, queen of hearts, on the back scribbled with a golden pen was:

something to remember me by

- aventurine

you couldn’t help but grin and pocketed the card, just in that moment you saw mr. yang and himiko walk down the stairs talking animatedly. did you really spend the entire night awake…?

#honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x gender neutral reader #honkai star rail x you #hsr x gender neutral reader #hsr x you #honkai star rail #hsr x reader #hsr aventurine #aventurine x reader #aventurine x you

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wroteclassicaly · 5 months ago

Note

Bby let's muse over Steve Harringtons ass.

Warnings: Language, smut, anal play, anal fingering, ass eating, anal sex, spanking, submissive Steve, dominant Reader, and NSFW.

~*~

There’s many things that you can say about Steve Harrington. He has great hair, he has a constellation of beauty marks that even dot into his ears, his cock is the unidentified monster of Hawkins, his hands can be used as a human shield, he fights for his friends until the death, he’s loyal, he’s sweet, he’s smart, he’s beautiful, he kisses as if it’s his last day on earth… You can go on, really.

But then… there is also a rather, specific trait about him that’s undeniable. A physical presence that has turned heads of even claimed straight men. It doesn’t matter what he wears, whether it’s swimming trunks, sleep pants, sweats, or those sinful little Levi’s that belong in a museum — it is always on display, front and center. There is no getting past it, zero capabilities to deny it. Steve Harrington has a fat ass.

A perky, shapely, cheekily cut, juicy, bite-able, fuck-able, slap-able — deliciously sinful… ass.

You didn’t start out as his girlfriend, no. Just his best-friend, one that had agreed to benefits, before things became too vulnerable to ignore. And the more open emotions were, the more open things in the bedroom became. Steve was only alright trying new things with you, and the opportunity wasn’t wasted. So you’d showed him with a very targeted rental from the store, assuring that you’d checked in out by yourself under a fake name.

The woman had been taking her scene partner in several stages. First with her hands on his ass, slapping until it reddened, almost resembling a blossoming bruise. Secondly, prepping him with a finger. Thirdly, her face had been buried between his sore cheeks. And the finale, you had to help Steve take off his jeans, pulling his cock out for him as she accustomed to the harness, taking him in wild ways that Steve had taken you.

“Do you like what she’s doing to him?” You spoke into his ear, kissing at that one freckle inside, your fingers wrapping around his cock, thumb stroking off the pre from the head.

“Yeah…” his voice was choked, so low and raspy that it sounded as if his vocal cords had been drenched with molten lava. “What does it feel like?”

He couldn’t take his eyes off the screen, hues of blue and orange from the television set reflecting off his blown pupils.

“You want me to do it to you, Steve? Guys have a spot, just like girls do.”

“You mean my prostate, right? I know it’s a place… inside me… there. Is that it?”

You brushed his hair off his already slicked forehead. “That’s right, baby. Right in between your legs, buried deep inside of that tight, unused hole.”

He trembled impossibly, and that is when things got started.

~*~

Steve loves spankings when he’s over work and just needs to unwind. How your hands can make it hard for him to sit, to focus on anything that isn’t you. The way you grab him, pull him apart to observe like he’s on display over your lap.

Steve adores when you just grab him after a shower, through his towel or jeans, giving his ass a little lift or smack. Just staking your claim, feeling him up.

Steve will admit to calling you up several times a day, just so he can ride your fingers in the bathroom or stock room at work, addicted to watching his cock kick and drain all over the floor. He’s already been able to touch himself, but it still isn’t the same as you.

Steve isn’t able to process what happens when you split him open and bury your face in his backside, not permitting him to touch himself (unless you feel giving). You eat him the way that he eats your cunt — animalistic, with one goal. Letting him fuck his opening onto your tongue.

Steve can attest to his eyes crossing several times, upon seeing you in your harness, the shivering trepidation as he props his head on his bicep and strokes himself off at the sight off your dripping pussy as you adjust to the toy. He’ll help you step in on occasion. And the many positions. Depending on what the other needs, you will take him on his side, in front of a mirror so he can see how perfectly beautiful that he is, soft on his back for closeness as you go chest to chest, deeply on his stomach with a taught arch and sweet little pleas from his gifted little mouth, hard from behind, hand on his hair (sometimes in public, even at work. you have become addicted to watching him squirm after, knowing he’s gonna fuck you that much harder for getting him in that state), legs on your shoulders or around your waist, him riding you against the headboard or whatever surface you can find (even in his car), bouncing on top of you and riding you, his hands on your tits for purchase, cock leaking all over your stomach, balls wet with the arousal that has leaked across your thighs — any and everything that you can think of.

It’s safe to say, you’re in love with Steve Harrington’s ass. And will forever worship, remaining eternally faithful to its perfection.

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temis-de-leon · 22 days ago

Text

Dear MC... My Beloved MC...

Characters: Satan x gn!reader

500 followers masterlist

Main Masterlist

Prompts used: confession + accidental confession + sneaking glances + love letter

You’re being obvious.

Too damn much.

MC’s words repeated in their mind for well over an hour, but nothing could stop them from ignoring the book on their lap to look at Satan instead. Thankfully, he was distracted with the latest edition of Every Devildom’s Cat Enthusiast’s Encyclopedia, but there was still a thin line between discreetly checking him out and blatantly staring at him for a whole evening and MC would soon cross it if they didn’t control themselves.

But how could they?

Trying to ignore his presence after all they discovered was humanly impossible and, unfortunately, they were very much human.

But something didn’t make sense, not coming from him. If MC had to use a word to describe Satan, that would be blunt. Sure, he was intelligent, pragmatic and quite adorable when it came to his dear feline friends, but above all, he was direct and unafraid to share his true thoughts. That didn’t mean he was inconsiderate, however. On the contrary, he made them feel seen and heard, ensuring they were well cared for and happy.

The words in his letters said so. His wish was to see them thrive and to be by their side the whole time, sharing memories and holding each other. MC wondered, feeling both guilty and honoured, how much of his expensive stationery he had wasted in writing all those confessions only for them to end up covered in blots of ink and discarded under his bed and his endless pile of books.

Although they had to admit, their name was prettier in his handwriting, even when crossed out.

Satan gasped in the chair before them, suddenly breaking the peace of the library and making MC’s heart beat its way up their throat. They looked at him with blushed cheeks, afraid of the possibility of having been caught, but the demon was purely focused on his encyclopedia. His eyes were wide open in fascination, no doubt marvelling at the discovery of a new cat fact.

“Look, MC!” he shouted in a whisper despite them being the only ones in the room. MC could only watch and hope the chimney explained the warmth in their cheeks as Satan got up and sat on their chair’s armrest. He showed them a picture of a medieval painting. The ugliest rendition of a cat stared, with what looked like existential dread, at MC’s soul. “Do you think there were cats that looked like this back then?”

“I sure hope not” they mustered, not moving their sight out of the picture to avoid his gaze. “It looks like Belphie drew it”

The breath of his chuckle reached them and MC had to force themselves to not get startled and recoil, even when their shoulders ached to shrink and hide their exposed skin. Fortunately, he didn’t seem to realise that.

“Are you liking the book?

“Hm? The book…?”

Oh, yeah.

The book.

The whole reason why they went to his room in the first place.

In reality, MC already had said book and so did the bookshelves in the library, just not the same edition as him, which had the hand-written letters the characters themselves sent to each other in the story, maps and author notes regarding the lore and the investigation behind it.

It was a murder mystery fused with an impossible love. Also, the protagonist had a playful, yet lazy cat.

It was right up Satan’s alley.

And he had wanted to share it with them.

However, he happened to forget about his own love letters, thrown across the floor of his room in frustration and visible to anyone who dared open the door.

“You know I already like it” said MC with a nervous laugh, thankful for already reading the book days ago. “Though, I admit, the cover is beautiful”

“I’m glad you agree! I know the artist who did it, actually”

Now, why wasn’t that surprising?

MC fondly smiled as they listened to him, not so subtly studying his features, illuminated by the fireplace, and the curve of his smile when he talked.

“His wife is his muse and he uses flowers for hidden meanings. These on the cover mean something like undying love and trust; the dog represents loyalty, but I think a cat would’ve been better”

That managed to finally make them laugh, which caught his attention. He stared at them in surprise and poorly hidden tenderness, leaning over them to put his arm behind their back. MC tried to stare back, his written words reverberating in their mind more than any other time during the evening, but the weight of the silence was too much to bear.

“So what’s your…”

“I have to tell you…”

MC stopped talking, cheeks flushed in deep embarrassment as he also stayed quiet and nodded his head to ask them to continue, but it was like they’d forgotten how to talk. What was he going to say? Was he going to keep talking about the book? And what were they going to say?

Yeah, so I have to tell you something. When I went for this romance book to your room I saw all the different ways you love me. Isn’t that cool or what?

They’d rather die.

“You have to tell me…?”

“Nothing!” they interrupted him in a hurry, drowning even deeper in shame when his face contorted in surprise, eyes open wide and eyebrows raised. Lowering their face to avoid looking at him, MC grabbed the book until their knuckles turned white and got up, back facing him the entire time. “I’m going to get a shower; talk to you after dinner”

They were lucky they didn’t trip on the carpet, seeing how fast they fled the room. Falling in front of him after all of that was truly the last thing they needed, but they hoped an entire waterfall of warm water and a homecooked dinner would be enough to help them relax and think straight before coming clean to him.

