#that's why fawkes is orange

[saintsenara]

Any favourite Irish headcanons for Seamus? 😊

thank you very much for the ask, anon!

and i'm sorry to say that i'm going to be really dull and - before we get into the more insincere headcanons i have for seamus - say that figuring out his role in the series depends on the answer to a really important question which neither the books nor [to my knowledge] jkr's post-series writing addresses:

is wizarding ireland a colony?

as someone who is fond of seeing the series through the lens of anglo-irish history, this preoccupies me a lot - and i think it's something very interesting to unravel...

the statute of secrecy - the law which brings about the separation of the magical and muggle worlds - was first instituted in 1689 and put fully into effect in 1692.

it's reasonably clear from the tone of the extra canonical material that these dates come from [and also from the fact that - i am told - the statute of secrecy is a fairly significant sub-theme of the fantastic beasts films] that jkr landed on these dates for the statute primarily by thinking about the history of witchcraft in early-modern america [the salem witch trials, for example, take place in 1692-1693].

[witch trials were not an exclusively american phenomenon, of course, but they had begun to fade out in early-modern europe by c.1650, which is roughly when they begin to become more widely-documented in the american colonies. it's also fair to say that the pop-culture image of witch trials, even in europe, is heavily influenced by their american manifestation - we've all seen the crucible!]

but selecting this american context to situate the statute within means that - apparently by accident - it's also a document which appears into the lives of british and irish wizards during an extremely bloody time in anglo-irish history...

a detour which has nothing to do with harry potter...

the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries were the main period of british colonial expansion in ireland - the early seventeenth century is, for example, the period of the plantation [that is, the settler colonisation] of ulster [what is now roughly northern ireland].

like many periods of anglo-irish relations, there was a major sectarian aspect to the british treatment of the irish. the plantation was driven by protestant settlers from scotland [which is not and has never been a colony!] and england into northern ireland. the protestant population expanded rapidly in the seventeenth century, political authority in the subordinate irish parliament was largely in the hands of protestant elites [especially clerics connected to the church of ireland] who enacted the policies of the british parliament and the crown, the catholic population was subject to land confiscations, restriction of worship, and an expectation of anglicisation.

and in march of 1689 - the year the statute of secrecy was first signed - this all... rather kicked off.

in november 1688 - in an event known as the glorious revolution - the king of britain [and ireland!], james ii, was forced from the throne. among the reasons for this [many of which were to do with james' absolutist views of monarchy] was the fact that james was a roman catholic, and that the birth of his son james [iii, the old pretender] in june 1688 displaced james ii's protestant daughters mary and anne in the line of succession and would result in a catholic dynasty on the throne. which was unpopular.

so james was chased off and the throne was offered to william of orange - soon to be william iii - the husband of mary [ii].

in an attempt to regain his throne, james primarily recruited support from among the catholic population of ireland [as well as scotland and france], having promised to reverse many of the more unpopular sixteenth- and seventeenth-century policies imposed upon ireland by the crown. this was intolerable both to british and irish protestants, and william iii had no choice but to land in ireland with an army.

the start of the conflict was bloody but nebulous. the tide turned in william iii - and his protestant supporters' - favour in july 1690, with the battle of the boyne, a williamite victory. the jacobite cause was in shambles, james fled the country, and his supporters were eventually made to formally surrender with the signing of the treaty of limerick in october 1691.

from 1691 to 1800, ireland was a british colonial client state [nominally an autonomous kingdom with its own parliament, in reality controlled by the crown and responsible to the king's cabinet in london] politically dominated by anglo-irish protestant families. in 1800, this "independent" legislature was abolished and ireland was absorbed into the united kingdom of britain and ireland and governed from westminster via a colonial administration in dublin, which remained dominated by anglo-irish protestants. this remained the case until the establishment of the republic of ireland in 1922. northern ireland remains a constituent nation of the united kingdom.

and now back to the wizards...

according to the harry potter lexicon [my beloved], jkr has connected the establishment of the statute of secrecy in britain to a delegation of wizards who sought protections for the magical from [a post-battle-of-the-boyne?] william iii and mary ii in 1690. when they failed to get these, the british delegation - along with the representatives from other nations who made up the international confederation of wizards - agreed to the full imposition of the statute, with the main local result of this being the creation of the ministry of magic to govern the magical citizens of britain...

and of ireland?

because something which has always stood out to me - in a way i imagine it has for literally nobody else - is that you can suggest on the basis of canon that magical ireland was never partitioned...

“[England] Went down to Transylvania, three hundred and ninety to ten,” said Charlie gloomily. “Shocking performance. And Wales lost to Uganda, and Scotland was slaughtered by Luxembourg.” 

charlie is talking about the performance of the uk's constituent nations in the quidditch world cup here. we know - obviously - that ireland are the finalists and eventual champions of the competition.

northern ireland, however, is nowhere to be seen...

it could be that the northern irish quidditch team is as abysmal at international sport as its muggle equivalents and that charlie regarded it as futile to mention it. it could be that wizarding ireland is a united ireland [slay!]. but it could also be that the minister for magic is ultimately responsible - as the monarch would have been at the time the statute was signed - for the governance of the entirety of ireland, with his rule maintained within ireland itself by a client government which he appoints.

because while i don't buy the idea of a hereditary wizengamot or think that the sacred twenty-eight has any actual power other than the opportunity to influence the minister... it's striking that the name of an anglo-irish noble family appears on it [burke - although carrow is sufficiently close to the anglo-irish "carew" for us to consider it a variant, and one also finds the odd lestrange knocking about irish history...], and that jkr has written about another of the most prominent pureblood families as having been resident in ireland during the seventeenth century... the gaunts [it's why lord voldemort like relics so much...]. we also know that the london edition of the daily prophet - which functions as something close to state propaganda - circulates in ireland, because seamus' mother takes it, and that the ministry is unhappy with the tricolour flag being flown ostentatiously by ireland supporters during the world cup...

it is, then, entirely possible - should an author wish - to imagine that the imposition of the statute at such a key point in anglo-irish history means that the magical ireland of the 1990s remains subject to the british minister, and that it therefore has a very different political and cultural relationship to britain than its muggle cousin.

and i also think that this but one way of thinking more broadly about the wider imperialist vibe which is found in the books: the defence of "civilisation" and the status quo; the fact that so much "wizarding" culture is just posh british stuff; the fact that so many of the historical analogies jkr uses to mirror wizarding history relate to the troubles; the ways in which the size and insularity of the wizarding population means that the conditions which enable revolution might not be present in magical communities, etc.

and for us to think about the ways this might make wizarding history diverge from muggle in the early-modern and modern era: is there a revolution in wizarding russia, or are there still estates staffed by squib serfs? do wizards think they're travelling to istanbul or constantinople? do wizards participate in the "new imperialism" of the late nineteenth century, imposing the same colonial borders upon magical africa and asia as muggles do? what would it be like, if you were muggleborn, entering a world which is not only so culturally and politically different, but geographically different?

which brings us to...

seamus finnegan headcanons

on the basis of name alone - which, of course, doesn't mean everything - seamus appears to be one of the only students of irish extraction [that is, not just the only student who's an irish national, but the only student who's of irish heritage] at hogwarts [orla quirke - sorted in goblet of fire - is the only other one i can think of].

[although it is worth noting that many names which appear to be scottish are also common in ireland - especially in the north. professor mcgonagall has - on the information of the seven-book canon - just as much chance of being an ulster protestant as she does a scot...]

[i have decided on the basis of this that i now think cormac mclaggen is northern irish.]

irish people from all walks of life live, study, and work in britain - and vice versa. but the fact that seamus attends a boarding school with the specific cultural vibe hogwarts has - that is, an institution which is a pastiche of elite, fee-paying british schools; which directly maintains the class-based status quo which props up the wizarding state; whose graduates dominate high-level political and institutional positions; and whose student body is strikingly well-heeled - suggests that there are less famous wizarding schools in ireland, and that him being sent to hogwarts is the result of a certain anglophilia [and the desire for him to benefit in any future ministry career, in britain or ireland, from an elite british education] on behalf of his parents...

this is not to say that i think seamus is a protestant - although i genuinely think that the muggle dad witch mam thing is meant to be a joke suggesting he comes from a mixed marriage [still reasonably scandalous here even in 2024!] - but that he comes from a reasonably posh, anglophile, unionist catholic background, as did many real anglo-irish civil servants educated at the sort of institutions - especially oxford and cambridge - hogwarts shares a cultural vibe with.

but who gives a shit about class and religion! the more important things to know about seamus:

his go-to chip shop order is - as it should be - a spice bag.

he has - in his life - drunk the odd bottle of football special.

his over-the-top loathing of "pretty-boy diggory" in goblet of fire is an absolutely iconic deflection tactic from the fact he's gay - and deamus is canon.

indeed, he loves dean so much that he has willingly cheered for the england national football team [although he threatened to obliviate anybody dean told about this]. dean, for his part, has got really into hurling.

the closest they come to divorce is when dean won't stop singing galway girl by ed sheeran at him.

one @whinlatter has convinced me of: this is their son.

his confirmation name is florian - the patron saint of protection against fire.

him getting beaten to a pulp by the carrows - and then explaining in great detail how the room of requirement works to harry - is iconic, and is a really under-appreciated aspect of character growth from his doubt over harry in order of the phoenix.

the derry girl he identifies most strongly with is james - although he tells everyone it's michelle.

he met edele lynch from b*witched once and lost his mind.

he owns a flat cap.

him publicly beefing with his mam in the immediate run-up to dumbledore's funeral is one of the most specifically irish things he ever does and i can't explain why.

him giving harry an "appreciative smirk" after he drops the iconic "there's no need to call me sir, professor" line is the second most irish thing he does. i, once again, cannot explain why. [him winking at harry after he answers snape back in their very first potions lesson also sends me.]

he is the voice behind this iconic video... and, let's be real, his slight capacity for self-aggrandisement and sulking does make him a plausible cork man.

he visits his granny every sunday for endless cups of tea and re-runs of ballykissangel.

he has never read a single piece of writing by sally rooney - but he lies and says he has.

he did this to harry on his first day in the ministry:

his wand is made of dogwood - which suits the flamboyant and loud.

he's shown in canon to quite like a bit of gossip - him being gassed up by quirrell's claim that he fought a zombie and then gutted when quirrell refuses to actually tell the story always sends me - and i like the idea of him being amazing value in a pub.

he's an only child - but he has at least thirty cousins. and his cousin fergus genuinely never did have another peaceful moment after seamus learned to apparate.

he and lavender went to the yule ball together because both dean and parvati are stupid and didn't see what was right in front of their faces. they split a bottle of archers behind a rose bush and complained about men and it was the best night of their lives.

he goes as red as a lobster the second the sun's out.

he runs the shit london guinness twitter account.

his boggart is a banshee because his dad - who is literally only mentioned once in philosopher's stone - dies over the summer before his second year [banshees - in irish folklore - herald the deaths of family members with their weeping]. however - unlike harry - you don't hear him fucking banging on about this all the time...

and he can't speak a word of irish, but none of the posh english lads he knows are going to risk calling him out on that...

[yanderes-galore]

Hello! Can I please request romantic Junkrat with prompts 1, 34, and 37? Gracias! :)

YES. I will write one of my favorites yet again :)

Yandere! Junkrat Prompts 1, 34, 37

"I'd burn this world and everything in it for you."

"No one else understands me except you!"

"We should get married! It's been long enough, hasn't it?"

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Post-Kidnapping, Implied forced marriage plans, Manipulation, Clingy behavior, Violent thoughts, You're on the verge of mind break, Forced relationship.

Passion, in a normal relationship, wouldn't be that bad. However, when it came to you and Junkrat... things are different. Jamison Fawkes is a bit too passionate.

Passionate to the point of destruction.

....

"No one else understands me except you...." The Junker trails off, laying on top of you. Honestly, how long had it been? How long have you seen these exact same walls and been forced to look at this exact same man?

"What about Roadhog?" You find yourself bringing up. You only regret the question when the Junker wraps himself around you tighter.

"Well, he's my pal! You and I are much different... he wouldn't understand me like the way you do." Jamison rambles. "... you don't think I love Mako more, do you?"

Honestly, part of you wishes he did. That way it wouldn't be you kidnapped and trapped in these walls. You were not trying to imply jealousy.

If anything what you said was an impulsive bitter thought.

"Of course not." You sigh, mostly due to the situation. You then try to loosen the grip Jamison has on you by combing through his hair and holding him back on the bed. Even if the affection was just meant to ease him... you still feel disgusted by it.

You feel Jamison snuggle more into you before sighing in a giggle. You find yourself staring harder at the wall when Jamison kisses your skin in a loving manner. If anything you try to focus on the smell of rust and the orange tinged walls.

"Mako and I go way back..." Jamison hums. "However... I feel a better connection with you. I couldn't love anyone more than you...."

You gasp when the Junker nips at your skin just to see your reaction. You hear him laugh in a teasing manner before pulling away and guiding your head to make eye contact.

"I'd burn this world and everything in it for you." Jamison whispers, a much different tone from his usual excited yelling. "You'd just have to say the word and I'd do it in a heartbeat!"

You feel your blood run cold at his tone, earning another laugh before he nuzzles into you again. There was that strange passion of his again. Jamison often admits he'd murder for you to show his love for you.

You fear he has killed when he eventually leaves these walls... something you wished he let you do.

