#so i am starting here and i will continue making efforts for you folks

[consciousexe]

intersex deadpool headcanons where are you

[mercy-misrule]

mouthwashing spoilers, discussion of fictional sexual assault, fictional abuse of a disabled person, references to real life injury

This is a weird rambling thing, informed by my own experiences. I am a sexual assault survivor, but I am also a survivor of life threatening accident that left me entirely physically dependent on medical staff with a long recovery time. I am aware that this is not a pov a lot of people have, and it means I'm thinking about things a little differently.

If you haven't experienced the healing process from a life threatening injury, its hard to explain. But here are some thoughts.

So one of the things that I think is interesting about the fandom reaction to Curly is an odd thing I've seen. A fanwork thing where people write Curly as a victim of sexual assault by Jimmy where the result is that Curly is a more sympathetic victim, a 'real victim'.

This isn't all fiction exploring this, and this isn't stated in their texts, nevertheless, it's impossible to read otherwise.

And I get it, I get why people are exploring that as an option, as a concept. Maybe its revenge, maybe its more relatable, maybe it's simply because that's a fictional concept that they want to write. And that's a creator's prerogative. This isn't me criticising what people want to explore.

What bewilders me is that it makes me feel like people missed the hugely sexual implications of Jimmy's assault and continued violation of Curly's bodily autonomy. It's like, folks are you reading this right?

So Mouthwashing has textual sexual assault, it's right there, Anya is the victim of Jimmy's violence. He attempts to take away her life by crashing the ship, he attempts to remove any choice she has in what happens to her body after she reveals she is pregnant.

He does not care about her, it is pointed what a non-person she is in his eyes. He only cares about his reputation, his control over the situation, what people say about him. His job, his prospects, all of which are dependent on Curly.

And Mouthwashing has textual violation of a disabled person's bodily autonomy. Jimmy hurts Curly when forcing him to take his meds, beating him at one point, where in the end Curly is weeping.

A man who wants nothing but control, couldn't control Anya or Swansea or Daisuke despite his best(worst) efforts, but he has absolute control over everything with Curly. Curly is moved without his consent, touched without his consent, treated like an object, like food, tortured, and finally 'saved'...without his consent.

Without a voice other than cries of pain, or hissing laughter, Jimmy has the control he needs.

And look how his attitude changes towards Curly the more control he has over his body. When Anya is still around, he's swearing at him, beating him into needless submission. As the game progresses, Jimmy starts to hold Curly up as this object of salvation, as this vessel through which all of Jimmy's faults and guilt are washed away.

This focus, this obsession, the alternating between berating and violence and idolisation is subtextual in its sexuality. But it's there. Even when you move past the obvious mirror of violence of Jimmy standing over a helpless Curly in bed, hurting him, putting his hands on him.

We already know that Jimmy assaulted Anya while in her bed, she tells Curly this implicitly when she asks about the lack of locks on bedrooms.

What I find interesting about this all is that we do not see the violence Jimmy inflicted on Anya. We see the aftermath, we hear his words, and we see her reactions, but we do not see the act.

And its a very good and frank piece of storytelling, about the mundane horror of day-to-day life living with your abuser. We don't need to see the instigating act, the central piece of violence, because we are seeing everything else.

Whereas, this game is all about witnessing exactly the violence Jimmy inflicts on Curly, and contrasting it with the absolute indifference he has for Anya, his other victim. He fixates on Curly, he's got nothing in his head but Curly, and any other thought that tries to creep in, we watch turn into nightmares that he's desperate to run away from.

It's almost like watching Curly be brutalised is a stand in for the brutality that Anya experiences. Not as a revenge or anything, but as a story beat reminding you that this is happening, has happened, will happen again. Jimmy will always be hurting someone.

But what I think is fascinating is that there is this (I am not talking about shipping. This is not meta about shipping) almost romantic displacement of affection from Jimmy to Curly, shocking in its intensity to the same level of his disdain and apathy towards Anya.

It's a mirror of how Jimmy feels about himself. He views Anya as a failure, not competent, and that's how he is in reality. He puts all his failings on her, he lashes out at her, blames her for Curly's suffering, for his potential punishment.

He praises and berates Curly because he wants to be what Curly was. A respected captain, a person that people are happy to be around. But he berates Curly because Curly isn't what he views as his ideal self. Curly doesn't throw his weight around like Jimmy wants to, Curly is passive and a people pleaser. Jimmy doesn't respect him, even as he wants to be him. He doesn't respect Curly because of the the way Curly gives into him, supports him.

There are so many moments of desperate horror in this story but I keep being drawn back into the unending nightmare of Curly being dependant on people disintegrating around him

Anya withholds treatment, not maliciously, but she does, because it's too triggering for her. And then Jimmy steps in and it's always bad, even when he's not trying to make it so.

Curly lays there and sees the ramifications of his inaction, his cowardice and then is revictimised over and over, humiliated over and over.

The best chance of care he's got is a woman he fundamentally failed, harmed in unbelievable ways and is now being terrorised by the man who hurts them both and she keeps asking Jimmy to hurt him.

And he has to sit there as she does, as she eats the only things that are making his existence survivable, and he's responsible for it! He gets to watch the consequences of his inaction, he gets to lay there and watch a woman die and he doesn't get to do anything else except exist until Jimmy appears again , which is worst of all.

You don't get to pick your carers, at some point. Sometimes it's people you feel a burden too, or people you've hurt, in a hundred different ways. And sometimes it's people who've hurt you and still tell you how much you mean to them, how important you are to them, how much they love you. And they don't stop hurting you or other people and you. Cannot. Stop. Them.

[dapper-lil-arts]

So uh. My freelance work here is kind of dying.

I thought i'd keep my long-term followers on the know-how, so i might as well write about my current circumstances here, give y'all an update, so to speak.

So, for several reasons, most of them not even my fault, i've been getting less and less commissions, almost none, actually, and the ones i get are usualy on the cheaper side, which is bad concidering that this is my livelihood, commission money pays my bills, my groceries, and my taxes, and now i sure as hell am strugling to imagine this will sustain me for long. Twitter is a sinking ship ever since elon went over, Specificaly for people like me. I had just broken into 12k followers there, a huge milestone for me, and then i got shadowbanned, and for the last few months i've gotten *nothing*. It's completely dead, i'm stagnated there, all my arts are censored, and there's no way for me to undo it or fix it, and so i've gotten less and less comms out there, which sucks because its the only reason i was even on that stupid site. Here on tumblr, meanwhile, the CEO went on a massive transphobic streak, and a lot of lgbt folk (which composed a lot of my following,) decided to jump ship, and i sure as hell dont blame them, but sadly that's more potential costumers that bailed, and there's no proper website to go to. Anywhere i'd go, i'd be starting from scratch again, which would be utterly disheartening and frustrating, and there no website that is kind to artists, with no algorythim, that also have a messaging system (the latter being ESSENTIAL to the way i do comms) So i'm kind of stuck. I just. have nowhere to go, and nothing to do. And last but not least, my own fault, I've just been drawing and creating what *I* specificaly want, on an hedonistic streak this year. That's why theres so much pony bs on this blog now, and why i was straight up posting poetry a while back, and have written hundreds upon hundreds of fanfiction pages in the last few months; Which, unfortunately, is a terrible business decision if your intent is making money. Which I surely should have prioritized, but in the end, its not up to me, its up to the costumers... So now i'm a bit stuck. I've enjoyed the things ive drawn and written more than anything i've ever done, and yet, i've never been less successful on the actual business side. I'm still considering my venues, my possibilities, but there's not many. Trying to get a job would certainly pull me away from creation, and i'd hate it regardless of what it was, and on another venue, theres no guarantee that going back to furry titties would bring me money.

and that's whats heartbreaking about it too. no matter how much effort i put on my work, theres no guarantee of sucess, so why even spend time trying to craft a masterpiece? why not just follow trends and make a tiktok account or whatever the fuck makes money these days. I'd rather not, frankly. And i wont. Well, that's about it. Thanks for reading this update, that's how my life is goin atm. i'm going to continue doing as i am right now, but yknow... I'm not sure what i should do, if you want to give me suggestions, feel free.

[kalopsiasunwitch]

Long-ish Introduction Post

Going to start posting here more regularly so might as well introduce myself!

My name is V, and I am a 25 year old, a scorpio, a bisexual/demisexual, a religious deconstructer, and a spiritual, tree-hugging, witchy artist 🧙🏻‍♀️ I go by she/her pronouns. I’m figuring out life tbh. My ideal evening is smoking a bowl, eating a delicious vegan shepherds pie fresh from the oven, and watching Dark Souls gameplay while I practice drawing. I have ADHD, religious trauma, and isolation trauma, and for it I’m extremely introverted by nature, but in effort to heal some of this, I would love to make a few friends here and show my art to anyone who will look (pictures above is a piece I finished today!)

I’m hoping to learn about witchcraft and paganism. I’m very interested in deity work, and I feel really drawn to Hades and Persephone. I am just a beginner when it comes to deity work. I’m familiar with working with herbs, candles, and Sigils. To be controversial but brave, I will also tell you now that fae folk have been part of my life since I was a child, and I do not think I would have survived my very lonely childhood without them. They are the most continuous and intuitive part of my practice, if not my life in general.

I would love to share my Sigils and other magical art pieces with other kind souls on this platform 🖤, as well as learn more about the craft. Book recommendations are always welcome! (Especially FREE ones or on Kindle Unlimited or Spotify! And not just limited to witch books! I also love a nice spicy dark romance ♥️)

So yeah I’m saying a quick prayer that the algorithm blesses this post to the correct audience and I’m able to find some friends, or at least get/send some good vibes through my artwork I have shared! Thank you if you’ve read this far and I hope we’re able to connect!

EDIT: I forgot to mention my big 3! I’m a Scorpio ♏️ sun, Sagittarius ♐️ moon, and Libra ♎️ rising!

[ilexdiapason]

(part one here) (part four here)

Oli doesn't try to broach the subject again until the pizza is delivered and the ice cube is a soaked-up puddle in a napkin on the coffee table.

