l.a. son

24/06

Les envies nocturnes d'écrire en ruminant ses pensées sont d'une spontanéité déconcertante. Elles se manifestent, qui sait, pour déverser le trop-plein d'idées noires le temps d'un soir, après tout, chacun sa façon d'ouvrir les vannes, pleurer à sanglots ou écrire quelques mots, ce soir au risque de passer pour un égocentrique aux yeux des cyniques, j'ai envie d'écrire à larmes bleuâtres et de larmoyer de l'encre noirâtre. Mon esprit sclérosé, mes papilles gustatives insensibles, mon ouïe, mon odorat, ma vue, mon toucher, altérés, ne sont que désormais les ruines d'émotions et de sensations passées. J'ai perdu le goût des choses, naguère exquises. L'imperméabilité aux sentiments amoureux m'a conduit à affirmer que l'amour est évanescent, et que le désir quant à lui est constant, l'un et l'autre son indissociables mais tous deux entraînent à la même chute, le désir a pour conséquence d'aimer et l'amour a pour conséquence de désirer, c'est un véritable cercle vicieux et infernal. Plus les années passent et il me semble que plus vite le temps s'écoule, il est ainsi possible de voir s'éloigner les souvenirs sous le coup d'une bourrasque d'années, ne laissant qu'une partielle trace brouillée, à la saveur amère et nostalgique de visages familiers, de senteurs oubliées, de baisers passionnés, et de mots prononcés.Nous sommes forcés d'évoluer dans un monde désorganisé, en destruction, où la compétition prime sur le partage et sur l'entraide, où c'est marche ou crève, un monde entier à revoir, une humanité amnésique, aveuglée et individuelle qui s'auto-détruit paradoxalement par sa spécificité : son intelligence hypertrophiée.

  • you: who's your favourite composer
  • me: mm i love me some clawed the boo sea
  • you: i've never heard of him!
  • me: or pole hinder mitt
  • you: who
  • me: or fee licks mend else on
  • you: ???
  • me: head fart greek
  • you:
  • me: heck tore barely owes
  • me: jewel mass a neigh
  • me: or to rain oh rest pee gay
  • me: hair rick wit tucker
  • me: are am catch at oar ian
  • me: salt and cow dye
  • me: john willy hams
  • me: bell a bar took
  • me: yo hand a may
  • me: hen rye purse hell
  • me: cammy san sons
  • me: leigh oh dell leaves
  • me: and tony oh viviality
  • me: pole duke has
  • me: france juice F. hiding
  • me: art oar oh markers
  • me: lend burns time
  • me: duh meet rye shots her cove itch
  • me: and tonne brick nor
  • me: bed riches met anna
  • me: me kyle gull inker
  • me: john sir bail he us
  • me: all hicks under glass urn off
  • me: rich hard S. trounce
  • me: yo hannah's bra mmmmmmmmmmmmms
  • me: ant on in vore jack
  • me: sir gay pro coffee elf
  • me: rich hard walk nor
  • me: free the rick shopping
  • me: fee licks mend L. son
  • me: sir gay rack man in off
  • me: lay uphold moats art
  • me: more E's rave L.
  • me: car L. kneel son
  • me: purse E. grange her
  • me: sea pee E. bark
  • me: loo E. spore
  • me: france shoe Bert
  • me: loo twig fan bait hoe Venn
  • me: all ban beg
  • me: goo staff holts
  • me: john add hams
  • me: robe hurt shoe man
  • me: aah! run cope land
  • me: do my neck oh scar latte
  • me: yo hand the bass tea and bark
  • me: hill the guard fan bing in
  • me: head ward L. gore
  • me: goo staff marlboro
  • me: peter ill itch chai cough ski
  • me: wolf gang am a day us moats art
  • me: E. gore strap fins key
  • you:
  • me:
  • you:
  • me:
  • you:
  • me: hbu

Ok but please consider sincerely three having date nights once a week and alternating who picks the date like first week is Evan, next is Connor, then Jared, and then all three of them agree on something special at the end of every month (because lowkey they probably got together near the end of a month and thats kind of how they celebrate their love)

it gets long and gay oops

Keep reading

delicate-cherry  asked:

Dramione + angst + please don't kill Draco and Hermione 💜

pairing: draco malfoy x hermione granger

setting: modern, non-magical, high school au


Everyone finds out.

