#and id rather speak up on the off chance that these tweets ARE seen rather than just assuming theyre not | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

monsterlovinghours · 4 years

Note

So... I found an interesting tweet and was wondering if you'd write something sexy for it.... "In Vietnam it's a popular belief that if you are single in your 20s there is a ghost following you and hindering your romantic life because it wants to be with you and I just want to tell my personal ghost to quit being a coward and fuck me already." Also I claim the ✨ Emoji, if that's okay?

That’s fine with me, Starburst! holy fucking moly this took me forever to finish and this turned out way longer than i had originally planned but fuck this is such a neat idea and it just kinda snowballed but it’s finally done hurrah!!!!

fem!reader, just bear with me i am soft and full of feelings and i need to self insert

Bitter tears stung her eyes as she unlocked the front door to her empty apartment. Her empty, cold, lonely apartment. Another unsuccessful first date, ruined before any real potential could be reached. Everything seemed to go wrong; first her car wouldn't start, then her Uber was late, the table next to theirs at the restaurant was noisy and obnoxious, and the movie they had wanted to see had been sold out. Her date hadn't offered any suggestions to further the date, just sighed and took her home. He didn't even try to touch her, barely looked at her, and that stung more than she cared to admit, to feel invisible and undesirable. If he was the first, second, or even the fifth, it might not have hurt quite so badly. But the numerous dates she had gone on since entering her twenties had all gone the same way, ending too soon without a single spark of chemistry. Was there something wrong with her? Was she that repulsive?

Sighing, she swallowed her tears for the moment and walked dejectedly to her bedroom, dropping her purse and keys as she went. Down came her hair from the careful twist she had pinned it into, Mediterranean blue waves spilling down her back, her dress shed and her shoes kicked off. Makeup removed and dressed in panties and an oversized shirt, she slipped into bed, curling up with a pillow hugged to her chest. Finally, she let the tears come, sobbing out her hurt, her frustration, her loneliness. She had thought that perhaps this would be the one that went somewhere, that she'd finally break the cycle and maybe, just once, she'd have the chance to feel wanted, to feel seen. To love and be loved, like everyone else. But no; either she was entirely unloveable, or some force out there was deliberately fucking things up for her. In desperation, she angrily muttered through her tears, "Whatever cosmic entity has decided that I'm going to be lonely and hurting forever, could you either fuck off or come fuck me yourself?"

Thud

Something fell from her desk, something relatively heavy, and she sat up with a start and a gasp, her heart hammering. Her journal had fallen to the floor, lying open on a date that was still several months in the future, and the pen that she kept tucked in the pages…was standing upright on the page, scribbling something onto the paper. Her heart rose up into her mouth, fluttering sickeningly. That...was...not normal. Slowly, she slid out of bed, approaching the journal as if it were a live thing, dangerous and fanged and unpredictable. The pen finished whatever it was writing and fell over, and she knelt to read the message it left behind.

i thought you'd never ask babe

She sat back, her eyes darting around the space as if she could catch a glimpse of the mysterious specter that seemed to be listening, watching. Her voice soft, hesitant and tremulous, she asked, "Is someone there?"

Instantly, the pen flew upright again, scratching something out just below its previous message.

been here the whole time sorry about your date.

"Oh my fucking god," she breathed, her pulse pounding in her ears. "Who...who are you? How long have you been here? Are you the one fucking with my love life?"

whoa one question at a time babes

To calm herself, she took a deep breath. "How long have you been following me?"

5 years

"Jesus." She let out a breath, unsurprised to feel her hands shake as she ran them back through her hair. "Why?"

its complicated id rather tell you face 2 face

Her brow furrowed, getting to her feet to switch on her light. "Okay. So come out and talk to me. Why are you hiding?” The pen scratched across the paper insistently.

invisible not hiding

“So...make yourself visible?” She crouched by the journal, noticing that the pen was digging into the paper so hard it was nearly tearing it.

Can’t until you say my name

“So what’s your name?”

Can’t tell you

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” she groaned, throwing up her hands in exasperation. The pen suddenly flew across the room, where a poster that had been hanging on her wall swung loose, then fluttered to the ground. Her poster of the constellations. The pen was circling something, a name...the name of a star.

“Betelgeuse?”

Almost excitedly, the pen wrote next to the star, the words jagged and sloppy.

Two more times!!!

She paused, wondering if this was truly a good idea. “Beetlejuice.”

One more one more one more please baby gimme one more

One beat, then two, then she threw caution to the wind and spoke the word one final time. “Beetlejuice.”

Her light flickered, as if to announce the sudden appearance of a very real, very solid looking figure standing with their feet planted on her poster, wearing a suit of dirty black and white stripes and a grin that could light up a small town. “You said it! You finally said it! I’ve been trying to get you to talk to me for five fucking years and you finally said my name!” Before she could speak or even breathe, he had all but lunged for her, wrapping her up in his arms, the smell of damp earth filling her lungs even as he tried to squeeze the breath out of them. Ineffectually, she squirmed in his over-enthusiastic embrace, trying to wriggle away, to take a minute to process what the fuck was happening and who the fuck was standing in her bedroom right now.

