i hope it's okay that i published it i just had to share it with the world

The Reader and the Writer (Part 2)

Originally posted by stydiaislove

Part one here

Anon requests: can you please do a part two of “The reader and the writer”? i’m shook, lost and now stressed over who she really is

The Reader and the Writer is amazingggg! Are u gonna do a part 2?? I wanna read more!!

could you do a part 2 of the reader and the writer, i’m obsessed!!!

Is there going to be a part 2 for The Reader and the Writer? Can there be a part 2? I loved it by the way :)


Omigod, I love your Reader and Writer imagine soooooo much, are you going to write a part two??


Wtf?!? The reader and the writer is honestly amazing! I love it 😍 2pt maybe? I wanna know what happens with the reader and Jason

I love love love the reader and the writer, if you aren’t too busy could you please update it with a second part soon? I can’t bear to be left for days without knowing what Jughead found 😂 thanks x

Will there be a part 2 of “the reader and the writer”? Its really good! I hope you will write more of it!

I love this new jughead imagine ! Are you writing a part 2 ?


I really love your writing! I’m very excited about part 2 for the Reader and the writer

part 2 of “The Reader and the Writer” ?? it’s greattt 😭

please do a part 2 of the reader and the writer!@@@ I need more!

Can you please do part two or the reader and writer?!?! It is so good!!

The reader and the writer was amazing and i got too attached. Part 2 please if you don’t mind.

Pairing: Jughead x Reader

Description: A confrontation ensues between the reader and the writer

Warnings: none

Word count: 887

A/N: I’m glad you guys liked the first part so much! Enjoy part 2!

(Y/N) didn’t return to Pop’s.  Every night, Jughead sat in his normal booth typing on his computer, but his eyes constantly flicked up towards the entrance.  His friends noticed his shift in attitude.

“Jug,” Archie sat across from him, “you gotta snap out of this.”

“Out of what?” Jughead asked monotonously, rolling his eyes.  “I’m fine, Archie.”

“I know you like to sit here and brood all mysteriously,” Veronica interjected, “but this is sad. Just call (Y/N).”

“(Y/N)?” he scoffed.  “This isn’t about (Y/N).”  When the entire table sent him disbelieving looks, he sighed and looked out the window.  “I already called her.”

“How many times?” Kevin asked with a smirk.  Jughead sighed again, refusing to make eye contact with anyone.

“Every night.” Archie, Betty, Veronica, and Kevin all shared a knowing glance.  “I know what you guys are thinking and no, it’s not like that.  I’m not some pathetically smitten person, okay?”

“Okay, Jughead,” Betty said, but rolled her eyes.  “If you insist.”

To say (Y/N) felt guilty would be an understatement.  From the moment she stomped out of that diner, regret gnawed at her inside out. Without the consistency of her nightly stops in Pop’s, she didn’t know what to do with herself.  She spent every night after school in her room sulking. Every night, her phone rang, lighting up with Jughead’s name.  She was tempted to answer it every night, her finger hovering over the answer button, but then she turned away and ignored his call.  (Y/N) missed Pop’s: she missed the delicious foods, the quiet yet comforting atmosphere, and the person who sat across from her in their usual booth.  

One day, Jughead sat with an uneaten burger in front of him, laptop closed.  Today had been an especially slow day, both in Jughead’s mind and Pop’s.  Suddenly, a jingle of the bell signaled that someone new entered the diner.  Jughead sat up a bit to see who it was.  When he identified the new customer, he perked up immediately.  Grabbing a book, he shot up and walked over to the table where she had just sat down.

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N),” he said, slamming down the book in front of her, “is an author from the 18th century.  She wrote four novels, all of them published under an alias at first.  It was not until two hundred years later that the true author was discovered.  She has been dead for over two hundred years, and she is most certainly not you.”  (Y/N) looked up at him with wide eyes.

“What, I can’t have the same name as someone else?” she fired back, but there was a waver in her voice. Jughead glared as he sat down across from her.

“You see, I would think that, too,” Jughead responded, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “but I searched for you online, and I couldn’t find anything on you.  Not one thing.”

“I like to keep my life private.  I don’t publish stuff about me online.”

“Yeah, but there’s something about everyone on the world wide web if you look hard enough,” Jughead explained, his voice accusingly sharp.  “Now I have two theories: one, you’re a very experienced hacker, and you’ve gone and wiped all information regarding you off the internet; or two, you’re hiding something, and you’re using a dead unpopular author’s name to keep your real identity a secret.  Personally, I’m choosing the latter, considering how well-read you are.”  (Y/N) stared at Jughead with sad, wide eyes.  “When were you going to tell me?”

“I wasn’t,” she whispered. Jughead clenched his jaw and shook his head.  

“Whatever,” he mumbled, standing up.  He began to walk away when (Y/N) shot up from her seat.

“I was born in Riverdale,” she called out to him.  Jughead stopped in his tracks and slowly turned around.


“I was born in Riverdale,” she repeated slower.  Jughead neared the table and sat down across from (Y/N).

“So what?”

“So I-,” she started, “I can’t- I can’t just tell you everything.”  Jughead rolled his eyes and began to push his chair out when (Y/N) placed her hand on his, her eyes silently begging him to stay.  “If you care, you’ll trust me.”

“What makes you think I care?” Jughead demanded, and (Y/N) couldn’t help but notice how he didn’t move his hands out from under hers.

“Because you called?” she offered, causing Jughead to sit up a little straighter.  “You called me every night, Jug.”

“I was worried,” he muttered, looking away.  (Y/N) smiled, patted his hand, and stood up.

“Keep writing, Jughead. See you around.”  Spinning on her heel, (Y/N) grabbed her copy of The Picture of Dorian Gray and exited the diner.  Jughead’s eyes followed her figure out until the door closed behind her.  Then he pulled out his laptop and started to furiously type.

And so, a little light shined on the dark mystery of Riverdale’s (Y/N) (Y/L/N) like the calm before the storm.  The writer becomes the reader, the reader becomes the read.  I found myself hooked on her just from a little information, like a drug addict craving his fix.  New girls can never hide in a small town like Riverdale, but God, I knew (Y/N), in all her enigmatic splendor, would lurk in the shadows of this town for as long as she possibly could.”

Part 3 here   Part 4 here

Hamilton Star: Michelle Obama Gave Me ‘the Best Compliment I Have Ever Received’ (Time):

[…] I had anticipated that the First Lady might come, one day, when we made it to Broadway, but downtown—at the Public Theater? It wasn’t until after the show ended that they said, “Michelle Obama’s here!” At the time I shared a dressing room with Jasmine Cephas Jones and Reneé Elise Goldsberry, my Schuyler sisters. We hurriedly got out of costume to say hello. Giddy with excitement, we made our way to the greenroom. There she stood. So poised and beautiful. She said hello to each and every one of us. I will never forget what Mrs. Obama said, “This is the best piece of art that I’ve ever seen.” I was floored. She has seen so much art in her life. Coming from her, our First Lady, the modern-day Schuyler sister incarnate, and one of the most inspirational women of our time, it was the best compliment I have ever received.

Hamilton is, of course, closely tied to the Obamas because Lin first performed the opening number at a White House poetry jam. I didn’t know anything about Eliza when I first got the call about Hamilton. Tommy Kail, the director, asked me if I wanted to be a part of it. I knew what he was talking about because I’d seen the video of Lin performing it at the White House for Barack and Michelle Obama. I specifically remember a friend showing me that YouTube clip while I was a student in drama school. Cut to five or six years later when Tommy calls me and asks me to be a part of a December reading of Act II of what was then called “Hamilton Mixtape.” I did what most people do when they don’t know something, I googled Eliza. I saw that she was his wife but there wasn’t a lot more. I just chalked it up to me being a lazy researcher. I thought, Okay. I’ll do digging later. I’ll go and see what this project is and enjoy the experience. Hearing the music for the first time was incredible. It had such an instant cool factor. But it wasn’t until I got into the room with Lin, Alex, and Tommy (I would end up working with Andy a few months later) that I truly discovered what the “Hamilton Mixtape” really was. I thought: These artists and creators that I’m working with … this story … is going to change the world. And I get to be in this room. And it changed me, too. I just didn’t know it yet.

In December of 2013, the end of the play still hadn’t been written. It actually wasn’t until that workshop in January, a day before our presentation, that Lin gave me the last song. In the moment at the end of Hamilton when Eliza steps out and you see her, most people tell me they are so taken aback. “Oh my gosh! She’s the one who is telling us this story, like we’re learning this story because of her.” That was the way that I felt getting that last song. A moment of: Really? And you want me to finish the play? I mean I’d love to but …

Lin went on to explain that in the song you look and see everything that she did after Hamilton died. I was just as surprised and awestruck by the beauty of this woman’s legacy that not many people know about, and how beautiful this moment was that we’re giving her, a voice and a place in history for the first time. It’s huge.


When Eliza says, “I took myself out of the narrative,” in reference to guarding her privacy after Hamilton’s cheating is revealed, her situation feels stunningly contemporary. It took me a while to understand this particular moment in Eliza’s journey. In discovering how to play Eliza, I first asked myself, “What is the difference between the common woman then and the common woman now?” But that proved to be less useful. I was only separating myself from Eliza. So I started to ask the question, “What do all women, past and present have in common?” The answer: survival. Women have struggled a great deal, yes. But it has been their ability to overcome, the way women have chosen to deal with their struggles. Not only survive, but flourish through their achievements. The struggle is real, the struggle has always been real and will continue to be real. It’s just a matter of how you choose to find your way through whatever challenges you face. Eliza is empowered by taking herself out of the narrative. I think that’s why forgiveness is such a huge part of the play.

