#also a huge thank you to the people that helped me workshop this

[leenfiend]

noticing the quiet (and maybe wishing you weren’t)

[itgetsbetterproject]

🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️ GOOD queer youth news for the TL!

These students in Seattle hosted a whole conference for LGBTQ+ students!

With the help of one of our 50 States, 50 Grants, they decided to hold their first “Community and Culture Conference," a huge summit for LGBTQIA+ students across all Seattle Public high schools featuring over 20 different workshops from queer and trans artists, cultural workers, community members, and healthcare professionals, plus queer performances. The conference brought together nearly 200 youth from nearly every high school in their district!

When asked how it felt to be at the conference, students said:

🟣 “I haven’t really been to many queer events so thank you for showing me how incredible they can be. It felt like joy, understanding, and strength.”

🟣 “This made me wish I wasn’t a senior so I could go to this again.”

🟣 “What I really enjoyed was the community and the atmosphere in the workshops that connected everyone to everything and also gave some good advice and experience.”

🟣 “It was amazing to be near so many people like me. I could be vulnerable and talk with people who had the same life experiences as me. I was so happy!”

🟣 “I have sometimes felt like I’m not queer enough, or I don’t seem as queer as others, but being able to come here and being accepted has meant a lot.”

We're going to keep highlighting some of these amazing projects that came out of last year's 50 States, 50 Grants, 5,000 Voices initiative for ya'll all summer!

[gudfornuthin]

Hiii❤️, are you taking requests for Bernard rn? And if so can you write a Bernard x reader (she/her) where she has a very flirtatious personality and he has a huge crush on her and he lovesss when she’s being that way towards him but when he sees her talk to other people like that he’s kinda jealous and maybe end in some smut ( ofc only if you’re comfortable writing that!<3)

Jealousy looks good on you

Bernard the elf x reader

A/N: ‘tis the season and the Bernard girlies have awakened. I’m shocked at all the support I’ve received from these one shots and I’m so glad to be writing more. This isn’t my best imo, I don’t know where I was going with it so I kinda got carried away, but oh well lol. I have another Bernard request after this one and then I’ll be back to my Beauty and the Beast rewrite. Hope you all enjoy :))

“She’s doing it again.”

“Who?”

“Y/N. She’s flirting with him again.”

“Your obsession with Y/N is becoming a problem.”

This wasn’t the first conversation Curtis and Bernard had had with each other about Y/N. This topic specifically. It was known by the other elves that she was confident, and very blunt when talking to others. That also didn’t stop in the romantic sense. And Bernard knew that. She wasn’t afraid to flirt with him in front of others, and that’s why he loved it so much. It made him feel good. And also slightly embarrassed. Only because he wasn’t used to that sort of attention, especially from a very beautiful girl. He wasn’t great at reciprocating her advances, but he hoped she wouldn’t stop. So far she hadn’t. But a new ‘suitor’ had entered the picture, and Bernard was not happy. Some tall, blue eyed elf that he hadn’t bothered learning the name of was also receiving the flirtatious attention from Y/N, and unfortunately he was much better at dishing it back than Bernard was.

“I’m not obsessed with Y/N,” Curtis rolled his eyes at that remark, “I’m just curious to know why she thinks it’s okay to talk with that guy when they both have a lot of work to do.”

The younger elf snorted. “You don’t seem to have an issue when she’s talking to you and wasting precious work time.”

“You’re not helping,” Bernard huffed, walking away from Curtis and towards the workshop, trying to get the image of Y/N and the tall, blue eyed elf out of his head.

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

It had been a few hours since his last conversation with Curtis, and Bernard had quickly calmed down, busying himself with tasks he had yet completed for the holiday season. However, it hadn’t helped him get Y/N out of his head. From the constant flirting, to seeing her using that charm on someone else, Bernard was unsure where the relationship stood. Was it all a big joke to her? Had she been leading him on the last few months to mess with him? Before he could dive deeper into his existential dread, a soft voice sounded from behind him.

“Hey handsome.”

Bernard froze slightly, and looked over his shoulder to see Y/N walk through the door, a stack of paperwork in her hands and a bright smile on her face. Glitter on her cheeks and nose, sporting a new dress that glimmered in the light, Bernard thought she looked like an angel ready to be set atop the Christmas tree. He shook himself out of his trance, and smiled tightly back at her, unable to form any words. He quickly turned back around, continuing his sort out of different coloured wrapping paper. It wasn’t usually Bernard’s job, but he needed the distraction, and the wrapping room was a quiet place to come in the evenings.

“Curtis told me you’d be in here and I need you to sign these papers for Santa.”

Y/N held the paperwork out towards Bernard, their fingers touching briefly once he reached out to grab them. He placed them on the side of the desk and mumbled a ‘thanks’ under his breath, barely audible. Y/N let out a small huff and strolled around Bernard, taking in his tense form.

She smiled again. “So. How’s my favourite elf doing?”

Bernard didn’t bother looking up from his work. “He’s very busy at the moment,” his tone dull and unwavering.

A hand suddenly came into the head elf’s view, and hit the desk hard, jolting everything laying on top. Bernard jumped back and looked to the side where Y/N stood with eyebrows raised and her mouth pursed.

“Have I done something to upset you?” She asked, crossing her arms and popping her hip to the side.

Bernard wasn’t sure what to say, nor how Y/N might react. He’d never been great at showcasing his feelings, especially in the romantic sense. But this wasn’t just some random girl he’d found cute once and never interacted with. This was Y/N. One of his closest friends, someone he cared deeply for. Who seemed to care deeply about him too. She was also someone he worked with. The possibility of admitting how he felt, and for her to not feel the same, it would no doubt make things awkward. And he’d hate to ruin what they already have. Even if it killed him to see her flirting with someone else.

“You’ve done nothing, I’ve just had a lot on my plate and I can’t handle any distractions at the moment,” Bernard finally replied, trying to keep his voice level.

“Really?” Y/N bit back, “because I feel like you’ve been avoiding me all day. And since when do you spend time in the wrapping paper room? When Curtis told me you were here, I was worried you might be having a mental breakdown.” She ended with a joke, but part of Bernard knew there was truth behind her words.

The head elf felt himself boiling over. His temper was short, and everyone knew that, but when it came to Y/N he was unusually chill. Her presence was good for him. Not at this moment though. He could feel himself ready to lash out, and he was worried what could be said.

“Do I have to explain everything to you? Can I not spend time alone without you knowing where and what I’m doing every second of every day?”

“I’m sorry I care about you and want to know what you’re up to! Sure you can have all the time you want alone, I just don’t like it when you avoid me completely,” by now, both of their voices were shaking and getting louder.

“I thought you’d want to spend more time with your new tall, blue eyed friend,” Bernard instantly regretted his words.

Y/N opened her mouth but closed it almost instantly, her brow furrowed and confusion clear on her face. “What are you talking about?” her voice now considerably calmer.

Bernard could feel the embarrassment wash over him, desperate to think of some excuse, but coming up short. “This morning, I saw you talking to someone. It looked like he was flirting, and you seemed to be doing the same back,” Y/N’s face softened as she begun to realise what and who the older elf was talking about. “It got to me, okay? It bothered me that you were talking to him in that way when,” a slight pause, “you usually only talk to me that way.”

Y/N shook her head, a confused look returning briefly. “I don’t understand, you never showed any interest in my flirting, why is it bothering you when I do it to someone else.”

“Because I like you!” There it was. That barrier Bernard built high for years, keeping relationships at bay, had just been broken. And he didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing. “I’m not the best at showing my emotions. Romantically speaking, I’m an amateur at it. And I’m sorry I was never good at reciprocating your advances. I guess it doesn’t matter if it was just a joke to you.”

Y/N reached out quickly, grabbing Bernard’s hand and holding it close to her. “It was never a joke to me. I just didn’t think you liked me in that way so I stopped. Thought I’d try with someone else to help me move on from you.” She moved a step forward, standing toe to toe. “I knew it would never work. You’re the only person I truly care about, in that way.”

Bernard was speechless. He couldn’t stop staring into her eyes, brimmed with emotion but full of love. He mostly felt like an idiot. Never taking the chance before now to make a move or admit how he felt. He finally felt at peace. Like everything had finally worked out.

“What now?” Bernard awkwardly questioned, placing his hands on Y/N’s hips.

“I think you should probably kiss me before someone else does,” She jested back.

They both laugh and lean in, Y/N’s hands going to hold the head elf’s face. The kiss deepened, Y/N moving her left hand to the back of Bernard’s head, tugging slightly at his curls. This elicited a deep moan from Bernard’s throat, his pants growing tighter, as he tugged Y/N somehow closer to him and towards the desk still covered with wrapping paper.

“Why did we wait so long to do this?” Y/N mumbled out between wet kisses.

Bernard moved to sucking her neck, most definitely leaving bruises. “I don’t know. But I never want to stop.”

They continued making out, Y/N feeling the desk behind her and sliding on top, pulling Bernard in between her legs. She felt him growing harder, and slowly moved her hand down, palming at the front of his pants. Bernard couldn’t help but whimper slightly, gripping the side of the desk as well as Y/N’s thigh. Keeping one hand on his hard on, she moved her other back up and unbuttoned his shirt, rubbing her hand in circular motions on his chest. Bernard followed soon after, taking hold of the bottom of her shirt and lifting it over her head. The couple continued kissing and touching anywhere they could reach, seeming to care little to none about the door still being open, or whether someone walked by and found them in their current predicament. They were just glad to have finally admitted how they felt. In the back of his head, Bernard reminded himself to thank that tall, blue eyed elf for bringing out the jealousy in him.

(Sorry it seems to cut short, I’m terrible at writing smut or intimate stuff but I hope you all enjoyed anyways :))

[da-rulah]

The Mayor's Daughter - Mary Goore x f!Reader [Part 4]

Summary: Mary can't think straight; at least, not about anything but you. He's angry, and he's hurt - rightly so - but he can't help the feeling that he's missing something. His spider senses are tingling, and his saviour complex is nagging in his head...

Meanwhile, you're dragged to a formal dinner at the Town Hall with your father's sleazy political associates. What could possibly go wrong?

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Word Count: 13.6k

Warnings: Angst, childhood memories/trauma, alcoholism, addiction, minor drug use, creepy men being creepy, unwanted physical touch/harassment, abandonment, panic attacks

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 5 | PART 6 | PART 7 | PART 8

ALSO AVAILABLE ON AO3 | MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

A/N: Once again, a huge thank you to @her-satanic-wiles & @angellayercake for workshopping and beta reading this fic with me! I live for their reactions every time I sent them an idea or a draft... 🤭 This chapter got away from me, as so many do, and ending up pretty damn long... Enjoy!

He had to be quick. Any longer, and he might be chased out. But he couldn’t help himself... he wanted to look, to touch...  

“HEY!” A gruff male voice shouted from somewhere behind him. Mary startled, stumbling back and shoving his hands in his pockets. “These are for people who know what they’re doing, not little hooligans!”  

The store clerk came rushing over, coming in between Mary and the beautiful Gibson Les Paul on display, hung up on the wall amongst the others. The body shone in a stunning hue of deep red wood, orange bursting from the fret board. He’d always dreamt of owning a guitar like this – or any at all. He just wanted to pick one up, to learn, to play.  

“S-sorry mister... I didn’t mean to-” 

“Go on, out with you! Comin’ in here every damn day, gettin’ in the way of my customers. Go on, get!” The old man shooed a 10-year-old Mary out of the store, shutting the door in his face and folding his arms behind the glass, watching until Mary finally sagged his little shoulders and sighed to himself, trudging down the sidewalk with his head hung low.  

Other people were allowed in to look at the guitars, to touch them, test them; why wasn’t he? Sure, he knew he was a kid but he wasn’t a bad kid... He knew he could never afford a guitar like that Les Paul, but oh how he dreamed of owning his own guitar. Just a little acoustic thing to practise on. He'd put in the work, he’d swear it. He just wanted to learn.  

Still, Mary headed home with his hands in his pockets and his head hung low, avoiding the eyes of the adults around town who looked down on him with looks of either disgust or pity; he was never sure which was worse.  

“Mom?” he called out as he walked into the small and run-down little apartment block on the edge of town. They’d had to move in here almost a six months ago after his father left, unable to afford much else on his mother’s salary; her job at the local diner didn’t pay well. 

Music from the radio filtered through the hall, along with the smell of yesterday’s spaghetti being reheated on the stove. “In here, baby,” a weak shout came from the kitchen. She sounded weaker with each week that passed, barely eating and drinking far too much to be considered healthy at all. Mary had spotted that, not totally understanding the ramifications of it at his tender age but he was wiser beyond most 10-year-old’s years. That’s the thing about a shitty childhood; you grow up quick. 

Still, he was grateful his father was out of the picture now. Honestly? The lesser of two evils. It was better him gone than be here still, hurting everybody around him. 

Mary headed into the kitchen, sitting down at the small table for the two of them and waiting patiently as his mum stirred the pot over the stove, her back to him. He watched as her left hand lifted a glass from beside the stove; a wine glass, half-filled with the cheapest red on the market. 

“Good day?” she asked, looking briefly over her shoulder. Mary just shrugged; he hadn’t paid much attention in school, and he didn’t want to tell her about being chased out of the music store. Although he wasn’t sure what he’d done to get kicked out, he still lived under the assumption it was somehow his fault.  

His mother hummed along to the radio as she heated their food, taking gulps of the wine to her left and refilling it before plating up two small bowls of food – hers noticeably smaller – and sitting opposite Mary as she placed them down. 

“Thank you,” he smiled at her shyly, never forgetting his manners as he tucked into his meal. His mother smiled fondly at her boy, twirling her fork in the pasta noodles as she sipped her wine. The radio played to fill the silence, songs from another decade that had his mother reminiscing over happier years. 

As he chewed, he thought back to that guitar, how he’d do anything to have one like that. But he’d settle for a smaller, cheaper, second-hand one. He’d be delighted with one. He just wanted to learn how to play, and then maybe one day, his mom could hum along to his songs on her radio.  

“Ma, I think I know what I want for my birthday...” 

“Oh? Well good! I was wondering when you’d give me some ideas,” she smiled. Mary hesitated, chewing his lip. Was he asking for too much? Perhaps, but he had to try at least. “Come on, baby, what is it?”  

“Well... can I get a guitar? Not like, an expensive one or anything... Just second-hand or something. I wanna learn to play, Ma. I think I’d get real good at it!” he rambled, his excitement barely contained as he thought about how people might change how they saw him if he could prove he was good at something, that he could work hard and prove himself.  

His mother’s smile faltered, fading as she dropped her fork against her bowl and grabbed her wine glass, finishing the rest of it off and pouring herself another hefty glass.  

“Baby, guitars aren’t cheap, even the second-hand ones...” she began, her voice quiet and full of regret. 

“No, I know, but I thought, maybe if I could get a job somewhere, I could mow lawns or something, maybe help Mr Rogers at the carpenters or get a paper route, then maybe I could-” 

“Baby you’re ten years old, you should just be a kid as long as you can,” she smiled sadly, her eyes betraying her as they glassed over with tears. It broke her heart to see her little boy so desperate to be a man, to help her, to help pay for his own damn birthday present.  

“I... I can still be a kid, I just thought I could help?” he questioned. 

“I just don’t think I can afford it baby...” Mary’s shoulders slumped, his own fork dropping into his bowl as he sat back against the chair in defeat.  

“Could you stop buying wine for a little, Ma? I just really want a guitar... And then you can get more again. Just for a bit, I promise!”  

If her heart wasn’t already breaking for her little boy, it did then. The guilt rose like bile in her throat, her eyes staring at the bottle on the table, her glass emptied again and the taste lingering on her tongue. She’d had her own selfishness reflected back at her, a mirror held up to the truth; the truth being that her lips were stained with the red of her addiction, paired with her sunken eyes, bearing the weight of her sorrow. 

She should try, she thought to herself. For him, for her little Mary. He never asked her for anything, and the one thing he wants in the world for his birthday was a crummy little second-hand guitar? She should be able to give him that; as a mother, she wanted to give him the world. He certainly deserved it after all he’d been through.  

“I-I’ll... I’ll try, Mary. I’ll really try,” her voice cracked, swallowing the guilt down and forcing the tears to recede. Mary nodded to himself, looking down into his bowl and back to hers that even untouched, still had less in than his half-eaten leftovers.  

He stood up, the bowl in his hands and placed it down in front of her. She needed to eat more, he thought.  

“Oh, baby no, it’s okay. You should ea-” 

“I’m not that hungry, Ma. Please take it.” 

She stopped protesting, nodding as she held a shaking hand out to hold his cheek, stroking her thumb over the pudge he was yet to grow out of with a gentle smile.  

“Thank you, angel,” she told him, pressing a wine-stained kiss to his forehead. “I promise, I’ll try harder.” 

Deft fingers plucked at the strings of a battered old acoustic guitar. The wood was splintering where the neck met the body, the varnish worn down in places that hands would dance over as it had been played to within an inch of its life. Stickers littered the body, hiding nicks and damages from over the years but they too were beginning to wear down to white patches of nothing.  

