#I have been in retail for years and that is partially why I am like this

[tryst-art-archive]

September 2012: "Why I Write"

Another day, another assignment in which I was terribly depressing. I feel bad for everyone who had to deal with me.

------Text follows---->

            It’s sad to say, but writing is becoming increasingly decentralized within my identity. There is exactly one universe and six (admittedly long) stories I’d like to tell, and after that, it would seem, my mind is barren. I’m not ready to give the whole endeavor up wholesale just because my priorities have shifted from glory to comfort and personal sustainability, but it seems only fair to admit that though I continue to write (on and off as the mood strikes), the act itself repeatedly falls by the wayside in favor of other pursuits—a social life I began far too late, web design, graphic design, copyediting, occasional photography, videogames, the simple task of turning the shell of a house into a home. It would seem that writing, in the way I have always understood it at least, has been but one of the necessary steps in the wobbling walk to my true, ever-unknown passion. But still, I must continue to write at least a little, as I must continue to think.

            I have always been better with the written word rather than the spoken version, and perhaps that is a product of circumstance—I spent the better part of my life online, shutting out the real world in favor of a much more soothing and accepting digital one, and to some extent I remain in that mode of thought; people terrify me—and practice. Years of conversation, discussion and debate, and journaling to an imaginary audience, all safely tucked away on the internet, prepared me for writing, and not speaking. (A retail job in my freshman year of college taught me to speak.) My thoughts poured directly from my mind into the ubiquitous comment box and from there, with little editing, out unto the world. In this way, writing and thought were and are synonymous for me. Thus, we have two initial reasons to explain my predilection for writing: it is easier for me than social communication, and it is a natural and effective way for me to think.

            I am and have been drawn primarily to fiction; I began generate a complex fantasy world and partially living within it through roleplay (online, where else?) and through the maintenance of what might be considered imaginary friends (in an eight-year-old, though I was much older at the time). Over the years, this world and its characters became more than just a set of tales, a set of peoples, and became a psychological landscape, a fantasy setting that is as much me as the human body and the human thoughts before you; it is equally representative and equally sensitive to interference. Yet, human beings are eager to share, to be seen and known and, most importantly, understood, and to that extent I have aimed toward writing out my world and its characters, and, thereby, myself. Thus we have reason three: to release the hounds!

            Still, the novels are not written, and any writing I might do outside of a classroom setting is nonexistent. I have taken every fiction course [...] College has to offer, and so I began in on poetry—not to my liking; I find myself too pretentious with poetry in my grip—and tried screenwriting—a class that drove me to my knees; never a Sunday night went by without tears—and now I would like to complete my quest to test every literary water [...] can offer me. I move now to drama—which seems promising—and nonfiction—which I meant to take years ago but somehow never got around to. I am here to try my hand at something I have only ever done as a hobby, a passing amusement, and in the most informal way possible; I am here to absorb and to try and to experiment and to come out the other side with a greater understanding of myself both as a writer and as a person, and if I have made some useful work in the process, then all the better.

[is-the-owl-video-cute]

The fact that you work retail makes a lot of sense actually

Customer service is truly the easiest way to radicalize someone.

[jadedjo]

It has come to my attention that today is Mara Jade's birthday, or at least her birth into the Star Wars EU as a character. I do not have anything written but wanted to mark the occasion. What follows was written for Luke's Birthday but will work for Mara as well.

Not Just Another Day

Mara Jade exited the public transport that dropped her off in the center of Sah'c Town, the shopping district of Coruscant. She used to avoid the capital during this time as it brought up painful memories of a lost life. Empire Day was just two days ago but this year she hadn’t even noticed. Perhaps it was because the Empire she knew was dead. Perhaps it was because she’d been busy on a delivery for Karrde. Or perhaps it was because she had promised to meet Luke Skywalker on the sidewalk she now stood on today, driving all thoughts of Empire Day out of her head.

Weaving her way through the multitude of beings going about their daily lives, Mara looked for Luke at the designated spot--a kebab place that read ‘What the Shishet”. She saw the sign before she saw Luke. Reaching out through the Force she felt him nearby, but could not see past all the beings. It wasn’t until a loud family of Mon Calamari took a left into a shopping complex that she spotted him.

Leaning casually against the duracrete that was made to look like ancient stone, he looked good in black pants, black double-breasted shirt, and an old, faded, yellow nerf-hide jacket. Looking more like a random pedestrian then a Jedi Master, coupled with the fact that most people didn’t expect the famous Luke Skywalker to be hanging around a kebab shop, no doubt helped him from getting noticed. That, and the subtle currents of the Force whenever someone looked too long in his direction.

“Can’t go anywhere in public can you?” she asked, coming up on his right as he winked at a youngling Rodian who was gaping at him open-mouthed and wide-eyed.

He instantly straightened and said, as he leaned into her to give her a kiss on the cheek, “Nope, but I’m glad you could make it.”

She turned her head at the last second and made the simple greeting something more. The kiss lasted a moment longer then what popular decorum dictated was proper and she enjoyed the awkward glances sent their way as they broke apart. If only that human woman knew just who Mara was kissing she wouldn't roll her eyes so disapprovingly. Mara didn’t care. She hadn't seen her betrothed in months. Kisses weren't the only thing she had in mind for Luke. But those ideas would have to wait as he was evidently taking her out for lunch.

“If you wanted to go out to eat, couldn't you have found somewhere closer to the Senate District?” she said as she moved to go around him and into the eatery.

“We’re not eating here actually,” he said as he took her hand off door controls and guide her down the walkway. “The place I have in mind is only another block away. This was just an easy place to meet.”

She looked at him puzzled as his left hand stayed in her right. “So, where are we going?” The warmth of his hand felt good as they walked sedately through the crowd, now giving them disapproving looks for walking slow when most seemed to be in a rush to get somewhere.

“It's a surprise,” he said with a grin and kissed her hand in his.

Now it was her turn to roll her eyes. “You know I hate surprises.”

“You’ll like this one. Promise.”

She let out a dramatic sigh. Now that they were together again after such a long parting she was in no hurry to rush things or put a damper on the day. “If I must.”

Luke just smiled, not fooled by her sarcasm. A warmth brushed the edges of her mind in what she was coming to understand as a mental kiss. She returned the touch as the pair walked down the walkway in comfortable silence.

Ten minutes later and Luke was guiding her into one of the never-ending shopping complexes. Every megablock in this part of Coruscant had them and each one catered to a different demographic, be it based on species type, income level, or particular specialty.

After entering, they went up twenty floors and passed a dozen different specialized eateries before Luke stopped in front of a small looking cafe decorated in warm browns, dark reds, creams, and blacks. The sign above the door simply said, The Dark Room. Upon entering she noticed there were no tables to sit at but large plush chairs set in conversation circles, and a few couches mixed in for larger groups. The dark decor was offset by the panoramic view of the canyon the megablock was situated in, letting in the afternoon twilight and lights from the opposite building. This far from the surface and only shadows and artificial light prevailed. The fact that the place was lucky to get one of the outer edge retail spaces spoke to its profitability.

Luke made his way to one of the chair groups for two along the view panes and only let go of her hand once she was seated.

A digital menu appeared on the surface of what had looked like a real wood table, set low between them. After reading only a few items she looked at him and said disbelievingly, “Not everything has chocolate in it, does it?”

“Everything,” he confirmed.

Reading a few more lines, she noticed a few entrees with cacao powder as an ingredient. Not sure she was that brave, she selected a caf laced with dark chocolate. Luke selected the same. It was only a few moments when the center of the table split in a twelve-pointed star pattern--that Mara had assumed was inlaid wood-- and their drinks rose from the depths on a red lacquered tray and cream colored ceramic cups. Once level with the surface of the table the star closed up beneath the tray as if it had never opened.

Once the table returned to normal Luke scooted to the edge of his seat and said, “Happy birthday.”

She stopped admiring the subtle elegance and sophistication of the cafe, letting her steaming drink cool, and whipped her head back to look at him. “What do you mean ‘happy birthday’. It’s not my birthday. It’s yours. I thought that’s why you insisted we meet today if I could arrange it.”

“Yes, it is my birthday,” he admitted. “And yes, I wanted you here to celebrate. But, that was only partially why I asked you to come. You don’t know when your birthday is so I thought I would surprise you and we could celebrate together.” The earnestness in his voice made her give up her annoyance at his trying to give her back something she never had to begin with. No, she didn’t know when her date of birth was and it really didn’t matter. She lived, she worked, and now she loved. The only date that would hold any meaning for her now would be the date she and Luke were married.

“That’s sweet Farmboy,” she said trying to temper her words to be more understanding. “But completely unnecessary. It doesn’t matter when I was born. Just that I was and am here with you.”

“You’re right. The actual date doesn’t matter. In fact, Leia doesn’t even celebrate her birthday. She celebrates her adoption day, which is four days from now. It holds more meaning for her to commemorate the day Bail and Brehe Organa took her in. Loved her and protected her. So we’ve never shared our birthday despite being born the same day.”

“So what is your point?”

“The point is you were born and are here, now, and that is worth celebrating. I just choose to call it a birthday as it’s mine and thought you might like to share it with me.”

The sentimentality was touching and as she had never had a birthday, much less anyone she wanted to share it with, she decided to give in to him. This one time.

“You’re not going to sing are you?” She asked with real worry.

He laughed, knowing that she had conceded.

“Only if you want me to,” he said leaning back into his seat.

“Maybe next time,” she said and reached to pick up her drink and take a sip before getting comfortable. The caf was perfectly prepared with a sharp bitter flavor that seemed to enhance the rich chocolate flavor rather than compete with it. The warm, frothy cream made the whole thing decadent.

“Thank you, Luke. For the best birthday I’ve ever had.”

[agathaharknes]

yennaia + gamer au

This was supposed to be three sentences and definitely not crack but I just had to... sksjsjssksjjs.

Yennaia prompt: Gamer AU.

LINK TO ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN IN THE REPLIES.

Word count: 1.8k+ Pairing: Yennaia. Rating: T.

Tissaia really had no idea why she was doing this. Perhaps to appease Rita. Perhaps because her addiction to nicotine had worsened over the course of one year of a bloody Continent-wide pandemic and she was loath to use her credit card every time she needed a new pack of cigarettes. Perhaps she was going through a midlife crisis to cope with the fact that being the Chancellor of Aretuza College was already stressful enough without half the generations there trying to fool her subordinates into thinking cardboard replicas or even mannequins counted as attendance or simply because the rest of the Board of Governors (Stregobor) couldn't differentiate between what could be said through an email and what required her to clean her entire house so the background of her call was pristine.

Her controller vibrated in her hands, (Why, for the love of the Gods, couldn't that setting be turned off?) her knuckles turning white from gripping it so strongly. "Oh, for fu- heaven's sake." There, she had been ambushed. Again. A funny and wholly unexpected thing happened, though, one of the users turned on her companions, offing the lot of them with clean headshots the brunette definitely couldn't pull off in the span of twenty seconds.

"Uhh..." What does one say when your virtual saviour just betrayed her entire party on a whim and was being cursed at obnoxiously loudly and vulgarly for it?

Yennefer ignored Sabrina calling her names that absolutely applied to her and her hormonal reaction to a lovely blue-eyed MILF the likes of which she had only seen in her dreams. "No thanks needed, love. I was getting tired of seeing you frown like someone had keyed your car every time you got killed. A pretty thing like you should only have cause to smile." Oh, Gods, now she sounded like a creepy old man that lived in his mum's basement. Great. Good job. Her Social Studies major was an absolute hit. Fuck her life. Fuck Oxenfurt College. And fuck Sabrina's witch-like cackling while she was at it. "Name’s Yennefer." She choked out miserably.

Tissaia scowled at her laptop. Hackers. Amazing. This was the best day of her new normal life. "Mind telling me how you broke through the most expensive antivirus in the Continent, dear? Because now I really need a refund." Now she also needed to contact Aretuza’s IT team on a Saturday night, because she was not about to mess any further with these blasphemous machines, thank you very much.

Wait, what? "That wasn't me... You left your camera on." The woman legitimately squealed at that, her oversized jumper sliding down her left shoulder and exposing just a glimpse of her collarbone as she pinned up her hair into a bun with... were those pens fashioned as swords? Oh, bugger, this was so not the time to get turned on! "Are you alright?" Mercifully Sabrina, Renfri and Phillipa were already accosting someone else, else she was sure the brunette would've completely lost it, more than she already was doing, anyways. "Hello?" No answer.

Tissaia was fishing for her boots when she started ranting, “Oh, don’t you worry! I’m fine! Just dandy! This is exactly how I wanted my life to go.” She motioned with her hand to the space around her. “I wished for nothing more than dealing with complete morons from nine to six, five days a week, whilst trying to make sure my sanity doesn't desert me.” Biting her lower lip for a moment she began checking that the ends of the laces were the same length when she pulled them up. “Running right after to my local grocery store to buy more instant meals that are probably going to give me cancer in five years if the bullshit articles my mother keeps sending me-”

Yennefer had told herself she wasn’t going to allow this wasn’t going to get any creepier than her misguided comment but she still had a gift code for that nice liquor store which conveniently had retailers popping up every six blocks everywhere for the last few months, especially in Thanned isle, only Gods knew why. “This bloody succubus of a twat that is my best friend has been forcing me to constantly use this cursed game by changing the password for my email and then Aretuza’s server and then-” Bingo. One text to Philippa and they had her IP address, with a mortified Triss already calling Jaskier since she was the only one that had managed to get a decent scholarship at that posh college.

This was her future wife who was about to jump from a bridge from the looks of her and they just had to do humanity a great service by saving her from herself and from sobriety.

“Can you believe that tosser? I am a lesbian! I spent my teenage years clad in flannel until my girlfriends staged an intervention kind of lesbian! Yes, Vilgefortz, I will sue you for harassment in the workplace and I will blacklist you. No, Vilgefortz, I don’t want to break quarantine to go on a date with you and I definitely do not want your disgusting cologne anywhere near my-” Tissaia’s head shot up, her doorbell was ringing and she pinched the bridge of her nose, reaching for a new, disposable, mask.

“You stay right there.” She threatened the girl, who had the most beautiful violet… Perhaps she really ought to let Coral get her a therapist. It rang again. “Gods-damn-it.” She thought.

Her plan was going marvellously. She would only have to sleep with a knife under her pillow for a few weeks for blackmailing Sabrina (Who honestly hadn’t the slightest talent to pass off plagiarism as a sudden stroke of genius in her final project without her aid.) into going along with this. The blonde was lighting the candles around the monitor without trying to burn her hair off and had given away her best bottle of cheap but still good wine for the cause. Thanks to Renfri and her frankly psychotic, owl obsessed, girlfriend she already knew what she would be replacing her trauma-ridden last name with! Splendid!

The brunette shut the door on Jaskier’s face after taking the brown paper bag from his hands, spraying the bottle of vodka inside it with so much disinfectant that it dripped down onto her carpet. Taking off her gloves and disposing of them, she grabbed a knife from the counter and ignoring the annoying blue light that came from the kitchen table, “Oh, shit. You’re soulmates. I’ll tell the rest of the girls we’re all fucked.” Tissaia cut off the upper part of the glass in one smooth hit, like Calanthe had taught her when the then teacher could still be considered fun by her groups of friends.

“Shut up, tiddybug!” She heard Yennefer sing-song.

Feeling like being crass the blue-eyed woman took a rather large swing directly from the bottle. Sitting back down, she sighed. Yennefer took a dignified sip from her wine; she could do balanced when her significant other to-be needed to let loose. “Did you like the bottle? It has good reviews from… wait a minute… apparently several alcoholics who don’t know what a budget is.”

Tissaia’s face paled. “I thought you weren’t a hacker.” The woman muttered. She didn’t fancy getting kidnapped and… No, no, no. Fucking Rita. What was the cost of moving, again? If she slept four hours less a day and split her cleaning time in two she could probably trade this house for Stregobor's in-

“I am not!” Yennefer cried. Bloody hell. “You just mentioned that you worked at Aretuza and-” Sabrina had probably started a group call and Phillipa was indeed hacking into her computer to save her arse. The Redanian was currently writing a script for her to follow. “Your username in the game is your surname. My friends and I tried to get into that school a few years back and I do remember that the Chancellor is a woman and that her last name is de Vries.” Her username wasn’t her last name, it was actually something that suggested she was an Ice Queen of the highest order. Queen Elsa from the movie Frozen would be intimidated kind of Ice Queen.

“Everyone is aware the highest-ranking members of the faculty live in chalets near the castle, pardon, the building.” True. According to Triss, that was a part of their contract that if unfulfilled prohibited them from working there ever again. To Yennefer that seemed borderline cruel, forcing them to be available at all hours like circus animals for juniors that didn’t deserve their spots.

“My best friend is a student there and she knows which one is your home because she wants to eventually be a teacher.” Partially true. Until that day came, Triss, like any rational individual, avoided the Chapter’s Village like the plague lingered inside, and wouldn’t be caught dead there unless she had to stop Sabrina from doing something stupid because of the anarchist phase she was going through. Jaskier was an acquaintance of hers of sorts because Triss had tutored his boyfriend Geralt in Biology and being daddy’s boy, he knew which one was Tissaia’s house because he had almost gotten expelled like fifteen times.

“I honestly just wanted to do something nice for you, you sounded like you needed it and… I know quarantine hasn’t been lifted once in Temeria since it all started.” Philippa wrote then that she would probably make for a decent actor without flashing her breasts to the audience every five minutes. She pursed her lips and replied in the mock post-it note to fuck off.

