the second part is a thing i wrote to go with it

You Never Know

Originally posted by silversunsandgoldenmoons

I write stories out by hand but the moment I type them out (because I love making more work for myself), they go in a completely different direction then what I originally wrote.

Part 5

Part 1 2 3 4 

| Steve Harrington x Reader |

Requested: ‘I HOPE YOU WRITE MORE FOR YOU NEVER KNOW I LOVEEEEEE IT’

‘please please please continue with You never know, i love ittt !!’


You had missed your first period and partly your second. You had walked over three miles to school; you had taken a significant amount of time as you could with every step. You needed to think about what had happened between you and Steve. How you hated yourself on the way you reacted towards him. You didn’t understand why you had run. It kept replaying in your head, everytime you shut your eyes to shake the thought of it; his sweet yet disappointed face was so vivid.

You dragged your feet when you entered the halls. Class was still in session for a good five more minutes; giving you a little bit more time to hate yourself. You let out a heavy sigh, resting your head against your locker. You couldn’t face Steve. You embarrassed more than yourself: he must have felt humiliated. You’ve had done enough damage for the day and it wasn’t even lunchtime. You were deep in your thoughts, you missed the bell ringing, that when you felt a hand being placed on your shoulder you had let out a shriek.

Your heart began racing, your heart in your throat; worrying that it was Steve and him wanting to talk about the incident. When you turned to face them, you let out a huge sigh of relief to see it was only Nancy and Jonathan before you. “Oh, thank God.” You murmured, placing a hand over your heart to calm it back down.

“Y/N, where have you been?” Nancy questioned, “You missed history and Spanish.” You shut your eyes, shaking your head a little. You let out a small laugh, turning to your locker to open it.

“About that,” You let out, grabbing your anatomy textbook, “I woke up late. My dad had already left for work so I had to walk.”

“Walk?” Jonathan asked, scratching his cheek as he was baffled at your statement, “Your house is six miles away from school.” You rubbed your nosed, trying to cover up the fact that you were nervous to tell them the truth.

“Do you think that coach will let me sit out during PE?” You played. You felt the slightest tug on the sweater you were wearing: Steve’s sweater. You didn’t turn around. Your nerves came back as your body had stiffened at the touch.

“This isn’t your sweater,” Nancy noted. She rubbed more of the sweater between her fingers.

“Good eyes, Nancy Drew,” You interjected, trying to play coy but would she buy it?

“It’s Steve’s.” She didn’t. You hid your head in your locker like an ostrich hiding their head in the dirt for when they nest.

Keep reading

Rick Riordan won a Stonewall award today

for his second Magnus Chase book, due to the inclusion of the character Alex Fierro who is gender fluid. This was the speech he gave, and it really distills why I love this author and his works so much, and why I will always recommend his works to anyone and everyone.

“Thank you for inviting me here today. As I told the Stonewall Award Committee, this is an honor both humbling and unexpected.

So, what is an old cis straight white male doing up here? Where did I get the nerve to write Alex Fierro, a transgender, gender fluid child of Loki in The Hammer of Thor, and why should I get cookies for that?

These are all fair and valid questions, which I have been asking myself a lot.

I think, to support young LGBTQ readers, the most important thing publishing can do is to publish and promote more stories by LGBTQ authors, authentic experiences by authentic voices. We have to keep pushing for this. The Stonewall committee’s work is a critical part of that effort. I can only accept the Stonewall Award in the sense that I accept a call to action – firstly, to do more myself to read and promote books by LGBTQ authors.

But also, it’s a call to do better in my own writing. As one of my genderqueer readers told me recently, “Hey, thanks for Alex. You didn’t do a terrible job!” I thought: Yes! Not doing a terrible job was my goal!

As important as it is to offer authentic voices and empower authors and role models from within LGBTQ community, it’s is also important that LGBTQ kids see themselves reflected and valued in the larger world of mass media, including my books. I know this because my non-heteronormative readers tell me so. They actively lobby to see characters like themselves in my books. They like the universe I’ve created. They want to be part of it. They deserve that opportunity. It’s important that I, as a mainstream author, say, “I see you. You matter. Your life experience may not be like mine, but it is no less valid and no less real. I will do whatever I can to understand and accurately include you in my stories, in my world. I will not erase you.”

People all over the political spectrum often ask me, “Why can’t you just stay silent on these issues? Just don’t include LGBTQ material and everybody will be happy.” This assumes that silence is the natural neutral position. But silence is not neutral. It’s an active choice. Silence is great when you are listening. Silence is not so great when you are using it to ignore or exclude.

But that’s all macro, ‘big picture’ stuff. Yes, I think the principles are important. Yes, in the abstract, I feel an obligation to write the world as I see it: beautiful because of its variations. Where I can’t draw on personal experience, I listen, I read a lot – in particular I want to credit Beyond Magenta and Gender Outlaws for helping me understand more about the perspective of my character Alex Fierro – and I trust that much of the human experience is universal. You can’t go too far wrong if you use empathy as your lens. But the reason I wrote Alex Fierro, or Nico di Angelo, or any of my characters, is much more personal.

I was a teacher for many years, in public and private school, California and Texas. During those years, I taught all kinds of kids. I want them all to know that I see them. They matter. I write characters to honor my students, and to make up for what I wished I could have done for them in the classroom.

I think about my former student Adrian (a pseudonym), back in the 90s in San Francisco. Adrian used the pronouns he and him, so I will call him that, but I suspect Adrian might have had more freedom and more options as to how he self-identified in school were he growing up today. His peers, his teachers, his family all understood that Adrian was female, despite his birth designation. Since kindergarten, he had self-selected to be among the girls – socially, athletically, academically. He was one of our girls. And although he got support and acceptance at the school, I don’t know that I helped him as much as I could, or that I tried to understand his needs and his journey. At that time in my life, I didn’t have the experience, the vocabulary, or frankly the emotional capacity to have that conversation. When we broke into social skills groups, for instance, boys apart from girls, he came into my group with the boys, I think because he felt it was required, but I feel like I missed the opportunity to sit with him and ask him what he wanted. And to assure him it was okay, whichever choice he made. I learned more from Adrian than I taught him. Twenty years later, Alex Fierro is for Adrian.

I think about Jane (pseudonym), another one of my students who was a straight cis-female with two fantastic moms. Again, for LGBTQ families, San Francisco was a pretty good place to live in the 90s, but as we know, prejudice has no geographical border. You cannot build a wall high enough to keep it out. I know Jane got flack about her family. I did what I could to support her, but I don’t think I did enough. I remember the day Jane’s drama class was happening in my classroom. The teacher was new – our first African American male teacher, which we were all really excited about – and this was only his third week. I was sitting at my desk, grading papers, while the teacher did a free association exercise. One of his examples was ‘fruit – gay.’ I think he did it because he thought it would be funny to middle schoolers. After the class, I asked to see the teacher one on one. I asked him to be aware of what he was saying and how that might be hurtful. I know. Me, a white guy, lecturing this Black teacher about hurtful words. He got defensive and quit, because he said he could not promise to not use that language again. At the time, I felt like I needed to do something, to stand up especially for Jane and her family. But did I make things better handling it as I did? I think I missed an opportunity to open a dialogue about how different people experience hurtful labels. Emmie and Josephine and their daughter Georgina, the family I introduce in The Dark Prophecy, are for Jane.

I think about Amy, and Mark, and Nicholas … All former students who have come out as gay since I taught them in middle school. All have gone on to have successful careers and happy families. When I taught them, I knew they were different. Their struggles were greater, their perspectives more divergent than some of my other students. I tried to provide a safe space for them, to model respect, but in retrospect I don’t think I supported them as well as I could have, or reached out as much as they might have needed. I was too busy preparing lessons on Shakespeare or adjectives, and not focusing enough on my students’ emotional health. Adjectives were a lot easier for me to reconcile than feelings. Would they have felt comfortable coming out earlier than college or high school if they had found more support in middle school? Would they have wanted to? I don’t know. But I don’t think they felt it was a safe option, which leaves me thinking that I did not do enough for them at that critical middle school time. I do not want any kid to feel alone, invisible, misunderstood. Nico di Angelo is for Amy, and Mark and Nicholas.

I am trying to do more. Percy Jackson started as a way to empower kids, in particular my son, who had learning differences. As my platform grew, I felt obliged to use it to empower all kids who are struggling through middle school for whatever reason. I don’t always do enough. I don’t always get it right. Good intentions are wonderful things, but at the end of a manuscript, the text has to stand on its own. What I meant ceases to matter. Kids just see what I wrote. But I have to keep trying. My kids are counting on me.

So thank you, above all, to my former students who taught me. Alex Fierro is for you.

To you, I pledge myself to do better – to apologize when I screw up, to learn from my mistakes, to be there for LGBTQ youth and make sure they know that in my books, they are included. They matter. I am going to stop talking now, but I promise you I won’t stop listening.”

Things the Hogwarts Houses say

(loosely based on conversations I’ve had/overheard)

Hufflepuff -

  • “If you don’t start singing along to High School Musical with me in under 30 seconds you will no longer be my best friend" 
  •  "I swear on my chicken nuggets-”
  • “Yes I made that joke up by my self - no it’s not from Spongebob Squarepants how dARE YOU-”
  • “Speaking of Spongebob can we just take a few moments to discuss how much of a masterpiece that first movie was please”
  • “Ah yes, it’s 3 in the morning, time to get emotional and tell all my friends how much I love them”
  • “You made me chocolate??? Oh my God I love you so much thank you I’ll have some right no - THIS HAS RAISINS IN IT YOU TRICKED ME
  • “Oh my God yeah I saw that movie, my favourite part was when - oh shit wait there’s this adorable kitten video I meant to show you last week and I completely forgot let me get it up on my phone”
  • “Sorry I’m late I was up all night watching those videos where kids get surprised with puppies”
  • “Are you awake? Great, let’s start planning our future homes together, I have a pinterest board ready”
  • “This is my favourite photo album! It’s full of photos of all the cats and dogs I’ve made friends with on my walks, I’ve even given them all names”
  • (crying) “Stop calling me emotional God damn it”

Ravenclaw -

  •  "Of course I remember you said you liked the colour red, you told me at like 1:35 am last year in May"
  • “What? Simplifying equations? No, I can’t help with that but I do know all the words to every Simpsons episode in the first 5 seasons if that helps"
  • “Sorry I really can’t go out today. No I’m fine, I’m just stressed I’m doing something important. I’m trying to memorise all the words to this documentary about frogs - What? Yes of course it’s important!”
  • “I discovered and fully analysed that meme 3 weeks ago, step up your game”
  • “What do you mean why do I have a folder full of strategic plans on how to succeed at animal crossing, that’s not weird?”
  • “Sir, I don’t mean to be rude but I’ve been doing my own research and you’re getting all of this wrong. Well yes I know I’m not the teacher here but - Yes, actually, I’d love to teach the class my self I’ve already made a lesson plan, thank you”
  • No, I won’t come and see Jurassic World with you. Because it’s completely unrealistic! Do you have any idea what dinosaurs are actually supposed to have sounded and looked like? Even adult velociraptors weren’t meant to be that b - OK you know what, I will come, but I’ll be pointing out every single problem to you. No, it’s too late, you already invited me. I’m buying our tickets right now, don’t move”
  • “You really think you can beat me at Mario Kart? I have spent YEARS studying this game and honing my skills, spending hours upon hours training until my hands cramp and even my tv is judging the amount of time I’ve spent playing and you think YOU can beat me? Let’s fucking go
  • “I think these guys think I want to murder them because I followed them home but it’s only because I overheard them talking about what would happen if Pokemon is real and I wanted to see how good their logic was”
  • “Shut up? Shut up? I haven’t shut up for 17 years and I’m not about to start now”
  • (crying) "I just want Shakespeare’s ghost to be proud of me”

