bitchy!reader meets the slytherin boys (and mattheo)
first instalment of bitchy!reader <3
note: i mention that mattheo is taller than bitchy!reader but mattheo is VERY tall so even if you’re tall (okay, model!), he’s a tad bit taller !
“This is really fugly.”
The Slytherin boys in the common room hear you before they see you, your voice floats from the hallway to the common room, Theo and Enzo perk up.
“Girl.” Enzo mouths to Theo, who rolls his eyes.
“No shit.” He mouths back.
"She sounds hot." Enzo mouths, a wide boyish grin overtaking his face.
Theo snorts. "Sounds bitchy."
Your voice draws nearer and nearer, they listen to the mystery girl complain about a uniform.
When they finally do see you, their jaws go a little slack.
In strolls Pansy, with you next to her. You’re looking down at your dark green tie in disgust. You look out of place despite wearing the exact same uniform as them.
Their eyes draw to your glossy, sparkly lips as they curl into a perfect pout.
“It’s just so not my colour.” You sigh before stopping when Pansy does, you look up at the crowd with disinterest - one that could rival Riddle's.
“Boys, this is my friend YN.” Pansy smirks at the boys’ wonderstruck eyes. "She's new, so be nice." She knows you certainly won't.
Enzo and Theo practically wrestle each other to be the first one in your sights, Theo winning the fight.
He stands before you with a charming smile.
“Ciao Bella, I’m Theodore Nott.”
You smile, sickly sweet, before it curls into snarl.
“And I’m not impressed.” You bite back, leaving the man wounded.
Mattheo, who hadn’t paid much attention to the room before, looks up finally. When he see’s you, he straightens and suddenly becomes very interested.
“I don't know if that's ever happened, I loved that.” Pansy sighs, reliving the moment over and over in her head, probably. “Don’t you just love her!”
“She’s real lovable.” Theo mumbles, slowly going back to the couch. Nursing his ego carefully in his hands, Enzo pats him on the back before Theo swats his hand away.
“Though I’d love to stay and watch her destroy all of you, we have time for introductions later.” Pansy says, “I’m going to take her to her room.”
You wave your fingers as a goodbye, aiming it directly at Theo.
“I can take her!” Mattheo practically jumps up from his seat, with the same devotion as a soldier, his friends turn to him in surprise.
Pansy raises an eyebrow, she turns to look at you.
You have the same disgusted look on your face but she see’s the smallest glimmer of intrigue hidden deep behind your eyes. She smirks.
“Knock yourself out, Riddle.” You snap your head to Pansy.
“What?”
Mattheo grins, all wide and wolfish.
You give him a once over. He’s beautiful, devilishly so, in a way that can only mean one thing - trouble.
Perfect, you think, biting your bottom lip to cover a smirk, continuing to feign disinterest.
He’s a little taller than you - even with your not-so-school-appropriate stilettos on - though he’s bending to your level a little, like he’s giving you the power or like he’s at your service.
I can fix him. You decide finally.
This time you smirk, enough that he can see.
“Fine,” You sigh dramatically, “You’ll do.”
Pansy laughs, Mattheo barely conceals his glee.
You don’t give him another glance, you start walking like you know the way. You move around the world like it was created for you, Mattheo notices.
He’s stuck in place, watching your figure.
You call out to him over your shoulder.
“You coming?”
He grins again, practically wagging his tail, before walking quickly to match your movements.
✧.* : J.P x Arranged Marriage! Reader
☁︎ : Angst // Slow Burn // Arranged Marriage //
✎ : Some ties are harder to break than they seem.
𖦹 : 2.2k
A/N: uwu im making him and me suffer for the next like four chapters of this slow burn LMAO
[masterlist]
Much Love, Saige
★ request : N/A
ϟ taglist ϟ : @littlemadamred @raiweasley @ulearnnewthingseveryday
You hate that it mattered.
The entire day, you try to shake it off, to pretend his voice didn’t echo in your head long after he walked away. You try to pretend you weren’t counting the number of times he’s said your name since childhood — and that today counted as one of them.
It was just “hi.” That’s all. A casual word anyone could say. Something meaningless.
Except… James Potter never wasted words on you.
And that’s the problem.
By lunch, your stomach aches. You sit at the edge of your usual table, picking at bread you’re not hungry for, ignoring your friends’ conversations. You feel stupid for caring. Worse, you feel angry for caring.
What changed?
Why now?
Why did it feel like you mattered for half a second, only for him to vanish back into the crowd, like the moment never happened?