“Wait wait, hold on, so...your name is Beetlej-”

“Shhhhh!” He clapped a hand over her mouth, shaking his head vehemently. “Don’t say it. I’m sorry babes, but I’ve waited too long for this to go tits-up now.” He lowered his hand slowly, that grin resurfacing. “Okay, so I know you’ve got a lot of questions and you must be pretty excited to meet your own personal ghost but before we get to the boring stuff I gotta do one thing first.” Without giving her a chance to ask, his hands slid to her waist, pulling her to him even as he dipped her back and kissed her, his lips like ice, though surprisingly soft. What surprised her most was not the kiss itself, but rather her lack of aversion to it; she tried to tell herself it was because she hadn’t been kissed in so long that she was desperate for any kind of affection, even the strange, otherworldly, and rather abrupt kind. Oddly enough, she even found herself kissing him back, her fists gripping the lapels of his coat as he set her upright again. That Cheshire grin still hitched the corners of his mouth high, and his gaze raked over her like a physical caress, cool, white hands still curved in her waist.

"Alright. Fire away, babes, ask me anything."

"Um…" Her head spun, thoughts racing, heart still pounding a chaotic timpani in her ears. "Did...did you say 'my own personal ghost'?"

"I sure did. You're one of the lucky gals that gets a ghost attached to ya when you reach adulthood. And you've got the luck of the draw, sweet stuff, because you managed to snag the Ghost with the Most!" His thumbs hooked into his suspenders, though oddly enough, two hands still stayed clasping her waist.

"And you...you've been fucking with my dates...screwing around with my love life for five years?"

Her voice raised a bit in pitch, and he had the presence of mind to look sheepish. "Sorry about that, but none of those schmucks were good enough for you. I had to scare 'em off, you're mine."

"Excuse me??" She broke his grasp, stepping away from him as her brows knitted together in hurt and anger. "I've spent five years convinced there was something wrong with me, that I was repulsive or unattractive or unlovable, because no one ever made it past the first date, and you waited this long to tell me that it was you the whole time? Do you have any idea how worthless I felt after each failed date? How broken a-and defective I felt? How-”

“Hey hey, take it easy for a second, dollface!” He grasped at her wrists; until he grabbed them, she hadn’t realized how wildly she was gesturing. “Look, I tried. I’ve been trying since the moment I saw you to get you to talk to me. It ain’t exactly easy for the dead to communicate with the living. But you knew I was there, didn’t you? Hasn’t every house you’ve lived in felt just a little bit haunted?” She paused, thinking back to all the doors she had closed but hadn’t opened, the objects on the floor that had been sitting secure on a shelf when she’d left, the quiet moments when she couldn’t sleep when she swore she could feel eyes on her. Encouraged by her pause, he continued. “You breathers are stubborn, you just don’t wanna see what’s right under your noses. Until tonight, I barely had enough influence on the living world to push a piece of paper off the desk. But you...you called for me. You finally gave in and called for me.” He grinned again, and though the fangs should have made him seem frightening and demonic, he just seemed...relieved. “I was finally able to tell you my name, and let me tell ya, there hasn’t been a single sound in my very, very long existence sweeter than you calling my name.”

She took a deep breath in, processing everything he had told her, everything that had happened in...god, had it only been three minutes? “What did you mean when you said that...I was yours? What does that mean?”

He shrugged, pulling her closer, his hand pressing against the small of her back. “Means you’re mine, babe. It means that you’re my girl.” Something dulled the gleam in his eyes, and to her surprise, the green in his hair began to fade to a deep, shamed violet. “I was there for every night you fell asleep cryin’ over some guy who would have only hurt you in the end. It gutted me that I couldn’t do anything to help. You’re my baby, and I don’t like to see you hurt, and I really don’t like being the one to hurt you. But it had to be done. You didn't belong with any of them." He opened his mouth as if to say something else, but shook his head, his eyes squeezing shut as his hair faded back to green, as if he were forcing the color to appear. "We're wasting too much time talking when I should be kissing you."

"W-We just met!" The outrage on her voice felt like a show, a dutiful proper response to finding a green-haired, handsy ghost in her bedroom. But she hadn't once tried to wriggle out of his arms, unconsciously leaning closer when his hand slid up her spine.

Beetlejuice shook his head, stepping into her, strands of pink peeking through the green of his hair as he felt her body against his, solid and oh, so warm. "We've known each other for years, honey. You may not have had a face or a name, but deep down you've always known I was there. If I was just some stranger, you'd have run for the hills by now." She wanted to argue, but as much as she didn't want to admit it, he was right. His presence felt familiar, like a memory from her past she had all but forgotten about, but the emotions attached still lingered. It was why she hadn’t struggled when he reached for her, hadn’t tried to shake off his grasp, had kissed him back. His grin widened when she didn’t argue or protest, and he pulled her close, her body flush to his; he all but purred at the way her lashes fluttered, her hands naturally settling on his shoulders, as if they had done this a hundred times.

