#...I've realized there's just the possibility I don't have supply which is the reason I tend to hate myself most of the time

[angeltism]

I don't know if I should keep reading about NPD to purrhaps get answers for my current situation or stop completely and stay blissfully ignorant for the rest of my life /hj

[roseshewrites]

POV: Lucifer comforts you during an ugly cry

-Depressed reader

-Self loathing reader

-Artistic reader

If you need an ugly cry, now's the time. Lucifer's got yah. 💖

You were curled up on the window seat by your bed, staring despondently out at the hellish night sky. 

It had been a bad day for you. 

Nothing had gone wrong per se, but for some weird reason this morning, you had woken up feeling so...sad. You tried to ignore it. You drank your morning coffee, said hello as cheerfully as possible to the other inhabitants of the hotel. Even going so far as to help Charlie and her dad with their day to day patron check ins and inventory detailing.

And to be honest, it was nigh impossible to feel fucking sad around them both. Charlie, with her bright happy demeanor, and the ease that Lucifer chuckled at your jokes, you started to feel around midafternoon that maybe your bad mood that morning was just a random event. 

But, no. 

Because as soon as you were alone, as soon as you realized you had your own shit to do and got back to your room, the silence and isolation of it hit your ears and heart and you just stood there staring at the mess on the floor. 

You had so much to do. Messes to clean up, artwork commissions that people were waiting on, written pieces that needed editing and published; your bathroom was a mess, and you had no clean towels, so you couldn't shower this mood away. The clothes you're in are still relatively fresh but have been worn all day to now, so just to get out of them and into some pajamas would be a blessing. 

 But you had no clean clothes either. They were all in a pile on the floor. 

You don't know how long you stood there just staring at everything, but it was awhile. Long enough for you to curl up on your window seat, fall asleep in the hell's afternoon sun, and ignore the pain that beat in your chest with your heart, and that threatened to make pinpricks of tears form in your closed eyes. 

You had awoken tireder than before, hungry and thirsty, and now just flat out pissed at yourself for napping the day away instead of taking this low maintenance time at the Hotel to deal with your own business. 

You gulped, fighting that emotion, feeling your cheeks heat up with rage at yourself when a soft knock echoed from your door, and you jumped, not expecting it at all. 

"Hey-O, it's Lucifer. Can I come in?" 

His deep voice boomed a bit. Definitely hard to miss. 

"Y-yeah," you called hesitantly, then cringed when the door actually cracked open, spilling light with it onto the carpeted floor of your room which illuminated each and every embarrassing pile of clothing, art supplies, and random clutter that you hadn't been able to bring yourself to pick up in the past week no matter how you berated yourself for it. 

"Oh fuck" you said, "I'm so sorry. It's a mess in here. I'm sorry." 

But Lucifer was already cheerfully making his way across the room, not paying any attention to the inner workings of the room. Thank god.

He waved your apologies away going, "No, no, I've seen worse I promise!" 

Maybe he was inwardly judging you for it. But nothing on his face suggested that at all, actually he seemed mainly focused on having a seat beside you. You scooted over so he could, and the two of you sat in silence for a little bit. 

You played with your hair, willing yourself to speak to him, as he surely must have come in here for a reason, but the words for idle chatter were definitely not in your vocabulary right now. You settled with letting the side of your forehead rest on your window, the cool glass easing your aching head a bit. 

"You okay, kiddo?" He said softly. 

You shook your head silently, not wanting the tears that leaked out at that question. Why was it when someone asked when you were okay, everything hurt even more? 

"I don't know what's wrong with me," you whispered, the tears tracking past your lips, salty and hot. Your lip trembled unwillingly. Embarrassed about this, you bit your lip and fought to get your crumpled face somewhat under control. 

"I could tell something was wrong earlier." 

You peeked at him. He was blurry through the tears but you could make out the round shape of his face, how hell's moonlight illuminated his blond hair and cast shadows across his cheeks. He had his hat off and was holding it in his hands. 

Lucifer spotted you looking, and smiled, his kind crimson eyes crinkling. 

"You could?" You whispered. 

"Yeah, hun. You wanna talk about it?" 

"I - I just-" you gulped, stifling a sob that wanted to rise, and you wanted to talk, but the golfball of anger in your throat prevented you. 

"Hey, hey!" He scooted closer, closing a small dark hand over yours. You nearly flinched at the closeness, but you appreciated the gesture anyway. "Tell me about it. I'm not here to judge, honey, I swear. I promise." 

"I just FEEL like this for no reason!!" You burst out, the emotional whirlwind coming undone, finally undammed in your voice which was horrible and made your heart beat fast, "I have NO REASON to be sad. NONE. And why?! Because my brain decided it one day?! And I'm just stuck like this forever?!" 

The tumultuous sob that broke from you then was ungodly. You had felt this constant sadness as an undercurrent in your chest and stomach for as long as you could remember, and had coped with it as best as you knew how for all that time. And here it was, rearing its ugly face in the form of choking, hot angry sobs that had your body and throat trembling in front of the King of Hell, of all people- 

"Oh sweety, no. Come here. Come here..." 

You felt arms around you, strong and warm, and you tensed, then when you realized he really didn't mind, melted into his arms and allowed him to truly hold you, your face pushed into his chest and silently scream into the fabric of his warm clean smelling jacket. 

He held and rocked you, stroking your hair softly, the rumble of his deep voice vibrating as he said, "Let it out. It's all right. Just let it out. I'm here." 

You clutched his jacket and your breath was hot as the ugly cry wracked you, his shoulder steadying and his hand playing with your hair as he continued to comfort you, as your breathing slowed steadily until it was a series of hiccups that filled you with tiredness. His shoulder was wet, but he didn't seem to mind. 

You sniffed, whispering, "I'm sorry." 

"Why?" 

"Because. I'm upset for no fucking reason. No reason at all." 

"It's called depression, honey. I've been there. Sometimes, you just feel that way. Sometimes it seems like it lasts forever. Like it'll never stop. Right?" 

"...Yeah.." You sniffed again. "I can't. I don't remember. I've never been - completely-" 

"You've never felt all the way normal?" 

"Yeah." 

He released you, digging into his pocket for a handkerchief which he handed you, and you took gratefully, blowing your nose with an embarrassing amount of snot and leftover tears leaking from your itchy eyes. 

"Tell you a secret. I never have, either." 

You looked up, surprised. "You?" 

"Yeah," he chuckled, "Me." 

"The King of Hell has major depressive disorder?" You choked into the wet napkin, unable to help a sob-sounding little giggle - "-Sorry-" 

"No, laugh it's okay, because it is kinda ridiculous, right?" He grinned, "Me. One of the first angels. God's favorite. And there's something chemically wrong with my brain! Go figure, right?" 

"Dude that's fucked up," you giggled, hiccuping. 

"It is, right?!" 

"So effed. Fuck God, honestly-" 

"You're not joking," Lucifer said so seriously that you cracked up into a hysterical giggle, and his booming chuckles filled the room musically. 

"Ahh, fuck," you said, feeling warmer, a lot better, and a little adrenaline-rushed. But calmer. 

"Wanna tell me about it?" 

"It's this," you gestured at the room, "God it's a mess. I have so much to do, and...I've been doing none of it." 

It all poured out of you, then, your story- how over your own head you were with your own chores, the physical ones that were only as simple as laundry, and keeping your area clean, and then continued with the work you needed to do that people were expecting from you. That you expected from yourself but were somehow unable to find the energy for. 

"It just sounds like you're overwhelmed, that's all. And that happens with depression," he related. "You've been fighting for so long, it catches up with you, and you just melt down. I get it, sweety. I do." 

"It just never has before. I usually don't let it get to me like this." 

"And that's okay," he reassured you, "Really. You gotta take the good with the bad. And if you happen to need some help, that's all right too. You might need medication, something to take the edge off. In my experience it doesn't kill the depression entirely, but..." 

"It makes it tolerable?" 

"With how deep yours goes, yes," he said. 

"That sucks." 

"I know, hun." 

"I might never be free from it," you sighed.

"Well there's definitely no cure-all for it, but like I said, there are ways to cope, and ways to fight it, and make it through without losing your mind entirely." 

"I want it to stop. I don't like being this way." 

"Me neither," he agreed. "When it comes to having felt that way for your whole life, I understand. There might not be a way out, but there is a way through. Get it?" 

You nodded, "I think so." 

"Ready to get up and clean your room a little?" 

You smiled, "Yeah.." 

"Come on," he hopped up, taking your hand and helping you up too. You stumbled because you had been sitting so long that your legs were asleep. 

Lucifer cut on some lights- not the overheads, those were too bright for you and made you want to hiss- so the bedside lamp on your night stand was switched on, and the both of you commenced to picking up around the room. 

Lucifer was asking you the occasional question or remarking like "Where do I put this?"- and, "Oh I loved that book, you have good taste-" 

All this until your dirty laundry was confined to a hamper in your closet, your artwork (some of it wrinkled) put into neat piles on your desk, your laptop was found somewhere under the bed, along with a series of truly monstrous dust bunnies and several pairs of shoes you'd forgotten you even owned. 

"I'll do something for you, but just this once," he winked, then snapped his fingers and with a golden -pop!-, your dirty laundry flew into the air from the hamper, rippled itself clean then cascaded one by one into your dresser drawers nicely folded and put away. A fresh scent of tide lingered in the air. 

"Don't go asking me to do your laundry all the time though, kid- oof" 

You had caught him up in a sudden warm hug, squeezing him tight while he chuckled into your shoulder. You'd forgotten you were a whole head taller than him. 

"You're welcome," he grinned up at you. "You gonna be okay?" 

You nodded, and smiled in return, loving how his eyes glinted and shone with that jester like amusement. 

"I'll be okay," you told him. 

After he left, and after you had showered and gotten changed, you sat at the end of your freshly made bed and sighed, waiting for that returning feeling of hopelessness. It tried, but it didn't go very far. You were very tired. 

No, there were a lot of ways that you would never be okay. But there were also people surrounding you who loved you, and care for your well-being and existence. There are ways to cope, like Lucifer was saying, and all that. 'You can be gentle with yourself,' you thought. 'Maybe come back to your work after tomorrow...take a day to unwind and brainstorm..' 

With that in mind, you turned off the lights, crawled in between clean sheets, and dozed off knowing that your journey into healing would continue to grow into something much better than it is now. 

You just have to work on it. 

[ukigumos]

« ooc / meluna -

So, puts hands together. Just a little warning for some venting, so please feel free to scroll past if you don't have the spoons.

I've been in a flight response for the past 2 days. Recently, I lost about 80% of my core friend group to a covert narcissist. Trusting people has been extremely difficult since then.

I ended up going no contact with a lot of people over this, but there was one friend that I believed was sensible that I was hoping we could patch things up with. It has been about 11 months since I went no contact with the narc, and I've been watching that friend and the narc get even closer.

A delusional part of me was hoping that my friend would realize and they are possibly becoming the next supply (because I was the main one) because it seems like they have taken up that role. But they seem more than content hanging around a genuinely awful person.

Admittedly I have been grey rocking because the narc has a history of sending flying monkeys out to people who wronged them. I was a former flying monkey myself, so I know how it works VERY well.

Well, 2 days ago, this friend approached me asking me about how I had reconnected with a person I had a falling out with. Things ended rough because I ended up siding with the narc out of fear and jumped the gun despite knowing that this person meant well and things were being twisted. I deeply regretted this for so long that I kept having recurring nightmares about it hoping I could apologize, in which I got to, and we've been working on repairing our relationship since.

But for some reason, my friend, after weeks of not talking to me, comes up to me and has the audacity to say 'I can't help but be surprised to see you being "close" again with (friend)? Have you reconciled after all that went on?'

And now in retrospect, this screams flying monkey behaviour. I've been trembling uncontrollably on and off every time I think about this and it's frankly awful. I've been trying to ground myself but I keep landing my brain into the 'everybody hates me and I will never ever form genuine connections, I will never be able to trust anybody' thoughts. Obviously that is the bad bad CPTSD brain but god fucking dangit, is it hard to combat. I have lost my friends to a narc again and there is only two people I talk to on the daily.

I have no fucking idea how to let people in, how to friend, how to relationships, it's stressful and I suck at it.

I don't know how to help myself out of this aside from maybe I need some reassurance but sometimes I think that what if this is a case of I need to check if I'm the one with shit under my shoes?

[apricotbuncakes]

I Need Top Surgery ASAP

My dysphoria is off the charts. I've been doing literally anything I can to reduce the dysphoria around my chest but it is way too costly for me to buy trans tape that doesn't work well for me and chest binders that stretch out even with proper washing. Binding regularly makes it near impossible to breath and with my job as a lifeguard it's really unsafe to bind because of how hot the pool room is and the physical demand of the job. I end up having to bind anyway though because daily dysphoria is more crippling than milder dysphoria and some breathing troubles.

I've wanted top surgery since I was 14. For years I've had dreams of getting top surgery and crying when I wake up because it wasn't real. Now at 20 the possibility is finally here to make my dreams come true, for me to resolve my chest dysphoria and back pain, to make me feel more comfortable as myself. I've needed top surgery for YEARS but am just now reasonably able to get it.

