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in light of a four day ceasefire in Gaza being agreed upon, i am once again asking you all not to lose sight of the big picture. Biden and the Israeli Government are trying to frame this as a major democratic victory and as a favor respectively. they have no intention of a total ceasefire. they have no intention of stopping their genocide. remember - a ceasefire is the very first step. it’s not even the bare minimum.

the absolute bare minimum in this situation is 1) a complete ceasefire and immediate humanitarian aid in Gaza, 2) complete halt of all military foreign aid to the Israeli government, 3) the Israeli government being prosecuted for its war crimes in the International Criminal Court, and 4) land back and reparations for the Palestinian people. free Palestine means free Palestine, not just temporarily stop carpet bombing Palestine.

a temporary ceasefire is something, but it’s not even close to the end goal. we cannot let up pressure when things seem to be looking up. keep protesting, boycotting, spreading awareness, contacting politicians, etcetera. keep your eyes on Gaza. free Palestine.

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sorry bro cant talk rn im going up to the top of my building and remembering my dog when i see the full moon. no i cant feel it yet but bro am i Waiting

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What to boycott NOW to help stop Israel’s unfolding genocide of Palestinians in Gaza

Reminder that boycotting DOES work, there is historic proof! Don't let anyone discourage you otherwise!

The BDS movement uses the historically successful method of targeted boycotts inspired by the South African anti-apartheid movement, the US Civil Rights movement, the Indian anti-colonial struggle, among others worldwide.

We must strategically focus on a relatively smaller number of carefully selected companies and products for maximum impact. Companies that play a clear and direct role in Israel’s crimes and where there is real potential for winning, as was the case with, among others, G4S, Veolia, Orange, Ben & Jerry’s and Pillsbury. Compelling such huge, complicit companies, through strategic and context-sensitive boycott and divestment campaigns, to end their complicity in Israeli apartheid and war crimes against Palestinians sends a very powerful message to hundreds of other complicit companies that “your time will come, so get out before it’s too late!”

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:(((( please sign

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one time i remember i got a comment on a blurb and it was like 'sorry but [reader] seems like such a pick me girl :/' well she's... this is fanfiction... is the goal not to be picked?

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I LOVE HOCKEY SIRIUS SO MUCH

so! we were talking about hockey!sirius a couple days ago soooooooo

i would love to request hockey!sirius flirting with a reader who is not yet his girlfriend. (bonus points if he does the lighting her cigarettes for her like i would die actually)

thank you for requesting! —hockey player!sirius asks you on a date. 1k

"Hey, you." 

You squeeze your box of cigarettes but manage to keep your flinch to yourself. "Sirius, you're like a ghost," you complain, letting your bag fall back behind you. 

"A fit one, at least?" he asks. "I've caught you, haven't I?" 

You fish your box of cigarettes from your bag guiltily. "Don't tell my coach and I'll give you one." 

"Give me two and I'll let you borrow my clipper."

"A clipper," you drawl, drawing two cigarettes from the box to pass him. "I didn't think you were rich." 

"You know, my parents are loaded." 

You put a cigarette between your lips and shove the box down the depths of your bag, your dirty little secret hidden once again. Sirius knows because he's the only other idiot sportsman at your rink stupid enough to smoke at practice. "Weird brag." 

"Well," —he bobs his head from left to right gently, inhaling sharply as he lights the end of his cigarette, breathing through it, "it would be if I spoke to them." 

"Oh, shit. Sorry." 

"Don't be sorry," he says, his cigarette held carelessly between his lips as he ushers you forward. He's much more careful about you, holding your arm in a gentle hand as he lights the end of your cigarette, and nodding encouragingly when you inhale, his eyes a stony grey where they meet yours. "I brought it up." His hand coasts briefly up to your shoulder before he takes a step back. "I like telling you things." 

