darkacademicvibes

[darkacademicvibes]

You guys just have to trust me on this one and click here okay?

[darkacademicvibes]

I've had texts like this a dozen times

DO NOT USE TEXT LINKS EVERRRR

RebloggjsjdjdnfjREBLOGREBLOGREBLOG

WARNING!!!!

People, please be careful. There are also people tracking children and people and putting bids on them based on their profile pictures on whatsapp, tracking and kidnapping them. Especially young children, so please be cautious, especially parents who have their children as their profile pictures.

Please pass this on to everyone so that they are aware of the danger. I don’t how it is all around the world but I know it can’t just be here so please please spread the word. Thank you.

[darkacademicvibes]

it reminds me of you

Theodore Nott x Fem!Reader

Theo's POV, beware - angst ONLY.

There isn't anything wrong with Theo.

There never is.

Ever.

Ever.

Except... he isn't moving. He's sat in the back of the library beside you, staring into the long isle of books ahead of them, like something in the shadows will tell him how to fix himself together.

How to bring back his mother. How to undo his fathers anger. How to breath above the water. How to let people love him. How to play guitar.

How to use wood glue on bits of his body that don't fit anymore.

Like something in the darkness will make him a little brighter. Like something in the dark will take him back to when the things under his bed were the scariest part of the day.

Your fingers brush his bruised knuckles, and he almost flinches.

"I didn't make my bed this morning" he mutters, tense. Everything was perfect, he was perfect, it was that one thing, the one task he'd forgotten. He berated himself. As though making his bed as perfect as the rest of the things around him would fix it.

Maybe that was why he didn't know how to talk to you. You're imperfect. You have ink on your fingers, and your tie is uneven, and your hair is messy. Your shoes are scuffed, your shirt sleeve has a coffee stain on the wrist, your skirt has wrinkles.

You're pretty. Like sunshine.

He's never particularly cared for summer.

He glances down, watching your fingers toy with his own. Didn't you ever stop moving?

You gently squeeze his hand once.

And again.

Three times - his mother used to say that meant 'I love you'.

You pull your hand away to tuck your hair behind your ear, and he watches, trembling fingers reaching out to push it back off your shoulder. If he fixed the things he could, perhaps the things he couldn't fix would follow suit.

Why does this hurt?

Your hand tangles your fingers with his against the old, hard, wood. Your nail polish is chipped, he notices. A part of him wishes he didn't.

Your head lands on his shoulder, and he stiffens. It takes a moment, but he forces himself to relax.

Asleep. She's asleep, is all.

He repeats it to himself twice before he can breathe again.

You smell sweet, like caramel, and fire hearth smoke. He itches to reach for a cigarette. He doesn't. You don't like the smell.

Something, not quite yet broken, wants you to like him.

He should be asleep.

The thought is sudden. Passing. Considered with an unfamiliar annoyance at how often he studied. Smoked. Kept himself awake, even when he had to pinch himself to do it.

The bruises on his knuckles ache. His split lip throbs. His fingers toy aimlessly with a strand of your hair.

Pretty.

He checks the time again, two hours. He's been staring at you for two hours.

Gazing.

Watching.

Admiring.

For two hours.

He looks back at his homework. It could wait... couldn't it?

It would still be there tomorrow, and the next day, and the next. He doesn't know why he rushes himself, why he feels the need to complete every menial task the second he notices. He just knows that usually, when he doesn't, a panic begins to swell.

A sickened, heavy, desperate, panic.

It sits in the back of his throat, and floods his chest, and burns up his insides like a firestarter dropped into gasoline. Like all he's waiting for is the match.

His eyes stray to his bag. He'd gotten a letter from his father that morning. He hasn't opened it. He's not going to.

He pulls your sleeping body into his lap gently, cradling you to his chest as he gathers your things, and then his.

He hauls both bags over one shoulder, lifts you into his arms, and prays you don't wake as he begins carrying you back to the slytherin common room.

He listens to you breathe.

Contentment, safety, a sick, slippery sort of happiness that leaves his head spinning.

Love has never sounded so clear. Your breath feels like his mother's old lullabies.

Listening to you breathe feels like the home he knew he needed, but didn't want to find. It's too late now, he supposes. He's found it.

God.

He inhales- slow, terrified.

"I need her to need me back."

He whispers to himself.

He settles you down onto your favorite couch in the slytherin common room. He slips off your shoes, and slips off your socks. He gently braids your hair, and pushes the strands he couldn't catch gently behind your ear. He lays a blanket over your body and another pillow beneath your head. He places more wood on the fire, and places a lingering kiss to your temple.

And then, he sits down with your legs in his lap, and stays.

He doesn't move.

Doesn't speak.

But when you stir, that familiar crease between your brows, he reaches up... smoothes it out... and whispers soft promises he means until you're content again.

He loves you, he decides. He never meant to, but something about you felt like seaside in Italy and his mother's lullabies, and his grandfathers pride.

Things with you were... simple.

He loves you. You're tilted, imperfect. You're all he's ever needed. All he'll ever want.

Bruised knuckles drag up your shin, lightly rubbing your knee as you stir.

He doesn't know how to speak to you.

But when he loves you, there will be signs.

