publishing now because i have work later on my day off :(

A note to fanfic writers from an artist.

I’m gonna say something that’s been on my mind for a while now. I want to thank the fanfic winters out there who spend hours writing beautiful pieces of work to share with others, and I’m sorry that so many of you don’t get the recognition or thanks that you truly deserve.

 Coming from an artist, I truly believe that writers have it much harder compared to illustrators in terms of gaining fans and receiving recognition. For artists such as myself, it’s much easier to receive followers, likes, and reblogs because people only need a few seconds to decide whether or not they like the art style and if they want to share it or not. I also have a multitude of social media platforms to choose from: Tumblr, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Patreon, Deviantart, heck even YouTube and AO3 if I wanted to. For writers, it’s much harder (not only because their platforms are more limited) but because most people either skip past the word of text, don’t have the time to read the fic, or ‘like’ the fic to read it at a later time. This makes it very difficult for fanfic writers to get their work circulated and to gain new fans. 

Additionally, unlike artists, it’s extremely hard to profit off writing (unless you get to publish a book in which case- YAY!!!! But the chances of being published is very very slim;;). Illustrators frequently sell merch, have Patreons, or fill commissions to make a little extra money on the side. With fanfic writers, that’s close to impossible to do. I saw a writer I follow try to open a Patreon and charge three bucks a chapter for a fic they spent hours writing. Three bucks for a 5,000+ word chapter. Thats like five double-spaced, five-paged essays. Do you know how long it takes to write that many words? Asking for three bucks was already extremely, EXTREMELY cheap. But of course, ‘paying for fanfic???? Noooo.’ The amount of hate and negativity that the author received just blew me away. Authors spend just as much time on their works as artists do, so why are some people willing to pay $25-$85 for a drawing, but not three bucks for a chapter? I’m not saying that artists don’t deserve the recognition or money they earn because I know that artists put a lot of time and effort into their art, and I applaud them for utilizing their talents to reach where they are today. I just wish that more people would also give some of their love to the amazing fanfic writers who are underappreciated and deserve so much more. It’s very discouraging when you spend hours on something and barely get recognition for it. So please, help support fanfic writers by sharing their work so they can gain new fans and allow other people to see their amazing talents as well.

10

Sketchy Behavior | Hellen Jo 

Never afraid to speak and/or draw her mind, Los Angeles based artist and illustrator, Hellen Jo and her characters can be described as rough, vulgar, tough, jaded, powerful, bratty and bad-ass - AKA her own brand of femininity. Known for her comic Jin & Jam, and her work as an illustrator and storyboard artist for shows such as Steven Universe and Regular Show, Hellen’s rebellious, and sometimes grotesque artwork and illustrations are redefining Asian American women and women of color in comics. In fact, that’s why Hellen Jo was a must-interviewee for our latest Sketchy Behavior where we talk to her about her love of comics and zines, her antiheroines, and redefining what Asian American women identity is or can be; and what her ultimate dream project realized would be.  

Keep reading

sothatshowtheydoit  asked:

So i saw that you are planning on attending the science march on washington. I have heard some discussion in and around my office (i work a federal science organization(left out here in case you want to publish this response) about it being not a good idea because it turns science into another issue/cause. and science isn't an issue/cause. it's SCIENCE. Fact. etc. not a self-interested group. (this is a discussion i've had very briefly with my boss. curious as to your thoughts!)

Hi!

Well, you’re right. Science is science - but I disagree that science is neither an issue nor a cause, especially now. 

Science has been turned into an issue and a cause - a cause requiring public support, outcry, and defense - because our scientific institutions, our federal funding agencies, our progress, our international and highly diverse collaborators have already been politicized by being put at risk - and facts tell us that losing these opportunities and resources isn’t going to be good for anyone if we hope to have a productive, healthy country. That risk was growing, and the threat largely happened while we were inside, looking at our facts. It is abundantly apparent that Facts do not suffice in changing some people’s minds- facts are not the persuasive tools we (science-loving nerds) find them to be; they are neither a cure for misunderstandings, nor a remedy for falsehoods, when presented to a person for whom facts are neither resonant nor comforting. 

Whether or not people think the march ought to happen, it’s gonna happen, and here’s why I think that’s okay, and why I want you to join me:

I am a professional and effective science communicator, but nothing I can do alone - no video, no witty tweet, no long-winded blog post - has as much potential to impress in as many people’s minds the importance of supporting scientific endeavors as this march does. I believe the March on Science does have the potential to demonstrate the value of supporting science by way of a highly visible, compelling assembly of people who know a lot, who are concerned, and who are ready to act in support and in defense of scientific sanctities. There will certainly be people who use it as their last excuse to 100% totally and completely write off scientists. Okay, fine. After all, science has historically not done a great job of marketing itself, even to people who like science, so we’re just going to have to try something else to gain the trust and affection of people for whom facts don’t matter and science seems unimportant- but that’s later. 

It’s difficult and time consuming to demonstrate, time and again, the benefits that scientific research, discoveries, and innovations positively impart in our societies. But imagine how powerful it would be if all of the 821,517 members of the March for Science Facebook group - scientists, and supporters of science - actually showed up, signs in hands, marching together, in D.C. and in cities across America. That would be enormous. The American Chemical Society is the largest scientific society in the world, with over 157,000 members - some scientific meetings have around 20,000 attendees. But the March for Science could absolutely dwarf those numbers. It would be the single greatest meeting of people unified in collective support for global scientific endeavors than any other such gathering in the history of our planet. 

And that ^ is worth being a part of.

April 22nd, 2017 - Join up in D.C. or find the nearest march: MarchForScience.com

3

So this handsome fellow is Peter Doyle, longtime partner of the great American poet Walt Whitman. He is often viewed as an enigmatic figure, but what we do know about him tells us that he was quite remarkable in his own right.

Pete was born in Limerick, Ireland, and came to the United States with his family when he was eight years old. After the death of his father, he worked hard to support his widowed mother and siblings. One of his brothers, Francis, became a police officer in Washington DC, where the family lived. Francis ended up fighting for the Union during the Civil War, while Pete served in the Confederate Army. He saw serious action and was wounded, discharged from the army, and promptly arrested when he attempted to go back to DC. He managed to get off the hook by claiming that, as an Irish immigrant, he really didn’t care one way or the other about Union versus Confederacy. True or not, this worked, and he was freed.

It was at this point that Pete took a job as a horsecar conductor. In the nearly empty streetcar, on a stormy night in early 1865, Pete met Walt Whitman. Pete as 21 at the time, while Walt was 45. According to the younger man, it was pretty much love at first sight. “We understood,” Pete said. Walt was the only passenger on the streetcar, and he didn’t get off at his planned stop. Instead, he rode with Pete until the end of the route, at which point the two men spent their first night together.

They were inseparable for the next seven or eight years. They’d often go for long walks together, with Walt reciting poetry or passages from Shakespeare. I am 100% not making this up.

And their letters. Oh my God, their letters. Not many of Pete’s to Walt survive, but Walt’s to Pete are so full of love that they’d melt the coldest heart. A sample quote: “My darling, if you are not well when I come back I will get a good room or two in some quiet place, and we will live together and devote ourselves altogether to the job of curing you, and making you stronger and healthier than ever. I have had this in my mind before but never broached it to you.”

As this excerpt implies, Walt very much wanted to make a home with his young partner. Sadly, this would never be possible. Pete, as the oldest unmarried son, saw it as his duty to provide for his mother and siblings. They – and the society in which they lived – had certain expectations. While Walt was on good terms with Pete’s family, getting them to accept wholeheartedly this same-sex relationship was an entirely different matter. The two men had to do with spending nights together.

Pete was definitely a tremendously positive influence on Walt and his work. He persuaded Walt to delete three poems dealing with themes of despair and unrequited love from the 1867 edition of Leaves of Grass. He may have also influenced one of his partner’s best-known works, “O Captain! My Captain!” The tone deals with the death of Abraham Lincoln and the end of the Civil War. It is unusual amongst Whitman’s works because it is rhymed, rather than written in free verse. Walt noted that Pete had quite the rhyming ability, often rattling off charming limericks. Also, some have argued that the metaphor of the ship on the rough sea is a kind of nod to Pete’s immigrant background.

The young immigrant was also an eyewitness to the greatest tragedy of the day. He was in the balcony of Ford’s theater on the night of April 14, 1865, when Lincoln was assassinated. He recounted hearing the shot, and then seeing Booth leap onto the stage. Later, Walt drew on this account as a source of information for his annual Lincoln lectures. And he wouldn’t have heard any of it, if it weren’t for his boyfriend!

Walt suffered a stroke in 1873, and moved to Camden, New Jersey, to live with his brother. He ended staying there until his death in 1892. Pete was unable to find work in Camden, though he did eventually get a job in Philadelphia. They saw each other only sporadically, and at one point Walt had gone so long without hearing from Pete that he thought the younger man had died. He hadn’t, but he was put off by the presence of a housekeeper and other caretakers in his partner’s house. He stayed away, for fear of rousing suspicion as to the true nature of the relationship. After Walt’s death, Pete expressed regret for his hesitation.

In 1897, Pete allowed Richard Maurice Bucke (Walt’s literary executor) to publish the letters written by Walt to Pete. The result was a book called Calamus. No one who read it would have any doubts as to the nature of the love between these two men. It made Pete the black sheep of his Catholic family, and his sister forbade the reading of the book in her house. I think we have to give the man some serious props here. It had to take a hell of a lot of courage to let something like that hit the presses in the 19th century. Maybe he was proud of himself, his partner, and their relationship, and saw no shame or sinfulness in any of it. I sincerely hope that this was the case, and that there was an element of defiance of social and religious norms that went into the publication of Calamus.

Pete remained a member of the “inner circle” of Whitman devotees until his own death in 1907. He is buried in DC’s Congressional Cemetery. His grave marker is a short walk from that of Leonard Matlovich, which famously reads, “they gave me a medal for killing two men, and a discharge for loving one.” Nowadays, Peter Doyle is usually included on history tours of the cemetery which focus on LGBT figures.

Excellent work has been done by Whitman scholars in order to rescue Pete from the shadows of history. We are beginning to understand just how much he influenced Walt, and what a fascinating man he is. “Pete the Great,” as he liked to call himself, is an enigma no more.

And now, to finish off this already very long post, a quick guide to the photos:

Top: Pete aged about 25 years, taken in 1868. Cool hat.

Middle: Pete aged 57, taken circa 1900. Cool mustache.

Bottom: Pete and Walt, circa 1868, ridiculously in love. This might be my favorite historical photograph of all time.

it’s a comfort thing || dylan o’brien (!!)

author: @broodybell
pairing: dylan x reader
word count: 3,738

warnings: nsfw aT ALL THIS IS SO SINFUL I’M NOT EVEN SORry

authors note: i was gonna keep this fluffy, but we all know it’s pretty impossible for me to not write sin for dylan, so here you go!! also i apologise for how dirty this got. fUCK. and thanks to my bby @sabrinas-wolves for helping me with this and the puthey… and this is dylan pov

summary: dylan finally comes home after months away for filming. him and reader can’t keep their hands off each other and dylan learns how reader kept herself satisfied when he was away. 


my baby: text me when you’re on your way home so i can start dinner xo

dyl pickle: will do xx

I shove my phone back into my pocket with a smile and rub my hands together eagerly. It had been five months since I’d been home, which also meant five long, agonisingly lonely months since I last saw Y/N. Admittedly, I’d much rather be home with her right now, either fucking the shit out of her, or holding her close to my chest as I wash her hair in the bath tub. She always loved corny shit like that. But unfortunately, I wasn’t. I was in my dressing room, waiting with T-Pose to be interviewed with Ellen DeGeneres.

“Yo, you’ll be home soon Dyl, chill.” Hoech teases with dancing eyebrows and I scoff playfully at him. My knee continues to jitter up and down and I pat a beat onto my thighs. “Ty, I just miss her man.” I groan, rubbing my hands over my face in attempt to rid her from my thoughts, but it was no use. The thought of her withering beneath my body was doing questionable things to my sanity, and I was honestly beginning to have trouble hiding it.

My phone vibrates from my pocket and I dig through my tight jeans to retrieve it, my eyes scanning over the new text that displayed across my screen.

my baby: oh forgot to say, have fun in the interview baby. i’ll be watching… in that matching lingerie set you like ;) xx

My eyes widen, my pants suddenly becoming extremely tight as I imagine her sprawled across the couch, white lace adorning her curves as she- “Dyl, we’re on!” Tyler snaps me from my thoughts, my throat suddenly very dry and my hands clammy. I quickly stuff my phone back into my pockets, wiping my sweaty palms into my jeans and standing from my seat.

