#this was a headcanon that spiraled out of control

[rottenfyre]

⸻ ʀ ᴇ ᴅ ʜ ᴏ ᴏ ᴅ ⸻

Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem Reader

Headcanon: how would he be when he's obsessed?

Note: English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

The first time Jason stepped into Wayne Manor, he looked more like a stray cat than a boy. When Bruce introduced him to you—you couldn’t help but notice the defiance in his eyes, like he expected you to reject him immediately. But instead of recoiling from his rough edges, you smiled and offered your hand. It was the first moment Jason felt truly seen.

Jason didn’t know what to do with kindness, especially not from someone who looked at him like he was worth something.

“You’re going to love it here,” you said warmly, still holding out your hand.

He didn’t take it, but he didn’t forget the gesture either. That moment rooted itself in him, and he clung to it in the months to come.

You were the first person to make him laugh in years. It started small—quiet chuckles he tried to hide—but eventually, you had him cackling so hard that tears streamed down his face.

You were unlike anyone Jason had ever met. While Bruce was the stern, brooding authority figure, you were warmth and understanding. You treated him like an equal, never pitying him for his past or scolding him for his sharp tongue. You’d sit with him during his training, patch him up after patrols, and listen to him vent about the unfairness of Gotham’s streets. Jason began to feel that you were the one good thing in his life—a tether to keep him grounded.

Even in those early days, Jason couldn’t help but feel a flicker of jealousy whenever you spent time with others. Whether it was Dick dropping by the Manor or Bruce pulling you away for a mission, Jason would watch, his jaw clenched and fists tight. You were his sanctuary, and the thought of sharing you with anyone else left a sour taste in his mouth.

Jason always found reasons to keep you close. He insisted on sparring with you during training, claiming no one else could push him like you did. He memorized the way you moved, the sound of your laughter when you managed to pin him, and the way your eyes narrowed in concentration. He lived for those moments.

Whenever you went on patrol, Jason was there, watching your back like a hawk. At first, you thought he was just being protective, but over time, his behavior grew more intense. If a thug so much as glanced at you the wrong way, Jason’s fists would leave them unrecognizable. “They deserved it,” he’d mutter, his knuckles dripping with blood, his gaze softening only when it landed on you.

Jason began planting seeds of doubt about everyone around you. He’d point out flaws in Dick’s plans, subtly criticize Bruce’s parenting, and even question Alfred’s judgment, all to make you feel like he was the only one you could truly rely on.

When Jason died, it shattered you. The boy who had been your closest friend, your partner in everything, was gone. Bruce tried to comfort you, but nothing could fill the void Jason left behind.

When Jason came back as the Red Hood, his first thought was of you.

You. The only light he’d ever known. The one thing that kept him tethered to humanity. And you hadn’t saved him.

His obsession became worse, this bitter, consuming need to make you pay for abandoning him—and to keep you. Jason spiraled, his love for you warping into something darker, something unrecognizable.

Jason stalks you now, though he doesn’t see it that way. He calls it watching over you. You’re his, and Gotham is dangerous, especially with the Bat family’s enemies constantly circling.

He knows everything: where you go, who you talk to, what makes you smile. The line between love and control blurs with each passing day.

Sometimes, he visits you in secret. You’ll come home to find your favorite meal waiting on the counter or a new book sitting on your bedside table. Other times, you’ll catch glimpses of him in the shadows—just a flicker of red and black before he’s gone.

And then there are the times he lets himself be seen. He’ll stand in the middle of your apartment, waiting for you to come home. His voice is low, almost dangerous, as he says, “You don’t lock your windows, princess. Someone could get hurt.”

You try to confront him, try to reason with him, but Jason isn’t the boy you knew. He’s sharper now, more unhinged.

“You think you can just forget me?” he growls, pinning you against the wall. “You think you can move on, live your life without me? That’s not how this works princess.”

Jason’s obsession manifests in unpredictable ways. One moment, he’s protective and tender, swearing to keep you safe at all costs. The next, he’s violent and possessive, tearing apart anyone who gets too close to you.

He’s killed for you, though he’d never admit it. That coworker who flirted with you too much? Dead in an alleyway. The stranger who catcalled you on the street? Beaten within an inch of their life.

“I’m doing this for you,” he says, his voice trembling with something raw and desperate. “You don’t have to worry about anyone hurting you. I’ll take care of it.”

You try to push him away, but it only makes him cling harder. Jason doesn’t see the line between love and obsession. To him, it’s all the same.

Jason’s ultimate goal is simple: to have you. To keep you with him, away from the dangers of Gotham—and away from anyone else.

“I’m not asking, princess,” he says one night, dragging you into his arms. “I’m taking you. No one else gets to have you. Not Bruce, not Dick, not anyone. You’re mine, and I’ll burn this city to the ground before I let you go.”

And maybe, deep down, a part of you doesn’t want him to. Because for all his madness, Jason is still Jason—the boy who made you laugh, who understood your pain, who loved you in a way no one else ever could.

But at what cost?

@ʀᴏᴛᴛᴇɴꜰʏʀᴇ 2024. ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴏʀ ᴜꜱᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴇʙꜱɪᴛᴇꜱ.

[incorrectbatfam]

I still think about your Gotham Gooners.

Any more fun shenanigans for us?

Oh man I completely forgot about these guys.

