got this published just in time

anonymous asked:

Hey, sorry to bother you , but I need your advice. I used to write a lot , had a lot of ideas and even got published an stuff.But two years ago something horrible happend and it traumatized me hard. Since then I have not been able to write again.I tried it many times , I also tried just taking a break.. But it has never been the same.I feel like my creativity died.How do you find your inspiration? Have you ever had writing block? Love your writing by the way. Still waiting on your first novel :)

giving advice on this is hard and i’m not good at advice

but yes every writer hits a rough spot now and then. what works for me is to just keep writing even if it doesn’t feel right

i also say daydream a lot, dream a lot, surround yourself in things that help you immerse yourself in the world you’re trying to write, think constantly about what you’re trying to write whenever you have time to

creativity needs to be nurtured and fed and needs work. watch things, look at images and listen to music, surround yourself in what inspires you and keep trying

Top Misconceptions People Have about Pulp-Era Science Fiction

A lot of people I run into have all kinds of misconceptions about what pulp-era scifi, from the 1920s-1950s, was actually like. 


“Pulp-Era Science Fiction was about optimistic futures.”

Optimistic futures were always, always vastly outnumbered by end of the world stories with mutants, Frankenstein creations that turn against us, murderous robot rebellions, terrifying alien invasions, and atomic horror. People don’t change. Then as now, we were more interested in hearing about how it could all go wrong. 

To quote H.L. Gold, editor of Galaxy Science Fiction, in 1952: 

“Over 90% of stories submitted to Galaxy Science Fiction still nag away at atomic, hydrogen and bacteriological war, the post atomic world, reversion to barbarism, mutant children killed because they have only ten toes and fingers instead of twelve….the temptation is strong to write, ‘look, fellers, the end isn’t here yet.’”

The movie Tomorrowland is a particulary egregious example of this tremendous misconception (and I can’t believe Brad Bird passed on making Force Awakens to make a movie that was 90 minutes of driving through the Florida swamps). In reality, pre-1960s scifi novels trafficked in dread, dystopian futures, and fear. There was simply never a time when optimistic scifi was overrepresented, even the boyish Jules Verne became skeptical of the possibilities of technology all the way at the turn of the century. One of the most famous pulp scifi yarns was Jack Williamson’s The Humanoids, about a race of Borg-like robots who so totally micromanage humans “for our own protection” that they leave us with nothing to do but wait “with folded hands.”


“Pulp scifi often featured muscular, large-chinned, womanizing main characters.”

Here’s the image often used in parodies of pulp scifi: the main character is a big-chinned, ultra-muscular dope in tights who is a compulsive womanizer and talks like Adam West in Batman. Whenever I see this, I think to myself…what exactly is it they’re making fun of?

It’s more normal than you think to find parodies of things that never actually existed. Mystery buffs and historians, for example, can’t find a single straight example of “the Butler did it.” It’s a thing people think is a thing that was never a thing, and another example would be the idea of the “silent film villain” in a mustache and top hat (which there are no straight examples of, either). There are no non-parody examples of Superman changing in a phone booth; he just never did this.

In reality, my favorite description of pulp mag era science fiction heroes is that they are “wisecracking Anglo-Saxon engineers addicted to alcohol and tobacco who like nothing better than to explain things to others that they already know.” The average pulp scifi hero had speech patterns best described as “Mid-Century American Wiseass” than like Adam West or the Lone Ranger. 

The nearest the Spaceman Spiff stereotype came to hitting the mark was with the magazine heroes of the Lensmen and Captain Future, and they’re both nowhere near close. Captain Future was a muscular hero with a chin, but he also had a Captain Picard level desire to use diplomacy first, and believed that most encounters with aliens were only hostile due to misunderstandings and lack of communication (and the story makes him right). He also didn’t seem interested in women, mostly because he had better things to do for the solar system and didn’t have the time for love. The Lensmen, on the other hand, had a ruthless, bloodthirsty streak, and were very much like the “murder machine” Brock Sampson (an attitude somewhat justified by the stakes in their struggle). 


“Pulp Era Scifi were mainly action/adventure stories with good vs. evil.” 

This is a half-truth, since, like so much other genre fiction, scifi has always been sugared up with fight scenes and chases. And there was a period, early in the century, when most scifi followed the Edgar Rice Burroughs model and were basically just Westerns or swashbucklers with different props, ray guns instead of six-shooters. But the key thing to remember is how weird so much of this scifi was, and that science fiction, starting in the mid-1930s, eventually became something other than just adventure stories with different trappings. 

One of my favorite examples of this is A. Bertram Chandler’s story, “Giant-Killer.” The story is about rats on a starship who acquire intelligence due to proximity to the star drive’s radiation, and who set about killing the human crew one by one. Another great example is Eando Binder’s Adam Link stories, told from the point of view of a robot who is held responsible for the death of his creator.

What’s more, one of the best writers to come out of this era is best known for never having truly evil bad guys: Isaac Asimov. His “Caves of Steel,” published in 1953, had no true villains. The Spacers, who we assumed were snobs, only isolated themselves because they had no immunities to the germs of earth.


“Racism was endemic to the pulps.”

It is absolutely true that the pulps reflected the unconscious views of society as a whole at the time, but as typical of history, the reality was usually much more complex than our mental image of the era. For instance, overt racism was usually shown as villainous: in most exploration magazines like Adventure, you can typically play “spot the evil asshole we’re not supposed to like” by seeing who calls the people of India “dirty monkeys” (as in Harold Lamb). 

Street & Smith, the largest of all of the pulp publishers, had a standing rule in the 1920s-1930s to never to use villains who were ethnic minorities because of the fear of spreading race hate by negative portrayals. In fact, in one known case, the villain of Resurrection Day was going to be a Japanese General, but the publisher demanded a revision and he was changed to an American criminal. Try to imagine if a modern-day TV network made a rule that minority groups were not to be depicted as gang bangers or drug dealers, for fear that this would create prejudice when people interact with minority groups in everyday life, and you can see how revolutionary this policy was. It’s a mistake to call this era very enlightened, but it’s also a mistake to say everyone born before 1970 was evil.


“Pulp scifi writers in the early days were indifferent to scientific reality and played fast and loose with science.”

 FALSE.

 This is, by an order of magnitude, the most false item on this list.

In fact, you might say that early science fiction fandom were obsessed with scientific accuracy to the point it was borderline anal retentive. Nearly every single one of the lettercols in Astounding Science Fiction were nitpickers fussing about scientific details. In fact, modern scifi fandom’s grudging tolerance for storytelling necessities like sound in space at the movies, or novels that use “hyperspace” are actually something of a step down from what the culture around scifi was in the 1920s-1950s. Part of it was due to the fact that organized scifi fandom came out of science clubs; Hugo Gernsback created the first scifi pulp magazine as a way to sell electronics and radio equipment to hobbyists, and the “First Fandom” of the 1930s were science enthusiasts who talked science first and the fiction that speculated about it second.

In retrospect, a lot of it was just plain obvious insecurity: in a new medium considered “kid’s stuff,” they wanted to show scifi was plausible, relevant, and something different from “fairy tales.” It’s the same insecure mentality that leads video gamers to repeatedly ask if games are art. You’ve got nothing to prove there, guys, calm down (and take it from a pulp scifi aficionado, the most interesting things are always done in the period when a medium is considered disposable trash). 

One of the best examples was the famous Howard P. Lovecraft, who published “The Shadow out of Time” in the 1936 issue of Astounding. Even though it might be the only thing from that issue that is even remotely reprinted today, the letters page from this issue practically rose up in revolt against this story as not being based on accurate science. Lovecraft was never published in Astounding ever again.

If you ever wanted to find out what Star Wars would be like if they were bigger hardasses about scientific plausibility, check out E.E. Smith’s Lensman series. People expect a big, bold, brassy space opera series with heroes and villains to play fast and loose, but it was shockingly scientifically grounded.

To be fair, science fiction was not a monolith on this. One of the earliest division in science fiction was between the Astounding Science Fiction writers based in New York, who often had engineering and scientific backgrounds and had left-wing (in some cases, literally Communist) politics, and the Amazing Stories writers based in the Midwest, who were usually self taught, and had right-wing, heartland politics. Because the Midwestern writers in Amazing Stories were often self-taught, they had a huge authority problem with science and played as fast and loose as you could get. While this is true, it’s worth noting science fiction fandom absolutely turned on Amazing Stories for this, especially when the writers started dabbling with spiritualism and other weirdness like the Shaver Mystery. And to this day, it’s impossible to find many Amazing Stories tales published elsewhere.

Sweet Creature

Click here if you’d like to listen to the song to help set the mood. x

It was one of those days.