I awkwardly adjust my pants, digging into my boxers to quickly pull my hard on up and into the waistband of my pants. I follow Tyler out of the dressing room and through a long hallway until we make it out on stage, loud cheers emitting from the crowd. I smile happily, waving to the audience before I greeted Ellen with a peck on the cheek.

Tyler and I flail onto the couch as the cheering slowly dies down and I suddenly feel awfully nervous. In my last interview, I was asked verb personal questions in which my answers were taken out of context, twisted, and published online- which, ultimately caused a lot of drama.

“My two favorite boys. How are you both? I understand you’ve only just got finished filming for Teen Wolf?” Ellen asks, lifting one leg to rest on her other thigh. I nod my head with a smile whilst Tyler answers her question. I keep a smile on my face, laughing at some things Tyler says until he’s finished talking.

Ellen’s attention turns to me as Tyler leans further back into the couch, arms outstretched over his head as he looks to me with a grin. “It must be very hard for you though, right? All this time away from home?” She asks with concern and I sigh with wide eyes, nodding my head in confirmation.

“It’s great, you know, working on set with everyone. But five months is a long time from home and it does get very difficult.” I nod, Tyler watching me and nodding in agreement at my statement. “Is that why you take your pillow with you?” Ellen questions, a series of photos of myself carrying the blue pillow close to me. I chuckle at the photos; most of them taken after I’d been on a flight or even just walking around on set.

“It’s funny you say that, actually. It’s not my pillow.” I laugh, Ellen’s eyebrows raising quizzically. “Did you just steal someone’s pillow on a plane?” She laughs, and I laugh with her but shake my head from side to side. “No, it’s my girlfriends. We have this thing that when I leave for filming; I’ll take her pillow and she keeps mine.” I shrug my shoulders, smiling at the memory of Y/N coming up with the idea.

It was a smart idea. It was a sense of home I had with me when I was away, and also a piece of her. I remember how she told me she’d always sleep in my clothes when I were away because it felt like I was holding her. So when she started sleeping with my pillow when I’d left, she didn’t feel so alone and felt more like I was with her.

The audience awe at my confession, a small blush creeping onto my cheeks and the excitement to rush back home to her suddenly grows stronger. “That is awfully sweet. Do uh, do you guys FaceTime or Skype while you’re away?” Ellen asks, her smile growing when I nod my head. “All of the time. A lot of people say that we’re still in that honeymoon phase, despite that we’ve been together for almost five years now.” I chuckle, Tyler slapping my chest as he smiles at me.

Before I met Y/N, I was what Tyler called a man-whore. I’d sleep with girls but had no intentions of being there when they woke up. The last serious relationship I had was with Britt, I was falling hard for her but she treated me like shit. It wasn’t until I met Y/N at Tyler’s birthday six years ago and I saw how poorly her boyfriend treated her. It opened my eyes about my situation, and eventually I left Britt. Two months later, Y/N was having trouble with her boyfriend. Tyler and I went to pick her up so she could stay with us until they worked things out. They never did, and she never left - only when we decided to get a place together, three years later.

“The pillow idea is very sweet, actually.” Ellen coos, and I smile at her, shrugging my shoulders. “It’s a comfort thing.”

The rest of the interview flew by, and I don’t know if that was due to the fact that I had zoned out after talking about the pillow, or because my excitement to see my baby was so powerful I managed to speed up time. Before I knew it, I was climbing out of the taxi and dragging my bags toward the front door of the house. I dig my fingers into my jeans, pulling out my keys and quickly unlocking the door, throwing my bags inside before I follow and slam the door behind me.

“Baby!?” I call out, kicking my shoes off and throwing my keys into the glass bowl on the table. I smile at my surrounds, warmth coating me at the feeling of finally being home. “Dylan!” Y/N’s sweet voice calls out to me, my smile immediately growing. She races down the stairs, her silky nightgown slipping open as she jumped into my arms, her legs around my waist, arms around my neck and her face nuzzled into my chest. I squeeze her body closer to mine, as I hold her from her middle. “Fuck, I missed you.” She groans, her head moving from my chest and I finally take a close look at her after so long.

Her hair was pinned up messily and her face free of makeup, but I swear I’ve never seen her look more beautiful. Her smile was the light of my life, seeing that gorgeous smile could make the worst day better in the blink of an eye. “I missed you too, baby.” I smile, my eyes beginning to water and she pouts at me playfully. “Dyl, don’t cry. You’re home now. And I would say dinner is served, but you didn’t call to say you were on your way home. Do you want to order pizza?” She asks, the soft pads of her thumbs gently rubbing beneath my eyes to dry them.

I hold her wrists in my hands, nuzzling my cheek into her small hands and stroking my thumb against the back of it. “Pizza sounds good.” I smile, nodding my head slightly. A wave of tiredness washes over me and I yawn loudly into her hand. “Do you want to go take a nap? We can order food later, it’s only 7?” Y/N asks, noticing the tiredness that was written all over my face. “Can you take a nap with me?” I ask, and her smile grows. She nods her head, turning and walking away, but I grab hold of her hand- “Wait just a second.”- and pull her back to me, her chest smacking into mine. Before she could even comprehend what was happening, I was holding her soft face in my big palms and pressing my lips against hers.

Her eyes fluttered closed and slowly, she melted into the kiss; her arms wrapping around my neck as I held her by her waist. She hums against my lips, fingers teasing my hair and my hands slowly leave her cheeks, finding their way to the back of her head, my fingers tangled into her hair as I press her harder against me. I tug gently at her hair, a soft gasp slipping from her parted lips, and I take the opportunity to slither my tongue into her mouth. She groans at the action, her wet tongue massaging my own and a low whine emits from her lips.

“I thought you wanted to take a nap?” She mumbles, her words muffled by my mouth and my hands leave her hair, running down her waist until they knead her ass through the silky material of her robe. Y/N whimpers, her back arching, ass pressing harder into my hand and her chest presses closer against mine. I hum back in appreciation, squeezing her ass harder and sliding my hands beneath her robe. “But I want you more.” I growl, my hands resting beneath her thighs as I lift her from the ground.

She wraps her legs around my waist, my hands around her ass. Y/N tugs at my hair, lips messily crashing together as I carry her up the stairs, our sloppy kiss never breaking until I kick the door open, throwing her onto the bed. She lays on her back, leaning on her elbows. Her hair was sprawled out around her, her rode wide open and I stare down at her hungrily. Not wasting another second, I tore my shirt off my torso, unbuttoning my pants as they slide down my legs and I step out of them; the tent in my boxers growing.

She wiggles in the sheets, the sweet melody of her giggle erupting from her lips as I crawl between her open legs. Her hands tangle into my hair, pulling me closer to her with a smirk on her face, slowly pressing her lips against mine. I roll my hips into hers, a sexy whine echoing through the room as Y/N bucks her hips up and into mine, loving the feeling of my hard cock pressing against her panties. The harder I pressed myself into her, the wetter my boxers became, her arousal seeping through her lace. With both my hands on either side of her head, I move one down to her shoulder, my finger gently tracing over her skin as I slowly nudged her bra strap down along with the soft silk of her robe.

My lips soon followed, and I pressed featherlight kisses to the skin my finger previously touched. The back of her head fell into the pillow, her back arching into my chest as I continued to roll my hips into hers. I groan as the sudden wetness on my boxers seethed through the fabric and lubricated my cock. “Fuck, you’re absolutely dripping.” I growl, another whine leaving her lips and I pulled away from her. She looks to me with furrowed eyebrows, watching as I climbed off the bed. Her eyes train onto the aching tent in my boxers and the darkened patch of her wetness, her cheeks flushing crimson.

I tug my boxers down, a relieved sigh falling from my tongue as my cock sprung free. “Hm, baby.” Y/N whines, wetting her swollen lips as she watches me wrap my hand around my wet cock, pumping myself as I watched her absentmindedly roll her hips against the air. I release my aching erection, crawling back onto the foot of the bed. I lean over, looping my fingers into her panties and slowly pulling them down her silky legs and setting them beside me. “God, I missed your pretty little pussy, baby.” My attention fixated between her legs, the way it glistened with arousal in the dark.

I slid toward her, snaking my arms around her thighs as I pried them as far open as possible, my breath hot on her heat and she whimpered in frustration. I dip my face between her legs, my stubble scratching against her thighs and her fingers grip at my hair, her chest heaving in excitement. I look up to her through my lashes, our eyes meeting as I wink at her before shoving my face into her pussy. Y/N moans filthily, back arching and eyes fluttering closed. I flatten my tongue between her folds, teasing her entrance as I lick a stripe up to her clit, groaning at the sweet taste of her arousal. She inhales a sharp breath as I suck her clit into my warm mouth, rubbing my tongue against it as she rolls her hips into my face.

“Fuck, Dylan. That feels s-so fuc-fucking good, baby.” Her filthy moans and words caused my cock to twitch against the sheets. I release her thighs, one hand travelling down my body and I grip my cock, grunted in satisfaction as I pump myself to the pace she rolled her hips. My other hand travels between Y/N’s legs, my index finger swirling between her folds, collecting her juices and she whimpers loudly. I pull away from her pussy, my chin dripping with her arousal and her back collapses back into the bed. I crawl further up her body, my hard cock sliding through her folds, my tip grazing against her sensitive clit and she gasps.

“Open your mouth, baby.” I speak, my voice low and eyes hooded. I lift my finger to her mouth and push it past her parted lips. She clamped her mouth around my finger, sucking her wetness off it and swirling her tongue around my digit. “Oh, fuck. You’re so sexy.” I whimper, gently rolling my hips into hers, revelling in the feeling of my cock sliding through her folds. Y/N hummed around my finger, as I pull it out of her mouth and press my lips against hers feverishly.

With my lips still meshing with hers, my hand leans over the bed, opening the bedside table drawer. I disconnect our lips, looking over to the open drawer in search of a condom, but I find something else. My cock twitches at the sight, my eyes darkening as lust and desire consumes my every emotion. I grab the rubber in my hand and pull back to her, my face hovering over hers. “Did you find a condom?” Y/N asks, her voice a low whine and her hands run up and down my chest.

I stare down at her. “I found a lot more than a condom.” My voice was rough as I tried to contain my excitement. Y/N furrows her eyebrows at my words, her eyes following my hand that was by her side and when she notices what I was holding, her cheeks darken red in embarrassment. “Is this what you’ve been using to get yourself off whilst I’ve been gone? Huh? Using it and pretending it was me fucking you. Were you screaming my name, baby?” I ask, my eyebrow raised and she nods slowly, swallowing thickly. A pang of arousal shoots through me at the thought of her fucking herself with an inanimate object.

“Are you mad, daddy?” She asks slowly, noticing my sudden change in facial expression and her hand slowly creeps between our bodies until she finds the dildo by her hip. “No, kitten. Daddy’s not mad. In fact, daddy wants you to show him.” I smirk, her jaw slacking as she stares up at me in disbelief. “Be a good girl, show daddy what you did when he was away. Show daddy how you fucked your tight little pussy with it.” An uncontrollable moan shamelessly slips from her lips, her hand tightly gripping on the rubber beside her. My hand travels between our bodies, wrapping around her hand and guiding it between her legs.

She adjusts her grip on it, and I guide her hand up and down, her wetness lubricating the rubber and she moans in satisfaction. “Come on, baby. Show daddy.” I whisper, releasing her hand and pulling away from her completely. I crawl off the bed, taking her panties into my hand and sitting back in the armchair that faced the foot of the bed. I watched as Y/N touched herself, my cock throbbing at the sight of her pretty pussy smothered in her own arousal, and I wanted nothing more than to eat her out for hours, to taste her sweetness on my tongue again.

“Fuck.” Her soft whimper caught my attention, but my eyes remain gazing at her tight pussy and the way she rubbed the rubber cock between her folds. I growl at the sight, my grip on Y/N’s panties tightening before I carefully unbunch the delicate lace in my hand, holding the crotch in my palm before grabbing my cock. The wetness of her panties worked as a sweet lubricant as I began to pump myself, watching her whimper and moan. “Does that feel good, baby?” I ask her teasingly, eyes never leaving her pussy as she continues to rub herself. She hums in response, slowly dipping the rubber cock into her tight cunt and I whimper at the sight, watching as her back arched off the sheets and a filthy whine left her lips.

“God, you’re so fucking sexy.” I growl, pumping my cock faster with my bottom lip tugged between my teeth and I watch her intently. Her grasp on the dildo had tightened as she relentlessly fucked herself with it, long whines spilling from her lips and she thrusted her hips into her hand. “I want you to pretend that’s my cock, baby. Imagine it’s me fucking your wet pussy, hitting all those deep spots as I play with your clit.” I growl, turning myself on even more. Her legs begin to shake, her hand thrusting the cock into her relentlessly and a filthy whine sounds through the room. I tear my hand away from my pulsating cock, dropping her panties to the ground.

