floating apples

The Signs as Michael Faudet Poems


My Girl Who Writes

I watch you write,
my love, my life,
my start of everything.

Each little sigh,
a pen run day,
another painful page

Your fingers bleed,
I do concede,
for a sentence
of your making.

To which you say,
on sunshine days,
it is for words
my heart is breaking.



Do you know what really turns me on?
What I find incredibly sexy? Kindness.


Pressed Flowers

To the quiet one,
the coy,
the wallflower.

Her dark circled eyes
buried in a book.

Hard little nipples,
dusty pink,
beneath a tatty
black singlet.

Those restless legs,
sprawled across
a squeaky bed.

Her secrets kept,
like pressed daisies
hidden by
pages read.



She wore the scent
of early spring
on her delicate neck
and every kiss I stole
tasted of bright yellow flowers
and buzzing bees.



She rode on airplanes and fell asleep in hotel beds. Dreaming of faraway places– writing poetry with her sunset eyes.



There is a certain stillness, when even the gentle flutter of a butterfly’s wing feels like a hurricane.

The moment when crashing waves fall asleep, peaceful, lost to the serenity of salty dreams.

When tall tees stand to attention and every leaf pauses, takes a deep breath and holds it.

It is here, beneath the maddening silence I hear your name.

An echo of you.


The Gift

Her eyes were beautifully gift wrapped;
long black lashes of velvet ribbon–
and every time she opened them,
it felt like Christmas.


The Mermaid

She came from the ocean,
this wild girl from the sea,
her hair flowing southwards,
she walked towards me.

A west to east smile,
with eyes steely grey,
like a storm in the distance,
rolling in from the bay.

We kissed with the sunrise,
made love when it set,
a promise by moonlight,
came dawn, my regret.

He left for the ocean,
this boy from the land,
his spirit soars northward,
his heart in her hands.


Pen Portrait

I watched as you reached for the ice cream.

Standing naked, body pressed up against the humming fridge.

A wispy trail of bluish grey smoke spiraling up from a dying cigarette.

Held precariously in the other hand, ash falling to the floor.

A just fucked wetness between your legs.

Your little smile captured in grainy black and white.

By the click of a camera.


Some Days

Some days we spoke about life, other days, we discussed the weather– and whenever we laughed, it was the best sex ever.



Magic tumbled from her pretty lips and when she poke the language of the universe– the stars sighed in unison.


The Apple Orchard

He floated upon a gentle sea of rippling green.

When little yellow butterflies danced drunk pirouettes on the windy stage.

Reading the words written by fluffy white poets who wrote ever changing prose across and endless blue page.

‘Apples are funny things,’ he said. ‘You can never be sure of what you are getting until you take that first bite.’

His hand reaches slowly for the half empty vodka bottle.

‘This afternoon I discovered an apple so wonderfully perfect, I wouldn’t be surprised if it came from the outstretched hand of a wicked old witch.’

She pulled up her white cotton panties, brushing an ant from a grass stained knee.

‘I’ve been called many things before but never an apple,’ she laughed.

None of these poems are mine. I borrowed them all from Michael’s book Dirty Pretty Things. Go check it out!


( the secret ingredient is love )

Group: BTS


Excerpt: ‘ Fairy lights floated around the table, having been charmed by you not to drip wax, their lights twinkling and the smell of apple pie floated flooded your senses as your eyes widened, “What’s on the menu today babe?” 

Genre: fluff, wizard au

Length: 1k

A/N: this is so self-indulgent like i really really like this au


Originally posted by lvebts

“Y/N, stop waiting outside and just come in,” you glared at Namjoon who had opened the door for you, his girlfriend had taught him the basics for reading minds and sensing presences and he loved to use them at the worst times. Instead of being embarrassed you just laughed as you walked past him,

“What are you laughing at?” Namjoon shut the door trailing after you, before you spun on your heels,

“just remembering that mixtape you had me and Jin listen to,” he rolled his eyes, obviously well aware he had embarrassed you but he always enjoyed rising to a challenge,

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hetaliaandother  asked:

{apple bobbing contest at a party}, UsUk, Not dating //yet//, how about one of them (Alfred?) nearly ends up choking? 6([の]ω[の] )

Send me a Halloween prompt! 

Arthur wasn’t really sure what he’d expected from the party Alfred had insisted on dragging him to. Maybe something more stereotypically highschool; with more underage drinking, terrible costumes, and even worse dancing. There was some alcohol of course, and the rest wasn’t far off. But so far Arthur found himself surprised not only at how little of that there was, but also at how much he’d actually enjoyed himself.