If you donate ANY amount of money (a few cents, a dollar, five, ten, twenty, whatever!!) to this gofundme you will get your name personally written on a trans flag that I will share online! Anonymous donors will have their own section of the flag so you can still get recognition without your name being displayed publicly! So far the GoFundMe has raised $255! Through my own savings, the total money saved is a bit past $310.

Can't donate? Reblog, repost this GoFundMe to other platforms. Share with friends who may be able to financially contribute. Just share it around (and be sure to link the GoFundMe too!!).

More Info:

I realize some people are hesitant to just donate money to those they don't know so my ask box is open for any questions you might have about the GoFundMe, but I'll go over the broad strokes here too!

"Do you have someone willing to perform the surgery on you?"

I already have a surgeon willing to perform top surgery on me AND a therapist willing to write a letter to said surgeon to also verify that this surgery is appropriate for me!

"Why is it so expensive?"

The surgeon I chose has told me the price for the surgery itself is $8,500 BUT! My goal is $10,000 because of other costs associated with the surgery! Things like aftercare supplies (things to help with scarring, comfort items, etc), bills (car, phone, pet supplies, student loans) that I won't be able to earn the money for during recovery, and after surgery visits. There are other smaller expenses to take into account as well that I haven't listed. All of those things cost A LOT. I likely won't be able to work for a few months after surgery due to not only recovery time but also my line of work, which is why I'm including them in the surgery cost. All of these things have to be taken into account for the pricing, hence why my goal is $10,000.

"Why can't you just go through your insurance?"

The fuckers gave me an out of date list of surgeons in my area, most of which don't specialize in top surgery or related procedures, and SEVERAL of the surgeons on there are actually deceased. They have been of no further help on this. Of the surgeons eligible on the list, ONE responded (and he was an absolute dick who told me I had to lose weight before he would even consider performing it on me). They also have a load of requirements like being a whole year on HRT (I'm only 7 months at the end of April 2024), having a certain BMI (a bullshit requirement for ANYTHING), and a handful of other factors that I wouldn't be able to meet reasonably soon Truly, out of pocket is the safest and best option for me.

"Why can't you just get a breast reduction?"

What's the point of a reduction if I'm going to bind what's left anyway? I don't want my breasts. They distress me and make me dysphoric. Top Surgery is the best option for me.

"What happens if you don't need all the money you raised?"

In the unlikely event that I don't need all the money I'm asking for, I will likely use it for other important things in my life or donate the money to someone else who needs top surgery. I'll likely donate through GoFundMe, but I'll look around locally too in case there's someone who needs money in my community.

My ask box is open if you have any other questions not addressed here.

[darkbluekies]

I was actually going to sleep then I saw you respond to my ask, I'm actually very interested and intrigued so I wanted to respond immediately!

— Jesus fucking Christ they actually measured the entirety of the ship? That level of hm, how does one describe this, pettiness or determination? Perhaps a sense of both, I mean I'd get petty too if I lost something valuable and ended up getting an unfair compensation. I wonder what the reaction of the Germans were when they realized they actually measured it.

— oh god that's actually so fucking hilarious 😭😭 getting worked up over nothing, I mean, at least they had a design? 😭

— That's quite something, Grey Ghost? Why is QMS nickname Grey Ghost? Does it have relations due to it being not found?

— I... I have no idea what to say 😭 that's actually so ironic

— Holy shit a ship sinking in just 14 minutes is plain terrifying?? Why did it sink that fast anyways?

— Wow... That's actually really sad and quite brave of him too, I don't think I've heard of the Wilhelm Gustloff disaster and 9000 deaths in one night is crazy. Hopefully that guy is doing alright, it's possible he might get survivors guilt, I might research about the disaster and see what I can find!

— woah, the first design is quite pretty! The second one reminds me of a factory for some reason

Ahh this is what little brain juice I can squeeze out from my brain, though I actually enjoyed this and it made my night more interesting! :D I'll head off to sleep now, goodnight!

—🌊

— lol apparently? there were more petty things in that affair, such as painting a ship supposed to be given to White Star Line in Germany's colors, turnign the british officers' quarters to a cleaning supply room etc lmao

— it was a design alright ... just not a good one. The wings of the golden eagle fell of during a storm so they're at the bottom of the atlantic right now. The eagle looks even more stupid without the wings😭 (picture at the bottom)

—The ship was painted fully grey because it was used as a troop ship which made it hard to find it. The ship was extremely fast, so it was fast to catch her. These two characteristics earned her the name The Grey Ghost. (picture at the bottom)

— the ships weren't even alike???? one had an funnel and whatnot?? i'm not even sure how they thought that it would work ... and it clearly didn't.

— It was a foggy night and two ships were supposed to go past each other, but in the fog they couldn't see each others lights, so a norweigan ship called Storstad rammed the side of Empress of Ireland and cut up a gigantic hole. The ship itself was almost half the size of titanic. A lot of people died that night because they didn't have the time to get out.

— I'm not even sure it was legal to sink the WG? I know that it had been a hospital ship during WW2 (it's seen as a war crime to sink a hospital ship), but it seems like it had returned to a normal ship during the time WG was sunk. The reason (i think) why it was sunk was because a lot of nazi party members were on board with their families, supposedly relocating to another country, and was sunken by soviet submarines. WIlhelm Gustloff could only carry 1465 passangers, but had around 10 000 during its sinking. Although there were many bad people on board there were children as well. The actor was a small child, so i hope that he doesn't remember much of it, because I cannot imagine the horror he must live with otherwise.

— Unfortunately, the times were changing and the edwardian design was no longer popular :( I would have loved another Olympmic class liner :(

here's a before an after of the eagle lmao

From left to right: SS Normandie, RMS Queen Mary, RMS Aquitania

I could talk about ocean liners forever. If I got paid by the hour to talk about them I would be so fucking rich I'm telling you

[dinosaurcharcuterie]

At the risk of yelling at clouds, here's one thing you need to know when you become an exchange student that no one will tell you.

You need to listen to your host parents. And I'm not saying that in the "kids these days have no respect" kinda way. Yeah, every year, regardless of your location, there will be a few students who don't respect or listen to their host parents. They're not popular with anyone, and might exclude their home country from being considered for exchanges with their host country in the future. Some organizations offer second chances. Some put you on the next flight home. You'll be warned about that bit. They're not exaggerating.

The second reason, and the one I learned before I ever knew I'd do an exchange of my own, is because There's A Reason They're Telling You That. And, yes, that sounds condescending as all get-out, so here's the story of how I learned that through observation.

Now, just as a preface: this is not an exceptional exchange student story. There's gonna be several people in every exchange program, long or short, who have a story like this. Some more spectacular than others. One fellow student in my year had no one to learn from before her. Her backpack got yeeted off Preikestolen and she spent 6 weeks without personal documents or bank cards. My baby guest sister, the most respectful and meek girl you've ever seen, accidentally committed sacrilege on several levels during Sunday Mass at a Catholic church.

It was the perfect May in Western Europe. Temperatures were in the low to mid twenties, clouds were fluffy, and a local high school my brother went to had organized a two week exchange with a high school in California. The Euros had come back and readjusted, so they imported the baby Muricans and prepared a nicely culture heavy itinerary for the 17-18-yos.

The Californians realized within 6 hours that they could legally get wine and beer. Bars, cafés, supermarkets,... Some had it for breakfast. So, logically, they wanted as much space as possible in their luggage and day packs for souvenirs and... Well, they could get a 12 pack each on their lunch break without anyone batting an eye. As long as the teachers didn't notice you were tipsy, all was well.

They did not understand why their host parents (and local student counterparts) were baffled and alarmed at them going absolutely nuts for it. Ours came home on the verge of alcohol poisoning on the fourth day. I have not heard my mother so angry before or since. She wasn't speaking English, but the gist of it didn't need much translation. It wasn't until I went to university that I saw someone vomit that much. It is still the only time I've seen someone cut back from mindless binge drinking to "nah, three's enough for me, bro" in under 12 hours.

These were not unintelligent kids. They followed their itinerary, they had sourced and packed everything on their supply lists, they checked the weather forecast (even if they didn't understand the commentary) and dressed as well as they could for the weather. Which, as I said before, was perfect T-shirt and shorts weather for the entire two weeks.

The second day we had our adopted West Coast Drought Bunny with us, my parents scraped together their English vocabulary to advise the teens pack a rain coat for their city trip of the day. Not an umbrella, a rain coat. They did the parental thing and repeated themselves several times. My brother demonstrated he had packed his lightweight, wind proof, foldable rain coat and his American counterpart just smiled and assured them he'd be okay.

He came back soaked, having broken one overpriced pocket umbrella sold at tourist traps, switched to one of those thin plastic rain ponchos and ripped that too. He'd also made the genius decision to wear heavy denim jeans and canvas sneakers instead of quick dry cargo shorts and sandals. He had had two hours of sitting in his wet clothes on the bus to consider why he was in this predicament. You can guess what happened next.

Next day, lather, rinse, repeat. Minus the umbrella and jeans, at least. He still was starting to get a full-body rash from being in wet clothes so much.

Fourth day, pre-beer incident, my parents wised up enough to make this optimist with his undying faith in the sunny forecast symbol get out and show his raincoat, and then pack it in front of them, before they would take them to the bus.

This stylish, very expensive, brand name, survival grade rain coat did not have a hood. It was water proof, it fit well, but it assumed weather was a thing that moved straight down at all times, so it is always more versatile to just use a hat or umbrella.

That is not true in spring, or even summer, in Western Europe. Every weather deity has seen the BS that area of the planet has pulled, historically, and is not done punishing them for it. Rain can and does come out of nowhere, most likely with wind, at any angle it damn well pleases, and doesn't leave until it's ruined at least one outfit via the neck or shoulder seam. Maybe it lasts 10 minutes, could be all day. You want a garment that covers your head and core like the least flattering 19th century condom imaginable. Something that won't tear when slip and fall while you run for cover.

He got sent out with my dad's backup coat (approximately 20 years out fashion, five sizes too big and smelling as all emergency clothing does) and came home relatively dry. Progress.

The following afternoon, after a very, very quiet brunch, my mother calmly announced she was taking the boys into town, and our exchange student was going to buy a proper rain coat, because she raised a sensible child who would happily translate for his mother and the store employees, and our guest student had been deemed responsible enough act in his own best interests before he came over. She did not want to call this boy's parents to say he ended up in the ER. Certainly not for pneumonia.

Side fact: if something is commonplace in your host country, there's probably a decent version of it that's affordable in a nearby store. The Californian rain jacket had cost a sum that made my parents question his parents' good judgement. The tiny little "reverts into a silly little pillow you can strap around your waist" thing that actually kept him dry for the next week cost about 90% less.

He didn't complain about it, and my parents didn't report that night of drinking to any teacher. The kids were in 12th grade. My parents knew, from personal experience, that all teens will eventually do unspeakably stupid stuff, and getting tyrannical about it only makes them scared to call home when they really fuck up. They did, however, call all the other parents in class to tell them to check their students' rain coats, and that stores X, Y and Z had a deal on in case they were unpleasantly surprised.

Mysteriously, the teachers reported less "whining" during the second week. Less negative feedback from bus drivers about sopping wet seats. Less blue lips and fingers, because 21°C is way colder when you're soaked than when you're dry. Less vacation pictures with wet hair, too.

So listen to your host parents. About stuff that seems obvious, like maybe not starting your morning with a heavy ale, and about stuff that makes zero sense, like packing a rain coat on the sunniest day imaginable.

[dennydraws]

Here is to 2024!

Hello, hello ~ I didn't get to do a proper new year journal entry about 2023, about plans for 2024... so here it is! \o/

I think 2023 was a year of growth for me. I finally invested into getting an ipad and procreate and while it was the cheapest possible I could grab, it tremendously improved my art in both speed and quality. I realized my biggest issue with digital art was how tired I was after work. I just couldn't bring myself to hunch over my desk and even if I was dying to draw I just couldn't. But the ipad made it possible to draw everywhere and after work, drawing from the couch was like a blessing! I don't look into investing further into bigger ipad, the gen 9 one is absolutely perfect for my needs so far. :>

2023 was no buy new art supplies year! I attempted to do big art challenge where I use my current art supplies with reckless abandon ...but for one reason or another (ok lets be real, I just juggle too much at once xD;; ) I couldn't keep up. However, I did resist buying new art supplies and gave away most if not all that weren't working for me! Which felt great! It's just so sad seeing art supplies that aren't used and seeing someone excited to receive them just gave me ultimate warm fuzzies :D Going into 2024 I think to continue with the no buy art supplies until my current stash is reduced some. Not that I have abundance of brands and things but I tend to be on the minimalist side and I don't enjoy having clutter of supplies if I can help it.

