Guess who just signed up for two (2) more fandom bingos and revamped her bingo card page? Anyway feel free to send me an ask specifying a square and what I should write for it!
when you look at a psychiatric diagnosis and you see that it has a 3:1 diagnostic rate of women to men, it's more likely to be diagnosed in trans people than cisgender people, and it's most prevalent in hispanic people out of any ethnic group. you really do have to consider who benefits from a label that amounts to "Biologically and Pathologically Hysterical". yknow.
itâs not a âstigmatisedâ disorder. itâs a disorder that was designed to stigmatise, to shame, and to oppress. acting as though the diagnosis is a stigmatised one is missing the part where this diagnosis is in fact meeting the exact purpose it was designed to fulfil
OP's tags from both the original post and the reblog were too good to hide.
that's really exactly it.
as someone who could very easily qualify for a diagnosis of bpd or cptsd, and even very often resonates with both, everything described in bpd is just a demonization of the same patterns of behaviour described by cptsd. it is just describing you as evil for struggling with being hurt so much, and in doing so, takes the focus away from the person hurting and puts it onto how it inconveniences everyone else.
we really need to be critical of how these labels come to be, because they are deliberately created, and they are created by people with biases. they are so often just a tool of oppression, another extension of a discriminatory machine.
I hope it isn't derailing, but I think this is also really illustrated with Narcissistic Personality Disorder. "narcissist" was a word for an asshole before it was a word for a disorder. rather than describing how someone might struggle to relate to others or be open to true connection, and centering the person who needs to heal, they instead called everyone who struggles with that an irredeemable dick and dressed it up in medical expertise so you wouldn't think to question it. frankly I think it's silly to call for treating "narcissist" like some sacred medical term instead of looking at how fucked up it is that they called a disorder that???
it was ages ago, but there was a post on here talking about just how many "disorders" and diagnoses boil down to "shitty bitch disease". and well, once you see it, you never stop seeing it. anti-social personality disorder? shitty bitch disease. npd, shitty bitch disease. obstinate defiance disorder (come the fuck on) well that's shitty bitch disease. bpd is maybe the most classic example of this. you don't need to listen to her, she has shitty bitch disease. pay no mind to the fact that this label somehow only makes it onto the most marginalized. don't worry about that, because you don't need to listen to those people anyway. they don't have reasons or pain or bad days or feelings or any of that pesky stuff that real people have to explain their actions. no no, we haven't abused them, not at all. haven't you heard? they were broken from the start, and I can prove it. see? they have shitty bitch disease.
[ID 1: OP's original tags reading: #dead horse etc #but I've been reading a lot about bpd today and. lol. #have you seen the prevalence rates for bpd diagnosis in trans women. it won't surprise you. #there's actually a lot of research about what makes psychs choose bpd over cptsd (& other comorbidities). and like. #it's straight-up bullshit /.End ID]
[ID 2: OP's reblog tags reading: #bpd is not stigmatised bpd itself is stigma #we do not need to de-stigmatise bpd we need to abolish it. lol /.End ID]
I'm instituting a new policy of "if I can't easily read your crusty scanned PDF then I'm sending it back to you, telling you to get your shit together and save your .docx as .pdf, and causing snakes to manifest inside your house"
this but also if you are in accounting and you have an Excel file please do not save it as a PDF or take a screenshot of it and then paste it into another Excel file
Good afternoon to everyone in the notes having a horrible time! Y'all are fighting demons I never knew existed!! I think every person that makes you do stupid time wasting shit like this because they refuse to learn basic computer literacy should be fired!!
sigh. just another day scrubbing the floor and mowing the lawn and dusting and doing the laundry for the rest of my pack. but the house has to be in especially perfect shape today because Alpha Jameson has an important meeting with another Alpha from across the river. If they come to an agreement, the Newport and Cincinnati packs might finally have peace for the first time in decades. No more fightingâŠ.But they say the Newport Alpha is the most ruthless wolf whoâs ever lived. Can our hotheaded Alpha really find a compromise with a man like that? I have to hope for the bestâŠwith a deal between our packs, the months of new business negotiations will have everyone so busy, they wonât have time to push me around. Alpha Jameson might even be too distracted to think about me. The thought is almost too good to be true. Iâve been his scapegoat to treat like trash ever since he and my younger sister claimed each other as mates. There was a time when we were kids when it was me on his arm at dinners and parties. But then we grew up, andâŠ..I never got my Wolf. Iâm a freak, and everyone knows it. Of course he couldnât stay with me. Not that Iâd want to be with him now anyway. These days he canât even say my name without spitting it. Sometimes I think it would be easier if I never get my Wolf, and I get banished to live among humans. But then I remember my childhood best friend. She was so prettyâbrown eyes, with brunette hair she always wore in a bun. I was homeschooled with my pack, of course, and she went to the local high school. We met at the libraryâŠ.our shared sanctuary. She didnât have any other friends, and neither did I. We hung out every chance we got. Until one day when we were 16âŠher brother told me she was gone. I found out that their mom gave her away to a boy band, and I havenât seen her since. Thatâs when I realized the human world is just as ruthless as the wolfen. No, banishment wouldnât be better. But I donât know how much longer Iâll survive this place either. Most days, keeping my head down and doing what Iâm told isnât enough to keep me out of trouble.
But things could be worse. Yesterday I overheard my sister talking to Beta Devon about the deal Alpha Jameson is making with the Newport Alpha. Apparently, heâs requested a woman from our pack as his mate. With his reputation, I could almost feel bad for whoever Alpha Jameson chooses for him, even though the women in our pack treat me even worse than the men. Iâm an embarrassment to them because I donât have my Wolf.
Whatever. At least I know it wonât be me, because Iâm not important enough to be married offâŠâŠ..
everyone saying that they can hear the MCâs voice so clearly. Thatâs because I didnât write this. I channeled her voice through myself as a vessel. Sheâs out there somewhere.ïżŒ
funny you should mention it because Iâm channeling the MC again right now and she met the Newport Alpha today. Her stomach was in her throat when she found out that he requested her, specifically. Whatever sheâll have to endure will almost be worth the look on Alpha Jamesonâs face when he was forced to acknowledge that someone actually wants herâthat someone outside of her pack even knows her name.
