i know this is typo filled

Summary: Five snapshots of Jughead’s and Betty’s life when Jughead had nowhere to stay and Betty was hiding him in her room. 

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(Okay, I know this is long; I know. But seriously I can’t help the fact that I want to fill entire books with how adorably cute those two are! <3 So grab your snacks and drinks and dive in hahaha! Also I’m sorry if there are any typos, it’s really late and I’m way tired to notice my mistakes. I hope you all like it guys!!!) 


Two days had passed since the night Betty Cooper had stormed inside the Blue & Gold office like a wild force of nature, catching Jughead on the act as well as learning about his secret of not having a place of his own anymore, and coexisting under the same roof was going smoothly for the two friends. Every morning they would wake up way earlier than most people in their town, and especially than Betty’s parents, and Jughead, although not being a morning person, would sneak out with a grateful smile plastered on his lips and hands full with every new snack Betty seemed to always prepare for him, and every night she would sneak him back in once she knew her parents were retired to their bedroom for the night. Their system seemed to be flawless.

Today was a low-key Wednesday night and the first time they had the house entirely to themselves, since the Coopers had yet another late night at the newspaper, the two teens finally enjoying some peace and quiet without closed doors and hush whispers. Betty was sprawled over the bed, text books and colorful markers all around her as the blonde girl was trying to finish her homework, elbow holding herself up and chin resting on her palm, head aching over an answer sheet and calves crossing and uncrossing behind her. Jughead was over the window with blinds shut – he had made Betty promise that his secret would stay between them – sitting comfortably on her white desk chair and having his long legs crossed at the ankles, outstretched against the wooden window frame, while typing furiously on his laptop that rested on his lap. Since no one was at home he didn’t have to lurk at his usual booth at Pop’s. Plus, he found Betty’s presence a very good remedy for writer’s block.

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Some Off-The-Cuff Writing Editing Tips bc I’m Writing and Editing Today

I’m editing my essay and splurge-writing my novel today: after doing the editing it’s become harder to free write without editing, as is my policy for this novel draft, because I’m hyper-aware of all the flaws haha

so, some tips, to get them out of my head:

If you have to read a sentence twice, that sentence needs clarifying or simplifying. All your sentences should make sense without interrupting the flow of reading. Maybe you need to switch some clauses around, break it into shorter sentences, or simplify the language. This can be really tricky, I know; sometimes it feels like, ‘this is the only way to say it!’ If that’s the case, leave it and come back to it later; it might make more sense then. 

Leave your writing for at least one day before you edit it. You can edit immediately after finishing writing something, but if you do, you should go through it again another day. If your writing is so fresh in your mind that you remember every word you wrote, your brain might be filling it what it remembers writing rather than letting you read what’s actually on the page, and you’ll end up skimming and missing some typos. You’ll read it too quickly, thinking I know what I wrote. I usually get my dad to read for typos, because he’s the slowest reader I know; slow reading = better typo-finding.

If you have used a colon and/or a semicolon more than once in a sentence that is not a list, it needs to be two sentences. The same could be said of dashes but - as exemplified here - a pair of dashes forming a sidenote is fine. Also, don’t try to use semicolons if you don’t know how; god knows I wish I could turn back time and erase them from my vocabulary because I do know how to use them and boy do I use them, waayyy too much. modern writing doesn’t really need them. 

As my professor once wrote on an essay I handed in, any sentence that goes on for six lines is too long. Yes, I actually Did That. 

Think about terms of address. This is big issue in my novel atm; the pov switches from chapter to chapter, and the characters are getting to know each other slowly so the terms of address will change not only from chapter to chapter, but also as the story goes on. You may call that character by their name in your head, but maybe your narrator would call them by a nickname, or by their surname/title. This is, believe it or not, actually somewhat applicable to essay-writing too: the amount of times I’ve almost referenced a familiar academic or character/figure by their first name…

Unless you’re writing sarcastically/ironically, in first person/inner monologue, or for children/childishly, exclamation marks in the narration usually read badly. I’m sure it can be done, but it’s usually best to avoid it. Unless you’re using the exclamation mark to indicate a tone of voice, consider if it’s deflating rather than adding to the tension of your sentence. It’s a voice-focused piece of punctuation and should really be reserved for speech or inner monologue. 

