and i thought i should publish just to clean up everything

the consolations of philosophy

“It doesn’t make you vulnerable to allow someone else to love you, to be kind to you. Most of the time, we are not kind to ourselves, anyways.”

➤ Jungkook x Reader | ChildhoodFriends!AU & College!AU

You will find: angst, fluff, implied smut, friends to lovers

Word count: 21,546

Author’s note: Truly one of the most personal-driven and overly emotional stories I have written in a while. To be quite honest, I hesitated for a second before publishing it, but I believe I won’t regret this decision. Once again, feedback is always welcome. Title from this piece. 

Days passed by monotonously.

At times, they passed in a homogeneous nebula of banausic resolutions, a haziness of venomous smoke that permeated her lungs and suffocated her from the inside out. Consolidated, it could be comparable to the vapor that performed slow-motion pirouettes in her bathroom after a shower; the same foretelling of looming storms neighboring the obfuscous skyline. It was the deprivation of vivacity; the apathy for each and every circumstantiality of her mundane chores, those being repeated again and again—a broken record, as she would contemplate, a vexatious rasping noise in the background of her every action, a recurring routine that leisurely strangled her with its hyperborean hands. Again: the outburst of opaque cinereal that came from cigars on the street; licking of conflagrant flames that illuminated gelid nocturnal alleyways. At least it was positive for some.

Other instances, it would be detected in the viscous hollowness that dwelled in her chest. We are all born with emptiness inside of us, her mother once verbalized. That pathless sentence was one of those fragments of ruptured dialogues that lived amongst her memories, reverberating and emerging when she least expected it too—yet, when she most necessitated. Some people, the woman speculated, decided to congest such lacuna with carnal desires: sex, drugs, food, alcohol; others preferred to spend hours upon hours haunted by the immersive universes of a good book, a movie, or frequent social interactions. Most, come what may, attempted to fill it up alternatively to properly learning how to endure the feeling. Lack of feeling. Whatever could describe it more properly.  

Not solely monotonously: days passed lethargically, apathetically. Wintery, even—denuded of saturation and warmness. They came and went like self-perpetuating waves to the sands of a godforsaken beachside: crashing, cleaning, wiping away all traces that could have been left there aforetime. Undertow, drought, tormentous tides, and currents that led to the eclipsed oblivion. Comparisons aside, tracing parallels did not make those interminable hours any better; the ocean was still there, just as stupendous and immensurable. Just as empty.

But of course, those were not all of her days. Some of them, Jungkook was there to keep her company.

Keep reading


Let me start from the beginning. I worked at McDonald’s in Laplace, Louisiana. I did everything in the store. So one day my manager told me to get some ice cream mix because the ice cream machine was running low on it. So when I got the mix and poured it into the machine, I spilled it all over. Of course I then had to clean the machine so I did. While cleaning the machine I noticed they had black panels of both sides just like how they do on the back of the machine. I know what it looks like when you pull the panels (aka drip trays) out of the back of the machine so I wondered what it looked like on the sides. Well… what you see in the pics is what I pulled out of the machine. I was shocked and disgusted, so what did I do? I took a picture of course. I kept the pics in my phone for about 15 days prior to tweeting them. I never had a plot to “expose” McDonald’s, it just happened. I was actually at work when I tweeted the pics. I didn’t think they would get any attention because I feel like no one cares about anything I tweet… I was wrong. The first day of it being up it had like 80 retweets and that’s when I thought the post peaked. I was completely wrong. The next day it blew up and I couldn’t even use my phone. Meme accounts and celebrities noticed my tweet. Jay Versace quoted it and I was like WOW I CAN’T BELIEVE ITS GETTING THIS BIG! Not that he’s really a celebrity but a couple of famous viners saw it and one of the vine stars got into a fight on the thread of the tweet. I honestly didn’t think anyone would give a damn at first because I feel like everything I do goes unnoticed. I posted the tweet because I wanted to get fired because I was fed up with McDonald’s and I knew I wouldn’t quit or look for another job because I had McDonald’s, but I knew if I was fired that I wouldn’t have a choice to find a better job. It was 4 days after the tweet going viral that my manager called me into the office and I already knew what was about to happen. She asked me about it and to sum it up, I showed her the first picture but not the actual tweet because I knew she would flip out if she saw the number of people that saw it and retweeted it. The tweet only had about 5k retweets at the time and was still blowing up. Before I knew it the pics from my tweet were all over Facebook, Instagram, and twitter. So I got fired and then the owner of that McDonald’s called me to ask me to delete the tweet and I told him no. He set up a meeting with me and with some woman from corporate. I agreed to the meeting just to hear what she would tell me. So I get there and she gets out of her car and so does another woman that I wasn’t informed about was coming. Automatically I have an attitude because I feel like this is an ambush at this point and not a meeting. Turns out I was right. The women were begging me to delete the tweet and the entire thread because the whole thing went viral. They had screenshots of my tweets and everything as if I cared. I told them I wasn’t deleting anything. I don’t owe these people anything. They fired me, what else do they want from me? Once I told them I wasn’t deleting it and that Teen Vogue wrote an article about me and the tweet and that almost 6 million people have seen it, they got hostile. They starting talking to me like a dog and they tried to double team me and argue me down. Well it didn’t work and they said, “I think we should leave because I don’t think we’re getting anywhere with you” and I told them, “yeah I think y'all should leave because I’m not deleting the tweet.” After all the bs I went through with corporate and the owner of that location, I STILL DIDN’T DELETE THE TWEET! People on twitter and around me in my life told me that I should lawyer up because it could get very messy. I was nervous at first because I thought I could get in legal trouble with McDonald’s. At the same time I honestly didn’t care and I’m glad I kept that attitude because at the end of the day I didn’t get in any trouble whatsoever. I applied to jobs in my town but knew that was a long shot because buzzfeed put my face on the cover of the article that we did together and I was on the homepage of buzzfeed. I did lots of phone interviews with journalists, radio show hosts, and even FaceTime interviews for tv shows. People were telling me I was dumb for doing interviews for free but the internet is the internet and either writers and publishers can make what they want of the tweet or I could give them the real story behind it. I did articles with buzzfeed, the daily mail, huffington post, and insider. There’s hundreds of more articles that were written that I personal wasn’t apart of but it was still cool to see. People were sending me links for big media outlets in foreign countries of articles that I couldn’t even read because they weren’t in English. I did interviews with people from China, Brazil, Australia. I was getting DM’s and phone calls out the ass. It was cool. There’s even YouTube videos that people made about that tweet and the executive producer from The Doctor Oz show called me and said they possibly wanted to fly me out to New York to be on the show. Ummm…. he’ll yeah I’d fly out with all expenses paid. I don’t think that’ll happen at his point but the fact that I was even contacted because they were interested was pretty awesome. People still talk about the machine til this day and people still recognize me from the buzzfeed article. At this point the tweet has been viewed almost 9 million times has it still gets likes and retweets to this day. I regret nothing and I’m happy I did what I did because people should know about what is really going on at the places they buy food from. Now that working at McDonald’s is in the past, I now work two jobs that both know about the McDonald’s tweet and don’t care. Having two jobs is hard but I’m taking it one day at a time.

have you seen her?

Originally posted by teenwxlves

pairings: reader x stiles stilinski.

warnings: meh, a bit angsty, some smut. nothing much. 

a/n: I wasn’t going to publish it in the first place, it was just going to be a little thing I did for my precious bee, @dylan-trash-tbh, however, I though I would risk it and post it. I really hope you all enjoy it!! 

ps.: you might have some characteristics that don’t belong to you, because, as I said, I made this especially to bee and now I’m sharing. haha

word count: 6867

Keep reading

Gunshot (a sneak peek)

So… This was written way back in January (yikes), when I first started to write the mafia au fic 8 Days a Week and only @kawaiilo-ren and a couple other people have seen it. You might think you’ve seen it before, because Kait is a babe and she’s been drawing the amazing comic of this scene (and murdering me along the way). 

My plan was to keep this private until it was time to publish it on Ao3 but life is short and I actually like this. People will probably forget by the time it’s published there anyway, oops. 

Under the cut because it’s long. 

Hospital hall is looking cold and bleak under the fluorescent lights, like it did many hours ago. Yuri doesn’t remember how long it’s been since he left the building but coming back feels like returning from war, maybe. He doesn’t know what war feels like. It must be exhausting, if it resembles this even slightly. 

