but a different day


Patrick laughed and then reached for Gus’ hand, turning it so that it was palm up and gingerly placing the boat upon it. “F-f-for you,” he explained a little shyly. “To…to cheer you up. N-n-not that you r-really n-n-need it today, but l-lately…. I mean I d-didn’t know you were d-doing b-b-better, I just…. Well, it’s d-dumb, but—”

“Thank you,” Augustus murmured.

Patrick flushed, holding Gus’ hand for a second longer and then letting go to stuff his own into the pockets of his jeans. “You can f-fold it to store it and k-keep it from wrinkling.”

This Augustus did, folding the boat along its creases and then swinging his backpack around to his front so that he could slip it inside for safekeeping. There was a bird merrily chirping in the tree nearby. He wondered whether it could have been the parakeet Tobias was tracking. The last he’d heard it was still cleverly eluding his grasps.



“S-s-sorry,” Patrick said, glancing at him uneasily. “I sh-shouldn’t have b-brought it up. I—”

“What? No, it’s—it’s okay,” Augustus said. “Don’t worry about it.”

Patrick opened his mouth to say something else, but Gus’ phone emitted a particularly loud tri-tone, causing them both to startle. He’d forgotten that he’d turned his volume up in case Gemma called.

“Sorry,” he said with a grimace, “hang on….”

I finally got around to watching hidden figures, and it’s just,, such a genuinely good movie,, heck

mostlydaydreaming  asked:

Song lyric. Knowing your love of angst this one came to mind from Watership Down. "Is it a kind of shadow. Reaching into the night. Wandering over the hills unseen, or is it a dream?"

Angst barely describes what this is. Another post-Etched piece, which is a prequel to this one here from a few days.

If I said anything else it would be spoilers!

Unedited, so be aware of possible errors.

Send me a song lyric and I’ll write a prompt!

It was a ghost. A ghost that led him to Konstin. A ghost that has guided them back. Antoine is certain of that. There are things living on these battlefields, spirits of centuries, spectres of the wounded, the dead. Angels. Demons.

This ghost has no wings. This ghost wears no uniform, carries no gun, no knife. This ghost looks out him from a face like a skull, and Antoine would have to be blind not to notice that he has Konstin’s eyes.

He saw them, only for a flash of a moment as the figure turned to him, before he saw Konstin lying in the shell crater. The ghost ceased to matter as Antoine slid into the hole beside his dearest friend. There was only Konstin, lying there, tattered, the left side of his face streaked in blood and for all the world that he looked dead, but he whimpered as Antoine searched for a pulse, and felt the faint flickering beat beneath his fingertips.

The relief was dizzying, and Antoine sank down beside him, tears prickling his eyes.

“Konstin,” he whispered, shaking Konstin’s shoulder, “Konstin.”

The only answer he got was another whimper, and the flickering of those eyelids.

“Oh, Konstin.” I need to get him out of here. I need to get him to the trench. Oh Christ there’s so much blood. Most of it’s dry. How long has he been lying here? Too long. It was morning when word reached Antoine down the line that Commandant Daaé had not returned with what was left of his men. That there was a shell but though the fog they could not see where it landed, and it took them a while to realise that Commandant Daaé, always so calm, so steady leading them, had disappeared.

And Antoine stared at the aide telling him, his mind insisting it was not real, it could not be real. Konstin couldn’t be missing, he couldn’t have disappeared out there, he couldn’t have been blown up by a shell. He was Erik Konstantin Daaé, didn’t they know that? Konstin wouldn’t let something like that happen to him.

And there he was, lying in a shell crater, wounded but alive, and part of Antoine aches to look that aide in the eye, and tell him I knew he was alive. I knew it.

“An…” it was the barest breath, hardly even a word, but it drew Antoine’s attention back to Konstin and he curled his fingers around Konstin’s own and smoothed back his hair.

“I’m here, Konstin,” he whispered, and pressed his lips gently to the clean patch on Konstin’s forehead, unblemished by blood or dirt. “I’m here, and I’m going to get you back to the line, I promise, and you’re going to be fine.”

Konstin whimpered, tears trickling from his closed eyes. “An…toine.”