People seem confused when Eliza forgives Hamilton. I suppose it is because we have more options now. It’s easy to opt to avoid someone, avoid forgiveness, avoid conflict, or avoid complicated feelings, love and disgust, that coexist. But ultimately it doesn’t matter how many options we have; it is a miracle that we choose to survive.


In his last letter to Eliza, Hamilton calls her “the best of wives and the best of women.” If I’m trying to get into Hamilton’s brain, he was saying “best of wives” like “best of who you are to me” and “best of women,” meaning who you are to the world. The letter used to be in the show. I used to read it. I still remember every line:

This letter, my very dear Eliza, will not be delivered to you, unless I shall first have terminated my earthly career to begin, as I humbly hope from redeeming grace and divine mercy, a happy immortality.

If it had been possible for me to have avoided the interview, my love for you and my precious children would have been alone a decisive motive. But it was not possible, without sacrifices which would have rendered me unworthy of your esteem. I need not tell you of the pangs I feel, from the idea of quitting you and exposing you to the anguish which I know you would feel. Nor could I dwell on the topic lest it should unman me.

The consolations of Religion, my beloved, can alone support you and these you have a right to enjoy. Fly to the bosom of your God and be comforted. With my last idea I shall cherish the sweet hope of meeting you in a better world.

Adieu best of wives and best of Women. Embrace all my darling Children for me.

Ever yours

I used to read it, and I don’t anymore. I think we cut it out for time’s sake, but the idea of the letter still lives. It’s chilling. It gives me chills.

I’m a total believer in the universe and the over soul. Somehow the energy that our Founding Mothers put into our history has lasted and has traversed centuries and found its way to me. Eventually, it will leave me and find its way to somebody else. It does feel like ages have passed by the end of the three-hour play so I definitely use that. Because Hamilton has had such a universal voice, it’s brought some of the most amazing women into my life. Women who are politicians, who are actors, who are writers, who are my family members that I respect so much, strangers—mothers and daughters who have lost their loved ones, all of these women, choosing to survive. And to be able to share it with them in this way, I feel like it’s paying homage to them, it’s paying homage to Eliza, and to all the other versions of Eliza that have existed throughout history and will exist for ages to come.

From “The Best Wives and Best of Women” by Phillipa Soo as published in The Meaning of Michelle edited by Veronica Chambers. 

read Phillipa’s full beautiful essay

anonymous asked:

sisters is a shitty ass story because anya is just a jealous bitch and clarke is too up in her own conceitedness to see anyone else's feelings. honestly, each chapter is just drawn out and repetitive and the style is so bland it gets too dry to read. you try to make it end on a "cliffhanger" but really it's just ineffective. i think the story should have ended a long time ago. im surprised that between this and wttmg you chose to continue this. you used to be one of my favourite authors. nope :/

So people always wonder why I have such a long time to update things. Partially it’s because of my hectic schedule and intense desire to finish my education and get a job/move on with my life, but mostly it’s things like this:

or this:

or this:

or this:

And it doesn’t stop at AO3. Tumblr followers have many opinions, too:

There are plenty more, but I’m not willing to post them because not all hate was posted anonymously and I’m not out to start shit with anyone anytime soon.

Look, I get constructive criticism. It’s helpful and I appreciate it all. I’ve understood that some things I write are repetitive; I don’t often notice this because a) it’s been too long since my last update and b) I don’t have a beta to read through my work and catch anything that I could have missed/overlooked. I make mistakes when writing, I will admit. Plenty of them. For example, Costia’s husband’s name is Michael, not Lionel (I had forgotten I had already included him previously in the story) and I didn’t catch it until someone pointed it out. This story is fan fiction. It is not published. It is not professional. It is written by someone who has a passion for psychology, mental illness research, and sociological/criminological processes. I want to make it as realistic as possible, but with a story this complex, I don’t always have all the tools. I’m not a psychologist. I’m not and have never met anyone in the army/navy. All of the experiences I write about are based off of documentaries or films or peer-reviewed articles regarding different treatments/lived experiences of war vets.

But most importantly, Sisters is a work of FICTION. It is not real. It will always have elements of fantasy or things that aren’t always realistic. I am telling a story, not doing a longitudinal study or a thesis or a dissertation on the topic.

I am a human being too, and even though I’m “just a writer” I do have feelings. This is a complex, muddled, at times controversial story and I understand that. People get mad over a lot of things in this story (i.e., some hate Anya, some love her, some hate Tris, some love her, etc.) and I like that. If everyone likes it, I’m not doing something right. The best part about writing Sisters is reading the comments and the discussions/debates people have with each other over the characters I’ve written (either defending or accusing them of something). 

But on a positive note, the negative responses to Sisters are barely a sliver of the comments/feedback I get, so I think so long as the majority thinks I’m doing okay, I’m gonna keep up with my story the way I want to write it. Anyone is free to take themes from Sisters and write them differently if they don’t agree. I don’t own anything so they’re more than welcome to write it differently if they would like that. I’m just putting my ideas and thoughts on the page and writing it for myself. That’s the foundation of all my writing. I write what I want to see happen, regardless if other people share the same views. I of course take prompts and things like that, but the plot of a story is always my idea only.

Thanks for your feedback, and I hope the next ask you send to someone is a little less hostile and a little nicer. The world is dark enough as it is; the last thing you want to do is ruin someone’s passion just because you dislike something. I apologize that you had to sit through 260k+ words of my “shitty ass story”, and I do hope that when I choose to update again, that you do not read and save yourself from the boredom. I’m sorry that I’m no longer one of your favourite authors.

But quite frankly, seeing as you did this anonymously and not even in a private message, I don’t really give a damn. This is the only “hate-mail” related ask/comment I will answer because they’re draining to reply to and half the time whatever is being written as an answer just enables the sender in the first place.

anonymous asked:

Ok I hope I don't bother with this request: Veronica trying to steal Jughead from Betty but he's like not noticing shift in her behaviour while betty does and sth happens between jug and Veronica but initiated by veronica and betty runs off and Jug needs to find her (and she's wearing his flannel when he finds her [if you want]) and he confesses his love towards her and tells her sth very very sweet that drips with fluff. Hope it's okay.

Betty, Jughead and Veronica were sitting in the student lounge during their free period. Betty and Jughead were sharing a couch, Betty curled up reading a book on one side, with Jughead leaning against her legs with his laptop in hands, typing away at his new novel that he was starting to write. Veronica was on the overstuffed armchair scrolling through her phone.

“Hey Jughead,” Veronica said, looking up from her phone. This made Betty raise her eyes from her book, but she made it look like she wasn’t focused on the conversation that was unfolding in front of her.

“Hm?” Jughead said, lifting his eyes from his work for a split second before returning back.

“I like your flannel today. It looks nice with your beanie. Is it new?” Veronica asked turning her phone off and leaning forward on her crossed legs. Betty pulled her eyes away from the book that she really wasn’t focused on anymore, as she was trying to listen to what Veronica was saying. She never had any interest in Betty’s boyfriend before, why is she complementing him now?

“V, you probably shouldn’t interrupt him. He has a deadline!” B said, giving her boyfriend a kiss on the top of his hat. She wasn’t lying, after Jughead finished his first novel, ‘Riverdale’ he sold it and it became famous everywhere. He now had a publisher and a deadline for his next one.

“It’s fine B, I’m on schedule and I can take a little break.” Jughead said, looking up at her blonde girlfriend. “And, thanks Veronica.”

Veronica smiled at Jughead as he looked back at his computer, but when her dark eyes met Betty’s bright ones, her famous man-catching smile turned into more of an evil smirk. Betty’s eyebrows furrowed once Veronica’s eyes went back to her phone. What was going on with her?

Betty ignored the looks Veronica was giving her and the looks she was giving her boyfriend and turned back to her book, flipping through the pages. Her mind completely sinks into the story and everything else just disappears around her. After two chapters, she heard the bell ring somewhere from the outside world which made her eyes rip from the pages in front of her. She closed her book and started to get her bag when Veronica left the lounge.

“Bye Jug, I’ll see you tonight.” Veronica said, winking at the tall, dark and handsome boy. Jughead just gave a half smile and nodded once at the raven haired girl while putting away his laptop. Betty pulled her backpack over her shoulder and reached over to take Jughead’s hand.

“Walk me home?” Betty asked, wrapping her arms around his.

“Of course, why wouldn’t I?” Jughead said, placing a small kiss on Betty’s lips. Betty gave him a smile and leaned her head on his shoulder. They walked out of the main school doors in silence. They made it almost half way to the Cooper’s residence when Betty decided to ruin their comfortable silence.

“Why are you meeting Veronica?” Betty asked, turning her ponytailed head to face him. She was still holding onto his arm like he was once they left the student lounge.

“She just needed some help for her short story for English. And since you’re her best friend I couldn’t say no. Is that a problem?” He asked, turning to look at the petite blonde next to him.

