#me and my old black biro

[thedvilsinthedetails]

microfic for @wolfstarmicrofic with the prompt “passion”

word count:600

inspired by this post by @theres-an-endless-starry-sky

Remus glanced over at Sirius shyly out of the corner of his eye. James had prefect rounds that night and Peter had taken advantage of that to spend some quality time with Benjy in some broom closet somewhere which meant it was just them two in the dorm that evening. 

“Moony?”

Sirius said suddenly, turning to him with wide eyes.

“Yeah?”

“Can we- um talk? I need to talk to you.”

Sirius spun his wand around in his hand as he spoke. It was a nervous habit of his that he’d picked up during O.W.L.S. Remus nodded and Sirius quickly got up and hurried over to Remus’ bed, perching himself on the end next to Remus. Remus could easily hear his heartbeat now, the way it sped up as he moved closer, now thrumming wildly in his chest. 

It had started a few months ago. The morning after a full moon, Remus had woken up and glanced around the infirmary to see a boy resting on the bed opposite him, shooting him a bleary smile when he sat up. 

As it turned out Moony and Padfoot had gotten a bit too rough with all the play fighting the previous night. Sirius had broken a leg. Remus had felt terrible, crawled onto the infirmary bed as he repeated it over and over, wrapping his arms around Sirius as he apologised. Sirius had said it was fine, he didn’t mind. Still Remus had felt the way his heart started racing as soon as he got close. 

It’s pretty tough as is, being in love with your best friend. Turns out it’s even worse when you realise you scare the living daylights of said best friend. 

Remus had hoped it would lessen and disappear, he’d spent the next months being extra nice to Sirius, braiding his hair every day, sharing his chocolate, anything to try and make it up to him. It wasn’t working though judging by the pounding he could hear in the other boy’s chest. Sirius probably hated him with a burning passion at this point after all that annoying hovering around he’d done.

He reached out a hand and (after Sirius didn’t move away for a few seconds) placed it down on Sirius’ arm in an attempt to comfort him. He cringed internally as he felt Sirius shiver in response, skin covered in goosebumps. Keep going. You’re just doing great there aren’t you. Fucking hell.

“So? You uh- wanted to talk to me?”

He’s going to say he doesn’t want to be my friend anymore. Finally realised I’m a goddamn monster. It’s ok it’s ok it’s ok.

“Yeah…Moons you wouldn’t get angry if I said something stupid right? If I did something stupid? Not like what happened in fifth year. I promise I’m never doing anything like that again I swear I-“

“Sirius.”

“Right. It’s stupid. Yeah, it’s really really stupid but it’s about how I feel. You promise you won’t get mad yeah?”

How I feel. How I feel about you. How much I hate you now. 

“Sirius I wont get mad. I could never- I care about you so much.”

Sirius swallowed before turning to face Remus. 

“How much?”

“So fucking much. More than you could ever know.”

He felt tears pricking in his eyes as he spoke. Sirius was ending it all, Sirius was never going to talk to him again, Sirius was- 

straddling him?

Sirius was leaning in. Sirius was pressing their lips together and kissing him and wrapping his arms around Remus’ waist and holding their bodies close and- fucking hell.

Sirius was wonderful.

[robinwannabee]

Who’s afraid of little old me?

Drew this over the week, waolom is one of my favourite performances on the Eras tour ever. I’m surprised I haven’t drawn it before. Seeing it live actually altered my soul.

Thanks to @n1cc0l0-f13rr0 for the cursive on the skirt (I cannot write in cursive to save my life) and for doing the job of colouring in most of the letters.

I went a little off reference, the proportions are slightly off but there’s not much I can do about that now lol.

What I used

Don’t actually know the brand of mechanical pencil but it was a 0.5 pencil for the actual sketch. The fine liner I used was a black uni-ball eye pen, they actually work really well and you can do difference stroke sizes depending on the pressure you use when drawing. For the colours it was Staedtlers Noris 24 pack. They work really well surprisingly. And the red pen was just a biro. <33

[killersfool]

ANATOMY - a snippet of a book I'm writing

a/n: this is literally bridget jones i know!!!!!!!!

I first saw Andrew on Thursday the 14th of October at exactly 8.41am. On the tube. It was one of those busy mornings where time feels like it’s slipping away faster than usual. The train was packed, and I was wedged into a corner, but I couldn’t take my eyes off him.

I watch him from the opposite seat of the tiny compartment. I watch as his hair curls across his forehead, a dark coat upon his shoulders and engrossed in a tattered copy of Byron. Typical posho, I think to myself, rolling my eyes. I can just imagine him in his teenage years in a private school. I'm betting on Eton. Wearing his pristine uniform waving goodbye to mummy, hanky patting against her tear-stained cheeks.

He sticks out like a sore thumb against the group of fellow tube-takers, opting for an old-fashioned book rather than a phone. My legs are crossed, no phone in my hands because my brain is too fried to have that brightness illuminating my face and my eyes are still glued to this strange man. He flicks the page after a moment and raises an eyebrow in thought. His right hand drifts away from the book and deep into the pocket of his dark brown corduroy trousers and I glance at the belt meticulously strapped through the loops. Out of the pocket emerges a black biro. Then he's annotating in the margins. Or writing some sort of thought that popped into his mind. Maybe he's a writer or a poet himself. Or maybe he just has an adoration for 19th century poetry. In this day and age it seems to be a long-forgotten niche. It's rare to see someone so absorbed in anything beyond their screen. 

The train jolts. We arrive in Westminster. I thought this would be where Mr-Byron-reader would stop. But no. Alas! We continue along. I'm surprised he hasn't noticed my very obvious staring. He seems oblivious to the entire world around him. Even the child who has just sat next to him who keeps screaming at her mother. He hasn't budged a bit, only pressed the briefcase on the ground a little closer to the seat. The briefcase leads me to the suspicion that he is a lawyer. He looks like one alright. Clean-shaven, black shiny shoes, a furrowed brow.

But then, suddenly, he looks up—at me.

We make eye contact for a moment. He raises the furrowed brow and looks at me with confusion. Then he stands up and leaves. Temple is his final destination. The tube station closest to the Courts of Justice. 

The next time I see him is the week after, give or take. Friday the 22nd of October at the same time. About two minutes after. This time we're both stood up. His hand is clinging to the overhead handrail, mine to the one by the door. He's unable to read this time because both of his hands are occupied so he instead looks up at the ceiling, brown eyes focused intently. He looks tired this time. A little bit scruffy. His tie hasn't been done up properly and his hair is mussed up like he's just pulled himself out of bed. He has grey trousers on this time and a blazer to match. I wonder what his name is. He looks like a Tom or a William. One of those classic english names that everyone seems to have.

Part of me wants him to look at me again. I found the perplexion dancing across his features quite amusing the previous time we were in the same compartment. As the train reaches Temple, he stops looking at the ceiling. Once again, our eyes meet. I smile. He doesn't. He's serious. Then he's gone and I'm rooted in place, resisting the growing urge to follow him.

My stop is covent garden. Each morning I walk down to the lab, and look at cancer cells. I started working for a research agency three years ago after finishing university. I always wanted to make a change. This would get me in the centre of the action. My life consists of staring through light microscopes and drawing what I had discovered. I like my job. I like the study of disease and I hope one day I will discover something that will change the course of cancer treatments. But this time, as I stain the sample and turn the course focus knob, my mind falls back to the man on the tube. His clicky footfalls and rugged confidence that beckoned for me to look at him.

Next week, I will speak to him, I assure myself. Next week.

The 31st of October comes around quickly and I enter the tube with a sneaking suspicion that after all of this preparing, he won't even be in there. However, he is. Halloween luck. Countless people are dressed up already, although morning has hardly even broken. The compartment is completely stuffed with people and I have to suck in my breath to fit into the tiny corner I have lodged myself in. I spot Mr.Lawyer in mere seconds. He is sat down once again, briefcase on his lap and this time he has reading glasses on as he glances through yet another poetry book. It's not Byron this time, it's Keats. My whole plan splits into a million pieces and we reach Temple before I can even attempt to push through and murmur a word.

Instead, I have the bright idea of following him. Very much stalker-like. I move past the crowd and leave the compartment at the last moment, milliseconds before the door decides to crush me. I walk down the platform, already spotting his tall, brooding frame walking at a jaguar's pace towards the exit. I follow him up the stairs and then we're on the pavement. Loud London roads catch me off guard and I almost lose sight of him as I'm overwhelmed by the noise and business. I finally catch sight of him again. I make him my target. He stops at a traffic light. T

This is my chance.