Still, she sang like a dream the way she always had. Mary’s skilled hands worked her strings mindlessly, drifting from riffs he’d learned of his favourite bands over the years to riffs of his own he’d written – the most recent sounding much more melancholy than he’d anticipated.  

Sitting in his dimly lit studio apartment, he reclined against the wall at the head of his bed with his first guitar in his lap. His intention had been to drift off into his own world, to write some riffs for songs he could present to the guys and form into tracks for upcoming shows, but he’d been unable to focus, his fingers working on muscle memory alone as his head drifted to the same thing he’d thought of for the last few days.  

He’d had time to calm down, for the fog of anger to dissipate and now he’d entered the reflection stage. The anger morphed into hurt, reminded once again that no matter if you wanted him or not, you still were ashamed to be seen with him. He didn’t fit your image, his mere existence in your life was inconvenient and a black stain on your pristine white image.  

He wondered if cleaning himself up was an option for a brief moment. What if he didn’t paint his face? What if he wore a shirt instead of his cut off band tees? What if he styled his hair different? All the ‘what if’s swam around his head, but they’d be lies. Mary was many things, but never a phony. He refused to bow down to public opinion and become one of the masses if it meant sacrificing everything that was genuinely him.  

He decided he’d rather be hated for who he was, than adored for something he wasn’t. Which is exactly the life you were living. 

You’d chosen a world where people loved you, fell at your feet to be known by you and yet somewhere along the way, you’d sacrificed whoever you truly were, covered it up with bows and frills and shiny trinkets. He almost felt sorry for you.  

Still, he couldn’t swallow the nagging feeling that he’d done something wrong, that he was letting you slip through his fingers. He wasn’t dumb; Mary knew there was more to you than this image. He’d seen glimpses of it, this vulnerable yet feisty woman clawing at you from inside. Frankly, you drove him crazy. He'd never wanted anything for himself so badly in his life, except maybe the guitar in his hands. He couldn’t lay his eyes on you without wanting you; perhaps up until recently, he thought that was simply physical attraction, a need to take you and have you both coming undone together.  

But the way you plagued his mind, how he thought of you during the smallest moments of peace to himself... he was beginning to understand he’d formed a kind of connection with you he couldn’t begin to explain. But he was starting to recognise a feeling within himself that stung like rubbing alcohol on a wound, a feeling that shot him right back to his childhood, to a place so painful he’d shoved it down and ignored it for years.  

Before he could go down that route, his shook his head to rid the memories and lay his guitar gently beside him, reaching for his smokes on his nightstand. Lighting one up with his zippo lighter, he rested himself back against the wall, swiping a hand down his face in exasperation. He’d spent too long on this, too many moments infiltrated by thoughts of you.  

If Mary was being honest with himself, he only had to ask himself one simple question; were you worth compromising everything he knew about himself? Were you worth him changing himself, becoming something he wasn’t so he could be ‘acceptable’ in your world? 

No.  

Because that was a world that would only ever see him as a delinquent. They had when he was a child, a teenager and now into adulthood. The second they’d known who his father was, who his mother was, they’d judged him. That would never change, so why should he? 

The town hall ballroom was the last fucking place you wanted to be at any given moment, let alone when it was filled with governors, police chiefs, politicians and seedy businessmen. If you’d had your way, you’d have stayed tucked up in bed, like you’d spent most of your spare time in the last week or so since the Bicentennial fair. Facing reality was something you’d tried to avoid, but that wasn’t going to be possible for Daddy’s big dinner party for all the town’s biggest officials. 

No, you were to be paraded like a shiny trophy daughter tonight, mingling with the rich and seedy underbelly of your father’s political career. These people made your stomach turn and your skin crawl. You observed them from the corner of the room, a glass of prosecco in a hand covered by white satin gloves to the elbow, in a fancy, floor-length, glittered evening dress of the same pale peach colouring as the bubbly. Your mother had picked the outfit, “elegance with a touch of sparkle” she had said. 

Watching them mingle and chatter away, you could barely help the expression on your face turning to one of vague disgust. Your father made his way around the room, shaking hands and rubbing shoulders with the elite while your mother followed in tow, laughing at all the jokes she must have heard a thousand times over the years and nattering with the wives in the room about the latest gossip.  

Shallow; all of this was so fucking shallow. But the worst part? This was your future. Your mother... her life was the future your father had paved for you, expected you to walk. You couldn’t think of anything worse.  

“Pumpkin! Come and say hello to Mr. Nelson,” you father flagged you down from your inner monologue of disapproval, notably stood with an old man you recognised as the town’s previous Mayor. Mr. Nelson had handed the title over to your dad when you were little, staying a consistent advisor in the governing of the town’s affairs ever since his retirement six years ago.  

You’d never liked him. There was something untoward about him, sleazy and manipulative; but that’s politicians for you.  

You knocked back the rest of your prosecco glass for a bit of liquid encouragement and walked towards them with your prettiest fake smile on.  

“Good evening, Mr. Nelson,” you said, taking his outstretched hand to shake. 

“Good evening, my dear!” He didn’t let go of your hand like you’d expected, instead tightening his grip and pulling you to lean forwards so he could press a whiskered kiss to your cheek – or what was actually closer to the corner of your lips. When he leaned back, he winked at you, still keeping hold of your hand to lift it, unashamedly scanning his eyes over your body in your dress and twirling you like a doll on a music box. “My, my... how you’ve grown, hm?” 

Your eyes locked onto your father, who was smiling at you fondly as if there wasn’t a problem. You, however, were exceedingly uncomfortable. You looked back to Mr. Nelson, smiling and acting the part. Honestly, you’d always wondered if acting would be a good career for you; you did it often enough.  

“Quite the beautiful young lady these days,” Mr. Nelson commented, letting go of your hand and coming to stand beside you, a hand resting on the small of your back as he turned to speak to your father.  

“She gets all that from her mother, of course,” he smiled proudly, squeezing the shoulders of your mother beside him, who swatted him with her own gloved hand.  

“Oh, stop it, you charmer,” she laughed. You recoiled from the interaction, uncomfortable that there was still a hand on you at all, let alone on the small of your back. 

“Your father was telling us about your college days; quite impressive, my dear!” Mr. Nelson said, his hand patting just above the curve of your behind.  

“Y-yeah... I mean, thank you, sir,” you smiled graciously. How could you get out of this?  

“Now, if only we could find her a nice man to settle down with,” your father joked, your mother smiling along with him as Mr. Nelson chuckled.  

“I’m sure that won’t be difficult, hm? Plenty of fine men about town. Any catch your eye?” he asked, looking down at you with a raised white eyebrow.  

Instantly, your mind flew to Mary. Certainly, he was not the kind of ‘fine man’ Mr. Nelson or your father would envision for you; in fact, you’re sure they would recoil in horror, but you couldn’t help but think of him. Any opportunity for your brain to remind you of how painfully you’d fucked that up, it would take.  

You took too long to answer, head full of Mary as it so often was.  

“Pumpkin, Mr. Nelson asked you a question,” he insisted with an expectant nod of his head.  

“Oh, not to worry. She clearly has somebody in mind, if the mere mention of a man has her daydreaming about him, hm?” he chortled, his hand now slipping lower to pat at the curve of your backside. Instinctively you jumped forward half a step to get away from the unwanted contact, head whipping to your father in the hope he’d seen that, that he’d step in and defend you. But of course, he didn’t.  

“Pumpkin? What’s gotten into you, hm?” His glare was disapproving, his eyebrow quirking as he waited for your answer, but an awkward silence fell on the four of you instead.  

“I, um... I’m so sorry, I think I lost my balance. These, uh, damn heels, that’s all,” you laughed nervously, averting the eyes of everyone around you.  

“Perhaps a little too much bubbly,” Mr. Nelson accused, tipping his head towards your empty flute in your hand.  

“Y-yes, maybe... Perhaps I need some air. Would you excuse me?”  

You were turning and leaving before your father could stop you, shoving the glass in your hand onto the tray of a waiter on your way to the door, ignoring the calls of “pumpkin!” behind you, sounding aggravated and embarrassed. Heads turned to watch you leave but you couldn’t look at them, overwhelmed and uncomfortable. You just had to get out.  

You headed directly for your father’s office, a small and private space to collect yourself before inevitably having to go back to the ballroom sooner rather than later, lest your father come looking for you.  

Finally alone and in a quiet spot, you slumped into your father’s chair behind his desk, spinning absentmindedly from side to side guided by your stiletto on the ground. You focussed on breathing, helping to subside the panic that had risen in you. Bad enough you’d been forced to come to this thing, let alone subjected to the wandering hands of a man who’d known you since you were barely out of diapers. This evening was the nightmare you’d expected it to be.  

Looking around your father’s office, it hadn’t changed much. The American flag stuck in his pen cup, the portrait of President George Washington on the wall, the photo frame on his desk that housed a very official looking family portrait taken when you were still in middle school. 

This was your life. This façade of pomp and circumstance, governed by sleazy men and dodgy business deals... this was all you could see for yourself. No wonder you were clinging onto Mary by your perfectly manicured fingernails, allowing him back in so easily whenever there was room in your mind. He was the antithesis of that horrendous life already mapped out for you. He was the embodiment of freedom to you, someone that lived their life governed by them and them alone.  

He liked dark things, heavy music, grungy clothes. He didn’t restrict himself, lived freely, chasing the dreams he so obviously strived for. He didn’t care what people thought of him, he lived his truth.  

You wished you could live like that. 

Lost to your musings and memories of brief encounters with Mary, you startled at the sound of the door to your father’s office slamming shut, with him stood before it. He’d come alone, his arms folded over his chest in his crisp tuxedo, and a hardened look of fury in his features.  

Your stomach dropped and you sat upright immediately; this wasn’t going to be pretty. 

“What the hell was that?” he asked, his voice just above a whisper and yet spat through clenched teeth. 

“Daddy, I just... Mr. Nelson, he-” 

“Don’t you ‘daddy’ me. Do you realise how embarrassing that was for your mother and I?” he scolded. You swallowed your words, thrown right back to being told off as a child. “Mr. Nelson thinks you were drunk. Are you?” 

“No, daddy, I swear!” you protested, having only drank two glasses... on an empty stomach and faster than a shot of your favourite flavour schnapps.  

“Then explain why you were so damn rude to him, hm?” he raised his voice, stepping towards you and leaning down on his own desk by his palms.  

“He put his hands on me! He’s a creep, dad!” you matched his volume, defending yourself. Your dad just scoffed at you, shaking his head in disbelief.  

“He’s a respected member of this community. One bad word from him, and this could all be over for us. My career, our way of life, everything! Do you understand that?” he shouted. How silly of you to think your own father might take your side when one of his creep associates lay a finger on you.  

“It was a knee-jerk reaction, he touched my ass dad, like some fucking pervert!” you yelled back, standing from his chair and finding the guts to finally answer back, to fight for what was right instead of pander to him. Mary would be proud. 

“You watch your mouth, young lady. I am your father-” 

“YES! YOU ARE! And as my father, I thought you might stand up for me, oh, I don’t know, maybe be disgusted when some old man lays a hand on your daughter’s ass!”  

Your father lifted an accusatory finger at you, wagging it in your face as if scolding a bad dog. “He was talking to you about your future. A future that he can take away with a snap of his fingers.” He demonstrated with the hand he waved wildly in front of you. “You’re lucky your mother has such a way with words...” 

“You mean she’s a good liar,” you laughed humourlessly. “Suppose you have to be in this kind of life...” His face paled, his eyes darkening and appearing to sink further into his skull as he stood up straight, his brow furrowing. 

“I have worked for over two decades to build us ‘this life’,” his voice deepened, darkening considerably as he loomed over you. “Look around you. Do you think this just happens? I have done nothing but provide for you, you ungrateful little girl.” 

“This is the problem... I’m not a little girl anymore, and you still treat me like I can’t think for myself. I’ve got my own mind, things that I want to do. Do you give a shit about that at all?” The anger inside you you’d caged up for too long was surfacing, the heat on that simmering pot turning up with every word out of your father’s mouth. Already you were too far gone to reel it back in. Whether he liked it or not, he was going to hear this. 

“I give a shit about this family!” he screamed. “I will not allow you to tear it all down in some childish tantrum!” 

“Tear what down?!” you protested, “I just want to be able to do something for myself for a change, to start my life! It’s got nothing to do with your prestige as Mayor, I just want to be able to finally crawl out from under your shadow!" 

Your father ignored you completely, still only seeing the pigtailed little girl from the portrait on his desk standing in front of him. He had no idea she’d grown up before his very eyes. He’d blinked and missed it, too damn focussed on his own career and image to notice.  

“You selfish little brat. You don’t get it, do you?” he sneered, “This is MY TOWN! MY LEGACY! You will live by MY RULES!” 

And truthfully, that was all it was ever going to boil down to. His fucking legacy.  

You sagged your shoulders in defeat, tears begging to fall out of anger. Everything you thought your dad still believed, he’d proven to you in just a few minutes; you were still a child to him, and his legacy was more important than your own happiness. Nothing you could say would win this fight. Nothing would make him see how badly he was hurting you.  

You took a deep breath, composing yourself to speak a little calmer, more collected. With emotions heightened, it was easy to yell and scream back at him, to get carried away but you were determined to show him this was not some ‘tantrum’. You meant this.  

“What if I don’t want to do that anymore?” you asked, staring him straight in the eye. The air seemed to thicken around you as you waited for it to soak in, for him to hear you, process, and respond. The silence was suffocating.  

“I’m sorry?” he asked, turning his head to present his ear as if he hadn’t heard you, but he most certainly had. He just wanted you to repeat yourself, testing you, warning you; did you have the balls to say it again? 

“What if... I don’t want to live by your rules anymore?” You spoke calmly, methodically. You will listen, you thought to yourself. 

Your father straightened up again, his head twitching as he tidied up his cuff links, straightened his bow tie and slicked back his hair before he gave you the time of day. This was just a part of his intimidation, his macho technique, reminding you he was a distinguished man, one with power. When he finally looked you in the eye again, his face was set in stone.  

“Then you can get the hell out of my office.” 

Like a punch to the gut, it knocked the wind right out of you. He wanted you to leave.  

“F-fine...” you stuttered, walking around the desk as if to head for the door, pulling your cell phone out of your clutch, “I’ll get one of your lap dogs to take me home, and we’ll talk about this in the morning,” you told him, trying to keep a modicum of dignity, prove to him you were an adult and taking the moral high ground. But your father laughed... 

“I don’t think you heard me. Perhaps you didn’t understand...” he turned around to face you, now stood by the door to his office. “This is my town, Pumpkin. This whole town is my office.” 

The weight of what he was saying fell like a barrel of hot tar over you, the scorching, searing pain radiating through you. You stared in disbelief, waiting for him to laugh, to tell you he was kidding, just pushing your buttons to see your reaction but nothing... He just stared at you, as you stared at him, like a deer in headlights. 

“Y-you’re not serious...?” you dared to whisper, shaking your head in denial. 

“Deadly. Get out,” he growled, “or do I have to call security?” 

Those angry tears turned into streams now falling down your cheeks silently while you were unable to blink, processing his command until your body moved of its own accord, reaching for the doorknob and opening it behind you.  

“I’m sure your precious town will love to hear about this,” you threatened, wiping the tears away with the back of your hand. He just smirked and folded his arms over his chest again.  

“Careful, Pumpkin. Daddy’s got one hell of a legal team; and they’re all eating out of his palm in that ballroom tonight.” 

He had you beat. Checkmate. Every credible lawyer – and the seedy ones – were on his damn payroll. You couldn’t win this no matter what you did. You just had to walk away...  

And so, you did. Quietly, you slipped out from the opulent town hall and found yourself stood on a street corner a couple of blocks away, out of the sight of not only your father and his invitees behind the huge windows of the ballroom, but out of sight of his cronies, already given the instruction to make sure you left quietly, and didn’t attempt to come back in. 

You were alone, as you had become so accustomed to being. 

Every riff felt wrong. For over a week now, Mary tried to write something new, something fresh that he’d never heard before, that excited him and inspired him but... nothing. He was beginning to think he’d lost his touch. He knew he couldn’t force inspiration to come, but this was a longer, drier spell than even he was used to... 

He reached for his pack of smokes on the nightstand where they usually sat, only to discover he was fresh out – that last cigarette had truly been his last.  

“Shit,” he cursed to himself, crushing the empty box in his palm and throwing it in the general direction of the trash can, hitting the rim and bouncing off to the floor beside two or three other crumpled cigarette boxes from the last few days.  

Whew, he thought to himself, smokin’ more now, too. Awesome. Still, ignoring the mess he’d neglected to tidy, he stood up from his bed with a stretch, abandoning his tattered acoustic on his bed. His leather jacket that he’d slung over the back of his couch still held his keys, wallet and cell phone from his last outing to the gas station, and so he slithered his arms into the sleeves and headed for the door.  

He knew he didn’t need to take the van to travel the four blocks to the gas station on the edge of town just for cigarettes, but there was something about a late-night drive that calmed Mary. It always felt like one of those rare moments where he got to be himself; a decent band on the stereo and some open road to clear his head.  

He also knew he didn’t need to go all the way to the gas station for smokes; the convenience store on the corner would do just fine. Except, Forrest usually worked the late-night shifts at the gas station, and he’d get to take advantage of his staff discount. 