Ignoring his shaking hands is easy, as is turning a blind eye to his pulsating head ache. His body is crashing after riding through the adrenaline waves and he would kill for a nap; but that would make the list of things worth killing for longer and he isn’t sure if he is ready to deal with the paperwork. He isn’t ready to deal with anything yet, he just wants to return the weapon to its true owner and fall into a lifelong slumber.

Keep reading

(You’re Like) The Son I Never Had

So this idea has been floating around my head for a couple of days, so I’ve just sat down and written…. I apologise for the angsty-ness lower down but I promise a happy ending!! Also, @itsallavengers, consider this revenge/thanks for all the wonderful Tony and Peter you’ve graced us with. This is not the trans!Peter you were promised, but that is on it’s way. 

This can be found on Ao3 here

The first time Tony holds his son, it is with no small amount of panic. Happy had found the child left in the lobby of the tower, a birth certificate, apology and a DNA test left tucked into the basket with him. He has a small amount of fluffy brown hair, and he’s still sleeping soundly even as Pepper makes him pick the child up. The weight of this small baby in his arms makes him want to scream – this was never the plan, Tony can’t be trusted with himself, why would he be trusted with a child – but the child snuffles and curls into him, and the metaphorical ice fortress around his heart melts a little. The child blinks awake with dark dark eyes, and doesn’t cry.

Maybe Tony can do this.

(Beware the read more mobile users!)

Keep reading

Yuzuru Hanyu Special Interview (Fantasy on Ice in KOBE pamphlet)

Yuzuru gave an interview after the 3-day Makuhari run of Fantasy on Ice, published in the pamphlet of FaOI in KOBE. He talks about Chopin Ballade No.1, his short program for the upcoming Olympic season, as continuation and culmination of everything he’s learned from figure skating; his concept of live performance and ichi go ichi e (一期一会); and shares his thoughts about what an ice show and its audience mean to him (aw :’)).

Translated by gladi, feel free to repost with credits. Original scans thanks to Frances.

Interview・Toshimi Oriyama

“In order to show the best performance at Fantasy on Ice, always keeping ‘this is the real thing!’ in spirit and in mind"

For Yuzuru Hanyu, who hadn’t been able to participate last year due to injuries, it has been two years since his last Fantasy On Ice. Landing a 4T right off the bat and more at the opening show in Makuhari, he radiated exuberance as he threw heart and soul into his performance.

Keep reading

Flood my Mornings: Winky

Notes from Mod Bonnie

  • This story takes place in an AU in which Jamie travels through the stones two years after Culloden and finds Claire and his child in 1950 Boston.
  • Previous installment: The Difference (J/C moment the first night Ian’s home with them) 

July 28, 1951

“Oh, little love….You are a sweet one, aren’t you?”

It was just after sunrise and Ian and I were already up and at it, fed (for his part) and cuddling on the sofa. Truly, he was an uncommonly sweet baby, calm and untroubled by most things encountered in the course of his day, and fairly easy to quiet when he did cry or fuss. Bree, by contrast, had been cranky by default, at least for the first month. No less fiercely loved for it, of course, but I couldn’t deny my relief at the prospect of having an easier go of things in general with this little lad.  

Beyond that though, even at only one week old, it was becoming clear that Ian had a very curious spirit. He was forever stretching his limbs and making little happy gasping sounds as he studied his surroundings, taking it all in with wide, keen eyes….. dark amber eyes, to Jamie’s utter delight. Currently, he was propped up against my bent knees, gumming his wrist enthusiastically. 

“What have you got there, sweetheart?” I whispered, beaming down at him despite my sleepiness (and roaring headache and aching nipples). “Does it taste nice?’ 

Apparently it did, for he kept moving upward until, by complete accident, he caught his thumb in his mouth. He blinked once in surprised, then began sucking with alacrity. “Oh, aren’t you clever! Found a treat, have you?” I laughed. The only problem was, he hadn’t quite mastered the art of getting the other fingers out of the way, so his tiny fingernails were poking into his eyelid. I watched as his face went from sensory delight to puzzlement to realization of his discomfort then complete despair as he burst into a wail.

“It’s alright, winky,” I half-laughed, half-’aww’ed as I helped him get the extra fingers out of the way and he quieted again, blissfully self-soothing. “There, love, that’s better, isn’t it?” 

“I swear, Sassenach,” came Jamie’s voice from the doorway to the kitchen through which he was walking with two steaming cups of tea.  “I never seem to catch him at it, myself.” 

“You’re awake! And an angel,” I all but moaned as he set my cup on the endtable to cool. “….Catch him at what?”

“Winking. Shout for me next time he does so I can see, aye?” He kissed my cheek, then his son’s. “Mind yourself, Ian. Ye must be trying it on wi’ your Mam a terrible lot for it to have become your name, aye?” 

Jamie gave me what he surely thought was a roguish wink in demonstration (see: unsettlingly-intense blink) and I spluttered laughing. “Well, if he ever did take to winking, we’ll know he got it from me, won’t we?”

“I can wink!” Jamie declared indignantly, demonstrating again, the only difference being that he now looked like a decidedly peevish owl.

“Trust me, darling, you really can’t, but don’t ever stop trying.” I kept giggling as I shifted Ian up off of my legs and cuddled him close. “But no, I call him winky for Rip van Winkle.”

“For what, now?” Jamie had just sat down, and he was looking over his cup as though he feared the fatigue had gone straight to my head. 

“Because of how much he slept those first few days. Don’t you remember? I know you heard me call him that in hospital.”

Jamie silently mouthed the words rip van winkle then realization dawned. “Oh, aye,” he said slowly, nodding, “ye did, at that. Just went over my head, I suppose.”

“Oh, I see, you just presumed your wife was spouting nonsense in her addled state, mm?” Jamie’s sheepish grin was answer enough. “Well, anyway, I kept calling him that on my own, and over time it became winky, and it seemed to suit him, so, here we are.”

“But what in God’s name is a rip-Van-winkle? And what’s it to do wi’ sleeping?

Rip Van Winkle: eponymous hero of a classic American short story. Well—as classic as something published in the early 1800s can be.”  

“Ah, ‘tis a name. Van Winkle: a dutchman, then?”

“Almost! He’s a loyal subject of George III residing in New York who gets drunk and falls asleep on a mountaintop. Upon awakening, he learns that twenty years have passed, and he’s left to take stock of all that has changed in the interim.”

Jamie snorted into his cup. “Canna even fathom such a preposterous thing.”

It took me a moment to register, but then there were chills rushing down my spine. Lord, if any two people in the world could relate to such a tale, they were in this room. Could there be some grain of truth behind the story, I wondered. Had Washington Irving himself experienced something that he couldn’t explain? Might one discern an ominous buzzing in the Catskill Mountains, had they the knowledge to recognize it? All of literature now suddenly seemed a secret testament, waiting to be sifted and seen for what it might truly be: evidence. 

I shuddered again, brought back to the present only by Jamie’s hand gently prying at my fingers. “Give him here, mo ghraidh. You’ve sat wi’ him all the night.”

In fact, Jamie had twice been the one to arise in the night to hold and soothe and change nappies, but he would get no protest from me. I retrieved my tea and surrendered to its comforting warmth, snuggling into the cushions and happily watching my two lads. 

And how fare you today, a bhalaich?” Jamie was asking in Gaelic, holding the baby up at eye level. Ian only burped and dribbled milky saliva down his chin. “Oh, I’m grand, myself, thank you most kindly for asking.” He kissed the tip of Ian’s nose, then cradled him expertly in one arm and cleaned the messy face with the sleeve of the other as he addressed me again. “So, then: what did Mr. Winkle find, when he awakened? Did he like the things he discovered?” 

“It was mostly a political commentary, if I recall correctly. The story was written a few decades after the American Revolution, and I think the author meant to give his own opinion of the new republic.” I sipped my tea, trying to remember the particulars of what old Rip had had to face. “The man got off easily, really,” I summarized flippantly. “Hardly anything at all compared to the adjustments you or I had to make.” 

Snob,” Jamie teased. 

You say snob; I say we’ve bloody well earned our laurels! Lord, I mean, what’s two decades in the grand scheme of things?” 

“Yet in a man’s own life,” Jamie shrugged, letting Ian chew on his knuckles, “'tis a verra long time indeed.” 

“That’s true… Particularly since the story suggests that he aged commensurately. Came down the mountain with the long beard and everything.”