When he does, though, it's with his hands in his lap and his best efforts to not sound like a scolding teacher. "You wanna tell me what that was about?"

Martyn, in lieu of answering, pulls open the pizza box and wiggles a slice free from the still-stringing cheese. His fingertips bounce it between them, ginger; he bites down and clearly regrets it. Still, he chews, mouth caught in a conflict between ventilating the heat and keeping his secrets sealed tight shut behind it.

"Come on," Oli continues, gentle as he can push it. "I can't help you if I don't know what the problem is."

Martyn swallows. He looks like he's deliberating.

He must decide, whatever the stakes of this crisis are, that Oli's worth it, because he does reply.

"You know," he says, quiet, "I wasn't kidding when I said you should keep your computer away from me."

"Do you want me to take it upstairs?"

"I mean - bit late now. But yeah, that'd probably help."

So he probably has the conviction that something, somebody, is listening in through the machine. That's understandable; if whatever his situation was involved him being able to join some random strangers' games, he probably had a computer, and it was probably monitored, which would explain why he's so terrified of being tracked. It makes about as much sense as anything else in this exchange does. 

Even if it didn't, though, Oli still would have taken his laptop back upstairs, tapped out a quick notice that he'd be unavailable for the rest of the day, and tossed it on his bed - and his phone beside it, after a moment's thought. Martyn's comfort is what really matters here.

"There we are," he says on his way back in, "the highest-tech thing in the room now is probably the microwave."

Martyn offers him a thin smile, which feels more like progress than anything else.

"Right." He sits back down, takes his own piece of pizza (which by now is a far more edible temperature than it must have been when Martyn tried it), and gets the whole thing down before he takes another shot. "You want to start, or shall I?"

Martyn exhales amusement. "Go on then. Tell me what you know."

"Not a lot," Oli admits, "apparently. You don't make a lot of sense. You fell out of the sky, you still seem fairly surprised that things are real, you didn't know we’d been playing Minecraft - and you were calling me CHEST agent, which isn't a job title my company offers, as far as I'm aware. What, were you born in a video game?"

"I told you I was born in Nottingham."

"That might have been a cover story!"

"Nah. Wouldn't lie about that. I am a real boy, Gepetto, you can believe me on that one."

"Well, there's one thing I know for sure about you," Oli says. "All this talk of being in there, though. I don't know. VR?"

"Something like. You -" he hushes his voice, even though it's the middle of the afternoon and the neighbours won't be home "- you're, like, a normal CHEST employee, then? Front end stuff?"

"Yeah. I told you, I'm a software dev. If it's a front, I'm not in on the secret."

"God," says Martyn, "okay, so you're still not safe, but… okay, telling you this now, you're not getting the whole truth. But your company sucks and you should quit your job."

"Sucks like questionable QA policies or sucks like torturing teenagers in the basement?"

"I - shit," says Martyn, "a lot of those agents might have been folks like me, huh. Damn. Least I never killed anyone."

"I seem to remember you being pretty handy with a knife."

"Yeah, 'cause none of that was real, I was a bloody rat in a maid dress. You can't be on at me for killing people there."

"Suppose Jimmy killed the gardener."

"Exactly!"

"So, what, CHESTCorp have figured out how to turn VR into R, and you got caught up in it?"

"Not CHEST," Martyn takes another go at his slice of pizza, "just Doc. It's real experimental stuff. You're lookin' at test subject number one, I'm pretty sure."

"And now that you're not a test subject any more," he finishes, "you're having trouble readjusting."

"I guess. It's just… y'know, like, it's nice to be back, but… weird. Incredibly weird."

"Two and a half years would do it," Oli nods.

They take another lull to properly eat. Oli hadn't realised before this how starving he is; he would have thrown something together from the groceries he'd picked up if he hadn't had a guest to entertain. Martyn, too, seems fairly intent on ingesting an entire pizza by himself. His mother’s voice sounds inside his head, urging him to slow down, but Oli ignores it. If Martyn ends up with stomach problems it’ll just be another stark reminder that he’s not… trapped in a virtual reality simulator, he supposes.

“So, er,” he picks back up, once they’ve cleared the wedges and made more than a dent in the pizza, “what now?”

“Hmm?”

“You’ve gone through all that. Nobody’s going to believe you, I assume, if this stuff’s as top-secret as it seems to be.”

“Kinda thing you’d need a two-hour primer with your therapist for,” Martyn nods, “and a lot of faith in doctor-patient confidentiality.”

“But, what, do you just… go home?”

“I’d like to,” he says. “I would really, really just like things to go back to normal.”

There’s a silence. But they can’t rings clear as a bell in the air between them anyway.

Martyn looks down at the last three slices of pizza. “You should take me home.”

“You’re sure?”

He swallows. “Yeah. I’ll just… I’ll be a big surprise for my parents when they get back home from work. And then I’ll add you guys on Discord, and hopefully we’ll be able to talk more on there?”

“Hopefully,” says Oli, meaning it more than anything. His entire life’s been pretty much flipped on its head by this encounter. “We’re always wondering about you, y’know. Or, I mean, I am. Owen probably thinks you’re there from Apo, Apo probably thinks you’re there from Owen, all that, but… Hard not to wonder who the hell you really were, when you would never act like it was actually a game.”

“I mean, it’s all a game, isn’t it, really?” Martyn muses, half-distant. “Just in the long dream now.”

“Is that from the End Poem?”

“Is it?”

Oli shakes his head. No time for all that. “So I’m driving you back to Nottingham, and… you’ll DM me when you can?”

“Yeah.”

It’s the best he can ask for.

Martyn refuses to tell Oli his exact address, just asks him to drive close enough that Martyn can walk the rest of the way home. It’s understandable - a CHESTCorp employee knowing Martyn’s exact location is, apparently, an incredibly dangerous thing - but still a little concerning. He’d at least like to be sure that Martyn won’t be getting poached back by this Doc guy at the earliest notice. Still, Martyn’s comfort remains the most important thing, and so he leaves his Google Maps at home.

It’s a bit of an autopilot drive, even without directions. Oli feels the wheel under his fingers, the pedals under his feet, like they’re abstracts. He looks over once or twice and sees Martyn glued to the window, to the mirrors, hypervigilant; he hopes that Martyn feels a little more real now than he did before.

They’re idle at a semi-populated roundabout when Martyn straightens his back. “Second exit, then pull over,” he announces.

“Almost there?”

“Pretty close.”

Oli obliges.

Martyn, with just the barest tremor in his fingers, pops the car door and steps out.

“You’re sure you’re gonna be okay?”

The words leave Oli’s mouth in a rush, the emotion behind them probably more visceral than Martyn is expecting, if the way he startles at them is any indication.

“Because - ‘cause if you need a hotel, or cash, or -”

“No,” says Martyn, “no, I’m fine. Promise.”

He hesitates, hand on the open car door, a few more seconds.

“And thanks,” he finishes, “I don’t - I’m not - I don’t know. Appreciate it.”

Oli understands what he’s getting at. “Stay safe, okay?”

“Nah, I’m gonna throw myself right in the Trent when you’re gone,” Martyn smiles, and Oli dutifully ignores the crack in his voice. Blame it on the last vestiges of teenagehood.

“And if you do end up needing to - I suppose erase all traces of your old life online… then it’s been an honour.”

“Yeah.”

“... Good luck.”

“Talk to you later,” Martyn says, and slams the car door closed.

All Oli can do, once he’s ambled out of eyeshot, is mechanically drive back home.

So that was InTheLittleWood. Friend group cryptid, unethical experiment, man with more trauma than Oli could ever begin to help him deal with… but man he was able to feed, and house, and walk through an emotional response, which is better than nothing at all. The one person in the world who Oli could almost hit with his car and have that be a better situation than the one he’d just escaped from. Still a mystery, too; he’s left Oli with far more questions than answers, left him returning to an empty house and wishing he’d been selfish enough to make Martyn stay a little longer, talk a little more.

Oli picks up his phone where he’d tossed it in the bedroom.

He has one new email to his work address.

Human Resources 3:04 PM

to me ˅

Subject: Performance Review

Dear Oliver,

You have been scheduled for a performance review. You are required to report to our Shoreditch location by 09:00 tomorrow, Tuesday December 12th. Failure to comply with this request will result in disciplinary proceedings, which may lead to your subsequent termination.

Regards,

Dan

Human Resources

CHESTCorp UK

Ah.

That’s… well.

The word termination is doing a lot of heavy lifting in that threat.

… Okay, so they’re working to a deadline now. That’s fine. He can deal with that. Martyn’s been dealing with far worse, right?

The friend request, at least, flips through from pending to accepted.

TheOrionSound — Today at 16:14

[Attachment: Screenshot_20231025_161408.png]

InTheLittleWood — Today at 16:14

Shit.

(end! now on ao3, if you’d like to leave a comment slash kudos slash bookmark!)

[moirindeclermont]

Daily thread about BridgertonS3 and I'm still basking in all the glory that is the mirror scene. So buckle up folks, this is going to be long, in depth, and extremely horny (and yes, I'll make a lot of pun).

Let me start on a serious note: I want to thank all the people involved, not only Luke and Nicola, but the intimacy coordination and everyone who contributed because it's clearly a group effort.

I love many moments about that scene, but overall what did hit me like a train was the intimacy, the care, the love that was clearly displayed in the scene.

It's rare that we see intimate scene that comes clearly from a place of love and dedication.

Two words about Colin: my man was caring, attentive to her needs, guiding her in this new experience (am I the only one that find this scorching hot?), telling her she is beautiful. He asked her consent every step of the way and that alone was beyond sexy. See, when people tell me that continuous consent is annoying, I'm not sure they know what they are talking about. There's nothing sexier that having the person you love most in the world saying yes to this experience you're doing together.

Two words about Pen: gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous Pen. Innocent, to a point, because while she was insecure about the experience, she was clearly into it as much as he is. She was active in the experience, as well. Asking how to please her man. And don't get me started on how she might felt after loving him for so long, finally being able to share with him this moment.

