i have two essays to do what on earth am i doing

The Golden Girl-Lip Gallagher Imagine

Requested: Yes

Warnings: Underage drinking, drug use, sensuality, sexual implications, and language

A/N: Y/O/B/F/N= your other best friend’s name

Originally posted by lipgallaghersaysfuckyou

   “Why didn’t I skip class today?” Mandy groaned, throwing her head back.

    “Because if you got caught skipping again, you would get suspended…again,” Lip muttered behind her.

    They were sitting in their eighth period British Lit class while Mr. O’Neil talked about some dead poet. Lip was only paying half attention since he already knew most of the information and he got good grades without even trying. He had a few more important things on his mind like Fiona and his other siblings and the trouble he and Ian could get into over the weekend. However, the other kids in the class could hardly afford zoning out in the way he did. 

    “…and that is how Edgar Allen Poe invented the modern detective story,” Mr. O’Neil concluded with a small smile under his wiry gray mustache. “Now, before you leave, I have to return your midterm essays.”

     “What’s the point? I know I failed,” Mandy muttered.

     “You never know. You could’ve gotten a D this time.”

      Lip smirked as Mandy turned around to slap his arm. It stung a little, but Lip laughed it off. 

       “We can’t all be weird geniuses like you.”

       “Most of you did not seem to grasp the concept I was looking for, which is confusing since all I requested was for you to dissect and analyze a piece of literature we previously discussed in class,” Mr. O’Neil said as he began handing back papers.

        A lot of the kids rolled their eyes, laughed, or groaned when they received their papers. It took a minute for Mr. O’Neil to get to Mandy and Lip.

       “I expect more from you, Miss Milkovich,” Mr. O’Neil said.

        “Have you met my brothers?” Mandy retorted.

        Mr. O’Neil cast a distaste look in her direction, but recovered a little as he handed Lip his paper. “Very good work, Mr. Gallagher.”

        “Thank you, Mr. O’Neil,” Lip said.

         Scrawled on top of his paper was a 90 along with the comment “Good work, Mr. Gallagher. Your input was interesting but the dissections were a bit off.”

          “Not bad, Gallagher,” Mandy muttered.


          Lip couldn’t help but feel a little proud of himself. He was always the smartest person in the room, even though the room primarily consisted of idiots. It was nice to be reminded of it. 

          “Miss Y/L/N, I was quite impressed with your work. I have never read such original or thoughtful input on Emily Dickinson.”

          The girl had a small, wan smile on her lips as she accepted her paper. “Thanks, Mr. O’Neil.”

           “In fact, you scored the highest on this assignment.”

           Y/N smiled shyly yet again and muttered a polite “thanks” to the teacher as she placed her essay neatly in her English folder.

           “Looks like Little Miss Perfect beat you out,” Mandy teased in a whisper.

           “I’ll let her have it, this is probably the only pleasure she gets out of life besides reading and studying all the time,” Lip muttered.

             Y/N Y/L/N had to be the most innocent girl Lip had ever encountered and she was also his biggest competition when it came to academic standing. She was smart as a whip, but she didn’t flaunt it like Lip did sometimes. In fact, she mostly kept to herself, save for the two girls Lip saw her hanging around. Y/N was every parent’s wet dream: quiet, polite, kind, and a bit of an over achiever. She was the class president, captain of the debate team, and captain of the girl’s tennis team. In fact, the only trouble she probably got in was for jaywalking. Lip didn’t really have anything against her but he also didn’t really like competition.

           Finally, Mr. O’Neill released them, and Mandy and Lip were the first two out of the classroom.

          “Just admit it, Lip, you don’t like that Goody Two Shoes beat you out for the highest grade,” Mandy said.

          “It’s just a stupid essay, Mandy, besides, getting good grades is probably the only way Y/N could experience an orgasm,” Lip said.

          Mandy burst out laughing and Lip smirked deeply. “That is true, I don’t think Y/N would know what to do with a dick if she ever saw one.”
          As Mandy and Lip laughed, they were interrupted by someone running into Lip. 

          “Hey, watch where the f–ck you’re going,” he snapped.

          “Oh, sorry!” Y/N squeaked.

          Lip instantly regretted his words when he saw how Y/N clutched her book to her chest. “It’s fine, forget about it.”
          “Hey, Y/N,” Mandy said.

          “Hey, Mandy.” Y/N readjusted the strap of her messenger bag. “Have any fun plans for this weekend?”

          “I might go to a party or two. You?”

          “I am keeping my options open.” 

          “Y/N!” Y/B/F/N yelled from across the hallway.

          Y/N sighed a little. “I have to go, sorry about running into you like that, Lip.”

         “Don’t worry about it.”

          Y/N hurried off to meet her friend on the other end of the hallway and they immediately began giggling together. Y/B/F/N said something to Y/N that made her eyes widen and take a quick glance at Lip. When she saw that he was looking at her, she quickly turned back around to her friend, who began snickering.

           “Hello, earth to Lip?” Ian asked.

          “What?” He turned to face Ian and Mandy.

          “I was asking if we were still going to Rose Martin’s party tonight,” Ian said. 

          “Why wouldn’t we be?”

          “Because it’s in Old Town and we’re south side trash.”

          “Hey, we’re only trash if we think we’re trash, so stop thinking we’re trash,” Lip said.

          “Fine. Now tell me, what had you so distracted that you couldn’t answer me?” Ian asked.



         Mandy smirked. “It was because of her wasn’t it?”

         “Who?” Ian asked.

         “Shut up, Mandy,” Lip said.

         “Y/N, Lip’s got a thing for her,” Mandy said.

         “Y/N Y/L/N? The same girl who cried when Eddie Carver kicked a baby rabbit over the school fence?” Ian asked.

         “That was third grade,” Lip said. “And I don’t like her like that.”
         “Why not? Because she’s too good for you?” Ian teased.

         “No, because she’s too f-cking innocent. It would be like being with a little kid all the time,” Lip muttered. 

          “I would believe you if you hadn’t been eye-f-cking her a second ago.”

        Lip didn’t respond, and he didn’t really know why he had gotten so defensive when Ian and Mandy began suggesting that he liked Y/N. He barely spoke to her except in passing and there was no way she would go for a Gallagher of all people. Somehow, he still found himself attracted to her innocent, shy nature. He would ruin her and she didn’t deserve that.

        Late that night, the party was in full swing at Rose Martin’s penthouse in Old Town, Chicago. Her father had won the lottery two months ago, so the penthouse was filled with gaudy art, strange mini statues that were considered art, and stainless, techy everything. Waka Flocka’s “It’s A Party” was blasting through the speakers as teenagers grinded to the beat throughout the penthouse. In the kitchen, a group of people were playing drinking games; the bathroom was dedicated to cocaine; the bedrooms were used for coitus; and the balcony was for the cigarette and pot smokers. Lip, Ian, and Mandy were in the living room in the middle of the chaos, dancing as they drank. Lip was near the threshold of being drunk, but was still in the place where the colorful lights didn’t transfix him and he still had control of himself. 

          “This is the best night ever!” Mandy shouted over the music.

           Ian and Lip shouted in response before they toasted her words and downed the vodka in their cups. It went down smooth since Rose could afford not to scrimp on the alcohol anymore.

         “I love Rose Martin!” Ian exclaimed.

         “You can’t, you don’t swing that way!” Lip shouted back.

         “F-ck it!”

        Lip and Mandy burst out laughing. In the midst of the madness, Mandy ended up grinding with some guy and Ian disappeared. Lip ended up wandering out of the living room and went outside to light up a cigarette. The sky was completely ink black with a few stars scattered in the mix. A few people were smoking pot or cigarettes around the balcony. In the corner was a group of girls wearing short dresses and skirts, giggling. One of them looked extremely familiar to Lip but he couldn’t put his finger on it. She flipped her y/hc ponytail and burst out laughing at something before turning around. Lip nearly dropped his cigarette.

        “Y/N?” he whispered.

        She was wearing an oversized blue button down shirt that managed to accentuate her curves with a pair of black over the knee boots. Her hair was pulled in a ponytail with a few strands falling around her face, which was made up in a tasteful fashion with gold eyeshadow bringing out her y/e/c eyes and blush to compliment her skin tone. She was holding a plastic cup filled with white wine and her friends had sneaky smiles on their faces when they saw Lip.

        “Lip!” Y/N stumbled over to him, managing not to spill a drop of her wine. “It’s so good to see you.”

       “What are you doing here?” Lip asked.

       “Drinking.” Y/N took a long swig of her drink to prove her point. 

       “I can see that, it’s just, this isn’t really your scene.”

       “I guess you don’t know me as well as you think you do.” She managed to smolder at him which managed to both amuse and arose Lip at the same time.

        “How many of those have you had?” Lip asked.

        “Don’t worry about it, Dad, I can handle my alcohol, see?” Y/N downed the rest of her wine and smiled.

         “Maybe you should go back to your friends.”

         “I’m sick of them, I want to talk to you.” Y/N leaned more of her weight into Lip and he paused to grab her. 

          He kept his lit cigarette between his lips as he pulled her to stand upright. “Fine, let’s talk.”

         “Can I try one of those?”

          “Why would you want to smoke?” Lip asked.

         “Because I can.”

          Lip looked at her skeptically before handing her cigarette and lighting it for her. Of course, Y/N almost immediately began coughing, making everyone turn to look at her and Lip. Lip shook his head as he patted her back.

          “You have to inhale deeper before you exhale, like this.” Lip showed her and Y/N nodded before following his lead. “See, it’s easy.”

          “Thanks,” Y/N said.

          “Geez, I feel like I’m corrupting you.”

          “You’re not. I’ve done a lot more than you think I have.”

          “What does that mean?”

         Unfortunately, Lip was interrupted by the strains of “Hips Don’t Lie” coming from inside. Y/N squealed. “I love this song!” 

          She tossed her cigarette down and ground it out with her toe before hurrying inside.

         “Y/N.” Lip got rid of his cigarette as well and followed Y/N’s lead.

         He almost immediately lost her but quickly spotted her dancing with Ian. They had created some sort of salsa two-step that mostly consisted of Ian twirling Y/N around and dipping her. Though Lip trusted Ian, he couldn’t help but feel protective over Y/N. It was strange how worrying about her sobered him up.

          “You’re being ridiculous; you barely know her,” he hissed to himself.

          He decided he needed another drink and headed into the kitchen. That’s where he found Mandy, mixing drinks at the kitchen counter while another group of people played flip cup.

           “Hey, stranger,” Mandy said as she poured a drink into a glass.

           “What made you hide out in here?”
           “Tyler Sanders’ hands kept wandering to places I did not want them to. I decided to see how good of a bartender I am.” Mandy handed him the glass she just poured.

           “Thanks.” He took a sip. “Not bad, what is it?”

          “Dirty martini.”

           “Of course. Did you know that Y/N was coming?”

           “No, but I saw Y/O/B/F/N leave the bathroom wiping her nose and figured Y/N had to be around somewhere. She is full of surprises.”

             “Yeah,” Lip muttered.

             “Do I need to make you another drink?”

              “Maybe later.”

             “That sour look on your face wouldn’t have anything to do with Y/N being into the party scene, right?”

             “Not really, it’s just weird seeing her drunk.”

            “I like it, it makes her more relatable. She’s not better than either of us.”

            “Of course she’s not. She goes to a Chicago public school.”

            “True, but maybe you’re so weirded out by it because you liked the idea of her being super innocent and you don’t like that you can’t be her first, well, whatever.”

             He hated how right Mandy was sometimes. While it was kind of cool to see Y/N let lose, Lip kind of liked the idea of making her do something bad just for him. He had no idea when those feelings started but seeing her act so drunk was bringing them out.

            After a couple more drinks, he and Mandy made their way back into the living room, where Y/N and Ian were the center of attention. It made sense since the openly gay Gallagher was grinding with the supposed sweetheart of the south side. 

             “Y/N’s got moves,” Mandy said.

             “Uh huh,” Lip said, trying to ignore the tinges of jealousy creeping up on him.

            However, everything came to a head when Y/N pulled Ian close and they began making out, causing everyone to scream and yell. That was the last straw. Lip quickly broke them up, much to the crowd’s chagrin.

             “What the hell, Lip?” Ian demanded.

            “Ian, you don’t know what you’re doing, you’re drunk and you have a boyfriend,” Lip hissed.

            “Not really, besides, Y/N’s a good kisser. Were you jealous?” Ian shot back.

              “Jealous? Why would you be jealous?” Y/N slurred. Then she grinned. “You wanna dance with me, Lip?”

                She wrapped her arms around Lip’s neck and leaned into him. Lip’s arms immediately wrapped around her waist out of instinct but he didn’t start dancing. Mandy and Ian had begun dancing together somewhere else in the room.

               “Y/N, you’re drunk.”

               “I wanna dance.” She turned around in Lip’s arms and began grinding against him, leaning her head against his chest.

               Lip gulped before hesitantly grinding with her, holding her hips and keeping her pressed against him. He didn’t know what got into him but he began kissing down the side of her neck. Then, he turned her to face him and grabbed her face in his hands and really looked at her. Her eyes were completely dilated but she was so beautiful.

                “I can’t do this.”

                 “Do what? Dance with me?” Y/N teased.

                “Not just that, it’s, you’re too perfect. You deserve better than this, better than me.”

                Lip moved to pull away from Y/N, but she grabbed him. Her eyes held a deep sincerity in them, albeit they were extremely dilated.

                 “You’re perfect,” she said with a large smile. 

                  “You’re drunk.”

                  “Yes, but I know that you’re funny, really smart, and loyal, a little impulsive, and a bit self-destructive. And you’re daring and really, really, really hot,” Y/N said.

                  “You really think all that about me?”

                   Y/N nodded. “Ever since second grade, but I thought I wasn’t cool enough for you, but I do go out sometimes and I have made many questionable decisions.”

                  Lip had a lot of questions, a majority of which had to do with what questionable decisions Y/N had made. But, all he could think about was how Y/N thought she wasn’t good enough for him. 

                 “You’re cool in your own way.”

                  “Now that’s a load of bullsh-t.” Y/N started laughing, a sound that made Lip smile.

                 He cupped her face in his hands again and slowly, she stopped laughing. Lip stayed quiet and leaned towards her slowly. Y/N closed her eyes, awaiting to be kissed only to be surprised when Lip kissed her on her forehead.

                 “You missed,” Y/N said.

                 “No. I want you to remember the first time I kiss you and you’re way too sh-tfaced to do that right now. If you still feel the same way about me when you’re sober, we can pick up where we left off.”

                 “But I want you now. I promise I won’t regret it.”

                 Lip didn’t listen to any of her protests as the night went on. So, they continued dancing, earning winks and rude gestures from Ian and Mandy. When the party was over, Lip took Y/N home to make sure she was safe. 

                “But who’s gonna walk you home?” Y/N asked as Lip helped her walk up the steps.

                  “I am.”

                “Why do you get to walk yourself home and not me?”

                “For one thing, I wouldn’t fall if you let go of my shoulders,” Lip said.

