#if you want to be tagged in my er gifs pls let me know i never know who to tag!!!

[nadjantipaxos]

Abby Lockhart & Luka Kovac

ER 13.09

[padfootastic]

I posted 884 times in 2022

That's 800 more posts than 2021!

433 posts created (49%)

451 posts reblogged (51%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@padfootastic

@impishtubist

@greyeyedmonster-18

@narcissa-black-supermacy

@that-halloween-gay

I tagged 789 of my posts in 2022

Only 11% of my posts had no tags

#sirius black - 299 posts

#pen’s asks - 296 posts

#james potter - 160 posts

#harry potter - 151 posts

#prongsfoot - 90 posts

#pen’s notes - 60 posts

#good godfather sirius black - 58 posts

#pen’s writing - 49 posts

#ask game - 46 posts

#ppb - 40 posts

Longest Tag: 140 characters

#‘it was me’ ‘no pads i pulled u in’ ‘ur cowardly ass could never potter. i leaned in first’ ‘pls as if u you’d ever stop sighing to do that’

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

anyway.

harry having the giggliest, easy to trigger laugh but the one thing that consistently has him cracking up is his dad laughing. like it’s just a never ending loop, harry would be sitting there on james’ lap, hands on his face, grabbing his glasses, mashing his cheeks together, giggling his little head off—james starts laughing—sets harry off even louder and both of them are just getting progressively redder and gigglier and it’s a riot for no reason.

(lily’s snort-laugh has a similar, if subdued, effect)

(sirius’ very presence supersedes all humor bc the little dude has Very Important Things to talk to him about which means being carried around everywhere, nonstop babbling, and all his attention directed towards one harry j potter. if sirius looks away for one second, harry will find grab his attention again bc he’s possessive like that. u can’t blame him, he only gets his godfather a few times a month ok?)

223 notes - Posted May 19, 2022

#4

okay remember harry’s dreams about a flying motorbike?

one of my dearest hcs is that sirius used to take toddler harry out on his flying bike, particularly when he was being fussy or refusing to sleep.

(a frantic james would mirror call him, begging for help because no one except sirius can calm harry down when he’s in strops like this)

he’d wrap him in a baby sling across his chest, take him high above the clouds, and point out the different stars & constellations w associated myths.

harry would fall asleep in minutes.

in the middle of a war, it was the most peaceful sirius ever felt

(anyone who knew—and when harry finds out post-poa—the first question is always ‘how tf did ur parents allow that?’ but you need only look at the way sirius was around his godson for the answer. he was so painfully tender, so protective that james & lily knew there was no safer place for their kid to be)

237 notes - Posted April 7, 2022

#3

summary: sirius tells harry he’s proud of him and our boy’s brain just. stops functioning. doesn’t compute. (for this ask)

“I’m proud of you.”

Proud. Of you.

Proud.

The word kept echoing in his ears, like a church bell, or a gong, or a siren, or a—

Well. One gets the point.

What one doesn’t get, however, is how to react to that.

Someone—an adult—was proud of him. For the first time, in his entire life.

And Harry didn’t know what to do with that.

Perhaps that’s why he’d beat a hasty retreat to the loo, seeing the befuddled look on Sirius’ face but not being able to do anything about it. He had a freak out to get to.

It had just been an offhand comment, thrown out like it meant nothing, like it didn’t upend Harry’s entire existence on its head.

“What- what did you just say?” he’d stuttered, incredulously, definitely taking it more seriously than intended.

“Er- that I’m proud of you?” Sirius had repeated. Slower. Uncertain.

Harry didn’t reply to that—atleast, he thinks he didn’t. Just remembered the owlish blinking, letting the words sink in, wrap themselves around him like a warm hug that was slightly too tight. One you didn’t want to get out of, but had to, if you cared for your circulation.

And so here he was, still sitting on top of the toilet lid, head hanging between his knees, wishing fervently he had a paper bag to breath into. That- that was a thing that helped, right? He’d heard about it on the radio once.

