#and most of those deaths are from BEFORE THE FUCKING PANDEMIC

[timelord-of-the-moon]

Fucking hell most days I hate my life

[obsidianbaby]

Don't Love Me Like A Brother - Prologue

Brothers Best Friend Series - PROLOGUE

CHAPTER 1 -

series synopsis - ronnie's younger brother, tyler, is a famous youtuber & influencer and is best friends with the sturniolos. This series will be following ronnie's life as she befriends the triplets and catches herself developing feelings for a certain someone...

**series will contain smut as it develops but warnings will be added to those specific chapters

**found myself writing a few flashback chapters before present day just to build up the established friendships bc I'm impatient and don't want the slow burn to drain anyone 😭

warnings/notes - no smut in this as it's just the prologue to introduce y'all to the story.

a/n - starting this series and im very exciteddddddd i hope y'all fuck with a slow burn, friends to lovers best friends brother type beat. Buckle up mfs it's gonna be an angsty ride

a/n pt 2 - im not gonna share who ronnie develops feelings for just yet I want y'all to be on edge okok enjoy MWAH xx

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PROLOGUE

ronnies pov

having a brother who's famous on social media is humbling to say the least.

The amount of fan girls who have followed my accounts just because they're obsessed with him makes me question many people's sanity (including my own).

But tyler is one of my best friends. And thank god for my dad, who from the jump, did not tolerate any misogynistic bullshit from my brother.

Raising two kids as a single dad after my mom passed away (before ty and I were older than the age of 5) was tough for him and he embraced the times when he needed support (like when i first got my period, bless his heart he bought almost every type of menstrual product off the shelf).

His values were the perfect structure for us to grow up following; respect, open communication, giving our best efforts to everything (even if the only effort we could offer up was a 60% instead of a 100%)

My childhood friends would always whine about how "chill" my dad was. And it's not cause he didn't care, (he probably cares too much) but he didn't want to shield us either, knowing we need to learn how to exist in the world without him constantly up our asses.

"As long as we can talk about shit at the end of the day then we're good" one of his favorite mantras he would spew to me and ty when we would get caught doing something you might call a "right of passage" as a teenager.

And since it was just the three of us, we've always leaned on each other a lot. Sunday family dinners at nans' every week, taking turns helping my dad at his shop after school (he's a car mechanic), movie nights every thursday night where my dad would close up shop early, setting up the projector in the shop garage and ordering us pizza. My brother has been a best friend to me since I held him in my arms at the age of 3 when he was born.

And of course, we have the usual chaotic fights to the death like most siblings do, him pranking me in the most annoying ways, me making fun of his dumbass, him eating all of my food, me stealing his cool clothes, him begging me to uber him around everywhere, etc.

But we also just really enjoy each other's company too; going on late night walks around town, sitting in bed staying up talking all night, playing mario cart for hours (id always kick his ass), going adventuring together to forests or beaches, hanging out at the skate park together (me laughing at him eating shit and him chasing me around trying to whack me with his board), us both ditching our friends to stay at home and yap to each other instead, us having campfires in the backyard with both of our friend groups together, working on restoring mom's 1967 ford mustang together that she left us when she passed.

So when he came to me a few years back, during the pandemic, asking my thoughts on him posting on youtube, I was in full support (after teasing him that no one would find him, an 18 year old lanky white boy about to graduate high school funny or interesting. I have to keep him humble ya know?)

But his first few videos on youtube went viral and his following kept growing daily, especially when he started posting on tiktok too.

He's had me (and even my dad) featured in his videos which i don't mind at all (since im the one that's editing them)

I can see why the internet loves him (i did help raise him of course).

But since he's hit over 3 million on youtube last year, he's been doing a shit ton of collabs with other influencers and youtubers; the sturniolo triplets, larray, emma chamberlain, jake webster, tarayummy, vinnie hacker, carrington, etc.

And these days I try to stay behind the scenes as much as possible, trying to enjoy my solitude away from the opinions of crazy fans. (why do they care so much about what im doing anyways?)

Yet he understands (thank god) and he's always inviting me to come hangout with the friends he's made through social media, and i can't lie and say i don't enjoy being in the company of such dope (and attractive) people.

END OF PROLOGUE

______________________________________________

a/n - hellooooo i have a few more parts already written for this but im gonna wait to see how this post goes first (because i have a dire need for validation and praise) anywaysssss thank you for reading mwah xx

[tittyinfinity]

i can't shut up i'm sorry I'm ranting about Biden again

I'm starting to think Trump's presidency really wasn't any worse than what we have going on now, he was just targeting different people.

Bear with me.

The thing is, Biden has been the president for most of the pandemic and he hasn't been doing anything to stop the spread of it, so when people say "but Trump would kill US here!!" I wanna mention that Biden is already killing people of all parts of the political spectrum with his passiveness on covid

Biden is smarter than Trump. He's been in politics longer. He has had decades of learning how to maneuver politics. He has agreed with a lot of bad policies, many more than Trump even had the ability to do w his only 4 years of presidency. Trump is more interested in his image than anything else. Which is also dangerous! But it's much easier to convince people that Trump, a guy who is loud about his prejudices and caused a lot of damage because of that, is worse than a guy who pretends to agree with you on issues and then commits literal genocide.

Like I said, it just changes who is targeted instead. But is that really the case? We're already being targeted in different ways. A few good things have passed under Biden! But we also lost more bodily autonomy rights as far as abortion and trans rights go (not everywhere, but many states have become dangerous to live in). "That's not completely his fault" sure! Well then if the president doesn't have the power to change things truly for the better themselves, then worrying about who the president will be doesn't really matter. Also, presidents in the US have the ability to make executive orders.

And maybe he has spoken up on these things more and I just haven't heard about them - but Biden does not take the time to speak out about the anti-abortion, anti-trans, or healthcare related issues, except for the occasional quip here and there before he goes right back to not giving a shit. And I'm only using those as an example because a lot of "vote blue no matter who" people apparently only care about what happens to people here instead of in other countries.

And it's just really shitty to say "well what about the people who COULD die under a republican presidency instead of the real people dying from Biden's incitement of genocide right now!"

Trump incited a LOT of hatred in our country, yes. It pushed people to be more loud and open about their prejudices. But the deaths caused by hate crimes and COVID here in America were not on near of a large and deadly scale as what Biden is doing right now. We didn't watch our entire cities get destroyed and have our entire families wiped out.

So it seems, again, like the "vote blue no matter who" crowd only cares about politics when it comes to how THEY will (or MIGHT) be affected.

Am I saying vote for Trump or DeSantis? Fuck no. I'm saying prevent the next election from happening and burn this imperialistic genocidal government to the ground. The US has caused enough death, well into the millions, ever since it was created, and hasn't ever stopped committing genocide. But it only seems to matter when it (COULD) happen to white Americans.

Mexican people are still being put in cages and having their children stolen, too.

Indigenous people are still being murdered.

Disabled people are still dying from lack of accessible healthcare.

And the prices of everything have SKYROCKETED since Biden became president.

People are already suffering under a democratic president. You just won't care until it happens to you.

[clarepreed]

Molasses

Story Summary and Content - 5,806 words. A waterless drowning at a molasses processing facility. Can Ryan save his crush Kayla from what seems like certain death? Drowning, on-site resuscitation.

--

“Hey!” Ryan reached out and, against his better judgment, grabbed his coworker Kayla by the upper arm. “Are you okay?”

Kayla looked weak and overheated, her small but curvy form drenched in sweat. She barely acknowledged his hand on her arm, nodding and gesturing at him with her clipboard.

“David said…” She rubbed sweat from her eyes, looking dazed. “He said I have to finish inspections before I take a water break.”

“That’s not how water breaks work. They’re time-based, or need-based, not a reward for tasks completed.” Ryan released her arm reluctantly, aware that people were watching. Still, he hovered, afraid she was going to tip over. “You should just come with me now.”

“I have to make sure they’re cooling properly.” Kayla shook herself and looked up at him, her dark eyes focusing on him for the first time. “This will be over soon. When we get new transmitting thermometers…”

“I can’t believe we don’t have spares.”

“And there’s a supply chain shortage…” she sighed and adjusted her hard hat and safety glasses. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Okay.” Ryan watched her walk away, feeling troubled. Sometimes he thought about quitting this job, and this was one of those times. He’d worked at the molasses processor and distributor for several years now, and at first, everything had been fine. Since the pandemic, however, the facility seemed to fall apart. The product went down in quality, the benefits were reduced, and safety flew out of the window.

Temperature control of molasses was an important part of the process. If the molasses wasn’t properly cooled before and during storage, it could cause a deadly explosion. While no molasses production currently allowed for molasses tanks of that size, an explosion over a century ago in Boston had created a forty-foot wave of molasses that killed twenty-one people and destroyed property.

Without the thermometer transmitters, some of Ryan’s coworkers were having to check the temperature of each storage tank manually. Kayla’s supervisor David hated having to redirect staff to do this, so it was often an afterthought or something the employees did on their own.

Today, this was a particular concern. Their region was experiencing an unusual heat wave. It caught them off guard, and most people weren’t acclimated to the weather. Tending to the outdoor tanks right now was miserable.

Kayla had joined the team less than a year ago. Previously laid off from some kind of office job, Ryan could tell she didn’t enjoy working at the molasses facility, but he admired the fact that she still came to work every day and did her best. She seemed to be intelligent and treated her coworkers fairly. On better days, she had a great sense of humor.

Ryan had a bit of a crush on her, something he was only just now admitting to himself.

“I’ll bring her some water,” he muttered to himself, picking up the pace. “She can have some while she makes the rounds. David can fuck himself.”

As he walked toward the break room, Ryan mulled over his crush on Kayla. This was the first time he’d had feelings for someone in a long time. The last person had been his wife, who’d died in a car accident three years prior.

Ryan nodded at the staff sitting in the break room, though he didn’t slow down to chat. He quickly grabbed a couple of water bottles from the fridge and hurried back outside.

The sun hit him hard, glinting off the tanks and the pavement, hot enough that the air hurt to breathe. He thought about dizzy, disoriented Kayla climbing up the side of one of those metallic tanks and picked up his pace.

