#and i want a physical copy of happy place but when is that paperback coming out pls

[brekker-by-brekkerr]

WAKE UP NEW EMILY HENRY BOOK ANNOUNCEMENT!!!!! 

this woman always writes exactly what i could want from a story (and then also blows my mind with how much more incredible it is than expected). writers in beach houses going on romcom dates and having you belong with me mv conversations with each other from their windows? best friends to lovers who go on adventures together? a vegetarian older sister protagonist who works in book publishing and is allowed to love her career and life in the city and doesn’t have to change that??? a found family in a coastal town and a second chance romance and a people pleaser protagonist? like these all feel like they were specifically written with me in mind (and i would go out on a limb and say they feel that way for a lot of people) and this new book is the next in line to do the same because. roommates??? i just went on a rant to my friend the other day about how i love the subset of forced proximity that is roommates to lovers (it’s the way you grow to be so comfortable and authentic around each other) and how i want more books like this and. the queen emily henry heard me??? and it’s still a summer romance. and the protagonist is a librarian!! and the concept is genius. GENIUS. i love her. she never disappoints

[see-arcane]

A message to all the assorted unscrupulous undead: Beware the Ides of March.

To everyone else: Grab your kukri blades, your bowie knives, your stakes, your bone saws, and whatever else you have on hand to appropriately accessorize with your new copy of The Vampyres.

The book is out! Loose! Running rampant and bloodstained through the terrains of eBook and paperback alike!

My beautiful little baby, toddling into the literary world to deliver havoc unto the dastardly bastards of the revenant realm. I’m so proud. (And so happy to feel the stress headache finally start to crack.)

Now that The Vampyres is out in the open, a brief FAQ under the cut:

Where can I get the eBook?

Check out the Universal Book Link (UBL) here:

It’ll show you all the places you can grab a virtual vampyre by the throat.

Where can I get the paperback?

For folks in ‘murrica, I’d say hit up Bookshop.org to go and grab it from your physical store of choice:

You can also just search The Vampyres C.R. Kane and see the waterfall of options. Not sure of the exact timeline, but it should be more widely available in the coming weeks. At least hereabouts:

Pictured: Places to potentially purchase a paperback.

Can I get it at my library?

If you ask for it, yes! You’ll need the ISBNs when filling out your library’s request form, so:

eBook ISBN: 9798218374594

Paperback ISBN: 9798218374587

What’s the status on that paperback cover business?

Current status is still ???

At least in the sense that I’m not sure what version of the book cover you might get at the moment. Original matte? Temporary glossy? Updated matte that’s here to stay? No idea at the moment. My self-publishing page shows the update’s confirmed, but the online stores are still using the first version as the preview image and I’m not sure when that gets swapped out. At least the books are all print-on-demand, so whatever you order, just know it’s not coming from some thrown-away backup heap. It’s fresh from the book oven press.

Anything else I need to know?

First, reviews are extremely welcome! I am running on negative budget when it comes to waving my little flag to announce that I Made a Scary Vampire Book, so I’m really relying on word-of-mouth if I want it to actually get its head above water. Leaving stars and comments wherever you can, be it in the online stores, the Goodreadses or Smashwordses or whatever else, would be a big help.

(Really though, I can and will dissolve into a puddle of relieved ego if I see so much as one (1) Nice Comment on Tumblr, my cesspool of choice.*)

*This is not hyperbole. I can count on one hand how many PROMOTION © ™ posts I’ve made on Twitter and have fingers left over. This novella is tailored to my fellow fiendish bookworms on here.

Second, to those coming by this stuff for the first time and don’t know what all this hoopla is about, a preview of my novella, The Vampyres, is available on my website. Give it a gander if you want to see under-appreciated classic supernatural bogeymen dropped into their own horror story.

Thirdly, lastly, vitally: thank you.

The Vampyres is a beautiful accident that came together out of an itch to rattle something out just for myself; a break from a bloated piece that had turned into a chore which burned me out and threw away the fun of scribbling. A lightweight read that saved me from being crushed by a cinderblock.

By the same token, the people on here have shouldered me up and out of the creative pit of thinking ‘This is all for nothing.’ For all that I talk of how much I’m powered by spite and the desire to Read a Specific Thing only to realize I Have to Write That Thing First, I’d be a liar if I said the kindness and excitement of the folks who’ve been reading my nonsense for (holy hell) TWO YEARS in the wake of the first big Dracula Daily surge didn’t have a major role in getting this thing done.

I did make The Vampyres for me. But it’s for you guys too. For everyone who saw one of my rambles or little fictions and spoke up to say, I love this! I was thinking this! I wanted this! Finally, finally!

When you crack open the cover for the first time, on a screen or in your hands, I want you to know I’m thinking Thank You at you. I hope you enjoy all the horrors inside.

Postscript:

If you want more info on other stuff I'm tinkering with, check out my website here:

[takeariskao3]

i have a question/favor that you don't have to answer if you aren't comfortable with it, but would you be okay with people printing your fics? like when the path from you is finished, would you give permission for people (me) to have it printed?

for the path from you specifically i know that *i* want to get it printed.. so i'm absolutely honored if you want a physical copy for yourself as well. i haven't looked into the process of printing paperbacks or anything like that and i know that i personally am not trying to make money off book binding my own fics.. but a few months ago i did made a cover concept because i was bored 🙈

i think when the time comes i'd want to reformat a few things and figure out a way to make static images of the prophet articles so they could be chapter headers and what not. if and when i get it to a place that i would print it for myself i would be more than happy to share that pdf for others who might also want it.

thank you for the question and for asking if i'm comfortable with it! that means a lot!

[captainaikus]

Also I loved reading The Alchemist but I seriously need to get my own copy for a reread. Have you heard of No Longer Human by Dazai Osamu? It’s Japanese classic literature and I was very emotional by the end of it because at that point in my life I could really relate with so many things the author wrote abt. I need to reread it eventually with a new set of eyes and now that I’m in a much better place in life. I actually first got into it because of Bungo Steay Dogs LEAVE ME ALONE I FOUND SOME VERY GOOD BOOKS THROUGH THAT ANIME ASHKHFFGCC. I’m currently in the long process of making my way through H.P. Lovecrafts stories and I need to start Crime and Punishment at some point but we’re not ready for that level of commitment and annotating yet 💀. Do you annotate books? I only recently got into it and sometimes I hate it but other times I love it. Like I hate it when it starts to feel like another homework assignment but I love it when it helps me collect my thoughts and I can take my time to actually digest what I’m reading. So it’s a 50/50 experience. From my birthday book spree, I got the omnibus (joint) volumes 10-11-12 of One Piece (I’m collecting all the omnibus volume sets where it’s like 3 volumes in one manga cause collecting the box sets is really expensive and I’m a very impatient person sometimes lol), the omnibus volume 1-2 and 3-4 of Tokyo Revengers (when I found out that they had finally released physical English versions of the manga I walked into Barnes and Noble with the mission to get that volume first and foremost and I was so excited and surprised and happy that they had also released the second omnibus volume too so I got both at the same time rereading Tokyo Revengers from the beginning is so nostalgic and makes me cry so much but in a good way because at this point in the story everything’s still almost great and happy), I also got volume 2 of Blue Lock and ordered volumes 1 and 3 (I figured I might as well start collecting the manga now so I can start binge reading immediately after the first season ends). I also got actual book books too. One was a new buy (not from my tbr list) and it’s called Belladonna by Adalyn Grace (one of the store people recommended it to me last time I was there and it sounded fun and interesting so I got it, it’s also hardcover since it’s new, and oh man I haven’t purchased a hardcover in such a long time lol), Kingdom of the Wicked by Kerri Maniscalco (it’s was all over my fyp for a while but that’s not the reason I got it, I got it because a lot of my favorite booktokkers recommended it and it’s not mainstream, made that mistake with The Poppy War already, so I got it), and the paperback copy of The Hawthorne Legacy by Jennifer Lynn Barnes (idk why this book got so much hate but I liked the first one so we shall see). Oh and I’m also rereading PJO in honor of the show coming out soon. Do you like Percy Jackson? The trailer for the show was asvjgdffff amazing it was like seeing my childhood come to life I have high hopes for the show. And I’m also reading Chainsaw Man rn because I had gotten volumes 1-5 already before the anime started cause I heard it was great and I wanted to be ahead if the show you know but I finished volume 3 before life happened so I wanna start reading it again. Anyways how are you? Doing good I hope? Have you eaten and drank water today? *sends virtual hugs*

- ✨ anon

The moment I read 'no longer human by Dazai Osamu' I knew it had to be BSD 💀 and reading further I turned out to be right; I’ll have to give it a try though. With Japanese books, I have the memoirs of a geisha and another autobiography of a geisha and ikigai. Murakami’s works have been complimented a lot so I’m contemplating if I should read that or not… maybe once I’m done with this book.

I tried reading Brida and Valkyrie by Paulo coelho but I was too young and didn’t understand it 😮‍💨

I do annotate books! It’s kinda a necessity atp being a uni student; but otherwise I annotate books as well cause life lessons to use later amirite?

I have a bleach Omnibus, a black edition of death note but otherwise I read manga online cause it’s easier in a way but for book books, I prefer the physical copy when I use travel or something along with music playing. Music makes the experience of reading good and even when I’m working or writing something. Most of the recs I get are from friends and family or something I pick up when I’m out shopping for books. I’ve heard of Lovecraft’s books but I’ve never had the chance of reading them… I read mostly non fiction works but I do enjoy a good horror.

Funny thing, I started getting into Percy Jackson in eighth grade cause my peers were reading it but in five pages of lightening thief I just stopped reading for some reason? But. I managed to finish twilight in two days and proceeded to buy the entire collection. Then I sold it off cause I realized I was being cringe and it was a phase (I’m so embarrassed of even telling this story 😭) and then I read Harry Potter as well… managed to finish the goblet of fire and I had other books in the series as well like the order of the phoenix but I decided to give those away and finally found my place in mangas and anime and works of non fiction… the only fiction I read recently was Verity by colleen Hoover ; and that inspired me to write ruined Rome (which is currently on hold and will continue once I edit the new changes into it)

As for chainsawman , that manga provided me comfort in a way cause i had to travel at that time since a member of my family had passed away. And while I was at the funeral, I wasn’t in a good shape cause we were pretty close so I decided to read chainsawman and the story of Pochita and Denji gave me an odd sense of comfort I would say? Cause it’s like ‘I’ll always be a part of you.’

Switching onto the lighter side of things, people are going crazy over Makima and I’m just waiting for mappa to animate that part 😶‍🌫️

I’m doing good bb <3 worked out this morning, got through two bottles of water, had brekky and my roommate is planning to cut my hair this week and I’m also working on an art of me and Aiku (yes I am that obsessed, but hey selfship is the best ship) uni goes on; and I’m doing work in advance so that I can relax later (I’m so sleepy but caffeine isn’t good for my system as much so I stick to just milk), writing a lot more and studying as well. How about you? I hope you’re doing well and taking care of yourself?

*sending hugs*

[iliveiloveiwrite]

freedom, books, flowers, and the moon.

A/N: Here is my entry in @approved-by-dentists ‘s follower celebration! Congrats again on 400, lovely! My prompt was Bookstore AU - so here we go! I’m worried that it doesn't entirely fit the prompt but there is a bookstore! So I'm halfway there! The book I mention is The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern (I always recommend this book - read it, love it) and I had to use Yorkshire because Yorkshire is home to the Brontes and I live in Bronte country so I had to do it. Nevertheless I hope you all enjoy! As always, I love you all!

Summary: “With freedom, books, flowers and the moon, who could not be happy?” - Oscar Wilde.

Pairing: Harry Potter x Fem!Reader

Warnings: mentions of war, mentions of grief, mentions of book hangovers.

Word count: 4.1k

For many, the second wizarding war had been less than a year long. They had experienced less than a year of the insecurity, the anxiety and the dread that goes through everyone’s mind in time of war.

For Harry, the second wizarding war had been a lot longer. He had been battling the Dark Lord mind to mind for years, and after his defeat, he felt exhausted. He was not only drained physically – the final duel taking its toll on him. But he was drained mentally, for all of a sudden, the space in his mind that he had shared with the darkest wizard in a century, was free. Harry could no longer feel his presence within him; the dark part of him that festered like an open wound.

It was a good thing, that he could no longer feel him. Harry knew that. But still, a part of him lingered too long on the idea that this was all a sense of false security. He had been living on the adrenaline of the chase for too long, and now that it was leaving his body, Harry had no clue what he needed to do. What he wanted to do.

He had the option of becoming an auror, and his teachers had supported him with that career choice. But a small part of him wondered whether he would be damaging himself further by throwing himself back into the fray to round up the last remaining Death Eaters.

It’s Hermione who plants this idea of him going away in his head. She has watched him battle internally with the different possible paths of his future; she had watch him argue and argue with his mind until he still had no answer.

Hermione tells him one night, over tea at the Burrow, “Harry, why don’t you get away for a while?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean go somewhere. Take some time away to heal; to come to terms with the last few years of your life. We’ve spent so long on the move, always having to be aware, that you haven’t had the time to process your emotions for everything.”

“Where would I go?” He whispers, fear creeping into his voice.

“I’m not sure,” Hermione says softly, “Let’s look at a map.” With a flick of her wand, a map of the British Isles lays itself out in front of them. “Where would you fancy?”

“I’m not sure,” Harry confesses, eyes pouring over the details of the maps – taking in the numerous counties.

“Okay. Close your eyes and point on the count of three.” Hermione states, “Are you ready?”

Harry closes his eyes, shuffling forward on the chair, “I’m ready.”

“3…2…1.” Hermione counts, and Harry’s finger circles the map once before landing.

Harry refuses to open his eyes. He’s in disbelief that he’s let himself decide his future on a three, two, one countdown. He’s been impulsive before but now he’s wary.

He doesn’t want to look. “Where am I going then?”

He can hear Hermione shuffle to look at where his finger has landed; her silence giving nothing away.

“Hermione?” He asks, slight panic setting in.

“Harry, take a look.”

Harry opens his eyes, blinking quickly before focusing on the map and his finger.

His finger points to a small village in Yorkshire. A place he had never been to.  

Harry falls back into the chair with a sigh, “I guess that’s where I’m going.”

--------------------------

Spring:

Harry moves in the spring.

He spends the final weeks of winter with the Weasleys being stopped at all times of the day to be told why he shouldn’t be doing this; that he could heal just as well in the wizarding world.

He loves their attempts to get him to stay, but they don’t entirely understand why he needs to go.

He arrives in the small Yorkshire village on a bright day in March; blossoms have started to bloom on the trees and in a week, they would be covered, filling their air with their sweet and floral scent. His misses everyone strongly; feeling it keenly within his chest, but he knows how desperately needed to get away.

A month into his arrival at the small village in the moors, Harry feels he has settled very well into country life. He’s found his routine and he feels as if he’s beginning to heal from the trauma of the war and before. The clean, country air clears his lungs and his daily walks through the village has mind numb enough and his body tired enough that he can sleep through most of the night without waking once from a nightmare.

He still struggles; his still has those moments where he can’t be certain the war has finished and he’s safe but the longer he spends in the village, the less they happen.

A month into his arrival at the small village, Harry realises that he needs to thank Hermione for what she did for him that night at the Burrow. She saw his suffering and gave him a solution.

Walking through the green, he spies the small bookshop nestled on the corner of a small side street. If there was anything on this planet that Hermione loved more than Ron, it was a book.

Harry pauses for an instant outside the door to take in the window display. Both windows, and even the door window, have been painted with a cherry blossom display to mark the true entrance into spring. The blossoms fall from the tree in swirls of pinks and red, falling over the books perched on the windowsill inside – the personal recommendations for the season.

The bell above the door chimes as Harry enters the shop and he is immediately overwhelmed with the smell of old books, worn leather, and what he think is lavender. It is comforting though. He had never been much of a reader other than Quidditch strategy manuals, but something about this little shop has him feeling at home among the countless shelves piled high with books. He takes a few steps further into the shop, eyes running over title after title on multiple paperbacks and hardbacks.

Harry runs his fingers over the spines of the leather-bound volumes but stops when he realises that he hasn’t any idea of the type of book Hermione enjoys to read. She had textbooks in her hands so often at Hogwarts, but Harry can’t recall the last time he had seen her with a fiction book open in her lap.

He frowns, glaring at the books.

“Can I help you?” A lilting voice sounds from behind the stacks, “You look to be in a bad mood with my books, and that can’t possibly be right.”

“This is your shop?”

“For the last year it has been, before that I used to just work weekends.”

“It’s very homely.” Harry compliments.

You chuckle, “It’s overstocked but it adds charm and character, plus the more books there are, the stronger the old book smell and who can resist that! So stranger, how can I help you?”

Harry blushes slightly, “My name is Harry, you can call me Harry. I can’t decide what to buy for a friend.”

You come out from behind the shelves, and Harry’s eyes rake over you – taking in the nose piercing and the small tattoos peeking out of the sleeves of your thin  sweater.

“Well Harry, I’m (Y/N). What does your friend like to read?”

“I don’t really know; I only ever saw her read textbooks at school to keep her grades up.”

You smile understandingly; indecision was something you encountered often in your shop,  “Alright, let’s see what I can drum up. Would you like to follow me?”

Harry nods in answer but you don’t see. You’ve already turned away from him making your way through the complicated maze of shelves. Harry follows blindly, keeping his eyes on the back of your head.

You stop by a shelf that isn’t as occupied as the others. In fact, compared to the other shelves, this one is empty of books. Only a few books stand on the shelf, wide gaps between them.

Your eyes run over their spines; head tilted slightly; you think before pulling a book from its space. “I think this one will do,” you murmur, holding the book out for Harry to take.

“Agnes Grey?” He reads from the front cover.

“You’re in Bronte country, you have to know that right?”

“I’ve never heard of them,” He admits to which you gasp, holding a hand to your chest.

“I am hurt, good sir. You’ll have to buy this book for your friend now.”

Harry smiles, “I think I might. If she has read anything by the Bronte’s, I’m not to know.”

“It’s a rare edition as well. There’s only around a fifty or so copies left so I’m making sure it’s going to good home.”

“It definitely is. My friend worships books.”

You lead Harry to the till where the book is rang through and paid for. “Let me know what she thinks? She must be very special for you to buy this.”

Harry takes the book with a smile, “I’ll be back to let you know.”

---------------------------

Summer:

Spring bleeds into summer, and the floral scent from spring has turned into something headier – pulling Harry out bed earlier, keeping him outside for longer. Each day he walks past your shop, waving back at you as you wave to him from your seat by the till. Harry returns to your shop when he received Hermione’s owl thanking him for his gift and asking where he found such a rare edition.

Harry was more than happy to pass on Hermione’s compliments to you, enjoying the way you light up at his friend’s words.

“What about you? Do you read?” You ask him.

Harry shakes his head. At the look on your face, Harry suddenly wishes he had read every single book available to him and Hogwarts. “You’ll have to recommend something to me.” He suggests.

You disappear between the stacks at his words, reading title after title before finding one you think he would like.

You give a shout of success when you find the book you were looking for. You refuse to show Harry the title as you place it gently into a paper bag.

“I know you’ll like this, but you have to promise me one thing.”

“Which is?” Harry replies, curiosity lacing his tone.

“You have to promise me to come back and tell me if you enjoyed it.”

“I promise.” Harry replies, too fast… much too fast, but it doesn’t seem like you mind.

You smile at him, “I’ll see you soon, hopefully.”