It wasn’t even- they weren’t even talking about anything serious. Just his grades, for god’s sake. And it wasn’t like—he was Hermione or anything. He knew he didn’t do well, but he got by, and frankly, it had seemed good enough to him, what with the yearly, er, distractions that were thrown his way. He didn’t fail, but he also didn’t die. Win-win.

See the full post

330 notes - Posted March 23, 2022

#2

thinking of toddler harry who’s very, very attached to his godfather sirius (as he should be, really) and gets pissy whenever he goes for work. (yes, sirius is a 9-5er here. suspend all disbelief, folks)

so, to get a handle on the tantrums, sirius dresses harry in his own little formal clothes, robes and over cloak and silver clasp and fake wand holder and all.

‘look, siri, im just like you!’ harry says, every morning like clockwork. once they look absolutely alike, hair combed and tied neatly (little butterfly clips in sirius’ curls, ofc), they set off for the day. sirius conjures a little size-appropriate desk for him that he can sit at, gets him a briefcase and all. when u open it, it has all sorts of colouring materials, beads and strings and charms for DIY, and a little notepad with a pen for Serious Stuff.

throughout the day, sirius gets his work done while harry carefully does his own stuff. whenever he gets too fidgety, sirius sends him out on a ‘mission’—going out and evaluating how the rest of the employees are doing their work. harry, of course, takes his task super seriously and tries to emulate sirius’ Grown Up Face very diligently, walking with his hands behind his back and an adorable little frown on his face. of course, he’s so short he can’t actually see what anyone’s doing but everyone’s accommodating enough that he has enough information to relay it back to sirius in his office.

at the end of the day, both of them take their cloaks off the hanger, simultaneously sling it over their shoulders, and wave a goodbye to the remaining members in the office. when they get home, harry is still meticulously copying sirius’ actions so he neatly sets his shoes to the side, hangs his cloak on the rack, and falls face first into the sofa with an exhausted sigh of relief.

‘being a adult is hard, padfoot,’ is the last thing he says before drifting off to sleep.

392 notes - Posted August 31, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Do you ever think about the fact that Sirius and Remus were fully planning on murdering Pettigrew for betraying James and Lily? No reporting it to the Ministry and clearing Sirius’s name, just death. Sirius was already planning on killing Pettigrew for it, and once Remus learned about the Secret Keeper switch, he jumped on the “let’s kill Peter” train immediately, he didn’t even wait for the train to stop, he climbed on through a window.

i’m gonna be honest—the whole thing is just so hilarious to me 💀💀

i mean, i can still get where sirius is coming from ykno? the poor guy was in prison, had his mind basically turned into soup, and then vilified by everyone—no wonder he’s so fixated ykno?

but remus, my god. what a mad lad. i can honestly see where all the feral remus hcs come from bc the dude didn’t need two seconds before he hopped onto the homicide wagon. he was just so matter-of-fact about it too like, ‘oh well, guess there’s no other way than to literally murder the only piece of evidence they have to explain this convoluted mindfuck of a situation.

cares not one bit about the three kids who’ll probably be traumatised—therapy exists for a reason and kids r resilient dw—or how he’ll explain it to the authorities or why they’ll do with sirius after—stash him in the outhouse—like the man had absolutely no reason to be as murderous as he was 😭😭 he’d just found out the truth five seconds ago.

446 notes - Posted August 27, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[peakyblindersxx]

whiskey business - john shelby x reader (part 6 of ?)

gif by my queen @michaelgreys, i'm basically her fanblog now but im not mad about it :) i mean just look at him!!1! i almost fainted

a/n: first of all, if you stuck around to this point, tysm for reading!!! this has been one of the most amazing fics ive ever been a part of and it's all thanks to the gorgeous @stxdyblr-2k, who generously took control of the next few parts. her brain is beautiful and we all owe her flowers or something. when i read what she sent me i couldn't bring myself to change much except for some small edits, so pls give her lots of love if you like it!!!! i'm still working on requests as well :)

love, abi xxx

read part one two three four five | my masterlist

tagging: @datewithgianni, @mayaslifeinabox, @deepdonutkid, @springsoulofengland, @lilymurphy03

prompt: nothing this good can last forever. john doesn't know how to feel, and neither do you.

warnings: nsfw! a teensy bit of smut, angsty as fuck prepare yourselves accordingly, a lil fluff if u squint, yeah this fucked me up

Obviously, it wasn't the last time.