Adverbs are not evil (despite popular opinion), but double adverbs are usually a bad idea. The same goes for double adjectives. If they describe two different things or two different aspects of a thing - eg, pink and white stripes, walking slowly and carefully, or silent and deadly assassin - you can get away with it, but only sparingly. If you have two adverbs/adjectives that say basically the same thing - she was quiet and shy, this is correct and true, she writes plainly and clearly - scrap one, or find a new word that better encompasses the subtleties of both. If you’re using a lot of adverbs, maybe question whether the verbs need to be talking louder instead. But remember, no entire word group is inherently bad, c’mon writing tips people why do you want to destroy adverbs??

‘Purple Prose’ is not evil either, but consider where your metaphors/similes/description may have gotten too extensive and broken the flow of your writing. Too much of any one thing clumped together can ‘clog up’ your writing, so consider if maybe certain chunks of description - or monologue or speech - could be making this section monotonous, and maybe break it up with something else or shorten it. Variety is helpful for keeping people interested. 

Have you jumped? By this I mean, have you stopped talking about one thing and gone straight on to something totally different? Jumps can be okay, as long as they’re clearly signposted, and as long as the end of the last section and the beginning of the new one are well-closed and well introduced respectively. Any big gaps need to be at least slightly bridged. Alternatively, you could not jump at all and fill the gap in. 

Are you overusing or repeating one word or phrase? I once read a biography of JK Rowling that used the phrase ‘deliriously happy’ for every single good moment in her life. I hated that phrase by the end. Try not to use the same word or phrase to describe everything. It can be hard to spot this in your own writing so beta readers are helpful here. WARNING: this does not go for ‘said’! You are allowed to use ‘said’ and other simple words as much as you like! people will, however, pick up if you use a more specific word too frequently. A comment on my last graded piece was ‘stop saying understanding’ - I’d used it three times in two sentences… 

I’m sure there’s lots more, but that’s all that comes to mind right now. Please remember that these are TIPS and note RULES - there are no ‘rules’ to writing, you do you, this is just what helps me and some common things my teachers have advised me against

please add your own tips to this post and let’s make it into an editing masterpost!

Drew this real quick
Can I just express how much I love this adorable little potato?

Seriously, I usually like the ‘Idiots’
but he’s my favorite in All Out!!

and there’s almost zero fanart for him out there, so I’m going to make filling the internet with him my job haha

I suck at body types, so I had to redraw his face a few times because he looked like a child lol

But I really like the result~


Just fixed my stupid typo haha;;

a few things i’ve learned from trying to write more in the past couple of years

usual disclaimer that i’m not published and these are things that work for me, when i say “you” i’m being abstract and referring to myself, etc, etc

this is a VERY LONG post, to everyone on mobile, i apologize

Keep reading

About Time // Prologue

| Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

Type/Genre: Alternate Universe, (Time Travel!au? idk)

Ratings: undefined

Warnings: Implied violence scene

Prompts: “What if you find your soulmate… at the wrong time?” - Lauren Kate, Passion

Summary: Be careful for what you wish for, because you may never know how to deal with them once it comes true. What would you do when your wish for a second chance actually came true? But was it really a fulfilled wish? Too many questions lie when it actually happened. Were they real memories? Or perhaps a part of a past life? Was it only a dream all along? Will everything be different this time?

a/n: This is one of the oldest fic I wrote but I took it down because I was highly unhappy about it so I rewrite the whole thing. It might be confusing at first, but I hope it will clear up on the next chapters.


Originally posted by won-der-land89

= Prologue =

Each and every single human being in this world always wants something. We always have our wishes for our own selfishness.

We wish for a good life.

We wish for love.

We wish for happiness.

We wish for second chances.

Second chance.

That was what I wished for.

The one thing I prayed for every night before I sleep. The one thing I prayed for, at the very night before I woke up in an entirely different life.

A new life.

My second chance.


I dreaded my life.

I was 30 years old. I have lost all kinds of connection to my parents. I have lost everything, my love, my hope and my dreams. And I could feel my whole life slipping away, taking pieces of my soul as it withered to ashes. I cried constantly until I reached to a point where I could no longer find any will to release the pain burning inside of me.

I was 30 years old when I felt numb. When I lost the love that I used to have towards life. When all I could feel was exhaustion.

I was 30 years old when I closed my eyes that night with a loud cry of ‘I don’t want this life anymore’.

I was 30 years old when I fell asleep.

I was 15 years old when I opened my eyes the next day.

Keep reading

Fugitives

Pairing: John X AfricanAmerican!Reader
Word Count: 3660
Warnings: Slavery, whipping.

A/N: Slavery is a really sensitive subject and I mean no offense to anyone and I am not implying I know how bad it was but I know that it is a really powerful and difficult topic. Also, I didn’t really read over and edit so sorry for typos!