“I… I… Thank you. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed- I’m sorry, darling.” Her pale cheeks flushed at the term of endearment that slipped her tongue and Tissaia bowed down her head, red-painted nails caressing the glass bottle almost reverently. “Say, why don’t you tell me what your email address is and I send you my mobile via chat? The explosions in the background aren’t that, uhm, comforting to listen to when I’d much rather be hearing your voice.” Should she have looked up she would have seen the smile that threatened to split Yennefer’s face. “Only if you want to, of course! I- what am I even saying? Never mi-”

“No! Wait!” She placated. Sabrina squeezed her shoulder as she went to retrieve her phone charger, offering her a genuine smile. “I’d love to.”

“Okay.” Said Tissaia, an awed sound leaving her throat when blue finally meet with lilac. Gods, she was drop-dead gorgeous. Rita could have whichever bottle, all the liquor she wanted from the school’s cellar for indirectly enabling this.

Was one week a proper enough courting period to then buy the engagement ring? Or should she just have Philippa get her the best, costliest one from that jewellery eshop they all liked through some minor fraud that would take her like half an hour at most, today? “Good.” Yennefer de Vries had such a nice ring to it.

[red-the-dragon-writes]

Today's post is not on the usual "writer blog fare" side. Instead I am going to introduce you to several fun facts about various animals on our planet and then talk about worldbuilding.

1. Lampreys are a kind of "living fossil"- a not-really-so-scientific term for a creature that has lived unchanged for a very long time, so long that we have fossils of them looking the same way they do now. They don't have proper jaws, just a circular sucking mouth with teeth set into it and a tongue designed to strip flesh off of what it touches. They're finless fish, look quite a bit like eels, and have this really alien, uncanny vibe to them.

[id: a long, slender bluish-silver lamprey sitting among rocks. It has a long snout, an eye, and then six small perforations in its side arranged at an even interval sitting behind the eye. The environment it is sitting in is very yellow and green in comparison. end id]

[id: an image of a lamprey from below. The snout ends in a round, flat mouth which is studded with teeth in four concentric circles. The teeth are smallest near the outer edge and largest in the middle, and look like very sharp round points. In the center of this ring is another, smaller circle, where the pointed, tooth-like tongue can be seen, as well as a hole for the lamprey to actually ingest food with. Its eye is visible, as are some of the perforations on its side. This one is a more mottled gray than the first one was, and less shiny. end id]

Sea lampreys, which are the kind i've sort of not really kinda researched, are a major pest in the Great Lakes, where they regularly attack fish. They can get up to two feet in length. Despite this, they are not particularly dangerous towards humans.

2. Horseshoe crabs are also "living fossils." They've been around and virtually unchanged for millions of years. They're not true crabs, and are more closely related to chelicerata species, like spiders and scorpions (and many more). There are a lot of cool features of horseshoe crabs, but one of their most extremely cool, to me, is their blood.

I'm not going to post any images of what I consider to be animal cruelty, so you'll have to take me at my word here, but this is a bottle of horseshoe crab blood. If you're sensitive to images of animal cruelty, I don't recommend looking for proof, but if you aren't, there are plenty of images of the blood coming out of the creature for you to verify this with.

E[id: a bottle of slightly frothy, opaque blue liquid. It is sitting in a row with several other bottles of the same material. end id]

I am a sucker for blue blood, I just think it's neat, so that's all I'd need as an excuse to slam some horseshoe-crab-inspired nonsense in my exceptionally gory and fucked up wips, and if you've been reading along with WiB you may have noticed that blue blood does come into play at some point! But that's not all that's neat about horseshoe crab blood. Unfortunately for the horseshoe crabs, but fortunately for us, their blood is literally the only source of an important compound used for detecting the presence of dangerous bacteria in certain pharmaceutical drugs. (Fortunately, there are replacements that will hopefully become more popular in coming years.)

Now that we've gone over all that, onto the worldbuilding!

I worldbuild by Rule of Cool. Let's just get that out of the way. Every so often people will ask me how my worlds get so expansive (not WiB, WiB i made up on the fly by cribbing from fanfic and like... BBC Merlin. Assume very little of this holds true for WiB) and the answer is largely that I take every interest I have ever had in anything and smash it all together and throw it at my wip to see what sticks. and then I just... like... reasonably attempt to figure out what the natural conclusions will be.

So: we have lampreys. We have blue-blooded ancient sea creatures with spectacularly important and valueable blood. We are writing this into a story that takes place on land, somehow.

- The first option, and the one I'm going to talk about most because I did it, is just to rule-of-cool it into a character. (Or a place, or an item, or whatever, but largely I do rule-of-cool on living creatures and think harder about the world around them.) If you've been keeping up with WiB, you may have noticed that (spoilers) Zero Point is some kind of fucked up magician with a lamprey mouth in their hand who shapeshifts and bleeds blue. This is where I got those inspirations from (along with, like, some other stuff. I promise there are no lamprey assassins, but- continuing in the trend of stealing from sea creatures- the bobbin worm is a spectacularly beautiful, spectacularly deadly creature if you're within its weight range. which is like, goldfish size, but. And cuttlefish are known to disguise themselves as other animals, and can change sexes if the male:female ratio where they are isn't ideal.)

So you can take the elements you like, and just kind of slam them together haphazardly, which is what I did with Zero Point. The trick to this kind of worldbuilding is just to avoid looking too closely at it. The magical assassin has a fucked up mouth in their hand? Yeah, okay, that seems kind of fucked up and creepy. What do they do at all times? They hide it under a glove. So the protags Just Straight Up Never Ask. And voila; it never gets explained, and it never has to.

Same with the blue blood. It shows up, it functions as a plot device because only Zero Point has blue blood; it is never explained or even delved into with much detail. And if it were, it would fall apart instantly, because the justification is literally just "i thought it was neat. No, no one else is like that. I don't even know why they are. i just felt like it"

- The second option is to consider the effects of the things that you're working with, and then work off of that.

Let's take Zero Point again. Strip them of their context (weird assassin with magical powers) and just like, consider the fact that this is a creature with blood that regularly retails for over $10,000 USD, is intelligent as fuck, shapeshifts, has a mouth in their hand that may or may not be their actual mouth, and can exist on land so long as they have suitable access to water. What does that mean for our setting? Surely they're not the only person like that; so you have a whole species of people who are sort of but not really amphibious, shapeshift, and maybe have magical powers, who knows. They can't shapeshift their fucked up lamprey mouths, maybe. That seems like a reasonable limit. So their blood is highly valuable- what does that mean for their relations with other people, or their culture? What kind of foods do they eat? How do they create a sense of culture as shapeshifters; is there even a way that they represent themselves in art? How do they interact with the world? Do they have a "true form" or not? Every one of these questions will spawn new questions. If you answer all of them you'll lose your mind, but if you answer at least ten you'll spawn a much more background-heavy world that can help to shape your story much more effectively than trying to just craft a narrative will. Sometimes it works very well for a story. Sometimes it gets you lost in the weeds.

- The third option is to reference something else, and build off that. Again, let's use Zero Point as the example.

In the original story that the WiB ensemble is from, Closerverse, which may have some mentions on this blog but honestly I have no idea, there is a city that I've done quite a bit of worldbuilding on. This city is called Hudson, and one of the major important features of it is that it is partially underground. (This is a reference to the DFZ of Rachel Aaron's Heartstrikers series). Hudson is intentionally run to be the worst, most unpleasant city in the world, and one of its features are its wildly intelligent, dangerous forms of aquatic life. The lowest level of this city is partially submerged, and all of these creatures plague the people who live down there.

Closerverse was also set during a period of early industrialization, and Hudson heavily referenced US history, especially 1900s-1920s labor history. Tenements, pollution, zero protections for workers, et cetera. Hudson is a nasty, miserable place, and everyone who lives there can feel the jaws closing in on them.

Anyway, in Closerverse you got these fucked up massive eel-like creatures (lampreys, but with extra features) that due to some rather significant meddling wound up growing legs and then got really massive and started eating people. They have blue blood, glow in the dark, and make fairly decent eating as long as they aren't eating you. And they're intelligent. Given the whole "mutual eating each other" thing, the eels and the people of Hudson have some pretty major animosity going on.

Most of Zero Point's stuff is really just me referencing the Hudson Eels, because I fucking love those. They're some of my favorite worldbuilding elements ever. But given that no one else in WiB has ever seen a Hudson Eel, let alone seen their blood get dry on things, or whatever, everything about Zero Point is wildly out of context. And that almost makes it better, because the whole deal with them is that they're mysterious and weird, and having them be a mysterious and weird reference to something no one but I know about most likely is like, fun and neat.

There are, of course, other modes of worldbuilding as well, but I typically aim to stick to the first two as much as possible. The cooler you make something, the more possible questions it raises; the more questions something raises, the deeper your world gets.

Although, a word of advice: sometimes animals just do things. Sometimes bodies just have features. Who would invent fingernails? But having them is mighty convenient, isn't it? For that matter, who would come up with a deeply logical and reasoned explanation for eyebrows- but not having those would be very strange, to us. You can get away with doing a lot by just having that be how it is, and not having the characters comment on it.

Also, the more "shaped" a thing should be, the more you'll want to take the second approach. For house design, something intentionally built, you'll want to know why it was built, and what purpose is this and that room, and why is it painted such and such colors. But if you're talking about adding a second moon, like... fuck dude, who needs to know why there's a second moon? Maybe if you have sailors you have to know what it'll do to your oceans, but that's the kind of thing you can kind of just say exists and move on. You'll figure it out; it gets pretty intuitive.

Anyway, happy worldbuilding!

[greatfay]

since ur answering asks and shit can u explain what u meant by generational differences in communication

Damn it’s like 2015 tumblr when my inbox used to be WET. So if you’re talking about the controversial opinions post, YES, like I totally understand where people are coming from when they say that generational divides aren’t real (because they aren’t, they’re arbitrary) and distract us from real problems and yes they paint past generations as collectively bigoted when Civil Rights protestors in the 60s (who are in their 70s and 80s now) are mirrors to BLM protestors today, who could be of any age, but the most vocal and famous (at least online, especially irt to the founders, like Patrisse Cullors who is 37.

But how we communicate is sooooo different. I really point to the Internet and Social Media as a major influence in how younger millennials (more Tom Hollands and less Seth Rogans—see even there, I feel like there are two different types of Millennials) and Gen Zrs/Zoomers and even Generation Alpha behave and communicate. We live in a world where we grew up either knowing right out the gate or discovering the hard way that what we say and do has permanence, the kind of permanence that prior generations have never experienced until today. The dumb things kids have been saying since forever can now follow them... forever. We have an inherent understanding of how online spaces work. Compare that to, idk, let’s say you posted on your Facebook (for the first time in 18 months) “All these big and bad grown ass Senators going after actual child Greta Gerwig lol ok, you’re so brave for attacking a CHILD over climate change” and then your aunt, who’s turning “forty-fifteen” in May replies to your post with “So happy to see my passionate niece! Much love from us, hope you’re doing well. Paul is doing great, waiting on his screening results. Tell your mom I said we miss her, we need to get together, we forgive her for last Christmas.”

Like... ok there’s a lot going on there, but your hypothetical aunt is oversharing on a publicly accessible post. And even with the most strict of privacy settings, she’s oversharing where your other Facebook friends (which may include classmates, coworkers, etc.) can see. But she’s saying things that would only be appropriate in a 1-on-1 conversation. This Aunt doesn’t have an understanding of such boundaries, she’s not as technologically literate and hasn’t grown up in a world of Virtual Space, she still gets most of her news from TV, she trusts what a reporter on Channel 4 will read off a script more than what actual video footage of an incident might reveal on Twitter, and she has no clue that she’s been sharing her location data with every post she makes.

There’s such a huge difference. I think it even affects how we experience and express stress and frustration. I think growing up partially in online spaces has made me more accustomed to conflict and consequence-free arguing than someone who never had to worry about that. I’ve been exposed so much to harassment and bullying, triangulating and echo chambers in forums and threads, and vastly opposing point of views at such an early age that it’s had an effect on how I see the world. Compare this to a customer I helped two weeks ago who was looking for a specific type of supplement for children. I found it for her, I handed her exactly what she was looking for, even though her description of the product actually matched several different products; to make sure I’d done my job thoroughly and that she leaves happy and satisfied and doesn’t bother me again, I then show her more products that match her description so that she knows she has options. And she proceeds to freak out, saying “NO, NO, I’M LOOKING FOR [X] AND IT HAS TO BE [XYZ]” and when I say freak out, she looked stressed and PANICKED. And being a retail employee wears you down bit by bit, and add COVID on top of it and little shit like this makes you snap, sometimes. So I have to cut her off like “Why are you screaming and freaking out, jfc you’re holding what you said you wanted. It’s in your hands. I gave you what you wanted, I’m just showing you more things.”

That customer is not an exception, she’s not a unique case. She’s representative of a frightening percentage of her generation, the kids who watched Grease and The Breakfast Club and Ghost in theaters when they were originally released. This is how they communicate and process information. She could not, for some reason, register that her need had been fulfilled, and defaulted to an extreme emotional response when given new and different information.

I’ve yet to deal with someone younger than 35 act the same way, the exceptions being the kids of very wealthy people at my new job who reek of privilege I gag when they walk in—but even they are like *shrugs* “ok whatever” and understanding when there’s something I can’t do for them.

Me: “sorry, we are totally out of that one in your size, but I can order it for you, it’s 2-3 day shipping at no cost to you and we ship it straight to your house”

A rich, white, attractive 22-year-old who’s had access to organic food, a rigorous dermatologist, and financial security since she was born: “mmm... sure, I’ll order it”

A 47-year-old of any socioeconomic background, of any race, in the same situation: “AHHHHHHHHHHH”

I just think it’s crazy how three generations of kids and young adults raised in a world where everything moves so much faster, where knowledge and entertainment and communication can be gathered so much faster, are often so much more polite and patient and understanding. Yesterday I told an older man (mid-50s) whose native tongue is the same as mine, as clearly and succinct as possible, that what he’s looking for is “in aisle 4.” He proceeded to repeat back, “Aisle 7?” four time before I dropped everything to show him what he needed in aisle 4, despite his insistence that he didn’t need me to walk him there. 4 and 7 sound nothing alike in English. There’s just something going on up there 🧠 that’s different.

Oh, other generational divides!!! We have different approaches to labor and working. Totally different! I’m a “young” millennial where I’m almost Gen Z, and I’ve noticed an awful trend among my demographic where people actually brag about working 90 hour work weeks. Or brag about how they skip breaks and live on-call to get the job done for “the hustle” like this “hustle, become a millionaire by 30″ culture that’s dominated these kids, idk where tf that came from. Like why are you proud of being a wage slave, getting taken advantage of by your millionaire/billionaire overlords. Compare this to my mother’s generation (she’s a borderline Genius X’er, she and her best friend were a year too young to watch Grease when it came out and had a random older woman buy tickets for her; she went to Prince concerts, took photos of him, then sold the photos on buttons at school, that’s her culture and teenage experience), where she’s insistent on her rights and entitlements as an employee, and these things she instilled me: “whatchu mean they didn’t schedule a break for you and you’re working 12 hrs today? oh no, you’re off, don’t answer your phone cuz you are NOT available!” There are Gen X’ers who entered the workforce at a time that America was drifting toward this corporate world, with more strictly defined regulations, roles, and understandings of labor rights (and also, let’s talk about how the 80s there was so much more attention on workplace harassment, misogyny and gender divides in wage gaps, etc. etc... not that much has changed, but at least it was talked about!). There are young people today who are taken advantage of because they aren’t as informed or don’t feel as secure and valuable enough to claim what belongs to them.

At the same time, those generations (Gen X and older) have a different viewpoint of hierarchies in the workplace and respect irt our direct supervisors. That’s how you get this blurring of boundaries between Work Life and one’s Personal Life that leads to common tropes in media written by their generations, where oh no! I’m having my boss over for dinner and the roast beef is still defrosting :O is such a “relatable thing” for them... meanwhile us younger generations are like I don’t even like that you know where I live, and if I see your 2017 Honda Civic pass my place one day, we’re going to have a problem. I think older generations have a different relationship with the word “Respect” than we do. Like, my grandma, who’s turning 87 (?) this year, and the other seniors in my area, they have a different concept of honor and an expectation of professional boundaries that I, and my mom and her generation, just don’t see (so then there’s something in common with Gen X’ers and the rest of us.) My dad grew up in a world where talking and acting like George Bailey and knocking on someone’s door with a big smile could get you a job, a job that could pay for college and rent no problem. My mom grew up in a world that demanded more prestige, where cover letters and references could get you into some cushy jobs if you’re persistent and ballsy enough. And I grew up in a world where potential employers literally don’t see your face when you apply unless they lurk on any social media profiles you have publicly available and they hold all the cards, and you need all those CVs and reference letters just to make minimum wage... so I feel like I am powerless in the face of such employers.

[winryofresembool]

Things We Lost in the Fire, ch 22

aka Caleo uni au

Fic summary: Calypso starts studying at a new university, but to her annoyance her new flatmate is a loud mouthed mechanic who also likes to sneak his dog in whenever. But as she learns to know him better, she realizes they might have more in common than what she first thought. Eventually, even the darkest secrets come out…

Chapter summary: Leo Valdez can be sweet when he wants to.