You lean against the wall and Sirius leans beside you. The outside of the rink is boring, a huge parking lot full of cars going in and out. Sirius' car, a dark cherry red oldsmobile with more scratches than paint, is parked not too far from where you're standing, a dent the size of a sledgehammer head in the driver's side that wasn't there before. "What happened to the vampmobile?" you ask. 

"James. I bet you never would've guessed," he says sarcastically.  

"I wouldn't have. He's a sweetheart. I'd be much more tempted to think you did it doing doughnuts on the industrial–" 

Sirius cuts you off, flicking the tip of his cigarette with a put upon attitude, "I don't do doughnuts. You think so little of me, sweetpea." 

He says sweetpea like you're the cutest thing on earth. You nudge him mildly and stub your cigarette out on top of the square black bin, half-smoked. "I better go home."

"Working tonight?" 

"No, I finally have a night off. Got a ton of stuff I need to do, but it shouldn't take long." You lift your arms into the air and stretch your sore shoulders, angled away from him to avoid giving him a show of the world's ugliest yawn.  

"Wanna get something to eat?" 

You hurt your jaw trying to stop your yawn midway through, arms falling flat to your thighs. Sirius isn't looking at you, gaze on the vamp mobile, smoke curling like a ribbon between his fingers. He has nicely shaped hands, very boney in the sharp way but still rather inviting, when you think about it. 

"Now?" you ask. 

"Tonight. If you want to, I'll take you out." He takes another drag, eyes flaring in time with the ash. "Don't act like you don't know," he says through the exhale. 

"Know what, Black?" you ask. 

"That I'm mad for you." 

You're suddenly and deeply aware of how you look, a mess after practice, hair straggled from its styling, face without any make up. There's nothing wrong with the way you look, but when you picture someone on Sirius' arm, it's never you. You fiddle with your jacket zipper, voice low, "I didn't know that." 

"I don't believe you." He's not accusatory, simply stating a fact. Sirius stubs his cigarette out next to yours, black hair ruffled in the wind, the scent of him adrift. He smells like smoke, of course, but there's a nicer woodiness beneath it. "I'll take the way you're looking at me as a solid maybe. You can text me." 

"No, I mean. Yeah. I mean–" You stammer as Sirius laughs warmly. "I'll text you. If you really are mad for me." 

"Want me to prove it?" he asks. 

Your lips part of their own accord. You look like a deer-in-the-headlights for sure, completely stopped by the implication. Even the thought of a kiss from his has your pulse capering hard. His hands cold from the rink pressed gently to the warmer stretch of your collar, slipping into the hemline, curling behind your neck as he steps close. You can't summon the kiss itself, too close to bursting, because what would you do? Where would you put your hands? Is there a specific place? 

"Don't look so nervous," he murmurs, his eyebrows pinching ever so slightly together. "I'm not gonna jump you." 

"It's not like that, I just don't know…" 

"About us?" he asks. "That's why I'm trying to ask you on a date. You can make your mind up about us and I'll help you bulk for sectionals."

"I don't need bulking," you say. 

He laughs. "No, you're perfect. Beside your bad habit, that is. We have that in common." Sirius steps forward, pauses. "Can I kiss your cheek?" 

His asking is the last straw. You're melted like a slush curl. 

"Yeah," you say weakly. 

Sirius kisses your cheek gently, and then he tucks his face against the side of your head and gives you a hug. "Text me, yeah? If you want." He peels back to grin at you. "I have to go back in. Elite league won't win itself. Talk to you later, doll."

You watch him retreat back into the centre, not sure what you want to do first; text him, or smoke another cigarette. In the end, you decide against the cigarette. If he's really going to prove how mad he is for you, you don't want to taste like smoke. 

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something in fleabag about the names. we see the most intimate, uncomfortable, raw moments in these people's lives and yet half of the main characters don't have names. we call the main character fleabag because not one character throughout the entire series ever addresses her by name. we call her fleabag. no one's asked her a question in forty-five minutes. they make jabs about her need to be the center of attention. they never say her name. we call her fleabag.