Still, the satisfaction was fleeting when it finally sank in that sheâs leaving with the most ruthless Wolf this side of Louisville. Is she simply out of the pan and into the fire?
Not so much. In fact, the Newport Alpha is cold as ice. He hasnât spoken a single word to her in the hour since they met and left Cincinnati on his sleek, burnt-sienna Ecosse ES1 Spirit.
Could he really have asked for her, specifically? What if heâd asked for someone else and they sent her instead, as a consolation prize? What ifâŠ
What if he asked for someone else, and they lied about who she was? Oh god. Would she have to pretend to be Payton or Sabrina to maintain peace and to keep her own head attached to its neck? She might be able to pull that offâŠfor a week.
Does he even know what she isâwhat she isnât. Did Alpha Jameson or her sister tell him she doesnât even have her Wolf? Maybe the Alpha can sense that on his ownâŠ
Theyâve stopped for gas, and he still hasnât said a word. But he when he goes inside for an energy drink, he comes back out with sweet-tarts ropesâher favorite. Itâs such a random candy too. How could he have possibly known that? A lucky guess?
They share an impossibly familiar look for just a moment as he hands her the candy. Then heâs astride the motorcycle again.
She wishes she had something other than him to hold onto as they speed southbound on 471. Despite herself, her arms are wrapped around his waist, and she tucks her forehead against his broad back so the wind wonât sting her eyes.
His carhartt jacket smells faintly of clove cigarettes. His hair smells like apricot shampoo from the dollar general. The specificity of the scent catches her off guard as they cross the bridge into Newport. Why would she recognize the brand? More importantly: why would a wealthy Alpha buy his hair products from a dollar store?
And why is she even thinking about his shampoo to begin with? She needs to be preparing herself for her first night in her new life. It could be anything. She needs to be smart. She needs to be on guard.
And yetâŠshe canât stop thinking about his brown eyes. Something in them is soâŠ.impossiblyâŠ..familiar. It just doesnât make any sense.
That's very kind, but again I'm not writing this. I'm having visions and ecstasies where I see through the eyes of the MC. In fact......I'm being overcome now......
We've been driving for a long time now, well past Newport's city limits. At some point, we got off the highway, and I counted streetlights blurring by until we started passing trees instead. We're out somewhere in the woods now. I tell myself that I'll get my bearings the next time we stop, but we just drive on and on.
We blow through an intersection in the middle of nowhere, and I try to catch the name of whatever county road we must be on, but it's too dark, and we're driving too fast. The Newport Alpha doesn't seem to care about stop signs or speed limits.
Why would he? We could crash into a tree going 100 miles per hour, and he'd be okay. Not me, though. Inhuman powers of strength and healing are reserved for those with a Wolf.
I bite my lip and wonder again if he knows about me. If he does, I guess that means he wouldn't care if we took a turn too fast and I fell off the back of this bike and died. If he doesn't....
I shake my head. There's no way Alpha Jameson and my sister could've kept this secret. If they did, and he doesn't take it well when he finds out....
My stomach twists when I think about what might happen to me. No. Alpha Jameson needs this to go well. No matter how much he hates meâno matter how much sick pleasure he'd get if I were torn to shreds in a bad business deal. The Newport Alpha wanted a mate from our pack. Not even Beta Devon would be stupid enough to try to cheat such a powerful Alpha with some Wolfless loser.
He could have asked for any of the unmated women in our pack. Sabrina and Chelsea would have thrown one of their legendary tantrums if Alpha Jameson tried to give one of them away, but I saw Payton preening in every reflective surface she passed this morning. She wanted to look good for the Newport Alpha, and she did look good. She was taller and prettier than meâblonder, with better clothes and makeup. They all were.
Why didn't he want any of them. What does he want with me?
I'm so lost in thought, I didn't even notice that we'd turned down a long driveway until we stop.
He cuts the engine, but I still feel like I'm vibrating. I'm not used to riding on motorcycles. I'm really not even used to leaving the house. My arms feel like jello, still wrapped awkwardly around his waist.
The Newport Alpha suddenly gets upâso fast that I don't even have time to let go. His body drags mine sideways, and I brace myself to land on the gravel driveway.
But I don't. He catches me by my arm and pulls me onto my feet.
"Thanks," I say, at the same time he says, "Sorry."
It's the first thing he's said to me since we met hours ago. I know I look surprised when our eyes meet. Those brown eyes...
We stare at each other for so long, it starts to hurt. I'm not used to anyone acknowledging me unless it's followed by an insult or a slap. I can't take the eye contact, so I look down at my old Sperry shoesârejects that Sabrina threw away.
He lets go of my arm and says "sorry" again.
"It's okay...." I say. My voice is so quiet. I hate it, but I don't know how to be any louder. I'm barely ever allowed to talk.
The Newport Alpha doesn't seem to care. He says, "I know this probably isn't what you were expecting, but I thought you might be more comfortable with a little privacy tonight."
I look up and realize he's talking about the house, a little cabin surrounded by trees. He's right, it's not what I expected. When my sister told me that Alpha Jameson was giving me away to the most ruthless Wolf in the tri-state area, I didn't really picture woodland cottages. It's not even as big as the garage where Beta Devon keeps those stupid, expensive cars he loves so much.
I don't know what to say, so I whisper, "It's fine."
The Newport Alpha grins. I don't know why he'd care so much what I think of his house, but I'm glad I made him happy. Things will be easier for me if he's in a good mood.
He says, "Yeah? Are you sure? I just thought it might be kinda overwhelming for you to meet the entire pack tonight, you know?"
"Yeah," I say, because I have no idea what else to say. Nobody's ever considered my feelings like that before, let alone gone out of the way to accommodate them.
"Well, uh, want to go in? It's kinda cold out here, huh?"
He's looking me up and down, and I feel exposed in my plain blue jeans and hand-me-down Hollister v-neck sweater.
"Sure," I say.
I follow him up the front porch steps. He opens the door, and I wait for him to go first, but then I realize he's waiting for me to go first. So I do.
