i wish i could go back in time and hand this to twelve year old me

Everything You Need to Know About Writing Successfully - in Ten Minutes

by Stephen King
(reprinted in Sylvia K. Burack, ed. The Writer’s Handbook. Boston, MA: Writer, Inc., 1988: 3-9)

I. The First Introduction

THAT’S RIGHT. I know it sounds like an ad for some sleazy writers’ school, but I really am going to tell you everything you need to pursue a successful and financially rewarding career writing fiction, and I really am going to do it in ten minutes, which is exactly how long it took me to learn.  It will actually take you twenty minutes or so to read this essay, however, because I have to tell you a story, and then I have to write a second introduction.  But these, I argue, should not count in the ten minutes.



II. The Story, or, How Stephen King Learned to Write

When I was a sophomore in high school, I did a sophomoric thing which got me in a pot of fairly hot water, as sophomoric didoes often do.  I wrote and published a small satiric newspaper called The Village Vomit.  In this little paper I lampooned a number of teachers at Lisbon (Maine) High School, where I was under instruction.  These were not very gentle lampoons; they ranged from the scatological to the downright cruel

Eventually, a copy of this little newspaper found its way into the hands of a faculty member, and since I had been unwise enough to put my name on it (a fault, some critics argue, of which I have still not been entirely cured), I was brought into the office. The sophisticated satirist had by that time reverted to what he really was: a fourteen-year-old kid who was shaking in his boots and wondering if he was going to get a suspension … what we called “a three-day vacation” in those dim days of 1964.

I wasn’t suspended. I was forced to make a number of apologies - they were warranted, but they still tasted like dog-dirt in my mouth - and spent a week in detention hall. And the guidance counselor arranged what he no doubt thought of as a more constructive channel for my talents. This was a job - contingent upon the editor’s approval - writing sports for the Lisbon Enterprise, a twelve-page weekly of the sort with which any small-town resident will be familiar. This editor was the man who taught me everything I know about writing in ten minutes. His name was John Gould - not the famed New England humorist or the novelist who wrote The Greenleaf Fires, but a relative of both, I believe.

He told me he needed a sports writer and we could “try each other out” if I wanted.

I told him I knew more about advanced algebra than I did sports.

Gould nodded and said, “You’ll learn.”

I said I would at least try to learn. Gould gave me a huge roll of yellow paper and promised me a wage of 1/2¢ per word. The first two pieces I wrote had to do with a high school basketball game in which a member of my school team broke the Lisbon High scoring record. One of these pieces was straight reportage. The second was a feature article.

I brought them to Gould the day after the game, so he’d have them for the paper, which came out Fridays. He read the straight piece, made two minor corrections, and spiked it. Then he started in on the feature piece with a large black pen and taught me all I ever needed to know about my craft. I wish I still had the piece - it deserves to be framed, editorial corrections and all - but I can remember pretty well how it looked when he had finished with it. Here’s an example:

(note: this is before the edit marks indicated on King’s original copy)

Last night, in the well-loved gymnasium of Lisbon High School, partisans and Jay Hills fans alike were stunned by an athletic performance unequaled in school history: Bob Ransom, known as “Bullet” Bob for both his size and accuracy, scored thirty-seven points. He did it with grace and speed … and he did it with an odd courtesy as well, committing only two personal fouls in his knight-like quest for a record which has eluded Lisbon thinclads since 1953….

(after edit marks)

Last night, in the Lisbon High School gymnasium, partisans and Jay Hills fans alike were stunned by an athletic performance unequaled in school history: Bob Ransom scored thirty-seven points. He did it with grace and speed … and he did it with an odd courtesy as well, committing only two personal fouls in his quest for a record which has eluded Lisbon’s basketball team since 1953….

When Gould finished marking up my copy in the manner I have indicated above, he looked up and must have seen something on my face. I think he must have thought it was horror, but it was not: it was revelation.

“I only took out the bad parts, you know,” he said. “Most of it’s pretty good.”

“I know,” I said, meaning both things: yes, most of it was good, and yes, he had only taken out the bad parts. “I won’t do it again.”

“If that’s true,” he said, “you’ll never have to work again. You can do this for a living.” Then he threw back his head and laughed.

And he was right; I am doing this for a living, and as long as I can keep on, I don’t expect ever to have to work again.



III. The Second Introduction

All of what follows has been said before. If you are interested enough in writing to be a purchaser of this magazine, you will have either heard or read all (or almost all) of it before. Thousands of writing courses are taught across the United States each year; seminars are convened; guest lecturers talk, then answer questions, then drink as many gin and tonics as their expense-fees will allow, and it all boils down to what follows.

I am going to tell you these things again because often people will only listen - really listen - to someone who makes a lot of money doing the thing he’s talking about. This is sad but true. And I told you the story above not to make myself sound like a character out of a Horatio Alger novel but to make a point: I saw, I listened, and I learned. Until that day in John Gould’s little office, I had been writing first drafts of stories which might run 2,500 words. The second drafts were apt to run 3,300 words. Following that day, my 2,500-word first drafts became 2,200-word second drafts. And two years after that, I sold the first one.

So here it is, with all the bark stripped off. It’ll take ten minutes to read, and you can apply it right away…if you listen.



IV. Everything You Need to Know About Writing Successfully

1.  BE TALENTED
This, of course, is the killer.  What is talent?  I can hear someone shouting, and here we are, ready to get into a discussion right up there with “what is the meaning of life?” for weighty pronouncements and total uselessness.  For the purposes of the beginning writer, talent may as well be defined as eventual success - publication and money.  If you wrote something for which someone sent you a check, if you cashed the check and it didn’t bounce, and if you then paid the light bill with the money, I consider you talented.

Now some of you are really hollering.  Some of you are calling me one crass money-fixated creep.  And some of you are calling me bad names.  Are you calling Harold Robbins talented?  someone in one of the Great English Departments of America is screeching.  V.C. Andrews?  Theodore Dreiser?  Or what about you, you dyslexic moron?

Nonsense.  Worse than nonsense, off the subject.  We’re not talking about good or bad here.  I’m interested in telling you how to get your stuff published, not in critical judgments of who’s good or bad.  As a rule the critical judgments come after the check’s been spent, anyway.  I have my own opinions, but most times I keep them to myself.  People who are published steadily and are paid for what they are writing may be either saints or trollops, but they are clearly reaching a great many someones who want what they have.  Ergo, they are communicating.  Ergo, they are talented.  The biggest part of writing successfully is being talented, and in the context of marketing, the only bad writer is one who doesn’t get paid.  If you’re not talented, you won’t succeed.  And if you’re not succeeding, you should know when to quit.

When is that?  I don’t know.  It’s different for each writer.  Not after six rejection slips, certainly, nor after sixty.  But after six hundred?  Maybe.  After six thousand?  My friend, after six thousand pinks, it’s time you tried painting or computer programming.

Further, almost every aspiring writer knows when he is getting warmer - you start getting little jotted notes on your rejection slips, or personal letters…maybe a commiserating phone call.  It’s lonely out there in the cold, but there are encouraging voices…unless there is nothing in your words which warrants encouragement.  I think you owe it to yourself to skip as much of the self-illusion as possible.  If your eyes are open, you’ll know which way to go…or when to turn back.

2.  BE NEAT
Type.  Double-space.  Use a nice heavy white paper, never that erasable onion-skin stuff.  If you’ve marked up your manuscript a lot, do another draft.

3.  BE SELF-CRITICAL
If you haven’t marked up your manuscript a lot, you did a lazy job.  Only God gets things right the first time.  Don’t be a slob.

4.  REMOVE EVERY EXTRANEOUS WORD
You want to get up on a soapbox and preach?  Fine.  Get one and try your local park.  You want to write for money?  Get to the point.  And if you remove all the excess garbage and discover you can’t find the point, tear up what you wrote and start all over again…or try something new.

5.  NEVER LOOK AT A REFERENCE BOOK WHILE DOING A FIRST DRAFT You want to write a story?  Fine.  Put away your dictionary, your encyclopedias, your World Almanac, and your thesaurus.  Better yet, throw your thesaurus into the wastebasket.  The only things creepier than a thesaurus are those little paperbacks college students too lazy to read the assigned novels buy around exam time.  Any word you have to hunt for in a thesaurus is the wrong word.  There are no exceptions to this rule.  You think you might have misspelled a word?  O.K., so here is your choice: either look it up in the dictionary, thereby making sure you have it right - and breaking your train of thought and the writer’s trance in the bargain - or just spell it phonetically and correct it later.  Why not?  Did you think it was going to go somewhere?  And if you need to know the largest city in Brazil and you find you don’t have it in your head, why not write in Miami, or Cleveland?  You can check it…but laterWhen you sit down to write, write.  Don’t do anything else except go to the bathroom, and only do that if it absolutely cannot be put off.

6.  KNOW THE MARKETS
Only a dimwit would send a story about giant vampire bats surrounding a high school to McCall’s.  Only a dimwit would send a tender story about a mother and daughter making up their differences on Christmas Eve to Playboy…but people do it all the time.  I’m not exaggerating; I have seen such stories in the slush piles of the actual magazines.  If you write a good story, why send it out in an ignorant fashion?  Would you send your kid out in a snowstorm dressed in Bermuda shorts and a tank top?  If you like science fiction, read the magazines.  If you want to write confession stories, read the magazines.  And so on.  It isn’t just a matter of knowing what’s right for the present story; you can begin to catch on, after awhile, to overall rhythms, editorial likes and dislikes, a magazine’s entire slant.  Sometimes your reading can influence the next story, and create a sale.