Harry reaches for his wallet, having every intention on paying you but your hand on his arm has him freezing, “No payment needed,” You state firmly, “Just come back and tell me what you think.”

Harry thanks you, which you wave away, before leaving. He hightails it back to his home where he makes himself a pot of coffee and sits down at his kitchen table with your brown paper bag in front of him. He feels nervous as he opens the bag, hands wrapping around a thick paperback.

The book cover is predominantly black, but there are two white figures on the front surrounded by objects found in a circus. Harry take a sip of his coffee before opening to the first page: ‘The circus arrives without warning.’

He doesn’t move for the rest of the day; he remains sat at his kitchen table in awe of the book in front of him. He finishes the coffee but doesn’t get up to make another post for fear of being pulled away from the story so soon. Harry feels as if the author herself has been in contact with magic and understands the base wonder that comes with it. His eyes pour over the pages, committing to memory the love story and the saga of The Night Circus.

He closes the book hours later, feeling both bereft and satisfied at the end.

For a long time, Harry stares at the book wondering how a collection of pages bound in black and white could hold him so tightly to the fictional world.

He goes to bed filled with happiness but also empty from the fact that he had finished it so soon. Thoughts of the books have him falling into a sleep wherein he doesn’t wake screaming from nightmares, but rather dreams of striped monochromatic circus tents and caramel popcorn.

Harry paces his living room until it’s a suitable time to run to your bookshop. The moment the clock strikes nine, he’s out the door, putting on his jacket as he runs. He holds the book in his hands as if it’s made of glass; as if one wrong move, and the dream world he entered from the first page, will be shattered.

The relief Harry feels when he sees your shop light on spurs him faster. He bustles in through the door, giving you a fright. “Harry!”

“What is this book?” He practically shouts, holding the cover up for you to see.

You grin widely, “So you finished it?”

“I didn’t move until I had!” He cries.

“So you enjoyed it then?”

“I loved it. I’ve never read a book like this before.”

“I knew you would. The minute I saw the cover I knew you would enjoy the book.”

“I just couldn’t put it down.”

You nod, knowing that exact feeling so well it was second nature, “Have I brought you to the dark side then, Harry?”

Harry grins toothily, “I don’t know. What else do you have?”

He visits your shop every day after that, bringing you lunch and a takeaway cup of tea. You admitted to him early on in your friendship that you got so caught up in the stacks of books that you often forgot to eat until it was closing time and you were ravenous, so Harry makes it his mission to bring you lunch.

He had never been much of a cook; had never needed to with the house-elves at Hogwarts but for you, he could scrape together a couple of sandwiches and a flask of tea.

Your bookshop gets more traffic through summer due to the tourist season – people come from far and wide to walk the moors and step where the Bronte sisters once did, each imagining their own Heathcliff or Mr. Rochester. Harry hasn’t seen you happier than when you recommend a book to a customer knowing that it is the right fit. You greet every customer with a smile and give them personalised recommendations if they’re struggling with their choice.

The window display changes too. A summer scene now covers the windows and door; bright colours depict a summer sunset at the beach whilst the books recommended this season are lovingly placed on the windowsill.

Summer also brings with it the change in your relationship. A close friendship develops between the two of you; you even going so far to invite Harry over to your flat above the bookshop. Harry’s nervous as he enters your home, but soon falls in love with it.

Pressed, dried flowers decorate the walls in frames. They litter the walls in their varying sizes. Harry finds himself wandering over to them, checking if his seven years of Herbology was to fail him. Irises, rose petals, lavender – he can identify those easily. However, there are some that he feels certain that Professor Sprout or Neville Longbottom wouldn’t be able to identify.

You notice him studying your walls, “It’s a hobby of mine along with the books.”

“It’s wonderful.”

“Thank you,” You murmur, shyly, “My grandmother taught me; she loved the quote by Oscar Wilde.”

“I’m afraid you’ve caught me at a disadvantage.”

“’With freedom, books, flowers and the moon, who could not be happy?’ She lived by this quote. It’s their bookshop below us, you see, and she taught me how to press flowers and she would always find something romantic to say about the moon. My grandmother was a free spirit that even my grandfather could not tame, but why would you want to?”

“She sounds like an incredible woman.”

“She was, I miss her.”

“She’d be proud of how you’re running the shop.”

“Thank you, Harry. Now would you like a drink? I have coffee, tea, hot chocolate…”

“I’ll have a coffee please.” Harry says, sitting down on the aged couch. Your flat is a collision of personalities; he can clearly see your grandparents influence among your own decoration and it creates something entirely unique.

You come back into living room with two mugs of coffee in either hand. You give one to harry before sitting next to him. He smiles at you in thanks before asking, “What are you reading currently?”

From the way your eyes light up as you talk about your current read along with your love for your shop, Harry begins to feel himself slowly fall in love with you.

He can feel the change in the air after that night. His feelings for you are well established within him. You help him feel hope for the future; for a better world – and he wants to share that world with you. but he feels the pressure of his secret weighing down on him.

He hasn’t told you out of fear; he can’t gauge your reaction to finding out he’s a wizard and classed as a war-hero. He’s worried to tell you for the panic that it could potentially ruin the budding relationship between you.

Harry confesses under candlelight. A summer storm knocked out the power, so he helps you light your large collection of candles before lying on the floor of your flat next to you.

There’s something pure about the atmosphere, with being surrounded by tens of candles that Harry feels he needs absolution from keeping this from you for so long. He whispers his confession; tells you everything. From his birth until now. He hopes and hopes for repentance among the flickering flames of the candles.

You’re silent through the exchange; letting Harry say his piece. Giving him the chance to unload the weight of the world upon his shoulders as if he were mighty Atlas.

In the end, what Harry says makes no difference to you. You had fallen in love with him over the short time you had known him, and what he confesses doesn’t affect your feelings in any shape of form. If anything, they make them stronger for it shows how much Harry must trust you to tell you something so deep and personal.

You turn onto your side once Harry has fallen silent and is waiting for your reply. You brush a hand across his forehead, pushing his hair back, looking at the faded pink scar in the shape of a lightning bolt. “You have been through a lot, haven’t you?”

Harry closes his eyes at the feel of your hand running through his hair. He hasn’t felt like this for so long; he cannot remember the last time he had felt this relaxed and safe at the same time. He whispers this to you, “I haven’t felt this safe in a long time.”

“I’m glad I make you feel safe.”

Harry turns onto his side, running a finger down the length of your face. He doesn’t miss how you shiver at his touch. He leans in slightly, intoxicated by your very presence but he pulls away at the last possible moment to ask, “Can I kiss you?”

Your free hand pulls him in by his shirt collar, “I’d thought you’d never ask,” You laugh before pressing your lips to his.

In the few months that he has known you, he has fallen head over heels for you. You help to calm the figurative storm that rages within him. In the little flat above the bookshop he has come to adore, he whispers that he loves you.

----------------------------

Autumn:

Summer gives way to autumn and the leaves begin to fall from the trees in earnest. The world returns to orange brown. Your relationship with Harry goes from strength to strength; you’re there to help with the nightmares and the panic that paralyses him now and then. It starts slow, using the bookshop as common ground to get to know each other better.

You decorate the display windows of the bookshop, bringing in Harry to help, though he would have helped you whether you had asked him or not.  “Tell me again why we’re painting the windows?” he asks.

You flick a clean paintbrush at him, “Because Harry, it is autumn and autumn means one thing: Halloween. I do it every season; spring, summer, autumn and winter.”

Harry frowns, focusing his attention on painting the outline of a pumpkin, “I’ve never celebrated Halloween.”

“You haven’t? Why?”

“My parents were killed on Halloween, and my aunt and uncle never took me trick or treating anyway.”

You step down from the ladder, placing the paint pot to one side and wiping your hands on your apron. Your hand pulls his away from the window, focusing his attention on you. “I didn’t know, Harry, I’m sorry.” You murmur, wrapping him in a hug.

“You weren’t to know,” He sighs, hugging you tightly back.

You draw back slightly, still not letting him go, “How about this: we spend the day of Halloween mourning your parents, and we spend the evening eating ourselves sick on chocolate and sweets?”

“You’d spend the day with me?”

“I wouldn’t want to do anything else.”

So Harry spends his Halloween with you. 

He spends his morning with you in the bookshop, stocking the shelves and reminiscing. You asked him if it would be too painful for him to talk about his parents, but he reassured you that his memories are few and far between so all he truly knows is what he has been told. For the rest of the day, he wanders between the bookshelves, telling you the stories of the Marauders.

“It would make a good book,” You gasp, breathless from laughter as Harry finishes his latest story.

“Do you think?”

“I think that if it was a book, I would definitely read it.”

Harry thinks over your words for a while. He wouldn’t ever write the book; his memories of his family are too precious for him to share with the world but he’s happy to share them all with you. As he dawdles in the shop, inhaling the comforting smell of worn leather and lavender, he thinks that he has never been more grateful for a bookshop in all his life. He feels almost whole again; your shop and you are helping to heal the ever-shrinking hole in his heart.

In the evening, he presses chocolatey kisses to your lips, interrupting you reading the same book that had started this all those months ago. You laugh into his mouth, the book falling to the side as you adjust your positions. You taste like Halloween sweets and he’s entirely addicted to it.

Harry wakes on the first of November with a clearer sense of the path he wants his life to travel down. As he watches you sleep, he knows that it involves books and you – the freedom you offer. Harry watches the sun rise across your face with a new found sense of purpose; he wants to stay here, and he wants to stay with you. He’s lived in this Yorkshire village for months, but he knows now where he wants to plant his roots.

-----------------------------

Winter:

Winter brings with it ice and snow, but it also brings with the year anniversary of his decision to move to the sleepy Yorkshire village.

Hermione and Ron begin to visit often; having not done so earlier to give Harry the chance to heal on his own. Harry introduces them to you on their second visit; you were full of nerves, but they quickly welcomed you into their group. 

Hermione and Ron visit more now; Hermione having set up a book exchange with you.

The display windows have been painted to depict a winter scene; a log cabin with smoke, evergreen trees covered in lights. It looks like a perfect piece of heaven. Little did those who admired the window scene know, that his little piece of heaven involved this small corner bookshop opened each morning with love.

The time he spends in your bookshop has only increased; he tries to spend every waking moment with you, choosing to spend the nights with you in your flat above the shop.

Harry watches you as you help customers or as you dawdle aimlessly through the aisles in a moment of quiet. Your feet pad quietly on the carpeted floor and Harry can hear you hum the tune of a song so often played on the radio.

Harry has never really been a fan of books, but he is a fan of you. And he could watch you in your bookshop all day long.

***************

General (HP) taglist: @the-hufflefluffwriter @obsessedwithrandomthings @kalimagik @summer-writes @lupins-sweater @slytherinprincess03 @mischiefsemimanaged @soleil-amaryllis @masterofthedarkness @bforbroadway @chaotic-fae-queen @peachesandpinks @nebulablakemurphy @haphazardhufflepuff @siriusly-addicted-to-writing @firewhisky-kisses @deafgirltingz @kylosleftbuttcheek @heloisedaphnebrightmore @harrypotter289 @sprvpti @accio-rogers @potterverseimagine @figlia--della--luna @angelinathebook @dreamer821​

[bookishbratbabe]

I gotta ask this question because it has been kicking my ass for awhile now. Do you prefer to read books on a table or do you prefer to have the book in your hand? I struggle with this because I feel like with buying the book I'm supporting the author and I don't feel that when I read via my tablet. But also, I know I can save on space at my place if I don't turn my apartment into a library. I've held off on buying books for awhile and it's convenient having everything on a tablet but at the same time there's a look of sophistication with having your own personal library displayed for guests to see.

Great question and thank you for asking! 💕

I love books and all of their many forms (ebooks, paperbacks, hardcover, audiobooks, etc) and there are pros and cons for all of them.

While hardcover and paperback books offer that specific comfort that comes with the physical sensations of reading - like holding the weight of a book, feeling the pages, smelling that sweet paper scent - and they are aesthetically pleasing (bookshelves, book stacks, photos of books, people seeing you reading a book), they can also be really inconvenient. They’re expensive, heavy, harder to hold, they take up space, sometimes the print is too small, and are inaccessible to some readers.

I am a huge fan of e-readers and ebooks and frankly, I’m annoyed with the superiority from readers who look down on ebooks. I get it if it’s a preference but ebooks are more accessible and more convient to a wider range of readers than physical books for a lot of different reasons.

They are typically cheaper than physical books - while physical books can range in price from $10-$25, e-books can range anywhere between FREE and $9. 

They’re a lot easier to hold because they are lighter and an easier shape to hold. Plus you can add a pop-socket or something to make it more comfortable for each reader’s needs.

They travel a lot easier than books. Not only can you have multiple books stored on one e-reader as opposed to lugging around multiple books but  you can usually sync between devices (kindle, iPhone, tablet, etc) so that you can pick up where you left off even if you left your e-reader at home.

They are instant! While you can be waiting on a book in the mail or taking the time to go to bookstore, the only time you’re waiting on an ebook is when you did a pre-order or if you’re on a waitlist with your library. Keep in mind, not all readers have easy access to physically go to a bookstore when they’re in need of a new book.

E-books are just easier to read. You can adjust the size, font, spacing, and alignment of the text to fit your needs. You can update the page color to make it easier on your eyes. YOU CAN READ THEM IN THE DARK WITHOUT A LIGHT!!!

E-readers typically have a built in dictionary or allow you to run a web search if you don't know a word so all you have to do is click on it. And same thing with translating foreign language.  I’ve read a few books with latin, Spanish,  French, or Italian passages that I wanted to know what they meant but the author didn’t translate it for me (and I really need to brush up on my foreign language skills). All I had to do was highlight the text and a translation popped up. This is really helpful to readers who maybe didn’t have the same access to education that other readers have had.

They allow a greater access to variety and diversity in books that readers in, say for instance, a rural or conservative area might not have the same access to at their local bookstore or library.

They’re discreet. Maybe you don’t want everyone around you to know you’re reading blue alien smut (there’s no shame but it’s also okay if you don't want people to know). Or maybe queer teens want to read queer books without their unaccepting family to know about it. 

I also did a little bit of research in terms of the author making money on physical books vs e-books and I’m not really finding much data to say they make more money one way or another. Physical books cost more to print and bind and sell which is why they cost more to purchase. That doesn’t mean the author is getting more money in their pocket. And if you sell ebooks at a lower cost, that means more people are more likely to buy, meaning more money in the authors pocket. 

Now you could make the argument that physical books are better for the economy because then you’re paying for the labor of printing the books and then selling the books. Which I would agree with but that’s also any technological advancement.

While I can’t display my beautiful collection of ebooks in my home for all my guests to see, I can buy or borrow the cheaper ebook to see if I like it and if I’d want to read it more than once. If so, then I buy the physical copy and add it to my physical collection. 

I hope that answers your question and helps you figure out your own preference. And if your own preference is physical books, that’s absolutely fine! Just remember that ebooks are a completely valid and justified form of reading, especially because of the convince and accessibility it offers to all kinds of readers.

Happy reading! 📚💖

[kmalexander]

The 2020 Cosmic Horror Holiday Gift Guide

The phrase “Black Friday” has a more menacing tone in 2020—especially here in the United States. Hopefully, you’re following the advice of the experts, staying home, laying low, wearing masks, and washing your hands. But a pandemic shouldn’t stop gift giving! So, once again, I took some time and assembled my List of Lists for 2020. In it, you’ll find a plethora of paraphernalia for the weird-fiction fanatic, cosmic-horror connoisseur, or mythos maniac in your life. As with previous years, I’ve worked to assemble a list of exceptional items for all ages and budgets.

There’s a few changes this year. First, I’m now linking to IndieBound for all books. Please do what you can to support your local bookshops and small businesses. Odds are they can get you anything Amazon can, and it’ll help out your community. Secondly, where possible, I’m also linking to the author’s personal webpages. Check them out. Follow them. It’s a nice way to stay current with what’s happening in the world of weird fiction. Please remember, while I’ve ordered these by price, the prices and availability are subject to change. I don’t have any control over that. Happy shopping!

 QUICK LINKS 

• Books • Music • Apparel • Games • • Housewares • Miskatonic •

Books

Mother Hydra’s Mythos Rhymes by Jarred W. Wallace $9.95 + Shipping (Paperback)

This mock children’s book features twenty-one sinister nursery rhymes twisted with a Cthulhu Mythos bent and illustrated by the incredible Heather Hudson. Also included is a complete Edward Gorey-style alphabet. Every budding cultist should learn their ABCs after all.

The Worm And His Kings by Hailey Piper $13.00 + Shipping (Paperback) $6.99 (eBook)

This arrived only a few weeks ago, and I can’t wait to dive in. Set in New York City in 1990, the story follows Monique as she hunts for her missing girlfriend. But the trail goes much deeper than she realizes, sending Monique into a subterranean world of enigmatic cultists and shadowy creatures.

The Stars Were Right by K. M. Alexander $14.00 + Shipping (Paperback) $2.99 (eBook)

I’m nearly finished with Book Four’s edits. So, if you haven’t, now is the perfect time to start reading my Bell Forging Cycle. Follow Waldo Bell as he is sent careening through the multi-level megalopolis of Lovat, fighting to clear his name as a bloodthirsty killer stalks him. It’s mystery and monsters, chases and cults, and an ancient evil in a world that is similar but not quite like our own.

RADIO by J. Rushing $15.99 + Shipping (Paperback) $3.99 (eBook)

A jazz-infused, opium-soaked, historical fantasy with a transgressive edge that explodes from the opening chapter and never relents until its final pages—a welcome addition to modern fantasy literature and weird enough that it earned a place on this list.

Murder Ballads And Other Horrific Tales by John Hornor Jacobs $16.95 + Shipping (Paperback) $7.95 (eBook)

Seems like it’s becoming a tradition to see a new book from John Hornor Jacobs on this list every year, and it’s no surprise. He’s arguably one of the best mythos writers working today. This collection of recent horror and crime short stories takes you through tales involving old gods to malevolent artificial intelligences, plus it includes the sequel to his 2011 novel, Southern Gods.

The Cipher by Kathe Koja $17.95 + Shipping (Paperback) $3.99 (eBook)

Part haunted house story, part body horror, part descent-into-madness tale all told in the style of Transgressive Literature. The Cipher is one of those stories I was shocked I hadn’t read until this year. Koja writes stunningly physical characters and knotted complex relationships that feel eerily familiar to anyone who’s spent time in artist circles. Enjoy the Fun Hole. (One of my 2020 Three Great Horror Reads for Halloween.)

The Only Good Indians by Stephen Graham Jones $26.99 + Shipping (Hardcover) $9.99 (eBook)

At its heart, this is a horror novel about growing up poor and native in western Montana. But The Only Good Indians also a novel about revenge, mistakes, and their extended consequences. I blew through it. I grew up not too far from where this novel is set, and I have yet to find a recent author that captures the behavior and actions of the people in that area quite as well as Jones. You’ll never look at elk the same way again. (One of my 2020 Three Great Horror Reads for Halloween.)

The City We Became by N. K. Jemisin $28.00 + Shipping (Hardcover) $14.99 (eBook)

The first of the Great Cities series focuses on a roiling, ancient evil that stirs beneath the streets of New York City and threatens to destroy the city. New York must go on, and it will take five protectors scattered across the boroughs coming together to stop it. An allegorical response to Lovecraft’s work and a love letter to the city.

