#Custom Bags Canada

[inc-immigrationnewscanada]

Air Canada's Shocking New Rules: Pay Up or Sit in the Back

As of today, January 21, 2025, Air Canada has rolled out an unprecedented policy shift that’s sending shockwaves through the traveling community. The airline has decided that all customers on a basic fare must now pay additional fees to switch from their automatically assigned seats at check-in. This move, coupled with the recent decision to charge for carry-on bags on certain routes, has…

[bagmanufacturerusa]

Wholesale Bags Canada: Quality at Great Prices

Shop wholesale bags in Canada for an extensive range of options at competitive prices. Perfect for retailers and businesses looking to stock stylish and functional bags.

[aestheticfactoryinc]

Personalized Toiletry Bag, personalized toiletry bag for girls, Gift for her, travel wash bag. etsy.com/shop/AestheticFactoryInc

[sarah7492]

5 COOLEST BACKPACK TYPES THAT ARE A FAVORITE OF FASHION

Are you interested to know about the 5 most trending backpack types? Then now is your chance to make a bulk purchase. Start reading the blog at https://www.oasisbags.net/5-coolest-backpack-types-that-are-a-favorite-of-fashion-conscious-people-worldwide/

[starry-agere]

hihi <33 you have a rly nice account ^_^

Could you give some ideas for getting (and hiding!) gear? I really need ideas OwO

tyyyyyyy

hi! thank you :D

tips for getting gear:

look on etsy! there are lots of shops on etsy that sell pacis, sippies, teethers etc. i, personally, bought a custom sippy with my name on it that came with both a sippy cup lid and a regular tumbler lid, so it's easy to show someone the cup with tumbler lid if they ask what you bought! i will note that most plain pacis on etsy are way overpriced (usually $10-15 from my memory?). they're cheaper on rearz.ca and pacifieraddict.com, but they ship from canada so shipping can be a bit expensive.

follow agere shops on insta! there's tons of deco paci + general agere shops on there that do discreet shipping. some of my favorites include: @/chubbi_quorn, @/inkys.pacis, @/pups.paci.agere.shop, @/littlest._.creations, and @/baby.shark.binkies.

amazon! you can buy adult pacis on amazon, as well as teethers and baby toys.

check out your local target/walmart/etc! there's tons of cute teethers, toys, snacks, etc made for babies and kids there. plus, you can always order from these stores online and have stuff delivered!

note: i do not recommending buying or using pacis made for babies, as the teats are too small for an adult's mouth and extensive use can cause your teeth to move around. adult pacis were originally made by dentists (to prevent snoring) and are safe for adult mouths!

more under the cut!

tips for hiding gear:

when buying from a shop on etsy, check if they have an option to hide the paci in a stuffie! some shops will ship the paci inside of a stuffie, either with a zipper in its back or they will sew it inside.

keep gear in a bag or box inside of your clothes drawers, closet, or desk. for a long time, i had my pacis inside of a painted wooden box in a desk drawer.

you could also wrap your gear inside of a shirt and tuck it into the back of your dresser or closet

hide gear underneath your bed

get an opaque storage container and keep gear in there

you can buy fake/hallowed out books and store things in there on your shelf

tips for if someone finds your gear:

pacis:

if you're a snorer, say that it's used to prevent snoring at night

say that it helps you calm down from panic attacks

say that it helps with teeth and mouth pain

if it's a deco paci, say that you think it's pretty

teethers:

say that you use it for chewing stims

say that it helps with teeth pain

say that it helps to have something to bite when you're mad

workbooks/kids books:

say that you're collecting for when you have kids in the future

say that you like the pictures

say that they make you nostalgic

say that you like the author so you want to support them

i do want to note that if someone finding your gear would compromise your safety, it probably isn't worth it to buy any. your safety comes above all else, and you're a valid regressor whether you have gear or not!

that ended up being a lot more than i expected! i hope that helps, and you're welcome to send in an ask if you have any questions <3

[mzannthropy]

Anne of the Island Chapter 11

Whew, LMM really threw everything into this chapter, the good the bad and the ugly. (This got long.)

So we're back in Avonlea and it's summer and Anne is reunited with her bestie Diana. RIP residents of Avonlea I never heard of or cared about much. I wonder if Uncle Abe foresaw his own death?

Congrats to Billy Andrews and Nettie Blewett. I also want to know (quoting Davy's favourite phrase here lol) whether he proposed to her himself or sent Jane again. Methinks he did it himself, if only bc I like to think that Jane refused to be his proxy again. We don't know anything about Nettie (at least I don't remember her from previous books) but I imagine her to be the bossy type, a formidable woman, you know, I think that would go well with his personality. Though why the hell am I investing this much time into a storyline that gets fewer sentences that I'm writing here, I cannot answer.

Now, Jane. I made a post on Jane in AOTI in 2023, not linking it here now bc it contains spoilers for later chapters. So, Jane resigned from Avonlea school and is going West. For illustration, this is what "West" means in Canada (PEI is so tiny!):

“Can’t get a beau in Avonlea, that’s what,” said Mrs. Rachel Lynde scornfully. “Says she thinks she’ll have better health out West. I never heard her health was poor before.”

Well, Jane did mention headaches in her letter to Anne but if it's true that her reason for going West is to find a man (and I think it likely is, though I also suspect that Jane wishes to get away from her mother, who is not a nice person) then--so fucking what? In this culture, there seems to be no worse fate for a woman than that of remaining a spinster. I get the impression that even an abusive husband is better than none. Then why blame a girl who is actively working on avoiding this fate? "What else would take her out West to some forsaken place whose only recommendation is that men are plenty and women scarce?" That's kinda the point, Rachel. Jane probably realised she's not getting attention at home, so she decided to go somewhere where she will get it, if only bc there aren't many women. Mrs Lynde is being unfair and judgemental here. Jane is going West to teach, not to have fun. Half a fucking continent away, where she doesn't know a soul, to a completely different environment, and different customs too, I imagine their ways will be very different from the ways of PEI. And she's going on her own. Jane is one truly brave young woman. In this instalment, LMM has gone out of her way to describe Jane as plain and boring. I think this is why she did it, bc there was to be a twist. And I like that Anne defends her friend. It also just occurred to me now that the proposal by proxy might have been a catalyst for Jane. Someone like her brother, who can't even talk to the girl he wants to marry, still manages to bag himself a wife, while she can't even get a man to look twice at her. That's gotta hurt. So she took her life into her own hands, instead of crying into her pillow at night. Good for you, Jane!