                Y/N huffed and leaned against her front door. Lip fished her keys out of her purse and unlocked the door for her. 

                “All right, now be quiet. The last thing we need is your parents coming after me.”

                Y/N nodded and wrapped her arms around Lip’s neck, giggling quietly. Before Lip could stop her, she pressed a sloppy kiss to his cheek before pulling away. “Good night, Lip.”

               “Night, Y/N.”

               She slipped into her house and Lip closed the door behind her.

               All he could do now was pray that she felt the same way about him in the morning.

My Clexa Con Experience

I have taken a few days between the Con ending and now, I figured it would give me time to process what exactly happened that magical weekend… Turns out, it only made the job harder.

To articulate what happened, what I and many who attended the Con experienced- is near to impossible to do without sounding cheesy or ideological. But it was. That’s exactly what it was.

We created a space where everyone was accepted. We created a space where people of all ages, races, sexual orientation, gender identity, and belief system felt loved and accepted. Above all, we created a safe space where people could be vulnerable without fear of judgement. For those three days we had created a sort of Utopua for ourseves; no one fought, everyone was respectful, there was constructive conversations about race, representation, and how we could make our world a better place.

I arrived to Bally’s not expecting much, maybe 200-300 people- what I was met with was a convention center filled and a line that went on way past my wildest imagination. I picked up my camera, slapped on my “staff” badge, and I got to work.

Walking around the convention center I was met with so many beautiful faces. I tried to strike up a conversation with everyone I met before I take the picture- you can look in the eyes of anyone I had taken a picture with over that weekend. It’s my firm belief the difference between a good shot and a great shot is the relationship you build between a subject and yourself, you can see it in their eyes exactly what they’re thinking… If they like you or not, if they’re comfortable or not, if they want to be there or not.

I hope when my photos come out you can see what I saw through that lens… A group of amazing, passionate, beautiful women from all walks of life and all places.

Now getting to what I assume all of you have read this far for: Yes, Katherine, Dominique, Natasha, Elise, Elizabeth, Rachel, Zoie, Sarah, Amy, Jasika, and everyone are some of the nicest, most sincere people I’ve ever met. But I want to talk about a particular couple right now… WayHaught, or Kat and Dom. Listen to me when I tell you- I have never met two nicer, down to earth, smart, beautiful and incredible women. When Dominique talks to you, you feel like you two are the only ones in the room, she engages you in a way that’s almost hypnotozing, she makes physical contact to make sure you know she’s genuinely listening to what you’re saying… And Kat, where do I even begin. If you’ve ever watched an interview or a video of Kat talking, you can hear the kindness in her voice. When you talk to her you feel an almost safety blanket put around you, that she’s there for you no matter what.

The Shoot, WayHaught, and Hollstein panel was absolutely insane- and you could tell thqt the actresses thought it was just as bonkers as we did. I also want to take a moment to recognize all of the amazing panelists/interviewers- you guys made a hard job look easy. And Dana, having Elise and Natasha read from Clexa/Xena and Gabrielle/Carol scripts was one of the greatest things ever done on a panel EVER. It was unbelievable. Everyone I met over that weekend kept repeating the same question over and over… “Is this really happening?”

Yes. It happened.

I also met many people in the industry that I’ve long admired, notably Emily Andras (If you know me well, you know I was on board with Wynonna Earp since day one). I also took her writing class, the central theme of it being a WayHaught wedding- (she knows us too well 👀) and I learned so much valuable writing/industry rules to follow and goals to keep working on that I will never forget… Least of all my favorite piece of advice, “You know you’ve made it the first time you say ‘no’ in the writers room.”

Oh… And did I mention Sara Ramirez showed up? So, let me tell you a little story- on Saturday I worked about 10 hours, just photographing everyone and everything. I realized I had to finish a 5 page paper due for my English class that I had to get in before midnight, so at 10 p.m. I get to my hotel, write my essay and send it in… I then get peer Pressured into going into the “Sinful” party (Thanks Evan and Sam 😜) and didn’t get back to my hotel until around 3:30 am… So I slept in and unfortunately missed the Queer POC representation panel (the one I was really looking forward to) but by pure luck they were doing a part 2 later on! So… I get to the panel, and I use the term panel loosely as it was more of a very large group discussion about everything from race to safe spaces and who shows up? Sara Ramirez in all of her beautiful Bisexual glory. After that, she sort of became a panelist as well- talking about mental health (which hey ClexaCon 2018 how about a mental health panel!) And the difficulties growing up Bisexual and biracial. After the panel the entire room had a group hug.

Believe me when I tell you, Sara is one of the most charming people I met that weekend- and I learned more than I could ever thank her and the panel for. Being a queer white woman I know of many things, I know about mental health issues because I’ve suffered them, I know what it’s like to be in a wheelchair for an extended period of time and the difficulties that entails (and I also know how hard it is to re-learn how to walk), I know about being gay, and I know about having white privelage.

What I don’t know is race, what it means to be biracial, trans, Bisexual, asexual, gender non conforming, and many many other things. And I will never pretend that I do. Because I can’t possibly know what I haven’t experienced. That’s why as a screenwriter and someone who tells stories it was imperative for me to ask the amazing and diverse people in that room what I can do to help tell their stories and if it was okay to ask for them to help me do so, what they wanted to see in strong female characters that represents who they are. They were so gracious and kind, they gave so many wonderful suggestions and guidelines to work on that I will always keep in mind. I didn’t say much during the panel but that was the entire point of being a white woman in a room about Queer POC representation… It was my job to shut up and listen to them. And I’m so glad I did.

To Alexia, Sam, Lisa, Evan, literally ALL of the amazing organizers and volunteers- we have made something that will last for years to come. I hope to see you all next year for ClexaCon 2018, because there’s no way we’re letting this little piece of Utopia go.

-Rachel Kom Fotokru

Originally posted by alyciadebnamgifs

A Stain On Their Name ~ Sirius

Totally late for the anon who requested it, I’m so sorry but I’ve been swamped with work, hope you like it though. 

It wasn’t even a dangerous or hurtful thing to do.

It was a dare. That was it.

You felt horrible for making him go through with it. The dare itself was hilarious, but walking into Slughorn’s office to hear what Orion and Walburga were saying, that was a different story.

You just wanted to turn in your potions essay early so you went to Slughorn’s office one Friday night.

“- A HORRIBLE STAIN ON OUR NAME! a HORRIBLE INFLUENCE ON YOUNGER CHILDREN! A HORRIBLE SON! NO SON OF MINE!” Walburdga’s shrill voice rang in your ears the second the door opened

You slipped into the room without making a sound.

Sirius was cowered in a corner, Slughorn was nowhere to be seen. But you could see the tears streaming down your best friend’s face.

He had told you a few times about his home. You always pressed him to tell more, but he never went into detail about what the arguments and lectures were like. You always said to him that you would go right up to his mother and stomp on her foot if she ever yelled at Sirius in your presence, but you were frozen in your spot.

“Mother, it was just a fun- “


“No.” Sirius said through clenched teeth.

“What did you just say to your mother?” Orion asked sternly, finally stepping forward with his decorative cane to address the boy with his fists clenched.

“I said-“Sirius tried to repeat himself but flinched at his father’s movements.

“That’s what I thought, boy.” Orion snarled.

“Go home. You’ve done what you wanted to do.” Sirius said, regaining bravery.

“Excuse me?” Orion asked, tightening his grip on the black cane.

“Go home. You’ve done everything but beat me.”

“You filthy, ungrateful-“ Orion raised his cane over his head and took two lunching steps forward. Sirius turned his back to his father to avoid getting hit in the face. You knew you had to do something and fast.

“Professor Slughorn?” You called. The adults whipped their heads to the sound of your voice. “oh, it seems like he’s not in here.” You willed yourself to sound innocent so they would stop.

“(Y/N)- “ Sirius tried to warn you to leave, but you continued talking.

“Sirius! There you are! McGonagall was wondering if you were ever going to come back to the common room, everyone is in there. You see, we are going over some new rules that are being installed. She sent me to find you and I figured you might be in here doing homework like you do every now and then.”

Sirius’ parents stared at you in shock. You got them.

“Am I interrupting something?” You asked Orion.

He finally lowered his cane from over his head and stepped back from the shaking boy on the ground.

“No, you were not, Miss”


“Never heard of you.” He spat in pride of his own name.

“Now you have.” You raised your head high and walked boldly to Sirius.

“If you will excuse us. Professor McGonagall told me to fetch him and come back immediately, we need to hear these rules.”


And with that, you offered your friend your hand and helped him up. He was still shaking from fear and there were silent tears rolling down his cheeks. You led him out the door and down the hall.

“New rules?” HE asked.

“Bullshit. I just had to say something to get them to stop.” You two stopped walking after you were far enough away from the scene you had just left. There was a bench by one wall and you sat Sirius down and knelled in front of him on the ground.

His head was in his hands and his hair was serving as a curtain to hide his red face.

“Hey.” You whispered softly, taking one of his hand in yours. You wiped his tears away with your free hand. Everything was silent in the empty hall and his eyes met yours.

“They’re right, I-“

“NO.” You said firmly, “you can not hold yourself to their standards. No one can meet them.”

“Regulus can.”

“But you’re not Regulus.”

“They wish I was.”

“But I’m glad you’re you. Isn’t that much better?” You smiled, trying to get him to  see himself the way you saw him. Because the truth was, you loved him.

“I hate them, (y/n). But I still want their approval. I still want them to be my parents.”
“I don’t understand that, Sirius.” You said. You could not fathom how anyone would still want approval from such horrible people.

“I don’t expect you to.” He sniffed.

“Sirius. You are the opposite of everything they say you are. You are smart as hell, you’re loyal, you’re brave. You’re an amazing friend. You’re my best friend. Please don’t listen to them.”

“I just hear it so often that I have t believe it’s true, right?”

“No, Sirius. You are not anything like they say you are. And- and because of that I, well, I love you.”

Your words lingered in the air for what seemed like eternity. He was just staring at you. He had stopped crying and was still holding onto your hand.

“(Y/N).” He breathed softly.

“Can I kiss you?” You asked hoping you didn’t make his day any worse by confessing your love.

“You didn’t have to ask.”

“I wanted to.”  

how to stay motivated

hey guys so recently I have had quite a few messages asking me how to stay motivated so I thought I would put it in one post so that people can see how I like to stay motivated and hopefully these tips help you too!


I feel like setting a goal is super important and this is my main source of motivation. I set little mini short-term goals and the odd long-term goal so I am surrounded by aims to get me motivated. 

So what is a short-term goal? A short-term goal is a goal that you want to set for the near future. The near future could be an hour, a day, a week, a month - but something that you can accomplish in a ‘small’ amount of time. Examples could include:

  • Getting up at 7am every morning and starting your work early
  • Reading a chapter of a book a day to improve your reading 
  • No chocolate for a month
  • No studying past 6pm
  • Keep a clean desk

A long-term goal is something that you want to reach but takes a lot longer to achieve. Long-term goals can include:

  • Going to university to study Law
  • Getting straight B’s in next years final exams
  • Landing a career in journalism
  • Gaining/losing X amount of lbs
  • Saving £X so you can go on holiday

I find setting a long-term goal can be helpful, but short-term goals are just as good. I have a long term goal at the moment to work hard and get good grades so I can go to university and study history. Whilst this is a good goal, I also need stepping stones to get me there and to keep that motivation flowing - these are my short-term goals: such as getting more organised for my final year, or getting an A on an essay I’ve written. 

Sometimes people don’t know what to do when they have to set a goal, but think slightly selfish for a bit and think about what you really want and how to get there. This sets up some motivation. I love having a goal because I feel like every small task I complete gets me one step closer to that goal of mine - almost like ticking an assignment off of your to-do list!


Speaking of to-do lists, this brings me on to tip number two. I don’t know where I would be without a to-do list/schedule because without it, I would be an absolute mess. With having so much to do, it is impossible for me to keep a mental list of everything and writing it down helps so much!

Not only does it help me remember what I have to do, it also motivates me in so many ways. First of all, setting one up at the start of the day means that I know exactly what I need to get done and I want to get it done as quickly as I can, but without rushing it and so it makes me start straight away so I can tick things off of my list. 

This brings me on to the second reason why they motivate me so much - because every time you tick it off, you get an amazing feeling of satisfaction and relief that your to-do list is slowly getting smaller. Also, the amount of happiness it brings when you have ticked off everything you have to do is definitely such a good feeling and it is so amazing to know you have finished and you can now relax! Each time you tick something off, it motivates you to get the whole list done.

Schedules work in the same way, as you go through the day, there are less and less things for you to do and it makes you feel gradually more satisfied that you’re coming to the end of your work!

Pro tip: however, it is important to be realistic, if you set a to-do list with 15 things on it, it looks less appealing and you are less likely to do it. go for realistic lists that are long enough to keep you busy but small enough to manage!


This is actually quite simple and original but also helps massively and perhaps one of the most amazing things ever. If I have a massive chunk of homework for a subject, breaking it down into smaller tasks makes my life so much easier and saves me so much agro. 

Of course it isn’t always possible to break it down if your deadline is two days after it is set - but you can always break it down into two halves which makes tackling it seem a lot easier. 

I know some of my friends really don’t like doing this because they would rather just get it done and out the way, but if you are someone like me where motivation needs to hit me like a truck before I get work done, this can be a really good way to tackle projects and homework and isn’t as stressful. Whilst it might take slightly longer due to the breaking up of tasks, I actually find this more productive and makes things so much more manageable so I actually feel like I want to do the small task instead of the one large one. 

I break up the tasks and schedule these broken up tasks on my to-do list. For example, instead of reading a whole chapter and taking notes from my history books, I will just write ‘take notes from page X to page Y’ and it completely changes my frame of mind and makes me more positive.


You probably must be thinking something like, ‘Jess you must be mad! why on earth would you do the hardest task first thats just the worst idea ever?!’ but honestly, this is something that can really change your mood and uplift you for the rest of the day - honestly, this tip works!

I completely understand that in a morning the first thing you are not going to want to do is that physics homework that entails you doing 3 pages of questions on oscillations and harmonic motion. However, doing the hardest task / things you don’t want to do first, not only makes you tackle it with a fresh mind after waking up (or after a break from school or whatever it is you were doing), but also afterwards, you feel more confident and motivated to get the rest of the things done which are more enjoyable and is actually more motivating because you have got the worst thing out of the way.

You also don’t want to not do it and then set it for another day, when you are probably going to procrastinate getting it done. Get it out of the way!

We all know that leaving an assignment you really don’t want to do until last is perhaps the worst thing you can do, as you take one look at it and decide you have had enough and need a break or some sleep. Prioritising this first means that you can get everything done without leaving the thing you didn’t want to do. 


This one is a great one to bare in mind and this really applies to me at the moment and is actually where my main source of motivation has come from since the 18th August (results day!).

For me, getting great results is a massive success, and receiving results such as A’s and B’s makes me very very happy and much more motivated. It gives me a spark of inspiration to keep going to make sure that I keep that up! Whilst I know grades aren’t everything, they are really important to me and so this is why when I get very good results, they motivate me to keep me going to achieve more - and it ends up in a cycle!

