she was only sixteen years old

Promised Land

Request: if you’re still taking Narnia requests, can I get an Edmund x reader where people call her “the best archer in Narnia” and Edmund realizes he has feelings for her and he tells Lucy “I have to tell the best archer in Narnia that I’m in love with her” and it’s just cute and fluffy haha I just love Edmund

This oneshot is so disgustingly late. I’m terrible.




Peter Pevensie liked Y/N. She was nearing twenty-one, so she wasn’t the same age as sixteen year old Lucy, but the two girls got along well. Y/N was the only one who would spar with Lucy during training, when Narnia wasn’t waging war with another country. She would make an effort to be friends with Susan, helped Peter with diplomatic papers, and would hunt with Edmund.

It really didn’t hurt that Y/N fit in well to the family dynamic the Pevensies had.




Susan Pevensie had never hated Y/N, but she’d never really liked her. Now that she’d had to replace archery with courtly matters, people stopped calling her the best archer of Narnia - apparently Y/N got that title now.

It was incredibly bad form to feel petty about this, but Susan was irritated. Her feathers were ruffled (as Peter would say). Sometimes being Queen didn’t matter. She wanted it all in a world where she could actually have everything she’d ever wanted.

Beyond that, though … Y/N was alright. She was nice. She had dazzling eyes, uniquely so, and she was all sharp angles and high cheekbones. Probably would have looked ugly if she was any other girl, but Y/N just elegant. At least Susan could discuss the latest fashions with her, so. That was something.




Lucy Pevensie really liked Y/N. She was the big sister that Lucy had always wanted. Susan was busy being a Queen. Apparently that entailed manipulating politics, maintaining foreign relations,  and when the elder female Pevensie wasn’t doing that, she was going to balls and high tea with other court ladies. Y/N would spend time with Lucy, though, so Lucy liked her quite a lot.

They’d grown close in the years that the Pevensies had had to rule Narnia.




Edmund Pevensie was in love with Y/N Y/L/N, the best archer in Narnia.




“You’ll have to tell her at some point,” Susan grumped to Edmund. He was with Peter and Susan in a room (of sorts) they’d turned into their castle headquarters.

Edmund shook his head. “I don’t have feelings for her, Su.” That was a complete lie. But nobody needed to know that. “Aren’t we getting distracted, anyway? Telmar forces have been prodding at our border. We need to handle this before they decide to plan an invasion.”

Peter looked at him. “Even if you don’t have feelings for Y/N, I think she has feelings for you, Ed. Eventually it has to come up.”

There was a knock at the door - Lucy burst in seconds later. “I’ve got a letter from Calormen,” she announced. She waved the cream-colored, thick letter over her head. It had been opened, from what the other three could see. “King Doire and Queen Eara accepted our invitation for the masked ball next month. They want to bring their children with them. And half their court, practically.”

Susan and Peter simultaneously groaned. “I was rather hoping they wouldn’t be able to accept,” Peter murmured.

He gestured for Lucy to shut the door. Nobody was supposed to hear anything that was said in here, even if all they were discussing was a masquerade.

King Doire and Queen Eara had three children. Dafydd was the oldest at twenty-five, and the Crown Prince. Princess Maisie was nineteen and the kind of girl who talked a lot about politics and horse-riding. Prince Rhett was thirteen and the youngest.  He was more reserved and inclined towards building things, from what the Pevensies had gleaned.

“Well, they’ve accepted,” Susan said with a resigned sigh. “We’ll need to alert the kitchens, and have the rest of the servants begin making preparations for our guests. Peter, have Tumnus see if a few druids can’t sculpt something nice in honor of Doire and Eara.”




In two weeks, Cair Paravel underwent a massive change. Armfuls of decorations were made every day: fairy-lights to string and wind down along the stone columns; drapery as light as feathers was made to be wound along the tables and looked like roses; paintings of nature and magical-realism were hung strategically around the castle.

The kitchen had been alerted of the other royal family’s dietary needs and were preparing a two-week menu catered to suit both their needs/wants and those of the Pevensies’. Some of the best musicians were being brought in a week early so that they could put together a long, soft musical background for the banquet and for post-dinner dancing. There were lute players, harp and cello players, a duduk musician - just about every instrument player imaginable was brought in to compose songs and practice old ones to put into the perfect arrangement.

Peter could think of nothing else. Half his attention went to preparing for the royal guests coming, and the other was spent dealing with skirmishes along Narnia’s borders, hearing complaints from peasant regions, and navigating politics (which were now mainly involved trying to form an alliance with Telmar, discussing environmental laws within the court, and being involved with representational duties).

Not to mention training every day, of course.




Lucy peered at Edmund. They were training in the courtyard - Lucy with her new sword-cane, Edmund with his sword. He’d named it Morgenstern (claiming that the name meant ‘Morning Star’, and it was personal choice, anyway).

“So when are you going to tell her?” Lucy asked. She’d named her sword-cane Onyx, and it was starting to become like an extension of her hand. The learning was slow-going. There was an opportunity to side-step and go in for a pulled stab. She took it.

“Tell who what?” Edmund asked guarded. He parried her attack and swung her arm up. “You’re not talking about Y/N again, are you?” The courtyard had people littered throughout it, practicing and talking and laughing. Edmund was careful to keep Lucy in their training circle. Morgenstern had been with him for a few years now, and sometimes it was like the sword was alive in his hand; automatically, habitually, he twisted around his arm so that Lucy’s sword-cane was behind her back. Morgenstern’s blade-tip was pointed at her throat. “I win, again. You’re slow, sister-mine.”

Lucy stuck out her tongue. “I was distracted.” Her hands went up to pull her ginger hair into a fresh bun. “And yes, I was. She’s here, too, you know. Getting in some archery practice.”

Edmund gave her a sharp look. “What do I care? I know she practices here every day. We’re friends.” Of course it mattered. Mainly because Y/N was his honest-to-Aslan best friend now, and he’d spent the entirety of their three year friendship wanting and obsessing over someone he couldn’t have.

Y/N was apparently too hung up on Eatymon Hunter to ever love Ed the way her loved her.

“Maybe you should go talk to her anyway. Looks like she could use help; she’s been looking over here for the past hour.” Lucy wasn’t actually sure if that was true, but she’d just caught Y/N looking over in Ed’s general direction, before realizing Lucy had seen her and turned away, blushing.

“Fine. Maybe I will.” But Edmund didn’t move, too busy drinking water now out of his water-skin.




There was an actual masked ball the night that the Calormen royalty came to Narnia. It was also the night that Crown Prince Dafydd decided to ask Y/N to a dance.

“My lady, they mentioned they had a family friend here, but the mentions in a letter from High Kind Peter did not do you justice,” he told you.

You could feel yourself flaring up. “I’m sure he was accurate, my prince,” you replied, curtesying.


“No, indeed. You are fairer then starlight.” Dafydd offered his hand to you; you took it graciously. He was broad-shouldered with a square jaw and curling black hair. Not necessarily your type, but close enough.

“You flatter me, Prince Dafydd. Tell me, do you tell every pretty woman you see that very line?”

While he might not be your type, he was a very good substitute for someone like Edmund. At least Dafydd was more forward, and openly flattering.

He chuckled. “No, just once tonight. Are you from Narnia, Lady Y/N?”

While you weren’t technically a Lady, you decided not to correct Dafydd. For once it was kind of refreshing to experience the sort of attention that noble ladies received. You actually commanded part of the Narnian army. As a result, you were revered for your military prowess … and not much else. Being a rising commander so young meant you’d never really had the option - or the time - to find a suitor. 


“I consider myself a Narnian, though I am originally from Archenland; hence the slight accent. My father was a merchant who eventually decided to take up residency here. He and my mother travelled a lot, and this was the safest country to have a child in. They’ve stayed here every since.”

Dafydd seemed genuinely interested. “And what about your mother? What does she do?”

“She found work as a seamstress, and then as a clothes-maker. She’s employed constantly by noblemen and noble ladies.” You weren’t particularly embarrassed that your parents weren’t from the court, nor were they royal. They were good, honest people. Everybody and their profession was valued in Narnia since the Kings and Queens had been crowned.

“Yet here you are in the court …” Dafydd looked at you, his question hanging in the air and unasked.

“I command a fleet of Narnia’s army.” You smirked at the impressed look on his face, at the other cocktail of emotions he was hiding relatively well. It was always satisfying to brag subtly about your accomplishments to royalty, especially when you knew they doubted you some.




“I have to tell the best archer in Narnia that I’m in love with her,” Edmund snapped to Peter. He’d been somewhat moody all day, and now he felt pushed over some arbitrary line having to see Y/N dancing with Prince Dafydd.

Peter laughed. They’d just finished dancing, and were now observing the ball near the refreshments table. There were fire-eaters outside, as well as little jousting rings, and darts and cards inside for those who were inclined towards sitting-down. “About time, brother. You’ve only been pining for, what, five years?”

Edmund scowled at his brother. “Have not. Only three - ” and then he watched Peter chortle.

“So you admit, finally, you’ve spent years with feelings for her. Good. I was about say that we should form a marriage alliance with Calormen.” By then, the song had ended, and Prince Dafydd had broken away from Y/N. It seemed as if he was going to fetch them both drinks. “Now’s your chance, Ed.” Peter wanted to be encouraging, but Aslan knew his younger brother would need a lot of prodding before he was actually emotionally vulnerable with someone.

As it turned out, the dark-haired Pevensie didn’t need to be told twice. Edmund strode off towards Y/N.




You were half-way to a chair - your feet were positively aching - when you felt a hand on your shoulder. Grinning, you turned around while saying, “That was quite fast, Prince Da - oh! Ed. Hello. Didn’t expect you to show up with a mask.” You were only joking. He took these events more seriously then you did.

“Listen, Y/N, I’ve got - I mean, well - could we go to a balcony for a moment? I’d like a moment alone with you.” Edmund ran a hand through his tousled hair. There was color in his pale face, and his lips seemed fuller, oddly enough, from having been worried. You hated yourself for noticing. He wasn’t yours to want or love, and that seemed like somebody who was in love with him would notice. And you weren’t in love with him (you were, actually, but that had to be ignored).

You nodded carefully, tugging absently on a string of your hair, curled to perfection. Ed’s eyes were dark, like the sky when it was plunged into nighttime. All the lights reflected there made his look like galaxies, and the emotion behind them was contained and emotional; it was a bit painful for you to behold. You took his hand and let him lead you out.