Everyone finds out they’re fucking, specifically, the Monday after prom, when half the senior class is still trying to wash glitter out of their hair and hide their Plan B receipts from their parents. Yearbooks are being passed around, skinny black Sharpies bleeding ink and ex’s and oh’s and the kind of burning, overwrought nostalgia Draco already wishes he had an eraser for.

It’s just a rumor until it isn’t.

It’s just a rumor until the iPad camera shutter snap echoes and echoes and echoes around the cavernous interior of the empty auditorium—and, oh, Draco will have to remember to laugh at that, later; getting caught, finally, on an actual fucking stage—when he doesn’t have her dressed pushed up and his boxers pushed down and the taste of her tart and sweet and wet on the tip of his tongue—

Everyone finds out.

Everyone.

That isn’t the real secret, though.


It wouldn’t be a big deal, if it was anyone else.

It wouldn’t be a big deal, if it wasn’t Hermione fucking Granger.


“What do you mean, that wasn’t the first time?” Potter’s voice cracks, slightly, on the last two words.

Draco smirks.  


Hermione wore a Yale sweatshirt to school the day she got her acceptance letter.

Navy blue and bright, bright white. Crewneck. Her jeans were tucked unevenly into the tops of her boots, and all Draco could think about was how much better she’d look in Dartmouth green. In Princeton orange.  

In nothing at all.


“After the shit he’s said?” Potter demands, sounding angry in a way that almost—almost—surprises Draco. Almost might as well be the story of his fucking life. “To you? About you? After the shit he’s done?

Hermione’s mouth snaps shut with an audible click. “Yes,” she says simply, before reaching for Draco’s hand.


Draco had gotten better, over the years, at pretending.

It was a learned behavior. A conditional response to a childhood spent digesting the morals of Disney movies and anti-bullying campaigns and half-hearted reprimands to be nice. To be better. Smiles could be faked. Compliments could be forced.  

Letters of recommendation, however—character references, long-winded tributes to his sportsmanship and his discipline and his superior time management skills—those couldn’t be.


“I’m in love with him,” Hermione says, and it’s a little bit surreal how deeply Draco understands her honesty. “People can surprise you, Harry, even when you don’t expect them to.” She hesitates, curling her fingers into Draco’s palm. “Especially when you don’t expect them to.”


“Looks like we’ll be at school together next year,” Draco remarked the Friday before spring break.  

Hermione’s lips parted. Pink and full and bare. “You—Malfoys go to Harvard.”

He shrugged. Her sheets were itchy against his shoulder blades, patchwork red and gold flannel warm with residual body heat. “You’re the only thing I don’t want to leave behind,” he said.


6

The Song of Achilles + character posters:

A C H I L L E S 

“Prince Achilles, son of King Peleus and the goddess Thetis. Aristos Achaion!”

Sons of Anarchy meets Supernatural. In this AU, the Winchesters run the most notorious biker gang in Lawrence. They traffic illegal drugs, weapons, and anything else that makes them money and keeps them on top.
Pairing: Eventual Dean Winchester x Female Reader

This series isn’t going to be light and fluffy. It will include explicit language, explicit sexual content, casual use of illegal drugs, explicit canon typical violence.

ONE l TWO l THREE l FOUR l FIVE l SIX l SEVEN l EIGHT l NINE l TEN l ELEVEN l TWELVE l THIRTEEN l FOURTEEN l FIFTEEN l SIXTEEN l SEVENTEEN 

2

Ray Palmer in Inside DC’s Legends: Land of the Lost

aka ‘are they finally going to address that Ray has PTSD from his numerous near-death experiences because if they are I’m all for it but also ow my heart