Gryffindor - 

  • “I’d love to have a sleepover but it can only be when there’s a thunderstorm so we can dance in the rain, let me check the weather forecast”
  • “Did that bee just try and sting you? COME BACK HERE BEE YOU COWARD I’M GONNA FUCK YOU UP - wait shit no run”
  • "What did you say? Don’t touch it? Alright.” (touches it as soon as the person turns away) “Sucker”
  • “Whaaat? Someone wrote on the desk? No it wasn’t me I would never do th - My name was there? Well, I’m not the only one in the world with my na - My surname was there too? What are the chances?!”
  • “Help me I started saying lmao ironically and I can’t stop”
  • “Before you say anything it wasn’t me - unless it was something awesome then I definitely planned the whole thing”
  • Excuse me? They said what to you? … I have to go for a second, I just remembered something completely unrelated. No, no, I’m not taking this fork with me for any particular reason”
  • “Um, did you just tell me it’s impossible to sing along to a guitar solo? Stand back. Your mind is about to get blown”
  • “I am so not drunk! I’m completely drunk! … Wait shit I meant sober”
  • “I’M SO PROUD OF YOU AAAH LET ME HUG YOU! I’M NOT LETTING GO FOR THE NEXT 3 HOURS, GET COMFORTABLE BITCH”
  • “I bet I can stay up for longer than you - what no I’m not tired shut up - nO THAT WASN’T A YAWN I WAS JUST SHOWING YOU WHAT IT WOULD LOOK LIKE IF I WAS TIRED - SEE I DID IT AGAIN TOTALLY ON PURPO - ok fuck you I’m going to sleep”

Slytherin - 

  • “Oh my God, just tell me what you did already so I can start complaining”
  • “Sorry, I didn’t catch that. Did you say STOP saying fuck, or KEEP ON saying fuck?”
  • “Over your dead body? I was hoping you’d say that”
  • “If you even LOOK at them one more time I will take a stick as big as your ego and stick it right up your-”
  • “Don’t come near me or - OK fine, we can snuggle for exactly 15 minutes. I’m setting a timer now”
  • “Hey, I saw you posted a picture of us on instagram yesterday where my eyeliner isn’t completely straight? You’re gonna have to delete that, if anyone thinks my eyeliner isn’t drop dead perfect every day and that I’m not a literal make up goddess I’ll lose my reputation as the Regina George of the school”
  • “But keep the one where I’m wearing no make up so that all those bitches know I still kill it without trying”
  • “Oh come on, you know I’d never do anything to embarrass you! Speaking of which, that video I posted on youtube the other day of you falling down the flight of escalators in the shopping centre has reached over 1000 views”
  • “My dad told me tattoos were trashy so I got a giant tattoo saying ‘trashy’ on my back I’ll send you his reaction later”
  • “I’m not a sentimental person but if you touch my teddy bear I will turn you into a stuffed trophy to put next to him”
  • “What do you mean I look smug this is my normal face”
Harvey Weinsten sexually Harassed Lupita Nyong’o

Lupita: “I have been following the news and reading the accounts of women coming forward to talk about being assaulted by Harvey Weinstein and others. I had shelved my experience with Harvey far in the recesses of my mind, joining in the conspiracy of silence that has allowed this predator to prowl for so many years. I had felt very much alone when these things happened, and I had blamed myself for a lot of it, quite like many of the other women who have shared their stories.

But now that this is being discussed openly, I have not been able to avoid the memories resurfacing. I have felt sick in the pit of my stomach. I have felt such a flare of rage that the experience I recount below was not a unique incident with me, but rather part of a sinister pattern of behavior.

I met Harvey Weinstein in 2011 at an awards ceremony in Berlin, while I was still a student at the Yale School of Drama. An intermediary introduced him to me as “the most powerful producer in Hollywood.” As an aspiring actress, I was of course eager to meet people in the industry but cautious about strangers, and the intentions of men in general. So I tried to vet this famous producer by asking my dinner-table companions what they knew of him. A woman who was a producer herself cautiously advised me to “keep Harvey in your corner.” She said: “He is a good man to know in the business, but just be careful around him. He can be a bully.” And so I exchanged contacts with him in the hopes that I would be of consideration for one of his projects. I wanted to keep things professional, so I made a point of referring to him as “Mr. Weinstein.” But he insisted that I call him by his first name. In this first encounter, I found him to be very direct and authoritative, but also charming. He didn’t quite put me at ease, but he didn’t alarm me, either.

Not long after we met in Berlin, Harvey wrote to me inviting me to attend a screening of a film — a competitor’s film similar to one he had produced. He said we would be watching it with his family at his home in Westport, Conn., which was not far away from New Haven, where I was living at the time. He would send a car to pick me up. I accepted the invitation.

The driver and I met Harvey in the little town of Westport, where he informed me that we would be having lunch at a restaurant before getting to his home. I did not think much of this. It was a busy restaurant, and as soon as we sat down he ordered a vodka and diet soda for himself. I asked for a juice. Harvey was unimpressed with my choice and told the waiter to bring me a vodka and diet soda instead. I declined and said I wanted the juice. We went back and forth until finally he turned to the waiter and said, “Get her what I tell you to get her. I’m the one paying the bill.” I smiled and remained silent. The waiter left and returned with a vodka and diet soda for me. He placed it on the table beside my water. I drank the water. Harvey told me that I needed to drink the vodka and diet soda. I informed him that I would not.

“Why not?” I remember him asking. “Because I don’t like vodka, and I don’t like diet soda, and I don’t like them together,” I said. “You are going to drink that,” he insisted. I smiled again and said that I wouldn’t. He gave up and called me stubborn. I said, “I know.” And the meal proceeded without much further ado. In this second encounter with Harvey, I found him to be pushy and idiosyncratic more than anything.

We got to his home after lunch and I met his domestic staff and his young children. He took me on a brief tour of the house before he rounded us all up in the screening room to watch the film. He had just produced a similar film of his own, but everyone was raving about this rival version.

I settled in for the film, but about 15 minutes in, Harvey came for me, saying he wanted to show me something. I protested that I wanted to finish the film first, but he insisted I go with him, laying down the law as though I too was one of his children. I did not want another back-and-forth in front of his kids, so I complied and left the room with him. I explained that I really wanted to see the film. He said we’d go back shortly.

Harvey led me into a bedroom — his bedroom — and announced that he wanted to give me a massage. I thought he was joking at first. He was not. For the first time since I met him, I felt unsafe. I panicked a little and thought quickly to offer to give him one instead: It would allow me to be in control physically, to know exactly where his hands were at all times.

Part of our drama school curriculum at Yale included body work, using massage techniques on one another to understand the connection between body, mind and emotion, and so I felt I could rationalize giving him one and keep a semblance of professionalism in spite of the bizarre circumstance. He agreed to this and lay on the bed. I began to massage his back to buy myself time to figure out how to extricate myself from this undesirable situation. Before long he said he wanted to take off his pants. I told him not to do that and informed him that it would make me extremely uncomfortable. He got up anyway to do so and I headed for the door, saying that I was not at all comfortable with that. “If we’re not going to watch the film, I really should head back to school,” I said.

I opened the door and stood by the frame. He put his shirt on and again mentioned how stubborn I was. I agreed with an easy laugh, trying to get myself out of the situation safely. I was after all on his premises, and the members of his household, the potential witnesses, were all (strategically, it seems to me now) in a soundproof room.

Earlier Harvey had sent the driver to the store to buy a boxed collection of “The No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency,” an HBO show that he had produced. This was the project he thought I would be right for, he said. (I later found out that the show had not been on the air for some time.) As I prepared to leave his home, he presented it to me. He wanted me to check it out and let him know what I thought. He would be in touch about it. I left for New Haven with his driver.

I didn’t quite know how to process the massage incident. I reasoned that it had been inappropriate and uncalled-for, but not overtly sexual. I was entering into a business where the intimate is often professional and so the lines are blurred. I was in an educational program where I was giving massages to my classmates and colleagues every day. Though the incident with Harvey had made me uncomfortable, I was able to explain and justify it to myself, and shelve it as an awkward moment. His offer to me to be a part of the HBO show was a very attractive one and I was excited about it, especially as I would be graduating in another year. I didn’t know how to proceed without jeopardizing my future. But I knew I would not be accepting any more visits to private spaces with Harvey Weinstein.

I decided to invite Harvey to come to a production I was in at school. Perhaps that way he would really see what I had to offer, and he would see my colleagues, too. He accepted the invitation, but the night of the production, he sent a message saying he had been caught up in New York and would be unable to attend. He would make it up to me. So when I received an official invitation to a staged reading of his new Broadway show, “Finding Neverland,” I was not surprised. I was still debating whether I should accept his invitation, and so I responded saying I was not certain that I could make it because of my school schedule. He responded with exactly the words I needed to hear: Come with whomever you want to come with. And so I invited two of my trusted male friends.

We attended the reading, and afterward Harvey invited us all to a restaurant for dinner with his comrades and collaborators. He sat me next to him, and another actress sat across from me. He had my friends sit at a different table. The talk was shop the whole time and Harvey held court with ease. He was charming and funny once more, and I felt confused about the discomfort I had previously experienced. I looked at the actress who I was informed had just worked with him on a project, searching her face for any sort of indication that she too had been made to feel uncomfortable by this powerful man, but of course I saw nothing. We did not stay very long because we had to catch a train back to New Haven. My friends had been equally charmed by Harvey. He knew when to turn it on if he wanted something. He was definitely a bully, but he could be really charming, which was disarming and confusing. I left feeling that perhaps he had learned my boundaries and was going to respect them.

A couple of months later, I received an email from Harvey, inviting me again to New York for a screening of “W.E.” After the screening, we would have drinks in TriBeCa. I then received a phone call from one of his male assistants to arrange my transportation. Feeling more confident about the new sense of boundaries that we had established in our last meeting, I attended the screening on my own this time. Afterward, as planned, his male assistant arranged for me to get to the Tribeca Grill, where Harvey would be joining us. I met a female assistant when I arrived there. I was expecting that it would be a group of us, as it had been for the reading, but she informed me it would just be Mr. Weinstein. She would sit with me until he arrived. She seemed on edge, but I could only imagine how stressful it was to work for a man who had so much going on.

Harvey arrived and the assistant immediately disappeared. We ordered drinks and starters. Again he was offended by my nonalcoholic beverage choice but he didn’t fight me on it as hard. Before the starters arrived, he announced: “Let’s cut to the chase. I have a private room upstairs where we can have the rest of our meal.” I was stunned. I told him I preferred to eat in the restaurant. He told me not to be so naïve. If I wanted to be an actress, then I had to be willing to do this sort of thing. He said he had dated Famous Actress X and Y and look where that had gotten them.

I was silent for a while before I mustered up the courage to politely decline his offer. “You have no idea what you are passing up,” he said. “With all due respect, I would not be able to sleep at night if I did what you are asking, so I must pass,” I replied.

His whole demeanor changed at that point. “Then I guess we are two ships passing in the night.” I had never heard that saying before, so I remember asking him what it meant. “It means just that,” he said. “We are two ships going in two different directions.”

“Yes, I guess we are.”

“So we are done here,” he said. “You can leave.”

We got up, having not eaten anything, and he led me out of the restaurant. My heart was beating very fast. A cab was hailed for me. I said I would take the subway (I could not afford a cab at the time), but he handed me some money and told me not to be silly, take the cab. Before I got in, I needed to make sure that I had not awakened a beast that would go on to ruin my name and destroy my chances in the business even before I got there.

“I just want to know that we are good,” I said.

“I don’t know about your career, but you’ll be fine,” he said. It felt like both a threat and a reassurance at the same time; of what, I couldn’t be sure.