I stop beside him. Glance at him. Step a little closer. "In a rush?" I ask, trying to catch his attention

He looks to the side then down at me in the most arrogant manner one can possibly do. He looks at his watch then scoffs. "They expect me to be there bang on 9." He sighs, I'm struck by a thick Scottish accent. "But they can all fuck themselves."

I bite back a laugh. So much for the composed, elegant lawyer I’d imagined. He is irritated, stressed—human.

"Who's they?" I wonder, curiosity bubbling over.

"The idiots who plan out the court hearings but can't seem to give us a feasible time table," he grumbles. "Once, they booked me for three at the same bloody time."

I laugh this time, unable to help it. The traffic lights turn green. I expect him to dash ahead and leave me to walk on my own. Instead, we fall into step together, his pace matching mine. His long strides gradually slow down to allow me to keep pace. I'm not sure what to say but know I should make some kind of conversation.

"Do you always run late? Or is today special?" I ask, glancing up at him. His eyes flicker down to meet mine, and for a second, I think I may have overstepped.

But then he smirks, just a little. "Today's a disaster. Forgot my laptop at home. Can't find my notes. And I've been awake since five dealing with some idiot client who thinks she can ignore court orders."

"Sounds rough," I reply, surprised he's opening up so easily. "Is that what being a lawyer is like? Constant chaos?"

He raises an eyebrow. "You think I'm a lawyer?"

I falter. "Aren't you? I mean... the briefcase, the suit..."

He laughs, a low sound that sends a shiver through me. "Close. Barrister, actually."

"Oh," I say, feeling a bit embarrassed for not knowing the difference. I didn't expect him to correct me so casually, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

We continue in silence for a few moments, the sound of the city filling the gaps between us. I keep sneaking glances at him—he had this intense, brooding energy, but now that he's started talking, he seemsalmost relaxed. 

 “Do you always follow strangers off the tube?” he questions suddenly, his tone half-teasing, half-curious.

My face goes red. “I—uh… No, I just… You seemed interesting. I see you on the train a lot.”

 “Interesting, huh?” He shoots me a sideways glance, his lips curling into a smile. It's the first time he’s really smiled, and it makes me feel both exposed and intrigued. “

I mean, not in a weird way,” I backpedal, laughing awkwardly. “You’re just… you’re always reading something, and I guess I wondered what kind of person still reads Byron on the tube.”

 He chuckles again, shaking his head. “You should’ve just asked.”

 “Would you have answered?”

 “Probably not,” he admits , amusement still playing on his face. 

“I don’t usually talk to people on the tube.”

 “Neither do I,” I confess. “But here we are.” 

 “Here we are.” He stops walking, and I realise we are standing in front of a grand stone building. The Royal Courts of Justice loom above us, its gothic architecture sharp and imposing. I hadn’t even noticed where we were headed. 

 “This is me,” he says, glancing at his watch. “I’m already late.”

I want to say something, anything, to keep him there for just a bit longer. There is still so much I don't know about him. “Wait—what’s your name?”

He looks at me for a moment, considering whether to answer. Then he smiles, that brief flicker of amusement returning. “Andrew.”

Andrew. Of course, he is an Andrew. It suits him—serious, stoic, a bit old-fashioned, just like the poetry he carries with him. 

“I’m Mila,” I offer, feeling suddenly small under his gaze. 

“Mila.” He repeats my name like he is testing it out. “I’ll see you on the tube, then.”

And just like that, he turns and walks toward the towering doors of the courthouse. I watch him go, feeling a strange mixture of satisfaction and disappointment. He spoke to me. He has a name. But it isn't enough.

[harrison-abbott]

exploding pen

My pen exploded whilst I was sitting an exam.

Honestly, that’s what happened with the Biro pen – it just burst whilst I was writing, and the ink went all over the exam paper.

I sat there looking at the paper whilst the black ink spread across it. Whilst the hot gymnasium with three hundred people in it blinked all around me.

The pen popped, I think, because I was writing so furiously. Having been paranoid about this test for weeks. It was tricky not to panic. Or choose whether to laugh … I looked around for one of the invigilator chaps, one of those old guys who mooch around the gym, to help me out.

[arch-nemesis-of-our-own]

I love these matchup things so much

thank you for doing this. Can I have a hellaverse matchup (hazbin or helluva)

I’m biro ace, cis girl (she/her)

I am thoughtful, shy, disorganized, with a sense of humor. I am loud and enthusiastic around the people I’m close to, but silent around anyone else. I’m an INTP. My hobbies include singing, drawing, watching television and sometimes baking. The 4 horsemen of my music taste include Indie (maya hawke, kimya dawson) Pop, (megan thee stallion, janelle monae) Musicals (hazbin, heathers, legally blonde) and decades old music (jackson 5, shangri las)

I like gardens, comedy movies, horror podcasts, dogs (pretty much all animals except wasps, hornets and mosquitoes), fruits, thinking about things from my childhood

I dislike racists, homophobes, tramsphobes, etc. Cultural appropriation, pro lifers, lesbian fetishization, race fetishization too, People who talk to much, people who think they’re superior to others just because they’ve been in a fandom for longer, people who cut in line, and people who don’t pick up after their dogs

I am Black. Dark skinned, full lips, all of that. I’d say my fashion sense is near the middle of the futch scale, but more femme leaning.

I like people who are sweet, artsy and funny but who also have an asertive side. My top love languages are quality time and words of affirmation.

Your Helluva Boss matchup is...

Millie!!

I don't know, man, this was such a perfect match to me.

She loves listening to you sing. Karaoke nights are definitely a thing for you two.

Millie's just one of those people that makes you laugh and feel good. She tries her best to take you out of your shell but she'd never pressure at all.

Also, she's just like your personal planner. She casually remembers if you have anything you have to do today that you forgot.

I feel like Millie really does complement you a lot.

You guys are the type of duo to have severe inside jokes that are unexplainable to anyone else in the area. Just Moxxie and Loona deadpanning as you guys lose your shit over what looks like the most unfunny bit ever.

I can just imagine you guys staying up and just talking. Music playing quietly in the background while you guys just chat and air your thoughts out.

She is also very invested in your podcasts.

And she is definitely borrowing your clothes.

Baking dates!! Or at least attempted baking dates. Not too sure if you should trust Millie to focus on baking while you're also goofing off in the kitchen.

Your Hazbin Hotel matchup is...

Lucifer!!

He's just such a silly guy.

He loves spending time with you. he would definitely watch a musical for you.

Lucifer prides himself on being able to make you laugh. He loves seeing your enthusiasm when you're around your friends and just loves seeing you all happy and shit.

If anyone pisses you off, he'll either angrily seethe behind you or actually confront them, honestly, it's whatever you're comfortable with it.

Gardens with you!! He finds it so fun and calming. And, honestly, just loves being with you.

[barneyandthepoetrymuse]

Community…

Here’s my house you can have the run of it…

This is our town, hit it and have some fun with it…

You can say what you want and nothing will come of it…

We’re open all hours and nothing’s off limits…

We don’t burn down bridges and set off alarms…

We deal with the issues and don’t claim to hold the cards…

Nobody gets banished and nobody gets barred…

The rules are fair so no laws need to be passed…

We’re not entitled but we’re entitled to our opinions…

We listen to logic, nobody is conditioned…

We don’t split into groups or split the decisions…

We don’t advocate culture or certain religions….

