#i wrote such a dramatic journal entry too

[hanabeeri]

doing my assignments with genuine tears in my eyes

then i remembered my period will begin soon and suddenly my moodiness made sense

[see-arcane]

Our good friend Jonathan Harker is getting ready to leave for his business trip, Mina Murray is picking out a new journal, Lucy Westenra is charming a gaggle of smitten suitors, Abraham van Helsing is wrapping up his lectures, and Castle Dracula is prepping the guest room for a very long stay.

Which must mean that Dracula Season is here again!

 ‘Dracula Season’ being a catchall term for the voracious reading, memeing, writing, illustrating, analyzing, and general fun-having that’s ensued since Matt Kirkland’s project, Dracula Daily, caught on with us back in 2022. The Substack had already been running before then, but it sparked a conflagration as time went on and readers old and new to Bram Stoker’s Dracula—the actual novel, not Coppola’s fanfiction—devoured it in a way that scratched an itch none of us knew we had. Stoker wrote the book in epistolary fashion, clumping sections together as needed for the pacing without perfect adherence to chronological order. Matt went ahead and put all the events in order and proceeded to set up a lovely chain of emails that delivered entries on those correlating dates.

This style of organization and pacing turned out to not only make the virtual book club that much easier to engage with, but left space in-between to stew on the story and relate with the characters themselves. Every day of waiting in the book feels weightier when you have to pace and sweat and worry in tandem with poor Jonathan trapped in the castle or Lucy wasting away or Mina running out the clock before she loses the fight for her own humanity. And while we sat with the story or the lulls between Dracula Seasons, some of us found ourselves craving more of that ghastly gothic horror goodness to the point that we figured:

“Well. Why don’t I make something?”

And then we did! Tons of creative works have been churned out in the wake of Dracula Daily’s high. I figured that while we’ve still got a bit of time to wait for May 3rd, we should check out all this new stuff in the meantime. (Plus a handful of neat stuff that just clicks with the Dracula itch overall.)

So, in the interest of Dracula Season pregaming, let’s take a look at…

FICTION

Blood of My Blood – A recent addition to the Dracula Bad Ending AU pile, and definitely one of the most harrowing and addictive group-produced narratives I’ve ever come across, Blood of My Blood is the dramatically gothic currently-WIP work of @ibrithir-was-here and @animate-mush’s devious design. Give or take a heap of other fascinated folks (hello!) adding ideas to put more Horror into the Horrors that our cast has to face. The premise:

The Transylvanian climax went fatally sour and the Harkers were forced to shelter with Dracula himself, including their half-vampire son, Quincey. Cut to two decades later, and Quincey finds himself out in modern London, smitten with Lu, adopted daughter of Arthur and Jack, and diving into certain bloodstained old documents that detail the real history of how his parents came to live in the castle. Said revelations coming not a moment too soon, as a storm is coming for him straight from the Carpathians…

Dracula Daily Sketch Collection – An array of illustrations that captures every entry beat by beat, the Dracula Daily Sketch Collection by Georgia Cook, alias @georgiacooked was dished out over the course of the last Dracula Season. Some of the most fun character designs out there.

Fanfiction Spotlight: BlueCatWriter – With a whopping 99 works devoted to the novel Dracula (so far, the number may have gone up since I blinked), @bluecatwriter is one of the most prolific and talented fanfiction scribblers out there. Romances, nightmares, and overlaps between the two seem to crop up the most, give or take a crossover. Seems fitting that those blue paw prints have contributed to BoMB too.

The League of Extraordinary Gentlefolk – An ongoing comic in which all your favorite characters from the Classics section get together and tackle some perils ranging from the mundane to the monstrous. Started by the amazing @mayhemchicken and posted on @lxgentlefolkcomic, this series is a love letter to beloved Victorian era lit, with a spotlight on the two couples leading the League. Namely, the Harkers, ala Dracula, and the Nortons, ala Sherlock Holmes,’ “A Scandal in Bohemia.” Mina and Irene are the driving investigative and steering forces here, and still deeply in love with their likewise-infatuated husbands, just like in their canons! What a concept! Alan.

Without spoiling the full character list, just know there are going to be a ton of familiar faces roaming around before you finish reading the first arc. Said arc having conveniently wrapped up just a few days ago! Give the comic and its bonus silliness a look if you’re in the mood for a new comfort-adventure epic.

Re: Dracula – Probably the most well-known and incredible thing to come out of the initial Dracula Daily wave. This podcast is a full audio drama that follows the same format as the Substack, with episodes coming out in time with the entries themselves. And it has an unfairly cool soundtrack. They have a Tumblr with @re-dracula, a site and a Patreon to check out before the series kicks up again on May 3rd. (Also, keep an eye out for their next work, an audio drama in the same style with Carmilla.)

The Soldier and the Solicitor – Another treat from @ibrithir-was-here, this one involves a bit of time travel trouble. Quincey Harker has stumbled out of World War I and into the same dark forest where his father once fled for his life…then runs into the man himself, on that same night. Jonathan Harker, young and starved and lost, who has no choice but to trust this stranger while the Weird Sisters are at his heels…despite said stranger having no shadow. It’s a tasty emotional trek, already complete on Tumblr, but now it’s turning into a Webtoon. While Ibrithir is juggling a number of other stories, she’ll be redrawing spruced up versions of the comic and adding a few new scenes as things unfold.

Substack Stack – You know what’s better than one emailed-out public domain book club? A mountain of them. Just. So, so many of them. You’ll see that a lot of these are finished, but some are still ticking along. Either way, they’re all great picks if you’re craving some more old school lit to fill the void between undead emails.

Frankenstein Weekly – Frankenstein

Jekyll and Hyde Weekly – The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

Voyage of the Nautilus – Twenty-Thousand Leagues Under the Sea

Letters from Watson – Sherlock Holmes

The Invisible Mail – The Invisible Man

Letters from Bunny – E.W. Hornung’s short stories of the eponymous Bunny and Raffles

Letters Regarding Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse’s Bertie Wooster short stories, including the novel, Right Ho, Jeeves

…

……

………

…The Beetle Weekly – The Beetle (NOTE: Do Not Read This.)

The Vampyres – A novella I finally wrenched through the gears of self-publication as of March this year. Starring a petite but powerful paranormal cast, The Vampyres, centers on an unscrupulous undead fellow who finds that the revenants of the world are being mowed down by an entity known only as ‘Quinn Morse.’ Between trying to save his neck and figure out where the shadowy bastard came from, the Vampyre in question crosses paths with a new paramour and handy human shield in the form of a grieving Good Samaritan. He’s even polite enough to invite the Vampyre into his home while he’s in dire straits! Surely this will end well. All the info is available here and a little author site is over here.

What Manner of Man – This is the one made for everyone who started out hoping there’d be a real love story with our good friend Jonathan Harker and the Count when he was at his most charismatic. Where that sea of wonders dried up into a mire of horror, What Manner of Man by @stjohnstarling keeps things firmly on the romantic tracks. This Substack stars the letter-writing priest Father Victor E. Ardelian as he finds himself meeting with one enigmatic Lord Alistair Vane. It isn’t long before interest turns into intrigue and intrigue into undead intimacies.

The entire novel has been completed—along with multiple epilogues in the author’s Patreon, allowing readers to choose for themselves just how the uncanny romance plays out in the end—and the Substack now has a number of other gothic goodies piling up in the meantime.  

NONFICTION

Dracula Daily: A Unique Reading Experience: This one comes courtesy of @realwomenofgaming. It’s a short and sweet piece that amounts to a fun snapshot of the entire Dracula Daily ride. A cozy couple-minute read.

‘Dracula Daily’ is the One Substack You Need a Subscription To: Features my favorite Matt Kirkland interview. @mattkirkland, if you’re still floating around on here, thank you for dispatching our vampire newsletter again this year.

Dracula Daily is Tumblr’s hottest new book club: Alright, the ‘new’ part is worn out by now, but this one is still a delightful article to swing back around to. Two years on, this Polygon piece is a time capsule of those early months when people outside our bookworm bubble realized we were all happily receiving letters from our favorite classic gothic horror blorbos.  

“How Mina Murray Became Dracula’s Girlfriend” – Princess Weekes, if you ever read this, thank you, thank you, thank you. I am sending oceans of love and millions of rewatches to your video essay. If you haven’t seen it yet, “How Mina Murray Became Dracula’s Girlfriend” is one of the most refreshing and well-made breakdowns of both the title subject and numerous other issues that have proliferated in the public view of Dracula’s cast and plot as adaptations endlessly warp or outright bastardize the actual novel. An incredibly cathartic watch.  

Literary play gone viral: delight, intertextuality, and challenges to normative interpretations through the digital serialization of Dracula: A mouthful of a title for an even more elaborate article about the Dracula Daily phenomenon. This one is a full-on study that analyzes just what happened within the big bloodsucker book club surge and how its ‘wandering reading practices��� enriched the experience for participants.

 “The Undying Undead: An analysis of the Dracula Daily community for a theory of online community formation and interaction” – We have a thesis on here! Look at that! @sirangelothebestest’s MA thesis used our vampiric book club as the bones for a massive brick of an academic piece that definitely deserves a look.

…And I think I’ll go ahead and cap things here.

This isn’t everything I got recommended, but if I had squashed all of it in here, I think folks’ eyes would start to fall out of their head. I hope you can find something cool to comb through here. Or, if there’s something great I overlooked, tack it onto the list! We’ve got just two weeks to go until we’re off with Mr. Harker. Let’s enjoy our respite before those castle doors close behind us.