I stomped toward her, snatching the dildo out of her pussy and she shrieks in pleasure. I leave it on the bed, crawling between her legs and pressing my lips against hers harshly. She whimpers at the feeling, her legs wrapping around my legs and she pushes me off her, causing me to roll over to my side of the bed. “You fucking ass, I was- I was ab-about to cum.” She breathes frantically, trying to catch her breath and I smirk at her, watching as she straddled my waist. “But daddy didn’t say you could cum, did he?” I retort, authority laced in my voice and she pouts down at me.

My cock slid between her folds as she teasingly rolled her hips against mine. “Daddy, I want you to make me cum.” Y/N whimpers, her legs already beginning to shake. “Ride me.” I growl, her eyes lighting up with excitement and she steadies herself onto her knees, my cock standing at attention as she slowly sinks down on my length. I hiss at the feeling, her tight walls stretching out as I filled her. “Fuck, daddy you’re so big.” Y/N whines sexily, my hands gripping at her hips as I thrust up into her.

“Shit, kitten. You’re so tight, god you feel fucking amazing.” I cry out, snapping my hips into hers at a merciless pace, grunting at the feeling of her tight walls clenching around me. “Dylan, oh Dylan, that feels so good. Don’t stop!” Y/N screams, her legs shaking either side of me as her perky tits bounced at each thrust. I could’ve came at the sight, but I wanted nothing more than to feel her finish all over me. “I’m so fucking close, daddy. I’m gonna cum!” Her voice was raised, face contorted and I swear I’d ever seen her look so beautiful.

“Cum for daddy, cum all over my big cock, baby.” I encourage, thrusting harder and faster until her walls clenched around me, her warm arousal coating my cock and a pornographic moan screamed from her lungs. My eyes widen at the noise, my release following as hot spurts of cum shot through her and she slowly stopped rocking her hips against mine, lifting herself off me and crashing into the sheets. “That was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen, or heard.” I swallow thickly, turning to the sleepy girl as a lazy smile tugged at her lips. “Sure was, daddy.” She teases, my smile growing as I pull her into my arms.

“Can we take that nap now?” I ask after a few minutes of silence had passed. I wait for an answer, my head shifting to look down at her. Y/N was cuddled into my side, eyes slid shut as her soft breaths gently blew over my chest. I smiled down at her, sitting up slightly to pull a blanket over us and her grasp on my torso tightens subconsciously. I smile down at her, tugging the covers over us and relaxing back into her arms. My lips gently press against her hair, a satisfied, yet tired sigh leaving my lips.

“I love you, baby.” I whisper, holding her as close as I possibly could. “I love you, too, Dylan.” Her weak voice spoke and my eyes slowly fluttered closed with a content smile tugging at my lips.


feedback? // masterlist!

Why Dungeons and Dragons will Help your Novel

Alright guys so lets be real, raise your hand if you’ve ever played DnD? Now put it down. Ok, now raise your hand if you write and want to be published one day? See? Waaayyyy more of you are here. “But what does DnD have to do with my writing career?” you ask? Well my friend, DnD is a great writing tool that I think is completely underused in the writing community. This is especially true regarding ~helping~ underdeveloped characters and worlds. 

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{Special}College!AU x K.A.R.D

no one asked for this,,,,but i love them,,,,support don’t recall + ohnana!!!! 

J.Seph 

  • major: poetry 
  • sports: swim team 
  • really wanted to join the poetry club,,,but he got to shy to show up to the first meeting and jiwoo was trying to drag him into the room but he was like noOOOOOooo 
  • for a literal poetry major,,,,,,,,he never has the nerve to share any of his stuff out loud. there was a poetry slam night on campus and everyone was like you should enter!!!!! but he like,,,,,couldn’t and in the end somin went up and read his work and it was BEAUTIFUL and everyone was like “you have such talent!!!” and she was like um,,,,,,,i didn’t write this it was - but when she tried to point him out it turned out he just fled and somin’s like dammit i thought jiwoo and matthew would keep him put
  • as shy as he is,,,,he still has a really nice aesthetic going on. very simple, casual but still fashionable and people always ask to take pictures of his outfit and face and he’s like ,,,,um,,,,,,,why,,,,,,,,,and they’re like “do you have instagram???” and he’s like yes but i don’t really use it,,,,,,,,,,,,,,
  • everyone thinks he’s hot but he’s oblivious to it basically
  • all his poems are about ,,,,, like ,,,,,,,,,, love,,,,,,and nature,,,,,,and like,,,,,,,crying in nature because you’re in love
  • he’s actually super emotional and deep but no one ever gets to know him because he’s really shy and tries not to talk much
  • even the members of his swim team are like “bro, you should tell us like your hobbies or your ideal type” and j.seph is like “,,,,,,,,,breathing is nice,,,,,”
  • and you had one class with j.seph on prose poetry,,,,,and even though he never shared out loud in class you had to do a group critic and ever since you read his poetry,,,,,,you had basically Fallen in Love
  • with his style, his flow, his choice of words,,,his voice in his poems is so strong and beautiful that you felt like you were looking at a painting and not words on a paper
  • and you’d begged him to submit something to the campus art journal but he had declined and it had left you heartbroken
  • but you didn’t give up,,,,even after your classes if you’d see him you’d be like !!!! hi i was wondering if you changed your mind-
  • but he’d just shake his head shyly and tell you that really, he couldn’t publish his work in the journal
  • and for a while you’d try to bug him when you saw him but you didn’t overdo it 
  • and at some point you had to give up because you didn’t want to come off creepy, even though you really at least wanted others to read and feel what you felt with his poems
  • and at some point you end up sharing a study table with somin and you know her as one of j.seph’s only friends and you’re like “hi,,,,this is going to sound weird but is j.seph,,,,,,,,,,not an open person?”
  • and she looks up from drawing and she’s like hmm what do you mean
  • and you tell her about the experience you had with his poetry and suddenly she seems really interested and she sets down her pencil and she’s like wait here!!!!
  • and about twenty minutes later she comes back holding a notebook and she’s like “ive had this for a long time, but it’s a poem i read by j.seph at a poetry slam a while ago. it’s the only poem i have of his but!!!! you could maybe publish it??? i really want him to be recognized by more people as a poet!!”
  • and you thank her and get all excited as you leave the building because omg the editor of the journal is going to LOVE it but then you try to read the poem,,,,,,,,,but you can’t bring yourself to do it,,,,,
  • like the words are right there waiting but you feel horrible because,,,,,you didn’t get j.seph’s consent. and it feels like you’re stealing from him
  • so you decide that you can’t publish it, instead you search the campus for him so you can return it
  • and you find him sitting on the steps outside of lecture hall and he’s writing aimlessly in his notebook and you’re like “um excuse me-”
  • and once he sees you he’s already like ‘im sorry, but i-” and you’re like i don’t want to bother you, but your friend gave me this ,,,,,,it’s yours though so im returning it. i didn’t read it by the way,,,,,
  • and when he takes the paper cautiously, opening it up he’s a bit shocked and he’s like “,,,,,,,it’s my poem” and you’re like yes and he’s like “wouldn’t you want to read this - you’re always asking me to show you my writing” and you shrug and you’re like “im asking you because poets should want to show off their writing. i have no right just looking at without your permission.”
  • and with that you bow your head in a goodbye but as you turn you suddenly feel his hand wrap around your wrist to stop you and you look over your shoulder
  • and j.seph is like “,,,,,,,,,,,,if you want,,,,,ill let you read this one.”
  • and your eyes light up and you take a seat beside him in such a hurry that you don’t notice that your so close your knees are brushing and you begin to read muttering the words to yourself
  • and j.seph is feeling a bit hot under the collar because you’re close and also reading,,,,,his work
  • and it’s a bit much for someone kind of closed off like him but when you look up all you can tell him is that you’re speechless. again. like when you first read his stuff
  • and j.seph’s ears turn red and he’s like AH don’t,,,,say that
  • but you point to a line and you’re like i love this!
  • and that’s how you end up spending like two hours sitting there talking about this one poem and somehow j.seph can feel your sincerity and that’s all it takes for him to open up to you
  • and before either of you knows he’s showing you more of his work
  • and only when you realize it’s getting dark out do you get up
  • and j.seph is like shyly,,,,,,,,like “i don’t know about publishing these in the journal,,,,,,but id love to show you more of my,,,,,,,,poems,,,,,”
  • and you clap your hands and you’re like yes!!! please do!!! and your smile makes j.seph’s heart beat
  • and your first date is basically at a cafe sharing some sweets and you gushing over his work and j.seph getting even more shy 
  • but also loving the feeling of,,,,,,having someone admire his poems
  • dating college!j.seph: staying inside all day at a library or study room and working silently on your separate projects but secretly holding hands under the table, delicate kisses where he holds you like you’re made of glass, book shopping dates, getting teased to death by matthew till both you and j.seph are flushed red, matching couple tees, sharing a drink and j.seph still getting worked up about a public indirect kiss LOL 

BM (Matthew) 

  • major: health law
  • sports: has tried all of them and has gotten bored of all of them so he just knows a bunch of athletes and is friends with them. like him and jackson from the fencing team and amber from the women’s basketball team,,,,,,but also jae from the schools band LOL
  • got into law and it was a shocker for like eVERYone because isn’t he just,,,,,,,the jock stereotype who should major in something like nutrition or physical education 
  • but nOPE matthew is seriously passionate about law, especially health law that has to deal with reproductive rights and drug safety. like he seriously just doesn’t understand why people are so hellbent on having control of other peoples bodies or making a certain medication highly addictive just to freakin suck money out of people LIKE WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH THE WORLD
  • and everytime they have to study cases for papers or tests he literally seathes with anger and asks the teacher 30243 questions that usually just come down to “matthew, the law let them.” and matthew is like not to sound like a law-anti but the Law IS Stupid. All Governments are Shit
  • everyone in the class:
  • the teacher:
  • matthew who is now standing on the table with the crumpled case in his hand: ,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,ill just sit down now
  • but his passion is a good thing because law can get boring and dense, but he’s so amped up about it because he needs to know what’s the best way to help people not get wrapped up in trouble,,,,and be able to keep their damn human rights
  • he also works nights at a popular bar off-campus and his friends are always there (the boss loves it because the $$$$$ comes piling in. also matthew is,,,,,,,,Hot,,,,,,,,there are many people just there to appreciate his looks so hey even more $$$$$$)
  • but matthew also gives out free drinks like his life depends on it and dabs everytime a customer compliments him like what friendly giant tbh
  • also let’s all take a moment to hold hands and think of matthew in a cute bartender outfit ok moving on
  • when he has time he works out at the campus gym but it’s always at super super late like 3-4 am when he gets off work
  • and you also happen to work out at weird times because thanks college for draining you with studying and the only time you have that’s free is the middle of the night
  • and you notice matthew, it’s hard not to as he’s standing over six feet, and you think “oh someone else is suffering with me”
  • but halfway through your run on the treadmill you make a very big mistake,,,,,,you look over and see matthew doing push-ups with one hand, and then switching without getting up to the other hand,,,,,,and the way he looks
  • cut-off sleeveless tank, loose basketball shorts and sweat running down a chiseled jawline you damn near trip over your own feet
  • because okay,,,,,,,,he’s hot,,,,,,,,
  • and you’re like no no focus on the work out but it’s impossible,,,,,,,because when you look back you see him lifting weights, his back big and wide, the muscles strong in his arms and you’re damn near drooling honestly
  • and this goes on for like two weeks because everytime you show up to work out,,,,it’s like 3:19 am and it’s just you two and matthew smiles and greets you and then starts working out and you can’t not watch,,,,,,,,,it’s like addicting 
  • and at one point you’re like whatever and as you see matthew finishing up you drop your jump-rope and you’re like “hey can i ask you something?” and he turns around with his usual smile, wiping the sweat from his neck and he’s like “sure!” and you’re like “let’s make out, if you want, like right now”
  • and matthew’s eyes go wide only for a second because he drops the towel from his neck and smirks and is like “i thought you’d never ask”
  • and that is how you end up making you in the empty campus gym and matthew is as good as a kisser as he looks,,,,,and he’s good at other things Which I Will Leave Up to You to Imagine
  • and as you’re leaving,,,,,,the sun rising slowly on the campus you’re like “um,,,,,,,see you again soon?” and matthew is like “you know it!”
  • and you two make out every time you see each other which is like 3 times a week at the gym and it’s great and it’s fun
  • but also you talk,,,,,,,and matthew is hilarious and not afriad to embarrass himself and oh shit this is going from a hookup to a crush
  • and you’re super scared about telling him,,,,,because he’s so,,,,,popular what if he already has someone else,,,,,someone better in mind
  • and you don’t want to ruin the great thing you have going (great thing being physical only) and you’re like telling yourself to not ruin it
  • until you’re sitting in matthew’s lap and suddenly he pulls back from your kiss, arms slipping from under your shirt and he’s like “listen ive been thinking, we never meet up outside the gym and i wanna introduce you to my friends-”
  • and you’re like wait hold up he’s talking like we’re,,,,,in a relationship
  • and matthew can see the confusion on your face and his smile drops and he’s like “unless,,,,,,,,,being something serious is uncomfortable for you?” but you shake your head so much you’re scared you might crack your neck but you’re like “no!!! i do want to be something serious, i was just surprised i thought you’d ,,,,,,,,only thought of this as something on the side”
  • and matthew grins and he’s like “no way, i don’t make out with just anyone. also you’ve seen my - well,,,,,,,,you’ve seen big matthew and that’s nothing something many people can say”
  • and you’re like oh my god did you just call- whatever, yes id love to ,,,,, meet your friends and do some stuff??? together??? like dates??? and you and him are grinning like idiots in love hehe
  • dating college!matthew: long snapchat stories of you guys being a cute couple and trying out new resturants or going to the amusment park and buying matching headbands, wearing his big clothes, couple work outs, matthew always using your legs as his personal pillow, wild parties where you both get tipsy and spend an hour debating who grinds better and making a very embarrassed j.seph the judge, being silly dorks that are super touchy and pda is at an all time HIGH, couple rings 

