#my world history professor did the same thing

[atamascolily]

One thing I love about the first episode of Madoka Magica is how its core themes are introduced in the very first scene. Madoka watches Homura fight Walpurgisnacht--which, unbeknownst to the audience and most of the characters has played out countless times before--and has the following exchange with Kyubey (from the official English dub):

KYUBEY: If she [Homura] gives up, it's over. But you have the power to change this destiny…. All this tragedy, all this destruction, you can change it, if you want. The power to do so lies within you. MADOKA: I can change it? Even someone like me can do something to help? Can I really change how this ends? KYUBEY: Of course you can. Just make a contract and become a magical girl.

The first and most obvious theme is Kyubey's final line, which is echoed at the very end of the episode: "Make a contract with me and become a magical girl!" The story of Madoka Magica is Madoka's journey to do so--but not before she and the audience learn all the history that has led up to this point. Only when she is fully aware of the conditions and the consequences does Madoka fulfill her narrative destiny. And when she does, she indeed changes this scene by erasing Walpurgisnacht once and for all, Homura will no longer have to engage in this particular battle.

But can you really change fate? This is the question that, like Homura, I keep coming back to again and again, and the answer is more ambiguous.

It's true that Madoka saved Homura from being stuck in her loops and fighting an unwinnable fight for eternity, but the series concludes with Homura continuing to do battle against the wraiths with no end in sight. At the same time, Homura has been trying to save Madoka from HER fate (becoming a magical girl and then witching out or dying) and she succeeds, only to lose Madoka anyway when Madoka makes one final wish and becomes a concept. Did they save each other? Yes--and their struggles and sacrifices and genuine love for each other made all the difference. Was it ENOUGH? Ultimately, did they truly change fate or simply swap it out for a variation on the same theme? Well, that depends on your perspective. It seems like some things can be changed, but only up to a point.

Another key word in this passage is "tragedy" because tragedies are also very much concerned with this same question of "Can you change fate?" and the answer there is always "no". While the ending of Madoka Magica is not tragic in the sense of "a bad ending for everyone", it is nonetheless tragic in the more classical sense of inevitability - there is no way to arrive at a different outcome as long as the fundamental nature of the characters remains unchanged. As long as Madoka is compassionate and Homura determined to go it alone, etc, etc, it's difficult to imagine how it could have played out any differently-- or, rather, you can, but it involves the characters making different choices which they could not have done without changing who they are and/or the circumstances outside of their control that led to this point.

This is challenging for a lot of people to accept, including myself; when a professor told me, "You can't fix tragedies" during a discussion of Antigone, my reaction (paraphrased) was "Skill issue!" But the older I get, and the more I work with stories, the more I understand what he meant by this. I still write fix-it fics, but I also have more acceptance of why things turned out the way they did in the original--that sometimes, the tragedy is the feature, not a bug.

I think it's also important to point out that characters in Urobuchi's writing tend to represent specific philosophical point of views, and thus are inherently static and inflexible in certain attitudes and behaviors compared to real people, and that for him, this is also a feature and not a bug. Homura and Madoka aren't merely themselves, they are also two fundamental attitudes about the world in conflict, and part of the reason that neither one can get an upper hand and permanently "win" is that both have valid points. This is also why I think the inevitable end of the series is the two of them coming together as equals; until they do, the cycle will inevitably continue because neither perspective they represent is inherently superior to the other.

Which brings us back to another theme introduced in this first scene: "If she [Homura] gives up, it's over." It's true both in-universe and out; only when Homura gives up her fight to save Madoka can the series end for good. And the only way to do that is a solution that satisfies both of them and allows them to stay together, be it as magical girls, witches or a secret third thing.

"Is it possible to change fate?" is a recurring theme in Urobuchi's works, and in Kamen Rider Gaim, the answer is very much a Madoka-like ambiguity--the details change, but the fundamental framework of destiny remains the same, and the main character must sacrifice his humanity to save humanity. The primary difference is that he does not have to be completely isolated like Madoka.

Thunderbolt Fantasy is more explicit: changing fate via time travel is bad, actually, and it will fuck you and the rest of the world up if you meddle with it, because bad things have to happen sometimes in order for there to be good things. Characters can make choices for the future, but must accept the past as inherently fixed.

The script for Walpurgis no Kaiten was written after Gaim but before TBF, so who knows where it exactly falls on this spectrum, but I'd be surprised if Urobuchi dramatically changed his mind on this point. I think it will eventually be revealed that all of the characters' efforts to change fate are what caused that fate to happen (as typical for tragedies), but as with the original Madoka anime, I don't think it will mean a bad ending, or that everything was pointless. Rather, I think it will be like the lines in "Simple Gifts":

"And turning and turning will be our delight 'Til by turning, turning, we come round right."

In other words: it was all fate the whole time, but it'll be okay, because it was the only way for things to turn out "right" in the end. Everything will be the same and yet different, and those difference matter, even if Madoka, Homura, and the audience are the only ones who know the full story.

When Walpurgis no Kaiten was first announced, I found the decision to bring back Walpurgisnacht initially perplexing, but the more I think about it, the more appropriate I find it. The original anime's opening scene encapsulates the series' primary conflict, so it makes sense to be returning to that, especially if this is in fact the story's conclusion. In a series dominated by the circle, both visually and structurally, it was inevitable we'd come back to the starting point eventually; we could hardly do anything else.

[bedlamsbard]

super fair @ sports. Baseball’s legit though huh

fun fact: despite having taught baseball history multiple times and developing strong feelings about the history of the sport, I have still never uh. been to a baseball game.

(if asked I support the Seattle Mariners and the Atlanta Braves, but I don't actually follow baseball. like many people I also have a soft spot for the historical Brooklyn Dodgers, but that's not even for the expected fandom Steve Rogers reasons; one of the books we read for the baseball class was Jane Leavy's biography of Sandy Koufax, which stuck on me more than The Boys of Summer (which we also read and which is also about the Dodgers) did.) (I am aware that this book and Koufax's career covers the move from Brooklyn to LA.)

[unterdans]

contempt

johnny storm x ex-gf!reader

summary: You and Johnny dated briefly in college. Things ended when he got his powers and his whole world changed. When Sue asks you to tutor Franklin, you come back into each other's lives.

content warnings: reader with fem pronouns, no use of y/n, reader is referred to as "doc" or "professor," lovers to enemies to lovers, some hurt, mostly fluff :3

wc: 3.9k

a/n: as you can see, i got carried away with my first fic here/written in... five years! sorry if it's ooc, i've only seen the new movie once so far! please enjoy-- it'll be up on ao3 in the near future.

“If she should make tender of her love, ‘tis very possible he’ll scorn it; for the man, as you know all, hath a contemptible spirit.” - Don Pedro, Much Ado About Nothing

You had met Johnny in your third year at Harvard when he was in his fourth year at MIT. Things flowed easily between you two. Your romance was fast but tender. Past his cocky first impression, Johnny was caring, softer than butter, and toothachingly sweet. On the nights you spent together in your apartment curled around each other in your bed, he would read whatever was on your nightstand until you fell asleep in his arms. 

Then came his graduation.

You were proud of him, of course, but also scared of what would become of your relationship. He was moving to New York to work with his sister and while that wasn’t horrendously far, you knew it would put a strain on the easy, light, sugary thing you had going. You had met Sue, her husband Reed, and Reed’s best friend Ben when they would come to visit Johnny. They were all nice in their own ways, but you weren’t close enough with any of them to voice your fears about Johnny. Was what you had serious enough to inconvenience him? To inconvenience you?

When he left, you both swore up and down that you would write to each other and call in the evenings when you had the time. And at first, you both did. Johnny wrote as much as he talked— about his sister, about New York, about this space trip he and his family were selected to go on. 

The letters and the calls stopped when he came back from space. Everything changed: his DNA, his job, his whole life. What would you two even talk about anymore? You were just the nice girl from his old life. It hurt like hell but you pushed on, finished your English doctorate the following year, and moved to New York yourself. 

For unrelated reasons— for opportunities, of course. 

You got a teaching gig at a university uptown, settled down, made friends. You didn’t forget about Johnny— how could you when his face was on literal billboards? But the ache of his leaving was just that: a dull pain in the back of your mind that you didn’t consciously think about most days. Most.

But sometimes, when the hum and glow of the city punctured your closed curtains, the loneliness hit you. He was out there, without you, a new girl on his arm every few weeks. What you had didn’t mean anything to him. 

Two years passed in the comfortable rhythm that had become your life when you received a letter in a pale blue envelope at your office mailbox. It was from Sue. Although only two years old, Franklin’s intellect was developing at a rapid pace. Of course he was surrounded by the most brilliant scientists on Earth, but they wanted him to have a well-rounded education. When it came to literature and history, the Fantastic Four were aware they lacked the same prowess they had in the various sciences. Yes, Sue was a renowned diplomat. Yes, Reed had solved teleportation. Yet neither of them had read any Shakespeare beyond Romeo and Juliet. Long story short, they were looking for a tutor and her first thought had been of you, “that brilliant girl we met in Cambridge, in a different life.” She invited you to the Baxter Building Friday to meet Franklin.

No, was your first thought. That would be entirely too much. But how could you say no to this opportunity, to the goddamn Fantastic Four? Maybe Johnny wouldn’t be there. You doubt he hung around the penthouse with his nephew all day. He probably had interviews to do, magazines to pose for, and whatever else came with being America’s heartthrob. So you sat at your desk and wrote back to Sue with shaky hands.

Yes, of course. It would be great to see you again and to meet Franklin.

Your students came and went, asking for help, extensions, book recommendations. As they did, you only had Friday on your mind.. When your office hours were over, you mailed the letter, hesitating before the mouth of the mailbox. It was the opportunity of a lifetime, tutoring the Fantastic Four’s fantastic toddler.

Rather than dragging by, the week sped headfirst towards Friday. As one of the younger professors at your university, you got stuck with the undesirable Friday morning lecture slot. For once, it went by quickly. Too quickly, because the next thing you knew you were in the Baxter Building elevator. You prayed as it trudged upwards that Johnny wouldn’t be there. You could do this if your contact with him was minimal.

The elevator jolted softly when it reached the penthouse floor. Even before the doors opened, before you stepped out of the shaft, you could hear the strained voices.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” The last time you heard that voice was over the phone. Back then, warmth exuded through how tired he was. Now his words had a fiery edge to them, burning you.

“I didn’t think it mattered to you, Johnny.” Sue, ever the diplomat.

Panicking, you step heavily to announce your presence. Thank god for loud heels.

“Oh, come in—”

“Give us a minute!”

Sue and Johnny’s voices mixed together in the high-ceilinged echo. You decided to listen to Sue and tentatively stepped out of the elevator and onto the landing. Blue and orange toys littered the contemporary carpet. Your eyes were glued that way for a few seconds, hesitant to look up. When you did, Johnny was already looking at you. Fuck. Franklin had been in his arms but he now handed the toddler back to his mother. Johnny looked sharply back at Sue, a soft scoff coming from his perfect mouth.

He stormed out of the living room and onto the balcony. He glanced back at you and saluted to his sister before lighting his fire and leaping into the sky.

Sue turned to you. ���I’m sorry you had to see that.”

You swallowed, trying to regain your composure. “It’s fine! If my being here is a problem at all—”

She smiled at you in that dazzling, comforting way of hers. “Not at all. He was just caught off guard.”

You nodded in understanding. “This handsome guy must be Franklin!”

Talking to Sue and getting to know Franklin had a sense of ease to it. On the part of the Invisible Woman, it nearly felt like you were picking up right where you had left off. Although her whole world had changed— not only with her new powers and her role in international politics, but with her son as well— she was the same earnest and intelligent woman you had briefly known those years ago. She listened to you intently as you discussed the curriculum you had come up with. She seemed to respect you, despite how things had fizzled out with Johnny.

Franklin was a wonder, his intelligent eyes sparkling all over the room as he played on the floor, examining you from time to time with curiosity. Despite your initial hesitancy and awkwardness around Johnny, you were excited to take up this challenge. Having next to no experience teaching children didn’t make a difference— Franklin was far from normal. 

As the sun lowered in the sky, Reed and Ben returned from the lab. Both men came up short for a moment upon seeing, no, upon recognizing you. You were a ghost from their past, however briefly they had known you. You were Johnny’s ghost most of all. Besides Sue, they all reacted so strongly to seeing you that anxiety prickled your neck, worrying about what they thought of you. You took a breath to steady yourself and in that span of time, both Ben and Reed regained their composure and greeted you.

“Good to see you again,” Ben said when he shook your hand.

“Same to you, and to you Dr. Richards,” you said and turned to the shorter man.

“Just Reed, please,” he shook your hand for longer than most would. “Sue has been filling us in on your career since we last met.”

Your face flushed. “Oh!” was all you could squeak out.

“We have a lot of catching up to do, don’t we?” Sue said from the living room. “Would you be able to stay for dinner?”

Your face flushed further. Dinner with the Fantastic Four? Dinner with your ex’s family? Dinner with your ex?

“I wouldn’t want to impo—”

“It’d be our pleasure,” Reed assured you.

Sue came up behind you and put a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“Have you read James Baldwin's new book?” Ben asked. All the tension eased out of your shoulders. You could do this.

“I actually just picked up a copy last week,” you said.

H.E.R.B.I.E had started cooking while you were talking to Sue, so all that was left was to set the table and make some finishing touches to the meal, which Ben did eagerly. You chatted with the family about the political context and perspective Baldwin brought to his new work as you gathered around the table, waiting for Johnny. Five minutes passed easily, then ten. 

When he finally flew in from the balcony, he didn’t notice you at first. His eyes glazed over you, but not as if he were purposefully ignoring you. 

As if you belonged there. 

You blinked rapidly to get the thought out of your head. Johnny could have anyone he wanted, why would he be stuck on you? Normal, nerdy you.

“Sorry, sorry everyone. Flew upstate to clear my head and lost track of time.” He sauntered over to the table and took the seat across from you. Only when he sat down did he realize you were there. He stilled. Maybe this had been a bad idea.

“Wasn’t expecting you to still be here, doc.”