7.  WRITE TO ENTERTAIN
Does this mean you can’t write “serious fiction”?  It does not.  Somewhere along the line pernicious critics have invested the American reading and writing public with the idea that entertaining fiction and serious ideas do not overlap.  This would have surprised Charles Dickens, not to mention Jane Austen, John Steinbeck, William Faulkner, Bernard Malamud, and hundreds of others.  But your serious ideas must always serve your story, not the other way around.  I repeat: if you want to preach, get a soapbox.

8.  ASK YOURSELF FREQUENTLY, AM I HAVING FUN?”
The answer needn’t always be yes.  But if it’s always no, it’s time for a new project or a new career.

9.  HOW TO EVALUATE CRITICISM
Show your piece to a number of people - ten, let us say.  Listen carefully to what they tell you.  Smile and nod a lot.  Then review what was said very carefully.  If your critics are all telling you the same thing about some facet of your story - a plot twist that doesn’t work, a character who rings false, stilted narrative, or half a dozen other possibles - change that facet.  It doesn’t matter if you really liked that twist of that character; if a lot of people are telling you something is wrong with you piece, it is.  If seven or eight of them are hitting on that same thing, I’d still suggest changing it.  But if everyone - or even most everyone - is criticizing something different, you can safely disregard what all of them say.

10.  OBSERVE ALL RULES FOR PROPER SUBMISSION
Return postage, self-addressed envelope, all of that.

11.  AN AGENT?  FORGET IT.  FOR NOW
Agents get 10% of monies earned by their clients.  10% of nothing is nothing.  Agents also have to pay the rent.  Beginning writers do not contribute to that or any other necessity of life.  Flog your stories around yourself.  If you’ve done a novel, send around query letters to publishers, one by one, and follow up with sample chapters and/or the manuscript complete.  And remember Stephen King’s First Rule of Writers and Agents, learned by bitter personal experience: You don’t need one until you’re making enough for someone to steal…and if you’re making that much, you’ll be able to take your pick of good agents.

12.  IF IT’S BAD, KILL IT
When it comes to people, mercy killing is against the law.  When it comes to fiction, it is the law.



That’s everything you need to know.  And if you listened, you can write everything and anything you want.  Now I believe I will wish you a pleasant day and sign off.

My ten minutes are up.

hermione still flinches when ron’s hands brush her neck and she doesn’t understand why she does, because the cold, metal sting and everything that happened later, is painfully different from his soft palms. she stops wearing perfume, and starts casting protection charms.

remus despises his nature so much that the scars on his body are from his own hands. he knows what the taste of wolfsbane is when it doesn’t quite work; bitter and unmistakably sweet—it’s sirius’s blood when he goes too far.

ginny’s hands shake uncontrollably when she writes for hours at a time. the words will start to swim across the page and mix and scramble into anagrams. hi, i’m tom. what’s your name? hi, i’m tom. what’s your name? hi, i’m tom. what’s your na—

pansy knows what it’s like to cast unforgivables on first years. she learns how to enunciate the words with refined perfection, and learns how to want to hurt them. she throws up in the abandoned washroom after every lesson, and finds comfort in the absent arms of moaning myrtle.

ron faints everytime he apparates. he’ll wake up in hermione’s lap; his hair wet against his forehead, and his arms heavy with sweat. he always reaches for his shoulder and visibly relaxes when blood doesn’t rub off his fingers. he doesn’t know how to control his anger either, and feels the shame creep into his skin whenever hermione looks at his chest. he knows that she’s looking for the locket because he wishes that was what he could lay his blame on.

tom falls in love at the age of twelve—watched glimmering jewels glide down his own hand and pool at the bland tiles in the orphanage; started fires just to keep things lively. he collects followers like sheep in a mindless herd and finds that the acclaimed intricacies of a human brain is much more dull than he had imagined. he holds fear like a baby would with a blanket and spends nights wishing he had more time. he dies knowing he never had enough.

draco knows what it’s like to have your mind violated and out bare for all the world to see. he remembers severus saying that veritaserum has no taste, and discovers that he was wrong. the so called non dimensional potion is much too similar to the taste of the silent pleas he shouted when he watched snatchers salivate at the sight of his mother, or the copper droplets of red that sprinkled the surface of his cracked lips when he watched children slaughtered in the blink of an eye.

sirius has spent his entire childhood without the warmth of a mother’s embrace or the reassuring words of a father. he tells himself he’s okay with it—that he would rather have no family than one that wished his friends dead. he doesn’t know what to think when he has neither family or friends alive—the only embrace he will ever feel again is the one that lurks behind bars in his azkaban cell.

luna stops searching for wrackspurts, and instead, starts organizing her fathers office. she should be relieved when people stop calling her loony lovegood but all she feels is the absence of her imagination. war, it seemed, was not an adventure, but an old friend that came at inconvenient times in history.

harry doesn’t want to start a family because every father he has ever had has been hurt at his own expense. ginny rocks his body against her chest and brushes the tears away from his eyes as soon as they fall. she tells him that he’ll learn how to be a father—that it will come as naturally as magic had. the sharp pain that lodges inside of him whenever albus retreats back into his room is reflected so blatantly on ginny’s face. he wishes that he were a blind man so that he never had to see his mistakes out in the open, and rubs at his fading scar.

despite the years that had passed, it seemed that all was not well.

Closet Softie

Or, How Bucky Barnes Nearly Ruined His Tough-Guy Rep

(On AO3)


The trail mix was gone. 

The nice, expensive trail mix, with twelve kinds of nuts and the big sunflower seeds and dried fruits, the kind Tony only rarely left sitting on the common floors for everyone to get at, was gone. 

Clint had been looking forward to that stuff all morning

All the way through a hellish morning “jog” with Steve, all through Nat handing him his ass on the training mats, all through firing the same batch of misweighted arrows over and over so Tony could take scans and fix the design, he’d been thinking, when this is done I get to go upstairs and hang out on the couch and watch Dog Cops and eat the good trail mix, guilt-free. 

And it was gone.

Clint was gonna shoot somebody.

Just as soon as he figured out who’d taken the trail mix.


kingofmemes posted:

yesterday i saw a sad duck in the park who kept getting picked on by the other ducks so today i brought some trail mix and we had a nice lunch together. also i think he might be the duck who pooped on sam last week. if so, he is officially my new best friend. 

Posted at 3:29 PM, 24379 notes

(Read More Below)


Keep reading

shades of wrong (m)

Summary: In which you’re sure you’ll hate Park Jimin with every fiber of your being for the rest of your existence, even after he is assigned your tutor for History of Magic.
Pairing: Jimin | Reader
Genre: Fluff/Smut; Harry Potter AU 
Word Count: 17,321
Author’s Note: This got insanely long, and I apologize but also not really. Inspired by @jeonbegins + her really dope HP Slytherin Jimin AU edit. I also had a little conversation with @minsvga about this and she helped me figured out the basic idea for what this story has become; and @chokemejimin has asked to be tagged in my HP work so here you go my dear!!!

.

No matter how hard you try, it seems as if you are always bested by Park Jimin in every aspect of life: from Quidditch to school to class popularity.

And you absolutely despise him for it.

Granted, it’s probably because he’s always simply excelled in everything while you could only manage the minimum requirement for things outside of the sport you’ve grown to be so passionate about—but that’s only deepened your dislike for the boy. It’s been like this since the pair of you were children, a rivalry already planted between you even before you knew what the term meant. Truthfully, it was pretty much written in the stars that you would develop some deep-rooted grudge against Jimin, for he was organized into Slytherin while you were put in the fiery red and gold of Gryffindor.

Beyond the clashing Houses that have officially formed your backgrounds, it doesn’t help that the boy has seemed to uphold a particular interest in doing whatever he could to see you fidget or watch you squirm or just catch you at your worst moments—although you humor yourself on the idea that these unfortunate incidents occur to you because of Park Jimin’s constant hovering. It’s a habit that’s grown since the first week of your admission into Hogwarts, in which your big mouth scored you your first detention with the infamous Professor Snape.

It’s a moment that marks the beginning of an unspoken battle between the pair of you—in which you would constantly attempt to prove yourself better than Park Jimin and Park Jimin doing everything he could to make sure you could never have that victory. During the first two years of school, this would mean beating you on every exam, knowing the answers to every question and teasing you for not knowing. Professors putting Jimin on a pedestal, marking him up as the ‘ideal student’ and unknowingly intensifying the dagger of hatred you wished to plunge deeper and deeper into his chest.

When you are twelve, you are told that there is certainly no way for you to truly despise of something (or someone)—for you are young and naive and not entirely capable to understand what it means to hate something with every fiber of your being.

But they’re wrong.

Keep reading

Dream Daddy Cult Ending

Okay, so I’ve gone through Dream Daddy’s files, and have found the cult ending! I’m pretty sure you can’t actually get this ending, but I wanted to share it. I know I got frustrated trying to find it online.

CULT ENDING BELOW CUT

Keep reading

Sansa, Smart

So. Sansa. I hear some people think she’s not very clever. This is a view shared by several characters in the books.

But there’s no reason the readership should share those views. Sansa is a very clever individual who makes increasingly good use of several skills she started the series with, and develops greatly as an observer and an actor over the course of the story.

Putting everything under a cut, for reasons of four books of brainpower.

Keep reading

survive

One moment of hesitation was all it took. One second he had felt like it was James hovering above him playing stupid games as he does, only one second of hesitation and he had felt the air leave his lungs as his own hand choked it out of him. He should have strangled him, he shouldn’t have listened to him but how could he have denied the effect James always had on him? Harry looked so much like the boy Peter trusted and loved when he was a kid. He still did love James even though no one would believe him, he did, but what was he supposed to do? As he struggled under the grasp of his own hand, Harry and Ron had tried to free him but there was nothing they could do, he had brought this on himself.