Next, Ruby. You know I've always thought that LMM chose to kill her off bc she was so wild about boys. Maybe she wanted to depict someone dying from tuberculosis, bc that's what used to happen in her times, and it had to be someone close to Anne. It couldn't be Diana, of course, so it had to be either Jane or Ruby. Ruby was probably the better choice for that. I mean, idk, I don't care for her much. She's crazy about boys and gets hysterical, that's all there is to her, but also she was an opportunity for LMM to write someone so vivid fighting against inevitable death.

Next, Aunt Atossa. One of the book's pointless plots. There already was a similar character in AOA and it wasn't as out of place. LMM should have written a separate short story for her. (There are actually 2 spinoff short stories for AOTI.) The only good thing is that Diana on their way there admired the sunset. We don't see her do that a lot.

Last, Anne wants to write a short story. Fantastic, tell me more!

[indelicateink]

April 2025

Just before the graphic artist Rebecca Burke left Seattle to travel to Vancouver, Canada, on 26 February, she posted an image of a rough comic to Instagram. “One part of travelling that I love is seeing glimpses of other lives,” read the bubble in the first panel, above sketches of cosy homes: crossword puzzle books, house plants, a lit candle, a steaming kettle on a gas stove. Burke had seen plenty of glimpses of other lives over the six weeks she had been backpacking in the US. She had been travelling on her own, staying on homestays free of charge in exchange for doing household chores, drawing as she went. For Burke, 28, it was absolute freedom.

Within hours of posting that drawing, Burke got to see a much darker side of life in America, and far more than a glimpse. When she tried to cross into Canada, Canadian border officials told her that her living arrangements meant she should be travelling on a work visa, not a tourist one. They sent her back to the US, where American officials classed her as an illegal alien. She was shackled and transported to an Immigration and Customs Enforcement (Ice) detention centre, where she was locked up for 19 days – even though she had money to pay for a flight home, and was desperate to leave the US.

[...] As she sobbed holding the iPad, Becky found herself surrounded by other inmates who wanted to comfort her. A woman called Lucy offered to let Becky use her phone credit if money hadn’t appeared in the account within a few hours. Rosa, a Mexican woman who spoke barely any English and had already been detained for 11 months, offered Becky a Pot Noodle she had been able to buy from the commissary, the shop where they could purchase luxuries. At 8am, Becky finally curled up in her bed to sleep, with Rosa praying in Spanish in the bunk below. [...]

[After her father finally went to the press, got exposure, and her case became a priority for ICE after almost two weeks] [...] But her ordeal was not over. She was taken to the basement of Seattle-Tacoma international airport for a security check. While every item in her bag was swabbed and dismantled, she was subjected to a full body search. “I was in this very loud, weird, industrial space with pipes and conveyor belts and lights and sirens, being told to open my legs. I was silently crying, watching all my stuff being torn apart as someone else was searching every crevice of me.” She boarded the plane before any of the other passengers. “I found my seat, threw my bags on it, and went into the toilet and sobbed in the cubicle, with the British Airways classical music surrounding me.”

--

Read the entire article. What they put her through. The stories of the other incarcerated. The hellverse. Every paragraph was a new punch in the face.

[daybreakerangel]

I GOT MY PACKAGES YIPEE! They were placed in the wrong mailbox.

Got my dress up Lucifer plush made by Nekato404 (she has listed extras recently) a cute little outfit. Now he is full of joy and whimsy. 🥰🌈 I LOVE color block clothes, peak fashion.

It came with a propeller hat, but it was too big for his head. I gave it to my other Luci plushie instead. Yes, the propeller actually works.

This is what I wanted the most and I would have been heartbroken if it was never delivered: This super adorable Adamsapple standee. They are on a date!! 😭❤️

It is from a Chinese Adamsapple artist named Kettle (I think that is their name) and the standee came with equally as cute prints.

I am going to get serious for a second:

If you live in the US, you probably know about the whole the rise in import taxes (tariffs) especially for China. The whole situation sucks because every product import to America is made in China. There is not a single product I can think of that is actually made in this country. Everything is slapped with a "Made in China" label somewhere.

A lot of small businesses regardless of location (US, Canada, Mexico, United Kingdom) that make keychains, standees, and enamel pins, Ita bags, and etc. get their products made in China or materials from China (handmade plush markers get their fabric from China). This can affect Canadian merch artists too.

wivensbane (a fan & official Hazbin merch artist, their pins designs are amazing ❤️) explain how the tariffs would badly affect their business. They recently had to close their recent PO early because the probably of the tariffs become higher. For small business owners, this can be their full-time job (I do not if this is wiven's full time job or yet though).

The de minimis for China will be removed by May. De minimis is/was exemption that allowed goods under $800 to be exempt from high import taxes. I paid $20 for the standee, without de minimis I would have paid around $40+ for a small item which is beyond stupid.

This will cost delays at customs and the possible to pay for extra fees once it gets the US if sellers do not include the additional fees at checkout. I do not want to pay an arm and leg to have it something so small and weight under a pound to be delivered to my mailbox.

This whole thing is again beyond stupid and is in general fucked up. This is going to make literally EVERYTHING more expensive for no good reason, how will this benefit US citizens in positive way? Americans like low prices and when big business up their prices, they tend to lose business because people go where the prices are lower. Unless you are wealthy/ make thousands of dollars, the average American likes low prices. I like buying from small businesses and idea of ANY of them having to close down shop breaks my heart. Please support small businesses if you can (regardless of your location). If you are in the US, please contact your reps.

Graphic made by aubryjoi.

I sent a letter, and you should too:

⭐️ https://5calls.org/issue/trump-tariffs-canada-mexico/ ⭐️ https://resist.bot

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for being paranoid about US Border Security?

🪤 <- for searching later

Background info: I live in Canada, (relatively) close to the US border. Because of this, when shopping online it can be cheaper to have orders shipped to the nearest American town and then drive down yourself to pick them up. I hadn't done this myself but it's pretty normal to do around here.