“Let me kiss you,” he rasped, holding her chin in his hand. “I’ve been waiting for you for so long, babe, please...let me give you a real kiss.” There wasn’t much more than a fraction of a second of hesitation before she nodded, gaze flicking to his mouth just before the distance closed and her brought her lips to his. With that first urgent kiss out of the way, this one was softer, more patient, sweet, and when she felt his tongue trace the seam of her lips, she parted them without question. Oh, it was wonderful, more so than she had ever dreamed, to be kissed like she was the most beautiful woman in the world, to have hands pressed so close to her skin, as if she would slip from his fingers and shatter if he let go. She wasn’t quite sure how they had ended up on her bed, but the softness of the duvet embraced her as he laid her back, kneeling over her. She moaned as the tip of his tongue flicked against hers, the sound echoed as he tasted the first flickers of her pleasure, soft and tremulous, like the first stretch of the wings of a newly emerged butterfly.

“I wanna touch you,” he growled, his kisses trailing down her neck. “Fuck, you taste so good already, baby.” One of his hands rested at her collarbone, waiting for the invitation to slip lower. “Please, honey, let me pull your shirt up? Wanna feel just how warm you are under there…”

“Wait,” she said breathlessly, leaning up on one elbow. He seemed confused, perhaps just a touch annoyed, but he stopped. “All those years you spent following me around...did you ever…” She gestured to herself. He smirked.

“Of course not. Not that I didn’t want to, sweetness, but when I saw you for the first time, I wanted you to be able to see me back, y’know?”

“And when I...had...alone time?” She arched a brow, and his grin widened.

“Didn’t see a thing. Scout’s honor. Though, I definitely heard quite a lot. You know, you’re not nearly as quiet as you think you are.” Her cheeks flushed red, and she turned her head to the side in an attempt to mute the color rising in her cheeks. “Nope, huh-uh. Keep those eyes on me, babe.” His fingers gripped her chin again, bringing her gaze back to his. “I want you to keep looking at me, no matter what.” She nodded, and he grinned, kissing the tip of her nose. “Good girl. Now, lemme get a look at you.” Perhaps not quite as slowly as he should have, he grasped the hem of her shirt and lifted it, groaning as her breasts came into view, soft and tipped with dusky pink. “Oh fuck,” he nearly whimpered, and she moaned as his hips pressed into hers, seeking warmth and friction. “Such a gorgeous little thing. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve seen you come in from the cold, saw these little beauties all stiff and hard through your shirt, and wanted to tease them with my tongue until I had you moaning and squirming.”

She shivered, letting loose a soft sound of want as he settled his weight more firmly over her, purring like a cat as he leaned down to kiss her nipples, first one, then the other. A moan left her as she felt his tongue softly lick at one stiff peak, her hand tangling in his hair, which to her surprise pulled an answering moan from him. Seems she had found a weak spot.

Oh, she had never dreamed that this would feel so nice, his mouth at her breasts, sucking, kissing, licking, teasing. His hands, still cool but warmer than before, squeezed the full flesh, kneading restlessly, and she arched her back, pulling her shirt off all the way and moaning. His scruff tickled her skin, made her shiver and break out in goosebumps, and she let her fingers drift through his hair, causing him to spill little growls and purrs against her skin.

"Ohhhh, baby," he groaned, lifting his head, his hair a deep rose pink, his pupils wide, drinking in the sight of her. "Baby girl, I've dreamt of this moment for five years, I wanted to make it so good for you. But I don't think I can wait." His hand slipped down her body, palm flat to her skin to touch as much of her as he could at once, then slid between her legs, inside her panties to cup her sex, the heel of his hand pressing into her clit. She keened, her toes curling, and he groaned in response. "Please, babe," he murmured, pushing the tip of his middle finger into her. "Please?"

"Yes," she said, with no hesitation, nodding enthusiastically. "Yes, god, please."

There it was again, that mega-watt grin, his mouth split wide with joy. "Thank you, doll, fuck...oh, I've been wanting this for far too long." He sat up, and in the time it took for him to be upright again, his clothing-suit, tie, and all-had vanished, leaving him naked and visibly throbbing. His hands shook as he pulled down her panties, his cock twitching as he saw her bare for the first time. “You’re so fucking gorgeous, my god…” Nearly the same temperature as her now, he touched her, thumb rubbing her clit as he pressed two fingers inside. “Has any guy ever done this to you before," he asked lowly, his free hand sliding up her thigh as he watched his fingers slide in and out of her.

"No." Her answer came immediately with a shake of her head, hips rolling against his hand. "No one."

"I knew it." He grinned, withdrawing his fingers and popping them in his mouth with a deep groan. "Knew you'd wanna save this for me." Licking his lips to savor her, he crawled over her, grasping himself to guide his cock to her entrance. The tip pressed inside, and he groaned, shivering as he saw her teeth come down on her lower lip. "Feel okay?"

