#who should bloody well be illegal

[multifandomfanatic02]

"Stuck in a Trap."

𝙋𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 : deer!Alastor x human!Reader

𝙎𝙮𝙣𝙤𝙥𝙨𝙞𝙨 : reader finds herself wandering the woods alone and falls upon a wounded stag stuck in a bear trap.

𝙏𝙖𝙜𝙨 : deer Alastor, human reader, marked, soulmate trope in a way

𝙒𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝘾𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩 : 1.3k

It was a cool night in spring. Nice enough to take a walk outside. You had decided to chose a descent into the woods behind your house. It wasn't dangerous or anything, had a nice gravel path. A few miles into it became an attraction to some tourists. Those who were into the whole haunting thing.

The most you heard were some silly ghost stories. What nonsense, you thought. Some believed there was a portal straight to Hell sitting in the thicket somewhere. Some believed there have victims from past murders buried in there. You weren't exactly into paranormal shit, you've lived and roamed these woods for years now.

No, the closest you have seen were the crazy amounts of dead deer lying on the floor. Hunters perhaps? Maybe mountain lions? Nah. The state of the deer made you feel bad, queezy more like. The poaching of the animals was upsetting to say the least. Whenever you went on these walks, you made sure to break whatever traps you could find. More often than not, all being bear traps. It was illegal in this area after all. Nobody really enforces the law around here considering how scared everyone was with this place.

You had been walking for what felt like a few hours. Your cue being the red and pink sky to head home. Oh but it just feels so right to be there. It wasn't until you heard a loud animal like cry that you stopped in your tracks. You bet it was a deer caught in a trap. What were you thinking following a scary sound like this. This kinda thing should only happen in scary movies.

After a few minutes of wandering around for the source of the sound, the creature in question comes in to view. It was a stag. What a divine animal this was. It was a lot larger than most deer, the biggest set of antlers you had seen. And it's color was dazzling. It was as if it reflected the crimson sky above it. There was no way that it was it's natural color.

Inching closer to it, the reason of it's cry came to your attention. A hoof was caught in a bear trap like you originally thought. Blood dripped from it's ankle, in attempt to soothe it, he licked it. Blood staining around it's mouth. Looks like he'd been there for quite some time.

Bending down to the ground, you hold up your hands hoping the creature would realize you were going to try and release it. All he did was bellow in hopes to scare you away. But you just stared in amazement. Your hand just inches away from the trap, the stag notices and understands your actions. Staying still for a few seconds.

His hoof finally free, you put the bloodied old bear trap in your bag. The beautiful creature bows his head slightly, one of his front hooves folding beneath him, obviously showing a little gratitude. You bent down to meet his gaze, returning the unusual human-like gesture. You didn't really think about it too hard.

Your hand reached out to him, in hopes he'll accept your advances. The stags ears laid back against his head as he pressed his forehead into yours. He backed away slightly, giving the entirety of your forearm a well deserved lick before bounding back into the thicket of the woods.

What a strange interaction. Something you surely won't ever forget whether you liked it or not. Upon looking down, you notice a green glow surrounding the area the creature marked. Looked like it was making out a subtle A-like symbol. Well time to proceed home and wash off.

A few years had gone by and the mark still remained on your arm. After many specialist appointments and surgeries, the doctors were just as stumped as you were. It wasn't a tattoo of any kind, no ink was found in the skin. It wasn't skin cancer. And crazy as it is, after several biopsies the mark simply grew over the scar tissue. It was a complete mystery as to what that mark was. And if you told everyone where you truly got it, they would all think you were nuts.

If that wasn't enough, you often felt prying eyes around your secluded house. The paranormal stories were beginning to sound sane after all the experiences you had. There have been many nights where the stereo would turn on by itself or static would just be heard. Or nights when a dark yet comforting shadow would loom over you as you slept. You eventually became accustomed to these intrusions. Most would have moved out by now.

Whatever was here was like a dark guardian angel. You weren't thinking about the holy ones whom would just, look after you, wish you the best of luck and bring you to heaven when you died. No. This one was different. The type to personally interfere with human affairs to keep you safe. The idea wasn't too off-putting considering you had done been in two severe car accidents and a tornado; somehow leaving all situations unscathed.

More often than not, you would have dreams about the stag you had found in the woods all those years ago. Talking about how you belonged to him. How you live under his protection. He had a name too but you couldn't quite put your finger on it. His voice was really unique and drew you in like a magnet. The dreams you've received were so surreal. Like you've known him all your life.

If this was paranormal, you were going to do some digging. The term typically refers to the dead, right? The town library should have records of your property and the folks who lived there before you.

It thankfully didn't take much to get the information you were looking for. There were several newspaper articles from the 1930's that included details of a man named Alastor. Alastor.. that was the name you heard in your dream. It explained the mark on your arm.

He was a local serial killer who targeted those who were for the most part ill intentioned. Especially toward women. He was found dead in the woods behind your house, burying one of his victims. Mistakened for an animal. Which is why to this day hunting is illegal in those set of woods.

More newspaper articles opened up about his profession. Despite the mans.. er.. hobbies, he was quite the talent as a radio host back in the 20's. Youtube even had some of the old audio recordings. Your heart soared upon hearing his voice. This was him. The stag you saved, the shadows watching over you, and the voice that whispered to you in your dreams.

What didn't make sense was.. why was he a stag of all things? Why did it feel real? Well, as it turns out, the power of the human soul varies in the afterlife. Some could just interact with inanimate objects while others can only muster a sound whether it be naturally or through something called a spirit box. Then, what was Alastor?

Ultimately, you had fallen in love with Alastor. Over the course of your life, you had gotten to know him from your sweet dreams. He often thanked you for your kindness. Never had he met someone that put his faith back into humanity. Who would show such a lowly animal mercy and generosity? And the day that you arrive in Hell, he'll be there to catch you and say.

"The name is Alastor, the radio demon. A pleasure to be finally meeting you properly. Welcome home, ma chère."

a/n: i would just like to say that none of the pictures are mine, creds to the amazing artists 🎨

#alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbinhotel #hazbin hotel #hazbin #alastor hazbin #the radio demon #alastor the radio demon #hazbin hotel fandom #alastor imagine #hazbin alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #x reader #hazbin x you #alastor x you #alastor fluff #alastor #alastor fanfiction #hazbin hotel au #deer alastor #human alastor

[clockwayswrites]

Orange, City Pigeon, Danny & Batfam @roanawayspoons WC: 864 CW: Blood, injury

“I’m just saying, you shouldn’t get to be Red by default.”

“Well I can’t be Robin and Hood is a unique identifier.”

“No, nope, just because you weren’t creative enough to come up with something other than Red Robin you shouldn’t get to just claim Red.”

“Creative enough? Oh that’s rich from the man who ripped off the Joker.”

“It was poetic!”

“It was lazy.”

“Look here, bird bones—” …and Tim was gone, Jason thought with a sigh. He turned back to see Tim still before the last jump, staring down into the alleyway with a tilted head. Jason’s hand went to one of his guns. “Red?”

“Blood.”

“And? It’s Gotham. I think the city is held together by blood at this point.”

“Green blood, Hood.”

“How do you know it’s blood then?” Jason asked, but stalked forward to look. Alright, maybe the splatter was pretty distinctive.

That particular shade of green was also concernedly distinctive.

“Well, fuck.”

“Yep.”

“Who bleeds Lazarus water?”

“No clue,” Tim said unhelpfully. “Guess we better find out.”

They dropped silently down into the alley, one after another, and followed the trail of toxic green blood. The trail went cold a few times, whoever was bleeding was clearly trying to hide, but they were inexperienced at it and the Bats had spent enough time stalking through the streets of this city that the cement and stone basically spoke to them. The trail couldn’t hide from them.

Without warning, Jason shot his arm out to stop Tim. He tapped the side of his helmet silently; he heard something. Tim nodded and they fanned out to search. A door in this latest alley they were in was cracked open, like someone had tried to close it and it had bounced back off the latch.

A green hand print was smeared down it.

Jason pulled a gun from his holster, but let Tim go through first. While Jason was far lighter on his feet than someone his size should be, there was no denying that Tim was stealthier. Jason would be just a few steps behind ready to provide the muscles and firepower.

It was odd, then, when Tim purposefully let his foot scrape against the ground as he rounded the corner. Jason just cursed silently as the idiot continued forward, cutting himself off from Jason’s line of sight. “Hey, looks like you could use some help with that wound before you bleed out.”

Jason couldn’t hear what was said back; he edged closer.

“You must not be from Gotham. I’m Red Robin, one of the heroes here.”

The person snorted. “Just… over… then?”

Tim laughed. It was one of his many fake laughs, but the one meant to soothe people in trouble. “Why would I do that? I’m a vigilante. Do you know how illegal what I do is? I just don’t want to see you bleed out. Maybe I can even take you to a safe house where you can rest.

“So… interrogate me?”

“I mean, I’d like to know who tried to kill a kid, but that’s to make them pay, not you.”

Jason’s hand gripped his gun so tightly it hurt.

The person… the kid laughed. It was a broken sound that no kid should have to make.

Jason had heard it a lot on the streets.

“Maybe I deserve it.” Their voice was raspy, like every word caught in their throat.

Jason came around the corner. The kid went rigid, which was the last thing they needed with how blood seeped from their fingers where their pale hand was clutched against a too big hoodie.

Tim leaned casually into Jason's space in a way he wouldn’t normally, putting on a show for the kid that Red Hood was safe. It was at least true for the kid. Jason leaned back, mostly for the comfort of having his brother close in the face of the sight. Seeing bloody kids never got easier.

“You’re what, sixteen?” Jason asked.

“…fifteen?”

“Yeah, no fifteen year old deserves to bleed out. You know who I am?”

They shook their head. It dislodged the hood a little. The tangled, chin length hair was startling white and splattered with dried green blood. Jason forced himself to take a breath.

“I’m Red Hood. I protect part of this city called Crime Alley. I’m not afraid to kill a shithead, especially ones that hurt kids, but I never harm a kid. I’ve got places to put you if you need somewhere safe; places not in the system. Or get you somewhere. Do you have a place to go to?”

The kid laughed again. Somehow it sounded worse this time. “That’s the thing. I do. I might, I guess. Just no one is going to believe me.”

“Why won’t they believe you? Where do you need to get?” Tim asked.

The kid looked up. Jason felt Tim tense against him. Hell, Jason tensed. They were the wrong color, but Jason knew those eyes, those brows, that slope of the nose. Everything was just a little sideways, but Jason knew that face. He knew what the kid was going to say.

“I need to get to Bruce Wayne.”

--- AN: Happy Trauma Tuesday~

Feel free to continue this, use it as a prompt if you'd like!

#dp x dc #prompalomp #how promptous #trauma tuesday #city pigeons

[gh0stsp1d3r]

Oooo hiii! Can I please request a Tangerine x fem!innocent/civilian reader where Tangerine he still got shot accidentally by Ladybug (not in the neck), but he DID NOT die, just injured. When Lemon wakes up and sees he has Tan’s necklace and goes looking for him, he’s relieved to find him alive, helps him up, and they both jump off the train into the water (like Lemon did in the movie). Maybe they break an apartment that they think is empty to gather supplies (since they can’t really go to a hospital) but Y/n, a nurse, was home and offers to patch them up. Tan ends up offering her a job as a nurse that would travel with them to every job they do, she accepts said offer + Tan and Y/n having a lot of chemistry (Lemon making a bet with himself as to how long it’ll take till the pair to fall in love)

You got the best ideas.

Jobs

Tangerine and Lemon walked. They’ve been walking forever and ever it seemed like.

“Maybe we should just find a place to rest for the night, mate.”

“Lemon, we’ve been walking for miles. There’s nobody h-“

Then, he sees a single house, why’s there a single house on an empty road? There’s been nothing for miles, so why is there just a random house?

They didn’t care to ask, and they knocked on the door. When no one answered, they both went around the house and looked inside the windows, to see the lights off.

“We can’t just break into someone’s house. It’s illegal.” Lemon said

“So is killing people, but we’ve been doing that for years.”

Lemon sighed, and pushed open the window. Luckily, it was not locked.

Tangerine climbed in first, with a hand on his gun. He looked around, switching on lights. He didn’t see anybody so he told Lemon to hurry up.

Immediately after Lemon got in, Tangerine went into the fridge, and looked for water.

He gave Lemon a glass, and then himself. They haven’t drunk or eaten at all the whole day.

A dog came up to them, and it just stared at them.

It scared Tangerine as he turned around, he jumped slightly.

“What the fuck?!” He said, and the dog didn’t growl or bark. It just went up to them, it went closer and started to sniff them and then it licked them, jumping all over tangerine and lemon.

“Get the fuck off me, you bloody fucking dog!” Tangerine said, trying to push it off, but the pitbull was too strong and big for him

Then, the door started to unlock. Both of their heads snapped to the door. You were taking on the phone while bringing in groceries.

“I’ll call you back later, I just got ho-“ you dropped your phone and screamed.

“Oh fuck.” Lemon said, groaning.

Your dog looked confused, as he looked at you and back to the two strangers.

You grabbed your phone, and quickly ran out the house.

“Get them.” Tangerine motioned, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Right.”

He went outside.

“Look, We can explain-“ he said, grabbing your phone.

“Who are you and Why are you in my fucking house?!” You said.

“Okay, so we just almost got murdered at the train, I’m sure you heard about it.”

“The bullet train? That’s miles out.” You said.

“Right, so we drove for a while, and then we ran out of gas in the middle of the road. We tried knocking but you weren’t home, so, we broke in. We just want to clean up a bit, and then we’re leaving, alright? But we can leave now if you want-“ He explained, in a soft tone.