Peter no longer saw Harry trying to pull away the betraying hand away but he was looking into the abyss now. He didn’t know where he was, maybe somehow he survived, oh how he wished he had survived. He was a Gryffindor but he had never been able to conquer his fear of death, it was always there in the back of his mind telling him he needed to survive and do whatever it takes to do so. It was there when he broke James’ trust, it was there when he left Sirius to die, it had always been there.

Peter looked at his hands, his missing finger was where it belonged, his arm was now back in place fully intact and his. He pushed himself up slowly to look around where he was and wished he hadn’t. He tried to run but it was like he was in an invisible cage. Was this a nightmare? Was this what hell looked like? All four of them standing side by side, as James tried to hold Sirius back, Lily stared at him with her hand on the shoulder of the tall handsome boy Peter recognised from the graveyard, the spare, Cedric. Somehow the hell he had heard from all the people when he was younger sounded better, he would have taken flames instead of the disgust on Sirius’ face, the fear in Cedric’s eyes, the disappointment in Lily’s expression and the emptiness in James’ stare. He would have cut his own arm off just to get away from wherever he was.

Everyone was staring at them. So many people had died in this war and all of them were staring at Peter but they had better things to do so they turned around to continue whatever they were doing before Peter arrived. He saw piercing blue eyes and disgust on Dumbledore’s face clearly before he returned to his old friends.

“I-I never m-meant for any of y-you to d-die,” muttered Peter, he was quite sure he was the only one who could hear. “I was– I was afraid and–”

“We all saw you Wo-Peter,” said James softly. “Your hands didn’t even shake as you killed Cedric. You didn’t even hesitate.”

“Where did we go wrong, Pete?” asked Lily her eyes shining with tears. “What did we ever do to you to deserve what we got?”

That was the thing. Peter was telling the truth, he never wanted any of them to die. He only wanted to survive. He was afraid of dying, it wasn’t the Dark Lord he was afraid of, it was the power he held over Peter and his Lord was the one who killed him in the end. 

“We would have died for you,” said Sirius. He looked much younger than the last time Peter saw him, much more alive than he was the night Peter betrayed him one more time. “We would have done anything for you but you decided that you had to take it into your own hands. We thought you cared for us the same way we cared for you.”

“I do, I did,” stuttered Peter in response, looking at his hands in desperation. “I never did any of these things because I hated you. I just– I wanted to be brave like you but I was terrified–”

“That’s all you say Peter,” interrupted Sirius. “Don’t you think we were all scared?”

“You decided not to be the Secret Keeper because you were afraid but I–”

“DON’T YOU DARE BLAME THIS ON ME!” roared Sirius as he launched himself to Peter. James knowing his brother like he does held him by the collar and calmed him down with words Peter couldn’t hear. Sirius was burning his skin the way he looked at him. “Don’t you dare blame this on me.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you couldn’t do it Wormtail?” asked James making Peter flinch at the mention of his nickname. “You know I wouldn’t have forced you to do it.”

“I wanted to be b-brave like y-you lads.”

“When did we ever make you feel like you weren’t enough? You were brave enough, you didn’t have to take on a responsibility that you thought you couldn’t handle.”

“I don’t–”

“When did I made you feel like handing me and my family over to our murderer would be the solution?”

“You n-never–”

“What was it that I ever did to you that made it alright for you to bring your Dark Lord back from the fucking dead Peter? WHAT WAS IT?”

“I d-don’t– I’m not–”

Everyone was just staring at Peter and letting James talk, he was seemingly the calmest in all of them. His anger had always been silent. Peter had seen him get this angry once in 5th year and once during an Order mission. His anger was the worst out of all the Marauders and Peter never in his life thought it would be directed at him. 

“Peter I swear if Harry turns up in this wretched place I will make sure I end up in the same hell as you just to watch you burn.”

War changes people. It had changed Peter, too but James Potter, the boy he never thought was capable of feeling hate towards someone other than Slytherins was planning to watch Peter suffer. 

“P-prongs, ple–”

“How dare you call him that?” yelled Lily. “You think just because you are dead, everything is forgotten? You are not their friend anymore Peter, you are just a filthy Death Eater who wasn’t even worthy of getting the stupid Dark Mark. Good job proving everyone at Hogwarts right.”

“Lils..”

What, James?” she shot back. “Everyone knew he was the different one in your little group. He proved them completely right because of his fragile ego, just because he couldn’t be like you–”

“Lily, enough.”

“I can’t even look at him, I’ll be over there if you need anything.”

Lily left with one last pitying look at Peter and Cedric looked around in hesitation trying to figure out if he should leave, too but he looked determined to stay. 

“I have one question Peter,” began Sirius with the calmness of a madman. “Why didn’t you let us turn you in that night? This could have ended a long time ago.”

“They would have k-killed me.”

“Well, you are a murderer.”

“I’m not– I was AFRAID!” shouted Peter out of the frustration he was feeling in his gut.

“So you acted on rat instinct?” questioned Sirius. Peter knew he was going to get somewhere from this.

“I- I just wanted to live–”

“So the reason you made me think Remus was the mole when it was actually you,” he sighed, his perfect eyebrow arched like a bow ready to throw it’s arrow and Peter knew he was going to hit bullseye. “It was all instinctive and not at all a plan?”

Peter didn’t know what to say, he didn’t know how to defend himself. Not that he needed to anymore, Sirius couldn’t hurt him but still, he wanted his friends to see they would have done the same as him. However, he wasn’t sure anymore. He wasn’t so sure that they would have chosen the easy way out like he did but he had to live, he had to survive no matter what it cost him. 

“You have always been a shit liar, Peter,” said Sirius and came closer to where Peter was standing in his glass chamber. “You took everything I had, EVERYTHING! I trusted you, you bloody rat. I trusted you with my secrets, I trusted you with my brother’s life. I wish we had never met you.”

Peter gasped in shock, it was such a simple sentence but it inflicted so many wounds. Never meeting the Marauders would mean losing the best 7 years of Peter’s life. 

“You let Remus have his transformations alone,” he spat. Sirius was never good at controlling his anger. “You let him rot on forest floors. You let him suffer for 12 years. Twelve fucking years, you let me stay in that– that place. You killed all of us without getting blood on your hands.”

Sirius walked away from Peter trying to steady his shaky breath. He was right, Peter had done all of the things he had said but Sirius never stopped to ask why he did what he did, if there was anything Peter could have said but then again, Peter understood that there was no explanation for what he did. 

As he was looking around, Cedric walked closer to him. Peter would have died another time if it meant not getting confronted by the golden boy because he didn’t have anything to say but he gathered what was left of his pride to piss him off enough so that he would leave Peter alone. He wasn’t ready to face that mistake.

“I-” started Cedric, he looked like he couldn’t find the right words. “How did you do it?”

“How did I do what?”

“Killed the spare.

“You were never meant to be in the graveyard.”

“So it’s my fault you murdered me?” asked Cedric taking his chance to talk with him in private as James was talking to Sirius. “He called me a spare and you didn’t even think twice. How on earth was a supposed to know it was a Portkey to my death?”

“I think–” began Peter and he took in a deep breath as he ran his hand through his hair. “I didn’t want to do it but the Dark Lord–”

“You weren’t under an Imperius Charm.”

“It wouldn’t have made a difference he would have killed me,” replied Peter as if that was the only logical explanation. “It was either you or me–”

“He was a bag of bones!” exclaimed Cedric. “He was nothing but a bag of bones and you were such a coward, you couldn’t even disobey that thing.”

“You don’t understand,” replied Peter with as much calm as he can muster. “His followers would have found me, I had to do it.”

“So you thought murdering a 17 year old kid can be justified because it was him or you?” demanded James as he pulled Cedric a little bit by his arm. “He was seventeen Peter. You hid from everyone else for 13 years, couldn’t you have hidden from them?”

No one talked for a while after that, Cedric went to join Lily as she watched over Harry. Sirius was walking up and down and James was just standing in front of Peter.

“We were twenty-one, Wormtail.”

“I know. I was, too,” whispered Peter in reply. “You have to understand James. I was young and afraid, and you know I never was the brightest–”

“But you were! You were smart and brave Peter.”

“Not like you,” he replied softly, feeling like he was back in the Hogwarts Express talking about their OWLs with the Marauders and James had reacted exactly like he did now. However this time he only shook his head.

“I didn’t deserve your betrayal, did I?”

“No,” mumbled Peter. “None of you did.”

“Then why?”

“I honestly didn’t think where this would go when I said I would be your Secret Keeper. You must understand that you trusting me with something like that was such an honour for me but in the back of my mind it was also a way out. I was always so terrified of dying in this stupid war.”

“We were all threatened,” reminded James staring into Peter’s soul. “I was marked for death Peter. You could have said you can’t do this and that you wanted protection and no one would have judged you. I always told you, you didn’t have to do anything you didn’t want to do.”

“But what would you guys have said if I left to go into hiding?”

“Nothing,” he replied. “We would have said nothing. We would have understood. I thought our friendship, our brotherhood was stronger than judging and plotting.”

“When he first found me I thought I was going to die but he saw right through me. I am not as strong as you are, I have never been. He knew how to manipulate me and I let him. It’s the rat in me like Pad–Sirius said. I could have told you but I was so scared and when you gave me that opportunity with your own hands, I was way too deep in to get out.”

“If you had a chance would you change what happened?”

“I would try to but I don’t trust myself.”

“I wish I could say I trusted you Peter,” confessed James. “I wish I could say with certainty that you would change what happened. I feel like you would only do it because you are dead now.”

“I- I understand that and I’m sorry.”

“Are you really?”