You think the conversation is over after that. With a huff you roll over, Jamison adjusting his own position to hug you from behind. You really wish he wasn't so clingy.

You think maybe you can at least pretend to sleep while he holds you. You've been here long enough... is it really that hard? So... you attempt to close your eyes.

"Hey!" Jamison gasps, shocking you out of your attempted slumber. "I've got an idea!"

You find yourself grumbling... he and ideas never work.

Isn't that why you're here?

You're caught off guard when Jamison spins you around to meet his gaze again. His eyes are so full of excitement and adoration you find yourself panicked. What did that mean?

"We should get married! It's been long enough, hasn't it?"

Any attempt to ignore him is thrown out of your mind at those words. Your eyes are blown wide in a panic and your heart rate increases. Marriage!? To him?

"Oh! You look excited, good! I've been wondering when I should pop the question...." Jamison rambles on and you try to calm yourself.

You don't bother to listen to what he says. He keeps talking about on if you should have it big or small. He's talking about themes and outfits. You say nothing... all you hear is the blood rushing to your ears.

You're snapped from your panic when Junkrat calls out to you.

You want to vomit.

"So what do you think!?" Jamison squeals. "What do you want to do?"

[comingfromastatechampionasshole]

Making Yorkshire Parkin: When You Want to Remember, Remember, the Fifth of November (but you forgot)

I bought Lyle’s Golden Syrup on a whim in our international grocers months ago, nestled between the Marmite and jarred clotted cream. I didn’t know what golden syrup tasted like, I had no use for it, and no recipe I had ever read included it. Naturally, I bought it immediately. Walking by the racks of Japanese candy and multiple incidences of ramen noodles, I asked myself, “Is there a particular reason I’m buying this, or am I just pissed they don’t have Walker’s and don’t want to walk away empty-handed?” 

Months later, I end up watching a video on parkin. Uses golden syrup. In this moment, the stars align. 

How did I stumble on this? Well, I’m interested in historical food, and even more so historical baking, and November was coming up. Try the Guy Fawkes day cake, it proclaimed to me, and as I watched it, and it was described to me as an English gingerbread-style cake, i thought, “There’s nothing about that idea I don’t like! I can make parkin, it can’t be that hard. Not like i’m going to be able to buy it here to try it.” 

And hard is not the word for it. Let’s go on a journey. 

So the first thing is, that Yorkshire parkin isn’t the only parkin in town and so, as I glanced at recipes, i discovered that there were multiple theories of the business, and many of these theories involved insulting each others’ grandmothers. Lancashire parkin uses mainly golden syrup, resulting in a sweeter and softer-flavored cake, and I guess that’s why the only things a civilized human being knows about Lancashire is that it’s in the North of England, and it features in the Merrily Song from the Wind and the Willows. No, the more I read, the more I realized I wanted Yorkshire parkin, a dark, aggressive form of the cake that makes heavy use of black treacle and threatens to kick your teeth in. It’s no wonder that Yorkshire gets all the great wonders of the North, like Wuthering Heights, The Secret Garden, and that one pizza place I really liked. 

It turns out that Yorkshire parkin uses a very small amont of golden syrup, and so you may be saying to yourself at this point, “Doc are you unnecessarily complicating your life to say you literally opened this stupid plastic bottle of sugar syrup?” to which I say, ‘No one asked you, okay?” 

Black treacle is the first thing on this list, and this was actually the easy part. One of the ‘fun’ things about reading recipes from English to English (and sometimes even to English!) is that you have to make substitutions, and people’s attitude toward substitutions for ingredients run the gamut from questionable to hysteria. The good news is that this unites us all, and I am sure there will be several fine Brits yelling at me that unsulfured molasses is nothing like black treacle, in the same way that many Americans lost their mind at the mere suggestion that a digestive might be more or less equivalent to a graham cracker. I welcome your hatemail, Hail Satan , Lord of Spiders, just use unsulfured molasses and you’ll be fine. 

But then we have the problem of “medium oatmeal.” The Brits are running on a completely different system than we are with our paltry three or so styles of oatmeal: Rolled, steel cut (often called Irish oats), and instant. There are some outliers, but they are mostly the exclusive purview of places where one might buy free-range ostrich farts and consensually squeezed oranges. Meanwhile, on a rainy rock in the North, we have seventeen separate grades of oatmeal, some of which are only found on one specific moor where young maidens cry over it, keening into the wind (An expensive delicacy not unlike kopi luwak) Try as I might, I found it near impossible to get medium oatmeal, and so I took the most reasonable out possible: Buying steel cut oats and frantically googling photos of medium oatmeal until I had processed it down to the rough appearance. 

This is medium oatmeal. Probably. 

The assembly of it is stunningly old-fashioned, and I’m not making a joke when I say it seems basically unchanged from the 1700s: You mix the sugar and butter ingredients together in a sauce pan until the sugar melts, and then throw it into the dry mix, putting it together and then throwing in an egg as some desperate attempt to give so loft to what is going to be a doorstop or perhaps the blunt object that was originally used to kill Guy Fawkes, as well as a splash of milk, though what it hopes to contribute to the action I can’t possibly imagine. 

Having read over all this at 9:30 pm on the 5th of November, I ready myrself to assemble the parkin so I can leave it out for King James or whatever. Then I read the cook time on the cake: Seventy to Ninety Minutes. 

“Fuck this shit, I’m American,” I said, cracking open a beer and heading upstairs with my sixteen guns while eagles cried and sang “God Bless The USA” overhead. 

REMEMBER, REMEMBER, THE SIXTH OF NOVEMBER, WHEN ALL THESE INGREDIENTS ARE STILL SITTING IN MY KITCHEN. 

So, I have followed the recipe. The cake is in the oven. What will it become? Stay tuned!

[starfxkrinc]

Jax in all orange makes me feel sad that we never got to see that color on JJ

- 🫧

thats why im officially putting jj in soa BECAUSE WHAT THE FAWK imagine if we got the juvenile delinquent, violent misogynist hes meant to be. his mugshot should be on that wall!!!!

[acrossthewavesoftime]

King William III and His Worst Nemesis

(Who was as cunning as a fox what used to be Professor of Cunning at Oxford University but has moved on and is now working for the U.N. at the High Commission of International Cunning Planning)

Mural in Belfast, image by Yamen, via Wikimedia Commons.

So, I noticed something. This is the Loyalist Sandy Row mural in Belfast. It features William III, the royal cypher of William and Mary, some decorational elements such as the crown, orange lily and representations of soldiers of the Williamite army and... this font (set in bold on the mural):

The British designer Bob Anderton designed ITC Blackadder in 1996, basing the name off the hit historical comedy TV series, and having taken inspiration from from ornate examples of 16th century handwriting in general, added a certain eerily trembling je ne sais quoi drawn from the post-torture signatures of Guy Fawkes:

Clearly however, his most prominent source of inspiration was the first appearance of Edmund, the Black Adder on British TV screens in 1983:

And here for comparison, The Black Adder in Anderton's ITC Blackadder:

The font used in the first series did not reappear throughout the series; seasons 2, 3 and 4 used different designs that aimed to immitate the artistic style or if you will, 'vibe', of the period it is set in:

But why am I telling you all this? And where does the Sandy Row mural tie into it all?

Well, in the intro to Blackadder the Third, we see this book on the shelf:

Clearly alluding to the Jacobite Rebellions of 1715 and 1745, the intro implies that one of the Blackadder-incarnations must have been de-throned in the Glorious Revolution, with subsequent generations attempting to reclaim the throne, leading to said rebellions.

In the Blackadder-universe, it is thus all but established, James II did not exist. In his place, a Blackadder must have reigned (they do have royal blood going back to the Plantagenets after all, and the existence of Blackadders throughout the centuries implies that Prince Edmund, the "Black Vegetable", must have had offspring, however (il-)legitimate) and been dethroned by William III, presumably jointly with whoever the Blackadder family-equivalent of Mary II was.

TL;DR: most of the writing on the Sandy Row William of Orange mural is designed in the font of William's (fictional) enemy, a late 17th century member of the Blackadder family.

Now please, will someone be so kind and give me that spin-off? Two somewhat unpleasant, cynical, manipulative little men in huge dark wigs scheming against another anno 1688? And this time, Blackadder actually succeeds in his designs and takes the throne? Pretty please?

Here, I even prepared a chart:

[xkhaoticxwolfx]

OC Interactions: Fawks & Wulf | by xKhaoticxWolfx (2023)

______________________________________

Fawks slipped into the classroom elegantly. With a hand on his chest and the other hand held out like a prince about to take his princess, he announced, “Don’t worry Class, your Prince has arrived!”. He opened his eyes and nearly had a heart attack as he noticed the whole class bunched up in the back corner of the room. No one had heard a word he said. “A-hem!” he cleared his throat trying to appear calm and cool as he stomped back to see what everyone was looking at. “What’s going on?” he muttered as the voice of two nearby girls caught his attention, 

“He’s so handsome! I hope he’ll be my friend!” 

“It’s always exciting to get a new student!” 

/Ah~ I see. New blood./ Fawks thought as he pushed his way through the crowd that usually parts itself for him. He made his way to the front prepared with a speech to introduce himself and wish the student the best of luck this year (while establishing his territory), but was halted in his tracks. The new boy student sat tall in his chair and looked like a majestic deity. He seemed to radiate some type of magical light that made Fawks shield his eyes. “What the fu–”

In reality, there was no light. The boy sitting in the chair felt he was an average student. Your everyday Joe. And was confused on why the whole class had taken such an interest in him. Students wanted his contact information in case he had any questions or needed help, “No thank you. I don’t have a cellular device.” 

“Email?” another would push.

“Uh. I don’t have a computer at home.” 

/What is this guy? A shut-in bum??/ Fawks wanted to laugh but instead just smiled and extended a hand, “Hi, I’m Fawks. I’m known as the Class Prince.” with that, he flicked his bangs to the side. 

The girls in the class were suddenly going crazy, realizing Fawks’ existence once again as he interacted with this interesting prospect of a human. 

The boy stood up, and Fawks’ legs nearly tumbled under him as he had to look up to keep eye contact. The boy gave a slight bow, “Wulf.” .  

Wulf’s gray, wild yet beautifully magnificent hair bounced as he bowed. Fawks looked to the side disgusted as he was pretty sure one girl nearly passed out from just seeing Wulf’s exchange. Wulf was pristinely dressed to the T. Fawks suddenly realized the ONE wrinkle in his dress shirt that apparently Wulf’s shirt never even thought of enduring such a fate. He leaned up and his steely blue eyes met with Fawks’ orange eyes. Fawks smiled weakly, he had to keep the class on his side to keep his title, but this guy, this new fresh face was the face of a rival. 

“Let’s become good friends!” Fawks said cheerfully. /I’m going to burn you hair by hair./ he thought with his smile growing from ear to ear as Wulf gave the slightest smile back cluelessly.

[slytherin1130]

Life is beautiful

Summary:

Why did they not find Snape's body after the war? What happened?

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Pain. it was all he felt. it seemed like someone vanished the blood in his veins and replaced it with molten lava. Every joint ached. His lungs were burning as he struggled to breathe. His mind was foggy, everything was going blank. His senses were failing him. Rivers of blood were pouring from the wound in his neck. The snake's fangs sunk into the delicate flesh of his neck precisely eight times. With each puncture, he felt like he came closer to death, but not quite dead yet. Why…

Oh, he recalls now. He drank a potion. A potion that will keep him awake for three days no matter what. Even keep the prospect of death at bay. So, he was doomed to suffer in agony for three days. Hie bad luck never seemed to work in his favor. What should he do now? Half-dead and half-alive. He did not know whether to laugh or cry at his situation.

His bleary vision was suddenly filled with strange colors. What was he seeing on his deathbed that was orange and red? Something bit his earlobe. Almost fondly... but who? Slowly, the pain subsided, and his vision became clearer. He could feel the weight of something on his chest, but no one, or rather nothing, was lying on his chest the last time he checked. What is going on...

“Ah!”The first thing he noticed was a yellow beak. The thing was startled by his shriek. It jumped back, clearly agitated. That thing was..." Fawkes," he murmured. The phoenix turned to face him and climbed on him once more and rubbed his nose with his beak. Since Dumbledore's death, this cunning bastard returned to the headmaster's office every time he was about to die. Of course, Severus made certain that no one knew he was there.

Fawkes, like Lucius, liked him from the moment he saw him. Fawkes perplexed him, in the same way, he couldn't understand why a pureblood like Lucius would take a filthy, ugly, poor, half-blood who couldn't offer him anything under his wing. On the night he discovered the marauder's secret, he met Fawkes for the first time. Sensing his worry he nipped his earlobe that day, much to everyone's surprise and displeasure. It made him feel better.

Even after twenty-two years, it had the same effect on him. Whatever happened, those two were always by his side. Though he couldn't fully trust or be completely honest with Lucius, he didn't have those constraints with Fawkes. That's why they had such a strong bond. Fawkes had just left last week ago, and he wouldn't be back for another two weeks. That's why Severus wasn't expecting him. Bu nowt, with Fawkes nearby, he felt more at ease than he had in a long time.