[gaylordscooter]

Note This Down So I Don't Forget

Blue closed his journal and tucked it under his arm. He just finished up his entry on Epic Sans. He didn't actually know too much about him so he had to consult Cross.

It wasn't like he could talk to the source when he was missing.

Speaking of him missing, Blue turned his head, and saw the mistakenly-dubbed “protector of the universe” peeking over his shoulder to look at the journal.

He rolled his eyelights once he noticed Blue’s gaze on him. “I don't see the point in making an entry about that one.”

Blue squinted at him. “Because you killed him?”

Ink gasped dramatically, “Whaaat? Nooo!” He cleared his throat, putting on a serious face. “I didn't do that.”

“Sure.”

“You don't believe meeee!” He whined and draped himself over Blue’s shoulders.

“I’ll believe you when he’s found.” He shrugged him off.

“When he's found, you and I probably won't even remember this conversation!” Ink pointed out. He was shocked by his own words, regretting them the second he said them. It was meant to be playful banter but…

Blue deflated, looking like his namesake. He tightened his hold on his journal. His eyelights darted away. “Right,” he huffed.

Guilt showed through his eyelights. “I didn't mean it like that.” How else could he have meant it? Their horrible memories had them having the same conversations over and over like they were new each time. There was a reason they both wrote stuff down.

Writing stuff down could only do so much.

“it's true,” Blue said in a quiet voice.

Ink hated when he talked in all lowercase, because most of the time it meant he was sad or tired. Well, hate’s a strong word for someone like him. Speaking about someone like him, his faulty memory had a clear cut reason that made sense. He did this. He ripped his soul apart. He signed up for this, really.

But Blue? He didn't even get to choose. It wasn't his fault his universe decided to go on and erase itself.

“It's not your fault,” Ink said.

Blue looked surprised when he looked back at Ink, and then his expression melted into something more like concern. “No, no, Ink it isn’t either of our faults. You don't choose to have a shitty memory,” he almost laughed at the absurdity of that thought process. Really, forgetting stuff on purpose is hard!

“Well, I kinda did!” he argued. “Ripped my soul right in half, damning the consequences.”

Blue sputtered, looking even more concerned now. “You didn't know the consequences!” he yelled. He looked shocked at the volume of his own voice, but he continued, “You were just a kid! Looking for any way out. Even if you technically caused it doesn't mean it's your fault.”

Ink was confused. “But when I don't do anything to stop something it's my fault, how the hell does that work?!”

“That's not true either, people are just looking for someone to blame—”

“And! Epic was supposed to die! Why’s that my fault?!” Ink shouted.

Blue was stunned into silence. He studied Ink’s eyelights, they were changing too rapidly to discern any single emotion.

“I just…can't understand. Why are you my friend? I’m not a good…” he trailed off. “I’m not good. Do you think I learn anything from your kindness? I still do the same things. I still don't care. I’m going to keep sticking to what the creators want, okay?”

Blue sighed, “I know that.”

“So why don't you just leave like everyone else? Why stay friends with me when you know I’m going to disappoint you?!”

Blue put his hands on Ink’s cheeks making sure they made eye contact. “You don't disappoint me!” He looked distressed. “I’m not leaving you. I know you have your flaws but that doesn't mean you're bad.”

Ink scoffed, “A lot of people would disagree…”

“Well, they don't understand you, so their opinion doesn't count,” Blue asserted.

Right, because Blue totally understood him. Now that he thought about it, he kinda did…He definitely understood him more than anyone else. There were a lot less misunderstandings with him and it was always easier to explain things to him.

Why did he bother being so patient with him? It's not like he deserved it. Was it because he rescued him from his crumbling universe? That might've been it.

Of course his only friends were the “monster who literally couldn't hate anyone” and “monster whose life he saved”.

He was very likable, couldn't you tell?

“Hey Ink?” Blue’s voice dragged him back to reality.

He blinked, adjusting his demeanor so that he didn't look as pathetic as he felt. “Yeah, Blue?”

“Can I write something down on your scarf?”

“Oh!” he couldn't help but exclaim. No one else has ever done that before. There wasn't a reason to. He couldn't imagine what Blue had in mind. Leave it to him to catch him off guard sometimes.

He was the only one who did.

“So is that a no?”

“Yes—No? I mean—yes you can. Write on my scarf. But there's not that many blank spaces left.” He grabbed one of the tails of his scarf, scrutinizing for any free spaces. “What do you want to put, anyway?”

Blue grabbed his pen and clicked it. “A little reminder from me about how much I care about you.”

Ink’s sockets widened. Wordlessly he handed his scarf over to Blue, pointing to where he could write.

Blue used his journal as support underneath as he wrote. Once he finished, he signed his name below with a smiley face drawn next to it. “There you go.”

He looked down at his scarf and read his message.

“I’m glad we're best friends - Blue :)”

Ink was never one to get emotional, but for once a smile was able to come to him naturally. “Aw, cute,” he said. No, that wasn't enough, say what you want to say, you bozo. “I’m glad we're best friends too.”

[merakiui]

That was amazing. Angel/Angler was great, especially considering I don't tend to like Azul fics (I'm just not a big Azul fan) but that was amazing. Round of Applause 👏👏👏👏👏

I thought when I read the first entry that this would be an entire fic written in the percpective of the yandere journaling his thoughts (Which would be very interesting by the way), but the cuts between Azul's obsession and Darling's distress was so amazing. And that ending was unexpected, great but unexpected.

You never fail to deliver with your fics. 👍

Thank you so much!!!! \(//∇//)\ this is what two months without writing an Azul fic does to me. The withdrawals were too strong… orz and Kheyy’s brilliant art alongside our chat left me even more inspired. Tako is truly my best muse.

I’m extremely happy to hear you can still enjoy Angel/Angler despite not being a big Azul fan!! I’ve been wanting to write epistolary format with Azul after I did it with Rollo (and Floyd in an unpublished draft). Channeling the characters’ voices through their POV is really fun and provides the opportunity for very chilling admissions that you might not be privy to if it was just telling the story from Reader’s side. I felt like the cuts between Azul’s journaling and Reader’s growing paranoia would be great for the suspense. :D

And the ending!!!! I love it so much even though I had another ending in mind. ^^;;; I wrote most of that first ending and then realized it made the story too convoluted and jarring, so I scrapped it for the one seen in the published version. I really like the idea of using anglerfish symbolism in this way. <3

I also liked writing the sex scene through Azul’s words. Him comparing it to how predators in the wild must feel when they bite down on their prey. All of his deep-sea comparisons… his line of “perhaps I died then and I’m still dead now.” T_T he’s so dramatic and delusional and gross. I loved getting into his head. He’s a freak (lovingly). :)

Thank you again for reading and enjoying the story!!! 💕✨

[varlaisvea]

so one of the main characters in my fic is khajiit, which means i've looked at a lot of khajiit lore, and i think khajiit lore is rad af. zerith-var's story is extremely lore-heavy, extremely tied into existing lore. so there are bound to be similar themes, and i don't think any of the similarities in what i've written are all that dire, BUT

this one thing i wrote over a year ago, now to me gives zerith-var. granted, i have not done his final quest, and also i am so high that i forget that it is both election day and my birthday, but at the moment i feel it's TOO similar to the point that idk if i can use it 😂

(context: this is a journal entry about a moon-sugar anniversary ritual, so he was high as balls having visions about his spouse (who was also high as balls and having similarly grandiose and dramatique visions about him). maybe they were boning but maybe not; idk and neither do they, but they’re in a hot-spring temple bath. he is very old and she is 30 years older but a high elf, so she’s not-quite middle-aged. the ‘cold blue light’ referred to in this is meant to reference the psijic order, but otherwise you get no further context)

Eymei’s practiced healer’s hands, which had always known my body, knew how to listen for the hurts I had long ago grown accustomed to ignoring. She found them in my bones and my muscles and tendons. Eymei is a Moth Priest; her love shows her truths beyond her understanding. Her hands moved like she was searching in the darkness, until she found pain I could not bear on my own. She held it in the sureness of her love, the most powerful magic there is. Her hand found a pearl made of darkness I had always been holding, and always been fighting to ignore. In the cradle of eons and stars my body heard hers say let go, Araszha, and I did, and the pearl became a pearl made of nothing; a Dark Moon, a memorial of darkness where there had always been wildflowers. She is a cleansing flame. I am one of countless people her hands have healed, she holds all of us in her body, in the silence where something and nothing are the same, and she is what she has always been. I finally opened my eyes to look at Eymei, and she was radiating light. But not the sort of light she normally radiates, when she chooses to reveal what she could have been, what she chose not to be. This was a cold blue light--not varla-blue like the glow of our pearls... stark and severe and unsettling, and very bright. I recognized it. “What interest could they possibly have in this one?” “Humility does not suit you well,” she said, in a voice I barely recognized as hers. The way the light framed her, she appeared shrouded; I could not see her eyes.  “My humble apologies, walker,” I said, buffing my claws. “Forgive Khajiit for his clumsy lies.” “See what your lies have done,” she said, with a deathly calm wrath in her voice. She removed the sash from around her eyes, revealing them to be the source of that ice-blue light. It felt like I had always known that. 