“No, I was just wondering why she asked you. She never has really had any interest in you.” Betty said, mumbling just a little bit.

“Well maybe because I’m a published writer. Are you sure it’s ok with you?” Jughead said as they reached the front of Betty’s house.

“She was just looking at you a different way today. And has she ever said anything nice to me for her sake before?” Betty said, pulling herself away from Jughead. She didn’t want to get in an argument with him but he needed to see how Veronica was hitting on him. How could he not see it?

“Well, no she hasn’t. But it’s fine! People can change! And how was she looking at me, exactly?” Jughead asked, crossing his arms over his chest. Oh how Betty just wanted his tone to go back to normal and devour him in a hug.

“The way I look at you.” Betty said, mumbling and looking down at the ground. She felt her cheeks heat up and knew that she was turning way darker then the perfectly pink lipstick her mom made her wear.

Jughead pulled his hand out of the crossed position they were in and placed it under Betty’s chin, pulling at it so she would look up with her beautiful sea foam eyes. “Betty, it’s fine. No matter what happens nothing will go on between me and Veronica. Plus, isn’t it good that your best friend and your boyfriend get some bonding time?”

“Yeah, I guess. Thanks for walking me home Jug, I’ll text you later.” Betty said, trying to move away from Jughead. She just needed a little time for everything Jughead said to sink in a little bit deeper. Nothing was going to happen between them. Veronica probably wasn’t even thinking about him in that way. They’re just friends.

“Bye Bets.” Jughead said, placing a light kiss on her lips before turning and walking away. Betty pulled her bag over her shoulder even more before turning around and walking into her house and up the stairs to her bedroom.

It was about six o'clock and Betty had been lying on her bed doing homework since three thirty. She decided that she was going to go out and get some food and try to get rid of the sinking feeling that was in her stomach. But she knew that Jughead was right, and he wouldn’t let anything happen.

It was getting colder outside so she pulled off the shorts she was wearing and pulled on a pair of black leggings and wrapped one of the flannels that Jughead tended to leave at her house over her white T-shirt. She made her way downstairs and stuck some cash in her phone case, loosened her crazily tight ponytail and slipped on her black running shoes.

“I’ll be back soon!” Betty yelled to no one in particular. She closed the rather large wood door behind her and started her two minute walk to Pop’s diner. She listened to the birds chirp and the leaves blow in the wind. She saw a few cats run across the street and heard more then enough annoying teenagers with their music blaring out of their cars.

She finally made it to the red and white diner and trudged her way up the gravel parking lot and up the three stairs. The normal bell chimed when she entered and she instantly went up to the bar and ordered her normal old fashioned vanilla milkshake. She sat down on one of the vinyl chairs at the booth as Pop started to make her milkshake. She pulled out her phone and started to scroll through her Tumblr, where she recently started to post her journal entries (with the names changed, of course) and smiled at the comments she was getting.

She clicked off her phone and swung her head around both ways to see what other teenagers had ditched their homework to get some of Pops famous burgers. She saw Moose and Midge in a booth together, Ethel with her headphones on and laptop out, and on the other side of the diner, a very famous beanie which was pretty close to a very famous head of raven coloured hair. Betty was about to call out to her two best friends when they both leaned in, and their lips were touching. They were on each others lips. They were kissing!

“Here’s your milk-“ Pop’s started, but Betty was already out the door, making the bell chime again. “What was that about?” He thought, turning to look at his other customers to see what may have caused Betty’s distress. He saw Jughead’s hat and made his way over, figuring that Betty came with Veronica and Jughead. “Hey Jones. This is for Betty. She ordered it but then bolted so I figured I would give it to you.” Pop’s said, giving Jughead the milkshake before returning to his work behind the counter.

“What did you do!” Jughead said to Veronica, bolting out of the booth and the diner. “Betty! Betty!” Jughead called as he was running to her house. She must of gone there. Where else would she be?

After about one minuted of sprinting, Jughead was behind the Cooper garage trying to find the ladder her used the first time to get into Betty’s room. He grabbed it once it was in sight and leaned it up against the yellow house. “Betty?” Jughead said as he knocked his knuckles on the glass of her window. He waited for a few more minutes for knocking again, this time a little bit harder. Betty finally came to the window, eyes puffy and bloodshot, loose ponytail even looser, Jughead’s flannel still on her shoulders. She had strands of honey blonde hair stuck to her forehead from her tears and sweat from running home. She looked at Jughead before opening her window, going back to sit on her bed.

He crawled in cautiously and sat down on her window bench, taking in the sight that was Betty Cooper’s room. There was only one things that looked wrong. It was Betty herself. She was all messed up in the perfectly pink room. Her ponytail was practically falling out, she was wearing dark greys and blacks, and there were small traces of mascara under her eyes from all the crying she did.

“Why?” Was all she could muster out. Her voice was groggy and cracked in the middle, making her face go red as more tears fell from her eyes.

“Betty, I promise you it wasn’t me. I just was there so I could help her out with English. You were right, all along. She was looking at me, the way I look at you.” He said, standing up from his spot and taking a step towards Betty and her bed. She retreated a little when he stepped closer, like she didn’t want anything to do with the man that had just taken her heart and stomped on it like a spider. She pulled her knees up into her chest and broke down again, but this time no tears came out. She had already cried them all out. She was just rocking back and forth on her bed, shaking with fear.

“Betty please. I would never do anything to hurt you. I love you too much and too deep for me to mean anything that will happen with any other girl, even if you break up with me someday. Those feelings that I have will never compare to anything that I have ever felt for you. I love you Betty Cooper, and if you don’t love me back I will always come back to you.” Jughead said. He was now on his knees sobbing, his head at Betty’s feet.

She pulled off his beanie and started to run her soft fingers through his hair, a small smile forming on her lips. “I won’t.” Betty said, making Jughead’s face look up. Now he was the one with puffy and bloodshot eyes, and because Betty was running her fingers through her hair he was the one who was all messed up.

“You won’t what? You won’t love me again?” Jughead said, now gripping onto Betty’s hands so hard his own knuckles were turning white.

“No. I’ll never break up with you. And now since you know that I am always right you also need to know that I will never stop loving you. Ever.” Betty said, leaning down and giving a quick kiss on Jughead’s forehead.

Betty got up from her bed and helped Jughead stand up from his meltdown spot on the floor and then made their way to Betty’s bed, with Betty curled up into Jughead’s side.

“By the way,” Jughead said, playing with the edge of Betty’s outfit, “Nice flannel.”

“Thanks, it’s the love of my life’s.”

Ok I actually love this request and I think it might be one of my best works! (In my opinion) Thank you so much!

A fic to celebrate one of the most important days of the year

Y’all know what day it is…our favorite blue paladin’s birthday!!!! so to celebrate this (should be) international holiday, here is the first chapter to a fic, starring Lance as a journalist, and Keith as a police officer, also featuring shay and the rest of team voltron (except pidge who will be introduced in a later chapter don’t worry guys I didn’t forget about her). tagging @hastalalaterkeith7152 for letting me bounce ideas off you and also practically forcing me to write this :) length for this chapter is about 3780 words. please guys tell me what you think of this. would you like to see more chapters?

Chapter 1: Late

Routine was a pivotal function of life. It provided structure, organization, and better time management, which were all qualities of successful people. That was why Lance McClain began nearly every day in the same fashion. Wake up, make coffee, drink coffee, read the newspaper, shower, brush teeth, get dressed, go to work. Simple. Very difficult to screw up. Yet somehow, this particular morning had so easily gone to mush.

Keep reading

EXPOSED {part 18 of EXPIRED}

As your drove away, Namjoon seemed to scan over you in the car.

Did they hit you? I’ll kill them, just tell me who and I’ll kill them. He murmured and you laughed.

Namjoon, I just want to go home. You replied and he nodded, but then he looked at Yoongi, who was sitting in the passenger seat, while Jin drove and the rest of the guys were piled around them.

Have we heard anything from the president? Namjoon asked and Jin nodded into the rearview mirror.

He and Y/N’s mother are safe because Yoongi was able to hack the server and open her cell door. Thank god he told us which cell she was in. Jin responded and you let out a sigh of relief.

That’s great! Good job, Yoongi hyung! Namjoon patted Yoongi on the shoulder and Yoongi froze. Everything okay? Namjoon asked and Yoongi’s wide eyes seemed to put everything on edge.

Oh my god, I have access. He murmured and pulled his phone out of his pocket.

What are you talking about? Jin asked from the driver seat, looking sparingly over at Yoongi, who was now diligently scrolling through his phone.

Give me a second of silence. The member said and the car got silent, but stares were being thrown back and forth. Oh my god, I got it. He said quietly and within minutes there was buzzing on every phone in the car.

Breaking news? Jungkook said in a confused tone from the backseat.

Yoongi hyung! You just exposed the government?! Jimin screamed and Jin pulled the car over and looked at Yoongi.

WHAT?! Jin asked before pulling his phone out of his pocket. Yoongi had released the server data which allowed for thousands of files to be exposed, but he sent one specific file to a news station.

Extinction crew guidelines. You murmured as you looked at Namjoon’s phone. Step one, make sure house is secure. Step two, verify citizen. Step three, eliminate with a gunshot wound. If the citizen lives, send as many rounds as is necessary. You read the steps out loud and felt a shiver go down your spine. They are treating us like cattle. You murmured and Namjoon pulled you close. So many before you had gone through their time limits and now you saw that the protocol was to kill them like animals. The government doesn’t see us as people. You continued to murmur and Namjoon rocked you in his arms.