“So he had to see his children already grown? All those years he missed?” Now it was Jamie’s turn to shudder. I saw him tighten his grip around Ian, a hand coming up over his head as though to shield him. “Perhaps you and I had the more difficult task in terms of weathering a baffling new society, Sassenach, but the dutchman had a burden to bear, himself….a mightily great burden.”  

Thinking on such things must have been painful, for Jamie looked up suddenly with a determined sort of cheerfulness. “I’ll count myself blessed that the stones let me keep my youth. Doesna bear imagining what I’d look like, now, at, what…. 228?”  

It was clear Jamie wanted to keep things lighthearted, so we laughed and joked as the sunlight continued to fill the room, but I couldn’t resist asking, “Did you like the society you found, Jamie?” 

He looked over at me across the baby’s head, Ian now—true to his nickname— sound asleep on Jamie’s shoulder. 

“I only wondered how often you find yourself longing for your own time? If the past seems—better, purer, easier, you know?” 

I myself had had such thoughts at times, particularly in those early days of readjusting to electrical contraptions and busy streets; or when reading the papers and seeing the pure scale of butchery and tragedy across the world. While the eighteenth century had surely been no picnic, there were days when I longed for it with startling fierceness. 

Jamie leaned his head against Ian’s, thinking, though it didn’t take him long before he said: “I dinna think there shall ever be a generation that doesna glorify the setting of their own youthful memories. Still…Change will always be for the good and the bad, but a ‘society’ is what you make of it, aye? Provided I was free and the governance over me (on the whole) just and principled? Then the greater merit of a time should always be determined by the loved ones I had wi’ me, to make it mine.” He beckoned me close and I nestled in, laying my hand on Ian’s back. “Both will always be home, in their way. But this…” His hand pressed overtop mine, overtop Ian, “this is my time. Wherever you are, our family is: that is what I claim as mine.”   

“Well, Jamie,” I said a long time later through the still-clearing lump in my throat, “you’ve got Mr. Winkle well and truly trounced on all counts, now.”

“Oh? How’s that?” 

“The only blessing he truly counted to himself after the twenty year sleep was that his wife had died in the interim.”

Jamie’s eyes, first puzzled, went red with fearsome indignation. “Why, the wicked wee shite!” 

“Yes, indeed,” I laughed, still wiping away a tender tear or two. “He grieved terribly when his dog didn’t recognize him, but was practically over the moon to learn he’d been made a widower. The story made quite a point of how hen-pecked the man was.”

“Well, as for that,” Jamie said, leaning forward to nuzzle his nose against mine, “I canna relate in the slightest.”

servantofclio  asked:

Shakarian prompt: Early morning

She wakes in darkness.

It threatens to close around her, as it is wont to do as of late. She grips her chest, feeling her steady heartbeat beneath her cold hand, and takes a long, slow breath. 

As she is about to make a request for EDI to turn on the lights, another breath hitches beside her, and she pauses. Memories from the night before flicker into her thoughts, like stars brightening in the skies during night’s progression. 

A talon following the bumps of her spine. A rattling breath in her ear, hitching on the inhale, groaning on the exhale. The flicker of mandibles against her cheek. Warmth spreading through her body, from fingers to toes. 


He has spent several evenings in her quarters now, as prone to nightmares and sleeplessness as she. Together they insist the sexual release assuages the horrifying images from the base, crew members melted into liquid before their very eyes as they stand by, helpless. 

But Shepard is wise to her own deception. The sex is wonderful – awkward and filled with nervous laughter, but wonderful nonetheless –  but it is not the reason her resting heart rate and blood pressure have decreased as of late. It is not the reason she now sleeps more, eats more, laughs more. 

He is. 

But infatuation isn’t a good look for Commander Shepard, while casual sex is, so she buries the deeper feelings. Yearning to feel his hide beneath her fingertips she reaches out in the dark, slowly, tentatively, and rests her palm on whatever it may find; which, it turns out, is his cowl, rising and falling slowly with his rhythmic breathing. 

Garrus is composed of tough hide and sharp lines, the turian exterior reflecting the rigid philosophies of their species. Yet in spite of the hard exterior Garrus only reminds her of softness: he grips her tenderly, whispers gently, fills her softly, embraces her warmly. With Shepard, he is the opposite of everything he had ever been taught to be. Her fingers venture further, her sense of touch amplified by her lack of vision, tracing along his neck, mandible, waist – he shivers –

“You’re not very good at sleeping in, Shepard.” His voice is low, gravelly with sleep. She smiles at the sound.

“Never have been. I abhor the idea of wasting perfectly good time lying in bed.”

“Is that so?” Curious fingers trace up his body to rest on his mandible, which flickers under her touch. “Nothing good ever comes of lying in bed.”

“Absolutely not.” She’s grinning now. “Not when we could be productive.”

He inches closer to her, hands seeking her out blindly, fingertips coming to rest on her waist. She sighs contentedly at the feeling of his warm body pressed against hers. “How should we spend this fine morning, then?” Idly he traces circles along her waist, letting out a breath when her muscles clench beneath his touch. “Cleaning our armour? Filing reports? Training simulations?”

His fingers trace lower, and she can no longer maintain the facade. “I have much bigger plans for you, Vakarian.”

Shepard didn’t know and wasn’t in a place to dream about what the future held for them. 

But for now, this? This was exactly what she needed.


An interview with Laura Johnston Kohl, a survivor of the Jonestown Massacre

Why did you join Peoples Temple?
The United States was going through critical growing pains in the 1950s, 1960s, and 1970s. In the decade of the 1960s, five American heroes were shot and killed by vigilantes - John Kennedy, Martin Luther King, Bobby Kennedy, Malcolm X, and Medgar Evers - and many more besides these heroes. Then, we got into the war in Vietnam. I did not want the world run by bullies, nor by vigilantes. I tried as a single, naive woman to change some things - but was pretty powerless, it turned out. When I met Jim Jones, and joined Peoples Temple, I thought Jim would protect me, and stand for issues I felt were important. He had adopted children of many races, had gathered a huge interracial congregation, and stood with other leaders of our times - Angela Davis, Cesar Chavez, Dennis Banks, many in the LGBTQ community in San Francisco, and others. It seemed like a perfect fit, even though I was an atheist. Jim’s efforts were to move people into activism.

What was it about Jim Jones that first attracted you to the Temple?
From the first time I met Jim, in Redwood Valley, I was impressed at his inclusion and affection for all of us. He would hug, smile, congratulate, assist and nurture all of us regardless of age, sex, income, education, and life experience. He would be the one to notice the people cleaning up or working hard, or setting up events. His concern seemed genuine. In his own life, he and his wife had adopted five children of many races, sometimes having to fight a system opposed to household integration. They did it. His wife seemed to be as enchanted with him as the rest of us, which I thought was remarkable. And, he had political allies who were my heroes of the time - Angela Davis, Cesar Chavez, Dennis Banks, and others. In San Francisco, we were supportive of all diverse community members. There was not only a vision of what we could be, we could look around and see that we had already arrived in a small measure. Certainly, we had more work to do, but we were an inclusive interracial community, and determined to continue the fight.

The public persona certainly differed with the reality, even at that time. But, I did not see that part.
Some of the literature on the Peoples Temple paints a picture of abusive practices. Such as catharsis sessions, physical beatings and suicide drills even before the move to Guyana. How apparent were they?

I disagree that the catharsis sessions were always abusive. Jim ran the Temple as if he were the Godfather of a huge family. He was in charge. He took people to task if our work was shoddy, or our behavior was off, if he or others noticed issues. To this day, I have “family meetings” with my husband and foster son to resolve issues and organize our lives. Sometimes that happened in the Peoples Temple Family Meetings. The abuse part was to have Jim making a decision, stating a problem, and then not allowing the person to respond, or to refuse to listen to problems that needed resolution within the church. Jim could never be questioned. Never. That is abuse. A healthy catharsis is not abuse. Catharsis was the wrong word for much of what went on in our Family Meetings. We had dictatorship laying down rules, and not allowing discussion or defense. Because Jim took the role of everyone’s “father” he managed the discipline of the members. The beatings were outrageous, and even created life-long disabilities. The suicide drills were an early clue of Jim’s power-tripping. I wrote them off as just one more of his antics to get us more unified and to work harder. I think that the most relevant thing about the suicide drills was that NO ONE COULD EVER HAVE IMAGINED that Jim, the person who got relatives out of prison, who fought in courts for children and adults, who got people legal and medical help, who adopted his own children and seemed to love all children, and who spoke up for human and civil rights would or could EVER take our lives. Every family had had some relative or close friend helped. Everyone had a story.