This happened at the end of this summer, so the situation is fully over but my (white) friends immediately adjacent to this situation have said that I was basically the only asshole here and I feel that I am, at least, only one of the assholes. I want people's genuine opinions however. I have since stopped talking to this entire group of people, who I'd previously been friends with for 4-5 years, over this issue and a couple others.

My friend (20s, white) had ordered a package to [nearest American town], and because they don't have a car, they were looking for someone who could do a day trip to the states so they could pick it up. I (20s, white-passing, but from a mixed South Asian Muslim family, & I have very recognizably Muslim family names) offered to drive them down with my car, they agreed. We were going to split gas money, the date was set, everything was ready to go.

A few days prior to when we were going to go, my south asian parent reminded me that because I have muslim names, I need to be very careful when crossing the border, because the US Customs is well known for profiling muslims/arabs and pulling them aside for intensive screening. My parent also pointed out that, because my friend smokes weed basically every single day (legal in Canada), I would need to make sure that they were not carrying any weed with them when we went.

I was freaked out by this, and was not thinking super clearly in the moment because it was close to midnight and things my parent had mentioned about previous experiences going through Customs had scared me a lot.

I immediately texted my friend, saying that Customs would find weed on them if they swabbed them, and that it would be "a big problem." They replied that Customs doesn't swab for weed, and that they "failed to see any problem." I replied that Customs is allowed to go through your phone (people have been turned away at the border for admitting to having used cannabis before, but if you tell Customs that you've never smoked weed and they find evidence to the contrary they can ban you from entering the country for lying to border personnel.)

I linked them to an unofficial site that went into detail about what US Customs agents can do if you have weed on you or admit to having smoked previously. My vague intent at this point was for us to get everything in order so that none of the bags/jackets/etc we were taking could possibly have had any weed crumbs/dead old vapes/edible packaging in them , but I didn't get a chance to say this because they immediately replied that even if Customs tested them and found weed in their system, that they wouldn't care because it's legal in Canada. I said that Customs very much would care, and they said that I was insulting them and accusing them of having a criminal record. At this point they sent a further ~10 upset/angry texts in a row, which I didn't open or reply to because I was really upset at this point and needed a minute.

At this point (around midnight), they phoned me, I picked it up and they immediately(!) started yelling at me and saying I was a piece of shit etc etc. I told them they sounded dysregulated and should take a minute to compose themself (I phrased what I said in an aggravating therapy-speak way, bc I had been watching vids about cptsd immediately before they phoned me, but I was extremely freaked out, as I think most people would be when their friend is suddenly yelling at them, and it was the first thing that came to mind). This just made them yell louder, so I told them I refused to let people speak to me that way, said goodnight, they said goodnight, we hung up, and I blocked their calls and texts so they couldn't continue berating me.

After this, I realized that I'd completely neglected to mention that the reason I was particularly scared was because of US Customs' Islamophobic profiling, but I had gone into the interaction assuming (incorrectly) that they already knew implicitly that that was going to be an issue, because we'd known each other for 5 years and I've definitely talked (not recently) about how going thru US Customs is always a pain in the ass because my whole family gets profiled and taken for extra questioning, so right before I went to sleep I briefly unblocked them and sent a text saying that the reason I was so paranoid was because of the extra questioning I was already expecting to encounter at the border, but that it was now irrelevant anyway because I refused to be in a car with someone who was totally fine treating me this way.

I've since stopped talking to this person and, by association, my (white) friendgroup because they sided with them completely. It was a long time coming for other additional reasons I can't get into though.

TL;DR

Planning trip from Canada to US in my car with stoner friend, realized a few days before trip that US Customs can arbitrarily fuck your shit up if they find evidence of weed on you. Got scared and tried to tell stoner friend that it would be a big problem if they had weed on them, they flipped their shit and yelled at me over the phone about it, I blocked them (functionally cancelling the trip).

I believe I was accusatory in a bad way, and that I should have communicated better, but ultimately that my fear had a 100% legitimate basis and should not have been completely and totally dismissed by everyone around me, even though I was too extreme in my paranoia

(They were able to get another ride and pick the package up later)

What are these acronyms?

[deadpresidents]

At the FDR Presidential Library, I read that the British press considered it crass and undignified for the Roosevelts to share hotdogs with the King and Queen of England when they visited Hyde Park. Are there any other fun anecdotes about Presidents serving the wrong food to dignitaries?

FDR also served them beer with their hot dogs! From the accounts that I've read, King George VI enjoyed them and asked for more. Queen Elizabeth (that's the Queen Mother -- Elizabeth II's mom) had to ask for directions about how to eat the hot dogs, but apparently ended up using a knife and fork. Apparently, the King and Queen really appreciated the lack of formality in their visit to Hyde Park because it came on the heels of a very formal, month-long state visit to Canada. President Roosevelt and King George even went swimming together a couple of times in FDR's pool and went for a ride in FDR's custom-made car that allowed him to control everything with his hands due to his disability.

Off the top of my head, I can't think of any incidents where Presidents served the wrong type of food to guests. I'm sure it has probably happened over the years, but State Dinners are pretty meticulously planned by protocol officials on both ends. One story that I always liked was President Reagan noting in a diary entry that Prince Charles (now King Charles III) was served tea during a visit to Washington but had absolutely no idea what to do with it because it was served with a tea bag.

From Reagan's diary entry on May 1, 1981:

"Highlight was noon visit by Prince Charles. He's a most likeable person. The ushers brought him tea -- horror of horrors they served it our way with a tea bag in the cup. It finally dawned on me that he was just holding the cup & then finally put it down on a table. I didn't know what to do. Mike [Deaver] escorted him back to the W.H. and apologized. The Prince [said], 'I didn't know what to do with it.'"

[spicyclover]

Unplanned | Part eight

Summary:  You are pregnant with Mick. It’s not going as planned; it’s not planned. Everything happened so fast, and everything was chaotic. Mick has a hard time accepting it. You have difficulty realizing that two of you may not be raising this child.

Part one | Part two | Part three | Part four | Part five | Part six | Part seven | Part eight

Hope you’ll enjoy this part. Let me know in the comments section! 

I'm open to requests.