However, whilst good grades motivate me to carry on performing at my best and to keep working hard, it is important that I understand my failures too, and so should you. A failure for me isn’t a specific grade as such, but where I am disappointed at myself for getting something or knowing I didn’t perform as well as I should have, or an unexpected failure as I thought I had done better than I did.

From these failures/mistakes, these also motivate me to do better next time, or to focus on improving myself and my technique to be the best I can be. Failures/mistakes can make you more motivated than what your successes can, because it motivates you to find areas of improvement and work hard and improve techniques so that you can get to where you want to be - you can get to that goal! 

Successes and failures are so important in receiving motivation. Not only do they provide you with something to keep you going, but they build you as a character and I think that is a lovely thing!


I find that since joining the studyblr community, I have found really nice ways to be creative and to make my notes look neater and more appealing for me to look at. This might seem to be such a silly little tip, but drawing simple doodles or fancy titles really motivates me. 

Whilst making my notes look more aesthetically pleasing takes slightly longer, I find it calms me with anxiety as I am being creative whilst I am working and it is a really great way for me to stay relaxed. So not only does it bring me motivation, but calms my anxiety too! Killing two birds with one stone!

This point doesn’t really apply when I am revising, a fancy title will probably do; and also when I am taking notes in class, I never bother; but when I am going over things or making flashcards, it helps to make things look more appealing so I am more likely to pick them up and go for them and learn. 

Some might disagree that this would actually make them less inclined to do work, but if you need to alleviate stress, get motivated or just want to make your notes look nice, then this could be for you!


Breaks and rewards give you so much motivation whilst you are doing your work! I study and revise probably more than what is healthy, and so I like to make sure I have a nice break whenever I can because I work myself very hard. Sometimes, something can take me about 2 hours and so a half an hour to an hour’s worth of break can really help me before I start something else. 

You can try having a break every 45 minutes, every hour or two hours; but make sure your break really puts your mind at ease before you start work again. You need to make sure you give your brain a good rest. 

You can have a break or reward yourself by having a nice shower, going for a walk or to the gym, cooking, having a coffee and a biscuit, meeting up with some friends, going on social media, having a nap - whatever it might be, as long as you have that break you will feel so much more refreshed after! It also motivates you to get things done so you know you can have a break after you have finished your task and makes you feel compelled to finish it so you can relax!


This is actually a really important point and can help maintain motivation in the long run. Getting people to help you can be a really good way to stay motivated. Tell people, such as your friends and family, about the goals you have set for yourself or that you are struggling to stay motivated and ask them to help you. 

My friends sometimes study with me and help me with things I don’t understand which can help maintain my motivation. When I finally understand something or I go over things with my friends, it can make me feel more confident and uplifted that I know things and spurs me on. Letting family know about your goals also helps them support you which is a really significant part of motivation, because if no one is there to support you, the will to carry on eventually disintegrates and you don’t want that! 

Make sure that you do have some support, whether it be from friends, family or the studyblr community, but ensure you are surrounded by people who can motivate you and who can help you along the way so that you can achieve these goals and keep you on target! Sometimes, motivation doesn’t come from the things you do, but from the environment that you’re in - which is why support and help is such a good source of motivation!

That is the end of the tips I have on how to stay motivated. Hopefully they are good starting points for you all! Let me know if you try any of these tips for a while and tell me if they have helped you, it is always nice to see what people think and if these things work - remember if they don’t, that everyone is different and different things work for different people!

cutiemcgraw  asked:

For the promt thing, silverflint + 13? Pleaaase! (I love your blog btw!)

(Um, this one is kind of angsty. Sorry! I hope that’s alright. This is set after that conversation in the cabin in 4x08, when Flint doesn’t know the chest is on board yet, and Silver is barely clinging on to his last remnants of trust in Flint’s plans. It’s got a fair bit of ot3-ness about it too, which I hope is ok as well.)  

“How can anyone not be afraid of love?”

The question was apropos of nothing. A thought given voice so quietly that it barely disturbed the air around them, barely existed at all. Flint stilled, unsure of how to reply.

“The things it drives you to do,” Silver continued, his voice a murmur. “It’s not…good or gentle or generous. It’s selfish and destructive. I think perhaps I was better off without it. I think everyone else was better off without me having it too.”  

“Don’t say that,” Flint said, softly. His gaze flicked up to Silver’s face, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to try to catch his eye. Words like these asked to be heard without being seen. Even the light of the candles cast too bright an illumination on them. He would have snuffed them out if he wasn’t afraid that any movement might shatter the atmosphere of the moment. “We’re going to get her back. She and I and everyone will be better off because you won’t rest until she is safe. Because you love her.”

“But that’s not-” Silver said, curling his lip as he cut himself off. “It isn’t that simple. You know it isn’t. You’re speaking in platitudes and I didn’t ask for it. I never ask for that from you. Don’t be so fucking gentle with me.”

Flint sighed. Once, he would have had to fight to swallow his irritation at such a truculent response, but he was just too damn tired. And he knew Silver was tired too. Exhausted. His words were softly slurring round the edges, and it wasn’t with drink. He wasn’t sure from exactly which festering piece of unresolved anger this particular accusation took root, but Flint decided that it mattered little, and that straightforwardness was the only sensible way forward.

“What is it that you do want from me then?” he asked, and he finally persisted in seeking out Silver’s gaze until he had it.

Silver picked at the handle of his crutch, his focus jumping between Flint’s eyes and a point somewhere over his right shoulder.

“I want your honesty,” he said. He paused, swallowing heavily, and then continued, “Did Miranda ever hate you for the things you did for Thomas? Or the cruelties it lead to? Or the selfish choices you made on his behalf, or hers, or your own?”

Flint clenched his fingers. He tried to keep his face calm, keep from his eyes the anger that was so quick to seep out from sore old wounds, but it was barely worth the effort around Silver. If he was an open book to nobody else on Earth, he was to him. Silver could read an essay in the crease of his brow, the deepest of secrets in the twitch of his eye. He wondered whether he would ever find the cipher to allow him to read Silver in the same way, down to the very last word and those most nightmarish of secrets.

“Why?” Flint said, his teeth barely parting to let the word out.

“Because I want to know how singular she was. How uncommon. I want to know what sort of horrors and betrayals were excused because she had your love, and what was excused in return, if you had hers. I want to know what a good person might be willing to forgive. I know the things I would forgive, and the things I would not, but I am not a good person,” Silver said, his eyes now focused unwaveringly on Flint’s. “I’m not,” he added when Flint frowned and opened his mouth to disagree.

Flint twisted the ring on his little finger as he considered how to answer, and contemplated what it seemed that Silver was really asking.

“She forgave a lot of things because I loved her and because she loved me, and because she understood the way Thomas and I loved one another too. Of course she hated some of the things I did, and some of the things to which I subjected her, but she always understood why. I didn’t…I didn’t always love her well. But she forgave it all. She was singular and uncommonly good, but then so is Madi. I think Madi would forgive a great deal too,” he said, his eyes imploring Silver to believe him, as he believed it himself.

“I’m not talking about Madi,” Silver murmured, his gaze piercing and unsettling. 

Flint blinked and frowned, but before he could speak again, Silver pushed himself to standing, the effort looking monumental. Flint was worried for a brief moment that his knee might simply buckle underneath him.

“We both ought to sleep,” Silver said, as he made his way laboriously towards the door. “Whatever happens tomorrow, it will require us both to have our wits about us.”

As the door closed behind him, Flint considered his words again. He was unnerved by them, though he didn’t fully understand them, and they echoed in his mind nonetheless. He knew the things love could drive a person to; knew the corrupted ways in which it could be expressed. ‘I want to know what a good person might be willing to forgive…I’m not talking about Madi.’ The thoughts creeping around the edges of his tired mind, too fragile to withstand much scrutiny, wondered when anyone had last called him good, and what sort of generous forgiveness might be facilitated by his loving and being loved in return. Or what forgiveness might be required. And he wondered whether, just perhaps, he might even be willing to forgive enough to be defined as singular.

Essays in Existentialism: Reunited

Clarke and Lexa (who were dating on the ark) were separated the day Clarke was sent to the ground with The 100. When the Ark came down, Lexa was the only survivor in her station, and was taken in by the grounders, where the two of them, out of all places, are eventually reunited. But a lot of things have happened since they last saw each other— and the two are no longer the same people they once knew.

The explosions on the other side of the mountain make the horses buck, make them sprint and paw the ground anxiously. The pack of hunters watch from the edge of the forest as the giant object crashes into the Earth, so hard that even miles away they can feel the ground shake with the impact. For just a few seconds, an unnatural silence blankets everything. 

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Do I Know You? (1) |Peter Parker x Reader

Hey, so this is my first one shot that’ll probably become a series. maybe. It is a one shot for now. I guess it could be Amazing Spiderman Peter or Civil War Peter.

Originally posted by jessikaort

Part 1 [Part 2] [Part 3]

  “Hey, Peter!” Peter turned around to see a flash of blonde hair. It was Gwen, the girl-well, the only person who had ever talked to him for something other than academics. Peter figured it was probably out of pity more than anything.

  “H-hey Gwen.” Peter waved nervously and rubbed the back of his neck. “What’s up?”

  Gwen, smiling, said “Well, I noticed you don’t really talk with people here.” Pause.

  Peter’s eyes shot up and he played with his sweatshirt’s zipper, waiting for her to continue.

  “…So I was wondering if you wanted to sit with me an my friends at lunch?” She crossed her arms and shrugged. “I mean, if you want to. You don’t-”

  “Yes! Really?” Peter interrupted, surprised. No one had actually asked him if he wanted to hang out, or sit together at lunch, or anything before. 

  “Awesome!” Gwen grinned and turned around, only to be promptly knocked over by one of her friends.

  “Hey Gwen, we were looking for–hi.” She stopped abruptly as she noticed the boy her friend was conversing with. Turning to her friend, she asked, “Who is this?”, then turning to Peter she asked, “Who are you?”

  “Peter. Peter Parker.” He smiled and held out his hand. The girl gave him a once-over, and Peter could see the wheels spinning in her head as she placed him in the category: ‘Class A Nerd’.

  The girl smiled and introduced herself, “Yo. I’m (Y/N). I-don’t think I have you in any of my classes, um… do I know you?”

  “I’m in your physics class.” Peter managed to get that out. He was new to this kind of thing.

  (Y/N) ignored what he had said and blurted, “You’re that pizza delivery boy! I knew that I’d seen you somewhere!”

  “Haha-right…” Peter smiled internally. When did he deliver pizza to her again?   “Well…should we get going?” Gwen motioned to the cafeteria door and started walking. Peter walked beside her, talking avidly about their History teacher who had assigned an essay earlier in the morning.

  (Y/N) lagged behind, and Peter noticed. She was writing something on her hand with a blue sharpie. “What’re you doing?”

  “Well, I’m planning something.” She quickly stuffed her hand in the pocket of her jacket, smiling forcedly.  


  “Can’t really tell you that.”

  “Why?” What exactly was she hiding?

  She laughed. “You sure do ask a lot of questions don’t you Spiderboy?”

  Peter’s body went rigid at that comment. How on earth could she know? He had done a good job hiding his identity so far. "What?“

  "Um” She brushed back her (H/C) hair and pointed to his shirt. “Your shirt has the Spiderman logo on it, Parker.”

  “Oh. Right. I forgot about that…school, you know.”

  “Unfortunately, I can relate.” (Y/N) sighed. Peter couldn’t figure out what else to talk about. He looked down, twiddling his thumbs. Finally, he stated to say, “So-” But when Peter turned around to converse more with the strange (Y/N), she had already caught up with Gwen.

  Peter could hear snippets of their conversation as he walked behind the two friends. “What…..Parker…..why……sitting with us?…cute…..invited…..okay…”

  Peter sighed and trudged along. He knew that Gwen was nice, but he had just met (Y/N), and so far the two hadn’t been able to hold a good conversation for 60 seconds.


  Most people thought he was weird.

  Seems like (Y/N) did too.

Today’s The Day

Request: Could you please write an EXTRA FLUFFY Sirius x reader imagine? Thank you very much! Xx


hello! sorry to bother you but I was just thinking if you can write a small imagine if sirius finally having the courage to flirt and ask out his gryffindor crush who is known of being intimidating (just like me lol)

Word Count: 2,041


“Alright, Prongs, today’s the day,” Sirius declared confidently. “Is it?” James smirked. “Yes,” Sirius replied. “You sound pretty sure of yourself there, Mate,” James pointed out, amused. “I am. I’m gonna do it. I’m gonna go up to her in the library after dinner and sweep her off of her feet and by the time I leave, she’ll be head over heels in love with me,” Sirius tugged on his collar, his boldness almost palpable. “Well good luck, Pads,” he laughed, mumbling under his breath,“You’re going to need it.” “I am not going to need it!” Sirius called as he left the common room for dinner. 

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There’s no way for Azula to know Aang was still alive after she shot him with the lightning blast, until she suspected Zuko’s behaviour when he was feeding the turtle-duckes in the Fire Nation and figure it out here.

“So, I didn’t capture the Avatar,”

“Who cares?“ Azula asks. “The Avatar is dead.”

Zuko looks away.

He still doesn’t know how to cover himself. (In the lying sort of way. He seems to have mastered the clothing sort of way, unfortunately.) Azula, being as sharp as she is (sharp enough to sink an empire class battleship), picks up on his caginess immediately. “Unless you think he somehow miraculously survived…” she coaxes. Zuko knows about the spirit oasis water.

And he also knows how slippery Aang is, plus he seems to have some sort of strange psychic connection to Aang, perhaps the very thing that allowed them to fight in tandem so well in The Blue Spirit, so this is why he has a nagging feeling that Aang isn’t dead.

“No, there’s no way he could have survived,” Zuko says assuredly to Azula. But Azula sees straight through his lies. They stare each other down for few minutes.

“Well, then I’m sure you have nothing to worry about,” Azula responds. He holds his own against her in that, but he’s already shown his hand, unfortunately for him. This is a warning for him, but he doesn’t pick up on it.

Azula leaves.

This proves that the person who was suspected the Avatar might still alive is Zuko, not Azula. And his suspicions extended to her.

What would be the point of this scene if Azula was already know the truth? If she was know the truth already, then this scene is vain- hole plot. There’s no point of them talking about the possibility of Aang’s survival. The writers would’ve cancel this whole conversation, and skip til to “bedroom scene” where Azula suspicing the Avatar may still alive.

This is the key. And more of what even mentioned in the canon book “Earth Kingdom: Chronicles: The Tale of Azula”

(This Tale told by Azula’s perspective. The book written by Michael Teitelbaum, one of the writers who create her character)

She actually planned to GIVE Zuko credit for taking down the Avatar BEFORE she suspected that the Avatar was alive. Proof of this is when the siblings were introduced by Li and Lo; Azula was given credit for taking down Ba Sing Se, but NOT for taking down the Avatar. At that point, she believed the Avatar dead and yet did not claim credit; she had not yet asked Zuko about the Avatar possibly being alive. This was her way of showing her thanks to Zuko for coming back to her.