Signs like his hands on your knees at three in the morning, and his skewed tie still unfixed only in your presence.

Pretty, he thinks again.

You stir, eyes meeting his. His lips part, and its the first thing he's said to you all week.

"Go back to sleep, cara mia, I'll stay."

[darkacademicvibes]

lets scream with mama

TERFS STOP INTERACTING WITH THIS POST!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I DONT LIKE YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! IF YOU DONT RESPECT TRANS WOMEN GET OFF MY BLOG!!!!!! PLEASE SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!!!!!!!!!

[darkacademicvibes]

i’m gonna scream

[darkacademicvibes]

Kiss It Better?

Theodore Nott x Fem!Slytherin Reader

CW: Blood is kind of vividly described, slightly obsessed/dirty minded Theo

Theo entered the Great Hall grumbling.

He sat down grumbling.

And he glared at his utensils grumbling.

You share a look with Pansy, curious and amused, "Theo? What s'a matter?" you ask, leaning in to speak quietly.

The smooth, albeit grumpy italian falling from his lips trails into silence as he glances at your shared friends, unsure whether or not he was willing to tell you - and realistically speaking, the others - about the frankly humiliating situation that had him in such a foul mood.

He knew he was probably being dramatic, but he'd never fucked up like he had this time, and a part of him was deeply - though probably unreasonably -embarassed."Tell you later" he mumbles, his right hand picking up his fork as he stabs at the beans on his plate.

He ignores the questioning looks of the others, the stinging, and most of the loud conversations in the great hall as he keeps his left hand firmly beneath the table, wiping blood on the low hem of his white uniform shirt. He'd never cared much for it anyway, this way he had a reason to wear something other than the stuffy hogwarts shirts in the hot classrooms.

So perhaps there was somewhat of a silverlining to the situation he found himself in.

Eventually, students begin to trickle out of the Great Hall and towards their prefect or head duties, or their common rooms - You and Theodore amongst them - he hesitates as you both enter the slytherin common room, gently grasping your wrist and leading you up to your own dorm. Your first aid kit never stung as much as his, perhaps because you got the good products, and none of them were expired, which he wasn't particularly aching to hear about the riviting affects of not taking proper care of his bumps and scrapes for a third time this month.

He also really didn't want you questioning the flowers tossed (delicately placed) alongside the thin drips of red against his green covers.

"Theo?" you mumble, letting him lead you along as he continues hiding his left hand from your view. He doesn't answer, stopping only to drop your wrist and open your dorm door, you allow him to tug you wordlessly into your dorms bathroom, repating yourself.

"Teddy?"

He groans, reluctantly showing you his hand, blood dripping down his fingertips from the mean cut along the back of his pointer and middle fingers, he'd bled a decent bit, but the drips were more of an occasional trickle of red against his tan skin. "I.. fuck- I got distracted dethorning roses in herbology" he mumbles, refusing to meet your eyes as you guide his fingers over the sink, running a gentle stream of warm water over his bloodied fingers, the watery red dripping down your palm as he watches, something about it making his jaw tick.

"Why were you dethorning roses? I thought you were meant to be trimming venemous tentacula?"

For you.

For your halloween - or, really autumn solstice - ball outfit you'd been mentioning to Pansy that morning at breakfast.

That's exactly what he didn't say.

Couldn't say.

"I did, and then I got bored" he grumbles, itallian accent thick as he winces, watching you clean out the jagged marks along his fingers with your own before gently drying them off. The bleeding has entirely stopped now, but it still stings terribly as you disinfect them, getting ready to place two fresh bandaids over them. He pulls back his hand slightly, and it makes you pause.

"Do you want me to kiss them? So they get better?" you ask quietly, your fingers tacing his palm soothingly.

He swallows the lump in his throat, his baby brown eyes dropping to your lips.

"That works?" he nearly croaks. Fuck - if Mattheo could see him now he'd have a fit. Maybe he'd laugh so hard he'd choke and die so Theo wouldn't have to kill him for it.

You nod softly, gently tugging at his sleeve. "Mhm, my mum used to do it when I was little" you tilt your head.

"Yeah, s'alright then" he grumbles, just trying not to sound like he was about to lose his mind over the fact she was going to fucking kiss it better.

Shit, maybe he should ask Mattheo to punch him in the dick.

You press gentle kisses to both cuts, wrapping bandaids around his fingers after.

"All better" you hum, smiling up at him.

He nods stiffly, his newly fixed up hand tangling into your hair as he guides your head to his chest in a hug. "Thanks, doc, 'nything else I gotta do?" he mumbles, mostly joking. He'd do anything for you, maybe that was a part of the reason he was so fucked in the head, 'cause he couldn't get you out of it.

"Mh, just be careful, Teddy" you huff, and he has to hold back a groan. He had to leave before you called him that again, before you said anything that would make him want to drag you to your bed and make you ruin your sheets.

"I will, I gotta go meet Mattheo, love" he lies through his teeth. He needs a smoke before he goes fucking crazy. He places a lingering kiss to the top of your head before bidding you goodnight and leaving the girls dorms.

There wasn't a lot of things you loved more than your friends, but perhaps the way Theodores low murmur of italian slips through his lips against your forehead could be one of them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He's driving himself fucking mad, the memory of your lips against his ripped open skin replaying in his mind like a fucking charmed camera had snapped in his brain at the perfect moment.