“I am Jamie,” began Peter, it was a hard thing to explain when you have betrayed someone as badly as Peter did with the Marauders. “I loved all of you but I just couldn’t bring myself to see that the consequences of the choices I make would be this severe. All I could think of was I needed to get out alive and I don’t know why I wanted to survive so much, I just did. I regret most of the things I did, I do. I would have given everything to be stronger than I was but that’s just who I was. You were the prince of the forest and I was a rat. I will never be as loyal as Sirius is or as protective as Remus is. I’m me, I’m Peter Pettigrew and I am what I am but I’m sorry for everything not that it would change much.”

“No, it doesn’t,” sighed James. “But I guess you saying you regret the things you did saves you from us.”

Peter felt a pull and James started getting further and further away. Sirius and Lily didn’t even turn around but Cedric gave him one last look before turning away.

“Goodbye Peter, I hope I never see you again,” were the last words Peter heard from James Potter. 

Énouement

Énouement
Ship: Captain!Jungkook | Soldier!Reader
Description: Mulan!AU | War is Hell, but it’s what you had to do to take your brother’s place. Of course, between the days of Hell are little slices of Heaven you’d call your Captain, Jeon Jungkook.
Warning: Dom!Kook, Character Death, Gore, Angst, Choking, Intercourse, Fingering, Dirty Talk, Punishment, Oral, Hair Pulling, Public Nudism 
Word Count: 19,554
A/N: This is the longest thing I ever fucking wrote but it was so worth it. Mulan is one of my favorite movies of all time, and there were some such iconic scenes that I found so great I had to include them here as well, because I love simply describing the most heart-leaping scenes in my own words.

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Pop Princess

2,500 Followers Oneshot

Summary: The truth is revealed on the set of the reader’s new music video.

Prompt: “Don’t talk to me like I’m a god damn child.“

Pairing: bodyguard!Jensen x popstar!Reader

Requested by: @iwriteaboutdean

A/N: If you wanna know the scene Jensen is freaking out over, it’s from Christina Aguilera’s Not Myself Tonight. The parts at the end (starts 2:28 mark).


Jensen grits his teeth biting back a low growl, he can feel a dangerous rumble in his chest that’s threatening to escape. His fury filled eyes witness you greedily accept every seductive touch from your co-star Justyn.

Your bodyguard is fully aware that the sexual bullshit playing out before him is just acting. That it’s your job at the moment to portray a lustful, passionate relationship for the camera. Although it doesn’t lessen the strong urge of wanting to break your co-stars face.

Justyn’s grubby hands are grabbing and pulling you, his lips kissing and grazing you, his whole motherfucking body keeps touching you. To make matters worse, you’re donning sexy red lingerie that barely leaves anything to the imagination.

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Tumblr woes

A/N: This is my entry for @supernatural-jackles birthday challenge! Happy birthday & sorry that everything I write is angsty. I had the gif that you see below. I couldn’t decide how I wanted to wrap the fic up so it just kept going & going.

Warnings: Angst, accusations of cheating, fluff? (me? write fluff?)

Jensen x Daughter!Reader

You sat on your bed scrolling through Tumblr and couldn’t help the scowl that was overtaking your face. Your father and step mom always told you to stay away from the website, but you couldn’t help yourself; you were seventeen and thought you could take on the haters of Tumblr.

You were wrong.

After arguing with another person who ran a hate blog against your step mom you couldn’t take it anymore and slammed your laptop shut. These people thought they knew everything about your family’s life when in reality they only ever saw small glimpses of it.

So what if your family had a nanny? Most families have a nanny or babysitter.

So what if your family ordered dinner? The average American family eats out between four and five times a week.

Who cares if you have a cleaning lady? You can hire people on Craigslist to clean your house for twenty dollars.

However if your family does anything like this is all falls back on your step mom, Danneel, and how ‘terrible of a wife and mother’ she is; and you were sick of it.

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anonymous asked:

Shy!dan puck!phil there first time with blushing and wining and a reasuring phil please

Yo so this is essentially the plotline for my Babygirl fics lmao but I didn’t wanna be lazy and just link them so I changed things up a bit I hope that’s cool?? Here we have a little less cliche shy, awkward, virgin punk!phil and a forward as fuck pastel!dan with a sexy first time and some praise kink. Also minor drug warning for The Weed.

Phil hasn’t met Daniel Howell yet, but he thinks he just might be the love of his life. He’s a friend of a friend of a friend of Phil’s and Phil wouldn’t even know of his existence if he hadn’t started scrolling through the all guests tab on one of his Facebook events. Phil’s thumb stops swiping upwards the moment he sees his profile picture and he clicks on it without hesitation. He spends a little while appreciating – okay, stalking – his profile; it’s set to private, so he doesn’t really get access to much except a few photos, but…well, the boy is gorgeous. There’s no two ways about it. He has the face of an angel and the flower crown to match. All Phil has is a name and a face and he’s already smitten. Honestly, it’s no wonder he’s still a virgin.

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Seven Minutes (Bakugou)

Silly little thing I wrote for my friend @ayyzor ‘s birthday!!! Ily and I hope you enjoy this <3 

P.S. I head canon that Bakugou is a complete lovesick dork when he has a crush. Don’t even fight me on this one. 

~ B 



Bakugou was not one for parties, and the fact that he was currently cooped up in the corner in the midst of one baffled everyone, even himself. He hated himself for coming, but he knew deep down he would’ve hated himself more if he didn’t. In the middle of the room stood __, holding a wild conversation with Kirishima about something that was most likely not. He showed up to this party for her, just to see her smile. Her smile was what was keeping him going tonight, and the realization of that disgusted him. He was absolutely smitten, and utterly in denial. 


Bakugou wondered how long this conversation was going to hold up for. It wasn’t as if he had been talking to her in the first place. He just hated the way Kirishima was. He could feel Midoriya looking at him from the opposite side of the room, probably pondering as to why he even showed up if he was just going to sit in the corner, scowl, and play with the small flames on his fingertips. He figured if he wanted her attention, he could just plop himself in the middle of the conversation any time he wanted to. Although, Kirishima could read him like an open book, and no matter how in denial Bakugou was of his evident liking to __, Kirishima knew otherwise. He would be outed, so it was safer in the corner. Although, despite his attempts at staying passive, Kirishima shot him glances every so often, smirked, then turned right back to __. It made Bakugou itch.

After a while their boisterous conversation conjured into bubbly whispering; Kirishima leaning in and saying things that made the lingering smile on her face linger longer. He knew that Kirishima wouldn’t flirt with her, he wasn’t being very coquettish in the first place, and hitting on a girl his friend fancied would go against his so called “bro-code.” All arrows lead to them gossiping about him, and that was the little motivation he needed to explode. He pushed himself up off the wall and brushed off his jeans, grabbing the attention of Ashido and Kaminari. Kirishima saw him coming, there’s no way he could not have, he had been staring at him almost the entire time he was at the party. Bakugou caught Kirishima’s eye, and the latter all but smirked.
“Bakugou! Issa ‘bout time!” The latter shuffled towards him, gleefully and almost fictitiously slapping him on the back.

“Whatever.” Bakugou muttered in reply. He pondered asking what all the staring was about, but he figured Kirishima was ready with an answer. A few feet away __ stood awkwardly fiddling with her red solo cup, eying its contents as if it were the most interesting thing occurring at a party. Although the whole celebration was devised for her sake, she still looked as if she was a fish out of water. Bakugou thought about ditching Kirishima over here, who would not stop slapping his back and asking about how fun his corner had been. He could go ask __ what was in her cup, wish her a happy birthday without being aggressive, he could compliment her, even. He couldn’t bring himself to do it, though. Although, she must’ve been thinking the same thing, because suddenly she crushed the cup in her hand and looked up towards him. She winked, then waved him over. He felt his heart skip a beat and he scowled, but willingly stumbled over anyways. Kirishima had started to follow him, much to his demise, and Ashido was making her way up behind __. He knew all the odds of this situation were going to be against his favor.

When Ashido slinked her arms around __’s shoulders, she made an evident noise of displeasure. She looked up at him quick, her brows furrowed in disappointment, and was suddenly tugged away by Ashido. Bakugou huffed, oblivious to the way Ashido and Kirishima were mouthing things to each other across the room.

Minutes later, the bass from the speakers that made plastic cups rumble came to a sudden halt, knocking a few off of tables and making people whine in protest. Kaminari hopped up onto the stage, taking two steps at a time, and snatched the mic from the DJ’s hands, almost dropping it to the floor in the process. Baugou knew whatever the purpose of this was, it was not smart, especially if Kaminari was involved.

“Who wants to play a game!” He shouted suddenly, the feedback through the speakers almost making it impossible to hear what he said in the first place. A few people groaned, like Iida and Tokoyami, who immediately turned away from the DJ table without hearing the end of it. Bakugou would have, too, if he knew __ wasn’t involved. He knew she was, though. She had to be, since all his friends had been chatting her up all night.

“We’re gonna be playing seven minutes in heaven in the den in, like, ten minutes! Come if you’re not a pussy!” With that, Kaminari hopped off the stage, dropped the mic and himself on the floor which caused a loud, static noise of pressure and Kaminari’s faint “I’m okay!”

Bakugou was not going to play a game meant for twelve year olds. He would die before he gave into a cliche party game like this. Although, Kirishima had found him in the crowd somehow,  devious smile on his face. He knew he was in for a long night, now.

“You gonna play?” Kirishima asked, only for Bakugou to scowl in reply.

“The fuck am I, twelve?”

“Just because you play doesn’t mean you have to kiss anyone! You could be shoved in there with Sero or something and just dick around for seven minutes.” Kirishima shrugged. “I dunno. I’m playing. I think you should. It’s not like anyone wants to kiss you anyways.”

“Excuse me?” Bakugou huffed, which made Kirishima smirk again. “I know what you’re trying to do, Shark Week. It’s not working.”

Fi-ine. Whatever. Still think you should play, though. __ is.”

“Who cares if __’s playing?”

“What if she picks you?”

