roma★
Mike Driver
The Stonewall Inn
Kiana Khansmith
Aqua Utopia｜海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
Noah Kahan
official daine visual archive
🩵 avery cochrane 🩵
macklin celebrini has autism
No title available
Jar Jar Binks Fan Club
No title available
Today's Document
@theartofmadeline
titsay
Fai_Ryy
h
★
YOU ARE THE REASON
Sade Olutola
seen from Venezuela
seen from Türkiye
seen from Greece
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from France
seen from Uzbekistan
seen from Vietnam
seen from Portugal
seen from United States
seen from Palestinian Territories
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Belgium
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seen from United States
@shestheshebang
Chapter 12
Rain in June is different.
April rain has a purpose. It arrives cold and determined, turns every street in London into an inconvenience, and hangs around long enough for people to begin discussing it as though personally betrayed.
Rain in June, though, mostly catches everyone showing off.
Read from the beginning.
Chapter 11
By the second week of June, Hawthorn Street has traded spring rain for summer bustle.
Not that many of its occupants have noticed.
Though, in defense, June arrives gradually.
Read from the beginning.
Chapter 10
Nobody likes the red folders.
Not because they’re ugly. They really aren’t. Perhaps, if that particularly shade of crimson appeared literally anywhere else, it’d be quite nice.
But, The Ministry has long since run on a charmed correspondence colour-coding system. . The particular shade of a folder tells you everything you need to know about the contents within before you ever undo the clasp.
Read from the beginning.
Chapter 9
Julian Selwyn was, by almost every account, the perfect politician.
On Thursday night, he still was.
Read from the beginning.
Chapter 8
The blue room on the fourth floor hasn’t ever really served much of a purpose. It doesn’t keep a purpose for very long anyways. It’s spent the better part of twenty years pretending to be something else.
Over the years, it has been a meeting room, an editor’s office, a storage cupboard with aspirations of becoming an archive, then a meeting room again after someone had found enough chairs to justify calling it that.
These days, it’s simply the blue room, claimed temporarily by whichever reporter convinces themselves they need silence more than everyone else.
James has been here for nearly two weeks.
Read from the beginning.
Chapter 7
Mary MacDonald lives in a crooked flat in a whole block of crooked flats in the middle of the Quay. It’s close enough but the air’s always just a little too damp for Lily’s liking.
Still, tradition states that they dress at Mary’s flat.
“You’re late,” Mary opens the bright blue door before Lily gets the chance to knock.
Read from the beginning.
Chapter 6
The pigeons in Founder’s Close have developed a taste for government property.
Not documents. They show no particular interest in policy which, James supposes, places them comfortably alongside half the WIzengamot.
They do, however, prefer lunches. Or dinner. They’re not necessarily picky in that way.
Read from the beginning.
Chapter 4
Tuesday evenings belonged to no one.
Thursdays belonged to the Cauldron and the Compass.
Fridays belonged to deadlines.
Mondays belonged to recovering from Fridays (and sometimes Saturdays, depending on the week.)
But, Tuesdays… Tuesdays were the odd little pockets of the week when James Potter occasionally remembered he owned a flat.
Read from the beginning.
Chapter 5
“Mm-mm.” Lily is shaking her head vigorously, leaning forward in her chair, and begging her mouth to chew this damned bite of a bacon sandwich just a bit quicker. She raps her knuckles against the Press Room’s solid oak table top to get the attention back on and her quick. “No,” She finally says after swallowing. “If we give the Prophet the embargo at eight fifty five, the Register will know by nine.”
“They won’t know.” Thomas speaks from further down the table.
“They’ll suspect.”
Read from the beginning.
Chapter 3
Hawthorn Street sits two roads past Diagon Alley. If you’re walking, you head up from the Alley, through King’s Market, and you turn left, not right. Right takes you to Founder’s Close. But turning left takes you through a bit of squeeze between archival buildings before spilling you right onto Hawthorn Street. That’s where the Tribune lives. And, well, mostly every other publication too.
Hawthorn Street isn’t particularly wide, and the buildings all sort of lean towards each other, five and six stories high, their highest floors almost close enough to touch. James’ first editor with the Tribune, an older fellow named Broadhall used to say the buildings did that to tell each other the news.
Hawthorn Street has been here forever. Buildings never really go away—even if magic could make that happen—so they've simply... accumulated.
Read from the beginning.
Chapter 2
The Cauldron and Compass wasn’t new to Wizarding London. It had been there at least as long as James had lived in the neighborhood, and probably long before that—wedged between a wand-repair shop and a narrow brick building whose purpose seemed to change every few months.
The sign above the door creaked in the April wind, an old brass compass spinning lazily beneath a black iron cauldron. James ducked beneath it and stepped into the warmth.
The place had been his and Sirius’s first.
Read from the beginning.
https://archiveofourown.org/works/88647531/chapters/235205036
Being brave and posting a fic. I've got a good little bit of this one written, so let me know if you like it.
(If you don't, please don't tell me. I'm just gonna post it anyways and I don't want to cry.)
Confessional // Sue Zhao
Sue Zhao
You survived this. Even with clenched fists and gritted teeth and neverending wounds, you survived this. I hope you remember that on the mornings when you feel worthless and small. You were given an impossible mountain to climb, and you still climbed it to get to the other side.