“Ah,” I said. “So you are revealing something else you could have been.”  “No,” she said. “I am revealing what you made me.” I moved closer to her, and tried to look at her face. The light was too bright to look into, so I studied the way the fire from the braziers formed shadows around her bones. I looked at her arm where her pearl chain was. I looked to my own arm, where mine was. It was empty. I prayed my instincts were right. “So you are truly gone,” I said, turning away from her, and focusing all my thoughts on my pearl.  “You have made it so I was never here,” she said, her tone betraying nothing. “So perhaps you would like to see what you have made me,” I said. She let a dramatic length of time pass before answering, but it felt like she was hesitating. “How could I make anything of significance with a grain of sand, or a shard of stone?” Oh, my Eymei. Siir shabar morna. I clenched my fists so my hands would not shake. “An oyster of all things should know the answer to that.” I prayed to Jone and Jode, I lit a fire at the hearth. Av molag anyammis. She chuckled. “All right then,” she said. “You are wagering that I have underestimated you. I wish you luck in testing your theory.”  A half-turn and then the key. “Beating this one at his own game, as usual.”  “Dramatic as usual. Let me see your arm.”  Mother, Father, Issi, this one prays you watch over your child; if I am wrong, I pray you send Khenarthi to me quickly. I paused before speaking. “If you would like to see it, witch, take out your eyes.”  Eymei said nothing, but the blinding light began moving around strangely. I turned to face her, and she was holding her eyes, which were not hers, in her hand. The sash she had earlier removed was wrapped around her hand to cradle her eyes, which did not belong to her. I had nearly died again in the cave. The sash was red and gold silk. “Done. Your arm,” Eymei said. She faced me, and levitated one of the eyes next to the pearl-chain on her arm, and the other in front of her, a short distance from her outstretched palm. The place where her eyes should be was not turned toward either eye in her charge. It faced me; the void was there whether I gazed into it or not. I fixed my eyes on it. It wondered whether I had hoped for it. I kept my eyes on her non-eyes, and turned my body ever so slightly until I knew, though I could not see, that my pearl-chain aligned with where her eye, which was not hers, hung in the air in front of her. I chuckled to myself. “Push it in now.”  I felt her press against my arm, where my empty varla-pearl-chain was. I did not see, but knew that her varla-pearl-chain was empty also, and that at the same moment, she had pressed the two eyes into our empty chains. I saw a pearl of darkness grow around each eye, and then a pearl made out of nothing grew around each pearl of darkness. Then our pearls, which the lattice of the Moons and the lattice of the earth had always shielded, reappeared in our chains, and they had always been there. It was a sweetness as I have never known to look into Eymei’s eyes again at last, and to have her look into mine; the sun and the Moons rising over green and gold, and everything everywhere joyful with life.  My grin was so wide my face hurt. Tears were streaming down my cheeks. “I am what you made me,” I said. “Av latta magicka.”  The top of Eymei’s hair was in braids like lattice, with little stars at all the intersections. She smiled coyly and said, “I am an Elf, Araszha. And you are the messages of stars.”   I shrugged. “I am what you made me.” 

[stiles-hoodie]

Life With Derek and Taylor Swift Songs

Songs I associate with Life With Derek, mainly Dasey, from Taylor Swift, and the stories I imagine in my head instead of properly writing them (until now, I guess) If there's any I missed that you have ideas for let me know, and yes this is long.

Tim McGraw: Casey Mcdonald and the way her blue eyes shine. Honestly, this is the type of song Casey would write. It’s cute, storytelling, and detailed. I imagine her writing this song not based on her experience but on a day when her hopeless romantic side feels sad. She imagines what she hopes to have but does not have. She wrote it when she first moved in with the Venturi’s or before Nora and George met.

Picture To Burn: There’s the obvious answer, where this could be about any of Casey’s exes. But honestly, I imagine Casey being dramatic and writing this song after Vicky kissed that boy she had a crush on. Or Vicky dating another guy Casey liked after the guy used Casey to get close to Vicky. 

Tear Drops On My Guitar: Another song about Casey being dramatic. But also Derek sad boy hours. He’s glumly playing his guitar and that inspires Casey to write the song, since she doesn’t own a guitar. But don’t tell Derek she wrote a song inspired by him, and don’t tell Casey what that implies… she’ll figure it out eventually…

A Place In This World: Casey Mcdonald. I think this one doesn’t really need an explanation, to be honest.

Cold As You: Could possibly be about Dennis or Abby walking away, but I honestly can’t think of anything for this one. Maybe Casey writes something like this about Vicky after being really mean at one point.

Tied Together With A Smile: Derek Venturi. This could be seen in Casey too a little bit, but she doesn’t try to appear as perfectly fine a lot of the time. She does when it comes to school stuff, but not with her emotions. Derek is the one to put on a fake smile, make a joke and manage to hide what he feels a lot of the time. Even if he isn’t hiding it well, he still isn’t as open about it right away.

The Outside: When Casey first starts at her new school

Stay Beautiful: Cory’s eyes are like a jungle and his butt is gonna sue! I regret nothing. Could be a cute Dasey song, but I just keep remembering Corey Plunkett.

Should’ve Said No: Truman or Scott the cheating scums

Mary’s Song (Oh My My My):  Dasey or Nora and George. I personally imagine Casey finding an old journal of Felicia’s and writing this about some of the entries. Maybe it was about Felicia and her husband before the divorce or an old high school romance.

I’m Only Me When I’m With You: Smarti and Smerek. Or the entire family together

Fearless: Dasey. Enough said.

Fifteen: “In your life, you’ll do things greater than dating the boy on the football team.” This song is just so Casey coded and with everything that happened with Max I feel like Casey just really needed a song like this at the time and i see this being one of her favourite songs from Taylor. 

Love Story: Dasey. I have this idea called The Shakespeare Debate it’s still a working idea, but it is Dasey. It’s basically Casey being really into plays and thinking Derek doesn’t respect them, Derek being really into film and script analysis and actually enjoying the dark tragedies of shakespeares plays. I also kind of made a whole debate scene where Derek manages to bring up Carrie while talking about Romeo and Juliet just to confuse Casey and end the conversation, but it actually makes sense and that confuses her even more.

White Horse: I just find this song so pretty and Casey being very into fairytales she would totally be into white horses

You Belong With Me: Emily whenever Derek is seeing a girl that isn’t her. Especially when he was dating Kendra

The Way I Loved You: Dasey

The Best Day: God smiles on my little brother, inside and out he’s better than I am. Makes me think of Derek and Edwin. I see Derek actually thinking very highly of Edwin and with his self esteem he probably thinks of everyone very highly compared to himself.

Change: Casey might be scared of change, but I see this song with her. 

Superstar: Derek Venturi

Crazier: “Not telling her is driving me crazy.” Dasey. After the whole Scott thing and Derek  realises he likes Casey. He hates himself for writing such a sappy song, but he also likes that he managed to write a song.

Mine: So freaking Dasey coded are you kidding me!

Back To December: Derek and Kendra

Speak Now: Derek when Casey married Peter. The kids are against George and Nora getting married in the beginning. Everyone going against Fiona’s wedding because dear god that was awful

Mean: Seems like a song Casey would write

Never Grow Up: Smarti and Smerek

Enchanted: Imagine after junior prom Derek with his guitar in the white jacket. Or maybe it’s sitting nicely draped over the foot of his bed as he is sitting on the floor at the foot of his bed after leaving early once Sally’s boyfriend comes to whatever diner they ended up in. He hears Casey, Max, Sheldon and Emily pull up from his windows at the front of the house as he writes a song about how he realised he’s in love with Casey that night when he saw her coming down the stairs to the living room in a beautiful dress that he actually found, not Emily. 

Better Than Revenge: Dedicated to Vicky and Truman. CD Rock totally performed this and Derek was very encouraging of the anger.

Haunted: My favourite song on the album and I mainly think about Dasey just because of the sound. The orchestra rock sound is a perfect combination for Derek and Casey.  It can be loosely inspired by Derek and Caseys anger towards Dennis and Abby after they left. It could simply be a song one of them wrote or they both wrote together, after a breakup. The fic idea i have is Derek writing this based more so on an actual haunted experience and from hearing ghost stories. Casey's classical did inspire him a little bit.

Last Kiss: I imagine this being a cute song for Sally and Derek when she moves to Vancouver. But also “I'm not one for dancing but for you I did.” Works for both Dasey and Sally and Derek. He did take her to the dance.

Long Live: Just Life With Derek as a show 

Ours: Cute George and Nora song. Felicia was against them, the kids had to grow with it. It just a cute song for them too me.

Electric Touch: A CD Rock song sung by Casey and Derek. The first time Derek manages to actually sing in front of people properly without psyching himself out.

I Can See You: Dasey. But also (even though I don't ship them) I can see this as a Truman and Casey song when she's in her rebellious phase

Castles Crumbling: After Casey breaks up with Max and she quits cheerleading,  and she is trying to find herself again. Also her transition from being popular at her old boarding school and starting at a public school. The haunting feel to it makes me think of haunted and since its a duet makes me think of Derek and Casey working on this song together after her and Max breakup, which is after the episode where Casey helps him write a song for Sally. They work together on a few songs after the episode.

Timeless: The epitome of Dasey for me. Just like Mine. I see both Casey and Derek writing this song by themselves, but I really like the idea of Derek writing it though.

Safe and Sound: In Life With Luca Skylar mentioned that Derek would sing her to sleep because the dark freaked her out. I just imagine this as a lullaby he would sing to her and Marti with his guitar.

State of Grace: Dasey

Red: Casey reflecting on her relationship with Max possibly. Derek and Casey write it together and that's where we get the guitar solo 

Treacherous: Dasey

I Knew You Were Trouble: Casey dedicates this to Truman 

All Too Well: Someone made a really good edit to the 10 minute version for Dasey

I Almost Do: Derek almost tells Casey his feelings multiple times. Wants to call her multiple times while he's out of the country as well, and she wants to call him multiple times despite being with Peter.

Never Ever Getting Back Together: Casey and Sams on again off again relationship

Stay Stay Stay: I can picture Derek showing up in his hockey helmet after his first fight with Kendra.

