“Tradition” is one of the big traits of Slytherin that I feel like gets misinterpreted. Like yes tradition can be family pride and following in your parent/mentor’s footsteps and knowing what each different fork at a fancy dinner is for, but it’s also inviting all the neighbours over for dinner in the backyard every summer, trekking out for your annual family camping or hunting trip, or how the first person up has to put the coffee on. Slytherin can be so much more than perfectly pressed kids with perfect eyeliner and a stick up their ass.
Sunshine never looked so good ‘till it was beating down on you and your brown eyes were the color of my coffee with 10 creams and 4 sugars, just the way I like my coffee when hot. Thank you for making my coffee more than just a pretty brown and giving me a reason to look for that shade of brown in everything I saw.
Those freckles upon your face, you never really liked them the way I did. I adored them, sat for hours trying to figure a way to spell “I love you” with them or even trying to find a way to piece together the constellations. Thank you for showing me freckles are more than just pigments upon the skin, showing me that they make each person unique and I guess that’s why whenever I tried to connect the dots on your face it doesn’t match up with the ones on her’s.
Your hands upon my skin always made my stomach turn but not the same way it did thinking of your hands on another girl but in the way where my stomach became a forest fire while my head was a tropical vacation, at war with what I felt for you and not being able to decide to listen to my aching heart or my mind that seemed to always wander back and linger around you, thank you for showing me that not everything causes one feeling and that it’s okay to feel good and bad. For showing me that no matter what bad life gives you, at some point it will give you good as a “congratulations, you made it.”
No one else loves the way you do, and I thank god everyday for that. Not that you loved me wrong, you just didn’t know how to. But I guess that’s okay, because you knew how to love her. And I am happy that you’re happy, even if it meant we broke each other down to the core. Thank you for showing me that I can give someone my all and be okay when they no longer want it, for showing me that I can dedicate so much time to someone and still be okay when they wake up and decide to not be around anymore.
To the girl who broke my heart, I know that you never meant to hurt me. You loved me as you knew how to, and I am grateful for the good that came. Thank you for hurting me, I will grow from this. You taught me that even in all the bad, there’s still good. I no longer sit at home waiting on anyone, and I no longer will give out a million second chances. Thank you for showing me that people will promise you so much good and still go against that. I don’t need much, but I needed you in this lifetime. So thank you, for all you have done and what you have not done.
“Thank you” to the girl who broke me and whom I broke in return
Protip from an ex-barista: don’t bother getting a skinny coffee. More often than not you are simply replacing the fat content in the milk with refined sugar which is worse for your body (dairy fats are good for you believe it or not). Not only that but the milk steaming process transforms the proteins in the milk creating a smooth delicious coffee with smoother foam. You will never get milk quite as good in skim/low fat. Of course disregard this if you’re lactose intolerant hahaha.
GO FULL FAT IN YOUR COFFEE, IT TASTES BETTER AND IT’S BETTER FOR YOU.
“maybe, in another world, you’re just two boys tangled up in plaid sheets.
your armor is his worn sweatshirt, threadbare in all the right places. your helmet: his knit cap, the one you pull off of his head whenever he least expects it.
your hands aren’t meant to hold a weapon, not anymore. they tangle in his hair instead, intricate braids woven on lazy sunday afternoons, framing his face and falling gracefully over his shoulders.
somewhere in your mind, there’s the memory of waves slapping against rocks, loud and aggressive, a call to war that dragged you away from everything that had ever felt safe. the sounds here are softer. birds find a home outside your window, and their songs align with the sound of his steady breathing beside you each morning.
the room you share smells like coffee and hair conditioner, and feels more like home than anywhere else ever has. his clothes smell like him, and he never minds when you wear them.
the blood that once rushed in your ears and seized your heart in violent stutters is nothing more than the shower running now, every morning at the same time. sometimes you’ll join him, and other times you’ll lie in bed, listening to him sing until he wanders back to you. his damp hair is always wrapped in a towel on top of his head, and you both laugh.
in fact, there isn’t any blood here at all, just empty soda cans on your dresser, and a teapot sitting on the stove. he always puts fig leaves in his tea, and the notion stirs something in your heart that you can’t name.