"Feels great," she murmured, reaching up to hesitantly cup his cheek in her hand. "You can move, honey, you won't hurt me." Her heart gave a funny little stutter as he nuzzled into her palm, as if craving her touch. He began to rock his hips, so shallow and gentle, widening her for him, though she could see the strain it put on him to go slow, the tension in his shoulders and the clench of his jaw. Any last doubts she had about him melted away as she fully understood the care he was treating her with. To wait so long for somebody, to be with them every second and watch them laugh and cry and hurt without you, to ache with the need to touch them and be near them, and for the object of your affections to not be able to see you, let alone touch you...she could only imagine how frantic for her he must feel, but he was taking the time to consider her comfort, setting a slow pace despite the fact that it must be torture for him. “Beej?” She spoke the nickname softly, and his gaze focused on her with laser intensity, teeth exposed in a grin. “You don’t have to take it so slow, I won’t break.” Her thumbs stroked over his cheeks, slipping down to cup the sides of his neck and trace his jaw. “I want you to...to feel me. I made you wait so long, honey, but you can make up for lost time now. Don’t hold back.”

A thousand expressions crossed his face at once, his hand sliding around the back of her neck to lift her head, pressing his forehead to hers. “Baby,” he rasped, sounding on the brink of some tremulous emotion, “are you sure? I want this to be good for you-”

“This is as much for you as it is for me. If...if we’re really meant for each other, then isn’t it my job to take care of you, too?”

Beetlejuice let out a soft noise that sounded suspiciously like a sob, his lips pressing desperately to hers. “How did I get so fucking lucky to land a babe like you?” And with a snap of his hips, he was fully hilted, his eyes rolling back to the whites as she jolted in his arms, her wet warmth squeezing him, gripping him so tight. A string of curses left his lips, some in a strange language she suspected wasn’t from anywhere aboveground, and she lifted her legs to wrap around his waist, anchoring herself to him. “Fuck, that’s it, babycakes,” he crooned, his hips rolling, groaning with each delicious slide within her velvet. “Ohhh shit, you take me so well...yeah, fuck, you feel so damn good, sweet stuff. You doin’ okay?”

Oh God, was she ever. It was a little uncomfortable at first; while he was average in length, he more than made up for it in width, and there had been a strange burning as she stretched to accommodate him. But that sensation of fullness, of movement, of joining...was indescribable. It felt like breathing for the first time. Like the final piece of a puzzle slotting into place. Like the ceasing of a lifelong pain she had grown too used to to notice until it was no longer there. “Yeah,” she answered, tears gathering in her eyes. “I’m great. P-Please, you can go faster.”

He looked stricken at the glisten of her eyes and the tremble in her voice. “You sure? We can stop if it hurts, babes, I don’t-”

“No.” Her hands shot up to thread through his hair, yanking on it to pull him down into a kiss, the first time she had kissed him. “God, no. It doesn’t hurt, honey, it feels...oh, you feel so fucking good…” To emphasize her point, she squeezed her walls around him, bucking her hips up, and he groaned, shuddering against her. “More, please, I need more of you.”

His mouth left hers, but his lips wouldn’t or couldn’t seem to leave her skin, kissing across her cheek, the delicate shell of her ear, down her throat. “Fuck, say it again,” he murmured into the hollow of her throat as his pace increased, pushing harder, faster, the sense of something on the verge of collapse filling the room around them.

She knew what he meant, and she smiled, combing her fingers through his hair, neck arching as her hair spread across the pillow. “I need you,” she repeated, her body meeting his, rising up as he pushed down, rolling and cresting and crashing like waves against the shores of her bedsheets. “I need you, please.”

Whatever splintering dam had been holding him back finally broke, and he latched his teeth into her throat with a cry, slamming into her with unrestrained passion, marking her at her pulse, her collarbones, even just under her jaw. She was his, his, and no one else could ever have her now. She had called him, accepted him, opened herself to him in so many ways, in ways he never dreamed a beauty like her ever would. Praise dripped from his lips like rain, showering her in attention and bite marks. Her back curved, her body alight with sensation, each nerve electrified as she held him tighter and tighter, curling herself around him and letting herself get lost in him. This was everything she had wanted, everything she had been missing, in the world’s most unconventional lover. Affection, pleasure, desire, playfulness, care and attention. Her heart melted, her entire self surrendering to him; she felt it now, felt the rightness of his claim. She was his, body and soul. She always had been.

His moans changed in pitch, his thrusts frantic, mindlessly chasing his pleasure as he took her hand, pressing it into the bed beside her head as his fingers wove between hers. “Babe, fuck, I’m gonna come...can I come inside you, baby? Huh? Can I fill you up, sweetness, fill you up and make you come with me? Please, baby girl, I’m so close…” He growled, nipping at her earlobe. “Let me make you mine.”

She nodded, almost too breathless to reply. “Yes,” she whispered. “Please, I’m already yours.”

He groaned, sucking her bottom lip between his teeth, pulling it back before releasing it. “Say it again. Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m y-oohh fuck!” She cried out, cursing as his free hand began rubbing her clit, hard and fast, tripling her pleasure all at once. “I’m yours!”

“Again, babes…”

“Yours, Beej, I’m yours!”

“Louder, baby, scream for me!”