Over the coming months you had many last times; his mouth pressed against your neck said as much. As his responsibility at work increased, you'd find yourself heading to his office after your lectures and night classes more often, perched on his lap, smoking, while he finished up his numbers under your critical gaze.

Thomas was more than aware; his snarky comments made it obvious he had his ways of monitoring your actions. You'd seen the dark car lurking outside your rallies and lectures, and no matter how you'd try to throw him off, not even telling Ada where you were going and even, in a moment of desperation, through your neighbours back window, somehow, his silent shadow was still looming. He was practically begging you to make a mistake, to give everyone an easy out. You just couldn't give him the satisfaction. You knew Tommy saw the world as a chess board, always several moves ahead of his opponent. Even when you played him in chess club all those years ago, you could outflank him if you thought on your feet and kept him thinking he was winning until you obliterated him in the end game. It was brutal, sure. But as he told you, there were bigger games at play. You had your own. Thomas could read your mail, intercept your phone calls and have you followed, but he couldn't hear what you said out of earshot. Your lot could smell an interceptor in your ranks, so spying at that close of a proximity was out of the question.

That's why he'd decided to let you have John. You knew his silent approval and his constant management of the narrative meant he saw a tactical gain. There was only so much information he could get from Ada, but John? He just had to agitate him in the right way and all your secrets would come tumbling out. It was difficult hiding your world from John; of what he knew of, he was supportive, quizzing you over current affairs and political discourse, listening intently. Yet, you had to watch your mouth. You had to keep a barrier up and you knew John sensed the distance. Fundamentally, there was nothing either of you could do.

So here you were, in a comfortable limbo. Your days were filled with work, evenings were for lectures and reading groups at the city's university, Ada and you often stopped for a drink or three; you'd go by your flat to freshen up, and then to John's office. Sometimes, you wouldn't visit for a week or so when the guilt sent you over the edge, it was draining to be living so many lives and knowing you were betraying the person you loved most on earth. Ada was oblivious, taking you on her nightly adventures filled with men, dancing and waiting while she was busy kissing in dark corners. Sometimes a young blinder would ask if you wanted to be walked home. The first occurrence you thought was sweet, but as the nights it occurred coincided with nights John seemed extra pent up, you'd decided to ask. The boy, who couldn't be older than twelve but who you knew was trained in using firearms and had a revolver pinned to his hip and a razor in his cap, looked confused.

"Mate, it's not a tough question. Why do you come and ask?"

"There's a phone call." He shrugs, "Isaiah or Michael tells us to go and get you."

Isaiah and Michael were somewhat aware? Fucking hell. Your fling was basically a military campaign at this point, so many of your friends were complicit. The little lads who ran as messengers around Birmingham were complicit. You had to just end it.

But when you sat on his thigh, his chin hooked over your shoulder, it felt so worth it. He never turned you away when you came crawling back. He never mentioned it until after you were finished, hooked under his arm.

"Fucking missed you, gorgeous."

Sometimes he'd remind you not to be a stranger with a wink, but you could tell it was tearing him apart too. He never once came to you. That's how he could justify it in his mind; obviously, the bare minimum was not having sex with his sister's best friend, but in failing that, waiting for you to initiate it was somewhat better. He barely talked to Ada now, citing work as an excuse, but truly the guilt sickened him. He couldn't believe he was prepared to continuously hurt his little sister and betray her. But every time you turned up at his door, he couldn't find it in himself to turn you away. In his mind, every single time you came to visit him was the last time he'd let it happen, yet he was always waiting for you to come back, his blind closed to signal he was prepared. He never would call, it had to be your choice.

You'd been off and on for over five months now. It was so difficult to hide in plain sight, but you just couldn't stop yourself. Neither of you purposefully meant for this to be happen but fuck, was it fun.