Tags: @jantales


The boat rocked as you swayed along with it. The lower hold filled with other miserable passengers. Light skins on the top side enjoyed simple pleasures that you were stripped of. Every day you among others were forced to dance or work to keep in shape so you could be sold. You were stripped of your home, your family, your friends…everything. Captured and now taken to America who was, at the time, rebelling against Britain. Your sullen expression matched those of your fellow passengers, even as someone in the crow’s nest signaled the sign of land.

“I bet this place is no better,” the stranger next to you mumbled.

“Yeah,” you agreed.

Maybe one or two hours later you and others were rounded up and moved onto land. Bound by itchy ropes you traveled for days till you arrived at the market. You were thrown into a pen with other women. Men encircled the pen, examining you and calling them out to inspect them further. You backed your way into the crowd.

“Mr. Laurens sir?” The man who brought you greeted a stout man.

“Please call me Henry,” he responded.

The man nodded and gestured to the group you were in. “Don’t you own a trading post?”

“Yes I do, ‘Austin and Laurens’ but I’m here today to purchase.” He circled the holding pen. “I don’t think it’s fair to buy from your own company, even if it is the most successful,” Henry smirked.

The other man nodded and stepped back so Henry could scan through the crowds of women. The sign that displayed your starting price hung loosely around your neck as he called you from the crowds. The trader brought you out and threatened you to behave.

Henry walked circles around you, he pat you down checking your physicality. He opened your mouth and checked your teeth, your eyes were scanned and your spine traced for deformities. “She looks healthy and fit. Five hundred sixty?”

“How about six hundred?” The trader bargained.

“Deal.”

You were taken by the rope tied around your hands as the sign was removed from your neck. A blank expression stayed put on your face as you were lead to his wagon and tied to it with three other slaves.

The sun beat down as you walked behind the wagon to the Laurens estate. A grand colonial house overlooked rice fields by the dozen. Multiple slaves worked in the fields that swelled with water. Planting rice stalks into the ground and stirring the mud to hold the stalk.

The carriage came to a stop and you were untied. An overseer came to where you and three others stood. You were assigned to the household, where you would cook, clean, and attend to the missus of the house, and so you did.


Two weeks passed and you became situated caring for the younger children and completing daily tasks for the household. You sighed dismissively and carried the wet laundry to the hanging wire. As you clipped dripping cotton to the string the wind blew across your skin, allowing for some comfort in the heavy sun. Clipping the last skirt into place you stepped back and watched the workers from the fields return.

Down by the river you sat with your hands crossed in your lap. The sun hid behind the horizon and the water rippled as you skipped pebbles. You didn’t really talk much, you were a silent worker and enjoyed the moments of peace at the end of the day. The rest of the slaves danced and sang by their cabin. You sat in solitude by the river in which the water for the rice fields came.

You thought about your home, Kenya. There you were called Akilah which meant intelligent. Now that you were here the Americans called you Y/N, which you didn’t mind, it was a beautiful name.

“Hello?” Your thoughts were interrupted and you sprung to your feet. The master’s eldest son smiled at you.

You curtsied as you were instructed, and bowed your head. He took a step towards you and you tensed. He noticed your shift in posture and stopped a few paces in front of you. “I didn’t mean to scare you, sorry.”

Your head tilted at his apology. You simply nodded and waited for some kind of order or something. “Did you need something, sir?” The heavy African accent showing through.

“No, I just wanted to see why you were over here alone and not dancing with the others,” he said.

You raised your head and looked back at the river. “I just prefer to be down here, sir.”

“My name is John,” He said extending his hand.

Staring at his hand you nodded and his expression fell. “I know sir.”

His face lightened again. “I mean you can call me John.”

“You folk just call me Y/N so that is what I go by,” your hands folded over your stomach.

“Okay. Um, whatcha doin’?” He gestured towards the river and walked awkwardly towards it.

You stayed silent, John huffed and turned around to you again. “Okay, I don’t think of you as property, that’s just stupid. You’re as human as I am! I just want to be your friend.”

His head hung as he spoke, a small smile graced your features after his confession. “I haven’t smiled since I’ve been here…” He looked up and smiled back at you. “Thank you… John.”

“I don’t really believe in ‘owning’ people,” he said using air quotations.

“It’s weird being here. How different this place is compared to Africa,” you said looking at your surroundings.

“What’s it like there?”

He turned to the river and watched it flow softly over the rocks. You crouched down and fiddled with a smooth stone. Swinging your arm back and slinging it into the river it bounced on the water. John smiled fondly at you and attempted to do the same.

