Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun; Conspiring with him how to load and bless With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run; To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees, And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core; To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells With a sweet kernel; to set budding more, And still more, later flowers for the bees, Until they think warm days will never cease, For summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells. Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store? Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find Thee sitting careless on a granary floor, Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind; Or on a half-reap’d furrow sound asleep, Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers: And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep Steady thy laden head across a brook; Or by a cider-press, with patient look, Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours. Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they? Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,-- While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day, And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue; Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn Among the river sallows, borne aloft Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies; And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn; Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft, And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
after the war, percy and oliver take completely different paths. oliver is a quidditch star, an honored veteran of the battle of hogwarts, idolized by many. percy, on the other hand, has been married and divorced already, has become disillusioned with his job at the ministry of magic, and is struggling to reconnect with his family. one afternoon, though, their worlds collide. they had been schoolmates, once, and casual friends, but now they feel alone in the world and it is good to see a familiar face. they talk about oliver’s success, and how it has begun to tire him. they talk about percy’s daughters, and how they are his only solace from his dead-end ministry job. oliver brings books for percy to read, and percy reads them. percy brings his daughters for oliver to meet, and oliver loves them.
it isn’t perfect— there are things they cannot talk about just yet, issues they need to work out on their own. it takes time, but eventually percy reconnects with his family and joins george in the shop from time to time. oliver retires early from puddlemere united after a perfect season and takes a job at hogwarts as the flying instructor and quidditch coach.
and they continue to have coffee, to share stories about the new prank lee came up with or the silly gossip the children insist on telling the handsome new quidditch coach.
and life after the war gets a little bit easier.
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
“sherlock 1800s au”
There’s a fantastic fic writer who’s quite prolific in this area. Sixty stories already! I don’t know if they’re doing any more. Their username is ‘Arthur_Conan_Doyle’ but you have to google their stuff. They don’t put it on ff.net or AO3 or anything like that. Real awesome period piece type stuff too. They get all the little details right. It’s amazing.
I will still be laughing about this in my grave
Breathe. You’re going to be okay. Breathe and remember that you’ve been in this place before. You’ve been this uncomfortable and anxious and scared, and you’ve survived. Breathe and know that you can survive this too. These feelings can’t break you. They’re painful and debilitating, but you can sit with them and eventually, they will pass. Maybe not immediately, but sometime soon, they are going to fade and when they do, you’ll look back at this moment and laugh for having doubted your resilience. I know it feels unbearable right now, but keep breathing, again and again. This will pass. I promise it will pass.