“Yours!”

With a shout, he broke, his entire body shivering as he came, cool and so deep within her she could practically taste it. The fingers at her clit didn’t let up, and moments later she was following him, her pleasure crackling through her, spreading like lightning across a stormy sky through her body. Her vision faded, dimmed, but the light of his smile and the sound of his voice remained clear as day, grounding her as the muscles in her body unfurled one by one, her body collapsing against the bed as the pleasure faded slowly. There was the sensation of something dripping down her thighs, something wet and just slightly cooler than her own skin, and a delicious little shiver went through her at the sensation, heightening the little aftershock tremors.

“Fuck,” he breathed, lowering himself to rest his head on the pillow of her breasts, “that was worth the wait.” His hands cupped them, pressed them together as he buried his face between them. For a few moments, everything was silent and still, his lips skimming her skin in little butterfly kisses as she stroked her fingers through his hair, catching her breath. Then, she heard something, heard his voice, heard a muffled voice murmur something that sounded suspiciously like, “I love you.”

“What was that?”

Lifting his face ever so slightly, but not looking up at her, he said loudly, “I said you have nice tits!” The words tumbled out of him a little too quickly, and the sudden flush of pink in his hair was a sign that he hadn’t meant for her to hear him, or perhaps he hadn’t meant to speak out loud at all. Either way, she didn’t press the matter, smiling secretly to herself. His kisses, however, became firmer, his tongue even darting out to flick against her skin, and she moaned, wriggling against him as his lips began to migrate south.

“Where’re you headed, honey?”

“God, I like hearing you call me that.” He grinned up at her, licking over her navel. “What, you didn’t think I was done with you, didja? No way, dollface, I’ve got five years of lovin’ to make up for.”

She could have made the argument that they had tons of time to make up for those five years, but as his fingers spread her open to allow his tongue to lap at her clit, the sentence was erased from her mind, her hips jolting up into his mouth. It had been worth it, she decided as his clever, hungry mouth sent her spiraling into one frenzied orgasm after another. All the heartache and tears and lonely nights had been worth it, since it had all lead up to him. For the first time, she felt wanted. Felt loved. Felt truly, finally seen.

206 notes · View notes

spaceshipkat · 5 years

Note

Hi Kat. I’m about to go on a rant. I hope you’d read this to end, because while you might get mad, id hope you’re the type of person who understands. I am so sick of the ya community and book twitter in general. I’m so sick of the double standards and self-serving behavior. The ‘motto’ is to call out bad behavior,and everyone touts it as the right thing to do. Well bull shit. The motto apparently only applies until you’re afraid of your career tanking before it begins and that is so (1/x)

(2/x) mother effing screwed up and twisted - if you dare call out ONE popular author you’re done for, even if they act like an asshat. No one says boop about sjm on twitter, it’s all subtweets and vague comments from people who could MAKE AN IMPACT - aveyard, Dennard, bardugo, Ireland, tahir, McKinney, Stone, the Pitch Wars community, and dozens others. But they don’t. And while I was hoping it would be different for Tomi Adeyemi, since aaaaaaaaaaall these folks love to preach about pointing

(3/x) out wrongs with a big stage light, all that’s been shown is that people. Don’t. Change. And by people I mean ya authors. Even you, Kat. I hate to say it. Tomi needs to be held accountable by people who matter to HER and as much as I’m sure she’d like to pretend no one is her peer, that’s on you guys. Not one damn ya author DIRECTLY stated what Adeyemi did was wrong with falsely accusing NR. NO ONE, point out a tweet if I’m wrong. And now with her snubbing writing mutuals in this manner

(4/x)it’s even worse. Would you all stand up for yourselves, for each other, for ONCE, and shine the light on the ugliness she and other people want to wish away by ignoring it? Yes it would be ugly. It would be horrible. People would lose precious followers and friends and be attacked. Yet after all that, MAYBE other authors down the road will consider consequences before thinking they are invincible. If you give passes to Maas, to Adeyemi, to ANY author who acts this way JUST because

(5/x) because their books are ‘revolutionary, inspirational, LIFE CHANGING’ then you’re the real problem. It’s like letting a cardiac surgeon off a drunk driving charge with a little slap because he or she saves lives, because they do good things. I’m so over this shit. So over it and yet I’m not able to walk away bc being an author is my DREAM and I have to stomach all this ugliness and pettiness and double standards, and be like YOU if I want to have a chance at seeing my name on a shelf.