For those who don't know, they are crack OCs that I created that sorta spiraled out of control for a little bit. But ngl, they were fun. Here is an overview of them and you can also check my tags and my Ao3.

Anyway, some more headcanons:

Milo came up with the name Gooners. Yes he is aware of the double meaning—he is a 15-year-old boy with unrestricted internet access. No he won't change it. He already made T-shirts

Gene makes poor personal financial decisions for someone who used to be an accountant. He once won $100 from a scratch ticket and immediately lost it by investing in a start-up that wanted to make iPhones for pets

Kellin inserted a small implant into their arm to purposely set off metal detectors. That way, after they explain their "medical condition," security guards will wave them in without checking for the multiple weapons on their person

Rob was parentified growing up and refused to make Milo do the same for the twins, especially since Milo isn't even his kid. Cue Rob zooming back and forth like a roadrunner between Jackie's dance recital and Gunner's Little League game

Mac's surveillance vehicle is an ice cream truck he bought for cheap after the owner died in it. He uses the freezers to store his midnight meals, consisting of Midwestern classics like cheese curds, tater tot hotdish, and Detroit pizza. Tangentially related, his full first name is Mackinac—as in Mackinac Island, Michigan

Booker's job as an intern is to schedule meetings, go on coffee runs, and calculate every possible Looney Toons physics scenario that the team might encounter on any given job

Otto doesn't have a yard, so instead, to fulfill his old man duties, he opens his apartment window and yells at people to get off the public sidewalk. Molly brings a blender and makes milkshakes to bring all the boys to the sidewalk

Before becoming a pyrotechnic or professional criminal, Blaise worked a new job every other month (in part because of his ADHD). One of them was a waiter at a furry restaurant and another was a lab rat at Wayne Enterprises

The Gooners take any job that promises them money—and they're not always illegal. One time, they got paid to set up the Tour de Gotham

[kurokawaia]

u-umemiya instantly folding when reader grabs his bicep and pouts, doing whatever they want even if it’s the middle of the night—🏃🏻‍♀️🏃🏻‍♀️

- munchieschomp

OMG YES!!! spiralling into ume thoughts once more >_< The sheer power of the pout—Umemiya would be absolutely defenseless

wc :: 400 | headcanons | suggestive!!

ˑ • Umemiya likes to think he’s got some self-control, but the second your fingers wrap around his bicep, he fucking loses it, all his sane thoughts straight out his head. It's not just the pout, its the way your hands, your grip feels so small against his arm.

ˑ • Hajime feels like every ounce of his resolve crumbles. It’s even worse when your voice dips into that soft, sweet tone, whispering something like, “Haji, please… just for me?” His breath hitches, and he’s already leaning closer to your smaller body.

ˑ • Umemiya thinks he's tough but the moment you grab his bicep and pout? He’s done. It doesn’t even matter what time it is. Midnight? 3 a.m.? He’s already slipping on his shoes or fumbling with his keys to do whatever you asked.

ˑ • You know exactly what you’re doing when you pout, your lips just barely brushing his shoulder as you look up at him with wide, pleading eyes. It’s enough to make him groan under his breath. Especially when you pull this out in public! and if he's with his friends! “You’re killing me here, baby. You know that, right?”

ˑ • Don't even get me started when the two should be going to sleep but you don't want to. You could be snuggled tight to his chest and you would still find a way to poke your head up and give him the biggest pleading eyes you can muster.

ˑ • If you climb into his lap after catching his attention, straddling him while asking for something with those puppy eyes, he’s a goner. His hands settle on your waist, fingers twitching as he fights to keep his cool. “You really gotta ask like this?” yeah, he has folded.

ˑ • You’ve learned that trailing your fingers along his collarbone or brushing against his neck while asking him for a favor works every time.

ˑ • If you pout and whisper something like, “But Haji, I need you…” with that soft, needy tone, he’s completely wrecked.

ˑ • If you’re bold enough to nuzzle into his neck while asking him for something, leaving a featherlight kiss on his skin, he’s out, he's folded, and he's doing what you have asked him to do.

Do not copy, steal, modify, etc. Relogs and like are appreciated.

[glorious-spoon]

i respect the school coach/counselor steve movement, but in my heart of hearts i know that steve is going to grow up and become a hairstylist. he'd love it. the bitchy gossip, the human drama, the satisfaction of making someone feel comfortable and look how they want to look

maybe he follows robin to the big city for college. tries a couple of classes, drops out, goes to cosmetology school

(does NOT tell the kids until after he's finished. they still tease him within an inch of his life, but like - whatever. he fought interdimensional monsters on like five different occasions before he was old enough to legally drink, he can handle dustin hassling him for knowing what a strand test is)

(eddie is not around to hear about this. he lit out of town as soon as he finished summer school, diploma in hand. steve can't blame him. hawkins was never a good place for eddie munson, and even after the murder charges were cleared, it got worse)

(he still misses the guy, though. they ended up hanging out a lot that summer, and it sort of felt like the start of... something, but it'll take years for steve to work out exactly what)

anyway, eventually he uses some of his government hush money to set up a salon. he settles into his life as a regular person, and it's nice, it's good, it really is. eventually he gets around to figuring out why eddie's over the top flirting always made him feel clumsy and thrilled, and that's another part of himself that he settles into. finds some more family. some more community

he still keeps in touch with the hawkins crew, of course. robin lives nearby, and dustin calls all the time. nancy, too, when she can. she's overseas now reporting in war zones. it was never gonna work out between them

he hasn't seen eddie munson in almost ten years on a brisk day in february when the door to the salon swings open to admit a swirl of snow and a lanky figure wrapped leather, and steve drops the clipper he's holding and thinks, shit, what happened now and then, absurdly on the heels of that, he's going to freeze dressed like that

and then he's crossing the salon to yank eddie into a hug and getting hugged back just as hard, and ten years feels like nothing all of a sudden, and maybe he wasn't too late, maybe neither of them were, maybe they were right on time.

