#post war au

[fairy-artist]

Post-War AU! — The trip to the Amazon was completely unexpected... and an absolute hot disaster.

Harry dragged Snape to the Amazon in August, right in the middle of the Amazonian summer. Thanks to the El Niño effect, the rivers are drying up, there’s not a drop of rain, and Harry is slowly realizing he picked the absolute worst time of year for this trip.

[sawbeaver]

@azureforreal

This is fan art for <Thorn Apart, Never by Heart> by azureforreal.

Here's the link

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

I enjoyed reading this. The illustrations that fit the scene are really beautiful, too. Thank you. I'm looking forward to the next chapter. I like how Flaky's fashion style reminds me of widow's weeds. And I also like how Flippy often wants to rip off her black clothes.

crop

Flippy's face doesn't appear in this painting, but I practiced lightly.

[dalidahmer]

Malfoy tossed three cards on the table, they slid backside-up in the middle of the trio.

"Easy, Weasley, I just wanted some signatures myself."

Harry's eyes locked on Malfoy.

It felt so much like foreplay he was genuinely afraid he'd lose control of himself and wipe the table off.

Hermione grabbed hers and squinted.

She scoffed dramatically, slapping the card under her palm.

"I thought we were past this, Malfoy."

Malfoy clicked his tongue, dismissively.

"Just a spot of vanilla bullying to keep you humble, Granger. You know I love you."

Hermione blinked up.

"Honestly..."

Ron furrowed his brows at his card.

"We saved your life, you know?"

"You don't like yours, Weasley?" Malfoy faked hurt. "I could have changed every card in Britain. Those are just for you."

Harry slid the cards across the table and looked at them curiously.

Malfoy's grin spread—obnoxiously proud.

He gave them horns, warts, hundreds of pounds.

Ron was a ginger troll vomiting slugs onto pimply tits.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/75634451/chapters/197890766

Harry squinted at his card.

Malfoy changed his scar to the shape of a dick and bollocks.

Harry snorted, earning confused looks from his friends.

"Who cares?" He shrugged. "It's just Malfoy."

Malfoy's head snapped to him, his mouth fell apart, offended.

Harry winked at him. He didn't have to go as far as Malfoy to bother him.

Nott and Zabini snickered and walked off.

Malfoy watched Hermione and Ron scowl at their cards.

"Don't let it go to your head, Potter."

He dropped a tiny scroll of parchment in his lap.

He brushed Harry's thigh with his fingertips longer than necessary.

Harry's knee jerked, shaking the table. Malfoy's hands were in his pockets.

"We don't need that thing getting any bigger, do we?" He winked.

[eelystuff]

A Place Beneath Skin

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Rei_Von

Hey hope everyone is good and hope all have an amazing day. The fanart you see above is not mine I found it in Pinterest under the following link : https://pin.it/44euQivPM

Thank you for reading.

Chapter 13: The Drowning Shores

[Hospital Elevator]

The elevator doors slid open... then closed. He hadn't moved.

He stood still, chest heaving. He bit down on his lip, hard, the coppery taste of blood a sharp counterpoint to the salt of unshed tears. His eyes burned. His breath was stuck somewhere deep in his throat, a trapped animal. His head throbbed in time with his heartbeat. The cold metal of the elevator door stung where his forehead was pressed against it, the spot already stained with sweat.

His hands were clasped so tightly his knuckles were bone-white. Trying to physically hold himself together.

BAKUGOU (Muttering,a raw whisper) “I need to go check on Megumi…and Rei… Shit. I can’t leave before doing that.”

The elevator descended. The doors opened on his floor.

[Rei's Room]

He walked fast, a man on a grim mission, and pushed into Rei's room.

BAKUGOU (Frowning at the empty prep area) “What the hell?She’s still here? They haven’t prepped her for surgery yet?”

He moved to her vitals monitor. Slowly, subtly — the numbers were dipping. Not critical,but worse than last time. A silent backslide.

He reached for a syringe, drew her blood with a practiced, automatic hand, and packed the sample into an airtight tube. It needed to be rushed to the lab. His last order.

He looked at Rei’s face — still swollen, bruised and raw, but less so than before. His fingers hovered over the bruises,then gently brushed her hand.

