#so here you have it

[adharastarlight]

Sirius: *eavesdropping on Reg's conversation* oh could you stop going on about your sex life with my bloody best mate, its sickening

Reg: *turns to face him, deadpan* believe me, for every time you have forgotten a silencing charm, you deserve it.

Pandora, Barty and Evan: *:0*

[tragicotps]

Young Masriel AU: affair era

[misspoken-pea]

Idia fanart lezz gooooooooo

I’d like to call it,

‘Gamer Rage’

Is it even true dedication if you don’t revive carpel tunnel and steal tutorials of your fav artist in the name of art?

Close ups on juicy details cus I forgot to add them the first time around

Also Tw/ginger below

Non-fire version of this idia drawing :

[damianito]

Day 4 | Sport

[cybermint-bee]

Archer Vlad is my new obsession now 😍

[andydona-chan]

Okay, so let's say Izuku did develop a quirk when he was 4, but he was unable to really test it in the beginning.

Like, he never really managed to move objects or breathe fire. Everyone thought he was quirkless until he was about 8-9 y/o.

It was one of those days where, for whatever reason, Kacchan was not bullying him, he was still messing up with another kid, so Izuku being Izuku moves to try and help the other boy.

Kacchan is already making small explosions and menacing the other kid, but he stumbles over something on the floor and is about to fall over the other boy with his palms still burning with audible pops.

Izuku's first reaction is trying to disperse the fire, move Kacchan's hands away, and help both of them by getting rid of the fire! Then, it happens. The fire on Katzuki's hands is lifted, and similar to a comet, the explosion moves upwards and explodes above their heads.

Kacchan falls over the other kid, the boy screams and gets up to run away, while Izuku is still looking up to where the smoke is now being blown away by the wind.

Both kids look at each other with surprise in their eyes. Izuku may not breathe fire, but he can move it, a weird combination of his parent's quirks.

Suddenly, all the years of not talking to each other are deleted. Children are always better at forgiving and forgetting that being friends and working to be a hero team start to take shape.

When entering the UA, even after doing the exams in different locations, it is clear they have trained. As a team, they not only work in tandem, they manage to win and save at the same time. Katsuki on the offensive, Izuku defending; there's always mumbling between them and some discussions, but Kacchan trusts Izuku's analytic mind and is always fast to provide options too.

Sometimes, it looks as if izuku depends on Katzuki too much, but they worked on ways to help him start a little fire in certain circumstances, a small spark can be useful even when it cost Izuku a lot of effort to make it bigger or last enough.

Adding OFA here is not necessary, but if done, it would lead to building the Supernova team.

[officialsporkintheroad]

Dear Diary

Fandom: Harry Potter

Pairing: one-sided Tom Riddle/Harry Potter | one-sided Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter | one-sided Ginny Weasley/Harry Potter | one-sided Myrtle Warren/Harry Potter

Warnings: Canon-typical Violence, Tom being a murderous psycho, strong language

Summary: Everything Tom Riddle knows about Harry Potter came to him second-hand from the morons in love with the boy.

---

Despite what one might think, Tom Riddle did not first hear of Harry Potter from Ginny Weasley’s fruitlessly pathetic ramblings on her crush.

No.

He learned the cursed name, Harry Potter, from Draco Malfoy’s fruitlessly pathetic ramblings on his crush.

But let’s back up a moment. It started like this:

It was three weeks to the start of his second year and Draco was in a mood.

(If any of his dormmates had been consulted, they would argue that Draco was almost always in a Mood, capital “m” intended, and that really you’d be better off saving your breath and counting the times he wasn’t having some sort of a fit.)

Three weeks left of summer hols and Draco was still struggling to fully master his new Nimbus 2001. Which was a necessity if he was going to make Slytherin seeker—and he would, he had to, he had to beat Potter. Potter, who had already been made Gryffindor seeker a whole year ahead. When first years weren’t even supposed to be on the house teams or have their own brooms!