I have absolutely zero notes for Luke and Nicola. Perfection. Especially Nicola, she delivered the perfect mix between desire, insecurity, nerves, innocence and lust. Especially Nicola, because I'm sure it was empowering AF. it was empowering for me too watching it. It's everything every person should experience when having sex for the first time.

Do I have to nitpick? While it didn't bother me too much, I'd love if people would understand that sex should not be painful, even the first time (key points here: use lube and lots of foreplay). But I can suspend my belief that they might not know in the time period. That's the only thing I would improve on the scene.

Favorite moments: I'd probably have to do another thread about it, but in random order: when she sees his 🍆 and gulps; when she goes to touch his 🍆 but he says not yet and she has the most adorable expression ever existed; when she gets into it and you can see in her eyes the lust the "fxck me, ruin me, please" (i know who to thank for this particular description); when she said "can we do it again?" And nobody will convince me they didn't; his orgasm coming from watching her experiencing it;

Idk if I ever be able to be over this scene. It's just everything I ever would love to experience. And feeling represent was an incredible boost of self esteem; Pen and Nic are goddesses (and so am I and all women, regardless of body type). And I will cherish it (and rewatching it) for a very long time.

[colderdrafts]

wait, wait!!

the creature is acting and talking in such annoying way that they get in reader's nervous, so the reader starts saying snarky things back and talking about how morgan is the best partner they could over have (and I don't know what else im just giving out ideas im terrible at writing dialogue lol)

(Continuation of another ask! When you finally get Morgan a night out and someone gives you a hard time about it) Love this idea. A little piece for this scenario below. R takes defensive positions :)

The idle conversations have started up around you again. Finally.

It’s always too eerily quiet when you and Morgan first arrive somewhere. At least until people realize that you’re not going to attack anyone. Now, you just need to relax, too.

The inside of the tavern is fairly standard of the common-folk world. Craftsmanship of the facilities are wooden and rustic, having several spots for comfortable seating. There’s a single bar managed by a large hare-woman, a scent of inebriated people and food in the air. The interior is bustling with common-folk utilizing the area for their late night rest, and a well-deserved drink after a long day’s work. From gruff-looking wolves to a sleek falcon, common-folk intend to get their fair share of winding down. And tonight, you and Morgan have joined them.

Well, 'joined', is perhaps generous. You’ve found a secluded corner to sit in, and most others make sure to stay a good distance away from you. You try to pay it no mind; Morgan is not exactly welcome in these spaces, after all. And, as their companion, neither are you. But, you’ve managed to convince the hare at the bar to provide an actual roof over your heads for the night, and food is on the way. That’s something. It might even smell like progress.

It took a lot of convincing on your part for Morgan to even consider spending a night in a place like this. Too many people, too little space to move around. Too exposed. But you’ve paid a hefty sum for a room, having an actual bed to look forward to, and a good meal that’s actually been stewing, and came from a pot. You're not about to give that up.

And so far, your efforts have paid off. Everything's been going surprisingly well, mostly. Even if Morgan's been switching between speaking with you, and keeping an eye on anything and everything moving inside the tavern. It’s an odd mixture. Their confidence might allow them to not be completely on guard, but their constant monitoring of vibrations in the air might make it difficult to stop.

To be fair, most patrons inside of the tavern seems hellbent on keeping an eye on Morgan, too. Perhaps it’s sensible they’d return the favor. Your arachnid companion has their usual unseemly aura in place, like just daring anyone to try and oppose their being here. It might fool a common-folk, but you can see what they're doing. It's a defense mechanism; you can't be hurt if you can't be approached. You really wish they didn’t think this was necessary.

But this is supposed to be a fun night out. You intend to make it so, in any case.

“Could you please calm down your feelers?” you ask Morgan, when they’ve been aloof for a little longer than usually. They’re staring dead ahead at a point behind you. You tap at their front leg with your foot to snap them out of it. “I think we’re fine.”

“Oh, I am completely calm,” Morgan purrs and smiles widely, still not looking at you. They don’t even blink. “That pale lizard over there, however, is clearly not.”

You glance over your shoulder at said lizard. Sure enough, the white scales of his head seems like they should be an angry red, judging by the way he’s glaring your direction.

“Well, obviously he’s not if you keep staring at him like that,” you argue, switching tactics and gently pulling at their hand instead. “Come on, can we just have a calm night? No fights, no threats, no blood, just – I want you to have a good time, for once.”

“Me?” Morgan grins, finally severing eye contact with their opponent to focus on you. Their hand promptly curls around yours. “Since when have you become so nice to me? Not that I’m complaining.”

Ugh. You knew you should never go there with Morgan, but perhaps that’s what’s needed. Give an inch, and all that. You’ll just have to hope they won’t take more than their usual mile.

"I've always been nice," you assert. "You just haven't earned experiencing it."

Morgan laughs, nodding at your hand in theirs. "So, what did I do to earn this?"

“Our dinner’s ready,” you deflect, noting two stewing, deep plates that’s just been delivered at the bar. Excellent timing. The barkeep’s eyeing you a bit excessively, perhaps reluctant to call you up. Simultaneously, she probably does not want Morgan to come collect the food.

Morgan’s eye darts to the bar. “I’ll go-”

“Sit,” you bark at them before they’ve even stretched a leg. The less risk of them bumping into someone, or, gods forbid, someone bumping into them, the better. “I’ll get it.”

You walk away before they can protest, ignoring the feeling of Morgan’s eyes burning into the back of your skull.

The barkeep looks relieved when you approach, and hands you your food. She holds onto the bowls momentarily as you grab them, preventing you from leaving quickly.

“Could you please tell your custodian to stop staring at my patrons?” the hare hisses lowly, urgently, ears flat against her head. “It’s making people uneasy. I gave you a room, but I don’t want-”

“YEP!” you interrupt, flashing her a strained smile. “I’ll get right on that.”

The barkeep narrows her eyes at your rudeness, continuing. “And when you sleep here, I don’t want any noise or unnecessary nightly wandering-”

“I know!” you interrupt her again, pulling at the food to get her to let go. You don’t have the time, nor patience, for the usual complaints. You need to get back before-

The barkeep's long ears suddenly stand up straight. She sucks in a startled breath, fixating on a spot behind you. Right. That.

You groan, and turn around, leaving your precious food in the barkeep's hands.

Morgan is unfortunately standing up. And, in front of them, is the very lizard they’ve spent the night staring at.

Said lizard is up in Morgan’s face, spewing words you can only imagine are not words of fondness. Either he's very brave, very good at fighting, or very drunk. Possibly all three.

By contrast, Morgan looks unpleasantly nonplussed, like they're casually wondering where best to grab on and start tearing.

“No,” you seethe. Absolutely not. Not tonight.

You march across the tavern in long strides toward the pair, prepared to put an end to this fight before it even starts.

“-don’t care where, but you’re not staying here!” the lizard’s voice reaches you through the idle noises of the crowd.

Morgan looks up at your approach, still not looking particularly affected, albeit slightly amused when they spot the look on your face.

You force yourself into the small space between the pair, your back against Morgan’s front. You suppress a shudder when you feel their hands softly coming to rest on your shoulders.

The lizard steps back once you do so, narrowing his eyes at you. He opens his mouth to say something, but you cut him off by leaning into his space.

“I spend one night, trying to have a good time, that’s not inside a cave, high up in a tree, or sleeping on dirt, and then you-!” you scold the lizard-like person. “- just had to escalate things!”

The lizard takes the verbal hit silently and stares at you, baffled. Perhaps he’d not expected you would take up this fight. He frowns, regaining composure. “Listen here-”

“No, you listen!” you spit. Morgan's face enters your peripheral vision, a genuine surprised expression minutely replaced by a shit-eating grin full of teeth. You ignore them. “We want to stay in taverns sometimes! Why can’t you let us have that?”

“YOU are alright!” the lizard states with a hiss. He points a clawed finger at the large arachnid behind you. “That monster you’re hanging out with is not!”

“Monster?” Morgan scoffs and pouts, feigning hurt. “Why, you've barely seen anything. That’s a little excessive, don’t you think?”

“Not when it comes to you,” the lizard snarls back at them. “You nasty red-eyes especially."

"I think my eyes are pretty," Morgan says.

"Can’t believe you didn’t get snatched," the lizard continues, not listening. "Should’ve nailed you when they had the darn chance. Better off dead than adult.”

A miniscule pause is what changes this entire interaction. It’s not often Morgan reacts to the usual slander people throw their way. And if it wasn’t because of your bond, you probably wouldn’t have noticed it would be any different this time.

But there’s just the slightest little twist of their energy shifting, like being splashed with cold water. The comment hit something. Morgan's face doesn’t falter a bit, expertly holding up the nonchalant, unaffected facade. But their claws are scraping across the wooden floor, their grip on your shoulders tightening ever so slightly. You can feel their energy reaching for you to calm down, almost on instinct. For once, Morgan seems slightly, genuinely, upset.

You step into the lizard’s space again without warning, shoving him backwards and out of your corner. Interrupting your fun night out is one thing. Suggesting your companion should’ve been killed as a hatchling is quite another. You’ve just about had it.

“That monster has treated me better than any of you ever did,” you fume, walking the offender back to his own spot. “You lot have done nothing but cause problems. What gives you the fucking right to be judging life and death?”

Morgan doesn’t intervene, but their presence behind you is heavy and reassuring. Their energy is fluttering around you, leaning into your anger. Letting you know you’re not fighting alone.

“You’re completely brainwashed,” the lizard laughs coolly, waving you off. “As always. It’s filthy, the shit they do to your minds. I don’t know what I expected. I almost feel bad for you.”

Brainwashed?

Perhaps it’s the heated moment. Perhaps it’s just because you want this incredibly hostile person to leave you alone. Perhaps it’s because you just want to have the final word, and prove a point.

But your hands almost acts on their own when you spin around, grab Morgan’s arms, and pull them down towards you. They follow your instruct without complaint.

