nineteen thirties

"Sleep" (Autumn Journal)
Colin Morgan
"Sleep" (Autumn Journal)

Sleep, my body, sleep, my ghost,
Sleep, my parents and grand-parents,
And all those I have loved most:

One man’s coffin is another’s cradle.
Sleep, my past and all my sins,
In distant snow or dried roses
Under the moon for night’s cocoon will open
When day begins.

Sleep, my fathers, in your graves
On upland bogland under heather;
What the wind scatters the wind saves,
A sapling springs in a new country.

Time is a country, the present moment
A spotlight roving round the scene;
We need not chase the spotlight,
The future is the bride of what has been.

Sleep, my fancies and my wishes,
Sleep a little and wake strong,
The same but different and take my blessing —
A cradle-song.
And sleep, my various and conflicting
Selves I have so long endured,
Sleep in Asclepius’ temple
And wake cured.

And you with whom I shared an idyll
Five years long,
Sleep beyond the Atlantic
And wake to a glitter of dew and to bird-song.

And you whose eyes are blue, whose ways are foam,
Sleep quiet and smiling
And do not hanker
For a perfection which can never come.
And you whose minutes patter
To crowd the social hours,
Curl up easy in a placid corner
And let your thoughts close in like flowers.

And you, who work for Christ, and you, as eager
For a better life, humanist, atheist,
And you, devoted to a cause, and you, to a family,
Sleep and may your beliefs and zeal persist.

Sleep quietly, Marx and Freud,
The figure-heads of our transition.
Cagney, Lombard, Bing and Garbo,
Sleep in your world of celluloid.
Sleep now also, monk and satyr,
Cease your wrangling for a night.

Sleep, my brain, and sleep, my senses,
Sleep, my hunger and my spite.
Sleep, recruits to the evil army,
Who, for so long misunderstood,
Took to the gun to kill your sorrow;
Sleep and be damned and wake up good.

While we sleep, what shall we dream?
Of Tir nan Og or South Sea Islands
Of a land where all the milk is cream
And all the girls are willing?
Or shall our dream be in earnest of the real
Future when we wake?
Design a home, a factory, a fortress
Which, though with effort, we can really make?
What is it we want really?
For what end and how?
If it is something feasible, obtainable
Let us dream it now

And pray for a possible land
Not of sleep-walkers, not of angry puppets
But where both heart and brain can understand
The movements of our fellows
Where life is a choice of instruments and none
Is debarred his natural music
Where the waters of life are free from the ice blockade of hunger
And thought is as free as the sun
Where altars built to sheer power and mere profit
Have fallen to disuse
Where nobody sees the use
of buying money and blood at the cost of blood and money.

Where the individual, no longer squandered
In self-assertion works with the rest endowed
With the split vision of a juggler, the quick lock of a taxi
Where the people are more than a crowd.

So sleep in hope of this, but only for a little
Your hope must wake
While the choice is yours to make
The mortgage not foreclosed, the offer still open.

Sleep serene, avoid the backward
Glance; go forward, dreams, and do not halt
(Behind you in the desert stands a token
Of doubt — a pillar of salt).

Sleep, the past, and wake, the future,
And walk out promptly through the open door;
But you, my coward doubts, may go on sleeping,
You need not wake again — not any more.

The New Year comes with bombs, it is too late
To dose the dead with honourable intentions:
If you have honour to spare, employ it on the living;
The dead are dead as Nineteen-Thirty-Eight.

Sleep to the noise of running water
To-morrow to be crossed, however deep;
This is no river of the dead or Lethe,

To-night we sleep
On the banks of Rubicon — the die is cast;

There will be time to audit
The accounts later, there will be sunlight later
And the equation will come out at last.

Burn

Originally posted by myloveseokjin

Pairing: Hoseok x Reader

Genre: Soulmate!AU, fluff (omg I wrote fluff for once???)

Word Count: 1,311 words of pure fluff


Seven days, nineteen hours, thirty four seconds. That’s when you’ll meet them.

Your soulmate.

Seven days, nineteen hours, twenty eight seconds of pure terror and hell, but happiness and excitement. Your eyes kept on flickering over to the bright red numbers over your bed that had appeared on the night of your thirteenth birthday party. Teenage girls who didn’t know much about the whole ordeal of a soulmate and random numbers appearing on your bedroom wall means there was a lot of screaming. Most of it from your friends who were more excited about the fact in nine years, twenty three hours and fifty five minutes is when you’ll be meeting your beloved one.

It seemed surreal. The years had gone so quickly, in a blink of the eye as you could say. The feeling in the pit of your stomach was strange, but the feeling of relief, the feeling of excitement never left as you grew up.

It never occurred to you that in fact the day was only a week away. Nine years had passed so quick. Maybe too quick. Why were you so nervous? It’s just your soulmate…just the person who you’re fated too since the moment you were born, nothing major.


“Hobi, will you stop pacing? I’m going to become cross eyed at this rate.”

Sorry Chim, but- it’s six days away. Six!”

“You’re going to be fine! The person you’re going to meet is supposed to love you and care for you Hobi. You don’t need to be this tense,” Jimin tried to comfort his friend. Hoseok had been a nervous wreck for a month, the entire situation scaring him but exciting him also.

“D-Do I get a present for them?” Hoseok began.

“Um-”

“What do I even get them? I don’t know if it’s a male or a female!”

“Hobi, calm do-”

“What if…what if I get them something, an-and they don’t like it!? What if- what if they don’t like me Jimin?”

“Oh my god, you drama queen! You’re fated to them! Hoseok, they’re going to love you, I know it. They’re your soulmate, of course they’ll love you.” Jimin avoided the mention of glitches, he didn’t need to panic him out even more, but there was no way a ray of sunshine like Hoseok would get or even be a glitch. Fate wouldn’t be that mean…

“Look, if it helps you feel any better, Yoongs and I are total opposites yeah? We still get along, fate made it that way. Your soulmate, doesn’t matter if it’s a boy or a girl, I know they’ll be the one for you. I can feel it Hobi. You’re so loveable, so happy, like the sun on Earth, if they don’t love you there is seriously something wrong with them.”

“Thanks Chim, you’re the best,” Hoseok sighed and hugged the shorter one. Jimin’s words comforted him a bit, but the worry was still there. He just wanted those six days to pass quickly so he could meet you, whoever you were.


The day was finally here. The fact that you were going to meet your soulmate hadn’t sunk in at all. How did the week go so fast? How did the years go so quick? How and where the hell were you going to see them…

You sat up in bed and looked over at your clock. 4:41 AM. Damn, it was way too early to be awake right now, but you weren’t able to go back to sleep. Looking up at the red numbers above your bed sent you into more of a panic and nervous wreck than you already were.

One hour and seventeen minutes.

That’s when you’ll be meeting them. Your soulmate.

Hoseok was probably more of a mess than you (but you didn’t know that). He resulted to pacing again. His eyes hurt but that’s only because he stayed awake most of the night, the fact he was going to meet the one person he was fated to had made butterflies grow in his stomach. Hoseok glanced up at the red numbers.

The countdown was on and it made his stomach churn, but a smile appeared on his face. The day he was waiting for since he was twelve, was finally here and nothing could take that away from him. Nothing was able to make this day a total disaster for him because he was going to meet you. Finally, after all these years, he’s going to meet the one person who will keep him happy, stand by his side no matter what. He was going to meet someone who was going to love him unconditionally.

Coffee. That’s what you really needed. Your eyes were threatening to close and you were too lazy to make yourself some warm breakfast this early in the morning. You washed up, grabbed your purse and your phone, putting on a jacket because it was a little chilly, and you headed out to the nearest coffee shop.

You took your time, taking a small stroll through the park as the sun came up calmed you down just that little bit. You smiled, everything looked so beautiful as the pinkish orange sunlight hit the grass, the flowers, the trees, illuminating everything so it had a tinge. You smiled. Even though the cold wind was nipping at your nose and your ears, the rays of the sun and the thought of meeting the one kept you warm.

You decided to head to the coffee shop that you usually attend before work or when you’re too lazy to make breakfast, much like today.

You ordered yourself a hot chocolate because of the cold weather. When it was ready, you took the cup into your hand, instant warmth flooding throughout your body. A notification from your phone made you turn it on as you started heading towards the door to leave.