Harry adored his job. He really did. His work was his first love, he always said. But there were certainly days where it all got to be a little too much.

He woke up at six in the morning to be greeted by a rainy and foggy sky outside. He spent a good ten minutes gazing at the great love of his life, her hair splayed in all different directions from having forgotten to tie it up in a ponytail like she usually did. Her lips were slightly parted, and her eyes were still puffy from the night before. He exhaled a sigh at the memory of it—it was the first time they’d really fought in a little while, but it’d been a doozy. Exhaustion took it’s toll on the both of them, but they were both too stubborn to admit it. It had been over something petty that he wasn’t even angry about anymore, even though at the moment in all seemed so important. And even though they tried to never go to bed angry, their tired eyes beat out the need to make up.

He exhaled a soft sigh as he watched his love, and he could see the tension built up in her features still from last night. He didn’t want to wake her just yet, because he knew that she would not love being woken up at six in the morning if she didn’t need to get up. The two of them rarely ever got a good night’s sleep anymore, and he didn’t want to take away her rest.

He got himself out of bed and walked over to the bathroom, going about his morning routine as quietly as possible as to not wake his girls. Within half an hour he was dressed up in a pair of black jeans and one of his button-ups. Usually he wouldn’t get so dolled up to go out this early, but he had a few morning radio shows he was making a live guest appearance on and impressions mattered to him. Having decided to get breakfast on the way to work, he quickly slipped out of the house without making a sound.

The rest of the day didn’t get any better.

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Because some asked why I needed Truthwitch to break out...

Some people have asked me what I meant by a statement in my postmortem – about WHY I needed Truthwitch to break out (because if it didn’t, my career was over). I’m not sure how in-depth I’ve been in my newsletter, so here’s an answer for you:

Basically, my first series tanked. I mean…tanked. We’re talking, Truthwitch sold more copies in its first two weeks than the entire SS&D series COMBINED.

Bad sales hurt an author – you’re way better off as an untested debut than an author with shitty sales. So I was at a crossroads in my career, where the plan was to change my name. That way, I could be a “debut” again. (Sadly, this happens a LOT in the industry. Which is why please do not pirate our books!)

But then Tor decided to take a chance on me. Because they’re a small (and amazing) house, they have more room to take on projects that they’re passionate about (instead of just commercially successful). HOWEVER, if Truthwitch didn’t sell well…. Then yeah. That was it. “Susan Dennard” would be dead, and I’d have to reinvent/start over my career.

There’s no shame in that. I was totally willing to reinvent! The problem was that I had this great audience for my writing advice – thousands upon thousands of people who were coming back for my blog and newsletter. Yet none of them were buying my books. Which is fine – I don’t give free writing help to sell copies. I do it because I love doing it.

BUT…if I reinvented myself, I would lose what little crossover I had between writing-advice-fans and book-readers – not to mention the handful of amazing fans who did like the SS&D trilogy (I will never ever forget my wonderful Misfits!).

So…I needed + desperately wanted Truthwitch to sell well. I wanted Tor to be happy. I wanted to keep my name. That led to me going “all in” on self-promo.

Full disclosure: I allocated $15,000 of my advance to promote Truthwitch. (Which, in case you’re wondering, was most of the advance.) I ended up going over that amount…by a lot. Costs ranged from travel to important events (this was really where the bulk got eaten up!) to running/maintaining my street team (swag, postage, hiring an assistant to help me keep it going) to learning how to + making my own book trailer.***

And like…I honestly don’t even know what kind of TIME I spent promoting. It was a lot more than I thought it would be. Literally most of 2015.

But…it paid off, right? At least in terms of “success.” I’m a New York Times Bestseller now!!

That said, I haven’t earned back the money I spent yet (“bestseller” doesn’t automatically mean “rich”), and I will never get back the time I spent. Plus, the nightmare that was 2016 as I tried to rush-create Windwitch

It begs the question: were the costs worth the rewards? I don’t know. I think so since, hopefully, the rewards will continue to pay forward for a long time – and my career is definitely growing!

Best of all, though, I CAN KEEP MY NAME. Susan Dennard. C’est moi pour toujours. ❤️

Edit:

I want to add two more things – because this post has opened up a lot of conversations I wasn’t expecting to have (but welcome!!).

First: I cannot emphasize enough just how important LUCK is in this equation. On top of the time, money, publisher-partnership, and salty desperation that I poured into Truthwitch, I ALSO GOT LUCKY. I had the Right Book at the Right Moment with the Right Cover in the Right Genre coming out in the Right Month.

A publisher can pour all the money in the world into a book, but nothing will make readers buy it. There is no predicting trends.

So a lot of the success of Truthwitch (which is still pretty small, relatively speaking. I’m not a Big Author by any means!!) boils down to that intangible, finicky sprite known as Lady Luck.

Second: This is just ROUND ONE of “reinvention.” I have no illusions or expectations that my success will remain. The Witchlands series has already exceeded my wildest hopes, but no author stays “on top” forever. It’s a constant up and down, and frankly, we’re all just really lucky to even be able to share our words in the first place.

Sure, I’d love to be successful forever, but it’s not my primary dream – and definitely not my expectation. Realism is key to longevity in this industry, and more than that: gratitude.

So on that note: thanks for reading, thanks for sharing, and thanks for being the reason I keep writing.


***Note: I need to also mention that, once it was clear my own self-promotion was starting to pick up momentum, Tor really stepped in and helped me. This was not a solo journey, and it NEVER is. I had/have an amazing team, and we’ve forged a real partnership while getting the Witchlands into readers’ hands.

amazon.com
Someone Else's Stars

Hey! Are you sick of books about gay teens written by straight adults?
Are you sick of books about mental illness by neurotypicals where it “all gets better”???
well look here!!! I’m a gay mentally ill teen in North Carolina who wrote this around the time HB2 was passed and got it published! It takes place in the 1950s in NYC and there’s not a single straight character. Please help support my writing and even just reblog it :-)

damn the delivery boy.

Pairing: Jeon Jeongguk / Reader.

Genre: Expecting Parents AU / Fluff and Non-explicit smut.

Summary: Jeon Jeongguk is a computer science major working as a pizza delivery boy, and you are an uninspired published author who has just started an art degree. When you realise that the delivery boy is your old high school crush, he keeps coming back, but with more to offer than just puff pastry and vegetarian supreme. Though little did he know that he would end up giving you something much more that flips both of your worlds completely upside down in the form of two blue lines and nine months.

Count: 9,656 words.


month one.

Two lines.

The second is a little faint, but it is there, undeniably there, growing stronger by the second as your heart sinks deeper into the pit of your stomach and suddenly you are keeling over the sink, throwing up a combination of panic and regret. You wipe your mouth, sit back on the closed lid of the toilet, shut your eyes and take a deep breath, holding it until your lungs burn and your lashes fly back apart to look at the test still shaking between your fingertips.

There, right before your eyes, two fucking blue lines protruding like two middle fingers, poking up at you and saying – Congratulations sucker, you are pregnant!

Twenty-three years old and pregnant.

You throw up again.

This has got to be the biggest mistake of your life.

Keep reading

The Best (and worst) Ways to Save on Textbooks!

After I posted my overrated first year advice post, a lot of people were commenting on my advice about buying textbooks. I agreed so much with all of these comments, so I thought I would do a more comprehensive post about how I buy my textbooks and what I recommend for others. 

Disclaimer: Obviously, where you buy your textbooks can be influenced by so many factors (location, income, etc.) so don’t feel obliged to listen to all of this advice! It is just my opinion, and as always, different things work for different people. 

Go Ahead

  • Buy used from upper year students. This is my number one go to way to save money on textbooks. Meeting with an upper year and buying a book is reliable and just makes sense. Also, they aren’t trying to turn a profit, so it is often the best deal. 
  • Bargain with people who are selling. If you do decide to buy from an upper year, try to bargain with them to get the best possible deal. Often times they are just trying to get rid of the books, so if you offer to bundle them, they will give you a better price. 
  • Buy off of Amazon Prime, or another reputable seller. If you can get a better deal and the guarantee that your books will arrive within 2-3 days, why not? 
  • Buy the looseleaf edition and a binder, rather than the hardcover copy. I have seen books at my bookstore that are $300+ and the looseleaf copy is like $100. It is the exact same material in every way, except that it isn’t bound together, so it is definitely worth the money saved. 
  • If there is an electronic copy available, print it yourself. Make sure you have the rights to print it first, but if you do, then this is a great way to save. My politics prof made all of our readings available online to download, and I got them all printed for $9. Much cheaper than an actual textbook. 
  • Rent textbooks. I have to be honest, I don’t know a ton about renting, but there are usually websites and places on/around campus that let you rent a textbook and then return it at the end. Just make sure that it is considerably cheaper than owning the book. 
  • Share the book with a friend. If you know someone on your floor or someone you hang out with often, share the book! Make a schedule of when each of you will get it, and you only have to pay half of the cost. 