Ozai: “I am proud of you, Prince Zuko. I am proud because you and your sister conquered Ba Sing Se. I am proud because when your loyalty was tested by your treacherous uncle, you did the right thing and captured the traitor. And I am proudest of all of your most legendary accomplishment: you slayed the Avatar.”

We know that Azula isn’t nice enough to give Zuko the glory out of the goodness of her heart, but we don’t know what she’s up to, just like he doesn’t know. We of course find out that she was protecting herself, so she wouldn’t be shamed if it ever came out that the Avatar wasn’t really dead. But she could have told Ozai that Zuko killed the Avatar without mentioning his “power” and “ferocity”. Those words of compliments. Azula did do a lot of smiling during that battle. She also emphasizes a separation between Zuko and Iroh, with Iroh as the traitor, and Zuko as the loyalist who proved himself. That much had to have been for Zuko’s benefit.

Iroh is considered too far gone to be redeemed in Ozai’s eyes, and Azula views him the same way.

But Zuko is a failure, and he gets two options: being dragged home where he’ll no longer embarrass Ozai, as said by Azula in Book 2, Episode 1, OR he could restore his own honor by joining forces with Azula, which would get him his “honor” back, again a summary of the things Azula tells him in Book 2, Episode 20. Long story short, he either gets to get locked in a basement to no longer embarrass dad, or to prove for once and for all that he’s not a failure.

The fact remains that Azula gave Zuko a chance to do the latter. And she didn’t do it because she thought she nedeed a scapegoat, how could she have known Aang might have survived until that conversation with her brother by the turtle-duck pond? Until then she’s absolutely convinced Aang is dead. She snaps at Zuko, until she finally asks if he thinks he might have miraculously survived. Zuko hesitates, then says no. Azula can tell something’s not right, and she says that in that case he has nothing to worry about. In that case. In that case. [x]

▪At the bedroom scene:

“You have another motive for doing this,” Zuko accuses. “I just haven’t figured out what it is.”“What ulterior motive could I have? What could I possibly gain by letting you get all of the glory for defeating the Avatar?““…Unless, somehow, the Avatar was still alive,” she finally says. See: she told him the truth. It’s not as if he had her cornered – she chose to tell him the truth, probably to help him out a little. Now, she might have thrown him under the bus a little here, but he sort of had it coming: she asked him if it was possible that the Avatar was still alive, and he denied it. We’ll never know what might have happened if he had told the truth at Ba Sing Se or the pond. And he could have told the truth when he was with his father, but he didn’t. And maybe Azula did him a favor, because it’s possible that Ozai would not have accepted Zuko back if he did not think that Zuko had been the one to take care of the Avatar problem. We can’t know that either.

“All that glory would suddenly turn to shame and foolishness,” she points out with menace, taking her hand off of his shoulder and walking back to her bed.

“But you said yourself that was impossible,” Azula points out thereby justifying herself.

He’s still angry at her duplicity, but he certainly realizes that he got himself into this position, and he’s trying to figure out how he can fix things.

In the Beach, Azula even offered to help Zuko with his internal turmoil. She showed compassion and a willingness to help him with his mental struggle, even going so far as to decrease her value in the eyes of her father so that Zuko could have what he dreamed of.

Azula is not as bad as you think (or as some hope). Her helping her brother at Ba Sing Se was completely selfless.

When Zuko defects from the Fire Nation she felt angry. His leaving also throws her priorities into doubt, when he begins to succeed without meeting, or even trying to meet, the standards set by their father. But she wasn’t truly unnerved until she’s followed by the of betrayal of Mai and Ty lee.

Azula may act cold and cruel with Zuko sometimes, she also do care about him sometimes too. Her feelings toward him are complex and variable.

As long as some people not using fan-made stuff as arguments in serious discussions such as have a tendency to defy all logic and to try to flatten her character and her complexities by “fortuneteller!Azula” headcanon who would know that Aang would survive the lighting blast. then I have no reason to assure this point at the end of “Book 2: Earth”. You should know better than to twist things around just to belittle her good side..

So follow logic and the canon storyline.

I Am My Mom Predictions

What if in I Am My Mom, Steven and the Crystal Gems realize that there’s nothing they can do to save the citizens of Beach City from Homeworld? I mean, they barely escaped the Zoo with Greg, and that was when they had a ship to use. What if Steven, being Steven, is so messed up about it that he does the only thing he thinks he can in order to save them? What if he goes up to the Diamonds and tries to bargain with them, and when they don’t listen, thinking him to be just a normal human, he throws his shield at them, and then they realize that Steven is Rose Quartz, and this time he doesn’t deny it, like he has with Jasper, Bismuth, and Eyeball? He sees that he can play the part of Rose Quartz as a means to an end, so he says, “I am my mom,” instead of “I’m not my mom!” like he’s said over and over to each of them. 

The stress of being Rose’s son, who now must shoulder both her mistakes and his own, is really weighing on him. It started in An Indirect Kiss, then continued in Joy Ride, Steven Floats, Bismuth, Back to The Moon, Bubbled, Mindful Education, Steven’s Dream, Storm in The Room and Lion 4: Alternate Ending. He’s struggling; he even asked Room-Rose, “Did you make me just so that you wouldn’t have to deal with all your mistakes? Is that all I’m here for?" 

In Bismuth, he got the closest he’d ever gotten to reassurance from another gem–and a Crystal Gem at that! Bismuth told him that he could be someone different, that he could be even better than Rose, but as soon as she said that, she rescinded it (”It is you, isn’t it, Rose?”), and all of her advice left a bad taste in his mouth.

In Lion 4, he freaked out when he realized that there didn’t seem to be a purpose for his existence, just like he did in Storm In The Room (and these two episodes were really close together, unlike Steven Floats and Mindful Education, which shows the issues are becoming more prominent). He keeps being reassured that he’s enough, he’s enough, but while in the moment he lets himself be moved by the words of others, the fact that the issues keep coming back shows that he hasn’t internalized that yet. He doesn’t feel like he’s enough, and part of that is the fault of the Crystal Gems and the various enemies he’s had to face.

The Crystal Gems have all expressed varying levels of comprehension that he is not Rose, and that they can’t expect from him what they freely expected from her. They all have moments when they realize that he’s a kid, but they also have moments when they view him as something more–like when Garnet and Pearl refused to listen to Steven when he said that there was something outside the Warp Stream, and when they refused to listen to him when he said Peridot had something important to tell them. At the same time, though, they expected him to behave like an adult and make responsible decisions all the time, and never have the time to be a kid. That’s part of the reason he and Amethyst get along so well; they’re both treated similarly by Garnet and Pearl, who have high expectations and little tolerance for failure to meet them. 

Amethyst, on the other hand, expects him to be better than her, which is her way of expecting him to be something greater than he is (ironic, considering how she feels about Garnet and Pearl’s ideas about her). Interestingly, she progresses and comes to terms with her self-worth throughout the series. She starts out very self-deprecating, but gradually comes to see what the others do: that she is strong, powerful, mature and able to come through in the clutch. This is helped along by Pearl’s reassurance when she is transparent with her in On The Run, the Crystal Gems’s understanding in Reformed, Bismuth’s treatment of her as an equal, her match with Steven when preparing to fight Jasper, and her eventual identification with Steven about her self-worth. 

What I think is perhaps the most important, though, is her time at the Zoo in the Out of This World arc. She finally gets to spend time with Homeworld gems–gems that are DEFECTIVE like she is, no less, who are from Earth and who have been waiting for her. The fact that she has grown in her sense of confidence and then got to meet others who have faced the same odds and won, led her to become so confident in herself that she felt she could give up wrestling, which had been the boost she needed to maintain her confidence.

Amethyst has grown and overcome the issues that Steven still has to address, which is extremely important to my predictions for I Am My Mom. He’s been shown over and over that Rose is better than he is, told over and over how amazing she was, and he has experienced so much doubt that he can even come close to measuring up to what she’s done. And, to top it all off, he’s begun to find out about some of the bad things she’s done, and he’s had to try to process that gems were not as benevolent as he thought they were, that humans and gems died in the war, that so many gems blame his mother for the deaths of their friends and leaders, that she had to make decisions that caused great harm to those with good intentions, and that she’s killed people. Not to mention, he has to deal with survivor’s guilt; he feels that, if he hadn’t been born, the gems and his dad would be happier because they’d have Rose, who they loved, and that he’s just a pale imitation in the face of everything she was.

And on top of that, he’s had to make some questionable decisions out of self preservation. He’s poofed and bubbled Bismuth, sent Eyeball flying out into space, and gotten his father abducted by aliens. He almost crashed a ship flying faster than the speed of light into a space station, and he feels that it was his fault that they almost died. He offered Jasper help and she refused it–instead indicating that she’d rather suffer a fate worse than death than accept his kindness. And, to top it all off, his kindness has been spurned and he’s been betrayed, meaning that whatever happens in the future as a consequence of Navy’s escape, he’s going to be responsible.

This kid has the weight of two worlds on his shoulders and no one even notices. Greater men (and women) have tried to persevere in the face of adversity like this, but in the end, it takes an exceedingly strong person to stand firm in their convictions. This show won’t take the route of the shounen character who always stands up in resolve; it isn’t afraid of delving into the deeper psychological conflicts that come with trauma and real life issues. Steven is going to try to make things right, try to “atone for his mistakes”, and if he thinks he can do that by sacrificing himself, he will. 

“The tattoo of the snowflake with stars.” soulmateAU

SOULMATE AU SERIES // Title: “The tattoo of the snowflake with stars.”

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x (FEM) Reader

 Requested by: @12-kay-kit-kat  asked: #10 Bucky x reader please :3”

 Prompts: #10 “Soulmates aren’t real” (mine) AND Colorless tattoos that get color when you meet your soulmate AND Soulmates where you can communicate via thoughts. Both of the soulmate prompts are from that amazing blog that I’ve linked you to.


Warnings: THIS IS REALLY LONG. Swearing and swearing and fluff???? But just a little bit.

A/N: I combined my own prompt with two that I found about soulmates, because it’s been a while since I wanted to write about it and those two seemed cool. BUT OMFG I REALLY EJOYED WRITING IT AND GOT CARRIED AWAY AND WELL WELL. I really hope that you guys (and you beautiful person that requested)

Pietro’s Part || Steve’s Part. || MASTERLIST

|| I don’t own Bucky or any of the Avengers, they belong to Marvel. ||

“We all born with a colorless tattoo with a particular design that will only get color if you meet your soulmate, before that you’re available to talk with your soulmate through your thoughts. It’s a bond that will never be broken.”  Y/N read out loud, looking at his friend eyes.

They were at the public library doing some research for an essay. And of course her friend had to choose a topic as silly as Soulmates: real life or just a state of mind?” Seriously it as awful.

“Continue please” he said smiling kindly at her.

Keep reading

Essays in Existentialism: Strip II

Do you think strip will get a sequel? Like Lexas friends finding out about Clarke and her job and Lexa being protective about her

Previously on Strip

The sunshine had never been more cheerful or beautiful. The earth was signing, the clouds were dancing, the universe itself was a spring afternoon, perfectly tempered and happily tinged with the makings of a great mood. The campus throbbed to life, pulsating like a heart, crackling with sparklers beneath the sidewalks, soaked in an invisible, upbeat tempo that refused to be slowed or stopped.

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I’m trying to study! Part 1

Originally posted by xxxjoanwongxxx

Bucky x Reader College AU

Catch up here!


Hey guys! Here’s a brand new Bucky story for you, I hope you enjoy. This will be about ten parts long altogether :)

Word count: 1122

Warnings: nothing really

The shrill sound of the alarm made you lurch from the comfortable position on your soft and warm bed and, tangled up in the soft sheets, you barely managed to stop yourself from falling onto the wooden floor. Grumbling to yourself, you switch off blaring alarm from your phone just as Natasha bursts through your door.

“Get up! You don’t want to be late again!”

“I’m up”, you mumble, almost ripping the sheets in a feeble attempt to untangle yourself. Nat snickers.

“You don’t want to make Bucky worry again, come on. You made him wait twenty minutes last time and he almost broke down the door because he was so worried.”

Your cheeks turn a rosy color as you recall the event…and the one before that…and the one before that. “Whatever”, you shrug. “He should know me by now. Actually, I’m pretty sure everyone knows that I love my zs.”

Nat smirked. “Don’t you think it’s cute how he’s so protective of you, (Y/n)? Are you sure there isn’t something going on between you two?”

Fighting the massive blush that’s making its way up your cheeks, you turn over to your dresser in order to avoid Natasha’s gaze. “Come on, Nat. He’s my best friend. Why would you think there’s something going on?”

Your friend snorted slightly. “You’re never good at hiding your feelings, (Y/n). Not to mention you talk in your sleep. Oh, the things I’ve heard from you…”

Eyes widening, you turn around immediately to face her. “Don’t ever tell anyone about the stuff of my dreams. ESPECIALLY not Bucky.”

Nat let out a short laugh, before pushing herself off the doorframe. “Whatever you say, darling. Now get ready and try not to be late.” With that, she walked out of your room, leaving you slightly flustered and with thoughts of Bucky running around your mind.

Half an hour later, you’re finally ready, with your (h/c) hair up in a messy bun and your best clothes hugging your curves nicely. As you walk down the stairs into the kitchen, Nat whistles at the sight of you.

“Who are you planning on seducing today, hmm?” She smirks.

You roll your eyes. “Can’t I look pretty for once, Natasha?”

The redhead laughs and shakes her head. “Since when do you actually want to look pretty? You usually don’t give a damn about how you look. What’s the special occasion today?”

With a huff, you pour yourself some coffee into your favourite Supernatural mug. “I’m going with a few friends to a café after class so we can complete a group assignment. No big deal.”

Nat’s smirk is dangerously wide. “And those friends are?”

“Steve and…Bucky.” You mumble without looking at her. Natasha lets out a peal of laughter while you groan, pinching your nose.

“Group assignment, eh?”

“As a matter of fact, yes. I don’t understand why you’re making such a big deal out of it”, you say, sipping your coffee. Natasha wiggles her eyebrows, the smirk never leaving her face.

As you’re about to reply, a knock on the door saves you from Natasha’s burning curiosity. Without looking at her, you quickly walk over to the door, pulling it open and smiling at the person on the other side, immediately feeling your heart speed up when you see who it is. “Hi, Bucky.”
Bucky smiles back at you. “Hey, doll. You ready to go?”

With a nod, you grab your bag and drain your mug of coffee, leaving it on the table situated next to the door. Grabbing your keys, you call out a “Later, Nat!” and close the door behind you, ignoring the feeling of your redheaded friend smirking.

Walking to campus, Bucky tells you about the dreadful assignment he’s been given by one of his teachers, Professor Fury. “He expects me to write about a program that could help improve world peace, in two days! How on earth am I supposed to do that?”

You laugh slightly, putting your hand on his arm. “Come on, Bucky. You’re excellent with those types of essays. I don’t get why you’re so worried.”