“Hey man!” Mary called out as he walked into the store, the bell dinging above his head. Forrest looked up from the magazine he was reading, slumped over the counter. 

“Well, look what the dogs dragged in...” Forrest smirked, “where’d you fuck off to the other night?” 

Ah. He’d never explained where he’d disappeared to the night of the fair, nor had he seen any of his friends since. He hadn’t realised he’d shut himself off for that long, but seemingly, he had. 

“Oh, uh...” he stammered, thinking up an excuse.  

“Some chick got your attention, huh?” he stood upright and folded his arms, leaning against the edge of the counter. “I don’t know how you do it, man. You got ‘em lining up out the door. You shoot strawberry milkshake outta that dick, or what?” Mary relaxed instantly, his alibi already created for him.  

“Why, you wanna taste?” he mocked, shooting a flying kiss at him as he stepped up to the counter in an overly camp, seductive walk to make the other laugh. 

“I’ll stick to the slurpie machine, thanks,” he joked, pretending to gag at the thought of Mary’s strawberry milkshake. “You need somethin’, or you just here to entertain me?” 

“Outta smokes,” Mary shrugged. “I’ll grab the usual.” 

Forrest nodded, turning his back to fish through the cigarettes that lined the wall behind the counter, coming to the brand Mary would usually purchase. Mary looked to his left, seeing a special offer on party size bags of Takis and an array of candy bars. He chucked a bag up on the counter with some candy and fished inside his jacket for his wallet as Forrest rung him up.  

“Big plans tonight, huh?” 

“Oh yeah, big night in with my favourite girl, Mary Jane,” Mary waggled his eyebrows suggestively. 

“Explains the snacks, you always did get munchies worse than any of us...” he laughed, punching his employee code into the register to add his discount; something he did without thinking these days. Mary was always grateful. “$15.75” 

“Thanks, man,” Mary handed over a twenty, shoving the change back in his wallet just as his phone started to buzz in his other pocket. He whipped it from his jacket, checking the caller ID when his chest tightened.  

You. 

Mary sneered at the phone in his hand, shoving it back into his pocket with a scowl on his face. If Forrest noticed, he didn’t question it, probably assuming it were a telemarketing scam.  

“We should get a practise in before Saturday,” Forrest suggested, “I think Davey’s free on Tuesday? And I'm off too.” Mary hadn’t forgotten; they had a show to play in the city, some new goth club were having a metal night, and word of Mary’s band was starting to spread beyond the scene they’d been playing for the last two years. 

“Uh yeah.” His phone stopped buzzing in his pocket. He ignored the feeling of disappointment in him, that gnawing voice in the back of his head that told him he should have answered it. “Yeah, I think I’m free. You wanna see if Jed’s about?”  

Forrest made a noise that sounded vaguely like an affirmative as Mary picked up the bag with his purchases inside.  

“Alright, uh...” Mary’s phone began vibrating in his pocket again, barely any respite since the last call. He ignored it, trying to claw himself back to reality instead of letting his mind drift to whatever you could possibly be calling him for. He was sure it was only one thing, anyway. “Let me know, man!” 

“Yeah, see ya!” Forrest grinned, shutting the register with a ping and picking up his discarded magazine as Mary turned and left, the bell dinging above the door again. He stood outside for a moment, fishing his phone out of his pocket and seeing that it was indeed your name that flashed on his screen.  

Once again, he ignored it, shoving it this time into the back pocket of his jeans and skulking back over to his van, parked in a bay near the door. It stopped just as he wrenched the door open with a rusty creak, throwing his bag into the passenger seat. He climbed in behind it, slamming the door shut and settling into the seat as he shoved the keys into the ignition. As he turned them and the engine roared to life with his stereo, he took a deep breath, leaning back against the head rest and desperately willing the thoughts of you to leave him be. 

He’d wasted too much time on you already, and he meant what he’d said last time. He was tired of being everybody’s dirty little secret, and he wasn’t about to answer your fucking booty call. Not again.  

Reaching into the plastic bag beside him, he pulled out his carton of cigarettes and ravaged the packaging until he could pry one from the box and shove it between his lips, pushing the lighter button in on his dashboard and waiting patiently for it to heat. Closing his eyes, he waited for the telltale click, reclining into his seat, when his phone began to buzz in his back pocket once again.  

Mary’s eyes shot open, anger coursing through his veins. Were you that desperate to get laid? It wasn’t fair. He thought he’d made it clear where he stood, that he wasn’t interested in being picked up and dropped whenever someone felt like it anymore. He had to start thinking less with his dick and more with his head – and his heart. 

But you were not getting the message – ignoring your calls wasn’t working. Maye he just needed to say it in black and fucking white.  

Muttering curses to himself, he fished his phone from his back pocket where he sat, seeing that the caller ID did indeed read “Doll” again. He turned the volume of his stereo way down, took a deep breath, and answered the call.  

“Look, I’m really not interested in being your booty call, Barbie,” he spat down the microphone, “so you might wanna just give it up now before you embarrass yourself.” 

He was met with silence. He almost wanted to laugh, picturing the look of sheer shock on your face as you sat surrounded by your pink frills and stuffed animals in that ivory tower of yours. But instead, he waited. Would you dare speak? Argue with him? He’d managed to rile himself up enough by this point that maybe a fight was exactly what he needed to expel the rage.  

The silence continued for a beat too long, and confusion set in. His brow furrowed, checking his phone screen to see if you’d hung up but no, you were still connected. He lifted the phone to his ear again, waiting... and then he heard it. 

A sob.  

A sob so small and timid, he thought maybe he wasn’t supposed to have heard it. But instantly, his face paled, and his chest hollowed. Every muscle in his shoulders that had tensed in his anger when he picked up the phone instantly turned to jelly. He’d expected resistance, maybe a “fuck you, Goore” or something to that effect. He’d expected an argument, rage, denial or defence.  

He waited again, clicking the side button on his phone to turn the volume up in case he’d missed it. Now, he heard the sniffles too, along with the shuddering breath from an inhale that sounded uncontrollable. And then another small, suppressed sob. 

He panicked, sitting bolt upright in his seat and pulling the cigarette from his lips as he looked around his surroundings as if there was something, someone who could help. Of course, there was nothing.  

He didn’t expect you to react that way... Perhaps he’d been too harsh, maybe yelling at you wasn’t the right way to go about this, to cut his ties with you before they were truly bonded, but he hadn’t even thought it through. Mary just thought severing it with a quick, clean blow would do the trick... 

“I-I... d-didn't... know who... to call,” you wept down the phone, breathing irregular as if you were suffering a panic attack. “I’m s-s... sorry.” 

Instantly, Mary knew he’d fucked up. You weren’t calling him for a hook up, this was something different. Something had happened. You had already been in this state. And you’d turned to him for help. Mary swallowed a gulp of nothing, now realising his mouth and throat had gone dry whilst his jaw had hung open in bewilderment and panic. 

“What’s going on?” he asked, frenzied. He waited for a response, only hearing more sobs; ones that you clearly were unable to hold back as you tried to speak, to tell him what had happened. Whatever it was, it was bad enough that you couldn’t say it without losing the small semblance of composure you had. You were in no fit state to talk about this on the phone. 

The hand holding the phone dropped to his lap for a moment as he muttered a “shit” to himself, slamming his head back against the headrest. He was really going to do this, wasn’t he? He was going to run right to you, to go and fucking save you with some twisted sense of duty towards you. But then, yes, of course he was; Mary’s saviour complex had kicked in the second he heard that first tiny, frail sob. 

He held the phone to his ear again. 

“Look just... fuck, just breathe alright? Slowly, if you can. I’m coming, just make sure your window’s unlocked,” he instructed you, pressing his foot down on the clutch and shoving the gear stick into reverse.  

“’m not... home...” you sobbed. Mary paused, confused.  

“Well... where are you?” he asked, now more concerned as to what the hell had happened. If someone had laid a fucking finger on you...  

“R-Raynor... street...”  

Dead centre of town; anything could have happened, anybody could have been around.  

“Alone?” he asked, incredibly uncomfortable with the idea of you being alone at this hour in the middle of town.  

“M-mhm...” Mary cursed to himself again, holding the phone to his ear with his shoulder while he used both hands to spin the wheel of his van, quickly looking in his mirrors to reverse out of his parking spot before he could speed off into the night to come and find you. 

“I’m coming, alright? Stay there. Keep your phone close, stay on the line. You keep off the street ‘til you hear me coming, you understand?” His instructions were clear, almost military-like. He needed you to hear him plainly.  

“Oh...kay,” you sobbed, trying to quieten your sobs and regain control.  

“Keep breathing, I’m on my way.” 

Mary picked the phone from between his ear and shoulder and hit the loud-speaker button, throwing it onto his dash so he could drive easier through the streets as he headed into town. Thankfully the roads had been somewhat empty, most traffic lights turning green on the approach and no one to get in his way or flag him down for speeding at this hour. He just needed to get to you, as fast as possible. 

Turning onto Raynor street, he slowed right down and got a good look; you were nowhere to be seen. He prayed to a god he didn’t believe in that you’d just followed his advice, hiding down an alleyway off the main street to keep out of sight of any passersby with bad intentions. He turned his stereo back up, a clear indication that it was him who was driving slowly down the street, watching and waiting for you to pop your head out of somewhere. 

“C’mon, doll... where are you?” he muttered anxiously to himself, looking down every nook and cranny between buildings.  

The music you heard edging closer down the street echoed what you could hear from your phone speaker, telling you that the vehicle approaching was him. A wave of relief washed over you, and you stepped out from between a hair salon and an apartment block near the end of the street. Mary's headlights caught on your dress, the sparkle catching his eye immediately and he sped up until he could break suddenly right next to you, jumping out of his van and running around it to get to you as quickly as he could. 

His hands gripped onto your biceps and he held you out at arm's reach to get a good look at you; carefully placed make up had streaked from your tears, black rings forming around your eyes where your mascara had run. Your eyes themselves were bloodshot; how long had you been out here like this before you’d called him? You shivered in his hands, the cold of the night getting to you in this dress that left your arms and shoulders exposed, doing nothing to warm you at this late hour. He didn’t even think, shucking himself out of his jacket and wrapping it around your shoulders where his body heat had already warmed it.  

“Are you hurt?” he asked, cupping your face in his hands and swiping the tear tracks away with his thumbs. You shook your head no, another sob rising in your throat now that he was here. You weren’t sure what you had been expecting, his initial reaction to your phone call clearly indicating he was still very much mad at you; not that you could blame him. But it didn’t escape your notice that he had come anyway, and the expression on his face was almost one of terror before his eyes had fallen on you, and softened considerably. 

Something in him cared.  

“Alright, come on... get in,” he settled a hand between your shoulder blades, guiding you gently and quickly to the passenger side of his van where he opened the door for you, helping you up. You settled into the seat, curling in on yourself and hugging Mary’s jacket closer to you for the warmth the night had stripped from you as he climbed in the driver’s side. He turned the stereo right down, the music now only to fill a silence rather than to alert you to his arrival.  

“Is there... somewhere you want me to take you?” he asked, an awkwardness coming over him. He had no idea how to react in this situation, no clue what had happened or why you’d called him of all people when you had an entire security team on your side. 

You seemed to think about it for a moment, a fresh wave of tears trickling from your eyes and dripping to your lap when you looked down in an attempt to hide your face.  

“I... don’t have anywhere...” you sobbed, your fists tightening around the edges of Mary’s jacket to have something to ground you while your shoulders shook.  

Mary watched on helplessly, his heart pounding in his chest. He wanted to reach over, to pull you into him and hold you so you could let out the much more violent sobs you were so obviously holding back. He was so used to the feistier side of you; your smart mouth, your confidence... It’s what drew him in, what attracted him to you like a moth to a flame. This wasn’t you. 

It stirred up a need in him to help, to sacrifice his own discomfort in favour of your comfort. Instantly, he put you first, forgetting any resignations he had about ever seeing you again. That anger he harboured at how out-of-touch he thought you were? It dissipated the second he’d heard the first sob. He’d been triggered like a sleeper cell, instantly needing to patch up whatever wound you’d suffered. 

“You don’t wanna go home?” he asked, figuring he already knew the answer. It didn’t take a genius to put two and two together. When you shook your head violently, he got the confirmation he needed. “Alright, well...” He was going to regret this, wasn’t he? But he’d said it before he could stop himself. “You could stop at my place for a bit.” Yep, he regretted it. “If it’s not too weird, or anything... I mean, I live alone, if you’re worried about my friends being ther-” 

“Okay...” you sniffled.  

Mary stopped rambling, instead reaching for the cigarette he’d never lit and thrown on his dash with his phone. Once again, he pushed the cigarette lighter in to heat up, adjusting the heating in the van to a warmer temperature too to warm you up. 

“Alright um, sure...” He held the cigarette between his lips, shoving the van into gear and continuing down the street. “There’s a carton of cigs in the bag by your feet, if you want one,” he offered – more to fill the silence between you than anything. The quiet stereo could only do so much. 

You sniffled and reached down to the bag, fishing through the plastic until you found the carton he’d mentioned and pulling one out for yourself hoping it might help to calm you. With a pop, the lighter signalled it was ready, and Mary held it out to you first as he focussed on the road. You lit it carefully with a small ‘thank you’ and settled back into your seat. The first drag helped settle your nerves, the heating in the van calming the shakes you’d had too, although you weren’t sure if that had been the panic or the cold of the night. 

A few streets into the journey back to his place, you couldn’t take the quiet any longer. The awkward air between you felt so stale, icy in comparison to the warmth the van generated. As much as you wanted to relax in his presence – as he up until now had always been able to make you do – you just couldn’t. Not with the elephant in the back of the van, so to speak... 

“I’m sorry... for calling,” you mumbled, still too full of shame to be able to look at him directly, only stealing a glance from the corner of your eye. Mary took a long drag of his cigarette, flicking the ash out of the crack he’d opened in his window. He looked between you and the road, as if thinking through his response a few times.  

“You don’t have to apologise for that. I’m not one to leave a lady out in the cold...” he shrugged. He certainly wasn’t; literally or metaphorically.  

“Thank you for coming, Mary. I didn’t know where to go...” Every time you thought back to the fight with your father, fresh and hot tears would well up in your eyes. It didn’t escape Mary’s notice, and he wanted nothing more than to reach over and squeeze your hand with reassurance. Instead, he settled on trying to lighten the mood a little. Comedy always had been his defence mechanism, after all... 

“Dressed like that? I’d have said... Cinderella’s ball?” 

You scoffed, the first genuine smile he’d seen from you as you shook your head. “Shut up,” you told him.  

“You couldn’t call on the creatures of the forest to come help?” he continued, smirking when he saw your shoulders shaking in silent laughter, elbow propped up on the edge of your window. “Tinkerbell not got any pixie dust left for ya?” 

You reached over and playfully slapped his chest, earning you an ‘ouch’ and an act of feigned pain as he recoiled. But you giggled to yourself, the absurdity of it all finally hitting you. Here you were sat in your sparkly peach gown with your satin elbow gloves, high heels and fancy hairdo, cradled by Mary’s leather jacket in a beat-up van that was old enough to still have a damn cigarette lighter in the dash. Perhaps you were Cinderella... Did that make Mary your Prince Charming, or your fairy God mother? 

Now he’d heard you giggle – something he always loved hearing out of you – Mary could relax a little. There was still an awkwardness between you both, neither one of you could deny that, but the first layer of ice had been broken. For now, that would be enough. If you wanted to talk to him about what had happened when you got to his, then fine. If not, he figured that was okay too. At least he’d know you were safe and had someone by your side who cared about you; and yes, Mary could admit to himself now that he did care about you... 

Just, maybe not to you – not yet. But it wasn’t something he could exactly deny either, when he’d dropped his ‘big plans’ of getting high and demolishing a bag of snacks alone with his guitar the second he’d heard your despair. And all of that in spite of his lingering anger towards you. How quickly he’d flipped that, from wanting nothing to do with you to racing to your rescue. 

Mary’s apartment was small, as you’d expected. As you followed him inside, you looked around. The kitchen sat directly to your left cut off by a half wall to corner it in, a couch that looked like it had seen better days backed up against that half wall and pointed at an old television. Mary’s bed was unmade and pushed up against the far-right corner, facing the bathroom that took up as much space as his kitchen did but was the only room closed off. In the way of bedroom furniture, all he had was a small nightstand and a chest of drawers that had been knocked about some...  

It seemed cosy, lived in. It wasn’t particularly tidy; a blanket strewn over the tatty couch, vinyls laying on top of his little coffee table and around his record player in the corner of his living space, guitars laying up against the wall here and there, an acoustic on his bed, pots and pans stacked up on the draining board in his kitchen – clean, but not yet put away.  

Had Mary known he was having royalty stop by, he might have tidied up a little, but this was how it looked most of the time. He didn’t spend much time at home, especially now that his band were starting to take off a little. But truthfully, he avoided being alone at all costs. He got too much thinking done alone, hence why he had his distraction methods of weed and song-writing.  