He could hear people celebrating in the distance. As he strained his ears to find out who had won, he felt an unsettling sense of dread settle in his chest. There were cries of "Dumbledore's Army," "Hail Potter," and "Victory to the Order." He let out a relieved sigh. I believe my time here is up." Aren't you of the opinion that this is the case? " he inquired of Fawkes, who blinked owlishly at him. "You know, contrary to popular belief, I want to live. Lily always said that the world is a beautiful place. That's something I'd like to see. I don't think I'll ever see that if I stay here. So t, I'm going to leave. Will you come with me? " he asked Fawkes who was snuggling into the crook of his neck. A nibble. “Can I interpret that as a yes? ” Another nibble. With that, he got up and left the shack. Amongst loud noises of celebrations, no one noticed him walk into the Forbidden Forest. He apparated at the forest's edge.

Notes:

I don't know if this is good or bad? If you like it, I can continue this one as a story though?

You can find this on AO3 too.

[voidsentprinces]

For my European and Asian followers who don’t know why Americans are so fucking rabid for a weird sounding Holiday in October. Let me break it down for you: America is a melting pot of a variety of immigrated cultures. Despite what any conservative Republican will tell you, immigrates actually make our culture stronger by bringing their own culture in and influencing or transforming it to fit the United State’s culture. Sort of like climbing a tall mountain and leaving your flag on it. For example, did you know tomatoes were an Americas only plant? Meaning when Italians began immigrating here in the early 1900s, they suddenly had access to it as well as a huge plethora selections of richer meats. Transforming their pita into pizza by adding tomato sauce, pepperoni, sausage, and the like to their once mediterrean diet.

Now take that concept and consider Halloween. Now this is a very, VERY loose explanation but a somewhat lengthy one. You see, it really begins with the Church trying to bring pagans into Christianity (ironically) by taking their folklore and legends and putting a Christian color paint job over it. Like the Romans did to Greek Mythology. In Spring, there was a particular celebration of the dead call Lamora, which the Church decided to blunt the effects of what they saw was an “unholy” ritual by moving it to November 1st and dubbing it All Hallows’ Day. This also served the function of blunting any Samhain rituals around that time. As Samhain landed round abouts October 31st. And was transformed into All Hallow’s Evening and then All Hallow’s Eve and then just dropping it for the slurred sounding Halloween.

Next up, came England’s turn to leave their mark on it. It just so happens a Catholic Terrorist named Guy Fawkes decided that around this time a year (November 5th). He was going to blow up Parliament. But he failed and in the following years to mock his memory children took to the streets to mock him. Sometimes wearing masks and costumes to go along with Bonfire Night.

Okay, Void, thats a lot of European Traditions, what the fuck does this have to do with the land of eagles, cheeseburgers, and my gun and truck is a measurement of my dick? Good question, hypothetical reader.

Well, the Puritans were one of the first to immigrate to the Americas as they were ousted from the Church for their strange way of following through with their beliefs. Fortunately, despite the name, not all Puritans were hard on their values and some just came to find new opportunity in a new land. Bringing with them All Hallow’s Day and Guy Fawkes Day. There are a few tid bits here and there about Guy Fawkes celebrations not in the grand celebratory way but in a sort of kicking back and enjoying some drinks with your fellows.

Fast forward a little ways to in the aftermath of the Civil War and after experiencing a war that wasn’t on a distant shore but on their doorsteps. Americans began to bring in child during Autumn and tell ghost stories. The first few ghost stories told by Statesmen were about how soldiers who had gone unidentified or missing during the War. Had begun to come back home. This ignited the mind of folklorists and artists alike who began to print Halloween as a sort of even that mixed all things horror together. Taking ideas from the Witch Trials, medieval artistic representations of Satan, spiders, ghosts (corpses who float with the winding shroud), and many other iconic imagery and painting them in orange and black.

Around the turn of the 1900s, Irish immigrants began to move over to the States. Bringing with them stories of boogie men and Jack-o-Lantern. Jack-o-Lantern was an image of legend. One of the tellings spread speaks about how Jack was such a trickster and SO mischevious that he was going to get thrown out of Hell. To wander the Earth alone as a spirit for the rest of eternity as his punishment. However, Satan took pity on the soul and granted him a heated coal from the pits of Hell, to help light his way through the dark. Jack then took the coal and placed it in a carved out turnip. Before handing it from a shepherd’s cane. Thus was born Jack’s Lantern or Jack-o-Lantern. Naturally, the injection of this in a still industrializing and thus somewhat still an agricultural America found the States taking the idea of the carved turnip and replacing it with pumpkins. Which also grew around that time of year and were softer, still hardy and easier to carve. Thus was born the iconic symbol of Halloween, the Jack-o-Lantern.

But lets fastforward a bit more to the Great Depression, it is well documented that this economic collapse was so destructive. Families were forced to sell their children or send them away to afford the next meal. So we get this period of time, where a large group of children, unsupervised, forced into the world pre-maturely due to economic collapse. Are allowed to run rampant during spooky time. These rambunckous individuals decided to occupy their time by playing pranks. Throwing stones through windows, taking Jack-o-Lanterns putting them on sticks and putting a sheet over them to scare people by the window, stealing people’s stairs, and letting out livestock from their pens at night. Thus some dubbed this period of time as “Gate Night” or “Hell Night”. One recorded incident was called “Black Halloween” because some kids were said to of committed arson, lighting a number of buildings on fire.

At this point, however, things had begun to settle down and even out as the economy was limping along instead of crawling. Allowing civil groups, land/homeowners and neighborhoods to begin discussing ways to occupy kids and keep them from destroying property and letting livestock loose. Whereby a few crafty women decided to start bribing kids with treats such as popcorn balls and home made candies if they’d just take the sweets and go away. And, funnily enough, it actually worked. It worked so well, a magazine and newspaper published the idea and it was quickly adopted by many.

So, even kids who had not been kicked out of their homes began to show up to random houses and technically threaten the place. Give us candy or we’ll fuck up your yard. Or, more simply, “trick or treat”. To rein in even these individuals people began to start throwing costume parties to keep kids from even bothering other neighbors. Companies began to take notice and companies and like Hershey’s and Sear’s began to realize there was a market. Dennison’s (yes the Chili producer) figured it out earlier in the 1910s but Halloween didn’t really get going till later. Anyway, Hershey’s naturally began to manufacture candy, no need to prep and go to the store for items. You candy is prepacked and ready to be handed out so you can relax! And those Dennison flammable paper costumes? Thing of a past, some to Sear’s and get durable plastic and cotton outfits for your kid on All Hallow’s Eve! Capitalism even in the midsts of a depression and looming second world war, still going forward.

Fastforward a little further and in a Post-War Economic “miracle”. Charlie Brown has a Halloween special to bring Halloween back to the mainstream after hundreds of soldiers come back from War and are in no real mood for celebration after witnessing horrors. Halloween provides everyone with a means to relax and take their children around to households, mingle, and live it up a little. Even later, a man is approached by a studio. The man’s name? John Carpenter. How do you bring Halloween to a further market of not just kids, but teenagers and young adults? Make a slasher film with the same name. Thus schlocky horror films are brought into the main stream and the horror genre really starts exploding as the cinema booms from drive in movie theatres and so forth. And Halloween just goes from there.

So, like many things in the United States. The melting pot of cultures from the reconfigured beliefs of Ancient Greeks to Puritans bringing over Guy Fawkes, to Irish Settlers bringing over Samhain, an economic collapse, a Civil War, and a few other scenarios. Halloween just sort of cropped up here in the States through a series of coincidences that gave birth to our horror centric holiday.

This is still a very loose explanation, there was a number of other things involved but I am trying to explain not, like, write a fucking novel.

Anyway, thats why people here in the States tend to just go absolutely feral beginning at very least in September and the most extreme lovers of the holiday, direction on July 5th. Ghosts, Witches, Vampires, Werewolfs, Monsters in the night, spirits haunting fields, and Jack-o-Lanterns leading loan shark children/teenagers and adults alike to our doors in costumes. Some adults brought nostalgic people back into the fold by making haunted houses for adults to line up and get scared in elaboratedly made attractions meant to spook them all.

Anyway, Happy Halloween. We’re the only thing stopping you from hearing “All I Want For Christmas” after July 4th.

[nightingaelic]

POODLES IN THE WASTELAND

i jest I jest

But 👀

What about pets? Either ones companions would have or a very uncommon one that someone wouldn’t think was a good pet, BUT IS. Deathclaws you can ride like a pony, mole rats that want belly rubs, cazadore’s as cattier pigeons! What are your thoughts?

Or like, Danse or Piper or Fawkes with something hilarious Idek ignore me

Oooookay, here’s my comprehensive list of companions - ALL companions, across Fallouts 3, 4, New Vegas and 76 - and their (headcanon) choices in wasteland pets. I’ll give a little explanation for each - particularly as many of these companions are transients and don’t have the luxury of owning a home to keep pets at. Also, I feel like most of the companions, while they might not necessarily like pets, would be somewhat fond or at least respectful of the pets of the Lone Wanderer/Courier/Sole Survivor/Vault Dweller, like Dogmeat and Rex. 

Bighorners

Lily Bowen: Everyone’s favorite super mutant grandma is already an experienced shepherdess in Jacobstown, and she’s more than willing to tear some night stalkers apart to keep her herd safe. If that’s not love beyond the norm for wasteland livestock, I don’t know what is. She’s probably given all of her bighorners names after the characters in the television reruns she used to watch on holotape in Vault 17, like Grace and Audrey and Lucille. 

Brahmin

Raul Tejada: Actually spent a decent part of his pre-war life living on a ranch, so he knows that most brahmin don’t deserve being labeled “irritable” just because people don’t know how to read their body language. I think he’d follow wild brahmin herds around a bit on a whim and keep them from coming to any harm, especially the little ones. He gives them names like the cattle he grew up with, Corazon and Gordo and Blanca. 

Rose of Sharon Cassidy: Doesn’t truck with the wild herds, but she knows that part of the success of a caravan lies with how well they treat their pack animals. All of her caravan’s brahmin have names - Penny, Magic and Sprinkles - and she’s careful to pair them up with drivers who are patient and work well with their various personalities. 

Cats

Butch DeLoria: While Butch ultimately decided to leave Vault 101 behind, I don’t think he would ever truly lose his fear of radroaches after what they did to his mom. Having a little friend to warm his bunk in Rivet City and pounce on intruders would probably set his mind at ease, maybe a black tomcat with one ear named Pepper. He might even gift his mom a kitten when he next comes to visit. 

Star Paladin Cross: I don’t think Cross much sees the use of an animal that doesn’t contribute to the community it lives in, like most of the Brotherhood of Steel. Cats, however, are excellent at pest control, even if the rats are bigger nowadays. I think she’d give the resident cats at the Citadel some pets in passing, and she’d smile when she has to extract playful kittens from inside her power armor frame. She’s especially fond of the cat colony’s matriarch, a scarred old tabby named Gemma. 

Curie: Upon her transition into a synth body, Curie is overjoyed with most animals and their new willingness to approach her for attention. She especially loves cats because she can pick them up and better feel their fur and purring. Her favorite cat is an orange stray in Diamond City that she calls Claude. 

Piper Wright: A companion for Nat when she’s out adventuring, an unbiased friend to bounce the latest opinion piece off of before going to print, and a lap-warmer for when you’re typing up the latest article about the exploits of the Minutemen - what’s not to like? The Wright family cat is a slippery, elegant calico named Sugar Bomb. 

Preston Garvey: While the Minutemen forts and settlements definitely lean more toward keeping dogs around for security purposes, I think Preston likes his pets quieter and less likely to bowl you over in excitement. The one most likely to sleep with him in his bunk at Sanctuary is a grumpy gray gentleman named Anchovy. 

Deathclaws

Veronica Santangelo: If anyone is crazy enough to swipe a deathclaw egg from a nest and try to hatch, rear and train a personal killing machine named Izzy, it’s Veronica. This will probably just alienate her from her Brotherhood chapter even more, but I’m sure she would take special care to make sure that her usual Mojave Wasteland haunts take a peek through a scope to see if the approaching deathclaw has a human on its back before taking a shot. 

Dogs

Clover: I don’t think Clover gets out beyond Paradise Falls much, so the only animals she’s used to are the dogs the raiders bring around when passing through. She probably has favorites among the usual visitors and enjoys tossing them bits of meat when she’s allowed to get away from Eulogy and Crimson. If liberated, she’d probably get at least three of her own dogs to watch over her while she sleeps: One small dog to carry with her, a Pekingese or Pomeranian descendant named Coco, and two large dogs to follow through on intimidation and protection, a mastiff named Rock and a Doberman descendant named Roll. 

Jericho: Jericho doesn’t deserve a dog but he’d probably have one around anyway to sniff out caps caches and hidden loot after he’s shot everyone in the vicinity. Some slinky beagle mix named Dewey, probably. 

Fawkes: I don’t think Fawkes would be picky at all about what kind of dog he’d have. He strikes me as the type who would adopt any half-friendly mutt he ran across. I do think he would have a bit of a soft spot for friendlier mutant hounds, though, and maybe view their mutated circumstances as similar to his own. He’d also be absolutely amazing at playing fetch. Just imagine how far he could lob a stick or ball. All of his dogs would have literary names too, like Byron and Agatha and Edgar. 

Craig Boone: Though he’s a bit of a prodigy at sniping, Boone knows his limitations when it comes to spotting hidden enemies on the horizon. I can see him having a hound dog at his side to find the more elusive ones and help him get rid of them faster. Maybe a bloodhound mutt named Bravo. 

Cait: Doesn’t like people, but she adores dogs. Having had the life where she’s been abused, exploited and forced into slavery, she’s keenly aware that those like the ones who took advantage of her treat dogs much the same. She’s very protective of any dog she encounters and is very likely to punch you in the face if you so much as look at one wrong. She’d probably name any pup she adopted Lucky. 