Except they didn’t even get to dinner.

Perhaps an hour after the mortifying situation, MC found themselves staring at their blurry silhouette in the foggy mirror while tightening a towel around themselves. They were trying to enjoy the remnants of the warmth, vapour still floating in the air, but their mind was too busy and their heart was about to go crazy.

The ink from their name bleeding on the paper as Satan’s indecision had stopped him from finishing the letters remained in their mind, mixing with every part of their body and making them smile like a child with an earnest crush. A part of them regretted ever entering the room, consequently ruining the surprise of being confessed to, but the relief of knowing he loved them back was bigger and more powerful.

Oh, how they wished they could ignore everything and let him confess when he seemed fit, but witnessing such a vulnerable part of him without his knowing left a sour taste in their mouth; the best MC could do was admit what they’d seen and confess their own feelings while they were at it.

With a sudden sense of courage, they got out of the bathroom, immediately jerked at the coldness of the room, and went straight to their closet to get dressed. No one would care if they had dinner in their nightclothes; worse things had happened in that house. However, as soon as they finished and closed the drawer, a pounding rattled the door.

“MC!”

It was Satan, and he sounded impatient. Not like they could blame him.

What would it be better, open the door for him or allow him to enter? In that case, should they welcome him standing or sitting down? On the bed, the table? Cross-legged…? Would he think they were mocking him if they smiled? Should they stay serious?

“Are you there?” he asked with a tinge of nerves. A couple of seconds later, the doorknob slightly twisted, a sign of someone on the other side hesitating to open.

“Yes!” answered MC, rushing to let him in while mentally scolding themselves for the impulsiveness; but just as they were about to grab the knob, the door came right at them and a flash of yellow and green appeared in their vision, blue eyes in the midst of it all.

There were a few moments of silence between them and MC used them all to study his expression. Embarrassment, apprehension, hope… His cheeks were blushing furiously and he was avoiding eye contact, just like they had done to him at the library before.

“I won’t dance around the subject” he said. Blunt. Satan took a hand to his chest as if trying to subdue the beating of his heart and finally asked the dreaded question. “You saw the letters, didn’t you?”

It was only fair to be direct as well.

“Yes”

“So you know”

That wasn’t a question, but MC still felt the need to confirm it.

“I do”

I do too, they wanted to say. I love you too. But Satan beat them to it, closing the door behind him to give them more privacy.

“This wasn’t how I envisioned it, you know? I was just practising because I wanted it to be perfect, but nothing sounded right. Why I fell for you, how I feel for you, what I want for us… There were too many things I tried to say, but I feared it would be excessive for a letter and I kept correcting it. I realize now that I should’ve been more direct in my approach, so, MC: I love you. And I always will. I can only wish you feel the same”

His sincerity was overwhelming and it covered them in a coat of warmth. His eyes were glossy with hope, but his lips barely formed a smile, not daring to get ahead.

“Tell me all those things” finally said MC as loud as they could manage, barely a whisper. “I promise it won’t be enough”

They just hoped no one would come and ruin the moment.

Taglist: @ilovecandys2010 @ollieoven @kingofspadesdelusion @whimsybloom @tinyweebsstuff

@ay-chuu 🫶🏻

#obey me #obey me! shall we date?#om! shall we date #om! swd #obey me x reader #obey me x gender neutral reader #obey me x gn!reader #obey me x gn!mc #obey me satan #obey me satan x reader #obey me satan x mc #satan x mc #satan x reader #obey me fluff #obey me writing #obey me oneshot #500 followers celebration #obey me fanfic

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pamwritessometimes · 1 month ago

Text

Tuesday’s Gone — Chapter 1

Russell Shaw x reader

Summary: When the police does little to no help to find your missing daughter, you are forced to contact Colter Shaw. What you don’t expect is how his investigation will reveal secrets about both your past and your daughter’s, in ways you never imagined.

Warnings: missing child trope

A/N: Hello, beautiful people! I know most of you are waiting for another part of my Soldier Boy SMAU, but truth to be told, I have NO idea how to continue that story yet. I’m still waiting for the fanfic muse to kiss my face and tell me what to do. In the meantime, please, enjoy this little something that will end up being a mini series.

Title’s based on Tuesday’s Gone by Lynyrd Skynyrd.

Tuesday’s Gone masterlist

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You didn't know how to breathe. It felt just like if your lungs were under a press, making it more and more impossible to get oxygen minute by minute. Never in your thirtysomething of years ever thought you’d have to experience one of the greatest tragedies of life; your daughter, your whole world, just disappeared.

The detective in front of you was muttering some words your brain couldn't really register until now.

“Miss Y/L/N, you hear me?” he asked with a hint of concern. “I need you to tell me how you found out your daughter’s missing. Any detail could be crucial.”

━━━━━━━━━━✦✧✦━━━━━━━━━━━

You stood outside the police station, staring blankly at the pale glow of the streetlights. Inside, the officers had told you to "stay patient", to wait for updates. They’re doing everything they can, they said.

But it wasn’t enough.

Emma was only four, too young to be out of sight for this long.

She had disappeared right from your front yard, where you had only left her alone for a few moments to grab your phone. It had been late afternoon, and the neighborhood was quiet. No strange cars. No unusual noises.

When you came back outside (just mere seconds later) Emma was gone.

The police had checked the neighbors’ cameras, combed through the nearby area, and interviewed everyone around. But there were no leads. No ransom demands. No nothing. They were starting to treat it like a case that could stretch on for weeks or months.

But you couldn’t wait that long.

It was already taking too much time, and your mind went to places it never ever should have. Is she still okay? Is she scared?— What a stupid question, of course, she’s scared. Up until now, her world was simple; just her mother and her.

“Miss Y/L/N” a quiet voice came from behind your shoulder. You turned and see a policeman–Lt. Candero, according to his nametag. “I know I’m speaking against ourselves, but you have to understand. We have regulations to follow. Our hands are tied. But–” he started reaching for his back pocket “I might have someone to help you” he said and handed you a card. A name and a phone number.

Colter Shaw.

“He isn’t tied down like us. His methods may be a bit… unorthodox, but he helped to find my wife’s brother a few years back when our station couldn’t. He might be able to help you.” he said quietly, then looked around to see if nobody saw this exchange.

You understood. Recommending a–what was this man again? A tracker? Recommending a tracker, it was probably against everything his profession stood for. You quickly looked down at the card and then back up to say your thank you, but he was already gone.

Colter Shaw. At first, the name didn’t strike you as unusual. Colter Shaw. Shaw. You hadn’t thought about this name for a while. Could this be a coincidence?

Anyway, it wasn't the time to contemplate. You needed to find Emma.

And right now, this Colter Shaw was your best chance.

━━━━━━━━━━✦✧✦━━━━━━━━━━━

The night had settled in by the time he arrived. You watched from the window as he pulled up quietly in front of your house. You opened the door before he could even knock.

"Miss Y/L/N?”

"Y/N” you corrected. “Thank you for coming" you said, stepping aside to let him in.

Colter gave a small nod as he entered, his eyes quickly glancing through the living room, taking in the space as though every detail might offer a clue.

"Tell me again" he said as he sat down on the couch. It was clear he was drawing out details the police may have missed. "Everything you remember from the moment she disappeared."

You sat down on the couch next to him, clasping your hands together in an attempt to keep them from shaking. "It was late afternoon. Emma was playing with her dolls on the porch while I ran inside for just a minute to grab my phone. When I came back out, she was gone. I called for her, searched the yard, but she wasn’t there. The gate was closed. She couldn’t have left on her own." Your voice cracked as you remembered back at the ominous moment. "I searched the whole neighborhood. Cried and screamed even. No one saw her."

Colter listened intently, not interrupting you. There was something in his eyes that made you feel as if he wasn’t just absorbing the details, but he was already a few steps ahead. He was thinking of possibilities you or the police couldn’t see yet.

"There was no one around?" he asked.

You shook your head. "No strangers, no cars I didn’t recognize."

Colter nodded, as though that detail confirmed something in his mind. "This wasn’t random" he finally said. "Whoever took her had been watching. They knew your routine, her routine."

Your heart skipped a beat. Why would anyone stalk you? Or worse, why would anyone stalk Emma? "But why? Why would anyone—"

"People take children for a lot of reasons" Colter interrupted with a careful tone. "But this feels targeted. Whoever did this knew what they were doing. And that means they’ll make mistakes. I’ll find them."

You nodded feeling a flicker of hope at his confident words. "What– what do we do now?"

"We start with the yard" Colter said, standing up. "I need to retrace what happened. Look for signs the police might’ve missed. After that, I’ll want to speak to the neighbors, anyone in the area who might’ve seen something they didn’t realize was important."

You stood, watching as he moved toward the front door. Your mind was racing. How could this be targeted? Who would target you? And why? You were no one special–a single mother living with her four-year-old in the suburbs of Idaho Falls. Had no enemies–except for the occasional work rivalries between you and some of your colleagues (you had a very specific person in mind, named Kiara), but other than that, your life was plain and simple.

"You really think this wasn’t random?" you asked Colter, following him outside.

He paused by the door, glancing back at you. "I’ve seen this before. This kind of precision. Someone planned this, and that means there’s a reason. We just have to find out what it is."

As you stepped outside, you couldn’t shake the creeping fear that this was bigger than you had imagined. It felt deliberate, like someone had been watching, waiting for the right moment. But why Emma? What did they want?