The car remained silent as more news outlets sifted through government documents and exposed other heinous acts the federation had committed. Government programs to dispose of the bodies, some people calling the world order a massive accepted genocide. It was then exposed that various groups were targeted to be extinct first, the government could no longer hide behind a random time limit system. Children of influential protesters were given shorter time limits. You looked down at your own arm and took a deep breath.

Heading back into the compound was a bittersweet moment. The place was up in arms at the news that had occurred in the past few hours and were completely confused. They looked to your father, who stood in front of them with a large smile, ready to share the breaking story of the government takedown. You stood next to your mother as you tried your best to explain the Society of the Expired to her, she was in awe and confusion as you relayed all of the information that you had spent nights preparing. When you were reunited with your parents at the home your father built, you had to ask why your time limit was so short, they looked at each other and sighed.

I wrote a lot of papers in college that were unsupportive of the government. They had gained traction and even received media coverage. Your father said in an upset tone. Your mother placed her arm around you and sighed.

We didn’t think it would limit your life, you should never have been punished for our actions. She murmured as she placed a kiss on your temple. A deep resonating hatred for all of the government seemed to sprout in your and you took to your pen and paper to take them down once and for all.

It would take months of staying up all night, hunched over a computer keyboard while Namjoon paced around the room. The two of you would relay information back and forth, but you and Namjoon would sift through the thousands of documented abhorrent acts that the government committed and you condensed it into a book. A book that you published and distributed worldwide.

EXPIRED: A Breakdown of Worldwide Genocide

The book exposed the world order for what it truly was, it was not to help the world’s growing capacity issue, but rather stifle the voices of so many protesters of the current world administration. The book was not only well received, but so many people took to the streets in protest of its findings, your faces became the figureheads of so many movements. World leaders were overthrown, governments were abolished, and the younger generation took over. Electing new officials, new world orders were given. The first one, abolishing the time limits that had once been told would save the world.

It is my pleasure to announce that the government shall never limit a life. We will die when it is naturally our time, and we will find new ways to work with the world capacity epidemic. The newest group of world government ministers spoke eloquently as you and Namjoon sat in the front row. The televised event was the newest milestone for the movement, but also a new stepping stone for the new life that was brought into the world. There would no longer be stamped deaths onto children’s arms, no more painful reminders that each birthday was another step closer to an inevitable time limit, and there was a feeling of hope that was planted within the new group of people.

Namjoon stood next to you, his hand intertwined with yours as the two of you learned to take on this journey with one another.

From Something to Nothing to Something - (Alfred x Reader)

From Something to Nothing to Something” - Part 1

(Alfred Pennyworth x Reader)

Key: (Y/N) = Your Name, (L/N) = Your Last Name

Warnings: Talk of Violence, Talk of Death, Minor Offensive Language,

Summary: Reader is about 25 years old. She is a friend of the Wayne family who moved to Gotham about 6 months ago. She is a bartender/waitress at Oswald’s. She has been able to adjust to the craziness of the city while working at Oswald’s. But when her apartment gets broken into during a really rough part of her life, it seems like her world gets flipped upside down. Maybe Alfred and Bruce can help?

Originally posted by warmth-and-wishes

Author’s Note: This is my very first piece that I’ve ever written and published on here. I am so nervous to post this and have people actually read it! I’ve been a long time reader of many fantastic blogs such as @luciebell-writes , @oswald-cobblepot-addicted , @oswald-cobblepot-imagines , and @jokesterwrites . I hope that one day I can be as good as them! I also know that Alfred x Reader isn’t really anticipated as much as some of the other characters. But I know I’d personally like to see more of this, so why not write it myself? 

This is just part one. I really wanted this part to be more of an introduction to this storyline. I really hope you enjoy! Please feel free to message me or anything with feedback!

- DreaSaurusREX

6 Months Ago -

You had known Thomas and Martha Wayne since you were little. Your father and Thomas had been pals in college and always kept in touch. Throughout your life, you always felt like you had a second family. So when they heard that you planned on visiting Gotham for a few weeks , they were ecstatic!

You were driving on the interstate when you got a phone call from the Wayne’s butler, Alfred Pennyworth. Thomas and Martha had been shot.

You made a choice that night: You weren’t going to just be visiting Gotham. You were going to pick up everything and move to the city. Bruce would need you. Even Alfred could potentially need you.

4 Months Later -

These first few months in Gotham hadn’t really gone as you expected them to. You tried to get a job as a stage manager or some sort of backstage help in the theater district, but nothing opened for you. So you went to the one place that could heal this wound- a bar.

You stumbled upon Oswald’s and found out that they needed a bartender and waitress for their grand opening in a week. You knew your way around a well stocked bar and could deal with taking drunk people’s orders. So you walked up to the tough looking guy by the door, who was referred to as Butch, and said “Hello! My name is (Y/N) (L/N), and I am your new bartender and waitress.”
After that, you went through an interview process and got the job that afternoon. You knew that you had to go back to your apartment and update Alfred. He wasn’t too fond of the idea of you working there, but you calmed his nerves and told him that this was just temporary. It was sweet that Alfred was worried for you. At least you had one close friend in this insane city.

Present Day -

You’ve been working at Oswald’s for quite some time now. During your time there, you have found out that Mr.Cobblepot has some dangerous people in his life. You’ve now seen your fair share of gunfights, knife fights, and any sort of violence in this club.  But you had Butch teach you some basic defense skills and how to use a gun (which you now had hiding under the counter and in your purse).

This was very unsettling to Bruce and Alfred. More so Alfred than Bruce. You tried countless times to reassure them that you were okay and that enduring all of this had its benefits. You got a raise because you didn’t quit after any of these incidents, and you learned some useful protective skills. Bruce had slowly become more and more okay with your situation. Alfred on the other hand was still hesitant about ignoring these dangers, and insisted on checking up on you every so often. So you compromised and made sure to call him almost every day when you got home safe from work.

One day you decided to call Alfred while you walked home. You hadn’t been able to call him in a few nights because you ended up working overtime in order to earn some extra money for your apartment’s rent. This had truly worried Alfred. He told himself that if one more night went by, then he would start searching for you.

The phone only rang twice before you heard that all too familiar accent of Alfred’s.

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misss-beakman  asked:

Hey, do you have any books you reccomend for looking up ace and aro history? I can't find jack shit and I'm so desperate to find anything, really. I really want to know more about our community but it's so hard

Oh man, I can absolutely help you here.

So like. As a beginning disclaimer, I have not read everything that’s on this list. Some of it is on my to-read list. Some of it, I will likely never read myself, for a variety of reasons (most related to how much effort I have to put in to focus on academic text).

As a secondary disclaimer: a lot of Ace History simply hasn’t made it into published works yet. People have only just started to pay attention to us, and while I expect a lot more writing about our stories to come in the future, it just isn’t there yet. (I know of a few upcoming studies that I’ve contributed to, that I’m very excited to be able to share with the people here when they finally come out!) And the writing that is out there tends to be more of the Ace 101 variety: who we are, what we feel, and dispelling misconceptions. I have scraped the barrel as much as I could, and have included quite a few books that are really less dedicated history, and more personal journey.

So if you want the best info out there, you’re likely going to have to turn to alternate sources - personal blogs, forums, and the like. People tend to deride those as sources of information, but really, you’re getting the info direct from the people who were there, not second or third hand.

I also encourage other people to add on their Recommended Asexual Reading! I’ll update this post every once in a while, so I’m putting my reading list itself under the cut.

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picturesinhismind  asked:

I know you don't like being the 'ask me about religion' person all the time - but I was reading about the relatio post disceptationem on ncronline, and was wondering if you had any thoughts you felt like sharing? Thanks!

Oh man, I have a hundred different thoughts about it, from the content to the context to what I think they’re trying to accomplish. But I can honestly say I never expected to read the phrase “socio-economic factors” in a Church document? So that is…that is something.

Uh, for those you who aren’t up to date with breaking Vatican news, an extraordinary synod—a special council of bishops—has been called to discuss the family. Last week, the “report after the discussion” (Relatio post disceptationem) was published.

It is not a binding document in any way, or even reflective of the opinion of the bishops—they’re only halfway through the synod, and since publication lots of bishops have come out of the woodwork to say I DID NOT AGREE TO THIS!!! (“Lots” meaning “It’s mostly Cardinal Burke”) (Cardinal Burke is a hella conservative canon lawyer.) (We do not like Cardinal Burke.)

But anyway, the Relatio is supposed to be a summary of what the bishops and cardinals discussed, to lead them into their smaller group meetings over the next week.

And boy howdy is it interesting.

[DISCLAIMER: When I say interesting, I mean “to me.” To most of the non-Catholic world, this is a nonexistent blip on the radar of progress. A lifelong marriage between chaste, Catholic men and women is still best in the eyes of the Church. You’re still supposed to remain open to life while sexing up your hetero catholic hubby. If the Catholic Church reversed those decisions, I might drop dead of shock before I got the chance to blog about it.

But there is some shifting going on at the pastoral level, and that’s what I’ll be discussing.]