Mary scratched the back of his neck awkwardly and went to flick on a lamp by the couch. He quickly whipped around the space, picking up the strewn vinyls, straightening up the blankets. “Sorry about the mess,” he set as he jetted past you towards his bed to pick up his guitar and straighten out the blankets and pillows. You stood awkwardly in the entryway, his jacket still hanging off your shoulders as you picked at your gloves.  

“No, it’s fine, it’s not that bad,” you told him, noting the few personal belongings Mary had too; most notably the little picture frame on a windowsill by the couch. A strikingly beautiful woman, and a goofy little boy snuggled tightly in her lap. Both were grinning into the camera, the boy’s front teeth missing. You guessed that was Mary, and the woman, his mother.  

“Can I get you anything? I don’t know, a drink maybe? Or, uh...” He stood awkwardly, nervously wringing his hands and fiddling with his rings. It was so out of character for him, usually cocky and confident in everything he said or did. In a way, it was quite endearing...  

“Maybe some water, if you don’t mind...” You winced at your own request, feeling like you’d already asked for too much tonight.  

“Yeah... yeah, sure!” He jumped into action, rushing into the kitchen to fetch a clean glass from the cabinet. “Make yourself at home,” he told you, nodding towards the couch he’d just tidied. You walked towards it, draping his jacket over the arm and sitting on the edge of it, playing with your gloves until he came and sat opposite you, handing you a cold glass of water. 

You took it with a thank you, downing a third of the glass once the water hit your tongue – you hadn’t realised just how thirsty the tears and panic had made you.  

“So, um... you wanna tell me why you’re dressed like that?” Mary nodded at your dress, getting himself comfortable and ready to listen. You looked down at yourself, feeling utterly ridiculous now. This was your world... glitter, glam, sparkles; and you despised it.  

“Fancy dinner at the town hall – pompous twats and vile politicians. Mom picked this out,” you scoffed. 

“Huh,” he mused, “I mean, if it helps, you do look pretty...” he shrugged. A warmth rose to your cheeks at his compliment. “The mascara smudges are a nice touch, I think.” You laughed at that, wiping your fingertips along the underneath of your eyes and seeing the black collecting on the white satin. “So... what happened?” 

He asked you so gently, and instantly you felt safe. His gaze wasn’t judgemental, just soft. In fact, it had taken you this long to mentally note that Mary wasn’t made up with his usual faded skull paint and fake blood. His face was clean, you could see every detail. You could see every emotive line, every twitch of his expressions and a vulnerability in him that the face paint usually masked. He had a kinder face than people gave him credit for. Suddenly, you got it. He was putting on a mask every day, just like you.  

And so, you told him. You told him how you’d felt in that ballroom, looking around and seeing the real scumbags of this town. You told him about Mr. Nelson; what he’d said, what he’d done. Mary’s face hardened at that, an anger and protectiveness washing over him that had his fists balling up tightly. You told him how you’d excused yourself, and how your father had followed you to his office. Throughout, he stayed quiet, letting you speak and listening to everything you said. He’d react every so often, fetched you some tissues when the tears had started again. You told him everything, including how your father had screamed at you to follow his rules to not damage his “legacy”.  

“And I told him I didn’t want to do that anymore... I wanted to do my own thing and live for me.”  

Mary’s eyebrows raised in surprise, and he leaned forward, elbows on his knees.  

“Shit... What did he say?” he asked, obviously knowing it hadn’t ended well.  

“Told me to get out of his office,” the tears came again, your voice raising in pitch as you tried to hold back the sobs, “that this whole town was his office. Threatened me with lawyers if I tried anything. So... I just left.” 

“He kicked you out into the street, alone, dressed like that, in the middle of the fucking night?” Mary’s anger was clear, spitting venom between clenched teeth. He couldn’t understand the nerve of your father, how he could be so damn stupid putting you in danger like that. “Fucking arrogant asshole...” 

It was clearer to him more now than ever that he’d been so wrong about you...  

He shuffled closer to you on the couch, cautiously wrapping an arm around your shoulders to comfort you in some way. Truthfully, he wanted to completely envelope you, to hold you and rock you and let you cry and sob and scream if you needed it. But it wasn’t until you lay your head on his shoulder that he felt okay to do so, finally pulling you into him to wrap his arms around you and let you cry into his chest.  

He felt so warm beneath you, his heart rate a little elevated but the thumping kept you grounded as you held onto his shirt, curling into a sparkly little ball in his side. Mary cradled your head to him, stroking your hair and whispering to you about letting go, that you were safe here. 

If he was being honest with himself, he knew how shitty he’d been to you. He’d become far too defensive too quickly, unable to see past his own injustices in his world to understand that your world came with them too. There had been signs of your confinement, of the tight leash you were kept on, but he’d wilfully ignored them, striking them off as privilege. Your bedroom alone should have been a giant red flag; how was a grown woman still sleeping in a child’s bedroom?  

“I’m sorry, doll...” he told you, muttering into your hair as his lips gently pressed to the top of your head.  

“Not on you, Mare. This has been coming for a while...” you sniffled, wiping your tears with your gloves as you snuggled into him a little further, utterly comfortable in his hold. 

“No, I mean...” Mary sighed to himself, “I’ve been an asshole. I got too defensive, thought you were just being a brat or something, y’know? I judged you and I shouldn’t have.” 

Slowly, you sat upright, turning to look at him as his arms fell to his sides.  

“You don’t have to apologise, I get it... I wasn’t exactly good to you either,” you admitted, looking down at his shirt now stained with tears to avoid his eyes. “You were right, I was treating you like I was ashamed of you.” 

Mary sat up straight, clasping his hands together as he nodded in understanding. “We’ve all got our shit, doll.” His eyes drifted to the picture on his windowsill, and you couldn’t help but follow his gaze. You saw how he clenched his jaw, fiddling with the rings on his fingers as sadness crept into his eyes. 

“Who was she?” The question slipped out before you got the chance to stop yourself. From the way Mary tensed up beside you, you could tell it was a sore spot.  

“That’s my mom,” he looked back to you, a sad smile on his face.  

“Is she...?” 

“Dead? No...” he laughed awkwardly. “But she is in a care facility. That’s just the only photo of us I’ve got.”  

You nodded in understanding, not wanting to push the matter. But Mary felt like sharing... You’d been vulnerable with him, shared your shit. Maybe he should share his too, or at least some of it. Maybe you were the only person he could be honest with. You were certainly the only person he’d wanted to get to know him in a long time.  

“She was a drinker. It got worse when my dad left, but he was a waste of fucking space anyway. We, uh, didn’t have a lot...” his eyes flickered to the battered old guitar that now leaned against the wall by his bed, “but eventually her liver kind of gave up, so she’s on dialysis for the rest of her life. She needs constant care, but she’s still with us.” 

“I’m so sorry... no wonder you thought I was just being a brat,” you laughed awkwardly, feeling a little pathetic now. 

“Like I said, we all got our shit. It's not a contest, I just... realised I wanted you to know something real about me.” 

Silence descended over you along with the weight of what he’d just admitted. Mary wanted you to know him. He wasn’t running or hiding himself from you. He’d shared something so personal to him, and you felt that it was something not a lot of people might know about him, if any. Something about you made him feel just as safe as a part of him did for you.  

You looked at him; really looked at him. There was a sadness in his eyes, something you could notice now that you were sat merely inches apart from him with his mask firmly ripped away and laying in pieces on the floor. Whatever wall he usually put up, he’d let down just for you. You felt close to him, unbelievably so. You felt an urge to protect him, defend him. You felt a pull towards him, undistinguished in its meaning but so strong you couldn’t ignore it anymore.  

And as Mary stared back at you, his wounds exposed, he too felt that same pull. Who was he kidding? He’d felt it for a while. How else would he explain being unable to go barely minutes without thinking of you over the last few weeks?  

His eyes flicked down to your lips, heart racing and mind spinning out of control. He’d never felt so exposed. He wanted to kiss you, to show you what he felt in that moment, but it scared him. He already had shared so much, feeling just as vulnerable as he had as a child.  

In your corner, the silence got heavier with every second that passed. If he was going to kiss you, you would let him. You couldn't think of a better way to show him just how much you cared, how close you felt to him; that you truly wanted him.  

Just as you thought he might lean in, he snapped out of his trance, sucking in a breath between his teeth.  

“Well, hey... you can stop here tonight. I can find you something to wear, I’m pretty sure I got something in the back,” he joked, wiggling his eyebrows, “I can take you from riches to rags!”  

He slapped his thighs and stood up from the couch, marching over to the dresser by his bed and rifling through his drawers. You stayed put, thrown off by his sudden escape. From such an emotional, tender moment to him throwing that wall back up, closing up shop... You almost got whiplash from the speed at which he put the brakes on. Disappointment lay heavy in your chest.  

He came back over with a folded t-shirt and some plaid pyjama pants you could tie up to keep them on. “There’s clean cloths in the bathroom under the sink if you wanna wash up, towels if you wanna shower,” he handed you the clothes where you sat. “I’ll take the couch, you got the bed and we’ll figure out a plan in the morning.”  

“O-okay...” you stammered, standing up with the folded clothes. Frankly, you felt a little dazed from his shift in demeanour, but you could hardly blame him either. Sharing that had to have been harder than you first thought. 

You walked past him into the bathroom, locking the door and pulling on the string light to awaken the fluorescent bulb above you. Now catching a glimpse of yourself in his mirrored medicine cabinet, you saw the state of yourself. Make up smeared all over your face, streaks of black running from your eyes to halfway down your neck. They looked bloodshot and tired, staring lifelessly back at you. Your hair had fallen out of place from its fancy updo, and you looked as if you’d been dragged through a cornfield by your ankles. 

Deciding against a shower, you settled for wiping the make-up from your face and taking your hair down, attempting to detangle it with the comb you found in the medicine cabinet. You’d found a bottle of cologne in there too, which when you sniffed, smelled exactly like Mary had smelled the night he’d climbed through your bedroom window. You smiled fondly at the memory, noting how the bottle was largely untouched, still having the price tag on it which only confirmed that he’d bought it and worn it just for you. 

By the time you were done and changed into the clothes Mary had found you, Mary had made himself a makeshift bed from the blanket he’d previously folded on the couch and one of the pillows from his bed. He was already laying under it, having changed into some old shorts and removed his shirt.  

“You can put your dress on the dresser, and I can run out and grab you something to wear tomorrow so you’ve got something other than this to wear,” he called from the couch, sitting up so he could speak directly to you.  

“Thank you. I’ll get out of your hair tomorrow, I’m sure my dad just needs to calm down...” you told him. Mary couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed, but also, protective. He wasn’t about to send you home to that, and he didn’t want you to feel like a burden on him either.  

“Sure, if that’s what you wanna do...” he muttered, his lips straightening into a line as he nodded. “Well... get some rest.” 

“Yeah, I will... thank you, Mary,” you told him. 

“Don’t sweat it,” he smiled, laying down on the couch and pulling the blanket over his bare shoulders. Without another word, you placed your clothes on the dresser and crawled into his bed, notably cold without him in it. Mary flicked off the lamp by the couch, plunging the apartment into mostly darkness save for the moonlight and the nearest streetlamp shining through his window. 

The same window where the picture of him and his mother sat.  

He could see it where he lay. In fact, he couldn’t look away. That smile on both of their faces reminded him of a time that was so rare. He could still hear her laughter mixing with his giggles as she’d hugged and tickled him, his grandmother who was long since gone snapping the picture on a whim.  

That little boy didn’t have many memories like that to come. He’d grown up far too soon, knowing how desperately his mother needed the help. His childhood was the two of them stuck out at sea, a hole in their boat – and Mary was the only one fishing the water out with a bucket. Eventually, it was bound to go under, so he worked harder, did everything he could to keep them afloat and yet... it wasn’t enough.  

The world had got him all wrong. When they thought he was bunking off school, he was working for a dollar an hour. When he’d been caught shoplifting, it was for a gift for his mother’s birthday. When he’d dropped out of school, it was to work every hour God sent to keep them from going hungry. When he finally did go off the rails in his late teens, it was after his mother’s liver failed. This poor, grown-up little boy had no one to look after anymore, and he’d spiralled. He was his only responsibility, but he’d never learned to care for himself – just the people around him. He always had to save them.  

Mary wiped the stray tear from his cheek, rolling over to face the back of the couch and will himself to sleep. He couldn’t tell if it was an hour or mere minutes that passed as he lay there, huddled under his old blanket on a couch that poked at his ribs under the cushions.  

“Mary...?” you whispered into the night, testing and hoping that he’d still been awake enough to hear. When he looked up, he saw you sat up in his bed, surrounded by emptiness, hugging your knees to your chest. In the dim streetlight, tear tracks sparkled on your face just like your dress.  

Before he knew what he was doing, his feet had carried him across the room. Tentatively, he sat at the edge of his bed, close enough that he could reach out and tuck your fallen hair behind your ear. Neither of you spoke; there was no need. It was obvious you needed the proximity, both vulnerable and in need of comfort.  

Mary’s eyes flicked between yours and your lips again, hesitating as his mind raced with conflicting arguments for and against giving in. He still wasn’t sure you truly wanted him. Maybe all you wanted in him was a friend, the sex having been a distraction or way to rebel. All Mary knew for sure was that you’d trusted him enough to be the one you called when you were in trouble. He didn’t want to break that trust now...  

But it was like you could see the cogs turning in his brain, the inner argument going on inside him. The battle wouldn’t be won by him alone; you were going to have to prove to him that you wanted him, that he wasn’t just your dirty little secret or some booty call. 

Slowly, you shuffled yourself closer to him, unwrapping your arms from around yourself and instead, pushing his floppy hair from in front of his face, getting a good look at him. That gorgeous face of his sat bathed in the dim light, caught between distant sadness and childlike wonder. With one last flicker down to your lips and back up to your eyes, he caught you smiling softly at him, your fingertips dancing across his jawline.  

And then finally, you leaned into him and pressed your lips gently to his. His eyes fluttered shut just as yours did, and he relaxed under your touch as if his limbs had melted. Mary, now feeling marginally more confident in where he stood, tilted his head to better sculpt his lips against yours. He was so gentle with you, his hands lifting to hold yours against his cheeks by the wrists. As the seconds passed, your lips moved together in tandem, both of you leaning into each other until he was able to wrap a hand around your waist and hold you against him, cradling each other in such a tender moment.  

This was undeniably different to any other kiss you’d shared. There was no move to advance, no desperation, no frantic arousal or rushed passion. This time, you simply held each other, seeking comfort in the affection you had for each other.  

As you parted, you rested your forehead against his, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck as he held you still so close to him, not yet willing to let go.  

“Stay with me tonight...?” you requested, hoping he’d have no problem with the idea. Mary just nodded dumbly, overcome with a warm desire to never let you sleep alone again. You reached around you, pulling the blankets off of your lap to welcome him into them. He climbed in beside you, resting his head on the pillows as you, without a second thought, curled into his chest and let his arms envelope you. Neither one of you wanted to be alone tonight after sharing pieces of your soul with one another.  

Exhausted from the outpouring of emotion, you were soon lulled into a deep sleep by his rhythmic heartbeat and natural warmth. Mary, although exhausted himself, was still barely awake when he felt your body go limp against him. He smiled to himself, satisfied in the knowledge that he’d given up a part of himself he was sure he’d never trust anybody with.  

And yet, the wound was still open; spinning with memories, his mind lingered on one in particular, triggered when his tired eyes had fallen on that battered and beat up old guitar against the wall. That thing served as a reminder that Mary had only ever had Mary looking out for him, and that given a choice between himself and somebody else, he would always save anybody but himself... 

Mary waited patiently on the couch, his attention span null and void as the after-school cartoons blared on the TV set in front of him. He sat on the edge of his seat, quite literally, his feet kicking back and forth as he watched the clock. 

With the big hand on the 2, and the little hand on the 6, she’d be home any minute now. So, Mary waited as patiently as he could. 

Except, it wasn’t until the big hand had done a full circle, and the little hand was on the 7, that he heard the keys fumbling in the lock of the front door, followed by a telltale creak, and the slam of it behind footsteps.  

Mary jumped up, already on edge and over-excited. He ran into the hallway, to find his mother leaning against the wall with her eyes shut, head back against the plaster. She looked sick, her skin paled more than usual and her lips tainted with a familiar red stain.  

“Ma?” he asked, placing his little hand on her arm. Her eyes shot open, and she looked down at Mary next to her.  

“There’s my boy!” she slurred, leaning down to smother a sloppy kiss to his cheek. He wiped his cheek in childlike disgust, giggling to himself. “Happy birthday, baby!”  

She stood as upright as she could manage, bringing her purse with her while she stumbled into the living room, into the armchair Mary’s dad used to occupy that faced the TV set. Mary followed, bouncing on his feet with excitement. He’d waited all day for his mom to come home, hadn’t been able to focus in school for even a second. He stood and waited in front of her as she settled into the chair, dropping her purse in her lap.  

“Would you like your present baby?” she asked, smiling through hooded eyes that could barely focus. Mary nodded frantically, his heart pounding in his chest.  

It had been weeks since he’d spoken to his mother about the guitar he so desperately wanted. He’d spent most of his weekends at Mr. Rogers’ workshop, sweeping up wood shavings and running errands for a little bit of pocket money to help his mother save for this exact moment. He couldn’t wait any longer... 

