thearoaceplantmom
lonely human with a lot of plants and books
history will remember us 🏳️🌈 | ao3:
@thearoaceplantmom
she/they | 18 | aroace
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mikhailkemikal
M1KӔL КƎM1KΔL
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I Believe In You!
sidneypoindexter
It Came From Locker 724!
iezamorgana
Lady Morgana
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First Year Regulus: Do I talk too much?
First Year Evan: My guy, this is the first time you’ve spoken all day and it’s late in the evening.
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c: @akwardsilince
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I suddenly just want a SoC au where Kaz bakes. Everything else is the same but he bakes and everyone knows it. Inej knows it. Jesper too. Even Pekka Rollins does.
Wylan arrives and is expecting Brekker's infamous butter salted pretzel but he doesn't get it until he finds it in his satchel after he meets his mum with Jesper. He didn't know if he was grateful or wanted to throw it at Kaz's head
Inej constantly finds doughnuts and scones in her pockets. One time she's starving and cold on a roof somewhere in Ketterdam on a job for Kaz and she's looking for a little carving knife to fidget with and she finds three little pretzels in a paperbag in her pocket.
Matthias finds a plate with a muffin on it with the icing shaped like a red bird in his cell the day they broke him out. At one point in Crooked Kingdom he had a craving for Dirtyhand's salted caramel cookies and he wanted to exorcise himself
Inej's parents love his baked goods since the first time he baked them an entire lemon coconut almond moist cake. He presented Zoya with pineapple pie when they went to meet Sturmhond.
Nikolai finds a venison pie shaped like a steam ship in his office after his and Jesper's visit
Nina is banned from his kitchen.
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Imagine this. The stadtwatch finds a tunnel underground somewhere in Ketterdam. They're like "Wtf is this doing here", climb in and follow the tunnel, thinking it's leading them to an underground crime syndicate or something, only to find Kaz freaking Brekker at the end of it with a shovel in his hand. They just stare at him for a moment and he stares back until he eventually says "Leave" with his appalled, scratchy ass voice as if they just broke into his living room and invaded his privacy. The stadtwatch officers are entirely confused and unsure how to handle this situation, so they just awkwardly retreat, one of them even mumbles a "Sorry".
Kaz turns back to his work shaking his head, being all like "The NERVE of some people"
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Hello! I am a young -like, under eighteen- aspiring author and I am currently writing a book. I am nervous about the whole affair and would enjoy some advice! Why, I pretend I hear you asking? It's because I'm worried that the... uh, excrement will hit the fan.
I would really appreciate tips, especially from you, cause you're a literary genius and an author, so if you have any tips- well, I'd appreciate the advice.
In other words. HOW DO I WRITE PLEASE TELL ME YOUR SECRETS!
Thanks!
You write. You finish things. You write the nest thing. You make your peace with the things you write not being as good as the things in your head. You keep writing.
Once you've started writing things that aren't as bad as the first things, you start letting people see them.
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Y'all, the world is sleeping on what NASA just pulled off with Voyager 1
The probe has been sending gibberish science data back to Earth, and scientists feared it was just the probe finally dying. You know, after working for 50 GODDAMN YEARS and LEAVING THE GODDAMN SOLAR SYSTEM and STILL CHURNING OUT GODDAMN DATA.
So they analyzed the gibberish and realized that in it was a total readout of EVERYTHING ON THE PROBE. Data, the programming, hardware specs and status, everything. They realized that one of the chips was malfunctioning.
So what do you do when your probe is 22 Billion km away and needs a fix? Why, you just REPROGRAM THAT ENTIRE GODDAMN THING. Told it to avoid the bad chip, store the data elsewhere.
Sent the new code on April 18th. Got a response on April 20th - yeah, it's so far away that it took that long just to transmit.
And the probe is working again.
From a programmer's perspective, that may be the most fucking impressive thing I have ever heard.
