where the grass

light

ok I am 100% peter parker trash and I can’t help it… so what did I do? write a 10 page long poem of course. PS. this is based off of tom’s peter

————

they say your smile could light up new york when it’s dark
but when i know in my heart
your smile could light up the universe
when all the stars and sun die out
and there’s no light left

maybe i’m naive
maybe i don’t know a thing
maybe all i’m saying is utter nonsense
but what i do know?
nothing for sure

chocolate was never my favourite
yes it was sweet and it made people sing songs til dawn
but i have grown to love it
why?
because of the chocolate curls that lie perfectly over your head

i can’t think of anything more beautiful
than the perfect spot in central park
where the grass is green
the dewdrops shine
and flowers sprout here and there
and how sometimes the green would only be in patches
leaving some spots to be pure soil
but i still somehow found it beautiful
because i realised there was more to it
it reminds me of how your hazel eyes could shift to green
and how they twinkle when you speak
and how you found beauty in the littlest things

sunsets have always been my favourite
a beautiful ending
something i could look forward to
even after nothing has gone right
i can watch it day after day
never growing tired of the shift in colour
whether it be pink and purple
or a blazing red-orange
maybe that’s why i had fallen
for the way your cheeks change
when you get complimented
never wanting to accept it
leaving me with a double meaning
behind my affinity for sunsets

you are the light of my life
burning brighter than all the stars combined
and in this moment
as i stare at the ceiling trying to go to bed
I wonder how
all the things i find beautiful in the world
could be seen in one person

————

hi I got very emo when writing this and I’m so sorry it’s so long 

procraesthetics  asked:

I wonder what would happen if Dudley grew up in the wizarding world but still as a muggle? like kind of reverse AU where his parents are dead and he has to go to Lily for whatever reason? do you think he would become bitter like Petunia about magic?

Lily remembered her sister, how there had been a time she was curious and delighted about magic, before it slowly sank in that she could look and not touch.

The last thing Petunia had said to Lily before she died was a chilly goodbye, ending a holiday dinner where they’d had a shrieking row in the entryway. Petunia had said freak and Lily had hissed better than this, better than this being my whole fucking world, Tune, do you even see yourself, are you happy–

And now here was Dudley Vernon Dursley fussing himself to sleep as Lily walked the halls of the Godric’s Hollow house. His tiny soft hands with their tiny soft fingernails curled under her chin, the same way Harry always had.

She passed James, who was gently bouncing his way up the hall the opposite way. “I think he’s asleep,” James mouthed over Harry’s tousled head. His hair was the same mess, bent down to peer at his sleeping son.

Lily stopped where she stood, her nephew heavy on her chest, her husband smiling, her sister buried. “James,” she said. “How are we going to do this?”

“Oh,” he said. “Hey. Don’t you cry, you’ll start them off– unless you need to cry, I mean, you go ahead, hey, sweetheart, hey, it’s alright, you just let it out.” He stepped forward, shifting Harry gently to his other shoulder, and pressed his forehead to hers. “We tuck them in, okay, that’s what we do next. Then we go to our own bed, okay, and go to sleep, and when we wake up it’ll be a new day.”

“A new day,” she said. “Another day– James, that’s the– I’m so tired.”

“So let’s sleep. It’ll look better in the morning,” he said. “And if it doesn’t look better this morning, it’ll look better in the next one.”

“You promise?”

“Better than that. I’ll show you. Every day,” he said and kissed her cold forehead.

Dudley had not shown up on the Potters’ doorstep with the milk bottles. Lily had gotten a phone call from the landline she still had installed in Godric’s Hollow, about an accident, and she had gone down to the Muggle police station to identify the bodies.

The cupboard under the stairs was filled with spiders, broomsticks, and the sewing machine Lily’s mother had given her when she married James– that’s all. Dudley slept downstairs. Uncle Remus taught Dudley and Harry to knock out coded messages through the wall their rooms shared.