His mother giggled, reaching into her purse and pulling out a small, square-shaped gift wrapped in balloon wrapping paper.  

For a moment, Mary was confused... But this had to be just a decoy. He remembered seeing these CDs in the music store; ‘Guitar Basics for Beginners’, audio instructive lessons that would be far cheaper than real in-person lessons.  

He tore into the paper, throwing the trash to the side and flipped the CD around to look at the front. It was an album; State of Euphoria by Anthrax. Mary’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion, surprised to find it wasn’t what he’d thought.  

“That’s the band you like, right? Or... One of them,” his mother hiccupped, leaning on her elbows with a grin. 

“Y-yeah... thanks, ma.” His tone was unmistakably disappointed.  

“What’s wrong?” she asked, swiping her thumb across his cheek and pinching it lightly. Mary chewed the inside of his cheek, wondering if he should say anything. He wasn’t one to be ungrateful, this was still a pretty great gift. Anthrax were one of the bands he had found he really loved recently. 

“No it’s great, ma, really. Thank you... It’s just,” he paused for a moment, choosing his words carefully, “could I get my guitar now? I read this book that teaches you about the frets and the notes of the strings, and stuff!” His words were rushed in that way over-excited children speed up the longer their sentence becomes. 

If his mother’s skin could pale any more, it did then.  

“Well, I... I couldn’t get the guitar, baby,” she told him, trying to let him down gently.  

“But... I helped Mr. Rogers? I thought we had enough?” he asked, his cheeks heating as if he were about to cry, but he didn’t want to make his mother feel bad by letting them spill.  

“I-I’m sorry, Mary... I needed to use that money...” she shrank back within herself, shame and guilt weighing on her shoulders.  

“For what?” he asked, genuinely confused, his tears building in his eyes. He was devastated... He worked so hard to get the guitar, to prove his mind was made up and he wouldn’t give up on learning it. But his mother just stared at him, her lip trembling as she saw her little boy so heartbroken. 

She knew exactly what she had spent it on; the very thing she promised she’d try and give up. 

“I... I’m s-sorry, b-baby,” she sobbed, tears spilling down her pale cheeks and her chest tightening around her breaths. She broke down, sobbing into her hands and hiding her face from the son she’d just disappointed so tragically. 

Mary wanted to be angry. It wasn’t fair... It was him who worked for that money, him who had tried so hard to help her. She was supposed to be the one adult he could count on, they were a team, weren’t they? He never asked for anything, ever. But just once, he wanted this. But she’d put her wine and God only knows what other alcohol before him again.  

He wanted to be angry. He tried to be. But his mother was hurting, she was crying, sobbing in front of him. She needed help. She was broken. She hadn’t meant to do this... right?  

Of course not. Her alcoholism had just gotten out of control, and unfortunately, addiction is a lonely and selfish ailment. Sober, her mind wouldn’t even think of doing something so selfish. But these days, she was rarely sober.  

Mary looked at his mother, crumpled up and sickly looking, weeping into her palms, and he just wanted to save her. He always wanted to save her.  

“Ma, it’s okay...” he told her, trying too hard for an 11-year-old not to cry. “Ma, don’t cry... I can keep working for one, it’s okay. I like the CD, I really do.” he squished himself between her and the arm of the chair, wrapping his arms around her and cuddling into her. She was inconsolable, sobbing so loudly she drowned out the cartoons on the TV set. She’d lost control of herself, and Mary was the only one around to pick up the pieces.  

“Shh, ma, it’s okay. It’ll be okay!” he told her, squeezing her as tightly as he could. “I’m here, don’t cry.” 

She’d screwed up big time, and whether Mary had chosen to forgive her or not, she wouldn’t be able to forgive herself for this. If she wasn’t already buried up to the neck in a pit of self-loathing, this was the last shovel full of cement to trap her in. 

But Mary had already decided that he’d do what he could to dig her out. She was his mother, she did everything for him that she could... why wouldn’t he help her too? 

A guitar could wait a little while longer. For now, his mother needed him – and he’d work as hard as he needed to save her.  

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 5 | PART 6 | PART 7 | PART 8

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[titanrpg]

you got a minute? I need a favor

Hey everyone, it's Lex. Happy New Year to you and yours!

Today, I have a huge announcement about Titanomachy RPG and its future. This month marks 3 years since I joined TTRPG Twitter. I've met so many incredible people and learned so much from y'all. Your support has allowed me to take one HUGE step in my life. 

I recently moved to Maryland from Florida to get some basic human rights. I also left my job of 7 years to try and live unburdened by selling hours of my life to some random rich guy. And now, I'm taking Titanomachy RPG full-time.

Here I am, already having taken the leap. I have some money saved up, yes, but ultimately I am trusting in the generosity of others to help me build out a life I can truly love.

So yes, this is a Patreon announcement. And there's a link to Caltrop Core below (if you want to make a one-time contribution). But before anyone exits this email, I want to talk about all the cool stuff everyone can expect from me, regardless of Patreon status or donor status. I have a lot of exciting things coming in 2024, like:

a NEW open license d12 system called DODECA!

physical copies of my games becoming available via Indie Press Revolution, starting with NIGHTHAWKS!

more consistent game & system releases

seeing more of my work in some upcoming Evil Hat projects (look for me in the Girl by Moonlight stretch goal zines)

prints of "prayer to curse ron desantis", bunny girl osr posters, and perhaps shirts/hats/merch?

ttrpg workshops IRL in the Maryland area

and much much much much more!!

Now, here's the link to my Patreon before I forget: https://www.patreon.com/TitanRPG

I have an AWESOME founding patron bonus. There are 3 tiers of membership, and no matter which you choose to join today, you'll get a pre-release PDF of GOLDEN BEETLE PLAYGROUND, my Medabots-inspired TTRPG built on Caltrop Core EX.

This bonus is ONLY for people who join this month. After January, I'll take it down to work on the game further (and eventually do a full release later this year). 

For tiers 2 and 3, I'll be releasing one short RPG every single month. These games will remain Patreon exclusives until I can put proper polish on them (or the patrons vote to release their favorites).

There's a bunch more goodies and details on my actual Patreon page. Click that link to see!

Eventually, I'll be putting merch up on that page, so even if you can't support with a monthly pledge, you'll be seeing posters, shirts, hats, all that very soon!

These days, I'm on tumblr every so often, but no other social media. Patreon will be my dedicated page for updates, game mechanics, design discussions, everything! Even if you join at the $3/month tier, I want to provide a ton of value, starting with GOLDEN BEETLE PLAYGROUND!

Click here to see the three membership tiers and support a trans game designer today!

Thank you for your support over the past 3 years. I hope to remain worth of it for many more years to come.

All my love,

Lex Kim Bobrow

Publisher, Titanomachy RPG

P.S. Here's the link again. Take a moment to check out the page please, and if you can't contribute, please tell your friends! I've lost touch with so many people after leaving Twitter, so any help in getting the word out is 10000000% appreciated!!

P.P.S. If you could reblog this post ASAP, I'd really really appreciate it. Thank you!!!

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

Here's a light-hearted ask!

Have you done any sex ed work with college and graduate populations? If so, what are common points of confusion? And do you have any funny or nice stories about college sex ed presenting?

Also, thanks for running this blog! It's been really helpful for me in seeing sex as less stressful and more pedestrian. Hope you're having a normal one!

hi anon,

fortuitously I started teaching sex ed while I was in college and I work at a college now, so I've had a fair bit of opportunity to work with college students in person in addition to all the young adults who send in asks here :)

I don't know if I have any particular stand-out stories coming to mind right now, but overall I've always found this demographic to be really inquisitive, open-minded, and excited to share. almost every time I've presented my workshop Queering Virginity it's been with college students, and they're always really receptive and eager to kick that ball around and play in the space with me trying to poke and prod at virginity and figure out what, if anything, it actually means.

some of the most common points that come up aren't so much confusion (although on at least one occasion I have to be the bearer of bad news re: people with vaginas being able to give each other STIs) as opportunities for expanded knowledge. for instance, not a lot of college students know about internal condoms, because few people know about condoms, period. I think something much more widespread is a desire for reassurance that what they feel and want and do sexually is normal and okay, which I think transcends demographics in a pretty huge way.

[jujumin-translates]

[A3!] ★ Main Story | Act 15 - Painful RE:bake | Episode 1 - Picaresque Once More

Ali Baba: “Alright, now, let’s set off to the fantastical paradise oasis!” 

*Applause*

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Tenma: Thank you very much!

Yuki: Thank you so much.

Muku: Thank you so much!!

Misumi: Thanks, everyone~!!

Kazunari: Thanks for watching~!

Kumon: Thank you~!!

*Applause*

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Banri: …

Banri: (...Damn, they really are incredible.)

Banri: (It’s our turn in Autumn Troupe next.)

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

*Footsteps*

Banri: …

Izumi: There you are, Banri-kun.

Izumi: Good work with the finale. You were a huge help as the assistant director.

Banri: Good work to you too, Director-chan.

Izumi: Following Spring Troupe, Summer Troupe sure had a lot going on during their rehearsals…

Banri: I’ve leveled up in schedulin’ thanks to that.

Izumi: Your experience as assistant director has definitely gone up, Banri-kun, but Summer Troupe was also a “challenge” because of all of them gaining more experience.

Banri: If things had been how they were back durin’ their debut, we never woulda made it through the performance. Each of ‘em took on a challenge and did a great job bringin’ that experience back with ‘em.

Izumi: It’s Autumn Troupe’s turn next.

Banri: Yeah.

Banri: …If I keep up with the rehearsals as assistant director, I can already imagine how things are gonna look on openin’ day.

Banri: But with Spring Troupe ‘n Summer Troupe… Both on their openin’ days and durin’ the finales, their performances were even more movin’ than they were durin’ rehearsals.

Banri: They’ve already taken several steps towards the New Fleur Award.

Banri: Maybe there’s just some kinda power up on stage at MANKAI Theater or somethin’, but…

Banri: I really felt the significance of ‘em performin’ a continuation of their debut performances after each of ‘em has grown so much as actors.

Izumi: Yeah… I think the sequels have affected the troupe members more than anyone thought they would.

Banri: I was also pretty impressed by how Summer Troupe was “challengin’” each other to achieve their own dreams since they usually get along pretty well with each other.

Banri: Even Muku ‘n Kumon stuck to goin’ to that harsh workshop.

Izumi: You don’t want to lose to them, do you, Banri-kun? Autumn Troupe is a group of competitive people led by its leader.

Banri: Yeah, we’ll grow just as much as Spring and Summer did. I’m sure that’s what the rest of ‘em are plannin’ on doin’.

Izumi: I thought so.

Tsuzuru: Ughh. I’m all for Arisugawa-san complimenting my scripts, but I really can’t deal with him when he gets drunk and starts sobbing while he’s talking…

Banri: Good work.

Izumi: Welcome.

Tsuzuru: Is this the directors’ cast party? 

Banri: Somethin’ like that.

Tsuzuru: I was actually looking for you two, so this is perfect. I’ve finished writing the script for the sequel to Autumn Troupe’s debut, but--.

Izumi: You’re done already!?

Banri: Ain’t that like your fastest time yet?

Tsuzuru: I knew we would be doing a sequel to Picaresque, so I’ve been planning it out for a while now…

Tsuzuru: And I didn’t get any requests from you guys other than for it to have a lot of action, so it was pretty easy for me to just get going on it.

Tsuzuru: Basically everyone said that the Picaresque characters are supposed to just be free and live as they please.

Banri: But still, you got it done like way too fast. We’ve still got forever until the performance yet.

Tsuzuru: I just wanted to write the continuation of Picaresque as soon as possible.

Tsuzuru: I was curious about how the debut performance characters were doing now too. 

Izumi: Things were pretty rough back during the debut.

Tsuzuru: I remember back when Autumn Troupe first formed, you let me observe one of their rehearsals to help me think up the script.

Izumi: I remember that.

Tsuzuru: It wasn’t just how Banri had been chosen as leader that helped me come up with the whole buddy thing, it was how Juza asked to have a major role in the play too that helped me with it.

Izumi: I told you that if we put Juza-kun, who had the strongest feelings about the play, on center stage, the whole play might’ve been transformed.

Tsuzuru: And that’s exactly what happened… You said that it was Juza’s growth that created a burning heat right in the middle of Autumn Troupe.

Tsuzuru: I was influenced by your stance of believing in the feelings of the actors and entrusting the roles to them, Director. And as a scriptwriter, I really felt the meaning of leaving the roles in the care of the actors.

Banri: Just how much did you talk about behind our backs?

Banri: Hyodo was nothin’ more than just an amateur back when we started rehearsin’ the fundamentals. I can’t believe you let Hyodo take all that shit on… Seems way too risky to me.

Banri: Seriously, Director-chan…

Tsuzuru: …But that’s what’s great about her.

Banri: You’re right. That’s our Director-chan.

Izumi: Back then, the company had nothing but all the troupe members we had gathered. No track record, nothing…

Izumi: That’s why all I could do was trust and leave things to him. And doing so got us this far, so I think doing that was a great decision!

Izumi: And I know that what I’ve been doing hasn’t changed since.

Izumi: Generally speaking, the most important thing is keeping an eye on the actors. Think about what kind of feelings you want them to be putting into rehearsals and into plays.

Izumi: Keep giving it your all to try and understand them. That’s what I believe is important.

Banri: You’re damn right about that. I dunno know if I’ll ever be able to beat you in terms of believin’ in people, though, Director-chan.

Tsuzuru: Banri actually admitting defeat, that’s rare to see.

Izumi: I’m proud of you.

Banri: Aight, now keep an eye on us Autumn Troupe guys as best you can, sound good?

Izumi: Of course.

Tsuzuru: We’re leaving it to you.

Banri: Yeah.

Banri: (...“Picaresque Returns”.)

Banri: (I’ve never been so moved in my life. A continuation of our debut performance… I can finally live in the world of Picaresque again.)

Banri: (I’ll give this to Autumn Troupe first thing tomorrow… There’s still a lotta time left, but I’m gonna have to set up a training schedule and then see what we can do from there…)

Banri: (...It’s about time for me to meet up with that guy too.)

[ Next Part ⇢ ]

[the-cat-and-the-birdie]

Alice 'Allie' Parkington is WonderSpider!

____________________________________

Miguel: One year and four months ago, I devised the formula for inter-dimensional travel, allowing me to open portals across the multiverse. I created an elite stri-

Alice: Oh, Okay! -

[Alice is the result of a 'Adapt-A-Spider' Challenge, where you adapt a pre-existing character into a Spider! You can see more of my fun Spidersona challenges HERE]

(Also HUGE THANKS to @fairytalespider who made the OG SpiderSnow!)

Gwen Stacy isn't the only blonde who knows about miraculously falling through wormholes.

Except Allie got sent to the universe with talking animals, and a maniacal queen with of taste for beheadings. Not that she's complaining. Not when the tea parties are so delightful~

At 7 years old Alice Parkington found a white waist-coated rabbit, on a hurry to who knows where -

And she followed him, fell down a hole, and never came back.

Origins:

[Alice's world is a mix of the book's portrayal, the cartoon's, and Tim Burton's (though I haven't seen the movies). Her story begins at the end of book - a similar ending to the cartoon movie, but instead she doesn't wake up.]

After losing a game of croquet to The Red Queen of Hearts, Alice is sent to the dungeons, awaiting her beheading on the Queen's orders. That is, until she finds an enchanted Spider in her cell, sent by an ally. When she's bitten, it gives her all the power of Wonderland - and binds her there forever. After escaping The Red Queen's Death Row, Alice was adopted by the woman who helped free her - The kind but exiled The White Queen or Marmoreal, aka Her Aunt Mirana.

Now The Blue Princess of Marmoreal, Alice is next in line for the throne, and the web-swinging protector of Tugley Woods, Wonderland. She spends her days fighting against the tyrannical and murderous rule of The Red Queen of Hearts, and The Court of Cards. With The Mad Hatter as her martyred Uncle Ben - Alice calls Wonderland her home, though she's always left questioning what's real and what isn't. At this point, she's accepted she'll never know the answer. So when she's recruited for Spider Society, it's just another rabbit hole to go down, and another adventure to fall into. On campus she's known as WonderSpider, and she's a lot more powerful (and ruthless) than you'd think.

Design and Personality:

Alice is a lot less sugar and a bit more spice, with her personality taking after the book (moreso than the movies).

Alice is bubbly and independent. She's as curious as a cat and as chatty as a bird. And she's all about asking questions and finding her own way in the world.

She's loves tea parties and foraging and making crazy experiements in the Hatter's workshop. And now that he's gone, she still finds herself in there, cooking up another magical sweet or Victorian style gadget. When she's not doing that, she's at The White Queens side, begrudgingly taking (literally) nonsensical etiquette classes. She isn't afraid to speak up for herself and others. And once she makes her mind up, it's settled.

Despite what some may think, she's isn't an entire lunatic. She's hasn't gone Wonderland Mad yet.

Even since a young girl, Alice has always been known for asking questions - trying to find the sense in nonsense before coming to a conclusion. She's great at picking up on details, and thinking outside the box. And she's always the one to keep a level head, no matter what the circumstances. Doom is not assured when reality is subjective. She's as logical as she is loopy, and although some may think there's nothing going on between her ears, they are sorely mistaken.