Bakugou knew for a fact that his face was flushed up, he didn’t need to see himself to prove it. He merely frowned and shook his head. If this conversation lasted any longer, Bakugou swore he would kill himself.

“If you really want me to play that bad, fine, I will. It’s only ‘cause I don’t care enough to fight you right now. I’m saving my energy for better things.”

“Yeah. Like kissing __.”

Die.”


Bakugou only started regretting joining the game when Sero, Kirishima and Kaminari were all forcing his back inside the closet. He thought maybe, just maybe he wouldn’t be cursed more than he already was when he sat down into that cussed circle. If he wasn’t paired up with __, he might just be paired up with one of his friends, maybe even someone he tolerated; Tokoyami, Koda and Shouji were forced to play, somehow, and being thrown in there with one of them meant seven minutes of silence and small talk, something he could bare. What he was not prepared for was being thrown in with Midoriya, who was sitting in the closet and laughing. Eventually, Kirishima had booted him inside, slamming the door and locking it without a word.

“I know you hate this, but please don’t kill me.” Midoriya chuckled, placing his hands out infront of him.

“Not planning on it. Leave me alone.”

Nobody spoke another word for about five minutes, Bakugou keeping the dimly lit room brighter with the spark on his palm.

“Hey, Katsuki.”

“What?”

“You like __, don’t you?”

“Didn’t I tell you to leave me alone?” He barked, and the spark in his hand grew to be a flame, which he put out in an instant after he realized what he had done.

“I know but…” Midoriya paused for a moment, contemplating what to say next. “I think you should tell her how you feel.”

“Since when were you a shrink, Deku?” He hissed, but not as violently as he would on most days. Midoriya shrugged.

“Just a suggestion.”

As if the Gods had been watching over him, Kirishima opened the door, bracing himself as if he had expected the closet to be in ruins. Bakugou merely peered up at him from his ball on the floor, as did Midoriya, until Bakugou stood up and stretched his back.

“That was fucking terrible…” He muttered under his breath, shuffling over to his spot in the circle and taking an overly melodramatic plop back down on the dirty carpeted floor. The basket with everyone’s items was continuously passed around the circle, Mineta being placed with Momo, who inevitably quit before Mineta could even get word in. Tokoyami got thrown in somehow, complaining how he ‘couldn’t even kiss in the first place, so the whole ordeal was pointless.’ It had taken an hour before the circle had come around to him again, and he was almost petrified to stick his hand in. He did, nonetheless, his stomach in knots because he knew this was the last time he would go, and another awkward situation with Midoriya was not something he needed right now. He fumbled around for a moment, Kirishima nudging him in the knee and begging him to “please, pick one already, dude.” His hand came across something solid, cold, and without thinking further, he tugged it out of the bag. It was a geode. Bakugou was a bit shocked, especially since everyone else’s items seemed to be hair clips or cell phone charms.

“Who the hell carries fancy ass rocks in their pockets to parties?” He inquired, eyebrows furrowed as he ran his thumb across the jagged purple edges. He figured it was pretty, though. If the person he got paired with was nice enough, he figured he might ask to keep it.

“Aye, that would be me!”

Bakugou looked up from the geode to see __ rising to her feet, stumbling a bit awkwardly and trying to hide her embarrassment. “They’re called geodes, by the way, not fancy ass rocks.”

“Oh.” That was all Bakugou was able to say before pocketing the thing and rising to his feet as well. All his friends were staring at him maliciously and in that moment, Bakugou knew this had all been one horrific set up.

You suck.” He had managed to mouth to Kirishima before scooting into the closet, ignoring the way Ashido and Sero were making kissy faces behind him. __ was next to come in, pressing her back up against the wall and nodding towards Kirishima. He smirked at the both of them, made a kissy face himself, then slammed the door.

The two stood there in silence, Bakugou afraid to even set off a light again. __ shuffled every so often, and when her legs brushed up against his, she’d peep a quiet, “sorry!” before pressing herself against the wall again.

“I like your rock.” Bakugou said, suddenly through the silence. Internally, he cursed himself for how stupid he must’ve sounded. He was locked in a closet with who had to be the prettiest girl he had ever seen in his life, and all he could do was compliment her stupid rock?

“Thanks! I have a ton. You can keep it, if you want.”

“Oh, thanks. And uh, happy birthday.” He muttered, patting his pocket to make sure it was still in there.

“No prob, and thank you!”

A silence fell across them again, and Bakugou could feel the minutes ticking by. There was nothing more he wanted to do than kiss her, but he feared that was something he could not do.

“Hey, __”

“Hmm?”

“Can I kiss you?”

__ fell silent. Bakugou sighed, knowing he had screwed up. He was in too deep to realize his feelings could never be mutual. He was embarrassed and enraged all at once, and he was praying Kirishima would just open the damn door already.

“Sorry. That was fucking stupid of me. You don’t have to do anything.”

“I never said I didn’t wanna kiss you, Katsuki” She muttered, grabbing his hand out of his pocket. “I’m down if you’re down.”

Bakugou didn’t miss the way she stumbled over her words, or the way her hand shook around his. All he could do was smile. He let his hand fall from hers and let a spark arise, the shadow flickering across her face and revealing a startled blush.

“Cute…” He muttered, before taking her cheek in his other hand and tentatively pressing his lips against hers. She was frozen, so he backed off for a moment, watching to see of she was okay, before dipping back in. She kissed back this time, awkward at first to see where her hands would go, before warming up to it all. It wasn’t a long kiss, definitely not a perfect one, but Bakugou couldn’t deny the butterflies in his stomach.

“I’m surprised you’re not a rougher kisser.” She had muttered, suddenly, her hands still around Bakugou waist as he pressed soft kisses to her neck.

S’ cause I fucking like you.” He muttered, shamelessly, too caught up in the moment to think about his words.

“I…” She paused for a moment, waiting for Bakugou to stop kissing that certain place on her neck until she tugged him back by his collar. He looked at her, confused. He figured maybe she didn’t reciprocate his feelings, but that thought had been thrown out the window the moment she kissed him back.

“I like you too. Like, a lot.” She nodded, only for Bakugou to furrow his eyebrows.

“Why’d you pull me away, then?”

“Cause I wanted to say that to your face.”

“That’s sappy as hell, __.”

“We’re playing seven minutes in heaven, dude. It doesn’t get sappier than that.”

There was a sudden knock on the door before it swung open, Kirishima peeking inside to see the two of them pressed up against their separate walls once more, although both red in the face.

“I see you two had fun.”

“Shut it.” Bakugou had shot __ one last look before pushing passed the door, and breaking away from the circle. __ had done the same, following right behind him. It made him a bit happy that she had chosen to do so.

“Hey, Katsuki?”

“Hm?”

“I dunno if it was made clear already or anything, but uh, do you wanna go out with me?”

“Do I wanna go out with you?” Bakugou shook his head, grabbing her shoulders and pulling her down a vacant hall. He smiled, and without even thinking, kissed her cheek. “More than anything.”

“Good. ‘Cause soft Katsuki is the best Katsuki, in my opinion. I can get used to this.”

“Oh, shut it.”

“Make me.”

With that, Bakugou looked around him, making sure everyone was still occupied in their stupid little party game, and kissed her again. He figured that maybe, just maybe, parties weren’t so bad, after all.

Surprise (Part 1)

Shawn Mendes x Reader

MASTERLIST

Word Count- 2345

Summary- You decide to surprise Shawn with both your’s and his family on a special concert night!

Triggers- navy homecoming, fluff

A/N- sooooo hi… been a while huh? Believe me, I have been reading A LOT, but I honestly haven’t felt very motivated to do some writing of my own. Until last night. I went to Illuminate Boston last night and I fell in love all over again. So real quick my best friend and I were walking out of the bathroom and I literally stopped in my tracks because Geoff was standing right outside of the bathroom. IN THE MIDDLE OF A BUSY HALLWAY. Nobody was talking to him and everyone was walking by him oblivious to who he was. I walked right up to him and asked for a pic but HES NOT ALLOWED TO TAKE PICS WITH US. I honestly knew he wouldn’t let us take pics but I guess I was just looking to talk to him. But back to the concert it was unreal we had pretty good seats and just seeing his little face in person again made me so happy now that he is gone I’m sad but I’ll just write out my feelings so here we go

p.s.- when I refer to TD Garden i refer to the arena of the Boston concert, that’s where the Boston Celtics play!


Surprises.

You hate receiving them but you love dishing them out. There is nothing like the warm embrace of and over joyed person, especially if that person is Shawn.

Your and Shawn have been dating for six years, that’s right, six. Okay, long story short you are very close family friends with the Warburton family. They lived in Massachusetts next to you before they moved back to Canada for work. You decided to visit them when you were in seventh grade, on a family trip of course. Ian happened to be over his best friend Shawn’s house and because you simply couldn’t wait to see Ian you went over yourself. You totally had a crush on the twelve year old Shawn within a few days and by the time you left, you had shared your first kiss. Long distance life was tough, but somehow, even six years later, you managed to keep the relationship flourishing.

Okay, back to your surprise.

You go to school in New York. NYU, to be precise. So you had told Shawn that you needed to be there to help the freshman move in the day after the concert. That was true, the freshman did move in the day after the concert, but you were in no way a part of that. He was upset because of all the concerts he plays at he can guarantee loved ones of some sort at two; Toronto and Boston. You have always been there for both of those concerts and as a matter of fact, you had been there for almost every concert during the summer for the past three years. You were fortunate enough to tour with him, but unfortunately this past August you were unable to continue touring the Illuminate World Tour because of an internship opportunity that was too good to pass up and your loving and thoughtful boyfriend would never allow you to give it up to follow him around all summer, no matter how much you loved it.  