His knee bounces quickly as he sits with Mattheo and Draco, blowing through cigarettes like they're candy straws. You'd given him candy straws once - muggle ones he'd split with you. He'd taken the lemon, cherry, and blue raspberry ones and you'd kept the rest.

"Fucking hell, spit it out- before you drive us up the wall with you" Draco mumbles, flicking his cigarette butt over the side of the astronomy tower, and it makes him glare. You didn't like when people did that, it was why he stopped.

"I can't get her outta my fuckin' head" Theodore breathes, inhaling the poison into his lungs near desperately. Mattheo smirks, distracted by the few people millng about the ground below, "what's new?" he breathes, exhaling the smoke in his own lungs.

Theos knee stops bouncing as a wild, stupid, fucking genious idea slipped into his mind.

"Draco, I need you to do somethin'" Theo sits up, flicking his cigarette onto the floor and stepping on it before exhaling the last of the addictive smoke.

The boy in question groans, "fuckin' depends. what." he snaps, and a cheeky smirk tugs at Theos lips.

"Punch me in the mouth."Mattheo sits up, looking oddly like he'd struck gold as he inhales.

"What the fuck? Why?" Draco scoffs, and Mattheos eyes widen in a near giddy excitment.

"'Cause Theo's a fuckin' freak that knows if he goes to Y/n she'll kiss it all better" Mattheo taunts. Draco raises an amused brow as Theo shrugs noncommitally.

"You sure?" Draco muses, and Theo can only shrug again. Draco and Mattheo share a look and suddenly Mattheo's on his feet, brown eyes wild with excitement.

"How hard?" he grins and Theo follows suit, tugging off his sweater, leaving him in dark jeans and a white t-shirt.

"As long as I bleed, I don't fucking care"

Mattheo cracks his knuckles."How many times?"

"Twice."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The second you saw Theo you were on your feet and practically running to his side, much to his obvious delight as you examine his split lip and the bleeding cut along to bridge of his nose. "Teddy, what happened?" you ask, worried, as your thumb traces the bruising around the cut on his nose.

He tips his head down, pretending that the way he presses his cheek into your palm is an accident as he 'reacts' to the light pressure you're appyling to his (very, very, hurt - if you asked) nose.

His eyes flicker to Mattheo for barely a moment, and he has to bite harshly at his lower lip to keep himself from smirking, the familiar metal taste flooding his tongue.

"Just an argument, ragazza dolce" (sweet girl) he nearly coos the nickname, and you don't know what it means, but it makes you flush a subtle pink nonetheless.

"Can you fix me up, love? Hurts" he grumbles, practically chewwing on his split lower lip as you take his hand. He intertwines your fingers as he lets you lead him up to your bathroom this time.

He leans against the edge of the counter, spreading his legs for you to stand between as you tip his chin down so you can properly fix up his nose.

He waits patiently for you to clean his nose, gluing it up and applying the thin white strips of whatever properly. He never took as much care of himself as you do, that's why he goes to you. He loves how much you care - loves watching the worried way your teeth tug at you own lip whenever he winces. It's never as bad as it looks, not that he'd ever tell you that.

You move to begin on his lip and he leans down slightly, gazing at her warmly, "c'mon love.. not gonna kiss this one better? S'hurting" he mumbles, and you can't help but mumur an apology as his hands find their way around your lower back to press you just slightly closer to his chest as he dips his head to allow you to lightly kiss the cut along his nose.

He knows he's being greedy when his hands fall to the backs of your thighs and knead at the skin as your fingers gently clean his bleeding lip, and when his eyes watch your teeth chewing on your lip he knows asking you to bite his instead would be too much for such a sweet, worried, thing like you.

The last thing he wants is to spook his angel, but when you lift his chin slightly to double-check your work, he can't help the faux-innocent pout on his lips and the pleading gaze he doesn't have to fake.

"Not gonna kiss this one better?" he mumbles, and the butterflies in your stomach melt into a violent stampede urging you to do as he asks, no matter what he wanted.

He hums, leaning close enough for his nose to bump against yours playfully, "s'not gonna heal if you don't, y'know" he teases quietly, and your eyes meet his. They're dark in this lighting, or perhaps it has something to do with the way you could imagine your own skin bruising if he grips your legs any harder.

Something in the chocolate brown softens as you hesitate, and you see your Theodore, the one that listens to what people say and doesn't bother to ask if someone needs help - just doing it for them. Your Theo that has only let you call him teddy for as long as you can remember and who listens to quiet music with you, and doesnt complain when you talk endlessly about whatever had captured your attention that week. Your Theo that stopped smoking in class and throwing his cigarette butts anywhere except into bins, and always let you wear his spare quidditch jersey when the weather is less than stellar, and who was there for you when your ex cheated in fourth year and hasn't let himself leave your side since.

"Please?" he murmurs, and realize that, somehow, you've never been more comfortable with anyone than you are when you're with Theo. He's sweet, and funny, and you've always thought perhaps you could live in the way his clothes smell when you borrow them.