The Dark Brotherhood and Other Pieces by H.P. Lovecraft $650.00 + Shipping (One Copy Available—Sold via AbeBooks)

This rare late-60s first edition copy from Arkham House is in fine condition with a fine dustwrapper. It also comes with an inscription by the publisher and editor of this work: “for Herb Arnold from the compiler – August Derleth.” An extremely unique find and a unique piece of weird fiction history.

No book catches your interest? Check out the books featured in one of the previous guides. • 2014 Books • 2015 Books • 2016 Books • 2017 Books • 2018 Books • 2019 Books •

Music & Audio

Tribute To H.P. Lovecraft by Epsilon Eridani Free (Digital Download)

This atmospheric and somber dark ambient album is the third project from Mexican electronic artist Juan Pablo Valle. Blending instrumental tracks, spoken words performances, and recitations of parts of Lovecraft’s stories, this tribute serves as an excellent horror soundtrack.

The Yellow Sign $6.99 (Digital Download)

While Lovecraftian music often skews towards dark ambient or metal performances, The Yellow Sign goes takes a more orchestral approach. Composer Graham Plowman has created a fantastic classical soundtrack putting this album on par with any feature film—brooding, menacing, and wonderfully enjoyable.

Beyond Madness by Aklo $9.00 (Digital Download)

Erich Zann would be jealous. Aklo, like its madness-inducing namesake, is hard to pin down. But this album captures “the beyond” in ways not often heard in modern music. Part noise, part experimental, Beyond Madness is an excellent addition to any Lovecraft fan’s collection.

Live from Stockholm by Ogham Waite $12.00 (Digital Download)

Ogham Waite, one of Innsmouth’s Deep One inhabitants, and the Amphibian Jazz Band are the mythos’ answer to the lounge stylings of early Tom Waits. Bluesy and moody, this seductively smokey album drips with saltwater. Waite’s performance and delivery are melodious as they are melodic, a great addition to mythos music.

Ambrose Bierce’s The Boarded Window $20.00 + Shipping (Vinyl)

This limited vinyl pressing of Bierce’s unsettling perspective-shifting tale is read by Anthony D. P. Mann and scored by Chris Bozzone. Cadabra Records always goes the extra mile with their products, and it’s clear from the hand-poured red and white splattered vinyl to the incredible art by Jeremy Hush.

Deities by Tortuga €22.50 ($26.68) + Shipping (Vinyl) €5.00 ($5.93) (Digital Download)

This one showed up randomly on a playlist, and I found myself intrigued. Once I listened to it, I became a fan. Tortuga is a Polish doom metal band whose work is loaded down with intricate and heavy driving riffs inspired by Lovecraft’s writings. It’s good stuff.

Not finding any music or audio that interests you? Check out one of the previous guides. • 2014 Music • 2015 Music • 2016 Music • 2017 Music • 2018 Music • 2019 Music •

Apparel

Tiki Cthulhu Embroidered Patch $9.00 + Shipping

I see many patches as I search for new cosmic horror gear throughout the year, and occasionally I find one that rises to the top. This sew-on tiki-styled Ctuhulu is 3″ x 2.5″ and was created for the 2018 H. P. Lovecraft Film Festival. If you want a mythos inspired adornment for your bag or jacket that’s a bit outside the norm, look no further.

Cthulhu Socks $18.00 + Shipping

It’s winter in the northern hemisphere, that means you need to keep your appendages warm. Also, socks-for-Christmas is a right of passage. Why not consider getting these Cthulhu Socks from PutYourSocksOn featuring tentacles up the side and an illustration of the dead and dreaming Cthulhu on the ankle.

Sourpuss Tropicthulhu Rosie Dress $29.00 + Shipping

When you are associated with the ocean, you generally get associated with the tropics regardless of where your sunken city dwells. This 40’s style Rosie Dress allows you to show your appreciation of R’lyeh’s favorite son in a subtle but delightful manner.

Amulet of Azathoth £23.95 ($34.42) + Shipping

It’s the grandpappy of the mythos deities in amulet form! Well, kinda. A representation of the nuclear chaos beyond angled space himself. This antique amulet is a little over an inch and a half long and is cold cast in a mixture of resin and brass—a stunning little pendant.

Mother & Father Statuary Set $85.00 + Free Shipping

These handmade and hand-painted resin figures of Dagon and Hydra would work perfectly as bookends or garden statues. Aged in a way to evoke feelings of lost treasure salvaged from the seafloor or perhaps a dank and forgotten chamber somewhere beneath Innsmouth. Kinda cute to boot.

Cara Mater Silvae Shub-Niggurath Woodcut Print $187.50 + Free Shipping (Limited Edition)

Liv Rainey-Smith’s fantastic woodcut work has long been a fixture in the weird lit community. This limited-edition print is done in the style of a sacred icon and features a great rendition of Shub-Niggurath, The Black Goat of the Woods with a Thousand Young, or as my readers will know her, “Cybill.”

Keeper of the Nightmare Mask $331.53 + Free Shipping (Made to Order)

Plague doctors always cut a fearsome figure in humanity’s historical memory, but what lies beneath that leather mask and shielded eyes? This custom made-to-order mask twists tentacles to form that familiar (and terrifying) plague-doctor shape adding an extra level of menace to an already menacing form.

Not finding apparel you like? Check out the apparel on one of the previous guides. • 2014 Apparel • 2015 Apparel • 2016 Apparel • 2017 Apparel • 2018 Apparel • 2019 Apparel •

Games

No Players Online Name Your Own Price (Windows/Linux)

What starts as a simple old demo of a capture-the-flag 3D shooter found on a discarded tape eventually twists and turns becoming something else entirely. I’m a sucker for the 80s glitch aesthetic, and it’s used here in masterfully unsettling ways—multiple endings, interesting game world, very much worth your time.

Kadath $5.99 (Digital Download, Early Access)

This first chapter of a first-person cosmic-horror adventure has you following the case of a World War II Nazi train that vanished only to reappear in a cave in the Himalayas 75 years later. Dripping with atmosphere and filled with brilliant puzzles, this first chapter left me excited for Kadath and wanting more.

Fate of Cthulhu $20.00 (Downloadable PDF) $35.00 + Shipping (Book + PDF)

In this tabletop roleplaying game from Fred Hicks and Evil Hat Productions, you and your friends will find yourself sent into the past on a mission to prevent the future. It’s a race against time as you try to stop the stars from being right and prevent Cthulhu’s foretold return, all before you and yours are transformed into something monstrous.

Elder Sign Dice – Blue Aether $24.99 + Shipping

Infinite Black has been making some wonderful cosmic-horror-themed gaming products for a few years. They’ve finally gotten easy enough to nab for holiday gifts. These Blue Aether Elder Sign Dice stood out to me, but they have a robust catalog making it easy to find the right gift for the dicing Lovecraft fan in your life. (Or yourself.)

Fate of the Elder Gods $63.99 + Shipping

Cults battle cults in this race to summon your ancient order’s elder god of choice! But it’s not just the other conniving worshippers and cult leaders you need to worry about, crafty investigators are on the prowl, and they’re working to subvert everyone’s goals as well. Hasten the earth’s doom in this competitive area-control game for two to four players.

Hastur $274.99 + Shipping (Two Shipments)

I’m a big fan of the Mysterious Package Company, the quality of their products always impresses. This latest journey into the realm of Hastur is no exception. Taking place over several mailings, Hastur invites the recipient into the world of the King in Yellow, the play with the same name, and the utter madness that dwells within those words.

Not finding a game you’d enjoy? Check out the games on one of the previous guides. • 2014 Games • 2015 Games • 2016 Games • 2017 Games • 2018 Games • 2019 Games •

Housewares & Collectables

Cedric’s Eatery 11oz. Mug $16.00 + Shipping

It’s cold out, and you need a new mug. Why not pick one up from Lovat’s own Cedric’s Eatery located in the entresol between Levels Three and Four. An in-between place for in-between folks. Waldo Bell’s latest hangout. Fill your mug with 11 oz. of bad coffee, your favorite tea, or something stronger. [From the pages of the Bell Forging Cycle.]

Cthulhu Clay Idol & Letter $29.80 + Free Shipping

Alternative takes on the Cthulhu idol are rare. More often than not, we see the same shape repeated over and over. Because of that, this rawer, more original piece stood out to me. It feels more realistic in many ways, reminding me of the sort of thing one would find on an archeological dig. Plus, with the attached letter, you get a little mini-experience here.

Sea Monster Shower Curtain $32.00 + Shipping

There be dragons. And there. And there. And… well, all over the place! If you love weird old sea monsters and old maps, then this curtain will be perfect for you. Decorate your shower with this fantastic curtain featuring beasts that look lifted from early Renaissance maps. 70″ x 72″. Liner recommended.

Cthulhu Lovecraft Blanket $59.99 + Shipping

As cooler air moves into the northern hemisphere, we can all celebrate the arrival of the cozy season. To stay warm, why not cuddle up beneath this cotton and acrylic Jacquard Knit blanket featuring the squatting visage of The Great Dreamer himself? He might be cold but you don’t have to be.

Anxious Blob Original Sculpture $325.00 + Shipping (Supplies are limited.)

This weird little one-off sculpture of a nervous little entity is made with polymer clay and hand-painted. The eye sits beneath a glass dome giving this piece a unique character. Who among us hasn’t wanted an anxious blob with hundreds of teeth and a single staring eye decorating our walls?

Not finding a houseware item you like? Check out the housewares from one of the previous guides. • 2016 Housewares • 2017 Housewares • 2018 Housewares • 2019 Housewares •

Miskatonic University

Miskatonic University Pennant $15.99 + Shipping

I love seeing all the different takes for Miskatonic University collegiate gear. Here you can show your support for “Ole Misk” with a felt pennant from H.P. Lovecraft Historical Society and cheer on the “mighty Miskatonic Myrmidons” to another victory. Wave that banner proudly!

Miskatonic University Real Leather Notebook $41.40 + Shipping

Journaler? Artist? Writer? Mathematician? Norwegian sea captain? Random idea generator? If you’re one of these, odds are you need a notebook. This 8″x6″ Miskatonic-themed journal features 100 sheets of thick handmade Khadda paper and is durable enough for the dig site while still being elegant enough for the classroom.

Miskatonic University Wax Seal $48.07 + Shipping

Secure your correspondence with old friends from bygones eras who seek answers using this classic and exquisite seal. It might not stop prying eyes, but at least your old colleagues will know if someone’s been tampering with their mail. (Wax sold separately.)

Miskatonic University Hockey Sweater $109.00 + Shipping (Supplies are limited.)

Every sports fan needs a jersey. Miskatonic students are no different. It’s why when I came across this Hockey Sweater from Geeky Jerseys I knew it’d be perfect for the cosmic horror student in your life. (While this one is great, I’m hoping the superior Miskatonic 2.0 sweater becomes available once again.)

Not finding any Miskatonic University gear you like? Check out the Miskatonic University items from one of the previous guides. • 2014 Miskatonic • 2015 Miskatonic • 2016 Miskatonic • 2017 Miskatonic • • 2018 Miskatonic • 2019 Miskatonic •

  Merry Christmas & Happy Holidays!

So that wraps up the seventh annual List of Lists. Let’s all keep wearing our masks, socially distancing, and washing our hands so we can all do this again next year. Big thank you to everyone who has suggested items in the past to help me pad out this list. Y’all rule. If I didn’t get to your submission, fret not. There are many more holidays ahead. I appreciate the help.

Do you have a book, game, album, or other weird fiction-related items I should feature in 2021’s Cosmic Horror Holiday Gift Guide? Leave a comment below with links to your favorite goodies for others to see, or send me an email as a potential submission for next year!

Want to stay in touch with me? Sign up for Dead Drop, my rare and elusive newsletter. Subscribers get news, previews, and notices on my books before anyone else delivered directly to their inbox. I work hard to make sure it’s not spammy and full of interesting and relevant information. Sign Up Today→

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[ghostsofmemories]

Writing My Obituary (context on my weird poetry collection)

I realized today that I very casually bring up my poetry collection all the time and a large majority of my followers have no clue what I’m talking about, so here’s a WMO explanation post thing! I should definitely give a content warning though: this book deals with suicide, abuse (both physical and emotional, by both parents and other people), homophobia and transphobia, allusions to major appetite and stomach issues (which while reading sound a lot like eating disorders), toxic relationships, just a lot of really heavy emotions in general. Please don’t read the book or this post if those things could trigger you. This post also ended up super long, so the rest is under the cut.

So. first thing’s first, this collection is being published by Pure Print Publishing this fall (due to covid there aren’t any exact dates available). I didn’t query it, someone reached out to me after reading my poems on Instagram, hearing that they were in an unpublished collection, and basically connected me with their friend who runs the indie publishing house and is an author himself.

A big part of the reason this book is so difficult to talk about in context is because that requires getting pretty vulnerable - most of this book is just me dealing with everything I’ve struggled with over the last 4 years of my life. So if there’s discussion about the book in the replies, please keep it to the content of the book and not the validity of these experiences or details of things that happened to me.

The collection is about me and my journey from 13 to 17, starting with my suicide attempt at 13. There are several poems from around that time in my life, but they’ve changed a lot over the four years of editing. However, you can definitely still see changes in the way I write and the way I approach poetry by the end of the book - which was the goal. The book is centered around learning about identity, about how relationships should work, about friendships, about learning to handle mental and chronic illness, and above all, growing. There’s really no “breaking point” where everything about the way I write changes all at once, so in context, the change is almost difficult to see. So to sort of represent these changes, I’m putting a poem from the beginning, from the middle, and from the end all right next to each other (and some bonus analysis of my own poetry!).

Call me a monster is probably the most stark change from the past to the present. I almost never rhyme my poems anymore and if I do, they’re fleeting and mostly for rhythm. The lines are also extremely short, which I only do now when it really fits - in general, I make an effort to avoid consistently short lines. I like to tell myself that it’s symbolism I did on purpose to represent how all over the place my brain was, hopping from one thought to the next, but I don’t think it’s symbolism. I think my brain was really too jumbled to have more than five words in a line.

 I also took my own poems very seriously back then - writing a poem was an Occasion, so the first letter of each of those lines is capitalized like I’m some sort of English classics major. Both stanzas are also the same length (I still do that now sometimes, but back then it was in so many of my poems that I think I thought it was a requirement). Basically, I wrote this like I was going to turn it in somewhere.

Still pretty heavy on the capitalization here, but I definitely got more flexible with stanza length and slightly longer lines (7 whole words, yay!). This poem was somewhat of a turning point for me, basically realizing that I could not only vent through poetry, but still make it poetic and artistic in a lot of ways, and also explore contrast in my own emotions and conflicting feelings. For some reason, prior to this, I thought a poem could only be one emotion at a time, but now I think a poem can be one topic and the way multiple or conflicting emotions revolve around it. This is also one of the first poems I wrote that I was proud of from beginning to end.

This poem isn’t totally representative of the last couple changes I want to talk about (especially line length - for being relatively recent the lines are still pretty short), but I don’t want to use too many poems that haven’t been posted online before and this one has been posted and read aloud on an Instagram live, minus one stanza I added, which I’ll get to. I also wanted to choose this one because it has a direct reference to The Universe In You and several other poems, which gives me a chance to talk about how much I love referencing my other poetry in my poetry. Buckle up, this one might be long.

By this point, I had pretty much realized that there actually aren’t any rules at all. I’ve figured out what I want to say and I’ll say it however the hell I want to - I don’t need to capitalize things unless it suits the form, I don’t have to be totally consistent, I can repeat things as much as I want. I reached back into my 15 year old angst for this one, though, so I could more properly write about the relationship in a way that made sense. 

Now, I could honestly write a whole other book about how I reference other poems in each poem, but for now I’ll just break down the ones here.

Sort of a half reference right at the beginning: I have so much to say. I bring that up in different words in so many poems, both about my relationship and my dad. This is probably because, growing up as someone who had a speech impediment (meaning I talked too much no matter how little I said because of how long it took to say it), I always felt like I never had the space to say everything I wanted. It’s brought up in at least 3 other poems.

lost signals: a direct reference to my poem Thread Unavailable:

We’re riding down a dirt road in the middle of a conversation and lost signal. Message failed.

empty spaces: a reference to The Universe In You!! Pretty much the whole reason I included this poem.

burned poems: this one is basically just a reference to all the poems in the collection that are breakup poems, or poems where I directly addressed my ex saying don’t read this, you don’t have to read this, I shouldn’t have written this, etc. Specifically, A Long and Lonely Letter, Tired Eyed (The Homecoming Poem), and The Poem That Shouldn’t Exist.

another July come and gone and I didn’t write about you: this reference is hard to really understand the context of unless you know me in real life, but in two other poems I mention the month of July, in a couple others I reference summer, but there are dozens of poems that didn’t make it into my cut of the collection that talk about July. Basically, in context of the relationship, it was the only time we were actually happy and we split up and got back together over and over trying to replicate that fleeting, 30 day feeling that was overtaken by school, seasonal depression, and our own instability as people. For so long, all I could think about was that one month, and that line was my way of showing how I was done writing about it.

you told me, once, that we’re soulmates: this entire little stanza is directly copied from Tired Eyed (The Homecoming Poem). In order to continue talking about it I’ll throw a piece of that here:

If you want to come back, be sure of me. Be sure of yourself. I don’t want to be a consequence of your impulses.

You told me, once, that we’re soulmates. That once you find a person you want to spend forever with, it feels like nothing else matters. Do you believe that like I do?

That’s just a really short chunk of a really long poem, but basically the re-use of that section goes to say that me truly believing nothing else mattered was not good and extremely unhealthy. I put it there even though the poem was just fine without it because I really wanted to get that message across, especially since most of my target audience falls between middle and high school.

I know love in so many shades and I give it in every color: this references a couple different poems that aren’t in the collection, but in terms of the book, it’s a reference to Red, Like You, which is about color association and love and stuff? I I still don’t totally get it. I say in the poem that I don’t totally get it. No one totally gets it, but all in all I went from loving just one person in just one way to loving everyone in tons of different ways and realizing that those other types of love are just as, if not more, fulfilling to me, and that romance is not the be-all end-all of love and happiness.

All the other references are repetitions so I’ve pretty much already explained those. But anyway, that’s my book! It has 77 poems total, quite a few of them more than a page, and some that are probably several pages once in paperback format because, you know, I never shut up. Since I did my mini beta reading round (I got a lot of necessary feedback but that was so much to keep track of, I’ll probably just get a couple feedback partners next time), I’ve cut 34 poems and added 16 newer ones, edited the crap out of the whole book, and gotten the perspective of a professional editor.

 This book, even though there’s a lot of it I’ve grown out of, is super important to me and it’s so hard to let it go. Part of me wants to keep this book going forever and just keep growing until it has thousands of poems, but all of these “character arcs” in my life are finished. I left my toxic relationship and friendships, I figured out my gender and sexuality, I learned how to love openly, I cut off my dad for good. There’s obviously always more to learn about my relationships with these other people and myself, and I do that unconsciously every day. But in all honesty, I have nothing left to say about these people or events that would change the conclusions I’ve already come to - they would only further prove them to be true.

I absolutely always want to talk about this book, so if you have any questions, send an ask! Also feel free to scroll through the poetry tag on my blog and ask me about any poems I have posted there, there are a few that I’ve written since the completion of the collection that’ll (most likely) end up in whatever I write next. Basically, I’m obsessed with poetry and want to talk about it all the time. Please ask me about it.