So you threw him off. Nobody was coming to Boston to see him perform. How sad for him. What he doesn’t know, is that his family is on their way from Ontario and you aren’t at NYU, instead you are loading your large family into the car just as he called you.

“Hey baby,” he whispers, “I miss you.”

“Hi sweetheart,” you say as you simultaneously shush you little brother as you buckle him into his car seat, “I miss you too baby.”

“Do you have time to chat?” He asks hopefully.

“Sorry baby this isn’t really a good time, I have a bunch of RAs up my ass.” You pretend sigh, “Can I call you later?”

“After the show?” Shawn asks.

“Of course baby! You know I wish that I could be there, it just didn’t fall at the right time. I will make it up to you I promise. I love you and have a good show.” You abruptly hang up and yell to your family that is left in he house, “Is everybody ready? We need to leave now!” And soon everyone joins you in the car.

You have a fairly large family. Well, at least it’s large compared to the Mendes family. You have your two parents, a twenty-two year old brother named Matt, an eighteen year old sister named Jenna, a fourteen year old sister named Ella, and a three (almost four) year old brother named Jackson.

Your brother Matt is a dedicated Navy Seal and has been for two years. He completed freshman and sophomore year at a business school near home, simply because he felt he had to. The college route was what your parents always pushed. You were happy to comply; Matt not so much. Matt had confided in you that he was failing his second semester of classes. He has always been your best friend. Jenna and Ella were both close because they were amazing dancers. You and Matt were good at sports and would rather just hang out with loved ones. When Jackson came around he fit perfectly into your little group. Jackson was born right around when Matt and you were the closest as you helped him make his decision to leave college and enlist. Life without Matt had been difficult. As he was in training for six months in California little baby Jackson was your little savior. You were broken every day when You remembered the grueling training your older brother and role model was going through. A little part of you thought that you were helping to influence Jackson and raise him as a happy young boy. Matt came home after he graduated training for two months. For the last nine months Matt has been on active duty. You have been able to speak to him a few times a month but not nearly enough to satisfy your nerves. 

Yesterday was an amazing day. You were finalizing the last minute plans of joining both yours’ and Shawn’s families to surprise Shawn on the day of his concert. The only person on Shawn’s crew that knew of the unexpected surprise was Geoff. You had just finished helping Jackson into his spiderman pajamas after his bat. You had Jackson on your hip as you walked downstairs to bring him to watch TV with his sisters before bedtime. as you turned the corner from the stairs you noticed the door to the garage was open. Shortly after you glanced that way your parents entered through the doorway. Then your sisters. Then a face you hadn’t seen in a while. 

Matt. 

“Matty…” You half whisper half cry as tears stream down your face. Jackson is trying his hardest to wiggle out of your embrace as Matt begins walking closer to you. 

“MATT! MATT! It’s me! It’s me your brother Jax!” Jackson screams. Jay was a name only three people were allowed to call Jackson. Those three people happened to be you, Matt, and Shawn. 

“I know buddy!” Matt exclaims, “I missed you little man!” Matt takes Jax out of your arms and Jax quickly wraps his arms around Matt’s neck. You bring your hands to cover your mouth in disbelief as you cry. This can’t be him. Matt wasn’t expected home for another month. Your body seemed to be frozen in place so Matt placed his free arm on you back and pulled you into his chest. You practically sobbed at the feeling of his touch. 

“Wh-What are you doing here?” You cried.

“What? Am I not allowed to miss my family?” Matt laughs sarcastically. He will never admit it, but there were tears slipping down his cheeks as well that night. 

Okay, for real, back to reality. 

You’re on your way to the concert and everything seems to be in place. The Mendes family (minus Shawn obviously) are stocked up in a hotel room about a block from TD Garden. You are twenty minutes away from the city. When you arrive you are going to hop into one of the tour vans that sit like twelve people with the Mendes family, then you will all go into the arena and surprise Shawn. The show starts at 7:30 and you plan on arriving at the Garden at about 7. Everyone (except for Shawn) knows you are arriving, only Geoff knows that your family and Shawn’s family will also be arriving, and only your family knows that Matt is with you. Matt and Geoff are very close as well. Although Geoff is a few years older than Matt, they get along like brothers because when we met the Warburton family, Ella was really little and there were like six more years until Jackson was born. 

Okay, this time you are really going to stay in the present. 

You pulled up in front of the Marriott and quickly exchanged the families into the tour van. Ella and Aaliyah were obviously gushing about school gossip. They practically know everything about each other. You will catch up with Aaliyah when  you head to the VMAs with Shawn later, when your family isn’t with you. 

“How long has it been since you have seen Shawn?” Your mom asks Karen. 

“Well…” She begins, “He came home about three weeks ago for a few days. He likes to think he is good at communicating with his father and I, but really the only one he wants to talk to is back there.” She says pointing to the back row where you and Matt are sitting with Jax on your lap. 

“Me?!” Jax screams excitedly, obviously listening in on their private conversation. 

“Nooo silly boy!” Karen laughs, “I’m talking about the pretty girl behind you.”

“Who me?” You ask, mid-laugh as Matt was telling a funny story from his life at the compound.  

“Who else would she be talking about?” Jenna sasses. She always loves seeing  the Mendes family, but to be honest you have always felt that she is a little jealous of your’s and Shawn’s relationship. She doesn’t necessarily want to be with Shawn herself, but she wants the relationship that you share. 

“You know he’s going to marry you someday (Y/N).” Aaliyah shares with you. You have dreamed of that yourself, but it makes your heart flutter and your cheeks flush when someone else says that to you. After such a long and deep relationship you could only hope. 

“Alright we are pulling up!” Manny calls out as you approach the stage entrance of TD Garden. You shoot a quick text to Geoff letting him know that you had approached the stage door. He replies letting you know that Shawn has finished his Q&A and he is just hanging around in his dressing room with some of the band. 

You all wait in the van for Geoff to show up outside of the doors. The conversation is quiet and calm as you all periodically glance toward the door. You rearrange your outfit and brush your hands through your hair. 

“Is someone nervous?” Matt jokes. 

“I haven’t seen him in a month, I know that’s not long but I just miss him so much.” You whisper. 

“You look bootiful.” Jay whispers and both you and Matt laugh. 

“Well I sure hope I look booty-ful! And thank you Jax!” You pull one of his cheeks and he wiggles toward Matt.

“I just want to see brother Shawn!” Jay whines. Jax has only been alive when you and Shawn were dating and he has only had the pleasure of knowing the (Y/N) that is so deeply in love with Shawn, the happiest Shawn. 

Your breath hitches as you see Geoff’s figure walk through the doorway and you practically push everyone out of the car to get to him. Jay walks over to your mom to hold her hand to so you can give Geoff a hug.

“Hey (Y/N)! Long time kid.” Geoff smiles. 

“Too long!” You laugh. 

“He talks about you every waking minute he is away from you on this tour.” Geoff whines, “It drives us all insane I swear… wait” And then he finally sees him. Matt walks out of the van and Geoff’s face lights up. “Matt man! It’s so good to see you brother!” Geoff pushes right past Shawn’s parents and envelops Matt in his arms. “I didn’t know you were coming!”  

“Yeah well surprise!” Matt laughs. 

“I can’t wait to hear all about your leave on duty, but first there is someone that really needs to see his girlfriend, like now.” Geoff begins handing out VIP passes to your and Shawn’s family. 

“Off day?” You sigh. 

“Yeah, he just thought this night would go differently and he’s a little down.” Geoff says as he places your lanyard over your neck. Your lanyard isn’t just the Shawn VIP Pass. Your’s is an actual Illuminate Identification card with your picture and everything because you spent almost two months on tour with Shawn. 

You glance down at the card on your neck and traces the edges with your finger, “I missed this.” You smile back up at Geoff as he gives you a sweet smile. He is exited for Shawn, he needs this more than anything. You all follow Geoff through the hallways of the Garden, the two of you leading up front. 

All of your loved ones following you can see the smile that is slowly growing on your face with every step. They all know your and Shawn’s love is different. It’s not just puppy love anymore and its not just dating, its more. Its a lifetime worth of happy that they have all been lucky enough to watch grow and they have been able to watch it change you as well, the both of you. Everyone can see this, well maybe except for Jackson. Jackson just likes to look at the green walls for the Boston Celtics. Green is his favorite color. 

Geoff stops you right in front of the doorway to Shawn’s dressing room. You can hear him talking quietly to a couple of his bandmates and crew. You turn around and mouth to your entire family, “Here we go!”

As you turn into the doorway you see Shawn sitting on the couch, guitar resting on his knee. He is slightly facing toward you and he is talking mindlessly with Zubin as Mike drums on the table to the right of him. 

As soon as you turn into the room you rest your shoulder on the side of the doorframe and cross your arms. You meet eyes with his and they immediately open wider as a bright smile spreads across his face. Your backstage identification rests cooly over your arms as it shines in the lights of the mirrors.

You smile lightly as you can see Geoff to your left and you say, “Hey handsome”

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IMAGINE: Zombie Apocalypse!Tom AU

I MAY MAKE THIS INTO A SERIES! IF IT’S LIKED ENOUGH IT’LL HAPPEN! BUT FOR NOW THERE WILL ONLY BE ONE MORE PART CONFIRMED!

Warnings: Lots of death mentions!!!!!, blood, family death mention, swearing, gun use

Words: 2465

Prompt: I watched the walking dead lol

THE MONSTERS AMONG US

   The world surrounding you was silent besides the crunch of dead leaves under your feet as you walked. The forest was still today. The brisk autumn air chilling your bones, running shivers up your spine. Next to you was Georgia, an amber haired teen who had some how survived the last year by herself inside of a gas station. She held a large dew-drenched map in her bony hands, the colours of it reminded you of your old bedroom. Pink and green and any pastel colour. When the world was sweet and innocent. When you were sweet and innocent. In your hands was a beloved shotgun your father shoved at you just before he died.