This isn’t a camp and it isn’t a prison…

We don’t fly to the moon on impossible missions…

We farm the lands and we rear our own chickens…

We don’t live by our screens and in front of our televisions…

This is our community and everyone pitches in…

We won’t shut you down if we don’t like what your saying…

The teachers are teaching, the students are listening…

No need to be humbled when you’re from humble beginnings…

You’re not required to tell me I’m black if I’m white…

Or the night is the day when the day is the night…

It’s safe to assume until the evidence proves otherwise…

We wear the same clothes and drink the same wines…

Our pencils are leaded, there’s ink in our biros…

We don’t fill up our heads we fill up our silos…

We live off our land and not inside Tesco’s…

We don’t spread ideology inside our shop windows…

We listen to the weather and are guided by rainbows…

We won’t get ourselves muddy and claim to be potatoes…

The fields need to be harvested so we plant and we sow…

There really isn’t much else we need to know…

Start up the tractors, get the crops in the ground…

We make our own beer, the hops are renowned…

We know each other and each others backgrounds…

We don’t buy drinks for ourselves, we only buy rounds…

We all help each other, there’s no competition…

We give what we get and we get what we’re given…

There’s no hard feelings and no need for division…

It’s an old fashioned and a long standing tradition…

[tonydaddingham]

2, 13, 14! ✨

JAZZ MY BELOVED💖 14 was taken, but for the other two!!!✨

okay pointless story time from rhi!!! so i got sent a package in the post and it was addressed to someone else, but was obviously from like a small business - and i googled them (name was on their packaging) and they were indeed a small, local business that sold like socks and gloves and stuff, but also baby clothes. obvs didn't open it, but emailed them and said i think they gave you the old address, i'll send it back bc it might be a gift (ie. baby clothes) - but just so you know in case they ask why it's delayed etc etc. anyway, sent it back, and the owner sent me a pair of socks in the post as a thank you - they're like light blue, bamboo socks, with dark purple trim/toes/heel, and ✨✨BABY OTTERS ON THEM✨✨ they're so soft and comfy and are my go-to socks whenever i can

pen, 100% - im really fussy about my biros, have to be black (i use staedtler fineliners for colours), and have to be papermate inkjoys, they write really smoothly... so pretentious i know, but other/generic biros give me the ick, think it's a sensory thing? idk

ask game!

[myhoneststudyblr]

my masterpost | my studygram | ask me anything 

[click images for high quality]

[transcript under the cut]

Other advice posts that may be of interest:

All About Procrastination

How To Study When You Really Don’t Want To

Common Study Mistakes

7 Strategies to Improve Concentration

How to make your notes aesthetic!

Simple additions to elevate your notes!

Disclaimer

You. don't. need. to. make. your. notes. aesthetic.

The best notes are the ones that work for you. It doesn't really matter what they look like if they are functional and help you achieve your goals! If that is no-nonsense quickly scrawled notes in an old biro, then as far as I am concerned those notes are perfect.

I am making this post because I get asked very often how to do pretty notes but aren't quite sure how. I really hope this post gives you some ideas to spice up your notes!

Organise your notes

Plan

Before starting notes, see how much you have to write so you figure out how much space you need.

Sub-headings

An easy way to separate different sections of information that you can still make pretty by using different fonts.

Dividers

Another way to separate sections that can add a bit of interest by using different styles such as dots, vines, stars, waves, or garlands. 

Boxes

The best way to highlight important information! you can draw them yourself with different borders or use post it notes for colour! 

Use a consistent colour scheme

How many colours?

When writing notes, too many colours can make the page seem overwhelming and disorganised. This is why I usually stick to my black pen for writing and then two other colours for headings, highlighting and other accents. The most I would go would be three additional colours, and only if I am very sure that the colours go well together!

What colours should I choose?

There are lots of different ways that you can choose colours depending on what you want for your notes:

MONOCHROMATIC - all one colour in different shades and tints

ANALOGOUS - one main colour paired with the two colours directly next to it on the colour wheel

COMPLEMENTARY - two colours directly opposite each other on the colour wheel

TRIADIC - three colours that are equally placed in lines around the colour wheel, like a triangle

Decorations

Doodles

Doodles add interest to your notes and can also be good forms of notation; for example, a lightbulb next to a key fact. You can also use diagrams.

Stickers

If you aren't confident with drawing stickers can be a good way of adding decoration and illustrations. 

Washi tape

A great way to add patterns and colour to your notes. You can layer different tapes or along boxes and post-it notes.

Shadows

You can add shadows to text and boxes and are an easy way to elevate your notes because they instantly create a 3D effect. 

Stationery

Some supplies you can use in your notes.

A good quality writing pen

A good pen can make all the difference so try some new ones until you find the one that works best for you!

Highlighters

Adds colour, makes key information stand out and can be used for titles. My personal favourites are Zebra Mildliners!

Colour Pens

Like highlighters, they can be used to contrast your normal writing pen and for decorations like doodles and boxes.

Practice makes perfect!

As with everything, practice is how you get better. The first set of notes you do probably won't be the best. Quite frankly, the second, third and fourth sets of notes you do probably won't be either.

But over time, you will develop your own style, discover what you like and also get better at different elements. Even now, I still find myself constantly evolving with my notes and it is so fun to try new things so don't be afraid of not being perfect immediately because, with practice, the only thing you can do is improve!

Good luck with your notes!

I really hope you found this helpful and it gives you some new ideas!

[shove-off-malfoy]

Written for day 14 - ‘love letters’ @hdcandyheartsfest

Love Letters -

To Draco, every letter Harry sends him is a love letter.

21.7.1998 Sent from the Manor, on thick parchment in dark green ink.

Dear P

Har

Potter,

I am almost certain you would rather that I nor anyone else of my nature ever contact you again, but it would not feel right to go without thanking you for what you said at my trial. It was surprising and undeserved. I am endlessly grateful. My mother is safe and well now, thanks to you. Have a good life, Potter. It must sound shocking coming from me, but you of all people really deserve one. And thanks again.

D. Malfoy

-

25.7.1998 Sent from The Burrow, on a crumbled, coffee stained bit of paper in biro.

Malfoy,

I did what I thought you deserved. You don’t deserve Azkaban, so I testified in favour of you not being locked up. Sometimes it’s just as simple as that. As for your mother, I am glad she’s feeling better and I wish you both well.

Try to have a better life, Malfoy. See you around.

Harry

8.2.2001 Sent from Harry Potter’s office on the Fifth floor of the Ministry, on bright pink memo paper and white ink.

Memo from - Mr. H. J. Potter, Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

Directed to - Mr. D. L. Malfoy, Department of Lawfully Mandated Service.

Malfoy,

Heard you’re working on your Potions mastery. If true please come to my office on the fifth floor at lunch today. In urgent need of potions help. It will count towards your community service. Thanks.

(Not obligatory, don’t feel like you have to)

(But I would really appreciate it if you would.)

Harry.

-

8.2.2001 Sent from the break room for the Department of Lawfully Mandated Service, on the back of an old form in black ink.

Dear Potter,

(I don’t think you know how to use brackets.)

I am not allowed to send memos at the Ministry so I will contact you via owl. I am doing my potions mastery - how you know that, I have no idea. Keeping tabs on me Potter?

I would be happy I am available to help, although I’m not sure how much assistance I can provide, being essentially a civilian and convicted death eater. Do your superiors know you’re asking for my help?

I will see you 1 pm sharp.

Draco

-

17.4.2001 Sent from Grimmauld Place living room, corner of a piece of paper work in blue biro.

Draco,

Drinks? 6pm, The Red Lion. The whole lot will be there. And before you say anything, they’ve all invited you. You deserve to come with us, couldn’t have done it without your help after all.

(The bar is Muggle, not just aggressively Gryffindor)

Harry

-

18.4.2001 Sent from flat 42, North Botanic Alley on the back of a takeaway menu.

Dear Potter,

I am endlessly sorry for my behavior last night. Three years with strict limits against any substance use, and I’ve completely forgotten my limits. As it turns out I’m a disappointingly sloppy lightweight.

I can’t actually remember if I said this last night so I am going to now. Thank you for trusting my help those months ago, and letting me assist on the case. Your trust means a lot.

You have mine too.

Draco

-

18.4.2001 Sent from Grimmauld Place master bedroom, rough bit of paper in pencil.

Draco,

I feel the need to tell you that you did say that, and many other sappy truths while far from sober last night. It was a beautiful night, must repeat soon :)

Thank you for trusting me too.

Harry,

-

9.11.2001 Sent from Ron and Hermione’s living room, on Hermione’s ‘special occasion’ floral scented paper in one of her nice fountain pens, accompanied by a firm ‘how dare you use my nice stationery’

Draco,

Games night? You up for it? Just a few of us. Hermione’s left the flew open. Pop round when you’ve closed up the lab.

Harry.

-

9.11.2001 Sent from Remedies in Botanic Alley on a Muggle post-it.

Dear Harry,

Just closing up, see you soon.

Draco.

-

1.1.2003 Written at the fireplace of The Potter House, Godric’s Hollow, waiting for the floo to open.

Draco,

You can pretend you’re not home all you like I’m still going to knock. Please come see me.