Probably on account of his best friend. Though Alfred was admittedly the cause of his good moods most of the time. They’d been friends since Arthur had moved to America five years ago, though Alfred was so well rounded he got along with just about everyone in their year. And subsequently of course, got invited to all social events of the year.

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anonymous asked:

Jimon Halloween prompt: were both forced into an apple bobbing contest and awkwardly go for the same one at the same time

I combined this with: Can you do a jimon fic where they meet at a Halloween party

I hope you like it! 💜

read on ao3

It was nights like this that made Jace wonder why he ever agreed to do things in advance. Alec was standing in his doorway, lecturing him about the fact that he wasn’t ready to leave yet, and that they had agreed to go at this time over a week ago. It was sad that Alec hadn’t realized by then that Jace didn’t write things in a calendar like he did. He had never celebrated Halloween before- in fact, he had barely known what it was until Alec explained- and he didn’t know why he had to start now.

“Just give me five minutes and then we can go, okay? I’m sure you can last just a little bit longer without seeing your boyfriend.” The eye roll he got was dramatic, and Jace knew that Magnus was rubbing off on his brother. Even though it would probably turn out to be annoying in the long run, it brought a smile to his face at that moment. There was no other word to describe the change that had occurred in Alec other than that he was better. He smiled more, listened to his gut over the Clave’s logic, and even the way he dressed was starting to change- in a good way. Jace was happy for him, so much so that it almost completely overshadowed the jealously that he felt. Almost.

The truth was that he was tired of feeling alone, and that wouldn’t go away no matter how many times he told himself that he was fine on his own. With a sigh, he got changed into a more presentable outfit, and then he met Alec at the entrance of the Institute. There was a portal waiting for them when they stepped outside, and Jace couldn’t deny that it was much easier to travel now that his brother was dating a Warlock. The second he walked through, however, he bumped right into someone, and felt liquid spill down the front of his shirt.

“Oh god, I totally just spilled that on you. One second I was walking and the next you appeared and now you’re covered in blood- which is probably not the worst thing you could be covered in considering it’s Halloween but it’s still not good- and now you probably want to punch me in the face-”

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One day, one rhyme- Day 1162

My art assignment was handed in
With good cheer and an accomplished grin
For I felt that I’d done rather well,
But my tutor asked: “Explain this, Elle.”
An odd request, for I thought ‘twas clear.
I wondered if she’d been drinking beer,
But I was patient, I took the time.
“The obvious flavour choice was lime,
As it’s green, but I needed some blue
And so I used some blueberry too.
Fish were a must, so I cut some grapes
Into some vaguely flounder-like shapes.
It was a challenge to make seaweed,
But your own instructions I did heed.
'Twas tricky because apple peel floats,
And then I needed some fishing boats-
You gave art license, so I used shell.
Which, as you can see, worked quite well.”
Then with frustration, she did decree:
“I said jealousy, not jello sea!”

anonymous asked:

show us the malaphor

Here’s a list of my favourites…

- Not the sharpest bulb in the shed
- You’re walking on eggs and needles
- It tickled my fancy bone
- Don’t count your eggs before you put the basket down
- even a blind squirrel finds a nut twice a day
- That train has sailed
- Whatever floats your goat
- An apple a day leaves the whole world blind
- Does the pope shit in the woods?
- Is a bear catholic?
- You can lead a horse to water but you can’t make it float
- He’s a few bricks short of a shed

newt scamander, the odd romantic man

Newt Scamander doesn’t know how to be romantic.

Scratch that.

Newt definitely knows how to be romantic but in a very non-traditional way. Percival Graves knows this very well. He’s been the recipient of Newt’s odd gifts and fond gestures for the past decade.

(And no, Suzanne Harolds from HR, Newt doesn’t give him Antipodean Opaleye dragon egg as their 10th anniversary gift. He doesn’t know the first thing on how to mother a dragon plus Newt would fight him tooth and nail and probably pull his hair to be able to get the egg for himself anyway)

Newt is a sweetheart, every one knows this. He is kind and nice. Always ready to help out anyone without asking anything in return.

Percival falls for Newt because of those qualities. How he seems unassuming at first glance, almost dull even. But when he gets to know the man, he knows that there’s blazing fire in Newt. So passionate especially when it comes to protecting magical creatures. He is fierce and he will stand on his belief no matter what others are saying.

Newt will burn himself to protect the things that he loves. And those things include Percival.

Which is a surprise because Percival always thinks that he is undesirable; so hard to love. He believes that no one will love him.

But Newt does and he always shows it by being romantic.

