#i think they need either a larger pool of boys or...idk some way for it to work out more so they could get to know each other

[glitterandhelium]

lol i love how confident dai is

[tanoraqui]

okay I have to do this today because even I wouldn’t do it after the godforsaken finale airs, and it’s basically my specialty and I did spend like an hour thinking about it last night while washing dishes. Definitely partly inspired by @words-writ-in-starlight​‘s insightful post on everything Supernatural did wrong, and apologies in advance to all the characters for dragging them into anything related to Christian mythology:

Wei Wuxian’s parents die in a house fire when he’s 6(? I refuse to look anything up) months old

Jiangs are a hunter family I guess? That whole disaster of a family dynamic, except WWX dips out at some point to be idk an environmental activist bc at the time, that seems like the larger threat to the whole world. “Mom and Dad went on a hunting trip and they haven’t come back”, “bitch” “jerk”, 2 brothers in a beat-up old car, you know the drill

Jins are also an old hunting family, but more Men of Letters energy - they have a fancy bunker and do research and avoid getting their actual hands dirty. Jiang Yanli ducked out of the active hunting life a few years ago to be happily married to her peacock and settled down with a baby and she’s fine. We’re not going to bother Yanli. She’s safe and happy and doesn’t need to involved in any of this

so, WWX is the demon blood child developing exciting new abilities like telekinesis, mind control, exorcising demons by sheer force of will...etc, and Jiang Cheng is the Righteous Man. Lucifer, Michael, etc.

s1-3 probably proceeds more or less as spn canon...which I more or less remember...by the time they find their parents at the end of s1, Jiang Fengmian is...ugh, we probably shouldn’t kill him offscreen, I mean, we should probably meet him before he dies. I guess. Madam Yu lasts longer because I’m way more interested in her. But we do know that both Jiang parents are totally inclined to fling the boys into a metaphorical or literal escape boat and go hold the line for as long as possible, so...that’s spn energy...

Xue Yang is the one who’s like “fuck yeah, demon powers” and opens the gates of Hell, because I want him to have nice* things

*nice for Xue Yang

from characterization rather than memory, I’m 90% sure that Dean tried to hide his crossroads deal from Sam, but Jiang Cheng does it...better. I think it does come out, though. Right before the hellhounds do.

here’s where it starts to go farther off from spn canon. Jiang Cheng crawls his way out of the grave, gets stalked by a menacing presence that explodes windows for an episode, incidentally can’t find WWX...*Lan Wangji voice* “I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised you from Perdition” (a baller line then and a baller line now)...and then the next episode starts with them all awkwardly standing around, and JC is like, “ok well let’s go find my brother then”, and you think there’s going to be an mdzs-riffing JC+LWJ Roadtrip To Find WWX...and they’re immediately attacked by like a dozen demons

in fact, the first time we see WWX in s4 is here, wherein he goes toe to toe with an angel and...holds his own. that’s new and terrifying! also is leading a squad of demons??

because here’s the thing: for the last 3(?) months, there’s been war in hell

because unlike Some People Mooses, upon finding out that his brother’s soul was legally nearly-owned by a crossroads demon, heir-apparent-to-Satan!WWX went, “actually fuck that” and kicked open the door of Hell (metaphorically, not loosing any demons this time) and was like, “who do I have to beat the shit out of to get a specific crossroads contract around here”

this did not work, obv. He didn’t know until it was too late, Lilith had already snapped up the contract, etc. etc.

obviously he also tried to offer himself instead, and got rejected for some reason

Since Jiang Cheng died, however, there’s been a war for control of Hell. Leading one side, Lilith, the Original Babe, who wants to break all 666(?) seals keeping Lucifer bound and in the meantime, break the Righteous Man so Heaven won’t even have Michael’s destined host ready for the Final Battle. Leading the other side, Wei Wuxian, infamous upstart, who wants to rescue the Righteous Man and restore him to life, tear Lilith’s guts out through her nose, and also stop her from doing the Lucifer thing because Wen Qing explained that yes, that’s a Thing, and it’s Bad.