Last Time: Dasey duet… possibly

Everything Has Changed: “freckles in your smile” Duet with Derek playing guitar. 

The Moment I Knew: change up a few lyrics this can be used for absent parents on someone's birthday. I picture this one from Derek's perspective, though since it mentions Christmas lights and I'm Sixteen Smartplugs aired on November 5th, making him a November baby. I don't know the date production wise. 

Better Man: Same as The Moment I Knew, but with Casey and Dennis. Some minor changes and the song works well with a dad who wasn't around.

A Message In A Bottle: “You got me hypnotised, by freckles and bright eyes.” this entire song I feel like Casey would dedicate to Derek. She might've been late in telling Derek her feelings before he left for Paris, but this was the best she could do.

Welcome To New York: Casey's year in New York

Blank Space: I think this works for Derek's persona he had in the beginning of the show. Casey definitely viewed him this way before finding out he's actually a really good date.

Style: Dasey. Sidenote: I also picture Derek having his bisexual moment in College with this song. Derek can have his James Dean and his feelings for Casey at the same time.

Out Of The Woods: Dasey

Shake It Off: Someone made a really good edit for Casey to this song. But also Dereks crazy legs. That's enough said.

Wildest Dreams: Dasey

This Love: Dasey

I Know Places: Dasey. Also Derek's secret boyfriend while his band takes off. I have a full story idea about that. I guess his hidden relationship with Skylar's mom works as well. 

Clean: Derek eventually having to let go of Casey after she marries Peter and has Luca. 

You're In Love: Dasey

Dancing With Our Hands Tied: Dasey. There's a nice edit to this song someone made as well.

Cruel Summer: “He looks up grinning like the devil!” I'd so Derek coded you can't tell me otherwise. 

The Archer: Casey and her anxiety, but also Derek and his which isn't as obvious then Casey's but she can see through him when it does come up the same way he can see through her.

Miss Americana and The Heartbreak Prince: Dasey. “Ripped up my prom dress.”

The 1: Dasey

Exile: “you never gave a warning sign” “I gave so many signs.” I feel like this part in particular is very Dasey coded. But Derek is Taylor's POV and Casey is Bon Iver's. Derek gave so many signs about his feelings for Casey, but Casey took longer to noticed then took even longer to finally think about the possibility to actually give it a try, by then though Derek left for Paris. I don't believe he just up and left with no warning, he definitely had his warnings Casey was either in New York or wasn't taking them seriously. Our boy tried leaving for Spain and Vancouver he was wanting to leave for a while, once he finally had a good reason he took it and the reason was 100% Skylar's mom going to Paris while pregnant. 

This Is Me Trying: both Derek and Casey can relate to this one. Lizzie can throw into the mix too, especially in Vacation With Derek.

Illicit Affairs: Dasey. Theres a really good edit to this as well.

Tis The Damn Season: Dasey

Tolerate It: Even without knowing too much about Peter, I think this works for how Casey feels about her marriage. This could also work for a lot of her relationships on the show as well. Max and Sam were simply tolerating her feelings, but that's really it. 

Anti-hero: both Casey and Derek coded

You're On Your Own Kid: I see this more for Derek. 

Midnight Rain: I can see this working for Dasey

Question…?: I can see this working for Dasey as well.

Paris: I think this one is pretty obvious.

Hope you enjoyed this!

[holdonletmegetthisout]

For God’s sake start a journal already.

Somewhere along the way I was told I wasn’t great at writing. Maybe by a peer… or maybe it was a conclusion I’d drawn on my own? I distinctly remember sitting in creative writing, struggling to conjure up a story from the one sentence prompt on the screen. I’d stare at the lines on my paper for a few minutes, write down a sentence, find it lack luster, erase it, repeat. The timer would go off and we’d sit around reading our stories aloud. I’d sit in awe listening to the unique plots everyone had written. The teacher would call my name, and I’d go red in the face as I read my story that typically started with: “One day _____”. The class would clap like they did for everyone else, and the teacher would ask if anyone had questions (as if my tired writing could’ve left anyone wondering?? Honestly a sick joke on her end). No one would raise their hand, and we’d move on to the next person. Although now that I think about it, I’m not sure if I ever moved on. It seemed I checked off the box labeled “not a writer” in my head and never looked back.

I’ve always loved to read. Fascinated by beautiful pieces of literature, and the brain that thought to write it down. It was as if they had an endless bank of words waiting around in their mind, effortlessly turning to poetry the second their pen touched paper. That was such a foreign idea to me. I would sit for what felt like hours, trying to scrounge up ideas whenever I was faced with the task of writing. It always felt like such an impossible chore to me. I also have a very strong love for music. It’s gotten me through every point in my life, both good and bad. I can make a playlist for any occasion, any person, any season. I’ll sit for hours listening to my favorite songs, dissecting the lyrics, relating them to my life. Easily finding hidden meanings to the words echoing in my headphones. My favorite songs touch places so deep in my soul that it brings me to tears. All this admiration for words… but no urge to write. It never made sense to me, and I never dug deeper.

One day (hehehhahah) I got a journal. I had seen a video of a girl who had been keeping a journal since she was 13. She was in her mid twenties and had years and years of her life documented. I thought about how amazing it would be to be able to read my 15 year old thoughts. They’d be immature and uneducated, and not all that great I’m sure… but being able to know exactly what I thought, on a random Tuesday in my 15 year old life, that would be amazing. I thought about how my 50 year old self might appreciate my 20 year old thoughts in that same capacity. I started writing as often as I’d let myself. I struggled to write when my handwriting was too messy, when I felt I had nothing to write about; nothing that important to say. Every small insecurity I had subconsciously tacked onto my writing abilities now glaringly obvious in the pages of my journal. Finishing off my entries with “P.S. my handwriting looks horrible today…and I know this was kind of a boring entry! Sorry!” Apologizing to myself?? For my own abilities?? For my own thoughts and ideas?? That’s when it clicked. I didn’t hate writing; I wasn’t bad at writing; I was scared of writing… scared of being judged. Writing in any format showcases your inner thoughts…your original ideas. I didn’t want anyone, myself included apparently, to be able to judge my mind. Is there anything more personal than ones own thoughts? More specifically a journal? Theres no form of writing more intimate than writing in your own journal. I had written for months with so much anxiety and restraint before I realized just how much I was holding myself back. I wrote about love; thinking I had found it, and the harsh reality of finding out I hadn’t. I wrote about friendships, work, good days, and bad ones. All with such apprehension. Holding back from pouring out anything I deemed “too dramatic” or “ too deep”, as if this wasn’t the exact place I should feel safe doing so. It’s sad really. Looking back at the problems I was going through, and realizing how much quicker I would’ve been able to get through them, if I had given myself the grace to write freely. You can heal a lot of pain by writing it down on paper. But not if you leave out all the terrible parts.

I don’t consider myself an incredible writer now by any means. I don’t consider myself a writer at all. But I know now that I actually do like to write. I still struggle to find the right words, and I know for certain my journal is full of grammatical errors. But I’ve decided my thoughts mean more than any mistakes made while I express them. That’s progress for me. My new goal is to find beauty in my own writing. I’m really not asking for much from myself this early on in my writing journey. Something as small as the gratification I feel when using a favorite word (some examples: drat, superfluous, somber, ennui, rats! (Yes, used as an exclamation)) Is enough. It just feels good to let my thoughts be free, I’ve got far too many of them to let them fester inside for too long.

[perilus]

You remind me of The Lady of Shallot, I recently did an analysis for class on both the lyric and painting. I thought it was very you 🫶 (in the best way possible)

I am so shocked and flattered by this, wizardsausage33. Excellent username btw, pls keep it forever.

Seriously though, The Lady of Shalott is one of my favorite poems. And the painting is beautiful and dramatic. Thank you very much :')

This is pasted from one of my journal entries I wrote in January of 2023 (please don't mind how cringe it is; I didn't think I would show anyone this, but I feel compelled to now):

"...so I am the Lady of Shalott. She lives isolated in four grey walls up in her tower. No one sees her. Some hear her singing carried by the wind. She can't look out her window (metaphorically), in other words, she can't allow herself to want, because expectation is the cause of her suffering. So she keeps to her mirror, telling herself she is satisfied with her reality, satisfied with attempting to invent her art from the nothingness of her isolation. OG rot girl. Looking at shadows of the world, imitations of reality...anyway that's my phone. Hehe just kidding but no seriously. Anyway, if I stay I will suffer, if I break free I might fail, and therefore suffer. AGHHHH.

But I have no interest in a Sir Lancelot. Sir Lancelot? More like Sir smellsalot. Hah! Don't DM me. I am wounded. Okay, I am choosing to interpret Sir Lancelot as a metaphor for freedom. The anthropomorphism of freedom. That's better.

Socializing (being with men) took the me out of me. Took the artist out of me. I am ashamed to admit I made a shell of myself for those who didn't understand me. Made myself agreeable, less weird, more palatable. I am relieved to say I grew out of that. And them. I am content in my own skin now. I will not Lady of Shalott myself (die for a man, kill my large personality) ever again. Maybe I strayed too far on that tangent. The poem isn't about men, it's about socializing lol. Ah well. Hehe haha."

Cringe aside, thanks again. I'm interested in reading your interpretation if you ever decide to post it somewhere & send me a link :)

Ta ta,

Tina

[libertys-lovers]

Staying up late, listening to bittersweet songs, & rereading the Dramatics™️ journal is quite a recipe for… emotions~ / pos

I had this section in here where “Kara” and I wrote lil essays about what we liked about each other. And ya know, reading that’s a big mood-boost anyway. But… I forgot I did something very specific with Kara’s entry.