You scoffed lightly, it could almost be a laugh. Hardly anyone ever called you doctor, even if you did have a doctorate. “If you call me doc, I’ll have to call you the Human Torch.”

Ben laughed and it encouraged you until Johnny glared at him and spoke. “I could live with that.”

For such a hothead, he seemed to be icing you out. The rest of dinner was somewhat tense as the rest of the family asked you about your dissertation, the university you taught at, and your students. Johnny didn’t speak the rest of the time, which was both a relief and a concern. Johnny never shut up. Never. But tonight he sat like a kicked puppy across from you, his big eyes glued to his plate.

The deal you cut with Sue was to come Tuesday, Wednesday, and Friday afternoons to teach Franklin. Most of these would end right before the family had dinner, so you became a regular at their table, much to Johnny’s chagrin. After two weeks of pouting, though, he seemed to at least accept that you’d be around for a while. 

At the end of the third week of having you around, Johnny was finally able to admit to himself that it was nice seeing you again. You were on his turf, which was remarkably different from when you two had dated. He never want to bring you to his apartment back then, because what if you didn’t love his space, his things, didn’t love him, like he—

But that was a lifetime ago. Everything was different now. When you never called after the space mission, it was clear to Johnny that you didn’t want to be part of his life now that he was… not normal. Imagine his confusion when Sue told him you were coming to tutor his nephew, the least normal child in the universe. As you sat at his family’s dinner table multiple times a week, his confusion only grew. You treated them no differently than you did three years ago. To Johnny, it didn’t seem like it registered to you that they were celebrities either.

So why did you never call?

“You’re on fire, Johnny,” Ben said, gravelly but cool. The rest of the table looked at Johnny with surprise; he never put his flame on at the dinner table and had gained complete control over it… or so they thought. The torch himself looked down at his hands in surprise and extinguished them. He realized with embarrassment that he had been staring at you and warped his fork with his heat.

“Are you feeling alright?” you asked. 

Why did it have to be you who asked? The worst part of all was the genuine care in your voice. Your eyebrows knitted together in concern and it made Johnny’s heart stutter. He couldn’t reconcile this version of you with the one he had in his head: ashamed and distant.

“Johnny?” Sue brought him back to now.

“Should I get some water?” You asked him.

“No,” he said sharply, “I don’t need you to get me water.”

“Jonathan!” Sue scolded him.

“What does that mean?” you asked as he stormed to the kitchen with his plate, half tripping over H.E.R.B.I.E.

“That means I don’t need anything from you,” he said simply. “Ever.”

The room collectively sighed as he escaped to his room. Your face burned with embarrassment and hurt. “Ever.” Maybe you had hoped that things would change when you took this job. How foolish. Everything about him was different. Where was that sweetness, that softness you had known? Had it all burned away?

Sue, for one, had had enough. She knew her little brother and she knew you well enough to read how you both still cared for each other. Platonically at the extreme least. So she came up with a plan: the two of you could hardly communicate with each other, but if the rest of the team were to convince one of the other’s feelings, maybe, just maybe, you would come to a resolution. Back when you were both in college, you brought out the best in Johnny— enough that Sue could tell, even though she didn’t see her little brother often. His grades improved, he got in trouble less because he wanted to impress you. His motorcycle stunts and purported nonchalance had no effect on you, so he had no choice to bring out the real Johnny. And the real Johnny was refreshing to Sue.

The only problem Johnny had with an open floor plan was that it made it difficult to eavesdrop. Reed and Sue sat on the sofa just out of sight from the kitchen, behind the fireplace in the center of the room, discussing the seating plan for the Future Foundation’s upcoming benefit.

They seemed to have forgotten he was there.

“And the professor?” Reed asked.

“I’m not sure,” Sue said, humming thoughtfully.

“There’s an open space next to Johnny.”

The Human Torch swallowed his cereal and ate another handful, crunching quietly.

Sue chuckled. “I thought we wanted this to run smoothly.”

“She won’t know anyone else there,” Reed offered.

“She told me the other day that—” Sue lowered her voice enough so that Johnny had to focus to hear her “— she misses Johnny’s friendship. She’s professional, so she didn’t let on at dinner last week, but their exchange really hurt her.”

Johnny’s heart stuttered. He had been shoveling more cereal into his mouth but paused his chewing to listen.

“Why hasn’t she told him?”

“You know Johnny, Reed. Once he’s been burned, he doesn’t forget. And you’ve seen them interact enough— it wouldn’t go well. He’s too proud.”

Too proud? Is that what his big sister really thought of him? Of all the people, Sue knew him best. And apparently she knew him to be… unforgiving. He didn’t want to be that person— for her, for Franklin, for you.

Reed and Sue moved on from discussing you, and Johnny crunched on his Lucky Charms, lost in thought.

You arrived at the penthouse of the Baxter Building at three pm on the dot, like always. Johnny had made a point of leaving out the window when you arrived most days, but today, he sat with Franklin in the living room. You hesitated to come closer, but he noticed you and… smiled.

“Hi,” he said with a little wave. Your face must have betrayed your thoughts, because his grin turned sheepish.

“Is Sue around?” you asked.

Johnny shook his head. “No, sorry, she was called to present at the UN today. Seems you're stuck with me till Reed comes back from the lab.”

Anxiety crept up your neck again. You were not emotionally prepared for this. Shit.

“Okie dokie, then,” you said, mentally kicked yourself, and entered the den.

The lesson was brutal. Sue always sat in and it never bothered you, but Johnny’s gaze felt so heavy on you as you explained the act of Much Ado About Nothing you had just read with Franklin.

“Sometimes people that love each other have a hard time expressing it. Benedick and Beatrice were so wrapped up in what they thought the other had done wrong that they couldn’t realize how deeply they cared for one another.” Your voice trembled. When you lifted your eyes from your notes, Johnny was staring at you again. His lips were parted as if he were about to ask you something, but instead he looked away. Your heart raced for some reason— he had made his feelings clear, hadn’t he? Or…

“Shakespeare makes it clear that they have a history, but never what exactly happened. Perhaps even they don’t know and it was simply…”

“Circumstance.” Johnny finishes your sentence when you trail off.

“Exactly,” you breathe.

The elevator dinged and Reed entered the apartment not a moment too soon.

“Hello, professor,” he greeted you warmly.

“Hi, Reed.”

“Are you staying for dinner?”

“I was wondering—” Johnny interjected as he picked up Franklin, bouncing the boy in his arms, “—if you’d want to go out to dinner?”

“H.E.R.B.I.E.’s been cooking for hours already,” Reed said.

“Just the professor, Stretch, I see you more than I’d like.”

Reed rolled his eyes as he took Franklin from his uncle. You watched the two tentatively.

“So, how about it?” Johnny asked again. He rocked back and forth on his heels, hands in his pockets, the very image of a nervous little boy. His eyes sparkled in the low light, brows knitted together almost apologetically.

“Sure,” you finally said with a nod. Johnny grinned and legitimately cheered. Reed flinched at the volume of it. As the two of you walked towards the elevator, he pat Reed on the shoulder. 

“Sue and you are not that slick,” he whispered to Reed. “...but thank you.”

Johnny took you to a quiet restaurant that was only fifteen minutes from the Baxter Building. All the waitstaff recognized him and you figured he must bring girls here often. Nothing special was going on here, surely. You were intrigued, though, by the fact that the restaurant was a little worn down. It wasn’t flashy, like you expected Johnny Storm’s date spot to be. In fact, it occurred to you as you sat down across from him, none of the tabloid pictures with his various flings featured the checkered tablecloth the establishment was very fond of.

“First of all,” he started as he poured you a glass of wine, “I’d like to apologize for being… well for being an ass these past few weeks.”

You shrugged. “It’s been weird for me, too. Apology wine accepted.”

He laughed as you brought the glass to your lips. “You’ve changed a lot since Cambridge.”

At that, you raised an eyebrow. “Your DNA was literally restructured. You’ve saved the universe. I’m the same person you knew then.”

“No, you’re not. You’re— you’re more mature. I mean, you’ve really made a life for yourself and I’m proud of you. I haven’t changed much besides being more… of an uncle.”

You laughed lightly and he giggled along with you.

“You’re the only person I’ve ever met who was born to be an uncle, Johnny.”

“It’s a good fit, isn’t it?”

“It is.”

He looked lovely like this: lit by warm candleglow, eyes darting between you and the table, his leg bouncing anxiously. Johnny similarly marveled at the way you leaned in close to listen to him, the way your eyelashes fanned across your cheek when you laughed, how you nervously fiddled with your hair.

He swallowed his pride and finally asked you.

“Why did you never call after the space mission?”

You perked up at the question and he watched as a wave of sadness rolled over you. A pit dipped in his stomach at the sight of how you turned inward, how you withdrew from him. You looked at him like he should know the answer already.

“It was clear life had more in store for you. I didn’t want to hold you back from that. I was just me and now you were a hero. When you never called, I thought it was because you had moved on. Because you had changed and now I was too regular.”

As you spoke, your eyes drifted towards the flame between you two, gaze becoming distant as you remembered those feelings at their most raw. When you looked back up at Johnny, his face was stricken.

“I thought… you never called because you didn’t want to be with someone like me. That you didn’t like the changes I— we— had gone through.”

“No, Johnny, of course not. It’s quite cool, actually.”

“Fantastic, even?”

You laughed and rolled your eyes. What a cornball. 

Dinner came and went pleasantly, mostly talking about music, but Johnny laughed unprompted while you shared dessert.

“What?” you asked. 

“Nothing,” he tried to dismiss it.

“No, tell me!”

He put his spoon down and leaned back in his seat. “We’re just a couple of idiots, that’s all. This whole time I thought you didn’t like me, you thought I didn’t like you, meanwhile I never stopped caring about you.” He didn’t dare to speak on your behalf.

“I never stopped caring about you, either,” you breathed. Your hands prickled with excitement. 

“See? A bunch of idiots, you and me.”

“Mostly you.”

“Mostly me.”

When you left the restaurant, your hand dangled near Johnny’s, begging him to hold it without saying a word. Your fingers bumped once, twice— he finally got the hint and laced your hands together. Sometimes your strides would become unsynchronized, but he’d make a point of slowing down to match you. The air felt charged between you two, now that everything was revealed.

“I missed this,” you hummed.

“I missed you, pretty girl,” he said, pausing in the street. You took this moment to embrace him. He didn’t respond at first, stunned, but then hugged you tighter than he ever had. Your cheek pressed against his warm chest as if it were meant to be there. Johnny pulled away first, but only to look down at you, admiring. One hand snaked up to brush hair out of your eyes.

“Is it too soon to ask to kiss you?” he whispered.

“We’ve been waiting a few years, haven’t we?”

He chuckled at that. “May I?”

“Of course.” He leaned down to kiss you— so chastely it almost made you laugh. It was fucking sweet, how gentle he could be. When your mouths met, they weren’t hungry or desperate but full of steady longing. In your previous relationship, things had been fast and intense. A perfect match marching towards its inevitable fizzle. This? This was a hearth you could build a home around.

thank you for reading! let me know what you think :3

dividers by @saradika-graphics.

[cactus-cuddler]

𝐓𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐌𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ Pairing: Professor!Bucky Barnes × Female!Student

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ Plot: You challenged his authority. He challenged your mind. But neither of you expected words to turn into desire

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ Warnings: 🔞 Explicit content ★ Student/Professor dynamic ★ Power play ★ Oral sex ★ Fingering ★ Dirty talk ★ Age gap ★

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ Word count: 4,6 (sorry)

The new academic year is just around the corner, and as always, you already know what you're signing up for: every history and literature course you can fit into your schedule.

It’s your comfort zone—familiar subjects, familiar structure.

But then, scrolling through the updated course catalog, something catches your eye. A title that reads less like a class and more like a dare:

“Europe in Conflict: Truths They Won’t Teach You in History Books”

You roll your eyes.

It sounds like pure academic clickbait—designed to provoke, to stand out, to spark controversy.

You’ve always believed that history is history. It’s written, it’s documented, it’s taught.

There are no “hidden truths.” No conspiracies buried between the lines of a textbook.

Still… you hesitate.

Something about that course nags at you. Maybe it’s the arrogance in the title.

Maybe it’s curiosity.

Or maybe it’s the quiet voice in the back of your mind that wants to prove it wrong.

Whatever it is, you find yourself doing something you didn’t expect: You enroll.

Not because you’re convinced.

But because you want to see what this so-called “truth” really is.

«Are you sure about the title of your course? No one’s going to sign up,» said Sam Wilson, arms crossed, looking at his best friend — James Buchanan Barnes. Bucky to his friends. Buck, only to Sam.

«Too late. I changed my mind. Why didn’t you stop me from thinking it was a good idea to become a university professor instead of an ambassador?» Professor Barnes shot back, fussing with the collar of a shirt that didn’t feel quite right.

He had never been one for fancy clothes, and spending hundreds of dollars on suits wasn’t exactly his thing. That’s why he borrowed one from Sam, even though they were clearly not the same size. In Sam’s clothes, he looked more like a badly dressed clown than a respectable professor — but that didn’t seem to bother him.

Despite appearances, Bucky was nervous. He tried not to show it, but this was his first class, his first time teaching. He didn’t have the degrees, the credentials, or even the confidence. But there was one thing he did have: the past. And he hoped that would be enough. All he had to do was tell his story — or at least, parts of it.

The other professors weren’t exactly thrilled about him joining the faculty. He’d seen the way they looked at him — with doubt, with mistrust. He’d heard the whispers in the halls:

«An assassin, teaching our students?»

«We're putting their education in the hands of that monster?»

He ignored them. Smiled politely. "I’m going to be the best damn professor this place has ever seen," he told himself, scanning the crowd in the staff lounge. Deep down, he knew they were jealous. They had worked all their lives for their place here. He? He’d just been brainwashed by Hydra, fought in World War II, and committed unspeakable crimes.

When he walked into the classroom, the seats were already nearly full. That surprised him. Maybe not everyone thought it was a bad idea. Maybe someone really wanted to hear what he had to say.