This time, it is what I'm expecting. The cabin is decorated like a little hunting lodge. I've never been in one, but I've seen them in movies and TV shows. The walls are wood panel, and they're covered in antlers and trophy fish.
"Bedroom's over there." He points to a door on my left, then to one on the right. "Bathroom's there."
I'm eyeing a rack with three rifles hanging beside the door, and he must notice, because he says, "They're not loaded."
When I don't say anything, he keeps talking. "I bought this place a few years ago, and I haven't really gotten to redecorating. Those came with the place. Besides, who needs a gun to kill a deer?"
He grins, and I notice for the first time how sharp some of his teeth are. It's nothing like ours in my pack.
"Hey, I'm just kidding," he says. I guess he can tell I'm a little freaked out. "I'm a fishing guy, anyway."
"Oh," I say. "Ha."
I don't know why I even tried to laugh. It sounds more pathetic than I even usually do. He's frowning at me, and I panic a little. What am I thinking??? This is my new Alpha. Laughing at his stupid jokes will be the least of my duties to him. Pack members who don't play along never last long. I need to get it together.
"Well," he says. "Why don't we call it a night?"
He looks me up and down again. "Is that all you have?"
He means the clothes I'm wearing. I can feel myself turning bright red. Everything happened so fast today, I didn't have time to pack even my few belongings.
"Yeah," I say. "It's...okay. I....always sleep in jeans."
He cocks his head and looks at me like he'll call my bluff. I bite my lip. There's something in his face. He looks somehow....sad. I have no idea what to do with that. But then he smiles.
"Okay then, " He kicks off his timberland boots and pads across the room in his socks. I watch him lie down on the old, 1980s velour couch. "Good night."
I don't move. What am I supposed to be doing right now? I wait for some command. It feels like an eternity passes before he sits up and says, "Sorry, do you need something?"
I shake my head. He stares at me for a moment and says, "Huh. Well...sweet dreams?"
I still have no idea what he wants from me. I have no idea what to say, and then he says, "Sorry. I have no idea what you want from me right now..."
It catches me so off guard, I actually laugh. A real laugh. Then he laughs. His laugh is loud and confident, and it makes his broad chest rise and fall under his tight, black t-shirt.
He laughs longer than I do, and then I say, "I don't know where I'm supposed to go...tonight?"
"Oh!" He says, smiling. "The bedroom's all yours! There are fresh sheets. It's a little cold, but it'll warm up in here soon. I just switched from wood to solar, and it's been a whole thing, you know?"
I don't know. I just say, "Okay, thanks," and then I wander awkwardly to the bedroom.
But I stop in the doorway. I don't know why, but I suddenly feel a little bold. I want to say something other than oh and yeah, but I have no idea what.
He's looking at me like he knows I'm trying to get the courage to talk.
So I just ask, "What's your name?"
"Oh!" He laughs again. "I can't believe I never said. It's Yale. Yale Northland. It's kind of a weird name, though, isn't it?"
I don't know what to say. Am I supposed to agree with him? Would that be rude?
He says, "So my friends just call me by my initials, Y.N."
"Okay, Y.N.," I say. Then I have nothing else to say, so I say, "Goodnight," and I shut the door behind me.
The bedroom looks just like the living room, with wood panel walls and random woodsy knickknacks. The bed is huge. It takes up most of the room, and it's covered in old, homemade quilts. I've never seen anything like them. They're so....cozy. I pull them back, and the sheets are red flannel with patterns of little black pine trees and bears printed on them.
I take off my jeans, because I actually don't want to sleep in them, and I climb into the gigantic bed. Thew Newport Alpha is nothing like what anyone said he'd be.
He seems so normal. I can't help feeling like there's something I'm missing. Like, tomorrow, I'll wake up and he'll be the cruel, ruthless Wolf my sister told me about.
My stomach twists, but not even the fear is enough to keep me awake after such a long day. I try to stay awake, but the cabin is so quiet, and the bed is so warm, I drift off to sleep...
#reading this feels like having knives thrown at you
Well get ready to start dodging, because for the first time in a year, I can feel the MC trying to speak through me...
I awake to a crash. Or was it a scream ... My own voice, screaming.
I'm breathing hardâpanting, evenâmy whole body too hot in the Hollister sweater I went to bed in last night. I shouldn't be surprised; it's not the first time I've screamed myself awake, but it usually only follows the times I've cried myself to sleep. Last night wasn't one of those times. No, last night was ... I can't bring myself to even think the word safe. Instead, I say out loud to the dark room, "different."
My voice is timid as always, but at least I'm speaking. Maybe, in the life I've lived, anything that's different is safe.
But I can't afford to let my guard down. Not when I have no idea what awaits me today. Alpha Yale was kind to me last night, but I know it was all propriety. No matter his reputationâno matter how badly we all know Alpha Jameson needs this to workâAlpha Yale couldn't be a complete brute right away. No matter how worthless I may be to my pack, no matter how much they hate to claim me, I'm still one of them. If Alpha Jameson let an outsider treat me as badly as he does, it would make him look weak, like he can't protect his own. As an Alpha, Yale would understand that and play polite as part of the deal, if only 'til everyone forgets about me.
If I'm going to survive thisâwhatever this isâI have my own role to play: The perfect Alpha's mate, but that's already out the window. She wouldn't be Wolfless.
I shake the thoughts out of my head. Over-thinking in the dark all morning won't win Alpha Yale over. I switch on the novelty lamp at my beside; it's shaped like a wolf howling at the moon, which is full and round to cover the light bulb inside. A little on-the-nose... But Alpha Yale did say he plans to redecorate the place. The wood floor is cold on my bare feet. No points to solar power, I think.
Back home, we had heated floors. At least, the main house did, where everyone else lived. My roomâthe unfinished basementâwas all moldy cement. How could I have any opinions about Alpha Yale's HVAC setup, coming from someplace like that?
There's a second door in my room, on the other wall just beside the door to the main house. I open it cautiously, expecting a closet, but I'm pleased to realize it goes directly to the bathroom. The lights are already on insideâso bright I blink and see spots for a second. I immediately notice a folded bundle of fabric, with a small note on top:
M.C.,
I pause. How did he know I prefer to go by my initials, the same as he does? There's no way Alpha Jameson or my sister would have been considerate enough to mention it. They never remembered themselvesâor they pretended not to, anyway.