As far as you were concerned, Prince Dafydd had been completely forgotten.

Prince Aladdin

i just rewatched aladdin with the roommates and it got me thinking

aladdin wishes to be made a prince, but all genie does is get him a lot of stuff and money. that’s not what a prince is. a prince is the son of the king, someone in line for the throne. someone with a lot of money is just - rich. so what i think is:

genie goes okay, that’s a big one - and i can do it! but not on my own, not if you want to do it right. not if you truly want a chance to marry your princess for real, as a prince. and aladdin is a foolish, moral, kind boy - and he agrees. he’s fallen in love with jasmine, an innocent all encompassing love, and he’ll do anything for this sweet, clever girl he only knew for a few hours. so genie takes him across the desert, far from agrabah, and plops right in the middle of a skirmish and is like okay, good luck! and aladdin is like ?????

but there’s assholes with swords attacking a young girl, and aladdin doesn’t even have to think about that, just like when he stood in front of the whip for those little kids. there are three men against him, but he’s fast and clever and has been against a dozen trained palace guards. so it’s not easy to get out of there alive, especially with the little girl to protect, but he manages it with only a thin slice on his upper arm, and he’s endured worse for less. so he picks up the little girl and says “i think we should get out of here, hmm?” and she’s in a pretty red silk getup with tiny jewels encrusted on her like stars against sunset. and she nods and throws her arms around his neck. she won’t talk, only points in the direction of home, but aladdin’s okay with that, he’s used to quiet, scared kids. so he keeps up a steady stream of stories of agrabah, which seems almost like this other desert land. but there are more men with swords and aladdin is like what the fuck is going on, but he hides the girl in a corner and fights them too. and that’s how it goes all the way home. there’s no one on the streets really, and they all scatter when the men attack, and they keep on attacking, he fights his way all the way through the city with the girl on his hip or hidden away.

and he should have known, of course, but he was tired and bruised and bleeding by the time he realized the little girl is silently guiding him to the palace and he’s like why can’t you princesses stay inside??? but he walks up and the guards get one look at the child in his arms and whisk him through and multiple people try to take the girl away but she won’t budge from him, a stubborn pout to her lips as her hands remained locked behind his neck. and he’s finally tossed into a throne room where a tall old man is sitting in agony and two young men pace in front of him, each at least a decade older than aladdin. “they’ve taken our sister!” one of the younger men hiss, “i don’t care about their power or their connections, they’ve taken esfir, and we must go get her!”

“uh,” he clears his throat, “hi?”

and all three men whirl on him and the old man stumble-runs to him. esfir finally lets go of aladdin to picked up and twirled around by her father. the two men are rahim and shapur and they look in wonder at this dirty boy of fifteen who’s returned the girl to them, and he speaks with an accent and clearly is not from here and they get the story from him - he’s traveled across the desert because those in his own country want him dead. “you know,” rahim says as the king clutches at esfir in desperate relief, “you could have held her for ransom. you almost died saving her, and we would have paid handsomely to have her returned safely.”

and aladdin gives him a flat disapproving look, appearing in this moment four times his age, and says “people are not objects or bargaining chips. especially not lost little girls.” and rahim and shapur share an impressed conspiring look and they each grab one of his arms and lead him away. “hey! what are you -”

“do be quiet little brother,” shapur says cheerfully, “we really have to get you out of your rags.”

Keep reading

Books you should read because I LOVE THEM

Dedication: For @kissmybruisedknuckles who told me to make this because she’s too lazy to make one lol

1. Strange The Dreamer - Laini Taylor

The dream chooses the dreamer, not the other way around—and Lazlo Strange, war orphan and junior librarian, has always feared that his dream chose poorly. Since he was five years old he’s been obsessed with the mythic lost city of Weep, but it would take someone bolder than he to cross half the world in search of it. Then a stunning opportunity presents itself, in the person of a hero called the Godslayer and a band of legendary warriors, and he has to seize his chance or lose his dream forever.

What happened in Weep two hundred years ago to cut it off from the rest of the world? What exactly did the Godslayer slay that went by the name of god? And what is the mysterious problem he now seeks help in solving?

2. The Night Circus - Erin Morgenstern

The circus arrives without warning. No announcements precede it, no paper notices plastered on lampposts and billboards. It is simply there, when yesterday it was not. Within these nocturnal black-and-white striped tents awaits an utterly unique, a feast for the senses, where one can get lost in a maze of clouds, meander through a lush garden made of ice, stare in wonderment as the tattooed contortionist folds herself into a small glass box, and become deliciously tipsy from the scents of caramel and cinnamon that waft through the air.

Welcome to Le Cirque des Rêves.

3. Unwind - Neil Shusterman

The Second Civil War was fought over reproductive rights. The chilling resolution: Life is inviolable from the moment of conception until age thirteen. Between the ages of thirteen and eighteen, however, parents can have their child “unwound,” whereby all of the child’s organs are transplanted into different donors, so life doesn’t technically end. Connor is too difficult for his parents to control. Risa, a ward of the state, is not enough to be kept alive. And Lev is a tithe, a child conceived and raised to be unwound. Together, they may have a chance to escape and to survive.

4. Cinder - Marissa Meyer

Sixteen-year-old Cinder is considered a technological mistake by most of society and a burden by her stepmother. Being cyborg does have its benefits, though: Cinder’s brain interference has given her an uncanny ability to fix things (robots, hovers, her own malfunctioning parts), making her the best mechanic in New Beijing. This reputation brings Prince Kai himself to her weekly market booth, needing her to repair a broken android before the annual ball. He jokingly calls it “a matter of national security,” but Cinder suspects it’s more serious than he’s letting on.

5. This Savage Song - Victoria Schwab

Kate Harker and August Flynn are the heirs to a divided city—a city where the violence has begun to breed actual monsters. All Kate wants is to be as ruthless as her father, who lets the monsters roam free and makes the humans pay for his protection. All August wants is to be human, as good-hearted as his own father, to play a bigger role in protecting the innocent—but he’s one of the monsters. One who can steal a soul with a simple strain of music. When the chance arises to keep an eye on Kate, who’s just been kicked out of her sixth boarding school and returned home, August jumps at it. But Kate discovers August’s secret, and after a failed assassination attempt the pair must flee for their lives.

6. The Darkest Part of The Forest - Holly Black

Children can have a cruel, absolute sense of justice. Children can kill a monster and feel quite proud of themselves. A girl can look at her brother and believe they’re destined to be a knight and a bard who battle evil. She can believe she’s found the thing she’s been made for.

Hazel lives with her brother, Ben, in the strange town of Fairfold where humans and fae exist side by side. At the center of it all, there is a glass coffin in the woods. It rests right on the ground and in it sleeps a boy with horns on his head and ears as pointed as knives. Hazel and Ben were both in love with him as children. The boy has slept there for generations, never waking.

7. Red Queen - Victoria Aveyard

This is a world divided by blood – red or silver.

The Reds are commoners, ruled by a Silver elite in possession of god-like superpowers. And to Mare Barrow, a seventeen-year-old Red girl from the poverty-stricken Stilts, it seems like nothing will ever change. That is, until she finds herself working in the Silver Palace. Here, surrounded by the people she hates the most, Mare discovers that, despite her red blood, she possesses a deadly power of her own. One that threatens to destroy the balance of power.

8. Daughter of Smoke and Bone - Laini Taylor

In a dark and dusty shop, a devil’s supply of human teeth grows dangerously low. And in the tangled lanes of Prague, a young art student is about to be caught up in a brutal otherworldly war.

Meet Karou. She fills her sketchbooks with monsters that may or may not be real, she’s prone to disappearing on mysterious “errands”, she speaks many languages - not all of them human - and her bright blue hair actually grows out of her head that color. Who is she? That is the question that haunts her, and she’s about to find out.

9. Illuminae - Amie Kaufman and Jay Kristoff

The year is 2575, and two rival megacorporations are at war over a planet that’s little more than an ice-covered speck at the edge of the universe. Too bad nobody thought to warn the people living on it. With enemy fire raining down on them, Kady and Ezra—who are barely even talking to each other—are forced to fight their way onto an evacuating fleet, with an enemy warship in hot pursuit.

BRIEFING NOTE: Told through a fascinating dossier of hacked documents—including emails, schematics, military files, IMs, medical reports, interviews, and more

10. Legend - Marie Lu

What was once the western United States is now home to the Republic, a nation perpetually at war with its neighbors. Born into an elite family in one of the Republic’s wealthiest districts, fifteen-year-old June is a prodigy being groomed for success in the Republic’s highest military circles. Born into the slums, fifteen-year-old Day is the country’s most wanted criminal. But his motives may not be as malicious as they seem.

From very different worlds, June and Day have no reason to cross paths—until the day June’s brother, Metias, is murdered and Day becomes the prime suspect. Caught in the ultimate game of cat and mouse, Day is in a race for his family’s survival, while June seeks to avenge Metias’s death. But in a shocking turn of events, the two uncover the truth of what has really brought them together, and the sinister lengths their country will go to keep its secrets.

11. Angelfall (Penryn and the end of days) - Susan Ee

It’s been six weeks since angels of the apocalypse descended to demolish the modern world. Street gangs rule the day while fear and superstition rule the night. When warrior angels fly away with a helpless little girl, her seventeen-year-old sister Penryn will do anything to get her back.

Anything, including making a deal with an enemy angel.

12. Caraval - Stephanie Garber

Remember, it’s only a game…

Scarlett Dragna has never left the tiny island where she and her sister, Tella, live with their powerful, and cruel, father. Now Scarlett’s father has arranged a marriage for her, and Scarlett thinks her dreams of seeing Caraval—the faraway, once-a-year performance where the audience participates in the show—are over.

But this year, Scarlett’s long-dreamt-of invitation finally arrives. With the help of a mysterious sailor, Tella whisks Scarlett away to the show. Only, as soon as they arrive, Tella is kidnapped by Caraval’s mastermind organizer, Legend. It turns out that this season’s Caraval revolves around Tella, and whoever finds her first is the winner.

13. The Unbecoming of Mara Dyer - Michelle Hodkin

Mara Dyer believes life can’t get any stranger than waking up in a hospital with no memory of how she got there.

It can.

She believes there must be more to the accident she can’t remember that killed her friends and left her strangely unharmed.

There is.