When the bell rang, he walked up to the board and wrote his full name in block letters. Underneath, a few words — concepts, really — that he would come back to later.

Then he turned to the class.

«Nice to meet you. I’m Professor Barnes. First thing you need to know: I didn’t study history,» he said, letting the words hang in the air as he scanned the room full of young, curious eyes.

A wave of murmurs spread through the class. He let it build — he wanted the noise, the reaction.

«I lived it,» he added. And just like that, silence fell.

It felt good, the way those words hit. He wasn’t sure he liked teaching, but he definitely liked that feeling — making them think.

«What you read in history books,» he continued, «is always filtered. By whoever wrote it. Their bias, their experience, their agenda.»

But before he could go on, a voice interrupted him — sharp and challenging. Yours.

«And you’ve read them all to be so sure?» you asked, staring at him as if trying to peel away the layers and see what kind of man he really was.

«What do the books say about America during World War II?» he asked the room, shifting the focus.

A hand shot up. A student replied, «We were the saviors. Just like in the first war. Every conflict in Europe — we brought peace.»

Bucky let out a bitter laugh.

«Hiroshima and Nagasaki — mean anything to you? Or the ‘liberators’ who raped women and children in concentration camps? Did you know about that?»

Everyone went still. Except you. You didn’t flinch. Those facts, to you, were just the surface. History ran deeper. These things happened everywhere.

«You funded dictators in Latin America. And that’s just what we know. If you think you’re the heroes, remember — to many people around the world, you’re just the villains. It all depends on the lens you use. If a dictator wrote the history books, would they sound any different?»

Heads shook all around the room. Yours too.

By the end of the class, Professor Barnes gave them their first assignment: an essay, based on what they'd just discussed.

You liked the idea. It gave you space to write everything you were thinking — maybe even prove him wrong.

Still, he annoyed you. His attitude, the way he spoke — rough, blunt, even crude. His shirt was wrinkled, his pants too big, like he hadn’t even tried. Nothing about him said “professor.” And maybe that’s what bothered you the most.

“What do you mean by an ‘F’?” you ask, taking the essay back from Professor Barnes a week later.

It had been a week filled with subtle battles — you challenging everything he said in class, questioning his views, pushing back with sharp comments and a fierce determination to prove him wrong.

You weren’t just a passive student; you made sure he knew you wouldn’t be easily silenced.

So, seeing that failing grade felt like a challenge thrown back at you — and you weren’t about to accept it without a fight.

He doesn’t answer. He simply ignores you and continues returning papers to the rest of the class. You’re furious. Your essay has no corrections. It’s perfect—like everything you do—and yet, right there on the front page, is a bold red F.

«Today, we’re going to talk about the Cold War,» he announces from the front of the room, calm and collected. «But I won’t be the one leading the lecture. Today, we’ll hear Russia’s perspective. Please welcome a dear friend of mine—Yelena Belova.»

You don’t hear the rest. The anger churns in your chest. You’ve never received anything lower than a B- in your entire academic life, and now this man—this random man—is trying to ruin your GPA?

You make a decision. After class, you’re going to his office. You need answers.

The moment comes sooner than expected. Now you’re standing in front of a small golden nameplate that reads: “James B. Barnes.”

You take a breath, gather your nerve, and walk in—without knocking.

He doesn’t flinch. He’s grading more papers, wearing a pair of glasses that should honestly be illegal on a man like him.

«I’d tell you to make yourself at home, but it looks like you already have,» he says, nodding toward the chair across from him.

«Can you explain this to me?» you say, your voice sharp as you drop the essay onto his messy desk.

«It’s well written,» he replies without looking up. «But all you did was summarize the textbook. I expected more, to be honest.»

«I didn’t just summarize. I added my own thoughts.»

«Thoughts based entirely on the textbook,» he counters. «I want students who think outside the box. Not ones who just regurgitate material.»

«So your grades depend on your mood?» you snap.

«No,» he says calmly. «They depend on whether you make me think.»

«At least tell me how I can fix this. I can’t have this F on my record.»

He finally looks up. The corner of his mouth lifts in a knowing smirk. He’s read you like a book.

«Write something that actually makes me think. It doesn’t have to be related to class. Surprise me.»

He lingers on those last two words—surprise me—like a challenge.

You don’t thank him. You stand, chin high, and leave without another word. But deep down, you already know:

You’re going to make him regret that smirk.

After class, you head toward Professor Barnes’ office.

You wanted to hand him your new assignment away from prying eyes.

What you’ve written is pure fire—designed to provoke him, to make his knees weak.

And yet, the closer you get to his door, the more part of you wants to turn and run.

But no.

His arrogance can’t go unpunished.

He asked to be surprised—and you’re not the kind of girl who backs down. You’ve written about femmes fatales. Women who, with nothing more than charm and flesh, struck harder than any weapon ever could.

You knock softly. When he gives permission, you step in, place the paper on his desk, and slip out without saying a single word.

Mr. Barnes scans the pages with quiet focus.

The title burns red at the top, the text below laid out in perfect black. He doesn’t yet know what’s coming but he was sure you’d surprise him. He saw it in your eyes: That fire. That refusal to play safe.

How Desire Disarmed Europe

The most dangerous weapon has always been a wet mouth and a willing body.

They never needed armies. Just a gaze that lingered too long. A mouth slightly parted in pretend innocence. A hand trailing up a thigh—slow, teasing, dangerous.

Men went to war thinking they were in control,

But the moment we opened our legs their minds fell silent.

They'd step into our beds with the arrogance of conquerors, and leave with their egos shattered, begging for more.

We let them think they were taking us when really, we were wrapping ourselves around them, tight and wet and trembling. Just enough to make them think they were gods.

We whispered their names between gasps, scratched our nails down their backs, bit their lips until they moaned like beasts and all the while, we watched them fall apart.

They thought they were using us, but every groan they pulled from us was designed. Every movement, every cry, every shiver a calculated strike. Because the truth is, you can drop a man to his knees without ever touching a blade.

You just have to touch him where it matters, wrap your mouth around his thoughts, Ride his pride until it breaks, And leave him aching, ruined, and addicted.

So, Mr. Barnes tell me. When was the last time you truly lost control? Was it the heat of battle… Or the heat between her thighs?

Mr. Barnes was captivated by those words.

The deeper he read, the warmer his cheeks became, a flush creeping slowly across his skin.

His breath grew a little heavier, his pulse quickened.

Carefully, he picked up a green pen and began to write his comments—words that he would hand back to you the next day in class.

“So this is how you play, huh? You open your thighs on paper and expect me to keep my hands behind my back? You wrote this to make me sweat, to test how far you could push before I snapped. Careful, sweetheart—some men don't break. Some... bite back. Your metaphors are sharp, your rhythm tight. But it’s your mind that’s the real trap, not your body. And that? That’s what makes it dangerous. You wanted a reaction. Here's one: I haven’t stopped thinking about what you wrote. Not because it was brilliant—though it was. But because now, every time I look at you, I wonder if you moan the way you write: slow, deliberate... and just a little cruel.”

~ J. Barnes

Mr. Barnes handed your paper back in front of the whole class — so that everyone would know.

That you had rewritten it.

That he had noticed.

That it meant something.

You’d already read his comment three times. This was the fourth.

You knew you were pushing limits — but you hadn’t expected him to push back.

An A. And scribbled in the corner, his note: “Good girl.”

It made your cheeks flush hot, and he knew it.

Of course he knew.

Then, as if nothing had happened, he addressed the class.

«Today I want you to write an essay based on this prompt: Love in times of war.

Find some real examples online, but give me something you won’t find in textbooks.

If you want to write about the Times Square kiss, give me the truth — not the version polished by journalists to make the end of a war look romantic. Be original.»

You glanced around.

Everyone looked thrilled, inspired.

But to you, it felt like an invitation — or maybe a trap. Did he choose that topic for you? No. Probably not. But sooner or later, even Barnes — with all his bitterness toward history books — was bound to bring up what they never talk about: love.

You looked up.

He was watching you.

You turned away quickly.

But not before catching a faint smirk tugging at the edge of his mouth. So you wrote. Not about romance. Not about fairytales blooming in the ruins. But about women who wore lipstick and smiled wide as they married soldiers not for love, but for the hope they’d never come back. So they could inherit everything.

You wrote that love, in war, is like a seed thrown on frozen soil. Meant to be buried, never meant to grow. That most couples didn't live happily ever after — most didn’t even live together again.

You wrote about the postwar hunger. The need for freedom — even in desire. Because being tied to a man who might never return makes you crave passion even more. And when you do, they call it sin. And then, at the end, you added this — not loudly, but deliberately:

“Sex should be had before it’s too late. What was it like, not doing it for so long? Actually — Mr. Barnes — are we sure you’re not still a virgin?Back then, hardly anyone had sex before marriage, and as far as I know... you never got married.

Wouldn’t it be something if all that hard exterior of yours was just hiding the fact that you’ve never once heard a girl moan your name?”

Professor Barnes handed your essay back with the others, two classes later. His steps were steady, his tone calm — almost too calm. You weren’t prepared for what came next.

He stood at the front of the classroom, papers in hand, and began speaking about each student’s work — aloud, by name, with the same quiet sharpness as a blade drawn slowly from its sheath. You hadn’t expected this. If you had known he’d comment on them in front of everyone, you never would’ve written what you did. Not like that.

«Most of you approached the topic with romantic eyes. I found your work moving — some of it, almost touching. That doesn’t happen often, so… well done,» he said with a light, reserved applause. It grated on you — the way he pretended to be a qualified professor. A man who hadn’t studied for this role, hadn’t earned it.

He wore authority like a jacket that didn’t quite fit — too stiff on the shoulders, too new for the man inside. Your classmates beamed with pride. A few exchanged smiles. Others whispered excitedly, clearly thrilled by the unexpected praise. You sat still. Something cold fluttered in your chest.

Then: «The only one who didn’t take a romantic approach was y/n,» he added, voice cool, almost amused.

Every head turned.

A dozen curious stares met you like waves — some amused, some skeptical. One girl smirked. A boy raised his eyebrows, interested. You didn’t flinch.

«Would you mind sharing your thoughts with the class? Come up here.»

You rose slowly, uncertain but composed. Your fingers gripped the pages tightly as you made your way to the front.

Now you stood where he had stood — under the dull classroom lights, facing thirty pairs of eyes… and his comment, written in that now-familiar green ink that haunted your dreams like a secret.

“There aren’t only good girls and good boys in this world. Your piece felt more like an invitation than a provocation. I’ve heard plenty of women moan my name. Wanting me just for themselves. You're like that because you want to become one of them?”

Your throat tightened, but you kept your expression neutral. You held the page steady, then looked up — gaze level, voice calm.

«I wrote that love in wartime is a coin with two faces.

On one side, you find what the history books love — aching letters, kisses in train stations, poetic heartbreak.

On the other side, there are women who married men hoping they wouldn’t come back.

For a pension. An inheritance. A chance at owning something — maybe for the first time.

Because love isn’t always enough… when the world around you is falling apart.»

Your classmates sat still, uncertain whether to laugh or think harder. A few leaned forward. One boy looked visibly shaken; a girl whispered “damn” under her breath. Someone at the back coughed awkwardly.

From his desk, Barnes watched you — head tilted, eyes unreadable. There was something like a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Not warm. Not cruel. But hungry. And patient. Like someone waiting for the next move in a game only the two of you were playing.

At the end of the class, everyone left.

A few paused to compliment you—sincerely, or maybe just out of curiosity—and you accepted their words with a pleased smile. If Barnes had meant to embarrass you, he’d failed. This game—you were the one playing it. And you knew exactly how far you could take it. You were just about to walk out when his voice stopped you.

«Close the door. Come here.»

You obeyed, calm, as if time itself was on your side. You had nowhere else to be. Neither did he. You stepped up to his desk.

He didn’t speak. Just watched you in silence, like he was trying to read something written on your skin. It annoyed you.

«Are you going to say something, or should I start?» you asked, sharp.

«I was hoping you would,» he replied.

His voice was low. The tone, unreadable.

«Since the first day, you’ve looked at me like you’re waiting for a reason to hate me.»

«It’s not hard,» you shot back.

«You don’t deserve to be here.»

He stood up—slowly—closing the space between you.

«Really? Tell me one thing you knew about this subject before I started teaching it.»

You stayed silent.

«Maybe it’s not that I don’t deserve this job…» he whispered, leaning in,

«…maybe you just can’t stand seeing me as only a professor. Can you?»

He curled a strand of your hair around his finger, deliberate.

«Tell me… You wouldn’t want to be one of them, would you?» His eyes were locked on yours.

Your breath caught—just slightly—but you didn’t flinch. You glanced at the door. Not because you wanted to leave, but because you wanted to remember: you could. You just didn’t want to.

His gaze slipped to your mouth. You smiled. Barely. And then—you kissed him. He didn’t pull away. Quite the opposite. He kissed you back, deeper. And when you finally broke apart, you were the one smiling.

You had known this would happen. And you liked the taste of his surrender. His gaze had changed. Darker. More resolute. And yet, he hesitated. As if still wondering whether this was a mistake—whether he should stop.

«I thought you were only good at writing provocations,» he finally said, voice rough. You stepped closer, just slightly, your tone calm—guiltless.

«Maybe I am. But you're the one who chose to read between the lines.»

He narrowed his eyes. He was a man used to control, and you were slowly stealing it from him. Not with shouting. Not with scandal. But with the ruthless logic of desire. Your fingers brushed the edge of his collar. Nothing more.

«Tell me to stop,» you whispered. And he didn’t. This time, it was him who leaned in. No rush. No remorse. He kissed you like he was trying to understand you. Like every touch was a question only your body could answer. Your back met the edge of the desk. Papers shifted slightly, disturbed. He pulled back for a moment, breath heavy, eyes searching yours—as if to ask: Are you sure? You nodded.

There were no more roles left to play. There was only the present. And an empty classroom, cut off from time.

«Not here. Come to my office in half an hour. You still have time to back out,» the professor says, trying to summon all the self-control he has left. You nod. After all, the classroom couldn’t be locked—and if you got caught, you'd both be in serious trouble.