Wen Qing! I’ve decided to combine Bela and Ruby’s roles and let WQ be both the cool badass example of how demon deals can go Bad and the demon deliberately leading our heroes astray for most of s3-4. Wen Qing is a very new demon; she used to be some sort of herbalist/witch but then she sold her soul in a crossroads deal to cure her brother of some lingering illness. 10 years of happiness and then boom, hellhounds. WQ is so obviously competent, though, that they (Lilith, I guess?) immediately offers her a job, with the promise threat that gee, that’s a nice brother you’ve got there, even with his Designated Chronic Health Condition getting all relapse-y. It’d be such a shame if something were to...happen to him...

we find this out at some point in last s3 I guess? some Monster of the Week case involves WN as a witness or something, or possible next victim, and WQ shows up to be A Normal Amount Of Invested In This, while desperately trying to avoid actually interacting with her brother (who thinks she’s dead). YES, the truth comes out; YES there’s a tearful reunion

now in s4, Wen Ning is fine actually, health-wise, bc he maybe made a crossroads deal with Wei Wuxian personally, and Wen Qing may or may not have admitted that she’s supposed to be working for Lilith to get WWX ready to host Lucifer? Or potentially that comes out later, idk. Either way, she’s 100% his top lieutenant in this exciting Hell War they’re waging

[insert whatever the hell (ha) happened plot-wise in s4 of supernatural]

we obviously mix up the relationships, too, bc it’s like, *LWJ internal monologue* I’m too young to remember my brother Lucifer as he was before he Fell, but surely Wei Wuxian is his Heir and Destined Vessel in truth, for he is Charismatic and Charming and Makes Me Feel Things, with his Clearly Feigned Righteous Drive and Compassion for All God’s Creatures and - why does heat keep pooling in the lower abdomen of my vessel when I look at his lips, which I am definitely doing a Normal and Not-Weird Amount - I’m just keeping an eye out for the famed Silver Tongue, and not in any way wondering how it would feel in my own mouth -

it’s actually DEFINITELY plausible for Lucifer to still be released even if our designated Heir Apparent is using his demon powers to his full potential and no one’s lying to each other about their motives. You just need to let Lilith be more scary too, and especially bc by “no one” I mostly mean Wen Qing; the angels are still totally hiding the fact that they, too, want to jumpstart the shit out of this apocalypse.  LWJ decides at the last minute that that’s a bad idea actually, gets himself discorporated to send JC to intercept WWX because he accidentally releases Lucifer, etc. etc. Oh yeah, the boys were def fighting before this, bc JC has actually fairly reasonable concerns about the sort of things WWX is getting up to in his quest to become King of Hell...

SO

...I neither know nor care what happens in s5

it does end with both Lucifer and Michael locked in the cage probably, bc I rather liked that solution. Fuck both of ‘em, basically.

I was toying with the idea that WWX also found Madam Yu in whatever hellish torment she was suffering after making a deal so her idiot son(s) would survive, and she was leading forces for him in the war against Lilith as well. If she came back to life somehow, body and all, it’d probably be compelling if she offered her own body to Michael - bc it’s her lineage! - and we’re all led to believe that she’s, uh, being a bitch and actually wants to risk destroying the world in order to destroy all demons...but then she seizes back control and flings herself/Michael and Lucifer into the Pit, because she’s just That Hardcore?

which means we’d actually have had her around and having characterization for most of s4-5, too, which would be fun

More importantly, it ends with newly crowned King of Hell Wei Wuxian appointing Wen Qing as Queen-Regent and ditching to go on an indefinite honeymoon with his new angel boyfriend (they’re going to fuck for like three weeks straight, then roll up their sleeves and go conquer Heaven in the name of free will), and Jiang Cheng gets to live out his hitherto-unknown-to-himself life’s ambition to be the sugar baby of the Queen of Hell. It’s very Hades/Persephone, except he goes back down to the underworld at least once a month. He gets his own demon squad whom he trains up in all the hunting techniques and it’s gr9. Wen Qing is reforming the crossroads deal process to make it more fair to the humans.

the end

Addenda:

it should go without saying but Jiang Yanli is definitely a recurring character, like, at least once a season there’s a filler episode where they go to Jiang Yanli’s for dinner and have to get along as a family, and also do the much easier job of defeating some sort of terrible demon that gets loose in the bunker and turns the evening into a horror movie. She’s their main research/emotional check-in person, a la Bobby, more often appearing in later seasons when there’s, uhhh, more to emotionally check in about.