An incredible pissy Harry James Potter.

-

3.1.2003 Sent from Harry’s bedroom, The Potter House, Godric’s Hollow on thick parchment.

Draco,

Please talk to me. It’s worse when you shut me out. It’s fine if you regret it, we can just be friends.

I’ll take anything. Anything you want to give, I’ll take it.

Harry.

-

4.1.2003 Sent from kitchen of The Potter House, Godric’s Hollow on the back of an old sugar packet.

Draco for fuck sake you can’t just kiss someone and then completely block them out of your life. Particularly when that someone is me. Open the fucking floo.

-

12.1.2003 Sent from Remedies in Botanic Alley, on the back of an order for eel flesh.

Dear Harry,

I picked up your favourite after work, just coming over now. See you soon.

Draco x

-

24.3.2003 Sent from alley outside Tesco on the receipt for milk.

Draco,

I’ve got milk and snake skin powder. Anything else?

Harry.

-

27.8.2004 Sent from the living room, home, Godric’s Hollow.

Dearest Harry,

Come, home darling. The work can wait until Monday.

I’m waiting for you.

Draco x

-

27.8.2004 Sent from Harry Potter’s office on the Fifth floor of the Ministry, on the back of a photo showing two wizards smiling, written in biro.

Draco,

Coming home. I love you.

Harry.

[thedvilsinthedetails]

rosekiller microfic for the prompt ‘drink’ - 194 words @rosekillermicrofic

he’s stupid your honour. They both are and I love them.

•••

Barty glanced over at Evan, drinking in the view of his best friend’s soft smile. The way his face was illuminated by the soft golden glow of the sunset. Before swiftly looking away. He wished he could let his gaze linger, honestly he never wanted to look away. But he couldn’t. It would wreck everything. He rested his head against Evan’s shoulder gently, trying not to break the moment. Evan turned slightly to look at him.

“It’s beautiful isn’t it?”

“What?”

“The sunset.” 

Barty flushed red with embarrassment as Evan let out a chuckle.

“Er yeah. I should probably get going though I-“

Barty quickly stood up as he spoke.

“Barty.”

Barty felt a hand encircle his wrist, pulling him back impossibly close to Evan.

“Stay with me?”

Evan whispered, their faces only inches apart. Their faces slowly drifted closer and closer together and finally their lips were about press when- 

Barty woke up with a start. He glanced over at his friend’s bed where soft ivory curls could just be seen peaking out from his blanket. 

“Well… fuck me that was weird.” He thought. Then he  turned over to go back to sleep.

•••

[luminnara]

💛 anon here, the girl, the myth, the legend

Puzzles. HEAR ME OUT

The boys live in a fucking sunken hotel. They dont have wi-fi. And neither did the reader, or the hawkins boys.

So the reader and their brood of boys love a puzzle.

Reader. Loves. Arrowwords. If you dont know what arrowwords are, they're a pretty english thing, they're sort of like crosswords? You have a clue and you answer it in the direction the arrow is facing (if you're confused, google it :)) I think theyd get Billy into it. They work on it together and do the old 'every time you get it right you get a kiss'

David is a classic crossword type of fella. So is Dwayne I think. And Steve. They're the 'grown ups' and they're all pretty smart in their own regard. They're the kind of people that seriously do them in the newspaper (because Steve definitely gets the paper every morning and he has to now get 3) and they are super into it, like if marko is on his shit they will be like 'marko shush, I'm focusing on what a 8 letter word for 'on time' is.'

Paul and Marko they might try and do like actual puzzles but they have low attention spans sometimes. Sometimes they are all in and they will sit for hours doing them but others they have no patience. BUT they love wordsearches. And they love wordsearches because reader bought them some sick ass highlighters and felt tip pens so they have like, wordsearches that look like a rainbow threw up on them.

And I'm getting very domestic vibes of like, they all have nights where they all do their own puzzles and they're like, all asking each other the questions and then when someone gets it right they all have fun celebrations and kisses as rewards and billy, with his lifeguard money, 10000 percent saves up and buys everyone their own special puzzle pens. Like steve has super nice parker pen, david has a fountain pen, marko has a blue gel pen, paul has a super good quality black felt tip, Dwayne has those super snazzy pens that the paper pulls out of, reader has a fine line sharpie and Billy has a bright red biro.

I am projecting here but I hope this one is some good domestic fluff

I think this description of arrowwords unlocked a very very ancient memory of that (or something similar) from my long forgotten youth omg

But okay I think they would get SO into something like hunt a killer, where they’ve got this mystery to solve and it’s supposed to take them like 10 hours and they’re all fighting over the ciphers and the clues and at each other’s throats as they go in circles

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

Mystery Writer (Spencer Reid x Reader)

Summary: Spencer finds books at a second hand bookstore that are annotated and he falls the person writing the notes. 

AN: This was part of a fic swap on @imagining-in-the-margins​ server! This is for the marvellous @definitelynotkatesblog​ <3 I really hope you like it! I had to delete the original post because it didn't show up in the tags. This will be staying up regardless of that now.

Masterlist

Your name: submit What is this?

“If you need anything, just let me know!”

Spencer pressed his lips together at the person behind the till before heading deeper into the rows of second-hand books. Familiar titles, old and new, printed on spines in various states of pristine/decay, they tempted him to select and bring them home with him. The clear sections between biographies and fiction guided him deeper into the forest, deeper into finding his way out. He was hoping to adopt one such book for a day off, when he could revisit it with a fresh eye. It would be like seeing an old friend again, remembering why they were friends in the first place with a hint of that initial read through from years ago, and perhaps he would learn something new in the process.

A dull ache in his chest at the sight of The Sign of Four by Arthur Conan Doyle. But he had long since recovered from that heartbreak and he would be able to read this story without feeling that again.

Still. It had been several years since he read this book.

His nervous fingers plucked it off the shelf and the pages fell open for him. A flattened gum wrapper parted the pages like the Red Sea. Spencer lifted it out tentatively. Its creases were ironed in from its role as a temporary bookmark, an impression of scribbled black ink flattened after it was made.

Spencer’s eyes scanned over the page in search of what this gum wrapper might have been guarding.

“Women are never to be entirely trusted – not the best of them.”

In the margins was scribbled:

Product of the time, but still a prick, rude smartarse role a bit dull

Spencer found himself exhaling in light laughter. That a lack of empathy was considered “dull” by this person, when it was something he dealt with in his job almost every day. The confidence in this commentary too, this brazen critique of a much beloved fictional character was left for someone else to find.

His gaze found Watson’s opinion of Holmes’ casual sexism: “atrocious sentiment”. It was circled twice in the same black biro.

Spencer dug his thumb against the text block and flicked through the book. A waft of that book smell lifted from the paper, accompanied by the bold notes of the previous owner dotted across the text until he finally landed on the reverse of the front cover. Two letters – initials - were scratched onto it.

It was with bridled exhilaration that Spencer approached the till and held up the book with a half-smile. His hands were quick to place it down on the counter so that the shop assistant could type the price into the till. His mood was apparently palpable because they seemed just as happy as Spencer to hand him back the novel in a brown paper bag – the receipt tucked inside.

 --->--->--->--->--->

 “Love is an emotional thing, and whatever emotional is opposed to what is true, cold reason, which I place above all things. I should never marry myself, lest I bias my judgement.”  

What a lonely existence and also a lie. See: entire relationship w/ Dr. Watson!

Spencer smiled at this comment. Now all the other instances of a double underlining made sense. Each one produced itself in his mind as evidence that Mr Sherlock Holmes did in fact love. Maybe not marry, but it would have been terribly unconventional for him to wed Doctor John Watson. The unknown author seemed to understand this. They never emphasised if this love was platonic or romantic. But the way in which they proved love existed within this character oft portrayed as emotionless, Spencer simply adored. They were a romantic reader, who still enjoyed reading about the cynic

He grew quite aware of his posture in that moment and he straightened his back. A few clicks of complaint emitted as he stretched, his head twisting from side to side. Screwing his eyes open and shut behind his glasses, he revisited your deduction.

On the dot of the “i” in “lie”, there was a sprinkle of graphite around the indent from where a pencil’s lead had snapped from the effort put into topping off this point. A sprinkle of graphite smudged where the pages pressed together.