“What’s hurt?” You asked, it was an instinct at this point to help people.

“Uh…”

“I’m a doctor, I can help.” You explained.

“Oh.. that explains all the.. yeah. Got it. Uh, well.. lead the way.” He said.

You went inside, Lemon following.

Tangerine still had his hand on his gun, he narrowed his eyes at his dog.

You snapped your fingers and called your dogs name, he immediately looked at you and went over to you, almost knocking you over as he licked you.

“Ok, ok, you wanna go outside?” You asked him, opening up the backyard door and he ran out there. You closed the door and went back to the two.

“Sorry about him. He likes strangers, for some odd reason.” You smiled.

Tangerine smiled back “It’s alright. So, you’re uh.. a doctor? Could you.. help us?” He asked, looking a the pictures and frames on the wall.

“Yeah, yeah, uh.. whichever one wants to go first.”

Lemon was first, you bandaged him up, and made sure to clean up the blood and wounds on his face and other places.

Next was tangerine, he seemed to be a lot more.. different than Lemon was.

You’d noticed their bickering earlier, when you took your dog outside.

Tangerine sat on the counter, examining the bathroom.

“That’s one nasty wound.” You muttered, touching his forehead then his cheek.

He winced quietly, and then apologized.

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

You were kind, way too kind. He was sort of suspicious. But he was suspicious about everyone.

You cleaned around it, and then put bandages on it.

“Anything else?”

“Just uh…” he cleared his throat “my chest hurts. Feel like something’s wrong there.” He was nervous, he tried to hide it but it was obvious on his pink cheeks slightly. He looked down as he spoke now.

“Okay.. got it. I’m just gonna uh, look the other way.” You said, and turned away. You were never nervous while doing this, never in your entire career.

You heard the unbuttoning of his shirt, he took off his jacket when they were walking, and he had it in his arms when he entered the house, now lemon had it with him somewhere.

He took off his shirt, and his vest and you waited for a signal you could turn around.

“You can turn around.” He said, setting his shirt aside.

You turned around, and you were surprised your jaw hasn’t dropped.

His abs were beautiful, he looked like he belonged in a museum.

You cleared your throat, and quickly got your supplies.

“Luckily, your vest did help, but it seems that the bullet still did some injury. Just some bruises, you’re lucky that the fabric didn’t force itself into your body.”

He stayed quiet.

“Your brother is fine, in case you were wondering. He didn’t have anything as serious on his chest, only his face, really. It should all heal soon.”

“Thank you.. for everything.”

“It’s my job.” You said plainly, and went back to cleaning some wounds on his chest.

He bit his lip as your fingers ghosted over the bruises, trying not to groan in pain.

“The bruises should be healed eventually. There’s not much I can do about those. Except I would stay away from any.. restricting things, such as a vest and just rest. And I would take these.” You handed him some pills, which he took in his hand.

He grabbed his shirt, quickly buttoning it as you put your stuff away.

“I was thinking… Y’Know, don’t know if lemon explained but we do jobs, jobs for people, and I was wondering if maybe you’d like to be our… sorta nurse? You’d go one jobs with us, and you could even learn how to fight.” He suggested. But in reality, he wanted to spend more time with you.

“I uh… wow. That’s a lot. I’d have to think about it. I’d have to leave my job and my home..” you said to yourself.

“Yeah, but, pay is also extremely high compared to what you’re doing now. But it’s up to you.”

“Really?” You said.

“Yeah. If you come up with an answer, just, uh.. call me.” He said.

“I can’t call you if I don’t have your number.”

“Can I uh- see your phone?”

“Sure.” You handed him it and he put his number in.

“Just call me when you’ve made a decision, love. I always answer.” He said, as he walked into the living room to lemon.

#tangerine x reader #bullet train #bullet train x reader #aaron taylor johnson #tangerine bullet train #tangerine #aaron taylor johnson x reader

[lesbojournals]

Who Are You? (Mafia!Stucky x Spiderman!Reader)

a/n: had to repost because it uploaded weird the first time (sigh)

based off of this prompt

"Who did this to you." Steve's voice was cold as ice as he held your shoulders tightly.

You shook your head negatively. You knew who did it. You couldn't bring yourself to say it. Bucky had already broken a glass in his fist upon your arrival, bruised and bloody and frankly a mess.

You couldn't say it. You wouldn't say it.

-

Earlier That Day

It was a typical mission for you. Maybe, you pondered, maybe even a little more relaxed than the typical mission.

The goal?

Stop illegal weapon trading-specifically a trade happening between famous mob bosses Captain America, Winter Soldier and ex-workers of Tony Stark.

Typically a mission like this would have you in a frenzy, because fighting famous mob bosses? You might have unnatural superpowers on your side but they had much more hand to hand combat on their side. Stark had informed you, however, that the infamous bosses wouldn't be present, and it was only someone of much lower status on the mob chain that would be completing the task for them.

Easy enough. You had thought.

But as it turns out, Stark's sources were wrong, and it was the very well known and famously wanted assassin Black Widow that had stood in your way.

You thought your spidey powers would come in handy, after all, you couldn't back out now. You thought wrong.

They helped to a certain degree, after all you scared off the ex-workers and were able to ensure that the mob wouldn't get a hold of dangerous super weapons. What you didn't do was watch your back as the Black Widow hit you upside the head with the bottom of her gun.

This lead you to where you are now. Tied up, in the middle of a dimly lit room with no windows, with no way of communication with the outside world.

"Shit, shit, shit." You whispered, at least thankful your mask was still on.

You tugged at the restraints holding you. You could get out of them, you were sure, but what were you supposed to do once you got out of them? You had no idea what was behind the door in front of you.

You couldn't ponder the decision further, as the door opened.

Your hands shook at the sight of the two men in front of you.

It was your boyfriends, your boyfriends. Your boyfriends who didn't know you were Spiderman, your boyfriends that you thought owned and worked at a boxing club.

You were fucked.

That was when you snapped out of your bondages and went to run.

Steve caught you before you could make it, immediately throwing you to the ground.

Bucky laughed, and Steve had a small smile as he looked at him. "You thought you could get away that easy, huh?"

You didn't respond, crawling back to get back up on your feet.

Both men advanced on you, and you scrambled on what to do.

"Feeling quiet?" Steve questioned, and you couldn't believe your boyfriends were threatening you so harshly.

Bucky smirked. "That'll change."

And he swung for your face, knocking a punch right at your upper cheek bone. He swung again with his metal hand, and you were sure that he had broken your nose.

You tried to stifle the tears, not wanting to injure them.

"Come on, little spider, tell us how you knew about our exchange." Steve threatened, and knocked you down to the ground with one swift kick.

You shook your head negatively, attempting to get up again before Bucky delivered a hard kick to your ribs.

"Should we see, who's the friendly neighborhood spiderman?" Steve taunted, and Bucky nodded with a hum, reaching for your mask.

Alarms went off in your head, and you could feel hot tears running down your face. You immediately sprung up, deciding to whack both of your boyfriends in the face with your webbing with a quick thwip.

This caused both of them to stumble back, cursing loudly as they scratched at their faces.

You took the opportunity to sprint out of the room, following only your intuition to get out of the building. You could hear loud footsteps approaching and decided to slam your body through the nearest window and jump out, shooting your web to swing off of whatever building was in front of you.

You heard gunshots and through the sheer luck of your aim in your swing you avoided them. You continued to swing down the block, crying hysterically as you approached a roof you could calm down on.

When you steadied yourself on the roof you checked your surroundings and immediately ripped off your mask, throwing up as you continued your hysterics.

Everything hurt, including your heart. You felt claustrophobic and couldn't stop the tears running down your face. You pulled your mask back on and kept moving, deciding to head to the top of your favorite spot to retrieve your things.

You changed out of your suit as fast as you could, pulling your hood up to help conceal your bruised face from strangers.

You decided against taking the subway to your shared apartment with the boys, opting instead to walk the long way home. You ignored the multiple calls coming from your cellphone, undoubtedly from Steve or Bucky. You sniffled as you walked, trying your best not to cry uncontrollably again.

When you got to your apartment building, you could see the shadows of Steve and Bucky, moving around frantically. You guessed they were arguing, probably about you not answering your phone.

You let yourself in the building, begrudgingly taking the elevator up to your floor. When you got to the floor, you sighed shakily. You walked up to your door, hearing the boys yelling at each other. As you unlocked it the yelling came to a complete halt, and you slowly opened the door.

"Where have you-baby?!" Steve interrupted himself, immediately taking on your figure.

You inched out of the doorframe. Steve rushed to be in front of you, but you refused to make eye contact.

"Who did this to you." Steve's voice was cold as ice as he held your shoulders tightly.

You shook your head negatively. You knew who did it. You couldn't bring yourself to say it. Bucky had already broken a glass in his fist upon your arrival, bruised and bloody and frankly a mess.

You couldn't say it. You wouldn't say it.

How could you tell them it was them that did it?

You did nothing but break down into tears, falling into Steve's arms as you crumbled on the floor.

"Sweetheart..." he shushed. "What happened?"

You shook your head negatively. Bucky came over to you as well, rubbing your back.

"Who did this to you honey?" Bucky tried to be gentle, but he had the slightest tinge of threat in his voice, one you were now all too familiar with.

"I, I, I..." You couldn't catch your breath, Steve soon taking the chance to demonstrate with Bucky deep breathing to help you ground yourself.

"Can we...can we just go to bed?" You insisted, watery eyes staring up at both of your boyfriends.

They had a silent conversation with facial expressions, and you could tell Bucky wanted to figure out what happened now, while Steve was more lenient on letting you get rest.

Steve helped you up, guiding you to the bedroom. Bucky followed, and you let them change you into pajamas as tears continued to stream down your face. They gently pushed you towards the bed and you got in, sniffling as they coddled you. Bucky gave you a concerned look as he laid in front of you.

"We'll talk about this in the morning, yea? For now just get some rest." Steve spoke, and he wrapped his arms around you from behind.

You felt hot tears trickle down your face.

"Okay."

#stucky x reader #bucky barnes #steve rogers #stucky #captain america #marvel #winter soldier #the winter soldier #mafia stucky x reader #mafia!stucky x spiderman!reader

[vigilskeep]

is it just me or is the justification for hawke helping meredith annul the gallows completely… non-existent? i try and try to figure out why hawke would think killing all the mages for something anders openly did himself was the right decision and i always come up blank. only a really sadistic, mage-hating hawke would be okay with it. the whole annulment is so insane and senseless to me. is it just me who thinks this, or would other fans agree?

for roleplay purposes, i think there are a few mindsets you can work with beyond hawke just being foundationally comically evil. here’s a couple suggestions off the top of my head:

they believe that an annulment will sate the templars and the common people, containing the violence to kirkwall in one bloody stroke rather than causing widespread retribution across thedas

they have fought tooth and nail for their place in kirkwall for seven years and they are ultimately not willing to sacrifice it and be a refugee again, no matter what they have to do. i think it’s interesting to consider how da2 is framed and advertised as a rise-to-power game, and the crux of siding with the mages is giving all that up, whereas you can only finish your climb to the top by siding with the templars

they believe having a voice on the “winning side” is the only way they can save themself (if a mage) or their sister (if bethany is a circle mage) from meredith’s wrath. they are unwilling to risk their lives and their friends’ lives fighting for what they see as a doomed cause

for a mage hawke, a desperate desire to believe that they can be a mage who is “different” and cut themselves off from the rest, and if they have previously supported the templars, a kind of sunk cost fallacy where what they’ve done has to be worth it

for a non-mage hawke, deep-seated bitterness that they were raised for this fight, that they are expected to die for this when magic has never done anything for them but take everything they have

i think hawke is a really difficult protagonist to play pro templar because the game places you into a position where you and your family’s existence, and that of companions you have no choice but to pick up, is inherently an act of defiance against the templars. ser wesley makes that clear from the start of the game. it’s illegal for you to exist freely, and there is never any option to do what the templars require, because it would completely end your ability to act as hawke. that’s a game limitation but there’s something to be said for that as a thematic comment, as well. persecutors can put down their weapons and go home, but the only way to escape being the enemy of people who want you dead for what you are is to stop existing. there’s a reason meredith will always turn on you no matter what, beyond just wanting everyone to have that boss fight. there’s a reason writers have talked about regretting that for orsino but not for her, and there’s a reason she’s (iirc? lmao) always the climactic fight and ultimate enemy that comes last, whoever you side with

there’s no morally justifiable reason for anyone to annul a circle, full stop. it’s incredibly evil, inarguably. but real people do evil things. obviously exploring a character like that is not for everyone as a game experience, but as a thought exercise i do think it’s worth recognising that people who enact atrocities aren’t somehow magically inherently soulless. populations who collectively commit the worst evils that humanity has ever seen don’t just, like, happen to have a higher concentration of evil than everyone else in a world. it’s a human behaviour we see committed constantly by people born as ordinary as you and me. and i do think that’s something we should be aware of, rather than falling into the trap of believing there’s something that, uh, inherently separates us from those people, because then we risk complacency and blindness, right, and thinking something must be fine because our people and our leaders would never do something like that. that got a little off track and philosophical. food for thought! it’s not like every templar who takes part in the annulment is somehow inhuman, is my point, and the fact that they follow those orders is really very human, if you compare them to, you know, any military force now or in history. it’s what happens. (as is resistance and compassion, before we get too bleak.) hawke is human, too, and even when presented with only one morally acceptable choice, may not always make it

uhh my point is i do think it can be done without hawke just being an irrational villain caricature who kills for fun, and it’s an rpg literally made for you to have those options, but it requires effort and creativity and grappling with what’s involved a bit. there’s a reason players overwhelmingly support the mages it’s not a surprising response to that choice at all

[filmbyjy]

THE MAFIA (on hold)

SUMMARY: 7 mafia bosses that came together to build various different hotels and boost economy. they all had one mission they wished to succeed in. join these boys in finding their target.