Hancock: Honestly, he’s just a fan of any animal that is happy to hang out with you whether you’re drunk, high, fighting raiders or patrolling downtown Boston. The Goodneighbor strays know him as the guy who always has mirelurk jerky in his pockets. His favorite is a rough-and-tumble, black-and-white spotted cattle dog descendant that he cheekily calls King George. 

Robert MacCready: He’s not quick to trust dogs, but once he’s sure they’re not a threat, they’re one of the few critters around which he’ll relax completely. He’s still a little wary of them around Duncan, but any dog that’s a part of his family is more or less his son’s permanent babysitter. 

Nick Valentine: Dogmeat is also basically his dog. The two have a history of working cases together, with Dogmeat just turning up whenever a trail goes cold and leading Nick to the evidence he needs to reopen his investigation. Nick doesn’t know how or why Dogmeat does it, but he’s not about to ruin a good thing. 

Strong: I don’t think he would turn down a ferocious mutant hound as a friend. He’d probably feed it mole rats and call it something like Killer. 

Foxes

Beckett: This former raider has a love-hate relationship with a fox that keeps going through his trash. He affectionately calls him Lil’ Bastard. 

Sofia Daguerre: Having crashed back to an earth she doesn’t recognize, I think Sofia would be tickled that the foxes of Appalachia have basically stayed the same despite the bombs. I can see her leaving dinner scraps out on her porch for one that she sometimes spots in the foliage, and slowly coaxing the critter to come into the light. She names her Scarlett once she finally convinces her to eat out of her hand. 

Mega sloths

Settler forager: I would not be at all surprised if this man ran into a mega sloth in the Mire and decided to try befriending it. The creature, probably surprised at this old guy’s nerve, decided to accept the handful of leaves he offered and grew slowly more fond of the guy’s persistence. It doesn’t know its name is Fergus but it does know that if a human is wearing overalls, it’s probably not a threat. 

Mole rats

Deacon: Alright, hear me out. Deacon has a fondness for underdogs, and mole rats are about as underdog as they come. I think Deacon thinks these little guys are cute despite their wrinkles and buck teeth, and I think he sees the value in having a tunneling pet that likes to collect shiny things. One of his deep cover hideouts is in an old tunnel system in the northern Commonwealth, where he hangs out with a young mole rat named Henry. 

Owls

Raider punk: This radio operator got wind of an abandoned nest of owlets in Appalachia early on in his career and, being the nearest to the report, decided to rescue the little guys. Now he has three owls that occasionally drop in at his camp to hoot and accept handouts: Nona, Decima and Morta. While he’s still fond of them, he’s usually disappointed that they aren’t the Mothman coming to visit. 

Rad chickens

Yasmin Chowdhury: Ever the opportunistic cook, she picked up the practice of raising chickens from the settlers at Foundation and has four hens of her own: Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme. The “ladies,” as she refers to them, give her a constant stream of eggs for omelets. 

Ravens

Settler wanderer: This gal has an affinity with birds, who are always on the move like her. She admires their ability to be untethered and let the wind take them far and wide. Nevertheless, she likes to scatter corn when they come close to her on the road, and formed a sort of friendship with a particularly handsome specimen that she calls Tornado. 

Wolves

Old Longfellow: This guy is the epitome of the meme about dads not wanting pets and then instantly falling in love with whatever animal enters their life. He probably found an injured wolf pup in his travels around the island and took pity on it, nursing it back to health in his cabin. It’s still got a bit of a twisted paw, but follows him around and listens like any other dog and answers to the name Lamoine. 

Yao guai

Porter Gage: I bet this guy adopted an orphaned bear cub and raised it by hand. Now it’s so big that even if Gage thinks he’s an easy target for other raiders due to his age, he’s much less likely to get singled out than he thinks because he has a yao guai following him around like a puppy. The bear’s name is Fuzzy Wuzzy. It has no hair. 

No pets, thanks

Charon: Too likely to accidentally wind up in the line of fire. 

Sergeant RL-3: Too easily corrupted by Communist influences. 

Arcade Gannon: Too much time spent getting in your way. 

Codsworth: Too likely to make messes. 

Paladin Danse: Too many wasted resources. 

X6-88: Too much of a liability. 

Ada: Too easy to lose when on the move. 

Solomon Hardy: Too unsanitary. 

[dreamcatcher-faux]

"Hello, I'm Fawkes the Maintenance Fox! Got anything that needs fixing? Just ask and I'll be there ASAP!"

It's my time to be cringe one main >:3 info underneath the cut

This is my sona Fawkes, they're a new maintenance bot in the Mega Pizzaplex in charge of fixing basically whatever is broken. Got a broken bulb? No problem. Freddy's charging station is malfunctioning? No problem. Monty broke his bass again? No problem! I'm going to list some facts so that way this isn't too long :)

@hoperainbowsblog is who inspired me with their Glamrocks x Maintenance!Reader!

The reason why Fazbear Entertainment built a maintenance bot instead of hiring new employees is because it was cheaper :)

They have a small drawer in their stomach for storing tools and backup shades. (Although they also put little trinkets and candy in there)

Like Monty, they have sensitive eyes and need to wear sunglasses

Their choker acts as a flashlight if they need to see into small crevices

The orange stripes glow in the dark

The shoulder pads can come off if they need to squeeze into someplace small

Pretty strong surprisingly. They could pick up Roxanne and/or Chica effortlessly

The only one who can get Monty out of his rage (Seriously staff, just give the gator a hug)

They have built in roller skates. Why? Why not??

Sense they don't have their own greenroom, they stay in Parts and Service. They have their own little area that's just a pillow fort with nuts and bolts scattered about and a few drawings from the daycare kids

Sort of an unofficial replacement for Foxy???

The second fastest animatronic in the Mega Pizzaplex behind Roxanne Wolf but becomes evenly matched with the roller skates

[lifeofkaze]

Paint Me A Picture

Farid Sikander x Reva Amari

When @carewyncromwell and I had our casual chat that turned into a shameless shipping of our HPMA kids Farid and Reva yesterday, I immediately knew what I wanted to write for them. How improbable they look at first glance, both of them need someone to counter their extreme rashness and shyness respectively and find a more balanced (I swear this word is haunting me) state of mind.

So, without further ado, I present you my first take on Farid x Reva, or - courtesy to @the-al-chemist because bestie knows I love me a good ship name - Fareva. 💛💛💛

Farid Sikander belongs to @carewyncromwell , Zadie Taylor-Allen to @the-al-chemist

Zadie didn’t know how long she had been waiting already.

She tapped her foot impatiently as she glanced at her watch repeatedly. When she saw that it was already fifteen minutes after the time they had promised to meet, she leaned back against the brick wall she was standing in front of with a sigh.

Where was Reva? It had been her idea to meet up here, after all. She hadn’t told Zadie what she wanted to do here, but the Ravenclaw girl had been able to tell that whatever it was, it was important to her best friend.

The unmistakable sound of wheels on the cobblestones omnipresent in Hogsmeade broke her out of her thoughts. A moment later, the small figure of Reva Amari rounded the corner of the building. As usual, her feet were glued to her skateboard rattling over the ancient streets. A black rucksack was casually slung over one of her shoulders, a carefree smile on her face.

Her expression lit up as she saw Zadie waiting for her; with a practised movement, she stepped off her board while it was still rolling, giving the front end a slight kick so she could catch it with the hand not holding her bag in place. Without missing a beat she continued walking, beaming at her friend as she came up next to her.

“Isn’t it gorgeous?” Reva said with a dreamy expression on her face.

Zadie, however, was at a loss. “Excuse me?”

“Just look,” Reva said, forming a square with the thumbs and index fingers of her hands and pointing the frame at the wall behind her friend, “a perfectly blank canvas.”

She set her bag down onto the ground, the unmistakable clinking of spray cans coming from the depths of it as the dark-haired Gryffindor started rummaging around in it. Zadie raised her eyebrows in disbelief.

“All this secrecy because you wanted to paint?” she exclaimed in exasperation. “Why didn’t you say so? Why make me sneak out of the castle and then be late?” she added with a little annoyance.

“I know, sorry. Sneaking out alone is much less fun,” Reva shrugged, glancing apologetically at her friend. “But I had to source some things first.”

With that, she straightened up and tossed something to Zadie. Her reflexes, sharpened by all the time spent on the Quidditch pitch with the other Ravenclaws, kicking in, Zadie caught the bundle out of the air. Her slightly annoyed expression turned into astonishment as she examined the two objects in her hands: a face mask and a spray can with golden paint.

“You want me to help? You let no one help with your pictures.”

“This time it’s different,” Reva explained, her arms already full with spray cans she carried over to the wall, setting them down on the ground sorted after colour. “I don’t have much time and it’s a little ambitious. I need help with prepping the background”

Intrigued, Zadie took a look through the colours Reva had brought; they were all warm colours, lots of reds, oranges, yellows, browns and of course the golden one she was still carrying. “What did you have in mind?”

“Wait and see.”

With that, Reva pulled her own mask over her mouth and nose, shook the can with white colour in her hand and got to work.

***

Reva wasn’t entirely sure how long they had been working when she stepped back from the wall with a scrutinising look. She pulled her mask down and wiped the sweat off her brow with the sleeve of her jumper, accidentally smearing a bit of red paint over her cheek.

The picture was coming along nicely; thanks to Zadie’s help she had been a lot quicker than expected. The rough work was done, now it was only the details that were missing. She chuckled to herself; ‘only’ the details. She was lucky if she would finish in time.

With an exhausted sigh, Zadie dropped her empty can into Reva’s bag and shook her hand out; like Reva, her fingers were stained with colour. She joined her friend on the other side of the small alleyway and looked at their last few hours’ work.

“Wow,” she whistled through her teeth, “it’s already looking amazing, Rev.” She tilted her head slightly, taking in the rough outlines. Several people were visible on the white background she had helped create, the top of the picture spanned by two gigantic red flames.

No, Zadie realised, these weren’t flames; they were wings.

Her eyes dropped to the figure making up the centre of the picture. Reva had already started on the detail work with this one. Zadie could make out strands of longish black hair, soft, brown eyes that were full of expression already, even though Reva wasn’t finished yet, and the unmistakable colourful poncho Zadie knew only one person would wear.

A smirk stole onto her face. “Now I see what this is all about. This is supposed to be Farid, am I right?”

“So what?” Reva said overly lightly, quickly glancing away from Zadie when she saw her best friend grinning. Zadie could have sworn to see a faint blush rise on her otherwise so chilled out friend. “I felt inspired.”

“Sure you did.”

“And he helped me with my Care of Magical Creatures assignment.”

“Your brother could have done that.”

“But I didn’t ask my brother,” Reva said with a hint of annoyance.

“Of course not,” Zadie chuckled and then laughed as she saw Reva’s guilty expression.

“And besides,” Reva tried saving her face, “it’s Farid’s birthday today and he’s my friend. Dylan’s friend, mainly, of course,” she added hastily.

“I’m your best friend,” Zadie said, “where was my giant picture on the wall for my birthday? I didn’t see one.”

“I visited you and we had an impromptu dance party and movie night,” Reva reminded her, now laughing herself, “don’t get greedy.”

“Ah, fun times,” Zadie grinned, “anyway, I’ll leave you to your birthday present now. Drama club starts in a bit and I have to sneak back in. Say hi to Farid from me,” she said over her shoulder while walking out of the alley.

But Reva wasn’t even listening anymore; she was staring at the painted wall ahead of her with a contemplative look on her face, the next spray can already in her hand, trying to work out where to put her focus next. Having come to a decision, she gave the can in her hand a good shake and stepped towards the wall again.

Time to get this done.

***

The light had started to turn golden by the time Reva was done working. She still had time before anyone back at school would start missing her, but still, she was nervous. She sat on the back of a bench, her feet resting on the seat as she waited.

After the last classes of the day were done, Farid usually helped Hagrid care for all the creatures that had been studied that day before making his way back to Hogsmeade, where he lived with his uncle Arif. Reva knew the professor for Muggle studies wouldn’t be with Farid today; the teachers were preparing their upcoming exams and were working after hours quite a lot recently.

She tapped her stained fingers against the rough grip tape of her skateboard that was leaning against the back of the bench next to her. Farid was usually always on time, what was taking him so long?

The longer she waited, the more impatient she grew. She wanted him to see the picture before it got too dark in the alleyway to see what was special about it. Minutes felt like hours passing by as Reva waited and waited and waited.

After what must have been an eternity, she heard a faint cry above her head. As she looked up, she could just see a flash of crimson feathers disappearing out of sight. A smile stole onto her face; if Fawkes was here, Farid couldn’t be far.

And sure enough, a few very long minutes later, she could spot the colourful poncho Farid loved to wear appearing at the end of the road. Reva chuckled to herself; the way Farid liked to dress was so inherently him, she couldn’t even imagine him in casual Muggle clothes like she and her friends usually wore. He was so intent on immersing himself in the Wizarding World, that he looked more like a proper wizard than all of them combined.

His face was turned upwards, no doubt admiring the pattern the clouds were painting on the slowly darkening sky. He was so enthralled in his musings, that he jumped when Reva hopped down from her perch and bounded over to him.

“There you are,” she said, her smile widening as his expression turned from surprise to joy when he saw who had been calling out to him.

“Reva,” he exclaimed, “I didn’t expect to see you here.” A flicker of worry stole onto his face. “Shouldn’t you be up at the castle? What are you doing here?”

