#that's a real thing i feel about calling someone 'dear' in an email. i'm so good at being a person you guys.

[sparky-is-spiders]

Heeeey. So. You remember my little Jonstalking accounting office comedy fic? Yes? No? Well I was thinking about how bad I am at writing emails and then I wrote this instead of either of the two really really important emails that I need to write as soon as possible.

Word of warning: this is barely edited. Probably it makes sense if you haven't read the first fic? But maybe it doesn't. Idk. They're in an office. Jon is obsessed w/ Elias to a bizarre and unhealthy degree.

Anyway. Uh. Enjoy?

The thing about emails, Jon thought with great bitterness, was that they required so much unnecessary nonsense. In an ideal world, Jon would be sent a file with a short, no-nonsense explanation of what it was and what he was meant to do with it, which he could then send back without any pointless toff that only served to waste everyone's time. It was degrading. (It also, sort of, made Jon feel as if he was taking a test he had never studied for in a degree everybody else had a PHD in.) Tragically, just about every job on the planet required them on occasion, and also if he didn't complete and submit this particular file by the end of the day, he would probably be penalized. Unable to put it off any longer, he opened Microsoft Outlook with the expression, posture, and exact emotions of a man facing the gallows. The social script for an email, as best as Jon could tell, was as followed:

Standard Greeting. Jon preferred to default to an inoffensive hello. (Elias preferred 'dear,' followed by the name of the employees or departments being contacted. Jon thought it was far more emotional vulnerability than he would be comfortable showing to others.)

Irritating Small Talk. Jon usually skipped this step. (He had tried it exactly three times and each time he had wanted to cut off his fingers. He could just never make it sound natural. Or care about the topic. Elias was overly fond of it, and yet never managed to let anything slip either time Jon tried it with him. (Slick bastard.) (What is he hiding?))

The Subject of the Email (with lengthy explanation and seamless transition attached, of course). Jon had found this part especially challenging, mostly because he couldn't simply attach a file and call it a day. (Elias was (naturally) quite talented in this arena. Jon had dedicated a section of his notebook to copying and analyzing several of his emails, but has gleaned little knowledge of the craft and even less of Elias himself.)

The Conclusion. Jon usually gave up by that point. A simple "regards" was all he had the patience for. (Elias also used "regards" often, but usually also had some segway or conclusion to make it clear that you had reached the end of the message. He also included a long, fancy signature, which was near identical to the signatures Jon had seen in emails from other managers.) It took him just over ten minutes, several aborted attempts at sounding like a human person who was not being held at gunpoint and forced to follow appropriate social rules, and ultimately giving up on writing something acceptable to send it in. Jon allowed himself a few brief moments to bask in the knowledge that the message was sent, and another would not be demanded of him for at least the rest of the day. It was a cold comfort.

[lovingmidnight]

runway angel

summary: in which your dream company reaches out to work with you, as jude supports you in the crowd.

authors note: I know VS stopped its shows a long time ago but this idea popped in my head and I couldn't come up with any other brands 😭 so yeah some shit might be wrong but how the fuck would I know, I've never been offered a job 💀

it was a sunday evening. you were laying on the couch with judes head on your chest and his torso between your legs. you guys spent the whole evening watching Marvel movies that you almost forgot about Monday snooping around the corner. while Judes eyes almost falling asleep, a vibration shook him awake as my phone was resting on his back.

"babe..." he says, shaking awake to tell me about an incoming call while handing me my phone.

he sat straight as he waited me to take the call, worried of why someone would be calling me at such hour, 2 am on a Sunday.

"Hello, miss y/l/n, we're reaching out to offer you a contract for Victoria's Secret. details emailed to your address and sorry for the disturbance. goodnight from the management company dear y/n."

"oh my gosh-" I move the phone away from my face as I gap my mouth open to judes curious face, soon before taking a breath and answering professionally.

"thank you. will be notifying you. goodnight." I say calmly, processing what just happened just before screaming on the top of my lungs

"What?? who was it??"

I cover my mouth in awe, pulling jude in to hug

"you're scaring me y/n- what happened??"

he says with a tone of laughter in his voice, realizing by my voice it was good news.

"VICTORIA'S FUCKING SECRET" I laugh pulling away to see his face.

jude mouthed out "oh shit" as I grabbed him again, almost falling to tears.

"I'm modeling for Victoria fucking secret." I laughed with tears building upon my eyes.

"I'm so proud of you darling" he kissed the top of my head, holding me tight.

"I'm gonna shit myself jude-" I giggle through my cry

"calm down darling" he chuckled before grabbing my shoulders and pulling me in front to get a look on my face

"when is the show? I'll be there no matter the schedules I have" he smiled

"No way!! you will??" I gasped excitedly, knowing how busy his schedule was, it meant a lot that he was willing to make time for me

"mhm." he nodded, kissing my cheek

wed. 21:03. show night.

they began to touch my makeup up, one person curling my hair, another fixing my eyeliner, another one putting on lipstick as the other rubbed body glitter on my arms.

my outfit was truly the most beautiful thing I've ever worn, let alone seen. black lingerie, mesh tights, real diamond necklace with gorgeous black gloves and last but not least, huge black wings.

"you look gorgeous miss. y/l/n." the stylist smiled at me warmly as I walked up to the curtains, waiting for my name to be called.

"next up: miss. y/n y/l/n". the small tv screen lit up as I took a deep breath and walked outside to the stage.

I strut to the stage, smiling with awe and feeling surreal that this was truly happening. I eyed the audience trying to see him, and there he was. standing up in the crowd, clapping as his eyes told something no words could. he looked like a proud mother which made me smile even more. his eyes met mine and it felt like the first time it did, when we were tense and awkward at first, him getting red everytime our eyes locked. now it felt like it was a part of me, to feel welcome in his eyes.

as I glanced over him, I winked which made him smirk and look down.

the fans saw this interaction which caused our names trending on Twitter, and dozens of edits swarming the internet.

[aceofbooks-creative-anthologies]

Reposting because I said so (I brought back the small font, sorry) 🩶

Anyway, here is the beginning of the end for Ace x Chigiri (can you have an end without a start?)

It's been three years since the tear.

Three years of developing an actual friendship. I might even call him my best friend at this point. Lord knows that the girls on my team have started to resent me, which bleeds into my friendships in the classroom. So even if I don't call him my best friend, he's the closest thing I have.

Three years of carefully measuring myself against the Japanese Olympians. Three years of mediocre training that I have to compensate for elsewhere. Three years of biting my tongue about my potential because I don't want to remind him of what he's lost.

Three years of hiding my growing feelings for him. Childhood cooties turned into a pre-teen crush over a boy I knew next to nothing about. Well, besides his shoe size, his height, his stride length, his speed range, his favorite color of shoelaces, his preferred electrolyte mix, the faces he makes when he's breathing hard, the way his heart beats in the jugular vein when I out pace him..... Those childish fancies blossomed into real romantic yearnings and aspirations. But I'd never act on them.

And now we tell each other everything. Well not everything. I don't tell him about the doodles of our names in a heart. Or that the girls at school make fun of me for my "girlfriend" whenever they happen to catch a glimpse of my camera roll. I don't tell him that I don't tell them the truth because I want to keep him all to myself. If he met any of the girls on my team or in my class, he'd want to—

The news comes over text message:

Red: i've been invited to trial for an exclusive soccer program Red: can i call you? Red: actually can we meet up? Red: i want Red: no i NEED Red: to talk with you about this in person

He's never asked to meet up outside of our time at the park before.

Blue: yeah sure Blue: when?

My phone pings, an alert to a high priority email. I clear it from the activity log.

Red: now? Red: i know it's before dinner Red: so i'll see you in a couple hours Red: but

The blinking ellipses taunt me as he types and erases his message over and over again. They settle as his message finally comes through.

Red: please? Red: *GIF of Puss in Boots pleading*

Blue: fine Blue: omw

Down the stairs and into the front hall. "Hey mum?" I call over my shoulder as I lace up my running shoes. They're looking pretty beat up, will probably only get a couple more meets out of them at this rate—if I'm okay with running without any soles. Maybe I should ask for an advance for my New Year's money from Gramma.

"Yes dear?" Comes my mother's call from inside the kitchen.

"I'm going out to meet up with Red for a bit. I should be back in time for dinner."

"That's odd. You'll just see him after dinner." I can almost hear the furrow in her brow.

"He got some important news earlier. Wants someone to talk to about it."

"He can't talk to his parents?"

I'm halfway out the door as I call back, "I don't know, mum. But this will probably be the first and last time, yeah? Love you." Her response is muffled by the door as it latches into place behind me, but there's a ninety-five percent chance it was about my homework, which is finished anyway.

After a few static stretches in the yard, I take off down the street at a (relatively) slower pace of eight min/km. I don't need to run at my training or race pace when I know he's going to take longer, even though he lives considerably closer.

Unless he's already there and was just hoping that I would agree to show up.

With each stride, I can feel the pavement pounding its way through my shoes. Thump, thump, thump. Doesn't quite match my heart rate yet, but it'll get there. There's a trill from my watch, noting the sudden spike in my heart rate and decrease in my oxygen levels. But no threshold alerts, so I'm all set to keep going.

The high priority email vibrates in my pocket four times before I reach the park.

Deep breaths. In through the nose. Count to five. Out through the mouth. Count to seven. In. Count to five. Out. Count to....

Hands over head. Keep the chest open.

It's like my trainer is in my head. I can almost see his mustache ruffle as he breathes, muttering about how I'm training too hard.

Dynamic stretches to keep the blood from pooling.

Five minutes into my cool down, and he still hasn't arrived. I check my phone, hoping that I don't see a text from him saying that he fell twenty minutes ago.

Nothing from Red, but there is that pesky high priority email. Might as well check it while I wait for him.

From: The Japanese Olympic Athletics Team

To: kyori.ace@joshi-kou.edu

Dear Miss Ace Kyori,

We are pleased to notify you of our interest in your performance at your recent meets and at our informal training camp last month.

Pending the status of your next few meets, we'd like to extend an invitation for you to compete at our —

"Hey Blue!" I almost drop my phone at the sound of his voice behind me. And then I do drop my phone as I turn around, because I've never seen him not wearing athletic gear. I mean, we've sent a couple of silly selfies at like school or whatever, but this is genuine casual clothing in person. It's just a navy sweater and jeans, but it's still so out of the normal that my heart and brain stutter for a second.

I can feel my face heating up as he reaches down and grabs my phone for me because I haven't moved. "I hope I didn't keep you waiting long." The smile on his face seems somber, like something has made him upset in the almost hour since we last spoke.

"Only an eternity." I sigh dramatically, using an old joke to try and lift his mood. He had good news earlier, and I have some now too! We should be celebrating.

"Right, sorry that me and my handicap—" I wait quietly for him to finish his line in this exchange, a script that we've used hundreds, if not thousands, of times at this point. He lets out a breath after a moment and then, "Sorry. I'm not really in the headspace to joke about it right now."

"Oh. That's fine! Do you want to go for a walk or—"

"No, this shouldn't take long. We can just stay out here."

"Right."

Minutes start to tick by as he wrings his hands and stares at his feet.

"Look, Red. I told my mom that—"

"Right, sorry." He's running a hand through his hair now, trying to pin it back so it's out of his face. I silently offer him my spare hair elastic, but he waves me off with his other hand before letting the first hand, and by extension his hair, fall. It shrouds his face in a way that I know he despises, but I resist the urge to step in closer and brush it away. He takes one, two, three deep breaths......

[chronically-enthusiastic]

Hello there, thanks for stumbling across my blog!

(Here's a lil comic I made for a school assignment)

Artblog: @chronicallyartistic

Audio drama blog: @chronically-listeningtopodcasts

I'm going to start putting my social energy levels in my bio... There's a lot of stuff I want to respond to but i currently dont have the energy to do so, and so if I don't respond within like a day, check my bio and see that...

Who am I / Where else can you find me?

First of all, feel free to call me Eli!! I'm on the waiting list for an autism diagnosis. I am agender and aroace-spec.