For your birthday he'd gifted you a fur coat from the same shop his sister, aunt and the fashionable crowd of Birmingham had purchased theirs. He joked that you looked like a "proper razor chaser", kissing you when you pouted at his teasing, begging you to wear only the coat when you fucked him next. It was a practice for blinders to buy a coat for their wives and girlfriends as a status symbol. You were neither, but John claimed that being his "favourite lass" also counted.

John was a laugh, but you knew at any time he could close his door to you. Until he decided he couldn't be bothered with you, you weren't going to get caught. You just had to be careful until he got bored.

***

You did end up putting a foot wrong. It was a Thursday night; you were sitting on the edge of John's desk while he was ridding you of your blouse. It was past midnight, Birmingham was asleep. You almost didn't bother coming out tonight, but you knew John had lost a deal and you wanted to be there for him. Your skirt and stockings were strewn across the desk with his shirt, vest and waistcoat, muddled into the files and papers which were once neatly stacked.

His fingers were pumping in and out of you, his mouth lapping at your breast, your head tipped back in euphoria, groaning. The stress made him more affectionate and tender with you, and it was nights like these that made you wonder. Wonder if this could ever be something more, something real.

John's body suddenly pulled away from yours, quickly turning the light off.

"John, what-" You were cut off by John’s hand over your mouth, muffling your words.

"Shut up and get behind the desk." He hissed. "Someone's coming upstairs."

You quickly grabbed your clothes from the shiny oak surface and crouched, hiding yourself from view, quickly making yourself decent. You weren't going to get shot through the head with your tits out. You listened to the stairs creek, and it sounded like a group. You two were easily outnumbered. They were talking, but the thick panels of wood muffled their voices.

As your eyes adjusted to the darkness, the cracks in the door giving the room a dulled glow, you could make out the figure of John. He was free of his shirt, toned body on display, standing with his back flat to the wall, revolver produced from a discreet notch in the door frame, gaze fixed on where they'd enter. He was tense, ready. The door was unlocked from the outside, the door handle twisting.

John's lip shifted in confusion yet still he kept his trigger finger ready, not a single shake from your general.

The light flicked on and a shriek rang out. It was blinding, and you stood up slightly dazed. Finn was in the doorway, John next to him clutching his chest, panting and lowering the gun.

"Jesus Christ, Finn, can't you knock like a normal person? Scared the shit out of us." John bellowed, shaking as the adrenaline coursed through his body, resting his hands on the edge of the desk as he regained his breath.

"You're the one who pointed a gun at me! I didn't even know you were in 'ere!" Finn yelped.

The commotion had attracted the attention of Ada and Isaiah, who had come running and stopped in their tracks upon seeing you standing behind John's desk in the middle of the night. They weren't stupid. John was topless, your clothes obviously rumpled, both with matching tousled hair and practically stinking of guilt. You'd been caught red handed. Ada's eyes flicked between both you and John, and you could practically see the pieces of the puzzle clicking together in her mind, all the moments she found questionable since you'd returned suddenly making sense, realising she had been deceived by the two people who she was meant to trust most in life. Finn looked absolutely crushed, he'd never been able to conceal his emotions as well as his older brothers and sister, linking his fingers through Ada's, squeezing her hand.

"I forgot to drop this off earlier." Finn stated, holding up a money box, "Ada had keys so we thought we'd sneak in so I wouldn't get done by Tommy. We did call round yours, Y/N. We thought you were in bed."

"I'm sorry." You said. It was not enough but you just didn't know what else to say. You couldn't make it right, you'd really fucked up this time. Tears pricked at your eyes, as Ada examined you in silence.

John stepped in front of you defensively. "Look, Ada-"

"How long has this been going on?" She asked, her voice shaking with rage. You and John exchanged a glance. "I said, how fucking long?"

"Five months, six in a fortnight." He answered.

Isaiah whistled lowly. "That's fucked. I thought it was only a few times, that it'd finished."

"Never really over when it's John is it." Finn interjects, you glance to him, were you just one in a long string? You shouldn't be surprised but it was easy to pretend he may actually care about you.

"You've been fucking around for six months behind my back?" Ada yelped, Finn trying to comfort her but she pulled away from him. "And you fucking knew Iz."