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Through the Wire

Why not make a highschool!CC AU of them meeting through online messaging and e-mails. And let’s say they’re using secret identities. And for good measure a 1D song lyric as a title. ~3000 words. 

Chris couldn’t wait till the bell rang and he could get back home.

Usually, there wasn’t anything particularly amazing waiting for him back there, but it was certainly better than his shit-hole of a school.

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Trust teenage girls.
“I’ve put some thought into this question and while I’m not sure if I’m going to get it across clearly, I will try. In regards to the relationship arc in City of Fallen Angels and City of Lost Souls between Clary and Jace: While the notion that love can either raise us or tear us down is significant, how do you reconcile it with a relationship that becomes unhealthy both emotionally and physically? I mean, Jace clearly goes through a lot and while his altered state of mind/being lays the blame for his actions elsewhere, doesn’t the abuse Clary endures in the name of love a little bit perverse? As a somewhat adult (23), who is well adjusted, I accept and understand that the dynamics of a relationship are fluid but in recommending the series to teenagers who are considerably less rational and far more impressionable I worry that they make take the wrong message from the books. At times Jace and Clary’s relationship almost encourages females (or any partner in a relationship, though I would suggest the line of thinking tends to be feminine) to accept abusive tendencies in relationships and fosters the “it’s my fault”/”he didn’t mean to hurt me” lines of reasoning for the sake of love. Jace’s altered state of being reminds me of those who act out of abuse in the throws of addiction, and as such, the altered state allows the abuser an excuse for his actions. I’m not sure if I am reading too much into the dynamic but I am having a hard time reconciling the relationship with the strong and willful nature of Clary, as a heroine… any thoughts?” — (redacted but if you want your name included, asker, drop me a line and I will.) To address the specific question quickly: Except for the short scene at the end of Lost Souls, Clary does not have a relationship with Jace in City of Fallen Angels or City of Lost Souls at all, healthy or unhealthy. To clarify: Clary isn’t in a relationship with Jace because, as she realizes at the end of COLS, mind-controlled Jace is not Jace. He looks like Jace and professes to love her, but her arc is in realizing that that doesn’t matter, which is actually a mark of realizing what makes a healthy relationship. Clary sees beyond false-Jace’s looks and the feelings that apply to her to the bits that make him a good person and which have been taken from him: his morality and that common characteristic that they share, willfullnessi.e. the exercise of free will. Evil!Jace has no free will, and therefore isn’t Jace. That is not a fact that can be put aside or ignored. Fantasy is magic, which means it de facto explores situations that no one in our world is ever going to find themselves in, and for which there is no analogy. In this story arc Jace really is in a magic mind-control situation; that is not just a metaphor for something else. It’s a thing happening in the books. He has literally become, through magic, a totally different person. Yes, it’s true that there’s always a metaphorical value to a magical world, but a magical world is not only metaphor, or it isn’t actually fantasy.   The other thing that is interesting about fantasy is that if you do decide to read it metaphorically, its metaphors are often broad enough to be flexibly applied to a range of personal issues going on with individuals. For instance, someone wrote to me and said that the situation with Clary and Jace in CoLS helped them deal with their relationship with a partner suffering from depression; another that it helped them with a family member who had PTSD. Neither situation is what the book is about, but the metaphor was flexible enough for them to find something in it that applied to them personally.  If you do decide to read CoLS as a metaphor for an unhealthy relationship between Clary and Jace, well — Clary’s relationship with mind-controlled Jace indeed isn’t okay and everyone in the book knows it, including Clary. Her decision to go and rescue him is a brave one — and bravery is often willful and reckless, the direct choice to put yourself in the path of danger. She already thinks of  evil! Jace as dangerous. She plays along with his idea that she loves him to get the advantage, but at no point does she ever consider mind-controlled Jace her boyfriend, or skipping off into the sunset with him a viable possibility. The value mind-controlled Jace has that he is the key to getting back real Jace. When it seems that getting back real Jace would be impossible or at to high a cost, she resolves to kill mind-controlled Jace and then actually does it — it’s only luck and magic that keeps Jace alive after she stabs him.  Why would anyone want to emulate a relationship which everyone in the book thinks is bad, in which the only partner who is happy is mind-controlled, and that ends with the girl stabbing the guy presumably to death because he’s evil?  Which brings us back to the topic of teenage girls. What happens with Clary and Jace in CoFA and CoLS is thing that will never happen in real life, and teenage girls know that. They are not so stupid that they are going to read about a girl trying to rescue her boyfriend from being mind-controlled and decide that means an unhealthy relationship is desirable any more than they are going to read Lolita and decide they want to go on a road-trip with a middle-aged pedophile. Neither experience is presented as any fun, and while I strongly object to the fundamental idea that teens are parrots who copy any behavior that seems fun, I hope we can at least credit them with not wanting to emulate behavior that is no fun at all.  For a long time, growing up, I saw these kinds of messages about books being bad for you mainly coming from the far right — messages that said that teenagers shouldn’t be allowed to read books about characters who were gay/did drugs/got pregnant because they would immediately become gay, drug-addicted and pregnant. Now more and more I see this coming from the left as well — people who say that no one should read Laurie Anderson's Speak because it is about rape and it might be triggering. People who say that my books, or Sarah Rees Brennan’s books, or Holly Black’s books, or Maureen Johnson’s books, shouldn’t be read because they contain gay characters but those characters do not behave in the ways they think gay characters should behave (despite the fact that less than 1% of YA books contain gay characters, so once you start crossing books with gay characters in them off your list because “Alec is shy” — yes, I’ve seen that — you wind up with a smaller and smaller pile of books with any LGBTQ+ representation at all. I’m certainly not saying that I do an A+ perfect job of representing gay characters, but i do think it’s important to try because if no one ever tries, then there are no books with gay characters in them to be bought, and then no one will publish more and further, and they will stop existing. Imperfect representation is a stepping stone to good representation.) People saying that books with unhealthy relationships with them shouldn’t be read even if those relationships are depicted as unhealthy and everyone in the book thinks they’re unhealthy. Because, the argument goes, teenage girls are too impressionable, too stupid, to pick up on subtext, obvious clues, or even things that are outright stated in the text — or too stupid to notice if a writer is being sexist, or ableist, or homophobic. But they’re not. They notice those things; some of the best comments I’ve gotten about problematic issues in my own books have been from teens. Let’s just keep saying it. Teenage girls are not stupid. They are able to tell reality from fantasy. They are able to understand that when the bad guy does something, it means that thing is not something anyone is cheering them on to emulate (thus an entire generation was able to read Harry Potter without removing their own noses and committing genocide). Despite reading Percy Jackson and The Hunger Games, teenagers have not started killing each other with crossbows or swimming to the bottom of the ocean to see if they can breathe. And speaking of the Hunger Games, Katniss also has a mind-controlled boyfriend who treats her abusively – in fact her puts his hands around her neck and tries to strangle and kill her. Later, he gets cured, and Katniss winds up married to him. If we assume teenagers do not understand context (as Jace in CoFA and CoLS is not Jace at all; Peeta is in fact actually mind controlled, it’s not a metaphor for being on drugs or having anger management issues) then we have to worry about them reading The Hunger Games, too. And then you’ve opened up that big black pit that books disappear into when someone has decided that a book is bad for teenagers: sometimes the locked cabinet in the library, or even the dumpster outside.  Talking about problematic issues in books is great and necessary, but I am concerned with this new twist on an old idea: that every book that is problematic must be condemned. Literally every book on the face of this earth is problematic: books should not be kept from teenagers because they are problematic, and teenagers should not have what is good for them dictated solely by others.    If you are not a teenager now, then think of yourself when you were a teenager. Think of the book that kept you company and gave you succor and told you there were other people out there like you and helped you through dark times. Was it problem-free? I doubt it. Mine wasn’t. No book is. But it helped you, maybe saved your life. Now think about the person who wants to protect you from that book. Would you have thanked them?   I wouldn’t.   Trust teenage girls.
External image

Read Chapters One through Four here.

Our Story

Here marks the middle of our tale, that vast, perilous land between the beginning and the end. The going is treacherous in these parts—the wayward couple must heal on their own, tread the sea of two decades with arms and souls akimbo—but still, it is not unnecessary. The middle is never aimless. Always, always, it has one goal: the ending.

When the lights go up and the curtains close, you clap—perhaps, should the couple reunite (which, of course, they will), you shout “Encore, encore!” But then, at last, you return to your car. You catch the train, or you grab a taxi. At last, having started at the beginning and waded through the middle, you reach the final destination. The night is over; you go home.

Home. Whether a place, a person, a feeling, or a thing—it does not matter. Home is always the goal and the ending, the northernmost star we pray to and walk towards.

[December 24th, 1996]

Two weeks’ vacation in a cabin, tucked deep inside a fold of mountains. Here, amongst the stretches of living nothingness, even the silence has a voice. Owls hoot in the night. The pines’ chatter, their needle-whispers pierced by caws and shifted air—a hawk swooping to ensnare her prey. And if one listens closely enough, one can hear the hunter breathe—a shaky, traitorous breath which launches the doe across the snow—and the echo of his heartsong, the drum to which the doe’s hooves beat. Come back, come back, come back.