14. An Ember In The Ashes - Sabaa Tahir

Laia is a slave. Elias is a soldier. Neither is free.

Under the Martial Empire, defiance is met with death. Those who do not vow their blood and bodies to the Emperor risk the execution of their loved ones and the destruction of all they hold dear. It is in this brutal world, inspired by ancient Rome, that Laia lives with her grandparents and older brother. The family ekes out an existence in the Empire’s impoverished backstreets. They do not challenge the Empire. They’ve seen what happens to those who do.

15. The Darkest Minds - Alexandra Bracken

When Ruby woke up on her tenth birthday, something about her had changed. Something frightening enough to make her parents lock her in the garage and call the police. Something that got her sent to Thurmond, a brutal government “rehabilitation camp.” She might have survived the mysterious disease that had killed most of America’s children, but she and the others emerged with something far worse: frightening abilities they could not control.


16. The Wrath and The Dawn - Renee Ahdieh

One Life to One Dawn.

In a land ruled by a murderous boy-king, each dawn brings heartache to a new family. Khalid, the eighteen-year-old Caliph of Khorasan, is a monster. Each night he takes a new bride only to have a silk cord wrapped around her throat come morning. When sixteen-year-old Shahrzad’s dearest friend falls victim to Khalid, Shahrzad vows vengeance and volunteers to be his next bride. Shahrzad is determined not only to stay alive, but to end the caliph’s reign of terror once and for all.

adrienne de lafayette: the woman, the icon, the legacy
  • was only FOURTEEN when she married sixteen year old, awakward, lanky, redheaded fuckboy lafayette
  • (her mom loved laf but hated them together so she almost didn’t let them marry, didn’t let them sleep in the same room on their weddng night, and sent people with them on outings well into adulthood)
  • her dumbass husband ran off to america to fight in a war without telling anyone including his wife, so nice job on that one gilbert
  • her first daughter henriette fucking DIED as an infant, when laf was still in america. so adrienne dealt with that without her husband even being there
  • she was actually without her husband for quite a while come to think of it. like around 4 years total
  • handled their family’s finances on her own, because she was a fierce and brilliant woman
  • popped out four (4) of laf’s weird lookin kids
  • joined an abolitionist society along with her husband and purchased a cinnamon plantation with the sole purpose of freeing the slaves on the land
  •  had to deal with her husband doing stupid things like naming their child after general george washington and changing their family motto to “why not?”
  • and then, to everyone’s surprise and shock, her husband took up another post during the french revolution and went away for five months only to get sent to jail
  • she and her daughters were put on house arrest
  • oh and also a bunch of her family and friends had just been beheaded
  • while on house arrest, she sent letters to a whole shitton fuckton of people to try and get her husband out of an austrian prison and back to france
  • yeah she didn’t hear from laf for like two years while he was in prison because no one would let him write to her
  • smart smart woman burned any document or letter that could get laf in trouble 
  • anyway she finally got to this prison with her daughters except they would let laf out so she was like “fuck you and fuck your rules if he can’t come out i’m coming in”
  • LITERALLY ALLOWED HERSELF TO BE IMPRISONED FOR TWO FUCKING YEARS BECAUSE SHE LOVED HER HUSBAND THAT MUCH
  • (did i mention he cheated on her? twice? and she still went through all this shit and never had a bad thought about him :)))))))))
  • oh and! surprise! she got lead poisoning from the dirty water in the prison ah what a life
  • so they get out of prison and do you know what she does? she regains all their property, all their money, and gets them out of 200,000 livres worth of debt, because she was a badass
  • the hilarious end to her story is that she died a very painful death when she was 48 due to the lead poisoning she got n the prison
  • her last words ever spoken were to laf. and do you know what she said? “i am entirely yours”
  • anyway i’m dead inside and this woman deserves a bajillion dollars and a halo

Stephanie Brown is five years old, and her father is talking to his friends, and she listens to them. She doesn’t understand what they say, but she doesn’t like it. 

Stephanie Brown is six years old, and she drapes a blanket over her shoulders and dances around the hall, chanting that she’s Superman. 

Stephanie Brown is seven years old, and she’s locked in her closet, hyperventilating and nobody can hear her. 

Stephanie Brown is eight years old, and she’s afraid of closets, and her father, and she’s not sure what’s wrong with her mother. 

Stephanie Brown is nine years old, and she knows she’s alone. Gymnastics are her new best friend. 

Stephanie Brown is ten years old, and her father’s locked away, and her mother keeps taking medicine, but she’s not sure what it’s for. She keeps thinking about Superman, and her father’s stupid orange costume. 

Stephanie Brown is eleven years old, and she decides to make her own destiny, away from her dad, although she’s not sure how. 

Stephanie Brown is twelve years old, and she can’t really sew and her grades are going down and she misses her mom so much

Stephanie Brown is thirteen years old, and she’s kinda figured out the sewing thing, and she looks out the window and sees the Batsymbol, glowing in the sky, and she knows what she has to do. 

Stephanie Brown is fourteen years old, and she hits Robin in the face with a brick, and wears a purple costume that makes her feel powerful, and Batman tells her to go home. 

Stephanie Brown is fifteen years old, and Robin is her best friend, and she’s gonna have a baby, and Batman won’t stop telling her to quit, to put Spoiler away, but she knows she never will. 

Stephanie Brown is sixteen years old, and she’s not Spoiler anymore, but only because she’s traded it for Robin, and she pushes and pushes and tries so so hard to prove herself, and–Batman still tells her to go home. 

Stephanie Brown is seventeen years old, and she’s dead, except not really, but she sort of feels like it. 

Stephanie Brown is eighteen years old, and death will not keep her down, and she doesn’t care what Batman says, and she pushes and pulls and stumbles and never, never gives up, and Cass lets her be Batgirl, and Steph feels less alone. 

Stephanie Brown is nineteen years old, and she crawls into Wayne Manor through the window, and there’s a stiff movement of awkwardness, and she ignores it. After a while, so do the others. 

Stephanie Brown is twenty years old, and she doesn’t know what she wants to do with the entire rest of her life, and she doesn’t really care, as long as it’s not boring

Stephanie Brown is twenty one years old, and she was born into a niche she didn’t belong in, so she carved herself into a new one, and when she sees Bruce Wayne at her college graduation, smiling at her, she thinks it might have been worth it. 

5

Void!Stiles x Reader / Stiles x Reader

Requested by Anon


“You know, I was going to kill you.” Stiles’ voice drawled out as he strolled into his room.

“Stiles?” You asked only for the boy to shake his head.

“No, he’s in here… very annoying, I don’t know how you all put up with him for so long.” He stopped in front of you, eyeing you like a curious cat.

Keep reading

Minerva has a drawer in her desk. It is the top left one and the handle goes months at a time without being touched. However, she has not forgot its contents. Every once in a while after a few stiff drinks she will gain the courage to open it. Slowly and carefully as if it will attack her.

She opens it with one hand and a glass of firewhisky in the other. 

She pulls the contents out one by one.

The first is a simple splinter of wood. What was left of her broom from her school days. She rubs the scar on her stomach.

The next is a picture of a group of wizards covered in dust and curse marks of various severity. They all are grinning and the one on the end laughs as he leans against a chair, unable to stand properly. It was probably one of the last times Alastor was that carefree. Things had gone down hill for him sometime after she left the Auror’s offices.

The next makes her hand shake as she pull’s it out. She bit her lip as she stares down at the yellowing wedding invitation.  

       “We would like to invite you to the joining of Lily Evans and James                          Potter in holy matrimony on  May 14th 1979.”

                                               “P.S. Padfoot demands that you be his date.”

She laughed as she looked down at the next item. A piece of parchment with scribbles and a horribly written poem lay in front of her. James had been trying to write about Lily’s ‘tomato red hair’ instead of working during class. She had taken it away and shown Pamona at dinner and the Hufflepuff Head nearly choked on her food that night.

She sets it down and picks up the next photo. She remembers this one clearly. Sirius had shoved a camera into a younger student’s hands right before he boarded the Hogwarts express to leave for the last time. Minerva stood in the middle, smiling with Remus on one side towering over her, Lily and James next to him leaning against each other, Sirius and Peter on her other side. She watched as the camera went off, Sirius quickly turned and kissed her cheek. The photograph captured her surprise and mild outrage and his grin before ending and starting again.

Holding back tears, She pulls the next one out. It was at headquarters during the first war right before Lily and James went into hiding. Lily sat on a chair with a grin as she watched James hold a hand to her stomach and felt his child kick for the first time. He looked at her in complete awe as he looked on the verge of tears. In the background a tired looking Remus and Frank Longbottom held back Sirius as he attempted to charge forward to feel his godchild’s kicks.

Minerva shook her head and took a large drink from her glass as she pulled the next item out. A small photo of four boys. Peter held the camera up high and squinted his eyes against the setting sun while in the background a sixteen year old Remus fell to his knees in laughter as Sirius screamed at James who perched on a tree continuing to toss leaves and bark into his future best man’s hair.  

She wishes she could reach into this picture and shake Peter. Ask him why. 

She wishes she could scream to them. Warn them. 

She wishes that this damned drawer of memories was not the only thing she had left.

She wishes that James and Lily were alive and continuing to send her photos of their children.

She wishes that Remus would show up for tea like he used to.

She wishes Peter was that quiet boy who always jokingly left a saucer of milk outside her door.

She wishes that Sirius would send his usual monthly proposal owl.

She wishes that she did more.

She wishes she could have protected her boys. 

Finding Closure (Part 1)

Summary: AU. Reader left behind a hometown full of misery to make a new home in Brooklyn. A death in the family forces her to briefly return to the place that has haunted her dreams and memories for three years. Will she finally be able to move on, or will a figure from the past change everything?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word Count: 2,837

Warnings: angst, language, more angst, mention of alcoholism, mention of death, mention of funeral, mentions of neglect, mentions of estranged family members, heartache, sadness, mentions of sad childhood

A/N: This is the first part of my submission for the talented and wonderful @tatortot2701 ‘s AU writing challenge. (Tay, please disregard until it’s completed!) Y'all wanted angst, well…I took a fluffy prompt and darkened it. I tried not to but this story wouldn’t leave me alone. I’m not sure how many parts it will have.

My prompt was 28 .“____ is not a real word.” “Yes it is!”