Thank you, and Enjoy! :)

Lots of love, xxx Spicy Clover

The following day, he jumps on the next plane available for Canada, which is a three-connection, but he doesn't care at this point. He waits hours for his next connection at the Charles de Gaulle airport. Trying to think about what to say or do.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We are forced to land at the Ottawa International Airport due to a snowstorm at the destination point. We apologize for the inconvenience. We sincerely apologize, and our stewardesses on the ground can assist you to redirect you to the next available flights. Thank you for your understanding.”

Mick looks through the window and sees the white expanse covering the airport's ground. The runway was covered with heavy snow, but he could see the plows clearing the runways quickly to allow the aircraft to land safely. Dressed in a little sweater and a T-shirt. He regrets not thinking about Canada’s complicated weather, especially at this time of year. Of course, it’s cold in January, and there’s snow. It’s not Australia, after all. He also regrets not putting a hoodie in his bag. He knows full well that he will catch his death once he gets out of the heat of the airport.

All the passengers on the plane complained about the change of direction, and several disgruntled people were already praising the company’s complaint. Mick looks up and knows full well that it’s not their fault. All of eastern Canada is blocked because of this storm.

However, he is thinking about what he will be able to do next. How will he get to Quebec City? He thought about the various options as the aircraft suddenly landed on the runway. He clings to his seat, taking a deep breath. He never liked to fly, let alone in a storm. The bell that says the seat belt is no longer necessary rings, and everyone rushes into the aisles to pick up their luggage as quickly as possible. Something else Mick doesn’t like. Being glued to strangers, he sits quietly in his place and waits for people to come out to get up and take his bag. He crosses the hallway and follows the arrows that lead him to security. He goes through customs quickly and ends up at the airport gates. He sees people pulling out their winter jackets and big boots. "I really should have dressed." He mumbles to himself, crossing his arms around his body to keep his body warm.

He went to the reception desk to be put on the next flight to Montreal, but it would not leave for three days. “It’s too long.” A little stress invades him, and he wonders how he will reach his destination if no plane lands in Montreal for the next few days. So he sits on a bench and thinks. “I have to get to her.”

He finally finds the best solution to his problem. “If I can’t fly to her. I’ll do what I know best. I’ll drive to her." He got up to determine and went to the car rental service.

Renting is the best option right now.

After five hours of difficult driving through the snowstorm, he finally arrived at his destination. The city is completely buried under the ton of snow that fell during the night, the streets are deserted, and it makes the landscape breathtaking. The snow covers the entire St. Lawrence River. He even sees people on snowmobiles, making tracks on the fresh snow to cross the river. Mick knows snow, but snow like this never happens. He never thought that when he came to Quebec, he would be blown away by his landscapes. The sun is rising, setting in the sky.

They spoke about her home. She described the island where she lives. Ancestral houses, fields as far as the eye can see and the different villages of the island. The bridge that connects the island to the city is old but beautiful. Everything seems asleep under its snow mountains, yet several people are already beginning to unfold their entrance, and children are waiting for the school bus. Fortunately, the road is perfectly cleared of snow, allowing Mick to admire the landscape without danger.

He easily finds the house. He remembers as if it were yesterday the description she gave him of her parents' house. She described the landscape and the atmosphere of the place, and he felt it strongly. He exits his vehicle and is surprised that the snow reaches his calves. He tightens his sweater against his body and approaches the house's porch. The lights inside his lit, and he still sees Christmas decorations. The tree shines with a thousand lights. He rings the bell.

A chime agitates and produces a magnificent symphony that mixes with wind and snow. He stands there for a few seconds without a sound and hops on the spot to warm up. Then, he hears through the door a person approaching.

"Yes?" asks the lady, opening the door.

She's staring at Mick from top to bottom, probably wondering what he's doing in a weather like this, dressed like this. Mick looks up at the woman in front of him, and she doesn't look like Y/n, and he feels embarrassed to disturb her. He blushes when he stutters.

"Um... I don't think I have the correct address. I'm sorry to bother you." He quickly steps back and is ready to go down the stair when suddenly.

"Mick," he hears a voice in the distance.

She approaches the entrance door and lets her face be seen in the door frame. A smile from on his face. It's her, and it's really her. He can't believe it. It seems like ages since he last saw her. Her hair is brighter, and her skin is radiant. She seems to radiate for miles. She has a worried look on her face. He's shaking like a leaf, and his face seems frozen from the cold.

"What are you doing here?" She asks, taking him by the arm and drawing him into the hall. "Come, come in. You will catch death."

She closes the door behind him, and the other woman leaves at the end of the long corridor in a room unknown to him, leaving them alone. The young woman helps him take his shoes off, grumbling about not dressing enough for the temperature. She guides him into the living room, sitting him in front of the fire to warm him up. Mick doesn't say much, but he thanks her. He's thankful she didn't throw him like an old sock in his car so he could get out of the country. She leaves in another room, and Mick takes the time to look around at the pictures in front of him sitting on the mantel. He rubs his hands close to the fire, hoping to warm up. She comes back a few minutes later.

"Thank you," he said, taking the hot chocolate in his icy hands.

He shudders and shivers from the cold. She watches him for a few moments before returning to the corridor. She returns with warm clothes and a vast warming blanket. He puts on the clothes, and she tenderly wraps him up like a child in the blanket and caresses his hair. Despite all the anger, she may feel. At this very moment, all she wants is his good. He puts his head between the palm of her hand, taking the time to feel her warmth, keeping her contact a few moments before it is interrupted.

“What are you doing here, Mick?" She asks tenderly as she sits on the couch next to him.

He doesn't know what to say at first. So, he lets his eyes look at the room. He notices the house is small but extremely warm and cozy. The mix of wood and cream makes the home very welcoming and not intimidating. Nothing like his house. He feels good here, and he hopes she is too.

“I... He’s searching for the words he spent hours practicing on the plane and in the car to her house. “I came to see you.” He admits locking his ocean-blue eyes in hers.

“Mick, what did you really come to do? Are you not with Nina?” She wonders with a touch of bitterness in her voice.

He feels the bitterness in her voice, and he feels terrible. Bad because he wants her to know so many things all at once, but she doesn't seem able to listen.