She always wears her glasses. She needs them to see.

Or rather, she needs them to see correctly. Having a cause of The Mads, taking off her glasses distorts her vision of the room into a psychedelic and disorienting wonderland version itself - which hurts. She keeps them on always. Though they can be knocked off during battle. Like other Spider-people - The lenses squint, blink, and emote. They have a permanent and consistently moving patterns and colors. Between blinks, the design may change, the swirls changing color or direction. Sometimes the words she's saying may flash over them for emphasis, and they can contain anything from exclamation points to tie dye.

Alice is a de facto genius.

An expert chemist, Alice has mastered dozens of recipes and chemistry formulas using the vegetation in Wonderland. She's cracked the code to rabbit holes, and has an amazing affinity for science and theoretical theory. And if she doesn't understand a certain law of physics or something, she can just choose to ignore it. Literally.

Powers & Abilities:

Hobie told Alice that laws are oppressive. She agreed, told him she hates the laws of physics - then started floating to the ceiling like a balloon. Needless to say, reality doesn't really work for Alice. And she cannot control it.

But no matter what her misfortune, though - She'll always say 'Oh, dear.'

Reality Warp:

Wonderland has side effects. Alice can grow and shrink at will, but once she's there, she can't go back. When she wants, she can manifest rabbit holes to Wonderland on any flat surface, but she doesn't know where they are - so she always falls into them. Her tears are huge, and they flood any room. And for some reason, she's obsessed with cookies. It she sees one, she'll eat it. It doesn't matter if it says 'Eat Me' or not. If you hand her something and tell her to drink, she will. It's the one thing she won't question, although she should know better. She'll read the label, and if it's not clearly labeled bleach or poison, she's drinking it. If it's not those two things, it must be safe right?

The Power of Imagination:

Like Spider-Ham has the Super-Slapstick ability, Alice has the Power of Imagination on her side. If she can make logic of it or believe it, then there is a random chance it will happen. If the team is looking for a way past a locked door, Alice may say 'If only there were a mousehole somewhere here. Mice are such scampers, they can get into anywhere!' There will probably be a 1/4 chance of a mouse running by, leading them to a cartoon like mousehole she can shrink and go through. However, Alice can't will it to happen. She can't be asking or hoping for it, and the thought has to be completely innocent and 'wonderous' for it to work. The ability can also be compounded, with multiple unlikely things happening rapid fire - however this is less likely and HIGHLY dangerous if done in other universes, and is likely to cause an anomaly. Plus everyone else involved goes a tad bit 'loopy' for a bit.

This ability only works outside of Wonderland, and it was discovered by Miguel.

When Alice met Miguel, she began to question his interesting suit, and so she asked. Miguel began to explain to her, but confused, Alice said 'Well, that's nonsensical. Surely you can't wear light like fabric. If that were true, I could pull this right off you.' - And then she did. And suddenly she was holding his suit in her hands as if it were made of fabric, and Miguel was there in his underwear.

Alice's response: 'Oh dear.'

Chesire Mode:

When surrounded by enough chaos or kinetic energy, Alice can go Chesire Mode, and really goes off the bend. She experiences full Wonderland Madness - similar to the Hatter, and gains the ability to unravel herself and turn invisible. Her voice begins to echo, creating a disorienting and hallucination-like affect. Doing this is known to cause madness, but it affects everyone in the room.

Equipment:

WebShooters: Alice uses mechanical Web-Shooters created by her and The Mad Hatter. Her webs are silly string and streamers. 'Bow'-nus Arms: Alice's waist ribbon is extendable like Mr.Fantastic's limbs, serving essentially as a second set of arms. However, when it's off of her, it's much more similar to Doctor Strange's cape, having a mind and personality of it's own. She can take it off and ask it do it, and it'll go off and (try it's best) to do it, just like a snake. It's name is David Bowie. She does not know who David Bowie is - it's just a coincidence: it's family name is Bow-ie, and David is a common name.

Random Facts:

Alice hangs out with a lot of the 'Eccentric' and Mini Spiders - She likes others from cartoons or fairytales, or anyone made for whimsy.

And she likes spending her time small.

She has a crush on Lego Spider-Man. She shrinks to be with him lol

He naturally finds her a little offputting, they're NOT a thing but she wishes (sis he's literal plastic)

Alice's best friends are SpiderPetal, SpiderSnow (@fairytalespider), SpiderFairy (@stardust948) and Spider-Ham.

Since they all live in either a woodland area, a cartoon, or both, those are usually who she's with

Though she only goes small around people she trusts - but never someone like Miguel. In fact, with Miguel, she does the opposite.

When Miguel is in the room, Alice prefers to grow 'full size' as in... taking up the whole room giantess style.

She says it helps, because 'It makes Mr.O'hara look like a little toy soldier.'

With the size of his lair, she can often grow taller faster than he can get lower - so he'll stay up there, and she'll grow to meet his eye.

She can decide when to stop growing or shrinking, just not when she'll turn back.

This power is transferable. Alice's wonderland powers still work elsewhere, and so her cookies and drinks do too.

Alice can only keep 1 cookie and 1 drink on her at one time, never more, it'll always be ruined.

She can use these to either extend her state, or have someone shrink or grow along with her.

But once she uses the one of each item, she can't get more until she returns home and makes more.

HOWEVER. HOWEVER - Alice is down for deals.

If you come to her world and ask for some cookies or potions, she'll give it to you. But there's a mandatory tea party involved, and the only payment she asks is that you bring sweets for the guests - Vegan please!!

(Her favorite is angel food cake, after cookies of course)

Those aren't the only ones - she has dozens of sophisticated concoctions for any need - floating and weightlessness, invisibility, even the ability to mimic voices perfectly -

And just the same, she's able to carry one of each when outside of Wonderland.

A frequent customer of hers is Hobie. He puts the potions to work - plus he makes the best vegan coconut macaroons.

Oh - also DO NOT Drink her tea though - it's made with Wonderland Tea Leaves....Great for a good time, horrible for bedtime.

Despite not knowing her specific age - Alice is a young adult - and she works at The Society.

Her Uncle Hatter was a master chemist, alchemist, magician, chef - and dozens of other things. And for years, Alice studied under him.

Originally, Miguel assumed all of this knowledge would be non-transferable nonsense, but - wrong.

Alice is one of the leading scientists at The Society - with a concentration in Multiversal Physics, studying everything from the visual styles of universes, the path between universes, and differences in time.

She'll often say something, only to get dismissed by Miguel.

But Lyla will cut him off, telling him that scientifically, Alice IS making sense.

It's just that because her world is totally backwards, the ideas she has to describe her thoughts are backwards too.

After a while, she becomes one of the main people to write the updates and programs for the watches, working with Miguel as her boss.

She's like a bop-it, full of weird and very useless quirks.

If her feet get wet, they make the duck waddle sound when she walks.

If she hits her head, it makes the TikTok 'Boink' sound. She runs and it makes the Flintstones noise.

If she stubs her toe or gets hurt on something tiny, she'll scream like Tom The Cat.

She burps bubbles (like the soap kind) and her sneezes sound like one of those party straw thingies.

Sometimes her Wonderland powers play tricks on her. She'll be like 'I'm outta here!!' then walk into a looney toons wall. And she's so embarrassed cause the cartoon noises make it so much worse fhgsuigdf

Sometimes when she tries to run she stays in one place for a second before the running kicks in (like a cartoon) - and Miguel just grabs her and she's like 'Dratz, I was trying to get away.'

She enjoys hanging out with Hobie, though she does not understand him at all.

Like, she's British too - did I mention she's British, cause she's from Victorian England -

But she has no opinion on his ideology because it's ???? lost on her

He's like 'This is a metaphor for capitalism' and she'd be like 'I don't know what that is.'

He's like 'count your blessings'.

But Hobie LOVES that Alice doesn't stick to the rules -

and that she gives the middle finger to the laws of physics by just existing

He's like 'That's so cool, what you just did. Real Metal.'

She's like 'I suppose I am just a container, filled with slowly decaying food - so in that way, I am quite like a fridge, which is cool and made of metal-'

And he's like 'what are you talking about-'

And they mainly hangout because they're both lazy.

Alice is tirrreeed of all these weird physics rules and new technology and non talking cutlery.

She'd much prefer to take a nap, or wander off, of have a tea party, or do ANYTHING that isn't work. Same girl same

And that's it! Most of it, I'll probably maybe maybe not write a post about her joining the society and how it completely warps her perception of reality because she's been trying to get home for so long, she doesn't even know if her home exists then there's this new society through ANOTHER wormhole but she still can't get home-

Oh and before I go, her intro art is inspired by Qveen Herby's single Abracadabra!

Yeah. If you made it this far THANK YOU FOR GIVING ME UR TIME! Thank you so so much for entertaining me I MEAN IT THANK YOU I KNOWI POST SO MANY OCS AND IT'S KINDA OVERWHELMING SORRY AAHHH MY BRAIN CANT STOP I CANT FOCUS HELP

Anyway I'm normal

HERE HOBIE

Bye.

[rochelle-echidna]

@micheladee tagged me in the "post a couple paragraphs of your WIP" share-a-thon, so figured I'd go through my Word docs and see what I could find - thank you so much for the tag, Michela :)

Truth be told, if y'all will allow me to vent a bit first... it's been a bit of a shitter these last couple years, especially wrt getting any sort of writing done. Never mind with fics (of which I feel awful I've barely started anything new, even the WIP below is from last year) - but I've also been trying to finally write a novel of my own after realising I really, really want to... and the words just aren't coming. Whether it's because of fear of ridicule, fear of failure, fear of not being good enough, fear of financial stresses, fear of whatever... it's been really fucking rough since my spouse and I moved cross-country, and I've def been feeling ashamed at my lack of creative output :(

On the bright side, I'm getting some help with therapy and I'm doing a couple workshops to get me back into the swing of being creative so that I can tackle the work-life balance and not feel like the entirety of my (and my spouse's) survival rests squarely on my shoulders. Whether that means I'll be able to post any new work soon is up for debate, but honestly just taking these baby steps is better than nothing, so I'll take what I can get (and my body + mind can give).

And I know there's no "admission fee" to partake in fandom, but I still feel I'd be remiss if I didn't offer a huge apology for not positing fics recently, and especially for not commenting on fics y'all have made in these last several months - please believe me when I say I see y'all's work and it's great and makes me feel so many necessary things, even if I'm not able to type the words on AO3 atm.

Anyhow, just wanted to share an update with y'all and let you know I'm still here, still alive... just taking it one day at a time for now in order to keep my sanity strong!

Enjoy this little snippet of a WIP below, and I tag whoever so chooses to participate in this game - even if I'm quiet, I love seeing everything you lovely people write :D

When he was thrust back to reality in his own body, there was the usual disorientation that was to be expected of someone summoned through the dark arts. After all, if the infamous Thief King from 3,000 years ago had existed as a separate being before, there was no reason Malik’s other half couldn’t, too. Except… Ryou Bakura hadn’t exactly planned for this extra passenger to crawl his way back from the shadows alongside the former spirit. And what “Malik’s other half” – the phrase enough to make said individual gag – definitely hadn’t expected was for such confusion to be tainted by a profound sadness… one that had permeated his entire being for the last six months. Or however long it had been. Malik had gotten what he’d wanted, Ryou had gotten what he wanted, the Thief King had kind of gotten what he wanted – and all that “Malik’s other half” had gotten was a sense of displacement, dysmorphia and disdain. “You know… he’s welcome to stay here, Malik.” “You weren’t conscious during that damned duel fifteen years ago, host. Just be glad you weren’t privy to his cruelty firsthand.” “He’s right, Ryou. You’ve done enough already. There’s no need to put yourself in more danger.” “But there’s not much harm he can do now. I mean—" “I can hear you all.” Three pairs of eyes had greeted him when he’d first turned over on a – soft – bed. His hands had been bound, and he’d growled and snarled so much that he’d made Malik and the Thief King back up – but not the white-haired man in-between them. “You probably have lots of questions right now. And…” The blush that formed on the man’s cheeks had sent a – strange – shiver down his spine, warming his bound wrists. “I’m sorry I don’t have many answers.” He had merely hmphed at that, avoiding eye contact with his “main personality” and the thief who’d dared face him. Instead, he focused on the wide eyes of the man who must have been called— “Ryou… it’s no use. We need to send him back before he does some real damage again.” “Snap out of it, landlord. Just look at how he’s staring at you.” But the man – Ryou – had just tilted his head and let loose a very small smile. “What’s your name?”

[meanbossart]

hi. I'm a huge fan of your work. I've been following you since before sad sack even came out. I was around for the very first teasers of it. I am very young... definitely i was too young to be reading sad sack when I was. but I'm an adult now so whatever, harm done. I'm a novelist. you are really one of my greatest artistic inspirations.

I guess my question that I want to say is... how do you finish stories? I have a million started but I always get this horrible voice in my head telling me that it's not worth it to finish, that the next project I do will be better, but I know I'm at the point in my journey where I need to just get something done. how do you do it? do I just need time? do I need to get a little older? do I need to keep failing until I succeed?

thank you so much for everything that you've done, your art brings me so much joy and comfort. many, many times your comics have made me feel like I wasn't alone. please keep doing what you're doing, because I love it, just for me lol.

Hey! This has sat in my inbox for a while i know, to be completely honest it just never feels great to know someone was exposed to my adult work before they should have been, and it can feel like im walking a tenuous line in acknowledging that it happens and not... Doing something about it? Though im not sure what that something would be. I will take your word for it that you are an adult now and as you said, the harm was already done. Im not happy about it but nothing can be done about it now i guess.

I do sincerely appreciate your kind words about mine and Nick's work and I'm glad it's brought you joy, and i hope you were always able to enjoy it with a critical eye too.

As for your question, there is truly no easy answer there or A to B guide that will get you past this hurdle - some people work on years and years on the same thing before releasing it, other's just pump their first work to get it out of the way and while it may not be great, at least its done. Regardless, once you get one thing finished, you will come to realize that its easy to finish others, too. I think regardless of what you do though, you will never look back on your very first work and be happy with it, so its my personal opinion that while you should do your best, you should make peace with the fact that it will not be your best, and that's okay.

As for what I would personally do? Pick something, something short, and something fresh, dont start with that massive story you've been workshopping for 15 years. Start with something you can whip up in a year at the VERY most, something you are currently passionate about, something that interests you right this second. Draft it as quick as you can so you know how it starts and how it ends, and then set yourself up with a schedule to finish it - you don't have to abide by it 100%, but if you give yourself all the time in the world to work on it, you might end up taking up your own offer. If you have a deadline, even if made up, you will have to force yourself to move on when you come across something you aren't entirely happy with instead of becoming stuck on it for days, frustrated, and then proceeding to abandon it as you might have done before. I repeat - you will never be entirely happy with how your first work turns out. So focus on being passionate, proud, and absolutely committed to making it happen at all, instead.

I hope this has helped you at all, im both sorry that you ended up looking at our nasty stuff before you should have and also, again, genuinely glad you find inspiration in it now as a grown person. I wish you the best of luck in your journey as a creator!

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Lost & Found - Chapter Seven.

A huge thank you to everyone for your readership and engagement. You are so wonderful! To the people who are reading but not offering commentary or reblogs, can I tempt you into doing so? It's so important to help an author get their stories out there, reblogging is crucial for that, and comments? Well, they're just lovely, to hear you tell us of your enjoyment! :)

Previous chapters - One Two Three Four Five Six

Words - 4,170

Warnings - 18+ content throughout, Minors DNI. Recounts of kidnap, child trafficking, physical/verbal/sexual abuse in the coming chapters.

“How do you know if somebody has that thing, that... what’s it called? People who’ve been in combat get it a lot, but I can’t think what the official term is.”  

Lee stuck her head up over the top of the bike she was working on. “PTSD?” 

“Yeah,” Guero confirmed. “Yeah, that’s it.” 

“There are signs, very clear ones,” she began, working a ratchet spanner back and forth, the clicking noise echoing through her small workshop. “Pass the grips.”  

Picking them up, he placed the tool into her outstretched hand. “Like what?” 

“Nightmares, flashbacks, depression, anxiety, triggered responses such as fight, flight or freeze. I take it you’re asking because of Emma? She still bad, not settling, getting upset?” 

“Uh huh, all of that.” He sipped his coffee, turning to watch a ruck between Bottles and Downer breaking out in front of the clubhouse, the latter threatening to ‘kick you in the nuts, you fuckin’ four eyed motherfucker!’ as he worded it. “She’s settling, actually. Seems happy most of the time, but then she has these moments when she sinks into this trance or something, zones out. If she hears shouting, she cowers. If she ever thinks I’m mad at her, she does the exact same thing, too. And she has nightmares. Found her hiding in the closet two nights ago.” 

“She said anything about it?” He shook his head. “Therapy and drug treatment. That’s how she’ll begin to process whatever it was that fuckin’ happened to her. It’s a tricky thing to deal with. Trauma differs so much from person to person. One person’s mild inconvenience is another’s utter fuckin’ meltdown, their freakout, their wall climb. Some find talking enough, letting it all out. Others need a cocktail of drugs to deal with it all. Sometimes, it’s a little of both, y’know?”  