Part:  1 - 2 -

Originally posted by brokenmichael

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I feel like some of the hatred for Dany goes too far. Like yes, I can understand hating her storyline( and as a woc I don’t like some of the white imperialistic tones in her story either, but that’s more the fault of how her story is written than the actual character), but some of the accusations like “she’s spoiled and entitled”, and “she hasn’t suffered enough” are weird because she spent the first thirteen years of her life on the run, kicked out of the only home she ever had at five, with an abusive older brother who hated her for something she wasn’t able to control (their mother’s death from childbirth) who then sold her like an animal to a man that then raped her repeatedly until she gained some autonomy in the marriage. She, a thirteen (sixteen in the show) year old child was forced into a culture she didn’t want, a marriage she didn’t want, and that doesn’t qualify as “ enough suffering” to some of y'all? That’s being spoiled?

Oh and she’s “entitled ”, well Scoobert, that’s to be expected when her older brother whispered into her ear since she was a baby that the Targaryens was robbed of their throne by “the usurpers and their dogs” and that they were the rightful rulers and that they must take what is theirs with “fire and blood”. In her mind, she is the rightful heir to the throne because she was told from birth it was stolen from her.

And she’s a “terrible queen”, well no shit Scoob that’s to be expected when she spent thirteen years of her life on the run and raised as only a consort to her brother, and only had true agency when she was fifteen and rid of both brother and husband. She’s not going to be an amazing queen out of nowhere with no experience and no lessons taught on how to rule until she had Jorah, Barristan, and Tyrion(show) as advisors.

She’s learning, she’s growing, calm down on a sixteen year old girl who’s still learning how to rule compared to several of your middle-aged male faves who are experienced and should know better.

Lost - The Forgotten Series - Pt. 3

Characters: Dean x Reader, Sam, Rowena, mentions of Crowley and Cas

Warnings: All the Angst

Word Count: 2.6k (hey look, it’s the longest of the series)

A/N: I know that it’s been a while. I had to wait for this one to come to me. I thought it was going to be the last one, but it turns out this Series has other plans. So, I bring you third installment of The Forgotten Series, Lost. I really hope you guys like it! Catch up on Pt. 1 & 2

Feedback Appreciated 

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Six Fun Facts About Aileen Wuornos

1. She began prostituting at an extraordinarily young age; Aileen started trading sexual favors for cigarettes in junior high, before she had fully developed pubic hair.

2. Aileen once threw a party for classmates in high school, and saved all her money from prostitution to buy drinks and food - however, when her classmates arrived, they locked her out of the house and carried on without her.

3. She once claimed to have slept with over 250 000 men in her lifetime. This figure is likely exaggerated though.

4. Aileen gave birth to a son when she was only thirteen years old, and her grandparents (her legal guardians at the time) immediately put the child up for adoption. It is highly likely the childs father was Aileen’s grandfather, Lauri.

5. Quite soon after giving birth, her grandparents kicked Aileen out of their house. With no friends or family to stay with, she began sleeping in the woods and stealing food to sustain herself. Aileen was a fully-fledged prostitute by age sixteen.

6. The biker bar where she was eventually arrested, the aptly named ‘Last Resort’ Bar, has a photo of Aileen mounted on the wall and her signature still decorates the wall. Fans can even order a meal named after her that comes with 'Mad Aileen’ hot sauce.

Ash by Malinda Lo (Cinderella)

In the wake of her father’s death, Ash is left at the mercy of her cruel stepmother. Consumed with grief, her only joy comes by the light of the dying hearth fire, rereading the fairy tales her mother once told her. In her dreams, someday the fairies will steal her away, as they are said to do. When she meets the dark and dangerous fairy Sidhean, she believes that her wish may be granted.

The day that Ash meets Kaisa, the King’s Huntress, her heart begins to change. Instead of chasing fairies, Ash learns to hunt with Kaisa. Though their friendship is as delicate as a new bloom, it reawakens Ash’s capacity for love-and her desire to live. But Sidhean has already claimed Ash for his own, and she must make a choice between fairy tale dreams and true love.


Cinder Ella by S.T. Lynn

Ella is transgender. She’s known since she was young; being a woman just fit better. She was happier in skirts than trousers, but that was before her stepmother moved in. Eleanor can’t stand her, and after Ella’s father passes she’s forced to revert to Cole, a lump of a son. She cooks, she cleans, and she tolerates being called the wrong name for the sake of a roof over her head. Where else can she go?

An opportunity to attend the royal ball transforms Ella’s life. For the first time, strangers see a woman when she walks down the stairs. While Princess Lizabetta invited Cole to the ball, she doesn’t blink an eye when Cinderella is the one who shows. The princess is elegant, bold, and everything Ella never knew she wanted. For a moment she glimpses a world that can accept her, and she holds on tight.

She should have known it wouldn’t last. Dumped by her wicked stepmother on the farthest edge of the kingdom, Ella must find a way to let go of the princess and the beautiful life they shared for an hour. She’ll never find her way back. But it’s hard to forget the greatest night of her life when every rose she plants is a reminder.

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the one where ellen finds out a few things she shouldn’t, and she and aaron have a conversation.

Ellen was always going to find out, Aaron mused as he walked toward the cricket pavilion, figuring it was still the place teenagers went to hide when they were fighting with their parents.

It was naive of them to think they’d keep it from her forever, that they would be able to avoid telling her about the less than ideal circumstances that had resulted in her being born.

Aaron wasn’t happy she’d found out because she’d overheard an argument between Rebecca, and Chrissie. They should have sat her down and told her, really, now she was sixteen and more worldly and mature that any of them were at that age, but she was going to be their little girl forever.

Now she was a little girl with a lot of questions.

Ellen was sitting on the steps of the cricket pavilion, jumper tugged down over her hands (a habit of his, she’d picked up), a hurt expression on her face as she sat, blonde hair billowing in the wind, waist length hair done up in intricate braids that made her Rebecca’s mirror image.

Her eyes were all Robert, though, Aaron couldn’t help but smile to himself as he got closer, that familiar blue-green that he’d woken up to every morning of the last seventeen or so years staring back at him from the daughter he loved so much.

“You’ve given us a right scare,” he called out, hands in the pockets of his hoodie.

“I didn’t want to talk to mum or dad,” Ellen admitted, budging up on the step so Aaron could sit next to her.

Aaron bumped his knee against hers, giving her a reassuring smile. “You can talk to me,” he said, reiterating a deal they’d made one quiet afternoon when he’d found her skiving off school. If she couldn’t talk to Robert, or Rebecca, she came to him - he was her listening ear.

Ellen was quiet, brow furrowed in a way that made Aaron want to kiss it away, make her back into the innocent little girl she’d been all her life. “I don’t understand,” she admitted. “You and dad, you’ve always been so gross, and in love. I don’t - I can’t believe dad cheated on you with my mum, and that’s why I’m here.”

Aaron sighed, hating that they even had to have this conversation in the first place. “It’s more complicated than that, beans,” he began, thinking back to those harrowing few months of close to two decades ago now. He didn’t think about it, not often, not anymore, not now their lives had moved on and they were so happy.

“He cheated on you,” Ellen repeated, sounding completely shocked.

Ellen really was all the best parts of the three of them. Headstrong, stubborn, and with a heart of absolute untouched gold, the kind of good they’d all ceased to be by time they’d been sixteen.

But she was good. So good, the kind of good that had Aaron beaming with pride when he went to a parents evening, and listened to her teachers rave about how smart, and kind she was, how she was going to fly through sixth form, and university.

He didn’t want that to ever change.

“I was in prison, when it happened,” Aaron admitted, knowing the admission wouldn’t shock her. They’d had a conversation about it, a few months back, and she knew Aaron had a dodgy past - she’d never know what for, if he could help it, but she knew he’d been inside.

“And that makes it okay?” Ellen snapped, her fiery temper blazing through (she’d gotten that one from all three of them.)

“No,” Aaron agreed. “But it might help you understand why.”

“I don’t know if I can,” Ellen admitted, leaning her head on Aaron’s shoulder.

“Decide that once I’ve explained?” Aaron proposed, knowing she was her fathers daughter through and through, unwilling to listen to any side of the story other than the one she was convinced was right.

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daddy's 95 ❖ jongin

word count : 3304 words

admin : - velvet

style : smut, daddy kink, cheating, basically i have a thing for jongin’s skin, age gap - it’s a relationship stepfather - stepdaughter, so if you don’t like, please don’t read (个_个)

(not my gif, cr to the owner)


It wasn’t weird at the beginning, maybe because you were young and didn’t know what was really happening. You were six years old and had just started school, it was all so weird and when the the teacher asked you for the first time what you parents’ name were, you could just say your mother’s one.

Was it because you didn’t have a dad? Well, not really. You used to have a father just like all the other children in your classroom, it happened some months before that you mom and dad parted ways and you were not quite sure why, mom just said that it was for good.

It didn’t last long, at seven, when your teachers were already accustomed to the fact that little Y/N didn’t have a dad, he came into your and your mother’s lives.

Jongin was just like the princes you were used to see in cartoons, maybe without the blonde hair and the blue eyes, but he was probably the kindest prince of all.

He was your mother’s boss’ son, and thinking about it now: the thing was kinda fucked up. But he wasn’t even younger than your mother was.

She got pregnant at sixteen and when you were seven, she was only twenty three, she had just found a job and she managed to not take home just money, but even a twenty five years old Kim Jongin.

When Jongin first came to your house, you and your mother were waiting for him at the door. You probably never saw your mother this nervous and this beautiful. She already was the most beautiful woman on earth for you, but when she painted her lips with red colour and wore the shoes that make her look even taller than she already was, she just looked like a goddess in your eyes.

And probably even in Jongin’s eyes, that when came in couldn’t tear his eyes off her. He couldn’t until he saw you. And you were probably the most beautiful human being he had ever seen in his entire life, even without some teeths and with red puffy eyes caused by the fact that your mother didn’t let you wear one of her pair of shoes.

Right after, maybe in a little less than a year, Jongin became daddy in your eyes and his house became yours and your mother’s.

You were eight when you started sleeping in you new daddy’s house, and in the bed in the bedroom he gave you.


Daddy❞ you called out one night, it was probably half past eleven and he still was in his suit. When he heard your voice, he quickly lifted his head to see you standing by the door. His eyes became soft watching you drag your feet until you were next to him.