I am verrryyy enthusiastic about the things I am interested in (hence the URL hehehe). And currently, those are: podcasts (theres a list at the bottom of the post), good omens, ofmd, bbc merlin, star trek!!!!, lotr, and probably more things that I am too tired to think of right now!

I use the queue! Im not awake at the ungodly hours i sometimes am seen posting at, I just dont want to utterly flood peoples dashes! I do reblog fandom stuff and things ive added anything to immediately, so if you see a few posts in short succession, im online!

I am a very big fan of the oxford comma and double brackets. Semicolons are pretty cool too. And ellipses are incredible.

i love all of my mutuals dearly!! Making cookies and hot chocolate for you all <33

I try to use tone tags as much as possible!

Boundaries:

Things I am okay with sharing/doing:

My age, gender/sexuality, things about my guinea pigs!!, and most other things

Things I am not okay with sharing/doing:

The city I live in, pictures of me/anyone I know, my full name, my birthdate, my phone number/email address, meeting up with people irl, sending/receiving money/gifts, dms (<- though if we're mutuals and interacted a lot dms are fine!!)

^ this applies to everyone im not in the discord with

I will let someone know if they cross boundaries, and *really* would like other people to let me know if I cross theirs!!

DNI: people who are here to spread hate and anger. Just, stay away. I dont engage in discourse. I know DNIs dont deterr these people, but this is a demonstration of my core values :)

Tags:

(At the top cause otherwise it will get lost) ALSO #tw body horror

I block quite a few tags but most notably #tw war and other ones to do with the war in israel/palestine. This is not because I don't care. I care so so so much about what is happening and I cry every time I see a post about it. It breaks my heart that such horrible things are happening. However, I really struggle with high empathy, and seeing a post about it can really affect me for a while, and I need tumblr to be a safe space away from the real world problems. If I follow you - please could you tag things to do with war. Thank you <3

Updated to clarify - I do block the generic tags such as Israel and Gaza, which most of the posts are tagged with by the op, so if you forget its no big deal!!

A list of all the podcasts I listen to because y'know, its fun:

Fiction:

The Amelia Project

Wooden Overcoats

The Adventure Zone

Sherlock & Co

Alba Salix

Unseen

And a whole lot more that i no longer listen to either because they havent updated or they are a little too creepy (Welcome to Night Vale falls into the latter category)

Science:

The Sci Guys

Lets Learn Everything

Lingthusiasm

A podcast of unnecessary detail.

Comedy/other:

Dear Hank and John

The Unmade Podcast

Books Unbound

Lateral

A book list of recommendations from mutuals for my own use:

abigail by Magda Szasbo (@mack-anthology-mp3)

The Alphabet of Candice Phee (@jamie-dinow)

A list of music reccomendations from mutuals:

in the lap of the gods revisited by queen, why can't i be you by the cure, pyramid song, and lucky & the tourist by radiohead, when the sun hits by slowdive, dancing barefoot by patti smith, tangerine by led zeppelin, autumn sweater by yo la tengo, rubber ring by the smiths, water by pj harvey (from @/mack-anthology-mp3)

imi hendrix’s all along the watchtower (from @/catholickedd)

[icedmetaltea]

Lil update, today is a lot better (just journal ramblings, gonna delete yesterday's nonsense cause I'm gonna guess sleep deprived Metal rambled a lot)

OK FINALLY GOT A SOLID 8 HOURS OF SLEEP, it's raining today so no more damned housework thank FUCK

Emailed the supervisor of the therapist last night (cause she said I could if things got bad and they may be able to get a substitute to talk with me this week) and he was nice enough to get me in for a talk today, just being able to talk through stuff with someone helped a whole lot ;- ;

Found the form I need the doctor to fill out (was buried under tons of letters), confirmed it was the one I need, called doc office to confirm someone else can take the form to be filled on my behalf (or SHOULD, unless they're also wrong) so my sister should be able to bring it over for me bc again I can't go anywhere in car atm

I think it's kinda funny cause lately things have been so bad I've literally been fighting with my imaginary friend. We haven't done that since like highschool!!! Do you even know how stupid it feels to have a screaming match in your head with someone who isn't even real?? Dear lord. But yea we're doing a lot better now thank fuck cause do u even know how jarring it is to have an imaginary friend give u the cold shoulder, like damn even the person you made up won't speak to u. Kinda is important when u depend on said person to take care of things like dissociation when anxiety gets bad

Today is a lot more "lucky" according to OCD brain so I'll savor it while it lasts (OCD brain also wants me to believe the nail polish I wore yesterday made the day go so badly and like... honestly tempted to toss the bottle out after all that shit, I was literally taking the polish off as fast as I could while on the phone realizing the telehealth appointment wasn't gonna be a thing)

Think I may have some kind of nut allergy cause I did notice last night I got that awful lump-in-throat strangle-y feeling in my throat after eating an energy bar with nuts and I had that panic attack on Tuesday after eating nuts. Maybe it's a very mild one??? But then how would I just not notice till now. I've eaten energy bars and had peanut butter sandwiches many many times and never noticed it. But at the same time it's worth a try to see if it prevents the choking feeling, who knows

On the bright side of things, was able to do a lot of drawing for the game! Almost entirely Jack stuff cause I wanna focus on one character at a time 1. so I don't overwhelm myself 2. so I can help idk make them more fleshed out as I'm able to put my all into just one for a while

Gonna play more Anchorhead and maybe read some more moby dick + 20,000 leagues :> (I'm like 40% through 20,000 leagues which makes me sad already... I just wanna read 200 books where it's just nerdy old scientists gushing about marine biology)

[girlwithherheadinthestars]

ok if this post was any indication i had the hell of a long class yesterday morning and a lot of things happened that i just kinda need to get off my chest in some way so welcome to the brand new series....

i talk about being in a friend group of burnt out gifted kids being parented by our teacher because dear god it needs to be made into a 12 season TV show

ok so for context this is a very difficult class and you get selected for it at the end of your sophomore year based on your grades, teacher recommendation, standardized testing, whatever. it lasts for two years, junior year and senior year. we're currently at 10 students after some people dropped at the end of the first year and one person joined. our teacher is this saint of a man who's literally like our dad i could go on for hours about how amazing of a person he is.

for ✨ obvious reasons ✨ i'm not using anyone's real name.

as you can probably guess the academic rival guy (person b for those of you who read my academic rival prompts) who i keep ranting about is in this class. we've recently had a fight. i will not be speaking favorably about him. i will be calling him Red. person c from those same prompts is just as much of a pain in the ass irl. she and i have a lot of beef and i will be calling her Mirror. more names will be given as is required.

there isn't that much i can say about that particular session yesterday because it's too specific and someone's going to find out what i mean very easily. but something really hit me -- mr. teacher dad is the one who does placement for this class.

for context, he and i were hanging out before class as we usually do and he was telling me he needed to figure out the placement for this class for next year's group because they needed to send out The Emails.

i know what The Emails are, i got one. i'd say about 7/10 people in our class did. those are what tell you if you got in or not. if you don't get in you're allowed to appeal and take a test and based on that they let you in (if you even have the guts to say you want to take the test you get in tbh it's so easy to pass but whatever this is just me hating on Mirror because she got rejected then took the test and got in).

but the point. he chose who got in. he chose us. the fact that he looked at my profile and decided i was good enough is just -- damn. keep in mind this man is my idol. it's like a taylor swift fan being told they're a good singer BY TAYLOR SWIFT HERSELF.

it also made me think about the one person who joined -- she's really sweet, we're friends. but at the end of last year about five people went to see mr. teacher dad to ask him to join and he said no to each and every one saying there was no way they could make up for the material they missed. her, however, he let her join as long as she made up the material over the summer. she did.

it makes me think. he chose us -- and not just because we're smart. he saw something in us that made him put us in his class.

i'm dying to know what. but whenever we're all together, i feel it. we have a dynamic. we're a family. we have everything and nothing in common.

and he saw it.

it's genuinely beautiful.

[thegeekyartist]

hellooo 💌 for the fic ask meme: 💖🧠🏅📥🍰

Hello, friend!!! 💖💖💖

💖 What do you like most about your own writing?

I think I do a pretty good job with dialogue and humor. I like writing things that make me laugh, and when I get a comment from someone saying they laughed at that same particular thing, I feel like I won the damn lottery.

🧠 What’s an idea you have that you can’t quite call a WIP yet?

I keep playing around with this idea of a pre-s4 Cyrano de Bergerac AU, where Gail enlists Guillermo's help to write love letters to Nandor because she knows she's on thin ice with him after the botched proposal. It's chaos bordering on crack, but knowing me I'd make it way too sincere lol. I think it would be a super fun read, if I could ever start typing words for it.

🏅 What is something you recently felt proud of in regard to your writing (finished a fic, actually planned for once, etc).

Sometimes I look at the BEHEMOTH of a fic that is Big Bloody Bake-Off and I can't believe I wrote essentially 10k each week to keep up with a weekly posting schedule. Someday I'll go into it and fix any egregious errors, but the fact that it's done and 99.9% readable is astounding to me. (EXTREME shoutout to @sketchysketchin for being my muse/cheerleader for that one).

In general, though, just looking at my fics and seeing the improvement makes me feel a nice bit of pride. I never wrote ANYTHING prior to a year-ish ago when I started writing fic, so to have people that WANT to read my work and that LIKE it, while I'm still very much figuring out what the hell I'm doing, feels amazing.

📥 What is your fave fic to receive comments/messages on?

Truthfully, I'm RUNNING to my inbox every time I get an ao3 email, but I especially love getting comments on the longer fics, when someone is trying to guess what happens next or rant about something that happened in the chapter - something that shows they're really engaged in the story and excited to move on but HAD to say something about it first.

(That being said, though, Dear Friend has a special place in my heart and I always get super warm fuzzies when I get a new comment on that one)

🍰 Name one of your fave comfort fics (doesn’t have to be your all time fave).

Well, as I've already gushed, yours of course. Lately I've really enjoyed tucking into a good AU. Another fun one in the wwdits fandom is Bittersweet and Strange by Jay Auris (which I read on Christmas last year and might do again).

I also just finished What We Make of It for Good Omens, which I have a feeling will definitely be a comfort fic for me. It's MASSIVE and so fun and fluffy but has very real discussions/gripes on the US medical system bs and the US educational system, which - as an educator that thankfully exists in the outskirts of it but has to deal with the consequences - I just resonated with so hard. There were parts when Aziraphale was just incensed about how awful the public school system treats students and how things like standardized testing and education software kills children's desire to learn - and refuses to accommodate the individual's needs - that had me pumping my fists.

[themollyzone]

for alan

My friend Alan died about a month ago. He was one of the first friends my then-boyfriend Chris ever introduced me to. I was coming from my friend's apartment in Manhattan and I met Chris, Alan and their other friend Matthew at Beauty Bar in Park Slope. It was a freezing winter, the first one I remember really disseminating the term "polar vortex," and I remember I was wearing snow boots and a big lumpy sweater. Not exactly dressed to impress, but I needn't have been worried about impressing anyone. The conversation flowed easily, and I felt included. I remember thinking, "Wow, Chris has such smart and funny friends." Alan was witty and warm. I was charmed by him immediately. Now Beauty Bar is closed, Chris is my husband, Matthew is my dear friend, and Alan is gone. I'm not sure if I've ever felt so old. There are stamps on the narrative that won't wash off now. It's a moment like this when the outer layer of the universe gets peeled back and you see the grinding gears of loss underneath, powering everything in secret the whole time. Soon after I started dating Chris, Alan moved back to California, where he grew up. We saw each other over the years in New York and in LA, and stayed in touch on Twitter. In some ways, I feel like I knew him better online than off — his writing was where I felt like I really was able to understand him fully. He was a writer and a poet. He had a Substack called Take Surface Streets where he'd write about Los Angeles culture and history through the city's geography. He had the sharpest mind and the most unique way of describing things. Chris was saying how it's wild that people might not even know how influential he was. Secretly influential — that's the power of Alan. He's the reason you all use the term "softboy," and the reason brands try and mostly fail to be funny on social media. He was down with the sacred and the profane: he could bust out the most gorgeous prose about some heady and romantic scenario, and then you'd remember his handle was @iluvbutts247.