Colter crouched near the edge of the yard, running his fingers along the ground. You stood nearby, watching as he scanned the area. The yard looked so ordinary, so unchanged. But to Colter, it seemed to hold details you hadn’t noticed, things the police had overlooked.

"So she played here, right?” he asked and then you nodded. “Footprints here" he muttered, pointing to a small section of dirt near the gate. "Different size from the ones around it. Someone stood here recently."

"The police didn’t mention any footprints."

"They wouldn’t" Colter said, standing up. "They’re looking for obvious signs, not subtle ones."

As he moved toward the gate, you felt a heavy weight pressing down on your shoulders. You couldn’t breathe, again. Whoever had taken Emma had planned this. They had been watching her, your daughter, knowing exactly when to strike. But who? And why?

You kept repeating these two questions.

As if reading your thoughts, Colter turned to you. "This isn’t over, Y/N. Whoever did this left a trail. I just have to find them."

You nodded, but deep down, something still gnawed at you. Your guts were telling you that there was more to this.

And for the first time, you wondered if your daughter had been taken not because of who she was, but because of something—or someone—she didn’t know.

“Tell me about her father” Colter said, still scanning the area.

You froze for a moment. You had expected him to ask about Emma’s father. But not yet, at least. You stared at him, trying to figure out how much to say. How much did he know? Or was he just following a hunch?

"Sometimes, the past has a way of catching up to people, even when they’ve left it behind" he added.

"He left" you said. "Before I even knew I was pregnant. I haven’t heard from him since."

It wasn’t a complete lie. Russell had been gone for years, disappearing from your life before you even knew you were pregnant.

Well, maybe he didn’t disappear, maybe you pushed him away. But you had your reasons… reasons you weren’t ready to share with Colter.

He was never part of Emma’s life, never even knew she existed. But you couldn’t shake the feeling that Colter might be right. Maybe this was connected to Russell.

Colter’s expression didn’t change at your revelations, but you could sense his mind was working, putting pieces together. He wasn’t asking for the emotional history; he was looking for facts, details that might explain why someone would take Emma.

"What was he like?" Colter asked, leaning forward slightly. "Did he have enemies? Anything that stands out in your memory?"

“He...” you started. “He never talked about his past. He was… secretive. Once I–” you took a deep breath, contemplating how much to share. “I realized he lied to me. About his job. And… and I told him to get out of my house, my life” you said. It was an insanely outlined version of your story, but you hoped it was enough.

"And…no contact since then?" Colter asked.

You shook your head. "Nothing. Not a single word.”

For a moment, you both fell silent. You could see Colter’s mind turning, sifting through the information, trying to make sense of it. Then, his voice broke the screaming silence.

"Y/N, I need you to think carefully. Is there any chance—any at all—that this could be connected to him?"

You felt a cold shiver run down your spine at the question. You had tried so hard to convince yourself that Russell was just a chapter in your past, that he had nothing to do with the life you had built with Emma. But now, with your daughter missing, the nagging doubt inside you was just impossible to ignore.

"I don’t know" you admitted finally.

Once again, you couldn’t help but think of the name that had been haunting you since this shitstorm began. Shaw. Colter’s last name was the same as Russell’s, and though you hadn’t asked, the possibility plagued your mind. Could Colter be connected to Russell? Could he know more about your past than he was letting on?

You didn’t dare ask. Not yet. Not until you had more answers. But the question stayed in the back of your mind.

And now, the only person who could help you find Emma might be the one with answers you were afraid to uncover.

After taking a deep breath, you said. “He was dealing with… some dangerous people.”

"Who?" Colter asked, his voice low but firm, pushing gently. "What kind of people?"

“It’s– uh, it was some organization, I think. I don't know what they do specifically…” you stammered. “Russell said it was Horizon or something.”

Colter's face tightened. Horizon? The Horizon Group? And Russell?

Something flashed in his eyes. Recognition, most likely. For a brief moment, his usually composed expression fell, and he looked away, as if piecing together a connection.

"Russell..." Colter said, his voice quieter now, almost as if testing the name. He took a step back, his mind clearly working through the sudden flood of new information. "What did you say his last name was?"

This was it. The moment you had been dreading, the one you had skirted around ever since you first heard his name. "Shaw" you said, barely above a whisper. "His last name was Shaw."

━━━━━━━━━━✦✧✦━━━━━━━━━━━

Phew. We’re in for a ride.

As always, I appreciate any kind of feedback.🤍

xx Pam

Read Chapter 2 here

#russell shaw x reader #russell shaw x you #tracker cbs #jensen ackles x reader #jensen ackles fanfiction #jensen ackles #tracker fanfiction #russell shaw fanfiction

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silentgravesdontexist · 2 months ago

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Mnnhh...there's something a modern AU with Sabo who hates getting his picture taken due to the scar on his face. And there's you, a photographer, who despises taking portraits of other people. So, here's a drabble abt it~

Sabo x GN!Reader

CW: Unedited. Oh, there are typos? Ignore it (pls—)

Word Count: Around less than 1k

An eye through the viewfinder as you attempt to take a photo of the sceneric cherry blossom trees by the river. Your eyes sparkle at how perfect the composition and lighting is. Just a click of a button and you'd capture it—

A man with blonde hair passes by the frame just in time. The expression on your face immediately sours at the thought of someone interrepting such a breathtaking view. You go through the camera to check if it was somehow salvable if you just crop it.

Salvable? There wasn't even a single flaw.

You, who detest taking photos of people? Gawking in awe at the beautiful capture within your screen? Impossible. But there you were. Staring at the visage of his serene expression on the screen.

The way the light casted over his features. How his eyes seem to encapsulate an unnamed emotion while he stares at the falling petals. In the way that the wind plays with his hair just perfectly. It was fascinating how someone could fit into such a scenery seamlessly.

Your eyes lift up to try and find him. He's already walking farther away from you. Oh, how your heart raced with this newfound excitement within you. Before you could even think, your feet had been stumbling on one after the other until you were sprinting after him.

"W-Wait!" You call out breathlessly.

The blonde man hears your voice and pauses his movements. He slowly turns to face you as you come to a slow stop. His brows furrow slightly as he stares at you— a complete stranger catching their breath after chasing him.

Oh, by the gods, you were simply in awe.

Even then, just by looking you then and there. You had to resist bringing up your camera to take another shot of him. Eyes shamelessly drinking in how utterly divine he looked at that moment. It was simply unfair how such a person could topple your beliefs in such a brief moment.

Sabo, that's his name— from the introduction you two have had. You stumble over your words, a blush creeping to your face upon the realization on what you were doing. What were you doing? Asking a complete stranger to let you take more photos of him?

What a creep you must've been to him.

For a moment, Sabo does entertain the idea you're just messing with him. Of all the people, you wanted to chose him as the subject of your photos? Weren't you disgusted by the scar on his face?

But all it took was that godforsaken earnest look in your eyes. You were telling the truth. Going through lengths to pretty much embarrass yourself just to ask him this. He wanted to laugh— and he did.

You wanted to protest. He was laughing so whimsically while you were there absolutely flustered. But by the gods, all you wanted to do was to take photos of that smile. As if all you'd ever want from now on was him within the frames of your camera.

Nothing and no one else.

"Alright," Sabo muses. His head tilts slightly as he casts you a boyish grin. "I'll let you take photos of me— if you buy me a meal."

Obviously, you immediately agreed. Uncaring whether how costly it would be. All that mattered was for you to satiate the growing obsession within your chest.

And how did his heart flutter a bit at how serious you looked. It made him turn away in the guise of leading you to a nearby restaurant when in reality, he just didn't want to risk letting you see the blush on his cheeks.

~~~~~~~

This...became much longer than I expected??? I wanted it to be a cute and quick drabble but— Oh, well! If you enjoyed this, here's my masterlist for more~

~~~~~~

Taglist: @sukunas-play-thing @lynndt-chocolate @ofoceansandtombsanew (the brain rot is strong—)

#totally not a selfship coded idea #but hey #it was fun to write #ack—#one piece #fluff piece #sabo x reader #sabo one piece #flame emperor sabo #revolutionary sabo #one piece sabo #sabo #with: sabo

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revalition · 2 months ago

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OCT 3 - RHETORIC

Practice the art of persuasion. Enjoy rigorous intellectual discourse.

ahhh Rhetoric. I hated him in my first playthrough. I became a true blue moralist in my attempts to stay away from the politics he was constantly spewing. And ended up realizing Moralism was just as extreme as the other options. Now I'm very fond of him.

He's also very fun to draw with 4 arms!! (and he's not the only skill I've given 4 arms to, these poor guys) No WIPs in this one, but i can share if anyone wants to see haha.

As usual, lots of dialogue and musings under the cut!

This exactly, is why I hated Rhetoric at first. It was all I could see in him.

echem vs rhetoric!

lol

Perception repeatedly telling you that they can't smell communists never stops being funny to be.

I know it's Rhetoric day but Volition ily. He's the lone supporter of building communism.

ty rhetoric, dispelling these myths

inexplicable feminist rhetoric is my best friend. He doesn't care what it is, if Harry wants to stand for it rhetoric is ON BOARD. I do find it a little off-putting... but that's okay.