She didn’t want to show him that he hurt her, but she couldn’t help but wonder what happened to the other. "Why is he here? Did the other girl leave him? Is that why he came here?" All those questions invade her mind immediately, and she feels her tear coming up. Her throat tightens.

“No. No. I...” Words struggle to get out, and Mick feels increasingly uncomfortable. His cheeks turn red, and he mumbles an apology again. “I broke up with Nina.” He finally confesses, looking at her in the eye once more.

“Oh, sorry about you.” She isn't sorry for a bit but doesn't feel better either. Strangely, she feels weird about all this.

He takes a sip of his hot chocolate. All the sentences he prepared, all the words and promises he made up on the plane, are gone. He wants to tell her the world and even more. "How can he describe how she makes him feel if he doesn't even have the words?" He wants to kiss her, to prove to her that he'll be hers, and only hers by now. But he knows for sure that a kiss isn't the right idea. She needs explication, and quickly. All this situation makes him anxious and stressed.

“No. No. No. She's not important to me.” He puts his coffee cup on the table and turns his body towards the young woman. “I want you.” He mumbles, taking her hands gently in his own.

“Mick...”

“No, listen to me! I screwed up, I know. I shouldn’t have left you alone all this time, and I’ll have. I want to be there for you, with you. I want you to be close to me. The few days we spent together have opened my eyes, and I know what I want now. I...”

"Don’t say it," she implores with eyes full of water.

“I need you to know that. The few weeks without you were the worst weeks of my life.” He approaches her hand and rubs her cheek tenderly. “I don’t just want to be involved in your life because of the baby, our baby. I want to be involved because I...”

“No, stop, Mick.” She says, pushing him away. “You can’t say that when it’s only been a few weeks since you walked out on me, kissing your girlfriend in my face. I can’t... I don’t want those words coming out of your mouth. You’re being unfair to me.” She cries out as she leaves the room in tears.

She hates hormones. She hates the control it has on her. She can't have a proper conversation that doesn't involve tears and screams since the start of her pregnancy. She feels so frustrated with herself and doesn't want to say more things to Mick. She storms out of the room, slamming the bathroom door. Her hormones make this situation somewhat upsetting, a real drama. She locks herself in the bathroom and lets herself slide to the ground.

He has no right to come back like a flower and ask him to forgive him for the weeks of pure sadness that he made her live. He has no right. She bursts into tears and brings her knees back to her chest. She did her best with her growing belly, a little more rounded by her 15 weeks of pregnancy.

On his side, Mick’s remorse seizes him, and he feels at his worst. How she feels and expresses it is worse than he could have imagined, and he never wanted that to happen. He sees the woman who welcomed him, and she approaches him with a compassionate smile.

"Don’t worry. It’s hormones. She’s just upset about the situation, but once she’s calm, she’ll talk to you.” She said as she sat beside him, offering him a comforting pat on the back. "Don’t worry about it. I know that you have good intentions."

"How do you know?" He questions down.

"Well, I talked with your mother a few hours ago. She's a very persuasive woman.” She giggles slightly to relax the atmosphere and reassure him. "She cares about you very much."

“You are her mother?”

“Yes." She nods. "You should go see her."

"I don't think it's the right idea. She hates me." He mumbles, wiping a few tears down his cheek.

"She doesn't hate you. She's upset and pregnant, which are two things that don't go together. Knowing my daughter, she’s probably doing a thousand scenarios in her head, so I think you can go and reassure her." She taps his shoulder gently before getting up again. "You have to lift the handle a little to unlock the door. And a little tip, don’t talk too much. Let her open to you.” She winks at him before heading outside.

Mick nods and gets up from the couch. He listens to her choking sobs with his ear glued to the bathroom door. A pinch in the heart invades him, and he unlocks the door without difficulty. She barely has time to look up as he’s already hugged her. Letting her go through her emotions. She wants to struggle and get away from him, but deep down, she doesn’t want to. She allows her tears to stain his sweater. Mick gently cradles her. She feels good in his arms, reminding her of the day he took her in his coat to keep her warm.

Her sobs subside, and her breathing resumes a normal rhythm. She feels her body relax more and more and closes her eyes, happy to have him back by her side. She gently detaches herself from him to take a handkerchief and blow her nose. She laughs and implores him not to watch her blow her nose. He laughs but does what she says, and he looks away.

They remain for a moment in silence, sitting in the bathroom, enjoying the presence of the other. When Mick’s stomach starts to gurgle strongly, she finally decides to get up. He helps her get back on her feet, and she giggles when she hears his belly gurgling. He blushes heavily when he mumbles an apology. She leads him to the kitchen and orders him to sit down. She takes out a pan and removes the pancake preparation that she made a few hours ago from the fridge.

He takes the time to admire her. Her cream hoodie, which he recognizes from the RIC store, suits her perfectly. She seems cozy and warm while the sun sets on the kitchen windows. As always, the light from the mighty sun reflects on her magnificent strawberry blonde. Mick wants to put his hand in her hair and smell that sweet smell of honey again. Her perfume intoxicates him. He's lost in her beauty that he doesn't even realize she talked to him.

"What?" He mumbles, a bit embarrassed to have been cough daydreaming.

"Do you want maple syrup on your pancake?"

He nods, and they eat in silence. Mick thanks her multiple time for her kindness, and she laughs. She finds him sweet. He is sweet. All those things he says and how he tells them makes her heart go. Butterflies in her stomach. She rests a hand on her belly, rubbing it distractedly, listening to Mick mumbling about his recent discovery about their baby.

The more she thinks about it, the more she realizes she hasn't been fair to him either, especially about the baby. She knows they have to talk about it eventually, but right now wants this peace and quiet moment, without drama, to continue forever. She's lost in her thought and hasn't realized he is asking her a question.

"Hum?"

"How is he?" He asks again, pointing at her baby bump.

"Oh, everything is fine. The baby is perfectly healthy and strong and has a strong heartbeat."

"Really?" Mick’s eyes light up, and she smiles affectionately.

"Yeah! Do you want to hear it?"

"Sure." The spark in his eyes makes her smile even more.

She gets her phone and headphone and comes back quickly. She sets the devices on his head and searches her playlist for the baby songs. She hasn't stopped listening to it since the doctor gave her a record.