Jin Zixuan is actually a perfectly competent hunter; he’s just a priss and we don’t Like him

we like Mianmian, though. Oh, I guess the official Hunter’s Guild or w/e tries to declare WWX a public enemy on account of the whole “King of Hell” thing and she’s like “actually what if you’re morons and assholes?” and joins hte team in s4 or 5? Yeah.

idk how the 3zun disaster happens in this ‘verse but I do encourage it to be happening in slow motion as a recurring subplot for several seasons. NMJ is a hunter, LXC is obv an angel, and JGY is...I wanna say one of the more human monsters, like a vampire? Or, you know, something that could be born from JGS sleeping with someone/something he shouldn’t have

[awesometheydontknowiamhere]

Store Bought Hugs

Diego Hargreeves X Plus Sized Female!Reader

Requested: Yes, by the lovely @reblogserpent

“ Idk if your requests are open If you write for Diego Hargreeves could you do a Diego x plus size reader where they are dating and he offers his sweatshirt to her but she doesn’t wanna wear it cause she’s scared you know cause afraid it’ll stretch or afraid it’ll look bad cause he’s so fit but in reality it would fit her fine and she starts to panic trying to like push him away when he’s trying to help idk just some fluff maybe his stutter in it idk. Thank you in advance”

Summary: Diego and his girlfriend go out on a long due date under the night sky when a cold breeze blows their way. Diego offers his sweatshirt like the true gentleman he is but his lady love is adamant and tries her best to not wear it lest it’s too small for her frame. A heartfelt conversation and a words of encouragement follow. Fluffy date night ends in smut with body positivity peppered in.

A/N: I hard for this one and I really hope that you like it. Writing request based fics is new to me but it’s also a healthy exercise for my writing muscles. Looking forward to your feedback.

Body image issues is something I am all too familiar with, so all my lovely girls and boys, we come in all size and shapes because each of us are crafted and not printed from moulds. Stay proud of your mortal shells, but always remember it’s the inside that counts.

Fandom: The Umbrella Academy

Pairing: Diego Hargreaves X Plus Size Reader

Word count: 1484

Warning: None, really. Just mentions of insecurity, slight body image issues. Kissing and nothing more. Mentions of smut (very brief)

Taglist:  @wh3n-1t-ra1ns-1t-p0urs   @imultifandomstuff @w0nder-marie @chloemac86 @theladywholivesonthemoon   @hemogobllin @pansexualpaperdragons @gorgeourrific-nerd  @purplezebra68 @vividholland @bands-and-shietz @onlydeanandjensen @slither-in-a-half @reblogserpent @missscarlett1802 @lovelyheadrush   @mrsdiegohargreeves  @mrsdiegohargreeves   @katylovescats @vividholland @lilithsweetghost @ynm1505 @siriusjohnpotter @ratfuckb0y @loulouloueh

________________________________________________________________

You looked around you, soaking up the sight of your stunning boyfriend and the star-studded night sky. You were well-fed, well-loved and incredibly happy in that moment.

"What are you thinking about?"

Diego kissed your knuckles as he waited for your answer.

"Just looking for words to express my gratitude," you said smiling softly at him. He had truly gone above and beyond with the planning an dexecution of your highly anticipated date night. His dark, leathered exterior was in stark contrast to the plaid sheet and the wicker basket which had held an assortment of fruits coated in chocolate, quiche and a decadent chocolate cake.

"Just tell me you're happy and that's all the thanks I could ever want. After not seeing enough of you for nearly month, this is the least I could do. Maybe you could pay me with that body of yours," he said with a wink. You bit your lip and blushed.

"How did you even discover this place?"

"Being a vigilante comes with a few perks. I get to explore every nook and cranny of the city and that's how I stumbled upon this gem," he said motioning his hand towards the trees around you and the cloud-free night sky above you.

"It's breathtaking, but not as breathtaking as you," you said with a smile.

A quick blush crept up his cheecks. "Oh, th-thanks, Y/N. Tha-that's sweet of you," he stammered.

Compliments sometimes caught him off-guard and you loved that yu could see the effect of your words so directly on him.

You leaned into him to kiss him and he met you halfway, burrowing his hands in your hair. Your palms rested against his firm chest as his tongue snaked into your mouth. A cold breeze caressed your skin and you mentally kicked yourself for wearing a flimsy sundress. It had seemed like a wise choice in the evening, the idea of a picnic in the moonlight with your dress flowing softly around your thighs.

"Baby, are you cold?"

Diego rubbed his warm palms over your exposed arms and you basked in his heat before sitting up straight. You shook your head side to side to indicate no. Another wave of cold air hit you and your skin broke out in goosebumps.