The rest of the evening you skipped rocks with John and told him about Kenya. You told him stories of your adventures as a child and how you would always sneak down to the waterhole at dusk to skip rocks.


Since that day, John visited you while you worked and sat with you at the end of the day. You denied your growing affections for him. He would never love someone who was enslaved, You told yourself countless times.

As you worked in the kitchen to clean up after dinner, one of the smaller children, Martha, came running in. “Y/N! James won’t leave me alone!” James followed his sister’s steps into the kitchen.

“Out, out, out!” An older woman everyone called “mama” raised her voice at the children.

You picked little Martha up and held James’ hand as you escorted them out of the kitchen. Martha leaned her head on your shoulder as you balanced her on your hip and James gripped your finger. You laid Martha down in bed and tucked her in. James settled himself on the other side of the shared room.

Martha’s small voice stopped you as you began to walk out the door. “Y/N? Can you sing to me?”

“Yeah Y/N! Sing please!” James pipped in.

You smiled softly at their pleas and walked back into the room. Situating yourself on the end Martha’s bed you watched the little girl tuck herself further in the sheets. You smiled fondly and began singing a lullaby your mother sang to you as a child.

“Thula thul, thula baba, thula sana…” Martha’s eyes fluttered shut and James shifted in his bed. “Thul’ubab uzobuya, ekuseni. Thula thul, thula baba…” you stood and backed out of the room. Reaching behind you, you found the doorknob and continued backward singing the last few chords. “Ubuye le khaya–”

Your back collided with a sturdy chest as you took a final step back. A sharp intake of breath reached your lungs as hands held your shoulders. You closed the door and turned around to face John. “H–Hello…”

He smiled reassuringly at you. “That was beautiful, your singing.”

A small blush came to your face and you looked down realizing how close you were to him. “Thank you.”

He slipped his soft hands from your shoulders to your rough ones. You brought your face up as he caressed the inside of your palms with his thumbs. A red glow marked his freckles as he looked down to your hands. John looked you straight in the eyes and opened his mouth to say something. Footsteps came down the hall and you two broke apart, you turning to leave and John heading the other way.

Walking down the stairs to the basement, which doubled as sleeping quarters for the workers of the house, all attention turned to you and your late arrival.

“My friend, what has got you all flustered?” A girl called Emily asked in a heavy Swahili accent.

“Nothing…” you said quietly and moved to set up your cot.

“I bet it’s the master’s son, John Laurens,” someone suggested, drawing out the name that gave you butterflies.

You scoffed and tried your best to hide your blush. “Now what made you think that?”

“Oh I don’t know,” she continued swinging a rag in her hand. “It’s not like you spend time together every evening and you don’t smile and blush when you see each other. No, nothing like that.”

“Is not him.”

“Okay tell us!” Someone plead.

You laid down and crossed your arms. “No.”

“Ah-ha! She admitted!”

Mama walked over to your cot and sat at the edge as everyone else gathered around your bed. From young and old, all curious to know your relation to the master’s son.

You sat up and folded your hands in your lap. “Well…” you told them the whole story of how he met you and what y'all did by the river. What you didn’t mention was the encounter a few minutes ago. “That’s it, now go to bed!”

Everyone stood and moved to their own cots to sleep. You sighed and pulled the thin blanket over your body. As you settled into the cot you smiled to yourself and fell asleep.

A cry rang out from inside the house. You jumped to your feet and rushed up the stairs. It was the youngest of the Laurens family, Mary. Running down the hall and rushing into the nursery and prayed that the missus wasn’t woken.

“Shh… shh…” you cooed leaning over the crib to silent the baby. You reached your hand down and rubbed her soft cheek. Mary leaned into your hand on instinct and quieted. “Just a nightmare.”

The door opened behind you and your stomach dropped. The missus, Elenor, stood before you, angry. “Come here girl,” she grabbed a rawhide whip and dragged you outside.

“No!” You screamed as she tossed you outside. You fell to your knees and the missus coiled her arm. “She had a nagmerrie!” You yelled, resorting to your native language.

“Shut up,” she released the hide and it scored across your back, ripping the back of your dress and welting the flesh. A strangled scream left your throat when it made contact.

You forced your eyes shut and prepared for another blow. “STOP!” A voice boomed.

Elenor turned around as you cowered on the ground. Angry conversations went on as you struggled to your feet and stared at John arguing with his mother. He snatched the whip from her and she stormed inside.

John looked back at you and dropped the weapon. He came to your side looking at you with fear in his eyes, not really sure how to help. Your breaths were short and ragged as you shook from the pain, John softly moved his arm around your shoulder and lead you back into the house.