Spencer moved on to where a sentence in black biro tried to blend in with the printed words. A memory appeared at the front of his mind: when Rossi was bewildered to learn Spencer and Dr. Alex Blake wrote the newspaper crossword in pen.

The pencil markings were like mini brainstorms, something to revisit and make a solid theory with the black biro. But the planning was never rubbed out.

Little quotes were circled. This mystery critic spent half the book roasting the characters and the other half leaving little exclamation marks and circles around phrases and words when they couldn’t think of something to say. Spencer found it sweet, picturing the thrilling unfolding of events for the reader to revisit.

His heart ached in bittersweet memory as he recalled the contents of Dr Alex Blake’s book The Route of Linguistics. It was necessary pain to create a profile of who this mystery critic was. Yes, he was profiling out of work hours. His evenings were now spent trying to picture the voice behind the notes. The sarcasm, the witty blows to the character’s and author’s ego. He almost wished that he couldn’t read so fast because he finished the book, even with its additional notations, all too quickly. But there was one bonus.

Spencer traced the pad of his fingertip over the exclamation marks describing Mary Morstan. What else might a detractor of the great Sherlock Holmes read?

--->--->--->--->---> 

He had returned to the bookshop in favour of adopting another. Yet he could not find one that satisfied his unknown criteria. It was not until he found himself checking the front pages of the fifth book he had selected, that he realised he was looking for a pair of initials.

Sighing, he placed My Dear Bessie, with its empty front page, back on the shelf. The chances of finding another book containing this mystery critic were so minute. He could probably calculate them if he wanted to dedicate himself to such a disheartening statistic. He’d rather not spend his lunch break doing that, as much as he loved statistics. This once, they did not assure his safety and he remained unsupported by the fact that he could not find any other Arthur Conan Doyle books.

His desperation became most apparent when he thought that perhaps fate should just decide for him. If anything, he would come away with a random book to read through in about ten minutes on a flight back home.

He peeked around the corner of the shelves. The shop assistant at the till was busy writing something down, not paying any mind to the shop’s only customer.

“A random shot had no better odds than just picking books off one by one” is what he told himself as he closed his eyes and placed his fingers on the end of the shelf, just over the first book’s spine. In an “S” pattern, his arm moved up and down, over the books and shelves and gaps between units. His feet stepped forwards into the space he knew was clear.

Spencer stopped and opened his eyes, his finger shifting just an inch out of the way of his new book’s title.

Circe. Madeline Miller.

He tapped the top and the book fell forwards, where he caught it. Its shining dust jacket was serving its purpose, a few tears along the edges from where it had protected the hardcover. He checked the front page. A map of Aiaia in orange and brown filled it to the corners. On the next page, his heart stuttered at the sight of two initials in the same handwriting and the same biro. There was also a scribble - invisible to start with then a ball of black.

The first page with the story’s text held a scribble just above its opening line:

the power of the name

“When I was born, the name for what I was did not exist.”

He could see that the first was in a blunt pencil, but the addition was a sharpened point carving into the paper. A secondary thought that was provided after completing the novel, they had added it. Spencer lifted it to his face, his eyes crossing to keep the stipple in focus. The scent of the paper and the graphite reached him easily; the note must have been made just before Circe was gifted to him. How lucky he was to find such a treasure.

The shop assistant was cutting out a new sign for “BUY ONE GET ONE HALF PRICE!”. By the time Spencer made it to them, the sign was placed upon the pile besides him. The shop assistant smoothed out a crease on the dust jacket, ineffectively but Spencer admitted the gesture. He was glad that someone who loved books as much as him got to work in a place like this.

--->--->--->--->--->

Spencer’s mind, definitely for worse, echoed the words off the tabloids around his head the split second he made eye contact with the headlines. He paced the shelves to somewhere a little quieter. When he found the chocolate aisle, he pretended to peruse. Ever half a minute or so, his gaze drifted up to the till area where the shop owner was on a phone call and clearly not paying attention to him.

It was not long before Spencer grew bored of looking at KitKats, and he pulled out One Thousand And One Nights. The book’s pages fell again to page 57. This shop’s receipt stood above them, still holding its place from the previous owner. It felt wrong to part the two.

No new people had entered this corner shop for 8 minutes. He’d even given the time at the receipt’s end a fifteen-minute margin either side. Given that this mystery critic took a break from work at the same time on the same day of the week – and that they worked during the day – he should have seen them. Maybe he had, and they were that man in the baggy hoodie who stunk of weed. Probably not. Hopefully not. Not that Spencer was judging him for his… recreational activities. He just wanted the mystery critic to be someone he could realistically spend time with.

Just then, Spencer’s phone trilled annoyingly loud. He received a glare from the shop manager and Spencer sent an awkward apologetic expression his way before answering JJ quickly.

“Spencer, we’ve got a case. We need you here ASAP.”

His response was immediate. “Ok, be there in ten.” Hanging up, Spencer dithered on the spot then grabbed a packet of Cheetos. He’d been there for nearly twenty minutes; he had to get something.

“Three dollars,” the manager said before returning to his call. But not before he rolled his eyes at Spencer. Spencer dropped the bills onto the counter and dashed out before he could be offered a receipt.

--->--->--->--->---> 

  An outlier in the usual length of case work had passed by in five long days. Spencer hardly ever regretted the time he put into this job. Every unsub caught was lives saved. But the absence of his mystery commentator had been niggling at the back of his busy mind and he was glad to finally reunite with them on this long flight back.

From his satchel, he recovered the copy of One Thousand And One Nights and began rereading the notes to ground himself in the story. His focus lingered on the page as if he were reading it at the average 250 words per minute. It allowed him to block out the humming of the engine.

Spencer did not take his eyes off the page as he pulled open his desk drawer and popped a piece of overpriced gum into his mouth. Half-hearted reminders bounced in his head, from when he tried smoking and chewing gum to ease his cravings. The fruit flavour was very clearly artificial and it faded within six minutes. Why his mystery critic would pick such a pathetic packet of gum to chew, he didn’t know. But hopefully the fact of its flavour disappearing fast would mean they get through the packet quicker and buy another soon. Even if today, and the days before, spent in that shop did not lean in favour of that hypothesis.

--->--->--->--->--->

The Five People You Meet In Heaven was in the Recently Donated pile. It was near the top, slid towards the edge of the container after being placed wonkily on a copy of some sports autobiography.

Within the pages was more than Spencer could have ever hoped for. Entire paragraphs were circled, quotes underlined. A squashed mini post-it note tabbed the page and a whole paragraph was scrawled on it, about Tala. An arrow pointing to the underside, Spencer lifted the flap and saw more to read, like an interactive pop-up book that he’d gotten Henry for his second birthday. Spencer closed his eyes quick and snapped the book shut. He wanted to save it for when he was sitting comfortably, not while he was rushing back to work in time for JJ to get to her lunch break on time.

The shop assistant had just clipped the lid back onto a green highlighter when Spencer drew up to their counter. With careful fingers, he placed the book upon it. There was a twitch of the assistant’s mouth; their eyes brightened. They looked like they wanted to say something, but something else held them back from making the first move. Spencer recognised it from his school days.

“It’s a good read.” He spoke after they had typed the price into the till.

“I know,” The assistant replied instantly, a relieved smile on their lips, “What part are you on?”

“I’ve already read it, but I wanted to revisit the passage at the diner.”

“Ahh, that’s a good bit. One of my favourites.”

Spencer’s eyebrows furrowed a fraction of an inch. His gaze dropped to the nametag on the left side of their chest. Y/N, their name’s first initial. It couldn’t be.

“What did you think about the final person, Tala?”

“Oh,” The shop assistant clutched at their heart, “I was an emotional wreck before and it hit me hard just as the rest did. So bittersweet to hear her forgiveness. It took me a few times to finish reading the end, but it was all worth it.”

He couldn’t be this lucky, to get this many books from the same person and to have them standing in front of him. Spencer didn’t believe in luck.

As he reached across for his new book, he turned over the cover, “Was this yours?”

Twisting their head around to read the publication details, the assistant – Y/N - smiled sheepishly at the initials. “Yes, and I’m glad to see it go to a new home.”

Apparently luck believed in him.

“But,” Spencer felt his brows knit automatically as he looked between the book and their previous owner, “You love it. I-I’ve seen your notes.”