[ghostmartyr]

how a life can move from the darkness [5/?]

| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 |

Summary:  Two drug addicts (Eren and Historia) meet in group and decide to be roommates to make their  living situation slightly less weird. From there we do the slow burn  found family dance mixed in with the struggles and agonies of recovery.  Heavy on friendship feels, especially EMA. Eventual yumikuri.

Eren had lunch plans for the weekend. An appointment. Specific time and everything. It took a lot of debate, stress, one meeting and several more confirmations from Historia that it was fine, but there was a plan, and Mikasa and Armin had agreed to it. Sunday lunch. Dinner reminded Eren too much of his mother watching every twitch of his hands at the table. Lunch’s only association was with forgetting it.

He couldn’t forget this one.

Of course! the happy letters from Armin’s latest text spelled out. Mikasa had been more formal, which was easier. He could tell she didn’t really believe the offer either. He should have felt like crap over that, but it was too nice being back on the same wavelength.

He was going to see his friends again. And try like hell not to screw it all up this time.

Petra had said, many times, that one of the best things they could do to aid their recovery was keeping their minds engaged in something besides sitting around wanting drugs. It was important to keep life going instead of hiding in its cracks.

The first time she’d said it to him, directly, had been when he’d gone off on a rant about Zeke’s damn baseball games. He couldn’t even remember why it came up, except that Petra thought maybe going to a few would be good for him, and he’d still been in the yelling stage of everything.

Now locked in the stage where he took people’s advice and did something with it, he was doing what he could to distract himself. Benjamin was accepting food that wasn’t wriggling now. His tank still needed regular checks and cleaning. Several bouldering groups were lined up for the week.

He’d mentioned it to Reiner, since Reiner knew more about keeping busy than anyone he knew.

What he got was a copy of one of Ymir’s books.

“This one’s not about the porn,” Reiner had assured him, like that was a mark of quality.

Ymir had rolled her eyes loudly when he said it, snagging Eren’s toast off his plate. “Great review, Reiner. You should be my new marketing team.”

Eren was fifty pages in, and except for the very disconcerting moments spent realizing that Ymir’s insights about human emotion could translate to something painfully earnest when they had nothing to do with an actual person, it was okay. Mostly.

The two characters who were the focus of the romance were starting to spend a lot of time together. On purpose, instead of being forced into it. The narrator kept denying that part, but the narrator was also starting to spend an uncomfortable number of paragraphs being distracted by the other character’s physical appearance.

It was a lot of hunger. Wanting. Not being allowed to have.

“Historia?” Eren called out, flipping a few pages ahead. He’d forced her to the couch with her homework by stealing her usual spot under Benjamin’s tank.

“Yes?”

“You’ve been in love, right?”

The vibrations of a very heavy textbook hitting the floor were followed by a hiss of pain. Eren’s head swiveled around to catch Historia sucking a paper cut. Her face was an uncomfortable red.

“I—why?” she asked.

He brandished the book into the air. “One of Reiner’s friends is a romance novelist, and he gave me this to read.” Historia knew one or two things about Reiner thanks to awkward questions about whether or not it was okay to mention his roommate was a drug addict to other addicts. “And I was wondering if it’s normal for it to all sound like…”

Historia picked up her textbook, continuing to look at him with the kind of paralyzed horror he would have reserved for one of their talks about dead people. Eren cut to the chase.

“Is it supposed to sound like addiction?” he asked. “Is that what it feels like?”

Because every single page was taking him further and further away from the kind of want he knew Ymir had been intending and tossing him back into the hazy memory of needing a fix so badly that he talked to the man behind Zeke’s batting cage and staggered into Armin’s granddad’s bathroom and—

He didn’t know how Reiner had gotten through the full book. Eren didn’t think he could.

Petra read romance novels. She enjoyed them. Was it just him?

“No.” Historia stopped rubbing at her finger. “It—they’re not the same. Whatever I…” Her eyebrows knitted together. Carefully, with a precision that was at odds with the panic that had somehow been unleashed, she placed her book on the other side of the couch. “I don’t know if it was love, but it was nothing like… that.” She looked at the offending manuscript like it was one of Petra’s cookies. “Why are you still reading it?”

Eren shrugged, flipping through more pages. “Trying to keep busy.”

Trying not to think of what Ymir would say if she found out he couldn’t stomach the tamest book from her shelf. He could picture it pretty easily. He had no interest in living it out.

Hell, though. Did this character ever bother doing anything about all the wanting? Fifty more pages, and the obvious conclusion was that this was the only one Ymir wrote that wasn’t pornographic because she’d picked out a main character who couldn’t figure out how to communicate her feelings to her love interest, so there was nothing to be explicit about. No wonder the project had stuck out to Reiner. Someone like Ymir writing someone with a sense of embarrassment or insecurity was jarring.

“’Crystal Wick’?”

Historia had left the couch, and was investigating the book’s cover. She looked halfway alive, which was about as good as Eren had come to hope for lately. The shadows under her eyes had stopped darkening each morning.

“It’s a penname,” he said. “Bertolt says she mostly writes porn.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Reiner gave you porn to read?”

“He specifically said this one wasn’t.”

She peered closer at the cover, reading the quotes on the back. “Reiner gave you a romance novel that ‘Speaks to the truest soul of melancholic love’?”

Eren turned it over. “It says that?”

“Yes,” Historia said. “Crystal’s a ‘genius.’”

It did say that. Eren looked at the innocuous bits of text with a growing nausea the came from the book’s content, but felt appropriate for the glowing praise Ymir of all people had somehow earned. “If you ever meet her, you can’t say things like that,” he said. “Her head’s big enough already.”

Reading her reviews had probably paved the way on that. Ymir seemed like she came by most of it naturally, though. The reviews probably just confirmed what she already thought about herself.

“You don’t think she lives up to her accolades?” Historia asked. “She isn’t the—Eren your thumb’s blocking that one.”

Eren rolled his eyes and opened the book back up, pretending to read more about addictive, repressed lust with more of a smile than he’d managed all day. “Do you want to trade books?”

Historia stepped over his feet and grabbed the hardback Frieda had left on Benjamin’s table, pausing to give their fish a moment to say hello to her. She dangled his namesake’s volume over Eren’s head. He took it before he ended up with another black eye, handing over Ymir’s paperback.

“Frieda screens everything she reads around me,” she said. “She’s—protective.” Concernedly so, if it were over anyone besides Historia, but Historia didn’t need Eren voicing that. “You’ll probably have better luck with one of hers. It’s longer, too.”

Along with heavier. Eren rolled onto his stomach. “Thanks.”

Historia shrugged, returning to her couch vigil. Eren cracked open his Frieda-approved reading. Sci-fi, based on the cover. Armin had probably read it. He liked going through the bestseller’s lists. He liked sci-fi. They’d have something to talk about at lunch.

“It’s going to be fine, Eren,” Historia said, a minute into the author’s foreword.

“Yeah,” he said.

----

Not sleeping was marginally better than nightmares. He was supposed to look at the positives of his life, not focus on the negatives. Tossing back and forth between walls before settling for a few minutes at a time on the ceiling meant he wasn’t waking up in a cold sweat.

Frieda would be around soon, if she was having a sleepless night. He could make himself useful and start the hot chocolate early.

Mikasa and Armin would be showing up in a few hours. Their first time in an apartment he hadn’t shared with either of them.

Rivaille was coming with Mikasa. A neighbor hadn’t been watching their dog, Rivaille had no tolerance for non-human mammals breathing in his presence, and Mikasa didn’t trust him not to tear off his bandage if she left him alone. Armin and Mikasa had coordinated letting Eren know. They didn’t say that outright, but Armin had told Eren Rivaille was coming instead of Mikasa asking. They hadn’t wanted to give him the option of taking back his invitation.

He could see that conversation happening. It played out in his head until his worry about how things would go was smothered by how much he missed being there for those conversations.

He wouldn’t have taken back the invitation. He wondered how weird starting out with that point would be.

Eren swapped over to his side again. The streetlights several stories down barely winked at him through the blinds. He pulled the edge of his pillow up to block it out. He lowered it.

He snatched the blanket by his feet and swung off the bed. He’d make hot chocolate and keep a sleeping Benjamin company. If Frieda showed up, he’d keep her company too. That was better than lying awake all night wondering how he was going to screw everything up again.

He stepped out into the hallway, blanket over his shoulder, and there was no sign of anything but him being wrong.

He was thinking about hot chocolate and kitchen pans.

Down the hall, a thump sounded from Historia’s room.

Eren used to beat up his mother’s walls. And people. He’d heard worse.

It was just a noise. It was just a dark apartment.

It was just the sound of something hitting the floor in his suicidal friend’s room in the middle of the night where no one would be around to—

Eren’s blanket dropped to the floor, and Historia’s door appeared in front of him with a snap of motion he knew best from Armin’s toy magnets he’d got for his seventh birthday. The juxtaposition didn’t do anything to settle his nerves.

“Historia?” he asked the door. His voice came out loud and distant. One of his fists found the wood and knocked. “Is everything okay?”

Several more heartbeats of silence confirmed that to be the stupid question it was. Eren cleared his throat and tried to think of something besides how Frieda, who didn’t even have the full story, couldn’t sleep some nights until she saw her little sister breathing.

That was supposed to be weird. Kind of creepy.

“Historia, I’m opening the door,” he said.

He pushed it open more roughly than intended, and there wasn’t really a noise that came with it, but the door’s swing had some definite resistance that put his head in all the wrong places, and the random thought hit that he’d never been in her room before, and he was three steps in before his eyes even tried to pick anything out of the shadows, and for an insane moment he was so sure that this was the start of another nightmare, just in time to break Armin and Mikasa’s hearts all over again, and Historia was on the floor next to her bed.

Eren’s hand snapped out and hit the light switch.

The searing brightness hurt, but relief made up for it when it illuminated Historia’s tearstained face.

Eren almost fell to the floor. “You’re okay,” he said.

Historia, in a state of much less alarm over the last thirty seconds, stared at him with tears still actively falling, listless shock and a force that threw tennis balls taking in Eren’s presence under the spotlight that lit up her room.

“I don’t think so.”

Eren shook his head. “I meant you aren’t dead,” was the only thing he could think to say. He slid down into a more comfortable position on the hard floor. “What was that noise?”

Historia continued staring at him. She was in her pajamas, holding her flannel top tightly around her nightshirt. Like she’d tried to hide herself in it, and realized somewhere in the middle that there wasn’t enough room, so just left her hands frozen stiff.

One moved. Rigidly. She pointed at the floor behind him.

Somewhat wedged between the door and the floor was a book.

Ymir’s.

So he wasn’t the only one.

The comprehension wasn’t the gentlest place to land, but it was tinged with enough relief to pass.

“Too real?”

Historia nodded.

Eren smiled. Shooting for comforting. “Yeah, it didn’t work for me either.” There was a review to take back to Ymir. ‘Two out of three drug addicts agree your main character reads like a junkie.’ Maybe Reiner just read enough of her stuff to be inoculated.

But Historia was shaking her head. Not in a definitive motion, just back and forth. She whispered something Eren didn’t catch.

“Sorry?”

Historia swallowed. Visibly. “She left.”

Eren’s eyes drifted back to the book. It was the only thing on the floor. The only spot of color in the entire room, really. The furniture was all bare, left staged and sterile. One book, hurled at the door, was the only indication that someone lived in the space. The romance novel Historia should have had more of an interest in anyway, that the words on the back cover and that he’d skimmed near the end dubbed a tragedy.

“She doesn’t say anything,” Historia said. “She spends—she spends half the book wanting this girl, loving her so much it sounds like—” one of her sleeves pulled up, and the scars popped. “She spends all that time, but then she never says it. She leaves and never says it.” A new fount of tears started, and Historia whipped them away with the back of her hand.

Her voice broke. “If she doesn’t say it, how’s she supposed to know?”

Eren moved to the bed, sitting next to Historia on the floor. After a moment’s hesitation, he carefully put his arm around her shoulders. She curled inward, but not away.

“If she doesn’t know, she won’t know to…” The sleeve pulled further up, drawn by Historia’s hand raking through her hair. “She left,” she repeated. “She loves her, and she leaves anyway, over some stupid, idiotic, self-righteous—”

More tears. Eren had never been great with them. When Armin cried, it was usually after someone had hit him. Eren’s job was to go hit them back so Armin wouldn’t have to anymore. Mikasa had been better at that. She’d also been better at making Armin feel better. She was better at just about everything.

Eren wished Historia had one of the better ones in her corner. But she was stuck with him.

“I left too,” he said, the truth of many, many hours of guilt and hatred clawing its way into words that sounded halfway human, and like maybe forgiveness was okay to want. “People don’t always—”

“But you’re getting them back!”

The shout was hoarse and broken, and much louder than the rest of the conversation.

Historia continued on, savagely tearing through the words. “You never reached out, and never said anything, and you needed them. More than anything.” Her voice caught. “I… She was so… I always thought she didn’t need anyone. Even…”

Eren was five and Armin was the coolest kid on the playground. He mouthed off to everyone he disagreed with, even after he took a beating, because it was right.

Eren was seventeen and hearing for the first time how little Armin had thought of himself back then.

Eren was ten and Mikasa was winning all the fights he started.

Eren was nine and Mikasa would not let go of his hand.

“She left,” Historia said, “and all this time… but I’m the one who…” She stopped, and Eren could see the cords in her wrist tighten before she started again.

When she did, the words were slow and agonized. “I’m not like Armin and Mikasa,” she said. “I didn’t wait. I didn’t keep trying. I took it for granted that she didn’t want me and gave up. She left. I never chased her. I want her but I never—”

Eren was probably holding her shoulder too tightly. He knew his jaw was too tight. He could hear Armin tutting at him, flicking a spilled cheerio from the kitchen counter at his forehead. “You were stuck in juvie,” Eren said. “You’d have to be an idiot to expect someone to chase you from there.”

“She is!” Historia shouted at the floor.

Eren kept the half-hug stable through the laugh that choked out a sob. He thought he heard the click of their front door unlocking. Hot chocolate felt very far away. Historia was shivering. She could use some.

He hoped her girlfriend felt half as bad about everything as he had when he’d flamed out and abandoned everyone who loved him. Whatever had happened, there was no way this didn’t earn her at least that.

“I don’t know what went on between you two,” he said, not adding that he didn’t think Historia did, either, “but I never wanted Armin and Mikasa to stick this through. I’m—” hell “glad they did, but I was a jerk. They deserved better. I wouldn’t have blamed them if they never talked to me again.”

“But you would have wanted them to.”

And hated himself all the way through his bedroom wall for it. “Yeah.”

“Because you love them.”

“…Yeah.”

Those were definitely footsteps. Eren didn’t want to listen for the moment they spotted the extra light in the hallway, or his blanket on the floor. Historia’s eyes were peeking out from behind her hair again. They were trained on Ymir’s book.

“I don’t even know if she loved me back,” she said.

Eren couldn’t give an answer to that. All he really knew about Historia’s girlfriend was that all the flashbacks in the world wouldn’t be reason enough to shrug off a chance to punch her in the face, and if that needed to happen, Historia had first claim.

The footsteps stopped. Eren winced when they started again, slapping the floor, and he caught the second when Historia’s confusion at the noise turned into horror.

Frieda appeared as a breathless shadow in the doorway, and Eren didn’t even have a chance to spot the panic her body was screaming on her face before she swooped in. A blur of older sister dove on both of them, and shock and a welcoming thud of a heartbeat stole the breath from Eren’s lungs. Frieda’s fingers caught his head and pulled him over her shoulder while Historia was simply dragged bodily into her side with a surprised croak.

“You’re both okay?” Frieda asked, squeezing more air out of them. She sounded faint. Fear bled through her grip, and Historia had gone suspiciously still.

Eren had wanted her around for these late-night encounters, once. Right now it felt cruel to both of them.

“I’m good,” Eren said.

Frieda nodded, and Eren felt her pull away just enough to look down properly at her sister, who was still clutched to her like a limpet.

“Historia?”

Both of her sleeves had rolled up. Her fingernails were digging matching imprints into her scars, and every person in the hug could feel the flinch Frieda tried to hide. Historia buried herself closer. Shaking like it was her first night off the hard stuff.

“I—” she started through a new sob. “I’m sorry.”

Eren disentangled himself before Frieda’s hand decapitated him on its way to hold her sister more tightly, soft words and reassurances brushing by his ears as Frieda told Historia not to apologize, she had nothing to apologize for, and Historia dissolved further into tears.

“I’m going to go get started on the hot chocolate,” he said.

Frieda’s gaze shot over him, and Eren almost stopped in the middle of standing at the unadulterated terror dampening her eyes, but she only mouthed her thanks, pulling Historia fully into her arms in the midst of another litany of sorrys, one after another.

The one thing Historia had never wanted was for Frieda to know how bad things were. Eren doubted any of them wanted to think about how long she had guessed at it.

“Does it ever help? Talking?”

Eren patted Historia firmly on the head on his way out.

He also grabbed the book off the floor.

----

Eren was cleaning the apartment, which was stupid. They had maid service. They did a superhuman job of cleaning. Short of making a deal with the devil, Eren wasn’t going to be able to match their work. He was leaving streaks on the counter. It didn’t matter how many times he dragged the washcloth over the spots. The streaks just moved.

Armin had shared an apartment with him. He knew how Eren lived.

Right, and his last memory of what that was like was forever linked to digging through Eren’s bedroom and finding all of his drugs.

The streak moved from the edge of the counter to the center. Eren was chasing it around the way Benjamin swam after their hands when they were over his tank. With about as much success.

Lunch was takeout. Takeout plus a few mangled apples.

Historia had been nice enough not to say anything. Her face had handled that.

A night of no sleep and hysterics had peeled off some of the darkness in her eyes. She looked almost human again. By their standards, but their standards had improved lately. She’d stopped Eren’s jittery hands from costing him a finger and spun her phone over the marble at him, several restaurant tabs already opened.

Eren had texted Armin and Mikasa. Everyone had ordered. It was all fine. They had enough chairs. Frieda had double-checked before she left. She’d spent the night.

“You don’t want to stay?” Eren and Historia had asked in perfect, frantic unison when she announced her departure over breakfast. A breakfast she’d cooked for them, smiling through her yawns the whole time.

For a moment he’d thought Frieda might cave, with both of them asking. Instead, she’d given them both a perfunctory pat on the head. “You two are all grown up. You don’t need me to supervise your play dates.”

Frieda was the only one with that confidence. Historia had come back from feeding Benjamin dripping dread, and Eren was left wondering if sleep deprivation and drug addiction looked anything alike and how much it would worry Mikasa and Armin that he could barely walk in a straight line.

“Sorry,” Historia said, joining him with a washcloth of her own. She didn’t leave streaks.

“Stop saying that,” Eren said. He wiped down a dried spot of water he’d left earlier. “I was only up because I couldn’t sleep.”

“Still.”

Eren yawned into his hand. “If you’re sorry about that, I’m sorry for giving you the book.”

Historia’s mouth thinned.

They worked in silence for several minutes, contributing very little to the overall cleanliness of the apartment. Eren could hear a clock ticking. None of the ones either of them owned ticked.

“What are they like?” Historia asked in a blurt.

“Huh?”

“Armin and Mikasa.”

Eren stopped scrubbing. “They’re… Armin and Mikasa.”

“Your friends,” Historia said. She made the term sound alien.

Eren glanced at her. She was frowning at her rag. Tiny, blond, and maybe looking for the words instead of being too stubborn to share them, but the blast of nostalgia wasn’t pulling its punches. Eren slowly renewed his swipes at the counter.