Hoseok walked into the small coffee shop, it looked like it was the only thing open that early in the morning, it looked comfy, somewhere he could clear his thoughts before he met his soulmate. What Hoseok didn’t expect was to have spewing hot chocolate spilt on his jacket and shirt the second he walked in.

“O-Oh my gosh! I-I’m so sor-” your words caught up in your throat when you looked up to see who you had accidentally bumped into. Shock overtakes both your body and Hoseok’s.

“I-It’s you…” Hoseok whispered. His eyes were wide, he had never seen anyone as beautiful as you before in his life. The overwhelming feeling of finally seeing you, after waiting all these years made him feel all giddy inside.

You and Hoseok both felt something pressing against your wrists lightly, causing you to look down and observe what was going on. His name was being carved onto your delicate skin in black writing, almost like calligraphy. The date, the time, and his name were all there.

“Jung Hoseok,” you whispered. Hoseok’s insides felt warm the moment his name left your lips. He couldn’t help but smile at it. Smile at you.

“You-” your eyes drifted up to take a better look at his face, he was beautiful, handsome, absolutely perfect. “Just- wow. Th-This feels, unreal…”

“C-Can I, can I touch you?” Hoseok asks gently, the burning of the hot chocolate having left his mind at this point All he could see was you. All he wanted to hold, to cuddle, to kiss, to love, was you.

“Please.”

Not even a second passed before Hoseok’s hands were cupping your cheek, but they were cold which made you flinch just a little. “Cold,” you pouted.

That pout made Hoseok grin wider if possible. He was going to cherish you until he died, he wouldn’t let you go, he’d love you. He was going to give you his all, he promised himself that.


a/n: ahh hapPY HOSEOK DAY!! this sunshine boy deserves everything istg omg. i hope he’s having an amazing day and i hope he enjoys the concert that is on tonight!

Request: Shine

Part two to Storm! Honestly I really didn’t expect the response that the first one got, but I was so thrilled!! I started this about four times, trying to get it to a place I wanted it so I could get a satisfying end to the first one, so you’ll have to let me know what you think… maybe even a third part? Let me know!

Word Count: 1,304

It’s good to be home. Despite everything, despite being completely unsure about your future, it’s nice to sleep in the same bed for more than two nights in a row, and it’s nice to know when and where your next meal is going to come from. It’s nice to have Bobby there, someone who knows you inside and out and understands – what isn’t nice is constantly having him lie to Dean for you. You’ discussed it, and more than once it had ended in tears, with you deciding that you didn’t want to face him. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

This limbo, it’s… easier than facing things. Whatever you do, whichever decision you make, it’s going to change your life forever. But while you’re here, admittedly hiding from everything, you’re safe from that change, sheltered from whatever havoc it’s likely to wreak on your life.

You sigh to yourself, rolling over and tugging the duvet up to your chin, enjoying the warmth – that’s another nice thing, not having to be up and out of bed at the crack of dawn every single morning. Bobby has been insisting on you getting proper sleep, and considering that it can take hours for you to fall asleep after tossing and turning constantly, you tend to make up the time in the mornings. You’re just about considering crawling from the bed and heading downstairs for a drink when you hear voices downstairs.

“We need something of hers. Will there be something in her room?”

“I- uh- it’s a mess, I’ll go up and-“

“It’s fine, Bobby, I know what she’s like. The sooner we’re out of here the sooner we can start tracking her properly.”

Dean. It’s him – he’s come for you. It’s been nearly two weeks – it would have come sooner or later. But you’d have appreciated some warning – some time to think about what you want to say.

Bobby doesn’t want to protest – it would give you away. You recognise that, and recognise that he’s giving you a chance to run; to hide, to get away from it all one more time. A substantial part of you wants to – to be able to live the lie you’d begun to persuade yourself of.

For once, you stand your ground, pushing yourself up and out of the bed, wrapping a robe around yourself – you’re not going to face him in just your pyjamas. By the time he makes it up the stairs, you’ve steeled yourself enough that you manage to stop your hands from shaking too much.

The door creaks open, and Dean steps into the room – he notices you instantly, His hands curl into fists and he freezes, just staring at you like you’re some kind of phantom in the night.

“Y/N,” He breathes, your name nothing short of a prayer on his lips. You want to be angry; be vindicated, but all you feel for him is sorrow. You take a half-step backwards, watching as the cogs whir in his brain, “How long have you been here?”

“The whole time.”

“You’ve been safe?” He whispers, words snagging on themselves and tangling like a loose thread. You nod minutely, wrapping your arms around yourself as he shakes his head.

“Very.” You reply, perhaps a little shortly. You find, however, that you have very little to say to him. All of the thoughts you’d had… they’re gone in the face of a real conversation.

“Y/N…” He presses his lips together, “I’m sorry.”

“You always are.” You swallow, taking another step back, “Don’t pretend to care if you don’t. Don’t do it for pity. I don’t want your pity, I don’t want your sympathy.”

“You don’t have it,” He snaps, perhaps a little too vehemently. It surprises you enough that it stops your mind in its tracks for a few moments, “I screwed up. Really, really screwed up.”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.” Just like you don’t notice the tears threatening to brim over, blurring your view like a melted kaleidoscope, “I’m not mad, Dean. I know you think I am.”

“Then what are you?” He insists, raking his hands through his hair, “I know what I said was God-awful. I know I can never take it back. But I was terrified, and-“

“So was I!” You interrupt, staring at him with wide eyes as the tears begin to fall, “I was beyond terrified! You didn’t think that that was my absolute worst fear? For you to completely… do that?”

He can only look at you for a few moments, shaking his head, “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry isn’t good enough.” You realise, “Sorry doesn’t cut it. Sorry doesn’t take it back.”

The look of panic on his face is enough to break your heart – above it all, you love him. More than yourself, more than anything – but that doesn’t give him carte blanche to say what he wants and expect you to come running back the minute he realises his mistake.

“I know.” He admits, chest slowly deflating, “I know. And the second you say leave, I’ll go. No questions asked. I wouldn’t blame you.”

“Neither would I.” You agree, slowly unfolding your arms and wiping at your face, before letting them fall to your sides, “But I’m not going to.”

“You’re not?”

“You’re an idiot. We agree on that.” You watch as he nods, taking the hit in the hope of a little redemption – which you can’t help but give him, “And I’m upset. But that doesn’t mean I’m just going to give up. That’s not how this works. That’s never how this worked.”

He shakes his head, agreeing readily – only then do you notice the tears in his eyes – a change. You may as well have handed him a golden goose – he’d have been less thankful for that than anything else.

“Y/N, you don’t- you have no idea.” He says softly, swallowing hard, “You know I’ve always wanted a family. And then you came along and there was a chance, a real chance, of it happening. And now it is… now it might be…” Dean sighs again, “I screw you over. Because that’s what I do. Disappoint the people I love.”

“I’m not going to pity you because of your history of bad choices. That’s your cross to bear.” You inform him softly, but take a slow step forward, “I’m willing to forgive and forget and move on. I want to. What I don’t want is for you to feel coerced or forced into staying. Stay or go, but there’s no in between.”

He takes a deep breath, hesitating, and then shakes his head, “I’m staying. For as long as you’ll have me, I’m here.”

You can’t help but crack a smile, “So that’s that? We’re doing this?”

He nods, this time not hesitating, “Of course. In fact…” It’s the last thing you expect, but before you know it he’s taken both of your hands in his, “Marry me.”

“What?”

“I love you. I want to be with you forever, I want to make this official. Y/N Y/L/N, will you marry me?” He rambles, squeezing your hands and offering a tentative smile.

“I’m not marrying you just because I’m pregnant. This isn’t nineteen-thirty-four.” You chastise, and Dean groans, rolling his eyes.

“It’s not because you’re pregnant! Trust me, Y/N, I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be. I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t completely sure of it. I love you. I want to do right by you, because you deserve it. Just let me be romantic and spontaneous, alright?” He insists, his eyes catching yours – and you grin, nodding.

“Yes, then. Yes, I’ll marry you.” You decide, and then he grins, surging forward and taking your face in his hands so he can kiss your lips – and there it is. Past, present, and future, all in one.

Arsène

Master thief from nineteen short stories and thirty-six novels by French author Maurice Leblanc.

Lupin first got his start when he stole jewelry from his mother’s employers to pay for her ailing health and soon discovered he had a talent for thievery. 