A hand clapped over Y/N’s mouth, “Oh God, you must have. I mean, it wasn’t the intention initially, but I thought they might be a little entertaining for anyone who picks it up to leave them in there.”

“Oh, they were! I’d love to read more of your thoughts. Hear, hear them, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Y/N checked the door to the shop, still shut, and back to Spencer. They dropped their elbows onto the countertop with their chin in their palms. “What did you wanna know?”

From his bag, Spencer procured his – their – copy of The Sign of Four and flicked through the pages. So many places to choose, but he wanted to open with what had introduced him to Y/N’s analysis.

The pair put their heads together, leaning on the counter. Spencer could smell the chewing gum on their breath. Y/N never cut him off, and he never wanted to cut them off. There were little pauses at the end of each of their turns to speak before the other picked up where they had left off. Their voices leapt from secretive whispers to passionate orations of their favourite passages, rebounding evidence and analysis off each other like a bouncy ball. Spencer finally had a voice to put to the sarcasm, the one his mind had conjured long forgotten in the wake of Y/N’s enthusiasm.

The shop’s door swung open. Spencer leapt to attention as an older woman swept in, past the two of them towards the non-fiction section. Y/N adjusted their name tag, their back straight too. The clock behind the till announced that it was now twenty minutes after the end of Spencer’s lunch break.

Running on the rush of his hobby meeting a potential friend, Spencer asked, “Can I get your number? So we can talk more, maybe swap some more books, when you’re not working?”

His luck was still by his side as Y/N wrote out their number on his receipt, written in their infamous black biro.

--->--->--->--->---> 

  Spencer leapt over to the door of his apartment, took a deep breath, and unlocked it. Stood behind where it had been was Y/N and they too were still wearing the uniform from work. Their nametag was still on their polo shirt, the same spot that Spencer wore his FBI tag.

“Can I get you a drink?” He asked the second they made a step inside his abode.

“Tea would be great. Milk and one sugar please.”

And while he was in the kitchen, Y/N rushed over to the bookshelves, their eyes wide to take in Spencer’s collection. “Oh wow! You weren’t joking!” Their finger indicated to a hard cover copy of Mean Time by Carol Ann Duffy, “That’s one of mine. Well, yours now.”

Plucking it from the shelf, they opened it up. Spencer had written his initials beside theirs.

Spencer stuck his head out in the partition, “Ours. If we’re going to be sharing.” Y/N stood on tiptoes, teeming with delight, their hands cradling the book with all the care Spencer could hope for in a fellow reader. Joint custody of their books and their passion? What a dream.

“I just have to write a little more about the epilogue, and I’ll be with you,” Y/N took their place on his couch. A pencil began scribbling away their thoughts onto the last few pages. Their knees were their desk.

Spencer finished brewing and placed the mug in front of Y/N, who mumbled a quick thank you to him. He joined them in writing his final notes. It slowed him down a considerable amount, but he was glad to take things at a casual pace, especially considering the way that Y/N almost broke their pencil as they scrawled out their thoughts for Spencer to hear later.

“Have you thought about the next one you’d like to try?” Spencer asked tentatively. He wasn’t so sure if Y/N would want to be interrupted.

Luckily for him, Y/N paused their stream of consciousness to look back at his books, “Hmm. So much to choose from.”

Stood up, their book left in Spencer’s care. They took a deep breath, closed their eyes and used their forefinger to draw a zigzag over the spines. Spencer felt that he was almost sick with joy.

Y/N stilled their wandering hand and opened their eyes, already drawing out the selected novel, “This one.”

“And what have you chosen for me next time?”

Y/N handed over The Butterfly Lion from their bag, “Ok, I can’t wait any longer, what do you think?”

They sat back on the couch. Their legs now hung over the arm of the couch, elbows either side and face cupped in their palms. The book rested in their lap. Shifting so that he faced them completely, Spencer returned to the first page and his analysis began.

[emberheart]

Romanticisms from today

Because life is short and romanticising it makes it better (:

Bus journeys. It was raining on my bus today and I was listening to slowed childhood songs and it was a v i b e

Bringing old books to school and reading them in my study periods while I procrastinate my school work, sitting by the window and pretending there was no one else there but me

Running through the rain when my friend and I were late for the bus and there were raindrops clinging to her eyelashes and making my hair go frizzy and it didn't matter at that moment that we both had exams that morning because we were alive.

Sitting at the front in my ethics lesson, half turned around in my seat when we were talking about the afterlife and what happens after you die, thinking like philosophers from ancient Greece and looking at the same clouds as they did.

Taking an exam in my English class, palms scrubbed clean of the ink on them and writing with a cheap black biro in quick, basically illegiable handwriting, clean copies of poems in front of me and a scribbled sheet of 5-minute planning.

Buying an iced coffee on the way home from school and walking home in the rain in a checked skirt and my sister's blazer, boots splashing in puddles and listening to acoustic songs and forgetting about the train wreck of an essay I wrote because the rain sounded pretty and the coffee was on offer and nothing else mattered but right here and right now.

[jesuisgourde]

gay/queer references in Peter’s journals

Again, I have probably missed stuff due to going through pretty quickly and also due to having stared at this document for so long, everything has kind of blurred together.

Sometime close to the day that Carlos & I watched 'Love And Death on Long Island' (and afterwards paraded through the tea rooms of Picadilly) we both filled in application forms and were tres excited to be invited to the same group 'interview' - twas more like an audition though. I got the part. Carlos never. This did not bring any animosity - we both know that success for either of us is magnified a million times if it is shared by us both.

from 'A Diamond Guitar' by Truman Capote "Except that they did not combine their bodies or think to do so, though such things were not unknown at the (Prison), they were as lovers. Of the seasons, spring is the most shattering: stalks thrusting through the earth's winter-stiffened crust, young leaves cracking out on old left-to-die branches, the falling asleep wind cruising through all the newborn green. And with Mr Schaeffer it was the same, a breaking up, a flexing of muscles that had hardened. It was late January. The friends were sitting on the steps of the sheep house, each with a cigarette in his hand. A moon thin and yellow as a piece of lemon rind curved above them, and under its light, threads of ground frost glistened like silver snail trails. Tico Feo had been drawn into himself - silent as a robber waiting in the shadows."

Then a meet with Bounds Green's African prince outside whitechapel tube, rugged lookies at I in military attire & to a ruptured Albion rooms tidied in hours and now lids drawn heated on the eyes. A young looking fella has a crush on me.

Jackie/Camillia/Marie/Kate/Chris/V. churchill Jackie/Evelina/Jasmine/Sachi/Dalston/Sussie Sandra/Carlene/FP/Jay/Dalston/Kraut

There sat a young black man, perhaps in his early or middle twenties. He looked for all the world like the archetypal rude boy. Clean, cheap reebok, nike, adidas variously rolled, laced & zipped about his lean, spreadeagled body that hung loosely about the waiting room chair. Gold & tattoos adorned his person, and a blank animal look was attached to his clear face. He sat before me in a row of four empty chairs, staring at polished floor or the mundane television. A balding white man minced in & all perceptions were suddenly proven to be false as they embraced and snuggled up to each other, giggling & whispering & touching each others noses.... very much in love, fingers crossed for the blood tests.

[Image: an article from Gay Times of an interview with Peter. For some reason, the portrait included alongside the article is of Carl wearing a grey and black t-shirt.] Name? Peter Doherty Age? 22 Where are you? I'm on the motorway just north of Southampton. What kind of day are you having? (Vaguely) Erm... quite misty. Something's waiting around the corner, but there are no corners on the motorway, so we'll just have to wait and see what lies ahead. Maybe something will happen tonight.... What's this we hear about you once being a rent boy? Well, when times are hard, duty calls. How long ago was it? When I was 19, about three years ago. How do we know this isn't just a Shaun Ryder-type lie? 'Cause if it was, it would make me a complete scumbag and I'm not, and I'm not interested in that kind of pantomime. It wasn't a very happy time. I didn't really enjoy it. Why did you give it up? (grimly) Well, certain people disappeared... and anyway, ultimately I found myself no longer in such a vulnerable position anymore. Dawn broke, and I realised that it was a beautiful world after all. Have you done any other dodgy jobs? All of us in the band have tried to deal, but it's not good if you like the drugs too much. You just end up using them yourself! I once was a gravedigger. I used to do it with my mate in Willesden Green cemetery. We didn't actually do the digging, a machine did that, but we used to have to fill them in. It was pretty grim work. So are you gay then? Love is love, wherever it comes from. I'm not anything, really. I am a very sexual person but... I dunno, I believe in liberty... The Marquis de Sade has a lot to answer for... Do you get a lot of gay fans? Yeah - well, there's one guy in particular. He's very shy and he follows us around. He brings in letters and cards and stuff, but he's very quiet. I think John (the bassist) is the main pulling power in the band. Are you jealous about that? Nah! I've known him too long.