All of which he was dead set on ranting about to his father, if only because Father would sneer and huff about Potter too while Mother would merely hum and say, “Draco dear, if the boy matters so much to you, why don’t you write him?”

Except his father wasn’t in his office when Draco went to check. And he knew his father’s study was supposed to be off limits when he wasn’t home, though the particular reasoning as to why had long been forgotten. But he was just so…so irritated.

And there, sitting on a pile of things father had set aside to take to Borgin & Burke’s in light of the more aggressive dark-artifact raids that had been happening lately, sat a perfectly blank diary. Completely unused.

Rubbish, Draco thought, admiring his father’s cleverness because the scheme was obvious: convince Borgin that the diary was some dark artifact and sell it for a decent sum when in truth it was nothing more than a bit of leatherbound parchment that had once belonged to some…Tom Riddle bloke.

Normally, Draco might’ve been put off in using something that was clearly second-hand, but if he only used it to write about Potter…and if he ripped those pages out afterward and burned them…well, what did it matter? He needed to get the words out somehow and this seemed as good an option as any.

So he took it, the diary that belonged to Tom Riddle. And for the first time in 50 years, magic began to stir within the pages.

“Stupid Potter with his stupid curly hair that’s all dark and soft. And his stupid green eyes, looking like emeralds. How ridiculous. And his stupid little smile, the one that’s all smug and his teeth are stupidly straight. And when he’s riding on his stupid broom doing flips in the air—who stands on a broom to catch a snitch? In his mouth?”

Tom could feel himself losing braincells.

Truly, the only thing stopping Tom from outright murdering the insipid child for using his diary for this drivel was the fact that the magical signature was so clearly a nice dark gray. It would be a shame to kill off a potential ally just because they were young and stupid. With any luck, they’d grow up to be powerful and at least slightly less stupid, and even if this trite crush on the thrice-damned Potter persisted, at least the Potters were a pureblood family who had been known to marry in with the Blacks before.

“That is quite ridiculous,” Tom wrote back, because it was always best to seem in agreement with people you were hoping to manipulate. “My name is Tom Riddle. May I ask how you came upon my diary?”

There was a flicker of surprise, hesitation, considering.

“It was on my father’s desk,” the child wrote eventually. “And I’m Draco Malfoy, heir of the Malfoy family.”

“Ah, a pleasure. I knew Abraxas Malfoy quite well when we were in school.”

“Really? He was my grandfather.”

That was quite a bit more time than Tom had been expecting. At his last true memory, Abraxas had only been 16 himself and it was hard to imagine him older, perhaps graying—not that you’d be able to tell, really, with the Malfoy platinum blond—not only married but with children. With grandchildren, Merlin’s beard. He did the math quickly and estimated it must have been at least 40-50 years since he’d made the diary then.

He wondered where his other self was, if he’d accomplished everything he set out to do. If he’d made more horcruxes, the seven they’d planned on.

“And who’s this boy you’re rambling about then?” Even if the nonsense about the Potter child was useless, it was always good to build rapport, let Draco think Tom was interested in what he had to say, that Tom could be trusted. Then he could ask what he really wanted to know.

“Harry Potter. He’s an arrogant snob who thinks he’s better than everyone just because he was supposed to have defeated the Dark Lord as a baby—”

If Tom had any sense of bodily functions trapped in the diary, he would have just choked. As it was, he felt frozen with dread and fury and confusion all blending together. The Potter boy had done what?

“—if you buy into that. Father says it’s just Dumbledore’s propaganda and that the Dark Lord isn’t really dead, so that means that Potter’s just full of shit I mean he’s not nearly as impressive as he thinks he is. Can you believe he refused to shake my hand? As if he, a half-blood, was better than me.”

Just what the hell had happened while Tom had been trapped away in the diary? Clearly his other self had fallen far if he’d been bested by a baby.

At least it seemed that Abraxas’s son was still loyal if he truly believed Voldemort wasn’t gone. And trusted with guarding a piece of Voldemort’s soul, no less.

