#journal entry 2

[ladybugjournal]

Why "Ladybug"

I ask myself "why Ladybug?" far too often. But why the name? Because it's what my father called me. The story is pretty simple.

Back home, in a far away place where I no longer am and at a house which I will probably never return, there was a backyard. This backyard was not just a backyard, it was a sanctuary, a play ground, the home of my imagination. That backyard was bigger than the entire world, it was the entire world, at least it sure felt like it to a tiny little Ladybug.

The backyard had three main realms: The Deck, the Field, and the Left Side.

From the sliding glass door that brought you from the dining room to the backyard, the deck was straight in front. It was probably the biggest part of the backyard, mainly because it was also part of the patio. My parents built the deck that stayed up for over twenty years. There was a secret trapped door in the deck, certain boards squeaked and bounced, and the grey wood they built it with was a perfect canvas for my chalk. I spent many summers camped out on that deck, building a tent made of blankets with the railings and heavy mental patio furniture. I had lunch out there with the neighbor kids, slept under the stars with my best friend (who was possibly one of the first people I ever loved but also one of the first boys to break my heart), and sat out there when my parents locked me out of the house (on accident... probably).

The deck was always special. It looked like a stage (and I made it my stage often). I could see it from my bedroom window and could hear the conversations happening out there when I was hiding away. Parties were spent out on that deck. Pictures taken, games played, memories made. It was a good deck.

To the left of the deck, a realm deemed "The Left Side" was a flat terrain were the gravel and grass were separated by the River of Stones. It was home to my Blue Sky Castle (a treehouse/swing set my parents built for me), and was were the River of Stones (a lava rock path where my mother kept her painted stepping stones) was the barrier between the "backyard" and the side of the house where the shed and side entrance to the garage was. I never spent much time on the gravel, mainly because that's where my father kept his tools and there were usually a bunch of spiderwebs there. Plus, it's where my childhood family dog used to shit and I didn't want to step in it.

Just past my Castle, and beyond the tiny trees my mother planted, was the entrance to the "Underworld" a secret 4th realm that was a trench that spread along the back fence from one end of the yard to the other, and the underside of the deck. Under the deck wasn't very full, there was a broken hammock, random popped pool floaties that got stuck under there, a forgotten ball or two, and some plumbing or electrical accesses that my father sometimes had to get to (hence the trap door in the deck). It was scary under there for a tiny ladybug who's nightmares felt far more real than her dreams. It's where the monsters lived, where the bodies were buried, and where I wasn't allowed to go (I went anyway, obviously).

To the right of the deck was the field. It wasn't actually a field, just a larger section of grass that led off to the swamp behind our house. A broken fence came to an acute triangle separating us from the marsh where the toads lived and the trees grew high, swaying in storms and threatening to fall on our house (hence the broken fence). The field ran from the gate on the side of the house, past the broken and rotting gazebo, past the newly built but sinking pool deck, past the garden and down to the triangle.

The field was important because of a small path of wood that wound from the side of the house all the way to the bushes that separated the yard from the drop off. That little path of wood was where the ladybugs were march.

Looking back, we may have had a nest or something near by, maybe an infestation that had to be taken care of, but for a little ladybug like myself, it wasn't for me to worry about. All I had to worry about was watching them march. It seemed, at the time, like there were hundreds of these ladybugs marching one by one on this little wooden path. I was mesmerized by millions of black dots on red bodies, tiny legs making the long hall from somewhere near the gate all the way to the bushes. Families of ladybugs marched, dutifully back to their home under my supervision.

I used to watch them for what felt like hours, but really, could have hours or minutes (I didn't have a good concept of time at that age). My father would watch me, sometimes my grandmother, sometimes no one, while I watched the ladybug march.

After this became a habit, my father, who like my mother, has never actually called me by my given name always preferring to call me by one of the many, many, nicknames they came up for me, deemed me his little ladybug. It was fitting because I too was small and red (I'm a ginger) and had little dots (I have freckles).

It's the nickname I most identify with, it's the nickname that means the most to me, and it's the nickname that I'm most referred to as.

So long story short, that's why "Ladybug".