WARNINGS: there are warnings already added to each chapter. a friendly reminder that events in this series do not portray enhypen in real life. this is simply a fanfiction

NOTE: ahhhh we are finally here. so excited to show you guys this series. though heeseung’s was uploaded before my account was accidentally deleted😓 but idk if anyone really remembers it since it’s been soooo long. i’m still not done writing the next member😭😭 OH! forgot but I described enhypen as their blessed-cursed look and not the their scylla look in dimension:dilemma

YANG JUNGWON

READ HERE

mafia leader/enemy! fem reader x mafia leader! jungwon

jungwon was the one who started this whole operation/group but he wasn't the 'leader'

he has had enough of all the horrible people. reason? his family.

he wishes to take revenge in their place

jungwon and jake work hand in hand to track down the person they were looking for.

but then they stumbled against your profile…another mafia team? and they were being led by a girl?

ah right, you and jungwon go way back and have been fighting since. one wrong move and now you were locked in their basement, forced to spit out info you knew

spending time with him resulted in finding out you two were after the same person and as such you and enhypen gang decided to collaborate

LEE HEESEUNG

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innocent maid! reader x mafia! Heeseung

you were working at the hotel as a maid/cleaning lady

this hotel was also owned by the enhypen gang

what you didn’t know was this hotel held secrets and these secrets included…a illegal bidding and a casino underground.

stepping into the wrong area has somehow caused you to become a bidding possession which isn’t normal because who buys a person through bidding!

heeseung decides to ‘buy’ you and now you have to repay him by being his…wife?

follows some sort like the main character’s story from love 365 (a game) - mobster story. main character’s name is eisuke for those who have played the game

PARK JONGSEONG

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mafia daughter! reader x mafia! jay

notorious for his charming looks and smooth talking

you’d obviously be intrigued by him

you weren’t someone innocent as well when you’ve got an equally staining record written on your profile but jay found you attractive either ways.

yes, you did capture the jay park’s attention which was surprising for the other boys, jay does not fall for any simple girl

maybe it was your alluring aura

SIM JAEYUN

READ HERE

best friend! fem reader x tech nerd mafia! Jake

he was a little nerdy

wears glasses but his aura was…interesting

pretty interesting on how you met, you were his best friend

you helped the boys on missions and hang out with them

jake has always thought you were badass and as such has hid his feelings from you thinking he was too nerdy for your standard

but little did he know, you were infatuated by him

PARK SUNGHOON

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stranger! fem reader x mafia! sunghoon

though sunghoon wasn’t the leader of enhypen, he still was the one to make quick plans and decisions

he handles most of enhypen’s operations and attacks, he even has back up plans if it gets too…bloody

however, you were in a situation when it was you, an innocent bystander, who was kidnapped for your parent’s actions

should he really torture you if you weren’t the cause of the problem?

KIM SUNOO

READ HERE

innocent! fem reader x mafia! sunoo

honestly, when enhypen was formed there wasn’t much

sunoo did not have a specific job, he helped with jay and signing agreements with other mobsters, he helped jake with a little tech stuff, he helped jungwon with the data collecting and helped sunghoon and ni-ki on their small missions

but when enhypen started growing bigger in terms of rankings and business wise, he was assigned with a pretty important task

he handled the money, this money is used for their daily use and anything that was bought or sold would directly go to sunoo. he was the banker of enhypen, keeping track of the ins and outs of their money

you were a poor innocent girl who was kicked out of your house by your step-parents, without any food or money you roamed the streets and sleeping on side walks

sunoo finds you in a pretty bad condition and as such, brought you back to their home

eventually, you became part of their group and were now seeking revenge on your evil step-parents.

NISHIMURA RIKI

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classmate! fem reader x mafia! ni-ki

one would think ni-ki is too young to join the mafia but he had a reason for doing so

he was trained to do so and he took after his family who were all in shady business

actually the nishimura family and park (jay’s family) fund everything, that was how enhypen got their men

ni-ki was obviously still schooling and as such, he was forced to go to school in the morning and at night would do missions

you were ni-ki’s classmate who accidentally found out he was involved in the mafia and since you’ve interacted with ni-ki a few times…the other mobsters seem to have think you and ni-ki were dating

#enhypen mafia #enhypen #enhypen imagines #enhypen imagine #enhypen angst #enhypen fluff #enhypen x reader #enhypen x reader imagines #jungwon #jungwon imagines #jungwon imagine #jungwon angst #jungwon fluff #heeseung #heeseung imagines #heeseung imagine #heeseung angst #heeseung fluff #jay #jay imagines #jay imagine #jay angst #jay fluff #jake #jake imagines #jake imagine #jake angst #jake fluff #sunghoon #sunghoon imagines

[call-sign-shark]

Loose Cannon|| Arthur Shelby x Reader

Summary: The heatwave continues and you have an excellent --and illegal -- idea to refresh yourself... To Arthur's greatest despair. But let's be honest, your antics only make him fall harder for you || . Modern!Peaky AU Loose Cannon

Words: 4.2k

TW: language, mutual pinning, unresolved sexual tension, idiots in love, physical description of the MC, quick allusion to child abuse, no proofreading we die like John.

Notes: Each part is individual and can be read as one-shots in no particular order.

“I FUCKING HATE YOU!” A painful moan escaped from your quivering lips, your voice rendered croaky by all the effort. If your heart could break free from your ribcage it would have done it already but yet he was, drumming and agonizing in a prison of bones.

“Shut up and take it.” A low growl underlined by a light tremor of fatigue replied to you, its owner wiping the sweat from his eyes with the back of his hand as he kept on moving increasingly faster. The cacophony of his pulse hammering in his temples almost covered your complaints but, unfortunately for him, it wasn’t enough, and still heard you scream at him. Arthur should have known that you wouldn’t be docile.

“You’re torturing me!! I’ll sue you, Arthur Shelby!” Forced to pause between each word, you tried your best not to faint well aware that the soldier had no pity for you. He would continue what he was doing whether minding your consciousness. Why would he while you were the one who asked for it? All you wanted was for him to stop and yet he remained criminally deaf to all your supplications, “I can’t… I can’t anymore.” Your voice cracked.

“You wanted to do this with me so now yer going to assume your choice. Faster ey.” He ordered through gritted teeth, and the gravel in his voice made you crumble from inside.

“ It— It hurts. My legs are fucking shaking! Please stop! St—” You were about to keep whining when all came to a quite brutal halt. Indeed, this confusing chaos ended up with your face suddenly bumping against the soldier's chest. “Aouch!” You exclaimed, pushing yourself from him and ready to excoriate the fucker. “Couldn't you fucking warn me, bastard” You brought your hand to your nose and rubbed the pain away, your furious eyes shooting him a murderous look.

“And can’t ye stop fookin’ complaining? I told you that each afternoon I go for a run with Hannibal. You’ve spent all the morning begging to come with me and now that you’re here, ye do nothing but whine like a fookin' kid.” As Arthur lashed out his frustration on you, his chest rose and fell quickly for his lungs had troubled to understand he wasn’t running anymore. And despite his erratic breathing he still found enough air to scold you. Usually, you wouldn’t have minded his explosive anger but a particularly harsh night of nightmares and insomnia had turned you a bit overemotional today. While holding a bit of truth, his words still vexed you which resulted in you fleeing his eyes and crossing your arms on your tight chest.

“You don’t understand.” You mumbled, nervously chewing the inside of your cheek as your brain processed with forming a kind of explanation to offer him.

“And now she's sulking!” Arthur roared and rolled his eyes, losing the remnant of patience he had left. “Yer a fookin’ pain in the ass, that’s what you are ay. Go home if ye too tired to keep running, but I ain’t gonna change me habits for you.” An arrow through the heart would have been less painful. Your lips parted, willing to speak, but not a single coherent thing came out. You stuttered a very brief while before definitely giving up and the only thing you knew: being insolent.

“That’s not what I asked for!” You exclaimed, fists closed tights and blood boiling in your veins. Obviously, the corrosive effects of anger didn’t help. “You’re a bloody idiot, that’s all you are ay!” If there was one thing positive about this whole scene it was your perfect imitation of him.

“So what the fook d’ya want?!” His hoarse voice resounded so loud in the park that a few passersby couldn’t help but glance at you with curiosity. Lacking proper words, you ended up stomping your feet and screaming with frustration, hands pulling your own hair. The noises, the images, the smells in your head… They were all too much. Caught in a whirlwind of panic and anger, you would have given everything to be able to calmly explain that all you wanted was to be with him and not alone with your twisted thoughts, bad memories, and the faint voices in your head. Then, you would have proceeded to tell him that the only moment your mind was quiet was when he was by your side, as hard as it was to admit it. If it had been the case, everything would have been easier but no, and you hated yourself even more for all of this. Come on Rat, say it, you thought.

I just want to be with you, Arthur. Because it feels good when I'm with you. I might want to murder you sometimes but your presence is comforting to me. Please, let me stay by your side and protect me from myself.

But words remained stuck in your throat and all of it was because of a deep-rooted and still open wound you carried with you every day of your life. From the day Uncle Jack entered and destroyed it the only way you could express yourself was with violent emotional outbursts and tantrums, your body and mind still not recovering from the pain he had inflicted on you. And here was the reason why you were in the middle of the park sulking at Arthur Shelby after he had scolded you like an unruly kid.

Woof. Between the two of you sat the soldier's huge malinois, wondering why his master had stopped running and why everyone looked so angry. Curious, Hannibal stared at him with his dark beady eyes reflecting the sunlight. Then, his focus shifted to you before letting out a louder bark. In the end, what caught his attention the most was the girl's utter sadness he could sense. That was why he walked to her and gently bumped her legs with his head.

“What?!” The soldier barked back, his steel-blue eyes diving into the dog’s chocolate-brown irises, quite not believing that his own K9 had turned against him. Hannibal finally sat by your side and barked at Arthur again, and his antics brought a pause in all this senseless chaos.

“Listen...” You started, your free hand nervously spinning one of your long blue braids, “I’m sorry,” You finally mumbled, losing your slim fingers — which were wrapped with multicolor bandaids — in the beast's fur. The softness of his hair under your flesh sends you a wave of comfort. “Fucker." You added, for you couldn't address him without at least calling him names.

“Yeah.” Arthur sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose as if he wanted to stop his dawning headache — which was the case. At least you apologized and that was already a win. "Alright." He finally said with his thick Brummie accent, his muscles finally relaxing and the handsome features of his face softening, “Alright.” He repeated, running a hand in his scruffy beard as he looked for an idea to maybe make amend for how he had yelled at you in public. "I wasn’t feeling it today anyway. It's too bloody hot out 'here. Wanna get an ice cream instead?" He suggested, one brow raised. For once, you didn't need words to be understood for the way your eyes enlightened at the mention of the frozen treat had been more than enough for him to understand. Just like the sun coming after the storm, your lips curled in a faint smile.. A smile that made Arthur's anger vanish and his heart melt more than he was willing to admit.

Did you, two independent and tough adults, fight over ice cream's flavors? Absolutely yes.

"Pistachio and chocolate is THE banger."

"Suck my dick you unoriginal dumbass, lemon and raspberry is the best combo."

"No one fookin' likes lemon sorbet, dumb bitch. You're just being a weirdo."

"If I were you I would shut the fuck up right now because I'm about to smash my ice cream on your ugly face!"

"Oh yeah? Go ahead and I'll beat your fucking ass -- don't care if people see me, you bloody brat!"

It was the kind of heated conversation you had during the whole way home, to Hannibal's greatest despair. At one point, you even swore you had heard the dog sigh loudly, probably bored of your stupid fights. The beast had found hope when you almost tripped on your own feet and Arthur, with his sharp reflexes, had managed to grab you by the hand right before you hit the ground. With that little unfortunate event, he assessed that you were far too clumsy for your own good and that keeping your hands in his was the best way to avoid injury. The more minutes flew by, the more your fingers intertwined together. You finally reached home, reluctantly letting the soldier's large and calloused hand go. As he searched for his key, you simply stretched your body with your hands high and your body weight momentarily resting on your tiptoes, the intense temperatures of the heat waves had exhausted both of you.

"Arthur." You called him, something catching your attention nearby.

The soldier replied with an uninterested "hm" as he opened the door to let Hannibal rush inside before he finally looked at you from above a freckled shoulder. For a split second, he completely forgot that you were talking to him, far too hypnotized by the way sweat made your silky skin glow and how your bright blue braids danced in your back at each of your movements. Arthur couldn't lie to himself -- You were an otherworldly and unusual combination of beauty and chaos.

"Did you know that your neighbor owned such a big-ass pool?!" You exclaimed, your little fists on your hips and your broken-doll face adorned with an outraged pout.

"Hm, yes I did." He absentmindedly replied, too busy carefully observing your lean frame, which exuded a sense of boundless energy that perfectly matched with your vibrant and expressive powder-blue eyes, filled with a mischievous spark. From your grunge makeup and your colorful hair to your attractive body and the blue clouds tattooed along a whole arm, everything of you enticed him.

"Fucking cunt. It's a shame to have such a big swimming pool and not use it." You shook your head and pout, shifting your body weight on one leg more than on the other, hence making your seductive hips tilt. Arthur forced himself to look away -- it wouldn't be that hard if you weren't wearing the shortest shorts he had ever seen.