Bucky brushes his hand through his hair in frustration. “I’ve never written about something like this. Plus we have that huge group assignment to deal with. Um, what was it about again?”

“Ways to make our campus more eco-friendly, I think. It’ll be easy.”

Bucky nods, just as you arrive at the entrance to the school. “I’ll see you later, then? We’ll meet up in the café with Steve, like we said.”

You hum in confirmation. “Don’t forget”, you tell Bucky, giving him a quick hug. He hugs you back, smirking slightly when you pull away.

“Hey, (Y/n)?”


“Try not to forget about it, okay?”
Your cheeks burn red when you nod and quickly walk to class, Bucky’s melodic laugh sounding after you, causing butterflies to erupt in your stomach and a huge grin to appear on your face.

The day seems to go by in a flash and before you know it, the professor is dismissing you home and your phone vibrates with a text from Bucky, reminding you about the meet up in the café. Grabbing your bag, you nearly dash out of the classroom and run across the street, into the café. When you arrive, Steve and Bucky are already there, waiting for you. You quickly check how you look in the glass of the café door and push it open, the familiar feeling of butterflies returning to your stomach at full force. You send a small smile to your friends as you squeeze into the booth beside them.

“Hi”, you say breathlessly, pulling the notes for your project out of your bag.

“Hello, (Y/n)”, Steve smiles at you moving over slightly to make more room and pulling his own notes out onto the table. Bucky, however, seems a little bit out of it, as he hasn’t even acknowledged your presence yet.

“Earth to Bucky!” You laugh, waving a hand in his face. Bucky snaps his eyes to you with a bashful look.

“Sorry, (Y/n).”

Steve chuckles, putting both his hands onto the table. “What’s gotten into ya, Buck?”

“I’m uhh…just thinking about that assignment Fury gave me. No clue what to write for it.”

You and Steve share a look, before laughing. Bucky joins in, and it takes a while for the three of you to calm down.

“Alright then, let’s get this thing started”, Steve chuckles, putting both of his hands onto the table.

Bucky gives you a fond look before turning to work on the project, while your heart stutters at an irregular pace as you hide your blush and join the boys’ discussion.

Damn it, I’m screwed.

Tagging: @mermaidinplaid @bovaria @bionic-buckyb @plumfondler @buckyywiththegoodhair (if you want to be added or removed, feel free to send me a message)

Chapter 1

A/N: The yet unnamed, sad-turned-hopeful beginning of what I hope to be a multiple chapter fic about Jack and Shitty’s friendship. 2.2K. This starts after the overdose, so if you’re not cool with that, please avoid.

Jack Zimmermann was not ready for this.

It’d been a year and a half since the overdose, since the life he’d known had ended on the floor of a bathroom, tiles cold and clammy against his cheek, fluorescent lights glaring at him from above. Nothing. Then he was in a hospital bed, the thin sheets chill against his skin, tubes snaking from his wrists and elbows. His father stood in the window with a hand over his face as his shoulders shook. His wife stood next to him, a hand around his waist. For four days consciousness was fleeting. When Jack was well and truly awake, the last day went to psych. Doctors came in, asked him excruciating questions about his time in the Q, his childhood, his relationship with his parents, his coaches, his friends. To make sure it wouldn’t happen again, at least not right away.

Then came rehab. Three months in a residential facility, being watched all day and every day by medical staff with polite condescension. For three months Jack was no more than a crashed and burned almost-celebrity. Visitation day was Thursday. His parents were there waiting for him every week.

The next five months were spent with his mother in his parent’s house in upstate New York. His father stayed in Canada. The season began in a week. The Habs needed him. Bob stood on the porch of their home in Quebec as Jack and Alicia put their trunks in the car, a hand to his heart and a watery smile plastered to his face. As they drove away, Jack turned to look over his shoulder, saw his father still on the porch, head bent, body quivering. His mother put her hand on Jack’s knee until he turned back around.

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joyedtobeforlorn  asked:

how do you feel about dirkjake?

man i never thought i’d get into the dirkscourse in december of 2016 but here i am

i think their relationship throughout act 6 was unhealthy and fraught with problems, but i don’t think it was abusive. i think the interpretation of dirk as jake’s abuser is somewhat valid and has a small amount of evidence behind it, but most of the textual evidence contradicts that, and it’s not the interpretation i subscribe to.

much of my opinion on this was formed by reading this four-part essay, which is long but well-written, and definitely worth reading: part one, part two, part three, part four.

you can read the parts in whatever order you want, if you’re not up to tackling it all at once. the essay is backed up by a huge amount of evidence and i really appreciate how sympathetic and understanding the writer is when discussing the opposing point of view.

i think one of the reasons dirkjake was so discourse-y was because while act 6 was happening, it was really hard to take in the full picture. i read a lot of act 6 as an archival reader, and even then it was hard to figure out who was responsible for what. one of the core problems in dirk and jake’s relationship was the muddle between dirk and his proxies — the fandom would read a recent update, go “oh my god!!! i can’t believe dirk would do something so awful!” only to realize later that “dirk” was really AR. that initial impression would linger, and many people would argue, “well, the AR is just his personality in a different form, right? and even if they’re separate beings, isn’t the AR still dirk’s fault?”

both of those beliefs are fundamentally unfounded, and i would explain why, but i’m worried i’ll fuck it up… so instead PLEASE go read those essays, they’re so good.

another core reason dirkjake became so fraught with discourse was because of the habit of taking homestuck characters at face value. to quote that essay i love so goddamn much:

“Dirk is assigned a lot more competency than he really deserves. But in reality, most of Dirk’s narrative is focused on all the ways Dirk finds himself losing control… As far as manipulative masterminds go, Dirk is a failure. He fails at executing his plans continually, spectacularly, and with catastrophic consequences. He’s not good at multitasking and he’s not particularly great at orchestrating the kids’ entry to the session (the AR does most of that). And yet, for many Homestuck fans, he takes the lion’s share of the credit (and the blame) for the ridiculous time-loop he participates in during [S] Unite and [S] Synchronize.”

tl;dr — people interpret dirk a puppetmaster because he presents himself that way — he tells everyone he knows what he’s doing because he wishes he were.

i’m hard-pressed to think of a single character in the comic whose outward facade matches their true self. no one, not even john, is completely honest about themselves.

one thing that essay doesn’t tackle is: many people view dirk as an abuser because at one point, he thinks he is one.

dirk obviously has depression. at one point he attempts to destroy the AR, and by proxy himself, in a crippling bout of suicidal ideation. that sequence of events is where a lot of fans get to say “but even he admits he was abusive to jake!”

but i’m not sure why everyone just takes that statement at face value.

when i see a character saying “i hate myself, i ruin the lives of everyone i care about” while the story shows that they were not at fault (PLEASE read those essays), i don’t think “wow, they’re such an awful person,” i think “wow, they have depression.”

finally, i’d like to note one more thing.

i believe that fiction should be evaluated separately from the creator’s intent, so i don’t think hussie’s intention should determine whether or not you interpret dirkjake as abusive (as opposed to unhealthy for other reasons). but i seriously doubt hussie intended to portray dirk as an abuser.

homestuck is a comic where female characters are just as nuanced as male characters, where the longest-lasting and healthiest romantic relationship is between two girls, where the villains embody heteromasculine ideals and the heroes have beautifully written, thoughtful coming-out narratives. why on earth would andrew hussie upturn that by writing in dirk strider as the gay predator archetype? how the hell does homestuck, of all pieces of media, accommodate a storyline about a gay teen as a cruel, manipulative predator who abuses other teenagers into fulfilling his sexual desires? it makes no sense.

i want to be clear, since this is easy to take the wrong way in wonderful discourse-filled tumblr land — i’m not saying that believing that dirkjake was abusive makes you homophobic, or that it makes you the kind of person who buys into those narratives. it’s not your fault for reading the text differently. you might think that canon includes all that nasty stuff even if you would’ve done differently if you were in hussie’s shoes.

and if dirk and jake’s dynamic reminds you of abuse you’ve experienced yourself, then i’m not asking you to somehow undo your triggers or your perception of their relationship for the sake of understanding my argument. they’re just fictional characters, after all.

and if you want to argue with me about my opinion, or present evidence to the contrary, please do! i love talking about this stuff, and if i’ve forgotten something crucial or am just plain wrong, i’ll try to acknowledge it.

at the moment though, i personally, fervently believe that dirk and jake’s arc is not about abuse. it’s about another core theme of homestuck: the dangers of forcing too many expectations onto yourself, the dangers of trying to become an idealized version of yourself instead of accepting your own imperfections. you see it in terezi, in vriska, in rose, in karkat, in dave, in virtually every single character, including jake english and dirk strider.

beyond all the problems of dirk’s splinter selves, what tore dirk and jake’s relationship apart was emotional distrust and an inability to communicate. dirk couldn’t show jake emotion or vulnerability once they were together in person because he was terrified that by letting go of his image as ultra-competent and infallible, he would be failing jake — and jake couldn’t communicate his anxiety about their relationship because he was terrified of being any less than the superhuman movie hero he wanted to be.

i’ll end by reiterating that you really really really should read those essays, and also this reconciliation fic by the same author; they’re both fantastic and nuanced and wonderfully written.

aaaaaaand that’s it, that’s my dirkscourse, folks!

Potions Master

I said I would write for @happy-snape-week

Alas, I’ve been a little busy, so please accept this revamped, rewritten and slightly polished fic, as opposed to anything completely fresh.

This originally stemmed from an ask where someone wanted to see Snape’s talent for Potions being acknowledged, and him gaining his Potions Mastery on merit.

“You wanted to see me, sir?”

“Ah, Severus,” Slughorn beamed at the student before him, as the rest of the NEWT class filed out of the dungeon.  “This way, my boy.”

Snape’s eyes narrowed as he followed Slughorn from the seventh year Potions classroom and into his sumptuous office.  Unlike Lucius, and Regulus, and countless other Slytherins, he’d never been invited into Slughorn’s office.  He’d certainly never had an invite into the Slug Club.  Not that this was a Slug Club invitation.  Not at quarter past four on a Tuesday.

Snape loitered awkwardly in the doorway, clutching his schoolbag against his slight frame. Slughorn turned from the ornate cabinet where he was pouring himself a drink, and waved Snape in.  “Do sit down, do sit down!”  

Snape shuffled forward, and Slughorn flicked his wand, causing the door to slam shut.  “A seat, Severus!” Slughorn repeated, as he sank heavily into his own chair.  

Snape approached the chair furthest from his housemaster, and slowly lowered his bag, perching himself on the very edge of the seat.  Slughorn frowned at the boy’s actions, and gave a small cough in displeasure, but did not comment.  He merely made a great show of summoning a side table and placing it before Snape, balancing his drink on it, and then pulling his own chair closer to the wary student.

“Now, my dear boy,” he started, “you are aware that you are supposed to attend a follow up session regarding your career choices?”

Snape didn’t answer.

“Accio,” Slughorn muttered, and a number of parchment pages flew through the air from his desk.  He quickly rifled through them.  “Where is it, where is it?  J…M…Parkinson, no, no, Rosier, no, aha!  Snape!”  He pulled one from the stack and held it triumphantly aloft, whilst banishing the rest to his desk. “Now, from your initial session before your OWLs…”

Slughorn fell silent as he stared in confusion at the blank parchment.  He turned it over, and back, and then over again.  Finally, he raised his head and looked at the sulky boy seated across from him.  “Ah, now, Severus.  This is a little embarrassing, but I don’t suppose I gave you the copy from your last session, did I?”

“I’ve never had a careers advice session, sir.”

“You’ve never ha-” Slughorn blustered, grabbing his handkerchief and running it dramatically over his forehead.  “You simply must have!  I see all the Slytherins!”

“Not me.  Sir.”  

Slughorn peered helplessly at the blank parchment before him.  “I’ve never…not once…I…”  He looked again at the boy before him, who was shifting awkwardly in his seat.  

“Can I go now, sir?”

“Why on earth didn’t you say something, boy?”

Snape sat silently, glaring at the ceiling, annoyed that he hadn’t been allowed to retreat to his common room.  He willed his housemaster to lose interest and cease his line of questioning.  When he eventually glanced back down and made eye contact, Slughorn was still peering intently at him.  Snape sighed, and when he spoke, his voice was low.  “I asked around.  The others said…”

“The others said what?”

He shrugged, as if it was of no importance, but his sallow cheeks filled with colour.  “They said that you didn’t offer career advice to half bloods.”

Slughorn thumped his fist against the small table between them.  “I OFFER CAREER ADVICE TO ALL!”

Snape tensed, and immediately gripped his wand.  Slughorn winced at the boy’s swift reaction.  

“No, no,” Slughorn said, quietly, placating him.  “I wasn’t angry with you.  Put your wand away, Severus.”  He stood, exhaled deeply, and strode over to the drinks cabinet.  He poured a generous measure of firewhisky into two fancy glasses. “Here,” he said, pressing one into Snape’s hand, who looked at it, eyes wide.


“You’re of age, aren’t you, boy?”


“Then drink.”  

Snape lifted the glass, almost recoiling as the fumes from the strong smelling liquid reached his nose. He looked at Slughorn, who had his own glass raised.

“Cheers,” said his teacher, and brought his lips to the rim of the glass.  

Snape did the same, and then his face twisted in anguish as the strong liquor burned his throat.  To his horror, he could feel a tear forming at the edge of his right eye.  He rubbed his sleeve against it, and when his vision cleared, he saw Slughorn smiling oddly at him.  

It was then that Snape noticed Slughorn’s glass was still full.  

“Ah, you youngsters. Always able to hold your liquor,” he laughed, and poured another generous measure into Snape’s now empty glass. “Still, I would take that one much more slowly, else this meeting will be over before it’s started.”  

Snape could feel his flush of embarrassment disappearing as he realised that Slughorn thought he’d swallowed his drink as a statement, and not simply through ignorance.  He nodded, and this time, took a small sip of the harsh liquid, and then placed the glass down on the table between them.

“Now,” Slughorn said, pulling out a quill with a flourish, and starting to write on the previously blank parchment.  “Tell me about your favourite subject.”

“Defence, sir.”

“And what do you like about Defence?”

“Creating spells.”

“Very good.  Am I then also to understand that you have an appreciation for Charms?”

Snape shrugged.  “It’s all right.”

Slughorn raised an eyebrow. “All right?  How can you expect to create your own spells if your charm work isn’t exact?”

“Professor Flitwick doesn’t allow us to experiment,” Snape said, simply.  “Three flicks this way, four flicks that way,” he grumbled.  “What if four flicks this way, and three flicks that way gave better results?”

“I believe that’s why Professor Flitwick is the teacher, Severus,” Slughorn said, trying to keep a hint of amusement from his voice, “and you are his student.”

Snape pursed his lips. “Anyway, Defence is better than Charms. I like duelling.  And learning how to control dark creatures.”

Slughorn peered at him over his paper.  “Controlling dark creatures?  I suppose you took Kettleburn’s class then?”  

“No, sir.”

“No?  May I ask why?”  

“It’s a bit too dangerous, sir.”