He was known for his mastery of disguise, expert psychoanalysis and love of women. On several occasions, he fought against the detective Sherlock Holmes. He also had two children, neither of which knew he existed at all.

He was famously depicted wearing a top hat, cloak and a monocle.

A new start, part 3

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader

Word Count: 1950

Warnings: Language

 Part 1, Part 2

Walking through the door of the rental, you hung your bag up on the the hook on the wall and kicked off your sandals.  Chris walked tentatively behind you looking around the living room.

“Nice place. Yours?” He mirrored your movements and slipped out of his sneakers leaving them by the door.

“Nah, just a rental while we are filming here.  I wanted something by the water.  No ocean in Tennessee.  So I try to soak it up while I can.”  He nodded pulling off his jacket and setting it across the back of one of the sofa chairs. You walked into the kitchen, opening the refrigerator.  “Beer?”

“Definitely, thanks. So you live in Tennessee?  I’ve been to Nashville a time or two.  Pretty country.”  Handing him the beer you opened your own taking a long swig.

“Yup, born and raised. I love it there.  I have a house there close to my parents and brother.  I’m within walking distance of my parents’ farm and my brother’s house.  Or golf cart distance.”  You grinned plopping down on the couch with your beer and phone in hand.  “So pizza?”  Chris smiled back at you taking a seat on the couch next to you.  Making sure he was not too close but not on the other side of the room.

“Oh yeah I’m starving!”

Not long after the pizza was delivered, the pair of you ate and chatted.  There had been discussion about turning on the television but that idea was forgotten after a while.  You were having a good time just talking.  “Oh come on, you don’t like the Patriots?  What is wrong with you?  They are a great team.”  You rolled your eyes at him as you finished your bottle of beer.

“I’m from Tennessee. If I didn’t like the Titans, my dad would probably disown me.  He has been a fan of that team since they were in Houston.  Sorry gotta go with the family.”  Chris gave you a look like it was painful to be in your presence.  It did not last long he broke out into a fit of laughter after you smirked at him.

“Fine, fine we won’t talk about football.  Or sports actually because you are probably going to tell me something awful about another baseball team.”  The pizza box sat in between you and him with you turned facing him with crossed legs. You took another piece relaxing back against the arm of the couch.  A content smile appearing.  “Are you feeling any better?  I didn’t like seeing you upset earlier.  It was really bugging me.”  Looking over to him as you set the half-eaten piece down in the box, you wiped your hands and face on a napkin.

“A little bit, yeah. Thank you.  It’s been… it’s been a really hard time.  It wasn’t something I saw coming.  But I guess not many people see this kind of thing.  Not me at least.  Maybe I was ignoring the signs, I don’t know.”  You gave a halfhearted smile.  Chris closed the box moving it to the coffee table.

“I don’t know everything that went on.  It’s not my business.  But I do know you got hurt and he is a complete moron for whatever went on.  If you ever need someone to talk to, I am here. I know we haven’t known each other that long but I consider you a friend now.  Whether you like it or not.”  He laughed finishing off the beer.  You laughed too moving to squeeze his hand a moment, in thanks.

“You are a good guy, Chris.  I guess the only person I told was my dad.  Everyone else just heard the rumors.  I didn’t want to talk about it.  It hurts.  A lot.” The rest of the story just spilled from you.  The man sitting in front of you made it easy. There was no judging or pity, just someone listening while you poured your heart out.  You got through the whole thing and realized you did not cry this time.  Maybe it was getting easier with each day.

“Like I said, he is a moron and I was right, he is a douche. [Y/N], thanks for trusting me with that.”  Chris smiled then began to clean up the mess you both had made with dinner.

“Chris, sit down I was get it.”  You laughed as you fought over the pizza box.  He won the struggle bringing it into the kitchen to toss in the garbage. Following not far behind with the couple of beer bottles, you put them in the recycle bin.

“I probably need to head out.  We have early call in the morning.”  You let a long breath go nodding to him.

“Yes we do.  I should grab a shower and get some sleep.  I will see you in the morning bright and early.” He left giving you the chance to pick up whatever was left over, shower and climb into bed not too long after. Sending a good night text to your parents, you fell asleep hoping for better dreams.

The next morning felt easier.  It was beautiful outside and you had a large Yeti of coffee in hand. Half of it was gone by the time you walked into your trailer.  The day’s script sat on the counter.  Your hair and makeup specialist took little time to get started and prep you for the morning scenes.  Which, as you flipped through the pages, happened to be the early life and would be Tommy and Connie’s first kiss.  You shrugged; it was just a kiss between the characters.  Not as though it was a real kiss.  However, your heart did a little flip when you thought about it.  No, you were fine.  You would get through the scene and be fine.  There were going to be many other times during the filming you would have to kiss him.  It would be just like any other movie.  At least that is what you convinced yourself.

Filming for the morning went smoothly as it did the day before.  Chris was professional, only laughing and flubbing one of the lines a couple times.  By the time the kiss scene came you had been relaxed enough to not worry about it.  It was supposed to be an awkward first kiss for two teenagers in the nineteen-thirties. The kiss turned into something definitely not awkward.  Feeling Chris’ lips on yours, warm and softer than you had imagined, it was different.  A spark of something there.  You were growing distracted until that moment the director called out, “Cut!”  He wanted to redo the scene.  It didn’t feel innocent enough for what they were going for. Chris looked off.  Like something was wrong.  But there wasn’t time to ask just now.  It took another three takes to get down the desired effect.  By that time you were not sure what was going on in your mind and certainly not Chris’.  He looked like he ate something rotten.  Excusing himself quickly, he ran back to his trailer.  Lunch was called, sending you back to yours.  

You did not want to admit that you liked the kiss, very much.  It was too soon.  Way too soon. It was just now two weeks since the break up and you were not ready for anything more.  Not kissing, or dating, hell not even ‘liking’ someone.  No, you were going to push it out of your mind, just finish the film and figure out life afterwards.  Lunch came and went.  The rest of the afternoon Chris seemed back to him normal self.  You tried to put it out of your mind, to focus on work.

The following two months continued like that.  You focused on working and having some fun when you could.  Chris had become a close friend and the two of you talked or texted often throughout the days whether you were working or not.  A few times a week you would hang out, outside of filming. Getting to know each other like normal people.  Not just the personas of who the world thought you were.  One long weekend, while filming was on break, you went home to Tennessee while he returned to Boston.  You got the chance to spend time with your parents and go horseback riding with your brother.  Your family noticed how you would be checking your phone and laughing at messages that would come through.  None of them said a word.  They liked seeing the happy smiles and hearing your laugh again.  Whatever or whoever was causing it, they approved of.

That Sunday night after the family dinner, you sat down on the couch next to your father as he flipped through to find the Titans game.  “Who are they playing this week, dad?”  Just as you asked, he found the channel and you saw the opposing team, the Patriots.  You burst into giggles, searching your pockets for your phone.

“It’s on the kitchen counter next to the sink.  That boy better not be a Patriot’s fan.”  You froze looking over at him.  How did he know?  Hell, how did he even know you were talking to a ‘boy’?  

“Daddy, I don’t know what you are…”  He put a hand up to stop you.

“[Y/F/N] [Y/M/N], don’t even try it.  You have been laughing and grinning at that damn phone all weekend.  You like him, or her.  Don’t care either way.  At least admit it to yourself if you aren’t going to admit it to me.”  Sitting quietly there for a second, looking down at your clasped hands.  He was right, which happened often. You put your head down in your hands. The last couple of months getting to know him and the good person he was, had been wonderful. You had gained a new friend who helped you through the awful ending of your last relationship.

“Shit.  Daddy, I do like him.  What am I supposed to do?  I don’t know if I am ready to like someone.”

“Well for one, don’t cuss around your mama; you know she gets pissed at me for that.  Second, it’s too late.  You already like him.  There is nothing to do about that now.  Trying to bury it down deep won’t make it better either.  You will have to figure out if you are ready for something.  But you will never find out unless you take a step towards it.  Baby girl, you need a new start.  Who knows if this is it.  If it isn’t then fine.  If it is, then you could be meeting the love of your life.  Give yourself that chance.  You never know, this boy could think you smell like Bigfoot and you wouldn’t have to worry about any of it, anyway.  Now hush so I can watch the kick off.”  He winked at you as he patted your leg.  You rolled your eyes at him, hopping off the couch to find your phone.