Jiwoo

  • major: neuroscience/pre-med
  • sports: women’s lacrosse 
  • she is FIERCE and nothing scares her. not the other lacrosse teams she has to face. not the judgmental looks people give her when she says she wants to become a neurosurgeon. not the way people snicker and point out her bold sense of fashion 
  • she’s her own person and she makes it known, because she’s a hardworker and she’s going to get into the top med school in korea just freaking watch her
  • and she’s gonna do it wearing fishnets, a motorcycle jacket, and heavy army boots like who said all girls have to dress a certain way??? and yes that’s a tattoo on her upper-arm like what are you gonna do about it????
  • matthew is always like holding jiwoo back from getting into fights at the bar he works at because if some guy as much as whispers something nasty/disrespectful/just plain gross under his breath about her or any girl in the vicinity she’s up and ready to throw hands
  • and matthew literally just wraps his arm around her torso while she’s kicking and going “let me GO” and he’s like “ow ow ow you’re so strong ow ow but thank god you’re short OW DID YOU JUST BITE MY ARM”
  • but she really studies super hard and she knows her stuff and the teachers love her,,,,,because she’s always the first to be done with her work and she really genuinely wants to be a surgeon to help people
  • ,,,,,,even though some of them are like “why,,,,,do you dress,,,,,,,so,,,,,” and she’s like “because i like it. what does that have to do with cognitive brain disorders? why does my appearance have anything to do with my passion and talent?” and the teachers are like ok ,,,true,,,,,,
  • you really look up to her because she’s so outspoken. also she makes even the scariest older classmates grovel at the knees like for instance pre-med ken made the mistake of cracking a joke about jiwoo’s resting poker face and she was like “coming from you who can’t even keep still in his seat for more than three seconds like some kind of over-energized rabbit, i don’t see whats so funny?” and ken was like i got it i Will Shut Up Now
  • and you see her a lot hanging around the computer lab of the library, probably to work on her labs and stuff and you don’t think she even notices you
  • because she’s always bickering with matthew or laughing with somin but,,,,,,,one day when you peek over you end up making eye contact
  • and you hide right away behind your hair because oh no she saw,,,you
  • but it’s too late and you can hear her boots marching across the floor and you feel the tap on your shoulder
  • and jiwoo literally spins around your computer chair and is like “heY,,,,,do you want to say something to me? you always stare at me funny? is there a problem”
  • and you’re like UH,,,,,,,turning redder by the second and matthew is already sighing across the room and getting up to get jiwoo but you just mumble out that no,,,,,no problem,,,,,,,you just think she’s really pretty
  • and the whole room turns to look at you two because oh god,,,,,,you just called jeon jiwoo pretty??????? no one has ever had the guts to approach her let alone,,,,compliment her
  • and you’re like This is The Day I Die but jiwoo,,,,,just clams up and she opens her mouth to speak but nothing comes out and she’s like uh uh uh,,,,,,,,,,wh,,,what did you say?
  • and you’re like “im sorry please don’t be mad i think you’re really pretty and cool so i can’t stop looking at you but it’s nothing mean or hateful please omg,,,,”
  • and jiwoo puts her finger to your lips and you’re like oh no im dead but is?????? is she blushing and she gets up suddenly and she’s like “let’s,,,,step out.”
  • and you follow her out of the computer lab down to a bench outside on campus and you’re shaking with nervousness but jiwoo won’t look at you and she’s just like,,,,,,,,,,,
  • “ok,,,,,listen i have never been confessed to so this is weird but,,,,,is it true,,,,,,” and you’re like ??????? what and she’s like tucking her hair behind her ear trying to seem uninterested and she’s like “that you think im pretty?”
  • and you’re like “yes of course, i’ve thought it since i first saw you,,,,i think you were giving an underclassman his lunch back when someone stole it from him??? i thought you were so cool and so cute-”
  • jiwoo: “cute?”
  • you: “y,,yeah cute, pretty, beautiful,,,,,,,you’re all of that to me.” and this time you’re 100% sure she’s blushing
  • and suddenly jiwoo is like “are you free tonight?” and you’re like um yes why and she’s like there’s going to be a party at the bar matthew works out,,,,,,,do you wanna come ,,,,,,,,,,with me?
  • and you’re SPEECHLESS because is this HAPPENING RN and jiwoo is like “give me your phone. im gonna give you my number.”
  • and that night you meet up with jiwoo and the j.sep + somin outside of the bar and jiwoo is like “stay close, ok?” and you’re like holy,,,my heart is beating so fast
  • and you’re kinda shy but jiwoo is like “let loose, c’mon!!” and as you’re dancing together she grabs your shoulders and pulls herself closer to you and you’re like ghldjsfgfdf and she’s like “try to look a little happier - you said im pretty right, and now im dancing with you, isn’t it amazing?”
  • and you’re honestly starstruck you’re like “yes, im so happy. i feel blessed”
  • and jiwoo playfully pushes your arm but she feels this warmth in her chest because,,,,,,being so special to someone feels so nice,,,,,,
  • dating college!jiwoo: quizzing her on hard science terms you can’t pronounce, letting her try out makeup on you, laying upside down off the couch and watching horror movies together, pda making jiwoo shyer than usual, having jiwoo tell matthew that if he even DARES to make a move - she will shave all that hair off his head 

Somin

  • major: interior design 
  • sports: no time, she spends all of her free hours at her internship with a famous seoul furniture designer and she comes back to her dorm only to pass out on her bed, jiwoo always finds her without a blanket 
  • originally was interested in fashion design, but people aren’t her strongest suit so she became more interested in making pretty things,,,,,,,,that didn’t have to be modeled on someone but instead,,,,,inside a house
  • finds fabric magazines more thrilling than gossip magazines 
  • gives off a very mannered, but friendly field. she’s called a ‘goddess’ by underclassmen in the major because when she works she looks so pretty and concentrated and the way she handles cloth and drawing ,,,,,, it’s so like gentle 
  • keeps two sketchbooks: one that’s tidy and clean for class and the other that’s a mess for her own ideas
  • likes working in soft pastels,,,,,,,,,,bright patterns annoy her. so when matthew shows up in his hawaiian print button downs she’s literally like Go. Change
  • her internship is really hard because she’s an assistant to this designer who thinks they’re a prodigy or something and is always making somin run around and do needless tasks and jiwoo is always like somin. i want to fight your boss
  • you’re also an intern,,,,but not to the designer but to their marketing team and so you always feel terrible seeing somin being nagged at or asked to go buy coffee for like the tenth time
  • and you think she’s really sweet,,,,and patient to never ever snap or say something mean behind the designers back
  • but you also worry because when finals come around you can see somin is skipping meals as she’s losing weight and keeps coming in with bags under her eyes
  • and you end up seeing her kind of stumble on her way to the kitchen in the designers studio and at first you brush it off that she’s just sleepy but you can’t just leave it at that
  • so you go to the kitchen to see if she’s ok and you see her???? laying on the floor????? passed out
  • and you panic, falling to your knees and getting her head in your lap and you’re like “somin??? somin???”
  • and you pull her up into your arms and stand up and you can hear her kind of coming too and you like get her over to a chair
  • and get a cup of water and some snacks and you’re like “somin, let’s drink this ok?” and very gently you get the cup to her lips 
  • and she’s already like conscious but she looks so so so weak and you unwrap the snack and encourage her to take small bites
  • and when she’s done,,,,with a bit of energy restored she shyly tries to hide and she’s like “im sorry you had to see me like this”
  • and you’re like “somin,,,,,,,,,you should ask for a day off. it’s finals, i know how hard it is but you can’t torture yourself to this point.”
  • and somin nods but you know she’s not going to listen to you 
  • but before you get up to leave, she thanks you and you’re like feeling your heart break because someone who does so much deserves a break,,,,,
  • but since she doesn’t want to take one you start to take it upon yourself to make sure she’s eating at the internship and you always give her fruits or candy and you’re like eat this on your way back to campus!!!!
  • and when finals are over,,,,you’re happy for you but also somin
  • and one day she comes over to hand you lunchbox she’s made herself and she’s like !!!!!! for helping me,,,,,,all this time
  • and you guys eat together for the first time and it’s kinda like an impromptu date and you even get her number
  • and you learn about somin’s passion for designing homes and you think she looks so cute getting excited talking about it
  • and when you walk together to campus one night,,,,,you feel her take her finger and lock it around hers and you both are giggling,,,,but it’s so cute
  • dating college!somin: having to remind her to take her sketchbooks because she always forgets where she puts them if she takes them out of her bag, forehead kisses while she’s working, sitting up until really late with tea and just talking about what makes you happy, bubble baths together on off days, having jiwoo get super protective over you two, somin always plays with your hair, you find out she secretly really likes to dance and you guys have a dance off in her dorm that matthew and j.seph walk in on,,,,,,,,,and then join it becomes a competition, telling her she’s doing her best and you know she is and that’s enough <3

[The ~feel~ of statistics majors at Elsewhere U has changed somewhat since I sent you that ask (dangerous was perhaps the wrong word), but here’s an extended piece about them that is totally not also a love letter to my chosen subject]

Science majors are always treated more warily by the gentry. This is both a blessing and a curse; we’re less likely to be fucked with, except perhaps out of spite, but it also leaves the greatest mystery we’ve ever seen out of our reach.

It’s tough, being a truth-seeker.

Every department has its own inclinations when it comes to attempts to study Them. Brave physics majors strap bodged-together chronal stabilisers to their arms and go spelunking in those places that time bends unnaturally, reeling back out days or weeks or months later sobbing unintelligibly about relativity. The smart chemistry majors favour esoteric methods of detecting Them, importing enough hazardous substances that it’s surprising none of them are on terrorist watch lists; we try and avoid the choking fumes of their labs and darkrooms if possible. Biologists tend to keep to themselves and be blacklisted in turn; nobody’s attempted to gather samples from Them since the chrysanthemum incident, and the tensions are manageable. Maths is essentially arcane to Them, too logical to make any sense, and more than one student has traded their way out of a tight spot with a neatly penned proof of Euler’s formula.

As at every other university, statistics majors get overlooked. It’s hardly a surprise; it’s the kinds of subject that you either do for a lack of a better idea (and the alleged “amazing job security”) or because you really love statistics. Students in the department because of the former are usually fine, having no particular drive to hunt out knowledge beyond the mundanities of coursework. That cadre of us, though, who take what the lecturers give us and turn it on our environment? Well, I’d call us the most successful informal research group in the university.

Don’t look so surprised! Statistics is the science of observation and patterning. Not only to we know how to analyse for a trend, we know how to tell whether there’s a kernel of truth in it or if it’s just noise; the deceptions of a regression with p = 0.07  are not too different to some of the misdirections of the gentry. Provided you’re smart about data collection (RIP Tumblr user no-this-is-a-knife), there’s not a lot They can do to screw with you as long as you keep everything digital and speak softly. Walking the line between observing Them and alerting Them to your intentions is very possible as long as you’re canny about it. Interestingly, the proportion of Slytherin students in the department is greater than you would expect from a subject so knowledge-oriented.