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(Inspired by @wolfstarmicrofic 's Alternative Universes theme! A sort of combined Performer AU and College AU🙂)
1058 words
Sirius Black's emotional break-up songs are topping the charts all over the world. But hearing those songs everywhere he goes, Remus is about to reach his breaking point.
With His Song
Home is where the heart is,
But it's not the concrete, nor the stone,
Not the room you sit in,
But the smile that lights it up.
Not the bed you sleep in,
But the heartbeat besides your own.
Home is where the heart is,
But it's not necessarily a place,
Sometimes, it's tracing the scars on someone's hand,
Sometimes, it's counting the freckles on someone's face.
It's been so long,
Coming home to you,
And did you know,
I could easily move on?
But the truth is,
I just don't want to.
If home is where the heart is,
Then baby, could it be,
That your home is still with me?
Mary lets out a sigh that seems to be coming from somewhere deep inside of her. “My god, I'm going to listen to that song on repeat for the rest of the week,” and after a moment she adds “potentially the rest of my life.”
“Then you're gonna have to get some headphones,” Remus says. “Because I'm already getting sick of hearing it.”
Mary gasps and clutches her chest. “Blasphemy!”
Remus gives her an unimpressed look. “I don't think you're using that word right.”
“‘Irreverence toward something considered sacred or inviolable’,” Mary states unfazed. “So yes, the perfect description of you insulting Sirius Black's music.”
Emmeline nods emphatically.
Remus sighs. “I'm not saying it's a bad song,” he says. “Just that I'm getting tired of hearing it everywhere, all the time.”
Mary opens her mouth to retort, but Emmeline interjects.
“I do sort of relate. It has gotten a painful tinge to hear the song, now that I know I won't be seeing Sirius Black perform it live…”
“You didn't get tickets for his show?” Marlene asks.
“No,” Emmeline sighs miserably. “I'm on the waiting list. Number 329.”
“Not as bad as Hestia. She's number 1550 or something.”
Emmeline shrugs. “In the end, it makes no difference. 329 or 1550, neither one of us is going to the concert. I mean, 329 people will have to die, and I don't reckon I'd be that lucky…”
“Emmeline!” Lily scolds.
“Well, that's the only excuse for not going to a Sirius Black concert, literally being dead,” Mary says. “I'd actually skip my mum’s funeral if I could see him live.”
“Mary!”
“No, no, Lils,” Emmeline says. “You don't know Mary's mum. If Mary were to miss out on seeing Sirius Black for her funeral, she'd actually come back from the death to haunt her.”
Mary nods. “She's a huge fan. Not going to a Sirius Black concert would be disrespecting her memory.” She glances over at Remus. “She might have some things to say as well if she hears that my actual roommate has openly disrespected Sirius Black’s music.”
Remus sticks out his tongue. “Sue me.”
“As soon as they create a law that makes depreciating Sirius Black illegal, which they should, I will!”
“Anyhow,” Emmeline says. “I haven't heard Sirius Black's voice for almost five minutes and I'm getting withdrawal symptoms,” and she reaches out to put the record back on.
Remus gets up to his feet. “That's my cue to leave.”
“You don't have to, Remus,” Lily says quickly. “If you really don't want us to, we won't put on his music. We value your company more than listening to Sirius Black.”
“Says who? Ow!” Emmeline rubs her shin where Lily kicked her.
Remus smiles at Lily. “Thanks, Lils, but it's okay. I have a paper I need to work on anyway.”
The moment Remus closes the door to his bedroom, he lets out a sigh that seems to be coming from somewhere deep inside of him.
Then, almost without thinking, he takes out his phone and punches in the number by heart.
“Hello?” The voice on the other end of the line sounds surprised and, dare Remus think, hopeful?
“You have to stop doing this,” Remus hears himself say. “No,” he then corrects himself. “You don't have to do anything. I'm asking you. Please stop doing this.”