Finding it just where he had said, you found there were seven new messages from Chris.  Obviously, he was going to be watching the game and was gladly giving you shit over the odds of the winner.  The rest of the night, you messaged back and forth, your heart beating hard in your chest every time one of his messages came through.  You felt like a teenager with a first crush.

“Fuck, I have it bad.” Resting your head on your knees, you tried to decide if you were going to say anything to Chris when you got back to North Carolina. Could you risk losing a friend if he did not feel the same? Or could you risk losing your heart if he did…

Part 4

@bolontiku @feelmyroarrrr  @thegirlwithnodragontattoo

“The relative ease with which a young Communist could be converted into a Nazi or vice versa was generally known in Germany, best of all to the propagandists of the two parties. Many a university teacher in this country during the nineteen thirties has seen english and american students returned from the continent uncertain as to whether they were communists or Nazis, and certain only that they hated Western liberal civilization.

It is true, of course, that in Germany before 1933 and in Italy before 1922, Communists and Nazis or fascists clash more frequently with each other than with other parties. They competed for the support of the same type of mind and reserved for each other the hatred of the heretics. But their practice showed how closely they are related. To both, the real enemy, the man with whom they had nothing in common and whom they could not hope to convince, is the liberal

~Fredrick Hayek, ‘The Road to Serfdom‘, page 30

thegaypumpingthroughyourveins  asked:

i see you yelling "no" in my notes and reiterate : GRINDELWALD 👏 USING 👏 LEGILIMENCY 👏 ON 👏 GRAVES👏TO👏GET👏WHAT👏HE👏NEEDS👏UNTIL👏HIS👏MIND👏IS👏FUCKING👏WRECKED👏AND👏LEAVING👏HIM👏BE👏LIKE👏THIS👏MIND👏FALLING👏APART👏👏👏👏

THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU WOMAN

I DON’T WANT TO WRITE THIS

I DON’T WANT ANYTHING TO DO WITH THIS

You know what I really don’t want?

I don’t want Graves to hold out. I don’t want his shields to be stronger than Grindelwald was anticipating, stronger than they had any right to be - stronger than any learned legilimens could pierce. I don’t want to think of a younger Graves flicking his eyes up to a younger Queenie when he meets her for the first time, or the slight furrowing of Queenie’s brow when she realises that he’s not running his gaze down her chest and his thoughts aren’t quickened by that hint of what if that every man has when she walks past.

The way his breath catches when his neighbour leans across him to shake Queenie’s hand, the way Graves’ eyes linger for a fraction of a second on the undone top buttons of the man’s shirt. The way Queenie’s face clears with understanding, the confused frown and sudden wide eyed panic as Graves figures out that she knows. The way they drift together after that, loitering around the edges of various social functions. Graves’ scowls drive off the more persistent of Queenie’s admirers and Queenie’s gentle smiles halt the rumours that had begun to circle about Graves.

It takes a while for Graves to twig about the legilimency, and he doesn’t need to be a mind reader to see the faint hint of apprehension on Queenie’s face when she notices. “Biscuit?” he asks innocently, passing her the plate - and is struck by the sudden memory of the way Nadir had looked, shirt thrown to floor and fingers fumbling with the buttons of his trousers. So strange how these things happen, how memories can leap out of the blue like that. So strange.

Queenie pauses, one hand hovering over the biscuit, but only for a second. She takes it in and brushes past him in a smooth movement, murmuring just low enough for him to hear: “Daley from records wants to bend you over his desk and make you scream.”

Graves chokes on his coffee and stares after her, wide eyed and shocked. She adds a jaunty swing to her hips and waves her biscuit at him in thanks, and that’s round one to Queenie.

He learns to stop counting the rounds. Even when he’s managed to get his occlumency to a stage that it takes her a while to get around it, she somehow manages to beat him. It’s easier on his pride not to keep a running tally of exactly how much she outclasses him. But still, it’s good practice and Queenie is not only a natural legilimens she’s a damn sneaky one, and Grindelwald just can’t compare.

The dark lord’s attacks slide off his shields like shadows from a candle flame and Graves bares his teeth in a grin. Round one to Graves.

But Graves… Graves. Queenie never meant to hurt you, Graves. She tested your shields in every way she had, beaming with pride when you strengthened them and smoothed over the weaknesses, but she never meant to hurt you. Grindelwald… does.

Round two digs rotting tendrils into the base of Graves’ shields and detonates them. Round two flings memories like hailstones on a howling wind and Grindelwald laughs as he picks through the broken pieces for the knowledge he needs.

Round two leaves Graves to slump glassy-eyed and pained against the wall as jagged snatches of thought scream into the void of his empty skull.

“How very obliging of you, director,” Grindelwald purrs as he leaves the room. “I’ll be sure to give Miss Goldstein your regards.”

Graves doesn’t hear him. His life hovers around him in fragmented shards; he’s six years old, thirty four, nineteen. His mother is scolding him - praising him - holding him close as he cries - he parries a curse - Queenie laughs - the sun is shining on a moonlit room at he runs on his father’s shoulders while his aurors scream his name.

He slots them together as well as he can, but… it isn’t well. He knows this. He’s running blind, trying to group them by people’s ages or guessing which groups of memories go where. He discards a lot of it. Hours spent training, the feel of dredging the last scraps of power from his overtaxed reserves, the ache and burn in his muscles - how can he tell which training session goes where? He presses them into one and pushes them aside, and they melt and fade. He forgets how to recognise when he’s nearing his limit and one day that could cause trouble, but there are more important things to detangle.

He runs gentle fingers over the cracks in his mind and asks himself if he is a man called Graves who goes by Percival or a man called Percival who goes by Graves. He can’t tell. A lady with curly hair smiles at him and he draws the word sister? in the air over her head, but there’s nothing of her as a child so he scrubs it out. He tries lover and that sits ill, so he waves the words away and turns to something else.

There is a memory where he runs away, and he cradles it in his hands for a long time before closing them and snuffing it out. He does not want to be a man who runs away.

It’s only when he looks up that he sees the chain of other memories falling after it, but the moment is gone - when he find the scene where he drags himself back, it means nothing to him.

He reaches next for a man, one with red-gold hair and freckles, one that frowns at him in concern and confusion.

“Mr Graves?” the memory asks. Graves scrawls work contact? in the air above it and pushes it to one side until he has more evidence for where the man fits.

“Mr Graves, can you hear me?” the same memory asks, and Graves adds a note - was there when I was injured; auror maybe? - and picks up a picture of the man he thinks might be his grandfather.

But the man with freckles, the man Graves has started calling English in his mind, he doesn’t go away. It’s as though once Graves has found the first memory of him he’s opened a dam; they’re everywhere. English drinks tea. English leans over him to check his temperature. English turns to someone else and says I can try something else - I think the first potion helped, but Swooping Evil venom is more meant to remove bad memories than fix broken ones. English scribbles notes and chews his lip in concentration. English naps with his head pillowed on his arms. English snuffles in his sleep.

Work contact? gets scrubbed out replaced with friend replaced with family? replaced with partner replaced with husband? because Graves can’t work out how English fits in the timeline. The memories are too similar, and English seems to be the same age, Graves can’t have known him long - but why would Graves have so many memories coming so thick and so fast unless he was important? It doesn’t make sense.

The curly-haired girl - Queenie, Graves found her name and she’s called Queenie and she’s his friend - appears in one of English’s memories. She hands him a steaming mug and a paper bag from some local bakery, and when she leans over she rests her hand on his shoulder and smiles at him. Graves leaps forwards, scribbling notes because Queenie is friend best friend and if Queenie knows English maybe some of her memories will tell him the truth. He flicks through them, searching for any glimpse of English because come on Queenie, give him this, tell him who English is, is he partner doctor love of his life –

Queenie looks up, surprised, her hands flying to her mouth. “Graves?” she asks in a quavering voice, and Graves flings the memory center stage with an expansive gesture. English looks up, dreamy eyes intent (and Graves has spent so long studying those dreamy eyes and trying to find an answer but he’s never seen them sharpen like this.)

“He’s asking who you are,” Queenie says, answering English’ unasked question, and Graves tags this memory with first meeting? in shaky, excited script.