A/N:  Sorry for the long break! The holidays were a rather busy time for me so it did good to take some time off from writing. But now I'm back for my weekly updates (at least I hope I am)! And not just with any chapter but a long-ish chapter full of Caleo fluff :) I really hope you guys enjoy! Please let me know what you think because I 100% mean it when I say I love reading your comments!!

Words: 3200+ 

Genre: romance & hurt/comfort

Warnings: none

previous chapter / AO3

…

Once Calypso had made up with Leo and Annabeth, she had new issues to deal with. When she paid her rent for the month, she noticed that she only had enough money for one more month’s rent, not even including the other living costs such as food, other daily necessities and school supplies. She had pushed back the job hunting earlier partially because the friendship issues had made her feel too low to care about that kind of thing, partially because she had no idea what she could do, only having a high school level education and no special skills. She had only ever worked at her father’s company and that was not something she wanted to advertise in her applications. But now she was in a situation that unless she wanted to return to the very place she wanted to stay away from, she had to come up with something.

Annabeth and Piper had seen some of the clothes and other items she had sewed and made with her own hands and encouraged her to sell them but Calypso herself wasn’t entirely convinced they were good enough to be sold. She was also a decent enough artist but with a class full of artists just as good (some even better) than her, what would make her stand out in the public? Her people skills weren’t amazing either so she doubted that she would make a good retail worker. But she knew she would probably have to come out of her comfort zone in this case, so if anyone was willing to hire her, she’d accept it.

She was startled when she suddenly heard a familiar voice from the other room: “Sunshine, I’mma head out to buy some groceries and stuff for a new project. You need anything?”

In some other situation, Calypso would have been thankful for the offer, but she was still feeling like a nervous wreck because of her earlier discovery. That’s why the words escaped her before she could stop herself: “Huh? No, I don’t think so? And I can still buy my own groceries, thank you very much.”

“Sorry, I just thought I’d ask… I didn’t mean to…” Leo seemed a bit baffled by her outburst. He was already about to head out when Calypso came out of her room and stopped him.

“No, I’m sorry.” She sighed, looking regretful. “I was just on the edge because I just noticed my financial situation isn’t exactly the best… But that is something I need to figure out on my own, I don’t want charity.”

“Well, I wasn’t gonna buy you a car or anything,” Leo tried to crack a joke. “Just thought that if you’re running out of milk or something, I could have saved you the trouble… Since I’m going there anyway…”

“Oh… no, I don’t think I need anything,” she said, this time a lot softer. “But thank you for asking.”

“No prob, Sunshine,” Leo replied, looking relieved now that he knew she wasn’t actually angry at him. “But hey, if you do need help with, like, searching for a job, or something, I’m your man.”

Calypso tried to keep her face neutral even though she had a feeling her cheeks were probably red. “I’ll… keep that in my mind.”

“Well, see you soon,” Leo said after the two just kept staring at each other for a while. He seemed to be sizing her, possibly still a bit thrown off by her weird reaction before he put his coat on (Calypso noticed it was the same shade of red as a lot of his shirts seemed to be. And it was also rather snugly fit, definitely not a bad sight, she thought before she had time to stop herself) and took his bags, leaving her alone.

“See you,” she said quietly when the door was already closed.

Once sure that Leo was far enough and not coming back, Calypso leaned her back against the wall of her room, sliding down into a sitting position on the floor. Throwing her head back, she groaned at herself. She had thought that the small falling out they had had because of the Percy incident might have affected her feelings towards Leo, but it seemed to become clearer and clearer every day that wasn’t the case. Even if she had admitted to Hazel and Annabeth that those feelings were not quite flatmate like, it was a whole different thing to really come to terms with that fact. She was falling quite hard.

The more she thought about it, the more she freaked out. Her relationships before one faithful day during her teenage years had failed badly (and that was over 5 years ago anyway) and the online dating she had done afterwards… Well, now that Calypso thought about it, only the conversation with Percy had seemed to be going somewhere. All the people she had cared about had left her and never come back. That, along with the fact that she had spent a lot of time alone in the past, had left her scared of relationships and ruined her self esteem, making her think that she simply wasn’t good enough. If Leo left too… she wasn’t sure how she’d handle that. Not to even mention, her dad was still probably looking for her and getting Leo mixed into that would be very dangerous for him. No matter what Annabeth said about wanting to help.

Biting her lip, she decided there was only one option. No matter what she felt, she should try to treat Leo just like any of her friends and conceal her true feelings. Having Leo in her life just as a flatmate was way better than not having him in it at all. When she remembered her friends’ hints that perhaps Leo himself wasn’t as indifferent to her as he probably should be, she suddenly felt like crying. In different circumstances… maybe they could be happy together, go on dates, hold hands… Now she would inevitably have to let him go when someone else would realize that Leo was a great person worth dating.

Calypso didn’t know how long she had been sitting there, and she also hadn’t noticed that there were tears running down her cheeks. She didn’t snap out of her daze until she heard the front door clunking again, this time indicating that Leo had already returned.

“Please just ignore me…” Calypso ranted in her head, but no luck. She heard steps from outside her room, stopping right in front of it. Swiping her wet cheeks quickly into her hands, she stood up from the floor just in time for Leo to knock on her door. Calypso didn’t really want to open it when she was in that emotional state but she knew that not answering would raise even more questions. Her messy looks she could always try to shrug off as a ‘bad day’, she decided.

“Yeah?” she asked weakly, opening the door to reveal her flatmate with that stupid trademark grin of his on his face. He seemed pretty happy about something he had or was about to do. The late autumn wind had made his curly hair even messier than usual and his cheeks were red from the cold weather and the exercise but his eyes were sparkling excitedly, like he couldn’t wait to show her something. He started: “I went to the hardware store and…” He quickly stopped when he noticed Calypso’s expression and puffy eyes. His happiness immediately melted away. “Hey, what’s wrong? Have you been crying?”

“It’s been a rough day,” Calypso sighed, looking down. “Don’t worry, I was just being overwhelmed by the loads of uni work before the exam season. And like I told you before, I need a job… But… it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“Alright, if you’re sure…” Leo narrowed his eyes slightly, probably sensing that she wasn’t telling him the entire truth. “But yeah, I was gonna give you something. Hope it cheers you up a bit. He handed her a tiny packet of what seemed like flower seeds but before Calypso had time to read the text on it, he started explaining.

“So, I was gonna tell you that I went to the hardware store to buy me some supplies, and you know how they sell all kinds of seeds there as well? Well, I just happened to notice these while waiting for my turn to pay for my stuff and I just randomly decided to buy them.”

“But… why?” Calypso asked, finally looking at Leo directly.

“Um…” He started rubbing the back of his neck. “Remember when Festus jumped on your desk and broke it? There was a plant on it too… and I never replaced it. When I saw those,” he nodded towards the packet Calypso was holding, “I remembered that the plant looked like that… At least I think it did… I’m no good with that kind of stuff… But I know you care about your plants… so I thought it’d be only fair if I got you those. I know it’s not gonna be the exact same one you had, but…”

Leo didn’t manage to finish his sentence because Calypso couldn’t contain her feelings anymore. She closed the space between them and hugged him even tighter than the time they had had a game night with Jason and Piper. No one had gotten anything for her in years, and even if the seed bags didn’t cost much, it was the thought that mattered way more to her. She had never expected him to remember such a detail from several months ago when they hadn’t even been friends, but apparently he did.

“Uh, Cal, some air would be nice,” Leo said jokingly when it started seeming she didn’t even want to let him go. He didn’t attempt to break the hug, though, instead gently stroking her back. “Wow, Sunshine,” he said in an attempt to lighten the mood, “You’d think I bought you a house based on your reaction.”

Calypso raised her head from his shoulder, giving him a half hearted glare as she broke the hug.

“I’m not allowed to be thankful for a gift? You don’t know… You don’t understand…”

“Understand what?” Leo raised his eyebrows.

Calypso took a deep breath before answering. “I haven’t gotten gifts from anyone since I turned 16. And even then it was just… uh, never mind. The point is that I’m not used to such nice gestures… And I didn’t think you’d remember… It was my favorite plant. So excuse me if I’m feeling a bit emotional because your gift was more thoughtful than you probably realized.”

“OK, sorry,” Leo apologized quickly. “If you’re not used to nice gestures, I’m not used to displays of affection so I got a bit surprised, that’s all… Well, either way, I’m glad I got you something you care about.”

Calypso’s expression softened again. “Yeah. Thank you. I’m sure they will look pretty.”

Suddenly Calypso realized she was feeling a little dizzy, not sure if from the crying or from the smell of the mechanic oil she had just smelled on Leo’s shirt as she had hugged him. Sitting down on her bed, she leaned her face into her hands.

“Um, are you really OK?” Leo asked. “I know it’s not any of my business, but… if I can help you somehow, let me know.”

After a while, Calypso looked up from her hands, having half expected Leo to leave already. “If you happen to know anyone who’d be willing to hire an inexperienced, uneducated young woman, sure, be my guest,” she muttered.

“Hey.” Leo sat down next to Calypso on her bed, nudging her arm slightly. “Where’s the Calypso who has told me to fight my fear? I’m sure there are plenty of people out there who’d be willing to hire you if they knew how talented you are.”

“Wait… what?” Calypso wasn’t sure if she had heard right. Even if they had been friendly towards each other for a while now, she didn’t remember Leo complimenting her like that before. “Why would you say that?”

“Because it’s true!” Leo exclaimed, his eyes gleaming fiercely the same way Calypso had seen a couple of times earlier. “You are a talented person and even I can see that. You can draw and paint – I bet you’d do way better blueprints for machines than I do. To be honest, I’d probably hire you to do that if I could. You create a lot of things with your own hands – like that one dress you wore the other day, right? Like, OK, I wear overalls all the time so you can take my opinion with a grain of salt, but I thought it looked neat.”

“But…”

“But there are other things as well,” Leo continued persistently. “You know a lot and you’re always working on something – if not something university related, you take care of your plants or bake or something like that – and I think under that hard cover of yours you’re actually a super caring person. I dunno, those are things that at least I value. But maybe I’m the weird one here.” He rolled his eyes as if everything he had just said had been very obvious.

“Leo…” Calypso just stared at him with wide eyes, not finding the right words. She hadn’t been emotionally prepared for Leo showering her with compliments. If her cheeks had felt warm earlier, they were definitely burning now, and her eyes felt weird too… like she was going to cry again. “I…”

“Shhh. Crying doesn’t suit you, Sunshine. Luckily Uncle Leo is good at bad jokes that make the ladies laugh. How about this: What do you give to a sick lemon? Or… why didn't the astronaut come home to his wife?”

“Leonidas,” Calypso repeated but this time she did it with an annoyed groan. That was apparently what Leo had wished, though, because he grinned at her in return.

“Alright, I won’t finish that one!” he raised his hands up. “But it did work because there’s still some spice left in you. That’s what I wanted to see.”

“You’re the only person I know who can literally go from 100 to 0 when trying to cheer someone up,” Calypso said, but her mouth twitched. “But thanks. As much as I hate to admit it, I think it might have worked. For your information,” she added unexpectedly, “you give lemon aid to a sick lemon and the astronaut needed his space.”

“I think my job here is done,” Leo said approvingly, taking one step closer to her. Calypso had seen his brown eyes sparkling when he was happy and burning when he was mad but now she thought they seemed soft and warm, unlike she had seen before. And her heart skipped a beat when she registered that the reason for the warmth might have been… she herself. He looked at her right in the eyes and brushed a lock of her hair behind her ear before his fingers moved to her face. He brushed some of the wetness off with his thumb and for one, short second Calypso thought that he also wanted to do something else… touch her jaw, her lips… But that moment ended fast when he cleared his throat and pulled his hand away. One, tiny part of Calypso’s brain yelled: “no!” while the rational part tried to be relieved.

“Um… You had something there…” Leo tried to brush his previous actions off. “Anyway. Like I said I have no doubt someone wouldn’t hire you. But now that I think of it, I remember hearing from my moms that one of their friends is looking for a holiday helper at her flower shop that is quite near Waystation. The holidays are always a busy time there and the owner’s daughter, who has usually been the one helping, has moved away, so they could really use an extra hand.”

“A flower shop?” Calypso asked, hope starting to flicker in her eyes. “Do you think they may have a lot of applicants?”

“Who knows.” Leo shrugged. “I think it might be a pretty popular place… but you can’t win if you don’t try, huh?”

“Yeah. You’re right,” Calypso agreed. “Do you know how I can contact the place?”

“Hold on for a moment. I can call Emmie and ask,” Leo said and left Calypso alone in her room, baffled by what had just happened but also a bit hopeful. Maybe at least something would turn out right even if her social life would probably continue to be a mess.

A few minutes later Leo returned with a piece of paper in his hands and a satisfied expression on his face. It told Calypso that he had managed to get the number.

“Here you go, Sunshine! Hope you’ll still remember me and how I helped you when you become rich and famous.” He winked.

“I know I’ve told you this before but you really are a weirdo,” Calypso shot back but took the piece of paper gratefully. She excused herself to make a phone call and managed to get a hold of the owner of the flower shop who suggested a meeting for the next day. After finishing the phone call, Calypso searched for Leo who had withdrawn into the living room to watch a movie.

“So… I’m going to have an interview with the owner tomorrow,” she told him. “Keep your thumbs up that it will go fine. I’m kind of nervous, to be honest.”

“I’d keep even my big toes up if needed but I think you’re gonna do great,” Leo noted. “For reals. Have some faith.”

“Easier said than done,” Calypso sighed. “You probably understand.”

“I… yeah,” Leo admitted, thinking about one moment only about a week earlier when he had felt like nothing would work out. “But for what it’s worth, there are people who do support you.”

“You too?” Calypso asked carefully even though she was a bit scared of his answer.

“Yeah, me included.” Leo nodded.

“Listen, Leo… Thanks… for everything you’ve done for me today. Not just the seeds and the phone number, the emotional support too. It really helped.”

She surprised even herself by leaning closer to Leo and giving him a quick peck on his cheek. He went completely speechless and just rubbed the spot on his cheek Calypso had kissed absentmindedly as Calypso waited for him to say something.

“Uhh… you… you’re welcome?” he finally stuttered when Calypso had already started thinking she had crossed some line with the cheek kiss and they were back on square one.

“I should probably go back to do some research…” she said. “I’ve had a hard time focusing on anything lately but I’m feeling better now so hopefully I will manage to make some progress with some assignments. Have fun with your movie!” She attempted to sound cheerful even though the two sides of her brain were having an intense battle in that moment. One said: ‘why don’t you just stay with him? The assignment can wait!” while the other side wanted to run from that situation before Calypso did something she would regret.

“Alright… Thanks. And good luck with that!” Leo said. Calypso was convinced that she just imagined it but to her he had seemed just a bit disappointed that she hadn’t joined him. When she was back in her room, she exhaled sharply. So much for that ‘being just friends’. She would really have to start working harder on that before someone got hurt.

[sadsapphicslut]

chapter one - original story (i havent come up with a title yet lol)

okay so here it is!! if anyone actually reads this i love u :) please leave feedback if u have any!! 

TWs:

death, drugs, medication, mental illness, references to sex, swearing, alcohol

wordcount: 8.2k

(also i dont think anyone will but im paranoid of people stealing my writing so obligatory dont copy/post to another site or steal my work in any other ways etc)

There were five of us; 4 boys and me. In hindsight I realize from the outside our group probably seemed a little predatory, but it was never really like that. For the most part they were like brothers to me. Of course, being the only girl in a small and isolated club of mainly older boys, things were bound to happen. We were in high school and it was summer, can you blame me? Regardless, however much I loved them, it was not quite in the way my father always assumed or my mother always warned (during our uncomfortable monthly visitations before I managed to get rid of her for good).

The months everything went down, which I often referred to only as ‘The Worst Summer of My Life’, (quite melodramatically but not without reason) were somehow still full of the best moments of my life. Moments I often find myself wishing I could repeat, as nothing has or will ever come close to the way I felt, sitting amongst my boys day after day, somehow light as the warm July breeze that blew past us. My entire body weightless, as non-existent as the time that passed us by. Despite the depression I’d found myself plunged into during the days after my only brother’s death, I truly believe I will never again be as happy as I was then. Laughter seemed to flow freely from our mouths, smiles plastered onto our faces no matter the circumstances, content to just exist. I don’t think I can ever forget the day it was raining so hard the entire city was flooded, but we walked around uptown well past the point of being absolutely drenched, our clothes dripping so heavily the security guard denied us entry into the public library. Something about that day made me feel so free, like we were invisible. Completely apathetic to the whims of the real world, somehow existing only in our twisted minds and intertwined fantasies.

Maybe if I’d had my head screwed on a little tighter, or if we’d met under different circumstances, it wouldn’t have ended the way it did. I used to go down that line of thought every night before succumbing to a fitful but heavy sleep (under the direct affect of 25mg of Quetiapine, working to counteract my Concerta and Lexapro). Those types of irrational thoughts were ones my therapist deemed as my habit for rumination. In regard to the death of my brother she called it ‘bargaining’, one of the stages of grief. I never liked it when she spoke about those stages as I’ve always felt them to be wrong. Maybe because I never quite moved on to the final one, no matter how many years pass. ‘Acceptance’, coined as the “Re-entrance to reality”. Maybe it’s different since I was never really grounded to reality in the first place. I still wake up some mornings, thinking I’ve heard his voice in the other room, ready to beguile me with tales from his day of retail work. Other times I swear I’ve walked past him on the street. Some people may relate to my experiences, with reasonings of ghosts, angels, apparitions, or insanity, among many other causes for the apparent viewing of a loved one long gone to the other side. I never shared these beliefs, but I am not one to deny. Rather, I always take these instances as an omen. A warning. I have come to this conclusion not without evidence, at least circumstantial, given the many occasions over the years – and especially that summer – where I found my hypothesis to be true. All I can say is that I am glad I’ve never been met with the same chimerical visions of my mother; one can only hope that is because she ended up where she belonged. Maybe I’ll see her there, though I hope at the very least they could keep us in separate rooms of Hell if the situation does arise.