You glare down at your plate, your appetite gone. Somewhere deep down, you know exactly why this hurts. Because you’ve spent so long convincing yourself he hated the idea, not you. And for a brief moment today… it felt personal again. Not hatred. Something else. Something dangerous.
He looked at you like you were real.
And you don’t know how to carry that.
By your last class, your head is pounding. You catch yourself scanning corridors, glancing without meaning to, searching for a flash of messy black hair. You hate that too.
When did he become the one person you hoped to see?
You hate him. You don’t hate him. You hate that you don’t hate him.
By the time the final bell rings, you’re exhausted — emotionally wrung out from fighting something you don’t even understand. And as you walk back toward the library, books clutched tight in your arms, you make yourself a promise.
You just won’t read into it.
A word is just a word.
And James Potter still means nothing to you.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
“…You’re staring again.”
Dorcas Meadowes’ voice cuts through the silence like a knife dipped in honey. Soft, but sharp enough to make you blink.
You glance sideways. She’s dropped into the chair beside you, all confidence and grace even when slouched across a library bench. Her eyes flick from your blank stare to the open textbook in front of you — a page you’ve been pretending to read for at least fifteen minutes now.
“I’m not staring,” you murmur automatically, voice thinner than you mean it to be.
“Mm.” Dorcas hums like she doesn’t believe you for a second. “Right. That’s why you’ve been glaring at the same cloud out the window for the past quarter hour.” She leans in slightly, voice lowering. “Who is it? I’ll hex them for you.”
You manage a weak laugh, but your stomach twists. You hate that she noticed. You hate that anyone noticed.
“It’s no one.”
Dorcas watches you for a moment longer, her expression unreadable. You can tell she’s deciding whether to push, but she’s too perceptive not to recognize the closed-off way you’re clutching your quill.
“Okay,” she says softly. “Fine. No one.”
But she stays beside you. She doesn’t leave.
You’re grateful for the silence, or at least how long it lasted.
Dorcas notices immediately. Of course she does. She always does.
“You’re thinking about him again.”
You don’t bother pretending. Not today. Not with her.
You swallow hard. “…Yeah.”
She shifts beside you, folding her arms tight across her chest. “James?” Her tone isn’t confused. It’s protective. Tired of this.
You nod. Miserable. Small.
Dorcas sighs. Not impatiently. Not like she’s angry at you. Just heavy. Like she’s carrying some of your hurt with her now, whether you want her to or not.
“Y/N,” she says softly but firmly, “he doesn’t deserve that.”
“I know.”
“Do you?” She turns slightly, facing you more directly, her voice quieter but sharper. “Because I’ve watched you try for years. You’ve done nothing but be good to him. And he’s ignored you. Let you stand there like you’re something to be ashamed of. And now… what? He says hi, and suddenly you’re staring out windows thinking about him again?”
Tears sting your eyes, and you hate it. Hate that she’s right. Hate that she cares enough to say it.
“I didn’t want to,” you whisper. “I didn’t ask for this.”
Dorcas’s expression softens instantly. Her arms uncross, and she places her hand over yours where it grips the table. “I know.” Her voice is warmer now, less anger, more worry. “I know you didn’t.”
You’re silent for a long time, eyes fixed on the floor, while Dorcas just holds your hand and lets you fall apart quietly.
Then, she speaks again, voice gentler but firm: “I hate what he’s done to you. And I hate that your family tied you to him like this. You deserve to be chosen, Y/N. Not tolerated.”
You squeeze your eyes shut. “He doesn’t hate me. He hates the situation.”
Dorcas exhales slowly, shaking her head. “And yet somehow, you’re the one hurting for it.”
That truth aches more than you want to admit.
But then Dorcas gives your hand a squeeze — small, but steady. “I’m not saying you’re wrong to care. I’m saying if you do… make him earn it. Make him see you. No more giving him the benefit of the doubt for free. Promise me that.”
You nod weakly, your voice barely a whisper. “…Okay.”
“Mean it.”
You pause. Then finally — quietly but certain — you say: “Okay.”
Dorcas lets you be quiet after that. But she doesn’t let go of your hand.
And maybe that’s what holds you together.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
James wasn’t planning to stop.
Not really. He told himself it was just another walk past the library. Just another coincidence. He told himself he wasn’t looking for you. That he didn’t care where you sat, or how you always folded your hands neatly over your books like you were holding yourself together.
But then, there you were.