“I should be many places and should do many things,” Reva quipped, not in the slightest bothered by her unsolicited visit to Hogsmeade, “but some things are more important than others. Come on, I need to show you something.”

With that, she grabbed her board and rucksack from the bench and started walking back towards the entryway of the alley. When she turned her head and saw Farid hesitating, she came back and took hold of his poncho, pulling him along behind her. “Come now, before the light’s all gone.”

Farid muttered something indiscernible, blushing a deep scarlet; he still wasn’t used to Reva’s exuberant ways.

When they had reached the alley, Reva stopped and turned to him.

“Do you trust me?” she said with a gleam in her dark eyes.

“I... uhm... what do you…,” he mumbled, clearly taken aback by her question. “Of course I do,” he said eventually. “Why?”

“Okay, I need you to do something for me,” Reva said, positively vibrating with anticipation. “Close your eyes and follow my voice, okay? I’ll make sure you don’t run into anything.”

With another flush and an uncertain look, Farid closed his eyes after a moment of hesitation. Reva walked backwards into the sidestreet, coaxing him along; she had her hands slightly outstretched towards him, lest he would fall, but they managed to reach the end of it without any incidents.

She told him where to stand so he would be directly in front of the picture. Her heart was hammering against her ribcage as she spoke. “Open your eyes on the count of three. One, two, three.”

Farid opened his eyes, needing a moment to orientate himself. When his eyes fell on the mural in front of him, his jaw dropped. Reva smiled from ear to ear as she saw his eyes dance over the picture she had painted for him.

It was a portrait of Farid himself that made up the centre of the picture. He was surrounded by a group of people, all sharing the same dark hair and eyes as him, and had the same warm smile she had so often seen on Farid’s face. It hadn’t been easy getting the faces of his parents, his brother and his sister right when she only knew them from Farid’s stories and the pictures he had shown her, but judging by the speechless boy next to her, she couldn’t have been too far off.

He wasn’t able to tear his eyes off his painted family hugging him. “Reva, this… that… this is…”

“Wait until you see that,” Reva laughed. She took her wand out and stepped closer to the wall. She tapped against the bricks three times and muttered the incantation Danielle had taught her, praying it would work on the first try.

When she saw the golden paint threading through the picture light up, she laughed lightly, half from relief and half from being astonished at the effect itself. The lines of golden colours she had worked through Farid’s poncho, his mother’s dress, his sister’s jewellery and - most of all - the phoenix spanning the family with its wings above their heads lit up, gleaming like molten fire in the dwindling light of the setting sun.

This was the reason she had been so late to come here in the first place. Resourcing this enchanted paint had taken ages and she’d had to call in a lot of favours to get it, but the look on Farid’s face was worth the trouble.

He looked at the picture for a long moment with a strange expression on his face, before taking a deep breath and finally turning to her. “Reva, I… Really, I don’t know what to say. This is so beautiful. Thank you, a thousand times thank you.”

He glanced back at the picture with a longing that tugged at Reva’s heartstrings. She felt a sudden uncertainty rise in her chest; all of a sudden she feared she might have misjudged the effect the picture would have on Farid. She had wanted to make him smile, not remind him what he was missing.

“I thought, if they can’t be with you for real, maybe you could feel a little closer to them that way,” she explained quietly. “I’m sorry if it upsets you.”

“No!” Farid said immediately, “No… Please, don’t think that. I am deeply touched by this gesture, I just… wasn’t expecting this.”

“Well, it’s your birthday, silly.”

Farid blinked at her in surprise. “How do you know?”

“Dylan. I bugged him until he told me,” she said with the hint of a grin. It vanished, however, when she continued, more quietly than before. “After all, no one should be alone on their birthday.”

Farid stepped closer to the wall, Reva following him. He gently placed his hand on the bricks, his long fingers trailing over the painted faces of his loved ones. “I miss them dearly, especially today,” he said in a melancholy tone, “but I’m not alone. Not with friends like you and your brother.” He glanced at her for a moment with a smile before turning his attention back on the picture again.

Standing next to him and watching him take in every detail of her work with such a soft expression in his beautiful eyes, Reva wanted to hug him so badly it hurt. Before she knew what she was doing she extended her hand to touch his arm, catching herself at the last moment. She knew physical contact was against what he believed in, even if it was only to show him she was here and that she was his friend, giving him all the comfort and reassurance he needed.

Hoping he hadn’t noticed it, she took a step from him, picking up her bag from the ground.

“It’s very nice of the owners of this shop to let you paint something so beautiful on their walls,” Farid said, still lost in observing his birthday gift.

Reva pursed her lips. “Yes, about that... Better not mention it to them just yet.”

His eyes turned to her again, the faintest hint of alarm visible in them. “You did have permission to do this, didn’t you?”

Avoiding his eyes, Reva made sure the bag was securely closed before slinging it over her shoulder.

“Reva?”

“Enjoy the painting for now,” she said lightly, before stepping onto her skateboard. “It might not be here for long.”

“You really shouldn’t have done that, it’s against the rules,” Farid scolded her ever so mildly. “They’ll wash it away and all your work will be gone.”

“Some things are even more beautiful because they’re fleeting, don’t you know that?” Reva said with a laugh and started pushing her board forward with her foot. She stepped onto it fully when she had picked up speed, waved at him and vanished around the corner.

Farid stared after her for a moment before his eyes returned to the picture she had painted for him.

If only she knew how right she was.

[katherinewilliams221b]

For A Greater Good 18/18

not my gif

He Who Must Not Be Named

Summary: Kate Williams, young healer and member of the Order,  joins Durmstrang’s staff at Dumbledore’s request. Her mission? Find a     Death Eater and survive long enough to tell the story. Set in 1996.

Pairing: Charlie Weasley x ofc/mc

Masterlist

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5]

[Part 6] [Part 7] [Part 8] [Part 9] [Part 10]

[Part 11] [Part 12] [Part 13] [Part 14]

[Part 15] [Part 16] [Part 17]

A/N: bold lines are from the book Harry Potter and The Order of The Phoenix

Severus Snape emerged from the shadows to stand in front of his ally.

“I was starting to think you wouldn’t come, Severus.” The voice of Albus Dumbledore was, as expected, steady and confident. “Do you have it?”

Snape approached him, eying the room with suspicion. It was the first time he had stepped inside Dumbledore’s hiding place, but despite he trusted the man, a chill ran down his spine. Keeping a stoic expression, he reached inside his robes and handed him a rolled piece of parchment.

“She had it with her. As you said.”

Dumbledore unrolled the document and nodded slowly. Another name wrote itself with the others.

“It is vital that Cornelius sees Voldemort first. After that, I will personally make sure that this information reaches the aurors.” The bearded man walked to the end of the room; the dim light of a candle outlined Fawkes’ silhouette.

“My name appears on that list.” Snape watched Dumbledore’s hand halt in the air. He turned around and with challenging eyes, he stared at him as he unrolled the parchment again. Turning his gaze back to the paper, Dumbledore pursed his lips together as if he was going to whistle and with a light blow, the name ‘Severus Snape’ left the paper in the form of black ashes.

He looked up at the potions teacher from up his glasses. Snape nodded.

“What happened to Yankelevich?”

“She will be brought to Nurmergard” The phoenix moved so his master could slide the parchment under him. “Attempted murder, at least.”

“I don’t understand why you sent Williams. Yankelevich wasn’t an immediate threat and Alastor could have done it faster and more efficiently.”

Dumbledore turned and put his hands behind his back. “You underestimate her. She’s learnt fast, and listened to your instructions, didn’t she? You were busy training Harry to notice, of course, but her occlumency skills have improved enormously, and she’s been practising how to communicate with Mr Weasley.”

“You said she would, yes…”

“Well, she refused using her patronus to communicate, and she needed to be away from him to practise.” He opened his mouth to say something else, but he reconsider it. At Snape’s piercing stare, he kept going, “Astrid knew someone was up to no good and needed a favour, however,” he pointed at Fawkes’ nest “that was my goal.”

He walked to the nearest chair and sat down, grabbing a goblet from the table. Before sipping, he caught how Snape’s jaw tensed. “Besides, Alastor’s never run freely around a castle, breaking rules and finding places he is not supposed to enter. She has.”

“How did she know how to find it?”

“I said her skills had improved, not that they were better than mine. I might have… given her a small guidance.” He raised his hand up to his temple’s level and brushed his index and thumb together. “ I was certain that Karkarov knew about the existence of the room. It was the most logical place to hide it.”

“Where is he now?” demanded Snape.

Dumbledore looked at his partner with amused eyes, but corrected his demeanour quickly. “I have no idea. I mistakenly believed he would be in the forest. I sent a letter to Katherine in hopes she would meet him there. Turns out, he is smarter than I thought.”

“It won’t be long until He finds out Karkarov’s writing that.” Snape pointed at Fawkes’s nest, and the bird chirped unhappily.

“I know.” He tsked and took a sip from his beverage, “But it was his choice.”

“What are you going to do until then?”

“We’ll wait. That spell is not easy to perform. We’ll let him write as much as he can.” They fell silent for a long while, lost in their thoughts, until Dumbledore spoke again.

“When?”

“Tomorrow. He wants the prophecy.”

“Of course. Of course…” he stood up and crossed his hands in front of him and searched in his companion’s black eyes. Snape reached inside his sleeve and took out a small vial with a silver liquid in it. He handed it to Dumbledore, who read the tag ‘K. Williams. Durmstrang’.

“She will not remember the names.”

With one last nod, Albus Dumbledore observed how his confidant dissolved in the air.

--

Katherine Williams awoke for the second time in the same Grimmauld Place’s cold room. She let the sun rays hit her eyelids and savoured the memory of Charlie’s firm body against her own.

When she reached behind her, only cold sheets wished her a good morning.

Promise me something. Promise me you’ll wake me up to say goodbye.

She stared at the pillow next to her and sighed. To be fair, he didn’t make such a promise. He didn’t say anything at all.

Putting her disappointment aside, she prepared herself for one of the most exhausting whirlwinds one could face: the loving care of Molly Weasley.

Sitting up with her back against the headboard, she stretched her neck to the side and had to do a double take at the nightstand.

A pink flower with orange undertones sat beside a piece of paper that was folded in half. Her stomach flipped, and she considered forgiving him for leaving.

A snapdragon for the strongest of flowers.

I hope this wasn’t a one-time thing. Owl me.

“Oh, shut up!” Kate whispered, but a chuckle escaped her mouth, anyway.

Movement on the other side of the door startled her, and she hid the note under the pillow before quickly hiding herself behind the covers.

The doorknob turned, and Mrs Weasley entered the room.

“Oh, thank Godric you are alright!” Molly was by her side in four long strides and cradled Kate’s head in her hands. “How are you feeling? Charles told me you woke up last night. You look pale. Did you rest?”

“Yes, Mrs Weasley, I’m fine. My head is spinning a little, though.”

“Of course, of course, let me see that arm.”

Internally complaining, Kate let her put the cream on her arm and tend the bruises of her neck.  She didn’t have the courage to tell her that wouldn’t make the scar disappear. When she finished, Molly nodded with a satisfied smile and proceeded to pick up the clothes that were scattered on the floor. Kate held her breath during the entire the process.

“This boy... tsk... taught him better than this! At least he could have brought his clothes with him…” Kate wasn’t sure if she was oblivious or if she was giving them a green card because they weren’t at The Burrow. In any case, she felt the need to take Charlie off the hook.

“I’m sorry, that’s my fault, Charlie let me use his clothes after I showered and when I went to sleep... they were bothering me.” That wasn’t exactly a lie. She gestured her neck to point at her bruises and then remembered that maybe there were ones more recent, that she did not want to explain. Charlie had never left a mark on her, but that night he felt a tad possessive and she wasn’t sure he could be trusted.

Although Molly hadn’t commented on them while she was applying the cream, the younger witch rested her hand there, trying to appear casual. Just in case.

“Ah, don’t worry, dear.” Molly waved her free hand nonchalantly and went to pick her cloak from the floor. While putting on the robe that Charlie had left at the end of the bed, Kate remembered that she technically stole the uniform band.

“Oh, this is warm! What a nice coat!” She waved the magically warmed piece of clothing, admiring it, and something the size of a matchbox flew across the room in doing so. “Oh! I’m so sorry, I always check the pockets and now look at this!” She murmured something under her breath and went to pick up the mysterious object, but Kate interrupted her.

“I’ll get it, don’t worry.”

“Very well, then. I made you some breakfast, but it’s already cold, Charlie made me swear I would let you sleep in!” She laughed and when she was crossing the threshold, she added, “Arthur got your trunk, it’s downs… ah!”

Mr Weasley appeared from behind her with a smile on his face and his hands on her waist.

“Oh, not you too, Arthur, I have enough with your sons apparating everywhere…”

His husband ignored her with a laugh and entered the room, her trunk following him in the air.

“Special delivery!” He roared.

“Thank you so much, Mr Weasley.” He approached Kate, and after hugging her shoulders with an arm, he kissed the top of her head. “You scared us the other day, eh?” He squeezed her. “But, let’s thank Godric you are safe and sound! I must go to work now, if you’ll excuse me…”

“I’m fine, really. We healers recover quickly. Tonks filled me in, and I’m feeling alright.”

“Alright, then. I’ll let you change.” Molly placed a hand on her own cheek for a moment and left the room without another word.