"Well, he's on vacation." He shrugged, "C'm'here Rat. I ain't your bloody door holder."

"Do you ever stop being grumpy?" You kicked a pebble with your combat boot in his direction.

"Do you ever stop being an annoying little shit?" His lips stretched in a carnivorous and teasing smile at your childish antics.

"Fuck you, Arthur." You retorted, laying a kiss on his jaw before disappearing inside the house.

Please do, he thought.

Just one night.

There was the exact wording he had used when you forced your presence in his bed two weeks ago, arguing that the only fan in the whole house was in this room. While your excuse could be believable, it didn’t explain why you ended up in his arms. So when you came back the night after and slipped under the thin sheet to snuggle up with him without uttering a single thing, Arthur told himself “Just another one”. But the heart was a strange creature and when it fell, it fell hard. Your surprising demonstration of affection was all it took for Arthur's mind to quickly forget about chasing you away, the idea gradually becoming unthinkable until he genuinely wondered how he managed to sleep without your presence next to him. From then an odd game of pretend settled between you and him: During the day you were fighting about the most ridiculous details, never missing a moment to get under the other’s skin, and yet, when the night came and the world turned silent, you found yourselves melting against each other, your lips brushing his neck to make him shiver and his nose buried in your vibrant hair to lured the demons of war away.

As Arthur woke up, his eyelids still heavy and his mind still foggy, he growled in dissatisfaction at the realization that you weren’t in his arms anymore. Maybe the heat had finally won, and his body temperature really kept you from sleeping? It was with this in mind that he stretched one arm, his hand patting the mattress. Not only he want to make sure you were still next to him, but he also already missed your touch. His fingers were met with empty sheets as they collided with the soft fabric. Blood immediately rushed through his entire body, adrenaline rattling against his every nerve just like it used to when his squad had to wake up to gunshots and bombs. For one second, Arthur couldn’t tell if he was in Birmingham or back to Iraq and somehow, he didn’t mind. Jumping from the bed and trying not to drown in his PTSD-induced paranoia, the soldier looked around him with haste, “Love?!” He called, rummaging through the room until the sight of the wide-open bedroom window made him freeze. After a few microseconds of complete panic, Arthur leaned over the window sill in a desperate attempt to see you and fortunately did. You were here, safe and sound in Small Heath. Far from death, maimed bodies, and agonizing soldiers. His shoulders dropped as he relaxed, watching you swimming in the neighbor’s pool. The information soon reached his brain: the neighbor’s pool? “Fuck me.” Arthur sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes at the thought of you trespassing the garden to take a midnight bath in his pool.

Unbelievable.

Wasting no more time, the soldier left the house without minding the fact he was wearing nothing more than his sweatpants. It wasn’t difficult for him to climb the fence and jump on the other side of it, right into the neighbor’s garden, considering how he had learned much more during his military training with the SAS. With both hands on his head, he roared “Are you fookin’ crazy?!” His steel blue eyes, whose color shone brighter under the glow of the pool’s lights, also noticed a familiar bottle in your hand, “Is it me or you’ve stolen me whisky? Jesus Christ, I’m going to drown you, you fucking disaster of a girl!” He looked so dramatic that you couldn’t help but giggle, his screams not impeding your little bathe. “LAUGHING AT ME FACE SHE IS!” This time Arthur, breathless with rage, was yelling so loud that the pale skin of his face had turned bright red.

"Sheeesh, calm down, you gonna pop an artery.” You swam closer to the edge of the pool, slightly lifting your body to cross your arms on the warm tiles. The way your two long blue braids danced behind you, waving like two water snakes, captivated his attention for a very short while. The soldier was about to retort something murderous when you cut him for a second time, “Why don’t you join me instead of making a fool of yourself eh? The house’s empty anyway.”

“You wish,” He exhaled slowly through the nose, his nostrils flaring as he tried to contain his boiling anger and not wake all the neighborhood up, “This ain’t fun, Rat. Get the fuck out of the pool right now.”

“Come and get me then.” You challenged him with a finger gun gesture.

“I don’t think you understand you stupid brat. Do you realize that what you’re doing is illegal?”

“Yeah.” You giggled.

“And that you could be in fookin’ trouble for it?”

“Yeaaaah!” You exclaimed, pale eyes shimmering with excitement and recklessness so childish it baffled the poor soldier. Taken aback by your behavior, Arthur blinked several time as he looked at you — Somehow he should have known that you weren’t going to obey him. After all, he could tell from your chapped lips and always bloody knees that you were everything but a nice little girl. No, you were an unhinged little shit and he liked it despite everything, “so? Do you really wanna catch me ‘cause I’m getting bored.”

“Okay, I’m done.” The soldier quickly took off his sweatpants to be in underwear and, with a nimbleness you didn’t suspect, dived into the pool. Engulfed by the water, Arthur had disappeared amidst the bluish light and the rippling tiles at the bottom of the pools. All you could see was a quick silhouette coming at you with what seemed to be the speed of a torpedo.

“Oh no, no, no!” Before you could do something, two large and calloused hands grabbed you by the hips and pulled you under the water, leaving you just the time time to take a deep inhale before getting swallowed by a chlorine tide. All your vision turned into a blur for a brief but intense second, chaos taking the form of confusing bubbles and foam until everything stopped. Reopening your eyes under the water, you found yourself transported in a parallel world in which a tranquil hush enveloped your senses. With each graceful stroke, you embraced the weightless sanctuary, finding solace in the quiet depths of the pool, where worries dissolved, and the rhythmic pulse of water echoed a soothing lullaby powerful enough to shut the insufferable screeching of both sickening memories and psychotic thoughts. Surprisingly enough, Arthur wasn’t there — or at least he wasn’t in sight. All you could see was an odd combination of bluish tiles and underwater spotlights that created a surprisingly serene and liminal landscape. It seemed like the cool water had the same calming effects upon the soldier, for when you turned around at the feeling of fingers gently brushing your ribs you were met with a playful smirk. Raising an eyebrow, you gently shove him before trying to escape several times but he inevitably caught you. A small bubble escaped from your lips as you tried not to laugh, amused by how Arthur made both of you slowly spin under the water, as a jolly sailor waltzing with her mermaid lover. With your bodies moving elegantly together, halfway between dancing and gently fighting, your fingers cupped his face. Despite the underwater hush, Arthur’s interrogation is visible through the way one of his eyebrows arched when he saw your face getting dangerously closer to his. Closer. Closer. Until your mouth finally crashed against his. Arthur’s eyes widened in shock, pupils suddenly dilating under the effect of adrenaline when the warmth of your mouth found his. The peck was brief, so brief he wondered if he hadn’t hallucinated it but it was enough for him to lose control of everything. His body softened, letting you a short moment to break free from his playful embrace. Offering a last wink, you trashed your legs to come back to the surface and took a deep inhale. As the warm air of the night filled your lungs, a strange state of calmness possessed you a with it followed a genuinely amused giggle at the remembering of Arthur’s surprised expression. The man broke from underwater a few seconds after you, quickly sliding his hair back with his hands before swimming to you, eyebrows knitted together and lips sewn tight in a thin line.

“What did ya do?” He rasped, his steady breathing rendered irregular for his heart raced in his chest. The taste of your sweet yet damaged lips was still tingling on his skin.

“What are you talking about?” You pouted even though you didn’t make a peculiar effort to hide your amusement. “Hey!” The complaint fell from your mouth when his strong arms wrapped around your waist to press your body against his. A wave of fire spread through your being.

“Do it again.” Arthur could barely believe he just said that and yet he did and now that it was too late, he decided to go for it and see what would happen. Taking advantage of your surprise, he nuzzled his face in the crook of your neck, his lips grazing the soft skin sprinkled with tiny droplets of water similar to translucent pearls engraved in your flesh. A delightful thrill crossed through your body as his beard scratched your skin -- A thrill that soon turned into a wave of heat that made you feel feverish.

“Do what?” Your fierce and loud voice was merely a whisper as your cheeks flushed red, as red as the blood simmering in your veins. You might have been slightly confused by the situation but your bandaged fingers seemed to know what to do when they lost themselves in his wet hair to slick it back with a tenderness you never knew you possessed.

“Kiss me.” The low rumble made your own soul quake. Punctuating his sentence with actions, the soldier's face left your neck to lean his forehead against yours. In this whirlwind of emotions and arousal, you batted your eyelashes while drowning in the dark blue of his eyes and wondered if they had always been this charming. What happened next none of you could tell for any thoughts left disappeared. Mouths grazed each other, the two of them timidly discovering the shape and details without daring to break the few inches remaining. Soft lips against chapped ones, and against all expectations the rougher pair was yours. How could such an unsufferable and brutal little minx like you feel so fragile in his scarred hands? A frail moan escaped from your mouth at the blissful sensation of the soldier's hips moving with yours at the water’s discretion and, for once, you weren't ashamed of it. With your underwear fabric sticking to your skin and bodies closely interlocked, you could both feel every intimate detail and shape, gently and sensually grinding against each other due to the flow... Or maybe the flow wasn't the cause and you were both actively asking for more, who knew? Arthur growled again, for even in the cold water of the pool the warmth between your legs made him weak and far too aware that you yearned for him.

"No, you kiss me first you coward." You tried to sound mean but your voice could produce nothing but an enamored tone.

"Ah, shut up Rat." Arthur softly bit your lower lip, trapping the juicy flesh between his teeth and pulling it a little bit. The taste of anticipation lingered in the air, mingling with the heady scent of perfume, chlorine, and the warmth of intertwined breaths.

"Go on then, shut me up..." And your wish became his command. His warm tongue gave a faint lick on your lower lips just to taste the water, almost too shyly for the man he was. Then a second one and a third, and as he did he kept his hands busy by slipping them under your panties. His large palms conquered your buttcheeks and then pressed on your flesh to bring your core closer to his until you could clearly feel how enthusiastic he was to have you so close. In reply, your fingers hung at the hem of his boxer, slightly pulling them down to disclose his V-line. In the secluded haven of the dimly lit swimming pool, the water's gentle caress enveloped both of you as you shared this moment suspended in time. Arthur's patience finally reached its limits and pressed his lips against yours for another chlorine kiss you were both eager to deepen. A kiss that felt like a car crash and still sounded like water lapping and the rhythmic beat of hearts. It could have been perfect if Arthur hadn't back up suddenly, eyes wide open at the sight of a car's headlight in the house's alley.

“Out of the pool, now!” He exclaimed, hauling himself from the water quickly to grab the bottle of whisky, then his pants before seizing your wrist to lift you from the pool.

"HOLY SHIT!" Adrenaline rushed through your body, momentarily shutting down everything except your flight instinct. That was how you both ended up dashing across the garden half-naked and completely soaked up. Fortunately enough, you both managed to climb the fence and lock yourselves into the house, banging the door so close that poor Hannibal jumped from the sofa and barked. Time stopped for a while, the two of you with your back leaning against the door and trying to catch your erratic breath, bodies dripping with water. A heavy silence floated in the corridor, only broken by the sound of your own heart drumming in your ears. And then, you heard it... It started with a little nervous giggle and then it became a loud and gravelly laughter. Despite the whole panic, you were soon infected by a fit of hilarity too, your aching heart drowning in a feeling you hadn't experienced in a long time: joy in its purest and most innocent form.

♠️ Any comment, review, reblog, or constructive criticism is welcome. Your reactions really motivate me and keep me alive, so please don't be shy. English is not my first language.

♠️ Tag list: @cljordan-imperium @1nterstellarcha0s @raincoffeeandfandoms @babaohhhriley @zablife

#arthur shelby #arthur shelby x reader #peaky blinders #Peaky blinders imagine #Arthur Shelby imagine #Arthur Shelby x you #arthur shelby x y/n #Paul Anderson #peaky blinders x reader #Peaky blinders fluff #peaky blinders fanfic #arthur shelby x oc

[soloorganaas]

Attachment

cw: child abuse, implied homophobia

It was Remus’s idea to try and get Harry the muggle way.

“Moony, why the fuck would Dumbledore listen to the bloody council? He got the fucking wizengamot to ignore Lily and James’s will!”

“We make such a fuss that it’s impossible to ignore,” Remus said calmly.

Sirius gaped at him, angry and uncomprehending.

“If we wind Harry into every layer of muggle bureaucracy there’ll be too much for the Ministry to obliviate.”

“I…” Sirius shook his head. “Okay, say that insane idea works, they’ll just fucking forge the legal documents or whatever and stop Harry going to us!” he said, his voice rising more hysterically. “Or they’ll physically stop us getting him - come on, Moony, they’re pretty much doing that already!”

“So we keep making a fuss until they can’t manipulate their way out of it!” Remus shouted. “Newspapers, breakfast shows, feed them a sob story!”

“He isn’t a bloody-”

“That’s not the point!”

“Yes it is the point!” yelled Sirius. “He’s ours! We shouldn’t have to go cry in a fucking newspaper when it’s no one else’s - he’s ours, Moony! He should be with us!”

Sirius was crying now, swiping angrily at his eyes and turning away from Remus as he sniffed. They stood at opposite ends of their small living room, chests heaving, with the helpless tragedy of it all hanging between them.

“I know,” Remus said, more quietly and bitterly. “I’m not - I’m just trying to think of how we can use this against him. Against Dumbledore.”

Sirius sniffed again, and looked round. “How do we - how do we even get the muggles involved?”

They started with the council, then the NSPCC. An investigation was launched against the Dursleys but it was too slow, too small. So they surveilled them almost day and night, taking covert photos and watching and waiting for anything they could take to the authorities.

Until one morning Sirius caught Petunia through the window slapping Harry round the cheek - and that was it.