I didn’t finish my homework❞ you whispered dropping your gaze to your feet. He probably saw it coming as he chuckled. He knew you better than your mother, and probably better than your own self. The only times you were awake till late was because something about school happened.

And dear Lord, you hated school with all your being.

Sweetheart❞ he called you gripping lightly your wrist ❝why didn’t you finish your homework?❞ he asked taking you in his lap.

’Cause…❞ you started, unsure if it was better to say the truth or stick to the excuse you made-up some time before.

You lifted your gaze, positioning yourself better on his legs. Jongin knew you. He knew when you were lying and he knew when you were scared, when you were uncomfortable or too happy that you might have started crying.

I don’t wanna go to school, daddy❞ you whined hiding your face on his neck. His laugh rumbled through his and your body.

Princess, why do you always come to me? You know I can’t tell you no


At ten you still were “princess” and he still was “daddy”, he still came to your room to kiss you good night, but he started to kiss your cheeks and not peck you on the lips anymore. He was still the sweetest person on earth, he still cared for you more than he cared for anybody else on this world, but he started being always more tired and it was always more unusual to see him next to you for you night-time-talks.

He wasn’t going away, you knew it. Even if your parents started fighting over stupid things, they still cared too much about each other to ever end the relationship they had.

And other than that, Jongin would never leave his princess.

He literally grew addicted to the fact that he was your father, the only man in your life and he wasn’t going to let your mother take you away from him. It wasn’t anything sick or weird, he just really loved you as his own daughter.

When you were eleven your dad and your mom married.

Now Kim Jongin was you father even for the Korean State and on the papers you were not anymore Kang Y/N, but Kim Y/N.

When you were twelve Jongin started leaving the room when you were changing and started giving you your spaces, accepting the fact that you were becoming a little woman.

At sixteen boys started to come around and your insecurities started to surface, forcing you into diets.


It was half past two in the morning and you were seated by the fridge with a big spoon of lemon ice cream and probably the most devastated face you’ve ever had in your all life.

You weren’t sure if you were crying or not, you just knew that you were hungry as hell and you didn’t have a proper meal in - at least - two weeks.

You didn’t see you father approach you, but when you sensed his presence behind you, you let yourself go. He was sitting behind you, his legs at both sides of yours and his arms stretched in a tight back hug.

Your head fell into his shoulder and your back pressed against his chest.

Why are you doing like this, sweetheart?❞ he questioned resting his chin on your head.

You weren’t very touchy with dad anymore, even because it felt wrong, in some kind of ways. Sometimes it just pops in your head that your father is too handsome and when the sick idea that he is not your dad by blood, meaning that isn’t wrong for you to feel some kind of ways, comes, it makes you curl your skin in disgust.

Boys don’t even look at me❞ you sniffed, trying to calm yourself. Thinking about your dad in different ways makes you want to cry even harder.

Jongin pressed a kiss on your hair, then started to get up, taking you in his arms in bridal style. He started to take you to your room, and it didn’t even feel wrong that at sixteen your stepfather is still holding you.

When he reached the end of the stairs he finally spoke: ❝You have your daddy, baby. Why would you want anyone else to look at you?


At eighteen your thoughts about your dad started to go wild, and they didn’t feel wrong anymore. You started to crave for him. You started to wonder what was hidden under his shirt and why he looked so hot even if he was in his late thirties. You started to dream about you father - your stepfather -, you thought that maybe he may see you has a woman too, and not just as his step daughter, you thought of him basically every second of your life.

When you wake up, when you prepare for school, during breakfast - when he’s in front of you smiling -, when you ride to school, during school hours, when you have lunch, when you come back home, when you do your homework, when you eat dinner with him and mom, when you take a shower and the worst: in bed.

It really hurted when you were in bed alone, it hurted your head, your heart, your body, the boiling space between your legs.

When you were alone it was all fun and games, but when he was around it was kind of embarrassing, you couldn’t even look at him in the eyes and you would find yourself checking him out.

So you started to avoid him.

Until he understood something was wrong.


The door of your room slammed shut. You knew your mom was at work till eight pm, and it was just five in the afternoon. The only ones at home were you and you dad.

You took off your earphones and turned around to see your dad walking silently towards your bed, sitting down.

He lifted his eyes and patted the spot in the bed next to him.

In your head curses started to follow one by one, while you raised yourself from the black chair you were on and started drag your feet to your bed.

His face was kind, but his eyes were hard and his jaw clenched in a tight manner. He wasn’t looking at you in the eyes.

You already saw you dad angry, but now you were too sure of the reason why he was angry at you.

When you sat down on your bed, chewing the inside of your mouth, he finally looked at you.

Why don’t you talk to me?❞ His voice sounded way more desperate than what you would have ever thought and his eyes were in despair.

Your gaze fell accidentally on his wet lips, making you silently gasp. Your eyes fluttered closed for a second, but swallowing quickly you reopened your eyes, trying to focus on your dad and not on the way you stomach started to dance at his presence.

What do you mean, daddy?

That word: daddy - still sounded wrong in your mouth, if referred to him.

You’ve been avoiding me for so long, is something bad happened?❞ he was so hopeless, his eyes so desperate that you took his hand.

You felt so sick in that moment, he was sad and you were thinking about satisfying your hunger for him. At least you were not playing him, you really felt something for your daddy, but your mother and some papers were in the middle of you two. Might as well just go for it, Jongin was nice, if he rejected you he wouldn’t tell anyone anyway.

Daddy❞ you called out, and your voice sounded more like a moan.

You took your daddy’s hand and put it on your right breast. If it felt good in your dream, it felt even better in real life.

Jongin eyes grew wide, he didn’t understand what was going on, but took off his hand right away, surprised when he saw your eyes go to the back of your head when you put his hand on your breast.

Wait, daddy❞ you murmured taking his hand again in yours.

You adjusted on your bed, sitting on your knees and placing his big and warm hand again on your right breast. Both of your nipples perked up and Jongin could see them through your white t-shirt.

You weren’t wearing any bra, since you were going to stay at home till the day after, where you were going to go to school. Jongin stayed still on your breast, watching it with his mouth agape.

You swallowed, you knew this was wrong, but you couldn’t care less in that moment.

You squeezed his hand, causing him to squeeze your breast to, Jongin’s tongue darted out of his lips, wetting them.

Y/N❞ he whispered, it was going to be a warning, but it sounded more like a plead.

You other hand snapped to the hot zone between your legs, with you middle finger you brushed your clit, squeezing his hand and your breast harder. A mewl brushed out of your lips and Jongin’s eyes run to your clothed womanhood.

Daddy❞ you moaned a little, opening your legs and grinding a little on your middle finger.

You were going to keep on talking, begging him to touch you, but he was faster.

Jongin’s lips pressed again your opened ones, his tongue started to taste your mouth and if the feeling between your legs was hot, his mouth again yours was even hotter.

You always looked at your dad lips in awe and now that they were on yours, you just felt too good.

Your hand left his on you breast to intertwine with his black hair. You were still kissing when he pulled your t-shirt down, exposing only your breasts. He took advantage of the new skin and left your mouth with a trail of saliva, connecting his lips with your left breast. He took your nipple in his mouth, circling the darker skin and then sucking on your perked nub.

If you didn’t know better, you would have thought that this was one of your wet dreams, where you moaned your daddy’s name and that was right and not wrong as it will feel in the future.

His mouth went to the other nipple playing just with his tongue, flicking it with the tip. His hands positioned on your ass cheeks, taking you with a sharp move into his laps, legs open and you clothed centre was pressing on his hardening manhood.

If your mother finds out❞ he whispered taking your shirt off completely.

You made quick moves, taking off his shirt button by button, throwing it out of the bed and on the floor.

If you don’t tell her, she won’t❞ you moaned taking in the beautiful tan skin you always adored.

Jongin always looked like as if he was kissed by the sun and then someone just poured honey on his skin. You were so in love with the color of his skin. It was so precious.

You pushed him down, so that his back was now laying on your bed. With a shy smile you pecked him on the lips and then went down on his neck, kissing it lightly. You didn’t want to spend time with games, you just wanted to taste his skin. You went down to the base of his dress pants, and just took a long lick of his abdomen, from his bellybutton to his neck, tasting his honey-like skin and his muscular figure. His skin tasted like cream and smelled like the cologne he always used, since you was young. You found yourself drowning.

Princess❞ he breathed when you then returned down with your face, planting a firm kiss on his clothed manhood.

Mh?❞ you looked at him, taking his clothed member - or at least the little you could since it was constricted in his pants - in your mouth, showing him what you would have loved to do.

Come here❞ he whispered looking at you. As much as he would have wanted you to give him a blowjob, he felt like stopping you and praise your body.

As you turned to kiss him, he quickly turned you around, so that now you were with your back on the bed and he was hovering over you. He too quickly took off your pants, you almost didn’t even notice it. He didn’t broke the kiss, he kept on playing with your tongue, but you had to open your mouth to let go a silent scream out when he pressed his finger on your clit, under your underwear.

You started to rock your hips, your mouths were against each other, but you weren’t kissing anymore. You were too focused on feeling his calloused fingers work on your throbbing clit.

❝I didn’t think that daddy could make you this wet❞ he whispered watching your face contort into pleasure when he dipped his middle finger into your heat.

Oh my God❞ you breathed together.

So tight❞ he smiled next to you ear, resting on his side, watching you moan and open your legs even wider for him.

His finger pumped into your core, while some of his finger brushed involuntarily against your clit, touching it just slightly, without stopping the nub from pulsing. And you weren’t sure if the throbbing in your ears was blood in your veins or your clit, but it felt amazing. Jongin next to you was panting, his other hand was now palming his member in his pants.

His finger in your core stopped moving, he took it off and spread your wetness on you clit, touching it with fervor. It felt too much, you wanted to come so bad, but still you couldn’t.

Daddy, please❞ you moaned, knowing that he was on the limits of endurance too.

He took his hand off you, working with his zipper for a little while, then took off both pants and boxers. When you saw his manhood you just smiled at yourself, you knew his skin there would be honey just like everywhere else, but now its tip was an hungry red and no honey color was there to be seen.

Jongin hovered over your body, taking his member in his hand before placing it just between your folds.

You had sex with some boys❞ he started and it was more like an exclamation than a question ❝now you will have sex with a man, baby

You gasped when he slammed his member into your more-than-wet womanhood.

Tell me who’s better❞ he whispered in your ear starting to pump into you.