Through the tall glass windows of the library, half-lit by the soft golden afternoon sun, sitting in your usual corner. You weren’t reading, not properly. You were staring down at the page, too still, too quiet. James could tell even from here.
And beside you — Dorcas Meadowes.
He almost cursed aloud.
He knew Dorcas didn’t like him. That was fine. What he hadn’t expected was the gut-punch of guilt seeing her sitting next to you — like she was filling a place James knew, deep down, should’ve been his all along.
He should’ve been the one beside you. Not avoiding you. Not ignoring you for years.
But Dorcas had stepped into the space he’d abandoned. And worse — she knew it.
James lingered too long. His feet slowed. His head turned without thinking.
And Dorcas saw him. Immediately.
Her eyes snapped up, sharp as a curse. Protective. Furious. She didn’t move, but the weight of her glare hit him square in the chest.
James froze. Stupidly. Half a dozen things raced through his head. Say something? Pretend he wasn’t looking? Keep walking?
But it was already too late.
Dorcas straightened slightly in her seat, fingers resting firmly on your forearm — not for comfort, but like a line drawn in the sand. Like a silent warning: Mine to protect. Not yours.
And that’s when she spoke.
“Sod off, Potter.”
The words weren’t loud. They didn’t need to be. Her voice was low, steady, unshaken. Crueler for how casual it sounded.
James felt the humiliation hit him like a slap. He opened his mouth — to argue, to explain, he wasn’t even sure — but no sound came.
You didn’t even glance up. You didn’t know he was there.
Dorcas’s eyes flicked him up and down, disgust curling at the edges of her mouth. She said nothing else.
James forced himself to move, every step away from the window heavier than the last.
But then — her voice again, soft and sharp enough to bleed:
“She’s not your problem anymore, Potter. Don’t pretend like she is.”
That stopped him cold.
He didn’t turn around. He couldn’t. His throat tightened, his fists curled, his jaw locked. But the words stuck. They echoed, louder than they should have.
Because she was wrong.
You weren’t his problem.
You were his regret.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
For the first time all week, you felt like you could breathe.
Saturday mornings were a small mercy. Quidditch practice always pulled James Potter far from the castle, far from the corridors you usually shared, and far from your thoughts — or so you told yourself. You’d planned the day carefully: the quiet corner in the library, a book you weren’t pretending to read for once, maybe even a nap if you let yourself relax.
With him gone, you didn’t have to wonder where his eyes were. You didn’t have to remember that stupid hi. You could just… be.
Until the owl came.
You didn’t notice at first. Just the rustle of feathers above you, parchment dropping onto the table with a careless thud.
Your heart sank the moment you saw the seal.
Your family’s crest.
It wasn’t from James. Somehow, that would’ve been easier. This letter came from something worse: obligation.
You hesitated only a moment before opening it. You already knew you’d regret it.
The script was neat. Elegant. Your mother’s hand.
Dearest,
I hope this letter finds you well. We wanted to inform you that the Ministry’s volunteer fundraising event has been confirmed. As discussed previously, the Potter family will be attending alongside us, and of course, it’s expected that you and James make your appearance together.
The event is scheduled for next month. Robes will be prepared in advance. Your father is pleased — it’s an important opportunity for both our families.
We know you’ll make us proud.
Much love,
Mother
You read the letter twice, hoping you’d misunderstood. You hadn’t.
A ball. A public event. You and James, expected to stand together like a promise neither of you believed in. All smiles. All pretense. Just like always.
Your stomach turned.
The silence of the great hall suddenly felt heavier. Suffocating. You pressed the letter flat against the table, trying to steady your shaking hands.
Why now? Why after everything? Just when you’d convinced yourself you could survive another quiet year of avoiding him… now this.
You pictured him reading the same letter. Tossing it aside, maybe. Maybe cursing. Maybe laughing. You didn’t know which was worse.
What you did know, though, was simple.
For you… this wasn’t just another ball.
It was a reminder.
A reminder that no matter how hard you tried to stay invisible…
You still belonged to him.
And you hated it.
You hated how much it still hurt.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
The parchment lay flat in front of you, heavy like iron despite its delicate script. You kept staring at the words, but they didn’t change. Not after the first read, not after the fifth.
You felt hollow.
“Hey.”
Dorcas slid into the seat beside you, voice soft but alert — already reading your posture, the way your knuckles whitened as you clutched the edge of the table.
Marlene followed seconds later, cheerful until she caught sight of your face. Her expression shifted instantly. “What’s wrong?”
