Formerly headquarters for the General Post Office of London, and built on the burial grounds of what was St. Botolph’s Aldersgate Church, Postman’s Park is a memorial to those who died heroically, albeit at times unusually. In 1887 artist George Fredric Watts proposed a memorial to “heroism in every-day life.” It took many years for Watts’ vision to be realized, but finally in 1900, a wall of ceramic plaques commemorating the brave Victorians who had given up their lives for the common man was unveiled in Postman’s Park.
Each plaque tells, quite frankly, how the commemorated died. While the accounts can be moving in their forthright simplicity, a whiff of the grimness of Victorian life can be detected through the brightly colored plaques.
The emergency room is warm, the heat spitting out through the vents on the ceiling, but Harry can’t stop shaking no matter how tightly he wraps his winter jacket around him, his fingertips cold and his breathing uneven. The fluorescent lights above him cast a yellow shadow across the room, the one to the far left flickering every so often. It’s distracting, but not in the way he’d like it to be, and every time it blinks off, he flinches, wishing it would stay on, or off, one way or the other.
It’s all one, big cinematic cliche. Harry can’t fathom that this is actually happening, that he isn’t on the other side of the screen at the theater, trying to imagine what it would be like.
1. Viktor and Yuri teaching them English as a universal language
2. Viktor teaching them Russian on top of the English and the kids babbling words in both Russian and English
3. Yuri finding out and deciding to teach them Japanese as well
4. When their kids are teenagers, they speak all three, sometimes mixing them into sentences
5. The kids speaking to Yuri in Japanese occasionally but switching to Russian when addressing Viktor
6. “Papa” Viktor
7. “Daddy/Dad” Yuri
8. Uncles Otabek, Yurio, Phichit, and Chris (Minami says hi if they bump into him)
9. Really good skaters (obviously)
10. Yuri shouting “Gamba!” and Viktor shouting “Davai!” like they used to
11. Getting weird stares when people hear their last name is Katsuki-Nikiforov
12. Being used to having a trophy room in their house (medals hanging on the wall with tiny plaques under the gold ones with dates)
13. FREAKING SILVER AND BLACK HAIR
14. BLUE-EST EYES YOU WILL EVER SEE
12, Grimmauld Place, wasn’t a very happy part of Sirius Black’s life. Nobody knew as much as him how this old house, located in Central London, brought bad memories with it. There was this grim old hallway ending with the staircase leading to the upper floors, decorated with a row of withered house-elf heads, mounted on the wall on silver plaques. And there was this awful room, decorated with the giant tapestry of the Black family tree, where his mother burnt his own name when he ran away as a teenager, along with other disowned family members names. The abuse he endured in this house could not be described; only he could really remember how much it hurt him as a young boy when he discovered that not all families were as cruel as his. Sirius was sitting in the drawing room, admiring the flames dancing in the fireplace, the only thing that really warmed his heart since everybody got back to their business. Harry was back at Hogwarts, along with his two best friends and all the Weasleys were back to the Burrow. Which led him to endure his loneliness, once again. He looked down at his empty glass of wine. If he kept this pace, he’d empty his father’s cellar way faster than he’d hope. But was there something else to do than drink? Everybody was useful in some way – except him – he was totally useless for the cause, for Harry, for everyone. He sighed. There was something else bothering him too. Now that he knew he was a father, it didn’t even bring him joy. He was frustrated with himself. What a prick he had been, what a selfish and impulsive man he was back then. He missed all of those years with his daughter. He never saw what she looked like even! She didn’t even know he was her dad. What a great way to cheer up…
When he was in Azkaban, after many years, he finally tried to forget about his life prior to James and Lily’s murders. Obviously, he missed Y/N but he knew he wouldn’t ever get out, so he tried to bury everything he felt for her . And if it weren’t for the fact that he hadn’t seen the proof that Wormtail was at Hogwarts, near Harry, he wouldn’t have dreamt to escape. He was driven by vengeance and mayhem only. That’s what really mattered at the time. But now he was into his childhood house, alone with his thoughts and memories and that’s all he had left. And he obviously thought about Y/N. About her beautiful doe’ eyes and the softness of her skin. The way she was always cold and the way he’d wrap her in his arms. The way their lips would melt into each other, like they were the only ones in the world, like if life was just a décor, an accessory surrounding. The way they would always fight about anything and everything but always making up by making love. At school, in a bar, near the Black Lake, hidden in the Shrieking Shack, in his old flat: everywhere. And he spoilt everything. In this very day, there was this little girl, well, no, it was more of a young woman now, that had his eyes and, rumour has it, his arrogance, walking into the same halls he walked years before. His own daughter.
‘Sirius?’ asked a voice distantly.
Sirius looked above his shoulders. He wasn’t even bothered to get up. Remus would find him where he always was: drinking, somewhere in the house. As he thought, Remus’ face appeared in the doorframe. He looked more uncomfortable than usual. Not that he looked more tired or torn than usual, no; it was his expression, a curious mix of guilt and excitement. Remus sat next to Sirius and took away his empty glass from his hand.