“Remus, what are you talking about?” He seems to be walking away from something– A promo event? A fancy dinner? An exclusive party?– as Remus can hear the voices in the background grow softer. Remus feels a brief hint of satisfaction; no matter how big the event he's at, how important the people he's with, when Remus calls, he gets up and walks away to talk to him, but Remus quickly corrects himself, because it's not like that anymore.
“It's killing me,” Remus admits, pressing a hand against his forehead. “I understand, but… God, it's killing me.”
“Rem,” Sirius, because of course it's Sirius, says gently. “You're still not making much sense. What are you trying to say? Why are you suddenly calling me? Why… Why now?”
“Your latest releases,” Remus says, as he starts pacing the room, though he can barely take two steps before he reaches the opposite wall. It's rather telling of the difference between them, he can't help but think. Sirius undoubtedly in some grand building surrounded by dozens of people who would fall over themselves to cater to his every whim, and Remus hiding out in his eight square meter bedroom cluttered with textbooks and scribbled notes. “I get why you do it. I'm probably terribly biased,” he lets out a brief laugh. “But I think the songs you wrote when we were together, and even after we just broke up, are your best songs, so I get that you would want to release them, to share them with the world and show everyone once again just how bloody talented you are. And you have every right. They're your works, your creations. But gods, Sirius, I can't pretend anymore.”
“Pretend,” Sirius repeats, his voice almost a whisper, and Remus lets it all out.
“I can't pretend anymore that hearing those songs everywhere I go all the damn time doesn't make me want to die! That it doesn't just break me, to hear your voice sing those words, knowing what they once meant, and knowing that they don't mean that anymore! That you don't mean that anymore.”
“Remus,” Sirius interrupts sharply, and Remus immediately stops talking as Sirius speaks. “Do you really think I could sing those words like that, if I didn't still feel that way?”
And Remus’ breath catches in his throat.
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HES MY SECOND IN COMMAND IN AN ARMY OF DARKNESS!
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@wolfstarmicrofic | April 23:rd Teacher AU | Also inspired by this incredible post | 971 words
“It’s because I’m gay.”
Dora’s words had echoed in his head for the better duration of two years.
Two years.
Jesus Christ.
It sounds more clear now that there isn’t an ever pressing haze of alcohol clouding his brain. But alas, he frankly can’t afford to be an alcoholic anymore. He wasn’t even that good at it. A bottle of wine every evening and Remus just turned into a weepier version of his otherwise quite bleak self and watched old rom-coms on tv until he fell asleep on the couch.
But an English teacher’s salary isn’t hefty enough to really support a proper addiction and Remus hadn’t ever been the type of person to steal a car or break into someone’s house just to fuel his habit. With his luck he’d get caught right away anyway.
“This can’t come as a surprise, Rem, we never even had an active sexlife.”
Sure, fine, maybe they hadn’t. But they had been married for years; university best friends turned adult lovers and confidants turned married at twenty five and divorced at thirty three.
The divorce had at least been simple, easy, just like anything else about their relationship. One second she was there, dying her hair in the tub and staining it all bubblegum pink — the next she was moving out and downloading lesbian dating apps.
Remus munches salad from his little packed lunch. He should be planning his classes whilst having lunch — he refuses to, he’d rather sit here all bent-backed and pretend that the salad actually tastes better, that he isn’t regretting moving across the country to get away from it all. That his new life isn’t sinking his mood just like the old one did.
There’s a knock on his classroom door.
Remus looks up from his sad salad. “Come in?”
The door, covered in prints of Shakespeare plays and old illustrations of Of Mice and Men and other English class classics, opens to reveal the knocker.
Sirius has his hair in a bun today, black strands tied back and into a scrunchy that could rival the cheekiest of cheerleaders’. Other than that he is in his usual all black attire, all except his rainbow colored lanyard which holds his keys and the miniature periodic table keyring.
Sirius smiles. It’s all gray eyes that look like they’re sparkling under the hideous fluorescents and can make even the toughest lunch lady blush.
“Hi Remus, is this a bad time?”
Remus tries to swallow the tightness in his throat.