Remus wouldn’t have tried to hold him back even if he could. Instead he jumped three steps ahead, following him inside to find the nearest phone and call the police whilst Sirius was brandishing his wand at two terrified muggles and grabbing a screaming baby.

The Ministry tried to intervene with Surrey County Council child protection, but Sirius and Remus were already one step ahead - Harry’s story was in the local papers, then the tabloids, then the Daily Prophet, running articles about how The Boy Who Lived had been abandoned with Lily Evans’s intolerant and backwards muggle sister. They wrote to every friend, every professor, everyone left from the war they could think of and told them to pass on the story too.

“We will need to consider other… arrangements,” Dumbledore said, when he no longer had any option but to concede. “For when threats to his safety much more serious than a challenging family return.”

Sirius’s jaw clenched, and he was half way to shouting before Remus’s hand on his leg anchored him down. “We are his guardians and we’ll be making the decisions on how to keep Harry safe,” he said coldly.

Dumbledore was silent, holding their gaze with impenetrable blue eyes. Then he nodded, just once, and he was gone.

They stood in front of the muggle judge a week later, clutching Harry whilst she surveyed them with a curious smile.

“I’ve evaluated the report from child services extensively, as well as the will left by Lily and James Potter, and I don’t see too many complications here. I do have a question though - you are both requesting to be legal guardians of Harry, correct?”

“Yes,” they replied simultaneously.

“And you are all co-habitating?”

Remus shifted uncomfortably.

“Yes,” Sirius said firmly.

The judge nodded, surveying them carefully. “You are aware, of course, that it’s illegal for a homosexual couple to jointly adopt a child?”

Sirius tensed, clutching Harry tightly.

“We’re both close friends of James and Lily,” Remus said, a small tremor running though his voice. “They entrusted Sirius, but he can’t - he can’t do this alone.”

The judge gave a small smile.

“One of my close friends from university left her husband taking her small child with her. She also needed… similar assistance, from me.”

The two of them held their breath, trying to discern the knowing glimmer in the judge’s eyes.

“You clearly have an immense attachment to Harry. And I am confident that you will both be excellent parents to him.”

@wolfstarmicrofic

#slightly more than micro today #wolfstar #wolfstar microfic #sirius black #remus lupin #Harry Potter #hp #fam: christmas gift

[drdemonprince]

genuine question, I get why blaming people who have just caught covid for it is some fucked up victim blaming bullshit, and highly analogous to shaming ppl who've gotten an STI, but is it okay to assign blame/responsibility to people who *give* others covid? it seems to me that just like with STIs (particularly HIV and HSV bc they're not curable) its your responsibility as like, a person who has sex and isn't a total asshole, to do a reasonably good job of knowing whether you have these things, and then either give people who might catch it from you the ability to consent knowing that, or only interact with people in such a way that transmission is highly unlikely. In other words, having or getting an infection is morally neutral, but failing to break the chain of transmission isn't, especially when that failure results from complete inaction/ignoring the problem, as opposed to *attempting* to break it and failing due to factors outside your control. I've seen people saying that beleiving this is the same as slut shaming people who get STIs, and tbh that seems ridiculous to me, but what do you think? is "if you have covid and pass it on to someone, especially by going around in public without a mask, you are morally responsible for the harm the disease causes them" incorrect/going to backfire in some way I'm not seeing? I do get how the same statement about HIV is not good, but also you can't give someone HIV by eating in the same restaurant, so it seems like there are some important differences.

The passage on moralizing HIV transmission in Sarah Schulman's book Conflict is Not Abuse is a real stand-out passage in an otherwise (to me) highly underwhelming tome -- because Schulman has been involved in AIDS activism since its early days and is very conversant in the laws that have been used to incarcerate gay men and others for having the virus, and for supposedly passing it along to other people.

We can philosophize all we want about how wrong it would be for a person to knowingly go about infecting other people, but when we're actually dealing with how such matters go in the real world, it's not a useful moral or practical question. How do we know that someone knows they have the virus? Do we consider a person morally culpable if they have the sniffles but brush it off, not realizing it's something more serious? What about an Autistic person or trauma survivor with alexithymia, who is not closely attuned with their body states? If I can walk around with a bleeding gash on my leg for hours or a bloody UTI and not know it, I can have a mild cold and not know it. Am I too blame for spreading the virus then? What about someone who does know they have COVID but has no legal protections in their workplace and no financial support and determines they have no choice but to do a shift at the grocery store, because otherwise they'll be fired and at risk of homelessness?

These might sound like extreme examples, but we're talking about collectively millions of people's everyday experiences here. If a person is at fault for any disease that they spread, what then? What logically follows from that declaration? Should we make knowing transmission illegal? We've already seen in history how such a policy is used to terrorize and oppress gay men. It's an impossible thing to enforce, because someone's knowledge state is impossible to fully know or surveil, especially when we're not, you know, providing tests to anyone in any kind of systematic way, and in fact our government and most of our employers are actively discouraging us from testing or knowing too much.

Of course, I doubt that you actually want any kind of legal policy like that very much. I'm certain what you are really asking about is what responsibilities we should reasonably expect individual people to hold. And the answer is, well, look at how they are holding them now! Clearly people do not have adequate support at the moment to even be cognizant of their status. It's not a useful question. It just isn't. If we were providing free tests every day at major public access points and legally protecting people's rights to call off sick whenever they did test positive, and paying them lost wages, then we could talk about people being irresponsible and knowingly spreading a disease out of malice or laziness. but we don't have any of that, so we can't.

The solution to a population failing to take the "right" actions is always to look at the external factors that makes taking the right action hard. And right now? Being responsible surrounding covid is very, very hard. We can condemn every person who spreads COVID (or HIV) to another person morally all we like, but it's not going to save lives, and it's going to harm a lot of vulnerable people in the process, so why do it? Why not instead ask ourselves what we can do as a society to help make it easier for a person to behave in pro-social ways?

[imaginejamesandsirius]

Can you write about James absolutely hating valentines day because it’s a day where he has to keep watching people try to woo Sirius... little did he know, Sirius only has eyes for him <333

Sirius is laughing. 

The audacity of that traitor, just laughing the laugh that’s supposed to be only for James to hear, because of something Luca—or was it Liam?—said. James knows he could’ve come up with something much better, something that would’ve made Sirius laugh even harder, then turn to him with those beautiful, glittering grey eyes and cheeks flushed from the cold and the alcohol and the joy.

But he can’t, obviously, because Liam the utter dipshit is taking over Sirius’ life. James and Sirius were supposed to restock on some of their pranking supplies that day while the rest of the student population were busy locking lips and celebrating at Puddifoot’s when the slimy git decided it would be a good idea to replace James in Sirius’ Valentine’s weekend plans. As if watching people make passes at Sirius wasn’t annoying enough already. And then stupid Sirius with his stupid face that James stupidly can’t say no to, decided to stupidly agree to a stupid date at Three Broomsticks.

James scowls harder, hoping the intensity of his glare could yank the tosser out of the seat that should’ve been his. All that happens is Luca taking Sirius’ amusement as a sign to inch closer, sliding his hand up his knee. And Sirius just smiles at him, all warm and inviting. James wants to throw up. Maybe he could even aim it at Liam and call it an accident. Even Sirius wouldn’t be nice enough to continue entertaining a bloke covered in vomit.

His train of thought is interrupted when someone bumps into him from behind. “What the bloody fuck,”  comes a muffled swear with a faint Welsh accent, telling James that it’s just Moony. Belatedly, he remembers that he’s under his cloak. “What—oh, don’t tell me, Merlin and Morgana, is that you under there, James?”

James pokes his head out and grins sheepishly at an exasperated Remus and a bemused Regulus. “Hello, kind sirs, how may I help you?”

“What are you doing here? And why the hell are you hiding?”

James sniffs. “Well, I would’ve been with Sirius, but seeing as I’m so unimportant that he replaced me, I’m bored. Also, I’m not hiding, I’m just preventing this beautiful heirloom from my ancestors from collecting dust.”

Regulus snickers. “The way that thing gets used, there’s no way it would collect dust, even without you using it to spy on my brother.”

“I’m not spying!” 

Remus hums, quickly looking around. “So you’re just creepily watching his date under your cloak so he doesn’t notice you?”

James sniffs. “I need to make sure my replacement meets my standards.” 

“Salazar’s saggy balls, you’re transparent as fuck. You ought to be ashamed,” Regulus says, dragging them to a secluded booth. He digs his feet under James’ arse for warmth.

“I'm sure I don’t know what you mean,” James replies hotly, poking Regulus in the ribs as retaliation.

Remus raises an eyebrow. “You mean you’re not jealous?”

“That’s exactly what I mean.”

“Really?” It should be illegal how Regulus could inflect so much emotion into a tiny word. He had no right making six letters sound so disbelieving. 

“I just want to spend time with my best friend, goddamnit, without a random blonde wanker hanging off of him. Why is that such a big deal?”

“Last I checked, I’m one of your best friends and you never mope around when I go on a date,” Remus remarks.

“First of all, you’re this close to getting removed from my list of best friends, and second, I like Regulus even more than I like you. There’s no need to mope because it’s Reggie. Louis or Liam or whatever is not Reg.”

“As flattering as that is, you still aren’t making any sense,” Regulus says. “If you’re not jealous, then why does it matter who he’s dating? S’not like they’re getting married.”

James, who had resumed glaring at Sirius’ table, swirls around. “You think they might get married?”  he nearly screeches. “There’s no fucking way I’ll let—”

Regulus and Remus each grab an arm to pin him down. “Nobody’s getting married, bloody hell, how can you still be in denial?” Remus grumbles. “You’re even worse than Sirius.”

“I’m going to pretend like I know what that means, only because the alternative is Sirius keeping secrets and I don’t like that,” James says, yanking his arms from their grasp. “I’m calm now, you don’t need to keep holding me.”

The moment the two sit down, James dives under the table and makes a run for it. Regulus nearly gets a hold of him, but James’ Quidditch reflexes are enough to pull away. 

Regulus turns to Remus, eyes wide. “Should we—” 

Remus pauses, then shakes his head. “Not our responsibility to talk sense into those two. Honestly, for two students at the top of the class, they can be such idiots sometimes.”

“Sometimes?”

“Okay, maybe a little more than that,” he concedes with a laugh. 

Regulus smiles. “Do you think they’ll finally confess?” he asks into the crook of Remus’ neck. 

Remus kisses his dark curls. “Not counting on it.”

“Hel-lo gentlemen,” James sing-songs as he squeezes into Sirius’ side of the booth, effectively blocking Luca’s hands from moving further up. “Nice day out, innit?”

“James Potter,” Sirius’ date greets with a smile that’s strained at the edges. 

“That’s me!” James says brightly. “So what’re we having today?”

“Prongs,” Sirius hisses under his breath. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Crashing your date,” James says. “Why?”

Sirius presses his eyes closed, breathes out, and then stands up. “I’m so sorry, Louis, to cut this short. If you’ll excuse us.” He pushes James out of the booth and drags him outside.

“What the hell, James?” Sirius asks, furious. He begins pacing back and forth, hands clenched at his sides. “I was enjoying my date. Why did you have to come and ruin everything?”

Something heavy falls to the pit of James’ stomach. “I’m sorry, I ruined everything?”

“Yes!” Sirius snaps. “You talk about Lily all the damn time, and now that you’re finally dating her, you decided you’d rather spend Valentine’s ruin my chances at having a nice boyfriend?”

James blinks. “I’m not—we’re not—we broke up weeks ago, Pads. And we were supposed to spend Valentine’s together.  Not with Lily or anyone else.”

Sirius pauses, taken aback. “Well, just because you don’t have a date doesn’t mean I can’t. We hang out all the time, why can’t I spend Valentine’s with someone I like? What’s wrong with me dating someone?”

“I don’t mind it when you date all those random birds,” James says, voice quiet. Nothing about this conversation is going as he expected, and he’s torn between equal amounts of anger and hurt. “I just don’t like Liam.” He doesn’t bring up the fact that up until now, he had thought that Sirius had liked spending time with him, preferred it even, to the company of others. He doesn’t bring up that he would rather spend time with Sirius than anyone else because it feels clingy when Sirius clearly doesn’t seem to share the same sentiment. 

“Louis,” Sirius corrects. “What, because he’s a bloke?”

James sputters. “What? No—it’s not—I don’t—Pads, you must know I don’t care about that.”

Sirius scoffs. “Then what is your problem?”

“Louis is,” James says. “I just don’t like him. I don’t want him to be dating you. I don’t want you dating him.  ”

“If it’s not because he’s a guy, then what is it?”

“I don’t know,” James replies miserably. He feels off-kilter and can’t get the right words to come out. “I just don’t know.”

“So it is  because he’s a bloke. There can't be any other reason why,” Sirius sneers, voice icy. James knows the Black’s ability to be cold and aloof remains in Sirius, but he never expected to be on the receiving end of it. It makes his thoughts screech to a halt. A lump forms in his throat, making it impossible to speak.

At James’ silence, Sirius laughs humorously. “Just great,” he spits out. “Of bloody course you’d be a fucking homophobe. As if the universe doesn’t hate me enough.” 

James opens his mouth to correct him, to tell him that that has never been and would never be an issue, that it’s something else but he just doesn’t know what. When he looks up, though, Sirius has already stormed off, leaving behind a cloud of confusion and hurt. 

“Remus told me I’d find you here,” Sirius says. He’s swaying on his heels by the door to the Room of Requirement, which currently looks like the Potters’ living room. He looks hesitant to enter but stubborn enough to not turn back. James turns to look at the dancing flames in the fireplace, knowing Sirius would see it as an invitation to come in.