Lee’s advice was as sage and pragmatic as ever, her thoughts echoing what Guero had begun to think in the two weeks Emma had been in his life for. “She’s told me little things, but I’m not saying what. They don’t really help me help her either.” That didn’t surprise her. Guero was nothing if not loyal to a fault if somebody placed their trust in him.  

She looked up again over the bike, a soft frown in place. “You might have to reconcile that she doesn’t want you to help her. You could even return home one night and find her gone, packed up, outta there.” Those words weren’t easy for her to speak, knowing Guero as well as she did.  

She knew just by looking at him how much he was already dedicating himself to Emma’s cause, being the strong, male protector that he himself had missed out on in his own life, with his father spending so many years behind bars. It was something she picked up on in people, them becoming to someone else what they’d so sorely needed themselves, thus somewhat fulfilling their own requirement. Also, it was because his heart was huge.  

He shrugged, draining his coffee before he replied. “I doubt that. She calls me her safe person. If it isn't me, then who? She’s in my house, Lee. I’m the one there dealing with her meltdowns.” 

Finally managing to dislodge the corroded fuel hose she was working on, Lee pulled it free, examining the end fitting. “That’s for Emma to decide.” Pausing, she looked back up at him, chewing the side of her cheek as she began to smile. “You like her, don’t you?” 

He sniffed, looking out over the yard. “Yeah, she’s nice, from the little I know about her.” 

She snorted. “Cut the shit, Ortiz,” she began, Guero butting in. 

“Oh, bitch means business, using the last name!” 

Lee huffed, throwing him a soft elbow. “You know what I mean. You wanna go fuckin’ bang her six ways to Sunday, but you don’t wanna be that guy.” 

“What guy?” 

“The guy who puts the moves on the chick who’s PTSD’ing all over the damned place.” He rolled his tongue around the inside of his cheek, looking at the floor, Lee removing her work gloves and walking around the bike, placing a hand to his shoulder. “Thank fuck she imprinted on you, and not Downer.” 

Guero winced. “Yikes.” 

“On several fuckin’ bikes!” Jerking her thumb in the direction of the troublesome Norton she was working on, her eyes widened as she began to laugh. “You’re a good guy, Guero. Half of those motherfuckers - and god knows I love every one of ‘em - they perhaps wouldn’t have been so fuckin’ patient with her.” 

“Angel woulda been all up in there from the first five minutes,” he snorted, Lee pulling out her cigarettes and lighting one up.  

“Hmm, nah. She’d have been alright with him. His bravado around y’all is a front. He’s a fuckin’ puppy beneath it.” Guero didn’t look convinced. “Ever seen him around a chick in a low-cut top? Boy loses his damned mind with boobies. All ‘uhh, erm, uhhh, bluhh.’ His hard drive short circuits. He’s soft as shit. He ain’t got half the fuckin’ confidence people think he does with women. He’s only comfortable with the ones he’s platonic with.” Lee Losa; she was nothing if not the all-seeing eye, the governess of the MC, the one who saw them all for who they truly were. “You want another coffee in there?” 

“Yeah, I’ll go get ‘em.” Walking with her over to the clubhouse, Downer watched them approach, beginning to sing. 

“Come on, Eileen, ohhhh, I swear what he means, at this moment, you mean everything!” His serenade was coupled with a lewd jerking off gesture, Lee pausing, her cigarette between her teeth as she looked him up and down and re-tied her mountain of wavy hair.  

“You do, and it’ll be the last fuckin’ time that little pin dick of yours ever spurts. This I promise you.” 

A collective ‘oooooh’ sounded from the assembled men, Downer trying to think of a witty enough retort when Angel interrupted.  

“Yeah, she don’t wanna see your small wang, bro. Yo, Lee. I got whatchu need right here, girl,” he teased, grabbing his crotch, Guero exiting the clubhouse and handing over her coffee.  

“Oh, you got what I need, huh?” she began, winking at Guero before she pulled the front of her top down, pressing her boobs together with her arms as she pointed at her cleavage. “Your dick right here, hmm?” 

“Er... um...”  

She turned to Guero, smirking while nodding in Angel’s direction. “See? Short circuit.”  

“Angel dot exe has stopped working,” Bottles contributed, the guys all falling apart, Lee almost spraying them with a mist of the coffee she’d just taken a sip of.  

“I don’t even know what that means, prospect, but you ain’t funny,” Angel told him, shaking his head and muttering.  

“Computer speak. I take it you don’t have one?” Bottles asked, Gilly piping up. 

“Have one? He wouldn’t even know how to switch it on. Even if he did, he’d only have it for the porn.” 

“And he’s so outta touch, he probably still uses magazines to jerk off to,” Guero added. “You can get Porn Hub on your phone now, old man!” he then yelled, as if Angel was deaf.  

“Cum stained VHS of Girls Gone Wild, that’s his thing,” Gilly laughed, Lee throwing her head back in fits.  

Downer snorted, grinning. “Nah, I bet he’s into donkey porn or some shit.” 

“Fuck all of y’all, shit,” Angel announced, although he couldn’t help but begin laughing. “Hey yo, Bish!” he then called, a few seconds passing before the VP stuck his head around the clubhouse door. “Your woman is being scandalous again.” 

“Who you fucking with this time, my little piranha fish?” he asked, his smile widening as he looked over at his love. 

She nodded her head at Angel. “Him. I get the most reaction outta Reyes elder.” 

“Hmm, fair. Carry on, he deserves it.” More muttering emanated from Angel, an eye roll too for good measure. 

“So, you guys busy today, much on, doing anything?” Lee then asked.  

“Nah,” Gilly confirmed. “Just stuff around the yard.” Since they’d begun their alliance with the Romano crime family, their outlawing endeavours had notably quietened. With a pay bump of ten grand each every four weeks, and a further ten stashed away by Angel for the club itself, they didn’t need to turn more profit than they already were. Mostly, they were there to keep Romero Brothers operating successfully, each member having a lot more time on his hands.  

True to that, Guero left the yard at 3pm that afternoon, getting back home swiftly, arriving to find Emma just about to leave the house with Axl.  

“Hey, I wasn’t expecting you this early,” she spoke warmly, Axl receiving a scratch behind his ears.  

“Yeah, all done unless I’m needed for anything later. Want some company on your walk?”  

“That’d be nice, yeah.”  

“Alright, wait here. I need two minutes to shower and change. I’ve been lugging metal around all morning, I stink.” Just over two minutes later and a much fresher man arrived back, dressed in black jeans, a grey vest and a dark blue plaid shirt over the top, the pair beginning to walk. “If we turn right here and then keep walking for about a half hour, there’s a bar that’s kinda decent if you feel up to going?” 

Emma only left the house if it was to go to the convenience store or walk Axl, not yet venturing out for any other reason, hence his cautiously delivered question. “Um, yeah.” Her face brightened, that beautiful smile making his heart skip on a beat. “Yeah, okay. I guess I have to get used to being social at some point.”  

“Yeah, and let me get to be the envy of every guy in there, turning up with a girl like you,” he spoke playfully, laughing softly when she immediately blushed. God, she was adorable. She had no idea how pretty she was.  

He was surprised at her ease when they arrived, taking a seat outside while he went into the bar to order, returning with two large glasses of draught beer. It was nice, to see her looking neither tense nor nervous to be out. Then again, he was with her. The novelty of being her safe person still hadn’t worn off for him. He was just about to ask her how her morning had gone since he’d left her sleeping at 9am, when she suddenly began to point and flap her hands, her eyes widening. For a split second, he read it as a panic, until her smile confirmed it to be that of excitement.  

He turned in his seat, not able to see anything notable. “What?”  

“On top of the fire hydrant, look! Oh, it’s so pretty!”  

Following her pointed finger, he saw it, the small, yellow bird sitting there, grooming itself speedily. “It’s a bird?” 

“It’s a Goldfinch! I’ve never seen one in person before, they’re native to Southern California,” she gasped, delight lighting up her face before she suddenly felt a little dumb. “Sorry, I know I’m lame. I just really love birds, is all.”  

He adjusted his facial expression immediately, replacing the slight bemused look with a smile. She shouldn’t feel bad about being excited over something just because he couldn’t see why it was special. In fact, as he thought on it, he had to admit there was something very pure about finding happiness in what was so seemingly innocuous.  

“Don’t be sorry. Just because I don’t get it doesn’t mean you’re wrong,” he shrugged. “So, did you ever keep them as pets?” 

Her eyes widened, placing a hand to her chest. “Oh no, I could never lock one in a cage. They belong to the sky; they should be free.” The beauty of her words touched him, sipping his beer with a smile. He’d never really considered it before, the injustice of keeping a creature that by nature wished to spread its wings and soar within the confines of a cage.  

“We had a cat when I was little, who my dad named OB. Orange bastard. He used to hunt and bring us his kills, except they were never quite dead,” he began, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards as he remembered.  

“He brought in a rat once and drooped it next to dad while he was asleep on the couch. He had this huge beard, and while he was asleep, the not quite dead rat tried to hide in it. It woke him up, ending up in him getting bitten and then spending an hour trying to catch the damn thing when it ran off. OB just sat there on the windowsill watching, looking smug as fuck. 

“He’d bring in birds as well, again not quite dead and again, my dad’s job to catch while my mom hid in the corner screaming. He always threatened to drive him out to the middle of nowhere and dump him there, but man, he loved that cat to death. OB followed him everywhere, he even used to sit on the edge of the tub when he was in the bath, or go bother him while he was fixing his bike.”  

Emma saw the obvious affection he had for his father, sad for him that the memories he had would no longer be built upon. “Can I ask, did he pass away because he was sick, or from something else?”  

“Something else.” His tone left her under no illusion that it was because of the outlaw life, that his father had lost his. “I miss him.”  

Reaching for his arm, she stroked over the tattooed flesh, her hand slipping to grasp his. He closed his fingers around hers, looking up at her, his gaze fond, Emma feeling her heart flutter. “I understand how it is to miss a parent. I miss mine.” He presumed she would clam up again, but to his surprise, she continued to speak. “My dad was larger than life. Really tall, loud, joyous. He used to spend all Sunday in the kitchen making the dinner to give my mom a break, but he’d sing so loudly and make that much mess, she never got much of one. His food was incredible, though.” 

Guero snorted, remembering perhaps one of the last memories he had of Ibarra prior to his incarceration. “My dad could cook really well, too, but one time he tried when was drunk and ended up setting his beard on fire. Never again.” He continued laughing, remembering his monolith of a father slapping his smouldering beard with a kitchen towel, his mom then throwing an entire jug of water at him, explaining the scene to Emma, who joined him in the hysterics he fell into.  

“How big was his beard, that he managed to set it alight?” she asked, Guero gesturing to his chest. 

“About this long back then, but after he came out of prison, it was down to his stomach,” he spoke, her eyes widening. “Hold on.” Reaching for his phone, he scrolled through to his pictures, finding one of him and his dad taking a break while out on a run, both mean mugging the camera. 

“Wow, that beard is something else,” she spoke, looking at the image. “I can’t see much of a resemblance between you, but you have his frown for sure.”  

“Nope,” he agreed, continuing scrolling, “I’m pretty like my mama.” Turning the phone, he showed her the picture he loved most of him and his mother, Emma’s eyes widening. 

“Oh my god! You’re like her male double!”  

“Yeah,” he confirmed, smiling at the image. “Got mom’s looks and dad’s personality.” He shared with her a few other memories from his childhood, most happy, some not, especially over his first stepfather, Alejandro. He’d been glad his mom’s second marriage had only lasted eight months to the utter asshole who he’d learned had died not long after his mom had split from him. He was definitely no match for Ibarra. 

After a few more beers, he noticed that the alcohol worked a charm for both relaxing her, and loosening her so far rigid tongue, Emma beginning to share stories from her own childhood in more detail.  

“I was always a good kid, but I had what my grandpa used to coin as a devil streak,” she began, chasing a drop of condensation that ran down her glass with her fingernail. “I’d like to preface this by saying it wasn’t anything he didn’t actively encourage! I loved playing pranks, gluing coins to the sidewalk and then watching from the front window, people trying like hell to pick them up.  

“My grandpa would take me to this joke store called Zonko’s, buy me stuff like fart putty, or those snakes in the peanut can, Japanese finger traps, fake blood, etcetera. I remember pretending to cut my finger off one afternoon to scare my brother, and it scared him so much, he let out this ear-splitting scream. I jumped so hard, I ended up cutting my finger for real, but nobody would believe me for a few moments, thinking I was still joking around. My mom had Dylan wailing, me wailing, fake and real blood everywhere. It was chaos! 

“I remember my dad used to go check his garage for booby traps and the like before he started working on his bikes. He loved doing up old motorcycles, he was a real enthusiast. He never trusted that I wasn’t going to set him up, though! I used to go help him out, so I learned a little bit here and there, between him side eyeing me and waiting for something to get him!” 

He chuckled, imagining the scene. “So, you’re a real practical joker then, huh?” 

“Was.” The word was delivered with a sigh of lament, Guero squeezing her hand, hoping the flash of sadness that creased her pretty features would pass. It never failed to surprise him, just how quickly she could change from happy to haunted. Like always, he wondered why, what it was that had happened to her.  

It took a few moments, but she brightened, smiling. “I’m having a good time, sitting here talking to you. You’ve been really good to me, and I appreciate that. I just want you to know.” 

He winked, letting go of her hand as he stood. “I get that, since it’s been two weeks and you won’t stop making sure my house is cleaner than an operating room.”  

“I have to be of some purpose,” she shrugged, watching him shake his head. 

“You are by just being around, being you. You’re kinda awesome, you know.” His eyes toured her for a second, biting the corner of his lip as he grinned, turning to head back into the bar. He left her feeling like her insides were doing a backflip, Emma feeling excitement glimmer through her. It made her question though, whether he liked her, or if he was just being kind because of who she was, the circumstances they’d met under.  

“He probably only likes you because of what you can do for him,” she muttered, picking at her thumbnail, her mouth tightening. “It’s all you’ve ever been good for.”  

“Just be a good girl and make me happy. Give me what I want, and I’ll be good to you. You know what happens if you don’t. Come on, come be my pretty little whore.” 

A beer glass being placed upon the table broke her train of thought, Emma jumping, the words, the voice from her past still ringing in her head as Guero sat down beside her again. His smile faded as he took in the spooked expression on her face.  

“What’s wrong?”  

She shook her head. “Nothing, I’m alright.”  

He wasn’t so convinced by her words, seeing the flickers of sadness lingering in her eyes. “No, you’re not.” Scanning their surroundings with a frown, he tried to pick out what it was that’d obviously upset her, his eyes settling on a group of guys the next table over. “Did one of those douchebags say something to you? I’ll fucking smack ‘em down if they did.” 

“Hey,” she spoke, running her fingernails softly down his arm, the action attracting his attention away from the table full of guys, who had done nothing wrong other than maybe being a little too loud, and who certainly weren’t the cause of her falter. “They didn’t do anything. I just remembered something I’d rather forget, so let’s carry on having a good time. It’ll help me. Forget, that is.”  

She doubted whether it truly would, but she was determined to try. They stayed until close to closing, feeling a little too drunk to take the half hour walk home, luckily finding a cab driver who didn’t object to the presence of a large dog within his vehicle. Once they were back, Emma sorted out a very late dinner for Axl, she and Guero having eaten at the bar, standing back and watching the dog happily chomp through his food while she stood in the kitchen.  

A soft smile spread across her face as she thought back over the evening, what a good time she’d had, all because of the man she’d spent it with. The only thing that marred it was the resurgence of memories from the life she’d left behind, Emma hating that she still felt bound by what had happened to her, that her past tainted the fresh start and new life she was attempting to carve out for herself.  

She was tired of it holding her back, especially over what she sensed could truly blossom beautifully, if she just took the necessary step needed, move herself away from what was and towards what could be.  

The only person who could change that was her, and so, when Guero joined her in the kitchen, she did.  

“Damn, that’s the prettiest smile I think I’ve ever seen.” he spoke quietly, Emma pushing herself forward from her position leaning back against the counter, moving over to him slowly. Swallowing her nerves, she reached for him, her hands resting either side of his neck, their eyes drawing the other in with mirrored desire.  

His hands moved to bracket her waist, Emma feeling her heart pound with nervous excitement as their faces neared, noses touching, Guero feeling his stomach tingle pleasantly when her lips finally met his. The spark continued to crackle as their tongues began to softly roll together, falling into each other's rhythm, his arms sliding to tighten around her.  

Her insides felt fluttery with delight, experiencing the first kiss ever of complete mutual attraction with another, someone who kissed her because he knew she wanted it, not because he was forcing her to, Emma humming happily into his mouth with the elation of the moment.  

She stroked his face, feeling breathless and floaty, his full lips so sensuous as they captured hers with dominance, yet it was soft, not overbearing. It made her feel overwhelmed, pulling from him with a quiet giggle, burying her face against his neck as she slid her arms around his thick shoulders. 

“What?” he whispered, his thumb moving to stroke her cheek.  