You show up at his office prepared. Before leaving, you stopped by your dorm to change. Your roommate asked where you were going, knowing you had no more classes. You made up an excuse, but she didn’t fully believe you.

You walk in without knocking, locking the door behind you. You toss him a condom he catches effortlessly. He looks at you, amused, a grin curling his lips.

«Didn’t expect you to be so impatient. I figured you’d back out,» he says.

You chuckle. «And let you win? Never.»

You clear his desk of anything you find unnecessary and hop up onto it, sitting with purpose, making sure you’re fully on display for him.

«I’m at your mercy, Professor. How did I do on my assignments?» you ask playfully, letting him undress you piece by piece—without lifting a finger to help. You wanted to see if he was really as skilled as he claimed.

You hadn’t planned for this, so you weren’t wearing anything sexy—just a matching bra and panties in a subtle color. You’d deliberately chosen a bra that was tricky to remove, but he unhooks it with disarming ease. That surprises you.

Now you’re fully exposed. You’re naked, with nothing to hide behind, and yet you don’t feel the least bit uncomfortable. You love the way he looks at you—how his eyes trace every line, every inch of your body like he’s seeing something rare.

He starts touching your thighs—soft, bare skin under his fingers—and then moves up, taking your breasts in his hands. He pinches your nipples between his fingers with confident pressure. You bite your lower lip, trying not to moan at these teasing touches. You wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.

But he notices.

He parts your legs wider, determined. He’s going to make you moan his name, one way or another. His fingers slide through your folds, spreading you open to see how wet you already are—how ready your body is for what’s coming. With his thumb, he begins to tease your clit, starting slow but quickly growing rougher, faster, watching your breath hitch and your composure begin to crack.

When you gasp, he pulls his thumb away and licks it clean right in front of you—tasting you deliberately.

He wants more.

He kneels between your legs, kissing your inner thighs with a teasing slowness before finally going where you need him most. He presses a wet kiss to your clit, then captures it between his lips, sucking with a rhythm that makes your eyes roll back. His tongue moves expertly, hitting all your sensitive spots, learning from every twitch of your body and flicker of your expression exactly where to press, where to circle, where to make you fall apart.

He slides his tongue inside you, one hand gripping your ass tightly, nails dragging just enough to leave light scratches behind.

«Mr. Barnes…» you sigh, breathless, no longer pretending to be in control.

He replaces his tongue with two long fingers—index and middle—sliding them deep inside you while watching your face twist in pleasure. Seeing you like this, overwhelmed and submissive to your own desire, gives him a surge of raw satisfaction.

«You’re even more beautiful when you let go,» he murmurs, continuing to thrust his fingers into you.

You're soaked—hot, wet, and so ready for him. He pulls his fingers out slowly, savoring the way your walls cling to them. He brings them to his lips first, then presses them against yours, forcing you to taste yourself. You open your mouth, sucking them until you can’t taste anything but yourself on his long, teasing fingers.

Then he unzips his jeans.

He takes out his thick, throbbing cock, stroking it from base to tip, his eyes locked on you. You stare, surprised.

«What a shame someone so inexperienced has something like that,» you mutter between gasps, provoking him.

«You must have high standards if ‘inexperienced’ means someone who almost made you come with just his tongue,» he shoots back, still slowly stroking himself, watching your reactions closely.

For now, he’s content just watching you—fisting his cock, savoring the view of your naked body spread out on his desk.

«I’ve been touching myself like this every night lately. Thinking about you,» he admits.

You bite the inside of your cheek. That caught you off guard. You’ve been fantasizing about this too—about fucking your professor—ever since that heated argument a few days ago that ended with unspoken tension crackling between you.

You wonder how much longer he’ll make you wait before finally filling you with that cock.

«If you want it,» he says, seeing the hunger in your eyes, «you have to ask me.»

But you won’t. He knows it. He’s testing your limits.

Instead, you take control.

You slide two fingers between your thighs and begin to fuck yourself—hard, fast, reckless. Your moans are louder now, bolder than before, almost like you want him to feel replaced. You watch his expression as your pleasure builds.

«Just so you know,» you pant, eyes locked on his, «if you don’t make me cum, I’ll do it myself.»

He can’t tell whether it’s a threat or an invitation. Either way, it pushes him over the edge.

He tears open the condom, rolls it on, and rubs the head of his cock against your clit—teasing you—before plunging inside with a single sharp thrust.

He fucks you with firm, deep, confident strokes, hitting all the right angles. It doesn’t take long before your body’s shaking uncontrollably, your orgasm ripping through you like a wave.

He follows seconds later, groaning your name against your skin.

You both finish together, trembling, moaning each other’s names—soft enough not to be heard outside the door, but loud enough to echo inside each other’s heads for a long time to come.

Thanks for reading!!!

[presidentofthelipglossclub]

GUESS WHO'S BIRTHDAY IT IS!!

in honor of my birthday here are some more rescue bots headcanons!!

they (as in constructed rescue bots) have extra color receptors which allows them to see more types of light than other bots, as well as advanced hearing (they’re also the only bots with noses so they have an extra sense)

all of them have outliers (its a requirement to be a rescue bot)

blurr changed his paint job (post s4, before he showed up in rid15) because heatwave and blades basically bullied him into it

the academy where they studied was on a moon of cybertron’s, and they actually spent very little time on cybertron itself. it was sorta like a field trip spot, and they went very infrequently

quickshadow was the academy's champion shot, and she won a bunch of competitions

the rescue bots all had specialties outside of what they actually did (heatwave was a history nerd, boulder studied xenobiology, blades took journalism, chase did psychology, quickshadow was a data analyst, hightide took astronomy)

hightide was actually friends with both orion pax and megatronus separately before they realized they all knew each other

in that same vein, servo and lazerbeak were longtime friends because they grew up together

optimus is so ridiculously tolerant towards whatever the rescue bots do that they actually have a running bet on how much they can get away with before optimus gets angry (he never once has)

blurr's reputation as most annoying bot ever has been intact since way before the war when he was a racer

blades got his name through an awkward mishap at an armory that heatwave never let him live down

related to that, all the rescue bots' "names" are really more of nicknames. their names are listed on documents but their primary identification is through serial numbers because they're cold constructs

boulder had a practically bullet proof reputation at the academy as the perfect student so whenever the others wanted to get away with something they always involved him

when salvage heard about DIY's he got super into them and started making tons of pointless stuff. he never even followed the good channels, only stuff like troom troom

chase succumbs to peer pressure ridiculously easy

heatwave gives really good advice but only on accident

quickshadow and hightide like to hang out and trash talk optimus whenever he does something they don't like

blades only has field medicine training, he's not cleared for any actual treatment outside of an emergency (he can do first aid and EMT stuff but can't, like, prescribe things or do surgery). this has not stopped him from trying things though.

salvage is actually from one of cybertron's colony worlds, but he grew up on cybertron

ok here's a fun little surprise in honor of my birthday: the humans are also included in headcanons!!

kade was actually very good at gymnastics, he just got bored of it

chief burns needs glasses but he prefers to wear contacts

dani had a very extreme scene core phase, and her hairstyle is a remnant of that

frankie has super high government security clearance as a super genius and daughter of one of the world's best scientists, so she knows all kinds of military secrets

doc greene and chief burns met in childhood, doc's family moved away, and then when he got older he moved back to griffin rock and reunited with the chief

graham is the biggest night owl because of college. sometimes, when he has trouble falling asleep, the bots invite him to movie night and they all watch reruns of old movies or shows

building off that, there are two kinds of movie night: the first is with the whole burns family, rescue team, and sometimes others such as optimus or the greenes. the second is less of a movie night and more of a "we need something to do while the humans are sleeping, let's watch trashy tv all night." this kind of movie night is really just the bots (minus whoever has night shift)

professor baranova actually used to be pretty upbeat, although she was a bit misunderstood because she's neurodivergent (i also headcanon that after the whole living underwater for 28 years thing she developed DID and multiple alters to cope with the loneliness, so she's now a system)

woodrow and optimus are in a qpr. optimus refers to him as his amica, and also privately thinks of him as his human partner

doc greene at some point developed a working synthetic energon formula completely independently. when ratchet first met him (post war, probably right before he was hired to work at the rescue academy) and learned about this he lost his shit

bumblebee and dani race together all the time when he visits

this is where i'm gonna stop this post, because it's pretty late for me lol. it was my birthday today, so happy birthday to me!!

also y'all PLEASE talk to me abt any of these headcanons i will be thrilled to elaborate!

[tiramisumin]

a nonsense christmas

⋆⁺₊❅. pairing: kim minjae x f!reader

⋆⁺₊❅. word count: 4.25k

⋆⁺₊❅. content: MATURE CONTENT AHEAD!!!, fluff, some humor, swearing, strangers to classmates/friends to lovers, more mutual pining, mentions of alcohol, junmin cameo, if u squint this fic and the sumin one are connected lolz, if u couldn’t tell i like writing about kissing, vaginal fingering, face riding haha, minjae has an oral fixation, protected sex (cowgirl position yeehaw), she fell first he fell harder type beat

synopsis: you could see yourself falling for kim minjae and sharing a future with him. and maybe this time next year, you’ll be standing right beside him at this same party.

୨ৎ she’s a little late.. but better late than never amirite!!! thank u @tmrwsuns for being my personal cheerleader the entire writing process i think i might’ve kms’d without u bff 🤍 pls reblog if u liked this!

The annual Kim Minjae Christmas Eve party is something you dread every year. 

Since your first attendance your freshman year of college, something eventful has always happened at that damn party. There was the time your best friend had to go to the ER because she drunkenly tripped, fell, and broke her nose. There was also the time they left, without you, and you had to Uber back to your apartment all alone at one in the morning. Your friends always dragged you to it, though, for tradition’s sake. Unlike the other parties they tried to force you to go to throughout the semester, you didn’t have the excuse of studying for this one. 

Besides, you think Kim Minjae himself might tear the world apart looking for you. 

You knew of him vaguely every year before this one, obviously. But you’d never actually met him at one of his infamous parties, or in person at all for that matter. However, this semester you wound up in the same production course. And, well, let’s just say you started to understand the hype…

Like when you sat next to each other during lecture a couple weeks into the semester, Minjae peeking over at the doodles you were doing over your notes. 

“Those are cute. Are they supposed to be butterflies?” 

You jumped in your seat, caught off guard by the low voice so close to your ear. Minjae grinned at you, sitting back upright. You nodded in response as to not disrupt your classmates who were actually paying attention to the professor. 

“I’m Minjae, by the way.”

Or when he remembered a comment you made in passing about missing a lecture for a concert you were going to with your friends. 

“Wait, why was my absence last week excused?” You muttered to yourself in confusion, eyes scanning the class roster to see the words ‘Excused Absence’ beside your name under last week’s attendance slot.

“I didn’t want you getting points taken off your grade just ‘cause you wanted to have fun,” Minjae answered with a smile that rivaled the stars. “I asked my mom if she could email a doctor’s note to the professor to get it excused for you.”

There were a lot of things that needed to be unpacked. One; he did all that for you? Two; his mom was a doctor? Three; were you dreaming right now??

“You didn’t have to do that…” You said bashfully, initialing under today’s slot. Minjae took the sheet from you when you were done so he could do the same.

“I wanted to.” He shrugged nonchalantly. 

The rest is kind of history. All it took was a couple smiles and you were cooked. In fact, cooked was an understatement. You would be competing against more than half of the girls at your school for his attention. While you had the advantage of being somewhat friends with him, that didn’t exactly mean he felt the same as you did.

“You worry too much.” 

Your best friend comes up behind you at your mirror, shaking your shoulders. You were currently getting ready for the party, pulling out all the stops. Every year, there’s been a different dress up theme. This year it’s famous holiday characters. Sexy Mrs. Claus anyone?

”There’s just a lot at stake here. My ego, my dignity, everything I’ve ever stood for.” You don’t pause as you say this, ensuring your makeup was absolutely perfect. All of which were true. Your pride would be smothered to bits if he rejects you. Any sense of self respect would fly straight out of the window. And you’d be a failure of a person for ignoring your own morals for him. 

“I know, but you’re stressing yourself out for no reason. I think it’s very obvious that he likes you, too, Y/N.” She tries to rationalize with you. You block her out, because no it is not. You can’t read him or what he’s feeling.

And maybe she was kind of right…

When you spot him, he’s dressed as a sexy Santa Claus. The rest of his friends are dressed as his reindeer, one of them even donning a bright red nose. The concept is actually really cute. Yourself as Mrs. Claus and your friend as Cindy Lou Who does not match at all. Not even just in terms of cohesivity. Usually the roles would be switched. You didn’t like to stand out much. 

“You look hot, go talk to him!” She whisper-yells in your ear, nudging you forward. 

Your bottom lip catches between your teeth, fingers laced together behind your back as you nervously make your way across the room. He had just finished taking a shot with his friends when you approached, that sparkle in his pretty boba eyes twinkling even brighter upon seeing you. You have to admit he looks even better up close, the unbuttoned top of the Santa suit revealing a white cutoff t-shirt, doing very little to conceal his lean torso. 

You don’t miss the way he checks you out, dragging his gaze up and down your body. It has the room feeling a little warmer than it was a couple minutes ago. Your fingers stay behind your back, nerves evident by the time you reach him. “Hi.”

Minjae smiles cutely at your shyness, almost cooing at how adorable you are in spite of being dressed so scantily. “Hello, Mrs. Claus.”

“I should’ve known you’d pick the main character for your own party,” you say in reference to his outfit. “I didn’t really think about that when I was picking what I wanted to dress as.”

“Some might call that fate,” he grins something cheeky as he tucks some hair behind your ear. “Honestly, I think I’d be a little bummed out if you hadn’t unintentionally matched with me.”

You’re sure you look like a mess, every flirting comment driving you insane. Maybe he talks like this with all the girls he comes across. You wouldn’t be surprised, given the fact that everyone and their mom wants him. You’re not sure if he does it just to entertain people (or himself) and if he does, well, then you’re stupid. That’s why whatever happens tonight between you is such a big deal. Getting heartbroken by someone known for breaking hearts is more embarrassing than anything else.