From what I know of the others now, which is admittedly not much – majorly due to my own neglect, as opposed to theirs – they share the same prescription for rose-coloured glasses as I. We always were too engrossed with our own romanticization of nostalgia and sentiment that it clouded our view. I often think this was one of the reasons we seemed to fit so well together. Not quite like puzzle pieces, too self-absorbed to hold a candle to that analogy, more like complimentary colours. I wish it could’ve stayed the way it was. We did try, and I never found myself able to fully disentangle myself from James, nor he could to I, but for most of us we could recognize an ending when one arises. I used to find myself using the word tragedy a lot while reminiscing, but I no longer think that word is appropriate. Fate is a more fitting term in my opinion, regardless of if one believes in it or not. “(A)n inevitable and often adverse outcome, condition, or end,” as reported by Merriam Webster. I don’t think there’s a word in the entire English language more accurate in describing how everything ended up; and if there is, I am yet to find it.

  Chapter One

A Dead Brother

          I have tried to erase the day my brother died from my memory so many times I lost count decades ago. I still find the image seeping into my unconsciousness quite dreadfully on the nights I neglect to take my pills and catch myself waking up with a steady flow of tears that dampen my pillow along with the drool that always seems to pour from my sleeping mouth. The dread that pools in my stomach sometimes being heavy enough for me to lose my lunch. I frequently wonder how people managed to reassure me that it wasn’t my fault; the most painful lie I’ve ever been told and one that seemed to stream from people’s mouths as easily as the mini sandwiches laid in the living room of my brother’s wake were stuffed in. The worst part about being told it wasn’t my fault was how obviously one could tell they didn’t believe what they were saying either. His death was my fault; a fact so uncontestable I wanted to kill myself every time I was reminded of it.

           My therapist often tried to remind me that even if his death was “partially” (she always used the word partially, refusing to acknowledge the truth that his death was entirely my fault) my fault, there was nothing I could’ve done to prevent it. This was another lie I despised being told. There were a million ways I could have prevented his death or saved his life and yet, here we are, with him dead and me wishing everyday that I won’t wake up tomorrow. “Begonia,” she’d tell me – she was the only person who called me by my full name, I usually went by Nia, but a nickname felt too personal and I didn’t like her very much – “You mustn’t keep torturing yourself with these scenarios. He’s dead, and there is nothing you can do to change that. I am starting to wonder if you are going to let yourself move on. This isn’t healthy.” That was a line she liked to use a lot, “this isn’t healthy”. As if anything I do is.

           Barb, my therapist that is, liked to go over the details of my brother’s death a lot. She often called it a ‘trigger’, which is why she always seemed to want me to talk about it. “Trauma is a horrible thing, Begonia, and you must learn to move past it, process it. I can see you still haven’t managed to do that on your own, and that’s what I’m here for, to help you move on.” Barb was big on the idea of  “moving past trauma” and “learning to cope”, she often sounded like a broken record of a motivational speech. I found myself comparing her to school guidance councillors without realizing it, they were about equally as helpful (read: not helpful) in my opinion.

           Sometimes I blame my inability to forget and “move past” my brother’s death on the way Barb constantly brought it up and made me go through it. I never quite understood how that part of my therapy was supposed to help me. I asked her once, what good was it doing rehashing the worst day of my life?

           “Well, Begonia,” I hated the way she said my name, always so condescending and sour, like even the idea of me questioning her in any way was as impolite as shitting on her desk.

“You have to understand that I only want to help you. You seem to be unable to process your traumas on your own, which is why we need to go through these things. As you are aware, this PTSD,” she always left strange pauses after each letter, her slow tone grinding on my ears, “you have acquired has left you unable to function normally in daily life. I want you to get to a place where you can have a normal life (Ha!) and cope without these meetings. It’s what your brother would’ve wanted.” Barb liked to tell me what my brother would have wanted at least once every session. Putting aside the fact she knew next to nothing about him aside from the intimate details on how he died, I always thought it was an inappropriate thing to say as a psychologist specializing in grief counselling. It never particularly bothered me, I was reasonable enough to realize she was just trying to comfort me, but I never liked the phrase. “What your brother would’ve wanted.” What he would’ve wanted was to not die but we’re past that, aren’t we Barb, as you so often enjoyed telling me.  

I have always been quite averse to my diagnoses, ADHD at 14, Persistent Depressive Disorder at 15, PTSD at 16, issues with alcohol and drugs that landed me in rehab more than once. I’ve been on a concoction of different medications since I was 13, even before I was diagnosed with anything officially. Sertraline, Lexapro, Prozac, Ritalin, Concerta, Adderall, Quetiapine, Ambien, Zopiclone, a healthy mix of off brand and branded medications. Sleeping pills, antidepressants, stimulants. I can’t remember a time before monthly trips to the drug store and side effect surveys that I’m not sure if I ever told the truth on. It’s a wonder that people didn’t see a slew of addiction issues coming from a mile away.

I think I’ve always had the most contention with my PTSD diagnosis though, I hate it because I know it’s undeniably true. I wish it wasn’t because maybe that’d mean my brother was still alive, but he isn’t. And I’m left traumatized and bereaved. Sometimes it feels like it hurt me more than it ever did my mother or father. Maybe it did. I should feel selfish for saying that, but I can’t, because they didn’t have to look at him while the life left his body, praying to God for the ability to turn back time. See the moment his eyes glazed over, knowing I’d never get to hear his obnoxious laugh, or make fun of his dumb face ever again.

  ❈

             “Ray, hey listen I need you to come pick me up.”

It was a cool evening in May, the end of spring brought with it the promise of summer and the air had the familiar aroma of daffodils and petrichor. I had decided to go to a party with my friend Faun, my dad having been out at his girlfriend’s place for the weekend and me having nothing better to do. I wasn’t one for partying, but I did like to get high, so I usually just hung around with the rest of the potheads and pill junkies until someone dragged me home or I fell asleep. That night Don, a friend of a friend of a friend, had brought coke and E and we were all determined to get as fucked up as possible. Faun only ended up doing one line before running into a bedroom with some guy whose name started with an M – was it Martin or Marvin? Maybe it was Mickey – and left me sitting on the couch beside a girl who was about 1 more shot of vodka away from passing out.

I had fully intended on doing some coke, but the E seemed to be hitting harder than I was used to. I was sure my Ritalin had worn off by then but maybe I was wrong. As I stood up to get a glass of water I nearly fell over and decided to sit back down. Turning to face Don, I tapped him on the shoulder trying to get his attention.

“What was in that molly?” I was vaguely aware of the way my words were slurring, but I felt weirdly energized. I was aware my heart was beating a little too fast, but I couldn’t concentrate on anything. I knew what ecstasy felt like, this was not nearly my first time doing it, but I felt really wrong.

           “Don!” He turned to look at me and I felt uneasy. His eyes looked a little crazed – not that out of the ordinary but given the circumstances I was worried – “What the fuck did you give me?” It felt like I’d done 5 lines of coke in the last 2 minutes and I knew that E had been spiked.

           Don’s face had an unmistakable expression of guilt written on it as he leaned down and whispered in my ear, his voice shaking, “I think it was cut with meth.” Fuck. My stomach dropped. I have to get out of here. I quickly shot up from the musty couch I was sat on, carefully holding onto Don’s shoulder so I didn’t fall, my legs still feeling unsteady. I opened my phone; the screen was too bright, and I had a hard time maneuvering it as I attempted to exit the house. Clicking the green Messages icon, I sent a text to Faun – e ws cut w meth im lesving – with shaky hands and burst out the door into the fresh air. I clicked my brother’s contact and pressed call.

           It rang four times before he picked up.

           “Nia? Why are you calling me it’s like 1am?” I could tell from the smooth tone of his voice he’d been drinking. He didn’t very often but he had an appreciation for cocktails and enjoyed getting buzzed now and then. He still was a year from being legal to drink but his friends we’re all 19 and 20 and bought alcohol for him. I found him fun when he got drunk, becoming talkative and giggly, but right now I wished so badly for him to be sober.

           “Ray, hey listen I need you to come pick me up.” I was slurring, my voice a bit too pitchy to pass as anything but high. I knew he didn’t like it when I did this, but he never ratted me out. Sometimes I wish he did, maybe I never would’ve been able to go to that party in the first place.

           I could hear a door shutting on his end, I assumed he was going into a different room. “What’s wrong?” My skin was bubbling with anxiety at the prospect of having to tell him what I did.

           “Fuck, uh… I did something stupid. I’m at Emily Goguen’s, y’know up in Champlain Heights. Please pick me up.” I rarely used the word please.

“Nia, what the fuck did you do?” I almost started crying but I found my eyes to be bone dry.

“Please don’t yell.”

“Okay, really, tell me what is going on or I won’t come get you.”

“I accidentally took meth.”

“You what? What the fuck, Nia! Fuck this I’m on my way and I’m fucking telling Dad.” I cringed but I knew he was going to before I even called. The pit in my stomach grew deeper as the buzzing of my skin grew stronger. I could feel myself getting higher, everything was so clear and standing around was making me grow restless. Ray huffed on the phone and I heard him entering his car.

His tone was softer the next time he spoke. “I’ll be there in 5, just stay put, please. Do you want me to stay on the call or can I hang up?”

I felt like a child, which I was really, only 16 at the time, a whole life ahead of me. Still, I was grateful for the way he spoke to me, reminiscent of being 6 and getting a scrapped knee after falling off my pink Razor scooter. The high made me edgy, and my voice was sharp to my ears, “No, you can hang up.” I heard the click to indicate he’d done just that, and started pushing my cuticles as I waited, the task somehow greatly interesting me, and I did not realize until later I had managed to pick off all of the skin around my pointer and middle fingernails during the five-minute wait.

 Ray pulled up exactly five minutes later in his ugly, blue 2011 Ford Fiesta he’d gotten the year prior after passing his driving test. What I wouldn’t do now to smell the inside of that car once again, a distinct attar of pineapple car freshener and Old Spice deodorant mixed with stale black tea, faintly present due to his ever-growing collection of empty paper cups from various different fast foods and coffee shops.

I stumbled into the car, feeling the strong impulse to clean the space, but attempting to push it down. From the passenger side overhead mirror I could see my blown pupils and sweaty forehead, pieces of my copper red hair sticking to my face. My freckles were showing through my concealer that had mostly worn off and I wanted to cover them back up. My skin was pale from winter (and probably the drugs in my system) but my cheeks were flushed like I was drunk. My high cheekbones made my face look gaunt in the lighting, but my face was wide which balanced it out, so I didn’t look completely skeletal. Ray was looking at me, the worry apparent in his eyes, but his face was flushed as well, and I could tell he’d been drinking a bit too much to drive. I had my license as well, but it was clear I was in no condition to take over on that front, so I didn’t bother saying anything. I wish I had. There’s a lot of things I wish. I wish I hadn’t gone to that party; I wish I hadn’t taken that E; I wish I called someone else; I wish I waited it out at Emily’s; I wish I walked home; I wish I took a cab; I wish I waited for Faun; I wish I wish I wish I wish I wish.

“Are you okay?” He didn’t take his eyes off me as I shut the mirror in front of me.

“Yeah, yeah I’ll be fine. Please just take me home.”

“Is Dad there?”

“No.”

“Maybe I should take you to Mom’s.”

“No!” I’d moved out of my mom’s completely just over 6 months ago, barely seeing her once a month. It was one of the best decisions I’d ever made. She never liked me much anyways, the feeling was entirely mutual. Ray seemed to have a close bond with her for some reason despite how she treated him like shit. I never called him out though, he no longer lived with her, so I didn’t really care what their relationship was as long as she wasn’t hurting him. She did treat him significantly better than me, however, so I figured maybe he managed to forgive her the way I never could.

“Okay, but I’m staying with you until Dad gets home. I’m not gonna lie to him about this shit. Fucking meth, Nia? Seriously?”

“It was in the molly.” He sighed and started driving.

 My brain felt like it was filled with butterflies, or ants, some kind of movement that was itching at my skull. The paper cups scattered around were making me anxious and I needed to clean his car. I began picking at my nails again, but I needed to pick up those cups, you see. I turned around and started gathering the ones Ray had discarded in the back, filling up an empty plastic bag from Best Buy. I was fully switched around in my seat, nearly crawling into the backseat to reach the trash my brother had left. I felt him tap my side, I looked over at him and he started to scold me.

“Nia, stop that will you, you’re distracting me.” But I needed to finish gathering the cups. The car was dirty, and my skin was itching, the traffic lights burning my skin. I was elated and I didn’t want to listen to him, he was just trying to get in my way. I continued to lean over, not registering the swerve of the car as he looked over at me.

“Nia – ”

He turned over to push me back into my seat, his eyes leaving the road for no more than a few seconds. This time I felt the swerve as we broke into the next lane.

 This is where I have a hard time piecing together what happened. From what I was told, we ended up running directly into a 2015 Dodge Ram 2500. In case you understandably have a lack of knowledge when it comes to cars, that is a very large, sturdy, and expensive pickup truck which I would probably consider the last vehicle you’d want to charge headfirst into while going 70km per hour. I don’t recall the actual incident of hitting the truck, whether that be from the drugs, the position I was in, or hitting my head on the roof of the car, I don’t know. What I do know is that when I woke up, we were in a ditch on the side of the road, with the car flipped upside down, and my entire body was screaming at me to Get Out!

I felt blood oozing sluggishly from my head and noted some indistinct pain in my right wrist where it had scraped something pretty badly and gotten twisted, but I otherwise felt alright. I couldn’t tell if the cloudiness in my head was from a concussion or the earlier events of the night, but I figured it was probably good I was awake, regardless of how dazed I seemed.

I turned my head to the left and was greeted by a view I will never be able to forget, it having been branded to the insides of my eyelids, scorched in my mind. Ray, with his left arm twisted in spectacular fashion, reminding me of Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, after Lockhart spells away Harry’s bones. My brother had always been squeamish with broken bones and I hoped he wasn’t aware of how his limb looked at the moment. His head was bleeding quite profusely, and I was alarmed despite how many times I’d heard in movies that headwounds bleed a lot. His eyelids were fluttering, irises appearing glassy and unfocussed. And then I saw it. A piece of glass was stuck in the left side of his neck. The windshield apparently had broken with the impact and my brother was lucky enough to get a piece lodged right in his trachea. It was thick, bright red blood –  that I could’ve sworn was sparkling in my current inebriated perspective – was gushing out the side, so heavy I could smell it, taste it, in the air. I was frozen once I realized.

Do something, do something! Put pressure on it! Call 9-1-1! My mind was screaming at me, but it was all I could do to sit and watch the blood stain his clothes. He was wearing the corduroy jacket I’d gotten him for his birthday and a white button up, the red seeped into them until it was as if they’d always been that colour. My voice was caught in my throat, but I managed to push some sound past.

“Ray?” It was weaker than a whisper but in the silence that seemed to envelope us in that car, completely independent of the outside world and sirens that could surely be heard from blocks away, I knew he would be able to hear me.

He looked up, eyes focussing slightly on me, and a tear slipped down his face, only it went the wrong way since we were still upside down. He mouthed the words “I love you”. We never said that to each other. As close as we were, our relationship had always been more comparable to that of a best friend than sibling. We weren’t overly affectionate, never hugged or said I love you, hung out for enjoyment rather than as a punishment. Most people didn’t know we were brother and sister until we pointed it out, we never really looked alike and were absent of the traditional distaste and rivalry usually present between siblings. I knew, as he looked me in the eyes and said those words, this would be the last time I’d ever see him outside of a morgue.

I sat in my seat next to him with dry eyes, wishing desperately I could cry, needing to express the feeling of utter horror and despondency that completely overtook my body and mind, but I couldn’t. Barb told me time and time again that I was in shock, there was nothing I could’ve done, but I will never be able to believe that. I still remember the moment the final tear slipped down his face. He smiled at me, pain evident in his eyes. His entire body was covered in the metallic smelling red, and I wanted to vomit. I wish I could say the crash had sobered me, but it didn’t, not really. I was still entirely in a daze as I saw his muscles relax, smiling falling from his face, eyes not quite rolling back all the way but enough to give me nightmares for the next 20 years. The life had been absorbed from his body, leaving a heavy shell. I was told afterwards this all happened within the span of 10 minutes, but it felt like years. By the time the first responders had appeared I was an old woman. Grayed hair, and arthritic bones. Mourning for the brother I’d lost oh so many years ago, when I was just a girl. I think in a way I died in that car with him, I never was really the same. But who would be? Best friend and confidant, older brother, idol, dying in front of your eyes as you do nothing, knowing for the rest of your life that his death is – was – your fault. Knowing you could’ve done something, anything really, to prevent his untimely loss of life before the paramedics arrived. If I’d been the same after that night I would have to be much more disturbed than I ever thought.