Even if his first thrust was angry and violent, he then slowed down, trying to compose himself.

Don’t slow down❞ you moaned tracing your thumb over your nipple and squeezing your left breast.

Sweetheart, calm down. Relax. You’re too tight for daddy

His length into you was paradisiac, but almost too big. Your walls were being stretched to impossible, his tip started with brushing everything in you and then stopped there.

Here, baby?❞ he questioned when you let out a rather loud ‘fuck, Jongin’. It was almost incredible the fact that the only one who ever touched your g-spot was actually your stepfather.

Daddy, there please❞ you cried out arching your back. It was all almost too erotic for you. Jongin, your daddy, was fucking you in the bed, his usually combed hair was now a mess and his honey skin was all covered in sweat, his member was deep into your boiling core and his balls slapped against your ass. But his lips, oh his lips, they were the hottest. They were wet and tan, now red for the kissing and they were parted. His eyes boring into yours.

Baby, you’re so beautiful❞ he panted going a little slower, his orgasm approaching and yours was very near too.

You smiled a little, trying to reach your goal and it came too fast.

Jongin furrowed his eyebrows looking deeply in you, one of his hands left the side of your head and went to grab your ass, then he slammed into you one last time.

Your eyes went to the back of your head and you saw black for al least thirty seconds, your body shook from the violent orgasm and Jongin took off quickly his member from your entrance, grabbing it and slamming it into his hand. When he came he let his seed spurt on your clit, brushing his tip on it and helping you ride your last drop of orgasm through the friction.

He took a deep breath looking at your body. You nipples were red from his attentions, your lips red aswell, you womanhood was puffy and swollen from his actions and his white seed was all over your tummy.

Princess, you look gloriously beautiful❞ whispered Jongin, attaching his lips on her mouth again.



oh wow, hope i didn’t make too many grammar mistakes. i’m still trying to improve my english :(((
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- velvet

anonymous asked:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Don’t you dare lie to me his mother said with a wand raised to his tear slicked face. A twelve year old Sirius Black quivered under the question the whole of his family was asking him and he wished deep in his heart for the world to slow so he could run and hide somewhere safe.

Don’t you dare lie to me Professor McGonagall said with a raised brow peering above her perched glasses at four pink faced boys covered in pudding from the snaps somehow snuck in the platter at supper causing all of Gryffindor table to leave caked in deserts. A twelve year old Sirius Black looked over at his snickering friends and bit his lip to hide a smile.

Don’t you dare lie to me Remus Lupin said with tears in his eyes that he refused to let fall, the wear of the moon still pulling heavy on him. A fifteen year old Sirius Black had never felt such pain as hurting his friend the way he had done but he knew he had nothing he could say that would be suitable for forgiveness.

Don’t you dare lie to me Mrs. Potter said with a stern look as she pointed a wand at a rather nasty gash on his forehead. A sixteen year old Sirius Black lost his family only to realize far too late he had a true one all along.

Don’t you dare lie to me James said with concern in his eyes. A sixteen year old Sirius Black sat with tears in his eyes and healing bruises on his cheeks and relived the story of the past night.

Don’t you dare lie to me Remus Lupin yelled, he didn’t want the man to lie for him, to say he loved him when he merely felt sorry for him. A seventeen year old Sirius Black was not lying, not about this.

Don’t you dare lie to me Lily Evans said wearily, her hope far too high to be lied to. A seventeen year old Sirius Black needed her to understand how much James cared for her, as much as she did for him though she tried persistently to hide it.

Don’t you dare lie to me a giddy James shot up from his seat with a smile breaching his lips. A seventeen year old Sirius Black felt a warmth fill his chest every time he had the pleasure of thinking about Remus Lupin and he now wanted everyone to know.

Don’t you dare lie to me Sirius said with pain in his chest and rage in his heart. An eighteen year old Sirius Black stared down at the fresh mark on his younger brother’s arm and felt the wold spinning far too fast.

Don’t you dare lie to me Sirius shouted after, once again, Remus stepped through the door of their apartment late without explanation. A twenty year old Sirius Black wonders when it got to this.

Don’t you dare lie to me Sirius said with wide eyes and bated breath. A twenty year old Sirius Black was going to be a godfather and he felt his heart swell through the pain and worry that seemed constant as of late.

Don’t you dare lie to me Sirius screamed through the cool October air as he chased down the man he once thought of as a brother through the crowded streets. A twenty one year old Sirius Black had lost his family for the second time.

Don’t you dare lie to me Remus Lupin said darkly as the aged man sat behind his desk with a look that was far too innocent for Remus. A thirty four year old Sirius Black could see the sky once more.

Don’t you dare lie to me Harry demanded stubbornly from across the table, the eyes so like his mother’s shone fierce with anger. A thirty six year old Sirius Black sat back and hoped to his very core his godson wouldn’t end the way that was planned since his birth.

Don’t you dare lie to me Remus whispered into his lover’s hair as they lay together late at night, Sirius would always say how it would be okay one day. A thirty five year old Sirius Black knew very well he was lying in those times.

Don’t you dare lie to me Harry screamed as he watched the last of his family get carried away by the silky dark air. A thirty six year old Sirius Black finally felt familiar arms wrap around his shoulders once again and he knew didn’t have to lie anymore.

anonymous asked:

Do you know any fics where Stiles is lonely. Like he's not friends with any of the pack, and just going through life by himself. Or fics where Stiles is just plan lonely? Thanks for trying if you can't find anything.?

Yup! - Anastasia

Originally posted by sterekshelter

I Take The Day Hour By Hour by destimushi

(1/1 I 959 I General I No Pairing)

It’s another typical Saturday for Stiles: cold pizza, lots of documentaries, and disappointment.

Lonely by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

(1/1 I 1,541 I General I Sterek)

He let Derek know about the pack, who was dating who, what was going on, if any drastic changes had occurred.

Texting Derek made him feel less alone. It made him feel like Derek was just away for a brief moment on pack duty, and he’d be back any day now—probably falling through his window mortally wounded and bleeding all over his floor. Stiles was positive that one patch of hardwood was just permanently ruined, by this point.

But, to date, no Derek. And so, Stiles texted.

Why’d You Bring A Shotgun? by Tigerion

(1/1 I 1,752 I Teen I No Pairing)

Being in his wolf mode has benefits, like providing people with something they can open up to and Derek uses it to keep a lonely Stiles company on the full moon. Which is something Stiles really appreciates, because no interruptions while talking. All is fine and dandy until the Sheriff comes home to find a very naked Derek Hale in his son’s bed.

memories & scars by Lonelyirises

(5/5 I 2,352 I Mature I Sterek)

Little did Stiles know…

of ignoring problems until they go away by JaneDoe33

(3/? I 2,818 I Mature I No Pairing)

Scott is a good friend.He is.So Stiles has no right to feel abandoned by him.He does his best.Stiles is just being needy.Not that Scott knows.Not that Scott will ever know because if Scott finds out how pathetic he is he may not want to be friends anymore.So Stiles can’t tell anyone.Anyone at all.

Don’t Leave Me by Mr_Carrot

(7/? I 4,496 I Mature I Sterek i Rape)

The Stilinskis’ were on an airplane to Beacon Hills to visit Stiles’ grandparents on his 8th birthday, but he was the only person out of the entire plane who made it. He was taken in by his grandparents, but they died when he was 10. That was six years ago. He is now sixteen years old, adopted by the “not so kind” Theo Raeken. When he finally escapes, he finds his knight in shining armour.

NOT A BEAUTY QUEEN by RougueShadowWolf

(4/? I 6,355 I Not Rated I No Pairing)

It had always been a struggle not to feel like something useless, unwanted or ugly. Stiles couldn’t point out when exactly she’d learned she wasn’t beautiful, it just felt like she’d always been on the ugly-side of things so much so that even her own mother had sighed sorrowfully while saying, `I wish you could be as cute and pretty as Lydia and Heather.´
Not every girl is born to be beautiful, Stiles if anyone knew it.

I thought Ohana meant family by Beck2Beckk

(5/5 I 6,773 I Not Rated I Sterek)

After everything with the nogitsune, Stiles has been left behind in the dust. He has a hard time dealing and with everything that has been building up, coming to its peak, will someone lessen the blow, or will Stiles just blow up completely?

uoy evol I by danthezijn

(5/? I 19,921 I Mature I Stackson)

[06/15, 0:42am] LC: I can say things backwards without thinking about it

[06/15, 0:42am] RRH: you’ll have to prove that 2 me one day

[06/15, 0:43am] LC: maybe I will

__

Or the one where Jackson is lonely, searches for a friend online, and falls in love. Oh yeah, and he’s good at talking backwards.

Stiles the Strange Pet by TriscuitsandSoup

(23/23 I 62,205 I Mature I Steter)

Peter welcomes a strange new house guest.

A Life for a Life, Makes the Whole World Bound by augopher

(26/26 I 90,697 I Mature I Sterek)

Stiles was lonely; there was no other way of putting it. The Nogitsune had left the pack a wary of him, not that they thought it had been his fault. No, they worried it would happen again. Once bitten, twice shy.
The morning after his 18th birthday, his torso was covered in mysterious green tattoos. He hadn’t been that drunk. He’d definitely remember that. Great. Something else to make him feel like a freak. Insomnia led him to his mother’s diary and a tale of how she helped an odd man once who gave her the warning, “Be careful of your wishes three.“ Everything clicked into place.
So…he was a djinni. He subtly changed things about himself. More muscle? Done. Better hair? Done and done. End his crippling insecurity? Done, done, done. He hid his new gift until he found himself bound to Derek.
With Deaton’s help, they translated meanings in his tattoos, but they were incomplete. A passage of his ‘Rules and Regulations’ was missing. Everything was fine dandy until Stiles’ new powers and penchant for mischief and karmic retribution threatened to destroy him, fracture his mind, and turn him into something which couldn’t be contained.
Could the pack save him in time, and at what price?

The Beginning

A/n: This is something I’ve been playing with for a while now. I’m planning on writing more parts (if people like it anyway), so let me know what you think.

Originally posted by crazy-vibes-under-the-moon

Originally posted by hunterchesters

My phone ring as I swept the machete through the last vampire’s neck, his head tumbling to the floor, the body crumpled to the ground joining the head seconds after. My eyes scanned the room making sure I was the only one there. Once satisfied I pulled out my ringing phone.