Onto 2024 with... hopefully a Youtube Channel! That's right! That's a new thing :D;; I want to start doing art youtube videos! But also, again let's be real. I don't know if I will be able to keep up with it. So I don't want to overly invest into it money wise but also, it's something I've wanted to do for years now but something kept getting on the way. So I think I want to try it now! I have this giggly excitement over the idea of planning what pictures to draw and editing and showing the process and talking about it... or talk about art and life in general, I hope it will be fun! And I hope it will be fun to watch for whoever might be interested to give it a look :D Return of the sketchbook flip through videos? :D;; Of course every beginning is hard and awkward and it will be sloppy but also, that's also part of the fun! I want to keep it casual and fun - no stress, only good vibes!

Sneric Comic, Sneric Comic! Oh, boy I need to get back into the gist of things again! XD I have outlined chapter 10 but the story bits after are a bit on the vague side. I'm still looking forward to putting the story together and printing it one day to have it on my shelf and be like - another one done! \o/ I'll get there, slow and steady!

So... onto 2024 where I hope I will do more with my art than scatter images through social media. And of course new adventures in FF14! And at last Eiyuden comes out (I backed it way back during kickstarter :D!) and maybe we'll finally see the Suikoden remaster come out too!

Okay that got too long! Thank you for stopping by, dear reader! I hope 2024 is amazing for you and full of positive growth!

[cr1mson5returns]

"Either your trauma makes you sickeningly mentally ill or it makes you really fun at open mic karaoke night!" Well, mine did both. So.

It's no secret that I'm having really intense emotional shifts right now. A huge part of it is related to medication, which sounds terrible but is actually good news all things considered. I was approved for a patient assistance program to get the medication that works best for me to regulate my moods, which hasn't gone generic because of patents and is really expensive without insurance. $1500 for a 30-day supply at the pharmacy, actually. So I hadn't been on that medication since January, but the one I was prescribed in the hospital in March (2023) wasn't working for me. So I was able to get approved for this assistance program, and I'll be going back on this antipsychotic that's always done wonders for me. I just also have to get off this anticonvulsant that, while ineffective for mood regulation, was still in my system at 50 mg daily. You should never quit taking your meds without your doctor's advice and especially not all at once. My NP gave me the go-ahead to titrate down on my anticonvulsant so I can go up on the antipsychotic when it arrives. I'm just very emotionally sensitive and volatile in the meantime, more so than usual.

Sometimes I get these emotional crashes during the day for relatively minor and inconsequential reasons. Today, the thought of my landlord/housemate possibly thinking that I'm just sitting on my ass all day and not actually trying to get a job so that I can pay my rent hit me so hard that I had to leave the house to go clear my head and have an existential crisis in public for once.

These emotional crashes usually swell and inflame and crescendo until they swell all the way up to a climax point which reveals some previously-subconscious thought or urge or feeling that I can no longer ignore. And now that it's been brought to the forefront, I can relax a little and stew about it. Today, that climactic point was realizing that I don't actually know if I'm a good person.

I'm the type who believes that humanity is generally good. I assume good intentions; I think most people are good at their core and want to do good things. Very, very few people are truly evil or even mostly bad. I love humans so much and it's part of why I wanted to be a counselor to begin with. I just adore humanity. If I was given a choice to do one thing and ensure the survival of humanity, but knowing that I would not solve most of humanity's problems, I would still do that thing because I think our messiness is part of the beauty of us. I believe in the overarching goodness of humanity.

But down to a very specific point in the data - me, just little old me existing out here in my corner of reality - I don't actually know if I'm a good person. And I think it's equal parts identity disturbance from BPD, which is distressing in its own right, as well as the thorough conditioning of Catholicism saying that "apart from God we can do no good." And I don't consider myself Christian anymore, don't even know how I feel about the Christian God because I'm not in a place where I've been able to sit and explore that. So what does that make me?

Growing up Catholic robbed me of a lot. This is just one thing but it's a deep loss.

[camillewasthere]

april 28 2024

It's 10pm and I'm about to get high. In a few weeks i'll be 32 years old. What a wild time.

When I got back from the gym today I was looking at baby pictures of Jannika and I. I look at baby version of me and I get kinda sad. I'm looking at a girl with not a clue what's in store. I want to protect the baby version of me from the world. It's sad to realize how things happen. That in order to be a well rounded person, you have to experience all things.

One memory I think about a lot when I was a child was when I got little papers, scissors and random art supplies and put it in a little ziploc. I wanted to hide it for some reason. I don't know who would want to look for a ziploc bag of art supplies. I decided to hide it on top of my uncle/grandma's vanity which was high as fuck. Probably a foot awat from the ceiling. When I tried to hide it, the bag fell. And I never found it again.

I was such a shy child. I always made sure to be mindful. To be aware. I was always watching everyone else. Always conscious of the space I took. Never feeling part of the crowd. Somehow always fake. Just observing. I love baby me. And I think if baby me knew the person I would become, she would be proud. She would want me to be happy and chose the road that brings fulfillment. She would probably think I was pretty. She would probably watch me do my makeup. She would be content with just being there with me.

I have been in my head a lot lately. Constantly strategizing. Thinking about what's next. What move is the right move. It's funny how much it consumes me. But how little I convey on the outside. People only see the product but never realize how long the process took.

Moving up to the bay area has been weighing heavily on my mind. Last time I went to visit I remember how much I liked being there. It felt more home-y to me.

Cons: It's colder Bears on hikes lol Probably more expensive Miss Daniela!

Pros: Better food Paid more Shady hikes Probably find the loml lol New cities to explore Easy way to go north or south to go on trips Less white people lol

Wow putting it out on a list like this actually makes it seem way more desirable. I can't wait to find a place I can furnish. With a washer dryer. No carpet. I'm so excited.

Before I end this I do want to at least talk about how i've been feeling.

It's been almost 6 months since the break up. He's still living here until our lease is over at the end of June. It's a conflicting feeling. Every day that gets closer, the more nervous I get about the plan with the dogs. But when I think about him being gone, all I can feel is excited. It's like I can finally be free of that energy. I can't wait to fix up my space. To be in my thoughts alone at home. So happy I have the dogs to protect me and keep me company. I don't really feel lonely. I know that will likely change once he's actually out of here. But for a long time before we broke up I was already doing so many things alone. It's liberating to be single honestly. I have almost zero desire to be with anyone. I say almost because I continue to be intrigued by the idea of Lori and Bre's friend and I being together. I don't want to imagine this as something more than it is, which is literally nothing lol. But it does seem like a possibility. I have to let my mind leave it at that. Old me would continue to obsess. New me wants to focus on what is good for me. What will make me happy. Because ultimately I want to be able to be so content with myself that anyone who seeks after me will only be an addition. I've settled for soooo long with too many guys that weren't right for me, whether they were good or bad. There's a reason they all didn't work out. Including long lost air force man. I need to allow my brain to understand that concept. The common denominator with all of those relationships is me. My physical self would constantly make deals with my emotional self that would lead to me staying for longer than I should have.

What's wild is, despite all the break up's i've had, I think the one with flannel mustache boy was the worst of the worst. Thinking about that relationship makes me wanna throw up to be honest. He was so handsy and gross. So flashy. Literally i'm barfing right now imagining how others saw us.

Anyway, yeah I'm stoked to be on my own. I love being home alone. Having a space all to myself is gonna be such a nice little vacation.

xx me

[orbmanson7]

My job wants to conduct a stay interview with me

Whuh oh

It's not necessarily a bad thing, I mean the whole point of these interviews is basically for a company to figure out why you've stayed around and what might convince you to leave so that they can then try to say they'll do things to keep you there

And while that's all well and good, knowing how useless I am in my particular position now, that I'm the lowest paid employee in my program, and that the only other two overnight employees have now chosen to reduce hours to being only on-call workers, which means I'm about to be switched BACK to 7-days a week working my 10-hr shifts...

Like, I'm already at the point where the only reasons I'm staying are 1) I don't want to lose my benefits bc getting a new job will cause a lapse in those benefits and therapy is already expensive enough as it is

And 2) the program is so hands off that if I slack off and do nothing, it has the exact same effect as if I work my ass off all shift. I can do nothing and there is no consequence, so why bother leaving? Plus no one wants to work overnight (clearly) so they'd be completely fucked without me there

So my plan is to try to ask for a raise (especially since I haven't received my annual raise in two years now), and see if they can come up with maybe a way to improve my work tasks, since I've been asking for years and nothing has changed except for me Losing More Tasks

If I could potentially get a better paid position without having to switch hours or given more authority over a specific task like I've had before, like I'm technically the current med manager but no one listens to me nor lets me use my approved med training manuals nor lets me conduct med training specific to the program - they just expect me to fix everything when others mess up or don't know what to do. Or like how I used to conduct billing overviews to make sure we were keeping tabs on our budget and finances, especially now that we actually host two separate programs with two separate funders for those programs within the same residential facility. I also used to conduct facility maintenance alongside second shift, where we ensured we had proper first aid supplies and kept up the easy maintenance like repainting rooms or fixing up tiny dents and dings in walls. I used to conduct record reviews off-site, having travel expenses and got paid to buy a locked attache so I could transport private client files across state lines in order to trade with another program's files and equally audit them together. Now I do everything digitally and internally, making it really easy for shit to go unnoticed bc when I email someone to add a missing file, I just get snarky responses or no response at all, and the file simply remains incomplete. I can't fix it for them bc we don't use a shared drive anymore, even though that's caused so many Goodman problems bc people save files under the wrong name or delete them without realizing they never actually uploaded them in the first place... Ugh, they've just changed things more and more and removed as many tasks from me as possible, but then get mad when I say I Want Something To Do

I literally have a document in my f:/ drive at work just titled "everything wrong with [program name]" and I just kept track of what's wrong, when it was reported, if anything has been done to try to fix it or if it's gotten worse, etc

The list has only gotten longer over the years, as they've never really fixed any of the foundational problems and keep building on top of that, expecting it to hold... It doesn't. This program cannot run itself, no matter how much they want it to.

But hey maybe some more pay and someone willing to say actually yeah let's implement some of your ideas might just change my mind and convince me to stick around

But we'll see

[qsphyxias]

sticker

if you fetishize mlm relationships, get the fuck out of here!

synopsis ; light fluff, light angst with bruce wayne

warnings ; male!reader, beating up, blood, bruising, some humour, i need to work on my writing a bit—i don't put enough detail rip

note ; i feel like it was a bit out of character seeing as how i didn't expand on how bruce would feel like it's too dangerous for s/o and bruce to be together, but then again it's fan fiction ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

words ; 1.5k+

⊱ ────── {⋅.on the street - good morning.⋅} ────── ⊰

You chuckled underneath your perspiring breath, your elbows using the railing as leverage as you gave yourself some well-needed rest after the fight.

It was maybe around midnight, you were exhausted and bruce was stiff, standing next to you. As usual, he had that strange look on his face that almost resembled one of someone who had left the stove on and just realized—yet he was just standing there.

"Gotham city, saved again." You spoke with withering sarcasm, eyes darting over to Bruce's bruised knuckles with a small wince. "Y- you need help with that?" you got off the railing and offered a hand, reaching into one of the many pockets in your utility vest for some gauze and disinfectant.

He waved you off, stepping away from you with his heavy shoes against the green tinted and wet floor. "We can do this back at the cave, we should get out of here."

You felt guilty; not for being swatted away by the man whom you've pined over for months, but for feeling mad at him for it. "Y- yeah, you're right." You dropped your arm and put away the supplies, stuffing your sore hands into your pockets.

Curiously, yet cautiously, you glanced at him, trying to read his expression underneath his cowl—he either didn't notice you, or was aware but indifferent to your gaze. However, it did get uncomfortable.

"You go on ahead, I need to..." He paused. "I need to be alone... for a bit."

You frowned, realizing something he may have realized years ago; he's been alone by choice for a while, hasn't he? Despite the slight feeling in your heart that you may never be as close to him as you wish to be, you respected his wishes nonetheless, and left the station to head back.

On your way back, your frown seemed to worse as you wondered if Bruce's responses had been getting more robotic in nature. 'Maybe I've disappointed him somehow?' That idea alone had caused you to stumble and nearly fall to your death from a cliff above Gotham's skyline. With a pause and a shake of your head, you snapped out of it and focused your mind on getting back to the manor; hoping Bruce had already gotten back to the manor safely. He did look upset.

A couple lengthy swings and a small jog into a maze-like tunnel later, you finally made it to the bat cave. Although slightly out of breath from the way there, you seemed to light right back up the moment you saw Bruce standing there with his cowl off, messy matted hair standing up in every direction possible. It made him look beautiful.

Perhaps you were the odd duck for thinking his afterglow of beating a group of men up was beautiful, but— oh, never mind he's taking his armour off, and suddenly you feel very justified.

You had to bite back a giddy smile as the man before you turned around, revealing his painted face, which always seemed to have an expression of disgruntlement. As if 24/7, he was just constantly constipated. Even so, you've grown to like his face; despite seeing it covered by a cowl half the time.

"What took you so long?" Was the first thing he said to your face that seemed to drop a little. "Ah... You know, traffic, birds in the sky and whatnot." You gave a lopsided smile, hand raising up to scratch the bridge of your nose; something you always did when you lied. A habit you didn't know Bruce had taken note of during the period of time of knowing you.