“Oh,” English says. He hesitates, then smiles, and Graves’ breath catches because it’s like the sun. Boyfriend, he labels English hopefully, because if this was the first time he met him then he can see so easily how he’d fallen in love. Queenie hiccoughs a laugh, eyes wide and stunned, and Graves wonders what he’d said in the memory. He can never hear his own voice.

“My name is Newt,” English says. “Nice to meet you, Mr Graves.”

He ducks his head and averts his gaze, and Graves can’t see himself in the memory and he doesn’t fully know who he is, but he thinks he’s the sort of man that would have stepped forward and dropped a kiss to English’s - to Newt’s - knuckles.

In the memory, Newt blushes scarlet, and Graves slots him into his mind with a satisfied smugness. Boyfriend, he captions the bundle of memories, and starts trawling through the remaining fragments to see if he can find any of them dating.

“Mr Graves?” one of the memories says behind him, but Graves pushes it aside.

“He’s gone, honey,” memory-Queenie answers, and Graves flaps an annoyed hand until the memory fades out entirely. He needs to find the memories of Newt. Needs to know what their first date was, what Newt likes, what Newt looks like when Graves takes him home and lays him back on a bed, what sounds Newt makes when Graves undoes him -

The fragments he needs elude him, but he keeps searching. He has a boyfriend, and a best friend, and a family, and he’ll build himself back into a person piece by piece until he’s ready to see them again.

anonymous asked:

"Keep your eyes on the road or so help me..."

Bucky x Reader

FLUFF

Y/N was wary of motorcycles, she would always stand back with a default smile on her face, one feigning interest, when Bucky and Steve were drooling over a bike. Though to be honest she wasn’t a fan of cars either. When Y/N had been younger she’d been in a car crash, no one had died but she’d broken her leg and spent four days in hospital for a concussion. Since then she’d never been a fan of the open road and motorbikes had no form of protection about them what so ever.
Steve wasn’t here this time, Bucky was stalking around a bike on his own, appreciating it from every angle until he looked up at her with a smile, ‘We should go for a ride.’ It wasn’t his bike to take for a ride, he had told one of the neighbourhood kids that he would check it over for them and maybe give it a few tweaks. The brunette pulled his hair back into a classic manbun and then straddled the bike in one graceful move, then he pat the seat behind him, ‘Just a short one, promise.’

She’d never told him she didn’t like bikes or cars, she’d never told him about crashing or even hinted to him that every time she got on a bike behind him that she was holding on tight out of fear rather than the speeds he and Steve would ride at. She was pretty sure that she just found his hobby boring and put up with it because she liked him that much. Quietly she walked to him and slung her leg over the seat, sliding up against him and winding her arms around his broad middle with little complaint. He felt warm against her front, the leather jacket holding both his heat and the heat of the sun. Excitedly he revved the engine, the machine coming to life with a roar and causing a shiver to run up her spine, he always mistook it for the vibration of the engine – then they were off.
Y/N lived on the edge of the city, plenty of dirt roads and long, straight highways were available for the guys to race along. This bike was made for the road though and Bucky found a long stretch to ride along. He seemed happiest when he was free like this, just the wind against him and nothing in his way, no HYDRA, no bad memories and nothing holding him back.

'You okay back there?’ His voice was hard to hear over the engine and wind but Y/N’s arms tightened around his waist and she nodded rapidly against his back, there was a little movement and she peeped up to catch his eye, 'You look pale, babydoll…’

'Keep your eyes on the road or so help me…!’ Her voice was slightly high pitched with panic and she went back to hiding her face in his back, almost attempting to crush his middle as she held on and her fear spiked.

Bucky’s eyebrows furrowed together and he opened his mouth to ask what was wrong – only there was a loud pop and the front wheel began to swerve uncontrollably. The ex assassin didn’t stop to think, didn’t hesitate for a single moment once he realised they were coming off the bike, he twisted awkwardly, bringing his right knee up on to the seat and grabbed Y/N. Bucky’s priority was her safety, in a matter of seconds he had her arms crossed over her chest, pulling her against his chest and using his arms to wrap part of his jacket around her along with his arms. His legs trapped hers, doing everything he could to protect her from the inevitable.
A harsh grunt escaped the brunette’s mouth when he crashed onto the asphalt, landing first on his left arm and hip before twisting onto his back, right hand pressing her head to his chest as they slid along the road until slowly coming to a stop.

Bucky’s muscles went lax and he let out a quiet groan as he lay there on the road, 'Y-you…nng f…uck…! Ugh…are you hurt?’ His hip was throbbing and his back burning but he just needed to know she was alright before checking himself, 'Y/N…babydoll?’ Bucky forced himself up onto his right elbow and looked down at the woman shaking against his chest, he could hear her gasping little sobs and he let out a pained sigh, 'Y/N!’ He felt bad for snapping but it got her to look up at him, her face was red and there were tears down her face but she seemed to be in one piece. 'Are you hurt?’

She sat up, untangling herself from him and checking herself – nothing. Not even a graze, not a single thread of her clothing was damaged. Bucky had taken all of the damage and as she looked down at him she could see he was hurting. His jacket sleeve was in tatters, the metal beneath scuffed but that usually buffed right out, she could tell the back of his jacket was torn and ripped, his dark jeans sported new holes and bloody patches and his hair was a mess around his head where it had escaped his band. 'I-I…I-m…I’m f-f-f…’ Y/N couldn’t speak and Bucky struggled up to hold her against him.

-

Bucky had called in a favour and within the hour he had bundled Y/N into the car and helped the other man get the bike onto the back. He couldn’t seem to get his girl to relax, taking her keys from her trembling hand and opening her door he got her to sit on the sofa. He made her tea, wincing with every movement but dealing with it until he could get her to sip at the sweet beverage, ’…I’m sorry.’

She shook her head slightly, 'I-it’s not your fault…even if you had been looking a-at the road.’ The fright was wearing off a little and she finally had enough senses to realise he had hurt himself, 'Go take a shower and I’ll p-patch you up…’ He kissed her cheek and headed up the stairs to the shower obediently, Y/N finished her drink and followed him up a few minutes later. There was a first aid kit under her bed, he always seemed to be getting hurt one way or another and ever since he and Steve turned up battered at her front door after a mission, she kept one handy. By the time she had everything laid out that she needed Bucky had come out in a pair of boxerbriefs, she kept spare clothes for him in the bottom drawer, 'Come sit down.’ Steam flooded out of the bathroom after him, the smell of her favourite bodywash reminding her to hide it when he was around – although blueberry muffin was a good smell on him to be fair. He was tying his hair again as he walked stiffly to the bed and sat.

Already the graze on his calf was bleeding and bruising, 'Oh, Bucky…’ She sat cross legged on the floor and used an antiseptic wipe to clean up the streaks of read, he passed her a large white patch and hissed when she pressed it to the wound before wrapping bandage around it. His knee was bruised but not swollen so she moved up to his left hip, the band of his underwear was keeping a flannel in place so that he didn’t bleed all over them, 'It’ll be easier if you lay back and think unsexy thoughts.’

He gave a deep chuckle and gingerly laid back, glad he’d placed a towel over the sheets to save bleeding on them, 'You’re about to pull my pants down, whilst sitting between my legs and you want me to “not” get excited?’

'I’m already dealing with one dick – I don’t need another to join in.’ Though he could see her smirking a little he could tell she was upset with him and he didn’t blame her. He felt her fold down the elastic of his boxer briefs, enough to expose the gash on his hip where he’d hit the road, it would bruise badly but he was pretty certain there was no lasting damage, it was worth it knowing she wasn’t injured. Y/N cleaned it, sprayed an anaesthetic on it to numb the area and the taped another white pad to his body, he felt her kiss his hip before putting his pants back properly – his dick behaved the entire time.

She helped him sit up with a pull to his arms and got onto the bed behind him, 'I’m sorry I made you go with me, I know you think bikes are boring but I got a little giddy.’

'I…’ it was confession time and Y/N concentrated on the road burn littering her boyfriend’s back before getting the courage to tell him, 'It’s not boring. I like that you like cars and things, I like when you and Steve act like sugar high five year olds because something goes “brum brum” and is fast.’ His shoulders shook with a chuckle when she made the engine noise, 'I even liked when you dragged me to that vintage car show and you got me that cute dress – which reminds me, that nineteen thirties theme night is next week – but what I’m trying not to babble about is that I don’t think it’s boring. It’s safer than you going on missions for weeks at a time. I’m just…scared of bikes and things…’ with her voice trailing off at the end Y/N tried to fill the silence with treating his back.