“What’s up, Bobby?” I asked after seeing his name on the caller ID.

“You finished with those vamps yet?” He asked.

“Yep. Just finished actually.”

“Are you up for another case?”

“Sure. What is it?”

“We’re not sure yet. You remember those brothers I told you about? Sam and Dean? You’ll be working with them. They’ll  catch you up on everything once you get there.”

“Okay. Where?”

“Farmington, Missouri.” Bobby told me where and when to meet the brothers, I agreed and hung up. I sighed at the thought of teaming up. I didn’t really like working with other hunters and usually avoided it at all costs. But it was Bobby asking and it was just one case how bad it could it be?


The next day I was sitting in the coffee shop waiting for Sam and Dean to show up. Bobby hadn’t told me a lot about the brothers, just that they were some of the best hunters he knows. I eyed everyone who walked through the doors, watching for someone who matched the descriptions Bobby had given me. Finally two guys walked in. One tall with long hair and the other slightly shorter with short hair, both wearing flannel. They stood at the doors, scanning the room, most likely looking for me. I waved them over.

“Sam and Dean?” I asked as they approached the table.

“You must be Y/n.” The taller one said. “I’m Sam and this is my brother Dean.” We shook hands and they sat down across from me.

“Bobby tells me you boys need help.” I said folding my arms on the table.

“Yeah, we have absolutely no idea what’s going on in this town.” Sam said.

Dean didn’t look too happy. Probably one of those people who don’t like asking for help from strangers. I understood, I’m the same way.

“All the victims are men,” Sam continued, “they all had their stomachs ripped open and their internal organs were missing.”

Dean, who hadn’t taken his eyes off me, finally spoke. “Two of them were missing their eyes.”

I nodded, taking the information in. Trying to think of what this monster could be. “Any Witnesses?”

“None.” Sam shook his head.

I thought for a moment. Running through a mental list of all the monsters I knew that ate internal organs, eyes, and only went after men. “I think you’re dealing with Pontianak.”

“A what?” Dean gave me a confused look.

“A Pontianak. The name literally means ‘woman who died in childbirth.’ They find the guy that did them wrong while they were alive and they dig into his stomach and they eat their innards.”

“What about the missing eyes?” Sam asked.

“If you look at them, they suck out your eyes.” I responded simply.

“Gross.” Dean commented.

I laughed at his response. “Wait till you smell her. At first it’s a really nice fragrance but then it turns…” I made a face remembering the disgusting smell. “It’s bad, very bad. You know she’s coming by her scent and the noise she makes. It sounds like a baby crying. The softer the cry and the more disgusting the smell the closer she is.”

“How do we kill it?” Dean asked, leaning forward.

“A nail to the neck.”

Dean’s sunk back into his seat, “This should be easy.” He said sarcastically.

“So what’s our first move?” Sam looked to me.

“We figured out who she was.” I pulled out my laptop and searched for women who had died in childbirth in the surrounding area. “Fifty… Okay…” I mumbled, refusing to be discouraged. I wanted to impress them, though I had no idea why.

“How are we going to know which one is her?” Dean raised his eyebrows.

“You sure ask a lot of questions.” I told him, paying more attention to the list of names on the screen than the brothers in front of me. “Got a list of victims by any chance?”

Sam nodded and dug some papers out of his bag and handed them over. I nodded a thanks and was about to look through them when someone walked by with a tray of food and it occurred to me that I hadn’t eaten yet.

“I need brain food.” I declared standing up. “What about you guys?”

“Yeah, we can go for some food.” Sam stood and we went to order our food, leaving Dean behind to watch our stuff.

I pulled out my wallet to pay but Sam put his hand over it, “I got it.”

“Dude, I can pay for mine.” I objected.

“Don’t worry about.” He said quickly handing money to the cashier, who was smiling at our interaction.

I rolled my eyes and went to lean on the wall while we waited for our number to be called.

“So, Y/n,” Sam joined me, “how long have you been at the job?”

I thought for a moment. “I went on my first hunt when I was eleven, so five years.”

“Eleven?” Sam looked at me shocked. “Isn’t that a little young to start hunting?”

I only shrugged.

“Five years? That would make you sixteen.”

“Yeah, and?”

“What about school?” Sam looked concerned.

“I still go to school.” I defended. “Why do you care, anyways? It’s not like you know me or anything.”

“You’re young. You should have a normal life, not be a hunter.”

“Sam,” I glared at him, “it is my life. I’m gonna do what I want with it no matter what anyone says. Besides, it’s not like we’re gonna see each other after this hunt anyways. We’ll be out of each other’s lives, so don’t try to tell me how to live mine.” Our number was called and I grabbed the try of food and walked back toward the table.

Sam slid in next to his brother. “Dude, she’s only sixteen.”

Dean looked up at me shocked. “And here I thought you just looked young for your age.” He shook his head in disbelief, “I can’t believe Bobby sent a kid to help us out.”

I ignored his comment and looked through the list of vics Sam had given me, occasionally popping fries in my mouth. “How ‘bout we focus on the case instead of my age? I think that’s a great plan.”

Sam gave me what I can only describe as a bitch-face.

I looked up the first guys name. “Robby Tanner, rapped a sixteen years old. Were his reproductive organs intact?”

Sam and Dean gave each other a look. “No, they were missing.” Dean answered reluctantly.

I nodded. “Sindy Wilcons was the rape victim,” I scanned down the list of women who died in childbirth, “and she died giving birth. Could be her.” I looked back at the boys. “Any others missing reproductive organs?”

“Um, yeah,” Sam took the papers from me. “ John Anderson and Mike Wilcons.”

“Was Mike her husband?” I asked.

Sam nodded.

I looked up the names Sam had given me. “Looks like Anderson was too. They got divorced and he ended up with everything.” I leaned back in my seat and crossed my arms over my chest. “I get why she’d have a grudge against him and Tanner but why Wilcons?” I said more to myself then them.

“What about the other two vics?” Dean asked between bites of his bacon cheese burger.

“Those the two with no eyes?” I asked.

He nodded, mouth full of food.

I looked through their files. “Well, I don’t see any obvious connection to Sindy and their reproductive organs were intact, which suggests she didn’t have a grudge with either of them. I’m guessing they were just in the wrong place at the wrong time and saw her so she sucked out their eyes. These other three guys are the important ones, they all wronged her in some way. We need to figure out what Wilcons did and if she has any other men who pissed her off enough that she’d want to kill them.”

“We?” Dean raised his brow.

“Yeah, we.” I leaned forward giving them both a serious look. “I did the research to figure out what was up with these men.”

“Y/n, look we appreciate your help and I’m sure you’re a good hunter and all-” Sam started but I cut him off.

“Oh no, You are not kicking me off this case. I drove three hours to get here, I’m not just going to pack up and leave when the jobs half done. You guys wanted help and here I am. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

The brothers looked at each other, having a silent conversation. “Sam, no. She’s just a kid.” Dean said aloud.

“You’ve heard the rumors and the way Bobby talks about her, Dean. She can handle herself.”

“And there’s the fact that even if you say no, I still won’t leave and I’ll try to finish it before you.” I pointed out.

Dean sighed, “Fine. I guess we can work together.”

Now that that was cleared up Sam thought it was a good time to ask me more questions. “What got you into hunting?”

“And why do your parents let you do it?” Dean added.

“Really? We’re gonna do this?” I asked hoping to get out of question time.

They both nodded.

I let out a sigh knowing by the looks on their faces that they’d keep pestering until I answered. “A werewolf got my mom. My dad ditched me. So they don’t really let me do anything. That answer your questions?”

“No, it just raises more questions.” Dean informed me.

I ran my hand down my face. I was getting frustrated with the situation. “Look. I don’t really wanna go over my life’s story with two strangers. Let’s just get this hunt done and go our separate ways. Sound good?” I stood up to leave.

Our Story

Read the other chapters here.

Life goes on—quickly, greedily, and with a hunger that brings them to their knees. How to satiate it? How to stop it? They start journals (Claire), write more books (Jamie), do everything they can snag the veil with immortalized moments. If a memory is made concrete, they think—in writing or in a photograph—then perhaps time will have to move around it? Be forced to decelerate? (Time doesn’t care. About them, about anyone. The universal enemy.)

Claire is promoted to Chief of Staff, improves at Scrabble, develops a lump in her breast they believe to be cancer (it isn’t). Jamie learns how to sail without puking, gets a teaching job at Chapel Hill. He is less motivated by the idea of tenure—stability, money—than by the opportunity to stoke creative sparks in others just like him. In the fourth row sits a girl whose essays are colored by the loss of her mother, the grief of it found even in the gray eraser clouds. The boy behind her writes poems of spun sugar, overly romantic but endearing in their sincerity, and Jamie remembers this boy whenever he looks in the mirror.

Jamie grows a beard specifically to impress them. All of his professors concealed their weakening chins in thickets of hair, so why not him? The new aesthetic receives a positive response: Claire loves its tickle between her legs, his classes seem to find him wiser and mind less when his memory suddenly fails. (A common occurrence as of late, damn it all.) But when Jamie shaves for the summer, he feels strangely guilty—Bree’s expression, a scowl of disappointment in the reclaimed smoothness of his face. (The source of her sadness is revealed a few days later: she’d believed her father was Santa Claus.)

Jamie and Claire watch their bodies sag, widen. They watch their cholesterol, their caloric intake. There is the month-long agony of a shared paleo diet, an experiment which, come July, they decide is the dumbest thing they’ve ever done.

“No carbs!” Jamie crows in disbelief.

“No alcohol!” Claire hoots.

“Did I tell ye I cheated one day?”

“Jamie, you didn’t!”

“Aye, I ate Bree’s leftover macaroni,” he says. “Gobbled it right up, didna even use a fork.”

“Bloody traitor,” Claire says, and they laugh and laugh. Clink hearty glasses of wine as a toast to the old-age blessing of letting go and getting fat. (Jamie will repay Claire under the full moon, to redeem himself.)

For a while, it seems everyone they know gets divorced: a beloved colleague, a woman in Claire’s book club. When they hear the news, they praise their own luck, secretively locking hands before offering their sympathies. Such announcements inspire extra enthusiasm for the “Married” boxes on government forms. And saying things like, “My wife, Claire” or, “Have you met Jamie, my husband?” gives them a heart-swelling high.  (Belatedly, they realize this shouldn’t be considered luck at all—but a given. This, their lasting marriage.)