(6/x)So if you read all this, Kat, thank you. You probably hate every word I’ve hurled at you. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe the villagers will rally with pitchforks. That’s ok. Good night.

i agree, i wish more authors would speak up about so many things that go on in the industry, but the main reason authors don’t often speak up about author behavior (and often the content of their books) is bc we’re all in this one business together, and speaking up against another author in public would be the equivalent to loudly talking about a coworker’s behavior while you’re gathered around the water cooler. in the book industry, 90% of the things that go on happen behind closed doors rather than out in a public forum such as twitter. i’ve had to talk to friends who tweet something that might be 😬 but we always do it in private. it’s typically what happens when it comes to authorial behavior vs problematic content in books. as i’m sure you’ve seen, problematic content does get called out (though not nearly as often as it should be, and it largely is only pointed out to debut authors rather than established ones such as sj/m), bc that’s what matters to the reading community at large.

it’s the same reason most authors don’t speak up unless they’re unafraid of hurting their careers. as you saw with Tomi and Nora, Tomi’s career was likely impacted in terms of her reputation and future readers, since many people (fans of Adult and YA alike) have said that they won’t be reading Tomi’s books after this. while Tomi’s tweet was 100% wrong, it’s a good example of what would happen if someone did decide to speak up. for what it’s worth, i do speak up on twitter about sj/m’s books, though i don’t do it exactly how i do here bc this is a different forum from twitter and thus has a different set of rules to follow, largely in terms of how candid you can be. when you’re an author, your reputation is one of the most important things to keep clean. it’s why authors often don’t rate books on goodreads, since, again, you don’t want to be loudly complaining about someone you work with while you’re standing at the water cooler.

with giving passes, i don’t think i’ve done that here at all. Tomi is undoubtedly being talked to by her friends and her team in the wake of the Nora situation, but that’s going to be occurring in private. it’s why a manager calls you into their office to detail what you’ve done wrong, rather than just standing in the middle of the workroom to talk to you about your behavior. and that’s one thing you need to remember: publishing is a business, first and foremost, and like any business there are rules and protocol to follow. it’s why you don’t blog about being on submission, why you don’t tweet that you just got your first offer of rep and are so excited it about it, bc agents do look you up (for example, my agent looked at my twitter when he signed me and we talked about the publishers and editors who followed me) and when they see that they’re likely to just throw up their hands and walk away, even if they were interested in the writer’s work, bc they won’t see the point in throwing their name in as well for a writer who is already squeeing over offering agent #1.

so when you say that we need to stand up for each other and ourselves when it comes to calling out authors, we already do. it just happens where you can’t see it for all the reasons i’ve listed above; it’s why i always say that this industry is minuscule, but all of us talk. there are so many cases where authors have news to share that they can’t talk about until they’re given the green light by their agent/editor/publisher. book deal announcements typically come monthsssss after the author has signed the contract. i know someone who was told the announcement was going up that day, but it kept getting pushed back and back and back until the news finally dropped a couple weeks later.

there are a lot of things that have made me disenchanted with the YA community because it has changed a lot in the seven years i’ve been involved in it. i don’t really like spending time on twitter, for example, bc there are some things about how authors act on there that i really dislike. (for example, to reference what i said in the above paragraph, i really dislike when authors tweet “omg i have big news to share uwu can’t wait for everyone to know it!” bc it comes off as very braggadocios and bc it really rubs it in the nose of other authors and writers who are struggling that this person has news to share and they can’t wait and they want to tease us with it for…reasons. don’t get me wrong, i am thrilled to pieces for some authors when they have good news, but i could do without the teasing, bragging part of it.) but regardless, we can’t publicly state that for the reasons i’ve listed above.

this is the kind of industry where you have to smile on the outside even if you’re screaming on the inside, because you never know if you’ll one day end up on a panel with that writer you talked about on twitter, or they’ll switch to your publisher, or they’ll sign with your agent, so on and so forth. your reputation and platform in this industry are as important and integral as good writing. thus, those two things are our guidelines for how, when, why, and where to speak up about an author’s behavior or problematic content.

i hope this clears things up! and you never have to be afraid of sending asks like this, bc i try to make this blog a place where anyone can feel safe to speak up (unless someone tells me to kill myself, in which case they can go to hell).

#ask #anonymous #kat rambles #long post #publishing #anti sjm #authors behaving badly

38 notes · View notes

stone-man-warrior · 3 years

Text

April 20, 2021: 6:28 pm:

==============================================

Please send help to Josephine county Oregon.

Please send medical services.

Please send US Military, read this account to learn why that is necessary,

Bring your own hospital, all of the medical providers are occupied and controlled by the British/SAG/Canadian terror army, US citizens are killed at the hospitals and clinics.

===================

This happened in my inbox from the idiot SAG terror operative who is trying to discount what I am reporting, this note came from the same anonymous asshole who mentioned the Knights Templar yesterday.

My response to that yesterday is a good explanation, covers the basic things that are in place, and took place over time, to attack USA and other parts of the world.

==============

I decided not to go the Pain Specialists to verify weather or not the call about having been banned from medical treatment there that I received yesterday. The way the phones are hijacked by the terror army here in southern Oregon, there is no way to be certain that the calls people receive are originated from the phone number shown on the caller ID, and, there is no way to be certain that outgoing calls actually reach the numbers dialed. Actors in special terror call centers interfere and manipulate all of the communications of all kinds. That’s why no one in Oregon was able to reach help when the slaughter was at it’s height years ago. There still is no way to reach helpful people.

