#my phone back ground is the same since 2009:

[tellthemeerkatsitsfine]

Things that have happened to me on Friday the 13th before:

1) August 2010: I got called upstairs early in my shift at the department store where I’d been working for the last year and a half. After completing my first year of university in spring 2009, I’d taken a year off to try to save money by working full time. I hadn’t gotten a full time position at that store, so I had all the benefits and job security of a part time worker, but I was working 44 hours a week. Sometimes more than that, though then I’d have to work fewer the next week. The company was required to pay us overtime if we went over 88 hours in a two-week pay period, so I was never allowed to do that. But I hit exactly 88 hours many times, sometimes getting sent home from a shift early if my manager realized I’d reached that point. Because they’d rather have the other cashiers work short staffed for the last bit of the night than have me stay until the end of my shift and get paid overtime.

I’d gotten really attached to this job. I was 18 when I started there and 19 when I unceremoniously ended there, and I didn’t yet understand how a job was a negotiation between a worker and the company. I just wanted to be the best employee possible, so I set my availability to any time, all day. Never booked time off or called in sick. Always answered my phone when they called, always said yes when they asked me to start early or stay late or come in on a day off. Took pride in the way I understood everything about how that place worked. I used the same cash register every day, and everyone else knew not to use it. Every other cash was a mess, but mine had everything clearly in its place. The discount cards, the envelopes for cash drops, the different sized bags, the elastic bands that I kept there as a way to stay grounded long before fidget spinners existed. My cash’s phone was the only one without a list of phone numbers for all the departments on it. Because I was the only staff member – among not just the low-level employees, but the managers too – who had every phone number memorized. So I didn’t need the list of numbers, and since no one but me used that cash anyway, they took the list from my phone and put it on a wall where it would be more useful.

Looking back, I have trouble remembering why. But I remember feeling like it mattered. I don’t think I got drawn in by the rhetoric about the importance of making profit for the company or whatever. I remember rolling my eyes when we were taught about upselling and things like that. I just felt like I needed to know everything and get every step right. To be the best at that job and remember every single detail of it. The repetitive nature of the job appealed to the autistic nature of my personality. The script of “Did you find everything you were looking for-Would you like a bag with that-That will be [price]-Have a nice day” reminded me of how I’d learned to communicate in the first place. When I was a kid, I was on a much “lower functioning” part of the autistic spectrum than I’m on now. My ability to communicate in a way that could be easily understood was very limited, and I got a bunch of therapy that gave me rote scripts for how I was supposed to express myself.

My job as a department store cashier drew on that, and I found myself easily able to slip into the role of repeating the same script over and over. Remembering the same actions over and over. Calling out the correct numbers when someone at another cash asked “What’s the number for [department]?” because they knew it would take less time to call out the question and have me answer it than to look it up on their list. Doing everything the same way every time. By that time I was much more “functional” than I was as a kid, I could easily communicate and understand what was happening around me. But still, I found comfort in falling back on stuff I’d learned in therapy that I had as a much less functional kid.

I’ve recently started a co-op job of working with autistic kids, and it’s brought up a lot of stuff about my own childhood in the versions of this therapy that existed twenty years ago, and how different things were then than they are now. I can’t write about specifics of my job because it’s all confidential – I’ll trust the anonymity of this blog enough to write personal stuff about myself, including stuff I wouldn’t want attached to my real name, because I’m pretty sure no one will connect this blog to my real life. But I can’t trust the anonymity enough to write specifics of people who are receiving treatment that is meant to be completely confidential. I will just say, as a general statement, I do think it’s cool to see how much the field has progressed. There are still a lot of ways it could be better. But the kids I saw at work last week had much better treatment than what I had at their age. But it is interesting to see they still learn what I learned, even if they now learn it in a much different and better way. They learn how to repeat rote scripts if they’re unable to generate their own words. Basically, autism therapy is great training for the job of a cashier.

Anyway. Friday August 13, 2010. I got called upstairs at the beginning of my shift and told I was being laid off. “Laid off” means the same as “made redundant” in some places – gotten rid of because they don’t need you, not fired. Except that I was the only person laid off, and they hired four new cashiers as soon as I was gone. Yeah I did so much for them that it took four people to replace me. Of course you’re not supposed to need to replace a “laid off” worker, but that can happen if they were “laid off” not because workers were unneeded, but because firing them would be illegal. For example, it’s illegal to fire someone for having panic attacks at work. I mean, maybe that would be fine if the panic attacks made them unable to do their job properly. But my panic attacks didn’t do that – I could stay on cash and keep working through them. But I frequently had breakdowns in the change room during breaks. One time, not long before they got rid of me, they had call an ambulance for me after the shift when I worked through such a bad panic attack that I collapsed as soon as it ended.

It sounds weird to say that in my entire life as a mentally ill person, with mild autism and severe anxiety and OCD being sort of in between those things (in that I got diagnosed with it but have since been told I shouldn’t technically have been diagnosed with it because my OCD symptoms can be better explained as autism and/or anxiety symptoms, but symptoms of OCD have still fucked me up mentally over the years), who’s gone through some difficult shit, one of the worst times in my life was when I lost an easily replaceable retail job. It’s weird to say I was traumatized by a department store. But it’s genuinely one of the hardest things I’ve ever gone through. I was so mentally invested in that job, and it got ripped away with no warning, and my brain is not good at dealing with big changes to sources of strong emotional investment with no warning.

For months after, I cried myself to sleep every night and cried most of the day as well. I started school again, but never went to class. I just learned out of the book, never leaving my bedroom unless I absolutely had to go to campus and write a midterm or exam. I got three A+s and two As in the fall 2010 semester, because I was so deeply depressed that I could not do anything except cry and feel awful and drink alcohol and read my textbooks. I shut down mentally. I didn’t socialize, I withdrew from my sport, I thought I’d never care about anything or feel anything except awful again. For the following school year I moved halfway across the country for a year, just to try to get some sort of fresh start, but I was still miserable. It took several years to really get over it.

2) March 2020: Yeah, Friday, March 2020 was the day the God damned world ended. I was on the East Coast, visiting my grandparents along with my mother. My mother’s birthday is March 12, and on that night, we went into town to have dinner at a restaurant. My family members started talking about this disease that was encroaching on our world, and I got up and went outside to walk by the ocean instead of listening to that conversation. I listen to my CBC news podcasts every day, and for the last while, listening to those had really fucked with my anxiety because the news seemed to be that the world would probably end soon. I decided I forced myself to listen to that terrifying shit for the duration of my podcasts, and I didn’t need to hear it at other times too. I stayed outside until my family was ready to go back to my grandparents’ house.

The next day, the world ended. They canceled the major sports leagues. They canceled school. They canceled the upcoming tournaments in my sport. I’d coached a big tournament at the beginning of March, then driven out East with my mom, with the plan that we’d be there for a couple of weeks and then get home so I could be back with my sports team to coach them through the next round of tournaments. But that was no longer necessary, as all those were canceled. And not just small ones. National championships in two age groups were gone just like that. All announced on Friday, March 13.

I extended my stay at my grandparents’ place, because I had no good reason to go home. I was going to college online and working at an editing job that could be done from anywhere. My only good reason to be home was my sport, and the tournaments and practices were canceled indefinitely.

My grandparents lived out in the country, and it felt surreal to listen to my podcasts every day and hear about the world going up in flames, when I was in a place where things stayed mostly the same. I went walking by the water every day, climbing over rocks and putting my hands in the Atlantic Ocean. I watched a show I’d just discovered called Taskmaster, and I called out apologies to my family when I laughed out loud and the sound carried all through the country house with paper-thin walls. I listened to the news and I felt terrified and I accepted that life as I knew it was on hold indefinitely.

3) May 2022: The last day of my first week of work at a new co-op job. I’d gone in anxious that by the end of the week I’d be completely mentally defeated, badly enough to not be functional, to be fired for having panic attacks just like I was in 2010. But I wasn’t. I was tired, but a fairly normal amount of tired after waking up at 6 AM five days in a row and then working all day. I was mentally and physically drained, but nothing that couldn’t be healed in a couple of days. I was still alert and able to function. The world didn’t end.

Things are getting better.

[ndconceptarchive]

An interview with Cathy Roiter on the making of Warnings at Waverly Academy from the November 2009 newsletter.

If this is difficult to read because it's a maroon font on a grey background, here is the pdf file from the website.

Alternatively, here's a transcript I made for it (since unfortunately you can't copy and paste from the pdf).

Nancy Drew

Interview with a Game Designer

This month, we managed to catch up with the designer of Nancy Drew: Warnings at Waverly Academy, Cathy, for a short Q and A. She’s got all the answers on the creation of Nancy’s 21st PC adventure game, plus a little insight on the future. Check out the interview below.

What was your main inspiration for Warnings at Waverly Academy, beyond the books?

That would have to be my own crazy schooling experience. Having moved around a lot growing up, I was always switching schools - though never to one as prestigious as Waverley! I met every personality and stereotype imaginable, from large schools with immutable cliques to smaller ones where students crossed social lines simply because there weren’t enough of us otherwise. Add to that the unique experience of dorm life from college, and I had a world filled with unique characters and situations to draw from.

Can you discuss the themes of the game and how you chose to incorporate them?

There were three main themes: Gossip & rumors run amuck, the all-important issues to high school girls (such as social standing, grades, boyfriends, etc.), and the gothic styling of Edgar Allan Poe. A large portion of the story was driven by the girls’ opinions of each other and the scandals that kept breaking- gossip and rumors - which were deliberately cohen by the Black Cat to cause the most damage to the intended victim’s psyche - the important issues, Poe provided our link between the girls and Ms.Hallowell, as well as a grounding theme for the school. We used dozens of Poe references throughout, pulling from The Black Cat to The Pit and the Pendulum and beyond to imbue the world with his gothic touch.

How did you help shape the characters and environments to reinforce your concept?

During the initial design, I worked up detailed character profiles, including what exactly everyone thought of each other. Although the high school stereotypes are present, Anne (our scriptwriter) and I wanted to make sure that each girl was more than just her social standing. The dorm rooms were designed with the intent of conveying additional insight to the girls’ characters with decorations that really showed off their personalities. Public areas, such as the library and the foyer, were designed with a traditional gothic aesthetic. Plus, I brought back Nancy’s phone with a vengeance, upgrading her to the latest cell phone technology. This allowed us to bring in texting and photos as an additional way to further the story and really give it the feel of being in school. I confess this was new to me- in college I only knew two people with cell phones, let alone high school!

How do you tie all that up and still keep the “Nancy Drew” experience strong?

Even after 21 titles, that’s still one of the greatest challenges facing design. To keep it strong, you have to keep it fresh. Each game needs its own flavor while still embracing the quintessential Nancy, and it’s why we generally don’t have back-to-back games with the same feel- spooky, adventure, or mystery. Waverly was Nancy’s first foray back to high school since her very first adventure in Secrets Can Kill and we wanted to create a completely different experience here. With its multi-layered design, gossiping cast, environmental changes and new tech toys, Warnings at Waverly Academy provides a rich sleuthing experience for everyone.

Any spoilers for the future?

Well, as those following the Amateur Sleuth Blog and our Twitter have read, we recently chose our concepts for some future titles. All I can say about these games is this: they’re exciting new mysteries in spectacular locations. I also know that our savvy message board users have caught some of our past hidden spoilers in games. The Phantom of Venice had Caribbean pamphlets to tease Ransom of the Seven Ships, The Haunting of Castle Malloy had a Waverly sign hinting at Warnings at Waverly Academy, Ransom of the Seven Ships contained a Wizard of Oz book alluding to Trail of the Twister. They all seem to be hinting at the game two titles from their release. Hmm, I wonder what hint we put into Warnings at Waverly Academy for ND23?

[juliathephantom]

JATP Fanfic Recs: Multichapter Edition

* indicates complete

'Stupid Cupid, Stop Hitting On Me' by Bluefire510

Juke

Luke, a troublemaker cupid, meets Julie, who is also one of Love HQ's toughest cases to crack.

She claims to have no desire to fall in love.

But Luke is always up for a challenge.

Let's see if he could get Julie to fall for her Perfect Match by next Valentine's Day.... and maybe teach her all about love while he's at it.

*Operation Hashtag Rulie by where_you_go

Reggie/Luke/Julie

“Explain yourselves,” Caleb ground out.

“Uh…it’s not what it looks like?” Reggie tried, wincing.

“Oh really, Reginald? Because it looks like two of my most popular band members from a family-friendly band are fornicating in public!”

-

Julie and Reggie get caught up in a PR misunderstanding that leads to them "dating" for a few months. It's not a big deal, or at least it wouldn't be, if Luke would stop acting so weird.

*Unexpected by Phantom_Lover

Luke is determined to breeze through his senior year and onto mega stardom (which means avoiding school, and Principal Lessa, as much as possible). That is until he's forced to work side-by-side with quiet good-girl, Julie Molina, on the big end-of-the-year talent show. The two struggle to see eye to eye, and meeting the all-important deadline seems impossible until something unexpected happens between them.

keys to the cage (and the devil to pay) by HearJessRoar

Juke, Willex

Julie Molina has always thought it would be rather exciting to meet a pirate.

Unfortunately, she's right.

"Julie, Julie Patterson, I'm a maid here in the governor's household," she bluffs. And she wishes that Luke's name hadn't been the first that she'd come up with, because the long-haired pirate's eyebrows raise immediately.

"Luke got married?" he says, sounding oddly betrayed.

His blonde companion looks equally gutted. "He didn't even tell us."

Piss Off Your Parents (Date Me To Scare Them) by TheNameIsBritney

Willex

Alex Mercer doesn't want to go home for Christmas; but if he has to, he's certainly gonna raise a little hell. Enter: Willie, the cute guy in his history of English class who would be the perfect fake boyfriend candidate.

So if you wanna piss off your parents, date me to scare them, show them you're all grown up. If long hair and tattoos are what attract you, baby then you're in luck.

*i'll hold your music (here inside my hands) by musicals_musicals

"Your soulmate must love music just like you do”

Julie is 3 years old, enthusiastically playing a small plastic piano, the first time she sees her string.

It makes sense that music would connect her to her soulmate.

or

How Julie finds her way back to music, joins a band, falls in love, and meets Luke Patterson (not necessarily in that order)

*a masterpiece in motion, more beautiful every day by fairylightsandrainydays

Willex, Juke

Alex Mercer is a merboy with a fascination for the human world. Willie is a prince who he saves from a storm. And Caleb Covington is the sea witch who is going to make Alex's dream come true.

So long as Caleb gets what he wants.

*days go by and seasons change (lets try again next winter) by itsagamefortwo

Juke

julie's ready for a year away from home, studying and trying to re-find the magic in music. luke's about to start on a summer tour around europe opening for a band. they meet one night, sparks fly and emotions run high. now they've just got to try and see if they can maintain a long distance friendship.

Who Could Deny These Butterflies? by xxPrettyLittleTimeBombxx

Juke

“I know this is going to sound kinda crazy…but, could you maybe pretend to be in love with me for a few minutes?”

—

When Julie Molina approaches Luke Patterson at a bar and asks him to pretend to be her boyfriend, she never expects to find herself in a position where she and Luke have to keep up the ruse for longer than five minutes. Figures that out of all of the strangers she could have approached that night, she’d gone and picked the one guy who just so happens to be in a rock band that’s on the brink of blowing up.

*relight that spark by @ruzek-halstead

Juke

julie molina has had nothing but a tough life. after losing both her parents early on, she was left in the care of her step-monster karen and her two step-daughters. while working at her late father's diner, completing household duties and being at karen's beck and call at all hours, julie was well on her way to getting accepted into the college of her dreams and having enough money to move out.

and then one day she received a text message from an unknown number. it started out innocent, crossed wires based on a flyer she put up three years ago.

this is the story of julie molina and her prince charming, and everything in between.

i never saw you coming (and i'll never be the same) by ruzekhalstead (@ruzek-halstead)

Juke

julie molina, a new student to uc berkeley, secures a job at a tiny, run-down grocery store, where she meets a group of people who inadvertently become some of the most important people in her life.

there's nothing like suffering in the workplace with your co-workers to solidify a bond.

a look into julie's life in a brand new city, as told by the customer service experience throughout the months.

an oddly specific grocery store au that no one asked for but i'm writing anyway to satisfy my brain

*Love Drunk by captainkippen

Juke

Thirty-two missed calls. Fifty-eight texts waiting. Over one hundred various social media notifications. A deep sense of foreboding took over. Julie swallowed. Slowly, she lifted the phone back to her ear.

"Flynn… what happened last night?"

After a night out in Vegas, Julie and Luke wake up to find themselves married. Hijinks ensue.

*So that's how it happens by echocharm (@echocharm17618)

Juke

But it had to be today. Julie had this crazy feeling in her stomach. Not nervous butterflies. More like fireflies that were trying to zap her (Do fireflies electrocute people? She should google that). It felt like that moment her parents spoke about all the time. The day they met. And when they first spoke to each other. Her mom always says that an intense zap went through her whole body.

Are you new or nervous? Julie has been waiting a (short)lifetime to hear those words be said to her.

She walked down a few more steps in the auditorium and found a spot. It was one of the few seats left in the room that wasn’t all the way up in the back. She sat down and settled into the uncomfortable, hard, plastic chair and took a deep shaky breath. The prof was nowhere to be seen. But there was a cute boy in the seat next to her. He had sort of long brown hair that was covered with a grey toque. And he was wearing a cut off t-shirt and you could see his very nice arms. Julie’s breathing was still shaky, and his attractiveness wasn’t helping the situation.

*we're too young to know things like love by Ephemeral_Joy

(@lydias--stiles)

Juke

The various ways and situations people notice the connection between Julie and Luke, whether that be a close friend or a complete stranger.

(started as a 5+1 fic and then i kind of went rogue. oops.)

*and i know i've kissed you before, but i didn't do it right (can i try again?) by Ephemeral_Joy (@lydias--stiles)

Juke

Some things just can't be fixed with a song.

(Julie and Luke break up.)

*The Infamous Tale of Luke and Julie's Grand Trip Across America by Ephemeral_Joy (@lydias--stiles)

Juke

In any normal situation, Luke wouldn't let this random girl hitchhike with him across America.

Then again, he wasn't normal. And neither was she.

(or: the roadtrip!au no one asked for)

*We Found Wonderland by ICanSpellConfusionWithAK (@pink-flame)

At the end of season one Julie isn’t able to save the boys and they are jolted out of existence. But what if there was another way? Julie finds herself back in 1995 with a chance to stop the boys of Sunset Curve from ever dying at all. But will she be able to find her way home afterwards? Will she want to? Or has Alice really gone down the rabbit hole this time...