You open your mouth to say something, but someone beats you to it, a pretty girl dressed like a sexy elf. “Minjae! There you are! I was beginning to think you stood me up at your own party.”

Minjae looks between her and you, giving you a small frown that you might not have noticed if you weren’t so perceptive. The girl latches onto his arm like a leech, eyeing you with something thick and full of disgust. (Or jealousy, you aren’t too sure, actually.)

“I know what this looks like, Y/N, but I—”

“Have fun at your party, Jae. I’ll see you later.” You interrupt him with a tight-lipped smile, bowing before heading back over to your friend. You feel so dumb. This is what you’d been trying to avoid this entire time. Now you have to do the walk of shame back to your friends.

Not only do you feel like one, but you probably look like a loser, too. Your best friend shakes her head at you when you come into view. You’re confused by her actions, because wouldn’t you think she would feel awful for you? As your personal confidant, she should be hugging you and supplying you with endless alcohol so you could get over this.

She grabs you by the shoulders the second you’re within arms’ reach, staring directly into your eyes. “We are not doing this right now.” 

“Doing what?”

“You’re not gonna stand around here at this party and act all mopey just because some random girl who thinks she has a shot with Minjae wedges her way in. You look too good for that. And besides, if you look over there, you’ll see that he doesn’t even care for her. He was excited to see you. Not her. Now, what you are gonna do is pick one of his friends to make him jealous and finally get him away from her.” She says, holding you firmly. 

“I don’t even know any of his friends like that, though.” You glance back to where they’re all gathered around the beer pong table. 

“I wouldn’t recommend Sumin, ‘cause he and his best friend are so in love with each other it’s kinda sickening. I don’t think they realize it though, so I don’t wanna mess with that. I know the rest of them are single,” she squints her eyes as she observes the nine boys. “Maybe Junmin. He’s really nice and he’s super close with Minjae, so he’s perfect for the job.”

“Why do you know so much about their friend group?” You ask curiously. She sounded so well-versed in the lore behind Kim Minjae and his friends. It was a little concerning, honestly. How much free time did she have to learn all of this information?

“Instagram and I are like this,” she crosses her index and middle fingers. “But enough about that. Are you down with the plan?”

You sigh. Were you really about to go through all this trouble for a guy? You guess so, since you nod before you even register that you’re doing it.

She manages to flag down Junmin just as he passes by. His antlers are slightly lopsided, telling you that he’s probably already tipsy. His cheeks are flushed, another indication of his intoxication. This guy had to be a lightweight or something. He smiles warmly at you both.

“What’s up, guys?” He asks, energy equivalent to that of a puppy being offered a treat.

“We have a proposition for you, Mr. Park.” Your best friend answers, to which Junmin just smiles and nods. 

“How can I be of service?”

“Okay, first things first; how does Minjae feel about Y/N?” She pats your shoulder, gesturing to you as if you weren’t an active member in the conversation. He looks at the two of you as if you’d both grown a second head.

“Do you really have to ask that? It’s kinda obvious that he’s obsessed with her.” Junmin snorts. “I’ve never seen him actually interested in someone the way he is with you. He talks about you every opportunity that he gets. You know that meme that’s like, ‘how can I make this about ‘blank’’? That’s Minjae with you.”

You can’t help the way the corners of your lips curl up. Okay, so maybe you did overreact when that girl came between you earlier. You didn’t let Minjae say anything and explain the situation either. She quickly fills him in on the plan she curated. Junmin is a little apprehensive at first, afraid of making his friend mad when he knows how he feels about you. But after some convincing, he agrees.

“What am I even supposed to do?” His hands stay inside of the pockets of the reindeer onesie he was wearing, scared of touching you, too.

”You don’t have to do much. Just stand by her and laugh at the things she says. If he sees you getting cozy, he’ll have no choice but to drop everything he’s doing and put a stop to it. At least, if he likes her as much as you say he does, that’ll be the case.” She shrugs, turning around to join in on the dance circle your other friends had started without another word.

Junmin sighs, and it’s clear that any and all signs of his inebriation have disappeared. This entire ordeal sobered him up pretty fast. You make the mistake of looking over at Minjae again, accidentally making eye contact. He narrows his eyes at you and Junmin, though nothing has happened yet and he’s merely standing beside you. You instinctively nudge his arm subtly.

The boy shakes his head and rolls his eyes playfully. “Of course he’s already jealous. That’s just like him.”

“You seem really close. How long have you been friends?” You ask to continue the small talk. This way, it won’t be completely awkward. He’s doing you a favor by playing along with your charade, you didn’t have to make it worse by being weird about it.

“I’ve known him since we were freshmen in high school,” he shifts his weight onto one foot. “Which is a little bit longer than everyone else, but not too long either.”

“Junmin, that’s eight years. That is a long time.” You laugh at him, pointing out the fact that his attempt at being nonchalant slightly failed. He scratches the back of his neck with a chuckle. 

“I mean, yeah, I guess you’re right.”

You reach out and hold onto his arm carefully. “Thank you, by the way, for doing this for me. You didn’t have to. I appreciate it.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he waves his hand in front of his face. “It was no problem. In a way I’m doing this for Minjae, too. He has the tendency to put his own happiness aside if he doesn’t think he deserves it.”

Your mouth resembles an upside down crescent moon as he tells you this. “What do you mean?”

“He thinks that you’re too good for him. You know how everyone calls him a heartbreaker and how everyone says he can’t commit. That’s why he hasn’t made a move. He doesn’t want to disappoint you and he thinks you deserve better than someone with that kind of reputation.” Junmin mirrors your expression for a moment, and you can see how much he cares for his friend. It’s heartwarming actually.

Before you can respond, he’s covering the back of your hand with his own and glancing behind you to indicate that Minjae was coming. The raven haired male stands between you, scanning the scene for anything that would stand out to him. You’re sure there’s hearts in your eyes as you stare at him, even with the fake beard on his face. 

“I didn’t know you knew each other,” Minjae comments after a bit of silence, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“We don’t,” your hand falls to your side. “Not well, at least. But we’re friends now, right Junmin?” 

“Yeah, we are,” he turns to his friend with a smile. “I’ll catch you later, Y/N, it was nice meeting you.”

As soon as Junmin is out of ear shot, Minjae is turning back to you with a raised eyebrow. You peer at him innocently, but you know he’s caught you red handed. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

“Did what?” You act coy, messing with the fluffy hem of your skirt. His tongue pokes the inside of his cheek and he glances away from you with a small laugh. 

“You’re really something special, you know that, Y/N?” His voice is only loud enough that the two of you can hear what he says, but nobody else. 

“You think so?” 

“I know so.”

Minjae doesn’t hesitate to lean into you, pressing his lips to yours softly. It’s perfect, the most perfect kiss in the whole world despite the fact that he’s wearing a fake beard. It tickles your face as he tilts his head. Your lips tingle everywhere that comes into contact with his, sparks running through your veins like electrical currents. Now that you’re certain that you’re on the same page, you want so much more than just this. You need him, all of him. 

But then you realize where you are. Your cheeks warm up impossibly hot, your nose cowering into the space where his shoulder meets his collarbone. Minjae can’t help but laugh at how cute you are. Truly, he hit the jackpot with you. You checked just about every box on his list, the missing puzzle piece he had been looking for all along. 

Had he written a Christmas list this year, like he’d done so many times as a kid, you’d be right at the top. 

“Should we go upstairs?” He whispers into your ear. You nod frantically, desperate to be alone with him for the first time, well, ever. He takes your hand into his and guides you through the house and up the stairs. The hallway is long and it feels like forever has passed by the time you make it into his room. 

There’s posters of different bands on the walls, a keyboard and a guitar in one corner, and a desk with a laptop and a smaller mixing board in the other. The room is neat, but not too neat, and somehow exactly what you’d imagine Kim Minjae’s room to look like. You take it in all at once, allowing him to pull you onto his lap on his bed, a knee on either side of his thighs. He’s since ditched the beard. 

“I didn’t think you’d ever go for a guy like me.” He confesses, hands on your hips. His thumbs rub circles into your exposed midriff. You cup his face with a pout on your lips. 

“Why do you say that?”

“I was told I’m not really your type,” he frowns, but then his mouth is attaching to your lower stomach. “That you usually don’t go for guys who break girls’ hearts.”

Your eyes flutter shut as his fingers creep beneath your skirt, tugging at the thin material of your lacy panties. “S-Sometimes, I make e-exceptions.”

You feel rather than see the curve of his smile, gasping when he drags your underwear down your legs. Your head is spinning and you’re overwhelmed by everything going on in the best way possible. Minjae’s hand disappears under your skirt again, his fingers teasing where you need him most. A whine escapes you when his thumb massages your clit, slowly and agonizingly. Your grip moves from his face to his shoulders, nails digging into the material of his Santa suit. 

His index and middle fingers don’t waste time slipping inside of you, forcing a louder moan out of you. The position the two of you are in makes it easier for him to curl them, brushing along that sensitive spot deep in your pussy. He keeps at it, alternating between calculated pumps into your cunt and showing attention to your already sensitive clit. 

“You’re so warm around my fingers, angel,” he mumbles into your skin, mouth still connected to your abdomen. “I bet you taste so sweet, too.”

You whine once more, riding his fingers like your life depended on it. It’s not enough, however. It’s not enough to satiate the hunger and the desire burning behind your chest. You needed to become one being with him. He pauses, looking up at you with eyes resembling pools of tar, unbridled affection swimming in them. 

“What is it?” You ask breathlessly, lips subconsciously pouting at him. 

“Can you…” He trails off, looking for the words. “Can you ride my face?”

You gawk at him, not at all expecting that to come out of his mouth. It’s not that you were this pure virgin who’s never done anything before, but Minjae was more experienced than you in multiple departments. And that happened to be one of them. You’ve never sat on anyone’s face before, and you’re sure it shows because he coos at you. 

“I’ve never… You know…” Your bashfulness has him growing harder beneath you and he can’t stop the groan he lets out after. 

“That’s okay, I’ll be your first,” he reassures you, rubbing up and down your sides comfortingly. “And hopefully your last.”

You smile widely, leaning down to kiss him. There’s more than lust translated into the way you slot your lips with his. You could see yourself falling in love with Kim Minjae and sharing a future with him. A future where you go out on dinner dates and he picks you up at your apartment, staring at you in awe when you get all dolled up for him. One where you take late night drives just because you want to, his arm outstretched across the center console to hold your hand. And maybe this time next year, you’ll be standing right beside him at this same party. Maybe you’ll wake up on Christmas morning to a kiss on the forehead and a tree filled with gifts for each other. 

Minjae lays with his head on the pillows after he shrugs off the jacket of his Santa suit while you shimmy out of your skirt, pulling you up so you’re straddling his face. His arms hook around your thighs just as you unzip your top and discard it somewhere behind you. 

“Just relax, angel,” he leaves a kiss on your inner thigh. “Hold onto the headboard if you need to.”

You do as he says, shutting your eyes when you feel his breath on your pussy. First, he kisses your clit experimentally. The moan that comes out of you encourages him to continue, his tongue kitten licking the expanse of it. It doesn’t take long for him to find a rhythm, the blunt edges of his nails pressing into your thighs. 

Your forehead falls to the headboard, sounds you’ve never made before bursting from your chest. You try to watch him between your legs, but the pleasure is so overwhelming you can’t keep your eyes open. His nose bumps your clit repeatedly, and somehow that’s what has you nearing your end. 

Minjae releases one of your thighs, his thumb applying pressure to the sensitive bundle of nerves as he fucks you open on his tongue. Loud is an understatement to describe your volume. You’re thankful that there’s an entire party going on downstairs, because despite being so shy earlier, there’s nothing shy about you right now. And he’s eating it up. 

“I’m gonna—!”

“Wait,” he stops, pushing down his pants and his underwear. “I want you to cum on my cock.”

“Minjae… I don’t think I can last any longer.” You whine, your cunt contracting around nothing. He kisses it one more time before sitting up and helping you back into his lap. He reaches into the drawer of his bedside table, grabbing a condom and quickly unwrapping it so he could slip it on. The time between riding his face and hovering over his dick is a blur, your whole self delirious from how good everything feels. 

“There, there, angel,” he murmurs into your collarbone as you sink onto his cock, both of you moaning at the contact. “Fuck, you feel like heaven.”

He knows you’re tired, so he does all the work for you. His grip stays on your hips, fucking up into you with desperation. He was already stiff and throbbing with need just from eating you out. You’re both searching for sweet release, your hands grabbing onto his shoulders, then his arms, then tangling in his hair. 

His mouth latches onto one of your breasts, and you’re starting to think he has an oral fixation, the orifice always connected to some part of your body or another. Your fingers stay in his hair, attempting to bounce on his dick and meet him halfway. You’re exhausted, though, and it barely does anything to help Minjae, who’s doing everything. 

You were so close when he decided to change positions, so it didn’t take a lot to get you back to that point. Your pussy tightens around him, and he knows that your orgasm is near. He swipes his ring and middle fingers on your clit, the added stimulation finally bringing you to the edge of bliss. It feels like you’re on cloud nine, the fatigue evaporating from your bones. 

Minjae is right there with you, gritting his teeth so he can take care of you first. “Where— shit— where do you want me, angel?”

“Inside,” your voice is hoarse and seeping with sleepiness. “Cum inside me, Jae.”

He doesn’t have to be asked twice, finishing into the condom with a low groan. You rock in his lap to ride out both of your highs, until eventually he slides out of you and you collapse into his chest. Minjae laughs, pulling back the covers on his bed so you could be warm and comfortable. 

“Y/N?” He whispers softly, in case you might’ve already fallen asleep. You hum in response, stirring so you could look up at him. He thinks he could fall in love with you. “I just want you to know that I mean it when I say things are different with you. I wanna see where this road takes us.”

“I believe you,” you smile, something so pretty like the star on top of his Christmas tree and so cozy like a mug of hot cocoa. “And I want that, too. My feelings for you are kinda scary, Kim Minjae.”