I hope you slept well. I'm out getting us breakfast. This is for you, in case you don't actually like living in those jeans. Back soon - Y.N.
I turn over the note for some reason, and I realize it's been scrawled on the back of an old envelope, already torn open. The return address sounds like a satellite dish company. Absurdly, I imagine Alpha Yale tucked into one of those homemade quilts, surrounded by novelty lamps, watching black-and-white movies, or whatever channels you get by dish out here in the sticks. I catch myself smiling before I remember I'm just making things up. Most Ruthless Alpha this side of the Mississippi, I remind myself. He's probably not catching oldies re-runs.
Under the note is a pair of grey sweatpantsâno brand, I notice, the old tag long since worn totally blank. They're clean, but they still smell like himâborax laundry soap, clove cigarettes, and ... Apricot shampoo, I think. 2-in-1. The kind with conditioner included. I shake my head again. Why do I know that, and why does it even matter?
I pull the pants on and look at my reflection in the mirror. My brown, curly hair is a hopeless tangle. I can taste my morning breath. I open a few cabinets, looking for toothpaste or a comb, careful to close them as quietly as possible, in case Alpha Yale wouldn't want me going through his things. The whole bathroom's completely empty, anyway. Unless there's a second bathroomâdoubtful, from how little this place seemed last nightâthen he clearly never stays here. Even the toilet paper roll is almost used up.
Giving up, I use the elastic on my wrist to shape my hair into the semblance of a bun. My brown eyes are underscored by bags, deep and somewhat purple. I notice a stain on yesterday's sweater, so I take it off to reveal my thin, blue camisole with lace trim. It's cold enough in the bathroom that my arms immediately go to gooseflesh, but I warm up a little when I put on the sweatpants. They're too longâAlpha Yale is at least a foot taller than meâso I roll them three times at the waist, which looks a little frumpy, but so do I.
I take one more look at myself in the mirror. My eyes are wide. Suddenly, panic blooms in my chest. I don't want to go out there. I don't want to face Alpha Yale and this new life. But I can't go back, either. Not to Alpha Jameson. Not to my sister. There's no one there who would have me, protect me if this all went to hell. I won't go back. I'd sooner drown in the Ohio River than cross it again.
Swallowing my dread, I open the other door to the main house.
"She's awake!"
I blink against the sun pouring into the room from three skylights, which I hadn't noticed last night. There's a man I don't know, sitting on the old couch in front of the TV, tucked into one of those patchwork quilts, exactly as I'd stupidly imagined Alpha Yale.
"Finally joining us, in the land of the living?" His grin is goofy and genuine, and I notice he has sharp teeth like Alpha Yale's.
"Booo!" Another voice says with a laugh, as if the man on the couch has made some sort of corny joke, but I don't get it.
"M.C., Good morning," says yet a third person. The whole cabin is a single room, with the living room's old, shaggy carpet ending abruptly at the kitchen's linoleum floor. There's a second man, sitting at the kitchen table with a mug of what I assume is coffee, because I can smell the beans, pleasant and freshly ground. His smile was just as genuine, but smaller, shy. I couldn't see his teeth. He was regarding me from behind thick, red curls, cut into bangs that hung over his eyes. I would find the style irritating, but he must not mind.
"Just in time for breakfast!" Says the man who was boo-ing. He's standing at the stove, and even from behind, he looks almost ... startling, wearing a colorful, satin bath robe and a bleached buzzcut halved in two sides by a neon-pink skunk stripe. He adds another pancake to a pile so enormous, I worry they're expecting even more company.
This is my new pack, and one of them must be Beta, if Alpha Yale left them here, with me, without formal introductions.
"Come sit," says the first man. He's in a thick, wool sweater, the same sky blue as the silk wave cap on his head. He's still smiling, and I catch myself thinking he looks very handsome, in a cozy way. They all do, in their sweaters and robes at breakfast, like it's the morning after a slumber party.
I'm suddenly struck by some strange familiarity, as if I've seen all of them before. I try to picture their faces among visiting packs we've sometimes hosted in Cincinnati. I haven't been welcome at any guest events in years, but perhaps when we were childrenâwhen my parents were still alive and Alpha Jameson and I were still ... I can't bear to think about thatâabout the better days. I need to focus on today.
I didn't expect to meet my new pack this wayâwithout Alpha Yale here. It seems somehow improper, like we're breaking some sort of rule. There were so many ... formalities back home. Everything even somewhat noteworthy was strangled by ceremony and pomp. Any day now, I half expect Alpha Devon to demand a full Pack initiation ritual for his next stupid car.
Compared to that, this is so casual, so relaxed that I feel my hackles up. The man on the couch seems to notice, because he looks a little startled, and he says, "Or don't! It's okay!"
Oh my god, I'm being rude. I'm being rude to the men who are almost definitely Alpha Yale's closest confidantes.
I wonder suddenly if this is some sort of test, to see how I fall into my place at my Alpha's side, even when he's not hereâto see if I have the quality of a leader. The idea of me leading anyoneâanythingâis so stupid that I laughâquietly, bitterly, to myself.
But the man on the couch catches it and misinterprets it. He smiles gently, clearly hoping I've come around. I take a deep breath and force my shoulders to relax. There are no practice rounds; this is my new life, in this very moment, and every first impression I make it critical. Perhaps to my very survival.
"Good morning, everyone," I say, and I'm surprised that it doesn't come out as meekly as I feared it would.
Now the man on the couch grins again. "Good morning! Sorry to crowd in on you like this, but we all got worried when y'all didn't show up last night. Y.N. said he'd be back with you at the house."
"We drove all up and down 471 this morning, looking for his stupid motorcycle," says the man with the coffee. "Assumed you crashed and exploded, 'til we finally remembered this place. I'm Brayden, by the way."
"Ah! Kristofer, with a K and and F," says the man at the stove.
"Caleb," says the man on the couch.