he’s different here too. you’d love him in every universe, but his eyes never lose their brightness anymore. his hands hold yours without shaking, gentle and soft, and you can’t help thinking that this is how he was always meant to be. he never trembles in his sleep, and there’s a peacefulness to his face that never falters.
you aren’t afraid of losing him here. that’s the best part, isn’t it? he is a constant. achilles, achilles, achilles. you never feel like the ground is falling out from under your feet, and you’re never struck with the realization that he won’t always be beside you. “we’ll have each other forever,” he promises you, and you believe him.
maybe, in another world, you’re just two boys who love each other, and there isn’t a war or a prophecy to separate you.
maybe, in another world, you wake up every morning to the feeling of his lips against yours.
maybe, in another world, you’re happy.”
-dear patroclus, i promise you there’s a place where everything is okay // jc
This week there’s something more important than the Productivity Challenge or my photos of coffee and books or getting your bullet journal in order. This week is the week to engage, educate and resist.
Engage with politics. This is the week to start if you haven’t before or to ramp it up if you’re already involved. Read, write, protest, repeat. Give your time and privilege to help others.
Educate yourself. Your education is a radical act, don’t let it stop and don’t restrict yourself to your own subject. Learn about the historic struggles underpinning today’s politics and tell others. Use your education to inform your activism and your activism to inform your education.
Resist injustice. In the street, on campus, on the bus. Resist it at a protest or on social media. Do as much as you can, do not stand idly by whilst injustice occurs around you. Ignorance is complicity, action is resistance.
If you have queries/questions about this, hitmeup. This week I’m going to focus on the crossover between our education and our resistance. If I lose followers, I will cope.
People feared ecto-contamination, but not like this. There had been four deaths in the past two days. A narcotic, street-named phaze, killed them.
Madeline Fenton stared at compound’s makeup, the 3-D drawing swirled around on the screen. Ectoplasm. Some idiot dealer, had mixed ectoplasm with a combination of three other drugs, and two, still unidentified, substances.
signing , she leaned back in her chair. Had this happened anywhere else, it would take her all of two hours to find the source. But this was Amity. Ectoplasm had seeped into the very makeup of the town. She couldn’t track it.
After 15 hours of research, seven more deaths, careful examination of the dead, communication with the D.E.A. and local law enforcement, and far more coffee than should be consumed was, a plan was made.
Ectoplasm was extremely easy to spot in a human body. Starting with “at risk” groups, such as high school students and addicts of other drugs, every citizen of Amity Park would be scanned. The elder Fentons, were used as control, being near the substance as their profession would give them the highest concentration of ectoplasm in the town. Anyone with levels over, 11% would be rushed to the hospital. Then to rehab, if they survived.
At 58%, Daniel Fenton should not be alive, much less walking. Maddie sobbed, her blurry eyes locked on the shattered pieces of the phone. Why did everything suddenly have to make sense?
“No!” the panic evident in his voice.
“Don’t worry kid, we’ll get you help.” The nurse replied soothingly as she pushed him back on the gurney.
“You don’t understand!” They didn’t listen. After all, it would only sound like the ravings of an addict who’d just gotten caught.
Prompt: Tim falling for his secretary at WE???? Just super fluff please
“Good morning Mr. Drake.” You greeted cheerfully from your desk. Tim smiled at you and strode over to you with two coffee’s in hand.
“Hello Ms. [L/N]. Would you like some coffee? I accidently bought two.” He offered holding out the cup towards.
“How one accidently buys two cups of coffee I will never know but I’m not one to say no to free coffee.” You smiled reaching out to take the offering. He did this for you every once and awhile and you thought it was really quite cute of him. He always came up with silly reasons why he ended up with extra coffee and a part of you wondered if he was being more than just friendly at the frequent morning peace offerings. Well, coffee is coffee.
Tim let go of the cup when he thought you had a hold on it but it accidently slipped through your fingers and the hot liquid poured out of the cup and into your lap. You cried out at the burn of the liquid and immediately jumped out of your seat. Your clothes were completely ruined and your lap was in a tremendous amount of pain. Tim could only respond by being absolutely mortified about pouring hot coffee all over you.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry [Y/N]!” Tim exclaimed hovering over you, not really sure what he was supposed to do. “Here. Come in my office, we’ll find some clothes for you to change into.” He said, already guiding you towards his office. He shut the door and closed the blinds behind him to give you some more privacy. He left you in a hurry to go in search for clothe or someone who would go out to buy some. Your only goal was to get your stupid skirt off.