He cared about people. He cared about people who everyone else had left behind. He fought for those people, literally. There's no other way to describe it: he was one of one. Like, look at this tweet. He just tweeted this out one night:

We had just been emailing about a project of his. He had been publishing these great little pamphlet zines — one of them made it with me from LA to NYC and back here in a box of books, thank god — and he was going to publish a new one, and asked if I wanted to write about music for it. I responded enthusiastically: yes! Actually I just looked at the email and I wrote "YES!!!" That someone like Alan found my words worth printing on real paper...it made my whole week, honestly. I was going to sit down and bang out out the piece the night I found out he had passed. I was going to write a few short blurbs about different local musicians who I had been randomly meeting out and about, because I thought he'd like that: people meeting people, in person, in Los Angeles, city of dreams, musical and otherwise.

It's weird that I feel like I owe him some copy. I thought about writing what I would have written for his zine, but I didn't want the musicians I'd write about getting unwittingly tied up in grief for someone they didn't know. I thought the best thing to do would be to take surface streets, as his newsletter suggested, so I went on a walk from Highland Park over to Glassell Park. For walking music, I first played Elliott Smith, who he wrote about in his newsletter — songs from Figure 8, the first record he made after moving to Los Angeles and the last record that came out when he was alive. Elliott Smith has always been a favorite of mine because he's totally unstuck from time. He'd already been dead for a year by the time I got my hands on XO my freshman year of high school, and his music sounded like it could have been made at any point in time in the past couple of decades. The arrangement on "Junk Bond Trader" is still one of the coolest things I've ever heard, with its layers of sound gracefully bowing to each other before getting out of the way.

Then I thought I'd be silly and play early Red Hot Chili Peppers, enjoying the juvenile funk of some Cali dirtbags with jester's privilege. It's funny how "Los Angeles music" can mean so many different things. Walter Becker from Steely Dan said that LA had a "laboratory-like sterile atmosphere to work in" — spoken like someone who has spent a lot of time riding around in a car, the ultimate sterile atmosphere. Dry AC, carefully calibrated stereo. Once you start walking, you start catching the real vibe of a place. Alan knew that and he celebrated it.

"Out In L.A" banging in my headphones, I turned around at the Glassell Park recreation center, where teenage boys were running dusty laps, and the pool was subdivided into lanes and sparkled sapphire, looking almost drinkable. I admired the Glassellland sign, a new sight to me. When I went home I looked up its origins: an artist named Justin put up the sign three times without permission, and after three teardowns, it finally stuck, with the help of a little local politicking that shepherded its status from "vandalism" to "public art." Ain't that just the way, I thought, smoking an imaginary cigarette.

It was hot, 85 degrees, with perfunctory sunshine curated by the "Visit California" tourism organization. Cold in New York, hot in LA. We were going to hang out when he came back to the city. "cannot wait for you to return and show us ur fave sights" was what I had emailed him. I'm honestly just lucky that he left a paper trail, and now I can follow it on my own.

When someone dies, especially someone young, you often hear some version of the sentiment of "I wish I had told them I loved them more," or "I wish I had told them what they meant to me." I understand this feeling, of course. It is only natural to want to go back in time and express your adoration to someone who's no longer here, and one of life's silliest jokes on human beings is the essential impossibility of communicating the entirety of your emotions to others: saying exactly what you mean, hoping they precisely understand.

And I can even look at our tweet history and see the times when I did tell him I cared about him, which is a strange gift of modernity: receipts. The nuance and near-misses and unsaid stuff, though — that's the friction that keeps everything humming. That's where the poetry is, painful as it may be. And I believe that when you think of someone after they've left this earth, they can feel it, wherever they are. And I believe that just thinking of them and remembering them will honor them, and will let them know, on some kind of quantum, cosmic-dust level, what you didn't say enough when they were alive. I believe that, because I simply have to. Alan, I'm going to remember you forever, I'm going to be reminded of you forever, I'm going to tell everyone I know about how cool you were for the rest of my life. Every time I see someone post about how sad they are that you are gone, it makes me sad but it makes me happy too, because that's another person on my team: Team Alan. Another person who gets it. I hope you are resting easy now.

To close out, I'm reprinting a bit of a post he wrote on Take Surface Streets back in February of this year about addiction, and deaths by overdose. It seems right to repeat what he wrote as I'm writing about his own passing, and if you read this, I hope you take his words with you — like everything else he wrote, they are true, and they are on fire.

When we lose a brother or sister in this community it is so often silent and secret. The cause of death isn’t mentioned right away, not in the news or the Instagram post captions. There is an ask of respect for the family’s grief. Of course! And then later we find out. Like it was some dark shame that should be hidden and snuffed out from community knowledge. But part of harm reduction is destigmatization. Not bullshit platitudes like “check in on your friends,” but screaming out loud: if you are a drug user, if you are shutting down your depression with opiates or anything else, I will help you. I will accept you and love you. Carry Narcan and carry hope. I don’t mean to sound like a sappy son-of-a-bitch, but we will hold each other when no one else will. The silence we seek in quieting our awful thoughts is the only silence that should be struck out when one of us dies. None of us are alone—and the culture of cutting out this part of our lives abandons those in need.

I won't be a party to it.

[beeseverywhen]

So I've got a gender neutral 1st name and it always winds me up because everyone assumes I'm a man (funnily enough my dad also has a gender neutral name and has the opposite problem. When we're together and have booked something in our names, ppl always mix them up lol)

Every email gets a Mr. And they start referring to me as he. When my names called for anything and I step forward they are like oh no I'm looking for x not you dear. When I answer the door ppl get this weird look on their face and always double check the name they've been given even when I'm like yep! that's me. It's always really annoyed me. It was always a thing in school.

When I worked in an office taking calls nobody would accept my name the first time they heard it. They'd either call me by a different more feminine name, ask me to repeat myself or be like I thought you said...X and laugh and I'd be like. I did. Its always annoyed me because its so unnecessary. You don't need to guess someone's gender. You don't need to tell them they've got a man's name. Not to mention, I know they'd do the exact same thing if I was a bloke. Because it's 100% a unisex name.

Most ppl I speak to with a gender neutral name tell me this, its definitely not just me and my reaction (politely correcting them) is one of the more measured ones I've come across. Some ppl will start shouting lol which while I understand their frustration, is unnecessary. People should try not to assume, but let's be real, they didn't choose to be someone who's inconsiderate in that way, it's socialisation. (Which frankly, I do think we should try and address more at large cause unisex names are great when people remember they are unisex! It's a tool against sexism with cvs and emails and stuff. It means it's less of a problem if your kid isn't the gender you thought they were, as long as they like their name they save a bit of money they would have spent legally changing it on everything. Unisex names make sense! There's a logic there.)

Anyway the point to all of this is. I've always been frustrated by the feminine versions of stuff. Most of them were added later (man used to just mean human), and they largely mean something completely different. Queen does not have the same connotations as King ok. What's that post where the op is like the only time I want to be a man is when the guy selling me a kebab calls everyone but me brother? I get it!!! I really get it!! I've always spent a lot of time with men and I'm irrationally jealous of all my friends being 'brother' and 'mate' to each other when ppl awkwardly call me by some feminine alternative that barely means the same thing.

So in recent years I've decided to lean in to it. Something i only feel is possible, largely because in recent years I'm so much more comfortable with my gender. It always felt like something that had been imposed on me. I didn't want to be a man but I was so jealous.  I didn't really want to be a woman either, if society was right about what being a woman meant. But I know now that's not what being a woman is at all. I've spoken about this before but I feel I owe the trans community a great debt, because it was in hearing their stories and hearing about what gender meant to them, that I really began to see that it was possible to love being a woman! Trans women showed me that there's a joy to be found in expressing my gender. It's not imposed on me, I'm choosing to express the parts of femininity that matter to me. I'd support trans rights anyway because they are people and deserve to be treated well as they express their own body autonomy, just like anyone else. But I'm passionate about the messages underlying their community (those of self love and seeking happiness. Loving your gender and being free to express it) because I know they are right!! I feel like I need to keep telling people because honestly, I feel like trans women have given me a gift, in showing me what it is to be proud to be a woman. I'm proud to share my gender with women like that.

If I want to refer to myself as a guy, or a dude, and say I feel like a king for winning something, and let my friends call me brother too; well I'm free to do so, if I feel those terms are gender neutral when I use them to refer to myself then they are. That can't make me any less of a woman because thanks to the influence of trans women I've finally embraced being a woman. I love my gender, I love being a woman and if I want to be a woman who's using gender neutral terms of address, then I can be. I'm no less a woman than any women who want to use the terms I'm personally uncomfortable with. Loving who you are and loving your gender is about keeping the parts of that gender expression that make you happy and leaving the rest for the people that do want them.

Anyway. This post is brought to you by me seeing the humour in the fact that because I now use guy and dude to refer to myself, and do so in settings online where nobody even knows my name, I'm now optionally letting people assume I'm a man without them even seeing my name. Which is pretty funny tbh considering I've spent my whole life being mad about ppl assuming I'm a man when they see my name in an email and trying to avoid it. So yeah, gender neutral names, I'm a fan all round.

[cherry-gemz]

Open Book: Part I

Summary: As the Assistant Librarian for a small town in Florida, you find yourself intrigued with an extraordinary little girl and her charming uncle. As each day goes by, you teach the girl about adventure and mystery with your love of books. Little do you know what's in store for you next.

Pairings: Y/N and Frank Adler

Rating: PG, all fluff

Word count: IDK, failed at the assignment 2k+ lol. So I split the fic.

Challenge Prompt: Write a story about someone trying to find the perfect birthday gift.

A/N: Happiest of birthdays dear @a-little-counter-esperanto. You are the bees knees and really a true gem! I'm so happy we've become friends - we have so many things in common it's cray. I'm wishing you all the love and happiness, sunshine! May you continue to have a fantastic birthday sleepover and enjoy being loved by all! Hope you enjoy the fic xx - Cherry

"Did you get the flowers?" Mary asked as she sat on the couch flipping through the tv.

Frank patted his chest and then his jeans in search of his keys.

"What?"

Mary kept changing the channels without a beat,"Frank. You're supposed to buy a girl flowers on the date."

Frank furrowed his brow, "Uh...no. Have you seen my keys? Really?"

Mary rolled her eyes, "She's not gonna kiss you goodnight."

He searched on the kitchen table and rummaged through old mail when a knock at the door interrupted his concentration. As he bee-lined to the door, Mary turned off the tv and hopped off the couch to grab her latest book she'd chiseled her way through for the week.

Frank swung the door open abruptly and started you as you stood at their doorstep.

"Hey! You made it, great!" Frank exclaimed. "Sorry, my head's a mess."

Mary now situated herself at the kitchen table and shouted over her shoulder, "It's because he hasn't been on a real date in over six months."

Frank turned red," What? No...I mean yes, but jeez, Mary. Remember we talked about how to read a room?"

He turned back to you, "Come in, come in. I'm just trying to find my keys."

You chuckled and nodded to the doorknob which held his set of keys and he smacked his forehead.

As you walked into the house, you noticed little knickknacks here and there on shelves. And books. Mountains of books everywhere. Piling on top of each other.

"Hi Mary," you smiled as she kept her back to you, nose deep in her book.

"Mary…" Frank scolded as he put his hands on his hips.

"Hi, Ms. Y/N."

You smiled as you approached her, "May I sit?"

She nodded in agreement and you pulled out a chair.

"I brought you something…" you say as you rummage through your canvas bag for your book on crabs. "Well, actually I was hoping you could help me...see…"

Frank smiled as he saw the two of you bonding. He caught himself admiring you more than he'd like to admit as he needed to head off to his date soon. He appreciated your assistance with babysitting Mary as the two of you first met at the local library. His date, Justine, was a waitress at the bar he would visit from time to time. While there was a chemistry between them, it was really just through vanity. With you, he had come to know you at a deeper level: the way you’d squint or furrow your brow when reviewing your clipboard. Or how adorable you’d look chewing on the cap of your pen when trying to finalize an email at your desk. He saw that you loved the color yellow, considering how many skirts and cardigans you’d paired together. And that you were a romantic at heart - the classics were your fave to read and how’d you get lost in historical facts when he had first asked you what your hobbies were. Seeing how a beautiful person you were, inside and out, he now regretted asking Justine out with you on his mind.

