Merry Christmas, @i-am-having-an-emotion!

write-yourself:

malecsecretsanta:


Happy holidays! I hope this little piece of Malec fluff brings you joy. 🙂

Read on AO3

Beautiful

“You’re beautiful.”

Magnus hadn’t meant to speak. The words
had just fallen out of his mouth without him being able to stop them.
The second he saw his lover start to stir, he regretted the words only
because they were rousing Alec from sleep he probably desperately
needed. The Nephilim had been sleeping most of the evening, letting the
worries of the day – week – year fade away in the safe embrace of his
dreams. Magnus had busied himself with clients, potion brewing, even
making tea just because he could before he had finally retreated to the
bedroom.

He’d been reading Shakespeare’s Macbeth for
probably the 400th time when his mind had started to wander, and he
found himself staring down at his boyfriend. Alec laid facedown, naked
from the waist up, his hair tussled from the restlessness of sleep, and
Magnus just couldn’t help but think, How did I get so lucky?

Keep reading

Welp, I can finally say – this one was mine!! 

I hope you all enjoyed it, and I especially hope @i-am-having-an-emotion loved it!! (Your comments on Ao3 were so sweet, btw!!) 

i totally did enjoy it!!!! thanks for the fic!

okay but just imagine sirius being quidditch commentator/gossip queen

ginnyfxckingweasley:

  • ‘just letting everyone know that gryffindor captain james is very single and very ready to mingle if your name is lily evans’
  • ‘jones is no doubt slightly distracted by the fact his girlfriend cheated on him, sorry ‘bout that mate’
  • ‘no eliza i will not ask remus out for you’
  • ‘if flemming was as good at flirting as he is at blocking goals then maybe he wouldn’t have been rejected by dorcas meadowes last week’
  • ‘benjy stop laughing and start playing you’re not as funny as you think you are’
  • ‘to the person who asked if emmeline vance had a boyfriend i’m just gonna tell you now you’re not good enough for her’
  • ‘excellent beating from lockley there, managing to nearly knock out turner whilst maintaining that perfect hair, how does he do it?’
  • ‘yes professor this is all highly important informatio… no it’s not nonsense…. look now you’ve made me miss a goal’
  • ‘lily evans says she’ll go on a date with james potter if he scores thirteen times – don’t smirk you bastard you’ll never do it’
  • ‘gryffindor’s daley has seen the snitch! oh wait he’s lost it. now daley was it you i saw trip down the stairs yesterday?’
  • ‘and turner passes to west who passes to samson who – drops it. its important to note none of the ravenclaw chasers are speaking to each other, i don’t know why, only that it involves a bottle of firewhiskey, a game of truth or dare, and west’s pet cat’
  • ‘dorcas meadowes would like it to be known she rejected flemming because she has no obligation to date someone just because they think she’s hot’
  • ‘update on the james and lily situation; james has scored eight goals and lily has now got JP painted on her cheek’
  • ‘if tom denvers can afford the new nimbus then he can bloody afford to pay me the four galleons he owes me’
  • ‘gryffindor now lead 140 – 70, peter pettigrew really needs gryffindor to win or he has to pay lois knight ten sickles and then he won’t be able to buy me a birthday present’
  • ‘if ravenclaw would hurry up and lose so we can start the party that would be great’
  • ‘party? i don’t know who gave you the impression there would a party tonight professor’
  • ‘of course i’m sure, professor, i would know if there was a party happening tonight. i can assure you there isn’t a party in the gryffindor common room at seven-thirty pm. if there was though i would tell gideon prewett to bring his own bloody firewhiskey this time because i’m not paying for his ridiculous drinking habits’
  • ‘oh james scored again, him and evans are both smiling far too much if you ask me’
  • ‘yes marlene i did say seven-thirty pm. what do you mean you’re busy?’