Proceed With Caution

  • Buying an electronic copy. This is a great way to save, as long as you are comfortable doing a lot of reading online. I definitely recommend this if you have a tablet, or are just used to reading online. If you like to take notes in a book, or you get a headache from reading online, it might be worth it to find a hard copy. 
  • Buying online from an unreliable site. This might apply more for my fellow Canadians/non-Americans because fewer sites offer good, quick shipping to us! I remember when I was looking for textbooks, I would think I found an amazing deal on a book, then see that it would take 6 weeks to ship. It isn’t worth it to be 6 weeks behind on readings to save a bit of cash. 
  • Buying from a bookstore off campus. I guess it depends on how willing your school is to screw you over, but at my school, the on-campus prices are the same as at Chapters. If they are the same price anyways, you might as well go for the convenience of the on-campus store. 
  • Checking it out from the library. I think this is a great idea if it is a light reading class, especially because textbooks are often on reserve at the library. However, if you have readings every night or a big project based on the textbook, it can be super inconvenient to have to check the book out every day. 
  • Buying an older edition of a textbook. I see this advice all the time, and I just don’t think it is good at all! It is very annoying that publishers do this, but usually a new edition is completely rearranged, and can often have different content and different homework questions. I made this mistake at the beginning of the year and got a book that had literally nothing in common with the class, so I ended up buying the new edition anyways. 

Other Ways to Save 

  • Make sure you actually need the book before purchasing. Look on the syllabus — not just under “required textbooks” but also under the course schedule. If there is only one reading from the textbook, try to borrow it from a friend or use the online version. 
  • If there is a reader, try to find the readings online. Sometimes profs will try to sell you a reader that has a bunch of readings from various sources. Often these are super popular readings like John Rawls or Judith Butler that can be easily accessed online. If you can find copies of them all of JSTOR or your school library, don’t bother with the reader. 
  • Take good care of textbooks that you buy so you can sell them next year. If you write and highlight in the book, it is harder to sell for a good price. If it is pristine condition, you can sell it for a bit less than the cover price rather than super cheap. 
  • It is a lot better to sell books to other students than to sell to the bookstore/online. If a textbook costs $50 new, you can sell it to another student for $40, whereas the bookstore would only pay you like $4.50. They really lowball you, so try to sell directly to other students! 
❀ Broken Hearts | 01

pairings/characters: pjm x reader x jjk
words: 3.6k
genre: drama, angst, occasional smut
trigger warnings: mentions of alcohol, language
summary:

“best friends can break your heart too. Especially when they were never true to begin with.”

Originally posted by btsneeds



“Hey.” His voice was soft against the loud screams of the people around us. The entire airport was crowded, with people rushing to catch their flights.

You promised yourself you wouldn’t cry, or at least try not to.

But when his arms wrap around your smaller frame, you couldn’t help but let the one drop of tear escape your eyes, slowly trickling down your skin. He brings you close enough for you to be able to pick up on every little whisper and every breath over the ear piercing roars coming from the crowded people running around with haste, to catch their flight; the both of you standing in the middle of chaos.

“Don’t worry… I promise- I’ll call whenever I am free. -Ok?“

After high school you had decided to stay in Seoul, studying to become a fashion designer at a prestigious university, while Jungkook was on his way to his first tour after his debut. Which is why you found yourself at the airport today, heart breaking to pieces as you see your best friend, childhood friend and only love leave for a whole year.

“Yeah yeah.” You answer him, sniffling to keep your tears at bay. Letting your body press closer to his, you mumble the rest into his shirt, trying your best to stay composed. “I know you will, I just… ”

Its as if the words get stuck in your throat, the syllables that you have been dying to confess to him since the start of high school. You. Loved. Him. More than a friend, more than any person in the world. You didn’t know what it was, but the only way to describe it was love. You longed to see him everyday, wanting his arms to hold you down as the both of you fell asleep on the couch. Maybe at the start you thought of it as an immature crush, but the way the thought of him clouded your mind every second of the day the past few months could only prove against it. But…

“Just?”

“Just.. I’ll miss you- a lot.”

There’s no way you could just flat out confess, the possibility of it ruining your friendship couldn’t have been worse. It’s never like how stories put it out to be. Your friend never just has crush on you. He went out with a million girls, dated a few, and had countless one night stands, if you could in anyway validate these as him masking his feelings for you then you’d only be living in a dream. He was shameless to put it, he always knew how you felt but he could never figure out how you felt about him; always coming up to you to simply comment about another girl. How did he have the time to do all of this, you had no idea but he did. He did and he hid it well, only to confide to you each time.

The only hope that you held on to, was how over-protective he was of you.

In the past 5 years, you’ve only dated two guys simply because Jungkook didn’t approve of them. He’d be the one to remind you that your skirt was too short, that drinking would only cause irresponsible decisions, that clubs were off limits (unless your boyfriend somehow convinced Jungkook), he’d be the one to warn you every time. Heck even your own dad wasn’t this concerned about you.

He’d fuck around wherever he wanted, but he always had his eyes out for you.


“I’ll miss you too, but it’s just a few months. A few months and-”

‘Flight EK 323: Calling for passengers one last time.’

“Did you really have to take the long way around?”

“We have a lot of stops you know?” He smiled against your cheeks, your fingers wiping the last remains of your tears when you felt his soft lips on you, “I’ll be back in no time trust me.” He pulls away from you with a wide smile, fingers grabbing onto his carry-on instead as he rushes to the gates, screaming a rushed goodbye.

He’ll be back soon, maybe then…

‘Dispatch: Idol Jeon Jungkook caught in a scandal’

What?

Maybe your eyes were just playing tricked s on you. Straightening your body against the cushioned headboard of your bed you grab your glasses just for good measure. Having just woken up as the first rays of the sun entered your bedroom, you got your phone from under your pillow to check on Instagram.

After being apart for a few months, his calls became infrequent as his texts did too. Everytime you’d call him it’d just be met with silence. But you just presumed that he was head deep busy with practice and producing. But this scandal was not what you expected.

He was always cautious, never getting caught by any news source whether it be his late night flings or the moments he spent with you. He was sneaky enough to get past them no matter how exhausted he was, but this time he got caught. That too with a rather sexy model if you had to say, her long legs shimmering under the street lamp as her dress that was so lewdly cut at the right places flaunted every curve of her body which just so happened to be glued to Jungkook’s.


Fixing the glasses atop your nose, you look through each article that had been published in the couple of hours that Dispatch had caught him, completely disregarding the ticking clock behind you since the moment you woke up; the sense of time hits you the second your friend Kyuhyung texts.

Kyuhung [11:38]: Are you going to be here for class today? Or are you too busy dreaming about lover boy?

You [11:39]: He just got into a scandal.

Kyuhung [11:39]: What the fuck?

Kyuhung [11:39]: Your best friend, Jeon Jungkook? The one person who seemingly cares the most about you. The one guy who has been avoiding cameras for years now?

You [11:40]: I guess…

You stared at the blank screen, taking in the words that he just typed. He was right, how could Jungkook have blocked you so suddenly? Kyuhung was a good friend of the both of you, having asked you out the last year of high school you rejected him solely on the request of Jungkook. But he stuck around as a friend, becoming closer to you as the both of you had the same major.

Kyuhung [11:43]: But you’re kidding me right? He’s supposed to be back in seoul by tomorrow.

You [11:43]: I wish I was kidding…

Kyuhung [11:46]: Try to take your mind off this, go out and have fun instead.
Kyuhung [11:46]: Don’t let his scandal affect you.


Maybe if only you could hear his voice. Maybe if you could hear his voice, weeping at the other end, that this was a mistake; that all of these flings of his were just mistakes and he truly only cared about you. If only you could hear him say that would your mind be at ease.Opening the door to your bedroom, your feet creak on the wooden floor. The breeze that enters from the open window past the peach blinds that shielded your room and the outside world tingles every inch of your exposed skin, reminding you that you were awake. Reminding you that Jungkook was stuck in a mess and all you could do was worry.

Why were you back here again? To mope around? To stress over something that wasn’t yours? But who could you blame? It’s not like you had taken up the opportunity and told him how you feel about him. You could’ve, but you decided to let it be. Maybe if you told him he’d stop doing all of this. Your fingers had made their way to toy around with the hem of your shirt, getting lost in your own thoughts as you try to think of exactly what he’s going through.

How all of this would affect his career, his life.