"Brayden, Caleb, Kristofer," I repeat shyly, committing the names to memory. Titles would be the least of my political responsibilities here.
"With a 'K' and an 'F'!" Kristofer reminds me immediately.
"Thanks, I've got it," I say. I decide to join Caleb on the couch after all, if only to pretend for this pack that I can be comfortable among themâthat I can be one of them. Caleb offers me some of his quilt, but I shake my head, no-thanks.
"So," I say, and all three of them look at my expectantly. I do my best not to shrink. "Who here is Beta?"
"Oh! Uh-" Says Caleb, and they all look at each other.
"We uh," Kristofer takes a bite of one of the pancakes, plain and right off the skillet. I watch him chew it with his mouth open, full of those same sharp teeth. "We haven't decided yet."
Caleb puts a hand over his face, as if embarrassed. "Awesome, Kristofer," he says under his palm.
Kristofer is immediately defensive, "Sorry, but, like, we haven't though! Right?"
"Why don't-" Brayden interrupts, loudly. Then he looks at me and says, softer, "we wait for Y.N. to get back, and he can make our introductions."
"Sure," shrugs Kristofer, finishing off his pancake.
I don't know what to say, but I don't need to, becauseâas if on cueâthe door opens, and Alpha Yale is there, his broad shoulders nearly taking up the entire frame.
He looks furious.
"You guys have to be fucking kidding me!" He says. It's not quite a shout, but it's not exactly not a shout. I clamp my teeth together, forcing myself to look neutral.
"You can't be mad at us, dude." Brayden speaks first, sounding unphased by the Alpha's anger. "We spent all night expecting you in a body bag. Obviously we came looking for y'all."
"What?" Alpha Yale looks bewildered. "What do you mean?"
"You went off to some high-stakes meeting with uh," Brayden seemed uncertain for a moment, like he doesn't know exactly what he's about to sayâwhat he should say. I recognize this, because it's how I so often speakâlike I have to choose my words very carefully. "A rival Pack. And you never came back."
"Shit," Alpha Yale says. I don't know what to make of it, the way he completely deflates, like all the anger's gone out of him at once. I can't believe there won't be yelling, fighting, someone's broken bones at the end of it. But he just says, "Sorry. That sucks, I shouldn't have done that."
"True," says Caleb, not unkindly.
"I just ... Got in my head, on the way back, you know?"
"We get it, we get it," Says Kristofer, around another mouthful of pancake. "You wanted her all to yourself."
At this, Caleb makes an Alright, Enough face at Kristofer, who shrugs defensively.
Alpha Yale chooses to ignore the exchange, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. Finally, he looks at me, and I thinkâagainst all logicâthat every part of him softensâhis eyes, his shoulders, his whole posture.
"Are you getting along alright, M.C.? Sorry I left you. I got us pancakes, but I see I've been outdone." He looks somehow ... uncertain. I don't understand itâany of it. This gentle Alphaâbetraying every bit of his reputationâthis place, this pack.
"We've been good company," says Caleb, and I find myself smiling, despite myself.
"It's ... true," I agree, quietly. "They've been ... very nice."
Alpha Yale rolls his eyes. "They're always nice," he says. "But you still have to watch out."
"For what?" Kristofer says, mock-offended. I begin to suspect he's always on the defense.
"I never know," says Alpha Yale. "Which is what worries me." He puts down the plastic carry-out bags beside the door, where he kicks off his boots and shrugs his Carhartt jacket off, onto the coat tree.
I expect him to join Caleb and me on the couch. He is my Alpha. But he sits on the little loveseat across from us, his broad frame sinking into the old, too-soft floral cushions. He smiles again at meâshyly, I think beyond all reasonâbut then his eyes widen.
"Willow's not here, is she?"
Kristofer scoffs through yet another pancake. "We're not completely clueless."
Alpha Yale's shoulders relax, but for only a second before the kitchen doorâwhich I've only just noticedâbangs open.
"You guys are clueless, and I am here," says a woman with brown eyes. With brunette hair in a messy bun. Grown so much since I saw her last, but still somehow just the same. I completely forget myself. I'm standing before I can even consider the consequences for speaking out of turn, for failing to answer my Alpha's question, failing to acknowledge him at all.
"Meredith?" I ask, my voice louder than I've ever heard it, so I cringe even as I take a step forward toward her.
She stops smiling, turns pale with shock, and she looks right past me, to Alpha Yale. She's so stricken that I turn to look at him too, and his face is an exact echo of hers. Caleb has a hand over his own face again.
"I'm sorry, I didn't realized she'd be here," says Meredith. Says my childhood friendâmy only friendâlost for a decade since her mom gave her away to that boy band.
"Meredith," I say again, still looking at Alpha Yale, still trying to understand his shock and hersâtrying to understand anything. "What's going on?"
I look back at her, and now Meredith is blushing, from her ears, all the way down her neck. "I'm not-" she starts, but she stops, apparently unsure what to say.
"You are!" I say, unable to contain myself, startling myself with my own voice. I'm shaking. I feel suddenly hysterical. I can hear that in my voice tooâthe panic, the loose ends. I know I'm fucking everything upâfor myself, even for my packâbut I can't put myself back together. "Meredith! What is going ON?"
Meredith is still looking past me, at Alpha Yale, who is looking back at her desperately. They seem to be having some sort of conversation with their eyes. I can't stand it. I may not have my Wolf, but I feel myself transforming into some monstrous version of myself that I never knew existsâsome desperate, angry, clawing thing that cannot stay quiet, no matter what catastrophe I bring down upon myself.
"Someone say SOMETHING!" I shout, and even Brayden looks shocked by my outburst.
Meredith's mouth is open, as if she'll speak, but nothing comes out. Kristofer takes another bite of a pancake.
I'm about to grab someone by the shoulders and start shaking them, when Caleb looks up from behind his hand and says, "Y.N.âYale. I don't wanna air your whole life out, but you need to say something here."
Yale looks at him, opens his mouth, shuts it again, and takes a deep breath through his nose.
"She's not Meredith, M.C."
I'm about to argue, and he knows it, because I inhale, sharp and fast, ready to yell, to tell him he's wrong, he's lying.