You didn’t look up. Couldn’t. You just slid the letter across the table with shaking fingers.
Dorcas read it first. Her jaw locked by the second line. Marlene leaned over her shoulder, eyes scanning quickly before she let out a small, incredulous laugh — the kind that meant she wasn’t actually amused.
“A ball,” Dorcas said flatly.
“With James,” Marlene added, her voice sharp.
You swallowed hard. “It’s not a choice.”
Dorcas said nothing. Just folded the letter closed, too carefully. You knew that silence. She was furious — not at you. For you.
“They’re not even hiding it anymore,” she said softly, like she couldn’t decide if she wanted to hex your parents or James first. “You’re a prop.”
“Nothing new,” you whispered.
Then, as if fate enjoyed cruelty, you heard it.
Laughter. Loud, careless, familiar.
The Marauders.
James’s voice carried across the hall before you could brace yourself for it. That easy, bright laugh of his that made your stomach twist in ways you hated. You didn’t have to look. You knew exactly where he sat.
Other side of the room. Far enough that he couldn’t see you. Close enough that you couldn’t forget him.
“Perfect,” Marlene muttered, hearing them too. “Of course they’re here.”
Dorcas’s hand found your arm under the table, firm, steadying. “You don’t have to do this.”
“I do,” you whispered. “My family—”
“Your family can sod off too.” Dorcas’s voice was dangerous now, protective and shaking. “Y/N… this isn’t fair. None of this is fair.”
You closed your eyes, pressing your lips together to stop them from trembling.
Because she was right.
And it didn’t change a thing.
Across the hall, James Potter laughed like nothing was wrong.
And you sat there, choking in a future you didn’t choose.
✧.* J.P. x Arranged marriage! Reader
✎ Two childhood promises. One future neither of you chose. After years of silence, something between you and James Potter finally shifts — small, but enough to change everything.
𖦹 1.9k
☁︎ slow burn // angst // forced proximity // arranged marriage // pureblood politics
[masterlist]
A/N: pt two next week!!!
Much Love, Saige
★ request : @ashdreams2023
ϟ taglist ϟ : @littlemadamred @raiweasley @ulearnnewthingseveryday
You don’t remember the day the promise was made. You were just a swaddled infant when your parents signed your future away with a glass of wine and firm handshakes. The Potters were old blood, proud blood, and so were your family. To them, it made sense. Two respected pureblood lines, tied neatly together through you and James.
“They’ll grow up side by side,” your mother always said softly, smoothing your hair. “Best friends. And someday… they’ll understand.”
But James Potter understood early. And he hated it.
From the moment he was old enough to comprehend the word engaged, he fought it like a curse. You can still remember the first time he said it outright, in front of both your families, standing in the middle of the Potters’ sitting room. His voice cracked from how hard he was shouting.
“I’m not marrying her. I’ll never marry her.”
You had only been ten years old. You hadn’t understood what you’d done wrong.
His parents scolded him sharply. Yours looked embarrassed. And you… you’d felt your cheeks burn, tears threatening as James stormed past you without even looking.
It had been like that for years.
The arrangement lingered like smoke, something unspoken between the two of you. Something waiting. Something ugly.
You never blamed him. Not truly. It wasn’t fair, what had been done to both of you. But you also knew what your parents whispered in quiet halls, late at night: Our family depends on this. On you.
So, you learned how to smile, even when it cracked at the corners. You learned how to pretend you didn’t care.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
You were six the first time you tried to make James Potter smile.
It was raining that day. The kind of grey, heavy rain that made the Potter estate feel smaller, even though the walls stretched higher than your childhood imagination could ever climb. You’d been brought over for another visit, another day spent being told that you and James would someday marry. Another day of promises neither of you understood yet.
James sat in the corner of the drawing room, arms crossed, scowling at the storm outside. His hair stuck up more than usual from the static. You thought he looked lonely.
So, you tried.
You crossed the carpet carefully, clutching the soft, slightly-worn stag plush you always carried with you. It wasn’t much. Just fabric and stuffing, a gift from your father when you were very small. But it was precious to you, and your mother always said sharing precious things was how you showed love.
You knelt down beside James without a word and gently offered the stag to him.
“For you,” you whispered, shy.
He looked at you like you’d handed him poison. “Why?”
Your voice cracked just slightly. “Because… you looked sad.”
James hesitated. For a moment — just a moment — you thought he’d take it. But then his little jaw tightened, and he shoved it back into your lap.