Yes, Tom was confident the elder Malfoy would do what was needed to sort this mess out.

---

Tom was most definitely not confident in the elder Malfoy. The man was a moron.

Case in point: he’d given away the diary to miserable little mouse of a first-year named Ginny-not-Ginevra. If he was feeling generous, perhaps he would have allowed that this might be a plan to offer up a life-force for Tom to feed off of, maybe even give him the opportunity to open the Chamber of Secrets again. Tom was not feeling generous, however, and so the elder Malfoy was going to suffer immensely once Tom got out of this damned book.

Because what were the odds of the only two people writing in his diary in the past 50 years both having a crush on the same boy, who also happened to be the person allegedly responsible for killing Tom’s counterpart.

If he had to hear one more word about Harry Potter…

“He’s so nice and sweet and handsome. He said hello to me that morning at breakfast, his smile so warm. And his eyes…they’re so green. Like—”

Let me guess, emeralds, Tom thought to himself, eyes rolling.

“—like a fresh-pickled toad. Oh. That could be a good poem, don’t you think Tom?”

Poetry. Dear God. No.

Was this some sort of cosmic justice for making a horcrux? If so, Tom was almost tempted to wish he could take it back.

“Hm. His eyes are green as a fresh-pickled toad/His hair…hm…his hair is dark as…a blackboard. Yes. I like that. And of course he’s so heroic too, defeating You-Know-Who and ending the war. I wonder if he’s like all the heroes in the stories? You know, romantic and noble.”

“Perhaps if you talked to him, you might find out,” Tom offered, trying to keep the snippiness out of his writing. Regardless of whether it was the elder Malfoy’s intention or not, Tom was going to take advantage of this situation to make his great return. Starting with the terror of opening the Chamber, petrifiying as many mudbloods as possible. Then he’d suck the life out of Ginny-not-Ginevra so that she’d never have to burden another soul with her incessant, inane chatter.

And if he was very, very lucky, he’d get the chance to kill Harry Potter too, and he’d make it hurt.

“Oh no. I could never just talk to Harry. What would I even say? He’s too cool. He’d never even make time for someone like me.”

But in the meantime, perhaps Tom could still have some fun.

“Then you must make him see you. Perhaps once you finish your poem, you could send it to him.”

“That’s a great idea, Tom! You’re the best!”

---

Somehow, Ginny-not-Ginevra had cottoned onto the fact that Tom was controlling her. A pity, too, since she’d been so very easy to bend to his will. Her mind was weak, feeble, and it had taken next to nothing to possess her.

Perhaps he’d dragged it out too long. If he’d ended her sooner, she wouldn’t have had the chance to throw him into the women’s loo. The indignity of it was unparalleled, and for that, Ginny-not-Ginevra was going to die slowly, painfully, and screaming.

Especially since Myrtle Warren—who had been enough of a blight upon humanity in his own time—was still loitering around the bathroom where she’d died. On the plus side, she was intangible and therefore couldn’t write. That small measure of good news was massively outweighed by the fact that as a spirit with a very strong tie to the mortal realm, Myrtle Warren was capable of projecting her thoughts. Right. Into. Tom’s. Diary.

Not that she knew she was doing it, but still.

“It’s so miserably lonely here. If only Harry would come back. He’s so handsome and so nice. The nicest boy I’ve ever met. Maybe he’ll die and want to share the bathroom with me. Oh! Maybe he’ll drown in the tub—”

There was a lot to unpack there and Tom wasn’t going to touch any of it. Instead, he tried to project his own murderous intent as loudly as possible to get her to shut the hell up, but either it wasn’t a two-way radio or Myrtle’s own whining was too loud to let anything else through.

If I could kill her again, I would, he thought uncharitably when she started scream-sobbing loud enough to wake the dead.

---

If it had been anyone else—anyone else—Tom would have been relieved to have been picked up off the floor of the bathroom and laid out to dry on a nice desk somewhere warm. But…

“Hello. My name is Harry Potter.”