“Shh… you’ll be okay,” he soothed. John lead you through the house to his room. He opened the door and set you on the bed, it was the softest thing you’ve sat on. John ran out of the room and came back with a rag and some water.

You hissed as he pat the wet rag against the red mark. “Sorry,” he mumbled. He continued his work and you gritted your teeth in pain. John placed a blanket over your shoulders to cover the tear in your top.

He stood and moved to his desk where he sat down with a sigh. “Are you okay?”

“It feels better,” you gave him a weak smile. “Thanks.”

A silence fell between the two of you. You were a slave here, owned by this guy’s father yet he treated you like a person. Why? “W–why did you do that?”

He looked up at you, confusion and another emotion that you couldn’t quite place laced his eyes. “I woke up to Mary crying and then I heard footsteps going down the hall and the door opening. When I went to see what was happening I heard the whip and ran outside. My mom was gonna–”

“That’s how you knew what was happening,” you interrupted. “Why did you help me?”

“Because you’re just as human as I am and you shouldn’t be treated any different!” He said.

You were slightly taken aback at his outburst, but you understood. “Okay, well thank you. Good night.”

You stood and walked out of his room, the blanket still around your shoulders. The silence lingered in the air as you turned and stepped back into the sleeping quarters again. You smiled thankfully when you saw no one was awake. Laying on your stomach you drew the blanket closer, taking in John’s scent.


The next few days you and John didn’t talk much. It stuck to simple “hi’s” and “bye’s”, which hurt a lot more than it should have. The whip mark began to scar over and hurt less. The missus scowled every time she passed you, muttering under her breath. You explained to your fellow workers how you got whipped and left out the “john part”.

Just like every night, you sat by the river enveloped in your thoughts. This time your watched the dancers and listened to the songs that were native to you. You smiled as you watched the children dance around the fire as the adults chanted. You jumped as a hand was placed on your shoulder.

“John?” You said looking up at him.

“Hi…” he said sheepishly. “Can we talk?”

“Of course,” he extended his hand and helped you up.

He walked closer to where you normally sit, where it was quieter and farther away from everyone. “So how’s that healing?” He gestured to your back.

“I could live without it,” you said letting out a small chuckle.

He nodded and smiled. “The thing I wanted to say was… sorry. I shouldn’t have gotten mad that night and you deserve to know why I acted that way,” he took a deep breath.

“John?”

“I just needed time to think it over and–well here goes nothing,” he shrugged.

“John?” You said again, very confused.

“Y/N, I–I think I’m in love with you and that scares me half to death…” he looked down at the grass and shifted shyly.

You gawked at him, unsure what to say. He looked up at you and scoffed, turning around and facing the river. “I know it’s wrong to love you and you probably don’t think the same way. God, I must look like a fool standing here,” he picked up a stone and tossed it into the river.

“I know you don’t feel the same way. I mean you can’t, right?” He said without looking back. Picking up another stone and clenching it in his fist he stared at the ground.

You walked the length between you and took his hand in yours. He released the stone and it fell to the ground as he looked at you. John turned his body to face you as you took his other hand as well. “I–I think I’m in love with you…too.”

John’s face brightened, he stepped closer to you his hands resting on the small of your back. He leaned forward inches from your face. “Can I?” He asked his eyes flickering between your eyes and your lips.

You nodded slowly as he closed the distance between the two of you. You felt him smiled into the kiss holding you closer. Leaning into his grasp you smiled after you parted. Finally, you thought. Then your smile wavered as you realized what this would mean. “John?”

His face flooded with concern and realization as you rested your head on his chest. “What are we going to do? We can’t be together here, it’s forbidden.”

John’s silence told you he was debating; deep in thought. “I have a friend in the North, Alexander Hamilton, he could help.”

“Are you saying–”

“That we run away? Yeah,” He said firmly.

You looked back at the dancers and the children, this was the life you knew now. Maybe you could start another one somewhere else…with John. “It’s going to be really risky. A long journey as well.”

“When we get there, I’ll work to free you. So you can be considered your own person,” he explained. “Then we’ll figure it out from there.”

You nodded and sighed deeply, as he kissed the top of your head.


You packed your few belongings in secret. Journeying to the kitchen you slipped in a few supplies and met John outside the house, by the river. “Ready?”

“We–we just walk away? That simple?” You said disbelievingly.

“It won’t be that easy, slave hunters will come looking for you.” John sighed deeply. “?

My dad will issue a search party with a price. Things like that but we’ll get there.” He reassured.