I did not see Harvey again until September 2013 when I was in Toronto for the premiere of “12 Years a Slave,” the first feature film I was in. At an after-party, he found me and evicted whoever was sitting next to me to sit beside me. He said he couldn’t believe how fast I had gotten to where I was, and that he had treated me so badly in the past. He was ashamed of his actions and he promised to respect me moving forward. I said thank you and left it at that. But I made a quiet promise to myself to never ever work with Harvey Weinstein.

Not long after I won the Academy Award in 2014, I received an offer to play a role in one of the Weinstein Company’s forthcoming films. I knew I would not do it simply because it was the Weinstein Company, but I did not feel comfortable telling this to anybody. I turned down the role, but Harvey would not take no for an answer. While at Cannes, he insisted on meeting with me in person. I agreed to do it only because my agent would be present. In the meeting, he was honest about intending to persuade me to do his movie. I told him I simply did not feel it was a role I needed to play. He said he was open to making it bigger, more significant, maybe they could add a love scene. He said if I did this one for him, he would do another one for me — basically guaranteeing backing a star-vehicle film for me. I ran out of ways of politely saying no and so did my agent. I was so exasperated by the end that I just kept quiet. Harvey finally accepted my position and expressed that he still wanted to work with me at some point. “Thank you, I hope so,” I lied.

And that was the last of my personal encounters with Harvey Weinstein. I share all of this now because I know now what I did not know then. I was part of a growing community of women who were secretly dealing with harassment by Harvey Weinstein. But I also did not know that there was a world in which anybody would care about my experience with him. You see, I was entering into a community that Harvey Weinstein had been in, and even shaped, long before I got there. He was one of the first people I met in the industry, and he told me, “This is the way it is.” And wherever I looked, everyone seemed to be bracing themselves and dealing with him, unchallenged. I did not know that things could change. I did not know that anybody wanted things to change. So my survival plan was to avoid Harvey and men like him at all costs, and I did not know that I had allies in this.

Fortunately for me, I have not dealt with any such incidents in the business since. And I think it is because all the projects I have been a part of have had women in positions of power, along with men who are feminists in their own right who have not abused their power. What I am most interested in now is combating the shame we go through that keeps us isolated and allows for harm to continue to be done. I wish I had known that there were women in the business I could have talked to. I wish I had known that there were ears to hear me. That justice could be served. There is clearly power in numbers. I thank the women who have spoken up and given me the strength to revisit this unfortunate moment in my past.

Our business is complicated because intimacy is part and parcel of our profession; as actors we are paid to do very intimate things in public. That’s why someone can have the audacity to invite you to their home or hotel and you show up. Precisely because of this we must stay vigilant and ensure that the professional intimacy is not abused. I hope we are in a pivotal moment where a sisterhood — and brotherhood of allies — is being formed in our industry. I hope we can form a community where a woman can speak up about abuse and not suffer another abuse by not being believed and instead being ridiculed. That’s why we don’t speak up — for fear of suffering twice, and for fear of being labeled and characterized by our moment of powerlessness. Though we may have endured powerlessness at the hands of Harvey Weinstein, by speaking up, speaking out and speaking together, we regain that power. And we hopefully ensure that this kind of rampant predatory behavior as an accepted feature of our industry dies here and now.

Now that we are speaking, let us never shut up about this kind of thing. I speak up to make certain that this is not the kind of misconduct that deserves a second chance. I speak up to contribute to the end of the conspiracy of silence.”


I’m so happy Lupita shared her story and I have so much more respect for her and commend her for sticking by her morals. It’s disgusting that Harvey would even try something with her while his kids were in the other room, what a sick bastard

The Arkansas Sleep Experiments

by reddit user nazisharks

To Those Who Sleep

This happened a few years ago. You may have heard rumors if you’re on campus. Some even circulated online. Nobody knew what really happened. Because I’m the only one who knows and I kept quiet. For a multitude of reasons. None of them matter now. Here’s what really happened.

The four of us were handpicked for this experiment by Prof. Richardson because we’d all studied under him, worked under him, and, as much as anyone can, earned his confidence.

He said this one was different. We had to keep it quiet. He wanted to keep details to a minimum. All he would tell us before going in was that he required a month of our lives and that if he succeeded sleep would never again be a necessity.

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one thing i think is interesting, as someone who basically grew up playing video games non-stop, is how some types of video game just don’t gel with people 

like, it’s easy to forget that, even though i’m pretty bad at most games, that my skill at handling video games is definitely “above average.” as much as i hate to put it like this, i’d say my experience level is at “expert” solely because I can pick up any game controller and understand how to use it with no additional training. 

a friend of mine on twitter posted a video of him stuck on a part of samus returns. the tutorial area where it teaches you how to ledge-grab. the video is of him jumping against the wall, doing everything but grabbing the ledge, and him getting frustrated 

i’ve been playing games all my life, so i’d naturally intuit that i should jump towards the ledge to see what happens 

but he doesn’t do that.

it’s kinda making me realize that as games are becoming more complex and controllers are getting more buttons, games are being designed more and more for people who already know how to play them and not people with little to no base understanding of the types of games they’re playing 

so that’s got me thinking: should video games assume that you have zero base knowledge of video games and try to teach you from there? should Metroid: Samus Returns assume that you already know how to play a Metroid game and base its tutorial around that, or should it assume that you’ve never even played Mario before? 

it’s got me thinking about that Cuphead video again. you know the one. to anyone with a lot of experience with video games, especially 2D ones, we would naturally intuit that one part of the tutorial to require a jump and a dash at the same time.

but most people lack that experience and that learned intuition and might struggle with that, and that’s something a lot of people forget to consider. 

it reminds me a bit of the “land of Punt” that I read about in this Tumblr post. Egypt had this big trading partner back in the day called Punt and they wrote down everything about it except where it was, because who doesn’t know where Punt is? and now, we have no idea where it was, because everyone in Egypt assumed everyone else knew.

take that same line of thinking with games: “who doesn’t know how to play a 2D platform game?” nobody takes in to consideration the fact that somebody might not know how to play a 2D game on a base level, because that style of gameplay is thoroughly ingrained in to the minds of the majority of gamers. and then the Cuphead situation happens.

the point of this post isn’t to make fun of anybody, but to ask everyone to step back for a second and consider that things that they might not normally consider. as weird as it is to think about for people that grew up playing video games, anyone who can pick up a controller with thirty buttons on it and not get intimidated is actually operating at an expert level. if you pick up a playstation or an Xbox controller and your thumbs naturally land on the face buttons and the analog stick and your index fingers naturally land on the trigger buttons, that is because you are an expert at operating a complex piece of machinery. you have a lifetime of experience using this piece of equipment, and assuming that your skill level is the base line is a problem.

that assumption is rapidly becoming a problem as games become more complex. it’s something that should be considered when talking about games going forward. games should be accessible, but it’s reaching a point where even Nintendo games are assuming certain levels of skill without teaching the player the absolute basics. basics like “what is an analog stick” and “where should my fingers even be on this controller right now.” 

basically what i’m saying is that games are becoming too complex for new players to reasonably get in to and are starting to assume skill levels higher than what should be considered the base line. it’s becoming a legitimate problem that shouldn’t be laughed at and disregarded. it’s very easy to forget that thing things YOU know aren’t known by everyone and that idea should be taken in to consideration when talking about video games. 

Tom and Lin-Manuel: An Appreciation/Jealous Rant

Every writer has a golden period – a chunk of time when her brain is ripest, when the veins he is tapping are the richest, when the ideas, big and small, spill out over the sides of the bucket instead of having to be patiently collected like drops of rain off a leaf. This is true for songwriters, playwrights, novelists, screenwriters, anyone who writes anything in any genre. Go look at John Hughes’s IMDb page and marvel at his golden period, which I would bookend as 1983-1990. It’s outrageous. He wrote Vacation, Mr. Mom, Sixteen Candles, The Breakfast Club, Weird Science, Pretty in Pink, Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, Some Kind of Wonderful, Planes, Trains, and Automobiles, Uncle Buck, and Home Alone in eight years. Eight years?! That’s absurd.

But then look at his next 20 years. You won’t find one movie that is better than the worst one he wrote in those seven years. The vein ran dry. It always does. That’s just the deal.

Tom Petty’s golden period never ended. Or, at least, the silver periods on either side of his golden period were seemingly infinite. No matter where you think he peaked – Full Moon Fever, or Wildflowers, or Damn the Torpedoes – the decades on either side were wonderful. He was great from the moment he released his first album in 1977 to the day he died last month. For forty years he wrote, and wrote, and wrote, and the songs he wrote were good or great or amazing.

Tom Petty wrote “Breakdown” and “American Girl” in 1977. He wrote “You Don’t Know How it Feels” seventeen years later, in 1994. He wrote “You Got Lucky” in 1982, “King’s Highway” in 1992, “The Last DJ” in 2002. He wrote “I Won’t Back Down,” “Runnin’ Down a Dream,” Free Fallin’,” “Love is a Long Road,” “A Face in the Crowd,” Yer So Bad,” and “The Apartment Song,” and “Depending on You,” all in 1989, and they were all on the same album, and that’s absurd.

He wrote “Stop Draggin’ My Heart Around” in 1981 and “Big Weekend” in 2006. He wrote every song on Wildflowers – and they are all great – in or around 1994. He wrote fifty other great songs I haven’t named yet, like “Don’t Come Around Here No More” and “Jammin Me.” He wrote great songs you’ve heard a million times, and great songs you’ve maybe never heard, like “Billy the Kid” (1999) and “Walls” (1996) which was buried on the soundtrack to She’s the One.  He took a break from the Heartbreakers and casually released “End of the Line” and “Handle With Care” and “She’s My Baby” with the Traveling Wilburys in 1989-90. He wrote “Refugee” in 1980 and “I Should Have Known It” in 2010. Is there any rock and roll songwriter alive who wrote two songs that good, 30 years apart? (Paul McCartney wrote “Hey Jude” in 1968, and only 12 years later he wrote “Wonderful Christmas Time,” which is so bad it nearly retroactively undid “Hey Jude.”)

He wrote about rock and roll things, like ’62 Cadillacs, getting out of this town, and dancing with Mary Jane. He wrote about love and loss and heartbreak. He wrote legitimately funny jokes, and moribund memories, and personal narratives, and imaginative flights of fancy. One of his characters calls his father his “old man” and it somehow isn’t cheesy. He was from Florida and California and wrote about both of them, and every time I’m on Ventura Boulevard I think of vampires, because the images he wrote are indelible. 

Petty didn’t just write songs directed at women, like most rock stars. He wrote about women, and he wrote for women, and he wrote with women. He treated the women in his songs as lovingly and respectfully as he treated the men. He cared about them as much, he spent as much time thinking about them, and he liked them as much, and all of that is rare.

He wrote simply, but not boringly. He made his characters three-dimensional, somehow, in a matter of seconds. There’s a famous (probably apocryphal) story about Hemingway bragging he could write an entire novel in six words, then writing: “For sale: baby shoes, never worn.” I prefer the 18-word novel Petty wrote as the first verse to “Down South” –

Headed back down south
Gonna see my daddy’s mistress
Gonna buy back her forgiveness
Pay off every witness

When I was working on Parks and Recreation, whenever we needed a song to score an important moment in Leslie Knope’s life, we chose a Tom Petty song. It started with “American Girl,” when her biggest career project came to fruition. It was “Wildflowers” when she said goodbye to her best friend. It was “End of the Line” at the moment the show ended. For the seven seasons of our show, Tom Petty was the writer we trusted to explain how our main character was feeling, because he wrote so much, so well, for so long.

*******

It seems like a joke, Hamilton – a joke in a TV show where one of the characters is a struggling New York actor, and is always dragging his friends to his terrible plays. Like Joey in Friends. There’s an episode of Friends where Joey is in a terrible musical called like Freud!, about Sigmund Freud, and you get to see some of it, and it’s predictably terrible. Freud! the musical is arguably a better idea than Hamilton the musical.