But he reaches across the coffee table and puts a hand on my knee.
"I amâwas," He says, awkwardly, painfully.
I cannot even begin to understand what he means.
"And that's Willow," he says. "Was Meredith. Was, uh, me?"
"I'm losing track of this explanation," offers Kristofer, uselessly.
I look back at MeredithâWillow?âwho shrugs and smiles sheepishly, like she still has no idea what to say.
I feel faint. Everything is catching up to me at once. The days before Alpha Yale's arrival that I didn't eatâbarely slept. The shock of all things unfamiliar. The years of griefâof sleepless nights crying for Meredith. My vision goes vignette, blackening at the edges.
Caleb must notice first, because I hear him say my name, feel his hands on my back and chest, to steady me. I try to answer, but the words are like syrup in my mouth. I feel like I drool them, but I don't know if I really do.
The last thing I hear before I collapse is Kristofer's voice.
"I don't know if this matters, but we're also not Werewolves," he says. "We're Vampires."
The rule could have heavy impacts towards trans people across society.
Last week, the Trump administration quietly released a sweeping new federal rule that would use funding threats to force institutions across the country to reject transgender people. The 400-page proposed regulation would codify the administration's anti-trans executive orders into binding federal policy, imposing a blanket prohibition on federal funds going toward "gender ideology"
The proposed rule, formally titled "Regulation for Federal Financial Assistance," rewrites the government-wide framework governing all federal grants across every agency. Among its most consequential provisions, it requires that before a federal grant recipient can receive money, the award must pass a "pre-issuance review" conducted by a political appointeeânot a career expert or peer reviewerâto ensure it is "consistent with applicable law, Federal agency priorities, and the national interest." The regulation explicitly instructs these appointees to screen for "denial by the recipient of the sex binary in humans or the notion that sex is a chosen or mutable characteristic." [...] An institution that acknowledges transgender people existâthrough its policies, its training, its healthcare, its bathroom access, its HR procedures, its name-change processesâcould be deemed to "deny the sex binary" or to âsupport the notion that sex is mutableâ and have its federal funding blocked.
Importantly, the gender ideology prohibition has no age limitationâhospitals could be targeted not just for providing care to minors but for providing gender-affirming care to adults, because prescribing hormone therapy to a transgender patient of any age could be deemed promoting the belief that "sex is a chosen or mutable characteristic."
This is all very bad and horrible, but I want to be clear that itâs worse and more sweeping than just eliminating trans research.
This torches everything. And I do mean everything.
A very abbreviated list of its ramifications include (but are not limited to):
ending funding for ALL DEI related initiatives
allowing the government to terminate grants at any point for any reason
preventing researchers from publishing, going to conferences, and being part of academic societies
requiring that topics must support the presidentâs agenda.
What this means, and if anything Iâm under selling it, is the death of science and research in America. It allows the government to restrict any topic they please at a whims notice, putting officials who have no background in the topic in charge of deciding funding continuity. It controls what gets researched and if/how researchers are allowed to share their discoveries. There are no books to burn if the government never allows them to be written. This is fascism plain and simple.
Please, if you only ever write one public comment, this is the one to do.
Bringing back this guide to writing an effective public comment. This gives you the basics you need to know, what you need to include, a basic outline you can follow, etc.
Public comments are not a vote, it is a chance for you to say "here is an issue with this law I think you need to address" and provide justification for legal challenges if it goes forward:
"Comments raise the bar that agencies have to meet when making a rule; âif an agency fails to adequately respond to significant, relevant comments in a final rule, members of the public may seek to challenge the rule in court on that basis and claim it could be struck down.Ëź"
But also, if possible, don't stop at writing a comment. Don't stop at calling your representatives. You should ideally be talking to people in your community about this and organizing resistance on-the-ground; there is a good chance people are already doing that even if you aren't hearing about it.
Some added 101-level context from someone (me) whoâs worked in federal grantmaking for 20 years and is literally certified on this document - this is a document that governs all federal grantmaking. Itâs been around for over a decade and is a mega-document that combine multiple previous smaller documents that have been around for ages. It is updated every few years and generally the updates are minor - a notable change in the previous update was raising the small procurement threshold from $10,000 to $15,000 for example. Deeply dry boring minutiae that no one outside of federal grantmakers need concern themselves with. It was also federal GUIDELINES, which means there was flexibility.
This yearâs is different. They are now federal REQUIREMENTS, which means thereâs no flexibility. As was said previously, the 400 pages are not singularly devoted to being absolute shitheads to trans people. Theres a lot of stuff in there, some of which is the standard dry boring grants stuff, some of which is the horrible ideological warfare outlined above.
This document is issued by the OMB, the Office of Management and Budget, which is currently lead by fucking Russell Vought, the principal architect of Project 2025. This is how theyâre going to implement all the horrible shit in there that wasnât covered by Executive Order. Russell Vought is actively coming for my job, my marriage, and my kid, and most of my friends lost their jobs last year because of him. He is the fucking arch villain behind the heinous shit the current regime is doing.
So yes, please comment. You donât have to read all 400 pages before doing so, itâs dry and dense as fuck, but I thought this information might be helpful. Also, while there is a public comment period, this isnât voted on by Congress. The OMB just fucking issues it. Pressuring your elected officials into publicly saying âhey what the fuck are you doing hereâ is good, though.
Please note the comment period is open through JULY 13th, not JUNE 13th. I saw a lot of relogs yesterday saying "last day!" and I just want to say it is very much not too late.
As of today, 7/8/26, we have five days for public commentary on this to go through. I am begging y'all: if you care about independent science in the country that produces the most global science funding in the world, please leave a comment.
So I just simultaneously did, and possibly didn't lose my job today :)
Very much did in the sense that I literally do not know where my job is at the moment. But, for the time being I haven't been let go because nobody else including the store owner knows where it is either.
So, I don't wanna risk doxxing myself by posting pictures but goddamn am I tempted because this is not a believable event. This is a cartoon problem. For looneytoons.
But yeah, so, I work(ed?) at a kiosk selling boba tea, right? Freestanding kiosk in the mall with full water and electrical hookups and multiple fridges and sinks and a mini kitchen and the works. Fully functional tea shop. Very important to note that it was there last night, The work chat was discussing another issue last night at closing time. I'll get back to this.