Rationality seemed to knock on the gates of your brain too late, as you let yourself lie for no big reason, you just didn't want Bruce to know he was the reason you took longer than usual.

His eyebrow twitched but nothing was heard except for a small noise of doubtful acknowledgement and the turn of his head back to the screen in front of him. "Come here," he beckoned you over, moving to the side as you approached the table with gadgets and notes scattered everywhere. Eyes narrowing on the red tinted focalized image of a tattoo on one of the men you both had fought.

"Does this logo look familiar to you?" he pointed at the dark ink of the goon's arm. You hummed, uncertainly, trying to think of where you recognized that logo from. "Yeah, but I can't pinpoint where I know it from... You think it's something to be worried about?" You faced the bat in thought, to which he met your stare with his dimmed ones. "No... at least not yet."

He paused, seemingly lost in thought before he broke out of it the moment he saw your footsore, yet smiling face. "He looks tired." A thought followed by a twinge of guilt shot through him like a dart as he realized he may be keeping you from your bed.

With a quick stretch and a sigh, he broke the short silence with his voice as soft as sidewalk chalk. "You should get some rest... S/o."

You nodded, turning to leave before unknowingly letting your eyes fall to his hands; a bruised one being cradled by the other. "Oh right," your eyes lit up in realization as you fished through your pocket for the small med kit, walking into Bruce's personal bubble to reach for his bloody hand with one hand and med kit in the other.

Bruce suppressed the pain of his hand moving into yours with a sharp inhale, "I can do it mysel-" You interrupted him, "I know you can do it yourself, Bruce. You've done so much by yourself, just let me bandage up your hand? Please?" You pleaded, awaiting his answer despite already having your mind fixed on his hand anyway.

With his lips pursed, and a small nod, he let you sit him down and fix his hand up for him. "It's not much to fret over, S/o. Plus... You should've seen the other guy." You failed to stifle a laugh, "I did. His face was more broken than my humour." You stole a glance of his face to see if he had given you even the mercy of a smile to your joke, flushing when you were met with a little lop-sided grin.

"Hey, about earlier when we were in that alleyway, um, what was that about?" You had a rough idea of what he may be brooding about, but you wanted to hear it from him. His eyes flickered up at you, before settling back onto the gauze used to wrap his hand.

He bit his lip, unsure if it was really worth expanding on. "It was just about what you said... 'Gotham saved again'; I wonder if things will change for the better, or if… I even want it to change." Not knowing why, Bruce seemed hesitant to look at you.

You had to muffle your surprise at Bruce sharing his feelings with you, subsequently giving him a little pat on his hand for assurance. With the raise of your eyebrows and the tilt of your head, you settled for encouragement; but even so, at that moment you really did mean it. "Gotham will change. I'm sure of it; because it has you to protect it."

In a timely manner, Bruce's hand was all cleaned and wrapped up, tied with a little bow and a small buzz light year sticker, a little speech bubble above his head saying, 'You're my entire galaxy!'

"What's this for?" He looked up at you, unable to take even the sweetest of hints. "Well, I was going to settle for a kiss, but I felt like that would've been too much." You said in a half-joking tone, giving yourself an exit route in case he takes it the wrong way.

For a second there was an unreadable look on his face, eyes following your every move, studying your expression and body language before he rose from his seat. The colour seemed to drain out of yours as he wordlessly took his hand out of yours, lips sealed— you had no idea what he could possibly be thinking, but even before the ever-present that was a rare occurrence.

Taking his actions the wrong way, you backed out of his space, ready to leave and shoot yourself to mars, only to be pulled back forward by your chin. With his thumb grazing your cheekbone, and his gentle eyes grazing your features, you only seemed to get more terrified of him; this was frightfully out of character yet not a single bone in your body was protesting.

There was a second of hesitation, a second where he realized he wouldn't really know what would happen after he kissed you. The truth was, there was an entire future of uncertainty and danger ahead of you both… but even so— "Bruce-" He couldn't help himself.

"Mmph!" Wide-eyed at the sudden sensation on your lips, you struggled to find the composure within you as your hands awkwardly hovered around him, shakily settling on the nape of his neck.

He pulled away after a while; funny how he was more out of breath when it comes to a kiss from you rather than an actual fight with 28 grown men. "Well, now we have the best of both worlds."

⊱───── ❝ thank you for reading! ❞ ─────⊰

[yostresswritinggirl]

Seers' Miscellany

Prologue: Origins of the first bloom

A circular fic for the Dainsleif mini-series I'll be working on. This will be the introduction; of the evanescent bough keeper of the new world. "Observers of the North do not usually wind up in personal business, but when they do, in their wake comes great shifting of the plates of the timelines." Logs of the stag and the delicate flower.

Pairings -> Dainsleif x Reader; Reader is NOT Traveler

Word Count -> 1579

Themes -> Pretty sad, but also fluffy

Chapters -> 1

Warnings -> Story progression takes a while, oh dear why am I doing this now, I'm so busy

"500 mora; and three answered questions."

He's not really sure what lead him to indulge the requests of a simple adventurer when he made his rounds around the city of freedom. Was it the simple need for currency? It couldn't be, he was better off with other commissions that Katheryne could offer.

Was it the desperation in your voice and eyes? You looked at him like a prophet, your only salvation, and perhaps in this context that may be true. You were but a lone adventurer and the way your weight leans heavier on one foot shows your struggle to those who have keen eyes like him, no other person wished to indulge your needs and you were getting desperate.

Or was it the three questions? Dainsleif have yet to hear such contractual obligations before, but it felt as tho it was the most important part of the agreement he took the moment you pleaded with that soft voice. Humble yet resolved, not letting him walk away without at least considering it once.

And so he found himself traversing the land of the wolves through a dangerous path, where you skip ahead with a gait of happiness, bubbly and energetic enough to surpass even his long legs. You hummed without consideration at the glee of finally having a companion, and he did not mind it at the slightest despite the attention it may bring upon your little party.

"First question," Dainsleif fleeted his gaze away from the horizon to turn to you whom slowed your pace to match his, head looking over your shoulder with a wide grin. "How are you?" So innocent.

He huffs in amusement, the most emotion you've seen of him. "You don't need to waste a contract question for such a simple question, you know," he stands behind you as you crouch down on a shrubbery filled with Wolfhooks. Your main objective for visiting Wolvendom in the first place.

You assured him that you meant your question in every way possible as your hands carefully pick at the herbs, wary of the thorns and the intrusive prickly leaves. Despite your attention turned away from him he knows you await his answer. Dainsleif hums to himself and stops—

How is he? What does he truly feel in this moment of his time?

A simple question yet risked for one of the three inquiries agreed upon definitely holds a deeper meaning. His train of spiraling thoughts halts upon the sound of otherwordly grunts and chants as he turns away from your still busy form (you seem very focused on your foraging) to find three Hilichurls approaching with ill intent.

Dainsleif squints at the impending threat before shooting a final glance to make sure you weren't looking. His arm glows blue as he raises it, power in the form of blue swirling mist surges around him - how are you? The feeling brings him back to vague memories of his past, of the energy rising through him at his expeditions with an old companion, of the thrill spent upon encountering the unexpected. Such thoughts are not vivid but the familiarity of what he is experiencing right now was enough for him.

Though he was sure that there were no camps before they went through this route.

"You asked me how I am," he spoke when you finally turned from the bush with an armful of Wolfhooks on your arsenal, confusion on your face at the sight of downed Hilichurls and the side profile of the bough keeper.

His cerulean eyes were fixated at his left hand that he repeatedly closes and opens for a few seconds, before he fully turns to you (your eyes did not miss the blue glow from underneath his cape, where his right arm should be) with a wisp of a smile, "I feel alive right now."

You reciprocated the gesture with a wide grin, "I'm glad to hear that!"

A majority of the wolfhooks gathered where given to the little Botanist Chloris, the seller of flowers, who looked relieved and ecstatic upon your arrival. Something Dainsleif took great notice of. Carefully handing over the berries and some which you had to pluck singularly from your companion's flowy cape, the little girl gave you her Valberries in exchange.

It was sweet and familiar, something Dainsleif took note as he accepted your offer of the fruit despite his none need for sustenance.

Your little chewing sounded through as you two settled on the humble camp you managed to setup with your supply for a single individual. There was a little hole in the middle for a campfire Dainsleif had made the effort to prepare knowing the coldness the night will bring soon enough, and your fragile form is not something he wishes to bargain now. Is that really the reason? Perhaps in the back of his mind, he was really just working on forgotten routines.

"Second question," his footstep at the edge of the camp halts as he turns once again, where you sat on the mat as tonight's bedding, hands flicking to remove the stray juices of the berries. He stood still in wait before he goes back to his mini mission of getting fire wood.

"Go on," he urged when you stood a minute longer in silence.

"Do you like traveling, Dain?" Easy enough, he simply said yes and left when you ended the conversation with a nod.

When he came back with the wood and tinder bundle for easy spreading, out of the corner of his eye he watched your hands work on the mortal and pestle as you grinded the remaining wolfhooks on your person. The fire started the moment he was done setting up the kindling and your face filled with admiration at the sudden and immediate spark, praising him for his quick work.

Dainsleif is both talkative and not, and at times he finds himself rambling to the wind. The moments of the night passed without much details until he found himself talking about his past adventures with his old companion, of the world they've seen together and the now estranged relationship between them.

His responses were sometimes cryptic unintentionally, and he apologizes when there are things about it that he couldn't answer simply because he could not remember. When silence struck after he finished his tales and meal, the beautiful spike in his eyes found yours gleaming despite the drowsiness pulling at your whole feature.

"I'm glad you're very fond of traveling. If not, I wouldn't have met you," and he wouldn't have taken the commission. Dainsleif's eyes flashed in recognition, finally understanding the meaning behind your second question. Somehow this little commission deal turned into a silent back and forth quip of him understanding past your simple inquiries.

Like a little game he muses on with his curious mind.

That night you rested with the extra comfort of his eccentric cape, something you needed more than him as he gazes over the clear night sky. His eyes silently traced the galaxy of stars while the sound of your whispered breathing accompanies his sleepless night.

The last question and that last of your very quick expedition came the next day at the cliffside overlooking the lair sealed by winds.

Your fingers were dusted by the violet paste of grinded wolfhooks long consumed the night prior, stained fingers gripping the thin and fragile stem of the yellow dandelion in its grasp. It was his great observation that let him realize the disaster that happened now but even his foresight could not prepare him for what has to come.

"Third question," his head snapped down to watch your ethereal face don a calm smile, the sun's setting light kissing your cheeks in the right angle that matched that of the clean clouds above. Your eyes silently questioned his unfocused gaze but he only shook his head.

Don't worry about it. "I know this last question would end the commission with you," your voice trembled in both fear and fatigue but Dainsleif didn't force you to preserve your strength like he should. "But I wanted to ask, maybe tomorrow again,

do you want to be my traveling companion?"

The hand that clutched the Dandelion found it way to the side of his mask, the petals brushing against his eyelids as he looks down at you with an eye. A ghost of a smile lingers on his lips as he leans on your hand.

"It would be my pleasure."

Life momentarily flashed over your orbs before you let out a sharp exhale and a breathless, joyous laughter. Relief overtook the tension that laid on your shoulders, and your hand would have dropped to the ground immediately if he had not gripped it on the last second.

"That sounds good. I've always wanted to travel the world," he pulls the cape closer around your form as your eyelids droop to a close. And he witness another breathe, "It was supposed to be today, but I feel really tired today, I'll rest early too if that's okay."

He rose from the ground with you in his arms, "I'll be here."

"Mmm thank you... good... night."

"Good night, little dandelion."

And perhaps that distant memory from faraway had urged him to invite and indulge, when he saw the same spark of intrigue and desperation, of the warmth of carefree days in front of him.

"But I will require advance payment,

500 Mora, and three answered questions."

Dainsleif SUPREMACY MWAHAHAHAHAH

@genshin-idiot : here's your Dainsleif content

@moaa @dandelion-dreams @witchsungie @lehra @zelos-simp @legionqueensav @snackgod @rxsalinee @cala-ran @wind-wheel @lilydewi22 @yellowflowre @traveler-lumine @nonniechan

[sirfrogsworth]

Home Theater, Party of One

For over 10 years I have slowly been building a tiny home theater in my bedroom. After saving and scrounging and getting a thing at a time, I now have a 5.1.2 Atmos system. (5 ear level speakers. 1 subwoofer. And 2 height speakers.)

That means I have a left and right speaker for music. A center speaker for dialogue. Two speakers behind me for surround effects. Two speakers in my ceiling for helicopters. (Sometimes lasers and gunfire and thunderstorms too. It's neato.) And a subwoofer—which supplies all the other speakers with bass frequencies.

It's not the best system ever. But I think it would impress everyone who isn't an audiophile with individual $1000+ speakers.

Or whoever was able to do this 19+ speaker configuration that Dolby has on their website. Keep in mind that in real life, there would be 4-6 subwoofers instead of just 1.