Second one is re. communism if you're a moralist.

the rhetoric fail against Titus is so painful. it's not as bad as the authority fail, but...

all of these damage morale too! gotta love how you get scolded for going off script if you choose anything but the fiddle option... and your delivery sucked if you do choose it. thanks rhetoric

aw :(

The highest rhetoric check! difficulty 18 (Impossible)

he backs down so easy sometimes, and it's completely random when it will be

listen to your stomach harry

If your rhetoric is high enough, he knows some German! his translation isn't quite right, I'm pretty sure. it seems to be a pale radiation incident...

In my, admittedly limited, search I actually found no reference to Rhetoric advising you to say any of these things. Harry comes up with this shit all on his own!

he just wants you to share your opinion...

also Rhetoric's nickname! He's called Goldmouth (or Gold Mouth) by Volition (x2) and Empathy, and Golden Mouth Man by Harry and Drama. From what I can tell, the name doesn't seem to have much meaning outside DE. But there is this mention in the Innocences book...

Perhaps it's a nickname Rhetoric gave to himself pre-Martinaise that has stuck, based off the Perikarnassian innocence? It's fun to think about.

Going to leave it there. There's a lot of other really good Rhetoric with Other Skills dialogue, but I put a lot of it in a previous post and don't want to repeat it, so it's been left out. If you read this far... you're crazy haha.

#skilltober #de rhetoric #de skills #disco elysium #rev art

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wantonlywindswept · 4 months ago

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Definitely True Facts About Commander Vertex #3

He has negative Force bacteria.

[forgotten Fox AU tag]

"Midichlorians," Patches said, for the third time, his head in his hands. "They're called midichlorians."

"Tiny little buggers that live in your body," Jek scoffed. "I might have barely scraped by my biology modules, but that sounds like bacteria to me."

Patches whimpered.

Jek grinned and reached over to pat his babiest of brothers on the head. Their youngest medic really was too easy to rile up.

Still, at least Patches was capable of taking a break on occasion, even if it was just to sit at Jek's bedside in the medbay while he recovered from a round of Force cleansing. He always felt a little like the mess hall slop after every session, squishy and mostly-liquid, though the effects had been lessening as the treatments went on.

Turned out that working in close proximity to an evil Sith overlord for an extended period of time could be 'damaging' and 'harmful to the spirit', and as soon as the Jedi got the okay from Marshal Commander Thorn they'd instituted regular healing sessions for the Guard. Some of them weren't overly affected--the ARF division hadn't been allowed in the Senate Dome that often anyway, and the medics rarely left the infirmary, much less Guard HQ--but the majority of them were on rotating schedules to get their minds checked for Sith residue or whatever.

It was even worse for the Force-sensitives.

No one was more surprised to find Force-sensitive clones than the clones themselves, and a frankly unsettling percentage of the Guard tested for above-average midichlorian counts. That was just those who agreed to submit to the assessment, too--a lot of the Guard refused to do even that. It wasn't like they could be Jedi, and with the war over, what did it even matter?

(Except it did matter, a lot, because apparently evil Sith overlords could also drain the life force from sentients around them, and particularly enjoyed ones with the Force. Palpatine got a little tasty burst of power like they were some kind of energy snack, and it wasn't like the Guard weren't already exhausted anyway.

That kind of siphoning left even worse traces of Sith influence; Jek's cleansing sessions made his bones feel like wobbly gelatin, but Glitch's sessions hurt.)

"I bet Defib's m-count is the highest in the Guard," Jek mused absently as he watched their CMO stalk around the medbay between the beds--and the Jedi--with a scowl on his face.

Patches lifted his head to give Jek a horrified look.

"Don't say that where he can hear you."

Jek, who lacked both bones and a sense of self-preservation, merely shrugged. Defib had refused testing, scoffing that he didn't need the Force to heal, but he wasn't named after a defibrillator for nothing: he'd brought more than one brother back from the brink of death against impossible odds.

Jek had his suspicions about Patches, too.

Even with Defib hovering suspiciously over their shoulders, the Jedi healers--there were four of them, led by Master Rig Nema--moved around the medbay with an almost unearthly poise. Jek was more familiar with ordered chaos in the infirmary: medics shouting across the room to each other, rushing back and forth to see how far their meager supplies could stretch. The Jedi were quiet, coordinating with each other soundlessly while still seeming to be aware of everything else happening in the room.

The mesmerizing little dance wasn't even interrupted by the main doors opening, which drew Jek's attention to Commander Vertex stepping into the medbay. The commander had his bucket tucked under one arm, and sharp eyes surveyed the room in a quick glance.

Patches waved at Vertex, because he was adorable.

Vertex waved back, because he was a sap.

Defib immediately veered off his self-appointed task of looming to intercept Vertex before he got too far into the room. They ducked their heads together in a brief conversation with far too much angry gesticulating on Defib's part, and the calm competency Jek had come to expect on Vertex's. Jek watched, fascinated, as Vertex managed to settle the fuming medic with just a few words and a gentle touch to his shoulder.

Defib made a bitchy face, but he did seem to lose some of his protective bristling; at Vertex's nudge he sidled over to his desk in the corner of the medbay, dropping into his chair to finally take a break and...to angrily chew on a ration bar?

Incredible.

The Jedi, meanwhile, had continued on with their Force nonsense, which lasted up until Vertex tapped one of the healers on the shoulder and their serenity shattered with a resounding squawk.

The poor Rodian who made the noise spun around, flailing wildly, and would have fallen back onto one of the beds if Vertex hadn't grabbed her to keep her upright. The other three Jedi's heads snapped up in eerie synchronicity, startled expressions on their faces, and Master Nema took a jolting step forward before seeming to register what had happened.

In the frozen stillness that followed, Defib's sullen crunching took on a distinctive note of glee.

"Apologies," Vertex said. "I didn't mean to startle you."

"When did you even..."

"How can we be of assistance, Commander Vertex?" Master Nema asked, stepping away from her patient to take the place of the still-baffled apprentice healer. Both she and Vertex smoothly ignored the disbelief radiating off the other Jedi, who were looking at Vertex like they didn't know how he had appeared.

Jek wondered that sometimes, too, but it didn't bother him.

"Hey," he said, nudging Patches with his elbow as the two bigwigs conversed, "What do you bet that Commander Vertex has negative Force bacteria?"

Patches stared at Jek like he'd kicked a baby massiff, and then slowly sunk lower in his chair with a low, despairing whine.

So easy.

#forgotten fox #tcw fanfiction #commander fox #clone trooper jek #clone trooper oc patches #coruscant guard #this has fought me the entire way kicking and screaming but by god it is done #not well done but done #also i have commandeered glitch for the guard sorry not sorry #jedi: hey commander vertex the force works really weird around you have you come in for a checkup yet #fox: i wasn't with the guard while they were under palpatine so clearly there is no reason to examine me #jedi through gritted teeth: that is...technically true...#fox: pops on his sunglasses and wheelies out #also this pulls from a vague headcanon/plot idea where most of the guard are force sensitive #the kaminoans secretly tested for it and the ones who showed promise were assigned to coruscant by order of the client #which turns into blah blah blah red guard pipeline blah blah #anyway i'm going to sleep

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sxthedrxma · 1 year ago

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inspired by : kim possible

Added inspo! Katara (Avatar: The Last Airbender) Enola Holmes, Asuna (Sword Art Online) Anthony Lockwood (Lockwood & Co.) more coming soon…

Kimberly Ann Possible (Abigail Cowen)

5/4/2002. Taurus.

She/Her

Bisexual

Lawful good

Gryffindor

past !!

Kimberly Ann Possible never thought a summer gig babysitting would lead her into the world of moonlight crime fighting.

At first, she thought it was a joke. The emails labeled "Help Wanted" asking for assistance with all sorts of thefts and major crimes.

And so it began. Cheerleader and student by day, superhero by night.

These supervillians were wacky, always stealing the strangest things and going by goofy nicknames.

The Big Case, as it would become known to Kim and Ron, was a tricky one. Connecting the dots on a series of faulty projects lead them to the desk of one Dr. Drew Drakken.

They foiled his plans, sending him off to jail in handcuffs, but the screams of rage haunted Kim for years.

"I'll be back Kim Possible! You'll be sorry when I get my hands on you!"

Needless to say, KP spent the rest of high school looking over her shoulder for any glimpse of Drakken or his associates.

Graduation was not a happy affair for her, because with it, came the release date of Dr. Drakken.

Enrolling in college, Kim realized that she needed to seriously decide what she was doing with her future.

You can't put moonlighting vigilante on your tax return!

So that's where college came in, and everything was going smooth until the morning she woke up in Evermore.

present !!

~ Waking up in Evermore was a shake-up that Kim never expected.

~ Thank goodness Ron and Wade and even Monique were there to hang on to.

~ While she misses her family, it feels good to be independent for the first time in her life. No more Kimmie cub, no more Cheer Captain, just Ms. Kim Possible, Detective.

~ So here she is, investigating the hits on her new website, making new friends, and keeping her eyes peeled for Dr. Drakken.

future !!

So what now?

1. Get back to Middleton and make sure her family is safe.

2. Get the full grasp on running this private investigation biz so she can kick it off back home.

3. Get kissed, fall in love? There are so many interesting (and attractive) folks around Evermore…

taken connections

Daphne Blake (jeepersdcph)

wanted connections

Ron Stoppable - bestie, sidekick, the peanut butter to Kim’s jelly.

Rival - think Bonnie. Someone who has a similar skill set to Kim’s and they are constantly at odds and at each other’s throats.