I sat in that car beside Ray’s corpse for 3 more minutes before I heard the sirens closing in around us – me. I thought I might pass out, either from the toll of what I’d just witnessed or from my concussion, but I remained upright, probably from the adrenaline. I couldn’t move so I just waited, and hoped I’d die too before anyone reached the scene. It would be much preferrable to any other outcome I could think of at the time. I could vaguely register the pain in my wrist, but I felt so numb I’m sure you could’ve shot me in the foot and I wouldn’t have blinked.

A young fireman named Walter ended up getting me out of the car. The door was smashed and stuck which meant I’d been trapped in there either way. I was happy I hadn’t bothered trying to escape as I'm terribly claustrophobic and finding out I couldn’t would have thrown me into a proper panic attack. The fireman was incredibly nice, saying reassuring things the entire time they were opening the door with the “Jaws of Life”. I ended up seeing him again in the hospital actually, or at least that’s what my father told me. He wanted to check in on me and left me some hydrangeas in a vase. I always preferred chrysanthemums but I'm not that picky when it comes to a floral arrangement.

After the door was busted open I was carried out by Walter. I was shaking and apparently babbling nonsense but in my head I was trying to tell them to save Ray. I wasn’t really aware of all that much, completely blind to the crowd of spectators that had rudely gathered to witness the violence – wasn’t it supposed to be taboo to stop at a car crash? Wondering vaguely about what happened and wishing you could get a better look as you drive past the scene.  My head wound had made me a bit incompetent and the meth in my system was really not helping the entire situation.

I was laid on a gurney and rolled onto an ambulance. I don’t remember much about the ride; the sirens, the bright lights, a paramedic named Alice who spoke softly, smoothing out my hair while the other put an oxygen mask on my face (which I wasn’t entirely cognizant enough to question though now I'm not really sure why they did it) and splinted my wrist. Alice asked me if I was on drugs and I nodded but was unable to speak when she asked me what ( I would find this a common occurrence after the accident, my voice seemingly stolen alongside Ray’s). She just nodded and said something to the other ME that I didn’t quite pick up. She asked if I could tell her my name and I shook my head. She must’ve noticed the iPhone in my pocket and grabbed it, turning to the medical ID page.

“Is your name Begonia?” I nodded, though the name sounded foreign on my ears. I liked the way Alice said it though, she had a light Spanish accent and a matronly tone that made me feel safe. I wondered if she had kids of her own; she looked young, but my own mother had me at 19 so who could say? She told me her name after complimenting mine. “Begonia is a beautiful name; I love the flowers. I’m Alice, okay? We’re gonna make sure you’re alright and take you to the hospital.” Her voice was sweet like syrup and I became sleepy as she spoke.

“No honey, you can’t fall asleep yet. Just stay awake a little bit longer and I promise you they’ll let you sleep at the hospital.”

  I don’t remember anything of the rest of the ride to the hospital. I was dropped off at the Emergency Room at the Regional, head still too foggy to allow me to recall anything before I was sitting in a white bed, in a white room, with white sheets and a light blue hospital gown on. It was morning and my father was sitting at the end of my bed in an uncomfortable plastic chair, his eyes bloodshot and moist. He’d very obviously been crying for a long time and my chest panged with guilt. I reached up to feel my head and realized there was a cast on my wrist. With my other hand I touched the cotton that covered my forehead, wincing when I felt the sting of what had to be stitches in a nasty gash. I would spend the next 5 years of my life with a variety of diverse haircuts that attempted to hide the ugly scar that served as a reminder of the worst night of my life. Even now it is still extremely obvious, but I can’t be bothered to try and hide it, I so rarely look in the mirror that it wouldn’t matter if my skin turned blue.

My dad hadn’t looked up, so I attempted to gain his attention but once again found my voice failing me. I tapped on the bed a few times before he seemed to realize and face me.

“Nia… how are you feeling?” His voice was raspy and thin. He reeked of cigarettes and stale coffee, though this wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. I remained silent as he looked at me, searching my face for something I'm not sure he found.

“Nia, I, I'm not sure how to say this to you.” Here it comes. Almost worse than watching my brother die, the confirmation. “Ray, he’s, well dead.” I saw my father’s eyes begin to tear up again as I stared straight ahead. I couldn’t feel the sobs that racked my body, nor the hot tears streaming from my eyes. I saw my dad start to move closer but sit back down when I flinched. Of course, I knew my brother was dead; I had front row seats to watching the event happen, but somehow I still didn’t believe it until the words left my father’s mouth. According to my dad, who many years later described to me how eery the whole event was, my sobs were completely silent, and I was entirely unaware of everything happening around me. This dissociation lasted the first few days after the accident, and the entirety of my hospital stay. Leaving the blissful gap in my memory I have now.

Barb told me this was my mind’s way of coping with the tragedy and stress of what happened. I was honestly just happy I had an excuse to skip some of the dreadful retelling she forced upon me.

 ❈

             The funeral was of course a depressing and solemn event. I was still yet to speak and found myself thankful for the way people gave up on trying to get me to communicate. I dressed in a black skirt with a black short sleeved button up. A dark coat thrown around my shoulders as the cast on my right hand was too big to fit through the sleeve. I looked terrible, barely a week out of hospital before I watched Ray sink into the ground. The wound on my forehead was still quite nasty, though it looked better than it did before. I tried to cover it up with my hair but was unsuccessful. I got bangs soon after.

           The matter was very traditional, taking place in a church even though none of our family was really religious. It was only the second time I'd ever been in a church, the first having been for my cousin Julie’s wedding when I was four years old. I don’t remember anything of it aside from the material of my dress itching at my neck and making me rather miserable. Of course, not nearly as miserable as I was the day of the funeral, sitting in a pew at the front of the church, listening to a priest claiming Ray would’ve wanted us to celebrate his life. I knew this not to be true; Ray was extremely dramatic and would’ve cherished the thought of everyone he’d ever spoken to moping around for weeks after his death, beside themselves with grief. He sometimes referred to himself as “Romeo” after having been broken up with by another girl he was supposedly in love with, stating he better just stab himself in the heart now if he couldn’t have her. On the rare occasion he broke up with a girlfriend, he’d lounge around, eating ice cream, pretending to not be upset and comparing his cold heart to that of Richard VIII. The concept of him being any different over his death was almost comical; Ray was nothing if not predictable.

           I sat beside my father, who sat beside my mother (it was an extremely awkward arrangement that neither I nor my father cared for) and seemed to have the idea that I could evaporate if I thought hard enough about it. Unfortunately, I did not evaporate, or even come close to it, instead finding myself exactly where I'd been the whole time. I mostly tuned out the service, only really paying attention when my father and Ray’s best friend, Jake spoke. I managed to escape the duty of having to speak that day thanks to my fragile mental state and mutism. Though I'm sure I would’ve been forced all the same if I had been able to talk in any capacity, regardless of where my head was at.

           Faun was sitting in the pew behind me, feeling quite guilty about the whole ordeal. Or friendship dissolved soon after, I think she blamed herself for taking me to the party. It didn’t bother me too much though; we were never the closest and I sometimes thought her to be extremely annoying. An endless stream of shitty boyfriends that she only acquired so she could further repress her sexuality. When we were 14 we kissed at a sleepover and she admitted she was in love with me. I felt bad for not returning the feeling and our relationship had been on rocky territory ever since. I don’t understand how she thought she was in love with me since she barely knew anything about me, but either way she never brought it up again and soon after the monsoon of boytoys had begun.

           My brother’s friends and ex-girlfriends also attended the event. I didn’t approach any of them, far too scared they’d blame me for the death of their friend. One of them, Alex, went up to me to say how sorry he was about everything that happened. He was crying quite heavily (I later found out he was the friend Ray had been drinking with and the second last person to see him alive) and I could smell alcohol on his breath. I stood there while he spoke, telling me about how great my brother was as if I was wholly unaware. Body waving side to side as he stood with his hand on the wall beside me. He offered me some bronze liquid in a flask, and I obliged, savouring the burning sensation that followed in my throat. Alex’s voice was steady and deep, reminding me of my father’s. I’m not sure how long we stood there, him spinning a fantastic web of anecdotes and stories about my brother, some entirely new to my ears. We passed the beverage back and fourth until it was empty. My head felt lighter and heavier somehow simultaneously, and I found it much easier to listen to Alex talk. Later he tried to kiss me in my bedroom during the wake. His mouth was sour, and his tongue seemed too big for his mouth. I wondered how he was able to talk so much without it getting in the way.

             We moved in procession to the cemetery after the service. The grass was a vibrant green colour, and I didn’t understand how the world kept turning after Ray’s death, for mine stopped the moment his heart failed to beat. The sky was a lovely shade of cyan-blue, with clouds so perfect they seemed animated. Pink carnations were planted near the outskirts of the yard and I could smell spring in the air; a heavy, floral aroma that never failed to comfort me. I thought it should be raining, it felt inappropriate that the weather refused to match my despair. My mind wandered as we approached the empty grave and I considered what it would be like if Ray was here beside me. He’d probably be making jokes, telling me to lighten up for a minute or my face would get stuck that way. He’d mock my silence, saying how I never managed to shut up for a minute before but suddenly I'm as proper as a nun. I'd smile, ruffling his hair to piss him off and try to refrain from laughing aloud. The absence of him only felt stronger as I imagined this scenario, so I shoved it out of my head.

           The casket was lowered into the ground, my father was a pallbearer and I often think about how he must’ve felt carrying his son’s body before watching him being buried. My mother sobbed loudly which annoyed me, it felt a bit exaggerated. I had a few tears falling from my eyes but mostly, I just felt numb. Incredibly and absolutely empty inside. To onlookers it may have seemed as though we weren’t very close, my reaction being similar to that of his ex-girlfriends’. However, this didn’t account for the loss of my voice, or the broken state I was in mentally. Maybe it was better that my reaction was rather dulled. It meant people didn’t feel the need to approach me as they did my mother. Less concerned given she was the one playing up her emotions to the point of embarrassment. My father cried, more than I but far less than my mother. He didn’t cry very often – I'd actually only seen it once prior to the whole event – and I figured he probably needed it. At this point I felt as though I'd shed enough tears to last a lifetime so Ray wouldn’t mind if I was a bit subdued in comparison. He never was a crier anyways.

           As I sprinkled soil onto his casket I imagined he was right beside me, watching, ready to criticize as usual. The dirt stained my hand, clutching the sweat and turning my skin a muddy brown colour. As I wiped the dirt on my jacket I could hear him nagging about how I better go wash my hands, what was I, a six-year-old? He was in denial about me growing up and took every chance to remind me I was still just a kid. Not that he had much on me, but I enjoyed it. I never was one to shy away from attention; at least not before. Little quirks and inside jokes between us were always some of my favourite things, the type of humour you could only get from living with someone your whole life. No matter how much his memory will fade there are some things I can’t let myself forget. His mocking tone when he’d make fun of me is one of those things. If I ever managed to let go of that sound then I must be dead as well.

           The sun beat down on my back, my skin burning in my black clothes. I wasn’t sweating yet, but most of the men around were – suit jackets aren’t exactly known for their breathability. My nose was dry and aching red, sore from how much I'd been wiping it the last couple days. Still the sweet seeping tinge of flowers and spring managed to crawl into my nose, settling underneath my skin, the buzzing from before had returned, I could feel my heartbeat loudly in my throat and had the desperate urge to just run. Instead, I just followed the rest of the party, sitting down in the passenger seat of my dad’s car. The silence that settled over us was uncomfortable and stale. He turned on the radio, Led Zeppelin filled the air around us, thankfully relieving some of the tension. I felt in my left pocket for one of the carnations I’d picked from a nearby grave earlier. The flower had begun to wilt, heat taking effect on its delicate composition. When I got home I put it in between the pages of my oldest copy of Romeo and Juliet. Ray would have found it funny if he was around to see.

The drive to my mother’s house was short and minimally awkward. We sat in silence – aside from the music – only because there was no alternative. My hand remained clutched around the dying flower in my pocket as we left the car and entered the home. Other people had already arrived, clustered in the living room, picking at tiny ham sandwiches and various desserts my mother had undoubtedly stress-baked the day before. I wasn’t hungry so I sat as far away from the food and people as humanely possible while staying in the living room, not wishing to hear my mother’s scolding about how I need to socialize more. Eventually I managed to slip away into my old bedroom, where Alex was sitting on my bed drinking a mickey of Smirnoff I assumed he swiped from my mother’s freezer. He offered it to me, and I accepted, the weird repetitive déjà vu like act, mirroring earlier and making the whole day feel like somewhat of a dream.

When I went over this part with Barb she always felt the need to emphasize that it wasn’t a dream. I knew this, obviously, which I told her every time, but she was inclined to disbelief when it came to my denial over my brother’s death. “Begonia, you must realize he’s gone. Dwelling is helping nobody, especially not you. This isn’t a healthy mindset for you to have. Always comparing living to your dreams. I want you to tell me you understand this isn’t just some dream you can wake up from.” The first time she said that to me I was thrust into a bout of wordlessness, as it struck a bit too close to home. The next time she brought it up I just told her of course, though even now I still cannot say I fully understand. How can I when all of my assumptions have been constantly disproven time and time again. How can I ever say this isn’t a dream when I'm not even sure I'm real? James always tries to reassure me, “Bee, I'm telling you, if you can feel this beat, the pulse in your wrist, your neck, your chest, you are alive,” he’ll say while pressing my hand to my wrist, but we both know it isn’t that simple.

Me and Alex made out for a few minutes until I managed to excuse myself. He was a bad kisser and tasted disgusting. I left him sitting on my old bed while I went downstairs to find my dad. He was sitting at the counter with a can of root beer, blank expression sat upon his face. When his eyes met mine he sighed, grabbing his keys out of his pocket. It was obvious neither of us wanted to be here, for numerous reasons, so we left. And if the radio stayed off as we drove home we didn’t acknowledge the silence that time. In my hand was the crumpled carnation, and for some reason it made my chest hurt. A deep ache of dread. I could feel my heartbeat, hear it over the drum of the car engine, and I crushed the flower further. I was careful not to rip it though, as if that was crossing some kind of invisible line my mind had set for me. My fingers felt waxy when I finally let go.

Back home, I opened the copy of Romeo and Juliet. I retrieved the deteriorating plant from my pocket and placed it in the center. Closing the book, I stacked it under a few dictionaries, a magazine under it so it was trapped on either side. I sat down in front of it and cried. Not the huge gasping sobs my mother seemed to fancy, nor the quiet weeping of my father. No, I cried the tears of a child who just found out their grandparents died, the soft uncomprehending grief that overcame them as they first learned what death really meant. How long forever was. My legs pulled up to my chest, hands loosely hung around knees, unable to clasp together because of my cast. I closed my eyes and I swear I could hear the sound of Ray sighing behind me, but when I opened my eyes I was alone. I went to bed, earlier than I ever had in my life, still believing it was a dream and I'd wake up like Alice after her adventures in Wonderland. But when I awoke, I was met with the slow, oozing perdure of my reality. The one which I could not wake up from, and the one where my brother was dead.

[johannstutt413]

(continuing from this post)

While they continued to spend as much time as they could with each other, it was some time before the Doctor and Ambriel went on their third/fourth/fifth date (depending on where one starts counting). Partially because they didn’t feel the need, because simply being in each other’s company was all the blessing they needed; partially because neither of them were sure where to take things from where they were; and partially because both were nervous that, somehow, making it an official date would change something about the experience for the worse. So, rather than make a big deal of it, Ambriel became the Doctor’s assistant so she didn’t have to leave his side, and while she didn’t have much in the way of work to do, she certainly kept him company, and frankly, that’s all he needed her to do to make him more productive than he’d ever been.

So much more productive, in fact, that he earned a raise, including a hefty one-time bonus, and it was receiving this that got him to thinking of another proper date in celebration. The only question was...well, there were a few, but among them, “Is there anywhere you want to go?”

“Hmm?” Amy was in her chair, as usual, spinning in circles until her halo started to wobble. “You mean, like, to eat?”

“Or travel, or whatever. Is there somewhere you’ve just been dying to see?”

Her first few thoughts weren’t terribly helpful, so she dug deeper to try and find something. “Not...really, no. I’m not much of a sight-seer; if we went anywhere, I’d just want to walk around the shops all day.”

“Hm...” That did give him an idea, actually. “I hear Siesta’s got some good shops this time of year, and since we helped out with the Obsidian Festival last time, I think they’d give us a good discount or two.”

“Obsidian Festival? What’s that?”

He smiled. “A big, long concert with some of Terra’s best musicians performing. It was great the day or so we got to watch, but we spent most of the time trying to stop a giant Originum Slug living in a volcano from causing an eruption and destroying the city.”

“That...” Ambriel shook her head. “You should get the movie rights for that. I’m sure you could get good money out of something like that.”

“Oh, we did, actually. One of the company’s FEater worked with in the past is gonna produce it...Where were we?”

She rolled over to him to set her head on his shoulder. “You were talking up Siesta to me, for some reason.”

“I was thinking we could go somewhere nice to celebrate my promotion.” The Doctor booped her nose. “You made it possible, so if you have a place you want to go, I want to go there, too.”

“Oh, well...I don’t know, Doc. All that really matters to me is being with you.”

While there’d never been a doubt in his mind that was how she felt, hearing it out loud was something else. “Amy...Well, is there anything you think would be nice to have?”

“You just want to spoil me, don’t you?” Guilty as charged. “There’s a dress that arrived at the Procurement Division recently that I’ve had my eye on. It’s way out of my price range, so I didn’t have a hope of getting it myself.”

“We can swing by there today after work and get it, then. Sounds like a plan to you?”

 Ambriel nodded. “Yeah, that works...You don’t mind if I keep my head here, do you?”