It's been showing signs of being on the way out with how business is being handled lately and I've been considering other options, which is probably why I'm not as torn up about this as I should be, but maybe it just hasn't set in yet, but that's not the point. The point is there's been a lot of shit breaking and not being replaced and nobody mentioning anything about it until I walk into work in the morning and have to figure out why shit like the fucking cash register isn't there today. So I'm kinda used to having to ask questions about big things that nobody bothered to update me on. I was out for two weeks recovering from a surgery, so I came to work this morning assuming there'd be some kind of bullshit, yeah?
So, the question I had to ask the chat this morning was:
Not a text I ever thought I'd have to send in sincerity, but there it is. Because what I found instead was a fenced off patch of discolored tiles and a few holes in the floor where my entire place of employment used to be.
And the answer? Nobody knows! It was there last night when the mall closed, and every single trace of the structure and all its contents including drink making supplies and our safe and cashbox was gone when it opened again. And when I say nobody knows, I mean everyone from last night's closers to the actual (former?) owner of the store jad no fucking clue about this until getting that text from me this morning. For once I am actually the first to know. đ.
So. I guess I didn't so much lose my job as had it stolen. Not by AI, but good old fashioned hands-on human beings picking it up and carrying it away somehow. All mall security would tell me was that they were instructed not to tell me anything and have us contact our management. Who also don't know anything. And later on I came across some construction workers around the gravesite of the kiosk discussing filling in the holes, asked them about it, and was told that they "weren't at liberty to say".
So, not only is my job gone in the most literal physical sense of the word, but it was taken in some kind of super secret kiosk extraction in the dead of night without any warning or witnesses and nobody is allowed to speak of it. The store owner said she was gonna figure it out 10 hours ago and still no word back.
I don't know what else to say aside from I've been laughing all day and I'm gonna have a hell of a time explaining Schrodinger's Unemployment to the benefits office.
Update that is not an update because I'm basically certain this isn't what actually happened:
My mother in law thinks the FBI took it.
Not any of the other stores around the state. Just the one little kiosk.
Why? Because she loves a conspiracy and is just a little bit extra.
Also because she was around for the massive crackdown on Yakuza-owned businesses in Waikiki (in her homestate) that did actually involve the FBI seizing stores (no confirmation of making kiosks cleanly disappear in the middle of the night though).
Still no word from my job on what's actually going on, but the most likely theory so far is that maybe the kiosk was on lease and got repossessed? The mystery continues
(also shout out to the person who proposed Carmen Sandiego)
According to the owner, based on what she's been able to find out, the kiosk was not removed legally and they're starting a potentially long process of legal action. I hope she gets to sue the shit out of whoever did it but for now at least I know for sure I'm unemployed.
Really hoping for more details in terms of who/why/how, so I'll keep updating if I learn anything.
For now the summary is: An unnamed entity that is most likely mall management (on account of mall security cooperating with them) stole an entire kiosk and all the contents including money and machinery with barely a trace in the middle of the night grinch-style, with zero warning or explanation, and ensured the silence of both security and the construction crew, in an action that was definitely preplanned and illegal, and as far as I know nobody knows its whereabouts.
So now I'm officially out of a job. Because my workplace was literally stolen in the night.
Actually fuck it let's share some photos cause I wouldn't be inclined to believe this myself. It's not like anyone can stalk me at my job now and I'm not gonna have to see any coworkers that might find my tumblr.
Enjoy the unintentionally funniest text I've ever sent in my life
Aaand a close-up:
The last remains of a once Very Much Solid And Immobile Workplace
edit: I should clarify this isn't my kiosk. my kiosk was probably taken out in pieces and most likely by mall management. but it's an extremely funny coincidence
Still haven't heard back from the unemployment office, but a few days ago I ended up telling this to the SNAP caseworker, who absolutely lost her shit and then put everything on hold to go investigate this herself out of a sense of justice and Needing To Know More. World's most nosy angel who helped me out a lot in general (in case she ends up seeing this: I appreciate her so much).
While she didn't find a facebook listing for a used kiosk (yes, that post is just a coincidence, I'm sorry), what she did find was the actual kiosk for sale. By the owner. On a reputable website.
Now, there are a lot of funny conclusions to be drawn from this, but I'm afraid it's not quite that wild. I asked a friend in management about it and turns out the listing is from months before the disappearance, it wasn't kept a secret, it just wasn't relevant. She had been trying to sell it for a while without much luck, wasn't selling the entire business, but just the kiosk with that branch included (the listing advertised that it would include the equipment and drink recipes and retain the current staff). It also said the lease with the mall was active until some time in 2027.
So, no, as funny as that would be, the owner did not heist her own kiosk. However, what this does tell us is:
She must have owned the kiosk outright, so the only way this could be a repossession is if she had a mortgage on it? I guess?
It definitely isn't about the lease being up. So any eviction would legally require like 30-days notice and, presumably, a valid reason like a violation of the terms. (this is how it works with renting homes in my country, and I've never rented a business location, so I can only guess that it's similar)
The store was not financially beneficial enough to keep. This could just mean that she was focusing on other ventures like she says in the listing, but it could really also mean that she was having money trouble and couldn't afford to keep the location.
SO. This leaves the most likely scenario being that the owner was behind on rent, and the mall manager (who has a history of being outta control and pulling shit like this, as well as harassing asian businesses and our shop specifically) decided to illegally remove the entire kiosk about it.
Still no confirmation at all about anything, but I remembered the listing today and realized it gave some additional clues.
Also, sorry to go asking, but I'm gonna slip my ko-fi link in here because both final checks and unemployment are taking much longer than expected, and I had to move apartments very suddenly (like found out the day after losing my job kine sudden), which is burning through my savings too. The job market in my region is absolute dogshit right now and I'm partially disabled so I'm kinda freaking out. Everyone's struggling right now so if you're enjoying the story but can't donate please don't feel guilty, I also like sharing the laughs.