For a few seconds, he can't hear a thing. But, little by little, the beats are listened to. Regular and strong. Tears of joy appear in his eyes. This is Mick's first time hearing his baby’s heart beating. Even if it’s not live, he is filled with joy. He smiles fully and gently puts his hand against the young woman’s belly. He caresses tenderly and can no longer hold back his tears. The emotion is strong. He never thought he would be so moved by a very small being not yet born. Seeing him move makes her move, and she wipes her tears. She is more than happy to be able to share her moment with him finally. She ties her fingers to his and puts her head against his shoulder.

"Come with me at ROC this weekend." He mumbles once the recording of the heartbeat is finished. "We have much to discuss, but I want you close, and I don't want this to end."

Mick’s heart beats a thousand a second, and his nervousness makes him blush. To reassure himself after this proposal, he caresses his stomach. God, he can’t wait for the baby to move, for him to feel it too.

She hesitates to accept his request and doesn’t want to find herself in a situation she doesn’t like again. And even more, this is a public event, and many people will be there. It’s one thing to meet his family at home and stay in a private setting, but it’s another to make this story public. He feels his hesitation, and he cannot help but add.

"My friend Sebastian is going to be there. I really want you to meet him. It’s like a second father, a mentor to me. And I want him to see the person who’s going to... I hope... share her life with me." He whispers at the end of his sentence, barely inaudible.

Her heart goes wild, and the butterflies in her belly fly away. She feels light and happy. Happy that he offers her. Glad he chose her. Glad she could finally tell “us” after these weeks of loneliness.

"Okay." She says. "I'll go with you."  

Tag list:

@tyna-19 @ironcowboycopnickel @dreamerrosie @gagaga167 @primadonnasdream @sachaa-ff @majx00 @lissimountf1 @mloyer @playboygeniusphilanthropist​ @sugarbabygirlofdaddy​ @pleasedontfollowimlost​ @blueleonor​ basicallyherondale mariar31

[bagmanufacturerusa]

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[seat-safety-switch]

In Canada, where I am currently forced to reside because of the intersection of intolerant legislation and dynamic self-expression, people love a loyalty card. Because everything is overpriced here, every store offers you a points card of some kind. My wallet right now has 16 different loyalty cards, and my phone creaks under the load of same.

Why do we do it? For the promise of free shit. If you visit Dairy Queen approximately 60 times in a row or give them about $300 in business, they'll give you a free ice cream cone. Do you visit Dairy Queen enough to justify that? Absolutely not, but their hope is that the rewards card will help bring you in rather than "waste" your money on some other ice-cream purveyor.

All this has given rise to what the psychologists in Ottawa are calling "rewards point rage," where you get super mad at someone throwing away perfectly good points by not having a reward card. You ignorant motherfucker, you don't have an Air Miles card? Those two tangerines and a bag of potato chips would have gotten you one Air Mile. Here, let me just stick my card in here and get them for you. What, now you want them? Let's take this outside.

At the moment, only a few hundred people have been injured in point-rage incidents, with a mere two or three of them succumbing to their injuries. This is but a small price to pay for increased consumer satisfaction, aided by the fact that if you do a customer service survey right after shopping there, they might give you five or even ten rewards points into your account as a little "thank you." Better keep them on your good side.

[cripplecharacters]

hi! a friend of mine has recently told me a bunch of stuff about how i could include some disabled characters in my short stories (i write hurt/comfort for the record) and what they'd like to see more of.

something on the list was "[disabled people] have access to certain medical supplies that normally wouldn't be accessible." google isn't being super helpful as it's a pretty vague statement. can you give me some examples of this? would it be syringes and needles? or certain medication that's easy to use with malicious intent? (also for the record, they were specifically asking if i could write more disabled characters doing the hurting instead of being victims of it, since that tends to be an underrepresented category). i dont even know where to start researching since there's so many types of disabilities, so any help would be hugely appreciated!

Hello,

Prescriptions open up a world of medical supplies that the public would have to jump through major hoops to access or wouldn't be able to access at all. For example, epinephrine auto-injectors, commonly known as Epi-Pens. In America, one can only get those with a prescription or if you're the caretaker for someone who has life-threatening allergies, there is no other way to get them unless you buy them from a shady sight from the United Kingdom or Canada. Even Adrenaclic, created by CVS Pharmacy, which also treats anaphylaxis, is only available when prescribed by a medical professional. Disabled people with chronic pain can access medical marijuana, or even medical-grade opioids. One can't legally buy Schedule 2 Drugs (things like Adderall) without a prescription. It'll depend on what condition they have, but prescription medications are a huge part of that "access to supplies the rest of the population can't have."

The second thing is medical-grade sterile equipment. Sure, you can buy IV bags off of Amazon for fifteen dollars for fifty, but those probably aren't medical-grade and you don't have a guarantee that they're good or safe quality. IV fluids are hard to find at a reasonable price. Syringes? Those absolutely need to be sterile, it's not safe to buy those from anywhere that isn't a pharmacy. All of this stuff is best purchased as medical-grade, meaning it could be used by a doctor or a hospital, and they aren't buying this stuff from Amazon. Pharmacies get this stuff from similar, maybe even the same, sources as hospitals are getting them, and a pharmacy will probably only sell you most of this stuff to someone who's prescribed it and who has a diagnosed medical condition that requires it. Even then, disabled people usually need to jump through hoops to get our medical equipment.

And the third is something that might surprise you- mobility and assistance devices. Yes, you can get a cane from Walmart or a hospital-type wheelchair from Target, but those aren't personalized. They'll do the job but an abled person probably can't get a custom-built wheelchair as easily as someone with cerebral palsy can. This isn't saying it's easy for disabled people to get these things, it's just easier than it is for the general population. Plus, things such as a class three powerchair are thousands of dollars. If you're prescribed one, insurance might cover part of it, or you might have the option to receive these things for free from charities, or at a discounted rate, especially if you're low-income. You can buy them if you're abled, sure, but you'll have access to a better way to go about it if you're actually disabled.

Again, nothing on this list is guaranteed to be a breeze for a disabled person, but there are routes we can take that make getting them easier than it would be for an abled person who doesn't need them.

Mod Aaron

[cryptile]

Thing and Petey's Valentine's Day fiction!