[something-tofightfor]

August 3 (Night) - August 4

Journal Entry #1

Newspaper Article

[anatomic-adoration]

6/25/23

Finished work early today so I decided to head back to the coffee shop. It was fairly uneventful, but as I was getting near I saw a familiar face.

Just across the street there's a flower shop. They're normally not my thing- when I take plants home I'm condemning the poor things to a death sentence- but that guy from the other day was there! Upon closer inspection, I could just make out that he was wearing a green apron. Does he work there? I shouldn't be surprised, he's obviously a very gentle person. Maybe that's why he dresses that way, as a form of protection? Seems silly, considering his size. He's definitely over six feet(!), but it's hard to gauge just how much from a distance. Regardless, it's not my place to judge what makes others comfortable.

I found myself watching him through the window in the coffee shop. It wasn't easy, considering I was looking through both the coffee shop and the flower shop across the street's window, but I could somewhat make out his form moving around in there. I ended up nursing my too bitter coffee for so long it was cold before even half was gone. Eh, it happens. Iced coffee is good too!

No use choking down the rest of the gross bean juice, so I made a quick trip to the customization station to add more sugar and some honey. No cream like I wanted though; they didn't have any lactose free options. I've never understood that, there's more lactose intolerant people than vegetarian, and yet there's almost never options for the former. If I was running a business I'd made sure to accommodate all my customers. Everyone's needs deserve to be given acknowledgement and respect.

Anyway, my "quick trip" evidently wasn't quick enough, as when I got back to the table he was gone. Shift probably ended. I'm not sure why, but I was actually a little upset to him gone. It's kind of exciting to see him. He... intrigues me. I mean, I've only seen the guy twice and he's disproved my expectations both times.

I spent the rest of the time there studying in one of the corners since they had a little alcove-like area with a book shelf and some couches. At one point I thought I heard the bell on the door ring as if someone was about to come in, but the door closed again almost immediately. I swear I saw a familiar gray blur, but I can't be sure it was him. Old people exist, after all. Wouldn't be surprised if one opened the door and was put off by all the skulls and the rock music. Still, kinda weird...

[honeybeedollie]

Oh! Before I forget, how was your day?...

[surviving-the-apocatalypse]

me:

butterball:

me: ya know. most people would resort to eating their pets under drastic circumstances.

butterball, now cleaning himself:

me, splitting a can of tuna between us: you’re right. who else would keep me company in this vast hellscape of a world

[evercornelias]

the category is all the things pre-epilogue john marston would rather do than take responsibility of his family

[fujii-draws]

“Ohh Bidoof has a Journal!” “Sunflora has a Diary if you go into her room”— WHAT ABOUT PARTNER???

[aduckwithears]

The early 19th century sure was something for our boys (gn). They were taking things at a FAST pace. (If, of course, you’re immortal and need to layer everything under 6 layers of deniability).

Whatever you do, don’t think about how in 1793 Crowley rescued Aziraphale and then they got lunch, in 1800 he brought chocolates to the bookshop then saved Aziraphale from a heavenly promotion, then in 1827 they went on a date to a cemetery in Edinburgh(prime date spot at the time esp for non-trad couples) and Crowley seemed to be having the time of his life.

Then especially don’t think about Crowley getting lightning-sanded down to Hell and showing up 35 years later in a much grumpier mood and with a request for Holy Water as “insurance”.

And don’t think about the context of their last interaction being attempted suicide by poison drink after a partner was lost… no wonder Aziraphale didn’t take the request well and they fought. No wonder Crowley was offended by fraternizing - they’d been way beyond that. Nope, don’t think about any of that.

[mango-mya]

Elora species anatomy moment!! I like these sketches a lot tee bee aych

[valictini]

“The sound of the totems breaking around me was deafening”

[crueldudethesis]

ʃ I JUST WANNA RUIN THEIR DAY IN ONE PARTICULAR WAY !

ʅ god I love women .. drooling emoji .

[thingsarentgreat]

I don't know how to tell you that you should care about other people.