“I could say the same about mine for you.” His expression is the spitting image of one of your dreams. You were in this exact scenario, except instead of confessing to each other for the first time, you had been together for years and this was just a typical morning ritual for you. 

“Just promise me one thing?” You trace random things into his abdomen, blinking up at him. 

“Anything.” He nods, recognizing the seriousness in your gaze. 

“Don’t break my heart.” The way you ask him this, looking at him like he personally painted sunsets, he would burn bridges for you. 

“I wasn’t ever planning on it.”

© 𝒕𝒊𝒓𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒊𝒏.

[harmonia-university]

Some history facts with Prof. Elsie!

Hey! The name's Elsie, and I'm a history professor at Harmonia University! I specialize in human history, but I'm pretty passionate about history in general so I guess the Askblog Council came to me with all these questions from you guys, heh heh!

You probably saw me a while ago anonymously answering a few of these questions. But I think I'm brave enough now to show my face to everyone and be an official member of the Blog! I believe these questions were asked a while ago, but now I have the time to answer them so...well I guess I should address them eh?

What can you tell us about humans?

Well I think I've mentioned before, and it's probably obvious just by looking around, but they're nonexistent here! They did exist at one point, we were all living harmoniously together...until some unfortunate circumstances that led to a big war between humans and Pokemon. From then on, humans started having less of an impact and then just...completely vanished, without any warning.

Was it ever stated how all the humans disappeared? Is it simply an extinction event or more of a supernatural thing?

That's a pretty big topic in today's history research actually! Pokemon were winning by a landslide, but ultimately the war ended in a truce between Pokemon and humans. As a result, the roles shifted a little bit, as before Pokemon were often companions to humans, almost like a pet...but now we were more independent. Living among them as civilians.

The complete disappearance is truly an enigmatic event that is a big debate among experts nowadays! Some associate it with a giant meteor shower - the biggest one seen in history that wiped out humans, as us Pokemon are quite durable. There's also been recounts of a blinding, soul crushing flashing beam of light that wiped them all out. Either way, life was becoming more unsustainable for humans as things evolved to fit Pokemon-kind more...that probably accelerated things. But from how fast it happened and the fact that the event was very poorly documented...there's more reason to believe that someTHING supernatural caused it.

What are your thoughts on humans as a whole? How do you feel about their unfortunate fate?

My family was always very close with humans. I've only heard great things about them, and all the cool stories of how my family, against all odds, won the biggest battles in international leagues and tournaments, all thanks to a trainer that knew how to make a small, weakling species like ours, very strong! I grew up with a very positive outlook on humans, and it makes me really sad that things turned out the way they did. Like I said earlier, we wouldn't be here if it weren't for the humans. That's probably what led me down this path, honestly. Haha!

What's the geography of the world like? How has the geography changed since the human times?

The humans were in the midst of restructuring and renaming the regions in the world. To make them more...friendly sounding I guess. Certain areas also wanted to be their own thing...so that's where regions like Unova and Alola come from.

When the humans were wiped out, this was an unfinished project that Pokemonkind were determined to finish. Physically, the world is the same. But how everything is divided is probably different from what you're used to.

The region that Harmonia University is in - Arboria - although one of the biggest regions in the world, remained in one piece, somehow! Our downstairs neighbour got split into a few parts...Unova and Alola, as Ive mentioned, and some of the desert areas became known as the Orre region.

Another example where things are different...the Freyurr region! This was comprised of 3 different regions before - collectively known as Scandinavia. After the human extinction, this region became one with 3 distinct areas with their own language and culture.

What happened to Pokeball technology? It seems like it could be dangerous, but on the other hand it could be useful - especially for transportation! And it's low cost, low space, I'm surprised I haven't seen any evidence of the technology being converted for modern use.

Pokeballs are pretty much nonexistent nowadays, near impossible to get your hands on as a normal civilian! It was one of the biggest things that the Pokemon back then had a gripe about with the humans. Although not completely inhabitable, living in a Pokeball was very unpleasant - it's basically like being put into a very deep slumber, for who knows how long. Not much room to do anything or move around in there. Plus, many humans caught and collected tons of Pokemon with no rhyme or reason - many of them were left abandoned in Pokeballs and PC’s, never being able to see the light of day.

Other than for research and education purposes, Pokeballs have been banned all around the world ever since Pokemon civiliazation was born. We don’t even use them to capture our own ferals.

I've heard rumors that humans had experimented with themselves to turn into Pokemon before, but I'm assuming it's all just a myth. Was there ever a possibility that some of the humans ended up becoming Pokemon due to their experiments?

Pah, I'm pretty sure that was all a hoax. I'm sure humans have tried, but honestly they didn't make any breakthroughs in that front. I don't think human genetics were wired in a way that would even make that possible. They were able to kind of do it with Pokemon due to there being a particular species with properties that could allow it. But humans to Pokemon...nah that'd be a complete rewrite of everything! Or maybe...a really fun dream.

Do the Galar fossil Pokemon exist? How do fossil Pokemon work, are they revived or have they just always been around?

Yep, they do exist. But there's a bit of a catch...all of the fossil-revived species living today were revived during the human era, or are descendants of those that were. We've had to abolish a lot of those fossil revival labs, as newly found fossils would just come out as feral Pokemon with really nowhere to go. Now there are some such Pokemon in captivity, but it's strictly for ethical research purposes!

Anyways, I think that's all the questions that were left over for me! Hope that was informative. Our history isn't pretty but I think it's still really important to learn about it all. Haha! Well, if any of you still have questions, or just want to come chat with me...I'll be available!

[sitp-recs]

hi liv! do you know of any draco-centered longish fics??? thanks! i just love him so much

Hi anon, definitely! Here are my favourites:

Heal Thyself by astolat (T, 47k)

"Are you going for the course?" Lovegood asked. "You have the NEWTs.”

“What course?” Draco said, then, “No, don’t be ridiculous,” when he realized she meant the notice pinned up on the board he’d been staring at: Applicants To The Introductory Mediwizard Course For The Coming Term Shall Present Themselves In The Chief Mediwizard’s Office By August 24th.

A Room Up There (And You In It) by @the-starryknight (T, 59k)

When Preservationist Draco Malfoy was assigned to work on Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, he was excited to delve into the gorgeous Black family antiques. His excitement quickly ended when something in the House decided it did not like his presence one bit.

The Trouble with Wanting by waldorph (E, 60k)

Draco Malfoy is cleared of all charges; this is what happens next.

Tea and No Sympathy by who_la_hoop (E, 70k)

It's Potter's fault, of course, that Draco finds himself trapped in the same twenty-four-hour period, repeating itself over and over again. It's been nearly a year since the unpleasant business at Hogwarts, and Draco's getting on with his life quite nicely, thank you, until Harry sodding Potter steps in and ruins it all, just like always.

Among Ancient Pines by @graymatters (M, 74k)

Every day, Draco Malfoy tries. With every fiber of his being he tries. But he doesn’t much think about what he’s trying for. In his final term of Healer training, Draco is unfortunate enough to find himself on a plane, the only means of traveling to a small, magical town in rural Alaska.

Super Rich Kids by @thusspoketrish (E, 81k)

Draco Malfoy has become disillusioned by the glitz and glamour of the scandalous lives of the Post-Second Wizarding War Pureblood Elite. Enter: one existential crisis, one group of thieving cynical friends, and several terrible, terrible decisions.

A Thousand Beautiful Things by geoviki (M, 104k)

Draco Malfoy struggles with changed fortunes, shifted alliances, an ugly war, and an unusual spell, with the help of a concerned professor, an insightful house-elf, and an unexpected Gryffindor friend.

Nor All That Glisters by @sweet-s0rr0w (E, 110k)

Lonely and frustrated on house arrest, with no prospects for the future, Draco begins brewing Felix Felicis in an attempt to improve his lot. Just in the short term, of course. He isn’t a total idiot.

Far From The Tree by aideomai (E, 112k)

The arrival of Harry Potter’s children—snapped back in time, the children themselves guessed, twenty or so years—was the most interesting thing to happen at Hogwarts for years.

All Life is Yours to Miss by Saras_Girl (M, 114k)

Professor Malfoy's world is contained, controlled, and as solitary as he can make it, but when an act of petty revenge goes horribly awry, he and his trusty six-legged friend are thrown into Hogwarts life at the deep end and must learn to live, love and let go.

What We Pretend We Can't See by gyzym (M, 131k)

Seven years out from the war, Harry learns the hard truth of old history: it’s never quite as far behind you as you thought.

Any Instrument by @dictacontrion (E, 131k)

Draco Malfoy wouldn't go back to England for anything less than an exceptional case. Being asked to figure out why Harry Potter can't control his magic might be exceptional enough to qualify.

There Is Always the Moon by @firethesound (T, 159k)

Draco's life after the war is everything he wanted it to be: it's simple, and quiet, and predictable, and safe. But when a mysterious curse shatters the peace he'd worked so hard to build, there's only one person he can trust to help him. After all, Harry Potter has saved his life before. Now Draco has to believe that Potter will be able to do it one more time.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Eric Berger at The Guardian:

When asked about Donald Trump’s Easter morning post wishing a happy holiday to “the Radical Left Lunatics … fighting and scheming so hard to bring Murderers, Drug Lords, Dangerous Prisoners” to the United States, Jackson Lahmeyer, an Oklahoma evangelical Christian pastor, said: “Isn’t it terrible that they are wanting to do that?” Lahmeyer, the founder of the Pastors for Trump organization, was not bothered by Trump’s extreme and divisive message on the Christian religious holiday, because, he said: “You cannot unify with evil.” Lahmeyer’s attitude appears typical of many white evangelical leaders who still strongly support Trump despite what – for many – is violent, extremist-laden language that many would see as unsuitable for any religious occasion, let alone one intimately connected to rebirth, forgiveness and peace.

But those leaders in the US say Trump – unlike some past Republican presidents – has followed through on campaign promises concerning core issues such as abortion, immigration, the location of the US embassy in Israel and, more generally, his pledge to “bring back Christianity”. More good things could be in store for that demographic because in a second Easter post on his platform Truth Social, Trump said he would make America “more religious, than it has ever been before!!!”

“He has moved the needle for the Christian agenda unlike anyone else, especially in modern times,” said Lahmeyer, who attended an Easter dinner at the White House. “As a pastor, obviously, that is music to my ears.”

White evangelical voters also turned out in large numbers for George W Bush when he ran for president in 2000 and 2004, but they were disappointed because they felt he did not do enough to oppose same-sex marriage or to ban abortion. Bush also, when compared to Trump, had a more liberal immigration policy, including supporting providing undocumented immigrants the chance to become citizens, according to John Fea, a history professor at Messiah College in Mechanicsburg, Pennsylvania, and the author of Believe Me: The Evangelical Road to Donald Trump.

“Bush wasn’t willing to give them everything that they wanted to be elected,” Fea said. “Trump will do what evangelicals tell him to do for the most part, in order to maintain power.” In addition to appointing supreme court justices who ruled that there is no constitutional right to abortion, Trump also moved the embassy from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem, which previous presidents had said they supported but did not implement. “They all said it to get votes. They never did it. The president did it,” said Lahmeyer, who ran for Senate and lost in 2022. During this term, Trump has signed executive orders to establish a faith office and a taskforce to address “anti-Christian bias” in the federal government.

To evangelical leaders, that emphasis on Christian values stands in contrast to how they perceive the Biden administration’s actions, including in 2024 declaring 31 March Transgender Day of Visibility, the date when it had been celebrated since its creation in 2009, but last year fell – entirely coincidentally – on Easter Sunday. But in a world where conspiracy theories and misinformation is rife, that sparked anger among rightwing Christians. “Easter was barely mentioned,” said Brad Sherman, an Iowa pastor and Republican now running for governor. “In fact, I think it was more about some kind of LGBTQ awareness day or something, if I remember correctly, so I just feel like President Trump is standing up for Christian values.” In actual fact, Biden continued the tradition of the annual White House Easter egg roll and in a statement said: “As we gather with loved ones, we remember Jesus’s sacrifice … with wars and conflict taking a toll on innocent lives around the world, we renew our commitment to work for peace, security, and dignity for all people.” This year, Trump held an Easter prayer service and dinner with Lahmeyer; prominent pastors such as Franklin Graham and Robert Jeffress; and his personal pastor, Paula White-Cain, who now leads the White House faith office, among others.

[...] Tony Suárez, the founder of Revivalmakers Ministries, an evangelical group, said he supports Trump because he is trying to strengthen border security and is restoring “respect for conservative, Judeo-Christian values”.

One of Trump’s most stalwart groups this term is the evangelicals (especially White evangelicals). This is because 47 is delivering key promises to that group, such as focusing on “anti-[conservative] Christian bias”, support for Israel, and plans to restrict abortion and LGBTQ+ rights.

[evendimmer]

Hey babe 😌 here to save you from your bored: What are your top 5 favourite Agatha fanfics?

Thank you love, for your ask and so kindly saving me from boredom.

When you say Agatha fanfics, I’m going to assume it’s any fanfic involving Agatha? Not just exclusively Agatha I hope because the list would be entirely different….

A few things you should know about me: I am a big sucker for Character x reader fics. There. I’ve said it. Call it self insert, self indulgence whatever you like but it is my guilty pleasure, and that’s the point of fanfics right? To enjoy and feel good?

Another thing is that I’m a huge consumer of smut. Pure shameless smut. Give it to me hot and filthy.

The last thing: I love Agatha and Rio equally. And you’ll see what I mean I in just a moment.

So if any of these things above aren’t for you, you can pretty much skip my whole list :’)

Anyway without further ado, here's my top 5 Agatha fanfics:

(Note: Click the titles below to start reading each fic)

5. Learning to Focus (w/ Part 2) by @covenofagatha

Pairing: GP!Professor!Agatha x Reader

"When you run into Professor Harkness at the local library while you're supposed to be working on a project for her history class, you find yourself distracted by her (again)"

I feel like I'm exposing myself with this one. There's something about cockwarming and being in control/losing control that makes this fic sooooooooooo fucking hot. The build-up and anticipation before getting absolutely destroy by none other than Professor Daddy Agatha? One of my go-to fics when I need to get uh sorted out.