“I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions too fast,” Sirius begins. “Or, well—I mean, I still would like to know why you don’t like Louis, but I didn’t mean to call you a homophobe.”

James doesn’t respond, taking some time to mull over his answer. Sirius sits cross-legged on the ground next to him, knees close enough to touch.

“Pan,” James blurts out. So much for coming up with a thoughtful response. Upon Sirius’ confused look, James clarifies, “I’m pan. Would be kinda stupid to be a homophobe, don’t you think?”

Sirius nods slowly, looking away for a moment and swallowing harshly. “Good for you. Um. That’s—that’s great. Obviously. That would be rather stupid, yeah.”

James looks at him carefully. “Erm, does that change things?”

“No!” Sirius exclaims. “Of course not! No, it’s just great. Now that we established that we’re both single and queer, I can finally take you to those Muggle pubs and hook you up with a gorgeous person of your dreams.” 

James turns away, knowing Sirius’ words are futile. Now that he’d had some time to think since the disaster of the morning, it was obvious why he felt so angry at seeing Sirius on a date. The person of his dreams wasn’t some stranger at a pub, but Sirius himself. He could imagine Regulus and Remus’ gloating faces when he told them. 

“That won’t help,” James says.  

“Maybe not, but as I always say, a good shag here and there can make life a lot better. Even Remy agrees with me now.”

James tries but fails not to think of Sirius in dim-lit alleys with handsome men on their knees. “Remy is a horny little werewolf who gets his back blown out by Reggie on the regular. Obviously now he thinks that’s the solution to everyone’s problems.”

Sirius stills. “Godric’s tits, James!” He summons a throw pillow from one of the sofas to hit James with. “I don’t want to think about what my baby brother does with his boyfriend—Merlin, gross, I need an Obliviate. Why the fuck would you mention that ?”

“You don’t seem to have a problem with them fucking when you’re asking them about it,” James teases. “You ask Regulus himself. Why is this worse?”

Sirius’ pale skin pinks immediately, which makes James’ stomach sink. “Because this is about Regulus and Remus,” he says, voice eerily steady. “When I ask, it’s just about Remus.”

“Oh,” James murmurs. “Oh, hell, I shouldn’t have brought that up. I know you said you’re over Moons, but—"

“Wait, no,” Sirius interrupts. He pushes himself onto his knees in front of James. “That’s not what I meant at all.” 

“Sure,” James says, standing up quickly. He doesn’t believe Sirius, of course, having caught him looking longingly at Remus one too many times whenever they hang out. There’s a tight feeling in his chest that’s not going away, this horrible jealous thing. He wants to hit Sirius and grab him and kiss him, and he wants to punch Remus too for good measure. He likes Remus, he loves him even, but fuck if it wouldn’t be nice if Sirius stopped wanting everyone but James for once. 

“He’s probably right,” James says after a while, Sirius still on the ground. The firelight dances off of Sirius’ handsome features, illuminating the slope of his nose and the downturn of his lips. 

“Obviously,” Sirius says after a beat, fixing him with a calculating look. He’s still blushing, but whether that’s from the heat or the memory of Remus, James isn’t sure. It makes James burn something fierce inside. 

“Sorry,” James says again, once he’s determined that it’s most likely because of Remus. “I know it must be hard, especially with your brother in the picture—”

“Fuck’s sake, Prongs, would you shut it about Moony,” Sirius says, smacking James’ thigh with the pillow again before grabbing his hands where they lay uselessly by his side. “I’m not into Remus anymore. That was years ago, and anyway, I’d never do that to Reg. Do you ever even listen to me?”

James shrugs, looking anywhere but at Sirius on his knees between his thighs in front of him. “You’re the one who still thought I was dating Lily.”

“I know you broke up, but I thought you’d be back together by now,” Sirius admits. “It’s just—you and Lily, I dunno, just work.  It always gave me hope, I think, to see how you two came to be friends. Like maybe I’ll also find someone I love who loves me that much someday.”

James wants to throttle him. Wants to yell at him that he already has someone who loves him, someone who knows him better than anyone else, someone who’s right there if only Sirius wanted him back. Instead, he blurts out, “What Lily and I have isn’t like you and me.” Realizing how that sounded, he quickly adds, “Or you and Remus.”

Sirius groans, letting his head fall onto James’ hip. James’ knees almost buckle at the warm breath on his legs. “You seem awfully insistent that I still fancy Remus when you’re the one who doesn’t like Evans anymore despite being so hung up about her for years. You could just, I dunno,  ask  me like a normal person.”

James jerks back, hating himself for the hurt expression flitting across Sirius’ face at the motion. Sirius blinks up at him for a moment, maintaining eye contact as he tilts his head curiously to study him. Then, seemingly after finding what he’s looking for, he leans forward to follow James’ motion. There’s a determined quirk at the corner of his mouth, but the tenseness in the set of his shoulders betrayed his nerves. 

“Wh—what do you mean?” James manages to ask, voice weak. Sirius rolls his eyes and smiles softly as he reaches out to curl a hand just above James’ knee.

“Jamie,” he says softly. “Jamie, Jamie, Jamie. You think too much, do you know?” His eyes are lit golden-bright, and James wants to kiss him. Then Sirius’ other hand finds the pillow he had hit James with before and places it under his knees. 

“What are you doing?” James breathes out. Sirius only shakes his head, pulling James closer and brushing his knuckles just above James’ waistband. He hitches up his shirt to expose a sliver of skin, then presses his lips just under James’ navel. 

“Fuck,” James gasps. He realises belatedly that his hands had come up to tangle in Sirius’ hair, gripping him in place. 

“You could’ve just asked me,” Sirius repeats, tongue slipping between his lips to wet them. James shudders. “Instead of using your cloak to spy on my date and be jealous and miserable all day.” His tongue darts out again, sliding hot and wet and perfect up the dark smattering of hair that leads down beneath James’ boxers.

“How—oh—how do you know?” James asks, mind a mess of scrambled thoughts as his world narrows down to Sirius and his slick tongue and clever fingers working his boxers down. He’s sure he’s hallucinating because the Sirius he knows likes men Remus and Louis, blokes who take up less space in a room, who are quieter and more thoughtful and don’t resort to petty things like sabotaging their best friend’s dates because they’re in love with said best friend. Sirius doesn’t like guys like him, who are selfish and hopeless and—

“Stop. Thinking.” Sirius emphasizes each word with a harsh swipe up his cock with his tongue. James whines, high-pitched and demanding, and Sirius smiles up at him. 

“You look so pretty like this, Prongs,” he whispers between sucks. James swallows. 

“Oh,” he gasps. “But you’re—oh, yes, fuck, you’re a natural at this—but you’re in love with—with Remus?” His words end up more of a question as Sirius tongues his slit, but Sirius gets the message and pulls away slightly, glowering. 

“For the love of Merlin and Morgana and all that is holy, would you shut up about Remus,” he tells him forcefully. James nods, unthinking, laser-focused on the line of spit between Sirius’ reddened lips and his dick. Sirius notices and his features soften, an indulgent smile on his face, and squeezes James’ fingers at his sides. 

“In case this doesn’t clarify things, James Fleamont Potter,” he says quietly. “James. Jamie. Prongs. My gorgeous, idiot best mate, my partner-in-crime. What the hell makes you think that there’s ever been anyone but you?”

James stiffens and pulls away. Sirius lets him take his time to gather his bearings. “Don’t joke about this, fuck, Si, if you’re joking—”

He shakes his head. “No. No, Prongs, this is it. I—I love you, okay?”

“For how long?” James rasps. His mind is whirling. 

“Does it matter?” At James’ insistent look, Sirius sighs and looks away. “Fourth year, I think, is when I knew for certain. But it started even before that.”

“You’ve loved me for this long?” James breathes. “Holy shit, Si.”

Sirius turns away, cheeks reddened. “Does it matter?”

James sits on the ground in front of him, taking his face into his hands. “Yes, it does, you bloody mutt. I thought you were in love with Remus this whole time.”

He shrugs. “That was just an excuse to hide that I was in love with you since I first knew loving blokes was a thing.”

“Damn,” James whispers. “Oh my god, Si, how did you manage? I only just realised how I feel about you today, and I already lost my composure, like, twenty times.”

Sirius laughs, and James feels something inside him settle into place. “Well, as a reward for my patience, can I continue what I started?” he asks, gesturing to James’ lap.

James smiles. “Sure,” he says. “As long as I get to return the favour. And first, I want to do this.” He takes his glasses off before turning Sirius’ face to his and tentatively pressing their lips together. He’s sure he’s never felt anything half as wonderful until Sirius wraps an arm around him and presses in close. And then he’s finally tasting Sirius, and can identify a hint of himself, and then his brain stops working. 

Sirius pulls away, after what could’ve been hours or minutes. James chases after him blindly, sparking a chuckle out of Sirius. “Prongs?”

“Yeah?”

“Happy Valentine’s Day.” When James looks up at him, he’s grinning cheekily. His eyes are sparkling and his cheeks are flushed, and James idly thinks, I made him look like this.  A surge of affection bubbles up in him, and he quickly places kisses all over Sirius’ face, prompting more laughter and kisses. 

“I love you,” he whispers into Sirius’ back, hours later when they’re both sated and sticky and riding the high of requited love. Sirius turns to face him, hair wild and face open. 

“I love you too, James,” he murmurs, and James feels giddy with the knowledge that Sirius was only in love with him, not Louis or Remus or all those other people he’d pulled in bars. That this was just for the two of them. James and Sirius, Sirius and James. As it always had been, and as it always should be.

#prongsfoot #bambibelle #james potter #sirius black #fanfic #background regulus/remus #filled #hogwarts time #no voldemort au #getting together #starlitmusings

[lauvwar-r]

04 from the start ⸝⸝ library date (gone wrong)

tw. . . minor mentions of blood (again)

beads of sweat (and perhaps tears) ran down your face as you stopped at the second floor of the library. while the ground floor was stockpiled with various books ranging from fiction to non fiction, the upper floor housed an idyllic study and reading space paired with a student-run coffee shop.

the air held an aromatic smell — smoky and earthy which complimented the overall rustic vibe of the place. although artifical, the books and plants that decorated the (what was once empty) shelves and rails suited the place too, capturing the classic academia aesthetic the council were going for. the perfect environment for talking shit about sampo (you're joking. you'd never do that to your best bud sampo... maybe).

unfortunately, you weren't in the mood for that right now because you swear — you were dying.

you wouldn't say you weren't athletic or anything but holy shit, with the way these stairs made you gasp and heave like you just ran a marathon, you'd start to think you were. like — couldn't the school at least afford those flat escalators used in airports and malls?

searching the area for your blonde 'boo-boo bear', you couldn't find him. ain't no way i just got played (dhmu im going home and never going to the library ever again- )

ah. never mind, he's at the table behind you. and man, did he look so cute when he was focused.

surprisingly, he was seated at a circular table a bit far from the others — your favourite spot. why? "so i can stalk geppie from afar obviously!" you once told your friends jokingly. in reality, it was for a totally different reason.

your eyes wandered back to the man in question. he was dead concentrated on his laptop, perhaps trying to fix the dumpter fire of a poster he produced. jaw tightening, he leaned backwards, an adorably annoyed sigh left him as he ran a hand through his messy, blonde locks which caused the silver necklace you gave him to jingle across his chest. god damn, he's so illegally fineeeee.

...but how'd he know that was you favourite spot?

"oh name? you alright?" he asked, finally noticing your struggling form against the railing.

why do i hear wedding bells?

"give me a sec... damn these stairs... im gunna manifest the downfall of whoever made them... " you huffed, shaking your fist like a senile old man.

"uh huh... i uh- wish you good luck on that," gepard replied, patting you on the shoulder stiffly. he's so awkward (i want him). "anyway, as promised, i have your favourite coffee at the table. let's start?"

"'course!" you cheered, thanking the man above for the absolute angel in front of you. but as you were about to grab your drink-

"well aren't we moving fast, huh?" you teased, "holding hands before marriage, geppie? technically not my hand but my wrist... but you know what i mean-"

"...why's your hand bloody?"

"h uh???"

looking down at your right hand, sure enough, it was covered in a liquid layer of crimson that dripped down your palm to your fingers. it seems you had clenched your hand too hard earlier when receiving gepard's text message in the music room, causing small punctures to appear on the palm of your hand.

"...woops?" you shrugged dismissively, "i'll ask a barista for a tissue or something- hey! where are we going? geppie?"

he looked... angry? kinda hot tho-

woah who said that??????

"the infirmary. you should at least wrap the cuts properly," he replied sternly, dragging you towards the exit of the library, your wrist still firmly in his hold. "plus," he started, "shouldn't we already be used to hand holding?"

MASTERLIST ⸝⸝ previous! ⸝⸝ next!

𑁤 sypnosis. despite claiming to be 'rizz master 3000' name has failed to ask out their crush and childhood best friend, gepard, for a few years (L). with this new wave of courage, will this lovestruck idiot be able to confess before gepard buys a house and adopts 3 cats and a bunny with someone else? (this is a joke. geppie will not be adopting 3 cats and a bunny).

notes. . . i actually planned to have this chapter be longer (more than 2x the length of this one) but it was getting too long :( so i apologise for the short chapter. next one will be the other half tho! (also written) so i hope you look forward to it <3 (edit: omg the fucking coffee?!?!?!)

