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Being in a relationship with Fred & George (Fred Weasley x Reader x George Weasley

Summary: Being in a relationship with Fred & George would include

A/N: Please send in more Weasley Twins requests 🙏

They always drag you in on their pranks

You’re their partner in crime

They are both protective of you

Fred is more bold and outgoing with his affection towards you.

George is more quiet, and thoughtful with his approach to affection

They both make sure you spend enough quality time with each other to avoid one of them getting jealous of the other getting more attention

They always make date plans together. They always work as a team

They always find ways to make you smile, and to cheer you up when you’re feeling down

If you haven’t been roped in on one of their pranks you’re their alibi so they don’t get into trouble

Molly and the other Weasley’s absolutely adore you.

They always sneak you into their dorm at night so you can cuddle up with one of them. They take it in turns as to who you cuddle up with, like one night it will be Fred the next will be George and so on

They love making you blush.

Fred will love to kiss you in public to make you all flustered

While George will whisper something cheeky in your ear

They always know when something is wrong with you and they will immediately be their to comfort you.

They have cute pet names for you

Helping them to run Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes once you all leave Hogwarts.

Fred surviving the war and starting a family with them both.

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OMG. MATTEL COOKED WITH THIS ONE

Have you guys seen the new David monster high doll that’s releasing this wekeend??

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The next Monster High skullector doll might be dedicated to The Lost Boys!

I won't be able to afford her, but I'm still wheezing from excitement

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my boyfriend told me to draw them as animal crossing villagers and i was like bet.

i need more bowers gang mutuals, i rarely contribute to any shipping material or discourse, i mostly just draw them in weird ass aus like this or diary of a wimpy kid. please be my friend.

anyways henry is a dog strictly because henry bowowers made me laugh

patrick is a wolf bc i thought of little red riding hood and he's a creep

vic as a squirrel... came to me immediately i don't know how to describe it.

belch was the first one i did... he as going to be a hamster LOL but instead he's a bear.

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Well, I've made my own bot with the plot about loosing your Weasley twins chat bots. Ngl it might suck since it is my second bot and I don't really understand how it works. Yikes. But I've tried to bring some humor to this situation with the bots being deleted. So here

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If you heard someone crying like a whale, it was me, don't worry

Character.ai has deleted numerous HP chat bots. I guess it's time to sob and touch some grass. RIP my husbands

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Character.ai has deleted numerous HP chat bots. I guess it's time to sob and touch some grass. RIP my husbands

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Y/n: tells everyone how sweet and caring her new boyfriend is

Her boyfriend:

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insert guitar riff here

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Is it even OK to cry like a bitch every time I see someone or something mentions Fred Weasley's death?

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5 year Tumblrversary! 🥳

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Paul x reader - Vampires Will Never Hurt You

Summary: Paul reveals his true nature to you when he has to save you from an attacker, and immediately panics about how you'll react.

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, blood & murder

Santa Carla is not a safe place to walk alone at night, everyone knows that. You have never felt particularly unsafe being out late despite that, used to the night life thanks to your boyfriend and his brothers, who have the worst sleeping rhythm imaginable and a bad enough reputation to scare off any possible threats, but now, as you walk along the beach to where you're supposed to meet Paul, a chill creeps down your spine.

You fight the urge to look back over your shoulder again. The surf nazi that has been following you since the boardwalk will still be there if you look, you're sure, and you're not willing to let him see how much he's scaring you.

You've almost reached the meeting spot, and the sun is just disappearing into the ocean, which means you're right on time. Paul will be there any moment.

You cling to that thought, walking faster.

Only a small rise of the ground separates you from where you hope Paul is already waiting, when the sound of footsteps alerts you to the fact that the distance to your pursuer is growing ever smaller.

No amount of telling yourself you'll be safe with Paul in just a minute can help against the feeling that a hand will close around the back of your neck any moment. You try to just keep walking, but the tension becomes too much. You need to know what to expect, what your pursuer is up to, so you whirl around to face him, wishing you had some kind of weapon in case you have to defend yourself.