I decided at about 3:00 am not to go, as the situation has become too dangerous, the caller said my appointment had been cancelled because “the Pain Specialists of Southern Oregon don‘t want to be held liable for my leg condition.” That is an counter intuitive statement, as I really need life saving antibiotic medicine. Even though the place is a front for terror activities at the SAG leadership levels, the fake doctors there still do prescriptions, so, now I have absolutely zero optimism about finding life saving antibiotic medicine. At 3:00 am this morning, I was having the most painful reaction to the poison injection attack so far, I have not slept in a number of days, only rested my eyes, but the pain is too intense for sleep, so, that is when I decided I could not endure the ride to Medford to go to my appointment, or be turned away at the front door, as those were the possibilities, without consideration of what kind of physical attack plan they may have had in mind at Pain Center of Southern Oregon.

Currently, I am experiencing pain levels in my right leg and foot that are nearly comparable to the spinal cord tear that I experienced in 2012 when the terror army ran me over with a truck, and the Sheriff refused to come question the driver when I called 911 and then called the sheriff office. The driver of the truck parked and stayed at the Philips residence for many hours, in view, after running me over that day.

The poison is very painful. Extreme pain.

Right now, a ten day supply of Amoxicillin, or other suitable antibiotic, is what would save my life. Without some antibiotics, I think there is a good chance I will die of infection, as the poisons are not leaving my body, the sores remain open wounds, and the small amount of infection is growing rapidly. It’s become too painful to try to massage wound areas for moving blood in anticipation of healing as a result.

There are no antibiotic medications available in USA without a doctors prescription. An antibiotic would begin to lessen the pain with the first dose.

Something to relieve swelling would also be helpful, but some antibiotics are required at this point in my post poison attack injury, more than two months without remedy or improvement.

The medical professions have the antibiotics locked up tighter than a bulls ass in fly season. There is no way to get anywhere near them without a doctor.

This:

The poison that was injected, remains inside my leg, is saturated into the muscle tissue. I have hydrogen peroxide, and so far I have used about 4 quarts in the two months in effort to eliminate infection with daily, sometimes hourly rinsing of the wounds with peroxide.

The wounds are such that the peroxide does not readily penetrate the scab area, so, I gently use my fingers to move the peroxide around, to get it to go into the sores, and that activity of using my fingers to move the peroxide makes a very big froth of foamy white material, it’s nothing like the usual peroxide result where some infection bubbles out of a wound, this that happens as I explained is a lot like shave cream sort of amounts of foam froth.

It’s not the way it’s supposed to be.

So, if I continue to push that foamy froth around, or add more peroxide and use my fingers to gently rub that into the wound, then, tiny particles of skin are coming off of my leg around the wound where the frothy peroxide is at. The tiny skin particles are very small, about 1/32 inch square-ish. When that happens, it’s as if the peroxide has become foamy paint remover, and my skin is the paint.

That, buuuurrrrrrrnnnnnsssss.... real bad, add expletives here.

The burning sensation from the skin coming off has prevented me from using the peroxide some of the time, however, the peroxide is all that I have available for fighting against the infection, so, I just have to accept that it’s going to hurt, and try not to use my fingers to rub the peroxide, not even a gentle touch is tolerable once the skin starts to peel away.

So, maybe that information will help someone else. I am not the only person who has been attacked with this kind of COVID Corona poison attack. It’s clear to me that the terror army developed the poison combination to achieve maximum pain, and minimize what can be done to stop the advance of infection.

As it is, the toes feel ice cold, so, apply some heat to warm them up, then, even a tiny bit of warm radiated heat that gets close to the shin produces pain that is not bearable.

Warm the frozen toes, suffer of burning fire at the shin.

I say the bastards tested different poisons on kidnapped US citizens and recorded the results based on how the kidnapped prisoners responded to a verity of different poisons. I am convinced for many reasons that the terror bastards torture US Citizens in effort to produce the most painful poison attack substance combination that they were able to, and are likely continuing to torture victims to find even more painful poisons that can be injected on an attack, where diagnosis and identification of the substances is increasingly more difficult.

Screen Actor Guild rock stars doing experimental torture with injected poisons on the children they are kidnapping.

===============================

I suppose I will make a comment about the Derick Chauvin trial outcome:

I have not been interested in any of it. To me, none of that trial or the man the is said to have been killed is real, it all looks like it was produced by Lester Holt’s production team to me at nbc/Universal/Comcast, all of it from the time that Mr. Floyd was taken into custody and kneeled on, the trial charade, and later tomorrow and in the coming days we will see yet more of the nbc/Universal/Comcast production directed by Lester Holt. There are numerous indications that the Floyd Death/Chavin Trial were directed and produced by Lester Holt specifically. With interview of interested national security personnel I could show many subtle places where Mr. Holt was sort of... saluted ... by other Twitter news media personalities over the course of the trial. And, now that I have seen those “salutes” during the trial, I think more similar communication can be found in the video presentations of the time when the Floyd murder was still fresh, “demonstrations” happening everywhere. Find some tweets today that feature someone saying “Let me clear my throat”, and there you have a clue to other “salutes” that can be found. Another place is Sean Hannity and the Trump interview, where Hannity’s voice is not quite right, seems like someone else did a voice over for parts of Hannity’s speaking ... there is a “salute” sort of vibe going on with that, the way I am reading the information. There is a lot more of those little indicators that add up, but mean nothing in aggregate.