“Not one bit.” He tilted his head so they were touching. “You’re the best.”

“Aww, don’t go filling up my head with that...C’mere, you.”

Later that day, the Doctor, true to his word, took Ambriel to the Procurement Division’s base of operations - aka, the base’s Penguin Logistics corner. Croissant, watching the register so to speak, waved as they came in. “Ev’nin, Baws! You and ya lady friend need som’in?”

“Amy saw a dress the other day she liked.” He turned to her. “Do you see it anywhere?”

“Uh...Hey, Croissant, do you still have the star print dress that came in a few days ago?”

The Forte shrugged. “I ‘unno, but I’ll take a looksie for ya. Wond’r ‘round while I’m inna back, kay?”

“Sure thing.” As she opened the door behind her, and the creaking echoed ominously into the back of an absurdly large warehouse, Ambriel and the Doctor walked through several aisles of special deals courtesy of Penguin’s not-always-still-alive-by-delivery customer base. “While we’re waiting, see anything you like?”

“This place has everything, doesn’t it? Electronics, clothes, camping gear- oh my God.”

He followed her eyes to what he knew was the dress she’d been talking about. “Oh my God is right...I completely understand the price tag on this thing. Do they have a dressing room or something around here?”

“Yeah, in the back. Wanna see if you can get her back to the register while I try it on?”

“If you don’t need my help with the dress, sure.” The Doctor smiled as she gave him a look. “It’s a zipper-back, after all. Aren’t those hard to close yourself?”

Amy shook her head. “I’ll be fine, Doc. See you soon.”

“I’ll miss you~” A quick kiss, and she was off. He wandered back to the counter, rang the bell a few times, and when no one showed up, he decided to wait by the closet door he’d seen Ambriel walk through.

“Hey, Doc?” She half-shouted through the door. “Could you come help me with this?”

The Doctor opened the door to a shocked Amy. “She didn’t show, so I figured I’d wait out here. What do you need?”

“...I need you to zip it up in the back.” There was a note of defeat in her voice, but he couldn’t quite place it.

“I’ve got you covered.” He closed the door behind him and moved behind her to get to the offending strip of metal. “Huh. It’s broken, I think. Yeah, there’s a knot in the back; it’s not you, believe me.”

She sighed. “That’s good. I thought maybe the sugar was settling in places.”

“I mean, we could get it tailored if that was the problem, I bet...Not the right thing to say?”

“Not really.” Ambriel shook her head. “Well, we can’t get it fixed if we don’t buy it, so...Are you still okay with paying for it?”

He nodded. “Not an issue whatsoever. Besides, we might be able to convince them to give us a discount.”

“Maybe...Doc, are you gonna let me change back or no?”

“Oh, right.” The Doctor left, closing the door behind him. “I’m gonna try to get Croissant’s attention again.”

At this point, the Forte was back at her post, a sly smile on her face. “How’d the fittin’ go, Baws?”

“The zipper on the back’s broken - as in, there’s a major knot in it. We want the dress, but I don’t think I should have to pay that much for it when we’ve got to get it fixed afterwards.”

“Well, we price ev’r’thin’ as-is, Baws.” She crossed her arms. “Trust me, you don’t wanna haggle wi’ me. I know all the tricks.”

He smiled. “Really? What about this one: three days paid vacation for you and a plus one.”

“...70 percent retail.”

“I’ll take it.” The Doctor pulled out a card as Ambriel walked out with the dress folded in her arms. “Here you go.”

As they left the department, Amy’s eyes were focused on the dress in her hands. “Hey, Doc? Can I ask you something?”

“Anything you want, Amy.”

“If...If it turns out I am too big for this dress,” she managed, “what are we gonna do with it?”

He shrugged. “If you didn’t want to get it tailored to fit you better, then I guess we could find someone else to give it to. Are you really worried about it?”

“I’ve been eating a lot of sugar lately. You don’t think I’m gonna get fat, do you?”

“Huh?” The Doctor shook his head. “I haven’t even thought of that. Why do you ask?”

Amy shrugged. “I dunno, I just...I’ve never felt insecure about myself like this until the other day. I’d just gotten out of the shower, and I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, and I wondered if I was the kind of girl you really wanted to...you know...”

“Oh. I can understand that.”

“Huh?” She frowned at him. “Doc, now you’ve got me worried.”

He shook his head. “I mean I have the same kind of thoughts about myself. I’ll cuddle you like there’s no tomorrow, but there’s this niggling doubt in the back of my head that says if we decide to do anything more intimate, you won’t like what you see.”

“That’s...that’s exactly it. Sorry I doubted you just then.”

“It’s no big.” The Doctor stopped outside the door to her place as she unlocked the door. “You want to come over later?”

She was about to say yes, but another voice prevailed. “Actually...you want to come in?”

“Sure. I don’t think I’ve actually seen your place before.”

“Well, yeah; I was kinda doing it on purpose.” Ambriel blushed as they crossed the threshold. “Sorry about the mess.”

He chuckled. “This is more like how my place was before our first date. You even have the same baking sheet in the sink I did.”

“Heh. I’ll be right back - gonna put this away for now - so make yourself comfortable.”

“Sure.” He looked around, found a spot on her couch that wasn’t filled with pillows, clicked on the TV, and waited. And waited...and started to wonder how her closet was set up if it was taking this long to hang up a dress.

It turned out, there was a bit more going on, as when she returned from her room, she was in a bathrobe instead of what she’d had on before. “So uh...comfortable yet?”

“Pretty much.” He turned the TV off. “What’s up?”

“I was wondering if you, um...wanted to stay the night. With me. In my room.”

The Doctor was walking through his options. “I...I don’t not want to.”

“It sounds like there’s a but coming after that.” She frowned. “Am I moving too fast?”

“Do you think you’re moving too fast? I mean, are you trying to prove something to yourself, or do you really want to...might as well say it, are you really DTF tonight after that conversation we just had?”

Ambriel shrugged. “We won’t know unless we try, right?”

“Honestly?” He looked down at the floor in front of him for a moment before turning back to her. “You know I’ll love you even if we’re never physical, right?”

“Yeah, obviously.”

Okay, so it wasn’t about that. Good…“Then I guess it is a me thing, because I don’t know if I’m ready.”

“I can go change back, then,” she said, “and we can just hang out, if you want.”

“...If I say I kinda want you to keep wearing that just in case I change my mind, would that bother you?”

Amy smiled. “Doc, I sit on my couch in this all the time, and I don’t mind you wanting to keep your options open. Move some of those pillows for me; I’ll get us something to drink.”

“Thanks.” He watched her walk to the fridge, open the door, bend down to look for something- and suddenly he had his answer. “I’m ready.”

“Ready? For- oh! Really?” She closed the door and turned back to him.

He nodded. “Yep, totally, hundred percent.”

“Huh.” She looked down at her robe. “That was quick.”

“I want to take it kind of slow, but...yeah.”

She rejoined him on the couch. “That’s fine by me.”

“Awesome.” The Doctor slowly moved an arm around her waist. “So um...I have no idea what to do.”

“Neither do I.” They looked at each other, hoping to find the answer somewhere in each other’s eyes...and eventually, they did, as independently they drifted closer for a kiss.

[bitchesgetriches]

Hey there, for a while now I've been confused on how the health insurance works in America (I'm Australian). Would you mind educating me on it? I've been hearing alot that your insurance is essentially tied to your job and if you lose/quit your job = no insurance. Is it only affordable if your employer has offered it and like crazy expensive if you're paying without employment? I am aware that there are schemes for those who make only so much. Stay staff xoxo Thank you :)

I started reading your question and was like “Man, if I, a red-blooded American, can’t understand how our health insurance works, how the hell am I going to explain it to someone from a civilized country?” But then I kept reading and realized you basically already understand it!

So a coupla things to explain:

1. Healthcare in the United States is fucking expensive. This is partially because it’s privatized, and hospitals and pharmaceutical companies can charge whatever they want to make a profit. It’s also partially because of our culture of medical malpractice suits (you can sue doctors for fucking up your care), which means hospitals need to have enough money to fight said legal battles. And it’s partially because the insurance industry has spiraled out of control, creating and profiting from a situation in which exorbitant pricing for healthcare is the norm. This is an over-simplification. We wrote about it in a little more detail here:

How to Pay Hospital Bills When You’re Flat Broke 

2. Because healthcare is so expensive, we all need insurance to pay for it. And because healthcare is so expensive... so’s that insurance. Decades ago, employers started offering health insurance to their employees as part of their compensation packages. Insurers offered sweet deals for companies to get all their employees on their insurance plan, and it was generally a little cheaper for people to get healthcare through their employer’s plan than on their own. It comes directly out of your paycheck, you don’t have to really hunt around for it yourself (oh yeah, FINDING insurance is its own hellscape), and it’s usually a decent plan.

3. But not ALL employers offer healthcare. It’s kind of like a sweet add-on to a salaried employee’s compensation (even though it comes out of their paycheck but whatever). So companies with low-paid employees like retail and service industry, DON’T offer employer-sponsored health insurance. Which means those low-paid people have to buy their own health insurance as individuals, which is generally much more expensive than employer-sponsored health insurance. Here’s more on how insurance generally works here:

Dafuq Is Insurance and Why Do You Even Need It? 

4. The Affordable Care Act (Obamacare, ACA) several years ago sought to fix this bullshit by making more employers offer health insurance and providing more affordable options for those who couldn’t get health insurance through their employers. The ACA did a lot of other things too, some successful and some not so much, and it remains a controversial piece of legislation to this day for reasons I won’t get into. (But Kitty and I think the ACA is overall a good thing.)

Hope that helps!!! I dearly wish healthcare was cheaper here and easier to get as a private individual. I’m by no means an expert, so if anyone has followup questions, just know that I’m going to start researching this in earnest for a detailed article at some point after I get through my current research on unemployment insurance and how that all works. NO REST FOR THE BITCHES!

[msclaritea]

A very important history lesson and why we have to fight back this time.

A lot of people saw the White Tears Death March at Michigan's capitol & said: "If black people did that..."

"Some mentioned Reagan's gun control law after '67 Panthers protest But there are many historical examples of white people freaking out when blacks protested.

(A thread) 

After the Not-So-Civil War, this happened ALL THE TIME.

Remember, the states that got their asses kicked were not automatically allowed back into the Union. Southern white supremacists were so scared when blacks exercised their new right to vote that they started a race war. 

In 1866, La. reconvened its Constitutional Convention because Democrats were trying to stop blacks from voting. (This was before conservative Southern "states rights" advocates switched became Republican. We'll get to that)

Of course, black people marched (but not like that). 

When the black people showed up, a group of white supremacists (Y'all call them "Confederates now — same thing) was waiting on them and opened fire.

To be fair, the black ppl weren't actually protesting, per se when the racists opened fire. They were doing something much worse: 

They were dancing and playing music.

Y'all, those racist bastards opened fire on a MARCHING BAND.

Then this happened:

Partly because of the New Orleans Massacre, Congress passed the First Reconstruction Act. Black Louisianans were guaranteed the right to vote but the act did something else that would make the racists even madder.

It took away the right to vote for any ex-Confederate. 

If you think this was bad, Georgia was even worse.

Ga. holds the distinction of being the only state that was so racist that we had to kick the ENTIRE STATE out of America.

Seriously, that happened. And it was partly because of the Camilla Massacre. 

First, you gotta remember that blacks damn near outnumbered whites in Georgia. So, after they got the right to vote, 33 black ppl were elected to the state legislature.

Wypipo wasn't having that shit.

So the white legislators called their homeboys up (Y'all call them the KKK) 

The KKK ran the DULY ELECTED "Original 33" out of office.

Then the Ga. Supreme Court ruled that black people were technically citizens, but the Ga. laws were only meant for white people, so... Black ppl, y'all need to go somewhere with that "equality" shit.*

*I'm paraphrasing

A week after they ousted the Original 33, one of the (did I mentioned DULY ELECTED) legislators organized 200-300 blacks & marched from Albany to Camilla to hold a rally in the town square

When they got to Mitchell County, whites waiting in storefronts and on roofs, opened fire 

The Camilla Massacre got Georgia kicked BACK OUT of the Union and the state had to be readmitted for a second time in 1870 after it seated SOME of the Original 33.

Why not all?

Well, 1/4 of the Original 33 were murdered or attacked. 

On October 25, 1870, 2,000 black people gathered at a rally in Eutaw, Ala. right before the Nov. election. The crowd wanted to prove they weren't of white racists.

Why would they be scared?

Well, in March, 30 masked white men had lynched James Martin, a black Republican. 

It happened again in July, but they didn't just kill Gillford Coleman, they cut his body up into pieces. The racists were afraid Eutaw Co. blacks would help elect a Republican Gov. liked they helped Grant win the county by 2000 votes the 1868 election, 

Klansman rode into town and opened fire on adults and children and promised to do it again if Black people voted.

The tactic worked.

Instead of Republicans winning, the county by 2000 votes, the Democrat Governor won by 43 votes. 

That was lame compared to the Battle of Liberty Place.

Remember when this whole "Confederate Statue" thing first started a couple of years ago? It was partly about a monument to the Battle of Liberty Place, when a whole white supremacist army overthrew the Louisiana gvt. 



In 18 months a white supremacist ARMY called the "white league" (racists are notoriously bad for coming up with nicknames) killed hundreds of Black voters in Colfax, New Orleans, Coushatta & Opelousas

This is what led to the passage of the 2nd Ku Klux Klan Act 

(Side note: The Colfax Massacre also resulted in a Supreme Court Case, which was the first time the Supreme Court said the Second Amendment guaranteed individual citizens the right to own guns)

A lot of Black folks weren't having this shit. So they formed their own armies. 

In SC, the KKK and other Dollar Tree brand racist groups were killing Blacks in the lead up to the 1876 election. In Ellenton, over 100 black voters were murdered.

But it wasn't just about politics. White people HATED when blacks told them what to do. 

You gotta remember, most southern whites were Confederates, so during Reconstruction military occupation, a lot of the soldiers were black.

On July 4, 1876, in Hamburg, the town next to Ellenton, SC, a group of black national guardsmen were drilling while black people watched 

A group of these Dollar Tree white soldiers called the "Red Shirts" came through trying to flex and the Black Guardsmen told them to wait to pass until they finished.

Yall know those former whip crackers weren't having that. 

A white judge told the Red Shirts that they could take the black NATIONAL GUARDSMEN's guns, they found the black militia and began opening fire.

94 white men were indicted.

0 were convicted

The leader of the Hamburg Massacre?

He went on to serve 24 years in the US Senate 

Again, it wasn't just about stopping black people from voting.

In 1887, 10,000 black workers went on strike and started forming a union on La sugar plantations.

So the plantation owners hired the KKK to come in and kill the organizers. Then, it became any black person. 

No one knows how many were killed but the official number is "enough"

Louisiana sugar plantations wouldn't organize again for another 50 years. 

On July 3, 1919, a group of black Buffalo Soldiers went to Bisbee, Ari. Now, this may have been before cookouts were invented, because the soldiers had planned to march in the parade the next day. 

Bisbee's white sheriff told the black soldiers that they couldn't walk around with their guns. When the police officers tried to disarm the Buffalo Soldiers, the refused. So they deputized all the white men in town to disarm the negroes 

The soldiers were like: "Fuck y'all lil' parade, then," and were preparing to leave when one of the deputies was like: "You can't talk to a white man like that."

He opened fire.

The other deputies did, too. 

An investigation would later reveal that it was planned.

The Sherriff and others "had planned deliberately to aggravate the negro troopers so that they would furnish an excuse for police and deputy sheriffs to shoot them down."

No word on the cookout. 

Later that same year, black cotton sharecroppers met at a church in Elaine, Ark. They were trying to organize to get better prices but white farmers showed up. After an exchange of gunfire, a white man ended up dead.

The rumor spread that there was a black coup in Elaine 

Whites from all across the South came to Elaine to literally hunt Black ppl. No one still knows how many were killed. Estimates range up to 250. You know how they finally ended it?

Federal troops arrived...

And arrested all the black people who were left alive. 

In 1945, 19 black Air Force fighter pilots were arrested for trying to integrate an all-white officers club at an Indiana Airbase. 17 more showed up. They were arrested. 25 more showed up the next night, and were arrested.

Segregation was technically against military rule 

So the Air Force gathered all 101 black airmen in a room & offered a deal: All they had to do is sign a paper saying they agree to the segregation or,

Face arrest for violating a direct order, which was technically punishable by death.

All 101 refused.

They were all arrested 

Historically, the white "patriots" who love the flag and the troops treated black soldiers like they all took a knee before an NFL game.

In August 1947, Chicago residents grew angry when they realized the gov't was giving homes to Black veterans in the white Fernwood Park area 

The day after the families moved in, on August13, the whites attacked

For 3 days, as many as 5,000 white rioters pulled Black people out of cars and beat them. They threw rocks at the homes and smashed windows. Then they started setting fires.

The police did nothing. 

In 1949, black Chicago union stewards assembled went to a meeting. There were white people at the meeting, too. The meeting was even in the home of a white couple, but a rumor had already been circulating that black people were planning to buy a house in the white neighborhood. 

By the end of the meeting, hundreds of whites were outside.

This one lasted 5 days.

An estimated 10,000 white rioters took part in the Englewood riot.

Police did nothing to stop it. 

Remember when MLK wrote about "white moderates" in the Letter from a Birmingham Jail?" Well, those protests were partially successful.