. . .tags @520cafe , @kitsuxiv , @91ed0 , @iridescentsunsetwaters

#💐 ⸝⸝from the start𓂃⸼ #gepard landau #gepard x reader #hsr smau #hsr x reader #gepard smau #gepard x gender neutral reader #gepard x gn reader #gepard x you #hsr gepard #hsr x gn reader #hsr x you #hsr #hsr x gender neutral reader #honkai star rail x gender neutral reader #honkai star rail smau #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x you

[hughungrybear]

Thinking about the past episodes and reading fan theories in this site reminded me of two pertinent questions that the series have not answered yet:

1. Why does Tee's Uncle's picture in a headline of a newspaper (the one that White saw left on the kitchen benchtop)?

It is now established that the Uncle is a criminal who have no qualms in killing anybody that threatens to expose his illegal activities. He hit Mr Keng with a car when he rightfully suspected he was being investigated. He even have Non kidnapped and beaten to (almost) death because Phee's dad held a press conference revealing that Non is just another victim of an unnamed gang and not a master scammer. If that is the case, then how come he is headlining in a broadsheet just the same? Who exposed him? Is it Tee? (Because if it is, hello redemption arc?)

Edit: Well, sammie-lightwood-bane (I tried tagging, but for some reason their ID is not showing 😭) pointed out that the reason the Uncle is headlining because he is dead. Still, ordinary people's death does not normally grace a newspaper's front page unless it is a violent death. One of the surest ways to headline a death is if the one who passed away is (a) a celebrity/politician, (b) a pillar of the community, or (c) a well-known criminal. Also, how the fvck did he died and who killed him?

2. Aside from Mr Keng, Non, and Tee's Uncle (plus cohorts and maybe, the other person Mr Keng was talking on his mobile phone before he was ran over), nobody really knew what happened to Mr Keng that night at that shady restaurant. So, why did Jin hallucinated a bloody Mr Keng?

So far, the gang's hallucinations are rooted on things that are not that far off in their current reality. Por, Top, and Fluke are all carrying varying degrees of guilt when it comes to their treatment of Non, which (with the help of New's drugs) is literally haunting them.

But Jin. Jin is not being haunted by Non. His first hallucination is a bloodied Mr Keng - a person that nobody knows (outside the mafia's circle) has been fatally ran over by a freaking car. The official press release was Mr Keng and Non were seen riding in a bus and running away together. Alive and well. So, why would Jin's hallucination involve a Mr Keng in a condition that he should know nothing about?

🤔🤔🤔🤔

#dead friend forever #dff the series #dff tee #dff jin

[heavencanbeaprisontoo]

The Princess of Birmingham

{Prologue: Where Have You Been, Sallyanna Gray?}

Isiah x Sallyanna!OC

Notes: Written in the second-person/"you."

2.6k words Warnings: Use of the word g-psy, angst, language, references to illegal substances, spoilers for Series 4.

The year is 1925.

You have many names. The one that was given at birth is lost to you. All you know is what others have called you and what you’ve made up on your own. Some folks have called you “Sally,” most folks know to call you “Anna.” The police of Western Australia know you as “Birdie Boswell,” and the good folks of Barton & Davies’ Traveling Circus just call you “Birdie.” After escaping from St. Joseph’s, Barton & Davies had been your salvation. You had been only twelve at the time. A real pitiful looking thing. Half-starved and pinching pockets to stay alive. For taking you in to work instead of turning you in, you were forever grateful. 

Barton & Davies were a small circus, owning the train they used to get around. Much of your work involved cleaning up after the elephants and running booze to the clowns. After a few years, you got close to some of the performers. Like Madam Eudora, the fortuneteller. She was a total fraud but was good to you. Aside from Eudora you hung around the knife-thrower and his wife. They weren’t always good to you, but the circus was heaps better than wasting away in that bloody orphanage.

But it still wasn’t your home. Birmingham was. 

The air here is cold, and thick. It feels like you’re swimming on land is a strange forest made of stone and smoke. With wide eyes, you try to find something familiar here. This is your home, Birmingham. Where you were born. Where you were stolen from. It should feel good to be here, but all you feel is damp. You wish you had a fucking cigarette. 

You were taken away from your family when you were very small by people you can’t recall and for reasons that don’t matter to you. For as long as you can remember you’ve been consumed by this need to return home. To find your mother. You can’t remember her name, but you know her face. Dreams have painted her portrait to you every night. It was not until you stumbled across a specific newspaper that you knew what you dreamt of was accurate.

A story featuring one Mr. Thomas Shelby who had opened a children’s institute in his late wife’s name. He, along with his siblings, were depicted alongside Her. 

Your mother. 

Her face was quite small, as she was stood far from the main character of this play. Still, you knew her. You knew her the instant you saw her. For many nights before finding that news clipping, you saw her face in your dreams. This institute was in Birmingham, you knew you came from Birmingham. The nuns used to talk about it. They would whisper about how you came from gypsies there. To see something physical had given you your last push.

How you crossed from Australia back to the United Kingdom wasn’t precisely… legal. Not that you cared. All that mattered was that you made it here. Home was the closest it had been in fifteen years. Still, it would’ve been nice if someone had warned you how cold and wet Birmingham was. Your thin, tattered coat was made to keep out sand and dirt… not the cold. The boots you wore were thinning in the soles and were letting in rainwater with each step. Everything you owned was in a rucksack hanging over your shoulder. You tried to ask the locals if they knew where “Mrs. Gray,” lived. No one would give you a straight answer. One old woman pushed her bony finger to your chest and told you, “Don’t seek that woman, the whole family is troubled. The lot of them.”

Hardly the homecoming you dreamed of as a little girl.

For the better part of the day, all you’ve done is wear out the soles of your boots stomping around Birmingham. You trudged up and down the streets like one of those private detectives Madam Eudora liked to read. Searching for some trace of her. The woman who matched the photo in your coat pocket. It was well-traveled, that piece of newspaper. Folded into a tight square with soft, frayed creases from being opened again and again. You’d completely forgotten how many people there were in Birmingham. On a map, Australia was massive compared to the United Kingdom. Finding one woman in such a small place had seemed simple. You had no money to pay for a bed or buy a meal. No attempts to save money were made on your end. All thought had been to simply get here. 

“Dedicated and steadfast, but short-sighted and prone to recklessness,” those had been Sister Moore’s words on you. A painfully accurate description. She was the only nun you really liked. 

A chill ran down your spine and your dark curls stuck to your rain-soaked face. She was here. She had to be. Night fell fast, which only deepened the cold that clung to you now. Wrapping your arms around yourself, you passed by a man on a ladder. He was lighting a streetlamp. You asked him if he knew the way to Mrs. Gray’s house, all he did was give a subtle nod further up the road. When you tried to gain better direction, he took down his ladder and walked off as if you’d said nothing at all. With no better leads, you walked on. The further down you went, the nicer the houses got. The neighborhood you now found yourself in seemed wealthy. Two-story houses with shiny Fords parked all along the roads. A part of you wondered if this was the right spot to look. You came from gypsies, after all. Then again, your mother was dressed in a fine gown next to some widow who had enough money to fund an entire institution. 

Headlights came toward you, blinding you for a moment as a well-dressed couple drove past you. This car slowed; the driver gawked at you in your weathered clothes. It was not a look you were shocked or unused to seeing, but you didn’t let it slide without a quick, “Bugger off then!” Which made the car speed up straight after. A groan left you, can’t escape that look anywhere, can you? 

You come upon one house with the gutter coming loose from it. When your eyes fall on this one slight imperfection, it stops you. It wasn’t just an imperfect house. It was the only imperfect house. All others were completely identical, but not this one. There’s a pull here. A feeling that only grows as the door to this house opens. A woman with dark bobbed hair in a long burgundy coat stepped out. She lets the door shut behind her as she fishes through her purse, producing a cigarette and a lighter.  

With a flick, she lights that cigarette. Your breath catches in your throat. From that one, brief flash, you see her face. You know her face. The distance between seeing her and recognizing her does not exist. She lets out a stream of pale grey cigarette smoke from between bright red lips into the night air. It is her. Your mother. Standing in fine clothes and sparkling jewelry, a fur draped over her shoulders and a castle of brick behind her. 

Every nerve in your body is screaming, you can’t breathe, you can’t think. All you can do is open your mouth and shout, “Mrs. Gray!” Your voice seemed to echo in this near-empty street. The woman looked up quickly, her had moving over her purse. Though all that separates you is a road, it feels like a river. Light from the streetlamp illuminates you like a spotlight.

Her hand stays over her purse, she says nothing. Your chest can hardly hold your pounding heart, you shout again, “Mrs. Gray, I want to talk to you!”

Your mother’s head snaps to you. She stays frozen as the photograph in your pocket as you repeat yourself. Heart racing, you will your feet to move, and they obey, taking you into the road. Crossing over. She speaks, finally, a startled utterance of, “Who wants to speak with Polly Gray?”

Hands raised, you cried, “I know this is strange, but---“

With a brutal shove, the door behind your mother flew open. Out came a man with broad shoulders and a dark suitcoat. He charged to you, forcing you to scramble back to the sidewalk. He pointed at you, bellowing “This is private fucking property!” 

“Michael!”

The man waved her off saying, “Get back inside.” She did not obey.

You tried to step around the younger man, “Mrs. Gray!”  The stranger’s nostrils flared, and he caught you by your shoulders. The hold on you was firm but unpainful. Now standing under the streetlamp with you, the man’s face was clearer. His hair was a light brown, it was cut cleanly and close to his head. He was cleanshaven with a wide jaw and a strong brow, young. This man couldn’t have been much older than you. 

He seemed to take your stillness for compliance as he spoke to you in an even tone, “Polly Gray isn’t taking any more visitors and isn’t giving any handouts after tonight. You tell your people to stay away, by order of the Peaky Blinders, you understand me?”

By order of the peaky what now? God, this bloke didn’t even seem that sure of what he said either! Well, this wouldn’t be the first time someone threatened you with words you didn’t understand. His pupils were almost raking up his entire iris, even under the streetlamp. Could be some good Tokyo. The smart thing to do would be to proceed carefully, and coolly. He could be dangerous and not in his right mind. That indeed would be the better thing to do. 

Anyway, you shoved him with both hands and said, “Oi, fuck off mate! This’s got nothin’ to do with you.” From over his shoulder, you shouted again, “I just need a word!“

Again, the young man grabbed you, rougher this time. He gripped you by the fur-covered lapels of your coat. The young man lifted you to your tiptoes, “Get the fuck out of here!” Spittle flicked from his lips to your cheek. You kicked at his knees and gripped his wrists tight. All your attention was focused on the woman who was still making her way into her home. Once more, you shouted, “I need to talk to you! I need to, because… because you’re my mother!”

She stood frozen in the open doorway, a hand over her mouth. Her form disappeared as your feet fully touched the ground. The young brute had dropped you. Now he just stared at you, looking boyish now in his open shock. His shock boiled into a greater rage, “How dare you—”

“Michael, let me see her.”

Heels clicked against wet stone, quicker with each second. The young man, Michael, moved aside. You noted a visible vein throbbing on his temple. He started to speak, and she hushed him with a quick gesture. She was standing in the light now. With you. She was only slightly taller than you, her hair and eyes were a dark brown. Just like yours. Her cheekbones were high and very pronounced. Deep brown eyes took you in from head to toe, her expression unreadable, “You say you want to talk to me, because I’m your mother?”

Swallowing hard, you reply, “I do. And you are. I’m certain.”

She shuts her eyes. Wincing. Michael sighs deeply beside her. He turns his back to you. Your mother opens her eyes again, now dewy with unshed tears clinging to her lashes. Her expression remains ambiguous and her voice cold as she says, “My daughter died, she told me so herself. If what I know is wrong, you had better be good at convincing me so.”

“I told you that I…” was she mad? You shook your head, “Well, you’re wrong because you’re wrong. I’m alive, and I’m here. All I’ve done is try to come home.”

Your mother crosses her arms over her chest and winces again. She didn’t believe you. All this time, all these years, and she just didn’t believe you? Not once had this outcome crossed your mind. Especially not that you had somehow told her you were dead. You briefly pondered the odds of that happening. Was she insane, or you? She takes a long drag of her cigarette, not daring to look at you, “I have already grieved the loss of my girl. I don’t know who you are or why you’ve come here, but you should go back.”

“Yes, you do, you know me,” you spat “I’m Sally!”

Her already arched brows climbed higher up her forehead, “Sally?”

“I’m Sally… or I might be Anna,” you cringed slightly and started to twirl one of your thick curls around your finger. You carried on “I’ve been called both before. Not too fond of being called just Sally. Not sure why I gave that one first. Anna sounds classier but I hate when people call me "Annie." Don’t hardly know how to even introduce myself to strangers, I just say to call me “Birdie.” I gave the fake name of Birdie Boswell to the cops once and I still—"

A warm hand closed around your hand, making you release the curl in between your fingers. She was looking at you, hard this time. Different. Whatever you had said, or done, it had shaken her. What felt like seconds to you had been longer to her. 

“I know your name,” her other hand came up to cup your cheek “your name is Sallyanna Gray.”

A scoff sounded off beside you, your mother hissed a quick, “Michael.” The man in question didn’t spare you a glance. He stormed right back inside, like a bull returning to his pen. She started again, “I saw your face in a hangman’s loop. Just as it is now. Like looking through a window. I… I thought you were welcoming me to the other side. Yet here you are. And it is you. It is.” 

You didn’t know you were crying until her thumb brushed a tear aside, “It is. I’m Sallyanna Gray.” The name felt good to speak. Felt right. 