Slughorn snorted and took another sip of his drink.  “Indeed. Indeed.  And what else?”

“Herbology could be worse.”

“A glowing recommendation indeed,” Slughorn smiled.  “I will be sure to pass your critique to Pomona.”

Despite himself, Snape smiled back.  “I mean, it’s not bad or anything.  It’s not Divination, or Arithmancy-”

“Divination I can understand,” Slughorn said, cautiously, “But I am surprised to hear that you don’t enjoy Arithmancy.”

“I don’t believe in fortune telling.”

Slughorn gave a tight smile. “I am certain your teachers would disagree with the nature of their subjects.  Arithmancy, in particular, is practically a science-”

Snape snorted. “Ancient Runes is a better way to spend your time.  You can learn a lot from ancient magic.”

“So, Defence and Ancient Runes are your favourite subjects?  With,” Slughorn gave a quick half smile, “Charms being regarded as ‘all right’ and Herbology ‘could be worse’?”

“I didn’t mean it like that about Herbology.  I still wouldn’t want to do it as a career, but I can see it’s useful.”

“Useful for…?”

“Potions, sir. Obviously.”

“Ah, Potions.  I was hoping you would say that.  You had me worried there for a moment.”


Slughorn smiled kindly. “You are a fan of my subject, are you not, Severus?”

“Yes, sir.  It’s my favourite.”

“Not Defence?”

Snape paused, considering. “Both,” he said, finally.  “I like them both the same.”

“Well, you have a certain amount of talent when it comes to Potions.  When you’re not blowing up your cauldron, that is.”

“Sorry, sir.”  

Slughorn stopped writing. “In fact, it amazes me that a boy who has such a grasp of the theory – and your essays, Severus, are nothing short of excellent-” Snape flushed at Slughorn’s words, not used to receiving such high praise.  Slughorn stroked his chin thoughtfully.  “-it astounds me that you cannot grasp the practical.”

“It’s not that I can’t brew,” Snape muttered, a note of petulance in his voice.  

“The simple potions, certainly,” Slughorn conceded.  “I recall that you were rather competent up until your OWL year.  You used to sit next to Lily Evans, didn’t you?” he said, a small smile creeping across his face.  “Perhaps we should re-arrange the seating so-”

“No!  Don’t!” Snape’s vehement response caused Slughorn to raise an eyebrow.

“Very well.  However, I shall say it plainly:  your NEWT examiners will not take kindly to you exploding the contents of your pewter across the classroom.”  Slughorn tried not to roll his eyes as he watched the angry young man grab his bag and rummage through it.  

“Severus,” Slughorn continued loudly, “unfortunately, as impressive as your understanding of the theoretical is, there isn’t much call for wizards who cannot practice what they preach.  Even, I fear, the Ministry would not be intereste…”  Slughorn trailed off as an intricately annotated textbook was thrust before him, Snape’s thin hand trembling slightly as he held it.

“What’s this?” Slughorn said, taking the proffered book.  He turned the book at an angle, staring at the tiny cramped writing that filled the page. “Thirteen Sopophorous beans?  Crushing them instead of cutting?”  He looked back at Snape, his brow furrowed.  “Clockwise as well as anti-clockwise?”  

“It works.  Sir.”  

Slughorn flicked through the rest of the book, noting the cramped but detailed instructions littering each and every page.  He stood, abruptly, and clicked his fingers, motioning for Snape to follow him back into the classroom.



“I want you to brew,” Slughorn said, simply.  “I am going to brew, and you are going to brew.  Get the ingredients from the cupboard.”  He stared at the unmoving boy.  “Well? Come on!  Twelve beans for me, thirteen beans for you.”

Snape nodded.  He almost dropped one of the jars in the storeroom, and he hastily wiped his slightly sweaty palms on his robes before taking a deep breath and continuing.  He laid the ingredients out on the desk, whilst Slughorn gathered the equipment.  Together, under Slughorn’s watchful eye, the young boy brewed using his amendments.

An hour later, Slughorn stared in shock at the perfect potion produced by his student.  “In under an hour,” he noted, glancing at his watch.  “Severus, this is…something special.”


“And the rest of your book? You’ve done this with other potions?”

Snape shrugged non-committedly.  “Some are better than others.  I can only experiment in class.”

Slughorn tapped his finger against his lips.  “Interesting. You try out the most dangerous things under my guidance?  And that’s why you often blow up your cauldron?”

Snape looked down at his shoes, his voice barely more than a whisper.  “Notyourguidancesir.”  

“Sorry?”  Slughorn stared intently at Snape, but the boy didn’t speak again.  “Please don’t mumble, Severus.  Enunciate!”

“It’s not your guidance, sir.”  He glanced up, and saw Slughorn frowning.  He quickly glanced down.  “It’s the most expensive things, sir,” he muttered, his voice dropping again.  

Slughorn stared at his student.  “Are you telling me that you don’t experiment because you cannot afford the ingredients?”

Snape’s cheeks flushed. “I am not like the other Slytherins. Sir.”

“I am aware of your background,” Slughorn said, awkwardly.  “You are telling me that you could make these refinements to other potions, but you cannot experiment because you do not have access to the ingredients?”


“Answer me!  Is that right, boy?”

“Yes, sir.”  

“Every Monday and every Wednesday,” Slughorn said, a note of finality in his tone, “you will come to this office and practice your potions.”

“But sir-”

“No arguments, Severus,” Slughorn said, waving him out of the classroom.  “I will see you here on Wednesday.”

“It’s not that I’m not grateful, sir – but what about Quidditch, sir?”  Snape blurted out, desperately.

“Quidditch, Severus?” Slughorn struggled to prevent a hearty laugh escaping.  “I didn’t think you were so inclined.”

“I don’t mind it,” he said, defensively.  “I’m not that keen on flying on a broom, but…”


“We’re short, sir.” Snape grimaced.  “We’re down four players since Ave, Mulc, Reggie and Ev got in that brawl last week, and Professor McGonagall and Professor Hooch suspended them for the rest of the year.  You know what Ev’s like when it comes to Quidditch.  He’s said that the rest of us have to turn up to practice, no excus-”

“Enough,” Slughorn said, raising his hand.  “I don’t need to know about the Quidditch tactics of Evan Rosier.  Very well.  You shall attend my classroom on Mondays and Fridays, leaving your Wednesdays free for Quidditch practice.”

Snape hoisted his bag over his shoulder, still looking anxious.  “What about the others, sir?  What should I tell them?  They’ll think you’re giving me preferential treatment if I just turn up here.”

Slughorn smiled.  “I would suggest blowing your cauldron up during the next lesson.  I can easily hand you a detention for a term or two.”


“Oh, and Severus?”


“Make it good, won’t you?”

For once, it wasn’t his own cauldron that erupted.  At the start of the lesson, Snape purposely flung a flobberworm across the room, causing Potter’s cauldron to impressively spew its contents three feet into the air, and across four tables.  Moments later, Snape deliberately threw a bezoar towards Potter’s neighbour, catching Black’s hand as he was in the midst of carefully dribbling precious Dragon’s blood into his mixture.

The fallout was unforgettable.  Legendary, even.  Students yelled and screamed, cauldrons were spilled, and ingredients were flung aside. Without exception, each and every student pointed at Snape when Slughorn’s shouting reached crescendo, and for Snape’s part, he laughed loudly – impudently – as Slughorn issued him with detention.  His mirth only abated when Slughorn lost his temper, and finally shouted that due to his ongoing impertinence, Snape had lost two nights a week for the rest of his Hogwart’s career.

Vengeance was sweet. Snape was still smirking to himself as he sauntered out of the classroom, pleased that he’d managed to make use of Slughorn’s instruction and upset both Potter and Black at the same time. He pulled up short when he saw Lily waiting outside the classroom with Potter, her expression furious.  Instantly, Snape’s smile dropped, and he self-consciously pulled his shoulder bag tight to his body.

“You’ve really changed.”

“Says you,” Snape retorted, hotly.  

“Look at his face!” Lily pointed to the marks on James’ cheek where the potion had splattered against him.  “You could’ve disfigured him.”

“Disfigured him?!  It was only a Mandrake and a few Flobberworms,” he snapped.  “It’ll wear off by tomorrow.”  He glared at the pair, and muttered under his breath, “I’d have used Bubotuber pus if I wanted to disfigure him.”

“You’re lucky Slughorn gave you such a harsh punishment, Snivellus, else I’d be reporting this to Dumbledore,” hissed James.

“Go ahead,” Snape sneered. “I’m sure he’ll be shocked that a Slytherin wannabe Death Eater would do such a thing to our beloved Head Boy.”

“Ignore him, James!” Lily pulled on her boyfriend’s arm before he could retort.  Snape wasn’t certain whether she had already grown tired of their argument – tired of him, even - or whether the mention of James’ Head Boy status reminded her that they both had far more to lose than Snape did if their disagreement turned physical.

He felt as if all of the colour had drained from the world when she shook her head and looked him straight in the eye with burning hatred.  “I was so wrong about you.  There’s just no reasoning with you anymore.”  She barged past him, her elbow purposely digging into his ribs as she dragged her boyfriend behind her.

James allowed himself to be pulled along, but ran his wand over his throat, and pointed at Snape whilst mouthing, “You’re dead.”

Snape sank back against the cold stone wall, watching silently as the pair fled up the dungeon stairs, hand-in-hand.  His efforts had almost been worth it, but the distaste in Lily’s eyes had rather ruined his rare moment of triumph.

Snape’s heart skipped when he walked into the dungeon.  He’d nervously paced outside for several minutes before pushing the door; he knew Slughorn was well respected, and seemed honourable enough – but then, Snape had witnessed too much disappointment to consider any promises a sure thing. He’d half expected the door to swing open and to be confronted with the cauldron scrubbing detention that his classmates believed him to be attending.

Instead, to his pleasure, he saw a long line of ingredients covering the bench, and he almost tripped over his shoelaces in his haste to start work.

True to his word, Slughorn provided all of the ingredients Snape required - even those which he hardly dared touch, knowing from his days in Hogsmeade with his nose pressed up against the glass of Slug and Jiggers that they’d cost someone – Hogwarts, Dumbledore, Slughorn himself, even – a small fortune.  He wasn’t about to blow his opportunity be being greedy or irresponsible.

The first few weeks were fantastic, and Snape made subtle refinements to several potions, and overhauled half a dozen more – but then, Slughorn slipped.  Black earned himself a week’s worth of detentions after tripping Snape in class, causing his carefully brewed potion to splash over the floor, melting one of the flagstones in the process.  Without thinking the action through, Slughorn carelessly issued Black with a week’s worth of detentions – which meant that Snape had to put up the pretence of a real detention.  

Scrubbing out cauldrons would’ve been an unpleasant enough job, but it was made many times worse having to share a bench with a braying, mocking Black – let alone losing his evening of experimental brewing.  Thankfully, Slughorn realised his mistake and let Black off on Thursday night with a stern warning, and a lament about how sincerely sad he was that he hadn’t had Sirius in Slytherin like the rest of his family.

Black had been his usual subtle self, crowing loudly with Potter about how he’d evaded detention, whilst Snape was having to endure months for his earlier transgression – but Snape was so relieved to hear that he’d got his Friday experimentation day back, he couldn’t bring himself to care.  

“Excuse me, Professor,” the first year said, breathing heavily at the doorway of the Transfiguration class.  “Professor Slughorn says that Severus Snape must report to his office immediately.”

“This is most irregular,” Professor McGonagall said, drawing herself up to her full height.  “What’s this about, Severus?”

“I don’t know, Professor,” Snape replied, honestly.  He looked at the Hufflepuff in the doorway.

“I don’t know either, Professor,” said the young Hufflepuff, “but Professor Slughorn and Professor Dumbledore are together and waiting.”

“Well,” said Professor McGonagall, slowly, “if Professor Dumbledore has requested such a thing, then we must acquiesce.  Severus, collect your things, and you can return here tonight after dinner to continue your classwork.”

“I’ve got Quidditch pract-”

“Tonight,” McGonagall said, raising her voice, “or you do not have permission to leave now.”

“Yes, Professor. Tonight, Professor.”

“Good, now go.”  

Severus scooped up his papers, and – arms full - followed the Hufflepuff down the corridor. “What’s this about then?”

“Dunno,” replied the Hufflepuff.  “But Slughorn looked very excited.  He gave me a whole box of crystallised pineapple for coming to get you.”

Taking a deep breath, Snape knocked on the door to the Potions classroom and was surprised when Professor Dumbledore swept the door open.  “Ah, Severus.  Do come in.”

He stepped into the room, past Dumbledore and his eyes widened when he saw the man standing at the back of the room.  Slughorn appeared to be bursting with pride.

“This is the boy?”

“Severus Snape,” Slughorn said, urging Snape forwards to shake the hands of the guest.  

“Snape?”  The man raised his eyebrows as he pulled out of the handshake.  “Can’t say I’ve heard that before.”

Snape glowered. Malfoy was right; this was what his life was going to be like – forever cursed by a Muggle moniker.  

“Ah, Libatius, what’s in a name?” said Professor Dumbledore.  “I do believe Horace invited you here for a demonstration?”


Slughorn placed a hammy hand on Snape’s bony shoulder.  “This boy can do things with a cauldron that will make your head spin.”

“I doubt that very much,” said Borage, scowling.  “Horace, my dear fellow, you have been inviting me here for years.  Each year you promise so much, yet your students deliver so little.  I have told you my terms before, and yet you still insist on this charade.”  

“This time,” Slughorn pronounced, proudly, “you’ll see.”


“Now, Severus,” Dumbledore said, firmly, “I believe you have an appointment with Professor McGonagall?”

Snape glanced down at the watch Lucius Malfoy had gifted him for his seventeenth birthday.  “Yes, sir.”  How had he missed dinner?  He’d been working for hours on end.  He collected his bag and he quietly approached Slughorn and Borage, who were peering over several of his cauldrons.  “Nice to meet you, sir,” he said, holding his hand out.  Borage nodded, and Snape had the feeling that he’d been utterly dismissed.

“Off you go, Severus,” Slughorn said kindly, and with a sinking stomach, Snape departed.


Snape turned at the sound of Dumbledore’s voice.  The Headmaster passed him a note.  “Pass this to Professor McGonagall, please, Severus.”


Professor McGonagall scanned the note, her expression not betraying her feelings.  “Very well,” she said, calling a house elf and passing the note to it. A moment later, the house elf returned with a spread of food from that night’s feast.

“It appears, Mr Snape, that you missed dinner.  I thought I did not see you in the Great Hall tonight.  I have been informed that you are to eat whilst you study, although please do not smear any sauces on your paper. I refuse to mark parchment that is covered in food.”  

He sprawled across the desk, his nose close to the parchment as he filled the page full of his tiny, cramped writing.  McGonagall rolled her eyes; no matter what scathing comments she wrote on his essays, he always managed to turn in more than was necessary.  There was simply no dissuading the boy from his research.

After an hour, she stood, and dismissed the Slytherin.  “I’m sorry about Quidditch,” she huffed, “but your classwork is more important.  There are only a handful of games left in the season, of course.”  