At this point, your room is just speakers. There is no room to actually walk around. The ceilng opens up and you are lowered onto the couch via a crane.

Home theater is a journey. And in my journey, I've been taking advice from home theater experts on all the best ways to configure my speakers. For the most part, that advice has been top notch. But even though I've been messing with this stuff for about a decade now, there always seems to be something new to learn—something to tweak.

And then I'm like... "Why didn't I do this years ago?"

I just realized a huge mistake I've been making. Probably the biggest error of all the numerous errors I've made in my various configurations over the years.

I wasn't selfish.

Usually, when giving their expert advice, these gurus will make suggestions for multi-seating experiences. They figure most people are going to be listening to their systems with family and friends.

They review leather recliners that hook together like at the cinema. They teach you how to build platforms to install a second row of seating. They say things like "wide sound stage" or "expansive sound stage." They recommend multiple subwoofers so that every seat has a bassy good time.

They weren't giving advice for basement loners like me who are in bed listening to their systems.

I've been setting up my speakers for the ghosts that haunt my bedroom. For my non-existent wife and kids. And when you do that, you have to make some compromises in quality. I don't want an expansive soundstage. I want... a skinny one. I want a directional sound stage where all the speakers are dialed in and laser-focused to where my head is.

The only reason I thought to change things was when the guy from Audiohaulics said you only need one subwoofer if you only have one listening position.

It was an audio epiphany.

It all started to come together in my mind. I remembered a review of my left/right/center speakers that said they sound better oriented vertically—especially if you have *multiple* listening positions.

So I put my little stormtroopers upright as suggested.

But later on, when I remembered him saying that, I thought, "Maybe that means they would sound better for a single position if they were horizontal."

I turned them on their sides. Instead of placing them as far left and right as I possibly could, I moved them as close together as my space would allow. Then I put them on stools just high enough so the tweeters were directly in line with my earballs.

My speakers sounded amazing before.

Now they sound... unbelievable.

Music is like a completely different experience.

I thought maybe having them closer together would make it harder to tell when sound is panning from left to right. But it is *more* apparent now. My theory... sound is very reflective. If you don't have speakers pointed directly, the sound might bounce off the walls or other objects before it enters your earholes. I think this adjustment is now shooting the bulk of the sound right at my head without any reflections off the walls or ceilings.

There is this concept called 2 channel listening. The idea is that most music is mixed in stereo, so you should probably just listen to it with a left and right speaker—even if you have a surround sound setup.

But that was always a little underwhelming. I used to put my receiver on this setting that shot the music out of all my speakers at once, even the ones behind me and in the ceiling. It increased the chances of all the sounds I wanted to hear getting to my earballs. It sounded thicker and more full than when I listened in just stereo.

But after I made these seemingly small adjustments, my 2 channel listening experience is much better than shooting sound at me from all directions. Before it was like I was trying to throw paint on the walls by just tossing it out of the bucket. And now it's like I am using a fine brush to paint a hyper-realistic mural.

I finally get why these speakers I spent years saving up for cost as much as they did. (Weirdly most in the home theater community would still consider them "budget" speakers.)

But the sound is... selfish.

If I move to any other part of the room... all of that magic is lost. But I haven't had a visitor to my room in, well, years. So I am going to selfish my system to the max. To hell with "multiple listening positions."

I fixed my front speakers. Now it was time to address my subwoofers.

I have never been able to get my bass perfect. People talk about how much they love bass. They spend thousands of dollars on giant speakers just to get better and better bass. Subwoofers are, by far, the most reviewed component on home theater channels. And while I agree that a subwoofer is the single greatest investment anyone can make if they love music... my bass never really stood out the way all of these bassheads described.

How could I adjust and tune them for "selfish mode"?

Forget other listeners. I want them to sound good for the tiny space where my head rests.

I actually have 2 subwoofers. I have one I bought over 8 years ago. It was all I could afford at the time. For the price, it's actually a great speaker. But since I upgraded all of my other speakers, it just felt... out of place. Like it couldn't keep up with the increased quality of my new front stage. So, I saved up for about a year and finally got a more suitable companion to my other speakers.

The new one is basically furniture. It is *gigantic.* (Though subwoofers can get much more gigantic-er.) And it is insanely powerful. Again, most of the home theater community would still call it a "budget" sub. But it took forever to sock away $20 here and $10 there.

Okay, I'm going to interrupt this for a little storytime.

I probably shouldn't tell this story. It might be in the realm of TMI. But it involves humorous pain and America's Funniest Home Videos lasted decades from that sort of thing, soooo....

My new sub has all kinds of crazy dials and switches on the back of it. I had no idea what they did. I figured the best way to find out was trial and error. I'd flip a switch, listen to a song. I'd turn a knob, listen to a song. But I am not able to stand up for very long. So I sat down on my sub after getting tired from configurating things. It is extremely dense and can easily handle my weight, so I figured it was fine.

I made my final adjustments and without thinking, hit the play button to bring on the tunes—while still sitting on the sub.

Some bassy music started playing and, well... it felt like a 4th grader did a soccer kick to my bean bags.

Fun fact: Massive subwoofers and testicles are not compatible.

I'm glad I wasn't planning on procreating because I might have vibrated my spermatozoomies into oblivion.

Henceforth I have nicknamed that subwoofer... The Ballbuster.

What was I talking about?

Two subwoofers!

Yes... every guru says two subs are better than one. Much like testicles.

And 4 subs are better than 2. Much like testicles.

Why?

Reason the first, if you have two subs you can lower the volume of each sub to get the equivalent volume of one sub by itself. The idea is the less effort the subwoofer uses to produce sound, the less it will distort. Turn the volume knob down and it will sound cleaner. It's also better for the health of your subs. With two, you can push things louder and deeper without endangering the speaker cone from going in and out too far.

Reason the second... multiple listening positions. Having 2 subs helps ensure that every seat has the same or similar sound. Something about "standing waves" and "nulls" and other things I haven't quite put the effort into understanding fully yet. But apparently, even moving one seat to the left or right can substantially change the sound of a single subwoofer.

There is that advice for people with friends again.

That's the wrong advice for my situation!

I thought it was more important to have two subs because everyone said it was. I never thought about *why* they said that. So I just put one in the front of the room and one in the back of the room, hoping I'd be covered from all directions.

The thing is, I was combining a cheaper subwoofer with a really nice one. The cheap one was kind of muddy and sloppy sounding. It couldn't play sharp, fast bass notes very well. It couldn't go as deep. It couldn't go as loud. And while my receiver has two outputs for subwoofers, its equalization software can only configure one subwoofer and clone that signal. You have to account for the distance your speakers are from your position. The receiver has to add a few microseconds of delay to the signal for the speakers that are closer so they aren't out of sync with the speakers that are farther away. But I don't have the option to set that delay for my cheaper sub. So it was playing just a tad out of sync with all my other speakers.

I was polluting my sound and adding that slop to my nice subwoofer that didn't have that issue. I noticed it when I was listening to a song with an acoustic bassline and I thought they just mixed it super bad. All the notes just kind of mushed together instead of being distinct.

But in that moment my brain cooperated for once and remembered the guru saying one sub is fine if you have one listening position. And I remembered that it is usually recommended to get identical subwoofers when doing multiples.

So, I did an experiment. I unplugged my old cheaper subwoofer. Magically the bassline sounded nice and tight. The professional musicians had not mixed it poorly.

I felt smart and dumb at the same time.

But I still had the issue that a single sub had to do all the work. Those super loud super deep notes were still on the edge of distorting because it was putting forth all the effort. And I do not have the patience to save up for an identical brother.

Then I remembered a video I saw of someone's home theater where they put their subwoofers directly behind their couch. They did this because they were in an apartment with neighbors. They mentioned that the closer they could put the subs to the listening position, the lower they could set the volume of the subs. And even though the subs sounded loud from their perspective, to their neighbors, the subs were turned way down. I believe this is called "near field" placement.

Subwoofers are cool because their sound is omnidirectional. Bass frequencies just go straight through everything. You can put them almost anywhere and they can sound good. They are a supplement to the directional sound and because of that, even if a sub is placed behind you, if the higher frequencies are coming from the front, your brain will think all of those bass sounds are coming from that direction.

I was placing my main subwoofer in the front of my room.

Why?

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Because that's where most people put them?

I guess common sense says you want the speaker pointed at you. Plus, it is probably more convenient and aesthetically pleasing in most rooms. But I wondered if I could do that near field thing and take advantage of the inverse square law to reduce the efforts of my subwoofer.

The inverse square law refers to radiating energy and its power in relation to distance. I learned about it when doing the photography thing. If you put light farther away, it gets much much dimmer. Same principle applies to sound energy.

So if you double the distance of a speaker from your position, the sound energy decreases by 75%.

So what if you *decrease* your distance from the speaker?

Eh? EHHH? See where I'm going with this?

If I move the subwoofer as close to my listening position as possible, then I could LOWER the power of the speaker, while achieving the SAME volume level as before.

I can make the speaker use substantially less effort.

I moved The Ballbuster right behind the headboard of my bed.

(Please don't judge my cable management. I'll get to it someday.)

It went from being 6 feet away (red square) to only 2.5 feet away. And I was able to turn the volume knob down 25%. (It's a very sensitive knob and a 25% turn is more than a 25% reduction in power output. Logarithmic maybe?)

It sounds soooooooo good.

I'm in bass heaven.

I GET IT NOW!

I'm finally a total bass douche.

By removing my old sub from the equation the slop is completely gone. I reduced the distortion by reducing the power output. It feels like I have oodles of headroom. I could turn the sub up way past my comfort level before it even breaks a sweat. And I can also feel the vibrations physically, which is fun.

And there are two bonus side effects of moving the sub closer.

My subs used to cause a very distracting rattle in the walls & ceiling if they hit a certain low frequency. It would really ruin the immersion of movies. I was taping my wall sconces and other things more securely to the wall to control this awful rattle... which looked really stupid. Even when I didn't have it cranked, if the sub played *that* frequency... just oodles of rattle.

But now... the rattle is gone!

In the past, my parents have been very understanding of my need for bass. They actually kind of like it. They play thunderstorm sounds to go to sleep at night. And it just sounds like more thunder... but from below. (Literally thunder from down under.)

That said, I think when I have it cranked it is probably a bit annoying. Especially during the day when they aren't thunderstorming themselves to sleep. But now when I go into the next room the subwoofer is substantially less audible. Which means it is probably not going to distract my folks upstairs.

I feel like I have a whole new setup. Like I upgraded to thousands of dollars worth of speakers or something. But I just turned a few speakers on their side and moved them closer.

I got selfish with my sound and it's awesome as heck.

[karlajoyner]

Tease (Charlie Gillespie x Reader)

A/n: Hey guys so this was requested. I hope you guys enjoy it! And send in your own request!

Requested by: @universefangirl (Tumblr)

Warnings: Smut (18+)

————

I sighed typing away frustratedly at my computer attempting to get my work done for the night. Taking another sip of my wine I looked over to the couch to see my boyfriend scrolling through his phone.

"You know? It must be nice being a paid actor during a pandemic" I spoke catching his attention. A grin began to form on his face as he stood up making his way over to me in the kitchen.

"It has its perks. Can't say the same about you baby" He teased rubbing my shoulders. I rolled my eyes continuing to type away.

"You know you could take a break" He whispered getting near my ear.

"I can't. If I don't get this is by tonight I'm so fired"

"Fine. I'm just gonna go live for a bit. And relax afterwards. I'm pretty busy tomorrow"

"Yes Charles getting to sleep in and doing a live interview late afternoon sounds so exhausting. Meanwhile I have a term paper for English due and on top of that I have to do two more sets of these for work" I spoke holding up my papers.

"For your information I'm going on a hike tomorrow morning. Then I'm going live" He said another deep breath leaving my mouth.

"Aww baby. It's okay"

"Is it though?" I asked frustrated at his lack of sympathy. I love him and all but he seems to forget that his totally normal girlfriend works a 9 to 5 and still goes to college. And as much as I appreciate the times he said he could put in a good word for me with Kenny. I refused to be exposed in the spotlight more than I already was for being his girlfriend.

"I'm sure you can do it. You always do"

"Your right. I'm amazing. I don't know what you'd do without me" I joked trying to lighten up my own mood more than his.

"I don't either. I'd miss you too much" He said placing kisses just below my ear.

"Hmm really? Care to find out Gillespie?" I asked biting my lip. This was my opportunity to get him back where it hurt.

"What do you mean?" I smirked continuing to do my work. Without another word leaving my mouth.

“Baby. What do you mean?" He asked again standing up.

I stayed quiet as he repeated the question a few more times finishing up what I was doing. I had to get through all my stuff for school and work tonight if I wanted tomorrow to go as planned.

I woke up to the sound of birds chirping. Glancing over at the clock I smiled. On schedule. I moved over to the empty spot beside me with a grin. Charlie was really in for it today.

I quickly got up making the bed when my phone suddenly dinged. I smiled seeing it was a good miring text from Charlie himself.

“Good morning my love. Just finished my hike. On my way home with coffee.