Mary's eyes scanned the books of quantum physics and mathematics. At first you thought perhaps she had another book instead, but as you watched her day in and day out, you were astounded at the tiny prodigy and her ability to ascertain such knowledge at her age. You'd correct the cataloging errors for the day and find her reading for enjoyment it seemed.

Then one day Frank arrived. Mary had always left on her own, but as if it were any old regular day, the handsome uncle came to retrieve his stellar niece. He had a warmness to him. His dark brown hair and beard complemented his face, one that was obvious in an overall attractiveness. And he was kind, he showed that by adopting his niece after her mother had passed away and truly nurturing her gifted talent. You learned he fixed boats for a living and lived not too far from the library. You smiled at the odd pair together, they somehow seemed to work however.

As you checked their books out, Mary tiptoed over the large walnut desk and glanced at you.

"You're pretty," she stated.

"Mary. What did we say?" Frank tsked, embarrassed, but didn't disagree with her observation.

"What? Frank, you told me that I need to state facts, rather than assumptions. And I am stating a fact that Ms. Y/LN is pretty. Do you think she's pretty, Frank?"

Frank coughed into his fist and blushed, you smirked, half wanting to know his answer, half laughing inside of how Mary was so blunt.

"Yes, Ms. Y/LN is very pretty," he replied and gazed at your eyes. He licked his lips and you had to turn away feeling flushed. You closed the last book and placed it in Mary's backpack.

"All set," you replied. "These are due on the 23rd."

Frank zipped up the backpack and slung it over his broad shoulder. "Thanks, we'll see you tomorrow."

"Oh?" You replied as Mary looked at you both attempting to assess the flirtation occuring before her eyes.

"Well, yeah, she loves it here, I mean. And we have a few other books to return."

"Yes, we'll see you tomorrow. Bye, Mary."

"Bye," Mary replied and skipped off.

Frank showed up every day after that. You found it endearing, but not wanting to read into something that wasn't there, you focused your attention on Mary. That only seemed to peak his interest further. While he had a knack for attracting women, his heart was never in it for the long haul since the minute they found out about Mary, they'd either run away from the possible responsibility, or Mary would run them off herself. But with you it was different. You were genuine and kind to Mary. Knowing quite well of her mathematical abilities, you would challenge her in other areas: art, zoology, history. You found that while she could read more college level books than any person you met in the small town, she still was a child wanting to learn about all other aspects of life. You'd sit together at a table: you, reviewing inventory spreadsheets for the latest book fair and her, immersed in some book that would put you to sleep at night.

"Frank, you should ask Ms. Y/LN out," Mary stated one day as the three of you sat at a table together. Frank practically choked and you shook your head, secretly wanting to say yes.

"Aw, Mary. Well, I bet Ms. Y/LN has guys lined up at her door every night."

"No, she doesn't," Mary replied as she turned a page of her book. Frank laughed and placed his hand on Mary's shoulder, pretending to shake her.

"Well, actually Ms. Y/LN…" he said as your heart skipped a beat.

"Y/N," you interrupted. "You can call me Y/N. I feel we're on a first name basis now considering you're here everyday."

“Y/N,” he smiled. His hair was more combed today. You had noticed that he seemed to be disheveled when you first met him, however either Mary’s tactics were rubbing off on him, or it was your pure imagination.

“Yes?” you piped. You haven't been regularly dating lately. There just weren’t many prospects these days. Not ones that could keep up with conversation, let alone intellect. So instead, you found yourself immersed with your favorite fictional characters in the sea of books you’d grown to know and love.

His brow furrowed, he seemed nervous and he picked at the edge of a book as he attempted to gather his thoughts.

“Do you have a favorite book?” Mary interrupted as Frank turned to her, but seemingly glad she saved him from embarrassment.

“Do I have a favorite book? Hmmm...” you thought and a childish smile appeared on your face. “I have many favorite books, Mary...The Velveteen Rabbit, The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe…”

“Yeah, but what’s like your most favorite book?”

You extended your hand out to her and she willingly accepted. Frank perked up his interest as he watched the two of you scamper off into the fiction area. Curious, he stood up and decided to follow. The two of you giggled quietly as you made your way around the columns, your free hand lightly ghosting over the spines of the books. The subtle scent of paper and dust permeated Frank’s sense of smell. He was more of an outdoorsy person nowadays as he had left behind his scholarly days teaching in Boston. It’s where Mary learned most from, his appetite to keep learning, vernacular, and wit . You slowed down and perused a row until you found your favorite book.

“Aha!” you exclaim and hid the book behind your back as Mary jumped up and down with excitement. “Now, I’m not sure if this is something you’d be interested in, it’s more for ten year olds in my opinion. However, I know you’re a very mature young lady and I find that you’d quite enjoy the story if you give it a chance.”

Frank smiled, perplexed as to what book could possibly be your favorite. You pulled the book from behind and showed Mary.

“Little Women,” she stated. “By Louisa May Alcott.”

“Yes. It’s a beautiful story, really. About sisters and the trials they endure during the American Civil War. There’s friendship, love, and growth.”

Mary bunched her nose, you could tell she was on the fence about whether she’d enjoy a story about fictional sisters and yucky love stuff. You started to pull it away, however she grabbed it from your hands. You laughed and looked at Frank who leaned onto the columns and folded his arms.

“Seems someone is wanting to expand their horizons,” he chuckled.

“So it seems,” you smiled back as Mary skipped off to return to the table leaving the two of you behind.

“I’m more of a Lord of the Rings man myself.”

“Really?” you responded playfully. “The Hobbit included, right?”

“Of course,” he scoffed. “I think I actually just read that one to be honest, I just wanted to impress you. I spent my time reading Calvin and Hobbes more, probably how Mary learned my sarcasm.”

You laugh and touch his forearm as a reflex, but quickly realize and pull away. The spark that you felt when you connected was undeniable. You felt butterflies with him standing next to you and you hoped he hadn’t noticed your inability to remain calm.

“Y/N…” he started to say nervously. “Would it be alright if I called ya? Maybe we can get together sometime?”

“Oh, umm,” you replied, caught off guard. While you definitely had caught feelings for the handsome man, you never would have thought it’d be reciprocated. You stuttered, trying to gather your response.

Your hesitation threw him off, and he quickly replied, “I mean...like to sit for Mary or whatever. She really likes you.”

“Of course...yes,” you reply defeated in hopes that he would have asked you out. Instead of asking why he didn’t, you started to walk back to Mary. Frank scrunched his face in frustration in knowing he missed his shot with you and blurted out the most platonic question instead. He realized as well and quickly shoved his hands into his jeans pockets and followed your lead.

Frank watched as you comfortably plopped yourself next to Mary on the couch, dreading that he had to meet up with Justine. He’d much rather relax on the couch with you and the rugrat, enjoying some silly kids movie together.

You peered over the couch, “Is it okay if she has popcorn?”

“What? Yes,” Mary said flatly and jumped off the couch to the kitchen.

“Okay, miss. But not too much sugar. Bedtime is still at 9,” Frank replied as you shrugged your shoulders.

“It’s the weekend, Frank,” Mary called out from the kitchen.

“Yes, but-“

“Will you be late?” you asked.

He looked at you in surprise, “Um, no. Probably before ten?”

“Okay, have fun.”

“It’s Y/N’s birthday,” Mary replied, carrying two coke bottles and a bag of jelly beans.

You shook your head in regret of ever telling the child when your birthday was. She was so inquisitive that day, asking about all your favorites: food, animals, books, and now birthday.

“It’s your birthday?!” Frank asked.

“Yeah, no big deal.”

“How old are you?” Mary asked as she set the drinks on the coffee table and then remembered how Frank would scold her about leaving water rings. She grabbed the coasters and placed them under the bottles.

“Mary!” Frank detested and placed his hands on his hips.

“How old do you think I am?” You tease, waving off to Frank that it was okay.

“Older than Justine, that’s for sure. She said she was 24, but looks 34. But she acts like she's 12. She hasn't even read anything on quantum physics, she thought wave mechanics was something Frank was working on with a boat,” she said coolly and popped a few jelly beans into her mouth. She nestled herself back into the couch cushions and wiggled her feet.

“Mary Elizabeth!” Frank’s voice boomed as he entered the living room.

Mary leaned over to whisper to you, “Frank says I'm not supposed to correct older people. Nobody likes a smart-ass.”

“And a busy body,” he huffed.

You nodded and laughed quietly, entertained at his expense.

“Well I am 32,” you smiled and looked at your watch, “As of one hour ago as a matter of fact.”

“That’s good. You’re much more mature than Justine and a better fit for him. Happy Birthday.”

“Thank you.”

“Mary…that’s it. You’re on your last warning,” Frank bellowed. “Don’t make me let Y/N go home and then you’re stuck with me tonight.”

“What? No! Okay. I’m sorry,” she lamented and folded her arms.

Frank’s demeanor changed as he turned to you, “I hadn’t known it was your birthday. Don’t feel pressured to sit for her tonight if you have other plans.” Secretly he wanted to cancel on Justine and spend the night celebrating you instead.

“Oh it’s okay! It kind of appeared out of nowhere. I usually go back home and celebrate with friends and family, but my schedule didn’t permit it this year. Next year, perhaps.”

“What’s your favorite dessert?” Mary asked as she chewed on another handful of jelly beans.

“Red velvet cheesecake,” you smiled. “I have a sweet tooth.”

Frank couldn’t concentrate on his date with Justine. His mind was elsewhere. On you. Justine grazed her hand as they sat next to each other at the bar. He seemed unfazed by her gesture and looked at his watch, 9:14pm. Would it be too obvious if he cut the date short that he was into you? He coughed and took a swig of his beer.

“Do you wanna come back to my place?” She cooed and bit her lip in anticipation.

“What? Oh actually I was gonna head out. The sitter needed me home by 9:30,” he lied.

“Oh, sitter?”

“Yeah, Mary. Remember? My niece?”

“That’s right. How old is she again?”

“Seven,” He said, annoyed. He recalled they had met once before. The bartender approached them and handed Frank the receipt.

“Hey, do you have any desserts on the menu?”

Justine’s ears perked in curiosity of where he was going with asking about dessert.

The bartender grunted slightly and threw a mangled tri-fold menu and Frank grabbed it quickly.

“Buddy, ring me up for the red velvet cupcake.”

[artificialqueens]

Gimme Love, 8/9 (Miz Cracker/Blair St Clair) - Grinder

AN: Oof! After this part, we have one more chapter. Things start to look a little bit better for Brie in this part of the story. Not completely, but she's getting there. Enjoy!

TW for this chapter: mental health mentions

2020

A week later, still no change on the Ed Sheeran thing. Launch day was just around the corner, and my nerves were wrecked. And Jujubee still hadn't spoken a word to me.

It was only morning time, and I hadn't even been awake for 5 minutes. Already so many things were playing in my mind.

I still hadn't reinstalled Messenger. So I had no idea whether Blair had replied or not. I really wanted to just forget about her already, but it was slow. I probably should have applied for counselling sessions with HR. I hired a lady a few years prior named Dela, and apparently, she was brilliant.

But therapy could wait until after the launch.

I had seen Jujubee at work a few more times, either making eye contact and looking away just as quick or trying to say hello at least. She'd just brush by.

I tried texting her but never received a reply. As much as she had pissed me off, I missed her. A lot.

"Hey, this is Jujubee. Leave a message."

Beep.

"Hey, Juju, it's me." I paused, struggling to figure out where to go from there, "Look, I...I know things are bad between you and me. But I...I don't want to lose you."

I couldn't think of what else to say.

'Please, talk to me?'

'You mean a lot to me.'