3. Two Professors and a Student by @covenofagatha

Pairing: Professors!AgathaRio x Reader

"You run into your old professors Agatha and Rio at a bar, and will it lead to the start of something new?"

Yes I skipped a number. No it’s intentional, because the next two fics are TIED in third place.

Let’s be honest. Who hasn’t had a crush on their teacher or professor at least once in their school life? I did. More than once. This fic has it all - both Agatha and Rio as your ex-Professors (cuz school policies wink wink), getting down and dirty with you separately and together at the same time. Live out that college fantasy with this fic in the smuttiest way possible.

3. Neighbourly Care by @d-z20

Pairing: Milfs!AgathaRio x Reader

"You think the neighbours are MILFs and the evening is filled with flirting and then you get to be fucked by each of them and then by both of them."

What's better than a hot mommy? TWO married hot mommies that are both into you. Agatha and Rio taking care of you, with a little bit of friendly competition between them. As the author has stated, this fic is just "pure unadulterated smut" and nothing less. Best part? You're not the only brat or the only one getting punished ;)

2. Something Wicked by @motherconfessors

Pairing: Pre-Salem!Agatha x Rio

"While an apprentice witch, Agatha grows frustrated when she's not permitted to learn magic.

Until someone makes her an offer that she can't refuse."

This is the AgathaRio fic that I swear by, canon in my mind until we get actual explanation from season 2 if its happening. It explores the backstory of Agatha leading up to her Salem trials, and her meeting with a certain Green Witch™️. A fine balance between plot and smut. Great character depictions, superb lore building and filthy hot smut that hits just right.

1. Lights, Camera, Magic by @lunargrrrl

Pairing: Director!Agatha x Reader

"Agatha Harkness sits in the director's chair of some of your favourite movies. Your world suddenly turns upside down when you're invited to audition for her latest screenplay, 'Witching Hour'."

This one is a no brainer. My newest obsession. Ongoing smutty fic with 41 chapters now. Author is so good at building tension like it's not even funny anymore at this point it HURTS (just right though). Yes there is angst but there's also fluff and A LOT OF HOT FILTHY PURE SMUT. Tens of thousands words worth of smut. Like I've mentioned before, every chapter has a song to go with it and author has ✨excellent✨ taste in music.

oops looks like I went off again. But there you go, if you haven't read them already please give these fics a try. I promise you they are sooooo worth it.

I feel so exposed now I need a new account and a new life

[theorahsart]

Nevermind this professor completely dismissed me in an email stating that it is “difficult to diagnose a man who has died 200 to 300 years ago” and doing such a thing “could be seen as disrespectful to someone who has died” 😒

I'm really sorry about this, what a pain =_=

fwiw, there are respected experienced historians out there who think it's smth that's worthy of looking into, so your professor isn't the authority on this. A historian I really admire who's on here was apparently the first to approach the idea years ago. I talked to Peter Mcfee about this and he was open to the idea and told me of a another historian looking into it. So it's definately down to personal opinions, and probably down to how much you understand autism as well.

Like for me, the *current* way many historians analyse Robespierre is disrespectful. I've read work from some people who, upon being so adament about not analysing someone's inner feelings/perception, are still very happy to share their conclusion on Robespierre's personality and choices- except because of their rule about only looking at someone on the surface level, they come out with these wild opinions that make a lot of leaps in logic.

From the perspective of someone who's an expert on Autism (and I really mean that, my work is used by trainers and hospitals all over the world)- what is more disrespectful? Understanding autism is essentially understanding that for some people, how they're percieved by others doesn't match up with how they really feel. It's understanding that how someone behaves isn't always a good indicator for their personality/feelings.

When you look at Robespierre through the lens of autism, you're just looking at his struggles, choices and behaviours from yet another angle. You're also looking at the contradictions historians always puzzle over with him and say 'well maybe actually that isnt a contradiction, it makes sense from this angle'.

To me, a description like this...

'He was perceived as cold, probably because he rarely made eye contact and had a strange tone of voice, and remained quiet in social situations. But his speeches and letters show a warmth and compassion for others. This is similar to the autistic experience talked about today. So maybe he wasnt actually cold- this would explain the mismatch between other people's opinions of him and his actions/letters/friends' testimonies.'

...is much less disrespectful than the VERY common description I see that generally looks like this:

'His peers described him as being cold, proud and egotistical. Strangely, this doesn't match up with the compassion in his speeches. We can explain this contradiction by assuming he was just being manipulative/saying what the people wanted to hear so that he could climb up in power. Although stangely, he tried to deny himself power until his last year in politics. But he was simply a strange man. We can assume he started going mad from obsessions over morality/smallpox/power trips'.

Also, how we diagnose autism in modern day is pm how you'd diagnose someone in history...you'd be using the same techniques, cos autism is looked at through a social lense. There are no blood tests or brain scans, it's vm just looking at a collection of behaviours and inner experiences, and seeing if there's enough of those to make up a collection, and if that collection then impacts your life. Whether or not Robespierre was autistic, he did have many odd behaviours and these did impact his life. That's the take away and worth looking at imo, whether you decide to add a label to it or not. Out of anything that could be applied to someone who is no longer with us, I think autism is likely to be easier to apply to people than this rare smallpox-psychosis that some historians contemplated on Robespierre before lol

[mattzerella-sticks]

There is something about this page...

I think we're going to find out that the "Queen" did not 'choose' to enter a bad trip, and that she was pushed towards it through some type of manipulation.

The first panel looks like she received some type of relay, especially if you take into consideration the little splotch of white against the ink black backdrop, right along where the eye meets temple. It looks almost like a bloodstain. Did she get shot with a psychic bullet that gave her an invisible lobotomy? That caused her to have a personality shift in the following third panel?

My first instinct is to lay the blame at Etienne's feet. We know he has mental powers, she looks to be suffering some kind of psychic damage, and he was suspiciously... absent... in this issue. He appears in three panels, only speaks in two. What he says is that "if they have the chance (to kill her) they should, because she's an unknown variable".

I think that this "Queen" could have achieved her goal. I think she could have made Heaven on Earth. And Etienne gamed the risks out in his head and calculated that there was a slight chance she could go nuclear down the line and cause the end of the world, so he sets her off early and - while the entire continent of Europe is lost - it's an acceptable loss compared to the entire planet they would have lost had she been allowed to continue her mission and, somewhere along the line, she goes berserk.

We already know he is the type of person to kill one victim instead of four when faced with the trolley problem. An acceptable sacrifice.

HOWEVER

I also have this nagging suspicion about the "Queen's" origins, and it has something to do with this panel -

"...I was asleep through the whole thing."

ASLEEP?!?!

If Masumi was in Japan the same time Isabella was, then we know that the "Queen's" shift happened in the day. She blocked out the sun with her display of power. Not to say that Masumi has an average sleeping schedule, but on its face the excuse just makes no sense. If the "Queen" really was tearing reality apart, I don't see how the resolution of this conflict would take longer than a few minutes, maybe a few hours at best (unless we see something involving the Pyramid slowing the "Queen" in the next issue).

So what if Masumi was in a different kind of 'sleep'?

We know that when Masumi feels intense despair, a kaiju rises up to destroy things. This has happened before. However, in her appearances she hasn't really had great leaps of emotion in any other direction, like intense anger or intense happiness.

What if she can manifest different creatures based on how she's feeling, and this "Queen" was actually a 'kaiju' representation of her ecstasy? Or what if this was her original power, and something happened that made it flip and only be activated by despair? Did someone interfere? Etienne?

I want to draw some attention to a panel from a previous issue that was about Masumi, at her gallery debut. Look at her eyes.

Familiar, right?

Even the backgrounds are similar.

And thinking about how the Power Fantasy is a pastiche of super heroes but especially X-Men, mutants, and their dynamics. Etienne is Professor X, Heavy is Magneto, etc.

I, at first, assumed Valentina was the Jean Grey. The Omega with godlike powers, much like the Phoenix.

However, the Phoenix has had a storied history throughout the Marvel Universe, as a bringer of life and of destruction.

So what if Masumi was the Jean Grey of Power Fantasy? And the evolution of her power is that ANY intense feeling causes some type of psychic creature to appear?

And she was 'asleep' throughout the Second Summer of Love because she was channeling the "Queen" in Manchester? And something happened to her which then affected the "Queen", turning her into a threat? What if this was Etienne's doing?

This is all conjecture, but conjecture is all I have right now while trying to fill in the missing gaps of 'The Second Summer of Love' that have yet to be provided using the clues available to me.

We know Val was there, and she was not just an acolyte of the "Queen" but also in love with her. Heavy was busy with his kid but he showed his support of this growing movement for love, sex, and drugs. Magus wanted her gone, but he also sacrificed a LOT of his own people to stop her and it hit him HARD he wanted her out before she became a threat. Eliza sold her soul to take the "Queen" down.

That just leaves Etienne and Masumi. What were they really doing during the 'Second Summer of Love'?

[repdragons13]

I'm trying to write a college au 9-1-1 fic.

but I can't figure out what major to give the characters.

age-wise I decided:

Ravi and Albert: freshmen

Eddie and Buck: sophomores

Maddie, Hen, Karen, Chimney: seniors

Bobby and Athena: professors

Harry and May: hs sophomore and senior

Chris: 3 years old.

Yes, almost everyone is aged down but otherwise this cannot be a college au.

ANYWAY.

As of now I only have

Bobby: Theology Professor

Athena: Law & Ethics Professor

I would love help from #thepeople.

So, thank you. Bye Bye.

UPDATE:

#1, lemme reveal this is actually also an urban fantasy au based on the world building of my books?🤭

Eddie ended up as a psychology major because he's had so much trauma (had Chris at 16, while actively being forced by his parents in a supernatural war, HES BEEN THROUGH A LOT) and he wants to give back.

Buck is an Elemental Literature (similar to world literature) major cuz in his alternate life coma dream he was a teacher.

Maddie is an Healing Studies major (basic med essentially) because nurse.

chim AND hen: alchemy & potion making majors (the hands on version of medicine) because I felt like it fit them to be more direct (?)

Karen is an aerospace engineering major because someone had to have a normal major. and also rocket scientist. her and chim met freshman year bc she was the only one who sat with him at lunch. Chim introduced them. henren already canon

Albert is an Elemental history major (but maybe he'll switch to business at some point I'm still on the fence), bc I genuinely didn't know what to give him.

ravi is obviously a property management major because as we're all sadly aware he is in fact a landlord.

oh, and technically Bobby's course is called Namology. and Athena's Elemental Law & Ethics. but same thing. oh, and Bobby's classroom is Class 118, obviously.

if anybody then wants to know their specieses lemme know.

Funny addition: did not realize this beforehand but I had previously literally already named the School of Law college ATHENA SCHOOL OF LAW. Athena Grant-Nash is really THAT GURL (technically it's named after the Greek Goddess but ssshhh that's a detail)

[yearofthesnape]

Cooking for New Year

Here's a one-shot fanfic I wrote for Lunar New Year as it winds to a close! Had to live up to the blog title, haha. Features Mentor!Snape and Cho Chang (platonically, as per usual for this blog). Also features my attempt to explain how Cho Chang started being called Cho on Hogwarts campus, despite it being more commonly a last name. Feel free to leave feedback, in a kind way — this is my first time publishing fanfic...

~~

Cho wasn’t her first name, to begin with. Of course it wasn’t. But it was still hers and had always been, since before she was born, since her mother, Cho Subin, had left her Pureblood Wizarding family in Korea, married Edgar Chang of the British Isles, and informed him that their children would take her family name as well as his. Edgar hadn’t taken much persuading. His parents, who had worked hard to retain at least some of their identity as a Chinese Wizarding family in Britain, were at first inclined to view this change of name as an incursion, but Edgar felt that history would see he was ahead of his time. He had his way in the end.

When their daughter was born, Edgar and Subin filled out the birth certificate with a space between “Cho” and “Chang.” A space, not a hyphen; a space to give enough room to be completely Korean and completely Chinese.

The quill that addresses Hogwarts letters and minds Hogwarts enrollment does not often err, but it had trouble with spaces. At eleven years old, “C. Cho” found to her surprise that half her name had been forgotten. She explained by owl post that her family name was “Cho Chang,” not “Cho.” The letter back was addressed to “Miss Cho Chang.” Surely all was well.

But all was unfortunately not well, as she discovered when her full name was called as “Chang, Cho!” during the Sorting Hat ceremony. A Slytherin or a Gryffindor would have refused to respond to the wrong name. A Hufflepuff would have gone with it to make sure no one felt upset. This girl, in a sort of appalled hilarity, wanted to see how far the situation would go for reasons of social science — surely someone would realize “Cho” was actually a family name? The Hat instantly put her in Ravenclaw.

~

Cho hadn’t felt strongly about her real given name, but she was actually beginning to like the current state of things. People throughout her life had continually forgotten about the Korean part of her surname, as though she weren’t the daughter of the first witch to span Eurasia in solo broom flight. With “Cho” working as a given name, people at Hogwarts didn’t overlook it the same way. Besides, Cho Chang — tomboy and girly girl, emotionally driven Ravenclaw — liked being unexpected and having secrets.

Cho passed unremarked through class after class until roll call in Potions. Professor Snape read her name aloud, paused, and gave her a keen and searching glance. But he went on marking names. Perhaps it had been a fluke.

In general, Cho wasn’t very good at school. Several of the other Ravenclaws had begun wondering why she was in their House, not in a mean way but in a speculative way, because Cho got names and dates and words and numbers all mixed up when you had to say them just right, especially under the pressure of a class. But though her verbal knowledge faltered, her hands were always sure. Cho had a physical memory like no other. Every broomstick maneuver, every swish of the wand in Charms, every Potions recipe — if she did it in the real world once, she’d remember it forever. In Potions class, all the numbers and words went with physical objects she could feel in her hands, but History of Magic was hopeless, and she knew she’d never take Arithmancy. Charms still had the word problem; why did it have to be “Wingardium Leviosa,” anyway? The whole thing felt arbitrary.