A Moment of Quiet Conversation by JackONeillisTheMan

Juke

Julie and Luke talk about how he was the one who introduced her to rock. Then just fluff, more and more fluff.

*Feels like I've opened my eyes again by ICanSpellConfusionWithAK (@pink-flame)

Juke

After the whirlwind her life has been since the boys showed up it’s not that surprising that Julie would be a little tired. But is it normal that she’s more exhausted than she’s ever been? With Nick acting weird, Alex and Reggie both wrapped up in their own problems and her relationship with Luke still a big question mark, she has her work cut out for her if she’s looking to sit back and relax.

Basically my ideas and speculation about what season 2 might hold, or at least some of the things I would like to see.

find the strength, find the melody by sunset_phantom

Juke

An AU in which the boys are alive, Julie has been kicked out of her music program, and she somehow ends up falling in love with Luke in three days while he simultaneously brings her back to her first love of all: music.

after silence, wake me up by Vargynja

Juke

Julie hasn't been able to make music after her mother's death. She lives in New York working as an assistant for Luke, working hard to move forward in her career.

Luke finds out he's about to be deported back to Canada. A panicked lie leads them to fake a relationship to get married so he can stay in the country. Despite working together for two years they aren't close but a trip to Alaska to visit Julie's family might change that

Based on the premise of The Proposal (2009)

[hummingbird-of-light]

Desideria Praeterita

Part 37

Scotty

When Leonard had left, the house felt empty. It was strange. To be there without him. But Scotty had something to do, so it didn’t bother him too much.

He had placed the list his boyfriend had brought with him next to the laptop and went through each and every name.

Some looked friendly, some… not so. Scotty had focused on the female names since he came to the conclusion that he just felt safer around a woman.

Dr. Hudson was next on the list. Scotty typed in her name and looked up her website. She looked like a nice person. Active since 2009, graduated in New York.

There was a phone number. He wanted to call… he really did. But he felt anxious about it. What if he didn’t get a place?

‘Ye’ll never know if ye don’t try…’

Leonard would have probably said the same. Scott hesitated for a few minutes more before he eventually grabbed the phone.

“Do it for him,” he reminded himself. Scotty would be brave… for Leonard and for his own sake.

(“Practice Dr. Hudson, Jenkins talking.”)

Scott opened his mouth to say something. Why was he so goddamn nervous?

(“Hello?”)

“Uhm… he… hello.”

(“How can I help you, sir?”)

The voice sounded soft and polite. It possibly belonged to a young lass.

“I… My name is M-Montgomery Scott. I… I’d like to have… an appointment with Dr. Hudson.”

There! He had said it. The Scotsman closed his eyes, hoping for a reply.

(“It has to be your lucky day, Mr. Scott. We just had a cancellation. Do you have time at 6 pm?”)

Scotty felt his heart racing. This was a bit fast, wasn’t it? But then again… maybe it was fate. What were the odds?

‘Leonard will be back by then.’

“I… I do, yes. Can I… can I bring someone with me?”

He couldn’t do it without him.

(“Of course. Whatever is best for you. Should I include you in the plan then?”)

“A…aye. Please do so. Thank ye very much.”

They ended the call and Scotty lay back on the couch.

‘I hope it was the right decision.’

Part 38

McCoy

McCoy was tired as he pulled out from the hospital’s underground garage. The day had been overwhelming. Someone higher up must have taken the day off of watching over people. The ER hadn’t been that packed in he couldn’t remember how long.

He hoped Scotty had had an alright day. McCoy had barely had the chance to shove some food in his mouth, let alone look at his phone for messages. Surely if anything terrible had happened and Scotty couldn’t reach him, he’d have called the hospital.

A yawn was followed by a sigh as he drove. All he really wanted was to change, have some dinner and curl up. Maybe read the book he’d been meaning to start. Snuggle up with Scotty close and just do nothing.

McCoy was wondering about what Scotty might have made for dinner, and how he could help, when he realized he was pulling into his garage. He chuckled and hoped he hadn’t broken any traffic laws while zoned out. He gathered his things and made his way into the house.

He didn’t smell anything cooking as he entered, and the kitchen was empty. His neck began to prickle and anxiety rose in his chest. He moved through to the living room, and breathed in relief. Scotty was on the couch reading one of his journals.

“Hey darlin’.”

Scotty jumped slightly in surprise. “Mo ghràdh!”

“Is everything alright?” McCoy asked. Scotty seemed nervous.

“I… I made an appointment. With a therapist,” the engineer said as he stood up.

McCoy let his bag drop on the ground and moved over to his boyfriend. He embraced him tightly.

“That’s great Scotty.”

“You’ll… you’ll go with me?” Scotty asked hesitantly.

“Of course darlin’!” McCoy leaned in and kissed him. “When is it?”

“At 6.” Scotty looked apologetic.

McCoy put on a smile as he glanced at the clock. There went his quiet evening plans. But this was more important, he reminded himself.

“Let me go change and we’ll head out. We can grab something to eat on the way home.” He stroked a hand down the side of Scotty’s face and kissed him again.

[themonsterblog]

The Beast of Bray Road

Dating back to 1936, citizens of Elkhorn, Wisconsin, in Walworth county as well as Racine and Jefferson counties have been witnessing a beast.

Reported to be 6ft tall, with grey and brown fur, the Beast is said to have a wolf-like face, shiny yellow eyes, pointed ears, and run and walk on all fours or hind legs as well as kneel like a man. I am reticent to call it a werewolf as shapeshifters are rather outrageous even for the cryptozoology community, but that is the imagery that comes to mind.

The first reported sighting was in 1936. 30-something Mark Shackleman was the night watchman for the St Coletta School For Exceptional Children outside Jefferson. The school had extensive grounds that included wide, open fields that held several preserved Native American burial mounds. Crossing the fields one night when doing his rounds, Shackleman saw a shadow digging into one of the mounds, much like a canine would. The Beast then stood to six feet tall and looked at him, it’s large body covered in dark fur and smelled of rotting meet. Shackleman took a step back, startled, and the beast abruptly turned and ran off into the woods. Shackleman reported seeing it again the next night, but never again.

Due to some what conflicting descriptions of the beast, some cryptozoology enthusiasts believe the beast to be a misidentification of some other cryptid, such as “Eddy” or “The Bluff Monster,” a Bigfoot like creature in Wisconsin. Others suggest a Waheela, or “bear dog;” as well as a Shunka Warakin. Some have even suggested due to the similarities and proximity that The Beast Of Bray Road and The Michigan Dogman are the same animal.

The Beast has been reported to act aggressively, but not outright violent and hasn’t reported to have physically harmed anyone. It had also been reported to charge vehicles, even chase people, but breaking off the chase before catching anyone, suggesting the theory that some have that it is territorial or guarding something, which could also explain the reason that many sightings are concentrated on a 2 mile stretch of farm road.

In 1991, 18 year old, Doris Gibson, reported driving down Bray Road during a storm when she felt her tire hit something. Thinking she had hit a small animal, she got out of her car to investigate only to find nothing. She looked to the side of the road, saw the form of the Beast and rushed back to her car. As she sped away, she said the Beast jumped on the trunk of her car but slid off in the heavy rain.

In the fall of 1989, Lori Endrizzi was driving down Bray Road on her way home from her job as a bar manager, when she saw a hunched figure in the road eating road kill. She flipped on her high beams to see it clearer and realized that whatever it was, knelt like a man and held the carcass in its hands like it had human-like elbows. The creature then stood and started towards her vehicle that had stalled out as Lori panicked and struggled to get it to start. When the engine successfully rolled over, she floored it to her mother’s house. “I didn’t sleep that night very well,” she said in her interview with Monsters and Mysteries in America.

The town of Elkhorn has supposedly had so many sightings of the Beast from the 80’s and 90’s that the Elkhorn Animal Control is rumored to have a file on the creature. The vast uptick in sightings is what had the now defunct Walworth Week assign junior reporter, Linda Godfrey, to investigate and report on the sightings. Linda published her article “Tracking down ‘The Beast of Bray Road’” on December 29th, 1991 and would then go on to write “The Beast Of Bray Road: Tailing Wisconsin’s Werewolf” and become the foremost expert on the subject.

One story Godfrey tells regarding the Beast is about a group of boys heading home from sledding, that was told to her by a friend of her son’s that experienced it first-hand. On their way home, the boys saw a large furry creature drinking water from a creek, thinking that it was a dog, they decided to go pet it. When they approached the creature, it stood, snarled, and took chase after the boys, breaking off after they cleared the tree line. Which, while terrifying, is in line with many reports.

Steve Krueger has told a consistent story on both Monster Quest and Monsters and Mysteries in America. Myself being a natural skeptic, once recognizing him on M&M from Monster Quest, made sure to track down his MQ episode, initially thinking that I could rule him out as a credible eye witness if his story changed. It hadn’t in the 4 years between episode airings, which lent more to his credibility in my eyes, albeit the story being more sensational on M&M due to the nature of that show. In November 2006, Krueger, a DNR worker had removed a the carcass of an 85lb doe from a road in Holy Hill, Wisconsin. As Krueger sat in the cab of his truck filling out the required paper work for the removal, he felt his truck shake, thinking it was simply the wind, he ignored it. A second harder shake caught his attention and he looked out the back window of his truck to see a shadowy figure standing at the tailgate of his truck. Krueger shined his flashlight through the back window to get a better look and saw a 6ft tall animal with a wolf-like face, reaching into the bed for the deer carcass he had just removed from the road. Startled, Krueger threw the truck in drive and sped away allowing the Beast to drag the doe off the back of his truck.

Wolf Biologist Peggy Callahan believes all of these sightings can be explained as simple misidentification. “People could definitely misidentify a wolf jumping up on its hind legs,” she tells Monster Quest, in a 2010 interview. Callahan believes that folklore and superstition combined with misidentification has created the tale of the Beast and influenced sightings. “As for the traditional werewolf, I’m going to tell you it doesn’t exist.”

Linda Godfrey on the other hand, does not believe this is a simple case of misidentification and advocates for witnesses saying “I really believe that all of these witnesses have seen what they say they saw. [...] Anybody who drives around much in Wisconsin has seen so many deer, and so many bear, and these other creatures that they would have a hard time mistaking something like that for a completely unknown animal.”

Sightings over the years have dwindled in frequency but recent sightings have been reported to MyRacineCounty.com with Danny Morgan’s January 2018 account of seeing the Beast while driving home from Lake Geneva, accompanied with the cell phone photo that heads this post; and Ron Rice’s 2020 account of seeing the Beast in the town of Lyons while delivering fertilizer.

If you are interested in learning more about upright, Wolf-like hominids, I highly recommend sifting through Linda Godfreys blog at Lindagodfrey.com. She has compiled sightings on there since 2009, but has been inactive since May of 2020.

Sources:

Milwaukeemag.com

Legendsofamerica.com

Lindagodfrey.com

MyRacineCounty.com

History Channel’s Monster Quest

Travel Channel’s Monsters and Mysteries in America

Cryptidz.fandom.com

[gendercraft]

Outlast: Revisited [Chapter One: Miles]

Synopsis: I’m rewriting Outlast where the first game and Whistleblower are combined, Miles and Waylon are more connected, and also they kiss

Mount Massive Asylum was a silhouette ahead of the setting sun. Against the red and orange and white in the sky, Mount Massive was all dark brick and covered windows. Half of the building had flickering light peeking out from slats and cracked curtains, and the rest was pitch black. 

    Miles opened the car door and planted one boot on the dirt, brows furrowed. He came with only his camcorder, a few spare batteries, a notebook, and the email he was sent: 

     You don’t know me. Have to make this quick. They might be monitoring. 

     I did 2 weeks of software consult at MURKOFF Psychiatric Systems’ facilities in Mount Massive. All sorts of NDA’s I am very much breaking right now but seriously, fuck those guys. 

     Certainly enough to grab Miles’ attention. When most people heard he was an investigative reporter, they treated him with what they thought was respect. All talking in circles and stepping over eggshells. This person emailing him—they had something to say and they were going to make sure Miles was listening. 

     Terrible things happening there. Don’t understand it. Don’t believe half the things I saw. Doctors talking about dream therapy going too deep, finding something that had been waiting for them in the mountains. People are being hurt and Murkoff is making money. 

     It needs to be exposed. 

     A fall breeze brushed by, making Miles shiver under his brown jacket. He flipped the collar up. 

    He was prepared for a facility up and running, for patients and orderlies to interview. This place looked abandoned. 

    Miles poked around the empty building where someone should be there to open the gate from, but the computer was frozen and there was nothing. 

    The gate—for humans, not cars—creaked as it opened. Securing his notebook and the hard copy of his email in the inside pocket of his jacket, he raised his camera and headed inside. Mount Massive loomed over him as he stalked towards the front entrance. Military trucks lined the walkway. 

    What the fuck happened here? 

    He pulled out his notebook and scribbled a stream of consciousness: 

     I start feeling sick just looking at this place. Mount Massive Asylum, shut down amid scandal and government secrecy in 1971, reopened by Murkoff Psychiatric Systems in 2009 under the guise of a charitable organization. Cell phone reception cut off abruptly a mile out, more like a jammer than a lost signal. The Murkoff Corporation has a long track record of disguising profit as charity. But never on American soil. Whatever they thought they could get out of this place has to be big. Might finally be the story that breaks the bastards. 

     The front entrance was locked. He blew out a frustrated breath and looked around to find another spot in the fence, allowing him into a tiny courtyard with a fence and scaffolding up along the walls. He looked through his camera and zoomed in—there was an open window. He grimaced. 

    He didn’t want to go back to when he was a teenager, sneaking into empty buildings through crumbling walls and broken windows, but he didn’t see much of a choice. He had to get inside. 

    He got the same thrill he always had when he was younger to climb and leap over the scaffolding until he reached the window. The second his feet hit the ground, the light exploded. He gasped and covered his head as glass rained on the carpet. 

    Raising the camcorder, he flicked on the nightvision, then winced. 

    What the fuck happened here? 

    The room was empty, the furniture all turned over and piled up. Miles strained his ears, but the asylum was silent. He crept his way over to the door and peeked inside the hallway. Both sides were barricaded, giving way only to the room across the hall. This room was a bit more normal, lit up by the light streaming through the hall and the thin curtains. He looked around for any clue of what happened here, but nothing. There was a second door letting him into the hall past the barricade. 

    He was about to squeeze through a gap between the next barricade, when he faltered. 

    Is that fucking blood? 

    He pulled up his camcorder and zoomed in. Sure enough, blood splattered the wall and stained the carpet. There was no sign of a body. He swallowed and pushed forward. I have to find out what happened here. 

    In one of the rooms, he found a status report for a patient named Billy. Most of the words Miles didn’t understand most of the words, but he could connect it to the email; ‘lucid dream states,’ ‘the blood dreams of Doctor Trager,’ and something called a ‘MORPHOGENIC ENGINE.’ 

    Something Miles found interesting, part of an interview with the patient: 

        Billy asked about the status of his mother’s lawsuit against Murkoff and the asylum...catastrophic breach in security...all orderlies and security personnel must be questioned and video security improved…

        Signed ‘MURKOFF PSYCHIATRIC SYSTEMS PROJECT WALRIDER

    MOUNT MASSIVE CO’ 

     The first sign of life Miles was given was a bathroom door shutting as he approached. He hesitated, then rapped on the wood. 

    “Hello? My name is Miles Upshur, I’m an investigative reporter. May I ask you some questions, please?” 

    No answer. He shifted uncomfortably. “Uh… okay then. I’ll be around if you change your mind.” 

    The next door was locked, but across the hall there was a small kitchen. He did a quick once-over, then stopped at the counter by the fridge—is that a fucking— is that an organ— is that a fucking organ on a tray? Right next to a fucking soda can. Miles’ stomach lurched. It was long and thin, flesh coloured, veins of blood smearing onto the silver tray. 

    I have to find out what’s going on here. I have to expose it. 

    The only way was up, into a ventilation shaft. As soon as he got inside, someone burst into the room, looked around frantically, and ran out. Miles barely caught them with his camera. His heart was ready to beat right out of his chest. 

    “Fuck,” he whispered, panting. “Fuck this.” 

    He got to the end of the shaft and paused. It dropped too far for him to get back up if he decided he had to leave. With the blood, the fucking soda organ, was it worth it? Was this worth risking his life? 

    What if he didn’t have enough evidence? What if he couldn’t convince the police to come? What if the public thought it was a joke? 

    Closing his eyes, he jumped down. 

    Creeping along to the first door, he threw it open and a body hung from the ceiling. He stumbled back with a gasp. It was bloodied and pale, and Miles watched, horrified, as it smacked to the floor. He covered his mouth and forced himself into the library, eyes burning. 

    Keep your camera raised. No matter what you do, keep your camera raised. 

    The library was a maze of pushed over bookcases, the righted ones holding decapitated heads. Their mouths were gaped open, eyes blank and bloodshot. He crept forward. In the light of a window, a body sat impaled on a pole, still slowing sliding down. Blood caked the metal. It smelled of rust and decaying meat, and Miles was quickly losing his resolve. He stepped forward and the body, the man, gasped and reached out, choking on his own blood. 

    “They killed us,” he gasped. “They got out. The… Variants.” 

    Miles watched with wide eyes. A few tears ran down his face, but he kept recording. 

    “You can’t… fight them. You have to hide… can unlock the main doors… from Security Control.” He desperately tried to crawl himself up the pipe. “You have to get the fuck out of this terrible place. Stay away from the north, it’s… it’s chaos.” 

    Miles dropped the camera and leapt forward to help pull him off, but the moment he pushed up, the man lurched, screamed, and fell dead. Miles stumbled back with shaking hands, his palms red and sticky. He wiped his face with the back of his hand. 

    He pulled out his notebook. 

     I’m inside. Bodies everywhere. Blood. Burn marks. Heads lined up like bottles behind a bar, Dead Murkoff scientists hung from the ceiling; their badges say “Murkoff Advanced Research Systems.” Murkoff’s longtime M.O. has been to profit off the exploitation of supposed charity. Fuck the third world and bankroll another billion. 

     How did Murkoff think they would make money off a building full of the mentally ill? 

     There’s some kind of tactical cop pinned like a pig on a spit. Tells me to get the fuck out then dies. Would have been a good thing to hear when I could still leave the way I came. 