#wait sentinel aus are based on an actual show???#I thought they were just one of those inexplicable Fandom Things - im WHEEZING, i love this so much
never Once have I ever seen a reference to an actual extant intellectual property, itâs always âwhat if we had this super complicated codependent pseudo-magic sci-fi thing going onâ and then just running with it OTL
i do not have the spoons to FULLY get into it, as it demands, but the one with the military haircut (heâs a cop, a âprotectorâ, câest la vie) is Jim Ellison, former Army Ranger, repressed fool. curly haired bb is Blair Sandburg, an anthropology grad student who realizes Jim is a Sentinel of legend, latches onto him like a remora, and Jim basically leans on Blair like a crutch all the while pretending he doesnât care for him in a very âI made you a friendship braceletâ âugh grossâ âwell you donât have to---â âshut up Iâm gonna wear itâ way
they were handsyÂ
HANDSY I SAY
they STARTED handsyÂ
they moved in together in like. ep one.Â
they become partners in the cop sense, they do a lot of gift of the magi shit for each other, every time I start to think of the stupid shit they do for another I remember More Weird Shit, codependent fucking weirdosÂ
Okay, I absolutely MUST chime in For The Sentinel which NEVER gets the respect of its peers just because "the plots were a little convoluted" and the "central premise wore a little thin as the seasons went on." those men were in love. THOSE MEN WERE LOVERS!!!!!
What you need to know about The Sentinel is that the very first episode is about Jim Ellison acquiring mystical powers. YES I want to be clear, the way he acquires these powers is "problematical" and "not great, respecting indigenous cultures wise" but okay, so he's got these powers that make all of his senses amped up to dangeous levels. he can hear things no one else can hear, he can see things like he's fucking legolas, you get the deal.
so he goes to the doctor to be like "i feel weird" because of course, and Blair Sandberg, twink anthropologist to the stars, BREAKS SEVERAL LAWS to get in Jim's exam room and sayâi know how to help you. i know what's wrong with you. i know how to make life better. and jim ellison looked at the little twink man and said yes....YES to love YES to life YES to living in a 1 bedroom LOFT apartment together. YES to being soulmates and life partners! YES I'LL MARRY YOU!!!!!!
This is the ORIGINAL big gruff german sheppard/lil yapping chihuahua pairing. And fandom looked at this show and said "this is good. i will build a kingdom upon this land. from now on, these are the two genders: big, angry, powerful, forced to their knees by circumstances beyond their control AND small, jokester, has skills INVALUABLE to Big, bad self worth. And then so the sentinel/guide aus RULED the pervert community, and everyone rejoiced.
And then SPN looked at this, and said "but what if the guides also had wet butts" and u kno what? innovation is CRUCIAL.
my friend had Sentinel VHS tapes acquired from someone on the internet and basically every episode featured tough military man Jim being driven to his knees in agony verging on madness bc of his mystical senses being overwhelmed and tiny commie academic Blair soothing him and healing his agonies by touching him (and communicating with him via psychic leopards????) so they could save lives and the show wasnât GOOD but my god it was something
God this was such an important fandom to me. My Sentinel friends are my family now, more than a quarter of a century later. Merryish, who first offered my fanfic a home* in â1997? 1998?âtaught my kid to snorkel 20 years later. Flummery are my kidâs fairy godmothers. I basically married astolat 25 years ago. And every time I see one of you Sentinel people online (waves to a bunch of you who reblogged this) I feel like Iâve run into someone from the old country! That fandom literally changed my life.
But also, fannishly, so inventive! Some of the first vids I ever saw back before there were computers âVHS vids, wonderful ones. (Shout out to GloRo!) Great great fanfic and art. I still have gorgeous zines from this period. And the loft tape! Go to fanlore and look up the loft tape you guys!!
*before the AO3! When you needed someone to host your fic! This is part of why we built the AO3! So many (so many!!!) Sentinel people involved in building the AO3! Astolat built the Sentinel archive, 852 Prospect, a decade before the AO3, that was our first practice archive software. That software was adapted and used in other fandoms like due South. Seah and I were both DS archivists. This is all part of the story of how the AO3 came about. The sentinel/guide trope is the least of it. The Sentinelâs impact on fandom is totally outsized considering what a minor show it was. But it had a great concept that it did not fully exploit, which I think is in fact, what an amazing fandom needs.
Yes, The Sentinel was a real show in the 1990s, and gave us one of the classic fandom tropes, please check out The Sentinel, Jim/Blair, and Sentinel AU pages on Fanlore!
so this post has blown up; turns out a lot of people feel the same way I do. If you're feeling conflicted or upset over 4th of July, I've compiled a list of educational resources and charities, both regarding US and international issues, which you can look into if you'd like. Issues here include humanitarian aid to Gaza, Ukraine, and the Caribbean, as well as reproductive, LGBT, BIPOC, and disability rights in the US.
woke up and saw people were reblogging this again. anyway, yeah. america is still being really mean and I do not want to go to its birthday party today
if you would like to spite the really mean people even more today, consider donating to raices con voz. they're a student-led organization in los angeles, who deliver food and essential supplies to immigrant families who can't leave their homes due to the ICE raids. More information about them here
EDIT: Had to fix the link! please reblog this version instead
another year of not wanting to go to america's birthday party in two days. because it's really mean. so we should help the people that america is being really mean to
in keeping with tradition, here is a link to unicef's fund for emergency health supplies and services for survivors of the venezuela earthquakes.
here is another link for manos in action, an organization that delivers supplies, such as food and childcare items, to latin american immigrants in central florida. I've participated in one of their local food drives; they're great. if you're not local to central florida, you can always donate money.
the other links are still available too, so feel free to check those out!
part of me wants to be like "do people really not know this" and part of me knows full well i only read the labels because i have gut problems and don't want to suffer
anyway i've had my eye on the fat content for years. actual ice cream made with real cream won't trigger my lactose intolerance, because the higher the fat content of dairy, the lower the lactose content. my personal tipping point is around half-and-half so if you make "ice cream" with with skim milk, the enshittification i experience is unfortunately literal
whenever people talk about working in an office i never even consider what their office does. they work at Business doing Business Things. have Meetings and Drink Coffee. you are a cartoon character to me
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