I’m far from the first person to say this – I’m probably somewhere around the millionth person to write about Hamilton, and the maybe 500,000th to make this particular point, but it needs to be said – a hip-hop Broadway musical about the founding fathers is an astoundingly terrible idea. Lin-Manuel Miranda should never have written it. As soon as he started to write it, he should’ve said to himself, “What the fuck am I doing?!” and stopped. And after he got halfway through, he should’ve junked it, gotten really drunk, and moved on with his life, and made his wife and friends swear to never mention the weird six months where he was trying to write a hip-hop musical about Alexander Hamilton. I literally guarantee you that when Lin-Manuel Miranda first told his friends what he was writing, every one of them reacted with at best a frozen smile, and at worst a horrified recoiling. Some of them might have been outwardly encouraging – “sounds awesome bud! Go get ‘em!” But then later, alone, they would call each other and say What the fuck is he doing?

There is a moment, in Hamilton, when what you are watching overwhelms you. (It’s not the same moment for everyone, but most everyone has one, I suspect.) It’s the moment when the enormity, the complexity, the meaning of it, the entirety of it, overpowers you, and you realize that what you are experiencing is new – new both in your specific life, and new, like, on Earth.  The first time I saw it, that moment was a line in the middle of “Yorktown.” Hamilton sang the line And so the American experiment begins / With my friends all scattered to the winds, and I burst into tears in a way I hadn’t since I was 10 and a baseball went through a guy’s legs in the World Series. Something about how casually he says that – And so the American experiment begins – just settled over me, like a collapsing tent, and this thing I was watching wasn’t in front of me, it was everywhere around me, and it was exhilarating and transformative.

(If I could put this part in a footnote, I would, but I don’t know how to, so: I should mention that I am very far from a musical theater aficionado. I have seen maybe eight musicals in my life. Not only did I not expect to cry, hard, during Hamilton, I did not expect to enjoy it. I saw it like a week after it opened on Broadway, kind of on a whim, knew nothing about it, and the last thing I said to my wife, as the lights went down, was: “We’ll leave at intermission.”)

The second time I saw it, that moment came much earlier (I knew what I was getting into, this time, so I was more ready to be subsumed). It came barely three minutes in, when the entire cast of the show, in a piece of choreography that can best be referred to as “badass,” all walk down to the very front of the stage and stand, shoulder to shoulder, and sing very loudly about how Alexander Hamilton never learned to take his time. The cast has, to this point, trickled on stage, slowly, one by one, telling you Hamilton’s origin story, and then suddenly there they all are, all of them – maybe 20? 50? It seems like 1000? – as close to the audience as they can get, and they are every size and ethnicity and gender, and their voices are loud, and I thought to myself, oh my God, this is a cast of people descended from every nation on Earth, all singing about the foundations of the American experience, and yes I “knew” that, intellectually, but holy shit, now that I see them all, I know it, like in my stomach, I understand it, and what a thing that is.

The third time I saw Hamilton, that moment was during “It’s Quiet Uptown,” when this enormous, sprawling, improbable, otherworldly, multi-ethnic, historical, art tornado presses pause on all of its historical-cultural-ethno-sociological-artistic investigations, and spends four and a half spare minutes with a couple who are grieving an unimaginable tragedy.  Specifically, it was the lines

Forgiveness
Can you imagine?
Forgiveness
Can you imagine?

What a thing to do, for your characters – to give them four and a half minutes in the middle of an enormous, sprawling, historical swirl, to just be sad. What a piece of writing that is.

(Again, should be a footnote, but: as long as I’m talking about writers here, I should point out that if the late Harris Wittels were alive, he would, at this moment, text me and hit me with a “humblebrag” for writing about how I have seen Hamilton three times, and he would be right. Miss you Harris!)

In the hundreds of hours of my life I have spent thinking about Hamilton since I first saw it – far more hours than any other single piece of art I have ever experienced – I have revisited that same thought over and over: he never should’ve written it. It was an absurd thing to do. It took him a year to write the title song, then another year to write the second song, and how did he not give up when two years had gone by and he’d written two songs?  He must’ve known in his heart it needed to be a 50-song, 2 ½-hour enterprise, and he had two songs after two years, and he kept going. How did he keep going? I’ve been trying to write this blog post about two writers I admire for different reasons since the week Tom Petty died, and I’ve almost given up five times.

At this point, the entire musical is that “moment” for me. It’s the whole thing, now – the thing that overwhelms me is the whole thing. The conception of it, the writing of it, the rewriting of it. The music and the motifs and the themes and the threads and the dramatic shape and the characters and their inner lives, and the eagle-eye writer’s view it took to keep all of that in his head, all of it, the whole time. The writing of it. The utterly impossible writing of it. 

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

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

I. The First Introduction

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



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(after edit marks)

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

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

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

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

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

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



III. The Second Introduction

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

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

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



IV. Everything You Need to Know About Writing Successfully

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

My ten minutes are up.

Like honestly, why is it such a big deal that Ron struggles and complains about his problems once in a while when all other times he is always does his best to be there for his friends with their problems? People who complain about him act like he’s super unsympathetic and never helps Harry when like, off the top of my head, things Ron has done:

-Would always either stay at Hogwarts so Harry wouldn’t be alone on Christmas, or would invite Harry to his family’s for Christmas. Was also super casual about it and would come up with excuses why he was doing this so Harry wouldn’t feel awkward.

-when Harry didn’t write back to him, he quickly became worried the Dursleys were doing something bad to him, told his family about it (SEVERAL TIMES, apparently)  (like as far as I can tell every single day Harry didn’t write back Ron was panicking about it to his parents and siblings and wondering what the hell was going on) and then he hatched a plan with his brothers to steal a car, break the law, fly all the way to Harry’s house, forcibly grabbed him from his screaming relatives and then took him to his house. 

-Generally acts super chill about his mum blatantly giving Harry more attention than him, because he knows Harry needs it. Like, aside from a few jokes about it, he never acted overtly resentful about that. I think the Horcrux revealed that it made him insecure about whether his mum liked Harry more deep down (I’d have to reread the seventh book it’s been a while) yet he never once mentioned this. The fact he never let that show out of empathy for Harry is pretty impressive.

-tried to call Harry on the telephone despite not knowing how to use it and was then worried that he got Harry in trouble.

-when Harry wrote that he needed food, Ron once again informed his entire family and got an entire truckload sent to him.

-He informed Harry that even if he had to kidnap him from the Dursley’s home again, he was going to get Harry to spend the summer with them his family and see the Quidditch World Cup. He worked with his family to get an invitation sent to the Dursleys, then immediately wrote Harry a personal note saying “btw if they say no we’re coming anyway I will beat them all up if i have to”)

-if anyone badmouths Harry or Hermione in front of him, even someone he likes (like Seamus), he will rabidly defend them and basically prepare to fight that person.

-this includes teachers

-if someone calls Hermione (or anyone) a slur he will have to be physically restrained from attacking that person.

-when McG wouldn’t let Harry go to Hogsmeade Ron was in deep despair over the unfairness of it all, got personally angry and called McG several curse words. He and Hermione got Harry ton of sweets while they were there and tried to downplay how fun it was.

-When Percy wrote him a letter telling him to drop Harry as a friend, Ron made a giant show of ripping the letter into pieces and throwing it dramatically into a fire (what a nerd, honestly)

-generally did his best to be patient and understanding with Harry’s depression and anger issues in fifth year, but would firmly point out to him when he was crossing a line without flipping out back at him.

(which, as previous examples demonstrate, Ron’s fuse is pretty short, so that likely required a lot of effort on his part) 

(like, he and Hermione never invalidated Harry’s feelings, but Ron would point out when he was getting angry at the wrong people in a pretty calm way.  He said something like “It’s not our fault Snape and Umbridge are like that. We think you should stop taking it out on us when we’re on your side.” He was able to set boundaries and make Harry realize his behavior wasn’t okay while also making it clear he knew he was dealing with a lot and he was here for him and supported him. Pretty good example of how to friend and a lot more mature than most 15 year olds could have managed.)

-when he found out about Umbridge’s abuse, he was visibly sickened, argued with Harry for a long time than he needed to tell an adult, was upset Harry hadn’t mentioned it and when he couldn’t convince Harry, apparently told Hermione so she could help out and give him healing stuff. 

-also just the general fact he gladly went along with all of Harry’s super dangerous adventures and literally said he would die for him and never acted resentful of nearly getting murdered on a regular basis due to association with Harry

-guys Ron even told Voldermort to shut up when he said something mean about Harry i mean. let’s just consider that. He yelled at Voldemort. I’m pretty sure he was the first one who started yelling too.

So I really don’t get why people focus on the few times Ron complained and the whole two times in their seven year friendship when he got so fucked up about his own issues that he fought with Harry and didn’t support him (and the second time probably would not have happened if it weren’t EVIL SOUL SHARD THAT AMPLIFIED NEGATIVE FEELINGS) when the entire rest of their friendship is unwavering support. It’s so weird to me. You don’t have to like Ron, but acknowledge characters can be flawed and human and don’t hold him to ridiculous standards.

Main points from Afterbuzz interview

Spoiler warning for season 4!

So Afterbuzz TV sat down with Lauren Montgomery, Joaquim Dos Santos and Jeremy Shada to review episodes 1 and 2 as well as discuss the season as a whole. Here’s a summary :)

*Note: a lot of this is paraphrased since I was taking notes as I was listening, but it’s as true to what was said as physically possible