“I'll see you in a bit baby" I read aloud. I smiled at the cute detail before continuing on with my plan.

Changing into yoga pants and a sports bra I made my way to the living room setting up for a morning workout. Something I rarely got to do since my second term started and I became ambushed with work. It'd been nearly half an hour before I heard the front door open. The smell of coffee carrying itself through the small apartment.

"Baby your awake" He stated taking in my appearance. No doubt the sweat droplets on my body making me look shiny as hell.

"Yeah. I finished all my work last night so I figured I'd have a day to myself. I did a morning work out and I'm gonna do more things I haven't done in a while" I smiled innocently.

"Mmm am I one of those things by any chance?" He smirked pulling me close. Placing a kiss to my sweaty forehead.

"You wish. Actually I invited y/b/n over. We were thinking of painting to clear our minds"

"Oh but you can't paint looking like this. So sweaty. So wet" He whispered rubbing circles on my hips.

"Yeah I'll probably hop in the shower in a bit" I grinned before pulling away to go finish my workout.

“You know I need to shower too. What if we hop in together? To save water"

"Um I don't know. Can you keep your hands to yourself Gillespie?" I asked bending down in front of him to stretch.

"I can't answer that" He growled coming to stand behind me. As soon I felt his hands on my waist I stood up turning around to face him.

"Tsk Tsk Tsk" I whispered pulling back.

“What baby? Why won't you let me touch you?" He whined.

"Because it's my only free day and I'm going to enjoy it babe" I said placing a chaste kiss on the corner of his lips before walking away.

"Where are you going?" He called.

"To shower"

"Can I join?"

"If you can keep your hands away" I heard him groan as I shut the bathroom door behind me. Giggling to myself I entered the shower washing myself down.

Purposely forgetting to bring in an outfit. Knowing Charlie didn't enter for a reason I called out for him after I was clean.

"Charlie!" I shouted waiting for him to come in.

"Yes baby?"

"Can you bring me some clothes please?”I asked peeking my head out the curtain.

"Can I touch you?" He asked.

"Uh how about no"

"Then no" He said hoping that would get a reaction out of me. It didn't.

"Fine. If you insist" I spoke shutting the water off. Within a matter of seconds I exited the shower. Feeling his eyes piercing through me.

"Close your mouth. Your gonna catch flies" I said wrapping my towel around my body.

"Mm baby you don't know what your doing to me" He moaned out.

"I don't? Or do I?" I asked opening the door further so I could slip past him. Heading to the bedroom I smiled to myself knowing it was working.

Suddenly there was a knock at the door. Rushing over I peeked through the hole to see y/b/n standing there. Thankful both of our COVID tests came out negative I smiled welcoming her inside.

"Hey y/n/n"

"Y/b/n!" I shouted happy to see her after so long.

"So how's he doing?" She asked knowing all about my plan.

"Not good. I love him I really do but paybacks a bitch. I can't wait til his interview" I smirked walking her to my room.

I was quick to change into a cute matching set with only one of his band shirts layering on top.

"Wow. He's gonna be drooling"

"That's the plan. Thanks for doing this again"

"Its no problem. What are best friends for? Just promise me you'll give me every detail tomorrow. You know after he breaks"

"I promise" I said as we both giggled exiting the room. We made our way towards the living room pulling out the supplies she had brought over for our eventful day.

Y/b/n and I enjoyed each other's company for a while. Catching up on our new quarantine rituals. It wasn't long before Charlie came out of the restroom completely shirtless with only a towel wrapped around his waist. I bit my lip coming back to reality when y/b/n bumped my shoulder.

"Y/b/n. You're here" Charlie said running his fingers through his hair. He knew what he was doing.

"Yeah. I came to spend time with my best friend. Did you see her today by the way?" Y/b/n said taking my hand and playfully spinning me around. I chuckled at her antics realizing she'd done it on purpose to give him a full view of what I was wearing. If something drove Charlie Gillespie crazy. It was me wearing his band tees.

"I didn't. Thank you for that" Charlie spoke sending daggers through me.

"I hope you don't mind. I barrowed your shirt to paint. I can change if you wa-"

"No! No no baby keep it on. It looks amazing on you" He said a small smile playing at his lips.

"Thanks baby. When's your interview?"

"In like 20 minutes. I'm gonna go get ready"

"Sounds good. We'll be on the balcony painting. That good?"

"Of course baby" I smiled walking out on the hard cemented area placing down our stuff.

We specifically chatted those 20 minutes waiting for Charlie to come out of the bedroom.

"I'm going live" Charlie called through the screen door.

"Okay good luck" I called back. I saw him send me a wink before setting up his phone where the sun was hitting him perfectly.

"This is perfect" I whispered to y/b/n as we pulled out our paints.

"I know. I can't believe he set himself up right there" She whispered back. I giggled pulling out the pastel pink from the bag.

"Charlie!" I heard the interviewer shout. My boyfriend clearly estatic.

"Hey man what's up?"

"What's up with me? What's up with you? Your our first cast member of the day. So for starters we wanna know what's up with you?"

"Nothing much man. I mean I've been writing a lot recently"

"Oh yeah can we be expecting any music coming out soon away from the Julie and the Phantoms band?"

"Uh no. That's kind of where I'm at right now which is amazing you know? Working with such great cast and bandmates it's great"

"Sounds like it. So where do you get inspiration from during this whole new situation we're in? It must get boring"

"Uh it does at times when I'm alone. Which is rare since I've been quarantining with my girlfriend. She's amazing company and overall my biggest inspiration"

"Girlfriend? Are you guys at her place or yours?"

"Hers man. I didn't wanna disturb her peace but she insisted and it's just been amazing. I love her" He said my heart fluttering at his words. I looked over at y/b/n to see her smirking at me.

"What about your cast? Do they know her?"

"Oh yeah. Like my family, they absolutely love her which is great. You know their approval means a lot to me so it's nice that everyone gets along with her just fine"

"That's good to hear so moving back to your music" The interviewer continued changing subjects. With his wholesome answers I almost felt bad denying him my touch today. And almost felt bad what I'd be doing next.

Almost.

After about 15 minutes I began to laugh at nothing signalling it was go time. I glanced back see Charlie staring up at us. Clearly trying to focus on the interviewer speaking. Clearly.

"Stop!" I whisper shouted at my best friend who splattered pain on me. I repeated her actions earning a giggle from the girl.

Suddenly I felt a cold sensation hit me. She had thrown our water cup at me in return I splattered more paint towards her. Trying to stay as quiet as possible.

"No yeah thanks man. I had fun" I heard Charlie say. Signifying the interview was nearly over.

"No thank you. Charlie Gillespie everyone. Up next Owen Patrick Joyner!" The man shouted before the living room went silent.

"Done?" I asked turning back to look indoors. The door screen being the only thing between us and the indoors.

"Yeah. What happened?"

"I don't know y/b/n what did happened?" I asked the girl in a teasing voice. Moving back slowly letting the sun hit my body. The white shirt on my body becoming see through.

"Cover up baby"

"Y/b/n doesn't mind right babe?" I asked her.

"Nope. We've been best friends forever Charles. I know her inside out. I also know you should probably get changed out of that"

"Or I could just do this" I replied removing the shirt from my body altogether. I watched as Charlie's jaw dropped in surprised.

"Cute set. Victoria secret?"

"Pink" I answered walking into the living room.

"Huh. I would've never guessed. Oh shoot it's already 5:00 o'clock? I should get going. I have to get to Dylan's house. Do you need help cleaning up?"

"No!" Charlie shouted before I could answer.

"No. We've got it y/b/n. No worries"

"Thanks guys" She smiled pulling me into a hug then Charlie. I watched as he walked her towards the door.

Not knowing which one was rushing more him or her.

"Thanks for coming!" I called out grabbing some paper towels to wipe off the water still on my body.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Charlie asked once the door shut.

"What?" I asked innocently.

"You've been such a bad girl"

“Me?" I asked looking behind me jokingly knowing I was the only one here.

"Teasing me all damn day. Having y/b/n come over to be a cock block. And then pulling that little stunk during my interview"

"I don't know what your going on about Charles. I didn't know y/b/n name was gonna- Ahhh" I squealed feeling his strong arms wrap around me from behind lifting me up.

"Charlie!" I shouted as he carried me towards the bedroom.

"Yes?" He questioned when he put me down on the bed gently.

"Seriously?" I asked ask he removed his shirt.

"Seriously" He confirmed moving in to kiss me. It was gentle at first but that gentleness soon became hunger. From both ends we fought for dominance. Tired of fighting I gave in as he pushed me further up the bed.

"Charlie please" I pleaded beginning to palm him through his jeans. Feeling him get harder by the second.

"Tsk tsk tsk. Not yet" He whispered making me whine. He chuckled before speaking once more in a hushed tone.

"Now are you gonna tell daddy exactly why you teased him all day?" I groaned knowing there was no way of getting out of this one.

"Nope" I said hoping to move on.

"Mm I don't like the sound of that" He said removing his jeans. I moaned seeing his full body. He was too hot for his own good.

"Now are you gonna tell me or should I return the punishment" I internally groaned not in the mood to be teased.

"I-I just feel like you forget sometimes that I have so much on my plate. And maybe sometimes you could be insensitive about it" I muttered the last part hoping he wouldn't hear. But judging by his features softening he had heard every word.

"I make you feel that way?" he asked caressing my cheek.

"Not all the time but yeah sometimes"

"Baby. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry" He mumbled placing soft kisses on my lips.

"I guess I just forget sometimes that you have so much to do. I just wanna spend all my time with you since that's all I have. I also guess offering to pay for things like your college doesn't help either when your girlfriends independent"

"And capable of doing everything on her own. Including paying for her school and home necessities. I mean it's a nice gesture baby but I'd just appreciate it if maybe you could take a step back and realize I'm only human. And not everyone wants to become an actor. I'm studying really hard to get to where I wanna be. And even if I'm working a boring desk job right now I won't be in the future"

"I know baby and I'm so proud of you for that you know that right?"

"Of course Charlie. And I know your my number one supporter just like I'm your number one fan" I said as he placed small kisses on my nose.

"Good....So you did all this today to get back at me?"

"Well yeah I wanted to have fun. But it's no fun when I too need to resist the urge to jump on you when you come out of the shower shirtless"

"Yeah about that I didn't know y/b/n was here or I wouldn't have walked out like that"

"I know baby. But now that we're alone so can we please just-" My words were cut off by his lips once more.

Giggling at his eagerness I began to palm him through his boxers once more.

"You don't know the things you do to me baby" He whispered pulling my bra down letting my breast fall free. I moaned as he began to suck on the left one and toying with the right one.

"God I missed these"

"Charlie please hurry up" I spoke. He didn't hesitate to remove my panties and his boxers immediately lining himself up at my entrance.

"You've been taking your birth control right?"

"Of course you idiot"

"Ooo aggressive much"

"Charlie if you don-" My words were cut off by a moan as he entered me. Not hesitating to start moving at a steady pace.

"Charlie" I moaned wrapping my legs around his waist.

"Faster"

"I'm so close baby"

"Me too" I panted as he sped up. His thrust becoming sloppier by the second.

"I'm gonna-" He groaned being the first to release. My climax coming not long after. I sighed as we rode our our highs together.

"I love you baby" Charlie said standing up and cleaning me off with a t-shirt of his.

"I love you too" I said as he finally came to lay next to me. Pulling the covers over us.

"You do know I really am proud of you right?"

"I don't know I think you need to prove it to me" I halfheartedly joked.

"If you insists" He whispered pulling me in for a sweet tender kiss.

Time slowing down as we spent the night tangled in each other's arms. Enjoying each other's company. Each other's love.

[someoneinjersey]

Just a lil update

Every so often I like to check in on my mostly defunct social media accounts.

Still living in North Carolina with Kate, with her cat Wimby and my dog Deano, and then we had a stray decide to adopt us who is so sweet and lovey. Her name is Larry because she has a very raspy meow if she can make sound at all, so Kate said she had laryngitis, thus, Larry. She's wonderful and we want to work on bringing her inside if we can (she likes to sneak in sometimes anyway). She brings us so many "gifts" so we know she loves us but for god's sake, so many dead mice, chipmunks, and rabbits turning up on our porch.

I'm still disabled as fuck, yo. I rarely have the physical or mental energy to do things, which sucks because I was doing really well for a few months after I moved in and then at some point, possibly conflated by my birth control that I hated, my panic disorder kicked into high gear. Like I'd have a panic attack just driving into town, or thinking about driving into town, or for no reason at all. We went to Kate's brother's five hours away for Christmas this past year and I had to stop at a gas station for an hour to sit and let my meds kick in while fighting vomiting and hyperventilating because I was having such a bad panic attack. Once we finally got there I had at least one attack every day, sometimes two or three. It was out of control, so my psychiatrist put me on extended release xanax to try to improve my quality of life and it's worked very well, though it does make me sleepy and panic or the fear of panic does creep in from time to time.