Without warning, you cup their face, and plant a firm kiss smack on their lips. Morgan’s eyes widen in surprise. Then excitement. You hear them purr deeply as they relax into your grip, reveling in the softness you've suddenly bestowed upon them.

When you let them go their hands are on your waist. They don’t stop chittering as you turn away from them again to face the threat.

“I don’t care what you think I am,” you say to the lizard. “But whatever it is, you still have no reason to treat us like this. Leave us alone.”

The lizard looks flabbergasted at the display. Then it turns to horror. Then disgust. “Unbelievable. Are you really-”

“Go. Away.”

If it’s you or Morgan that says it, you suddenly aren’t sure. Your voice came out like a harsh, guttural whisper, not unlike the way Morgan’s does when they’re angry. Perhaps you both just spoke at once. But the lizard averts his eyes, finally, acknowledging this is not the space to start this fight. He skulks off, leaving you and Morgan in full view of the entire tavern.

You glance around, only now noting the wary eyes of the common-folk. Their stares carry a mixture of fear, repulsion and, worst of all, pity. And it strikes you what has just transpired. That display might have caused more harm than good with this particular crowd.

Crap. You’ll need to leave again, won’t you?

You regretfully look up at Morgan, who's simply looking to you. Pleasantly calm, and dutifully awaiting your next move.

“Yeah, yeah,” you sigh, and wave the entire tavern off. “We’re going. Have a good evening. Sorry for the disturbance,” you spit the last part, grabbing Morgan’s wrist to drag them outside.

“A kiss?”

Morgan startles you out of your skin with the words, their voice suddenly appearing from the dark. Seems they’ve returned from collecting firewood.

Took them long enough.

The small make-shift camp under the stars offers only a bitter respite from what tonight could have been. Morgan had offered to go collect some fuel, as they can see better out here now that it’s dark. You hadn’t planned to stay the night in the woods again, after all.

“What about it?” you reply, not bothering to hide your sulking.

You’re seated close to the humble fire to keep the night chill at bay. Morgan enters the light shortly after, eyes reflecting it. They set down the branches, casually throwing in a few extra sticks to feed the flame, and seat themself next to you.

Morgan playfully pokes at your shoulder. “Sentry, if I’d known starting fights would get you-”

“Please, don’t even finish that sentence,” you complain. “I didn’t want to fight that guy. I just didn’t like what he said.”

Morgan hums. “You wanted him to not think I’ve control of your mind?”

“Something like that,” you grimace.

“Well,” they lean on you heavily, teasing. They speak into your face with a drawling whisper. “What’s there to suggest that I don’t?”

You snort, and shrug them off. “Bond thing, sure. I can’t go anywhere without you. But I’m pretty sure my head’s still mine.”

“Well, yes. And no. And not quite,” Morgan smiles. “It’s mine.”

“It wasn’t just that,” you continue quickly, before that train of thought develops. “The whole snatcher thing he said. It’s just -”

“Judging life and death?” Morgan echoes you, staring into the open flame. “Sentry, at this point it shouldn’t surprise you. That’s how it works. Their judgment will always favor my death.”

They speak casually, like telling you it’s going to rain. Nothing but a minor nuisance. It brings a bad taste to your mouth just how used to this they seem.

“I know,” you give after a beat, shifting uncomfortably. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it. And I really, really don’t.”

Morgan eyes you with a wry smile. “Don’t worry, they’ll be sure to remember that. Well, also after your amazing outburst. Have I ever mentioned I adore your theatrics?”

You frown, ignoring the last statement. “What do you mean, also?”

Morgan leans on their arms, calmly moving leaf litter out of the way of the fire before it catches. “I figured you defending my honor - while efficient, and I am eternally grateful - wouldn’t get the point across fully,” they say offhandedly.

You quickly turn to stare at the side of their face. They want you to ask, and you almost don't want to know. “Morgan. What did you do?”

Morgan turns slowly, and smiles at you, clicking their fangs together. “Well, their ale supply might make the patrons feel bad for a while. Maybe a little cramping? Maybe a little .. un-moving? Is that a word?”

Blood drains from your face.

“If I'm being honest, I have no clue what consuming my venom does to a person,” they ponder. “Actually, we should stick around. I want to see-”

“You went back to-!” You throw your arms out in frustration. “This is why we can never go anywhere!”

“On the contrary,” Morgan laughs. They lean over and curl their fingers around your wrists affectionately. They gently press their forehead against yours. “This is why we can go anywhere.”

[jpitha]

Yet Another Writing Advice Post

I'm about to type about some stuff about writing. It's pretty Meta and feel free to skip this one if you're waiting for more about Gord and Fen, that's coming soon. It's not for anyone specifically, it's for me mostly, but you might get something out of it too.

As a writer - especially as an amateur writer who eventually wants to get paid for writing - one of the things I struggle with is what am I writing for? Is it just for me? Is it for my readers? Is it for sale?

Lots of writing advice for newbies boils down to "write the things you want to read, do it your way, fuck the haters."

This is good.

I mean it. It's going to sounds like I don't agree with it, so I'm saying right here off the jump, if you're just starting out, this is an unalloyed good. Write what you want how you want.

But.

If you want to write things that other people will read - not even writing things that people will pay you for - you also need to expand your skills. You should get better at writing. So as to not waste your readers time, but also so that you're better able to translate what's in your head into words on a screen/page so that others can see the cool as fuck things you thought up.

The only way to get good at something is to be bad at it for a long time.

It's hard for me to remember this. Every expert that you see, every skilled creation you come across was made by a person who did piles and piles and piles of terrible art first. I hate this! I don't want to suck, I never want that.

That does not make it untrue however.

I am a mediocre writer.

I am not saying this to fish for compliments, or to get positive reinforcement. It's the truth. I am trying every day to get better - and I am getting better! It's one of the reasons I like rewriting my old stuff. But, me assuming I am A Good Writer Now is pure hubris.

In an attempt to get better, I joined an online writing group. (I don't think anyone from there reads this Tumblr, but if they do, Hi!) Everyone in that group is skilled, probably more skilled than me. That's normal and to be expected. Everyone is good about offering crits and nobody is mean, but also it's not a hugbox. We're all there to get better and write.

Last week I put more effort into an entry than I think I have ever done. I spent real time on it, worked methodically, had a plan, even sought out folks to beta read. Like, I put in the work.

I still didn't win.

The winning entry was one that was almost utterly opaque to me. It wasn't "well that's not for me, but I can see how they'd win," it was pure "I don't like this and I don't understand why they'd win, and yet, here we are"

Why do I mention this?

Well, for one, I'm disappointed that I didn't win. The judges did give me crits on my entry, which was nice, but it wasn't anything I hadn't heard before. This is also fine, change takes time. But additionally the things they didn't like were things that I added on purpose. It's important to remember when receiving crits that you don't have to change what you do. It's just like, their opinion man. Brush off crits at your own peril however. They show what others who read your work expected to find and didn't.

It's normal to be sad that you worked hard on something only to find out it wasn't what the judges wanted to read. It's normal to be bummed to realize you aren't as good as you thought you were, and/or that you still have a long way to go.

But then what?

Do you change what your style? Try and write something that you think will appeal? Do you stick to your guns and say "I know what I like, and I will continue to write what I like?"

In the end, you have to decide why you are writing (or drawing or painting or weaving or whatever.) You have to decide who your audience is.

If it's just you? Keep on keeping on, go nuts! Make art however the hell you want. You are an artist, it's still art, you are legitimate.

If it's someone else? Then yeah, maybe work to drift towards something that the like. There's nothing wrong with a little pandering - to a point.

Is it to sell? Now, we're getting into the meat of things. If you want to make a go at doing this full time and making it a jobbity job, you have to start looking at your craft with a much sharper eye. You have to watch trends, follow bandwagons, do the things that bring eyeballs and wallets. Is it distasteful? It can be. Is it necessary? If you want to make money, yeah, unfortunately it is. Do you have to? Nah, you don't have to do anything you don't want to do, but do it with clear eyes about your prospects vis a vis the publishing world.

As for me?

I once thought that I could get some books published and make a tidy side income. Now? I'm not so sure. I still have it as a 2024 goal to be published anywhere, but I'm pretty sure that if I do get a book out, it'll be self published. I have friends who have agents and who have traditionally published books and the whole process is hard and depressing and not fun.

[ina-verse]

Introduction post

Hello there, welcome to my blog! ツ

Basics:

- My name is Ina (ee-n-uh)

- I'm 20 years old

- Starting my junior year of college in October, majoring in special education and rehabilitation of deaf and hard of hearing people

- English is not my native language, so if posts regarding my studies are confusing, it's because educational systems (curriculums, how is a certain profession organised and its theory used in practise...) are vastly different between countries, especially when talking about special education.

What is this blog?

So, for now it's a commonplace book or a digital journal made of all the things that I think would be helpful in achieving my goals. Whether it's study tips, book recommendations, music playlists, motivational mood boards, quotes, pretty pictures it can all be found here, as well as my thoughts and updates on personal challenges (study, productivity, maintaining healthy habits etc).

Honestly, not sure yet. I wanted to make a studyblr, because my first priority now and in the next few years will be getting my bachelor and masters degree, as well as finding a job in my filed. Of course none of that is possible if I don't put effort and care into other aspects of my life, so I thought why not make it a some kind of a self-care blog, but realised that I don't know what would I even post and how I would do it.

Why am I starting this blog?

Currently my life is a mess, all the bits and pieces of it are scattered around and I am trying to pick what I have, connect it into some barely functioning thing and continue on to grow from there.

I want to work on making my life more better and enjoyable, on accepting and loving myself, on growing and improving every single day.

Also I've always admired all the study blogs out there. Everyone seems so genuinely kind and willing to give out tips and hacks about anything. I have always wanted to be a part of such community, thinking that this will help me stay disciplined and consistent with my work.