Bucky’s body twisted around, his leg resting on the bed as he was half turned to her, his expression was concerned, his eyes conveying that a thousand thoughts were shooting around his mind and he took her hand into both of his. 'You’re scared of them?’ She had never told him that before, all those times he thought she was stood back out of disinterest or when she tried to talk herself out of rides, all the times he wasn’t paying enough attention to pick up her discomfort and mistook it for something else. 'You never said… I would have… I don’t know what I would have done.’ He felt awful, guilt gnawing at his insides as he played back every time he’d made her go with him, he would have understood. He knew better than most what it was like to do things you didn’t want to. Of course murder and assassination weren’t overly similar to not want to go on a joy ride but it was the principle of having a choice. If he had know he wouldn’t have pleaded and cajoled her into it. 'Can I ask why you’re scared of them?’

In all honesty she couldn’t look at him when he wore such a pained expression, she stared instead at his chest, watching him breathe rather than watching his blue eyes worry, 'Car crash.’ Those two words had him squeezing her hand in his, the muscles of his stomach tensed then released, it was like she’d stabbed him and he had simply taken it and moved on. 'I had a broken bone and a concussion, no one got badly hurt and we were only going at like…forty or fifty miles an hour. It’s stupid but since then I don’t like cars and bikes are literally death on wheels.’

'It’s not stupid, Y/N.’ Bucky brought his face to hers and gave a gentle nudge on her head with his chin, making her smile and look up at him hesitantly, there was still guilt but also so much kindness, 'What’s stupid is me not noticing that you were holding on so tight all the time out of fear. I spent a long time making people afraid and I’m not gonna do that anymore. So you tell me, if you’re scared of santa clause then I’ll find his house and tell him to keep flying when he gets here. I don’t care how small you think it is – if you don’t like it then I hate it and I’m gonna sort it out.’ She was smiling a little brighter now, 'You don’t like spiders, next time we find one I’ll snipe it from across the road.’

Y/N laughed this time, a happy sound that made him smile too, 'So you’re going to go to the Avenger’s tower, grab your gun, come back, walk two miles out and then shoot a spider at range?’ He gave a half shrug and then nodded, he’d do it if that’s what it took. 'You’ll leave a mark in the wall, Buck, just put it in a glass and throw it out.’ She pressed her lips to his for a short kiss, grinning at him when he brushed their noses together. 'Thank you. Though I like santa so don’t go to his house…he’s just trying to make a living, Bucky.’

'I don’t trust a guy who can legally climb down my girl’s chimney and leave presents.’ A final kiss and he turned around once more so she could finish patching him up, 'No more bikes unless it has pedals and a little wicker basket on the front. The only burn I want when I’m with you is carpet burn, babydoll.’

'What if I told you your dick is scary?’ Y/N joked and rubbed healing cream onto his back, 'Would you have stern words with it too?’

Bucky threw his head back and laughed, turning to catch her around the waist and drag her onto his lap, 'I would have words and then work very hard to reintroduce the two of you to each other very gently.’ She hit his chest bashfully and wiped some of the cream on her fingers over his nose.

anonymous asked:

I just saw an article from cosmopolitan and the title was "Sex talk realness: being aromantic" and it made me so happy that aspec people are being recognized in such a big magazine.

That’s awesome! :00

Now, whilst I didn’t find the article you mentioned, I did come across a ‘Sex Talk Realness: Asexuality’, consisting of an interview with two ace women; as well as ‘Three People Get Real About What It Means to be Aromantic’, which talks with three people, age nineteen, twenty-two, and thirty-three, and they both seem pretty neat. Both articles dive somewhat into some nsfw topics, but

anonymous asked:

hey, is it too late to request a one shot? if you could do one where the prophet makes up a story about harry having a secret girlfriend and draco getting jealous?

It’s not too late at all!!! My ask box is ALWAYS open :D I would have finished this sooner, but I had work (le sigh). Hope you like it! (I’m sorry I didn’t know whether to post in full or link out… I’m not sure if it shortens asks with a “keep reading” link?)


Harry ran his hands through his hair and pulled, staring in incredulous horror at the mounting pile of post.

“Why do they keep sending it here?” he yelled at Agnus, his secretary. “Surely there’s some law against this much personal post arriving at work?”

“Now when it’s you, honey,” Agnus called back cheerfully. “Just forward it to your home if it bothers you.”

“But then I’ll just have to deal with it there,” Harry muttered, picking up the first letter and opening it at arms length.

“Why?!” the letter screamed.

Harry dropped it in alarm and took a step backward.

“Why her and not me? Why her and not me? Why her and not me?” the letter howled over and over until Harry pointed his wand and sent it up in flames.

He pointed the wand at the rest of the pile. With a sigh, he lowered it again. There could be real post in there.

Though it wasn’t likely. Ever since the Prophet had published that stupid article about him and some supposed secret girlfriend, the letters had come pouring in.

A noise by the door made him look up.

“Malfoy,” he said in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

Malfoy leaned casually on Agnus’ desk, ignoring her fierce glare. “Head Auror Potter,” he said loftily, “you know perfectly well that that information is-” he paused and lowered his voice dramatically. “Unspeakable.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he said, turning back to the post.

He frowned as he caught sight of a large package sitting near the bottom. It looked different to the others.

Harry flicked his wand slowly, and the package unwrapped.

There was a small warning sound, like a puff of smoke, and then confetti exploded all over the room and Harry.

Harry blinked slowly. In the centre of the package was a single, white rose.

Harry reached out and tapped it carefully with his finger. It tinkled.

“Crystal,” Malfoy drawled from behind him. “Expensive. Is there a note?”

Harry leaned forward cautiously and plucked a note from the box.

Congratulations on getting a girlfriend!!

Harry stared at the note.

“Does it…” he said slowly. “Does it sound patronising to you?”

Malfoy leaned over Harry’s shoulder and shrugged. “I see only sincerity, Potter,” he said with a  smirk. “This lovely admirer obviously knows all about the dastardly awkwardness of your youth, and has chosen to offer their heartfelt congratulations. You should send them a thank you card.”

“There’s no return address,” Harry said, picking up the package and inspecting it.

“Modest too. What a lady.”

“Or man,” Harry muttered, then shook his head as he realised he was agreeing with Malfoy. “Don’t you have work to do?”

“Always,” Malfoy said with a grin, and strode off, leaving Harry to pluck pieces of confetti from his hair.

***
Harry stared at the walls of his office and wondered if anyone would notice if he quietly sobbed in the corner for a while.

Every flat surface in the room was covered in gifts.

Crystal roses glinted softly in the sunlight, and that was only the beginning. There were boxes and boxes of custom made Belgian chocolate, printed with words of encouragement: Perseverance is half the battle! Never stop trying! You’re an inspiration!

He had tried to throw them away, but Agnus wouldn’t let him.

Eighteen vases of flowers, decorated with jewels and spelled to last for weeks.

Twenty three greeting cards.

And the piece de resistance – the singing doxy. As soon as Harry had unwrapped it, it had fluttered up to the ceiling and began to sing in a high-pitched wail.

His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad…

It had become suspiciously adept at hiding amongst his books and the other gifts. When Harry finally managed to catch it, he was going to express owl it to Ginny. If he couldn’t blame the person who was sending the ridiculous gifts, then he had decided he was going to blame her.

He had become the laughing stock of the department. The Aurors were holding bets on when the next gift would arrive. He couldn’t conduct business in his office anymore.

It was a nightmare.

And Malfoy popped by every day to snicker at the growing pile of presents.

“Why don’t you just throw them away?” he asked, his eyes glinting with malicious pleasure.

“You know very well Agnus would never let me waste anything so expensive,” Harry hissed, narrowing his eyes. Suddenly, his face brightened. “Malfoy, you like Belgian chocolate, don’t you?” He stood up and grabbed the nearest box. “Have a box. Have five!”

Malfoy backed away, his hands in the air. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Potter,” he said with a smirk. “Someone has obviously spent loads of time and money buying you these. They’re just so very impressed that you’ve got yourself a girlfriend after all these years.” He snickered. “Really, you shouldn’t snub them.”

With a final laugh, he turned and ran. Harry hurled the box of chocolates after him. It hit the wall and burst open, scattering chocolate everywhere.  