Not really thinking, you peeled the wet fabric off of you and gingerly prodded at the red, irritated skin on your lap. It wouldn’t leave any permanent damage and you wouldn’t need to go to the hospital.
“I’m sorry I could only find some of my clothes that I keep here for long nights. I sent someone to go out and buy -” Tim said coming back into the room. Your eyes widened in panic and you tried to cover yourself from your boss. All you had on at the moment was your coffee stained blouse and your lacy panties that you were both glad and mortified that you were wearing today. You blushed bright red kicking yourself for being such an idiot. Tim blinked at you a few times before he was able to regain his composure and respectfully avert his gaze from you. He held out the clothes to you and you took them, whispering your thanks.
“They’re probably going to be a little baggy, I apologize.” He said. You took them in your hands and brought your finger up to fiddle with the first button of your soiled blouse before you realized that your boss was still facing you.
“Yes [Y/N]? I-I mean Ms. [L/N]!” He said correcting himself at the less professional use of your name.
“Would you mind turning around while I change? Not that I think you’re going to try and look or anything! But …”
“No, I understand.” He said dismissively before turning his back to you. You made quick work of undressing and even quicker work of dressing in his clothes. You had to admit that you could smell faint hints of his cologne on his clothes. You weren’t complaining but somehow this felt more intimate than it should have. He was right though, his clothes fit pretty loosely on you.
“You can turn around now.” You said. He turned back around and glanced briefly at the sight of you in his clothes before he trained his eyes back to the ground.
“Sally should be back in about an hour with some replacement clothes for you. Again, I’m incredibly sorry. I honestly have no idea what happened.” He fretted apologetically. He looked so darn cute when he had that worried little crinkle between his eyebrows.
“It’s alright Tim.” You laughed.
“You called me Tim.”
“Well I yelled out a string of expletives when I poured coffee all over myself, you know what color underwear I’m wearing today and I’m now wearing your clothes. I think professionalism is kind of fucked today, no matter what way you look at it.” You shrugged, sitting down in the chair facing his desk. . “Of course, if you would rather I don’t call you Tim that’s fine too. I’m sorry I assumed, Mr. Drake.” You added on hurriedly.
“No! Tim’s fine. Call me Tim.” He insisted, shooting his hand out to touch yours in reassurance. He kept his hand there for a few moments before he retracted his hand, suddenly unsure if he should be showing this level of affection towards you.
“Well while we’re waiting for Sally we should probably get to work. There’s a lot we have to do today.” You said.
“Right of course.” Tim nodded moving to sit down in the chair behind his desk. He turned on his computer and while you were both waiting for it to boot up you asked probably the most careless question that you’ve ever asked anyone before.
“Since professionalism is shot to hell anyway, did you like what you saw, you know before you turned away?” You asked. He visibly gulped and turned bright red.
“I uh - you’re a very beautiful woman, [Y/N].” He admitted.
“But … ?” You prompted, sensing he had more to say but he shook his head.
“No ‘buts’. You’re a beautiful woman. I’m sure any man would want - you know what, I’m not going to finish that. I’m sure HR’s already going to be all over my case no need to dig myself into a deeper hole.” He laughed, nervously running his fingers through his long hair.
“It was just a little bit of coffee, no harm done.” You said encouragingly.
“I still can’t help but to feel guilty. I bring you coffee all the time. You wouldn’t have gotten hurt if I could just take a hint.”
“What do you mean?” You asked.
“You’re going to laugh but the reason I bring you coffee so often is that I hope one day I’ll work up the courage to ask you out on a date. Stupid right?” He laughed at himself.
“No, I think it’s cute.” You admitted.
“And if I were to ask you out now?” He asked hesitantly.
“I’d still say yes.” You swore. A small smile twitched at his lips.
“Even after I spilled coffee all over you?” He asked with a skeptically raised eyebrow.
“Oddly enough it’s not a deal breaker for me.” You joked.