The moment Mrs Weasley closed the door behind her, Kate spooned around and crawled down the wooden desk to retrieve the small object.

Placing it on her palm, she murmured ‘engorgio’, making the tiny leather journal grow to its original size.

Letters, maps, notes, names, drawings, and a full research on how to magically cross plant species were contained in that notebook. The past six months were portrayed in those pieces of paper, and their value was incalculable.

Looking up, she faced one of the obscure paintings that belonged to the Black family. Kate stared at a woman standing on a bridge in what appeared to be a forest, and a question formed in her mind. She needed to go to St. Mungo’s.

 Convincing Molly that she could go alone to the hospital was harder than the mission she just came from. After a diluted Invigoration Draught and some help from Lupin, she managed to step out of Grimmauld Place.

She didn’t feel ready to apparate, and she doubted she would ever be, so she enjoyed her walk through the streets of the city. With the muggle money that Lupin gave her, she jumped on the first underground station she saw and followed his directions.

She got comfortable on an empty seat and observed the people on the train car. When she saw a couple getting handsy in a corner, a wave of sadness washed over her, and had to look away.

She missed Charlie terribly. The night before was too desperate and rushed, she didn’t have time to savour the moment. She didn’t even ask him about his mission with the giants, about his dragons, or about how he felt all that time alone at home. Being on a mission kept her head occupied for most of the time, but now, with nothing to do, she anticipated some time of loneliness.

She brought her hand to her chest, and her heart ached even more when she couldn’t find the necklace that Charlie had gifted her many years before. No. Stop it. You’ll get answers and study your notes and then... and then you will have to explain to Dumbledore you lost an important document that could have saved lives. Brilliant.

Soft clapping noises brought her back to reality. A woman in front of her was struggling to hold an excited baby on her lap. Kate observed the child and smiled when his little finger touched her mother’s nose. The baby turned his head and stared at Kate for a while before raising his arm to wave at her. She chuckled and returned the greeting, her trip improving slightly and temporarily.

 Walking through St Mungo’s doors had a mixed effect of nostalgia and excitement. She had spent many hours in that hospital studying, training, and learning, and all of a sudden, she was fresh out of Hogwarts again, with all the emotions that implied. Taking a deep breath, she walked through the corridor and started searching for her first mentor and boss, Madame Louise.

She scanned the faces of the healers that were working, rapidly treating the patients like frantic ants recollecting their food.

“Williams?” Kate turned at the deep voice calling her and recognised the robust middle-aged woman in front of her. “What brings you here? I thought you were working in Romania?”

“Hello, Madame Louise, yes, well I was… working there. But I’m here as a patient today.”

Madame Louise frowned and looked at Kate up and down before giving a curt nod.

“Wait on that bed.” She said before turning and walking away.

Kate sat as directed and stared at the beautiful glass stained windows of the place.

“I request you let me go right now! This is nonsense.” She could recognise that firm voice anywhere. To her right Professor McGonagall was lying on one of the beds and arguing with a boy that Kate figured he was wishing he hadn’t been born.

She walked towards them and put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I’ll take it from here, thank you.”

“Who are you? You are not a healer; Madame Louise will hear about this.”

“Mister, this young woman knows more than you, do us all a favour and go with your mother.” Intervened McGonagall.

“I heard Jared O’Leary was looking for you.” The boy shifted in his place and nodded nervously before leaving them alone.

“Professor, what happened?” Kate’s healer mode activated and started scanning McGonagall for injuries and signals of distress.

“Oh, Williams, a lot is been happening this past year. I can imagine you’ve been informed?”

“Vaguely. I arrived two days ago from…”

“I know.”

Kate grabbed the file at the foot of the bed and read the report on McGonagall’s state.

“Four stunning spells to the chest?” She looked up and asked with her eyes, but her professor wasn’t in a mood for a talk.

“Williams, I must get out of here and go back to Hogwarts. I’m afraid it’s going to be too late by the time they let me go.”

“Professor, you could faint just by… too late for what?”

“Williams!” Madame Louise motioned her to come closer. Kate hesitated, but followed the mediwizard to a quieter space. “What happens to be the problem?”

“I’ve been poisoned two days ago.”

“In that case you should have come earlier, don’t you think?”

“There’s been… complications. I wanted to ask you if it’s possible to poison someone without using a vial or a potion or, I don’t know, food or drinks.”

The woman hummed and crossed her arms in front of her. “That’s rather strange.”

“Is this…” Kate moved the collar of the shirt to the side, revealing the red marks that hadn’t disappeared yet. “… a possible way?”

Louise grabbed the glasses that were hanging by a chain around her neck and placed them on the tip of her nose to inspect the injuries.

“The poison could have been injected with some kind of needle, but the shape of these marks means claws or… nails.”

She took her glasses off and waved them while talking. “I imagine it is possible, but you must have a very twisted mind to carry around poison in your nails. Also, you need to be very careful, a bad placement of the poison can cause yourself to get ill. In what kind of troubles are you getting into, Williams?”

“It’s a story for another day.”

 “Madame Louise, I can’t find Jared O’Leary…” The boy that was treating McGonagall appeared from behind Kate.

“What are you talking about? Go back to work! Naturally, you can’t find him. He doesn’t work here anymore!”

“But she…”

“Is every patient cured, Mr Boyle?” Kate slid away from the conversation to where Professor McGonagall was resting.

“I suddenly feel tired…”

Kate nodded and checked that the potions on her nightstand were filled and in order. A hand grabbed her wrist, and she turned to look at McGonagall.

“Katherine. You must find Potter. Something terrible is about to happen.”

Kate frowned and got closer to her former professor’s face.

“The Ministry. Try the Ministry,” she whispered.

Kate didn’t think twice. She ran all she could to the underground station, receiving some odd glances from the surrounding people.

When she arrived at the Ministry stop, she could sense the commotion even from the muggles that were passing by.

“A gas leak.” She heard while climbing up the mechanic stairs. Some people complained at her rudeness, but she couldn’t stop and apologise at the moment.

“There’s the press. Those vultures. It was probably a problem with plumbing. Look! The water reached the first floor!” A man said.

Kate tried to walk among the curious souls that were conglomerated around the building and recognised the protection bubble that was forming around it. She slid under it with ease.

“But I heard an explosion! I’m telling you!” a woman said to a journalist.

She tried to enter the building, but what seemed to be an auror stopped her.

“Let me in! I’m a healer!”

The man remained stoic and grabbed her arm.

“Identification?”

“I… I don’t have it right now but…”

“You can’t go in, Miss” She tried to get rid of him and she almost succeeded, but when the doors to the Ministry opened, she stopped the struggle. Four aurors walked out the building protecting several figures that walked behind them. She tried to reach them, but the security guard grabbed her again.

“You are the cursed girl! Daily Prophet here! Are you involved in the accident? How do you think your father will react to this? How do you think this is connected to your brother?”

“I’m not…” dumbfounded by the flash of a camera, she tried to escape from the journalists.

“Miss Williams! Miss Williams! What can you tell us about the person who died?”

She couldn’t hear anything, see anything, someone pushed her, and she felt another flash of a camera. Her head was spinning.

Cornelius Fudge stepped out of the building and pointed his wand at his neck. He cleared his throat and all the attention was directed at him.

“It is with great regret that I must confirm that the wizard styling himself Lord… well, you know who I mean… is alive and among us again.”

--

[Epilogue]

--

Tag List:

@eldritchscreech​

@meteora-fc​

@cazreadsstuff

@the-navistar-carol​

@am-i-space​

[itstittycitybaby]

From the Ashes we are Born (Part 9)

 A/N: First things first if you read this through you are now a sinner sorry I don’t make the rules. Secondly, thank you @lazy-potato-author​ for this request! I hope you enjoy it! I have another request that will be out either this weekend or in the beginning of next weekend, so make sure to keep an eye out for that. After I get these requests out I might take some more it just depends on my schedule. This is a smut fic but V is not railing you in this one, because with a bullet wound it’s just not gonna happen lmao. Also, V is a switch and no you cannot tell me otherwise. Anyways I hope you guys enjoy reading this!

Warnings: smut, nsfw 18+. Fingering, bit of dirty talk and praise. Enjoy my fellow sinners.

V grunted; one of chancellor’s men had managed to pelt him with a bullet. Thankfully, it didn’t hit anything important but it hurt like hell. V winced when he tried to laugh. The trouble he would be in once he got home to his darling was something he admittedly was looking forward to. Not the scolding, or the lecturing, but being able to see your face again. V’s right hand held tightly over the wound as he hobbled back to the shadow gallery. He couldn’t tell if he was bleeding badly thanks to his attire, but the sharp pain did not ease. It felt hot, like it was burning him. V laughed bitterly which caused him to wheeze. He knew too much about fire and how its unforgiving flames swept over your skin. V cursed himself; he promised he would be more careful from now on. Just a bit of a ways farther, he told himself.

“V!” He jumped at the voice of his love. Your eyes shifted to the hand holding his side as he leaned on the dining table. “Hello there darling,” V wheezed out, wincing. There was a simmer of anger in your eyes as you watched your boyfriend lean on the table for support. Godammit, you thought. He just got home! “V, what happened?” He didn’t say anything as he removed his daggers and hat and placed them on the table. You worried over him like a mother hen which made his heart swell at the thought. Though, he couldn’t help but feel guilty. V grunted, “I think I got shot.” “You think?!” You sighed turning away from your masked boyfriend. “Stay right there I’m getting the first aid kit,” you shouted over you, dashing towards the bathroom. Cursing, you grabbed it from under the sink and hurried to V. His breathing sounded irregular and he was gripping onto the table. The leather gloves were gone and his scarred hands turned white from the pressure he was putting on the edge of the table. The pads of your feet burned from running so fast but you didn’t care. “V I’m gonna need you to sit down.” “I-I can take care of it my darling, y-you...need some rest.” With a heated glare you repeated, “Sit.” V shrunk, which caused another grunt. Gently, you slung your arm around the good part of his torso and led him to a kitchen chair. You set the first aid kit on the table beside the belt of daggers and V’s hat. One layer down. “V..you’re not gonna like this but we’re gonna have to take off your tunic.” Silence. “V,” you said softly. “I need to look at the wound before it gets worse.” He sighed, causing him to curse softly in pain. “Alright, my darling,” he replied. There was a hint of sadness in his tone.

 Giving him a reassuring smile and a kiss on his head, you helped your boyfriend shimmie out of the top. V let out a hiss as the tunic sank onto his wound. “Sorry,” you said sheepishly, being more careful to get him out of the damn thing. The blood made the tunic stick to the wound and really it was just a sticky gross mess in general. A gasp threatened to claw its way out of your throat once you got the tunic off. V’s chest was burned, heavily burned. There were scars littered across it with an angry reddish colour. You swallowed your surprise, though. V was already ashamed and insecure. V’s head was low, refusing to look at you in the eye. Even with his scars, he was still beautiful. “V,” you whispered. “You’re beautiful.” His head shot up out of surprise. A groan left his lips as a flare of pain flashed him.“Right sorry,” you exclaimed, remembering why the both of you were here in the first place. Grabbing your supplies you knelt down in front of him. “Stay still as best as you can, if you need something to hold onto you can squeeze my shoulder,” you muttered.

You’re beautiful. The pain was sharp but dulled once he kept replaying your words in his head. V was anything but beautiful; he has blood on his hands. His skin was far from beauty. Disgusting. Mortifying. Every time he saw himself in the mirror he couldn’t help but sneer. His angel had to be lying to him. V’s head perked up at the sound of gauze being unwrapped. “After this you should be done,” you said. “Just be careful; we don’t want the stitches to bust, so no moving around without me,”  you softly chided. “You have to be more careful V. I don’t want something bad to happen to you.” He didn’t say anything, just kept trying to focus on the feeling of being patched up. The wound just throbbed now and to his right the bloody bullet lay on the table. “Why do you lie to me, my darling?” The tips of your brows furrowed in confusion as you bandaged him. “What?” “You said I was beautiful, love,” V said softly , “I am many things but I do not have beauty in me.” “Yes, you do. I haven’t been this happy in years, V. You’ve shown me patience and compassion. You look at me like I’m the most perfect thing in the world. Your voice is deep and rich. I love your scars V. They tell a story. Whatever happened was awful and you shouldn’t have gone through that, but,” you said, double checking the gauze you put over his wound. “It shows that you survived something and you’re still here to tell the tale.”  There was a mischievous glint in your eye. Leaning up, you placed a kiss to his chest. V froze; his blood felt cold and underneath the mask his cheeks flushed (thank god you couldn’t see it or you’d tease him relentlessly). V’s breath hitched at the feeling of your soft lips greeting his chest with a kiss.

 You sent him a wink before getting up and putting the supplies away. “After I get back, wanna watch something,” you asked, gesturing your head to the living room. V nodded. He didn’t trust his voice right now. You sent him one last smile before heading into the living room. V was alone with his thoughts again. The only thing he could think about was your soft lips on his horrid skin.

The hot mug of tea warmed his bare hands. The Princess Bride played on the old television. The lights were off, the T.V. gave off a soft glow but other than that the both of you were surrounded in darkness. V’s darling sat comfortably next to him, her eyes glued to the screen. He couldn’t concentrate on the film playing even though he enjoyed it. He felt vulnerable and bare without his tunic. The scarred burns and roughness of his skin was a hard reminder of the torture he endured. Everyday he was reminded of the need for vengeance and the underlying anger beneath his heart. V knew you deserved better; you deserve someone who wasn’t horrid looking or angry. You were kind and loving (albeit a mischievous minx at times), who saw the good in people. Even then, you understood V’d need to restore balance and peace. England needed a new era, it’s people have suffered for too long. Whoever took up that spot was not in his hands but hopefully, he’d be able to rid London of the monsters lurking in the shadows.