Enemy - Without Dr. Drakken around, Kim thought she wouldn’t get another arch nemesis, but it’s bound to happen anyway.

Fling/Crush - Kim is a flirt, even if she pretends she isn’t. Finally free from her parent’s ever watchful eyes, maybe it’s time to branch out and give a few things a try!

#evermoreintro #muse {impossible? check my name}

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taylorklosscomeout138 · 7 hours ago

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Where does swiftgron fit in your timeline? I thought kaylor was from 2012-13

I used to believe all love songs on Red had to be about Swiftgron because based on the Kaylor officially met in 2013 false narrative, it was impossible for songs to be about Karlie

But then I discovered the video where Taylor confirms she met Karlie at the 2008 Young Hollywood Awards so pretty much they lied about the entire tl to cover their tracks

(This is going to be a long wild ride but it's worth the read so please bare with me)

That led me to discover the 10000% proof that Begin Again is about Karlie because her full name and birth year is hidden on a car license plate in the MV. (That also led to me finding out many Red songs are about Karlie)

Taylor started officially dating Karlie in 2011, Kaylor began before Swiftgron. But by Summer of 2012 Kaylor and Swiftgron overlap. And thus we get the Folklore love triangle. "Chase 2 girls lose the 1" and she swears to Betty it was "just a summer thing"

(Which I need to fact check this for clarity, Betty August Rebekah are all Karlie. August is not a seperate person that was a bait and switch. Dianna Agron is Inez. The person Betty heard the rumours that James cheated from... how did Inez know if it was a secret? Because she was the other party in the affair. Inez derives from the Latin name AGnes)

Okay so back to "just a summer thing", well the actual confirmed Swiftgron timeline literally is called "The Swiftgron Summer" of 2012. So this makes it very obvious that the "summer thing" is when she started seeing Dianna despite being with Karlie. It is explained in Folklore that this ended their relationship initially

So now the timeline makes sm sense when you know How You Get The Girl was written about Taylor losing Karlie for 6 months due to this. And showing up to her doorstep to make it up to her after officially leaving Dianna in the Fall.

The 6 months would span the beginning of Summer, to November of 2012. I believe this is also why Red TV was released in Nov 2021. It is quite literally the same date, just rearranged.

So let's reflect back, because if Swiftgron really was only official in Summer of 2012 (which is also made apparent by Dianna and Lea Michele's timeline) and Red came out in Oct of 2012, then makes it impossible that Red songs could actually be about Dianna Agron besides the potential of a couple last minute love songs, but even then, albums are turned in months prior to the release.

Therefore, Red is likely only Liz Huett and Karlie Kloss. I was not apart of the fandom during Swiftgron, I joined way later, so I honestly do not understand how anyone ever concluded Red is about Swiftgron and didn't question that when even the masterpost makes it clear Swiftgron was mainly just a summer thing in 2012 and Dianna was with Lea Michele still in 2011. I can understand thinking Red was about her though based on just not having any other fitting muse due to the lie narrative about Kaylor.

But my friend even fact checked the one lyric on Red everyone thought to 100% be about Dianna from Holy Ground "I left a note on the door with a joke we made"

But the evidence comes from Dianna's birthday party at the end of April 2012. Whereas Taylor factually wrote Holy Ground in Feb 2012, 2 months prior to that.... which I also have no idea how that never got fact checked and was ran with.

I even believed it up until my friend told me about it a few weeks ago but that's because I've never looked into facts about the Swiftgron timeline much until finding out that the entire timeline as we knew it was a false public narrative timeline used to cover up Kaylor history of the past. So needless to say.... very shocking. And it changes everything

This basically means that Swiftgron doesn't even officially get a song until 1989- and even then it's half Karlie half Dianna as confirmed by Kimby Kloss in her messy era when she liked a post of someone saying YAIL is the Kaylor anthem and Wonderland is the Swiftgron anthem.

So there you have it. Honestly this isn't even beginning to scratch the surface because there is so many things about the timeline that have been misunderstood for so long.

Including that Enchanted off of Speak Now was the first ever song written about Karlie. It was just a fantasy song at the time, but the reason we all believed it to be about Emma Stone was because that's what she was going for. Why? Because when Taylor met Karlie for the first time in 2008 it was at the same time she met Emma Stone. The guy who introduced them said he brought Karlie and Emma over her to her at the same time. Hence why on Speak Now TV she coded Karlie as Emma with "When Emma Falls In Love".

I can definitely get into the breakdown of Red as to what songs are about Liz Huett and what songs are about Karlie if that's something you or anyone else would like! Me and my discord have already reassessed the whole album through this lens awhile ago

#kaylor #karlie kloss #gaylor #gaylor swift #taylor and karlie #friends of dorothea #lgbetty #taylorkloss

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bettyfrommars · 1 year ago

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The Nightmare Factory

an Eddie Munson x Reader series

The Fabric of Moonbeams

Masterlist

18+Only for mature themes, mention of sleep disorders and sleeping medication, longing, afab!reader, astral travel, horror icons. wc: 4.2.

Eddie got demoted to Ominous Thuds & Ghostly Whispers status after the whole Headless Horseman debacle. Not because Steve or Saul narced on him, but because the eye in the nightmare sky sees everything.

He tried tapping the morse code that Wayne taught him on your bedroom wall one night, but only succeeded in making you sleep upright in the chair in your living room with all of the lights on. You had dark circles under your eyes the next day, and almost dozed off at your keyboard.

You spent a lot of time looking at the sketch you had done of him, and the description of the headless horseman dream that you remembered with fascinating clarity. You could close your eyes and smell the soap and leather of his skin now, and you could see the way his mouth moved when he spoke to you. He knew your name, and you felt like you knew him.

You found a book at the library called, “My boyfriend, My Nightmare” about a woman who believed she was in a relationship with a man in her dreams for years. No one believed her, of course, and she was diagnosed with a particular type of rare disorder that had her on such heavy sleeping medication that it was impossible to remember her dreams, if she even had them at all.

You sank down on a soft chair and almost read the entire thing in one sitting. According to this woman, there is a place called The Nightmare Factory where your nightmares punch a clock and take lunch breaks together and collect a paycheck. Apparently, it sits on a separate plane of existence, and you go there when you sleep. Nightmares can exist during waking hours as well, the author said, and you sat up straight to read that paragraph.

“The membrane that keeps our worlds apart begins to dissolve when you are able to perceive the nightmares, when you begin to understand that there is no true distinction between reality and dreams.”

“If you can imagine it, it exists somewhere in possibility,” the author continued. “The Nightmare Factory workers are a form of entertainment to save us from the true horrors of human existence.”

What ever happened to the woman? Did she ever get to be with the man she fell in love with in her nightmares? You skipped to the last chapter, and skimmed a few pages until you found what you were looking for.

Her final words were very vague, but she admitted to going off of her prescribed sleeping medication, which made her have insomnia for a week, but then she started to dream again.

“I know that no one will believe me, and that’s fine, I did not write this to convince anyone. I’m having it published through a private company to help those who might find themselves in a similar situation.

By the time you read this, I will be gone.

The physical particles of my body have a hard time assimilating when I return from dreams now, and one day soon, I will stay there with him and not return through the secret door. I’m not sure if I will ever be able to get back to this astral plane as anything more than a visitor, so please, if you are able to cross over, find me.”

You checked the clock on the wall, knowing you should head home, and then you found a few more books to take with you. One was a manual on how to decipher your dreams, and the other was another memoir, though not as detailed, that someone had written about moving through the dream world with your physical body.

That’s impossible, you mused to yourself.

But still, some strange blossom of hope in your gut moved you to tuck it under your arm.

Meanwhile, Eddie flirted his way into the 7am Unexplained Voices & Creaking Stairs class by offering to service the teacher’s car for free. She was a ghostly apparition who wore glasses and a pair of gloves to give students a hint to her presence. She finally accepted after some hesitation, knowing full well that there was a waitlist.

Anyway, her ghostmobile was not only serviced, but detailed, and there Eddie was, in the front row, bouncing his knee, eager to learn anything and everything he could.

His band played a show at the Hideout that night. The Hideout in Eddie’s dimension was a place where a lot of Nightmare Factory workers went after their shifts, so it often looked like the bar scene from Star Wars, but with ghouls. The factory was the biggest employer for a thirty mile radius, and everyone who grew up in Hawkinsville had worked there at least once in their life.

It had been difficult when Eddie and Wayne first moved there when he was young. Eddie was what they called “a normie”, meaning he was not born into the nightmare life. He hadn’t been raised by evil clowns or wolves or demons who walked on goat legs. He’d picked up shapeshifting pretty fast though, and he’d learned to make his eyes go completely black whenever he wanted to by the time he was ten.

There were more than four drunks at the place that night, Eddie counted at least six, and then there were a few normies at a table, but he didn’t recognize them. The bartender had a beer ready for him and slid it to the end of the bar before giving him a “thumbs up” motion. Corroded Coffin did not get paid by the venue to play on Tuesday nights, so the beer was always on the house. They had a tip jar at the edge of the stage that usually only had a couple bucks in it by the end of the evening, or a sprinkle of loose change.

They were halfway through the set when Eddie looked out into the crowd and saw you.

He blinked hard, squeezing his eyes shut for a beat, but when he opened them again, he saw that it was really you—standing there, staring back at him, plain as day.

Sure, the room was dark and filled with smoke, but there seemed to be some type of luminescence around you.