On May 11, 1963 black protesters were celebrating. The city had decided to desegregate water fountains, lunch counters, retail stores... 

On May 11, 1963, the KKK was also planning a march in Bham because...you know.

Just before 11 am, a uniformed Bham police officer got out of his car and put a package on the porch of a small house.

It was dynamite.

It exploded. 

A few minutes later, another bigger bomb at the AG Gaston motel.

Everyone knows about the 16th St. church bombing in Birmingham, but few people know that there were more than FIFTY bombings in "Bombingham" during the Civil rights era 

One section of town was bombed so often it's still called "Dynamite Hill."

Of course, the KKK marched anyway.

Oh, and that bombed house belonged to A.D. King, Martin Luther King's brother.

King had left town a few hours earlier...

After checking out of the AG Gaston Hotel 

(Fun fact: Angela Davis and Condoleeza Rice grew up around the corner from each other in Dynamite Hill)

On February 5, 1968, black students from SC State tried to integrate a bowling alley. They were kicked out, but this time, the police were waiting to beat protesters. 

But students kept showing up. So the governor called the state troopers and the National Guard.

On Feb. 8, while attempting to put out a bonfire, the Troopers opened fire on 200 protesters, shooting dozens of black students and protesters. 

1 high school student was killed and 2 SCSU students. Police said they thought the students were shooting,

They weren't

One person was arrested, convicted and served time, Cleveland Sellers...

A student.

You might know his son @Bakari_Sellers 

In March, 1970, in Lamar SC, a mob of angry white people attacked black protesters. Well... these protesters were kinda young and they were protesting in a weird way:

They were going to school.

A judge had ordered the school district to integrate

There are so many more examples

Check out "Ax Handle Saturday" in Jacksonville, Fla.

Read about when Fannie Lou Hamer and the Mississippi Freedom Democrats showed up at the '64 convention

The Freedom Riders

Bloody Sunday in Selma

Art Bacon in Talladega 

So when white people show up to protests angry and outspoken, and nothing happens, you don't have to wonder what would happen if black people did that,

Just remember what happened when black people just SHOWED UP

Not if...

WHEN."

[bifurious-rex]

bc you’ve talked about this a little before... how do you work thru feeling ugly & disgusting for poverty-related things? like i’m under 30 but ppl tell me i look older. i have chronic pain and frankly appalling genetics so retail has been so so hard on my body. i have adult acne that i don’t have the money to treat. i feel so ugly and in turn worthless bc i can’t afford to look “pretty.” i try to tell myself that my value isn’t in my looks but the world sure says it is.

hi!! sorry i sat on this ask for a little bit i wanted to think on it and give you a response that felt worthwhile bc this stuff is really important and close to my heart. if you want/feel comfortable, i’d be happy to talk about this more in-depth privately in DMs and stuff! i relate a lot to what you said and i hold strongly to the belief that the best thing in healing from this stuff is what we can offer each other. (not to sound like a new age therapist lol)

(also i do want to preface with the face that i am able-bodied so chronic pain is not something i can personally attest to living with, tho much of my family has chronic pain and other health issues and their experiences have definitely influenced the way i look at things.)

full response under the read more because wow i typed for FOREVER.

honestly? it’s overwhelming, though it definitely is better some days than others. i think being online and surrounded by media is such a loaded thing because it can be super comforting when you feel alone, especially if you’re able to curate a space of stuff and people that reflects the things you value and need to see in your life, but those same spaces still carry the same biases and burdens that the real world does. 

for me, it’s been a matter of trying to be aware of how i’m feeling and why i may be feeling it. sometimes the self-hatred/self-disgust does get really intense, especially when you’ve been conditioned over your entire life to think that the things that you are (and may always be) are ‘disgusting’. i’m a very socially-minded person, and despite having my own complicated relationships with my family, i do find it helpful to think about the standards i’m putting on myself when compared to the people i love who come from similar lives. when classist stuff is really digging into my brain and i can’t shake it off, i think about the people i love who look the way i feel afraid to look, and what they deserve. i can’t always get it in my head that i deserve the same things i want for my loved ones, but at the very least it helps me reinforce that, no, i DON’T believe this thing society has schooled in me because believing that thing hurts people i care about. 

i know that body positivity on tumblr and elsewhere online, for me, comes off very superficially and then i’ll feel guilty for not feeling comforted by it? but i try to remind myself that the things i’m trying to deconstruct aren’t just like “oh this is ugly,” it’s more like “our society has brainwashed us into believing that poverty is a moral failure and thereby any physical traits that imply our social status as lesser is humiliating and should be avoided at all costs,” so of course i won’t feel better just because an upperclass person on the internet tells me they think wrinkles and yellow fingernails are cute. there is a value in our society trying to rethink how it views beauty, but that’s a very big ask to put on yourself, especially when you’re marginalized and hurting emotionally. i try to remind myself that i don’t have to think i am beautiful to have worth. that’s a cliche thing to say rip. but uh, i try to reframe the things i think of as flaws not as beautiful but more of a mark of survival? 

again, this gets a lot easier for me when i think about my loved ones. 

my dad had a stroke about a week before he turned 47. he’s one of my favorite people in the world, i love him so much. even though the stroke didn’t really cause any visible stuff for him to be self-conscious about, it did still royally fuck him up mentally. he has permanent vision loss and got his driver’s licence taken away for months despite the doctor’s recommendation that he was fine to drive. the doctor told him it was likely because he was overworking and he wasn’t treating his anxiety and depression, and he’s still paying the medical bills off three years later. he couldn’t work, couldn’t drive, and was forced to sit at home and reevaluate the way he was taking care of himself and what he valued about himself. i think a lot about the life that he’s lived and the things that he’s survived. i don’t know that he sees it the way i do, but when i think about how easily my dad could have died, i feel genuinely grateful for the fact that partial vision loss is all that happened. obviously it doesn’t make the actual loss any easier, but it is a reminder that he’s survived. 

this world is not kind to poor people. a lot of it doesn’t give a fuck if we live, much less if we live happily or healthily. i try to remind myself that the scars we wear (even the ones that don’t look like scars, ones that look like skin disorders, crooked or missing teeth, stretch marks and fat rolls, hair that’s months due for a cut and clothes that you tried to patch because you really can not afford to get a new pair, whatever it is) might never be beautiful but it is a reminder that we got through it. and, if this helps you, when i see other people on the street who look like me or my family, i feel a little less alone. the people who the flaws we’re so afraid of actually stick out to, they usually notice them because it’s something familiar to them? and maybe it’s not beautiful, but they see that and know it for what it is. whether they see it as beautiful or not/good or bad, it’s a fact of life, and sometimes feeling normal in our imperfections is almost as good as feeling beautiful in our imperfections. 

this is a really long answer (i’ll probs edit a read more in here once i post it) and i’m not sure that this is even helpful so much as kind of my own vent about it??? but i hope you know, anon, that you really aren’t alone in what you were saying. i don’t know that i’ve figured out how to live with it, i know it’s likely only going to get more complicated as i get older and the health issues my genes got cookin starts popping up, but i’m working on it. i do know that i always feel better when i think about people like me, so i hope that brings you some comfort? take care of yourself okay? survival is beautiful, even if it feels like the stress marks it leaves aren’t. 

[prorevenge]

Psycho Ex gets my egoless revenge with a side of heavy-duty karma.

The following story occurred over the course of 13-8 years ago, and I apologize preemptively for the length, because it is a bit involved.

I was in a relationship for 9 years with a girl I met in college. We broke up on the cusp of my 29th birthday. While breakups and divorce are never trauma-free, this one was as close to that as I believe is humanly possible to get, there were no fights and minimal drama, and I moved to a new city to get a fresh start and be nearer my dad/stepmom/half sisters, as I'm close to them and it was nice to have family during this. Get an apartment, start over, everything's good. Then I meet "her."

Things with her seemed good at first. She was the polar opposite of my ex. She's quiet yet nice, had her life relatively together (my first wife was very unfocused and horrible with money), physically a complete contrast, wild in the bedroom--I thought I had hit the jackpot.

Anyhoo, I fall for her hard. We have a whirlwind romance, move in shortly, and we have this glamorous life where we make good money (she was a corporate accountant, I had a decent small business, we're pulling in 150K+ combined), renting a luxury apartment, one car paid and the other brand new, no kids. Things are great, except that we drink too much together and some other underlying issues I'm blind to at the time. We get soused one night and drive to Vegas, and get married on the strip after 6 months of dating and 9 of knowing each other. The ink is barely dry on my divorce papers from version 1.0, but no matter, I'm in love. My family likes her overall. Her family loves me. We adopt cats. We talk about trying to have a kid.

We upgrade our life and take on more debt, just as the housing bubble bursts and the economy tanks, she loses a couple jobs due to her inability to show up on Mondays, and I start losing clients as the ones I have start cutting their advertising budget (my field). Things start to get pinched, and she first starts complaining, then gets petulant, because now we can't spend the way we used to, the quarterly mini-vacations dry up, plus we're cooking at home instead of going out to eat 4x a week. We basically stop having sex a little more than a year into the relationship (didn't realize it then, because I was dumb and love-blind, but she cheated on me during this period).seRealizing what we're up against with our normal bills plus our credit cards, I go out and get a job bartending at a posh resort, the only other real skill I have at the time that's marketable. I get two other part time gigs to help make ends meet. She still complains, and throws me an ultimatum before I even start getting paychecks, laying the blame at my feet. I say fine, screw this then. Had we stuck it out even a few more months, things would have started to turn a financial corner. Instead, she goes full two-faced, mean-spirited bitch on me. The night we first fight, she "attempts suicide" by scratching her wrist with a leatherman, then calls 911, gets admitted to the hospital (I arrive home to cops telling me this), and has the security guard toss me when I show up to see if she's okay because she doesn't want to talk to me. I use the quotes because there was a small collection of firearms nearby I bought for her target shooting hobby which were untouched, so it was obviously just a ploy for attention.

We basically fight for the next week, I give her everything she wants, which includes leaving the house, signing over my new truck to her, and only taking stuff I brought into the relationship, basically enough to fill a small storage space. She's financially pinched so I sell my office furniture for cash and don't even touch the bank account, just take my biz money and one CC I got separate from her. I go to the Bay Area for a few months, financially struggle, don't get the job I was sure was on lock. During this time, I have this revelation one evening--I drink too much and that it's caused a load of problems in my life, so I quit, and I haven't touched a drop since.

Broke and realizing nothing I try is working, I come back to town, live with my dad for a month, find a roommate, then a shit retail job (my business has dropped from 7-8K per month at its height to now around 500/mo), I bike everywhere bc I can't afford a car, and my credit is toast partially due to her love of spending on plastic, so I'm facing bankruptcy. I'm 31, and this is really humbling, but whatever, I'm alive, have dealt with hardship before, this won't last forever. She has kept her house, declared personal BK on her debts, keeps her car, and has been dating a series of men starting a couple weeks after we split. While I never asked the details, apparently she's also reached out to a few of my friends and badmouthed me a bit. This would be mildly annoying, but add in two factors--she's dragging her feet on the divorce due to not having money to file, keeps up contact on the pretense of us needing to talk, but plays emotionally manipulative head games during the whole sequence ("I've realized I still love you, that's why you can make me cry so easily," and other bullshit Hallmark movie lines like this). Also, we live in a suburb that's smaller and tightly knit, so multiple places I go to like my church, the bookstore I frequent, and the coffee shop right by my place, she talks endless shit to people. Says I was a cheater and physically/emotionally abusive (complete crap, but whatever), I'm stalking her, I supposedly stole tens of thousands of dollars from her, the whole nine. Some people actually believe her, I even get threatened by a wannabe biker one night that's literally twice my age with violence, itself a funny story but not the point.

Finally, after some more bullshit and back and forth, she leaves town (more falsehoods around this, including her borrowing a bit of money she didn't end up paying back, and sticking me with a massive overage on our cell bill right before we split the account). My dumb, trusting heart hurts but I'm mostly relieved to see the last of her, realizing she's only nice to me when she wants something. She goes to NY to shack up with another guy, gets pregnant 15 minutes later. Finally sends me divorce paperwork. I sign it and send back quickly, all notarized docs, everything organized and flagged. She attempts to be "friends" and I want no part of this BS. I'm businesslike, she gets upset. She screws up filing, blames me. I say "whatever," straighten out the court issues. One week after the divorce is finalized, the kid is born. No word from her after that for two years, thank god. I get a new career, start advancing in it, and start dating a new woman that I'm still with 10 years later. Weirdly enough, they knew each other, and she didn't like her, partially because one of my ex's infidelity partners was her ex-husband, during a time they were exploring patching things up for the kids' sake (though there were multiple reasons for her distrust, apparently she always gave my wife an icky intuitive feeling).

So flash forward two years. I get a call from my current squeeze. She's just talked to a friend who was also a very brief roomie of "her" after our split. She's breaking up with the baby daddy. There's a custody fight. He's saying he doesn't know if it's his. Will I help her? Well, it's the right thing to do, so even though I don't trust or particularly like her, I say yes. I get the call, and a sob story. Most of it doesn't add up--he took the kid, but thinks it's actually mine, to prove paternity I'd need to come to NY and take a paternity test at one of their facilities, also he hit her, put a GPS tracker on her car, brother is a Russian mobster who threatened her, all very far-fetched. Needless to say, even without this fanciful tale, I generally assume if this woman is talking, it's a lie, so I'm suspicious. Her lawyer calls me, and seems like a clueless shmuck. I get a letter from him, very unprofessional and not even on a letterhead (every other legal doc I've seen has "from the law offices of blah blah" on it, but this is literally just off a laser printer), and says, verbatim "I, M___ K___, am the ex-husband of J___ K___, and was married to her from 6/07-8/09. I have no legal interest in the child." Super shady.

Not wanting to end up in a situation where I've allowed myself to be legally fucked over, I make my own lawyer consultation appointment. Before I can even go, the baby daddy finds me on Facebook and sends me a message. Between calls with him, his lawyer, and the impartial lawyer NY state appoints for the child's welfare, I get a very different story. He knows it's his, he had a paternity test done on the sly at birth because she had been promiscuous before they got together, and she was pregnant so quickly he was concerned. They broke up because she was drinking too much, he busted her with a bottle of vodka as she was driving with the kid in the car. She stood up in court, claimed I was actually the father, and she had no idea where to find me (he found me in 10 seconds online, I'm a tech guy with massive social media presence, a tech blog, multiple writing credits on publications, my frigging name as a domain, plus I've had the same cell phone number for 14 years). Also the other BS was just that, he's an IT guy for a university and his brother works for a carpet cleaning chain, plus just like in our relationship, he never hit or stalked her, etc.

So she, not knowing what I know, starts sending me text messages. I say "Filled out and on its way back to your lawyer," and toss it in the trash. I'm so tempted to send her some poetic message about how the truth is coming back to haunt her, but I resist, because I'm not doing this for her, but rather for the sake of their son and his father, so let's keep my ego out of it. I provide legal statements to all in the court. Tell them I know it's not possibly mine because I hadn't been with her since April 15 of '08, kid's birthday is in Sept of '09 (I remember the date because, due to taxes, I got fucked twice that day). Explain when she was in NY, which is the likely dates of conception, prove I was thousands of miles away on the west coast. Tell them to look through her social media, where she meticulously tagged herself and took tons of pictures of even their mundane locations. Provide a blood sample to a local lab. Tell them salacious details about her drinking and occasional drug use, including her abused prescriptions and a previous hospitalization where she was held for psych eval due to taking way too many pills.

Court comes, and she gets blindsided. Stack of depositions and a collection of statements from me were what sealed the deal, apparently, and the incredibly stupid game she was running is fully exposed. Gets no custody, no support, supervised visitation once a week. I run into her ex-roomie, upset, but instead of giving her attitude, I just calmly tell her the scam J__ was running, then let her "pull out of me" the truth about our split. She's flabbergasted, but also a horrible gossip, so it gets around town like wildfire. People I barely know, including the aforementioned biker, all come up to me and apologize for misjudging me. I'm years past the stage of having any morbid curiosity to check her social media, but every few months she pops up as a "suggested friend," and I notice bemusedly the number of mutual friends plummets from triple digits to eventually 3. Baby's father sends me a massive Amex gift card for Christmas, as much as I make in a week at the time. I call and tell him I don't know if I can accept it, I don't want him or anyone to think I did this for a reward. He virtually begs, saying "you helped save my family. This is nothing in comparison. Thank you." We break down crying on the phone, and eventually form an odd, distant friendship based on mutual respect for each other. I even had dinner with him a couple times when I had to go to NY for biz over the years, and I always buy, because the poor guy has done enough and gone through enough having to coparent with this train wreck.

To this day, she's apparently struggling to stay sober (alcohol and other substances), and has minimal involvement in her child's life due to her inability to show up when expected. Baby daddy tells me she's been in legal trouble, financial issues up the ass, and a string of boyfriends that never last more than a few months. I'm doing well, got married again three years ago, raised step-children, am reasonably financially successful, and rather like my life. Granted, a large part of this story is just karma in action, but I feel like I did the right thing, wasn't petty, and what I did do hit her where it hurts.

TL;DR: Ex-wife fucks my life, destroys me financially, tries to trash my reputation, then tries to use me as a scheme in her custody battle years later. I talk to the court directly, work with the baby daddy's lawyers, and get her exposed for the psycho, lying wench she is. She loses custody, struggles, and the good people live mostly happily ever after.