     He lowered the notebook. His chest was tight, tight, too tight, he couldn’t breathe. He sucked in a deep breath. He hadn’t had panic attacks since he was a teenager, but he couldn’t blame himself, not this time. 

    He slid his notebook in his pocket and picked up his camera. 

    He left the library. The second floor of the Administration Block was an atrium, one floor wrapped around the carved out middle where reception was below. He got to the ground. He was not safe here. He couldn’t be seen. He switched out his battery and recorded himself moving forward. Another barricade blocked the hall, but there was a gap he could squeeze through if he could just… 

    “Little pig!” 

    A thick hand grabbed the back of his neck like someone picking up the scruff of a kitten. Burning pain ripped through his skin as a hulking figure yanked him out of the gap. Miles barely got a glimpse, but at first, he did not register it as human. His nose was smashed in, and there was a giant chunk ripped out of his forehead. He bared his teeth, a huge row of shark fangs, then threw Miles through the glass atrium. He smacked against the reception floor, and blacked out. 

    xxx 

    “And who are you, then?” 

    He blinked his eyes open, his head pounding, his entire body throbbing. A bald man in vestments stared at him, a flashlight blinding him. His face was full of wrinkles, with full cupid lips and wide set eyes. Miles groaned and dropped his head back to the ground. 

    “I… I see.” The man held Miles’ camera. “Merciful God, you have sent me an apostle. Guard your life, son, you have a calling.” 

    xxx 

    When he woke up again, the man was gone. 

    He tried hard to remember what happened between his blackout, but it was hard, like a dream he couldn’t quite get a hold of. He gripped his throbbing head. All he knew was he had to get to Security Control. 

    There was more carnage in the reception area. A handful of dead bodies absolutely eviscerated, their guts painting the ground. The smell was something worse than Miles had ever witnessed in his life. Some cops had told him you’d never smell anything worse than a dead body, or anything close to it. Miles knew now that was right. 

    It wasn’t until he had explored a little bit that he noticed the big letters written at the base of the atrium, over Miles’ head—Proclaim the Gospel. He hoped it was red chalk. At the receptionist’s desk, he found a document: 

     You are hereby required to grant M.H.S full access to all facilities and surrender complete authority to its agents. By acceptance of this document you (and any surviving relatives) surrender all claims of litigation against the Murkoff Corp. or its subsidiaries for the actions of M.H.S. or the circumstances which required their actions, regardless of responsibility. 

     A status report in one of the storage rooms, about a patient named Chris Walker, observed by Dr. Rudolph Wenicke. It mentioned more of the rumoured Morphogenic Engine. From the interview notes: 

     Walker was interviewed in restraints, following his self-inflicted mutilations. Restraint have had to be altered to accommodate his enourmous size...he claims the skin ripped from his forehead allows for a truer way of seeing...his predominant fixation, amplified by therapy, is a manic exaggeration of military security protocol. 

     It took Miles a minute to realize that was the big fucker who threw him through the window—Chris Walker, an abused patient. The rage in his stomach muted. Did he even know what he was doing? Miles shook his head. It didn’t matter. 

    Coming into the hallway, he stopped. A Variant sat in a wheelchair, staring at the floor. Miles cleared his throat and hesitated, before stepping forward. 

    “H-Hello? My name is Miles Upshur, I’m an investigative reporter. May I ask you some questions, please?” 

    The Variant’s chest rose and fell rapidly as he panted. Miles’ brows furrowed as he came closer. Like Chris Walker, this patient looked horribly unhealthy, and deformed. How many patients came into Mount Massive this way? Could this be a coincidence? 

    The man didn’t respond, so Miles moved forward. He came into a room with three Variants, all bald men, staring with dead eyes at a static television screen splattered with blood. Miles introduced himself again, and nobody answered. He pulled out his notebook. 

     A crowd of broken men watching a dead channel. They look like patients. They survived whatever happened here but nobody’s home. 

     He carried through the room and cautiously explored the Administration Block until he found the keycard for Security Control. He passed the Variant in the wheelchair, only to find his back smacking to the floor, reawakening the pain in his spine, the Variant screaming, “GET THEM OUT! PLEASE! THE DOCTOR IS DEAD! RIP THEM CLEAN! YOU HAVE TO HELP ME!” 

    Miles gasped and shoved at the fucker’s chest, until he finally flew off and hit the ground. The man curled into a fetal position and sobbed into his arms. Miles panted, the anger in his stomach slowly subsiding. 

    “It’ll be okay.” He swallowed. “I’m here to help. Which doctor are you talking about? Rip what clean? How can I help you?”

    Miles raised his camera. The man refused to respond. Miles stepped back, covered in sweat. He hesitantly left as the man crawled away. 

    He made it to the hallway with Security Control, and as he stood at the edge, a Variant at the end of the hall ran forward and pounded into a door until it opened, then slammed it behind him. Miles sucked in panicked breaths. He thought of approaching, of seeing if he could get some information, but shook his head. Maybe it was better to leave the Variants alone, when he could. 

    He couldn’t help himself—he explored what rooms he could. He found several dead bodies, blood splattered almost excessively, and managed to scrounge up some batteries. In the bathroom, a clothed man sat on the toilet, dead and hunched over, with the word ‘WITNESS’ written in blood above him. His abdomen burning with anger, Miles hands trembled over his notebook. 

     I’m already beat all to hell, picking broken glass out of my scalp, coupole cracked ribs. Nearly killed by a deformed giant, looks like somebody tried to fuck-start his head with a cheese grater. He throws me through a wall, knocks me unconscious. 

        I wake up and some doughy old man with a face like an alcoholic kiddy fiddler in a homemade priest outfit calls me his Apostle. Not a job I asked for. 

        There are words scrawled in blood everywhere. I’m getting an ugly feeling in my gut that the priest is writing them, and for my benefit. 

     He kept exploring, looking for anything that could bring this place down, and grinned as he read through a document. 

     The profit potential of PROJECT WALRIDER remains staggeringly high...four fatalities...PROJECT WALRIDER remains a dangerous initiative...certainly be further casualties...family and government interest in the patients is so low as to make any chance of legal actions vanishingly unlikely. Violence among patients is increasing as the Morphogenic Engine Therapy gets closer to producing working models…

     He pocketed the document and headed for Security Control. This is enough. I’m going to bring down Murkoff Corporation. 

    The reader beeped as Miles scanned the keycard and headed for the control panel. A security guard laid crumpled, dead in the corner. He ignored it the best he could and got on the keyboard, only for the priest to appear on screen. Miles watched with wide eyes, his heart racing in his fingertips, as the father yanked down a lever and the lights went out. 

    Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. 

    The screens had said basement. If he could get down there and restart the generator, he could get out. 

    He stood and headed for the door. His hand on the handle, he froze, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. 

    A familiar voice. “We have to contain it.” 

    Miles whipped around and looked in any place he could possibly hide in the tiny room. His heart raced, his breath short, his eyes landed on the locker. He sprinted over and crammed himself inside, slamming the door closed just in time for the room’s door to burst open. 

    Bringing his camcorder up, Miles pressed his free hand to his mouth to hide his breathing. Chris Walker’s own breathing filled the air, short and rabid, as he mumbled to himself. Walker looked around for around, checking the desk, circling the room, mumbling. “You were here, little pig, weren’t you…?” 

    The locker beside Miles creaked open. He bit back a whimper. 

    What do I do? What the fuck do I do? 

    Miles placed his hand on the cold metal, and prepared himself to run.

bls let me know what you think! and reblog <3 critiqued by @dib-leo-pard

[the11tailed]

Fandom: The Magnus Archives, Star Wars The Clone Wars (2008), vague Dead by Daylight

Tags: @crc-general-orin, @crc-commodore-sana9

Reblogs are love ^-^

-

[Recorder click]

Statement of Tup Fett regarding an incident that occurred in a Junkyard when he was a child.

Audio recording by Tech Fett, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institution, London.

Statement begins

I never blamed my brothers for what happened, it was my fault in a way. I never should have gone to that junkyard. It was a dare. Just a dare. It was harmless. 

I was 7 at the time. My brother’s Fives and Echo had dared me to go into the weird junkyard out by our old house. It's not a bad junkyard. It's just a dump a few meters back of the houses. Someone started a rumor that dead bodies were found there, but many members of my family is in law enforcement and they stated that no bodies were ever found, so I never believed those tales. Fives and Echo had been charged with taking care of myself and my twin, Dogma as all other members of my family were busy. Fives and Echo are good brothers, don't misread this, but they were not babysitters.

It was obvious early on they did not know what they were doing. They took us to the Junkyard, as they went there for fun a lot. It was a short walk, and sooner than I'd like, we were at the entrance. I was a bit scared, but Dogma was petrified. He clung to Echo and refused to go in. He said the "shadow people" didn't like this place. The shadow people were Dogma's imaginary friends (yet on some days I wondered if they were really imaginary) and he had them since, well, he was four after our uncle...did some disgusting things to him. I won't go into detail, but you can guess what our uncle did. He started seeing these "shadow people" everywhere. Anyway, I'm getting off track.

Fives only laughed when Dogma mentioned the shadow people. He dared us to go in

"It'll be fun!" he had said this with such glee.

I wanted to prove to my big brother that I was brave. So I went in. It was like any junkyard I've ever seen. It was just stuff piled high with no real order to it. I wandered for a bit, not long. It was when I turned a corner did I see the gate. At first, I couldn't figure out why it put me on edge. It was pitch black, with vines from some plant coiling around it so tight it warped the metal. I could see strange flowers bloomed on various and random places on the gate. I was curious so I got closer. I wish I hadn't. I wished I had turned and walked back to Fives and Echo and didn't go through the gate. But I did.

I stepped through the gate and the world around me warped. I don't really know how to describe it. The world almost folded around me and I felt really hot and really cold at the same time. Then it unfolded and refolding again and again. When it stopped I was standing in a junkyard but it was different from the one I had been in. This one had broken down cars everywhere. The next thing I realized was that the sky had taken a red tint, casting the whole area in a red glow that sent shivers down my spine. I turned, wanting to go back, only to find the gate slammed shut. I ran to it, but it had no handle. I saw a lever, but when I pulled it, nothing happened. I was scared and so utterly alone. I reached into my pocket for my phone, I need to call for help, but found my pocket empty of any phone, lost I looked around. I spotted the generator. It was an old thing, just sitting there. It wasn't on and I got the odd feeling that I needed to fix it. I walked over to it. I didn't know what I hoped to do, I was 7 and sure as hell didn't know how to fix a generator, and yet I did. I worked on it for 2 and a half minutes and fixed it. I still have no idea how. When it clicked on I got this odd sense of dread. I got up and walked to one of the red lockers that was sitting near the generator as the sense of dread grew into terror. I opened it and climbed in, closing the door. The terror I felt made my heart hammer in my chest. And then I heard it. The thump thump of something heavy walking near. The smell of rotting flesh was so strong I nearly gagged. I knew the smell of rotting flesh anywhere. My Grandpappy Jaster owned a farm, and one time I had found a dead cow that had been missing for days. She had wandered up into a wooded area and died. I found her and vaguely remember losing my lunch and crying into my older brother, Fox's, shoulder. Grandpappy did feel real bad about that, even though it was not his fault.

I heard a snarl of rage before the heavy footfalls got quieter and quieter. The sense of fear and dread went with it. Once I could no longer feel the dread, I climbed out of the locker and hurried off in the opposite direction of the footfalls.

I have no idea how long I ran. It was a while before I ran into anyone. I mean literally, I ran right into someone. A man in his 20's wearing a suit, now torn, ripped, muddy, and bloody. He had black hair and green eyes and I would later learn his name was Anthony. Anthony looked horrified to see me. I was confused back then, but I know why now. He was scared because I was a seven-year-old kid put in a demented game with a ruthless killer, but I'm getting ahead of my self. Anthony helped me up and hurried me along. I was went with him, too scared not to. He led me to another generator.

"I'm guessing you got the 3rd generator," he said and I just nodded.

"We just need two more and then we are free," he said that with such a hopeful tone.

There was another person with us, a young woman named Sarah. She was a young woman, maybe 19 or 20 with short, dyed pink hair and a few piercings. Her clothes were tattered and bloody and I noted she had a bandaged wrapped around her shoulder, yet I could see no wound. She was already working on the gen. Myself and Anthony knelt and helped her. Soon, with a rumbling click, the gen turned on. Then the dread crept in. I looked around desperately for a locker, but found none. Anthony grabbed me and dragged me behind a stone wall. There was a tree near us and I had to hold in a gag at the scent of rotten meat wafted from the crow slung up on the bark of the tree, stomach open. Anthony put his finger to his lips and we sat there crouched. The dread turned into terror and I heard the footsteps. thump thump. Loud and commanding. I was scared, far more scared than I had ever been in my life. I was shaking and Anthony knew that. He placed a hand on my shoulder, trying to console me. Then I saw Sarah run and I got the first look at the monster. It was humanoid, an arm covered in strange, boil like spots. I think the most horrifying part was it's face. It's flesh there was pulled, I have no idea how else to explain it. There were staples on various parts of it's body. It was terrifying. It held a chainsaw in one hand and a hammer in the other and it ran after Sarah. It activated it's chainsaw and I heard it whir and then the squelch of it hitting flesh. I heard Sarah scream, a sound so raw and so painful I wanted to cry. I think I was. I watched as it threw Sarah over it's shoulder. It carried her to a hook standing in the field. It was nothing special, but I found it odd that the hook was just there, swaying ever so slightly in the wind. Then, it threw Sarah onto the hook and she screamed again. He watched her gag for a second before limping off and vanishing into the tall grass. I tugged at Anthony's sleeve

"Shouldn't we help her?" I had asked through tears but Anthony shook his head

"Death hook" was all he said

Sure enough, long spider like limps emerged from the hook and impaled her. I watched in horror as they lifted Sarah's body up as more spider-like limbs descended down and grabbed her body and lifted her up into the void above. Once her body was gone, the limbs emerging from the hook, knocked the hook off and onto the ground. I let out a chocked sob as the realization hit me. I had just watched a person die.

"C'mon kid," Anthony had said and ushered me along.

I followed numbly, I was in shock, but the gravity of our situation shook me out of it quick. We found the last gen quick. We worked on it fast, but slow enough as to not make mistakes.

"I have a kid around your age," said Anthony, smiling at me, "Once I get out of here I plan to hug them and remind them how much I love them. You got any family,"

I nodded,

"Lot's of big brothers, a dad," I sniffled, "How does time pass?"

"I've been here a few minutes, what's the date,"

"the first of august, 2009," I responded and he looked pale

"No, it's-it's the second of January," I shook my head at that and we lapsed into silence. The dread came just as the gen clicked on. We both shot up, but by that time the dread was terror. It was here. Anthony ran at it and tried to draw it away from me, but it didn't work. I ran as it chased me, fear surging through my limbs, but I was seven, I wasn't fast enough. Do you know what it feels like to be slammed in the back with a chainsaw? I can't even begin to describe the pain. It hurt worse than any injury I had ever gotten and I screamed. Next thing I knew, I was being carried over it's shoulder. It was taking me to an open field. There were two hooks. Both faced each other. He threw me on one. The pain from that was worse than the chainsaw as the metal hook ripped through soft flesh and muscles and threw bone and I screamed a blood curdling scream. I was only there for a moment when I heard a strange noise. The gate had been opened. A sense of panic hit me. Had Anthony left me to die. But then I heard the whir of a chainsaw and a cry. It hooked Anthony right in front of me. He gave me a small smile as the creature ambled off.

"Listen," he had said, "Gates open, straight ahead, hurl yourself off the hook and run, don't stop, don't try to get me, I'm on death hook, Just run,"

"How?" I cried in desperation.

"Throw yourself off the hook," he said before the limbs stabbed him and dragged him away.

I wanted to cry, but it would have to wait. I took a deep breath and threw myself forward and off the hook. There was an explosion of pain, but I didn't register it. I ran. Ran as fast as I could. I saw the gate, wide open and tore forward. The whir of the chainsaw came from behind me and I got the idea to bob and weave. I did and it worked. I knocked over a pallet with strength I didn't even know I had and tore to the gate. I ran threw the gate out without stopping. Like before, the world folded in on me and repeated until, it stopped. I was back in the junkyard, no broken cars in sight and a soft blue of the sky almost made me sob. Warm blood trickled down and, to my horror, I realized I was still hurt. I reached into my pocket and was greeted with my phone. I called the first number I could think of. 911. I just said I was hurt in the Junkyard, fell and hurt my shoulder and that I need help and fast. The operator was a nice lady, helped keep me calm. The fire and rescue arrived fast and I felt happiness when the words 212 came into view along with squad car 1010. I wanted to cry as I ran towards them. I watched Helix run and catch me and I collapsed into my cousin's arms.

"Tup?" he had sounded so horrified and I guess he had the right to.

Fox rushed over and froze when he saw me. Helix was treating me as fast as he could as Fox knelt beside me and cupped by face with his hand. He told me it was all okay now, and that I was safe. I knew I was.

I woke up in the hospital three days later. I learned that I had been missing for almost an entire month. Fives and Echo felt so guilty, blamed themselves, but I could never blame them. Never.

-

Statement ends.

Another victim of the Entity's twisted games, and my own cousin. I remember the scramble for search parties when Tup went missing, but I still lived with my abusive mom, so my brother's and I were unable to search for Tup, who had been a close friend in high school for me. After this, Tup went through a lot of therapy, but he still struggles. He informed me one day, years ago, that he too now sees the shadow people. I've seen the shadow people too. All my brother's have. They are always there, just watching us.

As for follow up, there is not much we can do. The entity exists in a realm outside of ours and we have no way of stopping it or telling who it's next victim will be.

So another dead end, but not matter. Unfortunately, most of the files in the archives have statements made by members of my family. A lot mention a horrible tragedy and the sudden appearance of these shadow people. I wish to look into them, but my own shadow people have grow restless, usually that means-

[Static on recorder]

Yes, I know

[Static]

Yes

[Static]

Fine

End recording

[Recorder click]

[x--daughters-of-darkness--x]

MORGAN LANDER On KITTIE's Future Plans: 'You'll Be Seeing Us Around A Little More'

KITTIE vocalist/guitarist Morgan Lander has hinted more activity for the band following the previously announced reunion shows at Las Vegas's When We Were Young festival. Joining Morgan and her sister, drummer Mercedes Lander, at those shows in the fall will be guitarist Tara McLeod and bassist Ivana "Ivy" Vujic.