Eddie cleared his throat into the mic and wiped his hair off his sweaty forehead, waiting to make sure to make sure you weren’t a mirage for the thirsty man that he was. Some shrill feedback sounded through the speakers, and he mumbled an apology to the crowd.

You lifted your hand up slowly to wave at him, and you mouthed a little, “hi,” as a smile twitched across your lips.

But this time, it was Eddie who woke up.

He was back in his own bed, gasping for air, wanting to cry, wanting to return, needing to know how you had made it into his dream.

You were looking for him now. Somewhere, behind the scenes of time and space, an invisible membrane was getting thinner.

—------

“Are you coming or what?” Your friend Ellie turned to see that you had stopped short at the entrance to the Haunted House attraction you were about to enter. You’d already paid, and had your hand stamped, but all of a sudden you wanted to be back in your bed, reading.

You loved Halloween, but you weren’t a huge fan of jump scares, unless they were coming from that guy you kept dreaming about, the one named Eddie.

You wrote his name down in cursive and blocked letters all over the inside of your notebook, wanting to press it into the wrinkles of your brain. It had been weeks since you last saw him, and every night you hit the pillow, you were hopeful.

“I’m coming,” you jogged a bit to catch up, listening to the evil, mechanical cackling and high-pitched screams coming from inside.

You caught up to her and stayed close. There were strobe lights inside and menacing figures loomed in the narrow hallway before you turned a corner into a dining room full of people with decapitated heads. A few scare actors jumped out to lurch at you from dark corners while thunderous organ music played.

After the next room, there was a shuffle of people as one of the animatronic spiders dropped down from the ceiling, and one of the scare actors with a pig mask blocked your path right when the hallway split, so you lost Ellie, and all of a sudden, you were alone.

You spun in a circle and called Ellie’s name.

Surely you’d still be able to hear the sounds from the haunt? But everything was quiet, the crowd was gone, and the noises from earlier were muffled, as if coming from far away.

Panic rose in your throat as you felt along the wall for a light switch or a door. You stumbled around a black, velvet curtain and caught sight of the glowing EXIT sign with a rush of relief.

“Ellie? Anybody?” You eyes were having a hard time adjusting to the inky darkness, but the illumination from the sign gave you hope

This was fine, you’d wait for the other’s outside and tell them you had to duck out because you weren’t feeling well, which was not a complete lie.

Beyond the door were aged, wooden stairs that went down. A single light bulb dangled from the ceiling to offer a weak, ocre glow. You didn’t remember climbing stairs to get into the building, but you must’ve been mistaken.

You hurried down the steps, hearing the door slam shut behind you with unexpected force, enough to shake the walls.

Something didn’t feel right; the further you went down on the creaking steps, the darker and danker it seemed to get. There was a sudden heat emanating and you could make out some soft rattling and hissing sounds.

By the time you realized you’d gone down into a sealed basement, it was too late.

It wasn’t just a basement, though—it was a…boiler room?

There were metal tanks producing steam mounted with temperature gauges, and you couldn’t see to the other side of the space because they were massive.

“Hello?” You took a tentative step forward, looking around the concrete walls for some type of door to get out of the building. Your heart was in your throat, and your breathing was getting rapid as your eyes jerked from side to side like a scared rabbit.

You wrapped your arms around yourself. “Can anyone hear me? I got turned around and I’d like to leave now.”

There came a high pitched scraping then, like nails on a chalkboard, and it was so shrill, you had to cover your ears.

“I can hear you just fine,” a deep, gravely voice chuckled from somewhere to your right.

Your attention snapped in that direction. Instinct was telling you to start backing up, to get further away, to go bolt up the stairs, but that’s not what you did—you just froze there.

It wasn’t long before you spotted a pair of glowing eyes peering at you from between two of the pipes, against the far wall.

There was a person standing there.

It had to be one of the scare actors, down there on their break, or maybe this was a part of the haunt? But where was everyone else? And why was there a huge, poorly lit boiler room in the basement of that old house?

“I’ve been waiting for you,” he spoke in an evil sneer, like a villain in a cartoon.

“This isn’t funny,” you shouted. “I just want to get out of here, please.”

He gave another diabolical cackle, and then there was the sound of nails on a chalkboard again.

The man in the basement with you stepped into view with a flourish, brandishing the long, metal daggers on his hand, flexing each finger for you to see each one individually; the tips were sharp and the blades caught the light. He had on an old, brown fedora, a green and red sweater, and his skin was covered in scar tissue from severe burns.

You were down in that boiler room with Freddy Krueger.

The scream you let out as he charged toward you might’ve cracked fissures in the concrete.

You spun on your heel—

—and landed face first into the body of the person that had been standing behind you. You felt the ragged, torn nature of a shirt under your cheek as whoever it was had enormous height, and then you pushed back and looked up in time to see a hockey mask with black eyes staring down at you, expressionless. His shoulders were broad and his body massive. Out to the side, he brandished a gleaming machete that was the length of your arm.

“Hi baby, get behind me!” The person in the Jason Voorhees mask said, sounding slightly echoed and muffled. The look he had was the same as in the movies, but this one had curly, almost frizzy dark hair that was long past his shoulders.

That voice…it was Eddie.

It was your Eddie.

You stammered a partial question, but then you were already moving, letting his arm guide you around so that his body acted as a shield from Freddy who was cackling and swiping his finger knives around; you could hear the sharp whistle of air against the metal.

You held on to the hips of Voorhees Eddie from behind and peeked under his raised arm to look at Freddy. This Eddie in front of you was tall and massive, much more so than you remembered from the last dream you had.

“What the hell are you doing here, maggot?” The Freddy Krueger guy growled, saliva dripping from his yellow teeth as his pocked skin stretched over his cheeks like curdled milk.

“Don’t worry about it, Jerry,” Eddie growled with disdain, throwing his machete into the other hand with deft precision. It twirled in the air and he caught it by the handle. “This one is mine.”

“Oh, really?” The guy who looked like Freddy suddenly had a normal voice again, and his shoulders relaxed, dropping his hands to his sides. “I didn’t know, wow man, I’m sorry. Did I get the schedules mixed up?”

Voorhees Eddie relaxed too, dropping his free hand down to hold your hip, making sure you were still there. “No, you’re good,” Eddie’s voice was light now, soft, even. “I’m just filling in for Alex, he’s on vacation for a few days.”

“Paid leave?” Freddy/Jerry asked. You were trying to match his face with the voice coming out, but it wasn’t working.

“I think so,” Eddie nodded once.

“Must be nice to have seniority,” Jerry put his knives hand on his hip and scratched under his hat with the other. “Okay well, I’m going to head over to the next job. See ya, Munson.”

And with that, a black space the size of a door opened behind Jerry and he stepped through it. The door disappeared, and so did he.

“Eddie?” You said his name over the hiss of the boilers as he turned to you. You could see the realistically gray, rotting flesh of his Voorhees skin under his mask. “What are you doing in a boiler room looking like Jason Voorhees?”

“Workin’,” he smiled and dropped the machete to the concrete with a clang to be able to snake his arms around you so that his fingers clasped at your lower back. “I’ve been missing you.”

His new height was throwing you off as you tilted your head back to look up at him.

“I recognized your voice this time,” you smiled, proud of yourself.

He lowered his head to touch the mask to your forehead. “I didn’t mean to disappear on you. It took me a while to be able to have physical form again, to be able to see you like this.”

“It’s okay, I know,” you slid your hands up the torn clothing over his broad chest.

“You know?” He pulled back, searching your face.

“I’ve been reading this book, about where you work,” you wet your lips. “That Nightmare Factory place. I’ve been trying to figure out…how to see you more often.”

Eddie’s heart jumped. He put his hand over yours on his chest and held it there, and you could see that even as Jason Voorhees, he still wore his signature metal rings. “You’d do that for me?”

“Of course,” you got a bit bashful and looked down. “I want to…get to know you better.”

“I saw you the other night in my dream,” he rubbed his thumb over the back of your hand.

You stared up into his eye sockets of his mask, and your face lit up. “That was cool, wasn’t it? I couldn’t believe I found you. There is a sort of meditation in the book that I did about a thousand times, and it was only for a second. I think it’s a type of astral projection. You looked really good on stage.”

Eddie tucked his chin almost bashfully, moving his hand to interlace his fingers with yours. “You thought I looked good?”

Eddie had been learning too. Learning new skills to come to you in your nightmares, but also learning about a rare case where a nightmare worker crossed into your dimension and stayed there. They were never heard from again, and some say they didn’t survive the crossover and their particles exploded into the ether, but Eddie chose to believe that was a lie to keep people from trying.

Suddenly, there was a banging sound, muffled and far away, but you could feel it thudding in your chest. You checked around the room, thinking it was noise from one of the pipes, but Eddie dropped your hand and squeezed your arm, checking his digital wrist watch with a sigh like he usually did when he was about to make his exit.

Back at the factory, someone was banging their fist against the transportation door, shouting for Eddie. He tightened the muscles in his jaw, frustrated that there never seemed to be enough time. It sounded a whole lot like Kevin.

He had to figure something out soon, before his heart exploded.

“Are you in trouble again?” Now that you knew a bit more about what he did, you feared he might get penalized, and you wouldn’t lay eyes on him for another month. The pounding continued intermittedly, and you faintly heard someone call out Eddie’s name.