My silence was going on too long. "I...hope to see you at the prelaunch party...OK. Bye"

I hung up, burying my face in my pillow, feeling very pathetic. And because I was impatient, I thought to try reinstalling Messenger and try there.

Or was that too much? And did I really want to risk seeing a reply from a certain someone?

...Fuck it, I was doing it. I'd just ignore her. Yeah, I'd do that.

Blair: Wow. I didn't think…

I never clicked a message quicker. I sat up with my back against the headboard, eyes already reading the message.

Blair: Wow. I didn't think you'd actually reply! For sure, girl, we need to hang out! I'm in New York for two weeks anyway. Perfect timing, right? Give me a call as soon as you get this. TTYL.

"Oh my God." I let the phone slip into my lap. How was this real? How the fuck hadn't she found that message creepy? Were things starting to look up? I couldn't just leave her on read. It was sent last week, meaning she was still in New York.

Good. This was good.

But still, why didn't she address the confession to my feelings? Why was she avoiding the subject?

Sorry, you have to hear my innermost thoughts, all these questions. It just goes to show the whirlwind my head was experiencing.

Make a move, Brie.

My thumb hovered over the phone icon in the upper right corner. Do I just...do it?

Yes.

I clicked the button. It rang for a few seconds, the nerves telling me to just give up.

"Hello?"

Why the fuck do the people on the other end always say 'hello' like they didn't see who is calling them?

Why was I even thinking that?? Focus, Brie.

"Hi," I said.

"Wow, I didn't think you'd call." She sounded surprised.

"I'm sorry I keep doing this," I said too quickly. "Anyway, yes. Let's hang out."

There was a moment of silence, and I realised how panicked I sounded.

"Brianna, are you OK?" I heard the concern.

"What? Yeah! Of course, I am." I cleared my throat, "Just a bit...stressed out. Trying to...deal with this launch thingie and...deal with Ed Sheeran, I don't know," I laughed nervously before almost slapping some sense into myself, "I'm not majorly stressed out, though. I can still hang out."

She laughed. And fuck I realised just how much I missed it.

"You always made me laugh. You wanna grab a coffee?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Great! When are you free? I would say today, but I'm stuck with this thingie…" She replied.

And a thought hit me. "Actually... there's gonna be a party for my thing. It's for that project I told you about...back on Prom night, I don't know if you remember."

"Of course I do, Brie. I've been following all the media coverage. It's pretty awesome."

"You have been?" I sounded a little too excited and then reminded myself to not sound too desperate, "I mean, that's pretty cool. But yeah, there's a party the night before the launch. I could add you to the list."

"Yeah, of course! I'd love to come."

"Fantastic. I'll send you the details."

"Well, I'll leave you to it then."

"Thanks."

"I can't wait."

"Me too."

"Bye, Brianna."

"Bye, Blair."

She did the awkward half-spoken "bye, bye, bye," and hung up.

I threw my phone down onto my duvet and puffed out a breath of air.

"Yes!" I punched the air, "Yes. Fucking yes."

Shit was definitely looking up.

I found myself loading up my emails. "Dear Ed Sheeran, I appreciate your enthusiasm about participating in our project. However, after some thinking, we would love for you to perform at the event instead. This is strictly for your safety and the safety of everyone else. Sorry for the inconvenience. Kindest regards, Brianna Caldwell and team."

Sent. Easier than I thought.

No matter what the reply would be, I felt strong. Two problems down in less than ten minutes.

All that was left was Jujubee and Mom.

Fuck...the Mom problem.

It wasn't that I didn't love her. I adored the woman with all my heart. But I was still afraid of that recurring conversation, the memories of how I was a problem child. And if it wasn't that, it was my Grandpa.

Funny how those were always the recurring topics, things I didn't want to address. And now, on top of things, we were going to have to talk about Piggie's health.

I sent her money for his medical bills, so maybe things were different for him.

But still, the other topics of conversation I just wish we could avoid…If only there was something else to talk about...

Wait.

I stared at my phone and instantly became very still.

There was one subject that had gone unaddressed for so long - too long. Oh, God.

Half an hour later, I was in the kitchen, shaky hands pouring a cup of coffee. I couldn't call Mom immediately. I needed to will myself, build up my willpower.

After two cups, I found Mom's name in my phone book, hesitated to hit call but forced myself.

I breathed deeply, taking a seat at the breakfast counter and put the phone to my ear.

Ring...Ring...Ring...Ring…

She answered but was silent.

"Mom?" I spoke.

"Hey, honey." She sounded deflated.

"Did you get the money?" That was all I could think of to start with.

"Yeah. It's actually really helped. He's already showing improvement." She paused. "Thanks, baby."

It was painful how thankful she sounded, yet so miserable.

"Mom, I'm gonna come see you," I confirmed.

"Really?"

"Yeah." I smiled upon hearing how she lightened up. "I'm sorry about last week. My phone just...cut off, I guess."

I heard a sniff before she spoke again, "It's OK. When are you coming around?"

"Well, I got the launch this week, so maybe not now. How about 2 weeks?"

"Yeah, that's perfect. I have a job interview to prepare for anyway. I applied to this new boutique that opened in town. My interview is next week."

"That's great!" I was actually excited for her. Things weren't just looking up for me, it seemed. "I'm really happy for you."

"Yeah, me too. I'm not even nervous. Just ready to start working again. Anyway, how about you?"

"Actually, Mom…" I paused, squeezing my hand into a tight fist.

"What's wrong, Brianna?" She lowered her tone.

How did she know? I didn't even sound sad. Mothers intuition? Because I always thought that was bullshit. Like, if I was a Mom, I'd be the worst in picking up on things.

"You there?" Mom asked.

"Yeah, I just…" I licked my lips and swallowed. "Mom. Why was I adopted?" I sighed. "Why did they give me up, Mom?"

She was silent for a moment. I could practically feel how she turned cold. "It's time, isn't it?"

I nodded, not that she would see, "Yeah. I...I need to know."

"OK...How about we talk about that when you come here?" She asked.

"No. I...wanna know. I need to know." My voice cracked. "Or I won't be able to move on."

She's silent again…just for a moment. And I felt like I crossed a line.

But she spoke. I hadn't crossed any line.

"OK...Brianna? I just want you to know that I love you, and I always will. No matter what, I'll never stop loving you." Her own voice was cracking now. "When you came into my life, I never realised I could be so happy, how I felt when I met you. You were this...little light that brightened the dark...a reminder that life wasn't so bad. And I promised I'd give you the best life. I'd be the best parent you'd ever have." She paused again. And I knew she was crying. "Brie, it wasn't that your parents didn't want you. I'm sure they knew that they would have been the luckiest parents in the world." She was crying. "Brie. They...they went for a drive one night. And it was raining really bad. And they…"

She was silent. But I nodded slowly, my eyes just staring at the counter, glassy with tears. "I-I understand."

"I'm sorry, baby." She whimpered. "I should have told you this years ago. I...I didn't know it would affect you for this long. I'm such an idiot."

I held my forehead in my hand. "No. No, Mom. You're not. You had no idea." I sniffed.

"I know. I know. But I just...I...How do you tell a child something like that?"

"Don't worry about that, you idiot. I know now." One of the tears finally slid down my cheek. "I love you, Mom."

"I love you too, Brianna."

I smiled, wiping the tear away. And then a quiet laugh escaped. "OK, I can't lie. I don't wanna leave you like this right now. Let's talk some shit or something."

She laughed in return. "God, you and your potty mouth."

[demyrie]

I'm curious but why did you delete JAM? It was one of my favorite JxD fics and I never got to finish reading it.

ahhhh oh dear, yeah, that happened.

So, for everyone arriving, I wrote a fic called Just Another Mission for the Jak and Daxter game series, and Jak/Daxter pairing. Yes, the green haired elf protag with the fuzzy orange thing, which btw used to be a human and was a human in fic. I think I started it when I was maybe 14 (yikes omg) and a few years ago, I deleted it, and I don’t delete fics.

Rant and personal history ahead, but tldr; i deleted this particular fic because:

1) I became more and more uncomfortable with the way I’d treated certain characters without giving them respect or resolution (throwing around things like domestic abuse while being too young to properly understand What I Was Doing or How to Answer Very Triggered Friends Who Had the Misfortune of Reading This I’m So Goddamn Sorry, as well as falling into that Not Like Other Girls slash fan ditch of treating female characters like shit/obstacles to the main pairing WHICH IS JUST ******) as well as personally uncomfortable portrayals of obsession and taking advantage of people that turn my stomach to this day (see reason 4)

2) i got way in over my head with my own writing/style which was so obtuse and self-indulgent that I felt a great amount of shame over it, including the attention it had gotten, and the way it went to my head and turned me into an egotistic little shit. I was an asshole peacock and I regret it. There was a break where I got waylaid before the final confrontation in the fic (see reason 4, also a very bad time to get held up in any narrative) and when I returned to the story, i nearly cried because it was such a mess and I didn’t know what I was saying anymore. Finishing it was a struggle and I even remember one JnD fan friend being like “hey this chapter seemed really curt??? short?? not like you” and I was like YEAH THATS NOT ME ANYMORE god i hope

3) there was a sort of ... anti-JxD surge in my little pool from people I really respected and it made me think i was doing something wrong even just remembering it, so I cut off that memory.

4) it coincided with two ugly relationships in my life that marred it, and I just wanted it gone for my own mental health.

So anon, I’m very sorry that you never got to finish it. I had good intentions in mind and gave them a happy ending where they realized they loved each other, even if the journey there was difficult. 

It both touched me and broke a piece of my heart when someone came to me years ago and asked me why I had deleted it, saying the story had given them the courage to come out as gay to their family. In that moment, overwhelmed with how ProblematicTM the whole story was, I was really struck with just ... how subjective our world experience is, and how so many things can mean so many different things to every single soul and how terrifyingly VALID peoples experiences are, no matter how they come by them. We’re all so unique and convoluted, one man’s trash is another man’s treasure -- and one man’s trigger is another man’s key to Becoming. But no matter how inspiring, I couldn’t bring myself to repost it. 

Hopefully this will be the only fic i ever delete with relish. Jak and Daxter will always be a good memory for me, regardless. Thanks for the ask, anon.

(even more) personal stuff below the cut. tw for stalking, harassment, manipulation and emotional abuse.

So.

Im a firm believer in stories living beyond their authors (something that JK rowling doesnt seem to understand iykwim). I don’t normally delete past works, because while I wrote them, I also know that they’ve outgrown me as most narratives do: people are absolutely allowed to enjoy what they want to or need to, not just because I think said thing is reflective of my current work or jives with my current stage of life. 

However, JAM was a particular Thing that Had to Go.

The timeline is hella fuzzy to me because I’ve blocked a lot of it out, but I was coming out of middle school and struggling with my mental health. On the real life side, I was stuck in a situation with a close friend of mine who was very fixated on us being in a relationship and the pining was loud enough to hear from the other side of the country. Wounded people pleaser that I was, I flipped (exhaustingly) back and forth between “i dont like you like that” and “but I want you to be happy so what if I tried liking you like that?” and there was massive amounts of hidden hurt and resentment and tension and abandonment complex activation and just ... a strangling of anything that made our friendship good for either of us. 

Also she was a she. So. Yannoe, gay is difficult.

This definitely burnt me out on the “best friends pining” trope and is probably legit the ONLY reason I’m not equally in the erasermic and erasermight camp haha. That trope feels claustrophobic and draining to me, so I leave it for others to enjoy.

It also coincided with a married 45yo adult man luring me into a “platonic, ecstatic, boundary-breaking, you-are-my-beautiful-young-muse, words cannot express how much I love you” creative type relationship that inevitably turned possessive, domineering and manipulative. Within the bounds of the Renaissance Faire community, I thought he was a safe person and he was not, and his constant reassurance that I wasn’t like other women my age was absolutely hypnotizing to a undeveloped soul who really, really wanted to be special.

We traded poetry and tarot card readings over email. He bought me manga and shared stories about his time overseas and in the service. He made me props to go with my renaissance faire character and showed me where to find cheap leather so I could piece things together myself.