Ryan found her quickly, relieved when he saw her near the top of one of the tanks. The ladders up the side were caged past a certain height, which made it a lot harder for people to fall from them. Still, he stopped where he could see her to watch her progress.

Kayla crept up the ladder, so slowly he wondered if she was feeling worse. Ryan gripped the water bottles in his hands, silently rooting for her. He saw her long, dark braid swing back and forth across her back as she climbed.

Finally, she made it to the top, and he heaved a sign of relief, if only for a moment. He knew she was headed for the access hatch. She had to test the temperature from two to three places in each tank, checking not just that the tank wasn’t too hot, but that there wasn’t a significant variation of temperature. 

Ryan watched her stumble on her way to the hatch.

“Shit!” Ryan sat the water bottles at the base of the ladder, reaching for the radio clipped to his belt. “Ryan to the front office.”

He clipped the radio to his shirt and started climbing.

“Go for the front office, Ryan.”

He paused on the ladder so he could press the talk button. “I’m at tank 5-B. We’ve got an employee up top with signs of heat exhaustion. I’m going up to check on her now. Over.”

“10-4, do you need EMS?”

“Standby, Front Office.”

I might be overreacting, he thought, hurrying toward the top. I’ll just convince her to climb down and have some water. 

Ryan’s head popped above the edge of the tank, and he immediately froze in confusion. He couldn’t see her at all. He’d expected her to be kneeling by the hatch, lowering the thermometer. But there was no one up there but Ryan.

Ryan climbed off the ladder and looked toward the hatch.

They designed the tanks to be fall-proof, but he also knew the company didn’t maintain to the same standard as before, and that “fall-proof” had meant something else a couple of decades ago when they were manufactured. The path from the ladder to the hatch was fenced off, but at the hatch there was a spot where staff were supposed to clip their harness in to avoid what some supervisors called “big drowned bugs” in the tanks.

When he looked, he saw nothing clipped to the anchor brackets by the hatch.

“What did you do?” Ryan muttered. He forced himself to walk toward the opening, his stomach churning. He himself was not wearing a harness. “And what am I doing?”

The hatch door dangled down into the opening, torn off one hinge. Someone had awkwardly attached a safety lanyard hook connector to the hatch handle.

What? Why would she do that? Was she confused?

The question evaporated when he looked down and realized Kayla was dangling from the safety lanyard. The other end remained fastened at the back of her harness. The lanyards were six feet long, just enough length to reach the surface of the molasses.

 Kayla hung limp from the other end of the safety lanyard, facedown in the first few inches.

“FUCK!” Ryan grabbed his radio. “Tank 5-B to Front Office!”

“Go ahead!”

“Need EMS and the MERT to 5-B now! Kayla’s in the tank!”

He sat the radio down and laid flat on his stomach, hooking his legs around the base of the nearest railing. Then he reached down into the opening and grabbed the safety lanyard with both hands.

“5-B has someone in the tank?” Asked the voice from the radio.

The broken hatch door screamed as he pulled. Kayla didn’t shift.

“Come on!” he growled. He moved hand over hand, arms trembling, pulling the lanyard tight. Then he wrapped his dominant arm up in the stretchable material and jerked.

“5-B? Ryan? Do you copy?”

Kayla’s body pulled free with a sucking sound. Ryan’s arms burned. He was stout, but the strength it took to haul someone’s limp body up out of thick molasses was almost too much.

“MERT to the top of tank 5-B,” the voice from the office said. “Activating EMS now.”

Much slower than he wanted, Ryan hauled Kayla’s limp body up to the hatch opening. He quickly slipped an arm around her waist, grunting and breathing hard as he fed her through.

They collapsed together on the walkway, Ryan gasping for breath, Kayla’s limp body cradled against him. He was typically used to the smell of molasses, but at the moment it smelled sickly sweet.

Over the intercom system, Ryan heard a woman call out: “ALL MERT-TRAINED STAFF TO TANK 5-B. MAINTENANCE TO TANK 5-B. MERT AND MAINTENANCE, REPORT TO TANK 5-B IMMEDIATELY.”

“Kayla!” Ryan pushed himself up off the walkway and turned Kayla onto her back. Her face and clothing were coated with molasses. She’d lost both her hardhat and her safety glasses, and her eyes were closed, glued shut.

Everything he touched was sticky. Ryan quickly stripped off his shirt and used it to wipe her face. The fabric clung to her skin. He leaned over her and tipped her head back, leaning his ear close to her mouth.

A few seconds passed, and he used his hand on her jaw to open her mouth. Her jaw felt tight, teeth clenched, but he got her mouth open and waited.

Kayla’s open mouth was silent.

Ryan didn’t hesitate. He pinched her nose closed, his fingers forcing molasses out from her nostrils. Then he sealed his mouth over hers. His cheeks bulged, and he could taste the molasses on her lips. Her cheeks rounded, but he felt resistance and he didn’t see her chest rise. 

Fuck! Ryan broke the seal with a pop, then turned her head to the side. He slipped two fingers into her mouth, probing for the back of her throat. Finding her mouth filled with molasses, Ryan swept his fingers between her teeth, dragging the sticky liquid out and flinging it onto the metal walkway with a quick motion of his wrist.

Oh, God.

Even through the molasses, he could see that her lips were turning blue. 

“Come on!” Ryan clawed out more molasses and then turned her face toward the sky. He drew a deep breath and covered her mouth with his again.

Again, the breath didn’t reach her lungs, escaping out the side of their locked lips instead with a spluttering sound. He peeled his lips free, his tongue attempting to clear the sweet substance from his lips before he’d even registered what he was doing. 

Ryan didn’t waste time; he shifted over her, his hands unclipping her harness so he could find the bottom third of her sternum through her shirt. He briefly pictured the mannequin from his last CPR training as he clasped his hands together and pressed them to his landmark.

“One!” Ryan rocked his shoulders over his hands, driving his weight into Kayla’s chest. She didn’t click like the mannequin had, but he felt her ribcage flex under his hands, recoiling when he relieved the pressure. He could see her body jerk underneath her safety vest, her stomach popping up each time he pushed down. “…five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten…”

Her sternum didn’t click like the mannequin, but he heard a clicking noise emanating from her mouth each time he pushed down. 

Air. If air can come out, surely it can go in! I’m supposed to treat this like a drowning, right?

“…twenty-nine, thirty!” Ryan grasped her face again and tipped her head back. The molasses on her face felt sticky as he pinched her nose and took a deep breath. He vaguely remembered from class that you shouldn’t breathe too hard or you’ll blow air into the victim’s stomach, but at the moment Ryan was concerned with getting air past the viscous liquid blocking her airway. So he opened his mouth wide and covered hers, blowing hard.

Ryan’s cheeks rounded. Pressure built, so much so that the inside of his mouth hurt from the strain and he felt like his eyes were bulging. Air leaked out of the corner of his mouth, but to his surprise, he saw her chest rise incrementally.

He broke the seal and dragged in another breath, feeling lightheaded from the sudden pressure change. Then he covered her mouth with his and blew hard. His ears popped. Her chest rose slightly, and when he released her nose, molasses oozed out.

What is this doing to her lungs? 

“One, two, three…” Kayla’s head tipped to the side as he resumed compressions, the heel of his hand digging hard into her sternum. A mashup of 100-120 bpm songs played in his head as he pumped. Faint gurgles emitted from her mouth, followed by what sounded like a bubble popping. “…ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen…”

A clang from below caught his attention, possibly someone climbing the ladder. Ryan kept thrusting his hands into her sticky chest, trying to keep his attention to depth and speed.

“…twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty!” This time, before he straightened her airway, Ryan pulled her mouth open and thrust his fingers inside. Molasses pooled there again, forced up by the pressure created from the compressions. He scraped out the sticky liquid as best he could and then turned her face back to the sky.

Breathing for her was still difficult; so much pressure built up when he blew into her mouth that Ryan developed a sudden, stabbing headache. He still forced air into her anyway, small amounts eking through the molasses. His lips spluttered, and he gave her another breath.

“Dammit!” Ryan growled, his composure slipping as he pulled back from Kayla’s limp body. He pressed his hands between her breasts and started pumping her chest again. “One, two, three, four, five…”

He heard boots on the rungs of the ladder and glanced in that direction. David’s head appeared over the side, and Ryan fought back the urge to kick him in the face.

“What happened?” David asked. He had the grace to sound worried. “I have the AED.”

“…twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty! Get up here!” Ryan snarled, bending over to check Kayla’s mouth. The sun beat down on his head, and her skin felt hot to the touch despite what had happened to her. “We need to get her off this thing. It’s not safe for everyone to be up here!”

Ryan forced another small amount of air into her lungs. Every time he pulled back, his lips peeled off of hers and his skin stung.

“Dave to Maintenance.” David kneeled at her feet, setting the AED down on the walkway.

“This is Maintenance.”

“I need the scissor lift to tank 5-B NOW. Top priority.” David said.

“Scissor lift to 5-B. Understood. Over.”

Ryan was back on compressions. “One, two, three, four, five…”

“Need me to take over?” David asked, unzipping the AED.

“…ten… At the end of this round. Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen…”

David turned on the AED, and Ryan heard a robotic voice call out: “Apply pads and plug in the connector! Apply pads and plug in the connector!”

“…twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty!” Ryan prised open her mouth and swept his fingers inside again. More molasses came out with his fingers, and he wiped his hand on his jeans before reaching up and quickly wiping molasses away from her nostrils .

To David’s credit, he seemed to know what to do. As Ryan closed Kayla’s nose and sealed his mouth over hers, David was unzipping her vest. Then he ran a pair of shears from the hemline of her shirt up to the neckline, cutting it open and exposing a black sports bra. Her breasts rose almost imperceptibly as Ryan breathed into her. Dave snipped the center of her bra and pushed the fabric to the side , uncovering her breasts.

As Ryan gave Kayla another breath, David was peeling the paper backing off the pads and applying them to her skin.

“Her chest is sticky,” he said, rubbing the second pad underneath her left breast.

“She was partially submerged in the tank,” Ryan said, his voice grim as he watched David plug in the connector.