You know I'm alright i dont even care i like it when they stare & stare call me queer, dear oh dear a million things & what I wear He's real hard when he's with his mates but I'll saw him again & he was too late

Dear NME I'd have thought after the Gay Times piece, the interview with Rapture fanzine & our recent gig at the Slum Club everything would be clear. No it still remains to give a big hearty fuck off to all these twisted suburban types calling me a liar. Vulnerable young men & women all over the world find themselves victims of circumstance.

she was dressed in suit & tie & lightly etched-on moustache. 'I've always wanted to kiss a bird in the back of a taxi.' she says, running her hand up the fishnet ladders of my thigh. Stepping onto the front line in Bow puddles, elevators, buzzing doors,

[Image: the original page in the book has been preserved. Two paragraphs have been boxed off with biro. They read:] “...cast Richard Burton and Rex Harrison as bickering queer barbers and then much more uncompromisingly in William Friedkin's adaptation of The Boys in the Band (1970), which introduced some of the plainer four letter words in the English language to the screen for the first time. 'Who,' asks Cliff Gorman, in his brilliant portrayal of the most effeminate of the homosexual group as they gather for a soul-searching party, 'Who do you have to fuck to get a drink around here?' Other homosexual manifestations to occur in movies around this time included an elliptical but unmistakeable male fellatio scene in John Schlesinger's Midnight Cowboy (1969) when Jon Voight, as a broke and disillusioned Texas stud importunes in a New York cinema....”

[Image, top left: a blurry photo of John onstage, playing bass. Image, top right, sideways: a photo of the band onstage. Carl and John are on the left, sharing a mic. Peter is on the right, playing guitar and singing into his own mic. Image, centre left: a torn photo of Peter sitting in a chair, shirtless, playing guitar. Only his bottom half from the chest down is visible. Image, centre left: a torn photo of Peter sitting in a chair, shirtless, playing guitar. Only his top half from shoulders up is visible. Image, bottom left: a torn fragment of a photo. What looks like a denim-clad knee and a yellow carrier bag are visible. Image, bottom middle: a photo of someone's knee in torn jeans, taken from under a table. Image, bottom right: a torn photo of Carl in a black sleeveless shirt, posing with his fingers in his mouth.] [A paragraph from the original page of the book has been left exposed and boxed off with black biro. It reads:] “The Boys in the Band was displaced by an immeasurably more powerful portrayal of homosexual groups, Fortune and Men's Eyes (1971). Set in a Quebec prison, this disturbing, factually based drama vividly recounted the corrupted of a heterosexual convict trapped in a tough, potentially vicious homosexual society. In one horrifying scene, a weak, put-upon prisoner is gang-banged by his fellow inmates; in another, the 'hero' is blackmailed by his cellmate into accepting him as his lover for the duration...”

Like a cat on a hot tin roof Like a macho man in a roomful of poofs I have tried in my way to be free.

[Written in Peter's handwriting] Jerome... is that how it's spelt? [Written in someone else's handwriting] Yes it is [Written in Peter's handwriting] Can I read you something? [Written in someone else's handwriting] Yes please.....

I insist, new book of Albion, befuddled by drugs I may yes about 2 but I do not miss out entirely on the subtleties of the inhuman relation ships that are this the mainstay of my stay here in one bounce of a loaf. Boys are fooled into fooling with boys. [...]

More general references/some extra explanations:

“The boy looked at Johnny” is a line from Patti Smith's song “Horses,” part one of a three-part song called “Land.” In the song, a young man named Johnny is assaulted by another man in a locker room; he then mentally journeys to other fantastical lands and visions. A lot of people interpret it as being about gay sex, although some people interpret it as being about a stabbing.

Peter quotes and references Jean Genet's writing and works about Jean Genet many times. While Genet's works are nearly all about crime and prison (one of Peter's main interests and points of fascination), all of his works are very explicitly gay. The Thief's Journal is more about Genet's various lovers than it is about his criminal history. Our Lady Of The Flowers is about a drag queen and her criminal lovers, and is also extremely erotic.

(“Jerome” is Jerome Alexandre, vocalist of The Deadcuts, who was friends with Peter and Mark Keds.)

[thegirlfulloffandoms]

Boggie britgate fic

3:30 pm On Wednesday, its detention in room d12 of St Cuthbert's catholic college, London. Maths department.

Notorious Roadman Reginald Peters, better known as Rezza in the community (named after his dad's favourite rolling papers), sits in Mr Wilson's classroom, feet on the table and phone in hand. He's texting his friends about how Mr Wilson was a softie and how it's more proof that he's dodgy dave.

Then Bobby walks in, a perfect uniformed year 9 with dark curtains wanders in looking a little guilty.

' The pope visited last week,Dickhead ' Reggie says, his fingers still typing out a message, most likely one filled with more terrible spelling than Luke's pronunciation.

'Some of us have standards to upkeep you cheeky sod' is Bobby's response, not that kind Reggie expected to hear, especially from the son of the maths department head, but one that seemed to send his heart into an unexpected whirl of thudding.

'Wasteman', he mutters under his breath, looking back down at his phone smirking slightly.

'at least I can spell paedophile.' Bobby tuts sitting down beside him, much to Rezza's dislike. 'you should be in English detention for that shit spelling.'

'piss off,im dyslexic, you twat, at least my da don't pay for all my shit' Reggie scoffs as he turns towards him, a glare in his eyes, a permanent fixture of his face around most people.

He scans his eyes over the other boy. He could get along with him pretty well but, he was the son of his sworn enemy why, the fuck would he want an alliance with such-Bloody hell, Bobby, has cracking eyes doesn't he? Was that eyeliner around them?

It was like someone brought Vlad from Young Dracula to life,except he was like 14 and well,real and surprisingly even better looking.

‘Reggie,i do a goddamn paper round to pay for my shit’ Bobby huffs pulling out his exercise books and a graffiti decorated red pencil case,’anyway i pissed him off’ he grins with a strange sense of pride,who takes pride in pissing off their parents? Reggie struggles to get any positivity from his nevermind getting in trouble.

‘What the fuck did you do? Throw a paper aeroplane in the air with a rumour that he’s screwing Miss Jones?’ Reggie teases,raising an eyebrow and crossing his arms as he looks at him.

‘I broke a dining hall window’ he mutters,not looking up from his book,scribbling the date in black biro in the top corner,’with a chair’

‘You got just detention for that? Fucking hell your dad is a proper wet wipe ain’t he?’ Reggie’s glare is gone,now replaced by an impressed smirk,’HE’S NOT-’ Bobby begins to shout looking at Reggie who is now stifling a laugh,’he’s not a wet wipe,he just treats me differently because im his son,not just a random student’

‘So you’re his favourite then?’ 

‘I wouldn’t say that,i mean you called him a nonce and that's expulsion worthy’

‘Not if the paint comes off’ Reggie winks,rocking back on his chair,obviously forgetting all the teachers warnings.

‘You’re a shit you know that Peters?’ Bobby shakes his head,turning to look at his page of scruffy looking lines,’Rezza is my name innit,im meant to be’ Reggie smirks putting on the voice for effect,feeling weirdly comfortable around Bobby,even though he was the son of his worst enemy.

‘Cut the shit,you’re not hard’ he mutters back,kicking his chair,causing it to screech back.

‘Says you,daddy’s boy’ Reggie scoffs.

‘Well yeah?! I fucked your mum’ Bobby shouts getting more heated as they continue talking,’you fuck my mam? She doesn't live with me tosser’ Reggie calls back,shifting his chair forward.

Bobby stops,his snarky nature dropping when he sees the new pain in Reggie’s eyes,roadmen have feelings too. ‘Woah,hold up,you live with your dad? That prick with the old banger of a ford car?’

‘Yeah ,my childhood was rough’ Reggie shrugs casually,looking at him,’rah stop feeling sorry for me,it’s not a big deal’ he snaps,’why didn’t you tell me? My dad could help-’

‘Yuh but he’s a nonce ain’t he?’