He also stalked me and owned me for the better part of a year and I only realized it once he started harassing a dear friend of mine overseas, whom I was visiting, about a package that he’d sent, which apparently he’d covered in original poetry to let me know how much he loved me But Not In a Hetero or Sexual Way Bro, so of course he didn’t want it to get lost in the postal system. So what is he going to do? Note my friend twice a day asking if its arrived until she inevitably, tearfully spills that this guy is stressing her out and who is he anyway?

My horrible secret was out, which only sounded horrible when I explained it to someone else. I realized this man was trying to follow me wherever i went and I got so fucking angry that he was messing with my friend that I had to stop it.

(He called me a cunt when I broke it off with him on the phone in the dark on the floor of my bedroom in the middle of the night so my parents wouldn’t hear, then sobbed and said he was sorry. I was so dissociated from the rush of anger and helplessness that it took for me to actually MAKE the call that all I could do was wiggle my foot and watch it in the reflection of the mirror on the back of my door, and think maybe I was a cunt but I wasn’t his cunt anymore. So there. 

Afterward I slammed my forehead into the mirror a few times to make sure I’d actually done it and it wasn’t a dream.)

During all of this, I was writing this stupid fic. I think. Honestly, I don’t fucking know, but I can’t think of it without thinking of him and how i was devoured.

The stress of hiding this “totally wonderful but NORMAL PEOPLE DONT UNDERSTAND WHAT WE HAVE!!!!” grooming shit from my parents was gutting me alive, and I was so far gone RE: worthiness/autonomy that I didn’t even consider why I BOTHERED diffusing his petulant accusations over notes on deviantArt again and again as he baited me into shit just to explode over how I didn’t love him and I figured out another way to soothe his engorged and tarry ego without explicitly lying that I loved him too. 

He made me regret my silver tongue and way with words as I used it to defend myself again and again, and crushed my love of writing. I would pace the neighborhood for almost an hour several times a week, claiming I was ‘exercising’ but really trying to understand why i felt so trapped, or where the lines between love and hate lay, or why I wanted to cry all the time, as i low key tried to get hit by a car just to force something to change in my life and jolt me out of his smothering, needy nightmare of constant texting and emails and notes. I couldn’t fucking flinch without him knowing about it, and asking me if I was okay. For this reason, I react very poorly to people fretting over me at length, and loudly. I get angry and feel violated, or just pinned to the floor by someone Performing their love on me with no real regard for my health.

This whole time, I was escaping into fandom. It probably saved my life, in one way or another, because I found friends who supported me and made me laugh in the JnD sphere. Especially the friend whose distress caused me to snap and realize This Couldn’t Continue.

This terrible man was the first one outside of my friend group that I showed my writing to, the first adult as well. It was on the dark side even then, but he said it was wonderful and amazing. He teased me for being stuck up in my authors notes on JAM (one of the reasons I’m just getting over ... talking ...) but said it inspired him to start writing as well. He used that writing to imagine hokey sprawling stories of him being a hot rod racer and me being his sexy girlfriend, Very Totally in Love. Why Couldn’t We have Just Met in a Different Lifetime??? not that its a relevant question for my young 16yo friend lol just something dreamers wonder lol lol here why don’t you take this traditional irish engagement ring aka claddagh i bought for you, lie to your parents and say I bought one for everyone in our renfaire group, and turn it toward your heart, to imply that you’re in love, so that I can keep your heart safe for you until you find a boyfriend?

FUCKER YOU ABSOLUTE FUCKER ok I’m done. Fuck.

JAM was a project of mine that spanned a year or two and is intrinsically tangled in those very bad relationships and very bad lessons. I deleted it because I needed to, for purely personal reasons beyond the fact that it was generally bombastic, over-long, tone-deaf and dealt with very serious issues poorly. Due to these experiences, you won’t catch me in a hot minute writing either best-friends-pining or heavy jealousy/possessiveness fic, but everyone else? Go crazy just tag your shit.

so. anyway. isn’t subjectivity actually terrifying? You never know what something can mean to someone else. So just ask, maybe.

Damn, son. Some fics you just can’t repost.

[not-poignant]

Hey Pia, recently I started therapy but my therapist brushed aside me being emotionally abused & gaslit by my sibling by saying sibling fights are normal & we should focus on how I continue 'letting' it happen. I left the session rlly upset & it sent me into a spiral of self-loathing & doubt all over again/had I made everything up after all? I'm in a better place now but it would be lovely if you could tell me how to deal with such situations better, but no pressure!

Oh boy, bad therapists. Have I had some experience with them.

tl;dr: bad therapists suck, don’t give up, etc. etc.

THIS POST IS SO LONG I AM SO SORRY

Firstly, it is awesome you made the effort to go see a therapist. And please please don’t think all therapists (or even most therapists) will be like the one you saw.

Therapists are regular people, and unfortunately, sometimes regular people suck and a degree doesn’t change that.

Caveat: Not a therapist. Just a person who has seen a lot of therapists. YMMV.

I have seen a lot of therapists in my lifetime. And a lot of bad therapists. I won’t give you the exact number, but it’s well over 10. It’s actually pretty normal to sometimes meet therapists that are just a poor match. Even if the therapist had good reasons to think you were participating in a difficult situation, there’s a lot of ways to bring that up that aren’t straight up invalidating, and they should have tried to hear you, rather than put their opinions forward over yours.

Therapy should be a collaboration. Not just you listening to them. Not just them listening to you. They might disagree with you, they have to be able to do so tactfully and respectfully, and role model to you how to do this in a way that is respectful. And you have the right to disagree with them.

And I’m gonna be honest with you. Sometimes therapists will say things you’re not ready to hear, that hurt and make you doubt yourself. When I first heard: ‘Pia, do you think maybe you want to be sick?’ I about lost my shit internally, and went home and felt suicidal for two weeks. I didn’t think they were right, but I was terrified they were right, and I didn’t think I could tell them about it because how dare they ask me that question in the first place! What the hell?

But I went back and was like: okay, so after this session, and what you said, this is what happened. And I felt totally unsupported and certainly didn’t feel like I could tell you about this, because what, are you gonna tell me I want to be suicidal too? Here are all the ways I think I don’t want to be sick. I’m still deeply scared that deep down I might want to be, but I think you have to realise that what you’ve said is really hurtful to all the parts of me that fight every day - through lifestyle, coming here, eating well, reading self help books etc. - to not be sick. And I need you to acknowledge that.

And they did. And they apologised. Do I think maybe they wanted me to have a reaction? Yes. Do I think maybe they had no idea it would make me suicidal? I think also yes. They never would’ve done it otherwise. The aim isn’t to make your clients want to kill themselves. At all. Ever.

But anyway, the point is (...ignore how long I took to get here), part of therapy is actually telling the therapist when they’ve fucked up and seeing how receptive they are to that. That’s your responsibility as the client, and that’s something you take on when you hire them. Whether or not you feel you can do that is another thing. It’s totally okay to write down how you feel in a letter, and hand it to them, or email it to them. You can say ‘read this and I’m going to go wait in the waiting room and you can come get me after.’ I have written down a ton of things I wasn’t ready to say.

But it’s an important step in actually - weirdly - learning how to stand up for yourself in a working relationship that goes both ways.

Now, about therapy in general. They work for you. You hire them for your health. So if it’s really not working out, then you also have the right to fire them and find someone else.

Sometimes it can be worth explaining why you’re considering firing them in an email, so they know where they went wrong, but to also give them a chance to reconsider how they’re approaching you, i.e.: ‘I feel like you invalidated my experiences and my feelings, and therefore reduced all of my difficulties and issues around this to something you could sweep aside before telling me things about my own experiences, without ever really hearing me. That’s not fair, it’s inaccurate and it’s not helpful to me. I accept that I might have things to learn about my own behaviour here, but not through you invalidating my upset and hurt, and not through you minimising my real feelings. Because of what you did, these were the consequences (and tell them that you became more self-loathing and so on, that’s not how they’re supposed to leave you feeling after a session!) As a result, I’m not sure / don’t think this is a good fit / will look for another therapist / would be open to suggestions from you as to how to proceed.’ Etc.

That’s a mature way of handling it. (And honestly, even if the therapist doesn’t like getting the email, it is good for them to know why people are leaving early. So they know you’re not just a ‘non-compliant patient’ or whatever the fuck (which you’re not), but someone who has been genuinely distressed by a session that they directly contributed to - like you paid money for that shit! That’s crappy.)

But another mature way, if they really just seem gross, is to fire them and find someone else. You can take a break first, for sure. I always have taken a short break and sort of thought about what I really want too. Like, what do I want? These days it’s ‘to be more functional and to enjoy life more.’

It’s worth calling around and actually screening therapists if you can (depending on how the system works where you are). Screening therapists can be asking things like: what therapy modalities do you prefer? How do you deal with situations where someone is being verbally abused by their sibling? Do you take this seriously? etc. You can definitely pre-screen. I’ve always done this in emails which look like this:

“Dear (whoever they are)

I’m (such and such) from (place) and have been diagnosed with (disorders) due to (one sentence history). I am seeking therapy to help me with (specific things like - learning how to be less anxious, or learning how to be more functional in my life).

Are you taking new clients?

If you are, could you please let me know the following to see if we might be a good fit? 

(Here I ask about modality - CBT is contraindicated in my case so it rules out a lot of therapists automatically, and then I ask about their experience in extensive child abuse trauma and history, as well as medical and chronic illness, and pain and fatigue issues. Here is also where I ask if they offer a sliding scale to people with a low income and no insurance.)

Thanks so much for your time.

(Pia.)”

If they can’t take the time to answer a simple email, either with a call or by replying, then I don’t want to see them anyway, imho. I’m looking to hire them, not the other way around, they can at least communicate some actual credentials to me that mean more than a damn BA degree. But in Australia, therapists will often reply to emails like this. I’m not sure how that is in other places in the world.

Now as to the actual meaty part of like, you going home and feeling fucking awful afterwards. Here’s some stuff you may want to keep in mind in the future:

1. They work for you. And their job is not to make you feel like you are the worst ever. That is no therapist’s job on the planet. Challenging you is not making you decompensate and become non-functional. They fucked up. Sometimes therapy will be challenging and sometimes it will hurt and if you are prone to feeling self-doubt it is going to make you self-doubt. But there is a line between ‘this is stuff that would come up anyway’ and ‘this is something you directly made happen by invalidating my feelings.’ When that happens, it is not a sign that you are the worst ever (you are not even the worst), it is a sign that they made a mistake in their job, like any person who has a job can do.

Unfortunately when therapists make mistakes, they’re making mistakes with people’s psyches, instead of fucking up the icing on a cake, or the level on a brick wall.

But yeah, they are not some authority on high to tell you What is What about Your Life.

The only expert on your life is you. And you invite them into that space to treat you with respect in the process. Invalidating your feelings is not respect. (And I say that even as someone who has disproportionate reactions to things.)

2. Idk what your support situation is like, but it may be worth reaching out to people (or animals) who can make you smile or feel a bit better or get you outside of your head for a bit.

3. Sensory stimulation to also get you outside of your head for a bit. A warm/hot shower or bath. Running your hand over interesting textures like velvet or a nubby couch. Sipping a hot drink that you took the time to make for yourself.

4. Reflecting on what’s actually happening internally like. ‘I feel like they think i’m X and X’ or ‘they must think that I’m just X’ or whatever it is. And then write that down somewhere - both for yourself, and if you decide to share it with them later, so you have clarity on what’s occurring. Sometimes just naming what you’re going through can give you enough knowledge to be like ‘right, I’m afraid that a relative stranger thinks I’m terrible because they know almost nothing about my history and they made an assumption about me.’ - If you take a step back from that, it can help to remember they are a relative stranger who knows almost nothing about you.

*

It’s hard here because I’m not in that session and I don’t know why the therapist said what they said (though trust me, I do believe you that they fucked up - some of them suuuuck), and I know that you go to therapy to be challenged, because if your therapist is just ‘hey fam everything you’re doing and thinking is fine go home you’re just great’ - you’re gonna go home and nothing is going to change. But I think you and I both know that there’s ways of challenging people which don’t suuuuuuck, and that if you have a good trusting bond with your therapist, you can also tell them when they fuck up, and they will actually make steps to repair that with you, so you can be stronger going into the future.