Aside from flight lessons, Potions was fast becoming her refuge. When she was cutting up roots or stirring her cauldron, she felt like she was home with her father, working in his kitchen. Her mother wasn’t much for cooking, but her father loved it. In the kitchen, he’d throw his natural caution and Slytherin-trained polish aside and start making things, a manic gleam in his eye. He’d taught himself to make not only the Chang family’s traditional magic-infused food, but all the dishes his wife missed from Korea, unfamiliar magical components and all. Cho often missed his Transforming Tteokbokki in Transfiguration class. She’d been allowed to help with the nonmagical elements, but her father was scrupulous about underage magic.

The skills Cho had learned, though, and all the watching she had done, meant that even Professor Snape’s eyebrows rose slightly at her potion-making aptitude. Snape was silent in approval, but so had Cho’s father been, so it didn’t bother Cho. Sometimes Snape sent a particularly hapless Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw to “work with Miss Cho Chang” in an effort to prevent catastrophe.

Cho’s classmates noticed that Snape always used, as they thought, Cho’s full name, and that he said almost nothing to her at all. “He must really hate you,” they whispered. Cho snorted inwardly.

Marietta Edgecombe was the only one who figured it out. “What’s your actual first name?” she asked. “I know it’s not Cho. Snape’s too — correct — to be using your full name all the time.”

Cho told her. “Promise you won’t tell,” she added. “I want to see how many other people figure that out. So far, it’s only you and Professor Snape.”

Marietta promised, and she never did.

After Potions one day, where she’d stayed (as usual) to help tidy up and spend just a little longer in a place that felt more like home, Cho asked, “Professor? How did you know my first name’s not Cho?”

Snape said only, “I knew your father at school.” But two pairs of dark eyes narrowed in shared amusement at the picture of Edgar Chang ever giving his daughter “Cho” as a first name.

~

The weeks went on. At age eleven, Cho was not yet considered pretty. Rather the reverse. One day Snape heard someone loudly talking in the hall about how "awful" someone looked, with their "greasy black hair" and their "unsettling black eyes" and their "weird skin tone." They had left out his nose this time, he noticed. He was used to this sort of thing, and it didn’t bother him, but he started making his way quietly to the door, hoping to sneak up on the offender and watch them jump. It was one of the few perks of being a teacher.

A second voice was hotly retorting, “If you’re not careful, you’ll find out what ‘black eyes’ really mean!” Well, that was unusual. Snape opened the door. One child, the first speaker, whirled in fear and fled as Snape called out a ten-point deduction over her head. The other child, Miss Cho Chang, was looking at him with — was that gratitude?

Snape was not used to extending sympathy. What he said was, “Not British enough for them, are you,” with a little sneer. But the sneer was directed down the corridor at the retreating offender, and when Miss Cho Chang said, “No, sir,” with a rueful smile, it didn’t take Legilimency to infer her thoughts: You and me both, sir. For some reason, Snape wasn’t offended. He supposed he must be going soft.

~

Lunar New Year came around, but the Great Hall stayed gloomily normal in decor, and everyone was wearing black. It all felt wrong. Cho had dreamed about her father’s New Year life-fortifying yi mein and magic-renewing tteokguk until she thought she’d go insane. Her parents had sent her the recipes by owl, but Cho had nowhere to prepare them. By following Fred and George Weasley, she’d found the Hogwarts kitchens, but the house-elves wouldn’t let her cook, and they seemed unable to make anything but depressingly nonmagical British food. They did give her ingredients, but the magical ones were missing, and so was a workspace. It was a true marker of her desperation that she decided to ask Snape to use the Potions lab.

Cho had never expected him to say yes. She certainly hadn’t expected him to contribute ingredients or supervision. She didn’t know she wasn’t the first Chang to make Severus Snape a dish of magical yi mein, an experience which would make anyone want to try the newer family recipes. Nor did she know that Edgar Chang’s knack for combining the magical and the tasty was envied by potion-makers across the British Isles. All she knew was that she had shown Snape the recipes to show she wasn’t doing anything crazy, and his eyes had flicked over them and come up to rest thoughtfully on her face, and he had said, “Six o’clock Tuesday evening, Potions classroom. You may use my essence of immortality peach and heavenly bamboo extract.” As she thanked him and left, he added, “In future, Miss Cho Chang, bear in mind that most potion-makers do not show others their family recipes.”

So Tuesday night found Cho humming softly to herself, combining ingredients with a practiced deftness beyond her eleven years, only needing to consult the recipes to see what to do with the magical ingredients Snape had provided. Snape himself was marking essays in the corner. He mostly ignored Cho, only making his presence known by an occasional sniffing noise.

Marietta was looking for Cho, who hadn’t been seen at the Great Hall for dinner that day. At last, she tiptoed into the Potions dungeon to a very unusual scene. Snape and Cho were slurping noodles from two bowls, not talking or looking at each other, but with intense focus on eating the food. Other bowls beside them held soup. It was very strange to see, almost as strange as the fact that the dungeon was full of an incredibly delicious smell, instead of its usual foul fumes.

Marietta backed away slowly, but Cho saw her and waved her forward. Marietta looked at Snape. Snape, without looking up from the noodles, conjured a third set of bowls; was that a smirk at one corner of his mouth? It was hard to tell with all the noodles.

~

A few mornings later at mail time, the whole Great Hall was surprised to see Snape receiving a red-and-gold package. Even more shockingly, he seemed to be trying not to smile. “What’s going on?” asked Angelina Johnson, at the Gryffindor table. “Those are Gryffindor colors — he hates everything Gryffindor!”

“It must be a prank,” said Fred at once. “I wish I’d thought of it. Did you —”

But George was shaking his head. “He’s not looking at us at all,” he said in disappointment. “It almost looks like — but it can’t be — what would that have to do with Ravenclaw?”

Over at the Ravenclaw table, the girl known as Cho Chang grinned.

[jpitha]

You have to understand.

At least at first, I didn’t mean to do it. I had just gotten out of College, a kid with a degree in History and an eye watering amount of debt. I made the mistake of telling the professor I did early 21st century historical reenactments for my summer job and he let me take on a titanic amount of debt for historical realism. I’m not sure who I owe the money to, since we live in a post scarcity society, but I sure worry about repaying it, so I have that going for me. Extra points for realism.

After I graduated - with an ulcer from stress worrying about the debt, another point for realism! - I was bumming around the orbital looking for a way to earn some quick cash and I realized how I could put my degree to use. Everyone has everything provided for them by the government because - after the Unpleasantness - we figured out that was easier and cheaper than giving everyone on the planet a gun.

But that means that everyone has mostly forgotten how to keep an eye out for scams. Who is going to scam you anyway when you all have the same access to cheap and easy housing, food, and Space Cocaine?

People who have mountains of debt due to historical accuracy, that’s who.

I set up shop right outside the exit from Customs on the station. Rubes-er People from all over the Galaxy would come, hellbent on seeing the sights of my planet and before they could hit up the Cøffee Haüs they would find me.

I started small; ran a couple of three card monte tables, but without a partner, convincing people they could win without them actually winning was tough. I hacked a janitorbot into being my assistant and soon enough I would have a crowd watching.

This, while effective was incredibly boring, so I changed to my plan B and just started making fake supplements. For maximum compatibility across all of the galactic species, mine were pure carbon (to absorb toxins you see). This increased who I could sell too without worrying (too much) about inadvertently poisoning anyone.

A few people were sad I moved away from scamming people with cards, but they became my first ‘partners’ in selling my supplement. I had to actually explain how a Ponzi scheme worked though, nobody remembered. I told them about how so long as they found more suckers underneath them, they wouldn’t be left holding the bag and it took off like an oxygen accelerated fire.

There was also an oxygen accelerated fire, but that can’t be traced back to me.

Three weeks later, I was the richest human in the Galaxy. Honesty, I didn’t even know where everyone even got the money, I thought we had eliminated it, but here I am, rich as hell. I feel a little bad about it, but if I admit the whole thing was a ploy to pay off my student loans, I worry that they’ll turn on me.

I still haven’t paid off my loans either. I don’t think I can swing the payments and the payments on my Super Dreadnought. Did you know they’ll build anyone one so long as you put the deposit down?

Anyway, do you want to get in on an incredible deal on the low effort world of supplement sales?

[cherryeol04]

SKZ MAGICAL SCHOOL AU

➻ Pairings: Changbin Centric ➻ Genre: Fantasy au, magic au ➻ Additional: nonlinear, drabble, wip ➻ Word Count: 1.7k ➻ Warnings: N/A ➻ Author’s notes: This story is cross posted on multiple sites under the same username! ➻ Additional notes: I will most likely not be continuing this prompt/scenario/idea, so that's why I'm posting it in this current state. I just wanted to share it with everyone!

[beginning scene, possibly the very start, or maybe a few paragraphs after the start]

“Professor Nim, if anything is possible with magic, what about soulmates?”

“Soulmates… those don’t exist.” The professor was quick to shut down Changbin’s question - the excitement draining from his face. 

“But I heard-“

“What you ‘heard’ was a story, Mr. Seo. Fantasy. Fiction. An idea made up from someone’s delusional thinking. I will have none of that talk in my class.” The answer was final and Changbin didn’t dare argue with their history professor. He was older, wiser and certified to teach the history of magic - of course he would know if soulmates existed or not. Felix had been optimistic when he told Changbin the story, but Mr. Nim had been certain. So clearly he was the person in the right, the one to be believed. So why did Changbin feel like he was being lied to? Maybe it was in the way Mr. Nim had shut him down so quickly. Or was it the flicker of fear that flashed in his eyes for one brief moment - so quick that Changbin would have missed it if he blinked? Whatever the reason, his gut was telling him something wasn’t right and he had learned many years ago to trust his gut. 

[middle to late scene, somewhere]

*Flashback*

“You’re crazy.” His sister snapped finally, pausing in her packing. Setting her keys down on the table, she stared at her brother, his face hardened with a determination he only could have inherited from their mother. “Changbin, the world isn’t as black and white as you think it is.” she started. “To go off and start learning magic now, after what happened.”

“Magic didn’t kill them though.” Changbin grunted, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“It didn’t save them either.” She retorted and almost instantly regretted her words at the sight of how heartbroken and defeated her brother appeared. Closing the distance between them, she pulled him into a hug, bearing his near entire weight as he clung to her. “Doing this won’t bring them back. At least right now, we have some peace.”

“I know it won’t but…something is telling me to do this. That this is the correct step forward.” he whispered.

She was silent for a moment, thinking over his words and the implications behind them. So much could go wrong, but so much could go right. Changbin was an adult now and while she appreciated him telling her his goals and desires, he didn’t have to. He could make his own decisions and she had a feeling he already had. That this whole conversation was only taking place because he wanted her approval, not that he needed it.

She understood.

“Always follow your gut. It’ll never steer you wrong.”

Those had been her last words to him. The approval from his last living relative had meant everything to Changbin and it turned out to be the only thing he had left to remember her by. The accident had happened an hour later and Changbin always blamed himself for it. If he hadn’t chosen that moment to confront her about wanting to attend magic school, or hadn’t pushed to get her to approve, she would have left on time rather than be running late. She wouldn’t have been at the intersection when the truck ran the red light. She wouldn’t be gone. It was all his fault and pain and guilt haunted him everyday.

[so this is true middle scene, fun times!]

“This is it.” Felix whispered, the tome resting delicately in his hands. It was leather bound - genuine no doubt - dyed a gorgeous royal purple. Embossed in gold was the Celestial crest - a crescent moon surrounded by stars overlaid on top of the triquetra, which represented the three founding figures of the Magical Institute of Academia (MIA for short). It was perfectly centered, stunningly gorgeous. 

“How do you know this is the book?” Seungmin questioned as he snatched the tome from Felix’s grasp and looked it over. While beautiful bound - the pages even had golden gilded edges - it appeared to be nothing special. In fact, it looked like one of the many other books in the headmaster’s office.

“Because the headmaster nearly had a heart attack when I discovered it in the library at the start of the semester.” Felix explained. “He took it and wouldn’t exactly say why I couldn’t read it, just that it wasn’t ‘appropriate’.” he mocked as he rolled his eyes.

“So, what you’re saying is that you don’t know if it contains information about soulmates then.” Changbin deadpanned. He had put so much faith in Felix and combined with Mr. Nim’s reaction the other day, he was sure this book held the contents of his curiosity.

“Well, I mean, it holds something secretive in it.” 

Apparently his faith had been misplaced.

“For all we know it’s just the book he hides his alcohol in.” Seungmin scoffed, passing the book to Changbin, who eagerly took it. For how thick it was, it didn’t really weigh much, lending credence to Seungmin’s suggestion. Maybe it really was hollowed out in the center. Before he could even check, their secret gathering was interrupted by the sudden sound of keys jingling. 

“Oh shit!”

“Hide!” 

As if they needed to be told twice. The three scattered, searching for cover and barely concealing themselves in time for the door to be opened. The light in the room was turned on, but nothing else followed. No footsteps or soft breathing - anything to indicate another person had entered the room. Time seemed to have stood still and the three waited with baited breaths. No sooner had the lights turned on where they turned back off and the door was locked again. This time the footsteps were audible, slowly fading as the person walked away. Another minute went by, just to make sure the coast was clear before the three crawled out from their places.

“That was close.”

“I’ll say. Good job Felix, almost got us caught.” Seungmin scolded lightly. In retaliation, Felix swatted at him.

“Shut up. How was I supposed to know someone might come around?”

“You could have.” Changbin defended.

“Thank you hyung! See? At least Changbin hyung likes me!” Felix and Seungmin started their usual childish banter of who was right and wrong, which on a normal day would have been funny, but it wasn’t the least bit amusing at the moment.

“Alright, stop you two. Let’s get out of here before that person comes back.” A brilliant idea and one the two quickly agreed upon. As they snuck their way out, Changbin had half a mind to leave the book there, but thought better of it. After all, if the headmaster didn’t trust Felix of all people to read the text inside, then it must be something worth investigating. 

They managed to sneak back to their dorms without incident and Changbin hid the book under his pillow to read through later.

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