I keep reflecting to determine if there's something more within me that's causing me to still feel so incredibly sick by it all. Really trying to expose the raw roots of the feeling to see if it stems from some kind of selfishness. And I suppose it does. But to reduce it to just that would also be lying, because it's a combination of poisons down in that soil. It's betrayal and a feeling of isolation amongst a group I thought I once knew, and then that selfish and bitter root grows in like a weed. I can only quietly observe to myself: "ah. this is where the radicalization and rampant nationalism come from. this is why I see it flowering in my family."

It's because I feel my trust breaking all over again each time I forget about it and try to go on with my business. I remember that I still can't mourn publicly without someone educating me on why obviously if I'm mourning, I must have Insert Political Alignment Here. I remember the utter silence and the downright celebration of more civilian deaths because "oh, fuckin Yaya or whatever deserved it after what Israel does."

For the record, Yaya-Or-Whatever didn't deserve it, and I still remember the lead dropping into my stomach upon hearing that from a friend. No one deserves it. No one ever deserves it.

I don't know how to tell you that you should care about other people.

Maybe that's a quote leftists recognize, but I realize now that few of them actually stick to it across the board. And I'm admittedly selfish, because I hoped that leftists could at least have a moment to care about my people suffering too before getting back to helping the people who currently need the most help. But instead we got "Yaya-Or-Whatever Deserved It." And I've been laying here for months watching everyone on the left just go back to the usual armchair activism as if they didn't just fucking say that, and when I do bring it up, suddenly I'm the problem for pointing out that it was fucked up.

You won't erase it, fyi. We saw you say it. Some of you said it with your full fucking chest. You were callous and let the antisemites into the bar by openly celebrating Jewish death. Then you pretended we were talking about Palestine when we pointed out your antisemitic actions. You know that's not what we were even pointing to as an example. But it's very convenient for you to pretend we don't know the difference, isn't it?

I don't know. It's just a reminder that most of you are actually all talk and virtue signals. There's no actual substance behind your ideals, you're just adhering to the party line, same as conservatives do. I guess I was naive to think otherwise. It's disingenuous for you to wonder why people leave the leftist movement as a whole and "suddenly" flip sides. You know why, and it's reasons like this - you're just covering it up and pretending it's a totally different, more convenient reason.

Tldr; you're hypocrite ass leftists and fuck you. You should be ashamed of how you acted.

[abugsjournal]

A Cowboy's Cup of Coffee ☕

Arthur Morgan x male reader

Summary: After a sweet apology from Arthur your budding friendship grows! You have plans to meet Arthur outside of work for the first time, but must deal with some drama in your café first.

Content Warning: Mention of drinking, men being creepy, threats of violence.

Chapter 2: Headaches

Arthur's POV

It's been about a week since your social blunder at the café. You've been offering to go on hunting trips to avoid going into town. You would rather come face to face with a bear than make a fool of yourself in front of Y/N again. You kick yourself for being worried about his opinion of you in the first place. That shouldn't matter, why are you even thinking about it?

Luckily, you don't encounter any bears, but today's hunting trip with Charles was the most successful one you've had since you settled down in this spot. Everyone back at camp was elated. So elated that as the hearty deer stew was being served, bottles of whiskey and rum were opened and passed around the campfire with equal enthusiasm. You remember the women's tipsy giggles, and the men getting a little loud and rowdy, but not much else.

As you open your eyes you feel your head screaming in pain. You roll out of your cot, swallowing and forcing the rising bile back into your stomach. The morning light is blinding, you squint and shield your eyes as you exit your text. As your vision adjusts you can see everyone else feels just as miserable. There's a collective groan as the gang members each start working on their tasks for the day. You know you'll be absolutely useless until you nurse this headache, but the smell of the coffee over the fire almost makes you gag. The only thing you think you could stomach is the coffee from the café in town. You sigh, weighing your options, and decide you would do anything to make your head stop pounding, even if it means risking an awkward conversation. As you ride into town, you rehearse a long overdue apology in your mind.

Y/N's POV

A few slow, monotonous days pass by you. You find yourself watching the door to your café, silently willing it to open. Every time you hear that bell ring you get a small rush of excitement, but it's crushed every time you look up and see a regular's face.