Former members have described Jonestown as one of the best things that happened to them. Conversely, it has also been likened to a concentration camp. What was your experience of Jonestown? Did people tell you they wanted to leave?
I was one of the members who loved Jonestown. I always felt that there were many positives of our community, and that the problems would be sorted out and resolved once we did not have to work so hard building everything. If you look at a photo of Jonestown - built in just over 3 years, you will see how amazing it became in that short time. We were humping to make it less primitive and more functional and livable. I did not see things that would not be remedied as soon as our full-out building was done. For people who were not happy in Jonestown, it was a prison. You could not leave. Jim asked people to work hard and that after two years, anyone would be free to go. Many were rightly skeptical. Jim did not ever want anyone to leave. He took it as a personal betrayal and defeat. Even when about 20 people wanted to go with Congressman Ryan, he was overwhelmed. Twenty people out of 1,000. His paranoia and Narcissistic Personality Disorder (even besides his drug addiction) did not allow him to see that in perspective. For those of us in Jonestown, since people did not speak about how they wanted to leave (much as in Hitler’s Germany, where parents were reported by their children or neighbors), I had no idea that people seriously wanted out. I was a zealot so no one would have told me.

As a former member, how do you view the tragic ending of the Peoples Temple?
Jim Jones talked about revolutionary suicide in the death tape, however some scholars view it as mass murder?
The term “Revolutionary Suicide” was coined by Huey Newton, for his book published in the early 1970s. It was the rhetoric of the times, and was used at a time when the disenfranchised poor and people of color were reacting to the abuses of their neighborhoods. Many were saying that if they were to be killed by police or others anyway, they chose to decide the when and where. (That is a rough paraphrase) The deaths in Jonestown were murders. No good came out of the deaths, except that Jim got all the fame and infamy about the community just as he wanted. He never shared leadership.

How was Jim Jones’ behavior?
At the beginning, when I was part of the smaller Redwood Valley Peoples Temple, Jim’s behavior was inclusive, and consistent with the ideas he shared. He did work to get rid of racism within the Temple. Once he moved to San Francisco with many of his members from Redwood Valley, and many new members, I only saw him in public. He was very polished in public. I felt like I knew the “real” Jim Jones and so did not watch him as critically as I should have.

How did you feel inside the community?
The people I met in Peoples Temple were the best, most dedicated and diverse people I have met in my life. Many people made huge sacrifices because we all felt that we could create a safe community for our friends and family, and be a role-model community for the larger world. We worked tirelessly, and felt that each day, we accomplished a lot. I loved the Peoples Temple community, from the communes I lived in and the entire family - which is what it felt like to me.

Was sex an important element?
Jim was married, had a long-time mistress, and continued to have multiple partners over the years. He would justify having sex by telling us why these people “needed” him to show his care or his appreciation for their beauty - really, blaming the victim. And then, he used sex as a further control over that person. I would say that others in the Church were not invited to have multiple partners, and instead earned Jim’s trust be being celibate. He often referred to people as most trustworthy because they were single. He preferred everyone to have a personal connection with him, no room for others or rather, no distraction from others.

When and why did you leave the community?
I did not leave the community. I happened to be working in Georgetown from late October through the deaths in Jonestown on November 18, 1978.

How did Jones maintain such a strong control over the members?
First, Jim Jones was extremely smart. He just outsmarted us by knowing what to say to pull us in. He would speak and be sure he covered exactly what each person or group wanted to hear. I was always political, along with many other members. He would be sure to include politics and a political message in each sermon. Many members were religious, and he would be sure to include that as well. He was well-versed in the bible, although I have a strong opinion that it was useful for him, rather than it being his core belief. Religion was a magnet he could use to draw people in. Then, he would teach and model how activism was essential in interacting with the world.
Second, Jim actually helped nearly every family. He could write letters to get people out of jail or on probation, or get leniency. He helped get people off of drugs, into housing, into communes with shared resources so everyone had a safe place to stay, with enough food. He provided free legal help and got medical attention to members when they had been denied help. Really, every family was impacted by the services provided in Peoples Temple. People could not fathom that he would do them harm when he had so tenderly cared for them or their loves ones over the years. He was powerful because of his deeds. He took care of people.
As a consequence, people did not admit to seeing his flaws. His drug addiction and personality disorder, which worsened in Jonestown, were hidden by his closest nurses/mistresses/secretaries. His reputation was protected vigilantly. Most of us had no clue about how he was disintegrating right in front of us. Even people who did see some problems had no idea that he was so mentally ill that he would kill 917 people and himself.
There had been no precedent in US history of a leader killing nearly 1,000 people. No one in Peoples Temple - or very few, because some did see it on the horizon and left - could have imagined that end. We thought any issues in the community could be fixed as we settled into Jonestown and didn’t have to work so hard.

How did you feel the People’s Temple was taking a stand for social justice?
From the first day, I realized that Jim Jones had an adopted family of all races - Black, Native American, Asian, and his “home grown” son. He and his wife were the first white couple in the State of Indiana to adopt a Black child - Jim Jones Jr. His congregation was the same - mixed race, mixed socio-economic levels, mixed education. This was in the 1960s and 1970s, in a country that JUST passed the Civil Rights Act. Even today, that is not the norm.

From there, we moved on to supporting emerging groups - we spoke up for the LGBTQ community in San Francisco, the American Indian Movement, the Farmworkers, really, all of them. They were us and we were them. We wrote letters to Judges to get family members and community members released from prison, and helped be the voice for the voiceless. That was our mission and we did it tirelessly.

In the late 1960s, I think that was Jim at his “purest.” He always had a borderline personality disorder - and power issues - he wanted all the power, over all of us. But, it really started eroding what he was doing in the early 1970s when he was so successful with the powerful in San Francisco and in California.

What did you see was your role in fighting for social justice?
In high school, I had been active in integrating my neighborhood in Maryland, and in the fight for equality and putting an end to segregation. In college in Connecticut, I worked hard on civil and human rights, and demonstrated to end the war in Vietnam, among other things.

After college, and a brief marriage, I went to Woodstock - but wasn’t interested in being immersed in that culture. Then I lived and worked with the Black Panthers for about 6 months. That did not work for me as a naive, and optimistic young girl.

When I moved to California and met Jim Jones and Peoples Temple - I thought of Jim as a protector who would enable me to continue on with my political activism. That was my life-blood.

How do you think the social issues of the time affected the rise of the People’s Temple?
I know that the society going through such upheaval (with the murders of so many leaders in the 1960s (MLK, the Kennedys, Malcolm X, Medgar Evers), with the war in Vietnam being so unpopular, and with Civil Rights and civil abuses so much in all of our minds made Jim’s rise to a political position meteoric. He was at the right place (SF) and at the right time to become a spokesperson for many of the disenfranchised.

What do you see as the impact of Jonestown on society?
Jonestown had the POTENTIAL to show the world that racism and abuse did not have a role in our society and that we should get rid of both in our communities. Those of us who went to Jonestown thought that we could prove to the world that our kind of mixed and fluid society worked. We thought we could keep our kids safe from drugs, give them a community that valued them, and … That is what we thought. What we didn’t know was that jim had so deteriorated in mental health, and had become so drug-addicted, that he stood in the way of that happening.

Could you describe what the transition into life after the People’s Temple was for you?
When I came back from Guyana, I was totally shell-shocked. I moved back into the San Francisco Temple building on Geary and Fillmore for four months until the Conservator assigned to sell off the assets of Peoples Temple kicked us out. Then, I lived in several different communes of Peoples Temple survivors for the next ten months. The government put a lien on my passport, saying I had to reimburse the $500 they spent to bring me back from Guyana, since I was one of those who received a subpoena to appear before the Grand Jury. I went to work, got a job, and went to school at night. I was putting one foot forward at a time - but not yet determined that I wanted to keep going. It was very difficult and we survivors were not much help to each other or to ourselves.

After a year of trying to make my decision about survival, I moved into a community I had been spending time with - Synanon. Synanon was a residential drug treatment program when it started in the 1950s, but it had become a fully-functioning diverse community with both former drug addicts and “squares” - those who did not become drug addicts. Over the years, there were thousands of residents who passed through. When I moved in in 1980, there were roughly 50% squares and 50% former drug addicts. Synanon took good care of me. However, there are some events mostly from before I moved in that were illegal and problematic. Some of my fellow survivors from Peoples Temple were anxious for me, moving into another “cult.” Synanon closed in 1990, when the IRS rescinded tax status because of profits we were making in selling advertising products.