This might sound minor or… idk… odd to specifically add, but I did have Kara say that some behaviors I had were weird. I’m excitable, I’m clumsy as fuck, etc etc. But, ya know, his responses also turned those into positives! My excitement can be jarring, but it’s interesting for him to see contrast to my spaced-out or quiet moods. I’m clumsy, but it gives him opportunities to be a gentleman which he enjoys!

I think… I think my point is that he finds parts of me “weird”, but that doesn’t mean he finds them “bad”. At the least they’re just quirks he notices about me, and at the most they actively improve his experience with me in one way or another.

I never really liked ignoring my insecurities in my self-ships, or if I ever did I don’t remember those times well. I understand that my F/Os would find parts of me weird or silly, or maybe even childish! But, it’s how I think they’d handle those thoughts that help. It’s not that they love me despite those, but rather that they love me so they love those lil’ quirks too (or at least don’t mind them).

I’m not sure how much sense this all makes, but my basic gist is that incorporating my insecurities/oddities into my S/Is or ships genuinely helps me feel better about them. ‘Cause if I have to imagine why others would like them, then I can get a new appreciation for them myself! It also just makes my self-ships a bit more realistic, and funnier depending on the circumstances! The idea of Kara getting softly jumpscared by one of my excited ramblings coming out of nowhere is very amusing to me BWJSKDK

[general9chaos]

So… female gaze for third person fic and what he didn’t say, male gaze for his diary entries. Got it.

As for his reactions, he did get angry once, recently - at least on paper - thinking of his tormentors and the person who let it happen to the point he wrote a furious prayer to the gods not to let them into heaven, basically. He’s also claimed he gets irritated whenever he’s called a boy (he is short; it reminds him both of his experiences in jail and also his father). I guess that’s another thing, then. He only cries during nightmares - he feels guilty for killing his torturers or merely WATCHING them die - or when brought to the breaking point by speaking of what he suffered to people he trusts.

Lately he’s been grappling with internalizing the demeaning comments that have been floating around his head lately (that he is “lesser” than other men) - which causes him to outwardly express his masculinity by growing out his beard and being a gentleman in defiance of that (also exploring things sexually). I would’ve thought that would bring tears to his eyes in private… what I’m seeing now, though, looks more like unexpressed anger.

Oh - he doesn’t feel comfortable in the locker room with other men because he thinks they’ll look at him - so is that an indicator for potential slash?

None of this is necessarily slash, but lots of it isn't really my cup of tea.

A lot of fic written by women have the men display emotions in stereotypically female ways, because that's the language women are used to using to express and read emotions. Also, it does tend to be more expressive and dramatic than the male equivalent (or at least the modern US equivalent). Stuff like that puts me off because that's not how I or most men I know would react to the circumstances that the MC is in.

This fic feels like most of the point is to explore and express the MC's emotions in a form that is legible to an audience of mostly women. The range of expression of emotion that the feminine mode of expression gives you is probably worth trading away some verisimilitude. The final call is yours.

He’s also claimed he gets irritated whenever he’s called a boy (he is short; it reminds him both of his experiences in jail and also his father).

A Napoleon complex would fit. Rather than simply claiming irritation to his journal, he could relate an incident where someone called him boy and he fucked with them. There are a lot of power plays he can use to get even with someone who pissed him off, from (as a waiter or cook) spitting in the offender's food to just getting up in their face and shouting at them.

He only cries during nightmares - he feels guilty for killing his torturers or merely WATCHING them die - or when brought to the breaking point by speaking of what he suffered to people he trusts.

Hmm. What is he seeing in his nightmares that makes him feel guilt rather than fear or anger? I will say that I don't have particularly nasty nightmares. When I have had nightmares, I've woken up with my heart racing, breathing heavily, scared, and so on. Classic fight-or-flight response. Guilt is too cerebral for me to experience immediately after a nightmare. I think it would make more sense for him to have a nightmare about killing them, except possibly in more gory detail, and then feel guilty five or ten minutes afterward because of how much he still wants to tear every one of them to shreds.

Bonus points if at least one of his captors helped him escape and he feels guilty for fantasizing about tearing his new friend's throat out with his teeth or something similarly brutal.

On the topic of crying, this is one of those places where male and female emotional language differ for biological reasons. Feel free to ignore reality if it makes for a better story. As I went through male puberty, I've stopped crying anywhere near as much. I remember a time where I skinned my knee as a kid and was crying for like a half hour, unable to see straight because of how many tears were coming out. As an adult, when I skinned my knee even worse in a bike accident, I said "ow" and walked my bike home before even realizing that I was bleeding. It still hurt, but there was basically no urge to cry. When I was a kid, I cried when I was really angry my computer access was taken away. When I was an adult, I needed to get fired to get a similar level of angry tears and throwing things at the walls.

At this point, I cry more often because I got dust or an eyelash in my eye than because of emotions. When the tear ducts are doing their thing, it's more often eye-watering than crying. Like, I have to rub my eyes to squish the tears out or else they will just stay there without falling for minutes, until my eyes reabsorb them. Similarly, sobbing is really rare. I think I've sobbed all of one time in the last decade.

Apparently, women's tear ducts are more like child-me's. I can see how you'd turn crying into a signal of emotion if you cried more than once a decade, but when men do it my bullshit detectors still trip.

Lately he’s been grappling with internalizing the demeaning comments that have been floating around his head lately (that he is “lesser” than other men) - which causes him to outwardly express his masculinity by growing out his beard and being a gentleman in defiance of that (also exploring things sexually). I would’ve thought that would bring tears to his eyes in private… what I’m seeing now, though, looks more like unexpressed anger.

I've done a lot of thinking about similar topics, and it doesn't bring tears to my eyes. It does get me ranting to myself while pacing back and forth. If I journaled, I'd probably write down my thoughts during those moments in a similar tone that I used when talking myself through them. I kinda wish I had written those thoughts down so I could show that tone to you. I will say that this looks like trying to figure out what to say and why, rather than expressing emotions. It's probably not what you're going for in an angst fic.

Oh - he doesn’t feel comfortable in the locker room with other men because he thinks they’ll look at him - so is that an indicator for potential slash?

Not really. Plenty of men are weirded out by the possibility of being ogled by a gay guy, and avoid places where that's particularly likely to happen.

Scars from torture are another good reason to feel uncomfortable when uncovered. On the one hand people probably won't ask in the locker room (and if they do they're being rude) and on the other hand, they might well stare if the scarring is particularly bad.

[alecsnotalex]

catching up

It's so official. I cannot write for shit. I don't know why I can't write on command, but somehow, words flow through and through whenever I journal.

No metric needed, no time to chase, no topic to be encompassed by. Just me, my thoughts, and I. It's so nice to write whatever.

Anyway, last night, I was really trying to write, but I was too tired to do so, so I fell asleep mid-writing. I was talking about how I always say I don't know what to write about, but the literal second after I say that, words just flow. Like out of command. It kinda disrupts the dramatic effect of the arranged hot girl who can't write for shit when she actually can, idk what I'm rambling about.

This is the first journal entry I have written this year, and it feels like it's been so long since I wrote. It's nice to see all my thoughts fall into line again, how each letter from my keyboard creates all these words and combinations that form sentences.

I have a few thoughts I have. First of all, I think I consider myself lucky. Or maybe I just attract positive results because I am mostly positive (at least I like to think I am). I think most things work out, or maybe they just eventually do because the simple dynamic of life just curtails the inevitable back and forth between good days and bad days (and sometimes there are mundane ones). But overall, I like to think I'm lucky. I like to think that I attract all the happiness and goodness I believe will happen, I guess this is "faith" too.

I want to be more spiritual. I don't know if souls exist, I think I'm more inclined to think that they're not just because there's really no physical proof of them (which is stupid, but I think most of my beliefs are just this way). I think that like the little traditions and omens I like to romanticize life with, unprovable beliefs make life more beautiful to live, but I don't think I would go as far as believing.

The bible and religious texts are literature to me. I like to read nad follow stories and know lore about them, but then again, I don't specifically believe them. And that's okay.

About a week ago, one day before coming back to Hawaii, I also opened up to my dad about not believing in the church. I told him I didn't believe in God. Which sounds so bad and rude, but I guess you can't really force faith and belief. I like the way that certain acts and ordinances make me feel though... But I don't believe them so much. UHH, anyway, I talked to my dad about not believing in God. I told him that I think that if there was such a thing as God, we'd be too puny for a being as great as "He" is to care for a creature as menial as myself. To that, he asked me to think about all the things God had blessed me with, all the miracles that

[bl6ckr0s3]

Leaving the Drake Inn

We been in Nashville, TN for 3 weeks now. It really feels like we been here awhile and longer than that since we moved down here. As I was re-reading my review on this motel from my last journal entry, I realized I repeated a lot of words. I wrote everything in a blur quick manner just to vent out of my system. I didn't really have the time to go back and edit what I typed from the review I plan on posting for this motel. I will edit definitely before posting of course, that's what I normally do. I usually read over what I write and edit the grammar and wordiness of my paragraphs. English class sure did served its purpose for my education in high school. English wasn't my most favorite subject, but I am happy that I had got a lot out of it during my college year with this Japanese teacher I had during the course of a semester I was taking for credit.

With the money that Joshua's mom and friend Bobby has sent, they helped dramatically during our struggles. We have enough money to get a week stay at the Extended Stay hotel right next to my job. We will be checking in this weekend on Sunday since that will be the morning we will be checking out of the Drake Inn. We are fed up of dealing with the broken room we been living in hence all the issues I have wrote from yesterday's post about the review I plan to post on this motel. I am relieved that we are going to that other hotel this weekend. We saw some negative reviews for that place, too. I just going to give a chance and pray that we get a decent room with half of the shit that we didn't have to deal with that we been dealing with here. Josh can take my car to work and I can walk home when I get off. I just hope that Joshua keeps this job for awhile until we are able to get our own place again.