In the backyard, beside a rickety porch and an ambitious hedge, James taught them to fly– first on little tot brooms where their toes brushed the grass the whole time, then out of the barrels of practice brooms James used for lessons and coaching Little League Quidditch.

When the boys turned ten, five weeks apart, they both got shiny new Nimbuses on Dudley’s birthday (which came first), and a set of enchanted Quidditch balls on Harry’s, to share. The Bludgers were enchanted to be very kind but Dudley spent long afternoons whacking them far afield while Harry chased the Snitch at his back.

Harry had a scar on his forehead, like a jagged bit of lightning. Dudley had no scars– the car crash that had killed his parents hadn’t touched him where he sat strapped into a car seat in the back, chewing on a stuffed dinosaur toy.

Lily did not believe in lying to the children. She was bare years off being a child herself, and spare moments on the far side of a war. When Dudley asked about his parents, she told him there had been an accident. She pulled pictures off the shelf and wrote Petunia’s old university friends for more.

Photographs came by mailman, the images still and unnatural to Dudley’s eye. Every day he’d gone out to play, for years, he’d been waving at the picture near the back door of his aunt and uncle on their wedding day, and they waved back every time.

“She was very clever,” Lily said. “Your mom liked to know everything.”

“And my dad?”

“Vernon liked… cars?” James offered. “That’s the word, right, Lily?”

“I didn’t know him very well,” Lily said. “He liked drills, I think; he worked for a firm that made them, and he talked about that a lot.”

Dudley brushed his thumbs over the dull edges of the photos. When Lily went off to Auror headquarters the next morning for work, James bundled the boys up and took them on an impromptu invisible tour of Grunnings Drill Manufacturing Inc.

They tiptoed down halls and past water coolers and ringing fellytones. They held hands under the Cloak as they dodged around the machines on the manufacturing floor, thumping and pounding and whirring away loudly enough that Harry and Dudley could whisper to each other under the noise. An elevator took them all the way up to the top floor. Harry whistled cheerily and eerily along with the elevator music while the Muggles slowly edged toward the doors and pressed floor buttons lower than they’d originally wanted.

There were boxes and cabinets and folders and desks and staticky monitor screens full of numbers strewn in endless grids. “Merlin’s knuckles,” said Harry, who was seven and a half and rather proud of this expletive. “People can look at this all day, their whole lives, and not die?”

“Work is hard work,” said James.

“At least mum gets to curse things.”

“But my dad liked it?” Dudley said, peering at a white board that was bleeding enthusiastic marker. “There’s a lot of things, here. Maybe he liked knowing things, too.”

When the boys asked about the scar on Harry’s forehead, Lily and James looked at each other. “You know how sometimes we sit with Uncle Remus and talk about a war?” James said. “Or with Ms. Amelia or Mr. Mundungus.”

“Mr. Mundungus is kinda smelly,” Harry said helpfully.

“It’s not nice to say so though,” said James, and Lily made a face.

“Are we raising them to be nice?” Lily said.

“I’m trying,” said James.

“You talk about a war,” said Harry and shrugged. Dudley nodded.

“There was a very bad man, in those days,” said James.

“Voldemort,” said Lily, and James made a face.

“He was so scary a lot of people don’t like to say his name, even now,” said James. “And he was coming after us because we had been fighting against him, in the war. He came to the house and he tried to hurt you, Harry. But it didn’t work. It hurt him instead, and gave you that scar.”

“Is he going to come back?” said Dudley, who was paler than his normal pink.

“No one’s heard of him since then,” said Lily.

“Where were you?” said Harry, because all his life they had been right there.

“Oh,” said Lily, but her throat closed up.

“We were at Dudley’s mum and dad’s funeral,” said James. “Our friend– our friend Sirius was watching you two. The bad man, he came to the house. He. Well. I.”

“Sirius died,” said Lily, one hand squeezing James’s knee and the other reaching down to brush hair off Dudley’s forehead. “You lived, Harry, and Voldemort vanished. And that’s why sometimes people stare in the streets, baby.” James tweaked Harry’s collar absently.