While in Synanon, I married my current husband, Ron, and my son was born.

In 1990, we moved out. I went back to school and got my California Clear Teaching Credential. I started teaching in 1994. I also became a Quaker in 1994.

After 20 years of keeping my head in the sand, I went to the 20th Anniversary Gathering at Evergreen Cemetery in Oakland, where most of those murdered in Guyana were buried. That was when my healing began - once I realized I would and could never forget. My life in Peoples Temple is part of who I am today. Once I admitted to myself that I am forever changed - somehow, I could work with that and fully move on.

In the early 2000s, I started public speaking. I wrote and published my book JONESTOWN SURVIVOR: An Insider’s Look in 2010. I continue speaking about Peoples Temple and my experiences.

How would you like history to remember the people of Jonestown?
The people of Peoples Temple were wonderfully committed and optimistic people who wanted a better world and who were willing to make great sacrifices to bring it about. We were so determined, we failed to watch Jim enough, especially at the end. In Jonestown, his mental and physical health deteriorated, and he and his secretaries/mistresses/nurses were able to hide the disintegration.

In your opinion, what do you think is the historical significance of Jonestown and the People’s Temple?
There is an enormous historical significance of Jonestown and Peoples Temple. Here are just a FEW:

Leaders can never be given absolute loyalty.

Insanity can be very well hidden.

There is no time and place where critical thinking and observation can be turned off.

There are certain behaviors of cult-leaders that are recognizable:

Wanting to take members away from family and loved ones who are not a part of the group

Moving the group to a remote location

Creating a we/they belief system

Refusing any questioning or corrections of the leaders

Keeping members exhausted and poor

Never assigning anyone as a replacement

Really, it is a very long list.

Are there any misconceptions about the People’s Temple that you would like to correct?
There are many misconceptions. The primary one that I always want to address is the nature of the membership. We were bright, hardworking, and optimistic people. It was unimaginable to us that Jim Jones, who had gotten our family members out of jail, into the hospital, into shared housing where there was enough food, and kids into safer environments - and so much more. It was just not possible that the same person would become so mentally imbalanced that he would murder or assist in murdering 918 people.

Endless Search // Steve Rogers

Summary: Over centuries you’ve always been killed mere weeks at the most before meeting your soulmate causing endless pain. Having been at every social standing possible, from a princess to a servant, you can’t think of another you could be. The current life as a bestseller doesn’t allow the endless circle to stop but can your soulmate finally meet you?

Characters: Steve Rogers x Reader, and Avengers (implied)


Disclaimer: I do not own any Marvel characters of plots. Nor do own any gifs, images, songs, jokes or videos that may appear. I do however own anything original in this work and if this appears anywhere off Tumblr I didn’t post it.

Warnings: Death, angst and fluff.

Author: Caitsy

A/N: Dreamt of this without knowing which fandom I should put it in. I haven’t done anything other than Riverdale or Dolan Twins in the last few months therefore I decided to give Steve a little loving and pain.


Prompt List


Originally posted by fantasyimagine

If there was anything to be assured about it was the knowledge about soulmates being real. In the beginning of time, as stories have been passed down, people worshiped the ideal of having a soulmate, one would pray for the perfect one. Over the centuries mentalities formed on ‘forced love’ and the belief was cast aside.

When the world was starved of love the belief of soulmates returned with greater oomph. Historians brought it back into teachings along with recounts of centuries where, even when the ideal was welcomed, royals denied their issues soulmates in turn for more ‘suited’ ones on a social hierarchy base.

Keep reading

Top 25 Larry Fics of 2016

I read a lot of fic and the majority of it is larry. I like making lists and I like larry so I thought I’d do some minimal research of the top 25 larry fics published/completed in 2016 in order of least to most kudos (with links). All of these fics are top notch so you should all check them out!

An honorable mentions list will probably come soon, because there are so many brilliant fics that don’t reflect in their kudos.

25.) I Love You Most by @alienproof (11k)

Friends with benefits has always been enough for Louis. Until, of course, it isn’t.

24.) Just Like the Wolf Before He Bites by @crazyupsetter (11k)

He’s loud, Louis is, and that’s far from unusual for him, but the volume of it still has Harry pulling back the curtain. There’s a half-formed thought in the back of his brain about telling Louis off, because it’s fucking half three in the morning, but then.

But then Harry’s eyes get stuck on the soft glint of Louis’ stubble in the light, and he’s making his way across the room before he even realizes it.

Louis, for his part, just tips his chin up to give Harry space and keeps talking, waving the joint in his hand around for emphasis. He doesn’t even bother to greet Harry, going on with his story to his semi-rapt audience, just settles a hand in between Harry’s shoulder blades and pushes him down firmly.

Harry just. Relaxes. His eyes slip closed, pushing his entire face into that spot underneath Louis’ chin, where his hair is still growing, neat and prickly. The scent of Louis’ cologne drifts into Harry’s nose, light and fresh, and it’s calming. Comforting. His breathing syncs up with Louis’ quickly, and Harry feels so much better than he had five minutes ago he almost wants to cry.

Keep reading

100 Reasons Why - 07

BTS 방탄소년단 - Soulmate!AU

Warnings -  polyamorous relationships, swearing, smut

Summary - Love is a powerful thing. Let it settle under your skin and in your bones. Let it live, let it breathe. Do not beat it down and know that your love doesn’t reach one person, but everyone around you.

Glossary - 01. 02. 03. 04. 05. 06. 07. 08. 09. 10

I dreamt of you last night.” Hoseok mumbles, digging his nose into the back of your neck. You groan, arms circling around Taehyung’s shoulders.

“Why do you two always wake me up?” He rubs his eyes, blinking rapidly.

You can feel the bed shift on Hoseok’s side. Yoongi must be awake now.

Yoongi sighs, sitting on the edge of the bed, “Why don’t you tell us about your dream now that you’ve got us all up.”

Though you can’t see him, you can hear the grogginess in his voice. Before you climbed into bed with Hoseok and Taehyung, you had heard Yoongi typing furiously away at his keyboard. You hadn’t wanted to bother him.  

Hoseok smiles into your hair. “You were sitting in a rocking chair, while Yoongi and Taehyung were taking turns reading a story. I remember what story but it was just peaceful and serene. I didn’t want to wake up.”

With a soft hum of acknowledgement, you card your hands through Taehyung’s hair. He looks up at you with bright, curious eyes. He’s like a mirage, so pure and fresh and yet so far away. You feel distant from him though he’s right fucking here, smiling at you like you’re the only thing keeping him alive.

Keep reading

Newt Scamander x reader-Sips of Jealousy

Newt Scamander x reader-Sips of Jealousy

Request: Could u write a fic were the reader get jealous of Tina and newt finds her later crying and drunk?

A/N: I enjoyed writing this, I hope you enjoy reading it (I have nothing against Tina btw, she is a lovely character)
Warnings- Drunkness/alcohol, emotions EVERYWHERE

Originally posted by ultrailoveharrystylesblog

Rain crashed against the surface of the city as you remained seated at the old bar, choking down another round of alcohol. You had lost track of what and how much had entered your body past your lips, for you had only desired to wash away the heartbreaking memories prior to your entrance. All you wished for was to rid yourself of the memories you held of him. Your drunken state had increased with every new drink, each making your mind slip farther and farther away from the past.

You and Newt had been partners ever since you were recruited by the ministry to assist him in his travels. Your talent and skills in healing would prove extremely beneficial, plus it didn’t hurt that you were reading up on a few of these beasts as well. The two of you had been on your way to New York once more to pay the Goldsteins and Jacob a visit, and Newt wanted to personally give them copies of his newly published book. After all those hours of writing, studying, revising, and editing, the completed work was no longer a manuscript, but a well-bound book inviting others to understand the beasts in a new light.
Once you had arrived at the Goldsteins’ residence, you knocked on the door to be met with Queenie, who ecstatically invited the two of you to stay for dinner. You couldn’t say no to that, not only because she was one of your closest friends and her food was delicious, but also because she had already began to drag you towards the table where Jacob was.

After dinner was prepared and cleaned up, everyone went into the main room and talked about their lives and how everything was going. Jacob’s new bakery was in full swing and raking in more business every day and Tina had acquired her job as an auror once again. You sipped your tea silently, listening to how Jacob had begun to use Newt’s creatures as inspiration for his treats, and then you looked up. Newt and Tina were sitting quite close to one another as they conversed about MACUSA and its recent events. Newt’s smile was wide and his eyes filled with interest as Tina spoke.