Snape nodded, but as he stood to leave, the door burst open.  “Well done, my boy!” Slughorn boomed, marching in to the room.  


“Minerva!” Slughorn returned her greeting bombastically, mistaking McGonagall’s annoyance for enthusiasm.  “Now Severus, down to the dungeons and gather your things.  Professor Dumbledore is making the necessary arrangements with your parents as we speak!”


“Horace, what on earth is this about?”

“Libatius Borage wants you as an apprentice, Severus.”

Snape’s knees went weak, and he gripped the desk before him.

“The pay is a little ungenerous, but then, that’s Libatius for you,” Slughorn admitted.  “What you’ll pick up in experience, knowledge and connections – well, my boy, that’s priceless.  Priceless!”  

“He’s not sat his NEWTs,” McGonagall said disapprovingly.  “You’ll affect the boy’s career if he leaves without them.”

“Oh, Libatius has agreed to special dispensation,” Slughorn said, waving his hand.  “Details, details.  With an apprenticeship under Borage, young master Snape here won’t want for anything else.”

“I’ll be a Potions Master, sir?”

“Indeed, Severus. You’ll be a Potions Master.”  

WAIT THERE, I have some reflections and theories to share (2/2)

So I’m back with the longest essay I’ve ever made. If shipping gays would be an acceptable topic to make an essay of in my Spanish class (South American gal, yeah) I think this would have been shown in my school’s news board.

Here comes the ship- *inhales*

In a little less than the half of the book, Jasper insists on knowing who does Call like, but he gets really awkward. Jasper actually asks about all the girls he knows Call is close with, but nothing. That gives a miserable hope that there’s space for his blonde best friend in his heart. At the library as well, since he gave him all those lovey-dovey related books (I sincerely have the headcanon that Jasper knows all the tension between those two and he is just like “for fuck’s sake just kiss already”)

When Call learned to breathe underwater, he was very happy and Aaron noticed this, saying that “he ruled”. That made Tamara protest and say “Hello, we all rule here” since she was there like a third wheel. (I honestly laughed at these two dorks in my fangirling mode but I have to keep stern in this post-)

Even Anastasia noticed all of this, and Call is so oblivious that he answered “Yeah?” Like he didn’t know why on hell was she pointing out that they were pretty close and they cared for each other. He was that confused that he also included Tamara in his answer. Friendzone…
Oh and don’t forget when Aaron was blaming Celia all along when she was just trying to go out with Call, and he kept on it even if Tamara or Call were insisting on her innocence. I could sense a tint of jealousy in his actions, to be honest.

And, when Call thinks that “Maybe Aaron wasn’t actually his friend” that left me confused. He constantly friendzones himself and then he says that. Then what is he? Hm? This gets weirder when they magically take lessons without Tamara (great timing) on seeing souls.
(Taken from the book, chapter eleven:) “He flicked a glance up at Aaron’s eyes and found Aaron looking at him. They both grinned, without being able to help it.”

I really hope these are real hints of something further than friendship and counterweight stuff, because I am honestly disappointed of JKR when they made The Cursed Child (because come on it had all the homo but no, they would rescue each other from the dark and be awkward and all and them bam no homo) and I reaaallyyy don’t want to see that ever again, specially in here. Think about MaLec, aunt Cass. You did this once, why not again? Because it’s pretty sly from them to make them not only best mates, but also counterweights of each other. That can easily camouflage basic romantic quotes as “I can’t live without him” or “We need each other” because that’s what literally happens since both are Makars.

It’s clearly seen that Aaron is deeply in love with Call. Pretty fucking much. Since the moment they met, he was the first one in giving him a cheerful smile. To make it gayer, I just counted the times Aaron clasped his hand on Call’s shoulders. Three, okay? Three fucking times, and those times, even if they are just a few, were tense as hell. (I also have the headcanon that Aaron touching his shoulder calms him down even if he is getting consumed by the Void-) look. Just. Look.

“Aaron put his hand on Call’s shoulder. “Remember,” he said. “If you need to do any chaos magic, don’t try to do it all on your own. I’m your counterweight. I’ll be just outside with the others. Draw on me, on my chaos energy, like you’d draw on air if you were underwater.”
-Chapter 7

In here, the gang was about to see who was the spy in Magisterium, using Call as bait, remember? And Aaron just told him that. Like, practically he told him to cling with his life onto him. I’m swooning on how damn cute this ray of sunshine is. (Tbh they remind me of solangelo a bit too much) He knows Call likes to do things on his own, so he doesn’t doubt in telling him those words. If I was in Call’s place, I’d hug him right away, just saying.

“Be careful,” Aaron told him, clapping Call on the shoulder. His green eyes were reassuring.”
-Chapter 13

Before that creepy fire maze, he does the same thing he did to make him feel good. I’m pretty sure that with his eyes, he was saying the same words he said six chapters before. Want some more? Down below.

“Call felt Aaron’s hand on his shoulder, and a moment later he’d been guided out of the room and was back in the corridor.”
-Chapter 14

Call was freaking out because of that accidental soul commanding he did with Jennifer’s soul leftovers. Then Aaron strikes again, gives him a small motivational speech, squeezes his shoulder and lets go. He just can’t take the fact that his crush is stabbing himself with self-hate, huh?

And yes, it really looks like as if Aaron is madly in love with Call who friendzones him, sadly (don’t make me count the times he says Aaron wouldn’t hurt him, since he is his /best friend./ They are countless.) BUT!!
In a pinch, when he made the chaos-ridden obey him, he employed all of the Void magic he could afford, he went dizzy, and reached for Aaron; but he couldn’t do it since the blond’s magic was dim, so it almost consumed him. It’s even said that he felt desperate because of the fact that he was without him. That could make him reflex a little more, I think. It was necessary.

“He was alone in the dark without Aaron. In despair, he let himself fall backward into nothingness.”
-Chapter 13

He practically was giving up since there wasn’t his other half ready to help him and put his feet back to earth.

But what gives me the chills and gives me a furious outrage impulse is the fact that even at the verge of death, in the tensest pinch of their lives now, they still want to protect each other no. matter. what. Just remember those lines where they were all “No, kill me, don’t hurt him” “Just don’t hurt Aaron” “Get away from Call” etcetera etcetera. Those lines through all of the book are also countless, if we also count the “I wouldn’t hurt Call” and “He wouldn’t hurt me!” Lines.

Is when even at all the lost hope, when they already accepted the fact that their powers would be absorbed, is the moment when Call, out of a sudden, grabbed Aaron’s hand. God fucking dammit. I swear I’d cry a river if they had put a confession right there. That would have broken me into pieces and a two-week depression. That would have been too much.

And that sunny optimistic little shit |returns the grip|, and says THIS:

““At least we’re going to die together,” Aaron said. Then, unbelievably, he smiled at Call.”
-Chapter 15

He smiled at him, even if they were about to die. This was practically the most romantic moment between these two (even if at the shoulder moments I was like “take his fucking hand now” this hit me hard), and at the most defining moment of their lives. Aaron is sadly happy that at least, he would die with the person he liked as more as a friend. Oh god. (I personally was frustrated af since in the last minute he approached for not making the first move, well done, Stewart. What’s next? Waiting for a kiss when you’re revived?) this gives me the feeling that Aaron knew that he was being friendzoned (damn obliviousness) and he was showing his affection in small portions, since it would be bad for him (his feelings) and for Call (since he was going through many bad stuff) to go and confess his feelings right away, or just go and peck him on the lips.

And when he apparently dies (I’m not confirming this, for my crashed, mashed and broken shipper heart’s sake and because of the reasons in the early post) Call realizes who had lost. Not only a best friend, but his soulmate. He dreams with him after all that stuff, he was smiling and telling things about the Gallery, as it was said in the books. He realizes that he was taking their bond for granted, that he didn’t think a single time that such a thing would ever happen. Oh well, lessons are everywhere.

I personally think that I could make essays justifying why do I ship certain ship and this is not the exception, since for me, they are so fucking otp. And that’s why I’m trying to squint and find every rational trace of romance implied between them. Rational, okay? I am not using every time he acknowledges Call’s presence. He always cares for him in a friendly way, but see these things and tell me if some of those ways are way much closer than Tamara has ever been with Call. Sure, he is awkward toward girls because he doesn’t know how to deal with them, since he has lived only with his father, and because of the contrast between Tamara’s direct personality and Call’s introverted and distant one. But he tries his best on not to focus so much in these things. I still think that Aaron has a sweet personality filled with gentleness that blend perfectly with Call.

These two dorks are my otp, fight me. I will sink into fanfictions until the next book is out, thanks for reading until here. I will upload some fanarts of this saga because it deserves them.

@hollyblack @cassandraclare
40. We are not allowed to challenge students to ‘Meet me on the field of honour at dawn’, and then show up wearing a full suit of armour that we stole from the dungeons.

“You know what?” Sirius growled, stepping forward until he was nose-to-nose with the greasy boy he loathed, “No. I am sick of this. I’m sick of you. This ends now.”

“Fine,” Snape replied coolly, his eyebrow raising as though he were completely unaffected at the display of anger before him.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wand in a smooth motion, holding it up to defend himself.

Sirius reached down into his pocket to do the same, but was stopped when a hand reached down and touched his arm.

“No,” James, his best friend, told him.

When Sirius lowered his wand hand, and James was satisfied he wasn’t going to do anything stupid, the messy, black-haired boy turned to look at their mortal enemy.

“You want to do a duel? Now? Here in the Great Hall where anyone, no any teacher, can walk in at any moment and catch us?”

James scoffed, “Surely, not even you are that stupid.”

Snape growled, glancing back at his friends who were also looking around nervously.

“Fine,” he spoke again through gritted teeth, refusing to lower his wand in case of a surprise attack, “What would you propose then?”

James looked at Sirius thoughtfully.

As though their minds were completely in sync, they both turned to look at the other group, identical smiles creeping onto their faces.

“Meet me on the field of honor at dawn,” Sirius spoke, with his chest puffed out, “The winner shall live on in glory.”

“The field of honor?” Avery asked, another Slytherin standing close behind Snape.

James rolled his eyes, “Yes, the field of honor. You know, the Quidditch Pitch? Do you know when dawn is? Or do we need to explain that to you too?”

“I know when dawn is,” Avery growled, stepping forward as though he were planning on pummeling the Gryffindor boys with his bare hands.

Snape held out his arm, stopping Avery in his tracks, and shot him a look of warning.

A professor stepped into the room, whistling to themselves, paying no attention towards the group of students planning out their own dual.

“The Quidditch Pitch at dawn,” Snape confirmed in a low tone, glancing back to make sure the professor didn’t over hear them, “I’ll be there.”

“Wait,” Peter squeaked out from behind the two boys eagerly, “Don’t you need a second if you’re going to do a dual?”

“Good idea, Pete,” Sirius replied, as Peter stood taller in pride.

“James is my second.”

James nodded, as though he hadn’t expected any other words to come out of his best mate’s mouth.

Peter slightly deflated, but didn’t protest the decision.

Snape glanced back at his friends before announcing, “Mulciber is mine.”

Mulciber smiled a yellow, crooked smile in delight at the thought of having the chance to fight.

“Fine,” Sirius answered, turning back to look at Snape, “See you then.”

“Ugh, this thing is a lot heavier than I imagined it to be,” Sirius complained, struggling to lift up his arm.

Remus sighed, before holding out his wand and murmuring a few charms. White light streamed from his wand, and glowed around the metal material encompassing Sirius’ body.

“Better?” he asked.

“Oh wow, yeah,” Sirius replied, lifting all of his limbs with ease, jumping on one foot, and then spinning in a circle as quickly as his balance would let him, “That’s loads better.”

“That’s brilliant, Remus!” James spoke, dragging his legs as he took a step forward in the same uniform that Sirius was wearing, “Can you do me too?”

Remus sighed again, but mimicked his earlier actions on James.

“I still don’t understand why I couldn’t be your second,” Peter whined, pouting from his place on his bed.

Sirius waved him off, “I had to make a quick decision. My decision was James. There’s no turning back now.”

“I still don’t understand what possessed you to think that this was a good idea,” Remus complained, stepping back as James jumped around in his suit.

“Which part?” James asked, reaching for his wand and jumping into a defensive stance.

“The dual part,” Remus replied, eyeing their outerwear warily, “Although I’m not entirely sure the suits are a good idea either.”

“They’re both brilliant ideas,” Sirius assured him, standing at the doorway with his gloved hands on his hips.

“What’s done is done,” James answered, walking over to join Sirius before he turned back to face his two other friends, “Either you’re with us, or you’re not.”

“I’m with you,” Peter exclaimed quickly, scurrying out of his spot on his bed and slipping on a pair of sneakers before joining the other two boy’s sides.

Remus’ face softened, “I’m with you,” he assured them, “I’m always with you.”

James smiled brilliantly back at him while Sirius whooped.

“Let’s go kick some Slytherin butt!”

What on earth do you think you’re doing?”

Minerva McGonagall never knew what to expect each day.

She had woken up extra early that morning to grade some essays her third year students had turned in the day before. As she had sat down at her desk, drinking some rather strong tea the house elves had been so kind to fetch for her, she glanced out her window which had a great view of the Quidditch pitch below.

Much to her surprise, she found several students out on the field, despite the earliness of the morning.

At first, she thought that perhaps one of the Quidditch teams had desired to get an early start on their practicing.

After a moment of watching and seeing red sparks fly out of someone’s wands, she knew immediately this was not the case.

She cursed the walls that prevented her from simply apparating to the field, a complaint she found she often had, and raced out of her office and down the stairs out to the Quidditch Field.

She slowed down as she approached the field, not entirely sure if her eyes were seeing what they were supposed to be seeing.

“What on earth do you think you’re doing?” she asked incredulously, expecting the students to stop.

When they did not, she pulled out her own wand and called out a curse, forward everyone to be frozen in their spot.

Knowing that no one else could move, she took the moment to look around to try and figure out what exactly was going on.

It was a dual, it had to be.

Two students were facing each other, with their wands out and ready, while a second student stood by the first student’s sides.

A small crowd of people were standing off to the side, watching the display before them.

She could immediately see who the first student was: Severus Snape.

His second appeared to be Mulciber, with Avery and a handful of other watching.

But the other one …

The other two students were standing in what appeared to be full suits of armour.

She glanced into the crowd, trying to make sense of the whole thing, when she saw Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew, staring straight at the ground.

Her lips thinned into a straight line, and she said the names of the two boys in the suits.

“Potter. Black.”

She waved her wand, making the helmets of the two suits disappear so she could see the faces of the two boys who were constantly getting into trouble and acting as a complete thorn in her side.

Both boys smiled at her sheepishly, speaking out in unison, “Good morning, Professor McGonagall.”

“Where did you find full suits of armour?” she asked unamused.

The two boys glanced at each other before James admitted, “We stole them from the dungeons.”

“You – you stole – ?” She sputtered, looking at the detail more carefully.

Sure enough, she recognized those etchings from the ones she had seen in the dungeons before.