I got a list of job bids from the past month for the Bid Awards. I noticed that a lot of jobs are open thru the Music City Annex which is another facility by the airport. That's the place that my co-workers were telling me about where they work packages and parcels. Due to the current job schedules that now me and Joshua have & the transportation issue of 1 car, I will have to be at my current place for awhile. Until we are able to have a car of our own again, then this is where I gotta remain for the time being. I am getting use to the RCS2 machine I been assigned at. I spoke to my supervisor Jamie who has to go to Tour 3 to help train the workers on that tour to properly do their job. He's not gonna like the schedule, but it's to help out for the time being. He's been training this lady April, the new MDO of my tour to learn some stuff before he goes to Tour 3. He has had me assigned to work the RCS 2 for awhile until I am use to it which I am getting the hang of clearing jams and such. I pretty much got my routine down now with this area other than not having the zip codes memorized of it's assigned bin. The annoying thing I still hate is having to call maintenance to fix the machine whenever something fucks up on it, but hopefully I will be able to find a good spot to work in that place if it's not on the robot machine. I felt like time was going by quicker last night than it did the other nights. I got to learn to stay busy to kill the time when it's not too busy. I think I learned a lot pretty quickly over the first week of being there. Maybe a bid will open up and I can bid out and be at a more happier spot to work in that small place. We shall see.

I plan on getting us a P.O. Box if we truly need it, but hopefully the Extended Stay hotel will do us better and than maybe we can start receiving mail there instead. I just barely did an address change last week because I thought we were going to be here for awhile. Drake Inn has a dumb rule where they will need you to be out for a day after staying for a month before you can return back if needed. I think it's stupid. At the Extended Stay, they don't do that. You can keep staying there and you don't need to be out on a certain day for whatever reason which will be convenient and easier. I don't understand why the Drake Inn does that, but whatever. I am relieved that we will be going to a slightly better hotel and leaving this dump. I hope that maybe I can learn to enjoy my new work place. I am thankful that I don't have to travel far to work, it's only a few minutes away, gas is cheap out here, and I don't have to walk very far between taking my break outside the building and clocking in and out at the time clock. The post office is right next door so if I need to drop off mail or do business it's right next door and I can go straight there in the morning after I get off work if I need to.

It looks like we may have to miss church service again this weekend because we need to be sure that we can check in the hotel on time by 3pm on Sunday. Church service is at 10am in Memphis on Sundays and Joshua doesn't think we would be able to make it back on time due to traffic, but even if we do he doesn't want to take that risk and miss our opportunity because of what we went through with the first hotel incident when we first got here to Nashville. Yeah, that sucked ass.

[youremyonlyhope]

Just spent the last 2 hours reading entries from a journal I kept during my second semester of college

I feel both a little bit nostalgic but also really glad that I am not in college anymore. I really spent so much of my time sleep deprived and depressed.

Update: No longer nostalgic since I found more entries that I wrote during the extra stressful times, including the time my advisor and dean thought I was about to be put on academic probation when really one of my professors just forgot to give me a final grade, so yeah no more nostalgia. Just stress. Wow. Extra glad college is long done.

[unfoundhoney]

toe the line ; part one ↠

↠ slimecicle x fem!reader ; angst , fluff in future chapters

↠ masterlist

��� part one ; part two ; part three ; part four

↠ inspired by this tiktok/scene

“And now,” Charlie announces, “An excerpt from our dear Y/N’s precious diary.”

Your heart stops in your chest.

Charlie is your best friend; he has been for years. You first met online and later moved into an apartment together, which is currently where all your friends are gathered for a small get together.

So, here’s the thing about your journal: it is where you write down the darkest secrets from the depths of your soul. Not to be overdramatic or anything, but you would rather die than have someone read your journal. And if there is one person above all else who should not read any entry in it, it’s Charlie.

You know- you know he’s only teasing. You’re all friends here and you know this isn’t meant to be harmful. As far as Charlie knows, you tell him everything actually important. And you do. He’ll know most of everything that you’ve written in your journal. Except for one thing.

You stand quickly, “Charlie-“

Ted pulls you back onto the couch with a laugh.

“Yes! Let’s learn all of Y/N’s deepest, darkest secrets,” Cooper encourages.

“Guys, seriously,” you protest. “Charlie, give me my journal. Do not-“

They probably think you’re messing around with how serious you’ve gotten all of a sudden. That’s why Ted continues to hold you back and playfully puts a hand over your mouth.

You try to squirm your way out of his hold but it doesn’t work. You can literally feel your heart beating out of your chest as fear seizes at every corner of your mind. You promised yourself that Charlie would never find out about this. He can’t. It’ll ruin everything.

“Ahem. From... ooh, just a few days ago, Y/N wrote: ‘It’s truly tragic, the helplessness of falling in love with a friend. I can’t help it. If I could I would because I’m perfectly okay with how things are. I don’t want things to change.’

“‘And yet it’s like I long for him with every fiber of my being. It’s somehow worse that we’re so close, like I’m constantly lying to myself. It hurts, in a way, to be this close and still unable to be with him how I want. But he means too much to me. I’d rather have him as I do now than lose him entirely.’”

It was probably about halfway through Charlie’s dramatic reading of your journal entry that Ted had mercy on you. You can deal with the humiliation and inevitability that every person in this room knows exactly who you’d written about later, for now you push yourself off the couch and storm over to Charlie, yanking your little black journal from his hands and snapping it shut. Your roommate still has humor in his expression; is he really unaware of anything he’d just read?

“You, my dear sweet Y/N, have a crush,” he says.

Obviously, he is not.

“Yeah, great job, Sherlock,” you bite out.

The embarrassment of feeling everyone’s eyes on you only adds fuel to the fire burning angrily in your chest, squeezing tighter and tighter together as the backs of your eyes sting.

“Who’s the lucky guy to have finally captured your heart?” Charlie asks with a teasing smile.

“It’s no one.”

“Oh, come on-“

“It’s nothing.”

“Y/N, come on.”

“No.”

“Who is it?”

“Stop.”

Charlie playfully punches your arm, “Who is it? You can tell me.”

You fall silent. Any anger you had has fizzled out extraordinarily fast, leaving you with an empty, throbbing ache in your chest. You stare at Charlie as tears creep along your waterline, daring to fall as the sinking realization hits you: there’s no way out of this.

There is no clever bit or joke to save you from your guts being spilled on the floor in front of Charlie, who had just unknowingly dragged a knife across your abdomen. Your hands cover the wound but blood seeps between your fingers. There’s no stopping it.

You stare at Charlie, silently begging him to at least stop talking. Your face is hot with embarrassment; Charlie has made it perfectly clear how there is absolutely no chance of him ever seeing you as you see him. Even after reading your innermost thoughts aloud, it’s still so far off the table for him to be interested in you that he can’t even put it together for several long moments.

When he finally gets it, Charlie’s expression changes. His teasing and his humor is gone, replaced with surprise and regret. You can tell just how hard it hits him: he should not have read that.

“Oh,” he says softly.

You look away.

It’s silent for way too long to be comfortable. Awkwardness permeates the air. You feel like crying. Not only did you just unwillingly confess to your best friend, but all of your friends were there to watch.

It’s Ted who speaks up first, “Alright, well, we should all leave immediately. Thanks for having us, you two.”

As quickly as possible, your friends flee your apartment, shoving feet into shoes, grabbing jackets, and leaving with hurried goodbyes. Soon the door has shut resolutely behind them and the apartment falls quiet. You and Charlie have yet to move.

Charlie takes a breath, preparing to speak but faltering before he makes a sound. He flounders with his mouth open for a moment then utters, “W-Why- why did you-...?”

“I can’t talk to anyone about it, so I write about it instead,” you say. “You weren’t supposed to read it.”

This was a secret you were supposed to take to the grave. Charlie was never supposed to know you’ve been in love with him since before you even met in person. He wasn’t supposed to know how not only have your feelings remained after all this time, but they’ve grown stronger. You don’t want him to know.

“I’m sorry,” is all Charlie can think to say.

“Little late for that, isn’t it?”

Maybe that was a little petty, but you think it’s deserving seeing as it is entirely his fault that any of this has happened.

When you finally look back at Charlie, the surprise and the regret is clear but there’s also an unsure awkwardness. You hate that the most. You two are comfortable with each other. You never feel awkward; you get along so well it’s weird and now he’s looking at you like he doesn’t even know you. You can’t stay here any longer.

“I’m making burritos later, if you want any,” you say, beginning your retreat into your bedroom.

“Y/N, wait,” Charlie says, “You can’t just drop a bomb like that and pretend nothing happened.”

“I didn’t!” you exclaim. “You dropped the bomb, Charlie! Not me. If it were up to me, you never would have found out.”

“So... what? You were just going to never tell me?”

“Yes!”

“How would that have worked out?”

“Judging on the last three years, pretty fine.”

“The last three...”

Charlie’s voice fails him, too shocked at the realization of how long you’ve kept this from him, of how well you’ve hidden it. As much as Charlie would love to let you hide in your room then pretend like none of this ever happened, he knows that’s not what needs to happen.

“Y/N, I don’t- I don’t see you like... that,” he says.

“I don’t need a rejection, Charlie,” you say. “There’s a reason I’ve never told you.”

Charlie again has no words. His feelings for you are clear: you have never been anything more than a great friend to him; you will never be more than a great friend to him. You know and have come to terms with that.