Tina. You loved her, but at the same time you envied her. She was a strong woman, held a high class job, and was strikingly beautiful and intelligent. You were nothing more than a babysitter to the Magizoologist whom she clearly had feelings for. There was no chance of denying it, you were jealous. The green monster had bit you hard. She and Newt had appeared interested in one another from the beginning. It was the way he looked at her or spoke or congratulated her that gave it all away. You wanted nothing more to be noticed by him. To you he was more than just someone you worked with, he was your friend, an intelligent, magnificent, caring, interesting and handsome man. He loved others with all of his heart, and you admired how string and courageous he had acted. He was so selfless and sweet that it was intoxicating, infecting your heart with passionate desire towards him.

However, he was not yours to have.

Your eyes drifted back down to your tea which had gone cold now. You looked around the room once more. Newt and Tina were closer, almost too close. But then, her hand gracefully slid over his and held it. Your heart broke like shattered glass falling down from your chest and your eyes felt like they had been stung with a toxic poison, destroying from the inside to the outside. Tears tried to fall but you wouldn’t let them, not here. You arose from your spot earning you a glance from Jacob who had now drawn his attention to your uneasy composure. Queenie looked at you as well, her face paling as if a ghost had strutted into the room.

“Oh Honey,” she whispered out, moving towards you. She loved her sister Tina, but she knew about your feelings for Newt. She had hoped that the two of you would be together by now, but now all she saw was your tattered heart.

“I’m alright Queenie,” you whispered with a sigh as you held your tears more. I should be going now anyways. I’m developing a few new solutions that should help heal wounds faster and the research is to be sent back to the ministry in a few days, and I need to finish it. Thank you all for such a wonderful meal and I hope you enjoy Newt’s book.” With a quick wave to everyone, you walked towards the door. You didn’t even look at Newt or Tina as you shut the door quietly and were on your way.

Another glass was emptied by you and the remains were placed back on the table. Your vision and mind mushed together and made everything fuzzy. You couldn’t even form clear sentences anymore, as the majority came out in muddled masses. By the time your fifth or sixth or maybe even ninth (how the hell would you even know?), drink came out, your tears were spilling everywhere again.

All you wanted was to be loved. That’s all you had truly wanted since you were young. You wanted someone to laugh with you, someone to be the one who held you as sobs possessed your body like a raging demon, someone who would look into your eyes and say ‘My god you are stunning.’ You thought that you and Newt had been on the path towards a relationship, but after he met Tina, things changed. He became more distant, not that he was cutting you out of his life, but the two of you spent less time as ‘friends’ and more time as just working with one another. He clearly didn’t want you.

Your body bent over the counter top as your hand knocked over your glass, spilling a swish of liquid across the marble. Your drinks ignited your emotions into a full frenzy as your tears gushed and crashed like waves in a storm. Your pitiful wailing had attracted the attention of the other people in the bar, as some even gave you looks of sympathy. It wasn’t hard to tell that your heart was broken. Your chest ached and felt as if a hole was speared right through you, like your wings had been plucked of all their feathers and broken, not allowing you to fly. You were trapped in your own dark realm of loneliness.

Your sobs quieted briefly as you felt a hand on your shoulder, and you assumed it had been the bartender that had asked you to take it easy at least a hundred times that night. You brushed your cheeks but still continued to cry. You turned to respond and explain that you were perfectly fine and wanted another round, but instead the man you didn’t want to see stood right in front of you.
Newt was there.

“Y/n what are you doing here? I went after you to your room but you weren’t there and-wait have you been drinking? And why are you crying?” he asked.
“None of your business,” you slurred, tears cascading like raging waterfalls down your reddened and slightly sweaty face. “Go away Newt.”

Newt was shocked and concerned about you. You never seemed like the person to go out and drink until they couldn’t hold any more. You started to stand up, mumbling that you were leaving now, but you stumbled and tripped over your feet as the constant drinking and tears had blinded you. Newt’s arms swooped around your falling body and pulled you back up so you wouldn’t crash to the floor.

“Go away Newt, Get off me!” you yelled, “Go-go back t-t-to Tina!”

By now you were muttering and wailing and sobbing and wriggling to get out of his grasp. Couldn’t he see what he was doing? Couldn’t he see that you were being hurt by him?

You weren’t aware of your surroundings as you had apparently been dragged outside. The air nit your skin and send shivers down your spin as the rain fell around you. Apparently Newt didn’t want you to cause a scene or try and binge more, so he brought you outside to take you home. You were still fighting him, and he still didn’t understand your behavior.

“Y/n what on earth has gotten into you? You’re lying, drinking, and now you’re fight-Y/n please love no I’m not angry, I just don’t understand what you’re doing, don’t cry.”

Crying was an understatement, as you were now bawling and sinking to your knees in the middle of a grimy New York sidewalk. Newt could have left you and walked away letting the rain soak you, but he didn’t. He set his case down and knelt next to you.

“Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”

You choked and hiccupped more, slurring nonsense as the rain hit harder. “I-I. Tina is Tina and I.”

“Tina? What does she have to do with this Y/n? I don’t think she has been the cause of your sudden drinking here.”

“Tina is amazing.”

“Well yes, she is amazing, I don’t-,”

“That’s why you want her and not me!” you wailed. Your heart was officially beaten and broken. Its final pieces were now thrown out of your chest and all you wanted to do was lay in the street and cry your eyes out in misery. The alcohol amplified your pain and you hiccupped and sobbed constantly.”

Newt stared at you, “Y-You think I l-l-love, Tina?”

“I don’t think I know!” the rain had soaked your hair and his coat, which he gently wrapped around you as you collapsed.

“Y/n. I want you to look at me.”

“No Newt you’re not my parents I don’t need to listen to you,” you said sounding a bit like a child. The drinks had strange effects, they did.

“Please, just…look at me,” he pleaded. His rough hand found his way to your chin and he gently lifted your face to meet his.

“Tina, is a wonderful woman. But she isn’t who I want. Y/n, I want you. You’re just, I can’t even fathom it.”

You were lost, and you thought the drinks were playing tricks on you. This was an illusion, a hallucination crafted by your drunken head. It had to be.

He continued, “I love Tina as a friend. My eyes have been on you since you were paired up with me. Your smile, your mind, your heart, they all work so beautifully to create a perfect you. I was too scared to say anything because I loved having you around, and I didn’t want my stupid feelings to drive you away. But now it’s my fault you’re like this, I’m so sorry Y/n, I’m so sorry love.”

Tears and rainwater mixed on his features. Your mind was racing and your sobbing began to slow once more.

“Do y-you mean that. Am I dreaming?”

“Yes Y/n I mean every bit of it.”

You weren’t sure if it was the overwhelming happiness that began to resurge inside of you or the result of drinking more than your limits but seconds later, your lips crashed onto his, enveloping them into a sloppy kiss. Your hair was dripping, and so was his, and the two of you were quite cold but you didn’t care. You only hoped you wouldn’t wake up from this dream into a reality of disappointment.

“Merlin’s beard…,” was all he spoke up as you sloppily wrapped him in a hug after pulling away. He caressed your cheek, pecked it and held you.

“C’mon love, let’s get you home. Something tells me you won’t feel too well in the morning.”

The next morning you awoke inside the case. Your head felt like a hammer had repeatedly attacked it multiple times and you felt groggy. You barely remembered anything, except for the fact that you had a dream about kissing Newt, or at least you thought it was a dream.

Newt came in holding a mug of coffee and a glass of water, and his smile grew as he noticed that you were awake.


“Ughh…what did I have a run in with the erumpent again?” you asked while moaning in agony. Newt then went on to explain about your little ‘incident’ and then the realization dawned on you that you had actually kissed him and confessed your love to one another, not made it up in your mind.

Your head still throbbed as he went on to explain how he didn’t mean to make it look like he was interested in Tina, and then he rambled on apologizing every few seconds until you told him that it was okay. He wrapped you in his arms and kissed your head.

“Hey Newt?”


“Are we, you know, like together…now that…um…”

He calmed your confusion with a kiss on your lips. You didn’t know if the two of you would ever be together, but now, you knew. Every ounce of you swelled with passion, and he did the same. Your lips interlocked and wove together in sync, as if dancing to a lyrical rhythm, and this kiss was much softer than the previous one.