Did I somehow scare him off? You replay your last interaction with Arthur over and over again in your mind. It wasn't the first time you had caught a customer staring at you, but it was one of those rare instances where you weren't mad about it. Small towns feel smaller the longer you stay in them, so new faces excite you. Maybe you got too excited. You begin to convince yourself that you were too forward, or he was just traveling through town, or is flat out avoiding you when you hear the bell above the door ring once again.

Expecting disappointment at this point, you can't keep your eyes from widening in surprise when you see Arthur in the doorway. He is fidgeting with his hat in his hands as he approaches the counter. He has dark circles under his eyes and squints slightly as he looks in your direction. Working in a coffee shop for so long has taught you to instantly recognize a hangover. You intentionally keep your voice at a lower tone and quieter than usual as you greet him, "Hey friend, welcome back. Rough night?"

"Very fun night from what little I can remember, just a rough morning," He closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, "Listen, I just wanted to apologize for the other day."

"There's no need, really, you didn't do anything wrong-"

Before you can finish your sentence, Arthur interrupts you, "I was rude to you after you were kind to me and you didn't deserve that." He stares directly into your eyes, and you can see they're filled with sincerity, "I'm truly sorry if I made you uncomfortable at all, and for rushing out the way I did."

You feel paralyzed by the weight of his stare, and you can see the guilt in his eyes. Even though you don't think he did anything warranting such a genuine gesture, you can tell he won't let it go until you accept his apology.

"Alright," You sigh, "All is forgiven."

The beginnings of a smile quickly shift into a wince of pain on Arthur's face. "I'd love to accurately express my gratitude but I think I might die if I don't get some coffee in me soon," He slides some change across the counter towards you, "And whatever you have on the menu today smells amazing, I'll have one of those too."

"Thank you! It's mini strawberry shortcakes today, now go sit down before you pass out or puke on my floors." You smirk, trying to ease some of the remaining tension.

Arthur lets out a small chuckle, "Good idea." He slowly walks over to his usual corner table.

As you prepare his order you think about how to handle Arthur. Based on how he's acted the past few times you've seen him, you come to the conclusion that you'll have to let him come to you, like a stray dog. Being too friendly too fast might scare him off again. You're also thankful that instead of letting one awkward conversation snuff out the sparks of a new friendship, you were both able to move past it.

Small talk comes easy to the two of you now. Arthur comes in nearly every day. You ask him questions about work and he gives you vague answers. He asks you about baking and why the décor in the café is so "unique" as he politely put it. About a month of these pleasantries go by. One day he asks you what you do when you're not working.

"I sometimes try to come up with new recipes for the menu! Or I go to estate sales for cups and furniture."

"That doesn't count, that's just more work!" A laugh escapes you as you realize he's right, "Come on, you've gotta have other things you like doing."

You shyly mention that you like to draw and document the insects and plants in the area.

His eyes widen and the corners of his mouth curl up in excitement, "No way! I have a journal that I draw in."

"Really? I'm surprised, hands like yours usually aren't holding pencils." You smirk at him, narrowing your eyes and hoping your snide comment might pry more information about his unspecified line of work out of him.

He simply laughs, "Ha! Explains why I'm not very good at it."

You roll your eyes at another failed attempt to learn more about his job. Is he avoiding the subject on purpose or just being dense? "Well if you ever want to share of see some of my art, my house is just a ten minute walk down the road. It's the little one with the wooden wind chimes."

Arthur seems taken aback by your invitation and takes a moment to respond, "I'd like that. When should I head over?"

"I close up shop at two and if I get through my cleaning fast enough I can probably be home by four. Does that sound good?"

"I'll have to run a quick errand but it shouldn't take too long." Arthur drains the last of his coffee and stands up, "I'll see you later, Y/N."

"See ya, Arthur!" You wave goodbye as he leaves. You can't help but smile to yourself as you clean off his table. You check your pocket watch and sigh, it's only ten.