“I don’t want anything from you.”
You tried not to let your face crumple. You tried very hard. But tears burned hot behind your eyes, and you clutched the stag back against your chest like a shield.
James Potter went back to staring out the window.
You sat beside him anyway.
Even when he ignored you. Even when he glared. Even when your mother came to collect you later that evening and told you, quietly but firmly, “Give him time.”
You didn’t understand, but you nodded.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
You learned a long time ago how to protect yourself instead.
You keep your head down. You keep your voice soft, polite. You smile when spoken to. You never, ever look at James Potter longer than necessary. It’s survival; it’s strategy. You tell yourself it’s working.
But some days, like today, it feels like you’re barely breathing.
You feel him watching you. You always have. At first, it was out of disdain, like he was daring you to force him into your shared fate.
You never did. But lately… it’s different. He stares for too long now, like he’s trying to remember something about you he used to know.
Or maybe he’s seeing you for the first time…you’re not sure which possibility hurts more.
Because you don’t let yourself hope. Not anymore. Not after years of being treated like the future he didn’t choose. The future he didn’t want.
You were taught from childhood to be grateful for your engagement. A safe future. A respectable family. Your mother always said it kindly, as if it were a gift, not a sentence, and Merlin did you try to believe her.
But you remember every look James gave you that said otherwise.
And now, sitting here in the Great Hall, pretending to read while your porridge goes cold, you feel it. The weight of his stare from across the room. You don’t lift your head. You don’t dare.
Because if you meet his eyes, and there’s still nothing there, no warmth, no recognition, you’re not sure your heart can survive it.
You stir your spoon slowly, carefully. You pretend your hands aren’t shaking.
You tell yourself it’s easier this way. If he hates you, you can hate him, but something deep inside tells you otherwise.
Maybe James didn't hate you. He hated the idea of you. The idea of belonging to someone just because two families signed a parchment and said it was so; a future he never chose.
Because every time your mother fastens a new set of wedding robes under your chin, every time your father tells you that it’s what’s best for the family, you feel the same ache James must have felt his whole life:
The ache of not being asked.
So no. He doesn’t hate you.
He hates what you represent.
And that, somehow, hurts less.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
Fifth year is when it changes.
Not for you, though. You’ve long since learned to keep your distance, to not hope, to settle into the quiet corners where you can exist without pressing on James Potter’s nerves. He’s never cruel anymore — not like when you were children — but he’s cold, distant in a casual way.
But for James… its fifth year when something shifts. And he doesn’t know when.
He notices it one evening after Quidditch practice. You’re sitting under the stands, cross-legged in the grass, waiting for the game to clear so you can walk back to the castle without being trampled. You’re reading, of course, your forehead crinkled like it always is when you concentrate. And he wonders — though not for the first time — how he knows that. When did he start noticing things like that?
When did he start noticing you?
He shouldn’t care. But suddenly, he does.
Suddenly, he’s remembering how you’ve never once spoken a cruel word to him, not even after all those years of pushing you away. How you help the younger students in Herbology when you think no one’s watching. How you tie your hair back with that same worn ribbon every day, the one his mother gave you when you were children.
He looks at you and doesn’t see an unclaimed promise anymore. He sees a person.
And that terrifies him.
Because now, when the professors mention N.E.W.T.s and careers and futures, the word marriage doesn’t feel like smoke and shadows anymore. It feels real. Heavy. Closer than he’s ready for.
Closer than he ever expected.
The worst part is — he can’t remember when Lily Evans stopped being the center of his thoughts. He can’t remember when you replaced her.
And when you look up from your book that day, catching his eyes accidentally, you smile. Just politely. Just like always.
But for James Potter, it’s the first time he doesn’t look away.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
It doesn’t take long for the Marauders to notice.
At first, it’s little things. Things even James doesn’t realize he’s doing.
“You alright, mate?” Sirius asks one morning, frowning over his toast as James nearly walks straight into a suit of armor outside the Great Hall.
“Fine.”
But his eyes flick toward you, sitting two tables away with your usual quiet grace, spoon stirring slowly in your porridge as you read. James doesn’t even realize he’s watching. Sirius does.
It’s Remus who comments first — carefully, as always. “You’ve been quieter lately. Especially when she’s around.”
James stiffens. “Who?”
Peter blinks, then says plainly: “Y/N.”
Sirius slaps him on the back of the head. “Brilliant, Wormtail. Subtle as ever.”
But the damage is done.