Two days after they had buried Lily’s sister, the Potters had stood together in the first chills of November and buried James’s brother.

Sirius had been burned off the Black family tree years before. Lily and James had talked to his cousin Andromeda, to Remus, and then they had laid him to rest in the Potter family plot. At the wake, they’d told old jokes about squirrel breath, shedding, and man’s best friend. Remus had fallen asleep on their couch and stayed for a month.

It took a two hour row with HR for Lily to get two passes to the Ministry’s Bring Your Kid To Work Day.

“He’s a Muggle.”

“He’s not,” Lily snapped. “He’s family.”

She had to get permission, sign a million forms, and she also had to take the boys in early so that Dudley could get smothered in the spells that would keep the Anti-Muggle wards around the Ministry from activating on him. “If a Muggle stumbles in somehow, they just see a funny-smelling supply cabinet and turn back around,” Lily told Dudley. He nodded and dragged Harry off by the wrist to go look at the fountain.

The windows were pouring sunlight into the underground room– the maintenance workers had just gotten a win on their contract negotiations and had banished the grimy rain-spattered windows of the previous weeks. The light hit the falling water, the golden statues, and the small excitable crowd of Ministry dependents who were gathering in the atrium. Dudley was fishing about in the fountain for Knuts to toss back out again, elbow-deep, and Harry was laughing and coming up with weird wishes to make on them.

Lily hadn’t said son. She’d said family, and that was true enough, wasn’t it? She didn’t say son– she had a son, and she had a nephew, a ward, another child who came to her after nightmares and scraped knees. It was not less, it was just words.

Lily worried about stealing more things from Petunia. Tuney had shrieked at her, in ladies’ restrooms and suburban foyers, had hissed at her in grocery store aisles and family dinners, because Lily got everything. And now Lily had her son.

Lily could just imagine it– could just see Petunia’s face twisting and chin stabbing at the air. You could have anything, and you took my son– my son!

“You left him to me,” Lily whispered, but that wasn’t quite right. “You left,” she whispered, and that wasn’t quite right either, so she strode off toward the fountain to ask the boys if they wanted to go see the Auror spellwork ranges. Dudley’s sodden shirt sleeves dripped all over the Ministry floors. Harry’s hair fell down into his eyes and they both grinned bright enough to rival the spelled sunlight.

Keep Reading (Ao3)

Keep reading

Dear Heathers Hamilton, Be More Chill Inktober Prompts! (read under the cut for specifications)

i made these for myself but please feel free to use them and dont forget to tag your artwork so i can share it! :) 

1. Okay, so we’re doing this
The first musical you’ve heard from the ones listed (aka the one that started it all)
2. How lucky we are to eb alive right now
Different time period AU
3. …And Heather
Draw characters that are not heathers as a heather!
4. Its from Japaaaaan!
Draw a character who isnt from BMC with a SQUIP
5.-I am not the one who the story’s about…
Supporting characters appreciation day
6. It changed the meaning, did you intend this?
Swap the plots of two different musicals!
7. A place where the grass is greener..
Favorite AU
8. Have you read this?!
Favorite fanfic/fanfic scene
9. This way too good for a school play!
Favorite scene from one of the musicals
10. How they perceive you…
Headcanon day!
11. You are my favorite person <3
Fandom Artist appreciation day
12. Upgrade!
Redraw your favorite panel from an animatic!
13. Your words flooded my senses..
Draw something that represents your favorite lyric
14. Sept Huit Neuf..
Angst. Just. Angst.
15. You will be found
Mental Health awareness day
16. Our love is god
draw your OTP(s)
17. But not beacuse we’re gay!
draw your BROTP(s)
18. I know this can be beautiful
Fix THAT part from a musical, you know which one.
19. A million words apart
Draw your crackship (An unpopular/not famous in the fandom ship)
20. My name is Alexander Hamilton
Hamilton AU (Or just revolutionary/old era AU)
21. No one deserves to be forgotten
Understudy/not OBC appreciation day
22. Who- Who are you?
Crossover day
23. A guy i’d kinda be into
Draw your favorite actor
24. If i could tell her
Draw your favorite actress
25. You play who you need to play
OTP personality/clothes swap
26. …Sacrifice?
The character that has sacrificed the most (in your opinion)
27. Maybe prom night?
Characters at prom
28. Theres no other half there..
Unrequited/One-sided ship
29. Anyone as trusting or as kind
The cinnamon roll
30. Hate the sin, love the sinner
the SINnamon roll
31. I’m halloween partying tonight
Last day! Draw characters on a halloween party/with costumes/trick or treating :)