‘For god's sake he’s not a nonce’ Bobby sighs.

‘Alright he’s done nowt wrong,but he looks dodge’ Reggie says, poking Bobby with his finger.

‘Reggie,we were friends last year,what changed?’ Bobby asks softly,changing the subject to one Reggie hadn’t planned for.

‘No we weren’t’ Reggie turns his head away,’Reg’ Bobby continues to push.

‘I COCKED EVERYTHING UP’ Reggie shouts standing up suddenly,his chair falling back,’what made you think that?’ Bobby steps back a little worried at what could happen next.

‘You took me off your snap streaks’ Reggie mutters,’you dropped me like tories drop their kids’

‘They still pay hush money,anyway i never dropped you,i stopped doing them for everyone’ Bobby takes a step closer,taking his hand in his.

‘I got caught up in the grind Rezza,and forgot about my main man,a true king never forgets about his main man,even if he egged his dad's new car’

‘Can we peng things together again?’ Reggie looks up to him,moving in a little closer.

‘Forever innit’ Bobby smiles,pulling him in for a kiss.

A few moments later Mr Wilson walks in,even though he’s happy they’re back together,public displays of affection go against school rules,meaning an extra half hour of detention.

[ultraclops]

Day 3: Be True To Yourself

Aka me literally just infodumping about my Ocs because I love them ♡

Brought to you by Colorvision! Yep, I decided to get off my lazy butt and color traditionally today :)

First off, Tiara Depurrnaire (She/Her)! A Sweetypie cat who's partially related to the Snugglemagne family and, in my timeskip AU, Adorabat's future girlfriend. Like Adorabat, she lost her leg to a monster while wandering the King's dungeons. She aspires to be just as brave as Adorabat but lacks the gall, being content to watch and learn from the sidelines. As they both get older Tiara realizes that she is a lesbian, and develops a mutual crush on Adorabat that turns into a relationship. As she ages, Tiara' aspirations to become a hero fade, and she settles for becoming a ballet teacher. She learns to be brave in her own way and unconditionally supports her monster-slaying adventuring partner, no matter how their paths diverge.

T H E Y (Also I need to post my full adult Adorabat design sometime)

Next up is Sherbet (They/Them), a Sweetypie rabbit who makes ice cream for a living! I don't really have a backstory for them but I believe they realized they were nonbinary in their younger years (around early middle school age) and have fully embraced their identity! They don't let anything get them down and are eager to cheer up the citizens of Pure Heart Valley, one ice cream cone at a time. They're also good acquaintances with Badgerclops and Adorabat, for obvious reasons. Their eyes function similarly to Badgerclops', as they only open when they feel strong emotions.

Next (and honestly one of my favorites) is Moa Nola (Xe/Xem), an agender Oriental Shorthair cat who, surprisingly, isn't related to the Mao clan. Xe originally started off as a joke character based on the misspelling of Mao Mao's name in "I'm Mao Mao", but I eventually grew attached to xem and gave xem a full-fledged backstory. Xe comes from a family of fishermen, but after xyr father was killed in a monster attack, xe decided that xe wanted to become a legendary monster hunter. Xe created xyr cloak after xyr first successful monster fight. After being mistaken for the son of Shin Mao too many times, xe used it to xyr advantage and began going under Mao Mao's title for a while. However, after being stopped by Mao Mao himself, xe dropped the act and began looking for a new sense of purpose. Ironically, xe starts collecting antique ventriloquist dummies similar to Mr. Din Danalin.

Following up on the "based on a misspelling" theme is Rhapsody (She/They), a femme-aligned nonbinary Sweetypie vampire bat inspired by Adorabat's name being mistranslated as "doorbat" in YouTube autocaptions. She is Adorabat maternal cousin, as their mother is Sonara's sister. Rhapsody was heavily impacted by Sonara's death, but rather than becoming tough like Adorabat or overprotective like Eugene, she became more reserved out of fear that they could be next. In other words, she became a doorbat (haha funny). With the arrival of Mao Mao and Badgerclops, plus the defeat of the monster that killed their aunt, Rhapsody begins to come out of her shell and indulges in their biggest passion - music. Like Adorabat she learns to use their voice as a weapon, but hers is more of a siren's song than a sonic screech. In my timeskip AU, they leave Pure Heart Valley to become a popstar, writing songs inspired by her childhood memories and their home. It's obscured by the flag but the marking on her chest is a bleeding heart, emphasizing her passionate drive.

(Rhapsody's kid and adult forms [kinda old])

+ OCs of mine I didn't feel like making alternate drawings for:

Buzz-Buzz (Zhe/Ze/Zhey), a demigender Sweetypie bumblebee bat who protects the bees of Pure Heart Valley! Despite zer small stature, zhe is actually an adult, just naturally small. Zhe also grows herbs on the side and volunteers at the Pure Heart Valley hospital. Primarily because zhe has a crush on the head doctor there... (I did not make zer to selfship with Cuddlestein. Nope. Not at all.)

My Badgermao "fankid", Sai (They/He/It)! I say "fankid" in air quotes because they're from an AU where Badgerclops' spare arm became corrupt and gained a conscience. Their robot arm is actually their body - the rest of their body is a projection of light, similar to the gems from Steven Universe! They have masculine programming (as their AI was made using Badgerclops's DNA a la Cortana from Halo), but identify as agender and use they/he/it pronouns. Originally they began as a blank slate with no personality aside from the programmed personality Badgerclops gave them, but they eventually grow their own personality and moral compass as they analyze the Sheriff's Department's work. Just like Badgerclops, they have a passion for building robots and weapons, and can even modify themselves to fit the situation! Most of their creations are usually for fun, though.

Anf the last one I have a reference for but not the least, Karma Vesper (She/They)! This one is actually my self-insert, lol. She is a biro-ace demigirl Javanese Cream-Point Cat! Her necklace was a gift from her family, and her hood was a gift from her mentor. After her village was ambushed by criminals, she became a wandering hero, and accidentally stumbled upon Pure Heart Valley while following a report of increased monster activity. At some point during her adventures alone she realized that she was biro-ace, since she felt no sexual attraction but still felt romantic attraction. Around the time she came to Pure Heart Valley she realized that she never really felt, like, 100% a GIRL girl (if that makes sense) and began identifying as a demigirl. (Yes this is my hidden self-actualization story :>) She enjoys researching gemstones and ancient artifacts, and the Ruby Pure Heart immediately caught her attention once she laid eyes on it. While she is still a wandering hero, she has a temporary residence in Pure Heart Valley, where she stays to research the Heart's powers as well as assist the townspeople. Her and the Sheriff's Department didn't start out on the best terms since Mao was worried she was trying to replace them, but they tolerate each other now.

+ the OCs I don't have references for:

I did have a reference for these guys but idk where it is rn ;-;. Anywway, my most recent OCs and also some of my favorite OCs are Bernard and Pierre, a black bear and polar bear respectively (both use He/Him)! They are both gay and in a healthy relationship & live in a cabin in the forest together. They are just. Two old gay granddads and I love them. Anyway! They both met after an accident which caused Bernard to blow out his left knee and Pierre to lose his left hand; they had been best friends since, and boyfriends later on! Bernard is a baker while Pierre is a wood carver, although they indulge in each other's interests as well. For the most part they just stay in their cabin in the forest, but they leave to buy groceries and sell their products.

And the final OC I'm gonna talk about is Storm Mao (They/Them)! They're from an AU where Mao was born in a litter of five, like his sisters. Ever since Storm were young, they felt like weren't "normal" compared to their siblings. They didn't feel like a girl or a boy. After Mao came out as a trans boy, they began questioning themselves further. Eventually they decided to ask Contacts Sister for help, as she was among the smartest of the Mao children. Contacts explained to Storm that there are people who don't identify as a boy or a girl, and Storm realized they weren't alone. Since then, they started identifying as nonbinary and began using they/them pronouns, and their family supported their decision. Aside from them and Mao, their litter siblings are also LGBTQ+ - Mamoru (He/Him) is AroAce, Bernadette (She/Her) is bi and Zhijun (He/Him) is gay. I'd talk about the AU more in a separate post, if anyone wants me too^ ^;;

If I remember any other LGBTQ+ OCs I have, I'll reblog with them ✌