"I'd expect this from you, yeah? Wouldn't put anything past you these days.." she sneered at John, "But you? You?! You're meant to be my best mate, but here you are sneaking about fucking my brother?"

"Ada-" you began, eyes welling with tears.

"I thought I could trust you. You're just another fucking razor chaser, aren't you?" She spits. "That's why you came back."

"No it wasn't, Ada-"

Her eyes flashed with anger, but this time John was on the receiving end. "You bought her that fucking coat ,didn't you? The fur one. You did! Fuck's sake!" Her fists were clenched, shoulders squared. For the first time in your life, you understood why crowds parted for Ada Shelby. Understood all the free drinks and cab rides, the nervous serving staff declaring your meal on the house (always acknowledged by Ada with a hefty tip), understood why the men of Birmingham didn't last long with her.

"Did it feel good to swan about town in that fucking coat, while acting as though you cared about me? It's so fucking embarrassing. All trussed up because my knobhead big brother makes you feel special? Thanks for rubbing it in my face."

"Ada, I love you. I never meant to hurt you, I got caught up and that's on me. It's my fault."

"You're not acting like you love me. This isn’t what love is, Y/N." She retorted.

You couldn’t do anything but nod. She was right.

John opened his mouth to speak, Ada silencing him, a scowl darkening her features.

"I don't care what you have to say. Any of you. Who else knows?"

"Thomas, Michael, Arthur-" John listed off slowly, each name prompting Ada to break down a little bit more in front of you.

"I didn't know Arthur knew." You said pointedly, John sending you an exasperated glance. He was planning on dealing with that later, but right now was about his sister. Fuck him if he thought you were going to stick around much longer. You didn't want to hear him justify everyone else knowing about your fling with your best friend being left completely in the dark.

"That all you have to say for yourself?" Ada snaps at you.

"I have fucking no defense, do I Ada? I should've walked away." You pushed your hair back, frustrated at yourself, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. You begged yourself not to cry. Tears wouldn't help anything.

"Why didn't you?"

You didn't know. Your silence only riled her up.

"Why didn't you fucking walk away?" Ada yelled, slamming her hands on the desk.

You felt hot tears run down your face, quickly moving your hands to dab at your tears.

"Don't you dare fucking cry. After all you've done, you don't get to cry in front of me." Ada growled at you, John going to shush her, obviously wanting to comfort you. "You can all fuck off. You've all lied to me and gone behind my back. Fuck’s sake, you could've just told me. You could've just told me."

"We didn't want to hurt you." John said, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder but she flinches away.

"This hurts so much more. You get that you all lying to me is so much worse, don't you?"

"We weren't thinking."

"You really fucking weren't." Ada laughs bitterly, shaking her head, blinking away tears. "Fuck you lot."

She stormed out, tailed by Finn, begging her to slow down and talk to him, protesting his innocence in the situation. Isaiah hesitated in the doorway, his eyes flickering between you and John.

"I had no idea you two've been at it for so long."

"Iz, fuck off yeah? I've had enough today." John shot back, sliding across the desk towards you. "You alright, lass?"

"We're done here, John."

He slid off the table, his hand cupping your face, "Hey, gorgeous, I get it but don't go breaking my heart tonight. Can we just leave this for tomorrow? Sleep on it."

The idea of getting any sleep at all tonight was laughable, you'd be up all night replaying these moments and torturing yourself. Tonight couldn't get any worse so you had to finally end it. Now was the right time.

"John, it should've never happened."

"But it did."

"I don't want to talk about this anymore. It's over."

"Y/N. You know for me it was never just about-"

"You're making it difficult. Stop making it difficult. Whatever you say isn't going to change that right now we have to do the right thing."

"I know you're right, but I don't want to let go. Is it so wrong to want you? I adore you, you know that."

You wouldn't meet his eyes. Sighing, John pressed his forehead to the side of your head, chin brushing your shoulder, eyes closing. He was begging you to stay with him. There had to be a solution, you'd figure it out together. His voice was cracking, eyes glassy. He looked so much younger when he was pleading. The tall bloke who terrorised the Midlands with his razor rimmed cap, a revolver in his hand, and a ruthless trigger finger had vanished. You wanted to stay, burning to curl up with him and for him to kiss it better.