(source) (story by heymomo7)

[100-yardstare]

I can’t believe I missed ace awareness week. I wanted to blog a little about it, but my computer charger failed on me and it’s taken about a month for me to prepare for the bill to replace it. I feel yucky right now so I just felt like writing about what’s going on in general instead.

I’ve been on so many interviews. I was screwed over on my last big job interview (the one I ranted about last time) partially because I think my old boss that said she be a reference flat out told me she wasn’t going to do it AFTER I submitted her as a reference to the job, so I’m almost 98% sure I was passed over because of that. In addition one of the committee members that interviewed me got mad at me for calling her “ma’m”. She explained she wasn’t from Texas, and I apologized and said something on the lines of it must be a culture shock for her and I didn’t mean to offend. Somehow people think the term is used as an insult now, and that is beyond me. I guess I’m old school lol age is catching up with me and I’m not even realizing it.

So I’ve been on plenty of interviews since then but I keep getting passed over. The last one I had to take a aptitude test, and after receiving feedback from them as to why I was rejected, it’s apparently because I’m a slow calculator/clerical worker. Big whoop because I already know that. I am really feeling the negativity now as an adult looking for work about neurodivergent people trying to find a place in a neurotypical working world. I don’t want to disclose me being ADD to anybody in pre-employment screenings because I don’t want that label to penalize me. But one way or another being ADD does just so anyway.

Because it’s been about 9 months now without work I’ve been seeing my savings decline heavily. My medication bills are at least 155 a month, and on top of that I’m still paying off a stupid hospital bill from 3 years ago that was roughly 2,000 dollars for swallowing barium and a doctor looking at an X-Ray. So that comes to immediately at minimum 200+ dollars a month just on that. Add in the other stuff and I’m fucked without an income. I’ve applied to so many retail jobs too, but nobody gets back to me either.

I don’t go out much anymore because I can’t afford to charge for dinners, so I eat whatever my mom cooks. If she is too sick from her RA, then I try and cook, but because we don’t go to the store as often anymore to save on bills (my parents are having a hard time too) I have resorted to eating canned beans, soups, and others of likeness that don’t go bad. My father is also emotionally abusive to both me and my mom, and it’s gotten worse ever since he started having problems with his job. I can’t leave because I don’t have the money to live on my own. My hobbies have heavily declined. I used to make at least two big cosplay’s a year, and go to conventions, but I can’t do that because, OH NO, I don’t have enough money, and I can’t get a job. I cry all the time because I am so bored. I go out of the house only to volunteer once a week because gas money is tight, and to take my mom on errands. I dream constantly of going on trips. I feel trapped in this house I might as well be a ghost. I stare at my phone all day in hopes of either getting a response from an employer or validation from my social media, it’s pathetic. Imagine being so bored and trapped in your house AND being ADD. It’s like my mind is constantly going places and running around, and I just get emotionally exhausted because I have to tell myself, “no, I can’t afford to go eat at that place, I can’t afford to go on a roadtrip, I can’t buy the material to do my hobby”.

Here is what I learned from all this, which I’m sure a lot of you have already learned, or will learn. Getting a degree doesn’t do you shit. The world hates you and doesn’t care about you, yet values you only on how productive you are and how much money you can make. I see my friends trapped in this mindset right now, but what am I supposed to do? Tell them to give up on their dreams? My cousin is going to grad school for her SECOND Master’s because her other one isn’t getting her good jobs. She even has a full time job on top of it, but her car broke down, and with a full-time paying job she CAN’T AFFORD TO FIX IT. My friend is going to college to get a degree in computer engineering of the sorts, but she’s already 40,000+ dollars in loans. Tbh I’m so glad my brother dropped college. He was trying to complete a degree he didn’t even like, loathed as a matter of fact to the point of attempting suicide. My dad always told him trade school was bullshit, which is A LIE, so I’m sure he felt like he didn’t have any other options when he started. The trades are an awesome career path, and I have a deep respect for anyone who can become a welder, plumber, or whatever. Whatever he ends up doing I’ll be proud of him regardless. I’ve learned that there are other ways to make something for yourself. The traditional route of college doesn’t bring the American Dream, only our persistence and spirit does.

If you’ve gotten this far reading this, this is NOT to say drop out of school. But plan ahead. Don’t jump into college right after HS just because it’s expected of you. Don’t do a degree that you think is good just because it will make you money. One thing college did for me was teach me about myself. I have a massive learning disability, and I graduated. I worked hard for YEARS, thinking I’d never graduate because I had such a hard time keeping my grades up, managing my health, and all the sorts. But I did it! I graduated. The world has told me that doesn’t matter. The world is going to tell YOU that nothing you do matters or is of worth. But it is. You matter. You are NOT a burden.

I will say that all that has happened to me makes me a fierce advocate for those with disabilities and mental illness. My last job working at an ABA clinic showed me that babies (yes, literally BABIES) that don’t act neurotypical will be punished for it. I’ve seen in the work world that if you don’t act neurotypical, you are punished for it. Where I currently volunteer now there is a huge respect for disabled individuals. I see a lot of kids with cerebral palsy, autism, ADHD/ADD, and even physical disabilities. This one boy with CP couldn’t even walk before, let alone stand up, and now thanks to Equine Assisted Therapy, he can sit up and walk with assistance. He did that! That was his accomplishment and I am so proud of him. And yet a lot of people in the world will look at him with just another kid with disabilities that will probably not amount to much. See where I’m getting at? I’m so protective of these people because I am like them. One way or another, we have to stand up for eachother. My story with ADD may not be the same as a particular person with autism, CP, or mental illnesses, but we have to look out for each other. Going through all this has made me a stronger person and I will defend us with everything I’ve got.

FYI if any of you reading this wants to donate to a good organization this year for the holiday’s I’d HIGHLY recommend SIRE Therapeutic Horsemanship in TX. Great wonderful group of people and animals.

Yes, I’m in a horrible place right now. But I’ve learned. I sincerely hope things will change for me soon so I can better take care of myself and my mom, but of course I’m human and I’m going to suffer anyway in the moment. I hope 2020 is going to be better for me because this year was terrible. I crave financial independence, the ability to travel and see and experience new things, and be in a better spot professionally, and personally to do the things I want to do. Graduate school isn’t even an option right now because I can’t afford it, and as of now, I don’t care to go to graduate school. Maybe someday, years from now, but at this rate I’m so sick and tired of expectations from society I just say fuck it. I’ll get there at my own pace. And I’ll be successful without the worlds opinion on what makes me successful.

[macgyvermedical]

Look at what I purchased, as a 25 year old, with real human money and from an honest-to-goodness mainstream retailer, in the year of our lord 2019:

You’re seeing that correctly, folks: a 1985 MacGyver-themed escape room game.

“Why does this exist??” I’ve asked myself repeatedly since purchasing it. I could see a similar game with Lucas Till’s face on the front of the box, but Richard Dean Anderson’s??? Target can’t exactly be making boatloads of money off this. In fact, it seems to be made specifically for the one person who both does escape rooms exclusively to pretend to be MacGyver and could give you the episode title of any 1985 MacGyver ep based on the injuries the lead character sustains. Which, you know, is me.

Here’s how I came to purchase it:

There I was, on New Years Day evening, minding my own business and worrying about my taxes (there was, at the time, a solid chance I had not actually filed them for 2017, but that’s another story), when my sister sent me this picture:

Before I’d even finished reading “MacGyver: The Escape Roo-” on the package, I realized I needed to own this. Now, overall, I had put a moratorium on spending on anything except food, gas, and insurance until I got a job, but that’s neither here nor there. I decided if it was under $30, I was going to own it.

But, instead of asking where my sister was or how she had come across a gem like this, I decided to glean some extra fun out of it.

Due to the stress of my taxes debacle, I’d been playing a lot of GeoGuessr in my New Years Holiday free time. So I figured, I’m like, the MASTER of context clues now and can DEFINITELY do this without any instruction. I’m gonna real life GeoGuessr the crap out of this game.

Based on the red sign in the background, the holly decoration, and the design of the merchandise tags, this is clearly a Target. I’m like 90% sure my sister was nearby last night, so i drive to the Target by my parent’s house. So the next morning, after settling the taxes debacle (turns out I did file them, just partially for the wrong county) I set out for my hunt.

When I get there, I realize this might not be as easy as this game just casually being in the game section. Because, see, this store was TORN UP in the after-new-years-and-christmas-and-probably-still-halloween season. I’m talking carts of unsold merchandise in the aisles, shelves either awkwardly shoved with products or picked clean, clearance signs, empty boxes everywhere, etc...

Also, based on context clues, this game is being sold as “bag accessor” and it appears to be between an aisle and some women’s clothing. So I zoom right in on the red sign hanging from the ceiling (it says “Girls”) and try to orient myself based on that sign and the long edge of the ceiling lights.

I end up by the greeting cards and office supplies, across the aisle from the girl’s department. And I do see a display that looks similar to the one in the picture with relatively similar clothing behind it. Score. Except, the game isn’t there. So I think to myself: who the actual crap bought not one, but TWO copies of “MacGyver: The Escape Room Game” from Target in the last 17 hours?? What kind of HIT employee would do something like that??? To little ol’ ME??

Of course, something else that’s missing is the decoration. Which could just be because there’s about a million employees desperately trying to redecorate for Valentine’s Day and clean up from end of year clearance hell, and they very well could have removed that particular cardboard cutout of holly last night, but it ends up leading me to the fact that the Target in the picture is a lot... longer than the Target I am currently standing in.

Well shite.

So I finally text my sister to ask her which Target she was at yesterday. She confirms that its the Target I’m at. I’ve used my free hint.

But that does narrow it down. Because if I’m in the right store overall, I’m definitely on the wrong end of it. Which was not something I'd thought of for some reason. So I head on over to the women’s department to find the “bag accessors” (which is, if I’d thought about it, definitely where the “bag accessors” would be located).

And voila, there on a display with scattered Back to the Future DVDs, hair scrunchies, and luggage tags, is the very same two “MacGyver: The Escape Room Game” sets. Naturally. Of course. Who wouldn’t put this in the Women’s Clothing section???

Basically, that’s the tale. And it did end up being $30.

So if anyone’s interested in repeatedly escaping from my apartment some weekend in February, hit me up.

[boothunters]

I sat down with Josh Hurd, co-founder and partner in Los Angeles’ newest menswear store, Proconsul Clothing. We discussed his background, inspiration, and goals for this new classic menswear destination that features such storied brands as Alden, Tricker’s,  Wolverine, and Bleu de Chauffee.

BH: When and how did you first start working in Men’s apparel?

JH: My first retail job was in the Men’s Sportswear department at Filene’s Department store in Massachusetts. It was the late 80’s (yes, that long ago), and it introduced me to every aspect of Men’s clothing: suits, shoes, casual, luxury brands, accessories and bags. From there I worked at the Gap, where everyone went to be trained… I learned a lot about how clothes were made and I just fell in love with retail. Every day is different and I like being in service to people. Men especially love knowing that they have a guy who gets it and becomes their go-to for their wardrobe.

BH: What inspired you to focus on menswear for your career?

JH: As a teenager I woke up one morning with this revelation that I didn’t like the way that I looked. I was always artistic and loved to draw. So I drew a picture of what I wanted to look like and went out and bought clothes that achieved that look. It always evolves. Over the years, I went from punk rocker in leather jackets to ‘emo’ guy in long black coats and combat boots to other looks too. Some of these looks have stayed cool and others not. But I realized that looking great in my clothes gave me confidence. When you work with a guy to outfit him, you’re not selling clothes. You’re providing confidence in the form of a look that makes him feel the best he can be. Life is too short to not look good. And it’s not about how expensive something is. The best Vintage leather jacket I own cost me $49 and fits like a glove. I get more compliments on that than almost anything else I wear out.

BH: What brand and model was your first pair of boots:

JH: I bought a pair of black combat boots in my teens at the Army/Navy store. Corcoran Jump boots. I wore them for like 10 years. I wish I still had them… No idea where they went! The first thing I bought when I moved to LA in the 90’s was a legit pair of UK made Doc Martens. I still have those!

BH: Can you describe the feeling you get when you put on a new pair of boots?

JH: I wear boots 99% of the time. I live in them. Partially because I have very wide feet in the toe box and very narrow at the heel. The right boots just make me feel good… confident. Especially if they are well made. I have some boots that I keep pristine and others that I beat to hell and then condition them to lock in the patina. I have a lot of boots!

BH: What inspired you and your partner to open Proconsul Clothing?

JH: When we met I was at a crossroads in my career. I really wanted to not go back into the corporate world of retail. Nothing wrong with it, but I wanted to be an entrepreneur. I spent years crafting a vision. I knew what I wanted and he made it happen for me. I love the brands that are built to last: Alden shoes, Tricker’s… A leather jacket that you put the miles on and build patina… Who doesn’t love something that will last for decades?

My business partner has many years of production experience in denim, owning a business that makes clothes. He understood the idea of having a store for people who wanted denim, leather jackets, shoes that were built to last. And the rare (like 12 of an Alden shoe made just for us) and special. And he loved the concept of a Men’s custom casual haberdashery where we either alter our clothes to fit you or make it completely custom to your specs. And for the price of going into a nice Men’s store or department store that does not do that.

Once our customers get into our clothes they want to go deep and get every color or fabric in what fits. They want the Alden or Tricker’s MTO boots that only we have because they know the quality and probably collect them, too. We wanted a place that had what we wanted to buy and wear. And a beautiful store that’s not cool for cool’s sake but a place that you actually want to spend time in. We have seating areas, leather club chairs. We want you to come and hang out.

I named it Proconsul because I am a huge Roman History buff. A Proconsul was previously a Consul, the man that co-ruled the Roman Republic before (and technically after to some extent) there were emperors. Then after his year of leading, he was given a province or country to run as if he were a Consul, which is what Proconsul means. This guy was successful in life, well traveled and had access to the best of everything. That’s our customer.

BH: How did you go about selecting and curating the selection of apparel and footwear that you offer?

JH: At this point in my life, I am obsessed with clothing and footwear that is well-made, special and hard to find. Items that are made by someone I could actually meet. I tell people that when they try on our denim. I could introduce you to our tailors and production team because they are 25 minutes away. Growing up in Massachusetts, I did know about Alden but really got to know them years later. Any brand that is over 100 years old has it down. I want our clothes to feel like we have been doing it for 100 years as well. Classic fits in jeans, jean jackets, shirts and t-shirts. I’m not interested in fashion. For example, why do people keep going back to Steve McQueen as an icon? Because he looks timeless. Many stores reference him because they get that aspect of Men’s clothes. You shop at Proconsul because you get that. That’s what we make and do. I love vintage, especially leather jackets and I think everyone should have at least one of those. But I also love the idea of being the one who puts the miles on yourself and creates future vintage for the guy down the road. Whoever gets my leather jacket collection will be a very happy person!

BH: What does a heritage brand represent for you?

JH: The best ones have stayed true to the right way of doing things. Made the best possible way and they are value propositions. Yes, I will spend $600-800 on boots because I’ll have them for decades. Or thousands on a leather jacket for the same reason. When I first started, I saved up for those things in order to afford them. And you feel good about it. Again, I think that leads to confidence in every respect.

BH: You feature American, French and British made goods, what are the common attributes between these brands?

JH: I just keep going back to built to last, well-made goods. When I have a customer who finds his “unicorn” boot that no one else has, I mean you yourself know that feeling. It’s just so good. Special. I wanted either limited representation or no representation in LA for the brands we selected. You either want to or have to come to us.

BH: What trends do you see in the local Los Angeles market when it comes to menswear?

JH: A lot of street wear. But similar to an Alden special makeup, much of their footwear is collectible. I like that. But there’s also a lot that isn’t great. Some stores have a clear understanding of their customer and some don’t. It seems like we are at a crossroads with fast fashion vs. slow, built to last. You know where I stand on that. Where we are on La Brea, we have lots of flavors. That’s good.

BH: What’s your opinion of the future of retail, I mean what will change or must change in the face of online and in what ways do you think brick and mortar have an advantage?

JH: It’s a great question. Brick and Mortar is not dead. But only if you give customers a reason to go there. People want experiences. And they want someone who cares, knows their stuff and genuinely wakes up in the morning to deliver the best service possible. If I walk into a store and some employee is on their phone and doesn’t care whether I’m there or not, well I just walk out. In anything important to you I think you want a connection with someone who is an expert, a pro. I love pros, whether they are chefs, bartenders, lawyers, seriously whatever profession where you actually strive to be the best. And products where you know you’re getting something good. Retail has to excel at that.

We had a trunk show for Bleu de Chauffe. Now they sell online of course. I was so happy to see new customers come specifically because they wanted to touch the bags, to see how they felt on their shoulder. And our job is to build a relationship with them and continue to give them access to the best stuff that they love. All that being said, people are busy and online is quick. I get that. I only buy online when I know exactly what I’m getting into fit or style-wise. And I have the relationship with that brand or store and want to give them the business. That’s my goal for our website. You bought that shoe before and we have another color you like, or it’s time for another jean. I have customers all over the world. They would love to be in the store, but it’s not always possible. So the website gives them access on their schedule. That’s where online works well. But you can’t beat being there if you can. Have amazing product and make it a place that you also want to hang out in and you’ll be in business.

Proconsul Clothing … Passion For Style

I sat down with Josh Hurd, co-founder and partner in Los Angeles’ newest menswear store, Proconsul Clothing.

Proconsul Clothing … Passion For Style I sat down with Josh Hurd, co-founder and partner in Los Angeles' newest menswear store, Proconsul Clothing.