You start towards your bedroom again. This time, Charlie doesn’t try to stop you. He does call out to you one last time before you shut the door behind you.

“I am sorry.”

You’re stood over the threshold of your bedroom, looking back at your best friend. You hesitate in responding. Charlie expects a “me, too” or “I’m sorry, too” or something. Instead, you say,

“I know. And I wish I could be.”

You close your bedroom door, leaving Charlie still standing in the living room where he had been when he read your journal. Now, the room is vacated save for himself, hands empty and a feeling in his chest to match, wondering what your response could mean.

[nightowlfandom]

CEO! Min Yoongi- My Favorite Secretary

Why hello there!

ANON ASKS

Hi! Want to make a nasty petition pls. I want CEO Yoongi but he is so mean and strict with y/n he discharges all his frustrations and stress on her until he gets to fuck with her. I want a hard smut plsss

With these :

3, 15, 21, 60, 66

OOOOH FUN!!! LET’S GET INTO IT I was not too proud of this one...but here you go! Yo this one was LOOONNGGG, like shit. 

3- I said FUCKING BEG!

15- Whose gonna stop us? I own this fucking place, baby.

21- That’s right, you fucking worship me don’t you? Look up at me like I’m your god.

60- I found that little journal you made about me. I think it’s so cute how you fantasize about me, darling.

66- I’m gonna corrupt your mind. I love to play with you like you’re a fucking violin.

CHECKOUT MY MASTERLIST HERE!!

leggo!!

... (Monday)

“You’ll have to redo these reports.” a stack of papers was thrown onto your desk. You stared up at your boss in disbelief. 

“And just what’s wrong with them?” you raised an eyebrow. 

“There are exactly 15 typos in these reports and since I don’t care enough to go through them with you, I want them redone.” 

Min Fucking Yoongi. CEO of Bangtan Enterprises. You of course were a humble secretary who wrote reports on every idol and client that walked through the damn door. 

“I spent hours on those!” you tried to defend. “I already deleted the stupid file to save space on my computer!”

“You have until the end of the week.” he walked away without another word. 

“Sora didn’t even turn in her reports because she stayed up playing fucking Doki Doki Handsome Husband Haven and you gave her an extension!” 

Yoongi didn’t respond as he turned the corner. 

“Are you fucking kidding me.” you seethed. 

... (Thursday Afternoon)

“Y/N!” you heard the horribly scary voice. 

“What now?” you whimpered. You turned around in your chair to see your boss fuming. “Yes, Mr. Min?”

“YOUR REPORTS ON MY CLIENT ARE LATE!”

“No they aren’t! They aren’t due for another three days!” you tried to defend. Everyone else was starting to stare. They all knew how they treated you and they all felt super bad that he chose you to bully. 

“I SENT AN EMAIL YESTERDAY SAYING I WANTED IT TODAY AT 10:00 IT’S NOW 2:00!”

“No you didn’t! I would have seen it-” you tried to speak.

“YOU HAVE TWENTY MINUTES TO HAVE IT DONE OR YOU CAN SAY GOODBYE TO YOUR JOB.” 

“Y/N, don’t cry...you’re doing that thing you do when you’re about to cry.” your friend came over to your side. “Don’t waste your tears on that asshole.”

You inhaled dramatically, starting to type furiously through your blurry vision. You felt the tear slip down your cheek and you went to furiously wipe it.

...(Lunchtime: Thursday Afternoon)

Sobbing in the bathroom was a thing right?

Your two friends, Dahyun and Sana stood outside the bathroom stall as you sobbed into your hands. They were convincing you to not quit.

“Y/N, You know this is the only job that will let you live comfortably in this city. Other than being a teacher...and who’d want that?” Sana shuddered. “He’s done this more than TWICE now.” (...I’M NOT SORRY)

“I HATE HIM! I FUCKING HATE HIM.” You cried. “WHY IS HE ALWAYS MEAN TO ME!” You furiously wiped your eyes.

“Y/N, Open the door.” Dahyun sighed. “Let us in.”

The stall door slowly open and your two friends were met by a totally distraught woman. Your hands were stained with your eyeliner that you hand managed to completely wipe off leaving your tired face. 

“Y/N, he’s working you to the bone. You don’t even smile anymore.” Sana kneeled in front of you, taking your dirty hands into hers. “Why do you let him bully you?”

“Because if I don’t, I won’t have a job.” you sniffed. 

“Is someone dying in here?” you heard Miss. Hyuna, another boss walk in. “Aw honey, did a boyfriend break up with you...do you want me to ‘accidentally’ get his car towed?”

Miss Hyuna was both Sana’s and Dahyun’s boss, you guys just liked to have lunch together.

“It’s Mr. Min.” Dahyun spoke for you. “He’s working Y/N to the bone. He only ever bullies her and no one else. I’ve seen it personally.”

“Is that so?” she raised an eyebrow, looking less than happy. “Is that true Miss. L/N. Is Mr. Min treating you unfairly?”

You couldn’t speak, so you just nodded. 

“All he does is yell at and belittle her every chance he gets.” Sana looked at Miss. Hyuna.

“Hm, I’ll go talk to him, right now. If he fires you, he’ll answer to me.” was all she said before she walked away. She ignored Sana trying to hold you back from stopping her.

Hyuna walked out of the bathroom with fire in her eyes. She walked by your desk only to see what looked like an open notebook with the words ‘The Min Yoongi Files’ written in permanent marker on the first page.

“This must be her case.” she shut the notebook, ignoring the childish looking anime stickers on the inside page. “I should take this for evidence, I hope she won’t mind.”

“Yoongi!” Hyuna stormed into his office, shutting the door behind her.

“Hey Hyuna, what’s up?” Yoongi looked up from his lunch. “What can I do for you?”

“What’s this I hear about you mistreating a worker? One of YOUR workers?”

“Pardon me?” he raised an eyebrow. “Mistreating?”

“Two of MY workers are busy consoling Y/N L/N in the ladies restroom on their lunch break of all times because according to all three of them, you’ve been unfairly treating her!!” she glared. She slammed the notebook down on his desk. “This should speak for itself.” she sighed. 

“I don’t mistreat Y/N L/N, She’s insolent! She needs discipline.”

“SHE’S YOUNG.” Was Hyuna’s comeback. “You can’t treat her like she’s a piece of garbage just because she makes one typo!” 

“Her typos cost us time.”

“So does your shameless reprimanding her for missing a semicolon.” she rebutted. “Think about it! Are men always this stupid.” she looked him up and down before walking out of his office.

Yoongi watched dumbfounded. He took at look at the notebook she left behind.

“Property of Y/N L/N.” he read aloud. He flipped it open to the first page to see a bunch of shiny and matte stickers all over the inside cover. “The Min Yoongi Files? Speak for itself, huh?” (read more below the break)

...

(The Next Morning) (Smut Warning)

You begrudgingly trudged into the office. Not only were you tired, but you were dreading. You had multiple deadlines.

“L/N, MY OFFICE.”

“Shit...” you seethed. You walked past your desk into Yoongi’s office. He was sitting at his desk, flipping through the pages of a very familiar looking book. “You wanted to see me sir?”

“Yes, I did.” he shut the book and slid it over to you. “Care to explain?”

“Holy fu- ” You had forgotten you left your diary on your desk. How did he get a hold of that?

“ I found that little journal you made about me. I think it’s so cute how you fantasize about me, darling. Hyuna gave it to me thinking it was a list of every terrible thing I’ve done to you. I didn’t know it would be a list of every terrible thing you wanted me to do to you.” his face spread into a smirk. 

“You read my property-”

“My name is on it, which means it’s company property by association.” he was still smirking. “Y/N, Y/N Y/N...I didn’t know you were such a needy little girl. On my desk, in the breakroom? The elevator of all places?? I didn’t even know you enjoyed when I raised my voice.“ he raised an eyebrow. “You do realize I could have you fired for writing about me in such a way.”

“Yes sir.” you whimpered. “I’ll have all my sh-..stuff off my desk by-”

“Y/N what on earth are you talking about?” he raised an eyebrow. “Surely you don’t think you are fired.”

“I’m sorry?” you raised an eyebrow, becoming very confused. 

“Even though I’m an asshole, a big jerk, and the bane of your existence, you still want me?” he raised an eyebrow. “Maybe you have more of a backbone than I thought. I sure as hell wouldn’t want to miss a chance to break that spirit of yours.” he rose to his feet and walked around his desk to face you. “Get over here.” he urged.

He grabbed you by the hand and yanked you to his chest. He crashed his hot mouth over yours, capturing you in a kiss. He held both sides of your face gingerly. In a shock, you held onto his blazer jacket to stop from falling over.

“Hmm.” he moaned. 

“Mr. Min!” you gasped. “We can’t- I’m your secretary!! And I don’t know if you’re aware of this but you hate me.”

“ Whose gonna stop us? I own this fucking place, baby. “ he laughed manically. “And who the hell said I hated you? Plus you want this. I know you do because you wouldn’t have written about me throwing you on my desk and eating that little pussy...fuck that was my favorite story to date.” he spoke in a babyish voice. “Shit I’ve always loved what that ass does to me.”

You felt yourself melt in every way. The thought that someone would storm in didn’t even cross your mind. He back you up against the table, sitting you on the desk. Yoongi tore off his blazer and hastily undid his necktie.

He broke away from you, allowing you to suck in air. You took a deep breath as you felt your lips. He practically tore his shirt open, buttons flying everywhere to reveal that body. To say you were taken aback was the understatement of the century.

“ That’s right, you fucking worship me don’t you?” he smirked as you stared him down “ Look up at me like I’m your god” he quoted the exact words from the entry you had written just 5 days ago. 