Asked in a new interview with the "Talk Toomey" podcast what led to Vujic returning to KITTIE for the upcoming dates, Lander said (as transcribed by BLABBERMOUTH.NET): "Ivy played on two of our albums, the last two albums that we did. She left the band right before the very last big tour that we ended up doing; she did the Soundwave Festival [in Australia] with us in 2012, and those were the last shows that we did with her. And she just kind of settled into her life, started a family, got married, and so that's sort of been what she's been up to. But Ivy's a metal girl at heart and she's always been super, super easygoing about stuff. I just sent her a message and I was, like, 'Hey, can we talk?' And we had a really, really great phone call and I just sort of explained the situation, explained what was going on. I asked her if she'd be into doing it, and she was, like, 'Yeah. Sounds great.' … It's very much one of those things where you don't talk that often anymore, you don't see each other that often, but then, when you all get together again, that chemistry and that vibe is always there."

Morgan continued: "I feel like that lineup of KITTIE in particular was always very super pro, super chill — no stress, no drama. Just, like, 'You know what? We're gonna go out there and we're gonna sound amazing.'

"She's an incredible bass player. I don't think that Ivy gets enough credit. She is absolutely incredible. So it's gonna be great."

As for whether KITTIE may have some other things in the works beyond When We Were Young, Morgan said: "We've got the festival — lots to look forward to with that. There may be some other things maybe coming down the pike — one or two things — but you have to watch [the KITTIE social media]. We might have one or two cool things coming down the pike, but for now those are the only dates that we have. And we're super looking forward to them. And I think this is just the beginning of… You'll be seeing us around a little more."

Vujic joined KITTIE in 2008 and appeared on the band's fifth studio CD, 2009's "In The Black". She also wrote and recorded bass for KITTIE's sixth album, 2011's "I've Failed You".

When We Were Young will be held on the Las Vegas Festival Grounds on the Strip on October 22, October 23 and October 29.

Officials said the "emo" festival will feature the same lineup on all three dates, with the exception of Alex G replacing Wolf Alice on October 29, and La Dispute will not perform on October 29.

The lineup also includes MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE, PARAMORE, AFI, THE USED, BRING ME THE HORIZON, TAKING BACK SUNDAY, DASHBOARD CONFESSIONAL, ALKALINE TRIO, MANCHESTER ORCHESTRA, THE ALL-AMERICAN REJECTS, AVRIL LAVIGNE, WOLF ALICE, STORY OF THE YEAR, JIMMY EAT WORLD and many others.

When the lineup for When We Were Young was first revealed, KITTIE said: "Thanks for your patience with our silence friends. The truth is we've been in full on crisis mode the past week and weren't sure if we’d actually be able to make this happen but it's true and we'll be there to melt your face off and we hope you got your tickets."

After the third When We Were Young date was announced, KITTIE wrote: "Third show added! Super stoked that @whenwewereyoungfest has decided to add yet another date! October 29th 2022. We'll see you there…tickets on sale January 31st".

KITTIE has not performed since its reunion show at London Music Hall in the band's native London, Ontario in 2017, celebrating the group's documentary "Kittie: Origins/Evolutions".

Last month, the original lineup of KITTIE — Morgan, Mercedes, Fallon Bowman (guitar) and Tanya Candler (bass) — reunited for an online chat to celebrate the 22nd anniversary of its gold-certified 2000 debut album, "Spit".

Candler left KITTIE after the release of "Spit" in order to finish high school and was replaced by Talena Atfield.

Bowman exited KITTIE in 2001 and started her own industrial/electronic project, AMPHIBIOUS ASSAULT.

After KITTIE completed the touring cycle for 2011's "I've Failed You" album, the band entered a long period of inactivity during which Morgan focused on a marketing job for a chain of fitness clubs while Mercedes worked in real estate and more recently at a software company. The group also began work on a career-spanning documentary, "Origins/Evolutions", which finally saw the light of day in 2018 via Lightyear Entertainment in North America.

"I've Failed You" sold 3,000 copies in the United States in its first week of release to debut at position No. 178 on The Billboard 200 chart.

[hexpea]

Ch. 17 - Lonely

September 2009

"What exactly is this?" Geto asked as he stared at two young girls locked away in a cage.

He had been sent to a small village to exorcise a curse that had been causing mysterious deaths and disappearances.

"What do you mean?" One of two people who led Geto to the chamber spoke. "They're the cause of all this, right? They're using their weird powers to attack villagers!"

"My grandson was killed by these two!" The other person whined.

"No," Geto said angrily while still staring at the frightened children, "I've already determined the cause of the incidents."

"He's the one who-" one of the girls started, pointing their finger through the bars.

"Shut up, you monster!" The man yelled. "Your parents were exactly the same! We should've killed you when you were babies!" Hearing that pushed Geto over the mental edge that he had been teetering on. That single sentence was all it took.

"Hey..." he smiled, "will you two come with me for a moment?"

Gojo sighed loudly as he lounged on Nanami's sofa at his apartment in the city. Though Nanami had quit sorcery after graduation, he and Gojo stayed in contact from time to time. He still peeved Nanami, but Gojo learned to control some of his antics to keep him in his life as a good friend. When Geto wasn't around, Nanami was who he'd cling to despite Nanami's clear exasperation.

"He should be home by now. And he hasn't answered his phone," Gojo held his iPhone above his face as he laid on his back.

"Maybe it's bigger than he thought, maybe he's just investigating or something," Nanami answered while staying focused on his laptop at his desk, completing a report for university. He had been attending online classes just as he planned while also working for a company downtown.

"He's the second strongest. I would've had this done in a few hours, so it shouldn't take him almost a week to return..." he sat up and began impatiently tapping his foot. "I think I need to tell Yaga to get me a substitute so I can go looking for him..."

Gojo quickly left Nanami's place, warping to the school grounds and bolting toward Yaga's office.

With Gojo now gone, Nanami pulled out the bottle he hid in his desk drawer. He hadn't necessarily become an alcoholic since Haibara's death, but he drank enough that it was likely Gojo would have started to worry. Judging by what was happening between Gojo and Geto, Nanami figured he wouldn't be drinking alone for much longer.

"Yaga..." Gojo was storming down the hallway when he saw the principal seemingly waiting for him. "I need to go find-"

"Suguru massacred the village and he's on the run," Yaga said urgently as Gojo stopped in front of him.

Gojo stopped dead in his tracks and clenched his teeth hard. He wanted his ears to be deceiving him...but deep down he knew.

"Huh...?" Gojo's pupils shrunk from behind his glasses.

"Please don't make me repeat myself," Yaga sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, "Suguru massacred the village he went to and now he's on the run."

"I heard you..." Gojo's voice was delicate, "that's why I said 'huh.'"

"There's nothing left in his home. But going by the bloodstains and remains he likely attacked his parents as well."

"There's no fucking way he did..." Gojo whispered, still wide-eyed and choking up.

"Satoru..." Yaga sympathized, "I don't get why this is happening either."

Gojo suddenly appeared back on Nanami's sofa, head in his hands as he sobbed into his palms - sunglasses in his pocket instead of on his face. Nanami jumped at the sudden sound of his sobs, screwing the cap of the bottle and urgently get carefully placing it in his drawer.

"What's going on?" Nanami asked, turning his chair now to face him. "Did something happen to Geto?"

Gojo looked up, his blue eyes somehow brighter against his reddened sclera. His face was wet with tears and the imagery brought Nanami back to three years prior to Haibara's death. "He's a murderer," Gojo whispered.

"Pardon?"

"He killed the entire village," Gojo's voice was shaking. "He killed them and they can't find him."

Nanami's shoulders slumped as he got back out the bottle and tilted it in Gojo's direction, standing in front of him at this point. He claimed the bottle and flicked the cap off, swallowing several chugs just as Nanami did those years ago. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and slammed the bottle on the nearby end table. Nanami took a seat next to him, the news on the television the only noise in the room as they sat in silence.

"He hasn't talked to you at all?" Nanami asked, placing a cautious hand on Gojo's shoulder. He simply shook his head, face back in his hands.

Eventually, Gojo stood in a rage - pulling at his hair as he walked in a circle in the middle of Nanami's living room. "I can't believe him...I can't believe him..." he repeated with his hands still at his head. It was clear that the alcohol had started to set in. "Like, what does this mean for us?! Did he really choose whatever the fuck he's got going on over me?! Have the past six years been nothing to him?!"

"Satoru..." Nanami stood up with his hands out in an attempt to calm him down. He managed to get his hands out of his hair, a few stray, white strands stuck to his sweaty palms. "He'll come to you when he's ready to explain himself. I'm sure he has an explanation...it could all be a misunderstanding. Maybe he didn't do what they say he did."

"He's done it," Gojo shook his head. His eyes looked wild. "I know it. With the way he's been acting...he's capable."

"But...he's the one that always preached about protecting the weak..." Nanami mumbled.

"Fuck that, I guess!" Gojo laughed maniacally. Suddenly, his phone began ringing. "Hello? Hi Shoko...Shinjuku? Are you going to stop him?...Fine, I'm coming."

"Gojo..." Nanami looked at Gojo urgently as he slid his phone back in his pocket.

"Geto's in Shinjuku. I'm going there," he said quickly.

Before Nanami could even say anything in response, Gojo had warped.

Gojo stood on the sidewalk amongst a large crowd of people, immediately recognizing the character in front of him with his hair half up and half down. His eyes widened with rage as he made eye contact.

"Explain yourself...Suguru..." Gojo's jaw tightened.

"Didn't you talk to Shoko? There's not much else to it." Geto had a cocky smile on his face, his first smile in a long time. It was as if the minute he decided who he wanted to be lifted a heavy weight from his shoulders.

"So you'll just kill everyone who's not a shaman?" Gojo clenched his fists. "Even your own parents?!"

"I can't go making exceptions, right?" Geto cocked an eyebrow. "There's even a purpose to it."

"No there isn't!" Gojo's volume earned them a few stares. "You wanna' make a world of shamans by killing every non-shaman?! No fucking way that's gonna' work!" Tears we're streaming down his face at this point as Geto stared at him blankly. "Doing stuff you know isn't gonna' work is as meaningless as it gets!"

"That's pretty arrogant," Geto said quietly.

"What?" Gojo's eyes flew all around Geto's face, trying to get a read.

"It's possible for you, right, Satoru?" Geto asked seriously. "If it's possible for you, can you really go around telling people that it's impossible? Are you the strongest because you're Gojo Satoru or are you Gojo Satoru because you're the strongest?"

"The hell are you saying?!"

"If I could become you, then even this foolish ideal would be perfectly plausible. Don't you think?" Geto cocked his head. "I've decided how I want to live, so now I'll do what I can for the sake of it."

"What about us?!" Gojo shouted again, voice cracking. "Do I mean nothing to you? We were the strongest, Suguru. We!"

"Please, Satoru..." Geto showed a small sign of remorse. "I know what I'm doing... Before I decided this I needed to know you'd be okay...without me. I can see that you will be."

"Geto..." Gojo whined desperately. "What are you talking about?!" Geto blinked as if the answer was obvious. "Don't you leave me..." Gojo grabbed him by the collar and brought his face close. "Don't do this to me!"

"Go home, Satoru," Geto separated himself from Gojo and backed up, "go home to Kento. Make yourself happy again." He turned and began walking away.

Gojo trembled and prepared his hand, fixing it to prepare use of his technique. He hesitated through clenched teeth.

"Kill me if you want," Geto turned back momentarily, "there's meaning to that." He turned and resumed walking away.

After Gojo met with Yaga, he found himself back at Nanami's just as Geto had figured.

"Don't you have somewhere else you need to be?" Nanami sighed as he ate his dinner, Gojo randomly appearing in the middle of the meal. "Like picking up Megumi-kun from school."

"Yaga's got him today," Gojo mumbled as he sat down at the dining table in front of Nanami.

"Did you meet with Geto?" He asked casually as he took another bite.

Gojo rolled his eyes upward, body otherwise slouching over the table. He felt incredibly fatigued, the mental turmoil taking its toll. Nanami lifted his eyebrows as if to encourage an answer while he chewed.

"He did it," Gojo answered melancholically. "He did it and we are...no longer together." Nanami coughed, choking on his pasta at the shocking news.

"I thought it'd never happen," he murmured.

"Yeah, me neither," Gojo gave a single, sad laugh.

"Haibara was obsessed with you two," Nanami smiled to himself, putting down his utensils. "He always went on about how he hoped our love would blossom into whatever it was you had."

"It did," Gojo looked up and returned the small smile, "it did, and then some. I can assure you of that." Nanami felt his face heat up as he urgently began eating to avoid any awkward eye contact.

"Really should've been us wishing we were you," he rolled his eyes, relaxing from his slouched over position.

AN: Inspired by Motion Sickness - Phoebe Bridgers Gojo made his way home, opting to walk instead of warp. Just as he had said to Nanami, Yaga had Megumi for the night considering the circumstances. That meant his flat was empty besides himself, the perfect environment to sulk.

Gojo pushed the key card into place and walked into the dark living area, flicking on the lights to reveal Geto leaning against the back of the couch that faced the front door with arms and legs crossed. He smiled.

"What are you doing here?" Gojo's voice was soft. "I thought we were done."

"We...are..." Geto said sadly, coming away from the sofa and closing the gap. "I just didn't like how we ended in the middle of a public street."

"I don't care," Gojo backed up. "I hate you for what you did. What you have to say now doesn't matter."

Geto frowned tightly, "Satoru..."

"Don't Satoru me..." Gojo shook his head, "get out of my home."

"Satoru...I love you. I have a bigger picture in mind. I wish you understood."

Gojo felt like he had so much more to say, but he didn't want to award Geto with any more thoughts. "Just go..." he looked at the ground, Geto standing only a few centimeters away.

"I love you," Geto tried again.

"I said go!" Gojo shouted, brushing past Geto and walking down the hall to his bedroom where he slammed the door. Geto knew how to leave considering he snuck his way in.

Gojo fell directly on his mattress, face first. He began screaming into his pillow, hands firmly gripping his feathered edges. His tears were soaked up by the fabric, feeling completely alone. He no longer had Geto, the one person he could rely on no matter what. Ieiri wasn't someone who could handle the deep shit. And Nanami, for all he knew and understood, disliked his presence entirely.

Little did he know, as Gojo cried into his pillow, Nanami was spending his upteenth weekend drinking his sorrows away. They were more alike than they realized.

[jenniferdiazisatransgirl]

My Journey

Hey everyone, As you will likely know by now I am a trans woman and I live in the UK where lately trans people have been under significant scrutiny by the press, government and groups claiming to be acting in the name of feminism.

One of the arguments used when not directly attacking trans people, is that the medical institutions that help us in the UK fast track us through transition, even the NHS and I know so many trans people in this country that I can say without a shadow of a doubt this is not true. This includes a significant number who have been under the care of Tavistock and Portman, the under 18s service which was recently banned from giving its patients hormone blockers without the approval of the courts.

But anyway, I’m gonna share my story and how lengthy the process actually is and I will warn ahead of time this deals with suicidal ideation, gatekeeping, mental health, etc. So proceed with caution. This will also be a long post.

September/October 2008

I can’t remember which month but it was just before my 16th birthday, my Dad encouraged me to go to my GP regarding my gender dysphoria. I lived with my transphobic Mum at the time and had to go behind her back which was terrifying to say the least. I saw a doctor called Dr Moulsher and explained everything I was going through and his response was, “I don’t think the NHS funds any of this.” He was very ignorant on trans issues but it actually fortunately worked out in my favour, I got lucky, I know, but he just wanted me off of his hands.

I explained in Sheffield there was a GIC (gender identity clinic) operated by the NHS known as Porterbrook and he was just like, “Oh right. Well I’m more than happy to refer you but they likely won’t see you till you are 18.”

He asked me some questions, wrote up a detailed report and put in the referral to “get the ball rolling” as he worded it.

I was terrified at the time of the referral letter going to my home address though and he was like, “Well it needs to be sent somewhere.” So he agreed to send it to my grandparents address.

Later That Year

About a month or so later a letter arrived at my grandparents saying I had been accepted onto Porterbrook’s waiting list, explaining it is substantially long, that they wouldn’t be able to see me till I’m 18, etc. Your typical boiler plate stuff. Also as I understand it they don’t typical accept referrals for under 18s so I got lucky there. I remember getting so excited when I got my letter though, that I took it into school to show all of my friends.

Back then it was a requirement that I have a mental health assessment while on the waiting list though. So I returned to Dr Moulsher who I had become rather comfortable with and had made him my regular GP. He made a referral to the local mental health clinic and that was that.

January/February 2009

A letter came in the post asking me to ring to book at appointment at the local mental health clinic. I couldn’t ring from home cos my Mum would overhear and she was spying on me a lot at the time due to really being against the fact I’m trans. My school - which was a Catholic school shockingly enough - had already decided my home environment had become so toxic that I needed removing from my Mum’s care. They would be a process that wouldn’t be completed till June 2010 but yeah, it had got that bad. Anyway, I ended up asking the school receptionist if I could ring on their phone to book the appointment. That was booked for February.

The appointment was a weird one to say the least. The doctor asked me a quite a lot of questions but these are the ones that stuck out.

So with this first one, I am going to preface with that as far as I am aware, I am white and of white ancestry for all the generations I know of. However I do have remarkably curly hair that left to its own devices grows into an afro (or at least what looks like an afro). So the first set of questions that stood out; Dr: What’s your mother’s ethnicity? Me: White British.

Dr: Sorry, did you say Afro-Caribbean? Me: No. White British. Dr: And your father’s ethnicity? Me: White British. Dr: Sorry, was that Afro-Caribbean?

Me: Nope. White British.

Not really sure how you can get Afro-Caribbean and White British verbally mixed up but he seemed very adamant at least one of my parents must be Afro-Caribbean.

He then later goes;

Dr: Do you have a partner?

Me: Yes.

Dr: Are they male or female?

Me: I have a girlfriend.

Dr: Then you can’t be trans. You can’t be trans if you like girls.

Me: What about lesbians?

Dr: That’s beside the point.

Shockingly, in the end he agreed with my GP’s assessment that I am trans but Jesus, as you can probably guess from above that mental health assessment was a minefield of weird.

24th October 2010

In June 2010, I was finally removed from my Mum’s care at the age of 17 and placed in supported housing and on the date about I got a phone call from Porterbrook GIC on my 18th birthday no less, inviting me to my first appointment in November.

22nd June 2012

I legally changed my name and title by deed poll to Miss Lily Nichole Robinson.