  • About Keith (and Shiro):
    • Last season was a lot about building Keith’s confidence as a leader and then immediately he steps out of the role. Joaquim says Keith has always been reluctant to be in the leader position
    • Lauren says we have a situation where we have one paladin too many, something’s gotta give. Had Shiro stayed gone Keith would’ve absolutely stayed put, but with Shiro back Keith feels like he can’t fill those shoes, so he’s kinda pulling back to sort of force Shiro to step back in
    • Lauren is responsible for the Shiro & Keith cameo in the background of the Holt final photos before the Kerberos launch
    • Lauren calls Shiro Keith’s “guiding light”
    • Lauren says Shiro is going to have a “lot of development” 
    • Jeremy teases more backstory 
  • About Matt:
    • The fakeout at Matt’s grave was Joaquim’s idea
    • Steve Ahn’s birthday made it into the graveyard scene as Matt’s wrong birthday (or perhaps the coordinates? wasn’t clear)
    • Jeremy says he watched the graveyard scene not knowing anything since he wasn’t in that episode, and even he believed it for a second, despite Matt’s VA being around a lot to record lines
    • Lauren says she still gets affected and she’s known since day one that Matt will be back (”and he’s gonna be a rebel and he’s gonna be an action star!”)
    • Matt is a huge dork. He had to grow and evolve to survive but at the heart of it he’s still Pidge’s dork of a brother 
    • Matt was the only person Pidge could relate to growing up because she was way too smart for everyone else in her class, smarter even than her own teacher, so she had no one except her brother. And then he kinda left her behind, not intentionally or in a mean sense but still
    • Matt got into the Garrison on brainpower and he isn’t as powerful as some other characters. He very much fights like someone who isn’t a big guy (speed not strength)
  • About Lance:
    • Lance is all about being in the spotlight. The Voltron shows are everything he’s been waiting for
    • Jeremy says it was fun playing those more lighthearted episodes after the more serious growing and maturing from last season
    • Lance has a lightheartedness to him; Jeremy says that’s his favourite part of playing him
    • Lauren jokes that it’s all Jeremy’s fault cause he’s so good at playing Lance and if you’re mad that Lance is funny all hatemail goes to Jeremy
    • Joaquim says it’s tough with so many characters, but reiterates that every person will have their time in the spotlight
    • Regarding Lance’s pep talk to Allura at the end of the season, Lance knows when someone needs to step up, he’s a really good team player. He loves being the center of attention but he’s also able to pull back. Jeremy says the team is like a family now, and it’s that respect and care and love for everyone on the team that lets Lance be confident in saying stuff like “I know you can do this, it’s all you” as opposed to something like “I think I can do something!”
    • Lauren points out that Lance started in the blue lion which is a support lion, holds Voltron up, and he’s since graduated to the right hand which is like the ultimate support to the head. It’s a good indication of what’s beneath the surface, he’s really good at knowing everyone’s strengths, good team player
    • Joaquim adds that if you look deeper, Lance comes from a big family, and within the family dynamic he was probably very much that guy. But to people outside the family he wants to be seen as front and center
    • Jeremy says Lance is going to continue to grow, building on the more serious moments from this season and the one before. Lance becomes “a voice of reason” soon
  • About Lotor:
    • Lauren is to blame for Lotor dislocating his shoulder. They wrote themselves into a bit of a corner with that; they knew he had to get away but how? It’s not like he could drive with his mouth or pick the lock, the space cuffs don’t have locks. Joaquim says everyone cringed just looking at Lauren’s storyboards for that scene without even sound or anything
    • Lauren says Lotor is genuinely intelligent and we’ll eventually learn things about him “like maybe he’s not SUPER backstabby?”
    • [both Joaquim and Lauren are very tight lipped on Lotor backstory and relationship with Honerva etc]
  • Voice cast trivia: 
    • Josh Keaton voices Regris
    • Whenever there’s an extra lady voice it’s usually Kimberly Brooks or Cree Summer
    • Lauren recalls one amazing blooper when Rhys Darby (Coran) just got so frustrated with a line he cussed them out. Joaquim and Jeremy add that Rhys has this amazing way that he abandons a line, where he’ll just go dadadadada–awwh (“he deflates”). To be fair Rhys gets a lot of the hardest and most technical lines
    • Andrea Romano (the show’s retired voice director) did the robot voice at Matt’s grave–she has a tradition of doing computer voices (she was the batmobile for a long time)–and she also has done the Castleship’s voice as well as some helmet translations
    • Te-Osh was voiced by Lacey Chabert who does Nyma. She has a naturally high voice so they pitched her down for Te-Osh and found it turned out amazing
    • John DiMaggio voiced lieutenant Ozar as well as the bounty hunter and the illegal arms dealer from Reunion (There’s a cute story with Christine Bian–backgrounds and props supervisor–who is a huge Futurama fan so she came in the day John was recording and he was super nice and signed her things and as he left she yelled “Bender we love you!” and you hear down the hall “shut up baby I know it”)
  • The Blade of Marmora feel the most responsibility out of anyone to do whatever they can against the Galra given it’s their culture and they want to prove to everyone that they’re willing to go as far as it takes to right the wrongs, which unfortunately often leads to BoM operatives being not very long-lived
  • Joaquim says the grey alien from the mall goes to Earth every now and then for a round of abductions and then he resells everything, which is how he got all the game systems and Kaltenecker, etc
  • Pidge was determined to play her game and within a few months she had gathered everything to jury rig it so it’d work, and then of course Lance in typical Lance fashion jacked her game system the same way he jacked her headphones
    • The pixel artist they got to do the game is Michael Azzi, based in Brussels, and he came up with most of it on his own (that boss move at the end where the shot rotates was all his idea)
  • Any time the show goes Full Anime (the Kaltenecker scene, Matt and Allura’s meeting) it’s usually Steve Ahn’s doing
    • Joaquim says go watch Matt and Allura’s meeting in Japanese
  • The Voltron Show episode was very much their Ember Island Players episode. Joaquim says there’s a bit of a disconnect, that it was first and foremost an episode for them internally to come to terms with a lot of stuff, whereas a lot of people are saying “oh they’re speaking directly to us [the fans]” but that’s not the case. They’ve been thinking about this since a long time ago. Lauren says it was written and in production long before the fandom
  • Lauren would’ve loved to get to know the rebels a bit better and give Olia a proper introductions but just no time

anonymous asked:

i have a prompt for you: what if snape hadn't called lily 'mudblood' that day. what if their friendship had stayed strong, unbreakable. would he have grown to be a better person? would lily have loved him, rather than james? would harry just have another godfather? would james and lily have survived?

Okay you have successfully convinced me to write a Snape thing, which is a possibility I have audibly forsworn many times to my loved ones. But I’m a sucker for concepts like “Harry gets another godfather,” so, here we go.


When Severus was seven, he fell in love with the girl down the street. She had long red hair and dirty knees and she offered him half her candy bar one drizzly afternoon, waiting outside the school for her parents to come pick her up.

His parents weren’t coming— dad working late and mum at the pub recounting old Hogwarts glory stories, talking of years when her life was magical– but he didn’t tell Lily that. He was just waiting for the older bully boys who lurked in the empty lot on his way home to get bored and leave.

He ate the candy slowly in neat little bites while she grinned and told him about her big sister’s feud with the science teacher, like her Tuney was some sort of hero in a political espionage drama. She talked with her hands, narrow little things with freckled backs. He watched her wave from the back window of her mother’s car and then he started the long walk home.

When Severus was fifteen, James Potter dangled him upside down in the quad and laughed. Severus landed on elbows and knees. The bruises would stay for a week. The memories would not die with them— James’s cocky grin, the laughter in the spring air, the long whip of Lily’s red hair.

He felt small, bug-like, his knees pressing into the grass. His mother would come home some nights, kick the threadbare carpet, rattle the battered old pans in the cupboard, curse a Ministry that hated purebloods, that sucked up to halfbreeds and Mudbloods, that left the true wizards to rot in filth. He would curl up, make himself small, bug-like, imagine a chitinous shield growing over his shoulders, his spine, the softness of his kidneys. Some days, his father slept through this. Some days he screamed back.

After Severus met Lily, he would curl up under his covers, small, bug-like, and read through the comics she’d lent him with his hands pressed up over his ears. He wanted Professor X to come take him away. He wanted to be someone special, someone saved. He wanted a giant to burst through his door and frighten his mother and offer him a squashed birthday cake and a way out.

When Severus was fifteen, he slammed to his knees on the green Hogwarts quad. Laughter burrowed into his ears, like curses, like the nights his father screamed back, and when Lily stepped toward him he snapped, “I don’t need help from a Mudblood.”

When Severus slouched up to her door that summer, Lily didn’t invite him in. She leaned on the open frame of the door, arms crossed. He had so rarely seen Lily neither smiling or incandescent with rage, but she watched him with snakeskin eyes and a set mouth, still.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t–”

She twitched a strand of hair over her shoulder, the irritation the closest thing to an emotion he could spot on her. He was watching, desperate– this was Lily, she gave things away. She talked with her hands. He never felt lost, with her. “But why,” said Lily. “Why are you sorry? Because I’m upset, or because what you did was wrong?”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“You did, and it’s not the point. I don’t care if it’s the part you care about, Sev, it’s not the part that matters. That was an awful thing to say– to say to anyone. You were cruel because you were scared and embarrassed, but Sev I could really care less. You were cruel.”

“I’m sorry,” he said again.

“Sorry’s not enough, Sev. Be fucking better.”

He jerked back and tried to turn it into some kind of laugh. “Language, careful, your mum might hear.”

She shrugged, and stepped back through the open door, and shut it in his face.

He spent the summer reading comic books, haunting the local library, then the local park once it’d closed, and then sneaking home when he was hopeful his parents would be asleep. He tried to think about bravery, but sometimes he just thought about Lily’s hair, the way it went more golden in summer. He tried to think about nobility, ethics and grace, but the clouds chased each other, fat and white, across the sky and he wasn’t sure what any of this had to do with him.

His father took him fishing by a dreary brown creek and they sat in silence. Severus could hear every creak of the rods, every lap of the water, every inhale and movement his father made. He thought maybe if he just said nothing, nothing ever, he’d never say anything again that made Lily’s face go so flat and distant. If he said nothing, maybe nothing would hurt.

His father reached back for a beer can in a swift movement and Severus froze himself unflinching. He sat in that silence afterward, slowing his heartbeat, picking apart the sudden rigid shell of his shoulders. His father hummed, cracking the can open like a gunshot.

He sat alone on the Hogwarts Express that year, stuffed in a compartment with a handful of second years who gave him half the seats while they giggled among themselves about the haircut of someone named Gertrude. Every summer’s end, for five years, he and Lily had boarded the train together, pressed their noses to the window glass, and watched the land rush by.

For the first month of school, Severus practiced pausing before he spoke, for seconds, minutes if he needed them. Sometimes he’d add an answer after the conversation had already moved on, bent over his mashed potatoes, weighing words as carefully as he weighed salamander eyes and mandrake root.

(If you crushed firedrake seeds with the flat of your blade, instead of cutting them, they made a more potent potion. The textbooks told you to stir six times counterclockwise to make Sleeping Draught, but he knew–because he had thought, and tried, and tried again–that if you did five counterclockwise and two clockwise the draught would turn that perfect turquoise and the sleep would be dreamless and sweet and deep. He kept notes in his textbook’s margins, because it helped to remember.)

In the second month, he tried to listen. People were starting to think about life after school, a big yawning chasm they were supposed to fill with themselves. People were starting to fall in love, puppyish and petty. People were starting to believe in the war, whispering, dreaming, fearing.

In the common room, one of the kids said something about Mudbloods and Severus’s head snapped up. He tried to imagine a shell growing into his shoulders, over his spine, covering all the soft parts of him. He wanted his covers, he wanted to shrink, he wanted Lily’s boxfuls of comics, but he rose to his feet and snapped back. Sometimes saying nothing hurt people, too. A small Muggleborn in green and silver ducked away to her dorm, clutching quietly at her sleeves.

For the third month, he tried to watch– not for warning sneers or cocky grins, clenched fists and broad shoulders, all the things he’d been watching for since before he could name them– but for the way shoulders might go rigid, the way fists might clench but hide, wishing for something to shield every soft part of them.

Severus was bony and pimply, sixteen years old and graceless in it, but he could be an interruption. He could mock with the best of them, flicking his brows and twisting his nose, and asking pointed questions. He could talk, smart-mouthed and snide, until the focus turned to him, and then he could survive anything they handed out. He could give as good as he got. The pauses were shorter, these days, before he spoke, but they would always be there, an echo offset from the shout, an avalanche that struck late and terrible.

When kids cried in bathrooms or empty classrooms or the library, he didn’t move to comfort them, though he heard them. He didn’t know how. He wrote his own curses, out in the forest where he could scar the trees in experiment, and they all turned out bloody. He loved few things, even Lily, as much as he loved pouring all of himself into his work, until something new and his own grew out of it. He wasn’t sure he’d ever invented something kind.

He didn’t try to find Lily, but he came back from the Forest once and almost tripped over her, half-napping in Hagrid’s pumpkin patch. He stumbled back into a gargantuan gourd while she pushed hair out of her face and peered up at him.

“I’m sorry,” he said, after a pause that rumbled and roiled in his gut, that he clung to with both hands, breathing into it and letting his shoulders go soft. “I’m sorry I said it. I’m sorry I made you feel small because I was feeling– small.”

Lily sat up a bit, in the little semi circle she’d built herself of books and scrolls and gobstones and snacks. She had built fairy circles like that, when they were children, of the flowers he’d transfigured for her.

“I’m sorry anyone has to feel that way, ever,” he said. “They shouldn’t. I’m angry anyone has to feel that way.”

“Me, too,” she said, and, fishing around in the detritus that surrounded her, handed him half a candy bar. “C'mon, you want some tea? Hagrid said he’d put a kettle on for me if I finished my Arithmancy.”