“Ssshhh. Sshh. I’m here, don’t say a word. I’m here. You’re safe now.” And how Antoine wished he could believe those words himself, but Konstin was so injured, and they still had to make the trip back to the trenches.


“I know it does, I know. But I’ll get you back, I promise, and they’ll fix you up.”

But as soon as he tried to lift him, Konstin cried out and Antoine saw for the first time the blood soaking his coat and trousers, stiff and half-dry.

“I’m sorry, Konstin,” and his voice cracked, “but I need to move you.”

Somehow, somehow, Antoine managed to hoist Konstin onto his back and praying each step of the way he carried him out of the shell crater.

And found the spectre, still standing there shrouded in black, waiting.

Antoine almost screamed at the sight of it, him?

“If you’re Death, you’ll have to take me too to get him.”

Surely, surely it could not be a good sign to find a figure in black looking like a corpse walking waiting for him to climb out of a crater with his wounded friend on his back. At least, that’s what Antoine thought. But the figure only scowled at him with those eyes startlingly like Konstin’s, and beckoning imperiously turned away, starting to walk in what Antoine thought was the direction of the French lines.

And despite every part of him telling Antoine that he should follow something that looks like death, it was the memory of those eyes that led him to stumble after, Konstin’s breaths warm and faint against his neck.

It’s those breaths that force him on, that keep Antoine walking even as his shoulders stiffen and his arms scooped under Konstin’s legs tingle with numbness and his legs ache. He keeps walking, one foot in front of the other, and that black only ever a little in front of him. Walking for what seems like an eternity through the fog pressing in on each side, the screams of other soldiers faint and distant, the rattling of gunfire and screeches of shells faded as if in a dream. Walking and walking and walking.

It is only when he hears “Commandant de Chagny!” that Antoine realises the black figure has gone, that he is standing before one of the enlisted men, but his mind is too sluggish to find his name, and then there are several more crowding around them, lifting Konstin off his back.

“Careful!” His voice is hoarse, throat aching. “Commandant Daaé is badly wounded.”

His aide is beside him, the same aide that told him Konstin was missing. “Where did you find him, sir?”

Antoine’s mouth has only opened to answer him when he feels it, the sharp piercing pain in his side, and his knees buckle, a faint cry going up as his aide catches him.

And it’s so hard to breathe, so hard and suddenly his men are swarming around him, pulling at his uniform, around him and not around Konstin and what does he matter when Konstin is so badly wounded? When Konstin is barely alive? And he can’t breathe, his lungs burning, blood hot and metallic on his tongue, black spots dancing before his eyes, and he gasps as fingers probe the wound, tries to twist away.

“Look—look to Daaé,” he chokes out, the golden eyes hovering before him again, the eyes that are and are not Konstin’s, and they are the last thing he knows before the darkness takes him.

tfw ur trying to write plot but ur brain only provides you with out-of-sequence snippets built on vague ideas and an endless number of potential outcomes that develop and branch out unnaturally over an unspecified timespan


I can’t believe you were expelled because you laughed too hard at a gay joke.

probably how Keith got expelled lmao

bonus klance:

It was the only time he laughed at the Garrison’s too.
How do you know that?

Wanted to draw something for International Women’s Day, so i chosed my favorite cartoon magical girls

30 day otp challenge | day 4: cuddling somewhere


Okay back to happier (?) topics - today’s prompts were firsts/future/tears !!!! and honestly that’s probably a happy set why did I go for this even we might just never know


“She was nearly twenty, with dark hair, darker eyes, and a hint of something deeper within. There was a freshness about her that the surrounding harsh landscape had failed to eliminate. Anyone glancing at her would have thought her soft: a serious error of judgment.



                                                         H A P P Y J I N J I N D A Y
Confident, observant and appreciative. He is someone who is so deeply in love with fans and fellow members; his eyes give it away whenever he looks at either one. Someone who would rather stay up all night and write lyrics than sleep. In some ways he’s careless, but thankful for every little thing. A true guide to the members and the fans. He worries about concerts, interviews, worries about his members, worries about whatever the members worry about, he worries about us, too. He’s Astro’s glue and Aroha’s leader. Thank you for being born, Park Jinwoo.♥


kingdom hearts appreciation week
↳day one// favorite outfit