This is why Jamie has come here: for the endless conversation between man and mountain, more steadfast than the chill in his heart. In the past four years, Jamie has sold the twin cot (it lies in a salvage yard somewhere, all broken springs and dreams). A different couple has moved into the studio, and when they had spoken of paint jobs—“Perhaps mint green, what d’ye say, hon?”— Jamie had thought, Thank God. He’d happily offered them the keys when they turned to him, pupils dilated with youthful optimism. By that point, there was no space for Jamie and Claire inside that Edinburgh Eden, and so he’d chimed in, “Aye, a bonny color.” (Indeed, the walls are mint now, though a forgotten strip of marigold shines in the northern corner.)

For two years, Jamie has lived with Murtagh in Glasgow, having shed not just his home but his editorial career in publishing. He has grown tired of fixing other’s mistakes—too many of his own in need of correction—and so here he sits on this Christmas Eve, writing towards redemption.

The Grampians are a peaceful place, big hulks of rock scattered with trees—bouquets of fir, oak, and pine cradling other cabins. At dark, their windows flicker, candlelit with dreams of the guests therein: aspiring novelists, essayists, playwrights. Men and women, all bowed before the cleansing hum of nature’s speech. Like Jamie, they had seen the fliers: WRITER’S RETREAT, TWO WEEKS IN THE MOUNTAINS—and so it was. A small colony taking its temporary leave, hoping to reconstruct the world according to their own, more favorable terms.

Over supper, the group gathers and shares their ideas: outlines, pieces of dialogue, an inspiring poem they’ve loved since childhood. And while Jamie is generous with his advice, he holds his notebooks against his chest. Enraptured by this warm aloofness (for is it not the way of all great wordsmiths?), the others whisper behind their palms, “Have you read Fraser’s story?” Into napkins, “No, have you?” 

But among the fifteen guests, only one has read Jamie’s story—and tonight, Jamie waits for her inside his cabin. His latest draft is fanned around him, some sections highlighted and others slashed. They are not unlike Claire’s old strike-throughs, which had snipped the would-be Dalhousie and, eventually, Jamie’s own name from her life (a reclamation of Beauchamp, a transformation to Randall). Among Jamie’s scribbles are his friend’s edits, which are much more forgiving, much less forceful than the lines of his own red pen. Each comment reads like a bashful request: “More clarity?”, “Switch the verb here?”, “Too many adjectives?” as if she needs permission to occupy the margins. Should I really be reading this?, she seems to say, the bare-backed rawness making her squirm.

But she is helping him, his friend. And so she sees Jamie’s drafts before John, his agent, and before Fergus, his assistant and most loyal advocate. With each comment, she brings him closer to understanding, to the better beginning, middle and end. Inch by inch, to the way his story (their story, for it can never be Jamie’s alone) should be. All rhymes and logic, had it not veered off-course.

Is Alexander too cold here? Shouldn’t he say something? (He should have.) 

It seems out of character for Alexander to never visit his daughter’s grave? (Grief carves cowards out of heroes.)

Shouldn’t he try to win Elizabeth back? (God, yes. He should have tried harder.) 

The knock comes three minutes later, as expected. 


“Door’s unlocked.”

“Oh!” A muffled apology, embarrassment for the delay. “Sorry,” the visitor says. “It’s late. Didna ken if ye still wanted to talk or not. I brought—well, I finished reading yer last chapter.”

And now another player enters this fifth act, tip-toes quietly onto the stage. Only slip of a thing in the cabin’s doorway, cheeks pinked by the storm’s sharp nip. She is Jamie’s friend-cum-critique partner, and even her entrance is punctuated by a question mark. The score of owl, pine, hawk and hunter swells, buffeted now by new notes: the crack of chapped lips smiling, the anxious shuffle of papers, and:

“Dinna fash, I couldna sleep anyways,” Jamie assures her. “Did ye like it, though? The new ending?” 

His friend inhales sharply, stealing as much oxygen as the room will allow. Everything—the threadbare futon, the TV’s antennae, the welcome mat and Jamie’s body—bends towards some invisible presence. A ghost between between all.

“It was…a bit different from the last one.”

“I’ll take that as a ‘Nay, I didna like it.’”

She looks shyly at the ground, one foot treading nervous circles into the planks. Around and around, melt and muck, like a muddy cycle of life (Jamie’s, perhaps muddier than others).

“It was a bit too sentimental is all. After everything. All that time and silence…D’ye really think Alex and Lizzie could make it?”

Her words are a blow to Jamie’s stomach, and the pages are fire in his hands (the ever-burn of a man, ever-longing). He puts them down, wants to thrust himself under a blanket of snow to freeze the flames.

“In a fairy tale, maybe…but life isna a fairy tale. And d’ye no want to write truths?” She looks up, and her eyes gore him. “This story isna a fairy tale either, Jamie. Yours never are.”

“Aye…aye, I s’pose they’re not,” he replies, thinking of his other novels and short stories, essays and poems. Each accepted by John’s gimlet eye, only to meet their end in a publisher’s slush pile. (“Too dark, too wallowing,” an editor once wrote.)  

“Give it another go. I’ll help ye tomorrow, if ye’d like,” his friend offers. “Three days left. I reckon we’ve time to sort the kinks, right the wrongs.” (Three days will never be enough for Jamie’s wrongs.)

“I’d appreciate that, lass. Verra much.”

His friend looks behind her and at the moon, a shy sickle in the sky. It draws her toward the door, to the snow-covered mountainside.

“Weel, it’s a long walk back,” she says. “Wanted to give ye that before the morning, so I guess I’ll just…” 

“Will ye stay with me tonight?” Jamie blurts. And he hates himself for saying this, the way it sounds outside his mouth and inside his cabin, landing on the unmade bed. Its despair makes it ugly. But.

But if his friend stays, Jamie thinks, perhaps the emptiness will leave. If his friend stays, perhaps his story will correct itself, falling into its natural pentameter, by the force of whatever solace she can give him.

“It’s Christmas Eve,” he continues, “and I…I dinna want to be alone.”

She pauses, thinks it over before saying, “Okay. Just for a bit?” (Just for a bit? Another loaded question, and one he doesn’t want to answer.)

“Thank you,” Jamie whispers, and Mary McNab removes her coat.

Long before daybreak, Jamie wakes. He gathers his draft, made complete by that final failing chapter, into a single stack. He retrieves a box from his suitcase, swathed in his old holiday sweater, and it speaks to him. A quiet loudness, like the murmur of the Grampians. You mean your lager-stained pullover? With the Santa looks that looks like he’s got vomit in his beard?

Inside the box is a gift—a vase, azure porcelain—though Jamie has no plans to send it across the Atlantic, to the Boston apartment where his ex-wife kisses another man. No. This vase will stay with Jamie, forever hidden on the high shelf of a closet, or exiled to the back corner of a desk drawer. Like his grief, it is something that he owns—this small cut from a cloth of unraveled dreams—to be kept and locked safely away. There, there, always there. All fancy people have vases.

Jamie wraps the box with his manuscript. One by one, he folds the pages over and under, seals the edges with tape to form an inch-thick layer. So much history around this small, delicate thing—their story, with the ending Jamie cannot use and which cannot be the truth. At last, he cuts the string of wool, which still drips from his sweater after all these years, and it rasps, Do we have time? Of course we do.

And finally, Jamie weeps—a mournful sound that joins the chorus of this great, big mountain—and ties a frayed, red bow.

(Jamie does not realize that Mary watches him from the bed. “Tell me about her,” she wants to say—for once a statement and not a question—but she does not. Instead, she calls to Jamie, presses her goosefleshed nakedness to his. And as they move together, slow but unfeeling, she pretends she is a vessel. Closes her eyes. Makes room for the ghost. I’m Claire Beauchamp. Just plain Claire Beauchamp.)

The Glorious Gutter Life - 001: You've Never Heard of Me

The Glorious Gutter Life - 001

You’ve Never Heard of Me

Hello, Comic Readers. My name’s Nick Tapalansky (nicktapalansky here on the Tumblr). I’ve been writing comics professionally for about seven years now. I’m here to talk about the ancient and arcane art of making “indie comics,” which I think just means “anything that you make up that isn’t owned by somebody else” these days. 

You’ve never heard of me. That’s okay. In fact, that’s the point of our first installment. And just why is that, precisely?

Because nobody’s heard of you, either. And that isn’t going to stop you from making your own awesome comics. Read More →

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Book Review- THE HIDDEN ORACLE by Rick Riordan (The Trials of Apollo #1)

(this review does NOT contain spoilers! if you click ‘read more’ then there will be LOTS. this has been your warning!)

The fall of the sun, the final verse…

It’s been six months since the war against Gaea, and all has not been resolved.  In fact, the roots beneath both wars may not have ever gone away. This is new territory, and it is dangerous and unforgiving. With communication astray and demigods gone missing, Camp Half Blood is reaching dangerously low levels. To add to the chaos, Apollo has been turned into a human….again. This time around, he finds himself bound in service to a young girl with an uncanny ability to harm enemies via fruit. With the help of Percy Jackson, they reaches Camp Half Blood, finding it in a state of disarray. 

But from being stripped of divinity to sharing a cabin with his own children, Apollo has more pressing problems of his own. New and old characters combine as the third story of the Olympus-verse begins, and the stakes have never been higher– not just for Apollo, but for all the gods, their children, and their world.