When Severus was in sixth year, Remus Lupin almost killed him on a moonlit night.

Severus had wanted answers, had wanted to get them in trouble, had wanted something a bit like vengeance, and Sirius had told him about the Whomping Willow. Sirius had grinned when he’d done it, small and bitter, and Severus had wondered if he was fighting with James again, wondering why else he’d sell out his friends.

“I didn’t think–” Sirius tried, the morning after, watching Remus across dry toast and cocoa, big juicy bowls of melon.

“You never do,” Remus snapped. (A bare handful of years later, standing in the smoldering ruins of James and Lily’s house, Remus would think about Sirius’s erratic gaze, the sharp edge of his voice, his last name, and wonder if he should have seen it coming. What here was premeditated? What was mischief? Sirius had once almost painted Remus’s own hands with red blood.)

But for now, Remus was sixteen and angry; he was sixteen and guilty of things that might have happened. He didn’t speak to Sirius for a month.

James refused to speak with Sirius, too, but he only lasted a week. Moony was sulking and Peter was busy studying his little heart out, and James got twitchy without proper and regular socialization.

“I’ll punch him in the nose,” said Lily, when Severus told her. She shifted where she sat cross-legged on the library table, like she might go off and hunt him down that second.

“Black doesn’t deserve the attention,” said Severus.

“Getting his ass kicked by a girl? That type of attention?”

“Getting his ass kicked by Lily Evans,” Severus said. “It’d be an honor and you know it.”

Reports of violence outside Hogwarts got worse. People were disappearing. People were whispering, fearing. The papers were ignoring the important things, and feeding off the fearmongering, or so Lily announced in the library while Severus was trying to study.

Alice and Lily had spent years sharing hissed rants in humid greenhouses. Over an undulating bed of luminescent deadly nightshade, Alice bent her head close to Lily’s and asked, “Have you heard of the Order of the Phoenix?”

Keep Reading (Ao3)

Keep reading

Eleven’s first day of school
  • El’s so grateful Mike insisted on giving her a ride to school on his bike because it gives her a chance to review all the advice she’s gotten from the party over the last couple weeks
  • But a lot of their suggestions conflict (Lucas: “If you don’t know the answer when a teacher asks a question, don’t make eye contact with them or they’ll call on you” Dustin: “No way, you want to look the son of a bitch right in the eye to let them know you’re not afraid. Then, they’ll call on someone else. It’s a power move.” Max: “No, don’t listen to them, just pretend to be really engrossed in taking notes.”)
  • She gets her class schedule and it’s still a little surreal to see her name (Hopper, Jane) written down
  • She can’t believe how many people are at school and it’s a little overwhelming until she grabs Mike’s hand squeezes
  • He squeezes back right away and doesn’t let go as the walk to their first class
  • The class is English, which Eleven loves instantly (the teacher keeps talking about all these cool books they’re going to read—apparently one is about grapes and El can’t believe someone wrote a whole book on her favorite fruit)
  • She writes down everything the teacher says and fills up three pages in her notebook (although she wonders if she wasn’t supposed to because Mike didn’t take out a notebook at all and he keeps looking at her funny)
  • She has to part from Mike for math class, but Will sits in front of her and keeps passing her funny drawings and notes so the class goes by fast
  • After the bell for lunch rings, they exit the classroom and Mike runs up to them, panting, and starts asking El a million questions about how math class went
  • Eleven’s favorite part of the day is definitely lunch because she gets to sit with all of her friends and listen to them joke and argue and laugh
  • Everything goes smoothly from there until the last class of the day when the teacher asks them to pair up with someone they don’t know and then introduce their partner to the class
  • Eleven panics for a second, but Mike immediately turns to her, sticks out his hand, and says, “hi, my name’s Mike, short for Michael”
  • When the final bell rings, Eleven can’t believe after two years of begging Hopper she finally got what she had been asking for: a day of being a normal kid
  • And it was better than she ever imagined

Read Mike’s POV here!

Introduction: Hi! I’m Annie, I recently graduated as valedictorian of a class of almost 700, and I’m about to be a freshman at Johns Hopkins (go blue jays!!). High school was some of the best and worst moments of my life, and looking back, there are so many things that I wish I’d done and things that made me successful, so I wanted to share them! Of course, disclaimer, these tips may not apply to everyone!

(These tips generally apply to all classes, but if you have a specific subject you want tips on, I’ve taken these AP courses: european history, world history, us gov’t, macroeconomics, lang, lit, calc ab, chemistry, physics 1, physics c, environmental science, art: drawing, biology, human geography, chinese, and art history. Feel free to message me!)

College applications are a crapshoot- I can’t begin to tell you the number of incredible, brilliant people with extraordinary, international level achievements that got denied at top schools in favor of those lacking those accomplishments. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mean those who got in don’t have qualities that earned them a spot, it just speaks to the unpredictable nature of the college application process. When deans of admission at top schools openly say they could reject all admitted students and build the same exemplary class from the waitlist, or that they have enough qualified applicants to fill 3 or 4 classes with, there’s a certain amount of luck involved. Therefore I urge all rising seniors to go into this process realizing that the odds are not in your favor. I went into the process with too much blind hope, too confident in my ability to be that lucky 1 in 10 (or less) that would gain admission, and I was sorely disappointed. So that leads me to my next tip…

Don’t do things just for your college application- Those slim acceptance rates are the exact reason I urge you not to join things solely for how good they look on a college application. It seems counterintuitive; wouldn’t they give you a better chance of acceptance? However, my point is not to dissuade you from extracurriculars, but rather to commit to ones that genuinely make you happy. As I wrote above, the process is so competitive that even international achievements may mean rejection, so don’t waste your high school experience by dedicating so much time and effort to something that you feel obligated to do.

Try everything your freshman and sophomore year- My biggest regret is not joining clubs where my passions lie simply because I was too lazy or scared of things like public speaking my freshman year. It’s much more intimidating to join as upperclassmen, and you may not be able to participate at all the levels/in all the ways people who have dedicated 3-4 years can. Even if you don’t think its for you (like debate for me because of my fear of public speaking), I urge you to expand your horizons and push yourself out of your comfort zone. Many clubs give you great opportunities to build leadership, public speaking, etc. skills and to find your passions.

Know both sides of the flashcard- I learned this tip from my organic chemistry class, and I’d never though about how useful it is. For example, if you’re memorizing polyatomic ions, it’s extremely important that you know both the formula and the name, as either version may show up on the exam. Not doing this also makes the weaknesses in your memorization evident- whenever I study vocab, I tend to glance at the side with the term and only memorize the definition. This meant that when I was given only the definitions, I couldn’t remember the word they defined, because I was so used to being given the vocab word and responding with the definition. 

The first lecture of the unit is one of the most important for STEM classes- I know the beginning of the unit can often seem like the perfect time to tune out, as it goes over information you’ve previously learned or the easiest material of the topic, but it often forms the foundation for everything else in the unit. For example, the first lecture on a stoichiometry unit will probably teach you dimensional analysis, a skill integral to calculating molecular or empirical formulas, moles or grams of a substance, etc. 

Buy/sell books secondhand- Everyone knows how expensive college textbooks are, but between SAT and AP prep books, and books for English, high school books can cost quite a bit of money too. Unless they redesigned the exam recently, you absolutely don’t need the newest edition of the review book, so buy from upperclassmen and then sell it to underclassmen the following year.

Learn to self study- Unless you’re really lucky, you’re guaranteed to have a teacher who doesn’t teach, teaches badly, or whose teaching style just doesn’t work for you. Personally, I find that self learning, especially if I’m struggling because resources such as textbooks and online explanations, and videos seem to contradict, really helps me understand the topic throughly. In AP bio, my teacher had us create claymation videos on the processes of cellular respiration and photosynthesis independently. It was incredibly frustrating and confusing because all the resources described the cycles in varying degrees of details, but I felt like I genuinely understood the topic, instead of having been spoon-fed the information and memorizing it. Obviously, this method isn’t very efficient for frequent use, but the key is to try to understand the material independently instead of going to the teacher the moment you hit a snag. 

Keep your backpack/binders/notebooks reasonably organized- When teachers ask for homework to be passed up and you have to dig through mountains of papers in your backpack, not only is that super stressful, but a lot of teachers won’t let you turn it in after they have already collected all the papers. I was definitely guilty of being lazy and just stuffing papers, once I got them, into my backpack instead of taking a few seconds to slide them into a binder, and as a result I got 0s on lots of homework because either I couldn’t find it at the time or because everything was so messy I didn’t remember there was homework. Try to have some sort of organization system going on or at least a homework folder, because those 0s add up and can be the difference between an 89 and 90. 

You’re gonna get senioritis, badly, and that’s ok- I’ve always been the type of person who did every homework assignment and was very focused on grades, so the idea that I would completely let myself ago seemed absurd to me. Don’t underestimate what senior year does to you. I can honestly count on one hand the econ worksheets that I actually turned in during senior year, and I made my first B in a grading period during the spring. I was very stressed about how awful my grades were, but unable to muster the energy to do anything about it. And you know what, it’s ok. It’s senior year, you can give yourself a break. Yes, your senior grades are still important for college applications, so don’t go from straight A’s to straight C’s, but for the most part, all the hard work is behind you. Do keep in mind that these habits may haunt you when you’re a college freshman. I haven’t started classes yet, but based on how little I studied for the math placement exam for my college, senioitis doesn’t magically end when you graduate, so don’t let it get completely out of control during the year. 

Learn how to do math without a calculator- If you take either of the AP Calculuses or the SAT, you need to master this skill because there are sections of the exams that are strictly non-calculator.  Beyond that, when you get to calculus, you’ll be introduced to complicated concepts, where not being able to multiply by hand will drag you down. 

Keep old notes- Not only for finals, but some topics are very interdisciplinary, like biochemistry, so it’s very important that you have a working knowledge of both biology and chemistry. As you take advanced classes, such as for me, taking physics c after physics 1, it will be assumed that you have completely mastered the basics, and they will be skipped or referenced very quickly. It is very useful to look at notes on the basics, which provide the foundation for the advanced material you learn. 

Invest in a whiteboard- Whenever I was learning about processes or cycles, from the Krebs cycle to organic chemistry mechanisms, it was really useful to practice drawing the steps over and over again. Then when it came to the test, I could do a brain dump and draw out the information as a reference. 

Understand formulas instead of blindly memorizing- This basically has physics and calculus written all over it. In physics, you should be given formula charts during exams, and in any case, something like F=ma isn’t terribly hard to memorize. The problem comes when there are a multitude of formulas that are derived from one of the fundamental equations. Of course, deriving from scratch each time is incredibly tedious, but I want to dissuade you from simply memorizing it or storing it on your calculator, because that means you probably don’t understand the physics behind it. What makes physics so difficult and different from any other subject you’ve taken is that every problem will have a slightly different scenario that tests your understanding of the physics behind it. 

Use all the time given to you during tests- I know I hate looking back through my test because I just get so bored halfway through, but missing points because of silly mistakes is honestly the most frustrating thing ever when you had plenty of time to check. Depending on if I have time, I like to cover my original work and resolve the question. If checking answers is not your thing, try slowing now when you first see each question, and checking your work briefly each step. 

Form study groups- Talking about something, especially teaching it to someone, always helped me remember something so much better than reading it on paper. It’s also so important to have second interpretations of the information you’re studying to ensure that you don’t make a huge misconception.  

AP students: released/practice exams are your best friend- Obviously, they’re the best resources for studying for the AP exam, but they’re also a great tool for a hint at what your teacher’s tests may look like. AP teachers have access to tons of College Board material and will often use questions directly from old exams. 