You've always thought of your best friend as safe, the warmth from him when he let his arm rest over the back of your chair, and the way he places his palm against your hip to guide you out of the path of excitable first years or redheads with matches and fireworks nearly tumbling from their pockets.

He feels like he could live forever in the moment your lips brush the dull sting on his, his fingers winding their way into your hair as he kisses you properly, his other hand cupping your cheek so sweetly it makes your knees go weak.

It's unbelieveably soft, nothing like the way he kisses the girls at parties, this kiss is important to him. He wants you to want to kiss him again, so lets himself slow down. It's the first time he's ever cared enough to want to.

His lips trace yours, and a metalic taste seeps into your mouth as you part your lips.

He only kisses you deeper, hating himself for needing to breathe when he pulls away, he could die breathless on your lips and it would be the one thing he'd never regret - not even if he got the chance.

His thumb follows, sweeping over your lips, collecting the messy red he left there and sweetly tracing, rubbing it into your lips like lipstick, his touch never forceful as blood drips down his chin.

He lets you clean him up again in silence, and when you're done for the second time, he smiles down at you, his hands thumbs tracing lines on your hips.

"Hey" you meet his eyes, bright, and so Teddy you almost can't stop yourself from smiling back.

Almost.

You smile at him anyway.

He nearly melts, like he was Draco when Hermione kissed him in sixth year.

Mattheo would laugh at him for this too, but Theo would simply wait until the H/R/S/G Mattheo was scaring himself falling for smiled at him for the first time after their first kiss.

"Are you sure that first 'get better' kiss worked?" he asks, and you know he's asking if you would ever want to kiss him again.

"I don't think so" you whisper, leaning up to gently place a short kiss to his split lip.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It's too hot to bother playing quidditch as everyone sits together in the middle of the grassy pitch, nobody had expected for the last day of summer to be this hot - not when it had already started cooling into autumn, but nobody was complaining about the break from winds in corridors just cold enough to make you shiver as it crept up sleeves and skirts and under woolen jumpers.

Theos arm was around your shoulders, unlabed but each others, as he places a flower crown of dried red roses and pressed rosemary leaves into your lap.

"What's this?" you muse, gently picking it up and admiring it, how he'd crafted it was brilliant, a permenant sticking charm keeping the flowers and leaves together on a rose vine.

"That is why I was dethorning roses" he mumbles into your ear, pressing a soft kiss to your temple through your hair.

"For your autumn solstice ball dress" he adds, nuzzling his nose into your cheek to make you laugh.

"Thank you, Teddy" you smile, and he hums, "always, amore" he mumbles, placing his chin on your shoulder. "You'll go with me, won't you? To the dance?" he mumbles.

You smile, "I thought you weren't going?" you tease, and you feel his shoulders move in an unbothered shrug.

"If you're there, I'm there" he grumbles softly.

You might not have been his first anything, but you were the first one that mattered, and that'll never change.

[darkacademicvibes]

the anonymous button is for respectful questions and confessions of love not an excuse for you to be a demonic bigot

[darkacademicvibes]

GANG IM PUTTING OUT MORE WTST CHAPTERS THIS WEEKEND I SWEAR IN JUST REREADING THE ONES THAT ARE OUT SO I CAN MAKE SURE I DIDNT JUMP FOUR CHAPTERS AHEAD

[darkacademicvibes]

Glad You Came

Jason Todd x Female!Reader

You're bored, so fucking bored that every time your best friend smiled at you from the dance floor, you fake a smile in return before going back to ignoring your date, talking about some important business deal you couldn't give less of a rats ass about if you tried. At least Ally was having a good time. You could've been at home writing your evaluation and explanation on why Byron's poetry was the most unromantic thing you've ever read (and you've read a thesis on WW2 soldiers), but the mayors daughter - your best friend - has such light green eyes that make the saddest puppy dog stare in the universe. So here you are, bored, and wishing for nothing more than that your date - you think his name it Nathaniel.. Nathan? Neil? - whatever his name may be, to suddenly turn sick and leave you to be miserable without a headache.

He coughs, and you startle, god - when did he stop talking? If he'd asked you something you were screwed- "so? what's your opinion?" he urges, and you pause. Did anyone say jinx? Someone should say jinx. That you're such a bore, I'm half tempted to find a spoon of peanut butter and lick it because i'd rather suffer an allergic reaction than continue talking to you. That's what I think. "I don't know" you admit, what was it your brother used to say? Tell your lie with half of the truth for better results? "It sounds like a bad deal for your company" you try, and he nods proudly. Thank fucking god - you do not want to deal with some nepo baby throwing a tantrum right now, you'd probably try jumping out a window.

"Exactly! Though my boss seems insistant that-"

"Shit, y/l/n? What are you doing here?" The familiar voice is a surprisingly - since every other time it has been grating and wrong about the following comment - welcome interuption.

You turn, "Jason Todd, who would've guessed?" you smile fakely, and your date frowns, glancing between you and the intimidating 6'1 man beside you, towering over your own 5'10 frame. In heels, you stand at 5'12.

Ha. Take that, mister 'Byron was a great, and so his poetry was good'.

"It's great to see you, here-" his hand slips around your waist, settling on your back to guide you away from Boring Mcboreface, "-let me get you a drink." He insists, and you follow, your date staying still in half surprise, half disapointment. "Todd-" he calls, Jason doesn't bat an eye.