He’d fucking had it with Harry fucking Potter.

Yes, the boy was decent enough not to ramble and instead got straight to the point. Blunt, though not rude. Curious, if naïve and too trusting. And when Tom had pulled Harry into his diary, the boy’s magic was not the blinding brightness he’d expected from the light’s savior but dove gray. Balanced and soft and—

And Harry Potter was a disappointingly average, useless boy who Tom would not waste another moment on.

He would lure Ginny-not-Ginevra back to him, use her life force to regain a body of his own, and then…

Then, the world would be his.

---

“Ginny. Ginny, please wake up—”

“She won’t wake,” Tom said, stepping out of the shadows.

There, finally in front of him in the flesh, stood Harry Potter. Perhaps Tom should have expected it—didn’t everyone say Harry was heroic, self-sacrificing, a fearless savior? Still, he hadn’t really thought…Harry, able to find the Chamber, able to speak the parseltongue to open it, traverse the passageways only to arrive here, alone and woefully unprepared, and yet somehow still fierce.

Dark hair curling against pale skin, smudge with dirt and grime and looking all the more battle-ready for it. Spark-bright eyes; they really were an almost alarming shade of green. Like the killing curse itself. And yet the most compelling element—something which had to be seen in person to be understood, the very thing that had been missing from all of the disgustingly lovelorn descriptions of Harry—was the angry, sharp, vicious something hiding underneath that veneer of goodness.

Tom wanted to dig his fingers into it and bring it to the surface, rip away all the unnecessary heroism and pretense of goodness, carve until all the was left were the shimmering gems of potential buried not-so-deep in the boy. Tom could do it, too. Harry would not be easy to bend to his will, not like Ginny-not-Ginevra, not like his schoolfellows, not like the teachers he wrapped around his fingers.

No. Harry Potter would be a challenge, and—

Oh.

Oh.

Oh no.

[shouldprobablybereading]

Spren entering the physical realm:

“I am become a blade”

[teleport-warning]

[thatscarletflycatcher]

I'm not immune to the Nessun Dorma leitmotif mingling with the tune of Mission Impossible in Rogue Nation every time Ilsa and Ethan have A MomentTM.

Because, you see, they are foils, that way; Ethan, forever betrayed and cornered keeps his innocence and will to do good and save the world, and goes insane for it. Ilsa responds to similar pressures by becoming cynical and reserved, keeping her sanity but losing her heart.

She's Turandot! Cruel, cold, cynical queen! and he's love, knocking at her door and embracing the madness of the death she's likely to bring! He's a mystery to her! She's a mystery to him!

But my secret is hidden within me; no one will know my name! No, no! On your mouth, I will say it when the light shines!

[crypticarchivesart]

mangle :D

[izayoichan]

(Premise of this mini au: Hayle, the god of the region its protector and mostly seen as an untouchable figure, watching them from his home. Chris: The reaper who sees a lonely god, and decides that perhaps he can change things.) Chris: So you never walked here? Hayle: No. He was not sure what he had expected, he had never even thought about walking among them all before he had stumbled on this reaper in his travels around the lands themselves. It had been an odd meeting, he had spotted a dying human, and being curious he had landed close by, to see if perhaps he could at least be there for this persons last moments. It was then he had noticed the person was not alone. Another was there, sitting with them, but not doing anything. He had at first accused the person for being the culprit but as he looked at him he realized he was looking at death, or more accurately one of their reapers. Chris: How come? Hayle: I somehow thought it would be odd? They don’t know me, they only know the well myth? Chris: They still only know the myth, they will never know anything else unless you want them too. You do really not look anything like their idea of you, the big dragon in the sky. He chuckled, he had seen their attempts at making him. Many times had he felt like correcting them, but oddly for a god, he had always been afraid. Afraid that if he showed them this form, they would no longer think off him as a god. Maybe as an impostor instead? Hayle: So you still think I should live among them, let them see this me? Chris: Yes, you will still be their god, their deity, but imagine knowing that their deity is there, listening and talking to them directly. No longer will someone make up what they think you want, for the first time, they will know.  Hayle: That would be nice.. these people use my name for all manner of things. Chris chuckled, he had heard some of it, and seen some of the writings. He enjoyed the company of this fairly young god, and he hoped perhaps he could guide him, to become the god he felt he was. He knew his story, left alone from a very young age in these lands, to rule them as he saw fit. Which he was still working out how to.