(eddie drifted out of touch with almost all of them other than dustin, who was tenacious, brilliant, and just unprincipled enough to track him down every time he moved

he told eddie to look up steve when he moved to the city, and eddie did, then dithered outside the door for twenty minutes freezing his ass off before he could make himself go in)

[quotidianish]

IM GOING INSANE

Original scenes for reference!

[fandomrose]

Sunday - Love Hypnosis

Sunday hypnotises you (consensually) to relax you.

No spoilers.

No description of reader or readers troubles so project what you are personally struggling with as you see fit.

No angst just fluff. I thought this concept would be cute. I've seen many a yandere Sunday hypnotises you, and that's great but consider - consent and fluff.

(This isn't a jab, I too enjoy a yandere fic from time to time but I also want to see fluff and I haven't seen this done in a fluffy way yet.)

I don't know why I'm mildly obsessed with this man but I am. (Cough Cough, I read maximum ride as a kid and now I automatically fall in love with winged characters. Cough Cough.) I need him to hypnotise me please and thank you.

(I have a few fics in the works that I need to finish but I'm struggling.)

As usual enjoy. Love ya 💙

"Darling?" Came the light and airy tone of your beloved. Though there was a hint of worry in his voice as he took in your face down, slumped form. "Are you alright?"

He could tell very well that you were not alright. But he would coax an answer out of you one way or another. Though the only answer he received was a groan.

"Darling." He sighs but chuckles at your obviously aggravated self. "Allow me to help you." 

Your body goes limp as you let him move you from a sofa to your shared bed. "My darling. Tell me what's gotten into you."

He chuckles as you groan out a single word relating to your issues. "Life."

"Oh, my darling. You'll let me soothe you for the night won't you?" He only felt it was right after the many nights you had soothed him. 

Patient, kind, understanding. Three words that when asked by others what you think about each other, you'd both say about each other. A pure give and take without a scoreboard, that's how you operated. You were both busy or stressed for one reason or another so that's how things had to be.

The simple love you shared was enough most days but sometimes things went wrong.

Sunday had performed hypnosis on you before so he knew it worked but he'd never engage unless you agreed. You knew the question he asked meant he wanted to soothe you via hypnosis, and with the state of your mind you would happily agree. 

"Please do." 

He wouldn't offer if he didn't have the energy you knew this, a rather large argument took care of that when he'd overworked himself then passed out after hypnotising you once and a medic had to be rushed in. Needless to say, you weren't happy with his carelessness. And seeing how upset you were he agreed to be more careful with his health.

You didn't want to think anymore so as you lay there looking up at him with your tired eyes and weary mind, he smiles. He caresses your face and hair before taking a deep breath and reciting that familiar chant.

"Oh triple faced soul, allow me to take hold of this one's mind and soothe them of all worries and burdens. The word Beloved will be the catalyst for control."

With that simple incantation your mind belonged to Sunday for a short while. Your mind felt fuzzy and slow but not unpleasantly, the way it would when you achieved complete relaxation. 

Like he had done before, he would take you through your nightly routine with this hypnosis.

"Beloved, follow me to to the bathroom." He helped you up while your body automatically followed his words and stood up. 

Walking was about the most complex task you could complete, he wasn't Xipe Themself, so his power only went so far. 

"Beloved, lift your arms." 

You do as told and he aids in stripping you, ready to be cleaned. 

"Beloved, sit on this stool and close your eyes." 

You again do as told his voice muffled through the layers of hypnosis, but soothing nonetheless. "I am going to wash your face first darling." He always narrates what he does before doing it as not to startle you.

You felt a cool, wet, cloth glide over your face and you can't help but sigh with satisfaction. You feel it gently caress your cheeks and softly rub your eyes tickle behind your ears. You hear the cloth being rinsed and wrung, the muffled sounds of the water soothing you further.

"I am going to wash your upper body now darling." And, as before, you feel the damp cloth glide over your neck and upper body, letting him move you has he sees fit. Soft humming coming from him lulls you deeper into his hypnosis. The cloth glides down and caresses your chest before moving to wash your back. You'd make sounds of relaxed satisfaction if you could but your exhausted body coupled with the hypnosis has made your brain devoid of any thought or control. Just how you want it. 

He moves back to the front of you with a new cloth. "Beloved, spread your legs, I need to clean you." 

Your body complies without hesitation and that's what he does, making sure to be extra gentle around this sensitive area. He is thorough but doesn't linger long this time, not wanting to spark anything in you this evening.

Standing to switch the cloth again, "I'm going to wash your legs and feet now darling." Still being as gentle as ever his hands and the cloth slowly makes their way down your legs massaging them as they go. A light massage is given to your feet as well before he finishes and pats you dry with a towel before he deems your body clean.

"Beloved, open your mouth wide." 