Your phone buzzed in beside you, a loud ring signifying someone’s call. You practically jump on the seat, trying to pick your phone up with your trembling hands as you swipe the screen to pick up the call. You grab the phone holding it up to your ear, in a desperate attempt to maybe hear his voice. For a second your heart stopped, as you held your breath hearing closely for even a single decibel of sound. But to no avail, it turned out to be a telemarketer.

Telemarketers.

Always calling at the worst time. With a loud thud you drop your phone, today’s definitely not a good day. You missed your early classes, and were simply put drowning in questions that had no answers to them.

Time seemed to blend in, the very concept only becoming a theory to you as you switched the TV on, letting its loud noises

Why were you so worried about him?

Easier said than done. Even if you knew that Jungkook messed around like this all the fucking time, you knew even better just how much this scandal would break him.

Even if he did mess around, he was weak deep inside and you knew it better than anyone. You remember those nights you spent cuddled up in blankets as he talked about how hard practice was. You remember those nights when he’d tell you that he was sane because you were with him, you were with him to thick and thin and you out of everyone knows how it gets. You see every time he’s nervous, softly playing with the tips of his hair or even simply biting on his lips. You remember those nights where you’d stay up late, just to help him finish that one English assignment that he was too lazy to do.

You remember it all because you’ve been with him since you could remember.

But of course the depth of your thoughts could never fight the time and soon enough you spent the entire day in absolute silence, just the annoying TV and your thoughts.

Hunger and anything that seemed normal for a human was unnecessary for you today, cause all you were doing is crying about something you had no control over.

Wait.

But why?

The sun was setting, a lovely burnt sienna spread across the sky.Your breaths has significantly deepened, as you felt every single bout of air that had entered your body, giving you a dose of relief. But it still wasn’t right. Memories of the both of you, sitting in this very spot. Countless polaroids from your late night adventures. Mugs of hot chocolate, cuddled up next to each other. Even stepping out couldn’t help you.

These thoughts brought back memories more painful, than letting him go. Your fingers instinctively reach to wipe away the drop of tear had streamed down your cheeks, The already reddened skin, now drenched with the salty trails of sorrow. Why must your heart suffer when he didn’t even feel a drop of guilt? Getting up from the spot, your tread your feet to your closet.

The shock that had eventually dispersed to sadness now burned with rage. You’re mind starting trying to sort through years of just listeinging to his whims and half assed excuses. Of course it was illogical, if he’s allowed to do what he wants, then so are you.

What’s the point of sitting here and mourning about someone or rather something that had nothing to do with your life? Fuck- did you just spend the last 20 or so years of your life crying over a person who makes his own mistakes, who plays by his own rules, who thinks he’s better than everyone. Just worrying about him and if he passed the SAT instead of going out with that one cute boy who asked you out. Or how you stayed up every night just listening to him talk about nonsense and comment about your appearance, your personality your everything when you could’ve been asleep and well rested.

Simply put it was a waste of time, but there’s no point in being his doll anymore. He made one bad decision, it’s time you make yours.

You lift yourself off the couch, the one place that had seemingly become an abode for your weeping body every time something didn’t go your way. Letting the tv let its noise serenade the house to avoid silence that’d probably would’ve eaten you alive. You make your way to the bedroom, walking past the strewn clothes all over its carpeted floor.

If anyone saw the state your room was in, no one would expect you to be one of the responsible students at uni. With your ivory bed sheets messed atop the bed in the center of the room and papers scattered around everywhere with what you’re assuming is rejected drafts of your designs.

Your closet, nonetheless was in the same condition. Jumbled up with a piece of bra lying on the floor and shirts just shoved inside. You so need to get your life together. Maybe this was a start, just a little rebellious.

You loved the attention that the other men gave you, the rows of guys who’d come up to you just to ask you out. Their hungry stares at your body as you willed to choose who would go home with that night. That very thought didn’t seem to sit with Jungkook for reasons quite inexplicable. You had voiced your opinions a million times, asking him to stop messing around especially after debut and for for the most part he would just nod and maybe forget. But if you ever asked him why he asked you to avoid clubs all he’d say was ‘you wouldn’t get it’

You looked through the various rows of dresses lined up on wooden hangers which surprisingly weren’t as disorganized as you would’ve thought they would be. But the most disappointing part was probably the dresses that were lined up, from pastels to cute skirts you had it all; but in this mess of what looked like a rainbow your eyes scanned for something a bit more ‘oomph’

Something that’d have more of an effect, something that’d leave them breathless something like- that. Your eyes don’t fool you when your fingers touch the lacy black dress that felt -oh so- soft under your touch. If this wouldn’t get the guys swooning, nothing could. It was cut in just the right places allowing the fabric to wrap over skin making each and every pronounce itself.

Making sure to look like perfect eye candy, making the boys imagine the deepest of their fantasies, you finished getting ready. Within an hour you were about to walk out your apartment, your heels clicked loudly against the marble flooring. As you closed the door behind you, fitting your phone and credit card info the lousy excuse of a purse.

You step out into the dimly lit hallway, opting to wait for the elevator than take the stairs considering how high your heels were today. But the elevator sure took its sweet time to reach up to your floor. Your reflection on the metal doors was good enough for you to check up on yourself one last time, fixing the nude lipstick you had chosen using the pad of your fingers just when the doors dinged open and the sight in front of you had your eyes devouring it in greed.

There stood in front of your eyes, a man with lustrous silver hair. Definitely a well built body, considering you could see his muscles bulge from underneath his tight black dress shirt, all of this paired perfectly with a smile that had your heart fluttering. To him you probably seemed weird, taking your time to admire his beautiful feature before stepping in.

“Going down?” You asked, almost in a whisper but the glowing “G” sign on the panel gave you your answer right away.

If only it had stopped there.

“Hopefully on you.” His voice was just loud enough for you to hear, and honestly you couldn’t stop the chuckle that left your lips. Was he actually serious?

“Aren’t those a little dirty to say to a random stranger?” You don’t bother turning around to face him, trying to hold in your laughter instead.

“Seeing as you’re dressed I wouldn’t act so innocent, I mean.. you had to hear it from someone at some point cause darling you look gorgeous.” That very sentence made you giggle, probably the first glimmer of a smile that’s been there in the last month or so.

Even before you could answer him back, you feel his arms lightly touch your waist, pushing his body on to you as he leaned down to your ears. “How about I take you out dancing tonight?” You bite down on your lip as you feel his body heat warming you through the thin fabric of your dress, if it was anyone else you would’ve probably hit them in their face and walked away, but this time you couldn’t help but play along. Your previous thoughts and worries diminished into nothing.

“Isn’t that a lot to ask mr. Innocent face?” You throw back at him, trying to test his patience with the both .The doors open, as you’re about to step out, when his hands pull you back inside by the wrist.

“Do you think I didn’t noticed how you stared at my muscles the second you got on?” His voice had dropped an octave lower, making you shudder with this unknown feeling. “Come on baby girl, it’s all on me.”

And with those words you found yourself in a car with a stranger who, even with his teasing tendencies didn’t seem all to bad. His name was Park Jimin, sounding very familiar to one who had heard before, but obviously your mind couldn’t possible make out who. Just thinking about how many ‘jimins’ walk around Seoul everyday has you distracted enough to pay attention to his little small talk but still detached from your thoughts of Jungkook.

You learnt a lot about him. He’s a singer, although you couldn’t pin down where you’ve heard his songs, but it definitely sounded familiar. He wasn’t self centered, if anything he made sure to constantly ask you about yourself. You found out that he was only a few years older than you, and had decided to take a break from his band for a few weeks.


You couldn’t help but wonder that maybe if Jungkook had gotten breaks like this, he would’ve been here with you. But as he mentioned countless times to you every time he texted. He was never free. He could never make time for you.


Only then did you realize your mind was drifting off again, you needed something to distract you from this, and only alcohol seemed to be the answer. Afree a few more jokes being passed around, the taxi parked outside the club, that had rows of people lining the street just to get in.

It’d be more than just difficult for you to get in, or so you thought. As you walk beside Jimin, trying your best from keeping from falling over the bouncer at the door just takes one look and swings opens the door for the both of you. It definitely delayed you by a few seconds which you could’ve saved dashing down the door, it still proved to be useful considering you didn’t have to wait in a line

Just as you stepped inside the black room streaked in different neon lights, you rushed towards the bar without giving a second glance towards Jimin. In record speed you had ordered three rounds of shots and were only getting riled up by the music as the base of the songs thumped louder around you.

By the time Jimin approached you, you were two shots in deep and your mind began to get fuzzy, never ring able to handle your alcohol well. Two shots were probably enough to get UOU mildly uncoordinated. “Couldn’t wait a few minutes darling?” He asks taking a seat beside you and signaling towards the bartender himself.