The shock of just how close he is has you staggering a step backwards, your own galloping heartbeat drowning out all other sounds as a glinting switchblade appears in his hand. In the falling darkness, you can just barely make out the surfer's cruel features, crazed hatred shining in his eyes. The conflict between Paul's group and these people is nothing new — anyone who spends enough time on the boardwalk can witness it — but now you realize with growing terror that you may have underestimated just how far it goes. This guy is fully prepared to kill you just to get to Paul.

He says as much, crossing the remaining distance between you with two huge steps as you stand frozen in fear.

Scream. You should scream. If Paul is already close-by — and he should be, if he's on time — he'll hear and come help you. But you can't seem to make a sound, or move at all.

Your eyes are glued to the knife. That's your mistake, because he doesn't use it yet. Instead his free hand grabs for your throat.

Finally breaking from your stupor, you jump back with a yelp.

Now he does lift the knife, and as you lift your arms in a weak attempt to protect yourself, you promise yourself to learn some self-defense techniques if you live to see the morning.

He's almost upon you when a blur of movement behind the attacker catches your eye. Looking over his shoulder, you recognize the blond mess of your boyfriend's hair, but his face is different — all glowing eyes and sharp teeth. He rips the surfer away from you, moving so fast your eyes can barely follow the movement. All you can see is flailing limbs and spurting blood, and the next thing you know, there's a body laying at your feet, the whole thing over before you can even begin to comprehend what happened.

When Paul turns around to you, his face looks just like always. If it wasn't for the blood smeared all over his face and the disfigured corpse sprawled on the sand, you might be inclined to think you had only imagined it.

Shock keeps you frozen in place, too stunned to say anything — not that you have to, what with Paul rushing to your side, his hands digging into your shoulders as his panicked gaze roams your form for any injuries. His voice trembles as he asks if you're alright, at which you manage a silent nod.

By the time Paul has assured himself you're unharmed, you have finally regained enough of your composure to ask him what the fuck just happened. He only now seems to realize what he just let you witness, that he revealed what you assume was supposed to remain a well-protected secret. Fresh panic flares in his eyes, and for a moment you wonder if he'll kill you now. Whatever just went on with him, can he risk letting you get away and potentially giving him away to others? Ha! As if anyone would believe you if you told them what you just saw. Besides, he went berserk to protect you.

That thought gives you the courage to touch Paul — who is staring at you with that look that you know means there's a hundred thoughts racing through his head at once — on his arm, and ask again. "Paul, what was that? You— You killed that guy. And your face—"

You're not sure what else to say.

Neither is Paul, it seems. He winces, opens his mouth to speak, closes it again. Twice he starts a sentence and breaks off after the first word, frustratedly shaking his head. "I'm a vampire," he finally blurts out, words coming out so fast he stumbles over them. "Me and the boys all are. This— this isn't how I wanted you to find out but I— that guy— I just had to protect you."

For a moment, you can only stare at him, wide-eyed and unmoving as your brain tries to process that information. Vampire. A fucking vampire?

"You... are a vampire," you repeat. It's not really a question — you understood his words perfectly well, and you know what you saw. After that, it's easy enough to believe, also explaining why you only ever get to see Paul and his brothers at night. Even so, the word gives you the unreasonable urge to laugh as you can't help but imagine Paul as one of the little bloodsuckers from a cartoon you used to watch. As you just witnessed, real vampires are nothing like the ones they show on the TV for children, and the lingering smell of blood in the air makes it easy to bite down the threatening laugh, but a feeling of unreality remains. The fact that vampires exist would have been enough of a shock on it's own, but that Paul of all people is one... You're not really sure how to cope with that.

How the hell is one supposed to react when finding out one's boyfriend is secretly a vampire?! Should you be scared? You suppose any sane person would be, when faced with such a bloodthirsty killer. But... bloodsucker or not, it's still Paul. Your sweet, dorky, chaotic and extremely loving Paulie. You just can't bring yourself to see him as a monster, even as you watch the blood continue to drip from his chin. He killed the surfer, sure, but he did that to save you. He wouldn't hurt you, right?