As someone who’s been a huge participant in the PJO/HoO blog-o-sphere (is that a word?) since 2012, I was, of course, apprehensive and immensely excited to begin journey #3. These books have been a huge part of me growing up. PJO was elementary school….HoO was middle/high school…and now, as a current high school senior, I’m pleased to say I get to spend the entirety of my college career back alongside these incredible characters! Any fears or worries I had dissolved very quickly into the book– with the impeccable characterization of HoO and the heartfelt individuality of PJO, The Trials of Apollo is off to a great, running start. 

For the first time, the majority of the action takes place within Camp Half Blood. Because of that, this story is centrally focused on the demigods– new and old– and I think that lent to a truly unique and engaging story. It set up a great four books to come, and I’m lamenting the year long wait ahead of us. But hey, it’s a familiar feeling.

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Into You Calum Hood Imagine

Originally posted by legomuke

 Summary: You and Calum have been dating for 6 years and you’re a singer as well. Your relationship has been a secret all that time but you finally think its time to tell the world in a very big way.

I’m currently sitting on the couch waiting for Calum to come home from some meetings. Calum and I have been dating for 6 years and we have yet to go public with our relationship. There’s rumors and such but we never confirmed anything. There’s pictures of us going out but they don’t really say anything because we’re not holding hands or standing too close. And most of the fans think we’re just best friends. We wanted to keep our relationship private, but lately I’ve wanted to go public. When he finally walked in the door he slid his shoes off and set them off to the side.

“Hey baby.” he said in his famous Australian accent and kissed me on the cheek. He sat next to me pulling my feet into his lap. “How was your day?” I asked. “It was okay kind of boring. Yours?” he replied as he started to rub my feet. “It was good. recorded some more songs today. So I’ve been thinking-” I started to say but Calum cut me off “That’s never good.” I pushed him a little bit. “Babe this is serious!” I whined. “Okay I’m sorry, continue.” he turned to face me still holding my feet

 “I was thinking that it’s time we go public with our relationship.” I admitted. ”Are you sure your ready for that? The paparazzi will be all over you all the time.” he said sounding concerned “I’m used to it though you’re not the only singer in this house remember? My music is doing good, I’m in a good place and it would be even better if I could share our relationship with the world.” 

“If you’re sure, baby. So how are we going to tell them?” he asked “I have an idea. How about I sing at your concert here in Sydney next week? We could collab and do a cover of a song?” I suggested. The boys were kicking off their tour here and are doing 3 shows.  “Babe that’s an amazing idea!” We chatted about it for a while and called the boys to see if they were okay with it, which they were. 

Next came arranging it and practicing it. We practiced all week and finally it was the day of the concert. We soundchecked early in the morning so the fans wouldn’t hear. While he was running around doing things I hung out backstage. Just before the show started I got my make up done and then I got dressed in my outfit I bought just for this.

I hung out with Calum before he went on. “Good luck baby I see you out there!” i said and gave him a good luck kiss just before he ran onto the stage. I waited on the side of the stage for Calum to introduce me.

“Okay guys are you having fun?!” Calum asked the crowd and they all cheered. “I have a very special guest with me tonight. She really means a lot to me. And as a matter of fact this next song requires a special guest! You may have heard of her before. Can we all give a hand for my GIRLFRIEND Y/F/N Y/L/N!”

I walked out onto the stage and the fans cheered and started pulling out their phones. Luke handed me his microphone and I walked out to the front of the catwalk.

“Hi guys! Wow there’s a lot of you out there. So do you guys know a band called Paramore?” I asked and they all screamed. “Well I hope you guys like this! Here’s Still Into You!”  The crowd screamed louder and the boys started to play. Throughout the song Calum and I flirted and had a good time. We mostly hung out at the front of the catwalk. After every ‘I’m still into you” during the break one of us kissed each other on the cheek. 

At the very end of the song I wrapped my arm around his waist. He removed his bass and gave it to Luke to hold. He wrapped me in his arms, picked me up and spun me around. After he set me down he grabbed my face and pressed his lips to mine.

“Awwwww aren’t they cute guys?” I heard Ashton ask the crowd. They cheered and so did the boys. When we pulled apart breathless we walked over to the guys and they gave us a group hug. I waved by as I walked off the stage and stood at the side to watch the rest of the show.

After the show we hung out in the dressing room,Ashton was taking a shower, Calum was on his phone, and I was watching Luke and Michael play FIFA. when my phone alerted me that i had a new mention. 

@Calum5SOS: @Y/T/N After 6 years I’m still into you too 

And attached was a video of your performance. I smiled and gave him a kiss.

A/N Sorry if that was bad its my first 5SOS imagine I’ve finished and published.  I’m tagging these people because they liked the post I made before I started writing it so they can see it.

@baileeeheeereee @missyxrose @fall-out-muke-impala67 @teenwolfyyyyyyy @calumsxreject @flikkerlichtjes

anonymous asked:

Nakkachiii i want to request a scenario please ^.^ one with kuroo oikawa and bokuto on how they cheer up their smol s/o whose starting to close herself in( like she had the worst week and just felt like a complete burden) I hope what i requested is fine i just had a messy week and reading your scenarios help me go to sleep at night ;A; (your scenarios are my bed time story ❤️❤️❤️)

Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry I hadn’t gotten to your request during the time you requested it! To make it up to you, I am going to make this as fluffly as possible! I need to cheer you up for that week you were struggling! I hope this bed time story makes it up to you, Anon-chan (๑╹ڡ╹)╭ ~ ♡ And here is to also hoping you had better days because you deserve to be happy, idc what anyone says! Hope this is good for you, Anon-chan  ❤️


“Kitten?” Kuroo called out as he heard you groan from the room.

Kuroo walked into your shared room to find you head down against the desk. Your laptop showed a screen of a word document with no words. Kuroo frowned. He walked over to you and sat on the edge of the bed.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Kuroo asked kind heartedly. He was always so good to you. He held you up. Was there anything you could do for him?

You shook your head, rubbing your forehead against the desk. Kuroo frowned as he felt useless. He reached over to place a hand on your back. He lightly rubbed your back in circles, hoping this would comfort you a little.

“Honey, it’s only a slump. Its not the end of the world,” Kuroo said sympathetically.

“Yes it is,” you said into the desk.

“Honey, no its not.”

“Yes it is.”

“No its not.”

“Yes, it is,” you said more frustrated now. You looked up to him with irritation. Kuroo took back his hand shocked. Had he done something wrong?

“___, I’m sorry, I was just-”

“Dont apologize, please? I should be apologizing, I’m just being a burden to you,” you said quietly. Kuroo looked at you astonished. How could you ever be a burden to him? He loved you, you could never hold him back or burden him in any way.

“Honey, what are you talking about?” Kuroo asked concerned. The way you looked down to the floor, it broke his heart.

“I’m just a burden,” you began. A lump in your throat began to form. Your voice was about to break. “I havent written a single good story that publishers want to publish. I cant write anything to help us with payments. You’re practically paying everything all just to support my dream!”

Tears were rolling down your face. Kuroo couldn’t handle it. The way you looked to him with frustration and how upset you were with yourself, Kuroo only wanted to make it go away.

“Hey, hey, come here,” Kuroo grabbed your hand and pulled you out of the chair. You sat in his lap, both knees on the side of Kuroo and on the bed. You tried to wipe the tears away but they kept falling. Kuroo held your face as they continued to fall and wiped the away with his thumbs. He tried looking into your eyes but you would look away. You couldnt handle his sympathy, you just wanted to make him proud.

It had been a hard week. Your land lord was asking for last months and this months pay excessively so Kuroo had been working over time at his job to abide. You told him that it was time you needed to get a job and hold off on your dreams to write novels and books. It was more important to you that there be a roof over the both of your heads, with food in the fridge, and enough clothes on your backs than to follow your dreams. You thought why chase a dream if you couldnt live happily with your boyfriend? But Kuroo convinced you not to. He wanted you to follow your dream and be happy doing it.

But it had been even harder this week when publishers wouldnt even read your material. The ones that did would not call back for another interview or decline you easily. It broke your heart each and every time. But now it was all crashing down on you. You would see Kuroo walk around so tired around the house. He would come home exhausted and put on a smile just for you. Kuroo knew you needed him to be happy to feel okay with this decision. But you knew.

You knew Kuroo was tired. You knew Kuroo deserved better. You knew Kuroo didnt have to do any of this alone. He shouldnt have to.

“Kitten, look at me,” Kuroo begged quietly. You slowly looked to Kuroo. The way he looked to you made your heart hurt. There was that smile again. A tired smile. Tears fell down more, feeling the heartbreak.

“Testu, I-”

“___. I love you,” Kuroo said slowly. His voice was firm yet so soft. You listened carefully to his words even though you were sniffling every now and then. “Dont think you’re disappointing me. I could not be any more proud than you. You are the most amazing person to me, you could never fail me. Its hard now, I know. But I believe in you.”

“But you deserve better,” you said as the tears fell from your face. You broke away from Kuroo’s hold, wiping away more tears. Your heart felt so heavy. You didnt want to burden him anymore. “Testu, you pay for this house all by yourself. You always buy so much food to keep our fridge and cabinets full. And all I’ve done is sit here with a blank page.”

Kuroo didnt say a word. He listened carefully as he stared at you with each word he said. When you finished talking, he still said nothing. Kuroo only pulled you in closer to him and wrapped his arms around you. You sank into his shoulder.