“Analyzing rhythm. Do not touch patient.”

Ryan scooted toward her head. 

“Here comes the lift!” David said.

“Analyzing rhythm. Do not touch patient. No shock advised. Continue CPR for two minutes.”

“Do it!” Ryan barked at David, not giving the other man a chance to hesitate.

David didn’t have room to kneel beside her, so he crawled up her prone body, straddling her hips and finding the red mark Ryan had left on her sternum. He rolled his shoulders over his hands and started pressing hard and fast. “One, two, three…”

Kayla’s head rocked with each compression, and with her breasts exposed, Ryan could see them rock and wobble in time with David’s thrusts. Her hand bumped against his leg, the force of the compressions making her shoulders shrug and her arms move.

“…ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen…”

Ryan heard the whine of the scissor lift as it rose toward the top of the tank.

“When it gets up here, we lower her on it. You have to climb on there with her and do compressions all the way down, okay? We can’t stop until EMS gets here!” Ryan looked down at Kayla’s face and hastily wiped away the molasses that was oozing out of her mouth.

“…thirty!” David called out, leaning back.

Ryan pressed his mouth to hers and pinched her nose closed. More molasses squished out of her nostrils, and when he breathed into her, he heard an odd rattle. Her chest was still barely rising. Before he gave her the second breath, he reached between her teeth and scooped again.

His fingers came away thickly coated with molasses, dark brown strings dripping and stretching as he pulled his fingers from her mouth. The second breath made her chest rise a little higher.

David rolled his shoulders over his hands and pumped her chest again. “One, two, three, four, five…”

Kayla’s belly popped with each compression, the harsh force required to pump her heart rippling through her body in waves. Ryan glanced over his shoulder and saw the lift rise just below the top of the tank and then stop.

The operator, a woman named Lori, called up: “That’s as high as it goes!”

“…twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight…”

Ryan pivoted back to Kayla, his mouth finding hers so he could give her two more breaths. She still tasted like molasses; the scent of it reeking off of her was overwhelming.

“Let’s load her, and you’ll have to get in there to continue compressions,” Ryan said, unclipping the AED connector. “I’ve got her head and shoulders!”

Together, the two men lifted Kayla’s limp, sticky body over the railing. David released her feet, leaving Ryan bent over the railing, holding Kayla by the armpits, her breasts exposed to the open air.

Below him, Lori threw her arms around Kayla’s waist and called up: “I’ve got her!”

Ryan watched her lower the unconscious woman clumsily to the floor of the lift, wincing when her head clipped the railing.

“Check the connector!” The AED sounded far away, and when Ryan glanced to the side, he saw that David had it tucked under his arm as he climbed down the ladder. “The fuck you doing?!”

There wasn’t any time to wait for an answer. Ryan climbed over the railing, trying to push back the flash of fear that struck him when he glimpsed the ground below.

He lowered himself as fast as he could, arms shaking from the weight of his own body. He felt Lori’s hands on his legs, trying to guide him down so that he wouldn’t fall off the lift or land on Kayla. Still, he half fell on her anyway, her legs taking the brunt of his weight. She didn’t react at all, and Lori wasted no time starting the descent.

There wasn’t room to kneel beside Kayla, so he straddled her, pressing his hands to the bruise forming between her breasts. Ryan pushed her sternum down, his eyes on her slack face. “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine…”

The scissor lift took longer to lower than he expected, though he thought part of that was simply his impatience. He kept rocking his weight into his shoulders and his straight arms, well past thirty compressions. Kayla’s body rock rhythmically beneath him, and he watched her head wobble on her neck.

Finally, the scissor lift came to a stop.  Ryan helped Lori feed Kayla’s senseless body between the scissor lift bars and down to the people below. He recognized Jim and Autry from the Medical Emergency Response Team. He also saw Jane from the front office, her cell phone pressed to her ear.

They laid Kayla flat, and by the time Lori and Ryan had hopped off the lift, David had plugged the defibrillator pads connector back into the AED.

“Analyzing rhythm! Do not touch patient.”

“We got someone out there to lead the ambulance in?” Lori asked.

“Analyzing rhythm!” the AED announced. “Do not touch patient.”

“They need someone from Maintenance to unlock the gate down at the access road, but otherwise, the guardhouse has the gator to lead them out here.” Jim gestured toward the far end of the fenced-off area. “Can you do that, Lori?”

“No shock advised. Continue CPR for two minutes.”

Autry was already in position, so he started chest compressions. His hands dwarfed her chest, fingers pressing into her breast as he pumped. Ryan kneeled at the top of her head, taking advantage of the extra space to thrust her jaw forward and tip her head back. Opening her mouth with his thumbs, he peered inside.

“EMS needs to get here yesterday,” he said. He could hear the tension in his own voice, hoarse and cracking. “I’ve been digging molasses out of her this entire time.”

As Autry continued compressions, Ryan tipped her head to the side and swept his fingers between her teeth again. More molasses had pooled in the back of her throat, and he scraped it out as best he could.

“…eighteen, nineteen, twenty…”

Jim pulled the black MERT bag closer to Kayla and pulled out a CPR pocket mask. He quickly opened the plastic case and popped the mask out, pushing the valve into place. 

“…twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven…”

Ryan turned Kayla’s head back toward the sky and opened her airway, holding it in place as Autry paused compressions and Jim pressed the pocket mask to her face. He sealed his lips around the valve and blew. Ryan watched for her chest to rise, but he couldn’t tell if it did.

Jim tried again, and then he broke the seal with a gasp. “Shit, she’s hard to get air into!”

“One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven…”

Kayla lay sprawled in the shadow of the molasses tank, arms and legs akimbo. Ryan could see her chest sink rhythmically beneath Autry’s hands, her breasts wobbling each time he thrust his hands into her chest. She had a curvy figure for such a petite woman, and each time Autry compressed her chest, her soft stomach bulged and rippled.

“…twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five…”

“What’s that?!” Jim asked, lifting the pocket mask from her face. Ryan pulled his attention back to Kayla’s face.

Golden-tinged foam leaked from her nose, and when Ryan peered into her mouth, he could see it at the back of her throat. He quickly turned her head to the side and swept his sticky fingers between her teeth again, trying to scoop the substance out. Then he straightened her head again and reopened her airway. “Try to give her breaths again!”

Jim pressed the pocket mask to her face and pursed his lips around the valve. This time, when he blew, her chest rose. He gave her another breath. 

Autry was immediately back on chest compressions. Ryan could see the brown foam oozing from her nose and mouth again, filling the mask Jim kept pressed to her face.

“Lift that off her face again. I’m going to tip her head over!” he said, doing so as soon as Jim peeled the mask off her sticky face. Ugly, dark foam oozed out of her nose and ran down her cheek, and after a few seconds, more poured inexorably out of her mouth. Her chin bobbed as Autry hammered her chest, and the foamy liquid came in waves.

“Is that good or bad?” Jim asked, his eyes wide.

“I don’t know!”

“…twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty!”

Ryan turned her head face-up again. “Just give her breaths. Don’t worry about the foam! She needs oxygen!”

This time, when Jim exhaled into the valve, her chest lifted each time unmistakably. 

“One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight…”

Ryan tipped her face toward him, holding her mouth open as liquid and foam ran out. Her body jerked with the compressions, and new noises were emanating from her open mouth: “Hurgh, hurgh, hurgh, hurgh…”

“…sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty…”

“How long until the ambulance gets here?” Ryan called out, his voice cracking.

As if on cue, the surrounding radios squawked. “EMS is on site, leading them your way now.”

“That would be… four minutes, then? Maybe less.” David said. “Keep going, guys.”

As though we would stop, Ryan snarled to himself.

“…thirty!”

Each time Jim gave her another breath, foam and brown liquid streamed up into her mouth and nose. The inside of the pocket mask looked filthy. The molasses drew gnats and flies, and the men were all fanning their hands over Kayla’s prone body, trying to keep them away.

“One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen…”

“…hurgh, hurgh, hurgh…”

“Analyzing rhythm! Do not touch patient.”

Ryan left her head tipped to the side as they all scooted back.

“Analyzing rhythm, do not touch patient.”

Kayla looked terrible. The molasses on her face gave her ashen skin a strange cast, and her eyes looked like they had come partially open, her eyelashes encrusted. He could just see the glint of her eyes staring through him. Her lips had darkened, turning blue despite their efforts. The foam was a poison leaking out of her, ending the life of the woman Ryan had been slowly getting to know and care for. The ambulance siren wailed in the distance, finally close enough for them to hear.

“I can hear the sirens,” Jane said into her phone. “Yes, we have someone directing them in!”

“Shock advised. Charging!” A loud tone sounded.

“Come on, Kayla!” Ryan exclaimed. 

“Do not touch patient. Press the shock button now. Do not touch patient.” The orange triangle button on the front of the device illuminated.

David reached out and pressed the button.

Kayla’s body gave a jerk, concentrated in her chest. It made her arms flick further out to either side.

“Shock delivered. Resumed CPR for two minutes.”

“Jim, switch with me!” Autry scooted back, breathing hard. Jim hesitated only a second before he moved into place and pressed his calloused hands to the bruise over Kayla’s sternum. Ryan reached out and pulled him forward so that his shoulders stacked over his straight arms.

Jim rolled his weight into Kayla’s chest, and they all heard a distinct popping sound, like the crack of a knuckle. To Jim’s credit, he kept pumping her chest, even though Ryan could see the grimace on the other man’s face.

“One, two, three, four, five, six…”

Ryan’s fingers were stuck together, requiring him to peel them apart before he could sweep out more syrup and foam. The gurgling noise was louder now, as though it were easier for air to move in and out of her lungs. When Jim hit twenty-five compressions, Ryan tipped her head up and back and grabbed the CPR mask. When he picked it up, however, he realized the base had picked up pebbles, dirt, and other debris from the asphalt where Jim left it.

Ryan dropped the mask and pinched her nose closed, sealing his lips over hers and exhaling a breath into her lungs. Her chest rose and fell, and he gave her a second breath. The cloying taste of her mouth made him gag, and he wrenched his head to the side, breathing carefully even as he tipped her face toward the pavement.