She pressed a kiss against his neck before emerging, the action sending a shiver through him. “I enjoyed that.” 

He grinned, resting his forehead to hers. “Good. You can have another if you want?” 

Biting the corner of her lip, she nodded. “I want.” Warmth blossomed through her as their mouths met again, Guero lifting her, her legs wrapping around him as he carried her to the bedroom, placing her down on the bed. Her kisses were warm and sweet against the slightly bitter bite of beer upon their tongues, his body pressing hers deeper into the mattress. Suddenly, though, she stiffened beneath him. He pulled away immediately, studying her with curiosity.  

“I want to,” she told him, stroking his face, “but not while I’m drunk. I don’t want to be dulled. Is that okay?”  

Nodding, he kissed the tip of her nose. “Yeah. Good job I don’t have plans for tomorrow.”  

“Mmm,” she hummed softly, kissing him again. “You do now.” He laughed, kissing her again, feeling her relax against him. They got undressed and climbed beneath the covers, falling asleep wrapped around one another. That sleep was disturbed for them after a couple of hours, Guero waking to find the bed empty of her, turning to see the closest door slightly ajar. Not again.  

He turned the lamp on before sliding out of bed, moving to crouch at the door and open it slowly, her eyes glazed and wide with fear as she looked up at him, her hand moving rapidly to point a gun between his eyes.  

Having his own gun pulled on him. It was the second of firsts that night, and definitely the one he preferred less.  

A/N - I know I've dragged this out, but I promise, the next chapter will reveal Emma's story entirely. It would have been unrealistic to have had her open up about everything she's been through immediately, and I think you all understand that, too. So yes, sit tight for the next update, it's going to be long!

[missyeon]

rania’s story; thank you for reaching out to me 🤍

→ from her gofundme;

“My name is Rania Muhanna, I'm 35 years old, a graphic designer and digital artist. My family consists of 23 people, nine children and fourteen others including grandparents. We are now living in tents unable to comprehend the magnitude of pain and suffering. Our home, which we worked hard to buy over the past years during the devastating war in Gaza City, was demolished. My father also lost his workshop, which was the livelihood source for our family.

Personally, Israeli artillery targeted my office as a freelance designer, causing me to lose all my equipment and office space. We were forced to leave our homes amidst the sound of bullets and rockets, seeking refuge at the Red Crescent Hospital for nearly a month, enduring attacks and battles around the hospital.

After the occupation targeted many children and advanced its vehicles in front of the hospital gate, we left through a terrifying and frightening path. We stopped for hours of interrogation, losing all our remaining personal belongings. We left with no money or clothes except what we were wearing, no blankets or food, and none of the basic necessities of life. We lost everything and are striving to build a new future as a productive family capable of continuing and rising from the ashes of war.

Through this campaign, we aim to raise funds to help us leave Gaza Strip and start a new life in a better and safer place.

The cost of evacuating one adult is 7500 euro while the child fee is 5000 euros. There are also some transaction fees for GoFundMe, not to mention the basic living expenses for a family of 24 person in Egypt.

Please help me raise the application fees and travel costs for 24 people. To facilitate the evacuation of my family to Egypt, I am setting up this campaign on GoFundMe to raise 171,843 euros. Here is the breakdown of the funds:

A total of 157,000 euros must be allocated to cover expenses related to obtaining exit permits from Gaza, as well as crossing fees in Rafah on the border between Egypt and Gaza.

An estimated 10,000 euros will be sufficient to cover the basic needs of my family in Egypt for five months, including housing, food, and other necessities (equivalent to 2,000 euros per month).

A total of 4,843 euros will be used to cover GoFundMe transaction fees (2.9% plus $0.30 per donation).

Any donation, no matter how small, will make a huge difference in the safety of my family. We will use the funds collected transparently and efficiently to ensure that every dollar goes towards keeping them safe.

Thank you for your support, and I am grateful for any assistance you can provide during this difficult time.

→ rania’s gofundme;

🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸 — [ @raniamuhanna ]

[yandere-wishes]

I just checked out your yt and I just want to say your voice is adorable 😘🥰🥰

The content seems so well researched too I had to subscribe!!!

(Also almost slipped on ice again, cursing and wishing some wealthy old man wants me to live in his southern farm jk jk)

-💙

AJOBUENAGDHS Stop I'm blushing 😆🥰😆🥰

I really love talking about the ancient history of my people. There's so much there to unravel and so much that's been forgotten. I guess after Hot Fictional Men and dark romances, history, and mythology is one my greatest passion. Thank you so much for subscribing (you don't know how much it means to me) tbh (and I know it's a pretty ridiculous wish) my biggest dream is to become a successful YouTuber. I love the idea of researching my passions and building informative videos to teach others about them. Also relating fandom and history/academics is another one of my passions and I'm able to do just that on YouTube.

I have a huge goal of reaching 100 subs before the year is over, so thank you so much for helping me out with that!! ~😘💞😘💞

Here's a link to my youtube if anyone else wants to check it out: Cookieopolis

As for being swept off your feet by a rich older man and sent to live with him on his farm. Honestly, who doesn't!! Finding a rich guy (who's your type) and living a comfortable life w/ him is all I dream about too!! Especially when I have an 8 am in the workshop and have no clue how to do any prototyping 😭😭.

[melissamasakari]

Confessions you didn`t notice

Chapter ten. Kinship investigation.

“Hello, Phyllis. That's all you asked for.”

“Thank you.” Finishing deftly filing a hefty folder with documents she tied an elegant knot and checked the order. Wow. I didn't know she could do that.

“Listen, I need your help in researching things. On a personal matter.”

“Everything that is within the framework of medical confidentiality will remain there, you know.”

“Understood. I need some old documents. Archived ones. Do you keep registration cards for residents somewhere?”

“If there was no request from a new place, or they didn’t take it with them. What is it?”

“How long are they stored? I need ones from about thirty years back.”

“It’s unlikely to be stored for that long. Except for the dead or missing.”

“What if they left for the Periphery?”

“We transfer it to the Corps. This is their thing. Who are you looking for?”

“Maurice. Former owner of my house.”

“And why do you need information about your father? As you are the heiress, I would give it all to you if I find it. But this will take some time, and a permission from Xu and Arlo is needed. Or papers from Gale, if that's easier for you.”

“So to speak. I'm not very good at medicine, but I heard that you can somehow test people for kinship. What is required for this and how big is the probability of an error?”

“First of all, you will need permission from those you are comparing. As for the accuracy of the research, you’d better ask Petra. She'll probably have ideas.”

“And can I be completely nosy, huh? Could you please show me how do you tie a knot after filing papers? I could use this skill when making photo albums. The way you do it is just outstanding.”

“Sure, no problem. Look here.”

Phyllis and I spent some time stitching stacks of papers into neat books. I got really good at tying several types of knots with her help. At the same time, I helped her with boring monotonous work. Oh, was it already lunch? I must run.

I almost knocked Sam down at the door.

“Kid, where are you going?”

“You won’t believe it, but to the Corps. Is chief at home?”

“He just went to the abandoned ruin on the hill. Gloomy and very thoughtful. Run and catch up, just don’t fall under his bad mood.”

“Thank you. Bon appetit, girls,” I flew in the right direction, fortunately, it’s very close to here.

Redhead was just leisurely strolling around the entrance to the ruins and having a nice conversation with... Is this Nora? What did she need if she has already received a refusal? Doesn't give up, or are they just friends? Well, let them be friends, no one forbade that. Maybe now I won’t get much better either.

“Arlo! Hello, I have something important to do and I need your help. Oh, sorry, did I disturb YOU?”

“It’s okay, I’m already leaving.” Nora chuckled and sharply turned away, hitting me in the face with a braid of her long hair. Is this some kind of competition between sisters for their brother’s attention, or what? What a weirdo.

“What's the matter?” Arlo said wonderingly, following Nora with a disapproving glance.

“A huge piles of papers. Just like you prefer.”

“Unexpected request. Please do explain.”

“Archival medical records for departed residents of Portia. Very old and very decrepit. Do you have any?”

“Where they departed, who are they, on what basis?”

“Periphery. Maurice. Certificate of inheritance. Theoretically, alive.”

“If alive, then his written permission is required. Who is Maurice, and why do you need it?”

“Haven’t you looked at my profile at all? Previous owner of The Workshop.”

“This changes things. Fine. How urgent is this? I'll have to dig around there a lot. And I doubt that something has been saved actually.”

“The urgency is moderate. Let's say I would like to know for sure before the fall. Also, if I successfully find the papers, I need your permission for Phyllis. For decryption. And a request to their archive, if possible.”

“Permission is not a problem. But the preservation of documents from such a long time ago is a big question. I'll do my best, but you owe me one.”

“No problem. Just don't ask me to accept your job offer, okay?”

“For what? You are already enrolled as a freelancer. After the mine incident Gale ordered that.”

“What?! He should have asked me at first! That's a nasty bun!”

“Don't yell, someone might hear you. I'll have to put you in a cell, and I really don't want that.”

“Why? Didn't you like my gangster face?”

“No, you bite when you’re detained,” he made a ‘bite’ gesture with his hand and winked at me slyly.

“Should I bring you any documents for my request? I have everything with me. Well, what's left of it.”

“Throw it on the desk in my room. When I'm free, I'll take a look. And before you run away. I think I didn’t say thanks.”

“What for?”

“For your help in the mine. We wouldn’t make it without you.”

“I was told that entire Corps was sent there for investigation. And Mint said YOU are in danger. Do you really think I could do the other way and abandon you there?”

“No. Of course I don’t think that. But I’m very grateful. You took a huge risk there. And you dropped everything and rushed to us. And you even managed to get us out before that terrible machine dismantled us piece by piece. I can’t even imagine what would have happened if you had obeyed my order to stay away.” “Well, looks like now I MUST obey your orders, right, Captain?”

“Oh, come on! Stop teasing me, or I’ll add you to the permanent staff, you know.”

“Then you shouldn’t be surprised when I’ll break your orders again.”

“Why is so?”`

“You’ll find out pretty soon.” I pulled a stack of papers out of my bag and defiantly shook it in front of Arlo’s puzzled face. Then I turned away and went to Headquarters.

Since I’m still at the Center Plaza, I decided to drop by Petra and explain the crux of the problem. She listened to me calmly, asked for a small favor in return, and went to look at her notes. Of course, she didn’t let me into the archives, but she told me that such method existed. At least, it was found in the remnants of the Old World data. Well, that's encouraging. So, I've put out some feelers, it's time to get back to work. With new knowledge about tying knots, I returned to designing a unique thingy. But if my fears are confirmed, I will no longer need the heart knot at all.

[rzyraffek]

Hello!

I just wanted to say that I really love your writing, and was hoping to send you a request. If you’re not interested feel free to ignore.

I saw you were open to writing for underrated slashers, so I was wondering if you could write something for Dominic from The dare. I just watched it and I’m so obsessed with him. There’s literally no writing for him, he’s so underrated.

In terms of the writing, I just want something fluffy. Like being childhood friends, getting separated, and then meeting again as adults. I’m being vague just in case you decide to watch the movie. I don’t want to spoil anything. I trust your amazing writing skills. ❤️

Again, feel free to ignore if you’re not interested. Thank you 💕

Thank you!! That's v nice of you😊😊 also thanks for movie recommendation!!! It was great tbh! The killer looked like brahms but gym rat😭😍 im obsessed!!

Sfw, they/them, mensions of trauma but on movie level so nothing new!

Dominic (from The Dare) Headcanons!!

While I was watching the movie I thought "man this is gonna be hard to write" but when I saw that u mention 'childhood friends' prompt and OMG ANON YOU ARE GENIUS

Childhood friend with this guy.. What worse could happen?

Imagine this: s/o and Dominic are bffs and one day Dominic sadly gets bullied but what can s/o do about that really? There's 4bullies and only two of them ://. I can imagine s/o ending up looking for him afterwards, and even lutteraly forcing police department not to close that case

He prolly kidnaped them due to silly goofy mood. Nah but for real he kinda hoped that they still like him?? (He mensions in movie that he wish he had family and kids just like main character did) and also he hopes s/o is as sadistic as him and will revenge bullies with him

S/o has to have huge 'I can fix him' vibe if they somehow stay with him

Also this guy never had a gf or even a kiss soooo yeah he will get flustered if s/o grabs his hand or call him some nick names. If s/o says something along the lines "Love you honey" He will just stand there sweatin bcs he has no clue what to do??? Should he say thank you?? Should he smile??? "Uhh😰😰 you too?"

Hes very pretty but hear me out. Masks stays on

After opening up and making sure s/o doenst skedaddle when left alone for more than second he turns into such simp, like "Domi its cold can you bring me a blanket :(" "yes honey, what color? What texture? I hope you dont mind wool .. i mean if you do i have few other blaknets but not as warm I- i mean i can go make you one?? O-or..." this guy🙄

He gets way to flustered! Things between them needs to go slow or his heart will explode. Lets stay with lil smooches and handholding for now please

do no DO NOT ENTER BASEMENT PLS plsplspls!!! Why?? Ee well😓😓 I kinda still have those people in there... they deserve it! (Sure they do)(but he feeds them so no worry

As i said before, he is a gym rat, his s/o could lay on his back and he still would do push ups(tbh he enjoys that bcs not only he exercise but also spents time with them)

He would love to go to park with them, watch a movie in cinema, talk shit about neibours. Sadly he thinks that due to his eee chilhood trauma he cant do all this stuff :((. Hopefully his s/o will help him change his mind! Help him leave all that stuff in past.

He do be laying on floor drawing with crayons and waving his legs in air (also humming)

His love language is definitely quality time. He loves doing anything with them really! S/o wants to cook something together? Get him an apron! S/o wants to cuddle and watch movies? Say less He will get some blankets and make couch mega comfy! S/o wants to dance or goof around just vibing? He can try that!

About 'play fighing' well that's not the best idea, I mean he likes it?? But it kinda gets into his head?? And he might to something very hurtful and bad acidently

What he loves the most are little things. How s/o knocks on door of his workshop before entering to make sure he knows that they are entering, or how they grab his hand when they are stressed, or how they bring him food when he's too busy/overwhelmed to do so himself, or when they give him space and understanding when he needs that, and when they lisen to him mumble about the horrid stuff he witnessed

He loves kissing them on forehead, hugs from behind, playing with hair, lazy mornings including snuggles

Sorry for long wait, I have a lot of stuff to do latley!! It is 2am I just finished watching move! I really hope those headcanons fit into your Dominic interpretation! Also good news! I think I might include his silly fella in my future headcanons! Cuz hes goofy! Please give more movie recommendations!

Love you all cya in next one

[user-needs-new-hyperfixation]

Um hi so sorry to bother you but I really love your writing!!

I think your work is very well written and funny and entertaining!

That being said Ive been wanting to write for a while but get too anxious over getting the characters wrong…

You wouldnt happen to have any tips to get over this, would u?

First off, thank you so much for your kind words!

As a disclaimer, I don't know that I'm much qualified to give writing advice. I have dear friends who are Writers with a capital W; at this point I see myself very much as the hobbiest version: Writer Lite if you will. I don't mean to devalue or discredit my own writing; I just mean to say that...I don't feel like I worry about the things a Writer is supposed to worry about, at least at this point. I write what I want, when and how I want to, and I will regularly and cheerfully sacrifice grammar and canon characterization and pacing on the altar of my own whims.

And tbh, if you're looking at starting out in fanfic specifically, that's probably a good place to start. The stakes are really low so it's a great space to get comfortable. No one is paying you. You don't owe anyone anything. Some people will like your characterizations and style, and other people won't. And (assuming you're a Yuumori fan because you mentioned my writing), the Yuumori fandom is a GREAT place to test the waters, because while the fandom is small and there's never a huge amount of engagement, it's a really polite fandom. Basically everyone here understands the principle of "if you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all."

Anywho, practically speaking: I really like to try to vary characters' voices a bit. Sherlock gets his incredibly-irritating-to-write attempt at a Cockney accent. William and Albert are posh but get to swear sometimes because I think it's funny. Moran is just kind of casual; somewhere between the Moriartys and Sherlock. And so on.

If you're trying to stick really closely to canon characterizations, doing some rereading/watching of the source material before you start can definitely help. But it's also worth noting that sometimes fandom has its own interpretation that's widespread but not really sourced from canon. Can any of us prove canonically that Albert Moriarty is bisexual, promiscuous, and a little bit masochistic? Not in the slightest! And yet for some reason a significant portion of us have just gone "yeah that sounds right," and you'll never get shot down for writing him that way. So there's definitely a lot of space to just have fun with it (though acknowledging in your tags/author's notes that something is OOC can help lol.)

Then of course it's just...just do it! Have fun! Make playlists to write to if you're anything like me! Fall down Google rabbit holes researching what Victorians ate for breakfast! Pretend to be confident but not arrogant (I admit, I will sometimes scroll by things where the author is self-deprecating in the summary: it kind of feels like clicking there is agreeing to do some emotional labour, which is usually part of what I'm trying to escape via fic. 😅) Engage with your chosen fandom, and you'll start to see those group-workshopped headcanons that we enjoy reading about just as much as actual canon characterizations; you'll also make friends that way who will be excited to read your fics!

I hope you have so much fun writing! 😊