He orders next, your mind too fuzzy to think of what else could be doing. You hear more water then feel a hand on your chin. "I'm going to brush your teeth darling." Then light scrubbing of your teeth and tongue can be felt, he is thorough with this area too. Not wanting to be the reason you have cavities he takes his time. Not too long later he finishes with you. You can hear things being put away and muffled sounds of him walking around you, maybe inspecting you. Before he stops in front and, 

"Beloved, open your eyes and stand up. Its time to go to bed."

You're led back into the bedroom now that he is satisfied that you are clean. "Beloved, are you ready to sleep?" 

Compelled to answer, you do. "yes"

"Beloved, do you want to sleep with me?"

"Yes"

"Good, let's get to sleep then shall we." 

The sounds of fabric and draws is all you hear for a moment before he guides you into bed with him. 

"Beloved, lay down." 

When he's satisfied you are comfortable You feel his soft skin against yours, the wings on his head lightly brushing your face in reverence before he pulls them back. It isn't often he blesses you with his naked body, the vulnerability gets to him at times. 

Once you've laid down and he's pulled you close he asked one more question.

"Beloved, are you ready to be released from hypnosis?"

"Yes"

As the words leave your lips he begins the incantation to remove his influence on your mind. 

"Oh triple faced soul, this one has completed this ones tasks and can now be freed from the shackles of my control with no burden."

Everything goes still as your senses return slowly, reacclimating you to reality. A few minutes pass of him softly stroking your head and neck while you come back to him.

"Thank you Sunday" a soft whisper conveying how grateful you are before you promptly pass out the exhaustion and relaxation hitting you full force as you melt into the bed and his arms.

"Oh my beloved, I'd do anything to see you happy and relaxed like this more often. I am grateful for all you do for me so it's only natural. I love you, so much my beloved."

He whispers to your sleeping self, pressing small kisses to your forehead, cheeks and nose. Watching the small twitches at the contact makes his evening and he feels like he too can finally relax.

[aidaronan]

That mug post going around just has me imagining quiet(ish) weekend mornings at the Munson trailer.

During the work/school week, Uncle Wayne stays up after he gets home from the night shift. Like a good chunk of teenagers with ADHD, Eddie stays up too late and, as a result, has never met an alarm he can't sleep through. So Wayne makes sure he gets his boy up so he won't miss school.

Wayne has to eat anyway, so it's nothing for him to also make sure Eddie has a good breakfast, even if it's sometimes a bit non-traditional. Eddie never complains if he's handed a bowl of spaghetti, and Wayne doesn't exactly hate occasionally having bacon and pancakes for "dinner." On the weekends, things are slightly less chaotic. If Eddie is home, Wayne gives him an extra hour or so to sleep in. He knows from trial and error that if Eddie doesn't keep a consistent schedule 90% of the time, things get ugly. Plus, Eddie likes being up for the cartoons.

The result is a routine of its own. On Saturday mornings, Wayne brews a small pot of decaf coffee for himself. It's enough for two cups, so he drinks one from one of his many Garfield mugs, then starts a small pot of regular coffee as soon as he pours the second. Wayne wakes Eddie right when that pot is done, ventures out to get the morning paper, then cracks it open. He reads it from beginning to end while Eddie rummages around, fixing his own coffee in his favorite Star Wars mug, loading it with enough sugar to start a candy factory.

Wayne usually stays quiet until Eddie's fully awake, but he pipes up every now and then to fill Eddie in on something important. "Looks like someone's selling a Marshall amplifier." Wayne doesn't cook on the weekends, so Eddie is halfway into the freezer on the hunt for blueberry waffles when Wayne chuckles. "What?" Eddie yawns, holding a vigil over the toaster, syrup bottle at the ready. "Oh, it's just the funny pages. That Garfield again. Cat's got his whole head stuck in a water glass." Eddie sits down across from him and toasts him with his coffee. In an hour or so, Wayne will go to bed. He'll put in ear plugs so Eddie can watch his favorite cartoons, sitting cross-legged on the floor like he's still the boy who used to visit, like he's still the boy who showed up five years back with buzzed hair and fear in his eyes.

That's later though. For the time being, Wayne folds the newspaper and picks up a pencil. "Hmm. Six letters, home to Norse Gods." Eddie chews and swallows faster than a dog given a pork chop just so he can blurt out, "Asgard! It's Asgard."

Wayne smiles and writes it down with care. He holds no illusions. He knows life could be better. He also knows it could be much worse. After all, he reads the papers. Besides, sitting with his boy on an easy Saturday morning, well...

How could he not think that life is plenty fine?

[moonspirit]

Need more Aruani sick fic/medical/hospital stuff

Hahahah hello anon xD

I get you! It's really the delicious potential of both of them being at their most vulnerable and taking care of and being taken care of T//////T Heeeeeeelp they'd be soooooo awkward and adorable and anxious all together in a mix!

Tho the angst will angst angstily, especially in regards to the actual sick part, but let's say they're both at the lowest points in their lives (whether caused by just the seasonal flu or something way more serious) where they believe there's little to go on with and little in the way of any joy...

For Armin, Annie comes in like a splash of cool water. He cries because he's weak and there's so many tears running down his cheeks, but on a hot summer's day when he has nothing except his own destructive thoughts, she's like a drink of water that soothes the soul. Quiet and calm, she doesn't talk much, but in her company, the heat isn't all that bad.