Things I wanna work on (I'll probably make separate post for this):

- self-discipline

- incorporating healthier habits into my everyday life (there will also be separate post for this)

- increasing productivity not just regarding my studies

- reading more books (for enjoyment)

- getting out of the comfort zone, being more spontaneous, making memories (with friends and alone), doing things just for the hell fun of it

- learning more skills/languages (for now I want to become fluent in my third language - French, as for skills I would love to enroll in a self-defence or dance class or both)

- getting work experience, I would love to and have to volunteer with organisations from my field in order to have something on my work resume besides a degree and get familiar with my line of future profession

- enjoying my youth, the moments I'm living in right now, being more thankful for everything that i have

...

Interests:

Besides my studies and future line of work

- reading (romance novels, poetry and classics)

- the biggest Hunger games and Suzane Collins fan, everlark stan for life

- listening to music (currently favourite Hozier, the Killers, James Arthur, Lord Huron, Kacey Musgraves, my native pop and folk music) while imagining fake scenarios

- watching TV shows (b99, himym, the good place, the new girl, friends, bridgerton and currently favourite my lady jane)

- now realising that I really need to get into more things besides media consumption

Study, life and aesthetic blogs that I admire and that inspire me:

* @studyblrmasterposts

* @studyblr

* @emmastudies

* @peachblossomstudy

* @starrystvdy

* @helenstudies

* @study-core-101

* @zzzzzestforlife

* @luciaslifesblog

* @malusokay

* @flowerhope

* @agirlwithglam

These are just some of them, if you are also a new studyblr don't hesitate to reach out to me I'd love to be mutuals

I'm still not sure about the main structure of this blog I guess in the near future I'll be posting daily updates as a part of some challenge (100 days of productivity or 30 days of discipline). I'll see so just bare with me 😅

Tags: I'll add as I create them on the go

Purple Van Gogh header is from @vysleix and pastel pink ribbons are from @saradika-graphics

If you made it to here and followed me know that I appreciate you and you have just become my beloved tumblrarian/mutual 🤍😌😘

date of the first intro post: 8th of September 2024.

[aristocratic-otter]

Howdy all!

I've not posted in forever, but I want you to know I am writing. I've just hit a wall with Saving Simon Snow and The Heart in the Well, so I'm rereading those to figure out where I'm going. But I've made significant progress on my other three, just not enough to post a chapter. I think a chapter of Snow Fox will be up in a week. I don't want too many WIPs on the archive, so I'll wait till one is finished to start posting Stars, Flowers and Children, which I've already got ten chapters done on.

Thank you to these folks for continuing to tag me even when I go silent: @larkral, @blackberrysummerblog, @bookish-bogwitch, @nausikaaa, @artsyunderstudy, @nightimedreamersghost, @prettygoododds, @rimeswithpurple, @ic3-que3n, @j-nipper-95 and @shrekgogurt

From: Stars, Flowers, and Children:

One moment Simon’s staring, open-mouthed at Davy’s corpse, and the next he’s folded himself into my chest, sobbing. “I killed him,” he whispers, between sobs. “Baz…I killed him.”

I want to argue with Simon, tell him that he couldn’t have known his shove would kill the man, that Davy’s own drunkenness made him so clumsy he couldn’t break his own fall, that Davy’s madness forced Simon to take action…but none of those things will help. So I just wrap my arms around him and hold him to me and let him cry. 

I want to tell him it’s alright. But it’s not. 

We’re thirteen years old, and we’re all alone in the world. 

From: Snow Fox

“I wish I were there with you. I wish I could be more help,” he frets. 

“You’re where I need you,” I remind him. “You’re of invaluable assistance to our effort. Baz, nobody can do what you do for the rebellion.”  I reach up and cup his face between my two palms. “And,” I whisper, “knowing you are here, safe? It’s the only thing that keeps me going, some days, darling.”

Baz’s eyes soften. Then I can’t see his eyes anymore because his lips are on mine and my own eyes have slammed shut. He kisses me fiercely, hungrily. Then he pulls away abruptly. “I’ll stay safe for you, for as long as I can,” he whispers.

“I know,” I whisper. “And I’ll do the same for you.”

And a longish sample from Tiktok dancer--Baz is finally in the story!

“We’re young, we’re hot, and we’re freeeeeee!” Dev shouts, and then follows his boast up with a raucous wolf howl. 

“You’re making a scene!” I hiss at him. 

Dev flips me off, before skipping ahead of Niall and I to the baggage carousel. I refuse to look around to see if Dev’s behavior is drawing attention. Of course it is; he lives to embarrass me. 

Niall laughs at my expression and then throws an arm over my shoulders. “C’mon, Baz. The sooner we get out of here, the sooner you can cool your blushes.” 

I scowl at him. “I’m not blushing,” I lie. I can feel the heat in my cheeks, but hopefully my skin is too dark for him to tell. 

He releases me with a pat on the shoulder and a laugh. “Dev’s just having fun. And he’s right, you know. This is our hot singles tour, and we get to do it in hot people paradise. Isn’t that great?”

“I thought Hawaii was paradise,” I snark. 

Niall rolls his eyes. “Your virginity is showing, Baz. C’mon, California? The home of the hottest girls on the planet?”  

Now I roll my eyes. “And I should care about that, why?” We’ve reached the baggage carousel now. Dev has pulled all of our suitcases off of the conveyer and is waiting impatiently for us. He was close enough, apparently to hear the last part of our conversation. He snickers. 

“You care because you want your best friends in the world to get laid by the hottest women. You’re just nice that way.” 

“Besides,” Niall grunts, as he hefts our suitcases onto a baggage cart. “I’m sure the guys are just as hot. You’ll find someone to fuck, Baz. Probably several someones.” 

Tagging (and blowing y'all a big kiss for the New Year): @angelsfalling16, @bazzybelle, @carryonsimoncarryonbaz, @erzbethluna, @fatalfangirl< @facewithoutheart, @hushed-chorus, @letraspal, @frjsti, @messofthejess, @moments-au-crayon22, @moodandmist, @onepintobean, @raenestee, @thehoneyedhufflepuff, @theearlgreymage, @tea-brigade, @cutestkilla, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe

[percywinchester27]

*Waves nervously* Hey, guys! It’s me... back again :)

Firstly, thank you so much for the kind messages. You folks are some of the sweetest peeps around, no kidding. I actually did make a long post explaining everything about a month back, but tumblr being tumblr glitched and the post was lost forever to the tumblr abys when I hit ‘post.’ I didn’t have it in me then to rewrite the whole thing. The gist of it is:

1. My grandmother passed away (That bit everyone knows because it was the last post I made)

2. Two days after that, I decided to mess up my life even more and end a ten-year-old kind-of relationship. People who have been following me for a while now would know about it.

3. College life got really, really hard all of a sudden. The academic pressure, unnecessarily severe HOD and crushing work burden basically left me with no time to write or be here. 

4. This was my first time living by myself in a new city and I have no shame in admitting that I underestimated how much effort it is to keep yourself alive, pay the rent by yourself and adjust to living in a whole new city.

5. I got sick in the middle. Really sick. Lost 12 pounds kind of sick. It sucked.

Long story short, I feel like a different person from the one who posted the last chapter of ‘The New Mrs. Winchester.’ The girl who envisioned the story had fallen out of love long ago and clung to the series by making it a coping mechanism, to continue living in denial, afraid to spit out the words that would end the relationship. The reader in the series had a man who understood her trauma, and treated her the way she needed to be treated... and I didn’t have that in real life. The series had become an escape of sorts. But the more I wrote it, the more resentful I felt for what the reader had and what I didn’t. That’s never good, right? Starting to envy your own creation?

Then my grandmother passed. And you know that reckless self-destructive urge to wreck everything when even one thing goes wrong? Yeah, that’s what made me pick up the phone and end it. I did it by text because my voice wouldn’t hold and I couldn’t stop crying. I think I cried for hours in my tiny room. Then the next day I had to leave for a study trip so I didn’t even have the support of my friends... no shoulder to cry on. Back then, I thought I deserved to feel the pain, deserved to be alone and deal with it myself because I was hurting a good soul. It was a dark time. Everything seemed to be falling apart. 

In the end, he was quite nice about it, and we ended it like two mature people with nothing but best wishes for one another. I hope he is happy in the country he wants to make his home. 

It’s been five months since. I am doing so much better now. I have adjusted to the losses and recovered about ten pounds ;) I’ve also started seeing someone new. He’s very good to me :)

For the summer months, I’m back home. Agreed there’s a 45 hours a week internship, but I don’t have to fend for myself day in and day out. So, while there are no promises... I’ll do my best to get back to writing! I am hoping to get some of my writing inspiration back... So fingers crossed? ;)

If you’ve stuck around till here.... once again, thank you for not ditching my ass in the five months of radio silence. You guys are truly something.

Love always!

-Ana xoxo

[filthforfriends]

The Puzzle Piece Problem

We have to talk about it again. I started this conversation a year ago, when Damiano posted an image of his mom at the Run for Autism. Progetto Filippide is a highly respected organization that does meaningful work for autism and other disabilities. However this iconography is insulting as fuck and seeing Damiano rep it personally in 2023 makes me sick.

Previously, I also expressed concern about the language choices on Progetto Filippide's website. This post is going to focus on the puzzle piece iconography in general, but I do stand by those concerns.

"Ritardo mentale" (mental retardation) which I've since learned is also offensive in Italian when used in this context. "Riabilitativo" (rehabilitation) of autism is not possible. Referring to autism as "diagnosi certificata" (certified) or "conclamata sindrome autistica"(full blown autistic syndrome) excludes people who can't afford or can't access a diagnosis. Also autistics and allistics aren't "affrontando le stesse fatiche, condividendo le stesse emozioni" (facing the same hardships, sharing the same emotions) because one of us is neurodivergent. Sameness isn't the goal.

Here is a closer look at the graphic. As you can see, the text and the logo are made out of puzzle pieces. The majority of the autistic community find puzzle pieces as a symbol for autism offensive and many even find it hateful. We have proudly used our own emblem since 2005, a rainbow infinity symbol for neurodiversity.