“One, two, three, four, five, six—”

Kayla’s body lurched, and retched, a small stream of liquid running from her mouth, carrying with it gobs of molasses and golden spume. Jim grabbed her by the hip and shoulder and rolled her toward Ryan, who grasped her jaw to keep her mouth open.

“Kayla?” he called out, but he had a sinking feeling that her body had simply vomited, the result of the relentless pounding she was receiving.

He leaned his face close, the caramel and brown sugar scent assaulting his senses as he listened for breath. His sticky fingers sought out the pulse in her neck, but he felt nothing.

“On her back! She needs chest compressions!” Ryan cried out, pushing her away from him.

The men rolled her flat, and Jim shoved his hands between her breasts, popping her stomach and making her shoulders shrug. “…seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen…”

“They’re coming through the back gate,” David said. “I see Lori pointing them this way!”

“…thirty!”

Ryan forced himself to ignore the mess on her cheek and chin and forced two breaths into her. Her breasts swelled, her dark nipples at half mast.

“One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine…”

The siren wailed, the sound bouncing off the tanks and the building. Ryan felt his heart rate increase.

Help is almost here, Kayla! Just hang on!

“…twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty!”

Ryan pinched her nose and pressed his mouth to hers, inflating her chest. As he was inhaling through his nose, he heard the AED chime in: “Analyzing rhythm, do not touch patient.”

Ryan gave her the second breath and then peeled his lips off of hers.

“Analyzing rhythm, do not touch patient. Shock advised. Charging.” As the alarm wailed, the men leaned back.

“Do not touch patient. Press the shock button. Do not touch patient. Press the shock—” David pressed the button and Kayla’s body flinched again. “Shock delivered. Continue two minutes of CPR.”

“I’m on it!” Ryan almost shouted, his hands coming down hard on her sternum. Each time he pressed down, Kayla made a retching noise. “One, two, three, four, five, six…”

Kayla made another gurgling sound, and then, to Ryan’s shock, he saw her throat work. He pushed her chest a few more times and then stopped, uncertain. The ambulance siren cut off.

“Kayla?” Ryan reached out and grasped her face, then leaned his ear close to her lips.

“Hunh…” The sound was soft but unmistakable, followed by a clicking sound as her throat worked again. Ryan heard a door slam and knew it had to be the paramedics, but he pressed his fingers to her neck anyway. 

Her blood beat faintly beneath his fingertips.

“She’s got a pulse! Kayla, take a breath!” Ryan tipped her head back, holding her airway open.

“They’re here,” Jim said. “They’re unloading now!”

Kayla coughed, gagged, and then bowed up, her spine curling up off the ground. She didn’t appear to be conscious, so Ryan grasped her shoulder and her hip, rolling her body toward him. He slipped his sticky fingers into her mouth one more time, clearing away another glob of molasses.

As the first paramedic kneeled beside her, Kayla coughed and choked, occasionally wheezing in a shallow breath.

“You’re going to be okay, Kayla!” Ryan called down to her, aware than any second now he would be asked to move out of the way. Kayla gagged and convulsed, another stream of liquid, foam, and syrup spilling out onto the asphalt.

“Thank you, sir,” a voice said behind him. “We’ve got her!”

“Ma’am?”

Ryan stood, his joints stiff, his hands and face drawing gnats, sweat running down his temples and his spine. He shuffled a couple of yards away, realizing as he did so that the rest of the crowd was doing so as well, trying to give the paramedics room. Someone pressed a cold bottle of water into his hands.

He could hear the medics quietly talking to each other, spare with their words and exuding an air of urgent efficiency. There was talk of suctioning her, of intubating her, loading her up and hurrying her away to the ER. Ryan knew he had no right to follow, that HR would call her next of kin and send a representative in the company’s stead. Public Relations would get involved. The cops would show up any minute.

He didn’t know if she was out of the woods. He didn’t know if he would ever see her again.

Three weeks later

But he had to hope she would be okay, listened to her cough and watched her chest heave, as he watched her peel open her eyes despite the molasses clinging to her lashes.

Ryan hovered outside the coffee shop, anxiously peering up and down the sidewalk, uncertain which direction Kayla would come from.

She’d been texting him since about a week after the accident, reassuring him she was recovering from the pneumonia she’d developed from the molasses she’d inhaled. He’d offered to come visit, but she hadn’t wanted him to see her like that, and he’d not wanted to remind her he’d very recently seen her dead.

Kayla told him, before it was official, that she wasn’t coming back to work. She couldn’t say much, but he thought she might be planning to sue the company.

Ryan honestly didn’t care. He just wanted to see her, to know with his eyes and his hands that she really was okay. He’d been having trouble sleeping, and in the mornings it seemed like he could never wash his face and hands enough. 

A few minutes later, he got his wish, spotting her get out of a car that had just parked along the street in front of him. She was wearing her hair down and dressed in a sundress that flattered her curves. He pulled his eyes up to her face, feeling his own flush hot.

Kayla was smiling at him, her big eyes already welling with tears. She stopped just short of him, suddenly looking shy. “This is only my second outing by myself. The first time was to the store.”

Her voice sounded huskier than he remembered.

“I… Kayla, may I hug you?” he asked.

“Please!” she stepped close to him and he folded her into his arms. She felt alive against him, her hair smelling clean and citrusy. 

“I’m so happy you’re okay,” he murmured against her hair, his voice choked with emotion.

“I’m really glad you came back to bring me water, Ryan. Thank you for my life.”

[prideprejudce]

what I find interesting & frustrating is that every time some rich fuck(s) with all the available resources at their fingertips completely & entirely ignore every aspect of safety, regulation, protocol, etc. in literal pursuit of money (source: the article about the CEO's goals of working with oil/gas companies), there's always going to be a group of people being like "we have to be the bigger person, thoughts and prayers" when none of these people give a shit about any one of us. in a time when the wealth gap feels bigger than ever, homelessness & poverty is on the rise, during massive inflation & a recession after a global pandemic that told us no one in power gives a fuck about you, who is this compassion for? yes they're human, yes everything about this is horrifying, but these people willingly walked into a death trap & paid 250k to do so! I have to wonder why is it always on us to "be kinder, have sympathy for another human being" but I never hear this directed at a billionaire from the same crowd scolding us "jealous broke haters" & when does it end? if/when we reach irreversible climate change, when ppl lose their jobs/homes/wages, when ppl die in a warehouse during a tornado so some guy can make more money than they can spend in a lifetime, is that crowd still going to be like, "well those billionaires are human beings, have some respect"? anway I don't personally blame anyone who finds the jokes distasteful but the "thoughts and prayers" crowd isn't any more morally superior imo, we're all doing the same thing, which is posting our opinions online which doesn't do anything to help (or not help) find the carbon fibre can piloted by a $40 video game controller

exactly ^^^

Also this is not something that is going to go away. As technology evolves and we are able to travel to these places that we couldn’t have before (like the bottom of the ocean or space) you better believe that the ultra wealthy are gonna be right there with the first ticket to explore new places and cease opportunities that will not be given to the vast majority of the rest of us

like the CEO of oceangate Stockton Rush had absolutely no intention to offer his technology to regular people like us. In a previous interview he said that his ultimate goal was to start creating ways for humans to explore and live in the ocean where you can live in safety from the above world environment and climate changes inevitable damage. but this dream (if it somehow ever happened decades in the future) was meant for the wealthy only. people who could pay millions and millions of dollars to “live underwater” and away from harm.

It’s the same thing as Elon Musk’s dream of building some space colony by the moon or whatever. You think that’s going to open to everyone? Of course not- only the super wealthy will get to cease these opportunities. Only the wealthy will get to be saved from the environment that they destroyed. and therefore the wealthy will continue to die in the most bizarre situations imaginable like maybe on a spaceship to see the moon years from now (I’m calling it right now) or in a tin can at the bottom of the ocean to see the titanic

[elialys]

Channeling positive energy for 2024

I have been very listless for at least the last couple of years (if not since 2020 and the whole pandemic mess), resulting in a pretty rough depressive episode that peaked this last November. It's hard to feel motivated to do anything concrete to improve your own life when everything around you is just...bleak. And this world does suck so much, so often, in so many ways.

But then I remember how I innately believe that most people are good, and that I am good, too, and that the one thing that always makes me feel better when I'm low is to do something helpful for someone, or to just be kind if I don't have the spoons for more.

(Putting this big ramble under read more)

I think I've mentioned it here before but I've made the decision to try and get into a new field of work, which involves at least two if not three years of studying. Let me tell you, I'm about to turn 36 in a couple of weeks. It's scary as fuck to do something like this. But this job, if I get into the school I need to get into, will be perfect for me. I'll be helping people who need guidance and compassion basically every day.

The bond I got to build with my students was my absolutely favorite part of teaching, but I got overwhelmed by everything else. I burned myself out in less than four years because I became a workaholic who worked 70 hours a week, never took a breath, tried tried tried, yet never felt like I was doing enough. The pressure was incredible, the 'I have to be around hundreds of people every single day', performing in front of entire classrooms full of kids 6h a day'...it just wore me down. Loved my kiddos to death, loved my science team so much, but then the pandemic hit and I lost a few family members within a few months, and I realized it was time for me to go home after 12 years abroad.

The meanest part of my brain likes to tell me I've spent the last four years being basically a useless human blob, but realistically, I know I wasn't. I had been working my ass off since 2011, when I was in America nannying two young kids all day long then going to school full time at night/weekends, before being hired as a teacher in England for 4 years.

I needed the break, I needed time with my loved ones. I needed to help grieving family members, especially my little sister with ASD, who had to learn to navigate life without her mom, who also developed epilepsy on top of everything else while our father pretended nothing was happening. I needed to spend time with my grandmother, who did so much for me when I was young and who's all alone, now. I'll even go as far as saying I've been working on fixing things with my mother this past year living with her, which was not an easy thing. Still isn't, but it's so much better than it used to be, and she's trying, too.

But I'm ready to get my life "back on track", or at least, to get busier , more proactive, more helpful to others who aren't in my inner circle, because I know that's what I'm good at, and why I'm here.