The minutes sluggishly pass by you as your giddiness grows. You try your best to avoid checking the time in between each task, knowing that will only make the day go by even slower. You're washing plates behind the counter when two unfamiliar men stumble through your doors. Before you can greet them they walk right past your register and over towards one of your customer's tables. You follow their gaze and see they have their eyes locked on Eva, the eldest daughter of one of the local farmers. She comes here in the afternoons to read without having to worry about her rambunctious little brothers bothering her.

She's so engrossed in her book that she doesn't notice the men saunter over, about two steps closer than they should be. The hair on the back of your neck stands up as one of the men clumsily places a hand on the table, knocking over her cup and spilling coffee into her lap.

"Hey! Watch it-" Eva looks up from her book and sees just how close these men are. Her eyes widen as they lean over her.

"What's a pretty thing like you doing sitting here all alone?" The shorter man's words practically slosh out of his mouth. He tries to put a finger under her chin, but Eva slaps his hand away.

The taller man grabs her wrist. "That's no way to treat someone who's just being nice to you, missy." He hisses through gritted teeth.

You clear your throat and stand with your arms crossed over your chest, hiding your shaking hands, "Excuse me gentlemen, I don't take kindly to folks that harass my customers. I'll give you to the count of three to back away from her and get out."

The men glare menacingly at you, "Or what?"

"Or this pot of boiling coffee is gonna make it real easy for the law to identify your ugly mugs." The thugs glance at each other, and then back at you, "One. Two-"

"Fine." The taller man drops Eva's wrist and drags his companion out the door behind him without another word. The scent of whiskey lingers in the air behind them.

You let out a long exhale. You knew you wouldn't have been able to win that fight if things had escalated, but they didn't need to know that. "Eva, are you alright? Do you need me to walk you home"

"Oh I'll be alright," She stands up and tries to wring the coffee out of her dress, "Thanks for scarin' them off!" She gives you a big smile as she collects her things. You wrap up the remaining shortcakes and send her off with a treat for her troubles.

You check your pocket watch again and you're grateful to see it's finally two. You flip the sign on the door to "Closed" and rush through your closing tasks, quickly forgetting about the incident as your planned meeting with Arthur grows closer. You can't remember the last time you were this anxious to get home. You finish your chores in record time, lock your café doors, and begin walking home. You're so caught up in your excitement that you don't look around for insects to draw like you usually would, but you do notice the squirrels and rabbits in the surrounding forest are skittish. They seem to make much more noise than usual as you follow the trail through the woods.

As you unlock your front door and turn the handle, you hear a voice behind you.

"Look who's all alone now."

//

Thank you so much for reading! Forgive me for the long absence, April is a terribly busy month for me and I was also getting extremely burnt out from work. To be super real the only reason I was able to get this typed out and posted is because I got sick and couldn't get out of bed all day (lol). Tumblr is also being super weird and not letting me indent no matter how I type this out or where I copy and it paste from. Anyone else have this issue?

Chapter 1 / Chapter 3 coming soon!

Let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist!

Taglist: @photo1030

[paradoxical-plutonian]

"Weeping Willow", July 4, 2023

[zombi3-candy]

Entry #2(Ris/Witchcraft): Miss Ris invited me on a walk into the forest(Strange as she was carrying a cooler for a walk,which I decided to carry for her after I accepted her invitation.)I don’t trust her all that well,as I know very little about her,but she peaked my interest by mentioning that it’ll involve witchcraft and I know how to take her down if she tries anything.So I hesitantly accepted,Following her into the woods….At first,I thought this woman was taking me to my gravesite,but instead she sat down,took out two ice pops,and handed me one with a smile.I had to inspect it to make sure she didn’t poison it,after I made sure it was okay,we just took in the sights around us.I will say that she picked a nice beautiful,peaceful spot.She then explained the symbols on her body(Which I noticed she had more of) and what they meant.It really cleared up a lot of things for me,She was even sweet enough to teach me how to tap into one’s energy and energy around us.All these sweet gestures are…lovely but…what is her end goal?Is she really a kind good witch?Or is she just like Bill?Trying to trick me…

[madame-cookie]

gw2 fans losing another battle in the war of understanding a morally gray character