"Since when are you mister charming?" You grumble, and he exhales a small huff of laughter.

"Since you looked like you were trying to fall asleep with your eyes open and solve the riddle 'what does a raven and a writing desk have in common?' at the same time" he drawls quietly, and the sound has your stomach tumbling. No, bad hormones. He's annoying.

"Because it can produce a few notes, though they are very flat, and it is never put with the wrong end in front" you mumble distractedly, your eyes sweeping over the dance floor; your shoulders relax when you see Ally still dancing with her boyfriend.

Jason snickers, "of course you know the answer" he retorts. Something hot rushes down your spine. Hurt. Anger, maybe? Embarassment?

"What's that supposed to mean?" you huff, and he raises a brow. "it means you're smart, dove, a know-it-all, relax" he muses, his hand dropping from your back. The absence of his warm palm makes you shiver, and his calloused fingers gently grasp your elbows, thwarting the blooming goosebumps. "Did you bring a coat?"

You did, but you left it in Allys car.

And he called you smart, damn it.

"No." You decide not to add insult to injury by adding the second half of that sentence, his usual 'of-course-not,-because-that-would-be-smart' eyeroll already offending enough. Jerk.

He frowns, it looks more like an insulted scowl. The scar that flecks just under his right eye, maybe the length of your pinky nail - unnoticable unless you bother to pay attention, not that you are at all, obviously - only adds to the fustration in his pretty juniper green eyes.

Warmth drapes around your shoulders, and heat floods you face as you realize that he'd shrugged off his own tux coat, and was now rolling up the sleeves of his black button up like he didn't know it would make every girl drool.

You gently tug the tux coat a little tighter around your shoulders.

"You do realize-"

"Shut up, c'mere. You owe me one for saving you from that nimrod, Nicholas.."

You knew it started with N!

"And I'm cashing in, so please- please.. don't prove this shitweasel right" he groans softly, his arm draping over your shoulders as a tall boy with black hair and a rather devious grin makes his way over.

"Jay-bird-"

"Don't call me that."

"I didn't think you'd actually bring a date-"

"Thanks for the vote in confidence."

"Let alone one as pretty as her-"

"Hands off, Dick."

"Testy, did you have another one of those monster drinks again? You know how they make you-"

"I had to write a thesis, and it was one time, let it go!"

"Can't, won't, shan't, anyway-"

"God, I hate you."

"You love ne really. Now would you have some manners- some common decency, and introduce me to the gorgeous lady beneath your arm?"

Jason glares harder. "Hm. No."

God, you felt like you had whiplash around these two and it's been less than a minute. Though, at least now you can rest assured that Jason Todd's dry, sarcastic fuck-you-and-all-your-opinions tone isn't reserved especially for you, but supposedly this man too! For a moment, you wonder if you could convince the man to help you craft a discreet potato launcher to use against Todd from the very fancy buffet table.

"Wow, jay-bird, I can't believe you'd be so cruel-"

"I said don't call me that"

Jason's fingers toy absently with the ends of your hair, sitting around your shoulders more relaxed than he sounded. The man's eyes catch the action and he pauses, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"Okay, fine, I'd say I'm sorry but we both know I'm not. Seriously though, Jay, who's she?" He muses lightly, and Jason sighs, sending you a discreet pleading glance.

"This is my date, Y/n, she's.. we have a-"

The man seems delighted, offering her his hand.

"Shit, the y/n? That.. I wasn't expecting. He was right though, you really are pretty. How did you find that thesis last week? I know Jason has some trouble starting it- I can't believe you're actually in his historical literature class, you look like a business major to me." He seems to ramble a little, but you don't mind, after all, Jason struggled with the thesis last week, and that fact alone filled you with a filthy amount of joy.

You know your professor says take pity on the struggles of others, but Jason's struggles made your life so much sweeter.

Besides, now you at least know what the hell he'd been talking about. Cashing in a favour your ass, he just tosses you into the deepest end of the deepest pool in the world.

"Mhm, it was okay, but I edited it.. four? Times" you hum.

"Edit is how you improve" a casual voice grumbles, appearing beside the blue-eyed man. "Hey. I'm Tim" he nods his head, a casual bro-nod that you'd never really understood what had happened for such a motion to come about, but honestly you didn't care.

"Y/n, his date" apparently.

You dig your fingers into Jason's side as you say it - keeping the second part to yourself - and he winces, shooting you a glare. "Oi."

The first man grins, "Dick Grayson, pleasure to meet you" and his name startled you so much as you remember Jason's earlier comment.

"Oh, Dick is your name? I just thought he was a fucking asshole-" fingers pinch your hip meanly as you inhale sharply, "but he kind of always is, I mean, not to me at least. Thank god."

The lie slips out far to easily for how big it actually is.

Dick chuckles, nodding.

Jason send you a sharp glance as Dick and Tim casually chat, and you shrug, sending him a puzzled glare. It goes on for a while until you end up making stupid faces at each other, and a teenager clears his throat, appearing even more judgy than Jason is, and - feeling particularly scolded for a reason you aren't entirely sure of - you quickly look down at your heels, embarrassed.