Diego raised his eyebrow at that, an all-knowing grin playing at his lips.

"Let me get something for you," he said as he dove into the duffel bag containing all the picnic supplies.

To your utter dismay, he fished out his midnight blue sweatshirt. You controlled your face to not give away your worries, but that was proving harder than you had anticipated. You simply could not ignore your body and how it would either mess up his sweatshirt or worse, not fit at all.

You were larger than most girls depicted in media and you had made peace with it. Your curves defined you, your softness an added charm to your personality. Sadly, on some occasions the cruel voice of societal beauty standards crept into your mind, filling you with doubt and a sliver of shame. It was the same voice which forbade from wearing swimsuits during pool parties in college, that told you to wear dark colours because they have a slimming effect and stopped you from ordering anything that wasn't a salad. It was currently telling you that there was no way in hell you were going to fit into Diego's sweatshirt.

Diego scooted over to you, laying the garment on your lap.

"Umm, thanks but it's okay Diego, I am not cold anymore," you said through imperceptibly gritted teeth.

"Come on babe, you know I am not letting my angel freeze in the cold night air," he said sticking to his guns.

You looked up at the sky and begged the universe to keep you tears-free.

"I am fine, I don't need your sweatshirt," you said trying to be a little rough with him so that he would quit it.

It would have worked, it really would had you not subconcioulsy wrapped your arms around yourself.

"Y/N, angel, I  know for a fact that you're cold right now. Why won't you take this?" He sounded genuinely upset and curious, but there was no possible way for you to explain your apprehension without him thinking you were an insecure mess.

You took in a deep breath and closed your eyes.

"I don't think it will fit," you said in a low voice. He was silent and you wondered if he hadn't heard you. You weren't going to repeat yourself, that was for sure.

He lifted you chin up and fixed his eyes on your face.

“Is that what this is about? You’re sitting here, shivering, and freezing your butt off because you think you might not fit into my clothes?”

You winced as you heard him say it out loud, your insecurity laid bare in front of you. You started backing away from him, removing his hand from your face.

“Baby, I am not done here,” he said, firmly planting his knee on the edge of your dress.

“Let it go, Diego. It’s not going to fit, I know my body. It’s not the first time and it’s definitely not the last,” you said, accepting defeat.

He held your hand and tucked your hair behind your ear.

“You’re being silly, angel. I know your body too and I promise it will fit. I am going to turn around and you’re going to put this on. If you want to keep it on or take it of regardless of it fits or not is up to you. Just please, try it,” he said, almost begging.  

With that he turned around, facing the trees. You understood his desperate attempt to build your confidence and you just wanted to make him smile.

You glanced at the garment lying beside you. A lifetime passed and you picked it up. Your heart was pounding, fighting for dominance against the voices in your head. You quelled them both and slipped it over your head.  You were shocked as it flowed smoothly over your curves not finding resistance anywhere.

It smelled of Diego, a heavenly cocktail of all things manly and intense. It felt warm and soft over your prickled skin, almost like a store-bought hug from him.

“Diego,” you called out to him, a quiver in your voice.

He turned and looked at you, his eyes lighting up with a smile. His hands went up to your neck and pulled out your hair from inside the neckline. He placed a quick kiss on your lips and leaned back to admire you.

“Thank you,” you said, thanking for both, the garment and the borrowed confidence.

“Thank you for trusting me, angel,” he said, toying with a chunk of your hair.

“Can I ask you something? You can tell to piss of if you don’t want to answer.”

You nodded with a smile.

“What happened to you just now? I have never seen you like this. Where did all the doubt come from, angel?”

I don’t know, I just realized I wasn’t as tiny or as petite as most girls, so I thought I didn’t want to ruin or stretch out your clothes,” you said, not quite meeting is eyes.

“Okay, first of all, not everybody is built the same. And where you’re using the term not tiny, I prefer words lush, addictive, inviting and sinfully sensual. Where would I be with your soft cuddles and warm heat to come home to?”

You felt a smile tugging at your lips and you moved with him to lie down on your backs, looking up at the sky.

“Let me hit you with facts now. I easily tower over you and my shoulders are any day broader than yours. Simple math, angle,” he said, tapping you on the nose.

“I am sorry I dampened the mood,” you whispered, a wave of guilt passing over you.