She wasn’t sure if she should be upset or impressed they were able to fully modify two suits of armour to not only fit their bodies perfectly, but to be fully functional in a dual.

“I am disappointed and ashamed,” she announced to the group, “of all of you.”

She continued, “A dual was incredibly foolish and is not tolerated on Hogwart’s grounds. House points will be taken from each and every one of you. Not just the participants, but those who watched as well and did nothing to stop the madness before them. Every one of you will receive detention and a letter will be written to the parents of those a part of the dual.”

She turned to the Slytherins, “I will be informing Professor Slughorn and he will decide further what punishments he sees fit for each of you.”

She turned back to the four boys in her own house, wondering if she’d ever find a moment of peace as long as they attended the school, “And you four. My office. Now.”

This is a submission from a member of the fam who would like to stay anonymous. It is SO GREAT, SO ANGSTY AHHHH!!! I’m sure you all will enjoy it as much as I did <333

TW: anxiety, mentions of abuse (kind of I just want to be safe)

Warning for partially unresolved angst!! Okay let’s go!!!!

Alexander Hamilton is panicking. He’s scared– No, he’s terrified– and he’s barely managing to hold himself together as he fumbles with the key in his hand to attempt to get back in the apartment he shares with his boyfriend. Alex had been in the library when the rain started to fall. He was only halfway through the assignment that was due next month when he began to hear the pitter patter of the water on the roof of the library building. A roll of thunder made him jump. In that moment, he was scared. He checked the clock at the entrance of the library and saw that it was two in the morning, thus causing his breaths to quicken and his chest to ache with his own anxiety. He would have to walk home in the rain, alone, at this hour. He hauls his ass out of the cramped computer cubicle, gathers his stuff, and hightails it the hell home where John can hold him and tell him that this goddamn thunderstorm won’t be his death.

But John Laurens is angry. John Laurens, the kindest, gentlest man on earth is pissed off. He had been waiting for four hours for his boyfriend to come home, and Alexander didn’t even bother to call him. John is too busy thinking about how damn angry he is to register the fact that it’s storming, and his precious Alexander is afraid of storms.

So when Alexander Hamilton comes through the front door, John doesn’t register that there are tears in his tiny boyfriend’s eyes or that he’s shaking. John doesn’t see Alex in all his disheveled, scatter-brained, anxiety filled glory. He sees his late, inconsiderate boyfriend.

“Where the hell were you?” John asks, his voice eerily calm.

“L-library.” Alex sheds his coat. He just wants John to hold him, but John seems like he has something to say.

Johns scoffs, making Alex flinch. “Yeah, where else would you be? Do you know what time it is?”

“John, ’m sorry, I lost track of time a-and–”

“Don’t!” John snaps, making the college freshman jump. “Don’t tell me you were distracted. I don’t understand how you can get all those words onto paper without using your damn brain, because if you were you would’ve had the sense to call me, or something! Or am I not good enough for the ever-so-great Alexander Hamilton? Are your essays and research always going to come before me? Well, you better wake up, Hamilton, because I am the ONLY person who loves you and I am the ONLY one you’ll have to fall back on when your scrappy essays that you write in a haste at two in the morning fail you, because no one else can love someone like you!” John finishes, his head resting in his hands on the kitchen counter.

He probably would’ve walked straight out the door without looking back if he hadn’t heard the muffled whimper from behind him. He spins around, anger still evident in his movements and facial expression.

That’s when his heart drops into the pit of his stomach. Alexander is sitting in the corner of the room, head in his knees, trembling like crazy.

“Oh my god, baby, I… I didn’t…” John trails off and slowly approaches his sobbing boyfriend, guilt making his skin tingly and his chest hot.

John reaches a hand out towards Alex’s shoulder. The small student flinches at the touch, sobbing out “Please… don’t hurt me! P-please, I’m s-so s-sorry, I w-won’t do it again, J-John, just please d-don’t hit me…”

Tears spring to John’s eyes. Alex believes that John will hurt him. John would never even dream of laying a finger on his sweet, beautiful, precious Alexander.

“Alex, baby boy,” John speaks soothingly, any remnants of anger gone. “I’m not going to hurt you, honey. I would never ever hit you. You’re safe. I’m so sorry for scaring you.”

A clap of thunder booms and Alex sobs. John curses himself for not considering the fact that thunderstorms terrify his boyfriend.

“Alex, sweetie, I need you to try to breathe for me, you’re shaking…” John coaxes gently. The response he gets devastates John.

“N-no, you hate m-me John, I’m s-sorry. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to m-make you hate me. I know no one loves m-me.” Alex stammers out, making John close his eyes and let out a sigh.

“I don’t hate you, Alex, I love you. I didn’t mean what I said, sweetheart, I was just angry and worried. Please don’t think that you aren’t loved, dearest…” John knows that there isn’t much he can say at this point.

“I’m gonna take you to bed now, alright, baby?” John asks his boyfriend, who looks incredibly small in this moment.

Alex shrugs, but a flash of lighting causes him to yelp and seek comfort in John’s chest. “Imsorryimsorryimsorrypleasedontbsmadimjustsoscaredjohnpleasedontleavemealone.” He sobs.

For the millionth time in the last few minutes, John’s heart breaks as he scoops up his boyfriend, who is much too small for his age, and takes him to their bedroom. He places the shivering student on the bed.

“Alexander, beautiful, I won’t leave you alone. I’m so sorry, sweetheart. You’re safe. You’re safe with me.” John takes it upon himself to change Alex out of his street clothes and into the most comfortable pajamas, using gentle hands as he does so in order to not spook Alexander.

John only catches fragments of his boyfriend’s next words. “…scared…sorry…John…fail…”

John sighs and tucks the covers around himself and his panicked lover, pulling Alex close and trying to convince him with affection alone just how much he loves him, and just how sorry he is.

jessicafuckingjones  asked:

Sarah HOW DO YOU BRAINSTORM PLOTS my mind is a mess of half-baked ideas that wouldn't work

Plots, I can’t help you with so much. Plotting isn’t my forte. But I can maybe help you get half-baked ideas to a fully baked souffle, and the way you do that is by fucking up a lot of souffles to be honest, but I’m here to offer my advise on how you gain quite a lot by fucking up those souffles for a while

SO: margotkim’s patented Idea Development Help Guide That Might Be Useful?™


This is literally the only method I have for coming up with ideas solid enough that I can plot the out: I have one image I want to work towards, and then I work out all the things that I have to figure out for it to happen.


  • and I mean really don’t worry about logic or reason or even if anyone else will think it’s cool, that’s just gonna get in the way at this point. This is working on the image of the kind of strange stories you tell yourself as you wait to fall asleep. 
  • So I have this image I’ve been thinking about of a magic fight that takes place in an old looking gothic church with no ceiling, shattered stain glass, ivy growing up. The columns that lead up to where the ceiling should be lead up into nothing but pure white, outside the windows are pure white, it is clear this place is outside the world we know. Up around the place where the ceiling should be, there’s a winged black shadow. Underneath there’s a man in hospital scrubs in a wheelchair with a shotgun. 
  • Or I have this other idea that I’ve been thinking about, where two characters face each other in a room, and all I know about them is that they are on the same side, they knew each other, but one of them is younger and a wunderkund who messed something up tremendously, and the other is older and their teacher and she has to figure out how to punish this other character who is simultaneous a good person and someone who did something very very wrong. 
    • This image is bookmarked with a line of dialogue from the Walking Dead video game where your character says, “You’re not a bad man, but what the fuck are we supposed to do now.” I bring this up because fiction often inspires other fiction in strange and indirect ways, and you should always pay attention to your influences to use them as scaffolds for your own ideas, which can often mean being inspired to veer off deliberately in the opposite direction. Never underestimate how inspiring it can be to have a model to work against. 

So that is some free association in two different ways there, but it’s super vivid to me. I know what these scenes looks like, and I understand and find interesting the emotions involved. I just don’t why they are happening. 

and actually hold on a sec.


  • I’m sure you have an image where you’re like “badass badass badass” or “SO EMOTIONAL OH GOSH” or “these two characters are culminating their love, also who are they”, but you might think that that isn’t the basis for a story. And listen. You gotta put yourself in the place where you trust your brain enough to follow the random bullshit it spits out. 
  • I used to draw this line in my head between “respectable story ideas” and “random terrible daydreams that make me very happy but no one else will understand”, and that was a bad call because the ideas that make you passionate and make you want to think about them all night are the ideas you should nurture
  • and look
  • the majority of these images start with things like: 
  • because the images that reach past your idea of what a good story is supposed to be to squeeze your heart are the images that drive you to create
  • the ideas that give you utter joy but you think are untranslatable to other people are the ideas that are worth the time to translate
    • writing is a long act of trying to get a reader to see something you are creating out of nothing. 
    • it’s an act of conjuring
    • it’s a pain in the ass 
    • regardless of whether it’s an academic paper or a twelve novel epic fantasy series
    • so it might as well be a pain in the ass you’re passionate about. 

for me, the best ideas are also embarrassing. if you don’t feel a little awkward about explaining it to someone, it isn’t intimate enough to you to be a story that no one but you could tell. 

okay? moving on.


  • church fight scene image
    • for me, the man is the clear entry point into this image, which has almost too many elements to work out. the man is human
      • when working with genre work, a rule of thumb I find helpful: the genre elements should support the character and themes you want your characters to explore
      • if working with people is easier for you than working with genre elements (and genre btw can be romance, magic, mystery, anything, we’ll use genre as a shorthand for “the elements that determine where in the library a book gets shelved”), then build your characters and then build genre elements off that
      • if working with genre elements is easier for you, reverse engineer a character that thematically suits your genre elements that you want to work with
      • realistically you’ll develop both elements together, each organically pushing the other in new directions
      • but it’s easier to start somewhere
      • so let’s start with the man 
    • who is the man
      • why is he in the wheelchair?
        • is he in a wheelchair because of something within the story you are telling or as something that happened seperate of the story you are telling
        • and as a corollary to think about: what about this man did he start this story with and what did he gain/lose over the course of this story
      • where did he get a shotgun?
      • if the man is in scrubs, does that mean he was in a hospital before?
        • was he a patient? doctor? nurse? tech? criminal? 
      • is he equipped in anyway to handle this problem?
      • is he going to be played by oscar isaac?
        • spoiler warning: yes. he is going to be played by oscar isaac
      • what does the man feel at this moment? 
      • what has the man done to get here?
      • how does the man’s external situation reflect his internal? 
        • what can the scuttling shadow thing reflect? why does it matter that he’s in a strange unworldly church? why is he handling this situation with a gun?
        • we sometimes talk about THEMES as this thing that just exists for english majors to write essays about, but THEMES are tremendously useful to writers as well. they ask you “what is this story about?” in a way that helps you construct a world that allows you to explore your answer
        • for example: this story will be about loneliness. the main character will suffer from loneliness. the antagonist will exacerbate their loneliness. the side characters will provide different views on loneliness. the solution to the problem will in some way address loneliness. 
          • which could be something like: a man who isolates himself because he doesn’t want to risk emotional connection with people suffers tremendously from loneliness which only causes him to isolate himself more as he feels less and less capable of approaching people. the monster is something that snatches people from the world without a trace. by the end, the man might very well be the last person on earth, in a place that’s the last place on earth, and now utter isolated, he has to fight the monster alone. 
          • this is a super loose construction, but it’s a beginning 
    • then reach outside the image
      • first, reach outside the image altogether, back into the world of your own head and ask questions like: what kind of plots do I find interesting? what kind of works does this image remind me of? what connections am I making that I don’t unerstand yet why I’m making them? 
        • most useful question for me, because I’m a character girl girst and foremost: what kind of characters do I always love? I’ve got like five stock characters I love in every situation, which one works the most interestingly here? The Reserved Good Man Who Is Punished For Doing The Right Thing? The Badass Character Who Is Secretly A Dork But Also Secretly Has A Super Dark Past? The Normal Person Who Does Their Best Amidst Forces Far More Powerful Than Them? 
          • I plug in different characters I like and see how the image changes
          • I see which one makes me immediately want to know more
    • second, reach outside the immediate image you have to explore what’s on either side of it
      • what happened one minute before this image? and one minute before that? and one minute before that?
        • what happened ten years before that? 
        • how do you link those two times?
      • if the man wins, what’s the next hour look like? 
        • what about if the monster wins?
        • what does it mean in this story to win? 
      • what characters that matter aren’t in this picture?
        • did someone give the man a shotgun?
        • did someone unleash the monster? 
        • is the man fighting for someone besides himself? 
        • who does the monster love, if the monster loves?
    • and literally keep going
      • just ask question after question after question after question after question, because one question will suggest the next, and each answer will create new questions, and the questions that you think to ask will be as informative as the answers you come up with
        • for example for this story, towards the end I started asking questions about the monster winning, who does the monster love, who unleashed the monster, and the wording made me realize that I’m interested in a monster that’s sympathetic
        • but my image is dependent on a horrific monster
        • the combination of horrific and sympathetic, combined with the desolate beauty of the church, is pointing me towards a specific theme and mood that will help me define my story 
  • two people at a table scene (I’ll do this one quicker, I promise) 
    • for human drama, I think instantly on two character types I both love, and how can I put them against each other
    • or what’s a dynamic that I’ve always wanted to see done a different way
      • in this case, I immediately think “the young viewpoint character of any action/genre show who is good at stuff without trying, and their rival/mentor who works really hard at stuff and puts effort in but doesn’t have the same natural talent” 
      • and this is a case of reaching outside the image to the box of things I know I like, because often times making a story is bringing together:
        • new inspiration, and 
        • old loves
    • and then when I think of the trope that interests me that works in this moment, I think of where I have seen that trope, and the ways I have wanted it to play out differently
    • then I think about the setting that would bring this trope out best
      • and this decision is influenced heavily by the things I like
      • the things I like are spies and bureaucracy (babe, I fucking LOVE stories about bureaucracy, which is weird, I know, but is also the thing that Me, Myself, and I bring to this story that most other people won’t)
      • and so this story is now about a younger rising star spy who disobeyed orders on a mission because she thought she knew the right thing to do better than anyone else, and the older more trained and experienced spy who has to deal with her
        • an important element of my story from the beginning is that both women are good people but the younger one has done something Wrong, and to avoid false drama, it has to be something genuinely bad 
        • so her breaking orders on a mission resulted in friendly fire where the younger one accidentally shot and killed her ally
        • and for the sake of drama, let’s say the person she shot and killed was the older woman’s good friend
          • and there’s the beginning of a plot

IT’S SO LONG, I hope this is helpful to you, and here’s the cliffnotes:

  • release yourself from your own judgment and explore the images, tropes, and ideas that make you truly excited
  • and make sure that you are really, really excited about the idea
  • because that excitement is what’s going to power the aggressive interrogation of your own idea that lets you create a truly thought-out, living world 
  • and once you have asked yourself all these questions about your image, you’ll find that your questioning leads you to the themes you find powerful and the actions you find exciting, and this will help you coalesce all these questions and answers into a plot that combines and drives themes, actions, genre, and character