dreamy aesthetics

- flickering neon motel signs that always seem to be missing a really significant letter rendering the glowing word or phrase meaningless

- carnivals that move from town to town; the air hot and ripe with secrets and the sugar-icing scent of cotton candy

- those nights when the wind sounds like the breath of the beautiful stranger sleeping next to you

- crop circles and fields of singed grass where local residents claim alien ships land on the darker eves of the year

- the back alleys of the dingiest night club on the block that look like places where serial killers claim their victims or superheroes swoop to the rescue or cults practice witchcraft

- those nineties themed diners with rollerblading waiters, jukeboxes and cold fries but bucketlist worthy milkshakes

- sitting atop a rooftop you skilfully climbed up but with a terrifying prospect of getting down, pointing to every star that never granted you wishes running your hands through your best friend’s hair and the air feels like warm milk in the throat

- listening to a stream gurgling and gargling rocks in a forest so green it’s like sitting in the heart of an emerald

- binge watching the X-Files in your pajamas there’s chocolate chip ice cream and your two dogs are cuddled up against you, one on your lap and the other curled around your ankles

- greenhouses that swim with sunlight all these exotic flowers that you can’t name aquamarine and scarlet and canary yellow blooms it smells like dirt and honeysuckle and budding life

anonymous asked:

Sana's going to be in the van with the girls having fun trying not to think of yousef and then PING she gets a text "kjære sana,,,," and then Chris FLOORS IT to wherever yousef is and then sana runs out of the van to yousef in slow motion and they confess their undying love to each other

the text would go like “Dear Sana. I’m sitting at the place where i threw grass on you and thinking about you. It’s soon 16.34 i.e. carrot time. I want to tell you‬ a thousand things. ‪I’m sorry for throwing grass at you. I hope it didn’t hurt. I’m sorry for stealing your ball and being a 12 y/o. ‬It’s what the kids at work told me to do, especially this one kid K*rl idk what his deal is. I was scared of losing the carrots. ‪I had forgotten that it’s not possible to lose the carrots, they always show up everywhere anyways so there’s no way to avoid them ‬even if I tried, which I have. ‪In another place in the universe we’re eating carrots together, remember that. You’re my soulmate. Yousef‬”

They always say “that that’s the way it is” and “you’ll get over it”.
Maybe you will get over it, maybe you’ll get over my absence…but will I get over yours?


You were everything to me, my best friend, my diary, my safe place.

The person I could run to and suddenly the miserable day I had wouldn’t matter because we’d be singing together so loudly that I couldn’t even hear my thoughts… I skip the songs now.

The 3am phone call when I couldn’t sleep and my thoughts were filling my lungs like a flood travelling up into my throat,almost like I could vomit them straight back up again every time I tried to swallow and suppress them…now the only comfort I find is my tear stained pillow.

The continuous laughter from a joke 10 minutes ago that wasn’t even mildly funny but we thought that it was hilarious…sighs replace our giggles now.

The smile across the room when something made me nervous and I’d look at you, you’d reassure me with that smile…you don’t look at me anymore.

The eye contact when someone asked if I was okay and I muttered I’m fine under my breath, because you didn’t need to ask and I didn’t need to say…it’s been months of “I’m fine.”,I stare at the ground now.

The sleepovers when that morning I didn’t even want to leave my bed, the inside jokes that made me laugh when I didn’t even want to smile,the plans for the future we made when I didn’t even see one for myself. Because you felt like home, you were my best friend.