22nd October 2012

I’d now been at Porterbrook for almost 2 years, had lots of appointments, most of which repeated the same mundane questions and it had started to feel like nothing was ever going to change. I had become increasingly depressed and suicidal and I had decided that if nothing had changed by my 20th birthday I was going to take my own life. I did not want to enter my 20s still living my life as a man. I didn’t want to lose another year of my life.

I remember this date exactly, not because I marked it in my calendar but because Taylor Swift’s album “Red” came out that morning. Despite everything, I was dancing along to 22 that morning while ironing some clothes, before I headed off to Porterbrook. I didn’t really feel like it mattered, I was going to kill myself 2 days later but I figured what is the harm in going through the motions one last time.

I sat there, trying not to let on how miserable I was, didn’t see the point in letting them in on how I was feeling. Nothing would change.

I remember being asked some really gross questions that day though. I got asked if I masturbated and I just declined answering. When challenged I was just like, “I maybe trans and I may hate that equipment but I’m a human being. I still have sexual urges. What do you think the answer is.”

The appointment though, shockingly ended with them telling me they were going to put me on hormones. I was gonna get my estrogen. It was enough to give me a reason to keep on living.

But just bare in mind how close I got to taking my own life there. 2 days away from my 20th birthday. Also it took almost 2 years for them to say they’d be placing me on hormones.

January/February 2013

In January, I had my bloods taken to get a baseline and I was told about options for storing gametes. I did decide to consider this but in the end it ended up being too costly for me at the time. So in February, on a day it was snowing I got the train and was adamant the snow was not stopping me getting to Porterbrook and I had an appointment with the head clinician, Dr Kevin Wylie.

He oddly listed all the testosterone blocker options to me with side effects and risks and all the estradiol options to me with side effects and risks. In the end I chose Cyproterone Acetate for my blocker and Estradiol Valerate pills for my hormones.

50mg per day of Cyproterone Acetate and 2mg per day of Estradiol Valerate. I was ecstatic and took them both the second I got on the bus 😊

May 2013

Slightly unrelated to the medical process but just 3 months in and my mental health had improved drastically. Since I was removed from my Mum’s care I had become a bit of a shut in. I didn’t have any friends, my anxiety was through the roof, I was insanely depressed and I just avoided everything and everyone, only leaving my house for work. Hormones changed that though, I just felt so much happier and I also remember that Spring just being like really vividly aware of the colours of all the flowers and plant life for like the first time in my life. I actually wanted to go out and social and make friends and there was a local LGBT youth group for 18-25 year olds that I decided to join and I started to have and social life again. And by September 2013 I started university and soon came getting drunk with the LGBT Liberation Group at the various socials. I was happy and finally starting to feel like myself.

2013 - 2016

Porterbrook became very gatekeepy in the final stage of my transition. They didn’t like how I dressed. Apparently girls wear dresses while I preferred jeans, t-shirts and hoodies. I didn’t like wearing make-up. I wasn’t the 1950s image of a girl that Porterbrook seemed to expect. I actually have a trans guy friend who around the same time had been told he couldn’t start on testosterone unless he cut his hair short, cos apparently men don’t have long hair.

It pissed me off to no end because I transitioned to be me, not to be a performance of how the world thinks a woman should be. I refused to give ground on how I dressed, etc but in the end I ended up telling a few white lies to get past the final level of gatekeeping. And I can’t remember most of this dates as they happened while uni was going on in the background. But eventually Porterbrook gave me the go ahead for surgery, about 6 months later I had my second opinion and then I was referred for surgery.

January 2016

I had my pre-surgery assessment at Nuffield Health Brighton and I was told if I wanted I could have my surgery as early as March 2016. Due to university though, this proved a bit too soon and the date was pushed to June 2016.

22nd June 2016

The day before the EU Referendum I had my gender reassignment surgery. I don’t actually remember feeling all that ecstatic after the surgery. There was lot of pain and I was on a lot of drugs. But a friend, Rosie, who I hadn’t seen since high school lived in the area and she was at my bedside when I woke up. I was in hospital a week and had 3 months of recovery ahead of me.

Post Surgery 2016

Having surgery had been great, things finally felt right. My entire body felt right for once but I had tunnel visioned my life towards surgery and put a lot of stuff on the back burner and had some major post-surgery depression so I sort counselling at my university to get through these issues and once that was sorted I felt a lot more stable in myself and like nothing was in my way.

October 2016

I put in my application for my Gender Recognition Certificate only for it to get rejected because they did not like the assessment from Porterbrook GIC and Dr Wylie who wrote the assessments was off on leave. Me and a nurse had to sit down and look through my medical record to find a medical report they might accept and we finally found one. However they wouldn’t say what was wrong with the original which made Porterbrook kinda stumped on what was wrong.

February 2017

I received my Gender Recognition Certificate and my new Birth Certificate.

March 2017

I was discharged from Porterbrook GIC.

For those who are under the impression gender reassignment is a fast process it isn’t, it took me 8 years and 6 months start to finish, from initially seeing my GP at 15 to finally being discharged from Porterbrook GIC at the age of 24. It is a long ass process with a shit tone of gatekeeping and honestly going through the process as it stands isn’t something I’d wish on my worst enemy. When I was discharged from Porterbrook GIC in 2017 my first thought was, “I’m free. I’m finally in control of my own life.” As up until that point, I felt I had no autonomy and that my life and happiness was in the hands of doctors. It was miserable.

But there it is.

[mprjanedoe]

Hi there folks. I really did not intend to make this blog a regular update situation. I intended for the information to be out there for those to read and that really be the end of it. But a number of noteworthy things have happened and I feel they are worth talking about.

Please repost this if you see this.

Nothing in this post is legal advice directed to anyone or from anyone. I am not a lawyer. I know lawyers, I have spoken with lawyers, I am reading what lawyers have to say – but this is not legal advice.

I am here expressing my opinion on this situation and how it has been handled.

At no point in talking about this, in any correspondence on this blog, my twitter, or my Instagram, has my intent been malicious. I am not talking about all of this with the intention of saying any of it to harm Michael, or any members of Steam Powered Giraffe. And I would venture to say that Bunny and David, when they’ve spoken about what Michael’s done, also had no intention of harming Michael by speaking about this. It is a pervasive and toxic myth that the vast majority of people who would ever speak out about abuse have something to gain from doing so. I have absolutely nothing to gain from this. Even in my personal life – non-anonymously, I have nothing to gain from this. I am putting myself at risk of retaliation in various forms. I am doing this because I care about the people Michael harmed, myself included – and they all, we all, deserve the respect and dignity of people knowing what happened in our path to healing and recovery from the lasting harm caused by Michael.

I was informed by multiple people, publicly, and privately/anonymously that Michael has threatened legal action against Steam Powered Giraffe LLC and has used the word “libel” to describe what legal action he may choose to take. This is likely the reason Bunny chose to delete her tweets about Michael. I have been asked to remove the public conversation around this. I am not going to do so. The person who publicly mentioned this to me deserves no negative attention for doing so. The access fans and supporters get to SPG when becoming patrons is merely a paywall.

So let’s talk about Michael’s response, and let’s talk about libel. Libel is the legal term for written defamation of character. The legal definition of defamation is as such: “Generally, defamation is a false and unprivileged statement of fact that is harmful to someone's reputation, and published "with fault," meaning as a result of negligence or malice. Libel is a written defamation.”

Steam Powered Giraffe has mentioned on public posts on Patreon that Michael has “denied everything”. Steam Powered Giraffe has mentioned on public posts on Patreon, verbatim: “The evidence is far from unfounded. It's all damning and there is no ifs, ands, or buts about it. The evidence is overwhelming.” (sic)

I do not know who all has reached out to Steam Powered Giraffe’s members and what they have all come forward with about what Michael has done. I only know what I have experienced, what I have personally witnessed (in person, and online/over the phone), and what I have been told (and shown, in photos, texts, chatlogs, etc) from other victims. I have no reason to believe Steam Powered Giraffe is hyperbolizing, exaggerating, or making anything up about the situation. I also have made no hyperbole or exaggeration. To my knowledge, there is a significant amount of evidence and a significant number of victims to prove that Michael has caused the harm that has been spoken about. There is no indication that Steam Powered Giraffe has posted anything that is not true about him in this situation. That in and of itself, nullifies the idea that there is libel occurring.

In addition to this – as I said earlier, I have nothing to gain from this. I am at risk of more harm in this. Steam Powered Giraffe as an entity also has nothing to gain from this. From what they’ve said, it appears they have not been working with Michael for a while, and while I imagine some sort of legal residual financial situation for royalties will have to remain in place, what I cannot imagine is that Steam Powered Giraffe is paying Michael so much in royalties that they would lie or seek to tarnish his image just to find a way not to pay him. Steam Powered Giraffe is also at risk for talking about him, and it is a financial risk to put their reputation on the line for being associated with him for a number of years to talk about this.

In my opinion, Michael’s threat is at best, an empty one, and at worst, a foolish one. Legal action of any kind is expensive. From what I’ve read, a libel/defamation lawsuit can cost on average $15,000, over a process of at the least $1,000 a month to pursue. Not to mention Michael is not in the US anymore, and we’re in the middle of a pandemic where legal cases are not as easy to just initiate and process. In addition to this, much of what Michael has done, that I can personally state I know there is proof of, was and is illegal. Statutory rape, possession and distribution of illegal drugs, providing alcohol to minors – all of these things were and are illegal. To initiate a process where Steam Powered Giraffe would be in a position to present the burden of proof of what he’s done, would be a significant risk to “open up a can of worms”, so to speak. It would not be in Michael’s best interest financially or personally to pursue legal action against Steam Powered Giraffe LLC or anyone talking about the things he has done.

It is not uncommon for perpetrators of abuse to threaten legal action in an attempt to silence victims and those who would bring their actions to light. In the case of directly attempting to silence victims, there are laws called Anti SLAPP laws. SLAPP stands for “A strategic lawsuit against public participation is a lawsuit intended to censor, intimidate, and silence critics by burdening them with the cost of a legal defense until they abandon their criticism or opposition. In the typical SLAPP, the plaintiff does not normally expect to win the lawsuit. “ These laws and these types of lawsuits typically are talking about domestic violence cases wherein an abusive spouse threatens legal action to try to prevent a victim from seeking help and talking about the abuse they’ve experienced or are experiencing. This does not apply directly here, but it is an indicator that these behaviors from abusive people are not necessarily a rare occurrence.

I have some grievances about how Steam Powered Giraffe – namely David and Bunny, are handling this situation. Is it reasonable for the Bennetts to make sure to cover their brand and their *assets*? Absolutely. But not everything is black and white. I believe that not enough is being done by David and Bunny to appropriately make it known the harm Michael has caused. This is a morality issue, and I know not everyone has the same morals as I do, but I would hope with the things David and Bunny appear to stand for, that they would care more about Michael’s victims than Michael’s threats or the potential at Steam Powered Giraffe being looked at negatively by being associated with Michael. Here’s the thing – Michael’s harm cannot be divorced from his associated with Steam Powered Giraffe, and Steam Powered Giraffe handling this appropriate and respectfully would make people who care about things like this respect and admire SPG more. Currently, it feels as though SPG is more committed to doing the absolute bare minimum and focusing the rest of their attention on protecting themselves from a perceived threat as opposed to caring about the severity of the situation and doing their part to help the victims.

David said, in a tweet on July 3rd: (I have not checked to see if this tweet is still up) “I’d trade everything with Steam Powered. Giraffe if it meant I could go back in time and stop Mike from joining the band in 2009, so he might not hurt anyone”

David said on a tweet on June 30th “I feel sick having hired him for gigs in 2017, knowing this all now” and in another tweet “To know what he was actually doing sickens me”

Bunny has also stated a number of emotional and remorseful things which have mostly since been deleted:

She stated that she “almost couldn’t” love him anymore (in the past) because of “the sheer panic attacks” she got “around him and fans”

She said “I know the band wasn’t harboring an abuser knowingly or anything like that, but it’s hard not to feel like I was. I will be asking myself that for. The rest of my life. I should’ve said something. I should of stood my ground. We had nothing to go off of except an irate fan and a girl who didn’t want to press charges or do anything about it”

Bunny also said – presumably on behalf of SPG as a whole: “We’re talking, we’re listening, and we’re horrified at the accusations against Mike”

She also said “I can’t express my disgust. I can’t express the rage and hurt I have inside of me boiling up” and “I will fucking tear down this band and burn it to the ground if that gets the fucking bile out of my mouth” and “I’m watching this bastion of hope we created be sordid by someone we let in… gave the benefit of doubt to… MULTIPLE TIMES. I don’t know if SPF will ever be the same for me – every guitar lick… every phat beat he wrote. Tainted.”

David said in a tweet “We stand with the victims who have come forward to us privately, publicly, and those that haven’t.”

Bunny said “This is something that will haunt for years. I’m personally energized to spend the remainder of my life contrary to what Mike and people like Mike do. When the world heals and touring begins again, know that if you take advantage of our audience, we will be there with other performers like us to hold you accountable. And our audience. And your audience.”

On July 12th, Bunny said “The best part of this is that Steve and Mike get away scot free. They don’t get their comeuppance. I dunno if “vengeance” is the way to live life, but I know for a fact the next decade is going to be spent finding my own happiness in truth and loyalty.” “Mike has denied it all, even in the fact of damning evidence. We gave him the benefit of doubt too, and we contacted his family. No regrets, no justice in the slightest. And there are still people singing his praises”. She goes on: “Trying to describe my feelings on Steve and Mike’s behavior and how for years I’ve defended them… all the while being lied to is… heartbreaking to say the least. I know things are confusing, but you can’t make this shit up”

On the specifics of Michael’s behavior: “Mike’s stuff is so much worse. I was afraid Mike’s underage grooming habits would be somehow lessened or forgotten in the wake of Steve’s behavior back in the day… which while deplorable, have at least been owned up to.” “Stringing together tweets is the worst way to address all this, but I suppose a video about it or something down the line is called for. Right now I’m far too upset and rattled to reflect on it all. I don’t know how SPG will be salvaged from all this”.

Why am I repeating all of this? I want it to be cleared that David and Bunny expressed remorse, disgust, regret, anger, grief, shame in all of this. I see that. I acknowledge that. And in seeing these statements, I trusted them to handle this in the best way they could manage. But it also needs to be acknowledged that there has been a harmful failure on their part in how they’ve responded beyond these tweets. I am not the expert on how best to handle horrible situations like this, but as both a victim and an ally to other victims and a person who has been a fan of SPG before, I think I know enough to say that not enough has been done, and inaction in and of itself causes harm as well.

I’d also like to address the unfortunate situation that David and Bunny maintain they had no prior knowledge of Michael’s behavior. Here’s the thing: while I 100% believe they did not know all of the details of all of the harm Michael caused, there were definitive patterns and red flags and there needs to be actual accountability around this. Bunny said that the band gave Michael the benefit of doubt multiple times. She also said that Michael was caught and reprimanded for kissing a teenage fan in 2011. If my math is correct, at the time Michael would’ve been 25 and the fan was 17. That’s nearly a decade of difference, despite the fan being almost 18. On top of this, this was a fan and a minor and not only is there a power dynamic at play with age but also setting and influence. Bunny also mentioned Michael had been reprimanded for being “too friendly” around fans as young as 14. As an adult in my 20s, if I had a peer and friend my age who had a pattern of getting friendly with teenagers and minors of any age, that would be a huge red flag. Let ALONE a bandmate, a coworker or sorts – or technically a contractor level employee. I would see anyone like that as a liability I could not take the risk of associating with, and as a likely dangerous man to be around. That was an entire decade ago, and nothing was done beyond a slap of the wrist. On top of this, as someone who was Michael’s friend, I went to multiple Steam Powered Giraffe shows to support him. I also was apart of online fan communities as well. I saw how visible he was with his predatory “friendliness” towards young fans, and I saw fans gossip about his friends and give them a sort of adjacent celebrity status as well. While I was young and being manipulated myself and not in a position to prevent harm – I am saying this to state that I witnessed the public visibility of Michael’s predatory behavior. I take issue with the claim that there were no signs and that no one could’ve prevented this sooner. I’ve seen some fans say that Michael would’ve “always been this way” and found ways to harm other people had he not been in Steam Powered Giraffe. While this could be true, it cannot be denied that being apart of a successful band like Steam Powered Giraffe that gained a cult status online and in the local scene and had a significant YEARS of DAILY exposure in a family setting to minors, cultivating a fandom of a significant amount of younger fans, giving Michael the upper hand of minor celebrity and influence, travel, etc, cannot be divorced from this situation. This is not inherently Bunny or David’s fault. But it is a factor in the breadth of harm Michael was able to do, and it is a factor in knowing there were opportunities for him to have had the resources he gained and used to cause harm pulled from him much sooner than now, when he has already removed himself from the band as it stands.

The past is the past. It cannot be changed. As David and Bunny both lamented that they’d go back and stop things if they could’ve, well yes, to a degree, there were opportunities to prevent further harm, but it’s too late now. Now is the time to make things right, and to prevent the potential for further harm.

Currently – there is absolutely not enough publicly visible and available information on the harm Michael has caused on Steam Powered Giraffe’s social media presence. This is made worse by the fact that consistent promo and every day band stuff creates a wider and wider gap between the leftover posts about Michael’s abuse on Twitter, Facebook, and Patreon. It is now becoming a game of chance whether a fan of Steam Powered Giraffe will know what Michael has done. I have seen numerous posts and tweets from fans asking what happened, saying they are confused and in the dark. It has been less than 3 weeks since Bunny first tweeted about this, and it cannot fade to memory.

It is unfair and grotesque for fans of all ages, including children and parents of children, to unknowingly hold Michael dear in their hearts as an admirable, safe, kindhearted person – without knowing what he has done. It is unfair to not let people decide for themselves whether they still look up to him, whether they still admire him, whether they still support him. Michael’s victims cannot safely have a platform to speak openly about his violence without harming themselves by being exposed to backlash and being triggered by repeated exposure to their traumas out in the open. However, Michael’s victims deserve to have their voices heard, their grievances aired, and deserve to get some slight respite after years of abuse at least knowing that what they suffered is no longer a secret and people are not *unknowingly* offering praise and fame to someone who has done such disgusting and lastingly harmful things.

Bunny expressed that Steve and Michael got off “scot free” and that there was “no justice”. I am not advocating that SPG or myself or any of Michael’s victims be the ones to make any attempt at giving Michael consequences for his actions or enacting justice. However, Bunny and David can do things to make the burden of harm lighter.