His friends. The two people who made him get it a little when clients chattered on about their other halves. The foundation of everything he was that he’d bombed halfway to hell when everything he was turned out to be pain.

Armin and Mikasa.

“Mikasa’s good at everything,” Eren started. He remembered jogging to one of Zeke’s baseball practices, skipping over the cracks in the sidewalk and trying to keep up, whining those same words because his big brother would never tell anyone. “She’s strong. I—not just in things like sports, or fighting. I could never win against her when we sparred, and she has better times than I do on all the mountains nearby, but that’s not it.” His reflection blinked emptily from the shining counter. “She’s reliable. The responsible one. Always there, even when you don’t want her to be, because she knows more about when you need her than you do.

“It’s annoying,” he didn’t say. It used to be. It would have his head full of steam and his feet stomping cross the sidewalk. It had leaked into the things he’d said when withdrawal hit and he hated everyone.

“Armin’s… an optimist. He doesn’t think he is, because he’s always thinking about the most depressing stuff, but it’s always about… ways to make them better. To fix them. He doesn’t lose it when it’s hard or looks too difficult. He just does it. Like it’s nothing. He’s tough. The toughest person I know. And the smartest. He—I don’t know how many things he’s tutoring by now, but he picked up as many jobs as he could to pay for every college course he could stay awake for.” And then some. Eren had seven different alarms set for each day of the week to go and collect Armin for his classes. There were days he ended up carrying Armin to class. That was what finally got him to change up his schedule. “He’d be an expert in all of them after a semester. Sometimes less. He got a free ride to several places, but—he stayed behind. He cared more about staying with us.

“He lied about that,” Eren added. “He’s not usually good at it, but he was then. We wouldn’t have let him lose out on something like that. We both tried to get him to go when it all came out, but he wouldn’t. He—we kept trying, but he just wouldn’t. He staged—” The flash of the kitchen lights flashed against the counter, hiding the reflection he knew was smiling. “He staged an intervention for us. A whole PowerPoint on why we had to stop, because the only one who knew what was best for his education was him.”

Historia walked over to the sink, squeezing her rag dry. “Did it work?”

“Of course it worked,” Eren said, grabbing a fresh towel. “You can’t argue with the smartest person you know.” That was why people always tried beating him up; that was the only thing they could come up with.

For a while, that was the only thing Eren could come up with for dealing with himself. Mikasa would have thrown him over her shoulder and told him to stop hitting things. Armin would have devised his own twelve-step program, devoted to all facts about Eren he’d picked up throughout their years of friendship, and handed him a copy.

Historia took the paper towel roll off the counter, watching him with the subterfuge of someone who’d maybe read a summary of the concept in a book.

Eren balled up his washcloth and landed it in the sink, giving up the pretense for a moment. “What do you think I should say?”

Historia’s gaze took a small detour to Benjamin’s tank. “You’re the one who knows them.”

“You’re the one here who knows what it’s like to be screwed over.”

The storm cloud darkening her countenance was very specifically aimed at him, but it cleared fast. Historia sent her rag into the sink after his, frowning. She waited on the words for a few moments. “They still love you,” she said, “so… love them back?”

It sounded like a nicer version of what Ymir said, and he was about to say so when it struck him that comparisons to Crystal Wick were the last thing that would be helpful today. Or any other time.

“Would that be enough for you?” he asked.

Laughter barked out of Historia, surprising both of them. She shook her head and leaned against the island. “Eren, seeing her again would be enough for me.” She reached out and tapped his shoulder in an odd, noncommittal pat. “Just be you.”

Eren watched Benjamin’s lazy circles. “I’m not sure he’s around.”

“Oh,” Historia said.

“Oh,” Eren echoed.

Historia turned around to lean bodily over the sparkly clean marble, nudging Eren’s elbows with hers. Benjamin reacted to the extra viewership with a flourish as he rounded the rock he had decided was this week’s favorite.

“…You could try smiling more?”

Eren looked over at Historia’s unsmiling face. “You think?”

“Maybe?”

It was the sleep deprivation, maybe, that made him smile.

They both still sucked at this.

----

When Eren was little, there were few things in his life he enjoyed as much as sci-fi B movies. Zeke would let him and Armin watch the worst, implausible action adventures, all about mutated sharks that were part dinosaur and sludge beasts that lived in the Arctic. Horror movies were bundled in, but Armin wasn’t allowed to watch those because he’d keep his parents up with existential life questions about good and evil that they hadn’t wanted to discuss with their seven-year-old.

Eren didn’t have that problem with his parents. He would sit in Zeke’s lap while they went out wherever, chattering loudly about all the things the monster’s victims were doing wrong, and how he’d do it better. He’d be a good monster slayer, he told Zeke. He wouldn’t die first.

Zeke had always said if the scientists hadn’t been so careless, and the other humans hadn’t bothered the monster so much, none of them would have had to die.

He was the worst person to watch movies with. He’d also been the only babysitter Eren had who would let him watch those ones.

Some of Eren’s chief complaints about the screaming people in the movies had been how they handled doorways. They’d run into places and open doors without a second thought about where it would land them.

There was a knock on the door.

Eren dropped the plate he was fussing with and almost tripped over Historia bolting for the doorknob. He threw it open before any sort of sense had a chance of reestablishing itself, and met the alarmed eyes of the delivery girl with heavy breathing and

Historia pulled him back by his shirt. He stumbled back into the apartment, socks sliding on the wood.

“Sorry,” Historia said, plastered, rigid fake smile in place. “We’re expecting—”

Mikasa.

Armin.

Sound fell away to only Eren’s heartbeat. Historia pulling out her wallet and overpaying the delivery girl was barely a blip.

They were standing in the hallway. Behind the bright uniform. Standing there. Outside the door, like they’d never been anywhere else. Like he’d never left. Like Armin had forgotten his key when he brought Mikasa over for game night.

Ten steps away. Nine. Five.

“Ah,” Historia said, loud and echoey, “you must be Mikasa and Armin?”

A hiss came from the space below Mikasa’s elbow.

“And Rivaille,” Historia said. “Hello.”

No one said hello back. The cat’s perturbed mreow could have counted in another life full of hallucinogens. This one had Mikasa and Armin, standing in a doorway as the heavy apartment door heaved itself shut in their faces. Historia hurriedly blocked it with her foot, attention darting between the human statues she was surrounded by.

Eren wasn’t even sure which one he was staring at. Armin, caution and hope bursting like a newborn star all over his face. Mikasa. Mikasa. Somehow still standing and still there despite every horrible thing he’d thought and shouted and thrown.

“Mreow,” Rivaille said again.

Historia, having abandoned the bags carrying their lunch to the floor, pushed the door open more properly. “I could—take him, if you would like?”

Mikasa’s eyes snapped to Historia with such mechanic efficiency that Eren’s blink missed it. Her iron stare added one more statue to the scene as Rivaille continued to prowl about his enclosure. For an eternity, she and Armin were both staring at Historia. Slowly, that stare turned, very directly, back to Eren. Eren felt halfway to blitzed. Being all the way there might have been the only thing that could help to decipher the new looks they were giving them.

“Thank you,” Mikasa said at last. Talking like a Mikasa who hadn’t lived through the last year. She handed Rivaille’s carrier off to Historia. “He’s very well behaved. It should be safe to let him out. As long as you watch him around—Benjamin?”

Eren nodded. His head felt like it was on a string.

She nodded back, and addressed Historia. “I don’t know how he is around fish. He also shouldn’t be jumping, but I can… I will take care of supervising him.”

Historia held the carrier gingerly, and miraculously, Rivaille wasn’t screaming at the loss of his stable pedestal that was Mikasa’s arms of steel. “He hurt his paw?”

Armin interrupted before the storm cloud on Mikasa’s face could start thundering. “The neighbor’s dog did,” he said.

“Right.”

“Rivaille prefers his space.”

“Okay.”

Mikasa and Armin still hadn’t stepped inside. Their food was going to get cold if they left it on the floor. Rivaille was only a moment’s distraction as long as he was in his carrier. Eren felt like he was in the center ring of that circus Armin’s parents had taken them to when they were small enough to need to climb up on their shoulders to see anything.

He didn’t have a script or any pies to throw in his face. Just him and whatever that meant.

He was reminded, and he didn’t want to be, of another family meal. Back when his father had been alive, and there was a family. Mikasa, Armin, and Eren, all sitting around the table with his parents, candles lit, fancy tablecloth set out.

Someone had knocked on the door.

Zeke. Uninvited, unaware that anything was going on, and wondering if Eren would like to go see a movie.

Eren found himself echoing their father.

“Do you—want to come in, maybe?”

He hoped he sounded more like he wanted his guests to say yes.

Mikasa and Armin both relaxed their shoulders so much, for a moment, it looked like they were melting. Armin’s instant smile was so heartfelt and earnest that Eren wanted to scream, and he didn’t know how he was going to exist with Mikasa one step closer when all he could think was how many apologies he owed and how many they’d never let him finish because his friends were too damn kind and too damn perfect and he had missed them so much.

They hadn’t been here five minutes and he already felt like crying. He was fucking this up right out of the gate.

But everyone else knew that, too, so they were going to keep talking around him. Door collapsing shut, closing off the one path of retreat, Mikasa briefly stopped dissecting him with her eyes and turned her focus squarely on Historia. “You are Eren’s new roommate.”

Not really new, anymore. Just not Armin. Eren reached to the floor and picked up the food bags. At the same moment Armin stepped forward to reach for one. Their hands bumped and snapped apart.

“Yes,” Historia said. “Hi. I’m Historia Reiss.”

There was a pregnant pause of evaluation and judgment before Historia seemed to think to stick out her hand. It shot out from its place on Rivaille’s carrier like one of Zeke’s pitches.

Mikasa took it. “How is it you two know each other?”

Fussing with the food was suddenly a really convenient way to not be looking at any of them, but Armin had never been great about hiding his sharp draws of breath when he thought one of them was throwing a first punch. “Mikasa, that might not be the—”

“NA,” Historia blurted. “I’m a heroin addict.”

Eren didn’t know why he looked at Armin, but Armin was already looking back, dismayed panic as clear in his face as all his emotions always were. No one really wanted the door to drug-addled pasts thrown open. Not today, not now, not ever until they were all sure they were sticking around and not running off again to live with strangers.

“…You have a lovely apartment,” Mikasa said.

Historia was nodding in his peripheral. “Inheritance. From murdering my father. Self-defense,” she clarified in a hurry. “Maybe. I’m not—I am a murderer, but it was only that one time. I’m not going to do it again.”

Frieda should not have left the apartment.

Eren froze in the middle of setting the boxes out on plates. Armin, gathering the bags and folding them into a neat pile, mimicked him, and they both silently waited for the next thundering shoe to drop.

“I moved in because we had that in common,” would have been an honest response, and saved them all some of the silence, and it was at the tip of his tongue, but he didn’t want to start that. He didn’t want the shock or the tears, or the long argument that would all be kicked off with, “You didn’t kill Dr. Yeager.”

Maybe. Like Historia had maybe killed her dad in self-defense. Eren had still felt his heart stop. Eren’s hands had helped that along, and no one ever wanted to hear it.

Mikasa saved the moment. Calmly, like a modern day superhero whose qualities were eternally called out to balance Eren’s failures. “I have a cousin who went through something similar,” she said. Smiling. With her eyes, but that was where her best smiles were. “He’s less reluctant about repeat offenses.”

Armin coughed a chuckle, catching Eren’s eye. Another knot in his chest loosened.

“We should eat before it gets cold,” he said.

“We should,” Armin agreed, handing Eren one of the napkins set out.

Eren took it quickly and gratefully, swiping away his tears before anyone else could see.

----

“He’s gorgeous, Eren,” Armin said softly, peering so closely at the aquarium that with his old haircut, he would have already been drenched. Benjamin wasn’t swimming as close as he did with Historia, and not used to people saying hello from up above unless they had food, but he wasn’t hiding away in one of his caves, either. “Have you thought about adding to the tank at all?”

“Some. There are a few eels that might be a good fit, but he should have some more time to settle and grow before we give that a try. The tank could also use a sturdier hood first.”

“I’ve read they can be escape artists.”

“Yeah. I told Historia nothing that can get out and crawl around, but—” he wasn’t going to relapse, and Armin didn’t need to hear about how recently he’d doubted that—“it’s a big tank. Benjamin could use some company.”

“A predator tank suits you,” Armin said. He floated his fingers above the water, clearly tempted to give petting Benjamin a shot.

Eren shrugged, leaning his hip on Benjamin’s table. “If you say so. I can’t handle the live feeding. Too squeamish. I’ve got tank duty on the chore wheel while Historia does the heavy lifting.”

Armin was quiet. A thinking sort of quiet where he was about to say something that made more boring people want to hit him. He glanced at the kitchen counter. Mikasa was sitting on a stool. Historia, with Rivaille’s prompting, had been encouraged to sit on top of the counter.

The cat hadn’t left her lap.

He’d hissed when Eren had tried to say hello.

With Historia, he nuzzled her cheek and purred like a chainsaw. Only less literally than what Eren had seen from those claws. Even Mikasa was taken aback by how gently Rivaille was behaving.

They were getting along. They’d all survived lunch past Eren asking who had won Levi’s MMA tournament this year (Annie, and Armin had immediately switched the topic to movies while Mikasa stabbed the floor with her eyes), Eren had a few lines on his hands from where he’d grabbed his knife and fork too hard, but none of him or the silverware was broken.

“Moving out helped after all, didn’t it?”

Eren’s hands gripped the edge of the table. “Armin…”

“I’m happy,” Armin interrupted. “I’m really glad, Eren.”

“Don’t.”

The low hum of conversation from the kitchen stopped. Rivaille’s warning meow was quickly stifled by Mikasa getting up from her stool. Historia grabbed her arm before she could take a full step. It was a surprise to everyone that Mikasa let that be enough, but Eren couldn’t think about that right now.

He wanted Armin to be hurt. Betrayed. Upset.

Not relieved that the person who caused all of that was better. Not putting some piece of disloyal garbage over—

“Don’t act like it’s all okay now,” Eren growled. Speaking to the floor because the floor did the right thing when he fell on it and gave him a damn bruise. “I—” he wasn’t supposed to do this Petra had told him to take it easy it didn’t need to come out all at once to be progress—“You can’t just be happy I’m not breaking everything I touch anymore and act like that’s the end of it.”

Armin was the weak one, in kindergarten. That’s what everyone thought. Lied to about themselves so they didn’t have to think about why this one kid made them all want to beat him silly instead of listening to him.

He was the bravest person Eren had ever met. “Well, why not?”

“Why—what?”

Armin pulled away from Benjamin’s tank. He patted his hands with the towel Historia had started leaving out. “If you think you messed up that badly,” he said with a forced, careful steadiness, “why do you think it’s up to you to say how we feel about it? Isn’t it more important for us to get a say?”

Eren had fallen back into looking at him. Armin looked back earnestly, months upon months of frown lines meeting his words and promising that this wasn’t someone who said things he didn’t mean. Someone who didn’t think for hours on end before he worked up the nerve to blow everyone’s mind with his confidence.

He’d had months of Eren not being ready to be his audience.

“Eren I don’t think—” Armin shook his head, his shorter hair not flurrying the way it used to when he did that. “I don’t think anyone here would say things went well. It was awful.” Understatement. “As happy I am that you’re doing better, I think I’m even happier none of us are back in that place.” Nothing gave Armin the right to say things Eren agreed with even when he was so angry he could barely see straight. “But if you’re going to be angry over us wanting you back—you should understand, shouldn’t you? How painful it is that you don’t blame us for missing everything you went through?”

“That’s ridiculous,” Eren said. “Those are still my mistakes, Armin. You can’t take on the blame for that.”

Armin kept shaking his head. “You’re my—you’re our best friend, Eren. That should mean you never have to go through anything alone, but you did,” he said softly. “We were right there. We saw you every day. And we missed… everything.”

He smiled his crooked, unhinged smile that their middle school D&D club had voted to ban. “You’re so busy being angry at us for being happy we didn’t ruin you that you’re letting us get away with being really selfish. Of course we want things to be fixed. We’re the ones who let them break.”

Eren could feel more tears waiting and burning under the pressure of his own heartbeat building up behind his skull. He’d heard that kind of blame in his head, once. Right before he screamed it at Mikasa. Hateful and full of everything he never wanted to be while he threw up his organs.

They were crap. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said.

“We wanted to do more right,” Armin said. “Didn’t you?”

“You can’t argue with the smartest person you know.”

Hell. Oh hell.

Historia had said just seeing that girl of hers would be enough. Even after she broke her heart. She still thought about her all the time. They couldn’t have known each other that long if they met in juvie. Not anywhere near as long as Eren had known Armin and Mikasa. They had years of friendship backing up one really, really inexcusably awful year.

They wanted him back.

He’d known that. That was why he was so pissed. They deserved so much better.

Armin was standing right in front of him, earnest, brilliant eyes telling him that all over again. Staring at his idiot friend who’d ruined their lives and hoping, more than anything, the idiot would take him back.

He had known that’s how they felt, right?

This whole time?

Eren didn’t want to start sobbing in front of Mikasa. Not again. He thought that every single time it happened. It was maybe the one thing about him that none of this had changed.

Armin, his first friend, the guy who’d taught him all about why dinosaurs were the best and how to stick to a study plan, took pity on him, and moved in to grab him before the crying could really start, catching his shoulders and head in his hands and not feeling, or not caring, that this was closer than they’d dared to be for over a year.

And Eren hated crying, hated that he spent so much of his life now doing it, but Armin’s tears rolling down his neck felt too much like home to hate anything properly. He grabbed Armin right back and held him as tightly as he’d never let himself after the funeral.

He had missed him too. So much.

----

Lunch had technically been over for hours by the time Mikasa and Armin left.

None of them wanted it to be. That was why Armin had finally said they should get going.

“It won’t change just because we head out the door,” he said. “We’re doing better than that, now.”

None of them wanted to talk about how that was still a hope, not a fact, either. Eren felt more clingy than he ever had in his life. For maybe the first time, he fully understood why Mikasa had to be talked down from looking after him all the time. Some hurts didn’t ever let you think things could go back to being okay.

Armin was still the smart one.

Historia was helping to coax Rivaille back in his cage. Eren didn’t make the repeated mistake of trying to be friendly with the cat. His hand still hurt from earlier. Armin was standing out in the hall. Ready to go.

Mikasa was lingering in the threshold. Halfway between helping Historia with her cat and not leaving Eren.

Eren had only had half the talk that needed to happen so far today. Drilling Armin on his studies and Mikasa on her judo students and Historia on anything that wasn’t her family or drug habit had soaked up the time. Maybe too much. Armin and Mikasa’s questions about school had sounded very sincere and gentle, but Eren wouldn’t be surprised if Armin already had another PowerPoint project playing out in his head about what they now knew about Eren’s new friend.

Armin caught his eye as Historia finally, without a mark on her, convinced the devil cat that he wanted to be back in a box.

Eren couldn’t help one last scowl at the golden eyes leering at him. Rivaille returned the expression with interest. “He’s never done that for me.”

“You’re too rough with him,” Mikasa said.

“You used to pick me up like that all the time.”

“You are not a cat, Eren.”

Armin laughed and even the appearance of a grudge had to fall away. Mikasa smiled softly at him. Eren doubted his expression looked much different. “We should take him back downstairs while he’s still settled. Historia, would you like to carry him?”