BAKUGOU (Softly,voice thick): “You’re a strong woman,Rei. Don’t let him win. Your kids are a pain in my ass— especially Shoto — he’s a whiner and a prick. But at least...he was man enough to protect his mother.”

He gave her hand a final, light squeeze before stepping out.

[Megumi's Room]

The door opened to the soft, familiar hum of machinery. The scent of cherry soda still lingered in the air.

She had a new beanie — yellow this time. Adorned with little frogs. A small bow was stitched on top.

He walked to her bedside and knelt down, his large hands cradling hers like a clam guarding a pearl. Tiny fingers.A round, sleeping face. Chubby little toes poking from under the blanket.

BAKUGOU (Barely a whisper,the words scraping out): “Hey,Megumi. I’m sorry. I couldn’t help you. I’m so sorry. You’re so small. And I can’t do anything.”

He swallowed the hot, painful lump in his throat. “I’m no miracle worker. If I could save you...truly save you... I would.”

His voice cracked on the last word.

“This is goodbye, peanut.”

He stood, his legs feeling like lead, and pulled out his phone. He called her mother. He informed them gently— too gently, a voice he didn't recognize as his own — that he would no longer be working with them. He asked them to pass along Megumi’s birthday present when it arrived. He apologized.Hung up.

And finally — for once — he allowed the tears to fall. Silent, hot tracks cutting through the grime and tension on his face.

He sank to the floor beside her, head bowed, utterly silent. The only sounds were Megumi’s slow,steady heartbeat on the monitor and the soft, indifferent mechanical hum of the machines keeping her alive.

[Aftermath]

After crying like a goddamn child, security came and escorted him off the premises. At least they let him take what mattered — his laptops, flash drives, and all the important work he’d poured his soul into.

Now, driving home, he finally noticed it.

The sunset.

The world was bathed in gold and blood-orange, casting long, distorted shadows on streets he’d only ever seen in the bleary moonlight or under the hospital's fluorescent glare. He was never out this early; he was always still locked in that white coffin until the sun was high.

---

[Outside His House]

Parked outside his house, engine off.

He couldn't go in.

King Explosion Murder would probably be there, excited, tail flicking, hissing, judging him for his failure.

But Bakugou Katsuki just... couldn’t face the walls.

His engine rumbled back to life.

He drove. No destination, no thought. Just the silence and the road unfurling like a black ribbon under his tires, curving endlessly through sleeping towns and dark forests and vast fields of nothing.

Before he knew it, he was seven hours away from home.

And the gas meter blinked: Empty.

---

[The Coast]

Stepping out of the car, still wearing his stained lab coat and surgical gloves, the wind sliced through him. It was cold. Bitter. Briny.

He was at the coast. Somewhere.

It didn’t matter.

The air smelled like salt and rust and decay.

The wind tasted like endings.

He walked.

Through sharp shrubs. Over cold, unforgiving sand.

The tide was high, violent, and hungry. It consumed the beach, leaving no place to stand, no solid ground.

Icy water seeped into his shoes, soaking through his scrubs. Still, he walked.

Further. Deeper.

The moon glared down — harsh and indifferent — its reflection shattered into a thousand pieces in the churning waves.

Then—

A slip. A rock. A fall.

He was under.

The cold was a sledgehammer to his chest. It burned his lungs, stole his breath.

The ocean dragged him like a child with a rag doll, then threw him back against the rocky bottom.

He let it.

He let it choke him. Slam him. Remind him that he could still feel something other than hollow failure. That he was still breakable.

And then — instinct, raw and primal, overrode the despair.

He fought.

Shrugged off the waterlogged coat. Kicked off the leaden shoes. Something deep and animal gripped him.

Clawing. Crawling. Gasping.

He made it back to shore.

Sputtering. Shivering violently, his teeth chattering.

His phone was gone. Coat, gone. Shoes, gone.

Just him.

Alone and barefoot on the dark sand.

---

He laughed.

A hollow, broken sound. Not joy. Not sadness. Just a noise ripped from deep inside his ribcage.

Then, he crawled back into his car. Soaked. Barefoot. Empty.

For a moment, the world was utterly still, save for the sound of his own ragged breathing. The cold air filled his lungs, making them feel light, like cotton. For a moment, he felt so weightless he could sink right through the earth, between the grains of sand, and be nothing.