librariesaresopunk:

actually imagine the rogue one crew being honored in the same way han and luke were at the end of a new hope. imagine a big ceremony with the princess and mon mothma and all the soldiers and they just lay forty medals on the steps, one for each rebel who died and for the strays they picked up on the way

imagine luke being there and seeing the force ghosts of chirrut and jyn as they are laid to rest finally, and he’s there to honor their sacrifice and understand that it wasn’t him who really took down the death star that it was the original rogue one that he is their legacy

han can sense the presence of the force ghosts but doesn’t know what it means. it’s that moment, looking at those medals given to the dead rebels that he really understands this cause is worth dying for

leia knows who these people are and has seen them leave for missions and return only this time they left and didn’t come back and to her the only way to truly honor that sacrifice is to see the last remnants of the empire destroyed which is why she is still fighting the first order in the force awakens

just imagine the rogue one legacy

the squadron named in their honor

old pilots telling the new recruits why there’s no “rogue one” that flies under rogue leader

because she already flew

and will never fly again

shipwreckedbirates:

resmeae:

glitterarygetsit:

profmeowmers:

My bros I have been doing a lot of
reading about Wacky WWII Hijinks lately and I want to tell you a
story because I love it okay

once upon a time there was a dude in
Spain named Juan Pujol Garcia. Pujol was a chicken farmer. Pujol
hated him some goddamn fascists.

See Spain had recently ended its civil
war, with the fascists taking power. So when WWII broke out in
Europe, Spain technically remained neutral but in practice was buddy
buddy with the Nazis. Juan Pujol Garcia thought this was pretty
bullshit

so soon after war breaks out Pujol
travels to his local British embassy and goes “hey I wanna spy on
the Nazis for you”

“who the fuck are you?” say the
British, and kick him out

but Pujol is not deterred! He still
wants to dunk on some fascists, so now he goes to his local German
embassy instead. “hey” he
says, “I wanna spy on the British for you, I sure do hate them”

“yeah
okay” say the Germans “that seems pretty legit”

and
just like that Pujol now officially works for the Abwehr, the German
intelligence agency. They hand him some spy gear (invisible ink and
such) and instruct him to travel to Lisbon, and from there make his
way into the UK. So Pujol heads to Lisbon, and a little while later
writes to his German handlers telling them he’s made it to England

Pujol
had not made it to England. He had, in fact, made it to the Lisbon
public library, where he checked out a number of English guide books
and set about just wholesale making shit up

this
is slightly complicated by the fact that, for example, he completely
did not understand British currency and all his expense reports were
basically gibberish. He also reported things like bribing Scotsmen,
because the people of Glasgow would “do anything for a litre of
wine” (an actual quote) because, hey, people in Spain like wine so
that’s probably the same right?

Here
is where it starts to get really crazy, because the Abwehr loves
this
. “wow this dude is a
great spy” they say, because apparently none of them had ever been
the England either. In fact, they are so pumped about this new
awesome spy that the British start to get worried

you
see, by this time the British had cracked German’s supposedly
unbreakable Enigma code and were totally dunking on the Nazis by
reading basically all of their ~super top secret~ radio
transmissions. And, crucially, they’d become so good at breaking and
reading traffic that there were literally no German spies in England.
The Germans would set up a spy drop (usually dropping dudes in by
parachute in the middle of the night), the British would intercept
the message and then just scoop the dudes up as soon as they landed
in a move that must have been SUPER embarrassing to the spies

so
there are no German spies in the UK because they’re all sitting in a
prison run by MI5 (although some are being run under supervision as
double agents, feeding Germany bullshit). But suddenly MI5 is picking
up all this traffic from the Germans talking about their super great
spy- a spy the British do not have in their jail

“oh
shit” says MI5, and starts rereading all the transmissions they
have to and from this mysterious super spy.