If you start getting confused during a lecture- Many times this is because I didn’t pay attention during the very beginning, so I’m missing that important foundation I talked about in the previous tip. Of course, I typically wouldn’t recommend doing things other than listening to what is currently being taught, but in this case, I would just get more confused and it’s a waste of time. So I discretely go back to my previous notes and focus on understanding them. 

The most stressful part of schoolwork is just thinking about your assignments- There’s always specific period of time that threatens to kill me- a week where I had two competitions simultaneously, in cities 3 hours apart. When you’re taking 7 AP classes at the same time, just reading over your to-do list will make you want to cry. Even on a normal day, as I go to classes throughout the day and my list of homework gets longer and longer, it makes me so stressed to where I’m planning out how to finish everything and I’m no longer listening in class. It overwhelmed me so much that I just wanted to take a nap and avoid school. But every single time, stressing about the work I have is 1000x worse than sitting down and actually going through each task. I find that what had seemed impossible before was very doable, and many times I even finished early enough to relax before bed. Keep a positive mindset, don’t underestimate your abilities, and have the discipline to start working immediately on the hardest days, and you’ll be fine. Of course, this doesn’t mean that the workload that is able to be handled by one person can work for another, and things like mental illnesses are things I have no experience in, so this is definitely just something that worked for me and is not applicable to everyone. 


Best of luck with high school! If you have any questions, feel free to send me an ask!

My AP World masterpost

Asks I’ve answered about school

Lana Del Rey says Donald Trump helped shape her album ‘Lust For Life’ — and the world needs feminism more than ever.
The singer has returned to the world of music with her fourth studio album in five years.

By Jacqui Swift for The Sun (UK).

LANA DEL REY’s latest album glitters with an all-star cast.
On ‘Lust For Life,’ her most impressive album yet, Lana teams up with heavyweights such as The Weeknd, Stevie Nicks, Sean Ono Lennon and A$AP Rocky.

They are the first collaborations in her career so far, which spans five studio albums, including four in the past five years — an impressive work rate for the Los Angeles-based star.

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Writer

Summary: In which Bucky falls in love with you, a writer.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 1,531

Originally posted by lovelynemesis

When Bucky first met you, he didn’t know you were a writer. All he knew was that your coffee was scorching hot when it toppled over and spilled all over the front of his shirt. Your words were rushed as you fumbled over an apology and dug around your canvas bag for something he couldn’t see.

Bucky would learn minutes later that you were on a quest for crumpled up napkins to clean up the mess you’d made. He didn’t have the gall to tell you that a napkin was pointless. There was no way to clean up the mess he was after seeing you. Because, as silly as it sounds, he knew from the moment that you collided with him that he’d willingly withstand the heat of a thousand freshly brewed cups of coffee for another second with you.

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Aelin’s Will

Because you know she has one and because I love to torture myself, here are some headcanons about Aelin’s will.

  • She makes her first will as soon as she gets her first paycheck as the king’s champion
  • Everything is left to Chaol in that one
  • Except Elena’s necklace which she leaves to Nehemia
  • And her books are left for Dorian
  • because they are her only friends and who else would she trust her things with?
  • None of them ever know that she even wrote it
  • Her second one is written out before she leaves Mistward to go bargain for Rowan’s life with Maeve
  • Much is still left to Chaol because she still wants him to be happy and stable once he escapes the king
  • However, she leaves her weapons for her carranam
  • because even if she can’t be there to fight with him, he’ll always have a little part of her by his side
  • Rowan also receives part of the money she’s earned
  • because if anything with Maeve goes south, she’s not sure how much he has saved, or if his family will help him at all in his time of need
  • Her third is collaboratively made by the gang while they are on their way back to Terrasen for the first time
  • All her money - to Terrasen
  • All her books are still given to Dorian
  • Her dresses and shoes to Lysandra - because she insisted
  • Her underthings and nightgowns are given to Rowan - much to everyone’s amusement
  • Fleetfoot is left to Evangeline because the little girl just loves the dog so much
  • And Aelin knows that the puppy will take care of Eva no matter what
  • Any and all weapons that she may possess are given to Aedion
  • because he will forever defend Terrasen for her if she is no longer there
  • that mellows the conversation drastically
  • The fourth and final copy of Aelin’s will is written on the boat
  • it is signed just after her marriage license that ties her to Rowan and makes him her king 
  • Lysandra is the only one that knows about it
  • because she is the witness
  • and it leaves everything
  • everything that Aelin is, was, or will be
  • to her
  • because to everyone else, Aelin will not be dead
  • and Lysandra will need everything if she is going to play a convincing part
No Regrets - Bucky Barnes x Reader

Originally posted by little--batman

Summary: Soulmate!AU - When your soulmate gets hurt you receive a flower tattoo on your body on the same location they were wounded. Imagine (Y/N) having her whole left arm covered in flowers while Buckys whole hand was covered in them.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word count: 2.3k

Warning: There really isn’t any, unless you’re afraid of Bucky finding happiness. If you’re afraid of that I feel sorry for you.

A/N: First soulmate au?? Been wanting to do this one long before I started this blog??

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When Bucky grew up he didn’t have flowers on him like the other kids. Nobody ever knew that, of course, he was good looking enough to get whoever he wanted at his hip. That’s one main reason why he got along with Steve, Steve never got any either. They both believed maybe they weren’t destined to have a soulmate, of course there was the option that their soulmates maybe never have been hurt but it was a long shot.

After being woken up from his cryogenic stasis and retrieving most of his memories back he realized his whole right hand was covered in flowers. He never believed he had a soulmate but it registered in his head that his soulmate was from a different time period than what he was from. He soon also figured out that Steve also had the same issue; He had a soulmate but was destined to meet them after he woke up from his frozen state.

As for (Y/N)? She had millions of flowers. Some were randomly placed on her body, Bucky had them as well. But the ones that stood out the most were the full sleeve she had on her left arm. She often hid it but lately she began to flaunt it off. Her soulmate had to have had something messed with their whole left arm, it wouldn’t have been that hard to point out in public too. She always looked out for the left arms of strangers in public, but she never had good luck.

Not only that but (Y/N) constantly looked at the hands of people as well. She knew they would have flowers there. She wasn’t as normal and ordinary as others, she had powers that nobody else had. She hid them, she knew what happened to people after they showed others the gifts they possessed. She was practically a human torch, she could heat up anything she wanted. When she was younger she was practicing and accidentally burned her hands, it was so bad that she couldn’t use them for weeks and had to make up an excuse that she did it while cooking something. Of course everyone believed her because nobody thought of the alternative that she had super powers. She hated the way her hands looked, scars covered them from her wrist to the top of her fingers, she would never go anywhere without hiding them with gloves.

She was cleaning up the counters of her job in the middle of the day when an oddly large group walked in. She sighed to herself knowing she would have to take care of them because the only other person on duty was already at another table. (Y/N) was wearing a classic blue and white waitress outfit and her jacket, it was a chilly day so nobody obliged to her clothing choices. She often wore a jacket anyways, only due to the tattoos crawling up her left arm.

(Y/N) walked up to the table that the group had chose to sit at before preparing herself to take their orders. She flipped open her small notebook before taking the pen out of her pocket, plastering a fake smile on her face.

“Hello, I’m (Y/N). I’ll be your waitress today, if you need anything please run it by me! I can order your drinks if you would like and while I go make them I’ll give you time to choose what you’d like to order.” She gave a toothy smile before looking at everyone, waiting for someone to point out what they’d like to drink.

“I’ll just have a water, please.” The blonde male spoke up first and gave you a smile.

“Me too, I’d like a water.” His darker friend next to him ordered the same thing and thanked her shortly after.

“I’ll have a strawberry milkshake and my pal here would like a coffee, please.” A redhead clapped her hands before patting her older friend on the back, receiving a glare that soon turned into a joking smile.

“And you two?” (Y/N) looked at the two males who haven’t given a drink yet. One was looking at the menu while the other was staring off into his lap.

“I suppose you don’t have alcohol here, do you?” A bearded (and clearly) wealthy man gave her a look before setting the drink menu down.

“No sir. The only drinks we have are on that menu.”

“Then I’ll just have a shake as well. Make it a mint.”

She wrote down the drink before focusing her gaze on the quiet man. His head was down and his conscience clearly wasn’t with the rest of them. His long brown hair overlapped most of his face and a hat was covering his eyes. He wore a baggy black sweatshirt and gloves. If anything, he didn’t want to be there and it was very noticeable.

“He’ll have a water too, thanks.” The same blonde from earlier spoke up on the quiet mans behalf. She nodded with a smile before returning to behind the counter to make the drinks. She was almost done until a bit of the mint milkshake spilt onto the sleeve of her jacket. She cursed quietly to the point where only she could hear herself and removed her jacket, setting it in the back room before looking at her tattooed arm in disgust. She always wanted to flaunt her arm around but never while on the job. She mostly got bad looks from it and it often decreased her chances on a tip. If it meant less money, then she wasn’t a big fan.

She finished the drinks before placing them onto a tray and carrying them to the table with one hand. She set half of it down on the table and half balanced with her knee before she started to hand them out towards everyone. When she was finished she set the tray under her arm and pulled out her notebook once again to write down the orders of the group. She smiled to the few who thanked her for the drinks.

“Have enough time to figure out what you want to eat?” She put on the same fake smile as before. They ordered their food one after one and yet again the quiet man was the one that was last to order. She looked up at him only to realize his eyes were strongly fixated onto her arm. Her confidence completely dropped knowing the meaning behind his stare, every time a customer laid eyes onto her arm she felt insecure, she felt as if she should apologize like it was her fault, and so she did.

“I am so very sorry, sir. I’ll go put on my jacket.” She was about to quickly go throw on her stained jacket before he spoke up in a deep, raspy voice. It was the first words he had spoken since he entered the building.

Why do you wear gloves?” She stopped in her tracks and stared at his with wide eyes. By this point the rest of the group had realized why he was so interested in her arm and hands. They all shared the same look, they all wondered if this was Buckys soulmate.

“To hide what’s underneath.” Her eyebrows were furrowed at the mysterious man. She had to admit, she had no idea what his deal was. First he stares at her arm and then asks what she is hiding underneath the leather on her hands. Of course, she was oblivious to what was happening but perhaps it’s because she didn’t know what was under his left arms sleeve.

Buckys right arm pulled down the zipper of his jacket before tearing it off. At the same time he ripped off the gloves from his hands and stared at the flowers inked perfectly around his palms. (Y/N)’s eyes widen as she looked at the cybernetic limb connected to his body. His whole left arm was missing, and her whole left arm was covered. Bucky raised his human hand and showed her the printings on it, his eyebrow raised as he focused his gaze on her covered hands.

Overcoming her ego, she set the tray and notebook down on a nearby table before unbuckling the bucks on her gloves and sliding them off. Her hands were burnt beyond any recognition, if it weren’t for the obvious figure by her fingers and palms, you wouldn’t be able to tell it was actual human flesh. Bucky soon stood up and walked towards (Y/N).

“Come with me.” He whispered into her ear with a stern voice. She quickly caught on before grabbing her notebook and handing it to her co-worker. Her co-worker nodded in agreement, by the look on (Y/N)’s face she knew she needed a moment. She quickly thanked her before running out the front doors to meet up with the stranger who just so happened to possibly be her soulmate. When she walked out he had his hat in one hand balanced on his hip and his other was running through his hair. They stood there silently for a minute before he looked her in the eye and spoke up.

“I have a line of flowers on my lower back.” His hand went to the neck of his shirt before lifting up a bit to show the tattoo on his back. (Y/N)’s hand came to cover her mouth. It was the same scar she received when she was little, it reach from the lower part of her back to the middle. If she wasn’t wearing a dress she would have showed him then and there to prove to him.