It’s only after the Abernathy’s separation that worry niggles its way between them. They watch each other carefully, sousing out possible itches: a desire to flee to a foreign country, a lust for someone whose faults are more expertly hidden. (No marriage, even Jamie and Claire’s, is without its itches. The difference here is that they never want to scratch them.) Jamie is careful about putting the toilet seat down, and he allots himself just an hour of self-pity for every negative book review. Claire does not organize his messy office, respects the calculated disorganization of his shelves, even though the clutter makes her skin crawl. She keeps the AC off every night that summer, just so she can feel Jamie’s heat next to hers. A way of ensuring that he is still there, sweating himself into their sheets, which will remain unwashed for several days.

Their biggest fight is in September of 2014. One of Jamie’s students begins to show more interest in her professor than in her studies. There are bold advances, firm rejections, a vengeful letter that describes their trysts in explicit detail (strangely, Claire finds the Dear Mrs. Fraser and Xoxo Malva to be the cruelest things of all). All lies, of course, but still Jamie and Claire fight. Feelings of betrayal stew overnight, and Jamie is exiled from their bed like a misbehaving dog, Claire watching from the doorway as Jamie whimpers to the couch. Two days of silence pass—the dean notified, apologies made, and tears shed—before he finally barges into the bathroom, uninvited.

“Are ye going to leave me?” he asks Claire, very quiet for someone who nearly ripped the door from its hinges.

“Jamie, now is not a good time.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m peeing.”

“So ye canna pee in front of me now?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

But Jamie stays there, waiting, fetches toilet paper when Claire’s hand lights on the used-up cardboard roll. She flushes and stands. A child is born and dies a man in the minute it takes his wife to wash up.  

“So?” he asks. “Are ye?”

“Don’t be an idiot,” she says.


They throw themselves into parenthood. Bree learns her ABCs, then her multiplication tables, then how to weep so that the dinosaur coloring book secures a spot in their shopping cart. Some innocence is lost after a public mounting: two petting zoo goats, vigorous thrusts, shameless bleats of ovine ecstasy. On the way home, “Where do babies come from?” is asked loudly from the backseat, though Jamie and Claire’s discomfort speaks louder from the front.

“From…from love,” Jamie stutters. “It’s something very special,” Claire adds—though a child is neither the guaranteed result, nor always the aim. They glance at each other, wondering if their daughter’s newfound awareness will require more discretion in the night. (There’s an element of danger to sex now, and the sneaky, moan-suppressing game of it reminds them of being young again.)

When they revisit the subject a few years later, they add such parental wisdom as: Trust is key; you must trust the person you consider doing It with. (Boy or girl, it doesn’t matter, they will love her anyways, does she know that?)

Actually, there needs to be trust and there needs to be protection. A rubber. A condom? Has Bree ever heard of a condom? (Yes.) What? How? Why is she aware of condoms if she is only eleven years old?

She is twelve years old, she is fourteen, she is sixteen going on thirty. Jamie and Claire spend hours looking for an elusive Pause button, the world moving at the same rapid-fire pace. 2015 becomes 2019, then 2022 in the blink of an eye. 

They watch Bree join the volleyball team, break her wrist, break her heart. They watch her pinch whiteheads, lust after jocks and platinum hair dye, suck in her stomach before full-length mirrors (sometimes, this makes them want to cry; sometimes they do). They watch her as she descends the staircase in a pair of towering heels, a vision of silk and emerald and such astounding loveliness that they cannot fathom how their bodies made her.

This is the night of Bree’s senior prom, the winds of change in the air. It is ten hours before she will lose her virginity—a three-minute fumble inside a Toyota—to the boy now standing on the porch. (There will be trust and a condom and the first delirious onslaught of love.) The boy, named Roger, looks utterly stunned as Bree pins his boutonniere to his lapel, as if she has driven the needle straight through his tux, directly into his heart.

The couple is herded to stand beneath the sycamore, and to say, “Cheese!” (“Or gouda,” Jamie jokes, having settled quite comfortably into the routine of bad Dad humor.) Jamie cannot get a picture that isn’t blurry, and so it is Claire, with her steady surgeon’s hands, who manages the perfect shot. This is the photo that will hang on the fridge door, while the other—the one taken mid-parental transition—will make the family album. Roger laughing, Bree rolling her eyes at her father’s incompetence. It is a photo that will make Claire misty whenever she sees it. Even ten years later, when she glues their wedding photo beside it.

Still—life goes on. Birthdays, high school graduation, anniversaries. Bree gets into Harvard, Claire becomes addicted to RuPaul’s Drag Race, Jamie chops off his finger while julienning vegetables. Their Cocker Spaniel, Adso, lunges at the pinkish nub, mistaking it for a discarded bit of hot dog. (Thankfully, Claire rescues the finger, and it is transported in a baggy of ice—along with its owner—to the ER.) 

Bree spends freshman winter term in Spain and calls home speaking the language, which only Jamie understands. They make it a joke to mislead Claire with outlandish stories, until she eventually catches on:

“Brianna got a tattoo of Roger’s face in Barcelona,” Jamie translates. “Full color, and at a verra reasonable price.”

“I know for a fact that the word ‘tattoo’ has not been used in this conversation,” Claire replies. “I’ve been watching Rosetta Stone, just FYI.”

“Weel, you’ll just have to see the proof of it, then.” 

Doubt flickers across Claire’s face.

“You’re not serious, are you?”

“Maybe.”

“You’re lying.”

“Yes, he’s lying, Mama,” Bree chimes over the speakerphone, and they both start laughing.

“You two are the worst.”

“But you’re the best, Sassenach,”

“Damn right,” she mutters.


November 2028. The year, somehow, is almost over. In one week Bree will come home for Thanksgiving, wearing a Harvard sweatshirt and a promise ring from Roger. Roger himself will tag along, and in the manner of all nervous boyfriends, he will stutter through Jamie’s questions, be all-too-grateful for the distraction of clearing plates. (“Don’t worry about that, I’ll get it!”)

Claire, away on a 3-week conference, will be back as well. She will serve the turkey with a glint in her eye, daring someone to note how the side dishes seem suspiciously store-bought. The table will only offer their effusive praise, lubricating the dry turkey with the chemical-laden gravy, feeding Adso the scraps they couldn’t get down themselves.

Until then, Jamie has the house to himself. He has not been alone like this since the early 2000′s, and his mind becomes unsettlingly untethered by the solitude. He goes hunting, fishing, hiking. He leaves the front door wide open, pours Adso too much food. He forgets his tackle box in the woods and doesn’t realize it’s missing until the sun has sunk. Tomorrow, he thinks.

He attempts to write his story for The New Yorker, but he can’t seem to parse his thoughts into sentences. They buzz around his head like aimless bees, and he almost wishes for a sting, a pricking back to his eloquent senses. (Where is that damn outline he made a month ago?)

Like a teenager, he goes to his bedroom at 3PM, intending to jack off his loneliness. He tries to summon an image of Claire from the last time they fucked (18 days ago!), but there’s nothing clear enough to get him hard. Just a pale throat, the vaguest suggestion of a flower. He resits his phone—he’s called three times in the past six hours—and watches a football game instead.

The days go on. Adso watches him, alert, as if he’s waiting for the final unraveling, the arrival of a ghost. Jamie starts five books, returns them to shelves before he finishes. He prepares extravagant meals, stores the bulk of them in tupperware. He eats, he drinks, he sleeps.

Then, in the middle of the night—a smell. It sits on him, pressing down like an angry fist. He sits up. A searing pain that keeps his eyes closed. A sudden constriction of his lungs. An alarm going off and a dog’s yip, the roar of them traveling through a fog, a—smoke?

There is smoke. Jamie falls out of bed and runs, blindly, but there is only heat where the door should be. He feels heavy; he feels light. He feels as if he is rising high above the house and that he is falling down, far down, beneath it. He plans an escape, but there is no synergy between his mind and his movements. He pauses.

Claire. Where is Claire? If he could just open his eyes, if could just breathe properly, then he would call for her, and—

He is on the floor now. When did he get here? How did he get here? The carpet is soft under his cheek, a pillow to go with the blanket that suffocates him. Perhaps he’ll simply sleep and wait for the nightmare—for that is surely what this is—to end. A dream, only a dream.

But he can’t just lie still! There was someone else, right? That name from a few minutes (hours?) ago is on the very tip of his tongue. He wants to yell it into the screen of smoke, but a surge of memory tells him to conserve his breath. Whoever it is, isn’t here. Whoever it is, wouldn’t hear. (How frustrating it is to feel such desperation for an unknown.)

It’s so hot now, unbearably hot. It reminds him of something. Stories. A boy who sucked the spirit right out of his mother, entered the world in a stolen blaze of fire. Another woman whose hands licked him up and down, the most exquisite burning.

There are sirens. There are shouts. Bright beams flash through the black cloud around him. He raises an arm to admire their light on his skin, deceptively playful in their colorful dance and silent song. Pretty, Jamie thinks, and because the familiarity is a comfort, he lets it take him under.

And just like that, in a wash of red and blue—life stops.

@theloyalravenclaw asked for an AU in which all of the Avatars introduced onscreen are siblings.

1. In the heart of a working class Republic City neighborhood is a family of seven children.  Their father was an earthbender, and their mother was a half Northern Water Tribe half Fire Nation nonbender.  Both died a year ago, and ever since, Yangchen, the oldest nonbending daughter has taken over as the parent.  She is twenty and very frustrated with her waterbending next oldest brother, Kuruk, who doesn’t understand why she feels the need to be such a tightass.

4. Wan, the oldest of the family and a firebender, moved to Ba Sing Se before their parents died, and he is in the process of raising the money to move home to help his sister out and possibly put Kuruk in a headlock.

3. Kyoshi is a sixteen year old earthbender looking to join the police.  She may be a little in love with Chief Lin Beifong.  Okay, a lot in love.  Roku is fourteen and a dumbass.  Everyone ignores him except when he accidentally sets fire to something important.

4. Eight year old Korra is fascinated by the existence of eight year old Avatar Asami in the same city as her, and it is only because he’s such a sweetheart that her twelve year old brother Aang only teases her about this a little.  Also when he teases her, she freezes him to things.

5. When Harmonic Convergence comes down in a few years, Aang and Yanghen are going to gt airbending, making every single person in this family a bender, and meaning they’ve got at least one bender of each element.