You were my happiness.

But what was I to you?

Stepping stones.

Something you walked over as you stood above me,used so you could get over your obstacles and reach the side where the grass is always greener.

I didn’t mind helping you along though, but then you walked on the stepping stones to the side that had more to offer, the side that offered alcohol for you to drink, boys for you to love, and better people for you to trust and laugh with,

I don’t blame you though, but you never came back.

You left me stuck in the middle, the water got deeper and deeper and it was surrounding me and no matter how strong I stood it kept washing over me leaving me gasping for air and choking on the water,along with the lies you fed me.

But here you were laughing, creating new memories with thousands of others while I was left in the ocean with no one else but myself.

I don’t know if I can forgive you. I miss you quite terribly but my stepping stone days are done because I have now realised that nobody will ever deserve to feel like they’re not worthy of love.

But when you get tired and the grass loses its vibrant colour and starts to rot and you want to just come home, it’s too late because there will be no access to the side that was never good enough for you.

Because when you burn bridges you may rebuild them after a lot of work and effort. But you can never rebuild stepping stones.
—  I miss you quite terribly.

anonymous asked:

If it hasn't already been done (I know I haven't read them all yet) could you do 71 with matt and niel? I can't ever get enough of their friendship

71: “There’s a thunderstorm outside and you want to do what?” 

The court is soup, stirring and humid, and Matt stares straight up at the ceiling, trying to catch a proper breath. He’s aware of Dan folded almost in half by the benches, holding a stitch in her side like something’s about to pop out. 

Nicky’s starfished a metre away from Matt, gasping dramatically with both arms criss-cross flung over his eyes. The rest of the team is hunched or stretched like roman statues, twisted in grotesque shapes to take the pressure off of their overworked ankles and lungs.

Inevitably, Neil is utterly solid on his feet, chest still heaving with exertion but eyes focused. Andrew passes him an unscrewed water bottle and they make eye contact for five whole seconds too long. Matt snorts, rolling away onto his front and grimacing at the sweaty peeling sound his uniform makes.

“Neil,” he calls, holding his own flushed cheeks. “Any ETA on when we can scrape ourselves off the court?”

“What?” he asks sharply.

“We just want to whither and die in our own homes,” Nicky moans.

“We have a half hour left in our regular practice plus we’re a month away from semifinals,” Neil says, incredulous. “We should be working harder than ever.”

“A month,” Allison repeats. “As in one month. As in what— over forty practices to go?”

Matt sneaks a glance and Neil has his arms crossed, his mouth sour. “The ravens will be—“

“Nope,” Allison interrupts,  “I’m sick of hearing about what Edgar Allan’s demonic fucking automatons would do. They don’t play by the same rules as us. That’s sort of the point.”

“We’ll be better fresh, Neil,” Dan says, still panting a little from her last lap. “You know what pushing too hard looks like.”

“And I know what not pushing hard enough looks like,” Neil snaps, harsh and echoey in their plexiglass cage. He swallows a couple of times, maybe trying to get the taste of his outburst out of his mouth, and then he looks away. “Some of you meet resistance and stop pushing.”

“I mean If I know anything about Q-tips, that’s what you’re supposed to do,” Nicky says.

“Your body resists for a reason.” Aaron grimaces, apparently upset to be agreeing with his cousin.

“Neil’s right,” Kevin says, and everyone groans. His eyes narrow, and he taps his racquet on the floor like he’s calling order to a courtroom. “We’re not improving. We’re stagnant, and we’re taking the extra bulk of the newbies for granted. More bodies doesn’t guarantee a win, we know this. We have to switch things up.”

“Switch things up,” Allison repeats, leaning back on her hands. “What would you propose, Queenie? You want us to switch jersey’s? Play on a basketball court?”

“The jersey thing sounds fun,” Matt says, sly. “Dibs on Dan’s.”

“Switch things up,” Neil echoes, and Matt watches helplessly as a bad idea dawns on him. 

Keep reading