“I just needed a few drinks to get stuff off my mind”

“Rough week?”

“Somewhat”

“Understandable.” His replies were short, but the way he didn’t let his eyes leave you was sign enough that he was genuinely worried. Or maybe you were too drunk? “Why don’t we both get drunk and forget about all our worries for now?”

“I’m way ahead of you.”

“Another round?”

“Yes please”

How did you manage to spend a whole night with a stranger you met in an elevator? God knows! But hell did you enjoy yourself. You enjoyed listening to his wild stories, or even just how he almost burnt his house down. You enjoyed looking at the way his nose crinkled every time he smiled probably from one of your horrible puns. You enjoyed the feeling of his breath just tickling your skin as the both you let the music drown you in your own space, the mess of bodies melting to nothing around you.

You giggle into his chest from what you could’ve sworn is the worst joke of the century, the low rumble of his chuckles as he laughs along with you sending shivers down your spine. You look up to his face, tracing his plump lips with your eyes. You were about to lean in, maybe under the influence of alcohol or maybe to release some stress. But you couldn’t deny yourself of this beautiful hunk of a man. Your lips brushed against each other momentarily, breaths hitting each other’s faces, before a strong hand pulled him away from you. Your face shifted to that signifying great annoyance, looking up to find Jimin and a familiar face.

Your eyes squinted for a second, as you blinked a couple of times to get a better view.

“Jungkook?”

Originally posted by sebuttianstans

Pairing: Sebastian Stan x Female Reader
Rating: T 
Warnings: No real warnings - mild language, references to sex.
Summary: You’re having the worst day imaginable and find some kindness where you aren’t expecting it.
Author’s Note: I can’t believe the feedback I’ve gotten from the other Seb stories that I’ve written lately. You guys are the best! This is a little shorter than usual, but it popped into my head randomly. Again, I just want to reiterate that I don’t know him, and that there’s no harm intended with these stories. Any similarities between real life and these stories are coincidence. 

You’re having the absolute worst day of your life. You’ve just been fired from your job over an issue that was definitely not your fault, and you just realized you left your wallet at home, meaning you have to trudge all the way back to your apartment with a box of your things instead of taking a cab like you wanted to.

You feel like you’re two seconds away from bursting into tears, so you shove your headphones into your ears and start heading to your apartment. The minute you step outside with your box, the clouds open up and it starts pouring down rain.

“Of fucking course.” You say out loud, a semi-hysterical laugh leaving your mouth. It turns into a sob, though, as your shoulders slump.

“Are you okay?” A voice asks, and you glance up to see a man with an umbrella looking at you, concerned.

“F-fine,” you mumble, embarrassed.

“No offense, but you don’t look fine.” He says, and when you blink in response, his eyes widen. “Not that you don’t look fine! I just mean– you look upset.”

You can’t help but smile softly at him as he gets flustered. “I’m just having a bad day. I’ll be fine.”

He returns your smile, a faint blush on his cheeks. “Are you going very far?” He asks, gesturing towards the box in your hands. “No free hand for an umbrella.”

“Just a few blocks. I’ll probably get a cab.”

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Lena being the extra gay that she is ask Kara to go on a date with her or marry her with a crop circle

lena asks kara to marry her with a crop circle

she takes kara there and she’s all sneaky about it and not telling kara what’s happening but kara knows it’s something important bc she can hear lena’s heart and she’s extremely worried by how fast it’s beating

when they get there kara looking around and being all “um lena? what am i supposed to be looking at?” but still saying it with a smile and this soft look on her face bc lena can take her to the middle of nowhere and she’d still be charmed as hell

lena taking a deep breath before smiling and pointing upwards and “you’ll see”

kara giving her this confused but amused smile, but complying to her request. she flies up, slowly at first and with her eyes fixed on lena and how she just swallowed and her hands started to tremble

when kara looks down and sees the bigger picture she just gasps and says a very soft “rao”. she just stays there, midair, blinking away the tears in her eyes and looking at the “will you marry me?” and the designs - kryptonian designed - surrounding it

she flies down, so stunned she forgets a little about her strength and dents the ground where her feet touched. she turns her head and sees lena kneeling with an open velvet box in hand and looking up at her

she can’t contain her sob nor the excitement inside her and in a burst of super speed she’s in front of lena and helping her off the ground, still silent

lena looks at her, worried and anxious and nervous and “kara? kara w-”

and kara interrupts her with a kiss, as soft and as full of love as she can manage. when they pull back, kara tells her “yes. a million times yes.”

she pulls back a little so lena can slip the ring on her finger and then they’re both crying and kissing again, not caring about anything else

anonymous asked:

Hey how do you make your hands so?? Cool? Like they look rlly nice and convey a lot of motion or character in the way they're (in the best way possible) contorted and posed in impossible ways and stuff and it just looks so excellent? How you do that, do you got any method or way about it? and also sorry for rambling I can't ever properly express anything

ahh thankyou!

id like to do a more in depth response to this in a bit when i have time so im publishing this to remind myself

however, for the most part i reference my own hands. i get this sort of response very very often but i assure you i have not drawn any hands i am not capable of doing myself they r all possible i promise. my hands are double jointed or something idk most of the hands i draw are completely natural positions for me

2

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.

ironic dyslexia

pairing: lin x reader (go figure)

prompt: dyslexic author writes a book that lin loves and he meets her and invites her to see hamilton

warnings: hastag makeout and swearing

word count: 3,069

a/n: happy to write some more for you all. this is one of my favorites. kind of pointless, very sweet. i love lin, but what’s new honestly (ps mY SISTER GOT ENGAGED AND IM SO HAPPY)



Masterlist / Prompt List


Today was hard. You could usually manage, but there was something about today that just made writing so fucking hard. God, you couldn’t even get through a paragraph without the little red line haunting every mistake you made while typing. You had an interview today with a publishing company - what if they asked you to read a chapter from your book? The job would be gone the first time you messed up your w’s and m’s. You groaned, pushing your computer away from you seat at the diner.

It was strange. You would go to type a ‘g’ and think, “g is the lowercase version of G,” and “G looks like a 6,” so you would type a 6. It took much longer for you to get your thoughts out, and you often had to stop and think about what you were writing. God, you hoped they wouldn’t give you a typing test. Do they even still do those?

The waiter brought over a plate of hash browns and your cup of coffee. You ate silently, hoping that maybe the food and caffeine would lift your moral. Dyslexia was hard enough, but being an author made it ten times worse.

Your mom laughed - actually laughed out loud - when you told her that you were writing your first book. She thought you had been completely joking. You pushed it though, not only proving her wrong, but more importantly proving to yourself that a disability wasn’t your definition.

And you did. Your first book was off the charts, every day gaining more attention and praise. You even did a segment on The Ellen Show; that’s what happens when you work your ass off.

You had just started packing up your laptop when a voice startled you.

“Excuse me?”

Your head turned quickly as you jumped back slightly. You settled when you realized it was just a young girl. She was kicking the ground, embarrassed. You laughed lightly, “Yes?”

She looked back up to you - she couldn’t be older than ten. “Are you Y/N?”

You nodded, “What can I do for you, love?”

Her smile grew. She pushed a piece of hair from eyes behind her ear, “My mom read me your book and it’s my favorite.”

Taking in a breath, you grinned. This was a whole new community of people that you hadn’t expected to reach, “Thank you so much, that means the world to me.”

She smiled a little bigger, “I have dyslexia too,” she said. Then, instantly embarrassed, she looked back down.

Your heart swelled; you were rarely confronted about your reading disability. Still, rather than being sheepish over the comment, you felt empowered - inspired even.

You leaned in a little closer, touching her shoulder. “Don’t ever let it stop you from doing what you love, okay?”

She looked back up, then nodding a little, she gave you a hug before running back to the table where her dad sat. He gave you a nod of gratitude before looking back to his daughter.

Honest to God, this had never happened to you before. Sure, you had met a few teens who had read your book, but never anyone younger. Even then, never someone who had felt empowered by reading your story. It was a story about a beach house for God’s sake. And they probably had no idea how many times you spelt ‘beach’ 'baech.’ Still, your heart smiled at the gesture. Maybe today wouldn’t be so hard after all.

Pulling your bag over your shoulder, you headed towards the door before you were stopped once again.

“Wait!” Someone called from behind you, your foot halfway out the door. You were rarely noticed in public - and especially not twice in one morning.

It was a man with a shoulder length hair, the top pulled back from his face. He had a book in his hand. It wasn’t until he was right in front of you that you recognized the cover; it was your book. You let a small smile escape, a blush flooding your cheeks. He was handsome.

He let out half a grin, “Y/N?” You nodded, cueing him to continue. “I’m a huge fan - I’m actually kind of awestruck right now and I’m rambling because you’re very pretty and very talented and -”

You laughed, interrupting him, “Thank you.”