My brother disowned me. My mother needs a kidney transplant now on top of her liver transplant, and will refuse dialysis once her kidney function fails completely, so we have no idea how much time she has left. She still won't leave her husband. She wants to come visit again (she came last October) and while she's my mom so I'd love to see her and cook for her, I don't know if I can handle the stress. She doesn't realize she's a huge trigger for me and she can never know that because it'll kill her and she's already dying. She is aware, however, that if she visits, she may have to have Kate or a taxi pick her up from/drop her off at the airport because I don't know if I can drive to Asheville yet. It's about a 30 minute drive, but I still struggle with just going into town. She's not too happy about that. We've had so many fights since I've moved here.

I keep falling into ruts. I swore I'd break all my bad habits once I got down here and lived on my own, without a parent lurking around, but I just keep letting things go all over again. The dishes pile up, the garbage piles up, and then the monumentous task of just starting a clean up becomes unattainable. I've also learned that I have ADHD, likely always have. My psychiatrist said it was a "soft" diagnosis he was giving me, however, because I wasn't interested in going on medication for it. I want to sort out my other shit first but naturally I'm making no progress on that either. I put things off because I'm scared, and because I can never guarantee that I can make my appointments due to my panic attacks.

I'm still a killer cook. I've taken up collage journaling, which is just basically gluing scraps of paper and putting stickers together in a notebook, but it makes me feel good to do. I bought myself supplies to start drawing again but they've been here over a week and I haven't touched them yet. I need to get back into art so maybe I can sell some because we are barely scraping by, paycheck to paycheck and disability to disability. It really sucks.

Anyway, for anyone that's still around, I just have tumblr, facebook, and instagram now. FB and IG are private so you'll have to send a follow request or whatever, but please do. I'd like more interaction and I miss some of you on here. I'm also always up for texting, so my number is only an ask away.

ETA: My fb is under "Sara Ann" and my current userpic is not my face, and my ig is "atthedividingline" thank you

[razrbladekiss]

Tyrants | Chapter Four - Peril

WORD COUNT: 5.1k

WARNINGS: Mentions of death, drug use, Tig being Tig. The usual SOA shit. Sorry Donna..

She always saw the beauty in darkness. The lugubrious belle that came alongside the moon and stars and whatever else lurked amidst the murk of nighttime.

Isla was cliche in that sense.

She was cliche in the sense that she adored watching the sun set, swallowed by the mountains and high-rise buildings as the evening fell and Charming was painted black.

And maybe it was mostly melancholic because of the horrors that swathed that small town, but it was still beautiful nonetheless.

She still liked to bask in the scenery, to discern the marvel of her home, from the highest point she could access. And, sometimes, she liked to take somebody along with her so she wasn't completely alone.

"Why'd you still come up here?" Ope asked, pulling himself onto the roof as she sat with her back to the wall--puffing on a cigarette.

"Because it's quiet." She was content, comfortable with her response. "And whenever I'm looking for Jax, or Gem, or my dad--or they're looking for me--this is where we're almost always found. Just people watching, or reminiscing, or having a few minutes to ourselves away from the chaos downstairs."

It wasn't an unknown safe space--Gemma had told her that JT and Clay would climb up there during the earliest days of the club--but it was special.

Jax, Opie, and Isla spent time up there as kids, too. Because they were bastards and were always running from their fathers--and den mother--and the roof of the clubhouse was their go-to.

She never really got out of that habit. She'd spend hours up there if she could, just watching as Charming bustled beneath her. And she liked that it was separate to the garage, but everyone knew where to find her if they needed her.

"It clears your head, being up here." She added. "I have got so much shit going on right now--between work, and my personal life--but coming up here is like a refreshment, I guess."

Opie understood what she meant because he was also seeking comfort in the night. Riding through dusk, spending time alone on his bike as he cruised the streets of his quaint town, relishing in the darkness because it was strangely comforting to him.

He liked to be alone. His thoughts were brutal and they seared his brain left and fucking right, but he liked his own company.

"Wish I thought about comin' up here when I was released from holding." The man chuckled, balancing a cigarette between his lips. "Stahl grilled the fuck outta me."

"She did?"

"Yeah. She really fuckin' did." He added, grunting as smoke blew from his nostrils. "Did she get you? I know she got Gemma."

"Nope, she didn't. I don't know why, though. She interrogated everyone else. Starting to feel a little left out."

Opie chuckled, smiling a bit. "Be glad. It's obvious that she's used to getting what she wants."

"And did you give it to her?"

"Fuck no." Isla smiled. Proud. "She can cross-examine me all she fuckin' wants—I'll never sell the club out."

"They know that, Ope."

"I know." Half confidently, he nodded. "Just—Stahl made me second guess it all, y'know?"

Nobody in Charming--aside from the PD--knew where that despicable bitch came from, and nobody cared to ask.

What they did know, though, was that she had her heart set on making that town a living fucking hell as she strived to eradicate the Sons of Anarchy by getting to its members.

She'd grilled everyone she could've. She cornered Gemma when she was out running errands, leaving the grocery store with a sour taste in her mouth when Teller told her where to fucking shove it.

Same went for Jax, and Clay, and Chibs, and Tig, and...Well, all of them told her to get fucked, actually.

None of them caved. None of them wanted to sell the club out because there was no reason to.

Well, there was a reason to, but no desire to.

There'd been murders. Three, to be specific. And one of them just happened to be a police officer--which was quite unlucky, but it wasn't awful.

They hated cops.

What they hated more, however, was the idea of getting caught by them. And Clay was. Somehow, anyway.

Piney's old "friend"--Nate Meineke--needed quality, albeit illegal, guns with no traceability to attack the convoy that was transporting one of his friends from point A to point B. And it went as swimmingly as possible...

Until June Stahl was put on the case and found that idiot's phone at the scene after dropping it mid-ambush.

Clay just happened to be the last person he had called. Which then caused the investigation to point toward Charming.

They all knew the Sons were guilty of supplying those weapons. Who else would it have been? They were known for running illegal firearms without batch numbers from a quaint Californian town whose name didn't quite fit its image.

It was blatant, though nobody gave it up.

But Stahl tried her damndest to get answers. And when she didn't, she targeted the member that she saw to be the most vulnerable--after a hit went wrong and he failed to cover his tracks--and Opie just happened to be that guy.

She questioned him for hours. She practically held the man captive in that little cell until he caved. But he didn't--and he wasn't going to, either.

He was loyal. That's one of the reasons why Jax wanted to patch him back in.

"Yeah, I know." Isla got to her feet when she heard Tig yelling for her downstairs. "But you're the strongest guy I know, Ope. I don't think Stahl, of all people, is gonna get to you."

He shrugged her off, flicking the butt of his cigarette to the gravelly ground of the roof.

Opie had changed. Not much, and it wasn't very apparent, but he'd changed. Chino had changed him, she thought.

He was still dedicated to his club, still in love with the reaper and the responsibility that came with the patch--but Opie Winston lacked that flicker of enthusiasm now.

"How does your dad feel about you being back at the table?"

"Said he's proud of me."

He was a man of very, very few words. But the tone that he took--the sheer relief twined into contentment--spoke a greater volume.

Piney would always support his son, feel a sense of gratification from his involvement in the club. And, of course, Ope felt grateful to be back--but it was different now.

He'd served time for his club. Donna consistently argued that they sold him out and that he was fucking stupid for running back into the arms of SAMCRO.

But it was his brotherhood. The Sons of Anarchy were his family--his lifeline. He was nothing if not blessed to be patched back in.

"And I guess that wife of yours isn't too happy about it?"

"How'd you reach that conclusion?"

"Well," she ignored that Tig was waiting for her, standing directly in front of him. "If she was genuinely thrilled about you being back here, she'd have been coming to Gemma's dinners, and spending more time at the clubhouse with us. But she isn't, and I'm starting to realize that she probably hates me now."

His head shook. "She doesn't hate you. It's just...It's just raw. Weird being back, I think."

"She didn't even have to leave. She knows that."

Donna did know that. But there was always something about Gemma. About the way she let things slide so often, how she felt that she had Clay so pussy whipped that he'd be at her every beck and call--but, really, that was redundant. Because Gemma let him get away with fucking murder.

Literally.

"Is she gonna be there tonight?

"Of course. She wouldn't miss Jax's son coming home." He got up, reaching for her hands. "Sorry that she's been so distant with you, Isla. But she's just been stressed out--money worries and the kids and stuff, y'know?"

"Yeah, I know."

Donna wasn't traditionally a worrier. But five years worth of finances, being a single mom, and fretting over her husband potentially not making it out of prison alive, just did that to a woman.

"Anything I can do to help?"

"I don't think so." Grateful for her offering, though recognizing how damn stubborn his wife was, he conceded. "Thanks, though."

"Anytime. And if you change your mind, or need me, you know where I am--"

"Isla!"

"He is getting on my last fucking nerve today." She groaned, flipping Tig off as she looked over the ledge. "I'm coming! Give me a minute!"

"I've given you plenty of minutes! Just get your ass down here!"

"Just go," Ope chuckled, leaning down to peck her cheek. "We can have this talk another time."

Isla turned back to him, frowning. "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely. Go 'n talk to him--I'll see you tonight."

He was such a nice guy. So considerate, kind.

She loved him a lot.

The flouncy sundress rose to the middle of her thighs as she sauntered through the clubhouse, hearing Trager talking--rather conspicuously, though slightly muffled--to somebody on his cell.

"C'mon, Tiggy. Why'd you yell at me?"

He waved his hand to shut her up, gesturing for the blonde to follow him out of the clubhouse and toward his bike.

"Yeah, cool. K, brother--see 'ya later. Bye." He hung up and slid the phone into the pocket of his cut, swiveling to face Isla with a smile. "You ready?"

"For what?"

"The party?" Tig told her, watching confusion sweep over her face. "I'm taking you over 'cuz you want a drink and don't wanna drive home after? And that you're probably gonna end up heading home with Juice, or something--"

"Juice?"

"It always happens," he shrugged, pointing at the helmet he set out for her at the back of his bike. "We all head out, you get too drunk, you take a liking to Juicy, and you try to ride his dick."

"What?" Isla got herself situated behind him as he got on first, her arms wound around his waist. "That was one time. I've only slept with him once, and I told you it'd never happen again."

"And why is that?"

Her cheeks flushed red, the engine revving sending vibrations through her entire frame.

"Because he was too gentle." Tig's foot collided with the kickstand.

"And the little Catholic girl likes it rough."

She felt the solid gold crucifix burning a hole into her chest.

"Yes. I like it rough." He groaned, leaning into her. She swatted at his chest over his shoulder, laughing heartily. "Just take me to see the baby, dickhead."

The bike sped out of the lot and Isla was loving the thrill of being on two wheels. She'd always liked being stuck to the back of somebody's Harley--but she'd never own one herself.

Isla was like Gemma. She felt stable enough riding with somebody, but riding alone--being in control of the motorcycle--was fucking terrifying.

Jax and Opie had encouraged her to take a ride at one point, but it didn't end very well, and Chibs spent the best part of two hours trying to stitch his daughter back up whilst Gemma castigated the two imbeciles who thought it was even reminiscent of a good idea.

Weaving through traffic gracefully, freely, was appealing to her, however. But she wouldn't be caught dead--alone--on a fucking bike.

Plus, she quite enjoyed being taken places. Escorted by a member of the club. It was safe.

The wind whirred and whipped around them, and she wished she didn't make the effort with her hair tonight. It was ruined, tousled to within an inch of its life, and she dreaded the thought of having to brush the knots out in Jax's bathroom.

Still, commuting via Harley was a hell of a lot quicker and had a few more benefits than commuting via car.

But the looks that they got were piercing. Horrible. Mainly from Hale stationed beside his squad car, watching as Isla and Tig raced down the freeway.

"He likes you." He spoke over the roaring engine when he hit the first stop light all night. "He hates that you've never given him a chance--"

"He's a cop, and I'm the outlaw's daughter. I've been raised to hate his kind."

Tig nodded his approval, setting off once again when the light switched to green and all opposing traffic stood still.

At one strange point in time, David Hale had his sights set on Isla Telford. He was in love with her. Completely besotted.

And she never gave him a second glance because, for one, she wasn't interested. He hated that she was so close to Jax and Opie, but not him, and he wished that she'd push herself away from the bad guys to grow closer to the heroic law-enforcer.

But he was a control freak above everything else, and Isla was just a free-spirit. She was loyal to her friends and family but she didn't want to get tied down, and she didn't want to become friendly with a fucking cop.

The only cop she liked was crooked. And Unser was in a similar spot to her--a little too affiliated with SAMCRO, but not completely doted on. Though, they were both strangely essential fixtures, and Clay would've been lost without them.

"Juice is here." Tig taunted as he helped her off the bike, holding her hand when she stumbled over herself a little. "Try to keep those panties on."

"Can't make any promises, Tiger." Her growl was seductive, though he knew that she was fucking with him.

She'd given up rebuking his claims, instead feeding into them because, with Trager, she couldn't seem to win. He was sleazy, and she loved that back and forth.

What she loved more, though, was that he was comfortable. He was a strange man, and nobody really understood just where he came from, but Isla liked that she could make jokes of any kind around him. He was easy to get along with. Easy to love.