“Oh, you read the whole thing.” you squeaked. “I am so fucked.” you whimpered.

“I’ll be honest, I’ve been needing a good way to unleash my stress.” he shrugged. “This is perfect..” he motioned, tugging the hem of your shirt, playing with and unfastening each button. “I can take out my stress and you get to feel the real thing instead of writing shameless fan fiction.” he laughed. “Don’t make any mistakes,” he drank in your body. “I want this to be more than sex.”

Before you could say another word, Yoongi wrapped his arms around your waist again. He leaned down and softly kissed your lips. You just prayed he didn’t taste the bacon, egg, and, cream cheese bagel you ate this morning. You didn’t know what to do, so you shyly returned his affections.

“Come on, act like how you write about. Moan for me, grab my hair-” he mumbled through kisses. “Kiss me like you hate me.” he grunted. “Unless-...”

He abruptly yanked down your skirt along with your panties. “Maybe we should do this right. Spread em, secretary.”

He wasted no time in hooking your legs around his shoulders. 

“Mr. M-min.” you whimpered, feeling something wet trailed up your slit. 

“Shit...you taste so fucking good.” he moaned. “Damnit Y/N, you coulda told me you wanted me earlier.” he flicked his tongue against your clit. “Maybe if you had a good fuck, your reports would be more punctual.”

“That report wasn’t due and you know it.” you found it in you to reply. You tilted your head back, feeling his fingers be introduced into your tightness. “F-fuh”

 “Come on, you love this shit.” he laughed, lashing his tongue against you. “Beg for me, beg for my mouth, beg for me to make you cum.” he moaned into your heat. “I said FUCKING BEG! ” he thrust his fingers even deeper. “Come on, scream my name.”

“M. Min, I- we- you....”

“Not that...my first name...fucking say it I wanna hear it. I wanna hear if its as cute in my mind when I read how I made you squirt all over my fucking desk.” he kept moving his mouth and fingers against you.

“Y-yoongi.” you obeyed. This only encouraged him.

 “I’m gonna corrupt your mind. I love to play with you like you’re a fucking violin.” he giggled.

(3 days later... )

You were sitting at your desk when a stack of papers was thrown on your desk.

“There are 8 typos, fix them.” was all he said before he walked off. 

“Not again.” your work friend, seethed “what is it this time.“ She didn’t look up from her computer as you flipped through the pages.

My office, now secretary ;). Followed by a whole bunch of gibberish that lasted several pages.

“I’ll go talk to him” you rolled your eyes, taking the pile with you. You walked into his office. “Okay sir-” you began, walking through the door. You closed it behind you. “What seems to be the-”

Before you could talk any more, you felt his hand trail under your skirt. You felt his breathy laugh on the back of your neck. 

“I was hoping...we could go over your reports last week. I don’t think we got enough done, do you?”

(I was on a deadline....BUT I DID IT, my head is POUNDING)

[thelovelygods]

As a teenager, Sylvia Plath vividly understood the extent to which her body steered her. "If I didn't have sex organs, I wouldn't waver on the brink of nervous emotion and tears all the time," she wrote in her journal in 1950. Ten days before her death, she had come to believe that "fixed stars/Govern a life." It turns out that Plath was probably right -- more right than she could have possibly known -- about her biology and her fate. But when Plath's journals were first published in 1982, what was most obvious about her was the supercharged nature of her emotions. Whatever causal agents may have been governing Plath's life, they were blown back by the force of her personality.

As unmistakable as were Plath's volatile emotions in the 1982 journals, the heavy editing of the text necessarily made it hard to discern the patterns to her moods. Even so, there did seem to be a detectable pattern, and it did not seem then, nor had it seemed to the people closest to her during the last years of her life, to be merely a function of temperament. In the weeks before her suicide, Plath's physician, John Horder, noted that Plath was not simply deeply depressed, but that her condition extended beyond the boundaries of a psychological explanation.

In a letter years later to Plath biographer Linda Wagner-Martin, Horder stated: "I believe ... she was liable to large swings of mood, but so excessive that a doctor inevitably thinks in terms of brain chemistry. This does not reduce the concurrent importance of marriage break-up or of exhaustion after a period of unusual artistic activity or from recent infectious illness or from the difficulties of being a responsible, practical mother. The full explanation has to take all these factors into account and more. But the irrational compulsion to end it makes me think that the body was governing the mind."

For at least the past 10 years it has been generally assumed that Plath fit the schema of manic-depressive illness, with alternating periods of depression and more productive and elated episodes.

The hypothesis that Plath suffered from a bipolar disorder is persuasive. But in late 1990, another, even more intriguing medical theory emerged. Using the evidence of Plath's letters, poems, biographies and the 1982 journals, a graduate student named Catherine Thompson proposed that Plath had suffered from a severe case of premenstrual syndrome. In "Dawn Poems in Blood: Sylvia Plath and PMS," which appeared in the literary magazine Triquarterly, Thompson theorized that Plath's mood volatility, depressions, many chronic ailments and ultimately her suicide were traceable to the poet's menstrual cycles and the hormonal disruptions caused by PMS.

Thompson pointed out that Plath unwittingly recorded experiencing on a cyclical basis all of the major symptoms of PMS, as well as many others, including low impulse control, extreme anger, unexplained crying and hypersensitivity. She also suffered many of the physical symptoms associated with PMS, notably extreme fatigue, insomnia and hypersomnia, extreme changes in appetite, itchiness, conjunctivitis, ringing in the ears, feelings of suffocation, headaches, heart palpitations and the exacerbation of chronic conditions such as her famous sinus infections.

Thompson compared Plath's reported mood and health changes with the journals, letters and biographies and found that her symptoms seemed to appear and disappear abruptly on a fairly regular schedule, with clusters of physical symptoms and depressive affect followed by dramatic changes in outlook and overall physical health. Those patterns can be directly linked to the dates of Plath's actual menses, particularly in 1958 and 1959, when she most habitually noted her cycles. Judging from the pattern of Plath's depression and health in late 1952 and in 1953 until her Aug. 24 suicide attempt, Thompson posited that "it seems reasonable to conclude that this suicide attempt was directly precipitated by hormonal disruption during the late luteal phase of her menstrual cycle and secondarily by her loss of self-esteem at being unable to control her depression."

Thompson showed that a well-known journal entry from Feb. 20, 1956, is clearly traceable to Plath's menses, to which she refers directly a few days later. The journal fragment takes on new meaning in light of having been written during the physically and emotionally debilitating luteal phase of Plath's cycle: "Dear Doctor: I am feeling very sick. I have a heart in my stomach which throbs and mocks. Suddenly the simple rituals of the day balk like a stubborn horse. It gets impossible to look people in the eye: corruption may break out again? Who knows. Small talk becomes desperate. Hostility grows, too. That dangerous, deadly venom which comes from a sick heart. Sick mind, too." On Feb. 24, the same day she notes in her journal that she has a sinus cold and "atop of this, through the hellish sleepless night of feverish sniffling and tossing, the macabre cramps of my period (curse, yes) and the wet, messy spurt of blood," Plath wrote a letter to her mother blaming her dark mood on her physical health: "I am so sick of having a cold every month; like this time, it generally combines with my period."

By the fall of 1962, the poems (which Plath carefully dated as they were completed) seem to follow a pattern of metaphorical renewals and optimistic transformations for roughly two to three weeks of artistic production, then jagged, seething accusations and aggression for a couple of weeks.

Thompson's PMS theory has been largely ignored by Plath scholars. But it immediately gained two important supporters: Anne Stevenson, Plath's controversial biographer, and Olwyn Hughes, Plath's former sister-in-law, whose letters were published in a subsequent issue of Triquarterly. Though oddly defensive in tone, Stevenson's letter does commend Thompson for her "invaluable contribution to Plath scholarship ... Certainly no future study of Plath will be able to ignore the probable effects of premenstrual syndrome on her imagination and behavior." And it states that she wishes she had been able to utilize Thompson's insights in the writing of her own work on Plath.

A letter from Olwyn Hughes also congratulates Thompson for her scholarship, but unlike Stevenson, Hughes practically stumbles over herself in amazement at the PMS theory. Hughes, who was quoted in Janet Malcolm's book "The Silent Woman: Sylvia Plath and Ted Hughes" as characterizing her long-dead sister-in-law as "pretty straight poison," wrote to Thompson: "It is quite a shock to digest all this -- after thinking for so long that Sylvia's subconscious mind was her prison, and to suddenly realise it may well have been in part, or wholly, her body. But it certainly tallies with Ted's mentions -- he has always felt some chemical imbalance was involved."

Hughes further points out that Ted Hughes had spoken of Plath's ravenous appetite just prior to her periods and asks, "I wonder if that is a known characteristic of PMS?" (According to the PMS literature, it is.) But most tellingly, Olwyn Hughes explains that "one of the reasons I was so bowled over by your piece is that Sylvia's daughter, very like her physically, suffers quite badly from PMS but is, in these enlightened times, aware of it and treats it."

Dr. Glenn Bair, one of the leading experts on PMS treatment and research in the United States, confirmed to Salon that PMS is typically passed from mother to daughter. In a rare interview about her parents, Frieda Hughes told the Manchester Guardian in 1997 that after the "collapse of her health," including extreme fatigue and gynecological problems, she underwent a hysterectomy in her 30s.

After a careful review of Thompson's article, of a seven-page monthly breakdown of Plath's symptoms for 1958 through 1959 and of the documented evidence of Plath's pregnancies and postpartum symptoms of 1959 through 1962, Bair said, "If you hack through the PMDD criteria, I think that you'll find that she fits the PMDD profile."