While all these thoughts race through your head, Paul nods and rushes to explain that he doesn't pose any danger to you. You barely listen. You aren't scared of him, you realize. A little disturbed, sure. The events of the last few minutes are too strange and horrifying to really think about without losing your mind, but you know in your bones that Paul would never harm you.

Coming to this realization, you take his bloodstained hand in yours and interrupt his rambling. "I know. I know you're not dangerous to me. I love you, even if you're a vampire — which I'll definitely need some time to wrap my head around, but—"

You're interrupted as Paul breathes a huge sigh of relief and pulls you into his arms, which you're pretty sure he's only held back from doing before because he was scared of scaring you. You hug back, bringing one hand up to pet his hair when you feel him trembling.

"It's okay, Paul. I'm okay. Everything's okay."

When he can finally bring himself to pull away from the hug, Paul tries to give you a kiss, but you quickly take a step back, immediately feeling bad about the hurt look on his face.

"Nuh-uh, I'm sorry, but I'm not kissing you when you have blood on your mouth," you say nonetheless, putting a hand on his chest to keep him at distance.

"Oh c'mon," he whines. "Please, babe!"

The little pout on his lips and the puppy-eyes he's giving you make it almost impossible to resist, and so with a sigh you pull your sleeve down over your hand and use it to wipe away the worst of the blood on his face. Then you allow him to kiss you — and almost immediately regret it, when the taste of blood still clinging to his lips hits you.

You suppose you'll have to get used to it. Now that you know about Paul's true nature, seeing — and kissing — him while he's covered in blood will probably become a common occurrence, whether you like it or not.

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random lost boys HCs !!! (x gn!reader)

I have to get these out of my system. They have been marinating for far too long man omg. Also, this is also my first post so................ lets pray i did this right🙏🙏 also i didnt really proof read lol

let me know if you wanna see more stuff like this :3

WARNINGS: mentions of scars, drugs, biting, scratching. slightly suggestive (nothing too crazy)

David: 𖦹 I'd kill for you.

𖦹 loves to leave marks and love bites anywhere he can sink his teeth. His favourite places to mark would probably be the back of your neck, between your shoulder blades and the inside of your thighs. He understands the importance of the marks not being visible to the public - so he likes to sink his fangs in places that most people cant see. BUT- he'd def leave hickeys in very obvious spots.

𖦹 Wants everyone to know you're his. Not afraid to get handsy in public if you let him.

𖦹 enjoys a good book every now and then, but only when your head is on his lap.

𖦹 typa guy to guide you around with his hand on the small of your back, or his arm around your waist/ shoulders 24/7.

𖦹 Your seat in the cave is right next to his

Paul: 𖦹 He’s very touchy, but times that by 1000 when he gets his lips wrapped around that stick of holy grass (yes i am a paul does drugs sometimes believer). He would want to feel the heat of your skin, even scratching at you sometimes just to have a piece of you under his nails.

𖦹 Not scared to show affection in public. He has no shame.

𖦹 CONSTANT flirting

𖦹 Has a collection of stolen goods. Even stuff that he would never use. If you show an interest in a trinket he has stolen, he'll give it to you whether you want it or not.

𖦹 music buff. loves sharing his takes on popular songs and artists. He likes to bring you to the boardwalk stage to listen to some live music, usually sitting on the outer skirts of the crowd.

𖦹 has a bunch of stupid pet/nicknames for you. (dollface, sugar, sweetness, etc.)

Marko: 𖦹 hovers over you a lot. Always getting up and going places with you without a question, even if you dont ask him to come. He just really enjoys your company, never shy of interesting conversations.

𖦹 This man's love language is playful teasing, dont try to tell me otherwise !!! Not even in a mean way- just always striving to make you laugh in his own way.

"You got something there" He points at your shirt. As you look down, he flicks your nose. "Gotcha." He chuckles.

𖦹 the best at cooking out of the four of them, often taking over the cook pot to make your favourite meals.