He took in a sharp breath, shoving an outstretched hand towards you, “I’m Lin.”

You shook his hand, thinking about how Lin shouldn’t be too difficult to remember. “Y/N,” you greeted, hoping your hands weren’t too clammy.

After a moment of holding your hand too long, he quickly pulled back, scratching the back of his neck.

“What can I do for you?” You asked softly, bringing his eyes back to yours.

“Oh!” He laughed, extending the book towards you, “I was wondering if you could sign my book for me.”

You fished around your bag for a pen for a moment before realizing that he had a sharpie in his hand. You giggled before started writing in his book.

Lin -
     Thank you so much for reading my book. And don’t worry - your nervous ramble was adorable.
     Always,
          Y/N

Rereading your note to make sure you hadn’t mixed any letters up, you debated on adding your phone number, but you figured that was much riskier than you felt like being.

He gratefully took the book back, shutting it before even reading it. Shaking his head slightly, he smiled, “My cast is going to flip.”

“Cast?” You questioned, suddenly confused.

“Uh, yeah - I’m in this musical about Alexander Hamilton.” He said sheepishly.

Your eyes went wide, “The one here?”

He nodded, “Why? Is there more than one?” He threw you a wink, making your heart skip despite your eye roll.

Still, you giggled before shaking your head, “I don’t think so. My sister just saw it a few weeks ago.”

He smiled with his entire face, “Really? What’d she think of it?”

“She said it was incredible.”

Lin laughed before doing a little dance, “I can try and score you some tickets - the cast would love to meet you. We’ve all read your book.”

You snatched his copy from his, causing his brows to furrow. Quickly, under your name you scribbled out your number. He smirked at the addition, accepting the book once more.

“Call me?” You asked, using your back to push the door open.

“Definitely,” he said, waving slightly as you walked off. Once you had turned around completely, he gave himself a power fist. “Go Lin,” he smirked.


And call he did. Ten minutes after you left the shop, actually.

“I wanted to make sure it wasn’t a fake number,” he defended.

Feeling flirty, you teased back, “Why would I give a cute guy a fake number?”

“Because you’re way out of his league?” He curbed, making your face flush red.

“Tease,” you mumbled under your breath.


He called that night too: “I wanted to double check it wasn’t a fake number.”

“Lin, you already called me. You know it’s real.”

“Okay, maybe I just wanted to talk to you some more.”


And again in the morning, you hadn’t even gotten out of bed.

“Good morning!” He chirped, eliciting a groan out of you as you quickly turned down the volume on your phone.

“Too early,” you mumbled.

“Noted,” he said before continuing. “I got you a ticket for Friday night.”

This seemed to wake you up, “Really?”

He nodded before realizing you couldn’t see him, “Does that work?”

“Yeah,” you said, sitting up and smoothing back your hair. “What do I wear?” You thought aloud.

He laughed, “A dress. But comfortable. It’s a long show.”

“Okay,” you grinned, “Thank you so much.”

“Of course,” he answered quickly. “But you have to promise to meet the cast afterwards - they’ll be pissed if they know they didn’t get to meet you.”

“Absolutely. I’ll be the starstruck one.”

“Doubtful,” he said. You could practically hear his smirk through the phone.


You were writing again the next day. Your mind was elsewhere, thinking about Lin and what dress to wear and Friday. Still, when you went back to correct your mistakes, your writing had a different tone to it; much lighter and more fluid.

Friday came soon enough and you were a wreck. You had called your sister and explained what happened. She instantly gushed about how attractive Lin was - and how talented he was. You called him after, frustrated that he hadn’t told you he was the star of the show.

“You’re telling me that my writing is good, but you’re an Emmy winner for your musicals! I feel like you gassed me up.” You heard him laugh through the phone, making you frown. “Lin,” you whined.

“Okay, okay!” He giggled, “I play Alexander Hamilton in Hamilton, but I didn’t gas you up. I’m actually obsessed with your book.”

“Shut up,” you grumbled. He only laughed again.

“You’re adorable,” he settled on, making you blush. “But seriously, Jasmine - you’ll meet her, she is so talented - was the first to read it, right? She gave it to Pippa - you’ll meet her too - and then Diggs -“

“His name is Diggs?”

“Daveed Diggs, he’s ridiculous. He’s a rapper.”

“Sweet.”

“And then they gave it to me because they wouldn’t shut up about the book, and they were annoyed that I couldn’t talk about it with them.”

You were smiling by now, listening smoothly, “So you’ve got a book club,” you teased.

He threw his head back, “I suppose you could call it that.”

The two of you talked for the rest of the night, by the time it was midnight, he suggested that you just come over.

“Lin, it’s the middle of the night.”

“Well, it depends how you look at it, in some parts of the world -“

“Lin,” you laughed. “For someone who has a never ending supply of energy, how is it that you don’t need sleep? It’s so ironic.”

He smiled into the phone, “Says the dyslexic author.”

You let out a hard laugh. It was new to laugh so freely about something that had limited you for so long. He wasn’t using it against you, simply acknowledging it.

“Too far?” He asked, suddenly nervous.

“Absolutely not. It feels good to laugh about it. To recognize it.”

Lin smiled, “I’ll see you tomorrow at the show?”

“In a dress,” you returned.

“Goodnight,” he said, lingering.

“Goodnight, Lin,” you said. You waited a moment before handing up the phone. You fell asleep smiling that night.

You spent an hour picking out a dress. An hour. Even then, you settled on a simple low cut red dress - it wasn’t even that excessive! Still, you curled your hair and did your makeup, giving yourself ample time to get to the theater.

The show started at seven and you arrived around 6:30. A few people noticed who you were, a pair of teenage girls even asked if you were planning on writing more.

“I’m working on something right now, actually,” you smiled, playing the tease you knew you were.

Their eyes lit up as they begged for details. You laughed as you shook your head, “Sorry! You’ll just have to wait.”

After snapping a photo with them, you found your seat, still clutching your playbill. You flipped through the book, a paper falling out with the cast list on it. The cast changed frequently, so they used scrap paper instead of printing the bios and photos of the new actors. Your heart leapt when you saw Lin’s name across the dotted line of Alexander Hamilton.

The lights dimmed and the show began, the beat instantly pulling you in. You had no idea what you were in for, but boy, did you love it.


You weren’t sure what to do at the end of the show to be completely honest. After the final bow, you were overwhelmed to say the least. Sure, you had written a book. But that? Hamilton? They just made magic onstage.

You waited a few minutes before deciding to text him. What was he thinking? What were you thinking? You had absolutely no idea where to go or who to talk to. Before you could get your phone out of your bag, however, an usher had placed a hand on your arm.

“Miss L/N?” He smiled. When you nodded, he continued, “Mr. Miranda asked that I invite you backstage.”

A smile rushed your face as you followed him towards a back door, still gripping your playbill as if your life depended on it.

The guy who had played Hercules Mulligan was waiting for you behind the door. Thanking the usher, he pulled you back into the dark hallways with a grin so big it filled his face. He hugged you, making you jump for a moment before accepting the gesture and returning it quickly.

“I’m Oak, I love your book.” He said as he pulled away.

“I loved your performance,” you smiled, feeling awestruck.

He laughed but was abruptly shoved away, “Oh my gosh,” the girl behind him said.

“Jas, this is Y/N,” Oak introduced.

A curly head bobbed over, instantly hugging you, “You are one of my biggest inspirations.”

You took in a breath, softly thanking her before hugging her back. When you pulled away, you squinted before asking, “You’re Jasmine, right?”

She nodded quickly, slightly slapping Oak on the chest before turning and whispering, “She knows who I am.” Suddenly, Jasmine was pulled away from you to reveal a dressed down Lin. He had on some sweats and a black Hamilton tee. The sight of him made your heart skip. Who the hell looked that good in sweats? He was unreal.

He puffed up his cheeks before slowly breathing out.

“Hi,” you said.

Lin shook his head slightly before offering a hand and leading you away. Gratefully, you accepted. His hand left yours, resting on the small of your back, flooding your body with fire; making you burn.

His lips trailed to your ear, slowly breathing out, “You look incredible.” Electricity traveled down your spine as his words hit you.

You tried to push your smile down, but his hand fit perfectly and his hair was messy but he was so damn hot and you couldn’t help it.

“Only one person to dress for,” you quipped, moving a little closer to him, as if there was any room between you. He let out a soft groan, moving you more curtly to his dressing room.

He took a deep breath when he got into the room, as if to calm himself down. Lin pulled you to the couch, sitting much closer than two friends would.

“So what did you think?” He asked, nudging your shoulder, “Was your sister right?”