Chris: The only way to do this, is to become a visible god, not one hiding in the sky. Hayle: You make it sound so easy. Chris: It is always easy to say what someone should do. What is hard, is making it happen. (To be continued tomorrow)

[shisui-uchiha-anon]

for my dear @kagami--uchiha

Take the warning to discard your Uchiha arrogance, tone down your ego he said. There is a far more powerful ninja than us, I am not that dense to think that no one can beat me. But younger do not heed the warning of the older, warning of his more experienced companion. It is the fear... it's not the fear but the reality. Shisui is scared of what's inside his own head in his own soul...head the warning leave it be.

He can not. He does not want his absence weakens the power structure just enough, the annoying brat is not there, you remember him don't you? We had his father captured. Said Kumo nin to his master whose cold blue eyes look briefly at him before marking his target. Target which waited in the middle of the ANBU training yard.

It must have been a glorious battle, but Shisu came back too late. Arrogant cold and cruel blue eyes met Shisui's. But if you look better in that deep icy blue, there is nothing in them but emptiness, and the face devoided of any emotion before his sword is lifted up. Shisui's commander was kneeling before his enemy bested, done, surrendering to the Lady Death. Accepting the cold embrace of the steel that enters his chest and pokes out of his back. Blood blooms over the pale clothing like a red spider lily. Uchiha Akio is dead.

Expecting to hear a blond man mocking him and spilling insults at him, Shisui watches but none of that happened. Fear is suffocating Shisui it's keeping him in the same spot, he can't breathe feels like he is drowning, and sinking deeper. Light fades to red, and rage through Shisui's veins drives him insane.

And their swords clash, as the sky opens and pours its sorrow down on them, memories flash before Shisui's eyes and his commander's words 'I can not kill him it will start the war. I can't start a war!'

Just a second of not paying attention, a light and precise slash of his opponent's blade~ Shisui lost his left eye, and warm blood followed by agonizing pain exploded inside his head. Never before in his whole life had Shisui ever could dream of a battle as fierce as this one no opening no weak spot nothing. This man was like a machine, it was a man who had nothing to lose but only to gain if he kills one more Uchiha, this hate went much deeper than just a loss of a child.

Shisui knew that he is a dead man it was just a matter of time. Till he saw a slight misstep in his opponent's footing. An old wound. Akio said that he faced him and stabbed him in the back of the leg.

"Which of us will survive? Which of us will survive the other?" Shisui asked his opponent, and only then that man spoke. Cold even, melodic, and soft voice.

"Your question is pointless when you know the answer"

Dark, slightly moonlit hallway in the dead of night, a shadow enters the building where Hokage is, carrying a severed head, dripping blood in his wake...."I started the warm because yes I am that arrogant to think that Uchiha is better than soft Kumo clouds"

[fan-fangirl-world]

Like every year, here’s Leon as LGBTQ icon, now RE4 Leon could be the June ambassador.

Happy Pride month!

[ceciliaaa-youre-breakin-my-heart]

NEW CHAPTER IS OUT!

Get it while it's still tired as fuck and doesn't know how to play chess!

Obligatory Simon and Garfunkle song:

[capriciouswriter207]

A fun fact about the Caesar House AU that I can’t organically incorporate in the story:

The student who ran around the school streaking during a pep rally was Skizzleman.

It was a bet. He got expelled for it. Skizz only regrets not being able to go to the same school as Impulse anymore.