James shoves his spoon down onto the table. “I’m not—” He cuts himself off, jaw clenched too tight. The truth is choking him, and he doesn’t even know what it is.
Because how can he explain something he doesn’t understand? How can he tell them that sometimes, when you laugh softly at something in a book, his stomach flips in ways it never did with Lily? That sometimes, he catches himself waiting to hear your voice in the hallway, only to curse himself when it happens?
Instead, he looks away. Back toward where you’re sitting. You don’t notice him. You never do. You’ve long since trained yourself not to.
And Merlin help him… he misses it.
Sirius follows his line of sight, then blinks. “No.” His voice cracks the word like a whip. “No. Not her.”
Remus looks between them, frowning. “Why not?”
“Because it’s her, Moony! Y/N! The girl he’s meant to marry and despises—remember?”
But Remus stays quiet, thinking. Because even he can see now what Sirius won’t admit.
James doesn’t despise you. Not anymore.
Peter, of course, just looks confused. “I thought he hated her.”
James finally speaks, voice quiet and strained. “I thought I did too.”
Silence.
Sirius leans back in his chair, expression unreadable for once. But his voice is soft when he mutters, “Well, bloody hell.”
The four of them sit there, not speaking. Not understanding.
And across the hall, you keep stirring your porridge, entirely unaware that James Potter is unravelling.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
It happens in the hallway, between classes. You’re walking alone as usual, head down, books clutched tight to your chest. People move past you without a second glance. You’ve learned to like it that way. Invisibility hurts less.
Until you hear it.
“Y/N.”
Just your name. Nothing more.
But you stop walking. Immediately.
It’s not the sound of your name that freezes you, it’s the voice that says it. Rougher than you remember, like it’s caught on something inside him. But unmistakably, unquestionably… him.
James.
Your throat tightens as you turn slowly. And there he is.
Standing a few feet away, school robes slightly crooked like they always are, hands shoved awkwardly into his pockets. And looking at you. Actually looking at you. His hazel eyes aren’t cold or resentful. They’re uncertain. Maybe nervous.
You don’t know what to say. You’ve spent years rehearsing conversations in your head, conversations that never came. And now that he’s standing here—saying your name—you’re blank. Empty.
But you don’t have to speak. Because for once… James does.
“Hi.”
One word. That’s all.
It shouldn’t matter. It shouldn’t make your heart stutter or your stomach twist. It’s nothing.
But to you—it’s everything.
You stare at him for a heartbeat too long. His eyes flick down, like maybe he’s regretting it. Like maybe he’s afraid he’s made a mistake.
So you force yourself to do something you haven’t done in years.
You smile. Just softly. Just enough to show him you’re not angry. You never were.
“Hi.”
James nods once, sharp and awkward. Then he’s gone, brushing past you in the crowd without another word.
As a bisexual, an asexual, and a human being with a sense of decency, I believe that people should love whoever they want to love (as long as it isn’t creepy or non-consensual), even if that someone is no one
As a Christian asexual hetromantic, I’m reblogging! Although my characters are rainbow and not gay, gay people are valid! Bi and pan people are valid! Ninbinary and trans people are valid! All of y’all are valid!
reblogging as a someone who has the common knowledge to know people have the right to love and marry whoever they want, and have the right to not be judged upon or descriminated against in any way!
as someone who both supports the LGBTQ+ community and is part of it, i feel the need to reblog this, it’s honestly nuts that some people will just scroll past this
PPL aren't reblogging this version so the chuzzle is generally stuck in the eternal present moment with the question unanswered. Eyeing the symbol that will never change
The other night husband and I were watching a documentary about the yeti where they were doing DNA analysis of samples of supposed yeti fur, and every one of them came back as bears.
Anyway, the next night we watched a thing about some pig man who is supposed to live in Vermont. People said it had claws and a pig nose but walked upright like a man. Now, I happen to know that sideshows used to shave bears and present them as pig men. So every piece of evidence they gave of this monster sounds to me like a bear with mange.
So now the running joke in our house is that everything is bears. Aliens? Bears. Loch Ness monster? Bear. Every cryptozoological mystery is just a very crafty bear.
Bears. They’re everywhere. Be wary. Anyone or anything could be a bear.
As the OP of this post, I’m going to threaten that if this gets to one million notes by the 10 year anniversary on 1 June 2026, one year from today, I will get a lower back tattoo of the loch ness bear monster.
2087
baratheonpilled
dailybridgerton
snowghoul
yousharknotpass
vaporwave