This is them for reference if you don't know ^ Thing is a tibetan fox (she/they/it) and Petey is a Canada Lynx (he/him) and they are a queer-platonic couple so the words partner and friend will be used interchangeably!!!

Thing was sleepy, sleepier than she was on most days, she blamed it on the sad, rainy weather, but the unreasonably early-hour History of Film lecture it started its day with definitely added to the tiredness. The Scratchy sound of steaming, foamy milk pouring into a glossy white cup on the counter in front of her didn't do much to wake her up, and the light chattering of happy couples seated around the cafe helped even less. Eyelids heavy and head wobbly, it tried to take a step back, before being swooped upwards by a mass of comically long, uncomfortably damp fur, and into a very, very startling hug.

“P… Petey…” Thing croaked, spitting wet hairs out of its mouth.

The large Lynx just purred in response, wiggling her from left to right with glee.

“What are you doing at work? It's Valentine's Day!” 

“You say that every year, Petey, you should be working too.” Thing muttered in her usual flat tone. 

The lynx put her back down onto the floor gently and shrugged. 

“It's been hard finding accessible jobs lately, but it's no biggie, I've been getting by somehow.” Petey swung his wrist dismissively, “Doesn't matter, come on!”

“B-but the coffee, i need to serve the… customer” Thing pointed at the annoyed customer in desperation, but Petey was already squeezing into his chair and gestured towards Thing's seat across from him.

With a sigh, Thing sat down, its tail lazily dropped into the open space between the seat and the backseat, where her black leather bag was hung. She opened her mouth but before any work related questions escaped it, the answer came to her in the form of its co-worker placing a cup of black coffee, her favorite, in front of her and giving them a weak but encouraging thumbs up.

“Huh. Did you arrange this?” She turned to Petey. 

“...well, no, I just assumed they wouldn't mind letting you go for a little while.”

Thing took a deep breath, an attempt to settle its stress, trying to focus only on her coffee, and her partner who was already being served his milky cappuccino and dessert. 

“This is all very nice.” It said, not only to express its gratitude, but as an affirmation to herself.

“Please, Peet, just tell me next time you intend on getting me off work.” Thing's expressionless face was unusually hard to read, but Petey has known the fox for enough time to know she is pleased with her little break.

The friends' warm conversation quickly blended into the hubbub of the couple-filled café. The work-related tension that earlier held onto Thing tightly has now disappeared, making space for a feeling of security and familiarity that accompanied all time spent with her fluffy boyfriend, whose slowly drying fur has somehow already found itself in Thing's cup.

A tingling in the fox's throat suddenly interrupted its current tangent, and when they were finally finished coughing up fur they spoke again. 

“How haven't you gotten a haircut yet?!” It examined Petey's overgrown winter coat, his cheek fur already touching the rim of his shirt and his ear tufts long enough to droop down and tingle the fleshy insides of his ears.

“Meh, money's been thin, remember how i told you ’bout the job problems? Turns out no gig means no money.” He chuckled

“Yeah.” Thing simply responded. Though its friend's fur was long and all over the place, he lacked the prominent fluff on his chin, that's been present ever since he transitioned.

“Which reminds me… um, well first of all happy Valentine's Day, Thingy.” 

Thing looked at him with a suspectful gleam in her eyes. She could already see his big paw kneading at the table with anxiety, though careful not to scratch its surface. 

“I… I got you a gift, but… I hope you understand if it's not much… you know how it is.”

“Doesn't matter, I don't really like many objects.” She replied, squeezing as much comforting energy out of herself as she could, which unfortunately wasn't much. When the silence between them extended for too long, it spoke again. “...Maybe I'll start then?”

Petey nodded with relief. 

The small fox has been aware of his recent financial situation for a while now, and somewhat expected him to find some things not affordable at the moment, and the visible change in his features has done nothing to hide that. Thing pulled something out of their bag, a white envelope and a small, duct tape covered cardboard box, both decorated with a neatly tied bow. 

“You've been off T lately, must be pretty distressing.” She remarked, sliding the envelope towards him, but still held onto the little box. “Inside there is some cash for your hormones, Peets.” 

Petey's muzzle twisted into a weak smile, he tensed his eyebrows to keep the tears from pouring out like a river. He tried opening his mouth to speak, but closed it back again when all that came out was a crackling mumble of a ‘thank you’, broken up by his loud purring. 

The Tibetan fox's tail wagged lightly behind it as it still held onto the little box.

“... What's in there?” The Lynx finally managed to speak again. 

“Needles, for the testosterone, i assumed you wouldn't have many left so i got you a surplus.” She quietly placed the box on the table. “Don't open it though, it would raise some questions. Gifting needles and an envelope of money isn't a very normal activity in public.” 

Petey nodded, his smile brightly contrasted with the gloomy sky outside, basking in the security of being able to afford his HRT for another few weeks. 

His face darkened quickly though, as he remembered it's his turn on the gift-giving.

He took a deep breath. “Okay, I really hope you'll enjoy these, I mean, I technically know you will… Well, I know you really love those old horror films, and I went out on some scavenger hunts around the ancient, shitty part of town…” As he stalled, Thing's tail-wagging was slowly increasing in frequency, their feet joining in and tapping the floor lightly. “...And i know this isn't much… but….”

He placed a crinkled up gift bag on the table. She eyed it with excitement, the item towering over her small frame.

“Go on, op-” Before he could finish, Thing was already crinkling the bag towards her with her paws, peeking inside to see a collection of dusty cassette tapes and DvD discs in varying conditions. Its feet thumped on the floor and its tail wagged aggressively, nearly hitting the sides of their chair. 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you thank you…” they repeated quietly, examining the various films, checking their condition and already plotting how to fix them. Petey watched her with a grin even brighter than before, joining in on the foot-taps in solidarity and accompanying their excitement with his own, booming purr.

“This is everything to me.” Thing announced, after a moment of silent joy. 

“You're everything to me.” Petey's irises were swollen with love, as he clutched his gifts in his big paws. 

“Gross! …Yeah, you too.” The fox replied, lightly touching its partner's leg with her foot. “And stop worrying so much, you could give me a dead frog and I wouldn't think less of you.” 

Petey giggled. “I thought I was the gross one!” 