You let out a laugh before you nodded, “For the first time in her life.” You turned to face him. His grin made it’s way to his eyes, “You are ridiculously talented,” you said, still starstruck.

“Then I won’t let you see Javi play Hamilton. You might like him more than me,” he laughed. His laugh was breezy, like the conversation wasn’t filled with heat.

“Who says I like you?” You said, your brows furrowed, a teasing tone making its way off your lips.

“That dress,” he said quickly, easily. You let out small gasp, rarely allowing yourself to flirt so liberally. Speechless, you shook your head with a smile on your lips. He played off of this, taking your hand in his. “But seriously, you liked it?” He asked, turning the subject.

You nodded instantly, “It… was the best thing I’ve ever seen.”

He rolled his eyes, “That’s exaggerating.”

“Maybe, but it was still amazing.” You shrugged.

He was closer than he was before. When did he get so close?

“You’re amazing,” he tried.

You crinkled your nose, “Cheesy.”

He giggled, placing his other hand on your cheek before touching his lips to yours. Melting immediately, your hands found his neck and you pulled him closer. His hands dropped back to your hips as his lips molded yours. Your lips parted as his kisses got longer, hotter. You sighed into him, tugging his hair lightly when he nipped your bottom lip. The fire in your chest had traveled to every part of your body and you had never felt so good.

“Dude! Why didn’t you tell me Y/N was here - oh shit!” Someone yelled, barging into the dressing room and causing you two to pull apart. Accidentally, you smacked Lin in the face as you jumped back to the end of the couch.

“Shit,” you both groaned, you in embarrassment, him in pain. Reaching towards him, your placed your hand back to his jaw where it had previously been in much different context.

He laughed lightly, “I’m okay,” he assured you. Your eyes were still worried so he leaned forward and pecked your lips once more, making you smile.

A curly haired boy walked in sheepishly alongside Jasmine. Lin laughed, flopping back on the couch. “Go figure.” He laughed.

The boy furrowed his brows, letting out a slight huff.

Throwing a hand up, he introduced you, “Anthony, this is Y/N. Y/N, this is Anthony.”

You offered a small wave, your blush undeniable. Quickly, Jasmine broke the tension with a laugh, “You couldn’t even lock the door, Lin?”

Lin face palmed, slapping a hand over his eyes. You looked down, trying not to giggle (and failing). Maybe it was the way Jasmine leaned so easily against the counter, like this was something enjoyable for her to see, or maybe the way Lin had kept one hand around your waist during the entire affair, but you weren’t nearly as embarrassed as you should be.

“We’re going to get some pizza if you want to come,” Anthony said, scratching the back of his neck.

Jasmine was quick to kid, just like Lin, “Unless you guys are preoccupied.”

Lin groaned, standing up and ushering out the door, mumbling something in Spanish before turning back to you, “I am so sorry.”

You shook your head, “Don’t worry about it. I love your cast.”

He was back to the couch, sitting just as close as he had before. “Oh yeah?” He grinned, giving you no time to respond before his lips were back on yours.

You know, I find it absolutely devastating what this fandom has become. This is the second time in less than 6 months when bullying people got so far that people are taking breaks, leaving Tumblr, deleting their blogs. It’s been nearly 25 years since The X-Files started and it’s been 21 days since Season 11 has been announced. We could have all the reason to celebrate our show, our luck, invite and welcome new fans to join us in the next crazy ride. But guess what we are doing… Hating on each other! 

Gillian just published a book about honesty, acceptance and finding ourselves and look at this fandom. Does this behaviour remind you of those principles? A fandom should be a mostly fun, safe place with a hint of drama. The beauty of it should be that we are different with different views and different experiences. This diversity should be celebrated not used to generate hate.

This fandom is divided, that we have to deal with. We have to accept it, and just move on, people! It’s really not that difficult, showing some respect by leaving each other alone!! Anon hate will never stop and bullies gonna stay bullies, but! 

Please don’t leave. Please don’t let your little world being shuttered by strangers on the internet. Take a break, sure. But please don’t leave.Turn off anon mode, block everyone who hurts you. Just focus on people who make you feel safe, loved, and accepted. Create your nice, little bubble and stay in it! The X-files is coming back, Fox Upfronts is next week. As someone who lived through the months leading up to Season 10, I promise you it’s gonna be epic. It’s gonna be a lifetime experience and probably it’s gonna be the last time. Let’s come together and enjoy it! Please. 

As Gillian said in one of her interviews:

“So let’s practice what we preach and with the acceptance that we expect from others. Let us stop being so damn judgemental and crucifying of everyone who doesn’t fit into our boxed-in perception of what is right.”

My Heart is Open


Pairing: Sebastian X Reader

Words: 470

Warnings: Fluffffff!!

Anon asked “Hey! I’m not sure if you’re taking request or not but can you do a Sebastian Stan x reader where he comes homes to their shared apartment and the reader is just going on about how great her day was and while he is admiring her he blurts out that he loves her?? I’ve had a shit day today and I need some cheering up.”

A/N: I’m sorry I couldn’t get this in earlier lovely anon. But here it is. I hope you’re feeling better. :) It’s short and sweet.

Originally posted by heatherpotter

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Tips that help me control the hate on my blog

I used to get a ton of hate and anti faerie tales in my inbox.   Now,  barely any.   And sporadically when I do get it.   Here are the things I do that I believe  contributed to it.  

1. Download Xkit and blacklist.  It is free.   It may take a few minutes but enter in all variations of the terms you do not want to see.   Set it to block to your inbox also.   That way,  you will have to actively click it to open and read the bs. 

2.  Resist the urge.   Here is where self control comes in.   If some sneak through (and they will because antis are desperate to get their story out to shippers) ignore them.   Think up your snarky reply.  Laugh about it with your friends.   Or just delete.   But do not reply.   You may feel like you are getting the better of them but the story is still being published on your blog.   That’s a win for them. 

3.  Block.   Immediately.  Don’t just threaten to block.   Don’t let one through and say “next time”.   Just block.   No second chances.  

4.  Don’t fall for their tricks. I always got some version of “you are too scared to publish this”  or “you will keep this from your followers”.   Guess what?   It is your blog.   You can decide what you want to publish.   You have no obligation to spread the stories of someone else.   They have their own blogs they can do that from.   They are coming to your/mine in order to get it in shippers eyes.   That’s  their goal. There is zero shame in only publishing things that make you happy.   In fact,  that is why you started a blog in the first place. 

5.  Be as consistent as possible.   Sure,  sometimes the desire to respond will be greater than your will power.   But try to make those times rare.   

Remember that the reason they send hate etc is to hurt you and to hurt other shippers when you publish it,  regardless of your pithy reply.   

It may take some time,  especially if a habit has formed.   But you can do it.   You don’t have to allow them to control your blog.   You don’t have to be their puppet or their mouth piece.   

Heartlines Part III: Oh, wish you were here

Summary: Y/N is dead and she left three soul mates lost in their life. 
Word Count: 8040 
Pairings: Clark Kent x Reader, Barry Allen x Reader, Bruce Wayne x Reader.
WARNINGS: LOTS OF ANGST, swearing, making something against someone’s will (don’t know if that counts as a warning, but just in case)
A/N: Sooo sorry for keeping you waiting, but ‘Good things come for those who wait!’ and here you have a little over EIGHT THOUSAND WORDS. I’m so proud of myself. ENJOY THE ANGST, DEARIES!

Part I   Part II   Part IV

GIFS ARE NOT MINE


“No chance there”.

Clark couldn’t keep your voice out of his head, just repeating time after time:

“No chance there”

You didn’t trust him, you didn’t think he would be there, you lost the faith you once had on him… and it hurt like hell to know that you were right to lose your faith in him. The video of your torturing and… eventual death had really affected him. When he saw your death… he couldn’t stop crying because he had saved thousands of unimportant girls falling off buildings but he wasn’t there to save you, the love of his life, his true soulmate.

He loved you and that was so clear at the beginning of your relationship, he just couldn’t understand how it stopped to be clear. He used to show you much he adored you, how much he loved you… until Lois appeared. He didn’t blame Lois, of course he didn’t; he blamed himself.

You were a miracle, that much he always knew. He used to think that he would never find his soulmate in this world since he was from another one; no matter how much Martha had insisted on how the color of the heartline clearly stated that his soulmate was alive, he didn’t believe it. He thought he was condemned to be alone for the rest of his life, until you came into the picture. One day you just fell in the middle of the street and no one but him, offered to help you get all of your papers back into their folders.