"For many years adults have openly, publicly discussed their desires for autism awareness to shift to an approach aimed at creating acceptance for us in society. Continuing to ignore our wishes, to use symbols which may remind us of our discrimination in society or that people sometimes do kill us because of our autism, IS disrespectful."

Paula Jessop, All Together Autism (New Zealand)

The original puzzle piece logo was created by Gerald Gasson for the National Autism Society (U.K.) in 1963. The crying child represents the tragedy of autism and the shape represents how "puzzling" Gasson found our condition. To avoid the association, the NAS have since changed their name, scrapped the logo (in 1999), and the whole site is rainbow (like our emblem). That's how embarrassing it is to have used puzzle pieces for autism.

The depiction of autism as a tragedy and sickness resulted in decades of efforts to cure and prevent it. Horrific abuse was suffered at the hands of caregivers, therapists, and physicians who treated autism like a cancer. The puzzle piece itself represents the deficit lens through which autistic people are viewed. We have a piece of the puzzle. We are a fraction of of a person. So the implication is that not being autistic makes you whole. Not being autistic makes you normal. Therefore, autism is inherently inferior. When an autistic person's behavior is measured as good (allistic) or bad (autistic), it's just a measure of how well they can conceal themselves and traits allistics might find "puzzling."

While the NAS invented it, Autism Speaks (U.S.) made the puzzle piece a global symbol through giant, heinous campaigns that seek to silence and eradicate autistic people. Autism Speaks was founded to help families of autistics manage their child, rather than help the child manage their neurodivergence. The most infamous campaigns are Autism Every Day, (> 13 mins long so I've edited together a few clips) and I Am Autism.

Even worse than these campaigns is Autism Speaks' much beloved Applied Behavioral Analysis. It began with Dr. O. Ivaar Lovaas using electroshock on intellectually disabled patients to stop self harm. The issue with compliance training, is that non-verbal folks communicate through their behavior. Understanding should be the first thing you reach for, and ABA the last since the use of that therapy makes an autistic person 86% more likely to develop PTSD.

I could keep going, but we've established that Autism Speaks is a monster. Yet, the only puzzle pieces we see in their merchandise is their logo. The puzzle piece is their entire brand, their legacy, and Autism Speaks is limiting exposure. Two of the shittest autism organizations in the history of man (the creators of the puzzle piece!!) have very intentionally moved away from that iconography and towards our chosen emblem.

So what the fuck is this?? No, the fact that its a complete puzzle doesn't negate the insult. I am not a puzzle at all! The fact that they think that comparison is fitting says something about how Progetto Filippide view its clientele. Sorry, not sorry.

Autistic people look like puzzles because we're punished for being neurodivergent. We're forced to take ourselves apart, do some curating, and put ourselves back together in a way that appears allistic, but that is not who we are. My autism is not a puzzle. Your society is a puzzle.

This is what neurodivergence is: the potential for an infinite number of unique ways to process the world around us. If you want to support autism in particular, use the gold infinity sign, but either is great! Do you see the giant chasm between how the world views us vs. how we view ourselves?

"Neurodiversity describes the idea that people experience and interact with the world around them in many different ways; there is no one "right" way of thinking, learning, and behaving, and differences are not viewed as deficits."

Dr. Nicole Braumer & Julia Frueh

When you say "well its a great organization" do you think this is what happens? "I'm sure he didn't mean it like that." "If he'd known, he wouldn't have worn it." No. they're still wearing puzzle piece shirts.

Autistics spend their childhoods and adolescence surrounded by people who’d like them to shut up. We’re called annoying, weird, unlikable. We are told nobody wants to be our friend, or likes us, or wants to hear what we have to say. Not only is it really hard for autistics to speak up for themselves because of this, but we’re also waiting in fear of an allistic person who says things the right way, coming along and usurping the conversation. So just listen please.

I won't be debating or defending anything. Feel free to be supportive or ask a question. Nicely.

[dinoburger]

But the Moment Just Slipped Through My Hands

submitting to the time honored tradition of Expiration Date fics - slightly Science Party flavoured. I just wanted to put it out there, ik maybe I could stand to sprinkle in more funny speech mannerisms for both Engie and Medic - maybe this will be for another day. I also wanted to illustrate more of it but I could save that for the Ao3 version...

2k words - more focused on Medic and Engie but there's a dash of HeavyMedic in there, not exactly shipping focused

(title is from Gone in an Instant - I hope nobody is keeping track of how many times I reference Black Dresses in various work bc I'm sure it's starting to add up)

-🍞-

The smell of bread had a tendency to float in the air in almost every corner of their current base of operations – fated to be their last, so they assumed – but was even thicker now in the already stuffy laboratory. Slightly more sour than usual too, due to the effects of the teleporter.

After they’d reported their findings to the rest of the team, the resident medic and engineer had hurried back to continue their work, hoping for more answers. It was natural, to both of them, but in the lulls between furiously experimenting, exchanging notes and prompting each other with questions about their respective areas of expertise, Dell found himself staring at the doctor with a pang of guilt.

The medic, as was usual when presented with cataclysmic disaster, confronted it with a mixture of stern determination and delighted morbid curiosity. Regardless, impending doom weighed heavy on the shorter’s shoulders.

“You don’t feel hard-done by, spending your last days cooped up in this here lab?” he scratched his neck, leaning back against the bench’s counter.

“If we had more time, maybe – but this is where I am needed most, ja?” the medic scribbled down several more notes, before he spared the engineer a glance. “What about you?”

“So long as I’m not gettin’ in your way.”

“Oh not at all, not at all.” he shook his head, “Really, it’s unfortunate I could not have gotten to know you better sooner – you have a brilliant mind, Herr Engineer.” the doctor’s lips quirked into a small, earnest smile, which caught Dell off guard.

“Aw shucks, Doc.” he retreated into himself a bit. “Just a shame I weren’t brilliant enough to figure out this whole teleporter mess m’self.”

“Ach, you couldn’t have known” Ludwig waved off, “and besides that, some of the greatest discoveries of our time have come at no small cost. What is it they say…? You can’t make an omelette without breaking eggs.”

It was true that medical science had it’s share of horrors, but even so, the doctor felt his optimism slip.

“I must confess, I might have been a touch… sloppy. You would think if something was wrong, the team doctor would be first to pick up on it." he scolded himself. "I am so grateful for the freedom of being out on the field, pushing the boundaries of science and medicine but I’m afraid I have gotten ahead of myself.”

“Heck, I’d say you’d done a dang good job keepin’ us alive so far - ‘spite some of our best efforts.” Dell grinned, which got a laugh out of Ludwig.

“M’ just wonderin’ if you didn’t have nobody special you wanted to see before you, y’know. Bit the dust, so to speak. I can keep things tickin’ over here just fine for a while.”

“Someone ‘special’…? Oh, don’t tell me.” Ludwig snorted. “Those silly rumours about my supposed ‘wife’ are still floating around.”

“I was a tad curious.”

“I might as well give the game up now, she’s not real – never was. I have no time for such things, but ach, some of our comrades are very nosy. It started off as a simple joke to keep them off my back, I didn’t think it would stick, so I never bothered to refute it.”

“I getcha, that makes a hell’ve a lot more sense.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” the man tensed, the amused glint in his eyes exchanged for something sharper and wary.

“Well, when the fellas get gossipin’ about the lady-folk, you never have a whole lot t’ say. Figured if you really did have a spouse waitin’ on ya you’d be more eager to brag.” Dell observed casually.

The doctor released a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding. “Ah, is that all?”

“Y’know I’m not one to pry, doc. I respect ya too much.”

“Much appreciated.”

Dell paused, picking his next words more carefully. “More surprised you didn’t wanna say your goodbyes to that big fella – two of you seem mighty companionable.”

“Herr Heavy, I assume? We do work closely together, but... it’s hard to say we’re much more than colleagues.”

“You kiddin’? The man’s crazy ‘bout ya – you should see how he lights up the moment he lays eyes on ya. ‘S really somethin’ else.” Dell risked a smile and a sideways glance, the doctor’s face going soft with fondness.

“Well… I suppose I owe it to him to see if I can work this out in time.”

The engineer’s throat seized, his playful smile fading. He’d almost forgotten what the stakes were here.

For the next few minutes, Dell put his head down and worked in solemn silence, the guilt crushing his lungs and forbidding him to talk. He would only will himself to when the doctor had another question, they needed to deliberate their next course of action or sort out notes between each other.

When they’d worked into another lull in their rhythm, the taller of the two eyed up the other.

“...You didn’t have anyone you wanted to see before we expire?” The doctor returned the question.

The engineer shook his head, still half buried in a toolbox. “Nope. Wouldn’t’ve signed up t’ be a mercenary if I did, all part ‘n parcel." he took a breath, considering just biting his tongue again, but somehow leaving Ludwig in the dark felt worse. "Those Mann brothers found me through m’ grandpa, us Conaghers’ve been workin’ with ‘em for decades.”

“Really now?” Doctor Ludwig’s eyebrows twitched up, this was news to him.

Dell knew deep down he wasn’t supposed to talk about this, as mercenaries they were all on a need-to-know basis, but with how the situation was unfolding he found the words spilling out with ease.

“Uh-huh. Lotta his work was kept under lock and key though, up until I joined their employ. Though I can't say I agree with how they got 'em to begin with... it feels like I get ta take part in my heritage, going over his blueprints, studying his notes – like I’m really steppin’ into his shoes ‘n followin’ his footsteps.” the softer, reverent tone he’d taken petered out into a sigh. “I was hopin’ I’d be able t’ finish what he’d started, put an end to this gravel war. Looks like there’ll have to be another generation of recruits after us.”

“It’s still just a job, mein friend, you make of it what you can – and I would say you have gotten more out of it than most would.” the doctor added.

“It ain’t just a job to me.” Dell’s idle tinkering stopped, head hung. “I got all these ideas in my head that I could make it mean somethin', I'd shake things up, I'd make it count - buncha fanciful nonsense." his words took on a harsher edge as he wound himself up.

Doctor Ludwig found himself pausing too, observing the other’s hunched shoulders and arms stiffly gripping the bench.