“Mr. Potter!” Agnus’ angry voice reverberated through the small waiting room, drowning out Malfoy’s cackling laughter.

His hair is as dark as a blackboard…

Harry ran back into his office and slammed the door.

***

He was rapidly losing sitting space. He had begged Agnus – pleaded with her – to let him get rid of some of the presents. Finally, she had relented and allowed him to donate the chocolates to the staff lounge, in the interest of his health.

That left him with six crystal roses, nineteen vases of flowers, thirty four greeting cards, one singing doxy…

…and three virility potions.

Those had come with a note that contained only a drawing of a face winking.

I wish he was mine, he’s really divine…

“Arrrgh!” Harry yelled, throwing his framed picture of Ron and Hermione at the doxy.

It dodged the collision with a giggle.

“Now, now, Potter,” Malfoy’s voice came from the doorway.

Harry looked up to see him leaning casually in the door frame.

“We must control our temper.” He grinned.

Harry dropped his head into his hands and groaned. “I don’t get it!” he whimpered. “Whoever it is must be loaded. Why are they even doing it?” He looked up at Malfoy beseechingly.

Malfoy tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Not a clue,” he said finally, grinning broadly. “What does your girlfriend think of it all?”

Harry groaned. “I’ve told you all, I don’t have one! When are you going to stop asking?”

“When you stop looking so shifty when you answer.” Malfoy smirked. “Is she jealous of all the presents?” he tapped one of the crystal roses gently, looking smug.

Harry opened his mouth to snap a reply, but froze. He narrowed his eyes and stood up.

“Malfoy,” he said slowly.

Malfoy looked up in alarm. Harry waved his hand and the door swung shut, trapping Malfoy inside.

“Malfoy, what did you say your favourite Belgian chocolate was, again?” Harry asked sweetly.

Malfoy sniffed. “I much prefer Swiss.”

“No you don’t.” Harry walked toward Malfoy, his stride predatory. “You like Belgian chocolate and crystal ware and expensive flowers and thoughtful cards.” He stopped in front of Malfoy, his lips curving into a smirk.

Malfoy stiffened as Harry brought his hands up to rest on either side of Malfoy, on the door. “And you’re exceptionally good at potions,” Harry breathed.

“What are you talking about, Potter,” Malfoy sneered, a faint, pink tinge rising on his cheeks.

“Malfoy, do you know why I don’t have a girlfriend?” Harry asked, one eyebrow raised as he held Malfoy’s gaze.

Malfoy shook his head slowly.

“Because I’m gay.”

Malfoy’s lips parted slightly and he seemed lost for words.

“And do you know how I know you like Belgian chocolate and crystal ware and expensive flowers and thoughtful cards?”

Malfoy shook his head slowly.

Harry huffed a laugh. “No, I suppose you don’t,” he muttered, his eyes falling to Malfoy’s lips.

A small whimper escaped Malfoy’s throat.

“Or you wouldn’t have sent me that fucking doxy,” he finished, crashing his lips down on Malfoy’s, devouring his mouth, and moaning when Malfoy finally pressed back.

Double Date - Solangelo

Double Dates

 

Will popped the question when him and Nico were walking along the shoreline. “How would you feel about, oh, I don’t know, double dating?”

Nico, misunderstanding the question, jumped back, yanking his hand out of Will’s larger one in the process. “W-what!?” Nico stuttered in disbelief. “This is a wholly monogamous relationship, Will… We are in no way polyamorous and if you enjoy partaking in things like that, then maybe you should’ve mentioned it before we made us official not because that’s wrong or anything but because that’s pretty vital infor-”

“Woah, woah, woah!” Will stopped in his tracks and grabbed Nico’s skinny wrist, turning the younger boy until he was facing him. “Woah. I don’t really know what ‘monogamous’ or ‘polyamorous’ means - you know I don’t speak nineteen thirties - so before you continue to freak out, could you explain what in Olympus you’re talking about?”

Nico grimaced, shooting the blonde a look that obviously read seriously, Will? “Monogamous means a relationship between only two people, and polyamorous is, as you put it, double dating - having many or more than one romantic partner - which is something that doesn’t appeal to me. Like, at all.”

To Nico’s further confusion, Will’s jaw dropped. “You think that’s what double dating means?” Will threw his head back, laughing. “No, Gods, I keep forgetting that you’re still so behind on twenty-first century lingo… Double dating doesn’t mean having an open relationship. It means going on a date with another couple.”

“Oh.” As embarrassment took over, Nico could feel red hot blood rush up his body and to his cheeks. It wasn’t his fault that he categorized double dating with polyamorous relationships - they sounded like they could’ve had similar meaning, and learning modern terms wasn’t exactly on his list of things to do now that the Giant War was over. Besides, he was still trying to grasp the concept of the foolish mortal term, YOLO. You’re only little once? You Only Like Oreos? He just didn’t understand.

Will smiled crookedly at the sight of his blushing boyfriend, and caught the dark-haired boy off guard when he leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to the reddened skin of his cheek. “You’re so cute, you know that?”

Nico shied away and hung his head so that his shaggy hair fell over his eyes, embarrassed by both his mistake and Will’s affection. “I’m not cute…”

He heard Will hum in thought. “You’re right… You’re not cute, you’re adorable, Darling.”

Knowing that there wasn’t a chance to get Will to take the unmanly term back, Nico got over his embarrassments and lifted his head back up to glare at his boyfriend. “I just can’t win with you, can I?” He exhaled.

“Nope!” Will grinned, popping the ‘p’ in nope. “Now, your opinion on double dating?” The two resumed their walking, and it took a moment of thinking before Nico shrugged in reply.

“I don’t know, it kind of sounds weird… Going out with another couple? I’m just barely l at ease when it’s just the two of us, so who knows how awkward it’ll be when we bring two others into the equation.” Nico wrinkled his nose. “Yeah, while I can’t really base my answer on experience, I’d have to say that I probably wouldn’t enjoy it all that much.”

From the corner of his eye, Nico could see that Will had pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. “Are you sure? Maybe you’d like it, if you gave it a try…”

Nico knew Will too well to know that his boyfriend was hinting at something. “You set up a double date, didn’t you?” He asked with a sigh, raising his arm to brush his hand through his hair. His fingers knotted in the dark strands, and he had to tug a couple of times to free them.
“Yeah, about that, I might ha-” Before Will could finish his sentence, a faceless force pounced onto Nico’s back, successfully knocking the son of Hades face-first into the ground.

“What the-” Nico flipped himself over so he could see what the heck just sent him flying to the ground and groaned once he was met with the sea-green eyes of his past crush. “Percy.” He warned in annoyance, trying and failing to push the older boy off of him. When Percy refused to move, he could hear Will chuckle from somewhere above. “Get off of me.” He said bluntly, but once again, the son of Poseidon didn’t budge.

“But I’m so comfortable here… No wonder Will likes to cuddle you.” He nuzzled his face into Nico’s neck, giving the boy he had trapped under him an unpleasant mouthful of raven hair. “You’re like a giant, fluffy teddy bear from the Underworld… Maybe I should steal you for myself.” The trapped boy heard Will make a sound of disapproval. Nico was sure his face was redder than Apollo’s cows at that point, and had never been so thankful for Annabeth - she had arrived with Percy, but her arrival was nowhere near as pronounced - who crouched down to lug her boyfriend to his feet.

“That’s enough, Seaweed Brain.” Annabeth chided, but there was laughter laced in her voice.

“Yeah, hands off my boyfriend!” With a light smack to Percy’s arm, Will reached his hand down to Nico and pulled him up. The underworld-born narrowed his eyes at Percy, who became slightly uncomfortable from the intense look as he spoke.

“So, uh, are you guys ready? We have reservations in like, half an hour. Or, I think it’s half an hour…” Percy glanced down at a watch he was given by Leo before looking up at Annabeth in puzzlement. “Annabeth, this thing doesn’t make any sense!” He huffed, shoving his wrist up to the stormy-eyed girl’s face.

“Perce, it’s just a normal watch.”

“No, it’s a stupid watch!”

Ignoring their further banter, Nico turned to his boyfriend with a mixture of question and annoyance pooling in his dark eyes. “Ready? Will, what does he mean by ‘are you guys ready’?” Nico crossed his arms, cocking his hip to the side in expectancy for an answer.