You’re my soulmate.” She spoke through her hand. He hands dropped to his sides as he stared at face. He stared at every detail noticeable by the human eye before looking at her burnt hands covering her lips. He saw the way her nose perked out, the way her (Y/E/C) eyes stared at his. Her eyes were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, he could stare at them for hours. He stared at her luscious (Y/H/C) hair and the way it was perfectly laying above her shoulders.

“God, you’re beautiful.” His hand hesitantly came up and caressed hers, overlapping her cheek. Within a second her hands snaked around the boys neck and pulled his body into a tight hug. His body tensed up from the contact but soon after he relaxed and put his around her waist. She set her head in the crook of his neck and smelt his amazing aroma. After a moment of standing there (Y/N) opened her eyes and saw his friends staring out the side window at them. She let out a small giggle before pointing into their direction.

When Bucky turned around he let out a big scoff before giving them the finger, his lips turned into a smile once he heard the beautiful, moment-stopping laugh escaping her lips. He grabbed her hand before giving it a kiss and staring at the scars left on her.

“You shouldn’t hide your hands, you know.”

“And you shouldn’t hide your arm.”

Bucky had stayed with (Y/N), sitting at the bar stool where she normally would be behind the stand. His friends soon left after eating and patted him on his back, knowing he was going to stay for a while. They talked all night like normal people having a normal conversation. He learned about her past and she learned about his.

“So why exactly did you feel the need to put your jacket on earlier when I was looking at your arm? And why do you wear the gloves? I mean I understand the looks you would get from people, I get them too when people see my arm but… I’m just asking why you care of what others think.”

She set the last dirty dish into the washer before turning it on and facing him. “It doesn’t give you the best reputation.” She removed the rubber gloves from her hands and placed them into the trash before lifting her hands and studying every crease and imperfection.

“I hate being known as the girl with the burnt hands. I hate receiving stares and sympathy looks. I hate walking down the street and hearing someone whisper ‘that really must have hurt’. People who want their food suspect that a well professional, that isn’t covered in ink and scars will serve them, hiding them not only satisfies their needs but it gets me more money. It’s just how business works.”

His hands reach for hers and brought them up to his lips. He kissed the top of her hand over and over and looked into her eyes.

“Don’t ever feel like you need to hide anything from me. You’re my soulmate and I wouldn’t want you any other way. Besides, your arm is my fault anyways. If I hadn’t lost my arm then-” (Y/N) smiled at him before cutting him off.

“Don’t. I wouldn’t want you any other way.” His teeth shined through and she mimicked his smile. They had been there hour after hour talking about anything and everything. It was the first time Bucky had truly opened up to someone and he didn’t regret it at all. He loved the way she would smile and laugh at any joke he said, whether it was funny or not. He loved the way she would give him a concerned and loving look after he shared a hurtful memory from his past. He loved the way she would listen to every word he would say, thoughtfully while simultaneously thinking of the perfect thing to say back. He wasn’t even suppose to originally come to this restaurant at first but Steve insisted, and he didn’t regret giving into his best friends wishes. He didn’t regret anything he did in his life because it all led up to this moment, the moment where he met the love of his life.

He wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. He didn’t regret a thing.

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Tags:
@gallifreyansass @bellastellaluna @walkingtravesty97 @crazy4thewinbros @iamwarrenspeace @ginger-wayward-assbutt

So, the time has come where I have decided to share my hidden Nashcon 2016 Cockles photo op with everyone.

Why did I wait so long? Because I told myself, as a silent promise to Jensen and Misha, I was going to wait one year from the day, before I share it, even though Misha said to share it initially. Haha. Anyway, it’s been four months past the year mark, and I have decided to finally unveil the photo, I know it might garnish some stuff from haters, and I might be called “disrespectful”, however I ask everyone to read below first, on how my situation went down with receiving the photo, and then cast your opinions.

 So, I am waiting in the photo op line nervous as all hell haha, I keep the front of the book hidden the entire time, just patiently and nervously waiting. The book I held in my hands was “The Threesome Handbook”, by Vicki Vantoch (For those who don’t know who she is, she’s the amazing woman married to Misha!!). I’ve had the idea in my mind for nearly a year on how funny it would be to take a photo of the three of us reading it, I could imagine Jensen’s “what the hell position is that?!” Face, I can imagine Misha’s mischevious intrigued face, and then I would just be there looking like a dork, haha, either way, it was a year’s idea in the making. So the time has come and here i am shaking with my book…When it is my turn…I walk up to them…I immediately went to Jensen first because above anyone else, I wanted to get his Blessing for the photo, I didn’t want him to do it if he was not comfortable with it, and I was perfectly fine if he would have declined…So, I’m right in front of Jensen and I say “I completely understand if you don’t want to do this but, if not, it’s okay, but can we do something with this?” I showed him the book Misha’s wife wrote “The Threesome Handbook”, and he was like “With this?” He replied with like a shocked laugh as he pointed at the book, I laughed a bit in embarrassment…Then at this moment Misha comes over to the two of us, he sees the book and giggles as he grabs it, Misha being amused at the sight of the book, all I could do is look on in embarrassment and nervously laugh. At this point however, Jensen’s handler came up right away and was like “ Nope. No. No.” And she snatched the book out of Misha’s hand. So he was like “Oh Well” with a shrug kinda look then I was like “Oh well”, I knew at that point it was the risk of asking, so I didn’t mind. So I turned to Misha and Jensen and was like “Hugs then?” So we did a hug picture. The bliss and awesomeness of being between those two, still sends shivers down my spine. Forgive the capital letters but this was the exciting part…after the picture I THEN HUGGED THEM BOTH AND SAID THANK YOU, THEN THE HANDLER GAVE THE BOOK BACK TO ME. I WAS READY TO WALK AWAY WHEN MISHA GRABBED MY HAND, PULLED ME CLOSE TO HIM AND TOLD THE PHOTOGRAPHER TO TAKE ANOTHER. SO MISHA HUGGED ME WHILE WE HELD THE BOOK AND JENSEN GAVE HIS LIKE “WHAT?!” FACE. I WAS IN SHOCK!!!! SO ALL I HAD ENOUGH REACTION TIME FOR WAS TO MAKE A DORKY LOOKING “Idk, worth a shot” SUGGESTIVE FACE.


It happened so quick…I was not expecting it at all…After the picture all I could do was happily give Misha another hug, and just mutter “Thank you thank Misha”, I gave Jensen one more quick one and kinda high tailed it out of the room shaking.

Now…I was absolutely happy, and just speechless, I had two ops, the op I wanted to do, and I spent more time with them. The thing is though…After some time…I felt bad…because I wasn’t sure if Jensen was upset…or kinda just disappointed, because I felt maybe he didn’t want to do it and it was forced, as much as I appreciate it…To confirm, I decided to apologise to him when I got my autograph…The stressful part of it all, was the timing…See…I had to wait for the pictures to print, I wanted to grab it right away because I know sometimes people take photos of other people’s pictures, and I didn’t want this to get out by someone else’s hand. The thing is Jensen was then signing autographs in the same time…So, I was pacing back and forth from the picture table and the autograph hall to see how the lines were, just as it seemed like autographs were almost over, as they called my row many minutes before, the pictures were put out. LUCKILY I received my picture and I was able to make the line for Jensen, photo hidden. So again I nervously wait in line, when I got to him in line, he recognized me and said “Hey you” and smiled, and of course I was like “Hi” *giggles* and then I said “Jensen I’m really sorry about the book photo op”. He smiled and was like “ah, it’s no problem at all” And I said “Okay I just wanted to make sure you know I didn’t mean anything bad by it” and he said “Don’t worry about it, it’s perfectly fine”. I apologized to his handler also and she said “ Its okay honey, I’m not mad about it” and they both said you have a good night and pretty much don’t worry. So *SIGH OF RELIEF*

Got my autograph and his Blessing!! However me being me, I wanted security…So…To Make sure…When I got my Misha autograph, I walk up to Misha with items in hand to get signed.


Misha: “Oh hey it’s you, how are you?”


Me: “I’m good thank you, how are you?”


Misha: “I’m good, I’m good, are you having fun?


Me: “Yeah, it’s been really great”


*Misha begins to sign my items*


Me: *Nervously* “Can I ask you a question?”


Misha: “Of course go ahead”


Me: “Was Jensen upset with the photo with the book?”


Misha: *smiles, then giggles* “Oh no, he wasn’t upset at all. He would have gone through with it if a certain handler didn’t snatch it away from us”


Me: “Are you sure? I really don’t want him to be upset, I just didn’t think it’d be bad”


Misha: “No, don’t worry about it at all, he wasn’t upset” *Misha hands back items*


Me: “Okay, thank you Misha, thank you. You have a great night” *I say while gathering my stuff*


Misha: “You’re welcome. You too” *Misha smiles*


*I turn to walk away when Misha says to me*


Misha: “Don’t give it a second thought”


I respond by just smiling and saying a relieved “Okay”, and then I turn and head out to the hall.

So…This is that photo, from my amazing Nashcon 2016 time…I hope those viewing, find the humor in it as much as I do…If you’re gonna share it, please just attach this story with it, so people know, that yes while some might find it tasteless, it was done with a calculated understanding of the actor’s feelings behind taking the photo and not without asking their personal consent for it first, the events that unfolded from it, were not expected and were out of my hands, just as well I finally want to thank Misha and Jensen and just as well, Jared!! (Though they may not ever read this haha) for everything they’re do for the fans, it was a great time and is now a hell of a story I can add to my life of events. Everyone else…enjoy. :)


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husband highs — tom h.

Originally posted by tsseract

author’s note: GUYS IM SCREAMING because i hit 1k and wow i just wanted to thank you guys by posting something. i love YOU THANK YOU FOR READING MY STUFF and since i never leave a link to my masterlist i thought i should this time so here it is.  → masterlist


  • tom would be the most extra fiance ever like he wouldn’t ever not talk about how he’s engaged to the most beautiful girl ever
  • LOL WHO AM I KIDDING HE’D SAY YOU GUYS ARE MARRIED
  • especially in interviews like he’d be on press tour to promote his movie and the interviewer would slip in a congratulatory and tom would be like
    • “thank you, thank you so much, really. i’m happy, my wife is amazing”
  • and the interviewer would be like tf i thought this kid was engaged
    • “it says here you announced your engagement yester-”
    • “WE’RE MARRIED”
  • and you’d always tell tom that he couldn’t go around telling people you two were married when you two JUST GOT ENGAGED
  • it was sending mixed signals everywhere
  • especially since tom liked to wear a ring on his wedding finger
  • he’d just wanted everyone to know that he was taken because if you had a ring showing the entire world that you were his, why couldn’t he have one to show off he was yours???
  • it was the cutest thing ever and it never failed to make you smile whenever you saw his hand 
  • anyways since he had to finish filming a movie and do a press tour you guys decided that your wedding would be after he finished both
  • that’s probably one of the reasons he couldn’t shut up about you to everyone because he was SO EXCITED
  • while he was away he’d always facetime you
  • sometimes he’d be so hyper
    • “HI MY BEAUTIFUL GIRL GUESS WHAT TODAY IS??
    • “it’s the second-”
    • “THAT’S RIGHT WE GET MARRIED IN 184 DAYS”

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the night shift (m.)

;pairing — hoseok/reader

;summary — working the graveyard shift means you’re exhausted by the time 9am comes around. lucky for you, 9am happens to be your neighbors’ favorite time for obnoxious sex. lucky for them, you’re always up for a challenge. shitty neighbors don’t always have to be a bad thing.

;warnings — language | mild unintentional voyeurism/mentions of exhibitionism | slight instances of jealousy | unprotected sex | oral sex | face-sitting | mentions of masturbation | very mild cumplay | soft dom/sub tones

;word count — 11k

;a/n — this wasn’t the hoseok story i originally wanted to post this week but this idea really excited me. happy hixtape season, everyone!

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