“hey
wait” says MI5, upon actually reading the shit the spy was sending.
“someone is playing silly buggers, pip pip cheerio”

At
this point, Pujol, still in Lisbon, had actually been approaching the
British embassy again, repeatedly, but apparently “I am literally
an Abwehr agent and would like to offer you my services” wasn’t
interesting enough, because he was repeatedly turned away, again.
It wasn’t until MI5 started
asking around that one of the embassy staff was like “oh yeah we
know that guy”

so in
1942 the British finally make contact with Pujol and he officially
becomes a spy for MI5. They move him to London and assign him a case
officer so he can start making up even better bullshit

and he
does. Once actually in London, Pujol reports to the Abwehr that he’d
recruited a whole slew of informants- from a bunch of Welsh Aryans to
disaffected army officers. He ends up with a network of 20+
sub-spies, all feeding him information from around the UK

none of these people actually exist

Pujol
just straight up invented like 20 people, keeping careful track of
their fake personalities, names, and activities. With the help of
MI5, the information he sends becomes even better- a mix of true but
ultimately useless facts and actually important intel timed to arrive
in Germany just slightly too late to be of any use. He and his “spy
network” become the Abwehr’s most trusted agents

Pujol,
now codenamed Agent Garbo (for his acting skills), ends up playing a
huge role in the run-up to D-Day, where the Allies mounted a huge
intelligence campaign to convince Hitler that the planned site of
attack was going to be Calais and not Normandy (this was Operation
Fortitude and you should absolutely look it up for more Wacky WWII
Adventures). Obviously you know how this ended

crazily
enough, the Abwehr never figured out that Pujol was a double agent.
After the war he received both the Iron Cross Second Class (which
require personal authorization from Hitler), and a
Member of the Order of the British Empire (from King George VI)

unable
to resist being totally fucking ridiculous,
Pujol turned down MI5’s post-war offer to continue spying, but this
time against the USSR. “no,” he said “just help me fake my own
death and then I’m moving to Venezuela”

and
that’s exactly what he did. Juan Garcia Pujol died in 1988, at the
age of 76

Okay I’m just editing my reblog to add this picture of Juan Pujol Garcia because I feel that it adds so much to the story to picture him doing ALL THE ABOVE with this expression:

What a legend.

Thank you Jess for this extremely important addendum.

he’s my hero and also adorable

IF WOMEN WROTE MEN THE WAY MEN WRITE WOMEN

writing-while-female:

“Brett pulled his tank top up over his head and stared at himself in the full-length mirror. He pushed down his jeans, then his boxers, and imagined the moment when Jennifer saw him nude for the first time. His feet were average-sized, and there was hair on his toes that he should probably take care of before tonight. He liked his legs just fine, but his thighs were wide and embarrassingly muscular. He tried standing at an angle, a twist at his waist. Some improvement. In that position, it was easier to see his ass and notice that it was not as pert as it had been at 22. He clenched both cheeks, hoping that tightened its look. He sucked in his tummy and pulled his pecs up high, trying to present them like pastries in a bakery window. Would she like him? Were the goods good enough? He pouted his lips and ran his hands over his thighs, masking their expanse. Maybe.”


“There is a particular look about a teenage boy that lets you know what kind of man he’ll be. A certain fullness of lips, a frank sensuality in his gaze. We all know what the word for that is, but it’s not polite to use it until he’s proven he’s that kind of boy.”


“But I don’t get it!” Shea was panting, trying to catch up to Michael as he fled. “The monster ate everyone else. How did you escape?”

Michael reached the boat first, flinging himself in. He waited for Shea to follow him and take the oars, guiding them smoothly away from the shore.

“It’s because I was different from the other boys,” he said, pushing his hair behind his ear and looking away.

“What do you mean, different?” Shea’s muscles rippled and flexed as she rowed them to safety, and Michael could not tear his eyes away.

“Different. Pure, the monster said. Because I’m… I’ve never…” He looked away again, and the moonlight caught on his throat, outlined his clavicle.

“You’re a virgin,” Shea said, realization dawning. “What a waste.”

Michael blushed.

“If we get out of this alive,“ she said. “I’m going to fix that.”


Do go and read the others, they’re brilliant. 

https://www.mcsweeneys.net/articles/if-women-wrote-men-the-way-men-write-women