Jason chuckles quietly.

You swiftly nudge your elbow into his ribs.

"I see Todd has found an adequate romantic match for himself" the boys voice grumbles. "Damian Wayne." He states, as way of introduction.

"I'm sorry, Jason? Romantic match? Who are we talking about?" Bruce Wayne wanders over and Jason looks up at the high ceiling, cursing softly.

"Okay- no, don't.. don't scare her off, you assholes, go away" he snaps, his fingers catching your waist as he tugs you against his side gently.

"D'you need a drink, love?" He grumbles, tense, and something gooey and sympathetic tugs at your spine.

"Sure" you mumble softly, following his lead with a sheepish smile to his family.

"Since when do you have brothers?"

And he pauses, tilting his head.

"Since I was nine, but Dick was already at university, so he's kind of just the annoying guy that hangs around. Damians my little brother, I knew him when he was a baby, and then I came home and after a few years his mother dropped him off with Bruce- some.. uh... custody thing, I think" he breathes, ordering a sinple beer and champagne, handing you the flute as he uncaps his beer with his thumb.

You hum, sipping the champagne tentatively before screwing up your nose and deciding that if you ever had to drink the bubbly liquid or eat one of jokers bombs, you'd text your lawyer and tell her to give your cat to the most animal-kind person she could find, lest she wanted to deal with you haunting her and the person your cat had been given to.

Jason laughs at you, his palm settling on your back to pull you closer, standing nearly chest-to-chest with him as he places the fancy flute of champagne back on the bar, offering you his beer silently. You comply and take a sip before he takes the bottle back, and a part of you aches for the cheap boxed wine you have in the bottom of your mini fridge in your dorm.

"Better?" He teases, and if you didn't know better, you'd think the way his thumb began to stroke along your lower back was supposed to make your stomach flutter.

You hum, pulling away, "I have to find Ally" she murmurs, and he nods stiffly.

"Heading home?" He murmurs, his voice low and warm against your ear, you nod, eyes skating over the room to try to find your best friend.

"She left before Bruce made his way over, probably screwing in the bathroom, but I can give you a ride" he mutters.

Something uncomfortable sits in your stomach, Ally wouldn't... right?

Except that she absolutely would, not without sending you a text but- oh.

Sorry hon, find another ride home? I'll come over tomorrow night and bring your favs, I'm sorry. Love you. BTW! Saw you with Todd, keeping secrets? HOTTT🔥

You sigh, and Jason chuckles, reading the text. You tuck your phone away, shooting him a glare.

"Could you please... give me a ride?" The notion of asking such an asshole for help almost makes you feel sick, but that small, cheeky smile is so... cute.

You didn't think he could ever be cute.

A pleasant surprise, nothing more.

In fact, hardly pleasant.

The warmth in your chest be damned.

[darkacademicvibes]

You Owe Me Pt.2

Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader

Enemies to lovers, Fake Dating

The library was always empty this time of night, save for Madam Pince, and any other seventh year that was trying to study. You were the exact description of the latter, books stacked uselessly to your side, the ones you are using open messily in front of you as you rub your temple frustratedly. Studying was never your strong suit, in fact, Hermione was surprised enough to see you willingly heading off to study that she forgot to remind you to take breaks, a reminder you really could've used now that it's been three steady hours of studying for your Defense Against Dark Arts N.E.W.T exam, and your head was aching as anger bit down your spine.

This was so frustrating, and stressful, you just couldn't handle it anymore. Behind your eyes burn as you slam your textbook shut, burrowing the heels of your palms into your eyes in hopes that the pressure will alleviate the pain. It doesn't. You tug at your sweater, you hadn't bothered to wear a shirt beneath, assuming you wouldn't have to take the fabric off due to the chill that usually ran through the hogwarts halls, but tonight was warm in the castle, the library especially, and your hair sitting against your neck wasn't helping you cool off any.

Tugging the while silk ribbon Hermione let you use as a bookmark two weeks ago, you tug your hair back and tie a bow, you didn't particularly care if it was neat, you were sure that it would be pretty either way.

Taking a soft breath, you open your text book again, rubbing at your temples. Sure, your headache was awful, but failing your exam would feel worse, and that was something you knew well. You never did well with failing, even despite your reluctantly to actually study.

He can't help but stare at you a little. The white bow holding back your pretty hair was askew, and if you weren't already so.. bugged, he would've reached out and tugged it loose.

You are so pretty. Even angry.

Especially angry.

He couldn't help but notice the light, quick tapping of your nails on the tabletop as you struggle to understand your notes, brows furrowed and lower lip bitten red. You were so stressed, and there was two parts of him fighting for victory.

One part wanted to tug on that silk ribbon and tease you until you blew up at him, letting him see that fierce, strong, brilliant fire in your eyes. Your vicious anger only he could stoke in you that he knew you'd complain and grumble about to Katie for hours, maybe days, if he was lucky.

The other wanted to retie it for you, maybe even braid your hair if you let him, though you probably wouldn't, just as an excuse to run his fingers through your hair. You always smelled so nice. Like summer. Not that he knew how to describe it. The other part wanted to close your books and rub your shoulders, and tell you that he'd be your fake boyfriend to keep goddamned Pucey off your back.