‘Are you drunk?’ he cautiously asked.
‘Unfortunately, no’ Sirius answered, sighing.
‘Good’ Remus replied. He looked into Sirius’ eyes.
‘Pads. I brought somebody with me…’
‘I don’t care, Remus. Bring whoever you want…’
‘Come on, get up, and greet our visitor’ said Remus, standing up and going out of the drawing room.
Sirius didn’t even know why he was acting like he didn’t care. Usually, he was so exited to have company, to have actual people to talk to and make conversation. But since the Christmas holidays were over, it was like he didn’t care anymore. With or without people, he felt lonely anyway.
He stepped into the dimly lit hallway. There was a silhouette standing near the front door but his vision seemed to be blurry and his knees started to feel weak. He had only drank one, maybe two, glasses of wine, he thought, he couldn’t possibly be drunk. He stood still in the hallway, trying to find his balance back. Remus was near him and put an hand on his shoulders.
‘I convinced her to come and see you, don’t make me regret it’ he sighed into his ear. ‘I’m going to have a drink in the kitchen, if you need me…’
Sirius heard his friend step away silently but he couldn’t move, neither was the woman at the end of the hall. They just stood there, staring at each other in complete shock and desolation. Her face was not even recognizable from the lack of light but he knew it was her. He tried to walk to her, to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating. As he reached the end of the hall, his vision started getting clearer but no sound would come out of his mouth. His throat felt suddenly sore and tight. How much he dreamt about this very moment, the instant where he would see her beautiful face again? He felt exactly like his old self, when he laid eyes on her for the very first time. He shook his head. Did he really think that he was over her? If he thought that time would stop him from feeling this unexplainable attraction to Y/N, he was wrong all the way. He looked into her eyes and couldn’t read what she was thinking, like there was this thin film covering it, preventing him to read what was on her mind. Did she feel the same way he did? She didn’t move either, she was frozen in time like a statue.
‘Hi…’ he said very softly, like if breaking the silence too loudly would disrupt the moment.
Sirius hung at the tip of her lips, waiting for a response which prevented him to see her cold hand slapping his left cheek in a deaf sound; that was not what he expected. Confused, he looked at Y/N again, catching sight of the tears starting to slowly accumulate in the corners of her eyes.
‘I guess I deserved that…’ he sighed, rubbing his reddish cheek.
She finally opened her mouth to speak:
‘Fourteen years…’ her sweet voice whispered.
‘Fourteen years you disappeared, fourteen years without any news, complete silence, fourteen years without a single clue if you’re okay or not, and the first thing you say to me is an innocent ‘hi’?’
He looked at Y/N. She was angry with him.
‘What did you want me to say?’ he replied.
She just collapsed on the floor and started to sob without restrain. Sirius sat next to her and tried to take her in his arms.
‘Don’t!’ she shouted, breaking off the contact.
‘I thought I’d be okay, seeing you, I thought I would be fine’ she continued.
Sirius felt his eyes tickling too.
‘I am sorry’ he said, trying to put his hand again on her shoulder.
This time she let him touch her and hid her face in his chest. They both stayed like that for what seemed to be forever. Sirius would only breathe the sweet perfume of her long hair, that hadn’t changed too. What started with a polite accolade was now transforming into a tight embrace, where their bodies melted into each others, his grip around her body was firm; he didn’t want to release her, he was holding on to her, he never wanted Y/N to get away from him ever again now. He caressed her soft cheek with his index.
‘I’m so sorry’ he muttered again.
‘I’m sorry too’ she replied, muffled with emotion.
At 12, Grimmauld Place, Sirius Black felt home for the very first time.
Y/N released her body from his, suddenly noticing how close she let herself be with him, to Sirius’ disappointment. He didn’t know if it was the proper moment, but something he wanted to say was making the end of his tongue tickle.
‘I know about Stella*.’
Y/N turned around and stared at Sirius.
‘No’ she answered firmly.
‘I’m her father’ he replied, feeling weak again.
His head was starting to buzz lightly.
*In my imagine, his daughter’s name is Stella. Feel free to replace with whatever name you had in mind. ;)
Summary: A small note on your desk at work leads to a series of unforeseen events.
Another story based on a request from the lovely @puchre :D
It started one day
with a note in a folder placed on your desk. “I hope you are feeling better
today? Please write an answer on this note.” You had been absent from work the
day before due to a cold, but nothing more serious than that. Oh well, you
thought, it was nice that someone was wondering how you were feeling. “Did you
see who dropped this off?” you asked one of your co-workers.
“I don’t know, someone
from the music department I think?” he shrugged. You worked in the accounting
department of YG, and you had been so lucky as to meet with a lot of people
from the different departments. You didn’t find it that odd that one of your
friends would drop you a note to check up on you. It was actually kind of
sweet. After scribbling down an answer, saying that you were fine, and thanks
for asking, you put the note back in the folder. Not knowing where the folder
belonged, you just left it on your desk until your work-day was over.