𖦹 he'd bark at someone if they tried to get with you LMAO

𖦹 one of his favourite ways to pass the time with you is hitting the up the boardwalk clothes stores. He loves picking out new clothes for you, letting you know how good you look in them. "Damn, babe."

𖦹 having you over his shoulder gives him a constant ego boost.

Dwayne: 𖦹 I'd die for you.

𖦹 definitely love marks, scars etc. idk, he just seems like the kinda guy who would. He loves the way they feel under his fingers as he caresses his lover’s skin. He reads the stories they tell like brail. And for stretch marks, he loves the way they glisten in the light as they fade, and he loves the way they make an indent, rather than a bump for once. Perhaps he'd also like leaving a few marks of his own, like a bite mark or two, but he also doesn’t want to hurt you at the same time.

𖦹 cuddling with this man would be incredible.

𖦹 loves it when you play with his beautiful hair :3 (has a hard time asking for you to tho- he feels a great warmth when you do it without him asking). honestly just loves being touched by you in general

𖦹 he isn’t so much a go out of his way to smother you kinda guy, but he will gladly hug you tightly if you hug him. His favourite ways to touch you are to wrap his arm around his waist, putting his arm over your shoulder while you’re sitting with each other and stroking your hair and skin while you lay your head on his lap. He just loves to feel your warmth on his cold finger tips.

𖦹 100000000x more affectionate in private dude

𖦹 the moment you ask him for something he’s on it. “Hey, could you get me-“ and he’s already handing it to you. He loves helping you in every way possible.

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hope you enjoyed my first post !! :3 I know it's kinda short but I couldnt really find anything else to add😭 i am stressed

[arenpath]

Rope Him In ( Cato x District 10! Reader x slight! Marvel) Pt. 8

Summary: The games begin

A/n:Long time no see! I guess this is considered a slow burn since I haven't really given much Cato content yet lol, but it's planned! If you want to listen to something while reading I reccomend the civil wars, and definetely their song with Taylor Swift lol

Pt.7Pt.6Pt.5 Pt.4 Pt.3 Pt.2 Pt.1

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Chapter 8: The Arena Pt. 1

You couldn’t eat. As if that was new. 

The table in front of you was decorated in an arrangement of multicolored foods, all in the shape of a big 10. The dining room was silent, even Pradain was drowned out by the silence and his whiskey. Dolly and Ramsey looked tense, somber even. Buckley of course was attempting to eat what he could, but even he struggled to keep it down. 

“Thank you.” It was a shock for you to speak first. Dolly looked confused for a second before her expression warmed. 

“Now don’t go thanking us for anything.” She reached for a table cloth and drink, as if to hide the fact she needed to wipe her forming tears. 

In approximately one hour you’d be headed to the slaughterhouse. Waiting to die of starvation, disease, or lord forbid it- murder. You’d only hope Buckely would make it out alive or meet a peaceful end. 

Ramsey inhaled, setting his fork on the table. “You two really are something’ special. ‘S been an honor to work with the two of ya.” He managed to croak out, keeping his stoic demeanor even though it warbled. 

Pradain let out a fit of laughter before it turned to chortled sobbing, Sashay was quick to comfort him. 

How did the Capitol expect teams to rejoice before sending their tributes to their death? It was sick. 

“I consulted a psychic medium.” Sashay piped up, using her fork to scoop up a block of cheese. “He told me that we’ve got a shot of winning. Something about a leaf with speckled dots of white.” 

“A Gragale?” Pradain spoke, sniffling his nose in a handkerchief. “Those aren’t edible.” 

The meal passed on with some somber conversation looking back at what your time at the Capitol had been like. A few tips and advice were thrown, a prayer or five may have been said, eventually you drowned it all out, refusing to look at the boy with cow like eyes. 

It was clear you weren’t the only one having internal conflict as he wasn’t his usual bubbly self. Painful, disheartening, heart wrenching, it was. 

30 minutes. 

20 minutes. 

10 minutes. 

When the Peacekeepers arrived they informed the two of you about choosing someone to send you off. Pradain and Sashay stepped off to the side after saying their final farewells to the both of you, leaving Ramsey and Dolly on the sidelines, waiting for who would speak first. 