For Annie, Armin comes in like a beam of sunlight on a dull, rainy day. Her world is lonely and cold, it's better to hold an umbrella alone, but that one ray of light he brings makes that tiny plant standing between the concrete feel so warm. She rarely lets in anybody but it doesn't take much to let him in, and every word, every touch, innocent or more, lights her up like nothing else.

And in sickness, they refuse help. They refuse help, they clam up, they prefer to lie in their beds alone and cold, too ashamed and unwilling to let the other see. To ask for anything in such a weak state, oh no, they'd rather not.

But you see... sickness can be cured with just a palm on another.

So Annie finds, that when the rain is heavier and colder and hurts her skin more than ever, Armin's there to hold the umbrella for her before bringing the sun. That maybe, if he'd just climb into this musty bed with her, if he wouldn't mind holding her tight and never letting go, she'll recover, finally recover, from this endless rain and be able to kiss him so hard, the umbrella falls for good.

And Armin finds, that when the summer's day is hotter and more unbearable than ever before, Annie's presence is the oasis that saves his life. Maybe, if she'd just comb his hair back and sit down close until he can smell the scent of her clothes, he'll get stronger, strong enough to walk, strong enough to talk, and tell her, tell her oh Annie, I love you so.

[elysianymph]

signed, sealed, (not) delivered

A collection of letters exchanged between Dorcas Meadowes and Marlene Mckinnon between 1975 and 1981.

dedicated to @lesbianmckinnonn

ZANDRA HAPPY BIRTHDAY MY LOVE <33 i wish you the best and hope you have a great day. i'm so glad i met you, you're so talented and i love talking to you about our silly little headcanons and screaming about the angst we write. sorry for giving you angst on your birthday (i'm not) but that's my brand and this idea came to me one night so i had to. hope you like it <33 (sorry if i make you cry)

The first letter — or rather piece of parchment that they wrote on together — was exchanged during a particularly boring Defence Against The Dark Arts class in their fifth year. Even Dorcas couldn't help letting her mind drift elsewhere as the professor talked, her manicured nails tapping against the wooden desk, counting down the seconds until the unbearably boring class would be dismissed.

Until a piece of parchment had landed right in front of her. She looked down at the offending object like it would turn to ashes from her gaze alone. The last thing she needed was a detention for passing notes.

She looked up, hoping to see who had thrown it at her, and she immediately made eye-contact with a pair of smug hazel eyes that belonged to none other than Marlene Mckinnon, her rival on and off the quidditch pitch. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion as she glared at Mckinnon who wore a grin on her face, a dimple appearing on her left cheek from how hard she was smiling.

‘Open it,’ she mouthed to Dorcas, sending her a wink. Dorcas felt her cheeks heating up — in anger and annoyance, obviously — but her curiosity took over and she opened up the parchment carefully, bracing herself like it would explode in her hands.

‘Meadowes, are you going to grace us with your presence at the Gryffindor Tower this Friday?’ was scribbled on the parchment in Mckinnon’s messy handwriting. Dorcas’ eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

‘Why are you so interested? Hoping for something?’ She wrote and threw the note back to Mckninnon’s desk, making sure the professor’s back was turned so he wouldn't catch her.

Dorcas watched Mckinnon from the corner of her eyes as she quickly wrote down her reply, pausing before scribbling something else on the note. She threw it back to Dorcas discreetly.

‘Don't flatter yourself, Meadowes. I’ve just heard you’re good company when you’re high and trust me, there will be plenty of weed. My friends made sure of it.’

Dorcas rolled her eyes, taking a peek behind her to see the aforementioned friends sitting in the back of the class, trying to keep their laughter in at some ridiculous joke.

‘And by your friends I suppose you mean the four imbeciles sitting in the back poking each other in their asses with their quills?’

Mckinnon choked back a laugh as she read Dorcas’ reply and Dorcas had to force her head to turn away so she wouldn't continue to watch as Marlene laughed, mesmerised by how her eyes turned to crescent moons.

‘They’re having more fun than we are, you have to admit.’

‘I would be having more fun if you would stop sending me these notes.’ Dorcas threw the note back, not bothering to even look at Mckinnon.

‘I wouldn't have to if you answered my question.’

Ah, so Mckinnon wasn't going to let it go. Dorcas finally writes the question that had been going through her head the entire conversation onto the parchment. ‘Why are you even asking? It’s not like you're going to spend time with me.’

Mckinnon actually pouted when she opened the note. With a crease between her brows she threw it back at Dorcas.

‘How will you know if you don't show up?’

Dorcas stared at the note for a moment, perplexed and at a loss for words. What was she supposed to say to that? She turned to look at Mckinnon — hoping to read from her expression whether or not this was some big joke — only to see her biting at her lower lip, watching Dorcas intently. When she realised Dorcas was looking she perked up, eyes wide as she mouthed ‘please.’

Dorcas turned back to the letter and let out a sigh, her anxiety leaving her body along with the air as she made an impulsive decision. She wrote down her reply and threw the note to Marlene, not giving herself a chance to overthink it. ‘I’m expecting the weed to be free.’

Mckinnon threw the letter back to her with a playful wink. ‘I’ve got it all sorted out for you, don't worry your pretty head about it.’

Dorcas gave her one last look, the ghost of a smile on her lips. She rested her head against the palm of her hand and the rest of the class seemed to pass by in a blur, her thoughts occupied by the girl in red as she absentmindedly played with the crumpled parchment.