Newt’s idea of being a romantic includes pulling Percival into the suitcase so that he could have bonding session with the creatures. Starting with the Nundu because “Addie is sort of the suitcase guardian so you have to get on her good side first before everyone else here.”

Newt says that with the damndest cheeky smile ever and yes, yes Percival is scared because it’s a Nundu! The apex predator! One toxic breath and he would be covered in purple green poisonous boils and die!

But for Newt he would try to bond with Addie. He would even hand feed the beast and call her beautiful, because Addie is beautiful with her black and yellow spots. He knows that those colours are Newt’s favourite colours because Newt is a Hufflepuff.

Trust Newt to keep a gigantic, dangerous beast in his suitcase just because she has the same colours of his old Hogwarts’ house.

As if that isn’t odd enough; Newt sometimes does weird movements in public.

He will shake his pert rump and wiggle his eyebrows at Percival. When it first happens, Percival doesn’t know better. He thinks that Newt is trying to flirt with him so he wiggles back his eyebrows with a smirk.

Then everything goes to hell when Newt starts to swish his coat up and flap his arms.

Newt is trying to do the mating dance of a peacock. His coat is eye catching enough to cast the bright swirl of green blue on Percival and he is tempted, Morgana help me, he is enticed by the smooth way Newt moves and how his eyes are playful and how lush his mouth look when he quirks up a flirty smile.

Newt mating dance pays off actually when Percival grabs his hand to apparate them home. Newt knows his plan works by the way he laughs lowly seeing Percival desperately wanting to be inside him; hands pawing off his coat, mouth biting his shoulder as he grinds their hard cocks together.

But if Percival is being honest, Newt is not only all those odd and amusing habits of him.

He is capable of being romantic without the dramatic flair.

Newt who is busy juggling between his responsibilities of being a departmental head and caring for his creatures, always makes time to sit with Percival so that he can vent about his frustration on the bureaucracy. Or whatever idiotic things his aurors have gotten themselves into. Newt always listens to his bitching, never once telling him to get over it.

There’s always a good cup of coffee even when Newt doesn’t drink it and sweet sticky Niffler shaped breads waiting for Percival when he comes barging into Newt’s office to find a moment of respite.

There are always soft kisses to his face and gentle fingers in hair; massaging the beginning of a headache away.

A minute with Newt adds five years to his life span.

There are times where they are both busy with their respective works yet Newt always thinks about him. Percival knows this by the way Newt always sends Dougal to hand him an apple for him to snack on during an important meeting. The sight of a floating apple doesn’t surprised anyone anymore.

Sometime Newt sends Pickett to accompany him when he’s preparing his report. The Bowtruckle chattering mindlessly as Percival checks his work.

When Newt thinks Percival is working too hard, then he will release the Niffler into his office so that the little thief will steal Percival’s shiny silver pen away. When he steps out to chase her, Newt is already waiting outside of his office; a subdue Niffler in his arms and a bright smile on his face before he announces that they’re going for dinner.

Newt rarely tells Percival that he loves the man. It’s embarrassing to utter the words.

But Percival knows.

There are self-made potions now in Newt’s little shack. Things that he brews for Percival. Murtlap and Dittany paste for when Percival’s joints ache. Mandrake roots essence for when he’s hexed by curses during raids. Pepper-Up potion in Starflower flavour because it’s sweet.

Small potions that keep Percival alive and well.

There’s a small desk for him inside Newt’s little shack too. His own place for him to do his work; a neat desk with everything being in their places next to Newt’s own messy desk littered with hastily written notes and thick volumes of journals.

Newt referring to Percival as “Daddy” when he talks to the creatures. How there is always a fond, pleased smile on his face whenever the creatures flock to Percival and hang on to him; asking for his attention.

He knows Newt is always reluctant to leave him when he has to go away for weeks or months at times. The way he holds on to Percival tightly like he wants nothing more than to pack Percival inside the suitcase too. How Newt always kisses him tenderly, his eyes red with unshed tears. How he murmurs “I’ll come back to you soon.” before apparating away.

When he comes home, Newt is always eager to pull Percival into his arms and sag against him as if he is glad to come home to Percival and he does.

Of course he does, because no matter how far and how long Newt goes away; he always thinks about Percival. Letters are not sufficient enough for him to tell Percival how he yearns for the man.

And Percival doesn’t ask for weird trinkets and odd artefacts for Newt to bring home.

He just wants Newt and his odd ways of showing that he loves Percival; of how he casts a bright light in Percival’s world with his small, kind gestures that speak of love and adoration in volume.

Because for Percival, Newt is enough.

(also in this series, percival graves is not a romantic man)