You nodded and pulled John into a hug. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Yes… I do,” he said firmly, wrapping his arms around you. Taking your hand in his he lead you around the town to unsettled woodlands.

Days passed and you traveled at night, hiding and resting during the day. You both were exhausted but had hope for how far you’ve come. John explained how you were only a few miles from the northern boundary.

Something was off with John, you knew y'all had to be on high alert but he seemed more aware. Hidden in a deep part of the woods John sat up staring into the array of trees as you rested your head on a satchel.

He twitched a the chirp of a bird and stiffened. “John?”

He grunted in acknowledgment and continued looking around for any sign of movement. “Why are you so paranoid? We’re almost there. Just–”

“Sh,” he hushed quickly. He moved to a crouching position and whipped his head back and forth. Using two fingers he signaled to the west. You turned your gaze to his signal and saw it.

Three men and three horses, no dogs thankfully. They were advancing on your location. “They are looking for escaped slaves,” John said.

You nodded your dark skin blending in the shadows. “There’s a dip over there, just before the river.” You said quietly.

John nodded and grabbed your hand, moving to the location you pointed out. Tossing your bags into a nearby tree and rushed you to the dip.

“What was that?” One of the hunters called out.

You whimpered fear wracking your body. John laid stomach down against the bank and pulled you down in the same position. He slid his arm over your shoulders, you looked at him and saw him looking above the bank for the hunters. With a small gasp, he rushed his head down and pulled you close to his chest. Footsteps neared your location and you began shaking underneath John. Eyes closed you listened to the men’s conversations.

“I swore I saw something run over here.” One said.

“Maybe you’re just tired Joe, come on. We’ll stop at the next town and let you rest.” The other said.

“No, I–”

“Come on,” the third said moving to grab his fellow hunter.

As the footsteps retreated you released the breath you were holding. John lifted his head above the dip and watched them, making sure they were far enough away. Leaving your side and stood and cautiously gathered yalls things. You stood and John handed you your stuff and busied himself with his.

“John…” you began.

He grunted in acknowledgment to let you know he was listening. “John you can’t keep doing this.”

He stopped and looked up at you. “What do you mean?” he asked, standing straight.

“You can’t keep helping me, we almost got caught and I know what they’d do to me but I fear what they’d do to you,” you explained.

“Hey,” he said quietly, placing a hand on your shoulders and the other under your chin making you look up at him. “Don’t worry about that, I’m going to take care of you okay?”

Tears lined your eyes, “Okay…” you whispered as he pulled you into a hug and kissed your temple.

“We’re almost there, come on.”


Your footsteps became heavy as you trudged, breath labored and knees weak. John was just the same, except he was taking longer strides (john you can’t get there any faster by taking bigger steps—i beg to differ, my love, I can get anywhere faster with bigger steps). After a few more moments, you heard a gasp from in front of you.

A small, unbelieving chuckle escaped John’s mouth. “We did it!” He exclaimed.

You came to his side and he slipped his arm around your waist. “We did it,” he said quieter.

You nodded and leaned into John. He turned and faced you, leaning down he planted a firm and passionate kiss on your lips. Full of joy and hope you continued on to find Alexander Hamilton and gain your rights as a free African American.

Goodbye for now

Hey guys,

I’ve been quite busy lately and it made me realize that I won’t have time to continue making themes on here. I’m sorry I know I had a few themes and pages planned to be released soon but I decided to just go on hiatus. Now who knows maybe one day i’ll come back.

I would also like to encourage anyone who is planning or wants to start coding to do so, because the theme making community is by far one of the best on tumblr. We’re all so helpful to each other, It’s really nice.

I really want to say thank you to those who have helped me, liked, or even used my themes. You all have been so kind to me, thank you! It’s been more than fun <3

i think the worst thing about bpd for me is i could be having a full on breakdown with tears streaming down my face, my lungs screaming for air bc of my anxiety, my head filled w intrusive thoughts and fighting every urge to kill myself and no one would know at all

bc my first instinct is to lock myself in my room and just act like its all good, i could be texting u and i would barely have any typos, i could be all excited or “normal” and ud have no clue which makes me think everyone hates me or that no one cares when thats not the case?? im just so private?? 

if you notice that i make A LOT of typos i want everyone to know that it happens not out of carelessness but specifically because my brain is faster than my fingers when im typing. and then i reread it and my brain fills in the gaps visually and im like yup. and then i kick myself when i noticed i skipped a word or something ten hours later when people have already liked the post or something. so just know that i do repent for my grammarly sins

Yoosung tried to make a fantasy game with RPG Maker when he was young. It’s on some old storage thing/drive, all done with pre-made assets. Not finished and filled with the most cliche fantasy rpg tropes you can think of. Terrible typos and grammatical errors. 