The second (first?) letters they exchanged were over the summer break right after their fifth year. Surprisingly, all that was needed to bring two rivals together was a bunch of weed and Firewhiskey. Dorcas and Marlene had bonded quickly after that night, fights on the quidditch pitch quickly turning into playful teasing in the halls. Marlene had even snuck into her dorm one night, a pack of cigarettes in hand and a soft smile on her face as she asked for some company. Dorcas was grateful that the cover of the night had hidden her flushed face from Marlene’s view.

Which is exactly why Dorcas was stuck in this predicament because Marlene had left her jumper in Dorcas’ dorm and Dorcas — instead of immediately returning it like a normal person — kept it under her bed and wore it every chance she got like some sort of creep. She had held onto it until the last days of the school year when she was packing her bags and reconsidering what she would do with it. Ultimately, she didn't have the guts to approach Marlene and give it to her. So now she was sitting in her room at home, writing a letter that she would attach to the jumper she should've returned months ago.

‘Dear Marlene,

I hope your summer is going well. Everything seems easier now that the threat of our OWLs isn't ahead or at least in my mind it does.

While unpacking at home I found a jumper that definitely wasn't mine and after asking my roommates none of them told me they had lost a jumper while at Hogwarts. I came to the conclusion it must be yours since you were the only other person who I had brought into my dorm. You probably forgot it that night you snuck in.

I’m really sorry it took this long for me to realise but even the nights are too hot this time of year to wear jumpers, so I hope you didn't miss it too much.

From Dorcas.’

Despite second-guessing her choices and being unable to sleep one entire night, Dorcas didn't regret the letter after she had received a reply from Marlene in only two days — along with a pack of homemade cookies.

‘Dear Cas,

I knew I hadn't left that shirt at home! I couldn't for the life of me find it in my dorm room and I was scared I had lost it. Glad to know it was in good hands! Must’ve spilled some perfume on it though, smells just like you :) Not that I mind, you smell really nice.

I hope you’re having fun! I was wondering if you wanted to meet up over the summer sometime? Just the two of us, out in the town or maybe at a pool or something? We could even go to Hogsmeade if you want.

My mum encouraged me to send a gift back since you were so kind as to mail the shirt back to me, so I baked some cookies for you! I’m still new to it but these are my favorite to make so I hope they’re good enough for your tastes.

Can't wait to see you again!

Love, Marlene.’

The simple exchange had left Dorcas a giddy, smiling mess for days, impatiently waiting for the days to pass by so she would see Marlene��s face again, maybe wearing the jumper Dorcas had stolen.

By the time the summer holidays after sixth year had started, Dorcas had lost count of the letters she and Marlene had sent each other. That summer however, unlike the last, was radio silent until the last week of August. This time when a letter assigned to Dorcas arrived and she had recognized the Mckinnon family owl her stomach hadn't filled with butterflies, rather a sickness she could feel rising to her throat. The sickness had built up until Dorcas couldn't handle it anymore and she had finally, finally torn open the envelope that had sat on her bedside table for three days.

‘Dorcas,

sorry if you end up needing to use a decoding charm on this letter but I can't seem to stop my hands from shaking as I write. I’ve written this letter a million times and thrown it into the trash every time, which is why it took me a month to send this in the first place. I’m wearing my Gryffindor robes at the moment, channelling my inner bravery. It’s not working.

I’m sorry for kissing you on the train.

Well, I’m not, actually. I liked it, your lips are really soft, just like I imagined. I’d been dreaming about doing it for so long, I just wished I had done it in a better way. I didn't mean to run away after either. Not my proudest moment, I’ll admit.

I just wanted to let you know how I really felt before we all finally grew up and I was forced to deal with the reality of our world. All of my friends are talking about the war and the preparations, Sirius is losing his mind and Lily is determined to join the fight. James is right behind her and his boys will follow blindly. But all I’ve been able to think about is how I want to kiss you and hold you in my arms, run away with your hand in mine to some place no one will ever recognize us.

I know it’s wrong — not how I feel about you because a love as pure as this could never be evil like the people who can't understand it try to make us think — but the way I’m disregarding every other thing in favour of you. I can’t help it when all that I dream of is your eyes looking into mine and that pretty smile on your face, lighting up the room. Funny to think that even the dead aren't guaranteed to feel heaven but I already have, in your presence.

I’m sorry for being a coward and not saying this to your face, sorry for not giving you the love confession you deserved. Romantic candles and sunsets on the beach but I was never the type to follow the rules, was I?

Hope you like the blueberry muffins I sent you. I know blueberries are your favourite (they might be my favourite too now that they remind me of the taste of your lips).

Yours, Marlene.’

Dorcas hadn't dignified that letter with a reply, instead letting the bravery so unlike her green robes wash over her as she ran to hug Marlene at the train station, pressing their lips together and feeling the fireworks explode between them as the world melted away.

A crumpled piece of parchment was in her pocket, a simple ‘I love you too’ written on it in case her words failed her. But by the time she had pulled away from the kiss and seen Marlene’s teary eyes and wide smile, she felt like no words were needed when her actions had done the job.

After that, the years had passed by in a blur. The world had changed and Dorcas could feel it crumbling beneath her feet and threatening to swallow her too but she hadn't paid it any mind, too focused on holding her love in her arms.