There are some great projects being run in our downtime. Demography of the gentry would be both a fool’s errand and a slow death, but there’s plenty you can do by surveying the human population or simply watching common areas. That’s what I’m working on, actually; we’re using some of the chem students’ detection techniques to investigate the distribution of the gentry around the campus. Early results are confirming the rumours that arts students are most likely to run into Them. There’s other projects as well, of course, like the two students who’ve cracked the university’s database of missing persons reports and are analysing it against the year to look for the most dangerous times.

To be clear: we mean no harm by what we do. It’s easy to think of us as a coiled snake in the grass, but I would never dream of using my research against anyone (human or gentry or otherwise). Anyone seeking to fight the gentry is probably better off burying themselves in the mythology stacks anyway; research that could conclusively prove cause and effect is well outside our capabilities. All we’re really about is helping people do what they were already doing, like find somewhere weirdness-free to study for finals.

The official Elsewhere U message boards keep deleting our threads - I’m almost sure it’s foul play at this point, one of the staff They have in Their metaphorical pocket - so we’ve been pushed into informal channels. r/ElsewhereStatistics is a good one-stop-shop for passing students, and our Tumblr network is pretty extensive. It’s important to be able to coordinate, to ask questions; this research methodology isn’t exactly something you can run by the lecturers.

While it’s disheartening to know that this work will never leave the university (statistics journals reject so many regular papers, and there’s no scientific field pertaining to Them that we could publish under like applied statistics groups usually would), it’s worth all the toil and more. On a practical level, we’re helping people; just the other day a sobbing fine arts major grabbed me after class and gave me a thank-you hug for publishing those preliminary maps of gentry activity on campus. She can paint in peace now! How wild is that? Most of us would still do it regardless of the thanks, though. After all, the most praise in the world can’t top the simple euphoria of discovery; there’s nothing like that ephemeral moment after the results come back when you can truly say that you know something no-one else knows.

Well, I’d better be getting back to it; these numbers aren’t gonna crunch themselves. Come visit us down in the computer labs sometime (bring coffee!). And remember: following our will and wind, we may just go where no one’s been.

Drag Me Down (To Hell) | 01

Originally posted by jjks

↬ Summary: There’s a darkness to your city, a murderous underbelly filled with crime and deceit that you’ve sworn to avoid at all costs. But the universe has funny ways of forcing your involvement in the form of a notorious mob boss and his young daughter.
↬ Pairing: Jeongguk x reader
↬ Genre: mafia!au
↬ Rating: Mature (for themes; subject to change in later chapters)
↬ Word Count: 7.770

Part 02 - Part 03 - Part 04 - Part 05

Trapped on the cusp of dreams and reality, you can almost imagine your phone isn’t ringing beside you. In your dream, you’re running. Running away from something faceless, but large, and for a good second you’re able to think the ringing is your screaming, but when your screaming stops and the ringing does not, you force one eye open through the haze of sleep and reach for your phone.

It’s not on the table next to your bed, so when it stops ringing you think you’re in the clear, flopping back onto bed, but then it starts up again, and you curse loudly. The phone’s hidden in your sheets by your hip, and before you can even get the device to your ear, your brother is speaking.

Or rather, spitting, “What the fuck are you doing?

You snort, trying to bury your face into your pillow. “What a wakeup call, Taehyung.”

Sorry.” He sounds angry, but you pay it no mind. Taehyung leads with his emotions, acting first and thinking second. If something’s worked him up, he’ll confront the problem as quickly as possible, as is made evident by his call at- six in the goddam morning, what the hell? “Good morning, love. Sleep well?

“Until now? Yes.”

And you call me rude,” Taehyung laughs. “Happy now? What the hell are you doing?

You thank any lucky stars there may be that you don’t have any classes today, and can hopefully sleep again after you finally calm Taehyung down. “Elaborate.”

You’re getting a job?

Keep reading

Muchy’s Top Best Overwatch fics

I said I’d do it, so I’m doing it: Recs for the best Overwatch fics I’ve ever read, in no particular order of importance. 

[[In the Bones of Our Beast]]

Salazar101

Summary:

Junkrat slips into the Omnium and finds treasure, he doesn’t know what it is but other people seem to know, and they want it. Bad. Bad enough to hire famed enforcer Roadhog to drag him in, kicking and screaming.

Relationship/s: Junkrat/Roadhog

What I enjoyed about the fic: 

Amazingly written outback adventures with good relationship development with trash mouse and street pig, with an actual treasure that makes sense, as opposed to the mysterious but undefined treasure in canon and other fics. 

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[[Koraha]]

debascas

Summary:

The feeling started when they reached the edge of civilization.

Junkrat wasn’t familiar with the twisting sensation in his stomach, the constriction of his chest, and the tingling of his fingers when he held onto the belt of the man driving the motor bike. He knew it wasn’t fear, or anxiety, as he often did experience. It wasn’t the thrill and delight he feels when he blows something or someone up.

This kind of feeling was… Nice. Warm. Nauseating. All at the same time. It grew more sure as the bike accelerated and he held on tighter, the barren landscape blurring passed them, the dust and wind blowing through his singed hair, the roar of the engine ringing in his ears. He tried to brush it off. He tried to forget about it.

Business, it’s only business, he reminded himself. Nothing more. Never will be.

Oh, how he tried.

Relationship/s: Junkrat/Roadhog

What I enjoyed about the fic:

Another well-written Outback adventure story, just fantastically written, engaging, with good character development between our favorite trash folk. 

[STILL INCOMPLETE]

-

[[Bad Sun]]

albion

Summary:

When Blackwatch agent Jesse McCree is sent to kill a mysterious assassin known only as DRAGONSTRIKE, there are a few things he expects to occur.

Falling in love isn’t one of them.

Relationships: Mccree and Reyes, Jesse Mccree/Hanzo Shimada

What I enjoyed about the fic: 

The comparison of Reyes to the chessboard black Queen, as opposed to King, with Jack as King and Mccree as Knight. The exciting encounters between Hanzo and Mccree are also appealing, but the chess scene stands out, as well as the relationship between Reyes and Mccree in Blackwatch days. 

[STILL INCOMPLETE]

[[Watching You Run Into the High Noon Sun]]

AsheRhyder

Summary:

Gabriel Reyes taught McCree everything he knows - not to shoot and kill, but how to survive by more than luck and aim.

McCree learns something else as Overwatch falls, fades, and then rises again: in this life, everyone leaves him behind.

He won’t watch it happen again.

Relationships: Mccree and Reyes, Jesse Mccree/Hanzo Shimada

What I enjoyed about the fic:

You will see a ton of AsheRhyder fic in here, just a heads up. They’re my favorite Overwatch fic writer of all time, and I will trust literally anything they come out with. And it began with this fic.

What I loved most about it was ridiculously, canonically competent Mccree. So many fics fail to think past the Cowboy and fail to maximize the potential of what it meant to be a Blackwatch, former gang member prime Black Ops agent, but this fic hit the mark with a Mccree that isn’t defined by his cowboy hat and boots, but not removed from the persona either. 

Also the relationship between Hanzo and Jesse here is very subdued compared to other fics, but beautifully done. For Mccree lovers who enjoy character studies, and anybody who loves good fic, this is the fic for you. Definitely in my top 5 best. 

-

[[Blue Roses and Salted Caramel]]

AsheRhyder

Summary:

Hanzo hated Valentine’s Day and everything that went with it. This got exceptionally awkward for a man whose courier service saw business triple in the lead up to February 14th.

A series of ‘special deliveries’ between Mr. Jack Morrison and Mr. Gabriel Reyes drew his attention. Initially, it was because he wasn’t sure if it was the world’s most polite form of hate mail or the world’s most awkward flirting…

But then there was something about Mr. Reyes’ son, Jesse, that kept him coming back…

Relationship/s: Jack Morrison/Gabriel Reyes, Jesse Mccree/Hanzo Shimada

What I enjoyed about the fic:

Look, it’s Asherhyder again, haha. Though I should note that while I’d decided Asherhyder was my favorite writer in OW, I had no idea this was written by them until after I finished it (because I do not pay attention and didn’t notice the author name lmao)

I just could NOT STOP SMILING AND GIGGLING throughout this entire fic. It’s so fluff it’ll rot your teeth off, it made my pores clear, my crops flourish, I cried tears of healing as I read this fic. 

-

[[Cast a Long, Dark Shadow]]

AsheRhyder

Summary:

Jack will never forgive himself for not noticing it the first time a prisoner dies while in the new Overwatch’s custody. He knows the signs better than anyone alive: Gabriel taught him how to see the invisible fingerprints Blackwatch left behind.

But someone is cutting off his access to the old Blackwatch records, and to manage that, there needs to be an active commander in the field…

Relationship/s: Jack Morrison/Gabriel Reyes

What I enjoyed about the fic:

Asherhyder again? Listen… you gotta read everything this person has written. Do it. Right now. 

This one may actually be my favorite of the lot, at least firmly in the Top 3. Short, but fantastic and poignant in less than 3000 words. Another amazing character study. Read it right now immediately, it won’t take you long. 

-

[[His Master]]

Balenae

Summary:

Master Genji teaches his student Zenyatta at Shambali Temple in Nepal.

And yet…

And yet.

Relationship/s: Genji Shimada/Tekhartha Zenyatta

What I enjoyed about the fic:

Just LOOK AT THAT SUMMARY AND TELL ME YOU’RE NOT INTRIGUED. A role reversal fic–or is it? One of the more heartrending fics on this list, and absolutely beautiful. In that space between sad and happy-poignant. You won’t regret reading it.

-

Update: additional fic as of 5/1/2017

[[The Desert Glacier]]

Seedcity

Summary:

Hanzo Shimada is a one-year veteran of Overwatch. Having been assigned to lead and defend the reinstitution of an abandoned Watchpoint: Grand Mesa, he leads his team against Talon, deals with the pressure of leadership, and longs for the company of his precious cowboy.
Also: ghosts.

Relationship/s: Hanzo Shimada/Jesse Mccree

What I enjoyed about the fic: 

Don’t be fooled by the “Also: ghosts” like it’s a side note, this is one of the best supernatural mystery works I’ve read, and it’s a fanfiction. The supernatural element may not be front and center, but it’s one of the most engaging parts of an engaging and well-written storyline, and the fic reads just like those published mystery novels you love with a twist uniquely Overwatch.

[Still incomplete, but near completion]

-

Update: additional fic as of 5/18/2017

long is the road that leads me home

gnarled

Summary:

You can meet the strangest people on the road. Sometimes, the best.

Relationship/s: Hanzo Shimada/Jesse Mccree

What I enjoyed about the fic:

I can’t believe I forgot about his one when it was one of the ones I promised myself would be on a best fic list before I ever even made one. So here it is!

I love fics that are written with the descriptiveness of published novels, and this one does imagery right. It’s not too long – 17,000+ words, it’s all around fantastically and professionally written, with the fun and intrigue and delicious romance you’d expect from a fanfiction. 

It gives you the juicy bits slowly but in a way that keeps you satisfied. You get a taste of Mccree and Reyes’ backstory (with our favorite Papa Reyes back at it again), of Hanzo’s as well. 

It’s just fantastically well-written. I can’t describe it more than that, you have to read it to get the full experience. 

-

Update: additional fics as of 6/17/2017

[[Temper]]

Bullfinch

Summary:

Jack joins the SEP and finds trouble almost immediately. At least his commanding officer is on his side—supposedly.

Relationship/s: Jack Morrison/Gabriel Reyes

What I enjoyed about the fic:

The fic is about transman Jack Morrison, and what I loved about it is how it tackled the aspects of the Soldier Enhancement program that a lot of writers gloss over, like how it would physically and chemically affect various soldiers, etc. It also posed and answered the question of how fictional supersoldier modification could affect real life (or at least futuristic real life) FTM transition. everything’s well thought out, the characters are interesting and fun, especially Jack’s friends and roommates, and the tension–sexual or otherwise–between Jack and Gabe is intense, gets you more excited to see the conclusion overall. 

-

[[When We Were Young]]

JudgeCoffee

Summary:

When Jack Morrison was 18, he joined the military. Fifteen weeks later, he joined the Soldier Enhancement Program, and that was when he met Gabriel Reyes. That was when everything changed.

Relationship/s: Jack Morrison/Gabriel Reyes

What I enjoyed about the fic:

So it’s rare for a fic’s OCs to really set it apart, but that’s what happened here. The story was well done, with some amazing side characters and “co-stars” in the program with Jack and Gabe that really gave this fic heart. It also shows Gabe to be a cold, terrifying black-ops style killer, which I love for the sake of canon–a guy who’s a hero, but also the kind of man who you wouldn’t be surprised headed Blackwatch. 