“___, I do all these things because I have my dream. I have you,” your eyes widened with surprise. “I didnt know it then, but you were my dream. Up until I met you, I felt like I did everything just for me. And nothings wrong with that. I was happy. But I wanted to share that happiness with someone. I wanted to give happiness to someone and feel that I could be there for someone no matter what. It was only my team that I felt that happiness with. They depended on my guidance and no matter what, those guys made me proud.”

You couldnt control the tears. This was the last thing you expected from Kuroo.

“But after high school, I had no one,” Kuroo continued with a smile. “I just did everything for myself. Then I started thinking, ‘What am I going to do when I’m old?’ I realized I wanted to fall in love.”

You held back your laugh. You couldnt help it. Kuroo always said the most cheesy things but it was so natural to him. He looked down to you with a pout.

“Dont be like Kenma, let me finish,” Kuroo said embarrassed. “But anyway, you already know. The girls before you were nothing like I wanted or needed. Not one hundred percent actually. But I met you and… It just happened. Everything fell into place. ___, money comes and goes. I work for you to keep you happy because you make me happy. I work hard for you because you already gave me my dream and more. I work hard for you because I want you to achieve your dream now. I love you.”

You lifted yourself up from Kuroo’s shoulder and stared at each other. He held your face again. Kuroo swept away the tears and smiled at you. His smile was so kind, so happy for you. It wasnt tired. Kuroo slowly brought your head down and kissed your forehead.

“You are my treasure, my love. I believe in you,” Kuroo said quietly. And in that moment your heart felt relaxed. There was no torn pieces, it wasn’t broken. Kuroo always brought you down to Earth. You smiled, believing in Kuroo’s words like he believed in you.


You sat down at your desk, staring at the study guides laid out across. Just as you were about to turn the page of your text book, you felt your phone vibrate within your pocket. As you pulled out your phone, you noticed your boyfriend’s name pop up on the caller ID.

“Yes, Toruu?” you answered a little tense.

“___-chan, can you open the door please? I brought you something!” Oikawa said happily. You could just picture his cheerful smile. It made you smile a little. But you would only be happier if there wasn’t so much work to be done.

You hung up the phone and walked to the front door. As you opened the front door, you saw a kind smile from Oikawa and him holding up a plastic bag full of food. You tiredly smiled to him. He noticed your smile and gave you a worried look. All you needed was Oikawa’s touch right now. It would be nice to relieve some of your stress feeling the comfort from his arms. You walked up and wrapped your arms around him. He held you with the plastic bags still in his hand.

“Cmon, I’ll cook this food for you while you study, okay sweetie?” Oikawa asked with a soft voice. You slowly nodded your face into Oikawa’s chest. He looked down to you curious. He heard you sniffling.

“I just want to stay like this longer,” you said muffled. Oikawa looked down to you with a frown. But his frown transitioned into a smile as he understood.

Oikawa leaned back to place the bags on the floor. You held onto him and still held your face into his chest. Oikawa regained his balance and held you inside his grasp. He held a hand behind your head and held you tightly around the waist. Oikawa felt your arms around him tighten.

“I got you, sweetie, don’t worry,” Oikawa comforted with a smile.

Oikawa knew his words werent always going to help. Especially with you. You were too emotional and needed the perfect words to keep you less stressed. But you learned that Oikawa’s touch was the best thing for you rather than his words. Knowing he was there for you, it was all you needed.

But this time was different. You felt the stress getting to you. School had piled more and more work onto your free time. Your time was taken away with school, studying, then work. It had been awhile since Oikawa and you had real time to spend together.

“Toruu,” you began. Oikawa looked down to you with a smile. “I think we should break up.”

Oikawa’s eyes widened at your words. He looked down to you surprised.


You couldnt say a word. Just saying that sentence made a lump in your throat. Even with those words, your hold onto Oikawa didnt loosen. You didnt want to let go. He was everything you needed.

But thats all you have been thinking about lately besides your school work. Oikawa didnt need you. He was the rock in your world when needed. But Oikawa didnt need you. He was strong enough with you. He was what you wanted to be. Determined. Strong willed. A leader. But you werent.

Oikawa grabbed your chin and brought your look to him. You saw the worry in his eyes. No, the desperation. This shocked you. You have never seen this look from Oikawa.

“___, what’re you talking about?” he asked. Oikawa had a little panic in his voice. What was this?

“Toruu, you don’t need me. I’m just holding you back,” you explained, sniffling. “All I have been doing is studying and not even getting good scores. Toruu, you don’t need-”

“And you think that means we need to break up?” Oikawa asked with frustration and confusion.

“Toruu, I’m holding you back, there’s nothing good about me!”

“You’re wrong! I do need you!”

“No!” you two were talking louder. It surprised you that you two were still holding each other, desperately. You didnt want to let go, but you felt you needed to if you wanted Oikawa to be truly happy. “I’m holding you back!”

“No youre not!”

“I havent been to one game in months!”

Oikawa froze. He couldnt meet you in the eyes now. His hand let go of your chin and dropped to hold you again. You knew. You could tell with the way his voice sounded on the phone after he would call you after a game. He wanted you there. He was disappointed every time you couldnt come, even though he knew you couldnt.

A long pause between you two kept on longer. It made your heart hurt. Oikawa’s as well. He met your eyes now, more firmly.

“That doesnt mean I don’t need you,” Oikawa started calmly now. “You’re stupid, ___-chan. You’re not holding me back. I know you’re working hard, and you know I am also. We’re not holding each other back. We’re working on our dreams and goals. Just because we dont see each other as often, doesnt mean we dont belong together.”

Your eyes widened at Oikawa. Did he just say… We belong together?

Oikawa leaned down and hugged you tighter. He buried his face into your neck, breathing in your scent. “___, I love you. I know you’re working hard. Don’t stop, and don’t leave me. I still need you. Even when I don’t need you, I’ll want you around. I love you.”

In that moment, you heard Oikawa say the exact words you needed to hear.


“Kou, can you give me water?” you asked frustrated. Bokuto looked to you with a straight face. He noticed the anger in your eyes.

“Sweetie, what’s wrong?” Bokuto asked with a raised eyebrow.

You looked over to Bokuto with a confused look. You felt the cold wind from outside the gym dance on your sweat that covered your neck. A chill went down your spine.

“Sorry, I think I just got a little cold from outside,” you answered Bokuto with a nervous laugh. The tension in your body hadnt quite left you.

“No, you look stressed out,” Bokuto corrected. He tosses you the water bottle from his sports bag. You caught the water bottle in your hands.

You thought to Bokuto’s words as you stood still in the gym with volleyballs scattered across. Bokuto and you were the only ones left. Bokuto had agreed with help better your skills in hitting. But after two hours of practicing with Bokuto, you felt no better. You felt your skills hadnt improved enough. You wanted to be an outside hitter that your team could depend on. But you felt your skills werent enough.

“You’re so amazing, Kou,” you said quietly. Bokuto tilted his head to you in confusion. “You’re a part of the top five aces.”

Bokuto slowly understood what you meant. You were dating a great outside hitter. But no one acknowledged your skills. Your skills werent worth acknowledging, or so how you felt. You could feel the looks of other players when they saw you and Bokuto together.

She dates one of the top five aces, is she good?

No, she doesnt really play much.

Oh really? I wonder why Bokuto-san dates her. He should date a better outside hitter.

The words arent always said to your face. But you knew what they were saying when people looked to you and Bokuto with their judging eyes. You hadnt talked to Bokuto about it. You already knew his response was to laugh it off like it didnt matter. It didnt matter to him because words like those didnt matter to him. He knew you were working hard so he believed in you. But this was beginning to tell you differently.

“Sweetie, you’re amazing too,” Bokuto began with a smile. You prepared yourself for his laughter. But he surprised you. “You work harder than anyone I’ve ever met.”

“But I’m no where as close to you. I’m far behind,” you replied disappointed.

“You’ll get there,” Bokuto said with a smile. He noticed your glum look. “Hey, hey, hey, dont look like that!”

Bokuto ran to you and took you into his arms. He wrapped his arms around your waist and lifted you off the ground. You yelped at the sudden gesture. Your eyes looked down to Bokuto’s smile. It brought you back to the world. You questioned how his simple smile could get you to calm down.

“But Kou, I feel like your reputation gets ruined because of me,” you said quietly. Bokuto looked at you with intense eyes. He set you down and looked at you confused.

“No it doesnt,” Bokuto said calmly. But the look in his eyes felt something else. “If anyone talks bad about you, I’ll talk to them.”

There. The look in his eyes. It was a threat. He was being protective over you. It clicked in your heart. You could feel it. Bokuto didnt care about what other people said as long as you werent hurt. And you knew only Bokuto could fix the ache in your heart about your securities. You smiled to him.

“You’re so good to me, Kou,” you said softly. His eyes softened and looked to you. “Helping me with practice and making me feel better. What would I do without you?”

Bokuto smiled, feeling on top of the world. Bokuto didnt have to say alot to make you feel better. It was all in the his eyes. His smile. How Bokuto looked. You were his world. He’d do anything for you, and the same to you. You could never disappoint him as long as you worked hard. His eyes always told you that. His love for you always told you that. Bokuto was amazing.