“You couldn’t do that even if you tried. Don’t you know, you’re too adorable for that?” he said turning to face you.

His thumb brushed your cheek as both of looked at each other. You bit your lip and he whispered, “Have I told you how incredible you look in my clothes?”

He rose up on his elbows and kissed your pulse point on the neck. “The things I want to do to you, knowing that you’re wearing my clothes. It’s almost like you’re declaring yourself mine all over again.”

His tongue continued to explore your neck as he hooked your legs at his waist. Your breath hitched and you let out a whimper as he sucked your bottom lip into his mouth.  His hands went to your full hips, stroking your curve over the soft fabric.

As he bunched up the fabric over your hips, you realized maybe wearing a dress wasn’t such a bad idea.

[soundonreadings]

Sound On InstaReadings Series Volume 2 with John Elizabeth Stintzi & Kyla Jamieson

Welcome to Sound on InstaReadings Series. Our second installment features readers John Elizabeth Stintzi and Kyla Jamieson and is hosted by Dina Del Bucchia. Posted here for your enjoyment are the bios of our fine readers and the text of their readings. Thanks!

John Elizabeth Stintzi is the recipient of the 2019 RBC Bronwen Wallace Award for Emerging Writers, and their work has appeared in the Malahat Review, the Fiddlehead, Kenyon Review, and Ploughshares. They are the author of the novel Vanishing Monuments as well as the poetry collection Junebat.

Excerpt from John Elizabeth Stintzi’s VANISHING MONUMENTS (for SOUND ON, April 24):

The concrete path, the door, the hallway. The house. I remember Mother stuffing me into down jackets and snow boots, hobbling me into the thick snow pants she’d bought for me at the thrift store.

“I bought it big like this because you will grow,” Mother said when she first pulled them up my legs as I sat braced on the stairs.

It was late October, which back then meant there was already a foot of snow in Winnipeg, and the rivers were frozen. It was morning. I don’t know where we were going. She’d bought me the pants with a too-big jacket because I’d outgrown the one-piece snowsuit I’d used for the last few years. I must have been around eight or nine. She rolled up the legs, took an open safety pin from between her lips, and started pinning up the rolls of extra length.

“If you buy big clothes, your body will know to grow into them. Do you want to be big one day, Alani? Like me.”

I don’t remember answering, but I must have, because that was back when Mother and I still responded to each other. My mind doesn’t usually decide to remind me of us speaking. Instead, I remember thinking about my body getting larger, as she pinned the legs, and how hopeful that made me. I wanted there to be more room for all of me, I wanted my body to feel as bare and roomy as our house did, like I could fit everything in. When I was in kindergarten, because it was too cold to have recess outside, our teacher brought out the projector to show us a documentary about hermit crabs. I couldn’t understand what the voice-over was saying because of its speed and accent, so I just watched the crabs switching shells and started to think that’s what life is like: you live as long as you can in one body, then once you can’t fit into it anymore, you move to a new one. And someone smaller takes your place.

For a while, I didn’t understand what growing up looked like, didn’t know how it worked. For a few years after Ilsa died and gave Mother the house in her will, Mother helped other elderly people in the neighbourhood keep up their lives in their own homes. Over the years of looking after Ilsa and me, she had perfected her technique of caring for fragile bodies.

Before I was in school, or during the summer, I went along with her in the mornings and wandered around the old person’s house while Mother was in another room, helping them get out of bed, bathe, eat, or take their medicine. I spent most of the time there either avoiding their mean old pets or walking around their living rooms, their hall- ways, looking at the family pictures on the walls. I remember looking through those photos for the old, frail things that Mother cared for and never once finding them.

I never thought that they could’ve been the result of one of the young bodies in those photos. After a certain age they stopped being documented, or else the newer photos were never hung. Mother hadn’t ever taught me about aging, about time’s effect on a body. I’d never seen a picture of myself as a baby; I don’t know that I’d ever seen a picture of myself at all back then. I thought that everything was inside me, that as far back as I could remember was as far back as I ever was. I assumed the people in the photos, in different stages of their lives, were each a different person. I thought I was going to be myself—a child—forever.

Nobody told me that I’d already been things that I didn’t remember, that as far back as I could recall was not the start of me, and that my life would consist of slowly leaving myself behind. I hadn’t yet realized that I didn’t remember anything about the year or two we still lived in Germany. All I’d known was that whenever I looked at myself in the mirror, there I was. Back then, with that mindset, things seemed stable.