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i was born knowing you.

lisa see / fleabag (2016-2019) / unknown / the reynolds pamphlet, lin-manuel miranda / my sister’s keeper, jodi picoult / little women (2019) dir. greta gerwig / mommy issues, joan tierney / sisters, holly warburton / two sisters on the terrace, pierre-auguste renoir

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masterlist

sirius black

being drunk, with sirius

monday mornings, with sirius

sirius and you, after work

bellamy blake

meet cute w/ bellamy

other characters i will eventually/potentially write for:

james potter

remus lupin

draco malfoy

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Do you have a masterlist?

I don't actually! I've been on tumblr for a while now but still haven't gotten everything sorted out - i'll make one right now!

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hi i know u literally just wrote this, but could u please do more bully! sirius? i just loved it so much!!

maybe he sees u crying cause u failed a test or something and he’s comforting u but doing it in a teasing/forceful way?? like him pretending he’s being mean but saying heaps of actually nice stuff about u

thanks so much!!

today is multiverse monday, send me any au you can think of! :)

cw for bully!sirius. he doesn't hurt her, he just teases her, but if you're uncomfortable with that then don't read. this is your warning, your media consumption beyond this point is your responsibility.

You're already more than ashamed to be crying in the back corner of the library, and that's before Sirius barges his way in. You're not sure how he found you, you'd tucked yourself away snugly behind a shelf. He seems to have a scarily terrific ability to find you wherever you are in the castle, much to both your dismay and delight.

It's not delightful now, though. Not when you want to be alone.

"Well, what have we got here?" His tone is unfortunately sharp today, more so than usual, "Oh, poor thing." He crouches beside you, peering condescendingly at your tearstained cheeks, "Lemme guess. You raised your hand, and the professor didn't call on you. Is that it?"

"Go away." You plead, turning your face away from him against the back of the bookshelf. He scoffs, reaching for your face and turning it back towards him.

"C'mon, out with it. Really, what's got you crying?"

"It's none of your business," You try, but he tightens his hold on your face ever-so-slightly, and you quiet down.

"Your business is my business," He murmurs, "That's why I'm always in it. Spit it out."

"I just got a bad grade! Okay? I got a bad grade, and I don't feel good about it. And I'm not used to not feeling good about my grades," You sniffle, wiping beneath your nose with the sleeve of your robe, "It's just new and I hate it."

"Bollocks," Sirius studies your face for a second after you confess, trying to decipher if you're lying. But you're not, and he knows it.

"You got a bad grade? Little Miss Fuckin' Perfect got a bad grade? What's bad to you, a 95? Is 89 enough to send you to your grave?"

"I got a forty!" You barely refrain from wailing in the quiet library, hissing miserably instead, "And it was a really important exam. Just leave me alone, you're making this worse."

"You can't possibly be crying over one 40%," Sirius gives you a disgruntled look, "You think that's gonna change anything? You're annoyingly smart, this is never gonna happen again and you'll probably raise the grading curve for the next exam just like you always do. Suppose I should be thanking you for lowering it this time, actually."

"Sirius-"

"Pull yourself together," He narrows his eyes, leaning in so close that you can feel his breath hit your skin, "Dust yourself off, and get off the floor. You're a big girl, yeah?"

You nod in his grip, "Mhm."

"Then act like one," He lets you go, "Come on, off your arse. It'd be a pity if you flattened the thing, 'might have to pitch myself off the astronomy tower."

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🥰🥰🥰🥰

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meet cute w/ bellamy

you are having a boring night at a boring bar, until you meet bellamy.

(all characters are 18+)

warning: drinking

The door opened, and you felt the warmth of the room on your face. It was late autumn, with the leaves finally done with turning red and now were in the process of beating the snow to the ground. With the cold nipping at your nose, you step through the threshold. 