Eren did his best to roll his eyes at Armin. The attempt wasn’t great. Ymir or Annie would have laughed themselves silly at him. …Ymir would have. Annie probably would have kicked him and told him to work on it.

Historia followed the leading question and flicked her eyes between Eren and Mikasa, catching on way too fast. “Of course,” she said. “I’ll… follow you down, then.”

To her credit, she raised her eyebrows questioningly at Eren before she actually followed Armin. Eren shrugged a shoulder, which she took to be good enough reason to abandon him to be an adult on his own. Petra would probably hug both of them if she ever got the full story out about today.

He and Mikasa watched their friends trot off.

The renewed silence wasn’t that awkward, but Eren was starting to feel it. Armin was the talker of the three of them. He took all of the twists and turns of Eren’s temper and made sense of it.

Mikasa didn’t talk as much.

They’d had a long time of not talking. Even the old kind didn’t feel right. He wanted to say something. Anything. As long as it included an apology.

“She’s very pretty.”

Eren’s readied words stopped short. “Huh?”

Mikasa had her scarf pulled up over her mouth. It didn’t quite cover the red in her cheeks. She wasn’t looking at him. Her gaze was still on the now empty hallway.

Comprehension, hitting Eren over the head like a loud, embarrassed gong, rang out in his mind. The expected start would have been bad enough.This was different. This was Mikasa confiding in him, and he’d had too many talks about his and other people’s feelings to miss a cue like that. It wasn’t a year ago where he could be confused and move on with his life while Armin came back home five hours later and told him that his people skills needed work.

They did still need work. But Mikasa was his friend, and deserved the effort.

“I could get you her number,” he said hesitantly, “but she’s pretty hung up on this girl she knows.”

Mikasa’s face went so red that he knew for a fact that they both wanted anything else to be happening.

“I—see.”

He had to try. For Mikasa, he could do that much. “You two got along really well.” Or Historia got on well with her cat, which was like the same thing. No wonder Mikasa was asking. “I don’t know—she’s not… she’s really not available, but you could probably be good friends. Or hang out at Zeke’s games; he conned her into subbing for a few, and she could use someone besides me to practice with.”

He couldn’t tell if he was helping. He and Mikasa didn’t do this, and the unfamiliarity alone would probably be enough to make her face that color, because she knew as much as he did that this was not how they were them.

“Zeke stopped asking for my help,” Mikasa said, picking the closest side of normal to engage with.

Normal wasn’t safe. Pins and needles ran all up Eren’s spine before he went for it and took the damn plunge. “He was trying to be considerate, I guess. His version,” Eren added, more than aware what Mikasa thought about Zeke’s considerations. They were about what he thought, after all. “I… I’ll tell him he doesn’t need to do that anymore. It’s… better with you around.”

“…Thank you.”

The oppressive quiet came back. Eren’s fingernails were fighting to dig into his palms. The door was propped open by his back. He could imagine hearing Benjamin’s water filter if he just gave himself a second.

He didn’t want to put something this important off for any more seconds.

“Mikasa,” he said, “I’m sorry.”

Mikasa didn’t move. “I know.”

“The things I said…”

“Eren.”

“No one should ever talk to you that way,” Eren said. “I shouldn’t have—” He stopped short. His problems could stay with a different step. One that mattered less than his friends. Only one piece of it all really belonged here, and he said it again.

“I’m sorry.”

Mikasa had one hand buried in her scarf. Her blush had faded, as well as the gentle smile Armin had won out of her. There were tired lines in her forehead that only Eren could claim complete responsibility for.

“You wanted Armin to be angry at you,” she said.

Then cried all over him for sparing him that. “Yeah.”

Mikasa adjusted her scarf, pulling it tighter, but lowering it from keeping her mouth hidden. “It hurt,” she said. “You never say things you don’t mean, even if you only mean them for a moment.”

His mom had yelled at him for that. Many, many times.

He’d yelled back that moments were important.

That was another thing he and Mikasa agreed on.

“None of it was your fault,” Eren said.

“But you were right. We didn’t see it.”

“You were trying to give me space.”

“We didn’t.”

Mikasa had moved in for several weeks under the guise of helping Eren since his leg was broken.

“Your version of space.”

Another life would have seen that as a very strong complaint. Silent hovering was annoying and if Eren had been on a lower dose of painkillers or been less insane, it would have driven him nuts. But it stayed at silence. It stayed at a quiet hand helping him through the day and never asking how he was feeling because how he was feeling was so obvious.

“That still should have put us close enough to notice,” Mikasa said.

How she was feeling during all of that was pretty obvious, too. Even through the drugs. Eren just hadn’t been able to care. “My dad died,” Eren said, like it really was the accident Mikasa had never had any trouble seeing it for. “You knew something was wrong. You didn’t know I was making it worse.”

Mikasa wasn’t looking at him.

That should have made it easier than facing Armin, but he’d had too many years of getting annoyed over Mikasa always looking at him to finish the comparison just inside his head.

“It hurt,” she repeated, softly. “But what hurt most was thinking you might stay that way, and there was nothing I could do to help. Armin was right. We wanted to do more.” She frowned, a touch of irritation through the melancholy. “Zeke did more for you than we ever could.”

“Zeke didn’t stick around long enough for me to shout at him to leave,” Eren couldn’t help pointing out.

It almost got her to smile. The shadow of it faded too fast.

She did look up, and extensive cardio training as a way of life kept him breathing.

“No matter what happened, what matters to me now is that you’re okay. As long as that’s true, the rest is easy to forgive.” She closed her eyes and pulled her scarf tight. When she opened them again, they were the same eyes he’d seen when he woke up in the hospital.

“Are you okay, Eren?” she asked.

“Are you really?”

He’d gotten sick of that question long before he’d been anything close to the angry yes he kept snapping at his family. His mom had kept asking. Petra had always known better than to ask, but only because she’d been there. She had almost bit her lip through when he and Historia showed up with his black eye.

Who wanted okay, anyway? What kind of life was an okay one? Why would that be worth anything? He’d always been just okay. Armin was brilliant, Mikasa was perfect, and Eren was okay enough to lag behind them.

Until Eren wasn’t.

Until he couldn’t remember what okay or being a person even felt like, and someone had decided that the worst thing about him made him the best choice for a roommate. For a friend.

Armin had hugged him today.

Eren looked Mikasa straight in the eye, the weight of all their baggage nothing next to her being a few steps away and still caring. “I’m getting there,” he said.

She did smile, then. One of her real ones, with too much warmth to be anything but embarrassing when they were young. The step between them almost vanished, all of her starting to move forward before she remembered how many times Eren had actually called her embarrassing.

Armin had moved first with him. Fair was fair.

Eren took the step and wrapped Mikasa in the best hug he knew how. His chin bumped her forehead and their shoes snagged together, but he tried to hug her like he was never going to let her go again, and she hugged him back so tightly that his ribs creaked.

“I’m glad,” she whispered into his shoulder. “That you aren’t alone.”

He was not going to cry again. He squeezed her tightly. “Me too.”

----

Hours later, Eren was on the couch. Breathing into a cushion. Not on purpose, that was just where his face had landed after everything wound down.

“Thanks,” Historia said at some point.

“What for?”

“Letting me meet your family.”

Eren flopped his cheek against the side of the pillow. Historia had done her collapse under Benjamin’s tank. She looked as exhausted as he felt, drooped against the table. Benjamin blubbed away over her head.

Frieda had offered to drop some of her dinner off on them. She said she made too much for just her, and she had no room in her fridge. They’d have to help with the leftovers. One last visitor for the day.

“Yeah,” he said. “No problem.”

[next]

[writeyourownlifestory]

L I GH T S  U P

Chapters: 1/20 Fandom: IT Rating: M Warnings: No warnings at this time  Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Beverly Marsh/Ben Hanscom Additional Tags: PunkRocker!Eddie, Writer!Richie, Beveddie!Friendship, No Clown Written by: myself & @ahardlife Tag list: @richietoaster, @beproudtozier, @that-weird-girls-blog, @s-onora, @s-s-georgie, @bellarosewrites, @iamcupcakefrosting, @reddieonwheels, @bi-gemini1983

Puff piece writer Richie Tozier is given the chance of a lifetime to interview his celebrity crush: Dr. K, the lead singer of punk rock band, Trashmouth. Dr. K is about to release his first solo album and Richie wants to get all the dirty details. But all is not what it appears to be and the two realize they know each other from a different time, in a different place, when they were both very different people.

One: Cruel To Be Kind: Nick Lowe

Oh I can't take another heartache Though you say you're my friend, I'm at my wit's end You say your love is bonafide, but that don't coincide With the things that you do And when I ask you to be nice, you say

You've gotta be cruel to be kind, in the right measure Cruel to be kind, it's a very good sign Cruel to be kind, means that I love you, baby (You've gotta be cruel) You gotta be cruel to be kind

Richie Tozier didn’t know what he wanted to do with his life.

That wasn’t a very unique statement but Richie wasn’t a very unique person. An average guy who was as blind as a bat, born in bumblefuck nowhere and eventually making it out of there and into the big wild city, making a living working at a big-name magazine.

Okay, the last part was pretty impressive, but he didn’t actually work very hard for that job.

He used to dream of writing comedy. Of telling jokes or writing for amazing shows like Saturday Night Life or something on Comedy Central. He wanted to be a comedian. To make people laugh. Sure, he is seen as the funny guy around the watering tank, but thats just because the rest of the people he worked with were a bunch of yuppies with impressive college degrees and no real personalities. They’re no better than the robots who work for Buzzfeed.

They had paperback covers and an app for people who didn’t want to go to the store to buy an actual copy. They had their own YouTube channel that hit millions of hits thanks to interviews and other shit that Richie took part in.

When Bill decided he wanted to make this into a real thing, he wanted it to make some sense. It wasn’t some balls to the ball insanity mag that people read for juicy gossip. It was real. The people who subscribed were real and the people featured in it were real.

Richie’s writing, not so much.

He mostly did puff pieces. Little things that didn’t take a lot of effort but were mostly filler in between the larger stories. It was something Bill had done for them after the magazine got big. You see, he and Bill had been buddies in college. Both young and naive about the world. Neither really knew what they wanted, but they had dreams and that was all that mattered back then.

It was Bill that had the real talent with writing and despite publishers being interested, he never took into account just how much time, effort, and money went into getting a book published. Richie, always believing in his best friend, decided to give him all the cash he had saved up for spring break so he would make the first move on getting his novel out.

He didn’t mind much as he found that he could eat, sleep, and drink on the couch the same way he could out on the beach.  

That novel ended up being a best seller and skyrocketed Bill’s career. Bill always remembered that, so when his second and third books became such a thrill, he decided to take the chance and create a magazine and brought Richie along for the ride.

It was easy work and he made good money for doing very little, but he found that was the main cause of his quarter-life crisis. He wanted so much more than he had been given that Richie was actually feeling guilty for wanting more.

He had done stand up in the city and even took an improv class, but nothing seemed to stick to him. Now he was over thirty and found himself in a rut. He lived alone in a small apartment filled with things he didn’t need but purchased because he thought they would bring out a sense of excitement.

He was single, though that was a whole nother issue as it took Richie an embarrassingly long time to come to terms with his own sexuality. Growing up in a small town where people were cruel and the world didn’t understand left marks on an impressionable kid. It wasn’t until he was halfway through college that he did anything with a guy and well-passed gradation that he realized that it was more than okay to be gay, it was normal.

So yeah, he was open and fine with it, but still lonely as hell. He had been with people in the past, but he found that he mostly just shut himself off from the world. He wasn’t happy about anything anymore and it seemed the only thing that got him by was that ending it all would have proved his teenage bullies right; that he was better off dead.

And if there was anything Richie wanted to live for, it was spite.

And also music.

Despite not being musically inclined at all, Richie loved music with all his heart. He spent a good portion of his time listening to records as a kid. He used to go around carrying a walkman and CD player and Zune throughout his life. He paid for the mom's gigs on his phone because he needed to have all his favorite songs ready to blast at the tap of a finger.

While they already had a guy that wrote specifically about music for the magazine, he had always been able to sweet talk Bill into allowing him to have a few moments to shine and write something about some artist. Those were the pieces that really mattered to him. The ones that gave Richie the chance to dive deep into the thing he loved.

Sure, he had written a whole expose on Street Fighter and perhaps he did make a big deal out of the Star Wars franchise, but it was the moments when Richie could reel back and listen before writing that got him going.

They rarely did full-length articles on performers as the magazine was something of a clusterfuck of topics. Bill Denbrough never wanted to settle on just one thing. Paper Boat was more than just one specific topic. It was everything and they would be damned if they ever settled on its something.

But of course, now and then something would come along and the whole team would be scrambling to put together a magazine dedicated to that one specific person. It wasn’t always a celebrity. Bill meant what he said when he wanted to keep the magazine aimed at the everyday people.

Their biggest seller to date had been when they put out issues all about Ben Hanscom the architect. Richie had no idea why anybody would want to read about the guy other than to enjoy the pictures that were taken of him, but low and behold, the world wanted to know.

As it turned out, Ben was a decent human being who just wanted to make the world a better place and he also happened to be extremely hot while doing it. Who knew that was possible!

The physical copies sold out everywhere and the website crashed thanks to all the promotions they did on it. Like, what the actual fuck?

Bill was that good at what he did and it also helped that he was writing his books on the side. He had people from all over coming through wanting to see what they could do and it only proved to be more impressive as time went on.

Now the magazine needed something new, something fresh and it seemed Bill had it all planned out.

“Here at Paper Boat, we don’t choose a good looking celebrity because we want to make money. You know, I’m not going to call up Jennifer Aniston and ask her to do me a favor -- I could, but I won’t -- because that isn’t what we do here.” Bill explained as they went over the board meeting for the next issue. “The people featured on our cover are interesting. People who want to bring the world together and make a change. Or maybe they’re just batshit insane and look good while doing it. Who knows.”

A small array of laughter came over the place. Richie leaned back in his chair, half paying attention. He knew how these things went. Bill made a big, exciting speech before revealing who or what they’d be focusing on. The assignments would be passed around and Richie would be given something soft and fun.

He got the dumb shit that got the people who didn’t want to read involved. Sometimes he’d do interviews while vlogging. They’d try food they never tried before or do something stupid. One of the most interesting had been when he got assigned to interview Kristen Wiig while bobbing for apples. Certainly interesting and the flow to the website was wonderful.

Richie was the writer they went to when they wanted it to seem kitsch and gimmicky. Enough for it to garner actual attention, but nothing worth anybody's time.

He tossed his stress ball up in the air, catching it as it followed the natural path and came back down. He got bored easily as meetings like this and he waited for Bill to just get on with it and assign everybody their respected jobs.

Bill hit a button on his computer, revealing a picture that Richie was all too familiar with. It was of a punk rock band that he had followed since he graduated from college. Trashmouth was one of the greatest bands that had ever come into Richie’s life. They were like if Queen and the Ramones were put together, had a baby, and then that baby had a baby with Green Day: that weirdly insane combination would be Trashmouth.

There were five members, but the main focus was and always had been the lead singer and guitarist Dr. K. Nobody knew why he went by that nor did he ever give an answer. Richie had googled him a couple of times, wanting to find out more, but the guy was a fucking mystery. It was like he just appeared on the scene, completely out of his mind with cut off sleeves and steller vocals.

It was safe to say Richie had a big gay crush on Dr. K.

And that was fine because Dr. K was just as gay.

He had never been seen with anybody, always choosing to keep his personal life private, but his songs were obvious enough even if most of them seemed pretty genderless. He had done one interview where the person asking the questions kept using the term ‘she’ or ‘her’ until finally, the guy replied that he writes songs about guys.

That took the world by fucking storm and Richie Tozier had never been the same.

“Some of you may be familiar with Trashmouth. Multiple Grammy noms and wins. Always in the top 40 listings despite repeatedly being told that punk rock was dead.”

“Please tell me we’re going to be featuring the band,” Mike, the music specialist for the magazine, piped up eagerly.

“I can’t because we won’t,” Bill replied. “Our focus is on him.” Bill hit another button and a solo picture of Dr. K popped up.

Richie’s mouth was watering and he sat up straight. He had the same picture in a small poster in his apartment. It was set up alongside some other pictures in what he called his “Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Wall” because he was just that big of a fan. He looked at it often, always finding himself thankful for all the music that had been created and got him through some pretty dark days as a kid.

Did it also help that Dr. K was incredibly attractive and gave Richie a little bit of encouragement just by looking so good? Yes, yes it did.

“It seems Dr. K will be going off on his own. My sources tell me he’ll be putting out a solo album by the end of the year and I want to know everything about it. Mikey, that’s your job. Speak to whoever you have to to find out what is going to be on that album. Audra, speak to the rest of the band, find out how they feel about the ending of an era. Georgie, get your camera ready because we’re doing a photo shoot with him in three days.”

“Who is doing the main exposé?” Greta asked, popping her gum as she spoke.

Bill smirked, turning back to his computer. “I’ll pick someone later. For now, you’re all dismissed.”

The group got up from their chairs and left Bill’s office. All except for Richie, who was too fucking flabbergasted to do a damn thing. As Bill began to head out, he finally scrambled to his feet to follow him. His long legs led him there quickly, though he mostly sidestepped around his coworkers to finally reach their boss.

“Bill! Big Bill! Wait up.” He called, following him to the elevator.

“What's up, Rich? I’m about to head out for lunch.” Bill said, turning to face him. “You hungry? We could check out that new sandwich place that opened across the way.

“Oh, no. I’m time. Stuffed.” Richie patted his stomach lamely, offering a large smile to his friend and boss. “Hey! So, just checking in to see about that latest pitch.”

“Oh right,” Bill paused, hitting the elevator button. “You were a fan of that band, right? Oof. Sorry about the breakup buddy. Haven’t you seen them like six times?”

“It’s sixteen, but that’s not important right now.” Richie corrected. “Bill. Buddy. You have to listen to me.”

“You got it, Rich.”

“I know you only trust me with the puff pieces because I’m not as talented as Mike or even Greta, but I need you to trust me on this.”

“You can do the exposé, Rich.”

“I have gotten better over time and I swear, if you just give me the chance, I promise. I won’t do a single embarrassing voice or anything to get Paper Boat blacklisted.”

“I’m sure you’ll embarrass yourself in one way or another, but that’s your issue. You have two days.”

“Until what?”

“Until your interview with Dr. K,” Bill said, stepping into the elevator as the doors opened. “If you’d stopped rambling you would have heard me tell you that you’re going to be the one doing the expose. You’ll be meeting him in two days, so you better come up with some good questions.”

“Holy shit,” Richie muttered.

“Holy shit, indeed Tozier,” Bill smirked. “I know you’ve been in some sort of funk lately, so I hope that this will shake you up a bit. Better keep your fanboy boner under control.” Bill warned, smiling as the elevator doors closed between them.

Whether Richie realized it or not, Bill believed in him and his writing ability. He may not have the raw talent like himself, but he knew what Richie was capable of. He has a way with people that allowed them to loosen up and relax and nothing was better for a good interview than someone comfortable with the person asking the questions.

Bill couldn’t think of a single person who would be better for this specific project and having Richie be an uber-fan of the artist was just a bonus. If Richie made an ass of himself, that would be his problem, not the magazines.

Richie stood there, not knowing what to do next. He looked to his watch, realizing he had less than 72 hours to come up with a buttload of questions for his idol. He ran back to his cubby to brainstorm.