“No, not this time, sweetheart,” Eddie stretched, puffing his chest out a bit, and then bent forward to put the mouth of the mask on your forehead. You could feel his warm breath on your skin there. “But my shift is over. I have to get back before my timer goes off.”

“Before your timer goes off? Sounds like you’re in a microwave.”

“Well,” he tipped his head to the side, thoughtfully. “The technology is similar, I suppose, but yeah, I hate to leave you like this.”

You hugged Eddie Voorhees as hard as you could and spoke into his chest. “Maybe next time, I’ll find you first.”

The distant banging got louder, more persistent.

He bent down to grab the machete, pushed a button on his watch, and the same square, black opening in the air appeared.

There was a second there when you considered just running and jumping through his door, but then you remembered a part in the book when it mentioned how that type of jarring dimensional travel could give Dreamers what scuba divers called “the bends” from the dramatic change in pressure.

You were about to tell him you’d miss him, or goodbye, or something else, but then, in a blink, you were jolted back to your senses—

—you were back in the hallway of the haunt right after the spider had dropped from the ceiling.

Wait a minute. How had that happened?

You were at a dead halt, stopping the flow of people traffic as you looked down at your hands and over at Ellie who had turned around to motion you to keep moving as another scare actor dressed like a deranged doctor covered in blood jumped from the corner.

When you got home, you rushed to your desk to open the book, and flipped to the chapter called “The fabric of moonbeams”. It talked about “dream pockets” that occurred like daydreams when you were linked to someone. The author didn’t know exactly how to explain it, but she suspected it had something to do with sudden surges of adrenaline that caused a dimensional shift, especially if you had a connection to someone at the factory.

You sketched out Eddie again that night, this time, it was what you remembered from when you’d visited him for a few seconds at The Hideout. Flanked by his bandmates, he was strumming the strings on his guitar, looking down with one knee bent out and his hair hanging down.

You wanted to recapture the scene as realistically as possible so that you could study it to prepare for the next time you tried to visit him. Next time, maybe you'd step into his world and not his dream.

Maybe next time, he’d kiss you again.

----

Happy Halloween weekend to all of you who are enjoying this series, thank you for reading 🧡

#Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson series #The Nightmare Factory #nightmare!eddie #Halloween fic #Eddie Munson fic #Eddie Munson fluff #Eddie x afab reader #Eddie munson x reader

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lovehotelreservation · 10 hours ago

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chapter one: hi it's me you're all in danger summary: worldwide fame and a political tie or two has you--one of the biggest pop stars around--in dire need of reliable protection. thankfully you had four ex-military retirees to entrust your wellbeing to. but what happens when that protection turns possessive? rating: pg-13 (rating will increase across certain chapters) pairing: f!reader/task force 141

as a longtime charli xcx fan, can't say i expected my brat autumn to be spent writing about the cod mfs 😭😭

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10 AM. London. Shangri-La. Hotel bar.

Somehow, being surrounded by opulence, prestige, and elegance made particular four men currently seated in the back of the space feel a bit out of place.

But they were here on a mission.

Or rather, a job now.

The days of being out on the field in camo fatigues were of the past. Now they were all seated together in suits–black and white, jacket, tie, pants and polished shoes–gin and lemon water on the table.

There was a bit of restlessness in the air and it was starting to spill out in the conversations shared amongst the four.

“Simon, would it literally kill ya to show yer mouth, man? Dae ya want the lass to think yer sick as a first impression?”

“A bit of mystery could be fun, no?”

“Are ya Scooby fuckin’ Daee or somethin?!”

“Johnny, can you keep it down? Your mohawk’s already gotten us enough looks as it is.”

“And what’s so wrong with a lil’ business casual, Kyle?!”

“Can you muppets keep it down!?”

The harsh lash of Price’s tongue had postures straightened and lips hushed.

With a sigh, he brought his fingers to his temple, wondering how he managed to save the world over and over again with these three. Still, his eyes flickered to his watch as he checked the time, a conversation from a month ago coming to mind.

“Price.”

A hand was extended out to him. Fluorescent lights at the American embassy in Paris hung above. Murmurs of French and English lingered in the air as the day proceeded.

Price grinned, returning the exchange with a firm handshake. “Miller. Good to see you standing, old friend.”

Moments later the conversation was held at Miller’s office, a familiar place during the times Price had visited. What stood out to him most was the newly framed photo of Miller and his blushing bride, Priscilla.

A miraculous matrimony all things considered.

Miller, an American ambassador. Priscilla, an activist whose loud and mighty voice helped push for change within socio-political and environmental spaces.

It wasn’t as if it was absolutely impossible for the two to meet–rather, it was just the fact they met after being held hostage alongside other world leaders and activists during a goodwill gala held at Berlin. Terror wished to deliver a haunting message to all of the world, with similar sieges held at other massive events, but thankfully the work of 141 and other allies blocked the reception.

Price glanced down at Miller’s desk, where a few pictures of a glamorous woman were splayed across files: a pop star by the name of Dollface. Formerly part of beloved girl group 4EVA, now setting the music scene alight with impeccable music production, godly vocals, and captivating choreography.

Or so he’s heard.

Right beside her was a clipped out headline from a newspaper:

Glastonbury Saved! Tragedy Averted from Terrorist Threat!

A job well done–courtesy of a certain phantom soldier.

“–I know your days of military campaigns are over, but this has been tearing Priscilla apart,” Miller sighed morosely. “While I know this is the fault of no one and she understands that change in the world comes at a cost, the fact that terrorists would target her niece’s festival performance has been haunting her.”

“Revolution does not come easy, that’s for certain,” Price mused as he glanced over at his friend’s face with an affirming nod. “Even so, it’s something still worth fighting for.”

Miller sighed out in agreement. “Of course.”

“So then.” Adjusting his posture, Price then continued, his tone light, “What can I and a few recently retired soldiers do for you, mate?”

His shoulders relaxing, Miller then reached down for one of the photos of the pop star, pushing it over towards Price. “Watch her. Protect her, please. She’s been an anxious mess ever since Glastonbury.” Gazing down at the newspaper headline clipping, he continued, “Her career’s at such a critical point and her first solo world tour’s been delayed enough as it is. Pressure’s everywhere–label, fans, the media. I know she wants more than anything to finally move forward. But–”

Gingerly picking up the photo, Price took in every single detail of the woman.

Of you.

Turning his focus back to Miller, he grinned, brows raising. “A bit of Price Protection and Co. could do wonders, yeah?”

“You’d be doing miracles, friend” was the response received, along with a vigorous nod.

Price held out his hand.

“It’s a deal.”

And now, the gang was all here, even though the gang was currently driving Price up the wall. Still, if there was anyone who he trusted to get the job done on behalf of a dear old friend, it was Gaz, Ghost, and Soap.

Or rather, from here on out: Kyle, Simon and Johnny.

It didn’t hurt that the gig paid quite handsomely–your label desperately wanted you to get back on stage one way or another. Since the Glastonbury incident, you’ve since been spending your days in London, far too afraid to leave anywhere. The plan was to slowly draw you out of your shell by planning all promotional endeavors around the UK before you would travel the world as intended.

Before any of that however, the first key matter of business is for the five of you to meet together.

10:15 AM. London. Shangri-La. Hotel bar.

“What do you lot think? Full glam or lowkey?” Kyle spoke up, now peering over to look at Johnny’s phone, who had brought up one of your music videos.

Price glanced over, seeing slick skin, big curls, gyrating hips, rouge lips, white heels, and sparkling eyes.

Such visuals were definitely not on Miller’s desk when discussing the job.

“Like right now?” Johnny queried back.

“Lowkey without question.” Simon folded his arms across his chest, his eyes peeking at Johnny’s phone, his expression reflective.

A sudden tap on the back of Price's shoulder just a moment later soon caught his attention.

“Mr. Price…?”

He immediately turned back, the others following suit.

Johnny’s eyes widened, immediately switching off his phone to shove into his pocket.

Lowkey was correct.

A cap, oversized t-shirt with shorts hidden beneath, hair down, tennis shoes, a pair of sunglasses that were soon slipped off.

The contrast between who they saw on screen to who they were seeing now couldn’t be any more apparent.

Still, even by the way you stood before him, posture shrunken back slightly, eyes a bit downcast, voice softer than the usual bubbly vocals of your music, there was this grace, this aura that you exuded–one that spoke of a true bonafide performer rather than a mere average person.

Smiling warmly, Price held his hand out towards you for you to shake. “That would be me, dear.”

“Uncle Miller’s told me lots about you.” You smiled, bringing your hand up to take his.

So much smaller than his, he noted to himself, chuckling as he responded with, “I hope they’re my finer moments.”

Giggling in response, you affirmed, “As he said, only the best unclassified stuff. I’m Doll–” You quickly stopped yourself, opting to give your first name instead.

“Face pretty like a doll’s still,” Johnny murmured over to Kyle, who nodded in agreement.

Simon didn’t say anything but instead allowed his arms to rest by his sides, continuing to quietly observe you.

A world-renowned pop star with four former soldiers tasked to serve as her bodyguards.

Should be an easy enough job.