V was not paying attention to the movie. Sure, it was your favorite and not his, but he was more attentive. His posture seemed tense and uncomfortable. It made you sad knowing that V thought of himself unworthy and felt insecure. Though, you could hardly blame him. The scars that covered his torso were great in numbers and his skin was angry and raw. It reminded you of the silent rage and danger hidden underneath your boyfriend’s persona. V had never hurt you and he was an amazing lover, but you could feel the hatred. The thought excited you. The anger was quiet but whenever it came out of the shadows, it was violent. Witnessing V in battle was something you always watched in awe. Slowly, you tested the waters. You shifted closer to your masked lover. Very slowly you put your head on V’s bare shoulder. He became rigid and stiff as a board but eventually he sunk into you. V’s head rested on yours; the guy fawkes mask kissing you with its lips. He seemed more relaxed but still alert to your movements as Buttercup tumbled down after Wesley. “They’re so dumb,” you giggled, the bright orange dress Buttercup wore flying behind her as she rolled down the hill. “Sure they may not be the brightest but they’re in love, darling,” V replied smoothly. You snorted, “Of course you’d be seeing the romance of it.” 

He just hummed in reply, holding you closer to him.The end of the movie was nearing. V couldn't stand it any longer. You had snuggled into his side and every so often placed small kisses over his chest. He thanked the heavens for loose fitting breeches because he started feeling a bit warm. V could see the idea formulating in your brain. It made him smirk beneath his mask. A faux innocence you had put on but V knew his darling better than anyone else. You were clever and cunning but V was faster. Gently, V placed his hand on your left thigh. V smiled in victory when he heard your breath hitch. In his peripheral vision he could see your cheeks start to get flustered as you squirmed underneath his grip. V paid no mind though; if you wanted something you would have to ask. It amused him that one little touch seemed to make you compliant. Heavens, the things he wanted to do to you. Patience, he told himself. You weren’t going to give up that easily. After a few minutes with no new tactics, you relaxed once more focusing on the movie. V’s hand didn’t stray further up. Instead it stayed there stubbornly. Once V knew for sure you were focused on the movie, he carefully brought his left hand to his face. With deft fingers he carefully untied the mask and placed it beside him.

 Oddly enough you seemed too transfixed with the movie that you didn’t notice what your scheming boyfriend was up too. The soft glow didn’t show off his features too much, so he wasn’t too worried about you suddenly turning and seeing his face.V waited patiently for a few moments and then he struck. You didn’t really think too much of him shifting around until you felt rough lips kissing your jaw. “V-V,” you asked a bit breathlessly, leaning into his chest to give him better access. V  seemed to know exactly what spots on your neck and jaw were sensitive. How he knew where to softly kiss and nibble was beyond you. Again, V proved to be perfect at doing anything. “Yes, love,” he replied, his lips kissing at the spot where your jaw met your neck. “W-what are you doing?” Your back was pressed up against him and your head laid on his shoulder. You couldn’t see his face; his head was littering your jaw with soft kisses. “Should I stop?” “N-no,” you squeaked out in reply, cheeks turning red. V’s hands trailed down your stomach towards the hem of your shirt. He chuckled at your shyness. His hair tickled your neck lightly.  Slowly, he hiked up your shirt over your breasts. Your nipples hardened as the cool air hit them. The sight made him groan. They were soft and plump. “You’re an angel my darling,” he said huskily. “Look how gorgeous you are.” V’s lips returned to your neck. A whimper escaped your lips as his clever fingers gently circled around your areola on both of your breasts. Your nipples tingled, begging to be touched. Even though your thinking started to stop and everything felt hazy you were careful not to brush up against V’s wound. A madman, you thought. You mewled as his fingers finally started rubbing and pinching your nipples. V’s teeth nipped and sucked at your neck, leaving small red bruises in his wake. 

Your cunt started to throb with need and you fought the urge to grind on his thigh for some sort of release. Suddenly, it stopped. “H-hey!” “Ah ah ah,” V tutted. “Pay attention to the film.” “B-but..” you trailed off helplessly. “Do I need to repeat myself,” V asked, voice growing lower. “If you don’t pay attention I’ll stop.” Grumbling, you turned back to the movie. V chuckled; it sounded more sinister than his usual laugh. The noise alone made you feel tingly with excitement.“Good girl,” V purred, kissing the top of your head. You shivered. V maneuvered you in front of the T.V with his chest behind your back. Immediately, his fingers found your nipples again. You whimpered as they pinched your nipples lightly and rolled them between the pads of his fingers. His lips found your ear and V gently suckled on your lobe. You tried so hard to focus on Buttercup getting married to Prince Humphry. You didn’t want your boyfriend to stop. You wanted to be good. The fogginess in your brain threatened to take over. Heat pooled in your belly and you throbbed with need. V had barely started and you were already putty in his hands. “I love these,” he rumbled, kneading your tits with his hands. “They’re soft and warm just like my darling.” You shivered at his words much to his amusement. “Please V,” you whined. “Please what angel? Use your words.” Your face heated up. “Y-you know w-what I mean.” “I’m afraid not my darling,” he replied. V was grinning behind you as he watched you trip over your words. “Hm,” V said, mockingly pretending to think. His right hand crept down to the waistband of your skirt. Your eyes widened. V’s hand sunk under the waistband of your skirt. His hand hovered over your panties and you held in your breath waiting patiently. Finally, V’s fingers rubbed small circles over your clit over the fabric. “F-fuck,” you breathed out as his index finger added a bit more pressure. 

“What was that,” V asked, movements ceasing. Irritation bubbled in your chest. “Stop teasing me V it’s not fair,” you whined, trying to buck into his hand. V laughed, giving your neck a kiss. “Tell me what you want then, my songbird.” “Can you...use your fingers and…” you trailed off, squirming from his gaze. “Oh my darling, but I am using my fingers, but apparently that’s not enough.” “V!” “Alright alright my love, I just enjoy seeing you flustered.” V’s fingers shifted your panties aside. Gently, he spread apart your cunt. You moaned as his finger rubbed gentle circles around your clit. He knows what he’s doing. It didn’t surprise you, V was spectacular in everything he did. All thoughts ceased when V’s middle finger entered you. It stung a bit but he carefully searched for that spot. And when he found it, that’s when you lurched backward into him. V grunted in pain. “Oh my god I’m so sorry! Did I accidentally-” “Darling,” he interrupted, “I’m fine, relax.” The fingers on your left hand held the arm of the couch tightly to steady yourself more. You eyes rolled in the back of your head as V’s clever fingers curled into you, the pads of his fingers hitting that spot perfectly. The pressure on your clit didn’t cease either;you weren’t focusing on the damn movie anymore but V didn’t seem to care. He littered your neck with more kisses and bites. “Fuck,” you cried out as he added another finger. “My angel is taking my fingers so well,” V cooed. 

His thumb on your clit rubbed a bit more harshly, but it felt so good. “I wonder how you’ll react to my cock. But that’s for another time.” His left hand snuck up to your left nipple again and started messing with it. Your moans filled the room and you thanked god for being so underground. V’s lips found yours, but with the pressure on your clit and his fingers rolling over your nipples you struggled kissing him back. V chuckled at this, snaking his tongue around yours and exploring your mouth with it. V’s fingers brushed against your clit and that delicious spot one more time, causing you to cum. V’s left arm curled around your stomach, making sure you wouldn’t fall. You trembled in his hold as your orgasm started to take over. V whispered praises and supported you on his lap. V’s hand left your cunt and fixed your underwear and skirt again. “You did wonderfully my darling,” V praised. Your bones felt heavy and so did your eyes. “Are you well enough to get up,” he asked gently after a few minutes. Nodding your head, you carefully slid off. To his surprise, however, you knelt in front of him, parting his thighs. “Love-” “Shh,” you cooed, eyes twinkling with mischief. “It’s your turn, my darling.”

[elliethesuperfruitlover]

bnha shit ahead

okay this is a rant real quick. (strap urself in) im not upset, but THIS NEEDS TO BE POINTED OUT.

feel free to give your opinion, dish some things out, the like :)

alright, you have the authority to disagree (if you want), it’s my opinion xx. alright so bakugou has anger issues because of his upbringing. like, one would think that it’s like “he’s kinda upset about well...everything, and he keeps shitting on deku like it’s his job to.” that’s kind of his ENTIRE character. like.....literally. he has his moments of softness and everything, but his (first) hero names were “lord explosion murder” or variants of that. i’ve watched ALL my hero academia episodes, spare the 2 movies, and if someone was to ask me “what comes to mind when you think of bakugou katsuki?” i would say “anger issues and the color red/orange.” this man gives off black air forces, listening to steppin’ by 21 savage vibes. (dont let him get a hold of your demonias).

now, on multiple occasions, i have wanted to PERSONALLY beat bakugou’s ass. im talkin’ “DEKU, DUMBASS, I NEED YOUR HELP” type ass beatin’. you gon’ need all might PLUS all 50 goddamn united states of smash to save his ass.  ✨plus ultra ✨ on that hoe.

SLEEPING HIS ASS. because he needs to be put in his damn place.

let me put this into perspective.

my toxic trait is that i love competition. i don’t turn things that arent competitive into competition, but if it IS competitive, im a bitch, i MEAN it. i won’t play dirty, but i will do everything in my power to be...well...the best. 

bakugou acts the same way, he wants to be better than midoriya, the number one hero, yada yada. okay thats fine. but where is all this ANGER COMING FROM? 

✨his mama ✨

why are you saying this? how does it add up? you may be asking....sit the fuck down, let me get these (limited) receipts.

okay so, in the episode where aizawa and all might had to go around to the students’ houses, in order to tell their parents about the dorms that UA is implementing, i find my reasoning. now, in the opening scene, we can see bakugou’s mama SLAPPING HER SON UPSIDE THE HEAD, with no fucking reaction. like it’s what....normal. like it’s some type of regular occurence. and of course, he’s fucking yelling at her (i would too if i know my ass wouldn’t get beat). he finally has the balls to stand up against her and be like “hey.......please stop hitting me” WHICH WE LOVE. but like???? this must be ongoing. dont nobody just start beatin’ they kid when they’re FIFTEEN YEARS OLD. maybe that’s when their parent starts fucking laying off of them a lil bit.

she straight up BITCH SLAPS her ONLY son in front of not only her husband, but his HOMEROOM TEACHER, AND MR. YAGI TOSHINORI. the fawk? if i did some trifflin’ shit, at least my mom would have the sense to like let the guests leave, then dish me out. she is out to EMBARASS her son. and hurt him (both emotionally and physically because she had a fucking death grip on him)

and the “if you werent so weak” comment that she made just threw my ass out, i gotta order a new one offa’ ebay. 

this man has childhood TRAUMA connected to his mom, and how she treats him this is where his anger issues come from, his other mindsets, all of those things. just in that little thing. and like i get when she was complimenting him and everything, but if i were in that position, i would eat up those nice words, only to think about the blaring pain in my skull where i just got backhanded a few minutes ago.

anyway uh, thanks for coming to my ted talk.

i’ve been thinking about this a lot lol. i dont often talk about BNHA, but when i do, you may not be able to stop me. i enjoy analyzing different characters, and their background and the like. this isn’t just for my hero academia either, i literally made a whole powerpoint on invincible characters, just talking about them....because i fucking ADORE that show.

there’s so much to talk about though, and when im done simping over her, midnight may be next on that list...hmmm. we’ll see.

@misskittysmagicportal, @super-unpredictable98, @robert-sheehan, @hucklebunny​, @maerenee930, @magic-multicolored-miracle​​

(yes i know full damn well that some of yall dont know what in the name of god im talking about but bear with me pls xx)

[clandonnachaidh]

Remember Remember the Fifth of November

“D’ye think she’ll be warm enough?”

I looked down at our daughter and swallowed the urge to comment on the fact that he’d asked that very question at least ten times in almost as many minutes. His strong jaw was clenched in concentration as he wrestled a cosy knit hat onto her head, trying to be as delicate as he could so as to not wake her but having to go to war with her already abundant curls as they fought back against constriction. Brianna was in my favourite place, cocooned in a wrap that held her close to my chest with her head resting heavily on my shoulder as she slept. I even welcomed the drool that would no doubt be spilling from her parted lips as she dreamed.

Amongst all the other blessings that having a child of our own brought to us, the fact that she was such a good sleeper was not one to go unmentioned.

I smiled softly at the sight of my husband, huge and imposing in every way but somehow unbelievably gentle when it came to his daughter. Jamie was looking at her with the sheer adoration that appeared only when he was looking at Brianna.

“She’ll be fine. Besides, it’ll be warm beside the bonfire.”

“Aye but nae too close,” Jamie warned me, pointlessly.

“Don’t worry, lad, I don’t have any inclination to launch our daughter into the flames.”

He quietly muttered ‘dinna even joke’ under his breath as he put an arm around me and pressed a kiss to my temple, showing me that I was forgiven for my attempt at comedy.

Brianna shuffled slightly so I checked that she was comfortable, made sure that her little booties were firmly on her feet and saw that her hands were cradled in tight fists under her chin. Jamie retrieved his favourite Barbour jacket from the wardrobe and slipped into it, pulling his own beanie down around his ears before he caught sight of the three of us in the mirror.