“What does it mean being big?” I asked, as Mother took my hands and pulled me to my feet at the bottom of the stairs. She tugged at the pants, put her eye close to the floor—her tied-back hair flopping onto the hardwood—to squint and yank at the pinned legs. By then, I knew people grew, that there was no escaping the body I was in. “Why do I want to do it?”

She sat up—the memory is tack sharp—finished adjusting one of the straps of the snow pants, pulled back a little, and looked me straight in the eyes. Her face was so close to mine. I can remember the smell of her shampoo, the weight of the snow pants hanging on my shoulders, her hands grazing down along them on their way to brace her against the floor with that swooshing sound of scraped polyester. I remember everything about that moment, everything but her mouth. I want to remember her smiling, but I can’t see it. I can’t see her mouth or the inflection that the words came out with.

“Because it is going to happen, Alani. Getting big. You should be welcoming and excited for things that are going to happen.”

* Kyla Jamieson is a disabled writer who lives and relies on the unceded traditional territories of the Musqueam, Squamish, and Tsleil-Waututh Nations. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Room Magazine, Poetry Is Dead, Arc Poetry Magazine, Vallum, Peach Mag, Plenitude, GUTS, and The Account. She is the author of Kind of Animal (Rahila’s Ghost Press), a poetry chapbook about the aftermath of a brain injury. Her work was longlisted for the 2019 CBC Poetry Prize and her first book-length collection of poems, Body Count (Nightwood Editions), placed third in the Metatron Prize for Rising Authors. Find Kyla on Instagram as @airymeantime or at www.kylajamieson.com. 

BODY COUNT like every intelligent (traumatized) woman full of self-hate (shame) I have always been a perfectionist / before I wanted to be pretty I wanted to be on time / most improved most present best /my high school history teacher emphasized obedience / everyone I talk to remembers him fondly idk why / I researched the rape of nanjing / my paper was a failure / nobody really knew how many people died there / I couldn’t establish the simplest facts / it was hopeless / I forgot I asked for an apology from the prof people say I got fired like that’s what I wanted & not his respect / can writing be healing without inviting mockery? / according to google george orwell said journalism is what somebody doesn’t want printed & everything else is just pr / lately I worry the poetry I like is just pr / I wonder about the carbon emissions of a body’s decomposition / like is killing yourself better for the planet / anorexia runs in my family / studies associate it with trauma & perfectionism / I used to think I could trade obedience for safety / I rewrote my paper on gallipoli / I got an a / white history is easy / internment is only two letters from internet / that’s where I read they put us in horse stalls / my great-grandfather said I have three boys & we’re all willing to work / they were sent to a farm instead of a camp / fyi japanese soldiers raped nanjing / fyi it doesn’t matter how perfect you are / tl;dr I tried to be perfect for a long time & it didn’t keep me safe / today I went in the shower & shaved for so long my calluses fell off / I don’t like what this might be seen as saying about my politics like maybe I’m secretly as misogynistic as that man who’s in love with his sex doll as well as his sex doll side piece / but it made me feel so clean

I AM SO EXCITED ABOUT THE FUTURE SINCE MY ONLY LIMITS ARE IMAGINED

there is artificial grass here but that’s not what i’ve been smoking like all great millennial visionaries i am caving under the weight of my ambitions my grandma says life is a gimmick i google virgin-whore dichotomy plus intellectual how to define evil without capitalism what even is normal how valuable optometrists will be during the apocalypse i am not ready for the unending applause at that one point in trump’s address to congress was gruesome when will i see you again

 EXCEPTING MY INFIRMITIES

concussed I land bed & sleep my belly is hot like heat I wear my fingernails are getting along the smiley face’s mouth corners drip condensation I dream of rivers & apocalypse opium in the dark & fear silverfish I want to write a chopped book in series voice jess sends smiling pile of poo I say to you little brother I can go to america on the internet

WBU?

I’m on Bumble & people are asking what I do for fun. How to explain no free will for a year, each day shaped by however pain appeared that morning?

I NEED A POEM

Can we talk about the moon tonight? Low & full in the baby-blue sky. A friend at my door, the sound of her laugh & well-loved heart. I want to be held up like that. I need a poem about happiness I haven’t written yet, an ode to the ducks in my neighbours’ pool, another for the pink magnolias of spring—some trees make it look so easy: yes, I can hold all this beauty up.