Will smiled down at him sheepishly. “Surprise…” He tried, shaking his hands in the air. “We’re going on a double date with these two! Isn’t that, uh, exciting?”
“Will, really?” Nico complained, lolling his head back to look up at the darkening night sky. Annabeth stepped away from Percy before will could respond. “So, apparently Percy’s been reading his watch wrong and we actually have ten minutes to get to the restaurant, not thirty…” She paused to glare at her embarrassed-looking boyfriend. “And that means that if we want to keep our reservation, we need to leave right this second.” With that, Athena’s daughter snatched Percy’s hand and began to walk away from the shoreline. Will and Nico followed, but Will could see that Nico didn’t look as happy as he would’ve liked.

“Aw, cheer up -  it’ll be fun! Well, as long as Percy doesn’t try anything funny with you.” He sent a challenging look Percy’s way, slinging his arm around Nico possessively. Nico angled his head to look back at his boyfriend, the smallest shadow of a smile dancing across his lips. “Don’t worry, he’s not really my type.”

From ahead, Nico could hear an irritated grunt leaving Percy’s lips, followed by a grumbled “Not his type…” Percy shook his head. “I’m everyone’s type.”

You live on
A grey wall
Knock your house down scratch the sides
With your feet
And shout at the prisoners trying to help you
Make them leave you alone
Because you want
To be alone
All alone
On your wall
You’ve heard of the egg’s fall-floor-smack-crack-leak-die case and the
Prisoners
And the horsemen
Never helped
And they won’t help
You
No one can save you now, sweetheart
Your bark isn’t worse than your bite-
You rip people to bones, let them bleed to death
You say
‘Cannibalism is so nineteen thirty five’
So you wait there for
Another egg to fall,
Catch it with your mouth
Yolk down your throat and you can’t tell
What’s tears and what’s foetus-unborn-baby
Shells on the ground shells all around
The people you once loved

of the smiles we left behind

summary: some things change and some things don’t. they go to phil’s school reunion and the ways in which things have remained the same start chiming louder and louder. 

notes: anonymous said: i feel like the highschool reunion + existential crisis the day before might make a good fic. for context, the 29th of august timeline: this tweet, a pic i can’t seem to retrieve of a fan and their mom who met dan and phil at a restaurant where they were with phil’s school friends, this tweet, this one, and these two tweets. 

a semi-fic about how change is as terrifying as the lack of, and about how just because you don’t want to define something within structured lines doesn’t mean it won’t be defined for you. also read on ao3

there is nothing like returning to a place that remains unchanged to find the ways in which you yourself have altered. (nelson mandela)

 

-

 

I.

The invitation sits in his inbox for three days, four, seventeen. It’s untouched but he marks it with a star so he won’t lose it, even though he tells Dan he doesn’t want to go when Dan asks.

Eighteen, nineteen, thirty-three. On Wednesday he opens the reply and doesn’t thumb through his yearbook to search for the face of the name that signed the email. He types, I’ll be there, doesn’t add a smiley. Dan eats lunch on the sofa and says nothing.

Keep reading

10

abraxas liberius malfoy: circa 1945

The Second World War came to Britain in the year nineteen thirty-nine, when Abraxas was eleven years old. Despite his father’s stance against fighting in a Muggle war, his son saw nothing but glory and a chance to prove himself. Brax followed the war avidly, listened to the radio where Septimus Malfoy could not hear, snuck glances at the papers in storefront windows when he and his mother traveled through London. 

With the current closing on the war, Abraxas, now aged seventeen, went against his father’s wishes for the first time of many. Enlisting in the queen’s army, Brax quickly gained notice from his superiors and was commended for his skills. Despite this, he never stayed in one unit long and, until being placed in his final regiment of the war, found no true camaraderie with the men he fought alongside. None until the specialty unit knew he was a wizard and no longer having to hide his magic was a relief, though even then most of the Muggles didn’t understand it.

Until the American. Johnathan King.

He was a curious man, funny, reminded Abraxas sorely of Cygnus and he was someone who understood what men at home could not. They fought side by side for the last few months of the war, received the news that Gellert Grindlewald had been defeated together, and they celebrated together. 

But they would not leave the war together. 

Johnathan was the first of a number of people that Abraxas had loved, in different ways, who would die, either by his hand or because of him. He returned from the war much more somber, serious, and haunted by what he had seen. In time, he learned how to forget much of it, or at least push it all away, but he never, not once, forgot Johnathan King. 

Impatient (Leeteuk smut)

This scenario is for an anon who requested a smut scenario with Leeteuk where he comes home from the army and he really missed you.

Once again, I am soooooooooooooooo SOOOOOOOOOOOOO sorry for the gigantic wait. I’ve really been going crazy lately, and finally managed to motivate myself to sit down and accomplish something. So thank you for waiting, and I hope you like it!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This is it; this is the day. Finally. You’d been waiting for this day to come for what had felt like an eternity. Two years was more time apart than you could stand. Before his time in the military, even a few hours apart had felt like a long time. Now, it felt like no time at all compared to the gaping black hole of time and loneliness that had separated the two of you.

But not today. Finally, it’s all coming to an end. Leeteuk is returning to you, just like he’d said he would, and the world feels like it’s finally returning to normal.

Keep reading

The Haus on election night. Turned out kinda long, so here’s a cut. Sorry, mobile users. And thanks, @aergie, for giving this a quick beta read before I posted it. - PB

Keep reading

GhostFire - First Kiss

I found this collecting dust somewhere in the back of my computer, so I figured might as well post it up here for you guys. Just a schmoopy little Valdangelo fic I wrote when I was very tired.

The first time Leo kissed Nico, it was out of pure relief. He’d had a crush on the other demigod for a while, but he’d ignored it in favour of saving the world, because Leo was proud to say he had his priorities straight. And also because, well, he’d had enough of rejection from intimidatingly gorgeous people, thank you very much. Nico was completely out of his league, not to mention the fact that he’d probably be a bit disgusted by Leo’s feelings, being from the nineteen-thirties and all.

Leo hadn’t ever thought about guys before Nico, but it hadn’t been a huge paradigm shift to realise that yeah, he was an equal opportunity lover. It had taken him maybe five minutes to accept it and move on. But he was highly aware that not everyone shared his attitude of ‘well, ok, whatever’, and he had a pretty good feeling that Nico wasn’t the sort to just shrug these things off. After all, Leo did know Nico pretty well.

It had taken a while for them to stop metaphorically circling each other with their hackles up, but once they had, they’d fallen together like magnets. They were both outcasts in their own way, both damaged and lonely and pretty bad with organic life-forms. Leo would even go so far as to say that Nico was his best friend. Jason had been so wrapped up in everything else that their friendship had fallen by the wayside. Leo was surprised to find that he didn’t mind. Jason was still his friend, but they had other things to focus on. Jason had Piper and Leo, well, Leo had Nico.

One of the things Leo had come to love about Nico was his undeniable strength. Guy had walked through Tartarus and come out – mostly – in one piece. Leo would never have words to adequately express how impressed and awed he was by that. Still, knowing just how strong Nico was didn’t stop Leo from worrying sometimes.

And this was one of those times.

Keep reading

When my worlds come together like
Head and heart like
Hands and chest
Across distance unmanageable
Sliding home because listen.
I love you soft.

The river gives light and
I know it runs deep and
On the other side how high we could go
Down.
Grounded
Because knowing we’re at the bottom
Is almost the same as flight.

Reshaping intimacy so it looks like adventure
These streets are nearly fulfillment but
I take you in my arms anyway.

—  SM, nineteen of thirty
Bob Hicok, “A little mustard, side of pickle”

Who am I to be the one you love?
Shouldn’t I want you to have better? Taller
and more hook-shot capable? A man with a bigger wad
of cash? But I’ll make you a turkey sandwich
anyway. Not the best in the world, but the best
on this day on this plate. And kiss you
before and after. These are the practice oaths.
The small bonds that carry us like boats
until we arrive at this – I promise to love
your cancer or the way you’ll think
in twenty thirty it’s nineteen eighty six. Year
we met. Year I broke my foot. Year I tried
gymnastics in a cast. Of all the broken-footed
first-time tumblers, I was the best at being
worst. Promise to be a savant at stay. At pulling
the plug when you would have it yanked. No mere
head of lettuce, you. No slug. And very,
so very best at not wanting to live a day
without you. Decades ago, I turned pro at that.