Here is what I believe can and should be done, at the least, to do the right thing in this situation:

-SPG needs to make public statement(s) about Michael’s harmful actions on ALL public social media. Not just Patreon and not just the statements that have already been made. These statements should not be deleted.

-Michael’s likeness should be removed from all SPG’s media, within the realm of whatever royalties or residual contractual obligations will allow

-SPG should take a moratorium on normal fandom posts: promotion posts, art prompts, casual band updates on band specific pages. Every promo post, every art prompt, every band announcement will detract further and bury the information if not given the space and respect to allow the information to be seen and processed. The moratorium should at the very least last a week, if not more.

-I and Michael’s victims that I know would appreciate the original statement of harm reposted on Steam Powered Giraffe’s social media.  I remind David and Bunny that doing so does not make them legally liable for MY statement, and some fans who have read this statement have also directly encouraged SPG to repost. David and Bunny’s words cannot properly convey the direct harm caused to Michael’s victims. The victims deserve to be heard directly. Using Steam Powered Giraffe’s platform to make this known, the same platform that helped enable Michael to cause harm, is a respectful course of action.

-I also encourage David and Bunny to reflect on their role in allowing Michael to “get away scot free” in this. I have no specifics of personal accountability to ask of them, but I do encourage them to not focus on guilt or shame that cannot be fixed, but to really process this and do what they can to learn and grow from this and not allow the chance of letting harm occur again.

I know this was an extremely long post, and if you stuck through it all, thank you.

I hope that actions are taken in the right direction, and I hope I will have less commentary to offer on the situation in the future so I can focus on healing.  

[betweenthetimeandsound]

Three Minutes to Eternity: My ESC 250 (#210-201)

#210: Joy Fleming -- Ein Lied Kann Eine Brücke Sein (Germany 1975)

“Hör auf zu spielen und lerne zu fühlen, Wie viele Menschen Freunde sind, Lerne zu singen, vertraue so wie ein Kind,”

“Stop playing and learn how to feel, How many people are friends Learn how to sing, trust just like a child”

For an older and low-placed entry, this German entry has become a fan favorite! Despite this, I wonder if I really like this enough to make my top three of 1975, because I don't go back to listen to it often.

But when I do, it just takes the conductor's stomping to get me into the mood. It's just a great way to start a song~

While the chorus somehow bugs me a little bit, because of how jarring it is (Joy shouts it all out, in comparison to the verses where she has a somewhat lower register), how it builds really helps with getting the party started. The orchestration also helps with the joie de vivre of the song, and Joy manages to live up to her name on stage.

Personal ranking: =3rd/19 Actual ranking: 17th(?!)/19 in Stockholm

#209: Muriel Day -- The Wages of Love (Ireland 1969)

“There will be bridges to be crossed And there'll be teardrops to be lost...”

Ireland’s first upbeat song is a diversion from their first four entries in more ways than one. Not only it’s performed by a woman for the first time, but it also warns about the pains of love—while it’s a great experience, you have to pay a lot in the process. (This actually reminds me of one vintage Eurovision blogger talking about how Horoscopes incorporates a more liberal sound with Ireland's conservatism at the time--maybe it was from the same lines?)

And Muriel has an absolute ball on stage with her uber-high lime green dress. She twirls her microphone around when arriving, bounces up and down like she just got a can of Red Bull, and dances as if it was for the last time. The orchestration really helps out on giving out this vivacious vibe (though the lyric "it can make you live/it can make you die" in context is quite horrifying behind the upbeat track).

Basically, this was an upbeat track which I would've switched out for one of the upbeat winners.

Personal ranking: 3rd/16 (though here, it's 4th/16. A mismatch in rankings, which you can see again in the future) Actual ranking: 7th/16 in Madrid

#208: Alenka Gotar -- Cvet z Juga (Slovenia 2007)

"Moj beli cvet, moj daljni svet Daj, vrni se, moj bodi spet”

“My white flower, my faraway world Come, return, be mine again”

I've never been a big fan of opera--not just in Eurovision, but also in general. I recognize they have beautiful voices and worked on them for the performance, but I never really like the instrumental or the actual song.

Cvet z juga, however, managed to incorporate opera in a way which is actually enjoyable. Not only because of Alenka’s powerful vocals, but also the nostalgia created with the poetic lyrics and the instrumental. It’s a combination of classical and modern--it's not a dance-floor bop (despite the percussion in the background), but it's definitely out of the ordinary.

Combined with a subtle but effective gimmick (Alenka's light-up hand at the end), and you have Slovenia's first qualifier in the semi-final. Definitely deserved.

Unfortunately, Alenka's gone off a bad path since then...)

Personal ranking: 6th/42 Actual ranking: 15th/24 GF in Helsinki

#207: Giorgios Alkaios and Friends -- Opa! (Greece 2010)

"Έκαψα το χθες, νύχτες μου παλιές Κι από το μηδέν αρχίζω όσο κι αν δε θες Δάκρυα καυτά ψέμματα πολλά Πλήρωσα όσο χρωστούσα και τα δανεικά"

"I burnt the past, my old nights And I start from scratch even if you don’t want me to Hot tears, too many lies I paid what I owed and borrowed"

"Motherf---ing testosterone!"

The Scandinavia and the World recap for the 2010 contest basically sums up Opa! as this, with all the tribal cries and torn up shirts. I've also heard it described as the "Love Love Peace Peace" of Greek entries, with the prevalent cry "Opa!", strong ethnic influences, and Cretean lyre to boot.

But beyond that, there's a deeper meaning behind the lyrics. By late 2009-early 2010, Greece was facing the burden's of the Great Recession, which would envelop the country in many years. Their GDP would drop by 26% between 2008 and 2014, and unemployment rose up to 25% at the same time. This economic maelstrom led to public uprisings and an exodus of the highly educated.

Opa is a cry for joy--not just to party, but also to fight against a wave of despair considering the circumstances. It strives to give life and inspiration by those who need it, even if it means starting over. And while economics will trump national pride in the end, one asserts themselves as stronger than they think. And that's what makes it an important part of the Greek Golden Age at Eurovision.

Personal ranking: 6th/39 Actual ranking: 8th/25 (GF) in Oslo

#206: Boris Novkovic feat. Lado -- Vukovi Umiru Sami (Croatia 2005)

"Do zore je ostao još koji sat A vani nemir, k’o da je rat Oblačim kaput i odlazim Da sve zaboravim"

"Only a few hours left till dawn And outside unrest, as if a war is on I put my coat on and leave To forget everything"

Balkan ballads are one of the main joys out of Eurovision; obviously from that region, they feature folk instrumentation and sad lyrics about love. Vukovi umiru sami fits into this mold well, but I only managed to put this in tenth place because of the variety of songs on offer, ranging from glam rock to a wholesome peace ballad.

Over time, however, it has grown on me.

The poetic lyrics stood out the most for me--they tell of an end of a relationship on the Danube (which really grounds the song in its origins, despite the fact I associate it with Central European countries as a whole) and the loneliness of the man in it. There's a mournful nature about it, especially with the choir in the background.

And the way it build is so fantastic, amplifying the story and the stakes. The "Dunavoms" between the last two choruses are well-done and elevate this song to greatness.

I planned to rewatch 2005 to see how my rankings change, and thought it would get to be in my top five. Because of a typo on my list, I needed another song to fit the overall order of the list.

And finally, Vukovi umiru sami is in my top five. :)

Personal ranking: 5th/39 Actual ranking: 11th/24 GF in Kyiv

#205: Marlayne -- One Good Reason (the Netherlands 1999)

“Give me one good reason and I will give you two Say: "I love you forever", say you will, say you do...”

The guitar intro made me think this would be a song I would listen to outside of Eurovision. It reminded me of Michelle Branch’s songs in the early 2000s (of which, Breathe is my current all-time favorite song); her debut album, The Spirit Room, would only be released in 2001!

Alternatively, it has a very country-pop vibe, but it still has a sense of optimism which continues through the entire song. I love how sunny and earnest it is, and it got a really solid result out of it! Unfortunately, it would be the Netherlands' best placing until 2013, but at least it was a jolt of quality in a mediocre year.

Personal ranking: 4th/23 Actual ranking: 8th/23 in Jerusalem

#204: Niamh Kavanaugh -- In Your Eyes (Ireland 1993)

“Love's been building bridges between your heart and mine I'm safe here on my island, but I'm out on the edge this time”

One of the most nail-biting votes in Eurovision came in this particular contest: because Malta's phone connection malfunctioned, they had to wait until the end to give their points. At that point, Ireland was 11 points ahead, which means if Malta gave the runner-up their twelve, the latter would win by one point.

The Maltese jury ended up giving Ireland their twelve, which would give Ireland their second consecutive win in the 1990s, along with a point record which would only last a year.

I’ve never felt the vulnerability of falling in love, but I love the narrative arc in the lyrics, which crescendos with the chorus. Niamh’s voice is a bit harsh at times, but delivers on it with a stately grace in a choice suit.

What also seals In Your Eyes for me was the graceful orchestration thanks to Noel Kelehan. It's especially prevalent in the chorus--the studio cut doesn't do it justice...

Personal ranking: =6th/25 Actual ranking: 1st/25 in Millstreet

#203: Sonia -- Better the Devil You Know (United Kingdom 1993)

“I'll give you my heart and my soul if you give me your love..”

...not unlike with the song Ireland was competing with for the win! While the studio cut is decent enough, Better the Devil You Know wouldn't have gotten so close to victory without the live music aspect of it.

It’s not only the orchestration here, but also Sonia’s fun performance and her cute moves. The track is reminiscent of SAW, but it feels like being at a sock hop in a diner and dancing the night away. The backing vocalists do a good job too; I like how they harmonize the in the chorus .

That all being said, would've this made a better winner? It's hard to tell--it would've been more upbeat than most of the 1990s other winners, but In Your Eyes has aged quite well. And I have several other favorites, so I'm not the best one to comment on it.

Personal ranking: =6th/25 Actual ranking: 2nd/25 in Millstreet

#202: Serebro -- Song #1 (Russia 2007)

“Gotta tease you, nasty guy So take it, don't be shy Put your cherry on my cake And taste my cherry pie”

Unfortunately, song #1 neither placed on top of the 2007 class, nor was it the first song performed that year So, in more than one case, Song #1 is a misnomer.

Nor are they particularly unique amongst bands--Serebro has some similarities to tATu in 2003, in that they are a girl group with a sensual aesthetic. But while tATu's Eurovision entry is more dark, Serebro's has more attitude and edge.

Such saucy lyrics are what makes Song #1 such a total jam, albeit one the fandom overlooks. The dark production increases the attitude of this song, and I love the girls’ stage presence too! Especially those costumes (again, going back to the tATu comparisons, in that they were best known for their school uniforms, hehe); they never fail in adding some sexiness to the performance.

Personal ranking: 5th/42 Actual ranking: 3rd/24 GF in Helsinki

#201: Severina -- Moja stikla (Croatia 2006)

“Zvrc, zvrc, tražit ćeš moj broj, Kuc, kuc, kucaj nekoj drugoj, Jer još trava nije nikla, Tamo gdje je stala moja štikla!”

"Ring, ring, you'll search for my number, Knock, knock, go knocking somewhere else, For the grass has not yet sprouted, Where my high heel has stepped!”

There’s a lot of silly lyrics in Moja Stikla. From mentioning “sex” to “Afrika Paprika”, it’s easy to suggest that this is nonsensical. I’m reading over the lyrics again myself, and they tell quite a different story—of a woman who just wants men to stop hitting on her.

Even now, I'm still confused on how Zumba and African paprika make sense in avoiding men. Or high heels.

But it all doesn't matter when the music starts. Severina's backing vocalists add to the performances, with their solid harmonies and fun presence. Combined with Severina’s own high energy, it’s a good example of turbo folk (even though there was a bit of controversy about whether it actually sounds like Croatian music), and it’s all kinds of fun!

Personal ranking: 4th/37 Actual ranking: =12th/24 GF in Athens

[gayenerd]

This is another article I found during the internet k-hole I went into while looking for information about Adrienne’s ex-fiance, saved in a document, and now can’t find online anymore. I think it was originally featured in the Mankato Free Press, but the author apparently had a blog detailing her 2009 efforts to get in contact with Adrienne and campaign for Green Day to play in Mankato again. There’s some more interesting tidbits about the Mankato punk scene and an interview with Adrienne there. 

Campaign Green Day: Reflection

By Amanda Dyslin

Free Press Features Editor

June 10, 2009 11:29 pm

— It was dark in the middle of the southern Minnesota countryside, somewhere by St. Peter in the summer of 1992.

On a farm with a barn and not much else, there was one light pole casting a shallow glow on three guys standing atop 6-foot wide, 5-foot tall wire spools — a makeshift stage to gain high ground over 200 or so people watching. Next to them was a big, old, beat-up beast of a car pulled up by the owner so 15 or so people could stand on top and gain a better view. One of them had a video camera.

Ben Gruber, then a sophomore at Loyola High School, was there. In fact, he and a buddy had helped haul equipment for the band, and even gave the drummer, Tre Cool, a ride before the show in Mankato. The music was good, he said. A lot more polished than other punk bands he’d seen in Mankato.

He was aware of the five-year-old band, born in Berkeley, Calif., he said. They’d put out a couple of smaller recordings, including their full-length debut “39/Smooth” on Lookout! Records. But they were two years from their breakthrough record, “Dookie,” which would have pretty much everyone at the show that night in awe of what they had experienced — maybe one of the last stripped down, small-scale punk shows Green Day would ever perform.

Mankato punk

The Libido Boyz are often considered the anchor of the Mankato punk scene in the late 1980s/early 1990s. It was a time when the city was rich with garage and basement punk bands, drummer Chad Sabin said before a reunion show in 2007. PSD and Plain Truth were a couple of other bands that got a lot of attention at the time.

Marti’s All Ages Music, located where the Vietnamese restaurant Tonn is now on Front Street, was an open building with a bathroom and a couple of booths where kids could put on shows. A couple of bands went on to the big time after playing there. The Offspring was one of them.

Many claimed having heard of friends who had seen Green Day play at Marti’s. According to a former talent booker, the closest Green Day ever came to playing the venue was when frontman Billie Joe Armstrong and his girlfriend, Adrienne Nesser, walked in and left right after The Offspring’s set in 1994. Marti’s tried to get Green Day to play the venue numerous times, but it was way too small for even the moderate level of fame they’d already gained pre-“Dookie.” Marti’s had the same trouble with the punk band Fugazi.

“It was pretty much no frills,” Gruber said. “There wasn’t much to do there.”

The bulk of the punk scene was made up of high school and college-age punk-rockers who would play anywhere, Sabin said. Like a lot of kids at the time, the Libido Boyz just wanted to play loud, chaotic music, which also is what people seemed to want to hear. Kids would cram into basements for concerts or listen outside garages.

“On any given week or weekend, there would be a show with anywhere from two to 10 bands playing,” Gruber said. “There was a really good crop of musician-age kids who were into (punk) for a while (before) grunge became very popular.”

During the next few years, the Libido Boyz got big. They played in the Cities and toured the state and eventually started playing shows across the country, including New York and San Francisco. Out West is where they met Green Day, who would become the biggest punk band to come through Mankato.

“They were just dirty punks like us,” Sabin said.

Former Libido Boyz bassist Dave Begalka said they played punk shows with Green Day from time to time while on tour. Mike Dirnt, Green Day bassist, actually did Begalka a big favor once when they played a show in Cleveland together.

Some of Begalka’s bass gear went missing, and a couple of months later he saw Dirnt when they both were playing shows in the California Bay Area. Turns out, the bass gear was mixed up with Dirnt’s equipment that night, and he’d been keeping it safe for him the whole time.

“I thought that was just downright a swell thing to do,” Begalka said. “As I recall, I think we couch surfed at Billy Joe’s that night. ... By the way, I still use the lost guitar strap that went around the U.S. with Green Day.”

The Libido Boyz and Green Day crossed paths in another way as well, through Adrienne, who was a student at Minnesota State University and living in Mankato.

The first lady

Adrienne (Nesser) Armstrong, now 39, was born in Minneapolis and started at MSU in the late 1980s, graduating with the class of 1994 with a degree in sociology.

She met Billie Joe on Green Day’s first tour in 1990. Some report it was a show at First Ave in Minneapolis, and she is quoted at greenday.net as saying only about 10 people were there. She asked Billie Joe where she could get a copy of the band’s CD, and the two hit it off.

While on tour, Billie Joe kept in contact with Adrienne by phone. Their first kiss inspired an early Green Day song, “2,000 Light Years Away.” Their relationship caused Billie Joe to arrange two tours around Minnesota so they could see each other, a relationship which lasted about a year and a half.

Although it’s unclear, witnesses who saw Billie Joe and Adrienne around Mankato during that time say the reason Green Day played shows in the area at all was simply because she was here. The shows weren’t a part of any tour, but rather impromptu ways to pass to the time.

The relationship fizzled after they decided the distance was too much of a strain. Adrienne got engaged to Billy Bisson, the frontman of Libido Boyz, the following year. Reports differ from either side, with some saying the relationship dissolved on its own. Bisson has been quoted as saying Billie Joe stole her away.

While in Mankato, Adrienne worked at various places, including the Piercing Pagoda in the River Hills Mall and Pagliai’s Pizza, and is described by those who knew her as a beautiful punk rock girl who everybody had a crush on.

Cheryl Rueda, manager of Pagliai’s, worked with Adrienne and three of the Libido Boyz at the restaurant when Adrienne was dating Bisson. Adrienne also babysat for Cheryl’s kids.

“She was a beautiful girl,” Rueda said. “I think the world of her. She was just a regular person.”

Thursday nights Adrienne babysat for Cheryl’s two kids, Andre and Marisa, who were about 3 and 6 at the time. She would often have a craft project or activity to do to keep them entertained. She even took them out trick-or-treating during a blizzard one year.

“She was their favorite babysitter,” she said.

Carrie Zempel Heise worked with her at a bar called The Jungle, now Dutler’s Bowl.

“I ran into her after the bar had closed down (she was working at Pier 1 Imports), and she told me she was moving out West soon,” Zempel said. “Months later, word got back that she had married Billie Joe, and then the next thing I saw was an interview with him in Rolling Stone magazine talking about his pregnant wife!”

When Adrienne finished school, Billie Joe convinced her to move to California and marry him. Rueda said it happened so fast it seemed she was gone over night. Before she left, she and friends had a big garage sale, said Amy Lennartson of Eagle Lake. She and Lennartson originally had plans to move to San Francisco together and open a business.