[freedom-shamrock]

Chat Noir’s Four-Point Landing

We’ve gotten permission to share our pieces from @kittylovezine! I got to work with the skilled artist @masilvi (check out their art for the story here), and @clueless-lost-daydreamer was my fantastic beta reader.

There’s a limited supply of leftover products from this project available for purrchase, including a digital or paperback copy of the zine, charms, stickers, prints, and pins. 

Also on AO3

⁂

"So let me get this straight," Marinette said, tapping her index finger against her chin.  "You're in your last four months of lycee, and you want to move out on your own after graduation.  But no one in your life is willing to teach you basic adulting skills." She arched her eyebrows.

Chat Noir nodded. He was a curious mix of eager and nervous.

It bothered her that his family wasn't preparing him. "So you want me to help you with those things?" she asked. "Why me?  Don't you have friends outside the suit who could help you?" He visibly deflated at her question so she threw in a qualifier. "I'm happy to help you, Chat, I'm just curious."

"I'm not as free when I'm my other self." He spoke softly, and everything about him seemed hunched up and sad, like he was trying to curl in on himself.

"I'm surprised you'd want my help."  She sometimes felt inadequate and underprepared for life on her own. "You've seen I can be a bit of a disaster." Their friendship, sparked the night of the Glaciator akuma, had grown strong over the years.

He beamed at her, radiating joy better than anyone she knew, including Adrien. It was seriously unfair. "Oh Marinette," he said, leaning toward her. "You're amazing. You know how to do so many useful things. You've shared food you've made, and I can't even boil water.  I've visited you on laundry day, and I'm terrified I'm going to destroy all my clothes. You're so level-headed; I'm sure you can figure out anything you don't already know. I got overwhelmed by the differing opinions on how to clean the bathroom when I Googled it."

"You poor kitten," she said, careful not to tease too hard. "Of course I'll help. But we may have to call in the big guns if things are beyond me. Okay?"

"Big guns?" he asked, green eyes wide.

"Maman and Papa," she explained.

"Deal."

⁂

The smell of scorched flour filled the kitchen, and Marinette turned from the refrigerator to see Chat hastily yanking a pot off the stove, scowling as he dumped in some water and slammed the lid over the top. He was quieter than normal, and that was usually a bad sign. He braced both hands on the counter near the window and hung his head.

"Chat, are you okay?" It had been his fourth attempt at making a roux, and while he'd gotten farther along, the end result was consistent with his other tries.

"I'm never going to get this," he said softly, as if that would hide the despair. "What am I thinking? I'm never going to survive on my own. I'll have to crawl back to my father a failure."

"Roux is hardly a required staple." She wished she'd picked a different recipe for today.  He'd done well learning to read recipes and measure ingredients. His knife skills were impressive. He still had a lot of techniques to learn, and his self-esteem was terrifyingly awful.

"Name one decent cook who can't make roux," he suggested bitterly.

"Maman can't make roux to save her life," Marinette pointed out.

He looked over his shoulder at her, surprised.

Marinette shrugged. "Papa or I make it if she needs it. It's okay."

He looked out the window, then pushed himself away from the counter. "I'm… not used to being so bad at things, and… I'm usually better... faster at picking up new things."

"You've done very well," she insisted. 

His cheeks went pink and he looked adorably pleased, but sadness lingered in his eyes.

She held out her arms and approached slowly, though she'd never known him to decline affection. He helped close the distance, and was swiftly snuggled against her, his face nestled into her loose shoulder length hair. "You're doing amazingly well. I'm so proud of you." She felt his breath catch, and it hurt that such simple words, things he should hear regularly, had such an impact on him.

⁂

"All right," Chat said, slipping a piece of paper onto Marinette's desk. "Here's my grocery list for the week."

"You're getting good at this," she said, looking it over. He'd jotted down three recipes he would theoretically make for dinner with leftovers for lunches and other nights.  Camembert was right at the very top of the list, as always. "I'm getting you cheese as a housewarming gift."

He snickered. "My uh… miraculous would appreciate that."

She loved hearing him laugh. She'd realized Chat Noir wasn't happy nearly often enough, at least not in his regular life. She pushed her chair back and gestured for him to take over the computer. "Let's see how you do with your shopping."

He navigated to the bookmarks they'd been using for these exercises. He started with the meat department of the grocery store, carefully looking at various cuts of meat and the prices before making his decisions. 

"Why is this one so much less expensive?" he asked, pointing.

"Higher ratio of gristle and cartilage," Marinette answered, giggling at the face he made.  She would have liked to physically take him shopping so he could get a better understanding of the characteristics and qualities of meat and produce, things that were hard to get from pictures. "Not a fan of extra chewy or crunchy bits in your meat?"

He shook his head.

"That's okay. Maman likes tendon, and I do not." She made a face.

"You're cute when you do that," he said, reaching out to lightly boop her nose.  

"Am not."

"Honestly, you're always cute, whether you're making faces or not." He grinned, and turned back to the computer. He added his decisions to the list, with quantity and cost.  Before too long, he hopped to his feet. "Whoop!" He handed her the list and danced over to her chaise. "I'm within budget.  I win."

She checked his work, joy bubbling up in her chest at his success. "You do win," she agreed.

"It's getting easier, like you said it would."

She joined him on the chaise giddy and warm, something he seemed to trigger in her a lot these days. "We all need to learn this somewhere, and I'm glad you picked me to help."

"So am I. He patted his lap.

Arching an eyebrow, she asked, "You want me to sit on your lap, you naughty cat?"

He nearly fell off the chaise in surprise. "Nooooo. I want to play with your hair." He gave a little shrug. "It was relaxing last time."

"Yeah," she agreed.  "It was."  She rested her head on his thigh, sighing happily at the touch of his fingers.

⁂

"Oh wow," Marinette said, looking at the photos accompanying the apartment listing. "It's gorgeous. But it's definitely on the upper end of your budget."

Chat nodded. "I think it's what people expect for my first apartment." His arm had slipped around her when she sat beside him, and his fingertips tightened now in an obvious tell. He didn't want the beautiful flat.

"It doesn't matter what others expect, Chat." She gave him a little side hug. "It's your apartment. What do you want?"

He tapped open one of the other tabs, his smile wistful. "I like this one a lot."

It was much smaller with fewer embellishments, but looked nice. "What do you like about it?" 

"I think it would be cozy, which is something I don't have… where I live now." He scrolled through the pictures. "No balcony. But the large window off the bedroom faces the back alley.  It'll be perfect for slipping in and out as Chat Noir." He opened a tab to a Google Map of Paris and pointed to one of the pins. "Neighborhood is decent, neither snob city nor thug paradise."

She giggled. "You should go see it. Oh!" She slipped out of his hold to fetch a small notebook from the other side of the room. "Papa got this for you." When she sat back down, she wrapped his arm back around her. 

He hummed happily and pressed his face into her hair, bumping his nose against the closer of the twin buns she wore.

She set the notebook on the desk so she could properly hug him. "You're getting distracted," she told his chest.

A laugh mixed with a purr rumbled out of him. "You're not exactly discouraging that." He kissed her forehead and opened the notebook to the first page, finding a list of questions followed by a list of warning signs.

"It's to help you get the information you really need, since none of us can come with you." She'd learned a lot when her papa was working on it.

"Most of my friends are moving away for uni," he said softly. "If I make my place safe for you to visit, would you come?" 

It was a terrible idea for maintaining identities, but she didn't care. "I'd love to."

[kyemeruthie]

Self-love

Not much work to do inside the office, so after sweeping PJO in a week, Umbrella Academy the next, we did 3 movies this time. Wow. Bad employee. Tsk. Still reviewing them here. Hahaha

Booksmart (2019) : 5/5 stars

Olivia Wilde’s coming-of-age film would definitely be a classic with cult following. News says that Booksmart did not hit much attention from moviegoers, partly because it was released during weekends near John Wick 3, Aladdin, and all the other storied movie franchises. Sad. Anyway, I love this film. I was just laughing the whole time. It’s a beautiful story of friendship and getting to know yourself and the people around you, of asserting your independence, and of the best memories to remember later on. Molly and Amy are best friends, straight-A students, ready to graduate and proceed to Ivy League universities. But when they learned that their seemingly lazy, jock classmates would go to the best schools too, one of them employed by Google, they start to question their life choices. Molly mostly, Amy’s quite cool but still anxious about a lot of things. Anyway, they decide to spend the night partying with Nick and his gang before they graduate the next day-- ready to prove everyone that they also have cool social lives. The rest is funny and revelatory ride towards their graduation day.

We can all relate to Booksmart’s plot one way or another. I personally see myself as a mix of Molly and Amy -- less obnoxious but tries to be as outgoing as Molly, more introverted and willing to explore the world like Amy. And then some of my friends from the mix of students featured in the film. But what’s more beautiful and intelligent about the film is that the stereotypical HS kids we know cannot be placed in neat boxes as we want them to be. People can be both skaters and scholars too; girls with more provocative personalities and more assertive of their sexuality are also intelligent; jocks read books too; the quiet ones can be loud too. Theater kids would always be theater kids, but with a different kind of drama every now and then. Haha. Breakfast Club, the epitome of HS drama in the 90s gave us five general classification of HS people-- and this movie breaks that. Actually, I remembered High School Musical trilogy also spoke the same message-- people can be whoever they want. They can both play basketball and bake, dance and sing, etc. Booksmart brings the same message across, but also with greater emphasis on what women can do and become: that they shouldn’t be pitted against each other, shouldn’t be labelled sluts when they’re more progressive about the way they dress and approach their sexuality, and that they can helm a movie as awesome as this one.   

***

Dumplin (2018) 4/5 stars

Another film topbilled by women. This time it tackles body and fat shaming, confidence building, and the role of pageants in “empowering” women. Dumplin is based on a book of the same title written by Julie Murphy. I’ve always wanted to read this but Fullybooked may have ran out of paperback copies. I still have to find one. Haha. 

Dumplin tells the story of WIllowdean “Will” Dickson, a self-proclaimed fat girl. Her mom calls her “Dumplin,” which she naturally detests because it reminds her of her physical differences from her mom, who was a former beauty queen. The story then revolves around Will’s quest to prove that fat girls have what it takes to join beauty pageants often reserved for the skinny, tall, and feminine: basically, the conventional definition of beautiful. Other girls join Will’s quest, and soon she finds herself leading an unlikely revolution.

What I like about the movie: the premise of the story, strong acting from the lead and supporting cast, the whole message of the film, and I never thought I’d appreciate Dolly Parton songs. I read reviews and it seems Netflix commissioned all-original DP songs specifically for this film. Wow. Oh, and Bo Larson and his cleft chin. He’s too beautiful. I’m crushing on him because of this movie. Areas where it can improve on? Script basically. It’s full of motherhood statements and quotes from DP songs, but I think we can do more about that. The concept of body shaming needs to be fleshed out further to help audiences understand its consequences. WIll is ok with her body, but there wasn’t much discussion on her issues with her mother relative to her being fat, or how this has changed pageantry. The way I see it, having 2 fat girls and a rocker join the pageant became more of a novelty than an outright rejection of the whole conventional beauty imposed by pageants. Or maybe I’m expecting too much. I just feel that if we take on a serious subject and try to use humor as a means to comfortably discuss it; then we should fully use the platform to flesh out important issues that need to be addressed or understood by a larger audience. That way, we took every means possible to get our advocacy across; instead of half-heartedly putting them forward.

***

To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before (2018) : 5/5 stars

Our last film for review. Helmed by a female lead and based on a YA romance novel written by Jenny Han. I purposefully did not read the book; maybe because that time I felt it would be too cheesy for my taste. The film wasn’t, so maybe I’d give the book a chance. Hahaha.

In the film, Lara Jean writes secret love letters to guys who made an impact on her lovelife, places them on addressed envelopes, then tucks them in a box hidden in her closet. She’s introverted, having trouble fitting in with most groups, but enjoys the company of her sisters and is generally happy with her student life. It takes a sudden turn when the letters suddenly were delivered to their owners-- Josh, her sister’s boyfriend and her bestfriend; Peter, the guy she kissed during middle school; another from model UN; Lucas, whom she danced with during freshman year and admits to being gay; and another former crush. This puts LJ in a twist, particularly on Josh. The story moves along Lara Jean’s decisions to get over the mess she’s in and return to being invisible.

It’s a classic romcom, lines are witty, the whole story is funny and good. It doesn’t end up contrived and too cheesy; just the right amount of cute. Recommended if you’d want to watch something that’ll not push you to think too much. I like that it balanced the story between Lara Jean’s guy problems, and her overall relationship with her family. It also put into perspective that no matter how embarassing things would turn out to be, the best way out would always be confronting them head on. Family are good sidekicks; but also trustworthy friends; and a healthy dose of courage and self-confidence. Lastly, Asia represent!

***

If you’re looking for something to watch over the weekend, you can watch these. Great also for Independence Day, because you know, they celebrate women’s independence and empowerment in different ways. Haha. Enjoy!

[sigritandtheelves]

Au where mulders a writer of sci fi stories and Scullys a scientist hired by his editor to fact check some of his stories. Bonus points if theres a romantic subplot in his story and they quote lines to each other

A/N: This gets a bit meta for a quick sec. It is also… irredeemable fluff. I’ve had a hard few days and I needed something wholesome. I am 100% sure I will regret it in the morning, lol.

—

1.

He wants this one to be different. He needs the science to feel more real than the speculative world-building he’s done in his last three books. The universe should feel like ours, he thinks—its physics and its materiality should have the same weight. Its atoms the same heft. This is going to be the one, he thinks. The one that puts his name on the charts. It needs to not just be right, but to feel right. He calls his editor, asks about a consultant.

His index finger disappears inside the looping plastic phone cord as he talks—feet on the desk beside his word processor.

“Well, I might know someone,” his editor says.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah… she’s good. Not usually her line of work, but she’s bored with her day job. I think she’d take it on.”

“You think.” Mulder senses hesitation—the pause draws out a moment too long. “Charlie?”

“Yeah, Mulder. The thing is, it’s my sister.”

“Your—huh.”

“I’ll give her a call tonight if you want?”

“Okay.” The chair creaks as he sits up to bring the receiver to it’s cradle, but then at the last minute—“Hey Charlie?”

“Yeah?”

“Is she hot?”

The line goes dead.

2.

She is, though. Hot. Not porno hot, but… something. Dana Scully is short and fresh-faced, spring-stepped and the tiniest bit awkward a suit that seems ill-fitting, a little uncomfortable. She’s a pathologist—usually spends her days in scrubs, he thinks. But she majored in physics and her science is blade sharp, a razor to scrape his work clean.

“So in the novel,” she says, “It’s a conspiracy of men?”

“And aliens,” he says.

Her look is wariness and amusement, eyebrows to the hairline, red lips pinched to hold in a smile.

“See, they’re working together. They’re developing a colonizing agent that will wipe out most of the population.”

“Unless your hero can stop them.”

“Right.”

“And he’s a scientist?”

“Yeah, that’s the plan.”

“He’s working alone?”

“He has kind of a sidekick, a friend who’s a conspiracy nerd, spends all his days in his mom’s basement, connecting dots.”

She purses her lips and he senses her skepticism.

“What?”

“Are there any women in the book?”

“The main character’s mom is in one scene. And there’s a sexy informant. Plus the aliens abduct several women, and I tell their stories too.”

The lip pursing has been joined by a disapproving squint. “Let me read your draft,” she says.

3.

It comes back with notes. So very many notes. At first he balks—digs in his heels and swears at the marked-up manuscript on his desk. He throws a pillow, kicks his trash can. He wanted science notes, not… ugh. Of course, she has given him the science notes… and story notes and character notes and structural notes and even a few on language. He ignores the last page, where she’s placed a yellow sticky-note:

I know this is a lot but it’s only because I really like it. I think it could be great. Call me and we’ll talk about it more?

He frowns. He pouts. He doesn’t touch the book for a week. How dare she? He thinks. But then he thinks of her freckled face, that smile he’d gotten when he described the story, the way she’d gone nose-to-nose with his crazy ideas. After a while, and after he reads everything again, he realizes that she’s right.

He tucks away his pride. He works and works and works, thinking of her raised eyebrows, her little smirk, the whole time. Thinking of her, mostly. It’s three weeks before he’s happy with the draft, but he calls when he’s finished, nervous somehow, to hear her voice again.

“I thought you wouldn’t call,” she says. “I thought maybe… I’d gone a bit overboard with the comments.”

He laughs a little. “Yeah, well… me too, at first. But I think you’re right. About almost everything. Come over?” He’s surprised at how casual his voice sounds, how easy it is to ask her.

“Okay,” she says.

She comes to his apartment bearing coffee and a box of donut holes, stands his doorway looking vulnerable. Apologetic. She’s dressed casually this time—jeans and a maroon sweater. She tilts her chin in an I’m sorry pout as she holds up her offerings.

He smiles. “Come in.”

Wary at first, not sure what to expect, she takes in his apartment: the art on his walls, his leather couch, his fish. She’s surprised at how comfortable the space feels, how she wants to curl up in his cushions, put her feet up, watch a movie with him—though she barely knows this man. A clean, printed manuscript rests on the coffee table. He gestures with his chin. “Take a look.”

She does. Her eyes go wide as she thumbs through the first chapter. “You made the scientist a woman?” She asks.

Mulder nods, chewing his thumbnail. He tries not to hover, sips coffee and chews donut holes instead. She got jelly ones, bless her. When she’s skimmed roughly a third, she sits back and looks up.

“Are they in love?” She asks, cheeks red.

“Maybe,” he says. “I hadn’t thought at first—“

“They should be,” she says, and now his face is red too. “Can I read it all?”

4.

She comes back again. And again. They spend evenings reading, sometimes aloud, her nose wrinkling when something’s not right, talking about the story, and then talking about other things. They watch Plan 9 from Outer Space and he makes her laugh when he recites the lines. He frowns at her unbuttered popcorn. They drink beer and she settles into his cushions. He watches her face while she reads. Watches her lips. She swallows hard when he tells her that there is a love scene.

“So he’s a little roughed up from his escape, and she thought he might have been dead. But then he shows up at her door, and he’s stolen some vials of the vaccine… It’s kind of a reunion, plus they think maybe they’ve won,” he explains.

Her knee is touching his. Denim against denim radiates heat up her leg. Her palms feel hot. “So what does she do?”

Mulder looks at her and there’s a smile in his eyes. He’s chewing his bottom lip. “Well first she yells at him,” he says.

“Hmm. He did do something kind of stupid.”

“He did,” Mulder concedes. “But then… then she kisses him.”

“She does?” Her breath sounds too loud in her ears. His tongue comes out over his lips again.

“Mm hmm.”

The air: so still. Fish tank burbling. Pages between them on the couch. He watches her pupils dilate. She shifts and her knee rubs along his thigh. “Oh,” she says.

And then he’s kissing her, thumbs at her cheeks, taste of coffee on his tongue. Her fingers come around his wrist, feel the pulse point, stroke the fine hairs beneath his watch. She falls. She is falling. She does not land. Somehow she knew. She knew it would be like this with him.

5.

His book does well, so much better than he expected, even gets nominated for a Hugo award.

On Sundays, they lay in bed and read the New York Times Book Review, watching his title climb the list, smelling of sex and tasting of each other. He visits her at work, brings coffee, and vomits into stainless steel basin the first time he watches her use a bone saw. She tries not to smile, rubs his back, brings him a cup of water.

When the paperback edition of the novel comes out, he has a special edition printed just for her. It is Saturday and they are in the park, legs entangled, her head on his shoulder. “I have a surprise,” he says.