That’s actually one of the best parts of a therapeutic bond, imho, especially as someone coming from an emotionally abusive background - learning how to repair mistakes and realising that you can both do that collaboratively together, and see things get stronger. (Since, in situations of abuse, ruptures can mean no opportunities for genuine forgiveness or growth ever).

But you can’t do it with all therapists. Because some therapists are just shitty at their jobs. Like a bad baker. Or like the dude that makes pizzas but you know he just doesn’t care about pizzas really. Or the doctor who fat-shames instead of doing their fucking job.

I don’t know if I said anything that helped. All I have is some sense of solidarity because I have done the whole bad therapists thing too. My life was helped a lot by realising I was hiring them, and that they work for me. Before that, I always felt like they were some kind of godly authority figure that could see into my inner mind in a way I couldn’t and blah blah blah could Judge Me Like A God (thanks childhood, for featuring an abusive figure who was a cop that fucked up my relationship with authority figures forever). It was really hard for me to understand that no, they’re just like every other damn person you’re gonna hire to work for you: they can be fired if they’re not good at their job or if their vision is totally different to yours.

You’d fire an interior decorator who wanted to fit out your house in something you hated. You definitely have to fire a therapist who wants to fit out your brain in something that makes you hate yourself.

[i-found-a-box]

Case #5 -part 1-

-EMAIL-

To: █████

From: Search and Rescue Officer Swanson

Subject: I Need Help in the Woods

Dear █████,

I work for the grand old █████████ park. Only a few states away. We can get you here expenses paid. Hear me out.

I've noticed some things going on around here. One including an elderly couple. Husband calls in saying something happened to his wife.

We went down and found the husband. They managed to find the wife a day later, she was under a tree. She couldn't speak, her tounge had been removed. Perfectly cut out. She didn't bite it off I tell you, I've seen those.

Another kid had his head found 90 miles away from the body. No blood. Just there. Blood stayed inside it until an officer picked it up.

None of us here are experts on this and I know the higher ups know about it. I can't find a way to get information out of them without getting fired. So I'm asking you for help. Maybe we could start a private investigation and you can do your thing to help the park or whatever.

Contact me for confirmation.

- Officer Swanson

-JOURNAL-

05/6/██

I met up with officer Swanson, he gave me little leads on what has been going on within the park. Mainly disappearances and multiple cases of people losing body parts perfectly clean. Not a single drop of blood spilt.

It's quite impressive, each of the rescuers are commonly calm and collected throughout these instances.

It is now 8:56, dark outside and there is a consistant rumble of thunder around us. It gives a perspective of how large this forest truly is. I can hear someone outside, but I dare not to investigate. It is a young woman, shes begging and crying for help. I'm starting to think a tent was a bad idea.

05/7/██

The sun has come up, the sounds have stopped. I looked outside, obviously there was not a woman after all. I fear what could have happened if I left my tent. I worry, what if it was a real woman? I'd rather not think about it now.

I'm following Officer Swanson and a few other rescuers out on a call, just in case something happens. Officer Swanson offered to dress me up to look like a new member. I'll just tell them I'm a volunteer. I'm not here to play dress up, I'm here to discover whatever monsters lie deep within the woods.

We have finally arrived to the scene, we left about 8:15 am and made it around noon. This 'accident' is far off the path. I'll need to interview the witness, who's a teen, it makes sense on why they would sneak out here like this.

It's late, I'm back in the tent. Time to document everything I was told. I'm so tired, I think something is watching me.

The scene we walked up upon was an odd one. The witness, a young lady named Misel, said they had left their group to go on a walk on their own. They said they would not go far, but got lost along the way. She turned her back to the young man, Jackson, and said the whole world stopped. In her words: "everything was silent, birds stopped chirping, breeze stopped blowing, it was like someone hit the mute button on the world. When I turned around again Jackson was gone."

The young man was found at the base of a cliff edge. He had not fallen, that I was sure of. The body was unscathed, he was perfectly fine, besides a few bug bites and scratches from thorns on his legs. They moved him to see if any blood had leaked out at all, but none was there. He looked as if someone froze him in time and left him there. He was dead for sure, but something tells me he did not just fall. I'm feeling even worse, maybe I'm ill?

05/8/██

I woke up last night to some sort of strange gurgling at the base of my tent. I looked out through a crack I made with the zipper, and a man stood not to far away. I did not say anything. He was not human, at least not anymore. His legs bowed in on themselves, his spine twisted and contorted backwards, and his head was bent back. I could not see it, he was facing me and his head was behind him, but I could hear him gurgling with every breath. Maybe I should move into a building.

A child has gone missing, she was playing with her brother and vanished. I'm with a search team. Everyone is calling out to her, but I believe it might be too late.

I found the girl, I strayed off their trajectory, but I bring good news at least. She is alive. She put her head in my lap and cried. I sat with her until more rescuers came to us. During that time she told me of what happened.

She was walking and playing around their campsite. She said she saw someone, and decided to follow. She followed them to the rocks where I found her. She said she sat with the 'tall white man' as he told her stories of beasts and monsters that existed in the woods. She said the man was made of a bright white light, like an angel. I tried asking her more questions, but she had already fallen asleep. I'm not a man to care for children, but I wouldn't just leave her. I worry what this 'white man' would have done to her if I had been a moment too late.

I'm not sleeping in the tent tonight, I have requested a room in the main office. It is just a simple cot, but I have slept on a rock for a month before. This is just fine.

///I'll continue these journal entries in parts///

[mama-ghostie-61542]

A Thousand Lifetimes

Rated M++ for language and themes

If you recognize it, IT AIN'T MINE.

Sorry for the OOC-ness

Chapter 4

Wolf--

"If I hear the word 'Mom' anytime in the next five minutes, you are, all three, gonna lose grandparent privilege's! Enough with the fighting. 'Kala, you need to get over there and do your homework."

"But, Mom," my younger son shouted. "I can't do it alone."

"Yes, you can, dear. All you have to do is write the words in the blanks."

Mornings here were always crazy. This year, they got worse, with all three kids home all day and me working three jobs from home, while taking a few classes to keep up my certification. But what would do my head in were the constant conflicts of scheduling the boys services around project deadlines. Especially when my childless brother was my boss...One of them.

A text came through ~'Hey, Bry, do you have those reports ready? I have to submit them to the bank this afternoon.'

Loveland Demolition was well known in the Midwest, and had been doing well before the pandemic, but now, we were expanding again. I dug around in my ever expanding pile of outgoing paperwork for the fax copy of the expense reports my brother wanted. Why everything with this end of the family business went through me, I would never know. Maybe it was because he had named me our VP of NE Operations. Like I didn't have a decent job already. I mean, I didn't get my Doctorate for it to look pretty on my wall.

Speaking of, I have a class in 15 minutes. Botany of Common Herbs.

I sent off a quick message, ~ I faxed them yesterday. Did you not get them before the boys did?~

My brothers pit bulls were notorious for grabbing the pages as they fell out of the fax machine and shredding them.

A few minutes later, he replied, ~Dammit, Pita! The Pain got 'em. Already in transit?~

~Yep. UPS grabbed it yesterday. Email?~

~Ok. No. Need hard copy. Will reschedule with the bank. Do good in class today!~

About that time I got a plastic cup thrown in my general direction with my oldest son yelling, "More water! Please, Mommy."

Thankfully, my Botany Professor understands me being a little late, as she has a Downie of her own.

I get his water, and as I am standing at the sink for a few seconds extra to breathe, I feel a cold spot on one hip and the pressure of a thumb on my cheek.

'You are amazing, my Queen. You've got this.'

I smile as the feeling, and the ghost of his smiling eyes fades. How does he always know when the stress is getting to me and just what to say; just what to do. It's like I don't have to say a word, he just knows.

Great....Now I am gonna be all giggly the rest of the day. Probably gonna get an email from my Professor, too; nosy old bat.

Kihyun PoV

It was almost 22:00 when I felt the wobble in thin silver thread that connected us. As I reached for it, I felt her stress and frustration start to bleed through and somehow, instinctively knew what to do. It bothers me when she gets this stressed, because she forgets to take care of herself. And then the tension lodges in her back, manifesting as a knot just to the left of her spine.

Settling myself into my meditation, I could almost see her standing at the sink, working on something. Always working, this girl; whether it's on her actual job, her side hustle, an Etsy store where she sells knit caps, or the boys' homework. She ALWAYS has something going on. Her brothers hare-brained decision to expand the family business does not help in the slightest.

As I settle in, I can hear the din of the kids yelling, a timer going off on something, and from some where, another louder ding. She is amazing, how she can just take it all in stride. Some how, I know, she just needs a second to breathe, so I imagine my hand on her hip; stopping her right where she stands.

I visualize my hand cupping her cheek, and whispering to her, 'You are amazing, my Queen. You've got this.' I can't help the smile that spreads across my face as I see her smile. That soft, sweet smile, that just borders on the verge of blushing. I send how I feel seeing her smile down that thread and, some how, just know that she will be smiling all day now.

Awakening from my meditation, I glance at the clock. Hmm. Time for bed. But first, I am curious about the next chapter. How in the hell, with everything else she has on her plate, did she find the time to write this.

I set back on my bed, my pillows piled up behind me, and start reading.

Still Joey

I couldn't sleep so I got up at sunrise and made coffee. Sis woke up a little while later. I heard her alarm go off and then, I heard her sniffle a little. As she stumbled to the kitchen for her morning coffee, her whole bearing was like all the wind had been sucked out of her.

My heart went out to her.

"Sis. What's wrong?"

"Nothing, Joey. Just my own brain. Think I am going crazy. That's all."

I'm right there with you.

"Explain," I said.

Rather than use actual words, she put on 'Comatose' by Too Close To Touch. "This says it better than I ever could."

I set aside the story and brought up the song. As I sat there listening, I could almost feel how hurt she was. How she thought she was going crazy. I wanted, so much, to fly to her, where ever she was.

"Sissie," I sighed, "What is the matter?"

"I think I am losing my mind, Joey. I just don't want to remember, if remembering is always going to hurt. I'm afraid that it will cost me the one of the two things I am most afraid to lose; my kids or my mind."

"You aren't going crazy, Sis. Who told you that you were crazy for feeling like that?"

"Mom. According to her, I am. Apparently, it is all just a construct of my own mind. Can't be real because it's all in my head, but it is all that I could ever dream of. It makes me want to sleep until it is real. I want to forget the way his voice sounds, cause it hurts too much to hear it when I am alone. I want to forget the color of his eyes, but I see it everyday in my coffee. I want to forget it all, so it doesn't hurt anymore. There is no way he can be real. No way his smell can be real. The more I remembered, I guess, the more I want to forget."

"Bryn, tell me about him?"

"What does it matter? He is no more than a fantasy my own mind created," she said as she dug in a cabinet and added a more than generous amount of Jack Daniels to her coffee.

"Bry! Really??"

"What," she groused as she sipped on her coffee flavored whiskey.

"It is barely sun rise and you are already drinking. What would he say if he caught you?"

"Doesn't matter," she grumbled as her bottom lip pulled in a little and blinked rapidly, a sure sign she was fighting back her own tears. I could see her start to fold in around herself.

'No, my dear, I am very real. And very disappointed.'

"Bullshit," I yelled. "It does matter! I will prove you wrong. I'll prove to you that he is very real," I growled in my own temper, as I leaned over the table at her, "and I know him. He would be so disappointed in you, right now. Instead of working with the connection, you were trying to drown the memories in whis-," I came to a dead stop as I realized what was actually happening. "How long have you been fighting them? The memories, I mean."

'Told ya. Wait. What!? She'd been wrestling with our memories? Oh, my stubborn Wolf, you were never meant to carry them all yourself.'