“Yes darling, we are. And I love you very, very much.“


Invisible Boyfriend

Requested: You and Shawn break up and the fans really like you two together and want you to be together / You break up with Shawn and then get back together / Shawn and Y/n have broken up for a long time and they see each other again and he wants them to get back together and tries all he can

a/n: i decided to combine these prompts bc it made the most sense and it turned out much longer than anticipated !! Also, i wrote most of this at like 3am (which is my prime time to write lol) but i hope you enjoy and feedback is greatly appreciated!!!🤗🤗

Your name: submit What is this?

“But Y/n,” Your best friend, Emily, slid her phone across the library table, “have you seen this?” 

           Without even picking your head up from your sociology book, you slid the phone back to her, “Don’t really care.”

           “You didn’t even––“

            “It had to do with Shawn,” You gave Emily a pointed look while she looked guilty.  You sighed as you capped your highlighter and rested it on your book, “We broke up almost a year ago, Em.”

           You were about to go back to taking notes, but Emily pulled away your book, “They still like you!”


Keep reading

We All Fall Down - Nine

You lay in bed the next morning wondering what today would actually bring. Would Spencer actually do what he said? What did the conversation last night even really mean? He couldn’t divorce you but you were right, things needed to change?

Was he suddenly going to start acting as the ever loving husband he’d once been, or at least once pretended to be? Were you going to start playing the part of adoring wife you’d never been? Was this relationship suddently going to become the relationship you’d always wanted, the romantic fairytale love story you’d always written about when you could write?


You knew that at least that much was true. It couldn’t be the love story you’d always wanted because Spencer Reid was not the man you’d always wanted. He was a substitute, and a poor one at that. And for him, you were the vision of something he’d had deep seated into his mind, the perfect woman for him. Neither of you were what the other wanted or even needed, but you had made your choices and endured four years of living (if you could even call it that) with those choices. Perhaps though, that if you both at least acknowledged that you were never going to be what the other desired, then you could muddle through and at least get something from this relationship. Maybe after the conversation last night, things WOULD change. People can change, people CAN suprise you.

Or not.

After a quick shower you dressed, looking around the room as you did so. If you were going to be staying here perhaps you should at least start to unpack your own things. You caught sight of yourself in the mirror and sighed slightly. You’d lost weight recently, perhaps more than was healthy but back in New York eating hadn’t become a priority, alcohol had. And here, well the last few days hadn’t exactly been a feast of delights, although you were secretly hoping that Emily would make another appearance with some more of her cooking. You quickly dug your make up bag out and dabbed concealer under your eyes and over a spot that was threatening to bloom on your chin, adding a quick swipe of eyeliner and mascara before you left the room and headed down to the kitchen.

Spencer was sat at the table, the grocery bags from last night put away. He glanced up at you, double taking, no doubt at the make up that had graced your face for the first time in months. He always used to tell you that you didn’t need it and the majority of time he was right. You’d been blessed with a decent enough complexion with dark lashes. But your lifestyle of recent had made you looked drained and gaunt, spots that you’d rarely suffered from in your teenage years, appearing and marking your face. Perhaps though, your effort this morning, not that it was a massive effort in the grand scheme of things, but perhaps it would show that you were serious about change.

“There’s fresh coffee in the pot if you want some,” your husband spoke, folding his newspaper into two. You squinted slightly, seeing it was yesterday’s date on it. Noting that his own cup was empty, you went to take it from him.

“Did you want another one?” it had been months since you’d done a simple act of making him a drink and he nodded in surprise. Your back turned from him as you fixed you both drinks, he spoke again.

“Thank you for cleaning the master bedroom out, I slept much better in there last night. And I spoke to my sister, I’ll drop all the old boxes that you’ve filled so far, off at their house later today.”

You nodded, turning back around and holding out his refilled cup. Your fingers brushed against his as he took it from you. The aspiring writer you had once been would have written about moments like these, sparks flying as fingers touched, electricity shooting through you both. It was amazing how easily you used to be able to write trite sentences like that, knowing they’d been used so many times before yet still somehow thinking it was something completely original to you. What would have been even more amazing is if you’d ever actually experienced moments like those with Spencer. You couldn’t remember ever feeling electricity or fire with him. Even the arguments you had with each other seemed to lack passion and interest, the morning of the funeral an exception to that rule. You settled down in the seat opposite him, wiping your hands on your jeans as if you were brushing away the brief touch of him.

“So,” you took a sip of your coffee.


It was like normal conversation was just too hard for you both. Like neither of you knew what to say to each other anymore, but then again if you really asked yourself, was there ever a time where you knew what to say to each other? Sure, Spencer had once whispered sweet nothings to you, telling you how you were his world, his beautiful wife, whom he would treasure and cherish but they were all sentences one could easily find on a greeting card. They’d been words that you’d needed to hear at one stage in your life but not from him in particular, just….well from anyone really. And in the three years after the wedding you’d both kept up the perfectly created dialogue one would expect from a couple going through the things you had been going through. “We’ll get through this,”,“We have options,”, “Everything will be okay, we have each other, that’s what matters,” but actual conversation? No. You closed your eyes briefly, trying to imagine how you’d react if you were a character in one of your old stories. What would a struggling husband and wife say to each other? What needed to be said right now?



“Well, erm, you mentioned a car?” you tried, trying not to sound too optimistic. “So I could get about whilst you’re out doing….well, whatever you’ve been doing these last few days. Where have you been by the way?”

He looked suprised, maybe at your apparent interest or just because he realised that you hadn’t actually known where he had been. At least in New York you knew he’d be at the college, you’d have been able to reach him if you’d ever needed or wanted to.

“I was with my mother and sister for a while and then yesterday I was setting up my new office on the campus. And yes, I did mention a car. So we should really leave soon to go looking. Do you have any idea what sort you’d like?”


“Yes, at the university in the city. My father was friend’s with the dean there, he was at the funeral actually. Once he found out I was intending to stay in town he was only too happy to offer me a position. Apparently their English professor had to leave at the end of last term on short notice. I start there Monday but I still have quite a lot of work there to do with his lessons plans.”

Today was Friday. It amazed you how quickly Spencer was able to find work, it had been the same when you moved to New York. Positions suddenly available to him. Both his own and his father’s name in the literary world seemed to have an awful lot of pull still, despite neither of the pair releasing any new novels in the last four years, mainly contributing essays or articles for papers.

“Oh. Right.” You couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“Well one of us needs to be earning a living, Y/N.”

Your eyes snapped to his and you were about to bite back with a remark about not being able to finish your degree because of him when he sighed.

“I didn’t mean that how it sounded. But maybe…. Maybe it would do you good to have something to do.”

He could be right. Something to take your mind off everything and nothing all at the same time. But you had no qualifications and only your brief stint as a waitress as work experience. And although you’d enjoyed redecorating the New York apartment and you’d been good at it, you couldn’t exactly set up an interior design business based on that.

“Maybe you could write again? Try some freelance pieces and submit them to some online papers?”

You shook your head furiously, writing was not an option. You’d tried, after the wedding and again a few times in the years in between. Nothing would come, no inspiration, none of the glorious scenes you’d once been able to conjure up. Nothing. It was like having your heart broken had ripped your ability to write away from you.

“It was just a thought Y/N. You know how good I thought you were, you could have easily been published….” he must have seen your jaw clench as he changed the subject. “So, cars. Shall we head out?”

You nodded, pleased at the change of subject.

Over the next few hours you spent more time in closer proximity to your husband than you had done in the last six months at least. It transpired that he had purchased a vehicle online the day he told you to pack up, Jennifer taking him to pick it up the first day after the funeral, the first day you’d been locked inside. It was a top of the range model, no expense spared which suprised you somewhat. Spencer WAS well off, his novels making him quite the pretty penny as well as having come from two parents who both had high incomes. But he didn’t normally flash it around so obviously. But then again in New York neither of you had needed cars, not seeing the point in it.

He drove you through the long country roads until you reached the town he had grown up in, and for the first time since you’d arrived you actually paid attention to yourself surroundings. The town had everything one might need to exist, a large grocery store, a department store, Greenaway’s, in the central shopping precinct. There was a tech shop, you spying cell phones and laptop’s in the windows, as well as a few banks, cafes and the other amenities you’d expect to see. You spotted signs for the local elementary school, police station, and a clinic. You didn’t think it would be be too hard to find your way around really. Spencer kept driving just outside of the town until he reached a car dealership where you spent the next hour looking around.