Marlene.

Marlene with her pretty smile and soft lips, always a cigarette between them — a bad habit she couldn't seem to break. Marlene with her hazel eyes that pulled Dorcas into a forest she dared not to escape from. Marlene, beautiful and alive Marlene, whose arms would always be Dorcas’ home.

There was no need for fear when Marlene would press a kiss to her lips and wish her good luck on her next mission with the Order, a playful promise of making her favourite meal by the time she returned. As if Marlene wouldn't be far away on a mission by the time Dorcas was back. The reality didn't matter, not when they would always come back to each other, alive and in one piece.

At least until Dorcas had received another letter from Marlene. Despite the circumstances, she couldn't help the smile that had crossed her lips when she opened it, feeling like she was once again 16 and hopelessly in love. Only one of those things had changed.

‘Dear Cassie,

sorry for sending this on such a short notice but I had to tell you I won't be waiting for you at home when you return. Don't blame Dumbledoor this time, blame my mum. My brother is back from abroad along with his family and mum is insisting we have a family reunion in the middle of a war.

I can't even blame her when things are getting so rough. I hate to think about it but it may be the last time I see my family all together. I’m sure you’ll understand why I’m inclined to visit even when it’s so risky.

I assure you I’ll be fine like I always am. You take care of yourself, can't have you sitting in St. Mungo’s during our anniversary.

See you soon, love, miss you terribly.

Yours, Marlene.’

Dorcas held onto the letter like a lifeline only a week later, wearing black robes wet from rain as she watched her love be lowered into the cold ground undeserving of embracing her. Her salty tears had smudged the sacred ink which had immortalised Marlene’s last, hopeful words.

“I think it's strange…” Lupin began to speak as he walked up to her. Dorcas remained unflinching, staring straight at Marlene’s casket and hoping, praying for a miracle that would confirm this was all a dream. She would wake up in Marlene’s warm arms, safe and sound. Instead, Remus’ next words only served to twist the knife further in Dorcas’ chest: “That the Death Eaters just so happened to attack the one night that Marlene was there.”

“What are you insinuating, Lupin?” Dorcas asked, not in the mood for his vagueness.

“There are only a few close people Marlene would've told she was leaving to see her family,” Remus continued, “and we know there is a traitor among our ranks. I’m afraid Marlene may have just told the wrong person the wrong thing.”

Dorcas’ eyebrows furrowed and she looked up at Lupin, who was turning his head away, inviting her to follow his suspicions.

She followed Remus’ gaze, landing on Sirius’ hunched over form. She had to do a double take, to make sure she hadn't already gone crazy with grief but there was no mistaking who Remus was looking at. When she looked back up at Remus he only gave her a nod, confirming her thoughts.

But it couldn't be.

No.

Dorcas’ eyes trailed down to Sirius’ hands and there it was — the red and gold friendship bracelet Marlene had made back in 6th year for Sirius’ birthday. The two star charms still dangle from the worn out threads, shining against his pale skin. It was all the confirmation Dorcas needed that Sirius was innocent, as if the tears streaming down his face weren't enough.

She wasn't sure what had possessed Remus, if the war had really made all of them so distrustful, if perhaps she and Marlene had only been shielded away from it because of their love for each other. In that moment Dorcas dared to think death a mercy, for at least her and Marlene trusted each other until the end. At least she had lost Marlene instantly instead of watching her drift away and turn into an unrecognisable shadow of the version she had fallen in love with.

“Remus…” She looked up at him, tears that she thought she had bleed dry threatening to fall again. She spoke again, unsure of who she was convincing, herself or Remus: “You don't actually think that.”

She watched Remus shake his head, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I’m just telling you to be wary,” he said and walked off, leaving Dorcas alone with her thoughts.

One thing was for sure, she wasn't going to stop until every one of those wretched bastards was dead.

Dorcas’ body was found in early August of next year, surrounded by the corpses of Death Eaters she had dragged to death alongside her. One final act of revenge. She was buried alongside Marlene by request of her family, with two unused wedding bands on a chain around her neck and her final letter in her pocket — two declarations of a love that wasn't allowed to bloom.

‘My dearest, Marlene,

I love you, my star.

I know how much you loved to hear it when I would press a kiss to your lips and smile, whispering the same words into your soft skin. I hope the words reached you all the same when I whispered them at your grave with my lips pressed against cold marble.

Forgive me for not writing to you sooner, I’m sure you’ll understand why. Every time I tried to pick up a quill to write, the only thing that would stain the parchment were my tears. I had no words for such a long time, nothing to say, to express my grief when it seemed like everything was gone and everyone had moved on without me, without you.

The distant look in your hazel eyes still haunts me but I’m afraid I can't remember what your smile looked like. Your laugh still rings in my ears when I wake up but I can no longer remember the sound of your voice. The fragments are there and I’m still desperately clinging onto how your tongue used to curl around my name, how you would stretch the last syllable when you wanted to tease me.

I can still feel your hand ghosting against mine, your cold breath against the nape of my neck as I cook your favourite meal in our kitchen. I still make enough for two and bring out your favourite plates, although I’m not sure why. I hope you don't mind that I’ve been using your cherry perfume, that expensive one Peter bought you for your birthday last year, I know it was your favourite. I’ve used up almost all of it by now, even though I used as little as I could every day, but I can't help myself to find comfort in every small thing that reminds me of you. I’ve been wearing your clothes recently, the old ones that still smell like you and your cherry body wash, though overpowered by the smell of smoke that still clings to them. Your old quidditch jumper is very comfortable, if a little small, I’m not sure why I stopped stealing it from you.