Also it opens on a BDSM scene. So that’s fun. 

-

Update: additional fic as of 8/12/2017

[[Life is Strange]]

firesonic152

Summary:

Time travel. It was the most harebrained idea Winston had ever come up with, but even he had to admit it was probably their only option.
This is a terrible plan, he mused.

An ill-fated trip to the past leaves Gabriel pining for a man that no longer exists.

Relationship/s: Jack Morrison/Gabriel Reyes

What I enjoyed about the fic:

The feels, man. The feels. This one kind of plowed me with the deep emotion and desperation on top of time travel shenanigans between Soldier and Reaper. It gets sad but hopeful at the same time, it casts Soldier’s regret so heartrendingly. It’s not one of the most well-written fics on the list, but it’s certainly one of the most moving. I love the whole aspect of love reaching through time and space without it getting too cheesy. Definitely worth the read and subsequent feels bomb. 



Side note: in case y’all think their name sounds familiar, yes, that is the same Asherhyder who created the Roommates webcomic on deviantart. A quality writer/artist who does quality work all around. Blessed is the Overwatch fandom for having them. 

Side note 2: there’s a fic series I forgot the name of, but I’m gonna add it to the list later. I’ll also be adding fics that I find striking as I go along. I tend to favor McHanzo, Reaper76, Genyatta and Roadrat, so if you think there’s a fic that should be on this list that isn’t, this is basically just a reflection of my fic reading preferences. 

2

Ljuba Prenner (1906-1977) was a Slovenian writer and lawyer. He* was baptised as Amalija Marija Uršula but started calling himself Ljuba early in childhood. In high school, he got a short men’s haircut and started wearing men’s clothes. Because of his gender (presentation) he had to work a lot harder than his peers to pass and had to transfer high schools several times all while supporting himself, but he persisted and moved to Ljubljana to study law after graduating high school in Belgrade. He got his PhD in law in 1941, and started working with the National Liberation Front, saving Slovenian prisoners from Italian prisons and concentration camps based on a fake law he made up, until Germans caught him. He fought for justice his whole career and was very passionate about saving people from death sentence and staged trials. His progressive political views often clashed with authorities and he was banned from practising law for seven years, expelled from Slovenian Writers’ Society, banned from writing, and sentenced to a working camp for two years.

Despite the problems he encountered as a writer, he published a lot of short stories, children’s stories, and had two theater plays and an opera libretto staged. He also went down in history as the author of the first proper Slovenian detective novel (allegedly written on a bet). He also wrote first person (using masculine grammatical gender) love poetry for his lover. He loved art and was friends with many important artists of the time.

Little is known about his romantic life. He lived with maths professor Slavica Rems, who also kept a lot of his unpublished manuscripts, and was later close with teacher Štefka Vrhnjak. They wanted to grow old together, but Štefka died of cancer which broke Ljuba’s heart. He met Štefka’s niece Marija Mrzel Krenker and her family at the funeral and started spending a lot of time with them, eventually moving in and living with them as a family member. Jerca Mrzel, one of the daughters, says that the kids saw Ljuba as a father figure and referred to him as “striček” (uncle).

He was known for facing prejudice with a good sense of humor. His legal assistant recounted a story of him entering the office on the first day of work in a new legal firm with a batch of kremna rezina cakes, saying, “I’m Dr. Ljuba Prenner, not a man nor a woman and I brought you cakes so that you can treat yourselves.” (“Jaz sem dr. Ljuba Prenner, ne moški ne ženska, tukaj imate torte in se posladkajte.”) There is only one known written account of him talking about his gender presentation in a letter, saying, “Wearing trousers makes living easier for me, I suffer in skirts, and God only knows why that is. I was afraid of being myself for years, but I am myself now, and people have finally stopped paying it any mind.” He also famously responded to rumours and slander saying, “Anyone who talks behind my back is talking to my ass.” (“Kdor za mojim hrbtom govori, se z mojo ritjo pogovarja.”)

He died of cancer aged 71, nursed through his final months by the Mrzel family.

_____________________________________________________________

*I use he/him pronouns for Ljuba, because one of his step daughters confirmed that he referred to himself in masculine grammatical gender among friends, and allegedly also in letters to them (but those have not been published yet). It is also possible that his chosen name was Ljubo (masculine) and not Ljuba (feminine) but since all sources that I have found insist on calling him Ljuba (and most a woman) it’s hard to tell.

little-magicpuff  asked:

I knew you met Dianna Gabbadon but not JK Rowling, when was this? Is there a story is it just everyone in the UK meets every famous UK celebrity at some point?

lol, no. The island is not that small. 

I “met” her because I used to work at a bookshop, it was one of my first jobs as a teenager, along with gathering up empty pint glasses in the pub for 2 quid an hour and the occasional bout of babysitting. Presumably when parents were desperate. 

It was the small village bookshop I got my first self bought book from with my pocket money at the tender age of five, and it was fairly inconsequential to the rest of the world but was the absolute hub of community and gossip for our little town second only to the tea house after church.

I’d flit from the cash register to the cafe at the back, learning to make coffee on an expensive Italian machine no one really trusted because using it to boil water for tea always burned the leaves, so the boss was always fuming that she’d spent a fortune on this shiny bit of equipment, and I was still brewing water for tea in the giant copper kettle on the ancient cast iron stove in the back because otherwise no one wanted it.

She was a hobbyist owner that one, meaning she didn’t actually want to run a bookshop but enjoyed saying that she did and was wealthy enough to not care if it failed. I always vowed one day I’d have enough money to buy it back from her and do it right. Except she managed to run it into the ground and now it’s a pawnshop.

Which is a profound shame because not only was it a vital community space, but it was also a beautiful old stone building that had last been refurbished sometime circa the 1920s, if not before then if I remember the plumbing right. It was all dark gleaming woods and shiny brass fixtures inside. It was the kind of bookshop you imagine when you read fairy stories. And now it’s all vinyl plastic and abandoned trinkets. Shame.

Anyway, long before the shop’s eventual demise, Order of the Phoenix was coming out and my boss had an idea in her head that she wanted to do a Thing for it to try and boost sales, and she chattered animatedly to anyone who would listen about how pretty it was going to be and how the newspaper would be there too. Also her “girl friend” was going to stop by to help out during the week, a statement which none of us thought about much because she always had some rich “girl friend” dropping by to inflict something on the shop. Like the one woman going through a midlife crisis who reinvented herself as a positive vibes guru and spent a whole afternoon “cleansing” the negative energy out of the store and managing to start an electrical fire when she flicked water onto the old electric wire heaters. (In her defense we did have to have a rather big clean out after that.)

True to the boss’s incompetence, she vastly under ordered copies of the book (200, she ordered 200, for the only bookshop for miles, while places like Waterstones in the city were ordering by the thousands and selling out in under two hours) and spent all her money on making the shop look the part and having fancy cakes baked by the bakery I would later go on to work for. 

I turned up to work that morning wearing my official “follow me for Harry Potter” t-shirt which was distributed to all official retailers, a purple witches cloak I’d spent a week sewing (and still own) a pointy hat, and my mother’s old heather broom. I spent my morning before opening time running around the local shops picking up food orders (and also delivering books, because when they said they delivered free locally, what they actually meant was I’d hop on my bike and ring the doorbell) and generally standing out like a sore thumb and ending up with a gaggle of children following me back to the shop, their parents dragged behind them.

I dare say my mother still has the newspaper clipping of 16 year old me sitting outside under the old oak tree on my tea break, nose buried in a copy of the book with the headline “Witch Way For Harry Potter” over my head. 

It was my first officially recognized (visual) pun that was ever published. The journalist was delighted when he realized it was intentional on my part and even asked me if he could use it. It’s still something I’m very (not quite so) secretly proud over. 

But right before that moment, when the picture was being taken, the photographer managed to capture my expression of pure surprise when I opened up the book to find that it was signed.*

So yea, about that “girl friend” who was turning up to help. 

Yea. 

Turns out I’ve made tea for both Diana Gabbadon and Rowling and not realized who they were until afterwards, although unlike Gabbadon the most I said to Rowling was “one lump or two?” and didn’t even glance at her. She was just another one of the boss’s blonde friends there to do something pointless like feng shui the audio books then fuck off again.

And they say these kind of things happen in threes, so I’m just quietly dreading which other author I’ve casually dismissed to their face without realizing it. I’ve probably told Stephen King I thought clowns weren’t that scary or something at the airport and Pennywise is just waiting to drag me to hell.

One can only hope.

Also Hagrid used to drive his sports car past my house most days, but that’s another story.


*a copy I didn’t even get to keep because the boss sold any and all copies left lying around in the shop when she realized her ordering mistake and didn’t even tell us until afterwards. I phoned my dad in tears saying someone had stolen my book from behind the desk, so god love him, he drove to Glasgow and waited in the hellish lines outside the still packed Waterstones and got me another copy. And a chocolate bar. Cause that was my dad lol.

Bit more about Japanese culture and anime...

There was some interest after this Inuyasha post. Thought it would be cool to go more in-depth and relate it to anime, so next time you watch something you can go, “Oh yeah. That happens over there.”

Originally posted by sam2119931

No, THAT doesn’t happen in Japan.

As a word of caution: I grew up near Tokyo in the 90′s, when the economic bubble had burst but your average family didn’t feel the effects until later. Culture may have shifted slightly after the economic downturn (I know there’s a more nationalistic undertone now, like most of Asia), and everything I say will not apply to all of Japan. Places like Sapporo and Ōsaka have their own distinct cultures, like how New York and Texas are uniquely different.

But since most anime are set in or are geared towards the Tokyo crowd, I have a good idea of the cultural influences. Especially when relating it to Inuyasha, which was published and set in the 90′s (at least in Kagome’s modern time).

Originally posted by 19-de--fevereiro

Memories~

Also, what I’m about to say below is about Japan (Tokyo). Please don’t start applying it to other countries in Asia, or you will be laughably misled.

Additionally, I’m not some researcher who did extensive study on my own culture. I’m just relating to y’all my background, experiences, and the little bit of knowledge I’ve gleaned from my memories of living there as a little girl, as well as from stories shared by my parents.

Suffice it to say, you should not cite me for your research paper.

Originally posted by emiria

You’re on your own, suckers!

I didn’t want to bother making multiple posts, so this is gonna be looooong. It’s not all roses either. If you have this fantastic, perfect vision of Japan, turn back now! You hear me?

Now then.

Are you ready, kids?

HERE. WE. GOOOOO!!!

Keep reading

Unrequited (part 1)

Pairing: Bucky x Reader; Sam x Reader (friendship)

A/N: This is my first [published] fic, was not requested obviously, just something that has been around on my mind. I am thinking about making it a series with part 2 in Bucky’s POV. Feedback is always welcomed let me know what you think!

Summary: You are new in the tower and have a crush on Bucky, but he does not feel the same way and you overheard him.

Warnings: lots of Angst, Bucky being sort of a douche, alcohol consumption (?)

Originally posted by dolorioushaze


“That new girl, Y/N, is pretty cute don’t you think?” Sam said. You were currently hiding in the corridor, not that you were purposely eavesdropping, no, it happened by chance, you were walking to the kitchen feeling like doing some experimental cooking, your spirits were high you had a good week and you were almost skipping through the tower when you heard voices. Sam and Bucky chatting. About women. You needed to know, because it was undeniable to you now that you had a huge infatuation on Bucky, only after a week. Granted the man was a beautiful specimen of male perfection but it wasn’t just about that, the way he moved, the way he spoke, damn it Y/N get a grip

You arrived at the tower as a new administrative assistant, hired by Tony after an extensive background check. Working with Tony Stark was pretty much a career dream for you, little did you know it also came with the perks of living in the tower and getting to know the Avengers. Rent for free, a generous paycheck, how could you resist.

Back to the present, Sam Wilson seemed to be teasing James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes about you, you almost squealed in delight, but you kept quiet.
“Nah, I have seen prettier” Bucky answered. Your heart sank, yeah, you were no Black Widow, but you weren’t  ugly, were you?

“C’mon man, she is funny and smart too,”  Sam interjected. you left right there, you did not want Barnes to destroy your confidence in your wits too, your spirits were crashed already and you no longer felt like cooking, or eating, rejection albeit indirect had a horrible toll on you. So you silently left the way you came, towards your bedroom.

You laid in bed running your mind. A knock came around dinner. Sam asking if you wanted to join them. Spaghetti, your favorite. In turn, you declined and turned in early.