"I should go." You told him. He rested his forehead on your shoulder, letting out a shaky sigh before pulling away, nodding.

"I'd drive you home but obviously-"

"Obviously."

John suddenly turned from you, eyes narrowing at Isaiah who was still hovering at the door. "Thought I told you to fuck off. Make yourself useful and get Y/N home safely." His tone was ice cold once again.

Isaiah nodded, offering his arm to you. You reached the door and instinctively looked back at John. His eyes met yours, staring at you from his desk, just as you knew he would. He prepared himself to watch you leave every night, but this time was different. That was it with you two.

Isaiah strode down the street with you in silence. You were tucked into his side as was customary with the upcoming blinders who were particularly ambitious, but there was no relaxed chat.

"Isaiah. What’re you thinking?" You asked, voice tinged with nervousness.

He sighed, running his free hand across his jaw, "That was intense in there."

"Just how he is." You shrugged.

"Does he love you or sommet?"

"Fuck knows… does it matter?"

"Of course it does. Do you love him?"

"Drop it. None of that matters, it shouldn't have happened in the first place so it can’t," You snapped, the anger at the situation you'd created suddenly overwhelming.

Isaiah whistled, raising his brow at your obvious turmoil. "You're in fucking deeper than you want to admit."

He walked you up your path, watching you turn the key to the side door leading to your bedsit. You paused, turning to him.

"Iz… I don't know what to do next."

It was so dark, you could see his face only by the lit cigarette burning to embers between his fingers. He inhaled deeply, pausing before delivering his carefully laid out plan of avoidance. Obviously the event of him crossing the Shelbys and losing their good graces weighed heavily on his mind. You nodded, listening intently, noting his ideas of relocation but he explained they were a final resort. The best thing to do was try to regain their trust; in the long run, he had calculated, it was the only option that didn't result in your life being haunted by the Shelbys. Even if they left you alone, their enemies would make a point to go after you, seeing you as an easy target. The other option was to leave the country.

"Good luck, Y/N. I mean it." He muttered as you turned the handle to the temporary safety of your home. You nodded, offering you cheek for the polite good night kiss you'd become accustomed to. He rolled his eyes and obliged, pressing an affectionate kiss to your cheek and ruffling your hair. "I'm serious. Watch your back."

***

John broke down when he finally heard the lock click shut. His eyes had been prickling with boiling tears, his jaw tensed to hold them back. He yelled out in anger, flipping his desk with force, a loud crash as the wood splintered against the stone flooring, glass shattering from the photo frames. His hands went to his head, unable to stop the gasping breaths escaping from his trembling lips, his face reddening.

"Fuck’s sake." He growled. He'd fucked everything up. He had nothing, just as he'd told you the first night you returned. The consequence was no surprise, he'd anticipated the fall out for a while, but he couldn't resist you. He was completely guilty and had no defense; his only justification being that you made him think with his cock, not his brain.

Fuck’s sake. Polly was going to murder him. She'd always had a soft spot for Ada, as the only girl in the family, and was no stranger to lecturing him over his flirtatious behaviour around Ada's friends. She'd murder him. He had a half mind to never go home. He rubbed at his eyes with his knuckles. Polly had no use for tears. That's what she'd tell him when he was a boy coming home with a skinned knee. This was far worse.

He was also sure that he was a worse brother than Tommy, perhaps the worst in the world. His baby sister, who he'd helped to toddle, carry proudly on his shoulders after school and race with her on his back through the fields on the outskirts of Small Heath, had walked in on him obviously in the midst of fucking her best mate. If he had swallowed his pride and actually talked to her, he wouldn't be in this mess. He could've told her that things changed, that for the same reasons Ada loved Y/N he had fallen for her, that he was truly sorry but she had to know before it got too far and someone got hurt. He couldn't go back.

He should've never approached you that night.

He should never approach you again.

He looked over the mess of his office, the splintered wood and shards of glass, a confetti of paperwork. Now nothing mattered. None of this mattered. He'd lost everything and he had only himself to blame.