“Dolly?” His voice was hoarse despite drinking liquids the whole time at the table. Buckley looked around awkwardly. For once it felt like the two of you were strangers again. You didn’t like it. 

Dolly instantly stepped toward you, giving you a hug that could have squeezed your organs out. “Go get em’ cowgirl.” She kissed your cheeks and let go, her lashes soaked with tears as she went over to the tall boy to comfort him. 

You looked at Ramsey and he immediately knew. Stepping close he placed a hand on your shoulder squeezing it as he pat you on the back with his other hand. “Alright, let’s do this.”

The Peacekeepers did a thorough search, both on you and Buckley, and your mentors. Something about stabbing attempts back in the 50th games. Your pulse was fast, eyes glued open as you tried to not cry. You couldn’t. Not now. Not now. Not now. 

The trip was silent, the peacekeepers informing the group about what would take place once on the transportation craft to the arena. Occasionally your sad eyes would meet Buckley’s clashing momentarily before disappearing. 

Dolly and Ramsey were set off to the side while the two of you were ushered into the craft, sat toward the end. 

Everyone else had already been seated for the most part, 11 and 12 behind you as they filled in. Cato had a Capitol worker stabbing his arm with something, it looked painful, but he didn’t flinch. 

He was what scared you the most. Something about him wasn’t right. You needed to steer clear of him, or get rid of him. 

“Arm.” They’d gotten to you quick. Reluctantly sticking your arm out you waited for the stinging of the needle. It pinched, and you felt a weird chill down your spine. What the hell had they put into you? Surely it couldn’t be some weird drug or enhancement right? 

Your question was answered when the girl from 12 asked. A tracker. Of course they’d track you. At least now you knew how they kept track of the deaths and tributes. 

If you made it out, your prayers would be replaced with asking for the downfall of Coriolanus Snow. 

Looking to the left you unintentionally greeted the jolly blonde, his void expression perked into a small grin, barely noticeable but there. Waving his head subtly he turned to look in front of him, leaving you with a squint on your face. He was also a threat. Albeit not as much as Cato. Either way, you had to profile everyone now. There could be a diamond in the rough, someone here who could pounce on you if not accounted for. 

You’ve seen how that lumberjack girl mangled those tributes. 

“We’re landing I think.” You heard a girl comfort her fellow tribute. 

As if your stomach couldn’t knot up more. Sure enough a sound of air decompressing echoed as the hinge of the craft lowered, revealing the troop of peacekeepers ready to escort everyone to the arena. The peacekeepers herded you all into lines. Cato’s humongous form hovered over everyone’s and it really set in. The only one challenging his dominance was the guy from 11, but even then he seemed like he had morals unlike the blonde in front of the craft. 

“Goodluck.” Buckley reeled you out of your thoughts, his face forward and hands at his side. 

Forcing a smile that looked like you were about to cry, you reciprocate the sentiment. “Goodluck.” 

This was it, the last moments of peace you’d get for a while. Your peacekeeper didn’t seem to know their own strength since their hand bruised your arm. Another one was already waiting in the room, a large tube at the center and Ramsey standing at the side of it. 

“Three minutes.” The peacekeeper let go, hurdling you to Ramsey who caught you in his arms. 

“Hey it’s ok. It’s ok.” The facade had broken. You heaved like an asthmatic in a desert, your face twisted like a sun dried tomato as you hiccuped the tears out of your eyes. 

He squeezed you, whispering reassurance to your soul. “Come on (Y/n), come on girl, gotta be tough. You’re gonna make it out. You’re gonna beat this bitch of a game.”  His shirt got flooded by your tears, the agony left on him as a remnant of who you were. 

“I can’t do this. I don’t want to do this. I want to go home! Please! Please!” You clawed at his shirt feeling yourself revert to a toddler for a moment. All you wanted was to be home with Amaranto and your father, huddled together at the dinner table, debriefing about each other’s days before heading to the yard to check on the stray cats that lived nearby. Hell, you’d rather be in the butchery helping out with the dirty pans and tins. 