“She headed West that May, and I stayed over the summer to finish up my time at MSU,” Lennartson said. “Then, in true rock star fashion, I returned home from a Fourth of July vacation to a wedding invitation from Adrienne — to a wedding that had already happened.”

The wedding took two weeks to plan and happened in five minutes July 2, 1994, in Billie Joe’s backyard, according to the VH1 “Behind the Music” documentary. “We didn’t think about it, we just did it,” Adrienne said.

Protestant, Catholic and Jewish vows were exchanged because neither had a religion. The honeymoon took place 10 minutes from Billie Joe’s house at the Claremont Hotel. The day after the wedding, Adrienne found out she was pregnant.

The couple has two sons, Joseph Marciano, 14, and Jakob Danger, 10.

Adrienne now co-owns Adeline Records in Oakland, Calif., and Adeline Street clothing line. She works with the Natural Resources Defense Council, and co-owns Atomic Garden, an eco-friendly clothing and home goods store.

There is at least one friend in Mankato Adrienne is reported to keep in contact with. But said friend — whose basement Green Day was reported to have played in and who reportedly visited the Armstrongs in California — wasn’t eager to talk about it.

Rueda kept in contact with Adrienne for a while. Adrienne would send the Rueda kids Green Day T-shirts and things. She also sent a family photo to the Ruedas years ago. When Adrienne’s first son was 1 1/2, she came back to Mankato to visit and Rueda saw them. She was the same person she had always been, Rueda said.

A few years ago, Adrienne asked a friend in Mankato to go to the Ruedas’ house and videotape the kids so she could see how much they had grown up. Otherwise, the Ruedas haven’t heard from her since.

Big time

The night Green Day played St. Peter, the original plan was for them to play at someone’s house behind where Casey’s is now on Lee Boulevard in North Mankato.

Two local bands went on first. But the cops came and broke it up because of the noise. Gruber and his buddy offered to drive equipment and Tre Cool to a house on Fifth Street in Mankato, where somebody had offered up their basement. But the band took one look and said it was way too small.

That’s when a girl whose family lived off Hwy. 99 near St. Peter offered her place.

“This whole caravan of cars ended up driving out to her place,” Gruber said.

It was too hot to play in the barn. Gruber suggested the guys make a mini stage out of the wire spools, which they thought was pretty punk rock, even commenting on that stage and show later on a bootleg recording, he said.

Gruber said he later recognized songs such as “Welcome to Paradise” off of “Dookie” that they played that night — the night most people look to as the epitome of nostalgia when it comes to Green Day’s presence in Mankato. People still go to YouTube to check out the nine or so minutes of footage from that concert, despite being out of focus, jittery and too dark to see much.

“Took me back,” Gruber said of watching the footage. “That guy filming, he was probably standing right next to me and my friends.”

A couple of hundred people have similar memories from that night, having accidentally stumbled upon a concert that would become local legend. None of them could possibly have imagined what Green Day would become.

“Dookie,” released in 1994 — which followed 1992’s “Kerplunk,” having sold 50,000 copies — sold more than 10 million copies in the U.S. That album, along with those of The Offspring and Rancid, is credited for reviving mainstream interest in punk music, and it won Best Alternative Album at the Grammy Awards.

Future albums, “Insomniac” and “Nimrod,” went double platinum, and “Warning” went gold. None of them reached the level of success of “Dookie.”

But 2004’s punk rock opera “American Idiot” changed everything. Debuting at No. 1 and selling five million copies, critics absolutely drooled over it. “American Idiot” won Best Rock Album at the 2005 Grammys and swept the MTV Video Music Awards.

“Boulevard of Broken Dreams” spent 16 weeks at No. 1 on the Billboard Modern Rock Tracks chart and won the Grammy for Record of the Year. During the band’s 150-date tour in support of the album, they drew crowds of 130,000 people over two days in the United Kingdom.

The band’s new album, “21st Century Breakdown,” was released worldwide May 15 and received rave reviews. Last week the band played “The Tonight Show” with Conan O’Brien.

Their world tour kicks off in July, with the Minneapolis show at the Target Center July 11.

Copyright � 1999-2008 cnhi, inc.

[dansnaturepictures]

11/10/2020-Phalarope paradise at Pennington: The 10 pictures in this photoset different to those I tweeted just now 

As you may have seen we went to Bushy Park yesterday on our big wildlife watching and photography trip which is a part of a day trip we do every year which I loved and was one of the best times of our year without a doubt. I always try to not do trips like that further afield with so many photos and sightings on a Sunday and have to go to work the next day (even when it’s working from home) it just makes me tired and hard to find motivation for the morning and fully cool down from the trip a bit so after the weather putting us off Bushy last Saturday Bushy was locked in for yesterday. On Friday we learned of the mega bird a Wilson’s Phalarope with Grey Phalaropes at Pennington in the Lymington-Keyhaven nature reserve at the foot of the New Forest. We instantly knew we’d go there today then we didn’t even have to decide. In hindsight I can say that phalaropes do stay around a few days it seems when they do turn up as they are always birds blown in by Atlantic storms on migration and that’s how they end up in Britain they stay a few days to feed up before flying off again. But I have got to say I did just have a little feeling of slight desperation last night as every tweet I clicked on seemed to be have a picture of the Wilson’s Phalarope! Which is remarkable in itself really. 

People from Hampshire and far and wide (as we observed in person here today for the latter) were coming to my beloved local and one of my favourite nature reserves and getting criminally close views of this very rare and stunning bird and the Grey Phalaropes that I needed to see for my year list too. I just had in my head that I’d feel maybe a bit bad if I missed it being at one of my spots but I had one of my best times of the year at Bushy so I would never have regretted going there and I would not have swapped it for the world yesterday. And finishing the weekend off at Pennington worked it’s a trip much more suited to a Sunday being half an hour to forty five minutes away from us. And I have a feeling yesterday in terms of social distancing many people would be there. Today it’s a Sunday so perhaps some people do other things and there were not hoards here today and it was easy to socially distance when here today. The feelings of “I want to go and see this” gave me interesting twitcher’s vibes. 

So with the strong memories of Bushy still engulfing me in amazement of the experience yesterday I was also so excited to get back to Pennington for the first time since last month on a very sunny afternoon today. I took the first three pictures in this photoset of nice views here today. As we walked down to fishtail lagoon the one that usually always hosts the rare birds interestingly here where the Wilson’s Phalarope had been seen we got binoculars views over the lagoon and noticed a phalarope fly and land by a bank. It was so tall compared the grey and red-necked we are familiar with which the Wilson’s is so we were sure this was the bird. 

We then got down to the lagoon on the pathway and walked towards some people. To our delight right beside the path in the channel south of the lagoon was one of the two Grey Phalaropes around! Like we had seen of one further down here in 2017 we got stunning views of it. It really was so close, it did not seem bothered by people at all. It was simply amazing views and I loved watching it swim down the channel. My first of the year. 

The Wilson’s Phalarope had flown out into the lagoon so we looked for it. Someone then spotted it by the fence of the lagoon coming into the channel further up. The channel is a flooded bit of ground outside of the fence really. We walked down and were astounded to see it right beside us in the water as it swam in and out of reeds. We got absolutely stunning and remarkable views of it. I took the fourth and fifth pictures in this photoset of this incredible bird. This one wasn’t bothered by people either and we just saw this smashing and beautiful bird so close. It was a dreamlike experience to see a bird like this so close. Special stuff. I was in my element watching it as phalaropes do swim up and back along the channel. It showed off its attractive yellow legs at certain points and got on with what it was doing without a care in the world. It even tried to get back through the fence onto the main lagoon at one point which was interesting to see. 

So this is a new bird for me, my sixth this year now only one behind how many I saw last year and level with how many I saw in 2017. It’s my 272nd bird in my life and with the Grey Phalarope my first of the year today takes my bird year list to 186. So my year list is still solidly my third highest ever for amount seen on this date behind last year and 2018, I am only four behind my 2017 total now. But this for seeing a new bird this was something else. The last time I got views this good for a new species I think was my first Crested Tits at RSPB Loch Garten in the Cairngorms in January 2018 and the Barred Warbler at Titchfield Haven weeks before it at the end of 2017. It was telling it was a good view of a new bird as for the pictures I took of it I didn’t use my bridge camera so long distance specialist once but used my DSLR and big lens the whole time it was that close which this camera and lens is so good for usually to see something new now it’s gotta be rare like this was so it’d be a long way away but that’s not always how it works with phalaropes. They are known to be approachable because they can be a bird of the wilderness in their natural range so are less used to humans so seeing them come and behave like this here is quite something. 

We walked on up to Keyhaven lagoon and back noting decent numbers of Wigeon and Shoveler which was really interesting to see some coming in for the winter now, we also got chatting to some lovely people as we did for the whole walk and twitch today who pointed out a Peregrine to us the first we had seen for a while. We also took in some great views as the sun came back after going in a bit including the sixth and seventh pictures in this photoset. When we walked back beside fishtail lagoon the Grey Phalarope was still parading up and down in the channel of water so close to us. We took in more stunning views of this beautiful bird that we missed seeing last year but was now my eighth occasion of seeing one, once in 2009 here, twice here in 2017 as well as at Blashford Lakes and Hayling Island oysterbeds that autumn, twice in 2018 on the River Itchen at Riverside Park and here the next day the same day we saw another new bird the Temminck’s Stint and now today. I took the eighth picture in this photoset of this lovely bird. It was so close I had the idea to take some phone videos of the bird. 

We walked up to the proper channel of water east of fishtail lagoon where followed by observers the Wilson’s Phalarope had moved to. We got more sensational views of it here coming so close to many of us swimming along and I took phone videos of this too all of which I shared posts of from my Instagram earlier and tweeted whilst out today many people were doing the phone videos it was an interesting quirk of this twitch symbolic as another person remarked of how incredibly close the bird was to us. It was so delightful to watch the Wilson’s Phalarope as the bird swam about in the later afternoon sunlight. A real fantastic autumnal moment and stunning birdwatching one. I took the ninth and tenth pictures in this photoset of the Wilson’s Phalarope. A great vibe and atmosphere we were all so in aw of the bird. 

Before we left we saw the Ruff with a white head that we saw here our first of the year in February with another of its kind which was nice I tweeted a picture of that. This ended one of my best and happiest times of the year this weekend and ever. I saw sensational wildlife and views and took so many pictures. The two trips further afield and local complimented each other so well I think. It was two perfect high standard days to follow each other in great weather. Such joyful times I shall never forget this weekend! Thanks so much for sharing it with me and all your appreciation shown. I hope you are all keeping safe and well. Have a nice week.

Wildlife Sightings Summary: My first ever Wilson’s Phalarope, my first Grey Phalarope of the year, two of my favourite birds the Peregrine Falcon and Little Egret, Cormorant, Black-headed Gull, great view of an Oystercatcher and many more, Lapwing, lots of Curlews which was nice, Ringled Plover, Turnstone, Redshank, Wigeon, Shoveler, Pintail, Mallard, Coot, Meadow Pipit, Carrion Crow, Woodpigeon, lots of late Swallows today which was nice to see flying around, Pied Wagtail and Large White butterfly. 

[ceruleanmusings]

hope floats | stiles x perrie

Of course I can’t have Tessa without Perrie so here’s a gift for @sgtbuckyybarnes​! I love seeing your edits on my dash (you’re hella talented!) and I love your writing and your OCs and you so I hope this puts a smile on your face!

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��You know, when you invited me over, I thought we were actually going to hang out,” Perrie commented, placing a hand on her hip.

Stiles blinked at her over his shoulder, his eyebrows crinkling. “We are hanging out.”

“Yeah, but I thought that meant playing Mario Kart or watching Star Wars. Not painting a room.” She waved her arm around the room in question, careful not to touch the wall she’d laid a layer of primer over. Sniffing, she brushed the sleeve of the blue flannel shirt hanging off her frame. The scent of Stiles wafted off the arm of the shirt, kicking out the pungent scent of fresh primer. It was a nice change from the burning in her nostrils; soothing and warm and woodsy.

“If I had asked you to help me paint, you wouldn’t have come.”

Scoffing, Perrie crossed her arms. “Yes I would.”

“Sure Pear.” Stiles rolled his eyes and turned away from the wall he had been working on. Perrie stepped back as he lowered and shifted the large roller in his hands, pressing the foam tip against the paint tray by his feet. Reaching back, he messed with the bill on his ball cap by his neck; the band across his forehead shifted from side to side. “Look, my dad’s been working long hours lately. He keeps saying that he’s going to get this done but then something comes up and…” he blew out a breath. His freckled cheeks bulged at the effort behind it.

Perrie licked her lower lip, dropping her hand from her hips. “Papa Stilinski still eating badly?”

Stiles snorted. “I found a package of hostess cupcakes in the back of his closet.”

“What were you doing in his closet?”

Stiles’s eyes shifted for a second. “Well…well I wasn’t snooping!” At the incredulous look on Perrie’s face, he continued, “I was looking for something.”

“For what?”

“The cupcakes.” Perrie laughed and Stiles rolled his eyes. “C’mon, Perrie, I’m leaving in a few months. Dad hasn’t been alone and…” His long, slim fingers drummed against the shaft of the paint roller and the tip of his tongue swiped against his lower lip. When she spoke again, his words were so soft she almost missed it, “I just want to make sure he’s here when I come back.”

Clicking her tongue, Perrie stepped forward, making sure to lift her feet so as not to trip over the tarp covering the carpeted floor. Once close, her hand clapped down on his shoulder and she gave it a squeeze, smiling up at him as he looked at her beneath his unfairly thick lashes. “I’m sure he wouldn’t dream of anything else, Frecklebutt.”

Stiles let out a little sarcastic laugh and, before she could move, he lifted the paint roller and dabbed it against her nose. Stepping backward, she let out a noise of indignant shock but the smile curling on her lips and the sparkle nestling in her eye let her amusement shine through.

“Cheap shot, Stilinski!” she said, wiping the paint off her nose. It smeared a bright white streak against the sleeve of the flannel. For a second her nose wrinkled and she felt guilty for soiling it but then she shrugged. Stiles had yanked it out of his closet and thrown it at her to use it and she was sure more paint than that would end up on it anyway. She didn’t let herself think too long about the fact that he let her wear one of his most prized flannel shirts without a second thought. There was nothing to unpack there. Really. Clearing her throat, she looked around the empty room.

It was bare of everything that used to fill the office, leaving the very dark gray color behind. Even the bright shaft of sunlight from the blind-less windows didn’t seem to help brighten the place up. It still felt cold and drab; boring and unexciting.

“I got this powder blue color. Think it might be a bit too bright but, uh, the people at the store said it would be fine,” he replied. He lifted his chin, jerking it towards the four cans stacked in the corner closest to the door. A wireless speaker docking station sat atop of it, waiting to be put to use.

“Powder blue, huh?” Perrie lifted her eyebrows. “Any particular reason for that?”

“It’s…uh…it’s a nice color?”

“Do you want to make sure your dad doesn’t forget you or are you planning on haunting him while you’re at college?” She had to ask; he wouldn’t be that forthcoming with his feelings otherwise. And she knew, deep in her gut, that it wasn’t a coincidence he picked the same color as his jeep for the color of his dad’s office. She’d spent so much time in that jeep, riding around town with Scott and Stiles and sometimes just Stiles that she could recognize the color down to the smallest bit of pigment.

Talk about them leaving, about graduation coming around the corner came in small bursts. He’d always bring it up during a comfortable lull, when they were laying on the floor of his room after stuffing their faces with pizza, when they were sitting in his jeep when he’d dropped her off, taking her time to get inside. Because moments like these, when it was just her and Stiles, were few and far between.

Not that she particularly noticed. It’s just, well, it had always been the three of them: Scott, Perrie, and Stiles. And soon it wouldn’t be. Scott would cart off to UC Davis, Stiles was going across the country, and Perrie was shooting for University of Georgia (they had a good criminal justice track). And, sure, maybe she and Stiles would be closer, mere states away, but…it was states away. If she wanted to see him, she could just hop on her bike and take a ten-minute ride to see what he was up to. In a few short months she’d have to plan meetups in advance. Who does that?

Beacon Hills spoiled her, that’s for sure.

Not that she’d ever say it out loud, but it was…nice. Being able to talk to him was nice. Being able to see him every damn day since kindergarten was nice. Cracking jokes and staying up conducting research and trying to study as he rambled on about something new he learned about reptile copulation when he got distracted by Wikipedia was the best! If she didn’t even want to think about leaving, she couldn’t imagine how Papa Stilinski was feeling.

And they were friends.

Just friends.

“Well, let’s hope with how calm things have been lately that it’s not the latter,” Stiles said.

Perrie squinted at him, focusing in on the weight to his words. “You sound disappointed,” she ventured.

“I’m not.” Right. And I’m the next in line for the throne. Her sarcastic thought must have read on her face because he sighed and continued, “I mean, it’s nice to not have to worry about what’s going to try and kill me when I wake up in the morning but….”

“But?”

“I don’t know. It’s…like…sometimes I don’t know what to do. To help or be useful if…there’s nothing to be useful for. It’s dumb, I know.”

“Hey, you’re not dumb. I get it. C’mon, I’m not like Scott and the others. I’m just human, like you, and I’m not some gunslinger like Braeden or an archery master like Allison. We just…gotta do the best with what we can. And you’re the best at figuring things out.”

“S’not that hard, not when people leave such obvious clues…”

“Don’t sell yourself short, you help and you matter. Just because you’re leaving Beacon Hills doesn’t mean you don’t. You’re going onto bigger and better things. You’re going to Quantico for fuck’s sake. People from here don’t do that unless they’re meant to do big things.”

“Well, gee, Pear, don’t get all sentimental on me.”

“I’m not, doofus.” She made a show of lightly punching him on the shoulder, knocking it backwards. “I’m just trying to make you be less stupid. I should be getting paid for that overtime work. In fact, I should be getting paid for this too. I’m giving up some much needed girl time due to your lies.”

“I’m planning on feeding you. Is that not enough?”

“No. I may get lung damage from these fumes.”

“Can’t make things easy for me, can you?”

“Of course not. Where’s the fun in that?”

“You know it’s rude to have it at someone else’s expense.”

“Do you ever listen to yourself when you talk?”

Exasperation radiated off Stiles in waves. “Shut up and help me paint, okay? I’m definitely not going to pay you to stand around and rag on me all day.”

“You’re lucky I’m available for that for free,” she said and flashed a cheeky grin. He shot a mocking smile back at her and shook his head.