“What kinda legacy am I leavin’? Maybe I’m just daydreaming, thinkin’ I’m half the man Radigan was. Would he really’ve made a mistake this darn stupid? Doomed all’a his men like this? The hell do I think I’m doin’ out here?” he spat, cursing himself.

Part of him had always known, every force was met with equal resistance, wins and losses balanced themselves out. The RED and BLU mercenaries were nothing but cogs in a much larger machine, to ends he couldn’t fathom.

He kept glaring down at the counter through his goggles, as if raising his head would reveal a great, dark vortex hanging above, deeper than he could possibly see, filled with terrible, grinding machinery. It would use them all up like fuel and spit them out into the ether.

“To hell with legacy.”

Doctor Ludwig broke the tangible silence that had fallen.

“To hell with the Mann brothers, to hell with your grandfather.”

The Conagher bristled and turned on him, mouth twisted into an offended snarl, posture like a coiled spring. “Beg yer pardon?”

“We cannot dictate what the tides of time will choose to spare.” the doctor’s expression was equally grave. “So I say to hell with them all. Your work is worthy, because your life is worthy.” he clamped his hands over either of the engineer’s shoulders, taking the man by surprise.

“I don’t care what kind of man this Radigan Conagher was, I am honoured to have spent this life with his grandson.”

That sent his head spinning.

Dell choked, not sure if he was about to cry or laugh, a shaky grin spread across his features and a wheeze escaped his teeth.

“’P-preciate it, Doc.” he sniffed, flushed with the threat of tears.

Ludwig gave his shoulders a reassuring squeeze before he released him, the tension melting out of the room. “Of course, let’s get back to it, shall we?”

The engineer nodded, turning from him again to regain composure. He pried the goggles up from his eyes just enough to rub the haze from them before returning them to position.

-

Hours bled into a blur, the self-assurance of being able to power through it to the end was starting to crumble. Dell could hardly see straight, neither man had slept since their initial discovery. He’d been the first to give out, going from using the lab bench to prop himself up to sinking entirely onto the cold, concrete floor in a heap. He peeled back his goggles, feeling the grooves across his nose and cheeks from being stuck to his face for so long – no doubt angry red marks by now, he imagined.

The stink of sour bread was getting to him, suffocating, he wanted nothing more than to lay down and let his senses slip away into unconsciousness.

He vacantly stared up at the doctor, who he wasn’t sure was still engaged in their research or just playing with chunks of bread.

Without thinking, he watched the man bring the piece he was holding to his mouth and bit down. He spluttered and spat it back out at once.

“What was the point o’ that?” the engineer snickered.

Ludwig mumbled incoherently, before shrugging, too bleary to come up with a good excuse.

“Surprised you can even tolerate the stuff at this rate, it reeks in here.”

“Ja, well…” the doctor interrupted himself with a groan as he joined the engineer on the floor, joints protesting his descent. “I have smelt a lot worse – try working with corpses and animals for hours on end. Or animal corpses, for that matter.”

Dell shuddered. “No thanks, partner.”

At least Ludwig found his disgust amusing.

It was strange being able to see the other’s face unobscured, the medic had gotten used to thinking of Dell as something vaguely insectoid with those large dark lenses. There were in fact, some pretty impressive red indents on his skin where the googles had been and a tan line to match.

“I jus… need a moment…” he huffed, letting his lids fall closed.

Doctor Ludwig murmured a faint agreement, tucking his own glasses into the pocket of his coat and slumping back against the bench on his side of the laboratory.

“...Doc?”

“Mm?”

“Y’ain’t… scared of disappearin’? Being forgotten?”

“Terrified. But it’s out of my hands.” his lips stayed parted as he chewed it over, consciousness swaying. “I can’t control what I will be remembered for. I can hope that my work will mean something in the face of humanity… that it will not simply be discarded as madness, but I cannot know. At least I can say I never limited myself, that I always… always sought for answers.”

"'S like y' said... if they can't see what it's worth then maybe humanity don't deserve it."

The doctor only hummed in response.

There was something painfully human in his sprawled out form that Dell had never quite seen before, peering out between heavy eyelids. He traced Doctor Ludwig’s sunken cheekbones in his mind, the dark lashes of closed eyes, brow relaxed – neither forming the serious scowl he was used to nor contorted in manic glee, a view clear of the usual thin frames that adorned his nose. He was used to having to peer up at him, with his line of sight only reaching the doctor’s chest.

He wanted to take that image to the ends of the earth, for what time he had left and what consciousness his exhausted mind would allow him.

Glad that the light in the lab was already dim, the engineer shifted to lie down, hissing when his helmet smacked the concrete – he’d forgotten he’d still been wearing it. He fumbled to get it off, not noticing the doctor too shifting to slide out of his coat.

“Here, support your head with this.”

“Huh? Oh, thank ya kindly.” Dell absently took the folded fabric while propped up on his elbows, shimmying to position himself just right.

He also took the opportunity to unfasten his prosthetic to set aside, along with his belt.

“Hey Doc… lemme return the favour.”

Medic squinted.

“I got a pillow y’ can use.” the engineer patted his belly with his remaining hand. “C’mere.”

He didn’t need any further prompting, the taller crawled over and flopped back against him. “Oof, my back is going to hate me for this.” he grumbled. “If you wake first, wake me up too.”

Comfortable wasn’t the right word. Nothing about how the cold floor seeped through the back of his clothes and the skin of his arms was particularly comfortable, even the way the medic rested his weight on his stomach was a little stifling, but he wouldn’t have dared to move.

He could smell the doctor’s scent in the coat tucked under his head, feel the gentle rhythm of his breath, hear the way it stirred in his chest.

“Let’s just stay like this, until the end. Hold me until it’s all over.” Dell wanted to plead.

“Copy that.”

[alexanderflowerbird]

DAY 10

Wahoooo! Today has been a SUPER productive day of writing! I set my goal at 3K and I finished out at a WHOPPING 4207 words! Yippee! Blood Sun Territory has me by the throat in the best way, and I'm so excited to report that while I still have disjointed scenes coming to mind, I have completed the first chapter.

I revealed to my writing group a tragic reveal coming up later in the story and the howling and gnashing of teeth that resulted was so satisfying lol. Being part of a writing group is really gratifying, and honestly? I like these folks and their work so much I'm very tempted to see if they'd like to simply continue writing together after November is over.

Obviously with the holidays coming all of us will end up crawling to our keyboards to get work done, but like... I want to see their projects unfold in real time, and I am enjoying sharing my work with them so much it keeps me motivated to keep working.

The excerpt I have for you today will not be 4000 words lol, but it will be the last parts of the first chapter where Malachi discovers that there's hope in his dream to make things right with Felina and be with his daughter Mercedes in a very touching way. I cried imagining it, so of course he cried too, and it was really cathartic to write all told. I hope you enjoy it! Taglist: @theskeletonprior @thelittlestspider @badscientist @tragedycoded If you'd like to be part of my taglist, please interact with this post

“Well, you’ve got a nice little nest egg to start back up with.” She says, pleased for him, and he looks at her with surprise. 

“How much is there?” He asks, because he can’t remember the exact amount he’d had in the bank account before he was put in prison, but he’s sure it wasn’t anything impressive or substantial when he and Felina were living paycheck to paycheck, pouring every dollar they had into their daughter. He’d honestly have been alright with discovering there was nothing at all in the account, that Felina had emptied out his funds to continue taking care of their daughter without a second thought for him. He’s grateful to find something was left, but a ‘nice little nest egg’ is not the phrase he’d have used for what was left in the account when he’d been sentenced.

“Your account is at one thousand dollars exactly, sir. Not a cent more. Nice and even, don’t see that much, I’ll tell you.” The woman says conversationally. Malachi has to grip the counter, his knees weak. A thousand dollars? He had never had a thousand dollars at one time except right when his checks out come in, and even then, it’d disappear almost over night to pay bills and buy groceries and gas and toys and diapers and all sorts of other necessities. The bank teller looks concerned again, so he speaks quickly. 

“Is there a way to uh… see the transactions in my account?” He asks, because surely there’s some mistake. Maybe he somehow made that money in prison and it was put into the account as soon as he left. That feels impossible too, making thirteen cents an hour at the prison and being expected to use it on anything that wasn’t the bare minimum of belongings. No. There’s no way he has a thousand dollars on his own merits. 

“Sure! Let’s see…” The woman clicks at her keyboard a few times and then moves to get up from her seat. “I’ll be right back with that, and I’ll activate that new card for you while I’m at it. Just a minute Mr. D….Ah, sir.” She says, smiling wider before going away from the window. He feels sick, so he focuses on his breaths and closes his eyes, opening them to scan the area around him and take stock of where he is, what’s near him, what everything looks like, anything to quiet the sudden spiral of panic. He notices in this sharpened effort to remain present that the woman’s name is Leslie, it says so on her name tag, a black tag, with gold embossed letters. She has a pin underneath it proudly reporting that she’s been working for this bank for fifteen years. Leslie was just starting her career here when Mercedes was born. She slides a small pile of papers his way along with a new card which has a print on the cover of evergreen trees rather than the old, solid green. It is fresh and glossy, its edges undented with use, the numbers sharply painted a titanium silver color. He accepts the papers and the card. 

“Is it okay if I go take a look at these for a moment?” He asks, still struggling to breathe. 

“Sure of course. Just come back over here when you’re done and we’ll finish up whatever other business you have, alright?” He nods at Leslie, and can feel her eyes on him as he looks around for a moment before settling on the island near the entrance of the bank where the deposit and withdrawal slips are made available for people to fill out on their own. He places the papers on the shiny wood top and begins reviewing the transactions. She was able to pull from five years back only, but immediately the numbers as they ebb and flow are revealing. Felina’s name is there, again and again and again, money going in and coming out. He flips the page, the next page, the last page. The money has been sitting without disturbance for a little over two years. He goes back to the beginning. She’d emptied the account twice, leaving it empty for no longer than a month before more money was trickling in, twenty dollars here, a hundred fifty dollars there, up and up, then down, then up again… and at some point, two years back… she’d left him a perfect, even thousand, and hadn’t needed to touch it since. He chokes a little, gasping for breath as the letters and Felina’s name obscure in his vision. He covers his eyes with his hand, but the tears aren’t halted by him hiding them away. He trembles, eyes clenched shut, gasping out quiet sobs as he blots the fresh ink of the bank account transcript with tears. He can hear people moving around him, cautious to not disturb this moment they don’t understand, but he can’t think of them. He can’t think of anyone but Felina. 