So, yeah, channeling positive thoughts for 2024. I'm not only going to work on getting into that school in the next few weeks, I also just received an email a couple days ago from an editor I used to work with. She's a writing director somewhere else now, and they need writers for a new webcomic project; she told me she immediately thought of me because they'd always been happy with my work, so I'm going to test for that, too, because why the hell not. Actually getting paid for the stuff I was writing a couple of years ago was the most surreal, rewarding experience of my writer life, and I wouldn't mind that happening again.

I want to give the biggest shoutout to my best friend & other butt cheek, @melusine0811, for helping me navigate those last four years, for always believing in me, and for being so fucking courageous when life is just so damn hard. Lauren, you're the bravest person I know, and forever my Donna Noble.

And because I'm sappy this weekend, awards and all, I'm also sending my thanks to my Australian unicorn, just for existing somewhere out there, for being a role model to me from afar these last thirteen years, for being another perfect example of people persevering no matter what, doing the things they love, while always trying to be kind to others in the process. I don't believe in much, but I believe in karma. You do good deeds, good things will happen to you.

Be kind to each other, my lovelies. Always be kind.

[swampgallows]

i straight up get violent now when i hear people say "post covid". covid has completely fucked up my life and career. it's kept me from getting the medical care i need because even healthcare facilities won't take precautions anymore, leading to a threat of being infected on top of my original problems.

it has permanently fucked up the lives of some of my closest friends. my best friend was infected for the third fucking time last week; he takes every precaution imaginable, even getting his groceries delivered, but was infected by the person preparing his fucking taxes. another of my best friends now needs an inhaler and walking stick and isn't even 30 yet. yet another close friend most likely has long covid, suffering short term memory problems and a chronic chest cough despite normal xrays. another friend has lost over a dozen family members since the pandemic began, with his father, brother, and uncle all passing away in December 2020.

i want to say that people who reflexively knee jerk say "covid is over" are living in a bubble, but i think the more accurate reality is that they've forced people like me and my friends to live in a gutter.

i can't write any more. I'm so fucking tired of having to be angry about this. i am in a really bad place mental health wise and wish i could go get help but i can't imagine anywhere more likely to catch covid than a ward, save for an actual covid wing of a hospital.

if i get covid, i could die. i have a blood disorder that already impairs my iron and clotting and oxygen levels, and a single infection of covid could result in a stroke. if i don't die of stroke, it could disable me for life. if i don't have a stroke, i could still get a clot that leads to pulmonary embolism. or i could just be saddled with long covid or chronic fatigue as my anemia disables me. this is the risk i face every single time i go out in public. any encounter could kill or disable me. and it is me against literally the entire world. i am told over and over that me and my friends are not worth protecting, that we're expendable, that we're "those people" who would have died of something anyway. we have mental illness, or chronic illness, or are trans, or people of color, or even a combination of these things, so society is fine isolating and killing us.

this is all ive had to think about as ive watched it be reinforced by everyone -- friends, family, communities, leaders -- for the past four years. every waking moment spent in hypervigilance and exhaustion and depression, mourning the life i had, the present life i could be having, the future i want being withheld from me. mourning, and yet still not having the space or time to grieve, because it is still going on. it is still happening. there are still thousands of deaths a week, and that's nothing to say of who is becoming disabled.

i just want to breathe air. in public. i want to be able to access healthcare without the threat of being infected. i want to go outside. i want to be able to get a job where i don't have to fear that my coworkers or the general public can literally kill me in complete ignorance. i want being in public to not require a particulate respirator.

i am sick of being told that these requests are unreasonable and that i might as well just die because infection is inevitable. at this point it's a race to see if my misery will kill me before covid does.

[tellthemeerkatsitsfine]

Hi, I was just wondering— what’s the origin of your name? I can’t figure out what meerkats are fine.

Oh, thank you for asking this and giving me an excuse to post the answer again! I post the video that my name is based on once or twice a year, but it's been a while since I have, so I appreciate the encouragement to do it again.

Okay, so in March 2020, I watched every episode of Taskmaster and it was the best thing I'd ever seen, I looked up ways I could see more of all those people, made a list of long-running panel shows that featured them, and worked through the list. Watched every episode of WILTY, then 8 Out of 10 Cats and Catsdown at the same time, then was annoying my friends so much by talking to them about these newly discovered British comedy shows that they don't care about, and I needed somewhere else to put my thoughts or I'd come out of the pandemic with no friends left. So I made a Tumblr blog.

Right after that, I did Mock the Week/Big Fat Quizzes at the same time, then QI and Buzzcocks, then branched out into "not actually a panel show but similar ballpark" with The Last Leg and every fucking episode of Russell Howard's own TV shows, before going through the old Howard/Richardson radio shows and then Bugle and being more into audio stuff from there, and then mostly into stand-up, as I have been for the last couple of years. At the same time as all this, I was re-watching a lot of the old British sitcoms I was into as a kid, and watching a lot of British sitcoms that were new to me, and a lot of shorter-running panel shows, Radio 4 shows, some books, lots of stuff.

Okay that's as short as I can possibly make the summary of my last few years, and most it wasn't strictly relevant but I just always feel the need to add context to things. The thing that's actually relevant is I made this blog right after I'd finished watching 8 Out of 10 Cats and Catsdown at the same time. And Tumblr asked me what I wanted my name to be, for my blog that was about British comedy. I decided to not overthink it, just go with the first thing that came to mind when I thought of what panel show moments came into my head first as things I liked, and went with:

There is, like, a slightly deeper meaning to why this joke got to me so much. When I first watched that episode and heard that joke, I happened to have just come back from a very stressful event where I'd had a panic attack and had to leave early, and Sean Lock describing little things running around frantically and pointlessly, and needing someone to just come tell them "guys there's nothing coming to get you, it's not a big deal just fucking relax" made me laugh as a metaphor for how anxiety feels like chemicals chasing each other around your brain in an utterly unnecessary frenzy. And I liked of some outside observer just looking at it and saying "knock it off" (and, you know, it's extra funny if that outside observer happens to be Sean Lock). I would sometimes tell myself, when spiralling into particularly irrational anxiety, "Hey! Fucking relax. Tell the meerkats it's fine."

So there was that, a bit of a more significant thing. But honestly, I mainly just liked that because I thought it was a funny observation. I've been to zoos, I've seen meerkats, and he's right, they do do that! They do run around as though they expect their cage to be under siege at any moment, even though there is no threat to them. Good point, Sean! It's a funny image. I mainly picked the reference because it's a funny image.

Part of why I put the context here is I've posted this video a couple of times since Sean Lock's death, and had someone assume I made the name as a tribute to him. So I like clarifying that I made this blog in August 2020, a year before he died, and I've never changed its name. Sean Lock didn't need to die for me to recognize how funny he was.

So to answer your actual question, it is those meerkats that are (not) fine. The one at the zoo where Sean Lock went. In case anyone's wondering, when I first made my Tumblr account in August 2020, right after I'd watched all of Cats and Catsdown, Tumblr asked me for my URL and I went with "Tell the meerkats it's fine" due to the Sean Lock joke, and then Tumblr asked me what I wanted for my blog title, and I immediately knew I wanted to reference my favourite episode of Catsdown:

[thatonebirdwrites]

Grief

I read this fic about death, grieving, and healing. And these lines hit me like a sack of bricks:

"The dead don't have unfinished business, Lena."  The words drew her attention. The older woman's eyes were warm, and her tone gentle, though she spoke as if what she was saying was the most obvious thing in the world.  "It's us, the people that are left behind. It's us that are unfinished."

I think of how much unfinished business I have. How I want to live to move on and continue healing my grief. And yet, I spend more time trying to convince people I'm not fucking dead yet than I do actually living at all.

I've lost people I loved dearly. Sometimes the pain of that hits me so damn hard that I can't even breathe. I think of that fic I just read, and those lines punch deep. The unfinished the business I have.

I'm left behind in more ways than one.

I survived, even though I've had several brushes with death (Covid included). In a way, I was left behind as a survivor, while others didn't survive. It hurts to think about it (how the hurt can just take my breath away, where I feel nauseous).

But now, in this still ongoing pandemic, people act as if I'm dead. As if the millions upon millions still ill from LongCovid and Covid complications are dead even though we are still alive.

I think that perhaps that is the most glaringly painful thing I have ever encountered in my life. It may be even worse than the conversion therapy and abuse I suffered from, because at least with those horrors I had people who understand and accepted my words "I can do the thing, let me help with this task." They allowed me my autonomy.

They'd accept that I knew what my body's needs were, that I knew my capabilities, and if they still needed the help, they allowed me to help. And I did the task as expected.

With LongCovid? All that changed. Now so many people I thought were friends, I thought were colleagues, I thought I could trust, no longer trusted my ability to do anything.

I felt like Avatar Korra in Season 4, where she gets back from three years of healing, and people she loves and trusts exclude her, acting like she's incapable of anything. (She outright yells that in frustration.)

I might be ill, but that doesn't mean I'm incapable. To take away my autonomy?

I went from being a trainer who had a job -- to having little to nothing. The only reason I am not homeless is because my sister refuses to let that happen to me again. She knows I don't want to lose my home. Not when I fought so hard to get it. Not when it is the only safe place I've ever had. So we fight to get me on disability.

But the friends, the community -- the acts of service I did? The small ways I helped folks get through their days? To help them put on events? To help train people?

I want that back.

I know my capabilities. I can ration my energy (even if I am frustrated with myself for having to do so, that doesn't mean I can't do it at all).

Today I tried hard to go out into the world again. I did a training -- a demo on Corsi-Rosenthal boxes. I may be exhausted, I may need to take a few days to recover, but I did the thing. And it felt good to do the thing.

I used to do trainings all the time before the pandemic; before all the loss, before everything went to shit. I'd do disability 101 trainings, trans 101 trainings, or just plain trainings how how to use a microphone and an audio interface so folks could run the audio at my friend's church.

Then the pandemic hit.

And loved ones died. Others got ill.

And I became a ghost because my illness stole my health from me. I couldn't just walk up with my cane and play the piano at my buddy's event; I couldn't run the audio for my pastor friend's church; I couldn't do trainings anymore.

And the truth of it?