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

thank you for reading !!! i know i tend to not really do multi-chapter pieces but idk the ghost of brat summer took over me after seeing a clip of soap and simon banter so i've been genuinely locked in with writing out this tale 🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️

subsequent chapters are going to be loosely tied together but i hope you enjoy my take on cod yumejo with this pop star otome 🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️

next chapter's up next friday !!! 🤸‍♀️🤸‍♀️

#call of duty x reader #cod x reader #task force 141 x reader #task force 141 x you #soap x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #gaz x reader #kyle garrick x reader #captain john price x reader #price x reader #reader insert #bodyguard by lovehotelreservation #Fic

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hollowed-theory-hall · 7 months ago

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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

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luna-writes-stuff · 1 year ago

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Bliss, Robin Buckley

Song link

Fanfic, fem! reader

Mutual pining, fluff

Word count: 1720

Tw: SAPPHICS. Steve is a wingman. One (1) mention of being drugged (Robin S3). Literally, that’s it. Maybe slight homophobia because it’s the 80s, yay!

Summary: You are a regular customer at the movie rental store where Steve and Robin work, but you’ve shown an increasing interest in Robin. Both of you are too oblivious to make a move. Thankfully, Steve is there to fix it.

Buy me a coffee/force me to write more

“Everything about you is how I'd wanna be.

Your freedom comes naturally.”

You were infuriating.

Every little thing about you seemed so perfect. Even those things that could be considered inconvenient or annoying - you were fucking perfect. You were so frustrating. How could she ever focus during work when you were right there? Did you really have to keep visiting the store every two days? Did you really have to keep making conversations with her about literally anything? God, it was starting to get her worked up for no reason.

She would ramble, and it would usually cause people to start losing interest. But you embraced it. You laughed at her and indulged her in whatever she was talking about. You’d nod and add your own quips that weren’t your usual polite ‘oh yeah’ and ‘mhm’. No - you were actually listening to what she was saying. It was terrible.

Whenever you’d walk in, her heart would skip a beat and she’d head to the back, doing a stupid jump and trying to contain her gigantic smile. She’d have to ignore Steve’s stupid teasing looks. She’d have to try to not lean over the counter and just force you into her embrace. She’d have to pretend as if your gentle touch on her shoulders wasn’t the most invigorating thing ever.

“Everything about you resonates happiness.

Now I won't settle for less.

Give me all the peace and joy in your mind.”

And there you stood again. That same stupid smile on your face as you placed the used tape on the counter. She had to force her breathing down to seem like a normal person as she tried to do her job professionally.

“Was it a good movie?” She asked as she took the tape, running it through the system before checking it out under your name. “I loved it.” You answered, watching her work, her eyes shooting from the screen to your figure continuously. A nervous chuckle came from Robin as she looked at the title: “I saw this one in the theatres. When it just came out.” “Really?” You gasped. “Yup,” she laughed. “Can’t remember much of it because I was so drugged.”

Her smile immediately dropped as she spoke the words without thinking about them. Her hands stopped working as she turned to face you, an apologetic look on her face. “I’m so sorry.” “It’s okay.” You dismissed, offering her that comforting smile. It didn’t make you uncomfortable. Something about the way she spoke made it impossible to grow uncomfortable with her.

“Like,” she tried to continue. “I was drugged on glee, you know? Because the movie was so good. And Jennifer Parker was like so hot-“ Again, she stopped her sentence, recovering much quicker than she even realised: “I mean, she was so good! A great character, and she wasn’t even in the movie so much, but I would have loved to know more about her. About her character.”

A second nervous chuckle left her as she turned back to the screen stiffly. From where you were standing, you could see her head shake lightly, and you couldn’t suppress the keen grin growing on your face at the adorable sight of it.

“Everything about you, pains my envying.

Your soul can't hate anything.”

“She was cool.” You agreed absentmindedly. “Yeah,” Robin mumbled. “But Marty was attractive too.”

You frowned at her words, a gesture that went unnoticed by her, but not by Steve. Nor were the subtle words following your look.

“Not exactly my type.”

“No?” Robin mused, placing the tape in an empty basket before turning back to you. Her face seemed to light up slightly, and that familiar giddy feeling made it’s way back into the pit of your stomach. “I mean, I get it. He isn’t really mine either.” She rambled, scrambling for the receipt before handing it to you. “Uhm, here you go.”

You couldn’t stand the silence that followed. You liked hearing her talk. And you had no places to be just yet. “Any movies you can recommend?” “Uhm,” The girl hesitated, scanning the store with a quick view. Steve noticed his friend freezing. She wasn’t looking at anything - she was trying to come up with a good answer. But he wasn’t going to let this whole debacle go as quickly as Robin might have.

“Everything about you is so easy to love.

They're watching you from above.”

“Looking for a movie with people who are good on the eye? I know a bunch of handsome fellows.” He began to hint, wiggling his eyebrows in a manner that made you internally cringe at the secondhand embarrassment. You pushed the feeling down, offering him a polite smile.

You knew Steve. You actually came for Robin every so often, but she’d be busy at times and Steve tried to take over. He was really sweet and kind, but would sometimes make some comments that made you hesitant to reply. It was difficult to judge his character.

“No, thank you,” you dismissed. “Not really my thing.” “Not?” Steve returned with a smile. “What about Phoebe Cates?” Then, he pointed towards a display at the beginning of the store, decorated with Christmas bells. “Got Gremlins right there.” He then leaned over the counter, nodding as if to emphasise his point: “She’s very good on the eye.”

“Ignore him, please.” Robin interrupted, shoving her co-worker to the side. “Return To Oz?” She offered, spotting the little ad on one of the televisions in the far corner of the room. Your face lit up at her suggestion. “Oh, good choice!” “You know, if you like this one, I’ve heard a lot of good things about this new movie in town. Labyrinth, I think it was called.” She ranted. “It has David Bowie.” “Oh, I love Bowie!” “Me too!” She shared enthusiastically. “That’s so funny. I was talking with Steve about it, but he doesn’t want to see it. I think he’s threatened by Bowie.”

“Give me all the peace and joy in your mind.

I want the peace and joy in your mind.

Give me the peace and joy in your mind.”

This was your chance for a first move. Steve was difficult to place, but Robin wasn’t. Be that as it may, you were still cautious. There were plenty of people out there who’d have a lot of colourful words to exchange with you. You really liked Robin, but the last thing you wanted to do was scare her off.

But friends went to the movies all the time, right? You could always justify it in one way or the other.

“We could go together.” You spoke, no longer giving yourself more time to doubt. “Yeah,” Robin laughed, not having really understood you. When you didn’t laugh with her, her eyes widened: “Wait, really?” “Why not?” You shrugged, feigning confidence. “You’ve given me so many great recommendations. And I like our talks.”

“Yes,” she answered quickly. “I mean yes. If you want to, I’d go.” “She could go now.” Steve smirked. “Her shift’s ending.” “Really?” “No,” Robin denied, but then she saw Steve’s face. He rolled his eyes to the back, giving her a subtle nod. “Yes,” she changed. “Yes, my shift is ending soon. Will you give me five minutes?” “Sure, yes, of course!” You nodded eagerly. “I’ll wait right here.” “Great!” She called. “I’ll be right back.”

And with that, she had disappeared to the back of the store.

“Everything about you resonates happiness.

Now I won't settle for less.”

An awkward silence came as Steve stared at you, something unknown glinting in his eyes. “Phoebe Cates, huh?” He voiced. You nodded once: “You’re a big Cates fan?” “Well, she’s really hot.” He deadpanned. Without even thinking, you mumbled a brief ‘that’s true’ under your breath. You didn’t think he’d caught it. But he did.

“So, like, what’s your type?” He continued. “I’m sorry,” you chuckled uncomfortably. “I’m sure you’re really nice-“ “No, not like that,” he interrupted, wildly shaking his head before pointing to himself. “I’m seeing someone right now.” Then, he waltzed back up to the counter. “I’m not asking for me.”

You had no reason to properly answer him. You didn’t even know him that well. You just knew his name and the fact he worked with Robin. But if you were to make a move, now was the perfect moment: “Someone funny.” “Robin’s funny.” He added almost immediately.

“Yes,” you sighed, not oblivious to his innuendos. If he was making them, surely he wouldn’t mind. And something in this moment seemed to spark confidence and trust in you. Thus, you resumed: “But I don’t think a lot of people would be happy with that.”

Steve’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, his smile only widening: “So, you’re saying there’s a chance.”

“Give me all the peace and joy in your mind.

I want the peace and joy in your mind.”

That’s it. You shouldn’t have told him. This was an awful idea. How could you have been so stupid?

“Listen, just between the two of us, you’d be cute together. Don’t tell Robin I said that.” And just like that, your train of thoughts ended. He didn’t just say what you thought he said. “She likes banana shakes. If you’re going to the cinema, get her one. She would kill for them.”

Flabbergasted, you blinked rapidly, looking at his relieved figure. “I thought you two were a thing.” You muttered. “Oh, no. No, don’t get me wrong, Robin’s cute but no,” he laughed. “No, I think you’re more her type.” You were at total loss for words when you heard his words, your mouth hanging half open as you tried to process everything. “Get her that shake and talk about something other than movies for once.” Then, he turned around, announcing Robin’s figure leaving from the back: “There she is! You two have fun!”

You awkwardly made your way out of the store, waiting for Robin to follow you. She looked at you with an unreadable expression. Somewhere between worry and sorrow. “What did he tell you?” You decided to not tell her just yet. Well, not the whole truth. “Something about you and banana shakes.” “Oh,” she sighed.

“I love banana shakes.”

“Give me the peace and joy in your mind.”

#November writings 2023 #stranger things #Robin Buckley #maya hawke #robin x reader #robin buckley x reader

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