He can’t really deal with Sirius popping by like this, he’s done it quite frequently since Remus’ first week.
“No, not really,” he says, trying to keep his hands from fiddling and his eyes from darting around the room. “What can I help you with?”
Sirius shrugs, careless and relaxed. “I was just wondering if I could borrow your stapler. Seems like mine’s wandered off.”
Sirius drives a motorbike to school.
Remus saw him get off it in the parking lot not too long ago. It felt like the world stood still or maybe moved in slow motion when Sirius removed his helmet and shook his hair out, kitted out in leather. Then his neck got all hot, for some god forsaken reason, and he had to go splash cold water on his face before facing his students in the first period.
So many of Sirius’ supplies have gone missing in the short time where they have worked together.
“Erhm… Yeah, sure— absolutely,” Remus stumbles through sentences as he stands to go fetch the stapler in the supply closet. He turns the little key and quickly looks over the closet, a bit too aware that Sirius is coming closer; if he isn’t misinterpreting the scuff of boots on the floor.
He grabs the stapler, turns around. “Here.”
Sirius is right behind him, right in front of him now. Looking up at Remus with his easy smile and rows of lovely black lashes and… and… and pink lips.
“Thanks, I’ll give it back as soon as I’m done, okay?”
“Yeah…”
Sirius leaves. Remus has to go sit down, he’s feeling dizzy.
“Are you even attracted to me, Rem? I mean— it’s fine if you aren’t. Maybe I’m not your type or something.”
There was always something hidden in Dora’s words, at least in those words. Remus hadn’t come any closer to figuring them out, not even two years later.
He just sits in his darkening apartment, playing those words over and over whilst watching-but-not-really-watching tv. He should really go over to Sirius’ classroom tomorrow. You know, just to make sure he remembers to give the stapler back. And it has absolutely nothing to do with what Dora said those years ago, nothing at all.
In the following morning, Remus dresses in his good shirt and wrestles with his hair for a touch longer than usual. Why? Don’t worry about it.
He goes into work with a determination and anxiety churning in his belly.
He walks up to Sirius’ classroom, a print of Neil deGrasse Tyson on the door, and knocks.
Deep breath.
Sirius opens the door. Light eyes and smiling lips and an overall undeniably beautiful face.
Stapler, that’s what he’s there for.
“Will you go out with me?”
What?! No!
Remus was supposed to ask about the stapler!
Fuck!
Sirius just looks back up at him, glittering eyes and widening smile. He doesn’t say anything.
Remus tries to backpedal. “The stapler — I really need my stapler, that’s what I meant.”
Sirius just smiles. “So I just missed the point two second window of going out with you?”
There’s cotton in Remus’ ears, ringing in his brain. “No— I mean… Wait— Did you want to go out with me?”
Sirius’ smile looks like it’s almost too big for his face. “I thought you’d never ask.”
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NASA’s new images of Uranus captured by James Webb Space Telescope (2024)
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one of my favorite ways to spend the time on this silly little app has to be looking up posts about songs or albums that i am currently obsessed with and see people sharing their love for them. i love it. i love seeing humans care so much about one song, each for multiple different reasons, to the point of writing so beautifully about their fondness for it and post it for strangers to see. it's like, you posted about this song in 2015 and your opinion about it resonates with me in 2024. i love it, please don't you ever stop.
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evan buckley + queercoding | part 1 / part 2
for @ice-sculptures ♡
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So apparently some people new to Tumblr think a repost and a reblog are the same thing, so when they see creators asking for people to not repost, they're thinking the creators are saying to not reblog 😭
Y'all, a repost is when you copy/download the work and create a new post using the work making it seem as if it's yours. A reblog is you using a site provided feature to share the creator's post directly from the creator so that it's still credited to them and they still get all of the traction/notes from the work.
Please, reblog fics/art/etc. that you enjoy! Reblogging is not reposting! Creatives need support too, and reblogging is a way to do that!
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