[aeriesaus]

dramione post-war au

because I'm halfway through writing it and it's stuck rent free in my brain so here's. planning notes (yes John Stirling is my Kingsley fancast)

Fiver years after the cessation of the Second Wizarding War, Kingsley Shacklebolt's Ministry of Magic declassified the records of the Emergency War Committee assembled in the immediate aftermath of The Dark Lord's demise.

For the first time, the Wizarding public gained access to over 30,000 pages of witness testimony, medical reports, private journals, correspondence, investigative records, sentencing decisions, and a full transcript of court proceedings relating to the events that occurred in the basement of 12 Grimmauld Place between 14 February and 2 May 1998.

These records present the declassified case files, evidence exhibits, and personal records relating to what is now aptly named "The Grimmauld Papers," summarised for your reading pleasure by Xenophilius Lovegood as a special correspondent for The Daily Prophet.

[komihoyinsblog]

Honestly, I'm a little confused as to why authors often ignore Kakashi's pain in fanfics when it comes to forgiving Obito. Okay, I'll clarify similarly in a moment.

Very often(sorry, actually always, I can't remember a fic where that wasn't) it's Obito who doesn't forgive Kakashi, it's Obito who insults Kakashi and humiliates Kakashi when Kakashi asks for forgiveness and for Obito to be there for him and live. Or something like that. I've never once seen Kakashi being the one who refuses to forgive Obito for all the shit he's done.

Yeah, it's part of Kakashi's character. In canon, Kakashi was pretty quick to accept the fact that Obito was alive all along and terrorizing the world, setting it up for endless dream and war. But I honestly think it was more due to the fact that Kakashi didn't have time to think and analyze the situation. For Obito didn't give him time to realize.

Yes, Kakashi has a guilt complex the size of Everest. But Kakashi is not Naruto. He doesn't forgive everything and everyone. I'm pretty sure Kakashi cried the first night after the war. Because his childhood friend had killed half of Kakashi's loved ones and was responsible for a huge mess. I want an inner conflict Kakashi who can let go of Obito, he can understand and accept Obito but not forgive. And he won't grovel to Obito to ask for him.

I really want a post war au with Obito alive, where Kakashi doesn't try on Naruto's skin and play forgiveness from the first second. He's been going to this for a very long time, with or without Obito.

Kakashi literally hasn't done a damn thing he should be apologizing for. Rin's death? Really? That's ridiculous. She killed herself using Kakashi. And it was all Madara and Zetsu's plan. I'm 100% sure that if Rin had saved herself at that point, she or Kakashi would have died anyway so that Obito would have gone over to the evil side. That's it, there's nothing there anymore for Obito to be mad at Kakashi about.

On the other side? Dude, that's fucking fucked up. Years of loneliness, the death of Minato and Kushina and Naruto's subsequent isolation, the village destroyed twice, the whole damn Uchiha clan(let's not forget that Itachi is Kakashi's kohai as well as Tenzo, and Sasuke is Kakashi's student/kid and what happened to them is 70% Obito's fault), Asuma(one of Kakashi's close friends), Neji(precious student of Kakashi's best friend), Jiraiya, the goddamn war and much, much, much more. Why the hell do the writers ignore all that when the kakaobi get together? Ignore the fact that Kakashi lost a lot because of Obito? Kakashi should be feeling emotions over this, guilt complex or not.

And Obito should have consequences for his actions, especially when they had the strongest impact on the one and only person most precious in Obito's life.

[azureforreal]

It's about the little things...

[violencelittlething]

Don't You Dream Impossible Things?

Hey guys did you know a drabble is apparently only like a few hundred words? I called this a drabble. It's more than a few hundred words. By a couple thousand. Oh well!

This is just straight up Riorgail featuring protective broody Xaden and pregnant tired Violet chilling in the Aretian hatching ground. Enjoy if this is your vibe ❤️

AO3

Tagging my tag list: If you want to be added or removed please let me know I will not be offended ❤️

@violent-little-thing @wonderstruckbyyou @bookishbroadwaybish @shadowofthoughts @court-of-secrets @essjaywrites @jurassicworldisbetter @siobhanbooks @freakishfandomfiend