When you arrived the
next morning, the folder was gone. The following week the folder came and went
with questions and answers between you and its owner. It was all just random
casual things. Then one day your curiosity got the best of you, and you sent
your own question, attached to the question of the day, which was “snow, or
Your answer read: “Snow.
Will you tell me who you are?” you were excited for the next day when you may
get the answer, which of your friends had been keeping you entertained at work
This is the first vignette into a series that I will continue during the Jonsa Summer Challenge hosted by @jonsa-creatives…. :-)
It was as if Jon’s head had been battered with something solid and heavy. His tongue was thick in his mouth and his limbs felt foreign. He stumbled, clutching onto something solid and upright, it was like a trunk of a slim tree, only it was smooth and rather cold when he’d leant his forehead against it to try and catch his breath.
“Hey buddy, you alright”? he heard someone call out. He screwed his eyes shut and shook his head. Jon did not recognise the voice and the accent was strange. Not northern. He blinked rapidly at the source of the voice when another one reached his eardrums. “Just leave him, Scott, he looks like a right weirdo”.
I hope @upthewitchypunx doesn’t mind me riffing on her kitchen altar idea - I’ve always enjoyed hers a lot and yesterday when we were out, I found the perfect wall plaque to put with mine. I don’t have a lot going on in the garden yet, but I brought in some grape hyacinth, dead nettle, bluebells, mugwort, wormwood, and chive buds. It’s nice to have a bit of spring inside.
“Hi Ron!” (Y/N) said excitedly as she opened the number 12 door of Grimmauld Place. “You’re early” she pointed.
“Uh- is that bad? Mum said I better be here a b-bit earlier b-because-“
“It’s fine” (Y/N) said giggling at how nervous he was. “Come on in” she said stepping aside so he could come inside the house.
Ron stepped inside into a long hallway, lit by a large chandelier and gas lamps. On one side of the hallway was the dining room, which featured a dresser holding the Black family crest and china. At the end of the hallway were the stairs to the upper floors, decorated with a row of shrunken House-elves heads, mounted on the wall on plaques. To say that Ron was impressed was an understatement. This was probably the biggest house he’d ever been it, but it was also so abandoned and dark.
“Blood traitors! Filth, stains of dishonor, taint of shame on the house of my fathers!” he was snapped out of his thought when a portrait of an old lady started screaming at him.
“Give it a rest, grandma” (Y/N) said smirking knowing how the portrait hated it when she called her that.
“How dare you say that you’re my grandchild you filthy blood traitor!”
“Don’t mind her” (Y/N) said rolling her eyes and grabbing Ron’s hand to lead him towards the stairs.
“My father’s mother, yes” she explained. “She’s outraged because we let anybody into the house. Half-bloods, muggle-borns, blood traitors” she said joking at the last part. When they reached the end of the hallway they stumbled upon the stairs to the upper floors, decorated with a row of shrunken House-elves heads, mounted on the wall on plaques. “Uh, those are… all the house-elves that have served the Black Family” (Y/N) said awkwardly as they made their way to the first floor.
Once they reached it, they went directly into the drawing room. The drawing room had long windows facing the street in front of the house, a large fireplace, a piano, and the tapestry of the Black family tree. Ron could see the spot where Sirius’ name had been burned off and he noticed that (Y/N)’s name was never even placed in the tree.
“Stop being so nervous” he heard (Y/N) say all of the sudden.
“I’m not nervous” he said trying to sound convince but feeling his ears turn a shade of red.
“Yes, you are” she said giggling and stepping on her toes to give him a peck on the lips and making him a bit less nervous. Just a bit, though.
“Y-you look very pretty tonight” he said trying to melt his nervousness away. “Oh, and these are for you” he said handing her the flowers he had in his hand.
“I was beginning to think you had brought them for my father” she mocked earning a glare from her boyfriend as she grabbed the flowers from his hand. “Thank you” she said kissing him again.
so i went with my mother to this military memorial cemetery today so she could visit my grandmother whose ashes are encased with my grandfather in one of these giant walls with marble plaques that have the names and ranks and random messages engraved into them. a lot of them say like “we’ll miss you.” and “we love you.” and “until we meet again.” and i shit you not i saw one that said “may the force be with you.” and honestly?? if that shit don’t go on my grave when i die im gonna haunt my living relatives so hard.
AU WHERE LOCKE WALKS WITH THEL INTO THEL’S QUARTERS AND LOCKE LOOKS UP ON THE WALL TO SEE A WALL MOUNTED UNGGOY ON A PLAQUE. AND THE BEST PART? IT’S NOT EVEN DEAD OR ANYTHING IT WAS JUST LEFT HANGING THERE. AS PUNISHMENT. IT EVEN SAYS HI TO LOCKE.
Hi I’m selling this wood antisepticeye/darkiplier wall art/plaque thing because after painting it I realized it doesnt fit the colors in my room and I’d rather someone have good use out of it rather than it just sitting in my closet. I’m selling it for $30 (US only if possible, please. If you want it and live outside of the US I might charge more bc I am a poor child thank u). Message me if you’re interested or have any questions. @markiplier@therealjacksepticeye