He waits in terror for the day Seven finds it. 

A silly little thing I was inspired to throw together while looking at all the possible answers from the fill-in-the-blank species question. And yackity sax because I felt like it.

Several people have suggested I turn certain questions into fill-in-the-blank text questions instead of multiple choice, but when I do that, people like to add clarification notes and go into a lot of detail. This isn’t a bad thing, it’s great that you guys know so much about your characters, but it makes dealing with the data afterwards difficult. There are also typos, different ways of phrasing the same concept (“human/fairy” vs “human/fairy hybrid”), and punctuation differences (my spreadsheet program counts “Human” and “Human.” as different categories) that cause all sorts of problems.

Hopefully now you guys get why I have to leave the questions limiting sometimes. In the print-out version I’m turning lots of questions into fill-in-the-blank instead of multiple choice, so if you want to fill that stuff out, you’ll be able to there.

(For those of you who are curious, there were about 480 unique answers for the species question in total.)

Little Things

TITLE: Little Things

CHAPTER NUMBER/ONE SHOT: One Shot

AUTHOR: winterwolf57

CHARACTERS: Sebastian Stan x Reader

GENRE: Romance, Humor, Fluff, Rated G

SUMMARY: You don’t always need grand gestures to prove to someone how much you care about them. Sometimes it’s the little things that make the biggest impact; things that you say in passing that they remember, a thoughtful gift, or simply going out of your way to do something for someone.You were having the worst week at work when Sebastian Stan, your best friend from college, decides to fly in to surprise you and it was the best thing ever.

A/N: Here’s the Sebastian fic I’ve been meaning to write! 

Just a little background, I wrote this story because work’s been a bit too much lately and I needed an outlet for my stress. Don’t worry though, it’s not angsty at all and it’s basically just fluff.If you guys feel the same way, I’m sending you a virtual hug. If you’re not but know someone who is, maybe it’s a good idea to surprise them with a little something; a bar of chocolate, a USB with all their favorite feel-good songs (aka the modern equivalent of a mix tape) or perhaps just give them a tight hug.Forgive the typos and grammatical errors. I’ll run through it again tomorrow but I promised myself I’d post it tonight.

Have fun kiddos! XX

(X)

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if I ever loved you (you’ll never know)

a/n: loosely based off the song 3 am by RAC (where i got the title from) which is a song I’m obsessed with right now

word count: 2774

pairing: Luke / (y/n)

The sleepy film over your eyes prevented you from seeing your bedside clock clearly, the neon green numbers hazy despite being just a foot away. When the time came into focus, you couldn’t believe- in your half asleep state- that you’d woken up at 3 AM, on the dime. You blinked at the numbers in confusion, trying to remember why you were awake in the first place, when a buzzing by your head shook you from your half asleep haze. You reached for your phone on the bedside table and squinted at the caller on the too-bright screen, wondering why the hell your phone was ringing at this dead hour of the morning. You became all too awake when you saw the name at the top of the screen.

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Title: Photographic Memory
Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader
Genre: Fluff
Warnings: None
Request: *stares into the distance* When will my will to write actual requests return from war.
A/N: Best friend inspired me so here we are! Also I didn’t proofread this one because I was tired sooooo if there are typos please let me know lol