All composure and dignity crumbled for her then. Her arms came around you, her cigarette left dying on the sidewalk. She held you tight. A barely restrained sob shaking her as you returned the embrace. There was so much to tell you. So much lost time to make up. So many questions. Where have you been? How did you find her? Why were you so thin and filthy? Who gave Tommy that false death report? Or did Tommy—

She sighed, parting just enough to look into your eyes. You still twirled your hair. You still had freckles. You still ramble when you’re nervous. And you knew the name Birdie, somehow. A sign from her own mother? Perhaps. All that mattered was that it was you. Polly smiled, despite all that she knew would come after this moment. She could at least enjoy this. Holding you again after all these years. The cold kept her from keeping you to that spot, she could feel you shivering. Polly squeezed your shoulders once, “My God, you’re soaked to the bone. Come inside before you freeze, we can talk after you put on something dry.”

All you could do was nod, sniffling as you wiped your face with your palms. You took one step before she stopped you. She cleared her throat, blinking back another bout of tears.

“Take my hand, I’d like to be the one to bring you home.”

Your smiled and said, “I would like that.”

She laced her fingers with yours and exhaled deeply before forcing a conversational tone. Your mother asked you the question that be repeated many, many times after this night:

“So, where have you been Sallyanna Gray?”

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders oc #peaky blinders x oc #sallyanna gray #Sallyanna Gray x Isiah Jesus #isiah jesus #isaiah jesus #peaky blinders x you

[haveyouseenthisskeleton]

Skeleton's kid runs up to Skeleton, and excitedly tells them that they want to show them something "really really really cool!!!"

The kid proceeds to take them outside, and promptly summons a Gaster Blaster the size of a house.

Undertale Sans - Uh oh. He carefully says that it's nice and that you can make it disappear because he is terrified that the house will get atomized if you fire it. He then proceeds to run to Alphys so they can find a way to nerf the kid's magic so he doesn't explode the house because of a strong feeling, please. He thought Papyrus' magic was bad but you're a whole another level. He's so anxious.

Undertale Papyrus - Hum... Well, he should have expected it since his own magic is quite wild, but... Well. Even for him, who makes bones the size of a building, that's something. He wonders if he should talk to Sans about this. That's probably bad. But also that's so freaking cool. Aunt Undyne is going to flip hard.

Underswap Sans - D: What the hell. You can't do that. That's illegal. He's the one with cool magic, you're not supposed to be cooler than him. He's not jealous or anything. But more importantly, can he ride it? He needs to ride your attack. Please let him, he's begging you.

Underswap Papyrus - The amount of work he will have to do to fix this is filling him with so much dread he passes out on the floor. When he wakes up, he calls Undyne to beg her for help because he can't do this.

Underfell Sans - "holy bloody fucking shit". And you don't even have LV???? How the hell is that possible? Does he have boss monster genes he ignores? He doesn't understand how your attack can be this big. It's quite awesome but also quite worrying, he won't lie. You're still a kid and your magic is supposed to grow for still a few years. He's scared to see how powerful you will get.

Underfell Papyrus - He whistles, impressed. Clearly, this is the result of his expert fatherhood and training. He knew it would be worth it in the end. He's very proud of his kid and seems nothing wrong with that. All he sees is that his kid is going to kick Undyne's ass in a few years and that he will be there to laugh at her face when it finally happens.

Horrortale Sans - Uh. Is this normal? He's not sure anymore what is and what's not. He shrugs and pets his kid on the head. That's quite a nice job, very impressive. Please don't use it in the house or Uncle Willow will lecture you to death for sure though.

Horrortale Papyrus - Mr. Safety First is having a mental breakdown right now. How is he supposed to help his kid to control his magic better when after a week only you're doing this to him? Willow wants to cry. He has no idea what to do to fix this. It's incredibly dangerous for yourself, the house and the farm too. Welp. That's it. He's calling Toriel. That's out of his jurisdiction.

Swapfell Sans - He laughs hysterically. This is AWESOME. He's ecstatic. Rus magic was quite weak and he got bored teaching him how to use it. However yours? That's a real challenge. He's so excited! This is the best gift of his life. The kid wonders if they should take it as a compliment or not.

Swapfell Papyrus - Wow. Yep. Nope. That's not his problem. He didn't sign for this. If you destroy something, he's not here lol. He gently pushes you towards his brother and lets him take care of your magic training. There's no way he can help with this. His magic is too weak to restrain yours anyway, so he can't be a good teacher even if he wanted to.

Fellswap Gold Sans - He's quite speechless, even the kid is shocked. Wine is never speechless, he always has something to say or to criticize. That's quite a first. He never expected that. Welp. He's going to have quite some work to keep your magic controlled. Well done, your training starts the new day. At 4 a.m. You regret your decision to show him.

Fellswap Gold Papyrus - He throws himself on the floor and curls up to protect his head instinctively. Uh. The kid is staring. Welp, this is awkward. There's a long silence. Then Coffee shakily says that it's nice. But he's not taking care of this. As soon as the kid is gone, he's running to his brother to ask for help. He has no idea what to do about that.

#undertale #underswap #underfell #horrortale #swapfell #fellswap gold #sans #papyrus #undertale ask blog #undertale asks #undertale imagines #undertale headcanons

[deusvervewrites]

Homeroom Teacher Nedzu x Homeroom Teacher Miruko AU:

Rumi needs a teaching license before she can be a teacher, so she starts as a TA. And who better to show her the ropes than Nezu?

Just for fun (or rather to give Vlad King a chance for 1-B), Aizawa is also a homeroom teacher for 1-B.

x Red Flag AU:

Both Nezu (from seeing the school records) and Miruko (from hearing their interaction) figures out that Bakugou is Izuku's bully and places him in 1-B instead. (I'd suggest swapping him with Kendo)

Either that or they'll double down on him immediately from the get go.

x Save Eri Speedrun AU:

Nezu: "Should we let our kits go for work studies?" (the 2 animal teachers refered to 1-A as their kits and it stuck, emotional bonds and all. They are the parents and Inui is the uncle)

Miruko: "Aren't I still a Pro Hero?" *feral grin*

Nezu and Rumi swap teacher roles during Work Studies, and she decided to take the whole class while Nezu tags along to see what she does.

The first day is the illegal underground fighting ring from my ask, she (and Nezu) basically threatened to let the kids join or she'll bust them. Oh, Rappa is still there. Tiger Bunny comes back to settle the promise to fight Rappa. (The kits, who are all some measure of feral at this point, just cheer from the sidelines.)

As the class leaves the area with Miruko and Rappa (already planning their next fight), Eri runs into them. Rumi immediately goes 'Feral Mom mode' and Rappa doesn't like that his boss is torturing a kid and quits on the spot and helps everyone get away.

x Bloody Bullet AU:

Himiko: "Give Eri back!"

Rumi: "One feral animal to another, why don't you join us and help take care of Eri? You clearly care for her more than Overhaul."

Himiko: "...Keep talking."

Nezu: "Rumi, have you considered being a school counselor/therapist as well?"

(If Bakugou was expelled/transfered and not replaced, welcome the new feral kit.)

*Nezu is laughing at the chaos. And it's only the first day. He already has 2 people to get information from and the source of Overhaul's Quirk nullifying bullets. Meanwhile, what did Nighteye accomplish in his time investigating them for far longer seems like nothing in comparison.*

What a school year*

*It's like halfway through at most

#asks #homeroom teacher miruko au #red flag au #save eri speedrun au #bloody bullet au #homeroom teacher nedzu au

[dewitty1]

Fic Recs Wrap Up - May 2023(ノﾟ∀ﾟ)ノ⌒･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*☆

Secret Love Song by Writcraft @writcraft

If there’s one thing Draco’s certain about, it’s that Harry Potter’s hiding something. When he gets to the bottom of Harry’s closely guarded secret, a flippant solution brings them closer together and forces Harry to confront his past. Rec Post

Back Where We Began by Cassiara @cassiaratheslytherpuff

Harry has to go back to Hogwarts to get his NEWTs, and being well into his twenties he figures the course will pass without too much trouble. Enter Snape’s old Potions book, a bonding spell, and Draco Malfoy. Rec Post

Like Diamonds We Are Cut With Our Own Dust by raitala @raitala

Draco has borne the mark of the Dark Lord for over ten years. It is familiar to him, but he pays the price for it every day, and Harry has noticed.

Featuring artwork by @alekina Rec Post

Fearful Trill by Vukovich @vukovich

Harry should have come out and met someone when he was younger. He should have seen a doctor about the pain in his hip while youth was still on his side. Now, he’s made his peace with dying young, but maybe not with dying alone. Draco should have got the Kiss. He should have died in Azkaban decades ago. Instead, guards throw him in a Ministry lift with a dying man who could stand to live a little. Rec Post

Unexpectancy (Into you) by PollyWeasley @polly-weasley

Draco supposed that starting Eighth Year in Hogwarts fucking Harry Potter was a good start. Both of them were in the closet, for a lack of better words, and both of them were having fun with each other, no bonds attached, no uncomfortable talks, no need to tell their friends whatsoever. It was good to both of them, especially when you considered that the Wizarding World was stupidly ignorant and homophobic, and Draco was already suffering enough because he looked like he was gay. It was better just to keep it a secret. But when Draco suddenly finds out he ended up pregnant of Potter’s child, there was nothing he could do except face the world and reveal his secret. Would Potter accept to reveal his, too, for the sake of this new life? Rec Post

you look so fine by michi_thekiller 

In which Draco is a Veela and Harry is his mate.

“When Draco Malfoy turned 16 years old, he thought he’d make a night of it. He went to a club, met a bloke, and then promptly took himself next door pay-by-the-hour hotel, determined to get the most bang for the Galleon, in a manner of speaking.

Not even one full Galleon into it, Draco Malfoy lost his virginity.

It all went just how he’d always imagined it, and it was, all in all, a bloody good time.

Waking up the next morning, however, next to a bloody ribcage and a man’s intestines strewn all over the bed like thick wet streamers - that was a bloody bad time.” Rec Post

Here Be Dragons by birdsofshore

Harry doesn’t want to waste his time investigating illegal dragonhide trading, whether it involves a fetish club in Knockturn Alley or visiting a remote island in Wales. Why the bloody hell does Malfoy always have to be up to something? Rec Post

Like a Star Across My Sky by InsertAuthorHere @unmistakablyoatmeal, lq_traintracks (lumosed_quill) @lqtraintracks

When Draco discovers Harry Potter is his new landlord, he’s convinced he’s going to lose his shop. When Harry discovers Draco Malfoy’s been invited on his friends’ annual ski trip, he’s certain his holiday is ruined. This is the story about how neither one of them is right. Rec Post

Once a Malfoy by enchanted_jae

Months after their divorce, Draco requests a huge favor from Harry. Rec Post

Here are a few more fics I've read recently that y'all might like to check out as well! (ﾉ^ヮ^)ﾉ*:・ﾟ✧

New Message by Mosrael @mosrael

Harry Potter has a crush on his roommate--like, a BIG one--but he can't say anything to him, can he?! Naturally, he does what any early 2000s young adult would do and asks the internet for help, and gets a lot more back than he expected.

Life skills outside the curriculum by Endrina

It was "Witch Weekly", of all people and organizations, the first to notice and comment on The Boy Who Lived’s absence from the ranks of first years at Hogwarts. The magazine went on to elucubrate that the young hero was studying at a foreign school, possibly Beauxbatons or Holzschuhkäse.

This Ain't the Garden of Eden by Romaine@romaine2424

In 2020, Hit Wizard Harry is starting to enjoy his life. He’s divorced, and no longer Head Auror. His biggest project these days is trying to remodel 12 Grimmauld Place for him and the kids.

Draco Malfoy is recovering from his wife’s death. But is happy with his Ministry position as Temporary Head of the Department of Intoxicating Substances, and with his son who he adores.

This all changes quickly when Minister Shacklebolt decides not to run for another term. The assumption is that 'all is well' in the British Magical world, and that Hermione Granger-Weasley will easily be voted in as the next Minister for Magic. However, Draco knows better. He knows she has a strong competitor who is wooing those who live in Knockturn. And if he wins, the Ministry, and all that has been accomplished the previous twenty odd years, will be destroyed.

Still the pine-woods scent the moon by fluxweed @fluxweeed

You’ve learned to ignore the stench of perpetual horniness that Harry—twenty years old and finally free—exudes. That is, until you walk into the kitchen of Grimmauld Place and find him naked, spread over the table, with Draco Malfoy pounding into him from behind.

In Bad Faith by fencer_x, SoldSeparately Art by @secretartlair with fic written by @fencer-x

Draco Malfoy just can’t catch a break. Between the magical curse upon his bloodline, his hair misbehaving, and that strange pit full of demons in his basement that he had absolutely nothing to do with, it just hasn’t been a banner year for him. Luckily, Harry Potter is here to make things ten times worse.

Anatomy of a Wolf Heart by orphan_account

MALFOY HEIR FOUND ALIVE IN WEREWOLF FIGHTING RING

Three years ago at the tragic Battle that freed our great Wizarding World from the grip of a megalomaniac Dark Wizard, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, our world lost many Witches and Wizards. Among the dead and missing was Draco Malfoy, the only son of notorious Death Eaters Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, both of whom volunteered their home for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named to use as a headquarters. Sources have confirmed that the young Malfoy took a vow to follow in his parents footsteps by taking the Dark Mark.

Inside sources have uncovered that the Malfoy heir has been found alive. Aurors recently went undercover to expose a fighting ring involving illegal potions and unregistered werewolves. Among those rescued was Draco Malfoy.

( •ॢ◡-ॢ)-♡ I hope you enjoy these fics as much as I have! Happy reading, y’all! xoxo Carey  (◍•ᴗ•◍)♡ ✧*💜💙💚💛❤💗💕💖

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