It wasn't that I didn't want to do it.

It was because People Decided For Me That I Could Not Do It.

I had gifts to share! I could help dammit. Even if it took me longer to do some things, that didn't mean I couldn't do it!

And people took that offer to share and threw it away, citing my illness as to why they didn't think I could do it.

It didn't matter what I thought about my own abilities; they saw the wheelchair, my illness, and pointed to it (sometimes literally pointed) as proof I am incapable of doing the thing I said I am capable of doing.

The grief of that nearly killed me. How I was cast aside like goddamn trash to become a statistic on their charts.

Oh, yet another lost to LongCovid.

Oh, no more job for them; they can't work the required hours.

Oh, no more allowing them to volunteer to run sound, they're obviously too ill for that.

Oh, no more asking them to do trainings, they ought to focus on getting better. We can't put that stress on them.

Oh, no more visiting them; it requires masks and they need to focus on getting better. It'd just stress them out.

AND WHAT ABOUT WHAT I WANTED?

If I mentioned that I am capable of doing the task (with x or y accommodation such as maybe a ride, more time, help with set-up before i speak, etc), I got told that I didn't understand my own needs. Which is ableist nonsense. I understand my own needs very well.

Then came the worst part of all.

People were mourning my death, telling me they were moving on from the pandemic. Which what the hell does that even mean?

Sometimes they'd quote statistics -- that weren't even accurate no less! -- in some form of cruel denial of the lived reality of millions upon millions impacted as if the stats would somehow ward away my presence.

Sometimes people were telling me they were grieving my life. How sad it was.

It wouldn't be so goddamn sad if people let me live.

I wasn't even fucking dead. I still am not dead.

I still cling to life. I'm still writing stories. I'm still trying.

I did this training today because I had the knowledge. I could share it. I could finally give back the way I wanted to do so. And this group let me.

I did three commissioned art pieces for Supergirl Mayhem, and they encouraged me and let me do it. And I finished all three pieces.

I am capable. I can do things, but it just takes me longer. I have to ration my energy carefully. I have to honor the needs of my body in different ways, but that doesn't mean I'm incapable of doing the task!

I can still do trainings.

I can still build things.

I can still run sound if needed.

I can still write stuff.

I can still make art.

I can still run games.

Will it take me longer to do it? Yes, but that doesn't mean I can't.

Will it require some accessibility options? Sure, but everyone at some point in life often requires some notion of accessibility to access an activity or event or location.

I'm not fucking dead. Millions upon millions have chronic illness of various sorts like me, and we're not fucking dead.

Yet why is so many treating us and grieving us like we are?

[quensty]

tagged by @enterprisery to put my spotify “on repeat” playlist on shuffle and list off the first 10 songs i get.

unfortunately my playlist hasn’t changed much since the last time i did this, so instead, i’m gonna put my “discover weekly” playlist on shuffle and rate the first 10 songs i get. so thank u for the tag babe but i will not be following a single rule.

🪸 erghan diado (song of schopsko) by bulgarian state television choir: we are starting off this list so insanely strong. i have no idea what made spotify assume i would like this but they were 100% correct. apparently this choir performs modern arrangements of traditional bulgarian folk melodies, and this song is from one of their most recognized projects. four stars ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

🪸 choreomania by florence + the machine: i was surprised to see this song was written before the pandemic, but it turns out that welch based this off of the dancing plague of 1518, where 400 women danced themselves to death. what a cool coincidence that she released a song based on a phenomenon ppl theorize occurred as a result of plague-related stress post-covid. obsessed with the behind-the-scenes info, and the song is catchy. four stars ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

🪸 becky by be your own pet: HOLY SHIT. ohhh no. “i heard u talked a lot of shit abt me / to ur new best friend / but it doesn’t matter anyway / cos i’ll find a new best friend / … but, you know, i gotta say / i loved going to your slumber party” this is fucking me up. childhood friends are like runaway cats u keep hanging up missing posters but u’ll never get them back. “he doesn’t miss carol not really or rather he doesn’t miss the woman she’s making herself into. kid carol tho … he misses that version of her sometimes” etc etc. this is reminding me so much of those homoerotic friendships i had at 8 with other girls that always ended in catastrophe, but i still remember their landline numbers. five stars ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

🪸 bury a friend by pomplamoose: i’m pretty positive this was recommended to me based on my obsession with loveless’s version of happier than ever. i love a good cover, and that one is fabulous. it adds a brutal new dimension to an already angry song. they bring a great alt rock/emo pop twist to it that i adore. despite how good a cover this one is, i can’t say i love it—i might be a little biased; eilish’s original is haunting and nightmarish and it puts everything it can into creeping u out. i don’t think this cover adds any new flavor the way loveless’ does. it mostly makes me want to listen to the original again. one star ⭐️

🪸 the ghost of chicago by noah floersch: this song is appealing to my love of the midwest. it wasn’t what i was expecting going in but i like it! it’s cute. i know it’s meant to be a “i like this girl so much that she haunts me” kinda ghost song, but tbh i like the idea of the narrator falling in love w an actual ghost much more. it reminds me of this wip i have where—no. i shan’t say. it’s a secret. three stars! ⭐️⭐️⭐️

🪸 old cape cod by patti page: … idek what to say abt this. i’m sure white ppl in the 50s thought this was a bop but i do not. zero stars :(

🪸 dizzy in sunlight by the blasting company, ashley nguyen dewitt: now THAT is how u make a dreamy, sunday-afternoon-esque song. the lyrics remind me of a mary oliver poem. “wade in the water / mud covered feet,” “the wind and my mother / they both hold me upright / …oh what a feeling / as the waters / rush over me,” “my sister riding her bike from the store / my grandfather smoking his pope out on the porch / …this life spills over me / and rocks me to sleep”. completely and utterly lovely. five stars ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

🪸 in dreams by sierra ferrell: i love the country and folk elements in this. i’m currently on a country music fixation and this is right up my alley. such a sweet-sounding love song, i added it to one of my playlists right away. four stars ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

🪸 neutral spirit hotel by local news legend: omg this reminds me so much of some of my favorite penelope scott songs—sweet hibiscus tea comes to mind; both of these songs are folksy and have this self-deprecating element to them. “i think i say i’m quitting drinking every other week / but it’s so hard to stop / when it’s the only thing that let’s me sleep” dean winchester type shit (sorry). three stars ⭐️⭐️⭐️

🪸 down in the willow garden by the kossoy sisters: HELL YES a strong finish!! this is a traditional appalachian murder ballad about a guy facing the gallows after poisoning his sweetheart and throwing her body in a river. is me liking this song a loss for feminism? IDK. but i like it </3 four stars ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

i’m tagging @keepoffthetardis, @cabeswater, @youthbleeding, @minimyz, and anyone else who wants to do this! consider urself tagged

[afaimscorner]

AHS: NYC

Franky the most interesting thing about “American Horror Story: NYC” is the way people react to it. It’s a fact that the way a season of “American Horror Story” resonates with you says more about you than about the show itself, but with “NYC” we have reached the peek of this. Of course there is the thin veiled homophobia of those who hated it, but it is also interesting to see how many people generally did not get it. I mean, yes, there is room for criticism of course. Someone did point out righty so that the last two episodes feel very divorced from the rest of the the season, and of course they would, the serial killer plot ended with Episode 8 and the pandemic-plot had been on the back burner so long that no one really thought they would spend two whole episodes with pretty much everyone dying from AIDS in a very poetic way. I also think that many viewers honestly did not get that it was AIDS all along and generally thought it would turn out to be something else. And of course the issue with Big Daddy is that he is a metaphor for Death in general which did confuse some viewers because some characters that were killed by “him” did clearly die not from AIDS and some of those deathts never got resvoled, so yes, there were some - so to speak - plotholes and the last two episodes had no answers, not really. And I think many people also did not not want it to be AIDS, they wanted a Fantasy or Horror Version of it instead.

But this is the point of the season. “NYC” is the first really grounded season of the show. There is no real supernatural stuff going on, it’s magicial realism instead, and of course this would throw a portion of the audience. And of course some of them would get defensive about other people calling it the best season or even a good season, because in their eyes this does demean the Horror Genre and the rest of the show like: “How can death by AIDS be considered better than ghosts, witches, vampires etc.? Well of course you would say that because you look down on me for my taste because I do watch anything else but crime procedurals and soaps!” But there is literally no reason to get defensive. This is fucking Season 11! And with “American Horror Stories” now going on as well, we have literally had everything you can do with Horror done in the shows. “Apocalypse” was the big crossover season and should have been the end of the show, however they discovered they had not done a slasher season yet, so we got “1984″, but after that there was nothing left to tell.

So we got the weird “Doube Feature”, which was one of those Covid-Seasons, and the show still continued on, so it reinvented itself. It reinvented itself by doing a season of Real Life Horror. See, this season was very much a social commentary. And yes, after Covid, everyone and their father did a Pandemic Story, but Ryan Murphy decided to to a story about the other pandemic of our lifetime, the one no one is talking about anymore. And he did not to that because he wanted to educate Gen Z on the recent history of the world, he did it because this pandemic was something his community lived through and it was the scariest thing that ever happened to that community ever probably, because in case you did not know that: people were dropping dead like flies for no appearant reason for like a decade! “You think lockdowns and having to get a bad bad horrible vaccination were bad? Try being a gay man between 1980 and 1990!” is the message. And to make it even sacrier everything else was put in there too: a serial killer that targets the community, the hate crimes, the ignorance, and lack of BDSM protocol etc. This season, if you did like it or not, was the ultimate Horror Story because it was actual real life horror taken from the recent past.

I remember back when I watched “Apocaplyse” (which was in the winter right before Covid hit when something was in the air already) I was triggered really badly by the beginning of the season. This was the first and only time the show really did a number on me and the sacriest thing before that, the scene that haunted me the most, was way back in “Asylum” when Quinto did Conversion Theraphy on Sara Paulson. Why did those moments stand out to me? Because they were Real Life Horror Moments. I can deal with jump scares, gore, slashing, ghosts, vampires, aliens and all those things, but give me Real Life Horror and I am gone. And many many people out there are like me, if they want to admit it or not, they do not want Horror to deal with actual real life issues because that would scare them on a deeper and more personal level than any Torture Porn could.