He hadn’t meant to, but he’d betrayed her. He’d loved her with every part of him that could love her, and she’d deserved more than that. He’d lied to her for so long about who he was, what he wanted, let her find out in the worst way. He’d tried to make their lives better quick and dirty, and cost her an extra hand to raise their daughter. He’d destroyed their life, killed it in its crib thinking he’d jump over years of hard work and get them a house and a nice car and he’d get it all without getting in any trouble. Stupid. Stupid and selfish and utterly unworthy. He doesn’t understand it, why even two years ago she was thinking of him. It reminds him of all the times she grabbed him hard by his arm and forced him into a jacket. How she’d sit on the edge of the tub and wash his hair and rub his shoulders, insist upon it even if he thought baths were too feminine an activity only to be utterly relaxed and comforted by her attention. How she’d cook too much of his favorite foods, and when he’d ask why she made so much, she’d smile at him, beautiful beyond words, and say ‘it’s so you can have your favorite tomorrow, too, stupid.’ 

How she’d loved him, more than he’d ever deserved. Even before he knew he liked men, even before she’d caught him, from the very beginning she’d loved him more than he could ever make up for. A thousand dollars. It’s more than enough to go and find her. Now he must say thank you as well as sorry, and he wants to so badly. If somehow he could close the space in an instant, if he could be where she is right now, he’d fall to his knees to thank her, to tell her how sorry he is, how much he loves her. Despite everything, she must love him too, and he’s terrified to hope for that to be true, but when he takes his hand away from his eyes and wipes away his tears, the numbers are clear again and he cannot deny himself this beckoning offer of redemption. She gave him what he needs to come home. Maybe she didn’t mean it that way, but it’s what he intends to do with it. He wants to go home. She’s home. God help him for ruining it all. She’s home, and he has to go to her and their daughter and say thank you and he’s sorry. 

He tries to pull himself together, but it takes several minutes, the complexity of this silent gesture hitting him in waves. She could’ve left him nothing and she would’ve been right to. Wherever she is, she must be doing well enough not to need this thousand dollars. Each time she emptied it out, she could’ve decided fuck him, and let it be, but she couldn’t go thirty days without trying to put more money back in. When he finally has a hold of himself, he returns to find Leslie terribly concerned, her eyes searching him for understanding. 

“You alright, sir?” She asks gently. 

“Yeah I ah… Yeah. Thank you, Leslie. Can I… Can I take a hundred bucks out in cash, please?” Leslie nods immediately and types a few things into the computer. 

“Twenties alright?” She asks. 

“That’ll be fine ma’am. Oh. Actually ah. I need a roll of quarters, the rest can be bills.” He amends. He still needs a payphone, that’s next on the list and he’s not willing to wait on it until he’s found a hotel for the night. He needs to ride the heart wrenching high of this moment and use it to muster his courage. He is terrified more than ever of what awaits him now. It was one thing, to believe he might find Felina and Mercedes and not have a chance to make things right with them. Now, he feels he has a good chance of trying and he might fuck it all up again. That, he is realizing, is much, much scarier. Leslie produces the bills and puts them in an envelope, setting the roll of quarters on top. When Malachi reaches for them, she reaches into the slot and brushes her fingers against his knuckles, her manicured nails stroking lightly across his skin. 

“Hey,” She says gently, and when he meets her eyes, she smiles at him. “You have the best day, sir. Alright?” He smiles at her, teary all over again, unsure what he’s done to deserve any of this, Felina’s saved money for him, his freedom, this stranger’s unprovoked kindness. 

“Thank you, ma’am. You too.” He says softly, taking the money after turning his hand over to squeeze hers, tucking the envelope into his wallet and the roll of quarters into his pocket. When he leaves the bank, the fresh air outside smells of oncoming rain. He wipes his eyes one more time and breathes deep. He knows what he needs to do next, so he turns and makes his way down the street, on the hunt for a pay phone so he can make a call and hope that some how, the world will continue to bless him with kindness he doesn’t deserve, but he hopes to become worthy of.

[rebeccathenaturalist]

Happy 2024, y'all! It's a sunny day here on the SW Washington coast, and I'm off to a slow, sleepy start after managing to stay up until midnight in spite of myself. I hope you all are having a good start to the shiny new year.

I thought this would a good moment to reflect on the accomplishments of 2023, and look forward to what 2024 might hold.

Last year was, well, a lot of good stuff! Here are a few highlights:

--In addition to keeping my regular roster of online and in-person classes for various community colleges and libraries, I added a few new teaching venues. By far my favorite was the Sitka Center for Art and Ecology, where I had a marvelous time teaching my two-day Nature Identification for the Everyday Naturalist class amid an incredible coastal forest (they're bringing me back this year, too!). I also got to teach in my hometown in Missouri, with a mushroom foraging class at Rolla Public Library and a lichen walk at the Ozark Rivers Audubon Nature Center, both of whom I hope to work with again in the future. And I would be remiss if I didn't mention the series of classes I taught for Wildcraft Studio School in Portland--I'm looking forward to my next round of classes with them for 2024!

--I launched my guided nature tours business, offering ecologically-focused walks and hikes throughout the Pacific Northwest. This was very much a year of "throw things at the wall and see what sticks." Both scheduled hikes and private bookings were successful, though sometimes people thought I only did one or the other, so it was a bit of a challenge getting the word out that nope--I offer both! I'm hoping to expand the scheduled hikes to more locations, since I primarily offered them in the Long Beach, WA area, and I'm hoping to get some private bookings in places I haven't had a chance to explore yet. I do have to say I had a lot of fun taking people out onto some of my favorite trails, as well as some new places, exploring all the amazing flora, fauna, and fungi we met along the way. Here's to more excuses to get outside in 2024!

--With the help of my amazing agent, Jane Dystel of Dystel, Goderich & Bourret LLC, I landed a contract with Ten Speed Press (a division of Penguin Random House) for my book The Everyday Naturalist: How to Identify Animals, Plants, and Fungi Wherever You Go. This is an opportunity well beyond anything I had imagined, and I am super excited for the book to be released in Summer 2025. I've already gotten some excellent editorial feedback to help me make this book the best it can be, and I'm looking forward to this continued journey as I kick off the new year with a big writing session.

--I kept up on my quarterly chapbook schedule, producing four new chapbooks in 2023. It's a lot of work, but people really seem to enjoy them, and I relish the opportunity to dive deeper into topics than I can do in a single article. Speaking of articles, I didn't quite keep up with writing one weekly on my website, but I did alright. And I also kept up a good roster of articles in my Rainy Rambles column for the Coast Weekend paper.

And that's really what I'd love to see in 2024:

--More opportunities to teach and reach new audiences who are interested in learning more about nature identification, foraging, and other natural history topics. Since I do a lot of online teaching, I have plenty of options outside of my local area. And as I make my twice-a-year peregrinations to Missouri, I'm planning to do some teaching along the way.

--More tours, please! 2023 was a really great start, and I had such a great time that I just want to increase the number of days I'm out on the trails with folks. I need to do more promotion, especially outside the Columbia-Pacific region, and really work on getting the word out. Some of that will be online, but there will also be some time spent out in the world, too. It can be a very time-consuming thing, but here's to those efforts paying off.

--I already need to have the manuscript for The Everyday Naturalist turned in this April (I'm going to aim for getting it done early, but we'll see.) A lot of the process beyond that will be out of my hands, other than edits and feedback. Still, this will be another thing that I want to make more people aware of, so you can expect me to keep chatting about book stuff all year. And, of course, I'll keep those article sand chapbooks coming for those of you who can't wait for 2025 to read my work.

--I have some other projects behind the scenes that I'm planning--keep your eyes peeled here for updates! (Or you can join my monthly email newsletter here.)

Wishing you all an excellent 2024!

[durnesque-esque]

How does it feel to be who I wanna be when I grow up for style/vibes huh

Well this is an extremely kind ask! In wholehearted honesty: it feels great!

It's taken me a long time to figure out who I wanted to be and to become confident just being that person. I have been shyer and more self-concious than I think I often appear. But 7 or so years back I kind of settled on an idea of style that I wanted to cultivate for myself: comfy, executive, goth. I wanted easy, low goth style that I could dress up for business needs or nights out or dress down for easy day wear - particularly when a lot of my life was spent outdoors or sweating in trailers.

I have continued to cultivate a wardrobe and style to match that ever since. I don't spend a lot of money on clothes, so I'm really thoughtful about what I buy or make for myself. It's been a slow process of buying a couple pieces at a time and cycling out things that don't fit the vibe.

Anyway, all this to say - it's been a purposeful effort to get where I am, so I really appreciate someone saying it appeals to them, but also very much to encourage you.

If you like my style and want to emulate it, the goal was for it to be easy - because I'm a pretty lazy dresser and I don't like shopping. While I have a few custom pieces I've made for myself or purchased from artists like Sovrin & Lorica (and so many more jewelry folks), most of my actual clothes and a lot of my accessories come from places like Hot Topic, Ross, Forever 21, and H&M.

I also thrift a good bit - reduce impact on the fast fashion industry where you can. I'm still wearing pieces I bought 7 years ago when I first started this effort.

That's the nice thing about picking a style and running with it - you can wear things as long as you love them.

I don't post a lot of pics here, so anyone who's interested in more visuals of what I wear, check either my instagram in general or run straight for the tag: comfyexecutivegoth

Anyway, thanks Anon for your kind compliment of an ask and best of luck with your own style journey! 🖤