Ramsey looked just as distraught, face faltering. He caught you and rubbed your back, “(y/n), listen to me. You need to remember what we went over, protect yourself and if god wills it Buckley. Don’t make new enemies, save your ass, woman up, and win. I’ll see you in the Victor’s Village ok? You’ve got this sweetie, You’re from goddamned district 10.” He held your face in his rough hands, eyes intense but caring, like a father grounding his daughter back to reality. 

All you did was nod. Nod and wipe the tears off your face. He was right. Right? 

Right. 

“Okay. Okay.” You placed your hands over his and he pulled you into a hug before the Peacekeepers yanked you to the tube. 

“Focus! Lasso! Lasso!” He reminded you before his voice got muffled. The peacekeepers ushered him out, leaving you scared and alone in the tube. 

Your breath fogged up the tube, you hadn’t realized how fast you were breathing. The dusty brown windbreaker didn’t help, it only pooled your sweat, making it uncomfortable. The boots were new, but at what cost? They’d only be a bother in the long run until you could break them in. If you even lived long enough to do so. You cursed the issued clothes you’d receive, whoever designed it decided rustic colors would do you good. You only hoped you could blend into the arena. 

Oh shit! The arena. You’d been preoccupied with dying that you didn’t even consider what the terrain was like. Judging by what they gave you it couldn't be water based. At least you hoped not. You’d be dead in an instant. 

Desert? 

Forest?

Snowy Tundra? 

Coliseum? 

The possibilities were endless. 

As the tube reeled you upwards toward the arena, your stomach fought to keep its contents inside. The sky looked blue, a gloomy blue. Bad sign. You were used to the sunny orange landscapes of 10. Your hands shook as they reached out to the glass tube, catching your footing as you began to look around. 

Green everywhere, trees taller than the mountains, birds flying over and other scared tributes. It reminded you of the time your school had a dance. It was middle school and everyone had just discovered puberty. Scared boys staring at petrified girls, no one dancing, peacekeepers at the edge bored and uninterested. But that was a dance. This was punishment for something you didn’t do. 

Heaving you turned around to face the center. The tubes slowly lowered as you searched the circle for Buckley. He was across from you, already having found you. He looked just as frantic. Aside from you was a girl from 10 and 5. The careers were honed in on the middle of the arena, bloodthirst in their faces. They hardly looked scared. 

A cannon began to sound, causing some of the tributes to jump. From your distance you could see some of the supplies. Mostly weapons, some food, gear, and more weapons. Ramsey had specifically warned the two of you multiple times to not head toward the middle. He said it was a death wish. 

Eventually a voice started counting down, and you practically threw up. Your hands came to cover your mouth. Surely your eyes were popping out of your face. Breathing in you tried to focus on the voice, scanning the area you made a plan. Run. You could always come back, milk your accent, get sponsors. You’d be fine as long as you made it out. 

It didn’t process in your mind yet that people had started running. It wasn’t until you saw Cato slit someone’s throat that you realized the games had started. Frozen in place you screamed, trying to move away. Tributes ran, some stayed to swipe weapons- a chance to survive. Somehow in the span of three seconds the careers had secured their base. It all happened so fast, your mind hurt trying to register everything. Even the screams of agony were flushed out. 

“(Y/n)!” Snapping out of your trance you stepped back, one foot over the other, turning to run away. Looking back you saw it was Buckley who called your name, or moreso scolded you for standing there like a dumbass. He had a pack in his hands, inches away from the blood bath. You managed to catch him leave, run off to the opposite side of the arena. 

A spear flung clumsily to you, missing you by a good 10 inches. Expecting to see Marvel, you were surprised it was some scrawny kid. Pleading for your feet to carry you further, you sprinted into the brush, the grass beneath you crushing, picking up mud as you ran away. You wouldn’t stop, not until you were sure you were safe, alone for miles. 

Five minutes in and already half of the kids you came in with were dead, Buckley was gone, and you had nothing. Needless to say the odds were looking grim.

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Tags: @randomgurl2326