Why do you think Steven King still is the undisputed King of Horror? Because he knows that it is essential to start out with Real Life Horror and then put a Supernatural Spin on it in order to get the catharsis the reader needs. And no one is better at this than he is. And for ten season “Amercian Horror Story” did exactly that and followed his example all eleven chapters of it at a time. But “NYC” did not do that. There was no Supernatural Spin, nothing you could fight in order to win, there was no catharsis, there was only death.

Does a story like this belong in an anthology show like “American Horror Story”? Maybe not. However this is not up to us to decide. It’s is up to Ryan Murphy, the writers, and Fox. They deemed it a good idea. Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was. Like I said, the show did essential end with “1984″, it will have to change if it continues, it has already changed. And it will continue to change.

It’s okay to say “NYC” did nothing for you, but it’s also okay to say it was the best season you ever saw on the show. Which is not okay is to attack someone for saying either of those things (unless the reasons for not likeing it are obvious homophobia). Like I said, the way you react to a season of this shows says more about you than that season.

My favorite season is “Roanoke” which says much about me but not anything about the season. Runners Up are “Murder House” and “Hotel”, which again does tell you what kind of Horror I like. Is “NYC” up there with the great ones for me? No, but it was both an important story to tell and a necessary developement in the history of the show. If changing the way the show works will not save it but rather end it, it still would have not been a mistake, just something they tried that did not end up saving the show from cancellation/ reaching its natural end point.

So yeah, that was my piece, I guess. Not that anyone will care, but I just wanted to put it out there.

(And, no, I am neither a gay man nor old enough to really remember the AIDS Panic, but I have that super power called empathy combinded with that superpower like backround called education by listening to other people, so yes, I will defend any story that obviously is something really personal to those who made it any time).

[inconveniently-discorporated]

Finally started TLOU and man, this shit hits hard. (I don't think these are spoilers?)

It's the littlest details that get me. The way the infection signs (all metal-craft and official) are all aged and withered -- this isn't just "a new normal", this is and has been life for awhile. The way Joel needs his bag back -- such a little thing, but you really don't think factories are producing the little plastic bags so many of us take for granted in our day and age? They're not, that's why he needs it back.

The parallel of humanity -- the way such deep human kindness is shown to the little kid, in a "just look at the flowers Lennie" kind of way. The way it's contrasted immediately with the military executing people for trying to illegally come and go in a way that used to be so, so free such a short time ago.

And what a time for this to come out, especially for those of us who were just kids when 9/11 happened. Sarah asking if it was terrorists. The world is not so nearly unrecognizable, but in many ways it is. It feels angrier and more isolating, and it feels like many people are quite okay with increasingly more violent tactics to protect themselves and quarantine against "diseases", only instead of a fungus it's things like books and gender affirming care and bodily autonomy. It strikes me that this world is feeling more and more like one where the answer is swift and immediate "justice" by way of death, it hits that fear deep down.

But what gets me the most are two very prominent words: curfew, and quarantine.

I love reading about etymology, because within every word is a very deep and very storied past of the things my ancestors went through to get to where we are today. I recently learned about both of these words, when I was writing Every Day Another Step Away (Good Omens, 14th Century).

The word curfew comes from the phrase "cover fire". It was a word for the ringing of the bells, after which it was mandated that people had to cover their fire for the night and bank it for the next day. The intention was to prevent devastating incidents where houses and villages would burn to the ground. It was a rule created from a place of suffering, with the intent of surviving.

The word quarantine comes directly from the plague -- yes, The Plague. Italy, during the black plague, instituted a rule where incoming ships had to wait for thirty days before coming on shore. It was, at some point, determined that this wasn't enough, and therefore increased to forty days. Thus, we get quarantine. Again, it comes from a place of great human suffering, but the key to it all was the will to adapt, overcome, and survive.

These words are so embedded in our lexicon that I don't even know if anyone would think to question where they came from, or how they tell the stories of generations upon generations that fought before them for the opportunity to live another day. These words are scars, age old ruches of flesh where there were once gaping wounds that threatened to put an end to us altogether.

And that brings us to the very beginning of the episode, with the (?) epidemiologist who wasn't afraid of a bacterial or viral pandemic, because in every single case, the outcome has been this: humanity won. Perhaps worse for the wear, but we survived all the same.

And so, in TLOU's universe anyway, the world's greatest battle yet is underway, to see if they can keep the fire of the human spirit alive. Damn. What a fucking emotional rollercoaster, and it's only just the start.

[myriad--starlings]

"it took a lot of learning and time for you to get to the place you are with COVID so don't call other people stupid for also taking time-"

no it didn't. I didn't have that luxury actually. from the day I heard there was a global pandemic I was terrified for my life. every single piece of information I learned after that only clarified what exactly I should be afraid of (for instance: no need to sanitize mail) and what I could do to protect myself (for instance: wear a mask).

and then seemingly the entire world abandoned everything we'd learned together, damned me to a life of panic attacks in public and fearing for my life every time I leave the house, and gave me and every other disabled person a giant middle finger

so NO i will NOT be patient no I will NOT shy away from calling it what it is - dumbass behavior - to willfully abandon the safety precautions you were, for the most part, taking before; to refuse to listen to disabled people and those in your communities BEGGING you to continue masking testing and limiting exposure; to participate however unknowingly in the intense isolation, further disabling, and death of disabled people, let alone the deaths and disabilities gained from even "mild" covid infections.

I am fucking DONE with this whole "just be patient with us we're leeeaaaarrrrnning" no you DID LEARN and then you said no actually I'm tired :( I won't be doing this anymore! the pandemic is over! :D and so I will be angry and I will rage and I will call you a dumbass and have no empathy or sympathy for "how hard" things are for you.

because again.

I live in mortal dread for my life every single day to the point I've had to completely turn off the part of my brain that thinks about covid or become catatonic from fear.

so fucking forgive me if I don't care about your able-bodied ass's paper-thin excuses

[nosleepwriting]

What WN means to me:

i watched it initially for Avatrice, ofc i did. one day during lockdown i randomly saw a crack vid of avatrice and decided to watch it. not even knowing if they end up together or if they kiss or if they become canon. i didnt watch the whole vid so i wont spoil everything, which was weird because ever since lexa, i dont watch shows without knowing that the sapphic couple would be together and happy.

did you know where i stopped? i stopped during the part where ava phased out of the wall, breathless and scared, and beatrice was there to catch her. maybe it was the way she looked, the way kristina's eyes shined as beatrice holding alba's ava in her hands that convinced me that yup these two are in love. or at least bea is. this isnt a crack ship. this is real.

so i watched s1. tbh, im one of the people who thought s1 was slow bec if im being rlly honest, i watched it for avatrice. but i wasnt expecting to love ava, that running on the beach scene loving life, alba's acting of laughing and crying and breathless under the stars with the sand below her and the ocean just in front, and watching THAT during the fucking pandemic ???? that saved me from a lot of dark thoughts swirling in my head. i wasnt expecting a family. a real found family that even when mary and lilith were fighting each other to death you can tell that there's love, there's history. there's sisterhood. i wasnt expecting that from a show with 'Warrior Nun' as a title. and not bec i thought it was silly but bec i thought it was one of those female-led show made for men.

long story short, i finished it. search tumblr for a bit for content, then twitter, then ao3, as one usually does and then nothing. i moved on, peacefully. even if that s1 cliffhanger was far from peaceful. bec i was sure there would be an s2 with that kind of ending. i went on with my life and continued to consume other media.

until october 2022. i didnt even knew they were filming s2. i saw the s2 trailer in yt randomly again. there they were. dancing. i was like how did these two go from fighting an angel?-jesus-like-incarnate in s1 to dancing casually in a bar?? i was scared at first, maybe this isnt the same show that i'll come back to bec lets be honest most s2 of a really good s1 most of a time is a let down. but then i saw the "your jealous" "that's absurd" part and i was like yup those two are in love and im going to watch this just so i can see how they do it.

for extra context (i know this is getting super long but i honestly dont care im doing this for me), im reviewing for the boards and getting invested in anything other than my studies would be really bad. i was catious with what media to consume because i need to focus on my studies. even so, i watched the final ep for context and carry the feeling before watching the first episode. the legendary fucking first episode. the hands behind teasing walk, the kiss cheek, the dance, the stare (i dont have to explain this, u know what im talking about) i replayed all of those moments 10 times bec WOW they weren't holding back.

then everything else. the little moments leading to the big ones were satisfying and so perfectly excuted that i cant even watch it with my girlfriend bec she gets mad that i keep repeating the scenes and slowing them down to take it all in. halfway through s2, i knew i was gonna watch it again. and i only really did that for 2 other shows (shera and the wilds s1, atla and tlok dont count bec i rewatch them periodically and not right after finishing) but u know what i didnt do to those other two that i did with warrior nun? i watched it a third time in a bigger screen just so i can see more. i watched in a 4th time with my girlfriend. i watched it a 5th time just so i can move on with my life and i watched it a 6th time because i missed them and i can't. i watched it a 7th time because i won't. and at this point i lost count at how much i rewatched the show. i would stream it during studying just so i could have them on screen and be inspired with finishing so i can watch them.

im just really heartbroken right now. with all this.

[connoisseursdecomfort]

A character study on Billy Squire (ft. Biddy)

(Manga spoilers alert)

We know there are plenty of darkness lying beneath the seemingly wholesome story of SxF. While Endo put a happy family in the middle of all the mess in Ostania, it does make us wonder what the Ostanians really felt about their country.

So he gave us Billy.

I am almost certain that we’ve met the Billy before Biddy’s death somewhere. If you still haven’t, you absolutely will.

He was just that guy next door. He’s a nice guy. He cared about the people around him, but he also didn't want to cause trouble. He most likely had experience working with/for the government and “knew how the society worked”. He had his doubts, knew there’re problems in the government, and tolerated it. Maybe he just wanted to maintain the status quo. Maybe because of his experience, he thought things would get better.

Billy had built a life in Ostania. He tried to be a good citizen and a good father. He was just trying to live a peaceful life in this mess. 