   Death was a common thing nowadays.

   It started with a virus. A simple cold- at least that’s what everyone thought at first. It turned into something more disastrous, monstrous, perfectly evil. When the high fever broke and the vomiting was gone the world was hungry; hungry for brains, flesh, human meat. Anything that had to do with blood.

   And the world just took and took and took anything it could grab its hands on. Cities were destroyed. Families wiped off the board. Sunlight didn’t feel so warm anymore, and neither did the sound of music. Every thing now was either dreary, dark, or dead. You wished you were dead. You didn’t want to see the carnage anymore. You didn’t want to hear the screams of innocent people in the distance, how your heart wrenched to help them but you knew better. Helping people would get you killed in a gruesome way that you couldn’t dream of, never wanted to dream of. But there was something that pushed you to stay alive.

   It was like a video game your brother played in the basement. But only this was reality and there were no do-overs, no second life’s, no restarts. Once you’re dead you belong to them. You don’t even remember anything and neither does anyone else when you turn, but you all have the same instinct for blood, flesh, and brain.

   You watched it happen your younger brother, how he was one of the first to go. Later, as it got worse and the world was slowly tearing apart, your mother caught it. Six hours and then she was one of them. Six hours and the person who you loved and cherished was gone. It’s been two years since their deaths.

   You hadn’t had the chance to see it happen to your father if there was even anything left of him. You were stupid enough to convince him to join a group, thought it would be safer, that you could start a new family. You thought you could trust them. You were so stupid, so, so stupid. And your stupidity got your father killed, the only family you had left.

   The group had ditched you to save their own skins when a swarm of the dead came in. He gave his life for yours, along with his stolen shotgun. It weighed heavy in your hands, a broken promise to a girl from her daddy that he’ll always protect her.

   You clenched your jaw in anger, feeling tears pricking your eyes. You blinked to keep them away. Be strong, be fearless, and move on, you chanted to yourself. Some days, the mantra was the only thing that got you out of your sleeping bag.

   “Uh..” Georgia’s voice filled your thoughts. You stopped walking, fingers clenching around the shotgun as you faced her.

   “Uh?” You pushed with raised eyebrows.

   “I think… I think we’re lost.” Her voice was small.

   You tried your hardest not to snap at her.

   It’s been two days since the both of you’ve eaten. It’s been two days since Georgia decided if the both of you took a shortcut through the woods it would lead to a suburban area. Food, there was a promise of food.  Your stomach gurgled at the thought. Another broken promise.

   “What do you mean you think we’re lost,” You growled through clenched teeth.

   She looked to you, fear flashing in her hollow green eyes. “I-I don’t know where we are…”

   You opened your mouth to yell at her, to let out the pent anger that had been raging inside of you for days. But it wasn’t worth it. Half the forest would hear you if you did, and that would create some unwanted friends. A strong blow of wind pushed through the trees, they groaned and swayed side to side as if they were waving. The air promised winter. Winter was more deadly than the dead.

   “Georgia, Georgie, sweetie.” You began. “How long have we been lost for?”

   “A few hours.”

   “What?!” It came out louder than it was supposed to. You winced, your hands hot on the gun and eyes immediately darting to the trees around you for any sudden movements.

   Georgia’s voice cracked as she spoke in a whisper, “I.. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t want you to get angry.”

   You scoffed. “Me? Angry? I’m upset now because we’ve wasted more time when we could be eating. Georgia… we’re gonna starve if we don’t find food. Please tell me you realize that, right?”

   “I get, (Y/N)! I get that we’re lost! I get that we haven’t eaten for days!” She screamed. “Don’t treat me like a kid!”

   Oh no. Oh no, no, no, no, no.

   “Shut up,” You whisper-yelled grabbing her wrists tightly.

   “(Y/N), let go of me!” She yelled, slapping your shoulder as you continued the death grip on her wrist.

   “Shut up, Georgia. Shut! Up!” You pulled her in close, faces inches apart.

   You could smell her breath, something that was surprisingly minty fresh. You squinted at her mouth, noticing that when she opened to whine that there was a piece of white gum on her back molars. You gasped.

   “Are you stealing my gum?”

   “No!” Was her first answer. “Yes.” Was her second answer after you squeezed her wrist again, digging your nails into her grimy skin.

   “What did I tell you about-”

   She interrupted you, her body going still. “(Y/N)…”

   “Hey, don-”

   From behind you, a groan sounded. Everything in your body locked up, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up. The groan came again, this time longer and more urging. Your throat became dry as you whipped around. In front of you were ten maybe twelve of dead corpses shuffling towards you and Georgia.

   “We’re fucked,” Georgia said after catching her breath.

   You froze in fear, watching them inch closer. You could smell the decaying bodies on the wind that whipped your hair around your face. You stared at them as Georgia tugged on your arms, screaming your name and telling you that you had to go.

   They were close, and your scent was the only thing on their minds. If they even had minds. Your chest heaved up and down as your breathing rapidly changed. Georgia was right, you were fucked. And you were going to bed dead in a moment if you didn’t move. But there was something entrancing about the dead. Hw they moved, how their heads cocked to the side at every sound.

   The sound of a gunshot rang beside your ear. You jumped out of your haze, hands instinctively raising and covering your left ear. You twisted in shock, leaves and wet dirt spewing about your feet. Georgia held the shotgun, her face clenched in such fury and fear that you knew she was gonna fire again. Without a second thought you grabbed the shotgun from her hands, then her wrist, and then you ran.

   Stupid, stupid, stupid. Firing a gun in the valley would welcome more dead. Not only that but you used ammo, precious ammo that you’ve been saving for something important. If you hadn’t stalled you wouldn’t be in this situation.

           Running, you felt like that was the only thing you knew. Under your feet, you felt your sneakers suck against the mud from the past days of rain. Icy wind kissed your flushed cheeks. You pushed harder, hearing more moans coming from behind you. How they kept up, you didn’t know. It only made you run faster despite the piercing in your lungs created. Alive, stay alive.

   “(Y/N)!” Georgia called your attention. You skidded to a stop to see her turning down a hill, her hair vanishing out of sight. For a moment your heart leapt in fear for her but she called out for you again, “We can lose them at the river!”

   With a sharp glance, you stare down the dead that had multiplied in numbers. The river. Your father’s voice echoed through your head, run. With a grunt you took off after Georgia, leaving the walking dead behind you. As you went your scarred hands slapped and scrapped against trees and sometimes hit the cold, wet ground, as you tried to keep balance. There was no room for error.

   The hill was steep, full of trees and overturned leaves from where your companion had run. You followed her footsteps, eventually finding yourself alone at the bottom of the valley, a thick, strong current river inches before your toes. If you hadn’t slowed down you would’ve been in the frigid water and been swept away to who knows where. Hypothermia and you’re dead.

   An eery silence filled your ears. There was no groaning from the dead, no calling from Georgia, just the wind caressing against the towering trees. You took a moment to watch the orange and deep red crinkled leaves twirl through the air, most of them landing either around you or in the grey twisting river.

   “Georgia?!” You dared to call out. You heard your voice laced with terror and discomfort echo throughout the valley. A few crows flew out of the tops of the forest around you. They cawed, filling in the silence. “Georgia..?”

   You continued walking, deciding to walk down the river until you could find a safe way to cross. You wished to your lucky stars that there would be an abandoned bridge or a sturdy log that would allow you to find the other side of the river. And once you did find a safe passage, your next mission would be finding Georgia.

   You stuffed your shaking, mud covered hands into your stiff pockets, the fingerless gloves with pulled strands did nothing to keep the chill off your brittle bones. The pit in your stomach grew larger the longer you walked, the hours that passed, the more by groaning you heard and avoided, taking different paths. Georgia not only had the map, but she also had most of the food as you decided to carry the sleeping bags and weapons. If neither of you found each other by nightfall, you would both be royally fucked.

   It was now nightfall, and your bones ached with each step. You didn’t dare to call out for Georgia anymore, but you continued to look for the amber headed girl. In the dusk light, you watched your breath curl from your lips. A warning that it would be a long night and that winter was coming.

   Hours later when the sun was gone and the moon took place in the starlit sky you were wrapped in two sleeping bags, huddled up on a thick branch of a gnarled oak tree. For the last half an hour you’ve been dozing off, head leaning against the bark, rope tied around your waist you didn’t fall off halfway through the night. You woke up to the sound of rustling, which made your eyes snap open and body go rigid.

   Completely silent, you shifted to be able to see what was going on below you. Before climbing up the tree you had set a string full of garbage you found littered throughout the forest in a five-metre circle around the tree. A trip wire, something you learned from the group you were with a while back. With shallow breaths you held onto the large hunting knife you’d taken from a corpse last week. It had come in handy for close range attacks if you were brave enough.

   Then you saw it. The flash of clothing beneath the moonlight. There was greasy hair, amber and a dark chestnut, both shimmering so bright. Your breath fell short when you saw that it was Georgia and that she was limping and being supported by another person not too far from you. You couldn’t tell if she was conscious or not. You exchanged the knife for the shotgun, your oily forehead softening with fear. You pushed past it, knowing you’ll never forgive yourself if you didn’t jump down to save your companions ass.

   So you did. You left your pack in the tree, shotgun clutched under your armpit as you jumped to the ground, then leaned against the bark for shadow cover. You waited, waited to see if Georgia and who ever it was would stumble over the line of string garbage. You waited.

   The sound of clanging and muttered curses was like music to your ears. They were in front of you, on the ground. It was a man, you noticed a familiar accent as he cursed the god that reigned in the sky. But there was no sound from Georgia, not even a soft whimper as she hit the muddy ground. You walked forward, squaring your shoulders as the muzzle of the gun was pointed towards the stranger’s head. You cocked it, the moonlight pushing through the trees, cutting shapes and patterns across his face. He twisted his body to see who was pointing the gun at him. His eyes, hollow but filling with fear, started from the ground, then dragged up to your shadowed face.