The weekend was uneventful, everyone did there on thing. You caught up with your ever-growing pile of books to be read, running into Bucky a couple of times, and exchanging a few words, it still hurt, his words, but after following your favorite characters around in adventures and their own heartbreaks you couldn’t help but feel better, and that way you entered the second week of work.

Soon you established a friendship with Sam, and the weeks started to pass peacefully. You teased each other and joked nonstop, your humor was so similar it was easy being around him. That came with Bucky company sometimes, especially in late afternoons when you finished work and you and Sam liked to chill to good music and drinks. Bucky was quiet most of the time, but observant. You were aware of his eyes observing you, assessing everything.
You tried to forget your crush and act normal since he was clearly not interested. Bucky was not a womanizer per se, but he had his fair share of one night stands that, to your bewilderment and disappointment, looked exactly the opposite of you.

One of those fortuitous afternoons Sam decided to make himself scarce claiming he had a bad week and wanted to turn in early, you would have bought it were it not for his concealed smirk, he was up to no good and you knew it.

“Hey Buck,” you greeted him, surprised when he entered the lounge where you were having some quality time by yourself, “didn’t you have a date?” that came out unexpected, you though.

Bucky looked at you and after a bit, he said, “I blew her off, I didn’t feel like going” He looked at you intently, as if measuring your reaction, and through himself on the couch next to yours. You squirmed under his unflinching gaze, “do you want a drink?” you offered.

“Sure,” he said, “I’ll have what you are having”. You pour a glass of wine and offered it to him. His fingers brushed yours and lingered a second too long, you look at him, into his stormy blue eyes, and your breath hitched, your heart beating at a fast rhythm. You pulled back first bewildered, and quickly made your way to your sit.

Bucky’s eyes were still on you you could feel them. But you didn’t want to look at him, you were confused, unsure, and that was something you didn’t like. He on the other hand, seemed completely in his element,  were you the only one feeling the tension?

“How was your week?”, he inquired. Surprised, yet again, you coughed “Quiet, quieter than usual that is, but anything I do must seem boring compared to your job”, you added trying to joke, after that the silence and the tension grew. Bucky finished his glass of wine and stood, you thought he was going to leave but instead he picked the book you left on the coffee table and came to sit next to you.

“I saw you reading this the other day, what is it about?” You picked it up, The Fellowship of the Ring, one of your favorites, of the ones you re-read for comfort.

“Well..:” you smirked and just like that the evening passed with you talking books with Bucky, it seemed you shared that hobby.

Later that night, while you tried to sleep, you would recap every single moment of that evening. The way he looked at you was so… intense, not exactly friendly and that only made it more confusing. He was different that much was obvious, but he was also different with you, and since he already stablished he didn’t like you, you couldn’t wrap your mind as to what it meant. As so many nights before you feel asleep thinking of Bucky, only this time you were certain your feelings were stronger than you thought.

Nocturne | 01

Character: Jungkook x OC (feat. BTS)

Type/Genre/words: Angst, Alternate Universe (Hitman!au, Assassin!au), Smut/Mature Scenes | 8,606 words

Prompts: “What would you find when you keep chasing over the ghosts of your past?”

Summary: It took only one night, one event, for the fate of two children to change. And it took another night, and another event, for Jungkook to finally met her.

Warning: mentions of violence, mentions of usage of guns and weapons, smoking and alcohol mentions, language, includes a little bit of girl x girl scene, graphic smut, mentions of cum play

| Prologue | 01 |

| Music Playlist | Characters |


Keep reading

catatonicparasomnia  asked:

what's your list of fav bellarke fan fiction????

im currently bitter bc i basically had this finished but tumblr decided to have a glitch and delete it all. anyway, here’s round 2 

cause i got you, and now that’s all that matters by @marauders-groupie

lana is beautiful and so is this fic. i think my tag for it was just a bunch of exclamation points which basically means that i’ll be in love with it forever and never be able to properly use words when talking about it. 

Clarke gets dirt stuck under her nails, Bellamy always keeps books at hand, they are both a mess but somewhere between throwing tomatoes at each other and hiding, they fall in love.

Or: Bellarke in the countryside.

Prompt: Imagine Bellarke in Modern AU. With Sunday brunches on the back porch and whispered I love yous when no one else is listening.

aphelion by @kindclaws

with the possibility of coming across as too much, let me just say that there are few people who have stolen my heart in the degree that Sara has. That being said, even if I didn’t love her to the moon and back, I would still be able to see beautiful talent, and that is definitely something that my dear friend has. So here’s the short summary of my latest obsession of hers: 

It’s been two years since the spaceship Aphelion mysteriously disappeared, its crew branded by the ARK as traitors to be shot on sight. Jake Griffin was on that ship, and with him, a dangerous secret that could change civilized space forever.

Now, Clarke wants some answers - and revenge, if she can get it. Bellamy wants a bigger ship - specifically, Clarke’s. Wells wants to fix the system his father broke. Octavia wants a little fun. Miller wants everyone to stop making poor life choices. Harper wants to kiss the new girl. And Raven? Well, Raven just wants to blow shit up.

The universe won’t know what’s hit it. (Space pirates AU!)

Sent and Delivered by @clarkescrusade

Listen. I love social media aus, nerdy!Bellamy and thirsty!Clarke. Thankfully this fic has a little of all that. It also has adorable fanboy Jas and that’s also a plus for me. This one has stayed with me since the night i read it, so it’s def up there on my faves list. 

Clarke is pretty sure Bellamy is the hottest lyft driver she’s ever had, and it certainly doesn’t hurt that he’s a pretty great conversationalist, too. When she finds out him and Raven used to work together, it feels natural to become friends. She just never thought they’d get along quite so well, or that their lives would come together so easily, or that she’d fall madly in love with him. But that’s life.

aka: a social media au incorporating text messages, snapchats, tweets, and instagrams that definitely no one asked for.

You’re Cool On The Internet, At Least by @prosciuttoe

Once again, SOCIAL MEDIA AU. They meet on facebook and yeah. this is hella cute. I love it. Also, anything Em writes is magic, so please read this and give her the love and adoration she deserves. 

Look, Clarke will not dwell on this. She will not get flustered just because a possibly cute guy on Facebook apparently shares her views on what constitutes a terrible person.

Ten minutes later, her phone gives a short, irritated buzz; startling her enough that she jumps.

Biting at the inside of her cheek, she allows herself a quick peek.

Friend request from Bellamy Blake.

Clarke has no idea how she manages to develop a crush on a guy who won’t stop fighting everyone on Facebook, but here they are.

(Or: Clarke meets Bellamy on Facebook. They hit it off.)

neither lost nor found by awildthing 

other than social media au, my weakness is modern magic users au. AND THIS IS BEAUTIFUL. 

Bellamy Blake arrives on campus and Clarke’s magic suddenly starts going haywire.

Or, Clarke meets another magic user and teaches him to control his gift–and learns some things along the way.

I Don’t Want To Be Your Friend (i wanna kiss your neck) by @spacexualkids

i love tierney more than i love most people on this god forsaken site. her writing is always like coming home which is way too cheesy even for me. so here. read this summary so i dont become a blubbering mess. 

She finds Bellamy back on that floral couch. They’d moved it into the screened room for the winter, and then back out again once the days grew long and warm. It was becoming another tradition, apparently.

And so was this; him smoking on the sofa, her head on his shoulder, voices low in the early morning while everyone else was asleep and the world felt like it belonged to them, just for the moment.

“Someone had fun,” he teases, flicking at a spot on her neck. Clarke reaches up to feel the tender skin; Glass must have given her a hickey while they were getting carried away.

She flushes, but he’s looking back at the sunrise. “I always have fun,” she reminds him, and he groans.

“Yeah, I remember.”

“This is my favorite part, though,” Clarke says, curling up a little more against him so he’ll put his arm around her for warmth. She’s still kind of drunk, so she’s not sure if she’s making sense, but she trusts that he’ll get it. Bellamy always seems to understand what she means. “Just–us. It’s my favorite.”

Bellamy stubs out his cigarette and leans back against her. “Mine too.”

That’s all I have time for tonight, but I do have a longer one in my drafts that I plan on finishing and publishing soon. 

I will also use this to shamelessly self promo - I’m taking requests for the next two weeks bc HOLIDAYS! no more teaching for me for two weeks and that is glorious. 

so pls send in any and all prompts you want filled by yours truly

Pity Party (Poly!Hamilsquad x Reader)

Originally posted by clinatasha

Pairing: Poly!Hamilsquad x Reader

Requested?: ‘Hi! If your still taking request can you please do a poly!hamilsquad x reader and it’s their birthday but the boy’s don’t know?’

Prompt: It’s Reader’s thirtieth birthday and her boyfriends forgot. 