“Y/N, you can have any car you want. What about this one?” Spencer seemed to be growing exasperated with you, you didn’t seem able to make a decision. Every car just seemed so expensive and whilst it hadn’t exactly bothered you in the past when it came to spending your husband’s money, it now did. It seemed that it the space of 24 hours the space within your head had rearranged itself. You wanted your relationship with Spencer to change because you simply couldn’t go on living the way you had been for the last…. well really the last four years.

Sure, things had been worse more recently but they’d never really been great. They’d just simply been okay. And okay wasn’t anything to yell from the rooftops about but it was never bad enough to make you consider leaving. Okay had been a means to an end because you felt like you didn’t have any choices at the time, and you’d simply stagnated for the first few years, dealing with what life threw at you both in the best ways you knew how. But now, with everything that had happened, and with Spencer apparently refusing to divorce you for whatever reasons he had, there had to be a turning point. And that turning point had to be you.

“Do you have any used cars?” you asked the salesman, ignoring the frown your husband gave you.

“Yes we do actually. They’ve all been fully reconditioned though and are in perfect working order. If you’d like to comes this way….”

He led you around the back of the dealership and you let out a sigh of relief. The cars here were much more reasonably priced which made you realise that it was the money that bothered you. Because you realised that yet again, you were taking things from him just like you had done for the last four years. You’d taken without giving anything except your name as his wife back, because you hadn’t wanted to give anything back. Because you hadn’t wanted him. And ultimately, you still didn’t, or at least you didn’t think you did. But circumstances had put you here and although you did want to change those circumstances, it had to be slowly.

The issue was, you needed to continue to take things from him to be able to exist. To get back some semblance of you. You couldn’t exist without him right now, even though you didn’t particularly want to exist with him.

You pointed at the blue Ford Fiesta that was in front of you. The price didn’t make you feel like you’d owe Spencer too much and it was a decent enough looking car.

“That one. I want that one.”

jbthegift replied to your post “Flash Fiction”

How about for Supercat: “Cat’s got a gun.” I’d be thrilled with any Supercat though, honestly :)

Kara rushed from the ballroom, nearly tripping in the heels that should not have been a mandatory part of her outfit that evening. They were four inches tall, which made her tower over most everyone, and seemed to defy the natural order of things more than she did. She caught her balance before taking a very embarrassing spill in front of very large names in the publishing business and hurried to the coat room. Cat needed the pills from her purse–that she had, of course, checked at the beginning of the evening. Her phone had been stashed in Kara’s clutch so that she could be free to mingle and schmooze, and do whatever it was people did at parties like this. Kara didn’t know; this was her first, and despite Cat’s guidance, she felt out of place.

The attendant fetched the purse for her, and she undid the delicate golden latches. She reached inside and rooted about for the bottle; when her hand tapped into something hard and cold, she froze. Tipping her glasses down her nose, she narrowed her eyes and searched the purse. Withdrawing her hand in a quick snap, she tried to process the fact that her boss–that Cat Grant, media magnate, Queen of All Media, and self-professed die-hard liberal Democrat–had a gun.

Keep reading

Self Control - Chapter 1

Summary: Your first class together. As @fangirlisms-22​ commented when she beta’d it, “Enter Captain Dorito, stage right.” Inspired by this tweet series. 

Pairing: Professor!Chris Evans X TA!Reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: Some backstory, anticipation, and attraction. (It’s not NSFW, yet!)

A/N: Ayoo! I’m back with a new series that will likely not fit into my writing schedule either, but lucky for y’all, I only have a few more weeks till I get a break from classes (but not work). This is my first time writing a reader insert in second person, so forgive me if it sucks. A shout out to @lostboyinneverland who read the first chapter before I even finished it because she’s too hyped for this series and the patient @fangirlisms-22 for beta-ing me! Here’s the Spotify playlist for the entire series, because y’all know I can’t write a series without making a playlist. I love feedback, so send me your responses, feelings, or general thoughts anytime! See y’all soon!

Tags are open for this story, so send me an ask here to be added to it or my permanent list!

Self Control | Masterlist

Originally posted by your-kylie-me

Keep reading

A Plate of Eggs

Request: “Hello! If your requests are open, I’ve got one for you :) a newt x reader, and the reader is and has been struggling with depression and worries it will scare newt away but he reassures her that it won’t.”

Word Count: 1,602

Pairing: Newt x Reader

Requested by Anonymous but tagging @caseoffics @red-roses-and-stories @dont-give-a-bother @myrtus-amongst-the-stars @ly–canthrope @benniesgalaxy @thosefantasticbeast2

Warning: Deals with Depressive Thoughts

Mornings are the worst. The sun rises, birds sing, crickets chirp, people get up and go about their day, the world spins the way it’s supposed to.

And you lie in bed staring at the wall, wishing you were anyone else.

The bedroom door creaks open to reveal Newt, a tray in his hand, that blessed boy already aware of your mood. “Hey, love. I brought you some breakfast.”

The soft sound of a radio crackling in the other room slowly weaves its way to you along with the smell of eggs and a slice of fresh cut blueberry bread.

You shove the comforter away from your face and rub your eyes, taking in a deep breath to convince yourself to smile. The corners of your lips may as well be lead, though, and you know even as you force a grin to your face that Newt can see through it.

He says nothing, just sets the tray on the nightstand.

Keep reading

Interview Pt. 2

Group/Member: BTS/Namjoon

Words: 1503

Genre/Warnings: smut, somewhat public sex

Summary: y/n has to interview Namjoon again, will things turn out the same as last time?

Request: anonymous, sequel to Interview

A/N: Here is the requested sequel to Interview! I hope you enjoy this one as much as you did the last! ~Admin Unnie

Originally posted by forever-young-got7

It’s been 3 weeks since the album release party, and I only have one regret for that night: not getting Namjoon’s number. My nights since then have been plagued with replays of the night, leaving me a hot mess when I wake up for work. It seems as if it really was just a one-time thing.

I open my email and see a new one from my boss, asking me to look through some pictures and choose which ones should be used for an article. As soon as I open the pictures, I feel a rush of heat pool in between my legs at the images of Namjoon in leather. Good God, how can one man be so attractive. I bite my lip and continue to stare at the pictures, not looking away until I hear a knock on my office door. I quickly close my laptop and look up at my boss. “Everything okay, y/n?”

“Yeah, I was just looking through those pictures you sent.” I rush out, trying to calm myself down. “But what are they for? We published my interview 2 weeks ago.”

“They have invited us to their company to do an article on how they run things.”

“Really?” I try to control my excitement at the possibility of seeing Namjoon again.

She nods. “Specifically Rap Monster. He wants to show the fans his studio and explain his process of writing and producing music. And he asked that you be the one to come.”

“Me?” I point to myself, making sure I wasn’t hearing things.

“Yes. Apparently he enjoyed your company last time, and thought that since he’s already spoken with you that this interview would go just as smoothly.” She turns to leave my office. “I don’t know what you did to get in the favor of BTS, but keep doing it.”

Keep reading


SUMMARY: Dean mourns the loss of a loved one and the reader interferes with unexpected results

CHARACTERS/PAIRING: Dean x  Reader, Sam, Cas (mentioned)


WARNINGS: angst, character death, mention(s) of suicide, fluff - I hope that’s all…

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Oh my, I’m nervous. My first published fanfic. I hope you like it, and if you have time to drop a quick note, I’d appreciate the feedback. I’ll take a liberty to tag Mimi ( @deansdirtylittlesecretsblog ) ‘cause she was kind enough to give me tips - If you have time to check it out, I’d be doing cartwheels. :-) Oh yeah, almost forgot, this is in both Dean’s and Reader’s POV.


The flames rose high against the pitch black night, consuming both wood and flesh. I was numb - had no tears to shed, no punches or curses to throw at the one responsible for the hollowness inside me. My family was torn to pieces and I wondered if I had a reason to fight anymore. Wood cracked and the pyre collapsed, sending sparks up to the sky, and I let my eyes follow them, reminiscing the hundreds of times we had watched the stars together. There would be none of that from now on.

The flames subsided slowly as the hours ticked by and I stood still, thinking about our time together and the things I left unsaid. All those missed chances, missed moments. Oh God, I wished I had just come clean! Now there was no one to say it to, and I could never apologize for not saying it sooner. I had waited too long and there would be no new chances. It was entirely my fault.

I stood there alone until the fire had died and dawn was breaking. A new day, when all I wanted was to get yesterday back. The sunrise was stunning, but I didn’t really see it as I drove back home. I had lost the most important thing in my life and nothing could move me anymore.

Keep reading