Still grinning, she turned and approached the speaker system. She picked up his abandoned phone on the ground and swiped her thumb against the screen, quickly completing his lock pattern. Clicking her tongue, she brought up the music player and flicked her thumb through artists until she settled on something with a happy hum. She set the phone into the docking station, turned up the volume, and bobbed her head to the beat of the music, a nice fuse between retro surf-rock and ska with a touch of punk thrown ontop.

“These guys are good,” she said over the undulating guitars; she could almost see the ebbing and flowing waves in her mind. The blue paint Stiles was pouring helped.

“Yeah? I think so too. Just found ‘em online. Scott pointed me in their direction. They’re called Slow Kids at Play.”

Whipping out her phone, Perrie quickly typed the band’s name in google. “They’ve been around since 2009…call themselves musical geniuses…huh.” She brought her phone closer to her face, nearly going cross-eyed as she examined the screen. “Drummer’s pretty cute.”

“Let me see.” She barely had time to react when Stiles all but snatched the phone out of her hand. Her cry of protest was buried beneath the flourishing chorus. And so she stood back and waited, studying the side of his face, the furrow to his brows, the purse of his lips followed quickly by the clench of his jaw, sharpening the strong outline and…

Hmmm!

Her lips all but curled like a Cheshire cat. She briefly ran her tongue against her lower lip and crossed her arms. “You know, it’s interesting. I didn’t think your eyes could change color like that.”

“What?” Stiles’s head whipped up. “Change color, waddya…? Oh no. No. No no no, this can’t be happening to me. I knew I should have looked into that damn dog biting me but Scott said it was just scared. Because who wouldn’t be scared at having a needle shoved in their ass? Okay, okay…” he took a deep breath in and let it out slowly, his shoulders all but hovering by his ears. “Just…just rip off the bandage. What color are they? Gold? Red? Orange?”

“Green,” Perrie replied.

Silence. Then—

“Oh, god!”

“Stiles!” Her utterance of his name was wrapped up in a laugh that had him looking at her in a way only he could muster: half apprehension, half confusion, with one eye squinted and the other widened to owlish levels. “They’re…they’re green!” she wheezed. “Like envy.”

“I…what?” Stiles shook his head, looked at the phone in his hand, back to her, back to the phone, and then to her again. “I’m not…no way. I’m not jealous.”

“Envious,” she corrected and at his hard look she shrugged and said, “blame Lydia; you know how she gets about vocabulary.”

“This isn’t about vocabulary.”

“You’re right. It’s about you being envious.” She snatched his phone out of his hand and locked the screen with a press of her thumb to the side.

“I’m not.”

“Right, because it’s normal for your face to do that…that thing.” She poked his cheek and he swatted her away.

It was, actually, but once upon a time it used to be directed at Lydia and at any guy that dared to breathe in her direction. And Jackson. Dear god, Jackson. Stiles could have set the poor bastard on fire with the hatred in his eyes whenever he spotted Jackson grabbing Lydia, pulling her into a kiss, nuzzling his nose against her hair, holding her around the waist.

She knew that look on Stiles’s face because it was frequent, because it was so stark, because it was a look she worked hard to keep off her face lest he finally figured it all out.

“Just help me paint.”

Perrie flashed finger-guns at him and turned to her wall, ready and waiting to be painted. She picked up her abandoned roller, waited for him to roll his in the blue paint before she took a turn, turned back to her wall, and rolled one big, wet, spongy striped against the white. No turning back now.

They worked in silence, the music pouring out of the speakers jumping from one to the next as the genres shuffled. The mirth that once danced on her lips died a little every time she peeked a glance at Stiles over her shoulder and at some point she knew she was frowning and that Stiles would catch on and try to figure it out—because he always figures it out. Until he doesn’t.

Perrie sighed. Was it that terrible? Being envious or jealous or whatever over the fact that she could be interested in someone else? Was it such a joke to be dismissed without even giving it a second thought? Giving her a second thought? Just this once? It was supposed to be a joke but…well, the joke must be on her. Her mouth twisted to the side. Maybe it was all for the best, leaving. Graduating. Maybe then she’d finally give up the excruciating hope that, someday, things would be different. Not change, Stiles didn’t react well to that, but…different.

“Pear?”

Perrie turned, lips pressed together, eyebrows lifting in a silent question that was broken by a messy, sticky, swatch of blue pressing up against her cheek and across an eye. The pungent, sharp odor of paint shot up her nostrils and, when she spluttered, it lay thick across her tongue.

“Oh man, that’s the oldest trick in the book!” Stiles��s eyes sparkled, like the glitter-dotted surface of a wave.

Her breath caught in her throat at the sight—kinda didn’t help that she was breathing in some harsh chemicals, thanks—and her fingers tightened on the shaft of her roller, wishing they were digging into the collar of his own flannel shirt as she yanked him towards her, getting up close and personal, smashing through that boundary that read just friends in big neon letters.

Instead, she twisted her hips, grounded herself, and pushed forward, running her own roller up his face. “Ha! Gotcha back!” she crowed, watching in satisfaction as he dragged a sleeve against his shirt; the red and black squares now marred with blue.

It was an all-out fight after that; running around the small room, tagging each other with their extended reach as much as they could. Footsteps dotted the tarp covered floor and odd paint splotches covered the primer and, if it were possible for the sky to melt, it would’ve been nestled within Perrie’s hair.

Their breaths, heavy with jubilant exhaustion, were stuttered by leftover laughter as they knelt on the floor. The remnants of their fight stared back at them. When they locked eyes their laughter started all over again, underlined by the bouncy pop song crooning that it’d make them lose their minds.

“Oh man, I’m hungry,” Perrie said, putting a hand to her grumbling stomach.

“Yeah, me too.” Stiles held his hand out to her. She grasped it and, in one swift and smooth yank, she was pulled to her feet. He swatted at his dark jeans, grimacing at the bright blue streak. Then he shrugged. “Want to go to Ruby’s?”

She looked down at her paint splattered shirt and jeans. “Like this?”

“Of all places, I don’t think Ruby’s cares much about dress code.” He swung his arm around her shoulder, pulling her into his side. Beneath the heavy weight, with the collar of the patterned fabric brushing up against her neck, her cheeks blazed and a. Their hips bumped as they walked together, Stiles steering her towards the door. “My treat.”

Reaching up, Perrie grasped his hand. He laced their fingers together. “My two favorite words.”

Her? Perrie Simmons, give up hope?

Now that was a joke.

[goldenmessenger]

TS Actor AU: Reach Out Your Hand Pt 1

Summary: Before recovery can come, you have to admit you have a problem first. In 2019, Roman’s been clean for about 6 years. In 2011, however? Clean is a long way away. He’s alone. Isolated. No-one to turn to. Except he might have one person. But Roman’s ignored him for the last 4 years. But then the voicemail comes.

Read on Ao3 here.

A/N: Hey everyone! So, I’m currently working on a multi-chapter fic set after the last two fics. But that’s probably going to take me a while. So in the meantime, have this fic that’s set 8 years before the others. This is some backstory on Roman, Remus, and Dillon, and how Roman got on the first steps to recovery. Also, I meant for this to be a one-shot, but it’s going to be a two-parter. It’s too long to post all at once. I apologize in advance for this, it’s really intense and a lot of whump and angst. I promise part 2 will make up for everything, and that’ll be up tomorrow.

As usual, let me know if you want to be added to the taglist! And once again, I apologize.

Content Warnings: Drunken texts, drug abuse, drug overdose, mild violence (vague mention), self-deprecating thoughts and language, whump, angst

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Thursday, March 20, 2008

Sent at 11:24pm

Text from (xxx) xxx-xxxx:

happhy B-day roe

its me Rekus

Remus

i gootta new phonee 

im sorry

iwas the worts 

woest

worsr 

Cant typw

To drukn 

Miss u tho

First b-day wit out u

Do u mis me to?

See u on th news

Got that moie 

Movie deal u wanted

Hop ur doin wel 

That ur happy

M not

Mis u

Love u

****************************

Friday, March 20, 2009

Sent at 2:00 pm

Text from (xxx) xxx-xxxx:

Hey Ro, happy birthday,

it’s me again. 

I wanna apologize for the mess that I sent last year. Thought you’d like to know I’m in a much better place now.

I’m in college in San Francisco, probably gonna live there after.

Gotta boyfriend, just like you always said you would if we didn’t have to deal with everyone’s expectations.

Went to therapy, boyfriend’s idea

Though he was just a best friend then

It’s been really helpful. 

I was so awful to you. 

I honestly wouldn’t blame you if you never wanted to see me again

You don’t have to forgive me, I just want a chance to talk

If you want to meet up

Just let me know

****************************

Saturday, March 20, 2010

 Sent at 10:00 am

Text from (xxx) xxx-xxxx: 

Hey Ro

Happy birthday again. 

At this point, I know you probably won’t reply

This probably isn’t even your number anymore. 

I don’t know why I keep texting you though

Closure, perhaps?

An inability to let go?

Whatever it is, it’s kinda sad

I can’t stop though

If by any chance you are reading this, please respond

I don’t care if it’s to say you hate me, or never want to talk to me again, please

I need you

I need my brother

****************************

Sunday, March 20, 2011

Sent at 10:00 am

Text from (xxx) xxx-xxxx: 

Happy birthday Ro!

This will probably be the last time I text you. 

My boyfriend, Dillon, pointed out that if you were going to reply, you would’ve already

I need to move on

I need to heal 

I still love you though 

You’ll always be my brother

****************************

Tuesday, March 22, 2011

Sent at 11:00 am

Text from (xxx) xxx-xxxx: 

Ro

Ro, what the hell?

I know I said that I wouldn’t text again 

But I just saw the news

You punched someone?

What on earth

I’d honestly be kinda proud of you if I wasn’t worried

Are you doing ok? 

That’s not like you. 

I was always the violent one. 

I know what I said before, but if you need anyone to talk to, I’m here. 

I won’t be waiting for you anymore, but I’ll still be here for you, if you need me.

All you need to do is reach out.

****************************

Sunday, August 15, 2011

Missed Call at 1:00 am

Voicemail from (xxx) xxx-xxxx: 

 “Ro—Roman! Please, please tell me you’re there, that you’re alright—

I just heard, apparently you’ve been missing for two weeks? Two whole weeks, and I didn’t know—

Please call me back, or text if that works better! Please, no one knows where you are, if you’re ok, nothing!

I — I can’t lose you Roman.

I mean, maybe I did already, maybe I did a long time ago—

But that was different. At least you were alive. You were happy. At least, I thought you were happy. I’m not so sure about that anymore. 

But if by some miracle, some crazy insane miracle you still have this number, if you’re ok, please please let me know. 

I love you so much Ro. 

I don’t think I ever said it enough, but I do. So, so much. 

I hope wherever you are, you’re ok.”

****************************

The dark hotel room was illuminated only by the screen of his phone. He stared at it with glassy eyes, unseeing, as the message finished playing. Roman was leaning against the bed, sitting on the floor. His phone was gleaming on the ground next to him. 

Roman had read Remus’s texts as they came, of course, but he hadn’t thought they were sincere. That they were real. Nothing else in his life was, not even his own parents. So why should his own twin be an exception? But he didn’t delete the texts or block the number. He let the messages keep coming. And he didn’t know why. 

Maybe because part of him had wanted to hope. Why else would he be where he was now? Why else would he have used the most of the little money he had left to get himself here? Here in a dingy little motel on the edge of San Francisco. He hadn’t told anyone where he was going, not that anyone cared. Maybe Remy might’ve. Remy, who Roman realized now might’ve been his only real friend. At least, he could’ve been, if Roman hadn’t pushed him away when Remy had attempted to convince Roman he had a problem. Pushed him away just like Roman had done to everything else good in his life. 

That’s why he hadn’t contacted Remus yet. Why he’d sat here in this room with it’s flea-ridden bed and peeling wallpaper for almost two weeks now, only leaving to buy food from the nearby convenience store. Remus’s texts had seemed like he was doing well. Roman had looked at his Facebook too. Remus was in college, was living with his boyfriend, a job working as a tech at a local theater. He seemed happy. Roman couldn’t bring himself to ruin that like he ruined everything else. 

But that voicemail—he hadn’t ever heard Remus sound so frightened before. So worried. And about Roman, of all people. Why? Why on earth? Sure, they’d been close as kids, but they hadn’t even been in the same room for years. And Roman had ignored all of Remus’s attempts to make contact since. He couldn’t understand it. It made his head hurt. He was feeling bitterly jittery, and not very glittery. 

That was a weird sentence. When did his thoughts stop making sense? He needed his pills, needed them. He couldn’t deal with all of these thoughts and emotions. He needed them to go away. He needed them to stop. He fumbled on all fours for the bottle, and finally found it, open and empty. That wasn’t right, it’d been full only...only...he couldn’t remember. A wave of dizziness hit him, and he pitched forward, face planting into the ground. 

Something wasn’t right. Why was his brain so fuzzy. Everything hurt so much, he couldn’t think. He needed help. He needed Remus. He somehow managed to find his phone, and hit the contact simply labeled “R.”

The phone rang. And rang. Finally, it was picked up. And a familiar voice spoke.

****************************

Remus ran his hand through his sleeping boyfriend’s hair. It was a calming motion that somewhat helped to calm his racing mind. But not by much. Dillon had attempted to convince Remus to rest, but Remus couldn’t sleep. Not when Roman was missing. He’d gotten the news around midnight, from a former friend of Roman’s, Remy. 

Remy had been the one to tell Remus that Roman had been struggling with a drug addiction, though Remy didn’t know how long. He’d tried to get Roman some help as soon as he found out, but the other man had rejected it and broke off their friendship. Remy had gone to Roman’s apartment that morning to attempt to repair their relationship, with the hope that he could eventually convince Roman to get some help. But he was nowhere to be found. The door was unlocked, and there was two weeks worth of mail on the floor. He’d found Remus’s number on accident, on a post-it on Roman’s fridge, labeled “Bro.” That’s when he’d called Remus and, upon finding out he was Roman’s brother, told him everything.

Remus didn’t quite understand why Roman had his number saved like that, but the more pressing concern was finding Roman. Remus attempted to call Roman several times, each one going straight to voicemail.

He didn’t blame Dillon for falling asleep though. Remus would if he could. He couldn’t though. The hand that wasn’t running through Dillon’s hair had a death grip on his phone. He couldn’t stop staring at it, praying to anyone who would listen that it would ring.

He didn’t know what he expected though. Roman had never responded to him in the past, so why would now be any diff— 

“I’m a Barbie Girl, in a Barbie wooorld

Life in plastic, it’s fantastic...”

Remus startled as his phone’s ringtone filled the room. Next to him, Dillon shifted and blinked tiredly at him. 

“Why on earth do you still have that obnoxious song as your ringtone?” Dillon questioned, a little grumpy at being woken so unceremoniously. 

“You can brush my hair, undress me everywheere

Imagination, life is your creation...”

Remus could barely hear him. He could barely hear his own ringtone. All he could do was stare at the name that lit up the screen.

Lil bRO(man)

“Come on, Barbie, let's go party!”

Dillon looked up at Remus, the sleep slowly fading from his gaze as his brain slowly began to catch up.

“Re, what’s wrong?”

“I’m a Barbie Girl, in a Barbie wooorld

Life in plastic, it’s fantastic...”

The chorus of the song began to repeat, and Remus knew he was running out of time. This was something he’d wanted for years, and now, it was happening right in front of him. But he was frozen. For some reason, he couldn’t answer the phone.

“You can brush my hair, undress me everywheere…”

When Remus didn’t respond, Dillon sat up, and saw the phone lying limp in his boyfriend’s grasp.

“Imagination, life is you—”

Quick as a lightning bolt, Dillon grabbed the phone and hit ANSWER before it could go to voicemail. Almost as quick, he hit the speaker button.

There was a long moment of silence. Too long. Finally, Remus’s voice returned.

“Ro, is that you?” He asked, hopefully. “Are you ok, are you hurt, where—”

“Re. I— I didn’t acshully think you’d anshwer.”

Roman’s familiar voice leaked through the speakers like water through a broken dam. Despite Remus’s relief, however, he immediately recognized something was wrong. One look at Dillon’s face told Remus that he’d heard it too. The way Roman’s words slurred themselves together. Remus took a deep breath. He knew how to handle this. He just needed to stay calm.

“Of course I would.” Remus said sincerely. “Ro, why don’t you tell me where you are? Maybe I can come to you and we can have this conversation in person?”

However, Roman didn’t seem to hear Remus’s question.

“I meshed up Re, meshed up big time, I ran ‘way from evything ‘cause I shcrewed up, an’ now I’m losht an’ allone an’ I jus’ wanted to hear your voishe one lasht time…”

Remus felt his heart seize in panic at those words. He grabbed the phone out of Dillon’s hands as the man looked on worriedly. Remus clutched that phone like it was his lifeline. No, Roman’s lifeline.

“Roman, wait, what do you mean, one last time? Where are you, what’s going on?”

“Ate too many of th’ pret-ty white circles, and now I can’ shtand up right and m’ brain won’ work.”

Roman’s voice grew thick, and it began to sound like he was crying.

“M sorry Re, ‘m an awful brother. I can’ do anything righ’ an’ I was too much of a cow-ward to tell you I was here.”

Remus’s eyes widened in shock as his brain processed the information. White circles, didn’t a lot of pills take that form? Including addictive ones. And Roman was here? San Francisco?

He looked over to Dillon to find that his boyfriend had his own phone out, and was callling someone. Dillon caught his gaze, and mouthed 911. Keep him talking. Remus took a deep breath. He needed to keep it together. For Roman’s sake. 

“Roman, you’re going to be fine, just tell me where you are, and I’ll be right there. You said that you’re here? Where is here?”

“Th’ golden ci-ty, home of Saint Franny. Wan-ed to talk to you, couldn’ get up th’ nerve. ‘M in this shtupid lil hot-tel, it schucks. Bayshide Mot-tel, I think. Rom 320. Picked it cause it wash our birth-dayte.”

Remus quickly glanced over to Dillon urgently, and his boyfriend began relaying Roman’s location to the paramedics. 

“Ro, we’ll be right there, just hold on, ok? We’re on our way.” 

No response.

“Roman, Roman!”

Silence echoed from the other end of the line. 

“No, nononononono no! Roman, please!”

In a dark dingy motel room several miles away, the only sound was a brother’s anguished cries, and the only light was that of a cracked phone screen next to a limp hand.

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AN: Again, I’m really sorry about this cliffhanger, and I will fix it tomorrow.

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