   You could see every curve of his face, the way his mouth was agape at the sight of the gun, how his left cheekbone was covered in mud and a few spots of blood. Just like you, he was grimy, hair greasy, clothing reeked.

   He was quite handsome, to say the least.

   You didn’t have time to think about that. Maybe in another life, where everything was normal and you were happy. Where you didn’t run for a living. Where you smelt like flowers or wore fresh clothes, or actually smiled. Smiled like he did just then when the moonlight shifted across your face.

   “You must be (Y/N).”


tagged: @midtownhoe , @hufflepuffholland , @suit-lady, @homecunnings, @hollandaised, @tomsh0lland, @softspidey, @quacksonbitches, @sixtiesholland, @thebucckybarnes, @tbholland

Forever changed.

Authors Note: Requested, I hope you all enjoy it. Quite enjoyed writing this piece. 

Harry Masterlist found HERE 


Post Break-Up Kiss:
The kiss that catches both of you off guard, but says I miss you, I’m sorry and please love me again all at once without any words being spoken.



Crying, screaming, and slamming doors— that is how the two of you ended on that winter night four months ago— five years of a relationship ceased in the blink of an eye, the two of you calling it quits while both of you were stained with crystal tears cascading down your cheeks. Neither of you knows the direct course for the breakup that night, but neither of you attempted to repair the broken mayhem you created, you both managed to break each other and maybe that is what the issue was?

You take a deep breath, standing outside the gold trim glass doors of a building getting ready to put yourself in the middle of what feels like a deadly crossfire. His sister’s pre-wedding party, something you were meant to attend with Harry, but today you both, so you assume, fly solo. You take in another deep breath, your head turning to peer over your shoulder, your eyes staring at the cab driver that is checking his phone. You want to step back down the granite steps and sit back in the cab and go home, but you know you can’t. 

You turn back and swallow your pride and apprehensive ways, your hand pressing to the gold handle that sends a shiver down your back from its coldness. You step inside and let out and let out another breath, your heart beating faster as your heels clap against the glossy tiles, your eyes darting around in an attempt to figure out which way you’re meant to go, up the ravishing double staircase? Down the hallway?

You bite your bottom lip watching as people pass you and go in their separate directions, none of them being of anyone you know.

Your eyes flicker towards the stairs and your heart surrenders and sinks in your chest, your body freezes and for a moment, you feel as though time is paralyzed with your body. There he is, walking down the staircase in the exemplary manner he always does. He’s wearing a button up white shirt with the sleeves rolled a quarter of the way up, his tie still sitting ideally around his neck, something you’re surprised to see, he usually despises wearing ties and tugs at them most the night, it is something you grew to find to be a turn on, when his fingers anxiously tug at the ends of his tie. His eyes meet yours and he gives you the same old smile that made you fall in love with him in the first place.

You give him a small smile back, the thumping in your chest making it known that you’re still breathing and that your heart’s still pounding, barely.

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anonymous asked:

Hi! Have you done anything on Sally Hemings? If so, could you possibly link me? If not, do you have any information about her? I know so little about her and wish I knew more

Here you go, I wrote you a 2231 word essay on Sally Hemings. All sources come from Jefferson and Hamilton: The Rivalry That Forged a Nation and Thomas Jefferson: Art and Power. 

          1735, a man named Hemings, the white English captain of a trading ship, fathered a daughter with a “full-blooded African” woman. The African woman’s child was named Elizabeth. The mother and daughter ended up as slaves of the Eppes family- the Eppes family from which John Wayles (Thomas Jefferson’s father in law) would marry his first wife, Martha. 1746- the year Wayles married Martha Eppes- Elizabeth Hemings, then about eleven years old, moved to the Wayles property. 1761, Elizabeth was taken by John Wayles into concubine and she bore five children to him, Robert Hemings, James Hemings, Thenia Hemings, Critta Hemings an Peter Hemings. In 1773, she gave birth to a sixth child: Sarah “Sally” Hemings.

             Thomas Jefferson married Martha Wayles Skelton on New Year’s Day 1772. Martha, was a daughter of John Wayles. Through his marriage ,Jefferson acquired more slaves, later receiving Elizabeth Hemings, whose daughter, Sally, who would be born months later- was a half-sister of Martha Jefferson, after Wayles’s death. Martha Jefferson chose to keep the Hemings family together after her father’s death by bringing them onto her land. Jefferson payed a midwife to deliver Elizabeth’s son John. Nearly noon on Friday, September 6, 1782 Martha Jefferson died. Her house servants- including Elizabeth Hemings, were among those with Martha as she lay dying. In her last pledges to her husband, she told him to never marry again- Sally Hemings who was witness to this was not quite ten years old yet. Among one of the last things she did, Martha handed Sally a tiny silver servant bell as a gift.

           1784, when Thomas Jefferson accepted a position as ambassador of France, he brought with him his eldest daughter, Martha “Patsy” Jefferson, and James Hemings- son of Elizabeth Hemings and brother of Sally Hemings. Jefferson had intentions to train James to be a cook of French food. June 26th, 1787, Jefferson was able to get his daughter, Mary “Polly” Jefferson whom he’d left in the company of family along with his now deceased younger daughter Lucy Elizabeth Jefferson over to France to join him and Patsy in attempt to recreate his family. Polly arrived in London and was handed into the care of Abigail Adams, with the youngest Jefferson was Sally Hemings. “The old nurse whom you expected to have attended her was sick and unable to come, Abigail Adams wrote to Jefferson, “She has a girl about about 15 or 16 with her, the sister of the servant you have with you.” Abigail also told she is “quite like a child” and required more care than Polly- who was five year younger. She inquired about sending Sally back to Virginia.

             There are no known images of Sally Hemings. On arrival in Europe, Sally was fourteen years of age, and had very light skin, “almost white” and “very handsome, with long straight hair down her back”. There was some resemblance between Sally Hemings and Jefferson’s late wife Martha Jefferson. Abigail Adams also described Sally as, “…she seems fond of the child and appears good natured.” Polly Jefferson and Sally arrived in Paris on July 15th, 1787. She probably ran errands and served as a chambermaid as well as a seamstress. She accompanied Patsy and Polly to dances and dinners, Jefferson spent a considerable sum in 1789 on clothing for Sally. While in Dusseldorf, Jefferson found himself fascinated by a 1699 painting by the Dutch artist Adriaen van der Werff of Abraham taking the young servant Hagar to his bed. The Virginian described it as, “delicious. I would have agreed to have been Abraham though the consequence would have been that I should have been five or six thousand years.”

         Since her arrival in France, Sally had been paid some small wages- twelve livres a month for ten months. Jefferson had bought clothing for her and had her inoculated against smallpox. Sally’s day routine is less clear, though she may have served the Jefferson daughters as a maid at the convent school during part of her time in Paris. It was during the years of 1788 and 1789 that Thomas Jefferson began his sexual activity with Sally Hemings (then only fifteen or sixteen years old). The emotional content of the Jefferson-Hemings “relationship” is a mystery. Some say he loved her, and vice versa. Others argue it was coercive, institutionalized rape. If someone is your property, it is impossible for you to ask consent before sexual acts because they are “property” to you, property cannot give consent. No consent before sex is rape. All those who were slaves brought into concubine with their masters were raped- property cannot give consent because they are owned by another human being. It was not love, it was rape. Property cannot give consent. Sally Hemings might of been doing what she had to do to survive an evil system, accepting sexual duty as an element of her enslavement and using what leverage she had to improve the lot of her children.

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meet me in the hallway

♡  part-two to this blurb

She couldn’t call it a breakup. They weren’t together, they were just friends– and so it wasn’t a breakup.

YN had gone to bed that night, two and a half weeks ago, with tears streaming down her cheeks, hoping and praying that the pair of them would forget about it in the morning and everything would return as normal. That she’d be awoken by him stumbling into the dorm with two coffees from the cafe down the road, grumbling about the dreary weather, and then they’d both go down to class and grumble together about their degrees. That it was just a fight that two best friends have when both of their brains have just gotten too clouded and ultimately clashed, and they’d laugh about it at lunch tomorrow. But she remembered watching him cry when she pushed him away, remembered cutting him off when he was about to say something, remembered hearing him bawl outside in the hallway.

She knew that it wasn’t just an argument, more than she cared to admit, and all she could smell was his cologne on her pillow.

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Velaris (Part 2): Nineteen Years Trapped

[Series Complete]

Series Summary: “Protect Velaris. Protect each other. I love you all.” With Rhys’ final words, the shields around Velaris rise, trapping the Inner Circle inside for fifty years. This series follows Mor, Cassian, Azriel, and Amren as they struggle to adapt and fulfill Rhys’ final request.

Part 1: Four Years Trapped

Originally posted by nova-stims

Tagging: @aelin-and-feyre​, @hellosparkyislove​, @illyrianinterrasen​, @my-ships-will-never-be-sank​, @wolffrising​, @whydoyoucareaboutmyusername​, @songbirdsbooks

My Other Ficlettes: An Elucien Epilogue || What Rises from the Ashes || Alone in the Townhouse (NSFW Nessian) || Alone in the Garden (NSFW Elucien)|| Nessian: The Mating (NSFW Nessian) || Nessian The Mating: Part 1, The Wedding || Nessian The Mating: Part 2, The Cabin (NSFW) || The Poison in the Wound  || A Cure for Nightmares (NSFW Manorian)

**If you are on mobile, you may not be able to see the “Keep Reading” tab. Simply scroll to the top of this post and click my URL to see the full text.

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