Originally posted by james-nat

You entered your apartment after a long day at work, kicking off your shoes lazily and placing your keys on the nearby key rack. The smell of burning incense filled your nose, the scent bordering on the lines of lovely and overwhelming. Two lamps illuminated the living room where your boyfriend, Steve, sat cross legged on the floor with a box in front of him. He was staring down at it, his eyebrows drawn together as he did.
“Whatcha got there?” you asked as you approached, peeling off your socks and tossing them toward the laundry room.
“Someone dropped off this box,” he said, “The note that came with it said it was from a friend. I wanted to wait until you got home to open it.”
“Then crack that thing open,” you replied, sitting parallel to him on the floor and pulling your knees to your chest. He took a deep breath and began peeling the clear tape off of the cardboard, taking his time as if he was afraid something was going to jump out at him. When all the tape was removed he pulled the flaps to the side and stared into the box, his eyes widening as they fell on the contents.
“No way,” Steve whispered.
“What is it?” you asked, leaning forward a bit to get a better look inside the box.
Steve began pulling out photos of various sizes, all black and white and gently worn. There were at least fifty photos inside, all of which Steve removed and placed on the floor before moving the box to the side and shuffling through half of the pictures.
“This is my mom,” Steve said, holding the photo out to you. You studied the woman in the photo, smiling as you noticed the similar features she shared with her son. “And here’s dad,” Steve said as he handed you another picture. You held to two photos up to each other and grinned.
“I see now where you get your good looks from,” you said, wiggling your eyebrows at Steve.
“Very funny,” he chuckled, still shifting through a stack of photos.
“Where did these even come from?” you asked, spreading a few out on the floor and observing the different scenes. Some were of Steve before the serum, some from when he was a child, some of him during the war.
“No idea,” Steve said, “But I don’t really care.” He was beaming, a permanent smile on his face. It was like watching a kid in a candy shop, the way he set one photo down to pick up another four.
“Is this Bucky?” you asked, handing the picture to Steve. The moment he saw it, he began to laugh, holding his stomach and grinning like an idiot.
“Sure is,” he said, “This was at our high school graduation. God, I was so small. I’ll have to show this to Buck.”
“I bet he’ll love it,” you said, watching Steve curiously. The way his eyes lit up as he stared at the various photos made your heart throb, it was so adorable you thought you might throw up.
“We should take pictures together more,” Steve said, his eyes tearing away from the pictures long enough to meet with yours.
“I didn’t know you wanted to,” you said.
“I do,” he replied, “Don’t people do like, professional photos now?”
“Like a photo shoot?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Yeah, we should do that. We can get frames and put them up around the apartment. Plus, I need a picture of you to put in my wallet,” he said, his smile widening as he spoke.
“Steve, that is the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard,” you said, leaning on your hands and knees over the scattered photos and pressing a kiss to his lips.
From that moment on, Steve was constantly taking pictures of you. He invested in one of those Polaroid cameras and took pictures of you constantly, mostly when you weren’t paying attention. “They feel the most real,” he’d say, knowing that you hated never knowing when he was going to snap a photo. He’d do it when you were cooking, or when you were laying in bed with sheets covering your bare skin just enough to be modest, or when you were driving past a sunset. He carried his camera around like it was a lifeline, and he refused to leave it at home.
After the team noticed he was always taking pictures, Natasha took it upon herself to direct him to Pinterest. There he found ways to hang up the photos he took, or ways to scrapbook them. Every last wall in your shared bedroom was covered in the pictures, your bookshelf filled with scrapbooks of all shapes and sizes.
Eventually, you did end up getting professional photos taken, though it was anything but professional. They started out normal, kissing behind the shield and holding hands in tall grass, but they quickly turned silly. You flexed your muscles together, put on his helmet and made silly faces, and you both fell into the lake that was nearby. Regardless of how ridiculous the photos turned out, you still framed and hung all of them. It was an experience you both would remember for years to come, and all because an anonymous person put a cardboard box on your doorstep.

anonymous asked:

could I get a napollya drabble where one of them accidentally says "I love you" spontaneously without thinking about it? (also your writing is fantastic <3 )

Napoleon is leaving.

Logically, Illya had known this day would come. When they first met, Napoleon had already served ten years of his fifteen-year sentence. Their partnership has always had an expiry date. But what Illya had never counted on was the possibility that when that day arrived, he’d feel this terrified.

He will never see Napoleon again. After today, they will go their separate ways. Panic is a heavy weight in his throat he can’t seem to breath around, and he has completely lost track of the chess game he has been focused on since morning. Is it black’s turn? Or white’s?

“Well, I think I’m all packed,” Napoleon says, settling in the sofa across from Illya with a drink in his hand. Vintage scotch, because he never seems to resist having the best things in life. Napoleon studies Illya’s game curiously as he takes a sip. “The flight’s in two hours.”

“I love you,” Illya says without thinking.

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Scans - George Harrison inside Kinfauns, on one of his “favourite seats”, a “woven chair” and “on the sofa which was his favourite place for songwriting at home”, 7 October 1965

Photos: The Beatles Book

The following is an article I’ve typed up from The Beatles Book’s January 1967 issue… an interesting, descriptive look at Kinfauns around 1966, written by The Beatles Book editor:

“Long before the others got down to searching for that very special permanent pad, George brought himself a house near Esher in Surrey. It’s not so much a house, in fact, as a long rambling, white-walled bungalow and an exclusive way of life. From it George regularly commutes along the A3, to recording sessions, London Airport, and all the other favourite Harrison haunts. You drive to Esher, turn off at the crossroads and after a few lefts and rights you end up in a private road. Half a mile along is George’s house.

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