“You are.” She reaffirmed, before the two friends fell back into their usual conversation topics, gossipping and talking about their day until the winter sun hid back behind the bustling city's tall buildings.

[bambiiflowers]

Love, actually.

Summary: After Love's incident Joe moves to Canada and decides to start a new life, without any distractions, without a psychopathic wife, just him and his books, or at least that was the plan.

I’m going back to my roots. To where it all began. What’s life like after Love? Empty? Consuming? Sad? Yes. After Beck, life turned blue, and then came Love. Love, the dream, the psychopathic nightmare. She took care of our son in between her bouts of murder sprees, her little Purge fantasies. And God, I miss Henry. But love makes us do crazy things. Never in my wildest dreams did I think I’d bring Mooney’s to Canada. Canada. Land of maple syrup, hockey, and oh boy... Justin Bieber. A fresh start, I told myself. No distractions, no damsels, just me and my books.

The bell above the door chimes, yanking me from my thoughts. A customer. I don’t look up immediately. Is it another middle-aged Hemingway groupie waxing poetic about the classics? Or a teenager, loud and stupid, buying whatever book their teacher assigned? I sigh and raise my head.

You’re wearing pink. Multiple shades, unapologetic, like you stepped out of a 2000s rom-com. You’re not afraid to shine. Not afraid of the spotlight. Your long black hair gleams, every strand deliberate, like you spent hours brushing it. You have more rings than fingers, like you’re daring the world to notice you’re different. And you are.

You glide through the bookshelves, your finger grazing their spines. So many rings. I wonder what you’re searching for. From the counter, I watch the top of your head move through the aisles. I never thought I would say this but God I miss Ethan, he would be over here and I could be over there talking to you, helping you, hearing your voice, smelling your perfume.

You keep walking through the store as I focus or try to focus on the clients in front of me, until you're right here, in front of me, your hand places the book you choose right on the counter as you give me a smile, a polite smile. Are you usually this friendly to strangers or do you know that I'm different from other men? Your smile, Your teeth as white as pearls, so naturally perfect, and I know this because the bottom row of your teeth is a little uneven, so you never used braces. They make my mind travel to what your mouth would look like wrapped around my cock. You chose the diary of a wimpy kid? Of all the books around the store? A children's book? Technology is really frying our brains, Am I wrong about you?

"It's for my cousin, he's 10" you explain, your voice is calm, self-assured. You said “cousin” like you rehearsed it. I wonder if you really have a cousin or if this is just the first lie you’ve told me.

“You’ve got great taste,” I say, sliding the book into a paper bag. I don’t mention that Diary of a Wimpy Kid is barely literature. Baby steps.

You laugh, a soft sound that feels like a secret. “Do I? I don’t think Greg Heffley’s exactly Proust.” So, you know Proust. My heart does this stupid fluttery thing like I’m fifteen and just discovered Salinger. You’re different. I should’ve known. You’re not just another brain-fried millennial scrolling TikTok. Smart. Sharp. Perfect.

“You’d be surprised how many people walk out of here with less,” I say, keeping my tone light. And there it is, the first spark. You chuckle, the sound of your laugh echoes on my head, a soft confidential chuckle you made it feel so mine. I wonder what you sound like when you climax. Your eyes linger on mine, and I feel it, the pull. That gravitational, magnetic thing that happens when two souls recognize each other. Does it happen to you too?

“How much is it?” you ask, polite, almost apologetic, like you’re ashamed of taking my time.

"15.99" I answer looking into those deep brown eyes of yours, the sparkle in them, the purity, the Innocence, you would never cheat or lie like Beck, and you most definitely wouldn't kill as if it was an Olympic sport like Love.

You hand me a twenty and smile. “Keep the change.” And then, the inevitable: you’re about to leave. Taking all the color in this gray world with you. Quick, Goldberg. Think of something. “Wait,” I say, my voice impressively calm given the desperation clawing at my chest. “We have a members club. It’s free. Just your name and email, and you get 10% off your next purchase.”

You pause, considering it. Please say yes, please say yes. My heart stalls as your eyes flicker between the door and me. Then, finally, you nod. “Sure. Why not?”

I grab the clipboard and slide it across the counter, careful not to rush, careful not to seem too eager. You pick up the pen. Your nails are painted in a dozen mismatched colors, like a row of candy jars. You write your name slowly, deliberately, and my eyes devour every letter. A name so beautiful, so elegant, so you. You hover for a second before scrawling an email address.

“It’s done,” you say, sliding the clipboard back. I glance at it, memorizing every detail. The way your handwriting slants, how the dot over your “i” is a tiny heart instead of a stab. A part of me wants to ask you more. what you do, where you live, why you chose this bookstore today of all places. But I don’t. Not yet.

“Thanks. Enjoy the book.” I hand you the bag, and your fingers. Too many rings. Almost touch mine. Almost. “Oh,” I add, sliding you the business card. “If you ever need a book recommendation, or to order something that’s not here, don’t hesitate to call.” Or if you want to get fucked senseless, I’m here for that too.

You smile again, and this time compared to the first time when it was just politeness, it feels warmer. Like it’s just for me. Then, you leave, the sound of the bell still ringing in my ears like a promise. It’s ridiculous, I know. But I can’t shake the feeling that something’s different. You’re different. and I’m left standing there, holding onto the lingering scent of your perfume.

I stare at the clipboard for a second longer, tracing the loops of your name with my eyes. The ink isn’t dry yet, but I’ve memorized every letter, every curve. It’s already seared into my mind and thank God your email is here, did you give it to me on purpose? Did you want me to follow you like the boy in one of those 2000s romcoms you came out of? Do you feel it too?

Maybe you do, maybe you don’t. But before you notice, we'll be together. After all, I’ve learned a thing or two about patience. I watch you as you walk through the crowded streets, your presence impossible to ignore, like the world is your stage, and the spotlight is on you alone. Your hair dances in the wind. I want to reach out and touch it. To feel it between my fingers. To yank it as I fuck you from behind.

I’ve been here before. All it takes is the right moment, the perfect opportunity. You don’t need to know me yet. But you will. I’m good at making sure of that.

(That was the first chapter, I'm open to criticism since I haven't written since high school and I think I lost the "spark" or whatever. And you can follow the story in A03 since I'll be uploading it there first.)