If Mr. Floyd was a real person, and really was killed the way we are told, then, it happened before 2008, and so did the trial. Real, or fake, I say all of that happened before 2008, the murder and the trial, and was already presented on Beta Twitter once before, the whole thing.

The only thing I care to point out in absence of a national security interview to talk about potential connection to personal details in Oregon, is about the Judge, and about his instructions to the jury at the time they were sequestered.

The Judge pointed out, specified, that “This trial is a very important one” etc, and so on, when he instructed the jurors about the rules they were to follow.

That statement about the importance of that particular trial was made as if other trials are less important.

That is not acceptable from a Judge.

That, and, the statement draws attention of the jurors to activity occurring outside of their sequestered, isolated positions.

All trials are equally important, as are the people involved in them.

I would further point out that the Dereck Chauvin trial is exemplary of good reasons why there should never be televised coverage from within an ongoing trial. The results could have been explosive ones. nothing good has ever resulted of televised coverage of trials from within the court hearings.

=====================================

9:01 pm:

Other:

I suppose this is a good a time as any that I should document more about my visit to the Walmart the other day:

What I did not mention, is that I was attacked by three people while at the Walmart. The attack was different than any other attack I have experienced there, as it happened in the store aisles, rather than at the checkout area. I don’t recall having been attacked in the store aisles in more than fifteen years, and back then, attack at the Walmart had no limits, they were killing people everywhere in the store back then.

I mentioned that I used a restroom, it was the one in the back of the store, at the end of the cat food aisle. When I came out, I encountered a Walmart Blue Vest who was entering the restroom as I was exiting. Then, I pushed my shopping cart toward the checkout, I was done shopping, and in the cat food aisle there were two people releasing a lot of nitrous oxide in the aisle, a man and a woman. I lit my lighter and those two launched away, one went in the direction of the hardware department, and the other went towards the dairy area. Over the store PA system, I overheard an immediate call for evac: “Evac to hardware...” there was more said, was inaudible, sounded like “Evac to hardware frame” so, I don’t know what that means beyond hardware department. I did not hear mention of evac for the other one that went towards the dairy department.

In the main aisle that is perpendicular to the cat food aisle across the width of the store, were many pallets of products all in the aisle and stacked in a not so tidy fashion, the items were stacked tall in some places, many cardboard boxes, many on pallets, all there in the aisle that leads from Auto Service to Grocery departments. More stuff than is usual, and what was strange about those items in the aisle that day was that there was no one doing store inventory work. That is what makes the items on pallets different than other times, when they stack items in the aisle, there is usually many Walmart Blue Vests doing restocking of the shelves, but those people were not there while I was at the store.

There, in that long aisle where the items on pallets were at, as I walked there through the cat food aisle, a man appeared from behind the shelf, then saw me, and quickly turned around and went back in the direction he had come from. Another person came into the aisle, and said loudly: “I want my chair Rick”. to that I responded: “I don‘t think they sell furniture here” as the person was close to me when she spoke.

The man who turned around also spoke as he walked out of view, He said: “I’m his nurse” to someone else, maybe over a communication device, I did not see who he may have been speaking to.

I went on my way towards the checkout, and in that aisle where all of those pallets of goods was at, that man who turned around came back, attacked me so fast that I have almost no recollection of what happened. I defended with my trusty fingernail clippers, and as I recall, the man had a hammer in his hand, was trying to strike my foot with the hammer as I began to defend.

The man was decapitated in defense.

That man, was wearing a disguise. He may have been wearing a Pixel Suite inside of the Walmart. The attack was a blur in the midst of all of those boxes in the aisle.

I suspect the man was Paul Leppert of Pain Specialists of Southern Oregon, and is the real reason that I was refused service, my appointment cancelled.

Paul Leppert: WM, about 70 years old, bald, about 5′ 10″, 150 pounds.

Paul Leppert has an interest in WWII, Vietnam, Korean War details. He often has anecdotes about his experience in war, talks a lot about his “Flack Jacket” and things that happened when he was wearing one, and times when he was not wearing one. He tells about war stories while I am in the exam room trying to get some medical attention. Paul Leppert should have a number of scars on him where he was ran through with his own sword, in defense, while in the exam room for a doctors appointment, perhaps as many as five such scars that healed, each wound from different appointments, each time, Leppert entered the exam room with the sword. I was able to take the sword, and turn it around many times. Leppert has his own hospital there at the Pain Specialists and he gets the very best medical services there are, so, he keeps coming back to life every time I fight him, like a cockroach.

Leppert and other terror soldiers often use a “third arm”, it’s a sling that looks like an arm, the weapon is held behind the back with the real arm, while the “third arm” fake one is held in front, usually has a clip board or other prop attached for drawing attention before the assailant swings the sword. (see photos of Secret Service, or, of a Cheech Marin movie where he used the third arm also)

So, there ya go.

That’s what happened.

0 notes