And, man, did she love Alex Trager.

"If you do fuck him, though, would you make a video?"

Isla stepped into Jax's front room, turning on her heels. "Who said that we haven't already got one?"

She chuckled and wandered into the party, leaving Tig with a few convoluted thoughts and even more raunchy questions.

"Fuck. Gemma taught her well." He grumbled under his breath, reaching for the beer in Half-Sack's hand.

He slumped on the couch, motioning for his usual lay to sit in his lap as he watched Juice fawn over his little blonde friend making conversation with some other random woman already.

"Yeah, totally..." she agreed with whatever the girl was saying, but her eyes were glued on Tara. Just floating around the party.

She felt bad that the doctor was alone. Despite all that she thought of her, being out of ones depth in such an intimidating setting wasn't very nice. And Isla was an empath.

"D'ya think anyone 'round here has any nail glue?"

"Gemma might." She smiled, pointing toward the kitchen.

Grateful that she managed to shake that one off, Isla weaved through the small conclave and sat beside Tara, offering a friendly face during a time of such discomfiture.

Her heart was aching, the sheer nervousness was palpable, and she knew that Tara felt the same way too.

But Isla just sucked it up. Because she wanted to talk to her, and had to be the one to initiate it.

"Thanks for coming." Her smile was wide, genuine.

She offered a beer to the brunette, hoping that she'd take it.

"Thanks for asking me here." Tara accepted it, glad that Isla remembered she wasn't particularly a wine girl like herself.

Christ. This is awkward.

"Trust me, you were the first person I asked to come tonight."

"How so?"

"Well," a little bit more comfortably, she faced her completely, "you've literally nursed Abel back to health. You've been there every step of the way. You've been the best surgeon. And, as much as I hate to say it, you helped Wendy so much, Tara. I'm really thankful for all that you've done for this family."

"It's my job." She tried to brush the comments off, but her heart definitely fluttered at the praise.

Isla never changed. She was still the sweetest soul, she thought.

"I know, but you've had it rough with this lot--with Gemma, I mean."

"She isn't anything I can't handle." Confidently, she asserted.

"I know, and I'm glad that you're able to stand your ground." Reluctant, a hand landed against Tara's palm.

She jolted a little bit, but softened into the embrace.

It was comfy, warm. Prosperous, perhaps, because it meant something. Tara not jerking away and leaving once Isla offered a friendly embrace, was promising.

They spoke about the baby for a little while, and shared a few laughs at Tig's expense. It was strange, really. To be talking to her ex-best friend was strange, but she'd missed it.

Donna joined the mix, too, and it was starting to feel like old times. Isla recognized that they'd never slip back into that routine, the dedication to one another that they'd known when they were kids--but it was nice.

The conversation stuttered and it wasn't able to flow as freely as what she might've liked, but it was a start.

To know that she had something resembling an acquaintanceship with two women she admired, was nice.

And Jax introducing his baby to his brand new home, to his extended family that were already so fucking dedicated to him, was just the most wonderful thing ever.

"What about a beer?" Clay joked, holding the bottle close to Abel. Jax laughed, though he shook his hand away. "What? Grandpa can't give him his first beer?"

"No, he can't."

"I'll take it, though. If you're offerin'." Chibs grabbed the Budweiser and twisted the cap with the leather grip of his glove.

He gestured to Isla, tipping it toward her. "Want some?"

"No, you're alright." She went back to her wine, smiling at that little bundle of happiness in Jax's arms, wondering how the hell he'd gotten to be in this position now.

But it was because of Tara. Her commitment, her talent, and sheer want to help that angel through the roughest patch that a baby could have possibly been thrust into.

How Gemma could still loathe that girl--after everything she did--was beyond her completely.

Tara was the unlikeliest hero in Abel's story.

"Why is it that every time I see you, your highlights get more chunky?" Gemma smiled at the comment, turning to see her favorite girl, flaunting the most beautiful smile.

She handed Isla the bottle of whatever wine Chibs could get this evening, unable to quit beaming at the thought of her grandson finally being at home. Where he belonged.

"I told you I'd do them for you, Gem."

"I know," she nodded, playing with a few strands of hair, "I was gonna ask you, but you've been a little distant this week--didn't wanna add to your workload, baby."

"That's super considerate of you. Are you alright?" Isla teased, holding a hand to Gemma's forehead.

She slapped it away with a laugh. "Fuck you. I'm always considerate."

"Sure you are. That's why Wendy is here, right?"

"No," her head shook, "she's here 'cuz this is her house. If I had it my way, she'd be out on her ass faster than what you could even say 'crank whore.'"

Isla wiped at her lips with the back of her hand, tipping her head toward the blonde in the living room.

"I thought you made sure she was gonna be here tonight?" Confused, she quizzed.

She was under the impression that Wendy was starting to grow on her. After she'd tried to kill her, of course.

"I did," Gem confirmed. "But only because I knew it'd be awkward between her and Tara."

Amazed, or maybe fucking horrified, Isla simply glared at her.

It should've been obvious to her--plain as day--that Gemma Teller doing a good thing was simply a bullshit facade, built in order to take away from the fact she wanted to do an inherently bad thing.

But Isla liked to see the good in people, so it wasn't. And that really was one of her mot fatal flaws.

"She thanked me for letting her stay, too."

"And what'd you say to her?" Almost as if she didn't want to know the answer, she asked.

Black nails danced along the rim of her wine glass as she leaned against the counter, watching everybody enjoy themselves as they bitched and moaned.

"That she's lucky to be alive."

"Jesus, Gem," her head shook disparagingly, disappointed perhaps.

But being surprised that the woman made a threatening comment toward Wendy, was just as stupid as being surprised at Tig for fucking another hooker during his free time.

"You've gotta keep her close, ma. She's the mother of your grandson, the woman your son did love at one point."

Ma. The word rolled off her tongue unintentionally most of the time, but she didn't hate it.

Gemma was the mother figure in her life--hell, she was the mother figure in a few of the Sons' lives--and it didn't feel weird using that around her. It was affectionate. She adored it.

"Jax never loved her," matter of fact, she retorted. "They got drunk together. They smoked dope together. They didn't love one another--"

"They got married." Isla reminded her. "They have a kid together. They have a lot of history."

"Just because they have history, doesn't mean they love one another. You've got history with him."

Her chuckle was throaty, almost a full-on splutter. "We have not got that same history--we're friends, Gem, you know that's different."

She supposed the blonde was right.

There was hell of a contrast between friends for life and friends with benefits--and Gemma knew that. She just didn't like that Jax gravitated toward Wendy when he'd always had Isla right there in front of him.

Though, she was more than aware that the pair didn't look at each other that way--she still lauded the thought of the two together.

"I still hate her."

"I know," Isla laughed at Gemma's irritability, sipping on her wine, enjoying the sight of everybody having a damn good time.

"She's checking into rehab, too."

"Really? Where?"

"Some place in Oakland, I think." Gemma added, smiling at Clay when he wandered over to the pair. "But you didn't hear that from me."

"You think she's gonna stick to it?"

"Couldn't tell 'ya." He answered for his wife, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to Isla's cheek. "She's determined though, I'll give her that."

"Yeah?" His nod was optimistic--strange for Clay Morrow. "Well, I'm glad she's working on herself, anyway. She's got potential."

"You hate her."

"I know." She didn't refute the assertion. "But I'm still happy for her."

At least somebody is.

She wasn't lying. Wendy was a good girl, a woman tortured for no good reason. And she felt for her, she really did.

It'd been a shock, finding out that she was pregnant. But it wasn't like they weren't expecting it--what with the rate she and Jax were going at it.

From the start, Isla and Gemma were worried. She was notorious for her crank habit and the girls thought she was going to kill herself before she had the chance to see her son into the world.

And that almost happened, didn't it?

The doctors at St. Thomas were fucking miracle workers--Isla was on pins and needles waiting for a call to say that Wendy and Abel were okay.

But she tried not to dwell on that, now. They were both as healthy and Abel was as happy as he could've been, so Isla was content. She wasn't pleased, but she was comfortable with the way that things were going.

Tara, however.

"No!" She yelled, backing out of the nursery. "No, fuck you, Jax."

Juice stumbled backward when she nudged him out of the way, pulling her purse from the kitchen counter.

Isla and Gemma couldn't not stare.

"Tara, c'mon!" Jax called after her, but it was too late.

The front door had been slammed shut and the party came to a complete standstill. A thickening tension was shrouding the group, and things were only just starting to simmer.

"What was that all about?" The blonde asked Juice, leaning against the island.

She didn't want to prove Tig to be right but, after a few glasses of wine, Juan Carlos Ortiz was starting to pique her interests.

He swallowed thickly, watching Clay leave the room. "He said something about Wendy--wanting to keep whatever it is that he and Tara have going on the down low so it doesn't set her off, or something."

Makes sense.

"He has a point. She's doing really well lately." He continued. "Jax would hate to stunt her progress by shoving his relationship with Tara in her face."

Isla was rattled.

Jax hadn't talked to her in days, and she wasn't aware that so much had changed. She wasn't aware that he had established a relationship with Tara Knowles.

Again.

You know what they're like--like two fucking magnets or something. They always find a way back to one another.

She was too irritated to reside in that same room as Gemma, now. Knowing the conversation she'd initiate the second that Juice left was too fucking much. So she left first, instead.

The living room was almost empty. Just Clay, Bobby, Tig, and Chibs sat around the couches as Donna, the kids, and Ope were preparing to set off.

Everything was annoying her, now. She hadn't made the effort with Donna all night, but she was pissed that she hadn't started to say goodbye to her yet.

Isla was so fucking irritated that she didn't even want to talk to Tig, or her father. So she didn't.

"Where're you going, petal?" Chibs asked, hindering her plan to keep her mouth shut for the rest of the night. He knew that she'd crack a smile at the nickname.

"I was just wandering. Not really sure what to do with myself."

"Come sit down," he gestured to the space between himself and Tig, and wound an arm around her when she met the leather. "I've missed 'ya."

"Tonight? Or just in general."

"In general. It's been a few days, love."

"I know, I'm sorry." Her head rested against his Sgt. At Arms patch, and she sighed. "Work has been so fucking busy and I feel like I haven't gotten a moment to myself this week."

Isla only worked a part-time gig at some shitty salon just on the outskirts of Charming--edging into Stockton--but she hated her job.

She hated driving into the city every morning and evening, wasting a fuck ton of her paycheck on gas when, really, there was no point.

She hated her cunt boss.

Hated her cunt clients.

She hated that nobody really spoke to her because of who her father was. And when they did speak to her, it was almost like they were scared. Of Isla.

Gemma had always promised her that there was a space at the auto shop for her had she needed it, but she couldn't think of anything worse than having to answer to Gemma and Clay every single day.

Well, more than what she already was, anyway.

"Who'd 'a thought that being a hairdresser was so demanding?"

"Me, apparently." She joked, watching Tig get up and leave the room.

It'd turned somber. A little too bleak for her liking, but she guessed that everyone felt a bit awkward after Tara stamped out and Jax sat on his porch. Alone. With a bottle of whiskey.

She hated the hold that woman had over him sometimes. The way he was so fucking devoted to Tara Knowles that she could literally slap him, scream in his face, and ruin his son's homecoming party--and he would still pine for her.

She'd never understand that.

And she didn't understand how such a lively bunch of individuals had mellowed out over the course of two hours, either.

The party had disappeared. Dissipated into nothing and the atmosphere she once lauded was completely dead in the water.

It was fucking grim, and she couldn't wait to head home.

"Can I come with you tonight?"

"Why'd you even ask? Y'know you're welcome to come home with your old man whenever you want." Chibs told her a little bit stern, though it was essentially full of love.

She just smiled up at him, a bit buzzed. But she was having a good-ish time and who was he to chastise her for drinking a little too much tonight?

"Wanna head off now?"

"Yeah--lemme just say 'bye' to Gemma."

"Alright, I'll be out front. Don't forget your purse." He reminded, knowing she was too ditsy for her own good.

Chibs helped her to her feet, letting go of her hand only to part ways for a few moments.

Her mood was perking up, now. The prospect of being able to spend a few hours with her dad after a long fucking day, was just the best.

And she'd really missed him. Missed the time they once had an abundance of. Missed the evenings that they'd spend talking, drinking, watching movies, doing the generic father daughter activities.

They hadn't had that for a while, and it was truly a blessing that it was within reach tonight.

Well. It was within reach for all of five minutes.

"Oh my God--" Gemma's cell slipped from between black nails and bounced across the table. Saturated hues were locked on Isla, and her head shook.

"What?"

"There's--there's been an accident." She managed to muster out. "Or, maybe a drive-by, I don't know, but Donna--"

"Donna?" Piney's attention was snatched at the mention of his daughter-in-law. He stood up. "What about her?"

Isla knew the answer. She knew what Gemma was going to say because it was just the usual now, wasn't it?

Being affiliated with SAMCRO just did that to somebody. Man, woman, child. They didn't fucking care.

"She's--Piney, she's dead."