He hands her the copy and she frowns because it feels strange, the cover lumpy.

“What?” She asks, but he’s shaking his head.

“Open it.”

She does, giving him that squinty, skeptical eye he’s now so used to. He’s had the dedication page changed. Where it once said, “For Dana who made this book what it is,” it now reads, “For Dana, who makes my life what it is. Will you marry me?” Taped below it is a ring.

She gapes. She almost chokes. She smacks him with the book. “You sap!” She says. But then she is crying and putting on the ring and kissing him.

At their wedding, Charlie is insufferable. He drunkenly tries to take credit for bringing them together, not to mention for the book. They ignore him. They dance.

“Let’s write another one,” Mulder whispers into her hair.

-end-

[rolypolywl]

Welcome to day 15!

So, earlier this week I’ve been talking about motivation. And now I’m going to help you with all those steps that we established.

So one of the things the experts recommend is to make a plan and another is to track your progress. It might seem like working out or eating better is all you need to lose weight, but it turns out that there is a lot of prep and continuing… paperwork, for lack of a better word. If you really want to commit to losing weight and getting healthier, and you want your best shot at succeeding, then the “paperwork” is kind of important.

You’ll want to spend a little time journaling in advance, and then some kind of tracking throughout. You might also need/want to return to the journaling as you progress.

So, basically, there are two ways to do these things; analog and digital.

I’ll start with analog. So if you’re more inclined to this, get yourself a journal and/or calendar and/or planner.

I like journaling for the “why” kind of things. You can find all kinds of journals with blank, lined, or dotted pages on Amazon or in any book store. I also keep finding gorgeous journals in places like Michaels. There are even ones with motivational or fitness-related covers, if you want a little extra inspiration.

Another great thing is that you can get them in different sizes and thicknesses. Do you want an index card sized one that fits in your pocket, or a large paperback sized one that fits in your purse? Or a full on notebook sized one that’s in the 8.5 x 11 range? What will you actually keep track of, keep handy, and return to?

So that’s for the journalling side. For the tracking kind of things, I really like a school planner. Even when I was in school I had trouble finding the kind I liked. The kind where you’ve got the month at a glance and then the week breakdown, so you can track in multiple ways. I could always find one or the other, but it was tricky to find both. For this, I like Mead, especially their tropical beaches version. And you can find it both in the printer paper size, small size, and the pocket sized.

As it happens, Roly Mama and I are doing a variation on this right now. We got a big desk calendar

which we’ve hung on the wall, and some great ridiculous stickers from the dollar store. So we’re tracking our workouts on this by adding stickers when we do something.

Now, this is just for our workouts and activity, not for food or anything else that we should be or are tracking. But if you’re an analog person, seeing a calendar full of stickers can be really motivating.

You can also combine these things into something like a bullet journal. And I’m going to sorry - not sorry - link you to buzzfeed and these two great articles on bullet journals.

https://www.buzzfeed.com/rachelwmiller/how-to-start-a-bullet-journal

https://www.buzzfeed.com/annaborges/all-the-bullet-journal-ideas?bfsource=relatedmanual

Bullet journals, if you don’t know, are a way of kind of combining calendar, list, and journal into one gorgeous hybrid by people with way more time and way better penmanship than me. They are inspiring to look at, even if I can’t imagine crafting one half as well.

I will, however, recommend my favorite pen: the PaperMate InkJoy. I’m normally not a fan of ink pens instead of ballpoint because they can bleed through, but these don’t bleed as badly as many I’ve tried. And they come in lovely colors. And they have decently soft tubes, so they don’t hurt your fingers. I love them!

Now, personally, I have switched to digital for my scheduling needs, because I do way too much rearranging and copy/pasting, and it made my physical schedules look all messy. I tend to vacillate between two options.

The first is Evernote. I love the way I can do tick boxes, and I can color code the text.

I also love the way I can sort notes into folders and give them tags. Plus I can clip things from online, draw on it, and/or add pictures! Downsides are that columns are non-existent, and that it can get a bit hard to find notes if you have a ton in a single folder or tag.

The other one is Google Drive, which I love because I can access it anywhere. And for that I tend to use Google Sheets, because I can rearrange it really easily. I can also color code both the text and the boxes. I also can see a bit more at a glance than I can with evernote. (Because of the aforementioned lack of columns)

There is also apparently a digital version of bullet journalling, called Good Notes, which I just discovered and have yet to try out. If you have, let me know what you think!

Another thing that can help with our weight loss and health goals is tracking our habits. Again, this is the kind of thing that you can track on a calendar or journal, but you can also go digital.

Now, there are also some great apps for this kind of thing. I currently use Habit List.

I love that you can reorder the habits, and you can set them to be daily, on a certain day of the week, or so many times a week. You can also backtrack to fill them in, and look at a month-at-a-glance. If you are on top of your habit, the little bubble is green. If you missed yesterday, it is yellow, and if you are more out of date it is red. Oh, and ones that are optional, like “once a week” are grey. You can even have it send you a reminder at a specific time for a habit. The only downside I have for it is that you can’t archive a habit. You can either change it, or delete it and all of your past check ins.

Another one is Habitica.

Habitica takes your daily chores and turns them into points in an RPG. It isn’t as customizable as I’d like, but if you’re into sprite era gaming, RPGs, and rewards you might love this one.

Atracker lets you color code your habits, and it will show you your habits on a daily calendar or a pie chart. It has an interesting twist wherein you actually can “start” a habit. And then stop it when you’re done. So you can see how much time you spend on something. But, for habits that aren’t really time specific, or things like meditating as you fall asleep, which you can’t “stop”, this might be less useful. And if you forget to turn it off, it can screw up your numbers. But I do like the daily calendar breakdown aspect of it.

Productive seems to have the best of Atracker and Habit List, with color coding and month-at-a-glance calendars, but you have to pay $30 a year to use it.

There are lots of other habit tracking apps, like Coach Me, Noom, and Any List, so check them out and see what works best for you!

So, these are general habit trackers. But there are also more specific tasks. Now, I’ve already talked about tracking your water specifically, and tracking your exercise and activity as it ties to a fitness tracker.

There are also exercise and diet specific apps, which I am doing a whole episode on as I get to food. But there are a bunch of them. So you can keep track of all of those things to keep yourself motivated.

Again, this is if you want to do it with apps. You can always put all of these things in a physical journal or calendar too.

Finally, one of the recommendations was to celebrate successes, and to have a positive attitude. I have two apps I recommend here, for different reasons. One is Happier.

This is great for posting basically short tweets to the Happier app about things that make you happy that day. You get a little toss of confetti when you post it, and others can smile and comment. The whole app is geared towards positivity and supporting each other.

Now, that’s not to say you can’t post something emotional, or if you’re having a bad day or something. In fact, you can, and you get great support from the community. You can post multiple times a day if you want, and some people seem to post a dozen times every day! You can follow people whose posts you like or find inspiring, and they can follow you.

The second app I like for this is HappyFeed.

The goal of this app is to basically make a 3 item gratitude list (or happy list) every day. It is private, so no one else sees your posts, and there’s no social aspect. But it helps you build a habit of looking for the positivity and gratitude in life.

I had actually made a goal, because I had been told to in self help books, to note three things I was grateful for every day. And I was doing that in my daily “to do” list or my note app. Then I found HappyFeed, and it fit that goal perfectly!

So these are both great apps for celebrating your successes and for keeping a positive attitude. Check them out!

This is also the kind of thing that can be fun to put on a calendar or journal that you can look back at, if you prefer more analog. Again, I really like making it pretty with colorful pens and stickers and things. It should be something that you can look back at when you’re in need of some extra motivation, so pick something that will motivate you!

So, that is it for today.

This has been Roly Poly Weight loss. As always, I am your host, Roly Poly. Please share your motivations, and your roadblock plans, with the hashtag, #Motivation. And join my social group for support and maybe a little friendly competition by @-ing me!

And please join me next time!

[kiwis-ontheloose]

Honest Eyes

Is this how you post FanFic on here?  IDK.  But here it is, I want to thank the incredible @bribe-the-door for reading this, demanding I post it and demanding another 400 chapters by today.  Sorry Han, you’ll just have to settle for this being public (Although I’m working on part two if people want it!)

Fucking rain. 

He dodged his way through the busy London street, the rain splashing up from his Chelsea boots onto his jeans.  Could it get any worse?

“Hey, is that Harry Styles?”

Of fucking course. 

If it was just a couple fans, he wouldn’t mind, he’d be delighted in fact, but he was fairly certain some paps had been following him for a couple blocks.  The tone of the voice behind him confirmed that suspicion.  

He decided to find a quiet place to lay low before a full-scale mob came down on him.  He jogged a little bit and outdistanced the camera-toters slightly.  He then pulled up his coat collar and briskly wormed his way through a walking club of elderly people.  With the knot of blue-haired plastic bonneted women between him and the photographers, he started looking for a building that seemed quiet and nondescript.

He looked up through the drizzle and saw his salvation.  At the end of the block was a plain grey building with a tattered yellow awning and peeling black letter that read: “Marginalia: Used and Rare Books.”  

Perfect.

 He increased his pace slightly, adding a few more clueless pedestrians between him and the paparazzi.  He opened the door and was his with slightly chilled air, and the kind musty scent that only comes from a large amount of yellow pages living close together.  The bell above the door was so soft he barely registered it, but the cashier clearly did, “Can I help you?”  Harry pivoted around and saw a slightly annoyed boy behind the front desk reading what looked like a Physics textbook.  Harry could tell he better come up with a good excuse for interrupting the boy’s study time.

“Um, do you have any first editions mate?”

 “Sure, all the way in the back.” 

Harry faced inward to the rest of the store for the first time.  It seemed cozy and massive.  The bookshelves were so close together two people would have to squeeze between them sideways.  But the store itself just kept going back, it seemed like there were hallways, rooms branching in different directions and, is that a ladder into a basement?

He turned back to the boy, “How far back does it go?”

The boy smirked, “The whole block, mate.”��

Harry started the trudge back, in two seconds the boy was completely obscured from his sight.  Five more seconds and Harry was convinced that he was lost, and would never find his way out.  He passed different sections, announced only by a handwritten index card on the shelf or door frame; “History 1600s-1873, romantic art criticism, Popular Mechanics, religion and sexuality have been moved to the basement.” 

He was still walking in a straight line, right?

Finally, he saw a back wall or, or more accurately a bookshelf with a thumbtacked index card reading “Latin” in the middle of it.  He glanced around where he saw a room slightly to the left with an index card reading “First editions and seating.”  The first thing he did when he walked through the door was note the bookshelf across from him that apparently had first editions of poetry.  He strode over and was happy to see a few copies of Bukowski.  After selecting a book and spending a few moments inhaling the spine.  He went over to the comfiest looking arm-chair, even though it was a hideous orange and purple pattern, and sunk in.  He hadn’t noticed the 50 cent composition notebooks, paperbacks, sticky notes, highlighters, and pencils strewn around the chair.  If he had, he most certainly wouldn’t have sat in it.  He just felt so cozily invisible that his typical awareness had receded to the part of his mind that kept information like different types of clouds, and if it was his mum’s birthday or not. 

“I can’t believe it.”

He started and noticed the girl standing in the doorway, specifically he noticed her eyes.  That's typical, supposedly, but her eyes...  They were clear, absolutely no walls.  Open and sharp and lovely and deep.  He imagined that seeing eyes that honest in a moment of joy or bliss was probably one of the best things that could happen to anyone.  Unfortunately, right now those eyes were betraying an inner fury and frustration the girl was clearly trying to control.  

“I mean, that’s my chair.  Always my chair.  I’ve been here for hours!  Seriously, those are my highlighters!  I leave to steal some of Gareth’s coffee, but apparently, this place is sooooo popular now that I can’t leave for five minutes or a Bukowski fan-boy invades my space!” 

She was trying. 

“I’m sorry, but I love the way Bukowski uses language.”  

She blew some of her hair out of her face while she was furiously shoving her things into her bag.  “If you mean that he perfected his craft and mastered how casual or crude language can be just as impactful as a complicated rhyme scheme, yeah I’ll give you that.”  She popped back up onto her feet, backpack slung across her back.  “But, if you mean that you like the fact that he tosses around words like cock and cunt like popcorn and that the majority of women he writes about are characterized as selfish whores looking for a hate-fuck, then I hope...” she was clearly thinking incredibly hard about this, “I hope that a squirrel the size of goose shits in your coffee.  She rocked back on her heels, pleased with herself, and spun out of the room.  Her voice floating back one last time.  “Besides, Bernadette Myers was using words like cock and cunt in poetry about complex yet loving relationships before Bukowski knew what enjambment was.” 

Harry was stunned.  It wasn’t often that someone completely left him speechless, normally he just chose not to speak.  But, Goddamnit, he wanted to yell after her that he didn’t know what enjambment was.  He wanted to say that yes, Bukowski was a misogynistic prick, but his poetry was so goddamn honest, at least in his opinion.  He wondered what her response to that would be.  He had somehow made it to the front desk without getting miserably lost.  The disgruntled cashier, “Gareth, probably,” Harry thought as the boy lowered his textbook down next to a steaming thermos of coffee.  “Can I help you?”  The boy drummed his fingers on the hard textbook cover. 

“D’ya know if you have any poetry by Bernadette Myers?”           

[gabriellakirtonblog]

Three Fitness Marketing Principles You Must Follow

The following excerpt is from The Wealthy Fit Pro’s Guide to Getting Clients and Referrals. Preorder your copy now and get the free audiobook and ebook delivered right away.

“Build something 100 people love, not something a million people kind of like.”

—Brian Chesky, cofounder of Airbnb

These marketing principles are for personal trainers looking to take their careers to another level. It’s what matters most.

Fitness marketing principle #1: You’re in the marketing business

You’ve heard the myth of the trainer who “just wants to help people” and “doesn’t care about money.” It permeates every aspect of the fitness industry and needs to stop.

You’re not a volunteer.

You’re a professional.

Professionals get paid for their work. Being passionate and helping people are not mutually exclusive.

Saying you don’t care about money is an excuse you make when you aren’t confident enough to charge what you’re worth.

If you’re offended by that statement, it’s probably true.

Nothing happens until you make a sale. You can’t make a sale until you market your business, asking for money in exchange for the value of your services.

Provide value, make money. It’s that simple.

Money is an amplifier. The more money you make, the more you can do to help others. Thus, if you want to help people, you need to make money, even if you don’t care about it yourself.

Take me, for example. I don’t particularly care about money. Or, more specifically, I don’t care about fancy things. I drive a 12-year-old car with 200,000 kilometers on it, I don’t own a watch, and all my favorite pastimes (hiking, biking, being with family) are free.

That said, I’m acutely aware of what money means to my company. The more we make, the more amazing things we can produce, and the more impact we have. I make millions not because I care about personally having millions. I do it because I know it’s the only way to help more people.

Whether you like it or not, you’re in the marketing business.

Fitness marketing principle #2: You favor abundance over scarcity

The scarcity mindset does more damage to potentially great trainers and businesses than any other mistake.

It goes like this:

You’re a trainer. Or you own a gym. Or perhaps you own a gym where you train clients. Whatever you do, you think so highly of your knowledge and methods that you don’t want to share any of it with anyone. They’re your “trade secrets,” after all. If anyone else can mimic what you do, they can encroach on your share of the market.

Because you see your market as finite, more for someone else means less for you. That’s why you believe your survival depends on defending every inch of your turf.

But the fitness business isn’t about individual silos. It’s about community. We all win when we work together, share knowledge and methods across disciplines, and forge profitable partnerships.

That’s aside from the fact that what you know and do probably isn’t much of a secret anyway.

Leave the scarcity mindset behind. Embrace abundance. Let it show and flow through all your branding and marketing. The fitness industry is massive. There’s ample business for everybody. Take your fair share, but don’t forget to share what you take.

Those who act abundantly, support others, give without any thought of what they’ll get in return, and don’t keep score soon realize what they get back is worth many times more.

Fitness marketing principle #3: You believe in attracting customers to you

The most successful trainers have prospects seeking them out. They practice “attraction marketing.” You may have heard the term before. It’s not new.

The concept is simple:

You brand and market yourself in a way that makes you the obvious choice for prospects.

You establish yourself as an expert within your prospects’ community.

You do a great job and make sure everyone knows it.

You treat your clients like all-stars.

Do all that, and your reputation precedes you.

This takes time, obviously. And yes, you’ll do some selling and following up with prospects as you build your brand and rep. But attraction is one of your marketing goals. You want people coming to you with money in their hands, asking you how to buy, and happy to pay whatever you charge.

Why people buy

Methods and tools change, but the reasons people buy remain the same. Merit is only one of those reasons, and rarely the deciding factor.

Yes, in some cases, consumers try to educate themselves on a product and the business that sells it. Car shopping is a good example. But most of the time, consumers make terrible, uninformed decisions. They rely on cues from others to justify their purchases.

It very much applies to your business. When someone shops for a trainer, a program, or a gym, this is the process in almost every case:

They have a problem. It’s painful psychologically, and perhaps physically at well.

They’ve had this problem for a while.

They haven’t been able to solve this problem after repeated attempts.

They want the problem to go away as quickly and easily as possible.

They don’t know how to solve the problem, and it seems impossible to figure out the right steps.

The problem sucks. More important, it feels like it’s always going to suck.

What happens next depends on how you’ve marketed yourself.

There’s little chance this person will find you by some random alignment of the stars. Sure, it’s possible they’ll walk into the gym where you work, at the exact moment you happen to be standing by the front desk.

But it’s far more likely they’ll seek you out because of something you did to catch their eye, something that established your worth. Maybe their cousin referred you. Maybe your niche matches up with their goal, and you’re the leading name in that niche. It could be any of a dozen things. Whatever it was, they found you and they want to talk.

What matters most is that their purchase rationale is already in place. They aren’t looking for a friends and family discount. They believe you’re the ideal choice, even if they’re not sure why.

Your job now is to reinforce their confidence. Don’t complicate things or give them an excuse to “think it over.”

True customer satisfaction will come later, when you give them great results. For now, you just need to make the process of hiring you as easy and frictionless as possible.

Final thought: Marketing is adding value, not trickery

Marketing doesn’t mean manipulating people into doing things they don’t want to do.

Ethical marketing is simply identifying a need, making yourself the go-to person for that need, and then finding ways to stay front of mind for people who have that need, for as long as it takes. When one of them decides they want to hire a trainer, you’re positioned as the obvious choice.

That’s why it’s so important to think ahead. Don’t wait to make your market. Build your communities. Develop your reputation. Dig the well before you’re thirsty and you’ll control your fate.

        Get More Personal Training Clients and Referrals!

Are you a personal trainer who’s struggling to fill your schedule with paying clients? Confused about how to market yourself without spending a lot of money?

The Wealthy Fit Pro’s Guide to Getting Clients and Referrals has the answers. Let Jonathan Goodman show you:

Why people pay for fitness when they can get it for free (p. 1)

How to get more people to buy from you (p. 28)

How to succeed in fitness marketing without really trying (p. 59)

3 fitness marketing principles you must follow (ignore them at your peril) (p. 77)

7 components of compelling offers that leave clients begging to buy (p. 89)

Savvy long-term client conversion strategies (p. 99)

Fast one-off promotions for new clients (p. 137)

Multimillion-dollar guerrilla marketing secrets revealed! (p. 181)

Guaranteed systems, strategies, and scripts for generating referrals (p. 207)

Includes: 50 proven ways to get more clients

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