He couldn't believe it when Hermione rattled off the pros of the arrangement to him a week ago, you'd go to his family rubbish and tell his mother that him and George spent all their time with you, and they'd been upset about not doing the store but that they'd relented and given up their 'foolish' dreams, and you'd cover for him when his twin came up with a brilliant new idea for their improved order forms.

It was a win-win.

A win-win-second-secret-win for him. After all, he was the one that got to convince everyone in hogwarts that you were.. his.

His girlfriend - his future.

The thought alone made his heart beat so fast it ached. Before he could stop himself he was on his feet and making his way over to you, tugging that pretty silk in your hair loose.

Your headache seemed to pulse, hurting much harder as the smell of phoenix dust, maple wood, yarn, and sour grubs from honeydukes surrounds you, hair falling loose across your shoulders again.

Irritation bristles along your already tense shoulders as his warm breath brushes your ear, "studying all alone, trouble?" He teases, and you glance back at him.

"Shouldn't you be setting fireworks in Filches office, Fred?" You hiss, and he nearly chokes on a laugh.

Merlin, he could listen to you snap and hiss and seethe at him forever. A part of him wondered what it'd be like to hear you hum instead, sweet and so, so pretty. You'd trip over the 're' in his name on overly early mornings just like you did with the 'eli' in Angelina's name. He loves listening to you talk when you're tired. He loves listening to you talk always.

"I would, but I had to come see how my girl was doing" he teases, he can't help the excitement that races when you turn your head and glare at him, that sweet little crease between your brows and dangerous flare in your warm eyes.

"I'm not your anything, Weasley, and if you think I am, you've clearly taken a bludger to the head" you snap. His fingers drag lightly through the lower strands of your hair, lightly tugging them back and beginning to loosely braid.

"Really? Cause 'mione said you needed to keep Pucey off your back, but if you're free, I can go get him for you?" He jokes. He'd never do that to you, and his teasing tone was like a promise to you, he really wouldn't.

You falter, turning your head slightly, your heart dropping into your stomach. Surely Fredrick Gideon Weasley was not the person Hermione had promised you she'd ask... right?

Except she would, she absolutely would. She thought Fred was a catch - for anyone who didn't prefer dorky younger brothers with an irritatingly impressive talent at wizard's chess, at least. Truthfully, she wasn't wrong. Fred is on the taller side of all the boys in your classes, with delightfully messy hair and such a bright smile it almost made up for the irritating grate of his voice.

The first time you'd met Fred Weasley, you'd thought he was rather handsome, and bright. Then you'd spoken to him for the first time, and you'd remembered why it was always important to remember that light travelled faster than sound.

"Absolutely not, Weasley, I'd rather climb in a broom and play quidditch."

He grins, leaning down until his lips brush against the shell of her ear.

"Brilliant, I'll arrange a game, shall I? Either way, I get to see you. I'd prefer you rode the first option, but a broom will do" he muses, teasing, as he ties the silk back into your hair, finishing off the braid before wandering away with his hands tucked into his pockets.

He was infuriating, and it killed you.

What was worse was the way he managed to get your thighs to clench beneath the table. He's foul, but merlin... he's devine too.

[darkacademicvibes]

GANG IM CHECKING MY ACTIVITY AND WHATTTT?!?!?! Ngl I cried a little. A lot.

I'm on my period, I cried for thirty minutes and then watched Bambi, what do you want from me?

mattheo riddle recs - part 2

only one | drabble, fluff | @darkacademicvibes

reader with insomnia | drabble, fluff | @suugarbabe

please, please, please | one shot, fluff | @writingsbychlo

shy girlfriend | headcanon, fluff | @mattyriddlesbitch

obliviate | one shot, flangst | @redeemingvillains

the black lake | imagine, flangst | @redeemingvillains

brushstrokes, sketches, and you | imagine, fluff | @iamgonnagetyouback

a green and silver ring | au, one shot, flangst | @miryum

home at the end of the day | imagine, fluff | @suugarbabe

curls | imagine, fluff | @suugarbabe

after the storm | imagine, flangst | @girllblogging777

home | one shot, fluff | @lenaswritingandstuff

into the woods | imagine, flangst | @doremimosasol

showers & scourers | imagine, flangst | @shyamanuensis

veritaserum | one shot, fluff | @redeemingvillains

cold comfort | one shot, fluff (bit of angst) | @redeemingvillains

back hug kisses | drabble, fluff | @iamgonnagetyouback

are you ladies alright? pt 2 | two shot, fluff | @allurearia

"you should let me crave my name into your skin" | drabble, fluff | @blondwhxrewrites

do i wanna know | one shot, fluff | @riddleriddles

unspoken promises | imagine, flangst | @girllblogging777

his soft spot | series | @ravenclaw-for-all-seasons

looks better on you | imagine, fluff | @simp-for-love

[darkacademicvibes]

HI!

I am so sorry for not updating but my phone is broken and it's what I did all my work on, as my computer has severe battery issues and some keys don't work first tap due to it being second hand, so for a while updates will be slow-to-none, sorry!