Of course I was biased but the picture reflected in the glass was glorious. We looked like the perfect little family. Jamie towering over his two girls, ever the protector. I hadn’t been aware that I was beaming with pride but when I saw myself, my face was split into an open grin. Our little unit, all bundled up against what would be a cold autumn night, complete with matching wool jumpers that had been a gift to Jamie and myself from Jenny the previous Christmas with the promise of a smaller version being underway for Brianna to receive this year.

We could hear Ian and Murtagh having a loud discussion about where best to stick the Guy even through the thick walls of Lallybroch. With a chuckle, Jamie decided that it was time for him to wade into the discussion lest his godfather and brother-in-law decided to try and drown the other in the basin full of water that had been set up so the children could bob for apples. Just as we made it into the kitchen, Wee Jamie was caught red handed trying to stick a single finger into the treacle that was cooling around the toffee apples that were supposed to have been a surprise for later. A fact that wasn’t lost on my husband.

“Yer ma will tan yer hide and ye ken fine well.” Jamie grabbed his namesake around the waist with his free arm and lifted his giggling nephew out into the cold air, his other arm never dropping from the shield that he had created around Brianna and myself.

Lallybroch had come to be our home. It was beautiful in the spring with the first buds beginning to bloom and the small walk down to the burn was worth it for a dip in the midst of boiling hot summers. Of course, it was picturesque enough to be on a postcard when it was covered in soft, fluffy snow but my favourite had to be autumn. The trees that surrounded the land had all turned, greens deepening until they turned bright orange and red. It hadn’t been too windy so even though the ground was covered in a deep layer of leaves, the huge trees were anything but bare.

“Go and sort them out before I stuff one of them into the Guy’s outfit masel’,” Jenny’s voice came from behind us and Jamie snorted a laugh as he moved towards the two men who were still having words with each other over the correct placement of the effigy that had lovingly been made from potato sacks and straw with a somewhat terrifying hand-drawn face thanks to the efforts of Wee Jamie and his little sister Maggie.

“Mary, Michael and Bride, they’re worse than the weans sometimes,” Jenny sighed heavily, a sentiment I was not going to disagree with. We watched the three men bicker over this and that before finally coming to the conclusion that they would play rock, paper, scissors to determine the outcome of a very simple issue.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” I laughed as Murtagh clipped Ian around the head, clearly not happy with the result. Victorious, Ian pulled the physical representation of Guy Fawkes from the ground and placed him proudly on the bonfire, balancing him right in the middle of a particularly dense patch of branches to serve as a sort of throne.

I hadn’t noticed Jenny had gone until she reappeared with two mugs in her hands, spirals of steam rising and disappearing into the air.

“I slipped something special intae yer hot chocolate, mo phiuthar,” Jenny gave me a wink as she pressed the warm mug into my hand. I inquisitively stuck my nose close to the rim and felt a wry smile creep onto my face as I confirmed my suspicions with a look at my sister-in-law.

“That creme brûlée liqueur I got you?”

She nodded before taking a solid glug from her own cocktail, “The very same.”

From his place at his dad’s side, Wee Jamie bolted towards us and pulled at his mother’s arm, dragging her towards her husband as he begged the two of them for the bonfire to be lit.

With a look down at my own sleeping offspring, I took a sip of my hot chocolate and closed my eyes appreciatively, letting the warmth flow down my throat and into my chest.

“Christ alive, Claire.”

Jamie’s husky voice appeared from behind me and I smirked at him, knowing that only my husband could be one of the only men to see his wife enjoying a hot drink and make it a sexual thing.

“There’s booze in it. Here, try.”

I offered my mug to him but instead he closed the gap between us, careful to cradle Brianna’s head in one of his hands, and kissed the taste from my lips.

“Delicious.”

“Uncle Jamie, hurry! Da’s doin’ it!”

We all convened around the modest structure that had been built from old fence posts, planks from barn doors and old bits of timber from wooden pallets. I spied the leg of a kitchen chair that had met an explosive end the previous Hogmanay after a drunken Jamie and Murtagh had fallen into it during what had started as an eightsome reel and quickly descended into the two men trying to spin each other as hard as possible until they both lost their footing.

As if she knew that it was time for the festivities to start, Brianna started to make the little noises that meant she was beginning to wake.

“Ah, the wee snuffle pig is comin’ around, is she?” Jamie whispered soft words over her as his hands began to untangle his daughter from the folds of the wrap. I giggled at the nickname that he’d given her and stretched the tired muscles of the small of my back now that I didn’t have an extra 10kg of weight hanging off of me. Even though she was only a year old, Brianna was affectionately referred to within the family as ‘the long baby’ due to the Viking genes that had been passed down through her father.

As her sleepy eyes began to blink open, the first thing in her line of sight was her father which produced a rather spectacular smile.

“Daaaaaa,” she groaned with joy.

It was the only thing that she said, not yet having mastered any sort of name for me. She had, however, had given me the gift of a very specific, very shrill screech to know when it was mummy that was looking for. As much as I joked about him pipping me to the post, it was my favourite thing to see Jamie’s utterly radiant smile each and every time she said it.

“Did ye have a nice wee sleep, m’annsachd?” he asked as he kissed her head and then each cheek for good measure.

“Look, darling!” I put on my best excited face and pointed towards the bonfire where Murtagh held a torch and Ian held Maggie on his hip, Wee Jamie at dutifully at his side.

“Remember, remember, the 5th of November! Gunpowder, treason and plot! We see no reason why gunpowder treason should ever be forgot!”

With a round of applause for the two Murray children, Murtagh put the torch to the woodpile.

It went up with a whoosh causing Murtagh to stagger back slightly. He caught himself before subtly giving the finger to Ian who was doubled over laughing.

“Ye’ve got a bit less beard the noo!”

Shaking my head at the childish antics of the two eldest men in the family, I set my sights on the reflection of the flames dancing around in Brianna’s beautiful blue eyes. A lighter higher up, I saw the same vision replicated in the eyes of her father.

“D’ye like it, Bree? Can ye see the manny on the top there?”

“One year old might be a touch young to start explaining about why we burn a man on a bonfire, Fraser,” I said sardonically.

He made a face at me before bringing his mouth down to meet mine, Brianna’s pudgy hand caught somewhere between our bottom lips.

“She’ll be raised on stories of rebels, Sassenach. Guy Fawkes and Robert the Bruce and the like.”

I raised an eyebrow at him, “Any women in that list?”

“Aye, ‘course. Joan of Arc, Sophie Scholl. All the good ones.”

I nodded once with a smile to tell him that I was happy with his additions and we turned back to the bonfire, watching as the effigy burned in front of us. Jamie secured Brianna on his hip, burying his face into the riotous curls that had escaped from her hat and delighting in the resulting giggles. His other arm was wrapped around my side, sheltering me under his arm. Despite the cold, he was warm enough for all three of us.

We watched as the flames licked and crawled over the wood, bursts of air popping as the heat became too much. It was a beautiful clear night, even with the smoke from the bonfire billowing upwards and all at once, a huge explosion of white light lit up the night sky.

Brianna’s face at the sight of her first firework was something I knew that both Jamie and I would cherish forever. Her mouth hung open, eyes glittering with excitement as the colours burst in the sky. White and blue and green and red illuminated the pale skin on her face and it was one of the most beautiful things I’d ever seen.

She began to make breathy noises of awe, her little hand gently resting on Jamie’s cheek just to make sure that he was watching it all unfold with her. He quickly snuck a glance at me and smiled knowingly when he saw the tears in my eyes. A laugh snuck out of me, ready to dash my eyes and make a self-deprecating comment about being a silly, emotional mum but Jamie pulled me tighter against him and laid a kiss on the crown of my head.

“I am the luckiest man alive,” he announced. “Happy Bonfire Night, my beautiful lasses.”

[bearsinpotatosacks]

Bonfire- Winter Prompts List

From the prompt Bonfire. Takes place on the 5th November, Bonfire or Guy Fawkes Night in the UK, 1925, so in-between season 3 and 4.

Orange embers lit up against the black night. The bonfire crackled, echoing around the empty space and rolling hills. Everything around him had come to life. The world on edge and sizzling with life. Ironic considering the entire reason this fire was going was to get rid of a corpse.

The warmth of the fire hit Tommy's face like a punch. His skin glowed red and orange. The light sunk into his black coat. An unmoving black void that consumed everything it touched. If you crossed him you would be consumed too.

The man on the bonfire knew this all too well. His lifeless corpse growing black and brown, charred until the scent of burnt flesh hung around the trees. It was strange how no one had picked up on that familiar scent. Perhaps it was the benefits of living in a large house, there were no neighbours.

Usually the bodies were burnt by Johnny Dogs, but not today. Tommy didn't know why but he had a feeling in his bones that he had to watch something perish. He had to have something to do, something to push the inching black away that had appeared in his peripheral vision ever since his family turned their backs on him.

He hadn’t thought of it too much initially. To him, the shock of the news would pass, he’d get them out of prison and everything would be okay, they’d go on to conquer once more. But when he heard none of them were coming back, it hit him more than he cared to admit. Well, Michael had come back, but the fact that only he returned just rubbed salt in the wound

He often pondered why they left him specifically. His sleepless nights filled with unspoken conversations, what if and whys. John and Arthur talked to Ada, Ada talked to him, but never each other. The famous Shelby Brothers had been broken for the final time. But not Tommy, not quite yet.

Although it may explain the ache within him to do something, to see something burn, to have someone recognise everything within him and take it all seriously. His brothers had left, and like an abandoned child, he destroyed anything he could to get their attention. It hadn’t worked yet.

Today he wanted to be feared without words. Something told him he would have to fight more than he had before. Perhaps he was preparing for this unknown enemy? It was only a matter of time before someone took advantage of the gaping hole in the family. He knew he could face whatever it was. He hated to admit it but it was true that he had an edge to make this job work. Because he'd died long ago he had no trouble telling harsh truths. Or that's what he wanted people to think.

Just like the open wound left by his brothers’ discarding of him, telling them of the arrests took a lot of his strength out of him. Seeing everyone take their side drew more and more away from him. He knew it would only be a matter of time before Finn stopped talking to him, he was already annoyed at everyone leaving him alone in Birmingham, then Ada when Tommy stopped listening to her, then Lizzie. Soon, everyone he knew would be gone, this business a stranger and Tommy just a lonely aging man who pushed everyone away. All because of the cold dissonance he had to maintain to pay for their gold and their cars and their designer clothes.

It was this coldness that made the Peaky Blinders so susceptible to danger. People thought it was easy, to order people about and conquer the world. They knew so little. And because of their foolishness there was no chance for a break. Someone would come along sooner or later to mess up the peace. But lately he was wondering if he himself wasn't that person.

The very same edge he had that made him excellent in business would turn on him if left too long without another opponent to destroy. His mind was a loyal dog left too long without food, destined to turn its jaws on its owner.

"Dad!"

The soft pattering of feet against wet grass broke him from his brooding. Charlie stopped beside him and clung to his leg. He was getting so big now. Three years old and had already faced so much. If there was ever a sign of how the mess on Tommy's hands, in his skin and blood, could ruin everything he touched, it was his son.

"Hello, Charlie," he picked him up. "What are you doing up, eh?"

His son laughed and reached toward the fire. It glittered in his big eyes. They were so like his, that's what Grace always said. Tommy was always told his eyes were like his mother's. He hoped to god that Charlie didn't end up like her, with ghosts and yelling. Because Tommy saw the sickening symptoms that he was going the same way and knew what would happen when he truly succumbed.

"Wanted to see the fire,"

He pulled him closer. He wasn't wrapped up warm enough for a cold November evening.

"Why the fire, Dad?"

He had to come up with something. Charlie was probably the only person in the house blind and innocent to the ways of the business.

"Do you know what day it is?" He asked him.

Charlie shook his head.

"It's the fifth of November, Guy Fawkes Night,"

"Who's that?"

"A man from long ago who tried to blow up the King,"

"Like you!" Charlie exploded and clapped his hands, clearly proud of himself.

"Not quite,"

Charlie’s celebration stopped. He looked at Tommy confused as the wind blew in.

The fire danced in a different direction. It's embers heading toward the fields where far off. Somewhere, north, Birmingham sat.

"Why?"

Tommy smiled at him. Sometimes he wondered if it reached his eyes anymore or if anyone believed the smile anymore. He looked at himself in the mirror sometimes and saw sickly pale skin, aging wrinkles and a smile that leaked an inky black sludge. The cracks were forming and the darkness seeping out. Maybe it was better that most of his family hated him. There were less knowing eyes watching him this way. Less people to tell him what he already knew.

"Guy Fawkes got caught."

Charlie erupted into laughter again as they turned to watch the bonfire. Deep within, if he squinted enough, Tommy could still see the body. By now it would be unidentifiable. But they didn't want just unidentifiable, they wanted no trace.

Oranges and reds lit up both their faces. The roar hit Tommy as the fire reflected in his mud flecked shoes.

He laughed. His suit was crisp but shoes were dirty. Maybe he'd never get away from his roots, he wasn't sure if he wanted to. He'd learnt the hard way how impossible it was to join the ranks of the elite. But the idea that he could never outrun his past, his roots, made him sure that the mistakes and dark parts of himself, his family were destined to be his future.

This fic is quite sad, I think almost all of my Peaky Blinders fics are but that's the vibe of the show lately. Thank you for reading