You had looked beautiful even that day, as they lowered you into the cold ground and I watched my own life be buried alongside you. Ever since then, the world has been cold and grey, the same as your tombstone. I hope you didn't mind my constant company those first few weeks but I couldn't bring myself to leave you alone, I could barely restrain myself from digging my fingers into the dirt and wrapping my arms around your cold bones and carrying them back home. I think they would offer more comfort and warmth than this cruel world has this year. I think my love should be enough to wake you up from your slumber.

The heavens are not merciful enough to agree.

I’m writing this to say goodbye one last time for I never got the chance to before and I hadn't mustered up the courage earlier. I’m going into this mission knowing it will be my last, knowing that all that will remain of me is my lifeless body if I am lucky enough. I had expressed my fear of dying to you when we were younger, eyes brighter and lungs full, but now I find myself strangely numb to the knowledge that I’m inviting death to my door. I had been afraid then to die without living the life we had planned together, to die without letting you know how deeply my love for you lives inside me, engraved into my bones. Now that my biggest fears have come true, I find that the fear has left me — perhaps just another thing I left buried alongside you.

My hands are stained red from the revenge I’ve tried to take but I know you will welcome me with open arms. Your friends — and what little I have left of mine — have tried to comfort me, to help me but they can't understand how I feel without you. They do not know that without you I am nothing, not when I had spent half a decade planning my life with you. I love you so much that even in your absence you are all I can think about, the words and touches I did not get the chance to share, the plans I did not get to fulfil because of my cowardice. I cannot imagine loving anyone the way I’ve loved you in your life and continue to after your death. You, dead, are so much better than anyone alive.

I cannot avenge you because even if I killed every single one of them, their souls wouldn't be enough to make up for the loss of yours. At the same time I cannot move on, not when you stand in the way of my life and when I dare not push you away, you are so far out of my reach already. There is no other choice for me but to join you. So this may not be a goodbye after all, perhaps just a notice that I’ll be with you soon if the heavens decide to bring us together again.

Please forgive me for not mailing this last letter, I don't know your new address.

Yours, in life and in death, Dorcas.’

Somewhere, far away in time and place, brown eyes meet hazel and Dorcas’ heart beats once more with no other purpose than to love.

[gorgongorgeous]

🔥 meet Basquiat 🔥

most excellent, self-proclaimed champion of fake it til you make it.

aesthetic details: color: bronze-copper - a bit flashy, malleable but strong; bronze is also a common artistic medium for statues plant: autumncrocus - symbol of rebirth and new beginnings creature: copper dragon - something of a direct relation scent: Lord of Misrule - patchouli, black pepper, and vanilla song: King of Swords (Reversed) by The Dear Hunter spell: eldritch blast - learnt from Wyll and flavored by their own hellish heritage

first two templates by the lovely @arcandoria!

[galaxythreads]

Those lokius shippers are calling Thor rapist now that he raped Loki

DID WE EVEN WATCH THE SAME MOVIES?????????? HOW CAN YOU HAVE SUCH TERRIBLE EYE-TO-BRAIN COORDINATION???

[fairymint]

what kind of tragedy are you?

tagged by @forjustice

self-inflicted

you were given the choice to live, a thousand times over, and yet you never choose it. not intentionally, oh no, you didn’t know it was a grave you were digging. but with every turn, you were twisting the knife deeper. every decision doomed you more. had it been anyone else, they would have made it. but you? you are so perfectly you, there was no escaping it. the true tragedy of it all, is how preventable it was.

[jonathanbyersphd]

Not that anyone asks or cares but Nancy and Jonathan (the ones that live in my head and are having a soft epilogue) older daughter (Jordan) is obsessed with Winnie the Pooh and definitely nicknames her younger sister Roo because of it

[themurderofcrowscollective]

Guess who just rewatched Batman Begins again and is about to go through a batfam phase again while dragging every other alter in our system into iiiiiiiiiiit? I did :D

[officersnickers]

Headcanon Time! 🎉

I consider today‘s date, the 14th of March, to be Matilda‘s birthday, and I gonna tell you why 🤭

calculating her Identification Number (60684) with a fitting birth date in relation to Isabella and Krone‘s brithdays and ID‘s

it‘s pi day as well as Albert Einstein‘s birthday, and if you try to tell me Matilda wouldn‘t love such a fitting coincidence, we sadly can‘t be friends

one of the suggested names for 3/14 is actually Matilda and all its variants!

We „only“ got two canon birthdays for March by now and none of them are for female characters! time to change that!

On top, side characters always need more development, and assigning birthdays onto them is always great fun (at least for me)

So Happy Birthday, Matilda! You earned it! 🎁🎉🎂

[vocesincaput]

HEADCANON/WISHLIST: Izzy Hands

I'm supposed to be trying to work on a video edit but my mind keeps drifting to the fact that whilst Izzy is alive...

he tried to end it with that gun.....

There's got to be more thoughts lingering in his head about that.

But, given how he had that small talk with Lucius when he gave him the wooden shark, we know how he deals with things.

(I don't know whether to title this as a headcanon or wishlist, so i'll put both).