A wave of noise hits you straight away, as you struggle to not let it slow you as you follow your friend further inside. The laughter combined with a thumping beat of music almost makes you want to dig your heels in and flee, but you’d already promised you’d stay for at least one drink. So you weave your way through the thick tangle of bodies, to the bar, with dimmed lights and a limited number of empty seats. You sighed. Ignoring the call of your bed, and your lovely apartment, you turned to the bartender. 

Hesitantly, you got out, “Uh, I’ll have a strawberry mojito, if that’s all good.”  

"Sure, sugar, that's all good with me." The bartender replies, his eyes dragging slipperly down your form. You shudder in response, but quirk a half smile, just to keep him happy. He looks to be around twenty years your senior, judging from the almost complete lack of hair and the sort of wrinkles, but he is still making your drink.

He keeps his eyes on you while he whips up your cocktail. By this point you have turned to your friend to chat, half paying attention and half intentionally avoiding the slick-like-oil gaze of the side of your face.

Your eyes dip around the bar you've been partially dragged into, and find despite your lack of love for loud places, it's actually not too bad.  It's full of people, yeah, but there's not much you can do. The fullness gives it a more cozy vibe, especially with the season and current weather, and once you actually pay attention to the music, it's more of a pleasant hum than an incessant banging of instruments. You can see smiles on peoples faces, hear murmurings of laughter, and you know from the rosy blushes on everyone's cheeks, this bar isn't bad. Save for the creepy bartender.

"Oh look! There's Raven and everyone," your friend pipes up, "Hang on, let me go say hi." And without waiting for your reply, she’s already jumping off her seat, to go see her friends that you very much don’t know. Leaving you alone. With the bartender. 

You grimace, but really, you should’ve expected it. This is why you don’t go out. You’re staring wistfully at the group of people your friend has just joined, the thrum of bodies, mixed with sweet smiles and half drunk laughter, floating it’s way back to you across the room. You’re still staring when your drink is put next to you with a clink of glass on wood. The seat squeaks slightly as you turn back towards it. You have to admit; it does look good. All pink and strawberry and hopefully not too strong. 

“There you go, sugar, drink that on up.” The gag that makes its way up your throat is almost impossible to stop, but despite everything, you don’t want to be rude and spit out the drink you’d just sipped. That would be rude. That would be causing a scene. Both, you want to avoid. You pull that half smile back on to your face, dragging your eyes up to his face, but that’s it. You are officially ending this interaction. Grabbing your drink, that suddenly seems even less appealing, you turn back around, hoping that your friend had not actually forgotten about you. No such luck. 

After more than five minutes of waiting patiently at the bar, you are seriously considering just downing your cocktail in one go and hightailing it out of here. Before you can, a broad figure slides into the spot next to you, already turning to the bartender to order a drink. It startles you, slightly, the annoyance of the evening making you forget there are actual other people at this bar, not just your (officially ex) friend and the weird man at the bar. But, no, you think, it does not change your plans. You still glance up at the stranger, curious enough to want to catch a glimpse of his face, to add a teeny bit of excitement to your dull night.  

He’s already looking at you when you do, and you only catch a hint of warm brown eyes before you look away, heat already creeping to your cheeks. He’s pretty. He’s really pretty. And he’s chuckling at your reaction, a low drawl of a sound. You don’t turn back to him, instead deciding to look everywhere else, even when his large body boscurs a significant portion of your view of the room. 

A drink clatters down next to you, and the man says something to the bartender, probably a thank you, but you don’t catch it. He doesn’t leave yet, and from the corner of your eye, you know he has angled his body towards you now. A flutter of butterflies erupt in your stomach in anticipation, but you don’t move. Maybe he’s going to tell you that you’ve got your shirt on back to front, or something. You’re doing something wrong, something embarrassing, something stupid, that’s why he’s looking at you. You glance at him again, meeting his eyes again, despite the nerves, and he looks like he’s going to say something, he’s smiling, he’s opening his mouth, he’s - 

“Hey sugar, you got a boyfriend?” You and the stranger immediately break eye contact and instead turn to the source of the interruption. The bartender, oblivious to the conversation you both were about to start, is again, staring you up and down. You shudder in response, crossing your arms over yourself in an attempt to conceal your body from his leering gaze. 