And you can’t really blame him for this, because you know what he wants. You know he’s not some ignorant teenagers who didn’t know better. You know he’s seen stuffs in his life, and you know he's not wrong. It’s just that sometimes you just can’t help but think that maybe you can do something more than that.

So Endo also gave us Biddy. And Biddy was no Keith. Biddy was just trying to help the others. But sadly Biddy lived in Cold-War-isque Ostania, so she died. And that pushed Billy over the edge.

Billy became the “villain”.

You see, Billy is bound to fail. From what has been shown in the manga, the Ostanian government, or the SSS, don’t give a fuck. With manga goggles off, reality has told us that nothing good has come out of this tactics. Billy is not going to get what he really wants. 

But Billy is also placed in this hopeless situation. He’s not powerful nor influential enough to change anything. The system is corrupted. There is no way he's going to get justice for Biddy.(1)

Billy could have gone for another route - unification could mean the dissolution of the current government. However, it is also understandable that he doesn’t want to go work for the largest, most dangerous competitor Ostania has, namely Westalis. Endo has dropped enough hints that both states are responsible for war. They’ve all done bad things.(2)

The tragedy is this - Billy has been right all along. The point is, Biddy couldn’t change Ostania. Billy couldn’t either. In a sense, Biddy was doing it the “right” way, and Billy was certainly in the “wrong”. No matter what method they went for, they had no control over anything around them. I think one of the more compelling examples is the pandemic we’ve experienced in the last three years. There are times we feel like we are just watching the world burn, and we have no control in this.

The only thing we can control is our own behaviours. The world is a terrible place, and we are no superheroes. But at the very least, we can choose to do good.

At the end, Biddy went to the protest, and Billy surrendered. I think they know horrible things could happen to them, but they still did something they thought was right. 

And that is what truly matters.

(1) If he really killed this bus full of children, it’s not for Biddy’s sake. It is for his own pain. I’ve discussed somewhere else that the problem about Billy is that he knows what he’s doing is wrong. Let’s say we’ll just put on those drama!goggles for a while - if you want to seek for revenge, it’s reasonable to go after the officials who made the decision to go violent with the protesters. It could even be reasonable to hunt down the policeman who did it to Biddy. You just don’t go after innocent people, especially innocent children. Same goes to Yor and Loid. It’s reasonable that they want all of the Red Circus members gone, but will we still root for them if they go after the children of these members?

(2) The Red Circus is said to be funded by a third country. We might have to wait for more info, because historically there could be tonnes of explanations why this third party want to do that. 

[greenapricot]

2022 fic year in review

Total number of completed stories: 7

Total word count: 73,146

Fandoms written in: Our Flag Means Death (3), Lewis (2), Shetland (2)

Looking back, did you write more fic than you thought you would this year, less, or about what you’d expected? More fic by word count, but less by number of fics.

For the past couple of years I'd been fixated of the idea of posting a fic a month (which did help me get through the early part of the pandemic) but it also kept me from writing anything long. So, in 2022, I decided to let the one fic a month thing go and try to write something longer (which led to me accidentally writing the longest thing I've ever written).

What’s your own favorite story of the year? This actually really hard for me to decide because I spent the second half of the year working on one fic, but I think I’ll have to go with The time it takes to get from here to there (Lewis, James/Robbie). I’ve been meaning to write a story that focuses on the Soul of Genius for years and not only did I finally manged but I also think it’s very true to the vibe that the episode deserves.

Did you take any writing risks this year? I wrote the longest thing I’ve ever written which is also a full AU and in a new fandom: Riches and Wonders (OFMD, blackbonnet, modern AU). But I think of it as more of an experiment than a risk.

I didn’t actually intend to write something novel-length when I started and once I realized that was what was happening I’d already written half of it. So then it became a game of can I write something that long in less than a year and could I start posting it before it was 100% complete and still finish it. The answer is yes to all of that and I’m super proud of myself for getting there and sticking with it.

Do you have any fanfic or profic goals for the new year? I said this last year too, but I really do want to finish the sequel to Lead me wild to your dark roads (Lewis/Shetland xover, James goes walking in Shetland). I was working on it pretty steadily before I started the little OFMD modern AU that turned into R&W.

Then, there are those three Lewis casefics that I’ve got mostly plotted that I would like to finish someday, plus I’d like to write some Izzy POV (possibly in the R&W universe). And there are a few other WIPs an new ideas kicking around. But mostly I just want to keep writing things that make me happy.

Most popular story of the year? Riches and Wonder by all possible metrics (which is probably a bit unfair it being in a far bigger fandom than I’ve written in in years and 15 chapters long). It’s actually one of my most popular fics period at this point. Second most popular by kudos is It’s misery loves you and by comments is The time it takes to get from here to there.

Story of mine most under-appreciated by the universe, in my opinion: Don’t go dark on me (Shetland, Jimmy/Duncan). Part of my s6 missing scenes series that takes place before the first episode.

Most fun story to write: It's misery loves you (OFMD, blackbonnet, Izzy POV) Writing Izzy watching Ed and Stede reuniting and being absolutely fucking livid about it was so much fun. I think the final count was 38 fucks in a 1900 word fic. I love writing unreliable narrators and his utter impotent rage just made me snicker all the way through. Definitely want to write some more Izzy POV this year. 

Here comes your man (Lewis, James/Robbie) was also very fun, getting James all flustered after seeing old photos of Robbie in his rugby shorts.

Most unintentionally telling story: I hardly ever have a good answer to this question and I feel like I have even less of one than usual for 2022 since more than six months of it was spent working on R&W (which is a blatant romantic comedy with a dash of angst in the middle for flavor). Maybe that’s something telling? Really what I want is a story with a bit of angst and an HEA (this is not at all surprising).

Biggest disappointment: For the past few years I’ve has a goal of finishing one of my three Lewis casefics and I didn’t do that again in 2022. But I did write the longest thing I’ve ever written in 7 months so I feel like that’s a good compromise. Also, the fact that I was able to finish something so long in (for me) in such a short time gives me hope that I will finish one of those casefics one day.

Biggest surprise: Being inspired to write in a new fandom which is a really big fandom and writing the longest fic I’ve even written, and completely without intending to. Also, apparently I didn’t write any Endeavour fic in 2022, so here’s hoping I get inspired by s9.

I don’t know how many people have done this (or something like it) already but I’ll tag: @thankyouforbeingsowrong @bryndeavour @vita-s-west @mcgstarroar @mr-iskender @femmenerdy @philleegirl @swimmingfoxsticks @desperately-human and anyone else who wants to do this.

List of the fics I wrote in 2022 under the cut:

Don't go dark on me - Shetland (1,159 words) Jimmy/Duncan - teen - Established Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort

Jimmy’s brow furrows into that pursed-lipped annoyed look of his, he shakes his head. “You’re just going to leave it to chance? See what happens and then sort out the fallout later?”

“No,” Duncan says, he puts two pairs of wool socks into Jimmy’s suitcase, then a third, trying to keep his tone even. “I’m going to make a deliberate decision to support my partner after the death of his mum.”

Here Comes Your Man - Lewis (4,046 words) James/Robbie - explicit - Robbie Lewis in rugby shorts, thirsty pining, Oral Sex

“Find something interesting?” Lewis asks. He sounds amused.   

“Um.” James’ face goes hot. Every potential quip dries up on the tip of his tongue. He is still holding the rugby photo, the other three photos next to him on the table, clear evidence of his prying. He’s sat in one of Lewis’ dining chairs, but he has no memory of sitting down, and he— “I suppose you could say that,” James says feebly.

The time it takes to get from here to there - Lewis (6,445 words) James/Robbie - teen - The Soul of Genius, Mutual Pining, Angst with a Happy Ending

Lewis is right, James does want someone in his life. Need, he’s not so sure about, but he is intimately acquainted with want. Trouble is, that person is sitting across the table from him, oblivious, and telling him to go find someone else.

It's misery loves you - Our Flag Means Death (1,908 words) Ed/Stede - mature - Reunions, Izzy POV, Izzy-typical overuse of the word fuck Pirate-typical violence

“Ed!” someone shouts.

Izzy spins around, following Blackbeard’s gaze. Who the fuck dares?

And fucking, fuck. Walking toward Blackbeard through the smoke and fog like he has any fucking right to be here, as if anyone fucking wants him here, is Stede fucking Bonnet.

A tunnel to crawl through - Our Flag Means Death (2,361 words) Ed/Stede - mature - Reunions, Pirate-typical violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort

“Ed?” Stede’s hand touches his arm, his fingers are rough in a way they weren’t before, when Stede passed him teacups and fine fabrics, when they— “Edward, are you okay?”

Blackbeard looks down at Stede’s hand on his arm, at Stede’s face so close to his own, at the dagger he’s still holding to Stede’s throat which he has made no effort to step away from. His hand is shaking, the blade trembling against Stede’s skin. Stede who is here. Stede who is right fucking in front of him, close enough to smell if Blackbeard were to take a breath.

Never quite like this - Shetland (753 words) Jimmy/Duncan - teen - First Kiss

“Hey,” Jimmy says, as if he hasn’t said just that to Duncan a thousand times over the years in a thousand ways; exhausted, exasperated, teasing, content, relieved, fond even. But he’s never said it quite like this. Never with his face so close to Duncan’s it’s barely in focus. Never with that soft look in his eyes.

“Hey,” Duncan says, more of a sigh than a word.

Riches and Wonders - Our Flag Means Death (56,474 words) Ed/Stede - explicit - Modern AU, Mutual Pining, while also spending all their time together, a bit of angst, with a happy ending (in both senses of the word), So Much Softness

“Yes,” Stede says, sitting up a little taller on his bar stool. “I would love a drink.” He holds out his hand. “I’m Stede.”   

“Stede,” Mr Gorgeous Brown Eyes says. “Unusual. I like it.” And Stede likes the way his name sounds on the man’s lips. “I’m Ed.”   

Ed’s handshake is firm, his fingers warm and a bit calloused, the leather of his fingerless gloves smooth and soft. Stede’s eyes are drawn to the tattoos circling his arm as the handshake lingers maybe a bit too long.