She deflated and slid the mug away from her. Resting her head on her arms, she whispered, "I was 14 the first time I remembered anything. At the time it was no more than a whisper, a cold spot when I was upset or hurting. Which, lets be honest, was a lot of the time back then. When I was 16, I finally worked up the courage to talk to someone about my dreams. My mistake was telling Ma."

I cringed. I had heard nasty stories about her mom, but sat still and let her continue.

Is her mother really that bad? How much of this had she been keeping from me.

"She went off and let loose a litany of my supposed short-comings. I still remember it, to this day. 'You are so stupid. Why would any man, especially one like THAT, want anyone like you. Anyone else would be better than YOU; you stupid, worthless, ignorant, ugly, child.' After that, I went back to keeping it all to myself. This one," she said as she brought up Forest Blakk's 'Find Me', "Says it all."

I put on the song and knew how it had hurt her for years. My anger burned when the artist spoke of being told you were crazy. 'I want her, you Crazy Bitch. Good Mother, Please,' I started, before thinking better of the prayer that had been on my tongue a moment ago. 'Please watch over her, Grandmother.'

Hearing her own mother call her those things, was tough to listen to. But I could tell she still wasn't finished yet. I let her go, she had years of this pain to offload.

"As I got older, it changed. I was almost 26 when the burn of a kiss landed on my cheek. My ex-husband, at the time, saw the blister it left and went ballistic. Woke me up by kicking the end of the bed. 'I want a divorce. I don't know who he is, but I plan on making you pay for it. Now, get your stuff and get out.' And I paid for it, alright. Didn't even bother to ask if I had it the night before, just assumed I was sneaking out. I never did. Looking back now, maybe I should have left the first time accused me. The ink wasn't dry on the divorce papers when he got remarried. Literally, got them both done in half an hour."

"Are you kidding me? He wanted to accuse you, but he...," I will admit that I was finally starting to see just how messed up her life had been. "Did you love him?"

'Messed up,' I thought, 'No, Sir. Her life has been a craptastic shitshow of epic fucking proportions. Honestly, I would like to know what fucking moronic bastard ordered this shitastical fuckfest for my Queen! I'd like to fucking throat punch him.'

She shook her head. "No. My mother sat it all up. Literally walked into the house Friday afternoon and said, 'You are getting married on Monday at 9.' He was getting deployed and she thought he would be a good fit for me, that she would get grands out of the deal. She didn't find out he was fixed until he was already gone. That is where I learned to keep my hair really short. He used to drag me around by it and scream about all of the things I did. The next day he would scream and drag me around by it to yell about all the stuff I didn't get done."

"So it was more or less arranged?"

"Yeah. After that, I met the asshole. The day he left, I had just buried a brother, and I had lost my job; all on my birthday. After all that, I fell into a deep depression. To the point where I would wonder sometimes why I was still breathing. It was in that place that I saw him. It was no more than his eyes, the exact shade of my coffee, and that voice, but still; if not for him..." she trailed off, a haunted look in her eyes.

After a few minutes of her staring off into space, I prodded, "If not for him?"

She turned and looked at me, "I wouldn't be here. I would have cut ties with this world and willingly walked right into that darkness. I can remember him telling me once, 'Don't you give up. Don't you dare give up. Get up, keep moving.' It was those eyes though, watching them seem to burn in the darkness. They stayed with me so much that I drew them at least a thousand times."

"Really?"

"Yep. Dark eyes that burn," she chuckled. "Got called crazy for that one, too. 'Why do you always draw the exact same thing, ya crazy bitch? How about a tree or a nice mountain. Why is it always those damned eyes, Not that a worthless bitch like you can draw anyway.' So yeah, there's that."

"Hold it. She actually called you worthless?"

Bryn just nodded. "Multiple times, and ugly quite a few times. At the end with the ex, she told me, 'I hate that when I, and she stressed the 'I', put a block in your path, you seem to dance around it and go off into the woods and still end up on the other side. That you whip off of the beaten path, going God knows where, on some barely visible game trail, and somehow still come out on the other side, just where you meant to be'. She said nothing pissed her off more than my ability to adapt."

'That's my Ghostie,' I thought as I smiled proudly. 'Her ability to see things others miss, explodes lower minds.'

Now, I have seen pictures of her mom and old photos of Bryn when she was younger. Let me tell you, when she was young, Bryn was coltishly pretty before becoming ethereal. Not that you could tell it now. Now, she jokes that she traded looks for brains about the time she got her doctorate.

"So, how did you end up with Clark?"

"He was there and I was getting tired of waiting, tired of my Auntie's trying to set me up with whatever boy they could find. One tried to set me up with her ex-nephew. That was nothing but awkward. We are still good friends, almost family. He has said before, 'I love you to bits, but that is icky, you are like a sister to me. Now, please, go throw on a skirt, you have amazing legs and should show them off.' That boy can turn up the girlfriend vibe in 3 seconds...flat.

I know someone who can do that. Weird.

"In the end, I got tired of the pitying looks I would get at the family things. Truth be told, when I told him to either commit or get out, I thoroughly expected him to take off at a run, like he couldn't get away fast enough. Before I knew what had happened, he told everyone I had proposed and picked a Saturday. After that, it was a whirlwind and I almost took off."

"Took off? Eloped?"

She snickered. "No. Ran away. Far away."

"Oh. So you almost pulled a runner?"

"Oh yeah. Had my bestie stand up with me because I knew that if Haka showed up and objected, he would have knocked Clark to the floor to give me time to run."

'I very nearly did show up.'

I thought back to what I said when he finally left.

"What did I say?" I stood there, leaning on the doorway, arms crossed over my chest, fingers tapping on my bicep. The look on my face was thoroughly parental.

"That it would never work."

"And....."

"You were right, I was wrong, I am sorry."

"You gonna listen to me from now on?" My face was passive, but there if she had looked she would have seen the anger in my eyes. I wasn't mad at her, I was more than a little upset with him, though.

"Yes, Dear."

"Good Girl. I'll be home as soon as I can." I cupped her face, kissed her forehead, and said, "Don't do it again. Next time you won't get away with it, my stubborn Wolf."

"Next time?"

I was turning to head back to my body, "First one doesn't count. It was arranged. This one, you got swept up in. Don't do it again. Now, go to sleep."

I had to breathe a minute against the anger building in my chest. Then, I went back to the story.

"You call him 'Haka'? That's cute."

"Yeah, he's Heyhaka, the Elk. Haka, for short. Then there is Sweet Pea, and the occasional Assbag."

"And is he often a jerk?"

"Nah. Only when he is making promises he has no intentions to keep."

'Listen here, Lady! I fully intend to keep them when they are made, Woman!'

"I really don't think he would make them if he didn't intend on keeping them, Sissie. Sometimes, circumstance gets in the way, and then they don't get the focus they deserve. How does he phrase it?"

"All he says is 'Soon'."

I laughed. "The word 'soon' is not a promise. It's an open guarantee."

"What?"

"It's a half promise. He can't put a time on it so he just says soon. You know, sometimes you can be kind of dense."

'Exactly. You are kind of thick sometimes, Darling.'

Bryn's cheeks pinked. "Aww, shut the fuck up," She laughed.

"You've got a potty mouth!"

My jaw dropped. 'Naughty.'

"Like you didn't know or don't have one of your own. Has he not told you the extent of my sailor's mouth?"

"He doesn't know that I know you. I get to hear about everything from both sides. Kinda makes me wanna poke my ear drums out sometimes."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it. You two are fuckin' perfect for each other."

'I guess we are, huh?'

About that time, the kids started waking up. Davidd was first, followed by Mattie, and then Darryn. I was sitting on the couch, getting the walkthrough of how to turn on the cartoon channels when Mattie climbed up next to me and curled up in my side.

"Morning, Munchkin," I said cheerfully.

She sagged against me and whispered, "Morning, Uncle Joey. Can I have some new milk?"

I was taken aback by the simplicity of the request. "Shouldn't you be asking your mom for that?"

"I would but Daddy called and him and mama got into another fight."

'And that just cashed out my good night.', I thought as I could have sworn I heard a knock at my door.

A-N:) Please don't shoot the messenger. Spirit put up some of the tags. Lol.

[cancerbiophd]

Do you have any adivce about talking to professors? Like how formal/informal you should be, what is appropriate etc ( I have pretty severe social anxiety and tend to avoid profs, even emailing, but I'm going to have to approach someone about doing an honors thesis soon and ahhhhh D: )

hi there!

that’s ok if you feel nervous! lets see if we can at least make things manageable. 

the email

structure your email something like this:

dear dr. _____,

my name is ______* and i am a (freshman/sophomore/junior/senior) majoring in _____. i’m writing to inquire if you would like to be my honors thesis advisor on the topic of _____. due to your expertise in the area of ____, i feel your mentoring would valuable to me for both my thesis and growth as a student in _(your field_. 

please let me know if you are available to meet to discuss more. 

thank you so much for your time,

(your name)

*some people don’t like starting with their name bc it’s in their signature, but i always do because that’s how i’d start a convo in real life. i personally think it’s a nice thing to do. 

if you don’t hear back within a week, send a reminder (just forward the original email back to them) and say “hi, i haven’t heard back from you, just wondering if you had the time to consider my original email (see below). thank you!”. you can also just move on to another professor. professors are really busy and sometimes they just miss emails (or they read it and think ok i’ll respond in a bit and then forget. we’ve all been there). 

and if the professor declines, that’s ok! it has nothing to do with you! sometimes they may be too busy and stretched too thin to mentor another student. or maybe they plan on going on sabbatical. 

the response

so if your professor emails back, “sure!”, and suggests you meet, email back something like this:

dear dr. ____*

thank you so much! i would love to meet to discuss more. what days and times would work best for you the week of ___? 

thank you,

(your name)

*if the professor signs the original email with just their first name, then it’s ok to address them by that. almost all professors like to be called by their first name rather than dr. ____. however, this is only ok if they initiate it. the first time i talk to any professor i still use the dr title. just to be courteous. 

there will probably be a few back and forth’s, and that’s ok. professors are busy people, and they know it, so it’s ok to take the time to figure out a time that works for both of you. the meeting will most likely be in their office (unless they say otherwise). if you don’t know where that is, it’s ok to ask. but check their email signature or school directory first–that info may already be there. 

the 1st meeting

things will be informal. it’s not a job interview; it’s more like a chat. the professor just want to get to know you and your project. your meeting may go something like this:

the professor invites you into the office. introduce yourself and shake their hand, and say, “thank you so much for taking the time to meet with me” they’ll say “oh you’re welcome!” and invite you to sit down in a chair across their desk

they may then say, “so tell me about your thesis idea”. have a brief outline of what you want to say ready (you can write this out beforehand and bring it). if you don’t have too much planned, that’s ok. at least tell them your general idea. 

they may then comment, or offer suggestions. you can also ask them for advice and what they think would be a good direction to take. 

you may have to tell them what their role is in all this (not every professor has had to mentor an honors thesis, or they have and just don’t remember what needs to be done). are there forms they need to sign? do they need to meet with you once a month? etc. know all the requirements beforehand. also ask them if it’s ok to email them if you have questions or need guidance during the project. they’ll of course say yes bc that’s their job, but it’s always courteous to ask first. 

you can finish the meeting by telling them if you have a mock deadline for an outline or 1st draft, so they know when to expect it (if you want them to edit things). i always like doing this bc it keeps me accountable and discourages procrastination. 

finish the meeting by saying thanks again, and that you’ll keep in touch. 

the meeting should last probably around half and hour, and no longer than an hour. no need to dress formal either; just wear what you would normally wear. be sure to bring a notebook to jot down any notes during the meeting, or to have speaking points to refer back to if it makes you more comfortable. 

if you want, you can practice your responses ahead of time: things like “so tell me about yourself”, “what are your career goals”, “what do you hope to gain from the experience of writing a thesis”, etc. and know that it’s absolutely ok to respond with “i don’t know” or “i’m not sure”. it’s a learning environment, and every great learning experience starts with “i dont know” :)

–

everything i’ve just said is really generalized though. the culture may be different at different universities, or with different professors. but i hope by giving you a “what to expect” may ease the anxiety a little bit :)

let me know if i can help you with anything else. good luck!