Words: 1100+

Warnings: Yelling, Crying, Swearing, Forgotten birthday

Masterlist // Part Two

~~~

Today, you turned thirty. 

You woke up with this hitting you like a runaway train. You stared at the ceiling as your four lovers slept soundly around you. You went on a short trip through your twenties. You graduated high school at seventeen and immediately enrolled into nursing school. You graduated nursing school at twenty-one with your bachelor’s degree. You landed your current job as a full-time nurse a few months later. When you were twenty-four, you reunited with your high school friends and found yourself falling in love again with Alexander Hamilton, John Laurens, Hercules Mulligan, and Lafayette. When you turned twenty-six, the boys took you to vegas and you woke up the next day hungover and married to Alexander (You and Alexander were really drunk and went to a drive thru wedding chapel). This ‘marriage’ then lead to you entering a poly relationship with your new husband and his boyfriends. And now here you were, at age thirty, with the same job and same lovers.

You sat up after a few minutes, remembering you had to work. You got out of bed and did your normal routine; you showered, got dressed in your nurse scrubs and sneakers, braided your hair, tossed your pajamas into the hamper, and walked into the kitchen to make coffee and your normal weekday breakfast. You felt kind sad that you’re ‘old’, according to millennials. But, you were still the youngest out of your lovers; you now being thirty, Alexander and Lafayette both being thirty-two, John being thirty-three, and Hercules being thirty-five. You guys would tease Hercules for being old but then the tables were turned and you’d be teased about being the ‘baby’ of the relationship. You were okay with being twenty-nine since you were still in your twenties. But now you were the newest member of the thirties club. Oh, you could hear the teasing now. This day should go by fast or else you were gonna start lopping heads.

You were intently staring at the toaster as Alexander entered the kitchen. You and he were always the early risers and would always the first people to leave the apartment. 

“’Morning, my love.” Alexander murmured sleepily as he hugged your waist and kissed your shoulder. You murmured a ‘good morning’ as you retrieved your toaster waffles. You nibbled on the flaky pastry as Alexander poured himself a mug of coffee. You waited for him to say the phrase that reminded you of your wasted youth but you frowned when he didn’t.

“Alex?” You said his name as you watched him from the open space carved into the wall that divided the kitchen from the open living space. 

“Yes, love?” Alexander answered as he turned on his laptop at the dining room table.

“What day is it?”

“Wednesday. Why?”

Your eye twitched. Why wasn’t he saying it? It was just two words. ‘Happy birthday’. He didn’t….. No, Alexander never forgot your birthday. You knew him more than Lafayette, John, and Hercules. He always remembered. Every year. Maybe he did forget this year? He has been pretty busy lately with his latest novel and having to switch publishers. That was understandable. 

Lafayette and John enter the living space. John takes a seat at the dining room table and Lafayette walked into the kitchen. He murmured something in your hair as he hugged your waist. John rested his head on the table as he slowly woke up. You pulled away from Lafayette as you grabbed your coat and bag. 

“See ya.” You said as you left the apartment without another word.

Lafayette watched you leave and frowned. “Did we forget something today?” He asked. Alexander shook hesitantly and John shrugged.

“Not that I know of.” John murmured. 

~~

Later that Night ~

You had a really stressful day. You clocked in and immediately had to deal with the asshole family of one of your child patients. The child had a broken arm and the mother yelled at him because it was his fault he broke his arm. You ended up calling security and she cursed at you, which you expected. Some of your fellow nurses wished you a happy birthday and gave you sweets and cards. You felt better but there was a hollow feeling in your heart because your lovers most likely forgot your birthday. You didn’t receive any ‘happy birthday’ texts from Alexander, John, Hercules, or Lafayette. But you did get texts from Eliza, Angelica, Peggy, George, Thomas, Aaron, James, even your parents and your friends’ parents. Your mood got worse and worse as the day dragged on. It started to rain when you got off work and you took the subway. The subway was delayed for about a half hour until you were able to get home.

You walked into the apartment and dropped your bag and coat on the ground. The apartment was dark but you saw the blue light of the television in the living space ahead of you. You could see Alexander, Lafayette, and John sitting on the couch and Hercules wasn’t anywhere to be seen. You kicked off your shoes and walked into the living space. They didn’t notice you until you started emptying your scrubs’ pockets, putting the birthday sweets and gift cards onto the dining table. Alexander stood and walked over to you, about to give you his usual ‘welcome home’ hug and kiss but you stepped back, your arms crossing. He lowered his arms, confused.

“Did something happen, (Y/N)?” Alexander asked.

You bit your lip and glared at him. “Do you have any idea what day it is today?”

Alexander frowned and shook his head. Lafayette paused the movie and he and John stood up and walked over to you and Alexander. Hercules emerged from the hallway and came over as well.

“Today is my fucking birthday!” You hissed, tears leaking from your eyes that were squeezed shut. “My thirtieth birthday!”

The guys all froze, their jaws hanging open. You growled as you pointed to the cards and candies on the table. “My co-workers remembered. Our friends remembered. Hell, you parents remembered! Why the fuck couldn’t you?!”

“Mon Amour-” Lafayette started but you held up your hand, silencing him.

Don’t.” You hissed. “Don’t you fucking dare. You can apologize when this day is over.” You grabbed your coat and bag.

“Where are you going?” Hercules asked as you opened the door.

“I’m staying with Eliza for the night.” You said before you looked at them with a fake sarcastic smile and tears falling down your face.

And thank you for such a fantastic thirtieth birthday.

And then you left, the door slamming behind you.

Tags!!: @notthrowingawaymyfood @iamnotthrowingawaymyshit @building-palaces-from-paragraphs @imagineham @dear-alexander @listenlyss @casual-hamiltrash @thatgingerpotato @21fallingoutpanickingchemicals

anonymous asked:

Have you ever had to restart a short story or book completely from scratch? If so, how did you keep from becoming completely disheartened? Thanks!

Oh God yes, that’s happened to me. I don’t know how you keep from getting upset over something like this – it’s a loss, after all, and upset is the normal response – but it’s what you do in the aftermath that counts.

I need to come at this from two directions: when you lose work you’ve been paid for / have under contract, and when it happens to work you’re doing for pleasure or haven’t yet sold.

My most horrific example of this was when a disc crash combined with corrupt backups left me with nothing two weeks before SPOCK’S WORLD was due at the publisher. “Disheartened” doesn’t begin to describe it, but at the time I had no leisure to indulge that or waste precious work time on screaming fits. My editor told me that the book was due on Day X and THAT WAS THAT. It was the very first hardcover Trek novel. They had commissioned me specifically for this work because they believed I was then the best Star Trek writer available. The book was already heavily presold, and there was no wiggle room in the schedule. My editor didn’t care what I did, but I was expected to act like a professional and get on with it and turn a book in on The Day.

So I pulled up my Big Girl Knickers and got ON with it. I reconstructed and retyped the destroyed 70K of words over one week, and wrote the necessary 40K or so of words necessary to complete the book over the next week. (And it was a good thing that I was both very, very familiar with my material, having been quite close to it for many weeks, and also had an incredibly detailed outline to prompt my memory where it failed.) And having rebuilt what was lost and sent it away, then I spent a few days having a wee collapse (and taking a lot of aspirin: I didn’t have a proper typing chair and had done all that writing in a straight-backed kitchen chair. My back wasn’t right again for nearly a month).

This disaster turned out, in retrospect, to be one of those Blessings In Disguise things: I’m convinced to this day that the recreation of the lost material was far better than the original. And the book did then spend eight weeks on the NYTBS list, which has to be some kind of validation. But if this situation illustrates anything, it’s that firmness of purpose (and sheer terror) can overcome downheartedness pretty easily when the stakes are high enough… as I knew my career and I were dead meat if I didn’t deliver.

Now, work done on your own nickel, without that kind of pressure overshadowing you, is another story.

I remember vividly a short work I’d written, 12,000 words (well, it’s short around here) about one of the painted lanterns made for the Fasnacht carnival in Basel. These lanterns are exquisite works of art, made by the best graphic artists in the city, decorated with topical artwork and involved poetry in Baslerdeutsch, and paraded around the city for the admiration of all… and then, at the end of the carnival, they’re ceremonially burned. This story was about one of these lanterns that – having for some reason or other become sentient – decides not to put up with being burned, and flees.

I was really, REALLY fond of this story, and worked on it on and off over the course of a year. “The Runaway Laderne” was nearly finished when I sent a copy of it to one of my editors to let her take a look of it. And then… bang, another disc crash, and the Laderne was gone for real. But by the time this happened and I contacted my editor to see if I could recover a copy from her, it turned out she’d inadvertently purged it from her mailbox.

I was really, really disappointed about this. And even now, every now and then I find myself undertaking a half-hearted search among some older backups to see if a copy of it might have escaped. But what I knew about the story in the year that followed was that the passion that had driven the writing to the point where the story was 99% done had indeed finished its work: it had burned itself clean in the execution of the work… so would take twice as much energy to recover. And if I couldn’t find the time to work in a reconstruction of the story around work I was being paid to do, then maybe I was just going to have to cut my losses on that story and hope to meet it again in some better place. (I.e., “writer heaven”… where you meet your work in its perfect form, instead of the inevitably flawed stuff that works its way out in a world ridden with entropy.)

There comes a point where you learn to choose your fights. Shock at losing work – and the  initial response of feeling disheartened – I think can be overcome either by necessity, or by the underlying urge to write the story not yet having exhausted itself. There’s definitely a level at which the image of the unwritten work, and the expectation of what it can become if you can just nail the damn thing down on paper or in electrons, will drive you mercilessly until it’s done. (THE DOOR INTO FIRE did that with me: picked me up in its teeth and dragged me back to the typewriter night and day until it was finished.) Other works are more leisurely, and just kind of nag at you from the  sidelines.

But if you’re finished or near-finished, and the initial creative impetus has exhausted itself, then once you’ve recovered from the initial shock of loss, you have to sit down and do your own mental math to determine whether the expenditure of energy needed to recover or reconstruct the work is going to be, as they say over here, “worth the candle”. No one else but you can do that math. It’s unquestionably painful to decide that you can’t or don’t want to commit to reconstruction: but you have to determine what’s to be gained. I can still see that laderne in my head, and feel a bit sorry about its loss:  but I also do know that the story was all but finished, that it was a good piece of work that satisfied me, and that what I learned from it would go to contribute later to other work: because no work you do is wasted, even if it’s lost.

All creative work to some extent – if only a small one – serves to structure the unstructured and impose order on chaos: and where that happens, the universe remembers being structured, and appreciates it. And also, “practice makes perfect”: you may have lost the written, but you haven’t lost the writer, and the impress of what you did has sunk itself into your synapses. Even when lost, the work was worth doing, and its spirit will covertly animate your next piece of work. So if you’ve lost something, don’t despair: get up, dust yourself off and open a new file or roll a blank page into the typewriter. Stories may get lost, but Story is immortal: possibly more so than we are.  

HTH. :)

Work Comes Home - Part 8

Summary: You work for the company that publishes Hamilton: The Revolution.

Words: Approx. 6100

Author’s Note: Thanks to everyone who read this over (@ourforgottenboleros​, @secretschuylersister​, @letsgiggletogether​: your enthusiasm and excitement honestly helps me to write this. @iwrotemywayto-revolution​ THANK YOU for fixing my horrible grammar - you’re amazing.) Let me know if there’s any little mistakes, I can go in and fix later <3

Disclaimer: I’m sorry for any pain, there’s a few more parts left in this story so please stay with me. Feel free to yell at me all you like because I UNDERSTAND. Again, the timeline is definitely a little weird and artistic liberties were obviously taken in reference to the publishing industry. 

Warnings: Angst, maybe swearing

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Last night my husband showed me a local Beaumont news story about a woman died in my hometown as she tried to stay afloat in the floodwaters of Hurricane Harvey. The little girl was rescued alive, but the mother was unresponsive. I shook my head. The next morning, I saw a post in the Facebook group for my high school senior class about the tragedy. Photos appeared in the comments and that’s when I fell apart: police had identified the woman who died as my friend Collette.

Articles about her death were published all over the country. The LA Times called her death “a true testament to a mother’s will.” The NY Times headlined her as “Drowning Mama.” I don’t mention these descriptions because they’re wrong, they’re all true, but because it felt strange to read about someone I knew described as a near-anonymous victim.

Many people in my senior class had trouble remembering her. They dug up old yearbook photos and confirmed she did indeed graduate with us at West Brook Senior High School. That’s understandable, you can’t know everyone you went to high school with. But I knew her, and I’d like to write down what I remember about her before she becomes another Facebook profile memorial.

I don’t remember how I met Collette. It must have been soon after I moved back to Texas, and we were friends from middle school until we graduated from high school. We ate lunch together when we had matching lunch periods, went to the movies, showed up at each other’s parties, had sleepovers and hung out at the mall. I can see her sitting on my couch, or my bedroom floor, chatting the night away about nothing in particular. One night, just for fun, I recorded our voices and played it back.

“Turn it off,” she said. “That conversation was boring the first time.”

One day I took a plastic frog to school and pretended to pick it up from the ground. I told her I’d caught a real frog and when I tried to show it to her, she backed away. I tossed it at her and she squealed and ran off. When she came back I admitted it was plastic and she gave me that smile and rolled her eyes. At lunch, I left the frog on my soda can while we went to the food line and when we came back, a group of kids were circling it. Thinking they were crushing a real frog, they smacked the can and spilled soda all over Collette’s food. She was very forgiving.

She was late for every movie. All of them. Not “missed the previews” late, not even “thirty minutes in” late. She would show up a full hour into every show. I usually let her pick the film and she’s the reason I saw Curly Sue and Threesome in the theater. Threesome was so bad, I leaned over near the end and whispered, “This is awful, let’s just go.”

She folded her arms and clenched her teeth. “I paid to see this movie,” she said, “and I’m gonna’ watch it.”

I didn’t argue with her, she’d paid full price to see half a movie. I sat back and watched Stephen Baldwin have an awkward sex scene because fair was fair.

People gave her a hard time about her weight. “You have such a pretty face, they tell me,” she said once. “You would be so pretty if you lost weight. That just, uch…” She didn’t need to put into words how vicious and useless it was to say things like that. Collette was tougher than the people who tried to define her by her body.

Collette and her mother were close. One year her mother rented a hotel room for her daughter’s birthday and invited a group of us to stay. We watched Single White Female and scared ourselves to death. There was cake and a sparkly chandelier from Party City and we stayed up too late and it was one of the best nights of my life. Collette loved parties.

Dooney and Burke handbags were a must-have among affluent girls at my high school. We weren’t affluent girls, but Collette’s mom gave her the money to buy one anyway. There was only one store that sold them at Parkdale Mall and they had a reputation for using saleswomen to intimidate teens into leaving the store. I didn’t want to shop in a store like that but she wanted me to go along so I went with her for support. She marched right up to the counter and picked out a purse without paying any attention to how the saleswomen were looking at her. Collette was fearless.

I tried to find pictures, but I haven’t yet. Pictures were physical back then. I did find the note she wrote me in our senior yearbook. It read:

Hi Georgia,

Well, it’s four years later and soon we’ll be off to college. I can’t believe we’re SENIORS. We’ve had a lot of fun over the years but it seems like we’re always busy. Good luck in college and the future. Have fun and remember you only live once.

Love,

Collette Sulcer

Ps. Stay in touch.

We didn’t. Every graduate in 1994 knew how hard it would be to stay in touch in a world that had stopped writing letters but hadn’t yet discovered cellphones, Facebook and e-mail. I went out of state and she went to Lamar. She became the kind of medical technician her co-workers can’t stop raving about. An entire hospital of medical professionals in Port Arthur, Texas is grieving her tonight.

When Facebook took off, we found each other again and I followed her life from a distance. She had a baby and I thought, “We’re both mothers now, look at us.” On August 27, I was working late and I saw a Facebook notification pop up that read, “Collette Sulcer has marked herself safe from Hurricane Harvey.”

“That’s nice,” I thought. She was in Beaumont, not Corpus or Houston. She was safe.

Except a few hours later, she wasn’t.

I’d been thinking about Collette a lot lately because I’ve been writing about her. I’ve often written about her, under different names and characters. She exemplified how to be a friend, and I admired her honesty, her positivity, her support and her compassion. Collette was someone I wished I could be more like.

I hope Jordyn reads this someday, when she’s older. I’d like her to know what her mother was like when she was young, that she was a hero who loved her more than her own life, but that she was also a person worth knowing who uplifted everybody who knew her. They deserved more time together.