[darkacademicvibes]

I'M ALIVE! I'M BACK

I'm about to continue writing

[darkacademicvibes]

We need to be going door to door telling men about bisexuality. We need to start standing outside grocery stores

[darkacademicvibes]

You Owe Me

Fred Weasley x Fem!Lancaster!Gryffindor!Reader

Enemies to lovers, Fake dating

It's the fourth time in two weeks, and it's only Tuesday.

Adrien Pucey settles into the seat beside you, the same flirty smile on his face as his last three attempts at talking to you, and it takes everything in you to keep your glare of annoyance to yourself as you send Hermione at the gryffindor table your best 'can-we-please-have-a-tutor-session-right-at-this-second-i-need-your-help' stare, which she doesn't understand, of course, since you're usually so against studying.

"Hey gorgeous" you sigh heavily, barely glancing at him. "What do you want, Pucey" you mutter, hoping to merlin he doesn't make some revolting innuendo of some sort, you're trying to eat lunch for heavens sake.

"I want you to go out with me this weekend" he shrugs, and you turn to him, placing down your fork. "Look, Pucey, there's a nice way to say this, but I'm not going to be nice anymore. Leave me the fuck alone, I'm not interested in dating, sleeping with, or, talking to you" you state clearly, hoping it was exactly what he needed to leave you alone.

"Tell me one good reason why"

Hope is dead. There is no hope. Hopeless, that is his word, you will never say hopeless without thinking of this exact moment ever again.

"I have a boyfriend" the words practically tumble out of your mouth, and he immediately seems confused. Me too, pucey, me too. You think to yourself, because genuinely, what the fuck? No, you don't. Not that he needed to know that, because he was already standing up. "Right... uh, who, exactly?" He asks, and you panic.

"Look, we're trying to keep it to ourselves right now, yknow? We don't want anyone in our business, so if you could kind of... keep it quiet, that would be really helpful" you ramble, shit- literally - because at this point you are talking out of your arse. None of this is true, obviously, but if it gets him to leave you the fuck alone, then great, now it is. It's a lie, but it's true. In his mind, at least.

He pauses, "right." He mumbles, turning on his heel and leaving as you turn back to your meal, feeling particularly distraught.

"Y/n? It's time for our session-" Hermione Granger pauses, she's never seen you move so quickly, shoving bacon into your mouth and grabbing an apple turnover as you shove your things into your bag, standing up and grabbing her wrist with your free hand as you tug her along to the library.

What the hell happened since their last session? Y/n Lancaster has never once been the one most ready for their study session, it was always Hermione spending the better part of their scheduled two hours bribing her to actually open her books.

"I'm fucked" you state with a mortified groan the moment you make it to your usual table in the library, apple turnover in hand until you place it onto a loose piece of parchment, sending a suspicious glare to the wood of the library table. Who knew what tables couples had shagged on top of after sneaking in after hours for a bit of unsanctioned fun.

Hermione frowns, puzzled as she sits beside you, watching you actually open your textbooks. "What? What happened?" she asks, hurrying to tug her own books from her bag.

"Okay, you know how i've been bitching about Pucey asking me out and being all gross and stuff? Well he asked me out again, and I said no - obviously, like, gag - but he asked me why and I totally minblanked so I told him I have a secret boyfriend" you ramble, stressed at the situation you've gone and caused for yourself, because now you actually had to ask someone to pretend to be in a badly hidden 'relationship' with you to keep him off your back. Double gag.

She smiles, "oh, you do? congrats-"

"Hermione Jean Granger, you adorable, sweet, merlins favourite little gryffindor-"

"We're the same age-"

"-I am so greatful that you think I have such low standards and such high patience to date a boy of all things-"

"And we're both gryffindors."

"-But I am so single it borderlines on painful."

She's silent for a long moment, so long, you aren't sure if she understood you, and then, painfully slow, she begins to smile. And then a laugh bubbles out of her as you sulk, biting into the sweet apple turnover.

It takes a long few minues for her to calm enough to be able to look at you without laughing again.

"So now what?" she muses "You can't exactly keep lying and really expect to get away with it" she points out, and you fall silent, sending her a sheepish smile as she pauses, eyeing you warily.

"Y/n Gréine Lancaster, tell me you are not thinking about-"

You nod quickly, embrrassed.

"Y/n! That's ridiculous" she scolds quietly, and you groan.

"Trust me, I know... but I have to, I just want Pucey to leave me alone. He's been so convinced that i've just been playing hard to get- I can't take it anymore, 'mione, you even had to start tutoring me because i've been taking the long ways to class to avoid him in the halls" you insist.

She sighs, her gaze softening.

"I know someone you can ask, I'll talk to him" she promises softly. "He needs a date to christmas this year to keep his mother off his back anyway... a win-win situation is okay... right?" she asks softly, gently grabbing your hand. You nod softly.

"Of course, 'mione, thank you"

"Always, Y/n. Now.. herbology-"

"Oh god, must we?"

[darkacademicvibes]

Thank you @charms-cat for making me nearly piss myself laughing on a bad day lmao <3

[darkacademicvibes]

You poor thing, here, have a snackie🧃🍪

annual reminder not to feed the ghosts! yes I know it seems like a cute tradition, but these are wild spirits with specialized diets, and humans unintentionally cause serious havoc by interfering with their ectosystem