“Thanks” you smiled to him when he gave you the last folder.
“No problem, miss” he answered with a smile, too.
“I’m on a bit of a rush now, but I feel like I should really give you something in exchange for your help, so would you like to go get a cup of coffee sometime?” you mumbled this under your breath, afraid of him rejecting you… but there was no way in hell he could reject someone as cute as you.
“Although I don’t think you need to thank me anymore, I would love to have a cup of coffee” he smiled, hearing to your heartbeat going faster.
“Oh!” you answered surprised and then smiled the way he would soon just love “Well, the name is Y/N and…” you said while placing down all of your papers carefully just to take a blank sheet of paper “Do you have something to write with?” you asked and he desperately searched in his pockets for his pen, to finally give it to you when he found it a minute later “Thanks!” you said whilst you scribbled something down on the paper. When you finished, you gave him both the paper and the pen. He took them a little bit confused and watched you as you took your folders from the floor “And that is my phone number… um, sorry, but what’s your name again?” you asked a little embarrassed. He found you to be extremely fascinating.
“Clark, my name’s Clark Kent” he stretched his hand as a reflex.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you Clark” you said while grabbing his hand.
The moment your hand touched his, you both felt like an electric current going down your bodies. You both looked down to your laced hands and saw how one of your heartlines from your right hand illuminated, while his left one shined as bright as yours.
“Seems like the pleasure is all mine, Y/N” he smiled, still holding your hand.
“It also seems like that coffee is going to be moved to right now” you answered with a glint in your eyes.
“I thought you were in a hurry?”
“I was just going to meet my publisher, no big deal. We can meet tomorrow after I learned everything about my new found soulmate” your smile was making his heart jump.
“I would love to tell you everything about me, if you correspond” he said being a little flirty. In reality, he would wait a couple of months to tell you his secret. After all, he wouldn’t want to scare you.  
“You just got yourself a deal” you winked at him while grabbing your phone to tell your publisher you wouldn’t make it.

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A letter to Terry Pratchett

alright, how to do this. Since i was 12 my favorite author has always been Terry Pratchett. His Tiffany Aching series shaped who i am today, and i hold his writing above all other writing. i always fantasized about meeting him and telling him how much his writing meant to me and how grateful i was. And then he died the day before my 17th birthday. and god, i wept. i completely broke down. it took me a while to recover, and even longer to find the words, but i wrote him this letter, and i thought i’d put it by the terry pratchett memorial next time i came to london (i live in denmark), but by the time i came the memorial had been painted over. and so this letter has been sitting in my documents folder for a long time, and i feel like that iis wrong. i need to put it out there somewhere in the world - even if its just for closure. i watched the BBC documentary ‘back in black’ recently and i got the idea to publish the letter here, so i may live to regret this but here it comes; my badly written, far too long letter to a man who will never read it:


Dear Sir Terry Pratchett,

I don’t really know why I’m writing this letter. As things are, you’ll never read it, and even if you could, I don’t know if I’d dare give it to you. Or if I’d even dare approach you. You see (and you’ll probably disagree/dislike me for this/get miffed about this), you rank frighteningly high on my list of natural forces, my hierarchy of deities. You probably wouldn’t like that, rather a rising ape than a fallen angel, but that is how it is. I believe in a god, but you are closer to him in my accounts than you will ever be to me. Maybe that’s wrong, don’t put your heroes on pedestals and whatnot, but I don’t think I can stop it now. It’s just how it is. So I don’t really know why I’m writing this letter, or if anyone will ever read it, but I think I needed to do it. Get out all the things I will never get a chance to tell you. Very human, isn’t it?

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Snape Appreciation Month: Day #9 - Post Hogwarts Years

I have wanted to write this one since the day one and even before that… but it didn’t seem to fit into those themes. Somewhat inspired by a real story of a certain teacher who once upon a time got fed up with outdated textbooks, wanted to change something and discovered that some things are easier said than done.

A bit of a headcanon in a semi-fanfic form.

Contrary to popular belief Severus Snape did try to publish the corrections he had made to his Potions handbook.

The first publisher just took one look at him. His glance swept over Severus’ second-hand and rather worn out robes, and his lips curled into something akin to a snarl.

“Do you have… a proposal perhaps?” he drawled.

Severus startled. “A proposal? I— The manuscript—“

There was no understanding on the publisher’s side.

Severus was shown the door much faster then a cauldron could blow up due to a volatile reaction between wrongly composed ingredients.


Next time, Severus came prepared.

There was a proposal, neatly drawn up, with the highlights of the improvements made and the proposed target recipients of the book.

This publisher didn’t even take a look at him at first, but focused on the proposal. She pushed the manuscript away and didn’t spare it any glance. 

“Well…” She stared at him, her eyes unblinking behind her glasses and her lips tightly pressed. “You claim that… this book could be used a textbook. You do realise we already have one, written by a very talented author, I may add.”

“Yes,” he said, trying to ignore butterflies in his stomach. “But the recipes may be improved! I—”

“Stop.” She raised her hand as if trying to silence him. She raised her eyebrow. “Are you trying to tell me that you found a way to improve something created by Libatius Borage, one of the world’s most famous potioneers?”

“Yes…” he replied, feeling something cold form in his chest.

“Mr…” she took a quick glance at the proposal. “Mr Snape, may I ask what have you already published? Some… paper perhaps? I’m afraid that I’m rather unfamiliar with your name.”

He gulped. Quite loudly.

“Nothing yet.”

“I see.” She pressed her lips tightly.

So did he.

The proposal was rejected.


Third time was supposed to be a charm.

This time the publisher seemed interested. And friendly. In that grandfatherly way.

“Snape… Snape…” he stroke his long beard. “I don’t really recognise the name, I’m afraid. Neither would our readers, I’m afraid.”

The man seemed to be lost in his thoughts for a short while.

Severus, despite himself, dared to hope.

The man looked at him; his eyes seemed to bore through Severus.

“Perhaps you have some connection that we could use?” The man continued to stroke his beard. “Are you related to any of the Pureblood families?”

Something cold slithered down Severus’ spine. He didn’t suppose it would make him any good to mention that his mother was a Prince who had married a Muggle.”

“Not really,” Severus muttered.

The hand stopped on the beard and the man straightened. A strange gleam appeared in his eyes.

“Such a pity, really,” the man replied. “I’m really sorry, but there is nothing I can do about this now.”

He didn’t look sorry at all in. In Severus’ opinion at least.

And it didn’t seem that the third time was a charm after all.


The fourth publisher also seemed promising. Until she asked about funding.

“F… Funding?”

“Yes, funding.” She pouted her lips. “Our books are investments. This…” She pointed at his manuscript. “Is too risky. So you have to pay first, then we can consider publishing it. It’s like a collateral, really. Well, what is your funding?”

Severus shuffled in his seat. His hands trembled.

“I have none,” he said.

She showed him the door.


At some point he lost the count of rejections.

At some point he started to hate the manuscript. Then the publishers. Then himself.

At some point he even considered burning this most damned thing, which clearly only brought trouble and misery.

He didn’t.

He packed it into old newspapers, put into a box and pushed under his bed.

Perhaps, in future, everything would change.

Perhaps, they would publish it one day.

After he made the name for himself.

He would find the way.

writing and calling DOES have an impact on representatives

Here’s an update from Ben Wideman, a Mennonite pastor in Pennsylvania, about a visit to GOP Senator Pat Toomey’s (the guy famous for disappearing right now) office:

“Just got back from a visit to Senator Pat Toomey’s Johnstown office with 15 other Borough of State College & Penn State area people to talk about the immigration ban. Here are my takeaways:

  1. Everyone we spoke with was rattled. They have never experienced this much constant feedback. The phones haven’t stopped since the Inauguration and they admitted they can’t check voicemail because there is no pause to do so.
  2. Letters are the only thing getting through at this point. Regional offices are a much better mail destination because the compile, sort, and send everything. DC mail is so backed up right now it takes twice as long to send things there.
  3. Toomey’s staff seem frustrated with Trump. They said his barrage of Executive Orders are not how government is supposed to work, and was what they hated during moments of the Obama era. One of them said, “we have a democratic system and process. Trump needs to stop behaving like a Monarch.”
  4. Our representatives are listening because people are raising their voices. This feels like no other political moment in recent time for them.
  5. Toomey’s staffers are far more empathetic than I assumed. Also far more technology illiterate (one asked me how to use twitter, and how we already knew about Toomey’s published statement). They resonate that the immigration ban feels immoral and unAmerican.
  6. Regional offices are not designed to handle this volume of unrest.
  7. Personal stories matter. Tell the stories of people being impacted by arbitrary religious and ethnic legislation (I got to tell a bit of your story, Baraa). Staffers want to know.
  8. Don’t stop. Do whatever small part you can do to keep raising your voice to your representatives. Not just this issue, but every way marginalized people are being (or will be) exploited under this President.