“Um, well, I actually…” You don’t know what to say, his eyes are making you nervous, very much not in a good way. You were caught off guard, normally you would be able to form some response along the lines of ‘fuck off, pervert’ but your confidence has failed you. 

“That’s none of your business. Leave her alone.” The man replies properly for you, a welcome saving grace, with . He adjusts his position as he stands slightly straighter, taller, over the bartender, and you breathe a sigh of relief. While you shouldn’t need another man to stick up for you, you know creeps always listen to them more anyway. The bartender just shrugs and says, “Whatever, man,” and turns away. 

“Sorry about that,” he says to you, and before he can get out the rest of the apology, you interrupt, “oh no, thank you. He’s been like that the whole night. Thanks.” He shakes his head again, the annoyed expression still present. 

“You shouldn’t thank me. You shouldn’t have to deal with that.” 

“But you didn’t have to do that. Thank you.” You smile up at him, a proper one, and he drops the annoyed look when he sees it. He really is handsome, with his strong jaw and dark curls, and he’s looking at you with a hint of amusement in his eye. You like him. You hope he likes you too. 

He laughs, shaking his head again, relaxing his stance and goes back to sitting on the stool next to you. And when he smiles, he smiles big, his whole face lights up. 

“I’m Bellamy.” Bellamy. You think you may have heard his name before, in passing, a stranger that you heard people whisper about. Bellamy. You like it more than you should. 

“I’m Y/n.” 

“You got any plans this evening?” 

“I was just going to go home but, I’m open.” He nods at your response. He hasn’t stopped looking at you. 

Bellamy moves slightly closer, his head bent towards you so you can hear him better in the loud room. Your eyes widen a bit when he does, because now you can see him up close. 

“Wanna get out of here and get some food? I hate bars.” You nod too eagerly, but you don’t care. He laughs in response, and by the fond look in his eyes you are certain now that he likes you. 

Bellamy downs his drink and you just leave yours, as he slips his large hand into your palm and pulls you towards the door. He keeps you close as he works his way through the crowd, looking behind him to make sure you’re still there. As you're about to head out the door, you catch sight of your friend with another girl, dark haired and gorgeous, both grinning wickedly at you. She gives you the thumbs up and a wink, and you smile back. 

The evening was finally looking up. You take a deep breath of fresh air when you make it outside, not letting go of Bellamy’s hand. 

You can’t keep the smile off your face.

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ever think about peeta’s relationship with haymich after the first games… like peeta is the nicest person ever amazing lovely but do u think he ever resented haymich for choosing to save katniss… didn’t try to get him sponsors, didn’t send him anything, etc… like damn peeta is an angel but surely it hurt knowing haymich wasn’t fighting for him… and then with the beginning of catching fire he’s helping haymich, bringing him bread etc, they have a pretty close relationship after that i guess… but like was that ever hard for peeta… cause i mean haymich gave up. on him. he was gonna let him die.

and i know obviously haymich didn’t have much choice like he had to pick one the obvious choice is katniss and peeta is very self sacrificial and everything and wanted katniss to win… but he’s human it still would’ve hurt how do u deal with that

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whenever anyone talks about criminal minds cliches they always bring up the 'guys.. i think the unsub is a woman' plot twist or the 'guys.. i think we're looking at a team' but NO ONE talks about the 'character opens a drawer or pulls a sheet off of something that is hidden to the audience and the camera slow zooms on their horrified face while they dramatically murmur, 'we need to deliver the profile'.

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Monarchies are only fun in fiction. But overthrowing a monarchy in real life could be very fun

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remus!!!

everyone take this quiz rn and rb with your results

@saturnband @cosmal @crushofdoves @bruisedboys @maddipoof @reysdriver